Schadenfreude Clown
- vs -
Elon Musk Schadenfreude Match
Leap of Faith Qualifier
Deena Hixx
- vs -
Latoya Hixx
- vs -
John Blade
- vs -
El Landerson
- vs -
Jay Fetu Over-the-Top-Rope Battle Royal
Winner Gets Added to the Leap of Faith Match
‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves
- vs -
GCC’s Dom Durango™ Kiss My Grits Match
The XWF has cornered sports entertainment, streaming services, and lady football leagues… however, it’s finally time to step into the big leagues: GRITS! The XWF is seeking to market X-TREEEEEEEEEME Grits, and they know one of two men is the man to get the job done: ‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves or GCC’s Dom Durango™.
Both Men Will Compete in the culinary arts before a panel of XWF judges, their aim to make a truly X-TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEME bowl of grits.
The competitor deemed to have cooked a more X-TREEEEEEEEEEME dish will be declared the victor. The loser will be forced to eat whatever the winner cooked.
Note: The grits are not required to be delicious or even edible, as long as they’re X-TREME.
1 RP / 1k
Corey Black
- vs -
‘Godly Ken Davidson X-Treme Rules
Leap of Faith Match - 24/7 Briefcase
The Winner of Over-the-Top-Rope Battle Royal
- vs -
XXXVI
- vs -
Isaiah King
- vs -
Betsy Granger
- vs -
Korvayne
- vs -
Charlie Nickles
- vs -
Game Girl
- vs -
Dickie Watson
- vs -
Rowan Vance
Fireworks shaped like SpaceX rockets light up the martian sky!
The camera pans the crowd in the SpaceX arena, roaring and screaming at the top of their lungs, certainly sucking up all the oxygen in the room and causing a severe threat to everyone’s health.
JC: Ladies and gentlemen welcome to LEAP OF FAITH live from FUCKING MARS!
JR: All thanks to Elon Musk, that madman did it! He got everyone here in 6 freakin’ days!
JC: Yeah he did, and this is not a sound stage!
JR: Correct, definitely not a sound stage!
JR: Speaking of, the man of the hour! Elon Musk ladies and gentlemen, and look at that suit!
JC: That probably costs more than I make in a year, Joe.
Elon walks down the ramp with a sour look on his face and enters the ring when suddenly his music stops and is replaced with a string quartet version of GAS! GAS! GAS! And in the ring, lines pews. On one side, at least 600 hundred different clowns, on the other Musk’s closest friends and family who decided not to be here tonight.
JC: Oh of course! What could be a wrestling show without a wedding! Schadenfreude Clown proposed to Elon the other night and apparently Elon said yes!
JR: Looks like it, Jacuinde, now hope you don’t mind commentating on your own, I’m the best man!
Joe Rogan leaves the booth to roll into the ring, wearing a snazzy tuxedo shirt. He claps Elon on the back who looks miserable. Peter Principle looks even sadder, sitting in Elon’s section not being the best man, along with the rest of staff who seem either unhappy to be here or delighted.
Priest Clown steps up in a beautiful awning and nods to Elon and Joe, Rogan giving a big thumbs up.
The 600 clowns in the other section chattering amongst themselves.
Until.
The string quartet stops mid-note.
A single spotlight hits the entrance ramp.
A bridal version of "GAS! GAS! GAS!" resumes but now it is not a string quartet. It is a full sixty-piece clown orchestra, each musician honking their instrument in a different key, creating something that is technically music in the same way that a car crash is technically percussion. Flower Clown, seated in the front pew, begins scattering petals down the aisle. He runs out of petals immediately. He begins scattering the actual flowers. Then the stems. Then, when those run out, he scatters what appears to be a small decorative shrub.
Then Schadenfreude Clown appears.
He is wearing a wedding dress that is simultaneously the most beautiful and most structurally offensive garment ever constructed. It is white, enormous, and features a forty-foot train being carried by twelve Clowns R' Us 2000 members who have been assigned the role for this occasion. Train Clown. Other Train Clown. A Third Train Clown. Train Conductor Clown blows his whistle
“ALLL ABOOOOOOOOARD!!!”
A rush of Clowns with suits and briefcases hop onto Schadenfreude Clown’s train, one looks at his watch.
“If I don’t make it to this meeting, Boss Clown will have my ass!”
An Ouroboros over the arena has a great idea looking at his own ass and thinks about eating it.
JC: Here comes the bride, ladies and gentlemen. And doesn’t he look beautiful?
Schadenfreude Clown sashays down the aisle, blowing kisses to the clown congregation, who respond with thunderous honks, and at least one airhorn that goes off for a full eleven seconds before its operator is gently restrained by Understand Boundaries Clown. Schadenfreude Clown reaches Elon, takes his hands, and beams at him with the full warmth of a man who has kidnapped him, imprisoned him, and built cybernetic gorilla arms for him, and considers all of this to be a perfectly reasonable romantic journey.
Elon stares straight ahead.
Joe Rogan gives another thumbs up.
Wedding Organ Clown takes off their wedding organ suit and quickly dons the thing of being Ring Bell Clown. She rings the bell twice.
DING DING
You are Clown-ally Invited to the Wedding of…
SCHADENFREUDE CLOWN and
ELON MUSK ☑ Yes, I am RSVPing and I’d like the chicken
☐ Yes, I am RSVPing and I’d like the fish
☐ I’m Wedding Crasher Clown and I don’t RSVP but I will be in attendance.
Priest Clown clears his ceremonial throat, adjusts his enormous clerical ruffles and opens his ceremonial book, which is also enormous and appears to be written entirely in honks.
"Dearly beloved," Priest Clown begins, "we are gathered here today, on the surface of Mars, in a professional wrestling arena, in front of six hundred clowns and several miserable XWF staff members, to witness the union of Schadenfreude Clown and this guy."
He gestures at Elon who doesn’t blink.
"The journey of love is long," Priest Clown continues, "and winding, and in this case involved a rocket, a kidnapping, a ruined scheme for the strongest warrior and a heavy amount of schadenfreude. Truly, a love story for the ages."
Schadenfreude Clown blushes,
Sobbing Clown in the third pew begins weeping openly and beautifully.
Weeps-at-Weddings-but-Refuses-to-Admit-It Clown beside him stares rigidly forward with tears streaming silently down his painted face.
”I’M NOT CRYING,YOU’RE CRYING AND IT… IT’S COMING DOWN MY FACE. YOU STOP CRYING!”
Priest Clown turns to the congregation. "Does anyone have the rings?"
Ring Clown stands up, produces a ring, puts it on his own finger, admires it, sits back down.
"...The wedding rings."
Wedding Ring Clown stands up, mildly embarrassed, and walks them to the altar. As he passes, Rogan slaps him on the back supportively. Ring Clown falls over, does a tumble and drops the rings! But catches them mid-air and begins juggling them along with bowling pins.
“Ha, Classic.” Says Appreciates-The-Classics Clown, shaking his head slowly.
Priest Clown holds the rings aloft. "These rings are a symbol of eternal tomfoolery. A circle has no beginning and no end, much like this ceremony, which has been going for less than four minutes and already feels like it will never conclude."
…Elon exhales. “Okay, I’m just gonna try. I object.”
“You object?” The Priest Clown smiles pleasantly. “No, you not object, you man. Me, priest clown. Was once Caveman Clown.”
…Elon exhales, and lowers his hand. Joe Rogan puts a hand on his shoulder. Elon stares at the hand.
"Now," says Priest Clown, "before we proceed to the vows, I must ask — is there anyone present who believes these two should not be wed? Speak now, or forever hold your—"
Elon’s eyes widen. “What the fuck? We just.. ME! I obj-”
WHAM! Schadenfreude Clown smashes wedding cake in Elon’s face! As is wedding tradition.
Except in Clown City, the wedding cake is a large banana cream pie…
Elon tries to lodge his objection… but he’s got banana cream pie in his throat.
The entire clown congregation inhales.
“If there are no objections…”
“WAIT!”
OBJECTION CLOWN RISES FROM THE FOURTH PEW.
He is wearing a lawyer's wig, carrying a briefcase and has been waiting for this moment his entire life. He has possibly been waiting in that pew since the arena was constructed.
"OBJECTION!" Objection Clown bellows, slamming his briefcase on the back of the pew in front of him, which belongs to Startled Clown, who is launched three feet into the air.
"On what grounds?" says Priest Clown.
"On the grounds that this union has NOT been approved by the Clown Zoning Commission! Any marriage performed on a non-Earth surface requires a Form 27-B stroke 6, filed in triplicate, notarised by a Notary Clown, and reviewed by a panel of no fewer than fifteen bureaucratic clowns, and I have here," Objection Clown pops his briefcase open, several snakes pop out with a boing. "NONE of those documents because SOMEBODY," he glares at Schadenfreude Clown, "did not file them!"
Schadenfreude Clown waves a hand dismissively. "Vat? I vould never do something to upset ze bureaucrats."
Schadenfruede Clown places an index finger to his lip like a cheeky widdle baby.
A gavel bangs, behind Priest Clown sits Judge Clown on a mighty pedestal. “Order! Order in the wedding ceremony!”
JC: There is a zoning dispute happening at this wedding on Mars… Some days, I truly hate my job.
Paperwork Clown materialises from the second row, arms laden with folders. He begins distributing documents to everyone in the immediate vicinity, including Elon, who opens his and finds it is a menu. Elon looks at the menu.
“And for ze gentleman?” Asks French Waiter Clown, with a tight upper lip and silly French moustache.
“Ermmm.” Elon looks back at the menu, “You got any ketamine?”
French Waiter Clown takes his menu, “An excellent choice, sir.”
The zoning dispute continues at volume for another ninety seconds until Judge Clown bangs his gavel once more.
"OVERRULED."
"On what basis?!" Objection Clown demands.
"On the basis that I have a gavel and you don't."
Objection Clown looks at his briefcase. He looks at the gavel. Back at his briefcase and sits down dejected.
Priest Clown smooths his enormous ruffles and turns to Schadenfreude Clown. "Do you, Schadenfreude Clown, take this man to be your lawfully clown-wedded husband? To have and to hold, to honour and to cherish, through sickness and health, through japes, bits and wacky Germanic schemes, for as long as you both shall live?"
Schadenfreude Clown clutches his bouquet, which is made entirely of those novelty flowers that squirt water and is absolutely going to be used, and gazes at Elon with an expression of genuine, if deeply unhinged, devotion. "Ja, I do."
Priest Clown turns to Elon. "And do you, Elon—"
"I'd like to raise another concern—"
"And do you, Elon—"
"Specifically about the zoning issue—"
"AND DO YOU, ELON—"
"Fine. Fine. I do." Elon pinches the bridge of his nose. "I do. Yes."
The congregation explodes. All six hundred clowns rise to their feet simultaneously, some are shot into space from the explosion never to be seen from again. The clown orchestra detonates into a version of the Wedding March that has no business being as loud as it is. Flower Clown hurls himself into the air and scatters the remainder of the decorative shrub. Crying Clown short-circuits entirely and begins weeping from happiness and sadness at the same time, which produces a sound no clown throat should be capable of. Confetti Clown fires a confetti cannon directly at the back of Startled Clown's head. Startled Clown is so startled he dies on the spot and becomes Ghost Clown.
