chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 (edited) The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, JUNE 17TH, 2005, LIVE FROM ST. PETER'S SQUARE IN THE VATICAN! In the aftermath of SWF 13th Hour, some things are certain. Spike Jenkins is gone for 30 days. Toxxic may be gone for much, much longer. Ejiro Fasaki retained his World Championship, getting a well-deserved round of applause in the process. Finally, Pope Benedict XVI's minions decided that they liked us so much that they'd ask us to stay one more week. While some of the wrestlers are distressed at the lack of ring rats, it's hard to say no to the Man in White. Plus, they won't let us leave until Allison Onita makes confession. MAIN EVENT CRUISERWEIGHT EXHIBITION Wildchild v. ??? -> Wildchild had a difficult fight on Sunday night, but - with nothing on the line - an SWF veteran made a few phone calls and threw down the gauntlet for the post-PPV show. Who is it? Only time will tell... but damn if we're not looking forward to it. GRUDGE MATCH Johnny Dangerous v. Tom Flesher -> Flesher and Dangerous just haven't been getting along lately... where Dangerous feels he's being held down, Flesher thinks Dangerous is, well, a danger to ticket sales. If Johnny wins this match, he's got a shot at whoever holds the World Championship at Ground Zero; if Flesher wins, Johnny's out of the World Title scene entirely until after Genesis, allowing Flesher to build up more marketable and entertaining challengers. SINGLES MATCH Ghost Machine v. Martin "Big Country" Hunt -> Is that dude a robot? Really - we don't know? Hm. That's odd. Well, hopefully he's not - I hate stiffs. Also Appearing: A slew of your favorite SWF Superstars! Edited June 18, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 “EH!” “EH BOO!” “EH! EH BOO BOO!” Weird robot music hits, but GHOST MACHINE is no where to be found. BOOM! FLSHKABRO! An immense fireball shoots from the entrance, and there Ghost Machine….oh, wait. Uh-oh. Let’s get some medics down there. Ghost Machine is on fire. The fire crew is trying to extinguish him, but the baby oil is too flammable. This could be tragic. Oh, looks like the fire crew is getting the blaze under control! Let’s have a hand for the Montville County fire department! Guess we won’t be coming back here again…..oh my! Ghost Machine is standing! Holy Shit! Is this guy a robot? Oh my god! It looks like he might be! What an impressive physique! What a cool mask. I’d hit it. “WAKE UP A SIX AND F*** SOME COWS” “I’M GLAD I’M A COUNTRY BOY” Oh! And here comes Martin “Big Country” Hunt. What a loser! Why is he wearing that stupid shirt? BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! Has anyone even heard of this jobber? Cripes, I’m surprised he showed up. THE BELL IS DUNG Ghost Machine and Big Country eye each other wearily. Ghost’s blackened and peeling skin doesn’t faze him. It’s like he’s a robot or something. Oh! BC charges and goes for a tackle! Ghost is on the ground, flailing wildly. He kicks BC off, and gets up quickly. BC comes in for another tackle….Ghost Machine has lifted him into the air! OH MY GOD HE JUST BIT HIM! Country is screaming in pain, as well as missing a sizeable chunk of his face. Both literally and figuratively. Ghost drops BC, and locks in a chinlock. Looks pretty painful. jk. OH MY GOD BIG COUNTRY JUST BIT GHOST MACHINE! Jesus Christ! He didn’t even break the skin. It’s… As if he were… Made…. Of metal………….. Ghost is mad! He lifts Big Country into the air and throws him into the turnbuckle. Here comes a flurry of vicious blows! Left! Right! Left! Left! Middle! Center! Both! Right! BC is bleeding profusely, but somehow blocks a punch and grabs Ghost. DDT! He took his head off with that DDT! But Ghost is up, and powerbombs BC to the outside and scratches his testicles. His own. Big Country rolls into the ring, and finds Ghost Machine tired and sucking wind. He climbs to the top rope, and leaps…. GHOST MACHINE JUST CLOTHESLINED BIG COUNTRY! WOW! Uh oh….he’s dragging the limp body up. But is BC’s left eye open? Sweet Southern Comfort! Sweet Southern Comfort! Sweet Southern Comfort! The (Power Based) "Sweet Southern Comfort" -- Reverse DDT similar to Raven's Evenflow is a devastating maneuver, but Ghost pops up…. Almost….. Nah….. Could it be? Is he a robot? PILEDRIVER!!!! 1 2 3! It’s over! It’s alover! Ghost Machine is the winner by pinfall! And he’s getting on the microphone! Now we will find out! IS HE A ROBOT? CAN HE SPEAK!? JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING IS A MACHINE, DOES THAT MEAN IT CANNOT LOVE???? “….” PLEASE HOLD FOR TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. THX. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 “-I don’t care what you say,” King‘s voice declares, “I’m positive that was Riley leaving with that altar boy-” “-err, WELCOME BACK TO SWF STORM!” Longdogger Pete bellows, drowning out the Gambling Man. “We’re STILL here in St. Peter’s Square, and the action is just as hot as it was on Sunday!” “Allison Onita wasn’t looking too bad either,” Suicide King quips, then looks askance at his broadcast partner. “Hey, what was with the shouting, anyway? You trying to become Comet or something?” “Silence miscreant,” Pete thunders, “before I show you why there’s only one champion in this bid’ness!” “Oh God,” King groans, covering his ears, “the worst of both worlds…” “But seriously,” LDP continues, “we have a rip-roaring show for you tonight! We’ve already seen one debut and another is coming up next as the SWF continues to grow, but first let’s revisit some of the more memorable moments from last sund-” But Pete is cut off by a very familiar sound. That sound is the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” High above the crowd, projected onto the very walls of the Vatican itself, a slogan flashes up in jagged, white letters: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ “YES!” King shouts, suddenly joyous. “He’s still here! I knew you couldn’t get rid of this man so easily!” Pushing through the narrow entranceway that leads between the crowd comes a limping figure. A bulkiness underneath the England soccer shirt hints at the taped ribs beneath, but Toxxic still manages to roll under the bottom rope into the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, somewhat surprised, “please welcome the leader of Revolution Zero and the former World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The Straight-Edge Sensation takes the microphone from Funyon and looks around at the crowd. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Universal hatred. Same old same old. Clearing his throat, Toxxic raises the mic to his lips. “The last time I was in a Last Man Standing match was at 13th Hour 2004. That match was against a man called Nathaniel Kibagami, and that was a match I won. A week or so after that result I not only beat Danny Williams to become the Number One Contender to the World Heavyweight Title but I also formed Revolution Zero, the most dominant stable in the past year.” Toxxic pauses for a second to make sure that everyone is taking this in, then begins again. “This year, I was also in a Last Man Standing match at 13th Hour. But this time I was against Spike Jenkins, one of the original Revolution Zero members… and this time I lost.” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “There’s one thing I want to clarify,” Toxxic continues, raising a black-nailed hand. “Those of you who watched the match will have seen me get Spike up on my shoulders, and you will have seen me drop backwards. I bet that’s been preying on your mind for the last five days Spike,” the Brit carries on, “you’ll have been wondering why I didn’t go for the Dangerlust. Well, maybe you had some fantastic last ditch counter planned, and maybe you didn’t. Bottom line is, I didn’t go for it because I couldn’t.” “…huh?” King says, but Toxxic begins speaking again. “You didn’t get some cheap win because I wussed out of following through,” Toxxic states bluntly. “At the end of the day, and I want you to pay close attention to this Spike; I couldn’t beat you. Not without doing something… without becoming someone that I don’t want to be anymore. That wouldn’t have been a victory for me.” This sort of admission is not what the crowd were expecting, even with a slightly limited understanding of the English language. The fans in St. Peter’s Square are unusually silent as Toxxic pauses, seemingly trying to decide what to say next. “Y’know, I’m sick of this,” the Straight-Edge Sensation suddenly blurts out. “I’m sick of the hatred, I’m sick of the jealously and the arrogance, I’m sick of wrestling against people who want to make each match my last, and I’m sick of what I have to do to make sure that they don’t succeed. I don’t want it anymore, so I am taking some drastic measures.” The Straight-Edge Sensation pauses, then raises one black-nailed finger. “First, I am officially stating that I am not looking for a rematch with Spike. If he still thinks we have unfinished business when he gets back from his suspension, then so be it. As far as I’m concerned, we are done.” Another finger goes up. “Second, I am removing myself from the World Title hunt-” “WHAT!?” King yelps as the crowd in the square make a collective “OOOHHHHHH!” of disbelief. “He can’t be serious,” King continues breathlessly, “he’s leaving the most prestigious belt to people like Ejiro and… and… Ejiro?” “-REMOVING MYSELF FROM THE WORLD TITLE HUNT,” Toxxic continues in a louder voice, until Ejiro no longer holds the belt. As the former titleholder, and with an unparalleled win/loss record I’d say I’m in line for a rematch… but not while he’s got it. Whether or not I’d win, I don’t want that shit again.” “Well I never,” Pete mutters, “Toxxic’s coming over all Landon Maddix.” “…please don’t rearrange those words too much,” King pleads, “didn’t I tell you I saw Riley earlier!” “Thirdly, and finally,” Toxxic begins again, raising one more finger… then pauses. And waits, clearly unsure of what he’s about to say. Then raises the mic again. “…thirdly and finally; I am disbanding Revolution Zero.” “WHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT!!???~!” King’s screech can be heard right across St. Peter’s Square - or could be, if the entire crowd hadn’t gone completely apeshit at that news. It’s not exactly cheering and it’s certainly not booing, but it is loud. And in the middle of it all stands Toxxic, waiting for the noise to die down enough for him to speak again. “This isn’t because we’ve fallen out!” Toxxic shouts to be heard above the din. “I wish Scott and JJ the best of luck in the future, and for all I know they’ll still tag together or whatever,” he continues at a slightly more normal volume as the noise starts to die away. “In fact, if ever either of them need a tag partner I’d be more than willing to help out; but Revolution Zero has become synonymous with interference and backstage attacks, something I never intended. I don’t have anyone to back me up or take you down anymore. I don’t have any hidden cards or tricks to play. I no longer have any agenda beyond what I first came here to do. “That is, to wrestle. And to be bloody good at it.” The Straight-Edge Sensation looks around at the crowd… and for the first time since before Sunday night, the lopsided grin creeps over his face. “I’m not going anywhere just yet. If anyone wants to come and try me out, they’re welcome to it. No stables, no backup, just you and me. But I’ll warn you. If you think it’s going to be easy…” Toxxic casually raises two black-nailed fingers in the British v-sign towards the wrestlers’ dressing room. “…you’d better prepare to be proved wrong!” FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 --13TH HOUR RECAP-- With Martial Law having wiped themselves out, Double Jeopardy have a few seconds spare to recover themselves before discussing their next move. Show grabs Maddix while Quiz grabs Cortez, La Cucaracha getting HURLED into the side of the apron, while The Urban Legend is thrown back into the ring by Quiz. On the outside remains Show, putting the boots to Maddix. As meanwhile, the legal men are back in the ring and Quiz is just begging Cortez to get back to his feet. Slowly, Cortez begins to do so, looking a little dis-orientated and limping slightly as he lumbers around... *SMACK!* ...into a superkick from Quiz!! Frantic, Quiz dives on top of Cortez as quickly as he can and screaming at Soapdish to get into position... ONE! TWO! THR... ...NO, ONLY TWO! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Cortez gets the kickout, and the standing-room-only crowd in St. Peter's Square is going absolutely berzerk! With Maddix reeling on the outside, the non-reeling Show rolls into the ring, looking at his partner Quiz with wide-eyed anticipation. Quiz, always the mischievious plan-forming type, forms a mischievious plan in his head, and bellows... "WE'LL TAKE X FOR THE BLOCK!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Show nods, and he bends over, putting Quiz on his shoulders and lifting the game show host high into the air, in perfect position for the electric chair drop! Quiz raises both arms into the air, celebrating the impending victory as Show lumbers around the ring, getting into position, but the ring seems to be shaking a bit more than usual... *WHAP!* ... and suddenly Show lurches forward, victim of a Landon Maddix kick to the back of the head! Show drops like a sack of bricks, the back of his head instantly discolored from the kick, while Quiz barely manages to bail in time, landing on his feet! He turns around, trying to figure out exactly what happened... *WHAP!* ... but he too eats boot, this time victim of Sweet Cuca Music! "LANDON MADDIX JUST TOOK OUT BOTH QUIZ AND SHOW!" Pete screams, and King can do nothing but wish he had left Pete's mic turned off as Cortez, barely alive, sees the fallen Quiz and drapes one arm over for the cover. ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEE! *DING DING DING!