SWF STORM!!! (4/4/03)

April 5, 2003

Funyon strides to the mic in the darkened center of the ring. As he reaches the microphone, a solitary spotlight appears on him, sending the fans into an orgy of cheers. Funyon waits for the noise to calm down before launching into a stirring rendition of our national anthem.

When He rolls up his sleeves He ain’t just puttin’ on the ritz,

Our God is an awesome God!

There is thunder in His footsteps and lightening in His fists,

Our God is an awesome God!

The Lord wasn’t joking when He kicked them out of Eden,

It wasn’t for no reason that He shed His blood.

His return is very close so you better be believing that

Our God is an awesome God!

Our God is an awesome God

He reigns from Heaven above

With wisdom, power and love,

Our God is an awesome God!

When the sky was starless in the void of the night,

Our God is an awesome God!

He spoke into the darkness and created the light,

Our God is an awesome God!

Judgment and wrath He poured out on Sodom,

Mercy and grace He gave us at the cross.

I hope we have not too quickly forgotten that

Our God is an awesome God!

Our God is an awesome God

He reigns from Heaven above

With wisdom, power and love,

Our God is an awesome God!

Our God is an awesome God

He reigns from Heaven above

With wisdom, power and love,

Our God is an awesome God!

Our God is an awesome God

He reigns from Heaven above

With wisdom, power and love,

Our God is an awesome God!

Our God is an awesome God

He reigns from Heaven above

With wisdom, power and love,

Our God is an awesome God!

The last lines are nearly drowned out by a massive ovation from the fans. Funyon bows and exits the ring solemnly as pyro begins to explode around the SmarkTron™, signaling the start of another exciting SWF Storm!

April 5, 2003

HARDCORE GAMERS TITLE

HARDCORE MATCH

Mike Van Siclen vs. the Wildchild!

MVS won a splendiferous shocker over a dominant if odd Hardcore Champion, and possibly the greatest former Hardcore Champ ever! He’ll look to keep his momentum going long and strong against perennial fan favorite Wildchild, who with his partner Johnny Dangerous came up just inches short in the tag title contender match!

Rules: heh.

UNITED STATES TITLE

BULL ROPE MATCH!

Michael Craven vs. “The Franchise” Mak Francis!

In a shocker last week, Craven went over the Franchise! Perhaps Mak is still feeling some effects from that legendary Iron Man match against Danny Williams… however he wouldn’t let it stop him as he immediately cashed in his rematch card! The added stip? Well, that was the Commish’s idea. Heh heh heh…

Rules: No DQ, no countout, falls count only in the ring. Both participants are tied together at the right wrist with a ten-foot length of tough leather cord. Win by pinfall or submission.

REFEREE’S REVENGE HANDICAP MATCH!

Neilsen of the Jungle vs the Instruments of Destruction!

Neilsen crossed a very unfortunate line last week, and then had the gall to go out there and lose his match. Some “legendary” Hardcore Champion. Well, King doesn’t like mutiny on his Bounty, so the time has come to show Neilsen that he will not play McMahon to his Austin. Enter the Instruments of Destruction… and just to ensure there are no unforeseen problems, your referee will be… Eddie Long, King’s pet referee! And he will be given a fully charged police issue TAZER to make sure that Neilsen… I mean, the combatants don’t dare break the rules…

Rules: Standard DQ, pinfall, submission, countout rules apply. Fugue and Janus need to tag in and out. You referee is the heelish Eddie Long, who will blatantly favor the Instruments in all things. And yes, that is a TAZER in his pocket, and no he is NOT happy to see you, Neilsen.

SIX MAN TAG!

El Luchadore Magnifico and Justice and Rule vs. Frost and Déjà Vu!

Frost’s one time partners in the M7 are proving to be his most formidable adversaries now! His path to ultimate revenge goes all the way to the top and to Tom Flesher, but Tom has better things to do tonight. Besides, the path to Tom now goes through multi-time World Champ El Luchadore Magnifico, who is looking to prove that a non-title win by the Velvet Hammer two months ago was a fluke! Well, if Frost wants to get to Tom he’s gonna have to get through one helluva gauntlet! Throw in Justice and Rule, and Frost can’t buy a friend! That’s why the Commish assigned him some! Let’s see how Kriss and Kross do against the tag champs tonight, since god knows they aren’t going to be any help to Frost!

Rules: Standard rules. Tag ropes will be enforced.

MAIN EVENT

WORLD TITLE MATCH

NO INTERFERENCE SINGLES MATCH

TNT vs “The Superior One” Tom Flesher!

Flesher has once again climbed the mountain, and damned if there isn’t some acronymed twit at the top! Well, Tom proved his superiority by finally winning the big one over Magnifico last week, and it is clear that the King’s Road’s end is finally at hand, though it took an awfully circuitous route! TNT isn’t about to let go of the strap in his first title defense though… and he still remembers a certain Boilermaker from a certain M7 leader… Flesher is in for a world of hurt, oh yes.

Rules: Standard, no interference.

April 5, 2003

“The Superior One” Tom Flesher bounces through the corridors of the Charlotte Coliseum with a detectable spring in his step. Tonight he faces Taylor Nicholas Thompson for the SWF World Heavyweight Title and his confidence is beyond brimming. He carries a duffle bag in his left hand and is dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, casual yet neat as a pin. He hears just the slightest rustle off to his right and turns his head that way while peering over the top of his $500 sunglasses.

Like a streak of lightening with the force of a jackhammer, Flesher is tackled from the side and sent flying across the hall into the far wall with a wet thump! His glasses clatter to the ground and he drops his duffle bag. Tom is turned to lay with his back flat against the wall and he feels a beefy forearm locked over his throat. As he tries to gain his bearings and assess the situation, a malicious face comes into crystal clear clarity to his fuzzy vision.

“You listen to me,” Frost says in a low, husky whisper. He puts his mouth close to Flesher’s ear and keeps him pinned to the wall with his bulky frame. “The stipulation tonight says no interference and that means no interference. Whether it’s your goons or it’s me to cut those punks off. TNT deserves a fair fight and you better give it to him, because if you don’t….” Frost pauses for dramatic weight. “I’ll beat you death with my bare hands in that parking lot after the show.”

Flesher goes to nod like he understands, but catches Frost off guard with a sudden rush forward and knees him in the crotch! Flesher takes Frost by the shoulders and wings him into the wall. Frost folds over, gasping for air and holding his crotch. Tom sweeps Frost’s legs our from under him with a tripping kick. Once on the ground, Flesher delivers a punt to the exposed ribs. Frost grunts and Flesher stands back to smooth down his hair. He retrieves his bag and sunglasses from the floor. He punts the glasses back on and spits in Frost’s general direction.

“With loser friends like you, Thompson is lucky to have worthy enemies like me…FACE!” Flesher continues down the hall like nothing happened. Frost comes up fast, his face bright red with anger and stares after Tom knowing it not best to pursue him, but with hatred boiling in his eyes.

April 5, 2003

FADE IN

Smashing Pumpkins’ “The Everlasting Gaze” begins to play immediately and the crowd in the Charlotte crowd begins cheering as Wildchild bounces onto the stage, banging his head in time with the music. He races down to the ring, slapping hands with fans as he does so, and somersaults into the ring, springing to his feet and posing with his arms above his head. Behind him, Funyon lifts the microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the SWF Hardcore Gamers Championship!” Funyon pauses as the crowd cheers at that proclamation. “It is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit! Currently in the ring is the Challenger! From the Bahamas, weighing two hundred seventeen pounds, the Wiiiiildchiiiiild!” Wildchild leaps onto the middle rope, again posing for the crowd with his hands above his head.

“We kick off Storm tonight with a title match,” says ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens. “The Wildchild gets his first shot at a title since coming here to the SWF. Bobby, this kid’s really been on a roll in recent weeks, and I think he can beat Mike Van Siclen here tonight.”

“Well, I don’t really care about either of these two guys,” replies Bobby Riley, “but Mike Van Siclen has a significant strength advantage over the Wildchild. On the other hand, Van Siclen doesn’t really have enough of a weight advantage over Wildchild to make the most of it; he may be stronger than the kid, but he’s not big enough to where it’s really going to be able to help him against a guy who’s main offense is to hurl his body through the air at a hundred miles an hour.”

Wildchild rolls out to the arena floor and lifts up the ring apron, reaching underneath the ring to retrieve some weapons. He pulls out two chairs and a garbage can, and tosses them into the ring.

“Wildchild going for the plunder early,” notes Stevens, as Wildchild climbs back into the ring. He picks up a chair and walks over to the corner of the ring near the timekeepers’ table, climbing onto the top turnbuckle and posing with the chair above his head to a positive crowd reaction. While still standing on the top turnbuckle, he turns his head towards the stage as he hears his music fade out, to be replaced by the aggressive rhythm of Dark Tranquility’s “Damage Done.” The lights dim in the Charlotte Coliseum, and blue strobe lights begin to pan the crowd in time with the beat of the music. Suddenly, some of the lights focus in on the stage, and Mike Van Siclen steps out from behind the curtain, his acid-green jacket looking eerie underneath the blue light. He stands on the edge of the ramp and holds the Hardcore Title above his head with both hands as the crowd cheers.

“His opponent,” says Funyon, “from Harrison, Illinois, weighing two hundred thirty-seven pounds, he is the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion, ‘Spectacular’ Mike Vaaaaan Siclen!” Mike Van Siclen continues to stand on the stage, enthusiastically showing off his belt and popping the crowd.

“You’d think this guy’s never won a belt before,” scoffs Riley. “Look at him up there posing like a jackass! How about you head on down here and defend your damned title!” Van Siclen eventually slings his belt over his shoulder and begins to make his way towards the ring.

CLANG!

As Van Siclen approaches the ring, Wildchild – who had remained perched on the top turnbuckle throughout Van Siclen’s entrance – races across the top rope towards the ramp area, chair still in hand, and dives off the near turnbuckle to the outside, braining the Hardcore champion with a mighty swing of the steel chair!

“That’ll teach him to come down to the ring with the lights off,” laughs Riley as the lights are brought back on, “especially if he’s going to be wearing something that practically glows in the dark and make himself a target!”

The referee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match, and retrieves the Hardcore belt, carrying it over to the timekeepers’ table. Wildchild gets to his feet and begins stomping away at Van Siclen. He pulls him to his feet and whips him towards the steel steps, but the Spectacular One reverses, sending Wildchild crashing into the stairs instead. Van Siclen leaps into the air and score with a spinning wheel kick on Wildchild as he starts to stagger away from the ringpost. Mike picks up Wildchild and rolls him back into the ring, then lifts up the apron himself, grabbing a Kendo stick and tossing it into the ring, as well as pulling out a table, to the crowd’s approval. “Van Siclen just pulled out some stiff wood,” cries Riley.

Stevens turns his head and looks at his broadcast partner as though he can’t believe what he just heard. “What the hell is on YOUR mind?”

Riley, as though just realizing where he is, puts his head down, with a sheepish expression on his face. “I’m lonely.”

“Well, do me and the people watching at home a favor, and concentrate on the damn match!” Stevens turns his head back towards the ring and rolls his eyes, while thinking to myself, ‘dear God, why me???’ Van Siclen rolls into the ring and grabs the Kendo stick as he gets to his feet, stalking over to Wildchild, who is still on his knees.

WHACK!

“Wildchild’s being beaten like a government mule,” hollers Stevens, as Van Siclen lays into Wildchild, assaulting his back with fierce swings of the Kendo stick. He picks up his opponent and backs him against the ropes, then whips him to the opposite end, Kendo stick still in hand, and places a hand on each end, nailing Wildchild as he rebounds with a Kendo stick-assisted clothesline. The Hardcore Champion continues his attack with a series of kicks before lifting Wildchild up and leading him into a corner, bashing his head against the turnbuckle. Mike pulls Wildchild out of the corner and whips him towards the opposite end of the ring, causing him to crash into the other turnbuckles. Mike races towards the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner, and sticks his arm out to deliver a lariat, but the challenger ducks underneath, leaps into the air as Mike rebounds of the other side, and stuns him with a Backflip Kick!

The challenger grabs the garbage can and takes it over to a corner, wedging it between the middle and top turnbuckles. He then walks over to Mike – who is starting to get up – and stuns him with a kick to the midsection. He grabs Mike’s wrist and whips him towards the corner, but the Champion is able to reverse easily.

CLANG!

Before crashing into the garbage can, however, Wildchild manages to stop himself by putting his foot on the bottom turnbuckle, and his hands against the top ropes. He stands with his back to the ring for a moment and notices Van Siclen charging towards him in the corner. The Bahama Bomber leapfrogs over the head of Van Siclen as he draws near the corner, but the Spectacular One manages to throw his hands up at the last minute, preventing him from running headfirst into the garbage can. Mike points to his head to indicate his intellect, and Wildchild seizes the opportunity to dropkick the Champion in the rear end, sending his face crashing into the garbage can, anyway.

“What a dumbass,” snorts Riley. “I can’t believe he stopped to point at his head! If he were so smart, he’d have been paying more attention to what his opponent was doing behind him!” Wildchild rolls Mike up from behind with a schoolboy pin, and referee Billy Chioda slides into position to count the shoulders…

ONE!

TWO!

THR— Kickout! Mike Van Siclen kicks out aggressively, sending Wildchild flying backwards into the corner, which yields the incidental benefit of knocking the Tropical Tumbler back-first into the garbage can. Mike rolls onto his knees as Wildchild staggers out of the corner, and reaches up, wrapping his arm around the challenger’s head, and rolling him up with an inside cradle.

“Small package,” screams Stevens. “Quick cover here!”

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NO! Wildchild shows he still has plenty of fight left, kicking out of the pin. “That garbage can has really come into play in the last few seconds,” notes Stevens. “It’s almost led to a fall for both men!”

Van Siclen gets to his feet and walks over to the corner, checking behind him for Wildchild – who still appears to be lying on the ground – before pulling the garbage can out from between the turnbuckles.

CLANG!

He turns back towards the center of the ring holding the garbage can in front of him, when suddenly, Wildchild springs up off the mat and leaps into the air, dropkicking the can back into the Champion’s face! He scampers over to Mike and tries to get a quick cover…

ONE!

TWO!

THR— Two count only! The crowd cheers wildly for the third near fall in less than a minute.

Wildchild walks over to the table and drags it over to the ropes, leaning it up against the middle hopes. He walks over to the Champion and stomps him in the head to maintain his advantage, then pulls him to his feet and whips him towards the ropes…

CRASH!

… But the Spectacular One reverses the whip attempt and scoops Wildchild up in a bearhug on the rebound, pivoting on his right foot and driving him into the table with a devastating spinebuster! Wildchild lay still on the mat, but Van Siclen doesn’t cover immediately, still resting on his hands and knees as he tries to regain his bearings.

“Why don’t you cover him,” roars Riley. “You’ve got that punk beat! You shouldn’t be that tired; it’s barely been three minutes!”

“Well, there could be more than simple fatigue at play here,” replies Stevens. “Mike Van Siclen has already taken three hard shots to the head; maybe spinning around to deliver that spinebuster made him a little dizzy.” Van Siclen falls forward, lying atop Wildchild for a half-hearted cover…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEE— NO! Two count only, as Wildchild just manages to get his shoulder up! Mike pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the corner. He walks over towards his challenger with a deliberate pace as the referee kicks the remnants of the table to the outside. He tilts Wildchild’s chin up and swings his outstretched hand into the challengers’ chest. As each chop echoes off of Wildchild’s chest, the Charlotte crowd sings along…

SMACK! WHOO!

“Chops in the corner,” remarks Stevens. “Homage to the Nature Boy!”

“Oh please,” scoffs Riley. “This guy is such a kiss-ass it makes me sick! It’s just like out on the stage when he was just playing to the crowd… Still, though, if you’re going to kiss up to other wrestlers, the greatest of all time is a good place to start!”

“I don’t quite know if I would call him the greatest of ALL time,” replies Stevens, “but there’s no debating that Mike Van Siclen has regained control of this match!” Van Siclen whips Wildchild to the opposite corner and charges him as he staggers out backwards, dropping him with a brutal Russian Sickle!

“Russian Sickle,” says Riley, “and now he’s channeling Nikita Koloff! So far in this match, we’ve seen Mike Van Siclen rip off Arn Anderson, Ric Flair and now Nikita Koloff! What’d he do, watch an old NWA tape before coming out here?” Mike rolls to the arena floor and reaches underneath the ring, pulling out a ladder as the crowd roars with approval.

“Dear God,” cries Stevens. “The Hardcore Champion just pulled out a fifteen-foot ladder from under the ring! And this isn’t even a ladder match! He just wants to use it to brutalize his opponent!”

CLANG!

Mike Van Siclen begins to slide the ladder into the ring, but Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs to the ropes with a sudden burst of energy, diving towards the ladder with a dropkick that knocks it backwards, smacking the Champion in the mouth and sending him crashing into the barricade. With renewed purpose and a second wind, the Bahama Bomber springs back to his feet, running to the corner and leaping onto the top turnbuckle, measuring the Spectacular One as he gets to his feet, and leaping out of the ring, twisting his body as he flies through the air, and crushing the Hardcore Champion with a breathtaking cross body block! The referee slides out of the ring to count a pin, but Wildchild stands up and backs away, not realizing that he could pin his opponent outside the ring. He chooses instead to climb onto the ring apron, pulling the ladder back outside of the ring, and positioning it in front of him.

CRASH!

HOLY SHIT!

The Bahama Bomber leaps off the ring apron and onto the ladder, driving both his weight and the steel ladder into the Champion’s sternum! The twenty-four thousand fans in the Coliseum go bananas and count along as the challenger presses the ladder against Van Siclen’s chest for a cover…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEE—

EEEEE—

EEEE—NO! Van Siclen just barely wriggles his hand from underneath the ladder and shoots his shoulder off the ground. “What and unbelievable maneuver by the Wildchild,” screams Stevens. “He put his own body on the line to try to put the finishing touches on Mike Van Siclen!”

Wildchild pulls the ladder off of Van Siclen’s chest and slides it into the ring. He pulls Mike off the ground and leads him over to the ring, sliding him underneath the bottom rope. Sliding in behind him, The Caribbean Cruiser picks up the ladder and plunges it down into the Champion’s chest.

WHAM!

The challenger carries the ladder over to the far corner and leans it up against the turnbuckle. He picks Mike Van Siclen up and whips him into the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and knocking back to the canvas with a leg lariat. He quickly rolls back onto his feet and pulls Mike up as well, leading him over to the corner with the ladder and propping him up against it. He walks back over to the apron near the timekeepers’ table and retrieves the forgotten second chair, unfolding it and setting it down in the center of the ring. Wildchild then backs into the corner opposite Van Siclen, and entices the crowd by waving his arms through the air. “Wildchild looks like he’s getting ready to try something else spectacular!”

CRASH!

Wildchild streaks across the ring, jumping onto the chair vaulting off, crushing the Champion against the ladder with a splash in the corner! He scoops Mike up in his arms and turns around towards the center of the ring, slamming him down to the mat. He then runs towards the corner, leaping onto the top turnbuckle and pointing back at his motionless opponent as the crows roars its approval.

“Wildchild’s on fire,” shouts Stevens. “He’s virtually controlled this whole match!” Wildchild stands on the turnbuckle, inciting the crowd into more cheers before leaping off the turnbuckle, twisting his body and pumping his arms and legs as he drops down towards Mike Van Siclen with a twisting frog splash…

CRASH

… But eats mat instead as Van Siclen rolls desperately out of the way! “That’s what you get for not trying to put a guy away when you have him beat,” remarks Riley. “If he had just covered him after that splash in the corner, he probably would have had him.” Wildchild starts to get back up as Van Siclen rolls onto his knees and grabs the chair, folding it up and dropping it onto the mat behind him.

CLANG!

Wildchild pulls Van Siclen into a front facelock to deliver a suplex, but the Spectacular struggles enough to counter the suplex attempt, and slips his head out from underneath Wildchild’s arm, suddenly spinning around and bringing his free arm onto the back of Wildchild’s neck, driving him face-first into the chair!

