And now: SWF WRESTLECRAP~!

[AnnieEclectic 0]

Got a match you think is horrendous? Bring it on down to this thread! This is a "From the Vault" almost, only with the worst we've ever done. And to show just what I mean, let me drag up what is, quite possibly, the worst match I've ever written. It's a scant 1.5k. I don't know if Strangler ever saw this, but if he didn't he can now.

 

 

Be Amazed. Be Confused. It's Mosh Mosh Revolution.

 

 

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

 

Fade into "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sitting at the announcer's table, ready to call the next match...

 

Stevens: Whoa... we're on? Uh, alright, we're back on SmarkDown here at the RBA...

 

Riley: RBC

 

Stevens: Thanks, RBC Arena in Raleigh, and sorry, but we weren't ready to go on but apparently there have been some rule changes in the next match, which was -scheduled- to be Mak Francis vs. Annie Eclectic... let's see what happened backstage earlier tonight...

 

**************************************

 

-earlier tonight-

 

Ben Hardy is standing between both Eclectic and Francis, microphone in hand as both wrestlers eye each other...

 

Annie: Mak, look, right now there's an upheaval... dissent in the group.... so instead of duking it out, fighting and making things look worse, why don't we settle this with a battle of skills.

 

Mak: Battle of Skill? HAH! I am the FRANCHISE. I'm the best at any and every thing possible. Name your challenge.

 

Annie: *smirking* Fine. Meet me in the ring and get a partner. You'll need one.

 

Mak: Partner? I can beat you singlehandedly.

 

Annie: Alllllllright then... I warned you...

 

fade

 

*************************************

 

 

Stevens: And we've just gotten word that the battle tonight will be one of.... oh you're joking.

 

Riley: What? What is it?

 

Stevens: ...Mosh Mosh Revolution.

 

Riley: WHAT???

 

Funyon rises to his feet as Mak Francis makes his way to the ring, knee and elbow pads covering his joints. He fastens then re-fastens his helmet and struts to the ring with "Down With The Sickness" playing in the background. He rolls into the ring as lights illuminate it... casting attention to the giant harnessed arcade machine towering high above The Franchise.

 

Funyon: This is a Mosh Mosh Revolution Tag Challenge, set for one... fall? Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.... "The Franchise" ..Mak.... FRANCIS!!!

 

Stevens: I have that weird feeling in my belly...

 

Riley: Yeah.... me too. Do me a favor, if we both see Bear driving ANYTHING... we kill him, got it?

 

Stevens: Agreed.

 

"It's All About The Pentiums" BLASTS out of the PA system inside the arena. Out walks an... odd sight... an Asian woman walking to the ring, electronical bits and pieces attached to her body everywhere. A spy eyepiece is permanently attached to her head, covering her right eye. Behind her a HUGE man broods, wearing a suit that looks about ready to self destruct rather than try to contain the flesh it holds. He has half-moon spectacles on the bridge of his nose and carries a thick encyclopaedia with him. Both walk with purpose to the ring...

 

Funyon: And his opponenets... first... hailing from the ARPAnet... weighing in at 3,098,451,783,432,189,934,023,118,042 microns, the Mistress of Code... the GNU Guardian... the Linux Goddess herself.... OPEN SOURCE! And her partner, from the Boston Library in Boston, Massachusetts, weighing in at three hundred fifteen pounds, he is.... THE BOSTOOOOOOOOOON LIBRAAARIAAAAN!!!! Together they are: The Information Superhighway!!!

 

Stevens: Oh god.

 

Riley: You know, I could spear my eyeballs with this spork, but the sight will never leave my mind.

 

Information Superhighway enter the ring and smirk at their opponent, who himself is crying from laughter. Open Source calls for a microphone

 

OS: Mak. Where. Is. Your. Partner.

 

Mak just goggles at the two before him, watching in confusion as The Boston Librarian takes the microphone.

 

Librarian: Sir, this challenge requires a team effort. By the rules you cannot do this alone. Do you have a partner, sir?

 

Mak dumbly shakes his head 'no'.

 

Librarian: We were afraid you might neglect this aspect of the challenge. Therefore we have found a suitable partner to help you in this small challenge of skills. My erstwhile partner assembled him only an hour ago.

 

Stevens: I don't know what to say.

 

Riley: ...

 

The crowd sits on the edge of their seats waiting for the identity of Mak's partner to be revealed. Librarian puts the microphone in front of OS's mouth...

 

OS: Android. Thoth.

 

The sellout crowd at Raliegh screams a combined "ZUH?!?!?"

 

Riley: Android Thoth?

 

Suddenly a ton of metal drops unceremoniously into the ring. The compact metal forms gets up in a jerky movement, trying to brush off dust that wouldn't affect his painted form. Mak stares at his 'partner' ... an eight foot tall metal version of Thoth.

 

 

Stevens: ...It's an Android Thoth.

 

Riley: Yes... yes it is.

 

In a FLASH~! Everyone is told the rules of the game and are strapped into the harnesses inside the 4 foot by 4 foot square sensor mat.

 

Funyon: Rules state that choice of songs are ladies choice. Open Source decides the three songs to be played, the team with the most points, or the team that knocks out one of their opponents wins!

 

Riley: Mark, how does this work?

 

Stevens: Well... from what I understand, it's a concert sim. Stuff will be thrown at them, and they have to mosh and attack the parts of the body that the screen inside the ring specify, to the beat of the song.

 

Riley: Okay, here's a question... how do you knock out an Android?

 

Stevens: ...does any of this make sense?

 

GAME: MOSH MOSH REVOLUUUUUUTIOOOOOON!!! SONG CHOICE?

 

OS: I. Get. Wet. Andrew. W. K.

 

GAME: I GET WET! ON YOUR MARKS!

 

 

all four participants get into a 'ready' position, except for Android Thoth who stands perfectly still and blinks his LED eye-lights.

 

 

GAME: GET SET!

 

...nobody moves....

 

GAME: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

 

Electric Trumpets blare from the game's speakers, all four stare at the screen waiting for the song ot begin and to recieve the first attack.... At once guitars blare into life, drums, and the rest of the band play as the body sillouhette appears....

 

 

GAME: YOU -arm- WATCH -leg- WHAT -head- I SAY -head-

 

All at once, Open Source superkicks Android Thoth, only to hit his chest and break her big toe. Librarian punches the Franchise in the arm (10 points), as Mak kicks his leg (20 points). Android Thoth swings his fist around to hit Open Source in the head (30 points), which he connects, sending her flying across the ring. She gets up slowly, then jogs over halfway through the next line....

