Secret Agent 0 Report post Posted June 3, 2003 Well, Like I said in the subtitle, at least it was Tom Flesher. I spent some time trying to write this, so I was hoping a few people might still read it and give me some feedback. As a side note, Thanks Tammo, I appreaciate the match I did enjoy working with your character, even if I screwed it up. ------------------------------------- Following a brief commercial break, SWF Smarkdown returns, live, to the near capacity Target Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota! After several intense matches that took place earlier in the evening, the crowds excitement level can barely be contained anymore. They stand at their feet cheering wildly, and holding their numerous signs high above their head as the cameras scroll past the rows and rows of people. “Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown!” exclaims “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens, seated at the Commentators table alongside Bobby Riley. “Lockdown went off the air this past Wednesday without a hitch, but apparently, just because the cameras stopped rolling, it didn’t mean the action had to!” “I am still appalled over that whole incident.” says Riley. “I couldn’t believe the gall of Johnny Dangerous to call Tom Flesher yellow after his match against the Boston Strangler.” “That’s all just hearsay, Bobby. Whatever transpired, there has been a tight lip kept on it. One thing we know for sure is, tonight, Johnny Dangerous will be going one on with our World Champion, Tom Flesher!” “I hope he remembered to wear clean underwear to the ring.” says Bobby. “and let this match be a lesson to everyone in the back who has ever even had the THOUGHT of stepping out of line with Tom Flesher!” “As much as it pains me to admit it,” says Mark, “Johnny Dangerous is nowhere near the level of Tom Flesher. However, I don’t think it’s going to be as easy of a ride as you’re assuming, Bobby.” “Please, Mark. This match has total humiliation written all over it. The only thing Johnny can do is hope Tom doesn’t embarrass him so bad that he’ll never be able to show his face around here again.” Just then the house lights dim and a now familiar voice sings out: “JOHNNY DANGEROUS!” “... and here comes the punching bag.” quips Riley, just before the sound of twenty thousand fans cheering with all their might engulfs the arena. The theme to “MI2” thunders out from the speakers as a mix of colorful lights begin to encircle the stage, celebrating the arrival of Johnny Dangerous. As always, Johnny is dressed to kill. Sporting his trendy black suit complete with a tie, perfectly sculpted hair, and a sparkling white smile that gleams when he flashes them pearly whites, the Barracuda strolls down the ramp way and heads for the ring. “Now making his way to the ring,” bellows Funyon, “weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds, and hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada... JOOHHHNNNNY DANGEROUS!!!” Johnny rolls into the ring, and immediately takes flight to the nearest turnbuckle. Mounting it, he throws his arms out to the adoring masses and flashes a smile as hundreds of flash bulbs explode across the arena! “What an idiot.” says Riley, rolling his eyes. “He’s to stupid to even realize what he’s in for, and these crowds cheering for him like a bunch of mindless sheep don‘t help matters much either.” “I think he more than realizes what’s in store for him.” replies Stevens. “I am sure he has heard it from everyone in the locker room that he has no chance, even Wildchild probably told him that. Yet he comes out with an enormous amount of determination, and that, my friend, is why these crowds love him.” “If you ask me, the results of this match are so set in stone they should just skip the whole match part all together and just declare Tom Flesher the winner on namesake alone.” Stevens eyeballs Bobby for a moment then says, “... And just what would that accomplish?” “Well for one thing,” says Riley with a devilish smile. “Tom couldn’t use the excuse ‘I’m too tired to go out for drinks’.” Suddenly, a blinding white void fills the SmarktronÔ as the words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" burn across the screen, immediately igniting a hate fueled surge of boos! Then... BOOOM!! An explosion of blue pyrotechnics rockets towards the stratosphere as “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin roars out from the speakers, leaving behind a smoky haze in it’s wake. A haze that provides cover for Tom Flesher until he finally cuts through the thick cloud, gracing Minneapolis with his mere presence. Taking each and every step in stride, Flesher makes his way down the ramp as the words “SUPERIOR ONE," "AWARD-WINNING," "MAIN ATTRACTION" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" flash across the screen behind him. “And his opponent,” begins Funyon, “weighing in at two hundred and thirteen pounds, and hailing from Buffalo, New York! With a smile that could melt any... umm... man’s heart...” “I added that line in.” says Bobby, blushing. “AHEM! Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you... The UNdefeated, UNmatched, UNparalleled, SMARKS! WRESTLING FEDERATION’S HEEAAAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOORRLD! THE “SUPERIOR ONE” TOOOOOOM FLESHEEERR!!” Tom strips off his warm up suit, neatly folding it and tucking it away in a corner, then slides into the ring. “Don’t go too far off with this,” says Flesher, as he unfastens the World Title from his waist and hands it off to Referee Mark Hebner. “this won’t take me long.” “This match is definitely a waste of Tom’s time.” says Bobby. “He’s too good to have to waste his time on Johnny Dangerous, who couldn’t out wrestle a sloth. Simply put, Johnny Dangerous isn’t good enough to be in the same ring as Tom Flesher.” “Well if that’s true,” replies Mark Stevens, “than he shouldn’t be much of a problem for Tom Flesher, now should he?” “Nor will he be.” After taking a moment to stretch his back, and loosen his arms, Fleshers eyes lock onto those of the Barracuda, patiently waiting in the far corner as Hebner hands the title belt off to the timekeeper and signals for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “... and this match is underway!” says Stevens. “... any minute now!” Johnny hesitates for a moment, looking out towards the crowds he takes one last deep breath before stepping out of the corner and making his way to the center of the ring to meet Tom Flesher. Johnny