“Code Red,” screams Stevens, “Dear God, he hit the Code Red on a steel chair!” Van Siclen rolls the challenger onto his back and covers him for the pinfall…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE—

EEEEEE—

EEEEE—

EEEE— NO! Wildchild just gets the shoulder up! Mike pulls Wildchild back up to his feet and applies a waistlock from behind, snatching him up off the ground and driving back into the chair with a release German Suplex! He rolls onto his opponent to once again try to get the pin…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEE— Kickout! The Champion stands up and pulls the challenger into an inverted front facelock position. “It looks like Van Siclen’s going for the Russian Roulette,” cries Stevens. But before Mike can execute his move, Wildchild swings his free arm up wildly, smacking the Spectacular One in the face repeatedly until he releases his grip.

CLANG!

Wildchild ducks underneath a lariat attempt from Van Siclen and trips him up as he rebounds off the ropes, sending him face-first into the steel chair! The Champion bounces up to his knees and the challenger picks up the chair, blasting him in the face with a mighty swing!

CLANG!

With Mike teetering back and forth on his knees, the Bahama Bomber swings again, scrambling the Van Siclen’s brains with a second chairshot.

CLANG!

Unwilling to fall down, runs to the ropes, chair in hand and dives towards Van Siclen, drilling the champion in the face with a flying chairshot that finally knocks him onto his back! The crowd goes crazy as Wildchild rolls onto his knees and points to the ladder in the corner.

“What a spectacular assault by the Wildchild,” shouts Stevens as Wildchild walks over to the corner to retrieve the ladder. “He’s pulling out all the stops to try to win this match!” The Bahama Bomber sets the ladder up in the center of the ring and climbs nearly to the top. He remains there as he waits for Mike to get to his feet, popping the crowd with hand gestures all the while. As Van Siclen finally starts to stand up, Wildchild points behind him to the Champion and climbs one more rung of the ladder before leaping off backwards, flipping through the air as he directs his body towards the champion…

BAM!

… But his Asai Moonsault attempt is stopped short as the champion catches him in midair and, in an act of pure instinct, falls forward onto his knees, dropping Wildchild’s head to the mat with a Tombstone piledriver!

“Tombstone,” screams Stevens. “Good God! Wildchild went to the well one time too many with the high-risk moves, and the Hardcore Champion made him pay for it with that Tombstone! ”

“Cover him,” shouts Riley as Van Siclen leans back on his knees. “He’s done! He’s out! For God’s sake, put him away!”

“I think all that punishment that Wildchild put on him is taking its toll,” replies Stevens. “I think they’re BOTH on Dream Street right now!” Mike Van Siclen begins blinking his eyes rapidly and shakes his head in an attempt to regain his faculties. Eventually, he falls forward onto Wildchild, and referee Billy Chioda dives into position to count the pinfall…

ONE!

TWO!

THRREEEEE—

EEEEEEEEE—

EEEEEEEEE— NO! Wildchild seems to have just enough left to get the shoulder off the mat before the three count! Mike Van Siclen stands up and walks over to the ladder, folding it back up and carrying it over to the ropes, leaning it up against the middle ropes. “What’s Van Siclen about to do here,” Stevens wonders aloud.

Mike Van Siclen drags Wildchild near to the ropes and pulls him up off of the mat, applying a standing headscissors. As he looks out into the crowd, the Champion raises his right arm and brings it across his throat in a menacing gesture.

“Oh no,” stammers Stevens, “He’s going to powerbomb him right onto the ladder! If he hits this, it’s got to be over!”

WHAM!

Van Siclen wraps his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts him into the air, turning him towards the ladder, but the sudden change of direction makes him momentarily dizzy, and he stops for a split-second, which allows Wildchild to recover enough to lock his legs around Mike’s neck and arch backwards, sending the champion crashing headfirst into the ladder!

“Hurricanrana,” sputters Stevens. “What a counter! He pulled that out of nowhere!”

Wildchild rolls onto his knees and spies his opponent lying atop the ladder, clutching his head in pain. In a moment of inspiration, he pops to his feet and dashes to the ropes, leaping onto the top rope and, in one fluid motion, springs backward while flipping forward to land on Van Siclen with the…

“Falling Star Press! Dear God, Falling Star Press on the ladder,” shouts Stevens. “He’s got to have it here!” Wildchild pulls Mike’s body just far enough off the ladder so that his shoulders are on the mat and hooks the near leg to cover him. The crowd chants along with him as Billy Chioda slides into position to count the fall…

ONE!

TWO!

THRREEEEE—

EEEEEEEEE—

EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

The referee orders the timekeeper to ring the bell and the crowd erupts as “The Everlasting Gaze” begins blasting through the speakers. Funyon rises from his seat at ringside to announce the result. “Here is your winner, and NEEEEEW SWF Hardcore Champion, The Wiiiiildchiiiiild!” Wildchild rolls onto his back, breathing heavily as the referee grabs him by the wrist and raises his arm into the air.

“We’ve got a new champion,” shouts Stevens, “as Wildchild pulls off the victory in spectacular fashion! What action! And this is only the first match! Folks we’ve still got plenty of action, including Tom Flesher and TNT for the World Heavyweight Title! Don’t you dare go away!”

As we:

FADE OUT

April 5, 2003

FADE IN:

Mark Stevens is looking into the camera with a sorrowful expression on his face, as Bobby Riley looks on, barely able to contain a grin. “Folks, we regret to inform you that during the break, Wildchild was seriously injured in a dastardly attack by Magnificent Seven member Janus. Let’s take you back to the replay of what just happened:”

<<Moments ago>>

Wildchild leans against the top rope for the support – his newly won Hardcore Championship dangling in his hands outside the ring – as he catches his breath, recovering from his brutal battle with Mike Van Siclen, when suddenly Janus runs down to the ring, sneaking up behind Wildchild and snaring him in a full nelson.

“It’s Janus,” shouts Stevens. “What the hell is he doing out here?”

Without warning, the Hell Machine arches back, snatching the new Hardcore Champion into the air and driving him headfirst into the canvas with a devastating Full Nelson Suplex! Without releasing his victim, Janus stands back up, falling backwards and dropping him with yet another Full Nelson Suplex!

“We could be looking at Chains of Pain,” crows Riley.

The Aussie Monster stands up with his grip in place, finally releasing Wildchild as he falls back a third time, driving his head into the mat once more.

“What the hell brought this on,” moans Stevens.

“Chains of Pain,” shouts Riley. “Janus is showing the world what he thinks of the new Hardcore Champion!

“Somebody get some help out here,” cries Stevens. “Somebody stop this monster!”

“Yeah, right,” scoffs Riley. “You first.”

Janus drags the ladder back into the center of the ring. He picks the unconscious Wildchild up and applies a standing headscissors, bringing both hands to his neck and bringing them both back down in a slashing motion.

“Don’t do this,” pleads Stevens. “For the love of God, don’t do it!”

BANG!

Janus wraps his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts him into the air, lifting him onto his shoulders, and then raises him higher into the air and driving him headfirst into the ladder with a devastating Dark Bomb!

“Dark Bomb,” moans Stevens. “Wildchild’s not moving. Somebody get some help out here!” Janus stands over the motionless Wildchild and drops the Hardcore Championship onto his chest, burning a hole through his chest with a murderous gaze. His countenance slowly breaks into an evil grin and he steps over his victim, climbing outside the ring as EMT’s rush towards the ring with a stretcher.

<<End Flashback>>

“Folks, that was only moments ago,” says Stevens. “As soon as we know anything about Wildchild’s condition, we’ll announce it on the air. Right now, we’re going to go to a quick commercial break, and when we come back, it’ll be ‘the Franchise,’ Mak Francis, trying to regain the US Title from Michael Craven in a Bull Rope Match. Folks, come on back, we’ve still got a lot of great action to come!”

As We:

FADE OUT

April 5, 2003

“Dude…I couldn’t believe it when you hit him with the Double Take!”

“I know brah, that was SO cool, wasn’t it?”

Kris and Kross walk down the hall inside the Charlotte Coliseum, and the fans begin the cheer the uber-dynamic twin duo. Each of them carries a separate bag, which clangs like glass with each step they take. Even though we’re one match down in the show, it’s very evident that the Las Vegas twins have just arrived to the arena.

“And then you jumped on his back with that…what’s it called?” asks Kris.

“It’s called a Sleeper Hold doofus,” jokingly replies Kross, with a large, I’m-smarter-than-you look.

“Yeah, well that…I’m so glad you practiced that man…you’ll have to teach me how to do it brah.”

“How about I teach you now?”

“Dude! That would SO rock…show me!”

Both brothers gently place their bags on the ground, as not to disturb whatever liquid is contained in the glass bottles that are obviously contained inside.

“Ok, stand there, I’m going to go behind you.”

Kross slides behind Kris, and while Kris grins with enthusiasim, Kross puts his hands up and starts to wiggle his fingers. He pauses to remember the move, and then locks on the Sleeper on his brother…

ACK!!

…who immediately starts to gasp for air and flail his arms.

“Yeah…so, you grab them like this brah and they just…”

“ACK!! DU...I CA…BREEEEEEEFFFFF”

“Yeah, that’s the point…it’s like you’re choking them dude…but it’s legal! I don’t know why more people don’t do it brah…”

“CA…OO…ET…OFF…ME!!”

“And you just hold it on like…”

“GUYS!”

The voice comes from doorway on the room less than 10 feet from their demonstration, and as usual, the voice belongs to the Suicide King, who stands in the doorway of his office, looking rather displeased with the twin pair. However, to the relief of Kris, Kross releases the Sleeper, and Kris immediately drops to his knees and starts to grab his throat as he gasps for as much air as his lungs can hold.

“Kingsly,” exclaims Kross, obviously very refreshed and excited, having not had the Sleeper Hold applied to him.

“What’s going on out here?” asks King as he looks around at the SWF resident slackers.

“Dude…I’m showing Kris here the Sleeper I used on…wait…what’s his name again?”

“ACK! It doesn’t matter,” chimes in Kris. “COUGH! We SO kicked their asses!”

“Yeah, that’s great fellas,” King interrupts, bringing the conversation back where he wants it. “Congratulations on the win…BUT…don’t celebrate yet guys.”

“Don’t celebrate?” asks Kross, rhetorically. “Dude…we so partied this week after that. And, we’ve got everything we need to continue the party tonight brah.”

“Dude, you gonna come party with us Kingsly?” asks Kris.

“Will the two of you shut up for just one minute,” King says sternly. “I suggest you forget the partying for just one night because you had better be at the top of your games.”

“Now come on Kingsly, we’re always at the top of…”

“Quiet!” yells King. “I’m talking…you listen. Tonight you’re going to be teaming up with Frost, and I can’t even begin to stress to you how serious this is for him. He’s a no nonsense guy, and he’s not going to put up with your crap tonight. You might have gotten lucky and beaten Wild & Dangerous and the Instruments of Destruction, but you’re going up against the tag champs tonight and Magnifico. And if you’re not serious about this, it’s going to be a very painful night for you. Not only will Judge and Fasaki beat you to death in the ring, but then Frost will kick your ass if you’re not serious. So, listen, you need to get real serious, real quick…and if I were you, I’d go to my locker room and practice more than Sleeper Holds. Got it?”

Silence is all the answer the twins give initially, but after a few seconds of looking back at each other, Kris and Kross burst into laughter, causing King to shake his head in disappointment.

“Dude…you are SO funny Kingsly,” says Kris.

“Yeah, brah,” inserts Kross, “you’re frickin’ hilarious.”

“I’m serious as a heart attack guys. Get serious, or tonight, you’ll find out what happens to people who step into the ring with Frost and don’t pull their own weight.”

With that, King storms back into his office and slams the door. Kris and Kross look at each other before Kris comes in with, “Dude…who’s this Frost guy?”

“Dude, like I know. But let’s go find him…I bet he’s down for some serious partying.”

“Dude…of course. Everybody wants to party with us!”

“Well, that’s cause you the man!”

“No, no brah…you the man!”

The twins have a good laugh as they pick up their bags and head off down the hall with the glass in the bags still clanging.

April 5, 2003

As we come back from a break in the action, the camera does not focus in on the fans, but instead, on the backstage area, where Michael Craven impatiently waits for something.

Craven: No, we’re going out there NOW... YES... Well, hurry up!!!

Craven, talking to an unkown person, shakes his head as he impatiently waits. He then looks up and throws his hands into the air.

Craven: Finally!!! Now let’s get out there!! I’m running 15 seconds behind schedule!!!

The camera then focuses back on the SOLD-OUT Charlotte Coliseum in Charlotte, North Carolina, taking in legions of rabidly cheering SWF fans from it’s perch high on a corner. It does not come to rest on that dynamic duo of SWF announcers, sitting as usual at ringside, but instead, remains focused as the lights begin to din..

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, coming to you from Flair Country!

Riley: WOOO!!

Stevens: Craven seemed to be talking to someone...

Riley: Maybe he’s got reenforcements?

Stevens: I dunno, but none the less, up next, it’s a match for the US Title: A Bullrope Match!

Riley: Nothing says fun like stipulations...

Stevens: Craven stunned the SWF with an upset of Mak Francis, but The Franchise’s rematch is right here, right now!!!

The house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…”

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat.

“The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system, it takes a bit but eventually Mak Francis makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, looking left and then right…

“I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”

That cues multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupting from either side of him. He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside. This cues Funyon, who stands in the ring, microphone in hand:

Funyon: Funyon: The following is a standard singles match for the SWF US CHAMPIONSHIP!!!! Introducing first, hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 225 lbs., he is the SWF US Champion, ladies and gentlemen... “THE FRANCHISE” MAK FRANCISSSSSSSSSS!!!

After walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a mock salute to the crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Francis climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses with both fists raised in the air, then hops down.

Stevens: Mak Francis comes off a tough loss, and it looks like he might still be suffering from that chokeslam he took at the end of the match!

Riley: He’s just weak. He can’t take the pain, so he fakes an injury.

Stevens: Speaking of Craven... who was that he was talking to?

As Francis hops down, he turns to face the entryway and waits patiently, while his music fades and the lights dim.

“BOOM-BOOM BOOM... BOOM...”

The lights totally cut out, the crowd begins to boo like crazy, and the announcers just shut up for a sec. Strobe lights pulse to the beat of the guitar in the background as Audioslave’s “Cochise” kicks in, smoke spewing from vents in front of the entrance as the drums cue in 24 seconds into the song. This is when golden waterfalls of pyro similar begin flowing from the top of the SmarkTron and the crowd really begins to raise their boos louder. A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage at the guitar drop, about 50 seconds into the song, strobes still going. Suddenly, as Chris Cornell begins to sing, a spotlight shines down on Michael Craven, standing on stage, shiny SWF US Title wrapped around his waist. He stops turning to look at the fans, and quickly, he spins around twice, finishing by pointing to himself and flexing as the crowd begins to boo so loud, it hurts.

Stevens: Craven looks like he’s stopped... maybe waiting for that person?

But just then...

...two hot, and I mean HOT, Asian girls, possibly twins, walk out from behind the curtain, dressed in matching silver bikinis. As Craven continues to flex, they each grab an arm and pull themselves close to it, posing along side the champion as they, not Craven, get a TON of cheers and whistles. Craven then stops posing, reaching back, and unhitching the title from his waist, hands it off to one of the women to carry down for him.

Riley: BELT GIRLS!!! HE’S GOT BELT GIRLS!!!

Stevens: Belt girls? What does he need them for?

He follows it up by walking down the ramp in a half-strut, like the cocky SOB that he is.

Funyon: And, from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 280 pounds... he is THE SWF US CHAMPION... ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome...

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Funyon: ...MICHAEL CRAAAAAAVEN!!!

He enters the ring by hopping over the top rope, landing on his feet. He climbs the turnbuckle closest to the crowd, points to himself, and then does a Steiner-like flex with his biceps, smiling as the crowd continues to boo him. Mike then hops off the turnbuckle, walks across the ring to another turnbuckle, climbs this, and repeats the whole damn thing, hopping off the turnbuckle as he focuses his attention on the stage, walking towards Mak. But before he can, he stops, the two girls kneeling down, holding the title at Craven’s waist height as he steps behind it, giving the image of him “wearing” it.

Stevens: Oh come on!!!

Camera bulbs flash as Craven smiles happily, both hands raised in the air, but he soon brings them down, Thomspon taking the title from one of the girls and holding it up before he exchanges it for a bull rope, moving towards the two men.

Riley: You gotta love that!!! Craven is confident!

Stevens: A bit too confident, if you ask me...

As Thompson ties the two men together with the bullrope, Craven smiles happily. Mak looks very ready, but possibly a bit fearful of suffering further injury. After determining both men are tied tight, Thompson steps back and signals for the bell...

DING DING DING!!!

Stevens: And we are under way!!!

The two men begin by circling each other, Craven lunging in to fake the collar and elbow tie-up, then quickly returing to circle. Francis follows suit, Craven here and there giving a tug on the rope to trick Francis into jumping. Craven lunges in again, and only a second or so later, it’s for real as the two men throw down in a collar and elbow tie-up. Each man scrambles greatly for leverage, feet firm against the ground, but a sudden burst of power from Craven knocks Francis back. The hold is broken, The Franchise staggering back to the end of the rope’s length. Craven, though, grabs the ropes and tugs hard, pulling Francis towards him. Craven steps forward as Mak flies towards him, swinging his arm forward as he tries for a clothesline. Mak, though, ducks, stepping behind Craven before he wraps his arms from behind Mike in a waistlock. Before Craven can be suplexed, though, he fires off two quick elbows, allowing him to escape the lock, and spinning around, throws a knee into Mak’s chest. As he doubles over, Francis feels two arms envelop him from behind, holding him firmly in place. He leaves his feet and lands on top of a pair of shoulders courtesy of Michael Craven, who steadies himself for a powerbomb, until Francis flips over in mid-move, landing behind Craven, but before he has a chance, he hooks Craven’s arms and drops to his knees, throwing the US Champion backwards into a backslide pin!

One-

Craven flips himself forward, landing on his knees as he escapes the pin.

Stevens: Quick back and forth action so far in this match-up!

In response to Francis’ move, Craven grabs Francis around the head while both men try to get up, but Francis quickly pulls his head out, escaping the hold. As Mak recovers, Craven catches him across his shoulders and flips him across them into a fireman’s carry takedown! Mak’s back hits the mat as Mike floats over, pinning The Franchise to the mat!

One-

Mak quickly kicks out, throwing The Nightmare off Mak and onto his back! Both men rise quickly back up to their feet, determined to let neither man gain the advantage.

Riley: What was that?

Stevens: Fireman’s carry.

Riley: No... I mean, a weak move? From Craven? Come on! Where have all the powerbombs gone?

Stevens: Are you quoing Pete Seeger again?

Riley: NO!!! I just want to know where have all the powerbombs gone... long time passing... where have all the powerbombs gone... long time ago?

Stevens: *sigh* You’ll never learn...

As both men get to their feet, Craven clutches the bullrope, pulling it hard to cause Mak to move towards him. The Nightmare lifts his knee into Francis’ chest, but the Franchise leaps over it, ducking the blow, and grabbing Craven by the lifted leg, he lands on his back, rolling Craven back into a quick roll-up pin!

One!

Tw-

Kickout by Craven! Both men fall apart from each other, resulting in them lying on their backs for a second before they get to their feet.

Stevens: Francis is one tough man! He’s most likely fighting with a concussion, and he’s still battered and bruised from that Ironman match against Danny Williams! But he’s out here! He’s got real guts!

Riley: Or he’s a freakin’ moron!

As they get to their feet, Craven grabs the rope and tugs hard, dragging Francis across the ring. As Francis charges hard towards Craven, The US Champion lifts his leg up into Mak’s face for a huge big boot!

“THUD!”

Stevens: Big boot from Craven! Another big hit to The Franchise’s head! This cannot be good for him!

The boot flattens Francis to the mat, arms laid out before Craven drops on top of him for a quick pin!

One!

Tw-

Kickout by Francis before two! Craven cannot believe it as he kneels up from the pin, bitching about the slow count the referee pulled.

