TUESDAY. NIGHT. FIGHTS.06/27/2006
FRANK WARBURTON: The following Pure Honor contest is for the coveted Kiniski Cup, and is scheduled for one fall... "Path" by Apocalyptica hits the PA and the Polish Hall gives a mixed reaction to the "White Collar Assassin" known as Ravager. He emerges alone, Tiffany noticeably not at his side anymore. JACK JONES: This idiot let go of a perfectly fine manager... hell, he didn't even know what to do with her, the idiot. BILL HEWSON: Do you want to get dropped on your head? Folks, welcome to NAPW Tuesday Night Fights. And we're starting things off in style tonight: the Pure Honor Championship--the Kiniski Cup--is up for grabs in a much anticipated and sure to be heated match. FRANK WARBURTON: Approaching the ring, from Brooklyn, New York. Weighing in at Two-Hundred and Ten pounds. He is the man, the myth, the RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAVAGERRRRRRRRRRRRRR! The former hitman is all business tonight, pacing around impatiently until "The Number Song" by DJ Shadow replaces his theme. The crowd gives another mixed reaction, but this time more bordering on heat. Mr. Maps makes his presence felt and takes it all in with a deep breath through his nostrils. He is shadowed by his young charge, Patrick Bickle, carrying his barb-wrapped contribution to abstract art--the Kiniski Cup. JACK JONES: Ol' Gene would be so proud of our Pure Honor Champion. BILL HEWSON: More like rolling over in his grave, if you ask me. JACK JONES: ...he's not dead, Hewson! It's not a memorial cup! BILL HEWSON: ... Well, you... geez. Well, I got nothing. JACK JONES: I hear that about you. FRANK WARBURTON: From New York City, across the East River from his opponent, weighing in at One-Hundred and Seventy Five Pounds... he is the reigning Pure Honor Champion of NAPW... PAAAAATRIIIIIIIIIICK BICKLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEE! Bickle hands the cup to Mr. Maps, who gingerly places it on the timekeeper's table to avoid being cut by the barb wire. Bickle slides into the ring and raises his fist before standing toe-to-toe with Ravager; both of fairly equal height, but Ravager noticeably bulkier by thirty-five pounds. They nearly butt heads and give one another the intense stare down before simultaneously reaching out and giving one another a hard, squeezing hand shake. New referee Anthony Uruburu is making his NAPW debut in this match, having cut his reffing teeth over in his native England and all over Europe. He makes sure both men understand the rules before giving the signal and DING! there's the bell. A collar and elbow tie-up quickly turns into a rear waist lock by Ravager. Bickle tries furiously to break his opponent's hold on him, even lifting himself off the mat. Ravager slams him forward with an amateur wrestling drop and spins around him into a front face lock. Bickle gets to his feet and Ravager holds on, clubbing his man on the back and lifting a knee into his gullet. Ravager throws the left arm over his neck and lifts Bickle high before dropping him with a vertical suplex. Bickle lands high and tight, pressing on his lower back. Ravager is on him with some stomps to the affected are before locking him and sending him sailing with a Northern Lights suplex. Cover by Ravager is only for two as Bickle powers out. Ravager forgets, or possibly forsakes, the rules and blasts Ravager with a closed fist. Uruburu gives him a stern warning and gives the signal to Frank Warburton. FRANK WARBURTON: Ravager has been issued a warning due to use of a closed fist. Ravager doesn't seem to mind as that punch hit it's mark, causing a mouse to form under Bickle's right eye. Ravager unleashes with some knife-edged chops to the chest and whips his man into the corner. Ravager charges, but Bickle stops and leaps over his man backwards and Ravager hits the turnbuckles chest first. Bickle grabs the back of his man's head and unleashes with some devastating headbutts that cause his forehead to bleed just a bit. Uruburu warns him about head butting, but Bickle fails to listen and uses his head and shoulder to ram Ravager into the corner. Bickle pays Ravager back with a hard right to the jaw and Uruburu has seen enough. FRANK WARBURTON: Patrick Bickle has been issued a warning due to use of a closed fist. JACK JONES: What do those warnings do anyway? Useless. BILL HEWSON: Get warned a second time and you could lose a rope break, or worse. JACK JONES: Like those mean anything. BILL HEWSON: They do if you're locked up in a submission, with nowhere else to go. But then, you wouldn't know about that would you Mr. "Submit Before The Hold Is Even Fully Applied", now would you? JACK JONES: Hey, I'll thank you never to bring up THAT match. What I really said was "I give up, I don't know what the capital of Norway is" and the dumb ref thought I was giving up in the match... yeah, that's the ticket. Bickle then plays it safe by unleashing with some forearm shivers before repositioning his challenger and Irish whipping him across the ropes. Ravager ducks a clothesline attempt and hits the opposite ropes, only to end up on one end of a double clothesline, as both men were thinking the same thing. Both are down as Uruburu issues a ten count. He gets up to seven before Ravager is to his feet first, followed by Bickle. Ravager wants to show Bickle the meaning of "Business is Business," but the Muscle Buster is blocked and Bickle turns the tables on him with a swinging neckbreaker. Bickle is fired up and lays into his man with stomps to the head and back before dropping him again with a snap suplex. Bickle climbs to the top rope and the crowd gives a murmur. BILL HEWSON: What is this loose cannon liable to do from up there? JACK JONES: What he always does... use himself as a weapon without regard for his well-being. Gotta love it! Bickle measures his man and when Ravager is on his feet and turning, Bickle is there with the dropkick off the top, send Ravager crashing through the ropes and outside. Mr. Maps sees it coming and pleads with his charge to take it easy and just rest for a bit. Bickle doesn't care to listen as Ravager is slowly getting to his feet on the outside. Bickle gets a running start and flies out of the ring with a plancha suicida, aimed right at the White Collar Assassin. Luckily for him, Ravager had the move scouted, and Bickle ends up eating guardrail. He is now bleeding profusely from the mouth and forehead as Ravager takes advantage by rolling back into the ring for a rest. JACK JONES: That's the smartest thing Ravager has done all day. BILL HEWSON: Gutsy high-risk by Bickle, but they don't call it high-risk for nothing. Ravager waits until the count reaches seven and grabs the prone Bickle from outside the ring and rolls him back in. Ravager mouthes a threat to Mr. Maps, who got too close for comfort, and pulls his man into a pin. Only two as Bickle shoots his left shoulder up. Ravager gets a sadistic smile on his face as he grabs the same left arm and kicks Bickle in the armpit. Ouch! This is followed by an arm wringer that he torques and lifts before slamming down, an attempt to weaken the shoulder and rotator cuff. Ravager slams Bickle's head into the turnbuckle before setting him up on the far bottom one, facing the crowd. Ravager gets a sick grin on his face before raising a single finger and unleashing with a curb job-style kick to the back of the head. The Silencer! Mr. Maps is horrified as Ravager drags his prone opponent and makes the cover. Only two as Bickle lays a free leg across the ropes. FRANK WARBURTON: Patrick Bickle has just utilized his first rope break! JACK JONES: Hooked the wrong leg there, Ravager. Get your head straight. BILL HEWSON: Easy to say that in hindsight, you jerk. JACK JONES: You're just mad because I won the office pool by picking Carolina to win the cup in seven. Ravager feels it's time for Last Resort, and prepares to drop Bickle on his head and neck with his vicious Dragon Suplex variation. Bickle manages to free himself from Ravager's grasp and stops him with a throat thrust to the windpipe. Ravager is incapacitated for a moment and Bickle uses all of his intestinal fortitude to hit the ropes for momentum and spears Ravager right outside the ring. The White Collar Assassin is down and out yet again as Uruburu administers the count. Bickle uses the ropes as a springboard and takes flight, nailing his man with a Frog Splash on the concrete amid a sea of flashbulbs. BILL HEWSON: Holy Toledo! JACK JONES: This freak is insane, he probably hurt himself with that move as much as it hurt Ravager. This does seem to be the case, as Bickle is slow to recover. Mr. Maps tries to help, but Uruburu threatens him with expulsion. Bickle woozily gets to his feet and rolls Ravager into the ring just at nine before rolling in himself and making the weak cover. Ravager kicks out at two and Bickle gets that look in his eye. Time for the Free Fall? Bickle is setting himself up on the top when Ravager, having gained his second wind, runs over and ends up tossing Bickle off the top and the champion falls on his back in the middle of the ring. Ravager climbs to the 2nd rope and unleashes with an elbow drop to the face ala Bret Hart. Ravager covers, but only for two. He lifts his man, but Bickle pulls him into a small package. Only two as Ravager reverses the package pin, and Bickle kicks out just in time. Ravager floors the smaller man with a clothesline and stomps away at him while grabbing the ropes for support and leverage. Ravager chokes his man with his boot and uses the ropes to his advantage. Uruburu threatens him and Ravager shoves the new ref aside. Uruburu is irate and lets them know through Frank Warburton. FRANK WARBURTON: Due to assaulting the referee and blatantly disobeying the rules, Ravager has been penalized for TWO rope breaks. This gets Ravager very upset, and he lets Uruburu know it by getting into his face and spitting his venom. Uruburu is a tough limey and won't back down from the verbal tirade as Bickle hooks and cradles his man from behind into a pin. Ravager just barely kicks out at two and Bickle floors him with a head scissors takedown as he gets to his feet. Bickle into another cover, but Ravager kicks out in time again. Ravager feigns an injury and plays possum while Bickle unwisely gets too close and takes the bait. Ravager with a thumb to the eye... followed by a Last Resort to cover his tracks (and kill Bickle dead). That's going to be all! Ravager covers... but Bickle is close enough to lay a foot on the ropes. FRANK WARBURTON: Patrick Bickle has just utilized his 2nd rope break! BILL HEWSON: Back to square one. A single break each. JACK JONES: Pure Honor is a crock, if you ask me. I like Ravager's new attitude on display here. BILL HEWSON: How can you support a man who doesn't live up to his word and uses dirty, underhanded tactics like he has tonight in what should be a Pure Honor match? JACK JONES: Cause I'm smart and you're not... that's why I gamble, too! Ravager is ready to deliver Instant Karma, but Bickle wills himself to slip out of the brainbuster variation and lands on his feet. Ravager turns only to be arm dragged across the ring. Ravager charges with a head of steam, and Bickle nails him with a desperation spear. Both men are spent at this point and are slow to get up. The crowd seems to be behind Bickle, as he's covered in a half-crimson mask, but still fighting on. Ravager wants another Dragon Suplex, but Bickle slips under and grabs his man's arm with him. Pumphandle slam connects. Bickle covers, but only two. Ravager hits a European uppercut on a rising Bickle and charges at the staggering champion. Bickle was playing possum a bit as he catches his man in a momentum-fueled powerslam. Ravager is down and Bickle climbs to the top as fast as he can. Bickle doesn't even bother to measure as he unleashes with the Freefall, catching Ravager awkwardly but painfully. For Bickle, that's perfectly. Bickle grabs his shoulder and throws himself into the pin, enough for the count of ONE, TWO, THREE! FRANK WARBURTON: Your winner, and stiiiiiiilll Pure Honor Champion... PATRIIIIIIIIICK BICKLLLLLEEEE! JACK JONES: I don't believe this. BILL HEWSON: Patrick Bickle refuses to give up his Kiniski Cup, and is willing to sacrifice body, mind, and soul for it. JACK JONES: Oh, shut up, Hewson. I need a belt. BILL HEWSON: If you mean a leather belt across your hide, then yes. Mr. Maps is checking on his man, who is hurt, but still able to walk out on his own, clutching tightly to the barb-wire wrapped around his cup. Ravager is shaking off the cobwebs and looks ready to kill someone. He sees Uruburu with his back turned and... LAST RESORT! Referee Anthony Uruburu is laid out with a possible broken neck as Ravager seethes and garners some much deserved heat. BILL HEWSON: Somebody needs to stop this animal, Ravager, before he kills someone. JACK JONES: Well, he is an assassin, you know. A hired gun. A HITMAN. What made you think Ravager was nice? BILL HEWSON: Well, a lot of things over the past seven months. The frustration of his sputtering Revolution seems to have gotten to him tonight... we have to take a commercial break. When we return, a big-time tag team match! The New & Improved D-X go up against those SEXY, ADORABLE DRUNKS. Don't go away!