hesitates for a moment as he hears the last echo of the bell ring out, and Mark Hebner calls him towards the middle of the ring, where Tom Flesher eagerly awaits. He takes one last look out into the masses. Already some chants of his name break out from the upper level, while those closer to the ring clap and shout! “Kick his ass, Johnny!” one of the more vocal audience members shouts out. “Pfft, as if.” cackles Bobby. Finally, Johnny steps forward, thrusts his shoulders back, lifts his head up, and marches towards the center of the ring. “Tell me, Johnny.” says Tom, with a slight chuckle as the Barracuda approaches. “Are you going to wrestle me in that suit, or try to sweep me off my feet?” “Well that depends.” replies Johnny, leaning in a little closer. “It’s a little hard to wrestle you, if you run off to the back.” Flesher’s expression immediately shifts. His smile falls upside down and his hand uncontrollably goes slicing through the air towards Johnny’s face! SLAP! “Tom’s kicking this one off by slapping Johnny upside the face like a straight bitch!” says Riley. Caught by total surprise from the sudden slap, Johnny stammers to the side and a hand goes up to his cheek. Tom moves in, pulling Johnny’s hand away from his face he raises his hand back and swings for the Barracuda’s mug again! Being trained in the finer martial arts though, Dangerous’ reflexes are second to none, so grabbing Tom by the wrist before receiving a second slap is easily executed. Astounded, Tom simply looks on with his mouth gaping wide open at the boldness of this Curtain Jerker, giving Johnny the perfect opening to swing his fist out, and nail Flesher right in the kisser! The crowds unleash of flurry of cheers as the sound of Johnny’s fist slamming into Tom’s skull ring out, and Flesher’s head is jolted back! Johnny grits down on his teeth as he lets out a low growl, swinging a second shot into Flesher, only this time sinking the blow into his chin! Fleshers eyes flutter as his head jolts back once again, and he goes stumbling back a step, caught completely off guard by Johnny’s attack! “Johnny Dangerous is taking full control of this match early on!” remarks Stevens. “Pretty good for a curtain jerker, eh Bobby?” “Oh, shut up, Grand Spam!” With the crowds cheering him on, Dangerous quickly closes the gap between Tom and himself, rears his arm back once again, and SWINGS- -Flesher tosses his forearm up, blocking the blow, and angrily thrusts the palm of his hand right in between Johnny’s eyes! WHAP! “So much for Johnny having any control of this match up.” says Riley, patting a handkerchief against his brow and chuckling slightly. Like Flesher before him, the blow knocks Johnny off balance, sending him stumbling back and giving Tom a second to brush his finger across his bottom lip, checking for blood. Satisfied when there is none to be found, Tom rushes in towards Dangerous, easily avoiding a reckless swing, hooks the Barracuda’s arm, and flips him over onto the mat with an Arm Drag! Johnny isn’t on his back for more than a second before he pops back up to his feet, spins around- WHAM! -Tom plasters the front of his neck with a running clothesline, knocking the wind right out of his pipes, and knocking the Barracuda himself flat on his back! Tom slings his elbow out and drops down, driving it straight through the Secret Agents sternum! “Oof!” cries Johnny, the wind nearly knocked out of him. There will be no room for the Barracuda to breathe though, as Tom Flesher drops down for a cover, determined to put this upstart away in record time. ONE!! TW-NO!! “Johnny gets the shoulder up just before two!” Holding onto his chest, Johnny rolls over and pushes up to his knees, just as Flesher sprints towards the far ropes, bounces back... and DRIVES his knee into the back of Johnny’s head, knocking the Barracuda back down to the mat! Johnny kicks and flails while holding onto the back of his head, groaning in pain. Tom shoves Dangerous over onto his back with his foot, then drops down for a cover. ONE!! TWO!! Just as the Referees hand flies back into the air to deliver a third count, Johnny slings his shoulder up, breaking the count and grabbing a cheap pop from the crowds! Agitated, Tom rolls him back onto his back, and covers him again! ONE!! TWO!! NO! Again Johnny slings his shoulder off the mat, ending the count! Grabbing onto both of Johnny’s legs, Tom crosses them into a figure four, then places the Barracuda’s extended leg into his arm pit. Locked and ready to go, Flesher steps over Johnny, rolling him onto his stomach then sits back, putting an enormous amount of torque onto the Barracuda’s leg! “He’s got the Superior Stretch locked in!” cries Bobby Riley. “It’s all over for Johnny Dangerous!” “It’s a little early for this, if you ask me.” says Mark. “Johnny’s legs haven’t taken a single hit, usually you want to try and weaken the legs a bit before locking in a Texas Cloverleaf!” “It’s a Superior Stretch, Grand Spam!” retorts Bobby. “Besides, Johnny Dangerous isn’t good enough to warrant any ‘working over of the legs’!” Pushing himself off the mat with the strength of his arms, Johnny cocks his head back and lets out a bone chilling cry of pain! Tom grits down hard on his teeth and winces hard as he rears back on Johnny’s leg, determined to make the Barracuda tap like a bitch! “I’m not sure who’s in more pain there.” says Mark. “Johnny or Tom.” Johnny clenches his fist together, and bites down hard on his mouth, trying his hardest to subdue the soaring pain! Mark Hebner steps in and ask Johnny, “Do you give?” Johnny vigorously shakes his head no, determined to hold on despite the nagging pain, and as he does the crowds begin to get riled up with a chant: “Let’s go Dangerous! Let‘s go!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP! “Let’s go Dangerous! Let‘s go!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP! “Let’s go Dangerous! Let‘s go!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP! “The spirit inside of Johnny Dangerous is just incredible!” says Mark Stevens. “He simply will not give in to Tom Flesher!” “Just proving how stupid he really is.” says Riley. “He’d be better off giving up now and get this match over with, instead of trying to hold on and have Tom Flesher make him look like a complete joke!” “Let’s go Dangerous! Let‘s go!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP! “Let’s go Dangerous! Let‘s go!