Stevens: Francis having taken all the punsihment he has over the past few days STILL has the power to kick out after that big boot!!! No ifs, ands, or buts... that kid’s got guts!

Riley: Guts? Wasn’t that a stupid Nick show hosted by Mike O’Malley?

As Craven gets to his feet, he quickly begins to stomp into Mak Francis’ chest while he grabs the ropes, purposely pulling Francis into the path of the stomps as he pulls him to his feet. Francis cries out with each blow, a stinging pain rushing through his body, but Craven forcefully drags him to his feet. A quick, hard kick to the chest forces Francis over, where Craven grabs him around the head and drops back, spiking Francis into a hard DDT! The Franchise’s head hits the mat, and he grabs his head as Craven releases him, rolling onto his back while The Nightmare sits up, slowly rising to his feet.

Stevens: The crowd is not liking the way this is going at all...

Riley: I wouldn’t either if I were Craven. I’d expect victory by now!

With a hard tug of the rope, The Franchise is drawn towards Craven, who now grabs him by the head and pulls him to his feet. He reaches back with a hand and fires off not one, but two big right hands into the temple of Mak. As Francis staggers back, Craven grabs his wrist, directing him towards the nearest turnbuckle with a whip, but Francis reverses, sending Craven into the turnbuckle! The rope begins to become tighter, straightening out as the distance increases between the two men: 7 feet... 8 feet... 9 feet... just under 10 feet! Craven slams hard into the turnbuckle as Francis follows up, charing at Craven while he remains in the corner.

Stevens: The momentum is shifitng towards Mak Francis as he counters Craven’s moves!

As The Franchise nears his target, he makes his move, thrusting his leg up high for a Yakuza kick! Craven, though, ducks the high kick, Francis tryign to drop his leg down before-

“THUD!”

-It’s too late. Francis’ leg smashes into the corner, resulting in a burst of pain shooting up his leg as something in the leg makes a sound that says uh-oh. He falls back, grabbing his knee as he cries out in pain.

Riley: Looks like someone fucked his knee up pretty badly!

Stevens: I’ll say-

Riley: And that’s what he deserves fro trying to fight with all the injuries he has!!! He’s a moron, and I don’t mean a follower of Shannon Moore!

Stevens: Bobby, at least show something besides your open gayness. Compassion, caring-

Riley: Yeah, I am openly gay... gay as in happy, because I’m so damn happy Francis is getting his ass whipped!

Francis grabs his knee as he gets to his feet, clutching it in pain. As he does that, though, Craven makes full advantage, grabbing Mak from behind the head, and dropping to a sitting position, drives Mak’s jaw onto his head with a sitdown jawbreaker! Mak springs backwards as Craven releases him, Francis bouncing away, Craven not having yet realized of Mak’s injury. But sure enough, he spots The Franchise clutching his left knee in pain, and that all too common look of confidence and sadistic joy sweeps across Craven’s face.

Riley: There’s that look! Something big is coming up next!

Craven grabs Mak Francis, pulling him up, Mak ready to fight until Mike Craven catches Francis in the side of the head with a forearm smash! Francis hits the mat hard, popping back up onto his feet. As he does, Craven leaps into the air, flipping as he catches Francis in the knee with a flipping dropkick to a pop from the crowd! Francis flies back, landing on the mat before both men begin to get to his feet. Craven, though, drops to the mat, grabbing Mak around the ankles with his own ankles as the crowd boos for a Michael Craven drop toe hold!!! The electrified crowd tries to encourage Mak as Francis trips up and goes face first into the mat, the hold released as Craven gets up, grabbing hold of Mak’s left leg as he stands and steps over Francis. With Mak on his stomach, Craven pulls backwards, applying pressure to Mak's knee with a single leg crab!!!!

Stevens: SINGLE LEG CRAB!!! Francis’s clawing for the ropes, but he’s too far away!!!

Riley: He can’t use the ropes anyways!! No DQ match!

Francis cries out in pain as the hold continues to remain locked in. Mak’s hands claw into the mat, grasping for any available space as he attempts to break free. He twists and tugs, eventually slipping his boot a little through Craven’s arms, breaking the hold... barely.

Stevens: And Francis breaks free of the hold! Both men quickly rising to their feet now-

Craven bends down, pulling Francis back to his feet, smiling with a smirk as the crowd continues to boo. The Nightmare makes sure Francis feels the pain, immediately nailing Francis with a hard right to the temple! Francis goes down stunned, dropping to the mat for a second. He quickly rises to his feet, where Craven fires off three rapid right hands and whips Francis to the ropes. Francis hits the end of the rope, but Craven pulls it, sending Mak back towards Craven, right into his waiting arms as he lifts Francis up in the air as if for a back drop, but instead of tossing him over, pushes him up in the air when Francis is horizontal and forcing him to hit the mat hard on his chest and his knee with a huge flap jack!!! Francis bounces off the mat from the sheer recoil of the move, flipping onto his back as he grabs his knee and allowing Craven to cover him for a pinfall attempt!

One!!!

Two-

Shoulder up from Francis at barely under two and a quarter! Craven drops right back down, trying to cover Francis again...

One!!!

Two-

Abrupt shoulder up by Francis at two! Craven can’t believe it as he gets to his feet. He grabs hold of Francis, screaming at the ref about the “slow count” as he pulls Mak to his feet.

Stevens: Only a two-count after a monstrous flap jack by Michael Craven!!!

Riley: Damn slow count!! That was a three-count for sure!!! Timmy Thompson is screwing Craven out of a win!!!

Meanwhile, Craven stands to the side of Francis as he pulls him to his feet. Once there, Craven waistlocks Francis with one hand while holding Francis's bent leg with the other. Craven then lifts Francis up in the air and then kneels slightly, dropping Francis's bent leg across his knee. Mak cries out in pain from the knee breaker, but Craven lifts Mak up and drops him for a second kneebreaker! Mak cires out again as Craven lifts Mak up for a third time before dropping him into another kneebeaker! This time, Craven releases Francis, who collapses onto his chest still clutching his knee for a few seconds before Craven rips into it with a series of hard stomps. Francis tries to guard his leg, but it is not good enough, as Craven grabs hold of and elevates Mak’s left leg, and stepping over it, drops down on his left knee, causing a cry of pain before he drops down on it again... and again... and again...

Stevens: This has got to be torture for Mak Francis, after all the punishment he’s absorbed the past few matches!

Riley: Hopefully, he’ll just quit and go home... while he can.

As Craven pulls up Mak, the Nightmare applies a front face lock on Mak Francis and throws Francis's near arm across their shoulders. Craven grabs Francis's near leg and hooks it. Craven lifts Francis up and falls forwards, slamming Mak’s leg onto the mat with a reverse fisherman’s suplex! Mak screams in pain whike Craven keeps the leg hooked and slowly rolls over onto his back for a pin.

One!!!

Two!!!

THRE-

Francis lifts his shoulder up before three!!! This only does one thing: piss Craven off. He releases the leg, screaming up a storm at the ref before he makes his next move:

Craven: SOMEONE GET ME A CHAIR!!!

One of Mike’s belt girls responds to his call, and quickly, as the other one holds up the apron, she slides under the ring, grabbing hold of a chair and sliding it into the ring for the Nightmare!

Riley: Good call! Can’t get him down for three with big moves, then use the chair!

Stevens: This isn’t very fair to Mak Francis! He’s so banged up after his matches that he can’t possibly block this!

As Craven reaches out to try and grab the steel chair, bending over, Mak Francis slowly recovers, sliding over to The Nightmare, and grabbing Craven by the front of his singlet, he drops back, tripping up and rolling Craven back into a quick roll-up pin!

Stevens: ROLL-UP!! HERE’S THE COUNT!!

One!

Tw-

Kickout by Craven! Both men fall apart from each other, resulting in them lying on their backs for a second before they get to their feet. Mak staggers up, favoring his right knee as he gets up behind a confused Craven. Reacting quickly, Mak Francis waistlocks Craven and hoists him into the air before releasing him in mid-air. Craven flies through the air, dropping down... down... down...

“THUD!” Right onto his neck with a release “Death German Suplex”! Craven collapses to the mat and just lies there, the crowd cheering for Mak while neglecting Craven.

Stevens: MY GOD!!! RELEASE DEATH GERMAN SUPLEX ON CRAVEN!!!

Riley: Well, not really, Mark. Craven’s not dead. Paralyzed? Maybe. But dead? Nooo. He’s probably not even hurt.

The Franchise gets to his feet, hobbling on on one foot while Craven begins to recover, the crowd cheering for Mak as he sends a right knee into Mike’s gut. As he doubles over, Craven feels two arms envelop him from behind, holding him firmly in place. He leaves his feet and flies into the air courtesy of Mak Francis, who drops back into a gut wrench suplex, until Craven flips over in mid-move, landing behind Francis! As Francis spins around, Craven is ready, and quickly, he draws his arm back like a shortstop scopping up a grounder and throwing it to first, before he draws his hand close to his head and drives his forearm into the head of Mak Francis with amazing force! Francis is slammed hard down onto the mat, grabbing his head as Craven drops to a knee, the crowd booing him profusely.

Stevens: WHAT A FOREARM SMASH!!!

Riley: I think Craven just killed Mak...

Stevens: None the less, Craven’s not done with him yet as he’s pulling him back to his feet...

As he is dragged to his feet, Mak is first dealt with, taking several stomps to the knee, staggering back, his knee barely holding together as The Nightmare steps forward, swinging his arm back to start. Craven has his arm extended for a clothesline, and as Francis staggers, he attempts to knock his head off while he swings his arm forward!

Stevens: Clothesline from Craven-

But Mak Francis ducks, sliding around to the other side, hobbling forward while grabbing Craven around the head. As soon as he’s got the reverse headlock in, Craven is thrown back as Mak sits down, executing a beautiful reverse neckbreaker!

Stevens: Hangman’s neckbreaker from Mak Francis after he ducks a powerful clothesline! Both men are down! Naither one is moving!

Riley: Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...

Stevens: What’s the matter?

Riley: Craven might have gotten hurt!!! He might have been bruised if he took that bump wrong!!!

Stevens: You’re concerned about him being bruised?!?!

Riley: Of course!! He’s a champion!!!!

The crowd cheers loudly, Francis lying on his back, spent from that last neckbreaker, but his sheer resiliance and theadrenaline flowign through his veins keeps him going. Craven slowly gets to his feet, breathing heavily as he grabs the back of his neck, still in shock from the surprise neckbreaker. His face shows his mood, a mood of unsatisfaction. He’s not happy with what he’s got now, and as he gets to his feet, he plans to finish this off.

Riley: That’s the look! That’s the look that says... “This is over!!!”

Timmy Thompson steps forward, knelt down, concern spread across his face as he looks into the face of Francis. The Franchise’s eyes are shut closed and he barely stirs at first glimpse, still grabbing his knee. Michael Craven, though, has made his way over to a steel chair, and hoisting it up, stares at him, locked in a trance, nodding as he grins sadistically. Thompson remains knelt down, checking on Francis’ condition.

Thompson: You sure you’re all right?

Francis: Dammit... just shut up-aghhhh!-and let me fight!!!

And suddenly, as the hunched over Craven stares at the chair, the energy inside of him building, he hears cheers, and turning his head around, sees Francis rising, Thompson trying to help him if he can. Craven’s hands clutch the chair... a smile spread across his face

Craven: You’re goin’ down, kiddo!

And with that, Craven lets out a scream, readying to swing at Francis as he spins and steps forward, swinging the chair around, lining it right up with the target...

Riley: Here it is!!

Stevens: HAVE MERCY ON THE POOR SOUL, CRAVEN!!!

Riley: GAME OVER!!!

Stevens: DON’T DO IT!!!

“CLANK!”

Craven unleashes a ferocious chair shot into the injured knee of Mak Francis, forcing the former US Champion to scream in excessive amounts of pain!!!! Mak’s knee dents the seat of the chair before he drops to the mat, clutching his knee in pain. The crowd erupts into boos while Craven stands over Francis, wrapping the bullrope around his wrist and tightening it. He then staggers backwards, dragging the downed Francis back towards a corner before he sets his next move up.

Stevens: Timmy Thompson needs to stop this match now!!!

Riley: You heard Francis! He’s not gonna give up!

Stevens: I’m really not sure that’s the best idea at this point

Francis continues to squirm in pain as the two reach the corner, unable to stay still, but Craven lifts up the chair again...

“CLANK!”

And solves the problem by blasting Francis in the head with another chair shot!

Stevens: COME ON!!! That was unnecessary!!!

Riley: Yes it was! It’s all part of Craven’s master plan! And it’s NO DQ, so that’s perfectly legal!

Reaching down, he unfolds the chair just enough to slide it over Francis’ left knee, clamping it shut with force, squeezing another cry of pain from Mak Francis’ lungs. Craven makes his way over to the nearest corner, climbing it to the top and turning around. Once there, he stands tall, staring down at Mak for a second as if to think about it, then leaps off, bringing his legs up towards his chest as he drops down onto Mak Francis with a diving leg drop!!!

“CLANK!!!”

Stevens: MY GOD!!! WHAT A LEG DROP!!! I THINK THAT MIGHT BE ALL SHE WROTE!!! Francis with amazing fortitude, but he might be at the end of his rope!

Francis squirms in pain as Craven moves his legs off Francis befre he tries to slowly get to his feet. Thompson steps in between both men, preventing any further actions by Craven. Francis is strying to get to his feet, but with each attempt, he can’t even get onto his good knee without slipping and falling to the ground. Thompson tries to communicate with Francis, but The Franchise is in too much pain to talk, and he screams out in pain as he slips and falls again. Thomspon is caught between what to do and what not to do, but it’s time for Thompson to make a call... a judgement call...

DING DING DING!!!! The crowd bursts into boos as Thompson springs to his feet, calling for the bell and the belt. He explains the situtation briefly to Funyon before he lifts the mic to his lips to announce the decision.

Funyon: The referee has declared the challenger unable to continue further! Therefore, the winner of this contest and STILL SWF US CHAMPION... “THE NIGHTMARE” MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!

“Cochise” kicks up in the background as Craven finishes untying the knot, ripping the title from Thompson’s hands and holding it close to his chest like a mother with her newborn baby, staring at it with that evil grin on his face. However, he looks... unsatisfied.

Stevens: I don’t like that look...

Grabbing hold of the injured knee of Mak Francis, he drags him back, driving an occassional knee into the back of that knee to get Mak to scream in pain.

Stevens: Come on, someone stop him!

Riley: No! I want to see what Craven’s going to do!

Reaching a corner, he grabs one leg and bends it sideways behind one of his own legs and on top of Mak's other leg, forming a "4" with Mak's legs around the ring post. Craven holds Mak's straight leg, falls backwards, and secures Mak's bent leg in place by placing his free leg on top of the ankle of Mak's bent leg as he throws Mak into a Figure Four around the ring post!

Stevens: NOT THIS!!! BREAK IT UP!!! YOU’VE ALREADY WON!!!

Riley: He’s going old school!!! WOOOO!!!

Francis’ screams of pain override the sounds of shock and disgust from the crowd, as well as their boos. The Franchise taps wildly, hoping to break the hold as Thompson tries to pull the two men apart.

DING DING DING!

The bell rings as EMTs and backstage personnel rush down, trying to break the hold Craven has on Francis!!!

Riley: Look at him squirm!!! He’s in pain!!!

Stevens: This needs to end now!!! Francis is in pain!

Riley: He’s getting Pillmanized!!!

Stevens: Which is why we need to stop this!

The backstage personnel grab hold, trying to pull Craven slowly away from Francis.

Riley: NO!!! Get away from him!!! Don’t touch the champ!!!

The Nightmare finally tires, releasing the hold. As he collapses to the ground, slowly getting back up after a few seconds rest. Meanwhile, the EMTs slide into the ring, quickly bringing a stretcher with them.

Stevens: My God... Mak Francis may be badly hurt here...

The EMTs make caution as they help Francis onto the stretcher while the crowd now sits in a stunned silence, Francis grabbing his left knee in pain.

Riley: He deserves it for coming to the ring with all his injuries!!!

As the crowd cheers Francis’ quick sign to the fans, with the EMTs carrying Francis out of the ring and up the ramp, Craven gets to his feet, backstage personnel blocking the way. As he looks up and notices Francis, he begins to yell and loudly taunt at him:

Craven: YOU’RE WEAK!! YOU’RE PATHETIC!!! YOU CAN’T HANDLE ME!! I’M THE US CHAMPION!! I’M THE US CHAMPION!!! DON’T YOU FORGET THAT, BITCH!!! I AM THE NEXT EVOLUTION IN WRESTLING!!! YOU’RE NOTHING MORE THAN... THAN... GARBAGE! I OWN YOU, BOY! I OWN YOU!!!!

April 5, 2003

The camera on the Smarktron suddenly cuts to the backstage area, where we catch the ever lovable tool that is Ben Hardy and Gus walking down the hallways, the SWF interviewer checking the doors as he goes by. He finally stops on one that has no name on the door, but a sign on the doorknob that reads "Instruments of Destruction". After a pause, a loud *THUD* is heard inside.

Hardy pauses, about to knock on the door. Another loud *THUD* noise emanates from behind the door, and finally, Hardy knocks.

*tap tap tap*

A pause in the silence.

*THUD...WHAM!!*

The loud noise of what sounds like something heavy falling makes Hardy jump, and an almost icy voice states "Come in" from within. After a pause, making sure Gus has the camera still going, Hardy opens the door of the locker room. As always when dealing with the seven foot monsters, the lights are dimmed. Janus himself is standing still with a small towel around his shoulders, staring down at a punching bag that appears to have broken loose from its moorings. Nervously, Hardy finally speaks up.

"Uh...Janus...?"

The giant turns his head to look at Hardy with an unwavering focus in his green eyes. Feeling himself pinned like a butterfly by sight alone, Hardy continues with a quiver of fear

"S..so..sorry for inter..rupting, big guy...but I just wa....wanted...your thoug....hts....on...your..match tonight..."

The giant slowly turns around, still staring at Hardy like he's an insect. Stepping forward, Janus plants a hand on the interviewer's shoulder, staring down at him in an ominous silence that almost makes poor Ben wet himself. Gus is still holding the camera straight on the giant as he speaks slowly and quietly.

"Thoughts? My partner is late...and when he gets here...."

Janus smiles slowly, lifting his free hand and sliding it across his neck in the universal 'cut-throat' gesture, looking up from Hardy's face and staring into the camera with an intensity reserved for people who live in an insane asylum. Finally lifting his hand off Hardy's shoulder, the monster steps forward, hand shooting out to tilt the camera back a bit so it looks up at him as opposed to him bending to stare into it. Gus can do nothing but support the camera as the giant speaks again.

"....Neilsen...legend or not...will FALL...to the Instruments of Destruction."

His quiet voice suddenly rises severaal notches as he roars at the interviewer and cameraman.

"NOW GET OUT!"

The practical roar in the giant's voice send Hardy and Gus scuttling for cover, leaving the door open behind them. Gus catches a final view of Janus looming in the doorway, with a foul look on his face as if a mysterious something had pissed him off...and the camera goes back to ringside.

April 5, 2003

Frost stalks through the back after his confrontation with Tom Flesher. His face is still red and his body tense. His train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of glass from behind him and he whips around to face…

“Hey, brah, you must be Frost.” Kris says as he and his twin brother pick up their pace to meet up with the recently turned fan favorite.

“Dude, you are a huge man.” Kross says and gives a long whistle as they meet up with him.

“Which means on thing?” Kris asks his brother.

“Bigger the man, bigger the partier!” They shout in unison and exchange a high five.

Frost sighs and hangs his head in a ‘why me’ gesture. Kris unzips one of their bags and brings out a bottle with an amber liquid inside.

“We even picked up some Frost Brand Bourbon at the liquor store. You’ve got your own booze! That is so badass!”

“Yeah, if we win the tag titles off of Justice and Drool, maybe we can get some Déjà vermouth!” Kross exclaims in a stroke of genius.

“That would be so tight, brah!” Kris whoops and the twins exchange a second high five.

