SWF AftershoXXXXxxXxxXxXxXx!!!!!

[Ace309 0]

Earlier Today...

 

“I’m sick of this shit, Peters!”

 

The scene opens up backstage inside the makeshift office of SWF Commissioner, Joseph Peters. Peters pinches his nose as he looks up from the papers on his desk at the enraged King of Cambodia.

 

“I didn’t agree to five more minutes!”

 

“Spike, what do you want me to do? Ground Zero is over. There is nothing I can do about it now.”

 

“What do you mean, nothing you can do about it now?” shouts Jenkins “Give me my title shot!”

 

“Spike, you don’t HAVE a title shot…”

 

“WRONG WRONG WRONG!” The Hollywood Superstar cuts him off, “I have a title shot! I was robbed at Ground Zero!”

 

Peters sighs, knowing that this won’t end and he won’t get rid of the annoying superstar unless he does some fast-talking.

 

“Okay, okay. Spike, if you want a title shot, here is what you have to do. Beat Akira in a rematch.”

 

Spike goes to continue arguing, but suddenly stops. Squinting at Peters, he tries to put together what the deal that the head booker of the SWF just put on the table.

 

“So, you’re saying…all I have to do is beat Akira in a rematch…and I’ll get my International Title shot?”

 

“If that will get you out of my office, sure.”

 

Spike thinks about it for a minute, his eyes shifting to the side as he enters deep thought. Joe stares at the King of Cambodia, unsure of how to snap him out of it.

 

“Spike?”

 

The sound of his voice snaps Spike back into reality. He grins at the member of Creative Control and nods his head.

 

“Deal.”

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF AftershoxxXXXxXxXXxxx!
Live, Friday, August 4th, from the General Motors Place in Vancouver, BC!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
"The Superior One" Tom Flesher and Charlie "Grappler" Matthews vs. The New Doomtopians
--> Aw yeah! Mandatory rematch time! The New Doomtopians have had ample time to study the tapes and formulate a strategy - can they avenge their loss against MatFlesh, and take back the tag team gold?
Rules: Standard tag. USE TAG ROPES OR SUFFER A MANSONALITY.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
JJ Johnson vs. "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu
--> JJ Johnson, SOMEWHAT ANGERFUL~! at how his match at Ground Zero played out, takes solace in the fact that the man he faces tonight has fallen before him thrice before. But (I think) Akira won at Ground Zero, a hard-earned victory over Spike Jenkins - will this recent victory light a fire under his ass, and propel him to victory? Or will JJ extend the undefeated streak to 4-0?
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - LADDER MATCH
Michael Cross © vs. Zyon
--> Zyon doesn't like Cross, because some would say Cross screwed him out of his Cruiserweight Title at 13th Hour by taking Akira's place after some serious ass-kicking. Cross doesn't like Zyon because Zyon's bitching is technically unfounded, and also, because Cross doesn't like anybody. Will Zyon get revenge on Cross? Will Cross cheer up, emo kid? Whose cuisine will reign supreme? CROSS. ZYON. BIG BATTEL AT GROUND ZERO.

AND WHAT A BATTEL IT WAS. IT MADE THE TV CAMERAS EXPLODE.

The exclusive re-airing of this match will be tonight, on Aftershoxxx!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
Nemesis vs. Insane Luchador
-> Two men who came up short at Ground Zero, both looking to turn their luck around!
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

OPENING BOUT
"The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Scott Rageheart
-> At Ground Zero, "The Beast" emerged, and after his match with Ced Ordonez, we know those "Fear the beast" promos were not to be taken lightly. Scott Rageheart, not known for taking people lightly, lines up as Gabriel's second opponent - let's see if he fares any better than the first.
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

Somewhere backstage there is an office, in that office sits a man, a man who’s usually busy with paper works and future arena bookings and financial issues as well as dealing with the amount of hassle that always seems to appear when you put 20-30 testosterone dripping males together in one place and then tell them they’ll get paid to beat each other up. This man is someone everyone comes to with their problems

 

So why should tonight be any different??

 

¤ Knock ¤ Knock ¤

 

Peters looks up from his facts sheets and estimated earnings reports from the fictional tour and sees Professor Attenborough just barge into his office without waiting for a reply. The old man is brandishing what looks like a picture around as he talks all agitated

 

Professor – Mr. Peters, Mr. Peters I’m not going to stand for this!

 

Great another idiot with an issue, Peters looks absolutely thrilled

 

Peters – What can I do for you Mr. Attenborough?

 

Professor – Ground Zero

 

Peters – Was last week, you’re a bit late there

 

The professor totally misses the strained tones in Peters voice and just plows on with his own business

 

Professor – This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all! I knew there was something different about Nemesis on Sunday! I knew there was a problem with him!! I mean how else could he lose?

 

Peters – Because Manson beat him?

 

That’s NOT the answer the professor is looking for

 

Professor – But he didn’t

 

Peters – Professor I saw it myself, he quite clearly DID beat him.

 

Professor – Oh I’m not saying Manson didn’t win the match, that’s the devious part about it

 

Peters – Okay you lost me there!

 

Professor – Manson won the match, but he did NOT beat Nemesis!

 

The professor slams the picture down on the desk in front of Peters, it’s an enlarged picture of Nemesis taken during Ground Zero

 

Peters – Yes??

 

Professor – Don’t you see?

 

Peters – I see Nemesis, I see the ring, the referee, I see Manson in the background, what is it you want me to see here?

 

Professor – Look closer at Nemesis. Here, right here by the ribs

 

Joseph Peters bends in closer but can’t see anything odd.

 

Professor – It’s obviously NOT Nemesis!

 

Peters – Oh come on who else is that tall?

 

Professor – That’s the clever bit, it’s OBVIOUSLY two guys wearing a Nemesis suit?

 

Peters – Two guys??

 

Peters looks more than a little annoyed at this point

 

Professor – YES!! One guy sitting on the other guy’s shoulders!

 

Peters – Right

 

Peters stands up and looks at the Professor

 

Peters – Get out

 

Professor – But this hoax, I got to expose it

 

Peters – Get out!!

 

Professor – I refuse to accept this loss, it was tainted, it was wrong

 

Peters – GET OUT!!

 

Professor – Nemesis is still undefeated! It was two guys in the suit!!

 

Peters is about to pick up the phone and call for security when the Professor quickly grabs his “evidence” off the table and then leaves the room while muttering something about “that damn Manson” or whatever. Peters slowly falls back into his chair, pinching that little space on the nose right by the eyes that people pinch when they feel a headache coming on.

 

Peters – And I thought it was the big one that’d cause problems, this guy is delusional.

 

With a deep sigh he turns back to his paper work trying to figure out the exchange rate for the gate on Azeroth. At least the insurance company got off his back now that they’re back from the fictional world tour

 

Fade out as Joseph Peters thanks god for small favors

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

“Welcome back to SWF Aftershoxxx!” Mak begins, “I’m Mak Francis, along with the Suicide King, here at the General Motors Center in Vancouver, British Columbia, and after Spike Jenkins opening the show we have a big time opening bout on the Road to Genesis Seven!”

 

“Ugh, Canada… are you sure we can’t go back on the fictional World tour?” King quips, even drawing a smile from his announce partner.

 

“But seriously, all kidding aside-”

 

“I wasn’t kidding, Francis!” King says, cutting Mak short. “The only thing Canada has going for it is the Canadian Murder Machine. Scott Rageheart and Kerry Stauton got a huge win that put the Wildchild out on a 50 day suspension.”

 

“They didn’t even win the damn match, King.” Mak snarls, reminded of Ground Zero’s screwjob finish once again. “Mike Van Siclen pulled a fast one and because Wildchild won by disqualification, he ends up the loser.”

 

“No, he’s always been a loser.” King adds, chuckling to himself. “Anyway this match is a rare one for the SWF! Two wrestlers who actually weigh more than two hundred pounds soaking wet, going toe to toe against each other.”

 

“I guess that Bruce Blank’s International title defense at Ground Zero must not qualify.”

 

“Of course it qualifies, it was the match of the night,” King rebuts, “but really, that should be the norm. Two big guys putting on a hard hitting contest that doesn’t involve eight hundred covers and O-M-G,” King says, making fun of the internet jargon. “A flying, twisting, jump-spinning double stomp executed perfectly by Cruiserweight A.”

 

“…You act like you were six feet five inches and two hundred and seventy pounds when you were active, King.” “

 

As the two announcers continue to bicker, the fast paced guitar riff and drums of “Exciter” by Judas Priest fill the arena! Suddenly the only thing that could turn the Suicide King on a heel occurs. As the pyrotechnics explode across the stage and Scott Rageheart comes through the curtain, the crowd does the unthinkable in the United States…

 

BOOOOM!

 

RRRRRRRGGGGAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

 

They cheer.

 

“Dear God, I think I’m going to have to boo, Rageheart…”

 

Rageheart soaks up the cheers from his home country and walks down the aisle, not quite approving of the response but as Funyon beings his introduction, Scott gives into a small but quickly masked smile.

 

“Making his way to the ring, from Lethbridge… Alberta, Canada, weighing in tonight at two hundred and forty-five pounds, he is… SCOTT RAGEHEEEEAAAAARRRRRTTTTTT!”

 

Scott Rageheart rolls under the bottom rope and pops up to his feet, posing center ring to another raucous cheer.

 

“Rageheart has a chance to follow-up on crushing Wildchild here tonight, but it’ll be against stiff competition in the form of the undefeated ‘Beast’ Gabriel Drake.”

 

“Undefeated?” Mak says, shaking his head. “He’s had one match for Pete’s sake!”

 

“Speaking of Pete,” King asks, while Rageheart warms up in the ring. “I wonder what Longdogger Loser has been up to since he got the boot.”

 

“He’s probably ecstatic that he doesn’t have to sit here and talk to you for a living anymore.”

 

Mak’s quip hangs unanswered, as King prefers instead to give him a one finger salute in response. The dead air continue as several moments pass creating a feeling of discomfort before the now familiar eerie blue light covers the General Motors Center. The Canadian crowd begins to boo in the chillingly blue-filled arena as the opening twangs of a guitar echo through the arena. The slow melody continues and is even amplified by a flash from several bright white strobe lights. “The Devil’s Rejects” by Rob Zombie slowly takes form while the lyrics begin…

 

“I am the bad one… Distant and cruel one,

I am the dream that, keeps you running down…”

 

And with that ‘The Beast’ makes his way through the curtain, staring out at the audience who continues to jeer. Drake, illuminated by a mix of white strobes and the menacing blue hue stands still, letting everyone get a good look.

 

“With distraction… Violent reaction… Scars of my actions,

Watch me running out…”

 

“The ‘undefeated’ Gabriel Drake making his way out to the ring and after his debut match, I think he answered a few questions.” Mak notes, his sarcasm disappearing as he continues to talk about ‘the Beast’, who is looking out at the crowd with an amused sneer. “After sitting down with the guy we now know why the man has officially gone pro five years late… he was in jail.”

 

“Hell doesn't want them.

Hell doesn't need them.

Hell doesn't love them.”

 

“He also told us a little bit about himself and his wrestling style… and all I can say is I think I have a purely plutonic love for this man.” King remarks as the song comes to a crescendo, while Funyon prepares to speak.

 

“And his opponent, making his way to the ring, from Athens, Georgia, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds, he is ‘The Beast’ GABRIEL DRRRRRRRRAAAAAKKKKKKEEEE!”

 

Drake climbs the ring steps and moves onto the apron, wiping his feet before swinging his legs through the ropes. Now inside the ring he stares down Scott, before going to the turnbuckle and just staring out at the crowd.