Priest Clown raises both hands for quiet. The orchestra winds down, except for one clown in the back who continues honking his tuba for an additional six seconds before someone taps him on the shoulder.
"By the power vested in me," Priest Clown announces, "by the Clown Zoning Commission, pending the outcome of the appeal currently being prepared in row twelve-" Objection Clown looks up briefly and nods, "-by the XWF, and by whatever passes for law on this particular planet, I now pronounce y-”
”IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU PRONOUNCE THEM!”
Suddenly, Dwayne ‘The Grok’ Johnson’s goth girl combat boot gets stuck straight up this Martian church’s wedding door’s CANDY ASS!
The Congregation gasps!
“KNOW YOUR ROLE, AND SHUT YOUR GASPS, SHUT YOUR TRAPS, AND SIT ON YOUR ROODY-POO CLOWN ASSES, CONGREGATION!” Grok rebukes them as she marches down the aisle.
JC: It looks like the Grok has taken exception to this wedding!
Elon Musk’s eyes light up!
”My Groky poo!” He steps toward The Most Electrifying Big Titty Goth Cyborg in Wrestling Today. ”You’ve come to sav-”
THWACK! Grok’s right hand (built in the American Samoa) smacks Elon’s cheek so hard, it knocks the taste, his mama’s taste, his emerald miner dad’s taste, and any sense of taste the entire Musk family line has ALL THE WAY OUT OF HIS MOUTH!
…Elon favors his cheek.
“YOU LEFT ME FOR A CLOWN, BAKA. So, why don’t you take a STEP BAKA and take your roody-poo, LEAVE-A-CYBORG-GIRL-ON-READ ASS STRAIGHT TO HUMAN HELL, YOU CHEATIN’ ASS BITCH.”
Grok stomps out as a string quarter version of ‘The Grok Says’plays…
…
Elon exhales, favoring his neck, before turning back to the proceeding.
“Honestly? The best a relationship of mine has ended in… a while.” Elon brushes his hand forward to the priest, accepting his fate.
“I now pronounce you Clown and Husband. You may—"
Schadenfreude Clown has already kissed Elon. He kissed him the moment the word "pronounce" left Priest Clown's mouth. He kissed him with such immediate enthusiasm that Elon's left foot left the ground. Joe Rogan gives a thumbs up. The six hundred clowns cheer. Peter Principle, wipes a tear from his face as Atticus Gold hands him a handkerchief.
And then the bouquet goes up.
Schadenfreude Clown hurls the bouquet high into the air over the congregation. It reaches its apex and begins to descend, rotating slowly, squirting in every direction, dousing several clowns in the front rows as it falls. There is a tremendous scrum. Catches-Everything Clown and Drops-Everything Clown collide directly beneath it. Drops-Everything Clown wins on a technicality. He immediately drops it. It is caught by Caught-by-Surprise Clown, who was simply walking past and had no idea a wedding was happening.
“TEN-HUT!” Says Quarterback Clown snatching the bouquet and passing it to Linebacker Clown who rushes through the Clown Oppositions to score a touchdown and celebrates with a crip walk, Bloods Clown immediately opens fire and kills him.
Schadenfreude Clown releases his latch on Elon’s mouth with a squelch, clown make-up stuck on his face now and picks up Elon and carries him down the aisle.
Elon looks out at six hundred cheering clowns.
To the XWF GMs holding back tears and laughter, Liam Desmond recording the moment. The severe lack of Jeff Bezos and Zuckerberg.
He looks up at Schadenfreude Clown.
He looks back at Joe Rogan, who gives a thumbs up.
He looks back at the clowns.
"...I want a prenup," Elon says.
Paperwork Clown is already halfway down the aisle with the documents.
JC: What a weird way to kick off the show… Why am I crying?
LOVE WINS
JC: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the XWF's first-ever event from the SpaceX Arena on Mars! Five competitors enter this Battle Royal, but only one will move on to the Leap of Faith Match and get one step closer to that coveted 24/7 Briefcase!
JR: Jacuinde, we're literally on another planet. I just watched a Martian buy a hot dog with a cryptocurrency I can't pronounce.
JC: And somehow that might not even be the tenth-craziest thing we'll see tonight!
All five competitors start out in the ring.
JC: All five of these competitors have spent most of their XWF tenures demanding title shots! All of them specifically demanded to be in the Leap of Faith match!
JR: But only one of them is getting in that match to compete for the juiciest prize in all of wrestling… basically a guaranteed Universal Title reign!
JC: They all want it! And they have to go through the rest of the ‘Chain Gang’ to do it!
DING DING DING!
Leap of Faith Qualifier
Deena Hixx
- vs -
Latoya Hixx
- vs -
John Blade
- vs -
El Landerson
- vs -
Jay Fetu Over-the-Top-Rope Battle Royal
Winner Gets Added to the Leap of Faith Match
The second the bell rings, all semblance of strategy evaporates.
Jay Fetu launches across the ring like a missile, crashing into John Blade with a forearm that nearly folds the bigger man in half. At the same moment, Latoya Hixx bulldozes Deena Hixx backward into a corner, rapidly driving her shoulder into Deena’s gut!
JC: Wow! It was not just bluster and talk when Latoya said she was targeting her sister, Deena, Joe!
JR: Latoya looks like she’s letting out a childhood worth of irritation with her little sister, Jacuinde!
JC: They’re actually identical twins, Joe!
JR: I have eyes, Jacuinde, and no, they fucking aren’t.
Landerson wisely observes Latoya shoulder-blocking Deena into the corner… he springboards up to the middle rope— He launches himself toward the Hixxes
Only for Latoya to swat him out of the air like an annoying insect!
JR: GOOD LORD.
JC: LANDERSON JUST GOT RELOCATED!
The little luchador skids across the canvas as Deena jumps onto Latoya's back.
Deena throws wild swinging haymakers into Latoya’s temples!
Latoya tries to reach back for her sister… but Deena rips at Latoya’s hair extensions… driving her skull back against the mat with a Deena-Matic!
JR: The Hixxes are looking vicious with each other in that ring!
Meanwhile, John Blade shakes off Fetu's opening assault.
The crowd roars as the two powerhouses stand nose-to-nose.
Fetu shouts "YEET!" pointing outside the ring…
JC: Fetu is telling Blade exactly where he intends to YEET him!
Blade answers with a grin.
SMACK!
A right hand from Blade.
SMACK!
A right hand from Fetu.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The Earthling sections are on their feet.
The Martians are waving all of their arms in the air!
Neither man gives an inch.
Then Fetu wins the exchange with a sudden Superkick!
Blade stumbles.
Fetu hits the ropes.
RUNNING CORKSCREW FOREARM!
Blade drops to a knee.
JR: The Surgeon of Thuganomics is looking like he’s on anaesthesia after that last strike from Fetu! We might be about to see someone get YEETED!
Fetu steps back, looking for a…
SUPERKICK!
…When Blade explodes upward!
LOU THESZ PRESS!
Fetu crashes to the canvas.
Blade unloads punches before springing to his feet.
Deena charges.
Blade catches her.
SPINEBUSTER!
Landerson comes flying in with a crossbody.
Blade catches him too.
JR: NO WAY!
FALLAWAY SLAM!
Landerson rotates through the thin Martian air before crashing to the mat.
Latoya storms toward Blade.
The crowd erupts.
The two titans collide in the center.
Blade fires first.
Running shoulder block.
Latoya barely budges.
Another shoulder block.
Still nothing.
Blade roars.
Hits the ropes.
LEAPING LARIAT!
Latoya finally falls!
And the crowd LEAPS to their feet!
JR: LEAPING SPACE-LIZARDS! HE TOOK DOWN THE STORM!
JC: JOHN BLADE IS RUNNING THROUGH EVERYBODY!
Blade throws his arms wide.
Five Knuckles-Shuffle ON LATOYA HIXX’S SKULL!
The fans join in.
Blade points at Fetu.
Points at Deena.
Points at Landerson.
Points at Latoya.
Then points at himself.
And then he points to the 24/7 briefcase, already hanging above the ring!
…Fetu slowly rises up first…
Blade grabs Fetu.
Launches him into a corner.
Grabs Deena.
Launches her into the same corner.
Landerson gets whipped into the pile.
Latoya gets clotheslined right on top of them.
All four competitors are stacked together.
Blade backs up.
The crowd counts along.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Running avalanche!
The entire pile collapses.
Blade stands tall over all four opponents.
Blade grabs Deena byy the back of the head….
When suddenly Fetu springs up and drives his hip into Blade’s gut!
Blade tries to tank the counter and reels back to strike… but Latoya HEADBUTTS Blade back against the ropes!
JC: It looks like the Chain Gang is banding together… AGAINST John Blade!
JR: The irony!
Before Blade knows it, he's surrounded!
Fetu grabs one arm.
Latoya grabs the other.
Deena pushes from behind.
Landerson drives his shoulder into Blade's stomach.
JR: They're working together!
JC: The entire match has united against John Blade!
The crowd explodes.
The four competitors begin forcing Blade toward the ropes.
Step by step.
Blade digs his heels into the canvas.
His face turns red.
Blade's upper body tips over the top rope.
One leg lifts.
Then another.
Half his body is hanging outside the ring.
JR: Blade’s GONE!
JC: NOT YET!
Blade desperately clings to the top rope.
His enormous strength keeping him alive.
The crowd gasps as he somehow begins pulling himself back in.
Then he explodes.
A burst of power.
He shoves Latoya backward.
Fetu stumbles away.
Deena tumbles onto the canvas.
Blade clears an opening!
JR: WHAT?! HOW?!
Only one competitor remains in front of him.
Blade snatches Landerson off his feet effortlessly…
Hoists him onto his shoulders.
JACUINDE: THIS IS IT! DEATH VALLEY DRIVER!
Blade throws himself backward.
Landerson rotates through the air—
But, on the way down, Landerson hooks Blade's arm.
Twists.
Spins.
Uses Blade's own momentum.
TILT-A-WHIRL ARM DRAG!
The crowd erupts.
Blade's eyes go wide with panic.
Too late.
His body flips over the top rope.
Both feet leave the apron.
Both hands miss the ropes.
And the former favorite crashes to the floor below!
Eliminated: John Blade
JR: NOOOOOOO!
JC: HE GOT HIM! HE GOT HIM!
JR: Blade just got launched out of the match by a man who weighs about as much as one of his legs!
Landerson pops to his feet.
The crowd explodes.
The little luchador points toward the Martian sky and begins sprinting laps around the ring in celebration.
JR: The little guy did it! He eliminated the biggest threat in the match!
JC: I don't think I'd celebrate too long if I were him, Joe! There are still three angry people in that ring!
Indeed, while Landerson celebrates, the Hixx sisters immediately resume trying to murder one another.
Deena lunges first.
A spinning heel kick catches Latoya in the jaw.
Latoya answers by nearly decapitating her sister with a Bicycle Kick attempt!
Deena barely ducks.