BILL HEWSON: Welcome back to Tuesday Night Fights, folks, we've still got TWO, count 'em, TWO major title matches STILL TO COME tonight, but WHAT A MATCH we've got for you NOW. It's two of the most notorious tag teams in the NAPW, and they're going head-to-head, NOW. Foo Fighters rock Polish Hall from side to side. The New & Improved D-X come out... to a MIXED reaction. Bruce "The Beast" Richards' cold sneer and Stylin' Kyle Roberts running his mouth on the fans by the entrance ramp earn them a LOT of boos, except for a section of jackasses somewhere who've started up a loud "CHARTS!" chant. FRANK WARBURTON: The following contest is a TAG TEAM CONTEST with SUPERSTAR RULES and scheduled for ONE FALL. Making their way to the ring, weighing in at a combined weight of FIVE-HUNDRED, TWENTY-SEVEN POUNDS, representing ST. ALBERT, ALBERTA and MOOSE JAW, SASKATCHEWAN... they are THREE-TIME, FORMER TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... BRUCE "THE BEAST" RICHARDS! STYLIN' KYLE ROBERTS! THE NEEEEEEEEW! AND IMPROOOOOOOOVED! DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-X! BILL HEWSON: D-X seems to have falen on hard times lately, and they need to make that climb back up the rankings if they're EVER going to be FOUR-time Tag Team Champs. That's their motivation for taking on the Sexy Adorable Drunks, but they're not crazy about S.A.D.'s methods! JACK JONES: It's been a heated, controversial battle to drop the SUPERSTAR rules--but to help you make sense of it, here's the NAPW Video Department. EDITOR: Well, you see, D-X has asked more than once to have the SUPERSTAR No-DQ No-Count-Out rules dropped from this match, bt it hasn't happened. SOUND GUY: Yeah, they've pretty much been ignored over this issue. JACK JONES: ... great job, guys. D-X hits the ring, with both men climbing the turnbuckles and triumphantly making an "X" with their crossed fore-arms. The vocal Edmonton crowd gives them WHAT FOR, but just when they've had their fill--"I'M! TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT! TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT! SO! SEXY! IT! HUUUUURTS!" Sloppily dancing their way out the curtain, Krusty Kid Paul and Tommy Deathrow enter the Hall--leading a goat in with them by a length of rope. The crowd--very Delivery Man-filled--is noisy with HATE FRANK WARBURTON: And introducing their OPPONENTS, being accompanied to the ring by SIR GOATEA MC GOAT BALLS, weighing in at a combined weight of FOUR-HUNDRED, NINETY-FOUR POUNDS, representing KITCHENER, ONTARIO and ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA... they are so SEXY that they make the THIRD-SEXIEST MAN on Earth look like EUGENE LEVY and DON'T YOU FORGET THAT... ONE-HALF of VIOLENCE INTERNATIONAL... SHOWSTOPPA KRUSTY KID PAUL! SUPERSTAR TOMMY DEATHROW! SEEEEEXY... ADORABLE! DRUUUUNKS! JACK JONES: Looks like they finally have Warburton trained. BILL HEWSON: What about this "Violence International", this UNHOLY ALLIANCE between S.A.D. and the Bi-Polar Express? What are we gonna make of that, even ONE WEEK LATER? JACK JONES: What are you SUPPOSED to make of it? It's in their NAME. They're FOCUSED, DANGEROUS and TOGETHER. What do you NEED to UNDERSTAND? BILL HEWSON: Well, I-- JACK JONES: Don't MAKE me bring the SOUND GUY back. Deathrow ties Sir Goatea to the guard rail and S.A.D. hit the ring. D-X give them the dirty eyeball, but keep to their side of the ring as the punks do the same. BILL HEWSON: One more thing before we start? JACK JONES: What's that? BILL HEWSON: Why the GOAT, exactly? JACK JONES: Because Tiffany McIntyre wasn't available. HEY-O! RING RING goes the bell. MEH MEEEH goes the goat. Kyle Roberts gives Bruce Richards the "you owe me one" look and starts off as D-X's legal man, squaring off against Krusty Kid Paul. Paul starts off with a right hand to stun Roberts, right hand, right hand--Irish Whip sends Roberts into the ropes, and KKP is ready to Back Body Drop him... Roberts kicking him in the face means "too soon". Like 9-11 jokes. Paul cups his face but is still bent over,Roberts drops his elbow into KKP's back, sending KKP to his knees. Roberts goes back to the ropes, comes back with a Running Knee Smash--nobody home, KKP has the move scouted and dodges. Looking over his shoulder, Roberts thrusts his leg back, Mule Kick--and KKP's caught the foot! What's this? Roberts hops off of his other foot, Reverse Enziguri to knock KKP down. Cradle roll-up--ONE! Kick-out! Kyle Roberts NOT getting the pin at the one-minute mark. Both men scrambling to their feet, WHAM, KKP's got a nice stiff shot at Robert's breadbasket. European Uppercut to smack Stylin' Kyle in the jaw, followed by a back-hand slap to the same. Nothing Ric Flair about that--that said "Bitch, where's my MONEY?" Roberts recoils from the impact--KKP backs up, and runs at him with A SPEAR--but then stops right before hitting him, and drops to his hands and knees, and nails his groin with a headbutt. Roberts crumples. JACK JONES: Well, I think we got the answer to your question, Hewson--this tag match is gonna be fought on S.A.D.'s terms, and that means NO DISQUALIFICATION. BILL HEWSON: D-X were VERY vocal about that stipulation being turfed--I wonder if they came prepared for this AT ALL. Krusty Kid Paul just STOMPS down on Robert's skull, and Roberts' entire body just TWITCHES like it's been hit by lightning. His tag team partner Bruce Richards looks ENRAGED like he wants to EXPLODE, but he white-knuckles the tag rope and stays in his corner. KKP shares a laugh with his partner, Deathrow, and runs off the ropes to Baseball Slide into Roberts' head. KKP grabs Roberts' arm and flips him over, then steps ON HIS FACE for the pin-cover. John Sharplin drops down--ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP on that cocky pin, but KKP grinds his heel then and there to stretch Roberts' face. Elllllbow drop onto Roberts' chest, here comes the pin cover--ONE! TW--KICK OUT! Stylin' Kyle Roberts refusing to give up the pin, if nothing else. KKP stomps on his groin, then drags him over to the ropes--propping Robert's head and shoulders on the bottom rope, KKP grabs the top rope and uses the sole of his boot to start CHOKING him--again, no DQ here. Roberts' arms flail like mad, and KKP breaks the assault only to run over to Richards' corner and SPIT IN HIS FACE. Richards, trembling, uses one hand to wipe his face off, and the other hand to HOLD. THE TAG. ROPE. KKP laughs, says "Chart THIS, dickhead!"--and scoops Roberts up from the ropes, irish whipping him off the far side of the ring, and Roberts rebounds into a KKP... dodge. Stepping aside, KKP allows Roberts to hit the ropes behind him, and seemingly worn out, Roberts fails to take the ropes with his back, instead flopping chest-first against them and flopping back onto the mat. The SHOWSTOPPA tweaks his nipples and scoops Roberts up again--LOW BLOW! Kyle Roberts with the LOW BLOW and KKP's momentum STOPS. Roberts growls, and throws a full-fisted punch straight into KKP's boys, then batters up with his left and punches him straight in the ASS. KKP, taking some damage to the ol' Alpha and Omega, rolls his eyes up and colapses to his knees, falling down to Roberts' level--Mongolian Chop fells the punk. At ringside, Sir Goatea MC Goat Balls is chewing on the ring apron--just lettin' y'all know. Roberts, fists pumping, is STYLIN' UP, pulling KKP up by the scruff of the neck, and practically EXPLODING off the ropes--POLARIZER! KKP's head hits the mat at an unforgiving velocity--Bruce Richards' hand is sticking out FURTHER than he actually has arm. He WANTS that TAG. Roberts, woozy like a mountain climber, stumbles / lunges to his corner to make the tag--DEATHROW OUTTA NOWHERE, grabbing the ankle and Roberts falls short! Richards ROARS as Deathrow drags him back to the centre of the ring, and rocks him with a boot shot to the back. S.A.D. clasp arms as Deathrow hauls KKP back up, and now both men are laying stomps to their downed opponent. John Sharplin's all, "You gotta go back to your corner," and Deathrow's, like, "Why should I, bitch? SUPERSTAR RULES!" And all of a sudden, the crowd explodes-- BILL HEWSON: --BECAUSE HERE COMES BRUCE RICHARDS! HE'S HAD ENOUGH!!! CLOTHESLINE! Deathrow turns around and gets ALL of that arm! KKP sees Richards too LATE--CLOTHESLINE! BRUCE RICHARDS--ILLEGAL HOUSEAFARRRR! Krusty Kid Paul finds his way back upstairs--Richards STALKING him--MULE KICK! KKP drops, Richards picks him up and TOSSES him over the top rope to the outside! JACK JONES: Watch it, Richards, you almost hit Sir Goatea! Richards turns around--Deathrow's up! Right hand! Right hand! SHORT-ARM CLOTHESLINE! Richards hits the canvas, and now Deathrow's ferociously applying a BLATANT chokehold--what's Sharplin gonna DO about it, NOTHING? Bruce Richards rakes Deathrow's eyes and he falls off of him, mometarily stunned--Richards clutches his throat, gasping like a fish. Deathrow's recovered, and now he pounces back onto Richards, forcing the bigger man onto his belly--Camel Clutch is applied! Richards' hand shoots out and grabs the rope, and to his credit, Sharplin CALLS for the Rope Break--but Tommy doesn't FEEL like it, too effin' bad. Bruce groans as Deathrow leans back, looking to pull his head off like the tab off a pop can--ROBERTS makes the save, smashing his forearm into the back of Deathrow's head. Deathrow is forced off of Richards, but quick as a hiccup, finds his feet--shoving the hurt-looking Stylin' Kyle, then swinging for the fences with the POLISH HAMMER, dropping him like gravity. The crowd HOWLS as Deathrow grabs his crotch and sneers at them. A sharp slap on the ring apron draws his attention, where KKP has propped himself up and is calling for his attention. Deathrow slides out and KKP straightens out--they bump chests. Deathrow points to underneath the ring, and so KKP lifts the chewed apron up to have a look underneath. Meanwhile, Deathrow is ripping a Rex Caliber "CHAMP" shirt off of some fat chick in the front row, and feeds it to his goat. BILL HEWSON: Hey! That's not funny! JACK JONES: Ah, you're just upset 'cause she's your sister. BILL HEWSON: I--I just wanted her to meet someone NICE here! KKP emerges, triumphant, with a steel chair and a black garbage bag full of--LIGHT TUBES? That's NOT GOOD. KKP hands his buddy the chair and the crowd goes BANANA, but as S.A.D. discovers, it's because it's because Stylin' Kyle Roberts is on the ring apron--LIONSAULT!!--INTO KKP AND THOSE TUBES! BILL HEWSON: OHMYGOD!!!!! A hardly-overstated "HOLY SHIT!" chant starts when the crowd realizes that Roberts just mashed light tubes into KKP and himself with a Lionsault Takedown. Deathrow's eyes bug out of his head, but another huge crowd pop has him turn instinctively to the ring-- BILL HEWSON: BRUCERICHARDSSUICIDENOHANDSPLANCHA!!!! JACK JONES: SAVE YOUR FREAKIN' VOICE! GAH! Bruce Richards, UP AND OVER the ropes, making a chair sandwich with him and Deathrow as the bread! The "HOLY SHIT!" chant hasn't stopped, and in fact has gotten to be LOUDER. JACK JONES: I hope you can hear me over this noise, folks--but it seems like all FOUR men are out for the count! BILL HEWSON: The match would be called here--the match should have been called SEVERAL times, really--but it's SUPERSTAR RULES, no DQ, and no COUNT-OUT. JACK JONES: But with nobody able to compete, I think Sharplin might actually have to bend the stipulation a little b--LOOK, HEWSON, IT'S THE TAG-TEAM CHAMPS! Cartwright and Kryenik, the Bi-Polar Express, DOGGING IT to ringside... Kryenik picks "The Beast" up and Cartwright WAFFLES him with his Tag Team title belt! Kryenik tosses him back to the floor, and then picks up Roberts to slam his head against the guard-rail! BILL HEWSON: Screw THAT noise--D-X is down and out after a life-or-death battle versus S.A.D. and now our "illustrious" champs swoop in like vultures? What's WRONG with these people? JACK JONES: It's Violence International--striking FEAR, sending a MESSAGE to everyone else in the NAPW--you mess with ONE of us, you mess with ALL of us. Kryenik dismounts off of Roberts, having punched his face bloody. Cartwright, meanwhile, has helped his stablemates up to their feet, and now they're rolling Bruce Richards back into the ring. Cartwright, Deathrow and KKP are now ALL rocking Richards with boot shots! Deathrow steps back, pulls his shirt off--and wraps it around Richards' throat, choking him red-faced! The crowd's calling out practically the entire locker room at this point--a chaotic, unfocused medley of "D-MEN!" "D!" "REX!" "RAVAGER!" "BEE!" pealing out but to no avail as KKP's foot rams itself into Richards' back, forcing out whatever air is left in his lungs. JACK JONES: The crowd can call all they want--ain't NOBODY gonna save D-X! BILL HEWSON: Maybe a week ago, when they had a partner in Chris Casino... but you're RIGHT, partner. D-X has managed to piss EVERYBODY off since the NAPW began... everyone backstage HATES their GUTS! JACK JONES: Locker-room grudges go a LONG WAY, and it's FINALLY caught up with Richards and Roberts. Richards falls limp--but before Sharplin gets to check on him, Deathrow's directing traffic again. He barks at the Bi-Polars to pick him up--and then Cartwright smashes him with the Roaring Elbow--TAKE THIS!