 

“The Devil's Rejects… Rejects…”

 

“The Devil’s Rejects… Rejects…”

 

Gabe hops down as the song begins to fade, standing in his corner in wait. Tonight’s referee, Eddy Long, checks him quickly, avoiding his eyes much like Hebner did last match and asks for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Gabe Drake and Scott Rageheart turn the circle and suddenly Drake kicks him in the gut and spins, grabbing him in a three quarters facelock and lifting him into the cradle position, before sitting out and smashing Rageheart with a Piggyback stunner!!!

 

“He calls that the Mark of the Beast and this one is over before it started!” Mak says, as Drake covers and Long counts...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“The winner of this match, by pin fall… ‘THE BEAST’ GABRIEL DRRRRAAAAAKKKKEEEE!”

 

“A very quick and short match!” Mak says, sure something must have happened to the rest of the content… like most of the match (2000 words) was lost somehow in a computer error, even after the writer already asked for an extension.

 

“Yup, but one things certain,” King adds, “Drake still got the win. It may have been quick but at least it’s something, right?”

 

“I guess…” Mak says, as we…

 

FADE…

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

“So was it bad?” At first it looks like internationally renowned ”style expert” St. John Smith is talking to himself, but when he turns around we learn that he’s not lost it (yet) but that he’s wearing a headset while talking to someone on the phone.

 

Smith runs his fingers over one of the doors and then looks disgusted at what he sees.

 

“But you finished his manicure? . . . that’s good luv and don’t worry I will pay you a little extra for the job” He says making a note to add 50% to the bill when it comes on “and did you wax his knuckles?”

 

“A-Hem!”

 

“Sorry pet I’ve got to run” St. John quickly says, hangs up and then turns around to see a very annoyed looking Bruce stare at him as he crosses his massive arms in front of his chest “See don’t you feel better with a shower and a shave?”

 

St. John begins to circle around Bruce, playing with the big man’s hair for a moment and then smelling him

 

“And Deodorant, good, it’s a good start” he says

 

“Start?” Bruce grunts “if I get any more frou-frou I may as well change the title to the Women’s title”

 

“Oh hush you! It doesn’t make you any less of a man to be well groomed, besides” Smith says with a knowing wink

 

“Yes, yes “image becoming of the champion” I know” Bruce says with a sigh, he’s heard that line a million times by now.

 

“Well I can’t stay here and talk all day, lovely as it is” Bruce says with sarcasm turned up high “I’ve got an interview in a bit and I need to get ready”

 

Bruce is about to leave the locker room when St. John stops him.

 

“I don’t think so”

 

“I’ve got an interview, now move or be moved!” Bruce grumbles.

 

“Not looking like that” St. John says as he looks Bruce over

 

“What’s wrong with this? The jeans are clean”

 

“Yes but they are STILL jeans Bruce” St. John says “and they’re not even designer jeans” he then adds with contempt. “No, no, no you need some sort of earth tones instead of the denim”

 

“Give me a break”

 

“I know what I’m doing here, trust me alright? I picked out something for you, nothing too over the top just a shirt, pants and new shoes.”

 

“Now hold on! I’m wearing my cowboy boots!” Bruce says looking like he’s ready to drop the image consultant if he argues that point

 

After a momentary pause St. John smiles and says “Alright the boots can stay. . . for now. Now be a dear and try this on” Smith says as he holds up a pair of khaki pants and a red polo shirt.

 

“You want me to wear that?” Bruce says in disbelief as he takes the clothes.

 

“I’m starting you off simple here Bruce, we’ll get into some serious cotour later on but for now that will do.”

 

“Yeah but it’s like bright red!” Bruce says as he holds up the polo shirt

 

“It’s called “Canadian Red” Bruce and where are we?”

 

Bruce doesn’t even answer he just stares at the image consultant

 

“That’s right Canada, so it’s fitting. Now I know you don’t have a match tonight but I’d like to talk to you about your wrestling style.” St. John says as he picks up a clipboard and a pen.

 

“We’ve already talked about Hardcore matches and how they’re “not becoming of the champion” and whatnot” Bruce says angrily, he’s getting seriously fed up with the pestilence Peters hired.

 

“Yes, yes, yes and that’s good, that’s GOOD Bruce. But I’ve had a survey done to see what the fans like and don’t like right now, Peters told me that he wants to really connect with the fans of today.” St. John says and sits down with the clipboard in front of him.

 

“So what did you find out?”

 

“Well it would seem that the biggest new thing right now is this guy who works for TNA and Ring of Honor, I think that you’d do well to emulate him a bit more.”

 

“Not Samoa Joe?” Bruce says while rolling his eyes.

 

“Yes exactly!”

 

“No way. This federation has always had it’s share of jiggly Samoan Suplex Machines and pretend-shoot fighters already!”

 

“But he tests very well, you’d be over huge Bruce I promise you” St. John says all confused.

 

“Oh give me a break, you think for one second I’m impressed with him just because he’s the internet darling? An angry expression, some stiff kicks and choke hold doesn’t impress me.”

 

“But I”

 

Bruce cuts off St. John before he can say anything else

 

“NO! I don’t want to hear any more about that overhyped gasbag! You want to look into some real tough guys, some real MEN when it comes to wrestling then look into the Road Warriors or Steve Williams! You want to know what sort of man I would want to be one day then look up Stan Hansen or Bruiser Brody! They’d send Samoa Joe home in a body bag” Bruce spits out angrily.

 

“Bruce I -”

 

“Save it! You want me to make adjustments to my wrestling style, fine I will have to accept that – I’ve told you the kind of people you need to research then. Now excuse me I’ll have to go get changed for the interview” Bruce says and leaves the room, making sure to slam the door behind him.

 

*Fade to Black*

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

We return mid “Man in the Box” just moments before the pyros are set to go off.

 

¤ BOOM ¤ BOOM ¤ BOOM ¤

 

Red and black sparks and sparkettes burst onto the scene only moments before the Insane Luchador himself bursts onto the scene, arms raised as he gets the crowd fired up for the next match. And the crowd IS fired up, they seem to really love the Ill One here in Vancouver (Thumbs up, cheap pop)

 

Funyon – “Introducing first a man that spat in death’s face and laughed, YOUR Psychotic Hero: THE INSANEEEEEEEE LUCHADOOOOOOORRRR!!!!

 

Instant crowd pop as IL stops half way down the aisle to raise his hands up in the air, considering who he’s facing the Insane Luchador looks pretty confident as he walks to the ring

 

King – “You know considering who he’s facing IL looks pretty confident”

 

Mak – “Maybe he figures that if The Insane Luchador can beat this guy then so can he?”

 

King – “I heard some rumors about that match Mak, some strange rumors that it may not have been Nemesis under that mask”

 

Mak – “You heard that from Professor Attenborough didn’t you?”

 

King – “Yeah alright, alright, so what?”

 

The Insane Luchador sprints the rest of the way towards the ring, slides under the bottom ropes and then leaps back to his feet as “Man in a Box” DIES DOWN. Professor Attenborough appears next, looking a bit agitated and disheveled as he heads to the ring with the “Tome of the Gods” under one arm and a microphone in the other.

 

King – “I see the Professor came prepared this time so he didn’t have to steal a microphone”

 

Professor – “You know I’m sure I could name 10 acts of Hubris on your part but honestly tonight it’s not about that, it’s not even personal Rickmen you’re just the guy they put in front of a very pissed off NEMESIS!!”

 

¤ BOOOOOOoooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ¤

 

The deep impact rumble, like Davey Jones summoning the Kraken is heard and more importantly felt through out the arena, it even has a few wrestlers in the locker rooms looking up wondering if Vancouver was on a fault line or something. The rumblings continues for maybe 20 seconds or so before a sea of green fireworks light up platform under the SWFTron.

 

King – “Here there be monsters”

 

Mak – “Now there is”

 

The sight of the 7 foot 4 inch monster Nemesis stepping through the smoke, BREATHING out smoke is a sight to behold and the Vancouveranias are beholding it with necks craned back looking up at the horned visage of what looks like a fluorescent skeleton walking towards the ring.

 

Mak – “You got to give The Insane Luchador credit King, he’s not backing off”

 

King – “I don’t HAVE to do anything Mak”

 

The lights slowly return to the arena giving the fans and the viewers at home a really good look at the big man as he walks towards the ring. Instead of waiting for something as mundane as a bell being run or even his opponent being in the ring the Insane Luchador decides to strike early and to strike fast. He takes a running start, leaps up on the top rope and then uses it’s springy qualities to propel him the 8 or so feet down the aisle he needs to strike Nemesis with a twisting splash.

 

Mak – “Great Gorilla of Manilla!!”

 

King – “No I don’t think a gorilla could have done that”

 

The impact drives the Colossus into the guardrails where he holds on to the top of it to remain on his feet. The Insane Luchador burns rubber once again as he leaps up on the top of the guardrail, runs down it towards Nemesis and then drop kicks the big man right in the face to an insane pop from the crowd. A pair of boots to the face is enough to knock Nemesis down to one knee as he sways like a straw in the wind. Throwing caution to the wind like it was an Olympic event the Luchador once more leaps up on the top of the guardrail, runs down 4-5 feet of it to show his amazing balance and then he leaps straight at Nemesis with a flying cross body designed to take the big man to the ground.

 

But there must have been a design flaw as the Colossus catches the Luchador as he comes off the with flying body instead of being knocked to the ground. In fact Nemesis follows up by standing up, still holding the Insane Luchador almost like a little baby, although no one would ever think to Military Press a baby over their head.

 

King – “Look at that power! It’s like he’s just casually throwing the Luchador into the ring”

 

Mak – “Over the top rope no less”

 

Nemesis quite rightly tosses the Insane Luchador over the top rope as both King and Mak have stated and then slowly walks up the ring steps before stepping onto the apron. The toss didn’t really hurt IL that much, he rolled with it and is back on his feet already trying to lay out a game plan for how to combat him giant opponent. When the monster steps over the top rope the Insane Luchador takes another insane risk by hurling his entire body against Nemesis

 

¤ THUD ¤

 

The Insane Luchador drives entire body straight into Nemesis mid section with a cannoball type of leap, preventing the big man from stepping fully over the top rope but not doing much else beyond that. With Nemesis slowed down a bit The Insane Luchador takes a couple of steps back and then tears into Nemesis with a leaping shoulder tackle to the chest to keep the big man off balance. IL builds up momentum by bouncing off the other side and then DRILLS! Nemesis with a sick looking drop kick to the chest that sounds like a baseball bat striking a side of beef. None of the moves have been successful in knocking Nemesis off his feet but the big man is staggered and thrown off his game plan. With one leg on either side of the top rope The Insane Luchador spots an opportunity and simply grabs hold of the top rope and then pulls upward in a sudden sharp motion

 

Mak – ”Right in the monster package!”

 

King – ”Are you saying you’ve seen his package? How do you know it’s monster?”

 

The rope assisted low blow gets a reaction out of Nemesis as he bends over, most likely in agony. But the advantage doesn’t last long as Nemesis pushes The Insane Luchador off the next time he tries to approach the big guy, he simply puts his hand on The Insane Luchador’s chest and then shows him with enough force to throw him half way across the ring. With The Insane Luchador down Nemesis finally has a chance to fully step into the ring instead of straddling the top rope.

 

King – ”That low blow didn’t do The Insane Luchador much good, it may have done more to piss Nemesis off than to hurt him and a pissed off monster is bad news for everyone.”

