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SWF Smarkdown 2-14-2006

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El Luchadore Magnifico sighs. Another day, another event at the Cow Palace. He’s not even sure why he has to be there; he’s not booked, he dislikes San Francisco, and as World Champion, he should be able to work out his own schedule to best fit his needs. That’s just the way it should work. Sadly, that’s not how it works, and thus, Magnifico is disgruntled. Still, he manages to keep at least a half-hearted sneer on his face – yes, he’s too angry to even make facial expressions – as he strides down the hall with his bag, taking a quick turn before reaching his dressing room; the dressing room is in the same place as last time. Figures.


Magnifico turns the knob and opens the door, striding into the room and shrugging his luggage off of his shoulder, various thoughts running through his head as to how he plans to spend his next several hours before his flight to Seattle.






And then the door to his dressing room slams shut, apparently of it’s own volition, and the champ whirls…


…to come face to face with a surprisingly calm JJ Johnson.


“Mags,” growls the Canadian.


“Johnson,” scowls the Mexican. “So, have you come to give me the apology you owe me?”


“Well, I quite obviously owe you one,” admits Johnson. “After all, you did beat me in that ‘drop your opponent head-first on a chair’ match.”


Magnifico scowls even more. He sees where Johnson is going with this.


“However,” continues the Ultimate Fighter, “I’m not going to go that direction.”


“Oh?” asks Magnifico, interested now in what Johnson has to say – admittedly a first. “And what direction are you going in?”


“That direction,” says the Canadian, jerking his thumb backwards – towards the door – before reaching in a pocket and shoving two pieces of paper into Magnifico’s chest. The champion stumbles, drawing a snicker from the Windsor native, and the champion scowls EVEN MORE before taking the two pieces of paper and looking at them…and discovering them to be two halves of an SWF contract. Johnson’s.


“They fired you?” asks Magnifico, a bit more arrogant than would be wise; this is not something that has stopped him before, however.


“I quit,” says Johnson, knocking a bit of the smirk off of the face of the champion. “I got a call from Dana White; I’m going back to UFC. Back home, you might say.”


For once, Magnifico is left speechless as Johnson turns and walks to the dressing room door, opening it a crack before turning back to the champion.


“If you get the chance, tell Landon and Jay ‘sorry about this’, or ‘sucks to be them’, or something along those lines,” requests Johnson. “Oh, and since I owe you this, sorry for giving you what you had coming.”


“Have fun at From the Fire.”


And with that, Johnson leaves, slamming the door even harder on the way out than he did on the way in, Magnifico left to stare at the two pieces of paper in his hands with a confused look on his face.




Edited by chirs3

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“King, as you know, last week on Lockdown Joseph Peters announced a tournament to determine the top contenders to the Tag Team Titles currently held by Landon Maddix and Max King,” says Ben Hardy. “And as a result of the Lethal Lottery that was held, our next match could very well feature two men who could see each other again on Storm in tag team action, in the form of Archie Griffon and the Wildchild!”


“And Griffon and Wildchild are no strangers themselves to tag team wrestling,” adds the Suicide King. “Wildchild, as most people knows, enjoyed his greatest success in the tag team division, but Griffon has had some success in his own right… and this is a matchup that favors Griffon, because he’s just about fast enough to be able to get his hands on Wildchild, and he’s got way too much size and strength for the kid to have any hope against!”


“But King,” asks Hardy, “don’t you think that Wildchild has enough experience by now that he’ll be able to handle Arch Griffon?”


“Wildchild may have experience in the ring, but Griffon is so much bigger and stronger than any of the guys that he usually wrestles,” replies King. “He’s totally stepping out of his weight class for this match!”


“As I alluded to before,” continues Hardy, “the Lethal Lottery paired up a number of SWF Superstars who have never teamed before, such as Wildchild and Stryke, as well as Archie Griffon and Jay Hawke.”


“And that’s another reason why I think that Wildchild has a good chance to win this match,” explains King. “I have my doubts that Wildchild is completely focused his actual opponent in the ring tonight; he’s probably going to be looking past Griffon at Jay Hawke, and you can’t afford that kind of distraction against an opponent like Griffon.”


“Definitely not,” agrees Hardy. “He’ll put your lights out, in a hurry!”


“And, since Hawke and Griffon are going to be partners in this thing, Griffon may very well come out here and give Wildchild a beating, as a favor to Hawke.”


“I don’t know whether or not you’re being serious King,” replies Hardy, “but I wouldn’t put it past him; there’s no question that Wildchild has been Hawke’s most difficult opponent since he won the International Title. It’s only a matter of time before Wildchild gets another shot at that belt, and sooner or later, Jay’s luck is going to run out… so it’s not inconceivable that Hawke would enlist the services of someone else to try and do as much damage as possible!”


“Perhaps not inconceivable, but unlikely, and not even necessary!” counters King. “Try to keep in mind, Hardy, that Jay Hawke has held that title longer than anyone else has ever held ANY title! He’s done just fine with defending that title on his own!”






With the sound of the timekeeper’s bell, the lights dim in the Wherever Arena as Unearth’s “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” begins to play. The stage is suddenly lit up by a flash of blinding white pyro, through which steps the monstrous Archie Griffon.


“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” exclaims Funyon. “Making his way to the ring, from Des Moines, Iowa, and weighing in at three hundred two pounds… Archie GRIIIIIFON!” Archie disregards the fans at ringside as he power walks towards the ring.


“Boy, Archie Griffon is all business, King,” notes Hardy, as Arch climbs deliberately into the ring. “Wildchild’s definitely got a fight on his hands tonight!” Griffon blinks repeatedly to readjust his vision as the lights come back on, and limbers up while he waits, stretching in the corner as his music fades out, only to be quickly replaced by the sounds of Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.”











“And his opponent,” booms Funyon, “being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki and hailing from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” The Frisco fans cheer as WC and Melissa bound enthusiastically onto the stage.


“I’ll never understand what people see in this guy!” snaps King, as the pair approach the ringside area. “I mean, all he does is jump around like a rubber band; what’s so great about that?”


“There’s more to wrestling to just getting on the mat and rolling around, King,” replies Ben. “Wildchild has been an entertainer all his life, first as a circus acrobat, and now as a wrestler. He knows how to give the fans what they want, King, simple as that!”


“Hogwash!” barks King. “These people know better than that… they have to! They can’t be that easily amused!” Wildchild removes his shin guards, handing them to Melissa and giving her a peck on the cheek before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring.


“And what the hell is that about?” demands King. “What’s this guy’s malfunction? He comes down to the ring wearing weapons on his legs, he takes them off for the match, and then puts them back on when he leaves the ring… it’s like he’s stealing gimmicks from Al Snow!” Wildchild walks around the ring, sizing up Griffon as his music fades out. Referee Ronald “Red” Herrington signals for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:






“Bell’s gone,” says Hardy, “and we’re underway!” Wildchild and Archie meet in the center of the ring in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Griffon, with hardly any sign of effort, absolutely launches WC across the ring! Wildchild has to grab onto the ropes just to save himself from falling out to the floor!


“That’s what Wildchild is going to be going up against all match long!” cites King, as WC looks up at Griffon in astonishment. “No sane person would bet on him!” Wildchild shakes his head vigorously before gamely stepping back up to Griffon and locking up again. Archie pulls back to get some momentum behind his shove as he heaves Wildchild away from him a second time, but this time the Bahama Bomber latches on to Griffon’s left arm with a death grip, using the big Hawkeye’s strength against him to take him over with a sensational armdrag! Griffon rolls to his feet and immediately charges WC, who deftly avoids him with a leapfrog, and catches him as he bounces off the ropes with another armdrag takeover! The fans cheer as WC shifts into an armbar, while Archie slowly gets back to his feet.


“Good job by Wildchild to use his speed to get an advantage in this match,” says Hardy, as Griffon muscles WC back towards a neutral corner. Herrington orders them to break apart, and Arch takes a few steps backwards before attempting to surprise WC with a fierce overhand right, only for the Tropical Tumbler to duck out of the way!


“Well, that’s really his only chance,” adds King. “He’s obviously not going to be able to go toe-to-toe with Griffon, so he’s going to have stick and move, like he just did in the corner!” Wildchild hammers Archie repeatedly in the head and gut with rapid-fire rights and lefts, until Herrington once again gets between them to get out of the corner, and Griffon takes advantage of this reprieve to escape to the arena floor to gather himself.


“Like you said before, King, Wildchild has to remain a moving target for this guy,” says Hardy, as Griffon checks his nose for blood out on the floor. “But he’s doing a good job of using his speed!” Griffon uses most of a ten-count before climbing back into the ring. He locks up with WC and takes advantage with a kneelift to the midsection that doubles him over. Archie tilts Wildchild’s chest upwards and lights him up with a tremendous reverse knife-edge chop that nearly knocks him off his feet! Griffon then whips WC across the ring, knocking him backwards with a forceful shoulderblock that sends him stumbling backwards!


“There you see the strength of Arch Griffon right there!” mentions King, as Griffon taunts WC with a double bicep pose. “And that’s not fun to look at, if you’re the opponent!” WC runs to the opposing ropes, prompting Archie to lower his head to deliver a back-body drop…






… But the Caribbean Cruiser blasts him in the top of the head with a running knee smash that sends him stumbling backwards! WC presses his advantage, keeping Archie off balance by hitting a running leg lariat that knocks the big Hawkeye back against the ropes! Wildchild looks out to the fans, twisting his hands over his head in a circular motion before he charges across the ring, building momentum as he bounces off the ropes, and then launches into the air as he approaches the edge of the ring and lands in a seated position on Archie’s shoulders, swinging him around towards the ropes and pulling him over the top rope, dumping him out to the arena floor with a breathtaking spinning Hurricanrana!








“Well, that’s one way to overcome a strength disadvantage,” reflects Hardy, as WC soaks in the crowd’s adulation, “never give the guy a chance to hit you!”


“Absolutely,” adds King. “And I’ll give the devil his due: Wildchild has been working that running kneelift in to his arsenal here in recent weeks, and he’s been very effective in getting that to work for him… much to my personal chagrin!”


“Now Wildchild has a chance to capitalize on… wait a minute; what’s going on?”


Hardy is distracted by Jay Hawke, who steps out onto the stage with a clipboard in hand, intently watching the ring as Wildchild bounces off the ropes and knocks Griffon into the ring barricade with a baseball slide!


“What is Jay Hawke doing out here?” wonders Hardy, as WC rolls back to his feet.


“I’m not sure,” replies King, “but I don’t think that Wildchild has seen him yet.”


“He has now!” exclaims Ben. “Jay Hawke has brought this match to a standstill!” WC gives Jay a menacing look before electing to turn his attention back to his opponent. He rushes into the corner and leaps onto the top turnbuckle, twisting in midair as he springs out of the ring to crash into Griffon with a flying cross-body block…






… But the big Hawkeye snatches him out of the air and charges towards the corner, slamming him back-first into the ringpost!


“Oh my goodness!” cries Hardy, as Griffon carries WC over towards the ring barricade. “What a move by Archie Griffon! And he follows it up with a snake eyes on the ring barricade! Is Wildchild going to be able to come back from this?”


*and we’re clear*


Ben and King take their cue to stop talking as the action continues… Griffon pulls WC up to his feet and traps him in a front waistlock before pushing him backwards into the edge of the ring, jamming Wildchild’s back against the hard metal edge of the ring apron.


Jay Hawke jots a few notes down onto his clipboard before making his way down to ringside, as Griffon rolls WC back into the ring. Arch slides into the ring and immediately applies a lateral press:

















Wildchild kicks out at two! Arch pulls WC to his feet and scoops him off the canvas, hanging him over his shoulder as he quickly takes a few steps forward and drives him down onto his outstretched thigh with a running shoulderbreaker! Hawke nods his head in approval as Griffon goes for another cover:













But Wildchild just beats the three-count! Archie pulls WC back to his feet, but the Caribbean stuns him with a lunging punch to the midsection, followed by a second, and a third! He scrambles to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes, but the big Hawkeye snatches him out of the air and flings him overhead in a tremendous belly-to-belly suplex that earns gasps from the crowd! Hawke jots a few more things down on his clipboard as Griffon rolls atop WC, hooking the leg as Herrington drops down to count:

















Wildchild just barely gets the shoulder up! Archie stands up and walks over to WC’s lower half. He bends down to grab one of his legs and then turns him over into a single-leg Boston Crab! Herrington drops down to check Wildchild’s face, asking him if he wants to quit. Outside the ring, Melissa slams her hands enthusiastically onto the ring apron, imploring the fans to get behind her man.



*we’re back in: five… four… three…*



“Welcome back to Smarkdown,” Hardy shouts over the now-thunderous din of the crowd. “And during the break, Archie Griffon was able to really put the squeeze on Wildchild, King!”


“That’s right; Wildchild got virtually no offense at all, and even when it looked like he was about to stage a comeback, Griffon snuffed it out with a tremendous belly-to-belly suplex!” King pauses while the technicians queue up the replay, splitting the screen between the flashback and Griffon’s half-crab in live action. “There you see Wildchild getting a few shots in on Arch Griffon... goes to the ropes, and… WHAM! Griffon practically threw him THROUGH the ring!”


“And now he’s got Wildchild in this punishing half-crab,” continues Hardy, as the screen shifts fully back to live action, “but Melissa Fasaki’s been trying to get these fans here in the Cow Palace to get behind Wildchild, and she seems to be having success!”


“These people can cheer for him all they want to,” quips King, “but that doesn’t mean much when you’ve got a three hundred pound man leaning on your back!” But Wildchild continues to hang in there, clawing at the canvas as he attempts to make his way over to the ropes.







“He’s almost there, King!” cries Hardy. “I think he’s going to make it!” Sensing that Hardy may be correct, however, Griffon releases the half-crab and pulls WC back to his feet, stunning him with a European Uppercut before whipping him into the ropes, snatching him in a bearhug as he rebounds and spinning around sharply on his heel, planting him back into the canvas with a spinning Spinebuster! Griffon gets to his feet and taunts the crowd with another double bicep pose, earning polite applause from Jay Hawke, and ravenous boos from most of the seventeen thousand in attendance:









“It appears that Archie Griffon has learned his lesson in how to deal with Wildchild,” notes King. “Meaning that he’s not going to give him any chance to get going; he’s going to nip any comeback attempt in the bud, and it won’t be long now before Wildchild runs out of fight!”


“Never underestimate the resiliency of the Wildchild, King,” replies Hardy. “He’s not going to just roll lie there and take it; I’m sure that he still has something up his sleeve!”


“Griffon better stop wasting time, though,” warns King. “He shouldn’t be worried about the fans!” Griffon pats his thigh before running towards the ropes.


“Uh-oh,” groans Hardy. “He’s going for that legdrop!”


“If he hits this, it’s bad news for Wildchild!” crows King. Griffon leaps into the air as he rushes back towards his opponent, and extends his leg as he comes crashing down… but Wildchild is able to roll out of the way at the last split second!


“He missed it!” exclaims Ben, as WC crawls towards a nearby corner “He took too much time there… You can’t give a veteran like Wildchild that kind of recovery time, King!”


“Unfortunately, I have to agree with you,” concedes King. “Wildchild, much to my dismay, has proven to be battle-tested inside that ring. You can’t give him any daylight, or make any margin for error! And just after I just finished praising Griffon for not letting up on him… made me look bad as a color man!”


“Eh,” quips Ben with a shrug, “that’s not all that tough, King!”


“You shut your mouth!” snaps King. “One word from me and you’ll be back on the concourse hocking t-shirts where I found you!” WC uses the turnbuckles to pull himself back to his feet, and tries to get his wind back. He catches sight of Archie lumbering towards him, head lowered to deliver a running shoulderblock into the corner, and dives out of the way! WC gets a few more breaths before the big Hawkeye turns back towards him; Archie winds up to deliver a vicious right hook, but Wildchild blocks it with his left arm…






… And snaps Griffon’s head back with a right jab! And a second, followed by a left hook to the body, and another right jab to the face, all of which seems to be having little effect on Griffon!


“Wildchild’s going to work with those quick hands!” exclaims Hardy. “Upstairs… downstairs… I don’t know where this guy’s weak spot is, King!” WC rushes towards the edge of the ring and leaps onto the top rope, curling into a ball as he slingshots back into the ring and blasting him in the chest with his patented Pinball attack… but it’s not enough to knock Griffon off his feet! The big Hawkeye stumbles backwards, dazed and confused, but still standing!


“Oh my goodness!” shrieks Ben. “Pinball, and it doesn’t send him down!” Shaking his head in disbelief, Wildchild rushes back towards the ropes to gear up for another Pinball…


“Wow! And that’s well over two hundred pounds of Wildchild,” adds King, his thought trailing off as WC finally sends Griffon to the canvas with a second Pinball. “There; the second one did it!”


“Yeah,” replies Ben. “But the FIRST one should have done it!” Wildchild rolls out onto the apron and heads to the corner, where he climbs up to the top turnbuckle.


“And that’s almost two hundred and twenty pounds of the Wildchild, all concentrated on one part of the body, flying through the air while moving at about thirty miles an hour!” WC waits for Archie to get to his feet before leaping off of the top turnbuckle, flipping forward as he extends both feet and knocks Griffon back down with a Shooting Star missile dropkick that sends him rolling over by the ropes!


“Shooting Star missile dropkick!” shouts Hardy. “That’ll get your attention real quick!” Wildchild slaps his thigh to signal the Caribbean Cutter and walks over to Archie to pull him to his feet, but the big Hawkeye stuns him with a rake of the eyes, and then doubles him over with a kneelift to the midsection.


“Griffon still has some fight left of his own,” says King, as Archie traps WC in a standing headscissors. “We could be looking at a powerbomb!” Griffon wraps his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts him up into a powerbomb…






… But the Human Hurricane wriggles out of his grasp, and drapes his leg of the back of Archie’s neck as he comes crashing down to the ring, driving Griffon face-first into the canvas with a Caribbean Cutter!






“Cutter!” exclaims Hardy. “Archie Griffon tries to powerbomb Wildchild, but… YOU CAN’T POWERBOMB WILDCHILD!”


“I can’t believe he hit that!” shouts King, as WC rolls Griffon over to apply a cover. “He could get it here!”













“Look at Jay!” cries Ben.








But, just before Herrington’s hand can strike the mat a third time, he notices Griffon’s foot on the bottom rope, conveniently placed there by Jay Hawke!





“Aw!” groans Hardy. “Jay Hawke just saved Archie Griffon! And listen to the fans here in the Cow Palace; they didn’t appreciate that!” Melissa runs around the ring and gets in Jay’s face, chastising him for interfering in the match. Jay takes a few steps back as she begins poking him in the chest, hesitant to strike a lady, when Wildchild reaches through the ropes to grab a hold of the Dean, pulling him forcefully onto the apron!





“Obviously, Wildchild’s had enough of Jay Hawke,” notes Hardy, “and considering the history between these two, you can hardly be surprised!” Wildchild draws back to blast Jay with a big right hand, but Archie stops him in his tracks, driving a running kneelift into the small of his back!


“That’s what Wildchild gets for taking his mind off his opponent,” says King, as Griffon leads WC over to the corner. “I told you that he would be too worried about Jay Hawke to focus on this match!” Griffon traps WC in the corner and jams a shoulder into his midsection, before lifting him up onto the top turnbuckle.


“And it looks like Archie Griffon is going to go for that Superplex!” says King. “If he hits this, Wildchild is going to be at his mercy!” Archie climbs onto the middle ropes and traps him in a front facelock. He lifts Wildchild up for a Superplex, but the Bahama Bomber hooks his foot on the top rope at the last possible second, causing Griffon to lose his balance as he falls backwards, landing awkwardly on his head, with Wildchild landing atop him! The impact stuns Archie momentarily as Wildchild hooks the leg, and Herrington drops down to make the count:



















Archie kicks out emphatically, but it’s a fraction of a second too late!





“That was a fast count!” roars King.


Frustrated, Jay Hawke scrambles into the ring to get his hands on Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber quickly rolls out of the ring, realizing that he’s outmanned. “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again as seventeen thousand fans cheer in unison.


“Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “the Wildchild!” Herrington climbs out of the ring and raises Wildchild’s hand in victory as Melissa runs around the ring to congratulate her man.


“Wildchild got lucky here tonight!” snaps King. “And that’s not all bad; sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good… but the next time Jay Hawke gets his hands on him, you can be sure that his luck is going to run out!” Jay Hawke glares daggers at Wildchild as he and Melissa retreat up the ramp…



As we:


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“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown,” Longdogger Pete declares as the show gets back onto the air, “it’s almost time for our next match, but first-”


Quite what the Longdogger was going to say never becomes clear, as he’s interrupted by the blasting opening of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ by the Ramones (which gets a small pop from the crowd, although presumably from the arrival of Amy Stephens rather than the fact that she’s cut LDP off given they couldn’t hear him to begin with).


“Listen Pete, the crowd are cheering,” Suicide King says, “and you know why? Apart from that fact that you were cut off, I mean?”