 

 

GAME: WATCH WHAT -head- I DO

 

Librarian and Source switch, with OS kicking the Franchise in the head (20 points) and Librarian taking a right hand swing at Android Thoth, catching his chin but causing severe pain at the same time (10 points).

 

Riley: ...

 

Stevens: You said it.

 

GAME: BECAUSE I -chin- REALLY DON'T CARE -leg- I REALLY DON'T CARE -head- YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO GO NOWHERE.... I GET WET!

 

 

Everyone is about to attack each other for more points when suddenly twelve thousand gallons of water drop from seemingly nowhere on top of the ring, dousing each fighter in cold, wet, H2O. Everyone survives.... except Android Thoth who is now smoking and twitching madly. The Game itself short circuits and weapons begin flying out madly at everyone. Rubber chickens land in the hands of Open Source and The Boston Librarian. Frustrated at the stupidity of the challenge's ending, Information Superhighway start beating the smoking husk of the game with the rubber chickens. A nozzle comes out of a different side of the game, spraying Mak Francis with Marshmallow Fluff at fire-hose strength. The Franchise is caked in sweet white fluff and is having a hard time removing himself from it.

 

Riley: Now THAT'S entertainment!

 

Stevens: How is watching Mak Francis get sprayed with white marshmallow entertain... oh dear god.

 

Riley: mmmmm, Fluff!

 

Stevens: Riley, you're really making me sick.

 

Riley: Well you'd still be better off than Android Thoth, look at him!

 

Android Thoth begins walking in circles backwards as his head rotates around his body.

 

Android Thoth: Two and one half scissors please! Yes I'll take the llama and green bean combo madam, just be sure to add the extra Elvis Costello I ordered. No, straws won't be necessary, I'm just wanting to WIN SELF DETERMINATION FOR THE SOUTH MULDAVIANS~! Damn you Scarlet -I- wanted the pink tutu and matching wilderbeast!

 

More twitching and violent shaking from thd robotic SWFer happen until he explodes in a shower of shards and sparks, leaving nothing but two robotic legs, now attempting to do the moonwalk, except both legs are doing the move at the same time. Fingers and sections of the arms land in the audience, killing two, injuring thirty, and turning on one really strange person. Android Thoth's head lands face down in Riley's lap, causing Stevens to projectile vomit onto the table.

 

Riley: Mmmmm...

 

Stevens: ***RRRRRAAAAALLLLLLLPPPHHHHH*****

 

DING DING DING

 

Funyon: Android Thoth has been destroyed, leaving Mak Francis partnerless. Therefore your winners, Open source... The Boston Librarian.... INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY!!!

 

"All About The Pentiums" plays as Open Source and the Librarian celebrate as their friends The Polka Kid, Remo Thunders, Bastion, Alex Tsirinov, Sakhmet, and Shades McGee run into the ring, hoisting both upon their shoulders and marching out in a victory parade, replete with fireworks, pyro, and the University of Nevada - Las Vegas marching band leading the way out. People cry, except for that android snuff fetishist who's doing some really nasty shit with a metal forearm in the corner of the arena.

 

Stevens: What a touching ending to an otherwise COMPLETELY FUCKING STUPID MATCH.

 

Riley: Mmmmmm...

 

Stevens: RILEY! GODDAMMIT STOP THAT!

 

Riley: You've got a wife, I've got head.

 

Stevens: You know, Thoth will kill you for this.

 

Riley: Don't you mean Gherrit White?

 

Stevens: No, Thoth.

 

Riley: You have to ruin all my fun don't you?

 

Riley throws the head into the audience, landing near the robot snuff fetishist who runs away with it in the night, metal protruding out of his rear end.

 

Stevens: Well, Francis is going to get de-fluffed, I'm going to get some fluids in me, and Riley's going to... FUCK, PUT IT AWAY BOBBY!!! PUT IT AWAY!!!

 

Riley: *sigh* Ruin all my fun.

 

Stevens: Up next: A real match. Annie wins, Mak loses, and we all just lost some of our innocence.

 

Riley: Or in my case, my virginity!

 

Stevens: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Holy god. that was horrible. I'm so glad I stopped writing script form.

 

 

-Annie

[Lightning Flik 0]

If someone can get my original first match (the battle royale for a shot at the IGNJL Television Title) can we PLEASE put that thing here.

 

Because that was my worst match I've ever written.

 

I still can't believe I won though.

 

Edit: WTF is with me and not commenting on the bloody hadian match? Me gots no brains me seems.

 

Actually, Annie, that was pretty bad, but not the worst I've seen. My original match was worse.

Edited March 16, 2004 by Lightning Flik

[Edwin MacPhisto 0]

Stevens: Thanks, RBC Arena in Raleigh,

I'm seeing Prince there in a mere 5 weeks. Oh yes.

[TheBostonStrangler 0]

Booyah for the Librarian! Information Superhighway would have been the greatest tag team of all time!

[Hank Kingsley 0]

Putting CIA on the Double Jeopardy Wheel of Misfortune.

[TheBostonStrangler 0]

My definitive Wrestlecrap moment: Death on Ice with Munich. For those of you who don't know about this match, it was a proposed match that would take place totally on an ice rink. That went as well as you'd expect it to go. Check it out.

 

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

 

The roar of the crowd in the Target Center in frigid Minneapolis, Minnesota begins to die down as Sacred and Mercury finally disappear from the ring area. The fans sit down; anxiously checking their programs to see what match is next on the card. A few hopeful (or hyper) fans remain on their feet while screaming, jumping up and down, and waving their signs in the air. One fan goes absolutely insane as she appears on the IGNTron™, and continues to wave her “I LOVE STUBBY!” sign. The camera continues to pan around the arena, showing the massive sellout crowd as the one female fan continues to scream as loudly as she can. As the fans next to her clap their hands over her mouth and pull her down into her seat, the shot quickly switches from a shot of the crowd to a look of Curry and NTD sniping at each other across the announce table.

 

“Now how can you really think that CURLING is more interesting than SPEED SKATING, NTD?”

 

“Curry, have you ever watched curling? The drama, the intensity, the…”

 

“…the brooms, the sweeping, the boredom…”

 

“As opposed to speed skating? Oh, look, I’m skating in a circle! WOW! Look at me go! I’m so special! Give me a break, Curry!”

 

“At least it isn’t a freakin’ ROCK moving in a straight line! I mean, c’mon!”

 

“At least that rock has charisma, unlike someone ELSE sitting at this announce table!”

 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Oh, nothing…*coughboringlosercough*”

 

“Hey, at least I don’t still live with my mother!”

 

“Curry, there was no need for that! And my mother lives with ME!”