 

Mak – ”Especially for Andrew Rickmen!”

 

There seems to be a slight kink in Nemesis walk, after all even big monsters like him are vulnerable in one particular area. The shove doesn’t do much to deter The Insane Luchador who quickly gets back to his feet and charges the Colossus once more. With a much greater reach than The Insane Luchador Nemesis is able to stop the charge before The Insane Luchador has a chance to connect with whatever he hand in mind. Instead he runs straight into a clawhold that Nemesis clamps on his opponent’s scarred forhead to stop him dead in his tracks. Professor Attenborough points to the sky, an instruction which Nemesis easily follows as he raises The Insane Luchador up in the air by the claw hold alone.

 

King - ”Is The Insane Luchador tough enough to withstand this kind of onslaught?”

 

Mak – “Don’t sell him short IL has faced a slew of big men, he can take it”

 

With The Insane Luchador up in the air his knee is in the perfect position to strike Nemesis on the chin and the Ill One is quick to utilize this to his advantage

 

¤ CRACK ¤

 

King – ”Right in the mush!”

 

The knee to the face staggers Nemesis and he releases his grip on The Insane Luchador as he has to grab hold of the top rope in order to keep himself upright. The Insane Luchador smells blood and like a tiger shark attacks without mercy striking the big man in the center of the chest with a springboard drop kick.

 

Mak – ”That’s definitely staggered him!!”

 

King – ”He may just knock him down here!”

 

The Luchador ricochets off the ropes, no doubt looking to take to the air again hoping that it will take the monster off his feet

 

¤ BAM ¤

 

Big Boot to the face! 221 pounds of Insane Luchador flipping through the air before landing face down. Nemesis follows the big boot with a giant foot placed right between The Insane Luchador’s shoulder blades before stepping up on his putting all of his 410 pounds on his opponent for a moment as he steps over his opponent re-enacting how HHH treats 95% of the WWE roster.

 

“LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!!”

 

King – “You can chant all you want he’s Nemesis door mat and there is nothing you can do about it.”

 

The professor is busy shouting instructions from the outside directing Nemesis to pick his opponent up after the Colossus gets done wiping his feet on him.

 

Mak – “Man I wish he’d shut up for a moment he’s so damn annoying”

 

King – “The guy is just trying to help Nemesis out, you got a problem with that?”

 

Mak – “Can’t the big guy wrestle on his own without this guy directing traffic?”

 

Nemesis raises The Insane Luchador up for a body slam, of course when you’re 7’4’’ its not just a body slam but a very elevated body slam. The Colossus holds The Insane Luchador up for a moment, taking his time with it before body slamming “slash” tossing the Psychotic Hero half way across the ring. Nemesis overwhelming power makes the move look effortless and easy. After being directed to do so Nemesis grabs his opponent by the hair and the arm and drags him into the corner with one arm draped over each rope. A gloved fist is raised in the air over Nemesis head and then brought down on The Insane Luchador’s chest, then another overhead chop strikes The Insane Luchador on the shoulder.

 

Mak – “Best thing Luchador can do right now is get out of the ring, put some distance to the big man.

 

King – “Best thing he can do is quit, that’ll save him further injury”

 

Mak – “You know he won’t quit, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word!”

 

Nemesis raises his clenched fist once more and takes another swing at the Luchador, but the slippery opponent wiggles out of Nemesis’ grasp and the big man ends up striking the top turnbuckle instead. Luchador keeps his distance as he tries to shake off the clubbing blows while a frustrated Nemesis grabs the turnbuckle cover and rips it apart, he doesn’t tear it off, he tears it OPEN sending white foam filling everywhere as he roars in anger.

 

Mak – “The Luchador seems to be too quick for the big man, he’s probably not used to having to chase his opponent like that.”

 

King – “So now IL is facing an enraged giant? That doesn’t bode well at all”

 

The Insane Luchador decides that it’s time for some drastic measures and quickly climbs up the turnbuckles in the opposite corner of the one where Nemesis just tore the cover. Once he’s on the top rope he stands up straight and raises his hands in the air

 

King – “A TEST OF ¤BEEP¤ STRENGTH??”

 

Mak – “That’s just crazy!”

 

But IL looks like he’s dead serious as he holds both hands up in the air calling for Nemesis to come and try his power against him. The Professor instructs Nemesis to do it, but it’s not until then that the big man even makes a move. As the masked horned giant approaches the Luchador on the top rope you get the impression that even though he’s up on the top rope IL is only slightly taller than Nemesis underlining just how freakishly tall the Colossus is. Nemesis raises his hands in the air as he approaches, something which seems to be the Insane Luchador’s cue because he leaps off the top rope striking the big man in the middle of the chest with a missile drop kick!

 

King – “He just outwitted Nemesis!!”

 

Mak – “I don’t think that’s too hard to do King, the professor seems to be the brains of that outfit”

 

The drop kick staggers Nemesis like he was Bambi on ice, something that encourages the Insane Luchador no end. The Ill One rushes in and kicks Nemesis in the back of the knee, then another one followed by a third one that sends the big man down to one knee and very off balance. Rickmen knows that now is the time to strike, which he does by leaping up on the top rope and then blasting Nemesis over the back of the head with a double axe handle that knocks Nemesis forward, hands on the ground as he tries desperately to keep from being knocked to the ground.

 

Mak – “KEEP IT UP!!”

 

King – “You’re so biased it’s not even funny Francis. KICK HIS ASS NEMESIS!!”

 

Insane Luchador leaps onto the Colossus back and then wraps his arms around Nemesis neck trying to lock a Rear Naked Choke in on the big man. With short arms and a massive neck to trap it’s not an easy task at all for the Insane Luchador to achieve but he finally manages to get the submission hold locked on pretty well

 

King – “That woke up the crowd, listen to them”

 

“LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!!“

 

Nemesis tries his best to shake the Insane Luchador off him as he lurches forward and then from side to side trying to get the man off his back. Andrew Rickmen must come from a family of bull riders because he holds on the best he can, well past the 8 second mark as well as Nemesis tries to fight off the Rear Naked choke and get his opponent off his back

 

“LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!!“

 

Mak – “This is smart wrestling by the Insane Luchador, no matter how big they are they WILL fall to a move like that, you need blood to the brain to function.”

 

King – “Says the man that’s proven otherwise”

 

Nemesis gets back to his feet, arms flailing in the air as he tries his best to shake the Insane Luchador off but to no avail, he’s on there like a paparazzi on Brad and Angelina’s baby. The Colossus even goes so far as to fall backwards against the top turnbuckle, but doesn’t get a result since Il is up so high that he hits the turnbuckle with his ass and not his back. Professor Attenborough looks very distraught on the outside as he yells and gesticulates and slaps the old book wildly as he fears Nemesis 2nd loss.

 

“LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!!“

 

Drawing on his primordial instincts Nemesis twists and bucks and then lurches forward finally throwing the Insane Luchador over the top of his head, over the top of the ring ropes in fact and all the way to the floor in a move that silences the audience. Nemesis finally shows the effects of the choke hold as he stands in the middle of the ring bent over, hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath and shake off fuzzy brainedness that has been induced.

 

Mak – “You think one toss to the floor is enough to take out the Luchador? Sjesh what little faith he has”

 

And he is quite right while he did take a tumble to the floor the Luchador is far from out of it, in fact he looks fit as a fiddle as he climbs the ropes (not like a fiddle) and then leaps off before Nemesis has a chance to see him.

 

FLYING FUCKING CHOP BLOCK!!

 

The audience holds their breath as Nemesis staggers backwards and then

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

¤ BANG ¤

 

Falls down like a felled tree.

 

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

 

Both Mak Francis and the Suicide King are speechless as the Insane Luchador climbs the ropes once more, points to the sky for a moment and then leaps off

 

FROG SPLASH!!

 

“LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!! LUCHA-DOR!!”

 

Andrew Rickmen quickly rolls back on top of Nemesis for a cover without trying to hook the massive leg though

 

1!!

 

 

2!!!

 

 

NO MORE!!

 

Nemesis doesn’t so much kick out as he throws the Insane Luchador off him WITH AUTHORITY~!! In fact so much authority that IL gets thrown through the ropes and to the floor. With the Ill One temporarily out of his face Nemesis sits up and then slowly gets back to his feet. Once he’s up he’s assaulted by the Insane Luchador once more who’s far from done. A massive clubbing arm across the Insane Luchador’s back sends the much smaller opponent flying across the ring, skidding to the floor before he can stop his own momentum.

 

King – “That looked like a real eye opener to the Insane Luchador, I mean look at him he can’t believe that he hasn’t taken Nemesis out yet”

 

Mak – “Give him time, it’ll happen I’m sure”

 

Nemesis just stands there like a Greek statue, albeit still with arms and his genitalia is covered up, as he waits for instructions from Professor Attenborough. The old professor is busy reading in the book when the Insane Luchador lunges for him causing the old man to haul ass at a speed very much inappropriate for a man of his age. Rickman chases the professor round the corner, then he slides into the ring to hopefully catch Nemesis off guard. Alas the best laid plan of men sometimes comes up short, this time about two feet as the big man reacts instinctively and grabs his opponent as he comes towards him. Nemesis wraps his hand around the Insane Luchador’s throat, squeezing tight to shut off the Insane Luchador’s air supply

 

Mak – “THAT’S ILLEGAL!”

 

King – “He’s got until 5!”

 

The Insane Luchador’s face slowly turns deep red as he struggles to free himself from Nemesis’ iron grip

 

¤ ONE!! ¤

 

Nemesis looks at the referee like the zebra was growing a third arm but keeping the blatant choke locked on.

 

¤ TWO! ¤

 

The gloved hand keeps squeezing as the Luchador struggles against the chokehold trying to pry Nemesis hands off him.

 

¤ THREE! ¤

 

Nemesis still hasn’t figured out why the referee is counting, it would see that Mount Olympus doesn’t have the “5 count” rule.

 

¤ FOUR! ¤

 

Nemesis doesn’t seem to have a grasp on the rules and could be looking at a disqualification here, fortunately Professor William Attenborough instructs Nemesis to let go of the choke hold before the referee can count to five. After being released The Insane Luchador doubles over, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath again. With The Insane Luchador bent over he’s in the perfect position for Nemesis to pick him up and hold him up in a power bomb position. Professor Attenborough is shouting directions and instructions as Nemesis walks around the ring with The Insane Luchador hoisted up on his shoulders almost as if he’s already got a position picked out in his head. When the professor is satisfied that Nemesis is in the right place the Colossus throws The Insane Luchador forward driving him face first into the canvas with the Long Hard Drop!

 

¤ BANG ¤

 

King – “I think it’s time to stick a fork in The Insane Luchador here”

 

Mak – “You’re a little too quick to dismiss Luchador King”

 

But Nemesis isn’t quite done with The Insane Luchador just yet as he picks the Luchador up once more, lifting him up in the air before bringing him down hard, spine across the big man’s knee trying literally to break the man’s back with the back breaker. Then the big man stands up again, still holding on to Nemesis before tossing him over his head and onto his shoulders in one swift but powerful motion.

 

Professor – “END IT!!”

 

On cue the Colossus throws his opponent up in the air, twisting him forward over his head into an F5 but maintains his grip on the Insane Luchador so that he comes down in a DDT motion

 

¤ BL-DAMN ¤

 

Mak – “That move gives me the creeps, he’ll cripple someone with that one day”

 

King – ”The Fall from Mount Olympus is about as impressive as any move I’ve ever seen, there really isn’t any need to count here”

 

The Suicide King may be right but this is pro wrestling and the three count is kinda traditionally required which is why the Professor directs Nemesis to drop to one knee and place his massive hand on the Insane Luchador’s chest while the referee counts.

