SWF Smarkdown (April 22/2002)

April 23, 2002

[Loud music booms through the darkened arena.

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

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

Curry - Here we are once again for SWF Smarkdown!

NTD - Do you ever get the feeling your career is going nowhere Curry?

Curry - Uhhhh...

NTD - I'm calling my agent.

Curry - Er anyways, on with the show!

April 23, 2002

US TITLE TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL MATCH

Jay Dawg vs. Chris Raynor

- For some inexplicable reason Lady Red jobbed to someone she knew probably wouldn’t be able to write for this show. Sigh. Anyways, these two actually have history because it was Raynor who knocked up Caisha, but it was Dawg who got the blame and a month or more of hell because of it. Plus there’s probably other stuff I’ve forgotten.

US TITLE TOURNAMENT SEMI-FIANL MATCH

Munich vs. Perfect Bo

- Munich and Bo. Two men who have recently returned to the SWF. Two men who have been fairly successful since their returns. Who will come out on top this Monday?

SINGLES MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Sacred

- Very recently Edwin and Sacred were involved in a heated feud, but despite getting two chances, Sacred just barely missed out on winning the ICTV title. Edwin doesn’t have the ICTV title anymore, but that won’t stop these two from fighting again!

April 23, 2002

*WHAP* “Ai!”

*WHAP* “Ita-!”

The sounds of flesh smacking flesh can be heard even far outside the Clan’s locker room. Passers-by flinch at each slap. Inside, Lady Red, the Assassin of the Clan, is being punished for her failures.

“Why?” yells Thoth. “You HAD that match won. Yet, you decide to let personal matters get in the way, and,” *SMACK* “You decide to let your emotions get the best of you!”

Lady Red is sitting on a stool next to the wall, under Thoth’s orders, and silently accepting the beating Thoth is giving her. Nearby, Molly sits with heavy concern, her arms tucked in close to her body. This is her first time in the sacrosanct Clan walls. She rushes forward, and grabs Thoth’s arm, the hand that is striking Lady Red repeatedly. “Please, Mr. Thoth!” pleads Molly. “That’s enough!”

“You...” Thoth stares intently at the figure, shaking, in fear. “Get out of the way!” he says with rancor, shrugging her arm off and focusing back on the so-called “rogue” Clanswoman.

“You had a chance to win the United States title, a title that none other than I gave prestige to! You had a chance at championship gold... and glory! Instead... you tale her!” says Thoth, half-screaming, pointing at Molly. “And worst of all, you lost to Jay Dawg. A member of The Pound.” Thoth takes special care to avoid pronouncing the like ‘Da,’ as in “Da Pound.” Thoth feels the rage build up within him, and strikes Red across the face so hard she falls off the stool and crumples into a heap upon the ground. She shivers there on the floor, fighting to keep the tears inside. Thoth crouches down, looking at his fallen prodigy, and runs his hand across her cheek. Red looks up, her eyes red from trying to hold back tears. He takes her into her arms, and holds her tightly, rubbing his hands across her back. From afar, Molly’s mouth is agape with disgust.

“Remember, you’re not just fighting for you, or me. You are fighting for the Clan. Me, Fallout, K-Os... and Spider. And not only that, but everyone you came before you. Malice... Strangler... Silent...” The last name rolls off Thoth’s tongue like an afterthought, as his eyes wander slightly. He regains composure suddenly and starts to leave. On his way out, he glares at Molly. “I have business to attend to tonight. The Pound is going to learn that they have overstepped their boundaries, and interfered with the Clan, for the first, the last, and the only time.” Thoth leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Red looks up with a perverted smile at the Clan’s third child, now it’s leader. Molly absorbs the scene passively, in severe disgust. She frowns, and turns toward Red, wondering just what the hell is going on.

April 23, 2002

Sacred can see himself walking down the halls. As he tries to prepare himself for his main-event match with Edwin MacPhisto, he watches himself with eyes in the back of his head, facing forward. The eyes reach through his hollow shell, through to the back of his head, and around again. And again and again and again. He can feel himself muttering simple nothings, but it’s as if the words are coming from someone next to him. This isn’t the way he is. He had love. He had love once, before it was taken away from him. Taken away suddenly and perhaps, unjustly. He turns a corner, asking questions that he has answered so many times before. Each time, he has to go through complicated processes in his brain to come up with the same answers to the exact same goddamn questions. And it’s always hard. Every day, living like this. It hurts; it really fucking hurts. He doesn’t know when’s it’s going to stop... maybe if he got some different answers.

“Mr. Sacred! Mr. Sacred!” says a young, nubile errand boy, who sounds like he is yelling “Dr. Zaius! Dr. Zaius!” Sacred turns out, halfhearted... without even the energy to be evil... to tell the kid to bugger off.

“Yeah... whaddya want?” Sacred asks in a distant, soft tone. He doesn’t make eye contact, letting his head droop.

“I... uh... I have a message, it’s uh, anonymous,” the boy says, haltingly. “He said he had information on uh... Anna... y-”

Sacred snaps his eyes open at the mention of the name of his late ex-wife. He grabs the boy by the collar and stares into his eyes, almost foaming at the mouth. The boy screams, and then squeals out furtively, “East Utility closet! He said he’d wait for you in the East Utility Closert in the basement!” Sacred tosses the poor boy aside and makes a beeline for the east corridors of the arena. The questions are flowing ever faster in his head, but he doesn’t care about the answers. He picks up the pace, his head down. Maybe, just maybe, his soul can be put at ease, and another can be put to rest.

April 23, 2002

SWF returns to the HSBC arena, the camera slightly dances around the audience, before changing scenes to backstage. Ben Hardy is standing there, mic in hand and former 2 time US champ Jay Dawg to his right. Water slowly dripping off of Jay Dawg’s hair, he wipes his face off as Ben Hardy starts to speak.

Ben: “I am here with SWF competitor and Da Pound member, Jay Dawg. What are your thoughts going into this battle JD?”

Jamie: “Ugh. Last week I get screwed out of my title due to some fucked up controversy. Since when is it allowed to jump an opponent, then pin him for the title!? What is this, the hardcore division!?”

Ben: “Well JD. You get a chance to become three time US champ, and the man who jumped you, is currently suspended from the league.”

Jamie: “A just decision by our great commish. While I do think that the decision to keep the title off of me wasn’t very cool, the chance to become THREE TIME U.S. champion is too great to pass up.”

Ben: “Well, what do you think of if you beat Chris Raynor, and Perfect Bo defeats Munich. I mean, you guys facing each other for the title could cause some controversy.”

Jamie: “Some controversy is possible. It will be unfortunate that we will have to beat the hell out of each other. However, at least the title will stay in Da Pound… and between you and me, we both know who would win that match.”

Ben: “Uhhh, yeah. Anyway, what are your thoughts on Lady Red winning Molly from…”

Mr. Hardy is cut off from a sharp, cold glare from JD. The former champion wraps his hand around Hardy’s neck, the Buffalo natives can be heard cursing and shouting rude comments from the inside of the arena.

Jamie: “Let it be known… that Lady Red will pay dearly for her actions. I assure you of that. As for you… Don’t you EVER-”

*BEEP* *BEEP*

The crowd erupts in excitement, as Jay Dawg pivots, releasing his grip on Hardy. His anger begins to boil as he looks up at the man in the golfcart, recent returnee and opponent for this evening, Chris Raynor.

Raynor: “Don’t you EVER let the Dawg out! WOOF! WOOF-WOOF!!!”

His face is beat red. His eyes lighten in rage. JD shakes his head in sheer anger, pointing to Raynor, who sits in the golfcart, simply grinning mischievously.

Jamie: “You son of a-”

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

The deafening horn blast knocks JD a few steps backwards, and causes him to cover his ears in protection.

Raynor: “No naughty language sir Dawg.”

The crowd can be heard laughing along with Raynor. Jay Dawg shakes his head, trying to knock out the vibrating in his ears. Raynor starts to rev the gas on the golfcart, the tires can be heard screeching. Jay Dawg roars loudly, his eye mouth widening to bite Raynor’s head off. The Carnie slams on the gas pedal, shooting the cart forward at Jay Dawg. His eyes brighten up in shock, before he dives out of the way into the chords of the backstage set. JD slowly sits up, shaking his head off. Raynor hits reverse on the cart, and JD can’t dive out of the way, so he simply places his arms up in a foolish manner. Raynor swings the cart to the side, pulling up in perfect parallel beside JD, and sticks his head out.

Raynor: “Who’s afraid of the big bad Dawg? Not I! See you in the ring.”

Raynor grabs Jay Dawg’s nose, and gives it a tug. He lets go of the snout of JD, and drives away. Looking at the smoke of the cart, JD sends some nearby objects flying with an angered swipe. He gets to his feet, wiping himself off, and coldly looks forward.

Jamie: “You’re dead, Raynor!”

Jay Dawg sprints away in pursuit as the camera switches back to the announce table, Curry Man is sitting there, laughing broadly as NTD frowns.

Curry: “Ha ha ha ha, that was great!”

NTD: “I hate those damn Carnies.”

Curry: “NTD, you have no sense of humor!”

The lights go out and after a brief pause, "Electra Made me Blind" by Everclear starts playing. The spectators start to take a break from their laughing, to respectfully cheer the Carnie coming back. During the opening riff of the music, white lights begin blinking all around the stage. The voice of Art Alexakis screams "YEA!" and right then, blue pyros go off around the stage, the lights come up, and once the singing starts. Chris Raynor emerges from backstage, speeding down the ramp with the golfcart. With a simple flick of the wrist, he turns the cart, and drives around the ring, stopping in front on the announce table. He hops out of the cart, removes his Midnight Carnival jersey and throws it to the crowd, which causes a scramble among the fans. He hops up and down for a second, and dives toward some of the fans, slapping many of their hands.

Funyon: “The following contest is round two of the US title tournament! Introducing first… Accompanied by the Midnight Carnival Golfcart… He hails from Baton Rouge Louisiana… Standing at six feet, two inches and weighing in at 250 pounds… A member of the Midnight Carnival… CHRIS ‘SMASH’ RAYNOR!!!”

Raynor pushes away from the crowd, smile reaching ear to ear, as he rolls into the ring.

Curry: “What an ovation! Raynor is SO charismatic!”

“THIS IS MAH HOUSE!!!"

The prerecorded voice of Jay Dawg shouts into the speakers, followed three seconds later by D12's Fight Music as it cranks over the speakers. The crowd starts to laugh, and boo disrespectfully for the man ready to come out.

Funyon: “His opponent… He hails from Vancouver BC… Standing at six feet, four inches and weighs in at 250 pounds… A member of Da Pound… JAMIE ‘JAY DAWG’ DRAZON!!!”

The enraged Jay Dawg bursts through the curtains, sprinting down the ramp as the solo by Eminem starts to play. He holds both his arms out, flipping off the fans on both sides of him. Wasting no time, he dives into the ring under the bottom rope, and thrusts straight at Raynor. The Carnie tries to defend himself, but only gets minor blocks in, as JD continues to hammer him toward the ropes. Grabbing Raynor by the arm, and a quick shift of his body, JD Irish whips Raynor, no! Raynor doesn’t let go, instead he arm wringers JD, pulling him into a front facelock, and snaps him over with a vertical suplex. Raynor floats over Jay Dawg’s limp body, and cradles the leg for the quick cover.

One…

JD kicks out, sitting up while clutching his spinal area.

Curry: “A nice reversal by the Rayn-man, catching Jay Dawg by surprise!”