* "Ladies and gentlemen, YOUR winners, and STILL the S - W - F TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF THE WOOOOOORRRRLD... Todd Cortez and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, MARTIAL LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!" "Well, that was Sunday night at 13th Hour." Pete recaps as we return to Storm. "Martial Law staving off the challenge of surprise opponents Double Jeopardy, to retain their SWF World Tag Team Championships. Now, joining us backstage right now is Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix..." The screen suddenly splits in two, Pete and King on the right, as Landon Maddix appears on the left. In his locker room, Maddix doesn't seem in the best of moods, despite the fact he still has one of the SWF Tag Team Championship belts strapped over his shoulder. "...and Landon, we thank you for joining us at this time. Now, we were expecting to speak to Todd Cortez as well as yourself, but obviously that's not the case." "Obviously." "Err...and is there a reason for that?" "Yes. But that's my concern, not yours." "In other words, you have no idea where he is." chimes King. Maddix sneers, declining to answer. "Well, as we just saw Landon, you and Todd Cortez were able to withstand the challenge of former Tag Team Champions Double Jeopardy on Sunday night at 13th Hour. That surely must be a morale boosting victory. But on the horizon, you have to assume, is an inevitable rematch with Wild and Dangerous. Are Martial Law ready for that?" "Sure, whatever." Maddix flippantly replies. "But I don't want to talk about the Tag Team Titles right now. What I wanted to talk about is me." "What a surprise." sneers King. "It's funny Pete, how your questions proves the point I want to make here. Are Martial Law ready for Wild and Dangerous? Why the hell shouldn't we be? What is it about Wild and Dangerous that instantly makes them 'invincible' and everyone else just an afterthought? What is it with everyone in this company labelling me as an afterthought? Time after time, no matter what I do...nothing is ever good enough. Well, I've got news for you guys and I've got news for Tom Flesher. I have had ENOUGH of being sold short, or just plain no-sold completely!" Angrily, Maddix lifts his Tag Team Title belt over his shoulder, tossing it off screen. "Tonight, it's just another example of me getting the shaft. What's the main event tonight? Wildchild taking on a mystery opponent, in some sort of Cruiserweight 'exhibition'. Now, from my experience, these mystery opponents end up being Coked up veterans who are just looking for another payday to fuel whatever addictions they've developed since getting canned or retiring. So you've got veteran versus veteran, Cruiserweight rules. What about The Next Generation? What about the young wrestlers who MAKE the division. Forget them, you've got Wildchild. Forget them, we can bring back some old has-been that everyone has long forgotten for one show. And here I am, sitting on my ASS, doing NOTHING! Newsflash people...I AM A CRUISERWEIGHT!! And I'm a better Cruiserweight than anyone in this company. But do I get the chance to prove it? Nooooo! My last Cruiserweight Title shot was over a year ago. It was so long ago, I don't even remember when!" "Well..." "And pray tell, what's the other 'big attraction' tonight. Johnny Dangerous versus Tom Flesher?" Maddix pauses, trying to hold back from another tirade. "Last time I checked...I RETIRED TOM FLESHER!! Remember that, King? You picked Flesher as one of your partners, back at Genesis, because you were so confident he could help you get the job done. But he didn't. He tucked his tail between his legs and he 'retired'. Or, so it seemed. Sure enough, it's yet another bullshit retirement! Guys like me are forced to sit on the sidelines, while the stars of FOUR YEARS AGO who are supposed to be RETIRED just WALTZ back into main events and high profile matches and title shots!! Tell me, what's the point of me working my ass off week after week for this company when this company seems more concerned with trips down memory lane than giving guys like me a chance!?!" "I don't strictly think that's true La..." "And as if that's not enough, well, let's tag a bullshit stipulation on the end! If Johnny Dangerous wins, he goes to main event Ground Zero, challenging for the World Heavyweight Title? Need I remind you what he was doing last year at Ground Zero?" "No, you don't." interjects Pete. "LOSING TO ME!! Shining Wizard, 1, 2, 3!!" Now fuming, Maddix wipes the hair away from his eyes. "A few weeks ago, in the Seychelles, it was Wildchild...Shining Wizard, 1, 2, 3!" Counting the numbers off on his fingers, Maddix again pauses. "Lil' Buck? Shining Wizard, 1, 2, 3! Sunday night, I SINGLE-HANDEDLY knocked Double Jeopardy out to retain the World Tag Team Titles. Where's MY recognition? Where's MY shot at the World Title? Where's MY match with Ejiro Fasaki? What do I have to do to get a shot!?! Hey, maybe if I retired, went AWOL for a few months, and then came back out of nowhere...maybe THEN I'd get a title shot! Worked for Sacred. Worked for Annie Eclectic. Worked for Kibagami." "Somebody sounds a little bitter." King sneers again. "YOU'RE GOD-DAMN FUCKING RIGHT I'M BITTER!!!!" On the right of the screen, King's eyes bulge open, while Pete frantically waves a hand under his throat, trying to get someone to cut the feed. "I'M SICK OF THE MYSTERY OPPONENTS!! I'M SICK OF THE WASHED-UP VETERANS!! I'M SICK OF BEING OVERLOOKED!! I'M SICK OF JOHNNY DANGEROUS BITCHING HIS WAY TO TITLE SHOTS!! IS MY BITCHING NOT GOOD ENOUGH!?! IS IT NOT UP TO JOHNNY'S STANDARDS!?! AM I NOT OLD AND GREY ENOUGH FOR YOU PEOPLE!?! I'M SICK OF THIS ENTIRE COMPA..." *PFFFTT!* Suddenly, the feed is finally cut, prompting a sigh of relief from Longdogger Pete. "Uhm...we...we apologise, folks." "I owe whoever cut the feed a beer, because another second of that and I'd have walked backstage and shut him up myself. What a whiney little brat." "Well, you can maybe sympathise..." "Why? He's only moaning because the spotlight isn't firmly pointed on him. Well, if he wanted people's attention, he got it. Rest assured, when Tom hears what he just said, that kid is gonna be out of here like a fat chick in dodgeball." Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 “…no, I’m not going to BET that Green Lantern could kick Superman’s ass, there’s no way of prov-” “Uh, Pete. Ahem.” The voice of Las Vegas’ own Suicide King interrupts the superheroic rantings of his broadcast associate as Storm comes back from what seems like an ENDLESS stream of commercials for CD’s with collections of religious songs on them, and Longdogger Pete quickly turns to face the camera. “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen, but my partner and I were just…well, that’s not important right now. The camera is currently making its way out to the boondocks of the Vatican, where our next match, Insane Luchador vs. a returning JJ Johnson, is set to take place.” King ponders that statement, looking for something to make fun of. Drawing a blank, he decides to ask a question. “Where’s Johnson been, anyway?” “I believe he hurt his rotator cuff, but I’m not positive.” is Pete’s response as the camera grows nearer and nearer where the former ultimate fighter and the former Hardcore Gamer’s Champion will face off for the fourth time. “You know, King, this match is interesting because we just mentioned how this match is in the boondocks of the Vatican. Well, these boondocks happen to be a major city in itself, Rome, and I don’t think it was the best judgment letting these two fight it out in such a populated area.” “You’re damn right, it’s a bad idea! Luchador has a sick mind, and he has no care for his opponent’s safety!” King’s comment befuddles the SWF’s play-by-play man, who could have sworn it was Johnson with those “ qualities” “King, did you just say Luchador was those things? You do realize he’s facing a man who, rumor has it, was willing to BLOW UP THE ALAMODOME to retain his title at Battleground?” “Seriously? Sweet! Hey, remember that one time that little kid got shot during a Johnson match?” “Yes…” “Yeah, that was cool too.” “…” And with that statement, the camera arrives at the exit of the holiest city on Earth. A city of tranquility. A city of calm. A city of… WHAM!!! Just as the camera passes through the gates of the Vatican into the bustling city of Rome, JJ Johnson hits a hard clothesline, taking the runner-up of the “Window Pain” match off his feet! “AND WE’RE UNDERWAY! Johnson with a wicked clothesline to start us off, and Luchador is quick to get back to a vertical base!” “That’s the best base to be at against a man with a ground game like Johnson has. That’s Johnson’s instinct, to take it to the mat, er, street, and if Luchador can’t stay on his feet, his chances of winning are even worse than they were before.” Luchador ducks a second clothesline attempt, then turns and fires a dropkick right between Johnson’s shoulder blades, causing the Canadian to drop to his knees. “WHAT IS HE DOING?!? THIS IS NO TIME FOR GENUFLECTION!!” “I don’t think it’s his fault, King.” Instead of trying to get back to his feet from his current position, which would only expose his back to another attack, Johnson rolls forward and onto his feet, where he turns around… …to take another dropkick, this time in the face, that sends him crashing into the wall of the alley in which they are fighting. Johnson hits the wall hard, but ricochets off, using his momentum to send another clothesline the insane one’s way in an attempt to kill his opponent’s momentum. The attempt is successful as the SWF’s resident luchador takes a hard fall onto the cobblestone. “Another clothesline! Johnson is dominating now!” “No, he isn’t. Look what arm he’s throwing those clotheslines with.” “Yeah, his left arm. What’s wrong with his left arm? “Johnson is right handed, King. Obviously that right shoulder is still bothering him, and he doesn’t want to risk hurting it again. The lessened impact of those blows may help Luchador more than it hurts him.” And indeed, Luchador is up relatively quickly, firing punches into the face of his opponent, sending him staggering backwards and into the crowded Roman streets. Luchador follows as Johnson rolls again, this time backwards, to his feet in a fighting stance. This does nothing to deter young Andrew, as he continues his pursuit of the Canadian. Unfortunately, his progress is slowed by the crowds, and Johnson takes that moment to disappear into the crowd. Luchador makes his way through the mob, snagging a statuette of the Virgin Mary from a street vendor to use as protection from the merciless striking specialist. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a term which here means “about fifteen feet ahead of IL”, Johnson is doing his best to stand in front of people taller than he, a task with some difficulty, due to his being rather tall compared to the rest of Italy’s population. Luchador continues his search, shouldering his way at past little old women, and little old men, and little middle aged women, and little middle aged men, and little young…you get the idea. However, his search criteria isn’t exactly the most reliable in a place like Italy. “Black hair, black hair…” Luchador mutters, not realizing that in Italy, “black hair” describes most of the population. “There he is! No, no, guy is too small. Aha! There you-no, no, that guy is too small too.” Soon, Luchador gets the idea, and makes a well-needed change of criteria. “Canadian, Canadian…damn. Oh wait, there he is.” And with that, Luchador hit’s a clearing in the people, and within that clearing stands his opponent, nun at the ready. That sight is enough to remind his opponent of HIS weapon, and the Luchador hefts his implement of religion as the two begin to circle each other, the crowd cheering on the SWF performers. Johnson is the first to strike, the nun making a hiss as it cuts through the air, but the Luchador drops to his stomach to avoid the blow, then clubs Johnson in the knee with his much easier to swing statue. Johnson, realizing this, tosses the nun aside as he grabs at his knee, then grabs a bottle of red liquid, taking a swig before taking a swing. CRASH!!!!!!!! The sound of glass shattering pierces the Italian air as the bottle makes contact, and a sharp smell fills the air. “VINEGAR!! Johnson just hit Luchador with a bottle of VINEGAR!!” cries LDP as the acidic liquid floods into the streets, running off the face of Rickmen, who staggers back into the wall of people, who gladly embrace him as he takes a breather. As IL rests, Johnson paces, looking for even the slightest opening in the crowd, which has opened a second, smaller circle that is currently occupied by the now well-protected Insane Luchador. “Vinegar? Where did Johnson get vinegar Pete?” “Well, there are lots of vendors on the street. You saw him grab that bottle from one of them, he must have thought it was wine. Why else would he take a drink?” “Did he ever swallow?” “Well, he must have…I didn’t see him spit it out. Why would he keep vinegar in his mouth? Is he trying to age it?” Johnson, meanwhile, has taken several steps backwards. Luchador gains his bearings, then glances Johnson’s way. Confusion crosses the 4-time (in the last month or two) HCG Champion’s face as he sees Johnson so far away. “Wha…What is Johnson doing here, Pete?” “I don’t know… He’s taken so many steps back, there’s no way he could possibly mount any offense. Well, now he’s going back towards Luchador, so maybe OH MY GOD!!!” As Pete was speaking, Johnson had used the distance he had created as a runway of sorts, building up momentum for his eventual takeoff, which ended in a somersault senton over the people, smashing into Luch! “HOLY SHIT PETE!! DID YOU SEE THAT?!?” “Yes I did, King, yes I did. That…that was simply jaw-dropping. Where did Johnson get that kind of height?” Johnson is the first to his feet, but only by a little as Rickmen shows his durability by getting up far quicker than anyone else his size would have. His back to Johnson, Rickmen slowly turns, expecting the worst… And comes face to face with Johnson, who is asking for something unusual for a match of this type. However, being the good sport that he is, the Insane Luchador interlocks his fingers with his opponent’s, and the two begin to shove. “A test of strength. Who would have thought it?” “Yeah, Pete, this is something unusual for a match of this type.” The crowd of people soon begin to start chanting for their hero to break the stalemate, but the Luchador is content to take advantage of his height, a valuable asset in a test of strength. Rickmen looks around at his adoring fans, then looks down, fully expecting a grimace from his longtime rival. He’s not grimacing, though. He’s smiling. For the second time this match, a look of confusion crosses the face of Johnson’s opponent, but something makes Luchador study his face closer. Something’s amiss. Maybe it’s his cheeks, which are looking slightly more full than usual. Maybe it’s his teeth, which are looking reddish from that vinegar. Maybe it’s his… Oh, shit. PFFFFFFFFT! AIEEEEEEEEEE!! A bloodcurdling scream emanates from the depths of the man from Pennsylvania as vinegar flies into his eyes, a horrible stinging sensation coursing throughout his nerves as the liquid continues to burn his retinas. To make matters worse, he can’t do anything about it, because his hands are currently occupied by the deathgrip of the young Johnson. Johnson’s smile has turned into an evil grin, pushing downwards with all his strength to compound on the pain in IL’s eyes. “So THAT’s where that vinegar went…” comments King, as Johnson continues to stress his now-massive leverage advantage as Rickmen blinks furiously, still shouting about his eyes. “Yes, that would appear to be where that vinegar went, King.” Pete replies. “Shades of Bryan Rodgers with that move, although he doesn’t use vinegar.” “Yeah he does.” “What? No he doesn’t!” “Oh yeah. Vinegar for sure.” “Shut up.” “You shut up. Ass.” Whilst King and LDP continue to fight amongst themselves, Rickmen has started to rally back, having managed to fight his way back to his feet despite not being able to see. “LET’S GO I-L!” CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP “LET’S GO I-L!” CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP The Italian crowd continues to show their support for the underdog in the match, at least for the moment, as Luch begins to force Johnson down once more. “Interesting to see that IL is