chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 (edited) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, MARCH 11TH, 2005, LIVE FROM THE PLAYGROUND BEHIND MILLS LANE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL IN DOWNTOWN PHOENIX, ARIZONA! (8:00 PM EST, 5:00 PM PST; check local listings) Live from the playground behind Mills Lane Elementary School in Downtown Phoenix, Arizona, the SWF is presenting to you a very special show! After the events at From the Fire, you know that several people have blood in their mouth, and this show is their chance to spit that bloody loogie all over the rest of the fed! So without further ado, the card! HOUSE RULES MATCH SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP CALVINBALL II "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. Insane Luchador v. Alan Clark v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler (SWF Cruiserweight Champion) v. Austin Sly (SWF USJL Champion) v. Toxxic (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) -> One day, Thoth wanted to think of a stipulation to end all stipulations. Then Tom Flesher said something about Calvinball AND THIS MATCH WAS BORN. For those of you unfamilair with Calvinball, the rules are anything you want. Anyone can change the rules at any time, and these rules could potentially include how to win the match. OPENING MATCH (SIGNIFICANTLY LESS COOL) Mohammed Koran v. Danny Dagda -> Koran apparently hates our country. Danny Dagda sucks balls. This should be fun. Also Scheduled To Appear: Wildchild, fresh off a successful retention of the Tag Team belts, may have something to say about his partner Johnny Dangerous arriving a wee bit late at From the Fire! Also, Jay Hawke left From the Fire just like he entered: Goldless. Will he have something to say about his situation? All this and more, on Storm! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Edited March 12, 2005 by chirs3 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 (edited) Storm opens with a camera shot of "The Superior One" Tom Flesher, storming through the hallways with a look that expresses disbelief on his face. He mutters to himself as he walks. "I'm a grown man, and I'm still getting called to the principal's office." Indeed, he stops at a door, and indeed, the marquee on the door reads "Principal Buttsavich." Flesher sighs, opening the door to find a lanky, young-looking man sitting behind the principal's desk. The young man smiles, standing up to his feet and offering out a hand to Flesher. "Tom Flesher!" the young man says. "It's good to finally meet you, I'm a big fan of your work." "... uh, who are you again?" "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself... I'm Joseph Peters." "... who?" "Joseph Peters?" The youngish man sighs, sitting back down. "You're kidding, right? The kid who's booking Storm? The guy who runs all those CC meetings -- which, I might add, you haven't been attending enough of lately." "Oh. Hi." "Anyway, I just wanted to inform you of a couple of things. You see, this Sly character, he's been doing a good job lately. I'm a big fan of his work." "... okay." "But, you see, this USJL title thing... it doesn't seem like anyone really cares about it. Furthermore, Landon Maddix -- I'm a big fan of his work, by the way -- but he hasn't gotten enough defences in as ICTV champion, and that upsets me, Tom." "So?" "So, Tom, I've been messing around with this bracketology thing, March Madness and all, and we had one of those CC meetings where we decided to merge the ICTV and USJL titles into the SWF Belt." "... the SWF Belt?" "That's just a tentative title, actually. A code name, if you will. But I've got six names scheduled for a tournament, and I fully expect you to book the first round of this tournament on Smarkdown." "Is that all?" "Unless you can think of a better name than The SWF Belt... then yeah, that's all." Peters stands up again, extending his hand, but Flesher turns around and exits without acknowledging the young man. On his way out, we can see a scowl on Flesher's face, and he mutters "Fucking kids" as we: FADE OUT. Edited March 12, 2005 by Chuck Woolery Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 Danny Dagda is already in the ring getting ready for the upcoming match. Koran's music hits and he makes his way to the ring looking out on the crowd with disdain. He gets in the ring and the bell rings, both men lock-up and Dagda outpowers Koran and shoves him to the ground. Again both men lock-up but this time Koran uses a kick to the mid section and body slams Dagda, as Dagda gets up the repeats it twice more then goes for the cover but Dagda kicks out on 2. Koran starts stomping on Dagda and gets ina mount position before laying into him with fists, but Dagda pushes him off, both men get back to a vertical base. Dagda counters a clothesline from Koran and attempts a overhead suplex, Koran however counters to get behind Dagda and hits a huge Reverse Neckbreaker, cover again but once more Dagda kicks out on 2. Koran picks up Dagda and executes a perfect Standing Dropkick . Dagda gets his way back to his feet, Koran comes off the ropes and as Dagda tries to counter with a Big Boot Koran slides underneath and lifts Dagda up in the air and drops him on his knee with an inverted backbreaker. Koran smirks as the crowd and mimes spitting on the floor in disgust, he then climbs the top-rope as Dagda is getting up and executes the reverse elbow aka The Flying Tiger. Cover 1,2,3 Koran picks up the microphone "This won't be the last you see of me, i'm going to get to the top in this company quicker than anyone ever has before, you will all remember my name" He then stamps on Dagda to add insult to injury before leaving the ring to the boo's of the crowd Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 Pete: “We have plenty of action still to come here tonight, including Calvinball II, but we understand we are about to hear from Jay Hawke after that tremendous double your pleasure cage match at From the Fire.” King: “I’m interested in hearing what he has to say. He has to feel like he was cheated out of at least the tag team championship this past Sunday after the very late arrival of Johnny Dangerous.” As King finishes his sentence, the chords of “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd begin to play courtesy of the fourth grade Flutophone band. Jay Hawke emerges from the back door of the school leading to the playground, and he’s certainly not dressed for the location. He’s all decked out in a very nice three-piece beige Sergio Valente suit with black dress shoes. Hawke walks through a sea of 5- through 10-year-old children, most of them booing louder than your average fan. Some of the older kids even try hurling spitballs at the Dean of Professional Wrestling. Hawke makes his way through the crowd and makes his way to the sliding board, praying that the microphone will even work in this setting. Hawke: “Is this thing on?” The boos from the children let Jay Hawke know that the microphone is actually working. At least something’s going right tonight. Hawke: “I can’t believe this company actually has me cutting a promo from a playground. Here’s a free lesson for you, Tom Flesher. If you actually want to make a profit, you might actually want to book us in an arena with paying fans!” The kids don’t get the joke, but face it, you know it’s funny. Hawke: “Now, there’s been a lot of talk going around the wrestling business over the past week about SWF From the Fire, and in particular the cage match that, in my opinion, stole the show. But never mind that it was one of the greatest cage matches in the history of professional wrestling. All I had to hear all week long was ‘You weren’t good enough, were you? You’re still titleless, aren’t you Jay?’ Yeah, well, I don’t plan on it staying that way for very long. Now, if I wanted to be I could be a real prick and claim that…” The cameraman is apparently signaling something to Jay Hawke, as he looks at him like “What the hell?” He goes over and listens in, and all we hear is Hawke off-mic: “What do you mean, ‘you can’t say prick on an elementary school playground’? What am I supposed to say then? … You’ve gotta be shitting me. … Alright, alright.” Hawke gets back on the mic right now. Hawke: “I could be a real … poopyhead right now …” The children laugh as Hawke pulls the mic away and tells the cameraman “I fucking hate you.” Hawke: “…and claim that since Johnny Dangerous was technically on the floor before Scott Pretzler, then he should be the cruiserweight champion. I could be a real jerk face…can I say jerk face?” The cameraman nods. Hawke: “I could be a real jerk face and say that because of that, Dangerous should have never been allowed in the cage at that stage of the match, and therefore the winning fall shouldn’t count.” King: “The man’s got a point.” Pete: “Hush.” Hawke: “But you know what? I’m actually in a halfway decent mood for once in my life, so I won’t bother. Mostly because I’ve learned the hard way that even if you’re right about being robbed of a decision, nobody in charge will do anything about it anyway. Kind of makes the ‘Thou shalt not steal’ commandment pointless, huh?” The cameraman again cuts Hawke off, and Hawke gets visibly angry. Hawke: “They want to post the goddamn thing in schools but I can’t talk about them? What kind of bullshit is that?” And if you thought the cameraman was pissed off before, imagine what he’s thinking now. Hawke finally shakes his head and continues, but he’s basically been put on warning that his mic will get cut off with one more slip. Hawke: “You see, when I got started in this business nine years ago, I learned the hard way that nothing was ever handed to you in this business. My first match ever, not only did I lose a 15-minute war, but I got sneak attacked by a guy named Cyric just because the guy thought he could get away with it. He literally tried to end my career 15 minutes after it started! And that was lesson number one: Being a nice guy never gets you anywhere. That’s a lesson for all you kids out here in the audience.” Pete: “The man is sick.” King: “Hey, my father gave me that advice back in the day, and I turned out alright.” Pete: “Riiiiiight.” Hawke: “So you see, I learned from the very beginning to start from the bottom and claw my way to the top. I climbed and I struggled. I clawed. I scratched my way to the top. To the very pinnacle of this sport! I was the World Heavyweight Champion. But you see, the wrestling business is like this slide.” Hawke begins to climb up the winding staircase of the slide. Hawke: “You have to climb up the long, winding ladder. You need to gather win after win to make your way to the very top.” Jay Hawke has made his way to the top of the slide. Hawke: “And then you make it. You’re at the top. You can see over everybody else. You’re looking down at everybody else. You are the king of the mountain! But at some point…” Jay Hawke slides down the slide. Hawke: “...you have to come back down, and you’ll come down faster than you can possibly climb up. I was the HIWF World Heavyweight Champion for five months. For five months, I stood above all others. And in three seconds…barely the amount of time it takes to snap your fingers…I slid down to the bottom all over again. And before I really got the opportunity to try to climb back up to the top, some punk decided it’d be cool to drive head first through a table, and I LOST THREE YEARS OF MY LIFE THAT I’LL NEVER GET BACK!” Cut to a quick shot at the crowd, and the scared looks of several of the youngsters who are afraid of strange men screaming. Hawke: “So yes, this past Sunday I suffered a bit of a setback in the climb back up the ladder. But in reality, it might have been the best thing that could have happened to me. Because the faster you climb up that ladder, the worse it is for you to come down. And Scott Pretzler, I don’t even know if you’re listening to me right now since you’re getting ready for that game of Calvinball…wow, I never thought I’d ever say that at a wrestling show…but heed this warning. Right now, you’ve held that cruiserweight championship over a month, and you think you’re on top of the world. But when that fall comes, it’s going to come when you least expect it. And as quickly as it’s going to come, you might never recover, pal! So let me explain this one to you, and this goes for all the so-called champions in this organization! I’m coming for all of you. I plan on being the one to knock you off the top of the mountain. And when I reach the pinnacle this time around, I don’t ever plan on getting knocked off ever again. So when you champions have to put those titles on the line against me -- and it is going to happen sooner or later whether you want it to or not -- I’m going to teach all of you a wrestling lesson you’ll never forget, and there’s not a thing you can do about it!” Jay Hawke tosses the mic aside and accidentally hits a second grader in the eye. The kid starts crying, but Hawke just keeps on walking with a smirk on his face. Pete: “A lot of tough talk by the newcomer to the SWF.” King: “But he raised a lot of very good points, and he knows what it’s like to be the number one man in this business. I feel sorry for the next champion that gets into the ring with him, because no matter who it is, I doubt he’s walking out of the ring with the championship.” Pete: “And we have plenty more to come after this commercial break. Don’t you dare go away.” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 Leaving his makeshift locker room inside Mills Lane Elementary School, The Straight Edge Sensation Toxxic still has time to go before his chance to add another Hardcore Title to his impressive resumé. With such a big match, Toxxic should be focused. Should be planning out some crazy, convulted Calvinball crap. Instead, he has other things on his mind. Walking through the hallways with his head held defiantly high, Toxxic turns a corner. -- Meanwhile, around that corner, Landon Maddix is returning from the catering area with two bottles of water. He seems in a decent enough mood. Before that is he sees the unmistakeable hair of Toxxic, spotting him before Toxxic can spot him back. Which gives Maddix time to clutch his brace covered neck. -- Both men stop as the hallway is empty, apart from just the two men. An awkward silence falls over them, as the two glare at each other for a moment. A moment which seems much longer than a moment. Infact, it seems to go on forever "Well, well, well. If it isn't the ICTV Champion, Mr Prestige. How's the neck, sunshine?" sneers Toxxic, trying to disguise the fact he actually wants to know Maddix's condition. "How's the conscience?" quips back Maddix. "Just fine thanks." "You sure? I mean, if I'd almost crippled someone, then I'm sure I'd feel at least a little bit guilty. But then again, you're more used to filling hospital wards than me." Toxxic sneers again, but stays quiet. "I tell you what, that's some laundry list you have now Toxx. What is it...five, six...seven maybe. I don't know. I've lost count of the times you've tried to break somebody's neck. Tried to cripple someone. Injure. Maim. By the way, have you heard anything about Justin Bowers recently? Do you know if he's learnt how to walk again yet. Or is he still wheeling himself around, wondering what his career might have amounted to had he never gotten into the ring with a closet sadist." Despite the fuming exterior, Toxxic remains steely silent. Maddix stops and looks at Toxxic, a little peeved that his attempts to get a reaction out of Toxxic are failing. "But, then again, you don't have time to worry about that do you, Mr World Heavyweight Champion. Congratulations by the way. I would have congratulated you before, but the doctors were busy making sure my vertebrea were still in place. All the same...you beat me. Good on you Toxx. Good on ya, 'mate'. You're still the World Champion. You've still got the belt. One question though...have you noticed that the belt has my blood on it yet?" "What the bloody hell are you talking abou..." "Not literally, obviously. But, it might as well have." Maddix adjusts his neckbrace, milking it for all it's worth. Stopping again, Toxxic doesn't seem to know quite what to say. Words are failing him. Because deep down, the image of Landon Maddix standing in front of him and talking back to him eats him up inside. It's one thing to almost cripple someone and to have their memory hanging over you. It's another when instead of a memory, it's flesh and blood, trying to make you feel guilty. Even more guilty, at least. "What's the matter Toxxic? It's not like you to be so silent, especially whe..." "What...did you call me?" "Huh?" "What...did you CALL me!?!" "I didn't call you anything you stupid Limey pu...oh." Backtracking in his head, Maddix realises what Toxxic is talking about. And he cannot contain a smile, as he sees Toxxic's expression change. "Ho ho, I see. Touchy subject, eh? Well, in that case, you just stand there SILENTly, while I get something off of my chest, huh? You see, I've found something out about you that you don't want found out. I've lost count of all the times you've made your disgust for Nathaniel Kibagami clear. The very name...Kibagami...eat eats at your insides. It makes your toenails curl. The very name makes you sick to your stomach. You despise him, don't you? I'll admit it right now...I went in to From The Fire, knowing what to expect. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect you'd try and render my spinal cord as useless as a chocolate teapot. Because I believed you. I believed you, every time you ever said you weren't like Kibagami and that you were an honest wrestler. Even though...it was all lies." "Listen, I suggest you pipe dow..." "Lies Toxxic. Lies that I have seen through, because I have been on the recieving end of your sadist side! Only, I'm not like Justin Bowers. I'm not like Kibagami. I'm still here to tell the tale and I'm the man in this company that truly knows you. You and Kibagami...you're one and the same." Toxxic is seething now, wanting to rip Maddix's head clear away from his neckbrace. But, then again...that'd make him like Kibagami. That'd prove them all right. And he can't let that happen. "No matter how much you deny it, you are just like Nathaniel Kibagami. Because you have the same, deadly trait. You have the KILLER...instinct. When the time comes...when the right situation arises, it kicks in. Whever deep down you want it to or not, when you desperatly have to win, the killer instinct takes over you. Your desire to be World Champion makes you like Kibagami, Toxxic. And deep down, you know it. You can't control it. I stood as a threat to you and you used the killer instinct on me. Kibagami threatened to stop your rise to the top and you used the killer instinct on him. Hell, when Justin Bowers got in position, you COULDN'T resist the killer instinct." "You don't know what you're talking abo..." "There's only one difference between you and Kibagami." "And what is that then!?!" snaps Toxxic, finally taking the bait. And as he does, Maddix reels him in, getting right up in Toxxic's face. "You have the weakness...of guilt." There is no reply from Toxxic. And as that lack of reply happens, Maddix beams. "Kibagami could take a man like Edwin MacPhisto, drop him on his head, ruin his career...and not feel the guilt of what he'd done. He was remorseless. Which made him purely evil...and so, so dangerous. Where-as you show remorse. You FEEL guilt. I believe it when you say you don't want to be like Kibagami, really, I do. But the fact is, you still drop people on their heads. And every time you do, it chips away at you. Chip. After chip. Making you weaker and weaker. Yet, you can't resist. And you do it again. And you get another chip. The circle is going on and on through your career Toxx. Tonight, it's no rules. Tonight it's Calvinball. And what if..." Maddix stops to flash another smile, making Toxxic stew for a moment. "...what if Austin Sly leaps on your shoulders and just happens to fall into the right position? What if Todd Cortez won't stay down? What if...that killer instinct kicks in. And what it, no matter how much you try to resist..." Lifting his hands into 'guns', Maddix fires off imaginary bullets into the distance. "...you pull the trigger. What then?" Maddix makes Toxxic think about it. The Straight Edger keeps a straight face. If this talk is getting to him, which you'd think it is, he's doing a decent job of hiding it. "You know, you could have ended my career. As it is, I'm not seriously injured. But for every day I'm favouring this neck, I know you'll have a day of remorse. And yes, eventually that day will become every other day...and then, every other week. Until you've forgotten about it and moved on. But the sad fact for you is, there'll always be another time. And Toxxic, I'll be watching. And when you drop the next poor victim to an early retirement, I will force a little smile. Because I know." "Oh, you know do you?" "Yeah, I know." "Know what exactly, oh fountain of knowledge?" "That you're not like Kibagami...you're just a cheap imitation." Toxxic stares off into the distance at the sheer indignance of that claim, as Maddix takes the chance to walk off, with his neck intact. Looking on after him, Toxxic glares for a while...before the glare disappears. And nervously, Toxxic wipes a bead of sweat away from his eyelid. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… The fans go crazy as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play, heralding the arrival of the Bahama Bomber! Wildchild walks out to the stage, dressed in orange Zubaz pants and a Kevin Johnson throwback jersey. Around his waist is the World Tag Team Championship belt. “Wildchild put on a very impressive performance at From the Fire,” says Longdogger Pete, “but he had to tough out most of the match by himself; it wasn’t until very late that his own partner, Johnny Dangerous showed up!” “Johnny’s got something on his sleeve,” says Suicide King. “Obviously decided that he wanted to hang on to his share of the Tag Team Titles, but there’s something up with him; I smell a rat!” Wildchild is holding a microphone in his hands, which he raises to his lips, motioning to the production crew as he does so to cut his music. “Johnny,” he shouts, “get your ass out here right now!” RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “Whoa!” says Pete. “Wildchild’s clearly got some issues with his partner’s behavior back on the Pay-Per-View, and it’s hard to blame him! I think this crowd is just as eager to get some answers as well!” After a few moments, Johnny comes out to a mixture of cheers and boos. He’s wearing a black muscle t-shirt and black jeans, and looks like he hasn’t shaved in two days. Across his shoulder is his share of the Tag Team Titles. As he looks expectantly at his partner, Wildchild begins to speak again: “Johnny, you know dat I’m not much on talkin’, so I’m gon’ make dis short, an t’de point: Are you in or out?” A small cheer goes up, and Johnny looks at Wildchild with a surprised expression. “You hung me out t’ dry at From de Fire,” continues Wildchild. “Dat was supposed t’be a Tag Team match, not a handicap match!” Johnny looks on impassively as Wildchild continues speaking. “I need t’know if you’re gon’ t’be down t’have my back, because I don’ have time t’ be worrying about if I can count on my partner. I need an answer, an’ I need it right now!” With that, he hands the microphone to Johnny. The Barracuda stares at him briefly before taking the microphone and raising it to his lips: “Well,” he coolly begins, “I guess all I can really say is… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Nic, that you felt like I hung you out to dry at From the Fire, but you see I had to figure a few things out. I had to figure out if I was doing the right thing.” Wildchild looks at the Barracuda confusedly. He isn’t quite sure where Johnny is going with this, but he motions for Johnny to go on and the Secret Agent does. “You see, Nic, I’ve just been really frustrated lately; especially after Clusterfuck when my chance to main event From the Fire and become two-time World Heavyweight Champion was ripped from my grasps from Landon Maddix-” RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! Cheers break out from the fans upon mention of Maddix, and Johnny pauses before continuing to allow them to die out. “That was just the straw that broke the camels back so to say. It was the third time that two-bit punk, Maddix, had cheated me out of a victory. It was the second time in two shows that I had lost the chance to become number one contender to the World Heavyweight Championship and quite frankly, it really started to get under my skin.” “We all understand the frustrations the Barracuda has had to endure,” says Pete, “but what about Wild and Dangerous? Is Johnny Dangerous going to be able to put his frustrations and personal goals aside for the team?” “Kind of hard for any of us to find out with your mouth running ninety-miles an hour, Drain-Clogger!” snaps the Suicide King, “hopefully Johnny will drop the dead weight that is Wildchild and continue his own mission – I like the direction he was headed!” “However,” continues the Barracuda, as Wildchild diligently listens, “you want to know the answer to the pressing question.” He stops and looks over at his partner, and Wildchild nods his head. “Well, as far as Wild and Dangerous goes… I’m not going anywhere!” RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “I may get frustrated,” Johnny says, “but there is one thing that’s for sure; forever Wild, forever Dangerous – I will never turn my back on you, Nic!” RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “I think that’s what everyone here wanted to hear,” says Pete, as Wildchild nods his head in approval with a half smile. “Sure things might not always go the way I want with the World Heavyweight Championship, but I will get another chance, someday,” he says, “and when that chance happens you can damn well guarantee that I, Johnny Dangerous will be there – ready and prepared to win that belt any way I can!” RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “All the while, I will be the Tag Team Champion with you, Wildchild,” he offers his hand to the Bahama Bomber for a shake with the crowd cheering on. Wildchild stares at it for a moment, then nods his head and accepts the shake. “Yes!” exclaims Longdogger. “Wild and Dangerous have patched up all their problems – what a sigh of relief!” Johnny grabs Wildchild’s arm and raises it up to the fans as “Fuel my Fire” kicks up over the speakers! Finally, the fans have their answer to the future of the SWF’s most dominate tag team since the Carter administration, and the cameras zoom in on the Tag Champions. They catch the smiling face of Wildchild, and then pan over to Johnny Dangerous as he looks into the camera in a conniving manner… As We: FADE OUT. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted March 12, 2005 The music for Storm leads us back in from the commercial break, but instead of the packed arena that is the usual visual after the ‘SWF Storm’ logo, we instead see Suicide King and Longdogger Pete seated at an announce desk in a playground in downtown Phoenix. “It’s time for the main event, and what a main event we have for you tonight!” Pete begins excitedly. “Yes, CALVINBALL~, the most original and exciting stipulation ever in SWF history is making its comeback tonight here in Phoenix, Arizona-” “-and I can’t believe it,” King complains. “This was bad enough in the SJL, a refuge for wannabes and talentless grunts, but here in the SWF? I mean, who’s in this match?” “Insane Luchador, Todd Cortez and Alan Clark-” Pete begins. “Ah well, I guess the ‘talentless grunts’ label still applies,” the Gambling Man nods, slightly appeased. “…and Scott Pretzler, Austin Sly and Toxxic,” the former XF9 leader finishes, causing his commentary partner to splutter in shock. “What? They’re putting the USJL Champion, the Cruiserweight Champion and the World Champion in this?” King protests. “Who booked this rubbish?” “If you’ve got a major problem with it, I’m sure they can rearrange it as an Office Brawl in your office,” LDP says calmly. “…let’s take it to Funyon.” The cameras switch to the dapper-suited form of the SWF’s ring