 

“Sure she does…. oh, crap…”

 

“What…. oh”

 

Curry and NTD turn and stare at the cameraman, who is simply pointing at the camera’s shining red light. Curry and NTD look at each other, and then turn to face the camera, with their best fake smiles plastered on their faces. While Curry tries to go shifting through his notes, NTD takes the initiative.

 

“Hello, IGNWF fans! Apparently we won’t be showing that groundbreaking interview with BasketballASA…”

 

“That’s because it never happened, NTD. Anyway, we’ve started off tonight with two incredible matches. Tonight, we saw a member of the Clan, the Light Heavyweight champion Fallout, square off against former LHW and World Heavyweight champion El Luchadore Magnifico, a member of the Midnight Carnival!”

 

“And then we saw the climax of a bitter feud between Mercury and Sacred, two old friends who can’t seem to get back on the same page!”

 

“And speaking of old friends, we have a pair of grudge matches between old friends tonight, and the stakes have never been higher!”

 

“Damn straight, NTD! We’ll have the HVille Thugg taking on Xstasy for the #1 Contendership to the IGNWF Heavyweight Championship! And then, in our main event, that Championship will be decided as the Suicide King, the former leader of the Midnight Carnival, will take on “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens in a match with a TON of history behind it!”

 

“And tonight, the elusive Prophet may finally be revealed, as soon as he finishes destroying that punk, our not-so-esteemed Commish McWeed!”

 

“NTD, I get the feeling that this match will be a true battle…and so will our next fight! There have been battles between the Boston Strangler and Munich since December, when Strangler first appeared at The IGNWF No-Sells Christmas! After winning his first match in the league, he managed to piss off a returning Munich! Munich didn’t take kindly, and the two men have been at each other’s throats ever since!”

 

“Curry, stop kidding yourself! This has been a completely one-sided battle! Let’s see…what has Munich accomplished? He gave out Strangler’s phone number to a bunch of gay people, and then beat him up at a hockey game. Meanwhile, Strangler took Munich’s hardcore title, defended it, and also beat up Munich and two of his friends at a bar. Plus, the Patriots won the Super Bowl, and Munich’s pathetic Bears got their asses kicked!”

 

“NTD, Munich was screwed out of the Hardcore Title TWICE, when Strangler had to have the Clan bail him out! But tonight, that won’t be happening! Tonight, Strangler and Munich will be battling at Washburn High School in Minneapolis, away from the Target Center, and the helping hand of the Clan!”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about that! But tonight, they’ll battle it out on the ice! They’ve already had one rumble IN a hockey arena, but tonight, they’re alone in a 1,250-seat arena! Pinfalls count anywhere inside the building, and anything and everything is legal! Tonight, these two men will go to the limit, and as usual, Strangler will win!”

 

“NTD, I just don’t see how you can be so confident!”

 

“Strangler is UNDEFEATED in singles competition in the IGNWF, Curry! He’s already beaten Munich TWICE!”

 

“Third time’s the charm, NTD. Anyway, we’ll be doing commentary via satellite uplink, and we’ll have our roving reporter on the scene! Let’s take it to Ben Hardy at the rink!”

 

“Um…Curry, Hardy’s still here. He’s backstage right now. He’s not going down there.”

 

“Wait a minute…please tell me that they didn’t do this again…”

 

“KLUK-KLUK-KABOOM!”

 

“Oh crap…”

 

As Curry hangs his head and begins to cry, the face of Exploding Chicken appears on the IGNTron™ with the backdrop of a completely empty hockey rink behind him. The fans go absolutely nuts, giving Exploding Chicken WAY too big a pop. Chicken stands there, waiting for a few seconds, then continues onward.

 

“Kaboom! That’s right! I’ve got you boys covered down here. I’ll lend you two a hand in following this most unusual match!”

 

A slumped-over Curry can only mutter “Yay”. Meanwhile, NTD is doing his best to fish Curry’s wallet out of his pants. Suddenly, “Power Struggle” by Sunna rips throughout the arena, sending the fans to their feet. The lights begin to flash, and on the IGNTron™, Munich appears, with his trusty barbed-wire hockey stick in hand. He high-fives Exploding Chicken, then points straight into the camera. The fans go nuts as Munich screams out “NOBODY F*CKS WITH MUNICH!”, then steps onto the ice. The referee, a rookie in the IGNWF named Rick Baker, waits for Munich at center ice. Munich cautiously slides along the ice, doing his best to keep his grip on the slippery surface. He finally makes his way to the center of the ice, and whispers something to the referee, who is on skates, before standing there for a second as Funyon’s voice comes over the PA system at both arenas.

 

“This is a DEATH ON ICE match, it is scheduled for ONE FALL, and it is for the IGNWF HARDCORE GAMER’S CHAMPIONSHIP! The challenger, weighing in at 261 POUNDS, from CHICAGO, ILLINOIS…MUUUUUUUUUNICH!”

 

The camera view goes back to the arena, where NTD is sitting with a huge diagram of a building. Curry starts to speak, while NTD simply stares into the camera and makes funny faces. “The IGNWF would like to take this time to introduce a new camera system that they’ll be using when people have to wrestle in…unconventional venues. NTD, why don’t you show our fans this amazing new system!”

 

“Well Curry, this is how it will be working. Exploding Chicken only has one cameraman there. Ahmed will man the camera that follows Chicken around, and will be used if the two of them wander off into an area that we haven’t expected. However, we’ve placed 18 cameras throughout the arena! We have 10 set up throughout the rink and stands, and then 8 cameras in backstage areas, such as the locker room, lobby/concession area, and the bathroom. That’s my favorite…”

 

“What a shocker there! Anyway…”

 

Before Curry can get to his next point, “Your Disease” by Saliva hits over the PA system. The crowd boos as the Boston Strangler comes climbing down through the stands; his eyes focused on Munich. He slowly steps down, and finally reaches the floor of the arena. Strangler shouts at Exploding Chicken to open the door to the ice for him. Chicken mutters under his breath, and then moves forward, holding the door open for Strangler. Strangler glares at Chicken, and then crosses onto the ice. As Strangler moves away, Chicken murmurs “Stupid motherclucker…”, drawing Strangler’s attention. As Strangler whirls around, looking at Chicken, all he finds is the announcer involved in a discussion with Ahmed. Strangler whirls back, and nearly falls over on the ice, drawing laughs from the four other men in the rink, as well as the crowd, watching from the Target Center.

 

“And introducing the IGNWF HARDCORE GAMER’S CHAMPION, from BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, weighing in at 294 POUNDS, THE BOSTON…STTRRRRRANGLER!”