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP! With the crowds cheering him on, Johnny pushes off the mat again with his arms, and lets out another searing cry of pain, and pushes himself forward! The ropes are only a few inches away, and if he can hold on just long enough to grab them, he knows he may have a fighting chance! Johnny reaches out and drags himself even closer, and... GRABS onto the rope! “He made it!” celebrates Stevens, but Tom refuses to let go! Tom shakes his head no when Hebner orders the “Break!” daring the Referee to count him, for which he eagerly does. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Tom breaks his hold with a second to spare, and Johnny breathes a sigh of relief, though his leg has taken it’s toll. “Maybe if he had worked on Johnny’s legs a bit, he might of gotten a submission.” says Mark Stevens. “...” Tom grabs Johnny just as the Barracuda thought it was safe to stand, and slings him towards the corner turnbuckle! KA-RACK!! Johnny raises his head towards the sky and lets out a howl of pain as he stammers out of the corner, holding dearly to his throbbing back. Flesher rushes in, and shoves him back into the corner with ease, getting no resistance from the Barracuda. With one hand holding Johnny in place, Tom raises his hand back... ... and SLICES the front of his hand across Johnny’s cheek! SLAP! The crowds let out an obligatory “OOOOHH!” as the slapping sound rings out! Johnny stumbles a step to the side of the turnbuckle, with one hand holding onto the rope and the other rubbing his cheek. Tom grabs onto Johnny by his wrist, and spins him around to face him - pushing him back against the ropes, Tom’s hand raises back once again... SLAP! “That’s it, Tom,” cheers Bobby, “smack the taste right out of his mouth!” Again, Johnny goes stumbling across the side of the ring, and almost trips over his own two feet, but Tom grabs him by the arm and shoves him back into the turnbuckle, keeping him on his feet just so he can continue his humiliation of Johnny Dangerous. Like when he had the Barracuda pinned up in the opposite corner before, Tom holds him in place with one hand. “You didn’t actually think you had a chance here, Johnny, did you?” says Tom, raising his open hand back. SSSSLAP!! Yet another Bitchslap to the Barracuda, and his cheeks are starting to flush beet red from all the strikes. The crowd’s animosity begins to rise, but their opinion falls short on mattering to Tom Flesher - shoving Johnny back up against the turnbuckle, he cocks his slapping hand back... “Come on, Barracuda,” says Tom. “It’s not quite as funny from this end is it?” Johnny weakly raises his head up, locking his eyes onto Flesher’s, and blowing the blood from his mouth as the hand of Tom swings in for the kill! SLAP!! A rather loud boo rings out in reply to Tom, and like always, he ignores them just like he ignores them every night, opting instead to focus on destroying any kind of self esteem or heart that Johnny Dangerous could possibly have or had. “I thought you were suppose to be Dangerous.” mocks Tom Flesher, grinning from ear to ear. “Your nothing more than a fucking joke!” Johnny begins to slide down the side of the turnbuckle, but this time Tom doesn’t pull him back up or hold him in place, this time Tom helps to force him down with a full fledge Bitchslap assault! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! “OH COME ON!” cries Mark, obviously growing outraged by Tom Flesher’s battering Johnny with slap after slap, beating him down into the corner. “We get the point already! There is no need to further prove how much better he is than Johnny Dangerous!” “At least your finally realizing it.” The crowds voice their complaint with a raging boo that grows louder and louder with each strike, until finally... Mark Hebner decides it is getting out of control. “That’s about enough, Tom!” barks Hebner, grabbing Flesher by the shoulder. Still Tom’s hand goes flying back for yet another slap, but Hebner pulls him away from the Barracuda, ending this horrendous assault. “I said, that’s enough!” “Who the hell does Mark Hebner think he is,” mutters Riley, “and how dare he lay a hand on Tom Flesher! He’s the World Champion!” “Gee, I dunno, Bobby.” Mark replies ever so sarcastically. “Perhaps he thinks he’s the official Referee for this match, and maybe it’s just me, but I tend to agree with him here.” Rather appalled by the Referee’s boldness, Tom slowly spins around towards Hebner - cocking his head to the side with his eyes bulging open he mouths, “what the fu*k?” Not moved in the slightest by Tom’s ?, Hebner does his duty. His finger dashes from left to right in front of Flesher’s face as he lectures Tom on stepping over the lines. His eyes quickly glance towards Tom’s hand as he slowly raises his it back, then back towards Tom’s fiery eyes, all the while standing his ground, even if beads of sweat start bubbling up on his forehead. Everyone in the arena braces themselves for the impact that they know is just a second away, but just then... Tom’s hand drops to the side as he smiles and nods in total understanding towards the Referee. “Tom’s actually listening to him?” says Mark, rather surprised. “Might we be witnessing the turning over of a new leaf by Tom Flesher?!” Satisfied, Hebner steps back from Tom, allowing the match to continue. Tom turns back towards Johnny, still smiling, and reaches down to the half standing Barracuda. “Well, Johnny,” he says, “looks like they want me to be a little nicer towards you.” Placing the tips of his fingers under Johnny’s chin, Tom lifts his head up so that he can look the Barracuda straight in the eyes... SLAAAP!!! ... AND SLAMS THE PALM OF HIS HAND RIGHT ACROSS JOHNNY’S MOUTH, KNOCKING THE BATTERED SECRET AGENT TO HIS KNEES! “GOOD, GOD!” cries Stevens. “another Bitchslap! I knew something was up!” “Poor, Tom,” says Bobby, the empathy overly apparent. “he just can’t help himself, and you can‘t blame him for it either! Johnny just has that look that you want to just rear back and slap the piss out of him, it’s a catch-twenty two!” “That’s not a catch-twenty two, Bobby.” The crowds vociferously let their hate shine through, but Flesher only smiles and stands back from Johnny, then quickly stamps his foot into the mat and throws his arms out to all his adoring masses as he raises his head towards the clouds! The boos grow to an all time height for the evening in response to Tom, and even more as he struts down the length of the ring, while golf clapping for himself! “These people need to show a little more respect for Tom Flesher than