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SWF Smarkdown 4-17-2006

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“WE are not joking around, Spike…”


“Then do something about it!”


SWF Smarkdown goes on air backstage, where “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins is arguing with Head of SWF Security, “The Hell Machine” Janus.


“We said no more sneak attacks, damn it!” shouts the former SWF World Heavyweight Champion, “And you just go and stalk after Zyon and attack him AGAIN! We have to worry about police being called into this and having you arrested!”


“I won’t actually kill him! Just make sure he gets the message and force him out of here! If he wants to stick around and see how far I will go, then yeah, I will kill him!”


“Spike, if you know what is good for you, you will stop with these attacks!”


“Janus, you and all your power do not frighten me. You’re going to have to do a lot better than that!”


“You don’t want to see us use our power. You’re already booked against Zyon at Battleground in a Street Fight…if you want to deal with us, you will suffer greatly.”


Spike inches closer to Janus, looks him square in the eye and gives a big, hearty laugh. He turns his back and begins to walk out of the room.


“Is that the best you can do?” mutters Jenkins as he cockily walks out of the office.


Janus’ lips tighten as he eyes the door. Grinning sloppily, he shakes his head.


“That is far from the best that we can do.”

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The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...
Live, Monday, April 17th from the SOLD OUT Georgia Dome in Atlanta, Georgia!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)

Hand me my booking napkin! The SWF's Hell or High Water tour continues, nearing the end of its destination as I near the end of my sanity! What the hell happened on the last show? Lord only knows. However, it was catastrophic enough to completely alter the card I had booked the night before. Can the PPV main event be built to with no world champion? Is it possible this is the slimmest pre-PPV card in history? Will it be made up for with a torrent of promos, particularly from JJ Johnson and Landon Maddix? It better!

The SWF's New Commentator search wraps up with the introduction of our first three-man team: Andrew Blackwell, The Suicide King and Johnny Dangerous!

Kevin Coyote vs Jimmy the Doom

->Wildchild has been strangely lethargic since winning the Inernational Title from Jay Hawke at the last PPV. With this being the last show until the PPV, you know what that means: A random contendership match with the champion involved in a vague manner! Huzzah! Can Kevin Coyote continue his ascention? Can Jimmy the Doom keep being Jimmy the Doom? Find out on Smarkdown!
Rules: Standard singles match. WC can write if he pleases.

Insane Luchador vs Sean Davis

->Sean Davis mysteriously interfered in the hardcore title match between Amy Stephens and Bruce Blank in Amy's favour. Curiouser, Sean Davis was aligned with Toxxic back in the Rev-0 days. While Davis is a mystery, Andrew Rickmen, not so much. In a bit of a mashup, Davis faces Blank's PPV opponent in the Insane Luchador here on Smarkdown.
Rules: Singles match.

Manson© vs Zyon

->On Lockdown, the unique youth picked up the victory against three other men in a hardcore fourway match. Damn, does that sound filthy or what? The violence in that match is almost prep work for Zyon, whose inevitable confrontation with Spike Jenkins seems to be but a foregone conclusion at this point. On the last show before the PPV, he takes on one half of the reigning tag team champs in Manson, who, despite having a very unusual run of it with via tag teams since the Lethal Lottery, has not done anything in the way of singles competition in quite some time.
Rules: Singles match.

Archie Griffon vs Grendel

->Grendel is a new guy. He wears black, he's under a mask. Enigmatic. Archie Griffon is not so new, and has in fact been spinning his wheels. These two gents throw down in a pre-PPV display of fisticuffsmanship.
Rules: Singles match.

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After the opening credits to Smarkdown roll it’s the inside of the Georgia Dome that comes into view. The house is packed tighter than a can of sardines, while the noise of the crowd is quite simply earth-shattering. One good look at this crowd and several fans throughout the arena can be seen wearing some of the SWF’s newest merchandise available for purchase, the mask of the man who will open tonight’s show, Grendel.


“WELCOME TO SWF SMARKDOWN!” the Suicide King enthusiastically greets the viewers at home. Sitting at the announce table on different sides of the Gambling Man are one Andrew Blackwell and Johnny Dangerous.


“I’m your one stable host, Suicide King,” the man continues, “and here with me tonight is a man after my own heart, the sacred one…Andrew Blackwell.”


Blackwell nods.


“Now that we have that out of the way,” King begins, shuffling through some papers to find the info on tonight’s first match. To his left, however, is the third man on the table, Johnny Dangerous, who starts off looking cock-eyed at Suicide King for passing over his introduction.


“Ahem! Uh, King,” Dangerous sings, holding his hands up.


“Aw, crap. Yes, people, Johnny Dangerous is here to. He’ll add nothing of important to the discussion so be warned,” King says. “All he does is kiss the ass of whoever the fans cheer for. Me and Sacred will give you the true black and white info on everything that happens on this show. No blurring of the lines will come from our introspective minds.”


“Whatever,” mutters Dangerous. “Let’s take a look at our first match, Arch Griffon takes on the rookie Grendel. Just how many matches has Grendel wrestled in, anyway?”


“By wrestling tonight Grendel will have made his third SWF appearance,” replies King, “and yet we still know absolutely nothing about him.”


“You did just say this is only his third appearance,” says Johnny, reminding the Gambling Man of his previous words. “How much can you really expect to know about a guy in such a short amount of time?”


“First off, smart-ass, don’t ever try and make a fool out of me; I made an observation that was crystal clear from the beginning!” King growls with a menacing wave of his finger. “Yes, it’s true that he’s only been with us for a short amount of time, but in that short amount of time I think it’s perfectly reasonable for us to expect to know something about this character by now.”


“And we have no idea of what his intentions are,” Blackwell adds. King nods as if to say ‘exactly’. “All he’s done is come out and wrestle and we have no idea if we should even be cheering or booing this guy while he’s out here.”


“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” replies Johnny. “I know about as much as you do.”


“What, you don’t have any ‘Intel’ or dirt-sheets on Grendel?” King quizzes. Johnny simply shrugs and the Suicide King turns away from the Barracuda, dismissing him the wave of his hand. “Secret Agent my ass,” the Gambling Man scoffs.


Andrew Blackwell and the Suicide King have a chuckle at Johnny Dangerous’ expense. The Agent, however, glares silently as the realization sets in that THIS is going to be one…long…night.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, drawing all attention to the ring where he stands. “The following match is your opening bout, and it is scheduled for one fall!”


The inevitable crowd pop follows the announcement. Seeing as how there probably hasn’t been too much wrestling action in Atlanta, Georgia since World Championship Wrestling went under, this crowd is more than ready to sink their teeth into a night of bone-crunching action! Unfortunately, they’ll only get about four matches tonight but nobody is about to tell them that.


“Introducing first,” the announcer continues, as the arena goes dark, forcing more pops from the fans…as well as a few groans when they realize what face is attached to the music that has just hit; Unearth’s “Bloodlust of the Human Condition”. Playing only for a few minutes until the music hits its peak, and when it does, it’s marked by a booming round of white pyros bursting and spraying the stage with its white embers! Some embers are still glowing alongside the edges of the stage when Arch Griffon strides out confidently, and he grinds the nearest one with the toe of his boot before continuing towards the ring.


“…from Des Moines, Iowa, and weighing in at 310lbs; he is ARCH GRIFFON!”


“As always, or unwarranted, depending on how you look at it, confidence brews from Arch Griffon,” notes King.


“He always has that aura of confidence surrounding him, but I don’t know how he got it,” Blackwell adds. “It’s not like he strolls into the ring and actually wins matches.”


“No, it’s the exact opposite. Griffon is a perpetual loser,” King says. “Given all the facts presented, though, I’d have to say he’s a shoe-in for the victory here against Grendel.”


“How do you figure that?” Baffled, the Barracuda asks.


“Cause Arch weighs more, that’s how!”


As his music fades, Arch heads to the far corner of the ring to wait for the arrival of his easy prey. The lights that were darkened once already for Griffon’s entrance before coming back up are once more dimmed, coinciding with the opening line to Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life”. A few pops can be heard, but a good majority of the fans are still undecided on whether or not they like this new wrestler. Still, the scene is intriguing to even those people. Lights that are lined up alongside the stage being a slow strobe - it’s reflection off the back walls are reminiscent of a lighting storm in the distance that is slowly approaching, and it moves in perfect harmony with the music. Finally, the song pauses for a single beat and…




…an entire row of pyros erupt alongside the stage as the songs chorus kicks in, summoning Grendel from backstage! He walks out past the curtains and then stops, possibly taking a moment to take in the cheering of his audience, or maybe it’s something else. When he begins to walk down the walkway, towards the ring, there is almost a noticeably nervous sense about him.


“Will you look at that,” says the Gambling Man. “Judging by the way Grendel is rather ‘cautiously’ making his way to the ring I’d have to say that he looks like he’s scared!”


“It’s almost as if this was his first night in the SWF,” adds Blackwell. King nods in agreement before following in with his second remark.


“I think he’s afraid to get in the ring with Arch Griffon,” he says. “He’s yet to face a real heavyweight since his induction into the SWF. Tonight is his first real test and I think Grendel knows that he didn’t study for it!”


Once at ringside Grendel is stopped by the referee, who reminds him that this match is a standard singles but the Assassin doesn’t seem to catch the hint. Apparently, his focus on the ominous man inside the ring has led him to forget that he walked into the arena with his signature fork resting over his shoulder. After the realization hits him he hands over the double-bladed weapon to the official then turns back towards the ring and slides in, under the bottom rope.


“Oh, I’m so sure that Grendel forgot about that big ass stick,” Suicide King mockingly says.


“You never know,” adds Johnny, shrugging his shoulders. “Stepping into the ring against an opponent with a good hundred pounds on you can be quite intimidating. His mind was probably running through every plan he has about how to chop Arch Griffon down to size.”


“I’m sorry, but I have to call bullshit on that. You know just as well as me and the King knew that Grendel was going to try and sneak that weapon in so he could have an advantage over Arch Griffon,” says Blackwell. “I think Archie has had his share of bad luck in matches without having someone cheat him out of the one possibility of a victory that he’s had in some time!”


“I think, with those kinds of actions, that we’re starting to see what kind of a man this Grendel is.”


“Without a doubt,” Blackwell adds, much to the chagrin of Dangerous. Blackwell and King are doing a good job of trying to paint a black picture of the man known as Grendel, but Dangerous is faithful to his intuition and it tells him that the other two men at the table are wrong about this man.


Inside the ring the referee calls the two athletes to the center. He takes the free moment before the action begins to make sure both men are perfectly clear on the rules. “Standard singles. Pinfalls and submissions must take place inside the ring and disqualifications ARE in effect,” he says. Satisfied, he motions for the bell to be rung.




The bell rings and it’s time to go to work. Arch knows he will have to act quickly to ground Grendel to the mat, which in turn will be effective in killing nearly all of the Assassin’s offense. He suddenly pops the rookie in the jaw with a right hand, and with as much strength as Archie is packing it only takes one punch to have you seeing stars. A loud crack rings out as his knuckles meet Grendel’s jaw! As expected, the Assassin is floored!


“What a hit!” King shouts, “glassjaw Grendel goes down after one punch! I knew I was onto something with my prediction!”


“He just caught Grendel off guard,” Johnny rebuts, even as it may seem that Suicide King is correct. “You have to remember that he hasn’t ever faced a man of this size before!”


“That’s still no excuse!” snaps Sacred. “Don’t try and play the sympathy card around here, Dangerous; we aren’t about to open that envelope, let alone take a chance at reading it.”


Griffon covers Grendel and the referee goes to the mat to count.




“Not a chance!” Johnny exclaims, as the Assassin kicks out of the cover. Arch gets back to a standing base but Grendel isn’t quite there, yet to sort himself out after the massive fist to the face he just received. However, he’ll be up soon enough. Arch grabs him by the back of his neck and drags Grendel back up to his feet, his intentions dead set on putting ‘the Spirit of Agression’ right back where he came from. A short forearm blast sends Grendel’s head rocking back, but this time he stands — stunned, but standing – just to take a second forearm blast to his cranium, and this time it sends him flying back into the ropes!


