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SWF Smarkdown - 10/31/06

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Dominic LeCroix opens his locker room door to see his tag team partner, Johnny Dangerous, standing on the other side. “You about ready?” asks Johnny. “I was hoping that we could have a quick strategy session before the match.”


“A few more minutes,” replies LeCroix, grinning lazily. “Melissa’s… uh… helpin’ me stretch in here.”


“Riiiiight,” says Johnny, with a knowing smirk on his face. “Anyway, man, I just wanted to tell you again how much I appreciate you showing up to help me out last week. And how happy I am that the Dynamic Duo is together again, man!”


Suddenly, the good humor evaporates from WC’s face, as Johnny continues babbling excitedly. “And trust me, man, I’ve been taking a closer look at the tag teams that are around here right now. We can totally take these guys, dude! That fifth title reign is gonna be…”


“Wait, wait, wait,” says Wildchild, interrupting the Barracuda. “Back up for a second. Before you get too worked up over this, let’s go over some ground rules, right here and now.”


Johnny looks perplexed. “Ground rules?”


“Dat’s right,” replies WC. “Ground rules. We might be workin’ t’gedder again, but it’s not like it was… An’ it may not ever be like it was again!”


Confusion still reigns on Johnny’s face. “What are you saying, ‘Nic?”


Dominic shakes his head in frustration and runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, it’s not dat I don’ like you, Johnny. An’ it’s not dat I’m worried dat we’re not gon’ t’be able t’work t’gedder in de ring… But, I’m always gon’ be waitin’ for dat odder shoe t’drop wit’ you!”


“Other shoe?” Johnny’s confusion begins to transition to mild irritation. “What are you talking about, Wildchild?”


WC sees Johnny’s irritation, and raises him a full-blown annoyance, as images of past betrayals start flooding his head. “Don’ try t’play dumb wit’ me, Johnny,” he growls. “It’s always somet’in’ when it comes t’you: if it’s not bad intelligence from your spy contacts, framin’ me for some bull(bleep) crime, it’s de lure of de main event callin’ you… De one t’ing dat I can count on wit’ you is dat you’re never satisfied wit’ what you have.”


“Excuse me?” croaks Johnny indignantly.


“You still wan’ play dumb?” barks WC. “Fine! Are you gon’ try an’ deny de fact dat you were always lookin’ for dat limelight? It was never enough for you t’be half of a great tag team… you always wanted your own day in de sun!”


“Now wait a minute…”


“What about de last time, Johnny?” continues LeCroix. “You cost me a chance t’be de Heavyweight Champion, an’ den y’stabbed me in de back because y’ t’ought dat I was keeping YOU from getting anodder shot!”


“Come on, man,” pleads Johnny. “That was a year ago… PLUS, you kicked my ass, like, half a dozen times after that… can’t we just call it square?”


“Maybe we could,” replies WC, “if dat had been de FIRST time… Or d’you not remember betraying us in a title match where we had Justice an’ Rule BEAT?”


LeCroix suddenly pauses to lower his head. When he raises it, his eyes are burning with anger…






… And he suddenly slaps Johnny across the face!



Rage explodes all over Johnny’s face as he begins to shout: “Now wait just a goddamn…”


WC leans into his face and interrupts him. “D’you not remember pointing a loaded gun in my face, Johnny?” WC’s outburst causes the Barracuda’s anger to disspate immediately, realizing what was going through his partner’s head. “How ‘bout de fact dat you broke five of my ribs? Did you t’ink dat I FORGOT about dat?”


Johnny can only hang his head in shame as WC continues. “DAT’S what I mean by de odder shoe, Johnny! You might have de talent, an’ we’ve obviously proven dat we can get it done as a team, but dat doesn’t mean dat I trust you… Not like before.”


“So,” asks Johnny, “does this mean I’m on my own again?”


Calming down, LeCroix takes a step back, sighs and shakes his head. “What it means, Johnny, is dat you’ve used up all your credit wit’ me… It means dat I’m not gon’ t’keep forgivin’ you over an’ over again like I used to. Dere ain’t gon’ be no second or t’ird chances dis time… DIS time, Johnny, one strike, an’ we’re T’ROO!”