announcer who stands in the centre of the playground with his microphone in hand. Around him stand six wrestlers, each one rather self-conscious in their black eye masks, Toxxic’s fitting unnaturally over the face mask protecting his broken nose. “The following contest is scheduled for… whatever,” Funyon begins, “and is a Calvinball Match for the SWF Hardcore Gamers’ Championship. Introducing first, from Easton, Pennsylvania; he stands at 6’4 and weighs in at 201lbs, this is the INSANE LUCHADOR!!” [“Does he seem taller to you now?” King whispers to the Longdogger.] [“I hear he’s related to Rane,” Pete hisses back.] Rickmen’s eyes are staring wildly out of the mask and widen as he hears some sporadic clapping from behind him; looking around the Insane Luchador sees five kids of varying ages seated on some swings with enormous sodas, buckets of popcorn and SWF foam fingers. “From St. Louis, Missouri,” Funyon continues, “he weighs in at 237lbs and is the SWF USJL Champion… AUSTIN SLY!!” Shrill voices are heard shouting ‘you suck!’ off-camera, leading to Sly jumping involuntarily. “From Toronto, Ontario and representing Revolution Zero,” the SWF’s veteran ring announcer continues, trying his best to ignore the young audience, “he weighs 226lbs and is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion… ‘The Critic’ SCOTT PRETZLER!!” “You suck too!” “From Long Beach, California and representing Martial Law; weighing in at 230lbs, this is ALAN CLARK!!” Funyon soldiers on as Clark holds his hands up in the air. “Yay!” “From Nottingham, England and representing Revolution Zero,” Funyon says, “he weighs in at 218lbs and is the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXIC!!” “You suck cock!” the kids shout, causing Toxxic to look around in mild disbelief. “And finally,” Funyon finishes, “from Hollywood Boulevard and representing Martial Law, he weighs 226lbs and is the reigning and defending SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Champion… ‘The Urban Legend’, TODD CORTEZ!!” “Fuck him up, Cor-tez, fuck him up!” “Fuck him up, Cor-tez, fuck him up!” Even Todd Cortez turns around and looks at the children who are merrily chanting away and waving their foam fingers for all they’re worth. “Well, the crowd certainly seems quite partisan tonight,” Longdogger Pete comments, straight-faced. “They’re a bunch of kids, not a crowd!” King spits, his mind on gate receipts. “How are we affording this?” “Don’t worry King, I’m sure you can steal their lunch money later.” Funyon raises his microphone again, but the fact that there is no PA system in this playground - the mic is purely connected to the production truck on the next block - means that the wrestlers have to gather around to hear him properly. Glowering at each other, Revolution Zero members, Martial Law members and unaffiliated grapplers alike crowd the announcer. "1. Every participant must wear their Calvinball mask at all times. No one is allowed to question the masks. 2. Any player may declare a new rule at any time, either audibly or silently, depending on what zone they're in. 3. A player may use the Calvinball in any way that player sees fit. 4. Any penalty legislation may be in the form of pain, embarrassment, or any degradation the rulee wishes to inflict upon the player. 5. The Calvinball Field consists of areas, or zones, which are governed by a set of rules declared by players. Zones may appear and disappear often and wherever the player decides. For example, a corollary zone would enable a player to make a corollary to any rule already made. Or a pernicious poem place would require the intruder to do what the name implies. Or an opposite zone would enable a player to declare reverse playability on the others. 6. Flags shall be named by players whom shall also assign the power and rules which shall govern that flag. 7. Songs are an integral part of Calvinball and verses must be sung spontaneously through the game when randomly assigned events occur. 8. Score may be kept or disregarded. In the event that score is kept, it shall have no bearing on the game nor shall it have any logical consistency to it. 9. Any rule above that is carried out during the course of the game may never be used again in the event that it causes the same result as a previous game. Calvinball games may never be played the same way twice." Funyon looks at them all to make sure they understand the rules, then decides that he doesn’t care anyway. “GO!” As one, the wrestlers turn and sprint for the Calvinball that is positioned near a roundabout. Toxxic’s superior speed tells over his opponents and he snatches it off the tarmac scants moments ahead of Sly, then turns around and hurls it straight into the USJL Champion’s face. *boink!* “One point to Toxxic,” Funyon declares. “Rickmen is in the lead.” Sly gets back to his feet glaring daggers at the Straight-Edge Sensation, but Toxxic is ready for him and raises a black-nailed finger, stopping the Missouri native in his tracks. “Toxxic’s Tarmac Terror!” the World Champion declares gleefully. “You have to breakdance on the tarmac!” “Say what?” Sly grumbles, but gets down and starts attempting to bust some ill moves on the rough surface as the rest of the competitors watch him in surprise and growing amusement. “Ah, friction burns,” King says. “I’ve never seen anyone try and breakdance in a trenchcoat before,” Pete notes. “How do I get out of here?” Sly groans, spinning fitfully on his back. He doesn’t notice Andrew Rickmen stepping up, Calvinball in hand… *boink!* “Like that! Hahahaha!” the Insane Luchador laughs. However, the Insane One is taken by surprise as Alan Clark grabs a nearby red flag and touches him with it. “I’ve touched you with the Disney flag,” Clark declares. “You have to impersonate Donald Duck for the next minute!” “Spprshshgh! Sppcrcrcrckkkkh!” IL shouts, clearly unimpressed and letting rip with a string of what would probably be expletives if he wasn’t busy doing an impression of everyone’s favourite sailor suit-wearing cartoon fowl. Meanwhile, on the other side of the roundabout Cortez and Pretzler are fighting for possession of a blue flag. Each man tugs as hard as he can, neither willing to let go. “You two are in the Good Friends, Better Enemies zone!” Austin Sly decrees, getting to his feet. “You have to do a song and dance!” “Uhh… we’re in a Boomerang Zone,” Pretzler says, thinking quickly. “That penalty goes back to you.” However, Sly just shakes his head sadly. “Sorry, you’re in an Opposite Zone on top of that Boomerang Zone,” the USJL Champion informs The Critic, “so it actually reverses back to you.” “Damn…” Cortez and Pretzler mutter together, then reluctantly release their respective grips on the flag and take up position next to each other as music starts up from nowhere. “It’s a penalty so-ong,” Pretzler begins in a pleasing tenor, “won’t you kindly sing along…” “Dum-dum-dum-dum…” Cortez chips in, providing the rhythm section. “You know I hate you…” Pretzler carols. “Yes, I know!” “…and I frustrate you…” “Yes, you do!” Cortez warbles, before the two join voices in a beautiful harmony. “But