chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, FEBRUARY 18, 2005, LIVE FROM THE PANARCHY FRATERNITY HOUSE IN HANOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE! "Good evening, everybody - welcome to SWF STORM!" shouts Longdogger Pete, over the drunken roar of a few hundred college students and one very vocal goat. "We are live from the SOLD OUT... er... Live from the Panarchy Fraternity House, on Dartmouth University Campus, for a night of top-to-bottom hardcore mayhem!" Pete pauses to allow his co-commentator a word in edgewise... ... "King?" "Whoooooooooo!" The body of the Suicide King crashes through the Spanish Announce table, having just jumped off the second story balcony and swung on the chandelier! "Uh... while King gets himself together, let's run down the card, shall we?" -=-=-=-=-=- MAIN EVENT FANS BRING THE WEAPONS for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Sacred (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. Toxxic -> The fans want it, the people want it, and for god's sake all of us on Creative Control just want to get it over with. Toxxic laid claim to the midterm title shot after defeating Johnny Dangerous, and this match has to be doubly sweet for Toxxic because it's his first chance to get his hands on Sacred since the mysterious Australian first left him. Sacred, meanwhile, has been battling everything from personal demons to Revolution Zero to crazy black men, so what's one faggot British rocker going to make a difference? The SWF: All about the stereotypes, baby! HARDCORE MATCH Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix v. "The Icon" Max King -> Wow, doesn't this seem familiar? King and Maddix, old foes, find themselves doing battle again. For Maddix, this may be nothing more than a tune-up match leading into his Intercontinental-Television title defence against Todd Cortez on Lockdown, but for Max King, this match is a way to prove himself, get noticed... and maybe shed some blood, too. HARDCORE TWO-ON-TWO MATCH Wild & Dangerous (Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous) v. Revolution Zero ("The Critic" Scott Pretzler and Sean Davis) -> The Critic has impressed many recently, including his huge win over Spike Jenkins to become Cruiserweight champion -- but to Wildchild, Pretzler is nothing but a paper champ! The paths of Wildchild and Pretzler are bound to cross one-on-one someday, but until then, we're going to put them in tag matches, and they're going to like it! HARDCORE MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins v. Carnage -> Carnage big, tweener. Jenkins little, tweener. Some other stuff happened, but it's easier on me and more entertaining for you if you just read Smarkdown to find out what's going on. Jenkins, after losing at all, starts his quest towards the top of the mountain all over again, and he starts with Carnage. PANARCHY DEATH MATCH SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> This is your sub-main event, card placement be damned. Alas, this Storm will be the first of several 'house rules' matches for the Hardcore Championship, and since we're coming to you from Panarchy, we're playing by Panarchy's rules! The reigning SWF king of hardcore, Todd Cortez, is probably approaching a record for most successful defences of a belt, but this week he faces an intriguing new challenge in the Franchise, Mak Francis! Both men are fan favorites, and tonight they're going to get bloody, Panarchy-style! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 “Todd.” ‘The Urban Legend’ Todd Cortez turns around… and instantly slips into fighting stance as he sees the familiar figure of Toxxic standing not six feet away. However, the Straight-Edge Sensation immediately raises his hands in a pacifying gesture and backs off another yard. “Easy,” the Brit says, “I’m not here to fight.” The familiar lopsided grin appears for a moment. “If I was here to fight I’d have brought Sean and Scott, and you’d be on the floor by now. No offence.” “So what do you want?” Cortez asks warily, looking around to make sure that the Number One Contender is indeed as alone as he claims. “To talk,” Toxxic tells him, leaning against the wall. “Just to talk.” Cortez studies the man who retired his long-time tag team partner, the man who is leading the stable that is the very reason that he has spent the last three months trying to keep Alan Clark and Landon Maddix from killing each other. The Brit’s relaxed posture and continuing lack of backup reassures the Urban Legend and he nods. He can talk. For the moment. “I’ve been hearing rumours,” Toxxic begins. “Rumours that Landon’s been making sure you’re ‘with him’ when it comes down to your ICTV Title match on Lockdown.” One eyebrow arches. “Well?” “And what if he has?” Todd fires back. “You weren’t exactly trusting of Sacred when he was going for Landon’s World Title. Landon’s just checking up.” “Checking up?” Toxxic laughs. “Really? Let me point a few things out to you, Todd. Do you know the reason I asked Sacred what I asked him? Because I wanted to know if he was going to be bringing the World Title back to Revolution Zero.” The straight-edger jabs a finger at the Urban Legend. “No matter who wins between you and Landon, the ICTV Title is staying with Martial Law.” Toxxic grins, apparently convinced he’s scored a point, but Cortez just continues to look at him. “And do you know why I didn’t trust Sacred?” Toxxic asks after a second or two. “Because he hadn’t done a thing for Revolution Zero since he’d joined us. You, on the other hand… you made Martial Law. Who is Landon to question your dedication to the cause?” “Every group needs a leader,” Todd argues, “and Landon’s the most accomplished wrestler-” “Since when was this about wrestling ability?” Toxxic cuts in. “Todd, you were the heart of the Urban Empire as well. It was you who decided that you didn’t like what I stood for, and it was you who made Mike and Mask, two guys who were at each other’s throats, to work together to take me and Revolution Zero down. Mask left and I retired Mike, and it was you who took Landon and Clark - who make Mike and Mask look like squabbling children - and made them into a new force; Martial Law.” “Since when were you Mr. Flattery?” Todd snorts. “Look-” “What’s Landon done?” Toxxic fires back, not letting the Urban Legend finish. “Won the World Title, then lost it again. Wandered slowly down to the Clusterfuck to avoid getting eliminated early, and all the while you were getting pounded on in the ring. Thrown Alan Clark - his own stablemate - over the top rope to increase his chances of winning. Yeah, Landon’s Mr Team Spirit for sure.” “I haven’t got time for this,” Cortez says firmly. “You’re just trying to turn me against Landon.” “Of course I am!” Toxxic half-shouts. “Please Todd, give me some credit for intelligence! It’s bloody obvious I’m trying to turn you against Landon - but that doesn’t mean what I’m saying isn’t true. And if you think about it sunshine, you’ll realise I’m right.” “So what, I’m supposed to trust you instead of Landon?” Todd asks scornfully. “You are going to try anything you can to split Martial Law up Toxxic, because you are scared of us. And then if you succeed, you’ll take us out one by one. No thanks; I’ll stick with the people who’ve got my back.” Cortez turns to go, but Toxxic’s voice comes after him. “Mike said I was scared of him. I laughed in his face, then retired him.” Cortez whirls back round and stalks towards the Straight-Edge Sensation, anger overriding his previous decision to end the conversation. “I’m going to make you pay for what you did to Mike if it’s the last thing-” “HE ASKED FOR THE MATCH!” Toxxic bellows at Cortez, the sudden shift in attitude bringing the Urban Legend to a halt. “He offered to put his career on the line! What do you want me to do, not take the chance to end the career of a man who has dedicated that career to taking me down!? Todd, don’t blame me for your tag partner’s mouth writing cheques his arse couldn’t carry!” The Straight-Edge Sensation subsides a bit, but his next words are still tight with anger. “I’m not perfect, we both know that. I’m arrogant - but I’m a two-time rookie World Champion, I’ve got a lot to be arrogant about. I’m obnoxious - but name me a wrestler other than Mark Stevens who isn’t, when you get down to it. But one thing I can guarantee you Todd - I’ll never pretend to be something I’m not. Not like Landon.” “I bet Spike and Sacred will be interested to hear that,” Todd responds, but Toxxic just snorts. “I don’t make any secrets about things, do I? If you threaten me - like Kibagami, like Bowers - I’ll take you out. If you threaten what I stand for - like Mike, like Sacred, like Spike - I’ll take you out. I warned Sacred what would happen if he betrayed us, I promised him I’d destroy him if he did. He ignored me. Spike wasn’t happy with Revolution Zero anymore, sooner or later he’d have turned on me and Sean. We replaced him with Pretzler for the sake of Revolution Zero.” The Straight-Edge Sensation backs off, but has one last thing to say before he goes. “Todd - if you think Landon Maddix is going to prioritise Martial Law ahead of Landon Maddix then you are in for a shock. Sooner or later I’m going to see him stab you and Clark in the back… and the way things are right now, I’m going to laugh.” The familiar lopsided grin creeps up the right-hand side of his face as he flips the Urban Legend a lazy salute. “Good luck against Mak. Oh - and good luck on Lockdown. I think you’ll need it.” With one last wink Toxxic disappears around a corner, leaving Todd Cortez alone. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 (edited) “We are live, coming at you tonight from Fraternity Row down at Dartmouth College! We’re here at the Panarchy Fraternity House, and up next is an SWF first, as the Hardcore Title will be defended under what is being called “house rules”.” “The SWF proves once again why they’re the leading force in the wrestling business, by bringing you viewers at home something unseen before! This is going to be a battle of two men both heavily favored by the crowd, although given the drunken state of most of these Abercrombie wannabe’s, they’d cheer for you, Pete.” “Uh…thanks, King. I guess backhanded compliments are all I can get from you, so I’ll take it.” “And you should.” As the cameras cut away from our announcers, the rowdy frat house crowd surrounding the ring erupts in a “Funyon” chant, their thunderous ovation greeting the announcer as he enters the ring in preparation for the introduction’s of the upcoming contest. “This guy got more of a pop than Wild and Dangerous did!” “C’mon, how can you not love Funyon?” “Easily. I don’t love Funyon. There. I said it, and I meant it.” Despite King’s objections to the famed announcer, Funyon greets his supporters with a smile and nod, as he looks down at his cue card before taking the mic to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest, is the special House Rules Panarchy Death Match for the SWF Hardcore Championship!” A loud pop follows that announcement, and a “Panarchy” chant goes up from the drunken onlookers, most of the males doing their best to look like the latest J. Crew ad. “The rules are as follows. Anything goes, falls count anywhere, and each man will have a 40 oz. of beer taped to their hands, which cannot be removed until the bottle is empty!” “Think Cortez will fall off the wagon tonight, Pete?” “He was never on the wagon to begin with! That man has never had a drink!” “Don’t say that too loud around THESE guys.” The sound system in the frat house, which usually draws visits from the campus police on any night but tonight, blares loudly with the sounds of “Rock Superstar”, as Mak Francis, the “Franchise” of the SWF, struts through the first floor of the frat house and makes his way through the crowd, getting up on the apron and cleaning off his boots before entering the ring and throwing his arms up, getting a great response from the college set. “Now entering the ring, hailing from Philadelphia, PA, and weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, he is The Franchise, MAK FRANNNNCISSSSS!” “ Mak Francis looking to earn some SWF gold tonight in a most unusual match, and you have to wonder if he’ll be able to outwit the innovative Hardcore Champion.” “I’m going to have trouble taking either of them seriously in those togas.” As Mak walks the ring, nodding and saluting his cheering section, the house speaker system starts playing the recent hip hop smash “Breathe”, causing most of the drunken frat boys to bob their heads and count along with the intro. “Straight edge in a frat house. Now THAT is hardcore, folks!” Pete’s proclamation is followed by a loud pop, as The Urban Legend doesn’t come down the makeshift aisleway, but rather the staircase, as he comes from second floor down to the ring, holding the Hardcore Title up with one hand as he makes his way through the crowd. Todd, looking a bit odd with his bulletproof vest hung over his toga, slingshots into the ring, waving his arms and urging the crowd to get louder, to which they happily oblige. “I can’t hear myself think!” “That would make you permanently deaf, Pete.” As the music and the crowd die down, referee Jefferson Harding comes forward, holding a roll of duct tape and a cooler. He sets the cooler down in front of him and calls both men over, ready to prepare them for this contest. “Now remember, both bottles HAVE to be emptied of