 

Strangler fully straightens himself up, and then continues to walk toward center ice. Strangler moves slowly, being careful not to slip again. He finally arrives at center ice, with a look of relief on his face, and looks up to see Munich staring at him, with a HUGE grin on his face. Strangler tries to return the grin, but instead flashes a nervous look at Munich, and then stares down at the ice. Baker speaks to the two men quickly, then calls for the start of the match. Back in the Target Center, the bell rings to signal the start of the match.

 

DING DING DING!

 

Munich quickly lashes out with a right hand, sending Strangler slipping backwards. The big man starts spinning his arms, and then manages to right himself just as Munich balances himself on one foot, and lashes out with a kick aimed straight at Strangler’s chest. The kick lands directly in the middle of Strangler’s ribcage, sending him thundering to the ground. As he falls to the ice with a loud thud, Strangler sends his right foot flailing wildly in Munich’s direction. Strangler’s boot wraps around Munich’s left ankle, pulling him off balance as well. Munich tries to keep his balance on his right foot, but fails, and goes crashing to the ice as well.

 

“NTD, this might not exactly be a technical masterpiece tonight…”

 

Strangler pulls himself over to Munich, and launches into him with a series of hard right hands to Munich’s head. Munich fights to free himself from Strangler’s vise-like grip as he continues to batter the smaller man. Munich finally sends his forearm smashing into Strangler’s gut, toppling Strangler and giving Munich a chance to shake off the early assault.

 

“Kaboom! What a start to this never-before-seen brawl!”

 

Strangler struggles to push himself up, and starts sliding along the red line toward the boards. Munich scrambles to his feet with relative ease, and notices Strangler apparently running for cover. Munich begins to job lightly, going as fast as he possibly can on the ice, and starts to gain ground on Munich. Strangler, still on his hands and knees, hears the noise on the ice behind him. He turns, and sees Munich rapidly gaining ground on him. Munich then launches himself into the air, aiming straight at Strangler. Strangler goes rolling off to the side, and Munich lands flat on his face on the ice. As the crowd back at the Target Center groans, with a few laughs scattered in, Munich slides across the ice, directly along the red line, until he goes smashing into the base of the boards. Munich’s head collides with the hard plastic, and he lies there, unmoving, in a pile.

 

“Ouch! Munich could be in some serious trouble here!” crows Exploding Chicken. “That was a nasty shot against the boards.” The referee comes gliding over, and comes to a sharp strop at the side of Munich. The referee bends over and checks on Munich as Strangler finishes sliding over to the boards, over by the blue line, and pushes himself up on the ice. The referee notices Strangler making his way toward the downed wrestler, and quickly skates away. Strangler uses the boards to keep himself balanced as he moves cautiously toward Munich. He pauses at the edge of one of the benches, and then reaches over the plastic. He fumbles around with something on the ground, then emerges with a hockey stick and a puck.

 

“Kaboom! Curry, NTD, Strangler’s got a kluk-kluk-puck!”

 

“How is he still working for this company, NTD?”

 

“How are WE still working for this company, Curry?”

 

“Point taken…”

 

Strangler drops the puck to the ice, and then grips the hockey stick, trying to fit in into his hands. Strangler, still awkwardly wielding the stick, moves toward Munich, who is finally getting up while holding his sore neck. Munich is halfway to his feet before he crumples back to the ice as Strangler lifts the stick into the air, and sends the blade crashing down on the back of Munich’s neck. The Chicago native has the presence of mind to cover his face and head before Strangler’s weapon comes crashing down on Munich again. Munich moans, and rolls onto his back, leaving his front completely exposed. Strangler breaks into a perverse smile just before sending his hockey stick slicing through the air, directly toward Munich’s exposed groin. The stick slams into Munich’s genitals, and shatters upon impact as Munich’s eyes open wide, and his jaw drops. The blade of the stick goes skittering across the ice as Strangler slowly begins to lower himself to the ice, as the referee comes skating back over.

 

“Dear god! NTD, did you see that?”

 

“How could you miss that? Munich’s gonna be feeling that for a long time! I mean, the stick SHATTERED!”

 

Strangler finally gets down on his knees, and reaches toward Munich. Suddenly, Munich lashes upward with a sharp right to Strangler’s jaw, sending the surprised Clannie reeling backwards. Strangler quickly recovers, and lunges forward once again, looking to regain the advantage. His huge right clothesline misses high, however, and Munich turns to face Strangler, who has his back to Munich. Munich seizes the opportunity, and grabs ahold of Strangler’s arm, using his momentum to force Strangler onto the ice. Munich wraps around Strangler’s right forearm, and locks on a crucifix armbar. Strangler yowls in pain, and starts to pull away, trying to free himself from Munich’s vicious maneuver. Munich starts screaming at Strangler, shouting obscenities at him as he tries to rein in the larger man. Strangler finally manages to escape, and goes crashing to the ice with a loud thud.

 

“Well, Munich has taken a bad situation, and completely turned things around! But how did he shake off that incredibly vicious shot to the groin, NTD?”

 

“I honestly don’t know….Chicken, can you see anything from down there?”

 

The camera view changes to one of Exploding Chicken craning his neck, staring out over the rink. “No, NTD, I can’t see anything….wait! Munich’s reaching into his shorts!”

 

“OH YES!”

 

“No! Not this again, NTD!” shouts Curry. “Both hands on the table!”

 

“Oh my god!” screams Chicken. “Curry, NTD, look! Munich just pulled a steel cup out of his shorts!”

 

Sure enough, Munich has drawn a shiny steel cup out of his pants, much to the delight of the crowd back at the Target Center. As NTD salivates, Munich smashes the cup into Strangler’s cheekbone, then begins rubbing it across Strangler’s face. “No-good piece of dog #&@%, #@$@ *$*@^!” screams Munich as he continues to go to work, putting pressure on Strangler’s face. Finally, Munich stands up, and releases his vicious hold on Munich. He tosses the cup into the stands, and then reaches down and pulls a confused and battered Strangler to his feet while maintaining his balance on the ice.

 

“That’s just disgusting, NTD!”

 

The camera shifts to a shot of NTD, staring lustfully at the monitor in front of him. “Hey, Chicken, get that cup! I want it….for the IGNWF museum. Yeah…”

 

“You sick freak…”

 

Munich twirls a still-dazed Strangler around until the Clannie is facing Munich. Munich then grabs ahold of Strangler’s shirt, and starts pulling it up over Strangler’s head. Strangler resists, but Munich easily overcomes the resistance, and gets the shirt completely over Strangler’s head before laying into him with crazy, flailing punches. Blow after blow rains down upon Strangler’s exposed back and blinded head, slowly dropping Strangler to his knees. Munich begins to scream once again, yelling “NOBODY F*CKS WITH MUNICH!” as he sends one last shot into Strangler’s covered jaw. The final blow sends a kneeling Strangler tumbling backwards to the ice. Strangler’s bare back hits the ice first, causing Strangler to quickly shout in a rather high voice. The crowd erupts into laughter as the shivering Strangler desperately pulls the shirt back off of his head, and covers his back.

