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SWF Lockdown 7-5-2006

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SWF Lockdown opens up inside the FORBIDDEN~ storage compartment of the Satellite of Love. Small wooden crates and metal chests fill the dimly lit room. Which makes this the perfect setting for a promo by none other than The New Straight Edge Sensation, The Godfather of Hardcore (EMO!), and the King of Cambodia…“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins.


Spike Jenkins sits on top of one of the larger wooden crates. Wearing his typical black zip-up hoodie, a pair of ripped jeans, and his checkered Vans slip-ons hanging a couple inches off the ground.


“Smartmarks Wrestling fans…it has been awhile. I’m sure you are all thrilled to hear from me again…more than likely not. I haven’t really done much since losing the Hardcore Gamers Title to Sean Davis inside of the steel cage at 13th Hour. Well, to be honest with you all, I haven’t had much to say…until now.”


Spike hops off the top of the crate onto his feet and leans up against it.


“Lately, I’ve been hearing my name thrown around a lot…and not in the most flattering way. I know I’ve always been a heavy topic of discussion, but when I’m trying to keep my head down to catch my breath, it becomes irritating when you keep hearing your name over and over again. Well, things are going to change…BECAUSE I’M BACK BABY! Starting on Smarkdown, Spike Jenkins will be going after something that has been out of his reach…out of his grasp for so long…The SWF International Championship.”


“You see, I have held every single title in this organization except for the World Heavyweight Title and the International Title. Now, the World Title…I have plans for Toxxic, don’t you worry. But the International Title, I can’t help but be a greedy bastard and demand a title match. You may be asking, who am I to demand a title match? Taking into consideration my long and illustrious career, I think I earned the right to a title match. And if that doesn’t work? Well, I guess I’ll have to put my career on the line. Yes, Smart Marks, you heard me. ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins will put his career on the line against the International Champion, whether it is Austin Sly or Aecas. It doesn’t matter who wins the match tonight…because on Smarkdown, Spike Jenkins will be walking out the SWF International Champion!”


And with that, the scene fades to black to the intro of SWF Lockdown.

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In the Smartmarks Federation
Next Sunday A.D.
There'll be a wrestling show
For the pleasure of you and me

It's owned by Gizmonic Institute
Who gave their previous test subjects the boot
The Smartmarks thought it was the perfect place
So they took a bunch of wrestlers and they shot them into spaaaaace!

They'll fight in silly matches
The dumbest, we can find (La la la)

Our viewers will sit and watch them all
And we'll monitor their mind (La la la)

Now keep in mind they can't control
When the matches begin or end

They'll suffer through the insanity
With the the help of their wrestling friends...


Tom Flesher!

If you're wondering how they'll eat and breathe
And other science facts (La la la)

Just repeat to yourself it's just a show
I should really just relax

For SWF Lockdown...three thoooousaaaaaaaaand!


The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...
Live, Friday, July 5th, aboard the Satellite of Love!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)

The SWF's World Tour continues it's... uh... Off World... Tour... as we barely escape the burning wreckage of the Cairo Station thanks to the friendly folks aboard the Satellite of Love!


Certainly we're grateful for the ride, but perhaps the inhabitants of the SoL are even more grateful for our arrival! Up until now, Mike, Crow, and Tom Servo have been force fed the most awful movies known to man by the evil Dr. Forrester, who's determined to find a movie so awful it literally saps the will to live out of anyone who watches it... but now that we're here, Dr. Forrester has given Mike and the bots the week off, and instead of wisecracking their way through terrible movies, they'll be providing smartass commentary for our show instead!

Special OPTIONAL Guest Commentators: Mike Nelson, Tom Servo, and Crow T. Robot!

If any of you godless heathens wish to use Joel instead of Mike, I guess I'll let it slide.


The Crowd: Anywhere between 50 and 5000 SWF fans (exact size specifications for the SoL are hard to find), and the entire cast of Mystery Science Theater 3000.


Michael Stephens © vs. Bruce Blank

-> Michael Stephens, ever-eager to defend his title, is going to have a real fight on his hands tonight! Bruce Blank, the Ultraviolent Champion who broke records like they were... things... that break easy... now takes the fight to the Main Event, with the biggest prize in the industry on the line! Can the King of Ultraviolence succeed outside of the Hardcore Arena?
Rules: Standard singles match. Sorry Bruce. :P


Aecas © vs. Austin Sly

-> Austin Sly, fresh off not one but TWO victories over Spike Jenkins, has made it quite clear that he wants to move up in the world, and tonight, he gets his shot against the reigning International Champion, Aecas!
Rules: Standard singles match.


Grendel vs. Tom Flesher © and Charlie "Grappler" Matthews ©

-> Grendel's still steaming over being attacked by Tom Flesher, and as a response to this incident he threw down the gauntlet! Feeling a little bad about the Sandwich match, Peters allowed Tom to bring Grappler in with him, but this fact hasn't deterred Grendel one bit! Will the new tag team champions put this dog down, or can Grendel succeed in
Rules: Standard handicap/tag rules. Only one member of MatFlesh allowed in the ring at any given moment.


Jimmy the Doom © vs. Mike Van Siclen

-> Our second Question Mark Man (not the first QMM) reveals himself - it's MVS! (I assume) he made quite an impact on Stryke, and has since expressed interest in the Hardcore Division, so we've given him the honor/pleasure/gift/blackmail he demanded of a Hardcore Title shot against Jimmy the Doom!
Rules: This is a standard Hardcore Brawl - no DQ, no countouts, pinfalls count anywhere.

The only hitch is, the referee is Rocket Number 9.

Rocket Number 9 is an external camera that Joel/Mike and the Bots use to see anything outside the ship. For this match, it will be orbiting the Satellite of Love, constantly running in some crazy loop that takes it by all the windows on the SoL. The only time a pinfall can be counted is when Rocket Number 9 sees it, so you must attempt to pin your opponent while near a window that RN9 is currently passing by.


Bloodshed vs. Landon Maddix

-> I had hoped to get Zyon/Cross on here tonight, but I haven't heard from Cross, so that match is delayed, which means Landon's CW Title aspirations are delayed as well! THIS MAKE LANDON SMASH! In order to keep him tuned up, we toss him the only available Cruiserweight we have right now - BLOODSHED! Known more for being a sick mothertrucker than solid cruiser, can Bloodshed triumph in this restrictive setting?
Rules: Cruiserweight Rules.


Wildchild vs. Kerry Staunton

-> Seemed like a good idea. :)
Rules: Standard singles match.


Ciro Vitale vs. "Big Country" Martin Hunt

-> Newbie debut, take two (rhyme intended)! Trent Hawk failed to dazzle audiences last week due to, I dunno, let's say a power outage. Let's hope we fare a bit better this time around. Ciro Vitale, the brash young Italian with a love of the high life, takes on the other resident JttS, Martin Hunt!
Rules: Standard singles match.


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SWF Lockdown is LIVE~ in FIVE…










…the lights go up, the generic rock music starts pumping and the cameras pan around the inside of the Satellite of Love, taking in the SWF fans who have made the perilous interstellar journey to be here tonight! Eager for their half-second of fame, the assembled masses wave signs declaring ‘AECAS = STOMPINGU!’, ‘DON’T ASK BRUCE NO QUESTIONS (COS HE DOESN’T KNOW THE ANSWERS)’ and ‘WE WANT THE CRIMSON SKULL!’. One bright spark is even holding one reading ‘I PREDICT A TITLE CHANGE TONIGHT’, but the cameras scan past him and-


“Alright, alright, cut that bloody music out will you?”


…and someone’s got something to say. Innit.


“I’m sorry to rain on everyone’s parade here,” Michael Stephens says, walking down the custom-built entrance ramp towards the ring with the World Title over one shoulder and without music or pyro, “and I promise to get this over with quickly, but before we go any further there’s a few things I’d like to get off my chest.”


“There’s a few things I’d like to get off his sister’s chest,” Suicide King remarks, “her shirt, for one.”


“King, quit it,” Mak Francis hisses. Meanwhile Michael Stephens has rolled into the ring and is now leaning in one corner, addressing the slightly nonplussed fans.


“Y’see, on Storm Bruce Blank-”




“thank you,” Stephens grins, before continuing, “Bruce Blank had a few words for me. Needless to say these words were mangled by coming through a slack jaw and a hideous Alabaman accent, not to mention a rather debatable grasp of the English language but hey, the guy works with what he has. And if what he has happens to be visible evidence of inbreeding,” Stephens adds, “well, we need to blame his parents rather than him. Oh, and for anyone watching from Alabama,” the World Champion puts in, “I’m not making assumptions based on where Bruce comes from.


“No, I’m making assumptions based on the fact that it defies medical logic for someone to have a head that big, and so few brain cells.”




“For example,” Stephens says over the cheer of the audience, “Bruce has an issue with the fact that I’m straight-edge. Now in the past, I might have understood this. I made no secret of the fact, and did my best to ram it down people‘s throats, to an extent. But Bruce, when in all the time that you and I have been in the same company have I ever, ever taken you to task for drinking alcohol, smoking, or anything else? Bloody hell, have I even seen you backstage? No. So it looks like you’ve got an issue with the fact that I’m different to you, and in that case you should have an issue with everyone in here,” he adds, gesturing around at the crowd, “because we’re all different to you, and thanking any appropriate deity for that fact!”






“Next, the whole ‘respect’ issue,” Stephens says, a faint grimace coming over his face for some reason as the fans chant. “Bruce, you say that you don’t respect me, but that you might have some respect for Toxxic. I get the impression that you think I’ve gone soft, or some similar shit. Now, I’ll admit that I have been trying to keep my temper under control since I’ve come back to the SWF, and doing my best to adapt my wrestling style to minimise the risk of injury to anyone I face. And, since I recognise that I wasn’t the most pleasant of people when I was here before, normally I’d be happy to explain to you why this is, express my respect for you as the longest-reigning Hardcore or Ultraviolent Champion of all time, and lead you step-by-step through the concept of us having a match for my World Title tonight in a spirit of sportsmanship and goodwill to see who the better man is.”


One side of Stephens’ mouth lifts upwards; not in the lopsided grin that was his trademark when he wrestled as Toxxic, but in the beginnings of a snarl.




The grey eyes flash for a second behind the blue-black hair, and suddenly Michael Stephens has launched himself out of the corner and has started pacing the ring like a caged animal, World Title trailing from one hand.


“Unfortunately, I’m not in such a great mood right now,” the World Champion bites out, “cos England got knocked out on penalties again, Joe Peters is generally making a nuisance of himself, Mike Van fucking Siclen is back in the SWF and I haven’t had a chance to kick his arse yet and hey, let’s not forget the wonderful history between you and my sister. So all in all, I hope you won’t think it forward of me if I cordially enquire WHO THE BLOODY HELL D’YOU THINK YOU ARE, SUNSHINE?








“YOU have no respect for ME!?” Stephens roars as the crowd chants grow louder, “why the bloody hell do you think I give a damn about having your respect, you overgrown farmhand? I don’t need your respect, I don’t want your respect, but I bloody well guarantee that by the end of tonight I will have your respect whether I want it or not, because when the end of our match comes I will have kicked your sorry, inbred redneck backside from one end of this satellite to the other!”




“-and you can bleat all you want about ‘Long roads’ and ‘Short cuts’,” the World Champion continues, hardly pausing for breath, “but if you have any misconceptions about my attitudes towards cheating then let me clear ‘em up for you right now; BRING IT! Bring whatever you want! Bring your weapons, bring your brother, bring a complete and utter disregard for the rules if you want, and see how far it gets you! You can do whatever you like, sunshine; the fact of the matter remains that I will not need to break the rules to beat you like your mother would have done if she hadn’t thought that her favourite cousin was your daddy!”


“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” *clap clap clap-clap-clap*

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


“And last but by no means least,” Michael Stephens says, now standing dead centre in the middle of the ring, “there’s the question you raised about me being ‘hard enough’. I would like you,” he continues, buckling the World Title around his waist, “to direct your attention to roughly six inches above my crotch.”


“Good God man, you’re on national TV!” King bellows, but when Stephens taps the World Title it becomes clear what the Englishman is talking about.