this!” growls Bobby. “He is the World Champion, he is the absolute best in this business! They don’t deserve his time, yet he’s here, and what do they do - they boo him, the cheek of this crowd!” “Imagine that,” says Mark Stevens, rolling his eyes. “the crowds are booing Tom Flesher, and I haven’t got a clue why.” “Me either.” Lowering his head back to sea level, Tom’s spins back around towards the Barracuda, and smiles with a wide toothed grin. In the corner, Johnny struggles to gain some good ground as he reaches out for the ropes, and tries to pull himself back up, totally unaware of the impending Danger. Tom squints his eyes as a barely audible growl begins to flow from his mouth, and with Dangerous locked in his sights, Tom leans forward, and plants his knuckles into the mat, ready to sprint towards Johnny the second he turns around like he were Michael Johnson at the 1996 Olympics! “Here it comes...” says Bobby Riley, smiling from ear to ear! Clasping his hands together the excitement contained in him could boil over at any second! “He’s going to kick Johnny straight back to where he belongs... the curtains!” “I wish he’d kick you somewhere.” “Hey, as long as he’s kicking me out of bed.” “...” Beaten, Battered, and fighting to simply hold on to his consciousness, Johnny stands to his feet. The pain soars through his body at an alarming rate, and the more he thinks about it, the worse it grows. He squints his eyes as he grits down on his teeth, trying to subdue the pain. Behind him, Tom Flesher is poised and ready to strike, and as Johnny hobbles around to face him... BLAM! The sound of a cap gun goes off in his mind, and Tom LEAPS from the mat and CHARGES towards Johnny Dangerous! In the time of exactly two seconds - the exact time it takes Tom to storm across the ring and plant his ever so deadly Yakuza Kick into Johnny, and fracture his skull, hundreds of thoughts flash through the Barracuda’s mind! 1: What’s the matter? Tom Flesher slap you too hard? Did he knock a few screws loose? What the hell is wrong with you?! Your not using your head, Johnny! You are better than this, you are better than him! The people? Just look at these people! Not once have they turned their back on you, yet you allow everyone to make a fool out of you! Look at them, Johnny, LOOK! When you are in this ring, they cheer for you. They chant for you, and don’t ask me why, but they even buy shirts with your name written on it. The simple fact is these people, they adore you! It is TIME to pay them back for their dedication, it is time to show everyone... ... it’s time to show the world... ... Why... they call you... Dangerous! 2: With only a foot to spare before slamming into Johnny Dangerous, Tom kicks his leg up... “... No... “... more...” “NOBODY HOME!” cries Grand Slam as Johnny suddenly ducks down, letting Tom’s foot sail high over his head, and the crowds go out of their minds! “NOBODY HOME!” Johnny pops up directly to the side of Tom Flesher, and with a mighty howl, swings his fist out and SLAMS his knuckles deep into the side of Flesher’s jaw, catching him by complete and utter surprise! The crowds let out a Thunderous cheer that starts from the nose bleeds and filters all the way down to ringside as Tom Flesher goes REELING back, holding tight to the side of his face! “OH HELL YES!” cries Mark Stevens, almost leaping from his seat. “It’s about time Johnny Dangerous put his foot down!” Despite the nagging pain in his leg, Johnny pushes forward, cocks his arm back... and SLAMS his fist into Tom Flesher’s eye socket as he lets out a mighty roar! WHAM! Then another... WHAM! With each blow Johnny’s step grows a little faster, his punches a little harder, and the crowds a little louder as he knocks Flesher all the way back into the ropes! Johnny grabs onto his tie and in one full swoop, tears it from his neck and SLAMS it down onto the mat then lets out a tremendous battle cry, driving the crowds completely INSANE! “Johnny Dangerous is in complete control!” shouts Mark. “This is about to be the biggest upset since TNT defeated ELM!” “WILL SOMEBODY SHUT THIS GOD DAMNED AUDIENCE UP!” shouts Bobby Riley, completely livid. “How can you expect Tom to think with all that damn noise!?!?” Reeling and completely out off his rocker, Tom stammers from side to side as he stands to his feet shaking his head - Johnny stomps his way in behind Flesher, grabs Tom’s arm with one hand, and slings it over his shoulder, then hooks his leg with the other- “He can’t do this!” JOHNNY HAULS TOM FLESHER UP AND OVER, SPINNING NINETY DEGREES TO HIS LEFT... NOOO!!! The Superior One slides off just in the nick of time, and drops down to the side of Johnny! In desperation, Tom reaches his arm around Johnny’s face, and squeezes as hard as he can. Bringing his free arm up, he grabs onto his wrist and exerts even more force onto Johnny’s head! “Tom Flesher nearly fell victim to the MI Slam!” shouts Mark Stevens. “This match could have been over!” “But it isn’t, Mark!” snaps Bobby. “Johnny Dangerous doesn’t have what it takes to win this, or any match he is in! Tom is about to prove that right about now!” Johnny slams his elbow into Tom’s ribcage, grabbing a quick “Oof!” out of the Superior One, but still Tom holds on, refusing to budge! Another elbow into the World Champion, but still nothing more than a quick gasp! Another! WHAM! Then another! WHAM! The fourth shot manages to jar Tom loose from Johnny! Tom stammers back a few steps, holding tight to his chest and weezing, leaving himself open for the Barracuda to reach forward and grab onto Flesher’s arm, pulling him across his shoulder! Then with his other hand, Johnny hooks the World Champion’s leg, and RIPS him off the mat... ... JOHNNY SPINS AROUND AS HE FALLS BACKWARDS, AND SHATTERS TOM FLESHER’S SPINE ACROSS THE CENTER OF THE CANVAS!! SSLLAAAAAAMMM!!!!! “MI SLAM! MI SLAM!” exclaims Stevens, almost to the point of shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard over the ROARING cheers of the audience! “IF THIS DOESN’T PUT TOM FLESHER AWAY, I DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL!” Johnny rolls over onto his stomach, having come down back first and quickly crawls over towards Flesher, and with both hands Johnny hooks onto Tom’s leg and REARS back on it, firmly pinning his shoulders to the mat with more authority than God himself could give! Hebner, as expected, and along with the crowds counting along, drops to make the count... “ONE!!!!” “TWO!!!!!!!!” “THREE!!!!!!!!!!” DING! DING! DING! ... and