“No…” Pete says, clearly already knowing that he’s not going to like the direction this is going in.


“Because Amy Stephens exposed what a useless, washed-up has-been the Insane Luchador Andrew Rickmen is when she choked him out on Lockdown!” King finishes gleefully, before adding, “and then he had the cheek to challenge Bruce Blank? Even this Gambling Man would have a hard time finding odds worth making the bet on for that match.”


“King, I obviously wasn’t here to see that match first hand,” Pete says, “but-”


“No, you’d been put in hospital by your son,” King interrupts helpfully.


“-but I did see it on TV,” LDP continues through gritted teeth, “and I can’t agree with your interpretation of events! The Insane Luchador is not a walkover; whether Amy got past him through guts, toughness or just beginner’s luck I don’t know, but Bruce Blank had better be ready for when he steps into the ring with Rickmen!”


“That’s OK, I expect the head trauma hasn’t worn off yet.”


Amy Stephens (sans beer, for now at least) has now got to the ring and has called for the microphone from Funyon. The veteran ring announcer passes it over and the SWF’s newest arrival pauses for a second to look around at the fans, then raises it to her lips. What will the first broadcast words be of this young lady from Merrie Olde England?


“Everybody better lissen up right now ‘cos I’ve got sumthin to say innit!”


“…was that a sentence?” King asks, glancing sideways to the Longdogger for a hint. Pete just shakes his head in confusion.


“Basically people I got a bit of an issue with me brother, ya get me?” Amy declares. “Last year he came home from the SWF an’ hung around for a bit, but about October or sumthin’ he just disappeared, right? Now I ain’t heard from ‘im, and me mam ain’t heard from ‘im, and basically what it is, right, is I’m lookin’ for ‘im.”


“I think we need a translator,” Suicide King confides to LDP, “I mean as bad as you are, at least you only mispronounce one word!”


“Bite me.”


“Didn’t Kevin do that?”


“Now, I know Mike din’ have all that many friends around here when he left,” Amy says turning to face the back, “an’ I know that people have come and gone since then innit, but, right, I’m ain’t really bovvered if you like Mike or not, ya get me? I ain’t lookin’ for ‘im so we can have a nice family reunion, I’m lookin’ for ‘im ‘cos the bastard’s got me parents worried and I’m the only one who seems to give a shit about ‘em. So, if anyone knows where me brother is, you ain’t gonna be doing ‘im a favour to tell me, right?”


“God, it’s… almost hypnotic, isn’t it?” Suicide King says, swaying dizzily under the impact of high-velocity Nottingham ‘Street’ spoken with reckless abandon by a 21 year-old girl with an undercut.


Amy has stopped speaking, and while half the crowd try and let their brains catch up with their ears the response from the SWF roster isn’t exactly overwhelming. No music kicks up, no lights start flashing and no-one comes forth with a map with an ‘X’ on it (or should that be ‘sXe’ on it?) to show where the man known as Toxxic is hiding. Toxxic himself doesn’t seem to be in town by some freak of chance and appear from nowhere to greet his sister either, which must surely break some rule of wrestling continuity.


“Is she just going to wait there until she gets an answer?” Longdogger Pete asks after about thirty seconds of Amy folding her arms and glaring towards the soundstage, “I mean her determination is admirable, but we have got some bid’ness to be getting on with…”


However, it is at that moment that ‘Don’t Ask Me No Questions’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd starts playing, and the fans cease whatever conversations they are now involved in to greet the King of Pain in fit fashion.




Bruce Blank doesn’t pay much attention to the fans as he saunters down the aisle, brand new cowboy hat on his head and the Ultraviolent Title strapped around his broad waist. He pauses for a moment to jaw with a crowd member, but his attention is clearly on the girl in the ring.


“Well, I doubt Bruce knows much about the location of Toxxic,” Longdogger Pete points out, “but he is Amy Stephens’ tag partner in the Lethal Lottery Tag Match scheduled for later tonight! Talk about an odd couple, King!”


“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” King replies, “wtf?”


“How do you pronounce that, again?”


Didn’t you hear me the first time?”


Bruce climbs the ring steps, cowboy boots making the steel ring hollowly under his feet, then casually steps over the top rope into the ring. He reaches for the microphone in Amy Stephens’ hand… but the Punk-Rock Princess pulls it back out of his reach! Bruce glowers for a moment, then heaves a long-suffering sigh and heads over to the side of the ring nearest the announce table where a technician can provide him with another one.


“Now now, little lady,” he rumbles once he is suitably sonically enhanced, “you might let a man speak! I’m not only the second-longest reigning champion in SWF history,” here he pats the title with a contented sigh, careful not to catch himself on the barbed wire, “but I’m also your tag team partner for tonight. And since I’m obviously the most experienced member of the team, I’ll be calling the shots.” He smirks, regarding Amy who (like much of the roster) is about a head shorter than him as one might a wilful but stupid teenager.


You remember what Toxxic was like when he thought people were talking down to him? Yeah, this is his sister we’re talking about. Similar family upbringing and all, plus a famous older brother to contend with. Just wanted to get that straight.


“Fuck you, cuntface!”




“Can she say that!?” King splutters, “we’re on national TV, for Christ’s sake!”


“I think this segment is officially sponsored by Frost-Brand Land Mines,” Pete says, checking his paperwork, “so she’s probably good to go!” Meanwhile, the shock of being talked back to in such a way is clear on Bruce’s visage, but the Trailer Park Messiah schools his features into something more approaching his usual scowl and he quickly adjusts his manner of address.


“I don’t give a rat’s ass who your brother was, and I don’t care what you’re here for,” he growls, “as long as you’re meant to be tagging with me, you will do as I say! Personally I got my suspicions about this goddamn supposedly-random Lottery, and what I reckon is that even after I helped him get rid of all those fancy-ass sponsors and their damn standards, Joe Peters still wants me outta here so he lumbers me with some little chit of a pseudo-partner like you!” the big man finishes, jabbing a thick, meaty finger at Amy. “Damnit, I’m not losing a shot at another title because I have to babysit someone’s goddamn kid sister!”


“Oh yeah!?” Amy Stephens half-screams back at him, “guess you din’ see Lockdown then yer big twat, ‘cos I just took out the guy who wants to rip yer bloody carcass apart, innit!”


“Rickmen?” Bruce snorts, “Hell, if he thinks he has a chance at stopping me then he really is insane, he just got choked out by a girl! But since I don’t think you’re gonna do what I tell you in the tag match,” the big man continues, “I got myself a better idea. Why don’t you go get your Barbie dolls and sit in the back shaving their heads or something, or maybe send one of them off on a mission to find Ken? Cause you-”


“You see this?” Amy snaps, giving Bruce the finger, “you see this, right? You can sit on this and fuckin’ swivel, you prick! And if you ain’t careful I’ll shove them boots an’ that hat and yer fuckin’ title belt with it’s barbed wire onnit right up your arse, YA GET ME!!?


“Oh yeah?” Bruce laughs, “you and whose army, toots?” He holds one out sweaty paw, fingers extended, and grins. “Come on, hit it. Let’s see what you got.”


Amy narrows her eyes and put the microphone down. Then she follows the instructions of Two-Face in Batman Forever and balls up her fist…


…reaches way back…


…and asserts herself.




Bruce Blank is a big man and a strong one, so it’s perhaps not surprising that he doesn’t fall to the ground clutching his palm or wrist. Nonetheless, the blow knocks his hand a good foot or so backwards and a faintly surprised expression seems to cross the King of Pain’s face, although he’s careful to chase it away a moment later and replace it with the derisive sneer that was there before.


“Seriously, that’s all you’ve got?” he snorts, “c’mon, my third wife hit harder than that, and that was before I got the money back on the Mail Order for damaged goods! Take your best shot!”


Amy eyes him again, and those members of the crowd or home audience capable of lip-reading will see her inaudibly say the words ‘my best shot?’. Bruce nods, and Amy draws back her fist again…


…then kicks him as hard as she can in the crotch.






“FOUL!” King bawls, but no-one cares.


All of the air in Bruce’s lungs whistles out through his teeth and the King of Pain first shudders, then starts to collapse forwards. Those same viewers might now be able to read the words ‘Damn, I’m getting sick of that…’ as Bruce relives his Hardcore battle against Ghost Machine 2.0, but-




“Good God Almighty, a headbutt too?” LDP asks in shock as Amy drives her forehead into Bruce’s. This completes the collapse of the Ultraviolent Champion, but it seems that Blank’s head might have been slightly harder than the Punk-Rock Princess anticipated as well, as she wobbles on her feet and then topples backwards to land on her backside. Bruce is facedown on the mat, looking something like a jacknifed truck as his groinal area is lifted above the mat to allow his hands to access his traumatised testes (for all the good it’ll do), but Amy chooses not to press her argument any further and instead rolls out of the ring - pausing slightly to regain her balance as she wobbles again - and then sets off up the ramp.


“Well King, the first blows have been struck by the team of Amy and Bruce in the Lethal Lottery Tag Tournament,” Longdogger Pete says, “but they were between the team members! Is there any hope, any hope at all, that they’ll be able to co-operate later tonight?”


“Co-operate?” King demands, “I think we’ll be lucky if Bruce can compete! The man goes through hell - twice - at Clusterfuck, then fends off the fiendishly-advanced Ghost Machine 2.0 on Lockdown to defend his title, and now he gets taken out by his own tag partner? I think he’s right, Dogger; I sense the hand of Joseph Peters!”


“I won’t ask what it’s doing, or how you can sense it,” Pete deadpans, “fans, we’ll be back after the break!”







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SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial for Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs new Buffalo Sleeper Wings! Spicy and loaded with tryptophan to put you under. Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs' Buffalo Sleeper Wings: One bite, and you'll be tapping out to flavor and drowsiness!


"Welcome back to Smarkdown, coming live, from the Cow Palace in San Francisco, California!" Pete exclaims.


"And we'd better hurry up before the Governator decides to ban violent wrestling exhibitions," King mutters.


"Well, with scathing political commentaries aside, it's time for the first match in the Lethal Lottery tag team tournament, only not, as this is a cross-pool match. Since the whole thing doesn't make any sense at all, let's send it to Funyon for the introductions," Pete says.


However, before Funyon can begin to do his job, the lights go out, and heavy footsteps reverberate through the quieting arena. Several druids appear at the top of the entrance ramp, marching and chanting in unision.










The dozen druids reach the ring and surround it as the lights come back on. Suddenly, the blaring sounds of Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" rips over the speakers, and Manson stomps out, Jimmy the Doom and Lois the Unethical following in his wake.


"Ladies and gentlemen! The following is a tag tizzle matchizzle," Funyon begins, apparently channeling Jazze Pha's spirit. "Introducing first, at a combined weightizzle of four hundred, eight-fizzle pounds, being accompizzled by Lois the Unethical, JIIIIMMEE THE DOOOOM AND MAAAANSON!"


Jimmy slides in the ring, while Manson punches a druid out before entering. "Crusher Destroyer" ends, and is soon replaced by Rage Against the Machine's "Wake Up".


"And their opponizzles, weighint a combined four hundred, fifty-twizzle pounds, GHOST MAAACHIZZLE TWO-POINT-IZZLE AND MAAATT 'NEOOOO' MYERS!" Funyon booms.


Myers, clad in a floor-length black leather trench coat and wrap-around sunglasses walks out, glaring spitefully at Ghost Machine 2.0.


"Well, this should be interesting. Myers is dressed as Neo from The Matrix series, and as we all know, Neo fought against the machines, and now, Matt Myers is teamed with Ghost Machine 2.0. I wonder if he'll go after his opponents or his partner," Pete wonders.


"Hopefully he gets knocked on his ass, and we won't have to worry about that," King states.


Chris Belcourt pushes Ghost Machine down the ramp, staying behind Myers the entire time so he can laugh at 'Neo'. Belcourt unstraps Machine from the hand truck and walks back up the ramp, ready to get as drunk as possible during the match. Ghost convulses for a moment, then climbs up the steps and enters the ring, while Matt opts for the flashier method of vaulting over the top rope.


"I wonder how these two teams will get along. As we said earlier, Myers probably doesn't like Ghost Machine 2.0 very much, and I'm not sure if Ghost Machine 2.0 received any tag team programming. Does he even know about the hot tag?" Pete wonders.


"I don't know if it will matter, Pete. Myers might not even get in the ring. I know I wouldn't tag that dolt in, that's just asking to lose the match," King replies.


Manson doesn't bother consulting with Jimmy the Doom and heads to the middle of the ring, ready to start the match. Matt 'Neo' Myers seems to be the choice for his squad, as Ghost Machine exits the ring and clutches the tag rope. Referee Herve Villechaize checks both men for hidden objects (A difficult task as Myers is intent on wrestling in his giant coat), finds nothing, and calls for the bell.




Myers, hands behind his back, walks confidently towards Manson, who throws a looping right hand that Matt easily avoids. The Stampede fires off another punch, but 'Neo' dodges again. Frustrated, Manson snaps off a wild punch that manages to connect with Myers square on the nose.




Matt drops to one knee, hand clutching his nose.


"Jesus Christ, my fucking nose!"


"JESUS CHRIST MY FUCKING NOSE!" Ghost Machine 2.0 adds helpfully.


Myers scrambles backwards, and before Manson can press the attack, tags in Machine. Ghost twitches for a seond, then bitchslaps the taste out of Matt's mouth.




"What the hell?" Pete wonders.


"I think that Ghost Machine 2.0 is still feeling the effects of that cattle prod. Maybe the tag team download didn't finish, or was corrupted, so Ghost Machine 2.0 thinks that Matt 'Neo' Myers is another opponent. Or, he just did what everyone here wishes they could do," King says.


Machine stares at Manson, either trying to process as much information about The Raging Bull, or just looking for an opening. Either way, the end result is a stiff palm thrust to the chest. Manson, wary of another infinite loop of palm strikes, boots the 21st century tin man (Or perhaps not) in the ribs, then smashes his knee into Ghost Machine's face.






"He really does imitate everything around him," Pete marvels.


"Yeah, but hopefully, he doesn't imitate Myers' tremendous ability to suck," King replies.


Manson wraps Ghost Machine up and shunts him into the ropes. The man or man-bot hurtles back towards The Raging Bull and gets flipped upside down with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Ghost isn't allowed a second to recover as Manson begins stomping away at Machine's torso or chassis, you make the call. Manson hauls Ghost back up and whips the potential ASIMO usurper into Manson's own corner. The Stampede rushes in and drives an elbow into Machine's chest before tagging in Jimmy the Doom. Manson lands an exiting chop to Machine's thick neck, and Jimmy the Doom follows it up with an overhand right.


"Nice Jendrassik punch from Jimmy the Doom," Pete states.


"A what?"


"Jendrassik punch, King. It was pretty obvious," Longdogger replies.


"I'm pretty sure you're bullshitting me right now, but explain this 'Jendrassik' punch," King says.


"Well, it's a punch that was popularized by Sven Jendrassik back in the 1830s. He was a tall man, about six-eight, and due to a past injury, his wrist was completely fused, so he had no rotation. Anyway, he'd just drop a fist straight down, causing the knuckles to strike the bridge of the nose. Of course, Ghost Machine 2.0 probably doesn't have a nose," Pete concedes.


"Jesus, how do you know that, and why?" King wonders.


"You saw my matches, King. I don't know much about fancy mat work and whatnot, but I know a good thirty different punch variants."


Back to the match at hand, Jimmy the Doom pulls Ghost Machine out of the corner, but finds a knee or robotic equivalent of a knee buried in his stomach. Machine lands another knee to Doom's gut, then smashes a knee into Jimmy's face.


"JESUS CHRIST MY FUCKING NOSE!" The mechano-man offers.


Ghost slips behind the Doomtopian, wraps up the gangly grappler, and engages his hyrdraulics, sending Jimmy tumbling backwards.


"Some kind of slam there from Ghost Machine 2.0," Pete mumbles.


"You really were serious. It was a German suplex!" King exclaims.


"Aw, hell, King! Why do I have to know about some damn Kraut move? Didn't we kick their asses, twice I might add, so we wouldn't have to bother with those sausage-eating bastards?"


Doom lands on his shoulders, but rolls through the move and springs to his feet. Machine turns around, ready to continue his Crush, Kill, Destroy programming, but his artificial intelligence isn't prepared for Jimmy the Doom to be on his feet, much less flying through the air.




"What a front kick from Jimmy the Doom!" Pete exclaims.


"A least you got that right," the Suicide King says venemously.


Jimmy the Doom doubles back and makes a lateral press.







"Machine gets a shoulder up! These two wrestlers, Ghost Machine 2.0 and Jimmy the Doom, are very tough. I have a feeling it'll be down to their respective partners to determine which team ends up victorious," Longdogger says.


"If that's the case, then go ahead and chalk one up for Doom and Manson. Matt Myers is more worthless than, well, you," King shoots back.


Doom picks Ghost off the mat, and gets blasted by a barrage of palm strikes. Machine whips Jimmy to the ropes, wraps him up off the rebound, and launches the Doomtopian over his head.


"Railgun suplex from Ghost Machine 2.0!" King shouts.


"Exactly! Perfect nailgun suplex," Pete adds.


Machine turns around just as Jimmy is getting to his knees, and the robot or not charges Doom, bashing him in the face with a big boot.




"Shining Black from Ghost Machine 2.0! That's sure to take a lot out of Jimmy the Doom," Pete notes.


"True, but Manson is close enough to break up any pin attempt," King points out.


The man or man-bot seems to realize this, and drags Jimmy to the center of the ring by his boots. Ghost Machine holds Doom's left leg up high and drives his elbow into the crook of Jimmy's knee. Machine clambers back to his feet and places a boot across Jimmy's throat. Villechaize rushes over and begins his five count
















Completely flabbergasted, Ghost Machine removes his foot, stopping the count.


"What the hell was that about? Ghost Machine 2.0 should know about the disqualifying five count," Pete says.


"I think it's because he's used to binary, and these extra digits were strange to him," King explains.


"But he knows the he wins after a three count," Pete replies.


"No, I think it's when Ghost Machine 2.0 processes either the bell ringing or his name being called that he realizes he's won," King offers.


Machine heads for the ropes, bounces off, and drops a knee just as Jimmy begins sitting up, resulting in Doom's face meeting Ghost's knee. The mechano-man stays down and makes a lateral press.







"Kick out by Jimmy the Doom! Ghost Machine 2.0 didn't even get a two count after that. I know Jimmy is tough, but that's surprising," Pete comments.


"Well, give it time. Maybe Ghost Machine 2.0 can rough Doom up some more."


However, the only wrestler that maybe has a metal head pulls Doom to his corner, violently and tags in Matt 'Neo' Myers. Ghost holds Jimmy by the hair, allowing Myers to kick the Doomtopian in the jaw. 'Neo' grabs Doom in a front facelock and walks him out of the corner before dropping with a DDT. Matt rolls Doom onto his stomach, then backflips, landing on Jimmy with a double stomp.




Myers doesn't remain on top of Jimmy for long, though, as he rushes for the turnbuckles and quickly scales to the top. 'Neo' jumps off, flipping forward a full four hundred and fifty degrees and landing with a splash, not to mention a lateral press.







"Shoulder up! Despite his early retreat at the start of the match, Matt 'Neo' Myers has made an impact in a short amount of time. I thought he might have gotten the win after that Shitty Sequels Splash," Pete says.


"Ah, but you forget that Matt Myers is Matt Myers," King points out.


Myers lifts a groggy Jimmy the Doom to his feet, and sends him into the ropes. Matt pivots as Jimmy bounces back, and extends a foot.




"Can someone turn down his volume?" Pete asks. Then, as an afterthought, adds, "Nice superkick from Myers."


"Holy crap, I might have to eat my words. Myers and Ghost Machine 2.0 might actually manage to come away with a victory tonight."


'Neo' drops down to make another lateral press and Herve slides in to count it.










Manson breaks up with pin with a flurry of stomps to Matt's back. Villechaize springs to his feet and berates The Raging Bull back to his corner, while Jimmy the Doom slowly rises.


"And Manson has just stopped Matt Myers in his tracks!" Pete shouts.


"More like stomped him in his tracks! No? Fuck you, then, Pete," King replies. "Though, you make a good point. Myers is like the weakest person in the SWF, referees and valets not included."


Doom looks around, and pulls Myers off the mat. Jimmy throws an overhand right, but 'Neo' quickly sends up a forearm to block it. Myers then cracks Doom with an uppercut, before pivoting around with a left-handed backfist and a right hook. Finally, Matt whips back with a left cross, all in a matter of seconds.


"What a combo from Matt 'Neo' Myers!" Pete exclaims.


"And stop it at that! I don't want to hear about the Devonshire hook, or the Smythwyckenfield punch or anything else. They were punches, and that's all," King says.


Leaning back as if he were in The Matrix, Jimmy the Doom refuses to go down after the barrage, and slowly goes back to standing up straight just like Momma Doom taught. Myers, at a loss of what to do after the onslaught, stands still as Jimmy unleashes a right hand.