--right into Kryenik's Kiss of Babylon--TAKE THAT! Richards is felled like a dead oak. Deathrow waggles his tongue, kisses his hand, slaps his ass, and then drops to his knees before Richards-- BILL HEWSON: END it! --but "pshaws" away some invisible notion of ending it and gets back up to his feet. On his cue, Cartwright and Kryenik hoist the near-unconscious-looking Richards up again, and each of him hold him up by his arms. KKP, now wearing Richards' hat that he recovered from ringside, saunters up to Richards, slaps him awake, and then flexes out his hand--sticks it down his shorts--REALLY digs in there--and then pulls his hand out, raising it back for--RICHARDS IS ALIVE!!! BURST OF ENERGY--SLAMMING CARTWRIGHTS' AND KRYENIKS' HEADS TOGETHER! A MEETING OF MINDS! THEY FALL OFF! GRAB! KKP! LIFT! CHAOS! CHART ATTACK! Richards falls to the mat and KKP goes SPINNING out of control--CHART ATTACK, BY GOD, but has Richards got anything left? He's rising--NO! THERE'S STILL DEATHROW! The Superstar's got him stuffed between his legs--DEATHROW DRIVER! This is IT--he's hooked the leg-- BILL HEWSON: Not like THIS! And Sharplin stands there, watching Deathrow cover Richards with an impassive look. JACK JONES: WHAT!? Is Sharplin CROOKED? Deathrow GLARES at Sharplin, barking "Make with the THREE, BEYOTCH!" JACK JONES: I knew it--Sharplin HAD to be crooked! He's in D-X's pocket. BILL HEWSON: No... I JUST realized... Deathrow climbs off of Bruce, and GRABS Sharplin by the collar, snarling-- JACK JONES: It's PATENTLY unfair bias! Deathrow's got the pin, and Bruce Richards is NOT by the ropes, Bruce Richards is NOT going to kick out, Bruce Richards is NOT-- BILL HEWSON: --the legal man. And as Sharplin finishes getting his explanation out, both he and Deathrow look over to the corner of the ring-- BILL HEWSON: Nobody made a TAG. --where Roberts, exhausted, has climbed back in to drape over KKP-- JACK JONES: NO. WAY. --and Deathrow and Sharplin both race to the corner, but Sharplin was closer and in Deathrow's way. Deathrow tackles him from behind, Sharplin breaks his fall with his hands and slaps down a ONE! JACK JONES: CRAP. Deathrow's got his arms locked around Sharplin's waist and yanks him back, but he slaps his hand down TWO! JACK JONES: CRAP! He reaches for Sharplin's arm, but not before he slaps down a THREE! JACK JONES: CRAAAAAAAP!!! FRANK WARBURTON: Here are YOUR WINNERS--The NEEEEW and IMPROOOVED... DEEEEEEE-X! JACK JONES: THIS IS BULL! BILL HEWSON: It wasn't a damn TORNADO match, it was TAG TEAM RULES with NO DQ or COUNT-OUT. Stylin' Kyle was LEG--OH NO! The Bi-Polars, having been shocked back into life by the Foo Fighters--have helped Deathrow rush Roberts, and all THREE men are busy stomping a mudhole in him. He's still BUSTED OPEN from earlier, he doesn't even have the strength to DEFEND himself--and his partner's completely OUT COLD elsewhere in the ring! The time-keeper's furiously ringing the bell--which causes ghosts to flee, but the very-much alive Violence International doesn't seem to care about one more noise. KKP, groggy, hauls himself up by the ropes, just as his partners drag him to the centre of the ring, right next to Richards. The four of them spit on D-X, and as Kryenik and Cartwright retrieve their titles, S.A.D. slip their hands down their shorts to prime up--THE SWEATY BALL CLAWS! IN TANDEM! D-X thrash under the might of their SWEATY BALL CLAWS! The Bi-Polars laugh at the antics of their friends, slapping them on their backs when they release their disgusting holds on the former three-time champs. BILL HEWSON: Oh, that's it, no more TV time for these guys-- JACK JONES: --at least until later-- BILL HEWSON: --yeah, don't remind me. Folks, I think Violence International may be finished assaulting the WINNERS here, so we'll go to commercial and when we come back, SLICK! MALONE! HARDCORE! Don't miss it!
JOSH REYNOLDS: Here with Mark Cage, who is currently ranked #1 contender to the Television Title currently held by "The Lemondrop Kid" Lloyd Rees. But this week, as Crusher challenges Rees for the TV Title, you Mark Cage have issued an open challenge to any man in the NAPW... and this Friday on Action!, you will take on one-half of Stiff Competition, the powerhouse Rod Hardway. Your thoughts? MARK CAGE: My thoughts, Reynolds? I don't get why Crusher gets a TV Title match before I do, but that's okay. It doesn't matter if it's Crusher, it doesn't matter if it's Lloyd Rees, it doesn't matter if it's that meth orphan creep Dextro! Sooner or later I'll get my shot at the TV Title, and I want to tell you the truth: It will be an honor to wear my first wrestling gold right here, in NAPW! JOSH REYNOLDS: This Friday Night, again, taking on Rod Hardway. How do you prepare for a man as strong as Hardway? MARK CAGE: The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I'll take on anybody, from small to big, because I'm here to compete---* JOSH REYNOLDS: Oh no! Hey! Stiff Competition is --- attacking Mark Cage! They sure as heck are! Rod Hardway and "Durty" Dutch Flanagan have jumped Mark Cage, giving him a good thrashing. Wait a minute, what the heck is this? Hardway is holding Cage, and Dutch... eww, seriously. Dutch just spat a huge gob of tobacco chew right in the face of Mark Cage! Hardway slaps Cage down, and Stiff Competition walk out of the scene smirking. Reynolds stands there gaping. Durr. JOSH REYNOLDS: Let's take you back to ringside! FRANK WARBURTON: The next match is a HARDCORE MATCH scheduled for one fall! Coming first to the ring, from Miami, Florida! Weighing in at two hundred and sixty two pounds! He is Misterrrrrr SLICK! Slick enters the arena to the shouting of Chuck D. and Public Enemy with a garbage can full of weapons: a baseball bat, a hockey stick, and a stop sign are all poking out. He waves off the boos of the crowd as he pushes his garbage can into the ring. BILL HEWSON: This is Mr. Slick's second time on Monday Night Fights, and he wanted to come out with a bang. JACK JONES: Too bad for Joey Malone that bang's going to be a weapon of Mr. Slick's choice to the head! Have you seen someone as menacing as Mr. Slick? The man's a monster! "You're the best! Arouuund! Nuthin's gonna evah keep ya down!" The crowd laughs as Joey Malone steps out onto the stage, dressed up in a football helmet, an umpire's chest protector and padding on every part of his body, nervously heading to the ring. FRANK WARBURTON: And his opponent! From Lloydminster, Alberta, weighing in at two hundred and thirty one pounds! He is the BAAAD BOYYY JOOOOEEEEYYY MAAAAALOOOONNNNEEE! JACK JONES: Now that's one guy who knows what the outcome of this match is going to be! BILL HEWSON: Man, Joey Malone seems to be pretty intimidated by Mr. Slick. JACK JONES: Time after time, Joey's been beat down by Mr. Slick, whether it's a Hard DDT or brass knucks. He's got a reason to be scared. Joey enters the ring cautiously, and Mr. Slick runs at the Bad Boy with a rough clothesline. Henry Andrews calls for the bell to start this match, and Mr. Slick starts tearing off the many pads and pillows Joey is wearing. Joey is screaming for help, but it's just these two men having it out once and for all! Slick's got Joey's legs protectors off, but Joey with a leg to the groin of Mr. Slick! Mr. Slick hits the mat as Joey scrambles away. Joey knocks on his helmet, and a headbutt to the chest of Mr. Slick WHILE HE'S WEARING THE HELMET! Oh, that's gotta hurt! Mr. Slick is writhing in pain! Joey rolls out of the ring, and brings a broom out from under the apron! It's no kendo stick, but it's hard enough to cause some damage! Joey swats at Mr. Slick with the broom. JACK JONES: Not with the straw end, you nitwit! You're not going to hurt the man that way! Mr. Slick pulls the broomstick out of Joey's hands, and breaks it over his knee. Mr. Slick stands up and advances at Joey menacingly. Joey's hit with a part of the broomstick! And now the other! Mr. Slick is going at Malone with both arms, but Joey's cushioning is taking the brunt of the damage! Slick rips off Joey's arm protection, and is trying to get the chest protector off. Slick with a backdrop, laying out Malone! And now he's rummaging through the garbage can, and finds a weightlifter's belt. He uses that to whip Joey, as Joey is crawling around the ring, yelping in pain as the audience is having a grand ol' time. But Mr. Slick is getting bored of this, and throws Joey Malone into the turnbuckle. A MONSTER avalanche by Mr. Slick! And Slick takes off Joey's helmet and chestpiece. BILL HEWSON: And there goes all of Joey's protection. Poor kid, what's he going to do now that he's not nowhere to run? Mr. Slick dumps all the weapons out of the garbage can, and wedges it between the second and third turnbuckles of the opposite corner from where Joey's recovering. Mr. Slick with an Irish whip on Joey - REVERSED! Slick is thrown into the garbage can by the momentum of Joey Malone! The crowd ooohs as Slick falls clutching his back. Joey pulls a cricket bat off the mat and uses it against Slick. JACK JONES: He's paddling Mr. Slick's ass! There's no way Slick deserves this sort of humiliation! BILL HEWSON: But the crowd seems to be completely behind Joey Malone! Did you think that Joey would ever have the upper hand when he came out here tonight? Joey Malone climbs the turnbuckle and delivers a double axe handle with the cricket bat to the back of Mr. Slick! Oooohs come from the crowd as Slick writhes in pain. Joey Malone is beckoning to the crowd. "Hunh? HUNH?" Will this be a Bad Blaster? Mr. Slick is set into position, but he powers up and flips Malone over his back. Slick picks up Joey and throws him to the ropes. BACKBREAKER! Ow! Slick sets up Joey for a Hard DDT, but Joey counters! Oh my god! It's a modified claw! JACK JONES: Noooo! Mr. Slick! BILL HEWSON: That's going to make Mr. Slick think twice about having kids, that's for sure. JACK JONES: Let go of that man, Malone! Mr. Slick is prancing around the ring, trying to get Joey Malone to let go of his crotch. "LET GO, YA SICK FREAK!" The crowd is chanting Joey's name! Joey's grinning as he keeps applying pressure to the most sensitive part of Mr. Slick. What's Mr. Slick doing? He's reaching into a pocket in his trunks. And he's hit Joey square in the face with those damned brass knuckles! Oh, that's it, Slick is angry now, and he rolls out of the ring. What's he pulling out from under the ring? A table? Joey seems to be VERY groggy from that knuck shot. Mr. Slick sets up the table in the middle of the ring, and picks up Joey, pushing him into the corner. Joey is up on the turnbuckle, still weaving from the brass knuks to the head. Mr. Slick is going to the second ropes! Is this a Superplex? Through a table?? Oh, Slick, you are one sick puppy. Slick shouts out "He's next!" But Joey has light in his eyes! OH MY GOD! JACK JONES: (BLEEP)! WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED? BILL HEWSON: JOEY MALONE JUST BAD BLASTED MR. SLICK FROM THE TOP ROPE! Mr. Slick went through the table, and he is out like a light. Joey with the pin! One! Two! Three! Joey Malone has won this match! And now he's motioning for a microphone...?! JOEY MALONE: Get this man some medical attention! Get out here! Help this man NOW! EMTs run to the ring, and secure Mr. Slick in a neckbrace while Joey continues to talk. JOEY MALONE: You see this? You see Mr. Slick here, hurt to the point where he needs medical help? You want to know why this happened? Well, I'll tell you. Backstage, before our match, some NAPW executives come to talk to me. They told me that I was supposed to lose this match! Because they saw Mr. Slick as a man that was going places! He was championship material! Even though he didn't even bother to promo for our match! I'M the deserving one! I want to go places! I have been in NAPW since DAY ONE! I've slaved for this company, and I've never asked why I'm the one who's asked to lay down to help other people, until now! Is it because I'm not good enough? I'M not good enough, when, hell, even WAYNE WRIGHT can win a title? What's wrong with this company? I'll TELL you what's wrong! The man in charge is one of the stupidest men I've ever known! He couldn't manage a McDonald's properly! Commissioner "Wahoo" Bobby Winchell can't run a wrestling promotion to save his life! BILL HEWSON: What the hell is wrong with Joey Malone? Tearing down our commissioner like that? JACK JONES: Shut up, Hewson, the man might have a point here! JOEY MALONE: Well, I'm sick of it! I'm not going to take any dives for you, Commissioner! You've held me down long enough! From now on, I do what's best for ME! Maybe I should start having some title shots! Oh, wait! I DID have a title shot! Against Devastation! Sure, he might have done it as a joke, because he thought that there was no way that a shlub like Joey Malone would ever be able to defeat him, but it would have been nice to receive a chance! But NO! Ravager comes down and beats the (BLEEP) out of me before the match starts! Did the NAPW execs tell him to do that too? Where's my justice, Commissioner? Where's MY justice... DAD? BILL HEWSON: Dad? What is Malone saying? JOEY MALONE: That's right. Bobby Winchell... is my father! My name! Is Robert Joseph Winchell... the Third! I am the son of the commissioner! JACK JONES: You've got to be kidding me! Joey Malone is the son of our commissioner? JOEY MALONE: (chuckles) Well, there's no family biases here! Nope, you won't see ME receive any sort of push due to who I am. Hell, I'm pretty sure that NONE of the guys in the back knew. Because Dad decided that it would be best if his flesh and blood wasn't known as his wrestling son. I had to take my mom's maiden name because I COULDN'T be the son of a great wrestler! Not if I'm the kind of guy who loses matches! Especially if I've been losing a lot of matches that I should have won! But, no! I'll take one for the company! Well, this ends now! Joey Malone is dead! And Joseph Winchell is taking his place! Joey --- Joseph --- drops the mic and rolls out of the ring, leaving behind a stunned audience. There's nothing else to do, but cut to commercial.