NTD: “Jay Dawg’s anger will prevail!”

Annoyed, JD pounces to his feet, his intent to hurt is obvious. Raynor simply dodges his angered adversary, flipping him with a hip toss. Jay Dawg sits back up while ignoring the pain, he swiftly gets to his feet. He makes another dash at Raynor, and is flipped high before being dropped hard with a back body drop! Raynor turns around, ready to deliver more punishment, but JD pulls himself under the bottom rope, and starts to walk around the outside. The fans begin to boo mercilessly as JD takes some breathers.

Curry: “A smart move by Jay Dawg. He’s killing the momentum that Raynor has been building up.”

NTD: “Listen to these ungrateful fans! They’d be doing the same thing.”

Curry: “I have to agree, Raynor is one of the last people you want to be facing when momentum is on his side.”

JD slowly makes his way around the ring to announce table. The golfcart that caused him to be embarrassed earlier gets in his way. Looking up into the ring, he snarls at Raynor then spits on the golfcart. The Caveman’s eyes light up in shock at the disrespect of the Carniemobile. JD grabs the top of the cart, and starts yanking at it while kicking the bottom.

Curry: “Jay Dawg is trying to destroy the Midnight Carnival Golfcart! What a disrespecting asshole! Raynor won’t stand for this!”

Raynor shakes his head in disgust before heading out through the ropes. JD turns to strike him, but Raynor blocks, hitting JD with a strike of his own. Raynor grabs the back of Dawg’s head, and slams it into the front of the golfcart. His face lying on the hood, JD tries to push himself up, but rests instead. Raynor reaches inside the Carniemobile, and presses on the steering wheel… mainly the horn.

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

Jay Dawg straightens out, looking like an alarm clock just woke him up. His whole body starts to tremble as he staggers away from the golfcart. Raynor hops out of his ring escort, and dances around on his feet, pretending to grab his ears. The audience applauds in approval at Raynor’s complete mocking of JD. The Dawgmeister finally stumbles in the Caveman’s direction, but is flattened with a stiff clothesline. Raynor places a foot on top of JD and briefly flexes his muscles, much to the delight of the crowd.

Curry: “Raynor is just playing around with Jay Dawg!”

NTD: “He’s a crowdwhore!”

Peeling JD off the mat outside, Chris rolls him into the ring. Moments later, he hops onto the ring apron himself, reaching over the top rope, he grips onto Jay Dawg’s hair. However Jay Dawg dives forward, crushing his shoulder into Raynor’s abdominal. The wind driven out of him, Raynor drops to one knee, his grip on the top rope prevents him from falling. Jay Dawg gets to his feet, and smokes Chris with a stiff right hand. Raynor drops from the top rope, falling… NO!! He places his foot on top of the golfcart, and pushes back to the ring apron. JD remains prepared, grabbing Raynor by the back of the head, he guides him to the corner and throws him at the ringpole! Raynor blocks with his leg, grabs Jay Dawg by the back of the head and throws him face first into the top turnbuckle!

Curry: “Raynor once again with the advantage!”

Eyes beginning to water, JD grasps his face whilst tottering to the ropes. Raynor drives his shoulder through the middle rope into the mid-section of JD, then slingshots over the top rope. Landing on the mat, he pulls on Jay Dawg’s legs, rolling him up with a sunset flip.

One…

T…

Jay Dawg somersaults backward to his feet, and continues moving backward to the ropes, rebounding off them. Raynor begins to stand but is knocked back down via dropkick from JD! Raynor gets up a bit slower, and the aggressive Jay Dawg jumps at his new advantage. Wrapping an arm around his waist and head, JD repeatedly hits Raynor with some kneelifts. The Carnie tries to block, but the positioning of Dawg’s arms prevent that. After five consecutive kneelifts to the ribs, JD cradles Raynor’s leg and powers him over his head with a T-Bone suplex!

“How do you like that!”

JD shouts, eliciting multiple boos from the thousands in attendance. JD shrugs off the pejorative comments by the crowd, and drops a knee on Raynor’s forehead. JD promptly makes the lateral press, placing his forearm into Raynor’s throat, although unseen by the ref.

One…

Two…

Raynor gets his shoulder up, but starts to gag for air.

Curry: “Jay Dawg tried to use a choke to pin Raynor! What a fkn jew!”

NTD: “It’s not cheap if it gets the win!”

Jay Dawg lifts his right arm, and repeatedly starts to bang his elbow into Raynor. Reaching around, he grabs a handful of the caveman’s blonde locks, yanking him to his feet. The ref gives him a warning about the hair, JD gives him a warning to mind his own business. Using the leverage of the hair, JD pries Raynor off his feet, holding him at about shoulder length, and crushes him with an elevated backbreaker! JD rolls Raynor’s limp remains off his knee, and makes the cover.

One…

Two…

Raynor gets the shoulder up. JD places his arm over Raynor’s chest, grinding the pecks with his forearm, while the ref counts it as a cover.

One…

Two…

Raynor gets a shoulder up again, JD smothers his body over his chest with another cover.

One…

Two…

Raynor bench presses JD off him and high into the air, getting a great response from the Buffalo fans.

Curry: “Raynor just sent a 250 man flying with ease!”

NTD: “Bah! With the exception of 2 inches in height, Jay Dawg and Raynor are the same size!”

Shocked at the sudden power display by Raynor, JD gets to his feet. Jay Dawg thrusts forward with a clothesline, but Raynor catches JD and crotches him over his knee with an inverted atomic drop! JD hobbles around clutching his groin. The Caveman grabs his wrist and Irish whips him into the corner!

Curry: “We all know what will come next!”

Raynor rushes behind JD, upon hitting the turnbuckles, Raynor hops to the second ropes, his body slung over Jay Dawg’s. He holds his right arm up high, clenched in a fist, getting a roar of approval from the audience.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

“Four!”

“Five!”

“Six!”

“Seven!”

“Eight!”

“Nine!”

“Ten!”

Drazon’s face starts to wobble around, as Raynor finishes his final punch with a grip to the back of the neck. The Caveman falls backward with his feet in the sternum, launching Jay Dawg to the other side of the ring with a monkey flip! In the opposite corner from where he started, JD sits up, gasping for air as his back goes into spasms. He gets to his feet, only to see a charging Caveman coming right for him! Raynor lifts his boot high, but Jay Dawg ducks, and runs off the ropes, recoiling off them, he dives at Chris with a crossbody block… but Raynor catches him in mid air, pivots, and crushes Jay Dawg into the mat with a powerslam! Cover with a hook of the leg.

One…

Two…

T…

Jay Dawg powers out with plenty of time to spare.

Curry: “What a powerslam by the beloved Caveman Chris! Almost put Jay Dawg down for good!”

Raynor passes a quick glance to the ref, double-checking the speed of the count, before turning his attention back to JD. Pulling the Dawgmeister to his feet and into a standing headscissors, Raynor looks out to the crowd who all shout “SMASH!@!” Raynor muscles Jay Dawg up onto his shoulders, but JD places his hand over Raynor’s face, and eye rakes him! The spectators boo at the cheap tactic as JD floats to his feet. He grabs Raynor by the waist, locking his arms around it, and throws him over his head with a belly-to-belly suplex!

Curry: “Jay Dawg is trying to take every shortcut there is in the book!”

JD heads over toward Raynor, stomping him multiple times. Raynor continues to make it to his feet while Jay Dawg backs away, giving some space. JD begins to stomp his foot, hyping the Sweet Tooth Loosening much to the annoyance of the crowd. Raynor staggers to his feet, as JD dances forward, leaving his feet to spin in the air, thrusting his leg out with a skull cracking Roundhouse kick… but Raynor ducks!

Curry: “Raynor just bought himself some time, avoiding the nasty Roundhouse kick!”

Jay Dawg pivots to face Raynor, but gets a kick to the ribs for his trouble. Raynor pulls JD into a facelock, and tightens his grip. Raynor starts to fall back, but gets a pair of fists to the ribs. JD quickly forces Raynor over his head with a Northern Lights suplex, but Raynor doesn’t flip, instead landing behind JD on his feet. Jay Dawg turns around and for the second time tonight, Raynor grabs his snout and gives it a tug. JD’s eyes begin to water as the crowd starts to laugh at his misfortune. Raynor drops the noselock and runs to the ropes… bounce back, and he is launched with another belly-to-belly suplex by a fast thinking JD!

NTD: “W00t! Jay Dawg beingz da man!”

Raynor puts up a brief struggle on the mat before lying limp, admitting defeat for the time being. JD totters around the ring, before stabling himself in between the turnbuckles and Raynor’s limp carcass. He glares down at Raynor, before slicing his thumb over his throat. Climbing to the top rope, he stands on the turnbuckle and invites the heat to come. The crowd can be seen praying for Raynor, hoping he escapes the soon to be fate. JD dives off the turnbuckles.

Curry: “This will be all she wrote!”

Spreading his arms like a swan, pointing his forehead toward Raynor’s cranium.

NTD: “A true Canadian!”

And crashes headfirst onto the Caveman’s limp body with the swandive headbutt! JD rolls around, clutching his forehead from the painful impact.

Curry: “He landed it! There’s no hope for Raynor now!”

Many seconds later, JD makes the journey toward Raynor with a crawl. Upon reaching his destination, JD slowly drapes his arm over Raynor’s chest, silence seems to fill the arena.

ONE…

Feet can be heard stomping, hands clapping in motivation.

TWO…

Silence is heard once more, the fans holding their breath…

THREE…NO!!!

Raynor gets a shoulder up with milliseconds to spare! The fans exhale in relief, then explode with cheers that will rip the tops off the nearby mountains!

Curry: “He kicked out! He kicked out! Nothing is going to stop Raynor from winning the US title!”

NTD: “Jay Dawg took too long to cover this bloody crowdwhore!”

JD grips the side of his hair, infuriated with the resiliency of the Caveman. He plants a punch straight in between his eyes, knocking Chris flat onto the mat again. Slowly, JD gets to his feet and heads to the same corner. With his back to the ring, he proceeds to climb the turnbuckles, the journey to the top. For some reason, the crowd starts to cheer. JD stands on the top turnbuckle, puzzled at their sudden support, until he turns around. A recovered Caveman Chris pushes his legs out, crotching JD on the top turnbuckle! The thousands in attendance cheer for the Rayn-man, as he climbs up the turnbuckles with JD.

Curry: “Jay Dawg went to the well one too many times and now it’s going to cost him!”

NTD: “Bah! Two headbutts would have killed them both anyway!”

Raynor locks JD in a facelock, applying the vertical suplex set up, and lifts him high up in the air. The crowd cheers as Raynor stalls on the top rope with the vertical suplex, before falling back with an Earth trembling superplex! Both men bounce off the mat and lie down in pain.

Curry: “That has got to be the highest suplex I have ever seen!”

NTD: “I dunno… remember when PDS suplexed me off the ladder in our Stairway to Hell match?”

Curry: “I was selling the moment you idiot. I don’t know many people who would brag about getting their ass kicked like that!”

NTD: “Well you’ve known me for years so…”

Curry: “SHUT UP!!!”

The audience starts to stomp their feet, getting louder then ever, rooting for Raynor to make his way to the cover. Finally, the Louisiana native makes his way to the Canadian, standing on his knees until he is a foot from JD, then falls forward, landing over JD and making the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

The audience shouts out “Three!” just as the ref slaps down his final time…

THREE…NO!!

Jay Dawg gets his shoulder up, starting a riot by the mob of fans!