“This is getting real ugly, real fast!”


Grendel is propelled forward off the ropes, but he only takes a step before Arch rushes in and nails the Assassin with a stiff lariat. Again, another loud crack rings out from the hit only this time Grendel isn’t sent to the mat, he’s sent tumbling over the top rope!


“God Almighty, end this match already,” growls King, having already dismissed Grendel as a passing thought.


Apparently the thought doesn’t just rest with the Suicide King’s alone, nor just Andrew Blackwell’s, but Arch Griffon’s as well. In his mind he has just destroyed the rookie Grendel in a matter of seconds, and done so when he, himself was close to being wrote off as a passing thought. Arch turns around, unintentionally putting his back to the ropes, and pumps his fist to the crowd. Cheers ring out…


“Wait! Grendel isn’t out of this match yet! He’s back up and he’s climbed to the outside apron,” says Johnny.


“Doesn’t his finisher have something to do with standing on the apron while his opponents back is turned?” Blackwell asks, alluding to the similarities of the situation now present in the ring.


“As a matter of fact it does. He used it in his first match against…Hey! Wait a minute! Watch out Archie!”


King’s warnings couldn’t possibly be heard by Arch Griffon, though. The second the announce team realizes that Arch has unintentionally set himself up for another great fall is the same second that Grendel leaps to the top rope then springs off! Grendel floats over Arch with a summersault then snatches Griffon’s head as he comes down, his back to Arch’s chest, and nails the big man with a stunner!


“Oh!” Everyone on the announce team and the crowd shouts. Arch pops up to his feet after receiving his stunner, his bearings scattered to every far corner of the arena, and staggers aimlessly. Even though his mind is so far gone he could never kick out of a pinning attempt, apparently it’s going to take something more to get him on his back. Grendel slides in and basically sweeps Archie off his feet and onto his back in a rolling motion, before dropping to his side with his signature DVD! Finally, the pin happens.










“The winner of this bout by pinfall is GRENDEL!”


The crowd cheers for the Assassin’s victory. Unfortunately Grendel doesn’t seem to want to stick around tonight. He quickly books himself out of the ring and out to backstage having narrowly escaped with the victory, and not wanting to be around when Arch wakes up.


“Well,” Johnny begins


“Oh, shut up!” growls King, “we don’t want to hear you spin this crap, Mr. Dangerous. It’s time for a commercial, anyway.”


Blackwell nods in agreement as the segment comes to a close.

Edited by chirs3

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"Welcome back to Smarkdown," the voice of Johnny Dangerous greets the viewers, "we've just had a great match between Arch Griffon and Grendel-"


"Debatable," Sacred cuts in.


"-and coming up next," the Barracuda forges on, shooting a sideways glance at the two-time World Champion, "another exciting contest-"


"It doesn't feature Landon, does it?" Suicide King asks, "because very little involving him is 'exciting'. If he's getting his ass handed to him then it might be enjoyable, but otherwise..."


"You know, I don't know why I bother," Dangerous sighs.


"Makes two of us," King agrees happily.


"Three," Sacred adds.


"Fine," Johnny says through gritted teeth, "whatever's up next, just get it going. The sooner this night's over, the better."


There are a few moments of silence as the production crew wait for their cues. Then the arena suddenly explodes into noise as 'Blitzkrieg Bop' by the Ramones begins blasting out of the PA system, and the fans rise in response! A few seconds later a familiar shape comes out onto the soundstage - battered and bruised but still with beer in hand, still with her barbed wire crown on her head, and still with the SWF's Ultraviolent Title slung over one shoulder!


"Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the ring at this time, STILL the SWF's Ultraviolent Champion... AAAAAAAAA-MMMMYYYYY... STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!" Funyon booms. Amy herself doesn't appear to be in quite the right shape to run down to the ring as she normally does; instead she saunters down the entrance ramp, and stops at the bottom to lead the crowd in chorus:







As Joey Ramone launches into the first verse proper Amy slides slowly into the ring, taking great care not to brush her back on the bottom rope, then straightens up and beckons to Funyon for the microphone. The hulking ring announcer hands it over, and Amy signals for the music to be cut out.




"INNIT!" the crowd thunders, finishing the sentence for her. Amy grins and straightens her barbed-wire crown on her head, then becomes more serious again.


"What it is, right, is on Lockdown I defended this belt in a boiler room brawl, innit?" she begins, hefting the Ultraviolent Title over her shoulder. "An' I won that match, although I'm gonna admit that it weren't all my doin'. See, I had a bit of help... but not from the person you'd think'd help me. Nah man, see my boyfriend" and here her voice takes on a note of obvious disdain, "he was backstage doin' his hair an' putting make-up on or whatever an' gettin' ready to come out an' graciously accept a free World Title shot handed to him because he's taken back up WITH THE BIGGEST SLAPPER THIS COMPANY'S EVER SEEN, YA GET ME!?"


"Slapper?" King queries.


"British thing," Sacred informs him.




"The only person who bovvered helpin' me out an' the only person who bovvered to check on me in hospital was the same person as gave me a lift back from hospital, innit," Amy says, "an' that person was Sean Davis."




"Hoy!" the Punk-Rock Princess shouts angrily at the crowd's reaction, "leave it out, right? Now I know he ain't popular and I know he hung around with me brother too much when Mike was bein' a bit of a wanker-"


"Understatement," Johnny and Sacred mutter at the same time, then turn and glower at each other.


"-but he ain't a bad bloke, ya get me? An' he don't need you lot gettin' on his case neither, so back off, aight? I din't notice anyone who gets cheered like Wildchild an' that comin' back ter help me out!"


"Is she actually speaking English?" King asks in a tone of genuine inquiry.


"So anyway," Amy continues, subsiding a little, "I've got two things ter say. One of 'em's about this belt I've got. See, this weren't always called the Ultraviolent Title, cos it was just given that name by Bruce Bloody Blank an' his Dancin' Ego. Nah, I remember what it was called before 'cos this was the first title me brother ever held. An' what it was called then was the Hardcore Gamer's Championship.


"An' since I'm still the champion an' all that crap, I'm changin' it back!"




The response of the crowd to that is much more positive and the stadium is filled with cheers as one of the staples of the SWF is returned to its original glory (except from those people who have just purchased replica Ultraviolent Titles and who now vow to use them as nothing more than salsa holders).


"Well that's certainly an important announcement," Johnny says, desperately trying to sound enthusiastic in the face of aggressive indifference from Sacred and mysoginistic mutters from King about Amy having no right to rename 'Bruce's title', "the Hardcore Gamer's Championship is back and... ah, I'm really not sure if I care. I mean it's the same title, she beat Bruce for it, well done for that... why does it matter what it's called?"


"There speaks the man of imagination who came up with the International Title," Sacred mocks.


"Huh, at least I never had a ladder match to try and steal someone else's entrance music," Johnny sniffs.


"Given what you used to come out to, I'm amazed the idea never crossed your mind," Blackwell replies, smirking slightly. Meanwhile in the ring, Amy Stephens raises her microphone again.


"The second thing's a bit more pers'nal, know what I mean? See, I ain't too happy about havin' my boyfriend shacked up with that tart Megan Skye again, an' since I doubt Landon had the brains to think of this plan himself I'm reckonin' it was all her doin' innit. So what it is, right, is that I'm calling Megan bloody Skye out for a match at Battleground!"




"WHAT!?" Dangerous yelps as the crowd erupts, "that's... a fantastic idea, now I come to think about it," the secret agent finishes thoughtfully.


"Sounds good to me," Suicide King agrees, "Megan clearly needs some shock therapy if she's back with Landon."


Sacred says nothing.


"Now I don't know where Landon an' his bint are," Amy begins, "but-"




The shout that interrupts her comes over the arena's PA system, and as people look around they see the face of Landon Maddix staring out of the Smarktron and looking concerned. In the background there's a TV with the LIVE~ Smarkdown broadcast on - clearly, Maddix is still in his hotel room and has been watching events unfold.


"Amy, I've got the camera crew here because they're doing some behind-the-scenes footage for 'La Cucaracha Story', a SWF DVD available soon," Landon quickly gives a thumbs-up for the crowd, who boo him resoundingly, "but anyway," the harrassed Dakotan continues, "I persuaded them to patch the feed through to the Smarktron and... Amy, what are you doing? I tried to tell you the other night, Megan's my manager; why would you want to beat up my manager? C'mon, she can probably negotiate you a title shot or something too if you talk nicely to her!"


Amy's face makes it very clear how likely she thinks that is.


"Look, I'm about to come down to the arena anyway," Landon continues, perhaps picking up that his opening gambit didn't go that well, "we can grab a PepsiMax, talk things over-"


"Know what Landon?" Amy snaps, cutting him off, "if you wanted ter talk, maybe you should've come to the hospital where I spent all Wednesday night after the show. I weren't goin' nowhere; I had plenty of time fer talkin' then! But nah man, you wanted ter stay an' get pissed in yer hotel room with the Blonde Bitch din'tcha! So yer can shove yer PepsiMax where the sun don't shine, an' yer know why? Cos YER DUMPED!"




"Landon Maddix has been dumped on national TV, and this is the most fun I've had all evening!" Suicide King chortles.


"Amy is so much better than her brother," Johnny agrees.


And Sacred smiles.


"I... what?" Landon repeats, clearly shellshocked, "hey... uhh..."


"Oh, let me talk to her Landon!" With that, Landon is elbowed out of the way by Megan Skye. With wet hair. Wrapped in a towel.




"Oh, it looks like Landon's been playing away already!" King laughs.


"What is this, a soap opera?" Sacred grimaces.


"No, it's wrestling."


"...point taken."


"Amy, you're not only fat and ugly, but you're stupid as well!" Megan snaps while Landon makes frantic 'no' gestures behind her. However Megan either doesn't notice or just ignores him, because she continues in tones of speaking to a retarded five year-old. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a wrest-ler, I'm a man-a-ger. And what a man-a-ger does is find a good wrest-ler, like Landon Maddix, and help him. They don't get into the ring and get their hands dirty with bad wrestlers like you!"


"Oh yeah?" Amy says. Megan actually laughs at her. "'Oh yeah'? Is that the best you can come up with, bitch?"




The crowd make their opinions very clear on Megan's little insult. Amy, however, doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she's smiling.


"Nah man, that ain't the best I can come up with. This is!"


For a second or two, there is silence, then the distinctive sounds of 'Don't Stop' by the Filthy 4 starts up, and after a couple more seconds the bleach-blonde figure of SWF Generallissimo Joseph Peters strides out onto the soundstage and heads down to the ring, microphone in hand!


"Oh God, it's Joseph Peters," King yawns, "wake me up when something interesting happens."


"You mean like the Lethal Lottery, or free product endorsements?" Johnny enquires.


"Shush," Sacred scolds him, shuddering.


Peters hits the ring (as in, he actually walks into it), then rolls under the ropes and straightens up before signalling irritably for his music to die. The crowd sighs in relief as the production truck obeys their Lord and Master, and Peters takes a second or so to glower up at the Smarktron. Megan is still staring into the camera, pouting; Landon, meanwhile, is looking nervously at the TV in his room and for once seems to be a little quicker on the uptake than his manager. Even Landon can work out that Joseph Peters coming running when Amy (effectively) snaps her fingers can only be a bad thing.


"Megan, you say that you don't get into the ring and get your hands dirty with bad wrestlers," Peters begins, "well I think you'll find that your record speaks against you, because I remember you competing in matches for the Women's Title against such luminaries as Kelly Connelly and Jet!"


"So? What's that got to do with anything?" Megan asks irritably. Behind her, Landon puts his head in his hands.


