Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 The camera focuses on Longdogger Pete and Suicide King, sitting at the announce table “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Pete, “last Monday on Smarkdown you were promised an SWF Cruiserweight Championship match between Scott Pretzler and the Insane Luchador. Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties and the absolutely STACKED nature of that show, that match was unable to be shown on television. However, one thing the SWF has never done is let our fans down. Therefore, that match will be shown from start to finish right here on Storm.” “I’ve gotta say,” King adds, “that while it’s hardly epic in terms of length, this is one of the best matches I’ve seen in quite some time. Sure, the Luchador is dead weight, but Pretzler’s work here is simply fabulous. Some of the smartest wrestling you’ll find anywhere.” “And it’s matched move-for-move by the hardcore sensibilities of the Insane Luchador. Both men are at the top of their game here. In any event, here’s what happened!” “The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL!” booms the rich baritone voice of Funyon. “And it is for the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!” Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to play. Scott Pretzler steps out from behind the curtain and poses proudly on the entryway as hateful boos rain down upon him. “Introducing the challenger… from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… SCOTT PRRREEETZZZLEEERRR!” He smiles and nods, then walks down the ramp with his nose turned up, acting as the audience does not exist. Mounting the ring stairs and stepping onto the apron, he cracks his knuckles dramatically and enters the ring. He grabs the ropes and leans back, testing their flexibility. He stares out across the ramp, waiting for his opponent to emerge. “And his opponent… from Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing two hundred and one pounds, he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion… THE INSAAANE LUUUUCHADOOOOR!” YEEEEAAAAHHHH! Members of the crowd rise to their feet as the grinding chords of “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains blast over the speaker system. When the song kicks up, streams of red and black pyro shoot into the air and the champion runs out onto the stage. He throws his hands up, drawing an even noisier reaction, and sprints toward the ring. Wasting no time, he slides right under the bottom rope to meet his adversary. *DING DING DING!* As soon as the Luchador enters the ring, Pretzler is on the offensive. He drops down to the mat before his opponent can stand and aggressively clamps on a front headlock. Luchador shoves him away, but Pretzler moves in again and aims a boot at his forehead, then reapplies the headlock. Wrapping his legs tightly around Rickmen’s slender abdomen, he adds a body scissors to the hold and squeezes. The strategy fails immediately, however, as the Luchador hammers away at his sides using his unrestrained fists. Unable to withstand the punishment, Pretzler releases the hold and performs a backward roll to distance himself from further attacks. Insane Luchador stands and grins maliciously. “From the beginning, Pretzler is attempting to keep the Insane Luchador on the mat,” King notes, “because he knows that is where the man’s greatest weakness lies.” “And already,” says Pete, “the Luchador’s brawling skills have proven to be too much for him to handle.” Pretzler and Luchador circle one another cautiously. Taking a tentative step forward, Pretzler attempts to initiate a grapple, but Luchador shoves him away violently and slugs him in the jaw. He reels and is driven back to the corner, where his opponent uses the assistance of the ropes to deliver a series of hard stomps. Satisfied that Pretzler is sufficiently dazed, Luchador whips him into the opposite corner. He bounds back out of it… and is caught with a spear! WHUMP! Pretzler smacks the mat and rolls over, grabbing his neck, while Luchador pumps his fist triumphantly. When the Canadian stands, he is taken down with another lariat, and Luchador steps onto the apron. He leans back before pulling himself over the top rope and throwing his arms out to the sides, and comes crashing down on Pretzler with a reckless slingshot headbutt! Pretzler thrashes, now in even more pain, and the crowd’s support of Luchador builds. The former champion rolls out of the ring to regain his senses. “Bad idea…” Pete says with foreboding. And it is much to the delight of Luchador. He slides out of the ring and grabs hold of Pretzler’s head, then carries him over to the announce table. He whips his opponent’s head downward and toward the surface of the table… but is suddenly stopped by a stiff kick to the shin. Free from the Luchador’s grasp, Pretzler grabs the right arm that was holding him, locks it into a Fujiwara armbar-like position, and drops down, bringing the shoulder into contact with the edge of the table. Luchador curses audibly as the pain in his wounded joint is suddenly reawakened. He stumbles back as Pretzler wrenches the arm again and drives an elbow into it. The Critic shoves him onto the apron and back into the ring. “Scott Pretzler is taking no risks here,” King explains. “There is no place as dangerous for him as the ringside area, so he will remain there only as long as he can inflict pain on his opponent.” He slides in after Luchador and goes after the arm. Luchador rolls over onto his back and kicks upward at his face, halting his advance. He locks Pretzler’s ankle between his legs and drags him down to the mat, then jumps onto his back and pounds away at his head. Pretzler manages to flip over so he is on his back and facing Luchador, and locks in a modified ¾ nelson that allows him to heave Luchador off his stomach and to the side. He immediately rolls over again and drives a knee into the champion’s side. “It should be noted that this match is only occurring because of Pretzler’s interference in Wildchild’s last title defense,” Pete says bitterly. If the man had minded his own business, Wildchild would still be champion right now.” “Yes, but Pretzler saw an opportunity and he seized it. How can you blame him? It’s the central philosophy of this business.” Pretzler throws himself into a cover. ONE! TWO! No! He drags the Luchador to his feet and places him in a front headscissors, pausing for a minute to knee him in the head. Lifting him up onto his shoulders, he whips him down in a powerbomb… …countered into a snap hurracanrana by Luchador! YEEEAAAHHH! As Pretzler staggers to his feet, Luchador runs at him and drives a superkick into his jaw. He crumples near the turnbuckle. Luchador bends over and straightens him out so his body is aligned in a triangular position relative to the ropes. He mounts the turnbuckle, ascending to the second rope and springing off with a moonsault! ONE! TWO! Kickout! Undaunted, Luchador simply stands up and heads to the top rope. Pretzler, however, has recovered, and he drives an elbow into his opponent’s back before the second moonsault can be performed. “That’s one of the unwritten rules of wrestling,” says King. “If a move fails, especially an aerial move, do not attempt it a second time!” Pretzler again elbows him stiffly in the spine, then steps onto the apron and seizes his right arm. He jumps off the apron and to the floor, still holding the wrist, causing the arm to be guillotined on the top rope and nearly torn out of its socket. Luchador flops on the mat like a beached flounder. Pretzler rolls in and applies an armbar. Luchador turns inward and tries to break Pretzler’s grip with his hands, but Pretzler pushes him away and cranks back on the hold. Luchador struggles. The ropes are just inches away. He reaches out with his left arm as far as it will stretch… LET’S GO I-L! LET’S GO I-L! …and makes the ropes! YEEEAAAHHH! Frustrated, Pretzler releases the hold and picks Luchador up, then whips him into the corner. He flexes his wrist, pulls his arm back, and unloads with a penetrating knife-edged chop. SMACK! WOOOOOO! He follows it up with another! SMACK! WOOOOOO! And a third! SMACK! WOOOOOO! Luchador sags forward, his chest beet-red. Pretzler lifts up and sits him on the top rope, then heads up after him – but Luchador stops him in his tracks with a punch to the gut! Another one collides with his face and he falls off the second rope. As he starts to back away, Luchador reaches out and hooks a front facelock. He pushes off and spins around in midair, dropping Pretzler on his head with a Tornado DDT! WHUMP! He makes the cover. ONE! TWO! No! Pretzler musters the fighting spirit to kick out of the pin attempt. Luchador stands up and drops a knee on his forehead, making him writhe in pain. He hits a second one for good measure and drags Pretzler to his feet. The Canadian is dazed. Luchador signals to the audience, boots him in the gut, and slaps on another front facelock, looking to finish Pretzler with the Evenflow DDT! But as soon as Pretzler realizes what is about to happen, he braces himself and wraps his arms around Luchador’s midsection. Throwing his weight backward, he flips the champion over his head in a Northern Lights Suplex and bridges into a pin! ONE! TWO! Kickout! Luchador’s momentum is still building, and he kicks out forcefully. Pretzler has the momentary advantage, however, and he intends to capitalize. He stands up and pulls Luchador to his feet, then ducks behind him and clamps on a rear waistlock. In a sudden burst of energy, he fires off a high-angle release German suplex! CRUNCH! Landing hard on his shoulder blades, Luchador appears finished. But to Pretzler’s horror, he stands back up within seconds of the impact. “And Pretzler can’t believe it!” Pete shouts. “The Cruiserweight Champion is truly deserving of his nickname.” As he stands, Pretzler moves in behind him and again places him in a rear waistlock. His muscles tense and he throws the Luchador overhead in a second release German. WHUMP! This time, he turns a full flip and lands face-first on the mat. And just like before, he stands right back up with a demented grin plastered across his face. His patience exhausted, Pretzler charges at warp speed and takes his head off with a lariat worthy of Texas. WHAM! Pretzler falls down beside his victim. Slowly, he stands. He ducks into a crouch, waiting for Insane Luchador to recover from the devastating strike. “This is it!” King squeals. “Tildebang time!” Luchador is finally able to rise to one knee, and that is enough for Pretzler. The challenger takes three steps forward and reaches down, locking on a rear facelock. He picks Luchador all the way up, so he is standing, and pulls him into the center of the ring. BOOOOOO! With a surge of energy, he braces his left arm against Luchador’s back and lifts him into the air. When the champion’s body reaches a position of one hundred eighty degrees… …he flips over Pretzler’s head and lands behind him! The Tildebang Driver is effectively reversed. Before Pretzler can make another move, Luchador knees him in the kidney and turns so they are back-to-back. He reaches behind him and hooks his right arm around Pretzler’s neck, then holds the other one out in a cross. The Evenflow DDT having failed, Luchador has no choice but to go for the Destruction! YEEEAAAHHH! But as he struggles to bend forward and elevate Pretzler, the Canadian plants his feet firmly on the mat. He snaps his arm inward and free of the cross position, then reaches back and locks it around Luchador’s throat. With his other hand, he grabs the right wrist of his opponent and wrenches the arm. He drops down to the mat. CRUNCH! “Arm-wrench neckbreaker from Pretzler!” King shouts. “Great counter!” Keeping the right arm in his grasp, Pretzler stands and turns around. He takes Luchador’s left arm and pulls them both into a cross position, then twists the champion so he is on his stomach. Pretzler straddles him. In the middle of the ring, the Snowflake Clutch is locked in! “Everyone who has ever been caught in this hold has tapped out! Luchador’s got to do something…” But there’s nothing he can do. Nowhere to turn. Pretzler pulls back, cutting off the flow of blood to Luchador’s brain. “Do you submit?” “No…” His face turns a dark red color. “Do you submit?” “No…” Luchador struggles to hold on. “Do you submit?” … WHAM! “What the hell?!” Wildchild’s springboard dropkick hits its mark in the middle of Pretzler’s face! *DING DING DING!* Pretzler’s head snaps back and he rolls off Luchador. Wildchild stands up and begins stomping on his head. He rolls out of the ring to escape. “My God, what impact!” bellows Pete. “Dammit! Wildchild has no right to become involved in this!” King is furious. Outside the ring, Funyon makes his announcement. “Here is your winner, as a result of a disqualification… SCOTT PRETZLER! However, the Insane Luchador is STILL your SWF Cruiserweight Champion!” Insane Luchador looks up at Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber helps him to his feet and hands him his title belt. He glares and rubs his neck. “Wildchild has returned the favor to Pretzler… with a vengeance!” “This is terrible. Pretzler. Wildchild had no right to be involved in this. No right!” Pretzler backs away from the ring, holding his head in pain, a look of pure hatred on his face. He points at Wildchild and mutters something, then staggers up the ramp and through the entryway. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 Ben Hardy is backstage with Scott Pretzler. “Mr. Pretzler,” he says. “As we just saw, your shot at the SWF Cruiserweight Championship was snatched away from under your nose last Monday on Smarkdown. I’m sure—“ Pretzler holds up a hand and cuts him off. “Please, Ben, spare us the banter. You were going to ask how I felt about this, right?” Hardy nods. “How do you think I feel? Do you think I’m happy? I’m pissed off, Ben, and rightfully so. However, the events of last Monday have taught me something very important. Do you want to know what that is?” “Why, of course, we all—“ “They have shown me that at this point, my priority is not to become Cruiserweight Champion. The title is certainly prestigious – largely due to my own efforts as champion – but right now there is another goal that takes precedence. Namely, the elimination of Wildchild as a credible force in the division.” The mention of the name sets off a heated chant: DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “What do you have against me, Mr. Child? Why do you feel the need to assault me night after night, when your energies would be much more usefully expended against someone like Insane Luchador, Toxxic, or Ejiro Fasaki? I have already made clear my case against you: through the popularity of your ‘spot-monkey’ style, you threaten to erode the values of pure wrestling upon which this industry was founded. That is a reasonable complaint, I think, and one shared by many of my peers. But what have I done that so inflames your fury? Do you feel endangered by me? Perhaps, deep down, my words ring true to you.” He pauses and raises his head high before continuing. “No, I think that would be giving too much credit to your mental faculties. You interfered in my title match because you’re a reactionary. Lacking personal drive or ambition, you drift through your career without a care or concern… until someone comes along and decides to make an example out of you. Only then is your conscience aroused. Only then do you stand up and fight. If a mis-timed somersault ever forces you into early retirement, I believe you could find a comfortable niche as a spokesperson for the United States Democratic Party. Yes, your interference in my match was nothing more than simple-minded revenge.” He straightens his collar. “Well, if it’s revenge you want, why don’t you just say so? You’re obviously itching to get back in the ring with me, title or no title. So I’m going to you that chance. I have a proposition for you, Wildchild.” Now he is staring straight at the camera. “Three matches. One winner. If it is your wish, you may call it a Best of Three. The first match will take place next Wednesday on Lockdown – since I’m the who came up with this solution, I will take the liberty of naming the first stipulation. Let me think. The ideal match would be one that plays to my strengths, yet through your involvement allows you to improve and grow as a wrestler. Such as… a submission match.” OOOOOOOH! “We can follow it up with something more to your liking – I’ll leave the details up to you. That leaves us with the upcoming pay-per-view, Thirteenth Hour. At Thirteenth Hour, our Best of Three series will conclude, and if he so chooses, the winner will gain an opportunity to face Insane Luchador for the Cruiserweight Championship. “What say you, Water Closet? …Or do I even need to ask?” