Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 (edited) “HEY!” Michael Stephens looks around at the distinctively loud entrance into the dressing room of his tag team partner. Sure enough, Landon Maddix saunters in. Stephens’ eyes gaze down towards Landon's chest however, clocking the new choice of t-shirt Landon is wearing. Simple enough, a crisp black shirt with just three words in block white lettering. 'FANCY A CLUSTERFUCK?' Stephens' eyes narrow a little and he shakes his head, as Landon notices where his tag team partner's eyes are lying, glancing down with him and smiling. "Like it?" "I'll be perfectly honest with ya mate. It's... it's shite." "Hmm." mumbles Landon, certainly not disagreeing. "But apparently the pre-orders for this baby are going through the roof. And the marketing department seems to think a female version would sell even better. I gave them a list of suggestions for future slogans, this is a little crude, but if my fans want to wear it then who am I to argue? And hey, get this... they've got me a commercial gig!" "A what?" asks Stephens despairingly. "Pepsi Max. They want to me to be the face of some new adverts to air during SWF programming. Hey, hey, what do you think? *clears throat* 'Pepsi Max... Maximum Taste, No Sugar!' Not bad, huh? I think I've got it down pretty good. They just want me to walk through the halls after one of my matches, sweaty, gasping for breath, lo and behold I stumble upon a can of Pepsi Max and BOOM, instant refreshment! Easy work if you can get it. I tell you, ever since I won the Clusterfuck for the second time, everything's been going my way!" Stephens remains noticeably deadpan. He expected the gloating, he really did. That doesn't make it any the less tedious. "Did you wanna talk to me about anything in particular? Anything non-Clusterfuck related? Cos if not..." "Yeah. I wanted to see how you were fixed for my birthday celebrations tommorrow." Landon smiles, which isn't really top of Michael's priority list and probably won't be, even after this next speech. "See, they've got me wrestling down at the OAOAST in Albuquerque tommorrow night, so I've got to make a quick get away. And it's No DQs, so I might be a little beaten up. Not so bad as the other guy will be I'm sure, but you understand I might not be up to a big celebration. And, uh..." Moving in a little closer, Landon's voice drops to a whisper. "...just between me and you, me and Megan might have some 'alternate' ideas on how to see in my big 23rd. *winks*" Stephens looks blank. “What… you mean this year you’ll have sex before you pass out drunk?” he asks innocently. Landon’s expression freezes. “Just messin’ with you,” Stephens grins, slapping Landon on the shoulder and heading for the door, “of course I’ll be around, after all, you and me partied the night away when I turned 24, right?” “You…? Hang on, when did you-?” Landon asks, turning around. *click* But Michael Stephens has gone. Maddix looks after him for a second, then shrugs. “I thought Amy seemed more hungover than usual a couple of weekends ago…” Edited February 16, 2007 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tom Flesher presents.... SWF STORM Live, Wednesday, February 14th, from the STAPLES CENTER in LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA! NON-TITLE MATCH Gabriel Drake© vs Ricky Barbosa Drake ate JJ Johnson for lunch! What's the reigning SWF Champion going to do to the rookie Wayward Son? Tom Flesher doesn't know, but he's sure going to enjoy watching! Rules: Standard Word count: 6000 SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP #1 CONTENDERSHIP Alan Clark© Vs Michael Stephens Previously on SWF Storm, it was revealed that Tom Flesher wants Stephens no where near the World Heavyweight Championship, while Joseph Peters simply wants to ‘phase’ the former World Champion out of the SWF. So now Stephens will have to take a back seat to the new main event players and fight for the chance at the International Championship, and he’ll have to earn his chance against the current International Champion himself, Alan Clark! Rules: Standard Word count: 6000 HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Insane Luchador Vs Jimmy the Doom © Rickmen's earned a shot! Hey-o! Rules: Hardcore, pins and submissions count anywhere. Word Limit: 4500 IN THE HOUSE OF MARVELOUS: Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix! HARDCORE MATCH Matt "Insert Gimmick Here" Myers (with James "Insert Adjunct Gimmick Here" Matheson) vs. Zyon Zyon got a rough break in the Clusterfuck, but Commissioner Tom Flesher is hoping to give Myers a rough break against the Unique Youth! Rules: Hardcore! Word Limit: 4500 TAG TEAM ACTION JJ Johnson and Manson vs. Asia Underground (Michael Cross and Akira Kaibatsu) Tag team action! Rules: Tag team action! Word Limit: Tag team5000 SINGLES MATCH Johnny ‘the Barracuda’ Dangerous Vs Calvin Szechstein After a narrow loss at the Clusterfuck, the Cadillac Boys were granted a rematch against Wild & Dangerous by Tom Flesher. Unfortunately, Flesher never said it’d be a tag team match! Calvin Szechstein will take on Johnny Dangerous in singles action, while his partner and OAOAST posterboy, Zack Malibu takes on the first half of Wild & Dangerous in a separate match before the big tag team rematch on next weeks edition of Storm! Rules: Standard Word count: 5000 NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH Wildchild© vs Zack Malibu The SWF’s posterboy Vs the OAOAST’s posterboy. Nuff said! Rules: Standard Word count: 5000 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” says Mak Francis, “to SWF Storm! Tonight, we’ve got a double rematch from our most recent Pay Per View, as the four men who stole the show, Wild and Dangerous and the Cadillac Boys, will face each other… this time, in singles competition! Starting off, we’ll have the Wildchild, the reigning SWF World Cruiserweight Champion, facing off against the winner of the 2007 Lethal Rumble, Zack Malibu!” “Why are you giving these guys any recognition on our airtime?” snaps King. “We shouldn’t be promoting anything that they’re doing down there!” “I’m not even going to get into that,” replies Mak, “let’s just get right to the action: let’s send it up to Funyon in the ring!” DING! DING! DING! “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall!” With that, “Getting Away With Murder” by Papa Roach begins to play throughout the Kingdome. A spotlight centers on the ramp as Zack Malibu steps onto the stage. “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “from Providence, Rhode Island, and weighing in at two hundred pounds… ZACK MALIBU!” Malibu makes sure that the camera shows his good side as he flashes the crowd a winning smile. He shakes hands intermittently with the fans at ringside before climbing the ring steps to the apron and then stepping between the ropes to enter the ring. “Malibu looks pretty confident coming into this match,” notes Mak, as Malibu’s music fades out, and is quickly replaced by Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty.” The fans in the arena cheer as Wildchild and Melissa step through the curtain. “And his opponent,” continues Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas and weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild slaps hands with the fans at ringside, and receives some inspiration from Melissa before entering the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes, and rolling to his feet. “They love the Wildchild here Los Angeles!” says Mak enthusiastically. King, however, sniffs the air indignantly. “They didn’t love him the last time we were here… of course, that’s bound to happen when you waltz into Laker Nation wearing a Kings jersey! Maybe he’s not wearing it this time because they suck so hard this year!” “Highly unlikely,” replies Mak. “I understand that he’s a hardcore Kings fan!” “Can’t be that hardcore,” replies King. “He’s not reppin’ them so hard now that they’re sorry!” Wildchild removes his shin guards and hands them out to Melissa as his music fades. Referee Red Herrington motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match… DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” shouts Mak, happy to enter a different line of conversation. “And we’re underway!” Wildchild and Zack meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and WC quickly jerks Malibu off his feet, slamming him hard onto his back with his patented snap armdrag! WC beats Zack to his feet and waits patiently as Malibu rolls to his knees. “Nobody does that any better than Wildchild!” says Mak. “Let me tell you, King, I’ve been on the receiving end of that snap armdrag, and he hits that with so much force, it’s almost like being slammed!” Zack gets back to his feet and ties up again with Wildchild; this time, he takes control with a hammerlock, but WC quickly counters with a go-behind. Before Malibu can react, the Bahama Bomber takes him off his feet with a waistlock takeover; WC then quickly hops off the canvas as Zack pushes up to his knees, only to knock the Prep Star back down with a quick hopping Senton splash! Wildchild pulls Zack to his feet and whips him into the ropes, lowering his shoulder as he rebounds and launching him into the air with a back-body drop! WC then runs to the ropes as Malibu stands up and springs into the air, blasting the Prep Star through the ropes and out to the apron with a running dropkick! “I’ll bet he doesn’t have to deal with that kind of speed down in that other place!” chides King. The Human Hurricane races over to the corner and leaps onto the top turnbuckle, but Zack bails out to the floor, quickly scampering across the ringside area to get out of WC’s range. “Heads-up thinking by Zack Malibu,” says Mak, “to get away from Wildchild as soon as possible!” “Definitely,” agrees King, Zack tries to clear his head out on the floor. “If he lets Wildchild attack him from the top rope, he’s going to be free meat in there!” Wildchild begins to walk across the top rope surreptitiously, gesturing to the crowd to keep their cheers down. “What is going on here?” asks Mak, as WC scoots past Malibu to arrive at the corner behind him. “Is Wildchild’s trying to be a ninja?” Zack to look back at the corner he left WC back, and is surprised to find it abandoned; he turns back around only to see the Tropical Tumbler as he comes hurtling off the top turnbuckle… CRASH! … And careens into the Prep Star with a high cross-body block! The fans loudly voice their approval! “Wildchild has got that high-risk offense rolling!” shouts Mak. “And when he’s going, there’s not many people that can run with him!” WC pulls Zack to his feet and rolls him underneath the bottom rope and quickly runs over to the apron, climbing up to the top turnbuckle and diving back into the ring to crash into the Prep Star with a suicide headbutt! Wildchild rolls Malibu over and applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Zack kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Zack to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into a neutral corner; WC runs towards the edge of the ring as Zack slams into the turnbuckles and leaps onto the top rope, curling into a ball as the Prep Star staggers backwards into the ring… WHAM! … To knock him down with a Pinball attack! Wildchild covers Zack, but only gets a two-count! He pulls Malibu to his feet, but the Prep Star stuns him with a kneelift to the midsection! He grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him towards the edge of the ring… WHAM! … But the Human Hurricane rebounds off the ropes explosively, knocking Zack down with a flying forearm! WC pulls Zack to his feet and takes up position behind him; the Bahama Bomber grabs Malibu by the waist and lifts him up off the canvas, dropping him on the top rope! “OOOH!” groans Mak. “That’ll give you negative attitude, and in a hurry!” With Malibu still on the top rope, the Tropical Tumbler leaps from the top turnbuckle and lands in a seated position on Zack’s shoulders; he locks his ankles behind Zack’s head and arches his back sharply as he whips Malibu off the top rope and back into the ring with a sensational satellite rana! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “We’ve seen Wildchild be very effective with that move as of late!” says Mak. WC beats Zack to his feet and charges towards him, leaping off the canvas and whipping his leg sharply through the air, to knock the Prep Star through the ropes and out of the ring with a leg lariat! “Wildchild’s got this guy going in circles,” says King. Zack once again bails out to the arena floor, this time unconcerned with where Wildchild is in the ring… which is most likely a mistake… “Wildchild’s going back to the top!” shouts Mak. “He’s raining bombs on Zack Malibu with reckless abandon!” WC leaps fearlessly from the top turnbuckle down to the arena floor… WHAM! … But Malibu suddenly spins around and blasts Wildchild out of the sky with a punch to the midsection! He then drops to his knees to gather his composure while WC clutches his stomach as he rolls around on the arena floor. “There’s some real resiliency shown by Zack Malibu,” says Mak. “This guy’s tough, King, no question about it!” “Well, if you’re going to win a thirty-man battle royale, you’d better be tough,” concedes King, as Zack rolls WC underneath the bottom rope. “And now Malibu has a chance to really assert himself in this match!” Malibu climbs up to the ring apron and waits for Wildchild to get to his feet before leaping up to the top rope and springing into the ring, flattening him with a springboard lariat! Malibu applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Zack pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a waistlock, popping his hips as he lifts Wildchild off the canvas and arching his back as he drops the Caribbean with a belly-to-back suplex! He then gets to his feet and heads over to the corner, climbing up to the top turnbuckle before flipping backwards to crash into his opponent with a moonsault press! He remains atop Wildchild to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Malibu pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the ropes; he lowers his shoulder to deliver a back-body drop, but the Caribbean Cruiser puts on the brakes and lowers the boom with a double-axe handle to the back of the neck! Zack stands up, clutching the back of his neck, and the Tropical Tumbler quickly rushes back towards the edge of the ring, pickup up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and knocking the Prep Star off his feet with a flying back elbow smash! Malibu quickly gets back to his feet, only to be knocked back down by an overhand right! Zack gets back to his feet, but WC grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the ring. The Human Hurricane leaps into the air as Malibu bounces off the ropes and plants his feet in Zack’s midsection; he locks his arms behind the Prep Star’s neck as he arches backwards, taking Malibu over with his patented Freefall monkey flip! “Lots of good back and forth action between these two!” says Mak. Wildchild pulls Zack to his feet and whips him into the ropes, but the Prep Star reverses, hooking his arm underneath WC’s as he rebounds to take him over with a hiptoss, but the Tropical Tumbler nimbly lands on his feet, scooping the surprised Malibu up off the canvas and driving him back down with a scoop slam! He immediately leaps off the canvas and extends his right leg to crash down into Zack with a legdrop, and the rolls away from Zack and onto his stomach, fluidly getting back to his feet as he hops back off the canvas, this time stretching out his left leg to hit a second straight legdrop! This time, Birdman rolls atop Zack and applies a lateral press, as Herrington dives into position to count: ONE! TWO! Zack kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls him to his feet and leads him by the back of the head over to a nearby corner. “Right here you’re really seeing Wildchild at his best, when gets to compete against other cruiserweights,” says Mak, as WC hoists Zack onto his shoulders. “He’s able to show off his whole repertoire!” “Absolutely,” agrees King. “Whenever Wildchild’s in the ring against someone that he’s strong enough to slam, he becomes an en-TREME-ly dangerous opponent in that ring!” Wildchild places Malibu onto the top turnbuckle, and then steps out to the apron; he punches Zack in the midsection to stun him, and then climbs up to the top turnbuckle beside the Prep Star. “What do you think he’s going to do here?” wonders Mak, as WC leaps into the air and locks his ankles behind Malibu’s head; he arches his back to pull Zack into the ring with a Dragonsteiner… But Malibu counters, hanging onto Wildchild’s right leg as he lands on his feet, and leans back to press him into a single-leg crab! “Spectacular counter by Zack Malibu!” exclaims Mak. “He totally caught Wildchild out of the blue with that!” “It was a great counter,” agrees King. “But look, he’s got that move too high up on Wildchild’s back… he’s going to slip out of there!” Sure enough, Wildchild takes advantage of his flexibility to squirm out of the hold, and gets back to his vertical base, hopping on his left leg. Before Malibu has time to react… CRACK! Wildchild clocks him upside the head with an Enzugiri!! WC pulls Zack back to his feet and traps him in front-facelock; he grabs Malibu’s neck and lifts him up overhead, pivoting around on his heel and driving the Prep Star back into the canvas with a corkscrew vertical suplex! “Phenomenal counter by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak, as WC exits out to the apron. “And you called it, King, Wildchild snuck right out the back door on that half-crab! And now he’s going up to his favorite perch!” The Bahama Bomber quickly climbs up to the top turnbuckle and then leaps fearlessly back into the ring, twisting his body in midair to crash into Malibu with the Andros Drop! WHAM! … But the Prep Star gets his knees up at the last minute! Wildchild gasps in pain as he rolls around on the canvas after bouncing off of Zack’s knees! “Nice heads-up counter to the Andros Drop!” shouts Mak. “And this could be the break that Zack Malibu needs!” Malibu pulls Wildchild back to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring and snatching him up in a bearhug as he rebounds, driving the Bahama Bomber into the canvas with a tremendous Railgun suplex! Malibu clambers over and applies a cover: ONE! TWO! THR— Wildchild kicks out at two! Malibu pulls WC to his feet and doubles him over at the waist, standing to one side and measuring him before unleashing a battery of kneelifts to the side of Wildchild’s face! WC staggers woozily but won’t fall, until The Prep Star runs to the ropes, sweeping his right leg behind Wildchild’s as he drives the Bahama Bomber to the canvas with a running STO Takeover! Malibu applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild again kicks out at two! Malibu pulls Wildchild up to his feet and traps him in a front facelock before reaching down to grab his near leg; The Prep Star pops his hips as he lifts Wildchild into the air and quickly brings him back down with a snap suplex! Malibu rolls back to his feet; he pulls WC along with him and pops his hips as he lifts him back up into the air, suspending him overhead for a few seconds, before diving him headfirst into the canvas with a Brainbuster! He reaches across Wildchild’s body to hook the leg… ONE! TWO! THREE! No! Wildchild just gets the shoulder up! Malibu crawls over to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to pull himself back up, catching his breath while WC remains motionless on the canvas. “Zack Malibu was able to score with that tremendous Brainbuster!” notes Mak, “but Wildchild found it within himself to kick out!” “Wildchild may have been able to kick out of that,” replies King, “but he’s going to be on the defensive now; Zack Malibu turned the tide of this match with that dropkick to the knee, and now Wildchild will have to wrestle