Curry: “I don’t believe it! Jay Dawg kicked out of that 12-foot suplex!”

NTD: “Listen to these ungrateful ingrates!”

Raynor slowly lifts his head in shame, before dropping it in exhaustion. The ref slowly starts to check the consciousness of both men, tapping them on the shoulders. Each responds by slowly making it to their knees, preventing any K-O count. They proceed to crawl toward each other, grabbing themselves by the back of the necks. Raynor suddenly stands upward, pulling JD into a headscissors. He lifts him up with rapid speed, having him land on his shoulders, and slams him down with a powerbomb! Raynor grabs both of JD’s wrists, and uses the grip to pull him back onto his shoulders and falls backward, flapjacking JD onto the top rope with CHRIS SMASH!#$@!

“SMASH!!”

The crowd shouts, marking out for the Caveman’s favorite maneuver. JD hangs himself on the top rope before flipping over and to the outside, crashing in front of the Carniemobile. Raynor suddenly develops a mischievous grin, and follows JD outside. He grabs him by the back of the head, and sticks him inside the golfcart. He proceeds to repeatedly smack him face first into the car horn.

*BEEP* BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

Raynor finally releases JD from the assault of the car horn, and tosses him onto the ring apron. Raynor hops onto the ring apron, and starts to enter the ring when JD grabs him by the back of his pants. The female audience members all get to their feet, hoping for a look at the Caveman’s rear end. JD uses the grip on the pants to pull himself onto the ring apron. He advances with a rear waistlock on the Caveman, holding him tightly. The crowd gasps in fear, as JD lifts up and falls back off the ring apron, hitting a German suplex to Raynor on the roof of the golfcart. The weight of both men forces the top of it to collapse, as Raynor topples over the other side and Jay Dawg lands on the seat of it.

Curry: “OH MY GOD!!! Jay Dawg just destroyed himself, Raynor and the Midnight Carnival golfcart with that German suplex!”

NTD: “WAY TO GO JAY DAWG!!! KILL THOSE FUCKING CARNIES!!!”

The ref starts to count both men out. JD lies over the golfcart, trying to catch his breath, as his back is hyper-extended over the seat. Raynor lies in between the announce table and the broken cart, showing no signs of movement.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

JD starts to sit up in the golfcart, but falls down in front of the ring apron.

“Four!”

“Five!”

“Six!”

JD makes the crawl inside the ring, lying limp on the mat. Raynor starts to move outside, ignoring his broken companion, crawling to the ring.

“Seven!”

NTD: “He’ll never make it!”

“Eight!”

At the ring apron, but lying on his front, his one arm still showing signs of life.

Curry: “Come on Raynor!”

“Nine!”

Raynor pulls himself to his feet, and dives inside, but is promptly covered by the opportunistic Jay Dawg.

Curry: “This has gotta be all!”

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…NO!!

RAYNOR GETS HIS GOD DAMN SHOULDER UP AND JAY DAWG CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!!

Curry: “What will it take to keep these men down!?”

NTD: “A bulldozer and 12 rounds with yo momma!”

JD ensues to pick up Raynor, backing away a few steps. He stomps his feet slightly, before thrusting it at Raynor with the Thai Roundhouse kick… Raynor ducks the blow again! JD spins in a circle, facing the powerful Raynor who crushes him with the Big Boot of Doom! JD staggers backward, the blast hit him hard, but he focuses all his energy on holding his composure. He falls into the corner and tumbles out. Raynor gets in front of him, and drops to his knees.

Curry: “Acid Rayn! This will do it!”

JD recuperates, and kicks Raynor in the back of the head with a modified Roundhouse kick! Raynor grips the back of his head and falls forward, but JD grabs the golden locks once again, pulling him to his feet. JD yanks Raynor into a standing headscissors, crosses both his arms over his throat.

Curry: “JD’s Revenge! The move that nearly broke Lady Red in two!”

JD jumps slightly, but Raynor suddenly breaks the armlock, and double leg takedowns JD. His adversary lying on his back, Raynor proceeds to elevate Drazon’s legs, holding tightly, before falling back with the slingshot, launching JD to the corner! JD lands face first on the top turnbuckle and stumbles backward to Raynor, who grabs his tights and rolls him up with a schoolboy!

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…NO!!

JD barely escapes defeat! He rolls away, Raynor starts to head after him, but grabs his neck in sudden pain.

Curry: “Raynor must have suffered something from that German suplex onto the golfcart!”

NTD: “The now broken golfcart! Ah ha ha ha!”

JD gets to his feet, and reaches at Raynor. The Caveman dodges, grabs Drazon’s wrist, and Irish whips him into the corner. JD rests in the corner, frustrating Raynor who had just dropped on his knees. Raynor stands back up and starts to pull JD out of the corner. JD hangs onto the top rope, forcing the ref to jump in. As the ref tries to get in between, Jay Dawg shoots his leg straight South, kicking Raynor in the jumblies! Raynor stands still for a second, his eyes bulge out of his socket, and he drops to his knees. JD walks behind Raynor, getting back-to-back with him. He proceeds to cross his arms over his throat and spins around 180 degrees, pulling Raynor into a standing headscissors, and leaps in the air, smashing him into the mat with JD’s Revenge!

Curry: “He hit the Revenge after a low blow!”

NTD: “What low blow!? I didn’t see a low blow! I thought Raynor tried to go for Acid Rayn only to be outsmarted!”

Curry: “Don’t start!”

JD exerts some energy rolling Raynor over, but he makes the cover with a tight hook of the leg. The audience starts to boo in anger.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE!!

‘Fight Music’ kicks up as the bell rings to announce the end of the match. The ref grabs Jay Dawg’s arm and lifts it high in the air as the pissed off audience lets out their anger.

Funyon: “The winner of this match, and advancing to the finals… JAY DAWG!!!”

Curry: “He used half of the dirty tactics out there, but won the battle!”

NTD: “He also destroyed the Carniemobile! How cool is that!?”

Curry: “Not cool at all! That was the difference maker! I can’t believe Raynor kept fighting after that!”

NTD: “I have to give him credit! At least now he won’t be taking that stupid golfcart around!”

JD stands in the ring, walking to the ropes, and collapsing on them. He holds his arm up in victory. The crowd suddenly goes nuts as the recovered Raynor grabs JD by the back of the pants. The Caveman pulls JD to the center of the ring, then throws him outside by the broken golfcart. He looks to the crowd, gazing with eyes that suddenly seem crazy, and points to the golfcart. The crowd goes insane as Raynor rests his head down, symbolizing that the cart shall rest in peace.

Curry: “He may have lost the battle, but he’s going to win the war! Sore neck and all!”

Raynor drops to the outside and gets in front of JD, picking him up onto his shoulders, sticking his hands under JD’s armpits. Raynor carries JD to the golfcart, and throws him face first into the broken cart horn!

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

All the fans in the arena erupt with laughter; everyone amused by JD’s fate with the horn. Raynor drops his head in peace, placing his hands in a prayer.

-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

The horn dies out, as Raynor shakes his head in shame. He proceeds to walk up the ramp, favoring the back of his neck in the process.

Curry: “Ha! Raynor made us all get the last laugh tonight! JD will never forget this!”

NTD: “Bloody Carnies! The joke is on him though, he now has a bad neck and no means of transportation!”

Curry: “Whatever the case may be, JD will be facing the winner of our next match. Will he face the Chicago street fighter, or his Pound buddy, Perfect Bo!?”

NTD: “Find out next!”

April 23, 2002

Peace.

Quiet.

Uncharacteristic.

This is the Midnight Carnival Locker Room. This is not the jovial place that it usually is. Since the huge announcement on SWF Storm three days ago, the atmosphere among the Carnies has been dark, with everyone a little afraid to talk to Grand Slam or Edwin. As Smarkdown wears on, Edwin is seen sitting on a bench in front of his open locker, taping his wrists and trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck. All the rest of the Carnies are away, either readying themselves for matches or getting a last workout before the Pay-Per-View.

Then the door opens and Edwin looks up. Mark Stevens steps into the room and over to his locker, dropping a heavy carry-on bag on the floor. The Heavy Hitter sits down on the chair positioned in front of his licker and takes a long drink from a bottle of water.

Edwin: Hey, Mark. We need to talk.

GSMS: Yeah... I guess we do. Shoot.

Edwin turns to face Stevens and Grand Slam does the same.

Edwin: This is outrageous, Mark. Neither of us should be putting our careers on the line Sunday! We were duped! Tricked! Fooled! Bamboozled!

GSMS: Whoa... settle down. You're right, we were. But I talked to my wife, sent her a copy of my contract and yours...

Edwin: Ummmmm... how did you get a copy of my contract? I don't care, I'm just wondering if people are handing them out at airports like pamphlets from Hare Krishna.

GSMS (smiles just a little): Easy. One way or another Rotten is still Deputy Commissioner. Anyways, Lynn and her partners, along with a plethora...

Edwin: Plethora... I like that word... sorry.

GSMS: Ahem... and a plethora of paralegals dug through every line on the contract looking for a loophole to get us out of this. I sent them a tape of the exchange between Stubby, you, me and King. They looked up every bit of contract law they could find.

Edwin (a little excited): And?

GSMS: And the SWF standard contract is vague on several points. One of them being agreeing to matches verbally. So we are pretty screwed there. So I had Rotten pull King's contract, and he is right. King gets to make one Pay-Per-View match. So that part is solid. The only recourse we have is that, by contract, we are allowed to appeal a match we do not like directly to the highest possible source.

Edwin: The President? Senate? Parliament? I'm sure any of them would be willing to overturn this match! We have telegrams from Chiefs of Sate everywhere telling us how much they dig the Midnight Carnival!! I'm sure any one of them would be happy to intervene!! Why, look here... (Edwin rummages through his locker, pieces of paper and candy wrappers flying everywhere) just yesterday I got a personal letter from Strom Thurman himself telling me how much he loves the "ultra-violence" and "excessive sexuality" of the SWF and the Carnival in particular! Wait... maybe he said loathes, not loves...

GSMS: That's beside the point Edwin. The "highest possible source" is either the owner of the company...

Edwin: Great... a bunch of suits ion a Japanese investment firm who will see the buyrate potential and drool...

GSMS: or the Commissioner.

Edwin: Well pierce my ears and call me drafty... that just about puts us up the proverbial creek without a theortical paddle, doesn't it boyo?

GSMS: In essence, that is what Lynn said. Without the "call me drafty" part and calling me boyo...

Edwin: So... (long pause) what do we do now?

GSMS: Well, if being in the Carnival has taught me anything it taught me that we aren't here for ourselves. It taught me that everything we do here; winning belts, fighting evil, having fun, prank wars, everything is for the fans. And even if the fans don't want to see either of us leave, this is a hell of a match.

Edwin: I guess so.

GSMS: Look at it from their point of view. Edwin MacPhisto, leader of the Carnival and all around goof-ball is set to take on a former two-time World Champion who just happens to a be one of his closest friends, "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens, in an all out war to determine who gets to stay in the SWF! That's money Edwin!

Edwin: Well…yeah. It’s money, Mark, but I’d rather be poor this weekend, follow?

The big man sighs and looks toward his strange-eyed compatriot.

GSMS: Edwin, I know you don’t like this match. You know I don’t like it either. We don’t really have a choice here, though. Stubby backed us into a corner and now we’ve got to fight our way out of it. If the only way out is through each other…

Edwin: Then so be it. Wonderful. I can’t bloody believe it. That thick-skulled tool of a company man outsmarted us. You know, that stings almost more than the match itself. An insult to my proper dignity and wit! Duped! Duped! Bamboozled, I say again!