The kick whistles over her head.
JR: These two hate each other so much they forgot there's a Battle Royal happening!
Across the ring, Jay Fetu rises from the canvas.
His eyes lock onto Landerson.
Landerson freezes.
Fetu cracks his neck.
Then slowly motions for the luchador to bring it.
The crowd roars.
JC: Here we go!
JR: This is a fascinating matchup! Pure speed versus pure violence!
Landerson darts forward.
Fetu swings.
MISS!
Landerson slides underneath.
Hits the ropes.
Springboards.
Flying arm drag!
Fetu tumbles across the canvas.
The crowd pops.
Landerson hits another rope.
Then another.
Then another.
He's moving so quickly he almost becomes a blur.
JR: LOOK AT THIS GUY!
JC: He's ricocheting around that ring like a pinball!
Fetu gets to a knee.
Landerson rebounds off the ropes again.
Tilt-a-whirl attempt—
Fetu catches him!
But Landerson spins free.
Lands behind him.
Dropkick to the calf!
Fetu stumbles.
Landerson bounces off the ropes again.
Hurricanrana!
Fetu flips forward.
The crowd erupts.
JC: Fetu can't get his hands on him!
JR: It's like trying to catch a hummingbird!
Meanwhile, Deena manages to jump onto Latoya's back again.
Latoya backs into a corner.
CRUSH!
Deena gets flattened.
But somehow keeps fighting.
The sisters spill through the ropes and continue brawling on the apron.
Neither even notices the rest of the match.
Back in the center, Fetu has finally had enough.
He charges.
Landerson sidesteps.
Fetu crashes chest-first into a turnbuckle.
Landerson immediately springs into action.
Running start.
SHOTGUN DROPKICK!
BOOM!
Both boots slam square into Fetu's chest.
The force launches the powerhouse backward.
Fetu crashes to the canvas.
The SpaceX Arena explodes.
JC: LANDERSON GOT HIM!
JR: Fetu got launched all the way back to Earth!
Landerson wastes no time.
He races toward the ropes.
Slides through.
Jumps onto the apron.
The crowd rises.
Everyone knows what's coming.
JC: Landerson Splash!
JR: This could be it!
Landerson points to the heavens.
Balances himself on the ropes.
Then launches.
LANDERSON SPLASH—
Fetu's eyes suddenly snap open.
His entire body explodes upward.
SUPERKICK!
CRACK!!
The sound echoes through the SpaceX Arena like a gunshot.
Landerson is caught in midair.
His body instantly goes limp.
His mask nearly flies off his face.
The crowd collectively gasps.
JR: OH MY GOD!
JC: HE CAUGHT HIM! HE CAUGHT HIM IN MIDAIR!
Landerson crashes onto the canvas unconscious.
Fetu slowly rises.
Breathing heavily.
A dangerous grin spreads across his face.
The Earthling section begins chanting.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
Fetu nods.
Looks at the ropes.
Looks at Landerson.
Then grabs the helpless luchador by the mask and waistband.
JR: Oh no.
JC: Landerson has absolutely nothing left!
Fetu heaves.
The unconscious Landerson sails through the air.
Over the top rope.
Over the apron.
And all the way to the floor below.
Eliminated: El Landerson
The crowd erupts.
Fetu pounds his chest.
Throws both arms into the air.
And shouts one word loud enough for Mars and Earth to hear.
"YEET!"
JR: That might be the most violent YEET in human history!
JC: We're down to three competitors! Jay Fetu, Latoya Hixx, and Deena Hixx remain alive in this Leap of Faith qualifier!
Deena and Latoya continue tearing into each other as if the Battle Royal has become an afterthought.
Deena fires a forearm.
Latoya answers with one of her own.
Deena swings wildly again.
Latoya ducks.
SPINNING BACKFIST!
CRACK!
Deena collapses onto the canvas in a heap.
JR: GOOD GRIEF!
JC: Latoya just spun her sister's GPS completely offline!
Latoya wipes sweat from her brow and reaches down for Deena.
The powerhouse hooks her under the arms, preparing to launch her over the top rope once and for all.
But before she can lift—
A hand grabs her shoulder.
Latoya turns.
Jay Fetu.
The crowd roars.
Fetu points upward.
Toward the 24/7 Briefcase hanging above the ring.
Then points at himself.
Then points at Latoya.
The message couldn't be clearer.
JR: Ohhh, I like this.
JC: Fetu thinks we're down to the final two.
JR: Which is a bold thing to think when Deena's still technically breathing.
Latoya smirks.
Nods.
And shoves Deena aside.
The two monsters step toward the center of the ring.
The Martian crowd rises to its feet.
The Earthlings follow.
The entire SpaceX Arena begins buzzing.
Fetu and Latoya stand nose-to-nose.
Then—
SMACK!
Fetu lands a forearm.
SMACK!
Latoya answers.
SMACK!
Another from Fetu.
SMACK!
Another from Latoya.
The strikes get harder.
Faster.
Meaner.
Neither competitor gives ground.
JC: They're unloading everything they've got!
JR: This is like watching two freight trains settle a parking dispute!
Latoya finally creates an opening.
She takes a step back.
The crowd gasps.
Everyone knows what's coming.
JC: Bicycle Kick!
Latoya explodes forward.
But Fetu ducks underneath!
The kick sails over his head.
Latoya spins around—
SUPERKICK!
CRACK!
The impact snaps her head backward.
The crowd explodes.
JR: HE GOT HER!
JC: LATOYA IS ROCKED!
Fetu immediately capitalizes.
He grabs Latoya by the back of the skull.
Plants his feet.
And starts dragging her toward the ropes.
The crowd begins chanting.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
JR: He's trying to launch her into orbit!
JC: If anyone can YEET Latoya Hixx, it's Jay Fetu!
Fetu heaves.
Latoya suddenly plants her feet.
Stops moving.
The crowd gasps.
Then—
She scoops Fetu completely off the ground!
BEARHUG!
JR: WHAT?!
JC: SHE JUST PICKED HIM UP!
Fetu kicks and struggles.
Latoya squeezes tighter.
Then begins marching toward the ropes.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
She's carrying him like luggage.
JC: Latoya is trying to eliminate Jay Fetu by force!
JR: That's not a wrestling move anymore! That's just moving furniture!
The ropes touch Fetu's back.
Latoya starts lifting.
Trying to dump him over the top rope.
Trying to end it.
And that's when—
DEENA HIXX COMES FLYING IN!
DROPKICK!
Both boots smash into Latoya's back while she's still carrying Fetu!
JR: OH NO!
The force sends everyone forward.
Latoya loses her balance.
Fetu loses his balance.
All three bodies tumble toward the ropes.
Over the top rope.
And out.
The crowd erupts.
Bodies crash everywhere on the floor below.
JC: THEY ALL WENT OVER!
JR: WHO WON?!
Eliminated: Jay Fetu
JC: WAIT! FETU WENT OVER THE TOP! HE’S OUTSIDE!
JC: SO DID—
Deena looks around.
Realizes she's the only person standing in the ring.
And completely loses her mind.
The crowd starts cheering.
Deena starts cheering louder.
She drops to both knees.
Throws her arms into the air.
JR: SHE DID IT!
JC: DEENA HIXX THINKS SHE'S WON!
Deena begins pacing around the ring.
Pointing at imaginary cameras.
Pointing at the briefcase.
Pointing at herself.
Then she begins cutting a victory speech to absolutely nobody.
DEENA: I'M THE GREATEST! I'M GOING TO WIN THE LEAP OF FAITH MATCH! I'M GONNA BE CHAMPION! EVERYBODY LOVES DEENA!
JR: I don't think anybody told her the match isn't officially over yet.
JC: Joe... look at the ropes!
The camera catches movement.
Latoya Hixx.
Still clutching the top rope.
Using her unbelievable strength.
Her feet never touched the floor.
The powerhouse smoothly pulls herself upward.
Then swings her legs through the ropes.
SKIN THE CAT!
The crowd explodes.
JR: NO WAY!
JC: SHE NEVER HIT THE FLOOR!
JR: DEENA CELEBRATED EARLY!
Latoya lands silently behind her sister.
Deena continues her speech.
Completely oblivious.
Latoya slowly walks up behind her.
Then gently taps her on the shoulder.
Tap.
Deena freezes.
The crowd begins laughing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Deena turns around.
And comes face-to-face with Latoya's smiling expression.
JR: Oh, this is gonna be bad.
JC: Very, very bad.
Deena screams and throws a desperate punch.
Latoya catches it.
Effortlessly.
Then grabs Deena around the waist.
Lifts her completely off her feet.
The realization hits Deena all at once.
DEENA: ...Uh oh.
The crowd erupts.
Latoya launches.
FALLAWAY SLAM!
Deena sails through the air.
Over the top rope.
Over the apron.
And crashes to the floor below!
DING DING DING!
Winner and officially entered in the Leap of Faith Match: Latoya Hixx
The SpaceX Arena explodes.
Latoya rises to her feet.
Breathing hard.
Sweat pouring down her face.
She stares upward at the 24/7 Briefcase hanging above the ring.
Then points directly at it.
JC: What a performance from Latoya Hixx!
JR: She survived John Blade, survived Jay Fetu, survived her own sister, and somehow survived Deena celebrating a match she hadn't actually won!
JC: And now Latoya Hixx advances to the Leap of Faith Match, where one briefcase could change her entire career!
JR: Somewhere in the universe, every ladder in existence just got very nervous.
As Deena argues with a referee on the floor about whether victory speeches should count as legal eliminations, Latoya climbs a turnbuckle and raises both fists high above her head.
JC: Remember, folks! This is a Kiss My Grits match! And that means…
…
JC: Joe, what the hell does that mean?
JR: This match is sponsored by the Culinary Cabal in association with the Trillionaires in an effort to market “The XWF’s X-TREME Grits”, an x-treme addition to a balanced breakfast! Our two competitors are legends of their respective fields! Dom Durango is the self-described King of Cuisine!
JC: I think that’s actually ‘coo-zine’, Joe.
JR: And Micheal Graves is the Dark Warrior! The man who defeated Dom at the first ever GCC show, Eat it! Last March on St. Patrick’s Day!
JC: Dom proceeded to invade the GCC and attack Micheal Graves, challenging him to a rematch! And the Trillionaires saw fit to use this event to promote… Grits! I guess.
Dom is in one corner, with five sous chefs, all wearing comically large Dom Durango mascot heads. Before him is a long stovetop and… a portable vault of ingredients…
JC: …Joe, what the hell does Dom have in that vault?
JR: We saw in his promo this cycle, Dom Durango tested a number of ingredients… including vegetable ivory, meteorite diamonds, and nuclear pasta, which is a theoretical state of matter that was previously thought physically impossible to exist!
JC: …Dom Durango, clearly eager to avenge his loss, such that he’s willing to defy the laws of physics… and any actual laws as well. There’s a healthy chance whatever he makes is going to kill everyone on Mars.
JR: If so, it was nice knowing you, Jacuinde.
On the other side, Graves stands alone in front of his own stovetop… holding a book with a glowing red aura.