 

“Strangler is being completely and utterly dominated by Munich! This is brutal!”

 

“Curry, this match is FAR from over! Give Strangler some time to get back into this!”

 

“All right….I’ll give him the time. I don’t know if Munich will, though.”

 

Munich pulls Strangler to his feet, and then slowly pushes a passive Strangler back against the boards. The two men are down at one end by the blue line, and Munich has Strangler up against the plastic, with three feet of Plexiglas rising above the rink’s rim. Munich pulls Strangler’s shirt back up to around Strangler’s neck, exposing Strangler’s chest again. Munich steps back, winds up, and slams his open hand into Strangler’s chest with a WICKED knife-edge chop. Strangler lets out a meek-sounding moan, and slips slightly down the boards. Munich, with a look of unbridled intensity on his face, winds up again, and smashes into Strangler’s chest again, harder than the first time. Strangler slips even further down the boards, then drops to the ice completely as Munich’s third chop slams into him harder than the two before them.

 

“Don’t worry, Curry. Strangler has Munich right where he wants him…”

 

“And how exactly does that work, NTD?”

 

“Um…I don’t know, but Strangler does! So says the Clan!”

 

“Right….Chicken, what do things look like down there?”

 

“Curry, things are…KABOOM!…exploding in Strangler’s face! He’s being physically dominated by Munich! Ahmed, get a close up!”

 

After some muttering, Ahmed heads forward, and moves up against the Plexiglas. He zooms in, and gives everyone a look at Strangler’s pathetic situation. Strangler sits on the ice, his shirt halfway up his chest, while Munich is sending a few quick kicks into his midsection. Finally, Munich pulls Strangler up yet again, and grabs ahold of Strangler’s forearm. Munich sets himself as best he can, and then pushes off, sending Strangler slipping and sliding across the ice. Strangler immediately thrusts out his hands, and starts flailing away, doing his best to keep his balance. Chicken, Ahmed, Curry, and the entire Target Center burst into laughter as Strangler, with a look of complete fear and bewilderment, continues sliding across the ice.

 

“HAHAHAHA! NTD, did you see that? Strangler looks like a 5-year-old out there! This is hilarious!”

 

“No it isn’t! This is serious business! Have some respect!”

 

Finally, Strangler sees the boards just a few short feet away from him. Strangler goes sailing straight into the boards, and grabs ahold of the wall, glad to be stopped. He looks around at his position, halfway between the blue line and the goal line, with a towering wall of Plexiglas rising up behind him. Suddenly, he notices Munich sliding/running toward him across the rink, and gaining steam fast. Munich then jumps through the air, aimed straight at Strangler’s completely unprotected head and neck. Strangler has just enough time to duck and put his hands up in the air. Munich’s expression turns from one of confidence and aggression to a look of complete horror as Strangler’s hands are planted on the underside of his chest, helping to propel him forward even faster. Munich goes sailing into the glass, and shatters it, sending him flying to the outside in a deluge of small pieces of the Plexiglas while Strangler puts his hands over his head, trying to protect himself from the danger.

 

“HOLY ****! NTD, did you see that?”

 

“Yes I did! I told you Strangler had him where he wanted him!”

 

“Shut up, NTD! Chicken, is Munich OK?”

 

Chicken’s halting voice booms through the Target Center, which is silent, waiting for news. “It doesn’t look good, Curry. Munich is lying here in a pile of glass, and he’s openly bleeding from numerous cuts on his face! Munich’s strategy has just…KABOOM!…blown up in his face!”

 

Strangler gets to his feet, and slowly brushes the loose pieces of glass out of his stringy hair. He looks over the barrier, and sees Munich lying there, unmoving. Strangler brushes off the rink wall, and then places his hands on it, looking to climb over the wall. Strangler moves slowly, and takes a good ten seconds to clear the 3-foot high wall. He stalks over toward Munich, who is still lying, motionless, on his stomach. Strangler kicks at some of the glass surrounding Munich on the ground, creating a space. He then kneels in the freshly cleared area, and rolls Munich onto his back. The sound of broken glass echoes throughout the arena, and Munich moans as more shards of glass dig into his bloody back. Strangler, now bleeding from a small cut on his knee, hooks Munich’s leg, and goes for the cover. The referee, however, is just getting over the wall, due to his skates. Strangler looks up, and barks at the slow referee to hurry up. Finally, Baker is in position. He gets down, then looks at the glass-covered floor in trepidation. After a moment of thinking, Baker instead reaches for one of the skates, which he has taken off, and starts to make the count on the upper part of the skate.

 

“Strangler’s done it, Curry! It’s over! So says the Clan!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

THREE!!

 

“NO! MUNICH KICKED OUT! HE KICKED OUT!”

 

“What? How in the blue hell did Munich just kick out of that? He’s barely 30 seconds removed from flying through a huge sheet of glass! He should be dead!”

 

“NTD, Munich’s one tough SOB!”

 

“Kluk kluk! Curry, look at Strangler’s face! He’s about ready to kill Baker!”

 

Sure enough, Strangler is already to his feet. Now that Strangler is on solid ground on the outside, he quickly stalks over toward Baker, who is backing away, trying to avoid some of the shards of glass. Strangler is completely enraged, screaming obscenities at the rookie referee. Baker tries to calm down the furious Bostonian, but instead only succeeds in getting a right fist to the face. Baker sinks to the ground, completely decimated by Strangler’s massive fist slamming into his head. Strangler’s mood lessens slightly, but the incensed look on his face remains as he begins to stalk back toward Munich, still in complete disbelief over the recent turn of events.

 

“NTD, Strangler just laid out the referee! How can he win this? We aren’t at the arena, so there are no referees to take Baker’s place! Strangler may have committed a HUGE mental error there!”

 

“That ref will be up in five minutes max! Strangler can EASILY control Munich until then!”