GSMS: (holding back a chuckle) Look at us. We’re up against a wall and a week off of the most important match in either of our careers, and we still can’t take it totally seriously. Would you call that a blessing, or a curse?

Edwin: (with a half-grin) I think a little bit of both.

Still not entirely sure what to think, Edwin changes the subject a little.

Edwin: What have the others said? You know, Raynor, Rotten, Mags? They can’t possibly be happy.

GSMS: No, definitely not. Raynor’s on edge. He spent most of lunch yesterday drawing little pictures of Stubby on his napkins so he could rip them into little pieces. Mag’s a bit detached, but I think that’s his way of dealing with it. Not like he can let his guard down either—I’m sure Stubby’ll have a helluva light heavyweight match for him on Sunday. Rotten—well, Rotten doesn’t know us as well, but he’s still royally pissed about the whole thing. Involve Stubby in it, and that’s a sure bet.

Edwin nods as Stevens goes over the laundry list of Carnies, but Stevens isn’t entirely finished yet.

GSMS: I’m kind of surprised you haven’t talked to them much. I’d have thought you, social butterfly and ringmaster of fun, would have been all over the guys with thoughts and schemes to deal with this whole thing.

Edwin leans forward and fidgets with the tape on his wrists, looking down at the floor as he answers Mark.

Edwin: Truth be told…I’ve kind of avoided them all. I guess I don’t really want to see or hear what they’ve got to think, right? It’s shame, really. I feel like this is all my bloody fault…

GSMS: What?? Edwin, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine! I’m the one who’s been nagging Stubby for a match all month! I’m the one who turned his office into a baseball diamond! Look, it doesn’t matter who’s fault it is…we just have to deal with it.

Edwin: (sighing, still looking at the floor) I know. I know. I just…bleh. Call it a martyr complex, maybe? You can always count on the consummate showman to think that the whole world revolves around him.

He looks up, still looking down-trodden, like a cocker spaniel in the rain, and meets Mark’s eyes.

Edwin: You really don’t think there’s a way out of it? What if we just don’t show up? Or we hit each with chairs at the exact same time and make it a no-contest? Or maybe if we build an elaborate staircase made from balsa, salsa, and Martin Balsam—

Mark: (cutting him off) Edwin, you know that won’t work. Any loophole we might find that could keep us both around—you know Stubby would find a way to turn it right back on its head and kick us both out of the Fed. And that’s the one thing that absolutely cannot happen. The Carnival is the strongest it’s been since back in the glory days, since back last summer, before King…bastard…before he left. You remember how it was—we took everything everyone threw at us and stopped it dead in its tracks. Evil Inc? The IGNWO? Hell, Neilsen? Everything! Nobody could touch us! That’s how we’re starting to look again! If both of us leave, then that hope dies, and the whole crew is back grabbing at straws to survive.

Edwin sits up a bit, having heard everything, but having thought of something else.

Edwin: It’s been a year.

GSMS: What?

Edwin: A year. The pay-per-view—a year ago—that was when I came here. And when the Carnival appeared in the WF. It’s been so long…

GSMS: Yeah, heh. All the parties, all the fun—you remember P.O.O.F.N.A.R.? You remember all of Wilson’s ridiculous hair-brained schemes? God, you remember when we got the panda up on the barbed wire?

Both men are laughing now, grinning and sinking into nostalgia, when Edwin looks up.

Edwin: We’re not going to have any more of that, you know. Not together, at least.

GSMS: Yeah, well, what are you going to do?

Edwin: I think there’s really only one thing we can do.

GSMS: And that is?

Edwin: Do it. Just go through with it. Wrestle our bodies and our bloody hearts out. It’s been a year, Mark, and you’re well right. The fans deserve it. They deserve us going out with a bang, not a fizzle. It just wouldn’t be right any other way. Center stage, curtains open, spotlights shining down…it’s perfect, really.

He pauses. There is silence in the room, until Stevens breaks it.

GSMS: Yeah…perfect.

Edwin: One ground rule, though.

GSMS: What’s that?

Edwin: Try to lay off the neck, eh? It’s bad enough as it is, and I’m sure Sacred’s going to put it through the ringer again tonight.

GSMS: (laughing) Fair enough! And you—lay off the knee! Tit for tat, right?

Edwin: Absolutely. The tit-tat will be off the charts!

GSMS: The fans deserve it.

Edwin: They do.

GSMS: And we’re going to give it to them.

Edwin: We will.

GSMS: And that, Edwin…(he snickers)…is a damn promise.

Edwin: It is.

The Mac Daddy reaches out a hand and Grand Slam follows suit, as the two friends and long-time tag partners lock in a firm handshake.

GSMS: All right, Edwin. Take care of yourself out there with Sacred tonight. I’m going to hit the weight room to get my mind off things for a while, but if you need back-up, I’ll be out in a hot minute.

Edwin: Funny, that. In a week one of us will be out of a job, but here we are, watching each other’s backs to the very end.

Stevens breaks the handshake, rises, and heads for the door.

GSMS: Wouldn’t have it any other way, Edwin. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Good luck.

Edwin: You too.

GSMS: With the weights?

Edwin: Well, you know the lateral press machine. It gets frisky when it’s late.

Stevens laughs, grins, and with a final shake of his head, closes the door behind him. In the Carnival locker room, all alone again, Edwin sits and rubs his hands across the back of his neck.

Peace, quiet, and stillness. The gravity of the situation has settled in. Edwin MacPhisto and “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens, in six days, with their jobs on the line.

For once, the master showman is at a loss for words.

April 23, 2002

Smarkdown comes back in air and the camera catches all the screaming fans, kids showing their ugly teeth and breathing their bad breath pushing each other so they can be seen in the camera. The camera switches towards the announce table and it shows Curry and NTD sitting there waiting for their cue.

“Welcome back to Smarkdown where coming up right now is the U.S. title tournament.” Curry stated, wanting to see more action.

“Yep, it’s the semi-finals. Bo vs. Munich, head to head, blow to blow, Bo over the hoe.”

“They both came out impressive win where Munich defeated the Prophet and at the same time Bo defeated Rotten even though he used illegal tactics.”

“He won fair and square and now he’s 2 wins over one win over Rotten… Bo has been impressive and I wouldn’t be surprise if he were in the PPV winning the U.S title for the second time.”

“Plus at the PPV he said he’s going to show the whole world who he’s after… I for one want to know.”

“Oh, now you want to know, just watch this match and wait for it.”

The first few riffs off "Power Struggle" by Sunna kick the crowd up on their feet. Meanwhile, the lights across the jam-packed arena black out. As the song finishes it's intro, blinding white fireworks explode from the sides of the stage. The lights come back as the fire goes out, revealing Munich on the ramp. Munich slowly walks down the ramp, obviously limping and in pain. He reaches the ringside, hair dripping with water and slowly slides in the ring. He makes his way towards the turnbuckle and slowly climbs the turnbuckle. He thrusts a couple hands into the air, displaying his power.

“This match is schedule for one for and it’s for the advancement of the U.S. title. Now In the ring, weighing in at 261 pounds from Chicago, Illinois… MMMUUUNNNIIICCCHHH.”

The crowd gives him a nice pop, nothing big and extravaganza but decent enough for Munich to smile. He slowly descends from the corner and waits for his opponent who is Bo.

“Munich looks hurt, his right hand is wrapped around with bandages and he’s noticeably limping… This isn’t a good thing for Munich.”

“No shit Sherlock, Bo is going to use that right knee and turn it into a vegetable. People seem to forget how technical Bo can get because he always displays the hardcore in him. This is going to be a field day for Bo.” NTD said showing a smile with all his pearly yellows.

“Keep it Thoro” by Prodigy hits as the SmarksTron comes to life showing the word “BO” with some of his old clips of victories and triumphs… Bo appears on top of the stage and quickly walks down the ramp… Not listening to anybody, and not caring… His face pissed off and determined to deliver some pain.

“And his opponent, weighing in at 285 pounds hailing from the Bronx in New York City. Representing “Da Pound” BOOO.”

Bo enters the ring, staring at Munich but basically not showing much of an emotion. The referee stands in the middle of them two waiting to call for the bell… He looks towards the announce table and calls for the bell.

Ding, Ding, Ding.

They circle around the ring looking at each other not making any sudden movement. They get closer together and lock up. Bo quickly applies a side headlock straining that neck/head area hard. Munich walks back while putting his right hand on Bo’s back… Munich reaches the ropes with his back and forces Bo off of him and towards the other ropes. Bo springboard back and Munich takes a few steps forward, he puts his shoulder down and Bo drops him with a shoulder block. Bo looks down and runs towards the ropes that were by his side. Munich now rolls over so that he’s stomach first on the mat. Bo bounces off the ropes and hops over him and runs directly towards the other ropes. Munich now gets up and when he sees Bo coming back Munich takes him over with a hiptoss. Bo quickly gets up and gets taken down with another hiptoss. Bo quickly gets up again and Munich waits for him for another hiptoss but he gets taken down with a diving shoulder to Munich’s right leg.

“Oh, it’s a rap… Munich aint the same and aint gonna be the same after that shot to the leg.” NTD said, trying once again to talk ghetto.

“Are you talking that ghetto stuff again?”

“I made a vouch, I said every time Thugg and Bo wrestles I’m going to talk ghetto… Word.”

Munich is now holding his right leg, knee to be more specific and it grimacing in pain. Bo walks towards him and lifts the leg up and kicks him right on the knee. A loud scream comes from the mouth of Munich as he reaches to his leg holding his knee in pain. Bo grabs Munich’s right leg again and this time he drops an elbow on the leg and then hooks the leg under his biceps for a leg lock. Munich is screaming in pain as he wants to grab a handful of hair but Bo has no hair. The referee asks Munich if he wants to give up but he just shakes his head no.

“This doesn’t look good for Munich. He’s in too much pain, he shouldn’t be competing he should be resting.”

“Let alone compete against an angry monster that’s looking for revenge and will destroy anybody that gets in his way Bo… Word.”

Bo gets up and he helps Munich up as well but still with a hold of his leg. Munich now hops around with his left leg and quickly gets whipped down by the right leg with a dragon screw. Bo still has the right leg of Munich and hooks it right under his arm; he then forces Munich to turn around so that Munich is laying stomach first on the mat. Bo now has the single leg crab.

“I think he’s going to finish it right now. He’s going for it.” NTD said as he watches Bo reach back to grab Munich’s head.

Munich is in pain just with the single leg crab alone, but he’s shaking his head, trying to avoid the Perfect Crank. As Munich shakes his head he’s also using his upper body strength to pull his way towards the ropes. He’s getting closer when he gets hooked with the “Perfect Crank,” and that causes the crowd to get up and cheer for Munich.

“It’s only a matter of time now and it’s all over.”

Curry shakes his head as he say: “No, look at Munich taking the pain and at the same time dragging himself with the 285 pound Bo on top of him towards the ropes.”

“He aint gonna make it… Word!”

His head is bent back as Bo continues to pull but Munich is still pulling his way towards the ropes. The referee is on his knees asking Munich if he wants to quit. Nothing but screams of pain comes out of Munich’s lips as he continues to struggle his way to the ropes. He’s about 2 feet away from it and the crowd is cheering him on.

One foot…

Bo is now pulling back on Munich’s leg and head, surprise that he’s being dragged towards the ropes.

