SWF Storm 4-8-05

[chirs3 0]

Fade in to the Revolution Zero dressing room. Scott Pretzler is sitting in a folding chair, slumped over, chin supported by his hands. He appears to be in a state of either intense concentration or extreme frustration. Toxxic is leaning against the chair next to him.

 

“Pretz, you’ve gotta stop pouting. Not gonna do you any good, mate.”

 

“I’m not pouting,” Pretzler barks. Toxxic sighs in response.

 

“I know you’re upset that you lost your title. That’s what happens when you’re a champion. When I lost my belt to Landon last year, did I sit around and mope about it? …well, maybe for a while,” the Straight-Edge Sensation concedes, “but after that, I stopped bawling and I got my head back in the game.” Toxxic is doing his best to encourage his partner, but Pretzler remains resolute in his depression.

 

“Don’t you get it?” he moans, lifting his head from his hands. “It doesn’t bother me that I lost the title. It’s the fact that I lost it to him.To… Wildchild." He does not speak the name so much as he excretes it, forcing the syllables through his vocal cords like Cosmo Kramer attempting to pass a kidney stone. He grimaces in disgust.

 

“Hey, it’s not as if you got beat by Ash or someone like that,” Toxxic snorts. “I mean, I had my hands full with Dub-Cee a couple of weeks ago. He nearly beat me.”

 

“No. You don’t understand,” Pretzler insists. “He’s talented… at what he does. But I don’t consider what he does to be wrestling. He has no respect for the business. I lost all the time in ROR – well not all the time, actually quite rarely, and I’ve never submitted – but I wasn’t ashamed of those losses because my opponents were men who loved this sport and placed it above themselves. When I went down to defeat, I was really scoring a victory for sportsmanship and respect.” He has stood up now and is pacing in a tight circuit.

 

“And now this spot monkey comes along, making a mockery of professional wrestling, and takes away the title to which I was attempting to bring honor and credibility. Every somersault he turns is a slap in the face of pure wrestling; now he has a title that lends credence to his campaign, that tells people what he’s doing should be applauded. Don’t you see?” He stares at Toxxic awaiting a response, his face a mask of anguish.

 

Toxxic almost chuckles. “I think you’re overanalyzing it, is what I think. Just go and beat him and you won’t have anything to cry about. Though I guess you’ll have to get through Lil’ Buck first.”

 

“Little Buck? Who the hell is Little Buck?” He pronounces his opponent’s name carefully and with the most stereotypically exaggerated ‘honky’ squareness imaginable.

 

“Easy Pretz, you’re soundin’ more English than me,” Toxxic grins. “He’s your opponent tonight in the Butte Death Match.”

 

“I’ve never even heard of him. Have you?” Toxxic shrugs

 

“We’re not close, but I’m aware of his existence,” he concedes.

 

“Well, that’s good to know.”

 

“He’s a rap artist. Been shot quite a few times from what I’ve heard.”

 

“Forgive me. I’m not exactly a connoisseur of that style of ‘music’,” Pretzler sniffs. Toxxic, decked out in eyeliner and nail varnish so he looks like a punk who’s been dropped in the Goth Factory, gives him a look as if to say ‘what, and I am?’ Pretzler doesn’t notice and continues, “now what’s this you say about a Butte Death Match?”

 

“They’re holding it on an island in the middle of a pond. First person to touch the water loses.”

 

Pretzler smiles, trying desperately not to suggest that he has a sense of humor, but in the end he can’t help from bursting out in laughter at his friend’s joke.

 

“Nice one, Toxx. Solid gold!”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“Of course, of course.”

 

“No, I really am,” the World Champion insists. “Go check the card for yourself.”

 

Pretzler walks over to his laptop with curiosity. He logs onto the internet and plugs in the address of X-Net Wrestling. From there, he directs himself to the SWF’s website where the card is displayed. After a moment, he turns back to Toxxic. Aghast.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is bullshit! That’s not a match. That’s shit. Who booked this crap?”

 

“Same chumps as always.”

 

“Are they on fucking crack?” Pretzler is genuinely enraged. “Losing one insignificant title match does not make me a second-class wrestler!” Slowly, his rage subsides. The match will happen, and there’s no use in getting worked up over it.

 

Still, something feels wrong. Pretzler glances down at his shoulder, and then at his waist. Naked. Without the Cruiserweight Championship, he feels naked. Exposed. Or like a vital part of his body has just been violently hacked off. And for the few seconds that follow, he can’t seem to take his eyes off of Toxxic’s belt. It’s just so big. So round. So shiny. And such a rich history.

 

Some day. Some day, but not today.

 

“I just realized something,” he says.

 

“Whassat?”

 

“There are only two belts in the SWF not currently held by members of Wild and Dangerous. Doesn’t that strike you as… unfair? Unbalanced?”

 

“Sure does,” Toxxic acknowledges. “Guess we’d better take them away, right?”

 

“Assuming Wildchild doesn’t pull another victory out of his backside,” Pretzler mopes, but is brought up short as Toxxic stands up and crouches down in front of him.

 

“You could’ve beaten Wildchild,” Toxxic tells Pretzler, “you’ve got the ability to do it. Thing is, he’s got the ability to beat you as well, so it was never certain.” The World Champion flashes his stablemate a grin. “It’s all about beating them before you even get in the ring.”

 

“I don’t quite follow you,” Pretzler replies, narrowing his eyes curiously. Toxxic waves one black-nailed hand vaguely, in search of an explanation.

 

“It’s like… what’s the most powerful weapon we have?” he asks, fixing the Critic with his pale grey gaze. Scott is caught off-guard by the question and stutters, “well, I suppose one of the tag double-teams we’ve been working on…”

 

“Wrong,” Toxxic cuts him off. “I’m not talking about moves here, I’m talking about something much more useful. The most powerful weapon we have… is doubt.”

 

“Doubt?”

 

“Exactly,” Toxxic grins. “Think about it. Anger can be a deadly weapon, but can lead to you making mistakes. Fear; well, fear is useful to us, but fear can be overcome. You see, in order to fear you have to have some understanding of what is about to happen, or what might be about to happen. If you’re in doubt, if you’re uncertain, then you can’t prepare.” The Straight-Edge Sensation taps his World Title. “What do you think allowed me to pick this thing up three times? A small guy, doesn’t hit that hard, not very tough, mat wrestling was pretty poor until recently; all I had in my favour was that I was a slippery little bugger and I never gave up. But somehow, as I worked my way up the card, I kept winning.” Toxxic pauses to take a swig of Frost brand cola, mouth quirking up in that lopsided grin.

 

“That unsettled people. Here was this hotshot rookie who kept winning, even though he shouldn’t. I could see it in their eyes when I stepped into the ring. Wrestlers who should have taken me apart in short order - the Daces, the Fleshers, the rest - weren’t quite sure what they were getting, and they couldn’t quite prepare properly. And so I beat them, and I kept beating them. That’s the great thing about doubt,” the straight-edger adds, “the more you use it, the stronger it gets. Todd Cortez could have beaten me on Smarkdown; he’s a good enough wrestler to do it and I know it. But for all his focus and all his preparation, whether consciously or not, he didn’t know if he could beat me.” The Brit turns his eyes back onto Pretzler, and shrugs.

 

“Wildchild didn’t have any doubts; he knew. Whether you’d made him so mad he just went for you, whether he’s got ludicrous amounts of self-confidence, I don’t know. End of the day; it could’ve gone either way, and it didn’t go yours.” The Straight-Edge Sensation grins again, momentarily. “It works the same for me interrupting Johnny on Smarkdown.”

 

“Yes, I was meaning to ask you about that…” Pretzler says, eyeing his leader dubiously.

 

“Again; think about it,” Toxxic tells him. “Johnny and Wildchild are having their problems anyway, but me turning the screw a bit can’t hurt. Thing is, if I go out there and yak on likelihood is everyone will ignore me.” The Straight-Edge Sensation grimaces. “You know how it is; World Champion comes out and talks, and no matter how erudite my arguments everyone thinks they’ve heard it before and tunes out. Well, I think they paid attention on Smarkdown…”

 

“I think it’s safe to say that,” Pretzler nods. “So that was just another ‘unpredictable’ element?”

 

“Exactly,” Toxxic confirms. “Because they weren’t prepared for what I was gonna do, they’ll end up thinking about it a little more. Johnny’ll be thinking about how I was acting, but he’ll remember what I said too, and it might put a few doubts in his head. With a little bit of luck he’ll either cut Dub-Cee loose, or Wildchild will get paranoid and turn on him, which will make our lives just that little bit easier. One less team to get in our way. After all,” the World Champion grins, “why fight your enemies when you can make them fight themselves?”

 

“Oh, I’d really rather like to get my hands on Wildchild again…” Pretzler replies, but Toxxic slaps him on the shoulder.

 

“C’mon man, no time for daydreaming. We’ve got our big announcement to make.”

[chirs3 0]

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF STORM, FRIDAY, APRIL 8TH, LIVE FROM THE BUTTE NATIONAL FOREST IN BUTTE, MONTANA!

(8:00pm EST, 5:00pm PST; check local listings)

 

MAIN EVENT

SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP

The Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. JJ Johnson

-> Only YOU can prevent forest fires. In the same vein, fiery new competitor JJ Johnson is 2-0 and turning heads in the SWF's front office. In equally the same vein, Insane Luchadore is about to get fired, as he hasn't been on any shows since last week's Storm, where he pulled out a victory over Arch Griffon to retain the Hardcore title. Against JJ Johnson in the middle of the forest, can IL turn tricks twice?

Rules: None.

 

TWO ON TWO MATCH

Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix and "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez v. Johnny Dangerous and "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke

-> Johnny made some... unflattering comments towards Todd Cortez in his opening promo slot, prompting at least one member of SWFCC to get really pissed and change his MSN screenname to "[email protected]". Hawke also had some unkind words for Cortez, but his had some meaning behind them, as Hawke defeated Cortez a couple weeks back to secure his spot in the finals of the SWF Belt tournament. Furthermore, Johnny Dangerous is the man who defeated Hawke to become the new SWF International Champion. And finally, Landon and Johnny have never been on good terms. With so much bad blood in this match, it's liable to EXPLODE~... in the woods!

Rules: None. Tags are unnecessary as well.

 

HOUSE RULES MATCH

BUTTE DEATH MATCH

Lil' Buck v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler

-> Pretzler, fresh off a loss to Wildchild for the Cruiserweight championship, is probably out for blood, while Lil' Buck is still celebrating his victory on Smarkdown. Tonight, the iced-out Buck and the iced feet of Pretzler meet inthe House Rules stip... oooh, interesting.

Rules: Only you can prevent forest fires, right? Well, for the moment let's pretend that Lil' Buck and Pretzler are on fire. How would you put them out? By throwing them into the pond that's conveniently located about 1/4 of a mile from the wrestling ring! But instead of having to wrestle in a ring, they'll be wrestling on the small, 10ft by 10ft island in the middle of the pond. No ropes, nothing, just two guys on a grassy island. First person to hit the water loses. The crowd will be moved to around the pond for this match; entrances will be done via airlift.

 

HARDCORE OPENER

Ejiro Fasaki v. Arch Griffon

-> Ejiro is currently in MHA: Memphis Heels Anonymous. He's being taught how not to cheat, lie, and steal. Poor guy. Anyway, as Storm is the HARDCORE show, we figured we'd let Fasaki have a chance to regress in his MHA treatment, and who better to do it against than the man who came up short against Insane Luchadore last Storm, Arch Griffon?

Rules: None.

[chirs3 0]

The lights go up, the music plays and we’re LIVE~ for SWF Storm from the middle of a forest! No pyros, because they’re a fire risk, don’t you know!