their contents before they can be removed. That’s going to hinder the movesets of both these men, no doubt.” Cortez and Francis eye each other, as Cortez is the first to have the bottles taped to his hands. ”This is probably the first time Cortez has even had a beer bottle in his hand, and by the look on his face I don’t think it’s a proud moment.” Cortez looks grim over the stipulation, but like any fighting champion, agreed to the rules of the contest. Francis gets bottles taped up to his hands, and the two men back away from each other as Harding calls for the bell. The ringing sound echoes through the house, and both men come out fighting like a pair of boxers facing off. Francis does a little shuffle, moving around so that Cortez can’t mount offense easily, and throws his arms up in salute to the crowd, mistakenly sending beer from the 40. oz spilling onto Cortez! “Oh no.” Cortez looks down at his alcohol stained toga, while Francis waves him on…AND CORTEZ SWINGS HIS LEFT HAND AROUND AND SMASHES THE BOTTLE AGAINST THE SIDE OF MAK’S HEAD! “Good GOD!” Glass pieces fall to the mat, as Mak staggers, unable to cup his bloody left ear due to the bottles stuck to his own hand! With shrapnel hanging off of the duct tape, Cortez starts chopping Francis, the jagged pieces of glass tearing up his chest with every shot! Mak staggers, curling his arms to try and defend, so Cortez kicks him in the stomach, and as Mak doubles over brings the right hand down across the back of his head, shattering THAT bottle! “Todd Cortez, in the opening minute of this contest, has already rendered Mak Francis a bloody mess!” “Hardcore, baby! Now this is what I like to see!” Harding comes over and offers to cut off the duct tape, but Cortez steps in his direction, scaring the official back. Cortez then waits for Francis to push himself up off the canvas, then takes his two glass covered hands…AND BACK RAKES HIM! “Improvised violence at its best, and no one does it better!” Francis howls in pain, but the bloodthirsty college crowd is rabid as “The Franchise” staggers into a corner, trying to get away from his assailant. Cortez takes this time to free himself of the duct tape and go after the challenger, prying him away from the ropes and easily suplexing him…ONTO BROKEN GLASS! Mak’s back takes more damage from what used to be 40. oz bottles, and he screams out in pain before rolling to his knees and pushing up…then gets dumped out to ringside thanks to a Cortez lariat! “Cortez is dominant in the early minutes, and Mak Francis needs to mount some type of offense if he has any chance of winning this thing!” Franis uses his elbows to push himself up against the apron, but Cortez hops over the ropes down to the floor, and takes Mak’s left arm, raising it up…and smashing the bottle against the apron, breaking it in pieces! Cortez then takes Mak by the arm and Irish whips him into the guardrail, and the blood soaked superstar slams into the hard metal, then gets drenched in beer, vodka, and God knows what else, as the front row frat boys mug for the camera and douse the SWF veteran! Cortez pulls Mak away from that, taking him back into the ring where he wrings his right arm, keeping the one hand that has a bottle still taped to it busy. Another arm wringer follows to keep Mak reeling, and Cortez turns that into a hammerlock before shoving Mak into the ropes, pushing him up into the air as he rebounds, and Mak slams hard on the mat with a flapjack, breaking the other 40 oz. bottle upon landing as he tried to brace for impact! “So now all four bottles have been broken, and it’s been all Cortez thus far! Mak Francis is a great competitor, but could he be overmatched by the SWF’s reigning Hardcore Kingpin?” With Mak on all fours, Cortez comes over and stands over him, striking him across the side of the head and face with some stiff crossface shots, then pulls him up to his feet, clutching him in a double chickenwing…then snaps him over with a Tiger suplex! Mak rolls around on the mat, wanting to hold his neck but not doing so, as shrapnel is still stuck to his hands. Instead he again uses the ropes to pull himself up, but leaves himself prone to assault, as Cortez hits a running kick to the left side of Mak’s head, cracking him right in his bloody ear and sending him spilling through the ropes to the floor! Cortez follows out, stomping on Mak’s hands as he lay on the floor, then grabbing them both and prying off the duct tape that glass still clings to! “For a first time match, Cortez seems to have done his homework!” “You see a lot being raised on The Streets, and that young man definitely knows how to handle himself in a fight!” With Mak freed of the “glass hands”, Cortez pulls him up, but Francis stuns him with a low blow! Shaking off the effects of Todd’s hand stomps, Mak takes a moment to himself, as Cortez holds his own…literally. Mak then turns back to him and starts firing off chops, but the impact of the moves hurt his bruised hands, still smarting from Todd’s tactics moments ago. Francis switches gears, delivering a boot to Todd’s ribs and then tucks his head, grabbing him by the waist and running with him, ramming Todd into the guardrail! Cortez’s back bends against the steel, and Francis quickly pulls him away and whips him to the opposite side, watching as Cortez slams against that part of the guardrail just as hard! Francis cringes as he walks towards Cortez, hurting from the attack in the early moments, but fights through the pain as he pulls Cortez to his feet and rolls him back into the ring. Francis then turns to the crowd and motions to them, looking for something to use against the “Urban Legend”…and finds it in the form of a croquet mallet handed to him by one of the frat members! Francis eyes the mallet and takes it, holding it up to get a cheap pop before sliding into the ring just as Cortez is getting to his feet…and bringing it across his ribcage! Cortez doubles over in pain, but is brought back up to a vertical base by Francis, who wraps the mallet around his neck and pulls back, using it to hit a modified Russian Legsweep! Francis then stands and struts around with the mallet, holding it against his shoulder like you would a golf club…then brings it over his head and slams the head of it into Cortez’s ribs! Todd coughs out every bit of air he’s got, and Francis dives onto him for a cover! ONE! TW-KICKOUT! Harding springs to his feet and holds up two fingers, and Francis simply pulls Cortez up and continues to hammer on him with clubbing blows before pushing him into the corner. There he continues to work over the ribs, driving his shoulder into Cortez repeatedly before pulling him away from the ropes and dropping him across his knee with a gutbuster! “Francis has found a target, and past history shows that the ribs make an easy target for Todd’s opponents.” Cortez rolls on the canvas, but is pulled up again by Mak, who lifts for another gutbuster, only to have Cortez somersault out of his grasp! Cortez comes to his feet and turns, right into a boot by Mak…and catches it! Cortez throws the foot down and fires off on Mak with elbows to the jaw, then steps back and swings his body around in full rotation for a ROARING ELBOW~!…DUCKED BY MAK, who runs the ropes and bounces up into the air, creaming Cortez with a flying forearm! ONE! T-NO! Cortez easily gets out of that pinning predicament, but Francis simply picks him right back up. Cortez fights back, boxing the ears of The Franchise to take him off his game, then gets to his feet and fires off a superkick…CAUGHT! Francis swings him around, right into a rear waistlock, but Cortez fires his elbow back, driving it up into the side of Mak’s head, again targeting that open wound. As Mak releases his grip he steps away, and Cortez leaps off his feet and swings his body around, cracking Mak across the chest with a jump spinning roundhouse kick that puts him out on the apron! Mak tries to pull himself to his feet, and succeeds…but is then met with a dropkick from the middle rope that sends him spilling back down to the floor! “In the ring…out of the ring…MAKE UP YOUR MINDS!” “King, they could go wherever they wanted to. It’s falls count anywhere! The winning fall could take place on a pool table for all we know!” Francis drips blood across the floor as he fights through his pain, pushing himself up just in time to see Cortez slingshot over with a pescado…NO! Fakeout by Todd, who lands himself on the apron, then moonsaults off…BUT STILL GETS CAUGHT! Mak quickly snaps him down to the floor, crushing him with a powerslam, remaining on top of him for another pin! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “Dammit Harding, you took your time on that one!” King is referring to the referee having to slide out of the ring to make the count, feeling as though that moment could have led to a Francis victory. Cortez isn’t out, however, as Francis pulls him up and hurls him over the railing into the crowd, taking this match away from ringside and into the inner confines of the Panarchy house! “They could be going for the pool table.” “Would you cut it already?” There’s no pool table in sight, but the duo are fighting at the bottom of the staircase, where a trophy case looms nearby. Mak is blistering Cortez with chops, even tearing off his toga and wrapping it around his neck, using it to choke him! Cortez grabs the sheet with his hands, trying to pull it off his neck, then pushes himself backwards, crushing Mak up against the wall and causing alumni pictures to drop like flies! Cortez then turns and slams the back of Mak’s head against the wall to daze him before walking him away…THEN SENDING HIM HEADFIRST INTO THE TROPHY CASE! “MORE glass going to waste. I hope these guys recycle!” The house fills with an “SWF” chant, as Mak Francis is more bloody than black at this point. Cortez then kicks in the shattered doors of the case, pulling out a large trophy and holding it over his head. Most people would die at the sight of a beloved possession about to be smashed, but the Panarchy boys go apeshit, happy to see their trophy, which no one is quite sure what it’s from, smashed across the back of The Franchise, Mak Francis! “PAN-AR-KEE!” “PAN-AR-KEE!” “PAN-AR-KEE!” “These guys are putting themselves over on our show!” King complains, and Cortez just smirks and shakes his head as he wanders away from his fallen foe, ducking through a doorway into a nearby room. The camera tries to follow, but is having trouble getting through the crowd. Moments later a pop rises from the packed house, as Cortez has dragged a beer pong table out into the middle of the floor, conveniently placing it in a spot under the second floor railing. “Is he going to break for a game or what?” Cortez leaves the table in place, then goes to retrieve his opponent, who isn’t putting up much of a fight at this time. Francis gets thrown onto the table by Cortez, who then pushes himself through the rowdy, drunken crowd and makes his way back upstairs, making it fairly obvious what’s going to happen shortly. “No…no he’s not!” “Yes he is! C’mon Pete, Ray Charles could have seen this one coming!” Cortez gets up to the second floor, and starts to climb over the railing, but as he does, Francis rolls off the table! Cortez immediately comes off the railing and starts to move towards the stairs, but Francis is doing this as well, battling his way through the crowd and meeting Cortez at the lower part of the stairs to slug it out! Francis manages to get the upper hand, his adrenaline pumping through (what’s left) of his blood and causing him to hammer away at Cortez, who tries to move up the stairs to avoid the contact! Mak fights his way up as well, and ultimately charges Cortez, lifting him off his feet and then crotching him on the railing, then telling everyone to clear the stairs as he places his hand behind Todd’s back and shoves him down the railing like a slide, sending him crotch first into the round top of the railing handle! “It wouldn’t be a Cortez match without a crotch shot!” Todd sits on the railing wounded, as Francis comes and pulls him off, dragging the champion to the beer pong table and ramming his head into it before throwing him on top of it! Francis starts to walk towards the stairs, but at the last moment changes his mind, heading back towards the table and climbing up onto it himself, the table wobbling under the weight of both wrestlers! Francis tries pulling Cortez up in a headscissors, but Todd pushes him off the table! Mak’s fall is broken by the crowd gathered around the table, and he quickly gets up…only to be floored by Cortez diving off the table with a bodypress! Harding is luckily nearby, and dives to the floor to make the count, with the crowd chanting along! ONE! TWO! NO! The Franchise throws a shoulder up, and Cortez huffs before pulling him up, then cracking him in the side of the head with a knee. Cortez then pulls Francis into a headscissors, and appears to be setting up for RIOT ACT PLUS…only to be backdropped out of desperation! Mak falls to all fours, and again pushes himself up, not willing to stay down even for a second. He turns, and Cortez recovers, swinging at him with a wild haymaker which is ducked…AND MAK FRANCIS HITS A RELEASE GERMAN THAT SENDS TODD CORTEZ THROUGH THE PANARCHY BEER PONG TABLE! “The inevitable has now happened!” Cortez is as folded as that table once was, but Francis is a bit weary to capitalize right away. He does pull Cortez out of the pile of broken