6 inches away…

The crowd are now chanting Munich’s name as he reaches for the ropes… His middle finger hits the bottom rope but still didn’t grab it.

3 inches away…

A look of astonishment fills the face of Bo as he looks back and sees how close they are to the ropes… He screams in shock as Munich screams in pain. Closer and closer to the bottom rope but still not quite there.

“He’s going to make it.”

“No he’s not…” NTD said debating with Curry. He now screams towards the ring: “Quit dammit quit.”

2 inches away, the crowd are now on their feet clapping hands and still chanting his name. He reaches, the middle finger clutches the bottom rope but then it slipped off.

One more inch.

“You quit, you quit” screams the referee to Munich; nothing but screams fills the referee’s ears. Munich reaches for the ropes, he’s almost there, almost got it. He reaches a bit more and he grabs it!

“Damn.”

“Yes.”

Bo doesn’t let go of the hold and Munich continues screaming. The referee is trying to pull Bo off of him, but come on, a 160-pound man going to pull a 285-pound man off somebody? That’s impossible.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

And Bo lets go of the hold, displaying his heel status if people were confused before. A smile emerges on Bo’s face even though he’s a little perturbed about the outcome. He helps Munich up and grabs him by the arm, he attempts to whip him but Munich just crashes on the mat unable to run due to the pain and the punishment he’s receiving on that leg more specific the right knee. Munich lands face first on the mat thriving in pain but really can’t do anything about it. Bo nonchalantly walks to him and grabs his right leg; he then lifts it way up in the air and forces it down hard on the mat, knee first. He grabs the leg again and does the same thing. Munich grabs the leg in pain as Bo is having a field day with it.

Smiling, happy to see that Bo is getting control of this match NTD said: “Only a matter or time… Word.”

“Shut the hell up, it’s still early in the match and please stop saying word… You sound so gay when you say it.”

Munich now rolls over so that he’s back first on the mat and he don’t have to go through the pain of his knee bouncing off the mat. Bo didn’t hesitate to grab the leg and help him up at the process. Munich is now on his one feet, hopping around like a damn rabbit as Bo just smiles at him when…

“ENZIGURI!!! ENZIGURI!!!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up… Word.”

Bo lands hard on the mat as Munich lies on the mat as well hurting in pain and still holding his leg.

“One.” Screams out the referee doing the damn, stupid, what everybody hates mandatory 10 count.

“Two.” Bo is the first one moving, showing signs of being alive.

“Three.” Munich drags himself towards the ropes and grabs the bottom one.

“Four.” Bo is on one knee as so is Munich as he’s using the assistance of the ropes.

“Five.” Bo is now on both knees as so is Munich but with the assistance of the ropes.

The ref stops counting as Bo looks back and goes towards Munich and swings a wild right hand but that’s blocked and Munich, not putting all his strength into it scores with a right hand of his own. Bo brushes that off and throws another right hand and once again Munich blocks it, and with more power into it and scores with a right hand. Another right hand and another causes the hardcore god to stagger back a bit. Munich grabs Bo’s arm and whips him towards the ropes, Bo goes to the ropes, bounces back and gets taken down with a harsh spinebuster.

“Looks like the tide has turn.”

“Always remember that Bo is the man, and to be the man you gotta beat the man so how can you be the man if you can’t beat the man because this man cannot be beaten… Word.”

“What?”

“Forget it, you aint thug enough.”

Munich shakes his leg a bit, trying to see if he can finally work with it. Bo is holding his lower back in pain as he gets risen from the mat by Munich. The Chicago native quickly puts Bo in a standing head scissor position. Munich is now wasting time looking at the crowd waiting for a positive response and he gets one.

“He’s going for the Crunch!!! He hits this it’s over with one leg hurting… Now that’s determination.”

“It aint going to happen… Word!”

Bo hasn’t been hurt much and he raises his head to back body drop Munich but as Munich goes over Bo’s head, Bo quickly grabs Munich’s right leg and Munich lands on the mat face first. Bo quickly puts Munich’s leg under his arm and then sits on Munich’s back applying the single leg crab.

“What a counter-counter.”

“What does that mean?”

“He counter the crunch in a back drop and then he counter that into what might possibly be the perfect Crank. Word!” NTD said with joy.

Munich tries to scramble towards the ropes but Bo stood up and drags him towards the middle of the ring. Bo sits back on Munich’s back and then reaches back trying to grab his head/neck area and gets it in a weird ass variation of the STF…

“The Crank, the crank baby it’s over now.”

“No, he’s going to reach the ropes I know this.”

The crank is on, Bo has it on well and in the middle of the ring and there’s no escape from it now. But Munich is still desperately trying to reach for the ropes and is pulling Bo with him. The crowd is now on their feet, screaming, chanting Munich’s name so he can grab the ropes.

“He’s going to make it!”

“No, he’s too far… Word!”

3 feet away from the ropes now and the referee is constantly asking him if he wants to quit. The pain is just too much for Munich but he’s holding on…

2 feet now and it seems that Munich is in the verge of blacking out but he continues to inch, crawl, pull his way towards the ropes…

1 foot, he’s reaching, fingertips touching the bottom rope and that’s when Bo pulls harder on the leg and that causes Munich to scream in pain.

6 inches, he’s almost there, he’s going to make it when…

Bang, bang, bang…

MUNICH’S TAPS OUT! He couldn’t handle the pain any longer and he taps out… Bo releases the lock and walks to the referee as he raises his hand and calls for the bell as well…

Ding, ding, ding.

“And the winner of this match via submission, and advancing to the finals for the U.S. title… BBBOOO!!!” Screams out Funyon as the crowd boos in disapproval.

“I told you he was too far and Bo just took advantage on that bad leg of his… That’s not just being thug but that’s being technical and smart… Word!”

“Well, Munich was in a disadvantage from the get go, but at least give him credit for showing up and almost defeating Bo.”

“Hell nah, he never had Bo beat, it was just a ploy for the finish that’s all. Word!”

“Look, I’m giving Bo credit, he played it smart and attacked the leg like he was suppose to…

“You have to give him credit… Word!” NTD interrupted in.

Curry looks at NTD with more hatred than usual and then shifts his eyes towards back in the ring and said: “What’s going on now?”

Bo goes to Munich and is now helping him up. Munich is now on his feet, eyes glaring at Bo and ready for an attack when… Bo raises Munich’s arm and that causes the crowd to actually applaud Bo’s action.

“Now that’s good sportsmanship… Way to go Bo.” Curry said actually surprised that he said that.

“No, this can’t be happening… Why is Bo turning soft on people? Dammit…”

“Where’s the “Word” that you said you were going to say for now on?”

“Shut up!”

Bo now is helping Munich walk around the ring hoping to get feeling on his leg when Bo twirls him around, grabs Munich’s head in a ¾ headlock and drops the Perfect Pain on Munich. That ignited the crowd into ferocious boos.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about… Word!”

“Shut up!”

“Keep it Thoro,” by Prodigy hits as Bo slowly and cocky leaves the ring, not listening to the boos because he don’t care and leaves Munich in the ring knocked the fuck out.

“Well it looks like that Bo is going to the PPV and is going after the U.S. title for the second time in his career, and he’s going to win it regardless whose in his way… Word!”

“Fine, he deserved it, he won the match cleanly, but his actions at the end was uncalled for and I really hope he gets his ass whipped.”

“Aint gonna happen… Well, it’s time to go but please the don’t anywhere because the MAIN EVENT IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER.”

“NTD, why you taken my spotlight, I always say that.”

“Not tonight, because tonight is a good night… Word!”

Whatever… Stay tuned for the main event…”

“Word!”

April 23, 2002

“Hello? Hey, I know you’re in here... come on out!” Sacred commands. He is in the east wing, in the basement, and as far as he’s sure, in the east utility closet. It’s not a closet in the traditional sense; this thing is huge. And dark. Sacred fumbles for a light switch briefly upon entering... but he cannot find one. Regardless, he ventures into the darkness unafraid, for it pales in comparison to the darkness found within him. He squints his eyes, feeling around in front of him to make sure he doesn’t bump into anything... or anyone. “You think this is funny?” he starts to yell, more to himself than to anyone that might be in the room. “You think you can play with someone like this?” Sacred starts moving faster, searching for his quarry. “You don’t toy with someone like this! Especially... ME!” Sacred shoves in front of him, knocking over something metallic that makes one hell of a racket when it lands.

“COME ON!” Sacred starts knocking over everything in the room, trying to shake out the rat, whoever is taunting him like this.

A light turns on in the room suddenly, blinding Sacred for a split-second. He finds himself standing in front of a wall, so he whirls around. There, standing with his finger on the light switch, is the Intercontinental Television Champion, and one-half of the Tag Team Champions, Thoth.

“You,” Sacred starts to say. “What the hell do you know about Anna?”

Thoth chuckles, bringing his hand to his mouth. “Me? Hmm hmm... look at you. You’re like a sheep. You hear ‘Anna’ and you come braying, hoping for a morsel of information.

Sacred has none of it, charging towards Thoth. “Cut that shit out! What the hell do you know? Tell me NOW!”

Thoth holds his hand out, palm outward. “Stop right there,” he says, in a less sinister and more serious tone. “First of all, I don’t know anything about the accident.” Sacred tenses his jaw, and clenches his fists. Thoth leans down a blit, blinks, and smiles as he continues to speak. “I knew that the mere mention of the word ‘Anna’ would bring you running anywhere I wanted you to be. Tonight, I want you here.” Sacred holds his ground, waiting to hear what the Balancer has to say. Thoth can see the question “Why?” etched in Sacred’s eyes, so he continues. “Your alliance with The Pound... makes me angry, Andrew.” Sacred flinches at the use of his real name... an angry flinch. “Stubby McWeed crossed the Clan, his first, and last mistake.” Thoth starts to pace as thoughts flow through him like a river. “I’ve already proven that the world champion, the HVille Thugg, isn’t invincible. Come this Sunday, the Clan’s favorite son, Fallout, will humiliate him. Jay Dawg is being systematically broken down by our Assassin, Lady Red. But what about you, Andrew? What makes you... tick? I passivlely enjoyed your brief brush with... ‘evil,’ as you called it. Hell, Andrew, I even found it entertaining. But you know what? I hate The Pound. And by proxy, I hate you.”

Thoth looks directly at Sacred, meets the Australian’s scornful eyes... with a hateful look of his own. “I heard about your accident... and it made me think, Andrew. It made me think. You didn’t deserve her.” Sacred has heard just about enough. “What the hell do you know, you Satan-sucking piece of shit? Have you ever loved? Have you? Do you know what it’s like to come home, after months on the road, your body and mind... torn to shreds, and to have someone who... who cares? Who will hold you and listen to everything you have to say? You don’t! YOU DON’T!” Sacred’s fingernails dig into his palm as he speaks with force that would move mountains.

“You’re right. I don’t,” replies Thoth, calmly. “And that is my strength. Look at you, Andrew. You’re a wreck. A helpless mass of quivering emotion. If you are a living example of the power of love, then I don’t think I want a part of it. ...emotions make you weaker, Andrew. You fight sloppier. Face it. You’re not as strong as you used to be.”

“Who cares if you’re strong or weak, all that matters is if you’re happy!”

“Happy?” Thoth asks incredulously. “Ha ha ha... ha ha haha! Are you kidding? Happiness is just a delusion based on ignorance. And I know... you’re not stupid. Are you?”