“Believe me,” says Johnny placatingly, “I’m not going to give you reason to doubt me again, Nic! I’m all about the team now; you have my word!”


“Really?” replies WC coolly. He glares at the International Championship belt dangling over Johnny’s shoulder, and then taps it with his index finger. “Your word, huh? We’ll see…”


He then turns an about face and closes the door to his locker room in Johnny’s face, leaving the Barracuda hanging in the middle of the hallway…



As we:


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Live, Tuesday, October 31st, from the Staples Center in Los Angeles, Californiaaaaa!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)



Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. Zyon

-> Part two in the Joseph Peters Is An Asshole Series of booking moves - while Spike and Drake are learning to work as a cohesive unit, the two men most likely to watch Stephen's back at A2A are pitted against each other in a HARDCORE match! Neither one of these men is going to go down without a fight, but every chairshot, lowblow, and indian burn will hurt them that much more in the long run, making them potentially easy pickings at Ashes 2 Ashes!


"The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs. The Scion of Light
-> Looking to take out his frustrations on someone who can't beat him like W&D did on Lockdown, Tom turns to his one-time coat-rack, the Scion of Light! SOL has been out of the spotlight as of late - now's her big chance to take it right back!


Wild and Dangerous vs. The Blank Brothers (Bruce and Wayne Blank)
-> WILD AND DANGEROUS ARE BACK, BAAAAAYBEH! While this technically does meet Peters' requirement that Johnny find a tag partner, Ole' Joe was still plenty sore about being made a fool of, so he's not going to let up on them now! Tonight, they face a newly... eh... "re-energized"... Bruce Blank, with his rat-fink brother Wayne by his side!


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“We’re back in the Staples Center,” Mak Francis says as Smarkdown(oween) comes back from commercials, “and coming up next we have what should be a truly fascinating tag team encounter between the most successful tag team in SWF history and… well, the Dukes of Hazzard, basically.”


“What?” King splutters, “you’re talking about the greatest Ultraviolent Champion of all time, and the second longest-reigning International Champion in SWF history!”


“…and his brother,” Francis reminds the Gambling Man.


“Well, the Hazzard boys were cousins,” King sniffs.


“Wouldn’t surprise me if Bruce and Wayne were brothers and cousins,” Francis declares, “but that’s possibly besides the point…”




‘Iron Man’ by Black Sabbath rings out through the Staples Center as the words ‘BRUCE BLANK’ flash up on the Smarktron. However, moments later the words ‘WAYNE BLANK’ accompany them, hinting that the big man isn’t competing on his own tonight. The famous guitar riff is accompanied, after a few seconds, by two figures at the top of the entrance ramp; one large and wavering, one considerably smaller and doing his best to prop his brother up and guide him towards the ring.




“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, from the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park in Mobile, Alabama; at a combined weight of 470lbs, Wayne and Bruce, THE BLANK BROTHERS!!”


“So why isn’t Bruce teaming with Nemesis tonight?” Mak asks.


“Oh come on,” King snorts, “why in the hell would you bring out a giant in a mask and a skeleton costume on Hallowe’en? Are you mad?”


The Blanks are now making their way towards the ring, although Wayne is having some trouble steering his brother. However Bruce does seem to show some vague recognition of the big square shape and head towards it, managing to get through the ropes on the third attempt. Meanwhile Wayne even manages to look apologetic at referee Red Herrington, who sways noticeably as the fumes on Bruce’s breath hit him.


“How can he compete in that state?” Mak asks, “he’s a danger to himself and others!”


“He’s a danger to others anyway,” King replies, “think of this as evening the odds, if you must.”


It's at this point that 'Fuel My Fire' by the Prodigy kicks up and the attitude of the crowd undergoes a dramatic change. The lights have dropped down and the strobes are flashing, and it's not long before Johnny Dangerous and Wildchild appear. The Bahaman Bomber is in his usual outfit of Olympic-style wrestling singlet with his braids bouncing everywhere, while Johnny is wearing his trenchcoat and sunglasses with the International Championship wrapped around his waist.


"And their opponents," Funyon declares, "at a combined weight of 439lbs, the team of Wildchild and SWF International Champion Johnny 'The Barracuada' Dangerous; WIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLD... AAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNND... DAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN-GEROUS!!"




