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SWF Aftershoxxxxxxxxxxxxx!!!!!!!!!

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he Cassell Coliseum in Blacksburg, Virginia is buzzing backstage. Technicians and assistants and the like running about frantically backstage, trying to make sure that everything continues to run smoothly during the show. The only calm figure in sight is that of an awkwardly loping blue, orange, and red figure.


If you can call him calm.


Fulminatus is indeed simply ambling through the backstage area, and although you likely wouldn’t be able to tell, he has no particular place to go.


He’s honestly just walking about. Looking for something to get into.


The New Blood Champion strolls about at a leisurely pace, sometimes allowing the lack of balance in his swaying body to carry him in a different direction. As he walks, the production assistants scurry out of his way as best they can, but it’s hard to avoid a man who doesn’t know where he’ll go next.


Fulminatus comes to an intersection in the hallway and, for some reason unknown to us and likely little known to him, he stops.


And he listens.






The frightening noise sends Fulminatus up against the wall, flat backed like some sort of a spy. Not the former tag champ one, either. It’s difficult to tell, but fear is etched across the face of the Cruiserweight Chaos Engine. His beard is right quivering with terror.






The noise again!


The panicked man is darting his head from side to side, too frightened to comprehend what’s going on.


What could it be?


An ape?


A stegosaurus?


Some horrifying invisible monstrosity from the hills of Dunwich?


The masked man’s mind races with the myriad silly possibilities of what could be making the loud noises in the hall behind him. Several members of the crew walk by and give him strange looks as they pass.






The curiosity of the madman overcomes his fear and he very tentatively cranes his neck around to observe the monster in the hall.





“Son of a bitch! That was fucking insane, Amy!”


“Yeah, innit?”


Danny Dagda takes his beer can and chucks it against the floor in anger. He then begins to dig around in his pocket for something, saying “Seriously, a girl shouldn’t be able to burp like that.”


“Oh sod off and pay me, cuntface!”


The New Blood Champion is floored.


His heart skips a beat.


“What angel is this?” Fulmy squeals aloud to himself.




“I am smitten!” he yells at the top of his lungs.




Amy and Dagda look at the strange being staring at them from behind the corner.


“Now who the fuck is that bloke?” Amy asks.


Fulmy remains motionless like a deer in headlights.


“OI!!” the Punk-Rock Princess yells, causing Fulminatus to run away at top speed like an embarrassed little girl.


Stephens shrugs her shoulders. “Alright, lissen up, Danny. Next time you feel like tryin’ to out-belch me, feel free. I’ll be plenty happy to take your money again, ya get me?”


Danny Dagda grumbles something unintelligible and wanders off, shoving a handful of crumpled bills into her hand as he goes.

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The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF Aftershox - Wednesday, August 8th from the Cassell Coliseum in Blacksburg, Virginia!


Due to the uber-condensed writing time and the whole post-PPV-let's-all-be-lazy thing, Aftershox is a promo show. If you reeeeally want a match, feel free to get down on your knees and beg for it, but I can't make any promises. :P

Promos are due Wednesday, August 8th, by 9:00 EST/6:00 PST. Send everything to Ace309.

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“Welcome back to Aftershoxx,” says Mak Francis. “And, coming to us tonight from the Bahamas, live via satellite, is the Wildchild! Wildchild, last week, at Ground Zero, you and Johnny lost the Tag Team Titles to Revolution Zero; in the process, Toxxic hit you with the dreaded Demonstar Driver… how are you feeling?”


“I’m fine,” replies WC. “Not'ing was broken… Hell, I been hit way harder den dat before. De doc’ says I sustained a Grade-2 concussion, an’ some minor muscle tears, but I’m gon’ be jus’ fine!”


“Glad to hear it!” says Mak. “So, you must be chomping at the bit to get back to the action!”


Wildchild shrugs noncommittally. “Not really,” he says. “I’ll be back whenever I get back… Right now, I’m jus’ chillin’ wit my peeples; I’m in no hurry at’all.”


“So, basically you’re running away?” challenges King.


The Bahama Bomber replies with a grin. “Not at all… when I’m ready t’come back, me an’ Johnny will exercise our return clause, an’ win our sixth championship. I’m jus’ takin’ it easy.”


“My apologies for my broadcast partner,” says Mak. “I’m quite acutely aware of the fact that concussions aren’t something you want to play around with.”


“True dat,” replies Wildchild. “I’m not gon’ be like some of dese cats dat get injured an’ come back before dey’re healed… I did dat once, an’ it was de biggest mistake in my wresslin’ career. I’m jus’ enjoyin’ my time here at home: I jus’ got engaged, an’ me an’ Missy have been… enjoyin’ each ot’ers company, if’n ya get what I’m sayin’.”