the roof of the Target Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota is blown forever off the top! “Yes!” shouts Mark Stevens. “Johnny Dangerous has pinned Tom Flesher, the World Champion, for the win!” Riley is speechless. The theme for “MI2” thunders out from the speakers, louder than ever before as Mark Hebner helps Johnny to his feet, then thrusts his arm high into the air! “YOUUUUR WINNER!” shouts Funyon at the top of his lungs, trying his hardest to make his voice audible over the deafening crowds! “BY PIN FALL... JOHHNNNY DANGEROUS!!!!!” “OH MY GOD!” cries Bobby frantically, and yes I literally mean cries. “OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!? WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!?” “You were watching just as well as I was, Bobby.” says Mark. “Tom Flesher has just fallen, and fallen to Johnny Dangerous!” “This is BULLSHIT, Mark, and you KNOW it!” growls Bobby. “There is no way this just happened!” “Jesus Christ, Bobby.” Mark is a bit taken back by Bobby’s tirade. “It’s not like this was a Title Match. Tom Flesher is still the World Champion... but maybe not for long!” “What the hell is that suppose to mean?” “Well,” says Stevens, about to launch into shilling mode. “next up we will see Jay Dawg taking on the Boston Strangler for a chance at being declared the number One Contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Title! After the way this match turned out, we just may be on the road to seeing a new World Champion crowned!” As we: FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Coffin Surfer Report post Posted June 3, 2003 Holy shit SLF! YOU GOT SUS-SUS-SUS-SUS-SUS-SUSPECT DEVICE! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Grand Slam Report post Posted June 3, 2003 I would like to say, that as the marker of this match, this is one of Johnny better matches (that I have read). It is unfortunate that he ran into the buzzsaw known as Tom Flesher. Good job Johnny. This was closer than I thought it would be. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Atlas 0 Report post Posted June 3, 2003 Here's the losing tag match. I've gotta take the fall for this one, as I didn't come through on writing it as far as timing or quality goes. Much of it was written too hastily, and even thought I wanted to do most of the work, I just couldn't plan it out accordingly. Maybe it's the lack of motivation to write a meaningless tag match, but still. Meh. Enjoy. “The following Tag Team Match is set for one fall!” yells Funyon. “Introducing first, standing in the ring, at a combined weight of 520 pounds, SEAN ATLAS and the SWF United States Champion, MICHAEL CRAVEN!” Funyon’s words echo away while “Cochise” continues to play. Craven, meanwhile, hands his US title over to referee Billy Chiota and steps into the corner, standing inside the ring. Sean Atlas approaches him, speaking through the mask and motioning for him to step to the apron. Craven refuses, and a small argument ensues. Riley: Boy, those two hit it off real well... Stevens: They better work this out before- “OH, MY GOD! INCREDIBLE SUPERSTAR!” An intrusive white explosion erupts across the stage, filling the entrance with smoke. “Baseline” by Quarashi blasts through the sound system as Longdogger Pete steps out through the curtain and walks across the stage, then down the ramp towards ringside. He slows down at the base of the ramp, waiting for his partner before he steps into the ring. Slowly, his music drifts away while he turns around towards the entrance... BOOM~! Silver pyrotechnics explode from the rafters and Black Sabbath’s “Snowblind” starts up. A pale blue spotlight bathes the stage while what appears to be snow flutters down from above. From behind the curtain emerges the massive form of Frost, inducing a huge pop from the fans. He holds up one arm, fist clenched to signify their adulation, then strides to the ring. Clenching a Frost Brand cigar in his teeth, he drops it and puts it out on the metal ramp, then joins his partner nearby. “And their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 573 pounds, please welcome LONGDOGGER PETE and FROST! Stevens: Some of the men involved in this matchup have quite a history here in Minneapolis. This was the site of Frost’s handcuff match against Michael Craven, then known as Ash Ketchum. Ash suffered a brutal shot to the skull from a pair of industrial strength bolt cutters, but still won the match via DQ. Riley: Hey, that’s right! He accused Frost of hitting him with a car back then. August of last year, I think. Stevens: That’s right. And on another visit to the Target Center here, Craven became the number one contender to Frost’s Hardcore title, which he would eventually win. Later that night, Frost himself was defending the tag titles with TNT and lost them to the Bermani Cross Wizards after a 60 day reign. Riley: Ladies and Gentlemen, your most knowledgeable wrestling announcer, Grand Slam Mark Stevens! Curry Man has nothing on this guy. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Sean Atlas has convinces Michael Craven to step out of the ring, allowing him to start the match off. As Atlas readies himself, Craven stands behind him, smirking because Sean doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. Their oversized opponents step onto the apron and Frost climbs over the top rope while Pete positions himself in their corner. Stevens: Looks like it’ll be Atlas and Frost kicking this match off! Riley: Let’s get it on, boys! DING-DING-DING! Frost looks ever so confident as he approaches Sean Atlas, causing the masked man to back away into the ropes. He uses them to spring off and charges at the Icelandic beast with a lariat... but Frost remains on his feet! Shocked at Frosts resistance, Atlas runs back to the ropes once more and tries another clothesline... and Frost still stands firm! Atlas hits the ropes a third time, but then Frost charges forward... And PUMMELS Atlas down with a monster clothesline of his own! Amidst the crowd’s cheering, Sean stands up but is quickly taken by the arm and whipped towards the ropes by Frost. He bounces and returns to the iceman fearing the worst... and gets just that as Frost lifts him, flips him and DROPS him to the mat with a tilt-a-whirl slam!! Stevens: Sean Atlas gets his first taste of Frost, and I don’t think he likes it. Riley: Don’t even try turning that “taste of Frost” line into something insulting about me. Stevens: You mean saying how you thirst