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 "Welcome back to SWF Storm," begins Longdogger Pete, "coming to you from The Seychelles, courtesy of Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs." "To think, Mr. Diddy was kind enough to lend us his personal island for the night," says Suicide King, "just for offering to help Bad Boy unload all those extra Da Band CDs." "As usual, one of Storm's features is a House Rules Match, and tonight is no different. A concoction dubbed the 'Hate Me Now' Match will be tonight's attraction, featuring Manson taking on Insane Luchador for the SWF Hardcore Championship!" Pete announces. "Inspired by the infamous video for Nas and P. Diddy's 'Hate Me Now,' to win you'll have to string your opponent onto a crucifix and hoist it up in order to win. Needless to say, if you have a problem with that and watch anyway, then don't come crying to us." "Say, why is Diddy sponsoring a match inspired by a video he had issues with and tried to block from release, going so far as to assault Nas's manager?" "…" "…" "On with the show!" shouts Pete, as we go to Funyon in the ring. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a 'Hate Me Now' Match for the SWF Hardcore Championship! The first man to tie their opponent's arms to the crucifix and hoist it up to a standing position will be the winner!" announces Funyon, as the cross is shown laying in the sand next to the rather simple stage. We pan over slightly, as Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" hits. The fans for tonight, a mix of locals from around the islands, Puffy's guests, among them many famous faces, and the rap mogul himself, stand and let out a big round of cheers and applause as Manson enters through the curtains and throws up the horns. "Introducing first, the challenger, hailing from Denver, Colorado and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty pounds… MMAAAAANNNSOONNNN!" He heads straight down the wooden plank walkway, bordered by tiki torches, focused on the task at hand. After rolling in under the bottom rope, he pops up to his feet and goes to his corner in the lower right portion of the ring. Referee Willie Aames goes over the rules with him as “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains hits. Insane Luchador strolls out from behind the curtain, with the Hardcore Championship around his waist, and the fans let out an pop rivaling that of Manson's. "And his opponent, hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty one pounds… He is the SWF Hardcore Champion… INNNSSAAAANNNEE LLLUCHADOR!" Insane Luchador, otherwise known as Andrew Rickmen, milks the cheers for a moment before throwing up his arms and sprinting down to the ring, as Funyon quickly exits. Rickmen jumps to his feet and backs into the corner opposite of Manson, undoing the title and handing to Aames, who holds it up for the crowd to see. A ring attendant then carries it away, and the bell is rung. *DINGDING!* Manson and Rickmen emerge from their corners and circle around the ring, eventually locking up. IL gains the initial leverage advantage, arching Manson over slightly, but Manson gains control and pushes him back, before kneeing him in the stomach. Rickmen doubles over, and Manson follows up with a knee lift to the face, knocking Rickmen down to the mat. He then delivers a couple kicks as IL gets to his feet near the upper right corner. Manson grabs him by the hand and whips him to the opposite corner, and as IL hits the turnbuckle, Manson follows and jumps into him with a leaping elbow smash to the face! "Jumping elbow in the corner by Manson!" screams Pete. IL falls to his knees, and Manson quickly pulls him back up, hooking him around the head and grabbing him by the waistband of his cargo pants. Manson grunts and lifts IL upward, then drops him back down to the mat with a vertical suplex. Rickmen grabs his lower back as Manson follows up again, this time placing the toe of his boot against IL's forehead and giving it a simple bootscrape. Manson smirks and heads outside now, and begins to rummage beneath the ring. He exits with a folding steel chair in hand, and rolls back inside as IL stands. As Rickmen turns, Manson swings for his head, but IL ducks! Manson pivots back around, dropping the chair, and as IL waits for him, Manson delivers a rolling elbow stright to Rickmen's jaw! Rickmen goes down to the mat, rather surprised by the elbow from out of nowhere as he holds his jaw. Meanwhile, Manson collects the chair and hovers above IL, and raises the chair above his head. "Manson attempts to take IL's head off with the chair, and he misses, but comes back and nails the rolling elbow afterward!" "He's off to a quick start. If he can nail this shot, this match could come to a quick end," King says. Manson brings the chair down, looking to smash IL's face in, but Rickmen rolls out of the way and the chair hits the mat! Manson lets go of the chair momentarily, but quickly picks it back up. However, that proves to be a mistake as IL gets to his feet and leaps up, dropkicking the chair back into him! The chair bounces off Manson's forehead and he goes down to the mat! "Manson missed!" shouts Pete. "And he gets the chair kicked into his face!" As Manson begins to stir, IL pulls him up to his feet and throws him out of the ring, then exits himself. He grabs Manson by the hair and pulls him up the aisle, toward the cross, but Manson doesn't let him get too far, as he gives Rickmen a number of quick punches to the ribs, freeing himself and standing. IL throws an elbow back, striking Manson across the face and turns, but Manson hits a kick to the gut. Hooking IL around the head, Manson grabs him by the waistband, again looking for some sort of suplex. Manson lifts IL up, but IL doesn't let himself get too far, as he kicks his legs and DDTs Manson on the wooden walkway! Manson's head bounces off the wood planks hard, as IL grabs the back of his own head. "Manson temporarily halted IL, but as he was looking to put IL away on the ramp, Rickmen turned the tables on him!" "Not good for Manson. He looks out cold," adds King. IL gets to his feet and attempts to pull Manson up, who refuses to cooperate and is seemingly concussed, as Aames rolls him over and checks on him, streams of crimson blood beginning to pour out. IL tries again, and again IL can't get him to his feet, then gives up and heads toward the ring. He searches underneath and a moment later pulls out a bullrope. IL walks back over toward Manson and wraps it around his neck, and tries to pull Manson up the aisle. Finally Manson comes around, but is forced to only crawl on his hands and knees, as IL gradually takes him further and further up the aisle. "IL utilizing the bullrope now, which could very well be Manson's own, stashed under the ring for tonight," LDP says. Rickmen continues bringing Manson up, occasionally giving a yank on the rope as he does, and further infuriating Manson each time he does so. IL finally reaches the crucifix and pulls Manson toward it, jolting him to his feet. IL knocks him back down to his knees with a right hand, and continues trying to pull Manson toward the crucifix, but Manson puts a stop to him with a low blow! IL goes down to his knees as Manson tries to get some distance between he and IL, taking the rope with him as he stumbles back down toward the ring. "Manson with a low blow on IL!" screams Pete. Resting against the stage, IL buries his face in his forearm, groaning in pain, as Manson rolls into the ring. Manson kneels, catching a breather, then wraps the bullrope around his arm as IL rolls onto the walkway and gets to his feet. Still holding his groin, IL nears the ring and rolls inside, and Manson jumps onto him with forearms to the back. Manson follows up as he pulls IL up to his feet, then grabs him by the hand and whips him to the far camera side ropes. Meanwhile, Manson steps back into the near camera side ropes, giving him some momentum as he breaks into a run. As both men near each other, Manson goes for a bullrope-wrapped Western Lariat, but IL ducks and slides under, as Manson goes down to his knees. He discards the rope and turns back around, as IL grabs the chair from earlier in the match. IL turns, looking to use the chair on Manson, but Manson is a step ahead of him as he jumps up, hitting a gamengiri to the chair! Just as IL had done to him, Manson knocks the chair into his opponent's face with the kick! "Manson with a gamengiri to the chair, striking Rickmen with it!" "Some quick thinking by Manson. His bullrope-laced lariat didn't work, but he manages to get one over on IL anyway." IL goes down to the mat, holding the bridge of his nose, as Manson heads outside. He heads underneath the ring, and pulls out a box of light tubes, along with a bundle of barbed wire! He grins and rolls back in, taking the light tubes with him. He brushes the chair and bullrope aside, laying each tube down side by side in the middle of the ring. Manson heads over and lifts IL up, hitting a kick to the stomach, then placing him in a standing headscissors. Manson lifts IL up, looking to powerbomb him on the light tubes! As Manson runs forward for the powerbomb, IL reverses and takes Manson down with a hurricanrana! Thankfully Manson sails over and narrowly avoids the tubes, breathing a sigh of relief as he shakes it off and stands. He turns back around, stepping over the tubes, and IL charges him, jumping up and presumably looking for another hurricanrana or headscissors, but Manson ducks down and throws him up into the air. IL comes down, and… "Oh NO!" screams LDP. *CRASH!* He comes down back first on the light tubes! Shards of glass and dust fly every which way, as IL writhes in pain, his back already trickling blood. "Wow, what a stupid move by Rickmen," King says, as Manson grabs the bullrope and fashions a lasso out of it. Manson doesn't allow IL a moment to rest, as he forces the lasso around IL's neck and tightens it up. Pulling IL up to his feet, Manson drags him across the ring and dumps him over the top rope! Manson keeps hold and leaves IL hanging for a moment, before releasing the rope and heading out after him. Manson picks up the coil of barbed wire, and reaching into the ring, wraps a bit around the steel chair and pursues IL. IL gets to his knees, and with a glare in his eyes, Manson slams the barbed wire chair over his back! "It's safe to say Manson has taken control of this one," says Pete. "This just proves that, while he hasn't partaken in anything like this lately, Manson can dish it out hardcore style with the best of them." The wounds on IL's back open up a bit more, all streaming blood, as Manson grabs hold of the rope. With steel chair and rope in hand, Manson brings IL up the aisle. IL crawls on his hands and knees, followed by Manson who whips him with the free end of the bullrope. Finally they reach their destination, as Manson kicks IL down into the sand by the cross. Manson lays IL down on the cross and opens up the chair, hanging it around the cross and IL's neck. IL struggles to get free, but it's all for naught, as every time he tries, the wire grinds into his flesh. Meanwhile, Manson grabs the free end of the rope, and ties one arm to the cross, then the other. With IL pinned to the cross, Manson grabs the rope attached to a pulley system. Manson grips the rope and grunts, hoisting the cross up, IL and all, and soon enough, the crucifix comes to a stand and Willie Aames calls for the bell and the crowd begins cheering. *DINGDING!* "Your winner," Funyon booms, "and NEW SWF Hardcore Champion… MMMAAAANNNSOOONNNNN!" "Manson comes out victorious over IL, capturing the Hardcore Title!" screams LDP. "The whole face of this match changed after the back body drop into the light tubes. From there it was a no contest." "A nice show by Manson in the first ever match of this type. After tonight, I have no doubts about his abilities to carry the Hardcore Title," says King, as the crowd applauds Manson and Aames hands him the title as we fade out. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 "PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" And we return to the glorious Seychelles, the sun thankfully shining on SWF Storm tonight...just in time for Incubus' "Megalomaniac" to blare through P.Diddy's personal speakers. Somewhere, Diddy and his rapper buddies weep at the noise polluting their 'gangsta island'. As meanwhile, Landon Maddix makes his entrance. Not in his usual wrestling gear. But instead, wearing a pair of blue, Hawaiian print swim shorts! "Ugh." groans King. Maddix poses at the makeshift entrance, turning back as Megan Skye makes her way out...and to the delight of everyone, she's also in her beachwear. "Bitches an' hoes, your following contest is scheduled for one f-izz-all, with no disqualifications." booms Funyon, getting into the rap-party spirit. "Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye. Weighing two hundred twenty pounds...he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... LAAAANNDDOOOOONN... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIXXXXX!!!!" A cheer goes up around the beach, as Maddix jogs through the sands to the ring in a very Baywatch like manner, tumbling in through the middle and bottom ropes. Megan follows behind carrying Maddix's shiny Tag belt, which she uses to check her reflection in. "Alright, Longdogger Pete back on Storm, throwing down a forty for my homies with my diggedy dizzog, Lil' Suicide King. Holla aitcha boi~!" "Never do that again." "Okay." "What is wrong with this kid anyway? He's wearing swim shorts and wrestling boots and, quite frankly, looks a complete idiot." "And I suppose P.Diddy and his rapper friends don't?" "Touché." ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! The fans, rappers, members of P.Diddy's entourage and all the rest pop, for the much more P.Diddy suited "Let's Get Dirty". ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… And of course for Wildchild, entering the beach and firing up his fellow paridise island dwellers, getting a roaring reception as he walks determindly down the beach and towards the ring. "And his opponent...from Morgan's Bluff, Andros in The Commonwealth of The Bahamas. He weighs two hundred and fourteen pounds...the former three time World Tag Team Champion... 'THE BAHAMA BOMBER'... WWWIIIIIIIIILLLDDCCHHHHIIIILLLLLDD!!!!!" "YYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" The crowded beach is filled with cheers again as Wildchild enters the ring. Quickly, Maddix goes to leave the ring, only just stopping himself short of jumping from the apron to the calm blue ocean, before changing direction and exiting to the safer sands. "The Bahamas may be nine timezones apart from the Seychelles, they be in different continents and with different cultures. But Wildchild seems very much at home here. He seems very much 'one of the people'." "Yeah. When do we get back to America anyway?" Standing alone in the ring, Wildchild stares down at Maddix with teeth gritted, eager to get his hands on the "Next Generation". Maddix quickly grabs the Tag Team Title belt from Megan and raises the belt in the air, with a little smirk in The Bahama Bomber's direction as he sees the former champion fume. Fume, until he suddenly jumps out of the ring and gives chase! *DING DING DING!* The bell rings as Maddix abandons the belt and runs off back down the beach, Wildchild in hot pursuit. Maddix is better dressed for beach running, apart of course from his wrestling boots...and suddenly slips on the sand because of them. Landon scrambles forward and falls to his knees, allowing Wildchild to grab him by the hair and nail him in the side of the head with a knee! Dazed, Maddix staggers off. But again he slips in the sand in his rush to get away. Wildchild grabs Maddix and suddenly, the two pass through the makeshift barricade and into the fans, with Wildchild throwing fists at the back of Maddix's retreating head. The two are now deep in the crowd, fans trying to get out of their way as they pass...until they reach the back of the crowd and a bar area, graciously provided by Mr Diddy for tonight's event. "How come I never saw that? Somebody get me a Whiskey, would ya?" "OMG Whiskey is such a girl's drink!" "You're right. Get me one of those manly, bright blue cocktails with the little pink umbrella." Still throwing right hands, Wildchild sends Maddix for retreat towards the bar. Thinking quickly, Maddix grabs the first thing that comes to hand...which happens to be a cocktail, tossing the lurid green liquid into Wildchild's face. "It burns! IT BURNS!" Wildchild reels away as Maddix frantically searches for some weaponary. The best he can find is a beachball. But with Wildchild coming back towards him, Landon decides it'll have to do and hurls the beachball at The Bahama Bomber... ...the ball to pathetically bounce off of Wildchild's head, to groans from the fans. But Landon capitalises on the moment of confusion, booting Wildchild in the gut and dragging him across the beach. Away scurry some more spectators, as Maddix nails a forearm. A second. Wildchild fires one back, but Maddix again goes to the gut before sending Wildchild flying across the beach, sending the Tropical Tumbler tumbling into and pretty much through an elaborate sandcastle. With a wail, two young children run off crying, as the uncaring Maddix mounts Wildchild and unloads with some right hands. Trailing behind, referee Nick Soapdish tries to get the warring cruiserweights to get back towards the ring. But Maddix has other ideas, leaving Wildchild laying in the pile of sand and grabbing a steel chair from the one of the spectators. "Here we go." sighs King. "Finally we're getting some real weapons." Folding up the chair, Maddix measures Wildchild as he pulls himself up to his feet... *CRACK!