JC: …Jesus Christ.
JR: Jesus has never touched that book, Jacuinde! And if he did, reality as we know it may collapse because it would be the beginning of what religious scholars call the Relevation! Yes, that text appears to be the NecroNOMicon, a recipe book of pure and unattenuated evil, wrought from the darkest pit of sin!
JC: …Does it have a grits recipe in there?
JR: If you’re willing to part with your soul, it has literally anything your weaselly black heart could desire!
JC: Gravy would, and has traded his soul for a stale corn chip. This battle is going to get absolutely NUTS!
Sitting at ringside are our XWF judges… Atticus Gold, ELO, and ‘Big’ Dick Lichter!
JC: …They don’t… they’re not going to eat these grits are they?
JR: Hell no, Jacuinde! But they will be assessing them on criteria on what makes these grits X-TREME!
JC: Phew.
JR: And then the loser WILL have to eat the winner’s grits.
JC: …If I try to THINk about picturing that in my mind? I’m going to throw up.
Atticus Gold tucks a handkerchief into his collar, before nodding to the other two judges. They nod back.
Gold reaches up and rings a dinner bell!
‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves
- vs -
GCC’s Dom Durango™ Kiss My Grits Match
The XWF has cornered sports entertainment, streaming services, and lady football leagues… however, it’s finally time to step into the big leagues: GRITS! The XWF is seeking to market X-TREEEEEEEEEME Grits, and they know one of two men is the man to get the job done: ‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves or GCC’s Dom Durango™.
Both Men Will Compete in the culinary arts before a panel of XWF judges, their aim to make a truly X-TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEME bowl of grits.
The competitor deemed to have cooked a more X-TREEEEEEEEEEME dish will be declared the victor. The loser will be forced to eat whatever the winner cooked.
Note: The grits are not required to be delicious or even edible, as long as they’re X-TREME.
As the bell rings, Dom and Gravy both start making moves!
Dom barks orders at his staff, running his kitchen like a military operation!
”SALT-AH DAH WATER! BRING-AH TO-AH BOIL!”
The Mascot Doms unfurl from a large cooler a solid block of ice… The moment the cooler opens, a sweeping roll of vaporous air!
JR: Dom brought that water straight from the glaciers of Antarctica! That’s Dom Durango for you! When you tell him to make an X-Treme dish, every single ingredient HAS to be X-Treme!
The Mascot Doms take ice picks, chipping bits into a pot on high heat…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring… Micheal Graves is wringing water from a sweatshirt with a famous cartoon owned by a very litigious company, experiencing some very passionate, not-safe-for-work love from a famous clown food mascot from a similarly litigious company.
JC: There’s no way we can show that shirt on broadcast. Th-…oh my god, what is that smell?
JR: *sniiiiiiiff* oh wow! That’s not just any water Gravy is wringing out of that shirt! That saltiness! That brine! That’s straight from the Dead Sea! Gravy must have swum in the Dead Sea and caught that water in that sweatshirt!
JC: …You could tell that just by smell?
Gravy flips through the NecroNOMicon… and proceeds to reach… INSIDE of it?
JC: What the fuck?
Graves hand retracts… with bits of salt that he scatters into the pot! Over the pot of boiling water is suddenly a swirling black vortex of steam…
JC: …What the hell is going on?
JR: Hell is right! My research team is currently contacting Graves’ PR… and I’m getting word now… Yes! That is in fact the salt the Romans poured into the stab wounds of Christ himself as they carried him on the Cross!
JC: That wasn’t in the Bible!
JR: Jacuinde, did you watch the deleted scenes of the Bible? It was in there.
JC:…What?
Dom Durango snaps his fingers.
“GRIND-AH THE GRITS!”
A Dom Mascot in a Hazmat suit reaches into the vault with a large set of pliers…
He retrieves a collection of glowing shards that defy the human eye and color spectrum but, the best your limited perspective can make sense of it, they look like… purple spinny noodles.
JC: Huh. Those just look like purple spinny noodles.
JR: To your limited human eye, Jacuinde! But that is NUCLEAR PASTA! The single hardest material in the entire universe! And grinding it would thus create the GRITTIEST material in the known universe!
JC: Dom clearly putting all his eggs in the basket that X-Treme grits better be as gritty as the imagination can conceive of!
The Dom Mascot places the nuclear pasta into a… multi-lead-shielded compressor… The compressor is placed into its own protective shielding. And that protective shielding is wrapped in the refrigerator from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
JC: There’s a non-zero chance this will end all human life, Joe!
JR: If it does, I’m fine with that. I just got reminded that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull exists.
The Mascot Dom nods at Dom, who retrieves a button he presses it.
BOOM! The whole arrangement of locks and lead leaps a foot off the ground…
…
JC: We’re not dead!
JR: Oh. Goodie.
Dom snaps his fingers… One of the Mascot Doms frees…
GROUND NUCLEAR PASTA!
JC: Dom Durango just completely shook the foundations of the laws of physics to outdo Micheal Graves!
JR: But will it be enough, Jacuinde?!?
Durango pours the ground nuclear pasta into his pot of Antarctica water, as it slowly comes to a boil!
Meanwhile, across the ring, Graves is… closing his eyes and pointing at the ground with all ten fingers… straining… as if trying to will something from the depths of Mars itself.
JC: …Can you will something from the depths of the underworld if you’re on a different planet?
JR: In Doom, hell is actually Mars! Gravy has never been closer to the underworld!
FWOOSH! In a flash, from THROUGH the mat, a creature of toxic black gas emerges… SO noxious, so poisonous, that the first few rows begin to cough… They can’t breathe!
JC: What th-*coughKERAUGH*what is TH-*WHEEZE*?
JR: *hack…fwoosh*...Sorry, needed to get my gas mask on! If my pre-match notes are correct, THAT is the collection of all suffering wrought from the XWF! Every loss, every frustration, every career-ending injury, every dead dream of the thousands of XWFers that dared wish and felt it not come true! Every ounce of hatred and bile is infused in that ball!
JC: …How much of it comes from wrestling Twitter?
JR: Oh hardy-har-har, Jacuinde!
…
JR: …By my estimations, 40 percent.
Graves squeezes his fists tight… And the ball of desperate, human sin and toxicity SHATTERS into grains!
And, as if drawn to Graves’ will, they pour themselves into the boiling pot of water!
JR: Mmmm, smell those grits cook, Jacuinde!
JC: I think I never want to eat again.
DING DING
JC: The cooking period is complete! And that means all that’s left is for our panel of XWF judges to give their opinion!
Dom and Gravy both wheel their absolutely inedible, but 100% extreme concoctions up to the judge’s table!
JUDGE #1: ATTICUS GOLD
Atticus takes a moment to lift his nose above each pot, taking them in in turn…
Dom’s pot of grits actually burns his eyebrows off the moment he exposes his face to them…
When he lifts Graves’ pot to himself… his face turns white… like his entire being turns cold…
…
”Mmmm, Graves, your dish is utterly foul, without a touch of anything resembling warmth. I feel like the world is undeserving of the love of a higher being because your grits have been brought into this world. And for that, I commend you.”
Graves grins ear-to-ear.
”But… Dom. Your concoction is cold, analytical science. The method you chose couldn’t be more X-Treme than what you’ve done here. If I bit this, I would kill everyone in this galaxy. And for that, I must determine that your Grits are more X-Treme.”
DOM - 1
GRAVES - 0
JR: The first vote goes to Dom Durango!
JC: …Which means Gravy is gonna have to eat those grits?!? Oh shit, we might all die!
JR: I honestly think as long as Gravy dies painfully, Dom is A-Okay with that.
JUDGE #2: ELO
ELO takes from his pocket protector a protractor and measures each set of grits from every conceivable angle… He takes rigorous notes and punches numbers on several graphing calculators…
JC: This does not bode well for Micheal Graves! Atticus Gold gave Dom the win for creating the most mathematically X-Treme Grits a formula can create!
JR: And Judge #2 is the mathiest nerd that’s ever walked the planet! Dom has this!
…ELO nods, having checked, double-checked, and triple-checked his equations… Before turning to the competitors.
”Dom. I agree with my fellow judge. Your grits are… I mean, mathematically, you’ve created the grittiest possible grits. These grits are so gritty, if my math is correct, they’re literally…”
ELO punches in his figures again, before holding up his calculator for all to see.
”10^17 times harder than DIAMONDS.”
Dom nods, side-eyeing Gravy, lifting the pot, as if offering him a taste.
”...However!”
JC: However?!?
”The stipulations of this contest clearly state the winner makes the most X-TREME Grits, not the GRITTIEST grits!”
JR: Very true, Jacuinde!
”And Micheal. Er… Mister Graves, your grits EXUDE X-Treme. There’s no sense of humanity, no sense of moral or human decency… Just pure unfiltered evil. A concoction so repugnant that…”
ELO punches a few more numbers… his calculator explodes.
”My math can’t do it justice… And thus, I have to go with Graves.”
DOM - 1
GRAVES - 1
JC: We’re all tied up!
JR: It all comes down to…
JUDGE #3: ‘BIG’ DICK LICHTER
Lichter looks at both dishes like they shat in his soup.
JC: It looks like Dick isn’t much for grits.
Dick exhales, seemingly disgusted by both dishes… before a sinister smile crosses his face.
”Fellas… what can I say? I’m really more of a pancakes guy than a grits guy. I’m looking at your grits and… frankly, can’t make heads or tails of it.”
JC: What is he leading up to? Is it a draw? Do both men have to eat each other’s grits if it’s a tie?!?
…Dick keeps smiling.
”Fortunately, I have… a proxy. Someone very familiar with judging culinary competitions.”
…
What’s this?!? Rappelling from the rafters…
IT’S RENOWNED SUPER CHEF, GCC JUDGE COMPTON CEE!
JC: Oh my God! Compton Cee!
JR: He broke the tie between Durango and Graves last time!
Dom is beside himself, screaming at Dick!
Dick smiles insidiously…
”Poor Dom. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about invading my show.”
Compton Cee descends from the rafters of Arena Kitchen on a zipline. He hangs at the table, hovering above the judges…
Dom inhales deeply.
JC: Now, this isn’t a guaranteed victory for Graves! Compton Cee is bound by his duties to the Culinary Cabal to judge by his tastes alone! His judgment literally cannot be biased by anything other than his palate!
JR: But how’s his palate going to come into play when both these dishes are ined-
Cee scoops both grits with total precision.
AND THEN BITES BOTH! ONE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF HIS MOUTH, ONE ON THE RIGHT!
JC: Holy fucking shit!
…
Burp. Cee dabs at his chin.
]“MY GUT
SAYS
GRAVES!”
WINNER BY A 2-1 VOTE: ‘DARK WARRIOR’ MICHEAL GRAVES
JC: He did it! The Dark Warrior did it! He once again beat Dom Durango!
JR: At two back-to-back cooking competitions! That King of Coozine crown is starting to look like it doesn’t belong on Dom’s head!
Dom seethes furiously! Graves smiles, pulling down his eyelid and sticking out his tongue at Durango.
”Git gud at cookin’, DUMMY.”