for Frost’s juices? Riley: Yes! Exactly... Wait, NO! The enormous frame of Frost rises to its feet, standing over the doubled-over Sean Atlas as he stands up as well. He wraps his giant arms around Sean’s waist, then lifts him off the ground and slams him back to the mat with a Gutwrench Suplex. He powers himself back up while Sean brings himself together and sits up on his knees. Taking him by the hand, Frost brings the masked man to his feet and scoops him up onto his shoulder, the runs towards his own corner... And DROPS Atlas face-first into the turnbuckle! Longdogger Pete lets go of the tag rope and steps back to avoid Atlas, but soon moves back into position once Frost removes Sean from the corner. Holding him by the arm, the Icelander whips Atlas diagonally across the ring where he staggers into his own corner chest first. *Smack* Riley: Craven just tagged himself in! Stevens: Well Atlas definitely needs the help. He’s getting nothing done in there on his own, Bobby. Just as Sean backs away from the turnbuckles, the thick, muscular arm of the Velvet Hammer slithers around his neck, clutching him from behind... and it brings him down against the canvas with an Inverted DDT! Immediately, Craven climbs up the turnbuckle, now being the legal man. Frost was unaware of the blind tag, however, ad as he stands up watching Atlas roll out to the apron, he is caught off guard by a flying Michael Craven... Stevens: Hitting a missile Dropkick!!! Riley: Good strategy by Craven, sneaking in the tag and surprising Frost with the aerial assault. Stevens: For a second there it almost looked like he and Atlas were working as a team. Riley: They are! Just not... intentionally. Craven bounces off the mat and quickly gets to his feet before Frost does. Sean regroups on the outside while the Nightmare grabs the Velvet Hammer from behind. He barely locks his wrists in front of Frost’s gut and snaps back, trying a German Suplex... but the Icelandic Beast refuses to budge and instead, pries loose the hand of Craven. He sweeps around the US Champion, locking his own arms around the Nightmare’s torso and in one fluid motion, lifts Craven off his feet, into the air... and SLAMS him down to the mat with a powerful German Suplex! Resounding cheers follow as Frost comes to his feet, dragging Craven’s body up with him. He lifts the US champ onto his shoulder and spins around, rotating in an Airplane Spin until he drops Craven and... *SLAM* Stevens: The US Champion is quickly taken control of by the Velvet Hammer! Not to smart of Craven to try and use a German on Frost right away, was it. Riley: Not really, but at least he tried to follow up on what was a good surprise hit. Frost takes Craven by the legs ad drags him into the corner. With his back to Sean Atlas, Frost takes each of Michael’s legs in his hands and spreads them apart, exposing the very loins that produced Hollyanna, preparing to SMASH them with the sole of his shoe... But Atlas clubs him in the back with his arm, saving Craven for no apparent reason! Enraged, Frost immediately turns around to take a wild swing as Atlas, but he backs away, standing on the ring steps. Frost turns back around and lifts Craven to his feet, then over his head and finally turns towards Sean on the outside. Frost bends at the knees and with one good heave, TOSSES the champion of the United States into his masked partner! Stevens: What in the world has gotten into Frost?? Riley: I think there’s some resentment left over from his previous matches against Craven, some of which took place in this very building. On top of that, he has resented the Magnificent Seven every since leaving them, and Sean Atlas fits that bill perfectly. Standing on the outside, Atlas and Craven bicker over which one of them is indeed the legal man. Bewildered, the referee makes a judgment call and chooses Atlas to go in. Sean tries to stay out of the ring, but Craven steps aside, bowing down and motioning “He’s all yours!” once more to Atlas. The M7 member reluctantly enters the ring, just as the behemoth Frost charges across it, raising his forearm up into the “smash” position... OHHH!!! Atlas takes the blow hard, slamming onto his back, the ring shaking from the collision. Frost, though, reaches down, grabbing Atlas and taunting him as he pulls him to his feet. Sean’s eyes flutter open from beneath his mask, his first sight being Frost’s fist flying into his face! Sean tries to fall back, but Frost has his head grabbed, making the masked man into a punching bag for Frost’s right hand. Again, and again, and again Sean’s face is pummeled before Frost grabs Sean’s arm and whips him to the ropes like a rag doll! Stevens: Frost is simply on FIRE here Riley, don’t you think so? Riley: Well, he sure is hot. Stevens: Umm... Riley: No, no. I mean Frost is, uh, hot. As in, not cold. Stevens: But he’s Frost. Frigid. Frozen. Cold. Riley: Every time, Mark. You get me every time... As Atlas flies back off the ropes, Frost grabs him in a belly to belly waistlock, lifts him up, and slams him right back down, driving Sean into the mat back first. The ring shakes loudly as the crowd cheers for The Icelandic Monster. For Frost, though, the fun has just begun. He grabs Atlas, and pulling him to his feet, nails him hard in the head with a left jab. Frost then grabs Sean through his legs and picks him up. Frost marches towards the turnbuckle as Atlas begins to recover from the stinging standing spinebuster, only realizing what’s happening when it’s too late. Frost smiles as he throws Atlas up into the air, the M7 member dropping face first onto the turnbuckle! Riley: Once again, Frost drops Atlas on his face. Is he seriously trying to destroy whatever is under that mask? Stevens: Possibly. I don’t think he cares what’s under there, as long as it’s a Mag 7 guy, he gets destroyed. Period. Frost grabs Atlas by the feet, dragging him out of the corner before he covers him for the pinfall attempt! ....O...N...E.... ....T...W...O.... NO! Kickout by Atlas at two and a half! Frost can’t believe it, but he slowly rises to his feet, laying in a few boots to the face once he gets there. The crowd pops as he grabs Atlas by the head and pulls him to his feet. In the process he unleashes two huge right hands, then follows them up with a left. As he bends Atlas back a bit, Frost drops to a knee, dropping Sean back first across his knee, sending him back to the mat with a backbreaker! The Nightmare stands looking very concerned, but at the same time, he doesn’t