 

“What the hell is the company coming to?” Suicide King asks, looking around at their woody backdrop with distaste. “You wouldn’t have seen a show in the woods when I was running this place!”

 

“Ah, it does you good to get close to nature,” Longdogger Pete laughs. “Lighten up, King!”

 

“Listen, in Nevada the only nature is hot, dry and often poisonous,” King grumbles. “Where’s my neon?”

 

Before the duo can argue any further the floodlights on hand - well, they don’t alter all that much but they might brighten a bit… anyway, if they could get brighter they would, and there is the faint *skritch-skritch* sound of a needle on vinyl over the PA system (surely noise pollution, but no matter). Then:

 

‘WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!’

 

The crunching guitars of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep kick up as the deep voice booms out over the Montana countryside, and a few seconds later the drums kick in. With no explosion of pyro to announce them it seems slightly anti-climatic when Scott Pretzler and Toxxic step through the curtain that’s been set up in front of what is serving the SWF as a backstage area for tonight, but they march towards the ring nonetheless.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring at this time,” Funyon booms, “‘The Critic’ Scott Pretzler, and the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’, Toxxic - REVOLUTION ZERO!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd is small but they still make their feelings known as Pretzler and Toxxic step through the ropes into the ring. Neither man makes much acknowledgement of the heckling they are receiving, and Toxxic beckons to Funyon for the microphone.

 

“Wotcha,” Toxxic begins, flipping the crowd a casual salute. The easy-going approach doesn’t win him many fans.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Now, I know what you’re all thinking,” Toxxic begins, “…and you can stop it right now, you dirty, perverted Montanan fleabags! It’s not big, it’s not clever, and what would your mothers say?”

 

“Er…huh?” Pete questions as the unexpected broadside from the World Champion furrows a myriad of brows in the crowd.

 

“Anyway, deviant practices with underage deer aside,” Toxxic continues, “I know you’re also thinking about me beating Todd Cortez on Smarkdown this Monday to retain the World Heavyweight Title.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“It’s probably orbiting round and round in what you please to call a brain, am I correct?” the World Champion asks. “You can’t believe that the Urban Bell-End came so close to winning the big one, right? In fact, you’re expecting me to stand here and drone on and on about what a fantastic struggle it was, and how I triumphed over adversity to stand tall once more at the top of the SWF mountain, out of the reach of all other challengers, blah blah bloody blah.”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Well, I’m not,” the Straight-Edge Sensation grins. “Thanks for coming Todd, see you again sometime. Now, instead you all get a sneak preview at the next issue of the SWF Workrate Report, as written by Revolution Zero’s own Scott Pretzler.”

 

“Oh no,” LDP pleads as the Canadian takes the mic, “can’t Toxxic talk about his achievements for half an hour?”

 

“Shush, you’ll spoil it,” King chides his partner as Pretzler clears his throat.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my opponent tonight is one ‘Little Buck’,” Pretzler begins, “no doubt a street name, as no mother would be that cruel. Given the overly-macho focus on manhood and the size of one’s genitalia in the ghetto culture Mr. Buck comes from, I am curious that he chose such an… unflattering adjective.”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“Now, as to Mr. Buck’s ring style I admit to being somewhat in the dark,” Scott plows on in the face of rampant verbal abuse. “I have heard reports that he is ‘streetwise’ and overall, something of a brawler. I would have watched his match against Arch Griffon on Smarkdown, but sadly my pre-match ritual occupied my attention - just as well, as otherwise I fear I may have been incapacitated through sheer horror. I assure all of you in attendance tonight that you will witness only a clean, crisp demonstration of wrestling prowess as I defeat him.” The Critic seems to have stopped, but then his mouth screws up in distaste and the words “on an island,” escape his lips.

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“Thank you Scott, thank you,” Toxxic says half-audibly as he applauds his stablemate before taking the mic back from him. “Now, some of you might accuse Mr. Pretzler here of being uncharitable, to which I say; does a bear shit in the woods?”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“No, no, seriously,” Toxxic continues, a look of concern on his face. “Does a bear shit in the woods? Because otherwise,” he says, pointing over the heads of the crowd with a black-nailed finger, “I want to know what the hell that thing’s doing over there!”

 

In some concern - they are in the middle of the Montana wilds, after all - the crowd turns around to see a huge, hairy and horrific shape lumbering towards them…

 

“Oh, it’s just Strangler,” the World Champion says in a tone of relief. “Poke him if he’s a nuisance but for God’s sake don’t feed him, someone gave him sugar in Billings and we couldn’t get him off the arena roof for three hours… anyway,” the Brit begins again as Scott Pretzler looks sideways at him, “what I was going to say was; for those of you who think Scott’s uncharitable, he and I found someone on Smarkdown who’s performance we did like. In fact, we liked his performance on Lockdown as well.”

 

“Ooh, I feel an induction coming on!” King says gleefully.

 

“Have you taken your tablets?” Pete responds acidly.

 

“A few weeks ago, Revolution Zero was cut from three to two by the actions of Spike Jenkins,” Toxxic states, and now a hint of the old anger has returned to his voice. “Last Monday, the Cruiserweight Title was removed from us for the first time in six months by the actions of Wildchild. Unfortunately for Spike, Wildchild, and all of you,” he continues, pointing out at the crowd before his mouth quirks up in that trademark lopsided grin, “…we’ve got a new friend.”

 

Suddenly ravens ‘caw’ over the PA system, and a thudding, deliberate drumbeat kicks up.

 

“So will you please welcome, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada,” Toxxic concludes, “the newest member of Revolution Zero, and soon-to-be new SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Champion… JAY JAY JOHNSON!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

As ‘End Of Everything’ by Stereomud blasts over the speakers a figure steps out into the view of the cameras and the crowd, robed in red and white with the hood up. Nearby fans jeer and wave waterproofed signs at Johnson, but if the Canadian sees them he gives no indication as he advances towards the ring with his arms outstretched. Upon reaching the steps he throws back his hood and locks eyes with the Straight-Edge Sensation, then steps through the ropes into the ring.

 

“Well, JJ Johnson has had an impressive start in the company, with two wins over veterans in the shape of Ced Ordonez and Manson that have lead to his match against the Insane Luchador tonight,” Longdogger Pete admits. “I certainly can’t fault Revolution Zero in their choice of new member, but I can’t help but think that this can only be a bad thing for the SWF as a whole!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Suicide King protests as Johnson shakes hands with first Pretzler, then Toxxic. “Revolution Zero are restored to full strength! Things can’t be any better, unless Wild and Dangerous were to suddenly dissolve and leave their titles behind!”

 

The crowd are putting all their effort into booing as the newly-formed triumvirate, but Toxxic can’t let them have the last word. Neglecting the tradition of giving the newly-inducted wrestler something to say - since, after all, Johnson hardly ever speaks - the Straight-Edge Sensation raises his microphone once more.

 

“They say that ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’,” he begins. “Well SWF, there’s a new crowd in town! Scott Pretzler will take you to the mat and tie you up in, excuse the pun, pretzels. JJ Johnson will do exactly the same thing, but with a bit more bite to it. And me… well,” Toxxic laughs, “you all know what I can do. If you don’t ask Todd Cortez! If anyone thinks they can stop us - Prepare To Be Proved Wrong!”

 

The crowd boos, but Toxxic’s not quite done.

 

“If anyone gets in our way… WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!”

 

*BOOOM!*

 

Now the pyro goes off, a blast of red from each ringpost. And standing exactly in the middle, shoulder-to-shoulder, are three men.

 

Revolution Zero.

 

 

 

 

 

STARWIPE~! to an advert for the latest X-Box game - ‘War Manatee’, in which you control a deranged aquatic mammal with a hunger for top-quality detergent and access to high-powered weaponry!

[chirs3 0]

Editor¡¦s Note: Due to circumstances beyond our control (i.e. that Mark has got taco shits like you would not believe) our normal writer is unable to perform his duties tonight. In absentia, his part will instead be played by the ever-popular FOOOG. May god have mercy on our souls.

 

DEAR TOMMY,

 

I AM FOOOG AND I LIKES THE MUSC! DID I EVER TELL YOU THAT ME AM TEAM PLAYER AND EJIRO IS THE NOT? HE IS THE NOT! HE HAD MATCH WITH MERV GRIFFON AND DID NOT SPIN THE WHEEL!!111!!! HE DID NOT BUY VOWEL!!!!! HE INSTEAD HIT MERV WITH VERY HEAVY OBJECTS THAT WOULD NOT MERV OUT IF MERV NOT HARDCORE! BUT MERV AM VERY HARDCORE AND HE HAVE HIM BIG KNIFE! THAT NOT KNIFE! THIS AM KNIFE! FOOOG LOVE PAUL HOGAN. MERV HIT EJIRO WITH OBOE AND IT WAS GOOD EXCEPT POOR OBOE WAS HURT AND THAT MADE ME :( MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON OBOE¡¦S SOUL. THEN MERV HIT EJIRO WITH A RICE PADDY AND EJIRO SAID, ¡¥me no likey!¡¦ AND FOOOG LAUGHED SO HARD, THAT I LOOKED LIKE :) ME NO LIKE THAT EJIRO BECAUSE HE ONCE MADE ME DO BAD THINGS TO HIM IN THE BACK OF A LIMO.

 

 

 

 

 

FOOOG NO LIKE WATCHING WIGGLES!

 

 

 

 

BUT THAT NO NEITHER HERE THERE WHERE TEAR OR PEAR! BECAUSE ARCH OF TRIUMPH AM KICKING EJIRO IN THE PANTS AND FOOOG AM HAPPY! TOMMY, I NEVER DID LAUGH SO HARD AS WHEN EJIRO WENT ¡¥me no likey!¡¦ IT MAKE FOOOG CHORTLE AND I NO KNOW WHAT DAT MEAN! CHORTLE! CHORTLE! I HOPE MERV HIT EJIRO WITH PIE! OOOOH KNOW! EJIRO PULLED OUT BOMB! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

 

 

EVERYONE DIED EXCEPT THOTH¡K AND FOOOG. WE HAD TO REPOPULATE THE EARTH.

 

I WAS THE GIRL TOMMY! I WAS THE GIRL!

 

DOES THIS DRESS MAKE ME LOOK FAT?

 

EJIRO WIN MATCH THEN WITH SAMURI SWORD AND FOOOG WENT ƒ¼

 

SINCERELY YOURS,

 

FOOOG S. PRESTON, ESQUIRE.

 

 

 

 

PS: I AM TEAM PLAYER, NOT LIKE EJIRO

 

PPS: THOTH AM GENTLE LOVER

 

PPPS: I LOVE THOTH

 

PPPPS: DO YOU THINK ME AND THOTH AND YOU CAN BE A NEW TEAM¡K

 

PPPPPS: OF LOVERS?

 

PPPPPPS: WHY WON¡¦T YOU LOVE ME TOMMY?

 

PPPPPPPS: WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

 

PPPPPPPPS:

Edited April 9, 2005 by Ace309

[chirs3 0]

"If you go out to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise."

 

We're backstage now, as the camera shot pans upwards from the grassy floor, slowly up the torso of whoever it is that's speaking. Past the tree stump that he's sitting on. And the Cheat 2 Win t-shirt. To the face of Landon Maddix, illuminated only by the light coming from the camera, as he sits somewhere in the woods.

 

"If you go out to the woods today, you'd better go in disguise."

 

Smiling, Maddix adjusts his positioning on the stump...which isn't exactly the most comfortable of seating.

 

"Of course, that's no problem for you Johnny Dangerous, is it? Mr Secret Agent. The proud, new SWF International Champion. Mr Nice Guy. The man who can do no wrong, who's fighting the good battle for all his little fans in the SWF. Right? Well...that's not strictly true now, is it? Mr Morality just isn't an accurate description anymore Johnny and you know it."