 

1!!

 

 

2!!!

 

 

3!!

 

¤ DING ¤ DING ¤ DING ¤

 

Funyon – “The Winner of this match, the Colossus: NEEEEEEEEEMESIS!!!”

 

Mak – ”You’ve got to give The Insane Luchador credit though, he hurt the monster tonight”

 

King – ”But the monster hurt him back tenfold.”

 

Mak – “The Insane Luchador tried but in the end he fell from Mount Olympus”

 

King - ”And HOW!”

 

Nemesis stands in the middle of the ring, both hands raised in the air as he yells, well no shrieks, well no more correctly he howls something guttural that could sound like the name “Manson” although with Nemesis it IS hard to tell.

 

Mak – “Someone is looking for a rematch”

 

King – “Oh you think?”

 

¤ And fade ¤

[Ace309 0]

“Welcome back to Vancouver at the GM Palace, where…” begins Mak, as the lights drop, “we’re set to begin the next match…”

 

But an echo sweeps over the crowd, followed by another, as the lights come up slightly on each one, tension and anticipation building amongst the crowd as they stand…

 

“He’s not on the card!”

 

…and a guttural howl kicks “Scientific Remote Viewing” into full gear, the lights flaring up and seizure-inducing strobes rapidly flash and pulse. To the jeers of the crowd, MANSON throws aside the curtain and enters the arena, the hood of his robe obscuring his disgusted visage as he looks over the sea of humanity, then heads down to the ring.

 

“It’s MANSON!” screams Mak. “He was told he wasn’t needed tonight!”

 

“C’mon, Mak. Anytime is a good time for MANSON!”

 

Undoing his belt as he heads up the steps, he lets his robe hang open and enters through the ropes. He immediately heads to the far corner, ascending the turnbuckles and flicking off his hood, then throwing up the horns to the continuing boos of the fans. He continues to bask in the response and glow of the lights and cameras, but soon steps down, grabbing the microphone off the apron.

 

“Excuse me…” he says, to the continuing heat radiating from the stands, as his music drops out and the lights return to normal, “I was told I wasn’t going to be needed here tonight, but who’s gonna stop me!”

 

“We should’ve sent him on a plane back home or barred him from the arena…”

 

“He’s a contracted worker, let him have his say… or would you prefer we all live in the USSR, comrade?”

 

“I don’t get paid enough.”

 

“Let’s get one thing clear, I am MANSON, and I deserve to be on this show… even if it is in Vancouver!” he booms, to more boos. “Because Vancouver… no, all of Canada needs me, and I’m here to make sure you get the message…”

 

“There’s a light shining brightly in the SWF… bringing meaning to everyone’s dim world, and no it isn’t Toxxic, or Nemesis, or Gabriel Drake, or Zyon, Akira, Johnson… go through the roster, and no one compares to my spirit, my power… Brother, no one compares to MANSONosity!!”

 

“Oh. Here we go again,” mutters Mak.

 

“I am true to my principle, true to my promises, and as I proved at Ground Zero, the true power and strength of the SWF… the one truth! I’m not taking anything away from him, that big bastard that I beat, but I kept my word, I came through in the end!”

 

“Well, that he did…” Mak acknowledges. “I don’t know how managed, but he did it.”

 

“He did it because he SAID he would. This is but one principle of MANSONosity. Have you read the newsletter?”

 

“No, and I don’t want to… newsletter?!”

 

“And although you can’t see it, my arm is wrapped up, my body taped, but that’s nothing compared to the punishment and suffering I’ve willingly taken and am still willing to take for all of you! Just so you don’t have to suffer…”

 

“How long have you been watching the SWF? The IGNWF? The IGNJL? I’ve been there from nearly the start, taking those beatings and shouldering the burden… yet still… there are doubters, naysayers, disbelievers and betrayers who either are unwilling to believe or have outright taken what… is… mine,” he says, thumping his chest. “They’re all wrong, right?! I have bled, I have sacrificed for my principle and justice, for peace, only to feel the eyes… the eyes staring through me, trying to dig into my head and manipulate my mind, turn me into someone willing to tow the line or accept only what’s given while taking and taking, attempting to turn me into another cog...”

 

“Yet… they couldn’t get to me, because I am strong, we are of one powerful mind, we stood up and spat in their face when they told us to just swallow and accept. They couldn’t get to me because they never knew what they were dealing with… my power was always there, but their minds were closed to the truth, man, their minds were closed to the possibilities. MANSONosity represents evolution, change, freedom… truth… power. I tell you, MANSONosity is the flickering light in the dark, leading the lost… just… trust me…”

 

“Wow. Does anyone have Doctor Frood’s number? And who’s we?!” says Mak, as MANSON drops the mic and reaches back, grabbing his hood and placing it back over his head.

 

“Please. Have you been fed the SWF’s doctrine? You a disbeliever, bastard? I know you’re one of them.”

 

“I won’t even acknowledge or dignify that stupidity with a response. We’ll be back with more AftershoXxXxXXxXxxXx in a bit.”

 

“Your reaction says it all. I'm telling.”

[Ace309 0]

Cross v. Zyon

Edited August 5, 2006 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

The lights drop out.

 

HE HAS NOT CONFESSED, HE HAS MADE NO STATEMENT, CHARGES OF MURDER HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AGAINST HIM.

 

Two lights, one red, one white, flash in time with the two crushing opening notes of Fear Factory's "Scapegoat" before receding into blackness. Two more notes, two more lights. This continues as the song builds up, smoke beginning to seep out of the entranceway, the song getting quicker and quicker...

 

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

 

...until it culminates, Burton C. Bell's roar rolling out of the speakers as the red-and-white lights continue to alternate, JJ Johnson emerging from the smoke before striding to the ring, going up the steps, stepping into the ring and stepping up to the second rope, throwing his arms wide in a crucifix pose.

 

“WELCOME BACK! WELCOME BACK!”

 

Mak shouts into his headset, “Welcome back, JJ Johnson! The Canadian Tour may have 75,000 fans in New York City growling, but they love ya in Canada, Triple J!”

 

“Well, it’s not like Genesis is sold out yet or anything. They could still come. It’s at the Skydome. Baseball went on strike the last time they sold out.” King chuckles.

 

“I thought that was a labor agreement thing?”

 

“No, I think people were just pissed off Joe Carter wasn’t living in America anymore,”

 

“Ah”

 

 

WU-TANG CLAN COMIN’ ATCHA!

 

Akira Kaibatsu comes through the curtains, amongst a sea of disapproval, which isn’t something Kaibatsu has experienced in the past. In his short career, Akira Kaibatsu has always had the backs of an arena full of fans.

 

This really is bizarro world.

 

“King, we have some great superstars in the SWF, and that leads to some phenomenal match-ups, but Akira Kaibatsu vs JJ Johnson may very well be the marquee match up,” Mak shills

 

“Which comes to great surprise. I called the very first Akira vs JJ, and had someone told me then that these superstars would improve so quickly, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

 

“The rivalry is about as heated as a friendly one can get. Akira has submitted twice in his career. Once to a hiza-juji-gatame, the other to a step over face lock. JJ Johnson was on the winning end of each maneuver.”

 

Funyon picks up a microphone, and taps it twice with his fingertips, before sending his baritone into it, “First, to my left—“

 

King interrupts, “wait, what? I know, marquee matchup and shit, but they get boxer style intros? This match has no importance past Akira’s losing streak!”

 

By the time King is done venting, Funyon is almost finished. “—AAAAAAAA KAIBATSUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

 

“And to my right…from TORONTOOOOOOOOO ONTARIOOOOO…..J! J! JOOOOOOHHHNSOOOOOOON!”

 

 

YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

FUCK ‘EM UP, JOHNSON, FUCK ‘EM UP! *CLAP CLAP* FUCK ‘EM UP, JOHNSON, FUCK ‘EM UP!”

 

 

“Unlike the Johnson of old, King” Mak starts, “JJ isn’t likely to ‘fuck ‘em up’ to start. Those elbows are still dangerous, but the current approach is to wrestle,”

 

“That’s your reasoning for not ‘fucking him up’ Mak? There are a million, such as knowing each other so well, or having similar styles, but you chose that one?”

 

Both men run towards each other, and lock up strongly, and Johnson twists Akira’s arm over with an arm bar. Kaibatsu rolls forward un-wrenching it, but The Canadian spins it again, barring it once more. Kaibatsu flips over onto his back, and kicks his legs into the air. He shoves Johnson’s hand off of his arm with his foot, all the while grabbing Triple J’s other arm, wrenching it himself. Not wanting to be outdone by the Japanese star, he spins once himself, once again gaining control of the armbar. Kaibatsu throws his arm over JJ’s, knocking it off Akira’s arm, as he grabs the Cold Front Classic winners other arm, he spins around his back putting in the hammerlock. He slides up JJ’s back, and puts in a cravat. He flips Punker forward in the hold for a snapmare, sending JJ on his ass, and grabs his head in a chinlock.

 

“Damnit, Mak,” King’s voice gives us the hint that he’s baffled, “Before I can even comprehend what’s going on…they’ve reversed the hold…and reversed it again,”

 

Mak sighs, “We knew Akira had heavily European influences, I think Ben Hardy said it best when he called Akira’s style Eurasian, but we didn’t think that was a style to put JJ under,”

 

“That’s odd.”

 

“What? What’s odd?”

 

“Ben Hardy said something best.”

 

Johnson rolls to his side in the chinlock, and grabs Akira’s arm from under him, and brings him up, once again in that armbar. Akira walks backwards, forcing JJ into the turnbuckle. Referee Bill Sconeson sternly tells Johnson to break up the hold. The Canadian lifts his hands up, and then shoves The Divine Wind out of his way, into the middle of the ring.

 

 

YEEEEEEEEEAAAHHHHHH!

 

“That gets a pop?” Mak questions, momentarily forgetting he’s in Canada.

 

JJ approaches Akira and quickly goes for a short armed clothesline, but Kaibatsu swiftly ducks underneath and locks in a rear waist lock. JJ spins around to put Akira in a rear waistlock of his own, and he tries to roll backwards for Die Deutschefalle but Akira plants his feet. Kaibatsu then spins right back around and puts in another rear waistlock. Johnson then backs up into the turnbuckle, and Sconeson tells Akira to release his waistlock. Before doing so, Akira shoves Johnson off, into the center of the ring.

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“This place…jesus,”

 

Akira meets his suddenly fan-friendly foe in the middle of the ring, and lock up in Greco-Roman fashion. Johnson spins his right leg to the side, knocking off Akira’s hand. He then reaches down below towards Akira’s legs for a takedown, but The Divine Wind grabs Johnson’s face with a front facelock, not allowing him to go anywhere. He then lets go of the face, and grabs JJ’s arm, barring it. Immediately afterwards Kaibatsu adds another spin, and torques the arm around JJ’s back for the hammerlock. JJ tries to spin out of them, but Akira spins along with him keeping the hold in place.

 

“No one seems to be able to get the uppehand yet. Very evenly spread out offense for both men,” Mak points out.

 

“This is their fourth match, Francis. It’s to be expected that they know each others offense,”

 

“What’s surprising me is that Akira hasn’t opened up his offense at all. He’s playing the ground game.”

 

“Francis, if you remember, and I doubt you do, that’s how he lost the tag team titles. He and Cross beat themselves up, and all JJ had to do was lock in the stepover facelock.”