“I do indeed,” says Mak. “And congratulations on your engagement… But, when you finish healing, you plan to come back and get revenge on Toxxic, right?”


But Wildchild shakes his head. “I don’ care about getting’ no revenge on Toxxic. He was doin’ what he felt he had t’do t’win de titles… I don’ got no hard feelin’s about him.”


“You don’t have hard feelings about the guy that put you on the shelf?” King asks incredulously.


“Not really,” replies Wildchild. “Dere ain’t no rivalry between Wild an’ Dangerous an’ Revolution Zero, an’ dere ain’t no beef between me an Toxxic, at least not from me; I don’ spend any time t’inkin about dem at’all, actually. T’me, dey’re jus’ two guys dat are keepin’ our belts warm… we’ll get what’s ours whenever we’re good an’ ready.”


“Well, since you don’t appear to be all that concerned with winning back the tag team titles,” asks Mak, “are you going to come back for the World Cruiserweight Title instead?”


“Probably not,” replies WC. “Dat kid’s jus’ anot’er place holder. I can beat him any time I want, an’ I’m in no rush. All dat matters t’me right now is enjoyin’ my fiancé’s company, an’ lookin’ after my business interests here on de island, like my gym.”


“You own a gym?” laughs King. “Why are you so light in the ass, then?”


LeCroix breaks out into a guffaw. “I’m built for speed, King, you know dat. Johnny’s de power of de team; I couldn’ do de t’ings dat I do if I were much heavier… But dat’s cool, doe…”


“Well, Wildchild, since you’re obviously having a good time, don’t let us get in your way any longer,” says Mak. “Take it easy!”


“No doubt,” replies WC. “By de way, how did you like de Malibu I had shipped to you an’ King’s dressin’ rooms?”


“I’ll thank you to keep your nasty banana-flavored rum in the Caribbean, thank you very much!” snorts King.


“Don’t mind him,” replies Mak, with a chuckle. “He’s probably going to drink the whole fifth tonight, right after the show… Thanks Wildchild!”


“No problem,” replies the Bahama Bomber. “You cats take it easy, an’ I’ll see you all in a few weeks!”



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Aftershox returns following a short word from the SWF’s sponsors, and Ben Hardy stands in front of the Aftershox backdrop. Next to him is one half of the five-time former World Tag Team Champions, Johnny Dangerous, and his presence is the cause of a booming cheer from the crowd in the arena.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hardy begins after a slight pause to let the fans settle. “This is Ben Hardy live on scene with Johnny Dangerous. Johnny,” he says, turning towards the Barracuda. “At Ground Zero, you and Wildchild were the targets of an absolutely vile British crowd during the course of your match against Revolution Zero, while your opponents received much of the fans adoration. Revolution Zero won the match, going so far as to hit the tabooed demonstar driver on the Wildchild, that has now sidelined him. What are your feelings on all of this?”


“My feelings?” Dangerous incredulously asks. “You’re asking how I felt about going out to Stonehenge to defend the Tag Team titles in front of a malicious crowd? Ben, in this business I’ve come to realize that not everyone is going to like you. Sure some folks seem to be liked a lot more than others - you can’t expect everyone in the entire world to like you. However, just as the fans in England were cheering on Revolution Zero, I know the fans watching at home were rooting for Wild and Dangerous!”


Johnny pauses as the cheers of the crowd in the arena can be heard all the way to backstage. Their cheer, confirms the Barracuda’s speculation about the home crowd on Wild and Dangerous’ side.


“Now, what happened in the match is another thing,” Dangerous continues. “Revolution Zero proved that Ground Zero was their night as they defeated us for the titles. For that, they deserve the praise. On the other hand, how they won those belts leaves a lot to be desired.”


“You mean Toxxic using the demonstar on Wildchild?” Ben asks.


“Most definitely,” Johnny affirms. “Toxxic showed that once again he has no problems crossing the line. Just like he showed us when he chokeslammed Wildchild to the floor back in February, but that only pushed us harder. Stephens wants to claim the kids gloves are off so Toxxic, just remember that little comment when Wild and Dangerous is one hundred percent and we come knocking for our return match. All bets will be off so don’t blame us for what happens to you.”


“In the meantime, I wish Nic the speediest of recoveries… and I also have to apologize to you in advance, Dominic.” Johnny nervously pauses. “For the next few weeks it’s just Dangerous – solo, and I’ve been waiting patiently for eight weeks.”


“Are you saying tha-”


“You have no idea what I’m saying, Ben!” Johnny snaps. “I’ve waited since the close of 13th Hour for this. The same show where I was wrestling a three man elimination—every man for himself—and was ganged up on like a drunk girl at a fraternity party.”