“This is the SWF World Heavyweight Title,” Stephens says, lowering his voice a little. “This is the most prestigious title in the pro-wrestling business today. Great men have fought and bled for this belt. At the moment, there are only three who can claim to have held it more than twice. I just happen to be one of those three men.” He walks forward slowly until he’s leaning over the top rope, facing towards the entrance ramp and what is serving tonight as a backstage area.


“Bruce, your Ultraviolent run was impressive, and you saw off some stiff competition. Beating the Insane Luchador in the Pandemonium match was good. But then again,” Stephens says, “I brawled all through the Wachovia Center in Philadelphia with Rickmen, in a match that lasted the entire show, and I won. I beat Aecas in a match of his own choice, the 200 Lightubes Match for the Hardcore Gamer’s Championship that you went on to rename. I beat Annie Onita, the Hardcore Queen, under Street Fight rules for this very World Title. Bruce, I can play your side of the tracks, I can bring the Hardcore when I need to. The question I put to you is; can you step away from the weapons? Can you turn your back on the gimmicks? Can you, for one match, leave the world of baseball bats and chairs and electrified cages and boards with nails in and whatever else you dream up at night when you can’t remember what a woman looks like… can you get into a ring, a wrestling ring, and wrestle?


“That’s rich,” Suicide King mutters, “you’re not exactly Mr. Mat Guru yourself…”


“Bruce, if you can’t, that’s no big deal,” Stephens says seriously, “you’re still gonna be one of the most dangerous specialists in this business. But please, don’t think that you can walk your arse into a ring with me and expect me to lay down and die simply because you’ve got eight inches and the weight of a pregnant hippo on me. I’ve beaten bigger than you; I’ve beaten tougher than you; and I sure as hell have beaten smarter than you. I don’t give a damn what Flesher says, because as long as I hold this belt, I am the standard in this company, and you’d better hope to hell that you can measure up!”




“Well, I think we can file this under ‘fighting talk’,” Mak Francis says.


“Y’see Bruce, I’ve made a career out of beating big men,” Michael Stephens says, backing off from the ropes, “it just so happens that I’ve also made a career out of beating medium-sized ones and small ones as well. So if you think that I’m shaking in my boots… if you think that the King of Pain is a match for the Sensation… if, above all, you think that you are going to walk down to this ring tonight and take my World Title without having to wrestle the match of your bloody life, then sunshine…”


The fans know what’s coming next. They heard this set-up night after night for a year, and they know it off by heart. The only difference is that since it became Michael Stephens doing it, they decided they wanted to sing along:




Michael Stephens drops the microphone on the mat, rolls under the bottom rope and starts heading towards the back as we








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In the next match scheduled for the night, Martin "Big Country" Hunt is seen already in the ring pulling on the ropes to stretch as “Imperial” by Strapping Young Lad blasts on the speakers and as the lights dim strobe lights and searchlights as Ciro Vitale walks out from the curtains with arms extended in a showboat type way. As Ciro comes to the ring, pointing to the crowd and showboating with taunts and even a blown kiss to a female in the crowd, The Suicide King puts Ciro over as from being trained on the streets of Naples, Italy; defending himself from the boyfriends of all the mamacitas he’s lured. "The Franchise" Mak Francis says that sounds like a feat all of it’s own but he’ll still have to show these skills if he wishes to do well in his first match.


Once Ciro enters the ring Martin Hunt comes and attacks Ciro, striking him with some fists before irish whipping him to the ropes to set up for a move. On the way back, though, Ciro ducked The Big Countries clothesline attempt and quickily turned around, taking Big Country down with a Fujiwara Armbar. Mak says that is quiet impressive as Ciro lays some boots into the arm and then lets go to taunt to the audience with open arms. Martin rolls out of the ring and looks at Ciro, who proceeds to bow at Martin and even mimic drinking a beer bottle. Martin then enters the ring in anger and Ciro drops a Double-axe handle on him, then runs to the ropes to hit a soccer kick, then kneeling on one knee in front of the Big Counrty flexing his muscles. The Suicide King notes how impressive Ciro has been in the early-going and says it looks like lot of the ladies are impressed too, I mean compared to their piggish boyfriends or this disgusting drunkard in the ring. Ciro then lifts up Martin by the arm and gets him into a standing arm bar, pulling him into the middle of the ring. Ciro, still clamped on the arm, kicked Martin in the stomach, doubling him over, and Ciro then proceeded to hit the Italian Armbar. As Martin writhed in pain, Ciro held on to the arm, and even did push-ups. Martin tried to roll out of the move, but as he did Ciro rolled him further over and then captured him into the Leg-Collar Stretch. Martin screams in pain and quickily works his way over to the ropes, effectively breaking the hold.


Mak says that Ciro has a great deal of skill when The Suicide King once again mentions how the ladies are swooning for Ciro while taking another stab at how alcohol isn’t sexy. Mak tells The Suicide King to shut up as Ciro waits for Martin to stand up. Once up, but still clumsy, The Big Country was then given a Reverse Tiger-Suplex. Ciro then set up Martin for another, and nails it. Once getting up, Ciro smiles to the crowd and holds up three fingers. Mak says that he believes Ciro may be going for a third Tiger Release Suplex. Ciro set him up, but then at the last moment switched him around and nailed the unprettier. Ciro then laid on top of his victim for a bit, smiling to the crowd in a showboating way, and then tuirns his opponent over for the pin.


1… 2… kick out.


Ciro looks at his opponent with much disgust as Martin tries to shake off the feeling of dizziness and pain in his arm off and get up. Ciro stays on his knees there obviously upset that Martin was as easily put away. The Franchise notes this and states that if Ciro wishes to get far in the SWF he better make sure to not get his head out of the match. After much wait, Martin gets up and punches Ciro a bit, suprising the Italian. Yet, as Martin went for a front kick, Ciro blocked it by kicking Martin in the shin and then hit a wheel kick, and before going for the pin Ciro taunted, pointing to a lady in the crowd and blowing a kiss to her.


1… 2… what, kick out?


Ciro is noticeably pissed off at this as he complains to the ref. Mak mentions “Ciro looks to be getting distracted with frustration…” when The Suicide King interrupts, going ballistic saying “How in the heck could Big County (sic) kick out of that?” Ciro doesn’t allow Martin to get back up this time and lands him with some kicks and forearm strikes. He then kicked Martin in the stomach and ran behind him, nailing the Silence of the Lamb. Upon impact Ciro then spun up and went back to taunting, as usually, as if nothing before had happened to make him made. The Suicide King said “See that, that’s intelligence you can only learn on the street. It’s not something you can learn passing out from alcohol poisoning during your brother’s wedding”. Ciro then signaled for the Bomba dell'estremità by doing the lean back and “look at me” hand motioning. Ciro then picked up the crumbled Martin and lifted him up into a Double-Arm Powerbomb, then twisting out to make it look like a backslide pin but lifting Big Country up into the dominator position. Ciro then turned a little to the left to make sure the move landed in the ring and sat-out, flipping Martin forward so he landed in the facebuster position, ala Bomba dell'estremità. The crowd went erupted in a mixture of cheers and boos as the announcers sat amazed at the move. Martin was knocked senseless from the move and even richochetted off the mat. Mak said “It looks to be all over, folks.” Ciro went for the immediate pin.


1… 2… Ciro then lifted Martin’s head, breaking the pin. Ciro then looked at the audience, shook his head while smiling a semi-sadistic, semi-flashy smile. Most of the crowd (or any one who wasn’t a girl who liked him) booed loudly and the Suicide King jumped out of his chair in applause saying “Brilliant, embarrass this drunkard even more.” Ciro then grabbed Martin’s legs and rolled him over into the Italian crab. Martin screamed in agony for 5 seconds before finally tapping out, giving Ciro his debut and first win here in the SWF. The Suicide King applauded the way that Ciro presented himself in the ring and how he keeps the fans no matter what he does. Mak agrees that the ladies seems to like him and that he has lots of skill, but his demeanor may be his shortfalling. After the win Ciro proceeded to climb the turnbuckle and flex his stuff before doing some more flirting with the ladies. Ciro then left the ringside and went backstage.

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“We’re back on Lockdown,” says Mak Francis, “and coming up next, we’ve got the Wildchild in singles’ competition against newcomer Kerry Staunton. King, Wildchild’s been having some difficulty in re-establishing himself in the International Division. In fact, ever since he lost the International Title to JJ Johnson back in May, he’s been struggling to find some kind of consistency. He hasn’t been able to put a string of wins together these days!”


“Well, some letdown is to be expected, considering the success he’s had since late last year,” replies the Suicide King. “I mean, the kid went nearly ten months with his only singles’ loss being to Wes Davenport, who would go on to win the World Heavyweight Title a few weeks later, and won the International Title. Quite frankly, there was nowhere for him to go BUT down… but even I’M surprised by how much trouble he’s had putting back-to-back wins together in the past few weeks! I mean, this kid beats Tom Flesher – actually outwrestles him, if you can believe that – and then comes out in his next match and gets beaten by Aecas! He gets a decisive win over a two-time World Heavyweight Champion in Landon Maddix, and then turns around five days later and gets choked out by Toxxic’s kid sister!”


“You don’t suppose he’s been distracted by something outside of wrestling, do you King?”


“I have no idea, and I don’t much care,” answers King. “I don’t lose much sleep thinking about Wildchild’s personal life. I just hope that management will look at his recent record and decide to take him off television!”


“Come on now, King,” scolds Mak. “I think that you’re starting to reach a little when you start calling for this kid to be taken off TV. I mean, let’s face it: he still spikes the ratings, and makes the SWF a ton of money in merchandising! I don’t think that a couple of losses will really have that big an impact on his drawing power!”


King sighs in resignation. “I can dream, can’t I?”


“Getting back to the match,” continues Mak, “what do you know about this Kerry Staunton character?”


King looks at Mak with an expression of mild distaste. “Francis, I’m strictly an on-air personality these days, just like you; I don’t hang out with the wrestlers anymore. Hell, I didn’t do much of that when I WAS wrestling!”


“So, the answer to my question would be…”


“The answer to your question,” replies King impatiently, “is that I know what I’ve seen of him in his matches since he came to the SWF, the same as you! Seriously, though, Staunton reminds me a little bit of Michael Craven, in terms of his raw talent. I just hope that he shows a little more heart than Craven did; that kid could have been so much more!”


“Well, if he is like Craven, that doesn’t bode well for the Wildchild, who was never able to beat Craven,” adds Mak. “In fact, Wildchild has traditionally had difficulty against mobile big men!”


“Definitely!” agrees King. “Any time you’ve got a wrestler quick enough to frustrate Wildchild out of his comfort zone with his speed moves, he has to try to come up with a different way to win. And, short of a no-DQ match, I don’t know if there’s anything that Wildchild can do to get the better of Staunton!”


“If Staunton can just manage to keep Wildchild in front of him tonight, we could be looking at a major upset,” says Mak. “Let’s find out if he can get the job done, as we send it up to Funyon in the ring!”






“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. With that, White Zombie’s “Thunderkiss ‘65” begins to play as Kerry Staunton makes his way out from behind the curtain. Staunton adjusts his navy-and-white letterman’s jacket before making his way down to the ring.


“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from Airdrie, Alberta, Canada, and weighing in at two hundred seventy pounds… Kerry STAUNTON!”


“This will be Staunton’s first official singles’ match,” explains Mak, as Staunton walks up the solid steel stairs. “He was scheduled to compete against Tom Flesher a few weeks ago, but that match was cancelled when Flesher went to SWF Commissioner Joseph Peters and told him that he was refusing to wrestle that night!”


“And you know what?” challenges King, as Staunton begins to remove his jacket. “I totally support Flesher’s decision. I mean, when you listen to his reasoning, it made perfect sense. Besides, there’s no sense in having the guy start his SWF singles’ career with a loss to a Hall of Famer!” Staunton heads over to the edge of the ring and leans over the top rope to hand his jacket to the ring attendant.


“Well, we know that Staunton and his partner, Scott Rageheart, are looking to make a name for themselves in the tag team division,” says Mak. “And he can get that campaign off to a great start by scoring a win over one of the most accomplished tag team wrestlers in SWF history!” Staunton begins rolling his shoulders as his music fades out, to be replaced by Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back!” The fans cheer with renewed enthusiasm as Wildchild and Melissa step out from behind the curtain.


