Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 It’s precisely one hour until the opening pyro of SWF Storm opens across airwaves worldwide. Crew members swirl the Phillips Arena making sure every light in the arena burns bright, every camera in the area is visually acceptable, and every technological equipped devices work to their highest potential. The actual performers hang out with their “cliques,” nervously waiting for their time to shine…their time to step up. The ruckus that haunts the arena begins and ends in one place. The office of one Joseph Peters. Lately, Thomas Flesher has been put on damaged control, but Mr. Peters has to see one thing through. “I see you got my message.” The calm voice of the all powerful Mr. Peters echoes, “As you know, I would normally let Tom take care of such petty manners like yourself, but I blame myself for the mess you have caused. And I intend to clean it up…” “Not this speech again.” Interrupting one of the heads of a billion dollar company isn’t the smartest thing to do, even if you were branded with the moniker stating that not only were you young, but that you were Unique. “Yes, it’s this speech again. However, Zyon this is the last time I will share my intentions with you. Do you hear me, the very last time! We both understand that you do make money for the company in merchandise sales and you do get cheers from our customers that pay cold hard cash…I love cash.” Zyon looks at his boss, disgusted by the greed that flows through his veins. Usually, the Unique Youth would take his verbal beating with no complaints, but tonight is different. Tonight, the youth will cross the boss. “Good for you, I’m glad you love cash. I love wrestling. I love performing…even if it is for slime like you!” Zyon shouts back at his boss, slight hesitation in his voice. Chuckling back at his employee Peters’ continues to expand Zyon’s knowledge on the purpose of this particular meeting, “You’ve always stood up for what you’ve believed in, I’ll give you that much. Too bad you’re the only one who follows these morals you pride yourself on. Our customers are much worse than regular customers Zyon.” Peters’ continues refusing to recognize Zyon as nothing more than an entertainer, “These people are consumers. In a business like this, the consumer’s demands change every night…are you beginning to understand what I’m telling you.” … “You’ve been on borrowed time ever since you got here, Zyon.” The youth attempts to brush the sudden heat in the air away, but not even the casual youth can deny the feelings that circle the atmosphere. “So is the puppeteer done playing with his puppet?” Zyon is able to gulp out. “Ha Ha Ha! Oh that’s great, such artistic expression. Coincidentally, I’m actually going to give you one last shot to please me, no strings attached. Like I already said, you’ve made me money and gotten yourself over, but I’m a stubborn bastard. You haven’t showed me a damn thing. Here is your chance.” Extending his hand, Peters’ reveals a plastic sphere before tossing it at the youth who snatches it from the air, effortlessly. “What’s this?” “That, Zyon is for me to know and you to find out.” Peters’ grimly reports before looking down at his watch, “It seems this meeting has ran a bit long. Let me spell it out for you. In your current direction you are nothing more than a lifeless cruiserweight taking up space on an extremely talented roster. That orb will give you the direction you need to maybe live up to the hype. The choice is yours young Jedi.” Peters leaves the youth with an exit as he motions for the former Cruiserweight Champion to take leave. Turning his back to his boss, the youth with a bleak future makes his way out of Peters’ office, only to have the puppeteer tug on the strings one last time. “Oh and Zak…” Peters’ calls, startling the youth who was letting his mind wonder into the nether, “Don’t disappoint me.” Ignoring the egocentric warning, Zyon continues his path to the hallway, which will eventually lead to his locker room…where he can watch a tremendous show in peace. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 Two hours before Storm Gabriel Drake turns right, then left, then left again, finally leaving the more public areas of the arena behind him and heading towards his dressing room. He hadn’t been sure about how he would feel coming back to Atlanta, to the city where he had been convicted nearly five years ago, but so far it hasn’t been as bad as he had worried it might be. The SWF, in a rare display of commonsense, had managed to keep any voices of protest from local pressure groups about the identity of the current ex-con World Champion sidelined and well away from themselves. As a result, all Gabe has had to deal with is the memories of his time in Atlanta… …memories that suddenly crystalise as he turns the last corner and finds a familiar figure waiting for him outside his dressing room door. “What do you want?” Drake growls as Michael Stephens eases out of the slouch he was in, then checks back over his shoulder in case Landon Maddix has appeared behind him. La Cucaracha is nowhere to be seen and The Beast focuses back on his oldest enemy. “Flesher’s been bollocking me for being late,” Stephens smiles at him, “so I thought I’d make sure I was in the building early. And I didn’t have anything to do with my time, so…” he trails off, vaguely waving one hand in a way that attempts to encompass his presence outside Gabe’s dressing room and make it a wholly natural occurrence. Drake doesn’t play along. The World Champion folds his arms and glares at the Englishman. “So?” “So I decided to come down here and piss you off,” Stephens laughs. “Not that it ever usually took much, if I remember rightly. And what with where we are and all, plus Rickmen beating you the other week - Rickmen Gabe, for the love of God - I’m betting you’re wound up pretty bloody tight, am I right?” “Come here. Find out.” Drake invites him. Stephens snorts. “Nah, think I’ll pass mate. After all, I’ve got my very own passport to seeing you again, called the Clusterfuck. Remember?” “With you entering as Number One,” Drake says, smiling tightly, “yes, I heard. I don’t think even you will outlast nineteen other people, you slippery bastard.” “Oh, wanna bet?” Stephens grins easily, “I continue to amaze people Gabe, and I’ll amaze you as well. Besides which, after showing my credentials by winning that Battle Royal, Tom preceded to do about the only thing possible he could to make me into an underdog in putting me at number one. So even if I don’t win, it’s hardly my fault,” he breathes on his chipped nail varnish and buffs his fingers idly on his shirt. “Tragic. I guess my popularity will remain more or less unscathed…” he casts a sly look up at The Beast, “…unlike someone who, say, went down to one shot from his next challenger.” “That was a suckerpunch!” Gabe growls, which prompts Stephens to laugh out loud. “He was standing right in front of you, you bloody idiot! He’s JJ Frickin’ Johnson! What did you think he was going to do, breakdance?” He laughs again. “Face it, sunshine. JJ dropped you and you never saw it coming, you had to have two tries at the Insane Luchador, who’s tough as nails but wasn’t exactly Edwin MacPhisto last time I checked… all in all Gabe,” he sighs, “I think that World Title belt’s weighing heavy on your mind. It’s blunted you.” He brightens. “Good thing it’ll be gone soon, hey? Cos if by some freak of chance you get past JJ, I’ll be sure to take it off your hands.” “Come on and try it!” Gabe snarls, dropping his bag to the floor, “you couldn’t take me before, you can’t do it now! Or maybe,” he sneers, “you want to wait until all those fans who make you so popular can see you? Come out and see me later, Toxx! This is my town!” “Your town, my people,” Stephens fires back, most of the laughter draining from his voice but with a mocking edge remaining, “you never get a second chance to make a first impression, and your first impression post-prison on the people of Atlanta is going to be as someone who shot to the World Title, and since then has floundered around looking lost! You’re not the unstoppable ‘Beast’ anymore sunshine, you’re some bloody moose that’s been hit with a tranquiliser dart or something. You’re never gonna be the angel when you’re up against me,” he continues, “but right now you don’t even make a decent devil to cheer for. Think them out there’ll cheer Gabriel Drake, the One-Night Wonder?” He laughs again, not a pleasant sound this time. “Dream on.” “You think I care who they’ll cheer for?” Drake demands, “I can still beat your ass, and you know it!” Michael Stephens looks at the bigger man for a few seconds, opens his mouth as if to reply… then shuts it again. He simply smiles slightly, nods to Drake, then turns and leaves. The SWF World Champion watches him go, clearly disappointed that Stephens didn’t elect to throw down in the hallway, then picks up his bag and unlocks his dressing room. This time, he’s pleased to see, Stephens didn’t steal the keys off a janitor to get in first. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 (edited) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tom Flesher presents.... SWF STORM Live, Wednesday, January 24, from the PHILLIPS ARENA in ATLANTA, GEORGIA! (5pm PST, 8pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to Ace309) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM ACTION The Cadillac Boys (Zack Malibu and Calvin CzechoslovakiaSzechstein) vs. Mr. Cold Front Classic JJ Johnson and MANSON -> OLE! Rules: Standard tag team rules. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Jimmy the Doom © vs. Insane Luchador -> IL's upped his game considerably lately, but just couldn't finish the job against Drake last night. Jimmy, meanwhile, has been resting on his laurels for far too long! Time to defend the strap, big boy! Rules: None! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IN THE HOUSE OF MARVELOUS: SWF World Champion Gabriel Drake! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM CONTEST The Predators (Jay Hawke and Nighthawk) vs. Alan Clark, who wishes he was a real boy, and a partner, if he can find someone to be his conscience. Failing that, Jiminy Cricket -> Hey, if Clark wants a match, he's got it. Whether he can find a partner or not is his problem. Rules: Standard tag team rules Word Limit: 5000 Send to: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM ACTION Wild & Dangerous vs. Los Luchadors Genericos -> It's triumphant! It's a new Cruiserweight Champion! It's his buddy, a former World Champion! It's a couple of guys we found outside, wearing masks! Rules: Standard tag rules. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Matt Myers vs. "Mister Swiss" Victor Herzog -> Can Myers keep his streak up, or will he be Ph-balanced by the powerfully neutral Mister Swiss? Rules: Standard. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Edited January 26, 2007 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 “Atlanta Georgia this is YOUR opening match for Storm!!” Funyon says with a grin as he soaks up the cheap pop. “Introducing first weighing in at 115 Kilograms, hailing from Geneva Switzerland!! Here is “Mister Swiss” VICTOOOOOOOOOOR HERZOG!!! “Smack my Bitch Up” kicks in followed three seconds later by a huge red pyrotechics display combined with confetti consisting of tiny Swiss flags being fired out over the crowd. “He may be neutral but he’s not an environmentalist” the Suicide King quips as the colorful pieces of paper land all around him. “SAULTATIONS ATLANTA!!” Herzog yells as he walks down the ramp, greeting the fans in his customary way SALUTATIOOOOOOOOOOOOOONS!! “Hey the fans have kinda taken to Mister Swiss” Mak notes as a section of the fans in Atlanta returns Victor Herzog’s greeting. “I don’t get that, this guy is so middle of the road, so wishy-washy that it turns my stommach” King complains as the red and white clad warrior enters the ring. “He’s neutral, not like he can’t make up his mind – he’s just not taking sides” Mak explains “AAAAAAAAAAND his opponent” Funyon begins, but that’s as far as he gets before he’s cut off by a very familiar voice “Hold on there onion-Breath!