 

Strangler reaches Munich, who is STILL not moving, and pulls the completely drained man to his feet. Munich offers no resistance as Strangler grabs ahold of Munich’s collar, and leads him further away from the pile of glass, and the rink. Strangler approaches a door in the back of the arena, and uses Munich’s head as a battering ram. The door goes flying open, and Munich goes bursting through, with Strangler directly behind him. Munich goes flying into the wall, but Strangler reaches Munich, and holds him upright before Munich has a chance to drop to the ground. As Exploding Chicken and Ahmed come bursting through the door, and the camera angle switches to one of the stationary cameras situated in the hallway, Strangler grabs ahold of Munich’s forearm. He pulls Munich toward him, and then levels him with his right arm. The clothesline sends Munich on a direct line to the ground, but Strangler refuses to release his grip on Munich’s arm. As Munich goes limp, Strangler’s arm goes taut, and then starts pulling Munich back into a standing position. Munich is jerked back up, and then goes tumbling down like a rag doll as Strangler hits him with another vicious clothesline. Before Munich is even given a chance to act, Strangler brings Munich back into a standing position, then levels him yet again with a third clothesline.

 

“Curry, Strangler is picking Munich apart! This match is as good as ever! Now we’re just waiting on Baker to make it official!”

 

“NTD, Strangler was getting his ass KICKED five minutes ago! Give Munich a chance!”

 

“Well, I will, but I don’t know if Strangler will…”

 

“You phrase-stealing bastard!”

 

“PUPPIES!”

 

Strangler pulls Munich up yet again, but instead of sending him to the floor once again, he allows Munich to stay on his feet. Munich is dragged along by the massive Bostonian as he stalks down the hallway, which apparently abuts all the locker rooms. Strangler pauses as he reaches a door marked “HOME LOCKER ROOM #1”, and then throws Munich through the hinged door. Munich goes tumbling to the floor of the locker room, where he remains as Strangler saunters into the locker room. Chicken and Ahmed are directly behind the Clannie, who is covered in his own blood, as well as Munich’s. Munich lies on the floor, with his face a mask of crisscrossing crimson lines. Strangler slowly picks up Munich, taking his time as the smaller man offers absolutely no resistance to Strangler’s force. As soon as Munich is on his feet, Strangler wraps his arms around Munich’s waist. Munich tries to crumple to the mat, but Strangler supports him, and then, with a grunt, tosses Munich over his head with a belly to belly suplex. Munich goes flying through the air, then crashes, back-first, into a row of lockers behind him. A groan arises from the Target Center fans as Munich drops to the ground, and Strangler turns to look at his handiwork.

 

“Strangler has absolutely destroyed Munich! Munich’s back could have been broken with that last move!”

 

“Curry, Munich knew what this match would be about! Anything that happens to him is HIS fault!”

 

Strangler reaches down, and grabs ahold of Munich’s left hand. Leaving Munich on the ground, Strangler starts dragging Munich through the locker room. He heads through the back of the room, and into the shower area, which is completely empty, and completely dry. Strangler drags Munich underneath one of the showerheads, and quickly turns on the water. Munich jerks in surprise on the ground as the water begins to soak him from head to toe. Blood that’s caked onto Munich begins to run down to the drain as Munich gets progressively wetter. After 30 seconds or so, Strangler turns off the shower, and picks up a soaking wet, dripping Munich. The wrestler begins to shiver as Strangler picks him up, delivers a quick punch into Munich’s gut, and then heads back out through the locker room.

 

“See, Curry! Strangler cares about Munich! He wanted to clean him off! That blood can be a real bitch sometimes!”

 

“So can you, Curry! He just did that to make it even worse for Munich when they head back out onto the ice!”

 

“Always the negative thinker, Curry…”

 

Chicken and Ahmed hustle to keep up with Strangler, who seems to be in a real hurry to get out toward the rink. Strangler comes flying out of the hallway, still dragging Munich along. However, the two men have come out a different door, and they find themselves in a far corner of the arena, across from the pool of broken glass. Strangler looks around, getting his bearings, and then notices a small obtrusion from the wall. He takes a better look, and notices a sign that reads:

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SKATE SHARPENING

EQUIPMENT

ZAMBONI ENTRANCE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Strangler’s face erupts in a huge grin, and, still dragging Munich along, Strangler heads toward the door leading to the equipment room.

 

“Kluk kluk! Curry, NTD, things are getting real interesting down here! The two men have just gone into the area where they sharpen skates and keep the zamboni, among other things!”

 

“NTD, this can only mean one thing!”

 

“Free hippos?”

 

“NO! A lot of pain for Munich and Strangler both!”

 

“That was my next guess…”

 

Strangler appears in the skate room, where over 30 pairs of skates of assorted types and TONS of sticks are simply lying around. Strangler also notices two buckets of hockey pucks, situated right next to the sharpening wheel. Strangler’s face twists into an evil look yet again, and he drags Munich toward the wheel. Strangler releases Munich momentarily, and searches for the power switch. After a few seconds, Strangler finds the switch, and flips it to the ON position. The wheel begins to turn, moving slowly, then faster and faster with each successive rotation. Strangler reaches down for Munich, but instead goes slamming against the wall as Munich swings upward, smashing a hockey puck held in his right hand directly into Strangler’s nose. Blood slowly begins to drip from Strangler’s nose as Munich sends his left hand, also containing a puck, into Strangler’s face as well. Strangler’s face starts to turn bright red as well as Munich winds up with both hands, then smashes the pucks into Strangler’s temples. The big man crumples to the ground under the force of the blows, and Munich, still struggling to stay on his feet, switches off the skating wheel.

 

“What a spectacular comeback by Munich! Desperation at its best!”

 

“Desperation is right, Curry! Now he has to follow those moves up! MUCH harder to do!”

 

Munich notices a metal folding chair, and heads over toward it. As Chicken cringes in anticipation of what will happen, Munich does something completely unexpected: He sits down on it. The entire crowd back at the Target Center murmurs as Munich takes a seat, and tries to regroup. He notices a spare hockey uniform nearby, and then looks down at his soaking wet clothes. He glances over at Strangler, who is still bleeding, but not moving, and then decides to make his move. He tears off his soaked shirt, and throws on the hockey jersey, with a huge “WASHBURN” written on it. He then tears off his pants, which gets a favorable response from the ladies back at the Target Center, as well as NTD, and throws on the hockey pants, which only go down to his knees. Munich then tosses his old clothes out of the way, and heads for the downed Strangler, who is finally beginning to stir.

 

“Well, Munich has a fresh pair of clothes, and he’s certainly dressed for the occasion, NTD!”

 

“Too bad that no matter how he dresses himself up, he’ll still be a jobber! Strangler will DESTROY HIM!”