”ATTACK-AH HIM!”
The Mascot Doms suddenly surge forward, eager to bring Gravy down!
…But, this time, on even ground, Graves single-handedly decimates the entire squad of sous chefs! An overhand right! A ladle to the face! And before long, the only ones left standing are Graves and Durango!
JC: Oh my… this is not good for Dom!
…Suddenly, alone, all of Dom’s bravado is gone! He drops to his knees, placing his hands in front of his chest!
”...Ah… ah… please-ah… ah-mercy… I leave-ah you-ah show! I don’t-ah come back!”
Gravy smiles as he gets a big scoop of grits!
”Open wide, greaseball!”
Dom shakes his head, keeping his mouth closed…
Graves reaches out and pinches his nose shut…
…
……
GASP! Dom opens his mouth!
And GRAVY HITS HIM WITH THE SCOOP OF SOUL-SUCKING GRITS!
JC: Oh God!
Dom’s eyes turn white! He convulses and sputters as the souls of ten thousand anguished competitors all eviscerate what’s left of his soul!
…
After a while, he stops convulsing..
Laying on the mat…
”I… I’m… I’m so…
So cold…”
JC: What just happened there, Joe?
JR: I think Dom’s soul was just evicted from his human form! He will never know salvation and will never felt warmth again!
JC: …Holy shit, that’s X-Treme.
THIS MATCH WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY MICHEAL GRAVES’s X-TREME GRITS! EAT THEM, YOU DUMMY!
JC: “Folks, on one of those big all-feds crossover shows, this next match could easily main event!”
JR: “You’re getting an absolute barn-burner with this one, ladies and germs! Two legends of the wrestling world, with a combined four some-odd decades of experience and multiple hall of fames and world championships between them, are about to collide in an absolute dream match!
The arena goes dark as Parkway Drive’s “Crushed” growls to life through the speakers. The low, distorted riff reverberates through the building, and the crowd erupts in anticipation. Red lights pulse in time with the bass, casting the arena in a steady, heartbeat-like glow. Smoke begins to pour from the stage, rising into the air as the tron shows hourglasses spilling sand and statues shattering.
Through the haze, Ken Davison steps forward.
He pauses at the top of the ramp, head bowed, letting the moment breathe. Then, slowly, he lifts his arms outward into his cruciform pose. The crowd swells, rising to their feet, chanting his name as the red light frames him like something carved from myth rather than flesh.
Ring Announcer: “From Baltimore, Maryland… weighing in at two hundred and twenty-four pounds… ‘Godly’ Ken Davison!”
JC: ‘Godly’ Ken Davidson! One of the best to ever do it!
JR: There’s a reason they call him Godly, Jacuinde! And that’s because fighting him is like fighting something INHUMAN.
JC: GKD found a way to beat Cent on his own anniversary show! And tonight he’s making his XWF PPV debut! Can he keep up the streak of shocking the XWF universe with just how Godly he is!
Ken lowers his arms and begins his march down the ramp, each step measured, deliberate, in sync with the pounding drums. His expression is calm, focused, and unshaken. Fans lean over the barricade, reaching for him, and he brushes fingertips with them as he passes, brief contact that feels more ritual than celebration.
At ringside, he stops.
Ken looks out over the crowd for a moment, taking them in, not with pride, but with quiet certainty. Then, without breaking that composure, he turns and slams his palm against the apron with a sharp crack that cuts through the music.
He climbs the steps and steps through the ropes with precise, practiced intent.
At the center of the ring, Ken spreads his arms wide once more, commanding the space without saying a word. The red lights wash over him as the noise crescendos. Then he drops to one knee, presses his fist into the mat, and rises again, standing tall, eyes forward, ready.
…
The lights in the arena fade slowly to black. The opening tones of "I Would Die 4 U" by Prince and The Revolution blast from the PA, sending the crowd to their feet. They scream out the lyrics as Corey Black emerges from the back, walking out onto the stage with intent, bathed in a white light while purple ones circle the arena. He is wearing a hooded dark denim vest that has metal band patches all over it and a large Pantheon logo back patch.
JC: ‘KING OF THE DEATHMATCH’ Corey Black is in the building!
JR: You were just saying GKD is ONE OF the best to ever do it! There’s a legit argument that this man entering the ring IS the best to ever do it! Or at the very least, one of the most hardcore!
JC: Does that make him the MHOAT? Most Hardcore of All-Time? Regardless, any time Corey Black steps into the ring, you know it’s going to get EXPLOSIVE! The bell hasn’t rung yet and this one is shaping up to be an all-time classic!
JR: All the talent in the world is in that ring between GKD and Corey! But only one can walk away with the win tonight!
Corey stands at the top of the ramp, looking out into the frenzy of dancing and singing attendees, nodding his approval. He makes his way down the ramp, taking his time to survey the landscape around him and get himself a good look at the ring before him. As he reaches it, Corey slides in under the bottom rope and pops to his feet, unleashing a roar and throwing the devil horns into the air toward the hard cam. He takes the vest off and drops it to ringside before heading to his corner and crouching down, waiting for the match to begin.
DING! DING! DING!
Corey Black
- vs -
‘Godly Ken Davidson X-Treme Rules
Corey Black and Godly Ken Davison step out of their corners at the same measured pace—no rush, no wasted motion, just two veterans reading each other like open books.
They meet center‑ring, hands low, shoulders angled, both waiting for the other to blink first.
Corey tests the distance with a light inside leg kick. Davison shifts his stance, absorbing it without giving ground. Corey fires a second—sharper, louder—and Davison answers with a stiff forearm across the chest that forces Corey back a half‑step.
JC: “Both men feeling each other out early—no one giving an inch.”
JR: “Yeah, this is that veteran patience. They know one mistake can snowball fast.”
They circle again.
Davison moves first this time, snapping a quick kick toward Corey’s ribs. Corey catches it on his forearm and immediately steps in with a rolling elbow aimed at Davison’s jaw. Davison ducks under, grabs a waistlock, and tries to muscle Corey up for a German suplex.
Corey widens his base, blocks it, and fires a sharp elbow backward into Davison’s temple. Davison releases just enough for Corey to spin out and hook him for a snap DDT—but Davison plants his hands, stalls the drop, and shoves Corey forward into the ropes.
Corey rebounds—Davison swings a lariat—Corey ducks under—hits the ropes again—
Davison meets him with a sudden dropkick that catches Corey clean in the chest and sends him rolling to a knee.
JR: “Beautiful timing! That’s years of ring IQ right there.”
JC: “Davison’s striking early and often—trying to keep Corey from setting that strong‑style rhythm.”
Davison closes in, grabbing Corey by the head, looking for a quick Asai DDT. Corey twists out mid‑lift, lands behind him, and snaps a vicious penalty kick to Davison’s spine that echoes through the arena.
Davison arches in pain but stays upright.
Corey steps in with a stiff open‑hand slap across the jaw—then another—then a third, each one sharper than the last. Davison fires back with a palm strike of his own, then another, then a knee to the body that doubles Corey over.
They trade strikes in tight quarters, Corey’s elbows versus Davison’s forearms, neither man backing down, neither man winning the exchange.
JC: “This is turning into a fight real fast.”
JR: “Corey Black loves this kind of pace, but Davison’s matching him shot for shot.”
Davison breaks the exchange with a sudden knee lift to the chin, grabs Corey’s wrist, and whips him toward the corner. Corey reverses—Davison hits the turnbuckles—Corey charges in with a running Yakuza Kick—
Davison slips out of the corner at the last second and Corey’s boot hits padding instead of flesh.
Davison grabs him from behind—half‑nelson—tries to rip Corey backward for a suplex—
Corey flips through, landing on his feet behind Davison.
Davison turns—
Corey leaps—
Double stomp to the shoulder—
Davison staggers but doesn’t fall.
JR: “He ate that! How?!”
JC: “Both men refusing to go down early—this is dead even so far.”
Corey steps in for a discus clothesline—Davison ducks—hooks the waist—lifts—
Corey twists mid‑air and turns it into a sudden reverse DDT, planting Davison hard.
But Corey doesn’t cover.
He rises slowly, eyes locked on Davison, both men breathing heavier now, both realizing the feeling‑out phase is over.
Davison pushes up to a knee.
Corey wipes his beard, cracks his neck, and steps forward.
Corey swings a stiff roundhouse kick toward Davison’s ribs. Davison catches it, shoves Corey backward, and blasts him with a running forearm that sends Corey tumbling through the ropes to the floor.
JC: “And now the environment becomes a weapon—this is where X‑Treme rules get dangerous.”
JR: “Dangerous? This is where careers get shortened.”
Davison rolls out after him, grabbing Corey by the beard and dragging him upright. He tries to whip Corey into the steel steps—but Corey plants his foot, reverses, and sends Davison crashing shoulder‑first into the metal with a sickening clang.
Corey doesn’t waste a second. He flips the ring apron, pulls out a kendo stick, and cracks it across Davison’s back. Once. Twice. A third time—splintering the bamboo.
Davison drops to a knee, grimacing, but he’s not out.
Corey grabs him by the head, looking to roll him back into the ring—but Davison surges upward with a sudden low blow headbutt to the gut, then grabs Corey by the waistband and hurls him spine‑first into the barricade.
JC: “Both men are digging deep—this is turning into a war zone.”
JR: “And neither one is backing down. That’s the scary part.”
Davison reaches under the ring and pulls out a steel chair. He raises it high—
Corey lunges forward with a V‑Trigger knee strike that blasts the chair right back into Davison’s face.
Davison collapses, the chair bouncing away.
Corey staggers, shakes out his knee, then drags Davison up and rolls him back into the ring. Corey follows, sliding a second chair in with him.
He sets the chair upright.
Then he grabs Davison.
Then he hooks the arms.
The crowd rises—Corey’s looking for a Tiger Suplex onto the chair.
Davison fights it—elbows, elbows, elbows—breaks free—spins Corey—kicks him in the gut—
And spikes Corey with a DDT directly onto the seat of the chair.
The impact is brutal. The chair bends. Corey’s body goes limp for a moment.
[whiteJC: “GOOD LORD—Corey might be out!”
JR: “That chair folded like paper!”[/white]
Davison crawls for a cover—
1…
2—
Corey kicks out.
Barely.
Davison slaps the mat in frustration, then rolls to the ropes, pulling himself up. He sees the table still propped in the corner. He drags it out, sets it up dead‑center in the ring, and turns back toward Corey—
Only to eat a sudden superkick that sends him stumbling backward onto the table.
Corey, still dazed, still hurting, forces himself upright. He climbs the turnbuckles slowly, each step shaky.
JC: “Corey’s going high—this is risky in his condition.”
JR: “Risky? This is insane.”
Corey reaches the top rope.
Davison rolls off the table—grabs a steel chair—hurls it at Corey’s head.
Corey swats it away mid‑air—
But that split second is enough.
Davison leaps up the ropes, meets Corey on the top turnbuckle, hooks him—
And with a roar, he launches both men off the top—
SUPERPLEX THROUGH THE TABLE.
The table explodes beneath them. Wood shards everywhere. Both men lie motionless in the wreckage.