“His opponent,” continues Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas, and weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild and Melissa slap hands with the fans at hanging around the barricade as they make their way down to ringside.


“Wildchild and Melissa are showing their love for the fans here,” says Mak, “but something looks odd about the Wildchild… Look in his eyes, King!”


“Well, you said before that he looked distracted,” notes King. “Not that I know what he could be distracted about, but that could be it!”


“To be honest, King, there’s no telling,” replies Mak. “It could be any number of things: just going by the way he reacted a week ago on Smarkdown, he could still have some thoughts of getting his hands on Michael Stephens… Or, it could be Mike Van Siclen; it looks like he’s made his return to the SWF, and I KNOW that Wildchild still has some beef with him!” Wildchild stops in front of the ring and removes his shin guards, handing them to Melissa before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He glances briefly at Amy as he rolls to his feet and then heads over to the edge of the ring, climbing on to the middle rope, raising his arms over head to salute the crowd.


“Or he could just be really worried about losing,” remarks King.


“Entirely possible,” concedes Mak. “Wildchild will, after all, be looking to avoid consecutive losses for the first time in over a year; the last time he lost back-to-back matches was when he lost the Iron Man match to Scott Pretzler at last year’s 13th Hour, and then lost his very next match on Storm against El Luchadore Magnifico! After a streak of success like he’s enjoyed, it’s not inconceivable that he might be preoccupied with the prospect of losing!” WC hops back down into the ring as referee Red Herrington motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:





Wildchild and Kerry meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Staunton immediately takes advantage with a kneelift into the midsection! He grabs WC by the back of the head and quickly leads him over to the corner, where he smashes him face-first into the top turnbuckle! Staunton runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner…






… And levels him with a running elbow that sends WC tumbling out of the ring and down to the floor! Staunton gives the fans a Most Muscular pose, and then follows up with a Double Biceps pose as Wildchild rolls around on the arena floor.


“Wow!” exclaims Mak, as Melissa runs over to check on her man. “What an explosive start by Kerry Staunton! He didn’t waste any time, did he, King?”


“Definitely not!” concurs King, as Herrington begins to deliver a ten-count. “He didn’t wait for Wildchild to get into any kind of rhythm; he set the tone right away!” WC slowly picks himself up off the arena floor and climbs back up to the apron, but Staunton runs over to the edge of the ring and knocks him off the apron with a running shoulderblock that sends Wildchild flying back into the ring barricade!


“Kerry Staunton knocked Wildchild out onto the concrete,” reports Mak, “and he just did it again! He knocked Wildchild back out to the floor with a shoulderblock!” Wildchild gets back to his feet with Melissa’s help, and stumbles back over to the ring.


“I think it’s pathetic that he needs the help of his girlfriend, just to be able to stand up!” taunts King. Wildchild climbs back onto the apron, but Staunton grabs him by the head with both hands and delivers a devastating headbutt! He then spins WC around on the apron and delivers a ferocious forearm smash that sends him back out to the floor! Staunton grins like the cat that ate the canary, but Red Herrington begins admonishing him as he pushes Kerry back away from the ropes.


“Look at this!” says King indignantly. “Why is Herrington getting on Staunton’s case?”


“Because he won’t let the guy get back in the ring!” replies Mak.


“So what?” asks King. “It’s his prerogative!”


“King, you’re supposed to go to a neutral corner!” scolds Francis. “And if the guy gets counted out, he gets counted out; if he can get back in, he gets back in!” Finally, Wildchild is able to slither his way back into the ring. He gets to his feet, and he meets Staunton once again in a tie-up. Staunton easily muscles Wildchild back against the ropes, forcing Herrington to call for a break. Staunton takes a step backwards before belting WC in the face with a stiff right cross! Wildchild retaliates with two quick right jabs, before Kerry cuts him off with an eye rake and retakes control with a side headlock. Wildchild pushes him across the ring, but Staunton bursts off the ropes and knocks him to the canvas with a running shoulderblock!


“Well, so far, Kerry Staunton has dominated this match with power moves,” observes King. “If he can keep this up, Wildchild’s got no chance!” Staunton runs back to the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber surprises him as he rebounds with a drop toehold. WC gets up quickly and grabs Kerry by the back of the head before he begins to bash Staunton’s face repeatedly into the canvas!










The Human Hurricane scrambles to his feet as Staunton rolls over onto this back and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes and crashing into Staunton’s chest with a somersault senton splash! WC quickly rolls to his feet and flips backwards to crash back into Staunton with a standing moonsault splash! He applies a lateral press as Herrington dives into position:













Staunton kicks out with authority! He returns to a sitting position, but WC runs up behind him and traps him in an armbar!


“Cover by the Wildchild only gets two!” reports Mak. “But give credit to the Wildchild for surviving that initial onslaught by Kerry Staunton; he’s even managed to take control of the pace of this match!” Staunton negotiates his way back to his feet, only for WC to step into his body, twisting his hips as he falls to the canvas and taking Staunton over with an armdrag! Wildchild plants a knee into the side of Kerry’s neck as he re-asserts the armbar.


“Wildchild goes back to the armbar,” notes Mak. “And look at the way he applies pressure to the neck with the knee!”


“Wildchild’s been displaying a little bit of a mean streak here lately,” adds King. “It’s almost like, in his quest to find some kind of consistency, he’s starting to show some signs of desperation, which has led to a little aggression… Not that I’m complaining, mind you!” Staunton gets back to his feet, but WC maintains control of the armbar. Kerry pushes him back against the ropes and punches him a couple of times in the belly to get him to relax his grip. He then grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring. Wildchild picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and charges into Staunton at full speed with a running shoulderblock… but can’t even budge the big man!


Wildchild runs back to the ropes and dives towards the canvas as he rebounds, somersaulting underneath Staunton and just narrowly missing the big man as he takes to the air with a largely unsuccessful leapfrog. WC deftly rolls back to his feet and continues on to the opposite set of ropes. He picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and suddenly has to duck, barely missing a fierce back elbow smash from Staunton. Kerry lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Wildchild rebounds from the ropes a fourth time, but the Tropical Tumbler leaps over him, grabbing him by the waist as he sails past to pull him backwards into a Sunset Flip…


“Can he get the momentum to take him over?” ponders Mak, as Staunton fights to maintain his vertical base. Able to successfully stop himself from going over, Kerry decides to go on the offensive, measuring WC for a fierce right punch!






Wildchild slides out of the way at the last split second! Staunton roars in pain as his hand slams into the canvas, and WC scrambles back to his feet, catching Kerry off-guard and taking him back over with another armdrag before re-establishing the armbar!


“Well, after a great start to this match, Kerry Staunton has fallen victim to Wildchild’s speed,” says Mak. “He’s going to have to go back to the drawing board if he wants to regain control of this match!”


“He needs to go back to that aggressive smash mouth style that gave him success,” adds King. “You know, I blame Herrington for all this; when he forced Staunton to allow Wildchild to come back into the ring, that took a lot of his momentum away... It’s biased officiating, if you ask me!”


Kerry gets back to his feet and rakes WC’s eyes to break the hold. He then nails him with consecutive headbutts, before scooping him up into his arms. The corpulent Canuck charges towards the corner, slamming Wildchild’s back against the top turnbuckle before turning back towards the center of the ring as he plants WC into the canvas with his patented Calgary Stampede powerslam! He holds Wildchild down for a pin attempt:


















Wildchild kicks out at two! Staunton beats him to his feet and backs into the corner, measuring his opponent as he strides back into the ring and leaps into the air to deliver a jumping kneedrop…






… But the Caribbean Cruiser rolls out of the way! Staunton clutches his right knee in pain as Wildchild gets back to his feet. The Bahama Bomber grabs Kerry’s left leg and motions for the figure-four, but Staunton quickly pulls himself towards the edge of the ring and grabs onto the bottom rope before he can get the move applied!


“Whoa!” exclaims Mak, as Red Herrington orders a clean break. “Kerry Staunton very nearly made a very costly mistake when he went for broke on that kneedrop! Wildchild was going for that figure-four, but give credit to Staunton: he still had the presence of mind to get to the ropes!”


Wildchild steps back and waits for Staunton to extricate himself from the ropes before attempting to put the pressure back on, but Kerry stuns him with a vicious thrust to the throat that knocks him flat on his BUTT! Staunton gets back to his feet as WC lies back, clutching his throat; he pulls Wildchild’s legs apart before stepping through to stomp WC in the midsection!


“What a dramatic turn of events!” shouts Mak, as Staunton traps WC in a front facelock. “With just a couple of moves, Kerry Staunton has regained control of this match!” Staunton lifts WC into the air and holds him high overhead, walking him around the ring to the dismay of the crowd.


“Smart decision by Staunton to go back to the power moves,” says King, “but he’d better not stall for too long on this suplex!” Sensing Wildchild starting to try and wriggle free, Kerry falls backwards, driving WC into the canvas with a stalling vertical suplex!


“Looks like he heard you, King,” remarks Francis, as Kerry floats over into a pinning combination…













… But only gets two! Staunton pulls WC to his feet and doubles him over at the waist. Kerry wraps his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts the Bahaman off the canvas, tossing him through the air and slamming him back down with a gutwrench suplex! Staunton applies a lateral press:













Wildchild kicks out at two! Staunton pulls Wildchild back to his feet and then hoists him onto his shoulder, dangling him down his back before falling backwards, crushing WC against the canvas with a Mountain Bomb!


“Mountain Bomb!” shouts King, as Staunton applies a lateral press. “That’s going to do it!”





















“Two count only!” shouts Mak, as Kerry looks at the referee in disdain. “Wildchild barely got the shoulder up… Boy was that close!”


“That was close,” agrees King, as Staunton continues to lobby for a three-count. “There appeared to be some hesitation on the part of referee Red Herrington, I think!” Frustrated, Staunton begins to punish WC with a series of Cowboy Kicks!


“At this rate,” says Mak, “Kerry Staunton is about two or three moves away from ending this match!”


“He’s wrestled a smart match, for the most part, aside from that brief moment that Wildchild had control,” notes King. “He’s made Wildchild try to wrestle defensively, and that remains the one glaring weakness in his game plan.” Staunton pulls WC to his feet and forces him roughly into a corner, where he begins assaulting the Caribbean Cruiser with a battery of kneelifts to the midsection! He then pulls WC out of the corner and applies an arm-wringer as he backs himself into the corner and begins to ease up the turnbuckles.


“Uh-oh,” moans Mak, as Staunton reaches the top turnbuckle. “It looks like Kerry Staunton is about to go Old School on Wildchild!” Kerry maintains control of the arm-wringer as he begins to walk across the top rope…






… But Wildchild shakes the top rope and Staunton loses his balance, crotching himself on the top rope!



“My goodness!” shrieks Mak. “That’s going to hurt in the morning!”


“Yeah,” grumbles King, “like you can relate!” Wildchild drops to a knee as he gets his wind back. Suddenly he snaps up right, his eyes burning with intensity as he stares at Staunton, who is still crotched on the top rope. With a snarl, WC runs behind him and leaps nimbly up to the top turnbuckle.


“I don’t know what Wildchild has planned here,” says Mak, “but it can’t be good!” The Human Hurricane leaps from the top turnbuckle, snaring the painfully and precariously balancing Staunton in a side headlock as he flies out of the ring…






… And splattering Staunton’s face against the steel edge of the ring apron with a flying bulldog!









“Good god!” screams Mak. “That was the most vicious bulldog I’ve ever seen! And Staunton had no leverage to protect himself at all on that!”


“Absolutely!” affirms King. “He took the full force of that bulldog; I didn’t know the little bastard had it in him!” Wildchild strains to pull Staunton to his feet and then leads him by the back of the head towards the edge of the ring, slamming him face-first into the ringpost! He leans Kerry against the post and then backs across the arena floor before he takes off running, leaping into the air as he approaches the corner and crushing Staunton’s face against the post with his patented Blue Crush splash!