Myers cocks his head to the side, as if something is puzzling him, and mutters, "I smell cake" before dropping to his knees and then flat on his face.


"The hell?" Pete mutters.


"Matt Myers just got knocked out!" King screams gleefully.


Jimmy seems a bit confused, but after some urging from Manson, rolls 'Neo' over and makes a lateral press.










"Was that a kick out, or a save from Ghost Machine 2.0?" Pete wonders.


"I'm going with save, because I don't want to give Matt Myers any credit for anything," King replies.


Villechaize gets up and orders Ghost Machine to exit the ring, while Doom pulls Myers to his feet. Jimmy takes a step backwards, giving himself some space, then leans in, driving both palms into Matt's chest, sending 'Neo' into the Doom/Manson corner. However, Myers is either expecting this, or insanely lucky, plants his feet against the bottom and middle buckles, and dives, going between Jimmy's legs. 'Neo' rolls through and makes a break for his own corner, while the Doomtopian spins around and gives chase. Doom leaps in desperation, and manages to snare Matt around the neck, dragging him down to the mat, a foot from Ghost Machine's hand.


"That was like something from Animal Planet, or the Discovery Channel," Pete says.


"Yeah, watch as the mighty Dorkosaurus stalks and brings down the Toolaciraptor."


Doom pulls Myers up, and 'Neo' fires off a kick that Jimmy snags. Matt hops awkwardly on one foot before doing what everyone in the building expects him to do, except for Jimmy the Doom, it would seem, and cracks the Doomtopian with an enzugiri, along with tagging in Ghost Machine.




Myers gets back to his feet, and walks right into a shotei from Ghost Machine.




Machine fires off another shotei, but the blow is softend by Myers' hands clutching his face, so Ghost instead wraps an arm around 'Neo' and threads one of Matt's arms between his own legs. Ghost spins out of the corner and slams Myers into the mat.


"Undefined Variable! But why the hell is Ghost Machine 2.0 attacking Matt Myers?" Pete asks.


"Wait, how the hell do you know that the Undefined Variable is an Exploder '98?" King questions.


"A what now? Look, they just showed me the clip and told me that Ghost Machine 2.0 calls it the Undefined Variable. Now, answer my question."


"Well, as we said earlier, it could be that he just really dislikes Matt Myers, or, his Crush, Kill, Destroy programming his overriding his tag team programming, thanks in part to his jolt with that cattle prod on Lockdown," King explains.


With Myers nearly unconscious, Herve Villechaize is given the task of rolling 'Neo' out of the ring while Ghost Machine turns his optical interface on Jimmy the Doom. Ghost lifts Jimmy to his feet and cracks him in the jaw with a shotei. Doom takes a half-step back, but fires off a shotei of his own. Ghost Machine tries to shake off the blow (Or he's defragging or something), and thrusts a palm all up in Jimmy's Doomtopian grill. Doom snaps off another shotei, which Ghost answers with a palm strike of his own.


"I think we've got a problem, here. Ghost Machine 2.0 seems to be mirroring all of Jimmy the Doom's moves," Pete points out.


"Just a matter of time before Ghost Machine 2.0 knocks Jimmy out," King says hopefully.


The Doomtopian and the maybe robot trade another pair of palm strikes before Doom hops backwards and gets into a very familiar pose.


"Looks like Jimmy the Doom is about to unleash a Yak Kick on Ghost Machine 2.0."


"Yes, yes it does, Pete. I am watching this match along with you," King says scornfully.


However, Doom isn't the only person in the ring copying Ralph Macchio, as Ghost Machine soon adopts the same stance. The two grapplers simply stand on one foot, staring at each other while Matt Myers pulls himself up. Still angry over the earlier attack, 'Neo' clambers to the top turnbuckle and jumps off, hitting Machine square in the back with a dropkick. As would be expected, this sends Ghost right into Doom's path, and Jimmy acts quickly, catching Ghost under the chin with a kick.




"Yak Kick!" Pete ejaculates. Whether it's meant as an exclamatory or as in orgasm, or both, is up to you.


"And Matt Myers is a complete moron of a jackassed fucktard," King mutters.


"Well, Ghost Machine 2.0 did attack him earlier. And he is supposed to be 'Neo', and thus, attack machines," Pete offers.


Myers scrambles back to his feet and fires off two quick kicks to Jimmy's knee before nailing him with a spinning heel kick to the head. Doom staggers under the blows, allowing 'Neo' to snare him with a 3/4 facelock and drop.


"The Blue Pill!" Pete shouts. "Matt Myers has quickly disrupted this match, taking out not only one of his opponents, but his partner as well."


"That is Matt Myers for you, stupidity beyond measure."


Manson slowly enters the ring and motions for Myers to come his way. Touching his nose gingerly, 'Neo' backs away and exits the squared circle. The Raging Bull heads out as well, not wanting to draw the wrath of a very vexed Herve Villechaize. Ghost Machine pulls himself off the mat, followed moments later by Jimmy the Doom. Both men glance at each other, then head towards Matt Myers. Jimmy rears back and clocks 'Neo' in the face.




Ghost Machine now steps in front of Doom and proceeds to tag in Myers. In the face. Repeatedly.




"If I'm not mistaken, it looks like Ghost Machine 2.0 was just displaying some anger there, but if he's really a robot, he shouldn't have any emotions," Pete says.


"Listen, MacDougal, Ghost Machine 2.0 has the most advanced software, so there is a very high probability of him imitating human emotions. Besides, haven't you ever seen a movie where a robot is taught human emotions? Sure, it's at the expense of a few mangled corpses, but the end result is what's important. So, if Matt Myers gets his faced rearranged in order for Ghost Machine 2.0 to know the false and cheap love of a hooker, that's fine by me."


Doom yanks Matt into the ring and whips him to the ropes. 'Neo' ducks under Jimmy's outstretched arm and takes him down with a neckbreaker. Myers quickly rolls Doom over and makes a lateral press.










"Kick out from Jimmy the Doom after that Nebuchadnezzar Neckbreaker!" Longdogger shouts.


"God, when is this match going to be over? I've got to take a massive shit," King mumbles.


Myers gets back up and waits on Doom. Jimmy obliges 'Neo' shortly, and gets sent to the ropes. Doom bounces back and lunges, his finger tips digging deep into Matt's throat. Jimmy regains his footing and quickly wraps both hands around Myers' neck. Doom lifts, twirls, and sits out, driving 'Neo' into the mat. The Doomtopian quickly scrambles to the top rope and jumps off, only to eat canvas.




"And Jimmy the Doom face plants on that Jimmy's Jump attempt. He seemed to be doing well, he got off a nice Hand of Doom, then a Jimmy Bomb, but Myers managed to move just enough out of the way."


"Are you kidding? Jimmy just didn't get enough distance. Like Matt Myers could do something right," King replies.


Regardless of the reason for Jimmy's miss, both men are down on the mat, at least momentarily, as Doom slowly rises to his feet. Jimmy stumbles around the ring, eventually making it to Ghost Machine, who hits him with a shotei. Doom staggers back, but answers with a wild punch. Machine throws another shotei, only for Doom to hit him with an elbow, knocking Ghost Machine off the apron and onto some conveniently placed druids.


"Observation pointing out very obvious details of the match."


"Blatant bias towards heels regardless of current situation of match."


"Weak defense of faces."


"Poorly executed joke regarding your mother's promiscuity."


Doom turns around to find Matt Myers on his feet, searching for Jimmy. For some strange reason, the Doomtopian tiptoes towards 'Neo' and applies an inverted facelock. Doom reaches down, hooks Matt's leg, lifts him off the mat, and drops Myers, nearly dislodging his sunglasses.


"Doom Driver! And with Ghost Machine 2.0 currently tangled in some druids, Jimmy the Doom and Manson might win this match right now!" Pete yells.


"I think I'd approve of an end like that. That way, Ghost Machine 2.0 doesn't exactly lose, as he isn't the one getting pinned, but Myers has to feel the shame of failure yet again," King adds.


Jimmy keeps the leg hooked and Herve Villechaize scrambles over to count the pin.










"Kick out! I can't believe it, but Matt 'Neo' Myers just kicked out of the Doom Driver! Now, granted, I'm not really sure what the Doom Driver is, and it's not one of Jimmy the Doom's typical finishing moves, but it's still dangerous."


"You forgot to mention that Matt Myers is a little bitch," King informs Longdogger.


Doom gets back up and lifts Myers off the mat, while Ghost Machine is busy piledriving a pair of druids. Jimmy whips 'Neo' into the ropes and charges in after. Matt bounces off and right into a front waistlock from Doom, who quickly slides around to a side, then finally a rear waistlock before popping his bony hips and driving Myers into the mat.




"Jimmy-Plex! Say, that looked like a weird version of that...what did you call it...German suplex?" Pete asks.


"Yes, the Jimmy-Plex is a corkscrew German suplex," King explains as if to a small child. He can barely refrain from giving Pete a gold star. Mostly because he doesn't want to get a Trimbly punch to the face.


Doom quickly scrambles over and covers Myers as Ghost Machine 2.0 is inspecting a soft pretzel, but soon gets a message that he's still in a tag match and heads to his corner.













"Foot on the rope! Matt Myers, despite how stupid you've said he is, King, knew where he was in the ring, and got a foot on the bottom rope, stopping the count," Pete says, impressed.


"Damn it! Why won't he just give up? And how in the hell are those glasses still attatched to his stupid head?" King wonders.


Jimmy the Doom pulls Myers off the mat and drags 'Neo' to his corner. The Doomtopian tags Manson into the match and roughly shoves Matt out of the buckles. The Doomtopian springs off the ropes and jumps, planting his foot in Myers' chest.




And right into The Raging Bull's waiting arms. The Stampede launches 'Neo' up and over, holding on to the full nelson in order to form a bridge. Herve Villechaize slides down to count the pin.





Ghost Machine enters the ring, heading towards Manson, while Jimmy the Doom looks to cut the mechanical monstrosity off.






Machine keeps motoring along, but he appears to be in desperate need of oil.






Jimmy launches himself at Ghost, limbs akimbo. Machine tries for a railgun, and is surprised to find Doom still attached, legs wrapped around Ghost's chassis. Herve leaps up and signals for the bell.




"Ladies and gentlemen! The wizzle of the matchizzle, JIIIMEEE THE DOOOM AND MAAAANSON!" Funyon shouts.


Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" roars over the speakers for a second time and the druids rush backstage, intent on getting some cake before Blank eats it all, while Jimmy the Doom remains hanging on Ghost Machine.


"Well, that's really awkward. Doom should try to let go, but I think Ghost Machine 2.0 is still looking to Crush, Kill, and Destroy," Pete says.


"Eh, just throw him Matt Myers," King offers.


Manson gets to his feet and simply stares at Ghost Machine's repeated attempts to suplex Jimmy the Doom. Finally, The Stampede hits the ropes behind Ghost Machine 2.0 and drills him in the back of his broad neck.




"Western Lariat! That ought to loosen a few circuits. Or snap some vertebrae," Pete adds, covering all bases.


Manson reaches down, hauls his partner off the mat, but doesn't stick around to celebrate, just heads back up the ramp. Doom joins Lois outside the ring and follow after The Stampede, leaving Ghost Machine and Matt Myers to sort out their problems.


"Coming up next, more Lethal Lottery action, as we've got matches from all of the other pools!" Pete shills.


"You don't mean the Ced Ordonez and Laberinto versus Amy Stephens and Bruce Blank, do you? That poor schmuck, Laberinto, got a damn referee! They'll get ripped to shreds in under five minutes. Less if Blank even gets in the match," King replies.


As Longdogger Pete and the Suicide King bicker, Smarkdown fades to a commercial for the E! True Hollywood Story of Madrac: Where the Hell Did He Go? Seriously, Where?

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The SWF cameras return to ringside from break to the usual back and forth banter of the Suicide King and Pete Longdogger.


“We’re all set to continue pool competition here tonight,” exclaims Pete, somewhat excited by the prospect of the upcoming match, “The Asia Underground making their official debut here tonight, something that should undoubtedly play a big role in tonight’s match up that pits the duo of Jason Von Dierch and The Crimson Skull against the aforementioned team led by Mr. Kobe, who should also play a crucial role in tonight’s match, his mentoring skills well noted and featured. You’ve got to believe that these two youngsters out of Japan have formed some sort of plan, and with Kobe by their side, I don’t expect anything less than greatness.”


“PLEASE,” blurts out King, “Expecting anything more than a flop is where I stand – Cross might be on a winning streak, Kobe might be a ‘great wrestling mind’, and Akira might have already proven his worth, but they’ve taken the stupid path!”


“How’d you come about that one,” questions Pete almost sarcastically.


“C’mon! These guys aren’t going to do what it takes to get the job done,” exclaims King typically, “They’re weak and they aren’t willing to take it as far as it needs to go to finish the job! Just look at Akira, he didn’t have the balls to shield himself in the Japanese Deathmatch at Clusterfuck and he missed his chance to win the Ultra Violent title!”


“Say what you will, but he had the will of a warrior in there, he took it like a man-,” and just like that, almost in response, the lights cut off the words of Pete Longdogger.


The lights flicker a dark blue and dark red mix, overtaking the arena completely as “Voodoo People (pendulum remix)” by Prodigy hits the PA sending shockwaves through the arena. The fans stand and cheer as Mr. Kobe steps out onto the ramp standing as tall as he can and triumphant, arms folded sternly across his chest. The arena turns to pure black, the lighting effects still going rapid fire as Michael Cross and Akira Kaibatsu grimly step forward on either side of Kobe who refuses to flinch.


“That’s them,” shouts Pete over the music, “That’s the Asia Underground we’ve been hearing about, and they looks absolutely daunting in their armless black hoodies; Akira wearing dark blue dragon horn-like armbands that run up the outside of his arms with white stripes, Cross wearing his with the signature dark red and black colors.”


Both Cross and Kaibatsu are wearing different attires than their normal, Akira wearing shiny dark blue pants with the white writing that reads “Fearless” in Kanji down the left side of his pants with a white thorn-like arrow spiraling down the right leg. Cross wears the same pants with his toned in his colors – dark red and black. His left leg reads “Twenty Eight” in black text with white outlining and the same thorn-like arrow pattern in block with the slim white lining. Cross steps forward, his hoodie unzipped as he tears it away revealing black paint down his tight muscles that reads “Underground”. Cross drops down to his knees and raises his arms to the sky screaming as his body clinches. Akira stalks behind him and stares down the ramp at the camera aimed on him, the hood covering his mask making him eerily darker than ever before. Kobe smirks as Cross slides off his knees quickly to his BUTT and then around again sweeping back to his feet as he and Akira precede forward, the ring in their site as Kobe walks slowly behind them confidently.


“These guys need to get out of the way,” shouts King, “They’re not worth this much time for an entrance!” Longdogger ignores the comment as he watches on enthralled by the mystic but dark entrance.


Akira slides in the ring as Cross stomps quickly up the steps to the apron. Akira pauses sprawled out looking over to the crowd as Cross wipes his feet and slices just under the third rope turning into the ring. Akira slides to his feet as he and Cross perch up on opposite corners of the ring, cameras going off as Kobe watches intently at the two who stand on the second turnbuckle with their arms folded across their chests, looking both confident and prepared.


“There’s a very evident breath of confidence being passed through these two men,” comments Pete, clearly describing how fluid and connected both Akira and Cross seem to be, “I think Skull and Von Dierch are in for one hell of a fight tonight if the tells of the Asia Underground are what they seem!”


Akira and Mike hop down and consult each other, removing their fang-like armbands in the center of the ring and dumping them out to the floor, going back over the game plan. The lights return to normal for just a moment before C & C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat” intervenes, igniting the stage into an inferno of sparks that spray over the stage. The crowd waits a moment before the giant comic-like villain that is The Crimson Skull emerges flanked closely by his assistant, Heff. Heff points to an area that’s overwhelmed with sparks and signals for someone else to come forward. Jason Von Dierch emerges out and stands between Heff and Skull, looking uneasy. The smaller Von Dierch hails below the stature of Skull who stands a solid 8 inches above The Rage, who looks up almost intimidated but with a solid clenched jaw as if to say, “You might be bigger, but I’m tougher”. Skull stalks over Von Dierch for an awkward moment, and then Heff leads the way forward, followed by Von Dierch who is then followed closely by Skull, watching his partners every move.


“Cross and Kaibatsu certainly received the better end of the Lethal Lottery, King,” exclaims Pete, “They got paired having already been awaiting their shot to tag together, having been able to train together, and create a plan which they had already looked to use under the tutelage of Mr. Kobe – these guys are stuck with Heff, and Skull and Von Dierch aren’t exactly each other’s ideal partners, they don’t seem to look trusting of each other!”


Von Dierch, Heff, and Skull all stop just outside the ring, looking up at their opponents who stand over them looking down at them intently, marveling at the opportunity of winning their first official SWF match as a tag team. Kobe stands aside as Heff shoots him an evil grimace. Von Dierch wastes no time and slides into the ring just in front of Asia’s finest, standing now face to face with them as Skull uses the ropes to drag himself to the apron, towering now over the ropes and joining his partner in a stare down.


“Ced Ordonez is approaching the ring, cautiously avoiding Michael Cross who delivered a crushing win over Ordonez no more than two weeks ago,” exclaims Pete, “Ordonez is telling the two teams to go to their corners; this match is about to get underway!”


In the ring, Cross and Kaibatsu talk it over, and Akira steps on to the apron, letting his partner enter the match first. Skull looks down at Von Dierch and pushes him back, signaling that he wants the first shot at Cross. Von Dierch steps forward, but Skull holds him back and looks down at the smaller Von Dierch, who looks up uncooperatively with an almost rage-like look before he steps out of the ring. Ordonez sounds for the bell and the match is officially underway.


“Skull put that punk in his place,” exclaims King immediately, “He’s already lost once to Cross! Why give him another shot to blow it!”


“King, that might be the most sense you’ve ever made,” says Pete in an informative tone, “It’s true that Von Dierch has already taken a loss to Michael Cross; but as they say, dust yourself off and get back on the horse. Hopefully Von Dierch plays a bigger role in this match than he is now.”


Ordonez moves out of the way as Skull’s monster-like body steps forward at Cross who ducks under a clutch attempt and delivers a kick to the back of the leg of Skull who shakes it off and turns his bulky body around in time for Cross to evade any kind of strike Skull could possibly have attempted. Cross dances around Skull quickly, attempting to veer him off guard, using his smaller and quicker body to maneuver around the much bigger and bulkier Crimson Skull who stands patiently, waiting for his opportunity. Skull wastes no time pushing Cross off balance and back against the ropes having waited patiently to knock Cross off his game plan. Cross leans back and then springs under a quick clothesline attempt by Skull who turns to be stricken with a right kick to the outside of his thigh from Cross, who immediately backs away and continues to draw Skull into a cat & mouse game.


“Skull can’t seem to catch the much quicker Mike Cross,” describes Pete almost humorously, “He’s swatted at him and missed twice, maybe he should’ve let Von Dierch slow him down before he took his turn!”


“Please! Cross is just running away from Skull, he’s too afraid,” proclaims King overbearingly.


Cross dances around Skull who swats at Cross now losing his patience, allowing Cross to make another quick move, ducking under the club-like blow attempted by Skull. Skull’s miss sends him stumbling forward a step, as Cross lines up behind him. Cross springs forward quickly and delivers a straight dropkick to the BUTT of Skull whose momentum drives him forward and towards Akira who sticks his foot up on the rope catching Skull slightly sending him backward as Cross regains footing behind Skull. Cross drops down to his hands and knees almost startled by the big man stumbling around and nearly toppling onto him, tripping up Skull who falls to his back to a pop from the crowd as Heff stomps around ringside angrily.


“Ha, what a clever and quick-thinking move by Cross,” blurts out Pete happily, “These two guys are working together already!”


“Ordonez! Disqualify those two,” demands King, “What a cheap shot!”


“They did what it took to get the job done, King,” proclaims Pete, replaying King’s earlier words in his face.


In the ring, Cross stomps at the downed Crimson Skull who fights away the snapping and quick boots put on him by the pest-like Michael Cross. Skull gets some breathing room blocking and swatting away the quick blows as he gains some ground and begins to awkwardly climb back to his feet. Cross makes the mistake continuing his barrage of strikes, allowing Skull to grab a hold onto one of his loose limbs. Skull pushes Cross backward away from Akira towards his corner, making him hop to remain on his feet. Skull tags out to Von Dierch and then drags Cross back to the center of the ring by his leg as Von Dierch steps in and follows. Cross looks to Akira, who Ced promptly warns, as Von Dierch circles in on the open and defenseless Cross.


“Cross is in a predicament,” sympathizes Pete, “Von Dierch and Skull have got Cross right where they want him!”


“YES, KILL THAT FLY,” shrieks King, “FLATTEN HIM!”