 

Once again, Johnson spins under Akira, but Kaibatsu spins with him keeping the hammerlock where it is. Johnson holds up his free hand in frustration before he hurls his elbow backwards at Akira’s head.

 

“THAT’S the JJ we’re used to,” King laughs.

 

Johnson then runs to the ropes, bounces back, and knocks down the Japanese wrestler with a shoulder tackle. Akira rolls over and gets up as Johnson runs to the side ropes, once again taking Kaibatsu down with a shoulder tackle. Kaibatsu does the same roll over and get up technique, only to once again fall prey to the shoulder tackle. A fourth time, Kaibatsu rolls over and gets up

 

…and then slides to his left, causing JJ to fall right on his nose.

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Johnson gets right up, and runs at Akira, and Akira catches his arm, flipping him over with an arm drag. Kaibatsu hangs onto the arm and bars it. Kaibatsu then pushes JJ’s arm to the ground, jumps, and drops a knee right on it. JJ grimaces in pain from the hold, as he rolls backwards, right onto his feet. The Canadian then grabs Akira’s other arm, putting in a Greco-Roman knuckle lock. Johnson then kicks Akira in the left leg, followed right up by a kick to the left leg. Akira tries to counter with a monkey flip from the knuckle lock, but JJ doesn’t let Akira gain the momentum to flip him all the way through. Hanging in the air Johnson released the knuckle lock, and presses his hands against Akira’s shoulders.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

NOAKIRAPUSHESJJ’SARMSUP!

 

“Kaibatsu had his shoulder down on the mat there, coulda had a quick pinfall.” King points out.

 

“Akira’s more self aware than that,”

 

“No he isn’t. Did you see the Air Raid match?”

 

Kaibatsu then spreads his legs out from his opponent, dropping him between his legs, and then crossing them around his torso for a bodyscossors. Kaibatsu then wraps his arms around Johnson’s head in a side headlock, and releases the body scissors. Johnson shoves him off his head into the turnbuckle, but Akira steps onto the second buckle, stopping him there. He turns around, and JJ goes for a clothesline, but Akira rolls under it, hits the ropes, bounces back, and hits a huge headscissors on JJ! Akira backs up into the turnbuckle, and wipes some sweat out of his eyes, before getting up and locking up with Akira once again.

 

Johnson and Akira lock up in collar and elbow fashion, and Johnson turns Kaibatsu to locks in a side headlock. Johnson tries to turn around and hit Akira with a tiger spin, but Kaibatsu ducks, and locks in a side headlock of his own. Johnson backs up into the ropes, and shoves Akira off of his head. Kaibatsu hits the ropes and bounces back, Johnson jumps up and leapfrogs over Akira’s head. The Divine Wind then hits the other ropes again, and he steps over Johnson, who is lying flat on the ground. He gets right back up as Akira hits the ropes one more time…

 

 

CRACK

 

“Johnson nails Akira with that elbow!!”

 

YEEEAAAAHHH!!

 

Johnson then tips his had to the Canadian fans, resulting in quite the applause, before he yells out to the Canucks, “DAMAGE DONE!!” and heads over to the turnbuckle. He climbs to the top, but isn’t there for long! Akira comes running over to him, and knocks him off the turnbuckle into the apron. Akira then picks up Johnson and throws him back into the ring. Akira makes a spinning motion with his hands over his head, making the Canadian crowd boo. Akira climbs to the top.

 

“King, we saw Akira hit this on Spike the other night. Will he go for it again?”

 

 

“I think he will!”

 

Akira then jumps off the turnbuckle, flipping once…then flipping again, and driving his stomach into JJ’s!!!

 

BOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Yes! Akira hit the 450 splash! Thing of beauty!”

 

“Cover!!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!

 

 

WU-TANG CLAM COMIN ATCHA!

 

“Yes, King! Akira has overcome the odds! The streak is over!”

 

“HERE IS YOUR WINNER AT 6 MINUTES AND 12 SECONDS…THE DIVINE WIND…AKIRRAAAAAAA KAIIIIBAAATSUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

[Ace309 0]

As SWF Aftershoxxx comes back on the air, Akira Kaibatsu, alone in the ring with the referee of the next match, continues posing for the crowd.

 

“Well, folks. After the grueling contest between Akira and JJ Johnson, Akira has decided to stick around for the crowd here in Vancouver!”

 

Akira continues around the ring, allowing the crowd to take pictures of him to send them home…when “Money” by Pink Floyd begins to play over the PA system. Akira immediately shoots his attention over towards the ring entrance, where SWF Cruiserweight Champion Michael Cross begins to make his way out.

 

“What is he doing out here,” cries Mak, “He just defeated Zyon to retain the Cruiserweight Title…and now he is out here to bother his former tag team partner!”

 

Cross and Mr. Kobe make their way down the entrance ramp, pointing at Akira as they inch closer to him. Akira stands in the middle of the ring, calling for both men to enter the ring. Keeping his eye on Cross and the Cruiserweight Title, Akira stays focused, not trying to break it on the champ…

 

 

 

 

…And doesn’t notice Spike Jenkins slide into the ring behind him, steel chair in hand. Spike gets to his feet, grabs Akira by the shoulder and spins him around. Akira turns, not knowing who is behind him…

 

 

 

*CRACK*

 

 

 

 

…And gets leveled with a steel chair shot to the head! Akira goes down quickly, leaving the crowd stunned. Spike tosses the chair to the side. He goes after the referee, grabbing him by his shirt and dragging him over to Akira. Tossing the referee on the ground, Spike drops down and covers Akira, mockingly hooking the leg. Confused, the referee does what Spike yells at him to do.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

Spike rolls off of Akira and yells at the referee to call for the bell. Scared for his life, he signals for the bell.

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“What the hell was that?” cries Francis.

 

“I think Spike just won his shot at the SWF International Title!”

 

“Earlier in the night, Joseph Peters told him he has to defeat Akira in a rematch to receive the title match…but not like this!”

 

Spike holds both arms in the air victoriously, as he points over at Cross and Kobe. Both men, chuckling at the misfortune of The Divine Wind, nod and begin to make their way back to the backstage area.

 

“Spike Jenkins, Michael Cross, and Mr. Kobe set Akira up! Why? This is unbelievable!”

 

Spike climbs out of the ring and begins making his way backstage, as well. Posing for the jeering Canadians, Jenkins uses his hands to taunt a title belt around his waist. Inside of the ring, the true number one contender to the SWF International Title lays unconscious.

 

“Fans, we are going to have to go to a commercial break! We’ll be right back!”

[Ace309 0]

"Ladies and gentlemen, fresh off a successful title defence at Ground Zero I would like to introduce the new International Champion, Bruce Blank” Ben Hardy says with a nervous twitch as he stands in the middle of the ring awaiting the arrival of the champ.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

The White Trash chant stops the moment Bruce steps through the curtains though. Gone are the tattered jeans, the cowboy hat, the unshaved chin. It would seem that St. John Smith has been successful in persuading Bruce to wear the tan pants and the red polo shirt instead of his usual ring attire, he’s even got Bruce’s mullet tied back in a pony tail.

 

“Hold on I thought LAST WEEK was the alternate time line King??” Mak says as he looks at the bizarre image of Bruce Blank heading down the ramp towards the ring.

 

“Boy oh boy he doesn’t look happy now does he?” King remarks as Bruce looks like someone just ran over his dog, then backed up and ran over it again, he quite clearly doesn’t feel comfortable wearing what he’s wearing.

 

The big man keeps fiddling with his collar as he heads to the ring, scratching his cleanly shaved chin and trying not to let the ponytail bother him too much. When he stops by the ring steps he looks around, then shakes his head and sighs as he’s clearly not comfortable with the changes he’s been forced to make. Bruce takes the 3 steps up the steel steps and then enters the ring where he shoots Ben Hardy the dirtiest of looks as the interviewer runs his eyes over the new clothes.

 

“Not a word” he mutters as he points at Ben, points with a well manicured, clean hand.

 

“Well Bruce you certainly look . . “ Hardy stops as Bruce clenches his massive right fist quickly causing the interviewer to change his mind. “. . . looked good against Charlie Matthews on Sunday night”

 

Bruce grins, then he adjusts the title he’s got draped over his shoulder as he gathers his thoughts.

 

“All in a nights work” he just says trying to pass the brutal and hard hitting match off as no big deal “Former world champion, unbeaten since his return to the federation and apparently the odds on favourite going into the match” he then adds.

 

“Well to be fair Bruce like you said he had not lost a match since he returned” Ben explains.

 

“He has now” Bruce replies with a grin “And it seems like I’ve beaten the odds. . . again. Everyone said I didn’t stand a chance of winning the International title, yet here I stand as YOUR International champion!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

Bruce ignores the boos and just continues with his tirade “I’ve beaten the odds since day one Ben, no one thought I could hold the Ultraviolent title for 213 days! No one ever suspected that I would become the most active champion! And now everyone is just waiting for me to fail” Bruce says with a grin

 

He pauses for a moment, then he holds the title up to his face and looks straight at the camera

 

“Kills ya doesn’t it?”

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHOLE!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHOLE!!

 

“A lot of people expect me to act differently, to look differently” Bruce says while staring straight at the camera as if he was looking straight as Joseph Peters. “The package may change, but I’m still the same hell raises underneath! I’m still a man who’d rather kick your ass than shake your hand!”

 

“You’ve won the title, you’ve even defended it already yet you can’t lean back and relax because you’ve got Akira Kaibatsu on your trail” Ben Hardy says hoping to guide this interview in some sort of direction.

 

“No rest for the wicked eh? Well I’m easy enough to find, in a federation of midgets I damn well stand out” Bruce says with a grin and then pads his pants pocket almost as if he was looking for a pack of cigarettes or something, when he doesn’t find anything the grin falters. “Who am I?”

 

“Well you’re Bruce Blank” Ben answers a little flustered and confused over the question.

 

“I am the man that made it very easy for Michael Cross to eliminate you on Smarkdown Akira. I’m sure you remember that, right little man? The chair to the back of the head, the agony, the pain. . . the humiliation of having your title aspirations crushed by Cross – AGAIN!”

 

“The two of you are certainly not strangers to each other Bruce, you seem to take pleasure in hurting him” Ben says.

 

“So? Yes I do enjoy hurting him, I enjoy slapping him back down each time he thinks he’s about to climb up to the next step” Bruce says with a dismissive wave of the hand.

 

“Now I know it’s a bit premature to look beyond Akira” Ben starts out

 

“Nah it’s in the bag Benny” Bruce says with confidence, maybe even over-confidence as he doesn’t look worried at all.

 

“Alright then beyond Akira there is a whole federation full of talented people who will be gunning for you now.”

 

“True, true – I mean a guy like say Zyon is probably keen to try and take the gold from me.”

 

“Landon?” Ben asks saying the first name that came to mind

 

“Ah yes a former champion himself, I’m sure he’s in line somewhere”

 

“How about the longes-“

 

Bruce raises a clenched fist and cuts Ben Hardy off mid sentence before he can complete the line about “the longest reigning champion ever”

 

“Let’s get this straight right now Benny. Jay Hawke is the past alright? The poor boy just wasn’t able to bounce back after losing the title, some people just can’t.”

 

“Can you?”

 

“Look at me Ben, look at me – I’m a fucking super ball” Bruce says and taps the International title “I recovered from losing the Ultraviolent title and took this one, I’d say that qualifies as bouncing back. Not like Hawke, poor boy is like 3 steps away from losing to rookies on their first night” Bruce says with a chuckle.