BILL HEWSON: ...you're full of it. Welcome back to Tuesday Night Fights, and this crowd is still buzzing about the revelation we just heard. Joey Malone, the "Bad Boy"... is actually Robert Joseph Winchell III... the SON of commissioner "Wahoo" Bobby Winchell! Can we believe Joey Malone on this? JACK JONES: You mean can we believe WINCHELL, Hewson. You better get it straight. BILL HEWSON: In any event, Joey Malone with a surprising victory over Mr. Slick, and an even more surprising interview after his match. Right now, we step once more into the realm of Pure Honor. Carter Owens, a man who is attempting to embody Pure Honor in his own life, will take on a man who has never done a single honorable thing in his life...Devastation. Let's go to the ring. Skillet cues up, and to a sizeable pop comes the underdog... Carter Owens. He steps to the ring, mildly surprised at the respectful cheers he's receiving. He gets in and hits the ropes, then simply waits. FRANK WARBURTON: The following match-up will take place under Pure Honor rules ---* BILL HEWSON: Oh, great. Him again. JACK JONES: Harvey Garcia-Buffer, everybody! The F*NAPW's own personal (and highly qualified) ring announcer! Beat it, Warburton. Indeed, a new man of questionable heritage is in the ring, telling Warburton to beat it. Frank looks rebellious, but does indeed exit the ring. Garcia begins. HARVEY GARCIA-BUFFER: Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, F*NAPW is proud to present to you the firrrst-everrr F*NAPW HONORABLE RULES MATCH. Introducing first, already in the ring, is a man... a man who truly has not succeeded much in life, or in the ring. Ladies and gentlemen, you know who he is, I need not give you an elaborate introduction. Carter Owens, everybody. BILL HEWSON: Oh come on, Owens deserves a better announcement than that. Why is F*NAPW even allowed to pull this crap? JACK JONES: They're just that good, Hewson. BILL HEWSON: Right. Bloodhound Gang kicks up, and the lights near the entrance way begin to flicker in time with the music. To a huge chorus of boos strides the elegant, impossibly serene and of course lethal "F*NAPW Champion" Devastation. He comes to the ring, giving Garcia-Buffer time to... announce him. HARVEY GARCIA-BUFFER: AND HIS ESTEEMED OPPONENT! Accompanied to the ring by the MANAGER OF CHAMPIONS and the Luckiest Man Alive, Longshot... He is a legend from around the world, a champion on five different continents, and a true spokesman for the betterment of humanity. His weight this morning was a tremendous Three-Hundred and five pounds... his height an imposing, perfect six-feet and eight inches tall exactly. The city of South Boston, Massachussetts is proud to call him a favorite son, held in the same regard as the great Larry Bird and the inimitable Babe Ruth! Ladies and gentlement, with great pride and pleasure, I bring to you... the Hybrid Icon! The Vicious Phenom! YOUR F*NAPW Champion...DEVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAASTAAAAAAAAAAAATIONNNNNNN! JACK JONES: What incredible vocal control! BILL HEWSON: Yeah, it's a real treat. And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. Oh look, Devastation's personal referee is going to be handling this contest. We can only hope it backfires on him like it did LAST week against Dez Carter! JACK JONES: We can only hope that cheating coward D! doesn't stick his nose in Devastation's business again. Both men are in the ring. "Specs" checks over Devastation, then hobbles over to a bemused Carter Owens and checks him over as well. Both men are clean, and the bell sounds. And BAM! Owens is right into it, trying to take Devastation down the ground! Owens one of the few men in NAPW to at all match up to Devastation - he's only three inches shorter than Dev, and forty pounds lighter. That's more than MOST of the roster can say. Devastation surprised out of the gate, but Owens can't quite get Devastation down. Devastation with a hip toss on Owens? Different move for Dev, but Owens lands on his feet! Boots Devastation in the stomach, and runs the ropes... big knee lift! Devastation staggers, and Carter Owens goes right to the knee. Take the big man's legs out, he's got nothing left! Owens attacking, and somehow he gets Devastation down to one knee. Trying for an ankle lock? Devastation kicks Owens away with those tree-trunk like legs of his. Owens comes back, this time trying to ride Devastation amateur style. But that might've been a mistake. Correction. It WAS a mistake, as Devastation simply stands up and squashes Owens in the corner. He smiles for the crowd, the classic Devastation expression of complete implacability on his face. He turns around then and lowers the boom rapidly, crashing the big hammers down on Owen's shoulders and neck. Specs asks Devastation to let his man get out of the corner. Devastation cheerfully responds, allowing Owens some space to get out of the corner... BILL HEWSON: Well, thus fair Specs has called this right down the middle, and Devastation is wrestling cleanly HEY. Devastation just jabbed his thumb right into the eye of Owens! Why isn't the ref calling that, huh Jones? JACK JONES: What thumb to the eye? I saw Devastation helping Owens see if something was in the eye! He was helping! BILL HEWSON: Yeah, right. And that...blind old fart in the referee outfit can't even see what's going on four feet in front of him! Even with those coke bottles. This is a mockery of the Pure Honor Division! Devastation, meanwhile, proceeds to hit a big gourdbuster on Owens, scoring two. Owens kicks out, he's not finished yet by any stretch of the imagination. Devastation takes Owens up --- Owens fighting back! He's nailing Dev! Owens hits the ropes... BAM. Devastation catches a charging Owens with a spinning side slam, Abyss-like! One, two, doesn't get him. That, of course, doesn't faze Devastation. He proceeds to pick Owens up and...short-arm clothesline! JACK JONES: And he calls this Rapid-Fire, Bill Hewson! BILL HEWSON: Devastation holding onto the arm of Carter Owens and hauling him back up, Owens is out on his feet... another short-arm clothesline! He likes this in threes... good Lord, that's just brutal. The arms of Devastation coming at you with that force at that short distance, unreal. But---Owens kicks out! JACK JONES: Stay down, kid. It's the best idea you've had in years. Devastation picks Owens up and tosses him into the corner. He charges --- Owens moves! Owens pops to the second turnbuckle? He flies off and catches Devastation with a flying bulldog! Finally, Owens has taken Devastation off of his feet! He covers for one, TWO---Devastation powers out. But Owens isn't about to give Devastation a chance to recover, he grabs an arm, tries to lock in the cross-arm breaker! And in fact, he DOES lock it in! BILL HEWSON: Devastation can grab those ropes and get this hold broken, using one of his rope breaks! Or he can tap out, which really, I can get behind. JACK JONES: Biased. BILL HEWSON: That's rich, coming from you. The Vicious Phenom still trying to prevent the arm-breaker from fully being locked in. He looks as though he's deciding whether or not to grab the ropes or risk Owens getting it locked in... but he's sweating now, you don't want to mess with this! Owens grabs one of Dev's pinkie fingers back, and the sudden pain is enough for Dev to lose his saving grip, and Owens locks on the cross-arm breaker! He rears back, and even Devastation has to feel that... he quickly gets a foot on the bottom rope. Which, at his height, doesn't take a lot. Specs calls for a break. FRANK WARBURTON: Devastation... has used his first rope break! BILL HEWSON: Well now, Carter Owens is doing something we have rarely seen in NAPW. He's outWRESTLING the Hybrid Icon! JACK JONES: You call that outwrestling him? You ain't seen nothing yet! Owens works the arm, wringing it, yanking it. BILL HEWSON: And this is smart by Carter Owens, this working a body part. Owens is a technician - perhaps one of the best in NAPW. But the majority of Owen's high-impact offense is neutralized by Devastation's sheer size and mass. JACK JONES: Yeah, no double-powerbombs on the F*NAPW Champion. BILL HEWSON: Right. But in these Pure Honor matches, it's WRESTLING that matters most. Well, excepting Patrick Bickle... but the Pure Champion is one big exception. Devastation isn't used to this environment, and right now Carter Owens is continuing to wear down that arm. He just needs to lock in that cross-arm breaker with Dev in the middle of the ring, and we could very well see Devastation tap out tonight, for the first time ever! JACK JONES: You don't think --- that'd be unfathomable! Devastation can't seem to get a handle on Carter Owens, who is perhaps the only man in NAPW history who has managed to muscle him around! Owens really showing his technical side, keeping Dev off-balance and slowly wearing down that arm. Owens grabs a hammerlock, driving forearms into the twisted arm of Devastation... BAM. Big back elbow by Devastation catches Owens in the side of the head --- Devastation with a sudden hook, DDT! And just like that, Devastation turns the tide! He pulls Owens up... Front-face lock! Takes him up HIGH... making him thinking about it... BRAINBUSTER! Devastation covers! ONE! TWO! Th--- Carter Owens has his foot on the bottom rope, and even Specs is able to see the blurry stick coming out of Owens' torso landing suddenly on the brightly colored blurry bottom rope. FRANK WARBURTON: Carter Owens has utilized his first rope break! Devastation's expression flickers for just. One. Moment. Specs' eyes aren't very good, but he can see things right before those eyes... "Riiiiiight...before...my...EYES" JACK JONES: Oh no, what the crap is he doing out here NOW? BILL HEWSON: We saw this last week! D! came out and ended up costing Devastation a match against Dez Carter! He said that Devastation will not know a moment's peace until he accepts his challenge, and...what's he got in the bag? JACK JONES: I don't want to know. D! saunters down to the ring, the fans giving him a great "O" as usual. Because he's fricking D!, that's why! Devastation looks down on D!, giving him the biggest fake smile he can muster. D! grins back, showing the pearly whites. Devastation runs the ropes --- BAM. D! trips him up! And Specs, on the other side of the ring, is squinting hard trying to see what happened. Devastation whirls around in shock and anger, glaring at the big grin D! is wearing. CARTER OWENS ROLLS DEVASTATION UP! ONE! TWO! Th---Devastation gets out of that! Owens is up --- Devastation clobbers him with a lariat! Devastation points at D!, telling him to stay out of this match and RESPECT Pure Honor--- BILL HEWSON: Devastation telling somebody to respect Pure Honor? This whole show is so rich, I'm going to need to hit the gym to work off the calories. Sheesh.