“My god, King,” shouts Mak, “I’m completely blown away by the way Wildchild is going totally on the offensive here!” WC pulls Staunton away from the ringpost and lets him fall backwards to the arena floor before he rolls back into the ring to break up the count.


“Wildchild is definitely more destructive than he usually is,” notes King. “The way I see it, if he keeps this up, the match can only end one of two ways: either Wildchild is going to be able to get a knockout win, or he’s going to screw up and cripple himself!” WC rolls to his feet inside the ring and walks over to the corner; he climbs onto the top turnbuckle before leaping fearlessly to the arena floor…






… Smashing into Staunton’s face with a suicide headbutt!









“What a tremendous move by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak. He went all out on that suicide headbutt!”


“This kid is crazy!” exclaims King. “He’s going to cripple himself one of these days, mark my words!” WC rolls into the ring briefly in order to break up the count, and then returns to the arena floor; he strains to pull Staunton off the floor and rolls him underneath the bottom rope. He then climbs up onto the ring apron and grabs onto the top rope, propelling himself into the ring, where he crashes into Kerry’s face with a slingshot somersault legdrop! He hooks the leg as he applies a cover:


















Staunton just gets the shoulder up! WC beats Staunton to his feet and runs to the corner, leaping nimbly to the top turnbuckle and leaping back into the ring to slam his fist into Kerry’s face, courtesy of a flying fistdrop!


“Boy, Wildchild’s really going to work on the head of Kerry Staunton,” notes Mak. “He’s obviously got the Wild-Driver in mind!” Wildchild applies a lateral press:


















WC pulls to his feet and backs him into a neutral corner, where he begins hammering him with hard right jabs. He grabs Staunton by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Staunton has the presence of mind to reverse, sending WC crashing into the turnbuckles instead! Kerry charges into the corner after him, seeking to crush him against the turnbuckles with a running shoulderblock, but the Bahama Bomber dives out of the corner as Staunton crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles! WC runs to the edge of the ring as Staunton staggers out of the corner and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, whipping his leg sharply through the air and flattening Staunton with a leg lariat! The crowd begins cheering as WC pops to his feet and motions for the Wild-Driver!


“Wildchild is feeling it!” shouts Mak. “And there’s the sign for the Wild-Driver; if he hits this, it’s all over!” WC pulls Staunton to his feet and doubles him over at the waist; the Bahama Bomber stands in front of him and reaches back to grab his opponent’s arms, but Kerry begins to fight back, pushing Wildchild into the ropes. Kerry rises quickly to his feet to catch Wildchild coming off the ropes with a running elbow smash, but the Human Hurricane easily ducks out of the way as he continues on to the opposite set of ropes. WC picks up speed as he rebounds a second time…





… And runs top-speed into a Dynamic Kick! Staunton falls wearily to his knees, trying to catch his breath as WC rolls around on the canvas.


“Dynamic Kick!” crows King. “That’ll take the wind out of his sails!”


“Yes,” agrees Mak, “but does he have anything left to try and put this match away?” Staunton crawls over to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to begin pulling himself up. Wildchild recovers enough to scramble to his feet and attempt to intercept his opponent, but Staunton blasts him with a right cross that knocks him backwards!


“Wildchild is trying to keep Staunton down,” reports Francis, “but look at him fire back!” WC keeps trying to get Staunton back under control, but Kerry keeps knocking him back with heavy forearm swats. Finally, Wildchild makes the mistake of getting close enough for Kerry to get a good grip on him, and Staunton grabs him and heaves him at the edge of the ring, holding WC against the ropes with one hand as he pummels him with the other! The Cantankerous Canadian draws back and smashes WC in the top of the head with a ferocious overhand right that makes Wildchild feel like his head has been split open!


“Staunton’s a house of fire!” exclaims Mak. Kerry grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber still has the presence of mind to reverse it; he’s not nearly strong enough to force Staunton across the ring, so instead he hops quickly off the canvas and nails Staunton with a dropkick to the knee! As Kerry falls to his knees, WC continues to press his attack with kicks to the midsection and punches to the face. Wildchild motions for a Shining Wizard and races across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, but Staunton suddenly rises from the canvas and snatches WC up in a military press! He carries Wildchild over to the edge of the ring…






… And crotches him on the top rope!


“Hah!” snorts King. “How about that; some payback from that earlier move!” Staunton wraps a meaty arm around Wildchild’s throat and snatches him roughly from the top rope, swinging him overhead and driving him into the canvas with a tremendous Choke Suplex! He moves over to apply a lateral press:























“Wow!” shouts Mak. “That Choke Suplex nearly did it; Wildchild just barely got out of that!” Staunton pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a waistlock; he pops his hips as he heaves Wildchild overhead, planting him into the canvas with a devastating high-angle German suplex! Kerry bridges to hold Wildchild in place as Herrington makes the count:


















WC just gets the left shoulder up! Staunton gets to his feet and looks out into the crowd as he adjusts his right elbow pad.


“Here it comes!” exclaims King. “The Axe Bomber; we’ve got a big upset in the making!” Staunton pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him against the ropes; he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, backing into the ropes to get a running start before taking off after him! Staunton raises his arm as WC bounces off the ropes to deliver the Axe Bomber!






… But the Tropical Tumbler narrowly ducks underneath, leaping off the canvas as Staunton wheels around and swinging his leg through the air to blast Staunton in the face with a Gamengiri! Kerry staggers back woozily but remains on his feet.


“Big time counter by Wildchild!” cheers Mak. WC grabs Staunton by the back of the head and leads him over to the edge of the ring; he leaps over the top rope and drives Kerry’s neck into it as he falls to the arena floor with a Savage Neck Snap! He scrambles back onto the ring apron as Staunton falls backwards, and briefly raises his arms overhead, cuffing his wrists together, before he brings his hands back down to grasp the top rope as he waits nervously for Staunton to get back to his feet.


“Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!” shouts Mak. “This could do it!” Wildchild leaps onto the top rope the instant that Staunton starts to stand up and then leaps into the ring, snaring Kerry in a headlock as he flies past and swinging his body around as he falls back down…









“Presumed Guilty!” shrieks Francis, as WC grapevines Staunton’s legs to pull him into a cover. “Goodnight, Kerry Staunton!”





















“Bouncin’ Back” begins to pump through the speakers as Wildchild flops over onto his back, panting like a dog as Red Herrington raises his hand in victory.


Funyon rises from his seat at ringside as he lifts the microphone to his lips. “Here is your winner,” he bellows, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC crawls over to the edge of the ring and pulls himself up to his feet. He looks out into the crowd with a sense of satisfaction over his victory.


“What a great match!” shouts Mak, as Herrington raises WC’s arm in victory. “Kerry Staunton gave Wildchild all he could handle but, in the end, the Bahama Bomber was able to pull out the victory!”


“Well, Staunton proved to everybody that he can press anybody to the limit,” says King, “but Wildchild just had too much experience; Staunton made a critical mistake by telegraphing the Axe Bomber, and Wildchild pounced all over it!”


“And on that note,” says Mak, “we’ll be right back after this commercial break with more exciting action here on Lockdown!”


Wildchild faces the crowd in the center of the ring, and salutes them with a deep bow. He executes a right face turn and bows in the direction as well…



As we:


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"Ben Hardy here on the Satellite of Love with the formidable SWF Tag Team Champions, Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews!" says Hardy.


"Man, I'm glad he told us that," says Tom Servo. "It's amazing how much Matthews looks like Wildchild under TV lights."


"And, with them as always," Hardy adds, "is the brains behind the brawn, James Matheson!"


Crow sneezes. The quickly-expelled air sounds astonishingly like the word "Cornette."


"Ben, it's a pleasure to be here," says Matheson, at his trademark machine-gun pace.


"What was it like," Hardy asks, "watching your men take the SWF Tag Team Championships from the New Doomtopians last week?"


"Real hardball there," Mike says.


"I know. Is this Ben Hardy or Randy Johnson?" asks Servo.


"There's a Big Unit joke in there somewhere, but I don't want to try to find it," Crow says flatly.


"I have to tell you, Ben, watching them spike-piledrive the Doomstroyer and pin him was one of the crowning achievements of my managerial career!"


"Not to mention the kick to the jumblies," Crow quips.


"I've managed men to the World Heavyweight Championship before," Matheson continues, "but never in my life have I been a part of such an incredible concordance of talent. Just the way they came together, it brought a tear to my eye. It really did."


"So why," asks Hardy, "aren't they scheduled for a title defense directly?"


"I believe it's called a refractory period."




"I want nothing more than to let these two studs go out there and put everyone else to pasture," Matheson says, "but this Grendel chump thinks he's got a bone to pick with Taamo, and he's so angry that he thinks he can take both of them at once. Benjamin, who am I to deny that sort of chutzpah?"


"But what do they have to gain from this match?"


"A fair question," says Servo, "considering that Grendel lacks the proper equipment to film the de rigeur double penetration scene."


"I'll field this one," says Flesher.


"First the Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman, and now Flesher on the stick," Mike moans. "This is merciless!"


"Grendel's the sort of person," Tom says, "who won't take no for an answer. Believe me, I've tried telling him that he has nothing to gain from coming at me. He's already passed out in the King Cobra. He knows exactly how painful it is to have the life squeezed out of you from every angle like that. Grendel's seen me in the ring - he knows he doesn't have any hope of competing with me when I've consistently rolled over the competition since my return."


"Hey, maybe that IS Wildchild with him," Servo says.


"Truth be told," Flesher continues, "he's nothing more than a tuneup for us. He thinks he can take us? Fine. It'll just soften him up for the next time he whines to Joe Peters and wants to get in the ring with me one on one. Besides," he says, "I need the workout."


With that, Matheson says, "Come on, guys. You've got a match to warm up for." Flesher and Matthews smirk and head off camera. Matheson follows, pausing only to say, "They've got a match," to Hardy. The bewildered Hardy stares at the camera for a few moments before...



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SWF Lockdown returns after a commercial for Nathaniel Kibagami's book, which is just two hundred blank pages because he forgot about the deadline, yet it's still a best seller because the stupid wrestling fans will buy anything a wrestler slaps his or her name on. Anyway, Cambot pans around the bridge maybe of the Satellite of Love and then focuses in on Mak Francis and the Suicide King (With Mike, Crow and Tom Servo in the background and nearly out of frame).


"Welcome back to Lockdown, live from outer space, I think!" Francis beams. "Tonight, the Smarks Wrestling Federation has given the crew of the Satellite of Love a break from horrible movies and has put on an action-packed night of wrestling."


"Speaking of action-packed, we've got an interesting Hardcore title match up next, and I want to see how the returning Mike Van Siclen fairs in a more violent environment," King says.


Because King's word is law, things are having been gotten to right now.


"Ladies, gentlemen, and robots, the following is a Rocket Number Nine match for the Hardcore title! Already in the ring, at two hundred, sixty-three pounds and from Harrison, Illinois, Mike Van Siclen!" Funyon shouts.


Van Siclen stretches a bit, sad that he doesn't even get a flashy entrance, but that's because he sucks. Anyway, the lights go out, some druids march down, and then the lights come back on. And then "Yakety Sax" plays, so Lois the Unethical and Jimmy the Doom walk out.


"And his opponent, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical. This man hails from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, weighs two hundred, thirty pounds, and is the Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon hollers.


Doom walks down to the ring and slides in.




"And the match is underway!" Mak exclaims for the benefit of the extremely slow-witted members of the audience, i.e. all of them, what with this being wrestling and everything.


Jimmy punches Mike in the face, and Van Siclen stumbles back. Doom unleashes a flurry of blows to Mike's face, dropping him to one knee. Wasting no time, the Straight-Breader cracks MVS with a roundhouse to the face, knocking him flat.


"That was almost like the end of Jimmy the Doom's Doomsday, but I doubt it will be as potent seeing as how this is the beginning of the match and it wasn't preceded by the usual stuff," Francis says.


"Usual stuff? You really don't care tonight, do you?" King asks.


"I really don't. I hope I get fired so I can go back to fucking Earth, specifically the United States, and hopefully in 2006 and not something crazy like five million B.C."


"But, think about how awesome it would be to see a lumberjack match with velociraptors as the lumberjacks!"


"Shit, that is fucking awesome," Francis acquieses.