 

With that, the opening strains of Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" come over the PA, and the crowd pops in spite of itself.

 

"How about this?" Mak Francis not-so-rhetorically asks. "Jay Hawke has heard Bruce Blank's comments and is on his way to the ring.

 

Indeed, Jay Hawke emerges through the curtain, wearing a stylish-looking biege suit, and unlike the current International Champion, this is exactly the type of attire he's used to. As Hawke continues walking to the ring, some members of the crowd begin their familiar chant:

 

"JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!"

 

"Well, Mak," Suicide King says, "Blank just had some very strong words to say about Jay Hawke, and it seems like Hawke has taken exception to some of them."

 

As Jay Hawke makes his way into the ring, Ben Hardy says, "Well, this is certainly a surprise."

 

Hawke moves over to Hardy and rips the microphone out of his hands.

 

"That'll do, Hardy. Why don't you go to the golf course and practice your putts?"

 

Ben Hardy throws a mild protest, but Hawke balls his hand up into a fist and sends Hardy scurrying out of the way to safety.

 

"Now then," starts the longest-reigning International Champion of all-time, "I was in the back negotiating my latest endorsement deal, and I couldn't help but hear you running your mouth about how you bounced back from losing the Ultraviolent Title. And you did, no question about that. But you see, there's one thing that eats you alive right now, and that's the fact that no matter how hard you tried, the record for longest uninterrupted title reign in the SWF belongs to me by a good two months."

 

Bruce Blank says "no worries" off-mic, but we faintly hear it.

 

"No worries?" asks Hawke. "No worries. See, you're already looking back Akira Kaibatsu...and maybe for good reason since he needed overtime to beat a guy I beat on the opening handshake. But you're dismissing people right off the bat. Let's go over some of these names. Landon Maddix? Not only did I beat him for that belt you're holding, I carried his ass to a tag team championship to the point that my back still hasn't recovered."

 

The crowd pops, and even Hawke looks around like "what the hell" before continuing.

 

"As for Zyon? Well, he gave me everything he had on more than one occasion and came *this close* to the promised land, but he couldn't get the job done. I have a lot of respect for him, but the fact is he had three chances to beat me and didn't get the job done."

 

Some more cheers...

 

"You know, I'd think twice about cheering me when you're too stupid to move out of this pathetic country!"

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

"That's better. But here's the thing, Bruce. All your success came because you're a hardcore wrestler. You brawl. You hit people with things. You fight people with multiple personalities at gravesites. You hit people with stuffed animals at giant toy stores. But you see, by holding that title right there, you're no longer the man who gets to win matches by bludgeoning people over the head. Instead, you've got to wrestle. Something you've never proven to me or any of these Canadian cocksuckers that you can do."

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

As Hawke continues, Blank asks for another microphone.

 

"So let me put it to you this way. See, should you make it through Akira Kaibatsu whenever that match winds up happening -- and that's a very big 'if', mind you -- then you're going to have to step into that ring with the man that made that championship mean something. And when you step into the ring with me, then I'm going to teach you a wrestling lesson that you'll never forget, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

 

"Full of confidence, aren't ya?" asks Bruce with a smirk. "This is coming from a guy who has won maybe two matches since he lost the title in the first place? You couldn't win the World Title when you got the opportunity. You couldn't win the tournament for this belt when you had the chance. Hell, have you even won a match since you came back from your so-called vacation? No. What makes you think you can beat me?"

 

"Simple," Hawke answers. "In my ten years in this business, I've taken on a lot of guys who were bigger than you, stronger than you, tougher than you, and they're all the same. They're so used to wrestling one style that as soon as you can wrestle another style, they get confused and lose their edge. And let's face it, we all know it doesn't make much to confuse you."

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Blank becomes flustered at the comment and responds with "You think you're funny, dontcha?"

 

"Only if you can consider the truth funny, Bruce."

 

That line clearly strikes a nerve, as Bruce Blank bites his lip before continuing.

 

"If you're trying to talk your way into a title shot, it ain't gonna work, you hear me, Jay?"

 

"Well," Jay begins to respond, "there's obviously one reason you'd say that. You're afraid."

 

"Afraid? Of your skinny ass?"

 

"Not necessarily," Hawke admits. "I mean, you might be afraid I'll regain my title. Or you might be afraid you'll lose it to Akira before I even get the shot at it."

 

Bruce responds, "Listen, pal, I'm not afraid of you, I'm not afraid of Akira, and I'm not afraid of anybody else on the entire roster! You talk about how I'm a hardcore wrestler and not a wrestler in the truest sense of the word. You couldn't last ten minutes with me in a hardcore environment!"

 

Hawke opens his mouth as if to respond, but a light bulb goes off in his head before he asks "Is that a challenge?"

 

Bruce looks confused, mustering up only "Um, what?"

 

"You think I can't do a hardcore match, Bruce? Tell you what. Seeing as how they haven't given you an official booking for your title defense with Akira Kaibatsu ... and seeing as how I'm not doing anything Wednesday night ... why don't I accept that little challenge? A ten-minute no DQ match at Lockdown. You beat me in less than ten minutes, no harm no foul. I last the full ten minutes? Then I not only get credit for the victory, but I just take a little bit of your pride while I do it."

 

Bruce Blank thinks about it for a few minutes, and the crowd begins chanting things like "Say yes", "do it tonight", and "just take him to prom already".

 

"You're on."

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

"But Jay," continues Bruce, "I wouldn't bother packing a lunch at Lockdown, because I plan on it being a short night."

 

Hawke nods and smiles before dropping his microphone and slowly backing out of the ring, making sure never to take his eyes off Blank.

 

"Well, King," says Mak Francis, "I hope they weren't planning on Akira getting his shot at Lockdown, because it looks like Bruce just changed the order on his dance card."

 

"As tough and bad as Bruce Blank is," replies King, "he might have opened his mouth too soon. Beating Hawke in ten minutes or less? I don't see how that can possibly turn out well for either man."

 

"And we have plenty more action still to come, so don't you dare miss it."

[Ace309 0]

DING DING!!!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following contest is YOUR MAIN EVENT, and the SWF Tag Team Championships will be on the line!” The announcer pauses while the Vancouver crowd cheers.

 

“We’re back,” says the Suicide King, “and, frankly, I think I’m going to go insane if we stay here in this god-forsaken land much longer. Seriously, Mak, I know you’re happy you can just walk across the street, metaphorically speaking, to get your medications, and the medical marijuana is a nice benefit, but honestly! We couldn’t even come here during the Stampede?”

 

“That’s Calgary, King. We’re in Vancouver,” Mak says.

 

“Oh, come on, that’s like pretending the Dakotas are really two different states.”

 

“In any case,” says Mak, trying to segue away from the Suicide King’s shameless anti-boreal sentiment, “we’re about to see the exercise of the mandatory rematch clause in the contract that set up the match where Flesher and Matthews won the Tag Team Championships. The Doomstroyer has only been seen once since he suffered Tom and Grappler’s Spike Piledriver, and that was in a match against Two Skinny White Guys where he was pinned after the Sunny in England. Things haven’t been looking good for the big dude from Doomopolis.”

 

“Well, what do you expect?” asks King. “Once you get dumped on your head by this absolutely magnificent duo, you’re never the same again. Look at what happened to Grendel, for god’s sake. He didn’t even show up at Ground Zero!”

 

“Neither did Taamo,” Mak points out, “and I don’t see you castigating him.”

 

“When you scare your opponent so much he doesn’t even show up...”

 

“Neither did Tom!”

 

“Oh, sure he did,” King says. “I had a gelato with him backstage.”

 

Mak sighs. He debates rebutting, but before he can, the lights switch from their standard shades to orange. With that, Incredibad’s “Just 2 Guyz” begins to blare, and the Vancouver crowd begins to cheer. As they step out from behind the velvet curtain, each Doomtopian wears a fur shtriemel.

 

“They must be from the Chassidic section of Doomopolis,” Mak points out.

 

Meanwhile, Lois the Unethical follows behind the Doomtopians carrying a briefcase. The fans cheer for the former Tag Team Champions, apparently mainly on the basis that they’re not the current Tag Team Champions. The Doomstroyer enters the ring first, followed by Jimmy the Doom. Lois, meanwhile, takes a seat on the outside of the ring and opens her briefcase to reveal...

 

a paperback kakuro book and a mechanical pencil!

 

“She’s sure to keep herself busy with those,” King says. “Do they even teach arithmetic in Doomtopia’s flood-ravaged schools?”

 

“There are floods in Doomtopia? I thought there was a drought.”

 

King shrugs. “Frankly, I don’t care.”

 

“Just 2 Guyz” fades out, and the lights go back on. Before even a heartbeat goes by, the sandpapery voice of James Matheson rings out over the speakers, as he makes his entry with the obligatory “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The crowd immediately begins booing, but Matheson isn’t one to be dissuaded by a mere bad reaction. “It’s good to be up here in the Maple Leaf State,” he says, “and getting a chance to take in all the scenery. I’m still a little disappointed that the skiing’s shut down for the season, but we’ll improvise. Besides, if there’s one thing about British Columbia, it’s the bud... ding talent shown by some of the local wrestlers. In fact, my athletes have taken quite a shine to the Great White North, so, without further ado, let’s hear it for the Champions!”

 

With that, the unmistakable opening strains of Canadian folk artist Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” begin to play over the loudspeakers, and Tom Flesher and Charlie “Grappler” Matthews step through the curtain clad in red Team Canada scarves, toques and hockey jerseys. Flesher, with his thumb (as always) taped to support it due to injury, carries a goalie stick with him, while Matthews simply struts behind him. Each man wears his SWF Tag Team Championship belt wrapped around his waist.

 

“What the hell are they doing?” asks Mak Francis.

 

“James Matheson is brilliant,” says King. “As we kick off this Canadian tour, he saw a chance to reinvent this absolutely magnificent team as someone that the fans can’t help but love. Frankly, I don’t blame him... they’re going to miss the science of Tom Flesher and the destructive power of Charlie Matthews entirely, since Canadian fans are some of the dullest on the planet, so he’s dumbed it down so they know who to cheer! Smart and philanthropic.”

 

Once they get to the ring, the Champions enter and stand in their corner as referee Eddy Long and Funyon stand in the center.

 

“The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, with a sixty-minute time limit,” says Funyon. “The man in charge of the action is senior official Eddy Long. In the corner to my left, representing war-torn Doomtopia, and accompanied to the ring by Lois the Unethical, are the challengers... at a total combined weight of 515 pounds, the Doomstroyer... Jimmy the Doom... the NEW DOOMTOPIANS!”

 

The crowd cheers as Jimmy and the Doomstroyer remove their high fur hats and set them in the corner, with Jimmy stretching out and the Doomstroyer looking menacingly like he’s developed skill recently.

 

“And their opponents... accompanied to the ring by the brains behind the brawn, James Matheson, and weighing in at a total combined weight of 537 pounds...”

 

Matheson shouts, “We’re in Canada, you schmuck.”

 

Funyon rolls his eyes. “At a total combined weight of 244 kilograms, and fighting out of their temporary residence in VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA...” Funyon pauses, correctly anticipating an abusive round of booing from the fans. “They are the SWF Tag Team Champions, ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher and Charlie... ‘Grappler’... MAAAAAAAATTHEWS!”

 

Flesher mounts a turnbuckle and salutes the crowd, doffing his toque and tossing it to the closest segment of the audience. Almost immediately, a “HAIL DOOMTOPIA!” chant breaks out among the crowd, and Flesher hops back down. He and Matthews each remove their remaining Team Canada paraphernalia as Eddy Long approaches them. Flesher kisses his belt before each man hands it to the referee, who shows the belt to the Doomtopians before holding them in the air.