table pieces and cover, watching Harding count…but only to two, as Todd Cortez throws his shoulder up at the last instant! Growing frustrated, Mak sits up and tears his toga off, using it to soak up the blood that drips from his body and then discarding it. He then pulls Cortez up and drags him through the house, as they make their way down a hallway and to a door, which is promptly kicked by Francis multiple times, but won’t go down! All of a sudden the door swings open, and a bewildered student, most likely shocked to see a bleeding black man holding a hurt Hispanic in his arms, backs away, allowing Mak to lead Cortez out the door and biel him down onto the Panarchy lawn! “This fight has gone outside into the cold Northeast air. This could go all over campus!” “Yeah, you know, I’ve been meaning to ask about that. Why a frat house? Why not a sorority house? Wrestling is homoerotic enough without surrounding ourselves with guys who love to paddle each other.” Cortez comes up to his feet, but Francis charges and knocks him back over with a high knee, as much of the crowd is now filtering out the door. Francis then looks around, and wanders off to snatch a rake from the side of the house. Francis then does a double take, looking off further down the yard to see a line of college guys jumping up in down in their boxer shorts, as another guy, this one dressed, barks orders. “Wonderful. We’re here on hazing night.” Francis rolls his eyes and gets back to the matter at hand, taking the handle of the rake and swinging it at Cortez…who ducks, and hits a sweep kick, followed by a double foot stomp to the chest of Mak Francis! The Franchise is now out of wind, and Cortez takes the rake and kicks it, breaking the long head of it off and twirling the stick like a bo before cracking it over Mak’s back! Cortez rolls him over, but Francis thinks quick and plants a foot in Todd’s chest, flipping him onto his back and allowing him the time to recover from this brawl. Mak gets up and starts wandering up the yard, as we hear the shattering of glass in the distance. “Now listen up ladies…if you do not walk the line of broken glass, you are obviously too chickenshit to be a part of Panarchy. If you do not adhere to the task we have left for you tonight, you will be treated as chickens, as the brothers of Panarchy will tar and feather you to let the world know this!” “You were right, King, it is hazing night!” Francis wanders towards the hazing ritual, and the freshman kids probably crap themselves upon seeing this bloody African American storming towards them. Francis shoves the pledges aside and takes the garbage pail full of broken glass in his hands…WHAM! TODD CORTEZ SUPERKICKS THE CAN INTO MAK FRANCIS! “Mak is down!” Broken glass pours out of the can, as a stunned Mak Francis rolls it off of him. Cortez leans down for his foe, but Francis kicks up with both feet and kicks Cortez back, knocking the Urban Legend into the other two cans, sending tar spilling onto the lawn and feathers floating into the air! “A hardcore hazing ritual…who’s ever done that?” “No one but the SWF, baby!” Cortez shakes the cobwebs loose, making sure not to put his hands on the tar. He stands up, but then takes the tar barrel and sticks his foot in it, covering his wrestling boot with the sticky muck! “What the hell is he doing?” Before than can be answered, Mak charges, but Cortez takes a handful of feathers and throws them in his face, temporarily blinding him and breaking up the momentum of his assault, then scoops Mak up onto his shoulders… …AND VAN SLAMINATES HIM ONTO THE TRASH CAN! “Shades of his mentor and former partner, Mike Van Siclen! Todd Cortez can get the easy w…what…what is he doing?” Cortez walks away from the fallen Franchise, leaving everyone to ponder what he’s doing. The crunching sound of glass is then heard, as Cortez has wandered over the shrapnel on the lawn, which is now sticking to his tar covered boot. “What an idiot! You can’t joke around in a hardcore match! What’s he doing, going for a moonlight stroll?” Cortez paces the lawn, then stands still and puts his hands on his knees, listening to the sore sound of Mak’s voice as he rolls off the damaged trash can. Bruised and bloody, Mak Francis staggers to his feet, as Todd Cortez stops blinking, watching every slight move that his foe makes before darting up the lawn… …AND CRACKS HIM ACROSS THE FACE WITH A GLASS COVERED BOOT! Blood shoots from the mouth and nose of Mak Francis like it came from a Super Soaker, as he collapses under the fatal Yakuza Kick~! Francis isn’t moving, and Cortez quickly covers, even hooking the leg so that Harding can count him down. ONE! TWO! THREE! The faint sounds of “Breathe” can be heard coming from within the house, as can the booming voice of Funyon, who announces Cortez as the winner for the people who weren’t lucky enough to make it outside. “Once again, innovation is the name of the game, as Todd Cortez finds an interesting way to dispose of Mak Francis tonight!” “Interesting? That was downright brutal!” Cortez stands up, and is handed his Hardcore belt by some go-fer who brought it to Harding. The frat crowd goes wild, chanting Cortez as they march across the lawn over to their hardcore hero. Todd takes the adulation in stride, and one guy gets a bit overzealous, taking his beer cup and dumping the contents over Todd’s head! “Oooooh…” Cortez immediately pulls away and turns to the culprit, who raises his hand up for a high five…and catches a fist right to the face! The poor sap immediately drops his cup and covers his nose, blood gushing through his fingers, as Cortez takes him and scoops him up, slamming him down on the broken glass! “I don’t believe it! I mean, I believe it, but…” “Lawsuit City, population Cortez.” The shocked Panarchy members look at Cortez, who comes back over and claims his Hardcore Title from their lawn and then walks off back through the house. The crowd then moves towards their fallen friend, rolling around in agony on broken glass, as his friends remind him of what just happened in typical wrestling fan fashion. “You F*cked Up!” “You F*cked Up!” “You F*cked Up!” Edited February 20, 2005 by chirs3 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 "Spike!" 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins turns to see a road agent moving towards him, through a sea of beerstained togas. "What's up?" "I just got a call," the agent responds. "Carnage isn't going to be able to make it tonight, due to the heavy snow." "... it hasn't snowed here in weeks." "Eh, you got me. He's at the strip club." "... go start the car." Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 "Welcome back to Storm, everybody - it appears that... something is going on..." Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, being whispered to buy an SWF road agent. His face registers a look of overwhelming horror, and he chokes a tear as he raises the mic to his mouth. "It is my sad duty to inform you all that the match between 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins and Carnage will not be taking place tonight. Both competitors are suffering from severe cases... of Vasocongestion." Some scattered "Oh my God"'s and "Oh no"'s are heard as the fans quiet down. Funyon waits a few seconds, then continues. "I would like to dedicate to them a moment of silence, to pray for their full recovery." The Panarchy Fraternity House, and the hundreds of drunken maniacs it houses, fall solemnly quiet. King nudges Pete and whispers "Hey... um... Vasocongestion... isn't that Blue Ba-" FADE. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 DING! DING! DING! “The following contest,” booms Funyon, “is a tag team match, scheduled for one fall… with Hardcore Rules!” RAAAAAAAAAAAH! “Tornado Tag match coming up!” shouts Longdogger Pete. “Can Revolution Zero re-establish itself in the tag team division?” 'WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!' As if in reply, the room is pierced by the sounds of Otep’s “Battle Ready,” as Sean Davis and the newest member of the Revolution, Scott Pretzler, step through the door on one side of the crowded frat house, pushing their way through the fans as they approach the ring. “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “at a total combined weight of five hundred one pounds, here are ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis, and ‘The Critic’ Scott Pretzler! And they represent: REEEEEVOLUTION ZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOO!” “What a way for Scott Pretzler to make his debut with Revolution Zero,” says King. “A chance to help Sean Davis get some revenge against Wild and Dangerous!” “They’ve definitely got their work cut out for them,” agrees Pete. “Wild and Dangerous are tag team specialists, and this match puts them in their element: hell, they don’t even have to tag in and out tonight!” “Yeah,” counters King, “but that could work against them, too, Pete. You seem to be overlooking the fact that what makes Wild and Dangerous such a tough team to beat is that they double-team ILLEGALLY! When they have to deal with both of their opponents at once, it’s a totally different story, and that’s what they’ve got in store for them tonight!” “First of all,” retorts Pete, “Wild and Dangerous don’t double-team illegally; they have a five count to get in and out of the ring…” “Well, if that’s the case,” interrupts King, “The referee’s have a hell of a time counting to five!” “And secondly,” continues Pete, “They don’t do anything that other teams aren’t allowed to do as well; they shouldn’t be penalized just because other teams aren’t as cohesive as they are!” “Wild and Dangerous might not be as cohesive as you think,” quips King. “If the last two weeks are any indication, there’s some definite issues between those two; they’d better get they’re act together if they expect to compete against Revolution Zero tonight!” Davis and Pretzler exit the ring as their music fades out, reaching underneath the ring to look for weapons as Prodigy’s “Fuel My Fire” suddenly begins to reverberate throughout the building! RAAAAAAAAAAAH! “They’re definitely Wild and Dangerous fans here at the Frat House,” shouts Pete. “Well, of course they are,” grumbles King. “These idiots are all probably drunk and strung out on some stimulant or other!” “Their opponents,” shouts Funyon, “at a total combined weight of four hundred thirty-three pounds, they are the SWF World Tag Team Champions: WILD! AAAAAND DAAAAANGEROUS!” The Champions pop out of a door on the opposite side of the room, mingling gregariously with the fans crowding their entrance. “Well,” says Pete, “they certainly look like they get along right now; whatever friction there might have been between them appears to have been abated… but then again, I suppose getting jumped by Revolution Zero will do that to you!” “Funny you mention that,” replies King, “because I noticed that it took an awful long time for Johnny to make his way down to the ring on Smarkdown… Maybe there IS still some friction between them!” Wild and Dangerous arrive at ringside to find Pretzler and Davis waiting on them with chairs in hand. The Tag Team Champions slide into the ring and pop to their feet, but before they can even remove their title belts, Davis and Pretzler charge forward, poised to swing! DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” shouts Pete, “as Revolution Zero look to try and jumpstart the match!” The Tag Champs easily evade their aggressors, however, and escape to the safety of ringside. Davis and Pretzler decide to go after them and exit the ring, chasing them around the arena floor. Wildchild and Johnny slide back into the ring ahead of the Revolution, and rush towards the edge of the ring as Davis and Pretzler return to the apron… CRACK! … Greeting them each with running elbow smashes! Wildchild knocks Pretzler back down to the floor, but Johnny’s elbow merely causes the Perfect Storm to teeter on the apron, holding onto the top rope to retain his balance. Johnny looks at his partner with a grin, patting the Tag Title belt still adorning his waist, and then drops to all fours as his partner removes his own belt in wordless comprehension, before taking off across the ring and leaping onto his partner’s back, using it as a platform to launch himself at Sean Davis! WHAM! Fourteen pounds of gold meets cartilage as Wildchild smashes the Tag Title belt into the Perfect Storm’s face, knocking him off the apron! The Bahama Bomber crashes atop his chest as both men fall to the floor! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Oh my God!