Doom peels Mike off the mat, scoops him up and drops Van Siclen with a brain buster. Jimmy shoves Van Siclen out of the ring and then joins him on the outside. Doom picks Mike up and shunts him into the ring steps. The Straight-Bread Sensation grabs MVS by the head and smashes his face into the top step. Doom pushes Mike down to the bottom step and plants a foot in Van Siclen's back. Jimmy grabs Mike's arms and pulls him off the step. The Straight-Breader holds MVS up for a moment before letting go of Mike's hands and driving him into the ring step.


"Holy shit, Mike Van Siclen just got curb stomped! Well, kind of, more like ring stomped," Francis says.


"That's a good way to rack up a huge dentist bill," King points out.


Jimmy rolls Mike off the step and makes a cover just as Rocket Number Nine soars past.
























"Ladies, gentlemen, and robots, the winner of this match, and still Hardcore champion, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon screams.


"Wow, that was quick. Mike Van Siclen was really outclassed tonight," Mak says.


"Well, it was a factor of several things. Jimmy the Doom is probably the toughest man in the federation, and, from the little bit of action we've seen Mike Van Siclen in, he's stronger and quicker. Also, you can't forget that Mike is still very rusty, and it looks like he just got caught off-guard early, and Jimmy the Doom capitalized," King states.


"Yakety Sax" plays and Doom races backstage, eager to partake in the wonderful delight known as "ASTRONAUT ICE CREAM". For some reason, Cambot stays on Doom as he rips open the package and pours freeze-dried crystals or something into his mouth. Jimmy then spends twenty minutes violently vomitting. With that, Lockdown fades out.

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SWF Lockdown explodes back onto the air to the sounds of Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life,” much to the delight of…well, anyone who happened to tune into the Satellite of Love (and is the Lou Reed estate receiving royalties for that, by the way?). Rather oddly without description, the masked sensation known as Grendel appears from behind the curtain and begins his stride down the ring.


“Ladies and gentlemen, Mike, Tom, and Crow,” Funyon begins, from inside of the ring, drawing a cheap pop from the peanut gallery, “the following contest is a handicap match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, the handicapped, weighing in at two-hundred and twenty pounds and hailing from Manhattan, New York, this is GREEEEEEENDELLLL!”


“I’m sure we just fooled about seven viewers into thinking Mike, Tom, and Crow were to commentate on the match itself,” King shakes his head, “the truth is, we wouldn’t want Tom Servo and Tom Flesher to be confused. I don’t see why, though. Servo is a cult icon, Flesher is a world-renowned superstar.”


“Clearly,” Mak rolls his eyes at the blatant adulation, because while he’s a friend, at least he’s able to control himself, “but nevertheless, Grendel quite possibly may—no, he definitely did bite off more than he could chew with this contest, throwing down the challenge to Tom Flesher. Besides,” he adds, “I thought the issue was with Crow, the hardcore superstar.”


“I don’t understand Grendel at all,” King moans, ignoring Mak. “I mean, challenging Flesher himself is crazy enough as it is, but to receive not only Flesher but his—ahem—World Tag Team Champion—partner Charlie Matthews is damn-near career suicide!”


“Not to discount Grendel, though, as he is a former Cruiserweight Champion and really took it to Wildchild at 13th Hour. And of course, we’ve seen Wildchild take it to Flesher on a number of occasions.”


“Forget the past. Flesher’s been on fire since returning with Grappler by his side. He’s certainly better than Wildchild now.”


“Wildchild beat him in Flesher’s first match back.”


King stares dumbly ahead, pretending not to hear as Grendel climbs into the ring and waits—mysteriously—in the corner.


“And his opponents—”


“Now wait just a minute!”


Boos are quite audible as James Matheson’s nails-on-a-chalkboard voice screeches through the Satellite.


“And let it be known that should these two men win this match tonight, the Satellite of Love has agreed to play an encore presentation of ‘Manos: The Hands of Fate’ for all occupants after the show! [as if these two need the heel heat] With that in mind, it is my pleasure to introduce two men who recently added ten pounds of gold to each of their illustrious legacies, the only men who could support the tremendous weight of the reputations they carry, YOUR SWF Tag Team Champions, Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews and ‘The Superior One’ TOMMMMM FLESSSSSHER!”


The immortal sound of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” echoes through the Satellite of Love and the tag team champions emerge, much to the chagrin of all observing (except those in Japan, which might fluster some people). With Matheson gesturing wildly behind them like any good manager would, Flesher and Matthews confidently stride to the ring, belts around their respective waists, and enter.


And Matthews no longer needs a neck brace. What a soldier.


Referee Nick Soapdish inspects all three competitors, then for lack of anything better to do, calls for the bell to begin the contest!




“Masked men in the SWF always make me nervous,” King begins, “The Masked Man was a European rapist and murderer, Ghost Machine 2.0 sullied the good name of Tom Flesher since everyone thought it was him for some reason, and Grendel…well, Grendel is a masked man instead of being a harrowing beast of yore.”


“And don’t forget about Ghost Machine 3.0, King.”


“Oh, I already did.”


“Good call.”


In a sharp contrast of size and style, Grendel first faces Charlie Matthews in the ring. With a confident smirk on his face, Grappler approaches his much smaller opponent, and lunges in for a tie-up.


But Grendel’s a hell of a lot quicker than that, and he ducks the charge! At Matthews’ back, Grendel fires off three rapid-fire martial arts kicks to the back of the knee, finally leading Charlie to turn around and swing with a mighty trunk of a clothesline…ducked! Grendel runs to the nearest ropes, rebounds, and shoots his legs down low, firing a basement dropkick that hits Matthews’ knee and sends him right down, face first, to the mat! Matthews rises right up to an on-all-fours position, but this allows Grendel to drop his leg down across the back of Grappler’s neck, grounding him right away! As Matthews scrambles to his feet again, Grendel scrambles to the apron of the ring, where he waits. Charlie gets to his feet, but Grendel springboards onto the top rope and launches off, sending a massive dropkick into Matthews’s face and dropping him right down to the canvas!




“Grendel is making the Tag Team Champion’s head spin, and the crowd is eating it up!” Mak exclaims, “I don’t think Charlie Matthews expected this much of a problem already with the former Cruiserweight Champion.”


“And why should he?” King inquires, “Grendel’s been around for what, a month? He’s a flash in the pan. A talented one, but how long is he going to last, anyway?”


Grendel drops down with a lateral press on Grappler, but before Nick Soapdish can even register a one-count, Charlie Matthews kicks out (with AUTHORITY!), lifting “The Spirit of Aggression” up and onto the mat with a side order of pain. Grappler is clearly frustrated as both men return to their feet, and he shows it by leveling the incoming Grendel with a knee lift right into his midsection. With the cruiserweight off guard, Matthews easily hoists him onto his shoulder and walks towards Flesher’s corner, before unceremoniously dropping Grendel, sternum-first, onto the top turnbuckle. Oh, and he makes a tag to Flesher.


The Superior One enters the ring to see Mr. Matthews again lift Grendel, but this time horizontally above his head in a gorilla press. With this in mind, Flesher drops down to a knee, allowing Grappler to press Grendel up and drop him down over seven feet, ribs-first onto Taamo’s outstretched knee!


“Good lord!” Mak exclaims, “That was quite the impressive double team rib-crusher by the tag team champions, and with Tom only just arriving in the ring, they’ve made it known which body part they’re going to target in this match.”


“You can never go wrong when you go for the ribs,” King analyzes, “because not only does it hurt the injured man when they’re worked on, but it hurts him while he even exists. Breathing becomes a near-impossibility after masterful rib-work, and believe me, Tom and Grap can bring that.”


Looking to test that breathing early on, Taamo presses down on Grendel, grabbing the wrist as Soapdish registers the pinfall.







Nonplussed by the escape, Flesher drags Grendel to his feet and, taking him by the wrist, whips him into the ropes. As The Spirit of Aggression rebounds, Flesher uses Grendel’s own momentum to flip him up over his head and onto the mat with a picture-perfect railgun suplex! The crowd jeers the Tom Flesher staple, but he can only smirk as he pops to his feet and runs to the ropes, rebounding perpendicular to Grendel’s fallen form. He easily leaps into the air and brings all of his weight down, back first, onto Grendel’s midsection with a Dick Togo-trademark Senton Splash! Tom rises to his feet, receives a golf clap from Matheson and Matthews, and then runs to the ropes again, executing a second!


Feeling rather frisky, Taamo runs to the ropes and goes for a third…no, he feigns a jump, notices Grendel roll out of what would have been harm’s way, and then stomps him in the midsection for good measure!


“Yes, I love it!” King swoons, “I was about to question Flesher’s attempt to challenge wrestling’s rule of three, but he outsmarted everyone in superior style.”


“And already, those ribs have taken an incredible beating,” Mak notes, “like you said, Grendel will have quite a problem breathing if this continues, meaning this match shouldn’t last long.”


Grendel rolls on his stomach to try and catch a second, but The Superior One, like a slave who smells freedom,


(“I resent that!”


“Quiet, Mak, you’re not supposed to be able to read that.”)


pounces on his opportunity and channels his amateur skillz, locking in a half-nelson and rolling Grendel over into another pinning predicament that Soapdish counts.














Flesher holds on tenaciously, this time hooking one leg and grapevining the other, demanding another pin.











Seamlessly, Flesher holds onto the leg hook and wraps his other arm around Grendel’s head, locking his fingers together for yet another pin!













Finally, Grendel reaches up and grabs the bottom rope, forcing Nick Soapdish to pry The Superior One away from his prey and give the masked superstar some space.


“As if fighting in a handicap match wasn’t enough,” Mak explains, “Those repeated pins will just wear out Grendel even more.”


“I think we’ve covered the same topic about six times already,” King helpfully points out, “perhaps we should congratulate Charlie Matthews on having the intestinal fortitude to shed the neck brace and show up tonight able to stand tall on his two feet.”


“Yes, quite admirable,” Mak rolls his eyes.


As if on cue, Flesher backs up and tags in his tag team partner, bringing the big, loveable lug into the ring once again. With malice in his eyes, Matthews closes in on Grendel…who, now on his feet, shoots a mule kick back, catching Grappler in the low, low abdomen!




With Charlie doubled over, Grendel fires a hard elbow right into his jaw, causing the big man to snap back to an upright position! With Grappler woozy, Grendel retreats to the apron, and yet again springboards off of the top rope, this time leaping onto Matthews and latching on a front facelock for a DDT…


…but the big man doesn’t move! Grappler wraps his arms tightly around Grendel, backs up until he’s in line with a turnbuckle, and then tosses Grendel like a ragdoll into it with a northern-lights throw! Conveniently, Grendel lands with his legs draped over the turnbuckle, resulting in the dreaded tree of woe! The crowd buzzes in anticipation, and even more when Grappler backs up to three-fourths the distance away. He then charges, shoulder down, and leaps forward the last few feet-





-crushing Grendel with a huge spear!


“Holy crap!” Mak informally cries, “Charlie Matthews just mustered up more speed than I think I’ve ever seen him use, and put it to good use with that hugely impressive and hugely painful spear!”


“Now these fans have no right to call him boring,” King huffs, “because that, well, I’d like to see any other big lug in the fed pull that off.”


With the wind completely knocked out of him and his ribs sorer than ever, Grendel has no choice but to slump down onto his shoulders, out of the tree of whoa. Instead of going for the pin, Matthews picks Grendel up by the mask and drags him over nearer to Taamo, but instead of making the tag, he stands chest-to-back with Grendel, laces his leg around, and wrenches back with the cruiserweight’s arm, executing the timeless abdominal stretch!


“Well, I guess he could’ve picked a more boring move, I’ll give him that,” Mak groans.


As Soapdish drops to a knee to check on Grendel’s condition, Matthews reaches his hand back to Flesher, who accepts it in a completely non-homoerotic way to apply even more pressure to the dreaded ab stretch!




But the boos for this illegal double team quickly turn into a more commonplace Matthews chant.








Soapdish looks up to ensure no shenanigans are occurring between the tag team champions, and Matthews and Flesher are *just* able to break their cheating ways in time, though Soapdish untrustingly scowls. And as soon as the referee drops down to check on Grendel again, the duo continues their heinous double team, much to the dismay of the Satellite of Love.