Frost rubs his hand along his mouth and chin with a strange veneer of calm. He motions for Kris to hand him the bottle of bourbon. Kris hands it over while the two brothers continue to smile. He looks at the label, tosses it a few inches in the air and then catches it to test the weight. He rotates around with the mechanics of a major league pitcher and destroys the bottle with an echoing smash into the far wall of the hall! Kris and Kross cease their giggling and swap a wide-eyed ‘holy shit’ glance.

Frost shoots out a finger and growls like a rabid dog under his breath. “I haven’t had the best month. I LOSE the ICTV title, then it’s handed back to me on a silver platter and I HAVE to give it up. I LOSE the Tag Titles. I LOSE a shot at them again last week. I leave the Magnificent 7 because of Tom Flesher and I just got done warning that sack of shit to play it straight with TNT tonight, but I think it fell on deaf ears. But that’s not going to happen here.”

Frost lowers his huge frame to stare the twins both in the eye. Kris gives a shaky salute by being at a loss as to what else to do. Kross tries to bring his brother’s arm down, thinking that might not be the best tactic, but makes with a salute of his own on instinct. Kris then brings his brother’s arm down and raises his again. Kross grabs his brother’s arm and they start lightly slapping at each other.

“STOP IT!” Frost screams at the top of his lungs. Déjà vu goes ramrod straight and stand at attention.

“I don’t know you guys and by virtue of that, I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. You want me to change my mind, then do it out there in that ring tonight.” Frost points out at the arena proper. “I don’t party, I don’t play games and I’m not your ‘brah.’ Tonight, I am your partner against Magnifico, Judge Hearford and Fasaki. They are all experienced men. They are all dirty liars and cheats. You follow my lead and maybe, just maybe, we’ll win. So, just shut up and let me take care of this! Are we clear?”

“Uh…yea…” the brothers start out a little unsettled.

“ARE WE CLEAR!” Frost barks like a drill instructor.

“YES SIR!” Both men fire back like buck privates.

“Good, I’ll see you out there.” Frost stalks off, leaving the twins standing there in shock.

After a few seconds Kris makes a sour face and sniffs loudly. Gradually, Kross picks up the odor too and does a double take.

“Brah, what is that smell?” Kross holds his nose.

“It smells like whale blubber, man. I think it’s the bourbon.” Kris points at the wet spot on the floor and the remains of the shattered bottle.

“How do you know what whale blubber smells like, brah? Oh yeah…I forgot about your last girlfriend.” Kross snickers and Kris punches him in the arm. “Ow!” Kross wails and rubs his arm.

“I happen to be very educated when it comes to Icelandery. We’ll get Frost to turn around.” Kris nods assuredly.

“Yeah, brah, I can see it already. He wants to party hearty with us and bust heads in the ring or we’ll bust his head.” Kross picks up his bag. Kris follows suit and they continue down the hall.

“Good thing they were basically handing that Frost Brand Bourbon out at the liquor store, or I would make him pay for that bottle.” Kris states as the pair disappear down the hall.

“Yeah, you would brah, you could put him in a sleeper hold.”

“Want me to show you how to do that again?”

“No!” Kross cries and runs ahead of his brother, while Kris chases him with his arms up for a sleeper.

April 5, 2003

Stevens: “Shut the windows, lock the doors and call your mama because the Storm continues!”

Riley: “After a number of insane matches, we’ve got…call your mama?”

Stevens: “Hey, I’m down with the street lingo g.

Riley: “…”

Riley: “And I’m the strange one.”

Stevens: “But you were on the right track Bobby. After all this action, we’ve got one hell of an event set for you coming up next.”

Riley: “That’s right. Earlier this week on Monday, Neilsen actually had the gall to barge into the office of the Suicide King. He got in his face and demanded better treatment, respect and higher profile matches. Well, tonight, he gets his wish.”

Stevens: “He didn’t wish this! Tonight, in a special Referee’s Revenge Handicap Match, it’s Neilsen of the Mother Fuckin’ Jungle versus the Instruments of Destruction with King’s pet referee, Eddie Long, enforcing the rules…with a tazer!”

Riley: “Neilsen can’t get past these odds. He may’ve beaten the Fallen, he may’ve beaten Hville Thugg and Perfect Bo, but he doesn’t stand a chance in hell of beating Janus and Fugue in a match with a referee as biased as the infamous Eddie Long. This must be one of the toughest challenges of Neilsen’s career. Can he survive?”

Funyon enters the ring.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is the Referee’s Revenge Handicap Match!”

A loud roar followed by deep boos goes out. People are seen rushing back to their seats. Some with children in their arms, keeping them out of the stampede. Some with beer in their arms, knocking small children out of the way as they stampede.

Funyon: “Introducing first, the special referee for this contest, Edddiiieeee Looooonnnng!!!”

The verbal disgust for this man is deafening as he struts down the ring, a viscous grin on his face as he shakes the tazer in the air. As he climbs the ring steps, he mockingly points it at members of the crowd and sends a few sparks off of it at them. He steps into the ring, holds the tazer high and shoots sparks high in his own form of pyro.

Funyon: “And his allies-”

Eddie gives Funyon a cockeyed look, sends off sparks in his general direction and after a gulp, Funyon continues with-

Funyon: “And the first participants in this match, at a combined weight of 531 lbs., they are proud members of the Magnificent Seven, the Instruments of Destruction, Janus and Fuuuuuugue!!!”

The lights drop out, and everything goes quiet save for the sound of the fans cheering - and quickly booing as gold sparklers begin to crackle on the stage. The Smarktron begins to fill up with what looks like melted gold as the opening strains of N.R.G's "Instruments of Destruction" are heard. The 'melted gold' on the Smarktron forms into what looks like a saxophone, and as the song rolls on....

...the saxophone SHATTERS, and golden pyros begin to fire up into the air with loud booms as the chorus of the song blazes out of the speakers.

"Instruments of destruction~!

Tools of powerplays~!

It's a violent eruption!

Existence drips away~!!"

Stepping through the haze of golden sparks, comes the evil-Jesus look alike Fugue, with an ever present smile on his face and wearing a shirt with an image of Neilsen in a wheelchair on it as a second, much larger form strides through the smoke and sparks - the impassive Janus - and stalks down to the ring with Fugue leading the way. Fugue rolls into the ring, Janus grabs the top rope, steps onto the apron, pushes the ropes down and steps over. Both men climb opposing turnbuckles, raise their arms high and the fans boo the hell out of them.

Funyon: “And their opponent…”

The fans start to rumble.

Funyon: “Weighing in at 245 lbs….”

The floor starts to shake.

Funyon: “Neilsen of the-!”

Crowd: “Mother Fuckin’!”

Funyon: “Juuunnnngglllllllle!!!”

“Ooooo…ah ah ah ah!” The crowd explodes as Neilsen bursts onto the scene! He flies down the ramp, steel chair in tow, slides into the ring and-Fugue and Eddie Long fly out of the ring as the chair starts flying! Neilsen spins and-stares at the immobile Janus. The big man stands with his arms crossed as Neilsen stands before him, chair ready and waiting. Neilsen smirks, turns around and charges the turnbuckles. He leaps on top, holds his hand and chair high to a raucous cheer. He leaps back, smirks at Janus once more and then laughs at him. At this time, both Fugue and Eddie slide back into the ring. Eddie tentatively tells Neilsen to back off. Fugue stands next to Janus. Neilsen sneers at Long, but still turns and drops the chair out of the ring. Behind him, Long smiles. Before Neilsen turns back, Eddie starts talking to Janus and Fugue. Neilsen faces them as Fugue and Janus both seem to agree Fugue will start it off. Eddie puts a finger to his ear and then tells Fugue to go to the apron. Reluctantly, Fugue exits with Janus patting him on the back before he goes. Neilsen and Janus face one another. Eddie signals for-

Ding! Ding!

Neilsen takes a few steps to the right, then the left, talking shit and-Zzhik!-Eddie Long sparks the tazer right behind Neilsen’s backside! The Jungler jumps, turns around and-WHAM!-Janus blasts Neilsen down from behind with a clothesline! Neilsen hits the mat, Janus jerks him back up, whips him at the ropes, rebound, Janus grabs Neilsen’s throat, hauls him up, Neilsen wraps his legs around Janus’ head, falls back, Janus gets his hands under Neilsen’s thighs, flips him back, Neilsen lands on his feet and blasts Janus with a right hand! Another! Another! Another! Despite the tremendous reaction these moves receive, Janus barely registers the blows. Neilsen runs back, hits the ropes, rebounds and-big boot-Neilsen rolls under and slides out of the ring to a respectful applause. Neilsen brushes his nose while staring in the ring and Eddie counts, “Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninete-!” Neilsen is barely able to make it in time!

Riley: “Shit!”

Stevens: “Eddie just delivered the fastest count ever recorded!”

Riley: “It is the Referee’s Revenge.”

Stevens: “He better worry about the Wrestler’s Revenge. But look at what he’s doing. He’s not letting Neilsen get a breather. He won’t allow this to go to the outside. He’s going to make this a straight wrestling match. That’s never been Neilsen’s strong suit and he’s going to have to deal with that against two foes.”

Riley: “If you don’t count Eddie.”

Neilsen starts stalking towards Eddie and-Zzhik!-Neilsen backs up as Eddie gives him a quick reminder of who’s in charge. Janus charges Neilsen from behind, swings, Neilsen ducks, turns and boot to the gut! Janus hunches over for a splint second, but doesn’t move. Neilsen charges back, hits the ropes and-Fugue hits him with a knee to the back. Neilsen staggers forward, turns and-Janus blasts him from behind! Neilsen hits the ropes, Fugue grabs his head and Janus hits the ropes by the announcers. He rebounds, charges, leaps and smashes Neilsen’s back with a huge splash. Neilsen shouts as he falls back and hits the mat. With Fugue standing a few feet away from the tag ropes, Janus slaps his hand. Eddie signals a tag’s been made.

Stevens: “That’s not fair! Fugue wasn’t even near his corner!”

Riley: “You expected this to be fair!?!”

With Neilsen’s back having a bullseye on it, Fugue stomps on it to make Neilsen scream. He smiles at the brutal music he’s making. He gabs Neilsen hauls him up, whips him at the ropes, Neilsen rebounds, leaps and smashes his forearms into Fugue’s face, knocking the man down and drawing huge cheers! Neilsen waves the man up, he obliges, Neilsen charges, leaps, locks his legs around Fugue’s head, spins and-Fugue throws Neilsen’s legs off him, the Jungler’s back hits the mat, Fugue grabs his legs, flips him to his gut, crosses his legs, turns around, hooks on an Indian Deathlock, reaches back and grabs Neilsen’s head. Neilsen screams and claws at the mat as Fugue has locked on-

Stevens: “The Contrapuntal!”

Riley: “Jungle Boy is letting lose cries of pain!”

Eddie gets down on all fours, gets in Neilsen’s face and starts shouting at him. Neilsen growls and Eddie simply puts the tazer inches from Neilsen’s mug and lets sparks fly. Once he stops, Neilsen rumbles. He starts straining for the ropes. He claws his way closer and closer and Fugue can’t believe it! Neilsen’s almost…almost…almost-he reaches forward and-Janus kicks his hand away! Neilsen shouts, reaches forward and-Janus kicks it away again! Neilsen drags himself closer, reaches forward and-Janus kicks-Fugue’s head! Neilsen laughs as he slowly pushes himself up, he laughs at Janus, kicking at his hand which he quickly drew back to cause the head blow. Neilsen gets to a knee and-falls to his back as a pissed Janus boots him in the face! The Jungler’s smile is shattered as he clutches his nose. He writhes on the ground as Fugue starts to rise. Unaware of how the hold was truly broken, he staggers to his feet as Neilsen gets to a knee. Fugue charges and-Neilsen grabs a leg, yanks it out from under Fugue, stands, holds both the man’s feet, steps through and smashes a foot into the man’s face! Neilsen charges, hits the ropes left of the ramp, rebounds, Fugue sits up, Neilsen leaps, grabs Fugue’s head, flips over and Fugue’s head snaps back and crashes into the mat. He yowls as Neilsen laughs at the man’s crushed head.

Stevens: “Neilsen’s taken this back.”

Riley: “Not for long.”

The Jungler stands and turns back to Fugue. He grabs the man, whips him at the ropes, Fugue rebounds, dives and rolls! Neilsen leaps over, Fugue stands and-eats Superkick! Neilsen covers and-Eddie turns away to yell at Janus. Neilsen holds the leg for a few seconds before getting up. He grabs Eddie, spins him around and-Zzhik!-Neilsen stumbles away from the tazer and-Fugue rolls him over for the, “onetwothre-!” Neilsen kicks out!

Stevens: “Omigawd!”

Riley: “Neilsen’s not going to win!”

The Jungler is pissed as he faces Eddie. He lunges and-Zzhik!-has to back away. Neilsen frowns and-Janus grabs him from behind, hauls him overhead, charges the ropes by the announce team and-Neilsen rolls off, latches onto his waist, gets a sunset flip but Janus stays on his feet! He wobbles and-Fugue is up and pushes Janus back forward. The big man latches a hand around the Jungler’s throat, hauls him up and-Neilsen latches his legs around Janus’ head, flips back, grabs the top rope and Janus goes flying from the ring to the floor with a hurricanrana! Neilsen flips through, his head entering the ring between the top and middle rope and-Fugue drops a leg on it, bringing Neilsen in and driving his head into the mat!

Riley&Stevens: “Ooooo…”

Fugue gets up with a huge smile, throws his arms to the side to a loud chorus of revulsion and then pouts with his hands on his hips. He turns back to Neilsen and-the Jungler yanks his feet out from under him again! Neilsen stands, grabs one leg, turns around it and the crowd shouts, “Woo!,” as Neilsen slaps on a Figure Four! Eddie isn’t sure what to do as Neilsen wrenches and wracks Fugue’s body with pain. Fugue screams, both men reach seated positions and Neilsen blasts Fugue with a right hand that knocks him on his back. Eddie looks confused as he looks down at Fugue. Neilsen grinds in and reaches back to the ropes for more leverage and-Janus reaches in, grabs Neilsen’s arms and yanks him out of the ring, bringing a screaming Fugue along for the ride! The Jungler hitting the floor breaks the hold. Janus reaches down, grabs Neilsen’s throat once more, hauls him up, faces the announce table and-Neilsen blasts Janus in the ear with an elbow! He nails Janus’ collarbone! He kicks Janus’ knee! The big man falls, Fugue rolls in and before Neilsen can capitalize-“Onetwothreefourfivesixse-!”-Neilsen slides in-and Janus yanks him back out! “Onetwothreefour-(Neilsen rakes Janus’ eyes)-fivesixsevenei-!” Neilsen slides back in-Janus yanks him out again and slams the Jungler’s back against the announce table! Janus hauls Neilsen overhead once more and throws him back into the ring over the top rope as a smiling Eddie looks on.

Stevens: “This isn’t fair! I know I’ve already said that but Christ! This is a Handicap Match where the ref has a tazer to enforce the rules, and the only person he forces to obey them is the handicapped man!”

Riley: “Of course! It’s Eddie Mac!”

Stevens: “…”

Riley: “Um…Eddie Lo?”

As this debate continues, Janus steps onto the apron and Fugue slaps his chest. Eddie declares it a tag. The big man steps over the top rope and enters the ring.

Stevens: “He’s on the complete opposite side of the ring! That can’t be even close to a legal tag!”

Riley: “Eddie Lo deems it so. …ya’ like that?”

Both men haul Neilsen up, whip him at the ropes, he rebounds, they drop their heads, Neilsen leaps forward, his back rolls across both of theirs, he rebounds, they turn, Neilsen leaps, latches on two headlocks, falls back and-both men put a hand to his chest and slam the Jungler down to the mat! Janus hauls him up, sticks his head between his legs, lifts him high, brings him down, Fugue grabs his head and they plant him with a double sit-out powerbomb! The crowd boos as Fugue makes the cover.

Stevens: “He’s not even the legal ma-forget it.”

Riley: “It’s about time you did.”

One!

Two!

Thr-No! Neilsen kicks out and Eddie throws a fit!

Stevens: “What the hell was that?”

Riley: “Eddie’s pissed! He thought it was over and didn’t bother with a fast count!”

Stevens: “Still seemed pretty fast to me.”

Eddie yells at Janus and Fugue and orders them to pick Neilsen up again. They haul him up, throw him at the ropes, he rebounds, they drop their heads and-Neilsen kicks Janus backup! Fugue charges and the Jungler grabs his head and throws him over the top rope! As Fugue hits the floor, Janus charges, Neilsen ducks, Janus rebounds and-GORE!-on Long as Neilsen leaps! The crowd cheers wildly as Eddie is down! Janus stares at his ref-until he goes cross-eyed by a low blow! Neilsen charges, latches on a reverse headlock, leaps, lands on the top rope, leaps back and slams Janus down to the mat with a top rope bulldog! Fugue charges, swings, Neilsen ducks, they turn, Neilsen throws an arm over Fugue’s shoulder, Fugue throws it off, he charges, Neilsen leaps, Fugue rebounds, Neilsen turns and hits Fugue with a hip toss! Fugue gets back up, swings, Neilsen catches him and-the crowd roars for a Book End! Neilsen stumbles back and looks around. He sees the tazer and smirks. The crowd’s roar grows even louder as he makes his way over to it. Neilsen reaches for the tazer!

Stevens: “The Wrestler’s Revenge!”

ZZHIK! Eddie Long is awake and Neilsen backs up! He smirks at Neilsen and starts stalking the Jungle King. Neilsen backs up in a corner and slowly starts climbing as Eddie keeps getting closer. Eddie is within distance and-Zzhik!-Neilsen leaps over, lands on his feet and-WHAM!-eats a double clothesline from Janus and Fugue! Fugue covers for, “Onetwothre-!” Neilsen kicks out! He scampers to his feet, backs off from the two men staring him down and-Zzhik!-spins around as he suddenly becomes aware of the third man’s appearance. Neilsen jitters like a caged animal. Janus and Fugue charge, Neilsen turns, leaps over Fugue, blasts Janus with a right, spins away from the tazer, trips Fugue, turns to Eddie and-Janus slaps on a full nelson! Eddie wickedly smiles as he comes closer with the tazer. Zzhik! Sparks fly from it. Neilsen kicks at the man, but that doesn’t work. He looks to his left, his eyes go wide and he shouts, “The Seven!” Eddie can be heard saying, “Like I’d care. I’m not as stupid as Kivell, I don’t fall for that shit.” Neilsen growls and-kicks out both feet, Eddie backs away, Neilsen bends his knees as his legs fly back and-his feet take out Janus at the shins! Janus falls down in a heap, crashes his head against Neilsen’s and both men are out!

Stevens: “Brilliant!”

Riley: “Neilsen may not know counter wrestling, but he knows counter fighting!”

Fugue looks primed to unleash a sonata of pain when Eddie shoves him out of the way, flips Neilsen over and places Janus’ arm on top of him! Onetwothre-Neilsen gets a shoulder up! Eddie swears and then yells at Fugue to get the Jungler. The permanent smile upon the mad musician’s face grows grotesquely sweet. He hauls a dazed Neilsen up, whips him at the ropes, Neilsen leaps, lands on the top rope, Fugue stares in utter confusion, Neilsen leaps back, twisting in mid air, slaps on a headlock, they spin 360 and-Fugue flips back and plants Neilsen with a Northern Lights Suplex! He hauls Neilsen up with his hands still locked and hits another! He hauls Neilsen up again, flips him back and-Neilsen plants him with a Tornado DDT! Fugue goes flying under the ropes and under the ring. Neilsen swears until he turns to see Janus struggling to rise. Neilsen takes a fighting stance, Janus is almost up, Neilsen foams at the mouth and just as he’s about to strike…Zzhik!

NotJ: “Hey!”