Cross hops around, and then at the last second Cross jumps and delivers an enziguri to Von Dierch using Skull’s hold to stiffly slap at Jason’s neck with a destructive kick that sends him to his knees. Cross follows through and lands on the kneeling Von Dierch, who he uses to prop back to his feet. Skull looks amused and attempts to sweep out the standing ankle of Cross as Von Dierch sticks out his leg. Cross hops over it, but catches the leg of Jason on the landing and is thrown to his back after nearly escaping the situation. Skull kicks the back part of Cross’ leg which he’s still holding as Ced orders him out the ring, Skull acting like he did nothing wrong.


“Cross tried, but now he’s got Von Dierch to deal with,” exclaims Pete watching the action intently, “Cross already has a win notched over Von Dierch, and you can bet the farm that the Rage wants some payback!”


Von Dierch wastes no time working on Cross’ head with several malicious stomps that keep Cross down. The Rage grabs a hold of one of Mike’s arms and pulls him into a sitting position, setting his foot down over his shoulder between his legs. Von Dierch wrenches at the arm which torques Cross’ neck awkwardly sending shrills of sharp pains down his neck, through his spine, and sending waves of cold electric pain throughout Cross’ body. Von Dierch continues to torque harder and harder as Cross refuses the pain stubbornly, looking around for a way out that seemingly does not exist. Von Dierch steps his foot out and turns his body, contorting the arm awkwardly in a way that Cross can no longer ignore the imminent pain as he shrieks cries, cuing to Ordonez who immediately asks if he wants to quit. Cross shakes it off as his eyes start to role back, his neck twisting and his shoulder bulging as if it wants to pop from the skin.


“That’s just disgusting,” cries Pete who turns away with a grimace, “This thing won’t last much longer if Cross can’t escape this!”


“YES, YES,” cries out King excitedly.


Outside the ring, Kobe’s face remains normal and nods to Akira who almost instantly leaps to the third rope and flies across the ring striking the back of the head of Von Dierch who is sent forward, relinquishing the arm of Cross, which suffered only a moments concern from the destructive hold pitting Von Dierch and Cross back to back. The crowd pops for Akira who immediately ignores Ordonez’s shouts for him to leave the ring, which prompts the Crimson Skull to enter ensuing 4 man mayhem.


“This match has just broken down,” shouts Pete at the ongoing 4 man action in the ring, “With one move, Akira has drawn all four men into the ring!”


“Did you see that,” shouts King demanding some sort of retribution, “Akira just cheated, if it weren’t for him this match would be done!”


“I believe we call that team work,” exclaims Pete normally, as if he half-expected the biased comment.


Akira steps back while Cross regains his footing, rubbing his shoulder and shaking off the pain. Von Dierch clutches the back of his head as Heff slaps the mat in front of him, trying to pull him out of his brief slumber. Skull doesn’t wait and steps at the two smaller men, both of who step at him and grapple a hold of one of the behemoth’s arms. Skull shakes his left arm free of Mike who is pushed away. Skull uses his now free arm to club at Akira who is swatted away from Skull who turns and delivers a thunderous overhead punch to Akira who flops to his back. Skull turns again, this time to Cross, and delivers a clubbing blow, which causes Akira to stumble back and into the ropes. Skull rears forward pressing Akira further back and then slings the Suicide Machine across the ring who is met by a crushing kick by a now standing Von Dierch who lets out a loud growl, content with his use of the Crumbling Wall, his finisher. The crowd sighs, as if it were punched in the stomach.


“OH, THE CRUMBLING WALL,” shouts Pete looking on with concern.


“That’s it!” shouts King, “Make the cover, QUICK!”


Skull attempts to cover the downed Cross, but is ushered out of the way by Von Dierch who shoves Skull aside making the pin attempt on his own. Ordonez slides to the mat to make the cover, as Skull stands confused over the scene, Akira just beginning to roll over and crawl back to his feet.


“There’s enough time for the 3 count,” shouts Pete in response to the action, “Skull wasn’t the legal man, and Von Dierch wasted no time debating, pushing him away to get the cover as quick as possible on Cross!”








“Von Dierch isn’t a team player,” shrieks King, “The Crimson Skull should be making that cover!”






















The camera turns from Ordonez over to Von Dierch who has been pushed off of Cross by his partner just before the three count.


“This match was over,” exclaims Pete annoyed, “What is the Crimson Skull thinking?”


“He’s thinking with his head, Pete,” proclaims King confidently, “But I don’t expect you to understand.”


In the ring, Ordonez looks down confused and then takes a kneeling position on one knee. Skull looks up as Heff demands a count, however, Ordonez waves it off to the crowd’s delight, Skull looking furious as Von Dierch looks up appalled at his partner’s unwise decision. Ordonez explains to Skull that he’s not the legal man, and points to Von Dierch, who stands and confronts Skull as both Akira and Cross are coming back to their senses. Skull turns to Von Dierch as they argue, Von Dierch appearing to have big-little-man’s complex, standing confidently to the monster that stands before him.


“What are they thinking,” questions Pete, “This whole match has just swung in favor of Asia Underground, and all because of a stupid, stupid error by Skull who thought he should’ve made the cover!”


“LOOK OUT,” shrieks King almost standing.


In the ring, Akira and Cross have gotten to their feet as Ordonez maneuvers out of their way. Cross sprints towards Skull whom has his leg chop blocked viciously before he ever saw it coming. Von Dierch turns now just in time to be caught off guard by Akira who uses his speed to deliver a swift and efficient flying forearm that pushes him back and stumbling over the ropes and out of the ring.


“NO,” shouts King, “Ordonez should’ve made that count!”


“Skull wasn’t the legal man,” explains Pete coldly and crisply, “Shouldn’t the fact that he was never tagged in be evident to you, King?”


King looks on sternly, clearly agitated by the swing that just took place.


Cross and Akira now stand triumphant as Ordonez attempts to restore order to the whole match, Akira stepping out of the ring and back to his corner as Skull rolls under the rope near his corner. Cross takes a breather, the Crumbling Wall having clearly taken a lot out of his pace.


Outside the ring, Heff looks down at a fallen Von Dierch and offers a helping hand, but is pushed off and screamed at by Von Dierch who chases him off, paying little to no attention Cross who looks on intently from the bird’s eye view in the ring.


“Von Dierch has GOT to get his head back in the match,” lectures Pete, “He needs to put the blunder behind him and get the job done! He’s not even paying attention to Cross…OH!”


Cross springs to the third rope, turns 180 degrees, and performs a HUGE moonsault off the ropes and onto both Heff and Von Dierch who turn just in time to see Cross on a collision course with them. They put their hands up to block, but to no avail. Cross collides legs first onto Heff and Von Dierch who fall back, sending Cross face first to the mat as all three lay sprawled out.


“What an amazing high risk maneuver!” exclaims Pete with GUSTO.


Skull pulls himself to his feet, his leg seemingly faulty. He looks over to Heff and then lugs his body over to the scene. Akira runs the apron adjacent to his corner as Skull walks by. Running, he leaps off the apron attempting to catch Skull who is fully aware of the situation. Crimson Skull snags hold of Kaibatsu in mid-flight, holding him over his shoulder as he flails. Near, all three men are moving back to their feet as Akira is lifted up and into a powerbomb position by the 6’4’’ powerhouse who ignores Akira’s struggles to get free. His leg shakes and he quivers for a moment, but maintains hold, turns, and drops Akira down smashing his head in a whiplash-like drop straight down onto the apron, still holding him. Akira’s struggle goes away as Skull lifts him high and folds his body through the ropes awkwardly as it folds and drops down to the mat, Akira now holding his head in pain.


“That was GRUESOME,” describes Pete, “Absolutely phenomenal counter by The Crimson Skull, whether you love ‘im or hate ‘im!”


Outside, Cross approaches Skull, but evades a blow and decides against it, rolling into the ring as Heff and Von Dierch maintain position back on their feet. Skull attempts to climb up to apron, however, his leg gives a little, and is forced to use the steps. Von Dierch, being the legal man, rolls back into the ring and is immediately met by a barrage of thunderous stomps by a refueled Michael Cross as Akira, his partner, rolls under the ropes and drags himself back to the corner. Cross whips Von Dierch into their corner, and snaps a tag to Akira, who enters the match officially for the first time tonight.


“Akira has now been officially in the match,” exclaims Pete, “He hasn’t been legal yet!”


Akira grabs a hold of Von Dierch’s arm and whips him outward in the direction of his corner, but holds on. Dragging him back, Akira sticks out his knee and delivers a thudding kitchen sink that sends Jason to his back, Akira still gripping onto his arm. The Divine Wind sits and leans back, his legs wrapped over the arm of Von Dierch who has been caught in an arm bar. Von Dierch squirms in pain and wiggles around to his belly, taking Akira over with him. He manages again to roll, this time to his BUTT. He frees up a leg and kicks Akira right between the eye holes of his mask, knocking him off, but still not able to keep him off him. Akira is right back at it, this time he has a leg, he rolls Von Dierch to the center of the ring and then turns his hip, trapping Jason’s ankle between his legs and crushing it almost instantly. Von Dierch arches his back in pain, as Akira again twists his hip wrenching at the ankle. Skull attempts to break the hold, but it met with a thunderous drop kick from Cross who comes barreling across the ring out of nowhere to the crowds shock. Skull’s momentum take him back through the ropes having not made it all the way through to begin with and down to the floor as Akira continues tearing at the ankle.


“Von Dierch in a very unforgiving situation,” exclaims King, “His partner’s knee is in bad shape, and he’s back to the floor, already having trouble walking and climbing back to the apron – this thing could be over at any moment folks!”


In the ring, Ordonez asks Von Dierch if he wants to give up, but is swatted away by an irritated Rage who quickly makes a move that rolls Akira off of him. No luck, Akira manages catch an arm on the way through the roll, which pits Akira in a standing position with Von Dierch on all fours, Akira standing with a hold on Jason’s arm. Cross guards the ring from Skull, continually denied any attempt to save his partner by Cross who uses his speed and striking ability to stop the big man from tanking his away into the ring. Akira pulls a mahistrol cradle-like move, but ends up with Von Dierch in an arm bar with the crowd shocked at the result.


“Akira is relentless,” exclaims Pete loudly, “His mat speed have Von Dierch’s submission and mat ability outmatched at every turn!”


Von Dierch struggles, but powers his way free from the move as Akira is forced back to his feet. Von Dierch shrugs off the pain, his arm and ankle clearly still being affected. Akira shoots at Von Dierch who sprawls and jams Akira up, turning around and pushing him outward and away.


“Von Dierch is trying to keep off the mat with the speedy Akira,” explains Pete logically.


Outside the ring, Cross and Skull slug it out, Cross using the advantage on Skull’s knee to keep him down, the bulk now dragging him down and making it harder to move. As Ordonez is preoccupied in the ring, Heff begins to stalk near Cross. Mike turns and is met with a blast of white powder, from the EVIL assistant Heff. He ducks, however, and a miss coming nowhere even close to Cross. Using Cross and Ordonez’s preoccupation, Skull digs under the ring and pulls out a chair, the ref note noticing the debauchery taking place. Cross walks after Heff as Kobe yells something in Japanese. Cross continues, but stops suddenly and drives and thunderous kick up and into a chair that slaps back into the face of Skull who falls back onto his BUTT astonished. Heff runs over to check on Skull as Kobe relays another set of Japanese instruction, Cross now entering the ring.


“CHEATER,” shouts King, “I’ll have his release by the end of the week, and you just wait!”


“If you ask me, King, the Crimson Skull and Heff got caught with their pants down,” exclaims Pete happily, “Their poorly planned and typical trap set themselves up for failure!”


Cross and Akira now have full control, overpowering a fighting Von Dierch. Together, Asia Underground whips Von Dierch across the ring. On rebound, Cross and Akira step forward and lift up Jason and topple him over their head. Von Dierch, however, manages to speedily roll around, landing on his feet upright. Cross turns and is crushed with yet ANOTHER Crumbling Wall that sends him self destructing to the mat in a heap of weakness. Akira turns and is met with a second attempt at the same move, but manages to side step it, ducking under the kick attempt. Von Dierch turns suddenly and is met with a kick. Akira locks in what looks like a set up for his finisher, the Divine Wind. He runs near the corner and steps up the turnbuckle, looking to turn and flip over Von Dierch. He gets a bit too much air and Von Dierch struggles to lift, his arm weak. He holds him for a moment, and then sloppily drops Akira down crotch first on to the turnbuckle which gets an “OOOOOH,” from just about everyone in the arena. Von Dierch shakes off his arm and takes a breath.


“Von Dierch needs to get to work,” exclaims Pete lecturing again, “He’s got two men to deal with and his partner as out on the outside of the ring, he needs to finish this!”


Von Dierch regains his confidence and stalks over to Akira. He steps up to the second rope and signals for the end, apparently looking to hit some kind of huge move off the top rope. Cross, however, is up and delivers a thunderous clubbing forearm to the back of Von Dierch who arches in unexpected pain. Cross turns and puts Von Dierch onto his shoulders. He stumbles forward, looking to hit a powerbomb, however, Von Dierch fights him off delivering several blows that send Cross stumbling back to Akira. Without second guessing, Akira hooks his arm over the neck of Von Dierch and lifts himself over. The extra weight brings Cross falling to his knees dropping Von Dierch down who at the same time is hit with the Diving Wind! The crowd goes nuts as Von Dierch sloppily falls onto his neck and folds back over to his stomach, decimated.


“THAT’S IT, MY GOD!” shouts Pete, “Did you see that!”


“NO!” shouts King, “NO!”


Von Dierch lies out, Cross kneels exhausted, and Akira rolls the limp corpse of the Rage to his back and away from the ropes. The crowd stands and cheers as Ordonez slides to his knees to make the count.
















































“They did, The Asia Underground have won their first match,” exclaims Pete overzealous, “What team work, they never doubted one another, and with the right guidance and just enough effort, they put away what looked like a very solid team!”


“They should be fired for what they did to the Crimson Skull,” demands King, “Just look at him!”


On the outside of the ring, The Crimson Skull has come to his senses, furious.


“This isn’t fair!”


Cross and Akira shakes hands as Kobe joins them in the ring. Ordonez lifts their hands and Cross embraces Kobe like a child would his father.




“A truly great sight,” says Pete happy for Cross, “All his life he was betrayed, and now he’s found greatness and just what he’s been searching for his whole life!”


Cross, Kobe, and Akira leave the ring as “Voodoo People (pendulum remix)” by Prodigy plays loudly to toast their triumphant first victory.

Edited by chirs3

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“Well it’s true I love the money and I love my brand new car

I like drinkin’ the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar”




“The following contest is set for one fall with a 30 minute time limit and it is part of the SWF LETHAL LOTTERY TOURNAMENT!!” Funyon says trying to announce over the boos and jeers of the crowd. “Introducing first weighing in at 295 pounds from Mobile, Alabama – the SWF Ultraviolent Champion BRUUUUUUUCEEEE BLANK!”


“But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time

cause I got to find a break in this action, else I’m gonna lose my mind”




Bruce can’t help but smirk as he limps into the arena with a crutch under one arm to support his “injured” leg. When the crowd sees that Bruce intends to keep up the injured leg hoax they boo even louder in the hopes that somehow their negativity will make Bruce go away.


“It’s so amazing to see Bruce’s determination, he’s not going to let a knee injury keep him out of this tournament” King says as he wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek.


“Give me a break. This is just another one of Bruce’s ploys. It’s just a trick to get an unfair advantage in the ring” Pete says showing everyone that the beat down hasn’t taken any of his “righteous indignation” voice away.


"So, don't ask me no questions

And I won't tell you no lies

So, don't ask me about my business

And I won't tell you goodbye”


The Ultraviolent champion makes damn sure to limp all the way to the ring as he winks to the camera with a smug, superior grin. He reaches ringside where he hobbles over to the steel steps and he slowly walks up them as if it’s a feat. He limps as he walks across ringside then into the ring. Suddenly “Man in the Box” explodes onto the sound system as the fans immediately come to life.


I! L!! I! L!! I! L!! I! L!! I! L!! I! L!!


“That’s not Bruce’s partner – in fact that’s probably the LAST person Bruce wants to see right now, he’s got a very important tournament match damn it” King says.


Insane Luchador slowly exposes himself as he stands tall, glaring at Bruce in the ring, and a microphone at hand. He brings it up towards his mouth but has to pause as a smirk sweeps over his face. He walks up to the threshold of the ring aisle as he paces a few steps at the edge of the entrance ramp. He finally stops, facing the ring, and the smirk vanishes as he brings the microphone up to his lips but remains quiet.


“Now what the hell is he smiling about?” King asks.


“Well he finally has the chance to come face-to-face with Bruce Blank,” LDP says. “He claims he’s been itching for months to get a piece of Bruce and to reclaim his hardcore division.”


“It was never ‘his’ division, he just had a good streak then died, err, vanished,” King retorts.


“Well, Blank, looks like you can’t avoid me anymore, does it?” IL asks to a pop from the crowd. He pauses and gives a little laugh before saying, “You, well, you look trapped.”


In the ring Bruce Blank walks over to the ring ropes facing the entrance ramp in anger and confusion. He shouts obscenities laced with insults at the Insane Luchador until he walks to center of the ring to snatch Funyon’s microphone out of his hands.


“Boy. What are you talkin’ about? ‘Cause I am doing my business but I got this gnat flying around that I can’t even be bothered to swat away! No, you ain’t even a gnat. You’re just wee little Luch-e-dor who walks around acting all rough and tough but is shaped like a twig?” He laughs at the Insane Luchador to a chorus of boos from the fans.


“You’re the man who’s supposedly brought the Hardcore Gamer’s division to a whole new level?” IL ignores the insults and asks.


“The Ultraviolent Division! My division!” Bruce says angrily.


“A division devoid of true greats Bruce! A division that hasn’t seen the greatness of a Damnation on a Box or…” IL begins but gets cut off.


“That was one match that you weren’t even in!” Blank replies angrily.




“You are damn right!” IL says to the crowd and lets the chant echo in the arena before he continues his tirade. “Bruce, you say you’re just doing your business? You are supposed to be a hardcore legend and you’re faking a god damn limp?”


“Faking? How dare he accuse Bruce of faking a limp,” King says.


”Now hold on, hold on there Scooter! You go around and shoot off your mouth about this and that and how you long for the days of old in the Hardcore division. The only reason you long for the days of old is because I wasn’t there! Only reason you were a champion is because I wasn’t there!”


Insane Luchador fumes at Blank’s remarks as he begins to walk down the aisle.


Blank shakes his head in disgust at the Luchador. “But I am here and I have upped the ante now. Boy, I just don’t think you’ve got the nerve to play the game at MY LEVEL! You want me gone because you know deep down in your heart that it’s the only way you’d ever get this belt again” Bruce says as he taps the Ultraviolent title around his waist.


“Blank, I don’t want you to be put away… I want to put you away!” IL exclaims to delight of the fans as he continues his walk down to the ring.


“Things could be getting ugly here,” LDP says.


“How? How can you even reach me, boy? You’re just some punk kid who thinks a bit of purdy flippity-floppity moves makes you a man. You’re a kid trying to play in a grown up field- but just can’t measure up!” Bruce Blank shouts at the Luchador.




“You’re just some punk kid who thinks that leaping off tall objects makes you Ultraviolent,” Bruce says as he shakes his head “In MY Ultraviolent division it’s not about how much punishment you can take – but how much you can dish out!”


“Want me to show you how I can dish it out… you want to see the damage I can inflict? Then stop running Blank!” IL says as his signature psycho face creeps onto his face.




“Running? Oh please – I didn’t run away from Janus, I’m not going to run away from a guy a third his size,” Bruce says with a dismissive wave of the hand as he leans against the ropes.


“Janus? Well, how did that go Bruce? How did you fare against someone truly Ultraviolent?” Insane Luchador asks as he sadistically laughs.


Bruce doesn’t look too happy about being reminded of his “Ashes 2 Ashes” loss but after a moment or two composes himself and turns back to IL now slowly approaching ringside.


“He may have won the match, I’ll give you that. But I’m the one that’s still standing in the ring! I’m the one that has defended the Ultraviolent title time and time again since that match. Where is he? He’s yet to recover from punishment I gave him! That boy is probably holed up somewhere trying to keep his broken body together with staples and duct tape!” Bruce says as he tries to sound convincing but his voice waivers.


“No, you lost the match! That should of shattered your egos but no, not the great Bruce Blank?” He says as he hits ringside. “So because you couldn’t have learned your lesson last time, how about I teach you a lesson? How about it, Blank, are you willing to stop avoiding me?” IL says.


“Why should I put the belt up against you Scooter? Why should you just walk in here and DEMAND a title shot. You don’t make demands to the champion,” Bruce says as his temper flares. “You should just get the hell out of here before my partner decides to kick your ass… again!”


“Hey I lost” IL says with no qualms “I don’t make excuses, it wasn’t my ‘home turf.’ I won’t claim about injuries inflicted on Amy. But we all see right through your little act, you’re trying to avoid me again.” He is only a few feet away from the ring as Bruce Blank gets onto the ring apron.