“If you’re issuing a challenge for Alan Clark at Genesis, the line is already getting pretty long, Johnny.”


“I realize that,” Johnny answers. “Everyone and their grandma want’s a shot at the World Title at Genesis and that’s fine. What I want, and what I plan to take, is a bit of vengeance for 13th Hour, and since that little Mickey Mouse lovin’ son of a bitch will only fight in the ring and since he only shows up once every four weeks or so, I’m just going to have to take him down before Genesis!”


Again the roar of the crowd can be heard, and this time a faint “JOHN-NY” chant is also audible.


“Now don’t get me wrong here. There is absolutely nothing wrong with loving Mickey Mouse or anything the fine people at Disney produce, nothing at all… so long as you happen to be under the age of 12 and not a grown frickin’ man!”


“Ouch! That’s pretty harsh,” says Ben, trying to hide the smile and remain impartial.


“What’s harsh is having to watch a grown man parade around in Peter Pan outfits while holding the most respected World Heavyweight Championship in professional wrestling! What’s harsh is watching him and his fat slob of a body guard enter any SWF arena, and what will be harsh is my foot up his sorry ass!”


“So Alan Clark, I hope you enjoy the next few weeks sitting on your ass at home so you won’t have the opportunity to loose the Championship, while the rest of us bust our ass for the millions that come to our shows. While you’re at it, dream up some lame way to stretch out your title reign to Genesis; a pipe dream is all it will be cause you won’t make it that far with the belt! When me and you face off you’ll leave the arena just like you left when you and Spike challenged Wild and Dangerous…a loser.”




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Amy Stephens approaches her dressing room after the show, looking forward to grabbing yet another can of lager with which to sit back and enjoy the evening. As she closes in on the door, though, she hears the sound of rustling from within. Did she leave a fan on? No, couldn’t have been.


The rustling gets louder and she begins to worry.


“What the fuck could be making that bloody racket?”






Something glass falls over and very audibly breaks within.


“Alright, whoever’s in there had best get the fuck out sharpish or you won’t be happy when I get in, ya get me?”


The rustling suddenly stops and Amy takes the moment and throws open the door, fists raised, clearly ready for a fight. “OI!!” she yells as she throws herself inside, but is brought face to face with…






A duck.






“What the fuck?”


The duck stands quietly and unassumingly in the middle of her dressing room. Everything that was once standing has now been knocked over, including a tall lamp, now shattered to pieces on the ground. The duck stands quietly in the center of the carnage, looking as innocent as a duck can possibly look, with a note tied with a blue ribbon around it’s neck.


Amy is absolutely livid. She runs over to the duck, now apparently very docile, and does her best to catch it, but ducks have a quickness to them and this one is no exception, eluding Amy at every turn. After a good five solid minutes of ridiculous and hilarious chasing, Amy grabs her duffle bag and chucks it at the duck, momentarily trapping the creature beneath it. The Punk-Rock Princess grabs the water fowl by the feet and after a moment or two of fighting off the flapping wings of the frantically quacking bird, manages to remove the note.


Still holding the squirming duck in her off hand, she reads it.



A present to the most stunning creature imaginable. From, Your Secret Admirer



“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”


With that, she runs to the door and throws it open again, stepping out into the hall and yelling loudly.


“Now who the hell put this fucking mal-lard in my room, innit?” she screams. “If I find out who did this, I’ll kick your fucking arse, ya get me?”


Behind a small black equipment box, Fulminatus giggles profusely, trying desperately to hide his laughter.


“You know I can see you, right?” Amy says as she looks over at Fulmy behind his absolutely horrible hiding spot.


Before she can say anything further, Fulminatus just runs away at full speed, giggling like a child.


“Fuckin’ hell.”



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As Aftershox returns from commercial break, “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd begins to play over the PA. But forget about spotlights or pyro or any of the amenities that are seen these days on a professional wrestling card. All we get is Jay Hawke storming the ring, a noticeable limp in his step, a look of anger in his eyes and a scowl on his face.


Francis: “Here comes the man who came within an eyelash of winning the World Heavyweight Championship at Ground Zero, and judging from the look on his face, he is not happy.”


King: “Would you be happy, Mak?”


Francis: “I’d be disappointed, I’ll admit that.”


King: “So how do you think Hawke feels? That was his first pay-per-view main event, and he might never get an opportunity like that again!”


Jay Hawke storms over to the timekeeper’s table and rips the microphone out of Funyon’s hand, shouting “Stop the damn music” as he climbs up the steps to the ring, favoring the right leg the whole time.


Francis: “Why do I not get a good feeling about this?”


Hawke: “I have had it! I have had it with the officiating, I have had it with the suits, I’ve had it with you idiot fans…I HAVE HAD IT WITH THIS COMPANY!”