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! James Matheson walks out from the curtains, microphone in hand and with something on his mind. “Now, now I ain’t here for a bad reason, trust me – you’ll like this one” Matheson says to get the fans to stop booing, if only in anticipation of his announcement. “Now many of you know that I’m the Star Maker responsible for making Tom Flesher the star that he is” “That’s a revisionist view if I ever heard one” King interjects “And without me you know Charlie Matthews wouldn’t have won the world title at all” Matheson continues “Was he managing Matthews at the time?” Mak questions “But people have put down my contributions to this sport, they ignore me and think of me as just another mouthpiece! So I’m here to PROVE to everyone that *I* am the Maker of Stars! With my guidance I can take anyone… and I do mean *ANYONE* to the top. “ “Where the hell is this going? We’ve got a match scheduled” Mak laments “I can take the littelest Red Rooster and raise him up into a magnificent, prize winning fighting co… bird!” Matheson says and then points to the curtain. “Therefor it’s MY PLEASURE to introduce to you – weighing in at 220 pounds, from the Chicken Coop! Atlanta GA give it up for Matt “Red Rooster” MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERSS CORKADOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Matt Myers struts out doing the chicken Strut that Terry Taylor made popular so many years ago. His long blond hair has been combed up into a mohawk, a bright red mohawk to be precise. The New Age Rooster seems to go over well with the crowd as they pad him on his back and high five Myers as he heads to the ring, unfortunately those who pad him on the back end up with a handful of feathers from Myers ring jacket CORKADOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Oh give me a break” King says as he bangs his head on the table in disbelief. “It’s poultry in motion King! And the fans are loving it!” The smile on Myers face reveals that despite a gimmick that may be embarrassing to some and a career killer in the past he’s loving every second of it. Myers drops his feathery jacket on the outside, climbs up the ropes and then sits on the top rope crouched down like a chicken while flapping his wings ROOSTER!! ROOSTER!! ROOSTER!! “The crowd seems to be in the mood for Chicken Tonight King” Mak quips, enjoying this even more because it annoys the Suicide King. “Stop… please no more chicken puns” King pleads as Myers leaps off the top rope “I’d say that pound for pound… and by the way he retails for 2 bucks a pound… “ Mak says but doesn’t get to finish his sentence as King pulls Mak’s headset cord out. “There! Now I feel a little better” King replies as Mak tries to get plugged back in. *DING*DING*DING* Victor Herzog just stands there and watches as Myers struts around like a chicken, even doing the international arm gestures for “are you chicken?”. Maybe the chicken is considered a brave bird in Switzerland or maybe he’s just remaining neutral in all of his, either way Mister Swiss has opted to just wait and let Myers get it out of his system “Go on Victor make a nugget out of him!!” The Suicide King says encouragingly. After a few moments of strutting around Myers finally locks up with the larger Victor Herzog, only to find himself stuck in a side headlock. Myers scrapes his feet on the canvas a few times, then does the jerky chicken neck movement and pops out behind Herzog’s back. “Attaboy!” Matheson says as he bangs on the canvas to show his support. The two combatants lock up with a collar and elbow once again and once again Myers finds himself in a side headlock, a headlock clamped on much tighter this time as Myers is unable to pull out like he did before. “You bastard!” Mak says as he’s finally plugged back in “Oh hey Mak, was there something wrong with your headset?” King asks as a sound technician crawls out from under the desk, Mak couldn’t reach the equipment so they had to have someone from the back come out and help him. The New Age Rooster tries to break free of the side headlock but he’s trapped. After exhausting all other options Myers pushes Herzog into the ropes and actually manages to push the bigger man off him, sending him running across the ropes. Mister Swiss returns and… *THUD!!* Knocks Matt Myers off his feet with a rock solid shoulder tackle that almost knocks Myers out of the ring. “Ah look at him Mak, he’s just a scared little chicken” the Suicide King says as he sees Myer’s frightened look. “Oh and *I* had to stop with the puns?” “Come on Matt, it was just a set back. It’s no big deal” Matheson says, the experienced manager realizes that Myers confidence just took a knock and if he didn’t do something quickly it could all be over. “Speed over power Matt! Speed over power – remember that” Myers gets back to his feet and charges Victor Herzog, Mister Swiss grabs Matt for a tilt-a-whirl but Myers is able to turn it into a Christo Headscissors take down instead. Myers can’t help but smile a bit as he gets back to his feet, keeping up the lighting quick pace as he runs towards Herzog before he’s even all the way up on his feet. “VICTOR DUCKED!!” Mak yells out as Victor Herzog ducks out of the way of Myers leaping assault. Mister Swiss may have ducked by Myers lands on the top rope, then after he finds his balance he leaps off for a … MOONSAULT!! “This is how it all started!” Mak says as Myers flips through the air aiming straight at Victor Herzog’s face *THUD!!* “And it’s how it’ll all end” King says with a chuckle as Victor Herzog steps out of the way of the Moonsault to let Myers crash to the canvas. “Myers is going to pay for that” Mak says “Oh you know he will!” Herzog pulls Myers off the canvas and then rattles his Mohawk with a stiff European uppercut, then a second one, followed by a third one that knocks Matt Myers back into the corner. Matheson paces the floor, looking worried that his meal ticket is about to lose, trying desperately to come up with some way of helping Myers turn the momentum around again. Herzog keeps the advantage firmly on his side as he takes Myers down with a snap-suplex out of the corner, then he hits the ropes probably looking for a leg drop. Whatever his intentions were they are quickly forgotten as Matheson reaches in and grabs Victor Herzog by the ankle. “Oh come on now!” Mak complains “What? Oh you thought Matheson was one of the good guys just because he’s managing Matt Myers?” King says and laughs at Mak’s stupidity. Matheson doesn’t manage to knock Herzog down but he does draw Mister Swiss’ attention, the manager shouts various derogatory remarks while keeping an eye on Matt, hoping that the opening he’s provided will help. With his attention on Matt James Matheson doesn’t move fast enough to avoid Herzog reaching over the top rope and grabbing him by the jacket YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Disqualify him!! He’s putting his hands on Matheson” “You have a really odd rule book don’t you King?” Herzog pulls Matheson up on the apron ready to rough him up, but the distraction has given Myers enough time to regain his senses and attack Herzog from behind. Mister Swiss swiftly moves out of the way sending Myers crashing right into James Matheson and then rolls him up from behind. ONE!! TWO!!! TH-KICKOUT!! “Oh so close!” Mak says “But Myers is still alive in this contest, don’t write him off yet fans” “No please do write him off, I did the moment he walked down the aisle” King replies gruffly. Victor Herzog bounces off the ropes and this time succeeds in landing the leg drop he was probably going for earlier. Swifter than a man of his size is expected to move Victor Herzog scales the turnbuckles, raising his right arm as he waits for Matt Myers to get back to his feet. Matheson tries to warn Myers but the young Rooster is too dazed to heed the warning and instead gets taken down by Mister Swiss’ flying Clothesline. “THAT’S IT!” Herzog announces as he grabs Myers’ right and locks on the Cripper Crossface variation known as the “Ficken Schloss” “He just needs to lock his hands and Myers’ little run of luck is ended” King says “Myers is struggling against it though, it’s not locked on yet” And then Herzog locks his hands behind Myers’ neck “Time to choke the chicken!” James Matheson knows that he has to do something and he has to do it NOW or Myers will lose the match, so he does the only thing he can think of in a time like this: he distracts the referee by getting up on the apron and complaining about a choke. Referee Ced Ordonez responds by running over to yell at the manager as Matheson had hoped. When Ordonez turns his back to the action Myers hand hits the canvas, the pain of the “Ficken Schloss” is just too much for him to handle. “That’s it! It’s over! Stick a fork in the drumstick he’s DONE!” the Suicide King announces triumphantly. When Victor Herzog sees that the referee is busy with James Matheson he releases his submission hold and goes over to chase Matheson off the apron. Then second Herzog releases the Submission hold Myers rolls out of the ring and then leans back against the apron looking heartbroken. “Where is he going?” Mak asks as Matt Myers slowly begins to walk towards the back with his head hanging low, not even bothering to look back “HA! He thought he’s lost the match, he’s so used to losing that he’s just going to head for the showers” King says and laughs at Myers’ mistery. Once James Matheson sees Myers walking away he leaps off the apron and runs up the aisle to catch Matt. “Hold on, hold on son the match isn’t over” Matheson says “What? But… but I tapped out?” Myers asks in disbelief as he realizes that there was no announcement “Yeah well… erm about that” Matheson says, he quite clearly doesn’t want Matt to know that he cheated to help the kid out “A fan jumped over the rail, yeah a fan… and well the referee was busy putting him out of the ring when you tapped out so he didn’t see it!” “He didn’t?” “No man, come on you’ve been given a second chance at this – go in there and show everyone that Matt Myers is not a loser” Matheson says in a firm voice “But I…” “No! You’re not a loser Matt! I wouldn’t pick a loser! Go in there and do it Matt, if not for me then for the fans! Matheson says as a “Myers” chant slowly starts Myers Myers!! MYERS!! MYERS!! MYERS!! MYERS!! “You can’t let them down!” Myers looks around the arena, soaking up the crowd support. Then he takes off running towards the ring, sliding under the bottom rope before Victor Herzog has a chance to even react. “Ah crap” is King’s only comment. Herzog tries to hit Myers with a clothesline but the New Age Rooster ducks under the extended arm, then he bounces off the opposite rope to knock Victor down with a flying forearm to the face “HE HENPECKED HIM!!” Mak says with delight as Myers shakes his fists with excitement. Myers bounces off the ropes, takes a couple of chicken strutting steps and then lands a knee drop to Herzog’s forehead “Talk about dropping an egg on someone” Mak quips, obviously loving the opportunity to run with every stupid chicken pun known to man. “My god you really are a sad, sad man aren’t you Mak?” Myers climbs the turnbuckles, folds his arms up to do the Chicken Wings before he yells “POULTRY POWER!!” Taking to the air with a Frog Splash to Mister Swiss followed by a cover ONE!! TWO!!! TH-NO-KICKOUT!! Herzog manages to lift his shoulder before the fateful three count, something which seems to dishearten Matt a bit as he was so sure he had the victory. Myers goes over to consult with Matheson, but his manager only has one simple instruction “STAY ON HIM!!” Myers quickly turns around, doing as he’s told. Herzog has gotten back to his feet although he’s far from steady on them, a fact that Myers takes advantage off by taking Mister Swiss down with a hooked arm drag shades of Ricky Steamboat YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! Myers grabs the top rope and then leaps up while turning around in one smooth motion. Then when Herzog is back on his feet the Red Rooster flies like an eagle CROSS BODY BLOCK!!! But Myers momentum takes him too far allowing Victor Herzog to roll with the Cross body block so that he ends up on top of Matt Myers instead. ONE!! TWO!!! TH-NO-KICKOUT!! “Oh damn that was close, Myers almost lost” Mak says as Matt Myers manages to kick out in the nick of time “What the hell happened? Who’s this kid and where is the Matt Myers who looks at the lights 5 days a week?” “It’s amazing what a little luck and a little guidance can do King” Mak says trying to explain exactly what’s changed for the young “Enhancement talent” Myers is only up onto his knees when Herzog wraps an arm around Myers’ head and another one hooks one of Myers legs for a small package ONE!! TWO!!! NO-ROLLOVER!! Myers manages to roll out of pinning position ending up on top of Victor Herzog ONE!! TWO!!! NO-ROLLOVER AGAIN!! Herzog muscles his shoulders off the canvas and turns the small package on Myers once more ONE!! TWO!!! NO!! Through sheer determination Matt Myers manages to roll out of the pinfall position so that he’s on top of “Mister Swiss” Victor Herzog once more ONE!! TWO!!! THREE!!!