defensively and, as we all know, that’s his biggest weakness!” Malibu pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, and lowering his head as the Bahama Bomber rebounds to lift him into the air with a backdrop, but the Bahama Bomber flips all the way through and lands on his feet behind The Prep Star. Wildchild runs to the edge of the ring, but Zack springs off the canvas as he bounces off the ropes and locks his legs around WC’s neck, arching backwards as he takes him over with a Hurricanrana! “Beautiful Rana,” exclaims Mak, as Herrington dives into position. “And Zack Malibu is feeling it right now!” ONE! TWO! THRE— NO! Wildchild kicks out from the pinfall attempt, but not without considerable effort. Malibu pulls him up to his feet and then scoops him up, extending his thigh as he drops the Bahama Bomber back down into a pendulum backbreaker! Malibu immediately pulls him back to his feet and tucks his head underneath WC’s arm, as he lifts him up into a Northern Lights Suplex! “Terrific Northern Lights Suplex!” cries Mak, as Zack rolls over onto his knees and pulls WC up for a second suplex. “And it looks like he’s going for another one!” “It looks like he’s going for three!” shouts King. “If he hits all three, this match could be over!” Malibu inadvertently rolls closer to the edge of the ring as he pulls Wildchild up a third time. He lifts the Bahama Bomber overhead and slams him back down with the third suplex, holding him for the pinfall as Herrington delivers the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! “Not quite!” yells Mak. “Wildchild’s foot is on the ropes!” The Prep Star pulls WC back to his feet and whips him into the ropes, lowering his head to deliver a back-body drop that sends Wildchild hurtling through the air! “Big backdrop by The Prep Star,” says Mak. “Zack Malibu has it locked in right now!” Malibu pulls WC to his feet, but the Bahama Bomber appears to still have some starch left in him, as he begins to rifle punches into The Prep Star’s midsection. Wildchild runs to the ropes, but Malibu gives chase, and clotheslines him over the top rope as he begins to rebound! “Tremendous heads up move there by The Prep Star!” Malibu reaches between the top and middle ropes to pull Wildchild back onto the apron, where he traps him in a front facelock. “He’s going to try and suplex him in!” shouts King. Malibu lifts Wildchild up over the top rope and begins to fall back into the ring, but the Bahama Bomber shifts his weight as he begins to fall and lands atop his opponent! He remains on top as Herrington counts: ONE! TWO! THR— “Kickout,” shouts King. “But Malibu’s got his second wind; Wildchild hasn’t done enough damage to take him out!” Wildchild rolls away from Malibu, and then returns to his feet. He runs towards The Prep Star as he gets to his feet and leaps into the air… WHAM! … But Zack catches him in midair and spins him around, driving him down onto his knee with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! “Tremendous tilt-a-whirl,” cries Mak. “He got him that time!” “Wildchild is down and out,” adds King, as Malibu heads over to the corner. “But what the hell is Malibu doing?” Zack steps out onto the ring apron and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. Without a word, he leaps off of the turnbuckle and flips forward into the ring, poised to execute a Sunset Flip … WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber suddenly springs off the canvas and knocks Malibu out of the air with a standing dropkick! “Zack Malibu wanted to end this match with Sunset Flip,” cries Mak, “but he appeared to have tried that move prematurely!” “Absolutely,” agrees King, as Wildchild uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. “He made a big mistake by trying to best Wildchild with high flying; there was no need to try to go for the ‘home run’ there! Now he’s given Wildchild a little bit of breathing room… and we both know that a little bit is all that Wildchild needs to turn the tables on a match!” Wildchild pulls Malibu to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring into the opposite turnbuckle! Before The Prep Star can even stagger out of the corner, the Bahama Bomber launches himself forward with breakneck speed, leaping into the air as he draws near the corner and twisting his body around… SPLASH! … Crashing into the Prep Star with his patented Blue Crush! “Blue Crush,” shouts Mak. “That move drives all of the air right out of you! That could be the break that Wildchild needs to take over this match!” Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring as Malibu staggers out of the corner, and leaps into the air to hook Malibu with the Bulldog… BANG! … But The Prep Star spins around and nearly decapitates Wildchild with a rolling elbow! He collapses atop WC in a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THR— But only gets two! “No way!” croaks King. “Where did he find the energy to kick out of that?” Zack pulls Wildchild to his feet and pushes him against the ropes, attempting to pound his way through Wildchild’s suit with heavy clubbing forearm blows; The Prep Star then grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring. The Prep Star grabs Wildchild as he bounces off the ropes and lifts him up into a bearhug… WHAM! … Before driving him down onto his knee with an inverted Atomic Drop! As Wildchild bends clutches his lower body in pain, Malibu runs back towards the ropes, and launches himself back towards the Bahama Bomber with surprising speed, his arm extended to deliver a fierce running clothesline… CRACK! … But as quick as Zack is, Wildchild is even quicker, and he ducks the clothesline attempt, cupping his hands under The Prep Star’s neck from behind, leaping into the air and bringing Malibu down spine-first down across his knees with an explosive Lungblower! “Lungblower,” shrieks Mak. “Wildchild still had enough left in the tank to duck that clothesline, and hit the Lungblower on Malibu!” The Prep Star flops over onto his back as Wildchild pulls himself to his feet. “Wildchild’s heading up to the top!” shouts Mak. “That looks like just the opening that the Wildchild was waiting for! And that’s big trouble for Zack Malibu!” Wildchild leaps effortlessly onto the top rope and looks out to the crowd to give them one final salute before delivering the coup de grace: Wildchild: CAW, CAW! Crowd: CAW, CAW! “Wildchild’s going for the Bird Dropping!” shouts Mak. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Wildchild leaps fearlessly from the top rope… WHAM! … And nails Zack Malibu with the Bird Dropping! Red Herrington quickly dives into position to count the shoulders: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once again, as Wildchild rolls out to the ring; the referee exits to raise his hand in victory, as Melissa runs around the ring to tend to her man. “Another big victory by the Wildchild,” says Mak, “as he beats Zack Malibu for the second time in three weeks! Let’s go to Funyon for the official word!” “Here is your winner!” booms Funyon… “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “Wildchild once again defends the honor of the SWF against these interlopers,” says King. “Now hopefully next time, he’ll be matched up against someone I like, so I can root against him again!” “Well, one-half of this epic rematch from Pay Per View is over with,” says Mak, “and we’ve got the other half coming up next, as Johnny Dangerous squares off against Calvin Szechstein! Stay with us!” Melissa helps Wildchild back to the dressing room… As we: FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 Fade back in. “Welcome back to SWF Storm!” ‘The Franchise’ Mak Frances exclaims, wanting to make sure his voice is heard over the booming crowd noise. “We just saw one heck of a match between Wildchild and Zack Malibu! And now we get to see each of those men’s tag team partners--Johnny Dangerous and Calvin Szechstein—as a follow up match. I think I’m a little confused as to why Tom Flesher put these two matches up instead of the Wild and Dangerous-Cadillac Boys rematch from Clusterfuck, especially since a rematch was granted by Tom Flesher himself!” “He never said it’d be a Tag Team rematch,” Suicide King chimes in. “If you ask me the Cadillac Boys are lucky to have another match against Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous! These OAOAST twits had their chance and lost – it should be done with!” “But it was a very close match, King. Believe me, I’m a proud supporter of our troops but it could have easily gone the other way.” “Horeshit, says I,” King replies, dismissing Mak with a wave of his hand. “Lets turn this over to Funyon so we can get this deal done with.” “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon. “RC Cola, Pop Secret, Chick-Fill-A, and H & R Block is proud to bring you the entrance for the competitor entered into the following contest, which is scheduled for one fall…” “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVERYBODY KNOWS I’M IN OVER MY HEAD OVER MY HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD...” “Over My Head (Cable Car)” by the Fray hits the speakers, garnering what will probably be Calvin's biggest response of the evening, and that response is a smattering of boos as he steps onto the ramp, arms extended wide and a huge, cheesy grin. “From Milwaukee, Wisconsin,” the ring announcer continues, “and weighing in at two hundred and three pound; CAAALVIIIN SZEEEEECHSTEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!” Calvin leisurely strolls down the ramp, towards the ring, with two ladies following close behind. Their arms are full of bottles of RC Cola, and they pass them out to the isle sitters as they head down the ramp. When the bottles are gone they head backstage and Calvin rolls into the ring. “What a fuckin’ sellout,” mutters King. “Has he no passion for the business or is he just a corporate shill for stuff like the NEW, Microsoft Windows Vista! Now available for homes and business alike!” “What? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen down the same path now, King!” “Whatever, it was just an example.” Fray’s song fades away and the James Taylor Quartet’s rendition of the ‘Mission Impossible’ theme comes blaring over the speakers, which is met with a thunderous cheer! Johnny struts out from behind the curtains with authority and then moves from one side of the stage to the other, living it up with the fans before coming to a stop at the top of the ramp and fixing his eyes on Flesher through the dark lenses of his high-tech shades. “And his opponent!” bellows Funyon. “From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at two hundred-twenty five pounds; he is JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRAAAAACUDAAAAAAAAA’ DAAAAAANGEROUS!” “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” Johnny heads down the ramp, slides into the ring, pops up to his feet, and waltzes right towards Szechstein, “-and it looks like the Barracuda is ready to get this match started,” notes Francis. *DING DING DING!!!* The referee quickly orders for the bell, feeling that blows would come lighting-quick. However, Szechstein puts out his hand out, pleading for Johnny to wait. The Barracuda is reluctant to give Calvin the space but he does, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. He backs away, removes his sunglasses, and motions for Calvin to go on. “Oh Lord, I can tell you exactly where this is going,” Francis grumbles as Calvin reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Szechstein begins, and he’s immediately smattered with boos from the crowd. “Please, if I could have one second of your time! Before this match starts I want to make sure you are all well aware of the fact that…” “SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!” “SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!” “SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!” “SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!” “Oh man, this crowd is tearing Calvin Szechstein to pieces,” says Mak. “Unfortunately I can’t repeat what they’re saying but it’s not hard to figure it out.” “He should know nobody likes commercials! That’s why they came out with TIVO--so you can skip them--and he’s a walking, talking commercial! We need a walking, talking TIVO!” Calvin stops and looks at the crowds for a second with his hands on his hips. They quiet down somewhat and he begins to talk again. “Look,” he says. “The fine folks at Magnavox, would not be amused to know that THIS kind of language is coming from their television sets!” Szechstein rants on, getting more worked up as he continues. “Nabisco,” he begins again as he turns to face the other half of the crowd and- *CRACK!* “JOHNNY KICK!” exclaims Francis, and the crowd lets out a tremendous cheer as Calvin turns right into a super kick from the Barracuda! Calvin stumbles a step back, wavers, drops the microphone, then falls backwards to the mat! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” Moving quickly, Johnny floats over Calvin then applies a lateral press as the referee drops to count… ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING DING DING!!!* “Good God!” shouts Mak. “Johnny suckered Calvin in and knocked him the hell out!” “Hopefully that’ll teach him to stop with the advertising,” King responds. Johnny rolls back out of the ring and heads up the ramp with Calvin still lying on the mat… As We: FADE OUT. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 The cameras around the arena pan as the veteran voice of Mak Francis welcomes viewers from each corner of the globe back to tonight’s show. “What a show, what a night,” welcomes the Franchise rather warmly and excitedly, “and up next we couldn’t have a more combustible match – the recently reformed Asia Underground are set to take on the team that dethroned them nearly a year ago in their first tag title defense.” “Let’s not forget that those titles weren’t just won on a single night,” recollects the Suicide King, Francis’ broadcast partner, “it took weeks of hard work, because those titles were rewards earned by dodging bullets in the Lethal Lottery.” “That’s right,” continues Francis, picking up where King left off, “the rookie team of ‘Iron’ Mike Cross and ‘The Divine Wind’ Akira Kaibatsu beat some top opponents on their way to a miraculous reign, only to lose their rewards – as you put it King – in just their next match as a team when JJ Johnson and MANSON – better known as Blood & THUNDER – forced the Divine Wind to submit. From that moment on it has been a slippery slope for the rookie sensations as their team self-destructed, both facing a discouraging singles career.” “To say the least,” mocks the King with a cackle, “Mike Cross, of course, went on to defeat Zyon for the Cruiserweight Title just moments after turning on Akira in order to steal a slot in the match. However, similar to Asia Underground, he self-destructed in his first title defense, dropping it nearly a month later after failing to defend it against Tom Flesher.” “Finally, tonight, we’re going to see a reunion of the sensational tag team of Akira Kaibatsu and his bitter rival, Mike Cross,” the crowd seems electric in anticipation for what’s sure to be a great match, “against the two men who arguably set two of the SWF’s top rookie performers down a path of disappointment riddled with failed title reigns among various other failed encounters.” LA LA, LALALALA LALA LALA LA! The Offspring’s “Self Esteem” blares through the Staples Center, and the unlikely team, though kind of likely, so the likelyness is kind of confusing, Asia Underground walk through the ramp. Akira is a fan favorite, but Cross has always been on and off, leading to one of the strangest fan reactions we’ve seen in a while. “I don’t really know what to think of these two,” Mak says. “It’s like they’re friends, but they’re not, but Mr. Kobe says they have to be,” “I chose not to think about it. Given these two’s track records, it doesn’t matter. They’ll lose one match and it’ll be splitsville,” “King, I think it’s worth noting that Asia Underground has only lost once,” “And for the life of me I can’t figure out why you think that,” In the blink of an eye the fun melodies of the Offspring are replaces by the significantly less fun, violent thrashing of Mastodon, and out come Blood and THUNDER (to a song named the same), JJ Johnson and MANSON. I THINK SOMEONE’S TRYING TO KILL ME! “These two kind of scare the crap out of me,” King says. “I think they could kill me with their hands,” “Or more likely, their elbows,” INFECTING MY BLOOD AND DESTROYING MY MIND! Before the two could scare away any more children, Funyon grabs a microphone and announces the match boxing style. “To my left, at a combined weight of One Hundred and Seventy Nine Kilos, representing Sendai Japan…ASIAAAAA UNDEERRGROUUUND!” “And to my right, from Toronto Canada and Denver Colorado respectively, weighing in at Four Hundred and Thirty Three pounds, BLOOD! ANDDDDDD THUNDEEEEEERRRRR! “Here we go,” exclaims Mak excitedly, “It’s Blood & THUNDER against Asia Underground, round two of course!” Referee Spunks McDougal, a newcomer to the federation, nervously signals for the bell. Near their corner, ‘Iron’ Mike and the Divine Wind are already at each other’s throats in an attempt to determine who will start the match. Mike uses his forearm to push forward off of his partner and enters the center of the ring where he meets the man who submitted Akira nearly a year ago, JJ Johnson. The Canadian quickly and eagerly starts the match, wringing out ‘Iron’ Mike’s arm like a towel. “The Toronto native eager to start things off,” Mak remarks, “As he begins to work the arm of ‘Iron’ Mike.” “He did just lose to Gabriel Drake,” reminds the King unsympathetically, “He’s out for blood…and THUNDER!” “You couldn’t resist.” Meanwhile, Johnson uses Mike’s appendage to pull him and then throw him into the ropes opposite Akira. Upon rebound, the Canadian quickly grapples his hands into a clinching position, using the clutch to toss his opponent to his BUTT with a subtle thud. “A quick Snapmare…” THUD! OHHHHHH! THUD! OHHHHHH! THUUUUUUUUUUUUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! “Absolutely punishing kicks from Mr. Cold Front Classic, JJ Johnson,” exclaims the Franchise, pausing afterward to wince in pain as JJJ drags Cross back to his feet. “And after all that, he hands it over to his partner, MANSON!” But the tag is a mistake, as ‘Iron’ Mike wastes no time laying into MANSON, throwing him from his corner and mocking Johnson in the process as if to say, “Your punishment doesn’t hurt!” Johnson, frustrated, shouts at MANSON, but Cross continues to work him over, kicking him to the canvas and continuing the punishing shots to the stomach. CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! “What kicks from ‘Iron’ Mike,” shouts Francis aloud, “Emblematic of Johnson’s shots just moments ago – these, though, to the ribs!” CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! Again, ‘Iron’ Mike lays into his opponent, kicking to the chest of MANSON as Spunks McDougal moves in to back Cross away from his opponent. But as soon as McDougal backs away, ‘Iron’ Mike jumps right back on MANSON, not letting him catch his breath by throwing elbows, kicks, and knees. “This is a swarming effort,” remarks King with a grin. “Swarming is an understatement.” Proceeding forward with his strategy, Cross lifts his opponent and slams his back into the mat with a Northern Lights, swiftly throwing his hips in order to lift him and drive him back to the mat with another, and then another. “Pin,” shouts Francis, “’Iron’ Mike with the cover on MANSON!” Spunks McDougal throws himself to the mat, hand raised before smacking it to the mat. ONE…! TWO….! THR-NO, JOHNSON WITH THE SAVE! “Close call,” snickers the Suicide King. But as Johnson is leaving the ring, he’s tossed out by Akira who immediately turns around and begins to assist his partner in the beating of MANSON who resembles more of a deer in the headlights. “Spunks doesn’t know what to do,” shouts Mak, “Get Akira out of there!” But Spunks’ relative inexperience allows the beating to proceed, as he simply warns the duo as the take boots and knees to the THUNDER part of Blood & THUNDER. Cross grabs MANSON’s left leg, and spins him around onto his back. He lunges backward, applying a half crab, but not quite a half crab…Cross lifts the leg up and traps it behind his head, completely locking in Pandora’s Box in the middle of the ring. “Yeah, that WOULD be it,” King says, “but JJ’s just going to run in and–“ On cue, Akira runs at his longtime rival, and thrusts his head forward for a diving tope, taking jj through the ropes to the outside, leaving MANSON with no one to save him from torn ligaments. TAP TAP TAP TAP! “You were saying” Mak says, as Self Esteem plays on the PA once again. “Here are your winners, ASIA…UNDERGROUND!” “Very decisive win for the youngsters, really,” Mak says. “That improves their team record to 5-1” “Team record, Shmeam Smecord,” Mak sighs, AU celebrates, and Storm fades. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 “So tell me Ben,” Michael Stephens begins, stepping out from a side corridor to surprise the interviewer, “are you allowed to interview me?” “Er… I think so,” Hardy says, looking at his fellow Englishman in puzzlement, “why wouldn’t I be?” “So Flesher’s still allowing me interview time?” Stephens asks, seeking clarification. “If not, no-one’s told me,” Hardy shrugs, “although that shouldn’t be news, no-one ever tells me anything.” He looks at Stephens for a second, then clears his throat. “Well, since we’re here; Mike, do you have a comment on your elimination from the Clusterfuck at the hands of Janus?” “Yes,” Stephens snorts, “namely; I’ve went all around that dump last week looking for Janus. I’ve gone all around the Staples Center looking for Janus. Now Ben, you wouldn’t think that a seven-foot Australian in a freaking trenchcoat would be easy to miss, would you?” Hardy shakes his head, and Stephens continues, “well, I’d agree with you, but neither me nor anyone else I talked to had seen him. And that leads me to one conclusion - he hasn’t been here. Wherever he slunk out from to waddle down to the Clusterfuck and chokeslam me over the top rope, he’s gone back there. Now, if I’m lucky,” he carries on, warming to his subject, “maybe I’ll get some sort of video package from him broadcast over the Smarktron, making a few ominous warnings. Or maybe he’ll even turn up backstage once when I’m on my way to a match to mangle some pronouns at me. Either way, it seems that the chance of him actually showing up in a wrestling ring in any way, shape or form anytime soon is pretty remote, and that pisses me off.” “So, just to clarify here,” Hardy says, “you’re saying that you want to get into the ring with Janus, one-on-one?” “Bloody right!” Stephens snaps, “you were here last time Ben, I told that overgrown convict that I’d deal with him, but not right then because I had a Clusterfuck and a World Title to win. Well, I didn’t win the Clusterfuck,” he continues, “and if Flesher has his way I ain’t getting anywhere near the World Title, so all in all that leaves me with a whole lot of spare time on my hands. Janus,” he says, addressing the camera directly, “I found my road to the World Title cut off by you, but you see sunshine, the problem is I don’t fancy taking a detour so I’m going to go right through you. All I need to do is track you down first and get you in that ring, then you and I can have our match and by the end of it one of us will have pinned the other one. If you fancy taking me up on my offer come find me,” he snorts humourlessly, “I won’t be hiding.” “An interesting and, it might be said, brave challenge,” Hardy comments, “but Mike, while you’re here, can I also get your thoughts on the challenge laid out last week by Wild & Dangerous when they said they intend to become five-time Tag Team Champions?” “Yeah,” Stephens grunts, “cos I doubt Landon’ll be talking about it; basically Ben, Wild & Dangerous seem to have conveniently forgotten that Landon and me kicked their arses last year when we defended the belts against them. And now Mr. Springy the circus acrobat and our resident James Bond impersonator think that they can take us in a rematch? No sodding chance, sunshine. Y’see guys,” the Englishman continues, “you’re overlooking a couple of very important points; one, even though Landon is arrogant, shallow, and in some respects denser than treacle, him and me make a bloody good team. Second, the fact that he can’t really think about more than one thing at once will mean that he won’t be distracted from a Tag Title match by his upcoming match with Gabriel Drake. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly from where I’m sitting, last time you faced us I had the World Title as well as a Tag Title, I hadn’t lost the Clusterfuck, I hadn’t been chokeslammed out of a ring by some giant psycho, I hadn’t been told that the Commissioner was going to be keeping me as far away from the main event as he could… basically,” Stephens carries on, “last time I was in a good fucking mood compared to now, so you’d better watch out when you step in the ring with me, cos I ain’t playing nice this time!” And with that Stephens turns around and strides off, leaving Ben Hardy looking slightly surprised at the vehemence of his fellow countryman’s outburst. “Er… back to you guys at ringside…” FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 Twinkle, twinkle, the stars are out tonight. Visiting the drama capital of the world, Los Angeles, California, the SWF finds itself as an entity surrounded by the “beautiful” people of the world. Los Angeles, unlike its counterpart Hollywood, it’s not fake. It’s real…it’s damn real…kinda…sorta. Actors, actresses, and musicians alike enjoy their vacation and an SWF show is a must stop for those feeling the pressure of multi million dollar contracts. Staring into the eyes of the entertainers entertaining the world renowned entertainers in the music or film business, they know that this isn’t fake. Its professional wrestling…it’s a craft. “The next contest is scheduled for one fall, and will be held under HARDCORE RULZ!!!!” The notorious Funyon who is quite possibly larger than the entire Cruiserweight Division realizes that ending words in a “Z” is no longer cool, BUT IT’S COOL TO HIM DAMNIT! “Matt Myers has been on a winning streak…did I just say that? Anyway, Myers along with the self proclaimed GREATEST MANAGER EVER James Matheson are looking to refuel the former jobber in the eyes of the audience.” The Franchise explains the latest on Mr. Myers as the audience behind him chuckles at the notion of a Matt Myers winning streak. “And with James Matheson working hard to put over the fact that Myers is a diamond in the rough…oh who am I kidding.” The Suicide King slaps himself in the head, “Look Matheson is a great manager, but he can’t just claim he’s going to make Myers a star. He would need voodoo or something much more powerful.” “King, Myers is a wrestler ya know. He knows how to wrestle.” “Oh don’t get me wrong, he can definitely win tonight. Sure, he’s a jobber to the stars, but tonight he isn’t facing a star.” And King with a harsh verbal low blow at the other individual involved in this extreme encounter. “I’M BORN!” “I’M ALIVE!!” “I BREATHE!!!” And per usual, “Vitamin” by Incubus busts out through the largely expensive PA system as the audience, once again per usual, explodes into a frenzy. “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!” “boo!” What? “boo!” Not per usual, hiding beneath the deafening cheers, there is a slight murmur of something. Could that something be a jeer or two? The question will have to be answered some other time as the echoing cheers grow due to the athletic figure of the Unique Youth appearing at the top of the entrance way! “Introducing first, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in tonight at an even 200 lbs. He is the Unique Youth, ZYYYYYYYON!!!!” Funyon is allowed to annunciate a “Z” this time. Dancing down the entrance ramp, Zyon slaps dozens of hands that reach out to him as if he was some sort of savior, some sort of prophet. Truth be told, as the Cruiserweight bounds down the ramp, he is neither of those. He’s a marginally confused, majorly frustrated young man who happens to be competing in the fourth match, while many believe he has the talent to Main Event. Savior, prophet, or even hero couldn’t illustrate Zyon in the right light, a light that a certain Straight Edge character is too busy hogging, which forces the Unique Youth to hide under the shadow of disappointment. “Well, Zyon had a nice showing in the Clusterfuck before the consequence of turning his back to his opponent caught up to him.” “Fool, don’t protect Michael Stephens. He’s no longer the SWF’s cash cow…Landon is. Good lord did I just say that.Rather I agree with that decision or not isn’t up to me, but I do agree that the egomaniac should be phased out, starting with the truth. The truth that Stephens in one last attempt to screw Zyon over, called for help. HE CALLED FOR HELP IN THE CLUSTERFUCK! Personally, I don’t know what social circles the Englishman runs in, but you just don’t do that. Face it he screwed Zyon.” “First, Stephens isn’t an egomaniac. He shook his partners hand in congratulations, and it’s not like he forced Cadillac to eliminate the number two entrant.” And with that the tables have turned, King defending Zyon, and Mak while not going against him, isn’t worshipping the youngster either. Rolling into the ring, the cheerful youth leaps on to the second rope, extending his arms as he soaks in the glory of being a “good guy.” Not the number one “good guy” mind you, but he’s still popular. Unlike this man. … … “Like bringing a knife to a gun fight… Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight… LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!” “WHAT!!!” Both announcers in unison scream blood murder at the familiar theme. “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” Totally contradicting the popular statement, the crowd goes absolutely haywire for the other Straight Edger that was thought to have been retired. Norma Jean’s, “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It,” blares over the speakers, blurring with the destructive cheers for the veteran who has yet to show his face. Uh Oh. The cheers immediately falter to silence as a figure dressed in the appropriate gear, zip up hoodie, tapped wrist (with the letters “MM” instead of “X”), yellow and black wrestling shorts, and even the track jacket. Beneath the hood of the dark jacket, could be the man they love to hate, but with a tremble in his step, the man they love to hate isn’t the man they love to hate. Spike Jenkins trembled at no man. He was a bit psycho, but he trembled at no man. Continuing to watch the curtain he just passed through, “Spike” begins to sweat. “Mak, that isn’t Spike Jenkins is it?” After a few moments of nervously pacing at the peak of the ramp, another figure penetrates the black curtain. Two legs, four wheels, and an embarrassed structure outlining his face, James “Franchise” Matheson has arrived ladies and gentlemen. “You have got to be kidding me???” Mak would run up and smack a ho, but he can’t run or walk for that matter. “And his opponent, accompanied to the ring by James “The Franchise” Matheson, weighing in tonight at 221 lbs. He hails from…HOLLYWOOD, California….”Hollywood” Matt Myers!!!” Funyon finishes reading from the cue card handed to him moments before the introduction, and exits the ring, taking a moment to chuckle at the real Franchise as well. Wandering down the aisle with the audience snickering at Myers latest outfit, along with Matheson’s paraplegic introduction to the world of cosplay. Sliding into the ring, “Hollywood” Matt Myers peels back the hood covering his slightly frightened face, revealing bleach blonde hair similar to the real Hollywood Superstar’s choice of style. Suddenly, the jobber with a possible ADD complex sprints around the ring, crossing his arms in symbolism for his Straight Edge lifestyle…for the day at least. “Who is he kidding? With as many defeats he has had, it’s a miracle if he hasn’t hit the bottle yet, right Mak?” “Ugh, yeah King.” Mak quickly stashes his migraine reducing liquor under the table, “Do I really look like that, King?” The Franchise asks his broadcast partner, pointing his finger at the humiliated James Matheson. “Well it is rumored you have started to train Spike. Now how the hell you do that in a chair is Greek to me, but I’ll be real with you Mak.” The King of Hearts attempts to contain his laughter for a second, “He’s a shadow of what you are buddy. I mean you can bring that chair to five stars easily, Matheson is simply wrestlecrap in that chair.” Stripping down to his wrestling gear, Myers notices that referee Ken Masters is preparing to ring the bell. DING DING DING!!!! With a look of “Oh shit I’m not ready yet,” on his face, the Cosplay Superstar notices that his opponent is most definitely prepared to get the show on the road. Shaking his head at the jobber, Zyon takes a powerful step toward his visibly frightened opponent, causing Myers to immediately exit the ring!!! “What the hell are you doing?” Matheson calls out. Ignoring his coach’s question, Myers has one for the ref. “Hey why aren’t you counting me out?” And that folks is when you realize that someone has hit rock bottom. The Staples Center erupts in laughter, leaving Myers to understand that this isn’t a good news-bad news situation. “Matt, this is a hardcore match. THERE ARE NO COUNTOUTS!” “Franchise” James Matheson hollers at his latest pupil. “Oh shit.” This isn’t the reaction to realizing that this is a hardcore bout. That’s his reaction to the Unique Youth lunging through the second rope with a suicide dive, meeting Myers hands first! Landing gracefully on his feet, Zyon watches with glee as the JTTS rolls up the steel ramp. Picking himself off the canvas, an act that he has made an art form out of, Myers eyes bulge out of his head, as the relentless Zyon charges up the ramp…. *CLANK!!!* …And crashes face first into the metallic structure, which is credited to a Matt Myers drop toe hold! “Did Zyon trip or something?” King questions. Clutching his face, the bewildered Zyon pushes himself back to his feet, expecting some sort of follow up, the kid snaps his head around to see Myers…waiting safely in the ring! Rolling his eyes, the youth hops on the ring apron, and enters the ring with no pressure put on him by his insecure opponent. “What are you waiting for an invitation? Go get him!” Matheson barks orders at the jobber he’s trying to transform into a star. Waking from his trance, Myers listens to his manager, and charges Zyon. No recognizing the obvious problem, which is that the Unique Youth was also listening in on the one sided conversation, “Hollywood” Matt Myers dives at the youth with a spear, a move that Jenkins used in the past… *CRACK!!!* …Almost perfectly imitating Jenkins, Myers eats a boot to the face for his trouble, allowing the youth to stomp the jobber vigorously. Scooting away from Zyon’s rage, Myers exits the ring once more, his momentum rolling him into the safety barrier! Pulling himself up, Myers can only watch in horror as Zyon, already perched on the ring apron, leaps at his opposition. With no time to spare, the JTTS dodges the attacking youth, leaving Zyon to crash sternum first into the safety barrier. Climbing on to the ring apron, Myers enters the ring halfway before reestablishing his position on the ring apron. Peering out into the audience, he finds his motivation in a strange partner… “Let’s Go Myers!” …The fans. It’s faint, but the chant is there. The jobber’s eyes light up with a significant glow as he takes a leap of faith off the apron, burrowing his elbow into his enemy’s back! Both competitors descend into the front row where security used “acceptable force” to motion the rowdy crowd in a retreat formation away from the competitors. Lifting the opposition off the ground, Myers reverts to the most basic wrestling maneuver, that being a scoop slam… …On the concrete. Not so basic anymore is it. Grunting, the youth grabs his wounded back, a back that Matt Myers has set his sights on. Yep, leave it to the Cosplay Superstar to add psychology to what was scheduled to be a garbage brawl. Throwing caution to the wind, the awkwardly confident Myers pulls the grounded high flyer to his feet… *CRACK!!* …And is stunned by an uppercut for his trouble. Analyzing the situation, Zyon notices a crowd member decked in Michael Stephens merchandise, a rare breed by Tom Flesher standards. The youngster also notices the fan to be enjoying an alcoholic beverage… …And he can’t help, but chuckle at the hypocrisy. Removing the beverage from the fans hand, ignoring the distant cursing, Zyon blasts Myers in the face with the cup, giving the jobber a mini beer bash! “Now if only that was the real Spike.” “King, we both know that Jenkins is crazy enough as it is, a personality trait I’m trying to help him with, but hitting him with a beer filled cup would cause him to explode.” No longer thirsty, Myers charges back at the youth who easily dumps Myers back over the barricade with a back body drop! Taking a moment to rub his wounded back, Zyon notices that the Cosplay Superstar has already ascended back to his feet. Acting unimpressed, the lightweight looks to put the jobber down for good, as he hustles forward in a dead sprint, which can only mean impending doom for the jobber to the stars. Rolling his way closer to the action, “Franchise” James Matheson once again barks orders at his protégé. “Hey, Matt remember what we talked about?” Smiling, Myers attempts to remember the conversation he had earlier with his mentor. A conversation that pointed out all of Zyon’s known weaknesses. A conversation that would grant him the victory in no time. “Ugh, what did we talk about?” A conversation that Matt Myers has fatally forgotten. Tossing himself over the safety barrier, Zyon’s feet collapses into his enemy’s chest with a SNAP dropkick that rockets Myers backward into the ring apron, and then to the floor. Gasping for air, Myers can only watch on helplessly as Zyon forces the jobber back to his feet. Gripping his opponent’s wrist, the borderline emo character attempts to Irish Whip Myers into the wicked steel steps… …Only to have the jobber with no FIGHTING SPIRIT to show some FIGHTING SPIRIT by countering the whip into a throw of his own! Uncontrollably, the youth falls back first into the steel steps, which just MURDERS his already injured spinal area! “This can’t be happening! Sure, I want Zyon to suffer and lose more than anything, but to Matt Myers? Zyon, have some pride would ya!” The anti Zyon commentator actually pleads for the Unique Youth to take back the advantage. “That isn’t what we talked about Matt, but what the hell. Keep it up!!!” Matheson cheers from the sidelines, he’s got the best seat in the house after all. Shocking everyone, it is Zyon who retreats back into the ring in an attempt to buy some time. While the spotty philosopher works shit out inside the ring, the confident Myers reaches under the ring and pulls out a trashcan, which could be symbolic of his career… …But tonight it’s a weapon. Hurling the trashcan into the ring, Myers ends his exterior quest, beginning his interior journey by meeting a glance with the now standing Zyon…who has the trashcan in hand. *CRACK!!