Janus charges the distracted Neilsen, the Jungler barely leapfrogs in time, Janus rebounds, swings, Neilsen ducks, charges, Janus turns, Neilsen rebounds, leaps-caught! Janus spins him through the air and plants him with a Whirl Sideslam! The Jungler screams in pain and clutches his lower back. Ignoring Eddie’s cries to end it, Janus hauls Neilsen back up. With both hands, he grabs the man by the throat and hurls him across the ring! Neilsen bounces, rolls into the corner left of the announcers, stands and-gets squashed by a 350 lbs. avalanche! Neilsen cries out as he falls forward and collapses on the floor. Still Eddie cries to end it and still Janus ignores him. Fugue is seen stirring on the outside.

Stevens: “It looks like Janus has his own ideas about how this match will go.”

Riley: “Yeah, it’s pretty hard to change the mind of a 7’2”, 350 pounder. My guess is he’s thinking about what it’d do for his career if ended a legend’s.”

Janus hauls Neilsen up, lifts him in a press slam and-Neilsen slides out behind him, shoves Janus into the ‘buckles, Janus stumbles back, Neilsen’s hand goes in his right pocket and…Zzhik! “Goddammit,” Neilsen shouts as he turns to face Eddie and-gets planted with a Full-Nelson Suplex from Janus! Neilsen’s feet are laying on the second turnbuckle and-

Onetwothre-Neilsen gets a shoulder free and Eddie is irate! He starts kicking Neilsen. He yells at Janus. He yells at a now standing, yet stumbling, Fugue. He yells at both of them to get Neilsen! Neilsen actually rises before the larger Janus. Neilsen sits himself on the top turnbuckle. Janus makes it to his feet, Fugue is to the left of Neilsen, the Jungler leaps! He wraps his legs around Janus’ head, spins them 360, flips back and…Janus’ grabs the top of Neilsen’s shorts, hauls him up, Fugue climbs the buckles, Janus lifts Neilsen by the shorts, Fugue leaps, grabs Neilsen’s head and Janus plants him down with-

Stevens: “A double Dark Bomb!”

Riley: “It’s over!”

The look on Eddie’s face tells you that. Fugue hooks a leg and-

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-Eddie stops! With his right hand inches away from the mat, he lifts it to his ear. He stands, looks towards the stage and starts shaking his head. After a few seconds, while a confused Janus and Fugue look on, Eddie grows a wicked grin.

Stevens: “What the hell? Eddie’s wearing an earpiece!”

Riley: “An earpiece?”

Stevens: “Like one of those handless telephone, only it only receives rather than transmits.”

Riley: “But who can he be talking to back there? …oh.”

“Get him up,” orders Long. Janus, pissed that Eddie denied them a clear victory, picks the Jungler up. He whips him at the turnbuckles right of the ramp, charges and-the crowd pops as he gets a sandal to his face! Janus stumbles back, falls to a knee, Neilsen smirks and-Fugue leaps over his partner and smashes-into the buckles as Neilsen charges the ropes by the announcers! He rebounds, Fugue stumbles back, turns, Neilsen leaps, locks his legs around Fugue’s head, spins it around into a crucifix and Fugue leaps forward smashing Neilsen with a Samoan Flip! The crowd politely applauds this impressive, yet flashy, chain wrestling. Fugue takes a flamboyant bow as Janus grabs the back of Neilsen’s shorts and yanks him up and back into the corner.

Stevens: “When was the last time Janus or Fugue made a tag? For that matter, who’s even legal!?!”

Riley: “…does it matter.”

Stevens: “I guess not with Long in there. Rat bastard.”

Riley: “Lo…it’s Eddie Lo.”

Stevens: “…shut up.”

Janus starts raining down blow after blow upon Neilsen’s head, eventually beating him down to a seated position in the corner. Behind Janus, Fugue charges, Janus sidesteps and Fugue unleashes a running dropkick right into Neilsen’s face! “Ooooo…,” replies the crowd. Janus lifts the deadweight of the Jungler into the corner and starts working the body. Blow after blow after blow after blow after-Neilsen doubles over and-Janus blasts him with a Knuckle Bomb uppercut! Neilsen flips back over the top turnbuckle and lands in a seated position on top! Fugue runs in, climbs onto the second ropes, turns, grabs Neilsen under the armpits and-

Stevens: “It’s the Iconoclasm!”

Riley: “It’s…wait…”

After Long puts a finger to his ear, he waves to get Fugue’s attention. He orders him to get down. The half-crazed man steps down, but doesn’t look happy about it…even though he still smiles. Damn he’s weird. Eddie shouts at them and you can hear…

Stevens: “Double Top Rope Rage Unleashed!”

Riley: “That’s a vertical Suplex turned into a sit-out tombstone…but how do you do that from the top ro…”

Fugue climbs onto Janus’ shoulders!

Stevens: “Dear God, they’re nearly ten feet high!”

Riley: “From that height, they’ll break Neilsen’s neck!”

Stevens: “…exactly what the booker wants…”

The two men make their way towards Neilsen. Fugue reaches forward and-gets blasted by a right hand! He rocks back, the IoD nearly fall, Janus steadies himself and-Neilsen stands, leaps, hooks his legs around Fugue’s head and sends him flying! Fugue lands on his shoulders and neck in the corner, Neilsen lands on his feet, boot to Janus’ gut, headlock, twist, STUN-Janus shoves Neilsen away, the Jungler runs up Fugue, flips backing a moonsault and-gets caught and planted with a shoulder breaker! Janus releases Neilsen, he falls to the mat and Eddie calls-

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE-!” Before he realizes what he’s doing…

Stevens: “Why’d he stop? Neilsen was dead!”

Riley: “Not dead enough for the man in charge.”

Janus grabs Neilsen’s shirt, throws him high, forces him to land on his feet and blasts him with a clothesline! He does it again! He grabs Neilsen’s shirt a third time, throws him high and-Neilsen latches on a headlock and plants him with a second Tornado DDT! The crowd pops, but quiets as Fugue charges, Neilsen ducks, Fugue turns and-sandaled Superkick! Fugue goes down and Neilsen follows. Eddie can’t believe what he’s seeing! Neilsen charges a rising Janus, steps on his back, leaps, lands on the top rope, flips back and plants the big man with a moonsault! Neilsen rises, charges the ropes right of the announce team, leaps on top, twists in mid-air, lands, leaps, pumps his arms and-

Stevens: “Five Star Frog Splash on Fugue!”

Riley: “This is Neilsen’s last chance! He has to win here!”

Neilsen bounces up and off Fugue, slides back to him and lays his back on Fugue’s chest. Eddie looks down at Neilsen and gives him the finger.

Stevens&Riley: “Aw shit…”

Neilsen pops up and gets in Eddie’s face, the exhaustion showing as Neilsen takes a while to get there. He starts yelling at the man when-Zzzhik! Neilsen backs off, Janus charges him from behind, Neilsen turns, leaps-GOR-Janus stops just in time to miss Long, turns, Neilsen kicks low, Janus’ left hand grabs the foot, his right grabs Neilsen’s throat, he hauls him up and-Neilsen rakes his eyes! Eddie couldn’t see it past Janus’ back and as the Jungler falls, he latches onto Janus’ waist, uses it to help him swing through Janus’ legs, he stands, Janus turns and-boot to Janus’ gut! Side headlock! Neilsen throws out his right arm! Twist! STUN-ZZZZZHHIIIK!

Stevens: “Neilsen dodged!”

Riley: “Eddie just tazed Janus!”

The big man twitches, appears to smoke and falls! A stunned Eddie looks down in shock at what he just did. Fugue charges, Neilsen turns, boot, headlock, twist, STUNNER!

Riley: “Fugue goes flying!”

Stevens: “McTwist! McTwist! McTwist!”

Eddie turns, Neilsen rises and Eddie charges with the tazer crackling. Blinded by rage he thrusts and-Neilsen’s left hand grabs Eddie’s right, wraps it around the man’s own neck, tears the tazer free with his right hand and presses it against Eddie’s head! The fans pop as Neilsen falls back onto Fugue while forcing Eddie down with him! Neilsen shouts, “Count!,” and without even looking back to see if Fugue’s shoulders are down Eddie shouts-

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THREE!!!”

Eddie frantically signals for the bell!

DING! DING! DING!

The cheers are deafening!

Neilsen releases a now gasping Eddie and stands.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner…Neilsen…of…the…(Crowd: Mother F**kin’)…Juuuunnnngggllllllle!!!”

The fans explode as Neilsen places a foot on Fugue’s chest and raises his left hand and the tazer high! Flashbulbs envelop the scene right before…

“RRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!,” blasts over the loud speakers! “Welcome to the Jungle” starts to play and the fans go insane! Neilsen starts to exit the ring and-a furious Eddie charges the unaware Hardcore King and-CRACK!-skin meets sandal! Eddie eats Superkick!

“Ooooo…ah ah ah ah!,” blasts over the speakers.

Stevens: “Holy Shit! Neilsen won!”

Riley: “He’s still the undefeated handicapped champion! …wait…that doesn’t sound right…”

Stevens: “Yes, Neilsen has won…but at what price? King will be even more furious now and Neilsen’s knocked his pet referee out cold! And…did we hear ‘Welcome to the Jungle’?”

Riley: “Yeah…it must have been a glitch.”

Stevens: “…a glitch…”

Riley: “Yeah! It was an accident! What, you think there’s a greater meaning? Like what? We are now seeing the Neilsen of old? He’s going back to his roots? He’s going to…be like…he…um…was…and…I…I’m sure it was an accident…”

Stevens: “Whatever the case may be folks, we need to move on and you better stay tuned as we still have the main event of TNT vs. Tom Flesher for the SWF World Heavyweight Championship! That and much more action as this Storm keeps rolling through!”

The crowd's cheering as Neilsen's face is shown staring down from the top of the stage at the three men in the ring. Cue the commercial...

April 5, 2003

As the ring begins to clear of wreckage and bodies from the Referee's Revenge Handicap match, suddenly, the Smarktron flares into life... revealing the smiling visage of the Suicide King! As the fans per upward at the beatific face of the Commish, it's clear that they are not happy to see him. Imagine how Neilsen must feel then...

"Neilsen! HEY NEILSEN!!! Up here!"

Neilsen glares defiantly, albeit wearily at the tron, his mouth moving in what is undoubtedly a torrent of obscenities...

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Tony, don't give him a mic. If he takes it anyway, production will cut off his feed. You're gonna listen to me right now Jungle Boy, and you're gonna listen real good. Eddie, Fugue, Janus, good job. Take ten."

Neilsen fumes silently in the ring, his hands seemingly spontaneously becoming fluent in obscene sign language. The audience laughs in spite of themselves which only seems to inflame the Jungle King more...

"Well, I'd have to say that I am disappointed in you Neil. Can I call you Neil? Oh hell, I can call you Lolly Rimjob if I wanted to, I guess. Lolly, it's like this. I've been more than fair. I've given you title matches, and you've disgraced the belts. I gave you a Hardcore Title match, and you couldn't even win THAT. Some legend. And now, the final nail in the coffin... here, in this very first ever Referee's Revenge match, the one in which the great karmic scales would finally begin to be righted for all the various misdeeds done to refs throughout wrestling history... and you do what?"

Neilsen gives the still unmoving body of "referee" Eddie Long a quick toe kick to the ribs.

"That's exactly what I am talking about. No respect whatsoever, for my refs, or for me. And that is a humongous no-no, my posterchild for Tourette's Syndrome! So, to make sure that you finally manage to learn something more complicated than One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, I am hereby suspending your sorry ass!"

"WHAT?" THe Jungle King doesn't need a microphone to let out that little gem. The cameras pick up the following stream of expletives just as well as the man himself rolls out of the riing, grabs, a chair, and begins the long walk up the ramp with murder in his eyes!

The King chuckles in spite of himself as the fans boo his... odd decision.

"Oh no, Neilsen is after me! Whatever. You're a joke, Tarzan. Always were, always will be. You're just another never-was who couldn't make it to the top, and you want to bring me down to your base, common, decidedly unKinglike level. Sure you're good in the ring, sure you're good on the stick between blips, but we all know what the boys in the back say. We all know what the internet smarks say. Baby, you just aren't man enough to be Champ! But I'll tell you what... if you're real nice to me, and if you really kiss my ass with some extreme gusto... you can look at it when the real champ walks by."

King's voice drops, becoming deadly serious.

"Because as sure as hell, Neilsen, you will never get within spitting distance of the World Title as long as I am Commish. YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH."

The familiar wide, Satanic grin returns.

"Nighty night!"

Neilsen roars an animalistic cry, reaching back with the chair and FLINGING it underhand up toward the Smarktron, where it impacts full on with King's shit-eating grin! A shower of sparks fall to the ground around the Jungle King, lighting him in its hellish glow...

April 5, 2003

As we cut back in from the action on Storm, we go backstage to the locker room of The Nightmare, Michael Craven, relaxing in a comfortable chair, wearing sunglasses, of course. His belt is held by one of the belt girls as the other gives him a nice shoulder massage after his hard fought battle.

“Ahhh... thanks, Kiko. You and Michelle were great out there tonight.”

The two girls giggle, but before Mike continues on, the door to his locker room flies open with a thud! He sits up, and looking out, notices a familiar figure stanidng in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?!?!”

The camera pans out to reveal a VERY unhappy Amy Craven, arms on her hips, a scowl across her face as she surveys her surroundings before she begins to speak.

“Just what is your problem?!?! And what is this?!?!”

Craven motions for the girls to step back for a second as The Nightmare confronts his angered wife, getting up out of his chair and coming face to face with her.

“What problem?”

“You know what I mean,” Amy answers with a certain disapproval in the tone of her voice.

“Umm... no I don’t,” Craven responds with confusion in his voice.

“Does Mak Francis ring a bell?”

“Yeah! He sucks!” Craven smiles after his comment, confidence flying high after his title defense.

“NO!!!” Amy screams loudly at her husband, who is somewhat caught off guard by the scream. “Do you even care about what you just did to him?”

“With the knee?” Amy nods in response. “Hell no. The guy deserved it. He made the wrong choice, and that was stepping into the ring with me with all those injuries. It’s his own damn fault his knee is screwed up.”

“It’s not like you didn’t just give him a Figure Four around a ring post...” Amy rebuts with a touch of sarcasm.

The Nightmare stalls, unable to think of something in response for a second, but then, a reply comes to mind.

“Hey now...” Mike starts off, “don’t you start blaming me for hurting him. The knee injury was... collateral damage.”

“‘COLLATERAL DAMANGE’?!?!?!” Amy’s intensity picks up greatly. “You’re kidding me!!! I’ve had ENOUGH of these bullshit excuses, Michael!!! You are acting like an asshole!!!”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Look...” The Nightmare cuts his wife off before she can drag him into this any further. “I don’t have time to play these childish games with you-”

RING RING!!! A cell phone rings, Craven reaching over onto the chair to pick it up. He flips the phone open and takes the call, holding a hand up in the air between him and his wife’s face to keep her from talking.

“Hello, US Champion speaking... yes... oh, it’s ready? Good. Tell him to keep the limo warmed up and ready so I can leave this hell hole. Too many damn rednecks around here...” Upon hearing about the limo, Mrs. Craven is at first shocked, but them grows angrier, having uncovered something else her husband neglected to tell her about. “Yes yes... I’ll be done soon... bye... NO, YOU CANNOT ! I HAVE BELT GIRLS FOR THAT!!! Yes... uh-huh... OK. Now bye bye-I said BYE.” Craven ends the call quickly, the returns attention to the matter at hand. “Now, what was that other thing you were talking about? Besides that moron, Mak?”

“Explain the girls, the limos-”

“They’re champion’s benefits,” Craven interjects in a cool, calm, possibly prefabricated manner... but his wife doesn’t buy it.

“Bull,” Amy answers as she calls her husband’s bluff. Craven sighs as he begins his defense.

“Hey, I’m champ. I get certain priviliges that I didn’t have before, Amy. And if you can’t deal with that, then I suggest you don’t bring it up again. If you really want to, I’ll have someone come pick you up later.”

“I don’t care.” Her response is cold, void of all care and happiness. Mike shrugs his shoulders and goes back to sitting down on the chair.

“Well, it’ll be waiting for you. I’ll see you after I finish up here with the girls, OK?”

Amy doesn’t even bother answering as she angrily turns with tears starting to form in her eyes, Mike smiling as he waves to his wife. Once she’s gone, he goes back to getting his massage as he looks over at his US Championship, grabbing hold of it from Michelle before he smiles and points at his US Title, remarking to himself:

“And THAT'S why I get the champion bucks, the champion perks and the champion tag!”

April 5, 2003

The camera comes back on to a wide shot of the screaming throng inside of the Charlotte Coliseum. A logo in the bottom left hand corner marks the scene as “SWF Storm! Live!” Black Sabbath’s “Snowblind” is already blaring over the loudspeakers and the entrance stage is bathed in a pale blue light with faux snowflakes fluttering down from above.

:Stevens: We’re wasting no time getting to our next match. A unique squaring off of Frost with the number one contenders for the tag team titles, Déjà vu. They go against the current tag champions, Justice and Rule along with former World Champion El Luchadore Magnifico.

:Riley: This will be a good pairing for Déjà vu. Frost can teach them how to lose to the champions when their match comes up.

Frost emerges from behind the backstage curtain with his right arm already held aloft and his fist clenched to acknowledge the cheering of the fans.

:Stevens: That right shoulder has taken a lot of brutality recently, but it looks in good shape to start with tonight.

Kris and Kross emerge behind Frost walking in tandem. Frost turns around to give them a narrow eyed glance and they immediately snap to full attention. Frost nods his head and proceeds down the ramp. Déjà vu then noticeably slouch and drag their knuckles like apes to elicit a few twitters of laughter from the fans.

:Stevens: We saw Frost lay down the law to Déjà vu earlier in the back and they seem to be following his lead at least somewhat. They’ve sacrificed their own entrance to come out to Frost’s new one.

Kross attempts to collect some of the loose flakes to make a snowball, but is disheartened when he can’t get the fake snow to clump up. Kris punches his brother in the arm and shoos him to go down the ramp. Kross smacks his twin back and then follows after Frost.

:Riley: They’re going to drive Frost nuts. Those worthless brothers might be good for something after all.

:Stevens: Frost has been a little lighter recently since breaking off from the Mag 7, but as we saw earlier with his confrontation with Tom Flesher, he still packs the fire.

:Funyon: Introducing first, at a combined weight of 709 pounds, Frost and the tag team of Kris and Kross, DEEEEEEEEEJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA VUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

The crowd pops as Frost steps over the top rope into the ring. He looks at Kris and Kross still on the floor and points his finger down at the canvas for them to get in the ring.

“HERE WE ARE…BORN TO BE KINGS…WE ARE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE!”

The voice of Freddy Mercury rings out as the houselights go out and red pyro flashes here and there to light the void. The guitars thunder and the lights fire back up to catch the Mag 7 contingent already hustling down the ramp.

:Funyon: They’re opponents, at a combined weight of 631 pounds and representing the Magnificent 7, El Luchadore Magnifico and the tag team of Judge Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki, JUSTICE AND RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULE!”

:Riley: I know that my sweet Suicide King booked this match just for me. And after Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass along with that traitor Frost go down, Tom Flesher will become our superior world champion.

:Stevens: TNT and Frost have both proven that they are not easy men to put down and maybe the big Icelander can give some of that determination and ring skill to Déjà vu.

Sexton Hardcastle signals for each side to choose their starting man. Magnifico steps into the ring without a moment’s pause while Justice and Rule takes perches in the lower right ring corner. On the other side, Kris and Kross argue amongst themselves on who is to start until Frost cuts in between them and points at the apron.

:Stevens: It looks like Frost is demanding to start this match. Probably a sound strategy as Frost has faced ELM before and knows the inner workings of the Mag 7.

:Riley: They can’t even decide who’s going start and Frost is bullying Déjà vu around like a jock looking for lunch money. No teamwork, no chance.

The twins look at Frost with hangdog eyes and make a pleading gesture. Frost stomps his foot and points to the apron. The crowd buzzes a little confused, but that is hushed by the sound of the ring bell.