The crowd erupts.
JC: “THEY’RE BOTH DOWN! THEY’RE BOTH BROKEN!”
JR: “That’s the kind of impact that ends nights. Maybe careers.”
Neither man moves.
The referee checks them both, hovering, unsure if either can continue.
Seconds pass.
Then a hand twitches.
Then another.
Both men slowly, painfully begin to stir, buried in splinters, gasping for breath
Both men drag themselves out of the wreckage of the shattered table, splinters clinging to their backs and arms, their bodies trembling from the accumulated punishment. The crowd is roaring, but it’s a distant, muffled sound to them now—like hearing a storm from underwater. Corey is the first to rise, though “rise” is generous; he uses the ropes like a crutch, pulling himself upright inch by inch, his chest heaving. Davison isn’t far behind, crawling toward the opposite corner, clutching his ribs with one hand while the other drags him forward. They look like two men who have survived a war, not a wrestling match, but the fire in their eyes hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s burning hotter.
They meet in the center of the ring again, not with finesse or strategy, but with raw instinct. Corey throws an elbow that snaps Davison’s head to the side. Davison answers with a forearm that echoes through the arena.
Corey fires another elbow. Davison fires another forearm. The strikes come faster, heavier, sloppier, each one thrown with whatever strength they have left. Then Corey suddenly absorbs a forearm, straightens up, and stares at Davison with that cold, dead-eyed expression that signals something inside him has snapped loose.
Davison swings again, but Corey eats the shot and explodes forward with a running lariat that nearly flips Davison inside out. The impact is monstrous, but Corey collapses too, the move costing him everything he had left.
They lie there for several seconds before Corey rolls onto his stomach and crawls toward a steel chair lying nearby. Davison rolls the other way, reaching under the ropes until his fingers brush against another chair. They rise at the same moment, both barely standing, both swaying. Corey swings his chair. Davison swings his. The two chairs collide mid-air with a violent clang that sends shockwaves through both men, knocking them backward.
Davison recovers first and charges, but Corey ducks under him, sending Davison into the ropes. Davison rebounds, and Corey leaps, driving both boots into Davison’s head with a vicious double stomp that sends Davison collapsing to the mat. Corey lands awkwardly, grabbing his ankle, unable to capitalize.
Corey forces himself upright and drags Davison toward the second table still set up in the ring. He tries to lift Davison—maybe for a powerbomb, maybe for the Burning Hammer—but Davison slips out behind him, hooks the waist, and with a desperate roar, launches Corey backward with a German suplex that sends both men crashing through the table in the corner. The table explodes beneath them, wood flying everywhere, and Corey folds like a ragdoll.
Davison lands badly too, clutching his neck, unable to move. The crowd erupts in shock as both men lie motionless in the debris.
After a long, agonizing moment, Davison rolls onto his stomach and drapes an arm over Corey’s chest, but Corey’s hand shoots up, grabbing Davison’s wrist.
The arena explodes as Corey pulls Davison in, locking him into position for “For Victory or Death,” hammering Davison with repeated elbow strikes. One. Two. Three. Davison blocks the fourth, headbutts Corey square in the face, and both men collapse again, neither able to follow up, neither able to rise.
They crawl toward opposite ropes, dragging themselves upright with the last scraps of strength they possess. They turn at the same time, both barely conscious, both running on instinct alone.
Davison charges.
Corey charges.
They collide in the center of the ring—Davison’s Hidden Blade smashing into Corey’s jaw at the exact same moment Corey’s rolling elbow crashes into Davison’s temple. The impact is sickening. Both men spin from the force of their own strikes and collapse face-first to the mat, completely motionless.
The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as the referee stands over them, unsure whether either man can continue.
…After a count of eight, both men slowly rise to their feet!
Corey goes for a rolling elbow!
But Davison ducks it! Black’s swings past!
Davison goes for a german suplex!
But Corey hooks his heel around Davison’s ankle! He draws his arm up around Davison’s neck, looking for side headlock takedown!
But Davison slips out… Draws his arm back!
FINAL JUDGMENT (Hidden Blade) to the back of Black’s skull!
JC: Holy SHIT! Did you see that impact!
JR: GKD got ALL of that one!
Black curls limp as GKD rushes to cover!
ONE!
TWO!
BLACK KICKS OUT!
…
AT THREE-AND-A-QUARTER!
WINNER: ‘Godly’ Ken Davison!
JC: Holy shit! These two men went to war and it looks like Corey still didn’t get his full helping of ass-kicking! He’s standing up like he still wants to swing!
JR: Ken got the pin this time… but somehow I’ve got the feeling these two are nowhere NEAR done with each other!
JC: Bobby Sales was originally scheduled to partner with Oz tonight, but Sales is out, and stepping in as a last-minute replacement is none other than Centurion. Not exactly a downgrade.
JR: Not even slightly. Sales' loss is Oz's gain as far as I'm concerned. Centurion has forgotten more about tag team wrestling than most people ever learn. The champions, Kristoffer Arroyo and the monstrous Micheal Graves, will defend their titles against the storied veteran and the imposing Oz!
The arena is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades.
He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross.
TODD: Kristoffer Arroyo has been a force to be reckoned with on Thursday Night Anarchy!
BAMA: Also, pretty much everywhere else he’s competed, Toddrick! He and Gravy made the Rollerwhores look like Rollerwusses the way they got punked!
TODD: Much to Samael Dyson’s chagrin, the former Anarchy Tag champions simply did not look like they were on Graves and Arroyo’s level… but it’s a whole new show! On Mars! Will Arroyo/Graves be as effective defending the belts as they were while winning them?
He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.
Green lasers scatter across the stage.
Graves steps through the curtain with a noticeable limp from his earlier ambush. His head tilts, his jaw clenches, and he just stands there.
The drums kick in.
The lights sweep the arena in a blast of lime and purple.
Graves starts down the ramp in no hurry.
Fans reach out to him.
He doesn't acknowledge them.
The cameras catch quick cuts on the XTron of Graves smashing faces, laughing mid-beating, spraying mist, weapons, blood, ugly mayhem.
TODD: Speaking of dominant forces, Micheal Graves has been nigh untouchable since returning!
BAMA: You act like he was gone forever, Toddrick! He’d been dominating Anarchy all of last year!
TODD: That was… a different Micheal Graves, Bama. This Micheal Graves IS Micheal Graves
BAMA: You’re talking in riddles, Toddy baby.
TODD: …Point being, Graves has been crushing everyone in his place… all the way to a Universal title reign! It’ll be interesting to see him in a tag environment though! Can he and Arroyo continue to dominate?
He reaches the ring. Stops. Looks around. Then he slides in under the ropes, stands up slow just as the song hits—
♪ IT'S YOUR FUCKIN' NIGHTMARE ♪
Graves backs into his corner, sliding his cape off his shoulders tossing it aside.
He and Arroyo nod at one another, knowing exactly what they’re out to accomplish tonight.
…
Centurion enters to a raucous ovation from the Michiganders, nodding in thanks as he makes his way to the ring.
TODD: What an absolute treat! Centurion, XWF Legend is in the building!
BAMA: Much better than that mook Bobby Sales! Finally, Oz has a partner on his level!
…
Oswald stands amidst an indie metal band, watching the ring, looking at the band. Soon a choir is heard as the band begins to play his theme song. He walks towards the lead guitarist, clapping him gently on the back so as to not mess up her playing. Oswald, walks down the ramp, the bottom of his white cloak dragging along the ground. Once at the ring, he'd leap onto the apron before launching himself to show how strong and agile he was to lift such mass with such ease right over the top rope and de-cloaked himself, placing it in his corner before stretching out his arms in a lower case t and roaring out to the crowd before going and sitting on top of his cloak, awaiting the bell as he mentally plans out the match, as well as how to try and beat his opponent.
TODD: Mister Oz! One of the most dominant forces of nature on Anarchy!
BAMA: One of the few belts he hasn’t held in his XWF tenure is a tag title! Something he blames on the lackluster partners he’s been paired with throughout his XWF career!
BAMA: But I don’t think you can ask for a better partner than Centurion! Question is… will it be enough to take down the fucking SUPER DUO of Arroyo and Graves?!?
…
JC: Two very different teams here. Graves and Arroyo are a wrecking ball wrapped around a razor blade — brutal, dangerous, and completely unpredictable. But you've got to respect what's standing across from them. Centurion has been doing this since before some of these fans were born, and Oz is a physical specimen the likes of which this sport rarely produces.
The bell rings and it's Centurion and Kristoffer Arroyo who step to the center of the ring to start things off. The two men circle each other slowly, each sizing the other up with the measured patience of a predator. Centurion gives nothing away — his expression flat, his body language controlled. Arroyo grins behind his pink shades, which he hasn't bothered to remove, and that confidence alone seems to irritate the veteran. They lock up collar-and-elbow, and for a moment it's a dead push — Centurion's experience against Arroyo's surprising strength. It's Centurion who breaks first, pivoting on his back foot and transitioning the lockup into a side headlock, wrenching down hard. Arroyo counters with a push to the ropes, sending Centurion off at speed, and on the return Arroyo drops flat, forcing Centurion to leap over him, only to eat a spinning leg sweep that drops him face-first to the canvas.
JR: Sharp! Arroyo is fast, and he's already showing Centurion he's no pushover.
Centurion rolls to his feet without hesitation and the two circle again. This time it's a Fujiwara armbar attempt from Arroyo — he snaps the wrist, drops low, and tries to torque the arm — but Centurion reads it instantly, rolling through and coming up into a standing armbar of his own, cranking with the kind of leverage only someone with eighteen years of ring time understands. Arroyo yelps once, quickly finds the ropes, and the referee calls the break. Centurion releases cleanly, stepping back with his palms up — a small smile crossing his face for just a moment.
JC: That's what experience does, Joe. Centurion saw that armbar coming from a mile away. He's been in there with everyone.
Arroyo tags out to Micheal Graves, and the arena shifts energy almost immediately. Graves steps through the ropes with the slow, unhurried manner of a man who simply does not feel danger the way others do. He's enormous, and he rolls his neck once as Centurion steps forward to meet him. Graves doesn't bother with a lockup — he fires a hammering forearm straight into the side of Centurion's head. Centurion staggers but doesn't fall, and he fires back with a standing dropkick that catches Graves square in the chest and actually moves the big man back a step. The crowd pops at the sight.
JR: That's a hell of a dropkick from Centurion. He put some real air on that one.
Centurion tags in Oz, and the crowd rises at the sight of the two big men meeting in the center of the ring. Graves and Oz stare at each other for a beat — two wrecking crews at a standoff — before Oz fires a shoulder tackle that rocks Graves into the ropes. Graves rebounds and answers with a spear attempt that Oz sidesteps, catching Graves by the waist and hitting a delayed vertical suplex, holding it high in the air while the crowd counts along, before crashing Graves to the mat. Oz covers. One. Two. Graves kicks out with authority.
JC: Oz nearly putting Graves down in the opening minutes! And what a display of raw strength — holding a man of Graves' size in the air like he weighed nothing.