The tension snaps in Sacred’s body. “That’s enough!” he screams, dashing towards Thoth. The Balancer flicks off the lift, dropping the room into darkness. Sacred’s hands touch air; Thoth has vanished as quickly as he appeared. Sacred turns the light back on, and finds that Thoth is gone from the room entirely. Frustrated, Sacred kicks over a set of steel poles before leaving the room, making sure to slam the door behind him.

April 23, 2002

As we return from commercial break, the heavy chords of “Season in the Abyss” drop the crowd into aggressive boos. The lights whirl in a dizzy black and white, and fog begins to spill down the entrance ramp as the boos rail on.

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown!” shouts Curry Man. “We’re about to finish off a full night of action here that’s seen a hardcore elimination match for the contendership to Longdogger Pete’s belt, as well as the semi-finals in the US Title Tournament!”

“And what better way to finish it off,” cackles NTD, “then with everyone’s favorite estranged Aussie, Sacred, tearing the head off of a Carnie!” As NTD heaps praise on Sacred, the man himself comes stalking out of the fog, his wrists taped, his face stern, and his demeanor a mixture of detachment and bottled rage. Ignoring the jeers of the fans, he continues towards the ring, climbing in, looking somewhere for a focus that’s been lost and battered…

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is your MAIN EVENT! Entering the ring, from Adelaide, Australia, weighing in at 231 pounds, representing Da Pound…SAAAAAAACRED!” The Sacred One takes his place in the center of the ring, glaring menacingly towards the entrance ramp as the fog begins to dispel, waiting eagerly for the arrival of someone upon whom he can vent his rage. As Sacred waits, a light hum rolls over the arena, and a hovering, haunting sound floats in, bringing the crowd to its feet and transforming their jeers to cheers like water into win. “Here comes the Carnie you want taken out, NTD! A man who’s been battered, beaten, and torn apart mentally and physically the past two weeks—Edwin MacPhisto!”

“Goood eeeeeeeevening, Buffalo,” comes Edwin’s voice over the PA, drawing another pop. It doesn’t sound as boisterous as normal, and for obvious reasons. “Sacred, it’s down to you and me, and this is time three—nothing in our way but ourselves. So come on down, Sacred, because the devil’s in town! Hallelujah, bitch!” With that rather brief speech, the sound of feedback rips through the arena along with a pair of blue spotlights, exploding in a wave of purple strobes and spinning red and gold disco lights as the vocals of “Battleflag” drop, heralding the arrival of former ICTV champion, Edwin MacPhisto!

“And his opponent,” shouts Funyon, as Edwin appears on the ramp, grinning mildly as he saunters down, nonchalantly flicking his sunglasses to an eager kid in the front, “weighing in at 239 pounds, from Amsterdam, England, the leader of the Midnight Carnival…Edwin MacPhistOOOOO!” Edwin slides into the ring and passes off his coat to the referee. For a second he motions to unclasp a title belt, but he catches himself in the old habit and returns to stretching.

“Look at Edwin!” snaps NTD! “What a tool, wishing he still had his belt!”

“Oh, cut the guy some slack,” says Curry. “This is the first show in a long time Edwin’s been without championship gold—hell, between the tag championship and the ICTV belt, he’s had a title almost every day since Christmas! He’s got to be out of his head now anyway.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” snaps NTD, egging Curry on as the ref signals for the bell. It rings, and the two men, frequent competitors of late, start to circle and size each other up as the crowd’s intensity builds…

“What I mean, NTD, is that we’ve got two of our greatest current competitors in the ring right now, but I don’t know what we can truly expect out of either of them tonight,” speculates Curry. “Neither man can really be on top of his game.”

“What are you talking about, you spicy little bugger?” snaps NTD. “Sacred’s ALWAYS on top of his game!”

“I know you love his eeevil ways, NTD, but look at the situation: Sacred’s a jumbled mess, moreso than ever. The death of Anna has taken a huge toll on the kid, and he’s all mixed-up inside, especially now with Thoth taunting him at every turn. We’ve definitely seen a change come over in Sacred the past few weeks: he’s gone from being so-called evil to full of rage, with a half-gainer of depression on the side. How he’s still all together and out here is beyond me, and that’s to say nothing of Edwin MacPhisto!”

After a minute or two of careful stalling, the two men finally lock up in the center of the ring, Edwin taking a quick advantage thanks to his greater height and increased leverage. Sacred won’t be undone, however—with a quick squeeze of Edwin’s shoulders, putting pressure inward on his neck, the Aussie forces Edwin to cry out in pain and release the hold, leaving himself wide open for a knee to the gut! The Mac Daddy doubles over, and Sacred quickly flows into a front face lock! “Hold up just a minute—Sacred’s already going for the Cruel Fate!” With a quick kick and a wrathful, torn expression, Sacred leaps into the air…but Edwin fights through it and pushes forward, blowing Sacred back and off of him! The irate Aussie lands on his back and skids to a stop as Edwin winces and stands back up, rubbing at his neck. “MacPhisto gets the quick escape from Sacred’s Cruel Fate, but just barely! That’s just what I was saying, NTD!”

“What, that MacPhisto sucks harder than an industrial-strength vacuum?”

“No, you goof! That Edwin’s in just as bad a situation as Sacred! Not only does he have a totally wasted neck thanks to the aftermath of the ladder match from two weeks ago and Thoth’s blistering assault on the neck on Storm, he’s got the stress of that retirement match against Mark Stevens come Sunday! We saw the two try to work out the problem earlier tonight, and to no avail. It’s a dark day for both of these men.” As Curry rails on about the recent injustices of the SWF, Sacred scrambles back to his feat and bolts towards Edwin, perhaps looking for a Kamikaze tackle, but Edwin is quicker: he side-steps to the left and hooks Sacred’s arm as he charges to take him over and down with an armdrag. Edwin stands tall for a moment, but as Sacred lands he jerks Edwin’s dragging arm with him, bringing the Mac Daddy down to the mat with a sudden tug! “Sacred turns the takedown around, bringing the former ICTV champion down with him, and he’s up to his feet first!” Lo and behold, the fired-up Sacred rises, still locked onto Edwin’s arm, and as Edwin tries to get back to his feet, Sacred swings with a sideways chop straight into Edwin’s neck! The crowd boos rather than whoos, and Edwin stumbles as Sacred lets fly with another slice. The second blow knocks Edwin to the mat hard, and he curls up slightly and tries to protect his neck. “Sacred’s not letting up on Edwin’s weak point at all—this is bottled up vengeance, all the vengeance of two straight losses to this man coming to a head!” The crowd boos more and Sacred tries to stay focused, checking Edwin and then checking behind him. He sees the ropes and backs into them, getting some momentum as he surges forward…

“If I’m up on my Nabokov,” cackles NTD, “it looks like Sacred’s about to offer Edwin an Invitation to a Beheading! Ha!” Sacred streaks off the ropes and leaps into the air, and the crowd gasps as he sails over Edwin’s neck with an outstretched leg…

…and hits nothing but canvas, as Edwin rolls away at the last second! “The Midnight Carnival’s ringmaster barely escapes that big legdrop,” shouts Curry, “and thank god for that! If Sacred had connected, Edwin’s fragile neck would have been toast for sure!” Edwin rolls away and scrambles up, getting to his feet just in time to see a recovered Sacred dashing towards him once again. Taking advantage of Sacred’s overpowering rage and thinning focus, Edwin ducks to the side and gestures like a matador with an imaginary piece of cloth, bellowing “Toro, torrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooo!” as Sacred steamrolls by harmlessly! “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” fears Curry. “Sacred’s getting a little more unhinged with every missed attack, and Edwin’s provoking him even further!”

“You watch yourself, MacPhisto!” catcalls NTD. “Any minute now Sacred’s going to totally flip out and kick you right in the face!” True to NTD’s word, Sacred at least tries to mount another offensive, turning deftly and charging back towards Edwin with a clothesline. MacPhisto anticipates the return and carefully ducks under the Aussie’s arm, and once more Sacred skids and spins around, this time right into a boot to the gut from his opponent! Edwin takes control with a headlock, and the crowd as he leaps forward and spins his legs, crushing Sacred into his knee with a bulldog! “Blah! That was no kick to the face!”

“You’re darn tootin’ it wasn’t—that was a Midnight Special, and now Edwin’s going for the first cover of the match!” Edwin crawls over Sacred and frantically waves for the ref to drop, and drop fast…

ONE!

TWO—Sacred kicks out! “Edwin was quick, but not quick enough. Sacred’s still ticking!” Climbing back to his feet with Sacred in tow, Edwin steps forward for a whip, but Sacred plants his feet and reverses hard with a short-arm clothesline! MacPhisto goes down like Thoth’s sister at a frat party, and Sacred immediately takes advantage of the shocked entertainer with a stomp to the throat! But no, no! Edwin throws his hands up and catches the boot inches from impact, drawing a big roar from the crowd! Sacred presses forward, but Edwin throws the foot aside and rolls out, letting the boot soar through and crunch against the canvas! The Mac Daddy rolls to a knee as Sacred turns and launches forward with a strong right hand shotei, but now it’s Sacred’s turn to block a strike! The Aussie catches it with his own right hand—and so Edwin kicks up to his full height and fires off a second shotei with his left hand, only to have that one caught too! Sacred has Edwin’s arms trapped across each other, and as the Mac Daddy stares blankly at the situation, the angry Australian rolls out to the right and wraps the crossed arms around Edwin’s neck!

“That’s not a knife,” quips NTD: “That’s a Knifey-Spoony!” To a thundering roar of boos, Sacred chains his quick reversal into a vicious cross-arm neckbreaker, driving Edwin back-first to the mat with shocking force! Sacred contemplates a cover, but thinks better of it, instead ripping Edwin up off the canvas just as quickly as he brought him down.

“Tremendously aggressive assault from Sacred,” calls Curry. “He’s awfully sloppy tonight, almost disconnected from the match itself, but he’s still hitting with a lot of power, especially on Edwin’s neck. I’ve got to say, Edwin’s at a real disadvantage tonight…”

“You finally agree!”

“Tonight! Not every night! Just tonight!”

“What’s that? Every night?”

“Augh…”

As the two long-time hetero life-partners bicker, Sacred surveys Edwin’s stumbling, groaning body, wondering what he can do next. For starters, he settles on a whip to the ropes, an Edwin rebound, and a flying forearm, but as Edwin crashes to the mat again, Sacred remains unsatisfied. He gives the Mac Daddy a sharp kick to the head, as if he needed further numbing. Edwin starts to go fetal but can’t quite finish his curl before Sacred has him up again, sending him sailing with another whip another rebound, and this time a catch and a lift…straight into a savage Whiplash Spinebuster! Sacred makes sure to aim Edwin’s neck and shoulders straight at the canvas, and when the moves hits, the sound of popping and crunching body parts finally sates his rage. He sits up, grinning for a few seconds at Edwin’s downed form, and then beckons the referee to come count as he crawls over Edwin’s form…

ONE!

TWO!

T—“Edwin gets the shoulder up, just barely!” cries a relieved Curry. “Sacred may have given him a little too much time to recover, and Edwin’ll take any rope you give him--”

“—and hang himself with it!”

“…that’s not quite the analogy I was--”

“—and hang himself with it!”

“Stop it, or I’ll--”

“—and hang himself with it!”

“BLAH!” As Curry concedes this battle of words and wit, Sacred gets in the referee’s face, grabbing him by the shirt-collar and pulling him down to look at a still-limp Edwin, scolding him for a supposed slow-count. He yanks the ref straight down to the canvas, shouts in his face one more time, and then crawls over Edwin once again!