AND STOPS. Halfway! Owens is fighting! Owens starts forward, barely crawling, an inch at a time, clawing clawing...he grabs the bottom rope! And Specs has no choice but to call for a rope break! FRANK WARBURTON: Carter Owens has used his SECOND ROPE BREAK of the contest! Devastation holds onto the hold for one, two, three, four, five...um...and longer? Specs now is politely asking Devastation to release the hold. Devastation holds on for a good five more seconds, then gets up, apologizing to Specs - he didn't realize there was a count on. Specs appreciates the apology, and pats Dev on the shoulder. Devastation smirks. D! seethes. And reaches into his bag. JACK JONES: Time to end this, champ! It only takes on Burning Hammer! BILL HEWSON: You can't write Carter Owens out! He's got so much potential, so much ability. A win over Devastation tonight would be tremendous for this man's career --- wait a second! What the hell does D! have in his hands? JACK JONES: Um... He can't! He won't! Don't do it! Watch out, Devastation! Devastation? Who said anything about Devastation? Lickety-split, D! is in the ring...and lets fly a BANANA CREAM PIE into the face of Specs! The little man falls flat on his butt, banana cream all over his coke bottle glasses and face! Devastation's jaw drops, in sheer disbelief at what he's just seen. One second is all D! needs to hit a jumping Yakuza kick right to the face of Dev, enough to send Dev toppling over the top rope. The crowd pops --- but then, suddenly, Carter Owens whips D! around. BILL HEWSON: And wait just a minute here, I don't think Carter Owens appreciates D!'s antics in this match... even if they are in his favor! JACK JONES: Hey, I don't think much of the Revolution - heck, I don't even know there IS one anymore after Ravager dropped a referee on his head earlier - but Owens is right. Just this once. D! is totally out of line here! In the ring, Owens is intently talking towards D!. D! looks on, somewhat mockingly, as Owens requests that D! leave. Now. D! shakes his head. He's doing no such thing... "peanut." Devastation, meanwhile, is helping Longshot clean up Specs on the outside. Specs seems completely out of his element. In the ring, D! looks to ... well, shit. Unbuckle the turnbuckle pad. Owens grabs his wrist and whips him around again! Carter Owens now with a much, much sterner look on his face. "Listen. I don't care what beef you have with Devastation, this is not the time or the place. You leave this match, you leave right now, because what you're doing? Is sullying Pure Honor. And honor demands that I stand up for what I believe, and I believe in PURE HONOR." The crowd is actually getting behind Carter Owens! D! points to Devastation, saying "THAT man doesn't. I'm just pissing him off, and hey, it's evening the odds for you!" D! turns around again---and this time Owens TEARS D! back to face him. BILL HEWSON: ... I don't think Owens is thrilled with D!. And now both men are eye-locked, eyes blazing. D!: "What's your PROBLEM, peanut?" Owens: "The problem with honor, D! --- is that it requires ACTION! If you're not going to leave and let me fight it out with this man ON MY OWN, then I'm going to MAKE YOU. I will stand by the rules of this match, even if my opponent doesn't!" Tension. Stand-off. Owens raises a hand BAM! D! with a roundhouse right drops Carter Owens! The crowd is confused, but D! is just like, don't you even try it! Owens gets back up TAKES D! DOWN! DOUBLE-LEG TAKE DOWN! Owens is trying to neutralize D!, take him down, but D!, the striker, is firing away with whatever shots he can get in! They roll around the ring - note Longshot ensuring Specs is facing AWAY from the ring - until finally they get back to a standing position! Owens with an irish whip! D! counters! Owens comes off the ropes... SPINEBUSTER by D! D! roars ---- LARIATO! D! turns around and gets his head damned near taken off by a big Devastation lariat! And now, Devastation picks up the pieces! He hoists Carter Owens onto his shoulders quickly... and NAILS the Burning Hammer! Longshot nearly THROWS Specs into position as Devastation covers for ONE, TWO, THREE. FRANK WARBURTON: Here is your winner...DEVASTATIONNNN! BILL HEWSON: And I hate to say it...but D!'s vendetta against Devastation... just robbed us of a great match, and possibly robbed Carter Owens of the biggest win of his career WAITA MINUTE HERE'S D! JACK JONES: Oh leave it ALONE already, man! BILL HEWSON: D! is in the ring, and flying all over Devastation! My God, he has the F*NAPW Champion on the ropes! D!'s winding up... LLOYD REES! JACK JONES: Whaaaaa?! BILL HEWSON: Oh my God, Lloyd Rees --- I think just came out of the crowd! And he just walloped D! from behind! Jack Jones - Lloyd Rees and Devastation --- are attacking D! together! It's a two-on-one beatdown from the Television Champion and the F*NAPW Champion! JACK JONES: Longshot is LOVING this! BILL HEWSON: I don't believe what we're saying! Lloyd Rees & Devastation once again in cahoots! D! is just helpless under the double-beatdown by Lloyd Rees and Devastation, they're stomping away, pounding away, and it's too much! They haul D! up, and Lloyd holds D! for Devastation to take some shots at. D! sags against Lloyd, but can't collapse. The crowd boos... wait a minute! CARTER OWENS just spun Devastation around! CLOTHESLINE! CLOTHESLINE! CLOTHESLINE! Devastation on the ropes, Rees drops D! and charges --- Owens sidesteps and sends Lloyd into Devastation, which sends both men tumbling to the outside! Longshot is RIGHT there, 'holding' them back. Carter Owens looks on, stoic and serious as D! tries to pick himself up in the ring. Longshot leads...apparently both of his charges...to the back. In the ring, D! and Carter Owens have locked eyes. Owens asks for the microphone! CARTER OWENS: You ask me, D!, why would I help you after you just cost me my match. And I want to explain something to you and the rest of the NAPW. I don't just wrestle Pure Honor. It is my desire... my ambition... to live it, in the ring and the out. What I saw, after all was said and done, was a two-on-one attack. And whatever you may have done to me, even minutes before, you didn't deserve a two-on-one attack. There's no honor in that, D!. I evened the odds. I don't respect you, D! - you came out here and let your personal grudge get in the way of a competitive match, and I don't appreciate you undermining my natural ability. I don't want you interfering on my behalf. One way...or another, D!. I will follow the code of honor at all times, to the best of my ability. I will wrestle, not fight, I will grapple, not cheat, I will do whatever it takes WITHIN the rules to win my matches from here on out... not whatever it takes, including steel chairs and eye gouges. This is my promise to my opponents, to YOU tonight, and most importantly... to these fans! My name is CARTER OWENS... and I will prove that I am one of the best pure wrestlers in NAPW! And I will do it... Owens pauses, clearly emotional. CARTER OWENS: With honor. I promise all of you. Owens hands the mic back to Warburton and steps out of the ring, leaving D! with a lot to think about... BILL HEWSON: Carter Owens making no bones about where he stands in NAPW. A lousy way to lose his match to Devastation... JACK JONES: Well if D! would stop being such a damned pest! BILL HEWSON: Is this what we're in for? Every match Devastation is in being made...well, just a pure schmozz? I get D!, trying to get under Devastation's skin and shake that maddingly serene smirk from the man's face, but... D!'s not doing Devastation's opponents any favors himself. JACK JONES: It's a travesty of justice, Bill Hewson, that D! can come out here week after week and interfere in Devastation's matches. BILL HEWSON: Well, Devastation's the one with his own referee... when we come back, a match we can expect to be stellar... the tag team titles are on the line! Don't go away!