make much more of a move to help his partner than to stick his hand out as he grabs the tag rope, waiting for a tag as Atlas writhes in pain on the mat. Riley: You know, Mark, this really wasn’t the best pairing we’re ever seen. They fight two weeks ago, and now they’re partners? And against a team with so much momentum that they’re bound to win? I think there something wrong here. It’s as if Atlas and Craven were meant to lose. Stevens: Don’t be so ridiculous. Sean Atlas and Michael Craven are two of the top talents we have. If they’re as great as they’re rumored to be, then they can overcome even these odds. Frost once more pulls Sean to his feet and bends him over, striking him with a rising knee lift to the head! The blow knocks Atlas upright and causes him to stagger back, allowing Frost to grab him and whip him to the ropes. As Sean hits the ropes and bounces back, Frost grabs him. The Frozen One then shows off his strength as he presses Sean up over his head. He holds him there for a few seconds, spinning around to show the crowd before he throws Atlas down onto his back! Atlas hits the mat hard, and Frost delays for a second before he drops down to cover Sean again, the ref dropping to count... ....O...N...E.... ....T...W...O.... ....N...O....! Kickout by Atlas!!! The crowd jeers as the ref holds up two fingers, thinking that the ref screwed Frost out of a pinfall. Frost also looks befuddled, and slowly, he pulls up Atlas, hoping this time to finish him off for sure. Riley: You know, we still haven’t seen Longdogger Pete enter this match. You think something might be wrong with him? Stevens: Not at all. Why bother putting in an aged veteran when the young hoss is dominating so well? Riley: You have a point, knuckleballer. Grabbing Sean, Frost lifts him up over his shoulder so Atlas is facing upwards. This is followed by Frost holding Atlas in place and spinning around a few times, then he stops spinning around with Atlas, dropping him back first into the mat as he slams him down with an airplane spin slam! As Frost gets to his feet, he pumps his fist into the air for only a second before it comes back down, Frost jumping off the ground. The crowd in the arena boos loudly as the big man spins himself around, pulling his legs up into a sitting position before he comes down hard on Atlas, practically crushing his chest with a monster spinning leg drop! Atlas lets out a scream of pain as Frost lands on him, and maybe, nearly snaps every rib in his chest! Craven shows immense concern, releasing the tag rope and nearly darting into the ring... Stevens: I don’t think Craven wants to lose this match, and it seems like the punishment Atlas is taking is getting to him. Riley: Obviously... but he might come close yet. Frost covers...! Frost remains on top of Atlas, knowing he’s got him down on the mat as the ref drops to make the count! ....O...N...E.... ....T...W...O.... ....T...H...R...............NO! CRAVEN BREAKS IT UP WITH A RUNNING ELBOW DROP ACROSS FROST’S BACK! The fans come to their feet, hollering and pointing as the referee holds up two fingers, Craven running like a scalded dog back to his corner as he gets up. He tries to make it back before Frost takes notice, sliding on the mat under the bottom rope... But it’s futile. Frost is far more intelligent than that, and with a turn of the head, he confirms it, catching Craven in the act escape. His demeanor changes and becomes quite angry as he grabs Atlas with one hand, pulling him to his feet, staring at Craven the entire time. Stevens: Frost seems to be getting overconfident there, looking at one man while fighting the other. Riley: Not the best way to go about your business. Not at all... Exhausted and punished for the duration of an entire match, Atlas barely staggers to his feet while Frost simply looks at the US champion. They exchange profanities between themselves, stemming from history between the two. The referee stands in the small amount of space between them, hoping to separate them if need be. And suddenly, need becomes be as Craven ducks under the top rope and sneaks into the ring, yelling at Frost as he tries to get past Billy Chiota... OOOHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Stevens: Low blow! That was a blatant low blow!!! Riley: But the ref saw nothing! He was busy groping Craven! Frost collapses to the mat, holding his... snowballs. A smile appears on the face of Craven as he backs away, returning to his corner while Frost and Atlas lie in the middle of the ring, both seemingly hurt the same way. Slowly, they crawl towards their respective partners: Frost to Pete, Atlas to Craven. The tension in the Target Center builds up as they creep towards their corners, close and closer to tagging the men that will soon take over the battle in the ring... Riley: Come on, come on. A little bit more! Stevens: Who exactly are rooting for? Riley: Rooting for? Oh no, I’m watching that hot little thing in the red leaning over the railing... Just a little bit more... Stevens: You mean the popcorn vendor? Riley: Yes, Mark. The popcorn vendor. The one with the tits and platform shoes. Stevens: See? I knew you were into those.... hey, wait, what the hell?? Just before Atlas reaches Craven, he suddenly jumps up, summoning the strength that Frost did force out of him and he runs over to the Velvet Hammer, take shi by the boot and drags him into the middle of the ring! He then quickly dives toward his corner, tagging Craven into the match!!! The US Champion storms the ring, jumping onto Frost like a hungry kid on free food. He pulls Frost’s arms back and places them over his legs, then hooks his chin to finally lock on the CAMEL CLUTCH!!! Riley: Holy shmoley! That’s the Camel Clutch! That’s the same move that Frost nearly defeated Craven with back in October of least year! Stevens: In fact, that was at Dissention, and Craven, then known as Ash managed to break of of it! Now it seems like he’s taking out that mall grudge on Frost, hoping to one-up him by making him submit! Riley: That smart bastard! He could have used the Nightmare Helix, but no. Michael Craven is the MAN! Craven pulls back, applying the move with more and more torque... Frost hollers in pain, screaming due to the shape that his back has become.... On top of the tenderness of his violated loins, he now has the US champion on his back and the referee in his face, asking for submission... Frost refuses, and continues to refuse... In the corner, clutching the tag rope tightly is