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild just flew at Sean Davis like a human battering ram, and knocked him off the apron!” Johnny slides out of the ring to help Wildchild pull Davis to his feet, and they each grab him by the arm, whipping him towards the corner… WHAM! … And sending him crashing headfirst into the solid-steel ringpost! “Some quick thinking and double-teaming by the Tag Team Champions has effectively taken Sean Davis out of this match,” says Pete. “Well, I’ll them credit for being smart enough to go after Davis first,” agrees King, “but they shouldn’t take Pretzler lightly. Toxxic hand-picked this kid for a reason; he wouldn’t be a member of Revolution Zero right now if Toxxic didn’t think he had what it takes!” Wildchild backs away from Davis’ fallen body and begins to turn his attention towards Pretzler… CLANG! … But the Critic catches him by surprise, scrambling his brains with a horrifying chair shot! The crowd gasps audibly as the Bahama Bomber collapses to the floor! “Good Grief!” shouts LDP. “What a chair shot!” Pretzler steps over Wildchild’s body to get to his partner, but the Barracuda is ready for him, catching the chair in mid-swing! “Pretzler got the drop on Wildchild, but he couldn’t get Johnny as well,” notes King, as the Critic and the Barracuda begin to fight for control of the chair, “and now we’ve got a real test of strength going on!” Pretzler, rather than try to outmuscle the Barracuda, kicks him in the stomach to force him to relinquish his hold on the chair, and then follows through on his swing! CRACK! Johnny turns away from the chair and raises his arms to protect himself, but can’t block the full force of the blow, and falls to the floor! Pretzler raises the chair above his head once more… CRACK! … And drives it into Johnny’s back! The Barracuda cries out in pain as Scott’s lips curl into a sadistic smile. He raises the chair to deliver yet another shot, but Wildchild grabs it from behind! Wildchild stuns Pretzler with a kick to the midsection and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the arena floor, but the Critic reverses… CRACK! … Sending the Bahama Bomber shoulder-first into the ringpost! Scott charges towards his opponent to deliver more damage as Johnny struggles to return to his feet, but Wildchild isn’t too hurt to counter his attack, tripping the Critic with a drop toehold… CRACK! … That plasters his face against the steel steps! Wildchild rolls to his knees and uses the apron to help himself back to his feet. He pulls Pretzler to his feet and, in a rare display of strength, lifts him into a bearhug… WHAM! … Holding him there long enough for the Barracuda to run across the arena floor and level him with a running lariat! “Wild and Dangerous just delivered a Hart Attack to Scott Pretzler!” shouts Pete. Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet and rolls him underneath the bottom rope into the ring as Johnny reaches underneath the ring to pull out a table! RAAAAAAAAAAAH! “The Tag Team Champions are on a roll,” says Pete, “and Sean Davis is still out of commission!” Johnny slides the table underneath the bottom rope before rolling back into the ring and then gets back to his feet as Wildchild whips Pretzler into the ropes. Wildchild bellies out against the canvas, allowing Scott to run over the top of him… WHAM! … And into a fierce Shotei from the Barracuda! “Well, for a minute, Scott Pretzler looked like he was going to be able to handle both of the Tag Team Champions,” says Pete, “but now Wild and Dangerous have taken over!” Pretzler remains doubled over in pain as Wildchild leaps into the air, whipping his leg through the air as Johnny drops down to deliver a leg sweep… WHAM! … Knocking the Pretzler loopy with Total Elimination! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Total Elimination!” shouts LDP. “Scott Pretzler is unconscious!” Wildchild drops to his knees to apply a cover, but Johnny drives in before he can to cover the Critic himself: ONE! “What the hell was that?” wonders Pete. TWO! THR— KICKOUT! “No!” shouts King. “Pretzler with tremendous resiliency to kick out of Total Elimination! I told you this kid has the goods, Pete!” “I don’t know what’s going through the mind of Johnny Dangerous,” says Pete. “I have to believe that, had Wildchild been allowed to cover Pretzler directly, he would have been down long enough for a three-count!” Wildchild pulls Johnny abruptly to his feet and begins talking to him excitedly. Johnny appears to be placating his partner, but at the same time, does not back down. “You were right, King,” concedes Pete. “They don’t appear to be angry with each other, but there’s definitely problems of SOME kind between the Tag Team Champions!” Johnny continues to appease his partner, but Wildchild appears to grow increasingly more annoyed as Pretzler slowly gets to his feet. “I love it,” says King gleefully. “After three years, we’re FINALLY witnessing the end of Wild and Dangerous! No more of their double-teaming, no more flip-floppery! This is a happy day, Pete!” Pretzler runs towards Wildchild and Johnny, arms raised to deliver a clothesline, but the Tag Team Champions see him coming just in time and duck to avoid him. The Critic runs past them towards the edge of the ring, and bounces off the ropes… CRACK! … Only to be met by a double-superkick! “I guess you spoke too soon,” laughs Pete. “Wild and Dangerous may have some issues to iron out between them, but that Super Chicklet Buster tells me that they’re still committed to work together as a team!” “For now, Drain-clogger,” retorts King, “only for now. Mark my words: it’s the beginning of the end for Wild and Dangerous!” Johnny and Wildchild argue over what to do with Pretzler, and Johnny finally convinces his partner to set the table up in the center of the ring. As the Bahama Bomber assembles the table, Johnny leads over to the corner and climbs to the middle turnbuckle, looking out to the crowd and raising a clenched fist in the air to entice the crowd to cheer! RAAAAAAAAAAAH! “Look at that idiot showboating,” groans King. “That’s exactly what’s going to drive Wild and Dangerous apart! Johnny’s ego is going to be the death of this tag team!” The crowd counts along with the Barracuda as he begins to deliver a ten-count punch to the side of Pretzler’s head: ONE! TWO! “Wait a minute,” shouts Pete, “It’s Sean Davis! Davis is back in the game!” THREE! Just as Wildchild finishes setting up the table, he turns around… FOUR! WHAM! … And is leveled by a brutal clothesline from the Perfect Storm! FIVE! “Davis just knocked Wildchild into next week!” shrieks LDP. Without pausing to appreciate his handiwork, the Perfect Storm walks over to the corner where Johnny is assaulting his partner. SIX! SEVEN! Davis surprises the Barracuda, grabbing him around the waist and snatching him off the turnbuckles! The Perfect Storm falls backwards, pulling Johnny overhead… CRASH! … AND INTO THE TABLE WITH A FEROCIOUS BACK SUPLEX! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Tremendous suplex by the Perfect Storm,” says Pete, as Johnny’s body quivers from within the mass of splinters where he was driven through the table into the mat. “If Johnny would have just worked together with his partner, they never would have been in that predicament,” crows King. “I told you, his ego is going to be the death of Wild and Dangerous!” Grabbing Johnny by his leg, Davis pulls him from the rubble and covers him as the crowd boos horrendously! ONE! TWO! WHACK! “Oh! The Bahama Bomber makes the save!” shouts Pete as Wildchild stomps his foot into the back of Davis’ head to break up the pin. Sean growls angrily, jumping up to his feet to put a serious hurting on the Wildchild, only for the Bahaman to jam his toes into the Perfect Storm’s ribcage, doubling the big man over! He quickly snaps a front facelock on Davis before falling back for a DDT… but Sean reaches back and grabs onto the ropes, keeping himself in a vertical position as the Bahama Bomber falls back for his DDT, pulling nothing but air along for the ride. “Smart thinking there by the Perfect Storm,” says King. “He knew he couldn’t risk another stiff shot to his head and held on to those ropes for dear life!” With Wildchild on his back, Davis dives for him with an elbow… SMACK! …But Wildchild quickly rolls out of the way, and Davis’ elbow connects only with the canvas, causing the frat house fans to howl in amusement! The Bahaman doesn’t stop to look though; instead he takes off across the ring, hits the ropes and rockets back towards Sean Davis as the big man starts getting back up to his feet – his attention seemingly focused on the snickering fans instead of the Wildchild as he massages his tender elbow… WHACK! …And Wildchild flattens the Perfect Storm with a diving shoulder block, driving him straight to the canvas and he holds him there for: ONE! TWO! “NO!” shouts King, “Davis kicks out of that crappy pin just after two! Wildchild didn’t have much hope for pinning him with that.” “Well it took Davis all the way until just before three before he kicked out,” notes Pete. “Wildchild nearly took him down with the surprise factor alone.” “It was after two, Drain-clogger!” snaps King. “Whatever.” Wildchild starts to pull Sean up by both sides of his head, but Scott Pretzler, who sneaks in from behind, cuts him off short of getting the Perfect Storm to a vertical base… WHACK! …And clubs the Bahaman in the back with a double axe handle! “And now that Scott Pretzler is back in the game, Wildchild’s world just got a little bleaker.” “Indeed,” Pete nervously agrees, “Johnny hasn’t moved since getting slammed through that table, so Wildchild’s going to have to fight off both Davis and Pretzler by his lonesome!” “Ha!” snickers Suicide King, “He’s about to see what it feels like to be on the receiving end of some good double teaming by Revolution Zero.” The Cruiserweight Champion grabs the Bahaman around his waist and then hauls him overhead with a German suplex… WHAM! …Drilling the Bahaman into the canvas neck-and-shoulders-first then floats over for the cover… ONE! TWO! NOOOOOO! “Wildchild manages to get the shoulder up just after two,” says Pete, “but Revolution Zero looks like they’re hungry to inflict more damage on Wildchild – he desperately needs Johnny Dangerous to pull himself back together and give him a hand right about now!” “Funny how when it’s Wildchild kicking out of the pin it’s right after two,” adds King. “Oh, will you stop? We’ve got more important things going on right now than that! Wildchild’s about to be in a world of trouble - two Revolution Zero members against a lone Bahaman!” “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Pete just glares at his announcing partner, while inside the ring Pretzler grabs around Wildchild’s head with a front headlock and clenches down. He grimaces as he squeezes down on the Bahaman’s head while trying to wrench Wildchild’s head loose from his neck, as Sean takes the open moment to clear some of the cobwebs. Now that the pace of this match has seemingly grown to a crawl, the frat house fans quickly unload with some chants of: “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOR-ING!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOR-ING!” “Finally, Scott Pretzler has the opportunity to work in some of those energy-draining holds,” says King, “and these drunken retards want to call it boring? As if!” “More like boring rest holds because Pretzler can’t keep up with the Wildchild’s speed,” counters Pete. “These fans came to see a hardcore match not a hugging contest!” Davis growls angrily at the crowd and raises his fist up at them, which serves only to get more boos back from the fans and even a few plastic cups tossed his way. While all this is going on, nobody seems to notice the Barracuda – still lying in the rubbish of the table – finally starting to stir. Johnny pushes up to his hands and knees and looks down. Directly in front of him is a lone metal leg from the table. It must have come separated from the table after he was sent crashing through it – it’d be the prefect weapon, and he snatches it up then stands to his feet. “Johnny’s up!” exclaims Pete, “and it looks like he’s found a prize in the wreckage. Davis had better stop worrying about the crowd or he’s going to get a brutal wakeup call at the hands of the Barracuda!” Johnny takes two shaky steps forward…then races across the ring, coming in directly behind the Perfect Storm, and as Johnny nears his opponent… CRAAACK~! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! …He swings the table leg at the back of Sean Davis’ skull, dropping the Perfect Storm to his perfect kneecaps! Sean’s eyes start to roll into the back of his head, but the big man fights hard to remain conscious until the Barracuda rears back with his table leg… CRAAACK~! … And nails Sean Davis with a second shot to the back of his head! This time it’s light’s out, and the Perfect Storm collapses face-first to the mat! “What the hell was that?” cries King. “Johnny Dangerous is out of his mind using steel piped table legs to hit somebody with – he should be suspended for that!” “It’s a hardcore match, King,” reminds Pete. “Besides, Revolution Zero had it coming when they viciously attacked Wild and Dangerous for no reason on Smarkdown!” Johnny tosses the table leg down to the canvas, and turns to face the Critic as Pretzler leaves the Bahaman facedown on the mat and charges for Dangerous! He swings his arm out, looking to land a massive clothesline, but Johnny launches into a spin and plants his boot deep into the Critic’s gut with a roundhouse kick, deflating the Cruiserweight Champion’s lungs, and then spins back around again, this time with a Russian leg sweep that sends Pretzler crashing back-first into the mat! “Johnny got him with the KGB Assault!’ shouts Pete, but the Barracuda isn’t done yet. He turns towards the edge of the ring then leaps to the middle rope and springs off, back towards the Critic… WHACK! …And sends the point of his elbow directly into Pretzler’s sternum! Scott thrashes back and forth on the mat from the final hit until Johnny silences him with a lateral press for the cover! ONE! TWO! THR-NOOOOO! Pretzler gets the shoulder up just before three and the crowd lets out a collective groan at the determination of the Cruiserweight Champion. He gets back up to his feet and Dangerous tries to grab him, only for Scott to slap his hands away and quickly launch a searing knife-edged chop into the Barracuda’s chest! SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Johnny stumbles back from the surprise chop, clutching his chest, and Scott steps in looking to land some more! SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With the Barracuda reeling from his chops, Scott grabs Johnny by his arm and steps forward to send him across the ring with an Irish whip, but the Secret Agent digs his feet into the canvas and reverses, sending the Critic in for the ride instead as the Bahama Bomber scrambles to his feet. Pretzler is sent barreling across the ring… WHACK! … And right into a leg lariat from the Wildchild, knocking the Critic flat on his back! Wildchild quickly drops down for the cover. ONE! TWO! TH-NOOOOOO! Scott kicks out of the pin yet again, but with much less authority than before. It’s obvious that the constant double-teaming of the Tag Team Champions is starting to wear the rookie down, which makes it a good thing for him that Sean Davis rises to his feet behind Johnny, breathing bloody murder… “WATCH OUT, JOHNNY!” Pete tries to warn but it’s no use... WHAM! Davis quickly plows his fist into the Barracuda’s back, knocking the Secret Agent senseless! He grabs Johnny by his arm and pulls him into his foot, which goes straight into Dangerous’ gut, doubling him over! The Perfect Storm then grabs Johnny by the back of his head and flings him through the middle rope, and out of the ring! “Davis is back in and I think he’s looking to tear the Barracuda from limb to limb! Johnny messed up when he nailed Davis in the back of the head with that damn table leg,” King says as Davis steps out onto the apron. Johnny knows he has his opponent steaming mad, and he can think of only one thing he can do to slow this monster down right now. He jumps back up as Davis gets both feet out onto the ring apron, grabbing the nearby steel chair… CHING! … And ramming the edge of it in between Sean’s legs, right into his family jewels! The fans cry out as the Perfect Storm is stopped dead in his tracks: “OOOOOOOOOOOOH!” “See, King,” says Pete. “That’s what separates Wild and Dangerous from the rest of the pack: teamwork! Davis tried to settle a bit of a personal vendetta there and it just backfired on him. He needs to focus on some team work with Scott Pretzler and win this match, not try and defeat the members of Wild and Dangerous all alone.” “Hah!” snorts King. “The way that Johnny’s been trying to win matches by himself lately, they’re the last team that you need to be pointing to as an example of a model tag team!” Davis slowly turns around on the apron and leans heavily against the ropes, clutching his wounded groin, as Johnny slides the chair into the ring. The Barracuda quickly himself underneath The Perfect Storm and ducks his head underneath his legs as he grabs onto his ankles… “What’s Johnny up to here?” questions King. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he were trying to set the Perfect Storm up for an Electric Chair Drop, but surely he doesn’t think he can pull all of Davis’ weight over like that!” “He don’t have to get him up, King,” replies LDP. “The apron did all the heavy lifting for him!” Wildchild sees the attempt going on at the edge of the ring and, without a second guess, he takes off for the ropes behind him, springs off and comes charging back across the ring, picking up some serious steam as he closes in behind Davis and then dives over the top rope, grabbing Sean’s head- “OH MY GOD, NO!” - Pulling Davis off the apron with a bulldog simultaneously as Johnny swings him down with an electric chair drop… WHAAAAAAAAAM!!! …And they send the Perfect Storm crashing face-first into the thinly-padded floor with a modified Dangerous Drop! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “This is an atrocity! They’ve absolutely murdered Sean Davis tonight” cries King. “How can those two Clowns get away with such garbage? Hardcore match or not, they could seriously injure Sean Davis with a move like that!” “Yeah, ‘cause it’s not like Revolution Zero hasn’t tried to injure Wild and Dangerous,” counters Pete. “Besides, if Sean Davis can’t take a hardcore match than maybe he shouldn’t sign up for one – he knew what he was getting into way in advance!” Johnny climbs back into the ring and raises his arms out to the cheering frat house fans, and they salute him with raised beer cups. “Look at that idiot trying to campaign for fans,” spits King. “If he weren’t so busy posing, he might be able to pull off the win!” “Now’s not the time to be celebrating,” warns Pete, watching Pretzler creep in from behind the Barracuda. As Johnny turns to mug to the other side of the fans, he gets a boot right in the gut! The crowd boos ferociously, but that doesn’t matter to the Critic; he quickly slaps a reverse facelock on the Secret Agent and bends him over backwards… “THE TILDEBANG DRIVER~!” shouts King. “I can’t believe it; Scott Pretzler is about to defeat a former World Champion, in only his fourth SWF match! I’m sure that, somewhere backstage, Toxxic is smiling about this!” “He hasn’t won yet, nor has he even hit the move yet,” reminds Pete, but it doesn’t look to be too far away as Pretzler reaches down to grab Johnny by his waistline and put the move into motion, none to the wiser of the Bahama Bomber sliding back into the ring. As Scott tries to lift Johnny up, Wildchild races in and plants both feet deep into the Cruiserweight Champion’s chest with a drop kick! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “Damn,” curses Suicide King. “Wildchild can’t stop him from hitting the TIDLEBANG~! Driver like that!” “The hell he can’t!” snaps Pete, “He just did!” Scott jumps back up to his feet and Wildchild pummels him with a series of right hands, peppering him in the face! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! Each hit sends the Critic a step back, until Wildchild has him backed all the way into the ropes. He grabs Pretzler by one arm and Johnny grabs him by the other, and together they pull Pretzler off the ropes and whip him across the ring and into the corner post! CRACK! Scott hits the steel post back-first with a sickening thud! Scott staggers out of the corner, stunned from the shots as Johnny steps in to acquire his opponent once more and Wildchild heads for the turnbuckles. “Oh no,” groans King as the fans rise up with a solid cheer in anticipation. “These two Clowns are at it again!” Johnny whips Pretzler across the ring, into the ropes, and ducks down for the return as Wildchild leaps to the top turnbuckle, waiting anxiously to strike. Scott rebounds off the ropes, only for the Barracuda to send him screaming through the air with a high back-body drop, as Wildchild explodes off the top turnbuckle… WHAM! … Blasting Pretzler in the face with a crushing flying forearm! Wildchild crashes atop the Critic’s chest as both men plummet to the canvas! “SILVER BULLET~!” exclaims LDP, “what a brutally, vicious move that was! I don’t think Scott Pretzler has a prayer of a chance of continuing after that one!” The tremendous impact of the fall sends Wildchild rolling forcibly off Pretzler, and before the Bahama Bomber can crawl back towards him, Johnny quickly swoops in and rolls the Cruiserweight Champion up into a cover. The referee drops down and begins to count with the fans excitedly shouting along to the counts… ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEEE! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! DING! DING! DING! “What a match!” exclaims LDP, “Wild and Dangerous come through in the end with the win, but only after a hard fought battle!” The referee grabs Johnny and Wildchild by their arms and raises it out in victory as “Fuel my Fire” bumps across the arena in celebration. “Your winners by pinfall!” bellows Funyon, “WILD! AAAAAAAAAND DAAAAANGEROUUUS!!!!” The crowd continues to cheer for the Tag Team Champions as Johnny heads to a corner, climbs up, and pumps his fist to the crowd, igniting a series of flashbulbs. All the while, Wildchild just watches with a furrowed brow… As we: FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 "And we're back," announces Longdogger Pete as we fade back in from the commercial break. The Panarchy fans are still going strong, running off the effective fuel combonation of alcohol and pizza, and are eager for the next match! "Coming up next, we've got Landon Maddix squaring off against "The Icon" Max King! Once good friends, now bitter enemies - this match promises to be something else!" "That's a polite way of saying total garbage, and you know it," says King, slurring his speech a bit. "Let's have another 40oz Challenge!" "No. No, let's not." Suddenly, an SWF staffer runs down to the ring. The fans instinctively boo, knowing by now that this means trouble. He slides into the ring and whispers into Funyon's ear. "I apologize, but it seems that Landon Maddix and Max King will not be wrestling tonight." SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS! Sigh. "Hey!" Pete waves down the staffer and has a quick chat with him. "Well?" asks King, as Pete returns to the table. "What's going on?" "Apparently some... er... prior acts have led to Landon Maddix and Max King being banned from Dartmouth University Campus for life." "Prior acts? Do tell!" "I can't. We're TV-14." An awkward moment of silence. "We'll be back with our main event, folks, right after this commercial break!" Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 “We are back from our last commercial break, and now we’re live all the way to the end!” Longdogger Pete announces as Storm comes back onto the air. “We’ve seen a great show from here in the Panarchy Frat House, but it’s about to heat up even more!” “You can say that again,” Suicide King agrees, “for the first time in a long time we have two great athletes competing for the World Title!” Any further remarks are cut off as the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out somewhat tinnily over the PA system and the two wide0-screen TVs that are replacing the Smarktron for the night white out before quickly darkening to black, jagged white letters flashing up a familiar slogan: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The screen changes to show a spiky-haired head that lifts and grins lopsided at the camera before clips of the Straight-Edge Sensation’s matches start to play. The All-Show Brawl with Insane Luchador; the Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; the Caffeine Bomb on Kibagami. Finally the shot shifts once more to Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the small burst of red pyro- *BANG!!* -that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! For a few moments all that can be seen is smoke; then a familiar figure strides through the curtain, dark-lined eyes fixed on the ring. Toxxic is wearing his ‘Hardcore Punk’ T-shirt in deference to the rules for the night, and at his side is the dreadlocked beauty, Jet, dressed provocatively tonight in a black PVC bra, fishnet top and bulky skate trousers. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “Well, this is something of a do-or-die match for Toxxic,” Pete states as the Straight-Edge Sensation walks towards the ring, completely ignoring the drunken fans on each side. “On Smarkdown he forcibly ejected Spike Jenkins from Revolution Zero, and he has already stated that he is coming for Sacred and the World Title - now the question is, can he back up his swagger in the ring?” “I wouldn’t like to call this one either way,” King replies, “but remember that no-one has ever retained a title against this man! This is his chance to join the ranks of the three-time World Champions - something only Rane, El Luchador Magnifico and Danny Williams have managed before - and as a Gambling Man, I’d be prepared to bet that in itself is motivation enough for him to pull out all the stops tonight.” Toxxic rolls under the bottom ropes and into the ring, then pops up to his feet and, as the song approaches the first verse, swings his arms wide to ignite another small burst of pyro from the top of each ringpost! *bap-bap* *BANG!!* ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turned into shame And all the ‘could-have-beens’ rearrange…’ The challenger strips off his T-shirt and thinks about throwing it out to the crowd, but the sight of a large bunch of big, drunken college idiots changes his mind and he simply hands it to Jet. Conversely, the sight of a well-toned young man wearing nail varnish and eyeliner provokes a predictable response from the jocks in attendance. “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” Toxxic simply sighs and rolls his eyes, then leans against the far ropes as he turns to watch the entranceway. For a moment nothing happens; then the two TVs start to grow fuzzy, and a familiar Australian accent. …there is nothing wrong with your television set… …do not attempt to adjust your picture… “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” the crowd chants, but the voice of Sacred continues unperturbed. …I will control the horizontal… “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” [/i][/i]…I will control the vertical…[/i][/i] “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” …I am controlling transmission… “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” ‘Tainted’ by Lycia starts to play very gently as the lights - such as they are - dim down. The Hanover crowd continues their chanting regardless, but the man who emerges from behind the curtain seems as unaffected as ever by the opinions of morons. He is Andrew Blackwell. He is Sacred. And he is the two-time World Heavyweight Champion. “Well King, here comes the champion,” Longdogger Pete points out as the Sacred One begins to walk slowly to the ring with the title belt over his shoulder, his demeanour somehow expressing that the braindead college students giving him the finger from either side are in a different plane of reality. “He does have one successful defence to his name, but that was only due to Mak Francis getting himself disqualified at Clusterfuck; everything is legal tonight, and so although Toxxic has his own agenda with Sacred, the champion can’t count on that loophole to retain the belt!” “Sacred is a very, very smart man,” King replies. “He’s in a very different situation to Clusterfuck, but you’d be a fool indeed if you didn’t think that he was prepared for tonight.” Andrew Blackwell slowly steps through the ring ropes, his eyes fixed on the straight-edger on the other side of the ring. Sacred hasn’t forgotten the promise that Toxxic made to destroy him if he betrayed Revolution Zero, and given that Toxxic has ended the careers of people before it says something for the man that Blackwell can face him without a hint of fear. “YOU BOTH SUCK!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” “YOU BOTH SUCK!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand as the boneheaded chants war with each other. For a moment the veteran ring announcer seems to be waiting for quiet, but then he wises up and just plows on. “Ladies and gentlemen…” “In here?” King asks, looking around disdainfully, “I doubt it!” “…the following contest is our MAIN EVENT~” Funyon continues, “and is a Fans Bring The Weapons match for the SWF World Heavyweight Title! Introducing first, on my left; accompanied to the ring by Jet-” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “-he is the challenger, from Nottingham, England; he weighs in at 218lbs and is the leader of Revolution Zero… the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” The straight-edger sweeps his arms wide again, palms flat as the derisive chants ring out around the building. Toxxic isn’t put off though; he’s been dealing with shit from the fans for nearly a year now. “And his opponent, on my right,” Funyon picks up again. “He hails from Adelaide, Australia and weighs in tonight at 216lbs; he is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… SAAAAAAA-CRED!!” Andrew Blackwell casually raises the World Title belt in the air, never once taking his eyes from the face of his opponent. Meanwhile the xenophobic part of the crowd has started up again. “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” “AUSS-IE FUCKER!” Referee Uriah Rennie takes the championship belt from Sacred and shows it to all four corners of the hall, then bends and hands it out through the ropes to the timekeeper, who for this evening is former SWF tool David Blazenwing. Rennie then nods to Blazenwing, who bangs the bell- *DING-DING-DING!* -and Toxxic immediately leaps into action, tearing across the ring and nailing Sacred with a spinning heelkick! “Toxxic not wasting any time here!” Pete exclaims, falling back into announcer cliches yet again. Sacred scrambles up to his feet. He had anticipated a slower, more careful start to the bout and was unprepared for Toxxic’s sudden charge, but as he reaches a vertical base once more it becomes clear that Toxxic isn’t letting up, and the challenger nails his opponent with a dropkick to knock him back down again! “TOXXIC’S GAY!” Once more Sacred scrambles up, and once more Toxxic takes him down with a dropkick. This time Sacred rolls away from where he fell before getting to his feet again, but this isn’t enough to save him as Toxxic has followed and hits him with a brutal European uppercut- *WHAM!* -that sends the Sacred One tumbling out through the ropes to the floor! Blackwell clutches his jaw and pulls himself upright on the steel guardrail that separates wrestlers from fans, but as he turns around the arena lights are momentarily blotted out by a 218lb human missile and Toxxic comes hurtling over the top rope with a tope con hilo that crushes the Australian back against the steel! The Hanover fans are impressed despite themselves, and a ragged chant starts up. “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “The Straight-Edge Sensation is giving it everything he’s got from the get-go here,” Pete notes, “but I’d have to ask; is that a wise strategy?” “Almost certainly,” King replies as Toxxic pushes himself back to his feet. “Sacred’s a smart tactician, but if Toxxic can keep this offensive going he won’t give his opponent time to put a plan together!” Sure enough, Toxxic isn’t letting up anytime soon as the man from Nottingham hauls the briefly-stunned World Champion up, then simply Irish whips him into the ring steps! *CRASH!!* Seeing his opportunity, Toxxic turns to the nearest fans and extends his hand to ask for a weapon… but the entire section gives him the finger! “FUCK YOU GAY BOY!” “FUCK YOU GAY BOY!” This seems to startle the straight-edger, but only for a moment as he flips a v-sign back at the lot of them, then turns to charge at the slowly-rising Sacred. Unfortunately for the Brit his brief distraction has given the Sacred One a chance to recuperate, and Blackwell ducks aside at the last moment to hit a drop toehold that sends Toxxic into the steel ring steps instead! *BANG!!* Sacred doesn’t bother to ask the New Hampshire fans for any help; instead the Australian quickly rolls back into the ring and backs off to the far side to collect his thoughts. The opening minutes of this match have not gone the way he planned. “…the fans don’t seem to want to give Toxxic any weapons,” Pete notes. “Yeah, I noticed that,” King puts in dryly. “Do you think creative control took into account the fact that the entire crowd was going to hate these two men when they booked this match?” Toxxic pulls himself up on the ring apron, head ringing from where he crashed into the steps. The Brit knows that he won’t be getting any equalisers from the fans, so he simply heads back into the ring after his opponent - but Sacred was waiting for him, and the World Champion instantly pounces on him with a front facelock to keep him grounded! “Well, gee,” King quips, “if they can’t get any weapons from the fans I suppose we’ll have to have some wrestling for the World Title! What a shame!” “I’m getting a message from our producer in my ear,” Pete informs him. “Yes… King, if you don’t stop being snarky then they’re going to have Thoth book an office brawl… in your office.” “…” “I think the threat is serious, King.” “…Hah! Like they can fit any wrestlers in there with all the hot ladies already crammed in!” “Is that Las Vegas speak for ‘hookers’, Brian?” “Oh shush.” Meanwhile in the ring, Sacred is tightening his grip on Toxxic’s head as he struggles to keep the Straight-Edge Sensation from rising. Toxxic is starting to bull his way up however, and then the Brit surprises his opponent by grabbing hold of Sacred’s right arm and managing to twist his way out of the front facelock, coming to his feet with Sacred trapped in an armwringer! “Simple counter-wrestling by Toxxic,” Pete notes. “Further evidence of his time spent training with Chris Card perhaps, King?” “Yeah, sure, whatever,” the sulking Heartbreaker mutters. Sacred reaches out and grabs the ropes, but Uriah Rennie quickly steps in and reminds the Australian that ropebreaks don’t count in a match with no rules! The first flicker of annoyance passes over the Sacred One’s face, but he quickly suppresses it and rolls forward to release the tension on his arm and reverses the hold, then pulls Toxxic into him and takes him over with a Fireman’s carry. “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” Sacred ignores the fans as before and quickly turns Toxxic over onto his stomach, then traps the Straight-Edge Sensation’s legs in one hand and wraps the other around his throat before placing his knees in the centre of Toxxic’s spine and rolling back again to apply a bow-and-arrow backbreaker on the trapped Brit! Uriah Rennie drops down to see if Toxxic wants to give but the answer is a definite ‘no’, and as Toxxic wriggles and Sacred tries to keep his grip firm Rennie notices that the Australian’s shoulders are down on the mat… ONE! TWO!! …but Sacred realises his predicament at the last moment and shifts position! However, this causes him to lose his grip on his opponent and Toxxic tumbles off the Sacred One’s knees, and as Sacred starts to get up the agile straight-edger kips up to beat him to his feet, leaps into the air and- *CRUNCH!* -nails Sacred with an enzuigiri! “In the neck!” Pete shouts as Sacred collapses to the mat. “We saw Toxxic use that enzuigiri to the neck against Landon Maddix, and he’s pulled it out again tonight!” “He’s making sure to use his speed edge as well,” Suicide King notes, starting to take an interest again. “Sacred is no slouch but Toxxic is making sure he beats his opponent to the punch whenever possible.” Now it’s Toxxic’s turn to take hold of Sacred, and the straight-edger grabs the Australian by the neck to lift him up. It seems that the World Champion may have been playing slightly possum though, and Sacred hooks both arms behind Toxxic’s knees and barges forward to take the challenger down to the mat. Blackwell then starts to twist Toxxic’s legs together… [“He’s going for the Deprogrammer! This move crippled Mak Francis for a year!” Pete shouts] …but Toxxic leans upwards and grabs his opponent’s head, then takes Sacred down in a small package… ONE! TWO!! …Sacred kicks out just after Rennie’s hand hits the mat for the second time however, although the pin attempt gives the intellectuals in attendance a chance to change their chant again. “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” Both men start to roll up to their feet, but this time Sacred doesn’t wait to be fully upright before making his move - instead the World Champion shoulders Toxxic in the gut at the first opportunity, then fires off a forearm to his opponent’s head. Toxxic staggers back and Sacred hits another, then another, before grabbing the straight-edger in a front facelock and throwing Toxxic’s right arm over his shoulders. The Sacred One lifts his opponent up as if for a suplex but keeps his feet as Toxxic comes down behind him, then drops down into a vicious Hangman’s neckbreaker! This time it’s Toxxic on the mat clutching at his neck, but Sacred doesn’t make his opponent’s mistake and try to pick him up - instead the Sacred One backs off and is careful to keep out of Toxxic’s field of view as he waits for the straight-edger to rise. “Sacred seems to be stalking his opponent here,” Pete comments as Blackwell brushes aside the heavy bangs that are threatening to obscure his vision, “what can the World Champion have on his mind?” “No doubt he wants to offer his British opponent High Tea,” King comments snidely, before continuing, “he’s going for a move of course Dogger, what do you think is on his mind?” “King?” “Yes?” “Office…” Toxxic is back up to his feet and still holding the back of his neck from the Hangman’s neckbreaker, and he doesn’t see Sacred coming up behind him… and grabbing him in a double chickenwing! “He’s going for the Narcosynthesis!” Pete shouts as Sacred tries to muscle his opponent back down, “if he gets this locked in then-” *CRACK!* -but Sacred doesn’t, as Toxxic abruptly sits out and sends his shoulder slamming into the Australian’s jaw! The blow stuns Blackwell enough to make him release his hold and Toxxic quickly spins around and pops up again to hit another sitout jawbreaker, this time facing his opponent. The ‘snap’ off this one drops Sacred to the mat, and Toxxic quickly rises to his feet again before running to the nearest turnbuckle, vaulting to the top rope and springing back to drive a fist right into Sacred’s forehead! “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” “TOXX-IC’S GAY!” The Straight-Edge Sensation climbs back up and shakes his hand out, but the pain caused by the move evidently isn’t enough to prevent him doing it again as he makes another run to the corner and the same fluid vault upwards, then comes flying back through the air to hit another one on the luckless Australian! “FUCK YOU GAY BOY!” “FUCK YOU GAY BOY!” This time Toxxic pauses to flip the v-sign at the crowd again, before raising his arm in the air and shouting ‘one more time!’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” This, naturally, receives something of a negative response. It doesn’t stop Toxxic though, as the British phenom springs to the top rope, dives back into the ring with his right fist aimed at Sacred’s head… …and he hits home! Without wasting another second the Straight-Edge Sensation hooks his opponent’s leg and rolls into the cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Sacred again kicks out at two! Undeterred, Toxxic pulls Sacred up into a sitting position and places him in a hammerlock. “And now Toxxic could be setting up for his own feared submission move, the Repeat To Fade,” Pete notes. “It’s not in the same league as the Narcosynthesis though, let’s be fair,” King replies. Sacred doesn’t seem too fond of the idea of being caught in it though, as the Australian fights off the left arm that Toxxic is trying to wrap around his neck in a Dragon sleeper and reaches back with his own left arm to brace himself, then bridges up. Toxxic follows him upright in an effort to keep control of his opponent but Sacred squirms like an eel and manages to slip out of the hammerlock, ending up behind Toxxic with a hammerlock of his own applied! It only takes a moment for the Sacred One to reach around Toxxic’s head and hook him with a reverse headlock; then Sacred releases Toxxic’s arm and simply drops down, driving the back of the straight-edger’s head into the mat with a diving reverse DDT! *BANG!