* ...and SMASHING him over the back with the chair, sending grains of sand flying!! "Ouch!" "A stinging chair shot from Maddix!" gasps Pete. "And the sand is only going to make that sting more!" Clutching his back, Wildchild falls back to his knees. Maddix meanwhile opens up the chair again, setting it deep in the sand and checking it's secure before grabbing Wildchild. The back of Wildchild is bright red from the chairshot, Maddix only making it worse with a double back chop. With a hold of the arm, Maddix then sends Wildchild towards the chair...but Wildchild manages to scamper across the sand and leap onto the chair, springing off and wiping out Maddix with a twisting crossbody block! Wildchild pops straight back up, Maddix scrambling up moments later. He gets met instantly with a boot to the gut, before DubCee grabs a handful of hair and thrusts Maddix's head into the chair's seat! Back in the ring, Megan is having to watch all this from afar, straining to keep Maddix and Wildchild in vision. Meanwhile, it seems Landon has once more caught a case of the limbertail (whatever the hell that is) as he scrambles away from Wildchild, disorientated. Wildchild is right on him again, grabbing the hair and throwing Maddix shoulder first through a beach umbrella, which stands no chance against 220 pounds and snaps clean in half. "This is chaos here. Sure, it's Storm, we expect it. But these two men are just tearing this exclusive, private beach apart here!" Favouring his back, Wildchild looks to exact some revenge as he smashes the top half of the umbrella over Maddix's spine. Maddix again scrambles away from the retribution seeking former Tag Team Champ. But Wildchild is still in hot pursuit, catching Maddix with a kick and scooping him up for a slam. Floating over, Maddix spins around Wildchild and looks for a slam of his own. Wildchild is able to replicate the counter though, floating behind Maddix, spinning him around and looking for a shuffling sidekick. Landon ducks it. But Wildchild's shuffle kicks some sand up into his face, irritating The Next Generation enough for him to stop and try to clear his mouth of sand. Which allows Wildchild to boot him in the gut, before scooping Maddix again and carrying him a foot or two... *CRUNCH!* ...BEFORE SLAMMING HIM ONTO A SUN LOUNGER!! "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" The plastic lounger buckles under the force of the slam, a couple of the legs completely folding and running one person's day out at the beach at least. "Man, Beach Blast had nothing on this Pete." Pulling Maddix off of the crumpled lounger, Wildchild begins to drag Maddix back across the beach and towards the ring. Back through the spectators they go, Maddix's back looking like a grilled hamburger from the slats in the sun lounger as he falls to the sand again. Wildchild measures him, hitting a quick kick to the spine before throwing him back through the makeshift barrier. "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" The two are now back at ringside, Wildchild stopping to respond to the chants before catching Maddix with another kick to the spine. Maddix quickly rolls back into the ring which seems to be the safest place in the Seychelles at the moment. But not for long, as Wildchild quickly clambers to the apron and springboards into the ring, effortlessly flipping through the air and driving both feet into Maddix's sternum!! "Shooting Star Missile Dropkick!" cries Pete. "And there's not too many in the game who can hit that!" Maddix bounces away from Wildchild, but the Tropical Tumbler is already crawling over and making a cover... ONE... TWO... Shoulder up! With a handful of hair again, Wildchild pulls Maddix to his feet... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...and hits a slap to the chest. Still sand covered, Maddix feels the sting that little bit more and grimaces in pain. Quickly, Wildchild grabs an arm and looks to whip Maddix, but La Cucaracha reverses...only for Wildchild to leap to the top rope and PINBALL~! right back at him!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" "Classic Wildchild, with the Pinball that knocks Maddix clear off his feet!" "Wildchild looks fired up tonight." admits King. "I don't know if it's the sea air, the familiar sand...or just the fact he's pissed the hell off. But he's certainly fired up." Winded, Maddix clutches his chest as he pulls himself to his feet. Wildchild meets him on his knees with a quick kick. Followed by a second. With the arm, Wildchild then gets the irish whip he was looking for moments ago, sending Maddix into the far corner. The Bahama Bomber then follows in, rotating the 360 degrees for the Blue Crush...which Maddix avoids...but Wildchild shows his usual great agility, landing safely on the middle ropes. The smirking Next Generation taps a finger to his temple to let everyone know how smart he is, his back turned to Wildchild as he glances over his shoulder. Megan frantically yells at Maddix to turn around which he finally does, seeing Wildchild and sprinting towards him. Wildchild vaults backwards over the rushing Tag Team Champion though, causing Maddix to run himself sternum first into the turnbuckles! That knocks some more wind out of him, Maddix falling to one knee as he staggers out of the corner, Wildchild charging at him... *SMACK!* ...and catching Maddix in the forehead with a STIFF basement dropkick. Maddix's head snaps back and he seems to be out, as Wildchild dives on top for the count... ONE... TWO... NO!! The veteran Wildchild wastes no time questioning the count as he scrambles to his feet, exiting to the apron and waiting for Maddix to get back up. As Maddix gets to his feet he staggers over towards Wildchild, catching an open handed strike that sends him reeling. Wildchild waits him to turn now, before springboarding to the top, snaring Maddix's head... ...but Maddix drops to one knee at exactly the right time, countering Presumed Guilty with an inverted atomic drop!! "Maddix had that one scouted!" Pete calls. "It may have been as much blind luck as great technique, but he countered the move all the same!" Wildchild holds the base of his spine as the winded Next Generation takes a deep breath, readying himself for attack. But rather than exert too much energy, Maddix takes the easy option, grabbing Wildchild by the seat of his (proverbial) pants and hurling him over the top rope and to the floor. Or rather, to the sea, sending Wildchild plunging into the shallow water on one side of the ring! Bouncing off the sea bed, Wildchild pulls himself up in the water, his wrestling tights soaked through and possibly weighing him down slightly. Meanwhile, in the ring, Maddix hits the ropes and baseball slides into Wildchild, sending him crashing into slightly deeper water! "GET MEGAN WET!" "GET MEGAN WET!" "GET MEGAN WET!" Flicking his wet hair back, Wildchild holds his jaw and seems lost for a moment. As meanwhile, in the ring, Maddix is busily trying to remove his wrestling boots. "Wait a minute here...Landon Maddix, wasting valuable time messing around with his footgear." "He's hardly going to go into the sea with his boots on, is he Pete?" As both boots come off, Maddix sees Wildchild getting back up and hits the ropes once more. This time, Wildchild is further away, so Maddix has to leap to the top rope and launch himself out of the ring and into the Indian Ocean with a Spaceman Plancha!!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "DIVEBOMB~!" The crowd, despite being pro-Wildchild, pop for the sight of a wrestler diving from a wrestling ring into the sea...something you don't really see every day of the week. Getting to his feet, Maddix looks right at home in his swimwear, wading around in the water and nailing Wildchild with a barefooted kick. Maddix grimaces though, holding his foot and seemingly not used to wrestling barefoot. Pulling himself to his knees, Wildchild throws a double handful of water into Maddix's face. But he does no more than clean some sand away from Maddix's face and Maddix quickly dives onto Wildchild. The two are brawling in the water now, Soapdish staying on the dry ring apron and encouraging the two to get back into the ring. Maddix has Wildchild by the hair now and turns him to face the water, before dunking Wildchild's head under the water...and again...and again, this time HOLDING THE FLAILING WILDCHILD UNDER!!! "He's trying to drown him! Maddix is trying to drown him!" cries Pete. "This has really gotten personal!" From the apron, Soapdish continues to reprimand Maddix until finally Maddix releases Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber gasps for air as Maddix wades back towards the ring, arguing with Soapdish all the way. An arguement Maddix ends by tugging Soapdish off the apron and into the water! "Hey...do they have...sharks around here?" "In two foot deep water? I doubt it King." "The entire sea isn't two foot deep, idiot." growls King. "There's no telling how deep this match could get." "I don't think it's going to get too deep, King. Midcard cruiserweight matches don't tend to be too deep." "I didn't mean...oh, forget it." Referee and competitors are all dripping wet now, Maddix less effected in his unfashionable shorts. Grabbing Wildchild, Maddix pulls him back towards the apron and slams his head off of it. Wildchild reels backwards as Maddix sets for a forearm. He gets caught with a boot to the gut though, Wildchild then leaping onto Maddix's thighs and launching him back into the ocean with a monkey flip!! Water splashes high skywards as Maddix howls, clutching his back from the sting of the water and the solid sea bed. He has no time to nurse his injuries however, as Wildchild bundles him into the water AND HOLDS MADDIX UNDERNEATH THE SURFACE!!! "And now, Wildchild drowning Maddix like a rat!" Pete gasps. "This is crazy!" Maddix flaps frantically as Wildchild keeps him held underneath the water, until Soapdish starts to pull him off and finally forces Wildchild to release Maddix. Again, Maddix is left gasping for air, as Wildchild grabs him and rolls him into the ring. Rather than follow in though, Wildchild instead wades back to shore and walks over to the crowd, taking a chair from one of the fans and hurling it into the ring. "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" Finally the fight is back in the ring again, as Wildchild rolls back in. Wildchild quickly picks up the chair and sets it in the centre of the ring, before whipping Maddix across the rapidly soaking canvas. Doing well not to slip on his bare, wet feet, Maddix hits the opposite ropes... *SMACK!* ...only to run into a drop-toe-hold and land face-first across the seat of the chair! Wildchild pulls Maddix off of the chair and makes a pinfall attempt... ONE... TWO... ONLY TWO!! Back to his feet quickly, Wildchild takes a run-up and hits the ropes. Maddix groggily rolls over onto his front, forcing Wildchild to hurdle him. Up staggers Maddix, as Wildchild launches off his front foot and CONNECTS with the Leg Lariat! The Next Generation is out of it now, as Wildchild moves the chair away and gives the call for the end. "YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Seeing this, Megan quickly slides something in towards her man before leaping to the apron, the crowd w00ting and wh00ping in delight as Wildchild turns his head towards Megan. Understandably a little distracted, Wildchild yells at Soapdish to get rid of her before grabbing Maddix... ...ONLY JUST DUCKING A SQUIRT OF SUNTAN LOTION!! "Wha..." "That's a new one." Wildchild jigs away from Maddix who still weilds the bottle of lotion, Soapdish turning around and seeing it but realising he's powerless to stop Maddix. Which doesn't really matter, as Wildchild charges Maddix and dropkicks him in the chest! The lotion bottle goes flying as Maddix rolls through to his feet and goes for Wildchild, but he's caught with a boot and doubles over. Wildchild quickly turns back to back and hooks the arms, turning him over... "WILD RI..." ...NO! Maddix kicks up and slides over the back, pushing Wildchild into the ropes. Rushing back, Wildchild springs off of his hands and looks for a crossbody. But Maddix is already in midair, throwing a Dropsault that catches Wildchild DIRECTLY in the ribs, plucking him out of the air!! "OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Maddix escaped certain doom there...and here's the cover..." ONE... TWO... NO!! Unlike Wildchild, Maddix does decide to argue with Soapdish about the count. Soapdish weilds two fingers though, so Maddix goes back to the attack. A knee to the gut is followed by a clubbing strike across the back, before Wildchild gets pulled into a standing headscissors...and hoisted up over Landon's shoulder! "SOYLENT GREEN... ...IT'S PE..." But Wildchild is able to escape and just as Maddix did, push his opponent into the ropes. Only, Maddix's attack is less extravagent and connects, in the form of a flying forearm! Staggering quickly to his feet, Wildchild walks into a knee to the gut. That stops him in his tracks, while Maddix decides to truly put Wildchild away and hoists him up, ready for a Tombstone. Wildchild is again able to slide his wet body off of Maddix's wet shoulder easily however, landing behind, only to tumble straight back forward and deliver some Whiplash to Maddix!! Landon's head bounces off the mat, but Wildchild takes a moment to nurse his back before following up with a pin... ONE... TWO... Shoulder up! "The momentary pause was enough for Maddix there. And these two men are finally showing they can wrestle, as well as brawl." Ironically, just as Pete says this, Wildchild smiles and picks up the discarded steel chair. Tapping the chair on the mat once...and twice, Wildchild is teeing his opponent up. Maddix uses the ropes to pull himself up and turns, as Wildchild swings with the chair... ...misses... ...but DUCKS the Lan Daminator attempt, before quickly jabbing the point of the chair into Maddix's ribs. Maddix drops to a knee and begins to come back up, as Wildchild tosses the chair away and quickly PLANTS Maddix's face into the canvas with the Carribean Cutter!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" "HE HITS IT!" "From out of nowhere, Wildchild might have it here!" No pause comes this time, as Wildchild is quickly able to cradle a leg... ONE... TWO... THR.. NO!! ONLY TWO!! "OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Megan breathes a sigh of relief on the floor as Wildchild holds his head in his hands, despairing at the kickout. Head shooting around the ring, Wildchild looks for a next move and decides to go for the steel chair. But while he does that, Megan Skye has another ace up her non-existant sleeve...in the form of the SWF Tag Title belt! Quickly she slides it into Landon as Wildchild is busy setting up the chair. By the time Wildchild is satisfied with the chair, Landon has come back around and has the belt in his hands, unbeknownest to Wildchild as he walks over... *BAM!* "YYYEEEEEAAAA -- OOOOOOOOOO!!" The pro Wildchild-ers boo, the pro C2Wers cheer, as Maddix sticks Wildchild firmly in the jaw with the belt! "Talk about your poetic justices!" chuckles King. "The new Tag Champion hitting the former Tag Champion with the Tag Title belt!" "And knocked him out COLD!" A smirk forms on Maddix's face as he slides the belt back to Megan. Soapdish is again powerless to do anything as Maddix crawls slowly over to Wildchild and drops on top, the crowd already split in cheers and boos... ONE... TWO... THREEEE... NO!!!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "HE KICKED OUT!" Shocked, Maddix looks despairingly at Soapdish, as Wildchild's shoulder damningly remains clear of the canvas! "Maddix can't believe he didn't get the three." "Neither can I. He caught Wildchild competely unaware, smacked him right in the face with the belt...and only two? Did we start making them with aluminium again?" "You mean like the SJL ones?" "Pete, the entire SJL SET was made of aluminium." Still in disbelief, Maddix sees Wildchild trying to crawl away...noticing the redness of his back and a lightbulb appears to click in his head. Go for the back, again. Which is exactly what he does as he tries to grab the Land Of Nod... *BAM!* "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...BUT EATS A FACEFUL OF TAG TITLE!!!! "WILDCHILD RETURNING THE FAVOUR!!" Maddix collapses backwards and stares up at the Seychelles sky. Rather than going for a cover, Wildchild decides to pull Maddix to his feet, possibly looking for a 'fairer' avenue of victory. Taking Maddix by the hair again, Wildchild rotates 360 degress and CLOCKS Maddix with a Rolling Elbow! Now, Wildchild makes the cover... ONE... TWO... THR.. JUST TWO!! "OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Wasting no time, Wildchild brings Landon up again. A groggy forearm from Maddix misses the mark, Wildchild hitting a boot before sending Landon into the corner. In charges Wildchild, this time able to hit the Blue Crush and sandwich Maddix in the corner. Breathlessly, Maddix drops to one knee but fights back up...just in time to duck a Gamengiri attempt. As Wildchild lands on his hands and knees, Maddix instinctively tries to snatch him into the Land Of Nod again. Wildchild wants no part of that though, scrambling backwards through the legs of Maddix, leapfrogging over top... *SMACK!