“You have no home turf little man, not any more. The Hardcore Gamer’s division is dead and buried and I should know cause I BURIED IT!!” Bruce says and chuckles, then he stops as if a new thought crossed his mind “Now if I thought you would be capable of keeping up with me in a regular match… or, maybe, a little scuffle?” Blank says with a smile. He steps down to the outside from the ring apron but keeps his distance from Luchador.


"I’m not like you Bruce, I won’t find excuses and I won’t step down!” He replies. “So get down here…” IL barks but is cut off.


The SWF’s rock anthem hits and Joseph Peters comes rushing out with a microphone in hand. “Stop it, stop it gentlemen!”


“Gentlemen?” King snorts.


He stops and shakes his head. “Save it! If either of you touches the other then you are fired! Now I will not have my tournament disrupted because of your issues with each other. Blank, get back in the ring for your match and IL you need to leave ringside. Now if you two peacefully do what I just said then we can figure out a solution to these issues,” Peters says to defuse the situation and he turns around to retreat backstage.


IL doesn’t break eye contact with Blank as he slowly nods. “This time was luck Blank, I’ll be seeing you very, very soon,” he says with a mysterious and rather disconcerting smirk before he drops the microphone. He then turns around and walks up the aisle as Blank rolls into the ring.


“Well, things have certainly heated up but don’t go away!” LDP says.



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“Well, strong words there from Bruce Blank,” Longdogger Pete exclaims as the SWF comes back from commercials, “and the big man is already in the ring waiting for his tag partner; however, given what’s already gone down tonight between them I’m not sure if we’ll have to wait for their opponents for fists to start flying!”


“Huh,” King snorts, “I’d like to see Amy try and take Bruce on in a straight fight instead of suckerpunching him like she did before.”


“King, you know as well as I do that it wasn’t a suckerpunch. It was quite clearly a kick,” Pete reprimands his partner.


Meanwhile in the ring, Bruce Blank has apparently got tired of waiting and snatches the microphone of Funyon before raising it to his mouth:


“Hey c’mon girl, you still doing your make-up or something?” the King of Pain bawls, clearly unimpressed with the time elapsed so far. However, no sooner are the words out of his mouth then ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ kicks up for the second time this evening, and Amy Stephens steps out of the back with a can of lager in hand!




“Bruce Blank’s tag team partner,” Funyon declares, “from Nottingham, England; she weighs in tonight at 171lbs, this is the ‘Punk-Rock Princess’… AAAAAAMMMMMMYYYYYY… STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”


The crowd response is a bit better now that she’s not only won a match but also kicked the Ultraviolent Champion in his testicles, and Amy salutes the fans with her can before racing down to the ring (careful not to spill any, mind you) and slipping under the bottom rope before climbing to the second buckle and leading the crowd in a chant:







As Joey Ramone launches into the first verse proper Amy hops back down from the turnbuckles… and turns around to find Bruce looming over her. The King of Pain’s face looks like a particularly ugly thundercloud, but Amy doesn’t seem that concerned and takes a big swig of her lager before passing it casually to Bruce to hold and then barging past him to begin her pre-match stretches. Bruce glares over his shoulder at her… then looks back at the lager in his hand, shrugs, and takes a pull.


“Well, they have one unifying factor at least,” LDP says. As Amy starts to warm up there is a sudden commotion on the soundstage…




The familiar theme music of Ced Ordonez has kicked up over the PA and as flames shoot skywards the Tag-Champion-turned-referee’s dancers come out and begin dancing, shaking their bodies to the beat for a few seconds before everyone’s favourite mecha-masked Phillipino heads out.


“And their opponents,” Funyon booms, “first, from Sacramento, California; he weighs in tonight at 209lbs, this is the DDR Referee… CEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDD… ORDOOOOOOOOO-NEEEEEEZZZZZZZZ!!”


“Doesn’t that seem like an awfully elaborate entrance for someone who never wins?” King asks as Ced and his troupe start busting impressive DDR moves.


“Shush, he’s SWF staff,” Pete chides his partner, “he’s served long and well and deserves a bit of luxury.”


“I guess you’re right. I mean, Crimson Skull has dancers too and he’s not even full-time!”


Halfway down the entrance ramp Ordonez stops, looking up at the ring. It’s difficult to read Ced’s expression behind the mask that he wears for matches, but might that be nervousness in his eyes? After all, Ced witnessed close-up the devastation of the Japanese Deathmatch with Bruce Blank and Akira Kaibatsu in - so close, in fact, that Bruce hid behind him to shelter from the final explosion.


“Come on Ced, don’t let him intimidate you!” Suicide King shouts cheerfully. “He only wants to destroy all cruiserweights, you’ve got nothing to worry about!”


“And his tag team partner,” Funyon booms, “from Tocula, Mexico…”




‘Ole’ by the Bouncing Souls starts up to a reasonable reaction from the Californian crowd and the masked Mexican luchador heads out, waving at the fans.


“…he weighs in tonight at 220lbs,” Funyon continues, “this is LABERRRRRRRR-RRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNTTOOOOOOOOO!!”


Laberinto and Ordonez exchange quick looks and a high five, then rush the ring and charge under the bottom rope before popping up to their feet-




-only to be taken straight back down again by stereo right hands from Bruce and Amy, who seem to have independently come to the conclusion that a quick start is the best way to play this!




Laberinto and Ced are back up to their feet almost immediately, where Amy latches onto Ced and Bruce and Laberinto square off. Amy Irish whips her part-time referee opponent into the ropes, but Ced reverses and sends her into the cables instead. He then ducks his head for a back bodydrop but telegraphed the move and Amy kills her momentum, then hooks his arms and twists around as if for a backslide. However, once she’s back to back with Ced she locks her hands together behind his head as if for a reverse full nelson, then drops down in a neckbreaker!


“OK, that has to hurt,” King comments.


Meanwhile, Laberinto has ducked under a meaty swing from Blank and starts firing kicks into his knee with the brace on. However, this doesn’t seem like such a good idea as the first kick hits the brace and causes the Mexican to hop around holding his foot! Bruce grins and backs up, then charges in with a clothesline…




…but staggers back again as Laberinto leaps up to plant a Dropsault square in his chest!


“What a counter!” Pete yells, “Laberinto jumped off one foot to hit Bruce with that move!”


The masked Mexican now turns his attention to Amy Stephens as Bruce tries to regain his wind, Laberinto creeping up behind the Punk-Rock Princess and wrapping his hands around her head for the Uno Momento, but Amy grabs his hands and prises them away from her cranium! She then twists around, crossing Laberinto’s arms in front of him as she does so, using her grip on her opponent to pull him towards her and straight into-




-a headbutt!


“Of course, Amy’s brother Toxxic uses that move under the name of the Underkill,” Pete explains, “so he probably showed her how to counter it at some point!”


“That or the fact that Laberinto sucks,” King points out, “I mean come on, when you’re stealing moves from Toxxic and Landon Maddix…”


Regardless of the suction abilities of the masked Mexican Laberinto is sent staggering backwards by Amy’s headbutt, but his bad luck doesn’t stop there as Bruce has now regained his wind and he accelerates forward to deliver a stunning enzui-clothesline that drops Laberinto to the mat with authority!. Amy crosses her arms and glares at her tag team partner, who glowers back… then suddenly strides forward and fires a big cowboy boot at her head! Amy ducks at the last moment-




-and Bruce hits Ced, who was about to grab Amy from behind! The Punk-Rock Princess gets back to her feet and regards her tag partner suspiciously, who whistles innocently as he kicks Ordonez in the ribs, trying to move the part-time ref under the bottom rope and out of the ring.


“OK, you tell me King,” Longdogger Pete says, “was that excellent teamwork or just incompetent infighting?”


It doesn’t seem that Amy and Bruce are going to have a chance to pull it off again though, as referee Brian Warner is screaming for one of them to leave the ring. Bruce points, demanding that Amy goes, but the young lady from Nottingham just flicks him a two-fingered salute in response. After a few seconds of standoff Bruce heaves a long-suffering sigh and steps over the rope before pointing at Amy again and clearly saying something along the lines of ‘if you mess this up…’ Amy, delicate flower that she is, just grabs her right bicep with her left hand and makes an obscene pumping motion in his direction. She then turns around to deal with Laberinto, who is now picking himself up off the mat holding the back of his head. Amy grabs him and hauls him up into a front facelock ready for a DDT, but Laberinto manages to prise her arm loose from around his head, then hooks his leg behind hers and pushes to send her down to the mat. Amy hits her head on landing and stays down long enough for the luchador to step out to the apron, then take the top rope in both hands and slingshot back in to crush his opponent’s ribcage with a somersault senton!


“Well, it looks like Bruce Blank’s dream of holding another SWF Title is already taking a battering from Amy Stephens,” King sighs, “honestly Pete, who thought putting a girl in this tournament was a good plan?”


Laberinto raises his hands in the air to receive a pop from the Californian crowd, then turns to focus on Amy as the youngest member of the Stephens family gets to her feet. The luchador measures her, then lashes out with a knife-edge chop!






The thing is, you see, that Laberinto (along with most of the SWF roster) is used to fighting men. Most of the male SWF athletes who aren’t roid users have firm, manly chests. Amy doesn’t, and what Laberinto just did could probably be interpreted as indecent assault.


‘OW!’ she shrieks, clutching her breasts and taking a step back. Laberinto suddenly seems to realise what he’s done and steps forward, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture… which lasts right until Amy’s eyes narrow and she hurl herself bodily at the Mexican in what is probably a Lou Thesz Press!




The move actually gets a small pop, largely from the women present in the arena, as Amy bowls the apologetic luchador over and then begins hammering him in the face with right hands!


“I think Laberinto has just learned a lesson in manners!” Pete splutters, laughing as Brian Warner stops warning Amy about the use of the closed fist and just hauls her off Laberinto.


“He needs to learn how to treat a woman!” King agrees, causing his commentary partner to glance sideways at him.


“For the record, King… how do you treat a woman?”


“That’s not important,” King sniffs, “what’s important is that afterwards, you pay her the pre-agreed fee.”


Laberinto is holding his head as Amy makes her way back to him, and the Punk-Rock Princess drags him up before delivering another headbutt just to make sure and then placing him in a front facelock to drag him over to where Bruce Blank is waiting in the corner. The King of Pain just looks at her for a second until Amy sighs and extends one hand. Bruce reaches out and tags himself in, then steps lazily over the top rope before burying a cowboy boot into the ribs of the trapped Laberinto! The breath whooshes out of the lungs of the beleaguered luchador who drops down to one knee; meanwhile, Bruce ushers the fuming Amy to one side with a contemptuous wave of his hand. Unfortunately Amy doesn’t take kindly to that, and as Bruce reaches down to grab Laberinto’s head Amy boots the Mexican in the face, sending him sprawling onto his back and momentarily out of her tag partner’s reach!


“Well, Amy is at least taking her frustration out on her opponents instead of on Bruce,” LDP notes, “and at the moment her and Bruce are the more dominant of these two somewhat thrown-together tag teams.”


“If one team has the King of Pain on it and the other team is two masked morons with the combined bodyweight of a pickled herring, that goes without saying,” King replies, exaggerating just a little.


Amy steps through the ropes as Bruce says something uncomplimentary to her, then reaches down to grab Laberinto. The Ultraviolent Champion proceeds to hammer big right hands into the luchador’s head once, twice, three times before Brian Warner steps in to stop him, then backs off - favouring his leg as he does so.


“Oh come on,” Pete shouts, “we’ve seen that leg is perfectly healthy!”


“Rubbish,” King snaps, “Bruce is so tough he can block out the agonising pain sometimes Pete, but he’s only human!”


Bruce seems to be trying to explain to Warner that with that dodgy leg what else is he expected to do except punch the man? Warner is unimpressed however and Bruce just laughs before reaching down to grab Laberinto by the head and heave him to his feet, then grab the luchador in both hands and hoist him up into the air in a military press!


“See!?” LDP shouts, “his leg’s fine!”


“He’s wearing something called a ‘knee brace’,” King say patiently, “which is to ‘brace’ his ‘knee’.”


Bruce begins to press Laberinto above his head, showing off his amazing strength as he bounces all of the Mexican’s 220lbs once, twice, three times, four times, five ti-




Bruce just has time to realise that Laberinto’s suddenly got a whole lot lighter when the Mexican slips out of his grip and lands behind him, then dropkicks him in the back of the knee! Bruce stumbles and drops to one knee (although his reaction doesn’t seem to convey as much pain as it should if his knee was dodgy - suspicious, no?), and Laberinto takes the chance to superkick him in the back of the head.




Bruce’s eyes cross and the big man falls forward onto his face, allowing the slightly-battered Laberinto to hop over the Ultraviolent Champion’s body and make the tag to Ced Ordonez.






Bruce pushes himself up to his feet again and can’t help but grin as he looks down at his much smaller opponent while the two circle each other looking for an opening. The big man opts for a traditional collar and elbow tie up and immediately pushes Ced back into a neutral corner without any trouble at all. Ced raises his arms to get Bruce to back off, but the second he does Bruce swings his massive forearm and clobbers the Bermani Cross Wizard across the chest.




The first forearm smash is quickly followed by a second but this time Ced manages to duck under the clubbing blow so that Bruce hits nothing but turnbuckle. Ced grabs Bruce by the right hand and tries to whip him across the ring, but Bruce just plants a boot firmly on the ground and stops Ced dead in his tracks. Then he reverses the Irish whip and instead sends Ordonez across the ring straight into the turnbuckle on the opposite side.


“Ced just can’t compete with Bruce’s power, I don’t understand why he’s even trying,” Pete says


“I don’t understand why he didn’t just give up when the bell rang,” King snorts as they watch Bruce run across the ring straight for Ced.


However, Ordonez has a cunning plan - the Bermani Cross Wizard quickly pushes himself up in the air by holding on to the top rope and avoids Bruce’s attack, then is able to land on Bruce’s back, flip over backwards and roll Bruce up with a schoolboy pin!


















“That’s all he got!” King says as Bruce powers out of the pinning predicament.


“He went for the surprise factor but it didn’t pay off,” Pete agrees, shaking his head.


Once Bruce is back on his feet Ced attacks again, this time by throwing himself at Bruce’s knee trying to clip him. Unfortunately for Ced Bruce manages to turn just enough so that Ced doesn’t hit the back of his knee but instead rams his shoulder straight into Bruce’s heavy knee brace instead.






“Look at Bruce!” Pete says as Bruce just can’t help smirking, “this is exactly what I was afraid would happen when they allowed him to wear a weapon to the ring!”


“Weapon? It’s a medical aid Pete – you know, like the ones you needed after Aftershoxx?” King says, refusing to acknowledge any wrong-doing on Bruce’s part.


Bruce quickly follows up on the hurt Ced by picking him up and flipping him over his shoulder, then driving the damaged shoulder into his knee with a running shoulder breaker. Like a bulldog Bruce keeps on attacking the weakness as he hoists Ced up once more and puts him over his shoulder as if for a running powerslam. Three quick steps towards the corner later and Bruce drops Ced shoulder-first on the top turnbuckle inflicting even more damage in the process.


"That's Ced's pin-counting arm, if he's seriously hurt he can't referee!" Pete says as Bruce keeps working over the shoulder and arm with a series of forearm blows.


"Oh, wouldn't that be a shame for everyone," King says with obvious sarcasm.


"Yes, yes it would," Pete replies, proving that Kevin Coyote beat his ability to "get" sarcasm out of him.


Bruce twists Ced's arm and stretches it out before he reaches over and tags in Amy Stephens. The Punk-Rock Princess quickly steps through the ropes and then nails Ced in the side of the head with two quick headbutts that knocks Ordonez down. Instead of leaving the ring immediately Bruce directs Brian Warner’s attention to Laberinto who has started to step through the ropes. The referee quickly hurries over to field the luchador and send him back to the apron, while Bruce looks back at Amy. Once he is convinced that Amy has her opponent under control he casually steps over the top rope and takes the tag rope.


“Bruce may not be the most seasoned team wrestler in the SWF but that was the move of a seasoned pro,” Pete says surprising everyone by actually saying something complimentary about Bruce – of course that could be the head injury talking.


“Most people forget that he’s a 17 year pro Dogger,” King snorts, his tone making it clear what he thinks of most people, “he may not have made it big before but it’s obvious he’s no stranger to tag-teaming”.


Even though she’s not the most technical of wrestlers and she wasn’t trained by a master of the arm-BAR Amy still takes a slightly more methodical approach as she locks a straight armbar on Ced’s hurting arm and forces the former Tag Champ to his knees with it. Her flash of technical wrestling quickly passes though as she starts to pound away on Ced’s shoulder as she repeatedly drives the point of her elbow into Ced’s collar bone.




After two or three elbows she starts to go faster and faster as she turns to using her fist and just pounds away on Ced at a manic speed.




The camera manages to catch a glimpse of Bruce nodding approvingly as Amy Stephens goes into a frenzy of punches and elbows all targeting Ced’s shoulder, finishing off by hauling Ced back upright and then delivering a stiff headbutt that takes Ced completely off his feet.




The outside of the ring is a contrast in styles; Bruce just stands there calmly and watches while Laberinto is pacing back and forth on the apron trying desperately to reach out and tag Ced but to no avail. Amy grabs her hurting opponent by the back of his trunks and then throws him forward through the top and middle turnbuckle in her “home” corner…




“Oh man, he hit that ringpost full on!” Pete says as he winces in sympathy pain.


“Smart move on Amy’s part, she tossed him right into the corner where Bruce is,” King points out as Bruce knees Ced in the side of the head for a little ‘emphasis’.


The knee from Bruce knocks Ced back off the ropes and down to the ground slumped back against the bottom turnbuckle. With Ordonez in the perfect position Amy quickly raises a hand to signal for the Bronco Buster. With a running start she leaps into the air…










“Ced moved!! Ced moved at the last moment!” Pete yells out in surprise. King just mumbles something about Ced not being into the whole “face full of stuff” scene but those comments are better left to the imagination.


The Bermani Cross Wizard’s move was more out of instinct than tactics but it’s given him an opening to tag Laberinto in. The crowd comes alive as Ced begins to crawl across the ring towards his partner who’s waiting with one hand stretched as far into the ring as he possibly can and the other grasping the tag rope.


“Ced really needs to tag, or it could be all over for him!” Pete exclaims breathlessly.


“Ah, you know it’s nice to have you back to STATE THE OBVIOUS!” King replies.


With the missed Bronco Buster happening in her “home” corner she’s able to tag Bruce in quickly – or rather Bruce reaches over and tags himself in as Amy is busy hurting in ways only a woman who’s slammed against a turnbuckle can. Bruce quickly steps over the top rope and even forgets to fake his knee injury as he rushes toward Ced. Laberinto and Ced are only inches away from tagging as Bruce grabs Ordonez by the foot and drags him back in their half of the ring




“Oh come on that’s good strategy!!” King says as he disapproves of the fan response.


Bruce quickly punishes Ced’s attempt to tag out with a couple of swift kicks to the shoulder that drives the point of his cowboy boot into the joint. With the arm stretched out and laid flat against the canvas Bruce knows he’s got Ced in a very vulnerable position and just casually puts his right foot on Ced’s shoulder and then steps up on him.


“That’s why they boo him King, cause he’s not above taking a short cut.”


“That’s not a short cut Pete, haven’t you learned anything from seeing me in the ring? Now if it was a barbwire wrapped boot then yeah, okay – but that’s legal,” King points out.


The big man just can’t help smirking as he picks his helpless opponent up for an over the shoulder bear hug, locking his hands around Ced’s chest and starts to squeeze. Laberinto quickly turns to the crowd and starts to clap because he knows that only ONE thing can save his partner right now: the audience clapping in unison.








After a couple of claps the audience gets into it and begins to clap along with Laberinto as Ced fights to stay awake in the submission hold.


“Oh come on Laberinto, he doesn’t need people clapping for him; he needs you to run in there and kick Bruce in the testicles… which you won’t do, because you lack the will of warrior,” King says as he promotes his 7th rule of wrestling (which is “A shot to the nuts is better than 10 claps”)


Whether the clapping played a part is hard to tell but Bruce does make a critical mistake as he gets a bit to close to a neutral corner, allowing Ced to kick back against the top turnbuckle and flip himself over the top and out of the hold much to Bruce’s surprise. When the big man bends down to grabs his opponent Ced gets a “clap induced” rush of adrenaline as he crawls through Bruce’s legs and then with a mighty leap tags in Laberinto!






The crowd comes alive as the two men finally make contact and the cheers only get louder as Laberinto propels himself over the top rope and kicks Bruce in the chest to keep the big man back. Coming in like a Casa en Fuego Laberinto drop kicks Bruce square in the chest sending the big man into the ropes, then as Bruce rebounds Laberinto nails him for a second time with a picture perfect dropkick to Bruce’s massive chest.


“That’s not going to knock him down, it’s like a gnat biting him” King says all dismissive


“BUT THAT WILL!” Pete screams out as Laberinto comes off the ropes and nails Bruce on the side of the head with a picture perfect flying forearm, the likes which has not been seen since Tito Santana was given the bullfighter gimmick and started to phone it in.