able to overpower Johnson here, King.” “Yeah, it is. Unless, of course, Johnson was just baiting him again.” “That seems highly unlikely.” “Unlikely or not, it already happened once.” And indeed, as Luchador stresses HIS leverage advantage, Johnson doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned. Mere fractions of a second later, Johnson shifts his weight, pulls and twists, then wraps an arm around his throat before applying a half-nelson with the other. “KATA-HAJIME! KATA-HAJIME! Illegal in judo, but perfectly legal in professional wrestling, it is being applied PERFECTLY here by Johnson!” Pete shouts. “This is a dangerous hold, Pete, and that’s exactly why it’s banned from judo. Not only is there no feasible way out of it on a judo mat, but it both cuts off the air supply of the victim AND applies pressure to both carotid arteries. I’ll be generous and give Luch…twenty seconds. Give or take five.” King’s prophecy looks to come true, as Johnson adds injury to injury and locks on a body-scissors with his legs, making escape even more difficult. However, another thing King said is true. There is no feasible way out of the kata-hajime on a judo mat, where the only things within reaching distance is the edge of the mat, and that won’t do you any good. In a cobblestone street in Rome, Italy, however, where a certain mentally-disturbed lucha-libre competitor has dropped a porcelain statue, and a certain Ultimate Fighter has dropped a nun, there are quite a few more options. Not the nun, though. Those things are really hard to swing. Statuettes aren’t. “LET’S GO I-L!” CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP Rickmen extends his free arm towards the statuette, his eyes still stinging, fighting unconciousness…and losing. Johnson continues to squeeze, veins sticking out on his arms as he looks for some way to get the Insane Luchador to either tap out or pass out faster. “LET’S GO I-L!” CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP Rickmen lunges for the statuette, his fingertips grazing the head of the figurine, failing to put it in his hands but giving him an idea. Reaching a second time, he raises his hand into the air, balls it into a fist, and brings it down on the statuette’s head. PLONG! Sure enough, the lever-like effect of the statue allows Luchador’s maneuver to knock it high into the air, Rickmen catching it on it’s way down and… CRASH!!!!!!!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO “HE MISSED! Johnson managed to move his head JUST in the nick of time, and now Insane Luchador is VERY limited in his options.” “Well, there’s always one option…” “What’s that?” “Tap.” “Ha! Tap. IL has never tapped! He’ll pass out before he submits.” And it looks like Luchador has, as the referee walks over and tests the arm… He lifts once. It drops. He lifts twice. It drops. He lifts a third time. And Johnson lets go. “What the hell? Johnson had it WON!” King’s indignant cries have no effect on the Canadian as he shoves the insane one off of him and kips up to his feet, inciting boos from the crowd. Luchador staggers to his feet, as oxygen makes its way back to his brain. Johnson then moves in, throwing a kick that catches Rickmen in the shoulder and knocks him off the balance he had regained only moments before. With a tuck of his head and a lock of the waist, Johnson readies himself for a Northern Lights suplex. Then, with a pop of the hips… WHUMP! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! “EVENFLOW! EVENFLOW DDT OUT OF NOWHERE! COVER!” shouts Pete as the ref slides in to make what, surprisingly, is the first pin of the match. ONE! TWO! THKICKOUT! Now it’s Johnson’s turn to put some distance between him and his opponent, as he rolls off his shoulder to break the count and then continues to roll, clamoring to his feet once he deems the distance sufficient. Luchador, sensing he has the advantage, closes the gap between he and his still-surprised opponent. The aforementioned still-surprised opponent throws a hard clothesline, but IL ducks it, then turns around and slaps on…a rear naked choke? “A rear naked choke by IL, and you would have to think that this would be slightly easier to break than that kata-hajime earlier.” says LDP, Johnson writhing in Rickmen’s grasp in an attempt to get precious oxygen to his brain. “Well, I don’t know, are there any statues around?” mutters King. Meanwhile, Johnson is still writhing, but with considerably less vigor than before, slowly sinking down to his knees, where IL can bear down on him and thus make the hold more effective. “The last match between Johnson and IL where a rear naked choke was used? Battleground, where the Insane Luchador took Johnson off the VIP section, onto a car, with the Brink of Insanity. “ Pete notes. “Yeah, but there’s no VIP section here, because no one in Rome is very important.” says King. CHEAP HEAT~! Finally, Johnson manages to wriggle until he and IL are back to back, a position from which Luchador is much less of a threat. Or so it would seem. Luchador takes one of the arms that was wrapped around Johnson’s throat and uses it to extend Johnson’s arm out to his side. Then, with a pull, Johnson is currently stuck on the back of the Pennsylvania native. “Wait…Pete, this couldn’t be…It’s not what I think it is, is it?” inquires King. “If it is, then this is certainly a rare occurrence. Ladies and gentlemen, if I am not mistaken, IL is going for the Destruction.” With a pop of his hips, a pull, and a leap backwards, Johnson’s legs are sent over his head by the Destruction… …to land on the ground, Johnson doubled-over but unharmed as Luchador’s momentum sends him thudding to the street. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “I think Luchador overthrew on that one, because he’s not used to doing it. You rarely see that move anymore, and a finisher like THAT is definitely not riding a bike, King.” “No finisher is like riding a bike, Pete. Except of course Liu Kang‘s Bicycle Kick.” “For the last time, King, Liu Kang isn’t real.” As King sobs, Johnson drags Luchador to his feet with a rear waistlock, looking for a German suplex. It never happens, however, because Luchador blocks it by sticking his leg in between Johnson’s. Luchador then breaks Johnson’s grip and switches around behind him, grabbing the waist for a German of his own. Johnson returns the blocking favor, then returns the switching favor, but doesn’t go for a waistlock. “A second kata-hajime! A second one! Luchador is as good as unconscious, Pete!” Luchador continues to struggle against the hold, looking for a way out just like he did last time. “LET’S GO IL!” CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP And just like last time, there is no way out. And Johnson ain’t letting go this time. The ref checks IL, and seeing his state, makes a request of the timekeeper. “RING THE BELL! RING THE BELL! HE’S OUT!” DING DING DING!! For the first time in a little more than a month, “End of Everything” strikes up as Johnson releases the hold, and a smile comes over his face as Funyon makes an announcement we haven’t heard in a long, long time. “Here is your winner, via submission, J…J…JOHNSON!!!!” He’s back. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 The wandering eye of the SWF fan finds itself deep in the catacombs of the Vatican where the indomitable Tom Flesher is now preparing himself mentally and physically for his return to the ring tonight against Johnny Dangerous. Warming himself up in his trademark tracksuit, Flesher moves his arms from side to side in order to open up his entire field of motion before dropping to the floor and delivering ten rapid-fire picture perfect pushups. Working himself into just enough of a sweat to warm up but certainly not enough to actually wear his body down, The Superior One rises to his feet… And shits the proverbial brick… “JESUS! How the hell did you get in here!” Sitting just behind Tom and leafing through a running magazine is the World Champion Ejiro Fasaki. Continuing to read the magazine as he talks Ejiro says, “I opened the door, came in and sat down. You were too busy doing Hindu squats at the time to notice. Nice form by the way.” Picking a towel off a bench, Tom uses it to mop the small amount of sweat from his brow. He got his wits back about him half way through Ejiro’s first sentence. “You know Ejiro, being World Champion doesn’t give you the right to come see me whenever you get all lonely from not having any friends.” Folding his magazine up and tossing it in an available trash can, Ejiro comments, “Tom Clancy gets me through the day. But I’m not here about that Tom. I’m here about you after all. I must say this retirement of yours is going absolutely splendidly what with the wrestling and all…” “This is just one night only, Ejiro and its just to make sure unworthy contenders don’t get their shots at you. We wouldn’t want to waist the World Champion’s time with people that have no hope of beating you after all.” “Not without… certain things being in their favor,” remarks The Rule as he folds his legs over each other as he sticks them on the bench. “Such as,” answers Tom with a raised eyebrow. “Well such as someone taking out a referee before a match even got started…” “That had nothing to do with me whatsoever…” “And then no official coming out until I was in deep, deep trouble. I didn’t know that referees just hung out in the back waiting to make a dramatic entrance like that. Nope, way I heard it, one official goes down and another is to be sent out as soon as possible. Of course… someone has to send them.” The two former members of the Magnificent Seven share a stare between the two of them with the unsaid accusation hanging in the air. Ejiro is actually the first to look away as he flicks a bit of something off the knee of his pants with a smile. “Of course, I don’t have any proof of any wrong doing. But I have an inkling that some unseen force was in play last night, and I just wanted that force to know that I don’t need to see it to know it is there. I can smell it.” “Maybe some decongestants are in order then. Because there is no impropriety going on in this or any other office in the Smarks Wrestling Federation! All I want is what is best for this company and…” “It’s not me?” “…” “Exactly. Thanks Tom, this has been most educational as always…” Getting up off his chair, Ejiro gets to his feet and starts to walk to the end of room. But Tom Flesher always has one last thing to say as he reaches into his bag, “Oh by the way, Ejiro I would appreciate it if you left your sister alone when she comes back to work next week.” Fuming from the mere mention of Melissa, Ejiro shouts back in response. “You shut your damn mouth about my sister! Why you think you can just keeping throwing out as some sort of shield is beyond me Tom. But it stops right the hell…” “Tom, its Mel,” comes a familiar voice as Tom holds up his cell phone with the speaker phone turned up to maximum volume. “Look, I’m going to be coming back in next week like we talked about … but you got to keep Jerry away from me now. You have to keep him away from me.” “What…WHAT!” gasps Ejiro as Tom shuts his phone and slides it back into his pocket. “I’ll make you a copy later if you want Ejiro. But I’m really busy tonight and I need to put another pretender to the throne in his place. Why don’t make him some sandwiches while you’re down there? See you later champ.” Patting Ejiro on the shoulder as he passes the World Champion, Tom smiles brightly as he leaves Fasaki to stir in what he just heard. Having nothing else to say, Ejiro stands there like a mannequin at Macys as though his mind just left his body. …you have to keep him away from me “Like hell” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 (edited) “Welcome back to SWF Storm, live from the Vatican, for a very special evening!” hypes “Longdogger” Pete MacDougall, the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation’s play-by-play man. “Indeed, tonight is a very special night ,” agrees Suicide King, “and I am simply proud to be sitting here at this table tonight to bring you the return of the Superior One, Tom Flesher, to action for one night only to take on the annoying Johnny Dangerous! It’s just too bad that Flesher’s return to action is marred by the fact that he’s doing this to shut Johnny’s whiny little mouth.” “Well, there’s certainly a lot at stake here as well,” adds Pete. “If Johnny Dangerous can come up with the victory-” “Which he won’t,” King says matter-of-factly, “and when Johnny loses he can finally shut up, knowing he won’t receive a shot at the World Title until after Genesis.” “However,” stresses Pete, trying to continue without further interruption, “If Johnny win’s he will receive a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship come Ground Zero – a shot that Johnny feels he’s more than earned a fair chance at long before some of the recent challengers got their shots, and even before our current Champion received his chance at the belt.” “Well that’s just bulls(Beep!)t on a stick!” growls King. “Tom Flesher’s already carefully explained what it takes to earn a World Title shot - consistency, lots of wins, and few losses!” “Which perfectly describes Johnny Dangerous!” Pete argues adamantly. “The Barracuda has only lost a total of four matches this entire year while winning a multitude, against some of the SWF’s top competitors! How can you deny his success when the proof’s right there!?” “Flesher’s just trying to do what’s best for this company,” King counters rather firmly. “I think we all know how fast this ship would sink if you put the Barracuda behind the steering wheel. He’s just not marketable, Pete.” “Whatever,” mutters Pete, waving the Suicide King off. “Our ring announcer Funyon is already standing by so let’s turn this over to him and get this match started.” Funyon steps into the ring and brings the microphone to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “The following match, scheduled for one fall, will be our GRUDGE MATCH!” RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!” “If Johnny Dangerous wins he will be the undisputed number one contender for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP at our next pay-per-view, Ground Zero. However, should Dangerous LOOOOOOOOOOSE… he will not be a part of any World title match until after Genesis.” Suddenly, a voice picks up on the speakers, whispering a name in a deep, sultry voice… “Johnny Dangerous~!” …and St. Peter’s Square erupts! The edgy metal anthem ‘After the Flesh’ roars through the speakers as smoke begins to pour onto the stage, covering the entryway with its thick white haze. Rapidly flashing in the background is a series of strobe lights that give an eerie presence to the Barracuda as he moves through the swirling smoke, the tail of his trench coat fluttering in the back draft, before he is fully revealed at the top of the ramp way. “From Las Vegas, Nevada,” bellows Funyon, “and weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds; he is… JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRACUDAAAAAAA’ DAAAAAAAAANGEROUUUS!!” “RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “This just goes to show you that these fans really do like the Barracuda,” notes Pete. “Johnny Dangerous has been getting a rather