ONE!

TWO—and Edwin kicks out again! That sets Sacred off, and he immediately launches to his feet and drags the referee up, shoving him away and then quickly closing for some more harsh words! “Sacred’s getting a bit too aggressive here—if he’s not careful, he’s going to get himself disqualified! The referee is the wrong man to pick on!” Sacred shoves the referee in the chest one more time and rails on about how three should come before two in the chain of numbers anyway, and the ref makes a bold gesture towards the locker room, drawing another shove from the Australian! Now incensed at this challenge to his authority, the referee shoves back, drawing a mild pop from the crowd—and that pop gets a whole helluva lot bigger as the shove sends Sacred right into the waiting arms of Edwin MacPhisto! “Rear waistlock!” calls Curry, and Edwin jerks Sacred backward suddenly, planting him to the mat with a German suplex! The ref is to the mat in no time, eager to count this particular fall!

ONETWOTH—kick out from the down under wonder! “Did you see that???” screams NTD. “Fast-count! Impartial ref! Chicanery! A pox on both your houses!”

“That’s what Sacred gets for going toe-to-toe with the man in black-and-white. He didn’t get counted down anyway, so quit whining!” While Curry retorts, Edwin sighs a bit at the missed fall, and the ref nods to him, as if to say “there’s only so much I can do.” Undeterred, Edwin peels Sacred off the mat and whips him across the ring, still breathing heavily and rubbing at his neck as he comes back to clip the returning Aussie with a high-leg clothesline. Sacred falls fast, and Edwin drops for another cover. The count comes regular this time…

ONE!

TWO—kick-out! “Edwin’s showing a lot of heart to be out here with his neck the way it is,” commentates Curry, “but his fragile state is seriously limiting his offense. We’ve yet to see him get acrobatic, nor has he had the sense of purpose to go after Sacred in any sort of tactical manner. It looks to me like Edwin just wants to get out of that ring as quickly as possible and rest up for Sunday, but it also looks like he realizes that there’s no way Stubby’s going to cut him or Mark Stevens a single break up till that night.”

“Serves them right!” snorts NTD. “If I had 516 pizzas show up at my doorstep, well…well, I’d probably eat a couple of them, but I’d be real pissed about the rest!” Back in the ring, Edwin pulls Sacred up again, still foggy as to how to attack without exposing his neck so much. He starts simply enough with a pair of knee strikes to Sacred’s gut, doubling him over, and then front face-locks him for a DDT, but Sacred twists out and limits Edwin’s capture to an arm-lock. Just like before, the Aussie shoots forward for a short-arm clothesline, but this time Edwin ducks under it, throws up his free arm, and cinches the attack forearm as it passes by! The two men stand back to back, arms locked, and the crowd roars as Edwin suddenly has the perfect set-up for the Encore Cross! The entire HSBC Arena rises to its feet with a cheer!

“Sacred escaped but got tempted right back into Edwin’s grasp! Here we go!” shouts Curry, excited as Edwin pulls Sacred up, slowly, surely…and way too loosely! As Sacred leaves the ground he kicks off firmly and flips over Edwin’s back, rolling off and landing on his feet in front of the leaning MacPhisto! Edwin stands up quickly—

WHAP!

--and eats a shuffle sidekick to the jaw! Edwin stumbles towards the ropes and collapses limply, and Sacred pounces on him, tearing into him with mounted punches as the defenseless Edwin tries to fight back in vain, too dazed to offer more than an occasional desultory slap. The crowd sits down, no longer enthused, and Sacred finally lets off the punches, hooking the leg and going for the academic pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE—but the referee’s hand stops inches before the mat!

“What? Bullshit!” snaps NTD!

“Not bullshit—revelation!” cries Curry! He points to the ring, the ref points to the ropes, and Sacred goes bananas as he sees Edwin’s free leg draped over the bottom one! “Edwin got a leg up on the competition, literally!” Sacred absolutely flips out upon seeing this and, staying true to NTD’s earlier proposal, grabs the top ring rope, holds on for dear life, and starts viciously kicking Edwin in the face!

“That’s my boy!” squeals the pantsless one. “Break his neck good! I can’t wait till Sunday to see a career ended! I want one noooooow!” Sounding like Veruca Salt on acid, NTD whines on as Sacred stomps away. Edwin can’t fight back in any reasonable fashion, and finally he takes the only way out—down. With the last of his sapped energy, Edwin rolls himself out of the ring as carefully as possible and falls to the thin mat outside. The referee reluctantly begins to count the resting Edwin out, but he doesn’t have to keep it up for very long, as Sacred steps through the ropes onto the apron, points down to Edwin to a chorus of boos and leaps off with a stiff double-stomp aimed straight for one Mac Daddy neck! Everyone peering over the guardrail covers their eyes, except for a little boy named Timmy, who is an awfully sick sonofabitch—but much to Timmy’s chagrin, Edwin rolls away and scrambles desperately to his feet.

“Great dodge from Edwin, probably saving his British arse from extermination right there!” calls Curry. Sacred lands with a bend of the knees and then extends back to his full height, only to get drilled by a spear from Edwin straight into the ring apron! The crowd roars as Edwin slams into Sacred and then backs off! With a flick of the wrist he goads Sacred into coming off the apron, and as Sacred lunches forward with a right hook, Edwin leaps and sends his right foot straight into Sacred’s chest with a spinning roundhouse kick! As Sacred starts to slump, Edwin scoops him up and throws him into the ring, crawling behind him and looking to take advantage of the momentary weakness with a quick cover! “This could be it!”

ONE!

TWO!

TH—and Sacred surges upward, snagging Edwin’s leg into a tight inside cradle!

ONE!

TWO—and the roll-up’s reversed into an Edwin fall again!

ONE!

TWO—Sacred stops the count, bridging up and out…and then he kips up with the upper half of his body, rolling forward and pressing Edwin down in a sunset flip pin!

ONE!

TWO—Edwin finally explodes away, breaking the chain of covers and scrambling to his feet! “What an exchange!” hollers Curry. “The crowd is tense as hell, and rightfully so! Edwin went into that looking like a winner, and came out on the escaping end!”

“Sounds like your mom…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh…”

“Tool.”

Edwin takes a breather leaned up against the corner, and Sacred wastes no time in trying to capitalize—he storms forward and splashes Edwin, then snakes an armed through his legs and roll backwards, taking his stunned form into a roll-up with him! “Another quick pin from Sacred!” shouts Curry, and the ref, getting tired now, drops down!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—and Edwin springs out to a relieved sigh from the fans! Sacred pulls him up by the arm, and Edwin tries to fight out with elbows to the jaw: one! Two! Three! But still, Sacred walks right through them, shrugging off the pain as he cinches Edwin’s right arm in a tight chicken-wing, then sloppily grabs the left the same way!

“No no no!” cries Curry!

“Yes yes yes!” shouts NTD!

Sacred yanks backwards with a growl and takes Edwin up and over, slamming him neck-first into the mat with a brutal Tiger Suplex! Edwin contorts, but Sacred bridges for the pin! “That’s inescapable!” hollers NTD! “Sacred’s finally got the big W!”

ONE!

TWO!

TH—and Edwin KICKS OUT! The crowd explodes, for once cheering for Edwin just for his heart and fortitude, not just for jokes and gags! “Edwin’s fighting with everything he’s got—this could be his last match on free TV, and he’s not going down without a war!” As Sacred slides off Edwin’s form, he looks down at the Mac Daddy. What’s he doing wrong? Why can’t he keep him down? The frustration builds up, and with a final stomp to the fragile skull of his opponent, he heads for the corner and begins to climb…

“Sacred’s taking a rare trip up top!” calls Curry, and NTD simply giggles with anticipation. Sacred reaches the top and poses momentarily, shaking out his right leg, getting ready…and then Edwin starts to stand, rising just as Sacred reaches the top turnbuckle. The Crown Prince of Flash and Panache turns dizzily, and Sacred takes that as his cue to leap off the top rope with a blazing fly kick! He rockets toward Edwin, sailing downward, aiming straight for the neck, legs out, anxious…

…and empty.

The crowd roars as Edwin throws his arms up and, stumbling under the weight of his incoming package, CATCHES SACRED IN MID-AIR! “HOLY HELL!” shouts Curry! “Edwin just caught the biggest pop fly of his life!” The crowd thunders and Edwin roars, flipping Sacred over as fast as he can and throwing him down with a humongous folding powerbomb!

“No! No! Stop the match, he’s going to break Sacred in half!”

“You sure as hell didn’t have anything to say when Sacred was taking Edwin’s neck apart, so don’t start now!” quips Curry, shutting NTD up fast. For a moment, it looks like Edwin’s going to hold the pin and keep Sacred down, but then he cradles Sacred in his arms and starts to lift again! The crowd explodes in a huge chant as he lifts him up!

“MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!

MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!”

“Edwin’s going for a second powerbomb! This’ll put Sacred away for good, thank god!” says a relieved Curry. Edwin raises Sacred up onto his shoulders and grins for the crowd, smiling as well as he possibly can with the strain on his neck. He lifts Sacred high, then moves to power him down, but Sacred cinches his legs around Edwin’s neck and suddenly takes over, drawing a huge chorus of shocked boos! “Hurricanrana! Hurricanrana counter from Sacred!” The two men go down, Sacred riding high on Edwin’s shoulders, and 230-odd pounds of grunt come crushing down on Edwin’s neck! The crowd deflates, and Curry looks on, shocked! “Edwin’s neck—I can’t believe it! How can he still be moving after this? Someone get out here, and get out here fast!” Still full of wrath and the built-up hatred of two matches scorned, Sacred pulls Edwin up off the mat, drives a knee into his gut, and then looks him straight in the eyes…

“This one’s for Anna…”

“No, no way! Not the Cruel Fate!”

WHAAAM! Sacred leaps and crushes his whole body down on Edwin, completing the fall-forward DDT with frightening grace! “This one’s over! Woo-hoo!” squeals NTD.

“I wish it were, but no—no it’s not!” cries Curry! The roars of the crowd mount, and even the referee is shocked! “Look!” Edwin lays nearly still after the Cruel Fate, and the wicked Sacred effortlessly transitions into a savage crossface submission, tearing and pulling at Edwin’s neck! Without a single second of hesitation, Edwin throws out his arm and begins to frantically slap the mat! The ref calls for the bell, and boos fill the arena!

DING DING DING!

“Your winner, by way of submission…SACRED!”

“Seasons in the Abyss” starts to play, and the ref goes to help Sacred up, but he refuses to move! “He’s pulling harder on Edwin’s neck! Take your win and go home, you sick bastard!” shouts Curry! As Sacred torques harder on Edwin’s neck, the Mac Daddy taps out wildly, continuing to hoot and holler in the hold. “Seasons” fades out and with it goes the boos of the fans, who now sit by merely in shocked fear, silence filling the ring…

…only to be replaced by a surprising pop as a blazing figure comes dashing down the ring ramp!