 

Standing up off the stump, with god knows how many splinters in the backs of his legs, Maddix looks into the camera with distain.

 

"You see, I'm sick and tired of being portrayed as the 'bad guy' who always cheats, while Johnny Dangerous can still walk around claiming to be whiter than white. We all know what you're capable of Johnny. Nevermind your shady actions in recent weeks and nevermind the lengths you went to, to take the ICTV Championship from my weakened, injured grasp. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the shadier side to Johnny Dangerous. The one you seem all too quick to forget when getting on your moral highground towards people like me and Toxxic. The one...that few of us remember now."

 

 

"But some of us still remember."

 

 

"Tonight, it's tag team action. I'm sure you're not looking forward to the match, considering the setup. I mean, you, having to team with Jay Hawke? That's not what you want. You'd much rather team with our new, Cruiserweight Champion, The Wildchild. Right? Well Johnny...you're not the only one. THIS...was supposed to be Martial Law's night! This was going to be our triumphant night! Todd Cortez and Landon Maddix were going to come in and take the Tag Team Titles from around your waists. Only...that's not going to happen. Because Wildchild is nowhere to be seen tonight. Ironic, no?"

 

Maddix sneers.

 

"What's wrong with this picture? Johnny Dangerous, holding two titles. And me, holding none. To the untrained eye, it looks like Johnny Dangerous is more successful than Landon Maddix. But the fact is, you and Wildchild have been ducking Martial Law for MONTHS now! Hell, you've been ducking what's left of the entire tag team division! You're paper champions. Title-holders in name only. The fact you hold four title belts between you makes me sick to my stomach. And you know what's worse...the situation won't change. And why? Because Wildchild...still remembers."

 

Suddenly, a smile creeps over Maddix's face.

 

"Oh yeah, he remembers. You want to know why those Tag Team Titles are sitting and collecting dust? Because he doesn't trust you. Considering your recent actions, plus what you've done to him in the past...it's hardly surprising that he won't defend those titles. Hell, if I were in his boots, I wouldn't want to be in the same ring as you either, Johnny. Behind the 'nice guy' exterior, who KNOWS what you're thinking. What you're planning. I don't blame Wildchild for going after the Cruiserweight Title, rather than team with you. I wouldn't blame him for being conveniently absent everytime Martial Law asks for a Tag Title shot for another three, four months. Because you can't be trusted. Mr 'Secret Agent'. It's about time someone exposed you. Exposed you not just for the lying, conniving bastard that you are...but for the mediocre wrestler you are too."

 

Sitting back down, Maddix looks over his shoulder, deep into the dark woods behind him.

 

"So, we don't get our Tag Title shot tonight against Queer Guy And The Private Eye. But tonight, after I run through you and Cortez runs through Jay Hawke...you'll have no choice but to give Martial Law what it deserves. An International Title shot...a Cruiserweight Title shot...and a Tag Title shot. And once you're beltless again, then I look forward to the Wild and Dangerous...or, should that be Wild VERSUS Dangerous...fireworks show."

 

 

"See ya later, Johnny."

[chirs3 0]

SWF Storm returns from a commercial for Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: “Come try the new Juiced Up barbecue sauce” and a severely underpaid camera operator pans around the small gathering of people ringed around the pond in the Butte National Forest before quickly cutting to Longdogger Pete and the Suicide King seated at a picnic bench while road agent Mr. Bukkake wanders around, keeping the fans in check.

 

“Welcome back to another hardcore edition of Storm! We’re live from the Butte National Forest in Butte, Montana!” Pete booms into a wireless microphone. “Say, King, what exactly is Mr. Bukkake doing over there?”

 

“He’s maintaining order for this, and all matches here tonight,” King replies.

 

“I know that. I’m asking why is his hand at his waist and moving back and forth so quickly.”

 

“All a part of keeping order for tonight, Pete.”

 

“So what, he’s got a Super Soaker or something? I don’t see how a water gun will keep several hundred excited wrestling fans from intervening in matches,” Pete says, a bit confused.

 

“Oh, it’s not a water gun, I’ll tell you that,” King chuckles to himself.

 

“Well, whatever it is, it seems to be working. Anyway fans, we’ve got a great House Rules match right now! Undefeated new comer, Lil’ Buck will take on former World Cruiserweight champion ‘The Critic’ Scott Pretzler,” Pete says. “And the first helicopter is coming in, so this match is about to get started!”

 

Pete’s words ring true as a helicopter lands in the middle of the island, and Funyon hops out, taking care to keep his head low. The chopper rises back into the air while another flies towards the island, presumably carrying one of the wrestlers.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a Butte Death Match! The first wrestler to throw his opponent into the pond will be declared the winner. Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, he weighs two hundred, twenty-six pounds and is a member of Revolution Zero, ‘THE CRITIC’, SCOTT PRETZLER!” Funyon roars into a bullhorn.

 

Scott climbs out of the helicopter while Funyon holds his bullhorn up to a boombox and presses play. The stirring notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony blast while a particularly feisty spectator hurls a pine cone, hitting ‘The Critic’ in the head. Pretzler grumbles while Bukkake is at the fan in a flash, and seconds later, sobbing can be heard.

 

“This should be a very interesting match. Scott Pretzler is a cruiserweight in name only, as he prefers to grind things out on the mat. I don’t think he’s quick enough to torment Lil’ Buck with hit and run attacks, and that might spell the Critic’s downfall,” Pete notes.

 

“So you’re counting him out and the match hasn’t even started? Just for that, I predict Scott Pretzler will snap a few of Lil’ Buck’s joints, and win this match easily,” King replies.

 

“You know, that might have worked better if everyone didn’t know you were going to pick Pretzler in the first place,” Pete adds.

 

Pretzler’s chopper slowly rises from the island while Buck’s hovers near by, waiting for enough room to land.

 

“And his opponent, from Lanett, Alabama, he weighs in at two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts.

 

The copter lands and Buck steps out. He begins to raise his arms, but thinks better of it with the chopper so close. Buck takes off his Pete Maravich jersey, hands it and his pimp cup to Funyon who climbs into the helicopter and starts Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck”. The chopper flies off the island, lands on the bank, and Funyon steps out, ready to fulfill his ring announcer duties. Referee Matthew Kivell, seated on a floating lounger in the pond, signals for the match to begin.

 

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

 

“Funyon has just rang the cow bell, so this match is underway!” Pete exclaims.

 

“And we’ll see just how bad Lil’ Buck really is! Scott Pretzler is going to snap every bone in his body and toss him into the pond,” King shoots back.

 

Pretzler and Buck circle each other, both wary of how easy defeat can come with this stipulation. Buck aims a left hand for Scott’s head, but ‘the Critic’ catches it prior to contact and pulls Buck to the ground with an armbar takedown. Scott easily transitions it into a hammerlock, and for good measure grinds his forearm into the back of Buck’s neck.

 

“See that! Scott Pretzler is in control of this match. His extensive ring knowledge is surely going to pay off here,” King says.

 

“Firstly, it’s only just started. Second, there is no ring at all, and I think that means Lil’ Buck, with his street fighting ways, has the advantage,” Longdogger quips back.

 

“Oh please, Pete. ‘Street fighting ways’? There aren’t any bricks or tire irons Buck can use.”

 

“Or brass knuckles,” Pete adds, prompting a glower from King.

 

Sugarhill’s Finest slowly rises to his feet, but before he can get in any offense, Pretzler releases the hammerlock and throws a knee into Buck’s stomach and cinches in a front facelock. Scott jumps, scissors Buck’s torso, and drags the Arrogant Alabaman to the ground.

 

“Front Guillotine Neck Lock from Pretzler, and that move can really make a person light headed. However, if Lil’ Buck passes out, will ‘the Critic’ be able to drag him to the edge and dump him in the water?” Pete queries.

 

“Of course he can! He’s more than capable. Who do you think he is, Wildchild?” King scoffs.

 

Buck takes advantage of one of Scott’s arms being occupied with his neck, and begins landing punches and forearms into Pretzler’s rib cage. The onslaught proves to be too much, and ‘the Critic’ quickly lets go. The Gangsta of Love shoves ‘the Critic’ away and slowly gets to his feet. Pretzler, miffed over his hold being stopped, charges for Lil’ Buck, who just so happens to be doing the exact same thing. Lil’ B wraps his arms around Scott’s head, spins around and kicks his legs out, pulling Pretzler down hard to earth.

 

“Scott Pretzler just got Bucked Up! That can’t be good for his neck,” Longdogger states.

 

“Oh, come on Drain-Clogger! I’ve seen Pretzler take that move ten, fifteen times in a row during training sessions! It’s a fairly weak move, but you would know that if you spent less time playing with yourself,” King spits back.

 

Buck stays on the ground, sleeper hold locked in as Pretzler can’t really do too much to free himself. Scott’s trying, though, and after more spastic movements than an epileptic being shocked with a cattle prod, ‘the Critic’ manages to roll over on his side.

 

“See! He’s fighting it off! Pretzler won’t go down that easily!” King shouts.

 

“True, but look at his face! I don’t recall it ever being that red before,” Pete replies.

 

Pretzler, gasping for air, slams an elbow into Buck’s head, but the hold stays on. Scott fires off one more, and yet another elbow, but Lil’ Buck won’t let go. It must be weird Canadian tradition, as for ‘the Critic’, the fourth time’s the charm, and Buck relinquishes, wanting to keep his face intact. Scott quickly rolls away from Buck, but stops himself a foot from the edge of the island.

 

“And Scott Pretzler is free. He was close to rolling into the water. Would have been tragic for him to escape that sleeper and end up beating himself,” Pete says.

 

“You disgust me, Peter. You can’t even talk about how great Scott Pretzler was to escape that hold without bringing in masturbation innuendo.”

 

Sugarhill’s Finest gets to his feet, shakes out a few cobwebs, and waits for Pretzler to rise. Still beet red, ‘the Critic’ stands, turns, and gets a great view of Lil’ Buck charging towards him. Scott closes the distance and leaps, nailing Buck in mid-air with a dropkick, sending B crashing to the ground.

 

“Nice dropkick from ‘the Critic’! If Buck managed to hit that leaping clothesline, there’s no doubt that Scott Pretzler would have landed in the pond,” Pete says. “Well, King, was that clean enough for you?”

 

“You did the best you could with your perverted mind, Pete, that’s what counts. But, you didn’t spend enough time talking about what a great looking dropkick ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler has. Only surpassed by mine, of course,” King adds.

 

‘The Critic’ crawls over to Buck, rolls him onto his stomach, and grabs the Gangsta of Love’s head and right arm.

 

“Crossface chickenwing! If Scott Pretzler can properly link his hands together, he might be able to render Lil’ Buck unconscious!” Pete exclaims.

 

“Ah-ha! So you concede defeat for Lil’ Buck!”

 

“I never said that, King!”

 

“You didn’t have to! Like there’s any chance that Scott Pretzler won’t be able to clinch his hands, or that Lil’ Buck will break free,” King says.

 

Pretzler is simultaneously trying to grab his hands and roll Buck over, but with Lil’ B struggling to avoid both, not much is getting accomplished. Sugarhill’s Finest manages to roll onto his stomach, and with help from his free hand, slowly climbs to his feet, Scott dangling a few inches off the ground. Eyes watering from the pain, Buck slams an elbow into Pretzler’s head, and adds another as Scott won’t release the hold. Rather than throw another elbow, Buck opts to fall backwards, trapping Pretzler between a gangsta and a hard place. The air gone from his lungs, ‘the Critic’ lets go of the hold, allowing Lil’ Buck to crawl away and catch his breath.