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “WHAT??” the Suicide King yells as Ced Ordonez hand hits the canvas a third time. *DING*DING*DING*DING*DING* CORKADOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Herzog and Myers both release the small package rolling to a seated position, each with a look of disbelief on their face, Myers because he won, Herzog because he lost… to Matt Freaking Myers “LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!” Funyon yells “The winner of the match Matt “RED ROOSTER” MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERS!!! Myers rolls out of the ring and then runs over to hug James Matheson, the manager looks shocked initially but then congratulates his protégée by padding him on the back and then raising his hand in the air. CORKADOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “What a victory for Matt Myers!” Mak says as Myers starts to run around the ringside area, excitedly high fiving any and all fans who hold out their hands. “Yeah but something tells me that Matheson and Myers aren’t exactly on the same page Mak” King says, trying to put a dampener on the celebrations. “Well… I’m sure Matheson meant well” Mak says as he watches James Matheson closely. The “Maker of Stars” applauds Matt and then gives Victor Herzog a “Ah gee that’s too bad” shoulder shrug as a dejected “Mister Swss” heads to the back. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 W&D match TBEI - it apparently got cut off Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 “Fans, I’m currently backstage with SWF superstar, the Unique Youth, Zyon!” Ben Hardy continues to sound like his minimum wage self, noticing the orb that Zyon clutches in his right hand. “Well, Zyon I was going to have you discuss your thoughts on the highly competitive Cruiserweight Division, but I have got to ask, what is that box you have there?” The camera pans to the right revealing the casually clothed Unique Youth. His attire tonight consisting of baggy brown shorts and a green long sleeved shirt, with the sleeves noticeably rolled up. The arena isn’t the only thing warm at this point as the Unique Youth greets Hardy with a less than enthusiastic attitude, “Why are you talking to me? Oh it’s because you get paid to do so…such a puppet. Anyway, before we discuss this little mystery gift I hold in my hand, I think it’s time to address something.” “Ah the flourishing Cruiserweight Division?” The interviewer asks another brilliant question. “Maybe I should have been a bit more clear.” The bitter youth growls, wishing he could be resting, as opposed to speaking to Benjamin Hardy. “This something I would like to address isn’t just something…it’s someone.” “OOOOOOHHHHHH!” The audience can already pick up on the youth’s intentions, “Michael…Stephens.” “YEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!!!” “Oh yeah that’s right, the former World Champion has been on a roll as of late, steam rolling through the competition on his way back to another World Title shot. He really is great.” The youth stares at the clueless Hardy, “Good thing you are defenseless.” Zyon shakes his head before continuing, “Yes, Hardy the great Michael Stephens is the topic of the day. See, that competition you were talking about…that was me. Hell, that was everyone. I guess people seem to think that he is truly amazing.” “YEEEEEAAAAHHHH!” “Cheer him, he deserves it I’m sure. However, Benjamin I for the life of me…I really should apologize. I just don’t understand what the big deal is. In my eyes, according to my perspective, he’s…well he’s just some emo trickster with an agenda of that is of his own.” “WHAAAAAAA???!” The audience nearly falls off their chairs from the shock. Hardy isn’t much different, “What did you just say?” Zyon grips the orb in his hand tighter, “What Hardy did I stutter? The guy is nothing more than a trickster. He has no sense of pride or friendship. He expects those to scratch his back, while he sharpens a blade to stab into his latest partner’s back. Now don’t take this the wrong way, this isn’t a warning for Landon, you’d think he’d have gotten the hint after Gabe attempted to expose Stephens for what he really was. It’s a sad state of affairs, Hardy.” “Zyon, what are you saying. Do you actually condone Drake’s actions?” The youth rolls his eyes at the question, “Of course not. I won’t pity the Sensation…blah. How fucking lame? Like I was saying, Stephens won’t be receiving any pity from me during his war with the current World Champion. That was simply a battle he wasn’t able to trick himself out of. He didn’t have anyone there to fight his battles for him, and if he did he would just use them anyway. Do you understand now Hardy?” “You are of course speaking of the numerous occasions where yourself and Michael Stephens teamed up during a match, which led to your elimination. But Zyon its every man for himself.” “Jesus, Hardy you really are retarded. It’s not about that. It’s about the character of a man that can do no wrong. He’s the reason why people like Spike was running around crippling everyone. He’s the reason why Landon had himself a bit of a psycho run last year. And yes, he is the reason for our maniac of a World Champion. That proves to me two things. One, the Sensation hasn’t ran by himself in a long time. What a guy…he’s no man. Two, his companions, you know…the people he uses to get what he wants, all end up less of a person than what they were. So, what better way to guarantee your way back to the World Title than to win the Clusterfuck, a battle royal of epic proportions, that just happens to include people he can run with…before eventually stabbing them in the back.” Both Hardy and the audience are stunned by the youth, who pretty much has the floor to himself now, “How about this for a discussion. I officially enter the Clusterfuck.” “YEEEEEEAAAAAHHH!” The audience cheers despite the youth’s comments about the number one good guy in the company, “Oh and this orb…well we’ll find out later tonight. Unlike that British trickster I’m not a coward. I can run on my own two feet, I’m a man. Not a trickster.” And with that Zyon leaves the cameras behind, along with Ben Hardy who has to hold his jaw shut as the SWF goes to commercial. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 “It’s been a wild ride tonight so far as the road to the Cluster(bleep) kicks in to high gear!!” The Franchise brings the fans back from commercial break as the Atlanta crowd prepares themselves for the following contest. “It’s been a bumpy road so far for one of the participants in our next match, and things are definitely not looking up for him here tonight!!” “Whatever, Francis. If someone told you that you had to wrestle two guys by yourself you wouldn’t exactly be happy either.” The Suicide King interrupts, only to have himself interrupted by the monotone sounds of warning coming from the public announcement system… ““Please Stand Clear of the Ring. Por favor Soporte Claro del Anillo…. …For the Safety and Comfort of Others…No Smoking Please. Para la Seguridad Y la Comodidad de Otras... El Ningún Fumar Por favor…. BOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Here we go, King…” “The Walt Disney Company and the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation are proud to present…” As “When You Wish Upon A Star” plays throughout the arena and pixie dust begins to fall, Alan Clark steps through the curtain and out into the spotlights around the entranceway, Walter Reynolds a few steps behind with the International title over his shoulder. “Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL…” Funyon’s voice booms as the crowd continues their jeer-fest. “Introducing first, representing Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida…. making his way to the ring and being accompanied by Walter Reynolds…he weighs in at two-hundred-twenty-five pounds and is YOUR S-W-F International Champion…the self-proclaimed and copyrighted Happiest Guy On Earth... ALAAAAAAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAAAAARK~!!!” “He doesn’t look all that happy to me…” replies the King as Alan’s face finally can be fully seen by the camera, a look of intensity across it. The usual sly grin is only slightly noticeable as he makes his way down to the ring, stopping to give a few of the more overzealous fans a glance. “That’s what you get, Clark!” one fan can be heard yelling from just off ringside, “Let’s see that Disney magic get you out of this!” The call draws Alan’s attention, and the sponsored superstar’s intense grin suddenly turns to that of a joyous and jovial smile. “All I need is faith and trust…” Clark starts, “yeah, and just a little bit of pixie dust.” Alan does a quick Peter Pan-esque pose before making his way up the ring steps and into the ring, leaving Walter to take his place on the outside. As the music fades away, Alan sticks his head through the ropes to give a few last words to Reynolds, only to have the lights dim down around him… KRACKA-BOOM! “And introducing his opponents…” Funyon continues as Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” blares, the blast of lightning at the entranceway signaling the arrival of Alan Clark’s apparent doom, “being accompanied by Falcon, weighing in at a combined five-hundred pounds…they are NIGHTHAWK and “The Dean Of Professional Wrestling” JAY HAWKE… THE PREDAAAAAAAAAAAATORS~!!” RAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! “What the (bleep)!?” The Suicide King, and the Predators themselves, are quite shocked at the cheers they happen to be receiving from the Atlanta crowd. “These fans must want to see Alan Clark get punished, and without nobody out here to save him, it’s looking like that is exactly what we are going to see.” “As a note to backstage, we might be needing medical assistance at the conclusion of this contest” adds Francis as the normally nefarious duo takes in the momentary adulation, posing on the ramp with Falcon in between them, the group still somewhat shocked at the actions of the crowd. “I don’t think anyone was expecting something like this, not even Tom Flesher!” “If Clark was smart he’d just lay down now and get this over with, but I don’t think he’s in the smartest state of mind right now, just look at him in there.” And sure enough, through the darkness the camera can pick up Alan ready and waiting in the ring, his custodial costume hanging over his frame as he seemingly prepares himself for what he is about to endure, both of his fists clenched tight at either side of his waist. “I don’t see him looking to stall this week, we saw how well that went las— SMACK!! ----What was that!!” SMACK!! “It’s that damn Ricky Barbosa!” King yells as Ricky appears from behind the Predators under the cover of darkness and wielding a chair! “Both Predators are down and OH MY GOD NO!!” Francis almost comes out of his wheelchair…almost…as Barbosa turns to face a screaming Falcon, raising the chair towards her. The manager backs away, leaving Ricky to grab the downed Jay Hawke and throw him into the ring. “RING THE BELL!” Ricky yells at the referee as Alan Clark stands in shock. Ding Ding Ding! “I guess the match is underway!” is all Mak can say as Alan looks down on Ricky, who stands between the action in the ring and the still downed Nighthawk. After assessing the situation and looking towards Reynolds, Alan drops to his knees and lays himself over Hawke… One! Two! Three! Ding Ding Ding! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Alan rolls out of the ring, away from Ricky, as the rookie walks back up the ramp, past Nighthawk and Falcon. A camera follows his footsteps as Barbosa looks down and over the ring at Clark and Reynolds. “There’ll be peace when I’m done, Alan! PEACE! FIND THE LIGHT!” Ricky shouts as loud as he can over “When You Wish Upon A Star”, creating a more surreal scene than one should see given the pixie dust falling down over a wrestling arena as Storm begins to fade down to a scheduled commercial break, the Suicide King’s voice the last one heard… “What the (bleep) is going ON around here…” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 FADE IN… Storm returns with the House of Marvelous set ready to go in the middle of the ring. The luxurious suede couch and matching love seat are once again brand new, this time due to the importance of the guest. The one constant remains the arch, and the ever-present velvet rope. “As you can see from the set-up in the ring, it’s time for the next installment of the SWF’s hit interview segment,” Mak Francis pauses for effect, “the House of Marvelous!” “It seems like this is becoming a pre Pay-per-view tradition, Francis.” King notes. “Our New Years Resolution should be to have Sir Marvelous hold court more than just once a Pay-per-view cycle!” “I could stand to see that resolution broken…” Francis mumbles, “but the positives continue to outweigh the negatives, so until I can convince the program director otherwise Michael Anderson still has a show and it’s about to start.” The camera shifts from the booth and the commentary duo towards the middle of the ring where Funyon sits at the sets mic stand, ready to introduce the segment. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “please welcome: Sir… Marvelous!” With that, Notorious BIG’s “I Love the Dough” heralds the arrival of Michael Anderson, who limps out onto the stage, leaning heavily on his cane, and dressed in a black button down under a slick pinstripe suit, the look completed by a solid silver tie. As always, Anderson is accompanied by the massive Tracey Bruner; the bodyguard is wearing a stylish blue Armani suit over a white shirt and a matching fedora, his eyes obscured by fashionable sunglasses. “With Clusterfuck just a week away and everyone eligible for entry, Big Tracey Bruner becomes a scary sight,” Mak adds, “but with the only participant we’re sure is in the match being Michael Stephens it adds a distinct hint of mystery to a match that became somewhat predictable.” Marvelous’ ridiculously insincere smile threatens to crack his face in half, as he makes his way to the ring. He limps up the steel steps, and then waits on Bruner to get up to the apron and hold open the ropes for him before he enters the ring. Once inside, he shoos the lanky Funyon out of the ring with disdain and then waits for Bruner to unhook the velvet rope before he passes through the arch. Picking the microphone up from the stand, Anderson gives a mock cough as his music fades out. “Welcome,” drawls Anderson, “to the House of MAAAAARVELOUS! Once again on the heels of our next Pay-per-view Extravaganza, I am your host, Sir Marvelous, and I just want to thank each and every one of you people for tuning in because the House of Marvelous wouldn’t have become the highest-rated segment of SWF programming ever seen… without you!!” Marvelous motions for the crowd to simmer down. “Now that that’s out of the way lets get to the good stuff! Last time he was on this show, he was the challenger to the SWF World Title… but now, he is the current reigning and defending Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Champion of the World!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Anderson finishes, “give it up for da’ man… Mister Gabriel Drake!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Suddenly, the Smarktron flares to life, flashes from The Beasts debut vignettes splashing across the screen, as the deliberate strum of ‘The Devil’s Rejects’ begins to build to a crescendo. Gabriel Drake’s two cold hazel eyes stare out from the Smarktron, an amused sneer crossing his face for a second before one hand reaches out and grips presumably the camera. The picture shakes violently, then blurs and cuts to black as the camera is apparently thrown into a wall. Meanwhile, the slow melody continues and the atmosphere is even amplified by the eerie menacing blue light and the flickering of several white strobes cutting across the darkened arena, until finally… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …through all the bright lights, glitz and glammer; face framed by his black hair with white highlights… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …with the SWF World Title wrapped around his waist… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …Gabriel Drake himself appears through the curtain. “I am the bad one… Distant and cruel one… I am the dream that, keeps you running down!” Hearing the opening lyrics of the Rob Zombie song, Drake pauses on the stage for a moment, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief while looking around the arena! Gabe glowers at the reaction from his hometown crowd and then proceeds to march down towards ringside. “Gabriel Drake is from right down the road in Athens, Georgia…” Mak Francis starts. “I bet the Champ didn’t expect this kind of reaction at all.” “With distraction… Violent reactions… Scars of my actions, watch me running out!” The Smarktron behind him continues to flash scenes from famous wars and bits of destruction while showing him hitting a Musclebuster on Michael Cross, twisting Akira’s broken body in the Spite and Malice and deforming Landon Maddix’s feature by tossing him into a Steel Cage interspersed… “HELL DOESN’T WANT THEM! HELL DOESN’T NEED THEM! HELL DOESN’T LOVE THEM!” …Until a final picture of the newly infamous leap off the second rope with Michael Stephens in tow, compacting his jaw with a sickening Mark of the Beast! Now at ringside, Drake eliminates most of his normal pretense and just quickly climbs up the stairs and onto the apron! “The Devil's Rejects… The Devil’s Rejects…” The music slowly begins to fade, as Gabe enters through the ropes and after Bruner consults his list, crosses the threshold. Anderson gives a half bow to the champ, who sneers at the audience that begins to chant again: “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” “Welcome back to the show, champ!” Sir Marvelous begins with a grandiose smile but switches to a scowl. “But I must say, not quite the reception you were probably anticipating. How does it make you feel that these people would chant that at you.” “I can honestly say I’m not surprised, but it really gets to me that that bastard was right…” The Beast tersely mutters into the mic, barely succeeding in controlling his emotions. “A grand welcome back indeed, so thank you for all your… support.” “So, I’ll get right to it!” Anderson exclaims glossing over Gabe’s (he earned the privilege to call him that after the last HoM) reaction. “Gabe, you have a match at Clusterfuck defending your World Title against-” “-You know that’s not really one of the issues I wanted to cover just yet. My first topic is that poor excuse for a wrestler the Insane Luchador.” The Beast pauses, shaking his head. “I heard the whispers in the back after I lost to that chump, so I went into my match last week with a point to prove. Just cause you’re a decent brawler or striker doesn’t mean you’re on my level. And just because you, to borrow a term, fancy yourself a ‘mixed martial artist’ doesn’t mean you can wrestle.” “A not so thinly veiled shot at his Clusterfuck opponent, eh Francis.” King comments, while pointing at the nameplate on the World Title, Drake absorbs the jeers. “I gave him the moniker Mr. Cold Front Classic, but in a big match atmosphere I have to back the man who’s not 0-4 in title matches…” Gabe quickly picks up where he left off. “I’ve got the belt first and foremost because I’m a wrestler and this is an official warning to those boys in the back who like to talk a big game, from numero uno on up to the last guy… especially, numero uno! Enter the Clusterfuck and win if you can, but in the end it doesn’t matter what you do, because this is the year of the Beast and I-” “RRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” “Seriously… you again?!” Drake asks as Johnson strolls through the curtain and down to ringside. “This isn’t your time. You had a chance to speak a few weeks ago and you just turned tail and ran instead!” “Drake is the King of revisionist history, Brian.” Mak notes, as JJ slides into the ring and is surprisingly on the list (apparently still on there from his own missed interview time). “Every week it’s something new with this guy.” “What, no sucker-punch this time? Are you planning on actually acting like a man?” Gabe scoffs at that. “Heh, that’s a laugh… you have no idea what it takes to be the man! What’s this, your fifth time challenging for the big belt? You think you can take this strap off me? The man in this company—the man, who, with only six months in the fed; on his first one-on-one try defeated the so-called undefeatable champ?! This is going to end the same way it did the last time you won that joke of a tournament, Mr. Cold Front Classic.” Gabe adds smiling. “That’s with your ass in a sling and the champion still with the belt.” A long pause occurs as the Beast waits for any kind of response from the challenger who has remained stoic during each and every one of his rants so far this year. “Say something! Why don’t you say something?” Johnson just shakes his head in disgust. “…Nothing to say, JJ? This is just the House of Marvelous; it’s not a big match yet. You shouldn’t be choking until the Pay-per-view.” Marvelous’s indignation at the slight on his show is interrupted by Anderson’s superior resentment of JJ snatching the microphone from his grasp, which receives an annoyed yelp of disapproval. “Do I look like I’m joking?” Johnson’s tone is very even and deep, neither rising nor falling. Surprising considering it’s his first time speaking about the match. “This isn’t some joke—I’m not here fuckin’ around with you for shits and giggles, Drake. This is about the title for me. But I see you backstage, preoccupied with your image after losing to Rickmen, preoccupied with Toxxic, basically preoccupied with anybody and anything other than me. Well, you better stop being preoccupied with any of that other bullshit and start worrying about the guy that the last time you were on this very same interview segment, knocked-you-the-fuck-out!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Enunciating each word for effect causes the crowd to let loose a mighty cheer in his favor. Cracking a neck, JJ tilts his head to the side and waits for them to cool down. He wants everybody to hear what he’s got to say. “Like you said, champ, this is my fifth shot at the SWF World Heavyweight Title, but the only choking that’s going to happen at Clusterfuck involves you after I hit you so hard in the mouth that you swallow your teeth like chicklets and then I take that… from around your waist.” “JOHNSON’S GONNA KILL YOU!” “JOHNSON’S GONNA KILL YOU!” “JOHNSON’S GONNA KILL YOU!” “JOHNSON’S GONNA KILL YOU!” A ghost of a smile crosses Johnson’s face at the chant and it seems Drake hasn’t forgotten their last encounter as well. “I’m not falling for that one this time but there is something I felt I should address from your stirring monologue.” Gabe says sarcasm dripping from his voice. “You might not be joking, but you are a walking and now apparently talking, fucking joke, JJ Johnson. And to be honest I feel sorry for you, because to me, you were never even worth worrying abo-” *pzzzzt…WHAM!* And not giving Johnson the chance to react, Drake drops the mic mid-word and peppers him with a right hand! And you can bet it’s on, a whirl of elbows and punches thrown wildly as they begin to brawl!!! *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *CRACK!* “It’s all broken down here in Atlanta, Georgia!” Mak shouts, as Gabe and JJ twirl about the ring destroying most of the set, while Bruner attempts to separate the two!!! The hulking form of Big Tracey steps in, shoving Johnson away, but the two men lunge together again… *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *CRACK!* *…scratch!* Getting a rake of the eyes in, Drake causing Johnson to stumble away as he unlatches the World Title and measures his opponent for a belt shot… *…WHIFF!* …but JJ ducks, causing Drake to lose his grip on the championship, while he wraps his arms around Gabriel’s throat and jumping onto the standing man’s back in a Rear Naked Choke!!! “He’s got him—he’s got him in a damn choke!” King shouts, as the Beast’s arm flail wildly. “Do something Bruner! Sir Marvelous! SOMEBODY!” Marvelous and Bruner (at Anderson’s request) have long since rolled out of the ring. Struggling for all he’s worth in the hold, Gabriel Drake’s breathing slows pulls him down to the canvas, the Beast staring in the direction belt which fell off to the side of them. He knows what Johnson wants and giving him the tap out in his hometown goes against Drake’s sense of pride, but when his head gets light from lack of oxygen, his hand works of it’s own accord and… *...tap-tap-tap!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …Gabe's hand taps on JJ’s arm! The former Ultimate Fighter releases the hold having accomplished his goal and gets to his feet, while Drake rolls on the mat to the outside of the ring, coughing for air!! "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "YOU TAPPED OUT!" “It didn’t happen!” King screams over the crowds chants. “This wasn’t a real match! Gabriel Drake has still never submitted in his entire pro-wrestling career!” “Maybe not, but JJ Johnson has just shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is somebody worth worrying about!” As JJ goes to exit the ring, he turns to the big suede couch the only thing not completely destroyed in the brawl… “N-N-No-NOOOOO! NOT THE COUCH!” Anderson screams, as Johnson kicks it once for good measure and exits the ring, brushing past the duo while on the outside a sputtering Gabriel Drake clutches his World Title belt to his chest on the ground… As We: FADE… Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 Second Drake Promo entry Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 SWF Storm returns from a commercial just as the last vestiges of the House of Marvelous set are removed from the ring. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, knowing full well that Hardcore action is moments away. However, Mak and King are contractually obligated to build suspense. "Welcome back to this unofficial tag team edition of Storm, live from Atlanta, Georgia," Francis says. "Yeah, what's up with that? I hope to God that this doesn't somehow mean the Lethal Lottery is coming back," King says. "I seriously doubt that would happen under commissioner Tom Flesher's nose, but a Hardcore title match is most definitely taking place in a matter of moments," Mak says. "Wow...horrible segue aside, you speak the truth, Francis. Jimmy the Doom puts his Hardcore title on the line yet again, taking on, yet again, Insane Luchador," King says. "The Ill One has been a Hardcore staple ever since he joined the federation, but sadly, he hasn't had the kind of success I'm sure he was hoping for during his tenure. However, if he manages to knock off one of the longest reigning champions here tonight, he could cement himself in the pantheon of Hardcore royalty," Mak says. "Same way Amy Stephens is considered a Hardcore icon after beating Bruce Blank?" King asks. "Well, she didn't put on a mask and call herself Ghost Machine 4.0 and get embarrassed by Matt Myers, so that's hardly fair," Mak says. Alice in Chains' "Man in the Box" strikes up, ending any further quibbling between the commentators. Red and nigh impossible black pyrotechnics burst in the air as Insane Luchador appears at the top of the stage. The Ill One raises Excalibur, rallying the crowd to him before racing down the ramp. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the Hardcore title! Introducing first, the challenger. Hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, he weighs two hundred, twenty-three pounds, Your Psychotic Hero, IIIINSSSSAAAANE LUUUUUCHAAAAADOOOOOORRRR!" Funyon roars. Insane Luchador slides Excalibur inside the ring, then rolls in after his light tube sword. IL pops up and tightly grips his weapon. Referee Marcus Vick tries to strike up a conversation regarding the Ill One's favorite felonies, but Luchador is focused on the match at hand. "This is quite the familiar sight, King, Insane Luchador versus Jimmy the Doom with the Hardcore title on the line. These two men have participated in some bloody wars in a fairly short amount of time, yet, thankfully, neither man appears to have a grudge against the other," Mak says. "That might change depending on the outcome of this contest, though. If Doom wins again, Luchador might go off the deep end, while the same is possible if Jimmy is dethroned, especially since he's so close to breaking Bruce Blank's record with that belt. However, as you said, loss of blood and facial hair hasn't really changed the relationship between these two men, something that's really starting to piss me off. Someone better snap, damn it," King grumbles. The lights and "Man in the Box" both fade away, and are replaced with the sounds of marching feet and chanting voices. Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! The lights snap back on to reveal roughly thirty cloaked druids surrounding the ring and up the entrance ramp. Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" blares over the speakers, prompting Jimmy the Doom to emerge from behind the curtain, lazily tossing and catching his Crimson Yuletide dreidel. The Doomtopian saunters down the ramp, his wife and belt carrier, Lois the Unethical, trailing by a few steps. "And introducing, the champion! Being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, he is from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, and weighs in tonight at two hundred, thirty pounds. The current Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJIIIIMMMMYYY THE DDDOOOOOOM!" Funyon bellows. Doom clambers up the ring steps and slips under the top rope. Lois passes the belt off to Vick, who holds it high in the air. Marcus tosses the strap over to Funyon, and with no rules to enforce, the beleagured youngster calls for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! For perhaps the first time, Jimmy doesn't immediately rush into a confrontation. The champ feints, allowing IL to swipe at nothing before Doom hurls his dreidel straight at Excalibur, shattering the glass. "Wow, nice toss. The Braves should get Doom for their bullpen," King says. "Do you even know if Jimmy has any idea of how to play baseball?" Mak inquires. "No, but he can't be any worse than the latest loser the Braves trot out," King points out. The Psychotic Hero circles away from the broken glass, still holding the useless metal handle. Not wanting to be trapped in the ropes or a corner, Doom is forced to make his way towards the portion of the ring coated in glass. Luchador lobs the handle at Jimmy, rapping him on the legs. Doom barely stumbles, though, and the champ lunges for his dreidel. Luchador moves a bit quicker than Jimmy, and nails the Straight-Bread Sensation with a flying knee to the dome. ELEEMOSYNARY! Jimmy drops to one knee, only to be forcefully yanked off the mat by Luchador and dropped with a snap suplex. IL rolls up to his feet, but is followed by Doom, and the challenger gets popped by a shotei in his chest. Jimmy fires off two more palm strikes, only for the Ill One to grab his wrist. Luchador pulls the Straight-Breader in and jams a knee in Doom's gut. Luchador wraps both hands around Jimmy's head and begins pounding away at Doom's torso with Muay Thai knees. After a swift quintet of knees, Doom manages to get hold of IL's leg and drive forward, tripping Luchador to the mat. "Nice display of striking early on by Insane Luchador, but he might have been aiming a bit too low. You've got to go after Jimmy the Doom's head early and keep on pounding that melon if you want any shot of beating him," Mak says. "Very true, Mak, but Luchador's attack on Jimmy's midsection isn't for naught. By wearing down the body, Insane Luchador can keep Jimmy down without having to completely knock him out," King says. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Mak asks. Doom slides forward, achieving a full mount easily and begins smashing elbows into Luchador's face. The Psychotic Hero reaches up and grabs hold of Doom's arms, taking full advantage of the Straight-Bread Sensation's shirt sleeves. Undetered, Jimmy cracks the Ill One with a vicious headbutt, loosening his grip on the champ. ELISION! Doom rears back and nails Luchador with another headbutt that frees Jimmy from IL's grasp. ELODEA! "Wow, that looked painful!" squeaks a high-pitched voice. "The hell is that?" Mak mumbles. "Sorry guys, but the Smarks Wrestling Federation is having another invasion," says another shrill voice. "What, Manny Ramirez again?" King moans. "Oh, heavens no, King. It would be tremendous to be in the presence of such an upstanding Sock like Manny Ramirez," says the first unidentified voice. "Okay, who the hell are you guys, and where are you from?" King grumbles. "Why, we're from the SWF," the two voices say. "The hell you say," Mak says. "No, really, we're both legends in the Socks Wrestling Federation. I'm Soxston Hardcastle, and this is Mike Van Socklen," Soxston says. "Hey, I remember that name! You were on an Aftershox after Ben Hardy was trapped under some rubble," Mak says. "That was me, alright. I figured since the OAOAST was getting at least mild reaction, the Socks Wrestling Federation would get a similar reaction," Hardcastle says. "Too bad we won't be involved in any in ring action since we are sock puppets after all," Van Socklen says as Mak turns to see two socks with faces drawn on and tiny headsets strapped to their 'heads' next to him and King. Jimmy clambers to his feet, glances back at Luchador, but decides to head outside the ring. Doom ducks under the ring skirting and comes back moments later clutching a hockey stick and puck. The Straight-Breader slides both pieces of sports equipment inside the ring and rolls in after them. "Looks like there are a few things left over from the last Thrasher's game here," Mak says. "That's idiotic, Mak. Why on earth would hockey sticks and pucks be under a wrestling ring? Like the players would just leave their crap there or something? I mean, the Hawks play here too, so does that mean the Thrashers will use basketballs for the next game?" King asks. "He's got a point, Mak," Soxston says. "You're a fucking sock. Shut up," Mak growls. Doom rises and makes for the stick, but Luchador dives and wraps his hands around it. The two men struggle for a moment before IL cracks Jimmy with a left hook to the jaw. The Psychotic Hero picks up the hockey stick and nails the Straight-Breader in the head with the object. ELUCIDATION! Luchador jabs Doom in the ribs with the stick before bashing the Hardcore champ in the head a second time, cracking the weapon. EMBOUCHURE! Jimmy staggers and gets caught in a front facelock. Luchador grabs Doom's waistband and drills the Straight-Bread Sensation into the mat with an implant DDT. The Ill One flips Jimmy over and makes a lateral press. One! T-No! "Kickout from Jimmy the Doom after his plan of introducing weaponry backfired," Mak says. "Something that's nearly as old as time itself: being hoisted by one's own petard," Socklen says. "William Sockspeare was truly a genius ahead of his time," Hardcastle adds. Insane Luchador pulls the Doomtopian off the mat and whips him into the ropes. Doom springs back, directly into a back body drop that sees him land on the glass that previously made up Excalibur. "Whoa, this is getting violent," Soxston says. "Yeah, this is like a Dace Knickers match," MVS says. "Did you just say Dace Knickers?" King asks. "Yeah, he's one of the most well known SWF wrestlers when it comes to overly violent matches. He nearly shredded El Calcetin Magnifico back in October," Van Socklen says. "So you two aren't the only Socks Wrestling Federation members?" Mak inquires. "Of course not. Do you think there could be a federation with just two wrestlers in it? Besides, if we were, don't you think we'd hate each other?" Soxston shoots back. "Damn, these socks are picking you apart, Francis," King says. Luchador glances down at the puck, but instead drags Jimmy across the glass and rolls him out of the ring. The Ill One backs to the opposite side of the ring and charges forward. IL dives between the top and middle ropes, crashing into the Doomtopian and causing both men to slam into a pair of druids. EMOLLIENT! "Nice plancha from Insane Luchador, and now this match has the chance to go all over the arena," Mak says. "See, this is why the Socks Wrestling Federation is so much better than the Smarks Wrestling Federation. We focus on pure wrestling, not this garbage razzmatazz," Socklen says. "Oh, most definitely. You'd never catch our World champion, Ghost Machine Wash Only, flying out of the ring," Soxston says. "Ghost Machine Wash Only? That's fucking recockulous," King says. "Hey, we were all surprised when he managed to take the belt away from Tom Fishnet, especially since the Sockperior One had the title for about a year straight," Socklen says. Insane Luchador untangles himself from the flowing druid cloaks and picks himself off the ground. IL grabs Jimmy by the shirt, but the Doomtopian simply slips out of it and cracks the Ill One in the chest with a kick. Jimmy scrambles up and knocks Luchador a step back with a shotei, then follows up with another palm to the face. The Straight-Bread Sensation closes in, but the Ill One ducks under a third shotei and nails Jimmy with a kidney punch. Luchador rises up with Doom in prime position to be swept to the ground, but the Psychotic Hero uses his location to pepper Jimmy with punch after punch to the kidney. The Doomtopian plants both palms on Luchador's chest and shoves the Pennsylvanian away, giving his renal system a slight reprieve. It's only slight, as IL lunges forward, nailing Jimmy square on the chin with a jab. The Hardcore champ digs what fingernails he has into IL's wrist tape and begins twisting Luchador's arm. "It looks like Insane Luchador practically walked into Doomsday! Jimmy's got a hold of that arm, and all it takes is a few precisely thrown kicks before Insane Luchador is counting the lights," Mak says. "Perhaps Mak, but Insane Luchador is one tough bastard. He might not be on par with Doom, but I think it's too early for Luchador to get kicked into unconsciousness," King says. However, rather than begin the Doomsday combination, Jimmy whips around, drilling IL with a reverse elbow to the jaw. EMOLUMENT! The Psychotic Hero staggers from the quick blow, and Jimmy whips Luchador up the ramp. IL stumbles and falls forward at the top of the ramp, so the Straight-Bread Sensation drags Luchador behind