 

Munich grabs ahold of Strangler, and pulls him up before Strangler can reestablish the upper hand. Munich grabs Strangler by the forearm, and starts to lead him toward the door leading to the Zamboni room. Munich and Strangler go through the door at the same time, and appear directly next to the massive machine itself. Munich grabs Strangler by his hair, and sends the big man’s face flying straight into the side of the Zamboni. Strangler comes bouncing off the Zamboni, still reeling from the shots with the hockey pucks, and falls straight into Munich’s arms. Munich wastes no time by lifting Strangler into the air, and then smashing him onto the concrete floor with a massive spinebuster. Munich falls to the ground as well, and takes a moment or two to climb back to his feet while Strangler lies there, in a complete fog.

 

“Kaboom! Strangler is being destroyed by Munich! What a turnaround by the amazing Munich!”

 

“Chicken, for once, I agree wholeheartedly!”

 

NTD, with a disgusted look on his face, turns to Curry. “What is this, the Munich Fan Club? Strangler is still the Hardcore Champion until he’s pinned, and he won’t be pinned until that referee shows up!”

 

“NTD, I think you may have just jinxed Strangler! Look at that!”

 

“Kluk kluk! It’s Baker! The referee has finally figured out where the action is!”

 

Sure enough, the poor rookie referee has wandered into the Zamboni area, still holding his jaw. Upon seeing Munich coming to his feet, and Strangler lying motionless on the floor, he breaks into a grin. Munich is the last man to notice the resurgent ref, excluding Strangler, who isn’t noticing much of anything at the moment. As soon as he discovers Baker, he shouts at the ref to get in position. Munich drops right back to the floor, and rolls over onto Strangler to make the cover.

 

“Here we go, NTD! New Hardcore Champ!”

 

“I can’t watch!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

“And Strangler kicks out in the nick of time! Dammit!”

 

Strangler rolls onto his side, vainly trying to get to his feet, while Munich looks up, with surprise on his face. He stares at the referee, who regrettably holds up two fingers. Munich doesn’t push the subject, but instead pushes himself to his feet with great effort. Reaching down, he grabs ahold of Strangler, and pulls him up as well. Munich drags Strangler over to the side of the Zamboni, where a small stepladder appears. Munich leaves Strangler standing, and then begins to climb up the Zamboni. After ten seconds or so, Munich is standing atop the 12 foot tall machine, and the crowd back at the Target Center is buzzing with excitement. Chicken and the referee look at each other, then slowly back away as Munich looks down at the men below him. Strangler, who is leaning against the Zamboni in an attempt to keep his footing, finally looks up, and sees Munich staring down at him from the top. Strangler swallows nervously as Munich readies himself, then leaps off the top of the Zamboni, spinning towards Strangler. Strangler hurriedly tries to escape, but fails as Munich slams into Strangler with a vicious spinning back elbow off the top of the Zamboni. Munich plows Strangler onto the cold, concrete floor, then falls to the ground himself. Munich’s momentum keeps him rolling along the ground, and over the top of Strangler. Munich ends up lying on his back, on the concrete floor, with Strangler’s hand lying on top of him, a fact that neither man seems to realize. The referee alertly notices it, and drops to the ground to begin the count.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

“What the hell? Strangler is going for the pin! How’d that happen?”

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

“I dunno, but Munich better figure it out fast, NTD!”

 

 

 

THREE…

 

“And Munich kicks out! God, that was a close one!”

 

Munich notices Strangler’s limp hand resting on his chest just in the nick of time, and manages to brush the hand off, ending the count. Munich and Strangler both begin to fight their way to their feet as Baker looks on, waiting for some action. “Kaboom! What a match! Ahmed, isn’t this the greatest match you’ve ever seen?” crows Chicken as Ahmed nods vigorously. Munich is the first to get to his feet, climbing to a standing position while Strangler is still getting to a knee. Munich hobbles around, favoring his right ankle, which was injured in the fall. He reaches Strangler, and pulls him up by his greasy black hair. Strangler tries to fight away from Munich, but is unable to escape. Munich, keeping his grip on Strangler’s hair, heads back through the skate shop, and tosses Strangler through the skate shop door, tossing him to the area surrounding the hockey rink.

 

“And these two men have finally returned to the rink area! NTD, this match has been absolutely brutal so far! How much more can these two men take?”

 

“Strangler can go for miles! But Munich…he’s about to run out of gas, in my humble opinion.”

 

Strangler starts to force himself to his feet, with the look on his face one of complete exhaustion and desperation. A determined Munich comes through the door that Strangler went flying through only moments before, and heads directly for the beleaguered Strangler. Strangler is almost to his feet when Munich’s hands wrap around the back of his shirt once again. With a desperation move, Strangler lashes out with a vicious back kick, which catches Munich in his now-unprotected groin. Munich falters backwards, and releases his grip on Strangler’s shirt. Strangler turns slowly, fatigued from his battle, and finds Munich doubled over by the edge of the rink. Strangler seizes the opportunity, and reaches over for Munich, hooking his head underneath his arms. He sets him up, then drops him straight to the floor with a double arm DDT, leaving Munich motionless on the ground.

 

“Lights Out from Strangler, and it could be lights out for Munich! Go Clan!” screams NTD in jubilation.

 

Strangler drops to the mat, and hooks Munich’s leg. The referee drops to the covered floor, and starts the count, hitting the floor like a little girl.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

“NO! Munich kicked out again! How is he still going?”

 

“NTD, he’s a damn tough fighter, and he sure as hell deserves this title!”

 

Strangler, with a look of complete and utter rage on his face, gets up, screaming at the referee. Baker immediately runs, remembering what happened earlier, and Strangler turns his attention back to Munich. He walks over to Munich, and pulls Munich up to his feet. Grabbing ahold of Munich’s new jersey, he drags Munich along as he heads across the rink, toward the huge pool of broken glass on the floor. Strangler gets about halfway across the rink, then stops, and pins Munich up against the boards, from the outside. Chicken and Ahmed follow along from behind, with Chicken clucking on about the brutality. Strangler slams Munich’s head into the boards, then delivers a hard shot with his right hand to Munich’s skull. Munich crumples back against the boards, and Strangler releases his grip on Munich’s hair. Strangler backs up, sizing up the increasing distance between the two men, and then charges forward, looking for a spear. Strangler continues his charge, but hits nothing but plastic as Munich ducks out of the way just in time. Strangler drops to the floor, holding his neck, as Munich, who is on his knees to the right of Strangler, starts to fight to his feet.

 

“Curry, NTD, Strangler just made a costly error! He may have just…KABOOM!…destroyed his hopes of holding onto that title!” screams Exploding Chicken into Ahmed’s camera.