 

“Lil’ Buck manages to free himself from that crossface chickenwing. Don’t you have something to say, King?” Pete asks.

 

“Yeah, Lil’ Buck sucks.”

 

“I meant in regards to you claiming Scott Pretzler would be victorious right about now,” Pete says, exasperated.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Drain-Clogger. However, I do think, wait, I know that ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler will win this match tonight,” says the Suicide King.

 

Buck slowly rises to his feet, stalks towards ‘the Critic’, and slams a double axhandle into Scott’s face, knocking him flat. Sugarhill’s Finest adds a stomp for good measure before pulling Pretzler up off the ground. Lil’ Buck drills Scott with another axhandle, this time to the stomach, doubling him over. Buck grabs Scott’s left arm and threads it between his legs, prompting a cheer from the crowd.

 

“It looks like Lil’ Buck is about to Pump it Up!” Pete shouts.

 

“Oh please! He couldn’t do that if his life depended on it. What is it, anyway?” King inquires.

 

“If you couldn’t already tell, it’s a pumphandle move,” Pete explains.

 

“Well, I can see that. Which pumphandle move is it?”

 

“It’s whichever pumphandle move he wants to use at this point in time,” Pete says.

 

Buck hooks Scott’s right arm and lifts Pretzler off the ground. Lil’ Buck swings ‘the Critic’ around, but Scott has a firm grip of Buck’s arm. Pretzler throws one leg over the back of the Gangsta of Love’s neck, and clamps his other leg on top of it.

 

“Triangle choke from Scott Pretzler! ‘The Critic’ just locked on a modified triangle choke while Lil’ Buck was attempting a pumphandle powerbomb! Were this a standard match, that hold is a great way to weaken the opponent’s neck for the Snowflake Clutch,” Longdogger points out.

 

“Of course! Scott Pretzler is a technical genius! He’s got Lil’ Buck’s every move planned out ten steps before Buck does it!” King exclaims.

 

“So he just decided to let Buck do the Bucked Up to him for fun?”

 

“Hey Pete, shut up.”

 

Struggling for air, Buck lifts Pretzler up and slams him to earth, hoping to dislodge ‘the Critic’. Scott won’t give up such a debilitating hold that easily, forcing Lil’ Buck to pull him up once more and drive him back into the ground.

 

“Lil’ Buck trying to knock Scott Pretzler off with those powerbombs, but ‘the Critic’ seems to be dug in like a tick,” Pete says.

 

“Eww! Don’t even want to think about that!” King replies with a shudder.

 

Buck tries to lift Pretzler once more, stops himself, and instead walks towards Pretzler’s head, rolling all of Scott’s weight onto his neck.

 

“Lil’ Buck deciding to change tactics. This might work far better, as now Scott Pretzler has to support his weight, and a good deal of Lil’ Buck’s on his neck,” Pete informs.

 

“Come on, Pretzler! Keep it on a little bit longer! He can’t take much more!” King cheers on from the picnic table, going so far as to wrench the bullhorn from Funyon to amplify his words.

 

The pressure is too much for ‘the Critic’, as he’s forced to let go and roll away from Lil’ Buck. Sugarhill’s Finest collapses to his knees, and sets to massaging out the pain in his neck. One neck crack later, Buck is back on his feet, waiting for Pretzler to do the same. Slowly, Scott stands, shakes his head, and catches a forearm to the jaw, knocking him back to the ground.

 

“Chin check from Lil’ Buck! That nearly sent Scott Pretzler flying!” Pete shouts.

 

“I really doubt that, Dog-Snogger...”

 

“What the hell does that mean?” Pete interrupts.

 

“I’m not sure. I think I heard Card say it once. I think it’s British for ‘washer’. Now, may I continue my thought?” King asks.

 

“By all means. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for killing off an endangered species,” Pete says, allowing himself a chuckle.

 

“Anyway, there’s no way that forearm would have sent Scott Pretzler head-over-heels. Besides, if it did, he’d land on his feet, and bam! lock Lil’ Buck in the Snowflake Clutch,” King says.

 

The Gangsta of Love yanks ‘the Critic’ up by his hair and shoves him into a standing head scissors. Taking precaution after the triangle choke, Buck grabs Scott’s arms and crosses them against his chest. Holding Pretzler’s wrists, Buck lifts him off his feet and drives him violently into the ground.

 

“Pyramid driver from Lil’ Buck! He didn’t want to get caught in that triangle choke a second time, so he crossed Pretzler’s arms. Wise move,” Pete says.

 

“Oh, come on! I’ve seen infants that know to use a cross-armed powerbomb after being trapped in a triangle choke while attempting a powerbomb!” King shouts back.

 

“Wrestling babies? Oh, that must have been where you racked up your impressive seventy match winning streak,” Pete replies.

 

Buck steps away from Pretzler in order to brush some dirt from his shoulder, but this act of personal hygiene prove to be a downfall, as Lil’ Buck eats an elbow to his back. The Arrogant Alabaman turns around swinging, but Pretzler is expecting it and manages to catch Buck’s arm. He gives it a twist and fires off a kick that crashes into Lil’ Buck’s armpit. Pretzler torques on the arm once more, jumps in the air, and scissors it.

 

“Crucifix armbar! Cross arm breaker! Call it what you will, but that hold is dangerous!” Pete shouts.

 

“Great thinking by Scott Pretzler in using it, too. If Lil’ Buck has a broken arm, he can’t really slam Pretzler around,” King adds.

 

“How true, King. Why, Mak Francis employed the same hold on Smarkdown against Spike Jenkins, and Jenkins was lucky to get a rope break, otherwise, as you said, his arm might be broken. I’m just worried that with no way for victory other than throwing the opponent into the water, even if Lil’ Buck taps out, which would serve no purpose, Scott Pretzler might keep that hold on until he heard a snap,” Pete notes.

 

“Oh come on, Hot-Dogger! Is ‘the Critic’, Scott Pretzler the kind of person who would keep a hold on longer than necessary? Of course he is, and that’s what makes him a great wrestler!” King laughs.

 

Buck struggles to stay on his feet, knowing that he might not have a chance once he goes to the ground. Using his free hand, Buck moves his arm in front of his body and drives Pretzler head-first into the ground. Scott keeps the hold on, though, and once again, Lil’ Buck rolls ‘the Critic’ onto his neck.

 

“Scott Pretzler is in this position for the second time tonight! That neck is going to be sore in the morning,” Pete notes.

 

“Nothing a nice iced bottle of champagne he’ll get after he wins this match won’t fix,” King adds.

 

“But will Toxxic allow it? Surely you mean a bottle of sparkling grape juice.”

 

“No, I don’t, and don’t call me Shirley!” King exclaims.

 

‘The Critic’ cannot withstand the pain, and releases Buck’s arm after several seconds. Lil’ Buck clutches his arm and walks to the opposite side of the island while Scott Pretzler lays on his back, holding at his neck. Sugarhill’s Finest seems to have alleviated as much pain as possible, and heads towards ‘the Critic’. Scott sits up, only to eat a boot to the face, knocking him back down. Buck pulls Pretzler up, keeps hold of his arm, and yanks him into Buck’s knee. Lil’ Buck slides behind Scott, snakes his arms between Scott’s, and lifts Pretzler into the air.

 

“Short-armed knee lift from Lil’ Buck, and it looks like we’re going to see the Champion’s Requiem! If Scott Pretzler’s neck was bad now, I shudder to think what it will be after this move!” Longdogger shouts.

 

“I don’t know, Log-Roller. Lil’ Buck’s arm can’t be feeling good, and I don’t know if a half nelson will have the same impact as a full nelson would,” King says.

 

“Amazingly insightful, uh, insight, King. And I’m surprised that you actually know what the Champion’s Requiem is,” Pete adds.

 

Scott doesn’t stay airborne too long, and Buck drops him back down. Flailing wildly, Pretzler manages to get a few good shots on Buck’s arm, forcing the Gangsta of Love to abandon any thoughts of a full nelson.

 

“See? I told you!” King exclaims.

 

“Okay, that’s once out of what, a thousand times you were wrong? Don’t get too cocky with that kind of record,” Pete says.

 

The half nelson seems to be doing its trick, though, as Pretzler is clawing furiously for freedom. Lil’ Buck leans down on Scott, adding more pressure, but in doing so, he overbalances to the left, allowing ‘the Critic’ to spin out while Buck does a face plant.

 

“Yes! Pretzler is free! Come on, Scott, you can do it! Lock him in the Snowflake Clutch and dump him in the pond, just like how I did with those two guys who...” King stops, realizing how much he’s said.

 

Pretzler slowly rises, rubbing some feeling into his neck, before heading towards Lil’ Buck. ‘The Critic’ grabs Buck’s weakened right arm and pulls him up by it. Pretzler heaves on the appendage, jerking Sugarhill’s Finest towards him. Scott darts to the side, wrapping Buck’s arm across his throat and drops to the ground, taking Lil’ Buck with him.

 

“Arm wrench neck breaker from Scott Pretzler! That can’t be good for Buck’s arm, as it stretched it across his body,” Longdogger points out.

 

“Pete, you ignorant slut! It’s not good for any part of Lil’ Buck, as if you were observant like me, you would notice that Lil’ Buck is halfway set up for the Snowflake Clutch!”

 

“My, my, my, you’re correct! I just wonder if Scott Pretzler notices it,” Pete says.

 

“Of course he does! ‘The Critic’, Scott Pretzler knows what every move he does can best be followed up with. You think he does things just to do them, with no idea of what he’ll do afterwards? Not a chance!” King bellows.

 

Pretzler, still holding on to Lil’ Buck’s arm, gets to his feet, and smirking at how easy the next step will be, crosses Buck’s other arm against his throat and pulls back.

 

“And just as you said it, King, Scott Pretzler has the Snowflake Clutch locked in tight on Lil’ Buck! I don’t know how long Buck will last before he passes out, as I seriously doubt ‘the Critic’ will release the hold under any other circumstances,” Longdogger states.

 

“Well, if he did, he’d be just about the biggest idiot ever, second only to you of course, Clogger.”

 

Despite being relatively unknown, the fans around the pond have taken up Buck’s cause, most likely due to the fact that the other option is Scott Pretzler.

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Buck seems to be ignoring the crowd, though it’s not out of rudeness, but the fact that he’s having trouble breathing with his arms wrapped around his throat. Sugarhill’s Finest tries to get to his feet, but Pretzler pulls down, forcing Buck back to the ground. Thrashing like a rabbit caught in a snare, Lil’ Buck tries every thing he can think of to escape, the only problem is that with an obstructed oxygen supply to his brain, he can’t think of too much. Slowly, after what seems like hours, Buck stops struggling and slumps down as much as a person can with his arms around his neck and being held by another person.

 

“Lil’ Buck has passed out from the pain and lack of oxygen from the Snowflake Clutch. Now all ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler has to do is push him into the pond and the match will be his,” Pete says.

 

“That’s easier done that said, Brain-Fogger! This match should be over in about ten seconds, then,” King replies.

 

Pretzler lets go of Lil’ Buck, allowing him to fall back on the ground. This proves to be a mistake, as ‘the Critic’, try as he might, cannot pull Sugarhill’s Finest off of the ground.

 

“Scott Pretzler looks to be in a bit of pickle. He can’t lift Lil’ Buck, but you can’t blame him. That’s a lot of dead weight to slang up like that,” Pete says.

 

“Slang up? Why’d you pick now to revert back into your stupid accent?” King wonders.

 

“I don’t know. It just seemed appropriate, somehow.”

 

“Pete, it’s bad when you make me wish that NTD was announcing matches with me instead of you,” King says.