mixed reaction from his fans lately, some cheers and some boos. However, I think that’s a direct result of the kind of things the Barracuda’s involved himself in while trying to earn his shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. These crowds love this guy and they don’t want to see him go down the wrong path!” “He’s already headed down the wrong path just by coming down that aisle,” spits Suicide King. “Johnny has no business trying to challenge our beloved Smarkdown Commissioner. Tom’s retired from active competition! The fact that the Barracuda has forced the hand of Tom Flesher to reach into the mothballs and dig out those trusty Doc Marten’s is just plain embarrassing!” “You didn’t seem to be so against this match a few minutes ago,” says Pete. “In fact-” “Oh, why don’t you shut up! We don’t need any of your revisionist history tonight!” Sliding under the bottom rope, Dangerous enters the ring and heads towards a corner post, climbs it, and pumps his fist to the fans as a wave of flashbulbs explode from the Vatican City! As his music fades Johnny climbs down and begins to shed his coat while lights that had come half way up to power go back down once again as the SmarkTron goes blank, then lights up a gleaming white. When I was back in seminary school… As Jim Morrison’s voice blares through the square, the SmarkTron stays lit. In thin blue lettering, the words “SUPERIORITY COMPLEX,” “AWARD-WINNING,” “MAIN ATTRACTION,” “SMARKDOWN” and “COMMISSIONER” appear on it as slides, the phrases rotating through as the intro continues. … there was a person there who put forth the proposition that you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer? Petition the Lord with PRAYER?! YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER! BOOOOOOOOM!!!!! With an explosion of blue pyro, St. Peter’s Square lights up and Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” blares out across the sound system! The smoke clears, and Tom Flesher walks out from behind the curtains in his blue warm-up suit. Next to him is Allison Onita, dressed in a flattering summer dress that perfectly accents all her curves. She escorts him through the smoke and they walk forward together, fireworks going off in the background. The crowd is excited to see the Superior One in action after nearly a year of inactivity, but his entire purpose of being out here right now just fills these people with disgust! He stops at the bottom of the ramp, looking out to the booing crowd with a cocky sneer. He dusts his hands off, as if to say “Let’s get this over with,” then begins his walk to the ring. Flesher steps into the ring and strips his warm-up suit off. After carefully folding it he hands it off for safekeeping to Allison, who takes it with her as she heads to her ringside spot, and then Tom steps into the center of the ring for the first time in a long while. Finally, the Superior One has come back home… and it feels good. “Tom Flesher certainly looks confident,” notes Pete. “Even after all his time away from active competition he feels that he is good enough to bet a World Title shot against this match.” “For one thing he is good enough,” says King. “Secondly, if there is one thing I know about Tom Flesher it’s that he always has a plan! He knows exactly how to take care of Johnny Dangerous and he has carefully thought this out far in advance.” “Maybe so. However, if there’s one thing I know about Johnny and that is that you don’t back this man into a corner,” Pete says intensely. “Flesher is attempting to take away every single chance of a title match the Barracuda could ever have, while dangling a contract for a World Title shot in his face. If you don’t think Johnny Dangerous will do anything he can to win tonight than you are far more deluded than I ever imagined, King.” Flesher smirks and motions to Funyon, who rolls his eyes and sighs before reaching into his breast pocket and withdrawing an index card. The crowd finds this amusing to no end. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon reads, “standing before you this evening is a man who needs no introduction; however, should he receive no introduction, the crowd would riot. Consider yourselves among the luckiest wrestling fans in the world, much less the World Tour that the SWF is currently on, for you are witnessing the one-night only return to the ring of one of the SWF’s most decorated wrestlers and most successful competitors ever… tonight, he weighs in at a comfortable two-hundred-thirty-one-and-one-half pounds…” “He must have stopped for gelato,” King says. Pete nods in agreement. “… and as a native of Buffalo, New York, he competes with the blessing of His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI… so, bow down tonight for the Vicar of the Holy Father’s desire to stretch the Secret Agent six ways till Sunday Mass, bow down for the two-time World Champion, he is ‘THE SUPERIOR ONE’ TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!” The crowd applauds as Flesher takes a sardonic bow in the center of the ring, then slowly strips off his warm-up suit and goes through a cursory pre-match stretch. On the other side of the ring, Johnny’s eyes narrow and he tightens his knuckles, balling up a solid fist. Right now there is only one thing stopping him from getting the one chance that he feels he so has already earned and that man is standing just several feet away, smiling back at the Barracuda… and Johnny steps towards the center of the ring, meeting Flesher nose-to-nose… SMACK! DING DING DING!!! …and gets a bitch slap across the face from the Superior One as Referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington quickly motions to the timekeeper for the bell! Johnny growls angrily as he turns back towards Flesher, who gives the Barracuda no choice but to accept the collar-and-elbow lock up that he lunges for! There isn’t much of a chance that Johnny will be able to come out on top of this lock up and he knows it. Already Flesher is flexing his muscles - slowly powering Johnny towards the ropes, so Dangerous quickly breaks the collar-and-elbow and--in hopes of catching the Superior One off guard--locks in an over-and-under! Unfortunately, it’ll take someone a lot more knowledgeable than the Barracuda to take Flesher to the mat. Other than on his own terms, anyway. “Will you look at that?” marvels King, as Flesher quickly steps in and throws his underhook skyward. “It’s like Tom Flesher’s been wrestling ever day since his retirement.” The upward thrust throws Dangerous off-balance, and Flesher takes advantage by stepping forward and just letting his opponent stagger forward. Flesher takes control, accompanying Dangerous to the mat with a classical Greco-Roman slide-by takedown. He plants a knee in his opponent’s back, then facetiously wipes his brow. He then reaches down around Dangerous’ waist and pulls back, trying already to go for one of his signature lifts from the mat! Dangerous, though, knows what’s coming and mule-kicks, finally getting Flesher to release him. As the Barracuda takes a moment on the mat to breathe, though, Flesher takes advantage of the situation and spins to Johnny’s head, then clamps down with a front headlock! “Flesher gets that front headlock,” notes Longdogger Pete, “which he’s often been known to use to wear down opponents, or as a set-up for his vast array of suplexes and pinning combinations.” “Or just generally to slap his opponents around,” King adds. “It’s quite the versatile hold. If there’s one thing Tom can do, it’s beat people down with simplicity. Remember, he retired Candace Okimurra by pinning her with a palm strike… and the last time he wrestled Johnny Dangerous, he won after a simple double stomp. Tell me THAT’S not an insult, Pete.” Flesher uses the headlock to yank Dangerous to his feet, then leans forward, lazily reaching out for one of his opponent’s ankles. “Flesher’s going for a standing inside cradle,” Pete says, “but Johnny avoids it.” As Dangerous deftly slides his ankle out of Flesher’s reach, he repositions himself to attack the opening Flesher left by overextending himself. Johnny lunges forward, grabbing Tom’s right foot for a low single-leg takedown… only to have the Superior One lunge backwards and grasp Johnny around the waist! He shakes his foot loose and lifts Johnny up into a gutwrench position, and the crowd gasps! “Could Flesher be ready to hit his Ego Buster already?!” asks Pete. “This match could be over!” “It’s Dangerous’ fault,” King says smugly. “He should know better than to try to beat Flesher at his own game.” Dangerous flails wildly, trying to avoid being dumped unceremoniously on his head in with Flesher’s patented sheer-drop gutwrench. He shoots one leg between Flesher’s knees and grapevines it, then sweeps it out from under him! The Superior One spills to the mat on his ass, with Dangerous blanketing him! Instinctively, Flesher scoots backwards, trying to keep from getting taken to his back, and the crowd goes wild to see the SWF’s best ever put on the defensive! “And Johnny Dangerous takes control!” shouts MacDougall, as Flesher scrambles away. The Secret Agent grabs him by the ankle, though, and holds tightly as he slides his body up around the leg and locks on a crucifix kneebar! Flesher cries out in pain as he immediately reaches out, grabbing the bottom rope. Red Herrington begins his count, and Dangerous keeps on the hold as long as possible. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, he releases it, and Flesher, being very careful to keep one hand on the ropes, stands up slowly. He glares at Dangerous, his eyes dark. “Flesher’s not happy with this,” King says. “This is his return to the ring, and Dangerous is trying to spoil it.” “Well, it wouldn’t be much of a match if he just rolled over,” Pete says sarcastically. Dangerous moves toward Flesher, getting ready to attack again as the Superior One tries to shake his leg out. As the Barracuda moves in on him, Flesher quickly drops down and shoots into him, hitting a picture-perfect blast double that sends him spilling to the mat! Flesher stays on top, and as Dangerous tries to regain his senses, Flesher lets loose with a perfectly-placed palm strike to the chin! With a smirk, he stands up, backs away and dusts off his hands. “Even though it is technically out for the summer in most places, Tom Flesher is just completely taking the Barracuda to school,” the former Smartmark’s Commissioner says. “Even after nine months of not wrestling a single match, the Superior One can still hold his own…and quite easily against his current competition I might add.” Dangerous, still somewhat stunned, climbs to his feet… only to be nailed by another blast double! He collapses to the mat, and once again Flesher backs away with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. This time, though, he leans back in his corner, cocking his head over the top rope and chatting with Allison Onita as Dangerous tries to get back to his feet. “Could he possibly be taking Johnny Dangerous less seriously?” asks Pete, an air of incredulity about him. “Is the Commissioner truly unaware that Dangerous is one of the SWF’s top competitors?” “It doesn’t matter what the ratings say,” King admonishes him. “If he’s untalented, he’s untalented.” “Come on! Johnny’s a former World Champion! He beat Toxxic, for god’s sake!” “But,” asks King, calmly and smugly, “has he ever beaten Tom Flesher?” MacDougall grumbles. “I didn’t think so.” As he gets up, the Secret Agent takes a moment to check his ribs. Satisfied, he moves toward Flesher, signaling for a collar-and-elbow tie. “And it seems like the Barracuda is suffering from an impaired judgment now,” suggests King as Johnny moves back towards Tom, ostensibly reaching for another lock up. Flesher graciously reaches to accept the offer when Dangerous suddenly ducks down, wrapping one arm around the Superior One’s waist while swinging his back leg up and over… CRACK! …and nails Flesher square in the face with a Scorpion Kick! “RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” “Finally!” exclaims Pete as Tom comes flying back into a corner post, knocked senseless! Johnny closes the gap, knowing he only has seconds to make good on this, and fires off a stiff round of right hands into the Superior One’s skull! Herrington tries to push himself in between the two men while calling for a break, but the Barracuda isn’t about to concede to it just yet! He shoves the referee back out of his way before quickly spinning completely around and hammering Tom in the face with a spinning back fist to floor the Smarkdown Commissioner! CRACK! “RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” The crowd goes completely wild as Flesher falls limp onto the mat, and those cheers start to really get Dangerous fired up! Even with the referee following alongside him, admonishing the Barracuda for shoving him back, all Dangerous hears is the cheers of all those gathered in St. Peter’s Square. Johnny rips his shirt off to the appreciative shrieks of all the deprived Catholic women and flings it into the stands as a chant of his name rings out: “JOOOOOOOHN-E!” “JOOOOOOOHN-E!” “JOOOOOOOHN-E!” “It’s about time that the Barracuda started fighting against Flesher the smart way,” says Pete. “For too long he tried to hang with the Superior One on the mat when that just isn’t his strongest point. If Johnny wants to win, and I know he does, than he MUST fight Flesher his way.” “I hope you aren’t serious,” says King. “Flesher’s a tank, and certainly no slouch when it comes to the brawling. But…if that’s what Johnny-boy wants to try next than I’m sure Tom will be more than happy to humor him.” With one hand, Tom reaches for the top rope to pull himself up while patting his lip, checking for blood. The shots have left him a little dazed, but more angered than anything. He gets all the way up to a vertical base and Johnny is stopped half way across the ring, beckoning the Superior One nearer. “COME ON, FLESHER!” Johnny shouts rather audibly, still enticing his opponent in, and getting more cheers from the fans. “Dangerous better be careful what he asks for,” warns King. “Flesher might just come on and unleash holy hell on Johnny!” “I think Johnny’s more than ready for anything that Tom Flesher has to offer,” Pete counters. “He’s already got Flesher stirred and now Tom knows that it’s going to take a little more than what he’s given thus far to put the Barracuda down for three!” However, Tom Flesher is no fool and he certainly isn’t about to rush in for Dangerous. He carefully steps forward, off the ropes, making sure his dazed spell has left and once more the two start to circle each other as the noise of the crowd swirls all around them! Suddenly, Johnny feigns closing in on his opponent, but Flesher isn’t buying. He stands still, readying himself for whatever hair-brained scheme the Barracuda has cooked up this time… CRACK! …but apparently he still doesn’t see Johnny coming with his faithful right knuckles! He clocks Tom square in the chin, rocking Flesher’s head on that eighteen-inch neck and then swings a second time, but this time Flesher’s ready! He ducks down and floats around behind the Barracuda, wrapping his arms around the secret agent’s waist, looking to take him off his feet with a deadly German