DING DING DING

ELM flies across the ring and blindsides Frost with a flying forearm to the back. Hardcastle forces the twins to the apron as ELM takes Frost by the wrist and Irish whips him to the diagonal corner. Frost plants his weight firm and reverses the whip. ELM takes the turnbuckles in the back and Frost charges with a shoulder block. Magnifico sticks up his leg and Frost eats boot on the charge! He spins around from the blow, holding a hand to his mouth. ELM quickly skips up to the second turnbuckle and bounds off with a double axehandle to the crown of the Icelander’s skull. The pair crumbles in a heap and Magnifico struggles for an early cover.

ONE!!

:Stevens: Frost benches ELM off of him, no sweat. Magnifico was just hoping to catch him off balanced.

:Riley: Because he’s a cunning ring technician, Kris and Kross should take notes.

Frost rolls to his feet to face his corner. Kris and Kross applaud his breaking of the early cover and Frost just shakes his head. ELM once again takes advantage of the distraction to smack Frost in the back with a forearm. He grabs the man’s wrist and forces him into the near corner with a shoulder. ELM tries a whip again, but Frost takes the top rope with his free hand to hold himself in place. Before Magnifico can reset to try again, Frost palms the back of the Mexican’s head and juts out his knee. He hammers his face down with a crunch and ELM pops up into air before crashing to the canvas!

:Stevens: Déjà vu applaud the facebreaker by their partner. They seem impressed and should be. They could learn a lot from Frost.

:Riley: Like how to suck, how to scare children, how to break a mirror with your face…

Frost eyes his corner with suspicion as he bends down to yank ELM up by his oily hair. Frost pulls Magnifico close to his body and places a hand between his legs. He spins the man around and off the mat in a bodyslam position. He then holds the Luchadore off to the side with his head facing down and drops to impale the former World Champion into the canvas like a lawn dart! Déjà vu looks at each other and draw out a long “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!”

:Stevens: The Snow Plow! A new move in Frost’s arsenal and one that could end the match.

ONE!!

TWO…

:Riley: ELM gets the shoulder up. I think Frost wants to get the win before he has to tag the twins in, but it’s way too early even with a move like that.

:Stevens: They might be inexperienced, but they show heart and creativity.

Frost rises to his knees and wraps his hand around ELM’s locks again.

:Riley: And the fans like them and they’re the cure for cancer. That means jack, Stevens.

Magnifico rifles a thumb into the eye to draw boos and a dq warning from the ref. He pays it no heed and barrel rolls across the mat to tag Fasaki. ELM slides to the apron, still favoring his head from the awesome power move. Frost sits on one knee still stunned. Ejiro dashes toward him for a running knee, but the Icelander springs to his feet with a burst of speed. He grabs Fasaki by the tops of the thighs as he sails into him and flings him down with a ring shaking spinebuster! The crowd pops and Frost drops an elbow to the face before making the cover.

ONE!!

TWO!!

:Stevens: Kick out! Frost really does want that quick win, but he hasn’t laid in enough punishment.

Frost yanks Ejiro up by the hair. He looks over to his corner where Kris and Kross lean with their elbows on the ropes watching Frost with wrapped attention.

:Riley: Rubes that they are, Déjà vu probably see Frost as the second coming of Lou Thesz. Although they probably think Lou Thesz was a catcher for the Royals.

Frost’s chest swells with a bit of pride in astounding his partners. He stands back to back with the woozy Fasaki and links arms. He hoists him off the mat, feet dangling, and spins in a wide circle. After five full revolutions, Frost pulls up short and flicks Ejiro off his back to go twisting through the air. He slams to the canvas with his eyes closed. He absorbs the blow and then opens his eyes, only to see a meaty thigh descending upon him.

BLAM!!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE…

:Stevens: Foot on the ropes! Airplane spin slam with the twisting leg drop has always been one of Frost’s more fanciful moves, but it might be apropos as Déjà vu continue to be enamored with their partner.

:Riley: Rent a room. This is so gay!

:Stevens: Coming from you, that’s probably a compliment.

Frost tugs Fasaki up by the shoulder and whips him to the far ropes. Ejiro springs off the coils and races toward the Iceman who has his arm extended for a clothesline. Fasaki ducks under and reaches up to coil his hands around Frost’s massive bicep. He kicks off the mat and cross his ankle around the other arm. With Frost caught unaware, Ejiro throws his weight back and grounds Frost with a fireman’s carry takedown!

ONE!!

TWO!!

Frost pitches his body back to roll out of the pin. He comes up in a crouch with Ejiro kipping up. Fasaki spins to find his adversary and Frost dives forward with a flying clothesline! They slide across the mat and Frost throws all of his weight on top of Fasaki for the pin!

ONE!!

TWO!!

Judge kicks between the ropes and boots Frost in the head for the break!

:Stevens: Two close to the far side of the ring. Hardcastle admonishes Hearford, but can do little else.

:Riley: Teamwork. Frost is trying to carry the match all by himself and he won’t be able to do it.

Ejiro squirts out from under Frost and leaps up to make the tag. Sexton waves it off due to Judge not holding the tag rope and stands in front of Hearford to prevent him from entering the ring. Fasaki pleads his case until he feels two arms lock around his middle. Frost hurls him high overhead!

WHAM!

:Stevens: German suplex from the Velvet Hammer and Frost is wrestling like a man possessed.

:Riley: I wish he was a man repossessed, so I wouldn’t have to look at his stinking face anymore.

Frost keeps his hands locked as he rolls up to his feet. He steps his right leg in front of Fasaki’s and readjusts his arms with one in a half nelson and the other across the throat in a cobra clutch. Frost sweeps the leg back and pancakes his opponent into the canvas.

:Stevens: Icelandic legsweep leads to another cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE…

:Stevens: Kick out! Frost needed to hook the leg.

:Riley: Frost needs to stop being so desperate. It reminds me of you when you were single.

Frost pulls Ejiro up by the hair, but he fidgets loose and delivers a headbutt to the right shoulder.

:Stevens: This is the third time in as many weeks that Frost has faced Justice and Rule and they know to go after that right shoulder.

Ejiro faces away from Frost and swings around with his elbow cocked. The Screaming Elbow finds its mark on the bridge of the nose. Frost flies back off of his feet from the ferocity of the shot, but thankfully finds himself in the friendly territory of his own corner.

SMACK

:Stevens: Uh oh! Blind Tag by Kris… errr, is it Kross?

:Riley: It doesn’t matter, as long as it makes Frost upset!

And it pretty much does. Kris’ blind tag to Frost on the shoulder makes the Ice-Man angry, but sends the crowd into a cheer! The elder twin smiles broadly as he bounds over the ropes and faces Frost.

“I got it now, Dude!”

Frost glares at the twin, obviously unsatisfied, as Ejiro bounds over, ramming into Frost’s gut with a knee! The big man doubles, then stretches up again, ready to pound Fasaki’s face in, but the referee will have none of it.

:Riley: Looks like trouble in the ranks!

:Stevens: Frost is stuck between a rock and a hard place, obviously frustrated at the inexperience of his teammates!

:Riley: Or at their annoyingness!

:Stevens: Is that a word?

Kross, on the other hand, jumps at the opportunity! He grabs Ejiro by the hands, and sends him in an Irish Whip to the opposite corner. But as he charges after his opponent, he realizes Mag 7 territory is not where he wants to be. Ejiro ducks, and Judge sticks out a right arm, NAILING Kross in the upper chest and sending him to the mat. Hearford then enters the ring, and the more experienced Tag Champs begin laying into Kross with stomps.

:Stevens: That just isn’t right!

:Riley: Maybe not, but it is a good tactic! To win in this game you’ve got to take every chance you get! Justice and Rule aren’t taking anything for granted with these guys!

After seeing that his protests are doing no good, Frost finally relinquishes and exits the ring, but the major damage is done. Judge Mental wisely goes back out to the apron, and Fasaki now takes control with an armbar into a toss over! He immediately rises, getting a wristlock on Kross, who actually spins out of it! The crowd pops for the speed of the youngster, who smiles and waves to them, celebrating a little too early. WHAM! Ejiro puts Kross down with a Clothesline! And Frost, in the corner, just shakes his head.

:Riley: There’s the hit!

:Stevens: Cover here…

ONE

TWO

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!

:Stevens: Kickout by the twin!

“Brah! Tag me!” Kris shouts from the corner, as Frost glances at him sideways. But to no avail. Fasaki is already down and locking on the double armbar! But before he can get it on completely, Kross spins around him and gets a Hammerlock! The technical mastermind Ejiro tries to get an elbow, but Kross ducks, and lifts Ejiro up and over in the nefarious, the notorious, the infamous…

:Stevens: SCOOP SLAM!!

:Riley: Gotta respect that, even from a dufus like Kross!

:Stevens: He could use this to start a roll!

The crowd volume gets Kross riled up, and he immediately tags his brother, who takes to the turnbuckle! Fasaki starts to rise as Kris flies off of the top rope in a high Cross Body Block, but Ejiro is able to absorb the blow and roll backwards, putting the twin down on his back on the mat!

:Riley: Nice move!

:Stevens: Cover!

ONE!

TWOOOO!!!

:Stevens: Nope, Kross kicks out, but man, what an effort from Ejiro Fasaki!

A little dazed, Kris gets the shoulder up, to the disappointment of Fasaki, who gets him to his feet. He sends Kris on an Irish Whip to the Mag 7 corner…

:Riley: And here comes the methodical destruction of Déjà Vu!

Magnifico nods at his partners as Judge Hearford puts his foot up on the turnbuckle, allowing Ejiro to slam Kris’ head back onto the insole! Kris grabs his head in pain, but the hand is quickly moved, and his arms wrapped around the top ropes.

SMACK!!!

:Stevens: OUCH! Hard chop from Fasaki there!

SMACK!!! Another chop nearly welts Kris’ skin as Ejiro makes the tag to The Judge, who enters the ring with a deliberate smile.

:Riley: This is where it gets really bad for Frost and Company! The tag champs are nothing to scoff at, especially with that kind of isolation!

:Stevens: No doubt about it!

:Riley: And they’re sharp dressers too.

:Stevens: Where did that come from?

:Riley: I dunno, I like Judge Hearford’s wardrobe. So sue me…

The Tag Champs whip their opponent to the far side, catching him on the rebound and nailing the double Flapjack! The smaller Fasaki pulls down his kneepad and hits a hard, unprotected knee drop on Kris’ back for extra emphasis before leaving the ring and allowing Judge Mental to do some damage! And The Judge delivers. He grabs the calf of Kris, lifting it high off the mat and slamming it down again. WHAM!

:Stevens: Man. This is not looking good.

:Riley: Yeah, like a facelift on a sixty year old woman…

Judge looks over at Frost in the corner, who is just itching to get into the ring! But Hearford is in complete control. He gets Kris up, as Kross shouts encouragement. The Judge gets a whip to the ropes, before grabbing Kris around the waist on the rebound!

:Riley: Here come the Germans!

“ELBOW!” Frost shouts loudly! Without hesitation, Kris sends an elbow back, but the Judge expected the move, and sways out of the way before trying to lift the lighter man up. BOOM! The young twin’s spine is compressed with a German Suplex!

:Stevens: Amazing sense by the Judge! He still got that German off!

:Riley: And he’s goin’ for another!

As the Judge tries to take him over with another one, Frost yells “HOOK” across the ring! Kris has some trouble executing the suggestion, but has just enough time to get his leg hooked around Hearford’s! The next German Suplex attempt does not go over! But ever the adjuster, Judge Mental uses the already hooked leg to pull Kris back in a hard Russian Leg Sweep!

:Riley: Awww. Did the poor youngster hit his head?

ONE!

TWO!!!!

:Stevens: Could be over…

THREEEE!!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Kross enters the ring and breaks up the pin! On his way back to the corner, the illegal twin holds a thumbs up to Frost, drawing a look from the big man, who actually chuckles in spite of himself. Meanwhile, the Justice is already taking Kris to his corner and tagging in his partner!

:Riley: Eh… good breakup there by the newbie, but unfortunately, J & R still have control of this matchup.

:Stevens: These twins are really giving it all they’ve got. I’m honestly impressed.

:Riley: Impressed? By Cain and Abel? Oh please.

:Stevens: Well, I’m impressed with how far they’re coming.

Fasaki comes in as The Judge gets the standing headscissors on Kris. Ejiro prepares for a double team, but once again, Frost shouts instruction in one word, “OVER!”

:Riley: Somebody shut that pile of crap up!

:Stevens: He’s giving much needed guidance to the twin!

Kris, with some effort, sends the 242 pounder up and over his back! Judge goes down, landing right ON his Mag 7 teammate! The twin then stands, looks at his handiwork, and turns to Frost!

“YOU ROCK FROST!”

Frost can’t help but smile a bit, but he points to the opponents on the ground as if to say “Finish the job you slacker.” Kris nods, and begins kicking the piss out of Judge Mental, who slides out of the ring. Then, for an extra bonus, he reaches around, and punches Magnifico in the funnybone!

:Stevens: HA! Now THAT was Karma!

:Riley: No, that was lame!

On a roll now, Kris grabs the risen Ejiro and takes him to the corner, rearing his head back and ramming it into the turnbuckle guard. ONE! TWO! THREE!! FOUR!! The crowd counts along. FIVE!! SIX… NO! Ejiro gets an elbow back and to his gut! He tries to turn, but misses a clothesline and spins around as Kris is still doubled! Then, as if by reflex, the twin shoots out and pushes Ejiro’s head, hanging his neck on the top rope! The crowd roars as Fasaki bounces off, and backs into the corner to catch his breath!

:Stevens: UH OH! I think we all know what that means!

:Riley: It’s time to go home…

:Stevens: I don’t think so, Bobby! It’s time to rock… Double Take Style!

Kris looks at Frost wide eyed, as if begging him for permission. Frost sighs, but nods his head, prompting a HUGE reaction from Kross, who shouts with approval! Kris goes closer to his friendly corner, waving to the crowd, and then rears back!

:Stevens: He got the O.K. from Frost, and here we go!

:Riley: Look out Ejiro!!

He CHARGES full speed towards the Magnificent 7 corner, launching himself at the leaning Ejiro! What he doesn’t see is El Luchadore Magnifico, his funnybone quickly recovering, blindly tag his partner, and then push him out of the way! WHAMM!!

:Riley: OH! Denied!

:Stevens: Just a little too much celebration from the twin…

:Riley: And a lot too much suckiness…

Kris falls to the mat, writhing in pain, and then laying still while the legal Magnifico takes to the top rope! In a now uncharacteristic display, the Luchadore shows just why he is so Magnifico, flipping in paradox with his flight in the astounding…

:Riley: Mexican Pride Press!!

Magnifico lands HARD, shaking the ring with his impact! An impact that hits NOTHING BUT CANVAS!!

:Stevens: Unbelievable!! He moved! Kris actually moved!!

:Riley: No way! Mags! Get up!!

Magnifico grabs his chest as Kris slowly crawls to the corner! Frost mutters encouragement, his hand outstretched as the crowd stomps and claps. Magnifico rises, and sees Kris nearly at the corner! He rushes over to stop, but in one last push the twin surges forward and slaps hands with…

:Stevens: The VELVET HAMMER!

:Riley: Great… Big and Slow is coming into the matchup!

:Stevens: This spells disaster for the Magnificent 7 team!

Magnifico wants none of Frost at this point. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much of a choice!

WHAMM!!

:Stevens: Frost is (everybody together…) ah HOUSE AH FIYAAAAAH!!

WHAMM!! A rising ELM gets floored with another clothesline just as Justice slides back into the ring! Unfortunately Frost has gathered steam, and each instance just drives him closer and closer to victory! WHAMM!! Another clothesline sends The Judge OVER the ropes and back to the outside! The crowd shouts as Frost waits for Magnifico to rise! Unfortunately, Fasaki has recovered, and comes in, nailing a Dropkick to the back of the big man! Frost goes to a knee, but as Ejiro comes close to him, he pushes up, grabs the arms, and whips his interferer to the side corner! Unfortunately, Magnifico is up! He instantly grabs hold of the big man’s upper arms, back to back, and runs up the side ropes, while still holding on! As he flips back, he comes down, ramming Frost’s head into the canvas! WHAM!!

:Riley: BAJA CALIFORNIA CRUSHER!! This one is ALL OVER!!

:Stevens: What a move! Magnifico proves why he held the belt, even if his heart is in the wrong place!

Mags turns Frost over, with some effort, and hooks the leg!

ONE!!

TWO!!!

THREEE!!!!

NOOOOOOOO!!!

:Stevens: KROSS made the save!

Indeed, Kross does, by running over and pulling Mags by the hair off of Frost! Magnifico growls, then knocks the twin’s hands off of him! As Kross tries to rush in, Mags hooks an arm over his shoulder, lifts, and plants the brother with a hard…

:Riley: RIO GRANDE SLAM!!

:Stevens: The experienced former champion keeps his poise!

Magnifico turns to find the final installment of Team Ridiculous, but instead, hears only the roar of the crowd as he is grabbed around the neck and dropped, neck-first, onto the middle rope with a Bulldog!!!

:Stevens: Frost is down! Twin #1 is down!! The Judge is down! Fasaki is down!! But twin #2 from Déjà Vu will not be denied!!

:Riley: Are you kidding me? Will someone please put these children out of their misery?

The crowd goes beserk with cheers as Kris, as it would appear, pulls himself from between the ropes after the Facebuster Rope Choke, and stumbles across the ring, holding his shoulder in pain from his earlier mishap. The fans know what’s coming, and Kris bounces around emphatically while the pain in his shoulder begins to disappear from the adrenalin.

:Stevens: And here it comes…

Kris rears back awkwardly, and then takes off into a full sprint towards ELM, who has rolled himself into a standing position in the corner…

:Stevens: Double Take…uhhh…Take Two…

WHAM!!!

:Stevens: …AND HE GOT IT!! HE LANDED THE DOUBLE TAKE THAT TIME!! MAGNIFICO IS HURT!!

:Riley: Well, I’ll hand it to them, the boys have heart…too bad they don’t have brains!

Riley is right because immediately, Kris leaps back up and begins to jump around in celebration of the successful Gore. During his celebration, he cringes in pain and grabs his shoulder, which connected with the turnbuckle on his missed Double Take earlier. That’s all the opportunity Ejiro Fasaki needs, and while Kris holds his shoulder, Fasaki runs over, and grabs the injured arm which brings Kris to the ground. Ejiro quickly grapevines the arm and locks on the Cobra Clutch, cinching in the…

:Stevens: COBRA CROSSFACE!!! Ejiro’s got it locked in on that hurt shoulder!! Just listen to him scream!!

Both Ejiro and Kris scream, Kris in pain and Ejiro with intensity as he pulls back as hard as he can. The fans boo the submission finisher, but Ejiro could care less about that. Judge recovers on the outside and slides back into the ring, where Frost seems to have recovered, if only slightly, from the ELM finisher.

:Riley: See, and this is exactly why Déjà Vu will never be able to take those tag belts…Justice & Rule just have way too much in their arsenal.

:Stevens: Be that as it may Bobby, but the fact remains right now…and I just realized this…neither Fasaki nor the Déjà Vu twin are the legal man for their team.

Frost gets to all fours, and sees the submission on his unlikely tag partner. The Judge moves to head off Frost, who gets to his feet and staggers over to break the submission. Frost, still weak, reaches out to grab Fasaki, who seems to be killing Kris, but Judge grabs the big Icelander first, and turns him so they face each other. A quick book to the gut doubles the ailing Frost, and just as quickly, Frost finds himself in a standing headscissors. Judge gives a look to the crowd, and they all boo in anticipation…

:Stevens: Frost tries to break the submission, but now he’s in trouble and is going to fall victim to the Capitol Punish…NO!!! HOLY HELL!! The unlikely hero!!

Stevens may be overselling, but out of no where, Kross comes across, grabs Judge around the neck, and drops him on the back of his head with a Inverted Bulldog!

:Riley: Jesus…where the hell do they come from?

:Stevens: I don’t know, but tonight, Déjà Vu seems to always be in the right place at the right time.

Frost stands straight up into a sea of cheers from the crowd, but, still dazed, he doesn’t see Fasaki release the submission on Kris. Ejiro, who noticed the commotion and was probably aware that he couldn’t get the submission, charges towards Frost.

:Stevens: Frost had better look out!