 

Pretzler grabs Lil’ Buck by the arms and leans back, but the Gangsta of Love simply will not budge. Scott lets go and gives Buck a kick to the ribs out of contempt while trying to think of a solution. ‘The Critic’ bends down and places his head underneath Buck’s right arm. Scott wraps his arms around Lil’ Buck’s torso, and with a near Herculean effort, lifts the Arrogant Alabaman off the ground.

 

“He’s got him! Come on, Scott, just drag him to the edge of that island and toss him into the pond!” Suicide King screams.

 

“Yes, but that’s a lot of strain on ‘the Critic’s’ neck. I don’t know how far Scott Pretzler can carry Lil’ Buck,” Pete adds.

 

“He’s carried him to a great match so far. I don’t think ten more feet will hurt.”

 

With a grunt, Scott Pretzler lifts Lil’ Buck off the ground and takes a few steps forward before ‘the Critic’ has to set Sugarhill’s Finest down. Scott takes a deep breath and picks Buck up once more, only to go forward roughly a foot. Pretzler hoists Lil’ Buck up for the third time, and letting out a primal yell, dashes towards the edge of the pond before he practically collapses under the weight. With the end of the match near, the fans once more voice their opinion.

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“Almost there, Pretzler! Come on, Scott, just a few more inches and this match is over!” King shouts, making his way towards Funyon’s bullhorn once more.

 

“I think that ‘the Critic’ just used up what was left in his tank with that mad dash. If he wasn’t already running on fumes before, that is,” Pete clarifies.

 

“Not a chance! He’s got just enough to shove Lil’ Buck into that pond, I’m sure of it!” King shouts.

 

Sweat pouring down his face, Scott rises once more and places his head firmly under Lil’ Buck’s right arm. He stays hunched over for a moment, presumably catching his breath, which is escaping his lungs via pained grunts.

 

“Lil’ Buck is back in this! He’s landed a few knees to Scott Pretzler’s gut, and he just might be able to win this match!” Pete exclaims.

 

“No! Come on, Scott! Just push him, and the match is over!” King shouts.

 

Content that ‘the Critic’ is sufficiently winded, Lil’ Buck turns around and hooks both of Scott Pretzler’s arms. The Gangsta of Love twists, placing Pretzler on his back, and stands upright. Trying to act quickly before his arm gives out, Lil’ Buck does a quick spin before dropping to the ground, drilling Scott Pretzler’s head into the ground.

 

“Buck-Wild Ride! Lil’ Buck just decimated ‘the Critic’, Scott Pretzler with the Buck-Wild Ride!” Pete screeches.

 

“Damn it! Get up, Scott! Get your ass up off that grass, and kick this punk’s ass!” King howls.

 

But Pretzler isn’t hearing much of what King or anybody is saying right now, it’s tough to listen when you’re nearly unconscious. Sugarhill’s Finest leans down, grabs a glassy-eyed Scott Pretzler by the hair, and pulls him off the ground. Lil’ Buck takes hold of ‘the Critic’s’ trunks and launches him into the air.

 

“This must be Survivor, because Scott Pretzler just got thrown off the island!” Pete exclaims.

 

The resulting splash wakes up Kivell, and he takes a glance at who’s still standing on the island and who’s not, and calls for the bell to be rung.

 

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon booms out on his bullhorn while starting up the raucous beats of Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck”.

 

“Shit! Someone help Scott Pretzler! He’s not floating!” King shouts.

 

Kivell, just having earned his life guard credentials, rolls into the water with as much grace as a dead cow, and dog paddles over to ‘the Critic’. Matt hauls Pretzler back to the island and attempts to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, despite Scott being fully conscious at this point. As Kivell leans in, Pretzler reaches up and locks on a guillotine choke hold. Kivell flails wildly for nearly a minute until ‘the Critic’ is content that Matthew won’t try to put any moves on him and lets go.

 

“What an incredible match! Both men had several opportunities to win it, but in the end, Lil’ Buck prevailed. I think he’s going places,” Pete says.

 

“Oh, and what, Scott Pretzler is on a free-fall to obscurity and will end up facing Chance Silver in dark matches for the rest of his life? No way in hell, MacDougal!” King fires back.

 

Buck climbs into the waiting helicopter, slips on his jersey, and grabs his pimp cup. As the chopper rises and Scott Pretzler gets to his feet, Buck leans out and pours his drink on ‘the Critic’s’ head. Scott is, needless to say, angry.

 

“That son of a bitch! How dare he dump his drink on a technical wizard like Scott Pretzler!” King roars.

 

“Well, and this is just one person thinking out loud, but I’d rather have my opponent pour a beverage on me after a match than get pummeled with brass knuckles,” Pete replies.

 

“Those are two completely different things Pete, and you know it! What Scott Pretzler did to the Wildchild was teaching him a lesson. What we just witnessed was a cowardly act of humiliation!” King spews, still furious.

 

“Two different opinions on one subject. Anyway, we’ve got more hardcore action scheduled for tonight, and in the main event, rookie JJ Johnson takes on Hardcore champion Insane Luchador...”

 

“What? Luchador is main eventing? Has the world gone crazy? And he’s got a title? What’s next, CIA wins the World Heavyweight title? Or Toxxic injects heroin into his brain on live television?” King sputters.

 

As King rants and raves, and Scott Pretzler wishes his helicopter had missiles, or rockets, or even just a brick to throw at Lil’ Buck’s, Storm star wipes to commercial

[chirs3 0]

SWF Storm returns live, and we get a shot at the broadcast booth.

 

“Welcome back to SWF Storm,” greets Longdogger Pete, “and if you think the action has been amazing so far, you haven’t seen anything yet. We’re getting ready for 2 vs. 2 action, as Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez take on Jay Hawke and International Champion Johnny Dangerous.”

 

“The booking gets weirder and weirder around here every week,” adds Suicide King. “Less than two weeks after Jay Hawke and Johnny Dangerous met in a classic battle for that new International Title, but now they have to team up against regular partners in Martial Law? How are these two supposed to coexist!?”

 

“Well, these two do have quite a bit in common,” reminds Pete. “Both of these men spoke out against Todd Cortez’s World Title shot this past week against Toxxic.”

 

“But we all know that Jay Hawke’s primary focus is on winning titles,” says King. “And the man he’s teaming with in this contest holds two of them! Do you honestly expect them to coexist tonight?”

 

“They’re going to have to if they want to succeed tonight,” says Pete. “And we’ll find out if they’re going to succeed after Funyon gives us the introductions. Take it away, Funyon!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins the booming voice of Funyon, “the following contest is a Texas Tornado Match scheduled for one fall. The rules of this contest: Victory may be attained by only a pinfall or submission, tags are not necessary, and anything goes!”

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

The cheers quickly turn into boos as the strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” begin to play over the “loudspeaker”, consisting tonight of a CD boom box with a microphone being the sole means of amplifying the sound.

 

“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in tonight at 215 pounds … he is ‘the Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWKE!”

 

Jay Hawke emerges through the woods wearing his trademark black and purple sequined robe, the sequins almost glistening as the setting sun shines down on them. Hawke stands on the apron as the fans begin their familiar chant:

 

 

“HAWKE SUCKS! ”

“HAWKE SUCKS! ”

“HAWKE SUCKS! ”

 

 

Jay Hawke regards the throng of hundreds in disgust as he removes his robes, but even more despicable is the fans sudden cheers when the tech crew muffles the flashlights with their hands and a deep, sultry female voice breaths the name of the SWF’s own secret agent:

 

“JOHNNY DANGEROUS!”

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

 

“After The Flesh” kicks up almost immediately, pounding the hell out of the two speakers on the boom box, and Johnny brushes aside the curtain (cotton bedspread) to reveal himself to the two hundred Montanan fans!

 

“And his partner,” continues the veteran ring announcer, “hails from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighs in at 217 pounds. He is one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions … AND the new SWF International Champion … Johnny Dangerous!”

 

Johnny heads down the wooden ramp, towards the ring, but his hands are much to full holding two bright and shiny title belts to high five any of the fans gathered at the sides. He heads into the ring, mounts a turnbuckle and raises his arms out to the fans, dangling both the title belts out as three flashbulbs pop from two corners of the circle clearing! Finally, the Barracuda hops down from the post and spins around, only to have his partner for the night, Jay Hawke snatch the International Title belt from his hands… but only briefly as Johnny quickly snatches it back before jumping in Hawke’s face!

 

“Just what I was afraid of, Pete,” says King. “The match hasn’t even started yet, and we’ve already got issues between these two men!”

 

Pete adds, “Well, these men have been on opposite ends of the ring three times already, and all three times, Dangerous has gained the victory. You know that doesn’t sit well with Jay Hawke.”

 

King quips, “Losing doesn’t sit well with Jay Hawke. It doesn’t matter who was on the opposite side of the ring.”

 

The opening melodic chords and vocals of "Save Yourself" fade up as Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez emerge from the woods, Megan Skye following out behind them. The three stop, surveying the crowd.

 

"I...CAN...NOT...SAAAVE...YOU!

 

"I! CAN'T! EVEN! SAAAVE...MYYY...SELF!"

 

"SO JUST SAAAVE YOURSELF!"

 

...

 

 

"SSSAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVEEE!!!"

 

“And their opponents,” says Funyon, “accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye … at a total combined weight of 446 pounds … Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddox … ‘Urban Legend’ Todd Cortez … MARTIAL LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”

 

The trio walks to the ring. Normally one of them would hold the ropes open for Megan Skye, but this is Storm, so they decide to charge their opponents instead. Bad move. They slide underneath the bottom rope and immediately get ambushed by their opponents -- Hawke stomping away at Cortez as Dangerous stomps away at Maddix.

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“And Dangerous and Hawke are wasting no time here!” exclaims Pete. “They’re taking it to their opponents even before the opening bell!”

 

“And after nearly coming to blows not a minute ago, too,” King says in delight. “They don’t have to like each other - they just have to get along for the next… I don’t know, 10, 15, 20 minutes or so. Just until that final bell rings.”

 

Johnny Dangerous quickly tosses Landon Maddix out of the ring as Jay Hawke chokes the life out Todd Cortez. The former secret agent is calling out instructions to his reluctant partner. Hawke releases the chokehold and pulls Cortez to his feet. “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” whips “The Urban Legend” into the ropes, and the reluctant partners actually team up to take Cortez down with a double clothesline.

 

“Unreal, King,” says Pete in disbelief, “teamwork by the team of Hawke and Dangerous!”

 

“Like I told you earlier,” says King, “Jay Hawke might want those titles Dangerous holds, but he knows the importance of victory!”

 

And in this case, victory requires getting along with Johnny Dangerous, as we see when Landon Maddix gets back onto the ring apron. Both “The Dean” and “The Barracuda” knocks Maddix down to the floor with a tandem forearm smash then turn their attention over to Cortez. Cortez makes his way to his feet, but he’s immediately taken down with a picture-perfect double dropkick. Hawke and Dangerous nod at each other as they look like they’ve been teaming together for years. Jay Hawke calls for Dangerous to go up to the top rope. Dangerous climbs the turnbuckle as Hawke grabs Cortez and locks in a full nelson.

 

“Dangerous heading up top as Hawke holds Cortez for him,” states Pete. “What could they possibly have in mind here?”

 

We’ll never know for sure, as Landon Maddix has gotten back up. He reaches the apron just as Dangerous gets his balance on the top turnbuckle. He shoves Dangerous forward just as Cortez gets free from Hawke’s grip, and the end result is Dangerous colliding awkwardly with his partner.