suplex! It never comes though, and you can thank the quick thinking of Johnny Dangerous sandbagging all his weight down as he pries the Superior One’s fingers off of his waist! He quickly spins around, reversing the situation on the Commissioner and tightly grabbing around Tom’s midsection instead! Elbows fly backwards – Johnny ducks the first, but he isn’t as lucky with a second that catches him right in the temple to an “OOOOOH!” from the crowd, briefly stunning him…which is all Flesher needs. He grabs Johnny’s arm then spins out to face his opponent while twisting, turning, striving to take Johnny’s arm into a wrench, “-and already Tom Flesher is trying to take control of Johnny’s arm,” notes Pete, “but I don’t think Johnny is about to give that arm up just yet!” “Maybe not just yet,” replies King. “However, we both know what kind of an expert Tom Flesher is with working body parts into a submission. He can make you tap out from two different submissions at the same time!” However, Dangerous powers out before Tom can get a firm hold of the arm – spinning out of the Superior One’s grasp then swinging his leg around with a spinning heel kick! NO! Tom ducks down just enough to miss the intended kick, whizzing just slightly past his head, and then he grabs around Johnny’s waist once more. This time Dangerous has no time to sandbag and Tom hauls him up, over, and down to the mat with a textbook German suplex! WHAM! Flesher holds the bridge, as Suicide King marvels, “What a photo op!” and Red Herrington counts: ONE! TW-NO! Johnny gets the shoulder up and quickly rolls up to his feet. Unfortunately, Tom isn’t about to give the Barracuda any room to breathe and he grabs Johnny by the arm to send him barreling across the ring with an Irish whip! Johnny rebounds towards Flesher and suddenly dives towards Tom with a shoulder block, flooring the Superior One before taking his turn at the three-count! ONE! TW-NO! “Flesher gets the shoulder up right at two,” reports Pete. “These two are really starting to heat up that ring once more. Thankfully, the Barracuda finally has Flesher on his toes trying to guess where Johnny‘s next flurry of attacks will come from.” “You’re so full of it, Drain-Clogger! I think you’ll need to step in to the confessional after we’re done here tonight for giving fans a false sense of hope.” Tom gets back up and already, Dangerous is heading across the ring once more. Flesher bellies out as the Barracuda comes back towards him, hot off the ropes, and Dangerous floats right over him and then continues towards the opposite side of the ring. Once more Johnny comes back off the ropes, trying to build some serious steam against his opponent, but the Superior One quickly jumps back to his feet with his arm cocked back and… SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” Unloads on the Barracuda with a series of eye-watering knife-edge chops, lighting up Dangerous’ tanned chest! Those chops send Johnny staggering backwards into the ropes, clutching his stinging chest and grimacing in pain as Flesher takes off towards the opposite side of the ring then comes charging right back at the Secret Agent… WHACK! “OOOOOOOOH!!” “And Tom Flesher absolutely PLASTERS Johnny in the chest with a stiff lariat, sending him tumbling over the top rope to the cold, thinly-padded concrete floor!” reports King, “that was about as brutal as having a tire iron wrapped across your chest!” “While I certainly have doubts that our Smarkdown Commissioner is packing that kind of a punch, he’s definitely been successful at thwarting most of all the Barracuda’s offense,” Pete says. “Johnny is getting himself into some dark territory here… and Flesher is enjoying every minute of it.” A wide-toothed grin dresses Flesher’s face as he glares down at Johnny Dangerous, struggling to gather his bearings, “-and I think Taamo had forgotten the rush of being inside this ring and just completely dominating someone; stomping out what little flame of hope and desire that burns inside these athletes,” says King. “In this case, it’s a man’s driving force to climb to the top of the mountain to regain the World Heavyweight Championship. However, Flesher’s never let someone step over him to climb to the top of that ladder before and it certainly isn’t going to start happening now!” “How little of him,” Pete says disgustedly. “You‘ll have to excuse my language, Folks, but it takes a real fuck of a man to do this to someone!” (Beep!) “…” “…” “A little late there, Censor Guy,” mutters Pete. “Very funny, McDougal…very funny! I hope you can take great pride in knowing the fact that you just cost this company a lot of money with the FCC!” “What, like taking us on a world tour is financially viable?” “Well, uh…” King stammers. “Danny Williams has his own bus, for God’s sake!” Flesher takes off across the ring once more as Johnny reaches out for the ring apron and starts dragging himself to his feet! All the while, Herrington counts on towards the dreaded ten count for Dangerous being on the outside of the ring. But the count looks like it will quickly come to a close - Johnny having pulled himself all the way up to his feet and… CRACK! Hot off running the ropes, Tom comes racing back in, drops to his posterior while stretching both feet out and into the Barracuda’s face with a picture-perfect baseball slide! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Herrington admonishes the Smarkdown Commissioner but he simply waves the stanch referee off and slides under the bottom rope, out of the ring, and heads towards Dangerous. Herrington restarts his count as Tom lazily grabs Johnny by the scalp of his hair and drags him to his feet before pushing him up against the crowd barricade, and cutting loose with more chops! “ONE!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” SMACK! “WHOOOOOOOOO!” “TWO!” Tom struts away momentarily, cockily shaking off his hand and blowing on it while Johnny drops to one knee, cradling his chest. “THREE!” Suddenly, Flesher comes rushes back towards the Barracuda from behind and nails him in the back of the head with his signature running palm strike! CRACK! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” “Oh, man,” says Pete, wincing at the impact of Johnny going face-first into the floor. “Tom Flesher is just terrorizing the Barracuda out there right now!” “What comes around goes around,” King replies. “Johnny has been running amok in this Federation for the entire year! About time somebody showed him what’s up!” Finally, Herrington has seen enough. He drops out of the ring and orders Flesher to get Johnny back into the ring. Tom’s first reaction is that of a little surprise, but he quickly reminds himself that right now he can’t take a disqualification. Not for this match - he needs a clear, decisive victory, and so he grabs the Barracuda by his collar and heaves him into the ring, under the bottom rope, before climbing to the apron. Johnny is sprawled on the canvas face-up, not to far from where the Superior One stands on the outside of the ring. Obviously, this gives Flesher no choice but go all out, cruiserweight style, and he reaches forward to grab the middle rope then lazily rolls into the ring, over the top rope, landing back-first on top of Dangerous! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” “What an absolutely INSANE senton atomico from the Superior One!” exclaims King, “and we have ourselves a cover!” ONE! TW-NO!! Johnny kicks out then rolls up to his hands and knees. Flesher, meanwhile, gets back to his feet and takes a step back. With Dangerous still stunned, he takes advantage by sliding forward and hitting hi with a perfect sitdown dropkick to the head! Dangerous collapses again. This time, though, Flesher grabs him by the arms and drags him into a corner. “Oh, good lord,” murmurs Pete, knowing (as all the fans do) what’s about to happen. Flesher, his chest heaving, plants a boot on Johnny’s face and scrapes it forward! Johnny grabs his face, screaming in pain as the Doc Marten’s sole grinds the skin on his face. Flesher smirks, then kicks away Johnny’s hands and plants his boot on his face once again, and then once again scrapes it off! Sadistically, Tom nails a stiff toe-kick to Johnny’s chin before boot-scraping him a third time! As Flesher drips sweat, he reaches down and slowly pulls his adversary to the center of the ring. Dangerous, still stunned from the kicks and bootscrapes, can’t put up a fight as Flesher grabs his leg and looks for a spinning toe-hold. “Is Flesher going for his figure-four?” asks MacDougall. “He hasn’t pulled this out of mothballs for a while, but…” “He hasn’t used anything in a while, Hotdogger,” says King sarcastically. “He hasn’t wrestled in nine months!” As the Superior One steps around, he reaches for Dangerous’ free leg… only to be grabbed by the head and pulled to the mat in a small package! ONE!!! TWO!!!!! KICKOUT! Flesher rolls away, but Dangerous pops back up to his feet, his eyes blazing! Flesher seethes as he gets to his feet, only to eat a dropkick to the face that sends him staggering backwards into a corner! He tries to fight his way out, but Johnny beats him to the punch by running in and nailing him with a koppo kick! As Dangerous recovers from the somersaulting whip kick, Flesher slumps into the corner. Clearly having trouble catching his breath, the Superior One winces in pain. “One has to wonder if perhaps those nine months off from competition are taking their toll on Tom Flesher,” says Pete. “Or perhaps that pack-a-day habit is biting h(BEEP!)m on the ass.” King pauses, then asks, “Where did we get this censor guy?” Pete shrugs. “Temp agency. Guy said his name was Chris Belcourt.” As Johnny gets back to his feet, he quickly mounts the bottom rope and throws a stiff kick to Flesher’s thigh. Flesher’s body jumps, and does so again as Dangerous throws a kick to his ribs. Finally, he leaps to the middle rope and throws a picture-perfect enzuigiri that seems to turn out the Superior One’s lights! Johnny lands on his feet, and Flesher staggers forward one step… and then another… and finally flops down onto his face. Inexplicably, the crowd explodes. “I have no idea why they love that so much,” deadpans King. “Eh, who’s to say what’s right or wrong in this topsy-turvy world we live in?” asks Pete. Johnny Dangerous knows, however, that he doesn’t have time to screw around. He drops down onto the barely-conscious Flesher and rolls him onto his shoulders. He makes the cover as Red Herrington counts ONE!!!! TWO!!!!! THR- NO!!!!! “Flesher gets a shoulder up,” says Pete MacDougall, “and he avoids having to give Johnny the Ground Zero title shot… for the moment.” “Oh, come on,” King spits. “Flesher’s notoriously hard to pin, and besides, he can win with anything you give up to him. I mean, we’ve already talked about how Dangerous went down to the double stomp last time.” Flesher rolls to his stomach. Dangerous, running on pure adrenaline, grabs him from behind and locks his hands around his stomach. Flesher drops to one knee, trying to sandbag and keep his challenger from executing his German suplex… but even Flesher’s trademark sandbagging can’t keep an angry secret agent from pulling him off the mat and throwing him over his head! Flesher lands on his shoulders and the back of his eighteen-inch neck, letting out a loud exhalation as Johnny keeps his grip. He rolls through, and tries to lift Flesher again, as Pete makes an observation. “Interestingly, Tom Flesher has always relied on his ability to sandbag out of holds like the German suplex and power bomb to save him during high-profile matches like this. Dace Night had trouble hitting the German suplex; Frost and TNT both found power-bombing him impossible; now that his biggest defensive weapon is taken away by the simple fact that he’s exhausted, what are we going to see Flesher do to keep from getting put down for the count?” Johnny has less trouble this time, and cleanly lifts Flesher off the mat only to take him to his back once again with another textbook German suplex! He rolls through, and Flesher’s face is clearly screwed into a mask of pain as Johnny finally gets another clean lift off the mat! With a powerful back-arch, Dangerous overcomes the fatigue and executes a third German! This time, he holds the bridge, and Red Herrington counts ONE!!!! TWO!!!!! THRE- NO!!!!!!! Flesher just barely gets a shoulder up and … “he survives another pin attempt,” says Pete, “but how much longer can he last?” Flesher kneels on the mat, trying to catch his breath as his opponent refuses to let up. Keeping the pressure on, Johnny scissors Flesher’s head and grabs him around the waist, prompting a cheer from the crowd! “Oh, would you quit coaching him?” spits King. “He heard you talk about that power bomb nonsense, and…” “That’s ridiculous, King. They can’t hear us in the ring.” “How do you explain this, then?” King asks indignantly. “Well, geez, maybe Johnny did his homework?” “Oh, you and I both know he can’t read!” Dangerous uses every bit of his strength to lift the 231.5-pound Flesher off the mat… and then, at the height of his lift, throws him to the mat with a sickening jackknife power bomb! As Flesher hits the mat, he rolls through, doing a backwards roll! The fans scream with excitement as the glassy-eyed Flesher charges forward, steamrolling Dangerous with a lariat before staggering to the ropes and collapsing to the mat in a heap! “We’ve seen this before,” says King. “Tom Flesher is SO well-trained that even after taking a blow like that, he’s able to reserve enough energy, to hold enough back to make sure that his adversary isn’t able to get the win that easily.” Johnny, however, looks up at Ronald Herrington and sees him beginning his count. Summoning up all the energy he can, knowing that he can’t let this opportunity go, he rolls over and drapes an arm over Flesher’s lifeless carcass! Herrington drops down and counts ONE!!! TWO!!!!!! THREE!