the curtain, prompting the SmarkTron to crackle to life. "Now this might be more to Insane Luchador's favor. A lot more objects to use. Not that Jimmy the Doom has ever really shied away from weapons, especially in Hardcore title defenses," Mak says. "Another instance of this version of the SWF being inferior to ours," Socklen says. "He's right. The backstage is strictly for wrestlers to prepare for matches, not somewhere for matches to actually take place," Hardcastle says. "Okay, look, you socks better stop with this high and mighty attitude unless you want to get shrunk in the dryer," King says. "Ooh, what a big man! You're threatening sock puppets, King. Of course you can mess us up, that's a given, but damn it, the Socks Wrestling Federation is about nothing if not pure and honest wrestling, so just let us cram it down your throats," Soxston says. "Hey, it's not our fault the fans don't really care about the Pure Rules matches we've had and loved Damnation in a Box! Okay, I've got to admit, seeing Spike Jenkins get his guts carved out by Dace Night was pretty entertaining," King says. "That sounds absolutely disgusting! We'll gladly take Soxxic versus Chris Rayon any day of the week," Mike Van Socklen says. The Doomtopian picks Luchador off the ground and slams him into the wall before whipping him down the hall. Jimmy waits a moment, then races after IL upon not hearing a crash. The Ill One lowers his head and flings the Hardcore champ into the wooden door of a closet at the end of the hall, splintering it. ENCOMIUM! "Another nice back body drop from Insane Luchador, and like the last one, Jimmy's back gets a painful encounter with an unforgiving surface," Mak says. Insane Luchador heads into the closet, as does the camera man, revealing the Straight-Bread Sensation to be on top of a few dozen basketballs. The Doomtopian rolls off and flings a ball at IL, hitting him in the chest. "See, I have no problem with that. Those balls are in a closet, not just lying around somewhere. It at least makes more sense than a hockey stick under a wrestling ring," King says. "Oh no, this can't be good," Mak says. "What's wrong with basketballs in a closet?" King asks. "Those aren't any basketballs, King, those balls are evil. They're the new, synthetic ones that cut people to shreds," Mak says. The Franchise's words ring true, as a thin, red crosshatching appears on Luchador's chest. IL ignores the minor lacerations and closes in on Doom. Jimmy shoves the Psychotic Hero backwards and out of the closet with a front kick. The Straight-Breader picks up another basketball and hucks it at Luchador. IL ducks and the ball caroms into Chris Belcourt, road agent's face and then the back of the Ill One's head. ENURESIS! Luchador merely stumbles, but Belcourt drops like a rock. However, he's not important, so his well being is immediately forgotten. The Ill One scoops up the offending sphere and chucks it back at Doom, catching him on the shoulder. Jimmy hurls two balls in quick succession, with IL narrowly dodging the first, but getting nailed in the gut with the second. "Now what the hell is this crap? This is supposed to be a match for the Hardcore title, not dodgeball," King mutters. "While perhaps not as painful as a baseball bat to the head, each ball that hits is certainly inflicting damage," Mak points out. "So do Dutch rubs, but you'll never see that in a match," King says. "Don't put it past Jimmy the Doom to break out a noogie, King," Mak says. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087538/trivia trivia "That would be one of the few things that's taken place in this contest that's actually permissible in a Socks Wrestling Federation match," Soxston states. Jimmy kicks a ball at the Ill One's Head, but misses wide left. The Straight-Breader charges out of the closet and right into yet another back body drop from the Pennsylvanian. The Hardcore champ sails past the supine Christopher Belcourt and crashes into the cold cement floor. EPIGRAMMATIC! "And Doom goes down to another back body drop. He'd better wise up before those hard landings take their toll," Mak says. "Like they haven't already? Glass, wood, and now concrete are pretty rough on the spine. Unless there's a big vat of lava in the Philips Arena, it probably can't much worse," King says. "While your point is valid, I agree with Mak, King. Jimmy the Doom is being very foolhardy, rushing headlong towards Insane Luchador time and time again," Van Socklen says. Luchador turns around, grabs Jimmy by the ankles, and drags him down the hall. The Psychotic Hero turns a corner when the Doomtopian plants a foot in IL's ass and shoves, sending Luchador into a wall. The Straight-Bread Sensation scrabbles to his feet and raises one leg while stretching out both arms. "Doom is looking for the Yak Kick, and he's got a good chance of hitting it, because once Insane Luchador turns around, he'll be in range," Mak says. IL peels himself off the wall and sees Doom poised to deliver the Yak Kick. Luchador drops down immediately and sweeps out Jimmy's plant leg, resulting in a tremendous collision betwixt the floor and the champ's skull. EPIGRAPHY! "Strike first! Strike hard! No mercy! Cobra Kai!" King shouts. "That was some nice reaction time displayed by Insane Luchador. Or maybe Jimmy just took too long," Mak says. The Psychotic Hero leaps on top of Doom, making a lateral press, and Marcus Vick slides in to count the pin. One! Two-No! "Jimmy gets a shoulder up, keeping his belt for at least a little while longer," Mak says, trying desperately to keep his commentating classes' urge to shill subdued and leave his trademark Franchise cool intact. "I didn't think Luchador would pick up the win from that, but I would have guessed he would have gotten a full two count," King says. The Ill One looks around and pulls Jimmy to his feet. IL nails Doom with a knee to the gut, then slips behind the Hardcore champ. Luchador plants his head on the Straight-Breader's hip, wraps Jimmy up in a waistlock, and lifts the Doomtopian off the ground. The Psychotic Hero backpedals towards a table laden with food, and drives Jimmy into it with a back drop driver. EQUANIMITY! "GoreGasm from the Ill One into a snack table! That might get it for him," Mak says. "Snack table my ass, Francis! There's chili on that thing, and that makes it a full-fledged craft services table, and damn it, if Luchador ruined my food, I'll kick his teeth down his throat," King roars. Luchador flips over and makes a lateral press. One! Two! Thre-No! "Amazingly, Doom kicked out after being smashed through that food table," Mak says. Luchador clambers up to his feet and drags Jimmy up as well. IL roughly forces Jimmy into a front facelock and reaches down to hook Doom's leg. The Straight-Bread Sensation pushes the Psychotic Hero's hand away, then snakes his own grabbers up and around IL's throat. The Doomtopian yanks his head free of Luchador's grip and lifts his opponent. Jimmy twirls around and slams Luchador into the ground, opting to avoid the sit-out. EQUERRY! "Standing Jimmy Bomb from the champion, and he narrowly avoided Luchador's potent Fisherman's buster," Mak says. "If Luchador had landed it, he'd most likely be the new Hardcore champ, but now Doom has a chance to turn things around," King adds. Jimmy slowly hauls Luchador to his feet and pops IL with a shotei to the head. The Straight-Breader drags Insane Luchador down the hallway while getting hit with punches to the chest. Doom cracks the Ill One with an elbow in an effort to stop the attack, but Luchador only increases his intensity. Jimmy tries to back away, only to dart out with a jab to the Psychotic Hero's throat. "Jimmy breaks out the Hand of Doom, and that could be the beginning of the end for Insane Luchador," Mak says. "Just like five other things you said would win the match for Doom or the three things Luchador did that would get him the title?" King asks. The Straight-Bread Sensation grabs Luchador by the back of the head and pulls him past the curtain onto the stage. Jimmy smacks IL with a palm thrust to the face, then whips the Ill One down the ramp. Luchador slams into the ring and slumps slightly. ENFILADE! Seeing a grand opportunity, Jimmy rushes down the ramp towards Luchador, who takes a few steps forward. "Jimmy just never learns, does he? I'm not sure what the end result of getting back body dropped into the ring ropes is, but it can't be good for Doom," King says. IL ducks his head and flips Jimmy up and into the ropes, just as King predicted. However, the Hardcore champion flips back down, catching Luchador's head. Doom wraps both hands around IL's head and continues to let gravity do all the work, driving Luchador's head into the ground. ENSILAGE! "Doom Factor! That's got to be a one in a million opportunity, but Jimmy the Doom might be the luckiest man in the world after having pulled that off!" Mak shouts. "Wait, what? Between him and Jimmy the Doom, Insane Luchador was the dumb one for going for another back body drop? I've got to agree with you, Mak, that's one in a million," King says. Not thinking about the throbbing pain in his ass bone, Jimmy flips Luchador on his back and makes a cover. One! Two! Three! Ding! Ding! Ding! "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match and still Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJIIIIMMMYYYY THE DOOOOOM!" Funyon exclaims. With the Panic Ogre's assistaince, Jimmy gets to his feet and lifts up his title belt. The two Doomtopians slowly walk back up the ramp to the tune of "Yakety Sax" while Insane Luchador is attended to. "What an amazing match, and coming up is yet another tag match, as the Cadillac Boys take on JJ Johnson and MANSON," Mak says. "You two going to stick around for that?" "No thanks. The Socks Wrestling Federation has decided to flee from the violent and depraved organization that is the Smarks Wrestling Federation," Soxston says. "Yeah, besides, the best tag team in the world is Argyled and Dangerous, so that match would just be a disappointment," Socklen says. Insane Luchador finally comes to, and after realizing he's lost, shoves any and all officials away before staggering up the ramp. With his and the sock puppets' disappearance, Storm fades to commercial. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 The Philips Arena in Atlanta, Georgia sits dark and silent as we return from break, nothing to be heard but a quiet buzz in the crowd and a guttural, distorted warbling that echoes throughout the arena, bringing the Atlanta fans to their feet, tension in the arena builds. "We're back here on SWF Storm," murmurs Mak Francis, "and if you've never seen this man before, you don't know what you're about to witness." A final growl sends “Scientific Remote Viewing” by Cephalic Carnage blasting throughout the arena, the lights flaring up to a brilliant white. Strobes begin to pulse throughout the arena, as the entrance curtain parts and MANSON walks out onto the stage, long tan cloak covering his body as the crowd, as is the fashion, begins to boo mercilessly. ::DING DING DING:: "Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a TAG TEAM CONTEST scheduled for ONE fall! Introducing first, weighing in at two-hundred and thirty pounds, from Denver, Colorado, this! Is! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANSON!" MANSON strides partway down the aisle, pausing abruptly and turning around to face the curtain as the lights drop out and an ungodly voice starts chanting… *BOOM!