together we will sing and da-a-ance…” they sing, Revolution Zero and Martial Law joined for a moment through the magic of music. “Spppprghhshsy!” Insane Luchador yells off-camera. “…and take out Austin Sly, if we ever get the chance…” the unlikely duo finish, eyeing Sly with menace. The USJL champ gulps, but then- “Spprrrrghheessyysyyy!!!” Andrew Rickmen yells, leaping over the roundabout and flattening Cortez & Pretzler with a double clothesline! “Result!” Sly laughs. “I get 200 points!” *boink* “But I just hit you with the Calvinball and put you in the Foreign Exchage Rate Zone,” Toxxic says, coming up behind Sly, “so your 200 points have converted to 0.5!” “Ow!” Austin shouts, feeling the back of his head, then as an afterthought, “and damn!” Meanwhile, the Insane Luchador has got back to his feet and is waving the blue flag victoriously as he stands over Pretzler and Todd Cortez. “I did it! I impersonated Donald Duck for a minute!” Rickmen shouts. “That puts me in the Alcohol Area, and I declare every title holder needs to drink a bottle of Jack Daniels!” This announcement causes the two straight-edgers in the match, both of whom hold titles, to look at each other with a certain amount of concern. “Shit…” Cortez and Toxxic mutter, exchanging glances. However, all is not lost as Scott Pretzler thinks quickly. “Inverted Insanity Spot!” The Critic shouts from by the Insane Luchador’s feet, “it goes back to you!” “…I have to drink a bottle of Jack Daniels?” Rickmen asks, momentarily thrown, but Pretzler shakes his head as he picks himself up. “No, there are four title-holders in the match,” the Cruiserweight Champion explains, “so you have to drink four bottles.” “…kick ass!” the Insane Luchador shouts after a second. “Later!” The other five competitors watch Rickmen run off, punching one of the kids in the face as he goes. The remaining four children cheer and pour their sodas over their downed companion, chanting ‘You fucked up!’ as they do so. “Cheers, Scott,” Toxxic says, relieved of the prospect of having to drink alcohol, but Pretzler waves the thanks away. “No problem, boss.” “The score is now qwerty to weasel,” Funyon declares, completely straight-faced. Alan Clark picks up the Calvinball and proceeds to dribble it across the ground like a basketball, expertly evading crushed soda cans and clumps of grass. The other competitors look on, waiting to see where the former Disney employee is going with this… “If I score a basket, I win the match!” Clark exclaims breathlessly, causing the rest to exchange worried glances. Bloodshed’s alter ego leaps gracefully into the air and shoots for a nearby basket… “Yes! I win!” he yells, dancing on the spot. Funyon raises his microphone, but Sly is too quick. “Actually, that’s the Black Hole Basket,” he informs the crestfallen Martial Law member, “you’ve scored a Vortex Point.” “…and, that’s good?” Clark queries, certain in the depths of his soul what the answer is going to be. “It means you have to spin on the spot for twenty seconds!” Sly informs him, grinning sadistically. “Damn Vortex Points…” Clark grumbles, beginning his spin. After a few seconds he starts to wobble off course, clearly disorientated, and the other wrestlers see an opportunity. Pretzler is the first to grab the Calvinball. “If I score a basket, Clark gets another Vortex Point!” the Critic declares, shooting and scoring and then celebrating with a Canadian victory dance that bears an alarming resemblance to the Funky Chicken. “Bastard…” Clark groans, although whether he’s more put off by the extra twenty seconds or the dancing is unclear. We aren’t done yet though… “My turn!” Sly decides, following up on his original Clark-befuddling genius by getting the Calvinball and shooting a basket of his own. “I hate you…” is Clark’s only response as he steadily goes greener and greener. “I want a go!” Todd Cortez declares, perhaps mildly annoyed at Clark’s attempt to win his belt. The agile Hispanic takes a quick run-up and leaps high into the air, hitting home with a MASSIVE slam dunk! “Todd, not you too…” Clark moans, trying to keep his feet, but his Martial Law partner is unrepentant. “Right, my go,” Toxxic states, grabbing the Calvinball and taking aim. It leaves the Straight-Edge Sensation’s black-nailed hands and flies through the air… then bounces off the backboard and lands at his feet having noticeably failed to pass through the basket on the way down. The four non-spinning wrestlers look at it in silence for a moment before Toxxic mutters “bloody Yank game…” and picks it up again, then kicks it as hard as he can into Alan Clark’s groin! *CHING!* “Oooohhhh…” Clark groans and falls over, but the Calvinball has already ricocheted off and hits a time-fracture wicket “GOAL!” Toxxic shouts. “Right, now everyone has to move in slow motion!” “Liiiiiiikkkkkkeeeeee tttthhhhhhiiiiiiiissssss?” Austin Sly asks, turning his head incredibly slowly to look at the World Heavyweight Champion. “Yeeeeeeessssssssss,” Toxxic replies, nodding his head equally sluggishly. “ButI’minthecorolloryzonewhichsaysthatifyouareHardcoreChampionyoumoveatdoublespe ed!” Todd Cortez snaps, grabbing the Calvinball. “Yoooooouuuuuuuuuu whhhhhhhhaaaaaatttttttt?” Pretzler asks, but his query doesn’t come in time to prevent the Urban Legend from *boinking* him, Sly and Toxxic in quick succession. The Hardcore Gamer’s Champion then herds the three heels onto the roundabout with a shout of ‘Multiple spintime!’ and begins rotating it as fast as possible! Clark gets up still rather dizzy, sees his opportunity to take revenge and helps his Martial Law stablemate spin it even faster until Sly, Toxxic and Pretzler are hanging on for all their worth. “If we can hold on for twenty seconds we get 3,000 points!” Sly declares, trying to turn the situation to his advantage. “Only if you sing the American National Anthem first!” Cortez shoots back. The Canadian Pretzler and the Brit Toxxic clearly don’t have a clue, and Austin Sly tries but gives up after the first line murmuring ‘I feel sick…’. Satisfied that their plan is working Cortez and Clark suddenly stop the roundabout and the three heels stagger off. *boink* *boink* *boink* The three deadly Calvinball shots have flattened Toxxic, Sly and Scott Pretzler. Clark and Cortez pause for a moment to high-five each other, then look around to see what else they can use. Quickly their eyes light upon a length of carelessly-discarded rope and, showing the sort of environmental awareness that has brought Martial Law to the forefront of the industry, embark upon some praiseworthy recycling by using it to secure the three dazed heels together. Clark then gets a polka-dot flag and touches Toxxic, Sly and Pretzler with it. “This is the Song And Dance Flag,” he decrees, “You must do a routine out of Chicago!” “But this is a Bag Flag Zone!” Toxxic protests. “For your order to take effect you have to be hopping in a bag!” “Dammit…” Clark mutters. “Todd, can you see a bag anywhere?” However, as the two Martial law members look around for a suitable sack Sly, Toxxic and Cortez demonstrate their Houdini-like tendencies and