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!! Herrington waves off the fall, pointing at Flesher’s leg draped over the bottom rope! Johnny looks over and, as he sees the reason for invalidating the fall, nearly collapses. Flesher, meanwhile, digs down deep and, despite his lack of energy, manages to pull himself to his feet. There’s no rest for the weary, however; Johnny Dangerous, knowing how close he is to securing the Ground Zero shot at the World Championship, won’t let Flesher recover. He grabs the stocky former Cruiserweight Champion and whips him across the ring, into the turnbuckles. Flesher slumps into the corner, but quickly opens one eye to make sure he sees Johnny coming. As the Barracuda charges at him, Flesher quickly ducks down. Johnny makes contact, and Flesher pops up into a back-body drop, then drops to his knees and slams his opponent face-first into the turnbuckles! Dangerous collapses in the corner as Flesher, wincing in pain, manages to work himself to his feet. Breathing hard, he seems unable to do anything. However, with a look of pain on his face, he reaches out and grabs his opponent by the waist. With a scream and a powerful back arch and hip pop, he lifts Johnny into a German suplex. At the high point of the lift, he unlocks his hands and throws Dangerous a ridiculous distance in his released German! “SIX MILES MAGIC~!” screams Suicide King, as Johnny crumples in a heap on his neck and shoulders, landing as if he’d been held in a bridge. Dangerous lays in his bent-up position, feet over head, shoulders down, for several seconds as Flesher takes a knee halfway across the ring. “He clearly,” says Pete, “could have had the win here! Flesher, though, just can’t capitalize! He’s too tired!” Finally, about ten seconds after impact, Johnny Dangerous shakes his way out of the pinned position and rolls to his knees. Flesher staggers over, reaching down and clamping on, desperately, a front headlock. “Tom Flesher goes back to what he knows,” King says, “and knows best. That front headlock is airtight, and he knows he can grab some time to breathe with it locked on.” As Flesher holds the headlock, he blinks and very slowly starts to breathe more normally. It’s clear that his muscles are tired; however, with his mental faculties coming back, his vision clears and his standard smirk begins to spread across his face again. He’s got this one locked up. Flesher stands up. His broad shoulders and beefy arms strain as he clamps down harder and harder, trying to squeeze the life out of Johnny Dangerous. The fans begin to cheer and boo, almost evenly split – some of the Roman crowd participates in a “DAN-GER-OS-A *clap clap clapclapclap*” chant, while some of them cheer on Flesher with a “TAA-MO! TAA-MO!” refrain. Flesher stands taller, trying to stretch Dangerous’s neck out even as he chokes the life out of him! “This is it, Pete,” marvels King. “Cross Johnny Dangerous off your list of challengers – his partner Wildchild, Scott Pretzler, maybe even Lil’ Buck again… they’re all getting at the title before Johnny does!” As Flesher stands tall, his barrel chest expanding by the second, his smirk seems to drip disdain… until… “Wait a second!” shouts Pete. Flesher wears a look of surprise and tries to shoot his right arm back down around Johnny’s neck. Before he can, though, the secret agent grabs his arm and twists out to the side, stunning Flesher with a quick kick to the ribs! The Dangerous section of the crowd bursts into cheers as Flesher doubles over in pain, only to have Johnny grab him from behind and duck his head under an arm! “He’s going for –” shouts Pete, and Johnny lifts Flesher off the mat, looking for the MI Slam! “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-” Pete yells. NO! Flesher slips out of the Barracuda’s grasp before Dangerous can deliver his patented finisher and shoves off of his shoulders, landing just slightly to the side of Johnny! The fans let out a collective sigh, but still hold a death grip on their seats, until Dangerous turns right into the Doc Marten logo on the sole of Tom Flesher’s boot! “YAAAAAKUUUUUUUUUZAAAAAAAAAAAA KICK!” King hollers out to spite his broadcast partner. CRACK! Dangerous collapses under the force of the Yakuza kick! Flesher drops to his knees and slumps onto Johnny, clearly exhausted from trying to get the submission. Still, a cover is a cover, and Herrington makes the count! ONE!!! TWO!!!!! THREE- NO!!!!!!!!! Dangerous kicks out! Flesher looks absolutely stunned, shaking his head out and looking at Herrington with disbelief! He stands up, and Johnny Dangerous bellies down on pure instinct. Flesher looks to Herrington, holding up three fingers and screaming for the bell to be rung. Patiently, the senior official shakes his head and orders him to continue wrestling. Indignantly, Flesher reaches down and grabs Dangerous by the waist. He lifts him to his feet, but rather than go for his standard German, he ducks his head under Dangerous’s arm and hoists him into the air! “He’s going for his backdrop driver!” shouts King. “If he spikes Dangerous on his head, there’s no WAY he’s getting up!” Flesher holds Dangerous in the air for a second before arching his back… but he can’t pop Dangerous to the perpendicular angle, and so Johnny is spared the sheer drop of the backdrop driver and lands relatively harmlessly on his back! The fans scream, some approvingly and some with a sense of being robbed. Flesher looks up, his eyes looking almost defeated, and then he looks down at his body. He rolls over and grabs Dangerous again, and once again lifts him to his feet. Trying one more time, he ducks his head down under Johnny’s shoulder. “Flesher’s going for the backdrop driver once more,” says Pete, “but King, you’ve gotta believe that his inability to hit it took a lot out of Taamo mentally.” “Bull,” says King… being careful to avoid another FCC fine. “He knows he’s superior, and missing one move isn’t going to make a difference there.” Flesher tries once more to lift Johnny… only to have the Barracuda take a knee and hug the mat, sandbagging to keep Flesher from being able to lift it. Normally able to overcome this sort of counter with his brute strength, Flesher tries to lift him… and can’t. He crouches down, trying to use his powerful legs to hoist Dangerous off the mat, but is quickly foiled by a sharp, almost undetectable heel to the groin! Once again, the crowd explodes on partisan lines, but Flesher releases Dangerous and staggers backwards! “What do you call that?” spits King. “That’s purely unethical treatment of testicles, and I’m not going to stand for it!” “Johnny knows that he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do,” says Pete, “and what he’s gotta do is get down to bid’ness.” “Come on, you’re going to reward him for that?” “No less than I’ll reward Flesher for a chokehold.” As Flesher staggers away, Dangerous spins him around and grabs him around the waist, once again locking on for a German suplex! “This wouldn’t put Flesher away before,” says King. “Why’s he bothering again?” He arches back, sending Flesher onto his shoulders, and then rolling through. Impotently, the Smarkdown commissioner tries to hug the mat, but Dangerous is able to lift him again and throw him to the mat with another German suplex before rolling through. Once more, he lifts Flesher off the mat, and this time he bridges! He holds Flesher on the mat for a heartbeat, but before Red Herrington makes it to the mat, Johnny releases the hold. “What’s wrong with him?” asks King. “How is he going to explain this one?” “Well, it’s like you said, King. He knows the rolling Germans didn’t put Flesher away before, so he’s going to look for something else to seal the deal.” Dangerous makes his way to the corner. Determined, he scales the ringpost, finally taking his place on the top turnbuckle and facing the crowd. He looks up to the sky, and then closes his eyes before leaping off the top rope. Flashbulbs explode. The moon lights the Roman sky as Johnny Dangerous floats gracefully through the air, performing a perfect moonsault as time seems to stand still. He positions himself, crouching slightly and bring his boots together, and finally lands squarely on Tom Flesher. “DEATH FROM ABOVE!” screams Pete MacDougall, as Dangerous hops off Flesher to try to regain his balance. To Johnny, though, Death From Above wasn’t just an aerial move to finish off Tom Flesher. He makes the cover, watching Red Herrington drop to the mat. Determinedly, Dangerous hooks Flesher’s leg and holds him down for ONE!!!! TWO!!!!!!!! THREE!!!!!!!!!!! DING DING!!!! Johnny Dangerous stands up, and his fans begin screaming their approval. He throws his arms into the air and screams back, unable to control himself. “Your winner,” says Funyon, “and now the number-one contender to the SWF World Championship… JOHNNY DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGEROUS!!!!!!” Tonight, though, wasn’t just about becoming the number-one contender, or even avenging Flesher’s accusations that he was boring, any more than the Death From Above moonsault double stomp was just another move. Just as Flesher put him away with a simple double stomp so many months ago, Dangerous did the same thing – with finesse. He not only stood up to Tom Flesher in the ring, he put him down for the count. He beat the best ever, and he did it in style. Edited June 18, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 (edited) “Son of a bitch!” Tom Flesher slams his way through the door of his temporary office in the Vatican, then slams the door shut again behind him and turns to let rip with a vitriolic outburst at the air in general… “Huh?” …only to find that the room has another occupant, already seated in Tom’s swivelling leather chair. An occupant with spiky black hair and eyeliner. “Wotcha,” Toxxic grins lopsidedly. “YOU!” Flesher barks, jabbing a finger at the Straight-Edge Sensation. “Get the hell out of my chair! And then get the hell out of my office, and then get the hell out of the country!” “Bloody hell Tom, you’re taking losing hard ain’tcha?” Toxxic says mildly as he vacates the FlesherThrone™. “Come on; good as you are, I think you were asking a bit much to come off the inactive list after nine months and think you could beat Johnny.” “Oh yes, I forgot,” Flesher snaps, “he beat you once, so he must be God’s gift to wrestling.” “…and I beat you,” Toxxic counters as Tom storms past him, “did you have a point?” “Yes,” Flesher says, slumping into his chair. “Why are you still here?” “Because,” Toxxic says, now taking sitting down uninvited in the chair across the desk from Flesher, “I have a proposal.” “You’re going to stop annoying me?” “I said ‘proposal’ Tom, not a complete change of attitude,” Toxxic chides the Smarkdown Generalissimo. “But I think you’ll like it, nonetheless.” The Brit looks up into Flesher’s eyes, which don’t seem particularly convinced. “Try me,” the Superior One bites out. Figuring that he’s not going to get anywhere by baiting the man who his technically his boss for one show out of three, Toxxic shrugs and sits back. “There were a couple of World Title shots dished out between Battleground and 13th Hour, weren’t there?” he says. “And do you know, I realised the other day that Smarkdown didn’t get one? Something of an oversight, I feel.” “Get to the point,” Flesher snaps. “So, what if I could offer you something that no other show has had?” Toxxic says, unruffled. “Something that no show in the history of the SWF has ever had? Not Pay-Per-View, not free TV, not house show - nothing. A pure, unadulterated Smarkdown original.” “Huh,” Flesher snorts, “Smarkdown is for wrestling Toxxic, not some crazy gimmick match. If you want that sort of thing, I suggest you talk to Peters.” “I don’t trust Peters,” Toxxic counters, “mainly because he looks like Eminem. But no, this isn’t a bizarre stipulation match. This is a straight-up singles confrontation.” “So what’s unique?” Flesher demands. “Tom Flesher’s Smarkdown has had, what, a hundred top quality matches contested under regular rules? I don’t need you” he adds, glaring at the British straight-edger, “to make a good match.” “But you’ll need me for this match,” Toxxic grins. “I’m talking something huge, Tom… and I’m giving it to you because I know you won’t mess it up with stipulations or gimmicks or anything else.” “ENOUGH!” Flesher shouts. “What is this freaking match, you British bitch!?” Toxxic just grins at the outburst, and the smile only widens as he opens his mouth to divulge the master plan. “Me vs. Danny Williams. For the first time ever, you get two Three-Time SWF World Champions in the ring, going one-on-one.” Tom Flesher opens his mouth to laugh derisively, or to tell the Straight-Edge Sensation to get the hell out of his office again… but then the weight of what Toxxic has just said sinks in. “That’s right,” Toxxic says, seeing Flesher’s sudden thoughtfulness. “Rane and El Luchador Magnifico never met when they were both three-time champs… and to be honest, Rane’s first run shouldn’t count anyway, but that’s beside the point.” The straight-edger leans forwards, keen to push his idea. “Mags and Danny? Oh, they met and they fought, but not when both men had been World Champion, let alone three time World Champion. Now, I have beaten Danny,” Toxxic admits self-deprecatingly, “but I hadn’t been World Champion at that point. I’m telling you Tom, it’ll be the biggest thing on Smarkdown ever.” Tom Flesher looks at the grinning face in front of him, at the steel-grey eyes staring out from the dark-lined lids, and considers. He’s never known Toxxic to offer something for nothing (with the possible exception of an ass-kicking), especially not to him. The wrestling instincts, both as a fan and as a promoter, are screaming for him to snap this up - why hadn’t he thought of it before? - but something still holds him back. Stalling to consider the idea, Flesher reaches into his desk and withdraws his pack of Camel Turkish Royals, then carefully lights one. He takes a drag. “That's a filthy habit,” Toxxic says. “It's okay,” Flesher replies sarcastically. “The scotch helps clean the tar.” He pauses for a moment. “So... what are you expecting out of it?” Tom asks slowly, the smoke trailing out of his mouth and nose. “World Title contendership? Or something else?” “Bugger all,” Toxxic replies cheerfully, quickly waiving the smoke away from his face. “Weren’t you listening earlier, Tom? I don’t want to be chasing the title as long as Ejiro’s got it. I’ve got better things to do that have that nutcase try and cripple me again.” The Straight-Edge Sensation leans back in his chair. “All I want is to see if I can beat Danny again. He’s back, he’s motivated, he’s put on even more weight and is juiced up to the eyeballs… I’m just kind of intrigued, I guess.” “You just want to prove you’re better than Danny?” Flesher says, dubiously. “That’s it?” “That’s the one,” Toxxic confirms. “I mean, yeah I’ve already beaten him once and yes, you could roll all three of his World Title reigns up and fit them inside one of mine… but hey, you’ve got to stretch yourself, right? Come on Tom, think about it,” he urges, “two of the best wrestlers-” Tom’s cough is sudden, loud and seems to feature syllables roughly approximating the word ‘bullshit’. Toxxic raises an eyebrow, and Flesher mutters, "Sorry. You know how the cigarettes hit you." “…OK,” Toxxic says wearily, “one of the best wrestlers and one of the best competitors in the SWF today…” he pauses to see if Flesher objects to his re-categorisation of himself, but the Superior One motions for him to continue… “going head-to-head on your show.” “At least you have the grace to realise that what you do can’t be called ‘wrestling’ by any legal definition,” Flesher mutters, then looks up sharply at the man sitting in front of him. “Let’s just clarify; I don’t like you,” he informs the straight-edger, with a well-placed drag-and-exhale shooting cigarette smoke toward him. “Understood.” “I have very little respect for your flashy, pseudo-lucha garbage that has somehow won you three World Titles.” “Right.” “But… this is a good idea,” Flesher concedes, “and it should show that jackass Peters where he can stick his hair bleach.” “Hey, I aim to please,” Toxxic says, spreading his hands with a look that’s only slightly smug. “OK Toxxic, you have yourself a match,” Flesher confirms, and flashes a brief, totally insincere smile at his guest. “Now will you get the hell out of my office?” “OK,” Toxxic says amiably, picking himself up from the chair and turning to head for the door. “Oh,” the straight-edger stops and turns back for a second, “I could do with