“The thing I hate about our fans,” King bemoans, “is that they mistake brilliant technical wrestling for boredom. Now, if Matthews had a chinlock on right now, then okay, maybe—but probably not—but maybe I could understand their finding it boring. But an abdominal stretch? Have they not seen the punishment Grendel’s abs and ribs have taken in this match?”


“I think it’s more the fact that they really, really hate Charlie Matthews and his wrestling style,” Mak helpfully asserts.


Flesher leans back, helping Matthews tighten the abdominal stretch even further. Soapdish looks up and sees the cheating, then orders Flesher to release Matthews’ hand.


“Huh?” asks Flesher.




“Let what go?”


“Oh, for god’s sake...”


Soapdish kicks the hands free, sending Flesher skittering backwards and forcing him to grab the ropes to steady himself. Matthews, meanwhile, loses his balance and falls back into the turnbuckle, setting the Spirit of Aggression free!


“That’s what they get for trying to break the rules,” Mak says, sounding satisfied.


“It was a noble risk,” King says.


Grendel charges in, slamming into Charlie Matthews’ ribs with a spear! As Matthews reels from the unexpected blow, Flesher reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, tagging himself in. With a sneer on his face, the Superior One grabs Grendel and hammers him with a shotei to the jaw. Grendel, caught off guard, crumbles to the mat.


“Well, that put a damper on that,” King chuckles.


“What do you expect?” Mak asks. “Grendel’s one man, fighting the Tag Team Champions. Every time he can mount an offense, there’ll be another championship-caliber athlete waiting to break it up.”


“Wonderful, isn’t it?”


Flesher grabs Grendel by the straps of his mask and pulls him up to his feet. Then, with a quick pivot, he clamps down with a side headlock.


“Here we go,” groans Mak.


Instead of merely holding the headlock, though, Flesher reaches over with his free hand and starts yanking at the straps. Immediately, Grendel figures out that he’s in trouble and quickly steps around, tossing Flesher to the mat with a desperate backdrop suplex! Flesher rolls through, shaking off the impact due to his relative freshness in the match. The Spirit of Aggression starts to get to his feet, only to eat a knee to the jaw from the legend from Buffalo. He staggers to his feet nonetheless, allowing Flesher to spin him around and waistlock him, then toss him to the mat with a Greco-Roman backdrop of his own! Rather than go for the cover, however, Tom steps back, allowing Grendel to roll to his stomach.


“That was weird,” says Mak. “The Flesh’s always been the type to get the fall as soon as possible. I don’t know why he let that one go.”


“It’s all in the plan,” King says beatifically. “The Divine Plan.”


“He’s sidelined, King. Mike Cross attacked him.”


King blinks, then decides to let the grinning Francis’ inane joke go. Meanwhile, Flesher decides not to let his inane opponent go, dropping a knee onto his back. Then, he reaches under Grendel’s waist and lifts him up with a gutwrench. He flips the masked assassin over into a Canadian backbreaker, then drops to his knees with the Derailleur! As Grendel writhes in pain, Flesher lets him slump to the mat.


“This isn’t looking good for Grendel,” King says gleefully, as the Manhattan native rolls to his stomach. Flesher dives onto him like a shark smelling blood and slaps on his trusty old front headlock. In the front row, Mike Nelson can be seen to hold up a sign that says, “Is this what the SWF calls intermission?” Flesher, though, tightens the headlock and throws a knee at Grendel’s head. Acting in self-preservation, Grendel tries to back out and free himself from the headlock. Flesher, meanwhile, seems to have the headlock slightly higher up on the head than usual, and struggles to tighten it.


“Grendel’s fighting for his life here,” says King. “He needs to escape.”


“I think that’s a little hyperbolic, King.”


“Isn’t that the chamber you lay in to help you breathe?”


“You’re thinking of the shut your damn mouth,” Mak snaps back.


As Flesher leans on Grendel, the assassin backs away, but Flesher maintains his grip. In order to keep control, he forces Grendel back until the Spirit finally finds himself backed into a neutral corner. Tom keeps his headlock on, showing the tenacity that led him to the numerous championships that he’s held and currently holds. Grendel pushes him back, trying to free himself while grabbing the ropes with his left hand. Nick Soapdish steps in, counting to order Flesher out of the corner.










Finally, with Flesher sneering at him, Soapdish reaches in and physically pushes Flesher back! Even though he knows he faces imminent disqualification, Flesher tries to keep the headlock on as tight as he can.


What everyone forgets, apparently, is that Flesher has Grendel by the mask.


“OH MY GOD!” shouts King, as Flesher stumbles to the center of the ring, and then looks down to see that he has Grendel’s mask in his hand! “HE GOT THE MASK! HE GOT GRENDEL’S MASK!”


Grendel, his face hidden behind Soapdish’s body, immediately begins panicking. He turtles down on the mat, covering his face with his hands as Flesher’s face lights up. He begins swinging the mask around in the air, jumping with glee as he realizes that he’s just unmasked his rival!




“What’s Grendel going to do?” gasps Francis.


Desperate, Grendel rolls out of the ring. He covers his face with both hands and immediately begins sprinting toward the nearest place with a door to close! The fans are silent with shock as Nick Soapdish looks to the back, and then begins doing the only thing he can think to do.


He starts counting Grendel out.




“This is quite a development!” says King.




“I can’t believe it!” says Mak.




Flesher, meanwhile, sprints over to the corner, where the Grappler pats him on the shoulder in congratulations.




Matheson climbs onto the apron as Grendel disappears backstage, handing each man his SWF Tag Team Championship belt.




Matthews tosses his belt over his shoulder as Flesher climbs to the middle turnbuckle.




With Grendel out of sight, Flesher holds the belt in the air with one hand and the mask with the other.




“God, just look at Tom,” says King. “He’s... ecstatic!”




“Of course he is,” says Mak. “He just stole Grendel’s mask!”




And... finally...








“The winners of the match,” announces Funyon, “the SWF Tag Team Champions... Tom Flesher and Charlie MAAAAAAAAAAATHEWWWWWWWWWWS!!!!!!”


“Well, that finish was a little dusty,” says Crow, conveniently within microphone range as the camera zooms in on Flesher.


“So dusty it made me sneeze,” Tom Servo agrees.


“Come on, guys,” says Mike. “We just saw a big development in the Flesher-Grendel feud. Now, Grendel’s unmasked. How do you think he’s going to recover from that?”


“He’s going to get fat,” says Servo. “He’s just going to sit around eating Danish all day.”


“At least he’s not eating Melissa Fasaki.”





Edited by chirs3

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“That was our last commercial break,” Mak Francis as Lockdown comes back, “and the Suicide King and myself are back to call the main event so you only get top-quality wrestling knowledge, not sarcastic comments and bitching.”


“Wanna bet?” King mutters, settling the headset.


With that, the opening notes of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Don’t Ask Me No Questions’ starts up and the assembled SWF fans start to boo in unison as ‘Bruce Blank’ flashes up onto the screen (ripped out of the theater, don’t you know) that’s serving as the Smarktron for tonight. A few seconds later the longest-reigning Hardcore/Ultraviolent Champion in the fed’s history wanders out with his dusty white cowboy hat on, his little brother Wayne scurrying at his heels.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, then adds “robots, weird guys in hoods and what’s probably some sort of gorilla,” as he peers around at the varied audience, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title! Introducing first, the challenger; from the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park in Mobile, Alabama and accompanied to the ring by his brother Wayne; he weighs in tonight at 295lbs… BRRRRRRRRRRRRUCE… BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!”






Bruce isn’t hurrying on his way to the ring; in fact the big man from Mobile is making sure he insults as many members of the crowd as possible as he approaches the ring. One young fan, specially privileged to have made this interstellar trip, makes the mistake of yelling at Wayne Blank; the scrawny manager grabs the kid’s hotdog and pushes him over, then runs away as his parents yell. However, once he reaches the hulking form of his brother poetic justice is enacted as Bruce grabs the hotdog and pushes him over, then starts chomping heartily! At ringside, Tom Servo brings a sign into view that reads ‘IF BRUCE & WAYNE ARE BROTHERS THEN I’M JOHNNY 5’. Sitting next to him, Mike and Crow bring out a responding sign asking the question ‘WAS DADDY SHOOTING BLANKS?’.


“King, on Storm we heard Bruce Blank saying that he doesn’t respect Michael Stephens, but that he might have some respect for Toxxic-”


“-sounds sensible to me,” King agrees, interrupting the Franchise.


“Perhaps,” Francis says with strained patience, “but I’ve got to wonder whether trying to provoke the World Champion is the smartest move. Stephens certainly didn’t sound that relaxed earlier in the show.”


“So Bruce has wound him up,” King says, “how is that not smart? If Toxxic tries to get into a knock-down, drag-out fight with Bruce Blank he’ll be leaving on a stretcher. Sounds like good strategy to me.”


The Blank Brothers have now entered the ring where Bruce shovels the rest of the hotdog into his mouth and chews, then opens his mouth to treat referee Brian Warner to a delightful sight of mashed-up bread and pig. Warner recoils in horror and Bruce grins before raising two massive arms in the air.






However, the King of Pain’s antics are cut off as a rolling chant crashes out through the Satellite of Love, delivering the unmistakeable message that the World Heavyweight Champion is in the house:





With that the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire kicks up as the Smarktron first whites out, then swiftly darkens to black as jagged white letters flash up a message one word at a time…




The Smarktron is now showing shots from various famous matches, and after Nathaniel Kibagami has been dropped on his head with the Caffeine Bomb, Aecas has received the infamous Glass Jawbreaker and Landon Maddix has been locked in the RTF II the shot changes once more to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the move known as the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-




-explosion of red pyro that signifies the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! Meanwhile, at ringside Mike and Tom Servo bring out a sign that reads ‘TOXXIC’S PYRO BREACHES FIRE REGS’. However, the crowd don’t seem too worried. And through the flame and smoke…




…with the World Heavyweight Title around his waist and black hair hanging down in front of his eyes…




…his sister Amy at his side and wearing his personalised red England soccer shirt…




…comes the man formerly known as Toxxic.




The man whom Bruce Blank claims he could respect. And as Stephens raises his head and two steel-grey eyes stare down towards the ring it’s clear that, Toxxic or not, Michael Stephens has every intention of making sure that becomes a reality.


“And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England and accompanied to the ring by his sister Amy; he weighs in at 218lbs and is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”




Stephens is striding forwards and quickly hops up to the apron, then steps through the ropes as the Blanks watch from the other side. The World Champion takes up station in the middle of the ring, then crosses his arms very briefly in the straight-edge ‘X’ sign before throwing them sideways, palms flat-




-to ignite another explosion of red pyro from the top of each turnbuckle, sending Wayne Blank scurrying for cover out of the ring!


‘I never thought this could be me

I guess you never do until it’s happening to you

Like all the fun turned into shame

And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’


As ‘Rookie’ fades out Stephens takes off the World Title belt and hands it to Brian Warner, then strips his England shirt off and hurls it out to the crowd, where two girls in heavy eyeliner surreptitiously fight over it. Meanwhile Amy, who herself had a couple of notable matches with Bruce Blank, points a threatening finger at the big man before removing herself from the ring.


“Bruce Blank has been nothing if not a solid competitor in this federation,” Mak Francis admits, “but his success has largely been confined to the Hardcore Division where he can use the insane weapons and tactics he’s become known for; in the confining environment of a regular match, will the Redneck Superman be able to stand up to the experience and will-to-win of The Sensation?”








The fans are getting into the match early, giving the champion their support as he faces the much larger Bruce Blank across the ring. Blank slaps himself twice on the chest and beckons Stephens in, daring the smaller champion to make the first move. Mike doesn’t seem too eager to rush in, instead starting to cautiously circle the King of Pain. Bruce crouches slightly, keeping his weight well-balanced so he can respond to any move the faster Stephens makes… but Mike takes him off-guard by charging straight at him, then performing a baseball slide through his opponent’s legs! On the way through he snags Bruce’s ankle and as he starts to get to his feet he hauls Blank’s leg up with him. Bruce, never the most graceful of wrestlers, finds himself tipped forwards with only one foot on the ground, and quickly even that luxury is denied to him as Stephens kicks him in the back of the other knee, causing his standing leg to buckle and seeing the challenger topple forward onto his front.