"Well, broadly it means that since you've already wrestled in the SWF, I can book you into whatever the hell match I like!" Peters snaps, "and since I don't particularly like being made a fool of like you and Landon pulled last week, I have every intention of booking you into a match against Amy Stephens at Battleground!"


"That's good," Johnny nods.


"What's more, if you fail to turn up I will not only fire you," Peters continues as Megan's face falls further and further, "which won't be a great loss since, as you pointed out, you've done littel more than carry bags and do the odd interview and photoshoot for nearly a year, but I will also... and I hope you're both paying very close attention here... I will also STRIP Landon of his status as #1 Contender and start a World Title Tournament after Battleground, a tournament which Landon will not feature in!"


"Christ, when did Peters grow balls?" King says in absolute shock.


"Uhh, Joe?" Landon tries to cut in, "do you really think-"


"YES!" Peters yells.


"And I don't suppose-"




"Ahh... OK then," Landon says, swallowing and looking at Megan, who is also swallowing hard (and not in the way Landon would like), "I, uhh... I was going to be coming to the arena in a minute anyway, so... I'll see you... then. Amy...?"


"Landon, believe it or not Sunday's gonna be yer lucky date mate," Amy shouts, cutting her ex-boyfriend off, "know why?"


Landon considers saying something about him winning the World Title, figures that probably isn't what Amy has in mind, and shakes his head.


"Cos that bitch beside yer's not gonna be able to do anything but suck afterwards, cos I'm gonna mash so many of her teeth down her throat she ain't gonna be able to chew..."


"YA GET ME!?" the crowd yell on cue, causing Amy to grin and show all her own teeth. Whether or not Landon and Megan are about to respond we'll never know, as Peters make a cutting motion and the production truck kills the feed.


"Well, that seems pretty emphatic, both from Amy Stephens and from Joseph Peters," Johnny says as Amy and Joe shakes hands in the ring, "it looks like we're going to see Amy vs Megan Skye at Battleground! Anyway fans, don't go away because coming up next we have... uh, what do we have next?"


"Nothing as much fun as seeing Landon get dumped on air," King smirks.


"Coming up next? We have a starwipe," Sacred informs Johnny, and what do you know...







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SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial detailing the life of the Mac Daddy himself Edwin Macphisto, titled “Am I Better Than Mum-Ra?” From the sound of things you would think it’s a burial DVD, but that isn’t even the motive. To avoid spoilers for the high priced product the Suicide King takes over.


“Welcome back to SWF Lockdown where unless you’ve been living in a box or decided to be an incompetent fool and watch something else, you would have realized that I am joined tonight by not one, but two special announcers. These two can both bring the wrestling knowledge since they are both former World Champions.” King sets the tone for his partners.


“Thank you.” The man from the right bows his head, much more humble than the last time the SWF seen him. “I have returned with the shades and everything. I know some of you may not want to see the Secret Agent again, but for all I know this is a one time thing. I assure you the audience that I’m am no longer the bitter former partner of Wildchild, but instead, I’m just a simple fan with a headset.” Johnny Dangerous greets the viewers sitting at home.


“I’m not a fan. I’m much more. I used to eat, sleep, and live this business, and unlike this goof with the shades, I will be pointing out flaws in the program. For those of you uninformed, I’m Andrew Blackwell, better known as Sacred.” The former World Champion stats his claim to the announce position for this one night stand.




The first front rows of the Georgia Dome chant the moniker of the man they used to hate. It’s been awhile since they’ve seen the former World Champion who very well could be the most over man in the building…


…At least more popular than Funyon.


“The next match is schedule for ONE FALL and a SIXTY MINUTE TIME LIMIT!”


The man with the microphone shouts drawing a good amount of cheers from the Georgia Dome. The sounds of joy soon morph into the jingle of hate as Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” blasts from the speakers. Killing the dramatics, the bitter figure of Manson emerges from the strobes that surround the arena. Walking down the ramp with the intense fury in his eyes that he carries with him like a burden, Manson chooses to ignore the unfriendly gestures hurled toward him by the sold out crowd.


“I’ve been in the ring with this guy plenty of times, and he is not a nice customer at all. He’s powerful and surprisingly light on his feet. I believe he would be a better overall competitor if he wasn’t so intent on killing him opponent.” Johnny Dangerous throws in his overly professional two cents.


King actually nods his head in agreement, “Johnny I actually agree with you. However, tonight I hope that the Raging Bull decides to annihilate his opponent in gruesome fashion.”


And Sacred…”…”


The often mute Andrew Blackwell lives up to the later part of his career where he would frighten an individual with the silence than came before the impending storm. Opposing Sacred’s silence is the jeering Atlanta audience that looks to crush the Raging Bull’s spirits with harsh jeers and chants.


“First, hailing from Denver, Colorado…and weighing in tonight at 240 lbs. He is the RAAAGGGGING BULL, MANSON!!!”


Funyon explodes as Manson the Stampede rolls into the ring, hopping back to his feet instantly. Feeding off the negative energy, Manson hurls up the horns that apply to a certain music genre.




“King, I really don’t think Manson cares what these people think.”


“Well no shit Johnny. By the way, was Wildchild the brains of Wild and Dangerous? Did I just ask if Wildchild had an IQ that is past flip and flop?”


“Children…” Sacred shakes his head in disgust.


Glaring down the aisle way where his opponent will be emerging from at any moment, Manson looks up at the Smarktron with hate in his veins.








Lighting up on the Smarktron like a Christmas decoration, the familiar words signify the beginning of Incubus’ “Vitamin.” Withholding their pent up excitement no longer, the Georgia Dome explodes as the man himself averts himself to the center stage. Energetically hopping down the entrance ramp while slapping the outstretched hands of the orgasmic audience, the Unique Youth dances down the entrance ramp.


“And his opponent, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana…and weighing in at 240 lbs. THE UNIQUE YOUTH…Zyyyyyyyyyyyyyon!!!”


Funyon booms as the youth continues his exploration down the ramp.


“King you can say what you want to say about this kid, but he has a future ahead of him. I never got the chance to face him one on one, but he’s one of the better guys in the business.” Johnny compliments the youth.


King chuckles back with, “Oh he does have a future. It involves his immediate death at the hands of Hollywood Spike Jenkins.”


“Good one King.” Andrew Blackwell raises his hand for a high five, pulling away just as the Gambling Man goes to smack it, “You’re still not worthy. I hope this match is better than your second rate comebacks.”


Rolling into the ring, Zyon performs a quick headbang that he transitions right into A STUNNING SHOULDER BLOCK FROM MANSON!!!


“Hey that was before the bell damnit!” The Barracuda shouts


Scrambling to start the match, referee Ken Masters motions for the bell.




Staring back at the lights that hang below the roof of the historic Georgia Dome, Zyon attempts to rush back to his feet, but the relentless Raging Bull stomps on the youth’s hands! Ascending to a kneeling position just so he can scream to the heavens due to the pain that shoots throughout his hand, Zyon recaptures his focus just in time to ROLL OUT OF THE WAY of an over aggressive knee that slices through the air. Using the hustle he developed over his career, Zyon lunges at the peak of his opponent from the crouching position he was previously in. Flinging his right arm forward, the Unique Youth blindsides Manson on the side of the neck with a forearm that packs enough energy to send Zyon staggering forward. The actual strike barely grazes the Raging Bull due to the cruiserweight’s sloppiness. Killing his forward momentum dead, Zyon plants his foot and fires off in the opposite direction, sending his elbow into the neck of his startled opponent. Spinning off the impact of the elbow strike, the youth follows up his hostile beatdown with a knee to his opponent’s back. Bending backward just in time to see the Unique Youth leap into the air, Manson braces himself as a jaggedly horrendous pain develops over the bridge of his nose, which is exactly where Zyon placed an elbow!!!


“DAMN! Johnny I take back what I said earlier. Zyon has came out with quite the vicious assault on the Raging Bull.” King is damned impressed with Zyon’s improved striking ability.


Sacred on the other hand, “Yeah because we know that Manson is going to stay down from that, right?”


Springing backward away from the fallen Manson, Zyon lowers himself in a shoot-wrestling stance that he may or may not known how to actually use. Placing both hands on the canvas, Manson looks into the bewildered eyes of his opponent, shooting a “You’re going to get it now” look at the youngster. Ignoring the arrogance behind the man with intense bitterness, Zyon sprints forward throwing his leg upward, looking to punt Manson’s head into the eleventh row. Following the speeding foot with his eyes, the Raging Bull chooses a perfect time to effortlessly swat the foot away…


…Leaving the youth wide open for attack.


Lunging diagonally at the Unique Youth with the intent to kill flowing through his veins, Manson feels a stinging burn crush his face in the form of a REBOUND wheelbarrow kick! Falling to the mat with arms flailing in seven different directions, Manson pushes himself up to a kneeling position with one knee sticking out, which is absolutely perfect for a shining wizard. Mimicking one of the number one contenders for the World Heavyweight title, Zyon sprints forward jumping off of Manson’s extended knee, and WHIFFING THE SHINING WIZARD that the youth ventured into the attack with. Floating through the air, Zyon flawlessly lands on to the second rope. Unaware of the youth’s acrobatic nature, the Raging Bull rises back to his feet searching for the individual that refuses to stay stationary. Clinching his fists, Manson can only dream of breaking the youth with his bare hands, but instead feels two feet plant into the back of his neck. Grinding his teeth as he falls to all fours, the despicable Manson takes a moment to clutch his wounded neck. Continuing his assault on his stronger opponent, Zyon takes a step forward… receiving a kick to his sternum for his troubles!


“Now hopefully you guys can see my point of view.”


Johnny winces, “Erm…No Andrew I still can’t see the problem.”


Falling back into a defensive stance, Zyon clinches his fist as Manson rises back to his feet. Forgetting the fact that Manson is indeed the stronger of the two, Zyon sprints forward, leaping into the violent animal with a cross body block…THAT HITS…


…Which was the plan, for Manson that is.


Driving the point of his elbow into the nerves that belong to Manson and his gigantic neck, Zyon struggles to break free of the Raging Bull’s grip. With the shots forcing Manson into a stutter stepping back pedal, the Unique Youth continues to bring the pain in the form of sharp elbows to his opponent’s collar.




The crowd quickly gets behind the youth and his “never say die attitude,” only to be blown away by Manson and his “I’ll fuck you up,” attitude that helps the Raging Bull drive Zyon into the mat with a front slam!


King begins to catch on, “I think I’m beginning to see what you mean Sacred. Manson is simply that much better than Zyon! I knew it all along.”


“King, I seriously doubt that Andrew would count a competitor out of the match so early.”


“This is true Johnny. That is unless he was facing me.” Sacred backs Johnny’s expertise up.


Rubbing the kinks out of his apparently sore neck, Manson gives Zyon a moment or two to pull himself up. Nauseated by the ill effects that follow a ravaging front slam that was perfectly delivered by the less than desperate Manson the Stampede, Zyon feels the shadow of his opponent loom over him with deep broiling hate!




Stepping on the very foundation that brings life to a fortunate individual, and forcing it out of the youth’s body with a swift boot to the youngster’s chest, the violent animal sends Zyon reeling into the ropes. Snagging his naïve opponent by the throat, Manson continues to suck the life out of the youth with a blatant choke that even the lenient Ken Masters must break.


“C’mon Manson let it go!”






The fury in one half of the World Tag Team Champ’s eyes floats away, replaced with the sadness caused by being kicked swiftly in the gut! Responding to the harsh grip of his opponent loosening, Zyon forces himself forward, driving his knee into the bitter champ’s sternum. Jogging toward the opposite ropes, Zyon regains the precious oxygen that left his body earlier. Transferring his jog into a dead sprint, the youth launches a corkscrew dropkick THAT MANSON EASILY SWATS AWAY WITH PERFECT TIMING!!!




The Atlanta faithful looks on with confusion and dreaded respect for the man from Denver, Colorado that just used ONE HAND to swat away the difficult corkscrew dropkick!