a warm-up opponent for Lockdown. Get some of the stiffness out, y’know?” he continues, motioning to his taped ribs. “I was thinking maybe-” “Don’t you worry about it,” Tom cuts him off, “I’ve got the perfect person.” “Yeah,” Toxxic says uneasily, “but-” “Thank you Toxx,” Flesher smiles at him, “you can go now. Ask Allison to give you a handjob on the way out.” “OK, sure… what!?” the incredulous Straight-Edge Sensation says, stopped in his tracks again. Flesher’s smile just broadens. “She won’t do it,” the Superior One admits, “but I thought it’d be amusing to see you get slapped. She's stronger than she looks. See you on Wednesday, Toxxic. I’ll make sure your opponent is primed and ready.” “…I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” Toxxic is heard to mutter as he closes the door behind him. FADE OUT Edited June 18, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 Another session of pathetic pandering for your money winds to a close, and is quickly replaced by a jarring shot of St. Peter’s Square, packed to the brim with screaming Vaticanites! The camera quickly sweeps over the crowd, broadcasting tens of thousands of fans with their signs in poorly-spelled English all over the world! After a second, this assault on the senses is replaced by the calming image of Longdogger Pete and the Suicide King, sitting behind their announce desk and smiling broadly. “And welcome back to SWF Storm, ladies and gentlemen!” cries LDP, “If you’re just joining us, you’ve missed a hell of a show! Two new competitors, Steven Brody and Ghost Machine, both made impressive debuts-“ “Yeah, whatever.” Interrupts King, impatiently. “The real story is the magnificent display Tom Flesher just put on for us! What style! What grace! It’s clear to me that this wonderful specimen of a man has not lost a step since his last match.” LDP just stares at King for a second. “What?” asks King. “Nothing.” Pete replies, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well anyway, all that has led up to our Main Event, in which Wildchild, coming off of a big match at 13th Hour against Scott Pretzler, will take on a mystery opponent in a Cruiserweight Exhibition!” “I have to admit, even I’m not sure who Wildchild will be facing tonight.” King concedes, “All we know is that he must be a Cruiserweight, which narrows it down to, what, forty percent of the federation?” “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Longdogger agrees. “Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough.” As if on cue, Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” suddenly starts blasting over the speakers strategically positioned around the Square, causing tens of thousands of Wildchild fans to jump to their feet and cheer as one! A second later, the man himself comes bounding out from behind the curtain, grinning broadly and unabashedly excited about the upcoming match. He pauses briefly at the top of the ramp, allowing those with a camera to snap off a few quick shots of the Bahama Bomber. “ The following contest is a Cruiserweight Exhibition!” announces Funyon, “Introducing first, from the Bahamas, weighing in at two hundred and fourteen pounds...WIIIIIIIIILDCHIIIIIIIIIILD!!” While Funyon’s taking care of the introduction, Wildchild strides down the ramp, taking the time to slap a few fans’ hands on the way. Upon approaching the ring, WC breaks into a run, right before diving below the bottom rope and sliding into the ring, belly first! Wildchild bounds to his feet, heads to a corner, and quickly ascends its turnbuckles. As he reaches the top, the Caribbean Cruiser throws his arms in the air and once again flashes that winning grin, drawing another wave of cheers from the giddy crowd. “There he is, one of the greatest Cruiserweights in the rich history of this federation!” exclaims Pete, caught up in the excitement of the moment, “Whoever it is that WC is facing, he’s going to have to be at the top of his game to take Wildchild, who is always a tough competitor!” The excitement surrounding Wildchild’s entrance has finally died down, leaving WC stretching in the ring, surrounded by a sea of fans. The Square is oddly quiet as tens of thousands of people look towards the stage, not wanting to miss even a moment of the mystery man’s entrance. Wildchild does the same, going through his pre-match stretch routine but not taking his eyes off of the entrance area for a second. Silence. “UNO!” BOOM! “DOS!” BOOM! “TRES!” BOOM! “CUATRO!” BOOM! As a Mexican voice shouts the above numbers over the PA system, a burst of pyro shoots out of each turnbuckle in synchronization with each word, which immediately draws a tremendous reaction from the capacity crowd! It is truly a sight to see, watching this gigantic mass of people swell as one, rising to their feet and making more noise than humanly thought possible. They easily drown out the familiar strains of Bunch of Believers’ “Mission Trip to Mexico”, leaving those who left their seats to get a dish of bruschetta completely confused. Meanwhile, Wildchild has stopped dead in his tracks and is staring open-mouthed at the stage, wondering if it could possibly be who he thinks it is. “What?! No way! No way in hell!” LDP shouts, not daring to believe what he’s hearing and seeing. King sits silently, not displaying a single trace of emotion, as Pete continues. “It’s been over two years since we last heard this entrance music, which used to be for-“ El Luchadore Magnifico! As Magnifico bursts out from behind the curtain, waving his Mexican flag wildly, the crowd somehow grows louder and more raucous, delighted to see the return of the kooky luchadore! To his credit, ELM looks deliriously happy to be back, grinning as widely as humanly possible as he poses at the top of the entrance ramp with the Mexican flag. The crowd takes advantage of the magnificent photo opportunity, bathing the luchadore in light as he soaks in the moment. “And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...” Funyon begins, practically screaming over the crowd, “EL LUCHADOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOO!” “Magnifico!! It’s him!” cries Pete, shocked and overjoyed at the same time, “The former three-time World Champion, Tag Team Champion, and the only five-time Light Heavyweight Champion in the history of the federation!” “And not to mention a pathetic coward who left the SWF without so much as a farewell match.” King grumbles, unwilling to share in the jubilation. “This man does not belong in our ring anymore.” “Oh, shut up King.” snaps LDP, not letting his broadcast partner dampen the mood. “This is going to be one hell of a match!” Magnifico suddenly breaks his pose and begins bounding down the entrance ramp, his Mexican flag billowing gracefully behind him as the luchadore makes his way down the ring. ELM slaps as many fans’ hands as possible while on the ramp, before breaking into a run and diving beneath the ring’s bottom rope, entering the ring much like Wildchild did a moment before. While on his stomach, Magnifico turns towards WC and shoots him a quick grin, and all Wildchild can do is laugh in disbelief as what he’s seeing. In the meanwhile, ELM jumps to his feet, immediately ascends the turnbuckles of the nearest corner, and begins waving his Mexican flag proudly, assaulted by a barrage of flashbulbs as he does so. After a second, Magnifico jumps off of the turnbuckles, hands his flag to the referee, and begins stretching out in preparation for his first SWF match in over two years. “Well...as much as it displeases me to see Magnifico back in a SWF, and as a face no less,” King starts, hesitantly, “I can’t deny that this is an extremely interesting match.” “Damn straight,” adds LDP, “ELM and Wildchild are arguably the two greatest Cruiserweights in the history of the federation, and what’s more, they have never faced each other. But I gotta say, I sure hope Magnifico hasn’t let his skills erode since he’s been gone.” “As you said.” King finishes, “Anyone who faces Wildchild needs to be at the top of their game to win. And Magnifico is no exception.” Magnifico finally finishes his pre-match warmup, just as the excitement surrounding his entrance finally dies down. He turns around and comes face-to face with Wildchild, who is still smiling. The Tropical Tumbler warmly extends his hand, looking to begin the contest with a bit of mutual respect. Magnifico looks at the extended appendage for a second...before firmly embracing it with his own. The crowd cheers and applauds as the two men shake hands, and continue to do so as Magnifico and Wildchild break their grip and begin to circle each other around the ring. Seeing that things are in order, the ref signals for the bell. DING DING DING “And here we go!” exclaims Pete, “We knew that we were going to have a great Main Event, but I don’t think anybody expected this! The past and present leaders of the SWF Cruiserweight division are colliding right here, right now!” Wildchild and Magnifico to circle and gradually get closer to each other, until both men are in the center of the ring. At that time, ELM and WC simultaneously lunge towards each other, locking up in the dead center of the ring as the fans discuss among themselves who to cheer for. In the meantime, Magnifico quickly overpowers Wildchild and pulls him into a Side Headlock, wrenching on his neck for a few seconds before WC pushes ELM forward, which sends him running towards the ropes. Magnifico bounces off of said ropes and rushes towards Wildchild, and as he approaches, WC leaps into the air and extends his legs, looking to hook them around ELM’s head for a Hurricanrana! However, the luchadore sees the move coming, and deftly ducks down, avoiding Wildchild’s legs while running beneath them. As WC lands on his feet, Magnifico bounces off of the ropes behind him, and once again charges towards Wildchild! In response, the Bahama Bomber rolls onto his back and thrusts his feet towards Magnifico, slamming them into his gut as he does so! Wildchild then rolls forward, pulling ELM with him, and kicks his legs out, throwing Magnifico into the air with a Monkey Flip! “Looks like Wildchild’s outmanuevering Magnifico early in the match.” King observes. But as soon as he’s airborne, ELM shifts his weight forward, executing a complete flip in mid-air and landing on his feet! “Maybe not!” Pete interjects, “Magnifico doesn’t seem to lost a bit of his agility, as he easily spins out of the Monkey Flip and lands on his feet!” As soon as he lands, Magnifico spins around to face Wildchild, and what he sees is WC shuffling towards him and throwing his foot in the air, looking to drive it into ELM’s chin with a Superkick! Magnifico sees the move just in time to counter it, as he throws his hands up and catches Wildchild’s foot mere centimeters from his face! Wasting no time, ELM throws Wildchild’s foot to the side, causing him to spin a full 360 degrees on one foot. When WC is facing Magnifico again, the luchadore delivers a quick kick to Wildchild’s gut, doubling him over in the center of the ring. Moving quickly, ELM pulls Wildchild into a Suplex position and then hoists him up into the air. Magnifico holds him up there for a second too long, though, as WC is able to wriggle out of ELM’s grip. Facing the same direction as him, Wildchild lands right behind Magnifico and stays suspiciously still upon landing. The reasoning for that is explained quickly, as ELM spins around to face Wildchild, just in time to see WC lashing his leg at his face, looking to land a Gamengiri! Magnifico immediately hops backward, the tip of Wildchild’s boot just grazing ELM’s nose as he does so. WC is almost instantly back on his feet and ready to take whatever Magnifico can throw at him. But all he sees is a very amused luchadore, standing there and smiling broadly at him. Magnifico thumbs his nose, Bruce Lee-style, as WC relaxes and returns the smile. The crowd applauds appreciatively at the display they’ve just witnessed, as Magnifico and Wildchild begin circling each other once more. “Great, more of this mutual respect nonsense.” Complains King, annoyed. “I thought we were here to watch a wrestling match, not the latest episode of the Happy Friends Sowing Circle.” “Y’know, there’s nothing wrong with actually liking your opponent, King.” LDP contends. “Of course there is, you dolt!” King snaps. “There is nothing more crippling to one’s gameplan than not wanting to tear him limb from limb. I think you’ll note that the best matches ever in this federation have come from two comptetitors that absolutely hated each other.” ELM and WC approach each other with caution, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Magnifico ends the stand-off by lunging at Wildchild, looking to lock up with him. However, Wildchild deftly ducks beneath Magnifico’s arms while quickly getting behind him, right before applying a Rear Waistlock to the luchadore. WC struggles to lift ELM into the air, but Magnifico isn’t having any of that. Before Wildchild can get a chance to do anything, Magnifico throws his elbow backward and drives it into the side of WC’s head, distracting him enough for ELM to break free of his grip and make a break for the ropes. Magnifico bounces off of said ropes and rushes back towards Wildchild, just as he’s shaking off the effects of the jarring elbow strike. As ELM approaches, Wildchild lashes his leg out with dazzling speed, looking to connect with a Leg Lariat! Magnifico sees the attack just in time, though, and manages to hit the ground and roll beneath Wildchild’s leg. “We all know that Wildchild is the fastest competitor in the SWF,” begins Pete in a scholarly tone, “But Magnifico’s not going to be outmaneuvered so easily.” ELM springs back to his feet and immediately continues running, heading towards ropes behind Wildchild. Magnifico turns around to bounces off of the ropes, but as he does so, he catches sight of WC charging directly at him, having recovered from the missed Leg Lariat much quicker than he expected! Wildchild leaps into the air and extends his limbs, throwing his whole body at the surprised luchadore! WC makes perfect contact with the Flying Cross Body, connecting squarely with Magnifico’s gut and knocking him through the top and middle ropes! ELM flies to the outside and lands hard on the floor, back-first, with Wildchild’s momentum carrying him out as well. WC lands much softer than Magnifico, though, mostly because he was expecting the fall. The fans pop in appreciation for the risky, acrobatic move, while WC quickly climbs back to his feet and Magnifico arches his back at the sudden shock of pain. “Hahaha. On the other hand, maybe he will be.” Remarks King, clearly having enjoyed Magnifico being violently knocked to the outside. “Anyone who’s faced WC before knows that you need to immediately take advantage of any missed moves, because Wildchild will not give you more than a second to do so.” Wildchild is on his feet after a couple seconds, and walks over to Magnifico while the ref begins the twenty count inside the ring. WC grabs ELM by the arm and brings him to his feet, right before whipping Magnifico towards a guardrail. ELM manages to reverse the whip, though, and instead sends Wildchild running at the rail. Magnifico charges right after him, but as he does so, Wildchild leaps