* “What a shot!” Mak calls as King continues to chuckle at the similarities between Mak and Matheson’s reaction. Scrambling the opposition’s brains with a fierce trashcan shot to the skull, Zyon watches quizzically as “Hollywood” Matt Myers stumbles around the ring, remaining upright on spaghetti legs. Arrogantly, the Unique Youth shrugs his shoulders and prepares a second ordering of “taking out the trash.” Searching for the courage to compete with one of the best, Myers remembers just whom the hell he is…for tonight anyway. He’s “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins…BITCH! Leaping into the air, Myers extends his foot, pulverizing the metal back into Zyon’s face with a lunging yakuza kick! Crashing to the canvas, the trashcan lies stationary, while the shocked youth wonders around the ring bewildered by the latest twist in what could be another Matt Myers fairy tale. Trapping Zyon’s head between his hands, “Hollywood” Matt Myers reaches into a Straight Edger’s bag of tricks, and pins the youth down with a cravate!!!! “The hell, did Myers not get the memo? This is a hardcore match. Get that glorified headlock out of here.” “But King, he’s Spike Jenkins after all. And what’s a Spike Jenkins match without a cravate?” “A much better match.” Cranking his opponent’s neck, Myers is almost as stunned as the youth, who can’t believe that after all the wars he’s had with the REAL Hollywood Superstar, that he would succumb to a second rate clone. Stabbing the jobber in the sternum with a flurry of elbows, Zyon frees himself from the headlock with a speedy backdrop suplex. Rolling out of the ring, the cruiserweight quickly reaches under the ropes, and from the looks of things he want to punish the jobber for his insolence. Clutching a Singapore cane in his hand, the youth flicks his wrist, twirling the weapon in an attempt at showmanship. “YEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!” And it worked. Calmly, rolling into the ring, Zyon stalks his prey just as the REAL Spike used to stalk him. It’s not an easy job, but someone has to be the victim, and well who else plays it better than Matt Myers. “MATT!!!” Both competitors look just in time to watch as the “Franchise” James Matheson tosses another Singapore Cane into the ring. Fumbling the stick for a moment, Myers lifts the cane just as Zyon swings to punish the JTTS! Colliding the two sticks nullify each other, leave Zyon to thrust his weapon downward, and with a rush of adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the “Hollywood” clone swings horizontally, batting the offensive attempt away. Frustrated, the youth relaxes his guard, focusing his complete attention of ending the jobber’s existence… But was Spike ever considered a jobber? …Sweeping himself off the canvas, Myers unleashes a poor, but functional soccer tackle that takes the ignorant football fan clean off his feet. Smashing his face against the canvas, Zyon repeats the motion with his hand as the aggravation continues to build. *CRACK!!* Like the man he copies, Myers converts to a relentless nature, snapping the youth with one of the Singapore canes in his wounded back. Grinding his teeth, the helpless Zyon realizes that he no longer holds the original stick that was brought to the match, which means… *CRACK!!* *CRACK!!* *CRACK!!* *CRACK!!* *CRACK!!* *CRACK!!* …Someone has the resurgence of firepower behind them. Red liquid begins to bleed through the youngster’s shirt, which signals to Myers that the time might be now. The joke could be over. Rolling the youth on to his back, Myers covers Zyon for the pin fall. ONE!!! TWO!!!! Kickout!!!!!! “Zyon will not be beaten that easily. King, this has been a violent war between one tremendous competitor…and Matt Myers?” Slapping his hands, Myers shows more personality that he ever has, and many thought he was an emotionless loser. Removing the lid from the metallic trashcan, Myers taunts the befallen hero, which is until the Unique Youth actually rises to his feet with a crazed look in his eyes. Looking a bit hesitant, Myers shuffles forward, draping the weakened youngster over the head with a trashcan that covers half his body!!! Roaming the ring with animalistic instincts, Zyon searches for the victim, who might have just turned into the killer. Taking Zyon down with a Judo trip (Reaching more into the Spike Jenkins background, pretty old school) Myers carefully holds Zyon down in the turnbuckle as he calls out to his manager. “Do YOU remember what I said?” Nodding, Matheson rises to his feet… “Oh my god it’s a miracle!!” “Shut up, King.” …And launches the wheel chair over the top rope. Crashing to the canvas, Myers takes a seat in the wheelchair, propping his legs up on the front pedals. Rolling into the ring, Matheson latches on to the back of the wheelchair, viciously shoving it forward toward the incapacitated target. Lifting his feet up, Myers STRAIGHT UP PUTS THE HANDICAP OLYMPICS TO SHAME with a wheelchair assisted face wash kick to the trashcan… … …WHICH IS STILL AROUND ZYON’S BODY!!! “That was awesome CLAP CLAP CLAP!! “That was awesome CLAP CLAP CLAP!! “That was awesome CLAP CLAP CLAP!! Dragging the corpse from the corner, Myers can taste the victory beverages as he covers the youth once again. ONE!!! TWO!!! Reputation…repaired. THREENOOOOOO!!! Not…quite. “Matt Myers almost beat Zyon. I want you to let that sink in Mak.” Groggy, Zyon rises back to his feet, taking a moment to shake away the cobwebs and return to reality. A reality where Matt Myers has introduced the trusty wallet chain to his opponent’s throat!!! Reaching for an inexistent mirage of safety, Zyon’s face begins to darken with a purple undertone. Scratching and clawing at his windpipe, Zyon for a brief moment has his oxygen returned to his lungs… …Until his very lungs are annihilated by a chain assisted lung blower!!!! *CRRRRRUNCH!!!* Gasping for breath himself, Myers notices the miraculously cured “Franchise” slide a steel chair into the ring, which could be the beginning of the end for the unlucky youngster with the shredded back. Grinning, the Cosplay Master looks to be enjoying himself as he tosses the “X” symbol into the sky… “YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!” …Garnering a much different reaction that the real Straight Edge Superstar. Continuing to elicit his toughness, Zyon once again picks himself up, and he once again feels a sharp, disgusting pain in his spine. *CRACK!!!* Stammering around the ring, Zyon refuses to bow to a jobber. He’s better than that. *CRACK!!!* Growling, Zyon’s knees begin to shake uncontrollably as Myers prepares for another onslaught. Nothing is worse than taking an onslaught from a steel chair, especially when you are defenseless. *CRACK!!!* *CRACK!!!* *CRACK!!!* Graphic as the attack might be, Zyon unwillingly falls to his knees as Myers tosses the chair to the side. Earning his stripes in the art of Cosplay, Myers continues to fall deeper into the personality of “Hollywood” as he deliver two vicious kicks to the youth’s chest… And we all know what is coming next. ...*BAM!!!* “KICK YO FACE!” King shouts as Zyon’s face is sandwiched between gravity and his opponent’s foot. Plastered across the canvas, the Unique Youth bitterly remains motionless. There is something worse than taking a fatal onslaught from a defenseless position, and that folks is losing to Matt Myers… …That folks is rock bottom. With the audience chanting his name and the title of momentum slung around his waist, Myers with a powerful force behind him, ascends the top rope for the final piece of music entitled, “Win number three.” Perched on the top rope, Myers wishes himself to be recognized as a Ratings Grabber, and damnit that is exactly what he does. Swimming through the atmosphere with Spike’s version of the Five Star Frog Splash, the lights blind the jobber for a moment. He’s not use to the spotlight after all. But he is familiar with missing. *CRASH!!!* Dragging his own corpse away from ground zero, Zyon dodges certain defeat as Myers collapses to the mat. “YEEEEAAAHHHH!!!” “Momentum, defined as a tendency to repeat recent success.”Clutching his sternum, Myers realizes that momentum could become but a memory, but the jobber doesn’t want a memory. Hell, he doesn’t even want momentum. “C’mon Matt. He’s hurt. He’s hurt.” Both “Franchise” and “Hollywood,” both Matt Myers and James Matheson want…no, need to win. Successfully rising to his feet, Myers notices that the hurt adolescence is also on his feet with chair in hand… “Chair to skull, defined as having a steel chair rupturing against your skull with such force that the skin splits open, revealing the victims liquid life-force to spill across the canvas.Read, Getting Knocked Da Fuck Out!” Silence corresponds inside the arena as Myers descends to the canvas lifelessly as the chair ricochets to the mat, dented by a human beings skull. Staggering, Zyon shakes his head, confused by the fact, by the reality that he had to resort to such aggressiveness to put down Matt Myers of all people. Descending on to the concussed opposition, Zyon covers Myers for the impending victory. ONE!!! Impending? TWO!!!! More like probable. THREEEEEEEEEE!!! … “WHAT THE FUCK!” Mak, Matheson, King, Ken Master, and even Myers remain quiet as the Unique Youth cries into the nether with two fingers appearing on the background. “YEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!” “This can’t be real. Myers, a character that has absolutely no valuable traits, no heart is taking Zyon to the edge of madness tonight.” Slapping the canvas on his way back up, Zyon handles the blood stained chair once more as Myers blinded by the liquid that JUST POURS from his torn skull, ascends to one knee. Zyon isn’t willing to allow Myers to penetrate further into his mind as he raises the chair into the air one last time… “Hey you!” Matheson calls out, distracting the youth for a second, which in turn allows Myers to tranquilize Zyon with a shoulder to the gut. As the chair lands flat on the canvas, Myers doesn’t retrieve momentum. He retrieves the arrogant exterior of the man he wishes to clone, and brings it to the forefront. Applying a double underhook, “Hollywood” Matt Myers sets the Unique Youth up for the ENDWELL!!! Situating Zyon’s face over the chair, hesitating for a moment due to a possible concussion as well as due to the fact that Myers wants to bask in the glory for a moment, the Cosplay Master feels his grip begin to loosen, and that folks isn’t rock bottom… …That folks is bringing a knife to a gun fight! *CRUNCH!!* Obliterating assured victory with a low blow, Zyon rolls away from the bloody Myers, on the verge of vomiting, Zyon assures to himself… “That was just too close….never again.” …Lunging angular at the stunned jobber, Zyon wraps his arms around the jobber materialized into a competitor, and defies momentum with an extraordinary BIG SHOTDiamond Cutter on to the STEEL CHAIR!!! Of course, he follows this up by clutching his disgruntled spine before rolling into the cover. ONE!!! TWOOOOO!!! Never again. THREEEEEE!!!! “Vitamin” by Incubus begins but immediately fades into the shadows of Funyon’s daunting vocal cords, “The winner by pinfall, The Unique Youth…ZYYYON!!!” “He kept the youth grounded do to the focus on the back, what went wrong? I guess it just wasn’t in the cards.” “In the cards? He had Zyon beat. Now, Zyon has been presented as a kid who loses the big matches, but he is also viewed as a winner. Myers on the other hand has a jobber mentality, and as the match came to a climax, Myers unlike Zyon or Hollywood Spike Jenkins just didn’t know how to finish the match. Sure, Zyon underestimated him at the beginning, but he knew what it would take to get the job done, and that is why he is walking out the winner.” The announcers continue to speculate as Zyon retreats up the ramp, ignoring the cheers and chants of his name. He understands that he was lucky to walk out the victory, but back in the ring is where the loser in one night, became a winner. Matheson looks down at the unconscious Myers who gave it his all, and whispers… “We have some work to do. You had the match won, it was like you…it was like…” And as Matheson loses his nerve, Myers theme song for the night begins… … ...Like bringing a knife to a gun fight. Fade. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 (edited) As we return to Storm, Notorious BIG’s “I Love the Dough” is accompanying the incomparable Sir Marvelous to the ring, limping his way down the aisle with the aid of his trusty cane. The suited Sir Marvelous smiles away as if the entire world were his friend, despite the fact a large percentage of the population is booing him right about now. "Ladies and gentlemen," booms Funyon, "please welcome: Sir… Marvelous!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Marvelous limps up the steel steps, as his trusty bodyguard Mister Bruner holds open the ropes for him before he enters the ring. Once inside, he then waits for Bruner to unhook the velvet rope before he passes through the arch and picks the microphone up from the stand as his music fades out. "Welcome," drawls Anderson, "to the House of MAAAAARVELOUS! STILL the highest-rated fifteen minutes in all of professional wrestling today! I am your host, Sir Marvelous!" "You know, he actually answers the phone like that." Mak quickly points out, before being hushed by The Suicide King. "Tonight, you are all in for a very, very special treat." Marvelous smiles, waiting as the crowd react. Most of them know the guest tonight and don't need the build-up, but they're going to get it anyway. "Everybody wanted him but of course, yours truly got the scoop. The first official interview since his triumph at the Clusterfuck 2007! Ladies and gentlemen, it's my pleasure to welcome the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship... the ONLY two-time Clusterfuck Champion in SWF history... Los Angeles, give it up for LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAADDIIIXXX!!!" "YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!" A very welcome change of theme music greets the number one contender, only momentarily stopping the roaring crowd. The lights dim, alternating between complete blackout and really frikkin' bright as "Personal Jesus" by Marilyn Manson hits. And from behind the curtain steps Landon Maddix in all his splendour, thrusting his hands out to his side to show off his brand new 'FANCY A CLUSTERFUCK' t-shirt. Only $19.99 if you pre-order now at SWF.com. Whatever that is. The lights return back to normal as Landon now walks to the ring. "Well, Landon Maddix with some new music, a new t-shirt, a new opportunity at the SWF Heavyweight Championship." Mak builds. "And just hours away from celebrating his 23rd birthday. It's a good time to be Landon Maddix right now." "Compared to usual, maybe." "I'll admit, Sir Marvelous did pull off quite a coup tonight. Landon Maddix, I'm sure, has a lot to say..." "When doesn't he?" "This isn't a match King, you don't have to comment." sighs Mak, to a clear sigh of relief and the sound of a ringpull being popped open on a Pepsi Max. Landon reaches the archway and clears his entry with Bruner, waiting for him to open the velvet rope before spinning into the ring, through the arch for an added little extravagance on his entrance! The Staples Center goes wild for the number one contender as he sets down his Tag Team Title belt on the couch... and notices a full sixpack waiting for him. Not of beer, put six cans of Pepsi Max. Landon checks they're actually for him and helps himself, as Marvelous applauds away. "Marvelous seems strangely welcoming tonight." Mak thinks aloud. "Question is, what's his angle?" "Why does there have to be an angle?" King retorts, setting down his own Pepsi Max. "Because it's Sir Marvelous." "Landon Maddix ladies and gentlemen!" announces Marvelous, as Maddix begins to chug down his cold beverage. Product placement at it's finest. "Landon, welcome to the House Of Marvelous!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" Landon waits for the chants to die down, setting the can in his pocket. "It's a pleasure to be here, Marv, really. I like the setup. Very atmospheric. You know, I happened to catch the show last week." notes Landon, instantly earning himself a little of Sir Marvelous' easily obtainable and so easly loseable respect. "And I saw that you had Wild and Dangerous on." "Yes and they had a challenge for yourself and one Michael Stephens. Before we get to the main issue at hand, any response for them, exclusively on the House Of Marvelous?" "Well, to be honest, it's not really an issue. They're not really an issue, not yet. Instead of starting up some grandious campaign to win the titles again and name-dropping Muhammed Ali and Madison Square Garden and pledging to BRING HOME THE TROOPS! to try and gain people's favour, maybe they ought to be concentrating on Calvin Leichenstein and... *shudders* ...Zack Malibu. Because let's face it, if they don't get the job next week, then The Cadillac Boys are going to be first in line for a shot at the Tag straps. It'd be such a shame if Wild and Dangerous overlooked them and ended up getting beat. Suuuch a shame. Looks like that might happen though. I saw they'd printed up some new t-shirts at their local K-Mart, or wherever the hell they shop. 'I've Got Five On It', right? Well, incase those guys hadn't noticed..." Landon retrieves the Tag Team Title belt from the couch and holds it to the camera. "...this belt right here doesn't have any fives on it. But if they'll look closely at the nameplate, they'll see it's Got Landon On It." "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" "And on the subject of new t-shirts," Sir Marvelous interrupts, although not in the usual hostile way some guests experience, "I've got to say I'm digging yours, which of course these fans can pre-order on SWF.com right now!" Cut off before he could really tear into his prospective challengers, Landon looks a little surprised at the interruption, but shrugs it off. After all, it might get him a few extra t-shirt sales. "What a shill." Mak groans. "What's the betting he's getting a cut on the profits after that cheap plug?" "He'd better be getting a cut if he's shilling this egomaniac's merchandise." King groans in response. "Now Landon, we could stand here and talk about t-shirts all day," Marvelous continues, stretching things just slightly, "but you weren't invited here today for that. There are more pressing issues. Gabriel Drake is I'm sure watching on from a monitor somewhere and his eyes are going to be locked intently on you from now until From The Fire. By winning the Clusterfuck, for the second time, you've earnt the number one contendership and of course, the chance to dictate what stipulation you face the champion with at the PPV. Gabriel wants to know. These people want to know. The world wants to know. So, what is it to be Landon? What challenge are you planning on putting the Champion through?" Smiling a little, Landon takes the mic back from Marvelous and pauses for a little dramatic license. A few suggestions find their way into the ring, but Landon quitens everyone down. "Well, Marv, let's just say that for now that's for me to know and Gabe to find out." The fans seem disappointed. But that's nothing compared to Sir Marvelous, his face falling a little from the eager smile he was wearing previously. Probably because he was hoping... no, better yet expecting to get the big scoop on the House Of Marvelous. After all, why else would he invite Landon Maddix onto his show? "Suffice to say though, Marv, that I'm going to pick the match that gives me the best chance of victory. Last time out I came up with a stipulation that really wasn't all that smart. And I paid for it. Big time. This time, I'm going to think it through, discuss it through with Megan and when we come up with the plan, we'll let the world know. But Gabriel shouldn't worry, because we will have a plan soon. After all, we always have a plan." "So, no clues?" Marv presses. Landon just smiles and shakes his head. "Well, that's a real shame, I'm sure these people would really like to know, tonight." "YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Again Landon shakes his head though, Sir Marvelous not getting anywhere quickly. So, Marvelous suddenly changes tact. "Okay then, let's talk about From The Fire 2005." "Now we're getting somewhere!" cheers King, as he notices Landon's reaction. "I knew it was too good to be true." Mak sighs. "We all know what happened to you after losing to your now tag team partner Toxxic, back at From The Fire 05. The loss of belts. The loss of tag team partners. The loss of your manager, Megan Skye. The loss of the respect and adulation of all these people. And then, eventually, the loss of rational thought as you decided to tear through the company injuring innocent people, all to get Michael Stephens back to the SWF. Ultimately to get beat by him again." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Unpopular, maybe, but it's true Landon." persists Marvelous, brushing off the crowd. "You've only just recovered everything you had. You're the first ever two time Clusterfuck winner, if you get beat again this year at From The Fire, you'll also be the first man to lose in the main event twice. So assuming you fall to Gabriel this year, tell us, just how insane are you going to go this time?" Maddix, head down, gives Marvelous a sideways glare. It's obvious to everyone what Marvelous is trying to achieve, but Landon doesn't take the bait, forcing a smile as he pulls the microphone back towards him. "I can give you a preview, if you want." "YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Uh-oh! Marvelous' tongue might have got him into trouble." smiles Mak, as Marvelous's arrogance suddenly disappears. Back at the archway, Mister Bruner's head tilts towards the number one contender at the prospect of physicality in the House, but Marvelous glances past Landon to calm his bodyguard down and insist he's got everything under control. "DO IT!" "DO IT!" "DO IT!" "DO IT!" "I think the crowd want him to do it, King!" Mak astutely points out. "He wouldn't dare!" insists King. "If Sir Marvelous doesn't kick his ass, which even on one leg is a very real possibility, Mister Bruner would!" Marvelous remains calm in the face of this threat though, waiting for the crowd to calm down. "Now now Mister Maddix, no need for hostility. It's a simple enough question." "Look, times have changed." Landon finally insists. "The situation then is totally different from the situation now." "How so?" Landon seems at a loss for a moment. Before finding the perfect response. "Well, this time, I'm going to win." "YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Gabriel Drake!" Landon suddenly shouts over the cheers, turning to the main camera and forgetting all about Marvelous, which doesn't go down too well. "This time WILL be different! From The Fire 2005 is nothing but DVD revenue in my pocket nowadays, which admitedly isn't much but every cent counts. The future is From The Fire 2007. And that's all I'm concerned with, the future! Nothing else matters, Genesis included. I'm not Mike, I'm not going to get into some sort of dragged out personal conflict with you and play mind games with you. You're just another obstacle on my way to the World Title, just like any of the other nineteen I've already gone through. And come From The Fire, you'll be even more like them. You'll be defeated!" Taking the can of Pepsi Max back out of his pocket, Landon turns to Sir Marvelous again. "Anyway Marv..." "It's Sir Marvelous, actually." interrupts Sir Marvelous, taking a sudden issue with the moniker. "...'Sir Marvelous', sorry. Thanks for the time and thanks for the hospitality. And thanks for this can of oh so refreshing, Maximum Taste No Sugar Pepsi Max..." Landon gives a thumbs up to camera and sups a little of his refreshment of choice. But, something isn't right. Landon's face contorts as he looks at the can oddly, Marvelous watching on in confusion. "...but, you really need to store these better. It's a little flat." Marvelous still looks confused, Landon opening up another of the cans from the six-pack and testing it. Apparantly that's also flat, so Landon goes for broke, opening up the remaining four cans. Just the smell tells him that they're duds too. Which is slightly odd. But Landon is adamant that his beverages aren't up to scratch, holding up the four connected cans with the fifth on top. "Much as I hate to do this, I just can't stand a flat Pepsi..." Landon sighs... "YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...BEFORE DUMPING THE PEPSI MAX ONTO SIR MARVELOUS' LUXURIOUS COUCH!!!! "NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The howling scream of Sir Marvelous alerts Mister Bruner. But Landon is gone before Bruner has so much as unhooked the velvet rope, exiting the unconvential route through the ropes and jogging away to the rampway with a cheeky smile on his face. Marvelous stands open mouthed as the Pepsi starts to soak into the upholstery, Landon holding his hand to his mouth with a most insincere 'whoops' as he backs slowly away. "I hope Sir Marvelous' local furniture store is giving him a discount nowadays," smirks Mak incompassionately, "that's about the fifth couch in as many weeks!" "What!? This is no time for jokes Mak, somebody call the damn police, that's damage of private property, public distrubance... that has to be some sort of an offence he can be arrested for, surely? How... how DARE HE!?" "Well, you heard him King, he doesn't like flat Pepsi. And I have to agree, Pepsi is best served chilled, from all good retailers nationwide." "You're such a shill." Still smirking, Maddix takes one last look back at the damage and shrugs his shoulders as we... FADE OUT. Edited February 16, 2007 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 (edited) Storm returns from a commercial for Nathaniel Kibagami's Buckets of Blood Discount Warehouse, and a vaguely humanoid camera man pans around the Staples Center before stopping on King and Mak. "Welcome back, folks. We are just about set to see some more Hardcore action, this time in a title match, as champion Jimmy the Doom defends his belt, once again, against Insane Luchador," Mak says. "Jesus, how many times have these two went at it? Okay, I won't strain you too much. How many times in the past month have they faced?" King asks. "Definitely more times than you've gotten any in the last month," Mak says. "Then again, tonight's match alone puts them way ahead since anything is an improvement on zero." BOOM! Explosion! Everybody doesn't die, but instead listens to "Man in the Box" as Insane Luchador walks down the ramp, opting to wrap his hands around a baseball bat instead of some light tubes this time. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the Hardcore championship! Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Easton, Pennyslvania, he weighs in at two hundred, twenty-three pounds, Your Psychotic Hero, IIIIIIINNNNSSSSSAAAAAAANE LUUUUUUCHAAAAADOOOORRRRR!" Funyon roars. The Ill One slides under the bottom rope and pops to his feet. Luchador stretches out with the bat for a moment, then holds his weapon, ready to knock Doom's head into the upper deck. "You know, I think Luchador has had more than his fair share of cracks at Doom. I say, if he can't win the title tonight, he either gets fired or can't challenge for this damn belt for a long time," King says. "That sounds a bit harsh, King. If Insane Luchador has proven himself to be the most fitting challenger, he should be rewarded, even if he can't actually win the belt," Mak says. Suddenly, and not planned ahead in any way, the lights go out, plunging the arena into darkness. Stomping feet and chanting voices sound through the Staples Center, the feet goin' 'boom' and the voices goin' 'Doom' in unison. The darkness is quickly extinguished, and "Yakety Sax" blares. "And his opponent, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, he weighs two hundred, thirty pounds and is the longest reigning Hardcore champion ever! The Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJJIIIIIMMMMMMYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOOOOM!" Funyon yells. With Lois directly behind him, Doom moseys down the ramp, whirling a sack full of oranges above his head. The Panic Ogre slides the title up to referee Pennyfeather J. Poppycock as Jimmy clambers inside the ring. PJP holds the title aloft, then hands it to Funyon, and with no real rules to enforce, calls for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Jimmy is the first to move, and he adopts a traditional, orthodox boxing stance. The Doomtopian apparently isn't comfortable leading with his left, so the Straight-Breader shuffles over to southpaw style. Jimmy isn't much of a fan of that, either, and he slides back to the orthodox pose. Breaking completely from practically every other match he's had, Doom doesn't strike first, as he's too busy shuffling between stances, trying to figure out which one will work better against the Psychotic Hero. "See, if Luchador can't beat that, then he shouldn't be employed any more," King says. "Hey, it's subterfuge. You know, psychological warfare," Mak says. "Bullshit, Francis. You need to have a brain that functions on levels higher than a fern to pull off psychological warfare, something Jimmy doesn't have," King says. Insane Luchador seems to agree that Doom isn't hiding anything, so IL walks up and clocks Jimmy in the head with the bat. ERUCTATION! Doom staggers, opening himself up to get cracked by Luchador a second time. ERYSIPELAS! IL swings a third time, but Jimmy manages to duck his lanky frame before the bat connects with his thick skull. The Ill One whirls around, trying to regain his balance, while Jimmy snaps off a body kick. Doom adds another kick to the torso, then blasts IL with an elbow. Jimmy closes in on Luchador, wrests the bat from the smaller man, and slings it to the ground. The Straight-Bread Sensation pops IL with a shotei, then whips him into the ropes. The Psychotic Hero charges off the rebound, and gets scooped up by Doom. The Hardcore champ flips IL upside down, then rightside up, preparing an inverted atomic drop. Doom is unable to finish the move, though, as Luchador slips his arms under Jimmy's neck and scissors the Straight-Breader's body. "Insane Luchador just slapped on a guillotine choke out of nowhere," Mak says. "Well, it wasn't out of nowhere, Mak. It was a nice counter to a tilt-a-whirl inverted atomic drop. I doubt this will finish the match, though," King says. Pennyfeather J. Poppycock checks on Doom, and the ref's monocole nearly pops out when Jimmy flatly ignores him. Luchador arches his back, trying to rip Doom's head off, but the champ's neck holds strong. Jimmy peppers IL with body shots, then runs into the corner, slamming Luchador's back in the turnbuckles. IL's grip doesn't waver, so Jimmy rams him into the corner again. Doom crashes the Ill One into the buckles yet again, but Luchador keeps the guillotine cinched tight. Poppycock checks on Doom's condition, but the champ waves the referee away, an act so shocking, Pennyfeather's top hat takes a tumble. "You might be wrong, King. Insane Luchador has that choke on pretty tight, so it might just be a matter of time before Doom taps," Mak says. "I think Luchador's arms will get tired before Jimmy's brain runs out of oxygen, Francis," King says. "However, that choke will definitely wear Jimmy down a bit." The Straight-Bread Sensation slams Luchador into the buckles again, and it would seem the fourth time is the charm when it comes to Doomtopians, as IL finally lets go. Jimmy backs away to catch his breath, but IL charges forward, right into a Hand of Doom. Jimmy reaches out and wrenches IL's left arm in a wringer. Doom fires a kick to Luchador's gut, but the Ill One checks it with his shin. Jimmy snaps off another body kick, but IL checks this one as well. "Wow, Jimmy was going for Doomsday, but Luchador was familiar enough with it to block the first kick," Mak says. "Well, when you get your ass kicked enough times by the same guy, you better know at least one counter to something he does," King says. Doom refuses to give up the arm wringer, so he launches a high kick, but Luchador throws up his free arm, taking the brunt of the blow on the forearm. Jimmy resets, looking to throw another kick, but the Psychotic Hero acts first, booting the Hardcore champ in the gut. Luchador pulls Jimmy into a facelock and hooks the Straight-Breader's leg. IL lifts Jimmy up and drives him into the mat with a fisherman's buster. "Fisherman's buster from Insane Luchador. This might win him the title," Mak says. "On it's own, maybe, but when you factor in that guillotine choke, I think you might be right, Francis," King says. The Psychotic Hero rolls Doom up, making a lateral press. ONE! TWO! THR-No! Poppycock's monocole flies off due to the shock, and he scrambles to put it back in before holding up two fingers. "Oh, so close! Insane Luchador nearly won the Hardcore title, but Jimmy the Doom just got a shoulder up," Mak says. "Maybe Luchador should drop Doom on his head a few more times," King says. Luchador pulls Jimmy to his feet and attempts an Irish whip, but Doom tries to reverse it. The two men simply end up tangled together, with Luchador behind Doom. IL wraps the Straight-Breader up with a rear waistlock and lifts, looking for a backdrop driver. However, Jimmy flips over and spins IL around. Jimmy flicks out a Hand of Doom, then lifts Luchador in a double-handed chokelift. Doom walks towards the ropes and dumps the Psychotic Hero over the top. "Jimmy must have been thinking about the Clusterfuck with that. He nearly threw Insane Luchador to the ground, but luckily for the Ill One, he landed on the apron after that Jimmy Bomb," Mak says. "Not so lucky, as he's kind of tangled in the ropes," King points out. The Straight-Bread Sensation races for the opposite of ropes as Luchador frees himself. IL rises to his feet, only to get nailed in the chest by a flying Doomtopian boot. ESCRITOIRE! The Psychotic Hero tumbles off the apron and slams into the ground below, while Jimmy heads for the ropes again. "What a flying snap kick from the champion! He absolutely nailed Luchador with that blow," Mak says. "And he's not done yet. Doom is going for something crazy. Well, crazier than usual. I'm guessing either a flying head vice or a la majistral," King says. Instead, Doom grabs the top rope and flies out of the ring, flipping head over heels. Jimmy crashes his head into IL's, causing Pennyfeather J. Poppycock's monocole and top hat to fly off, his coattails to flip up, and his bow tie to spin out of control. ESCUTCHEON! "What a suicidal Jimmy's Jump! That's got to be it!" Mak shouts. "Holy crap, that move gets pulled out less often than your dancing shoes, Francis," King says. Jimmy makes a lateral press while PJP scurries to exit the ring. ONE! TWO! THREE! Ding! Ding! Ding! No shock comes from Poppycock this time, as he calls for the bell. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJJJIIIIIMMMMMMMYYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOM!" Funyon screams. "I've got to ask, can anyone take the title from Doom?" Mak asks. "Amy Stephens, maybe?" King offers. "Yakety Sax" plays as Doom and Lois head up the ramp and Storm fades out. Edited February 16, 2007 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 Storm returns from a commercial for Nathaniel Kibagami's Buckets of Blood Discount Warehouse, and a vaguely humanoid camera man pans around the Staples Center before stopping on King and Mak. "Welcome back, folks. We are just about set to see some more Hardcore action, this time in a title match, as champion Jimmy the Doom defends his belt, once again, against Insane Luchador," Mak says. "Jesus, how many times have these two went at it? Okay, I won't strain you too much. How many times in the past month have they faced?" King asks. "Definitely more times than you've gotten any in the last month," Mak says. "Then again, tonight's match alone puts them way ahead since anything is an improvement on zero." BOOM! Explosion! Everybody doesn't die, but instead listens to "Man in the Box" as Insane Luchador walks down the ramp, opting to wrap his hands around a baseball bat instead of some light tubes this time. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the Hardcore championship! Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Easton, Pennyslvania, he weighs in at two hundred, twenty-three pounds, Your Psychotic Hero, IIIIIIINNNNSSSSSAAAAAAANE LUUUUUUCHAAAAADOOOORRRRR!" Funyon roars. The Ill One slides under the bottom rope and pops to his feet. Luchador stretches out with the bat for a moment, then holds his weapon, ready to knock Doom's head into the upper deck. "You know, I think Luchador has had more than his fair share of cracks at Doom. I say, if he can't win the title tonight, he either gets fired or can't challenge for this damn belt for a long time," King says. "That sounds a bit harsh, King. If Insane Luchador has proven himself to be the most fitting challenger, he should be rewarded, even if he can't actually win the belt," Mak says. Suddenly, and not planned ahead in any way, the lights go out, plunging the arena into darkness. Stomping feet and chanting voices sound through the Staples Center, the feet goin' 'boom' and the voices goin' 'Doom' in unison. The darkness is quickly extinguished, and "Yakety Sax" blares. "And his opponent, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, he weighs two hundred, thirty pounds and is the longest reigning Hardcore champion ever! The Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJJIIIIIMMMMMMYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOOOOM!" Funyon yells. With Lois directly behind him, Doom moseys down the ramp, whirling a sack full of oranges above his head. The Panic Ogre slides the title up to referee Pennyfeather J. Poppycock as Jimmy clambers inside the ring. PJP holds the title aloft, then hands it to Funyon, and with no real rules to enforce, calls for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Jimmy is the first to move, and he adopts a traditional, orthodox boxing stance. The Doomtopian apparently isn't comfortable leading with his left, so the Straight-Breader shuffles over to southpaw style. Jimmy isn't much of a fan of that, either, and he slides back to the orthodox pose. Breaking completely from practically every other match he's had, Doom doesn't strike first, as he's too busy shuffling between stances, trying to figure out which one will work better against the Psychotic Hero. "See, if Luchador can't beat that, then he shouldn't be employed any more," King says. "Hey, it's subterfuge. You know, psychological warfare," Mak says. "Bullshit, Francis. You need to have a brain that functions on levels higher than a fern to pull off psychological warfare, something Jimmy doesn't have," King says. Insane Luchador seems to agree that Doom isn't hiding anything, so IL walks up and clocks Jimmy in the head with the bat. ERUCTATION! Doom staggers, opening himself up to get cracked by Luchador a second time. ERYSIPELAS! IL swings a third time, but Jimmy manages to duck his lanky frame before the bat connects with his thick skull. The Ill One whirls around, trying to regain his balance, while Jimmy snaps off a body kick. Doom adds another kick to the torso, then blasts IL with an elbow. Jimmy closes in on Luchador, wrests the bat from the smaller man, and slings it to the ground. The Straight-Bread Sensation pops IL with a shotei, then whips him into the ropes. The Psychotic Hero charges off the rebound, and gets scooped up by Doom. The Hardcore champ flips IL upside down, then rightside up, preparing an inverted atomic drop. Doom is unable to finish the move, though, as Luchador slips his arms under Jimmy's neck and scissors the Straight-Breader's body. "Insane Luchador just slapped on a guillotine choke out of nowhere," Mak says. "Well, it wasn't out of nowhere, Mak. It was a nice counter to a tilt-a-whirl inverted atomic drop. I doubt this will finish the match, though," King says. Pennyfeather J. Poppycock checks on Doom, and the ref's monocole nearly pops out when Jimmy flatly ignores him. Luchador arches his back, trying to rip Doom's head off, but the champ's neck holds strong. Jimmy peppers IL with body