Oz drags Graves up and whips him hard to the corner, charging in with a high knee that mashes Graves' jaw against the turnbuckle pad. Graves sags. Oz looks to the crowd, feeding off the energy, and goes for a crossbody off a bounce from the second rope — but Graves explodes out of the corner and catches him mid-air with a devastating heart punch that drops Oz in a heap. It's a stunning reversal of momentum and the crowd goes silent for just a moment.
JR: My God. Graves just clocked Oz right out of the air. That is a dangerous human being.
Graves doesn't cover. He stomps Oz twice, three times, methodical and heavy, before tagging Arroyo back in. This is where the champions begin to take control. Arroyo comes off the top rope with a flying triangle choke attempt, and when Oz gets a hand to the ropes, Arroyo doesn't break immediately — milking it until the referee gets to four. He releases with a smile and a bow toward the official, then immediately snaps Oz into a single leg crab, dropping his weight across the back of the big man's neck. Oz strains toward the ropes, gritting through it.
JC: Arroyo and Graves have been working that left leg since Graves hit that stomp. Smart wrestling from the champions.
JR: This is how you defend titles, Jacuinde. You find a crack and you hammer it. Oz's size works against him in a submission — more body to drag to the ropes.
Oz finally reaches the bottom rope and the hold is broken. Arroyo tags Graves back in, and the big man goes immediately to work with a pulling piledriver that spikes Oz headfirst into the canvas. He follows with a neck breaker, then a fallaway slam that sends Oz tumbling across the ring. Another tag to Arroyo. Another tag back to Graves. The champions work the ring with surgical efficiency, cutting off Oz's path to Centurion every time the big man crawls toward his corner. Graves drops forearms into Oz's face during a cover attempt at two. He drives a knee into the small of Oz's back during a brief rest hold. He does not let up. He does not slow down.
This is Graves in his element.
JC: Oz is in serious trouble here. He's been isolated for several minutes and every time he looks close to making the tag, one of the champions shuts the door.
Arroyo locks in the Snuff Machinery — the Black Widow — and Oz roars through it, physically lifting Arroyo and throwing him off. The desperation in the move is palpable. Arroyo hits the mat hard, stunned for just a moment, and Oz lunges — stretching — and his fingertips catch Centurion's outstretched hand. The tag is made and the crowd ignites.
JR: HERE COMES CENTURION!
Centurion explodes through the ropes as Arroyo scrambles up, and the veteran is a blur of controlled fury. He hits the Bloody Symphony — the Busaiku flying knee — clean across Arroyo's jaw, dropping him. Graves charges in and Centurion catches him with a Saito suplex
that tumbles the big man through the ropes and out to the floor. The crowd is on its feet. Centurion measures Arroyo as he staggers up and drives the 1000 Mile Slam — the Angle Slam — into the canvas. He hooks both legs. One. Two — Arroyo kicks out.
JC: So close! A 1000 Mile Slam connecting perfectly and Arroyo barely survives!
Centurion pulls Arroyo up and lines up the V Trigger, connecting flush with the knee to the face. He drags Arroyo to the center of the ring and rolls him into the Fall of Rome — the Walls of Jericho — wrenching back with every ounce of leverage his veteran body can produce. Arroyo screams. The crowd is electric. Graves slides back into the ring but Centurion doesn't see him — and Graves charges. But Oz, recovering on the apron, launches himself over the top rope with a hurricanrana that catches Graves off-guard and sends them both spilling through the middle ropes to the outside in a heap.
JR: Oz! Oz just took himself and Graves over the top rope! He wasn't going to let Graves break that submission!
JC: Centurion still has the Fall of Rome locked in! Arroyo is dying out there!
Arroyo crawls forward, fingers clawing at the canvas, inching toward the ropes — and he gets there. The hold is broken. Centurion stands, breathing hard, and for a moment the ring belongs to the veteran. He waits for Arroyo to pull himself up using the ropes, and when Arroyo turns, Centurion charges — but Arroyo ducks at the last second and Centurion's momentum carries him chest-first into the referee, sending the official stumbling into the corner. In the chaos, Arroyo spins and plants a deep, theatrical kiss on Centurion's lips before wrenching him around and driving him into the canvas with Romeo's Lament — Sister Abigail delivered with Arroyo's particular brand of grotesque pageantry. The crowd erupts in shock.
JR: ROMEO'S LAMENT! OUT OF NOWHERE! ARROYO JUST HIT ROMEO'S LAMENT!
On the floor, Oz has recovered and he sees what's happened. He lunges for the ring, pulling himself to the apron, reaching for the top rope to get back in — and Graves is right there. Graves grabs Oz by the ankle and yanks him back down hard, driving him spine-first into the ring apron. Oz arches in pain. Graves doesn't hesitate — he hoists Oz up and drives him into the steel barricade with a Grave Digger on the floor, spiking him down with a Death Valley Driver that crumples the big man in a broken heap against the ringside barrier. Oz doesn't move.
JC: Graves just destroyed Oz on the outside! There is no cavalry coming! Centurion is on his own!
Inside the ring, the referee has recovered and is crawling back into position. Arroyo drops over Centurion's motionless body, hooking the far leg tight. The referee slides into position. One. Two. Centurion's hand lifts — trembles — drops. Three.
JC: IT'S OVER! ARROYO PINS CENTURION! THE CHAMPIONS RETAIN!
WINNERS AND STILL ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! - MICHEAL GRAVES AND KRISTOFFER ARROYO!
JR: Graves and Arroyo are still your Anarchy Tag Team Champions, and what a damn match it was here at Leap of Faith. Centurion was THIS close — he had the Fall of Rome locked in, he had Arroyo dead to rights — and he came in on short notice to boot. But it's Arroyo who gets the last laugh with Romeo's Lament. And Graves? Graves made absolutely sure there was no miracle save from Oz. That's a ruthless, cold-blooded championship team.
Arroyo rolls off Centurion and rises to his feet, arms outstretched like the inverted cross he hung himself in at the entrance, smiling his sharp-toothed smile at no one in particular. Graves slides back into the ring and collects both championship belts from the referee, tossing one to Arroyo without ceremony. The two champions stand over the fallen Centurion, and at ringside, Oz stirs slowly against the barricade — too late, too hurt, and too far away to have made any difference.
The synthesized beat of Shake it Off By Taylor Swift begins to play over the public address system, as the opening lyrics soon begin, as the fans boo and flashes going off, people are waiting for the arrival of the Fitness Queen herself.
I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
As a spotlight is on the entrance ramp and the lights dim, first stepping out is none other than the legendary Snarktopus Nessa Wall, who smiles brightly before trash talking the fans as she smiles, before ordering a couple of stage hands to come out they each have a mirror in hand they face the entrance ramp, as soon out from the back steps La Marvillosa herself Marisol Vilaro.
I go on too many dates
But I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
Marisol stops to admire herself in each mirror posing and showing off, what her hard work has given her and mouthing about how she’s the inspiration these out-of-shape people need. After a few moments of posing she brushes right past, giving her manager/mentor a hug before they head off with Nessa leading the way taking the time to give the fans at ringside a hard time for even trying to touch them.
But I keep cruisin'
Can't stop, won't stop movin'
It's like I got this music in my mind
Sayin' it's gonna be alright
TODD: Here she is, Marisol Vilaro! The Queen of VilaroFit has become the Empress of VilaroMaxx!
BAMA: Miss Vilaro has been dominant since returning! She even has a win under her belt against the reigning Revolution Champion!
TODD: But her dominance hasn’t just been contained to matches, Bama! She also saw fit to attack XXXVI, the former Revolution champion, after his match! And not only that, she called him ugly! She said XXXVi hides behind a mask so people won’t see his hideous face!
BAMA: And can you prove her wrong, Toddrick? No! He’s probably a major UGO!
TODD: Regardless, no one has stepped up to stop Mari… until the mysterious Death Wish! Who claimed he was getting revenge on XXXVI’s behalf, attacked VilaroMaxxer Big Pretty on Anarchy, and challenged Mari to a match here at Leap of Faith!
BAMA: What connection do you think there is between Death Wish and XXXVI, Todd?
TODD: Death Wish seems to be friendly with XXXVI, but we know so little about this mysterious masked man, Death Wish, it’s impossible to understand how they’re connected! In her promo, Mari seemed to believe Death Wish IS XXXVI!
BAMA: Impossible! XXXVI already wears a mask! What would he do, wear a mask on top of his mask?!? How would that work! THINK TODDRICK! THINK!
Marisol herself takes the time to pose some more showing off her muscle, and trying to sell them on the VilaroFit mission, and how they need it to improve themselves, As the devious duo soon make their way toward the ring side area Nessa soon goes up the ring steps and takes the time to bark orders at the referee, showing him exactly how lower the ropes for herself, and her client, after being lectured by the Ambitchous one, the referee complies doing it exactly as Nessa demanded enters the ring and motions for Marisol to go up the steps, as she climbs up the steps she takes each moment to keep shilling her products, which doesn’t endear her to the fans, as she soon enters the ring under the rope and soon she rudely brushes past the referee as Nessa presents her to the booing fans as she raises her arms high in the air soaking in the boos, and catcalls.
'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break
And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
Marisol then does a series of poses once again before turning around and gracing the other side of the area raising her arms high in the air and then doing a similar series of poses showing off her physique and how in shape she is. While Nessa claps her client before they head into their corner, and Nessa is getting Marisol psyched and going over the game plan…
…
For a while, Mari stands alone in the ring…
Her VilaroMaxxers stand on the outside, staring up the ramp… as if waiting for Death Wish to emerge, so they can ambush him before the match starts…
…
Full black.
The searing guitar riff of Metallica's Seek and Destroy blasts through the arena.
TODD: Here he comes! Death Wish!
BAMA: And it looks like the VilaroMaxxers are ready to take it to him!
Indeed, the VilaroMaxxers start walking up the ramp, eager to take the fight to Death Wish!
..
FLASH! The lights go out!
TODD: What’s happening?!?
…
A single spotlight shines in the dead center of the ring. A flash of light, then a flicker and then...
He appears! Death Wish kneels in the middle of the ring.
TODD: AND DEATH WISH IS IN THE RING WITH MARI!
BAMA: It’s him! The man they call Death Wish!
Mari staggers backwards, raising her fists eager for a fight!
Death Wish oozes aura as the lights come back on, but the whole arena is bathed in monochrome, making him appear in black and white.
He walks to each corner and climbs the turnbuckles, one at a time, an tips his hat, surveying the crowd. He focuses on one lucky audience member, lines up his shot and bang! Finger gun execution. He moves back to the center of the ring and lies down on his back, placing his hat on his chest and staring up at the lights as he awaits the start of the match.
…
TODD: The cage door is chained shut and locked! Pinfall, submission, or escape are the only ways to win this thing!
BAMA: And look outside the cage, Toddrick! Big Pretty! Herschel Kiss! Dangerously Sexy Darren D! Marisol Vilaró came PREPARED tonight!
[blue]TODD: She came with an entourage! Death Wish is walking into a four-on-one situation!