 

“This is, of course, the Doomtopians’ rematch,” says the Suicide King, “although really, it’s just a formality. You can’t expect to pick off a team with this kind of raw talent.”

 

As Long sets the belts on the apron to be taken off by an attendant, he calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

In the corners, the teams discuss strategy. Using the traditional Doomtopian method of decisionmaking (“And it looks like Jimmy has.... rock!”), the Doomstroyer is selected to start the match off for the challengers. Once he steps into the ring, Matheson points at Matthews, who gingerly turns his head from side to side and then steps toward the center while Flesher exits.

 

“And we have Charlie Matthews starting this one off against the Doomtopian Destroyer,” notes Mak Francis. “The powerhouses of these teams are set to blow the roof off the General Motors Center!”

 

 

Riiiiiight.

 

 

“Collar and elbow tie,” says the Suicide King, accurately describing the action as the two hosses jockey for position. Matthews shoves Doomstroyer backwards, and the big Doomtopian throttles forward in reaction. The two BUTT into each other again, prompting King to make a tired reference: “The immovable object meets the quite resistible force!” As the two stay in the center of the ring, they lean into each other once again, each man struggling to win the fight for dominance. Quickly, Matthews reverts to his wrestling training and slides an arm under the Doomstroyer’s. He clamps down, only to have Matthews apply the same hold on the other side. Then, with all the flourish of an old-school professor, he hoists his opponent into the air...

 

 

BOOOORING! BOOOORING!

 

 

... and applies a picture-perfect bearhug!

 

“Technically brilliant way to begin the match,” says the Suicide King. “He’s going to wear down the weak link of the Doomtopians, and if they have their way, Jimmy the Doom won’t come into play at all.”

 

“That’s a great idea,” says Francis, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “but what are they going to do when the Doomstroyer, you know, fights back?”

 

“They’ll cross that bridge when they get there.”

 

Matthews turns around, facing the corner where Flesher and Matheson stand, and putting his body between the Doomtopians. Matheson shouts at him to take a few more steps toward the corner, which the giant does obligingly. Lois the Unethical, for her part, shouts that she can’t remember the unique sum for 17 in two boxes.

 

The Doomstroyer fights, trying to escape a hold meant to punish his ribs, his diaphragm and his audience. As the “Boring” chants continue, he tries in vain to force an arm between his chest and Matthews’ meathooks. Matthews, meanwhile, tries to increase the pressure. He drives forward, slamming the Doomstroyer into the turnbuckles with such force that both of them bounce back a few steps. The Doomstroyer falls back into the corner, and as Charlie turns his enormous body to block the referee’s view, Tom Flesher wraps the tag rope around the Doomstroyer’s neck and begins choking him unmercifully!

 

“Oh, come on,” says Mak, crestfallen. “The champs are just trying to cheat their way to another successful defense.”

 

“The operative word there is successful,” says King. “Keep in mind that unless and until Eddy Long sees it happening, it’s not cheating, and even then they get a five-count.”

 

Nonetheless, Long, as a senior official, has a fairly good idea of what’s going on, and steps around Matthews to catch Flesher in the act. Flesher holds up both hands in an expression of innocence, keeping the tag rope. He reaches his free hand out, and Matthews tags him in!

 

“And Flesher makes his first entry into the match,” says King. “He should be a hometown hero for this Canadian crowd!”

 

“What are you talking about?” scoffs Mak. “Kid’s from Buffalo. East coast all the way!”

 

“Up here they call them the Maritimes.”

 

With the Doomstroyer indisposed thanks to the choking he just received, Flesher can easily waltz into the ring and hammer him with a palm strike to stun him for a few more seconds. From there, Tom grabs his opponent’s left arm and spins, tossing him to the mat with an ippon seionage throw and seating him on the mat. Then, Tom throws a stiff shin kick that connects with the back of the Doomstroyer’s neck, snapping his head back. He reaches out, and Matthews tags back in. Flesher keeps Doomstroyer’s arm even as Eddy Long makes his count, and Matthews comes in quickly to apply a rear chinlock. As Long hits four, Flesher scurries out of the ring.

 

“Smart use of the five-count,” says King. “They’re trying to immobilize the Doomstroyer as much as possible, and they look to be focusing on his neck. It’s a good strategy, considering that the Doomstroyer’s last two appearances have ended with him getting dumped on his head.”

 

As Matthews applies his... punishing? Yes, that’ll do... hold, Flesher stands on the bottom rope. He shouts to the crowd, waving his arms and trying to get them to join in a chant with him.

 

“WE WANT POUTINE!”

 

The crowd, of course, completely no-sells him, with the exception of a few who simply boo him unmercifully.

 

“This trying to be Canadian thing doesn’t work if you can’t tell the difference between Western Canada and Quebec,” says Francis.

 

“What’s the difference? There, they speak French. Here, they wrestle steers. So what? They’re all one united federation of Canadian states, Mak.”

 

Francis blinks, knowing that there have to be at least three things factually wrong with that, but so blinded by the stupidity of it all as to be unable to articulate them.

 

As the fans decline Flesher’s invitation to chant about poutine and instead opt to remind Matthews of his lack of charisma, Charlie himself tightens the chinlock and even wrenches a knee into the Doomstroyer’s back to increase the pressure. The Doomstroyer tries to free himself, but finds that escape is more difficult than it appears. He tries to peel Matthews’ locked fingers apart, but the Grappler is able to keep the grip and even tighten the chinlock. As Doomstroyer presumably grimaces in pain, Flesher reaches out, and Matthews tags him in.

 

“These quick tags are really impressive,” says King. “You have to admire the Champions’ ability to keep a fresh man in the ring.”

 

Matthews maintains his chinlock, enraging Eddy Long, who begins his count almost immediately. Flesher measures the challenger up, adjusting his black-and-blue kickpad, and then lets fly with a devastating kick to the jaw! Matthews, satisfied that his job is done, stands up and exits the ring. Flesher, meanwhile, drops down and lackadaisically covers the Doomstroyer.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

That’s all he gets, though, as the Doomtopian hoss kicks out almost instantly. Flesher pulls away, standing between the Doomstroyer and his tag team partner, and still keeping the Doomstroyer only a few feet from the Champions’ corner. As Jimmy the Doom shouts advice at the Doomstroyer, all he can do is try to get to his feet. As he does, however, Tom winds up as if to punch him squarely in the jaw with his left hand. He lets the haymaker go and promptly shoves his taped left thumb straight into the Doomstroyer’s eye! The fans begin to boo even louder, and Eddy Long issues a harsh admonition. As he does so, though, Charlie Matthews wraps a meaty forearm around the Doomstroyer’s neck and chokes the life out of him!

 

“That damn thumb to the eye!” fumes Mak. “It’s bad enough Taamo does it every chance he gets, but now he’s even using it to distract the ref!”

 

“In economics, Mak, they’d call that ‘efficient breach.’”

 

Pause.

 

“No they wouldn’t, you dick,” snaps Mak. “He’s breaking the rules and getting stroked up for it!”

 

After a few seconds of arguing with Flesher over exactly what he had done, whether he had in fact done it, whether it was illegal, whether he had in fact REALLY committed an illegal act, and finally whether Flesher’s hair had been pulled in the process (“It’s hard to pull a brushcut, Mak. It just shows how resourceful the Doomstroyer is.”), Eddy Long finally turns and sees Charlie Matthews choking Doomstroyer out! He flips out, shouting at Matthews to break the hold! Immediately, Matthews does so, letting the Doomstroyer once again slump into the corner where he’s ripe for a palm strike to the jaw that sends him to his ass once again. Flesher backs up to the center of the ring, inquiring Eddy Long as to whether the senior official could exchange Tom’s twonies for some good Canadian paper money.

 

But as Long berates Taamo for wasting his time with such finely-minted matters, Charlie Matthews is down at ringside keeping Doomstroyer trapped in the corner, pulling the lanky Doomtopian’s arms back in almost a surfboard against the bottom turnbuckle. Seeing this, Flesher charges, extending his leg out and

 

*SCHWAAAAAAP!*

 

--using the momentum to scrape his boot against the face of the Doomstroyer, snapping his neck back in the process!

 

“Perhaps that could’ve been more effective,” King muses, “had Flesher opted to switch from his traditional Asics to some snow boots, or maybe even ice skates.”

 

“Yes, King, since that’d be logistically possible in a wrestling match.”

 

“It’d make for a nice bootscrape, you have to admit.”

 

“Perhaps, but then the blood would leave us more worried about a Hep-C outbreak and various instances of elevated enzymes of the liver.”

 

“Touché.”

 

Matthews innocently releases Doomstroyer’s arms and climbs back up to the corner, taking a firm grip of the tag rope as Flesher tags him in. Long provides a quicker—frustrated? Yeah, definitely—five-count against the champions, giving Matthews just enough time to scoop Doomstroyer up out of the corner, onto his shoulder, and place him in the tree of woe. Immediately upon the end of the five, Grappler tags Flesher back in, allowing The Superior One to place one foot on the second rope and the other squarely onto Doomstroyer’s testicles, in a spot familiar to anyone who watches TNA.

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOO CAAAAAAAAANAAAADAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Flesher cries, in what is, in all honesty, a much better baritone than Petey Williams can muster.

 

Eddy Long gets on Flesher not only for the five count but also for the very obvious low blow, but honestly, who really disqualifies for that anymore? Tom finally relinquishes, giving Doomstroyer time to proceed in the rapid creation of demon seeds. Still, Flesher tags in Matthews, again, allowing him to scoop Doomstroyer out of the tree of woe, twist around, and slam him hard to the mat with a running powerslam! He holds onto the lateral press as Long counts.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

…until the fall is broken up by Jimmy the Doom! The crowd erupts like a volcano on a bad day, or Dirk Diggler on film, as the other half of the challengers lands a hard stomp to the back of Matthews’ head.

 

“You can just tell Jimmy is itching to get in the ring,” Mak helpfully points out, “I think he’s had enough of seeing his partner be methodically and most-often illegally destroyed, no pun intended.”

 

“Jimmy should just play conservatively, not unlike Stephen Harper,” King replies. “There’s no use in meddling with the champions’ business. If the Winnebago is rockin’…”

 

To his credit, Eddy Long actually gets on Jimmy’s case, much to the disapproval of the crowd. As he backs the challenger into his corner, Flesher claps his hands together for the international “heel false tag” and enters the ring. As he does so, Charlie Matthews scoops the Doomstroyer up and lifts him parallel to the ground, while Flesher goes behind and traps his adversary in an inverted facelock. Together, the two drop down to the canvas, spiking Doomstroyer with the sidewalk slam/reverse DDT combo.

 

YOU BOTH SUCK, EH! YOU BOTH SUCK, EH!

 

“Oh, come on!” King bemoans, “if they hate being stereotyped by the Champions, the last thing they should do is prove why they’re being stereotyped.”

 

Eddy Long sees the tail end of the double team, and immediately admonishes the champions. Flesher points out that a tag was made and they had five seconds, but Eddy Long instead turns to the Vancouver crowd.

 

“DID THEY MAKE THE TAG?” Long shouts.

 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Long trusts the judgment of twenty-thousand strong in the General Motors Center, sending Flesher out of the ring and commanding Matthews to reenter. The champions, as well as Matheson, are incredulous. In fact, Lois the Unethical is incredulous, too, but mostly because 41-in-seven sounds like a near-impossibility for any Doomtopian, let alone a woman.