* “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” “AUSS-IE FUCK-ER!” With Toxxic temporarily out of action Andrew Blackwell decides to chance it; he rolls out of the ring and approaches the fans, holding out his hand in the hope of receiving a perfectly-legal something to use on his opponent. Unfortunately for the World Champion, the response is virtually the same as greeted Toxxic - a mass of middle fingers, although the shouting is somewhat more incoherent as at least a further two cans of beer have been chugged by this point. When one of those said cans bounces off his cranium Sacred evidently gives it up as a bad job and turns to re-enter the ring. “Well Pete, I guess this is the first ‘Fans Withhold The Weapons’ match in the history of the SWF,” King says happily. “Look on the bright side - we have another first here tonight!” “King…” “What!? How was that sarcastic!?” Toxxic has turned over onto his front now and is pushing himself up onto all fours. Sacred silently curses himself for not taking advantage when his opponent was down, but the chance of getting a weapon was too good a one to pass up. Now however the Sacred One knows that it going to be nothing more than wrestling that will save him this title… which when he thinks about it, isn’t such a bad situation. “Side headlock,” Pete calls as Blackwell drops to his knees and slaps one onto Toxxic, then twists his hips to take the straight-edger over onto his back, “it seems that Sacred is trying to slow this match down again.” “Not a usual tactic from Sacred these days, but a sound one,” King asserts. “When the tempo has been quick, Toxxic has been able to get on top. By keeping his quicker opponent grounded Sacred should be able to wear him down at minimum risk to himself.” Sacred squeezes as tight as he can on the headlock, looking to not only constrict the blood supply to Toxxic’s brain but also wrench the neck to weaken it for the Cruel Fate or another Narcosynthesis attempt. Toxxic seems to have other ideas though, as the straight-edger’s legs flash upwards and catch the surprised Australian in a headscissors! Sacred is pulled away from Toxxic’s head and his grip is broken, and the World Champion quickly finds himself in a similar predicament. Andrew Blackwell has been wrestling long enough to know how to get out of this one however, and he twists his body around until his the back of his trapped head is facing Toxxic, then flips over forwards to pin the Brit to the mat! ONE! TWO!! Toxxic hastily wraps his arms around Sacred’s midsection and bridges up, then twists his opponent around and brings him back over in a backslide attempt… ONE! TWO!! …but Sacred kicks out! However, the moment the Australian’s head comes back up Toxxic grabs it and pops his hips to take Sacred down with a side headlock of his own! “YOU BOTH SUCK!” “YOU BOTH SUCK!” “Ah, college boys,” King remarks. “Aren’t they just-” “King…?” “-paying fans,” the Gambling Man finishes heavily, then casts a sideways glance at his partner. “Look, just be grateful it wasn’t Riley making that remark, OK?” Sacred’s legs come up in an attempt to trap Toxxic with a headscissors of his own, but Toxxic is wise to this tactic and leans forwards to evade it. However, this shifts his weight just far enough for Sacred to wrap his arms around the Brit’s waist and roll him over onto his back in another pin attempt… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic manages to push himself back upright without slackening his grip; unfortunately for him, now he is in a position for Sacred to catch him with a headscissors, and the World Champion seizes the opportunity with alacrity. Toxxic finds himself trapped just like he had his opponent moments ago, and the straight-edger’s solution is fairly similar. Working himself around until his head is pointing straight downwards, Toxxic jumps his feet from side to side to see if he can get loose that way. With Blackwell tightening his grip to make sure the Straight-Edge Sensation can’t ‘pop’ himself loose Toxxic pushes himself up vertically instead. Sacred raises his hands, ready to fend off a pin attempt… but instead Toxxic suddenly jerks backwards to his feet, and this time he does succeed in getting free. Not only that, but he immediately leaves his feet and nails Sacred in the face with a basement dropkick! The World Champion drops backwards clutching his face, and Toxxic scrambles to his feet and heads for the nearest turnbuckle, twirling his fingers over his head to signal for the Hangover as he goes. “Has Toxxic really knocked Sacred down for long enough to hit this?” Pete asks doubtfully as the Straight-Edge Sensation climbs to the top rope, and the answer is quickly plain to see. The slight dizziness left over from Sacred’s headscissors has slowed Toxxic, and as he reaches the top buckle Sacred is already up and running towards him, then vaults off the second rope to scissor Toxxic’s ankles and take him down face first to the mat! *BANG!* “Beautiful counter from the World Champion!” Pete shouts as even some of the frat boys surprise themselves by clapping momentarily. “Toxxic paid the price for going to the well once too many times!” “Now, the question I’m asking is, ‘can Sacred capitalise?’” King asks as the Australian pushes himself up, clearly still suffering himself from the basement dropkick he got hit seconds previously. “So far we have yet to see the ring mastery that has made him one of the most feared opponents in the SWF…” Sacred seems determined to prove that he can indeed make the most of this situation, as he grabs the dazed straight-edger by the head and pulls him into the middle of the ring, then proceeds to lock Toxxic’s legs together around his own. With the Inverted Indian Deathlock applied he then leans back and grabs Toxxic’s head in an inverted chinlock before pulling as hard as he can, trying to break his opponent in two! “…and now Sacred has Toxxic locked in the Sickle Hold,” King nods with satisfaction. “He’s slowing the match down again to make sure that Toxxic can’t outmanoeuvre him, and what’s more he’s working all of Toxxic’s body to maximise his advantage. Stretching the legs and midsection will mean Toxxic can’t hit any of those aerial moves with such ease, but working the neck will set him up for both the Cruel Fate and the Narcosynthesis. This is one of those rare occasions where a move is both offensive and defensive, Pete.” “…when did you become a decent analyst?” Longdogger asks in amazement. “Since there were two people I rate in one match.” The brief flurry of applause from the Hanover fans that greeted Sacred’s top rope drop toehold has gone now - with both men immobile in the centre of the ring the attention span of New Hampshire’s finest has been exhausted, and they turn back to more entertaining pursuits. “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” Jet turns around and regards the baying, hormonal males behind her with a mixture of disdain and flattered ness - it’s nice to be wanted, after all. However, she shakes her finger at them and turns back to watch the situation in the ring where her boyfriend is currently trapped by the World Champion as Uriah Rennie attempts to clarify whether he wants to give it up. “SHOW YOUR ASS!” “SHOW YOUR ASS!” Sighing, Jet turns back around to glare at the frat boys who’ve come up with the new chant. They stare back unashamedly and several bare their own buttcheeks in the hope of encouraging her, although it is unclear whether it’s meant as an example or as a threat of more being revealed if she doesn’t. Meanwhile, Sacred strains to get a bit more torque on his hold as Toxxic grits his teeth in pain… “SHOW YOUR ASS!” “SHOW YOUR ASS!” Finally exasperated, Jet hastily unbuckles the top of her trousers and pulls them down to her ankles (revealing a black thong as she does so), then smacks her backside in full view of the crowd! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…why don’t we have that girl on TV more often?” Suicide King wonders aloud on commentary as Jet pulls her trousers up again and refastens them, but he’s brought back to the action at hand by Longdogger Pete nudging him in the ribs. Toxxic has started to work on Sacred’s finger, desperate to break the World Champion’s grip. Sacred is hanging on for dear life, but is has crossed the Sacred One’s mind that he can’t hold this bridge for ever and it might be better to quit on his terms… accordingly he suddenly relaxes his grip, then disentangles his legs before Toxxic can retaliate in any way. The Straight-Edge Sensation is more interested in trying to nurse the pain out of his neck and legs though, so Sacred grabs him and pulls him to his feet, then wraps Toxxic’s own arm around his throat and takes him down with the Knifey Spoony! *BANG!* Sacred hooks the leg and rolls into the cover, stacking as much weight as possible onto Toxxic’s shoulders… ONE! TWO!! THHRRRRRRR- -but Toxxic kicks out! The neck is clearly bothering him though, and Sacred is like a Great White off the Australian shore that smells blood. The World Champion picks his opponent up once more, then fires off one, two, three forearm shots to the head that also snap Toxxic’s neck back. Before the Brit can collapse backwards again Blackwell Irish whips him into the ropes, then grabs him on the rebound and hoists him up, twirling him around in mid-air to get the straight-edger’s head pointing downwards… …but Toxxic slips backwards out of the tilt-a-whirl Tombstone attempt, snares Sacred in a reverse headlock and drops to one knee, driving the other up into the back of the Antipodean’s neck! Before he can lose his momentum the Brit pops back up again, then instead of hitting his opponent with the reverse DDT that is the usual end of the Detoxx he instead twists around and sits out with a neckbreaker! “Toxxic continuing to work the neck as well,” Pete notes. “Both men seem to have similar aims, but are approaching them in very different ways.” “It’s a case of whether Sacred’s cautious mat play will have bigger gains than Toxxic’s more high-impact offence,” King says tensely as both men begin to stir, both indeed clutching at their necks. “Personally I’m finding it difficult to call so far…” Uriah Rennie seems to be wanting to make a double count, but of course there is no such thing in a match without rules. So he merely stands back and watches as Sacred and Toxxic, facing away from each other, start to stand. “SHOW YOUR TITS!” “SHOW YOUR TITS!” Jet gives the crowd the finger without even bothering to look around, her eyes fixed on her boyfriend. “SHOW YOUR TITS!” Growling, the dreadlocked beauty spins around and snatches a full can of beer from the nearest jock. She throws back her head, drains it in a few gulps, throws it back at him… …then pulls her PVC bra down and gives the Panarchy Frat a sight they’ll never forget! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Get cameras round there!” King shouts, cursing the limited production values of this SWF show that doesn’t have a crew on every side of the ring, “get cameras round there now!” “JET ROCKS!” “JET ROCKS!” Unluckily for the Gambling Man, by the team a shocked SWF cameraman has gotten into position Jet has put the goodies away again and is back on ring-watching duty. Which the rest of the camera crews need to be as well as Toxxic and Sacred turn around, each hunting for the other! Toxxic reacts first, taking a one-step sideways run-up and snapping a superkick at his opponent’s head- [i[]*whap!*[/i] -but Sacred catches the boot, then swings Toxxic away and grabs him in a rear waistlock on the way round! Before the straight-edger can think about making a standing switch the Sacred One bridges backwards, looking to dump Toxxic on his neck… *whump* …but in his haste he neglected or simply forgot to lock his hands, and Toxxic flips through the move to land (slightly unsteadily) on his feet! Sacred is no fool and he heard the sound of boots hitting canvas when it should have been a crash, but as he scrambles to his feet and turns Toxxic is already moving, darting towards his opponent and then baseball sliding through the legs of the off-balance World Champion… “Uh-oh…” King says quietly. …then places his shoulders underneath each of Sacred’s knees and forcing his way upright, hoisting the Sacred One into an Electric Chair position! “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC! FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC! FUCK HIM UP!” Suddenly the crowd seem to be 100% behind the Straight-Edge Sensation as he reaches upwards, trying to trap Sacred in position for the dreaded Dangerlust. Andrew Blackwell isn’t going to be caught this easily however and the World Champion fends off the questing hands for all he’s worth, then starts to rain punches down on Toxxic’s head! The straight-edger’s black-nailed hands cease trying to grab hold of his opponent and start trying to protect himself, and with that threat out of the way Sacred snaps back- *BANG!