shots, then runs into the corner, slamming Luchador's back in the turnbuckles. IL's grip doesn't waver, so Jimmy rams him into the corner again. Doom crashes the Ill One into the buckles yet again, but Luchador keeps the guillotine cinched tight. Poppycock checks on Doom's condition, but the champ waves the referee away, an act so shocking, Pennyfeather's top hat takes a tumble. "You might be wrong, King. Insane Luchador has that choke on pretty tight, so it might just be a matter of time before Doom taps," Mak says. "I think Luchador's arms will get tired before Jimmy's brain runs out of oxygen, Francis," King says. "However, that choke will definitely wear Jimmy down a bit." The Straight-Bread Sensation slams Luchador into the buckles again, and it would seem the fourth time is the charm when it comes to Doomtopians, as IL finally lets go. Jimmy backs away to catch his breath, but IL charges forward, right into a Hand of Doom. Jimmy reaches out and wrenches IL's left arm in a wringer. Doom fires a kick to Luchador's gut, but the Ill One checks it with his shin. Jimmy snaps off another body kick, but IL checks this one as well. "Wow, Jimmy was going for Doomsday, but Luchador was familiar enough with it to block the first kick," Mak says. "Well, when you get your ass kicked enough times by the same guy, you better know at least one counter to something he does," King says. Doom refuses to give up the arm wringer, so he launches a high kick, but Luchador throws up his free arm, taking the brunt of the blow on the forearm. Jimmy resets, looking to throw another kick, but the Psychotic Hero acts first, booting the Hardcore champ in the gut. Luchador pulls Jimmy into a facelock and hooks the Straight-Breader's leg. IL lifts Jimmy up and drives him into the mat with a fisherman's buster. "Fisherman's buster from Insane Luchador. This might win him the title," Mak says. "On it's own, maybe, but when you factor in that guillotine choke, I think you might be right, Francis," King says. The Psychotic Hero rolls Doom up, making a lateral press. ONE! TWO! THR-No! Poppycock's monocole flies off due to the shock, and he scrambles to put it back in before holding up two fingers. "Oh, so close! Insane Luchador nearly won the Hardcore title, but Jimmy the Doom just got a shoulder up," Mak says. "Maybe Luchador should drop Doom on his head a few more times," King says. Luchador pulls Jimmy to his feet and attempts an Irish whip, but Doom tries to reverse it. The two men simply end up tangled together, with Luchador behind Doom. IL wraps the Straight-Breader up with a rear waistlock and lifts, looking for a backdrop driver. However, Jimmy flips over and spins IL around. Jimmy flicks out a Hand of Doom, then lifts Luchador in a double-handed chokelift. Doom walks towards the ropes and dumps the Psychotic Hero over the top. "Jimmy must have been thinking about the Clusterfuck with that. He nearly threw Insane Luchador to the ground, but luckily for the Ill One, he landed on the apron after that Jimmy Bomb," Mak says. "Not so lucky, as he's kind of tangled in the ropes," King points out. The Straight-Bread Sensation races for the opposite of ropes as Luchador frees himself. IL rises to his feet, only to get nailed in the chest by a flying Doomtopian boot. ESCRITOIRE! The Psychotic Hero tumbles off the apron and slams into the ground below, while Jimmy heads for the ropes again. "What a flying snap kick from the champion! He absolutely nailed Luchador with that blow," Mak says. "And he's not done yet. Doom is going for something crazy. Well, crazier than usual. I'm guessing either a flying head vice or a la majistral," King says. Instead, Doom grabs the top rope and flies out of the ring, flipping head over heels. Jimmy crashes his head into IL's, causing Pennyfeather J. Poppycock's monocole and top hat to fly off, his coattails to flip up, and his bow tie to spin out of control. ESCUTCHEON! "What a suicidal Jimmy's Jump! That's got to be it!" Mak shouts. "Holy crap, that move gets pulled out less often than your dancing shoes, Francis," King says. Jimmy makes a lateral press while PJP scurries to exit the ring. ONE! TWO! THREE! Ding! Ding! Ding! No shock comes from Poppycock this time, as he calls for the bell. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJJJIIIIIMMMMMMMYYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOM!" Funyon screams. "I've got to ask, can anyone take the title from Doom?" Mak asks. "Amy Stephens, maybe?" King offers. "Yakety Sax" plays as Doom and Lois head up the ramp and Storm fades out. “Well fans, we’re back in the Staples Center here in Los Angeles,” Mak Francis says, “and up next we have a match that I certainly wouldn’t have expected to see if you’d asked me two weeks ago - Michael Stephens, four-time World Heavyweight Champion, is competing against Alan Clark for the chance to get a shot at Clark’s International Title. However, since then Stephens failed to win the Clusterfuck, and it seems Tom Flesher has decided to push him towards the International rather than the World Title!” “A good job too,” Suicide King sniffs, “Gabriel Drake needs to be focusing on Landon Maddix, not worrying about someone from his past whom he beat cleanly at Crimson Yuletide interfering.” It is at this point that the lights go out, and everyone’s least favourite public service announcement starts to echo from the speakers: ‘Please Stand Clear of the Ring. Por favor Soporte Claro del Anillo…’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Honestly, who do these morons think they are, booing a safety announcement?” King asks. ‘…For the Safety and Comfort of Others…No Smoking Please. Para la Seguridad Y la Comodidad de Otras... El Ningún Fumar Por Favor… “Well, I know I get sick of them when I fly,” Mak comments. A spotlight hits the ramp and, incongruously, ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight’ by Elton John from Disney’s ‘The Lion King’ starts to ring out over the speakers. Needless to say, the combination of Alan Clark and Elton John doesn’t go down too well with the Los Angeles fans. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall; introducing first, the Walt Disney Company and the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation are proud to present…” Alan Clark appears in the spotlight, waving happily - well, he’s smiling - at the fans and shadowed as ever by the hulking shape of Walter Reynolds. The International Title around his waist glints in the light as pixie dust starts to fall from the ceiling. “…coming to the ring at this time,” Funyon continues, “he weighs in at 225lbs, representing Disneyland and being accompanied by Walter Reynolds, he is the SWF International Champion and the self-proclaimed and copyrighted Happiest Guy On Earth… ALAAAAAAAAAN… CLAAAAAAAAAAARK!!” “Alan Clark has been a busy man in recent months,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “not only competing here but also wrestling as Bloodshed in the OAOAST-” King spits. “-where he’s been teaming up with, bizarrely enough, Todd Cortez, Bruce Blank and tonight’s opponent’s tag team partner, Landon Maddix.” “Maddix has to have divided loyalties over this match,” King cuts in as Clark rolls under the bottom rope while Reynolds takes up his station at the bottom of the ramp, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he stabs one or both of them in the back.” “King, how can he stab both of them in the back?” Mak protests. “I’m not putting anything past Landon,” King replies, then hastily adds, “except anything displaying actual talent.” Alan Clark takes off his title belt and hands it to referee Brian Warner… and moments later, a new announcement comes over the PA system. This one, however, is not as public-spirited as that which preceded the entrance of the International Champion. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The Smarktron abruptly whites out as every light in the Staples Center hits full and the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings out; moments later the screen starts to fade down to black, and as it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes again to show clips from Michael Stephens’ most famous matches; the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador; the Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; the Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami; the Sunny In England on Tom Flesher. Finally it changes to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- “BOOOM!!” -explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman as the main riff hammers out! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …blue-black hair hanging down to his chin but not disguising the belligerent expression on his face… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …England soccer shirt abandoned after their appalling performance against Spain, and replaced with one bearing the ‘Come And Have A Go…’ slogan… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …World Tag Title wrapped around his waist underneath the red-and-black canvas trenchcoat… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” And he ain’t hanging around. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms as Stephens breaks into a run down towards the ring, “who will become the Number One Contender to the International Title if he wins tonight; from Nottingham, England, he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions… MIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens doesn’t stop at the bottom to cross his arms and ignite the ring pyro as usual; he simply dives under the bottom rope and pops upright, then almost rips his trenchcoat off and slings it over the top rope. “Stephens seems to be in a hurry,” Mak comments as the Englishman takes his tag belt off and hands it to Warner, then strips off his T-shirt and hurls it into the crowd at random. “He’s probably wants to get this embarrassment over as soon as possible,” King replies sagely. “Of course, Stephens lost the World Title at Crimson Yuletide and recently failed in his quest to get back on the trail when he was eliminated from the Clusterfuck at the last hurdle by Janus,” the Franchise says as Brian Warner asks both wrestlers if they’re ready, “and now he’s been shoved down to the International Division, it’s only natural if he’s a bit annoyed…” “Annoyed? More like paranoid,” King snorts. *DING-DING-DING!* “Paranoid?” Mak asks as the two wrestlers in the ring start to circle each other. “Sure,” the Gambling Man says, “look, he’s been downgraded, his tag team partner’s challenging for the title… and did you ever think about exactly who Landon’s been teaming with over in the Oat Toast, Mak? Cortez, Clark? Maddix, Cortez, Clark? Remind you of anybody?” “…that’s Martial Law,” Mak says, light dawning, “the stable that set themselves up to bring Revolution Zero down about two years ago.” “Revolution Zero, headed by Toxxic,” King nods. “Yeah. I reckon Toxxic was too dumb to remember that while he still thought he was ‘The Man’, but right now…” Stephens and Clark come together in the middle of the ring with a collar-and-elbow tie-up; Stephens slips behind his opponent almost immediately into a hammerlock, but then simply slaps Alan Clark in the back of the head and pushes him away! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Clark turns around and Stephens beckons him in; the Happiest Guy On Earth obliges and lunges for another lock-up, but this time Stephens drops down and take Clark over with a drop toehold before grabbing his opponent’s ankle. He plants his feet firmly and then simply hoists Clark’s leg up before driving it back down into the mat with a knee smash! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens stands back and calls for Clark to get back up; the Disney employee does so, that eerie grin still spread across his face. “You know one more thing that might explain Stephens’ attitude tonight?” Francis asks as the smiling Clark and the scowling Stephens zero back in on each other again. “Do tell.” “This is three years to the day since Alan Clark handed Stephens his first SWF defeat,” Mak points out, “in a match to determine who got a shot at Wildchild’s Cruiserweight Title.” “That was when Clark was in his hippy phase, wasn’t it?” King asks as the two men lock-up one more time. This time Alan manages to get some of his power into play, and starts to force the Tag Champion backwards towards the turnbuckles. “Yeah,” Mak shudders. Stephens hasn’t been able to halt Clark’s advance, and the Englishman now finds himself backed up into the corner. Brian Warner steps between the two men, calling for a clean break. Stephens cautiously loosens his arms… …and Clark punches him in the face. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Brian Warner shoves Clark away angrily; Stephens places one hand on his jaw, stares at the smiling Disney employee, then erupts forward and begins battering the International Champion with right hands! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Clark staggers back as Stephens unloads, but then the Englishman switches to European uppercuts and levels Clark with the first one! *WHAM!* Clark drops, but gets back up only to- *WHAM!* -get another that sends him straight back down again! “Somehow King, I don’t think those European uppercuts came from Disneyland Paris!” Mak laughs. “Die. Now.” Clark scrambles back up to his feet and sees Stephens advancing with bad intentions in his eyes, so he does the logical thing; he tries to get rid of the eyes. ‘AAARRGH!’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alan Clark taking a cheap way out,” Mak Francis calls as Stephens spins away from his opponent, swiping at his eyes to clear them, “and now he’s following up…” Clark wraps his arms around Stephens’ waist, tucks his head under the Englishman’s arm and hoists Mike into the air, then drops down with a Backlot Suplex that dumps Stephens onto the mat. From there Clark gets back to his feet, positions himself standing facing away from his opponent, waves to the crowd and performs a standing moonsault that sees him land on top of the Tag Champion! *BANG!* ONE! T- -but Stephens kicks out moments after Brian Warner’s hand hits the mat for the first time! Clark clearly didn’t expect to get the pinfall off that move anyway and he’s already in motion, grabbing Stephens by the hair and hauling his opponent upright where he hooks the Englishman up into a suplex position. Clark pops his hips and takes Stephens over with a snap suplex, then rolls into another cover… ONE! T- -but Stephens is out almost immediately again! Clark doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of success so far, instead grabbing his opponent by the hair again (heedless of the warnings of Brian Warner) and pulling him up to his feet, then scooping him bodily off the canvas. Clark then sits out with a scoop slam to drive Stephens back down to the mat, before getting up and heading for the ropes. “Alan Clark certainly has the physical skills in the ring, as we saw from that standing moonsault,” Mak comments, “and he’s been on something of a roll of late as well… however, you’d have to wonder whether he can step up and defeat Stephens here tonight.” “Toxxic’s mad, which means he’ll make mistakes,” King replies, “stranger things have happened.” Clark steps out through the ropes to the apron, where he waves to the crowd once more before grabbing the top rope. He leaps up, springboards off and corkscrews through the air to come down with elbow outstretched- *BANG!* -and completely miss Michael Stephens, who rolled out of the way! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Clark grabs his elbow in pain but gets back to his feet; he’s back up quicker than Stephens in fact, who was able to avoid the Talespin Crash but seemingly hasn’t recovered enough to get up yet. Clark approaches his opponent, keen to not give him any more time than absolutely necessary- *whump-CRACK!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Kip-up enzuigiri!” Mak shouts as the Englishman explodes off the canvas and leaps up to kick the startled Clark in the back of the head, “Stephens suckered him into that one!” Michael Stephens pushes himself up, twisting his upper body slightly to try and get rid of some of the discomfort caused by Clark’s offence so far, then once more calls for his opponent to get up. The Englishman’s mood doesn’t seem to have been improved by the moves he’s taken, and as Alan Clark staggers up to his feet Stephens appears to be intent on dishing out a lesson in manners… RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! …Mike pauses, takes a step back and flips Clark a black-nailed V-sign… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “And just like that, the match has turned around!” Mak Francis calls, “Alan Clark went high-risk too soon, and since then Michael Stephens has regained the upper hand!” Stephens zeroes in on Clark, hauling he dazed Disney employee to his feet before taking his wrist to Irish whip him. However, rather than releasing his opponent Stephens instead holds on, twisting Clark’s arm over his head to then pull the Happiest Guy On Earth back towards him, then do his best to alter that status by grabbing a half-nelson with his left arm and the back of Clark’s pants with his right, hoisting the International Champion off the ground and sitting out to deliver a half-nelson facebuster! *BANG!* Stephens uses the half-nelson to roll Clark over, then makes the cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Clark kicks out just after two. Stephens doesn’t seem to take this as well as Clark accepted his earlier setbacks, as the Englishman slaps the mat, then grabs Clark and hauls him up into a standing headscissors. He makes a pulling motion with his arms and reaches down to grab a double underhook… “He’s going for the Stephens Shock Syndrome!” Mak shouts. …but Clark fights his arms free, then backdrops his way out of the move! Stephens lands on the canvas behind him and Clark shakes his head to clear it, then turns around to focus on his opponent. Mike grabs the ropes and starts to pull himself up, clutching at his back, and Clark pounces to grab Stephens and hoist him off the mat again, this time turning the Englishman at the apex of the lift as he goes for the Big Thunder Mountain Bomb… …but Stephens manages to wrap his legs around Clark’s head and counters into a hurricanrana that sends the Disney employee tumbling out through the ropes to the floor! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “It’s been fast-paced and frenetic so far,” Mak comments, “but you wouldn’t expect anything less from these two former Cruiserweight champions. I’d say they’re about evenly-matched in speed, but we’ve seen that Clark seems slightly stronger and we know he’s damn tough, so I think Michael Stephens is going to have to box a bit clever tonight…” Clark is getting up on the outside, obviously a bit dizzy. Stephens gets back to his feet in the ring, looks down at his opponent, and comes to a conclusion. He runs to the far ropes, rebounds off, sprints across the ring and then hurls himself into the air to fly over the ropes and come down on top of Clark with a running somersault senton! *WHAM!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “…or, he could throw himself around like a madman and hope to cause more damage than he takes,” Suicide King offers an alternative, “which let’s face it, is more like the Toxxic we know and… know.” Stephens rises up to his feet and lets out a yell that fires the fans up some more, then grabs Clark (by his hair, a nice touch) and hauls the Happiest Guy On Earth to his feet before Irish whipping him into the steel guardrail separating them from the fans! *CRASH!* ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner bellows from the ring. Clark manages to stay upright as he slumps against the steel, but this proves to be a mistake as Stephens charges at him, clotheslining the International Champion clean over into the crowd! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘TWO!’ Clark rolls away and tries to stagger up to his feet, but there’s no stopping Stephens now; the Tag Champion vaults onto the guardrail, then leaps off to fire a dropkick into Clark and send him sprawling into a row of hastily-vacated chairs! “Stephens is giving Clark no time to recover here,” Mak says, “he’s at home in this environment, and he’s also surrounded Clark with potential weapons that not just the rules of the match but the very terms of his contract forbid him to use!” ‘THREE!’ Stephens gets back up and pursues Clark as the Disney employee flounders; Walter Reynolds has hopped (well, stepped over) the guardrail to presumably ensure that if things go unexpectedly hardcore he can step in to protect Clark; however, Stephens just flips the big man off and grabs Clark again, then tows the International Champion back to the guardrail where he rams Clark’s head into it- ‘FOUR!’ -before throwing his opponent back over it into the ringside area! Clark rolls away and Stephens, steel-grey eyes glittering, lightly vaults over the rail and follows him. “Well, I for one expected Alan Clark to go hell-for-leather here while Michael Stephens worked around him and tried to find a weakpoint,” Mak admits, “instead, Stephens met Clark head-on and has been taking the fight to him!” ‘FIVE! C’mon Mike, get him in the ring!’ Stephens glances up at Warner, grabs Clark and bashes his head into the apron for good measure, then rolls the dazed Disney employee under the bottom rope into the ring before hopping up to the apron. However, Clark has ended up positioned at a nice diagonal to the turnbuckle and something seems to ‘click’ in Stephens’ head. The Englishman pauses for a moment, then holds up three black-nailed fingers. Then he grabs the top rope and vaults up to it… …jumps and twists, landing on the top buckle and facing out to the crowd… …then backflips off into a moonsault which sees him come down right onto Alan Clark! *BANG!* Warner drops to count… ONE! TWO!! …but Clark kicks out! “That was the Mondo Akimbo A-Go-Go Moonsault,” Mak Francis says, “and we haven’t seen that for a couple of years!” “With a name like that, thank God,” King returns. Stephens grabs Clark and hauls him upright, then takes a front facelock and spins sideways to take the Happiest Guy On Earth down with a swinging neckbreaker. However, instead of releasing his hold Stephens retains it and pulls Clark back up again, this time twisting his opponent around until they’re back to back before sitting out with a Hangman’s neckbreaker. Clark grabs at his neck but Stephens grimly holds on as he rolls back up to his feet, and even hooks Clark’s arm as he does so. This time as he twists around Clark is caught in a tiger neck chancery and the resulting drop wrenches not only his neck but his shoulder as well! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Clark makes no immediate move to rise now, and Stephens pushes himself back to his feet and heads for the turnbuckles. The Tag Champion is in a good enough condition to grab the top rope in both hands and vault to the top rope, turning around as he does so to face into the ring. This time he somersaults off forwards, bringing his leg down across Clark’s throat with the Hangover! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Clark just suffered an unexpected Hangover,” Mak puns as the Englishman makes a lateral press, “and it really looks like Stephens is in control of this match!” ONE! TWO!! …but Clark kicks out again! Stephens doesn’t seem impressed and sets to work lifting his opponent up for some further punishment, then grabs Clark in a ¾ facelock and runs for the turnbuckles! However, Clark is wise to this attempt at the Sunny In England and shoves Stephens hard in the back to send the Englishman careering into the buckles chest-first, then leaps up to dropkick Stephens in the back and land on his feet with an inverted Kodak Moment! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Impressive reversal there by Clark,” Francis says, “and the International Champion certainly isn’t giving up without a fight!” Clark grabs his opponent as Stephens staggers backwards out of the corner, turns him around and Irish whips him towards the far buckles before starting to follow him in. Stephens doesn’t play by the rules and leaps up to the top rope ready to come flying back with the Role Reversal… …but Clark had this move scouted three years ago and he shows the same savvy now, only this time he diverts his run to shove Brian Warner into the ropes! The referee hits and the vibration causes Stephens to lose his footing at the vital moment and crotch himself! “AL-AN SUCKS!” “AL-AN SUCKS!” Clark grins (well, why wouldn’t he), not only at his opponent’s misfortune but also at the crowd’s reaction. Brian Warner rounds on the Happiest Guy On Earth and gives him a stern talking to about his tactics but Clark blows the referee off, then advances on Stephens and turns around so he’s facing away from the Englishman and reaches up to place one hand under each armpit… “It looks like Clark’s going for the Splash Mountain!” Mak shouts, and sure enough Clark starts to walk away from the corner with Stephens stretched out above him. The Tag Champion tries to throw his weight around and escape, but to no avail… *WHAM!* “Clark’s hit it!” Francis exclaims, “but can he capitalise?” Alan Clark takes a moment to grab a breath, then rolls into a cover with Stephens’ leg hooked… ONE! TWO!! …but the Englishman kicks out! Clark shoots a glower (it’s difficult to glower while smiling, but somehow he pulls it off) at Brian Warner, then takes hold of Stephens and pulls his opponent up again before hooking him up for a suplex. Clark doesn’t bother to snap this time, simply hoisting Stephens up, over and down… *BANG!* …then rolling his hips to come back to his feet with Stephens still in tow! Once more Clark hoists, and once more Stephens goes for the ride… *BANG!* “Alan Clark’s going for the Three O’Clock Parade here,” Mak comments. “I don’t care who you are, you shouldn’t be ripping off Johnny Dangerous,” King replies, “that’s never a wise move.” *BANG!* Clark gets back to his feet, a little out of breath after the effort of lifting Stephens up three times in quick succession, but the Happiest Guy On Earth only pauses for a moment before heading for the corner where he steps out to the apron. From there he starts climbing the turnbuckles, heading for the top rope. “Clark tried for the Talespin Crash earlier, but merely crashed and burned,” Mak reminds viewers, “will he fare better here?” Alan continues to climb and reaches the top rope, then simply leaps into the air! He pumps his arms and legs through the motion of the Frog Splash, then comes down smack on top of Michael Stephens’ ribs! *WHAM!* “Parkhopper!” Mak shouts, “and we’ve got a cover!” ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens gets his shoulder up! Clark is clearly frustrated but rolls Stephens over onto his belly, then stands quite deliberately on the back of both his opponent’s knees, hooking Stephens’ legs around his own. As if that wasn’t bad enough he then reaches forwards and grabs his opponent’s arms before leaning back and hauling Stephens backwards to a kneeling position, then leans back again until the Tag Champion is suspended overhead in the MEXICO surfboard! “AL-AN SUCKS!” “AL-AN SUCKS!” Brian Warner checks on Michael Stephens, who informs the referee that no, he’s not ready to submit yet, thanks so much for asking (two syllables, sounds like ‘buck cough’). However, the Englishman is clearly in trouble and try as he might, he can’t get free. “Say what you like about Alan Clark, for all his bizarrely-named moves and odd attitude, he’s got a definite gameplan,” Mak Francis notes, “he’s been concentrating on the midsection of Stephens, both the ribs and back; that’s not only going to limit his opponent’s mobility, but it sets him up nicely for something like the Monorailer that could provide Clark with a potentially match-winning hit.” Clarks’s arms are starting to tire a little with the strain of holding Stephens in the air, so the Happiest Guy On Earth rocks to one side, dumping Stephens down but retaining his grip. From there Alan gets back into position on top of his opponent, before hauling backwards again to bring Stephens up into another surfboard. However, this time Clark’s concentration seems to waver a little and as Warner circles he spies that the Disney employee’s shoulders have both touched down to the canvas… ONE! TW- -Clark instantly realises his mistake and jerks up to break the count, but Warner has his eyes firmly fixed on Alan’s shoulders now inbetween checking on Stephens, and try as he might Clark can’t keep them clear of the canvas… ONE! TW- -Clark jerks one shoulder up again, but then apparently gives the surfboard up as a bad job and rolls to one side, this time releasing his grip. Stephens is just glad to be free and tries to roll away, but Clark is on him right away and grabs the Englishman, then starts to haul him up. With Stephens more or less vertical again Alan wraps his right leg around Stephens’ left, then grabs his opponent around the shoulders and snaps backwards with a Russian legsweep before rolling on top into a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Stephens kicks out! Clark looks to capitalise quickly and drags his opponent off the canvas again, then hoists him up onto his shoulders and begins spinning. “I think Toxxic’s about to see a Whole New Whirl,” King comments, proving that Mak’s not the only one who can bring the punnage. “It may be named after a song from Aladdin,” Mak replies, “but the Airplane Spin will leave even the best wrestler dizzy and disorientated.” Sure enough, after several seconds of spinning Clark slows down and sets Stephens back onto the mat. The Disney employee waits a couple of seconds to steady himself, then as his opponent staggers around in a circle he launches a superkick that catches the Englishman square on the jaw! *SMACK!* Stephens collapses backwards and Clark dives on top for the cover… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens kicks out! Clark doesn’t look happy with the count and he makes another cover, trying to get even more leverage on the hook of the leg… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Stephens kicks out again! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The crowd chants start to ring around the Staples Center - not that Alan Clark seems very impressed. The Happiest Guy On Earth shouts at Brian Warner in a distinctly unhappy way, then grabs Stephens and hauls him up to his feet before kneeing him in the gut. With the Englishman doubled over Clark leans down and wraps both arms around his opponent’s torso, then gutwrenches Stephens up into a Canadian Backbreaker Rack… “Clark’s going for the Monorailer!” Mak shouts. …but Stephens has realised that this is a place he really doesn’t want to be, and the Tag Champion kicks his legs frantically. Clark tries to hold on but his opponent’s weight is just… a little… too far… back… “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and Stephens slips free out the back door, then runs for the ropes! The Englishman rebounds and hurtles back towards Clark- *BANG!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” -only to be taken back down again by a hard clothesline, as Clark reacts faster than Stephens had anticipated! “Stephens got free but ran straight back into trouble there,” Mak points out, “and Alan Clark is looking the stronger at this stage of the contest!” Clark, smiling again in that infuriating way, brings Stephens up and places him into a reverse headlock before reaching one arm out to the side. The crowd starts to boo again as he swings around for the Cutting In Line… …but as they go back-to-back Stephens lashes out with a back elbow that catches his opponent in the side of the skull, then grabs Clark’s head with his hands and twists around to bring Alan’s face down into his knee for a modified Pressure Drop! *CRUNCH!* Stephens brings Clark straight back up, then grabs him in a front facelock with his left arm, reaches out with his right arm and spins around to sit out and smash Clark’s face into the canvas with the Unfinished Business! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Clark hits hard and doesn’t move; Stephens has to catch his breath for a moment and winces at the pain in his spine from the jarring landing, then reaches down and slowly rolls Clark over onto his back. The Tag Champion makes the cover, ensuring that he hooks the leg… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Clark kicks out! “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” However, no matter what the Los Angeles crowd thinks, that was not three; not by the count of Brian Warner anyway, and he’s the one who matters. Stephens grimaces at the two fingers being brandished at him by the referee but grits his teeth and gets on with it. The Brit wearily hauls Clark up again (not without some degree of effort), then grabs a ¾ facelock and turns for the nearest turnbuckles… but this time Clark doesn’t even wait for his opponent to start running and delivers a forearm to the back which staggers Stephens, then reaches up and snares his opponent in a reverse headlock. Moments later, and- *BANG!* “Cutting In Line!” Mak shouts as the neckbreaker drives Stephens down to the mat, “Alan Clark could have just cut off Michael Stephens’ hopes of walking away with this match!” ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner shouts as neither man starts to get up. He watches both intently for signs of life… and Clark starts to stir, turning over onto his stomach. ‘TWO!’ No further count is necessary. Clark pushes himself upright, staggers, and stands. He looks down at Stephens and for a moment is clearly contemplating going for a cover. Then an eerie grin spreads across his face and he turns and makes for the turnbuckles. His path wobbles a little at first, but the effects of the recent blows to the head seem to fade and he reaches the corner without incident, then starts to climb. Stephens is still on his back on the mat and Clark reaches the top rope, raises both arms above his head and leaps off… …somersaulting as he descends towards his target… …which raises its knees at the last moment. *CRUNCH!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “DENIED!” Mak bellows as the Staples Center explodes, “Alan Clark went for the Fauntleroy, the move that beat Stephens three years ago in their first ever encounter, but Stephens was wise to it! ‘Playing possum’ might be an exaggeration,” the Franchise continues as Stephens starts trying to get to his feet, “but it’s safe to say that he wasn’t quite as hurt as he made out!” “That’s a cheap trick, and I’m not surprised Toxxic stooped to it,” King retorts, “it just shows he couldn’t take Clark in a fair match!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Clark rolls up to his knees, fighting against the burning pain in his ribs to get back to his feet. He knows that Stephens won’t have enough left for anything fancy like one of his kip-up enzuigiris, and sure enough as he turns around he sees the Englishman slowly getting up. Mike hasn’t got enough left to risk the possum tactic backfiring; from here on in, subtlety goes out the window. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Clark weighs up his options for a split second. He can charge and try to hit Stephens before he sets himself, or he can take the more cautious option and not rush in, bide his time and hope that Stephens will leave himself open. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Half a second later, Alan Clark charges at Michael Stephens, eerie grin plastered across his face and arm outstretched to hopefully knock him the fuck out, or at least knock him the fuck down. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Alan just has time to register the fact that an answering, lopsided grin has flickered across Stephens’ features before- *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “SOCCER TACKLE!” Mak yells. “FOUL!” King shouts back. Clark collapses to the ground with a piercing pain in his shins to match the one in his ribs. This time he doesn’t get the chance to rise under his own power, as Stephens scrambles across and grabs a double-underhook. The Englishman plants both feet and hauls upwards to drag Clark up, then falls backwards with his legs wrapping around his opponent’s body in a bodyscissors to lock the RTF II in on the hapless International Champion! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Alan Clark is trapped!” Mak exclaims, “if he can’t fight his way out, and I doubt he can at this stage of the match, his only chance is to try and roll Stephens back onto his shoulders for a pin!” “Come on Alan, you can do it!” King shouts, “don’t lose this now, you Disney freak!” Clark tries to free his arms; he can’t. He tries to buck his body and shake Stephens loose; he can’t. He tries to move himself across the mat towards where he knows the ropes must be, even though his head is bent down at an unnatural angle and he can see nothing but the canvas directly beneath him; he can’t. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Michael Stephens’ teeth are gritted and his body tense with effort, but the former World Champion is hanging on for all he’s worth. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Legs scrabbling on the canvas, Alan Clark tries to bull forwards and simply roll Stephens back onto his shoulders, force them down to the mat and get a pin, either for an outright win or to at least make Stephens release his hold to avoid the pinfall. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” He can’t. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Michael Stephens still hangs on, well aware that if he does so he has the match won. All Alan Clark has to look forward to if he hangs on is further pain. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Brian Warner leans down, asking again if Alan Clark wants to give it up. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” This time, he gets the answer that ends the match. *DING-DING-DING!