* … and then a blast of red-and-white pyro goes off atop the entrance ramp, almost overshadowing Behemoth's "Slaves Shall Serve" blasting into full gear and Mr. Cold Front Classic himself, JJ Johnson, steps through the curtain and into plain view! "And his partner, at two-hundred and twenty-eight pounds, hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, THIS is J! J! JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHNSON!" "Funny story," mentions the Suicide King as the lights come back up. "I had class in college with a JJ Johnston." "Really now, King." "Yeah, she was pretty cute. I have pictures of us together." "That's fascinating." Johnson meets up with MANSON, the two men walking down the rest of the ramp together. The two are a stark contrast; Johnson, in sunglasses and a forest-green-and-yellow track jacket, looks like the long-lost white member of the Jamaican bobsled team, while MANSON, with his wild hair and beard and the tan cloak, the sounds of chains scraping the ramp following his every step; well, he looks like he just crawled out of a really good movie, the kind of movie I'd tell people I've seen but would never actually watch because I actually can't stand those kinds of movies. The two men slide into the ring just in time for the words to come blasting over the speakers… "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVERYBODY KNOWS I’M IN OVER MY HEAD OVER MY HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD…" "JOHN—SON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" "JOHN—SON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" The chant breaks out early tonight, as "Cadillac" Calvin Szechstein steps through the curtain, arms spread wide with a broad smile on his face and a microphone in his hand. He raises the mic to speak. "Yeah, I didn't think that The Fray was fitting entrance music for Atlanta, Georgia," Calvin says, and the crowd pops at the mention of their name. "What a whore," grumbles King. "So Sony sent me something a little more fitting… I hope you like it." "Over My Head (Cable Car)" fades out, and is replaced with a new beat… "Ride 'til I die… AND I LOOOOOOOOOOVE IT!" "I Luv It", by Atlanta's own Young Jeezy, blasts over the speakers, the crowd roaring in appreciation as Calvin yells out "Young Jeezy's The Inspiration, available now!" and Zack Malibu steps through the curtain, the crowd's cheering reaching a climax! "MAL—I—BU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "Three weeks in and he's still over, King," Mak says, a tad on the smug side. :"And their opponents, at a combined four HUNDRED and three pounds, 'Cadillac' Calvin Szechstein and Zack Malibu, theeeeee CAAAAAAAAD-I-LLAC BOOOOOYS!" Malibu and Szechstein charge down to the ring, Szechstein sliding in and being met with a series of boots to the face from MANSON, while Malibu slides right past JJ Johnson and springs to his feet, avoiding contact and matching JJ blow-for-blow! MANSON lifts Szechstein to his feet, whipping the pitchman into the ropes, but Szechstein comes back a bit too fast for MANSON and shoves the bearded psychopath back into the ropes, following him all the way there and taking him out over the top with a Cactus Jack-style clothesline! The two men fall to the outside, continuing to brawl as the action in the ring heats up, with Malibu coming in with a hard right hand to the side of Johnson's face! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" Johnson's head snaps to the side… and then slowly turns back towards Malibu, a sadistic smile on JJ's face that splits the crowd! "MAL—I—BU!" "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" Johnson moves to hit Malibu, but Malibu ducks!... and Calvin Szechstein comes from behind anyway, knocking Johnson to the mat from behind with a forearm to the back of the head! Referee Nick Soapdish grabs Calvin and heatedly yells at the former OAOAST Champion, forcing Szechstein back to his own corner—and while his back is turned, MANSON comes into the ring and grabs Malibu from behind, throwing the other half of the Cadillac Boys over his head with a hard German suplex! "Nick Soapdish has lost complete control over this match!" Mak cries. "It started off wild and it's only getting wilder!" Szechstein yells at Soapdish to "Watch the damn match!", but as Soapdish turns around MANSON is standing in his home corner, looking completely clueless. Szechstein sighs, as Johnson gets to his feet and grabs Malibu, lifting the prepstar to his feet—and promptly elbowing Zack in the head, sending the OAOASTer back to the mat! "Well, JJ Johnson has no problem elbowing people in the head," King says. "We saw him do it to Gabriel Drake a couple weeks ago, which was all he needed to do to win the love of these fans!" "Hey, Brian, who was responsible for that angle?" Mak drops character, pulling his mic away from his mouth. "I don't know," King replies in the same hushed tone, "but they deserve to have their ass fired." Johnson quickly goes to work on Malibu, kicking Zack in the head a couple times while yelling at him to "GET UP, TOASTER!" He backs off for a moment, and Zack pushes himself up to a seated position, his brain scrambled as JJ leans down and slaps him in the face. "GET UP, TOASTER!" JJ backs off, stalking around the fallen Malibu like a particularly vicious (and bearded) vulture, before launching a rocket of a kick into Malibu's back! *CRACK!* "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" Malibu's face wrenches into a mask of pain, and he rolls over onto his stomach, grabbing his back. JJ yells at him again to "GET UP, TOASTER!", before backing off a little bit. "You aren't even worth my time, I'ma let MANSON get at you now." Johnson backs up and tags MANSON into the match, and the SWF's least favorite psycho steps into the ring, eager to bloody up the OAOAST's good ol' boy. "Look at the absolute glee JJ is taking in beating on Malibu," says Mak. "You know he's picturing Gabriel Drake's face on that body, King." "This is the truth, Mak," King says. "Our hallowed Commissioner booked this as a tune-up for both squads, and JJ is showing us a little taste of his A-game—but just a taste!" MANSON enters the ring, the old killer instinct alive in his eyes as he approaches Malibu with a trace of malice dancing in his eyes. He grabs Zack by the hair and lifts him to his feet, powering Malibu into the corner and following him in with an avalanche that knocks the wind squarely out of Zack's lungs. MANSON backs up, letting Zack stumble forward a little bit—and then charges forward again, this time raising his forearm to Zack's sternum and powering it straight back into the top turnbuckle! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" The entire ring shakes, and as MANSON backs up Malibu falls to his face, the victim of a vicious offensive from the Johnson/MANSON duo. MANSON stands over him, a smile on his face as he lifts Malibu back to his feet, grabbing him in a side headlock and hooking one leg, bringing the prepstar up up and OVER with a Northern Lights Suplex, bridged for the pin! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE – NO!" Malibu b-a-r-e-l-y gets the shoulder up, but MANSON doesn't seem to mind—more punishment, right? "MANSON and Johnson are absolutely taking it to Zack Malibu right now, King." "Yeah, well, the Cadillac Chumps haven't faced a real SWF team yet. MANSON and Johnson are as raw as the SWF gets, and as much as these Toasters can claim they've done, they flat out were not prepared for this." MANSON grabs Malibu by the scruff of the neck and lifts him back to his feet. Despite not having much of a physical advantage, MANSON has the intangible insanity, and he puts it to use here, whipping Malibu into the ropes and then catching him on the way back with a charging headbutt to the sternum that drives Malibu straight down to the mat! Zack can feel his energy slipping away, and he struggles through his pain to tag out to Szechstein, but MANSON will have none of that, grabbing Malibu by the leg and pulling him away from the Cadillac Boys' corner. "You want a tag, boy?" MANSON, now, is getting in on the trash talk, and he growls a little bit as he lifts Zack to his feet, slapping the prep in the face. "You ain't SHIT, Toaster." MANSON grabs Malibu by the arm, whipping Zack into the ropes, lining him up for the Zantetsuken that would certainly end the match! "It's gonna be an early night for the Cadillac Boys!" King shouts with glee. Malibu sprints back at MANSON, who swings the arm out— AND NOBODY'S HOME! Zack ducks the arm, and MANSON whirls around; and when he does, Zack wraps his arm around MANSON's neck, putting the psychopath into a sleeperhold and leaping into the air, sitting out and driving the back of MANSON's head into the mat with a sleeperhold drop! "TRENDSETTER FROM MALIBU!" Mak cries. "I know it's early, King, but Malibu has already taken a lot of abuse and if he can't get three here, he needs to make the tag!" Malibu's breathing is heavy, the energy used to bust out the Trendsetter now gone and his body heaving from the pain of hard strikes throughout the match to this point. He is in obvious need of a break, and he looks to Calvin in the Cadillac Boys' corner, crawling in that direction… *SLAP!* … but MANSON has already tagged in JJ Johnson, and there's no way in hell that Malibu is going to get out of the ring on his watch. Johnson leaps over the top rope, charging at Malibu and stomping the back of his head into the mat, cutting off his attempt at a tag! Johnson's energy carries him all the way to Szechstein, who grabs Johnson by the head and looks to nail him with a sitout jawbreaker, but Johnson slaps Calvin's arm out of the way! Calvin stares at JJ, daring "Mr. Cold Front Classic" to make his move. *CRACK!* Well, he dared the wrong man, as Johnson fears no man, and has no problem catching Calvin with a swift elbow to the side of the head! Szechstein falls to one knee on the apron, as behind Johnson sneaks up Malibu, wrapping his arm around Johnson's inside leg and rolling him up! "ONE!" "TW – NO!" Mr. Cold Front Classic doesn't get beat by a roll-up. "JJ Johnson is not letting anybody push him around tonight," King says. "If Mr. Cold Front Classic wants something, then Mr. Cold Front Classic will get something." "It's a shame you're not Bobby Riley right now," Mak says smartly. Szechstein is back on his feet on the apron, and as Johnson rolls backwards out of the roll-up Zack leaps to his feet, making what he thinks is the hot tag to Calvin! Unfortunately, the only advantage Calvin has over Zack right now is that his brain is slightly less scrambled—and as he enters the ring, Johnson does his best to change that, nailing Calvin square in the jaw with a Gamengiri! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" Calvin falls to the mat like a sack of potatoes, and Johnson casually crawls on top for the pin! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THRE – NO!" Calvin powers a shoulder up, and JJ asks him if "YOU WANT SOME MORE, TOASTER?", lifting Szechstein back to his feet. "Johnson might not even need MANSON tonight," King says. "You're just slobbin' his knob all over the place, eh, King?" "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" Though small, the chant rings eerily true for Calvin Szechstein, never famed for having a steel jaw and barely hanging on now. JJ knows this—of course he knows this, and he grabs Szechstein in a side headlock once again, grabbing the man known as "Cadillac" by the tights and lifting him up into the air, holding him there for a moment before dropping him across the top rope! Calvin hangs there, hung out to dry, as JJ yells that "YOU'RE NOT READY, TOASTER, YOU'RE NOT READY!" Johnson turns his back on Szechstein, walking to the nearby turnbuckle and scaling it, eyes bulging as he turns around on the top and looks down at Szechstein, still draped over the top rope… *CHING!* … but Malibu, his breath back, springboards on the top rope, knocking JJ off-balance and sending him manhood-first into the top turnbuckle! But Malibu is not done, using the momentum from his springboard to leap straight at JJ and catch him… *CRACK!* … right in the jaw with a SICK dropkick! JJ topples off the turnbuckle, luckily landing on the apron, as Soapdish scolds Malibu and Szechstein pulls himself off the top rope, collapsing in the ring, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his bearings before JJ does. "Both of these guys are reeling, and might be better off making it to their corners and bringing their partners in." "What's the point of tagging Malibu in, since he's so intent on getting involved anyhow?" "When did you start chastising those who bend the rules?" "When did you start calling it teamwork?" Calvin drags himself across the canvas, while Johnson makes it to his feet, stretching and shaking the cobwebs loose. Turning his head, Johnson notices Calvin crawling over towards Malibu, and quickly puts a stop to it. He yanks on his ankle, drawing him away from his corner, and then reaches down and pulls Calvin up. He readies him for a back suplex, but when he lifts, Calvin manages to float over, and spin Johnson around...but when he spins around JJ drops low and grabs Calvin by the waist, running him back into the corner! Several shoulderblocks follow, driving the wind out of Calvin before he's led out of the corner and laid out with a belly to belly suplex! Johnson gets up and tags in MANSON, and the Raging Bull steps through the ropes and runs towards the fallen pitchman, and nails him with a kneedrop to the temple! "I wonder if he's cut any deals with Advil, because those free samples are gonna come in handy after this match!" snaps King, still unimpressed with the pairing of the prep and the pitchman. Rather than go for the pin, MANSON releases more of that rage, as he stands above Szechstein and rolls him onto his stomach. Reaching down, he grabs a handful of Szechstein's mussy hair, and with the free arm delivers a vicious crossface shot! MANSON switches hands, but it's the same result, as Szechstein gets blasted by another crossface shot before he's led to his feet, and sent into the ropes. As