“So far Zyon’s speed has worked wonders for the Unique Youth, but I don’t know what just happened there.” The Barracuda is also amazed at Manson’s improvement since he was an active wrestler.


Climbing back to his feet, Zyon dodges a forearm attempt by the surprisingly massive Manson, and steps through, tangling the heavyweight up with a reverse waist lock. Once again, Zyon finds himself in superior positioning because of his speed…but the youngster hasn’t decided what to do with it…


…He’s taking too much time…




Delivering a heinous elbow to the side of Zyon’s head, Manson wraps his foot around the youth while taking a powerful step to the side. Hanging his arm around Zyon’s neck and using his other arm to force the youth’s body still, Manson drops backward, sending the youth crashing into the mat with a Russian leg sweep.


“I’m impressed.” That’s all Sacred has to say, really.


The Gambling man though must go into detail, “So am I. The Raging Bull is more known as an in your face kind of guy, not a Russian leg sweep kind of guy. That is more like Johnny.”


“And what’s wrong with that?”


“Nothing. Just that you’re a loser as is evident by losing you’re job to our worthless International champ. Other than that, it’s nothing.” King is back to being his dick headed self.


Back in the ring, Manson floats on to the youth for the cover…









Popping his shoulder off the canvas, Zyon keeps himself in the match much to the disappointment of the one die hard Manson fan in the audience. Scrapping the youth off the canvas by his long brown hair, Manson forces the former Cruiserweight Champion into the far turnbuckle with an Irish whip…WITH AUTHORITY! Shaking the ring ropes on impact, the youth attempts to cry out to the crowd that watches his pain, but instead his vocal chords shreds out the beautiful chorus of silence. Weakly, Zyon kneels on the ground while sitting on both knees. For the wounded youth a whole day could pass and he would still be perched in that position…


…Too bad for Zyon, that only three seconds have passed.


Scrapping his feet against the mat, Manson impersonates a charging bull that blindly sprints into attack mode at the sight of red. For Manson it’s the sight of his hurt prey that gets him excited. Proceeding to bound forward, the Raging Bull picks up a sufficient amount of speed for a 240 lb behemoth before lifting his boot and SHOVING THE FUCKER INTO THE YOUTH’S FACE WITH A RUNNING FACEWASH!!!!




The crowd covers their eyes as the impact from the disrespectful AND majorly effective attack sends the youth rolling between the bottom and middle rope, falling to the outside. Lifelessly smacking the scarcely padded mats, Zyon clutches his face in a moment that can only be described as a delayed reaction. Administering the match ending ten count, Ken Masters forces Manson backward with repeated warning and idle threats.








“That was one hell of a boot to the face, even I must admit. I might hate that spot monkey, but DAMN!” King rubs his cheek lightly, while Zyon claws at his damaged face.






Pleasing the first members in the front row that can watch the youth stand on his feet, Zyon earns the audience’s cheers by standing underneath his wobbly legs, under his own power. Refusing to acknowledge the youth as a recuperated patient, Manson continues to perform maddening treatment on his opponent as he takes off running…


…Takes off leaping…


…Diving between the middle and top rope…


…And blasting Zyon in the face with an elbow suicida!!!


Johnny brings the knowledge, “I’m guessing Manson who is known to bust out the suicide dive picked up on how to throw his elbow due to tag teaming with the striker, JJ Johnson.”


“That or he was so pissed off at Zyon’s resilience that he tried to decapitate the poor chap. But for once, I like your idea better Johnny.” Sacred agrees with the Barracuda.


The collision from the elbow sends Zyon crashing into the steel safety barrier while Manson lands safely on his knees. Realizing that in such a close quarters environment his speed is worth zilch, Zyon finds himself play a game of chess with his opponent…


…A game that a man named Spike Jenkins taught him.


Hopping over the safety rail, the youth forces security to leap from their comfortable posts, and actually do their job. Detesting the type of cowards that run away from a fight after figuring out they have no chance of winning, the cocky Manson lunges forward with a startling closed right hand. The wide eyed audience with drinks in their hand and their consciousness at stake spread rapidly, moving away from the angry Manson. The pro wrestling typhoon KILLS EVERYTHING! Particles in the air, boredom, and even the hiccups for a select few…


…Well everything EXCEPT Zyon who ducks the wild shot. Forcing himself into an uncontrollable spin, Manson is unable to fight off the reverse cravate he finds himself in. Waving his arms rowdily through the air, the Raging Bull is helpless against the ravaged youth who suddenly drops to a seated position…




“GOOD LORD!!!” King spews.




Cheering whom they view as a wrestling martyr, the audience stares down at Manson the Stampede noticing that he…is…not…moving. Picking himself up and over the safety rail, Zyon steps over the limp body of his opponent, and climbs back into the ring.












The Unique Youth glares at the lights that shine down on him while Manson continues to explore the world of darkness.




And apparently he’s done exploring. Scratching the black padded mats, Manson begins his ascension…




“No way…”


“Way…” Sacred counters the Barracuda’s disbelief.




Clinging on to the ring apron, Manson pulls himself into the ring!!!




Receiving some R-E-S-P-E-C-T from the verbally excited crowd, Manson takes a moment to clutch his neck. Sliding his hands into the hair of his opponent, Zyon hurls the wounded Tag Champ back to his feet. Pulling Manson into a front face lock, Zyon pivots with his hips, and hoists the 240 lbs into the air, and quickly drives him into the mat with a snap brainbuster!


“That wasn’t quite the nasty landing I was expecting. Did he fuck it up?” Sacred wonders.


“No I don’t think. Zyon may have struggled to actually lift Manson’s dead weight, thus not getting the full vertical he wanted.” Johnny puts Andrew Blackwell’s wonders to rest.


With a slight spasm from the neck crunching drop, Manson turns on to his side, only to be reverted back on to his spine. Zyon performs a lateral press for the victory…















Shoving the lightweight off of his prone body, Manson rolls on to his hands, and back to his feet. Between the irritating throb of ache that pulses through his neck and the youth’s blazing speed, the Raging Bull is lost on the location of the Unique Youth.


“BEHIND YOU!” The Gambling Man shrieks hoping to warn Manson before it is too late.


Whether or not he heard the man with the crown, the bitter Raging Bull spins around just in time to watch the youth Springboard off the top rope. Drawing his right arm back as if it was his loaded gun, Zyon produces his left hand forward as a form of flash and panache.


Edwin would be proud…or hungry…maybe…kinda.


With the moment of impact coming closer and closer, Zyon brings forth his energized right arm…FALLING INTO A THROWING BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX COUNTER!!!


“How did he avoid the forearm?”


“I don’t know…”


Both Johnny and the Gambling Man are unsure, but Sacred is right on it, “Fools. The youth needs sufficient spacing to launch the strike, and Manson simply closed in that space. Much to Zyon’s credit, he could have easily turned the maneuver into a splash, but Manson is far too powerful for that to work.”


Hooking the leg, Manson goes for the cover.



















Propping his shoulders off the canvas, Zyon energizes the crowd with his resilience.




And with the sight of Manson standing on Zyon’s nose, grinding his boot into his opponent’s face it would be safe to assume that Manson simply gets enraged by the youth’s toughness. Once he finishes cleaning off his boot, Manson forces the youth back to his unsure feet. Quickly planting his foot, leading to a sloppy go behind, Manson traps the youth in a reverse waist lock…




…Copying Manson’s earlier strategy to break his own reverse waist lock, Zyon delivers a feint elbow to the neck of his opponent. Immediately, Manson’s attention turns to his wounded collar allowing Zyon to perform a go behind of his own. Synching in a reverse face lock, the youth extends his knee, driving Manson neck first with a modified neck breaker. Clawing at his wounded neck from a sitting position, the Raging Bull is shockingly powerless to stop the quicker Zyon from planting a basement dropkick into his neck. Falling to the side, Manson may have just lost himself the match as the youth dives on him for a lateral press.





















Pulling at his hair, Zyon is visibly agitated by Manson’s startling resilience that keeps the heavyweight in the match. Stepping over the muscular body of his opponent, Zyon sprints forward, springing backward off the second rope, and tossing himself through the air with his signature Half Moon moonsault that lands FLUSH…across Manson’s knees.




Choking on the many particles that want in and out respectively, the youth clutches his stomach as Manson rises from the dead…or to be a little less dramatic…he rises from the canvas. Clinching the youth in a standing head scissor, Manson hurls the youth up on to his shoulder before SLAMMING him down the a ballistic power bomb…FOOL!!!


“Yeah that’s the way Manson…wait no pin?”


The Gambling Man along with the rest of the Georgia Dome are stupefied by Manson’s lack of attempt at a cover.


However, all becomes clear.


Doing the best he can to hid his injuries, Manson calmly rubs his neck. Lifting the folded youth up from his misshaped angle, Manson Irish whips the youth into the ropes…ONLY TO HAVE HIS REBOUND BY SPRINGING OFF THE MIDDLE ROPE WITH A SPINNING CROSS BODY!!




Disrupting the youth’s attempt at a comeback, Manson delivers a deathly loud Gemengiri that break a few blood vessels inside of Zyon’s face. Hell it could have broken a few blood vessels in Manson’s foot. To add insult to injury, Manson leaps high into the hair, and dives on to Zyon with an Ultimate Splash, followed by the cover…























“The youth refuses to give up!” Johnny calls the match like a true face…even though he might be a heel.


“And at this rate, Manson’s neck will give out if the youth’s body doesn’t.” Andrew Blackwell adds.




Rupturing back to life the crowd cheers Zyon’s name in a rabid attempt to bring him up to speed. Beaten and fatigued, Manson proves to be in complete control as he thrusts the devil horns high into the air!!!




Grinning from ear to ear, Manson hoists Zyon straight from the canvas on to the top rope…


Oh no.


“He’s going for the Muscle Buster!”


“If he hits this…IT’S OVAAAAA!”


“So clichéd…”




Manson’s bitterness for the cheering audience may have blinded him for a moment as Zyon strikes the rabid Raging Bull with a boot to the face. Snapping his wrist, the youth chops Manson in the neck forcing the violent being to drop his head…into a front face lock.




The crowd responds as Zyon pumps his fist as he pushes off the turnbuckle, spinning around, and jamming Manson’s neck into the mat along with his head with a spike tornado DDT! Energetically headbanging to the loud roar from the crowd, Zyon begins to ascend the top rope…one more time! Standing perched on the top rope, the Unique Youth spreads his arms before launching himself off the top rope in the form of a civilization ending meteorite…and it’s all on Manson…










The crowd screams as Zyon rolls away from Manson as he clutches his back from the immense pain that generated from Manson’s knees to Zyon’s back!!! Both men crawl back to their respective feet, and all Manson needs is some light at the end of the tunnel. Sprinting for the light, Manson whips his arm backward as he nears the stationary form of the Unique Youth…








“WHA!!!” The Gambling Man and the Barracuda echo, as Sacred remains quiet.


Sliding Manson’s arm between his legs, Zyon proceeds to wrap his hands around the face of his opponent…and fatally pull back!!!


“Is this that submission hold that Zyon has rumored to master? The Gouki Crossface!!!”


The Gambling Man breaks out the rumored name. instead of calling it a glorified Cobra Crossface. To Manson who is in agonizing pain, the name doesn’t matter. Grinding into his opponent’s face while pulling back on the injured neck, Zyon waits for the notoriously tough Manson to break down.


But it’s Manson.





…With an injured neck!






The audience goes ballistic as “Vitamin” begins to play once more.


“The winner in 45 minutes and 15 seconds. The Unique Youth…ZYON!”


Funyon booms as the Unique One exits the ring and begins his long journey back to the locker room.


“Damnit. That lucky spot monkey just pulled off another upset.”


Breaking his silence, Blackwell speaks up, “Upset? Were you watching the same match I was? Zyon wasn’t going to win this match by out striking Manson. He won this match by weakening the Raging Bull’s neck for the submission victory. Also let’s not forget the 911 Aero Driver that also delivers death to an injured neck. Manson simply lost control of the bout early on and hoped that his immense anger would carry him through. It didn’t.”