"Yes yes, very nice, here they are yet again," King grumbles, "honestly, you'd think that Wildchild would have learned not to trust Dangerfield by now, wouldn't you?"




"Some crappy British TV cop show, I think," the Gambling Man shrugs, "no-one else will have heard of it but I threw it in for my own personal amusement to degrade Johnny a bit."


"...fair enough."


The words 'International Champion' seem to have pricked Bruce's ears up, and the Redneck Superman looked around hopefully to see if they were going to be followed by his name. Unfortunately they weren't, and the reminder that Johnny Dangerous has his precious title drives Bruce over the edge.


Into tears.


"OK, Hallowe'en or not, this is scary," Mak Francis says, nonplussed, as the huge Alabaman starts bawling in the middle of the ring.


Mak needn't have worried; the moment Bruce actually lays eyes on the cause of his torment the tears disappear and are replaced by boiling rage! The big man lumbers towards the ropes and for a moment the crowd holds its collective breath in anticipation of the biggest plancha ever witnessed in the SWF...


...but it is not to be, as Bruce trips and simply tumbles headfirst over the top rope, appearing to do the Cactus Clothesline without first ensuring that there's an opponent to hit on the way. 'Fuel My Fire' fades out as the crowd launches into a suitable chant:






Johnny and Wildchild look at each other and shrug as Bruce lands a few feet away, but then their attention is grabbed by a much smaller figure in the ring who accelerates towards them and leaps into the air, easily clearing the top rope and plummeting down towards the most decorated tag team in SWF history...


...and Johnny and Wildchild catch Wayne Blank across their chests, the 175lber lacking the weight to seriously trouble the two! Wild & Dangerous seem unsure what to do with Wayne now they've caught him, but Bruce is now getting up again (as we all know, landing on your head doesn't inconvenience you at all when drunk) so they duo toss his brother towards him! Bruce catches Wayne on instinct, hand/eye co-ordination just up to the task, and Wildchild and Johnny then dropkick Wayne in the gut to send Bruce staggering backwards into the apron, whereupon he drops Wayne on his feet, then falls over him!




"Remember kids, alcohol is BAD, m'kay?" Mak Francis deadpans.


Johnny and Wildchild have now entered the ring - Wildchild by somersaulting in between the bottom and middle ropes, Johnny simply by rolling under the bottom rope - and are acknowledging the fans as if nothing has happened. Dangerous then removes his trenchcoat and strips the International Title off to hand it to Red Herrington. The Blank Brothers are (slowly) getting up on the outside and it is Wayne who re-enters the ring first; mainly because Bruce shoves him in under the ropes, but the Drunken Dragon (ironically far more sober than his brother) is still the man who gets to officially start the match with Wildchild.




…and at this point a match occurs, in which Bruce falls off the apron several times because he’s too drunk, Wildchild doesn’t quite trust Johnny but they get along OK, and Wayne basically gets the shit kicked out of him and then gets pinned after the Silver Bullet.










“Yeah, well that was fairly quick,” Mak says, “which I suppose is only to be expected when you have four-time Tag Team Champions going up against a drunken guy and his brother who’s basically just a manager.”


“Yeah,” King agrees, “oddly anticlimactic.”






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The arena is alight with flashbulbs. SOL is already in the ring, and only a few seconds pass before…





An explosion of blue smoke and pyro lights up the arena, heralding the arrival of the Superior One! As Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” blares through the stadium, Tom Flesher walks through the velvet curtain clad in his usual blue warm-up suit. Allison Onita, wearing a denim skirt and a white t-shirt, follows behind him. The fans boo loudly as Flesher and Onita make their way to the ring, but Flesher ignores them. He focuses only on SOL.


Flesher climbs the stairs and holds the ropes for Allison Onita, then enters. He sets himself in the center of the ring as the music fades, and looks at the announcer.


“Her opponent is someone who is so far above her, Scion of Light has absolutely no hope of winning tonight. Why, one may ask, is this match even occurring? Why is Tom Flesher, SWF Legend, future Hall of Famer, two-time World Champion, former multi-time Cruiserweight Champion and workhorse extraordinaire, pretty boy nonpareil, even deigning to step into the ring against a rookie from Japan? Quite simply, he’s horny. So, weighing in at 229.9 pounds, he is the SUPERIOR ONE, TOM FLESHER~!”