At ringside, Crow T. Robot hauls out a sign reading ‘THE BIGGER THEY ARE, THE HARDER THEY SUCK’.


However, Stephens isn’t done as he jumps onto Bruce’s back to drive some of the air out of the big man, then jumps onto the back of Blank’s head and drives his face into the mat! As if that wasn’t enough, as Mike bounces off onto the canvas he then turns around and smashes a basement dropkick into Bruce’s face as the big man rebounds off the mat, knocking the former Ultraviolent Champion’s head to the side with a sickening smack!


“-and Michael Stephens takes the fight to Bruce Blank early,” Mak Francis calls, “I’m guessing he wasn’t kidding earlier!”


Bruce clearly decides that discretion is the better part of valour at the moment and rolls out of the ring, holding his head. Wayne Blank approaches to make sure his brother is alright but Bruce doesn’t seem interested in his concern; however, Wayne’s concern is heightened as he sees Michael Stephens rebound off the far ropes, then come hurtling back towards the pair with high-flying in mind! Wayne grabs his brother’s arm and tries to tow him out of harm’s way…


…Michael Stephens leaps up…


…balances for a moment on the top rope…


…and as the Blanks stumble to one side Stephens moonsaults back into the ring, landing on one knee and checking an imaginary watch before standing and pointing off into the distance with one hand stroking his chin, then finally putting both hands on his hips and grinning cheesily at the crowd!










“Shoot him. Shoot him now,” King pleads.


Bruce Blank isn’t reeling, but he is pissed; not just from the mockery of the Catalogue Poses, but also the fact that he got dumped onto the mat and kicked in the head. The big man reaches up and grabs onto the ropes, then hauls himself up onto the apron… but Stephens charges at him and delivers another basement dropkick, this one to the right knee, unbalancing the big man and sending him down to the floor again!




Bruce gets back to his feet, hobbling slightly, and glares angrily up at the ring where Michael Stephens is getting a talking to from Brian Warner. However, the World Champion seems unrepentant and grabs the top rope, then pulls back on it in preparation for flying over the top with a plancha…


…Bruce raises his arms to protect himself…


…and nothing happens. Cautiously, the big man lowers his arms again and looks up to see Michael Stephens watching him with an insolent grin. Then when he’s sure the big American is definitely looking, Stephens mocks him by comically cowering away, pushing his bottom lip out and making audible whimpering noises!




“That’s just disrespectful!” King shouts angrily.


“I think that was kind of the point,” Mak observes mildly.


Bruce Blank is definitely not happy now, and he climbs up to the apron again - this time without being attacked - and steps over the ropes. Stephens just motions for him to ‘come on’ and the big man lunges forwards, swinging one arm in a clothesline that never connects as Stephens easily ducks it. Bruce swings round to try and draw a bead on his opponent but is simply greeted with a














Stephens flips two black-nailed fingers at the staggered King of Pain, then leaps up into the air…






…but Bruce doesn’t go down! The big man wobbles to one side, but remains on his feet. An expression of frustration crosses Michael Stephens’ face as he lies on his back on the mat, and he coils his legs up over his chest before kipping up to his feet…




…and leaping into the air to nail another enzuigiri! This one drives Bruce down to one knee, and as Stephens gets back up to his feet he grabs his opponent’s head in both hands and drives his forehead into Bruce’s with a headbutt. The impact seems to daze both men for a moment, but as Bruce doesn’t seem to be any further effected by it Stephens runs for the ropes to the side, then rebounds off and leaves his feet to launch a basement dropkick into Bruce’s head! This spins the Trailer Park Superstar to one side, but only down to all fours!


“I guess Stephens is working on the instalment program here,” Mak says, “as Bruce Blank is proving very hard to knock completely down.”


“What Toxxic did at the start was smart,” King admits, “if he can unbalance Bruce then that’s one thing, but a frontal assault is going to go wrong.”


Stephens doesn’t necessarily seem to agree; he turns and runs for the ropes once more, rebounding off and accelerating towards Bruce for another basement dropkick… but the big man suddenly explodes upwards, grabbing Stephens as he approaches and taking the World Champion over with a spinning powerslam!






“Told you,” King smirks. However, all the shots to Bruce’s head seem to have taken their toll and the big man sits on the mat looking dizzy for a few seconds after hitting the move. Meanwhile Stephens rolls away, clearly in pain and winded from his unexpected ride, but just as clearly determined to get back up to his feet and regain the advantage. The World Champion grabs the ropes and starts to haul himself up, fighting against the pain in his ribs, but even as he does so Bruce is starting to shake off the effects of Stephens’ offence and the big man is starting to rise as well. Both men reach their feet at roughly the same time and as Bruce sees his opponent hanging onto the ropes he charges… but Stephens ducks down, pulling the top rope with him and causing Blank to topple over to the outside!




“That’s ring smarts,” Mak Francis says approvingly, “Michael Stephens is showing that he’s the World Champion through talent, not luck!”


“Winning the title from Landon and defending it against Zyon does not take talent,” Suicide King argues.


Stephens has no intention of resting on his laurels however; as Bruce struggles to rise on the outside the World Champion charges all the way across the ring to the other side to bounce off the ropes and build up momentum, then sprints back towards his opponent. This time Wayne isn’t in the right position to warn Bruce of incoming danger and Stephens doesn’t hesitate - he leaps into the air and goes sailing over the top rope to crash into Bruce with a somersault senton!






The landing wasn’t pain-free for Stephens, but he came out of it considerably better than his opponent and is the first back to his feet, even taking a moment to pump his arms and get the crowd behind him some more. However, Wayne Blank is unimpressed by the World Champion’s tactic of pulling the top rope down and has leapt up onto the apron on the other side of the ring to complain to Brian Warner. The referee turns around to argue, and with the knowledge that his brother will be doing something of this sort, Bruce takes the chance to slam his forearm up between Michael Stephens’ legs!






“Lowblow!” Francis roars, “lowblow, and the Blanks are at it again!”


Stephens collapses to the mat clutching his groin as Bruce tries to gather his thoughts to organise a less illegal offensive to follow up. Meanwhile Amy, whose approach to problem-solving has never been less than direct, snatches up a steel chair and looks like she’s about to clock Bruce in the head with it. However, when Brian Warner turns around the Punk-Rock Princess settles for slamming it against a ringpost and then pointing menacingly across the ring at Wayne Blank, who swallows nervously before managing a smirk.


“I think Amy will be taking action if Wayne tries to involve himself again,” Mak Francis says, “we know that the Stephens siblings haven’t always been on the best of terms but they do try and look out for each other when one of them is wrestling.”


“Yeah. Plus Toxxic’s a faggot, so he won’t be distracted by Amy’s tits,” King remarks.


“King! That’s his sister!


“Hey, I’ve heard the stories about rural England. I’m telling you Mak, it’s worse than Alabama.”


As King alienates yet another watching nationality Bruce Blank is pushing himself up to his feet. Ignoring another sign held up by Tom Servo (‘BRUCE COULDN’T SELL IF HE WAS A PORN DEALER IN A PRISON’) the Redneck Superman grabs his smaller opponent and, as Brian Warner starts his count-out, grabs Stephens by the wrist before Irish-whipping him into the steel guardrail!






‘Jesus… TWO!’ Warner bellows, ‘get him in the ring, Bruce!’


However, Blank doesn’t seem interested in the referee’s opinion and advances on Stephens, currently half-slumped against the guardrail and holding his back in pain. The World Champion seems unable to fight his opponent off as Bruce grabs him by the hair and hauls him up to a standing position…




…then repositions his grip and hoists Stephens to the air with a Gorilla Press! Normally Bruce would press his cruiserweight opponent about ten times, but Amy and her steel chair isn’t that far away, so Bruce decides not to leave himself open to attack any longer than he needs to.




Not that this makes things any more pleasant for the World Champion mind you, as Bruce simply presses him a couple of times, then drops him ribs-first over the guardrail!






“Good God,” Mak barks, “Bruce Blank could have broken Michael Stephens’ ribs!”


“I think that was kind of the point,” Suicide King smirks.




Bruce’s head is definitely clearing now, and the big man is feeling far more confident after his shaky start to the match. As a result he reaches over the guardrail to where Stephens fell into the crowd and grabs his opponent, then starts trying to haul him up to take him back to the ring.




However, Stephens is pretty much deadweight at the moment, not wanting to do anything more than curl up in a foetal position around his ribs, and Bruce isn’t in the best position to perform a deadlift. The challenger looks over his shoulder towards the ring…




…and with the knowledge that he can’t win the title on a count-out, Bruce heads back to the ring to roll most of his body underneath the bottom rope to break the count, then back out again to start a new one. Brian Warner rolls his eyes, but has to follow the rules of the match.




Bruce now has more time to play with and he steps over the guardrail before hoisting Michael Stephens to his feet, then roughly pushes the World Champion back over it into the ringside area and follows, ignoring the abuse hurled at him from all sides.




With all this time, it’d be a shame not to utilise the environment to his advantage. Blank hoists Stephens up again, this time draping the World Champion over his shoulder as if for a running powerslam. However, rather than driving his opponent down backfirst onto the protective mats surrounding the ring, Bruce tries the old ‘battering ram’ approach and runs straight for the ringpost, looking to drive Michael Stephens’ head into it!




…but Stephens slips off backwards at the last moment, and Bruce runs into the post himself! Meanwhile, Crow holds up a sign reading ‘GEE, DIDN‘T SEE THAT ONE COMING’.




Blank staggers backwards, and Stephens leaps up to fire a dropkick into his back. The whole rib injury thing means that the normally-athletic World Champion only manages to get high enough to drive his feet into the small of the bigger man’s back, but that’s good enough to send Bruce stumbling forwards into the post again where he hits his head a second time, then ricochets off and ends up on the floor!






“Stephens is going for a count-out!” Suicide King says in outrage, “he knows he can’t beat Bruce Blank, so he’s going to get himself counted out!”


“Oh, please…”


Indeed, even as Mak Francis expresses his disbelief at King’s interpretation of the situation, Michael Stephens grabs the ring apron and hauls himself to his feet, then rolls slowly into the ring. The pain as his ribs come into contact with the mat is plain to see on his face, but the World Champion is inside; not upright mind you, because the dropkick seems to have taken most of what energy he can muster at the moment. Bruce, on the other hand, is struggling to a sitting position against the guardrail and the camera shows a small trickle of red starting to dribble down his forehead.




“Well, maybe Michael Stephens is going for a count-out,” Mak Francis speculates, “only he’s planning for Bruce to get counted out rather than himself. It’s as good a way to win as any.”


However, whether or not this is the case, Bruce Blank has other plans. The man from Mobile is starting to lever himself up, wiping the blood away and scowling as he sees it smeared across his hand. He then grabs a beer from a nearby fan and takes a swig before stumbling towards the ring where Michael Stephens is still trying to bully his abdominal muscles into allowing him to stand vertically.


“Hah, Bruce is tougher than Toxxic thinks,” King smirks, “in a war of attrition, the big man will always win!”


Maybe true; however, it looks like the big man will take a little help if he can get it. Wayne Blank has pulled a chain out of somewhere and wrapped it around his fist, then climbs up onto the ring apron. Brian Warner sees it and rushes over to grab the wrist of the Drunken Dragon, demanding that he releases the weapon and get down or he’ll be banished to the back… fine sentiments from the referee, but it means that he misses Bruce getting back into the ring and spitting beer into the eyes of Michael Stephens as the World Champion moves to engage his challenger!




“Another cheap tactic,” Mak Francis seethes as Stephens claws at his eyes, “and one disrespectful to Michael Stephens’ beliefs, to boot!”


“Oh, boo-hoo,” Suicide King sneers, “I’m sure he’ll live.”


It’s at this moment that Bruce backs off into the ropes for a little extra momentum and rebounds to nail Stephens in the head with a massive boot.