“It’s Mark Stevens—wait a second, no way! NO WAY!” Curry’s astounded, and Sacred looks up for a second, just in time to see a blurred figure enter the ring and feel the thick gold of the ICTV belt snap around his neck and tear him off Edwin! “It’s Thoth! Thoth’s made the save to get at Sacred!” The crowd explodes as Thoth tears Sacred off and throws the ICTV belt to the side, laying into him with vicious rakes, claws, and a huge float-over DDT! “Some sort of respect has passed between Thoth and Edwin, finally…”

“Or maybe Thoth just wants to kick Sacred’s ass! God, Thoth and Sacred—I can’t decide who to cheer for!” The two roll out of the ring, brawling wildly against the guardrail, and all looks safe until two more figures come blazing down the ramp, steel chairs in hand as they dash towards Edwin’s downed figure! Stubby P. McWeed and Jay Dawg slide into the ring, raising their chairs as the referee helps Edwin to his feet, then puts his body in front of the Mac Daddy, urging Stubby and JD to back off. Stubby nods to JD, who lowers his chair, but as soon as the ref lets his guard down, both men are on him, crunching his head with a double chair shot, leaving Edwin standing alone, weakly leaning on the ropes!

“The Commissioner won’t let this go! Edwin is at Da Pound’s merc--”

*CRACK*

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“HE’S HERE! HE’S HERE! GRAND SLAM MARK STEVENS IS HERE TO SAVE EDWIN MACPHISTO, THE VERY MAN HE’LL BE PUTTING HIS CAREER ON THE LINE AGAINST SUNDAY NIGHT!” Stubby and JD turn towards the entrance ramp as “Born Bad” tears through the speakers, and suddenly a bat crashes into JD’s head as Mark Stevens comes from the right of the ring, out of the crowd with a look of rage on his face! JD stumbles away and Stubby turns, swinging the chair…and Stevens ducks forward to jab him in the ribs with the tip of the bat! Stubby loses his chair and Stevens sends one more shot into Stubby’s gut, doubling him over straight into a standing headscissors! He discards the bat, points to the bleachers, and the crowd goes insane!

“First Thoth bails out Edwin, and now Stevens is here, about to deliver the Walk-Off to Stubby! It’s beautiful!” cries Curry!

“It’s injustice!” Stevens hooks Stubby’s arms…and gets clubbed in the back of the head with his own bat, courtesy one pissed off former US champ! JD tears Stevens off his boss as Stubby rolls out of the ring, breathing heavily, and crosses his arms, looking for a face driver of his own…

CLANG!

And JD crumples away as Edwin crushes him with a huge chairshot! The crowd roars again and Edwin weakly drops the chair, stumbling towards Mark as Stevens throws out a dizzied arm of his own to hold him up. “It’s Carnie Chaos in the ring, as Stevens and Edwin are barely holding off Da Pound! Thoth and Sacred have disappeared brawling into the crowd, and now Stubby and JD are circling the ring…” Curry looks on anxiously along with the fans, and suddenly JD looks to Stubby and shouts something. With a half-pissed smirk, Stubby nods, and the two start to beat a retreat up the ramp!

“God…damn…Carnies!” roars NTD, as “Love Rollercoaster” kicks up! Stubby and JD disappear behind the curtain, leaving Stevens and Edwin leaning on each other, back to back, as Curry keeps on shouting over the music.

“Sacred pulls up a wicked win over Edwin, absolutely tearing apart the Mac Daddy from the neck down, but after some impressive leg work by Thoth and Mark Stevens, Edwin and the Carnival come out of it alive! But that’s only for tonight, folks! Order 13th Hour this Sunday, and take a look at what we’ve got to offer! Thoth and Sacred, looking to be on a collision course! The final of the US Title tournament! Edwin MacPhisto, battered neck and all, and Mark Stevens in a retirement match, and still more—Fallout challenges the HVille Thugg for the SWF World Heavyweight Title! It’s all this Sunday, folks! And it’s only on the SWF! For NTD, Ben Hardy, and all the crew, this is Curry Man, signing off!”

“Love Rollercoaster” continues to blare, and we go to a promo package for Sunday’s show on the shot of Mark Stevens and Edwin MacPhisto, back to back, tired, beaten…

…and six days from their fates.

April 23, 2002

The main event has ended, but the show doesn't end...instead, the SWF cameras pan the rear or the arena, near the parking area. After a few moments, the doors leading the parking lot swing open and out walks two people; a large man and a woman.

(NTD) - What's this?

The camera zooms in, as if on NTD's orders, and reveals the couple to be HVT and Mistress Sarah, both carrying bags over their shoulders and carrying on a conversation.

(Curry) - Hey, that's Sarah and Thugg. Looks like they're leaving together. It's nice to see those two patch things up, even though their offspring would probably be Satan himself.

(NTD) - But what I'm wondering is: Why are we staying on the air to see these two walk to their cars?

Sarah and Thugg continue to walk and talk until suddenly Thugg stops in his tracks. Sarah looks back at him, stopping a little past him, and sees him staring off into the distance.

(Curry) - Maybe we're about to find out...

At this point, a mysterious microphone gets close enough to pick up what there's saying.

(Sarah) - Damien. Come on...let's go.

Thugg says nothing, but instead, stares deeper into the parking lot.

(Sarah) - Damien! Let's just go...forget about it. I wanna get something to eat.

(HVT) - You should leave.

(Sarah) - What...no...

(HVT) - Go on...I'll catch up with you later.

(Sarah) - Just come on...wait until Sunday.

(HVT) - Nah. Just go yo...I'll call you later...maybe.

(Sarah) - Fine!

Sarah leaves in a bit of a huff, and when she's out of sight, HVT reaches in his pocket and whips out his cell phone.

(HVT) - Rear parking lot...now!

HVT flips the phone closed and shoves it back into his pocket. The camera spins around to see what Thugg sees, and when it does, it shows Fallout standing next to a rental SUV, shuffling through his bag for something, probably his keys.

(Curry) - Oh shit...

(NTD) - This is gonna be bad.

HVT starts forward and the camera moves to a close up of Fallout searching his bag. Still in his Clan robe, Fallout's head is covered by his hood, but after a few moments, he can feel Thugg upon him. Fallout looks up from his crouched position to see Thugg standing over him, looking down menacingly. Fallout slowly rises, pulls his hood down from his head, and looks up into HVT's eyes.

(HVT) - You wanna piece of me? Well, here I am bitch...take you're best shot.

Fallout stares at HVT for a long moment, straining his neck to look up, until he slowly turns his head to the SUV on his left. Suddenly, all the doors to the vehicle fly open and the entire Clan springs out. Thoth, K-Os, Lady Red, and Spider Nekura move from the car to positions around Fallout.

(Curry) - Oh! Thugg may have bitten off more than even he can chew here. That's the whole Clan, and not even the 450 pound monster can take on the entire Clan alone!

HVT surveys the five people standing before him, but instead of cutting his losses and walking away, HVT simply grins and turns his head back to the door he exited only moments ago. Suddenly, that door flies open and out pours Sacred, Jay Dawg, and Perfect Bo...DA POUND!

(NTD) - And the odds just got a little even!

Thugg's Pound-mates rush over to Thugg's side, forming two battle lines in the parking lot.

(Curry) - It's Da Pound...and The Clan...in the parking lot! This is about to be settled right here...right now! This is gonna be a war!!

HVT stares at Fallout while the other Pound members stare at the other Clan members, everyone waiting for the other person to strike first. The tension builds, and you can hear the yelling from the crowd inside the arena. No words are spoken and the silence only adds to the hatred these two groups have for each other.

(NTD) - Who'll strike first??

(Curry) - The tension's building here folks, and we'll stay with this until its conclusion.

Suddenly, it begins...with Fallout spitting and spraying black mist into Thugg's face!!

(Curry) - The black mist...and they're off!!

The abrupt tactic from Fallout ignites the riot as all 9 people begin to exchange blows. HVT retaliates with a hard right hand to Fallout's chin, knocking him several feet back. Thoth's fist connects with Sacred's head, knocking him down, while Bo punches K-Os into oblivion. JD is the victim of a hard right from Spider that sends him stumbling, and is knocked down by a quick kick to the head by Lady Red.

(Curry) - They're going at it! Da Pound...The Clan...erupting into a brawl, right here in the parking lot. Forget the ring...forget the PPV...it's right now for these two groups!

Thugg follows up his punch with a hard stomp to Fallout's ribs, but is slammed hard against he SUV by Spider Nekura. Meanwhile, Bo is hammered side kick from Thoth, and when JD gets to his feet, he is immediately double teamed by K-Os and Lady Red.

(NTD) - These two groups hate each other with a vicious passion, and it's erupting into gangland warfare right before our very eyes!

Sacred gets to his feet and hammers Spider off Thugg with a hard punch, but he pays for his salvation by being slammed head first into the side of the vehicle by Thoth. With Sacred seemingly out of it for the time being, Thoth begins to lay into Thugg with punches, and is soon joined by Spider and Fallout.

(Curry) - And they're triple-teaming Thugg now! The Clan is certainly getting the best of Da Pound...beating them at their own game...I must say. Da Pound's supposed to be the best at street fighting, but right now, they're getting their asses whooped.

Bo gets to his feet and looks over to see the Thugg triple-team. He looks for a moment and starts in that direction, but then opts to run over and tackle K-Os to the ground and off of JD. JD takes the advantage and shoves Lady Red off of him, gets to his feet, mounts her, and begins to pummel her with punches.

Meanwhile, HVT manages to block a punch from Spider and deliver a head BUTT that sends him to the ground. A thigh to the abdomen doubles Thoth, and a hard right hands lays out Fallout. HVT turns back to Thoth and delivers a hard forearm to his exposed back, and then fires a right hand that connects with Spider's chin. Fallout however, from the ground, reaches up and uppercuts Thugg's private area (if you know what I mean).

Thugg doubles, but when Fallout gets to his feet, he is tackled against the SUV by Sacred. Thoth has started to lay into Thugg again, but Sacred tackles him off as well. Sacred and Thoth engage, exchanging punches and the like, while JD and Lady Red tussle. HVT sees Spider recomposing himself, and delivers a boot to his face for good measure. Fallout jumps up and delivers a forearm to Thugg's head, and then those two engage, with Thugg getting the best of the encounter. Spider recovers, coming to Fallout's aid, and those three go back and forth with punches and wrestling against he SUV.

(Curry) - What a way to end out last night before Sunday! The Clan and Da Pound going at it...Wait! Uh oh!

The sounds of sirens and people yelling fill the air as 2 police cruisers pull up followed by an uncountable number of security personnel running out from the arena. The security officers get into the mix of things first, breaking people apart, and the four cops on the scene make their presence felt as well by breaking apart Thugg, Fallout, and Spider. After a few moments of reengagement, the two sides are finally broken apart, and the amount of huffing and puffing is reminiscent of a game of chase the stoner during a 4/20 celebration. Five people hold back Thugg, while 3 hold back Fallout as the two try to get back at each other. Realizing his attempts are futile at this point, Thugg just screams at the top of his lungs...

(HVT) - YOU'RE DEAD BITCH! DEAD! THIS SUNDAY...YOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD! I'M GONNA WRECK YO SHIT!!

(Curry) - This Sunday...Live on Pay-Per-View!! It's gonna explode!! Don't miss it!!!

With that, Smarkdown goes off the air with Da Pound still trying to get at The Clan, and visa versa.

April 23, 2002

US TITLE TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL MATCH

Jay Dawg vs. Chris Raynor

- Dawg wins! Plus he destroys that golfcart thing the Carnies run people over with. The audacity!

US TITLE TOURNAMENT SEMI-FIANL MATCH

Munich vs. Perfect Bo

- Bo moves onto the finals!

SINGLES MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Sacred

- Sacred manages to get the win. After match brawl sees Thoth, Sacred, Edwin, Stubby, Dawg and Mark Stevens going at it.

SWF Smarkdown (April 22/2002)

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