Flesher stretches out as referee Sexton Hardcastle makes his way into the ring. Finally, he calls for the bell.






Flesher plants himself in the center of the ring, sneering at his adversary. SOL edges out of her corner. Obviously apprehensive about stepping up against an SWF legend and future Hall of Famer, the rookie is defensive and cautious as she moves toward him. SOL leans forward, trying for a collar-and-elbow tieup. Flesher, rather than stepping into the lockup, simply cracks her in the ribs with a stiff kick! SOL doubles over in pain, but Flesher hits her with a backhand that pops her back up to standing. With his opponent stunned, the Superior One whips her to the ropes. SOL rebounds, and Flesher steps forward with his arm extended. He nails her in the jaw with a palm strike, and SOL collapses to the mat! Flesher covers her, and the referee counts





SOL, though, gets her shoulder up. Flesher shakes his head disgustedly and grips her hair, then stands up and drags her with him.


“Well, Flesher is being less than gentle with Scion this evening,” says Mak. “He seems to be relishing his position in this contest – a seasoned veteran, despite his young age, up against a relatively inexperienced opponent. He so rarely gets to face an opponent he outweighs by such a high magnitude.”


Flesher yanks SOL’s hair, pulling her into a European uppercut that sends a loud “CRACK” echoing through the stadium. She staggers backwards, and Flesher shoves her back into the corner. As she leans against the turnbuckles, Flesher throws a hard backhand that snaps her head to the side. SOL, not quite sure what she’s done to warrant this kind of abuse, looks up, only to have Flesher unload with an open-handed bitchslap. Her head snaps to the side, and Flesher backs away to the center of the ring.


King snickers as SOL looks out to the crowd for some sort of advice. “This poor girl doesn’t have ANY idea what to do. She’s in against a guy who’s beaten practically everyone in the SWF today, and she’s so dumbfounded.”


Like a deer in the headlights, SOL steps out of the corner, toward the center of the ring where the Main Attraction impatiently waits.


SOL steps in, but Flesher lowers his level and lunges forward, slamming into her to the mat with a train wreck-style double-leg takedown! SOL scoots back, trying to keep from getting folded into a pinning predicament. Flesher, though, stands up instead, hooking both legs under his arms. Immediately, the 160-pound china doll stiffens, avoiding what she thinks will be an inevitable Boston crab.


Rather than twisting SOL to her back, though, Flesher takes a few steps back and rotates in the center of the ring! He leans back and proceeds to spin faster and faster, so hard that SOL’s featherweight frame is lifted off the mat by centrifugal force.


“By Zeus, we haven’t seen this in ages!” says Mak. “Tom Flesher is executing an old-fashioned Mormon Spin, in the style of Utah giant Don Leo Jonathan!”


“And also in the style of Lioness Asuka, who SOL apparently never sparred with,” says King, as he chucks a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Funny that she didn’t see this coming.”


Flesher continues rotating, with Allison Onita cheering him on as he continues his giant swing. The Superior One accelerates, and as the crowd cheers, he prepares to finish the spin. As he reaches to speed, he releases SOL, sending her crashing into the turnbuckles! She lands in a heap, her head careening into the bottom turnbuckle pad, while Flesher simply staggers to the side of the ring. He leans on the ropes, shaking off his self-inflicted dizziness as he chats with Allison Onita.


“Well, Tom’s certainly taking Scion of Light to the woodshed,” says King. “Maybe after he finishes slaughtering her, he’ll take her out back and teach her a thing or two about Japanese phonetics.”


“Are you implying,” asks Mak, “that Scion of Lights isn’t really a Power Ranger?”


“Well, that too,” says King, “but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘bukkake.’”


Flesher continues happily chatting with his girlfriend as SOL attempts to make it to her feet. Sexton Hardcastle, meanwhile, watches to ensure that Scion will be able to continue.


“Scion of Light certainly was on the wrong end of that giant swing,” says Mak. “One wonders if she’ll be able to withstand this sort of assault long enough to make a mark in the match.”


“Can I get another soda here?” asks King. “Maybe some nachos?”