The Golden Luchador waits for a second as Bruce gets back to his feet, staggering and probably seeing double but not ready to go down for the count just yet. Like a bull Bruce quickly charges at his opponent because well quite frankly Bruce doesn’t play defense very well. As the big man approaches Laberinto simply leaps to the side, raising his arm like a bullfighter avoiding the snarling monster…




Bruce turns around and once again attacks Laberinto but the lightning-quick luchador once again side steps him and waves his hands like he was holding a red blanket…




Laberinto can’t help but smile as quite a few fans in the audience chant along with him. It’s obvious that Laberinto’s mockery is pissing Bruce off and once again he tries to attack Laberinto with a clothesline. This time the luchador doesn’t sidestep his charge; instead he ducks under the arm, hooks his own arm around Bruce’s neck to spin up on his back, then spins around Bruce’s front (much to the confusion of the big man) before continuing his rotation behind the King of Pain’s back once more as he locks his left arm around Bruce’s outstretched limb.


“What the…?” is all King can say before Laberinto grabs Bruce’s other arm and wrenches it back, then puts his right leg over Bruce’s head pressing it backwards in a standing Rings of Saturn / Crippler crossface combination.


“WHATTA MOVE!!” Pete says opting for the classic commentator’s fall back in case they have no clue what the move is actually called.


Laberinto’s speed enabled him to lock on the unconventional submission move but unfortunately for him Bruce is much too powerful to stay in the move for too long as he flexes both of his arms forward, breaking the move and bringing Laberinto round the front. Laberinto shows that he’s not only quick footed but also quick witted as he turns his momentum into an arm drag that sends Bruce flying across the ring.




“Bruce just can’t keep up with Laberinto’s speed and agility!” Pete accurately states.


The arm drag throws Bruce off his game plan but doesn’t hurt him that much, but having Laberinto leap onto his back and driving him throat first onto the second rope just as he was about to stand up takes all the wind out of Bruce’s sails! The masked luchador twirls his hand in the air once which draws another pop from the crowd.




“This is one of Laberinto’s trademarks King!” Pete says, as he knows what’s coming.


“He’s gonna swim the Rio Grande!?”


Laberinto bounces off the ropes on the opposite side of where Bruce is positioned to build up speed. Then he leaps through the top and bottom rope right next to where Bruce is draped over the middle rope, hooks the ropes to twist around into a kick and…




…swings right into a black and pink Van from Amy Stephens as she blocks the 619 before Laberinto can connect with Bruce!




“Sweet Kingmas, that’s going to leave a footprint on Laberinto’s stomach tomorrow!” King says as Laberinto crumbles to the mat as he clutches his abdomen in pain.


“Brutal!” is all Pete can think off to say.


Moments later he can probably thing of a few other things to say as Amy gets tagged in by a still winded Bruce Blank. The Punk-Rock Princess climbs to the top rope, balances for a second… then leaps off, aiming a diving headbutt at Laberinto as he lies wheezing on the canvas!




“Damn Mexican!” King shouts as the wily luchador rolls to one side, his laboured breathing suddenly becoming rather easier, “stay still and get hit!”


Laberinto gets back up to his feet and taps his masked head, signalling that this girl from England isn’t going to be hitting him with his own finishing move, then casts a glance over at Ced Ordonez. The wrestler-cum-referee waves weakly, implying that he’s in no condition to step back into the ring and that Laberinto should get on with things. Accordingly the man from Tacoma turns back around and waits for Amy to get back to her feet, measuring her. When she does he steps in and fires off a right hand…


…but Amy blocks, then fires back…


…and Laberinto ducks under it, ending up behind the slightly groggy Englishwoman. The luchador then reaches around her and grabs her, readying her for the Aterrizaje Forzado…


“If he hits this, it’s over!” Pete shouts.


…Laberinto whips backwards…


…and Bruce Blank catches Amy before she hits the ground, saving his tag partner! Laberinto realises something is wrong and tries to get back to his feet, but in that moment Amy slips behind him and wraps her left arm around his throat, then applies a bodyscissors!


“Last Orders! Last Orders for annoying luchadores!” King shouts gleefully, pulling for Bruce’s team even if he’s ambivalent to Toxxic’s sister. Laberinto struggles against the rear naked choke but Amy has it locked in, and as Ced steps through the ropes to try and rectify matters Bruce lumbers into a run, swinging his cowboy boot up to take the Bermani Cross Wizard right in the head!




Ordonez topples backwards out of the ring and Brian Warner drops down to check on Laberinto. The Golden Luchador’s arms are tugging at Amy’s but to no avail, and as Warner looks on Laberinto’s eyes go wider and start to roll…






“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms, “the team of Bruce Blank and AAAAAAMMMMYYYYYYYY… STEEEEE-PHENS!!”


“They could work together after all!” King exclaims, “Starwipe this now!”










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“Yeah! Damn right, we beat their asses!”


These and other enthusiastic celebratory noises can be heard down the corridors of the Cow Palace.


“See? See!? What did I fuckin’ tell ya! You know what, you don’t know shit, ya get me? I told you I could wrestle, innit!” a female voice declares stridently.


“Hey now girl, I don’t see how what you did could be called ‘wrasslin’,” the first, deeper voice answers, “all I saw you do was hit two guys and choke out that midget in the gold.”


Two figures come round the corner. One is male, well on the way to being seven feet tall; massive, chunky and reasonably hairy. The other is female, a shade under six feet and has a figure that could best be described as ‘attractively generous’.


“Oh yeah?” Amy Stephens says, aiming a kick at Bruce Blank’s knee brace, “at least I did it without wearin’ fuckin’ armour to the ring, hopalong!”


“Now, I’ll have you know that I have a goddamn medical certificate for this!” Blank protests, only the faintest hint of a smile giving him away, “I need this!”


“Whatever,” Amy snorts, “din’t stop your wrestling from stinkin’.” She starts to stride off, but Bruce just leans against the wall.


“OK, OK,” he says, “raising his hands, “maybe - and I do mean maybe - you ain’t such a bad partner after all, it could definitely be worse. I should’ve known Peters ain’t a good judge of things.”


“Yeah well,” Amy snorts, “that twat thought I should have a ‘Diva’ contract, and it were that Judge bloke who talked him into givin’ me a wrestler’s one, and now he’s gone and fired him! Don’t get started on Peters with me, ya get me?”


The big man doesn’t even say anything he just kinda snorts in contempt as he thinks back at all the trouble he had with Peters over the family friendly rules. Finally Bruce says. “Now as far as I figure we’ve still got some teamin’ to do – quite a bit if we can come to an understanding and actually work TOGETHER in the ring.”


“I’m lissnin,” Amy says, crossing her arms.


“OK. First of all, I won’t call you ‘little girl’, or anything like that, right?”


“Better bloody not.”


“And you,” Bruce says, pointing at Amy, “don’t hit me in the family jewels EVER again, OK?”


“Wouldn’t wanna go there twice,” Amy grins. “Alright, sorted. If I’m gonna be in this bloody tournament with a partner we might as well win some matches and kick some arse.” She brightens up. “Fancy a beer?”


“Now you’re talking my language!”

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Smarkdown returns from a commercial for the upcoming SWF household goods store, Blood, Barbed Wire, and Beyond, revealing Jimmy the Doom in front of a rust-colored backdrop. In what's obviously a pre-taped segment, Doom is seated on a bar stool, leaning backwards. Soon after, an eye-sodomizing graphic flashes on screen that will not be recreated here. The general information, though, is that it's another installment of Doomtopian History with Jimmy the Doom and Lois the Unethical.


"Often welcomes! Twice is the number for Doomtopian Histories!" Doom exclaims brightly, shooting double finger-pistols to the camera.


"That's right Jimmy. Say, what should we talk about today?" Lois asks, simply glad to have a speaking role.


"Lois, much goodness in that query. I am much to thinking a trip to distantly pasts. 1268 being the years of this time, and fourth Clement Pope was to being the dead. But, low! Noble Doomtopian cardinal of named Ilgyrtch Pilsterm was be choice for newly Popeness! Nowing of namey Poped Broadus, he was to not being last long, as Broadus Pope to being appoint Archbishop of Canterbury Donald Campbell, much of controversy, sinces Campbell having to proclamate himself of wizardry, and referring to his owness as Don 'Magic' Juan. Much additionally, Poping Broadus was to making manies statements of regards towarding a 'Pope hand', being keep of it strongly, and to the threaten much cardinals, bishops, and priestlies of a 'Pope slap' iffing they to not haves monies and tithings for God," Jimmy states.


"What a very interesting story, Jimmy! Say, with today being Valentine's Day, are there any moments in Doomtopian history that involve Valentine's Day or love?" Lois asks.


"No! Valentine's Day is a cheap sham of love, and no Doomtopian would stoop to such paltry levels! A Doomtopian does not need a manufactured holiday to be reminded to express his or her feelings towards his or her true love, which, in the case of Doomtopians is presentation of a head of red cabbage and a shared dinner of giraffe heart," Doom says, apparently reading a prepared statement, as that can be the only explanation for his sudden loss of his foreigner accent. "To beings the joins next for times on Doomtopia Historicals, as be the currency of Doomtopian politicals systemastery!"


With that, Smarkdown heads to commercial by way of a mother fucking star wipe.

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With an important main event match in the Lethal Lottery tournament and a future Number One Contenders match against one of the fastest Cruiserweights in the company, Spike Jenkins has a lot on his mind. As he does his pre-match stretches, the locker room door swings open and in stomps the SWF Cruiserweight Champion and Spike’s tag team partner, Zyon.


“Spike!” Zyon shouts, “What is this I hear about you going to Joseph Peters about getting a title shot after I told you I wasn’t going to give you one?”


“Well…” Spike starts as he rises to a full stance, “I believe you just answered your own question.”


“I can’t believe how selfish you are! We have a shot at winning the Lethal Lottery and getting a rematch for the tag team titles…and you are go over my head and behind my back to get a title match AT ME?”


“I told you, man. I deserve a rematch and I want it.”


“Is this because I eliminated you from the Clusterfuck? Damn it, Spike! It was every man for himself!”


“It is ALWAYS every man for himself,” says Spike as he attempts to walk past Zyon and out the door, but Zyon grabs him by the arm and turns him around.


“What is that suppose to mean? Are you trying to tell me something about this Lethal Lottery tournament? Because despite the fact that you want a title shot from me, I still want to win this thing!”


“Hey, I want to win this thing, too. And don’t worry. My mind is on tonight and the tournament.”


“Then why are you going after my title when I said I won’t defend it against you?”


“Yeah, the whole ‘ruin our friendship’ thing. You know what? Just to ease your mind, I’ll make you a promise. Just like at Ramadomination when you beat me, I will shake your hand before the match and after the match, whomever the winner is and…when you lose.”


“…When I lose…I think you should worry about beating Labertino before getting your shot at me…but more importantly, you should worry about tonight.”


“Don’t worry. I’m all set to go.”


“You better be. I’m counting on you out there.”


Zyon nods his head and walks past Spike, walking out of the locker room. Jenkins looks down at the floor, nods, and continues with his stretching as we fade into a commercial.

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Pete: “And we are back live from the Cow Palace for Smarkdown!”


King: “You’ve been doing this job too long. You’re starting to run out of witty ways to welcome the fans back to the show.”


Pete: “And what would you say to welcome the fans back?”


King: “I don’t know. Something wittier than welcome back.”


Pete: “Can we get on with it? It’s only a two hour show and we’re starting to run long as it is.”


King: “Absolutely. Grouch.”


Longdogger Pete shoots a look over to his colleague before continuing.


Pete: “Up next, we’ll be seeing Jay Hawke in the ring for the first time since Clusterfuck when he takes on Todd Cortez.”


King: “And if you look at the scores here, Pete, you’ll notice that it’s Jay Hawke 2, Todd Cortez nothing. Face it, Cortez is simply another in a long line of people who can’t beat Jay Hawke, and I, for one, am just happy common sense prevailed with the championship committee since this is a non-title match.”


Pete: “There’s certainly no doubt that Jay Hawke has had Cortez’s number in their first two meetings, but what would you say Cortez needs to do to beat Hawke in this one?”


King: “Simple. Not only does he need to keep this from turning into a mat-based match, but he also needs to protect his back. Hawke won the first two matches not by weakening the shoulder as he normally does, but by working over Cortez’s back. As for Hawke, he might want to consider working the shoulder like he normally does. I would think Cortez would take my advice, at least if he knows what’s good for them, so Hawke might want to keep Cortez from making adjustments.”


Pete: “It’s bound to be a fantastic match either way. For the particulars, let’s go up to Funyon for the introductions.”


Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15-minute time limit.”


In a matter of seconds, the lights in the arena dim, and the familiar opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” come over the PA, causing the crowd to bust into a chorus of boos.


Funyon: “Introducing first, from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in tonight at 215 pounds. He is the reigning SWF International Champion … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”


As the International Champion emerges from the curtain, a lone spotlight shines on him, accentuating the sequins on his always present purple-and-black robe. He continues to walk into the ring, bathing in the spotlight as the crowd starts its familiar chant:








As always, the Dean of Wrestling ignores the crowd, entering the ring and removing his robe to reveal the title belt that he’s held for so long that it might as well be tattooed onto his waist. He then removes his title belt and hands it to the timekeeper as "Oh No" by Mos Def, Nate Dogg, and Pharoah Monche hits.


Funyon: “And his opponent…”


The fans bust into a loud set of cheers at that. Hey, gotta put Funyon over somehow!


Funyon: “From Hollywood Boulevard, and weighing in at 226 pounds … ‘The Urban Legend’ … TODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD CORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTEZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!”









The first time Nate Dogg shouts "Oh No", a quick burst of pyro shoots up from both sides of the ramp, showering Cortez in sparkles as he prepares to walk down the aisle. He makes his way to the ring, slapping hands with fans as he makes his way to the ring. Cortez enters the ring and raises both arms into the air, eliciting a pop as he makes sure to keep both eyes firmly on his opponent.


Pete: “Smart move by Cortez, making sure Hawke can’t cheap shot him from behind.”


King: “And taking all the fun out of the start of the match while he’s at it.”




With the match officially underway, Jay Hawke and Todd Cortez make their way to the center of the ring. They lock up collar-and-elbow, each man attempting to jockey for position, but neither man is able to gain any sort of advantage, so they release the lock-up. “These two men are just about even strength-wise,” says Pete as the two combatants lock up again. They jockey for position again, but Hawke turns around and locks Cortez into a side headlock. Hawke wrenches down on it, attempting to secure the proper leverage to keep the Urban Legend grounded. Cortez plants his feet and pushes the International Champion forward, sending Jay Hawke into the ropes. Hawke rebounds off, and Cortez grabs him coming in and takes him over with a headlock takedown. Cortez maintains the headlock as Hawke’s shoulders fall to the mat:









THR -- shoulder up.


Pete: “Cortez nearly caught the International Champion napping right there!”


King: “Only momentarily, I assure you, Pete! You are not going to beat a man with an eight month title reign with a simple side headlock.”


Cortez maintains the headlock, attempting to squeeze the life out of the Dean of Professional Wrestling. Hawke hooks Cortez’s pants and rolls the Urban Legend onto his shoulders:









Cortez gets his shoulders up and rolls back over while maintaining the side headlock, and Jay Hawke’s shoulders fall to the canvas again:









Shoulder up.


Pete: “An impressive display of wrestling in the early going here.”


King: “Not Cortez’s normal style here.”


Pete: “But he has always been capable of wrestling this style of match. Maybe he feels you need to beat the technical wrestler with technical wrestling.”


King: “But where’s the fun in that?”


While still locked in the side headlock, Jay Hawke slowly begins to make his way to his feet. As he stands, Hawke grabs Cortez by the waist and picks him up, dropping Cortez back-first onto his knee. However, Cortez hangs on to the headlock, and as Hawke tries to execute yet another backbreaker, he kicks his feet to take Hawke over with yet another side headlock takedown, once again driving Hawke’s shoulders flat onto the canvas:









THRE -- shoulder up!


Pete: “Hawke was unable to get the full brunt of that backbreaker, and Cortez keeps the headlock on and maintains control of the contest.”


King: “It’s like I said earlier! Hawke might want to consider using a different strategy from the previous two meetings, because Cortez is not likely to allow Hawke to work on the back too much.”


Once again, Jay Hawke gets to his feet while still locked in the headlock. Hawke turns his body to alleviate some of the pressure, then locks Cortez into a bear hug. Hawke tries to add some pressure to it, but Cortez is quick to wring his arms around Hawke’s head and neck, forcing Hawke to drop to his knees and release the bear hug while allowing Cortez to reapply the headlock.


Pete: “Can you believe this, King? Todd Cortez has been absolutely relentless with that side headlock!”


King: “But nobody knows how to get out of this hold better than Jay Hawke does! He’ll find his way out of this hold sooner rather than later!”


Jay Hawke once again makes his way to his feet. This time Jay Hawke lifts Cortez into the air and falls backwards, driving Cortez into the mat and finally getting the hold broken. Hawke shakes his head for a moment before crawling over into a cover:









Kickout. The International Champion gets to his feet and goes to pull Cortez off the mat, but Cortez leaps up and catches Hawke underneath the chin with a European uppercut that sends saliva flying out of the Dean’s mouth. With Hawke staggering backwards, Cortez follows it up with a spin kick that knocks Hawke flat onto his back, then drops down for the cover:









Jay Hawke rolls out of the cover, rolling out of the ring to try to catch his breath.


King: “Brilliant move! Take a few minutes to gather your thoughts before going to work on your opponent!”


“But keep your eye on Cortez!” shouts Pete as Todd Cortez runs forward, leaps onto the top rope, and lands on Hawke with a springboard somersault plancha just as Hawke makes his way to his feet!








The Urban Legend basks in the adulation of the crowd momentarily, then grabs the Dean of Professional Wrestling and rolls him into the ring. Quick as a cat, Cortez hops up onto the apron, then springboards off the top rope and drops a leg across Hawke’s chest. Cortez immediately goes for the cover:











Pete: “Beautiful springboard leg drop, and this bout has been virtually all Todd Cortez thus far!”


King: “Treat this like a title match, Jay! Do something!”


Jay does something. Two somethings, actually. First, he stands up. Second, he falls back down, courtesy of a Todd Cortez super kick. And less than a second after Hawke has hit the mat, Cortez goes right back for another cover:











Pete: “Tremendous match so far! Todd Cortez is wasting no time, going for the pin whenever he gets a moment!”


King: “And give credit to Jay Hawke, as he continues to kick out of everything Cortez is dishing out at him!”


Todd Cortez leans in to pick Jay Hawke off the canvas, but Jay Hawke pulls the Urban Legend by the front of his pants and leverages him forward, sending him to the floor. The Urban Legend lands on his feet and quickly makes his way to the ring apron. Cortez uses the top rope as a springboard and goes for a shooting star lariat, but as he completes the flip and extends his right arm for the clothesline, Hawke leaps up and dropkicks Cortez, catching his opponent in the right shoulder.


Pete: “Oh no!”


King: “Oh yes! Now you’re going to see Jay Hawke do what he does best! Todd Cortez, we hardly knew ye!”


And the International Champion wastes absolutely no time, dropping down and hooking the Urban Legend’s arm, putting all of his weight along the right shoulder while pulling back on said arm.


Pete: “Fujiwara armbar applied, and Todd Cortez is trapped in the center of the ring!”


King: “And working on the right arm. Normally, Hawke works the left arm, but as we saw at Clusterfuck, he is just as proficient at working on his opponent’s right arm as he is on the left arm!”


Cortez pushes himself up onto his knees, then rolls forward to get out of the hold. Cortez charges again, but Hawke is quick to hook the right arm.


Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, ten minutes remains in the time limit.”


Jay Hawke leaps up, and drives the arm down into the canvas. Maintaining his grip on the arm, Hawke once again puts all of his weight on the shoulder as he reapplies the Fujiwara armbar.


King: “Brilliant! Hawke has made the right arm a target, and unlike Dick Cheney, he knows how to hit his target every time!”


Hawke pulls back even further on the arm, and Cortez balls his left arm into a fist to prevent himself from being tempted to tap out. As the pain becomes apparent on the Urban Legend’s face, the crowd at the Cow Palace begins to get behind their favorite:







Pete: “Listen to this crowd try to rally behind Todd Cortez like the sixth man in basketball!”


King: “You’d think you’d know by now that Jay Hawke rarely, if ever, even listens to the crowd. It’s going to have no effect! No effect!”


The crowd might not affect Jay Hawke, but it does have a positive effect on Todd Cortez. He uses the chants of the crowd as motivation and begins to crawl over to the ropes. He continues his slow crawl as the crowd continues to root him on. He’s a foot away…




..six inches away…




…three inches away…




…two inches away…




Only for Jay Hawke to release the hold and drop a knee across the shoulder.


King: “That’s one way to get the crowd out of the match, huh Pete?”