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

The members of Martial Law celebrate as they wait for their opponents to get to their feet. Sure enough, Hawke and Dangerous return to their feet. However, it appears the great teamwork we’ve seen from them so far is going to be a thing of the past, as Hawke shoves Dangerous and yells out “What the fuck are you doing?”

 

King cries out, “Oh no. You knew it was only a matter of time before they started arguing with each other! This might cost them the match already!”

 

And Martial Law is always going to take advantage when such a golden opportunity presents itself. “La Cucaracha” and “The Urban Legend” clothesline Jay Hawke from behind, knocking him into his partner and forcing his partner to fall out of the ring.

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Jay Hawke is still on his feet, but Landon Maddix quickly takes him down into an Oklahoma side roll, putting a lot of additional weight on The Dean’s shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Jay Hawke quickly makes it to his feet, almost panicking from the quickness of the near fall, but he turns into a single-leg dropkick from Todd Cortez. Landon Maddix immediately follows with a knee drop. Cortez drops a leg across Hawke’s neck and immediately goes for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

NO! Johnny Dangerous makes the unlikely save for his partner, saving the match temporarily.

 

“The Barracuda makes the save out of nowhere,” says Pete, “and Jay Hawke has to be thankful for that.”

 

“Thankful?” asks an indignant King. “Yeah, he’s thankful that his partner actually tried to do his job for a change.”

 

Johnny Dangerous begins to exchange punches with Landon Maddix. Todd Cortez grabs the Barracuda from behind, holding him for his partner. However, Jay Hawke has made it to his feet, and he knees the Urban Legend in the small of the back. “Brilliant,” exclaims King, as he reminds us, “Hawke worked Cortez’s back for over ten minutes in the quarterfinals of that tournament!”

 

“That might be true,” concedes Pete, “but with two other competitors in the ring tonight, how is Hawke expected to work the back that much?”

 

“That’s Johnny’s job,” says King. “Keep Maddix out of the way to allow Hawke to take out Cortez!”

 

Dangerous backs Maddix up with a series of right hands until Landon’s back is against the ring ropes. The Barracuda clotheslines his opponent with such velocity that both men tumble over the top rope and onto the dirt floor of the Montana woods. Meanwhile, Jay Hawke takes Todd Cortez down with an inverted DDT onto the knee, then hangs on to a dragon sleeper. Hawke twists Todd’s neck in an effort to gain the submission. Outside the ring, Landon has body slammed the International Champion onto the floor, and he reenters the ring, kicking Hawke in the back to force the Dean to break the hold.

 

“Look at Hawke’s face,” says Pete. “You can tell he’s feeling that one.”

 

Landon is still behind Jay Hawke, so he takes the final USJL Champion down face-first with the Throwback. He immediately goes for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Johnny Dangerous reenters the ring.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Johnny Dangerous drops an elbow onto the back of Landon’s head, and that’s enough to break the pin. Landon gets to his feet and turns around, but Johnny is waiting for him…

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

…and he catches Landon right in the face with a Shotei palmstrike that sends Maddix down to the mat faster than Heidi Fleiss getting double her money. Dangerous goes for the pin, hooking the leg for leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

Todd Cortez drops the leg across Johnny’s head to break the pin.

 

“This match could go all night, King,” claims Pete. “I just don’t see how you can get a pin in this match with somebody else out there to make the save.”

 

King replies with his infinite wisdom: “At some point, Pete, the fatigue is going to set in. At some point, all four of these men are going to be too tired to make the save. At that point, whoever is fortunate enough to make the cover is going to get the win for his team.”

 

Todd Cortez levels Johnny Dangerous in the forehead with a series of palm strikes. With Johnny on his heels, the Urban Legend whips the former secret agent into the ropes then catches him coming in with a snap power slam. He stays on top for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

But not three, as Jay Hawke pulls Cortez back by the chin just enough to end physical contact on Dangerous, then locks the Urban Legend into a camel clutch. A handful of fans pop for the innovative move, but most of the crowd boos before trying to rally their hero with a familiar chant:

 

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!

PLEASE DON’T TAP!

PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

 

Todd Cortez grimaces in pain as Jay Hawke pulls back on the hold further. Landon Maddix comes in and locks Jay Hawke into a front facelock in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure of the hold. Johnny Dangerous comes behind Maddix and grabs him by the head, taking Maddix down with an inverted DDT … and Maddix holds on to the front facelock, effectively DDTing Jay Hawke on his way down.

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

Pete says shockingly, “Well, now I think I’ve seen everything, King!”

 

King replies, “That’s one way to break a hold, isn’t it?”

 

Johnny Dangerous grabs Landon Maddix and tosses him to the outside of the ring. Dangerous follows him to the floor, and he immediately begins pounding away with a series of forearm smashes to the Cockroach’s back. Inside the ring, Jay Hawke and Todd Cortez both struggle to pull themselves to their feet. They get to their feet at the same time…

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

And engage in a staredown that brings the crowd to its feet. They approach each other and begin to pummel each other with right hands as Dangerous rams Maddix into the ringpost on the outside. Cortez gets the better of the exchange inside the ring, then catches Jay Hawke with a dropkick that back him into the ropes. Cortez charges…

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…but is back dropped over the top rope and onto the floor, right at the feet of Megan Skye. The Dean immediately hops down to the floor and picks up the fallen Urban Legend, signaling to Johnny Dangerous. Dangerous turns and nods. Hawke catches Cortez with a couple of forearm smashes, then whips Cortez across the floor…

 

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And right into the foot of the Barracuda!

 

“Johnny Kick,” shouts Comet, as Todd falls to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Todd ran right into that Johnny kick!” Megan runs around the ring to get Hawke’s attention as Johnny bends down to pick up Todd…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

And, unseen by the Tag Team Champion, Maddix runs up behind Johnny and knocks him to the floor with a double axe-handle! Hawke chases Megan away and turns back towards his partner…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only to eat a superkick from the Cockroach! Maddix turns back towards Johnny and pulls him to his feet, then dumps him unceremoniously over the barricade into the crowd. He then rips the protective padding off of the woodland floor getting a cheer from the crowd. Maddix picks Hawke up and rolls him underneath the bottom rope before climbing onto the apron. He uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet and then reaches over the top rope into the ring, grabbing the Dean by the hair and pulling him back to his feet.

 

“Todd Cortez is a little slow to get back up after that Johnny Kick,” notes Pete, as Landon turns Hawke around to face the inside of the ring. “But after the beating that he took earlier on in the match, who can blame him… my word, is Maddix going to do what I think he’s going to do?”

 

“If he does,” answers King, as Maddix reaches over the top rope to wrap his hands around Wildchild’s waist, “you can bet his ass will be fired!”

 

“Oh no,” shrieks Pete. “Suplex to the outside coming up!” Maddix tightens his grip and pops his hips to jerk Hawke off of his feet and outside the ring, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling laces his feet around the bottom rope, preventing the suplex attempt.

 

“Thank heaven,” sighs King, as Landon tries repeatedly to pull Hawke out of the ring, to no avail. “Jay Hawke’s quick thinking may have saved him from permanent injury!”

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

Hawke thrusts his elbow back sharply, smashing the Cockroach on the bridge of the nose, and snapping his head back with a wicked elbow smash! Maddix lurches his head back, and begins shaking it vigorously to clear the cobwebs as Johnny crawls back over the ring barricade.

 

“Look out, Maddix,” warns Pete, as Johnny jumps up and smacks him in the small of the back with a forearm. La Cucaracha slumps backwards off the apron, allowing Johnny to step underneath him and position Landon in a seated position on his shoulders.

 

“NO,” screams Pete, as Hawke runs to the corner and climbs onto the top turnbuckle. “Don’t do it!”

 

“Turnabout is fair play,” replies King, as Johnny turns to face the exposed concrete floor. “You didn’t have any problems with Maddix wanting to suplex Hawke onto the dirty, hard ground!” Hawke runs across the top rope before diving off of it out of the ring. He snares Landon’s head in a side headlock as he flies through the air, and Johnny kicks his legs out from underneath him…

 

 

WHAAAAM!

 

 

… Sitting out into an Electric Chair Drop as Hawke drives the Cockroach’s head face first into the exposed concrete with a flying bulldog headlock!

 

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“Holy Shit,” exclaims Pete. “Dangerous Drop! Johnny must have taken some time to teach Hawke some of Wild and Dangerous moves!” Johnny and Hawke get back to their feet, leaving the Cockroach lying face down in a pool of his own blood, and turn their attention back to Todd Cortez, who is just now starting to get up.

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

Hawke and Johnny each thrust their feet towards the Urban Legend’s face, nearly decapitating him with a double-superkick!

 

“Oh,” shudders King, “What a marvelous double-superkick! I think I felt my own teeth rattle on that one!” Hawke rolls Todd underneath the bottom rope and slides in after him as Johnny walks around the ring back to their corner. The Dean of Professional Wrestling pulls Todd to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring. As Cortez bounces off the ropes and whipping his leg sharply through the air…

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

… Hawke crushes his windpipe with a huge lariat! The Dean rolls back to his feet and and turns Todd around to face the ropes, lifting his legs off of the canvas and locking his hands underneath them.

 

“More tag team action coming up,” warns King, as Johnny positions himself on the ring apron. Hawke leans back, propelling the Urban Legend through the air as Johnny leaps onto the top rope and springs into the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Leveling Todd as he’s catapulted into a flying lariat! Johnny applies a lateral press as the referee drops down to count the shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE—

 

 

NO!

 

 

“Kick out,” sighs Pete. “Thank heavens, he kicked out!” the Barracuda pulls Todd back to his feet and leads him over to his corner, where Hawke is currently catching his breath. The two men each grab one of Cortez’s arms and whips him across the ring, grabbing him as he rebounds and lifting him off the canvas…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Slamming him back down with a shattering double-spinebuster! In one fluid motion, Hawke and Johnny each grapevine one of the victim's legs with their near leg. They reach across their bodies with their far arms and lock hands, and then roll forward, pulling the victim off the mat and through the air…

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Before slamming him back down to the mat with a double leg-whip powerbomb!

 

“Big time maneuver by the rag-tag team of Hawke and Dangerous,” shouts King. “These two are proving to be quite the viable Tag Team after all!”

 

The referee quickly moves into position as Hawke covers the Urban Legend for:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

NO!

 

Once more, Cortez kicks out, much to the delight of the Montana fans who let out a cheer for the Urban Legend. As he starts to groggily push up to his feet, the fans start up with a chant:

 

“LET’S GO COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!

“LET’S GO COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!

“LET’S GO COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!

“LET’S GO COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!

 

 

Hawke and Dangerous pull the Urban Legend to his feet then…

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

…a double lariat sends Cortez falling to the mat in a crumpled heap. Dangerous makes some signals to his partner, who nods. Jay Hawke picks up Todd Cortez and lifts him onto his shoulders as the International Champion climbs to the top rope. Hawke yells, “Three! Two! One! NOW!” The Barricuda leaps off the turnbuckle and catches Cortez with a missile dropkick to the face as Hawke falls backwards, causing the Urban Legend to fall nearly ten feet to the mat!

 

“Unbelievable teamwork!” shouts Suicide King. “As much as these two men despise each other, they’ve put their differences completely aside and have taken complete control of the contest!”

 

“And unless Landon Maddix can make his way into the ring in the next 30 seconds or so,” Pete suggests, “it’s all over but the shouting.”

 

On the outside of the ring, Maddix gets back up to his feet. He can plainly see that things aren’t going exactly too well for his partner in the ring, and then he gazes down, sighing, only for his eyes to settle on a lone steel pipe. He grabs it and starts to slide back into the ring, just as Hawke and Dangerous send the Urban Legend sailing high over the top rope, and out of the ring, and plummeting to the hard ground.