“…or on the other hand, maybe not,” King says clinically as the World Champion hits the deck. Bruce apparently decides that the time is right to try his luck with a cover…


















…but the World Champion kicks out moments after the two-count. This doesn’t seem to concern Bruce all that much, as the Redneck Superman gets back to his feet before dropping back to the mat, nailing Stephens between the eyes with a closed fist as he does so. This time when he gets up Bruce brings Stephens to a standing position with him before Irish whipping the champion into the ropes, then ducking his head. Stephens runs right into the back bodydrop, but instead of the regular ‘send him flying over onto his back’ routine Bruce just elevates the Englishman up, then punches him in the gut as he comes back down! Moments later, as the World Champion crumples to the mat again, Bruce drops to make another cover…


















…the three-count is still elusive, but Stephens stayed down for slightly longer this time, and Bruce knows it! With a sadistic grin on his face the big man hauls Stephens up, then Irish whips him into the cables again. He ducks his head once more… but this time Michael Stephens manages to kill his momentum, then drives Bruce’s face into his knee with a facebuster!






In the old days Stephens would have followed that up with a DDT to complete the Sobering Thought, but he doesn’t use that sort of ‘drop-em-on-their-head’ tactic now. Instead he simply laces his arms underneath Bruce’s with a double-underhook, locks his hands together and jumps up to apply a bodyscissors!


“RTF II!” Mak Francis yells, “this won him the World Title!”


…but Bruce is much, much bigger man than Landon Maddix, and he’s not worn down enough yet. 218lbs is a considerable weight to bear, but Bruce is just about able to manage it. Therefore, instead of toppling ungracefully forward he manages to take a step, then another, then another, until he’s lumbering across the ring and slams Stephens backfirst into the turnbuckles!




“Good God!” Francis manages, “he just crushed the World Champion!”


“Too soon,” King sighs mockingly, “I’m telling you Francis, this match is Bruce’s.”


Since he’s there, Bruce decides to make the most of a good thing; the impact forced Michael Stephens to release his hold, so the challenger grabs the middle rope with both hands and makes life even more uncomfortable for his opponent by backing up and then ramming his shoulder into the Englishman’s gut a couple more times. Bruce backs off, rubbing at one shoulder - it seems the impact in the corner caused Stephens to wrench Bruce’s arms uncomfortably before letting go, and using his shoulder as a battering ram probably didn’t help matters - then charges back in looking for a corner clothesline…




…but Stephens moves at the last moment, and Bruce cannons into the buckles chest-first! As he staggers backwards Stephens reaches up and back and snags his head, then kicks out his legs to drop down with a neckbreaker!








The crowd are chanting for all they’re worth, but Michael Stephens can’t seem to answer them; the World Champion lies on his back staring up at the ceiling even as Bruce Blank grabs the back of his neck in pain. Brian Warner takes a look at both men and raises his arms to begin a double count…




Bruce Blank is quick to stir, rolling to one side and grabbing the ropes for a little extra leverage to help him up. No point in taking the long road if you can take a short cut…




Michael Stephens rolls onto his front and braces both black-nailed hands against the canvas, then starts to push.




Bruce is up. The big man takes a second to wince and grab the back of his neck again, then grabs Stephens as the World Champion starts to get to his feet - but Stephens lashes out, knocking Blank’s arm away and then firing a right hand into the big man’s face! The shot barely rocks Blank but he wasn’t expecting it and it stops him in his tracks. The camera catches a brief glimpse of the American’s startled features, then Stephens grabs his opponent’s head in both hands and delivers a headbutt!




Bruce staggers, but Michael Stephens doesn’t let up. Right now his ribs are killing him and he daren’t let Bruce get another shot in on them; if the price for that is headbutting what feels like a brick wall, then so be it.














“He’s actually doing it!” Mak Francis yells as Bruce starts to crumble, dropping to one knee and seemingly unable to marshal a defence in the face of Stephens’ attack, “he’s breaking Bruce Blank down!”


Michael Stephens has reopened the wound on Blank’s head. He reaches up and wipes a smear of his opponent’s blood off his own forehead, then goes back to the attack.






Bruce sways, wobbling to one side and putting out a hand to steady himself.






The chants are growing and the electricity in the crowd is building as they start to believe that their champion can do this. Stephens looks around, and a brief grin flashes across his face. Then he darts to one side, rebounding off the ropes and accelerating back towards his opponent. Blank doesn’t have the wherewithal to hit a powerslam this time. Stephens dispenses with any form of finesse and just launches both feet flush into his opponent’s face with what is partly a running basement dropkick, but mostly just a desire to rearrange Bruce’s features with the first available bodypart.






Bruce Blank topples backwards, and the crowd erupts! Michael Stephens tries to capitalise by getting on top of the bigger man and hooking one of Blank’s massive legs…


















…but Bruce kicks out well before three! Stephens slaps the mat in frustration and, eager not to let his momentum slip away, grabs Bruce and tries to haul the bigger man to his feet. Mike’s ribs aren’t really up to much heavy lifting but Bruce’s instincts tell him he needs to get to his feet anyway, so the dazed redneck actually stands up mostly under his own power. Once he’s upright Stephens stops helping, of course; instead he threads his left arm under Bruce’s and grabs the back of his opponent’s jeans with his right hand. Bruce is too heavy to lift for the half-nelson facebuster, but Mike figures that kicking his legs out and dropping will probably have pretty much the same effect…




…and what do you know, he’s right! From there, the half-nelson that’s already in place allows Stephens to heave Blank over onto his back and make another cover…


















…but Bruce kicks out again! Stephens grits his teeth and looks up at the nearby turnbuckles. It’ll be a risk…




…but worth taking. He gets up and, leaving Bruce down on the mat, steps out through the ropes to the apron before beginning to climb to the top rope. Once there he wastes no time; Bruce could wake up at any moment. Therefore he leaps off, somersaulting forward through the air to land the Hangover across his opponent’s throat!




Bruce Blank spasms as his windpipe is crushed by Michael Stephens’ leg; for his part, the World Champion covers his opponent and yells at Brian Warner to count!




















-but Bruce still kicks out! Stephens frustration is obvious as he lets out an audible ‘bloody hell!’, then grabs Bruce by the mullet and starts to heave. It takes several seconds, but finally Stephens persuades Bruce’s legs to get under him and get the Redneck Superman upright. Once this is achieved Stephens turns to face the turnbuckle again, gets Bruce in a ¾ headlock and sets off at a run… but Bruce pushes Stephens off, sending him chestfirst into the turnbuckles and blocking the Sunny In England!




Stephens staggers back and Bruce woozily ducks his head to place it under his opponent’s armpit, then bridges back for a backdrop suplex… but Stephens pushes off the mat and flips backwards out of the move, landing in a pained crouch as his stomach muscles scream at him, but still (just) on his feet! Bruce turns around looking for him and Stephens fires a kick into the bigger man’s gut, then grabs a front facelock and extends one arm out to the side.


“Unfinished Business coming up!” Mak Francis calls, but he falls victim to the curse of wrestling announcers everywhere; Wayne Blank leaps into the ring and makes a beeline for Stephens, Brian Warner cuts him off, and Bruce Blank hits his second lowblow of the night!






“What teamwork!” King applauds, “Wayne knew Bruce was about to go low, so he drew the ref’s attention perfectly!”


Wayne is now trying to get back out of the ring but Warner has a firm grip on him; however, the Drunken Dragon is ‘helped’ out by Amy Stephens, who reaches in and grabs his ankles, topples him onto his face and then hauls him out to start beating on him! Meanwhile, Bruce straightens up groggily, sees Michael Stephens doubled over and backs into the ropes, then rebounds with a thunderous] clothesline that sends the Englishman down to the mat with no uncertain force! Bruce pulls up, but has the presence of mind to yell ‘BOO-YAH!’ with a grin.


“Yeah, that’s right,” Francis mutters darkly, “mock Va’aiga. I hope he lariats you into next week.”


The Maori Badass isn’t on hand, unfortunately. Bruce Blank is though, and with Michael Stephens down and possibly out things are looking much better for the Redneck Superman. Grinning, the big Alabaman draws one thumb over his throat, then bends down to haul Stephens up. Warner complains about the handful of hair used but Bruce ignores him and hooks Stephens as if for a vertical suplex. Suicide King knows better, however.


“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to see the Blank Bomb,” the Gambling Man smirks, referring to the Orange Crush Bomb that the King of Pain uses, “and you’re also about the see your new World Heavyweight Champion crowned.”


Bruce bends his knees and lifts, bringing the smaller form of the current World Champion up into a vertical position above his head… and Stephens lashes out, driving a knee into Bruce’s forehead! The sharp pain in his already lacerated face causes Bruce to lose his focus and he involuntarily relaxes, dropping Michael Stephens feet-first back to the mat. The World Champion turns around, grabbing a ¾ headlock again, just as Wayne Blank pokes Amy Stephens in the eye and charges into the ring, desperately trying to head off the Sunny In England!




Wayne charges, but Stephens gets one boot up and Wayne runs right into it! With his opponent’s brother staggered Mike places one boot on Wayne’s shoulder, then pushes off; on the way up his other boot nails Wayne in the chin, but the momentum takes him up…










“SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak Francis yells as the Blank Brothers hit the mat together, heads pointing in opposite directions, “Stephens just got his boost off Wayne Blank!”


Sure enough, Bruce’s little brother has involuntarily provided the means for Michael Stephens to flip over and drive the back of the King of Pain’s skull into the mat, and even before the challenger has fully come to rest Stephens has dived on top of him, hooked the far leg with his arm and the near leg with his own as Brian Warner dives to make the count…






















“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms over the roar of the crowd, “and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”






“Godammit!” Suicide King snarls as ‘Rookie’ kicks in, ringing out through the interior of the Satellite of Love, “what the hell’s wrong with this company? Toxxic took a cheapshot at Wayne Blank, and it wins him the match!?”


“King, I don’t think that even your revisionist sentiments can disguise the fact that Michael Stephens was defending himself from Wayne Blank’s attempts at interference,” Mak Francis counters smoothly. “Personally, I think the fact that the Drunken Dragon gave Stephens the means to win the match means a certain amount of poetic justice was had.”


“You’re too damn smug for your own good, do you know that?” Suicide King grumbles. “Just you wait, Francis! One day Toxxic and his bint of a sister are going to run out of luck and that World Title’s going to go around the waist of someone deserving.”


“And that’s fine,” Mak nods as Michael Stephens receives the World Title and raises it in the air to the approval of the crowd (while Mike, Tom and Crow haul out a sign reading ‘ANYONE GOT ANY SALSA?’), “it’s not like I’m Michael Stephens’ Number One Fan, King. If anyone can beat him for the belt then as far as I’m concerned, they’ve earned it. Although,” the Franchise adds, “I’ll admit to being glad that a cheating, lumbering hoss like Bruce didn’t get it.”


“What about Spike?” King needles.


“HA! Yeah, right! King, you still crack me up!” Francis sniggers. “Fans, that’s all from this episode of Lockdown, but make sure you join us for Smarkdown on Monday! Where will we be? Who knows!”


The last image is of Michael and Amy Stephens (the latter being physically restrained from going and beating on Wayne again) disappearing towards the backstage area with the World Title dangling from Mike’s hand as we









©Smartmarks Wrestling Federation, 2006

‘Raising Workrate By Going On Tour’

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FADE OUT MY ASS! SWF Lockdown pushes back whatever show we're on by a few minutes, as Joseph Peters marches down to the ring, to the swanky sound of "Hi-Tone Fandango", microphone in hand.


"As I'm sure some of you were aware," he begins, "there was supposed to be an International Championship match tonight, between Aecas and Austin Sly."




"Sadly, it has been cancelled."




"I won't get into the gory details, but suffice it to say that for the time being, Aecas will no longer be active on the SWF roster. Of course, he will always have a spot open for him, if and when he should return... but what do we do with his title, then?"


Joseph grins. Never a good sign.




















"Nah, just kidding. Seriously though, Austin Sly refused to take it on a default win, so on Smarkdown, there will be a three, four, maybe five man match for the vacant International Championship! Who's in it? I don't know yet! Austin Sly, and probably Spike Jenkins, because that never gets old... we'll see about the others."




"Ok, go home now."



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