Hawke: “Yeah, it’s garbage like that that I’m talking about. You idiots wouldn’t know real talent if it bitch slapped you in the face, and if you’re not careful I might just prove it.”





Hawke: “What happened at Ground Zero was a travesty! Now I’ll give Alan Clark all the credit in the world, because he wrestled a better match than I ever dreamed he would. But the facts remain…”










King: “He’s snapped.”


Francis: “He’s delusional.”


Hawke: “I was pounding on the mat to try to rally myself for my inevitable comeback and victory, but since the referees in this company watch too much UFC and don’t know the damn difference anymore, some reject from the Land of Misfit Toys is holding my championship belt! I want my rematch, and I want it at Genesis, and I want an “I Quit” Match so there can be no doubt as to the final result.”


Francis: “He’s nuts. He clearly tapped out at Ground Zero, and no amount of rationalizing is going to put him back in the title picture.”


King: “I’d like to see the rematch, but you’re right. I don’t think he has a leg to stand on.”


Hawke: “So I want Tom Flesher out here right now, and I’m demanding he announce the rematch!”


Hawke gets some company, but he doesn’t get the boss. Instead, the lights begin to flicker around the arena as the violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” blast through the PA system.





The horrifying shriek of a laugh from lead singer Frank Palmieri sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance.


King: “Not Spike Jenkins!”


Francis: “Indeed, Spike Jenkins is heading to the ring, he’s carrying a microphone of his own, and I think he’s got some words for Jay Hawke here.”


King: “Because the world was just waiting for this one.”


Jenkins: “Jay, Jay, Jay. Let me ask you a question. Do you ever watch the tapes of these shows and listen to yourself talk? I mean, I know babies that cry less than you are right now. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I got beat like a red-headed stepchild. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Pathetic. And yet you seriously expect to be granted a shot at the title?”


Hawke: “What are you doing here, Spike? Look, I told you when I saw you sleeping on the corner in Richmond, I don’t have any change for a bottle of booze to keep you warm tonight.”


Jenkins: “Funny. It just so happens that I came out here to challenge Alan Clark to another shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.”





Francis: “There’s a lot of speculation as to who’s going to get that shot, but you’d think somebody new would be granted it.”


King: “Well, Tom Flesher hasn’t announced a number one contender yet, so these two might be looking to impress.”


The conversation between Mak Francis and Suicide King is broken up by the sound of Jay Hawke laughing hysterically.


Hawke: “Wait, you’re serious? What’s your career record in the SWF? I mean, is your win/loss record even like .500? Let me give you a free lesson, Spike. To be the number one contender to the World Championship, you actually have to win a match or two once in a while.”


Jenkins: “Well, let’s face it. I think I’m more deserving of a title shot than you are right now.”










Hawke: “History lesson. At one point, as the so-called number one contender to the World Title, I seem to recall Manson blowing you up into 685,000 bite size pieces, which pretty much ended any hopes of winning the World Heavyweight Title.”


Jenkins: “Says the man who tried to make the chop block a legitimate finishing move.”


King: “Are they auditioning for a shoot interview tape or something?”


Jenkins: “What makes you worthy of getting another title shot to completely ruin?”


Hawke: “What makes me worthy of the shot? How about 274 consecutive days as SWF International Champion?”


Jenkins: “Well, thanks for the history lesson, Jay. What have you done lately?”


Francis: “Oh man. We might need to get security ready to go here.”


Hawke: “Look, do you seriously believe you’re more worthy of the shot than I am? I seem to remember than the last time you and I met in the ring, you submitted to the prematch handshake!”


Jenkins: “And at the time, I was preparing for a title match. Maybe next time we meet, I’ll be the one teaching you a wrestling lesson.”










Hawke: “You know what? That’s a hell of an idea. How about next week we see who the most worthy of a title shot is? You and me, one on one, right here in this ring?”


Jenkins: “You’re on!”





Jenkins: “But you might want to hope that leg’s in better shape or I’ll be the one making the chop block a finishing hold.”


As Jay Hawke’s scowl returns to his face, Spike Jenkins casually leaves the ring as the fans once again chant:










Francis: “Well, it looks like we’ve got a match for next week, but there’s only one problem. They’re treating it like a number one contenders match, and we don’t even know if they’re even under consideration for the title at this point.”


King: “Well at least we’ll get to see Spike Jenkins scream louder than the girl I met at the hotel last night.”


Francis: “That was more information than I needed to hear.”


King: “You’re just jealous I didn’t let you watch.”


Francis: “We have a match signed for Storm next week! That's it for tonight!”




SWF AftershoxxxXXXxxx, August 8, 2007

© 2007, Acid Rayn Productions. All rights reserved.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: Raising workrate by typing faster

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