As SOL begins to stand, Flesher holds up a single finger to Allison, saying “Hang on a moment.” The Japanese joshi star pulls herself to her feet using the ropes and gradually steadies herself. She doesn’t, however, see the Superior One barreling at her, and when she turns toward the center, she sees Flesher’s Doc Marten slamming into her face! She collapses under the force of the Yakuza kick, and Flesher regains his footing. As SOL lays on the mat, Flesher struts back over to the sidelines and leans over, returning to Allison.


“Flesher obviously isn’t taking SOL seriously,” says Mak. “I wonder if perhaps he’s taking her too lightly tonight.”


“Yeah, she sure is showing him up,” says King sarcastically. “… Got any mustard for this pretzel?”


Flesher spends a few more minutes talking to Allison before sighing deeply and walking back to the center of the ring. There, he waits as SOL begins to get to her feet. As she does, he hooks her by the arm and yanks her back. With the arm hooked, he bends her to the side, locking on an abdominal stretch! SOL struggles to escape, but Flesher quickly grapevines her leg and clamps down on the hooked arm to bend her spine against itself.


“Tom Flesher,” says The Suicide King, “is putting on a veritable clinic of wrestling techniques tonight, using Scion of Light as his victim.”


Flesher leans back, tightening the abdominal stretch. SOL grimaces, trying to withstand the pain, but the Superior One shuffles ever so slightly to the side. With his free hand, he reaches out and grabs the top rope, prompting a loud round of boos from the crowd. Sexton Hardcastle is, however, able to wallow in his own incompetence, and drops to one knee to ask SOL if she wants to submit. SOL shakes her head no, and Hardcastle stands up. Flesher releases the rope, which shakes in a telltale manner as Hardcastle looks at it. He asks Flesher whether he’d been holding the rope, but he shakes his head and denies it. Hardcastle drops down again to ask SOL if she can continue, but once again she shakes her head… even as Flesher grabs the top rope again to increase the pressure.


“Flesher’s actions are shameful,” decries Mak. “Not only is he in an entirely different league than the joshi rookie, he is going out of his way to bend the rules to gain an even greater advantage. He doesn’t need to engage in this sort of unethical behavior. This is why Tom Flesher does not deserve our respect.”


“Eh, get off it,” King says. “Flesher doesn’t have any responsibility to SOL. She’s a sparring partner, a warm-up for him. Why should he give a damn what she thinks?”


Flesher once again releases the top rope just as Hardcastle stands up. The referee circles around him, his face showing his suspicion, but he’s simply unable to catch Flesher in the act.


Maybe it’s because he’s a tool.


The Superior One, getting bored with his abdominal stretch, decides to change his grip. He reaches over with his left arm, grabbing SOL’s wrist this time, rather than the top rope. He yanks the arm over, barring it out, and then clamps down with his right arm on the Scion of Light’s head. He cranks the armbar and reverse facelock, smirking to make a magazine-cover photo.


“We’ve seen this before,” says King. “It isn’t often that Taamo breaks out the good old stretch plum, but it’s a lethal move in his hands. The only other athlete to make extensive use of it here in the SWF, of course, was Justin Bowers’ trainer, good old Bill Hearford.”


“Judge William Hearford has indeed proven a solid trainer, although Justin Bowers doesn’t seem to be taking to the ring quite as easily as he did,” says Mak. “Sadly, not everyone can be as talented a student as Melissa Fasaki.”


“Flesher wouldn’t be interested in giving it to Bowers from behind, either,” says King gravely. “Really, the differences are striking.”


Tom continues cranking the stretch plum, while keeping his head turned toward Allison. The heterosexual Onita sister hops up onto the apron, and she chatters amiably at her man as he keeps the hold but ignores his opponent.


“This, if anything, is proof that Tom Flesher refuses to take SOL seriously,” says Mak.


“Shhh,” says King. “I’m trying to hear what they’re talking about.”


“But King…”


“Did she just say ‘sixty-nine?’”


After a few more minutes of pleasant social hour, Allison waves goodbye to Flesher and hops back down onto the concrete floor. Flesher shoves SOL away, letting her crumble to the mat. From there, he simple waits for her to get back up.