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “here is your winner and Number One Contender to the International Title… MIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” Warner slaps Stephens on the shoulder, and a second later the Englishman releases his grip and finally allows Clark to slump to the side, where the Disney employee takes his first easy breath in most of a minute and tries not to move his arms too much. For his part, Stephens struggles to his feet and allows his hand to be raised by the referee. “Michael Stephens has done it, and with a win over the International Champion he’s back on track!” Mak Francis proclaims, “Tom Flesher and Joe Peters might not want the Sensation to get as much airtime, but if his performance tonight is any judge he’s still intending to make an impact on the SWF!” “If Toxxic wants to get anywhere he’d better stop teaming with that loser Landon Maddix,” the Suicide King snorts, “because he’s only going to be delaying the downward spiral otherwise!” “You mean his partner in the team that have held the World Tag Titles since before Genesis?” Mak scoffs, “yeah, you’re making as much sense as ever King. Maddix is the only man in history to have won the Clusterfuck twice, and he’s now on the way to meet Gabriel Drake at From The Fire with the World Title on the line - that’s pretty good going for a loser!” “Oh, and you think Toxxic’s ego will put up with Maddix getting all that attention?” King shoots back as Stephens rolls under the bottom rope and starts to head towards the back, “he kicked Spike Jenkins out of Revolution Zero because he was jealous!” “Fans, we’ve got to take a break,” Mak sighs, “and believe me, I wish I could turn King off for a couple of minutes-” “Hey!” “-but we’ll be right back after these for our main event featuring Gabriel Drake against Ricky Barbosa!” FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted February 16, 2007 FADE IN… “Hello and welcome back to SWF Storm-” “-That’s Tom Flesher presents SWF Storm and don’t you forget it, Francis!” Mak sighs and just shakes his head. “It’s officially Main Event time people and this is a hell of a challenge for the eighteen year old rookie Ricky Barbosa in his first ME ever, but he might be up to it!” Francis continues on this train of thought. “Gabriel Drake has been known to sleep on opponents he thinks are ‘beneath’ him and Barbosa could realistically pull this one out.” “Rickmen was an aberration, Francis,” King responds, “a lone, one in a million shot that will never happen… ever again. Period.” “I give you that it seems unlikely, but tonight, one wayward son has a chance to find his way and come out on top!” “CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON…” “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” And with that the opening guitar riffs of “Carry On My Wayward Son” by Kansas resound throughout the arena PA system. The crowd lets the young rookie know they have his back, as the song continues… “There’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more… …Suddenly, two large blue flares make their way to the sky from both sides of the entrance way, as The Wayward Son makes his appearance from behind the curtains and into the now shining spotlight! He pauses with his head facing downwards and waits for Funyon to announce him to the ring. “Making his way to the ring, from the City of Champions; weighing in tonight at one hundred and eighty-two pounds, this is ‘The Wayward Son’… RICKY BAAAAR-BO-SSSSSAAAAAA!” The lyrics fade away as Ricky makes his leisurely walk to the ring. Passing by the fans, he slaps the hands of a few of them before arriving at the ring steps. It dawns on Ricky that he has arrived at the point of no return, but doesn’t walk up them. Instead Ricky takes a long deep breath and as if to release the jitter bugs, breathes it all out into one huge sigh. “Ricky seems to be trying to get his mind right for this big contest.” Creaking his neck to his left and then right, Ricky finally walks up to the ring. The steps he takes are slow and deliberate, almost as if he wants to find some way, some how to run from the sold out crowd. His eyes are like that of a scared and cornered animal, yet at the same time there’s a fire deep within those eyes of unbridled anticipation and exhilaration. “He likes Alan Clark doesn’t he, Francis?” King responds. “His mind is far from right.” Realizing that on the other side of the ropes is his final destination; Ricky pauses on the ring apron and ushers over a staff member. Taking off his hat and leather trench coat, he hands it over to his new ‘butler’ and tells him to take care of them for him. With that over with and before the nerves get to him again, he hops into the ring as the crowd begins to quiet down… “And his opponent!” Funyon bellows, as 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 his 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, looking around the arena spotting each and every single fan attempting to taunt him as mercilessly as they can! Gabe smiles wide and then proceeds to saunter down towards ringside. “And speak of the devil…” Mak Francis starts. “The SWF World Heavyweight Champion, Gabriel Drake making his way to ringside and these fans would like nothing more than to see that cocky smirk wiped off his face after his defeat of JJ Johnson!” “With distraction… Violent reactions… Scars of my actions, watch me running out!” “Making his way to the ring, from Athens, Georgia, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds, he is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion! He is the ‘Beast’… GAAAAAAB-RI-EELLLLLL… DRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!” 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! “And I bet you think this chump he’s about to face can do it?” King asks, before laughing. “I actually liked JJ and didn’t think he could beat Gabe! What do you think I think about this clown?” Now at ringside, Drake gets to the ring steps and bounces on his toes before high stepping up the stairs and onto the apron! Walking to the center, he brings his hands down to frame the World Title on his waist and leans back, living in the moment! “The Devil's Rejects… The Devil’s Rejects…” The music slowly begins to fade, as Gabe wipes his feet before swinging his legs through the ropes. Eying up his opponent, Drake walks to the middle of the ring and looks down at the somewhat smaller man who seems scared to death… “Not much and it seems Drake feels the same way…” Mak adds as an afterthought, while tonight’s official Mark Hebner takes the belt from Gabe and after handing it to the ringside attendant, asks for the bell: *DING! DING! DING!* Drake and Barbosa turn the circle, each testing the ropes in their own way before clashing together in a collar and elbow tie-up. The gutsy eighteen year-old shoves against his older and much stronger opponent, but gets no where fast and instead ends up jostled backwards into a neutral corner. Hebner slides in between the two asking for a clean break and kinda receives one as the Beast relinquishes his hold and then pats the youngest on the cheek twice! “Ricky looks a little jittery in there, but all taunting him is going to do is fire the rookie up.” “It looks like Gabe has even less respect for Barbosa than he did for Rickmen.” King chimes in. “I know I do…” To his credit, Barbosa does gain some courage from the lack of respect shown by the SWF World Champion and lunges forward into another grapple! Drake stands his ground as Barbosa tries and fails again to budge him, but is surprised when Ricky quickly switches to a side headlock, catching the Beast off guard. Gabe scowls but swiftly shakes the rookie from around his neck, sending him to run the ropes! Upon his return Ricky dives ahead trying to knock Drake down with a shoulder block, but at the end of their encounter the Beast is the last man standing! The World Champ looks down, scoffing at the Wayward Son as he backpedals into the ropes and returns hopping over his opponent. Rebounding again, Drake ducks underneath a leapfrog from the cruiserweight, but strolls right into a deep arm-drag that spins him down to the canvas! Popping to his feet quickly, Gabe rushes right into another arm-drag that places him back on his back! “Barbosa is starting to push the pace!” Mak notes, as Ricky catches an angry charging Drake walking into an Inverted Atomic Drop! Bouncing off the knee of the up and comer, Gabe’s hand automatically flies to his jewels and he’s not prepared to defend against Barbosa’s clothesline… *WHAM…* …too bad it doesn’t knock the Beast over. “And what’s he going to do, Francis,” King asks, “beat Gabe with the most basic moveset I’ve seen since Shotgun Saturday Night?” Ricky backpedals into the cables and flings his arm ahead in another clothesline… but that ends much the same way as his first attempt! Barbosa seems to be wondering what he can do to topple the big man since nothing’s been working so far, but Ricky just keeps trucking cause that’s his style… “Jesus this guys a joke!” King adds while laughing. “He can’t even steal Shawn Michaels’ moves properly?!” “You’d know all about how to do that…” Reaching down, Barbosa tries to lift up Drake for the non-patented (well Barbosa hopes it isn’t) Body slam, but the Beast- *THWACK!* -smacks him across the face like a bitch! Ricky is forced to release his attempt at picking up the World Champ, while stumbling away and- *THWACK!* -eats a left handed palm to the jaw as well! Drake pivots on a dime and lashes out- *THWAP… THWAAAAAACK!* -rocketing the rookie with a nasty spinning backhand and immediately swinging his right foot up on a collision course with the side of Barbosa’s dome in a high kick!! The Wayward Son is knocked loopy by the strike and Drake uses his stunned demeanor to his advantage, wrapping his arm around Ricky’s chest then literally making him bend over backward before accommodating the mat with his face!! “Brute-force trauma!” Mak calls, as Drake sits up off the mat, smiling at the crowd. “Drake is toying with the rookie after he hit that huge high impact move. Even with the kids’ fighting spirit a cover there may have put him away…” Lifting Ricky to his feet by his hair, Drake pretty much scoffs in his opponent’s face after what he deemed a poor attempt at trying to wrestle and whips Barbosa towards the turnbuckles… …but Ricky runs the pads, getting to the top rope and doesn’t even look back before flipping backwards in a smoothly executed arch! His opponent though was looking and sees the body press coming so Drake just turns his back and walks away causing Ricky to hit nothing but air… until he hits mat that is!! “Oh my!” Mak shouts, as Barbosa holds his abdomin in pain! “Crash and burn by Ricky Barbosa, King! Drake saw it coming and nonchalantly avoided the Wayward Son’s wayward Moonsault!” Looking down at the distressed Barbosa, Drake walks over to the rookie and toes him over to his back before stepping on his stomach in a very lax cover!! ONE! TWO! …but only gets two as the underdog shoots from underneath his cocky pin! “The arrogant cover gets two, but I guarantee you that that won’t be the way Ricky Barbosa loses this match!” The Franchise says, watching as Gabe Drake ridicules the rookie. “He’s got too much heart for that!” “But at least you finally admit he’s going to lose.” King notes, as the Wayward Son tries to get to his feet. “You’ll come around to my way of thinking eventually though. Baby steps Francis, baby steps.” Feeling that Barbosa is taking too long making it to his vertical base, Drake grabs Ricky by the hair and yanks him up by the roots! Anguish covers the face of the eighteen year old kid, as he gets hefted up onto a broad shoulder of the Beast and walked around the ring like a show dog! Prepping for a running Powerslam, Gabe backs into the corner and then takes off for center ring! When kicking his legs, Barbosa slides off the side of Gabe’s shoulder, linking his arm with Drake’s own limb! Falling to the canvas, Ricky whips the World Champ onto his back sending him sliding through the ropes and to the outside!! “Slick counter from Barbosa and Drake looks like he’s going to take a tastykake break on the outside.” Mak looks on pensive. “You know I could really go for-” “-You already used that joke last show! Get some knew material you hack!” “Well I never…” Francis says affronted by his announce partner’s vitriol. Barbosa on the other hand is about to bring out some brand new material of his own! Running the ropes, the cruiserweight cartwheels towards the cables and then barely has time to measure the distance between him and his opponent before backflipping over the ropes and crashing into the World Champ!!! “Space Tiger Flying Drop!” Mak calls. “High-flying at its’ finest from the kid, Ricky Barbosa!” Both men are down on the outside as the crowd goes crazy for the high-flying move. After a few seconds, Barbosa stands and receive a huge cheer. His opponent meanwhile crawls over towards the ring apron. Ricky walks over and pulls the World Champ back to his feet, as Drake is using the apron to get to up, but Gabe hooks the waistband of Barbosa’s pants yanking him directly into the ringpost! *THUNK!* Ricky leans against the pole to stay up, after hitting the post face first, but Drake gives him no time to recover shoving Barbosa back into the ring. Drake rolls himself back into the ring while Ricky still struggles to get to his vertical base. Barbosa pushes himself up to his feet, trying to shake out the cobwebs, after being introduced to the steel. Meanwhile behind him, Gabe rebounds off the ropes behind them and sprints back, just as Ricky, still hunched over, turns around- *CRACK!* -and gets a running knee-lift to the chin!! Barbosa stumbles, miraculously staying on his feet, as Gabe strikes off for the ropes again, gaining extra momentum before- *WHAAAAAAM!* -pulverizing Ricky with a huge Lariat!! The Wayward Son flops to his belly getting knock ass over elbow and Gabe doesn’t hesitate at all, hopping back to the near ropes then rebounding back with a knee drop to the back of Ricky’s head, rolling through to a crouch! “Where’s that fire from earlier, Ricky?” King asks sarcastically. “This guy’s toast and everyone in the arena knows it!” Barbosa tries to stand, but Gabe just lifts him up and kicks him in the gut then smiles. Pushing the worn-out kid into a standing head-scissors, Gabe slides his arms around the Wayward Son’s mid-section and hauls him up into the air with ease! Holding him in place as he turns in a circle about the ring Drake readies to drop him through the canvas, but suddenly the rookie re-awakens, finding a second wind from somewhere, raining down overhead with punch to his opponent’s face!! Drake staggers slightly under the assault and that’s all the opening Barbosa needs, arching his body and swinging his legs about the head of Drake in a twisting huracanrana!!! “Counter—a Huracanrana! Ask and you shall receive, King!” Drake skids off the canvas and rushes to his feet, sprinting towards his opponent who leaps into the air connecting with a spinning wheel kick!! Barbosa tries to whip the Beast who reverses the throw and sends him towards the turnbuckles! Ricky agile as he is escapes by going over the top as Drake charges into the corner for an avalanche and he once Barbosa lands he preps for a Superkick, but Drake turns around and is wise to his next attack, catching the foot that lashes out for his face! “This joke is trying to show him up and Drake’s going to beat him like the red-headed stepchild he is because of it!” King says, as Gabe keeps the rookie hopping on one foot while he prepares to maul him with a clothesline… *CRACK!* …only to receive an enzuigiri which sends him stumbling back into the turnbuckles away!!! “Enzuigiri!” Mak shouts! “This is one red-headed stepchild that’s gonna be giving the beating instead of taking it!” Gabe hits the turnbuckles back first and Ricky measures him, pausing for a second before taking off and spring boarding off the bottom rope- *CRACK!* -to blast Drake with the sickening crack of a rising knee in the corner!! “Oh my! Did you HEAR that contact, Brian?” Mak calls, getting a muttered ‘Damnit…’ in response from King, as Barbosa lands back on the mat. “Barbosa looking for that bulldog headlock of his…” Francis adds, while Cross grabs Drake in a headlock and rushes out towards the center of the ring implanting Drake’s face into the canvas! “…And gets it! Ricky Barbosa is a house a fire!” “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Jesus, let’s just change the kids’ last name to Morton and be done with it…” King bemoans as standing center ring, Barbosa lets out a yell in response to the huge cheer from the audience and then falls into a cover! ONE! TWO! THR- -but Drake kicks out! Latching on a front headlock and lifting Drake up to his vertical base, the Wayward Son hefts Gabe up about as high as a one hundred and eighty pounder can and then stumbles towards the ropes. Realizing that he can’t keep him up, Ricky clips his opponent’s feet on the top cable, using the ropes to slingshot the bigger man back down to the canvas!! Rising to his feet, the rookie takes a good look at Drake’s position and takes off for the far ropes, bouncing back with added speed before tucking into a forward roll and exploding off the ground with a flipping senton!! “Rolling Thunder and the hits keep on rolling for Barbosa!” Mak calls as the Wayward Son gets to his feet and rebounds off the near ropes a running only a few steps and then diving ahead in a backward 360 landing flush on the World Champs sternum!!! “This is terrible, Francis, but what’s even worst is that the kid will probably name that move ‘Wish upon a Star’ or something equally dumb to be like his ‘mentor’!” “Alan Clark hate aside, a running Shooting Star Press is very impressive and he’s got a cover again!” ONE! TWO! THREE- -but the World Champ won’t stay down just yet! Ricky waits on Gabe, stalking his opponent and as he stands to his feet, nails the Beast in the gut with a toe kick! Hunched over Gabriel is in perfect position for a front headlock, which Barbosa swirls into a twist of fate! Walking out through the ropes, Barbosa slowly climbs up top for his rare 630 senton, but Drake is already getting up to his feet by the time he’s up there, so Ricky leaps off for a Flying body press… but he’s caught in mid-air “That’s power Francis!” King crows, as the Beast secures the struggling rookie and lifts him up high before driving Ricky’s back into his knee! Barbosa lets out a strangled yelp and continues to wiggle weakly, but Drake bending the Wayward Son across his knee again halts that!! Gabe nods his head proudly, walking the World Champ around the ring in a circle, showing him off to everyone before flipping him down to the canvas in a fall-away slam!!! “He’s just tossing him around like a rag doll now, King.” Mak notes, as Gabe lifts his opponent up to his feet and then backs away slightly. “When Drake gets in this kind of mood, he doesn’t even attempt pins…” Bursting forward Drake heaves Barbosa up into the air and smashes him forcefully into the canvas in a Spinebuster slam!! Ricky still doesn’t give up continuing to push himself to his feet, but Gabe lifts him quick and dirty spinning him down to the mat in a second Spinebuster!! Drake sits in the neutral corner stalking the Wayward Son as he pushes himself up to his hands and knees, then up to his vertical base and takes off diving into the Barbosa- *WHAAAAAAAM!* -just as he turns around with a Spear!!! Gabe grabs the sputtering Barbosa and shoves him into a standing head-scissors. Ricky, truly having been knocked loopy by the last move, has no fight left in him as he’s dragged up into the air with Gabe’s hands on his back holding him up only to send him right back down!! *BANG!* The Powerbomb hits with a dull thud and Hebner falls to make the count… ONE! …but he only gets to one count before Drake hoists again with a deep knee bend, dropping Ricky on his battered body in a second Powerbomb!! *BANG!* Rickmen crumples to the canvas, Drake stacking him up on his shoulders again, so with Hebner already down on the mat he counts… ONE! TWO! …but Gabe lifts one last time, lifting Ricky up to the apex and then twirling around in a circle while falling back to the mat in a Spiral Powerbomb!!! Barbosa seems to be knocked unconscious as Drake walks around the ring, to a great deal of loud booing from the audience… “He calls that the Unholy Trinity, King and as Hebner checks on the rookie Barbosa I don’t know if the match will continue after that attack…” “Francis,” King starts, as the referee taps Ricky’s wrist and gets no response, “if Gabe wanted to cover this match would have been over ten minutes ago!” *DING! DING! DING!* The bell sudden ring confirms everyone’s suspicions and Funyon making the call is academic… “Due to referee’s decisions that Ricky Barbosa is no longer able to compete… the winner of this match, the ‘BEAST’… GAAAAAAB-RI-EELLLLLL… DRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!” Hebner retrieves the Beast’s belt and hands it to him and then goes back to checking on Barbosa. “The rookie Ricky Barbosa put up a fight in his first Main Event, but Gabriel Drake is on a tear!” Mak says, as Drake lifts the title for all to see. “The year of the Beast continues on undaunted, but will the Cluster-*bleep* winner be able to topple his demons of old and his reign?” “Landon Maddix certainly better not and if he does, I may just kill myself…” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, King.” Mak adds, as we: FADE… Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2007 © A Superior One Production Raising Workrate by Actually Turning in Matches Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