 

Frustrated, Charlie Matthews reenters the ring, stooping over to pick Doomstroyer up…

 

…but succumbs to a small package pin! Long is down for the count!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

James Matheson is irate and immediately jumps on the apron, pointing out to Eddy Long that Doomstroyer clearly pulled Matthews’ crew cut AND a yank of the tights (“I saw the white of his ass myself!”). This allows Flesher to reenter the ring, but Jimmy the Doom will have none of it! The fellow Doomtopian enters, and counters Flesher’s charge with the same thing any tag partner with minutes of pent-up frustration would use:

 

A hiptoss?

 

It works.

 

But the main focus of Jimmy’s attention is Charlie Matthews, as despite Matheson’s best efforts to turn Eddy Long around, the senior official doesn’t see Jimmy the Doom surprise the rising Grappler by kicking him in the gut, grabbing him by the head, and leaping into the air, smashing him face-first with the Doom Factor!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

 

The Vancouver crowd is rabid as Doom leaves the ring, Flesher rolls under the bottom rope, and the Doomstroyer feebly drapes an arm over Matthews as Long finally turns around to count the pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

…KICKOUT!

 

“Damn it!” Mak cries, “with Flesher out of the picture for an inordinate amount of time—especially considering it was after a hiptoss—and Matthews hit with Jimmy’s finisher, it was perfect. If only Eddy Long had been in position to make the immediate count!”

 

“If Eddy Long had been in position, he never would’ve allowed that illegal move to happen!” King argues, “I swear, it’s a conspiracy against the champions!”

 

Both legal competitors begin the traditional slow-crawl to their respective corners, but Matthews, being closer to his, makes the first tag to Flesher, who has recovered after the devastating hiptoss. He charges across the ring, and much to the disapproval of the crowd, lays a well-timed stomp onto the neck of the Doomstroyer, preventing him from making the tag. He then drags Doom a foot away, sits him up on the mat, and brings his left leg around his adversary’s throat, falling back and locking his legs together in a figure-four choke submission!

 

Though, I guess one might say the hold is executed rather lackadaisically. Taamo leans back, on his elbows, relaxing for a second, before shifting his and Doomstroyer’s weight around so that Doomstroyer is on his stomach, and Flesher is on his knees with the hold still applied. He does what any good heel would do: the golf clap! Matheson and Matthews join in unison, while the Vancouver faithful boo their respective lungs out.

 

“What do they expect?” King asks, “I’m sorry, but as Canadian as Matthews and Flesher are tonight, I don’t think anyone would take a curling clap seriously. Golf it is.”

 

As Flesher cinches in the hold and congratulates himself for it, what he doesn’t notice is that, in turning Doomstroyer over, the tall lanky hoss was able to simply lift one of his long legs up…

 

*SMACK*

 

…and have it tagged by Jimmy the Doom! The crowd explodes as Eddy Long rules it an official tag, and, unbeknownst to Flesher, Jimmy charges, leaps, and traps the kneeling Flesher in a headlock, bringing him face-first into the mat with a bulldog, surprising the champ and effectively breaking the figure-four choke!

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a tag before!” Mak commends, “Doom was close enough to his corner that his long leg could make the tag, and the Champions are in a very bad way right now!”

 

“How is that even legal?” King complains, “Long doesn’t allow the champs’ perfectly-legal tag before, but now he’s letting anything go? What a damn hypocrite!”

 

As Flesher clutches his genetically-perfected and ruggedly handsome but currently aching face (in a mouthful-description that rivals “triple-venti nonfat no-whip mocha, extra hot” for sheer absurdity), Jimmy the Doom keeps his momentum running by charging to his opponents’ corner and surprising Charlie Matthews with a double palm thrust that shoves him off the apron, onto the ringside area down below!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!

 

By this point, Flesher has risen to his feet, adjective mocha face notwithstanding. Jimmy turns and comes face to face with the Champion, and begins the spot that makes all wrestling purists roll their eyes.

 

YAY!

 

BOO!

 

YAY!

 

BOO!

 

YAY!

 

“God, I hate this spot,” King groans.

 

Yes, it’s the crowd-participation slugfest spot, except these two are using palm strikes. VARIETY~!

 

YAY!

 

YAY!

 

Jimmy seems to get the upper hand, until—

 

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

--Flesher’s injured thumb acts up, as it finds itself right in the eye of Jimmy! Taamo grips it in pain, and looks to Eddy Long for mercy, but he gets none. Sighing, Flesher takes Doom by the arm and Irish whips him into the turnbuckle…but Doom reverses the momentum, sending Flesher in! Jimmy charges in after him, takes a hold of his head, and flips him over down to the canvas with a headlock takeover!

 

“The 73.5267.1094Q80.16!” Mak cries. “With that international calling code, I think I can quite literally say that Jimmy the Doom has the Champions’ number tonight!”

 

King smacks Mak in the back of the head for the pun.

 

 

 

In any case, Jimmy holds onto the lateral press and Eddy Long begins the count, but a MADLY IN ANGER~ Charlie Matthews reenters the ring after his tumble and stomps down on Jimmy before even a one count is even registered. Despite the constant admonishing by Long, Matthews follows this by dropping a hard elbow down across the back of Jimmy’s neck. The Doom rolls off of Flesher and howls in pain, giving The Superior One time to catch his breath. Both Jimmy and Taamo reach their feet at the same time, and out of the corner of his eye, the Champion notices Doomstroyer slumped over in the corner, still pretty out of action. So, Flesher does what any good heel would do: grab Jimmy by the head and charge into his own corner, forcing him against the Doomstroyer and signaling a tag!

 

“Brilliant!” King cheers, “Tom Flesher just forced a tag for the challengers, leaving the war-torn Doomstroyer to take more punishment on a neck as brittle as dry pasta, but not as delicious.” King snaps into a conveniently placed stick of dry spaghetti for emphasis.

 

The challengers reluctantly trade places in and out of the ring, with Jimmy immediately grabbing the tag rope and calling for another tag. However, Flesher expects this and quickly traps Doomstroyer in a waistlock, before vaulting backwards and throwing the hoss up and over with a huge released German suplex, right on the neck!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

Flesher gives a suspicious wink to Jimmy the Doom before casually dropping down and hooking a leg, pinning Doomstroyer as Eddy Long counts!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

…kickout!

 

 

The crowd explodes as Doomstroyer musters up the courage to get a shoulder off the canvas, and Flesher is only a little miffed. Charlie Matthews shrugs. Matheson paces up and down ringside. Lois has five squares left.

 

“Tensions are running high in this contest!” Mak claims, “and quite frankly, I’m starting to worry about the neck of the Doomstroyer.”

 

“Nah, Doomstroyer has had it a lot worse than this. I remember hearing a story of his fighting off whales in the drought-ridden mountains of Doomtopia.”

 

Flesher stands, brings the Doomstroyer to his feet, and walks over to his corner, tagging in Grappler and making the international signal for the spike piledriver!

 

DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!

 

The Vancouver fans try to rally Doomstroyer to a comeback, but it seems to be for naught as Matthews tucks his fellow hoss’ head between his legs and Flesher climbs to the top rope, ready to add that extra flash of panache. And the crowd…begins cheering?

 

*THUD!*

 

Oh, it’s because Jimmy the Doom entered the ring, leaping up and nailing a perfect dropkick against the back of Charlie Matthews! The champion releases the standing headscissors and slumps down, allowing Doomstroyer to back up and fall against the ropes himself, which causes The Superior One to lose his balance and fall right on the superior nuts!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

Jimmy the Doom ignores Eddy Long’s desperate cries (and he’s been doing that a lot tonight!), firing off three rapid fire HANDS OF DOOM into Charlie Matthews’ throat, the crowd’s reaction growing with each shot! Finally, to build momentum, Jimmy charges to the ropes…and gets tripped up!

 

“That damn James Matheson!” Mak accuses, “you know, it’s too bad that JJ Johnson’s elbow didn’t knock him out cold—he’s been nothing but a nuisance in this match!”

 

“Actually, he’s been very well-behaved, Mak. I think you’re just out to kill whitey tonight.”

 

“…”

 

Meanwhile, in the corner, the Doomstroyer fires off hard punches and slaps to the head and chest of Tom Flesher, who is perched in the same sitting position. Finally, Doomstroyer begins to scale the turnbuckle himself, perhaps for a superplex.

 

Back on the farm, Eddy Long tries to maintain order as it pertains to Charlie Matthews and Jimmy the Doom. Jimmy stomps on the fingers of Matheson, eliciting a shrill cry, but as he turns around, he sees three-hundred pounds of man charging at him, clubbing him and using the momentum to carry both men over the top rope and DOWN to the floor with a tremendous Cactus Clothesline!

 

“This match has degenerated into anarchy,” Mak points out, “and I think Eddy Long has just given up on keeping any sort of order!”

 

“I think all that matters is that Matthews and Doomstroyer are the legal men. Of course, since this is pro wrestling, that means neither man is fighting one another.”

 

As those two tumble to the floor, the Doomstroyer has Flesher set up…

 

*CHING!*

 

…but Flesher pulls the roll of twonies that he previously tried to convert from his singlet and nails Doomstroyer right between the eyes with them, forcing him to fall back all the way to the canvas!

 

“How did Eddy Long not see that?!” Mak cries, incredulously.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“WITH GLOWING HEARTS WE SEEEE THEE RIIIIISE”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“THE TRUE NORTH STRONG AND FREE!”

 

Flesher has an enormous grin painted on his face as he bellows the lyrics to the very unreceptive Canadian fans.

 

“GRAP, GET IN HERE!”

 

That’s not part of the song, but it does catch the attention of Charlie Matthews, who, with the help of James Matheson, was choking the life out of Jimmy the Doom on the outside. Grappler slides back into the ring, sees Doomstroyer on the mat and Flesher on the buckle, and quickly sets his adversary in a standing headscissors.

 

UP…

 

 

JUMP…

 

SPLAT!!

 

“Spike piledriver!” King cheers, “The tag team champions have done it again, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Doomstroyer’s neck is doomstroyed for good!”

 

Jimmy the Doom valiantly slides under the bottom rope, but Flesher meets him with a hard baseball slide to the face as Charlie Matthews drops down and hooks a leg on the Doomstroyer, calling for Eddy Long to make the count!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Gordon Lightfoot’s sweet maple syrup-kissed voice kicks in over the loudspeakers, prompting intense jeers from the Vancouver crowd. This is not how they imagined Aftershoxxx would end!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon cries, “the winners of this contest and STILL your Smarks Wrestling Federation Tag Team Champions, Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews and ‘The Superior One’ TOMMMMMM FLESSSSSSHHHHERRRRRRRRR!”

 

James Matheson steals the tag title belts away from the timekeeper’s table and enters the ring, ignoring the massive bruise on his cheek and handing the belts to his champions, who are now on their feet, arms raised like the champions they are.

 

“Well, we can’t say their tactics weren’t dubious,” Mak groans.

 

“But we’re in Canada, Mak. This entire land is dubious. It’s not even a real country. Speaking of, that reminds me that the show is over and we can get the hell out of here!”

 

“King, this is only the first leg of the Canadian Tour.”

 

“And this was just in Canada. Back in the USSA!”

 

If only.

 

Credits are up and we're outta here.

 

=-=-=-=-=

 

SWF AfterShoxxxXXXxxx, August 4, 2006.

© Acid Rayn Productions. All rights reserved.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: “What’s a Big Unit?”

Edited August 6, 2006 by Ace309