“Yeah what he said…” Johnny trails off.


Stopping at the top of the ramp, Zyon celebrates, but pauses to look over his shoulder…


…Because you just never know.



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Smarkdown returns to the riled crowd at the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, Georgia. There’s a buzz sweeping across the arena as Joseph Peters enters the ring with a microphone in his hand. He seems uncomfortable with his job as he awkwardly stands in center of the ring, trying to occupy himself with picking lint off his tie.


“Welcome back to Smarkdown,” Johnny Dangerous says. “Joseph Peters is in the ring and ready to debrief us.”


“Debrief?” Blackwell asks with a laugh.


“Fine, address.”


“Address?” King joins in.


“Talk,” Johnny grumbles.


Joseph Peters holds a hand up as a hush falls over the arena. “Tonight, as we rapidly approach Battleground, we have a few things to hammer out. There’s been a conflict between two men and at Battleground there will be a conclusion. There will finally be a confrontation.”


The crowd begins to cheer as they catch onto Peters’ drift.


“But I’m not the one who is privy to these details because it’s not my decision. I gave up all control on this matter to a man. Somebody who has become very, very frustrated over the last two months since his return because of another man, a man who has avoided this situation at all costs. He has gone to extreme measures to sneak his way out.”


TRAILER TRASH! TRAILER TRASH! The chant spreads like wildfire.


“Brilliant measures,” King interjects.


“Brilliantly sneaky,” Blackwell corrects.


“He has sacrificed an impostor, he has collapsed a steel cage with a truck, and he has recently claimed to have been struck with bird flu. But now of this matters because at Battleground there will be a confrontation! There won’t be any impostors, plagues, trucks, or trickery.”


“He just didn’t want to waste his time on Rickmen,” Blackwell says.


“Now I’ve given Bruce Blank chances but each time he just stabs me in the back. So, on Lockdown, I decided to enforce that little contract he and IL signed.”




“Who are these fans to be talking? There has to be some incest inclined relationships here,” King says.


Peters seems way too pleased as he continues to speak. “I was your chance at mercy, Blank, but you blew it. So now it’s out of my hands and into Insane Luchador’s.”


“Man in the Box” begins to blare and the fans erupt for Andrew Rickmen’s arrival. Insane Luchador walks out and throws his arms into the air to milk the fans’ approval. He wildly grins as he walks down the aisle with an unnerving twinkle in his eyes.


Peters chuckles and says, “Just the man I’ve been waiting for…”


Insane Luchador marches down the aisle and rolls into the ring. He barks over to an employee who tosses up a microphone that he snatches out of the air. He nods his head with his psychotic smile and eyes accented by the various cuts on his face from the brutal shot on Lockdown. He walks up beside Joseph Peters, who sidesteps away, and then smiles at him. Luchador returns the smile with a stretching, unnerving smile that has cuts near the ends of his mouth cracking open.


“Well his face certainly isn’t looking so pretty,” Blackwell says in amusement.


“Numerous light tubes to the face tend to do that,” King says.


“So, Andrew, have you decided on what stipulation will be set for Battleground?” Peters asks.


He stops smiling and gives a little nod as he glances around the area. He turns his head and apparently tries to mentally plot the stipulation’s set up. He then slowly turns around to see the other turnbuckle and glances up to an invisible point above the guardrail. Finally he says, “Yeah.”


Peters, thrown off more than any usual encounter with Rickmen, fumbles for a response.


Insane Luchador glances about one last time and nods his head. “Yeah, yeah I have,” he echoes.


“Okay. So, uh, what will it be?”


“Only God knows what IL can come up with,” Johnny says.


“Well we will know as long as you shut up,” Blackwell bitterly fires back.


Insane Luchador takes a deep, long breath before saying, “Ironman, thirty minutes.”


“That’s it? An Ironman?” Blackwell asks in confusion.


“That can’t be it,” King says.


“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Peters asks in disbelief.


“No,” IL says. He walks over to one set of the ring ropes and slightly rocks into them. He points to the other ropes and looks over to Peters. “Light tube ropes.”


“Is it me or does he have a saner demeanor?” King asks.


“Light tubes aren’t exactly sane,” Blackwell counters.


But Andrew Rickmen isn’t finished as he turns to the outside and traces a line with his finger from the ring apron up until he points at the same spot above the guardrail. “Caribbean Spider Webs on the opposite sides.”




“What the hell are Caribbean Spider Webs?” Blackwell asks.


Peters face reflects the same feelings as Andrew Blackwell as he raises his eyebrows to IL. “Caribbean Spider Webs?”


“Barbed wire webs, from the ring apron and ascending above the guardrail,” IL says.


“That defies the laws of gravity, Rickmen,” Peters says with a tone of amusement.


“No, add an extension up there and you can easily have something to support it on.”


“Am I the only one who feels he’s been brooding over this one a lot?” Johnny asks.


Joseph Peters creates his own mental image until he nods. “Alright, so Caribbean Spider Webs and light tube ropes. That can definitely be done… so it’s official.”


Insane Luchador’s smile stretches across his face as he shakes his head. “That’s not close to it, Peters.”


Peters uncomfortably sighs. “Well then, continue on.”


“Yeah, it’s nice to give him permission,” Blackwell rags on Peters.


“I want two ladders on the sides without the Webs, okay? In each corner there is going to be a barbed wire table propped against the turnbuckle.”


“That’s pretty merciless towards Blank,” Johnny says but realizes IL continues to talk.


“On the far side of the outside I want tables and glass panes. On the other side and up the aisle I need a god damn arsenal of weapons, okay? I also want glass underneath the Spider Webs and tacks running up the aisle.” He takes a deep breath and the crowd begins to cheer him on.


“Okay… that can be done,” Peters says with an unsure nod.


“Did you just hear all of that?” King asks.


“Yeah, I know, that’s a lot of things,” Johnny replies.


“No, honestly, I zoned out,” King says.


IL looks Peters in the eyes and asks, “Are you sure he can’t slip out of this?”


“That’s my word to you.”


“Well I need more than your word, so, to make sure nobody tries to leave…” IL can’t help but grin. “I want the entrance to be covered by C4 boards.”


The crowd goes wild as Peters looks ready to go sick. Insane Luchador drops the microphone and rolls out of the ring. He throws his arms into the air as he nods at Peters while the crowd goes wild.


“It’s going to be pandemonium, that’s for sure,” Johnny says. “But don’t leave because there’s much more Smarkdown!”



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Coming back from the commercial break, five words beckon out to the sold-out crowd of the Georgia Dome. Five words that have not been heard for nearly two years. Oh, you better believe it…




“You have to be (bleep)ing kidding me…”








The fans in attendance stand to their feet and rubberneck towards the entranceway as four loud shots of green pyrotechnics explode into the air, bringing a body clad in a white “Wayward Son” shirt and white khakis through the curtain and onto the stage.


“Ladies and Gentlemen…” Funyon’s voice booms, “…please welcome ALAN CLAAAAAAARK~!!”


As the cheers begin to grow, Alan takes a moment to take it all in, and then slowly begin his walk to the ring, slapping a few outstretched hands as he goes, finally reaching the ring and rolling under the bottom rope.


“Do I always have to be around when that jackass wants to come back?” Blackwell mutters as Clark stands to his feet and spins in a circle, looking in every direction before signaling for a mic to be thrown his way. As he catches it, he holds his hand in the air for the crowd to quiet, and is music slowly fades away.


“Thank you, thank you.” He begins, brushing his hair from his eyes. “That means a lot to me, it really does. You know, they always told me that once you are a part of the SWF that you never really leave, and judging by the commentary team tonight, I guess you can say that’s true.”


“Hey! I was asked to be here!” Johnny Dangerous quips.


“Yeah, and I’m paid well for my services!” King adds, while more than likely rubbing his wallet to make sure it’s still there.


“…well here I am again.” Clark continues, “I never thought I’d ever walk through that curtain again or hear this crowd again, but I guess ‘never say never’, right? It has been over a year since I last stepped into a ring, standing side-by-side with two men. One who had simply tolerated me – someone whom I have grown to have a slight bit of respect for, Todd Cortez, and the other… who I’m sure had to take medication to keep from ripping my face off, Mr. Landon Maddix. Well, truth be told it was hard on both of us. We had our battles and as much as I tried to say our past was behind us, I hated him just as much the day we shook hands in partnership as I did any other time I ever stepped in the ring against him.” The crowd around the Dome cheers wildly, but again Alan raises his hand to quiet them.


“BUT…but this isn’t about that. This isn’t about my past. This is about the future. Okay, so maybe it is a little bit about the past as well. You see, I never wanted to come through that curtain and hear Alan Clark be introduced. I never wanted to come through that curtain and hear the fans chant my name. And while for months and months I spoke about the real Alan Clark and who he was, I was haunted. No matter what I did, there were always times when I looked into the mirror or I watched my own matches and the man I saw was NOT Alan Clark. Even tonight, when I pulled into the arena and I looked into my rearview mirror, the man I saw staring back at me was far from the Alan Clark I know.”


“I think he’s lost his mind” The King interrupts…


“This isn’t 2003, King” Dangerous remarks, as the three commentators stare into the ring along with the crowd, who has quieted down as Alan continues…


“If the man I saw in my reflection ever met the Alan Clark you people cheered for. The Disney-sponsored, guitar-playing, hippie-happy, lets-be-friends Alan Clark…he would have beaten him to death with a shovel. However, if the man I saw in my reflection had met the Alan Clark that retired Thugg at From The Fire or knocked Landon Maddix unconscious at Battleground…”


“Only six days away…” King interrupts again…


“…shill.” Both Blackwell and Dangerous reply…


“…then he would have shaken his hand in respect. For the man I saw looking back at me was someone that some of you might remember more than others. That man was Bloodshed. A man that cared more about himself than what you fans thought of him. A man that I had disrespected from the moment I got it in my head that you people actually matter!”




The groaning jeers come from a few in the crowd, but Alan simply turns away.


“I told myself that the key to being remembered around here was all about being popular…but as I sat out this last year and a half, I remembered names like Tom Flesher, Toxxic, even the Suicide King…”


“You’re damn right.”


“…guys that were absolutely hated for almost their entire careers. But nonetheless, guys whom will be remembered for years and years to come…for what they accomplished. Guys who worked there way up through the ranks and won championship after championship, caring less and less about what the fans thought the closer they got to the ultimate goal – the World Championship. Now, Alan Clark may never be championship material. Alan Clark might not even be remembered five years from now, well…maybe. If anything, five years from now, you fans will definitely remember Alan Clark for one thing. One thing that is going to happen here tonight….”





The crowd cheers once more as the lights around ringside slowly begin to dim, until the entire building is almost in darkness.



“You people will all remember Alan Clark…for giving you Bloodshed…”



With those words the lights go out completely, and in the darkness a few thuds and smacks can be heard eminating from the microphone before it screeches from feedback and then goes silent. After a brief moment, a lone red spotlight hits the middle of the ring, showing the now-slightly bloody face of Alan Clark smiling into the camera, his voice slightly deeper than before…


“The SWF has seen the emergence of a saint…a bloody, battered, and beaten saint. You might think you know what I’m capable of, but do you really?” he laughs “…I guess the only thing you can do now is simply…













The laughter grows louder and the spotlight drops out, leaving the crowd in darkness once more before the laughing slowly stops and the lights return to their normal radiance, showing the ring to be empty, all that remains is a partially bloody “Wayward Son” t-shirt, and the thoughts of what is to come.


~ static ~

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SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial break. The fans are booing as IL has already entered the ring, and Sean Davis stands on top of the ramp. He holds a microphone and “Battle Ready” by Otep still plays over the speakers.


“Folks, if you’re just joining us, Insane Luchadore is set to take on Sean Davis, but apparently ‘The Perfect Storm’ has a few words..” comments Johnny Dangerous.