Longdogger Pete, reaching as far as his body can reach to tag itself in... Frost, however, is barely mobile, unable to crawl over to LDP... Craven tanks back, shaking vigorously a lot Frost’s back, trying to cause enough damage to the man to force the words “I quit” from his lips... But no words emerge... Only grunts of throbbing pain and suffering... Suddenly, however, the grunts become groans of perseverance as Craven feels the mammoth beneath him rising....! Stevens: MY GOD! Somehow, Frost is crawling with Craven sitting atop his back! How can he fight such strong resistance?! Riley: it’s gotta be the Frost Flakes, Mark. They’rrrreeee Great! Frost inches closer to his corner... approaching his partner and part-time trainer, nearly touching Pete’s palm with his... *smack* WWWWWWHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! Stevens: And the tag is made! Longdogger Pete is on his way in! Riley: But where did Atlas go? Stevens: Good question... LDP rushes into the ring with the force of 500 well-bred horses, stomping away at Michael Craven. Seemingly a different man than the one he fought with so many times over control of X Force 9, Craven receives the kicks the same way he always has: rolling and whimpering to the force of LDP’s boot. Frost, meanwhile, rolls out into the apron, clutching his back, neck and groin... all with two arms. (You figure out how that works.) In the ring, Pete gets Craven to come to his feet and takes him by the waist, lifts him off the canvas and SLAMS him down across his knee with a Manhattan Drop! Craven instinctively grabs onto his backside and turns around, but feels the large and experienced arms of LDP wrapping themselves around him... then pulling back... AND SLAMMING HIM DOWN WITH A VISCIOUS GERMAN SUPLEX! Stevens: Pete is on fire here, Riley! Even more than Frost was just minutes ago! Riley: Perhaps he is, but I ask again, Where is Sean Atlas? Is he leaving Craven to do the dirty work by himself? In the ring, Pete rolls Craven over into a standing position, gets them both to their feet and once again pops his hips... hitting a second German Suplex! The fans rise and watch the spectacle as the veteran rolls himself and Michael to a standing position once more, slams his feet against the canvas, pops his hips and DRIVES Craven into the mat with a third German Suplex! On the outside, meanwhile, Frost is slowly regaining his energy in his corner while Sean Atlas is still nowhere to be found. In the ring, Craven has instinctively rolled over onto his belly so as to not be covered. Pete proceeds to lift him up anyway, however and takes him by the hand. He whips the US Champ towards the ropes. Craven springs off and continues to run towards Pete... that is until hi feet leave the canvas, lifted off it by Longdogger himself... AND CRAVEN IS SLAMMED TO THE MAT WITH A SAMOAN DROP! Stevens: SAMOAN DROP! COVER HIM, PETE COVER! Riley: HE IS! ....O.....N.....E.... ....T.....W.....O.... ....T.....H.....R.....E.....E.... NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Riley: He kicked out!! Craven got the shoulder up!! This match still isn’t over. But where the hell is Atlas???? Stevens: I think he hightailed out of here, man. Riley: I refuse to believe that he would... AND THERE HE IS!!!! Atlas pops out from under the ring, standing directly behind Frost who stays on the apron! He grabs hold of Frosts’ boots and just as he does so often in the ring, uses a Rear Leg Takedown to bring Frost down to ringside!!! The Iceman’s head collides with the edge of the apron as he plummets, allowing Sean a greater opportunity to attack! Stevens: Has he been hiding there the whole time?? Riley: I think so... Stevens: What a yellow bellied mother... Riley: Uh, mother’s son, he meant to say, folks. Not that other thing. Back in the ring, Pete is oblivious to the action on the outside, focusing on his own battle after waiting so long to start it. He lifts Craven to his feet and doubles him over, then hooks both arms from underneath and signals for the move... Stevens: THAT’S THE LONGDOGGER CLOGGER! Riley: THAT’S THE KATAHAJIME CHOKE!!!! On the outside, Atlas has managed to lock on his signature submission move on Frost!!! In the ring, Longdogger Pete is about to demolish Michael Craven with the Longdogger Clogger... !*!SLAM!*! Stevens: AND HE HITS IT! COVER HIM, YOU’VE GOT IT WON!!!! PETE COVERS...!! .... .............. .........................? Stevens: What’s the damn referee doing??? Riley: He’s telling Atlas to get off Frost! Stevens: he should be counting! Pete has the match won!! Adamant to score a pinfall, Longdogger Pete comes to his feet and hastily approaches referee Billy Chiota. He grabs the official and points to Craven on the mat. Chiota quickly dives down as Pete returns to the United States Champion... But gets caught! Riley: SMALL PACKAGE! SMALL PACKAGE! ....O.....N.....E.... ....T.....W.....O.... ....T.....H.....R.....E.....E!!!!!!!!! DING-DING-DING!! “Your winners... SEAN ATLAS and the SWF US Champion... MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!” Stevens: What the hell just happened???? Riley: Craven stole a win! Stevens: And Atlas is on his way out! Sean Atlas drops Frost onto the steel ring steps, and darts away, jetting up the ramp. Craven, meanwhile rolls out to ringside and heads for the timekeeper’s table to grab his belt, then avoids Pete’s reaching arms as he runs past the ring and up the ramp right behind Sean Atlas. Stevens: That is NOT RIGHT! They had no business winning that match! Riley: A win is a win, Mark! You saw it, it was completely clean! Stevens: Oh yeah, clean. Clean like the crash of your ass, Riley. We’ll be right back with some real wrestling, folks. Stay tuned. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Secret Agent 0 Report post Posted June 5, 2003 I would like to say, that as the marker of this match, this is one of Johnny better matches (that I have read). It is unfortunate that he ran into the buzzsaw known as Tom Flesher. Good job Johnny. This was closer than I thought it would be. Thanks, however... Do you think you could hit me up with some specifics about the match? Like where it was weak, what I could improve on besides my God-Awful Grammar. I'd appreaciate yours and anyone elses, but espically yours, GS. One of them Danny rip into it and point out all the flaws would be helpful. *Is avid worshipper in the "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens cult* Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