FRANK WARBURTON: This next contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall and is for the NAPW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP! Coming to the ring first, the challengers - at a combined weight of four hundred and twenty nine pounds they are the DELIVERY MEN! The Headstone's "Son Of A Bitch To The Core" hits and the crowd goes TOMATOS for the arrival of One and Two, the Delivery Men! Especially the first few rows, which are dominated by the blue jumpsuits of their Delivery Men brothers, most notably the NAPW Provincial Champion sitting front and Center, One Hundred. One and Two make their way down to the ring slowly, taking it all in as they slap hands with their fans. One takes a sign from the crowd and holds it up over his head so everyone can read "The World NEEDS the Delivery Men... as TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!" Finally One and Two slide into the ring and go to opposite corners, holding their hands high. BILL HEWSON: Who is out delivering our packages? It looks like every single Delivery Man is in attendance here tonight! JACK JONES: Those are going to be ninety-eight sad faces at the end of this match! FRANK WARBURTON: And now their opponents. At a combined weight of four hundred and sixty three and a quarter pounds, they are the NAPW Tag Team Champions and members of Violence International! This is the BI-POLLLLLAAAAR- Frank doesn't get to finish his announcing before the champions make their arrival. The music - "Hadrons" by Lento - kicks in a step too late as Evan Cartwright and Billy Kryenik explode from the back, rushing towards the ring. The Bi-Polar Express is pissed off after the SAD loss earlier tonight, and they aren't hiding it as they hit the ring at a run. One and Two are just jumping down off the turnbuckles when the tag team champions crash into them, decking them with the title belts! John Sharplin calls for the bell quickly, but too late to punish BPX for their pre-match actions. Sharplin collects the belts where Evan and Billy have dropped them, and tries to restore some order to the match while BPX stomps away on One and Two. One fights up to his feet but Evan Cartwright rocks him with a roaring elbow. One stumbles and spins around right into the Kiss of Babylon from Billy Kryenik - they call it the Take This, Take That! One goes down hard and Evan Cartwright takes a running start to baseball slide Two right out of the ring. Evan Cartwright follows him to the outside and Sharplin motions in vain for the match to actually start now that there are two men left in the ring. Kryenik rolls One over and hooks the leg for a cover - it could be over before it even gets started - One! Two! Thr-shoulder up! One gets his shoulder off the mat at the last second to keep the Delivery Men in this thing, at least for now. Kryenik pulls One up to his feet and then staggers him with a straight left jab. Sharplin warns the Sick One about the closed fist but Pure Honor this ain't and Kryenik just laughs and slugs One in the jaw with another. One is wobbling and Billy Kryenik sends him crashing to the mat with a brutal right hook that catches him on the chin. BILL HEWSON: The tag team champions established their dominance before this match had even started by attacking the Delivery Men with the tag title belts! JACK JONES: Just a great plan of attack, everything is legal before the bell rings. It isn't their fault that the Delivery Men were too busy preening for the crowd to see it coming! On the outside Evan Cartwright has continued to punish Two, sending him crashing into the ring steps and then slamming his head into the ring post. It looks like Cartwright is satisfied for the moment though, and he just raises his hands and hops up onto the apron when Sharplin tries to warn him. With the ref's back turned, Billy Kryenik grabs One's legs and spreads them, stomping down on his groin. One groans and rolls over in pain, but the Sick One turns him onto his back and goes for another pin; One! Two! A shoulder up again but Kryenik doesn't seem to mind, having this match well in hand. Sick Billy drags One over to the BPX corner and makes the tag to Evan Cartwright. Cartwright springs over the top rope while Kryenik continues to hold One in place by the legs, allowing Cartwright to crash down with his elbow straight to the heart of One. Across the ring Two is slowly crawling up onto the apron, woozy from the beating on the outside but still in better shape than his partner. Evan Cartwright is grinning and shaking his head as he assists One up off the mat and then drops him right back down with the second roaring elbow in just a few minutes. Evan Cartwright goes for the pin; One! Two! Shoulder up! One is taking a beating but he refuses to stay down. Cartwright raises his elbow and pats it lazily before dropping down to plant it in One's chest again. Cartwright springs right back to his feet, turning in slow circle with his arms spread as the crowd lets him know exactly what they think of him. One begins to crawl towards the center of the ring but Cartwright grabs a leg and hauls him easily back into the corner before making a tag to Sick Billy. Kryenik comes into the ring and just stomps One into the mat, laying heavy boots to his back and head. BILL HEWSON: One is in serious trouble here and Two doesn't look much better. Could this be the end of the Delivery Men's hopes for the NAPW Tag Team Championship? JACK JONES: Yes! Kryenik lifts One off the mat and drops him back with a bodyslam then turns and flips off Two with a lopsided grin. Two practically lunges into the ring and Sharplin runs over to stop him. Cartwright calmly climbs between the ropes and the Bi-Polar Express just crushes One with an STO/legsweep combination. Kryenik slaps his own hands together over his head and then climbs out of the ring as Cartwright goes for the pin. Sharplin turns away after getting Two back to the apron and drops to the mat to make the count; One! Two! Thr-shoulder up after another close count! This time Evan Cartwright is giving Sharplin the business over his count, holding up three fingers and berating the senior official for being distracted by Two. Cartwright waves his hands in disgust at Sharplin and picks One off the mat, telling the ref that he'll put him down for the ten count if thatŐs what it takes. Cartwright whips One into the BPX corner then calmly strides over and begins to blatantly choke him with both hands. Sharplin makes the five count and Cartwright releases the hold just before he can be disqualified. Evan Cartwright walks across the ring and SLAPS Two across the face. Two grabs Cartwright and tries to drag him out of the ring, causing Sharplin to run over and try to break the two men up. With another distraction working as planned, Kryenik turns One around and chokes him on the top rope, dropping to his knees on the apron and just hanging from the back of One's neck. One kicks his feet wildly as he struggles for air his face turning beet red. Sharplin finally gets Two to let go of Cartwright and turns back just in time to see One stumbling back as Kryenik drops from the apron to hangman him. Cartwright runs across the ring and levels One with a stiff clothesline to the back of the head. Cartwright with another pin, hooking the leg; One! Two! Thre-One kicks out! Evan Cartwright is beginning to look frustrated as One just will not give up and he tags out to Sick Billy to calm himself down. Billy reaches down and grabs One by the hair to lift him from the mat - big mistake! The Delivery Man with the best hair goes berserk in a sudden surge of adrenaline, blasting to his feet and rocking Sick Billy with a huge left. One sends Billy careening off the ropes and then nails him with a clothesline. Billy quickly up to his feet only to eat another clothesline. Billy gets sent off the ropes a second time and this time One kills him dead with a bicycle kick to the jaw! One gives a big thumbs-up to Two and takes one step towards the corner before toppling forward and faceplanting on the mat. BILL HEWSON: This is it! This is the opportunity One needs to get to the corner and make the tag! Two is leaning over, begging for One to crawl those last few feet and tag him into the match for the first time! Sick Billy is down and hurt after that bicycle kick connected, One absolutely has to make the tag! JACK JONES: C'mon, Billy! Get Evan back into the ring! BPX! BPX! Chant it with me, Hewson! BILL HEWSON: I will not! JACK JONES: Who doesn't love the underdog? BPX! BPX! One's head comes up and he stares at the six or so Two's circling each other and calling for the tag across the ring for a long moment before deciding which one he wants. One gets up on his foearms and begins to slowly crawl across the ring. Sick Billy rolls over onto his stomach and looks at his opponent moving and begins trying to get up to his feet. One is making slow but steady progress towards the outstretched hand of Two. Kryenik up to his feet - NO! He falls back down to his knees, reaching out a hand for the boot of One but just missing it. One crawls forward another few inches and reaches but can't quite touch the hand of his partner yet. Kryenik up to his feet again, lurching forward and reaching out for One's boot... One leaps forward and makes the tag! TWO INTO THE RING! Wait! Evan Cartwright had stepped into the ring and John Sharplin is just now getting him back to the apron! The ref didn't see the tag! Sharplin runs over and grabs Two, forcing the nearly frothing Delivery Man back to his corner! Kryenik grabs One by the boot and pulls him into the center of the ring... BRANCH BREAKER! Branch Breaker on One who screams in agony! Sharplin goes to check on the tortured Delivery Man, and Two decides to bypass all of this crap finally. Two to the top rope and Evan Cartwright shouts to John Sharplin but too late! Two from the top rope with a pinpoint missile dropkick right to the face of Billy Kryenik! Kryenik flops over backwards towards his corner, but not close enough for Cartwright to tag himself in. Two back out of the ring before Sharplin can accost him again. One lurches upwards and staggers towards the corner. Billy Kryenik rolls over make the tag to Evan Cartwright! Cartwright runs across the ring but too late! ONE TAGS TWO! Two flies right back over the top rope and levels Evan Cartwright with a flying shoulderblock! BILL HEWSON: YES! YES! One makes the tag for the second time and this time Sharplin sees it! JACK JONES: No! I didn't see hand-to-hand contact! No tag! No tag! Kryenik runs across the ring and Two ducks a clothesline attempt and drops him with a half-nelson bulldog! Cartwright back up and right back down from a spinning wheel kick! Cartwright gets to his hands and knees as Kryenik stumbles up to his feet looking like he doesn't know where he is. Two hits the ropes and steps right on Cartwright's back, jumping off of Cartwright to nail Billy Kryenik with a hurricanrana that throws the Sick One right out of the ring! Cartwright gets to his feet and grabs Two in a tie-up when Two turns around, but Two ducks under and nails Evan Cartwright with a sit-out jawjammer. Two stands up and grabs Cartwright by the back of the head, jumping up to plant both knees in his chest and fall over backwards! The wind explodes out of Cartwright's lungs and he rolls over coughing badly and clutching his chest. Two grabs both of his legs and flips over into a bridging pin; One! Two! THRE-kickout! Evan Cartwright kicks out of the surprising pin at the last possible instant and John Sharplin holds up two fingers! Cartwright rolls to his stomach and Two latches onto him with the Strange Hold Alpha! Evan begins struggling wildly, trying to pry Two's legs off of his head with his one free hand and Sharplin drops down to check on Cartwright. It looks like Evan Cartwright is fading in the hold and Two is torquing his arm painfully. Cartwright drums his feet and again expends a burst of energy trying to muscle out of the hold. Cartwright's struggles begin to get less and less pronounced and it looks like it could be the end - no! Billy Kryenik runs into the ring and stomps on the back of Two's head. One comes rushing into the ring as Kryenik returns to his corner, sending him out the hard way with a huge clothesline! Sharplin gets between One and the rest of the action, sending him back to his corner. Two is shaking off the kick as he and Cartwright slowly get back to their feet. Cartwright acts first, grabbing Two by the arm and whipping him into the corner! Two catches the top rope on either side of the turnbuckle and leaps back, right over the charging Evan Cartwright. Cartwright catches himself before impact as well and spins around but Two catches him with a monkey flip! Sharplin goes down! One of Cartwright's boots catches John Sharplin right in the face as he flies through the air! Two kips up to his feet and spins around, his face falling as he sees Sharplin down on the mat! JACK JONES: Did you see that? Two attacked John Sharplin on purpose! That cheating little monkey! BILL HEWSON: I think that John Sharplin was as surprised by that monkey flip as Evan Cartwright, but the results could be disastrous! Two checks on Sharplin and is taken by surprise as Cartwright comes up behind him and nails him with a low blow. Cartwright waves one arm in the direction of the entrance ramp but is stopped when One hits the ring and catches him with a boot to the side of the head! Kryenik into the ring and he begins brawling with One! Kryenik forces One into the corner and chops him across the chest, One reverses and throws Sick Billy into the corner to level a chop of his own! One looks like he is trying to knock down a tree with the edge of his hand and the unfortunate recipient is Billy Kryenik! Two is still down and Cartwright rolls out of the ring in pain, but it looks like his signal went through as Tommy Deathrow and Krusty Kid Paul come running out from the back! BILL HEWSON: Not these two! John Sharplin is down, damnit! Who is going to stop them? JACK JONES: Nobody can stop Violence International, Hewson! Get that through your thick skull! Nobo-whaaa? "Whaaa?" is that every single blue jumpsuit in the front few rows is suddenly moving forward. Security is overwhelmed as nearly one hundred bodies crash the ringside area. Tommy Deathrow and Krusty Kid Paul are focused on