King asks snidely, “What could this oaf possibly have to say to Andrew Rickmen?”


Blackwell fires at SK, “If you’d calm down and let him talk, I’m sure we’d all find out.”


Davis raises the mic to his face and the music dies down. The fans, however, do not.










Sean pauses, his jaw clenching. It’s obvious the chant gets to him every time. “Insane Luchadore,” he begins. “You know we have no beef, no reason for being here.”


The camera cuts to IL in the ring. The young cruiser has his hands on his hips, annoyed that Davis won’t just come down to the ring and fight. But he nods in agreement.


Davis continues, “Sure, the fans might like if I came down to the ring and whooped your ass-“




“That’s a tall order, even for Sean Davis. Rickmen is one tough S.O.B.”


The former footballer just waits for the crowd to die, which doesn’t take long. “But I have a feeling there’s something else they’d rather see, and that’s you whooping the dogshit outta Bruce Blank!”










“So,” Davis rambles. “I propose.. that you and I call it a night. You save yourself from possible injury and go into Battleground fresh. I’d say the same for Bruce, but I think you all remember that I had a hand in that. Not to.. stroke my own ego or anything, but I did practically hand Blank to you on a silver plate.”


The camera returns to IL in the ring. He has a lopsided grin on his face, that trademark psychopathic smile.


“What will it be?” queries Sean?


Andrew nods slowly, a rumbling cackle building from his stomach. He works his hands like a mad scientist, his crooked wheels already turning.


“Well, that’s disappointing,” murmurs Blackwell.


King affirms with a nod, “At least the main event is next. Kevin Coyote and Jimmy the Doom for Cruiserweight contendership. It’s all next!”



Edited by chirs3

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After Zyon’s victory over Manson, he walks through the hallway of the arena. With a towel wrapped around his neck, he wipes the sweat off his forehead. He continues walking until a crewmember stops him.


“Zyon, hey wait!”


“What’s up?”


“I have this letter to give to you!”


“A letter?” questions the Unique Youth, “From who?”


“I don’t know. I was just told to give it to you.”


The crewmember hands the letter over to Zyon and walks away. Zyon, looking puzzled, rips open the envelope and pulls out a piece of paper. Unfolding the note, he begins to read it.




Dear Zyon,


As you more than likely know, we will meet in battle at Battleground, a match that will not be sanctioned by the SWF. What you did to piss off the booking committee, I do not know. All I do know is this. This will be your last match in the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation. I can personally promise you this. I can assure you there will be no more sneak attacks. No more sneaking out of shadows to blindside you. At Battleground, I will be able to meet you, face-to-face and destroy you. Enjoy your last days in this company and on this earth. I will fulfill my promise and you can trust me on this, you will not walk out of this match the same person you walked in.




“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins


Zyon stares contently at the letter, reading it over to himself. When he is satisfied that he has memorized it word-for-word, he crumbles it up and tosses it to the floor and continues walking down the hallway.

Edited by chirs3

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We’re backstage where Bruce Blank is sitting in some dark corner, just passing the time until he can get the hell out of here and leave the state of Georgia behind. His mood seems to be even lower than usual and not even the appearance of his brother Wayne with a six pack in hand seems to cheer him up.


“Oh come on Bro I know it sucks that you lost to the little gir--*GACK!!*


Wayne is interrupted in his speech as Bruce’s beefy hand shoots out and grabs him around the throat


“DON’T! even mention it” Bruce says in a low rumbling voice like a hurt Kodiack bear.


“Alright, alright!” Wayne whispers which makes Bruce release the steel grip on his throat.


Wayne sits down across from his brother, hands Bruce a cold beer and then opens one for himself while looking at Bruce.


“He’s gotten to you”


Bruce doesn’t say anything


“This whole Insane Luchador business has gotten to you, it’s so deep inside your head that you lost focus and lost your title.”


Again Bruce says nothing


“Come on man if you had not been so busy with that little Luchador guy there is no way anyone could have taken the title away from you”


Bruce still says nothing he just drinks his beer as Wayne tries to get through to him.


“I didn’t want to believe it at first – but I think it’s true” Wayne says and takes a drink of beer


“What’s true?” Bruce finally asks when Wayne doesn’t say anything.


“That you’re afraid of him”


“I ain’t afraid of that little pisshead!” Bruce says curtly


“Really? I know you Bruce, I know you better than anyone else. You don’t run away from fights, not once – Remember that time in Spain when they wanted you to have that bullfighter gimmick and actually fight a bull with your bare hands?”


“Yeah” Bruce says


“Kicked it’s ass! I’ve never seen you afraid of anyone!” Wayne says


Bruce says nothing


At first


Then - - - “Alright yeah I’m scared alright?”


“Seriously? Just because he’s nuts? Because he’s insane? Come on now he’s not as crazy as “Switchblade” LeBlac in Quebec now is he?”


“It’s different Wayne, it’s not him as such I’m afraid off”


“I don’t get it”


“Rickmen is. . . well for lack of a better word totally insane, he doesn’t care about his own body or health. I mean a lot of people SAY that but for once it’s actually true.”


“So? That’s no reason to be afraid of the guy”


“I’m not afraid of the guy!” Bruce says angrily


“But you just said?” Wayne replies all confused.


“I’m afraid yes. . . I’m afraid of what I’ll have to do to put him down if we ever face off in a truly Ultraviolent match, I’m afraid of what I’ll be forced to do, of the dark place it’ll take me where I hurt him more than I’ve ever hurt ANYONE in my life” Bruce says quietly.


Wayne is at a loss for words.


“I know a match with him will take me to a darker, more violent almost demonic place in order for me to put him away for good. . . And I’m afraid I may end up liking it. That I may go too far and get a taste for it”


Wayne ponders the problem for a while, it’s obvious that even a person as sadistic as Bruce Blank has his limits and that these limits will be tested in the match with the Insane Luchador.


“I’m afraid I’ll lose myself in the violence” Bruce says and crushes the empty beer can in his head “That’s why I’ve been trying to get out of the match with IL – but now my hand is force, I must do it, I must find that really dark place within me”


“I dunno what to tell you Bruce, I’ve been in the ring with him and you’re right – it’ll take something like a nuclear bomb to put him down when he gets in that weird frenzy state of his.”


“Exactly! I could probably pound on his for an hour and he’d still keep coming, I have to go BEYOND that, beyond what I’ve done until now” Bruce says and pops another beer open.


“Bruce – You’ve got to find your inner Warrior” Wayne ways with a look on his face that tells Bruce that Wayne has an idea


“The inner Warrior?”


“Oh yeah” Wayne smiles and then says something to Bruce that we can’t hear cause we’re –


*Fading to commercial*

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Smarkdown fades in from the final commercial break of the night (Featuring JJ Johnson's training video, "How to Become a Successful Kickboxing Mime in Thirty-Two Easy Steps"), and former rapper turned current camera-man, Big Stumpy, pans around the Georgia Dome, showing the enormous number of fans and their shitty signs. Gems such as I'VE GOT A PART FOR YOU, WES: MY COCK!, Ron Doomtopia gave me small pox!, and of course, Johnny Dangerous is a Fattycakes Dumbhead! are displayed for brief moments, before Stumpy pans over to a crowded commentator's booth, as the Suicide King is squeezed by Andrew Blackwell on the left, and the aforementioned Fattycakes Dumbhead on the right.


"Welcome back to Smarkdown, live from Atlanta, Georgia!" Johnny exclaims, toolish as the day he left the company. "There's been some great action so far, but it's time for the main event, and it promises to be a real powder keg!"


"I'm going to slap you," King mutters.


"Ditto," Blackwell chimes in.


"Oh come on! Jimmy the Doom, Kevin Coyote, for the number one contender's spot for the International title? It'll be great!" Dangerous shouts, trying to defend his enthusiasm. "Let's not forget, Jimmy the Doom, along with the Doomtopian Destroyer, or Doomstroyer, known as The New Doomtopians defeated the team of Kevin Coyote and Avery Duciel recently. Will that tag team success translate to singles glory like it did for me?"


"You're forgetting someone, Johnny. The infinitely more talented member of Wild and Dangerous, current International champion, and of course, special guest referee for this match, the Wildchild," King says.


"Well, I don't know if I'd go as far as saying Wildchild is more talented. I mean, I'm the one with a pair of World title reigns," Johnny replies.


"Yeah, and he kicked your ass to get you out of here," Brian Applewhite reminds.


"Exactly," Sacred adds.


Before the debate can rage on, Mystikal's "Bouncin' Back" errupts over the speakers. The Bahama Bomber walks out, belt slung over his shoulder, and donning standard referee's attire, only instead of plain black and white stripes, they're patterned after the Bahaman flag.


"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's main event! The following match is scheduled for one fall, and the winner will become the number one contender to the International title! Introducing first, the special guest referee. He hails from the Bahamas, and is the current International champion, WILDCHILD!" Funyon roars.


The Human Hurricane unstraps his title and passes it to Funyon for safe keeping and waits for the two competitors he's supposed to keep in line. "Bouncin' Back" fades out, and is replaced by Disturbed's "I'm Alive", along with blindingly white lights. Kevin Coyote and Avery Duciel make their way out, oddly enough, to cheers.







"And, introducing first, being accompanied by Avery Duciel, from Brunswick, Georgia, he stands five feet, eleven inches tall, and weighs two hundred, twenty-five pounds, KEEEEVIN COYOOOOTEEEE!" Funyon shouts.


The duo walk down the ramp, soaking in the rare adulation. Kevin slips off his jacket, hands it to Avery, and slides in the ring. Coyote raises both arms in the air as the Georgian crowd screams even louder for the home-state grappler.


"This is certainly a change for Kevin Coyote. He's used to getting garbage thrown at him. I wonder if these cheers will affect him drastically," Johnny says.


"If Coyote's smart, he'll just ignore it all, because he'll be getting booed by morons soon enough. You can't let the few geniuses out there startle you with their intelligence," King replies.


The lights return to normal, and "I'm Alive" fades out. Instantly, the arena is plunged into darkness, and the thumping bass of twenty men marching in unison rings through the Georgia Dome. Accompanyning the stomping march is a single word, chanted by all twenty men.







The lights snap back on to reveal twenty cloaked druids standing around the ring, and soon after, the saxophonical sounds of Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" usurps the growing silence. Jimmy the Doom, a four-foot tall fuschia stovepipe hat resting on his cranium, along with Lois the Unethical, walk out to some amount of applause, but mostly to jeers.







"And his opponent, accompanied by Lois the Unethical, he stands six feet, five inches tall, and weighs two hundred, twenty-five pounds. From Doomopolis, Doomtopia, The Straight-Bread Sensation, JJIIIMMMEEE THE DOOOOOM!" Funyon bellows.


The Straight-Breader doffs his hat, leaves it with Lois, and climbs into the ring. Funyon exits, "Yakety Sax" fades out, and Wildchild steps forward to explain the rules and check both men for hidden objects. The Tropical Tumbler uncovers a roll of Life Savers in Kevin's pocket, but there's no rule against them, so he allows Coyote to keep his candy (Lucky for him, as pineapple is next). The International champ doesn't find anything else of consequence, and signals for the match to begin.




Doom heads right for Kevin, but the smaller man easily side steps and kicks Jimmy right above his left knee. The Straight-Bread Sensation shakes his leg out, and unleashes a flurry of palm strikes. A few slip past, but Coyote blocks most of them with his forearms. With his hands still up and protecting his face, Kevin snaps off another kick to Doom's left leg. Coyote rushes in close to Jimmy and uncorks an elbow to Doom's jaw. Kevin wraps the Straight-Breader up with a waistlock, and sweeps the Doomtopian to the mat. Coyote slides around to Jimmy's side, pins Doom's arm down with his knee, and drops down a vicious gut punch. Kevin unleashes a swift barrage of blows to the stomach, and makes a lateral press, driving the point of his elbow into Jimmy's ribs.




"Coyote doesn't even get a one count out of that! Jimmy the Doom is a tough, tough man," Dangerous says.