 

“Hot damned!” cries Pete, “these two haven’t given Cortez much room to breath and now they toss him out to that cold, hard ground!”

 

“They better watch out though,” warns King, “here comes Maddix!”

 

Hawke turns around just in time to catch an eyeful of Landon swinging a steel pipe at his head, but he quickly ducks down, narrowly avoiding the blasts! He pops back up to the side of Maddix and nails him with a short-armed clothesline, sending Landon stumbling back as he grabs his throat, dropping the pipe in the process. Unfortunately, Landon also stumbles into the waiting arms of Johnny Dangerous, who quickly scoops him off the mat for his modified fireman’s carry slam as Pete shouts-

 

“-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-”

 

SLAM!!

 

“He’s got him!” cries Pete, “Johnny just nailed Landon Maddix with the MI Slam – this match is over!”

 

Landon is absolutely DRILLED into the mat, neck and shoulders first with Johnny’s devastating finisher, grabbing an enormous pop from the crowd! Johnny stays lying on his back for a moment, then suddenly jumps back to his feet and stalks over towards-

 

CRACK~!

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!”

 

-Hawke swings the steel pipe out and cracks the Barracuda in the skull with it, dropping him to the mat like a bad habit and the fans roar in disbelief!

 

“OH MY GAWD!” shrieks Pete, completely stunned by the Dean’s actions. “He just betrayed the Barracuda don’t I don’t think these fans are too happy about it!”

 

However, Hawke pays them no mind right now – all the matters is the pin and with Dangerous out of the way he quickly drops onto Maddix as Herrington drops to count for:

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

“What a marvelous tactic from Hawke,” marvels King. “He used the Barracuda to help take out Martial Law then dispatched of him when he was no longer useful!”

 

“That’s a pretty slimy tactic if you ask me,” spits Pete

 

“Learning to Fly” kicks up once more, but it’s barely heard over the booing crowd! They can’t believe three of their favorites were just upstaged by Jay Hawke!

 

“Your winners by pinfall,” bellows Funyon. “JAAAAAAAAAY HAWKE AND JOHNNY DAAAAAANGEROUUS!!!”

 

Slowly, Johnny begins to stagger to his feet, stunned out of his mind. Unfortunately, before he can even think about gathering himself to leave the ring Hawke drop kicks him in the back, knocking him face first into the mat to another boo!

 

“Oh come on now,” grumbles Pete, but the Dean isn’t done yet! Hawke grabs Johnny and pulls him up enough to lock in his deadly Wing Span and then cranks away, eliciting a horrid cry of pain from the Barracuda’s lips!

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

Halfway out of the circle gathering, Todd Cortez and Landon Maddix are stumbling their way out of ringside when the Urban Legend turns back around to see what’s happening when he hears the ring bell sounding again. He takes a step back towards the ring, but Maddix grabs him by the shoulder and pleads with Cortez not to interfere. Begrudgingly, the Urban Legend obliges and heads out of ringside with Maddix and Megan, disappearing behind the curtains.

 

“This is just absurd! Johnny didn’t help Hawke win this match to get this kind of treatment!”

 

“That’s what the Barracuda gets for screwing Jay Hawke out of three different matches!” snaps King, “and this could go all night as neither Landon Maddix nor Todd Cortez looks like they’re going to help Johnny Dangerous out!”

 

YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

 

The crowd roars in delight when the Bahama Bomber suddenly bolts from the makeshift backstage and heads zooms towards the ring!

 

“Finally,” says Pete, “Johnny’s partner, Wildchild, is coming to lend a hand!”

 

However, the second Hawke sees the Bahaman headed towards the ring he releases the Barracuda and swiftly rolls out of the ring, just as Wildchild darts in. Hawke glares at the Bahaman with a devilish smile, content in his devastation of the Barracuda, and raises his hands high over his head…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As We:

FADE OUT.

Edited April 9, 2005 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

The camera pans over the crowd, still pumped after that amazing tag match, and wanting more. More is what they are going to get. It’s time for the main event.

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the main event for this evening. It is scheduled for one fall, to a finish, and is for the SWF Hardcore Championship!”

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

 

“End of Everything” cuts the fans off in mid-cheer, the boom box they have set up in the shadow of one of the trees blaring the entrance music of the challenger, a man who is looking to take home his first piece of SWF gold.

 

“You will not waste my time…

I’ll do anything…

I want to anyway…”

 

Two guys sitting on the ground hold up red sparklers while a man hanging from the branch above holds a white sparkler as a hooded figure makes his way into the clearing, his robes billowing behind him as he walks towards the ring, his arms out to his sides in a pose that by now is all too familiar.

 

“This will be the end of everything that you know…

You know we’re killing for the raven so here we go…

Don’t even try to hold me down…

Watch me…

Be afraid.”

 

Funyon: “On his way to the ring, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada! He weighs 219 pounds and stands six foot one, and is the challenger for tonight’s match. He is…J…J…JOHNSON!!

 

“This is the way that it is…

Get ready…

Here I come…

Dropping down on you…

Don’t want to try to run…

And when I’m finished with you…

Watch me…

Be afraid…”

 

 

Johnson makes his way to the ring steps, cussing under his breath as he gets his cloak all muddy, then throws his hood back, walking up the ring steps at a brisk pace to avoid getting his expensive entrance attire any dirtier.

 

“Have you ever been afraid of someone?

I’ve never been afraid of no one

Have you ever been afraid of someone?

I’ve never been afraid of no one

I do not fear

Have you ever been afraid of someone?...”

 

Johnson climbs to the second rope, putting his arms out to the sides once more, the crowd returning all his hard work climbing to the second rope with boos. Johnson doesn’t care, a sick smile on his face as he pulls something very special out of his cloak. Two, actually.

The camera then pans to our announcers, Longdogger Pete and Suicide King, at their announce stump perhaps 8 feet from the ring.

 

LDP: “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are here live in Butte National Forest, and what a night it has been!”

 

King: “What a night indeed. The newest member of Revolution Zero is in the ring, ready to win that shiny, well, shinyish Hardcore Title. This match looks to be good, and it’s going to be violent right from the start.”

 

LDP: “How can you tell?”

 

King: “Because Johnson, a martial arts expert, just pulled out two kendo sticks.”

 

Indeed the challenger has, twirling them expertly as “Man in the Box”, by Alice in Chains, hits the boom box, the crowd cheering as the two guys who recently held Johnson’s sparklers now hold Roman candles, which shoot red and black as the Insane Luchador, Andrew Rickmen, walks into the clearing, holding two stick shaped things of his own.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent, from Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 201 pounds…he IS the SWF Hardcore Champion…Insane…LUCHADORRRRRR!!”

 

Having failed miserably to roll the ‘r’ at the end of the champion’s name, Funyon sits in the folding chair provided to him and starts crying.

 

King: “Uh, in case you were looking for another reason to believe that this match will get violent quick…”

 

LDP: “I see them…I see them…”

 

Luchador sprints to the ring, sliding in carefully so as not to break the light tubes in his hands, swinging one at Johnson’s legs as he gets up. Johnson leaps up and out of the way, and the match is on.

 

LDP: “Ladies and gentlemen, JJ Johnson is undefeated. This is his first shot at gold here in the SWF, and you know that that mean streak that only a UFC fighter could have is going to come into play in this environment.”

 

King: “That speed more than ever will play a factor as well. Luchador really swung for the fences with that, and a slower man would have been picking glass out of his shins for a week. Still, I think Johnson is a lock to win this.”

 

LDP: “I don’t necessarily disagree, but why would you say that?”

 

King: “Well, think about it. Johnson’s undefeated streak has come from guts, determination, and some wicked submissions. IL drank, I repeat, drank his way to the Hardcore Title.”

 

LDP: “Ah, the Calvinball match. How wacky that was…”

 

As Pete goes skipping off to Memory Land, singing a merry tune, the bell rings, starting the match officially.

 

 

 

DING DING DING!!

 

 

Luchador again swings , this time at Johnson’s head, but Johnson’s speed once again saves him from a glassy fate. Johnson then takes a swing of his own, catching IL in the ribs and thigh with two simultaneous shots from his kendo sticks.

 

King: “That’s how you win matches!”

 

LDP: “That was a good move, but why didn’t he just go for the head? Johnson’s fast enough to hit him before he has a chance to defend.”

 

King: “Well, think about it. He hit him in the ribs and thigh. If your opponent can’t walk and can’t breathe, you have an infinitesimal chance of losing.”

 

Johnson then drops one of the sticks, taking the other and giving the champion about 4 shots to the head with the stick. He then swings and hits him in the stomach, doubling him over before doing his best Tiger Woods impression and nailing Luchador in the face with the martial arts training weapon. Shockingly, IL stays on his feet, but not for long, as Johnson brings his left foot around, driving it into the side of Rickmen’s head with a roundhouse. Johnson takes advantage of the opportunity to claim the title by doing so, hooking the leg as the ref makes the count.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

KICKOUT!

 

 

Luchador gets to his feet rather quickly, stunning his somewhat inexperienced opponent almost as much as the dropkick that follows, sending Luchador’s feet into Johnson’s face and taking him down to cheers from the crowd. Luchador then slides out of the ring and goes looking for a weapon under the ring, trying to find something very special. He emerges a few seconds later, dragging his other signature weapon with him to even more cheers. However, before IL has the chance to set up the lightbulb table, Johnson is airborne, flying over the top rope with a somersault plancha, rolling through the landing and to his feet, relatively unscathed. The same cannot be said for the champion, who got all muddy when he fell down. Do you know how hard it is to get mud out of khaki? Johnson then picks Luchador up and drags him over to the security rope, laying the reigning champion to where his neck would collide with the rope if Johnson were to, say, catapult him. Johnson proceeds to do just that, ripping the rope out of whatever’s holding it up. Again, the amazing durability of Rickmen pulls through, and he is up to his feet shortly after Johnson is, making a beeline for the ring. Johnson chases him, not realizing rule number three of hardcore matches until it’s too late.

 

 

HARDCORE MATCH HANDBOOK

 

Rule 1: There are no rules

 

Rule 2: No smoking

 

Rule 3: If your opponent likes to use light tubes, don’t follow him into the ring and expose your head to him.

 

 

Apparently, Johnson never read that book, and the champ brings a light tube down on his skull, the CRASH of glass breaking ringing throughout the forest, scaring the living piss out of Bambi. Luchador makes the cover, the ref dropping to perhaps end this match somewhat early.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREENO!

 

Johnson kicks out, showing some durability of his own as blood starts to seep from his newly gained wound. Lucha then climbs to the top rope just as Johnson crawls to mid-ring, his head directly over a light tube. The crowd roars as IL leaps, looking to leg drop Johnson’s face into the glass and metal lighting fixture, then “Oooohs” as, almost as if he felt the champ coming, Johnson grabs the tube, rolls onto his back and swings, the glass shattering as it connects with the one place no guy wants anything to connect with.

 

 

LDP: “OH MY GOD! THAT HAS TO HAVE HURT!”

 

King: “Yes! We don’t have to deal with any of that guy’s hellspawn! I mean, ouch.”

 

As Luchador lies on his stomach, holding his horribly damaged reproductive organs, Johnson drags himself to his feet, grabs a kendo stick, and proceeds to go Singapore policeman on Rickmen’s ass, bringing the bundled together bamboo down on his back time after time, each swish followed by a sickening wap as the crowd looks on in horror.

 

SWISH!

WAP!

 

SWISH!

WAP!

 

SWISH!

WAP!

 

SWISH!

WAP!

 

SWISH!

WAP!

 

Johnson then leaps to the top rope, kendo stick in hand, as he waits for the Insane Luchador to get up. The crowd begins to stomp and chant, willing the Insane one to his feet.