manage to untie themselves. *boink* “Shower Zone!” Sly shouts as the Calvinball hits Todd Cortez in the back of the head. “Todd, you have to have a bucket of cold water tipped over you!” “Um… Opposite Zone!” Cortez tries desperately. “You have to have water tipped over you!” “Sorry, that just makes it an Inverted Shower Zone,” Sly informs him. “You have to do a headstand in a bucket of cold water!” “Goddammit!” Cortez seethes, and goes in search of a bucket of water. However, Martial Law is not that easily defeated and Alan Clark sets his sights on Sly. “You just touched the Pernicious Poem Place,” the former Disney employee informs the USJL Champion, “and that means you have to recite a poem of my choosing to a person of my choosing!” “…right…” Sly says, wondering where this is going. He quickly finds out as Clark whispers in his ear and the St. Louis native goes white before turning and fleeing, leaving Clark chuckling maliciously. “Well King, it looks like it’s down to Martial Law vs. Revolution Zero,” Longdogger Pete points out to his commentary partner, “at least until Sly and Insane Luchador get back - if they get back!” Meanwhile, near to the swings Todd Cortez is standing on his head in a bucket of cold water. Scott Pretzler wanders over, holding the Calvinball. “Guess how you get out of the Inverted Shower Zone?” the Critic asks, throwing the ball up and catching it again. Cortez’s only response is to bubble questioningly. *boink* “GODDAMMIT!” Cortez splutters as he overbalances and falls out of his bucket. Pushed beyond the limits of reasonable human endurance the Urban Legend leaps to his feet and begins pursuing his Canadian opponent who runs off making ‘woo-hoo-hoo!’ noises in a manner very similar to a certain stuffed tiger. Clark and Toxxic watch for a moment, then set off after their respective stablemates. “The game is on the move folks, but don’t worry, we have camera crews stationed all over Phoenix in preparation for this very eventuality,” Pete informs the viewers at home. “Yeah, the last game ended up on top of the Empire State Building, via Boston,” Suicide King reminisces. “And involved the summoning of GORO, as I recall.” Scott Pretzler is managing to stay ahead of his furious and soaked opponent until he comes upon the fence of a back garden that borders the playground. With a desperate leap the Critic manages to grab the top and begins to haul himself over. Cortez makes a grab for his foot and misses, and with Pretzler disappearing over the top the defending Hardcore Gamer’s Champion has to go in pursuit. Toxxic and Clark arrive at the fence moments later and both also start to scale it, hoping to keep in the game. “So we’re invading private property now,” King says disgustedly. “Honestly, can this federation fall any further?” “You mean this is worse than Wilson blowing up FAO Schwartz?” Pete asks in surprise. “…point taken.” “Or the crucifixion of Mayor McCheese?” “Ok, but that-” “Hell In A Pokeball?” “Listen, I-” “Or you becoming World Champion?” “I know, I know, but- HEY!” We leave the bickering of the commentators to rejoin the fortunes of the four remaining Calvinball contestants. Clark and Toxxic have descended from the fence to find Cortez and Pretzler grappling on the edge of a large swimming pool in the middle of a large and luscious lawn, watered and supplied by Arizona’s shameless and thoughtless draining of the Colorado River. [“Ok, you did Geography at school, can we get on with this?” King asks snarkily.] [“4th Wall!” LDP hisses.] Toxxic leaps into action first and charges across the lawn to pile into Cortez and Pretzler, but only succeeds in knocking all three of them into the swimming pool! *splosh!* Clark laughs from the safety of dry land but then sees that his stablemate Cortez is receiving a merciless ducking from the two Martial Law members. Alan picks up the Calvinball that Pretzler let drop when he entered the garden and takes careful aim… *boink!* Toxxic is struck on the head and sinks bubbling beneath the surface, leaving Pretzler and Cortez alone. The Urban Legend thinks quickly and grabs a towel behind him, then starts using it to choke the life out of the unfortunate Cruiserweight Champion! After a few seconds of oxygen deprivation Scott Pretzler is in a suitably limp state for Cortez to load him onto an inflatable lilo… AND ALAN CLARK APPROACHES THE DIVING BOARD! “He’s going up top, King!” Longdogger Pete shouts Martial Law’s third member (and fourth and fifth, depending on how many alter egos you count) ascends to the board which towers a good four feet above the pool surface. “If Alan Clark hits a move from there, I fear for Scott Pretzler’s safety!” “Just shoot me now,” King mutters, covering his eyes. Clark looks down at Scott Pretzler spread-eagled on the lilo, makes one bounce, a second bounce… and Toxxic resurfaces under the board and jogs it, causing Clark to lose his balance and crotch himself! “Ooooohhh…” the audience of kids groan, having followed the SWF superstars over the fence. The Straight-Edge Sensation, eyeliner running down his face, pushes Clark off the board and goes up top himself! Pretzler quickly nails Cortez with a back elbow and loads him onto the lilo, and Toxxic comes off the diving board… …somersaults forward through the air… …AND NAILS THE HANGOVER ON TODD CORTEZ THROUGH THE LILO! *SPLASH!* “Holy shit!” “Holy shit!” “Holy shit!” “The Hardcore Champion has been taken out!” Pete yells above the completely absent roar of the crowd. “It’s anyone’s game now!” Pretzler and Toxxic exchange a quick high-five in the swimming pool, but Revolution Zero’s celebrations are to be cut short as a loud, deep voice roars out across the garden… “GET OFF MY LAWN!” The camera pans around to the house at the head of the swimming pool where a figure has emerged. Black hair tied back in a ponytail, vinyl trenchcoat on and steel-tipped cane in hand… “It’s Nathaniel Kibagami!” Longdogger Pete shouts, almost pissing himself in his excitement. “They’ve gatecreshed Silent’s back garden!” “And for some reason he’s dressed as if going to the ring,” King notes. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, after the rest of today.” “Improbability Zone!” Clark yells in a rather high-pitched voice as he surfaces. “The first one to get Silent to sell wins the match!” The sheer enormity of the task facing them momentarily stops the two Revolution Zero members in their tracks, but Clark is undaunted and heads off for Kibagami at top speed. Meanwhile after a second Pretzler starts running too, but he heads for the side passage that leads to the front of the house. Clark has got to the non-moving Kibagami, grabs a nearby sledgehammer and- *WHAM!