Jay Hawke drags Todd Cortez to the center of the ring by the arm, then drops a leg across the upper right arm before quickly turning it into a short arm scissors. The Urban Legend grimaces in pain as his shoulders fall to the mat:









Shoulder up. Hawke continues to maintain the pressure of the hold, and once again Cortez’s shoulders fall to the mat:









Shoulder up. As Hawke continues to maintain the pressure of the hold, Cortez once again hears the rallying chanting of the crowd:








…and begins to roll the Dean of Wrestling over onto his shoulders. Hawke tries to fight it but can’t:









THR -- Jay Hawke rolls Cortez back onto his back, but Cortez’s feet end up landing on the bottom rope. Jay Hawke initially refuses to release the hold until referee Nick Soapdish begins the disqualification count:









Jay Hawke finally releases the hold, but gets a couple of solid stomps to the shoulder in for good measure. Hawke then drags Cortez out to the center of the ring, again stomping away at the shoulder before dropping down to his knees and trying to choke the life out of Cortez:








Hawke releases the choke, but for maybe half a second before going right back to it:







And again.







And one more time.







Soapdish has finally had enough and begins to yell at Hawke about the chokeholds, but Hawke merely smirks as he drops a knee into the Urban Legend’s shoulder while keeping a grip on the wrist and yanking back.


Pete: “Hawke’s unrelentess on that shoulder!”


King: “That’s your favorite word tonight. Unrelentess. But you’re right. Hawke isn’t going to lay off of that shoulder until that final bell rings.”


Hawke turns the hold into a hammerlock, and Cortez begins to make his way to his feet. As Cortez stands, Hawke drives a knee into the ribs to double his opponent over, then positions Todd and pushes him forward, driving the right shoulder into the ringpost.


King: “And there’s your usual precision attack from Jay Hawke. If Todd Cortez’s arm remains attached to the rest of his body, he’ll be able to wrap it around his waist like a championship belt.”


As Cortez staggers to the ring clutching at the right arm, Jay Hawke stands behind him with an evil grin on his face. He goes for the Wing Span, locking the chickenwing but not quite locking his hands on the crossface attempt. As Hawke makes one last grasp at locking the hold in, Cortez shifts his weight, runs forward, and drives Hawke’s face into the top turnbuckle, completely releasing Jay Hawke’s grip on the hold and bringing the capacity crowd to its feet.


Pete: “What a counter! Todd Cortez fought off the crossface chickenwing setup for the Wing Span, and that might very well have been the break he needed!”


King: “But Hawke’s worked over the shoulder for the better part of five minutes now! Is Cortez going to have the strength to put him away at this point?”


Both combatants struggle to make their way to their feet. Jay Hawke goes for a right hand, but Cortez blocks it and levels Hawke with a European uppercut. Cortez favors the arm, but unleashes another. Cortez hits six more hard European forearm uppercuts, favoring his shoulder after each one but rocking Hawke back into the corner. Hawke moves out of the corner, and Cortez kicks him in the gut before lifting him into a Canadian backbreaker and dropping him down with a neck breaker.


Pete: “Neck Wrecker by Cortez, and notice he did that on the left side to keep the pressure off the right shoulder!”


King: “But how much effort does each of these moves take? Granted, he’s using the healthy shoulder, but he’s right-handed! His healthy side is his weaker side!”


The Urban Legend tries to crawl over into a cover, but Jay Hawke rolls toward the ropes. Cortez makes his way to his feet and grabs Hawke, pulling him into a standing position. Cortez then protects his shoulders by using his feet, leveling the International Champion with a series of kicks to the thighs and ribs that brings the Dean to his knees, then catching him in the temple with a roundhouse kick. Hawke collapses the canvas as Cortez goes for the pin:









THR -- Jay Hawke just barely rolls the right shoulder up. Cortez gets to his feet and begins calling for Hawke to get to his. Hawke slowly obliges, and Cortez levels Hawke with a series of forearm smashes to the face. Cortez then whips Jay Hawke into the corner.


Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by, five minutes remain in the time limit.”


Todd Cortez charges, going for a handspring elbow, but Jay Hawke lifts his knee, catching the Urban Legend in the back. Hawke immediately rolls Cortez up into a schoolboy cradle:





Jay Hawke puts his feet on the ropes for leverage.




Pete: “Don’t let it end this way!”


THR -- Nick Soapdish sees the feet on the ropes and refuses to finish the count.


King: “Dammit!”


Pete: “Jay Hawke tried to steal another one, but he was unable to before Soapdish spotted it and stopped the count!”


Jay Hawke argues with the referee, enabling Todd Cortez to roll him up into a schoolboy cradle of his own:









THR -- NO!


King: “And Jay Hawke kicks out of the roll up!”


Pete: “And the pace is picking up! You’d have to think this favors Todd Cortez if this keeps up!”


Hawke, perhaps out of desperation, goes for a wild lariat. Cortez ducks and ends up behind Hawke, locking him in a waistlock. Cortez goes for a German suplex, but Hawke rolls forward, locking Cortez into a picture-perfect Victory roll:


Funyon: “Four minutes remain in the time limit…”




Funyon: “…four minutes!”




Jay Hawke reaches forward and grabs the ropes for leverage.


THR -- Todd Cortez manages to kick out just before the count of three!


King: “I don’t believe this! Hawke won the first meeting with a roll up, and Cortez got out. He won the second with the Victory roll, and again he kicked out!”


Pete: “And both times Hawke tried to cheat his way to victory!”


Jay Hawke again goes for a wild lariat, and again Todd Cortez ducks. Cortez kicks Hawke in the midsection, then quickly grabs him by the back of the head and drives the champion’s head into the canvas.


Pete: “DDT, and that should do it! There’s the cover!”











King: “Oh my God!”


Pete: “How did he get out that?”


Undaunted, Todd Cortez quickly drags Jay Hawke up to his feet. Todd Cortez locks Jay Hawke into a standing head scissors, sending the crowd buzzing.


Pete: “This could be it right here, King! He could be going for the Riot Act Plus!”


King: “He won’t get it! He can’t!


Whether Cortez wanted the Riot Act Plus or not we’ll never know, as Hawke counters with a backdrop. Cortez rolls through it and takes Hawke into a sunset flip:



Funyon: “Three minutes remain in the time limit…”




Funyon: “…three minutes.”






Hawke rolls out of the move and quickly cradles both of Cortez’s feet:









Kickout. The Dean immediately goes for a lariat, but Cortez ducks and locks in a waistlock. Hawke reverses and lifts Cortez off the canvas, attempting the German suplex, but Cortez rolls forward and cradles the Dean into a Victory roll:









THRE -- Jay Hawke kicks out just before Nick Soapdish’s hand slaps the mat for the third time. Both men get to their feet, and the Urban Legend jumps up, cradling Hawke’s arms and taking him down with a crucifix:









Kickout. Both men quickly get to their feet, and Cortez quickly levels Hawke in the side of the head with a jumping side kick. Hawke drops to his knees, and Cortez again locks in the standing head scissors…


Pete: “Another attempt at the Riot Act Plus here?”


…but Jay Hawke places his left foot further back than his right, preventing Todd Cortez from getting enough leverage to complete the move. Cortez levels Hawke with a series of forearm smashes into the back and tries to go on the offensive, this time going for a power bomb.


Funyon: “Two minutes remain in the time limit, two minutes!”


Jay Hawke avoids the move, sliding behind the back and locking Cortez into a waistlock. Hawke runs Cortez into the ropes and goes for a rolling reverse cradle, but Cortez rolls through it and cradles Hawke:









THR -- Jay Hawke pulls Cortez by the pants and reverses the roll up:








Jay Hawke leans back and hooks the middle rope.










Pete: “You’ve got to be kidding me!”


King: “Once again, Jay Hawke finds a way to win!”


Funyon: “In 13 minutes 26 seconds, the winner of this contest … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”








Pete: “I can’t believe this! Once again Jay Hawke cheats his way to victory! I can’t remember the last time he won without using the ropes or a foreign object or something!”


King: “But all it will say in the record books is Jay Hawke pinned Todd Cortez with a rolling reverse cradle! Nobody is going to remember he used the ropes a month from now!”


Pete: “Even so, you can bet that one of these days, these illegal tactics will backfire on him! When will that be? We’ll have to wait and see. More action still to come after this!”

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“He did WHAT?!”



The rather demanding question in question comes from a very stunned Todd Cortez, the Urban Legend still breathing heavily from his match as he clutches at his shoulder.


“Left,” responds a slightly hassled Joseph Peters. “Quit. Retired. Back to UFC.”


“Perfect,” mutters Cortez, shaking his head before striding down the hall of the Cow Palace, reaching out and snagging a water bottle before wrenching the cap off and taking a few chugs.


“Fortunately,” continues the SWF’s head honcho, struggling to keep pace with the Urban Legend, “we have a replacement for him.”


“Replacement?” asks Cortez, arching an eyebrow.


“For the Lethal Lottery?” reminds Peters.


“Ah, right,” nods Cortez as the memory comes floating back to him. “So, where is he?”


“He’s right…” begins Peters, turning to his right…and finding nothing. “God dammit, not again!”


Cortez rolls his eyes as Peters begins jogging back down the hall, the Urban Legend striding behind as they turn a corner…and find a bleach-blonde, 6-foot-tall individual with piercing blue eyes. The object those blue eyes happen to be piercing at the moment? A Coke machine.


Peters sighs. “Couldn’t you do this later?”


“I’m gonna get a free one,” responds the man determinedly, not taking his eyes off of the machine.


Peters groans again. “Later. I need you to meet someone.”


With that, the man immediately moves from his crouching position, turning to face the boss and the Urban Legend. Peters looks relieved, but his face immediately changes from relief back to his general business visage.


“Right. Allan, this is Todd Cortez. Todd, this is Allan Hadrian. He’s your new partner,” notes Peters, introducing the two to each other.


“You can call me Rush,” adds Hadrian with a smirk as he sticks his hand out for a handshake. Todd takes it and gives it a firm pump, then releases it and begins walking away. Like some sort of dog, Hadrian immediately begins following, a look on his face like he’s not quite sure where he is. Knowing him, that’s probably correct.


“He’s all yours!” shouts Peters, his voice carrying down the hall after the duo.


“Fantastic,” groans Todd.




Edited by chirs3

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SWF Smarkdown returns from its previous commercial break, as it is now time for the main event! The sold out Cow Palace in San Francisco, California buzzes with excitement, as it is ready for another Lethal Lottery tournament match, one of the most anticipated of the whole night. Involved in the tag team main event is the Cruiserweight squad of past and present facing against a grizzled veteran and the dreaded ????????. Of course what would a main event be without the usual crowd participation?


"???????????? Is Bob Barker!!!!"


"Hawke whores the International Title out to close friends…for chocolate?"


And the sign made by the token "you know this guy is drunk" members of the audience.


"Daredevil was a great film, I absolutely loved Ben Affleck."


Frightening the sign forces the main SWF camera to quickly cut down to Longdogger Pete and The Suicide King, the announcers for this evening!


"Welcome back, fans," greets Pete, "It is now time for the main event of the evening; another Lethal Lottery match up!"


"Jeez…how many matches are in this damn thing?"


"Well, it IS a Round Robin Tournament…"


"Ugh, this thing is going to go on FOREVER!" cries King.


"Well, this upcoming match is one of the most anticipated matches in the tournament…"


"I'm not looking forward to this match," King interrupts.


"Well, I meant by normal people with emotions and stuff."


"Who cares about them?"


Pete just puts his face in his hands and shakes his head as King grins at the camera.


"Lets just go to Funyon, please?"


Which the cameraman does, as Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, ready for his introductions.


"Ladies and Gentleman, the following contest is a match in the Lethal Lottery Tournament and is YOUR Main Event!" booms Funyon, as the crowd comes alive,


"First, making their way to the ring!"


Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...



And then *BAM*


The crashing guitars of Lamb of God's "Black Label" sends a bolt through the crowd. The drumming sends a jolt throughout the arena, as the pace of the intro begins to pick up. Finally…




The high-pitched scream of Randy Blythe breaks through the speakers as the bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the scream hits the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black hoodie on, the hood covering most of his face.


"Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty Pounds, he hails from Hollywood, California…he is 'Hollywood' Spiiiiiiike Jeeeeeenkinnnnsssssssss!"


Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an "X", symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring.


"Spike Jenkins a big favorite here in the Cow Palace. Not to far from his hometown of Hollywood, California."


"I don't think him being from California is what gets him his response from the San Francisco crowd."


"Oh, hush you."


Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an "X" across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style.




The crowd cheers on their fellow Californian, which in turn gains absolutely no response from the man himself. Lately, Spike's patience has been battle tested during a multitude of chance ending in a variety of failures. Spike stares down the ramp as if he was expecting an opponent and not his friend…




Funyon booms as the arena goes black…








The lively words alternate on the Smarktron as "Vitamin" by Incubus kicks in as the crowd immediately goes into a frenzy. After a moment of build the emotive Zyon emerges through the curtain, and pauses at the top of the ramp, the SWF Cruiserweight Championship strapped firmly around his waist. Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp.


"Coming to the ring, weighing in at a total of Two Hundred pounds, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana…he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion of the World! He is 'The Unique Youth' ZYON!!!!!"


Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically performs a simple head bang before lifting one arm into the air ending the entrance. Jenkins stares at his partner, his eyes never leaving the title around the waist of Zyon.


"A lot of tension between these two. Zyon eliminated Spike Jenkins, who entered at Number One, from the Clusterfuck."


"Not only that, Pete. But Zyon refuses to give Spike a title match! What is up with that?"


"He doesn't want it to ruin their friendship! Besides, Spike went to Joseph Peter to get a title shot and instead, got a number one contenders match against Laberinto sometime in the near future! What is up with that?"


"He did the smart thing!" King says, but then pauses, "I can't believe I just said Spike Jenkins did a smart thing."




The locale goes somewhat darkened, and "Remember The Name" by Fort Minor spins up. Fury comes out to a minor pop, but mostly a non-commital reaction. But he doesn't mind. He walks straight from the back to the ring, kendo stick in hand; the only thing happening is some white sparklers on the entranceway. Such a boring entrance would embarrass most, but this particular veteran views it as perfectly acceptable.


"Coming to the ring, weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty-Two Pounds! He hails from Cleveland, Ohio! He is Chrissssstiannnnnn Furrrrrrrrrry!!!!"


His SmarkTron display is also pretty simple: Old matches, training footage, an occasional red stylized-script "Fury"... Mostly in time with the music. He ditches the kendo stick at ringside as he slides in, eyeing his opponents also looking down at the cruiserweight title he failed to capture on Lockdown, and then looking back towards the entranceway to find out who his partner is.


"Time to find out the identity of the mystery person and Christian Fury's tag team partner in the Lethal Lottery!" cries Pete.




The lights in the arena become dark, as the Smarktron sizzles to life, rolling the blank fuzz of an old home movie, as "Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones hits. When the drum beats rat-a-tat, the screenplays clips of long past matches involving the Mistress, freeze-framed in time with the drums.


"It can't be!" gasps King.


"It is!"


Red and purple lights pierce the darkness as the Mistress steps out from behind the curtain. Pausing at the top of the ramp, Sarah raises her arms, accepting the warmth of the crowds' cheers.




The "pop" rivals the SWF's greatest baby faces as the returning Mistress has drawn quite the reaction from the Cow Palace.


"Weighing in a total of One Hundred and Sixty-Five pounds! Hailing from Bellevue, Nebraska…she is MISTRESSSSSSSS SARRRRRAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"


The Mistress then heads down to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. She unfurls the whip from around her waist and slowly curls it up, placing it on the apron before warming up. All three men took a little taken back as Sarah heads into her corner with Fury. Longtime friends and former allies, Christian Fury now likes his odds in the Lethal Lottery tournament.


"Christian Fury, a former member of the Clan, who is trying to revert from his dark past, now teams with a former member of XF9, an ally during the old Stable War days."


Fury and Sarah converse in the corner, figuring out that Fury will start the match off. Sarah steps out onto the apron, still embracing in the warm response from the crowd. However, on the opposite side of the ring, Zyon goes up to his friend and to do their usual "Rock, Paper, Scissors" game to see who starts off first.








And Spike ignores his friend diverting back to his lone wolf demeanor as he walks into the center of the ring, waiting for Fury.


"A lot of tension between the team that is considered to be the favorites going into the Lethal Lottery!"


"A lot of tension. Shit Pete I have to watch no one, but both of the superstars I hate the most. I swear if Landon was in this match I might want someone to put me out of my misery…like my son or something."


Oh King so went there.


Zyon shakes his head and steps out of the ring. Spike and Fury both look at each other and nod at the referee, who signals for the bell.




Christian Fury and Spike Jenkins both circle around the ring and meet in the center for a lock-up, but Fury shoots down into a single leg takedown. Spike quickly brings down his weight on top of Fury, grabbing a front face lock. Fury sits for a second, but then spins out of it and grabs an arm bar…but quickly transfers over into a front face lock of his own.


"And now the beginning of the *Yawn* technical portion in a Spike Jenkins match."


Spike attempts the same counter that Fury performed not more than a second ago, but the grizzled veteran has the new straight edge sensation scouted scurrying away from the arm bar attempt while taking the cruiserweight down double legged style. Spike's face slams against the mat stunning the man from Hollywood allowing Fury to trap Spike with another front face lock. The anticipation that was once in the excited audience slowly begins to fade, but Fury could care less as he follows a "win the match first" attitude. Spike on the other hand ignores the crowd completely while he tries to find a way out of this boring predicament. Suddenly, Spike the technician shines through as the former cruiserweight champion explodes with a counter changing the positions. Now Fury is forced to taste the canvas; a victim of a Spike Jenkins arm bar. Realizing that he is getting nowhere, Spike roughly lifts Fury back to his feet.


"Both men have returned back to their feet."


"Thank god."


Spike looks to be controlling the action with his arm bar, but the veteran looks to surprise his opponent with a snapmare. However, Spike fights the throw tightening the arm bar until Fury wraps his other arm around Spike's head again except this time the veteran opts to go vertical. Planting both feet into the mat, Fury leaps upward using Spike's head as a pole-vault. Spike flows into Fury's plan holding The Fury into the air until he can't any longer. Dropping to the mat Fury snaps his arm forward tossing Spike away with a snapmare.




The crowd applauds the technical action as Spike stares down Fury devilishly. Tossing out his somewhat careful nature, Spike charges the veteran who has seen this action taken by many men in his lifetime…


…and Spike is no different.


Slightly enraged Spike attempts a charging elbow smash, but Fury ducks ending up behind Spike who quickly turns placing a firm forearm into Fury's face.




Fury backs away before plunging forward foot first into the gut of his cocky opponent. With Spike hunched over, Fury forces his will on to the man from Hollywood locking the cruiserweight down with a headlock. Showing a bit of charisma the indifferent Fury points toward the audience as he leaps forward attempting to kick of the topes with his feet.


"It seems he's trying the Trip to the Dawg Pound."


"Can he still do moves like that flashy bulldog"?


The answer would be an astounding yes…if Spike wouldn't have tossed Fury over the top rope. Balancing him on the apron, Fury chokes Spike across the top with applying pressure with the head lock. Referee Nick Soapdish is forced to start a five count since Spike is tied up in the ropes and all.






Midway through the odd numbered count Spike stomps his feet as he hoists Fury into the ring with a backdrop attempt only to have Fury flip out, landing on his feet.


"Showing the balance of a youngster, Fury continues to show the SWF faithful he still has a lot of spark left in him."


Disallowing Spike to react, Fury hooks his foot behind the straight edger's lobbying to pull back with a Russian leg sweep. The former cruiserweight champ grasps the top rope denying Fury the advantage.




And one crushing elbow later Spike has his opponent once again trapped by the go to arm bar.




The crowd actually cheers the arm bar???? Oh never mind since they are cheering the fact that Zyon has made his intentions to enter the ring. Extending his hand, Zyon calls for his friend to make the tag. Spike visually notices the gesture, and uncharacteristically decides to ignore his tag partner. The crowd doesn't dare jeer Spike, but there are quite a few of them muttering.


"It seems Pete that Spike is looking to prove a point."


"What? That he and Zyon aren't seeing eye to eye."


"No. That he NOT Zyon is the top of the cruiserweight food chain."




Spike's decision very well may come back to haunt him as Fury blasts his way free with a closed left hand. Ignoring the ref's spontaneous warning, Fury latches on to Spike's arm Irish whipping him into the opposite corner…the corner where Mistress Sarah dwells. Fury charges smashing Spike with a running clothesline, before making the tag without a second thought.




The crowd explodes as Mistress Sarah enters the ring as a competitor for the first time in five years. With Spike currently lambasted by the previous charging clothesline, the Mistress takes control with multiple kicks to Spike's gut. And god are they ever sharp.










Spike groans as he clutches his sternum hoping for the pain to end. Sarah seems to be enjoying herself as she snapmares Spike out from the turnbuckle and to the ground in a sitting position. Sarah bounces off the ropes launching a basement dropkick toward Spike with HIGH MF'N HEELS!!!! Lucky for Spike he is still in the frame of mind to know that a heel into the eye is a declaration for "fuck that noise." Barely escaping a definite injury, Spike pulls himself back to his feet ready to take on his female foe.