* ...and catching Maddix with the shuffling sidekick! Unluckily for Wildchild though, Maddix crashes through the ropes and out to the beach floor, where he can't be pinned. "Well, that's a lucky break for La Cucaracha. And I think he could do with one right now, after the last couple of shots he's taken." "Yeah, he looks pretty messed up. Or, maybe that's just the shorts." As Maddix hazily uses the apron to pull himself up, Wildchild begins to reach through the ropes to grab him. Megan pleads with Wildchild to go easy, but he blatantly ignores her, grabbing Maddix by the hair... ...AND SUDDENLY GETS A HANDFUL OF SAND FLUNG INTO HIS EYES!! "ARRRGGGHHH!!" "Oh...oh, he got him right in the eyes!!" "Out of nowhere!" Howling in pain, Wildchild falls back into the ring and blindly fumbles around. Referee Soapdish moves in to check on Wildchild, but he pushes him away, unsure of who Soapdish really is. Wildchild is on one knee, clawing at his eyes in a desperate attempt to clear the sand away... *SMACK!* ...LEAVING HIMSELF WIDE OPEN!! "SHINING WIZAAAAAAARD~!" "Wildchild didn't see it coming!!" Wildchild's head snaps back violently as Maddix follows through on the knee, grabbing Wildchild's leg and cradling him up... ONE... TWO... ...THREEEE!!!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" *DING DING DING!* Maddix instantly releases his cradle and rolls out of the ring, dropping to his knees and wiping the sand from his hands. "Your winner of the match... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMAAAADDIIIIIXXXXXX!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The Seychelles crowd don't seem to like the methods or the result, as Maddix retrieves his boots and walks back up the beach with Megan applauding behind. "Well, agreeing with the methods or not...a successful night again for Landon Maddix. He's broke his Wildchild, singles match curse and picked up the three count on a Wild and Dangerous member in the process." "Nevermind that. He might have blinded one of his closest challengers for the Tag Titles. That could be more important than a three count here, Pete." In the ring, Soapdish has scavenged a bottle of water and is trying to flush the water out of the unconscious Wildchild's eyes. Meanwhile, Maddix walks back towards the curtain, calling over a cameraman and looking straight into the camera, a beaming smile emerging on his face. "THAT'S ONE DOWN... ONE TO GO, JOHNNY!" Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 You don’t get to be a multi-millionaire rapper and producer without having a serious sound system, and this sound system is set up all over the beach on P. Diddy’s island so the man and his krew can hear what’s going on no matter where they may be. As we come back from commercial break the sound system is producing the faint *skritch-skritch* of a needle on vinyl. Then: ‘WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!’ The deep voice booms out across the sand and water and instantly the brutal guitars and manic drumming of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep kicks in, causing many of those present to hold their ears and cuss in pain as the unfamiliar genre causes them to hallucinate wildly. There is no pyro tonight but there are the ever-present girls in cages who make up for the lack, although they seem to be at something of a loss as they try and find a bump-and-grindable beat in the screaming hardcore. A few seconds later the curtain is thrust aside and a familiar trio step out to the universal boos and gunshots of disapproval from the watching rappers. “Well, you knew you could only get so far in the evening without Revolution Zero making themselves felt, despite the fact that they aren’t booked in any of tonight’s matches,” Longdogger Pete comments with resignation. “Although I am surprised to see JJ Johnson out here, he hasn’t been around lately.” “Maybe Toxxic needed him for something,” King speculates. Toxxic, Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson reach the ring and enter it in their own ways - Johnson vaulting over the ropes, Toxxic rolling under them and Pretzler climbing carefully and boringly up the ring steps - and it is now that the oddness of their attire becomes apparent. While they are all dressed in what amounts to casual clothes (as in, Toxxic is wearing his England shirt, JJ seems to have ditched his ring robes for a muscle T-shirt and jeans while Pretzler appears to have been persuaded after some argument that yes, you can wear a shirt without a tie) each one of them is also wearing a sparkly pointed hat, secured under the chin with elastic. Toxxic is also carrying a sack, which he hands to JJ as he claims the ring mic from Funyon. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Yo yo yo,” Toxxic begins, attempting a gangsta hand signal but only managing to invert the Horns Of Metal by ninety degrees, “it’s the Rev-0 posse in da house!” “…say what?” King says, utterly confused. “We got MC Me, the Better-Than-Sex Tee-Oh-Double-Ex,” Toxxic continues, grabbing his crotch, “along wit’ Silent Violence Triple J, and Critical Scotty P!” Scott Pretzler ceases looking in the sack for a moment to glance over at his leader with an expression that clearly says ‘I’m out here watching you do this, and I still don’t believe it’. “We are rockin’, we are in full effect and we are here to PAAAARRRRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!” Toxxic bellows before thrusting the microphone at Scott Pretzler. “Scotty, let me hear the sound of PAAAARRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!” With furious concentration, Pretzler places a party squeaker in his mouth and blows. *SQUUUEEEAAAAAAK!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The audience are understandably confused, and like most people react hostilely when confused. However, Toxxic does not take kindly to this greeting and as Pretzler and JJ Johnson begin inflating balloons with helium (with both the balloons and the helium canister emerging from the sack) the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to harangue the crowd. “What, you don’t like us?” Toxxic asks in mock astonishment. “What’s the problem? Oh no, wait, I know - we ain’t hood enough, right? Well let me tell you sunshine,” the Brit continues, “where I come from we’ve only got two sorts of hoods - one that you put on your head when it rains, and one that girls get pierced to give you meathead morons some clue how to find their clitoris!” “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” Oh dear. That didn’t go down well. Several rappers bring out their guns and start firing them in the air, although whether this is a reaction to Toxxic’s words or just an instinctive response to loud noises remains unclear. Regardless, the Straight-Edge Sensation remains unintimidated. “Sounds like some people don’t like their masculinity and sexual prowess being questioned!” he shouts. “Well, I can’t really blame you - d’you know, last time I checked there were about 300,000 professional rappers active in the United States? And guess what; every single one of them is a red-blooded male! Women with no clothes on hanging around them, the works. How about that?” Toxxic pauses for a moment to let the brighter members of the audience catch where he may be going with this, then plows on anyway. “Not that I’m entertaining any doubts about your sexualities,” he continues in the tone of voice of someone who is not only entertaining doubts but has wined them, dined them, been through a full-fledged relationship with them and written them into his will, “you guys with your hard, chiselled bodies, baggy pants and prominent underwear… but it seems to me that either you’re the bane of statisticians or some of you are being a leeetle dishonest about which team you’re batting for!” “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” “Yeah, bet you want to,” Toxxic grins. “…TOXX-IC SUCKS! TOXX-IC SUCKS! TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Yeah, IN YOUR DREAMS!” the former World Champion yells, then raises one black-nailed hand. “By the way, I’d advise very strongly against chanting ‘We Want Ejiro’ right now. You’ve already had two strikes.” In the front row Snoop Dogg opens his mouth anyway, at which point the rappers surrounding him take a quick look at his girly straightened hair, big fluffy coat and stupid hat, and take an executive decision to silence him for the good of the species. “We wa-” *THUD!* “-ouchizzle!” “Well, that’s got the pleasantries out of the way,” Toxxic says with some satisfaction as he watches a stoner be clubbed down by his fellows. “Now then, onto the real reason we’re out here - THA PAAAARRRRR-TAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!” In the background, Scott Pretzler can be heard to mutter ‘Don’t say it again…’ “PAAAARRRRRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!” Toxxic adds once more for emphasis, then grabs some of the balloons that Pretzler and Johnson have been preparing… *BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!* …unfortunately for the Straight-Edge Sensation the brightly-coloured blobs are too tempting a target for the gun-wielding rappers in the crowd, and they are quickly punctured. Toxxic sticks out his lower lip and pouts for a moment, then raises the mic again. “Honestly, just cos you guys have unresolved issues around your sexualities there’s no need to take it out on Scott and JJ’s hard work.” The straight-edger takes another look around at the audience and sighs audibly. “…if only Janus were here. And that ain’t something you’re gonna hear me say often, believe me.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With the crowd taking refuge in the one incorruptible piece of abuse left to them, Toxxic drops the pathetic strings that had attached the once-balloons to his hand, then makes a complicated hand signal towards the technical area. After a few seconds something begins stirring in the upper branches of an overhanging palm tree, and a couple of moments after that a large banner unfurls downwards to reveal the words: ‘THE DEATH OF MARTIAL LAW’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “What on earth does this mean?” Longdogger Pete wonders out loud. “Martial Law are far from dead; in fact, they’re the reigning tag champions!” “I’m sure all will be revealed,” King says with confidence. Odd how he knows exactly what’s going to happen. “Now, the less intelligent ones of you will be wondering ‘what does Toxxic mean? Martial Law are tag champions!’,” the straight-edger begins, prompting a chuckle from King. “Normally I would address you all in spoken word to get my point across. However, given our surroundings and your apparent inability to listen to anything which hasn’t got someone else making grunting noises in the background, me and Tha Krew here are going to treat you to our own, Revolution Zero rap!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” You ain’t heard heat like this, son. The Devil’s diarrhoea was never this hot. Regardless, Toxxic seems unperturbed as he signals to the tech area again and Big Dave, barricading himself in against a possible retaliatory strike, presses the button that brings up Tha Beat. Revolution Zero each grab a microphone and form a loose triangle in the ring, hands folded and head down. Suddenly the spotlight shines on Toxxic and the SWF’s newest Supergroup begin to do their thing! (Toxxic): Well I’m breakin’ it down from the streets o’ Nottin’ham Radford posse reprazentin’, that’s who I am I got total domination, I’m tha Straight-Edge Sensation I’m the baddest motherfucker in this company man! Now Martial Law are thinkin’ it’s the land o’ tha free Landon ‘Cocksucker’ Maddix wants to mess wit’ me But he ain’t got no case, I’m gonna break his face Like I nearly broke his neck on March’s PPV! (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): Now Landon and Todd, they weren’t homies before There was only one reason they made Martial Law I’ll tell ya what it’s about - they wanna get Toxxic out But that don’t seem ta be da plan for that team anymore. (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): Yeah, yeah (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): TAKE IT, SCOTTY! (Pretzler): My esteemed leader has got right to the point Landon’s logic’s absurd, he has gone back on his word If he’s relinquished his goal to drive Toxxic away How can he justify what he does every day? He has called on the support of Alan Clark and Cortez They were hardly blood brothers; in fact they hated each other If their focus has faded now their leader has gold Then surely their tempor’y alliance should fold? (Toxxic): Uh huh, uh-huh Yeah, yeah, TAKE IT, JAY-JAY! [JJ Johnson raises the microphone… and although his mangled throat has difficulty producing recognisable words he does prove to be an excellent human beatbox!] (Toxxic): Breakin’ it down! Breakin’ it down! [JJ drops his microphone and proceeds to put on a flawless display of breakdancing] (Toxxic): See, Landon’s used the others as a means to an end The tactics he has employed are not the acts of a friend To this tricky situation I see only one solution So I bid you motherfuckers WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!! (Pretzler): Yeah, yeah (Toxxic): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Pretzler): Yeah, yeah (Toxxic): Uh-huh, uh-huh Breakin’ it down… “…BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Amazing!” King shouts gleefully as the crowd erupts, “that was the best rap I’ve heard all year! Encore! Encore!” The assembled gangsta, rappers and assorted music honchos do not agree. They shout, they scream, they swear (oh boy do they swear…) and they fire guns in the air. Revolution Zero wait for the noise to die down but it doesn’t, really - on and on the chorus of disapproval goes until finally Toxxic steps in. “Right, you hate us, we get the picture,” the Straight-Edge Sensation grins. “However, while we’ve been running interfere, you’ve been BOOC’d!” “BOOC’d?” Pete says, puzzled. “This isn’t some new craze started by Andrea Montgomery, is it?” The rappers don’t seem any the wiser either until the smiling straight-edger raises the microphone to his mouth again. “Bitches Out Of Cages!” he triumphantly proclaims, pointing one black-nailed finger towards the ring entranceway. And sure enough, as the cameras pan around there are three men with hoods up and bandana across their faces working feverishly with boltcutters and angle grinders to open the doors of the cages containing the dancing girls. “…?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s right!” Toxxic shouts. “Go, Nipper! Go, Big Steve! Go, Derek The Red! Yes folks, those cruelly-mistreated girls will be rehabilitated and rehomed, safe from the cruelty and casual violence they are subjected to due to your neglect! Bitches Out Of Cages is an internationally-recognised charity! Donate today at www.mainstream-misogyny.com!” Some of the nearest rappers begin swearing (even more) violently and try to get to the cages and the offending charity workers, but before they can close the gap the puzzled but pleased girls are herded onto the back of a lorry, still instinctively bumping and grinding as they go. Derek The Red puts his foot down and the lorry speeds off, throwing up massive gouts of sand as it careers recklessly into the night. “And now, our work here is done,” Toxxic proclaims as he and the rest of Revolution Zero doff their party hats. “Oh, one last thing…” Toxxic clears his throat to make sure that the full severity and seriousness of his following statement is successfully communicated by his vocal chords. “…Ejiro, you suck at interfering in matches! You suck big hairy donkey bollocks!” And with that Toxxic, Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson exit the ring and head up the beach to the curtain that is now hanging slightly ajar, and past the empty cages bereft of dancing bimbos. “…they took away the girls!” Suicide King complains, sounding hurt. “They were the only thing I enjoyed about this place!” “Meh, Diddy will have some more up there by the next match,” Longdogger Pete says, “he gets them two for one from WalMart.” “P. Diddy shops at WalMart?” King asks, confused. “Only for bitches,” the Miami Menace assures his commentary partner. Suicide King nods, reassured… but then something else occurs to him. “Pete… we’ve just seen Revolution Zero verbally assault the biggest names in rap-so-called-‘music’ on the planet without getting shot, perform a rap of their own claiming that Landon has betrayed the trust of Alan Clark and Landon’s co-champion Todd Cortez and that the name Martial Law is a mockery unless they are sticking to their original aim of removing Toxxic from the business, and participate in the activity of a charity no-one’s ever heard of to ‘free’ two dancing girls from their cages. And then, Toxxic basically laughed at World Champion Ejiro Fasaki’s failed attempt at ’punishing’ him some more on Smarkdown. Shouldn’t we be talking about that?” the former Commissioner speculates. Longdogger Pete purses his lips thoughtfully, going over again in his head what it is they’ve just seen. “…no.” “No,” King agrees, sounding relieved. “Let us never speak of it again, then.” “Deal. Commercials?” “Sounds good to me. I need to change the bitch under this desk