“Flesher seems to be at a loss as to how to proceed,” says Mak. “He is normally a very reactionary wrestler, but…”


“Without any opposition to speak of, he’s in kind of a difficult position,” says King. “I can understand why that would be a problem for him. When you get used to a certain level of defense, you lose your ability to make a match flow.”


SOL does, however, find her way to her feet after only a few awkward seconds. Dazed, but still on her feet, she looks around the arena in a vain attempt to locate her opponent and prepare some semblance of offense, defense, or ability to do anything other than play Peter McNeely to Flesher’s Mike Tyson. Without SOL’s willingness to give up, however, SOL is at the mercy of Flesher’s whims.


At this point, his whim is to grab her from behind and slap on a waistlock. She struggles to get to the ropes, but to no avail. Before she even knows what hit her, Flesher has lifted her off her feet and thrown her delicate frame over his head with a high-arching German suplex! She hits the mat hard, back and shoulders first, as Flesher lands in a bridge! He rolls to the side and gets to his feet, deadlifting SOL’s tiny body off the canvas with no effort whatsoever. He holds her off the mat, carrying her a few steps while he repositions himself in the center of the mat, and then executes another picture-perfect back arch! He slams the power ranger to the mat, this time throwing her at a higher angle and forcing her to land uncomfortably on her neck. He keeps his grip, however, and is quickly back on his feet. He holds her by the waist and gets ready for another suplex. This time, he takes a deep breath and arches back, throwing SOL so hard that she spins overhead and lands hard on her stomach! She crumbles in a heap, and Flesher rolls out of the ring.


“Where the heck is he headed?” asks King.


“After executing a brilliant series of German suplex variations, Tom Flesher looks very slightly tired. Perhaps he is planning to take a break.”


Flesher heads to the front row, where he finds a seven-year-old girl wearing a Mark Stevens t-shirt. He reaches over the guardrail, grabbing at her Big Gulp 7-Up. She pulls it away, and Flesher’s eyes narrow.


“What does Flesher think he’s doing?” asks Mak.


“He’s just thirsty. Cut him some slack.”


Flesher grabs the youngster’s soda and pulls it away, taking a big sip from the straw. He reaches over to her father, grabbing one side off of his soft pretzel and breaking it off. As the enraged father stands up, Flesher dunks the end of the pretzel into a container of mustard and takes a bite. The girl grabs her soda back and, in a huff, throws it at Flesher! The fans cheer as Tom staggers around, temporarily blinded by the carbonated beverage!


“And the sport has reached a new low,” laments Mak.


“I hope they kick that snot-nosed punk right out!” King growls.


As Flesher sells the soda, SOL rolls out of the ring and sneaks up behind him. Flesher doesn’t see her coming, but she leaps off her feet and nails him in the back of the head with an enzuigiri! Flesher staggers forward one step… then another… and finally falls flat on his face on the concrete! The fans burst into cheers and prove, once again, the Flesher Flop is a guaranteed pop.


“That is an absolutely ridiculous attack!” fumes King. “Tom Flesher is on the outside and, through no fault whatsoever of his own, is temporarily blinded! What does this bitch do? She takes advantage of it! Ridiculous, unethical and completely wrong!”


“SOL is simply making every attempt to win the match,” Mak says. “One can hardly blame her.”


“It’s immoral!” shouts King. “She has no right doing anything in this match! Tom Flesher outclasses her, outweighs her, outwrestles her and outdoes her on every other level! She should be grateful for the opportunity to tap out to him like a true wrestler!”


Flesher, though, is in no position to defend himself. SOL lifts him by his singlet straps and rolls him back into the ring, then follows quickly behind. Though she is still breathing heavily due to the length and constancy of the beating she’s endured throughout the match, she takes advantage of Flesher’s stunned state by taking a few seconds to breathe. She follows Flesher in and strolls over to the corner at a leisurely pace. As the Superior One gets back to his feet, she hits the top turnbuckle and leaps off with a missile dropkick! Flesher stumbles forward and collapses again. The crowd cheers her on as she gets to her feet and grabs Flesher’s wrist, yanking him to his feet. She pulls back and pivots, whipping him to the ropes. As he runs, she follows behind and hits the ropes at the same time. She dives over the ropes and grabs Flesher’s limbs, locking on the Tarantula! Flesher grimaces in pain as she holds on to the Japanese modified surfboard!