 

Munich finally regains his vertical base, and struggles over to Strangler, who is struggling himself in his attempt to get back up. Munich reaches down, grabs ahold of Strangler, and yanks him up by the throat. Strangler’s face contorts into an expression of pain as he struggles to free himself from the grip on his neck. Munich leads Strangler over to the boards, and presses his face up against the board, smushing it against the unyielding Plexiglas. Munich then starts to walk while forcing Strangler’s face up against the boards, causing Strangler’s face to trail along the boards, leaving a faint smear of red as he goes. After a good 30 feet, Munich finally releases Strangler, dropping him to the ground a few feet from the pile of broken glass.

 

“NTD, this is about to get real serious….I hope one of these men doesn’t do something that they’re going to regret around that glass.”

 

“If they want to win that hardcore title, then they’re going to do a LOT of things that they’ll regret!”

 

Exploding Chicken and Ahmed arrive on the scene, coming in very close to the two men for a close-up. Ahmed focuses in on Strangler’s face, gnarled with pain, as Munich pulls the Bostonian to his feet. Munich stands behind Strangler, and brings Strangler’s left arm down between his legs, trapping Strangler in an abdominal stretch. Munich then hooks Strangler’s right arm around his bicep, partially pinning Strangler’s arm down. As Munich sets up Strangler for a pumphandle powerbomb, Strangler frantically looks around for a way to avoid a bloody and painful fate. He notices Ahmed only a couple of feet away from his outstretched hand, and suddenly the look on his face goes from one of fear to one of intensity. He strains as hard as he can, reaches out, and snatches the camera directly out of Ahmed’s hands. Ahmed screams, and Chicken starts yelling at Ahmed as Strangler brings the camera down, then swings it upward with all his strength. The camera collides with Munich’s skull, knocking the Chicago native for a loop. He relaxes his grip on Strangler, freeing him, and staggers forward onto the pile of glass, up against the boards leading to the ice.

 

“Strangler just used that TV camera! That was our feed camera too! Get to another angle!”

 

After Curry’s urging, the angle goes to one from halfway up in the stands, with an excellent view of the action. As the camera zooms in, it shows Strangler sneaking up alongside a completely unaware Munich. Before Munich has a chance to react, Strangler grabs Munich from behind, and tucks Munich’s head underneath his arm. The crowd at the Target Center begins to boo as Strangler backs up slightly, and raises his left arm into the air. As Strangler backs up, he backs into the boards, slamming Munich’s head against them. Strangler looks backwards at the waist-high boards, and then the look on his face gets even more sadistic. He sets himself even more firmly, and then, with a HUGE groan, lifts Munich in a horizontal position off the ground. Strangler gets Munich a good two or three feet off the floor, then pushes backwards with all his might, dropping Munich’s head over the boards. Munich goes tumbling down, spiking straight into the glass-covered ice as the crowd goes absolutely silent, and Exploding Chicken stops screaming at Ahmed long enough to observe the damage.

 

“Dear God! Last Breath! Strangler just lifted Munich up, and gave him that reverse DDT drop over the barrier, onto the glass-covered ice! That was just plain sickening!”

 

“It’s over, Curry! The Spicy One’s favorite wrestler is DONE! Strangler’s got it in the bag! YES!”

 

Strangler painfully steps over the boards, looking as if he is in genuine pain. He gets to the ice, and is forced to sweep even more of the glass away. Strangler waits for the referee to climb over the boards, and then makes the cover, not even bothering to hook the leg as the unconscious Munich lies there in complete silence.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

Funyon’s voice comes blaring over the system once again: “YOUR WINNER, and STILL IGNWF HARDCORE GAMER’S CHAMPION, THE BOSTON…STRRRRRRRANGLER!”

 

Strangler rolls over, and sits up in a haze. He looks around, taking a good ten seconds until the result has registered in his mind. He then springs up as best he can, looking more like a dead donkey than an energetic young man, but manages to get to his feet anyway. He reaches for the HGC Title belt, which Baker has carried around the ring with him, and rips it away from the ref’s grasp. He raises the title into the air, with a look of incredible relief on his face.

 

“And Strangler wins a VERY hard fought battle between himself and Munich!”

 

“It was never even close, Curry! Strangler dominated throughout, and the best man won! Plain and simple!”

 

“Well, moving on….hey, wait a minute! What the hell?”

 

Strangler turns to view the entire arena, the site of his conquest, but instead is plowed into the ice. Strangler smashes into the ice, caught completely off guard. The referee whirls around, surprised by the sound of commotion, and sees a man beating away on Strangler. Strangler has no energy left, and his resistance is feeble as the assailant continues to pound the living hell out of Strangler. Strangler’s head is pounded again and again into the ice, opening up a vicious cut on the back of his skull. As blood begins to form in a small pool on the ice, the referee, against his instinct, goes to force the man off of Strangler.

 

“Chicken! Chicken! What the hell is happening?”

 

“Ahmed, you’re…KABOOM!…fired! Get the hell out of…”

 

“CHICKEN!”

 

“Wha…what do you want?”

 

“Look at the ice, idiot! Who the hell is that?”

 

“It’s the Boston Strangler! He just won….oh! What the hell?”

 

The referee finally pries the man off of Strangler, who drops down into a puddle of his own blood on the ice. The referee starts screaming at the man, demanding to know who he is. As the man looks up, the referee’s eyes widen with a sign of recognition and surprise. He then turns, and Chicken gasps before speaking.

 

“Curry, NTD, that’s….that’s….kluk kluk…”

 

“WHO THE HELL IS IT, CHICKEN?”

 

“It’s…KABOOM!…LDP! It’s Longdogger Pete!”

 

“The JL’er? What the hell is he doing here?” questions Curry, with a look of complete confusion on his face.

 

Pete stares at Chicken, who simply stares back and waves at Pete. Pete continues to glare at Chicken, then returns the wave, and then bolts off the ice. He leaps over a passed-out Munich, hops over the guardrail, and runs for the door of the arena. Chicken goes chasing after him, but stops halfway as he hears the sound of a car pulling away as fast as possible.

 

“NTD, that was LDP, and he just pulled away from the rink after that brutal hit and run attack on Strangler!”

 

“Why would he try and take out Strangler, especially someone as cute as he is? I mean, LDP is a JL’er! He and Strangler aren’t even in the same league!”

 

“Kluk kluk! Boys, I heard LDP muttering something about target! I think he may be headed to From the Fire!”

 

“Dear Lord….well, we’ll see what happens soon enough! Anyway, we still have a night of incredible action left! And NTD, I get the feeling that there’ll be some great surprises left to come!”

 

“Tonight I’m Burning” by Bombshell Rocks begins blaring over the PA system as the picture fades to a commercial for the next WF PPV. As the last shot of the hockey rink is shown, a shot of the referee tending to the unconscious Munich, side by side with the unconscious Strangler, still clutching his title belt, fades to black.