the ring, just feet away when the blue wave of Delivery Men hits them. Deathrow and KKP fight like madmen, but there are just too many bodies and the furious Sexy Adorable Drunks are carried off to the backstage area. Evan Cartwright watches them go with wide disbelieving eyes which quickly narrow in a fury. He glances towards the ring where One and Kryenik are still brawling it out, neither man gaining a clear advantage, and where John Sharplin is still down on the mat. Cartwright storms over the timekeeper and shoves him aside, grabbing his folding chair and slamming it closed. Cartwright hefts the steel chair in his hands and grins then turns around - AND GETS SMOTHERED IT KETCHUP! Not the deadly finishing maneuver, but the read deal because One Hundred is standing directly behind him with a squeeze bottle of Steinz Ketchup. The red arc catches Cartwright between the eyes and he drops the chair in surprise. One Hundred grabs Cartwright by the back of the neck and the trunks and rolls him right back into the ring. Kryenik sends One into the corner hard as this is happening and runs in after him but One gets his boot up and catches Kryenik square in the jaw! Two is back on his feet and he rushes to the corner, climbing up behind One as Kryenik crashes to the mat. Cartwright gets to his feet, wiping the ketchup from his eyes and eats a flying Two courtesy of the Rocket Launcher! Cartwright and Two roll out of the ring together, leaving One and Kryenik alone in the squared circle. Kryenik gets to his feet only to be kicked in the guts by One, who hooks him in a standing headscissors and then lifts... THE BIG DELIVERY! One absolutely nails it and holds Kryenik for the pin... Sharplin slowly crawls over and makes the count; One! TWO! THREEE-NOOO! Sick Billy gets his shoulder off the mat just as Sharplin's hand skims the canvas and the dead tired Sharplin holds up two fingers. BILL HEWSON: No! If John Sharplin had been in position there, this match would have been over! Billy Kryenik just barely escaped losing the tag team titles right there. JACK JONES: He won't get stuck in that situation again, Hewson. I guarantee it! Two and Cartwright have gotten back up on the apron, Cartwright still wiping his face to get all of the ketchup off. One drags Kryenik over to the corner and makes the tag to Two. The Delivery Men double whip Kryenik out of the corner but hold on and snap him right back into the turnbuckle instead! Bill Kryenik stumbles forward and gets caught with a double bulldog. The Delivery Men high-five and One leaves the ring. Two picks Billy Kryenik up off the mat and is met with a thumb to the eye. Sharplin - finally back on his feet - warns Kryenik and Billy just ignores the official, staggering over to the corner and making the tag to Cartwright. The Sick One looks a little confused by the somewhat-crimson mask Cartwright is wearing, but Evan Cartwright doesn't bother to explain before rushing across the ring and slamming Two with a running forearm. Two gets back to his feet and Cartwright ducks under a wild swing to catch him with a sambo suplex. Cartwright scoops Two up and drives him into the mat with a second sambo, screaming that its over. One looks on in concern as Cartwright drags Two over to the BPX corner and tags in a still woozy Billy Kryenik. Cartwright barks an order and the two place Two on the top turnbuckle facing out towards the crowd. Evan Cartwright climbs up the turnbuckle as well as Kryenik gets under Two for a powerbomb. They call this move the Deus Ex Machina... Cartwright hooks Two's neck and Two fights back! Two drives an elbow into the side of Cartwright's head then one down into the top of Sick Billy's! Two hooks Cartwright in a front facelock and SUPERPLEX! Superplex from Sick Billy's shoulders! The Sick One is dazed and Two flips down pulling off a perfect hurricanrana that flips Billy Kryenik right over onto his partner! Two leaps to his feet and drags Billy Kryenik back across the ring by his feet. One comes into the ring without the tag and grabs Kryenik in the standing headscissors once more. Evan Cartwright is still down and apparently out across the ring. Two to the top! One lifts Kryenik up for the powerbomb and DELIVERY DROP! THE DELIVERY DROP CONNECTS! One has the cover; One! TWO! THREEE! Cartwright can't make the save in time! John Sharplin calls for the bell and the crowd goes ape! Evan Cartwright rolls Kryenik out of the ring, stunned, as the announcement is made! FRANK WARBURTON: Here are your winners and NEEEEEEEEW NAPW TAG TEAM CHAMPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS... THE DELIVERY MEN! One and Two are presented with the belts and you can't even hear yourself think in the Polish Hall over the roar of the crowd as One and Two embrace in the center of the ring, holding the title belts high over their heads. Hundred enters the ring, his own belt in his hands, and the three men celebrate together to a huge standing ovation! The Delivery Men are the NAPW Tag Team Champions! THE DELIVERY MEN are the most successful stable in the NAPW right now! On the outside Evan Cartwright is trying to talk to Billy Kryenik, but Sick Billy isn't having any of it. Nobody can hear over the cheers in the Hall, but BPX is getting into a heated argument. Finally the Sick One just storms off, leaving a furious Evan Cartwright behind. Cartwright leaves the ringside area soon after, not looking back at the new tag champions even once. One, Two and Hundred are all standing on the turnbuckles holding glittering hold high over their heads and basking in the adoration of the fans. The cheers turn to boos as "Low" hits and Kyle Roberts and Bruce Richards come out from the back. The New and Improved D-X (looking beaten up, but consciousness is an improvement from earlier in the evening) gesture around their waists to show the Delivery Men that the belts are coming home soon. Roberts taps the side of his well-bandaged head, letting the Delivery Men know that he is smarter than them and Bruce Richards, well: Bruce Richards has prepared some charts, which he holds up in one hand to a cheer from a very vocal minority wearing the shirts by that same name. The Delivery Men gesture for D-X to bring it on and hold the title belts high over their heads. BILL HEWSON: You saw it here for the first time folks, the Delivery Men are the new NAPW Tag Team Champions! JACK JONES: There goes the division. At least until D-X brings the gold back from the gutter! BILL HEWSON: No matter what D-X might be saying right now, the Delivery Men are the champions, and they proved that they deserve those belts here tonight in a very convincing fashion! Now, believe it or not, but that is not the final title match here tonight. When we return, it will be the main event. Static vs Rex Caliber, Heavyweight Title on the line... No Holds Barred.
FRANK WARBURTON: The following NO-HOLDS BARRED contest is scheduled for ONE FALL... and is for the NAPW! HEAVYWEEEEEEIGHT CHAMPIONNNNNNSHIP! The crowd buzzes louder, louder and louder. Suddenly. LIGHTS OUT. NAPW is pulling out all the stops. Hardcore chaos - sonic insanity - shrieking razorbats - THEBLOODBROTHERS. "WE'RE SCRAPPED VALENTINES" And the buzz becomes angry, angry like the hornet's nest, deep and full and noisy, because in the entrance way, wearing his mask, wearing brand new tights, and idly twirling a screwdriver in the fingers of his right hand... Static. "WE'RE TANGERINE RINDS" He takes his time to the ring, certainly smirking beneath his three-quarter face mask. Greasy hair cascades out the top of the mask. Static looks at fans on the way down, eyes cold and bright. It doesn't matter that he is slight in stature. It's never mattered. His aura is larger than life. His hatehatehate fills the Polish Hall. One-hundred seventy-five pounds. "WE'RE CRIMES, CRIMES, CRIMES, CRIMES, CRIMES" One million ways to kill you. FRANK WARBURTON: Coming to the ring, he is the CHALLENGER. From Windsor Ontario, he weighs in at one-hundred and seventy five pounds and stands at a height of six-feet, six inches tall. He is a former Provincial and Tag Team Champion... The Hardcore Luchadore! The One Man Crimes Spree! THIS! IS! STAAAAAAAATIC! BILL HEWSON: And perhaps no man in the history of the NAPW has earned as much utter hatred - directed towards himself - as this man here. He is the ex-partner of the champ. Rex Caliber and Static held the NAPW Tag Team Championship as The Crimes! They've been through thick and thin, and the crowd... let's face it, Rex Caliber and these fans were betrayed by Static just three weeks ago! JACK JONES: Betrayed? You want to talk about betrayed, Bill Hewson, well let me lay one on you: How about when Rex Caliber refused to give Static a title shot? How about when Static, a 10 year veteran in this business, was shoved to the sidelines by his 'best friend' Rex Caliber. The title shots came Rex's way, but what did Static get out of the deal? Not a lot. BILL HEWSON: Weren't you lambasting Static for that vicious, brutal attack on Rex three weeks ago? JACK JONES: Hey, Static did a horrible thing, but I can't really say Rex didn't deserve it. And look what it got him: Static has his title match. He only had to gouge out his best friends eyes with a screwdriver to get it! Static is in the corner now, a manic gleam to his eyes. He fidgets, bouncing against the ropes and pacing, muttering to himself. Suddenly, the lights dim. Red lights surround the entrance way. The fans gather themselves... "BLED FOR DAYS!" And POP wholeheartedly as the former CRIMES tag team theme music kicks up! Static freaks out, stomping the canvas and grabbing the referee - "What's that son of a bitch think he's doing?" Before you have time to contemplate the motive, The CHAMP is framed in the entrance way. The GOLD is around his waist. And this place, this Polish Hall, is deafening, it can't only be a thousand people, there must be ten, because the crowd is with Rex Caliber, they felt his pain, they want him to ground Static into a pulp as much as Rex himself does. FRANK WARBURTON: And NOW! Coming to the ring hailing from Parts Unknown, North Carolina! He stands at six-feet, three inches tall... and weighs in as the TWO-HUNDRED FORTY FIVE POUND SHITHAMMER. Ladies and gentlemen, the man who delivers TOTAL ANNIHILATION... THE NAPW HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... THE NEXUS ONE... REEEEEEEEX CALIBERRRRRRRR! Caliber SLIDES into the ring and rips the belt off - he's IMMEDIATELY In the face of and towering over Static, the two men screaming at each other, the two men verbally tearing strips out of each other and shoving and attempting to win the superiority and THEN IT. IS. ON. JACK JONES: THIS IS NOT A WRESTLING MATCH, THIS IS A FIGHT! This is NO HOLDS BARRED, these two men are liable to commit criminal acts on each other tonight... and it's all legal! Just the way it should be! BILL HEWSON: STATIC! REX CALIBER! They're tearing into each other! We're not getting a feeling out process, Jack Jones, they're going straight for the kill OH MY GOD! CALIBER---GOING FOR THE RINGS OF REX! If he locks this on it's OVER, he can't get that second arm, Static is like a disgusting worm, squirming and sliming --- GERMAN SUPLEX --- STATIC LANDS ON HIS FEET?! FUNCRUSHERNO! CALIBER lands behind Static, spin around, into the corner, Static hits the turnbuckle, Caliber PICKS HIM UP --- JACK JONES: He's going for Total Annihiliation, Bill Hewson, and if he hits that, it's all over! BILL HEWSON: REX CALIBER IS GOING FOR ITbut STATIC - Static is clawing the eyes of Rex Caliber! Static is trying to dig his fingers into Rex Caliber's eyes, he's actually trying to tear them out! This man needs to be STOPPED! Static is on top of Rex, fingers clawing, grasping, tearing, Rex covering up, trying to protect his eyes. The referee can do NOTHING - he's only there to count pinfalls or recognize the submission. The crowd rallies, chanting Rex's name loud and lustily. Static rolls off of Rex, looking out over the crowd to an ovation of BOOOOOOS. He turns around, measures and KICKS Rex Caliber square in the face, no finesse whatsoever. Caliber's hand reflexively goes to his nose, and then Static lets fly a sick boot right to the side of the man's rib cage. Caliber slumps on his side, holding the ribs as Static begins to STOMP and STOMP and STOMP his man, he won't stop, he WON'T STOP, this won't stop. Static kicks Rex Caliber into JELLY. And then --- then --- He picks it up. BILL HEWSON: And I can't believe we're seeing the champion dominated like this. You're right Jack Jones, this is not a wrestling match, this is survival! This is a war! JACK JONES: He's got the screwdriver, Hewson! Static holds the screwdriver high like it's the motherfucking He-Man sword and the Castle of Greyskull is in the background. I HAAAAAVE THE POWERRRRR. Static turns around to see Rex Caliber pulling himself up by the ropes, blood streaming from his clearly broken nose. Rex is in the ropes, and Static jams the screwdriver down in an arcing motionCAUGHT. Caliber catches Static's wrist in his fist! And now he's squeezing, he's forcing, he's fighting, and Static is panicking, because Rex Caliber is bending his wrist back on him! Static wildly brings his other, empty hand downCAUGHT. Caliber has both of Static's wrists in his hands! BILL HEWSON: People wondered what weapons Rex Caliber would bring to this match. They wondered how he could equal the screwdriver, and Rex Caliber said that all he needed to break Static in half...was his hands. And those hands are breaking Static! JACK JONES: Caliber's trying to break Static's wrists! I mean... I guess Static wants his eyes, so it's a fair trade, but blind men can get along better than handless men! Caliber has Static's hands bent back, Static barely able to stand up, being forced downwards. Caliber's expression is pure cold fury, death to the one who threatens his and his loved ones. Static in a moment of sheer desperation lashes out with a soccer kick right between Rex Caliber's legs JACK JONES: You've got to be kidding me. And Rex Caliber... GRINS. Broadly. BASH headbutts Static right in the nose with his hard forehead! Static sways on his feet, BASH, headbutt again, and now Rex Caliber spins and plants Static with a trademark belly-to-belly suplex! Caliber SPRINGS to his feet, slapping his inner thigh with his hand and nodding to the crowd.