Frost, as if he could hear Stevens’s warning, turns just as Fasaki is upon him, but in an anticipatory defense, drives his foot forward, right into Fasaki’s gut, doubling him. Frost, quickly and desperately, pushes this half of the tag champs into a standing head scissors, and hooks both his arms.

:Riley: NO!

:Stevens: He’s got it locked in…

Frost leans back and lifts Ejiro up for a powerbomb…

:Stevens: Up ya go…

…and with Fasaki’s arms still hooked, brings him back down…

:Stevens: …and down you go!

WHAM!!

…for a vicious double underhook Powerbomb!!!

:Stevens: Early Winter!! Early Winter on Ejiro Fasaki!!! What a move from Frost!!

The fans go completely nuts, as Frost stands in the center of the ring, gazing upon his destruction. Suddenly, in a strange turn that draws huge cheers from the crowd, the usually stern Frost jumps in the air and pumps his fist.

:Stevens: I think that’s the first time I’ve seen Frost happy in the ring!

Unfortunately, his celebration, much like those of the tag partners, gets him in trouble. Frost has his back to the corner, which is just the opportunity the former world champion needs. Magnifico, recovered from his Gore, bursts out of the corner towards the celebrating Frost…

:Stevens: Frost, look out!

Frost doesn’t hear the warnings from Stevens or the fans, as ELM draws nearer…

:Stevens: DÉJÀ VU!!!

…but out of no where comes Kross, who leaves a battered Judge, and quickly steps in front of the running ELM. Magnifico can’t stop at this point, and he is quickly lifted into the air, and turned for a Spinebuster. Then, from the depths of nowhere, Kris, hurt shoulder and all, comes bouncing off the side ropes, and grabs ELM around the neck on the way down…

WHAM!!!

:Stevens: They got it, Bobby! They got it!

:Riley: Yeah, and they saved Frost’s ass!! And what the hell is the ref doing?

:Stevens: Yeah, he seems to have given up trying to restore any order to this match.

Frost turns around to see the end of Déjà Vu’s favorite move, and a huge grin comes across his face. The twins look at each other as they get up, and they too grin before looking at Frost.

“Go ahead…do it!”

The boys excitedly jump to their feet after the approval of a more lighthearted Frost, and they run over to the near left and right turnbuckles. Kris, heavily favoring his shoulder, jumps up to the turnbuckle, followed by Kross onto his turnbuckle.

:Stevens: Frost has given approval, and they’re going to do it!! This will be huge!

Frost watches with his hand on his chin, seemingly in deep thought.

“Awww, f**k it!”

Frost smiles hard, and heads over to the near left corner, from where Kross leaps into the air. Through many a flash bulb, the twin tucks and untucks his body…

WHAM!

…before landing atop ELM…

THUD!

…which is then followed closely by Kris landing on top of Kross on top of ELM!!

:Stevens: Déjà Vu!! Déjà Vu!! They hit it!! It’s over! All Frost has to do is make the cover…wait…NO!! He isn’t!! No way!!

:Riley: Now…I’ve seen everything!

The deafening roar heard all over the arena is the sound of thousands of fans cheering as the Frost stands tall on top of the top turnbuckle!!

:Riley: There’s no way he’s going to do this!!

:Stevens: I think he will!!

With Kris and Kross still on top of the lifeless Magnifico, Frost pumps one fist in the air, and to the delight of everyone with a camera, takes flight!

:Stevens: There he goes!!

The big man sails like a swan across the ring, tucking his body in and then untucking, and sails towards the heap in the middle of the ring. Frost reaches the apex of his uncharacteristic jump, and then descends…

down…

THUD!!!

…right on top of Kris…on top of Kross…and most importantly, on top of El Luchadore Magnifico!

:Stevens: Holy mother of Jesus!!

:Riley: I…Wha…E…HOLY SHIT!

Frost, more or less uninjured from the splash gets off the pile, while underneath, no one seems to move. Hardcastle is dumbfounded, as even he can’t believe what he just saw!

:Stevens: That’s like 270 pounds flying like that! And right on top of Déjà Vu!

:Riley: What about Magnifico on the bottom of all that!

Frost pulls each twin off the pile, one by one, leaving a flattened El Luchadore underneath. Frost drops down to his exhausted knees, and then hooks the leg for the cover, while Kris and Kross writhe in pain!

:Stevens: Yeah, Magnifico must be…Wait! Frost with the cover…it’s all over!

ONE!

TWO!

:Riley: Even I know that there is no way in hell that Magnifico can kick out of this.

:Stevens: But here comes Judge Mental!

The Judge crawls over as fast as his mangled body will move him…

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

…but he crawls past Kris and Kross, who have just enough energy to grab him by the ankles, preventing him from reaching Frost and Magnifico.

DING DING DING

:Stevens: They did it! It’s over!! Frost and Déjà Vu have defeated Magnifico and Justice & Rule!

Frost hears the bell and immediately leaps back to his feet and starts to pump his fist in exaltation! The fans in the arena are going nuts, as Frost goes to each turnbuckle, climbs to the second rope and pumps his fist to the crowd!

:Funyon: Your winners…the team of FROOOOOSSSSSTTTT AND DEEEEEEYYYYYJJJJJAAAAA VUUUUUUUUU!!!

“Aw Naw”, the remix, by Nappy Roots hits the speakers and Frost is still celebrating in the ring. He moves over to Kris and Kross and tries to get them up to join the celebration, but they both get to a knee and fall back down. The Judge lays on the mat with his face in his hands, while Ejiro remains motionless and ELM looks to be dead.

:Stevens: Can you believe this?? What a match, with Frost and Déjà Vu coming out on top. And poor Magnifico…he’s gotta be broken in half! He definitely has some internal bleeding, and I just hope he gets to a hospital!

:Riley: This is a sad, sad day…when two walking accidents and a joke of a wrestler can defeat the best we have to offer…it’s just a sad day for this federation.

Frost finally gets Kris and Kross to their feet, and helps them out of the ring. The trio backs up the ramp, with Frost helping to keep the twins on their feet…

“Dude…did we win?”

“Yeah guys, we won! We SOOOO rocked the house!!”

Kris and Kross both look at Frost in astonishment from his statement, and then reply in unicen…

“Hell yeah we did!”

The fans are cheering their heads off, and the trio disappears to the back, leaving Justice and Rule to tend to Magnifico, who will probably need corrective surgery.

:Stevens: What a matchup! We’ve got more to come! Stay with us!

April 5, 2003

Sweaty and breathing hard, the team of Frost and Déjà vu limp through the backstage area post match. The twin brothers prattle on in their usual style, while Frost listens to their boasting with an aloof grin.

“We are so going to kick Justice and Drool’s asses for the tag titles now!” Kris screams.

“You better believe it, brah!” Kross replies. “We’re going to take the whole Magnificent 7 DOWN! Right Frost!”

After a moment of silence, the brother notice that they have come to Frost’s dressing room and he has disappeared inside without a word.

“How do you like that, brah?” Kris says dejected. “I thought we really got Frosty the Snowman to come around in the match and he takes off without saying a word?”

“Oh, man, brah, that is uber uncool.” Kross exclaims.

Frost then remerges from his dressing room with two Frost Brand cigars in hand. He holds them out to the brothers. “I don’t know if you guys smoke…”

Kross cuts him off. “Oh, brah, we are party, cigars are party. That is awesome of you.” Kris and Kross take their smokes and Frost lights them with a long wooden kitchen match from a box in his other hand.

“These are tight, Frosty.” Kris lovingly extols and takes a deep puff.

“And they smell better than your bourbon.” Kris elbows Kross for that remark, but Frost just laughs.

“You guys did good out there. It was …” Frost trails off as her searches for a word and surprises himself when he hits upon “fun.”

“Damn straight it was fun.” Kris says with a wild gesture of his cigar. “Wrestling is a party, brah, and we’re all about parties.”

“Brah!” Kross screams like he just had the greatest idea in the history of man. “Frost you should come party with us, man.”

“Brah, that’s is genius!” Kris confirms. “We’ve got booze and broads back in our room man. We’re going to hit some clubs later, because we always know where the clubs are, come with us.”

Frost ponders the offer for a moment while staring at a ceiling. He gives a ‘why not’ shrug of his shoulders and says, “Bitchin’”

“Bitchin’” the twin repeat in unison.

“Let me clean up, I’ll be down in ten.” Frost waves and goes back to his dressing room.

The brothers dance down the hall toward their own locker room.

“I told King we could get Frost to lighten up.” Kris punches his brother playfully in the shoulder.

Kross returns fire. “No doubt, brah, we are party, Frost is party and tonight we’re all gonna’ party.” They boogie down the hall as the scene fades to black.

April 5, 2003

- TALE OF THE TAPE -

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher

Height: 5' 10"

Weight: 213 lbs.

Finishing Move: Boilermaker, Ego Trip

Career Accomplishments:

- Former SWF Tag Team Champion (w/ Frost)

- Former SWF ICTV Champion (Hold Record For Longest Reign)

- Former SWF Light-Heavyweight Champion

- Former 3-Time SWF United States Champion

- Winner Of Two Genesis Awards

- Leader of Magnificent Seven

- Allegedly Under Hall Of Fame Contention

***

"TNT" Taylor Nicholas Thompson

Height: 6' 6"

Weight: 264 lbs.

Finishing Move: Mushroom Cloud

Career Accomplishments:

- Current SWF World Heavyweight Champion

- Former SWF U.S. Champion

- Former SWF Tag Team Champion

- Longest Reigning SJL TV Champion

- Winner of 2003 Clusterfuck

April 5, 2003

The Charlotte Coliseum lights up as SWF Storm returns from a commercial break featuring Johnny Dangerous shilling Tuxedo Junction formalwear rentals. (“Stop in and see us at any of our six local, top-secret locations! Where are we? I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you!”) The camera pans over the crowd (showing signs such as “Custard & Tool” and “I’m Here To See Déjà Vu Again!”) as “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens bellows, “Welcome back to SWF Storm!” The fans are on their feet cheering, already whipped into a frenzy by the evening’s action and ready for their main event.

“Oh, MAN,” grins Bobby Riley. “Tonight’s the night I’ve been waiting for ever since they rehired me… following the, uh, unpleasantness.”

Stevens raises an eyebrow. “The unpleasantness involving the camera in Pimp Daddy Sarp’s shower room?”

“Er… yes, that unpleasantness.” Riley coughs uncomfortably. “Ahem… In any event, tonight is the night that a year of focused training, grooming and gratuitous self-promotion come to a head. Tonight, my friends, is the night that Tom Flesher becomes your SWF World Heavyweight Champion!”

“I’d say that’s a little premature. After all, he’s got to go through the current champion, Taylor Thompson, to do it, and let me tell you, TNT is willing to do ANYTHING to protect his World Title.”

“Pfft. Flesher and TNT have met twice in the past year, and Flesher’s won two of those matches. The other one shouldn’t even count as a win for TNT, because it wasn’t a WRESTLING match. It was a LADDER match, which basically amounts to it being a minor crime spree.”7

Stevens sighs, “Not this again.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mark. Because Tom Flesher has it all over TNT, and tonight, he’s going to show the world just what a true champion is.”

“That remains to be seen… so let’s go to Funyon!”

Funyon announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following no-interference match is the main event for this evening, and it is for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!!!” The fans pop for the announcement, and in the background, the SmarkTron lights up to a gleaming white. The words “SUPERIORITY COMPLEX” and “MAGNIFICENT SEVEN” appear on it as Funyon announces, “The challenger….”

BOOM!

With an explosion of blue pyro and smoke, “Kashmir” begins to ring out over the speakers of the Coliseum. After a moment, “the Superior One” Tom Flesher steps through the curtain in his trademark blue warmup suit and Doc Martens. He pauses on the stage, surveying the crowd for a moment before continuing down the ramp. With his gaze focused on the ring, he ignores the crowd completely as he climbs up the steps. He wipes his boots on the ring apron, then enters the ring just in time to get to the center for the symphonic hook. Blue and white pyro explodes from each of the corners, and Flesher throws his arms into the air to set himself in sharp silhouette against the fireworks. After the display, the music fades, and Funyon begins the customary overblown index-card introduction.

“Tonight,” he says, “this man is the challenger, but not through any fault of his own. No, despite the fact that he’s beaten the so-called champion on two nonconsecutive occasions, despite the fact that he’s more talented and good-looking than the so-called champion, and despite the fact that he’s clearly superior, the World Title has eluded him… until tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your NEXT SWF World Heavyweight Champion, ‘THE SUPERIOR ONE’ TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!”

The crowd boos loudly as Flesher stands smirking. He applauds himself, trying to goad the crowd into joining in, when suddenly he’s interrupted by a loud power chord roaring over the speakers. The crowd immediately begins cheering, many fans rising to their feet in anticipation. The chords continue, and the fans chant along with the OI! OI! OI! background of “TNT.” They continue cheering, but TNT doesn’t appear… until…

WATCH ME EXPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODE!!!!!

The crowd, simply put, does exactly that.

TNT steps through the curtain with the SWF World Title belt wrapped around his waist. He stares at the ring, taking only a second to acknowledge the fans. He strides intently to the ring, and when he gets there, he mounts the nearest turnbuckle and thrusts his arm into the air. The fans pop once more as he steps down, removing his belt.

“And his opponent, from Anaheim, California, and weighing in at 266 pounds… he is YOUR SWF WORLD CHAMPION, he is TAYLOR… NICHOLAS… THOMPSON… T… N…. T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

TNT hands the belt off to senior referee Mark Hebner, then goes back to his corner to shake out the last few kinks in his muscles. Flesher, meanwhile, is finishing up his usual stretch, and as soon as both men are ready, Hebner calls for the bell.

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

TNT and Flesher both walk to the center of the ring. Once their eyes meet, they stay fixed on each other, neither man’s gaze wavering. They meet, chest to chest, nose to nose, and TNT looks down while Flesher angles his neck up.

“You could cut the tension with a knife!” says Mark Stevens. “Ever since last week, when Flesher won the #1 contender spot, these two have thought of nothing other than this match! With Tom Flesher’s Magnificent Seven out of the picture…”

“And that no-good bastard Frost!”

“As I was saying,” continues Stevens, “the odds are even now, and Taylor Thompson looks to legitimize his title reign in the eyes of the critics with a win over Tom Flesher.”

“Well, yeah, I’m sure it’d be nice for him… but it’s not gonna happen.”

The tension in the ring mounts… until finally, one man can stand it no more.

SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flesher unloads a huge bitchslap across Thompson’s face, sending a loud cracking sound echoing through the Coliseum. TNT turns away, caught by surprise, and Flesher takes another step forward. He crowds TNT in, and then winds up to slap him once again, just as hard.

SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This time, when Flesher pulls his hand back, TNT has a visible red handprint across his cheek. The World Champion’s eyes narrow at the balls Flesher shows, and he responds the only way he can.

CRACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TNT unloads an absolutely sickening right hand into Flesher’s face! The Superior One staggers backwards two steps and then falls clumsily to the mat grabbing his face. The crowd pops for TNT like a cherry on prom night, and as the World Champion grins slightly to acknowledge the crowd, Flesher starts back up to his feet.

“Wow!” says Stevens, in absolute awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone hit that hard before! Tom Flesher’s in trouble now!”

“That was an illegal closed fist!” says Riley. “Come on, Hebner, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

Flesher stands up, but TNT clobbers him with a solid forearm to the chest and he stumbles backwards again! Relentlessly, TNT hammers him with forearm after forearm until he backs Tom all the way against the ropes! Flesher tries desperately to beg off, and Mark Hebner interjexts himself to back TNT away… but before he can, TNT cracks Flesher with another right hand that nearly sends him over the top rope! Flesher starts forward to mount some kind of offense, but before he can, TNT grabs him by the wrist and sends him slamming into the near corner… then charges in and levels him with a lariat! The impact lifts Flesher off the mat, and as he collapses back down, TNT backs away to thundering cheers from the Charlotte crowd.

“Unbelievable!” Mark Stevens says in disbelief. “TNT is just rolling right over Flesher!”

“Ah, shove it, you damn hippie.” Riley is obviously a little off his game due to Flesher getting caught so early. “Tom’s gonna come back stronger than ever and make TNT wish he’d never lit his own damn fuse.”

Once Hebner gets TNT out of the way, Flesher finally has a moment to regain his senses. He pauses in the corner, looking like an old man trying to remember where his next errand is. He starts out of the corner, but TNT charges in, ready for another battle! Flesher quickly ducks to the side, sticking his upper body out of the ring between the top and middle ropes. The fans boo at Flesher’s cowardice, but TNT gets ushered out of the corner regardless. Flesher cautiously watches to make sure he has enough space, then leans back in. He cracks his neck, just stalling for time again, and finally starts stepping toward the center. Once he finally gets there, TNT quickly reaches in and locks up with him…. or tries to, anyway. Flesher immediately ducks back, looking at the referee and motioning, “It’s not my style.” TNT shrugs, obviously put off by Flesher’s early stalling to avoid being struck into submission. Flesher shakes his limbs out, looks at the crowd for a few seconds, and then looks up at the SmarkTron before he finally feels ready to fall into his stance just right and step forward into the lock up.

… ostensibly. Once again, Flesher ducks out just before TNT can get a grip, this time looking at the referee and simply shrugging. This time, Thompson turns to Hebner and says, “What can I do to him if he won’t lock up?!” Hebner tries to reason with the World Champion, but Flesher breaks up their meeting with a kick to the crotch! TNT doubles over and Flesher immediately spins around, and grabs TNT by the head. It takes Hebner a second to figure out what happened, but by the time he has it figured out, Flesher’s already got TNT in his vise-like side headlock! Hebner starts to scold Flesher, but the Superior One continues squeezing TNT’s neck as hard as he possibly can. Hebner asks him what happened, and Flesher simply shrugs.

“If that’s not cheating, Bobby, I don’t know what is,” says Mark in a tone that’s half angry, half disappointed. “Not only did he try to get an illegal advantage, but after he got it, he denied it straight-faced to our senior referee!”

“Come on, Stevens,” sighs Riley. “You were in the ring for a couple of weeks, right? You know how these things work. Sometimes you’re losing a match you should be winning and it’s because the ref won’t give you the calls you deserve. Sometimes you just have to take it into your own hands, and that’s what Flesher’s doing. He’s just taking what’s rightfully his.”

Flesher keeps the headlock on, wrenching TNT’s neck. TNT tries to shoot him forward to the ropes, but Flesher keeps his Docs planted firmly on the mat. With a condescending smirk, Flesher reaches down, tightens the headlock once more and simply keeps TNT in the hold. Taylor reaches around, locks his hands around Flesher’s waist, and tries to send him to the ropes again… but once again, Flesher keeps his feet planted and isn’t going anywhere. The crowd begins to boo, and after a moment, the Superior One decides to give them what they paid for. He tightens the headlock and rolls to the side, slamming TNT onto his back with a side headlock takeover! Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

but before he can get any further, TNT rolls to the side, stacking Flesher onto his own shoulders! The referee counts

ONE!

before Flesher manages to get a shoulder up. He tightens the headlock again and follows the roll through once more, putting the World Champion onto his back again for

ONE!

but TNT counters the same way again! This time, though, Flesher rolls all the way through into a seated position. He works the headlock, trying to grind TNT’s neck down. TNT, though, waits for a few seconds on his stomach, then pulls Flesher back and locks his hands. Once the challenger is lulled into a false sense of security, TNT stands up and lifts him into the air, then turns him toward the center and slams him down onto his knee! Flesher goes wobbling forward, staggering and stumbling into the ropes as the fans cheer.

“Atomic drop!” says Stevens. “TNT just crushes Flesher’s spine!”

“Eh, he got lucky,” grumbles Riley.

Flesher stumbles back off the ropes and TNT grabs his wrist. The World Champion starts an Irish whip, but Flesher reverses the momentum and sends him crashing into the turnbuckle! He charges in, not wasting a second, and slams into TNT with a freight-train avalanche! With the wind knocked out of TNT, Flesher hits him with a quick palm strike… and then lifts him to the top rope.