"It seems Mistress Sarah has not lost a step."


"Why of course not Pete. She likes pleasure. She gets pleasure from hurting others. How could she lose a step on something she may practice so frequently?" Good call King


Breathing like he just finished running a few miles, Spike takes a quick peek at his confused partner…and pays for it.




Spike's world is rocked by a swift kick to his head. The straight edger staggers to the side away from Zyon until he can rest in the safety of the turnbuckle…yeah right. Sarah takes a page out of a young rookie's book opting to charges recklessly striking Spike with a beautiful handspring elbow directed at the jaw. Spike's head rocks side to side as he falls from the turnbuckle into Sarah's feminine form. Forgetting to forgive, the Mistress locks Spike in a front face lock driving him vertical with a suplex attempt. Unsure of his ability to take over, Spike actually flips out of the suplex landing on his feet with the grace of a retarded poodle. Spike staggers backward uncontrollably allowing Sarah to continue her offense with a sharp kick to the leg…






But Spike strikes back with a one-foot plant plunge forward Yakuza kick. Sarah falls to the mat clutching her face as the straight edger is left with no other options, but to tag in his energetic partner.




The crowd explodes as Zyon enters the ring just as Sarah makes it back to her feet.


"This has to be the first meeting between these two."


"SWF old and new collide…can you feel it PETE!!"


"Ugh I guess."


"Well that's good. I was just checking."


Sarah looks to makes an impact with a tantalizing sweep only to have Zyon dodge the attack with a simple leap. Just as the Mistress gathers herself at a vertical base, Zyon lunges forward looking to take his opponent's head off with a lariat. Sarah though ducks the decapitating strike just in time. Choosing to exit the strategy of harsh strikes Sarah leaps on to Zyon's shoulders. The youth struggles to maintain his balance as the Mistress launches an elbow to the peak of Zyon's head. The cruiserweight champion's eyes twitch as Sarah with a noticeable smirk lifts her elbow high into the air…bringing it down at a reckless pace. Frightened of feeling the pain from earlier, Zyon escapes the deadly elbow by flattening Sarah an electric chair drop!!


"Did you see Sarah's face bounce off the canvas?"


"Actually no…my attention was diverted."


The former Carnival member clutches her face while regaining the precious oxygen she just lost. Zyon though hopes to give his team a winning record dropping on to Sarah with the first cover of the match.









With her never say die attitude, Sarah pushes Zyon off keeping her team in the match. The radical youngster rolls out to the ring apron before rising to his feet. A slightly fatigued Christian Fury yells instruction to his now standing partner. Rather she hears them or not, Sarah turns horrified by the vision of Zyon diving on to her with a cross body…




…correction…diving over her.


"I love that offense. You know the type that only works maybe fifty percent of the time."


The hurting youth clutches his stomach as Sarah reaches a full vertical base. Clutching his stomach, Zyon also reaches his feet obviously not ready for the spin kick aimed at his chest.






The crowd echoes as the heel breaks Zyon's skin for sure. Under his custom made T-shirt is a trickle of blood hidden from the audience. The youth's eye bulge as Sarah quickly makes the tag to Fury an ally during the stable wars. With Zyon basically doubled over the duo of the Mistress Fury hoists Zyon into the air slingshotting him off the top rope dropping back with a double slingshot suplex!!! Sarah quickly exits the ring leaving Fury to cover the man he failed to beat on Lockdown.









TWO…shoulder up.


Definitely hurting the youth breaks free with an ultra weak kickout. Fury reaches his feet first followed by Zyon who immediately trudges toward the friendly corner. The Fury though has other ideas as he drops down in an angle placing all of his weight on to the standing ankle of Zyon!!!




The youth screams in shock as he falls to one knee. That one knee is connected somewhere to the hurt ankle. Understanding that Zyon's ankle is exposed, Fury runs over and kicks Zyon right square in the ankle flattening it against the canvas. Sensing blood the shark like veteran grabs Zyon by the foot, forcefully dragging him over toward the bottom rope. Fury places Zyon leg on to the bottom rope before leaping into the air AND STOMPING ON THE ANKLE in heinous fashion. The youth attempts to scoot away, but Fury traps the foot on the bottom rope again…before making the tag???


"This can not end good for Zyon."


The entrance of Mistress Sarah isn't necessarily grand, but it is painful as the fatal female slingshots herself over the top rope driving an elbow on to Zyon's leg bending the ankle in an awkward ankle!!!




The crowd chants as one of their favorites grinds his teeth trying to force the pain out of his head. Sarah hurries Zyon back to basically one foot, and now on one foot as she lifts the injured leg off the ground. Grinning from ear to ear, the self-proclaimed bitch spikes Zyon's foot into the mat with a dragon screw. Zyon's ankle could be in an obliterated state as he rolls to the outside in a defensive measure.








Referee Nick Soapdish starts his count until the Mistress works her seducement powers on the senior official. While Soapdish is preoccupied with the female, Fury drops from the apron to the floor lifting Zyon to his feet. Acting like an assassin in the dark, Fury shows off his inventive skills spiking Zyon's foot into the ground with a dragon screw, which in turn whips Zyon back first into the unforgiving steel ring post!!!!!


"Wow…that was quite the combo."


"I do respect both Fury and Sarah, but that was just…"


"Just unfair. Yes and cheating is bad, and all that jazz."


Referee Nick Soapdish attempts to get back to his count, but a visibly pissed off straight edger hurries into the ring and knocks the Mistress to the mat with a shoulder tackle from behind! Soapdish's attention is once again disrupted as he attempts to force Spike out of the ring who is desperately trying to buy his partner some time. With Spike sedated on his apron, Soapdish gets back to his count.








Zyon latches on to the ring apron, and then on to the bottom rope looking to pull himself up.






With only two second to spare, Zyon makes the Cow Palace explode by simply pushing himself back into the ring.




The crowd explodes as the agitated female bends over to continue her damage to the youth…ONLY TO HAVE HIM SLIP THROUGH HER FINGERS!!! Zyon hurries around Sarah crawling toward Spike no more than seven inches away…just to be pulled away by the injured ankle. Zyon grunts as his swollen injury is being stretched while he is forced farther and farther away from his current goal…


…Until he returns fire with an Enziguri that is!!!




"Damn." Pete says.


Zyon's surprise attack grazes the hair of his feminine opponent, but no flesh or bone is affected in the slightest. The youth lands on his one foot as the Mistress prepares for the standard rebuttal after a missed Enziguri, but Zyon instead dives forward stretching his hand and…








The crowd explodes as Hollywood Spike Jenkins enters the ring like a cliché on fire. The former cruiserweight champion charges knocking Sarah to the mat with a shoulder tackle. Obviously, not going to take the punishment lying down Sarah rises right back to her feet. Unable to defend Spike's high energy assault the Mistress finds herself launched into the ropes via Irish whip. Bouncing off the ropes at a blistering rate, Sarah falls into the arms of the loving Spike…yeah that is bullshit. She falls into his arms, which directs her to the canvas with a railgun suplex.


"No doubt Spike picked that up from Mr. Flesher."


"Are you saying Spike didn't know that move before his bouts with the Superior One?"


"Yeah pretty much."


Grabbing the female by her cherry red hair, Spike launches Sarah back first into the turnbuckle nearest Zyon. The Unique Youth enters the ring only to lay on all fours playing the part of Spike for the moment. Spike on the other hand acts like Zyon as he sprints forward leaping off of Zyon's back splashing the female veteran with aggression not flash. The youth quickly rolls out of the ring as Spike forces the Mistress into a standing head scissor!!!!!


"RATINGS CRASH!!!" Pete shills like mad.


Just as Spike looks to hoist his opponent off the ground, Sarah proves her flexibility to the world sending her heel into the face of Spike barely missing the eye!!!


"Spike just about had a career ender…a little to the right next time Sarah."


"Oh would you shut up. The only career that's over is yours. Now shut up!!!"


"Ouch Pete…ouch."


Spike clutches his face as Sarah leaps into the air latching on to Spike head driving him to the mat with a twirling tornado DDT!!! Spike head falls into the mat at a nasty angle as Sarah rolls toward her corner making the tag to one Christian Fury!!!! The veteran actually begins to ascend the top rope reaching into his once flashy past. With little hesitation, and regard for his own well being The Fury leaps high into the air stretching his legs out looking to decapitate Spike with a top rope guillotine leg drop…




Too bad for the Fury marks out there, but the high risk attack misses. Spike's stubbornness has all but exited as he rolls and tags Zyon into the match. Slightly surprised the youth enters the ring, charging a sitting Fury who clutches his tailbone. Fury though redeems himself in the eyes of those who mark for him as he trips Zyon transitioning into a devastating ankle lock.




The crowd explodes with a mixed reaction as Zyon's eyes bulge out of his head. The youth crawls around the ring like a wild animal while Spike looks on disappointed in his friend. Seriously, Spike looks like a father who just caught his son doing cocaine or something. And since Spike is all straight edge…it's like ten times worse. Spike's reaction doesn't really matter to Zyon who tries his damnest to reach the ropes…and does!!!!


"BREAK IT!" Pete yells.


Fury ignores Pete's plea as he drags Zyon away from the bottom rope applying a torturous grapevine!!!!


"Oh no…"


Some in the crowd mutter as Zyon stretches out for the bottom rope, but he is simply too far away. There is no rhyme for Zyon's possible defeat other than the fact that oh never mind Spike just bailed him out!


"Hey damnit. C'mon Pete bitch Spike out for breaking the rules would ya."


"Spike you big jerk you. Don't help your partner. You lousy dork." Pete totally half assed that.


Both Sarah and Fury look at Spike like Hitler would look at a disloyal Jew. Spike could honestly careless as Zyon uses up a lot his energy just to crawl out on to the ring apron. Fury turns his attention away from the new straight edge sensation to the same old Zyon trying to kill himself to get the win. Normally Zyon's springboard bluff would frighten most challengers, but the veteran doesn't fall for it as he charges the youth blasting him in the face with a right hand! Zyon's injured ankle shakes uncontrollably as he tries to balance himself on the ring apron. Focusing all his being on the ring apron Zyon can only watch as Fury lunges forward with another right hand…this time catching Zyon's own hand in the process. Now Fury has a reason to be frightened as the youth carefully uses Fury as a balance leaping on to the top rope. Ironically enough Zyon takes a page of Mistress Sarah's book as he leaps off the top rope from the middle latching both legs around Fury's neck…








Zyon's head bounces off the mat leaving the youth's eyes to roll around like a dice controlled by the hand of fate. The ultra bright lights emanating from the top of the Cow Palace blind Zyon as Fury takes a moment to catch his breath. Attempting to channel the spirit of the energizer bunny, Fury tries to keep going, and going, and going by placing multiple boots to the head of Zyon! The Fury forces Zyon back to one foot and a half before launching him into the ropes with an Irish whip. The youth limps off the ropes and over a lying flat Christian Fury into a diving missile dropkick performed by the illegal Mistress Sarah!!!!!


"What impact!!"


"In other words DAMN!!!"


The ex carnival/XF9 members work together like clockwork to take down a common foe. Mistress Sarah cheers on Fury to cover Zyon who looks shell shocked from the recent events. On Lockdown he couldn't get it done, but Fury refuses to make the same mistake twice as he rolls over on to Zyon…










"This has to be it."











NO!!! Spike once again breaks the cover up and gets the professional wrestling version of a slap on the wrist. Fury is certainly beside himself, but Mistress Sarah is absolutely livid. Mentally she must have been torturing herself, but Spike's latest events will allow her to go off the deep end. Back in the ring Fury whips a totally out of it Zyon into the ropes only to have the youth collapse across the middle rope setting up Dead Man's Curve perfectly.




The crowd roars as Fury charges forward, but is interrupted by the ref who tries to sedate Sarah who has the whip in her hands. Referee Nick Soapdish could very well be sacrificing his life in the name of being an SWF official, and somewhere Chris Belcourt wishes it were he committing career suicide. Fury mistakes a convulsion for an actual movement from the cruiserweight champ as he charges forward ready to seal the match once and for all.




Spike on the other hand has another idea busting Fury across the face with his very own kendo stick!!!!


"WHA!!!!" Both announcers fumble.


The crowd decides to make a bunch of noise as Spike tosses the kendo stick away leaving Zyon to do the rest. The youth leans backward looking down on Fury…hesitating.


"COVER HIM!!!!!"


Spike roars as Zyon can only think about his morals for a second until he looks across the ring at the insane Mistress Sarah with her whip…morals.




Ironically enough Sarah exits the ring just as Zyon gives in to Spike's demands. The moment passes by with the fatigue of days on end.


















And to everyone else…










….three seconds.




"The WINNERS, 'Hollywood" Spppppppppiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkeeee Jennnnkkkkiiinnnss and ZYON!!!!"


Funyon booms as Zyon exits the ring limping up the SWF ramp with Spike. Mistress Sarah through all of her anger finds herself at a lost, and Fury. Well he sure does have a nasty knot located between his eyes.


"Did you see that Pete. Zyon, the kid who could do no wrong in your eyes just CHEATED to win a match."




"No buts. Spike has been quoted numerous times on saying this fed has no honor."


"That is wrong."


"Wrong. Is watching Zyon steal a victory wrong. Admit it the kid was beat after that power bomb, hell the ankle lock could have done it. But no he was freed not because of will power or some divine intervention, but by CHEATING."


"Yeah, but…"


"Oh let's not stop there. What about your son. You expected hugs, what you got was a beatdown. Yeah Pete what honor is there in that."




Pete's headphones are heard dropping as the usual cheering is heard after a Zyon win. On the surface everything seems the way it should be, but in the deepest part of the road better traveled is a dead end hidden behind the grin of one Hollywood Spike Jenkins.




However, none of that matters right now when they are cheering your name…morals.

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Sitting outside the arena and staring into the cold night sky, Landon Maddix's best impression of a bum is pretty good. His hair's pretty unkempt although it's not long enough to be considered really messy. And his clothes, while not ironed or taken care of in any visible way are far from tatty rags. But the fact he's sitting on the curb just outside the parking lot with a half empty bottle of Whiskey in his hand, with a glum look on his face and plenty of troubles on his mind makes up for those minor inconsistencies. Chugging back some of the Whiskey, Landon audibly sighs and slumps forward a little. Another crappy day. Not even booked on the card, he's come to the arena and found nothing to do. He's been given no mic-time. No camera-time. The only thing he's been 'treated' to is a $100 fine for his attack on Sexton Hardcastle at Clusterfuck. No wonder he's decided to find sollace in the bottom of a bottle.


"Oi, emo kid!"


Turning his head around slowly, Maddix looks up at the 'lady' hovering over him curiously. Arms folded, Amy Stephens's eyes gaze past Maddix and to the half empty glass bottle clenched in his right hand. Maddix's gaze is fixed firmly on Amy's cleavage, a gaze which he breaks gentlemanly, although about 5 seconds too late.


"Ah, you know yer name then. You gonna drink all that? Cos if not, I'd be happy to help you out, you get me? They don't have any booze round here for some reason."




"Oh fuckin’ hell...it's you, innit! That Maddix kid!"


"Yep." deadpans Maddix, tagging another swig from his bottle. "So, what is it you want? Autographs are $10, pictures $20. I also record answer phone messages and voicemails, one dollar for the first ten words and an additional dollar for every word after that."


"You do know who I am, dontcha?"


"Uhhh...should I?"


"Probably." shrugs Amy, sitting down on the curb beside Landon and extending her hand. "Name's Amy Stephens."


All of a sudden, the crude, Nottingham accent causes Maddix to suddenly jump out of his skin. Just for a moment, at least. He hadn't really being paying attention before and hadn't noticed. But now, he does. The person he recognises the accent from is gone, AWOL, missing as far as most of the world know, has been for months. And besides, sure, he's gay, but he never really sounded that female. Almost, but not quite. Still, now that he knows, the connection is pretty obvious. Stephens. It's been a long time since he heard that name. Even longer since he'd seen one of them.


"S...Stephens? As in..."


"As in my brother's Toxxic? Yeah. Don't worry though, I ain't gonna hit ya or nothin'. Apparently you're a cocky little prick an' he hates yer, but that's his problem, not mine innit? So what’s up? Sittin' out here in the cold, drinkin' whiskey...lemme guess. Woman trouble?" Amy takes the bottle from the still gobsmacked Landon and helps herself to a few mouthfuls of the alcohol. "I ain't much of a listener, but if you wanna talk about it an' it'll make you feel better about sharing this, then go nuts."


"Well, okay. But you should probably know, it's a long story."


"Ah! Well in that case..."


Amy stands up to leave, but is stopped by a tug of the foot by Landon.


"Wait up. I'll...try and give you the short version."


"Whatever," shrugs Amy, sitting back down and slugging down some more of the whiskey.


"Okay. Basically, my life's been screwed up ever since...Toxxic, dropped me on my head at From The Fire last year. He was the Champion and I was the challenger and I'd come up with this stupid stipulation about having to get a pin, submission and a knocko...well, you probably know most of this, being his sister and all. Long story short, he almost crippled me. So after that, I didn't want anything to do with him for a while. If I'm honest, I was scared that he'd try again and this time, I wouldn't get lucky and that he would end up breaking my neck. Screwed me up pretty bad. And the year since then has been rough...I mean, really rough. I've lost everything. Belts. Friends. Managers. Matches. My self confidence."


"So, what you sittin' here cryin' about it for?" interrupts Amy, "at least you know where they all are. You can get ‘em back, can't ya?"


"Not that simple. Until I can erase the memory of what happened, it's still going to be there in the back of my mind. But of course, I screwed my one chance at retribution up at Clusterfuck. Winning the World Title at From The Fire was the only way I could get last year out of my head. That way, it didn't matter anymore because I'd done what I intended to do and failed to do in 2005. Now though..."


Maddix takes back the bottle from Amy and chugs down another mouthful.


"‘Retribution’? Mike was right, you are a bloody great drama queen," sneers Amy jokingly, causing Maddix's head to snap around.




"Easy kid, I'm just sayin' you're really over-reactin' to all this. So, my brother dropped you on yer head. Big deal. No wonder he always used to laugh about how badly you were takin' it..."






Shards of glass are sent flying as Landon hurls the whiskey bottle to the ground and stands up. Quick as a flash, or at least a slightly unmotivated one, Amy gets to her feet to stand her ground as Landon wipes a hand over his head, fuming.


"So, he though it was FUNNY, did he!?!"


"Yeah, and!?"


"Well, if your precious little brother was here right now, I'd drop him on HIS head and then we'd see how funny he found THAT!!" Landon shouts, getting in Amy's face halfway through the rant but wisely taking a step back just a moment later.


"Lissen, you’re only droppin’ him on his head after I’ve hit him in it, alright? Besides it don’t matter anyway, right, cos he’s missing ain’t he!"


"Don't I just know it! Maybe if he hadn't disappeared, I could snap his scrawny little neck and be done with it! Maybe then I could get him out of my damn head and maybe... maybe I'd... be..... okay."


Slowing down his rant, Landon eventually comes to a stop. As he looks down at the ground, a smile seems to be forming on his face, his eyes lighting up as if he's just found a solution to all his problems. Amy has ignored all this and is still pissed off, partly because of the aggression this little punk who's only just bigger than she is is showing, partly because precious alcohol has just been wasted.


"Fuck, I'd be happy if he were here right now for you to drop on his head! At least that way I'd know where he bloody was! It's alright for you, bitchin' about stuff you can change! It ain't that easy for me to change the fact he's nowhere to be found, ya get me!?"


Looking up, a definite smile has found it's way on to Landon's face.


"Maybe it is."








Surprised, Amy recoils and looks at Maddix like he's crazy.


"Ya know, the last prick that tried that on me ended up with a broken nose."


"Ah...but, did the last person who tried that on you know the perfect way to get you your brother back?"


Amy stops, her fist short of Maddix's face by a mere few inches. If this not really mysterious, suddenly handsome in a weird sort of way, possibly slightly mad professional wrestler is right, this is her chance to finally find her brother. Amy stops and thinks about it, probably realising that Landon must have an ulterior motive, but not really caring.


"What's the plan?"


"Follow me." smiles Landon, grabbing Amy by the wrist and semi-dragging her off with him. "I'll explain on the way!"


"On the way where?"


"Uh, gee, I dunno...my hotel room maybe?"


"You haven't got laid in ages, have you?"


"NOPE!" shouts Landon, having given up on dragging this surprisingly powerful woman and simply jogging off in the distance with the hope that she'll follow him. "WHY DO YOU THINK I'M IN SUCH A HURRY?!"


With Landon going further and further into the distance, Amy sighs and concedes defeat, trudging off after a slightly too excited La Cucaracha while making a half-hearted attempt to make herself look nicer, which basically consists of her moving down her shirt to show a little more cleavage.












SWF Smarkdown - 2/14/2006

Rule of Law Productions © 2006

The SWF: “Raising Workrate by Typing Faster"

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