BILL HEWSON: There's no other way to see it, Jack Jones. Rex Caliber... has balls of steel. Static is down, cradling his wrists to his chest, but he's got a big problem. A two-hundred forty-five pound SHITHAMMER of a problem. "What Can The CHAMP Do For You?" Rex Caliber screams at Static, and before Static can respond, if he wants to, he's being picked up and german suplexed. And in this match, for the first time, Rex Caliber locks. His. Hands. He drags a reaching, clawing, terrified Static back to his feet... and hits a second German Suplex! Static desperately reaching out for the top rope now as Caliber pulls him back up, he's got it, TORN AWAY, THE THIRD. GERMAN SUPLEX. Static is folded up and broken down, and now Rex Caliber is going to end this match! BILL HEWSON: And like the legendary Chris Benoit, Rex Caliber utilizing the rolling German Suplexes - and Static didn't like being on the receiving end of that one bit! JACK JONES: Benoit should sue Caliber for copyright infringement! BILL HEWSON: I think it's an homage... and no matter how you slice it, it was effective. Rex Caliber is going in for the kill! Caliber is waiting - waiting - waiting for Static to drag himself to his feet, and the luchadore does. He turns around into the RUNNING STO! Static SPIKED to the canvas, Caliber covers, ONE, TWO, TH---Static kicks out! Rex Caliber doesn't seem to mind? Why is this? Because before Static knows it, Rex Caliber is right behind Static with the KATA-HAJIME... wait. MODIFIED. Because Rex Caliber is TAKING STATIC'S MASK OFF. JACK JONES: What the hell is WRONG with Rex Caliber! You never try to take off a luchadore's mask! He has no respect, no respect at all for the great tradition of Mexican professional wrestling, lucha libre! BILL HEWSON: Oh, and Static going around trying to stab people with a screwdriver is respectful? Static is a disgrace to lucha libre. Art Barr may have been a rudos excellente, but what Static has become... he's no El Mentiroso. JACK JONES: Please. BILL HEWSON: Static is finding new life, he's trying desperately to prevent Rex Caliber from taking his mask off! Caliber has his legs cinched around the challenger, one arm around Static's neck, Static is running out of time and steam... He is. Static is slowly moving slower, Rex's one arm right across Static's adam's apple cutting off breath. Static's hands start moving slower...slower...he's groping the canvas... and...and... STAB JACK JONES: HOLY HELL BILL HEWSON: GOD NO And the next thing anybody knows, Rex Caliber is reeling backwards, holding his forehead, roaring in pain, OH GOD, OH GOD, and Static is in the corner with a sick look in his eyes and a bloody screwdriver in his hand. Rex Caliber begins to pull himself up by the ropes and red red blood streams from a gash in his forehead, opened up by the screwdriver, dripping down his face and mingling with the blood from his nose, landing on his chest. Caliber stands up RUNNING ENZIGURI. Static NAILS the champ. Caliber slumps forward on the canvas, Static hits the ropes for the ASAI MOONSAULT. He lands across Caliber's lower back, floats over and turns his man, ONE, TWO, TH----CALIBER KICKS OUT. Static slaps the mat and argues the count with Dick Kiebiech. "YOU CAN SUCK MY VOODOO, ZEBRA SNOT." Kiebiech gets angry at Static, but Static proceeds to do a STANDING MOONSAULT, landing directly on Rex Caliber again! LEG HOOKED, ONE! TWO! KICK OUT AT TWO AND A HALF. Static snarls and then grabs the screwdriver. He looks down, Rex Caliber's blood over his chest. He looks out at the crowd and mimes digging his screwdriver into Rex's eyes. BILL HEWSON: Two near-falls for Static ... what the hell? He's going to the top rope, screwdriver in hand. What the hell is this, for the love of God, no! JACK JONES: He can't be doing what I think he's going to do! Static makes a familiar signal, mocking the crowd with it this time. He stands up on the top rope, looking down at Rex Caliber like some prey. And Static, static resolves into one single, perfect, beautiful MOMENT! OF! CLARITY--- BILL HEWSON: REX CALIBER POPS UP! JACK JONES: ...HOW? BILL HEWSON: CALIBER HAS STATIC ON HIS SHOULDERS --- AND HE HITS IT! TOTAL ANNIHILATION! JACK JONES: But he can't cover, Bill Hewson! He can't capitalize! Both men are down, and in this instance, the referee has no choice but to institute a standing ten count. Rex Caliber nailed a desperation muscle buster, proving there IS such a thing. The Champ is laying with his back to the canvas. Static is doing the same, blinking rapidly. ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. Neither man is doing much moving. FIVE. SIX. Stirring. Caliber is moving. SEVEN. He rolls over. EIGHT. And Rex Caliber puts an arm across Static's chest. Kiebiech hits the canvas, counting ONE. TWO. THREE----- BILL HEWSON: For the love of God, he got the shoulder up! Static will not stay down! What's it gonna take? JACK JONES: It might take a homicide in this ring to stop this match. The delay was costly, and now Caliber tries to shake off the cobwebs and blood loss and make some momentum. He sees Static against the ropes, comes in, CHOP WHOOO, CHOPWHOOO over Static's bare chest. Irish whip! Rex with a LARIATOOOO Static ducks and turns around with an ENZIGURI that echoes through the Polish Hall. He greedily covers, hooking the back of Rex Caliber's trunks for good measure, ONE, TWO, THREE---NO. Not enough. Static gets up, screaming at Kiebiech, abruptly cutting off and kicking Rex in the head. He grabs the bald freak's ears and pulls him up--- CALIBER comes alive! he boots Static in the gut, standing headscissors! He's going for the Styles Clash, the Planetary Collision! He flips Static up first--- Static counters! TORNADO DDT~! That drives Caliber's head into the canvas. GOOD NIGHT IRENE. Static flips over, that's going to be it, Rex Caliber is a bloody mess and unconcious, one two three. Except HE KICKS OUT HE KICKS OUT BILL HEWSON: I said earlier that Static will not stay down... but Rex Caliber WILL. NOT. DIE. The champ will not stop! JACK JONES: He's the Nexinator! BILL HEWSON: This is no time for jokes! Static has the upper hand, there's no telling what he might do! Static looks to be lost inside his head now, clearly frustrated and furious that Caliber will not stay down. Rex's blood is all over Static, staining the canvas as well. Static looks up... and gets an evil look in his eyes. He rolls to the outside and grabs the nearest steel chair he can find, tossing it into the ring. He grabs a second chair and tosses it into the ring, the chair bouncing dangerously near Caliber's head. Static rolls back in, and sets up one chair properly. He pulls Rex up and puts him on the chair, then grabs the second chair, putting it several feet before Rex. Static hits the ropes opposite Rex - rebounds - hits the opposite ropes - rebounds - HITS THE CHAIR - HITS THE TOP ROPE - AND MOONSAULTS THREE-QUARTERS ACROSS THE RING --- Crashing right into Rex Caliber seated on a chair, destroying the chair. Static screams in pain as Rex, simply, is out. Static kicks the canvas, biting his forearm, and then crawls over to cover Rex, hooking a leg somehow. He screams out the count along with the crowd, along with Kiebiech's hand hitting the canvas ONE. TWO. THREEEEEEEEEE---* BILL HEWSON: AS GOD IS MY WITNESS...SOMEHOW...SOMEWAY... JACK JONES: It's - NOT - possible! He couldn't have kicked out! That was sick! That was brutal! BILL HEWSON: Rex Caliber is fighting for his very life inside that ring, but he's fighting for more than that! He's fighting for his son, a son he never knew he had until this week! And being a parent...it changes a man. But my God, my God, he's lost so much blood, the referee... the referee needs to think about stopping this match! JACK JONES: You're absolutely right. Stop the match, and declare Static the victor. Tragic, but hey, if you can't finish the match --- BILL HEWSON: Oh, shut the hell up. Goddamned hypocrite. Static is clearly in pain, limping, hurt. He says that it's done, it's time, it's over for Rex Caliber. He's got one more big move in him. He snaps a chair shut and lays it in the center of the ring, then somehow hauls the dead weight that is Rex Caliber up. With surprising strength he pulls Rex up and over into the FUNCRUSHER... And before anybody registers it's happened. Rex Caliber counters. ...into the RINGS OF REX. JACK JONES: What the --- where the hell did that --- how did he?! BILL HEWSON: THEY'RE LOCKED ON! THE RINGS! ARE LOCKED ON! STATIC HAS NOWHERE TO GO! JACK JONES: But seriously, how in the hell did he counter? That's impossible! BILL HEWSON: Static is screaming in pain! He's dying! Rex Caliber --- my God, look at the blood, look at his face! He's going to rip Static in half! JACK JONES: Just get your foot to the rope, Static! That's all you need! Just one foot in the ropes! In a visual that will show in NAPW video packages in years to come, Rex Caliber tears back on Static's arms, attempting to pull them out of their sockets. His forehead is bloody, his chest is bloody, Static is covered in blood, screaming, and the crowd is chanting "TAP TAP TAP TAP" in deafening fashion. And just like that, it's over. Just like that, Rex Caliber retains. Just like that, all is right with the world, and good triumphs over evil. At least. In a perfect world. Rex tears back, when suddenly, everything shifts. Because that's when Joey Malone. No. Joseph Winchell. Comes through the curtain. One arm around the terrified child's head. Cyrus Calibre. Rex Caliber's son. Is being man-handled by Joseph Winchell III. And Rex Caliber sees it, sees it out of the corner of his eye. Static may have tapped, we won't ever know, because Rex Caliber releases the rings. Gets to his feet. And takes in the scene of Joseph Winchell, a gleeful smile on his face, holding a struggling, crying child up off the ground. Caliber explodes. Explodes. HE FLIES--- CRACK. The first chairshot hits him in the back. And Rex turns around, his fury directed backwards Static CRACK. The chair hucked right in Caliber's face. Static grabs the second chair CRACK across the back of Caliber's head, dropping him to the canvas. Static lays a chair across Caliber's chest. He springs to the top rope... flashes two middle fingers to the angry crowd... and flies.
OF. CLARITY. The stunned crowd watches as Dick Kiebiech counts. He counts ONE. He counts TWO. He counts... THREE. And in the shock and hush, everybody clearly hears what Frank Warburton says. FRANK WARBURTON: Here is your winner... BILL HEWSON: My God, no FRANK WARBURTON: And NEEEEEEEEEEWWW NAPW HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONNNNN JACK JONES: What is Joseph Winchell thinking~? FRANK WARBURTON: .... STAAAAAAATIC! Kiebiech goes to give the belt to Static SNATCHED. Greedily, Gollum-like, Static takes his precious and stares into the gold, the reflecting gold, the all-encompassing gold. Rex Caliber is down, Rex Caliber is out as EMTS begin to stream towards ringside, a stretcher ready for the... well. We don't want to say it. We truly don't want to say it. The EX-champ. Winchell drops Cyrus on the top of the entrance way and comes to ringside, rolling in and applauding wildly, still wearing his Stylin' Kyle rip-off tights, wearing a plain black t-shirt. Static throws his head backwards and holds his chin high, basking, basking in the cups and pop and beer and peanuts thrown his way. He's soaked by a full cup of liquid, but he doesn't care. He shoots the guns at Joey Malone---Joseph Winchell III---and hits the corner as Rex Caliber is loaded onto the stretcher. Again. Twice because of Static. Tiffany Macintyre is now at ringside, holding her eye, a nasty shiner developing on her eye... she holds a terrified Cyrus in her arms now, beside Caliber being taken out the of the arena. Just thirty minutes ago, these fans were elated, deeply feeling joy and love and passion. The Delivery Men brought them to the highest of highs, tonight, June twenty-seventh. That's all over with, now. Joey Malone is Joseph Winchell. And Static... Static is the NAPW Champion. BILL HEWSON: ... and nothing will ever be the same again. Lights down.
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