“Tarantula!” shouts Mak, as SOL hangs tightly to the hold. She cranks the hold, hoping to get the submission within the five seconds allowable to keep the hold on. Sexton Hardcastle administers his count as she does.




Flesher fights to escape, but can’t fight his way out of the entanglement.








Finally, disappointed in her lack of ability to end the match, SOL drops out of the hold. She stands on the apron, balancing, as Flesher staggers forward. He holds his back for half a second, and as SOL steps through the ropes, he turns around. She leaps off the mat, throwing a kick at the Superior One’s face!


He blocks it, shoving her backwards and raising an eyebrow.


“And Tom Flesher just ignores a gamengiri by Dragon Okimurra!” shouts King. “Incredible, or possibly not special because Flesher’s f**king amazing.”


Flesher takes a step back, his eyes trained on SOL. She steps forward, aggressive, hoping to capitalize on her brief run of offense. She snags his arm, wrenching it to the side, and then pops up with a hook kick to the face! Once again, Flesher stands firm. This time, he actually laughs as he shoves SOL away! She moves toward him once more, but Flesher steps in and rocks her with a stiff palm strike to the face! She staggers backwards, and Flesher hammers her with another shotei! He flurries, hitting her with strike after strike after strike! Finally, she falls to the mat, and Flesher steps over her on his way to the side!


“Well, that was fast,” says King.


Flesher grabs SOL by the arm and unleashes a huge stomp to her ribs. She recoils, but Flesher drops to the mat. He wraps his legs around SOL’s ribs and lays out to the side, propping his head up on an elbow and reclining as he uses the vice grip on her torso!


“Reclining body scissors,” murmurs Mak. “What clear and utter disrespect.”


Flesher holds the position for a few seconds before rolling away. SOL, too, rolls to her stomach, and Taamo quickly hooks her arms. He tucks them underneath her knees and rolls her to a kneeling position, locking on THE NELBINA!


“Speaking of clear and utter disrespect…” chuckles King.


As SOL tries to escape, Flesher sits on the back of her neck and flexes his biceps! The crowd boos, and so he dusts his hands off as if he had some sense of accomplishment for embarrassing a rookie. Finally, he stands up and rubs the front of his crotch across SOL’s face! The crowd boos as Frisco snickers, and Allison Onita looks ever so slightly jealous. As SOL blushes, looking absolutely shamed, Flesher backs away. He measures her up, carefully ascertaining the distance… and then BAM! He nails the defenseless SOL with a Yakuza kick!


The crowd boos as Flesher poses in the ring. “Tom Flesher,” says Mak, “seems to be sending a message, for some reason.”


“He wants to send SOL back to Japan! Big deal!”


Flesher yanks SOL to her feet and reaches through her legs, applying a pumphandle grip. From there, he arches back, dumping SOL headfirst to the mat with a Logical Disconnect! She collapses to the mat, and Flesher effortlessly floats over.















NO! Flesher pulls SOL up off the mat, and the fans boo loudly!


“And just what does Tom Flesher hope to accomplish?” spits Mak. “Just what is he going to show?”


Flesher whips SOL to the ropes. As she rebounds, Flesher stands firm in the center of the ring and extends his arm! SOL runs flush into his palm and collapses under the stepping shotei! Flesher stomps on the Dragon’s chest for the arrogant cover, and Sexton Hardcastle counts
















Funyon makes the announcement…


“Your winner … TOM FLESHER!”


Flesher stands up, throwing his arms into the air. “Kashmir” blares through the arena, and Flesher celebrates as the picture fades.

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"Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do

Now that I have allowed you, to beat me!

Do you think that we could play another game

Maybe I could win this ti-ime."


"I kinda like the misery you put me through

Darling you can trust me, completely!

If you even try to look the other way

I think that I could kill this ti-ime!"


"The Game" by Disturbed hits, as from behind the curtain steps Megan Skye, heralding the arrival of Landon who stops at the top of the ramp and thrusts his hands out to his side to boos. Landon likes to be the center of attention and he'll make a grandiose entrance, taunting and posturing as and when needed.


“Weighing in at 220 pounds… from New Mexico City… Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix.”