* -floors the former World Champion with one blow, causing him to land on his front! “Has he done it?” Pete asks in astonishment? “Has he made Kibagami sell?” “No, he’s not bothered by it,” King replies as the cameras show a close-up of Silent’s face. “Clark will have to work harder.” Alan Clark seems to realise this and jumps onto the River Dragon’s back, then begins busting out moves that can only have come from that dance craze that has already swept the nation, DDR! Time and time again Clark’s heels thud into Silent’s back. “He’s DDRing his spine!” Pete shouts, but King is unimpressed. “Bah, I’m sure Thoth tried that in chat once,” the Gambling Man declares as Kibagami abruptly rolls over and swats Clark away, “it didn’t work then either.” Nathaniel Kibagami rises back to his feet and grabs his steel-tipped cane again, waiting for the next challenger. A moment later a deep-throated roar is heard and a Lambourgini Diablo rounds the house with Scott Pretzler at the wheel! “It’s Silent’s car!” Pete cries in astonishment. “The dastardly Canadian has hot-wired Nathaniel’s car!” “And he’s driving it straight at him!” King shouts back as Pretzler steps on the gas. *BBBBRRRRRRMMMMMMMMM!!* The sports car accelerates at lightning pace, quickly picking up speed and slamming straight into the forbidding figure of The Slaughterer who flies backwards through the air and hit’s the fence on the other side of his own garden… “He’s done it!” Pete shouts as Pretzler lets out a whoop of joy. …but Kibagami gets straight back up and dusts himself off. “No, sorry,” King says. “Come on, Strangler no-sold getting hit by a car twice, Silent’s not going to.” Scott Pretzler sees the figure of the River Dragon advancing on him and gets out of the car to start to run. Silent looks to follow but is suddenly stopped as a shape with spiky black hair leaps on his back and wraps an arm around his throat! “It’s Toxxic!” Pete shouts as the Insane Luchador staggers into camera shot, the last empty bottle of Jack Daniels dangling limply from one hand. “What can the Straight-Edge Sensation do?” Toxxic’s other black-nailed hand creeps under the vinyl jacket… and begins to tickle! Kibagami holds out for a moment but then his legs buckle and the former World Champion collapses to the ground helplessly! Seeing his chance Toxxic steps up his assault by using the hand that had been around Kibagami’s neck as well, and now Nathaniel is in real trouble. The River Dragon struggles to hold the giggles in but the effort is clearly showing, and finally- “BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP IT! STOP IT!” *tap-tap-tap-tap-tap!* “…” is Longdogger Pete’s only response. “…The Slaughterer is ticklish. Who knew?” King says in stunned disbelief as Toxxic rolls off his still-chuckling enemy. The Straight-Edge Sensation raises both hands in the air in triumph as Todd Cortez pulls himself out of the swimming pool glaring daggers at him, and looks to Funyon (who has miraculously appeared nearby) for the official decision. “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the second-ever SWF Calvinball match - TOXXIC!” the veteran ring announcer declares. “However, the new SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Champion… THE INSANE LUCHADOR!” All eyes turn to Andrew Rickmen, who gives an unsteady wave and hiccups. “You what?” Toxxic queries, turning to Funyon. “How the bloody hell do you work that one out?” “Simple,” Funyon replies. “Rickmen is in a No Alcohol Zone, which means that the person with the lowest blood alcohol level wins the belt.” “…which would be me or Todd,” Toxxic argues, jabbing a finger into the dapper man’s chest. “NOT Rickmen!” “But the Insane Luchador is also in an Opposite Zone, which means that it’s the person with the highest blood alcohol level who wins it,” Funyon tells him. “I never heard him declare the Opposite Zone,” Toxxic says, turning to Clark, Cortez and Pretzler. “You guys?” The other three all shake their heads, but Funyon is already smiling. “Ah, but because it was an Opposite Zone he declared it by not declaring it,” the veteran ring announcer tells them all. “Quite simple, when you think about it.” Toxxic, Clark, Pretzler and Cortez just look at him, then shake their heads and walk off. Meanwhile Andrew Rickmen raises his new Hardcore Gamer’s Championship belt in the air before collapsing backwards. “He’s hardcore!” the children chant. “He’s hardcore! He’s hardcore!” ************************ In a space station far above the Planet Earth, Austin Sly adjusts his tie. A good job I have astronaut training under my belt the USJL Champion thinks, and that I could hitch a lift from that passing space shuttle. Now I just have to do this and I can get back to the match! Raising one hand he presses a button that causes a buzzer to go off. Sly steps back and waits. A few seconds later footsteps are heard and the door opens with the classic sci-fi *whoosh* noise, and Sly comes face to face with a familiar figure. “Yes?” Annie Eclectic asks impatiently, then does a double-take. “Hey, I know you… Austin Sly, isn’t it?” “Uh, yeah,” Sly responds. “Look, I think I might have got the wrong address, I was looking for-” “Who is it, Annie?” The voice is like silk razorblades and has a certain feral edge that causes the hair on the back of Austin’s neck to stand up. Maybe he does have the right address, after all? “It’s a guy from the SWF,” Annie says, turning to talk to the apartment’s other occupant. “Looks like he’s done some roids lately. Oh, and he’s dressed in a giant weasel costume,” Ichiban continues, looking Sly up and down. “A giant weasel costume with a giant, prosthetic penis.” “Really? How… interesting. There is a moment’s silence before faint, padding footsteps are heard with a click-click noise of the edge of hearing that puts the increasingly nervous Sly in mind of talons scraping on a hard floor. Moments later a tall, black-furred creature appears in the doorway, overtopping Annie by several inches, and fixes him with a stare from eyes like golden nails. “Well, little man?” Ebony asks, casually unsheathing the claws on her front paws - or are they hands, wonders Sly? “Uhm, I was in the Calvinball match,” he begins, “and Clark put me in the Pernicious Poem-” “Yes, we know, we were watching it on TV,” Annie interrupts. “Toxxic won but Rickmen won the title. We’re cooking dinner now. Can we help you?” “Wha- Rickmen won the belt? The match is over?” Sly gapes. “Oh well, in that case I’m sorry to have bothered you, I’ll just-” “Wait,” Ebony says, her claws suddenly hooking themselves through Sly’s weasel outfit, “I’m intrigued. What was this poem?” Sly looks at her and starts to wonder whether this was such a good idea, but then the truth dawns on him. He’s Austin Sly! He’s the USJL Champion, and he’s been doing roids! What mere female can hurt him? Carefully, he clears his throat. “This is a poem, so do as you’re told, My name’s Austin Sly, and I’m brave and I’m bold, I’m in a real hurry, this won’t take a tick, So get down on your knees bitch, and suck my dick!” Sly finishes by pointing to the giant prosthetic and hairy penis that adorns his costume. Annie and Ebony both blink in mild surprise, then turn to look at each other. Then look back at Sly. Then back at each other, eyes narrowing. Then back at Sly… “Urrk!” Moments later the door *whooshes* shut again, but of Austin Sly there is no sign, no sign at all. © Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2005 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