“This is genius!” says Riley, grinning from ear to ear. “There’s no way TNT can kick out of the Boilermaker!”

“It’s a little early to be trying to finish the match, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s Tom Flesher we’re talking about! He can do whatever he wants!”

Flesher climbs up the ropes, stopping at each turnbuckle to whack TNT with another shotei. Once he gets to the top, he grabs Taylor in a front facelock. Flesher pauses to look out at the crowd, a huge grin on his face, and then starts his lift. Before he gets TNT up, though, the World Champion shoves him off the turnbuckle! Stevens says, “He tried too early and he got bitten!” as Flesher gets back to his feet. TNT stands on the top rope, and as soon as Flesher stands up, he leaps off the top and nails him in the face with a flying forearm! Tom collapses, and TNT goes for the cover while Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!! The Superior One gets his shoulder up early, and then rolls to his stomach. Taylor Thompson stays with him, slamming an elbow into his back just for good measure. Flesher arches up in pain, and TNT grabs him in a gutwrench lift. He stands up, swings Flesher into the air and sends him crashing across his knee with a vicious pendulum backbreaker! Tom screams out loud as TNT lets him fall to the mat. The World Champion stands up, looks down at Flesher, and then lets loose with a sickeningly stiff combat boot to the lower back! The crowd cheers him on, and he kicks Flesher again!

“Did you see that?” shouts Riley. “What kind of champion is that, kicking a man when he’s down? That’s the most dishonorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration…”

“Flesher’s got a bad back! Everyone knows that! It’s dishonorable, ungentlemanly and downright cruel to keep attacking it!” Riley grasps for straws, trying desperately to find some grounds on which he can condemn Taylor Thompson.

“But it’s okay for Tom Flesher to try to dislocate someone’s knee just to win a meaningless match every week?”

Riley sighs, “YES! I’m glad SOMEONE FINALLY agrees with me!”

Flesher starts to push his way back to his feet, but before he can, TNT drops down and grabs him in a front facelock. He yanks Flesher up, then arches over and slams him to the mat with a snap suplex! The THUD echoes through the Coliseum as TNT rolls through, looking for a second snap suplex. Flesher winces as he gets pulled to his feet, and TNT lifts him again. This time, though, Tom grapevines the leg to block the suplex. Thompson tries to lift him again, but Flesher pulls his head down and rolls to the side with a small package! TNT flails, trying to escape, as Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!!!!!!!! TNT breaks the inside cradle and rolls away as the fans applaud the World Champion avoiding the loss once again. TNT is disoriented, though, and stops on his knees. Flesher jumps up without missing a beat and nails him with a dropkick to the face! TNT reels backwards, and Flesher gets back to his feet. As Thompson tries to get his balance back, Flesher grabs him by the arm and leans back, scissoring the head and locking on a triangle choke! The fans begin to boo loudly as Flesher tries to squeeze the life out of his opponent. Flesher lays back, tightening the triangle choke and trying to strangle TNT into tapping out or passing out.

"And here," says Mark Stevens, "Tom Flesher is using his leg strength to cut off the blood flow to TNT's brain to try to make him pass out!"

"You know, Stevens, I'm very surprised by that. It's so rare that Flesher makes a tactical error, much less one that obvious."

Stevens sighs. "And Bobby, what tactical error would that be? It seems like a perfectly logical move to me."

"Well, for it to work, TNT would have to have a brain. As it is, all Flesher's accomplishing is fatigue."

TNT flails, reaching out with an arm to try to grab at the ropes, but is completely out of position and can't reach. Flesher keeps straining, trying to keep the lock as tight as he possibly can. He pulls TNT's arm out and sinks his scissors grip in even deeper, strengthening the grip around TNT's neck. TNT struggles even more.

"And TNT is in trouble," gloats Bobby Riley. "Man, he should just tap out right now and go home. Everyone in this arena knows that he's going down. All he's doing is delaying the inevitable, Stevens."

"Oh, come on! Taylor Thompson is one of the most consistently overlooked competitors in the SWF today. He's beaten El Luchadore Magnifico, he's won the Clusterf*ck, and yes, he's beaten Tom Flesher! I can't believe you won't take him seriously!"

"Well, why would I take him seriously when he's just a pumped-up jobber with bad hair?"

"I swear, Riley...." Stevens is left speechless by Riley's refusal to see TNT as a competitor.

Of course, it's difficult to take TNT seriously when he's getting the life squeezed out of him by a Tom Flesher triangle choke. The World Champion struggles to get loose, this time trying to hook a boot over the bottom rope. Flesher sees this and tries to scoot toward the center of the mat, but TNT is just too heavy for Flesher to get enough leverage to do so. Thompson gets a foot on the rope, and Mark Hebner administers a five-count.

ONE! Flesher holds up one finger.

TWO! Flesher nods, counting along.

THREE! Hebner, looking annoyed, orders Flesher to break the hold. Flesher simply holds up three fingers.

FOUR! Flesher looks up, smirking and holding four fingers up. By this time, Hebner realizes that Flesher isn't going to break the hold on his own volition, and so he bends down and physically starts to uncross Flesher's legs. Flesher keeps the hold on as best he can until Hebner manages to break it and begins admonishing him. TNT, meanwhile, is almost completely unconscious.

"This is ludicrous!" says Stevens. "I can't believe Mark Hebner allowed that to go on! He should have thrown Flesher right out of the match!"

"Come on, Stevens. Haven't you ever heard of using passive resistance to protest things that are unjust?"

"Passiv- passive....! I can't believe you're comparing Tom Flesher to Mahatma Gandhi!"

"My hot mom what now?"

Stevens sighs. "I don't know why I even try anymore."

"Neither do I, especially since you'll never outclass me."

Flesher holds up his hands, begging off of the harassment by Mark Hebner. Hebner turns a deep red, shouting at Flesher over and over again that he can't keep violating the rules. Flesher merely holds up a hand and says, "Excuse me one moment, please." Hebner looks confused, and Flesher walks over to TNT just as he's starting to get to his knees. Flesher boots him stiffly in the jaw, then walks back over to Hebner and says, "Sorry about that."

"Do you believe the gall?!" fumes the Heavy Hitter. "This is just shameless!"

"I know! Mark Hebner is grossly overstepping his bounds! It's- it's- it's unconstitutional, dammit!"

Tom Flesher dusts his hands off happily and accepts Mark Hebner's temper tantrum with gentle good humor. When it looks like the tirade is over, he pats the official gently on the head, says, "You did a GOOD job!" and swaggers away. The referee, dumbfounded, has no reaction as Flesher grabs the dazed TNT by the arm and pulls him to his feet. TNT doesn't fight back as Flesher whips him to the ropes, and on the rebound, nails him with a stepping shotei! TNT collapses to the mat as Bobby Riley shouts, "BITCHSLAPPAH~!"

Flesher then steps onto TNT, planting one foot firmly on his chest and flexing his biceps in what looks to be the most arrogant arrogant cover ever. Mark Stevens murmurs, "Nonchalant pin..." as Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT with AUTHORITY!!!!!!!!!!

"There's just no way you're going to put Taylor Nicholas Thompson down to a simple palm strike," says Stevens.

"It's not just any palm strike," says Riley condescendingly. "It's a shotei, and not just that, it's a shotei by Tom Flesher. Hell, that would have put Strangler Lewis down for the count."

Nevertheless, the World Champion kicks out and sits up. Flesher tries to put him back down with a hard boot to the chest, but TNT absorbs the impact and sits up again. Flesher tries another kick to the sternum, but this time TNT catches the leg. He stands up, and acting on instinct, falls to the side to take Flesher down with a dragon screw! Flesher spills to the mat, and Thompson keeps the leg to roll through into a half Boston crab! The fans cheer at Flesher getting a taste of his own medicine, and Mark Hebner immediately drops down to ask Flesher if he wants to quit.

"NO!" screams Flesher, despite the obvious strain on his back. He starts to crawl toward the ropes, and TNT, still not quite there mentally and inexperienced with higher-level submission work, fails to keep him in the center. Hebner asks again, but again, Flesher shouts "NO!!!!!!!!!" With that, he reaches out... and misses the bottom rope by mere inches! The crowd pops as Flesher's face falls, knowing he'll have to use his sore back to pull his weight AND all of TNT's to the ropes if he doesn't want to give in.

"And TNT's just having a field day," says Stevens. "He's getting a nice, long breather to let the blood start pumping again, he's putting Flesher in absolute agony, and he's getting a chance to plan out his next attack. You know Flesher can't be strategizing very much."

"He doesn't need to," says Riley, as if justifying the spot Flesher is in. "Flesher never goes in there without a plan and sixteen backups, just in case of sixteen terrible mishaps."

"How many of those involve kicking TNT in the crotch?"

"Pfft. Like I'd tell you."

Flesher crawls toward the ropes, struggling against TNT’s weight and his sore back. TNT takes a step forward, trying to keep his Tom away from the ropes… but Tom stretches as far as he can, and manages to grab the bottom rope! Disappointed, the crowd boos as TNT dutifully breaks the hold and gives Flesher time to get back to his feet. Flesher grabs the ropes and pulls himself to his feet. He looks up, and out of nowhere comes TNT! He hammers Flesher across the chest with a clothesline so stiff that both men go tumbling over the top rope and to the floor! The fans burst into a “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” chant as Flesher lays on the concrete, dazed, and TNT pulls himself to his feet using the apron. He rolls in and watches as Flesher starts to his feet. Then, with another glance to the crowd, he sprints to the opposite side of the ring.

“Here it comes!” says Mark Stevens. “I still can’t believe this!”

Thompson bounces off the ropes and charges toward Flesher. He jumps and sails over the top, crashing down onto Flesher! The fans cheer for it as Mark Stevens shouts, “TOPE CON HILO!!!!!!! Just amazing!”

Taylor Thompson stands up and dusts himself off, a small smile across his face as he listens to all of Charlotte cheering him on. He looks down at Flesher…. Up at the crowd…. Down at the prick…. Up at the fans… and knows exactly what he’s going to do.

He reaches down and yanks Flesher to his feet, then clobbers him with a back fist to the right eye just to stun him. He bends Flesher over into a standing headscissors, and the crowd’s cheering reaches a fever pitch.

“Oh my god!” says Mark Stevens. “He’s going to hit the Mushroom Cloud on the concrete!”

“Jesus Christ, you don’t really think he’d do that, do you?”

“It’s what the fans want to see! TNT’s the type that’ll do anything to get the win for the crowd!”

Thompson bends down to lock his hands for the sit-out power bomb, but he can’t get Flesher up! Flesher struggles, staying low and trying to sink to the concrete to avoid the homicidal power bomb! TNT makes one more valiant effort to finish the move, but Flesher picks his ankle and takes him down with a desperation single-leg takedown! Wanting to stay as far as possible from the concrete, he skitters into the ring. TNT follows a few seconds later, but Flesher isn’t oriented enough to attack him. Instead, they just meet in the center of the ring, both men fatigued but unwilling to give up.

They stare at each other, just as they did at the beginning of the match… and just like at the beginning of the match, Tom Flesher breaks the silence.

SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

He lands a huge, sloppy bitchslap across TNT’s face. This time, TNT doesn’t back off. He takes a step back, and then slams into Flesher with a vicious Burning Lariat! Flesher falls to the mat like a skyscraper imploding, and TNT drops onto him with an elbow smash. He starts to cover Flesher, but opts instead to lift him back to his feet. He winds up, then cracks the challenger over the head with a bionic elbow! The Superior One collapses again, and TNT covers him for

ONE!

TWO!

NO!!!!!! Flesher gets a shoulder up, but TNT stays on him and hits him with a forearm smash to the temple! Flesher’s eyes practically roll back into his head as Taylor Thompson covers him once again, this time grinding his forearm across the bridge of Flesher’s nose. Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- NO!!!!!!!!! Flesher makes a weak kickout, but kicks out nonetheless. TNT, looking distraught, lifts Flesher to his feet and whips him into the corner. He charges in, ready to lariat him against the turnbuckles again, but this time Flesher gets his boot up and steps forward to nail TNT in the mouth with a Yakuza kick! The World Champion stumbles backwards, and Flesher steps up with a palm strike to take control.

“Tom Flesher’s getting his second wind!” says a gleeful Bobby Riley. “This is great! I sure hope we’re taping this.”

Riley, apparently, missed that day of commentator training.

Flesher steps in, whacking TNT across the chest with a downward knife-edge chop!

SMACK!!!! (WHOO!)

He nails another one…

SMACK!!!! (WHOO!)

And one more…

SMACK!!!! (WHOO!)

before capping off the sequence with a stepping palm strike that puts TNT flat on his back. Flesher drops onto him, hooking the leg for

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!!!!!!

NO! TNT kicks out!!!!! The fans burst into cheers as the World Champion breaks up the pin, sitting up and grabbing at Flesher’s arm to keep him from covering again.

“And the palm strike nearly does it,” says Stevens, sounding almost frantic. “The way these two are fighting, anything, even a simple strike like the shotei, can put you down!”

Thompson gets to his feet, then whips Flesher to the ropes. As Tom rebounds, TNT steps in and belts him with a sickening Burning Lariat that sends him crashing to the mat! Flesher collapses, flat on his back, and TNT covers him for…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!!!!

NO! Flesher just barely gets a shoulder up! TNT, absolutely stunned by Flesher’s ability to take a beating, lifts the 213-pound shooter to his feet. A quick pivot later, he sends the challenger into the corner. He moves in more cautiously this time, not leaving himself open for another deadly Yakuza kick. Instead, he steps in and begins leveling Flesher with sledgehammer-like fists to the head, chest and shoulders. Flesher looks up through the beating, trying to defend himself, but TNT’s strength is just too much for him. Tom leans back, putting a guard up and trying just to deflect as many of the blows as he can.

“Unbelievable!” says Stevens. “TNT is beating Flesher down! Look at how hard he’s hitting!”

As if on cue, TNT stops the assault for just a half second, giving Flesher time to swing one hand up and nail a lucky palm strike to the side of the jaw. TNT is stunned for a moment, just long enough for Flesher to regroup, focus, and send an earth-shaking shotei right into TNT’s chin! The World Champion staggers backwards as Flesher steps in and comes down across his chest with another chop!

SMACK!!!! (WHOO!)

Stunned but dedicated, TNT fights back with a hard right hand! The two fight back and forth, exchanging blows so stiff that the whole crowd winces.

“Jesus, they’re just beating the hell out of each other!” gasps Stevens.

“Yeah,” agrees Riley numbly, “Even the crowd’s going home bruised tonight.”

TNT staggers Flesher with one more right hand, then instinctively spins backwards. Flesher doesn’t even see it coming, but TNT batters him with a nauseatingly hard-hitting spinning back fist! Flesher staggers backwards, collapsing nearly to the mat with only the ropes holding him up. Despite the welts rising on his chest, TNT walks over to him and whips him to the ropes one more time. Flesher rebounds, and TNT catches him with a Railgun suplex! The THUD echoes through the arena, and Flesher doesn’t move. TNT, though, doesn’t cover. He steps back, leans forward and waits.

“What the hell is he doing?” asks Riley. “Why doesn’t he just cover him so Tom can kick out and win the match?!”

“He doesn’t want to win off the uraken!” says Stevens. “He wants to do it with something memorable… the Power Nitro Driver!”

The fans cheer their hero, the World Champion, Taylor Nicholas Thomas, as he waits for Tom Flesher to get back to his feet. Flesher does so slowly, unaware that the world is waiting for him. Dazed, he gets up, then turns toward TNT. The World Champion grabs him, and Flesher’s eyes open wide. He knows what’s coming.

He also knows he can’t do a damn thing about it.

TNT locks him up for the STO. The crowd cheers, whipped into an absolute frenzy. TNT kicks his leg up, then swings it down sharply as he lifts Flesher and slams him almost THROUGH the mat with the Power Nitro Driver! He lands on his neck and shoulders, and as the crowd noise reaches deafening levels, TNT covers him for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!!!!

NO! SHOULDER UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“OH MY GOD!” screams Stevens, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Tom Flesher kicks out of the Power Nitro Driver!”

“INCONCEIVABLE!” shouts Riley, in spite of himself.

“I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

Looking up in disbelief, TNT stops. He’s not sure where to go from here, and even though Flesher breathes shallowly with a grotesque purplish bruise taking shape where Thompson hit the uraken, he doesn’t know what to do next. His mind is blank. With no other course of action, he locks on a front facelock and lifts Flesher to his feet.

“… I’m just speechless,” says Stevens. “And it looks like TNT’s going to try to soften him up with a few more snap suplexes.”

“Jesus,” murmurs Riley.

TNT starts to arch, but Flesher grapevines once again to block the move. Acting purely on instinct, he ducks under, spins behind and slams TNT to the mat with an out-of-nowhere backdrop driver! He catches the Champion so off-guard that Thompson rolls all the way over onto his stomach, holding his neck numbly as Riley shouts, “BACKDROPPAH~!” Flesher crawls over, grabbing him by the tights and weakly rolling TNT to his back. Mark Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

THREE- SHOULDER UP!!!!!!!

“No, TNT’s not going down that easily,” says Stevens. “It was a sick backdrop, but TNT’s too resilient for that.”

“Still, you’ve gotta admire Flesher’s guts, in addition to his build, his charm and his boyish good-”

As Riley says that, Flesher looks up at the camera. His bruise is now a nauseating black eye, swelling disgustingly. He looks around, disoriented, and the fans wince at it.

TNT, meanwhile, sits up, shaking off the backdrop driver. Flesher tries to catch a quick breather, but TNT acts fast, suckering him in the jaw with a straight right hand! Flesher falls backwards, and TNT, his chest heaving, gets back to his feet. He knows that if he’s going to retain, he has to do it now.

He has to finish the job.

TNT grabs Flesher and, rather than whipping him, carries him all the way over to the corner and sets him on the top rope. He pauses to breathe and look up at Flesher’s grotesquely bruised eye. Then, he starts to climb.

“This is what he’s wanted for months!” says Stevens. “This is it! He’s going to get Tom Flesher, and he’s gonna do it with the Boilermaker!”

Riley merely murmurs an expletive.

TNT gets on the bottom turnbuckle, but Flesher shoves him away. TNT comes in closer, but the Superior One reaches down and clobbers him with a shotei to the temple, and immediately follows it up with an unforgiving kick to the throat! TNT sputters and coughs, giving Flesher just enough time to grab him by the dreadlocks and spin him around to face the center.

Riley gasps.

Stevens is silent.

The crowd doesn’t know what to do.

Flesher sure does.

He plants his knee into the back of TNT’s head, holding on to the dreadlocks for leverage. He leaps off the top rope, seeming to go in slow motion as he arcs through the air.

The Ego Trip…

Desperation….

Destiny.

He lands hard on top of TNT, slamming the Champion face first into the mat. Flesher tucks as he comes down, rolling over with the momentum. Taylor Thompson just lays face-down.

Flesher crawls over, rolling TNT to his back and looking with his one good eye up at Mark Hebner. The senior official drops to the mat and counts….

ONE!

TWO!!!!!!!

THREE!!!!!!!

No shoulder up. No rope break. No kickout.

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

Flesher looks up, wide-eyed, at Mark Hebner. He’s absolutely dumbfounded. His jaw hangs open as he looks down at the fallen World Champion.

… fallen former World Champion.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “Your winner, and NEW SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…. TOOOOOOOOM FLESHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!”

The fans boo as Flesher sits stalled on his knees. Mark Hebner hands him the title belt, and as Flesher finally gets to his feet, an explosion of blue pyro accompanies the opening chords of “Kashmir.”

The crowd isn’t happy. Mark Stevens is utterly dejected. Bobby Riley is as thrilled as a schoolgirl, but one thing is undeniable: The SWF is about to change.

Tom Flesher is your SWF World Champion.

SWF Storm, April 4, 2003

"SWF: Raising Workrate By Writing Faster"

April 5, 2003

A superb show, packed with promos (although I'm still missing a little material). Check this one out, particularly the World Title match, which is a real doozy, folks. Enjoy this show, and get your recap from someone else. I recommend Z. He likes that sort of thing.

SWF STORM!!! (4/4/03)

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