anyway, she began losing suction about five minutes ago.” The man very occasionally known as Brian Applewhite catches his commentary partner’s shocked glance and grins widely and cheesily. “Hey, you really get used to how to use a desk when you’ve been Commissioner!” FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 SWF Storm comes back to air. The surroundings for the show are a bit different than usually seen. The ring and a scant thousand seats are surrounded by Sean Comb’s private island in The Seychelles. Water and sand is everywhere. “Come With Me” from the “Godzilla” soundtrack echoes throughout the island, as the few fans in attendance holds up signs for their favorite personalities and talent. Signs like, “Fuvolution 4EVER”, “Jay Hawke has no Pecker”, and of course the usual, “Toxxic Sucks”, litter the stands. “Huh huh, yeah Huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah, yeah!” The song loops around to another verse. “I wanna to fight you, I'll fuckin' bite you!! Can't stand nobody like you!” Finally, with the song droning on in the background, we get a glimpse of the announcer’s table, where King and Suicide King sit, both wearing official SWF Hawaiian shirts. “I have to say, Pete, the Mike Tyson reference in that song is brilliant!” yells King. “Of course, it is still an INJUSTICE that Puff Daddy, the worst dancer in musical recording history, is able to make important decisions involving the company!” Beside King, Longdogger Pete just shakes his head, agreeing with King, but suppressing his true thoughts with a vague gesture. Pete snaps out of it, and looks into the camera. “Welcome back to Storm folks. Speaking of storms, this island of Sean Combs is destined for destruction tomorrow when Tropical Storms Amos and Andy make landfall,” says Pete, with unusual optimism in his voice. “However, we will be long gone and can put this whole ‘Puff Daddy’ thing behind us. Meanwhile, he can pick up the pieces and build an Arc while he is at it for all I care,” says King. A mosquito lands on King’s cheek. It sucks some blood away from his face and dies a split second later, as the former SWF Champion gets revenge. “God damned mosquitoes,” King rants. The Storm anthem for the night, “Come With Me” fades out, and is immediately replaced by the Unearth anthem of “Bloodlust of the Human Condition.” “RAAAHHHHH!” goes the enthusiastic and perhaps tipsy fans. The lights don’t dim, pyro doesn’t explode from the entrance, but Archie Griffon is present just as the song kicks into verse. The fans explode with adulation for the big man. He quickly walks down the aisle. On this night he wears a black long-sleeved shirt that barely fits around his broad shoulders, and a pair of forest camouflage cargo pants. He still wears his white wrestling boots, however. Funyon clears his throat in the ring. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, from Des Moines, Iowa, and weighing in at three-hundred two pounds….ARCH GRIFFON!” screams the public address announcer. “And here comes the incomparable Arch Griffon,” says Pete. “By incomparable do you mean his repeated title shots? Because if so, I agree,” says King, a smirk nearly audible in his voice. Griffon continues his way to the ring, focused, yet acknowledging the crowd. He slowly nods his head in approval as he reaches the squared circle. “Archie Griffon was flat out robbed on Smarkdown,” says Pete, in a matter of fact tone. “Jay Hawke brought the chair into the ring. Hawke almost broke Funyon’s hip in the process. Jay made the entire nation of Indonesia fall asleep with keeping Griffon grounded like he was Dennis the Menace after breaking Mr. Wilson’s garage door windows,” rambles Pete. “Dennis the Menace? Did you stay up all night coming up with that one?” asks King. “Nah. I got to bed at around two or two-thirty,” says Pete. “But Griffon does not deserve a rematch! There is a thing in professional wrestling called luck. Arch had some bad luck on Smarkdown. However, this happens. Thousands of men have had the same thing happen to them what happened to Griffon. What makes this son of a bitch so special that he deserves another shot,” says King, growing red in the face. Griffon climbs into the ring, and after taking a short look at the referee for the match, Mathew Kivell, he turns around and looks back at the curtain, knuckles white from the fists he makes with his hands. Arch’s theme music slowly fades out, only to be replaced by Pink Floyd’s “Learning To Fly”. “BBOOOOOOOO!” goes the crowd. Without much of a delay, out walks the SWF International Champion. He comes out with title belt raised high above his head. He ignores the incessant baying from the fans surrounding him. He takes a look to the ring, and locks eyes with Archie. A small hint of fear spreads across his face. He dresses in his normal attire, save for his new and possibly first SWF t-shirt, labeled “Class is in Session!” “And his opponent! From the Hall of Fame city of Cleveland, Ohio. He weighs in at 210 pounds…the SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION…JAY HAWKE!” bellows Funyon. “And here is a man that shouldn’t be competing in this match tonight,” says King. “Thanks to that idiot Sean Combs, he is defending his title against a man who won’t be disqualified for slamming him into a chair.” “Jay Hawke rarely defends the International Championship, and if he has to defend it against Arch Griffon again, and risk losing a little blood, so be it,” says Pete. “He should be a fighting Champion.” “However, he shouldn’t be set up for destruction every show,” says King. “The deck is not stacked against Jay. Griffon does not have a .357 Magnum in his pocket, so this is a fair fight,” says Pete. Jay Hawke continues his walk to the ring, but then stops on a dime. Arch Griffon quickly leaves the ring and rushes out to meet the inert Champion. As his foe approaches, Jay raises the title belt high above his head, and takes a step forward. Hawke swings down at Archie with the belt. However, the pride of Des Moines, Iowa goes low, and tackles Jay to the ground. The International Title belt falls harmlessly out of Jay’s hands. Griffon straddles Hawke’s chest, and unleashes a torrent of right hands into Jay’s face. Hawke puts his hands up to block the blows. “YYYEEEEAAHHH!” goes the crowd, not sounding too much unlike tormented rapper Lil’ John. “Before the bell has even ringed, Arch Griffon is taking it to Jay Hawke on the outside!” yells Pete. “A display of terrible sportsmanship from Archie Griffon,” says King. “Weren’t you the guy who paid off a referee to get Chris Raynor retired?” asks Pete. “Shut up,” grumbles King. Griffon continues beating down on Jay. Finally Arch climbs of his adversary, and drags Hawke back to his feet. Hawke, still covering up, is open for Griffon to grab him by the back of the head. With a grunt, Griffon throws Hawke into one of the crowd barriers on the entranceway. The crowd cheers as a loud thud sounds. Hawke grabs the back of his head. Griffon then brings him back to his feet, slams him in the face with a few quick punches, and then throws The Dean into the other barrier. *SLAM!* “Griffon is really pouring on the offense here in the early going,” says King. “He may be even more motivated than he was on Smarkdown.” “Of course he is. He sees his window of opportunity closing,” says King. Griffon wipes some off of forehead, and looks down at his opponent, who clutches the back of his cranium once more. Arch drags Hawke back to his feet, Jay’s hand not leaving the back of his head. Griffon quickly hooks an arm between Hawke’s legs, and lifts. Arch slams the Champion hard into the ground. Hawke contorts his body in pain, clutching his back. Griffon then lays a few stomps into Jay’s exposed stomach. The crowd buzzes in approval. Hawke’s eye’s close in pain as his beautiful, short light brown hair is almost yanked from the ropes. The rap moguls and commoners all groans as Griffon slowly drags Hawke towards the curtain and the cages giving the outdoor venue its beauty. “What a son of a bitch Griffon is!” exclaims King, showing unusually venom towards the master of the Arch Nemesis. “Dragging Hawke down the aisle by the hair! He should be ashamed!” “What an impressive show of strength from the big farm boy,” says Pete after a short delay. Once he reaches his destination, Griffon lets go of Hawke. Jay grabs his scalp in pain. Griffon once again drives a dull white wrestling boot into Hawke’s stomach. As Jay grabs his stomach, Griffon picks him up to his feet. In one swift motion, Griffon grabs Hawke by the arm, and Irish whips him into one of the cages, where a scantily clad young blonde stands in terror. *DOOOOGGGEEE!* Jay falls back to the ground, his arms crossed over his chest. The tall, leggy blond quickly opens up the cage door and scurries out. She quickly disappears behind the curtain. The other cage door opens up and out pops another dancer, a pretty caramel skinned woman, who joins her coworker behind the curtain. Griffon pays more attention to the lovely bodies running away in horror than he does Hawke. “Great! There goes my entertainment for this match,” says King. “There is a Championship match going on, King. Isn’t that enough entertainment for you?” asks Pete. “Not when the match itself is a fraud,” answers back King. “Those Ladies of the Night did not deserve that treatment,” says King. “Those aren’t prostitutes, King. Those young ladies work in our farm system,” says Pete. “Yeah, I know. They’re whores,” says King, with a chuckle. Jay rolls around on the ground, still holding onto his aching chest. Griffon stays on the attack, and drags Hawke to his feet. Jay fights back with a thumb to the eye. Arch grimaces and takes a step back. The move elicits boos from the sea of Griffon well-wishers. Hawke then leaps into the arms of Griffon, trying to bring him to the ground. Griffon is too strong and simple hold Jay up in the air. Blindly, Griffon runs forward – *CRUNCH!* -right into the second dancer’s cage! Jay falls to the ground, grasping at his neck. The Champion rolls into the beautiful beige sand off to the side. Meanwhile, Archie stands nearby, rubbing out the pain in his eyes. Hawke slowly starts to crawl away from Arch. Griffon recovers and advances to Hawke, venturing out into the sand. The Champion thinks quickly, and throws sand in to the eyes of his attacker. Arch yells and then once again clutches at his eyes. “BOOOOO!” “An underhanded tactic by Jay Hawke to gain control of this match which is quickly turning into a one sided beatdown,” says Pete. “Great move by Jay Hawke. He is showing his experience advantage over Archie by using his environment as a weapon,” says King. Hawke regains his bearings as Griffon backs off. He climbs back to his feet and charges at the dazed challenger. Thousands of grains of sand fly up into the stands as Hawke does his best to gain speed. Jay goes airborne and knocks Arch to the ground with a Leg Lariat! Griffon grabs onto his forward as he hits the ground. Hawke then climbs on top of the prone Archie and drives a gripping hand into Archie’s throat. “BOOOOO!” goes the crowd once more, wanting to see blood and not boring stalling. “Mr. Excitement, Jay Hawke follows up one dynamic move with another,” says Pete. “Mr. Excitement? Are you being facetious, Pete?” asks King. “Are you pontificating, King? Hawke is putting this crowd of paying customers asleep, as well as reducing us to arguing,” says Pete. “But hey, no DQ. Hawke can read ‘War and Peace’ while choking Griffon, and the fans would have to deal with it,” King fires back. Hawke is satisfied with the results of his choking, and brings Griffon back to his feet. He puts Griffon in a side headlock, and starts to walk his challenger back to the ring, landing sharp right hands as he walks. Then, Hawke reaches the ring, and with a good measure of effort, throws Griffon into the ring. Jay then enters as well, giving Kivell a reason to call for the bell to start the match. *DINGDINGDING* “And this match is officially underway,” says Pete. Hawke wipes some droplets of sweat from his forehead, and then drags Archie to his feet. He puts the bigger man in another side headlock, and once again gets a thumb down from the fans. Hawke walks Griffon to the middle of the ring. Arch is able to release himself from Hawke’s snatch, as he pushes him off and into the ropes. Jay bounces and comes back. The Dean is taking to mat with an elementary shoulderblock. Griffon stutter-steps, and then heads to the side ropes. Jay rolls to his stomach and waits for Archie to approach. Griffon hops over Hawke and heads to the opposite ropes. Jay gets up to his feet, and as Archie approaches, he leaps up into the air, and leapfrogs Arch. Griffon bounds off the ropes and comes back at Hawke. Jay tucks on an arm into Griffon’s armpit and goes for a hiptoss on the big man. Archie doesn’t budge, and then the challenger comes forward with an angry forearm that lands flush into Jay’s unprotected jaw! “RRRAHHH!” Hawke crumples to the mat, and rolls away and out of the ring. “And the brutal pace of this match continues as Griffon levels Hawke with a forearm that would make Danny Williams proud!” exclaims Pete. “Hawke is doing his best to turn this into a wrestling match, but Griffon is being unprofessional, but fighting in his uncivilized style,” says King. “His style isn’t uncivilized. It’s aggressive. Let us not forget these men are paid to hurt people,” reasons Pete. Hawke slowly rises to his feet, clutching his jaw. Griffon follows him out of the ring. Mathew Kivell just stands back, not being able to stop Archie from going after Jay this time. Griffon stands on the apron above the fouled up Jay. Hawke looks up at Griffon just in time to be floored to the mat with a Double Axe Handle from the apron! Griffon looks out into the crowd in front of him, and flexes to a positive reaction. Jay Hawke gloms his forehead as he lies. Archibald then reaches down and picks up the Cruiserweight. Griffon latches onto Hawke’s wrist, and quickly whips him into the nearby steal stairs. *SLAM!* “RRAAHHH!” Hawke crashes knee first into the steel steps, and goes flipping over them. He lands in a heap next to the announcer’s table. The rattled Jay Hawke reaches over to his left knee and holds on to it, as he slowly tests its mobility. Griffon, taking sharp and deep breaths, approaches the bewildered Champion. Archie pounces on top of Hawke, and straddles his chest. Hawke has his arms pinned by Griffon’s tree trunk-like legs, and can’t cover up. Griffon cradles the back of Hawke’s head in his left hand, and unleashes a savage series of right hands to the vulnerable forehead of The Dean. In a matter of seconds, Griffon lands fourteen punches. Arch finally steps off of Jay, and the Champion clutches his visage, in obvious discomfort. A steady stream of familiar crimson liquid starts to soil Jay’s forehead. The bloodthirsty crowd sees this and the crowd approves. “Funny to think that the Archie only needed one more right hand in his series of blows on Smarkdown to bust Jay Hawke open,” says Pete. “This is because Griffon just threw sportsmanship out of the window, and didn’t give the Champion a chance to defend himself,” says King. “Harder punches equal more damage.” “King, I don’t believe in two wrongs make a right,” says Pete. “However, I am partial to the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’.” Arch Griffon, an evil glint in his hazel eyes, approaches the announcer’s table. He rips the top off of the table and throws it to the floor. The Suicide King and Longdogger Pete get out of the way and head to higher ground. Hawke, rolling around on the floor in pain, is brought back to his feet by Griffon; Archie quickly rolls Hawke on top of the table. The big man then climbs up to join Jay. “I do not approve of this decision by Griffon,” says Pete. “He might be taking this too far now.” “Too far?” asks King. “He’s trying to put the International Champion through our table!” Archie then grabs Jay and brings him up into a standing head scissors. The surrounding fans egg the big man on. Before Archie can lift up Hawke, Jay uses all of his strength to pick up Griffon, and backdrop him off of the table and back down to the floor in front of the table. Hawke then collapses to one knee, grabbing his neck. Arch howls in pain, clutching his back. Jay starts to get back to his feet, blood dripping onto documents on the table. Jay looks down at Griffon, and then jumps off of the table. Jay hits a Diving Headbutt into Griffon’s chest! Hawke grabs his neck in pain, as Griffon clutches his heart and rolls to his side. “Hawke used all of the power he had to lift up Griffon and dump him to the floor,” says Pete, as his microphone makes a ruffling due to him sitting down. “Yeah, he saved my notes from becoming a bloody mess,” says King. “He must have hurt his neck picking up Griffon like that,” says Pete. “Hawke has had a history of neck problems in his career, and pulling all of the muscles in his neck is not going to make it any better,” says King. The first to his fight is Jay Hawke. He ignores the hissing from the fans as he taunts them with a finger to the temple. After bragging about his intelligence, Hawke rolls Griffon into a sitting position, and quickly puts on a rear chinlock. He locks it in with as much energy as he can. “BBBOOOOOO!” “This