"I'm surprised at Coyote's tactics. I would have thought he'd go for a more aerial approach with the bigger Doom," King states.


"Well King, Jimmy is taller, but they're the same weight, so perhaps Kevin thinks he can employ the same game plan as he does against most cruiserweights. Besides, I don't know if Coyote would be able to keep Doom down long enough to use any top rope moves," Johnny points out.


"Yeah," Andrew adds.


Kevin hauls Doom off the mat and slaps on a tight front facelock. Coyote grabs hold of Jimmy's far arm and drives knee after knee into the Doomtopian's chest.


"Coyote obviously trying to soften Doom up for either the Full Moon Assault or the Coyote Takedown, both of which target the torso," Johnny points out.


"Duh," Blackwell replies.


"I really hope it's just Doom's head that can withstand a lot of punishment so this match can end quickly. The Ying Yang Twins have got some fine bitches, and we're going to get freaky," King says.


"Man, I love that whisper song they've got. Please let me show you my penis!" Dangerous exclaims.




"Yeah, I've got to agree with Andrew. That's just...no."


Kevin bashes Jimmy the Doom with another knee, but Doom uses his free arm to grab Coyote and stand up straight. Not wanting to risk getting hit with a northern lights suplex, Kevin lets go of Doom's arm, wraps his legs around the Straight-Bread Sensation's waist, and leans back. The sudden momentum is too much for Doom, and he crashes into the mat face first.


"Nice DDT from Kevin Coyote, and he had a bit of a guillotine choke as well," says the Barracuda.


"Well, that would probably be the best way to incapacitate Jimmy the Doom. Restricted blood and oxygen flows can work a lot better than punches and kicks."


"Sometimes," Andrew points out.


"True. I mean, if you're the size of Janus, one Knuckle Bomb probably works just as well as a choke hold, and is a lot easier to perform," King states.


Coyote wrenches back on the guillotine, but as a result, his shoulders are flush with the mat, a fact Wildchild is quick to notice.







Kevin rolls over, however, JJ Johnson would be quick to tell...well, write a note that says it's nigh impossible to secure a guillotine choke from a mounted position. Kevin tries anyway, but the effort is futile, and Doom extracts his head. Despite his new-found freedom, Jimmy is on his back, with Coyote glaring down at him. Kevin rains down a combination of gut punches, with most managing to slip past Doom's defense. There isn't much else Coyote can do from his current position, though, so he stands up. Kevin grabs Jimmy's left leg and lashes out with another kick to that limb. Coyote swiftly hooks the leg and drops on top of Jimmy, covering the Doomtopian.







"Kick out from Doom again! I'll tell you something. If I was wrestling Doom, and he kept kicking out, I'd start to get frustrated and think about smacking him with a chair or something," Johnny says.


"Holy shit, you said something that makes sense and isn't completely retarded!" King exclaims.


"Damn," Blackwell adds.


Coyote scrambles to his feet and backs away, letting Doom climb up. Kevin darts in, but gets clocked with an elbow. Coyote stumbles back, giving Jimmy room to blast the Georgian with a roundhouse to the head.




Kevin staggers, and the Straight-Bread Sensation follows up with a lunging double palm thrust that sends his opponent into the ropes. Coyote bounces out, ducks under a clothesline, and pulls Doom to the canvas with a side Russian legsweep. Kevin gets to his feet, measures Doom up, and nails Jimmy with a dropkick to the ribs. Coyote opts out of attacking the Straight-Breader on the ground, and rises. Jimmy the Doom climbs up moments later, and eats a left cross. Kevin snaps off a crisp jab and races for the ropes. Coyote charges back towards the Doomtopian, who, in turn, is heading towards Kevin with growing rapidity. The man known as Kevin Douglas to some, Ethan MacDougal to others, dips his shoulders, while the Straight-Bread Sensation leaps into the air and throws his right leg up. Coyote bypasses Doom's outstretched leg and wraps his arms around Jimmy's planted left leg, driving the Doomtopian into the mat. Kevin shimmies forward and nails Doom with a trio of bombs to the stomach before sliding even closer to nail Jimmy with blows to the head. The fans, of course, approve.







"Nice counter to that flying front kick by Kevin Coyote! That spear didn't connect how he wanted, but Coyote avoided Jimmy the Doom's kick, and in the process, might have added some more damage to that leg," Johnny says.


"That's true, Johnny, and now, Kevin Coyote is reigning down punches on Doom uncontested," adds the Suicide King.


"Beatdown," notes Sacred.


Coyote isn't allowed to bash Doom with too many punches, though, as Wildchild steps in to remind Kevin about illegal closed fists. Coyote turns back to stare at the International champion, and intended result or not, the respite allows Jimmy the Doom to shove Kevin away and slide out of the Georgian's reach. Doom stands up and smacks Kevin with a shotei. Coyote tries to close the distance and get a shot at Jimmy, but eats a knee to the gut for his effort. The Doomtopian cinches Kevin in a front facelock, and drops him with a snap suplex. Doom rolls through and attempts a second suplex, but Coyote blocks it. Jimmy tries again, but is deterred by means of a Georgian knee to the groin. Kevin wraps the Straight-Breader up and plants him with a spinebuster.




"Beautiful low blow from Kevin Coyote," King praises.


"That's just not right. Wildchild isn't doing a very good job in there. As usual, it looks like I'll have to bail him out in a minute," Johnny grumbles.


"Oh, God, that's hilarious! You barely did anything in tag matches! He won most of them single-handedly, you jackass!" King exclaims.


"Fuckin' dumbass, Johnny," Blackwell adds, surprising everyone by saying more than one word.


Coyote springs to his feet, rushes for the turnbuckles, and climbs up to the second rope. Kevin leaps off, and drops a leg across the chest of the canvas. Jimmy the Doom stands up and fires a roundhouse kick for Kevin's face; the blow is barely avoided, as Coyote just manages to lay back. Coyote coils his legs up and unleashes, nailing the Doomtopian in his left knee. Kevin kips up, and with Jimmy grabbing his leg, Coyote takes his opponent down with a snap suplex. Kevin floats over for a lateral press.







"Shoulder up from Jimmy the Doom, and that was a bit of a slow count. I better show him how to do it," Johnny mutters and ditches his headset.


"This should be good. I hope Wildchild decks this clown," King says gleefully.


"Yes!" Andrew shouts hopefully.


As Coyote stands and pulls Doom to his feet, Wildchild's attention is caught by Johnny Dangerous on the ring apron. The Barracuda steps between the top and middle ropes, while Kevin, aware of his newfound, yet presumably temporary carte blanche, boots Doom in the groin, then drops him with a DDT.


"Holy crap! This might be a first, but go Johnny!" King screams.


"Brilliant," Sacred adds.


Dangerous grabs Wildchild by the shoulders in a friendly manner, intent on explaining his barefoot chum's failings as a referee. Meanwhile, Coyote signals to Avery Duciel, who tosses Kevin his brass knuckles. Johnny drops to his knees, pleading with Wildchild to do the same, and the Secret Agent offers a demonstration on the correct way to count a pinfall. Coyote slips the weapon on his left hand, pulls Doom up, and cracks him in the jaw.




"This is beautiful," King mumbles, on the verge of tears at such a wonderful display of cheating.


"Amazing," Andrew says, clearly awestruck as well.


The Doomtopian drops to one knee, allowing Kevin a much better shot at the Straight-Bread Sensation's forehead, which the Georgian takes.




Doom slips down to both knees on the mat, and Kevin nails him with a third punch, just as Dangerous finishes up his lesson and shakes hands with a glowering Wildchild.




Coyote slips off the brass knuckles, tosses them to Duciel, and makes a lateral press on the downed Straight-Breader, while Dangerous heads back to the commentary table. Wildchild spins around and makes the count.




















"Kick out from Jimmy the Doom after...what did Coyote do, guys? I was a little busy trying to show Wildchild how a referee properly conducts himself, and the correct speed for counting pins, among other things," Dangerous says.


"Kevin Coyote nailed Jimmy the Doom with three vicious punches with a pair of brass knuckles, and it's all thanks to you," King replies, heartily patting the Barracuda on the back.


"Most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time," Andrew states.


"Shit. Maybe I should have told Wildchild to keep an eye on both competitors all the time. Think I should remind him?" Johnny asks.


"Yes!" King and Blackwell scream in unison.


Coyote shrieks at the Human Hurricane at what he believes to be a slow count, while Dangerous climbs out of his seat a second time and heads towards the ring. Wildchild wheels around to glare at Johnny, and, thinking quickly, Kevin motions for Avery to toss in the brass knuckles. The Barracuda barely makes it on the apron before he's shoved off by the International champion, and Coyote barely has time to drop the brass knuckles and kick them towards Duciel.


"Well, Coyote didn't get a chance to cheat, which sucks, but, Johnny got punked out, which is good. How would you rate that encounter?" King asks.


"Meh," Sacred replies, waggling his hand to signify a middling experience.


"Meh for me, too."


Johnny heads back to the safety of the commentary booth, while Jimmy the Doom rises to his feet (With some amount of assistance from Kevin Coyote). Coyote attempts an Irish whip, but the bleeding Doom reverses it, launching the Georgian into the ropes. Kevin springs back, and ducks under a clothesline from the Straight-Breader, slapping on a hammerlock in the process. Coyote wrenches on Jimmy's arm, and sweeps the Doomtopian to the mat, avoiding any retaliatory elbows. Kevin keeps the hold on tight while driving left hands into Jimmy's exposed ribs. Coyote slides sideways and scissors Doom's other arm, and allowing himself to spike elbows into the Straight-Bread Sensation's torso. Kevin changes his grip on Jimmy's arm and rolls Doom forward, stacking the Doomtopian's shoulders.












"Shoulder up from Jimmy the Doom! I can't believe it!" Johnny yells.


"Then you are an idiot. Kevin Coyote has done a number on Jimmy's torso, but not enough to keep someone like Doom down for a three count," King explains.


"Tool," Blackwell adds.


"You guys suck," Johnny mumbles.


Kevin releases his crucifix hold on Doom, and stands up, trying to think of his next move. The Doomtopian slowly gets to all fours, but a dropkick to the head from Coyote puts the Straight-Breader flat on the mat again. Coyote boots Jimmy in the ribs twice before heading towards the turnbuckles. Kevin waits in the corner for Jimmy to stand, and luckily for the impatient Georgian, he isn't kept waiting for long. Coyote charges down the Doomtopian, and lets out a primal scream to draw his quarry's attention.






Kevin folds the gangly Straight-Breader in half with his spear, and reigns down a maelstrom of blows.


"That was one vicious spear from Kevin Coyote. I think Jimmy the Doom's liver flew out after that hit," Dangerous says.


"You dolt! Don't you know anything about basic anatomy? It was obviously his pancreas," King replies.


"This is true."


"See? Blackwell agrees," King notes.


"Well, he's also got a dead wife," Johnny shoots back.


"Bastard son of a bitch," Andrew grumbles before punching the Barracuda in the face.


Rather than attempt a reprimand, Wildchild simply pulls Kevin off of Jimmy, and yells at Coyote in his funny creole accent about closed fists. All it does is remind Kevin to give Miss Cleo a call, but it gives Jimmy the Doom time to wobble to his feet. Kevin jukes past the Bahama Bomber, leaps in the air, and lands on Doom's back, sleeper hold sunk deep. Wildchild asks the Straight-Bread Sensation if he'd like to give up, but the thick accent makes Jimmy think he's being asked about the stock price for lima beans, prompting Doom to glare at the International champion. The Tropical Tumbler inquires again, but the Doomtopian ignores him, and goes to work in trying to dislodge Kevin Coyote.


"That sleeper hold looks to be on tight. I don't know if Jimmy the Doom will be able to break it before going under," Johnny notes.


"I'm sure you know a lot about that," King replies, barely able to refrain from laughing.


"About what?" Dangerous queries.