 

“I-L!

 

I-L!

 

I-L!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

 

Johnson’s battered opponent makes it to his feet, turning to face the turnbuckle Johnson is on just as he jumps, swinging his kendo stick. Luchador manages to duck, and Johnson lands on his feet, turning around to catch a super kick to the face.

 

POP!

 

 

Johnson stumbles back into the ropes, the kick not having enough power behind it to knock him down, and IL, in a burst of energy, runs and clotheslines him over the top, then grabs the ropes and pulls himself over, coming down on “Triple J” with a cross body. “Luch”, as absolutely no one calls him, then proceeds to drag Johnson out into the clearing, leaving him about 6 feet from the nearest tree branch. IL then runs around the ring, grabs the light tube table and a kendo stick, and brings them back to where Johnson is on his knees. IL sets the table up behind Johnson as he stands, then cracks him in the head with the kendo stick. Johnson falls onto the table as Luchador runs to the nearest tree and begins to climb, walking out onto a branch at about the 20 foot mark and putting his back to the challenger.

 

 

LDP: “Oh…my…God…he can’t do this. It’ll kill him. It’ll kill Johnson. If he’s doing what I think he’s doing, I’m not watching.”

 

 

King: “It’ll kill IL?? Can’t wait!!”

 

 

However, whatever IL was thinking never comes to pass, as he notices that Johnson has limped off the table, and proceeds to climb down from his high perch. When he reaches the bottom, Johnson and the kendo stick are waiting for him. Actually, they’re waiting for his kneecaps, and Johnson swings with power that would make Barry Bonds say nothing because he doesn’t talk to the media anymore.

 

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

AAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

Lucha falls to the ground as Johnson grabs his leg and starts twisting the foot to a sickening angle as the crowd starts to jeer him, despite the fact that they know it will have no effect on the always-focused JJ. There is something that will, however, within arms reach of the victim of this particular heel hook, and for the second time in the match, a light tube shatters in the vicinity of Johnson’s head. Johnson stumble backwards, trying to keep any glass from getting in his eyes, but IL grabs him and gives him a piledriver. He then covers him, the ref having to jog over from where he was hitting on a chick in the crowd to count the fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…

 

 

 

 

 

 

LDP: “…EEEEEgad! What will it take to keep Johnson down? The man has been piledriven, hit in the head with a light tube TWICE, and he still kicks out! Who knew the title meant so much to this young man!”

 

King: “Ha! If THAT doesn’t keep him down, nothing will!”

 

Luchador gets up with a wild look in his eyes and drags Johnson up with him, throwing vicious punches to Johnson’s by now completely bloody face, then slams him and gives him a knee drop. That sequence is followed by a snap suplex and an arm drag as Johnson tries to gather his wits, each move hitting him harder than the last.

 

 

LDP: “Luchador has gone into some kind of frenzy here! He is just relentless in his effort to put Johnson away!”

 

King: “It may look bad for Johnson, but I know Rickmen. If he keeps going at this rate, he’s going to tire himself out, make a mistake, or both.”

 

 

 

Indeed, IL does look to be slowing down some, his moves getting sloppier and less impactful as Johnson looks to be waiting for his time to strike. Then, it happens. Luchador grabs Johnson for a powerbomb, but once he gets the challenger onto his shoulders, he just…gives out, dropping Johnson as he collapses, causing groans and some concern from the non-paying customers. Damn freeloading tree-huggers and their

 

 

 

 

LDP: “Neither man is moving! And the ref can’t count them out, because it’s a hardcore match. All we can do is wait.”

 

 

 

The crowd stares at the prone grapplers, excited about the way the match has gone so far, curious to see how it ends.

 

 

Luchador lies on his stomach, his eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath.

 

 

Johnson lies on his back, staring at the sky, the blood from his two head wounds flowing down his chest.

 

 

Luchador attempts to roll over, but doesn’t even have the energy to do that, and falls back to his stomach.

 

The blood is in Johnson’s eyes now, blinding him momentarily. He blinks, but it does little to help his predicament.

 

 

The crowd starts to chant, hoping that somehow, their words will give IL the strength to retain what Johnson, at least in their eyes, doesn’t deserve.

 

“JOHNSON SUCKS!”

 

 

 

“JOHNSON SUCKS!”

 

 

 

 

”JOHNSON SUCKS!”

 

 

 

 

“JOHNSON SUCKS!”

 

Insane Luchador responds slightly, moving his arm. That’s the most either of the competitors has moved in the last three minutes.

 

 

Johnson moves his left leg a little to the right, still staring into the sky.

 

 

“LU-CHA-DOR!”

 

 

 

 

”LU-CHA-DOR!”

 

 

 

 

“LU-CHA-DOR!”

 

 

 

 

“LU-CHA-DOR!”

 

 

To the shock of everyone in attendance, and the rage of all the Johnson marks watching at home due to the Boise incident, Luchador somehow wills his way to his hands and knees, and starts a long, slow, crawl to Johnson, who hasn’t moved in the four minutes since being dropped. As Luchador inches closer and closer, the crowd gets louder and louder.

 

 

LDP: “My God, King! Luchador’s up! Sorta. He’s crawling over to Johnson, who hasn’t moved since both men went down! What a title match!”

 

 

King: “Relax, LDP. It ain’t over yet. Johnson will kick out of this. Just watch…”

 

 

As King hides his eyes, IL drapes his arm over Johnson, the ref dropping down to make the count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRRRRRROOOOOHHHHMMMYYYYYYYYGODDDHEKICKEDOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

LDP: “GOODNESS GRACIOUS GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!!!”

 

 

King: “While Jerry Lee Lewis blows a gasket over the fact that Johnson kicked out after having four minutes to rest, let’s see how this match ends up, shall we?”

 

 

Luchador hoists Johnson to his feet and nails him with a rather weak punch. Johnson responds by firing one back. Luchador returns the favor, as does Johnson, as the two competitors throw punches, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as they connect.

 

 

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

POW!

THWOCK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

 

 

Johnson again fires a foot into IL’s face, the champ going down after a vicious roundhouse from the freshly inducted Rev-0 affiliate. Johnson, in a unique move, then utilizes his environment by running to the nearest tree, jumping onto one of the lower branches, and sailing through the air for a devastating top…branch…Lionsault, coming down right on Luchador’s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Knees. Johnson bounces to his feet, holding his ribs as IL gets up and grabs Johnson in a front facelock, looking to put the rookie away once and for all. However, it simply wasn’t meant to be, and before the Evenflow can put Johnson down for good, he pulls his head out of Luchador’s arms, lifts up, and drives IL into the muddy ground with a belly-to-belly slam! Cover!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nones for j00 OMGZZZZ!!!!! Luchador gets the shoulder up, and rolls onto his stomach to prevent Johnson from doing any more pinning. That doesn’t, unfortunately, prevent Johnson from grabbing IL around the waist, wrenching him to his feet, and hurling him backwards with a suplex of the German variety, turning him inside out and dropping him on his face. Johnson then locks in a front facelock, keeping his opponent on the ground and inspiring a WTF?!?!?!?!? from both the crowd and one of the announcers.

 

 

King: “A FRONT FACELOCK??? IN A HARDCORE MATCH???”

 

 

LDP: “Patience, bwana.”

 

 

King: “Since when do you speak Swahili?!?”

 

 

LDP: “Since when do I not speak Swahili?”

 

 

 

 

As Luchador fights to his feet, firing punches into J3’s ribs, a plan starts forming in the mind of the challenger.

 

 

 

 

A sadistic plan.

 

 

A plan that would make even the toughest of men shudder.

 

 

 

A plan that would make Toxxic proud.

 

 

 

 

 

A plan that could only come from a twisted mind.

 

 

 

 

Johnson fits the description perfectly.

 

 

 

 

Luchador fights out of the front facelock and swings with a huge left hook. Johnson grabs his hand and puts all of his strength into his next move, an Irish Whip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Irish Whip that sends Luchador crashing hard into a 6 foot thick tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He slowly falls backwards, his eyes glazed over, only to have Johnson roundhouse him in the back of the head, sending him back into the tree with another loud thunk. Again IL slowly collapses, this time meeting no resistance, as Johnson has bigger things in mind. Johnson goes to the security rope and, breaking a fan’s beer bottle on IL’s head to create a blade of sorts, cuts the rope, taking the cord and dragging it back to where the champion lays. Johnson props Luch up against the tree and ties him to it before going back to the ring for some implements of bodily destruction.

 

 

LDP: “This will not turn out well for Luchador. There is no way it can. Johnson is either going to beat him, or kill him trying.”

 

King: “Look at what he’s getting out! This does not bode well for the champ.”

 

 

A barbed wire bat.

 

 

 

 

 

7 kendo sticks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 light tubes

 

 

 

 

 

A steel chair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brass knuckles.

 

 

 

 

 

A wicked mean streak.

 

 

 

 

Johnson carries all but one over to Luchador in a trash can, dumping them out beside the nearly unconscious opponent. Johnson looks over all the weapons in the can, finally selecting two light tubes. He takes 4 steps back, lining himself up for his next step. He sprints at the champ and swings as hard as he can with the tubes.

 

 

BRRRRRRTSHCHHCHC!!

AIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

Generally, those two sounds would be followed by boos, but not now.

 

 

They’re too shocked to boo.

 

 

Rickmen’s face is a crimson mask, glass sticking out at various angles. His breathing comes difficultly, as blood loss is already starting to get to him.

 

 

Johnson grabs a kendo stick next. With several vicious swings, a disgustingly large collection of welts begins to appear on the torso of the champion, each swing causing at least 30 people in the crowd to wince, those familiar sounds ringing throughout the chilly Montana night.

 

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

SWISH!

WHAP!

 

As blood continues to pour down the face of the battered veteran, Johnson places the trash can over IL’s upper body, then grabs the chair.

 

 

A little girl in the audience begins to cry, her IL shirt stained with tears as Johnson proceeds to lay into Luchador with a fury never seen in any federation, his swings hard and rapid-fire.

 

 

 

 

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

 

 

 

Johnson then cuts the rope, causing Luchador to drop to the ground. Almost before IL hits, Johnson has grabbed the leg, twisting and turning until he has locked in the Frostbite, adding injury to injury.

 

IL appears to be passed out, and the ref lifts his hand once.

 

 

It falls.

 

LDP: “Well, this match is emphatically over. No man can withstand the beating the champ just took.”

 

King: “Revolution Zero got a great new member in this guy.

 

The ref lifts his hand a second time.

 

 

Again it falls.

 

 

 

The ref lifts his hand for a final time, and drops it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AND IT STAYS UP!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For about 3 seconds, before falling to the mat for a third time, indicating that the champion is unable to defend himself, and that there is a new man atop the Hardcore division.

DING DING DING!

 

 

LDP: “I am shocked. I am appalled. I am frightened.”

 

 

King: “For once, I’m with you. Johnson took it way too far with that assault. On a side note, I am especially happy, because we now have a new Hardcore Champion!”

 

 

 

Funyon: “Here is your winner, by submission, and the NEW…SWF…HARDCORE CHAMPION…J…J…JOHNSON!!!!!”

 

 

The crowd is still in a state of shock after the horrific beating.

 

 

The ref hands Johnson the belt as he walks to the ring.

 

He sets it on his shoulder on his way up the steps.

 

 

 

 

Johnson then proceeds to climb to the second rope, and, Hardcore Title glimmering on his left shoulder, sticks his arms out as the crowd comes to its senses and begins to jeer with an anger usually reserved for when deer shoot the fans down.

 

 

 

Revolution Zero has a new member

 

 

 

 

JJ Johnson has a new title

 

 

 

 

 

And a certain age-old adage rings true.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch.”