up and lands on the top of the guardrail, exhibiting amazing balance as the fans surrounding him cheer on the Bahama Bomber! A split-second after landing, WC leaps right back off, flipping backwards as he does so and flying at Magnifico with a Moonsault Press! ELM is caught completely off-guard, and has no means by which to counter the Press, which makes perfect contact! Magnifico is knocked to the ground as the fans cheer as one, absolutely loving the aerial display Wildchild is putting on for them. “And once again, Wildchild’s speed is simply too much for Magnifico!” Cries Pete, “ELM’s going to have to figure out another way to take WC down, as his own speed simply isn’t doing the trick.” Wildchild is on his feet almost immediately after hitting the ground, barely phased from the impact and fall from the Moonsault Press. Breathing heavily, he looks down at Magnifico, considering his next move. After a second, Wildchild rolls into the ring, doing so as ELM begins struggling to his feet, using the guardrail to pull himself up. Not pausing for a second, WC bounds to his feet and runs towards the ropes furthest from Magnifico, bouncing off of them as the luchadore reaches his knees. Wildchild then runs top speed at the luchadore, who’s just reached his feet, facing away from WC. Struggling to regain his concentration, Magnifico turns around and leans his back against the guardrail, grateful for a moment’s rest. Unfortunately for him, at that exact moment, Wildchild is diving through the top and middle ropes, turning his body into a missile aimed right at the luchadore! In mid-air, WC suddenly curls himself up into a tight Carribean ball, looking to slam his entire body into Magnifico’s with the Pinball! Wildchild’s condensed body crashes directly into ELM’s chest, which not only bashes in the luchadore’s ribs, but knocks his upper back into the guardrail! As the fans cheer wildly for the inconcievably acrobatic maneuver, Wildchild bounces off of Magnifico’s chest and falls to the ground, landing on one knee. WC grins broadly, proud of his handiwork, as ELM slowly slides down the guardrail, his mouth agape as pain racks his entire body. “Good lord!” cries Pete, obviously impressed, “A Pinball to the outside from Wildchild, and Magnifico is in serious trouble to say the least!” “This is sad.” King declares, “It’s obvious that Magnifico is being completely outclassed by Wildchild. ELM hasn’t managed to land a single move, and WC has been treating him like a punching bag with questionable background and greasy hair.” Magnifico slides to the ground, the intense pain surging through his back and chest causing him to curl his body up into a quasi-fetal position. He doesn’t stay like that for long, though, as Wildchild is back on his feet and is determined to get ELM back on his. WC grabs Magnifico by the arm and nape of the neck and, with some effort, gets him to his feet and rolls him into the ring. Wildchild rolls in right after him, turns Magnifico onto his back, and then covers the luchadore. The fans cheer in anticipation of the possible pinfall, doing so as the ref falls to his knees and begins the count... ONE! TWO! THR-No! Magnifico gets a shoulder up, drawing a prolonged OHHH! from the side of the crowd that wants ELM to win. “ELM kicks out!” Pete unnecessarily reports, “This match has been all Wildchild so far, but Magnifico’s not ready to concede his return match just yet!” Undetered by the kickout, WC rolls off of Magnifico, grabs him by the arm, and stands up, pulling ELM to his feet with him in the process. Wildchild uses his grip to whip Magnifico across the ring and into a corner, which ELM crashes into back-first. Wildchild then breaks into a sprint, charging at Magnifico at top speed! Before he reaches the luchadore, WC leaps into the air and begins twisting his body, looking to slam it into Magnifico’s with the Blue Crush! However, if he hadn’t been twisting, he might have seen Magnifico getting out of the way, determined not to let the Caribbean land on him again! Wildchild finishes his twist and sees nothing but an empty corner, but it’s too late for him to do anything about it! WC crashes face first into the top turnbuckle, drawing a wave of cheers from the Magnifico camp. Wildchild stumbles backwards out of the corner, while Magnifico quickly gets behind him. ELM then sticks his head under Wildchild’s arm and grabs him by the leg, before lifting him into the air and twisting his body forward, looking to drive WC into the mat with a Blue Crush Powerbomb! “Magnifico’s finally got his hands on Wildchild, and this may be a turning point in the match!” Pete declares, “It looks like WC finally took one risk too many.” But right after Wildchild is twisted forward, he takes his legs and wraps them around Magnifico’s head! Wildchild then falls backwards and jerks his legs in the same direction, throwing Magnifico over him with a Hurricanrana! Usually, that move would just send ELM to the mat, but in this case, there’s a corner in the luchadore’s flight path! Magnifico crashes back first and upside down into the corner’s turnbuckles, leaving him in a rather uncompromising position as the fans cheer for the unexpected reversal! “ELM chokes once more.” King declares, delighted. “I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to see Wildchild completely tear Magnifico apart.” “Yeah, well.” LDP starts, rolling his eyes, “This match isn’t over yet. Magnifico’s taken worse beatings and still pulled out a win, I’ll tell you that much.” As Wildchild scampers to his feet, he sees the position that Magnifico is in, and that the luchadore is about to fall out of the corner and onto the mat. WC moves quickly to prevent that, though, as he pushes ELM back into the corner, grabs his feet, and hooks them behind the corner’s top turnbuckle! As ELM struggles helplessly to break his feet free and escape the Tree of Woe, Wildchild runs across the ring, stopping in front of the corner opposite the one ELM’s trapped in. He then spins around and charges at the luchadore, a move which opens Magnifico’s eyes wide with fear and gets him to redouble his self-liberation efforts! He’s not quick enough, though, as Wildchild suddenly dives feet first at the luchadore, driving said feet into Magnifico’s face with a Sliding Dropkick! The crowd, both impressed and sympathetic at the same time, releases an impressive OHHHH! as ELM’s lifeless body finally falls out of the corner, hands covering his face as he falls. Wildchild quickly springs back to his feet, grinning to himself as he observes the crowd’s reaction. “Yeesh!” cried Pete, surprised enough to use a nonsense word, “Magnifico suffers an absolutely brutal blow, as Wildchild dropkicks his feet directly into the helpless luchadore’s face!” Magnifico’s body lays right in front of the corner, looking to be particularly vulnerable to an aerial maneuver. Wildchild seems to agree with that assessment, as he makes only minor adjustments to ELM’s lying position before turning around and quickly ascending the nearby corner’s turnbuckles. “Looks like Wildchild is finally going to end this travesty.” King remarks, flipping his hand dismissively. “I’ll be glad to see it end, frankly. Magnifico’s done nothing but embarass himself in this contest.” Wildchild ascends the turnbuckles with the expected speed, reaching the top as the crowd’s cheering gradually grows louder, the fans within the Square showing their anticipation for whatever Wildchild has planned. Once WC is on the top turnbuckle, he crouches there for a moment, making sure that everything is in order...before leaping off of the turnbuckle, flipping his body forward as he does so! Thousands of flashbulbs illuminate St. Peter’s Square and Wildchild, who completes another full flip while in mid-air, looking to land the Falling Star Bomb and finish the match! But right before Wildchild lands, Magnifico suddenly draws his knees up to his chest, slamming them into Wildchild’s gut! The surprised fans OHHH! as one as Wildchild’s attempt at a finisher is foiled! WC bounces off of Magnifico’s knees and falls to the mat, doubled over in pain. As Wildchild rolls from side to side, clenching his gut, Magnifico stares up into space, his eyes wide open and his chest heaving. “No! ELM gets his knees up just in time, countering the Falling Star Bomb and keeping himself in this match!” Pete shouts, clearly excited at seeing the counter. “Great. Wildchild can land every move he tries except his finisher.” King snidely notes. “Could one of you end this damn match so I can get out of here? I need to perform a few more acts of desecration before I can consider this trip complete.” Magnifico and WC lie a few feet from each other, their bodies racked with pain as both men struggle to work up the determination to get to their feet. In the meantime, the fans have selected who they want to win, and have begun cheering for their pick. Dueling chants of “WI-ILD-CHI-ILD! *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAPCLAPCLAP*” and “MAG-NI-FI-CO! MAG-NI-FI-CO!” are shouted from every part of St. Peter’s Square. Spurred on by these chants, Magnifico and Wildchild begin to climb to their feet. WC moves significantly faster, having suffered much less damage to his body over the course of the match. As it is, Wildchild reaches his feet while Magnifico is still one one knee, and as such, has the opportunity to get behind ELM as he’s standing. The very moment Magnifico is on his feet, Wildchild hooks both of his arms and twists his own body 180 degrees, twisting ELM’s as well in the process and beginning the setup for the Wild Ride! “Finally!” King cries, grabbing his things and standing up from the announce table. Not taking his eyes off of the ring, LDP grabs him gruffly by the shoulder and pulls King back into his chair, drawing a very dirty look from the Suicide King. With Magnifico bent down behind him, WC lifts the luchadore into the air, looking to end the match with his signature Vertebreaker! The fans cheer in anticipation, but are quickly mostly silenced as the luchadore reaches up with his legs and wraps them around Wildchild’s head, doing so as he breaks his arms free of WC’s grip! Exhibiting amazing leg strength, Magnifico pulls himself onto Wildchild’s shoulders! He then immediately falls down and forward with his legs still around Wildchild’s head, grabbing WC by his legs as he does so! ELM hits the mat and rolls forward, pulling Wildchild with him and pinning him to the mat with a Victory Roll! The crowd pops for the counter as the ref slides to his mat, doing so while WC struggles wildly to escape... ONE! TWO! THR-No! Wildchild violently breaks free of the pin, effectively silencing much of the crowd’s cheering. WC immediately jumps back to his feet, reaching them while Magnifico is still climbing to his. As ELM stands, Wildchild throws his knee forward and slams it into Magnifico’s gut, doubling him over. WC then turns away from the luchadore, before reaching back and hooking both of Magnifico’s arms, once again beginning the setup for the Wild Ride! “Magnifico’s escaped the Wild Ride once, but Wildchild is absolutely determined to land it!” Pete observes, caught up in the excitement of the match. “He wants to end the match right here and now before ELM has a chance to mount a comeback!” With ELM in the necessary position, Wildchild once again lifts him into the air, doing so as the exhausted crowd releases one more anticipatory pop. With Magnifico in the air, Wildchild is about to kick his feet out and drive him into the mat...but not before ELM can once again escape from his grasp, twisting out of Wildchild’s grip and landing on his feet, back to back with the Tropical Tumbler! Not wasting a second, ELM immediately reaches backwards and hooks both of Wildchild’s arms, before running towards the nearby corner with WC in his grasp! “No! No! Magnifico escapes the Wild Ride once more, and this time is looking to reverse it into the Baja California Crusher!” Pete shouts. “Goddamnit. I thought I’d be able to go the rest of my life without seeing this ridiculous move.” King bellyaches. The fans rise as one and begin to cheer like mad, wanting to see the finisher that hasn’t been landed in years! The luchadore runs up the corner’s turnbuckles, flips backwards off of the top one, and lands on his knees, slamming Wildchild’s head into the mat as he does so! WC lays motionless on the mat, his heaving chest lifting him slightly off of the canvas as Magnifico, still on his knees, hovers over him. “He hit it! Magnifico hit the Baja California Crusher!” bellows Pete happily, “The question is, will it be enough!” ELM ends his rest, grabbing WC by the shoulder as the fans spur him on with their incessant cheering. Magnifico turns Wildchild onto his back, covers him, and then hooks the leg, causing the fans to somehow grow more raucous as the ref slides into position and begins counting... ONE! TWO! THREEEE!! Wildchild gets a shoulder up, but it’s a quarter second too late, as the ref is already on his feet and signaling for the bell! DING DING DING “Your winner, by pinfall...” Funyon begins, “EL LUCHADOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOO!” Once again, the strains of Bunch of Believer’s “Mission Trip to Mexico” is completely overpowered by the cheering. Meanwhile, Wildchild is coming to and realizes what’s happened, smacking the mat in frustration while Magnifico lies next to him, completely drained. “He’s done it!” Pete giddily announces, “What a comeback match for Magnifico!” “Yeah, great comeback.” King replies, doing so in a way that you can tell he’s rolling his eyes, “He gets beat pillar to post for fifteen minutes, then lands a lucky finisher that barely keeps his opponent down for three seconds.” “Piss off, King.” “No, you!” The announcers once again argue foolishly amongst themselves, doing so as Magnifico and Wildchild are climb back to their feet. WC reaches his first, and before ELM can reach his, Wildchild grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him to his feet, causing an awkward hush to come over the crowd. Everyone in the building looks on as Wildchild stands in front of Magnifico, who is completely prone to attack. Still holding onto ELM’s shoulder, Wildchild pulls the luchadore towards him...and into a quick embrace. The fans break their silence and applaud appreciatively for this show of sportsmanship and respect, as the two men break their embrace. Wildchild smiles at the luchadore and says something to him, before hitting the mat and rolling out of the ring. As WC heads to the back, all ELM can do is look after him and grin, wondering what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. “Ugh. Anyone have a bucket handy?” King desperately asks, looking physically ill. “It’ll have to wait. Thanks for joining us on SWF Storm, everyone! Good night!” Pete declares. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
chirs3 0 Report post Posted June 18, 2005 Results -- Ghost Machine wins... I think... -- Brody/Ced to be edited in. -- JJ Johnson returns with a victory over IL! -- Flesher/Dangerous to be edited in. -- Magnifico defeats Wildchild in a very close match. This one really took me a while to decide on, guys - you both did great. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