"Going down!"


"Huh? I don't get it...." the Secret Agent mumbles.


"You suck, Johnny," King says, exasperated.


"Exactly!" Sacred adds.


Jimmy slaps blindly at Coyote's head, but it's pretty ineffective. Doom finds a corner, turns around, and charges into it, but Kevin keeps the sleeper on tight, a body scissors lock added to drain even more out of the Doomtopian. Jimmy backs out of the corner, turns, and grabs hold of the top rope. The Straight-Bread Sensation climbs to the middle rope , but before he can do anything else, Coyote lets go, not wanting to be crushed in the fall. Kevin tries to yank Doom off the turnbuckle, but gets sent away with a kick to the head. Jimmy scrambles to the top rope, lands another kick, and jumps off, snaring Coyote in a majistral cradle.
















"Shoulder up from Kevin Coyote! I thought he had the match won with that sleeper hold, but Jimmy the Doom fought back, and managed to hit that Majestic Cradle!" Dangerous exclaims.


"Are you freaking out over a roll up? I'll hit you," King threatens.


"Do it, it feels great," Andrew offers.


"Aw, come on, King...." Johnny pleads before getting smacked in the face.


"See? What did I tell you? Nice, huh?" Blackwell asks.


"That was damn good. I might go for another later on."


Jimmy climbs to his feet and rests in the corner while Kevin slowly gets to his knees. Coyote stands up, and Doom makes his move, charging out of the corner and directly for his opponent. The Doomtopian leaps and twists, smashing Kevin with an elbow.




The Straight-Breader grabs the ropes for stability, while Kevin stumbles around, trying to gain his bearings. Doom isn't the kind of person to allow such a thing to happen, especially when the person in search of bearings has hit Jimmy with brass knuckles thrice. The Straight-Bread Sensation sneaks up behind the dazed Coyote, slaps on a rear facelock, hooks a leg, and stops, as a thumb to the eye prevents Jimmy from lifting his opponent off the mat. Kevin scratches at Doom's face again, forcing Jimmy to release the Georgian.


"Nice strategy by Kevin Coyote: When in danger, go for a soft, squishy part," King states.


"Had Coyote not gone for, as you said, a soft and squishy part, this time being Jimmy's eyes, there is no doubt in my mind that he would be on the receiving end of a Doom Driver right now," Johnny grumbles.


"If you aren't cheating, you aren't trying hard enough," Andrew Blackwell retorts.


"That's so true, Andrew. So very true."


"Come on! It's illegal! Things that are illegal shouldn't be revered and honored! What if someone robbed you tonight? How'd you feel then?" Dangerous sputters vehemently.


"I'd kick that person's ass before they even tried to rob me," King replies.


"Yeah. Think before you speak, Johnny. In fact, just don't speak at all," Sacred offers.


Coyote scrambles away from the temporarily blinded Doom, but soon realizes that Doom is, in fact, temporarily blinded. Kevin rushes in, grabs Jimmy with an inverted facelock, and leaps backwards. Coyote climbs to his feet, steps over the downed Straight-Breader, and ascends to the middle rope. Kevin jumps off and lands with both legs across Doom's chest. Coyote doesn't bother to make a more efficient pin, but it's still a pin, so Wildchild dives down to count it.














"Shoulder up from Doom! I thought Kevin Coyote had it right there, after that diving reverse DDT and second rope legdrop combination, but Jimmy the Doom managed to kick out!"


"You're speaking, Johnny. Please remedy it yourself, otherwise Andrew and I will," King says calmly.


"Wouldn't it be easier just to tape his mouth shut?" Blackwell asks.


"Hmm. Good idea, but Peters isn't fond of it," the Heartbreaker explains.


Coyote gets to his feet, plants a foot on Doom's face, and begins to argue with Wildchild over the speed of the last count. The International champion tries to calmly explain that he's used the same timeframe for each of his counts, but finally notices Kevin grinding away at Jimmy's face. The Human Hurricane pulls Coyote off and screams at him for such a nefarious tactic. Kevin brushes off Wildchild's admonition, and pulls Doom off the mat. Coyote buries a knee in Jimmy's stomach, slaps on a three-quarter headlock, and flips the Straight-Bread Sensation over with a snapmare. Kevin vaults the seated Doomtopian, spins around, and knocks him flat with a dropkick.




Coyote roughly drags Jimmy to his feet and shoves him forward. Kevin stalks after the staggering Straight-Breader, reveling in his complete control of the match. The Georgian clears his throat slightly, but it doesn't get the attention of Doom, so Kevin taps his opponent on the shoulder. Jimmy begins to wheel around, only it's not fast enough for Coyote, who assists in spinning the Doomtopian around, and into Kevin's outstretched left arm.






"Coyote Takedown! This should be it!" Dangerous shouts.


"While I agree with you, you did just speak," King points out and punches Johnny in the head.


"And, if somehow, Kevin Coyote doesn't win the match right now, it'll be your fault, and I'll hit you," Andrew informs the Secret Agent.


Kevin drops down and makes a cocky pin, with hardly any weight actually resting on Jimmy the Doom.




























"Shoulder up!" Dangerous shrieks and covers up, as Blackwell stays true to his word.


"You damn bastard son of a bitch!" King and Sacred yell together.


Kevin jumps to his feet and rages at Wildchild, unable to fathom that anybody would be able to kick out of the Coyote Takedown with a normal pin count. Frustrated, Coyote spins around and looks to stomp Jimmy the Doom. Kevin manages to completely raise and nearly lower his foot, but the Doomtopian grabs hold of Kevin's boot and twists him to the mat. The Straight-Bread Sensation rolls away from Coyote, who doesn't remain on the canvas for very long after such a low-impact move. Kevin heads for Doom, lifts him off the mat, and takes him back down to the mat with a spinning neckbreaker. Coyote drags the Doomtopian into position, kicks him once each in the head and chest for good measure, and sprints to the ropes. Kevin jumps on the second one just as he glances back, and quickly grabs the top rope, narrowly avoiding disaster.


"Coyote going for the Full Moon Assault, but Doom not only rolled out of the way, but had both knees up," Johnny explains.


"I know that!" King screams and punches the Barracuda in the arm.


"We just saw it happen!" Blackwell adds, slapping Dangerous in the back of the head.


The Doomtopian rises to his feet, and the moment he achieves a vertical base, Coyote flies from the middle rope, knocking Jimmy down with a dropkick. Kevin picks Doom off the mat and nails him with a left cross that spins the Straight-Bread Sensation around. Coyote chases after Jimmy, taps him on the shoulder, and whirls the Doomtopian around, only to find the Straight-Breader's fingertips attempting to perform a tracheotomy. Gasping, Coyote staggers backwards, but not far enough to evade Doom's reach, and the Georgian gets lifted by the throat with both hands, and planted. Jimmy throws his legs over Kevin's arms, and Wildchild slides in to count, while the fans try to galvanize the Georgian.




















"Shoulder up from Coyote! He went for another Coyote Takedown, but Jimmy the Doom countered with a stiff Hand of Doom, then followed that up with the Jimmy Bomb! That might have just turned the tide in Jimmy the Doom's favor," Dangerous comments.


"It's your fault! All your fault!" King exclaims and tackles Johnny out of his chair. The King of Hearts stares down at the Barracuda and begins throwing punch after punch into Johnny's face.


"Well, it looks like it'll just be me for the rest of the match," Andrew mutters, obviously wishing that he could pummel Dangerous, too.


Jimmy climbs up to his feet and rests against the ring ropes, allowing Kevin to recover and rise as well. The two men charge one another, though at a much reduced pace. The Straight-Bread Sensation raises his left leg and plants it in Coyote's face, but the result is more of a shove than a brutal kick.




Nonetheless, Kevin is sent into the ropes, and back out again, as is the nature of ring ropes. Coyote stumbles towards Doom, who uses his six inch height advantage to grab Coyote by the head, bend him over, and drop to the canvas, smashing Kevin's face into the mat.




"Oh, dear God, no. The Doom Driver. Jesus, please let him kick out," Blackwell says, emotionally drained.


The Straight-Bread Sensation flips Coyote over, reaches out, and hooks Kevin's legs, making it that much harder for the Georgian to kick out.


























Wildchild jumps up and signals for the bell.






"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, and number one contender to the International champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJIIIMMEEE THE DOOOOM!" Funyon bellows in his manly baritone.


"Yakety Sax" blares through the Georgia Dome, and the instrumental seems to snap the Suicide King out of his homicidal rampage. Doom and Lois the Unethical head back up the ramp, leaving Avery Duciel to console Kevin Coyote.


"Son of a bitch, he won," King mumbles, confused and disappointed (The same can be said of many of his sexual partners. Zing~!).


"The blame clearly rests on Johnny's shoulders," Blackwell replies, and kicks the downed Barracuda in the stomach.


With that final attack, Smarkdown fades out by means of a star wipe.

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SWF Smarkdown prepares to go off the air after the number one contender to the International Title has been decided.


“Well, that was a decent main event, right guys?” asks the Suicide King.


“It was all right…” Johnny Dangerous says, as he looks at himself in a handheld mirror.


“I hate you all and you’re pathetic existence,” Andrew Blackwell mopes as he takes a drag of his cigarette, “This world we live in…wretched.”




The fans begin to file out of the Georgia Dome, before the familiar voice of “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins stops them.


“Hold it right there, Atlanta. This show isn’t over!”


Spike walks out from behind the back and makes his way down the ramp. Microphone in hand, he has his eyes focused on the ring as he slides under the bottom rope into the ring.


“Fans, we still have a couple of minutes left of TV time before we call it a night…and it looks like Spike Jenkins is out here to shank someone!”


“I always knew I had better hair than Spike Jenkins…”


“Your eyes are as shallow as your soul.”


“Boy…do I miss Pete…”


Spike stomps around the ring, getting the attention of everyone in the arena.


“Everyone here knows that I will be going one-on-one with Zyon at Battleground,” Spike lowers the microphone as he looks around at the crowd cheering for the Unique Youth, “But I can’t wait till Battleground. I want Zyon to come out here and I want to finish what I started…and end Zyon!”


“Spike Jenkins is calling out Zyon before Battleground!” shouts King.


“Patience is a virtue…” Blackwell mumbles.


“You are really bringing down the mood, man.”


Spike paces around the ring, waiting to hear a response from his former best friend. Preparing himself for Incubus, Spike (and the rest of the crowd) is taken back as the SWFtron lights up. On the screen is the image of Zyon, standing by the exit doors of the arena.

“Spike…you can wait out there all you want…it has been a long night…I’m going home.”


The Atlanta crowd boos, as they wanted the Street Fight set for Battleground to begin early. Spike’s grin widens as he looks around at the saddened crowd.


“You know what? That’s fine! I’ll come back there and get you!”


“Spike…wait. I got your letter before…you said no more sneak attacks. You said that the next time we meet, it will be at Battleground…I’m really in no mood to have another brawl tonight.”


“What is the matter, Zyon? Have my attacks gotten to you?”


“Spike, we all know that you have broke me mentally…” Zyon focuses in on the camera, “And physically, you have dominated. But you haven’t killed me. And you will not kill me. Now you must understand, I’m not up to a fight right now, not because of your actions, but because of the decision I had to make.”


“Oh?” questions Spike, “And what decision is that?”


“Spike, I never wanted to fight you, man. We were best friends. All of this is because of our egos and because of jealousy. Now, I understand that nobody is perfect, but things went too far. In the letter you wrote, you said that I would not walk out of that match the same person I was when I entered. And you know what? You are completely right. I will not walk out of that match the same person that I am now…simply because I’ve decided that I will do something that I told myself I wasn’t going to do. Spike, I am going to fight you at Battleground…and I am going to beat you…and it is all up to you on how much I have to beat you…I’ll see you at Battleground.”


Zyon turns, his gym back over his shoulder, and walks out the door, leaving Spike Jenkins in the center of the ring, grinning.

Edited by chirs3

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