crowd is not pleased at all with Jay’s tactics,” says Pete. The crowd starts to get behind Griffon, and soon, he powers back to his feet. Hawke however, still holds onto the chinlock. Jay is lifted off of the floor, and now is on top of Griffon’s back. With a burst, Archie rushes to the nearby ring post. He ducks down and lets Hawke slam into the pole face first! He spins off of the pole, and falls to the floor, his face a blood mess. “RRAHHHH!” “A pattern is forming here, King. Every time Hawke tries to slow down this match, Archie is able to counter this and turn this into a brawl,” says Pete. “Of course Griffon is able to counter all of this. He has access to all sorts of rule breaking,” says King. Archie, whilst stroking his sore chin, grabs Jay and hauls him back to his feet. The bigger man throws The Dean back in to the ring, and immediately puts on a lateral press. ONE! TWO!! THRE-NO!!! “And the first pinning attempt of the match results in a near fall for Arch Griffon,” says Pete. Archie Griffon climbs back to his feet. Hawke stay on the mat, still clutching his forehead. The bigger man brings Hawke back to his feet. After a boot to the stomach, Archie latches onto Jay Hawke’s wrist, and tugs him close. Griffon takes him done with a short armed clothesline! Archie holds onto Hawke, and drags him back to his feet. He slams him back to the mat with another clothesline. “And now Jay Hawke has been entangled with Griffon’s Grasp!” exclaims Pete. “Even if I can’t stand his style, Arch is doing a great job working on Hawke’s neck and head,” says King. “Each clothesline puts terrible pressure on the neck.” Griffon continues with the clotheslines. The crowd starts to count along. “THREE!” “FOUR!” “FIVE!” “SIX!” Archie, after completing six clotheslines, lets the bloody Jay Hawke flop to the mat. The Dean lies on the mat, favoring his head and neck. Griffon then slides under the bottom rope and out of the ring. He approaches Funyon, who sits on his chair, and motions for him to get up. Funyon obliges, and Arch tears the chair away from him and takes it back into the ring with him. “What is Griffon doing?” quizzes King. “He is doing what he should have done on Smarkdown, I guess. If he is to inflict damage with a chair, he is going to do it on purpose,” says Pete. “At least he let Funyon have warning before he took the chair.” The challenger throws the chair down in the ring, and quickly drags his opponent to his feet. Griffon puts Jay into a standing head scissors, and then lifts him up for a powerbomb. He snaps Hawke back to the mat with a harsh Mucho Gusto Powerbomb onto the chair! “RAAAAHHH!” “Sweet Jesus, he may have just broken Hawke’s back,” says Pete. “Jay Hawke does not deserve to lose the title this way,” says King. Arch, instead of going for the quick cover, starts to taunt Hawke as the Champion lies in the ring. Jay can just roll around on the mat and put the top of his hand to his back in agony, as Arch unloads a barrage of profanities at him. Mathew Kivell finally tries to step in and calm Griffon down. Arch quickly turns to Kivell and gives him a glare that makes the senior referee back off. After looking down at his adversary for a moment more, Griffon throws on a relax cover, simply putting a hand on Hawke’s chest. ONE! TWO!! THREEEE-NO!!! “I have to give Jay Hawke credit. Not many men would continue to fight after feeling pain like that,” says Pete. “Griffon wasted time there, and Hawke made the stupid lug pay,” says King. “As well, Archie has to forget very quickly about Smarkdown and how Kivell’s terrible decision cost him the match. Kivell is not his enemy. Hawke is,” says Pete. The islanders groan with gusto as Hawke kicks out. Griffon climbs back to his feet, rolls Jay onto his stomach, locks up the Champions arms, and then rolls him over with a Double Chickenwing Cradle. Kivell slides into position. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEEE-NO!!! “RRRAHHHHBOOOOOOOOOO!” “And Hawke is able to break free of that cradle,” says Pete. With Hawke still writhing in pain on the mat, Griffon exits the ring. He rummages under the ring, and then pulls out a table. He sets it up just parallel with the ring. He then goes back under the ring. As he returns, he holds a bottle of alcohol. The ringside cameraman swoops in, and the viewer discovers that the bottle reads “Everclear”, which is a one-hundred ninety-six proof bottle of grain alcohol. He dumps the majority of the bottle on top of the table, saturating it with makeshift lighter fluid. Griffon leaves the table, and quickly heads back to the curtain. Griffon grabs one of the torches lighting the entranceway, and brings it back to the ring. He brings the torch down onto the table. He has now created a flaming table. “OOOOOOHHHH!” “A flaming table!” yells Pete. “Don’t try this at home,” says King. Griffon then reenters the ring. He corrals Hawke back to his feet, and puts him in another standing head scissors. Archie easily hoists The Dean into the air. The challenger makes a mad dash towards the table. Before Griffon can throw Hawke out of the ring and through a fiery abyss, the Champion counters with a Hurricanrana that takes both men out of the ring, and puts Archie through the burning table! “OH MY GOD!” screams, yells, and exclaims Pete. Griffon goes through table, and immediately starts to roll around on the ground, getting the fire off of him. The flames still rip through his shirt. He scurries to get his long-sleeved shirt off of him, and then throws the smoking remains to the floor. Hawke, avoiding the table, rolls away to safety. SWF staff members quickly run down to the ring with fire extinguishers to put out the fire. Griffon continues to roll around on the floor, screaming obscenities and checking for burns. “ARCHIE’S HARDCORE!” the fans keep chanting. Both men lie on the floor for a long while. The two men slowly wobble to their feet and approach each other. Before Arch can get the upper hand, Jay drops to his knees before his opponent, stick on up between Arch’s legs, giving him a low blow. Griffon tumbles to the floor. “And Hawke continues to scrape for every inch in this match,” says Pete. “He is still trying to slow down this match,” says King. Hawke stays on his knees, dizzy, as blood continues to pour from his forehead. The Dean then climbs back to his feet, and stumbles over to the side of the ring. He approaches a man who sits in the front row. The man is Sean Combs, the booker of this match. Hawke reaches over the wall and grabs a luxurious pimp cane that stands before Puffy. Sean fights over the cane with The Dean, before Jay shoves him away and takes the cane anyways. As Jay walks away, Combs looks down at his mink coat, and notices droplets of blood have ruined it. The fans disapprove. “Jay just stole P Diddy’s cane and ruined his coat at the same time!” yells Pete. “Fur is murder, Puffy!” King yells. “Sample ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ and make it talk about your stolen cane and ruined mink coat, you unoriginal bastard!” says King with obvious venom. Hawke finger the back of his neck as he approaches Griffon, he is slowly climbing back to his feet. Jay pushes Griffon back into the ring, and he quickly follows. Archie starts to crawl back to his feet. Hawke stands behind Griffon, and prepares to strike with the cane. Griffon turns around towards Jay, and sees the attack coming. Hawke swings the cane, by Arch gets his arms up and catches it. Hawke fights with Griffon, but winds up getting his body turned. Arch, behind Hawke, inches the cane until it is against the throat of Hawke, and then puts a leg behind the Champion. Griffon lunges to the mat, bringing Hawke down to the mat with a cane assisted Russian Legsweep! “YEEEAHHH!” “White Russian Legsweep on Jay Hawke! A brilliant counter by Archibald Griffon,’ says Pete. “Jay is now trying to fight Archie’s match!” says King. “A big mistake by Jay Hawke, as he is just taking more punishment to the neck,” says Pete. Both men lie on the mat. Griffon lies exhausted on the mat, his chest and back a pink color after going through the flaming table. Hawke, meanwhile, just holds onto his neck for deal life. Griffon is the first back to his feet. He slowly gets Jay back to his feet. Archie grabs Hawke by the wrist, and whips Jay into the far corner. Hawke slams back first in the corner. After gaining his composure for a moment, Archie charges forward. He lunges as he reaches the corner and shoots off a Yakuza Kick. Jay quickly ducks out of the way! Griffon gets his right foot caught up on the top turnbuckle. Before the challenger can get himself free, Hawke kicks Griffon right in the groin! Arch once again tumbles to his back. The harsh crowd lets their feelings be known of Hawke. “JAY’S A PUSSY!” they chant repeatedly. “This is terrible treatment of our Champion!” yells King. “He put a man through a god damned burning table!” “It’s not about the table, King. It’s about our Champion not fighting like a Champion, and instead running away and hitting Griffon in the groin every two minutes,” says Pete. Hawke climbs back to his feet, still holding his neck. He takes a few steps over the steel chair that was used earlier, and picks it up. His blood soaked hands grip the chair tightly, as he waits for Griffon to rise to his feet. Finally, Archie rises to his feet, just a yard or two away from the corner. Jay charges, and Griffon, feeling the footsteps, turns around. Hawke leaps into the air, and slams Archie in the face with the steel chair!! “OOHHHHH!” the crowd groans. As blood starts to leak out of Griffon’s forehead, Hawke throws the chair down. He looks out into the stands, and yells- “WHO’S A PUSSY NOW?!” “Definitely not Jay Hawke,” says King. “A gargantuan chair shot from the Champion has annihilated Arch!” yells Pete. -the fans bay sharply. Jay then approaches the fallen Griffon. He grabs the challenger by the leg and drags him into the middle of the ring. Hawk puts on a lateral press. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEEEE-NO!!! “YEEEEAAHHHH!” Fans on the island pop like rabid monkeys on speed. Hawke pops up from the cover, and immediately gets into the face of Mathew Kivell, who stands by his decision. Jay quickly walks over to the cane in the middle of the ring. He leaps on to of Griffon, and shoves the pipe into Arch’s throat. Griffon gasps for breath, as more blood get squeezed out of his forehead. Hawke throws the pimp cane away, and gets off of Griffon. He exits the ring, leaving his opponent gasping for air. Jay goes out to the aisle, and grabs his International Title belt. “Jay Hawke is willing to take every shortcut he can to win this match!” yells Pete. “These aren’t shortcuts, my Floridian friend. These are super cool attacks he is using,” says King. Hawke climbs the steel stairs and then climbs to the top turnbuckle. Back in the ring, Griffon slowly climbs to his feet. Finally taking his hands away from his throat, Griffon turns around. Quickly, Hawke leaps off the top. He holds the title high above his head, as he flies. The big man sees Hawke coming and takes a step forward. Griffon leaps up into the air to meet Jay. Hawke is helpless, and out of range for the belt shot. Arch grabs him in mid air, and spins into a one-hundred eighty degree turn. Griffon plants the Champion to the mat with a Twisting Spinebuster. “RRRAAHHHHH!” “Griffon just drove Jay into the mat with a Spinebuster! Hawke is out cold!” says Pete. “Hawke should have known better than to do that!” yells King. “You never open yourself up like that, no matter how much more athletic you may be!” Both Archie and Jay lie in a heap in the middle of the ring. Hawke lies on his back, looking up to the heavens. Griffon is on his stomach, and he is slowly crawling towards Jay. Archie throws an arm over Hawke and Kivell is right there too much the count. ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEEEEE-NO!!!! “YEEAAHHHOOHHHH!” “And Hawke is just able to kick out!” says Pete. “Archie is going to have knock Jay out to defeat him!” The middle of the ring is littered by droplets of blood. Above the droplets are Hawke and Griffon. Archie slowly rises to his feet. He wipes some fresh blood away from his eyes, and zones in on the fouled up neck and body of Jay. Griffon slowly drags Jay back to his feet. Griffon hits a boot to the stomach, which doubles the Champion over. Hawke nearly falls to the seat of his tights, as he gets a nasty knee to the face that brings blood off of his face like it was sweat. Griffon then puts on a standing head scissors on Jay Hawke. Arch quickly picks up the lighter man, and holds him in the air between his massive legs. Griffon hooks his arms around Hawke’s legs, gaining leverage. Griffon then drives the lifeless Hawke into the mat with the Arch Nemesis! “ARCH NEMESIS!” yells Pete. “RAAAAHHHHHH!” Griffon throws himself on top of Hawke, and Kivell slide into position. ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Kivell calls for the bell. “YEEEEEEAHHH!” *DINGDINGDING* “YOUR WINNER….AND NEEWWWW SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION….ARCH GRIFFON!” yells Funyon “Griffon has done it! Hawke couldn’t slow him down this time!” yells Pete. “This is a damned travesty! The rules of this match didn’t give Jay a chance!” rants King. “Jay Hawke still put up a brilliant fight, even if he took all of the shortcuts that he could! In the end, he just couldn’t fight Griffon’s fight,” says Pete. “Stay tuned folks. Lil’ Buck goes after Ejiro Fasaki’s newly won World Championship!” yells Pete. Back in the ring, “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” booms over the area, as Mathew Kivell awards the SWF International Title belt to Griffon. <FADE OUT> Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 FADE IN… Standing amid two cage girls and a tiki torch arrangement, Ben Hardy stands ready to conduct an interview with the man at his side, Johnny Dangerous as Storm returns from commercial break. “Johnny,” begins Hardy. “Last week on Smarkdown you were a part of the winning team that defeated Todd Cortez and Ejiro Fasaki; our new World Heavyweight Champion-” “That’s right,” the Barracuda agrees with a firm nod of his head, cutting Hardy off in mid-sentence. “I was one of two men to help capture that win – a solo win by any man it wasn’t.” “Which brings me to my first question,” continues Hardy. “During that match you engaged in some rather odd behavior, up to and including towards the end where you tried to come into the ring with a steel chair!” “Well, Ben, it’s not exactly illegal unless you actually hit someone with it,” replies Johnny, shaking his head in annoyance as if Hardy of anyone should know that. “Regardless, what happened on Storm was the fact that I saved my team from the jaws of defeat. It doesn’t matter what I had to do to pull it off - If it weren’t for me the match wouldn’t have turned out the same and Lil’ Buck would have likely tapped out! Instead, Lil’ Buck gets rewarded for his big victory with a shot against Ejiro Fasaki for the World Title!” “Some would say that Lil’ Buck has earned his chance at the title,” Hardy counters. “Are you saying that I haven’t?” the Barracuda questions as he furrows his brow at Hardy. “It’s been well over six months since I returned to action in the SWF and since that time I have lost a total of three matches! Three matches, Ben! I really don’t care what some would say, or what this Sean Combs thinks, the fact of the matter is that the only one around this place that has earned a shot at that belt is me!” “Well, but-” However, before the ace interviewer of the SWF can spit another word out, Johnny snatches the microphone away from him and shoves Hardy out of the way. The only thing in the cameras view now is one Agent Dangerous… one irate Agent Dangerous. “There are no buts, anymore,” says Johnny. “Let me give a message to all you idiots trying to come up with who should be facing who in the SWF. Joseph Peters; whoever the hell you are, or whoever the hell else is out there, let it be known that I am damn tired of watching all these people who haven’t earned a God damned thing suddenly get shots at the World Heavyweight Championship while I sit here and wait. While I sit here and kick the crap out of Landon Maddix for the twentieth time straight only to face him the next night as Ejiro Fasaki is suddenly given a shot at something he never earned, or Lil’ gang banging Buck is trying to get his sluggish ass through a match for the belt.” “Well,” he continues after a slight pause, “I’m tired of waiting, and I refuse to stand idly while you continue to screw me around! You have given me choice… its time that I take matters into my own hands!” …FADE OUT. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Chuck Woolery 0 Report post Posted May 29, 2005 (edited) “Attention all you pimps and hoes,” calls out Flava Funyon. “This next throw down is East Side versus West Side for the biggest bling in all the land! This is for the Smarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Championship of the ENTIRE HOOD!” The rappers and their assorted security personal all rise up to their feet knowing that once again the television cameras are running. But they only get so many gang symbols onto the telecast before the view flashes back to Grand Master Funyon as he continues to rant to the people in P Diddy’s private crib. “Introducing first… let me direct your attention to the DJ station and MICHAEL FIVE THOUSAND WAAAAAAAATTS!” The main spinner in the Swisha House shouts out the microphone, “YO BITCHES! WHAAAAT? I do by call out my main man… He is from the Dirty South in Lanett, Alabama and is the baddest man you ever did see! Put your GOD DAMNED hands together for LIL’ BUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Spinning the disk, Watts starts the music up right for the challenger tonight as Lil’ Buck bumps from the outside in as he hefts the pimp cup up into the air. Saddling up to the cages where dancing women seem to be kept, Buck gyrates in front of the ladies as the private island cliental holler at their boy. Leaving the legs behind, Buck moves past the island elite as he clinks pimp juice with other men carrying goblets for no real reason. Slapping hands with some other gangstas, Buck pulls the other men close for back slapping before going down the rest of the way to the ring. Taking off his pure black Yankees hat off his head, Buck twirls the hat into the third row as he makes his way up the ringside steps. Then pulling his jersey off his shoulders, Lil’ Buck tosses the shirt away to show all the peeps just how jacked he really is. Finally stepping through the ropes, Buck immediately hops to the middle turnbuckles and brushes the dirt from his shoulders as the crowd continues to beat with Michael Watts as the DJ finishes the mix just in time for… POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! Not quite as hardcore as Lil’ Buck, Ejiro Fasaki does not get the same sort of reaction as his challenger as he comes through the portal. Not even bothering to holster the gold around his waist, Ejiro holds the title limply before simply dropping it on the entrance ramp as Buck looks out of the ring and points at the belt demanding that Ejiro pick up his property. Not impressed by threats a man several yards away, Ejiro instead picks up the microphone he had in his hand and pulls it up to his mouth. “You know something Buck,” calls out the World Champion, “I look out here amongst the people that would claim you as one of their own and I really have got to say. IT MAKES ME SICK!” “BITCH!” “MUTHA!” “WHERE’S MY STRAP Y’ALL?” Fasaki continues, “These people standing here are the lowest pieces of human trash I have seen in my entire life. These people have the audacity to call themselves human in the face of all the contrasting evidence. These people bring down the entire freaking country!” Longdogger Pete calls out, “Now that’s just uncalled for! What kind of racist…” Ejiro interrupts, “A bunch of MUSIC executives… oh pardon me, RAP MUSIC executives!” Pete corrects himself, “Oh…” “You all are nothing but a bunch of phony tough and crazy brave morons who do nothing but pretend they still have some sort of street credit while living on their own PRIVATE Island. Oh I am sure all the people you grew up with are all welcome Sean, if they can pay their own way and if they can pass through all your security. Let us face the fact that the only way any of you come in contact with an actual poor person is if you would buy one as a pet! The only people less street than you bunch of new wave yuppies is all the dumb ass kids that want to be you! Why actually do any work or go to class or learn to read when you can put some rhymes about bitches over some real musician’s work?” “I’M GONNA MAKE YOU MY BITCH!” “I’ll sue!” “I’M PULLING OUT MY NINE!” Ejiro ignores the threats, “You boys. You all want to measure the size of your penises but their isn’t one of you with actual BALLS. Keep hiding behind your security you bunch of sellouts! If Snoop had some actual principles he wouldn’t be in Racing Stripes! Hey Combs, have a Pepsi! Hey Buck…” WHAM! Having enough of the whole monologue, Buck runs down the aisle towards the World Champion and runs him down with a running clothesline on the side of the stage! Grabbing up Rule as he holds onto the back of his head, Buck takes Fasaki under the shoulder and heaves him down the entire aisle with a running hip toss. Rolling with the impact of the toss, Fasaki finds himself up against the side of the ring as the assorted record executives have a good time laying into the champion for his little tirade. Quickly scrambling to his feet, Ejiro Fasaki slides under the bottom rope to the safety of the ring as Buck roars out to the people in the audience as he flashes his tattoos out to the people proclaiming that he is indeed ‘Dirty South’. The Suicide King says, “And Buck is hear standing up for rich music executives AROUND THE WORLD!” “That’s not … well isn’t not exactly…” “Shut up Pete, like they need to apologize for being nice and RICH!” Strutting into the ring and bouncing from one foot to the other, Lil’ Buck stalks the retreating World Champion as he cowers in a corner with a hand up begging for mercy. But Buck is without mercy as he jams a foot right into Ejiro’s face just for the sheer fun of it. Picking Ejiro up and out of the corner, Lil’ Buck pushes Ejiro back against the ropes before tossing across the ring. Extending an arm for a clothesline, Buck fails to make contact as Ejiro ducks under the blow and continues into the ropes. But as he returns into range, Buck lowers a shoulder and sends Fasaki into the sky with a high back body drop! Rebounding from the force of the drop, Ejiro is on his feet for almost a whole second before Buck grabs him by the back of the head and hurls him right over the top rope to the arena floor! “This is MAH HOUSE!” shouts Buck at the top of his lungs as Ejiro continues to get his ass handed to him both physically and verbally by everyone in the immediate vicinity. Moving from one side of the ring to the other, Buck raises both his arms to the people as they call out for more damage to be done to the man on the outside of the ring. Just now getting on his feet, Fasaki leans backward against the apron for a moment in order to get a breath of air. But the air does not last long before two hands reach over the ropes and clamp on Ejiro’s head and pull him up to the apron! Pulling Ejiro’s towards him, Buck lands a left-handed soup bone to the side of the head and knocks the Champion right back down to the apron. Rolling under the bottom rope and back inside the squared circle, Ejiro does not get a chance to react before Lil’ Buck grabs him by both legs into position for a slingshot. Using his power to move Ejiro under the bottom rope, Buck falls backward to the canvas and guillotines the World Champion across the strand! “WHO IS MY BITCH!” shouts Buck to the crowd. “HE IS!” shouts the crowd in response as they all seem to point at Ejiro in unison. “DAMN RIGHT!” Pulling Ejiro up, Buck easily clamps onto the World Champion with a front facelock and holds him in the middle of the ring as Fasaki flails about trying to get away only to get hammered in the back with a hard forearm that knocks Ejiro to his knees. Pulling up on the facelock again, Buck gets Ejiro vertical again only to once again crush him with a hard forearm to the back. Driving a knee up from underneath seals the deal as it sends Rule flat on his back as Buck continues to be completely physically dominated here in the presence of the rap industry. Grabbing Ejiro by the hair once again, Buck lowers his center of gravity once more and takes Ejiro up high with a military press over his head. Holding all 223 pounds of the World Champion above his head like it was nothing, Buck walks to one side of the ring and calls out to see if they want to maybe play catcher for an Asian football. Turning to the other side of the ring, Buck gets a running start to the other side of the ring in order to clear the second row only to have Fasaki drop out of his grip and land behind the challenger. Suddenly unsure as to where Ejiro might be for the moment, Lil’ Buck turns right into an elbow as Fasaki jams an elbow into his eye. BAM! Bouncing backward from the ropes from the blow, Buck has no defense as Ejiro jabs him with another elbow to the side of the face and knocks the bigger man to the canvas for the first time in the contest. Leaning into the ropes himself, Ejiro takes a moment to catch his breath as Lil’ Buck shakes his head in order to wave through the elbow strikes. But just as Buck gets to his hands and knees, Ejiro jams a knee into the side of his head and knocks the bigger man once again to the canvas. Grabbing Buck by the back of the head, Ejiro forces his opponent on the middle ropes and starts to choke him against the strand as referee Matthew Kivell calls for a break. Leaving Buck gasping for air on the ropes, Ejiro quickly runs from one side of the ring to the other before crashing down on his opponent with all of his weight. Moving out to the apron, Ejiro lines up his opponent and starts towards him… KERACK! Only to have Buck spring up and knock Ejiro down with a lariat! “We’ve seen Ejiro come off with a punting kick out of that occasion many a time,” reports Longdogger Pete. “But obviously so has Lil’ Buck since he was able to effect a counter.” “By clubbing the other guy in the face?” questions the Suicide King as Ejiro rolls to the arena floor once again after the impact. “Clubbing works!” reports LDP as Buck shakes his head in order to get rid of the minimal damage caused by Ejiro’s strikes. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” Moving his head back and forth for a moment before taking the time to brush the dirt off his shoulder, Lil’ Buck enjoys playing to the crowd as Ejiro continues to try and get his brain back in order after all the pounding. But he does not have forever as Buck casually drops to the outside and punches Ejiro down to the concrete with the southpaw left once again. Picking Ejiro up, Buck once again presses the challenger over his head for a second before tossing Ejiro through the middle ropes and back inside the ring. “What a strong man that Buck is,” says LDP in awe as Buck looks into the crowd once again and slaps hands with a man in the front row. “But he’s also wasting a whole lot of time in there,” replies The Suicide King. “Maybe having this match in front of everyone he’s ever wanted to meet was a bad idea. Just like in the NBA when someone ends up in their hometown, their performance can suffer as a result of the pressure. They loose focus and that is what Lil’ Buck is doing right now.” Actually to the contrary, Lil’ Buck continues his dominance as he heads back inside the ring after his opponent. Taking Ejiro by the back of the head, Buck slams his face into the top turnbuckle and once again scrambles his brain from one ear to the other. Turning toward Buck on impact, Ejiro stands there in a haze, as Buck is able to lean in with a fishhook elbow to the side of the ear. Grabbing Ejiro by the wrist, Buck leans into the corner for a moment before heaving him across the ring with an Irish whip. Rushing ahead with an axe handle overhead, Buck looks to mash Ejiro once again only to get a boot put squarely in his mouth as Buck is knocked flat on his back. Shaking his head and trying to get his wits together, Ejiro barely has the energy required to flip off the music people in the audience before he boots Buck across the face once again as the big man gets to a seated position on the canvas. Nudging Buck’s head to one side with the toe of his boot, Ejiro hops into the air and jams a knee into the side of his head. Staying on his knees, Fasaki jabs away at Buck’s head with a number of short right hands. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” Picking Buck up by the neck, Ejiro puts his challenger in position for a moment before taking the 270-pounder with a great deal of effort with a snap suplex. Floating over with the throw, Ejiro mounts his adversary in an instant and once again starts to pepper his opponent in the head with a flurry of right hands as Buck tries to cover up under the pummeling. Keeping the bulk of the attack away from his face, Buck only takes a minor bruising out of the impacts as Ejiro quickly realizes that his punching is not having the desired effect. And as such Fasaki leaves Buck on the canvas and instead uses a whole lot more power from his lower limbs as Ejiro stomps away on his challenger. Perhaps accomplishing whatever he was trying to do, and perhaps not, Ejiro hauls his opponent up and starts to wind up his off right hand with a wristlock. But even as Ejiro turns, Buck hammers him in the face with the left and knocks Rule right back down to the canvas. “Ejiro has to know that he cannot use strikes as his primary source of offense,” calls out Longdogger Pete. “He simply is not large enough or strong enough to get over on Buck in that regard.” The Suicide King responds, “That may be true but you have to get your opponent down so you can start working him over with holds. Its not like Buck is going to trade armbars with anyone.” Knocking the dust from his shoulder onto his opponent, Buck grabs Ejiro around the head and pulls him to his feet. Quickly locking in the front facelock for the second time in the match, Buck refrains from clubbing Fasaki in order to lift him skyward for what looks to be a delayed vertical suplex. But as he is at the apex, Ejiro begins to kick his legs in order to get his feet back down on the canvas. Quickly turning into Buck, Ejiro tries to lock on… “COOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Although the call is a bit premature as Ejiro is unable to push his opponent all the way down to the canvas even as Fasaki locks down on Buck’s head with the actual crossface. Wrenching back as hard as he can, Ejiro still does not have the canvas or his weight to add against the hold as Buck keeps from being driven down to the mat. Reaching across his own body, Buck is able to link his hands together and force his body off his knees! Now actually carrying Ejiro on his shoulder as the World Champion continues to stay his the hold, Buck takes a step towards the ropes… AND DUMPS EJIRO RIGHT OVER THE TOP! Shrugging his mighty shoulders, Lil’ Buck shows off why his name is a misnomer as Ejiro goes backward right to the floor. Barely able to use his legs to break the fall, Fasaki takes a full ride to the outside as Buck drops to a knee for a moment and rubs the minor discomfort out of the shoulder as the crowd continues to call for Ejiro’s blood. Landing in a heap, Ejiro crumbles into a fetal position as Buck rises up with both hands in the air as the crowd calls out in appreciation. Rolling to the outside, Lil’ Buck grabs the World Champion and sends him right back inside the ring where Buck can actually win the bling. Sliding on top of his foe, Buck hooks a leg as Kivell counts… ONNNNNNNNNNNNEEE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREGODNOOOOOOOO! “COME ON REFEREE!” shouts Buck as Ejiro’s shoulder barely comes off the canvas in time to save his World Title for the time being. Plucking Ejiro off the canvas, Buck pulls his opponent to his feet and hammers him again with the southpaw left hand that has served him so well in this contest. Scrambling into a corner, Fasaki tries to get out of the path of impending doom as Buck ignores the referee’s call to stop using the closed fist. Turning to the official, Buck gives the man a little static only to feel a shove from behind as Fasaki springs out of the corner. Bumbling into the official, Buck knocks Kivell down for a second before turning towards Ejiro with an expression on his face that clearly shows he has no idea what is about to occur. BOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Bashing Buck across the face with a right hand, the big man falls strait backward to the canvas in a heap as Ejiro falls in the opposite direction and drops a small metal object to the floor. “He had the DAMN chain again! What the devil has this man come to?” calls out Longdogger Pete as Ejiro hides the evidence of his misdeed. The King of Hearts says, “He is doing what he HAS to in order to stay on top! He knew he was coming into a hostile environment and all he did was bring a little insurance.” “But how is this any better than what Toxxic used to be?” “He never said he was better than anyone… on a moral basis.” Catching Buck just above the eye with the chain, Ejiro opened a cut on his opponent’s eyebrow as the big man now lies on the canvas barely stuttering toward coherence with the red stuff now flowing down his face. But he does not have a moment to sit there and bleed before Fasaki is on top once again and hammering away with a number of short elbows that are all aimed right at the eye that is now swelling up in a rather ugly manner. But he might be close to getting that tended to as Ejiro makes a cover for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THRRRENOBITCHESSSSS! Almost thankful that he didn’t take the chain in the middle of the forehead, Buck is able to kick off the canvas and stay alive in the contest despite any blood loss. Rolling over onto his chest to avoid any more attempts to make a cover, Buck puts a hand to his eye as blood continues to flow now into the eye itself. But he does not have a great deal of time to set up a triage as Ejiro sits on his back and claws into the flesh above the eye as Buck calls out in pain as the swelling starts to blur his vision entirely. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” But Lil’ Buck does not seem to have a whole lot of opportunity to do such a thing as Ejiro breaks off the gouge at the behest of the referee. Pushing his opponent into a corner, Fasaki measures his opponent and drives the point of his elbow into the eye of his opponent once again as Buck tries to cover up his point of wounding. But Ejiro does not give him a whole lot of a chance as he grabs the top rope and stomps at the midsection of his opponent time and again with all he has as the man from the Dirty South fades in the corner. Taking advantage of his wilting opponent, Ejiro takes the knotted head of his challenger and rakes his bloody spot with the laces from his boots as the referee continues to reprimand this dreadful behavior. “This is just reprehensible,” says Longdogger Pete as Ejiro once again punches his opponent above the eye. “Ejiro Fasaki is going to try and put out that eye if he gets the chance and you know it King.” “Well yeah,” replies The Suicide King, “Ejiro is no Saint and never was no matter what his sister might have had us believe. But its not like Buck would not do the same damn thing if he had a mind to do so or was that low blow to Todd Cortez a pure accident last week?” Taking Lil’ Buck off the canvas, Ejiro snaps his opponent to the canvas with a mare in order to set his challenger where he wants him. Then, bounding off the ropes, Ejiro comes trotting back before dropping a measured knee into the eye of his now half blinded opponent. With blood gushing out of his wound, Lil’ Buck barely feels it as Fasaki hooks a far leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNE! TWONAWWWWWW! Kicking out just before the referee’s hand hits the canvas for the second time, Buck proves that although he might be blind in one eye that he is not going to be put down with a damn knee drop. But as he sits up, Ejiro is able to place a knee in the small of his challenger’s back and latches onto his jaw with a chinlock. Fasaki does not hold that for long though before driving his nails into the top of Lil’ Buck’s eye and starts to draw back with it as even more blood starts to weep down his face and dyes his eye red. Leaving the challenger on the canvas, Ejiro steps away from his foe as a blinded Buck tries to pull his body off the canvas using the ropes for leverage. Holding onto his eye as he staggers up to his feet, Buck tries to vainly figure out where Ejiro is as the champion circles to his blind spot. Finally feeling his moment at hand, Fasaki rushes ahead and knocks Buck to the canvas once again with a running elbow to the side of the head. Immediately dropping on Buck, Ejiro hooks a leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO! THREEENAHOOOOOOOOO! “Ejiro is going to keep on that side of his opponent all match long from here on,” calls out Longdogger Pete. “If Buck cannot find his opponent he really cannot fight with him either. He needs to keep Ejiro close if he wants to salvage this attempt at winning the World title.” But Ejiro is not giving his opponent a chance to close in on him as he measures his foe and stomps down right on his face with the heel of his boot. Stunned by the impact, the challenger rolls over to his stomach once again to protect from getting pinned as Ejiro smiles to the crowd as they continue jeering the competition for their boy. One upping the competition for the sheer joy of it, Ejiro wipes the flat of his boot across the back of his opponent as several men in the audience jump to their feet and look to perhaps jump in the ring only to have the security officials block his path. Smiling at the paper tigers in the crowd, Ejiro grabs his opponent off the canvas and sends him to the canvas with a body slam. Blowing a kiss to the crowd, Ejiro steps out to the apron and takes all the time in the world as he starts to head up to the top turnbuckle as Buck starts to move. Just as Fasaki perches himself on the top rope, Buck lurches forward and leans on the top rope… DING! And Ejiro crotches himself on the top! Grabbing onto his jimmies as he lands on the top turnbuckle, Ejiro’s eyes cross as the crowd shouts in joy as Buck continues to stagger about not really knowing exactly where he might be. Finally catching sight of his prey with his good eye, Buck hammers his opponent in the side of the face with a left hand before climbing up after the World Champion. Heading up after his opponent, Lil’ Buck gets to the middle turnbuckle before once again hammering Ejiro across the head with the left hand. Hooking Ejiro in a double under hook, Buck looks out to the crowd with a bloody eye before falling backward to the canvas! FALLING! FALLING! LANDING! BOOOOOOOOOOOM! “DIRTY SOUTH THANG!” calls out Longdogger Pete as Buck tosses his opponent across the ring. ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWWOOOOOOOOOO! THREEENOAHHHHHHHH! “He really didn’t get the point of impact where he wanted it,” says The Suicide King. “He usually tries to turn that more into the DDT but in this case, it was more of a butterfly suplex.” Getting to their feet at just about the same time, Buck and Ejiro share a look for a moment before Buck hammers his foe in the face with a left hand that sends the World Champion staggering backward into the ropes before he bounces back into Buck who is more than happy to do it again and send Ejiro down to the canvas with the left. But as Ejiro gets to his feet he lunges into Buck and sticks the nails of his fingers right into the wound of his challenger and drives him to the canvas in the process. Staying on the eye, Ejiro continues to gouge away despite any protests from the crowd or the referee until he finally breaks off with Buck still in agony over the swollen eye. Getting back on the attack, Ejiro punches back on the eye, as Buck is unable this time to get up some defense as Fasaki gets one free shot after another. Pulling Buck up to his feet, Ejiro boots his opponent in the chest in order to double him over and pull him in position for a piledriver. And he holds Buck up… And up… And up… “Oh man,” says LDP, “he is letting all the blood rush to head before…” BOOOOOOM! “SPIKING HIM WITH THE PILEDRIVAHHHHHHHHHH!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEANDAHALFFFFFFF! Rolling a shoulder off the canvas just in time, Buck is able to keep his hopes alive for the World Championship as he gets a shoulder off the canvas. But he does not have long to enjoy the pleasure of keeping alive in the contest before Ejiro gets him off the canvas and turns Buck over for a reverse neckbreaker. But instead of just dropping to his seat, Ejiro reaches over the top and grabs a hold of Buck by a bloody handle before dropping to the canvas with the neckbreaker in order to silence the screaming. Holding onto the eye as he lands, Buck seems to be trying to actually push the blood back into his eye as Ejiro climbs to his feet and once again heads outside to the apron. This time wasting absolutely no time to allow Lil’ Buck to recover, Ejiro finds himself on the top rope a whole lot faster and himself in a whole lot better position to dive off the top… BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! “OHHHH YEAHHHH! SNAP INTO IT!” calls out LDP as Ejiro drops an elbow right into the face of his battered and bloody opponent. “Oh shut the hell up.” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEANDAQUARTERRRRR! “DON’T PUNK OUT! DON’T PUNK OUT! DON’T PUNK OUT!” calls out the crowd as Buck continues to get all the support a bunch of music executives would be willing to give a wrestler they’ve probably never heard of. Shaking from the support Buck starts to kick against the canvas with the heel of his boot as Fasaki looks out to the people he called out at the beginning of the contest. Rolling his eyes at the gangstas, Ejiro picks Lil’ Buck up off the canvas and to a staggered vertical base as Ejiro remembers that crowd support never really did a damn thing for him as he cocks back a right hand… DING! AND GETS KICK SQUARE IN THE NUTS! His foot right in the middle of Ejiro’s groin, Buck falls strait backward to the canvas, as Ejiro is soon to follow. Coughing in a fit on the mat, Ejiro continues to wonder why he didn’t bother to wear a cup this evening as the referee questions the now downed Buck as to what the hell he was just doing… “BUCK! What was that?” “Can’t see… Did I hit him?” chokes back Buck as he looks at the referee with his good eye. “What a LOOOOOAD,” laughs the Suicide King as he figures correctly that there is no way that Buck managed so ruthless a move just by luck. Knowing just what a disqualification would mean in a match of this magnitude, Kivell allows the match to continue as the fans in attendance laugh at the problems the World Champion is currently having. But throughout the jokes about what Buck could have hit, Buck himself has a problem as he staggers up with still a great deal of visibility stolen from his bloody eye. But he still seems to be a great sight better off at this particular second as Ejiro Fasaki can seemingly barely stand as he seemingly needs to hold onto the ropes as he gets up to his feet. Turning into Lil’ Buck, Ejiro manages to get turned around just in time to get cut right the hell back down with a leaping left handed clothesline. Not letting Ejiro get away or get on his blind side, Buck kicks his opponent in the chest and bends Ejiro over at the waist. Quickly reaching around Ejiro and clamping on both his arms as they cross over his chest, Buck lifts the World Champion up into the air… But not for long… BOOOOOOOOOOOM! “PRYAMID DRIVAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Not holding onto Ejiro to make a cover, Buck tosses his opponent’s legs to one side as he looks out to his people and wipes the blood from his eye. Flicking the liquid onto his opponent, Lil’ Buck wipes his foot off on the World Champion’s back in order to return the favor from earlier in the contest. Suffice to say, the approval rating for Lil’ Buck is a little bit greater. “HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH!” Nodding his head at the crowd, Lil’ Buck knows that he’s got things going his way despite the blood that he has lost and the vision that has been restricted. Grabbing Ejiro off the canvas, Buck hammers him across the head with left hand after left hand after left hand until Ejiro seems to be completely out on his feet. Finally just letting Ejiro’s hair loose, Buck walks across the ring as Ejiro simply does a facial into the center of the ring. Leaning backward into the ropes, Buck bounces off the strands before dropping down on his opponent with a 270-pound leg drop to the back of the head. Pushing Ejiro over onto his back, Buck hooks a leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEENAHOOOOO! Shaking his head at the two count, Lil’ Buck hauls Ejiro from the canvas and tosses him across the ring. Catching him on the rebound, Buck twirls Ejiro around as though he weighed only feathers before planting him under with a power slam! Immediately popping to his feet, Lil’ Buck starts to shake with pleasure as he points around the ring with a smile. Shouting loudly with something that is probably not actually in the human language, the man from the Dirty South calls to the peoples that he has just about enough of this contest. Stalking the rising Ejiro from behind, Buck snaps down on his back with a double chicken wing and lowers his head. “BUCK WILD RRRRRRRRRIDE!” “NO!” Kicking backward as he is lifted into the air, Ejiro manages to force his bodyweight over the top and land behind Buck. Quickly trying to catch Buck unawares, Ejiro puts a foot in his chest only to get caught in the middle of the stream and held there as Buck gloats over the momentary advantage. Flinging Ejiro’s foot to one side, Lil’ Buck braces to punch Ejiro once again… He should have been bracing for something else… KEEEEERACK! “DRAGON WHIPAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEEMYGODNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “He kicked out! He KICKED out! HE KICKED OUT! Buck couldn’t see the dragon whip coming out of that eye and got kicked right in the side of the head! But still he managed to get his shoulder off the canvas,” reports an exhausted Longdogger. “Ejiro needs to put this thing away now! He needs to call this thing and go home. Whenever someone kicks out of your move you need to do something to get out of there with your hide.” Mounting Buck the moment his opponent kicked out, Ejiro starts to punch Buck right in the eye again as the referee vainly tries to get the World Champion off his opponent. Getting off his foe before he can be disqualified, Ejiro looks at the official and then the rest of the people on the private island with a dangerous sneer as Buck simply refuses to stay the hell down. Dipping into one of the tricks that won him the World Heavyweight title, Ejiro clamps on Buck as the challenger gets to his knee with a cravat and pulls him forward towards a turnbuckle for the Ejirocution… BOOOM! He’s had better ideas. Shucking off Ejiro at the last moment, Lil’ Buck cracks Fasaki’s skull off the top turnbuckle. Quickly hooking Ejiro around the back with a pump handle, Buck quickly hauls Ejiro up and over with a suplex that ends up dropping his opponent right on the small of his back. Rolling over with the impact, Ejiro makes two full rolls before ending up on his back in the center of the ring. Getting to his feet, Buck slides the blood off his eye and applies some pressure to the wound to try and reduce some of the swelling but it seems like the crowd just wants him to go about murdering his opponent. “HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH!” Once again shaking from the adrenaline, Buck grabs Ejiro up and into a standing position for just a second before locking him around the waist. Taking a little hop to get some momentum, Ejiro is taken into the air with the tight waist before jamming his opponent back into the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex! Immediately hooking a leg, Buck tries to pull the World Championship away from his opponent… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THRENOTONMYWATCHHHHHHHHHHH! Stumbling up to his feet, Buck leans against the top turnbuckle on one side as Ejiro writhes on the canvas holding onto his chest. Barely up to his knees, Ejiro once again gets hooked from behind with a double chicken wing in preparation for the Buck Wild Ride. This time using just enough lift to get his opponent over, Buck holds Ejiro up above his head as Ejiro once again tries to force his way over the top. But this time Buck refuses to let Ejiro go no matter how far Ejiro pushes his legs. So when he starts to bend backward, Buck finds himself now with Fasaki behind him… and latched onto his biceps. Immediately turning Lil’ Buck around so the big man is now facing the canvas, Ejiro drops to the canvas… WHAMMMMMMMMMMMM! “TOMIKAZI!” calls out LDP as Ejiro drives Buck’s face into the canvas. “Ejiro has simply wrestled WildChild so many times that he knows all the counters to the Vertebreaker by heart,” calls out The Suicide King. “Hell he has known that since Johnny Dangerous and Fugue feuded in the SJL!” Leaving a bloody spot on the canvas as Ejiro pushes him over to the back so he can hook the leg for … ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEEEEOHNOOOOOOO! Kicking out of the cover just a minute second before the hand comes down for the third time, Buck manages to keep the slim hopes of keeping in this match. Rolling over onto his stomach once again in order to keep from getting another cover… Buck hopes that he can defend himself for a moment in order to get a moment to get his head back together… He doesn’t… He hopes that he can cover up in order to keep the match going… He can’t… He hopes that isn’t Ejiro clamping onto his back and hooking up his arm… He is. “COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Latching onto his opponent, Ejiro pulls back on Buck’s head with his pet submission maneuver. Keeping his base wide as he grinds on the hold, Ejiro roars widely as he continues to pry on the hold. Putting his hand in the air and just above the canvas, Lil’ Buck knows that he can’t give in… He can’t quit… He can’t tap… He can’t be the bitch… He can’t… DAMN IT! TAP! TAP! TAP! Finally tapping the canvas, Buck signals his defeat as Ejiro let’s his opponent loose from the hold. Rolling to one side, Ejiro collects his wits on the canvas as he gets to his knees as the World title is returned to his grasp. Wiping the sweat through his hair, Ejiro raises an eyebrow as Funyon calls through the microphone. “The winner of this contest and STILL SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… EJIROOOOOOOOO FASAKEEEEEEEEE!” Slapping the World Title to his shoulder, Ejiro struggles backstage as a bleeding Lil’ Buck just barely is able to get up to his feet inside the ring. Shaking his head and splattering blood in the process, Buck gets to his feet as the crowd; despite their hard exterior know when they see effort. But getting a nice round of applause is nothing compared to the thrill of actually winning the world title… … And Lil’ Buck will have his damn day. He will have his DAMN DAY. *** FADE TO BLACK *** Edited May 30, 2005 by 5_moves_of_doom Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