Landon leaps to the apron, looking out at the crowd as Megan climbs the steps. Megan holds open the ropes and Landon bounds into the ring, spinning himself into the centre of the ring HBK style and posing with Megan. Once he’s done posing, he has a word with the ring announcer. “For one, New Mexico isn’t a city. Second of all, I’m not from freaking Mexico. Got it?” The ring announcer shakes his head up and down and Landon readies himself for his opponent.


The arena goes black as the words “I’m Born”, “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” alternate on the Smarktron. “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks in as the crowd immediately goes into a frenzy. After a moment of build the young Zyon emerges through the curtain, and pauses at the top of the ramp.


“Weighing in at 200 pounds… from Elkhart, Indiana… “The Unique Youth” Zyon!“


Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp. Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically runs up to the ropes and climbs to the second rope. He no longer throws the "X" up into the air, and will go right into his nifty taunt where he bends his elbows and devours the spotlight.


“This match should be a good one King. Hardcore matches have always been my favorites to watch,” says Mak.


“I know what else you like to watch, but there are children watching so I won’t go into that,” replies King, holding back a smile and a laugh.


The two men meet in the center of the ring and stare each other down. They stand about eye to eye with only one inch separating them in height. The two are obviously the others equal in many regards. Once they’ve finished staring each other down they each make their way for a weapon. A trash can is what Zyon reaches for and a chair is what Landon reaches for. Zyon is too slow and when he turns around a chair comes crashing into the trash can which collides with his face. After this, Zyon has a major nose bleed but he gets up quickly. He takes Skye’s towel, wipes his bloodied nose with it and gives it to Landon, making sure to wipe some of the blood on him. “We match Landon. So now that we do, let’s get down to business, blood brother,” says Zyon as he readies himself for an onslaught from Landon.


“We’re not even a minute into our match and Zyon’s already bleeding. I can’t imagine that that is anything but bad for him and good for Landon.”


“No shit. You think that one up all by yourself? Here’s another interesting little tidbit. That blood on Landon’s shoulder is not his own. Now that we’ve educated our viewers, we can get back to watching the match Mak.”


Landon, obviously enraged, begins to choke out Zyon with his towel. Zyon’s nose begins to bleed more and more the longer he’s in the hold and the towel is soon soaked with his blood. Landon gets tired of choking his opponent so he seats him in the corner and puts the towel over his face like it will add to the impact. “It’s full of razor blades I tells ya,” he yells as Zyon gets licked by Landon’s dropkick.


“For Zyon’s sake, I sure as hell hope that wasn’t full of razor blades,” jokes Mak.


“For my sake, I hope it was. The sooner I’m home washing myself of your putrid stench the better,” says King, pushing his chair away from Mak’s. “I hate to say this, but I want Landon to win and win fast. Just end this night so I can cleanse myself of the smells of your feminine hygiene products.”


Landon seems to be enjoying this match so he takes the towel and starts to whip Zyon’s back with it until it’s covered in Zyon’s blood. Some of the blood is from wounds that Landon opened but most of it is from the bloodied towel itself. Growing tired of the beating, Landon throws the towel out to Megan and sits in the corner and uses the dented trash can as a pillow of sorts. He gets a little shut eye as Zyon licks his wounds.


“I think we’re watching what happens when you lead a lamb to the slaughter King,” Mak quirks ever so loudly.


“I have a splitting headache for shits sake Mak. Quiet yourself.”


Once Zyon stands up Landon tries to get him to nod off once again with the Land of the Nod but Zyon fights and fights with newfound energy and vitality. Adrenaline kicks in and he escapes the hold and connects with the Big Shot. Landon’s head connects with the chair he used earlier in the match and one solitary drop of blood drops onto the chair. Landon pretends to faint at the sight of his own blood and when Zyon walks up to him to go for the pin cover Landon kicks him in the nether regions. A run of the ropes and a Shining Wizard later, Zyon is out. The referee starts to check on Zyon, but Landon threatens him and he starts to count.








“And your winner…. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix.”


Zyon is lifeless, but Megan Skye chokes Zyon’s lifeless body with her towel until everybody comes out to keep her off of Zyon. Zyon doesn’t get up until the arena is almost empty and when he gets up he is still light headed.

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