* -and spikes Toxxic into the mat with a reverse hurricanrana! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “FUCK HIM UP SACRED, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP SACRED, FUCK HIM UP!” “I don’t believe these people!” King splutters as the Hanover fans pull a complete one-eighty, now even waving weapons (although neither competitor is in a position to take advantage of this fact) “they just want to see someone get hurt! They don’t care who!” “Well come on King, they live in New Hampshire,” Pete replies, “they’ve got to have some sort of excitement in their lives.” Sacred looks up and across the ring to where his groggy opponent lies. Andrew Blackwell has faced a lot of things in his career, but not until a few moments ago had he realised exactly what Toxxic was prepared to do to win this title… and indeed, destroy him. “FUCK HIM UP SACRED, FUCK HIM UP!” Sacred isn’t fighting for the title anymore. This match is no count-out, falls count anywhere. He can’t run, even if he had wanted to. The slow-and-steady mat game has no place anymore; he has to end this now. With that in mind he gets up and begins to advance on his opponent as Toxxic starts shaking his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “FUCK HIM UP SACRED, FUCK HIM UP!” Blackwell tries to get into position again, but Toxxic turns round before he’s expecting him to. The straight-edger sees his opponent closing in and desperately lunges at him, trying to both regain the advantage and his feet at the same time, but Sacred ducks under the wildly swinging right arm and stops Toxxic short with an arm across the chest, then- *BANG!* “Toxxic certainly didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition!” Pete shouts as Toxxic is dumped back down to the canvas. “NO-ONE expects the Spanish Inquisition!” King shouts back, caught up in the moment. This time Andrew Blackwell doesn’t wait for Toxxic to get back to his feet; instead he pounces the moment Toxxic turns over onto his front, immediately placing his opponent into a double chickenwing. “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO SAC-RED!” “LET’S GO SAC-RED!” As the incongruous chants fill the Panarchy Frat House Sacred muscles Toxxic down, prepares himself… and bridges forward. “Narcosynthesis!” Pete yells, nearly leaving his chair in excitement, “Narcosynthesis is locked in!” “If Sacred can hold onto this-” King begins… …but Sacred can’t hold onto it. His neck, punished by move after move from the challenger, can’t hold the bridge properly. It collapses and he quickly shuffles around to mount Toxxic’s back again to prevent the straight-edger from getting up, but the frustration is clear to see on his face. Desperately the Australian bridges forward again, looking to lock in one of the most feared submissions in the SWF… …and again he can’t hold it for more than a couple of seconds. Once more Sacred comes back round to the back mounted double chickenwing to control his opponent, but for once the World Champion seems to be at a loss. He was counting on this move, and now it’s been taken away from him. “Just sit there,” King suggests, “he’s not going anywhere!” Sacred seems to be considering just that, but the option doesn’t appeal. He hasn’t been working Toxxic’s arms, and that’s all the hold affects in this position. Blackwell isn’t sure if Toxxic can escape before he can make him submit - he certainly doesn’t have enough raw strength to really crank back on the hold and bring it about quickly. However, after a few deep breaths something of Sacred’s old calm seems to return. He can get out of this, and keep Toxxic under control as he does so. Carefully, Blackwell releases his left arm and immediately applies a ¾ nelson to Toxxic’s right arm with it. The straight-edger begins to shift, anxious to escape his predicament, but Sacred leans forward and jams his right forearm down on the back of Toxxic’s neck to discourage any further movement. Then the World Champion quickly shuffles off Toxxic’s back, but before the Straight-Edge Sensation can do more than breath a bit more freely he has scooted around to the head of his opponent, readjusted his left arm and transitioned his grip into a Tiger Neck Chancery. “I see what he’s doing now,” King exclaims with mounting excitement, “he’s trying to go for the Cruel Fate!” Indeed, Sacred is starting to lift Toxxic up and the straight-edger who moments before was trying to get off the mat is now sandbagging for all he’s worth, not wanting to give the Sacred One any height with which to drop him on his head from. Sacred is in a good position to lift though, and agonisingly slowly Toxxic starts to come up… then as the front facelock begins to choke him the Brit surges up, using the surprise of his momentum shift to grab behind Sacred’s right knee with his free left arm! “Will Sacred just drop backwards?” Pete asks, the crowd noise now quietened to a hush. Toxxic doesn’t want to give Sacred that option though. Before the Australian can come to a decision Toxxic starts pushing again, trying to bull the World Champion backwards to the corner. With only one leg to stand on Sacred can’t muster much resistance and is forced into the turnbuckles and Toxxic waits for the rope break… …which of course doesn’t come, as Uriah Rennie is quick to point out! Frustration visible on the small part of his face that the camera can see, Toxxic instead back off a pace and then rams forward, blasting his shoulder into Sacred’s midsection. The breath is knocked from the body of the World Champion but he grimly holds on, not wanting to let his advantage go. Toxxic is just as determined though and backs off again before driving his shoulder home once more, and this time Sacred does let go! “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC, FUCK HIM UP!” The crowd fires back into life as the straight-edger rears up, then drives his forehead straight between Sacred’s eyes- *CRUNCH!* -but the blow seems to affect both men equally! Trying to shake the effects off, Toxxic grabs Sacred’s wrist and Irish whips him towards the far turnbuckles, but Blackwell reverses the momentum in the middle of the ring and sends Toxxic in instead. The Brit can no longer vault to the top buckle but he runs up the turnbuckles instead, then dives back with the clothesline known as the Role Reversal- *SMACK!* -but the extra few moments delay allows Sacred to Dropsault him out of the air! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO SAC-RED!” “LET’S GO SAC-RED!” Wearily, the World Champion looks down at his floored opponent. He’s tried several options; let’s start widening our horizons here. Sacred runs to the nearest buckles, hops to the second rope, to the top rope, flips backwards with a picture-perfect moonsault- *WHAM!* -that only gets knees! “GET UP!” both commentators shout, although it is unclear which man they are now rooting for. Toxxic is up first. He staggers, shakes his head, staggers again… but his eyes light on Sacred. The World Champion pushes himself back to his feet, clutching his ribs as he does so… and Toxxic boots him in the gut. Pulls him into a front facelock. Hooks Sacred’s left leg with his left arm. “It’s all over now!” King shouts, and this time he’s bang on the money. Toxxic hoists Sacred into the air. His knees are a bit wobbly, but they can take it. His midsection and back have more or less escaped unscathed. His neck is hurting like hell but, as he twists Sacred around at the apex of the Caffeine Bomb, he knows it’s not as bad as his opponent’s is about to. *WHAM!!* The pinning cradle is already in place. ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Panarchy Frat House!” Funyon booms over the massive roar - both cheers and boos - that greets the bell, “here is your winner, and NEEEEEEEWWWWWWW~ SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… TOXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “Three time!” Suicide King shouts at Longdogger Pete, “three time! Toxxic has equalled the all-time record for World Title reigns!” Jet jumps into the ring to congratulate her boyfriend, who receives the World Title from Uriah Rennie and clutches it to his chest like a long-lost friend. The straight-edger’s face is almost too drained to display emotion, but as ‘Rookie’ thunders through the Panarchy Frat House he looks over at where Sacred lies on the mat, almost motionless except for the slight movement of his chest. “Uh-oh…” Pete says quietly as Toxxic wearily pushes himself up and starts to walk towards his former stablemate. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted February 19, 2005 The noise in the Parnarchy Frat House has started to die down in the immediate aftermath of the win, but as Toxxic begins to head towards Sacred it starts to pick up again into a noticeable chant. “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC, FUCK HIM UP!” The Straight-Edge Sensation stands with one leg either side of Sacred’s chest, then kneels down so that his legs pin Andrew Blackwell’s arms to the mat. Uriah Rennie grabs Toxxic’s shoulder and tries to persuade him to leave the ring, but the Brit simply shoves the referee away and then holds out his hand to Jet. The dreadlocked beauty unzips one of her bulky side pockets and hands over something that glints brassily in the Frat House lights. “Are those…?” Pete asks. “I think so,” King confirms. Toxxic slips the brass knuckles over his right hand and, as Jet holds Uriah Rennie back, grips Sacred’s hair with his left before rearing back and- *BAM!* Slowly, carefully, Toxxic aims again. “FUCK HIM UP TOXXIC, FUCK HIM UP!” *BAM!* And again. *BAM!* *BAM!* “This is totally unnecessary,” Longdogger Pete shouts, “he’s already won the title!” “Well, the fans seem to be enjoying it,” Suicide King comments, even he not seeming quite comfortable with seeing one of his favourites pounded before his eyes… but he’s wrong. The crowd chants have died down now. *BAM!* *BAM!* There’s a difference between a high-impact, neck-snapping move in the heat of competition - the Demonstar Driver, the Rage Unleashed, the Dangerlust - and the sort of merciless beating that is taking place in front of them. *BAM!* *BAM!* A commotion at the entrance curtain causes the camera shot to cut to there for a minute, and it lights on Scott Pretzler and Sean Davis holding back a mass of SWF referees who are trying to get to the ring. Unfortunately for the officials, in the narrow entranceway of the Frat House Scott and Sean are perfectly capable of holding them back. *BAM!* *BAM!* Finally, Toxxic stops. The straight-edger slips the bloodstained knuckledusters off his fist and places them carefully in his pocket, then stands up. The camera hasn’t been able to get a good view of Sacred until this point, but now as it zooms in you can barely see the face of the former World Champion under a red mask. Toxxic has been very, very thorough. “You beat the man in a match, did you have to assault him afterwards as well?” Pete shouts angrily at the apparently-emotionless Toxxic. “Wasn’t taking the title enough for you?” “I don’t think so,” Suicide King replies soberly as Scott and Sean finally stand aside to let the flood of referees through. “Toxxic promised Sacred that if he betrayed Revolution Zero then he would destroy him… and Toxxic never breaks a promise.” Ced Ordonez, Anthony Michael Hall, Nick Soapdish, David Elleray and Matthew Kivell scramble into the ring, some checking on Sacred and others hustling Toxxic and Jet out. The straight-edger pauses long enough to spit on the body of his former stablemate, then shrugs the hands off and rolls underneath the ropes. “Toxxic did exactly the same thing moments after he retired Mike Van Siclen,” Pete says quietly as Revolution Zero congregate in the entranceway. “Mike had Todd Cortez to come in and defend his dignity, if nothing else; Sacred has no-one.” “That’s the price of always being a loner in this business,” King says. “Blackwell doesn’t have any friends in the SWF; and you have to remember that if Sacred had been a bit more sociable he’d have stayed in Revolution Zero and none of this would have happened anyway.” The four members of the most feared group in the SWF pause as they reach the curtain that screens the entrance to the backstage area. Jet passes through first, then the smirking Pretzler with his Cruiserweight Title. Sean Davis hangs back for a moment, quietly conversing with his leader, then his massive form disappears as well. Finally only Toxxic remains, and the Straight-Edge Sensation looks around at the Panarcy Frat House for a moment… …raises his World Title in the air… …and steps backwards, leaving Hanover, New Hampshire and the battered body of Andrew Blackwell behind him. “Well SWF fans,” Pete begins soberly, “we’re out of time here in New Hampshire, we hope you can join us again for Lockdown which will be coming at you from-” *CRACK!* -but Pete is cut off by the distinctive sound of steel on skull, and the assembled frat boys cheer in unison as Toxxic staggers backwards through the curtain into the entrance aisle, pursued by the chair-wielding form of… …Spike Jenkins. “It’s Spike! It’s Spike!” FADE OUT © Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2005 ‘Pimping the Panda since 2000’ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