Szechstein bounces back, he can do nothing but run right into the waiting arms of MANSON, who catches Cal and presses him up over his head, then allows him to drop into a fireman's carry before throwing him down onto both of his knees with a gutbuster! "That's a MANSON specialty, and it's left Calvin Szechstein keeled over like day old sushi!" Once again, MANSON makes with the knees, as he pulls Calvin up (again) and this time traps him in a butterfly lock before driving his knees up into the ribcage of his opponent! Once he tires of the assault, MANSON releases Calvin's arms and pushes him to a standing position before BLASTING him with a standing lariat, causing Calvin to go completely horizontal in mid-air before he hits the mat back-first! "ONE!" "TWO!" "T-NO!" Szechstein kicks out! MANSON snarls, as his unrelenting offense still hasn't forced Szechstein to throw in the towel. Yet again, it's MANSON who has to bring Szechstein to his feet, and he shoves him hard back into the corner, and follows up with a running lariat! Szechstein starts to slump in the corner, and MANSON explodes with clubbing blows, wearing down Corporate America's favorite son with shots that would land him behind bars for attempted manslaughter! Before Calvin can slink down to the canvas, MANSON hoists him up onto the top rope, and as he follows him up, Malibu enters the ring and attempts to come to his partner's aid! "Zack's trying to make the save for his partner, but he's going to do more harm than good if he's taking the ref's eyes off of MANSON and Johnson!" Soapdish blocks Malibu's way, but the easily irritable Johnson makes his way into the ring as well, looking for a piece of Malibu. Malibu calls him out, but Soapdish turns around, frantically trying to restore order...and that leaves the window open for Malibu to rush over to the corner and yank MANSON down to the canvas by his hair before exiting, and thus buying Calvin some valuable recovery time! "That...that actually kinda made me smile." admits King, begrudgingly. MANSON holds the back of his head, Calvin Szechstein no longer the focal point of his thoughts. He gets up, not realizing that Calvin has regained his senses, and after a boot to the face, Calvin takes MANSON's head before he kicks off the turnbuckles, swinging around with a Tornado DDT...that's blocked! Calvin gets pushed away, and MANSON attempts to follow up with a lariat, but for once it's ducked...and Calvin reaches back and drives MANSON down with a snap neckbreaker! Szechstein scampers on top for the pin… "ONE!" "TWO—NO!" Not even close. "MANSON may be hurting, but he's certainly in the game enough to make the kickout," Mak says. MANSON shakes the cobwebs out of his mind, but Szechstein has seen his opportunity and is going to take full advantage of it. He grabs MANSON by the ragged hair, getting down on one knee and leveling a savage right hand into the skull of the bruiser, knocking the Raging Bull back a couple of hours! Szechstein now lifts MANSON to his feet, grabbing the big man by the arm and whipping him into the corner! MANSON hits it hard, and Szechstein follows behind, leaping to the second rope, straddling MANSON in the corner! "THIS ONE'S FOR SNICKERS!" BAM! Forearm to the face! "MILKY WAY!" BAM! Another forearm to the face! "M&M'S!" BAM! And another forearm! "And this one's for TWIX!" Calvin leaps off the second rope, planting both feet in MANSON's chest and cradling the back of his head, falling back and throwing MANSON overhead with a monkey flip! The crowd roars, as Szechstein, a small smirk on his face, again goes for the pin! "ONE!" "TWO!" "TH—NO!" It takes a little longer, but MANSON still manages the kickout! "What a whore," snarls King. Szechstein looks down at MANSON, lying on the canvas, and then goes to the turnbuckle, scaling it and facing the crowd. "TASTE THE RAINBOW!" "The following move is presented by Skittles," Mak interjects, prompting King to drop his jaw and stare at the Franchise as Szechstein leaps off the top rope, arcing backwards beautifully and landing across MANSON's body with a picture-perfect moonsault! Szechstein again makes the cover— "ONE!" "TWO!" "THR—NO!" MANSON, ever-vigilant, makes the kickout yet again! Szechstein is none too happy at this development, and again lifts MANSON to his feet, eyes ablaze as he grabs MANSON and whips him into the ropes once again, raising one arm to signal for the Pause that Refreshes! MANSON hits the ropes and comes running back, and Szechstein wraps his arms around MANSON's waist, twirling him in the air… … but MANSON, somehow, someway, manages to wrap his arms around Szechstein's head, whipping the pitchman over with a hurricanrana! "MANSON can rana!" King calls out with glee, as both MANSON and Szechstein lay on the canvas, and referee Soapdish has no choice but to start counting them out… "ONE!" "TWO!" MANSON, now, is up on one knee, and he begins crawling towards Johnson… "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" MANSON is close—too close for the comfort of Zack Malibu, at least, who busts into the ring and charges the Raging Bull— *CRACK!* And catches a roaring elbow to the face from JJ Johnson! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" "Well, now that's just brutal," says King. Referee Soapdish scolds JJ, yelling at the #1 Contender to get back to his corner, while Malibu slowly gets to his feet in the ring. Johnson continues to call out the former OAOAST Champ, telling him to "COME GET SOME, TOASTER!" and other such things, while Szechstein, now, is back on his feet, and Malibu shoots him a look and a smile. MANSON is on his feet, too, and he looks at Szechstein and Malibu with a reckless smile, wildly charging at the pair and looking to do a bit of damage, but first Szechstein and then Malibu leapfrog him, sending him charging to the opposite ropes! MANSON hits the ropes and comes running back, right into Szechstein, who THIS time lifts MANSON high into the air with a military press! Sweat drips from Calvin's face, and he's vividly straining from the force of holding him there, but he doesn't hold him there long, dropping him straight down… … and letting his face land on the knee, of Zack Malibu! "Malibu Rum presents the SERIOUSLY EASY GOING!" "…what?" "I think it's a play on how easy-going Malibu can be when executing that double-team finish, King." Malibu slides out of the ring, as Szechstein goes for the pin… "ONE!" "TWO!" "TH—NO!" Broken up by JJ Johnson, who elbows Szechstein in the back of the head! Soapdish again interjects himself, yelling "ONE MORE TIME!" at Johnson, but Johnson shoves the referee out of the way, grabbing Szechstein by the hair and lifting him to his feet and into a fireman's carry! ::DING DING DING:: "Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has disqualified JJ Johnson! Therefore, the winners of this match, by disqualification, Zack Malibu and Calvin Szechstein, the CADILLLLLLLLAC BOYS!" Johnson, furious, throws Szechstein forward, kneeing him in the face as he falls, and Szechstein hits the mat in a heap! "Johnson may have been disqualified, but he just hit Calvin Szechstein with the Oyasumi Nasai!" Zack Malibu, now, enters the ring, staring the raging Johnson down! The two men glare at each other, and the chants start back up again… "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU!" "MAL—I—BU!" The electricity is in the air, a cavalcade of road agents and referees hitting the ring but none of them entering as Malibu and Johnson stare each other down… … and then Johnson breaks the stare, charging at Malibu and through the ropes! Both men fall to the floor, Johnson on top and elbowing the everloving shit out of Malibu's head while yelling at him to "COME ON, TOASTER!" Malibu covers up and the agents and referees BUTT in, tearing a screaming, livid Johnson off of Malibu, who gets to his feet and continues to stare down Johnson! He slides back into the ring, helping Szechstein to his feet, and the two men continue to glare at Johnson! "The Cadillac Boys show off their teamwork—they are ready for Wild and Dangerous! JJ Johnson tears this match apart with his brutality—Gabriel Drake, beware!" Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 26, 2007 “I’M BORN!!!” “I’M ALIVE!!!!” “I BREATHE!!!!!!” “Vitamin” by Incubus blares over the speakers sending the audience into a riveting orgasm of emotional cheering. “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!” “Good lord can I just go one night without seeing this piece of garbage.” “Well he did say we were all going to find out what is inside that miniature orb tonight.” “Mak, the main event is over. By all means the show is over, I thought he forgot…or dropped off the face of the Earth or something.” Making his way down to the ring, Zyon smacks the hands of his fans before rolling into the ring, pulling a mic out from his pocket. Slicing his hand across his throat, Zyon signals for the monkeys in the back to stop the music, and they oblige accordingly. “Well without a moment to waste, let’s see what my the gracious Joseph Peters got me.” Cracking his neck, Zyon begins to twist the ball open… “HOLD ON A SECOND!!!” The fans simultaneously turn to see a figure marching down the aisle in an attempt to halt the proceedings. It’s just not any figure; it’s an authority figure. “There is a god…and his name is Thomas Flesher. That would be Commissioner Flesher to you Mak.” “Why in the world is he out here?” Everyone in the arena including the Unique Youth stare at the commissioner quizzically, “Zyon, hold on a second. First, let me set the record straight. I’m a better wrestler than you.” “BOOOOOOO!” “HA!” King giggles into his headset. “However, I may not be the man you are. I’ve watched some of the hectic situations you have been through, and I don’t want to see you fall to the level that many of us have fallen to.” “Us?” Zyon wonders aloud into the mic. “Yes, us. Myself, Landon, Spike, and our World Champion have all tried to destroy that English bastard. I won’t lie; I still continue my quest to this day. Which is precisely why ordered the Sensation to enter the Clusterfuck at numero uno. Don’t worry Zyon, Stephens has no shot at winning the Clusterfuck, so I wish you good luck in your journey to vanquish the other superstars and win the event. With that said, how about if you just hand over that ball.” “Zyon peers at the orb he holds in his hand, “Why?” “Zyon, Peters’ gave you that ball, we both know nothing good can come of it. Do you really want to bow to the man that has constantly put your achievement down and has treated you like dirt? Just give me the ball.” Zyon ponders what the commissioner is telling him, “There is much more to this gift than what you are telling me Tom. I think I’ll open it and expose what has gotten you so worked up.” Tom immediately resorts to desperation, “Opening that orb will make you less of a person. Don’t turn an opportunity into a personal agenda. I’ve been around much longer than you have; I’ve seen what vengeance can do to people. I may not like you, but I don’t need another problem on my hands.” Flesher’s true intentions spill out into the open, leaving Zyon to smirk at the Superior One, “I see now. You foolishly agreed to be commissioner thinking all you had to do was boss people around. You’re a very good wrestler Tom, maybe the best ever. But you can’t control personalities. And if this orb really is my last chance, then there is absolutely nothing you can do to control me.” Zyon says as he cracks open the orb, leaving Flesher to voice his displeasure, “You’re no different than him, YOU’RE NO DIFFERENT THAN MICHAEL STEPHENS!” Flesher hollers at the youth, realizing what Zyon has done. “What is it King?” “I…I don’t... I can’t tell.” Zyon stares at the green ball he holds in his hands. Restlessness covers the Phillips Arena as the Unique Youth blinks steadily at what he holds in his hand. Dropping the mic, Zyon begins to chuckle. “You’re are no different from everyone else. You’ll fail.” Flesher hopelessly predicts as the youth tosses his head back, revealing a wider smirk than before. Extending his hand, the green ball has a figure written on it in big black letters. “I don’t believe it….” Mak trails off. Flesher continues to shake his head in disappointment as he leaves the ring, realizing that his form of damage control has just become unstable. And to make matters worse in an incredibly awkward moment, a few in the crowd understand Zyon’s frustration begin to chant a familiar phrase… “You screwed Zyon!” “You screwed Zyon!” “You screwed Zyon!” The Unique Youth listens to the chants, forgetting everything he has grown up to believe in. That was the past, and this is the present. As for the future... … …As for the Clusterfuck. The green ball says it all. … … *2* Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