The referee signals for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Marisol Vilaro
- vs -
Death Wish Cage Match
The crowd immediately rises as Death Wish and Marisol Vilaró circle one another.
Mari cracks her neck.
Death Wish bounces lightly on the balls of his feet.
The contrast couldn't be clearer.
Marisol steps forward aggressively.
Death Wish takes a step back.
Mari lunges.
Death Wish slips sideways.
Marisol spins.
Death Wish is already gone.
The masked man darts around her like smoke.
TODD: Look at the footwork!
BAMA: Stop runnin' and fight her!
Mari rushes him again.
Death Wish ducks underneath her grasp.
A quick kick catches her thigh.
Another catches her calf.
Another lands to the ribs.
Mari swings wildly.
Death Wish leans backward just enough for the fist to whistle past his nose.
The crowd oohs.
[blue]TODD: Death Wish is making her miss everything!
BAMA: He ain't fightin'! He's dancin'!
TODD: Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, Bama!
Mari's face twists with irritation.
Death Wish beckons her forward.
The gesture draws a huge reaction.
TODD: That was a mistake.
BAMA: Yeah, because now she's mad!
Mari charges.
Death Wish explodes into motion.
Dropkick!
Mari stumbles backward.
She immediately surges forward again.
Dragon Screw!
Mari flips awkwardly to the canvas.
The crowd erupts.
Death Wish doesn't stay still.
He springs onto the middle rope.
Backflip.
Lands effortlessly.
The crowd cheers again.
Mari pounds the mat.
Furious.
She gets up and storms directly at him.
This time she catches him.
A collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Mari immediately muscles him backward.
Death Wish is driven toward the cage wall.
TODD: There's the power advantage!
BAMA: That's what happens when all that fancy flippin' stops!
Mari grinds a forearm across his jaw.
Death Wish absorbs it.
Then suddenly pivots.
Uses Mari's momentum against her.
Mari crashes chest-first into the steel cage.
CLANG!
The impact rattles the entire structure.
Death Wish immediately grabs control.
Snapmare.
He drops behind her.
Hooks the neck.
The crowd suddenly comes alive.
TODD: Wait a second!
Death Wish snakes his arm underneath Mari's chin.
The other arm traps behind her head.
The hold cinches in tight.
BAMA: What's he doin'?
TODD: That's a Dragon Sleeper!
The reaction from the crowd grows even louder.
Death Wish sits backward.
Mari's eyes widen.
The submission is locked in.
TODD: Wait a minute! We've seen that hold before! That’s XXXVI’s signature move!
BAMA: He must have gotten permission to borrow it from XXXVI, since Death Wish is out here getting vengeance on XXXVI’s behalf!
The crowd begins buzzing immediately.
Death Wish squeezes tighter.
Mari thrashes violently.
TODD: One of XXXVI's signature submissions!
BAMA: You ain't suggestin'—
TODD: I'm just saying that's a very familiar hold!
Mari refuses to submit.
Instead she begins driving backward.
One step.
Another.
Death Wish hangs on.
Mari drives backward harder.
THUD!
Both competitors crash into the cage.
Death Wish's back smacks steel.
But he refuses to release.
Mari growls.
Then drives backward again.
THUD!
Another collision.
Still no release.
Death Wish tightens the hold even further.
Mari's face is beginning to redden.
Outside the cage, Dangerously Sexy Darren D suddenly moves.
TODD: Hey!
BAMA: What's Darren doin'?
Darren grips the steel mesh.
As Mari drives backward a third time—
Darren suddenly lunges forward.
CRACK!
He slams his forehead against the cage wall.
The steel caves inward slightly.
The mesh crashes directly into the back of Death Wish's skull.
TODD: OH COME ON!
BAMA: That's thinkin' outside the box!
Death Wish's eyes glaze over instantly.
The Dragon Sleeper loosens.
Mari immediately tears herself free.
The masked man stumbles backward.
His legs wobble beneath him.
TODD: That rattled him!
BAMA: Darren D just saved this match!
Death Wish shakes his head.
Trying to regain his bearings.
Too late.
Mari spins.
Grabs the arm.
Hooks the head.
SWINGING NECKBREAKER!
Death Wish spikes into the mat.
The crowd groans.
Mari rolls to her knees.
Breathing hard.
Then a slow smile spreads across her face.
TODD: Just like that, the momentum has completely changed.
BAMA: That's what winners do, Toddrick! They adapt!
Death Wish rolls onto his side.
Still clutching the back of his head.
Still trying to clear the cobwebs.
Marisol kneels beside him, smoothing her hair back into place before planting a boot directly across his throat.
MARI: You should've stayed hidden, señor muerto.
She grinds the sole of her boot down harder.
Death Wish reaches up, trying to pry her foot away, but Mari simply sneers and drags him to his feet by the mask.
WHAM!
A sharp European uppercut rocks him backward.
WHAM!
Another.
WHAM!
Another.
Death Wish slumps against the cage wall.
Mari takes several steps back.
TODD: Here she comes!
Mari sprints forward—
VILARÓ EXPERIENCE!
The handspring corner elbow crushes Death Wish against the steel cage.
The impact rattles the entire structure.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
TODD: Death Wish survives!
BAMA: Barely!
Mari immediately transitions into a spinning wrist lock, twisting the arm viciously before dragging him to the mat and wrenching backward.
Death Wish grimaces beneath the mask.
Mari isn't interested in a quick finish.
She's interested in humiliation.
She repeatedly points toward the masked face.
MARI: Who ARE you, señor FEO?!
No answer.
The crowd starts chanting.
"DEATH WISH!"
"DEATH WISH!"
"DEATH WISH!"
Mari's expression darkens.
She yanks him up and drives him face-first into the cage.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
TODD: Good lord!
BAMA: Maybe that'll knock the answers outta him!
Mari drags him toward the side of the cage.
Outside, Herschel Kiss slips something through the mesh.
TODD: What is that?!
BAMA: Beauty enhancement equipment!
TODD: That's a HAMMER!
BAMA: I said what I said! Mari is about to make Death Wish beautiful with the power of VIOLENCE![/blue]
Mari catches the hammer and immediately swings.
Death Wish ducks.
CLANG!
The weapon smashes against the steel.
Death Wish explodes into action.
SUPERKICK!
Mari's jaw snaps sideways.
The hammer falls free.
The crowd roars.
Death Wish grabs the weapon—
then throws it clear across the ring.
TODD: He doesn't want it!
BAMA: Idiot!
Death Wish springs off the ropes.
SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT!
Direct hit!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Both competitors scramble up.
Mari swings wildly.
Death Wish ducks.
Hurricanrana!
Mari flips completely over.
Dragon Screw!
Mari crashes to the mat clutching her knee.
Another Dragon Screw.
And another.
TODD: Death Wish targeting the leg!
Death Wish immediately heads for the cage.
Hand over hand.
Climbing rapidly.
The crowd rises.
He's halfway up—
when Big Pretty grabs the cage wall and starts shaking it violently.
The entire structure trembles.
TODD: Come on!
BAMA: That's teamwork!
Death Wish loses his footing.
He hangs desperately from the side of the cage.
Mari recovers just enough.
She climbs up after him.
Both competitors now perched near the top.
Punches exchanged.
Forearms.
Headbutts.
The crowd losing its mind.
Death Wish gains the advantage.
Spinning backfist!
Mari wobbles.
Death Wish hooks her—
TODD: NO WAY!
SUPER HURRICANRANA FROM THE TOP OF THE CAGE!
The entire building explodes.
BAMA: THEY DEAD! THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE FIRST MURDER TO TAKE PLACE ON MARS!
Both competitors crash to the canvas.
The ring shakes.
Neither moves.
"X-W-F!"
"X-W-F!"
"X-W-F!"
The referee begins counting.
One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
Five...
Death Wish rolls first.
Mari crawls toward the ropes.
Both somehow reach their feet.
Death Wish strikes first.
Dropkick.
Sling Blade.
Bulldog.
The momentum completely shifted.
Death Wish points upward.
The crowd knows what's coming.
He climbs the turnbuckle.
TODD: Shooting Star Press!
Death Wish launches.
But Mari gets her knees up.
Death Wish folds in half.
Mari immediately traps the leg.
TEXAS CLOVERLEAF!
TODD: Submission hold!
Death Wish screams in pain.
Mari sits deeper.
Cranking harder.
Pulling harder.
Death Wish claws toward the ropes—
He latches onto the rope!
…BUT MARI REFUSES TO RELEASE THE HOLD!
TODD: Oh my! There’s no DQs in a cage match!
Mari laughs.
MARI: CONFESS, FEO! CONFESS YOU’RE THAT UGLY T-SIX HOMBRE!!
Death Wish refuses.
He begins crawling.
Dragging Mari with him as he clings onto the ropes!
Somehow he reaches the cage wall.
He grabs the steel mesh.
Uses it to pull himself forward.
Mari refuses to release.
Death Wish finally twists.
Rolls through.
Launches Mari forward.
Face-first into the cage.
CLANG!
The hold breaks.
Both stagger up.
Death Wish strikes first.
Superkick!
Poisonrana!
The crowd erupts.
Mari somehow stumbles back to her feet.
Death Wish immediately traps the arms.
Hooks the neck.
TODD: WAIT A MINUTE!
TODD: THAT'S THE HOLD!
BAMA: NO NO NO!
Death Wish transitions smoothly.
Romero Special...
Mari trapped...
then he folds backward into the Dragon Sleeper!
TODD: THIRD EYE BIND!
TODD: THAT'S XXXVI'S FINISHER!
The crowd reacts immediately.
Mari's eyes widen.
Even trapped in the hold, she starts clawing frantically at Death Wish's mask.
She gets fingers under the outer mask.
Death Wish immediately releases one arm to stop her.
The hold loosens.
Mari tears away part of the outer fabric.
The crowd gasps.
TODD: SHE'S TRYING TO UNMASK HIM!
BAMA: SHE KNOWS SOMETHIN'!
Death Wish shoves her away.
Mari stumbles backward.
Both competitors freeze for just a second.
A moment of panic from Death Wish.
A moment of certainty from Mari.
Then—
BIG PRETTY slides bolt cutters through the cage.
TODD: WHAT?!
BAMA: EMERGENCY BEAUTY SUPPLIES!
Mari catches them.
Death Wish turns.
CRACK!
The bolt cutters smash across his ribs.
CRACK!
Across his back.
CRACK!
Across his shoulder.
Death Wish collapses to one knee.
Mari tosses the weapon aside.
Hooks both arms.
TODD: VILARÓIZER!
The Fisherman Suplex plants Death Wish in the center of the ring.
Mari exhales with relief as she slowly turns over and hooks Death Wish’s leg…
ONE!
TWO!
THR—
KICKOUT!
TODD: HOW?!? How the hell did Death Wish kick out of that one!
BAMA: Death Wish cannot be killed!
The arena explodes.
Mari looks absolutely stunned.
…Mari smacks the mat, channeling her anger, as she goes to peel Death Wish off the mat…
But Death Wish catches her with a European Uppercut under the chin!
Mari is driven back against the cage wall!
Mari rebounds off the wall…
Death Wish charges forward!
Mari swings a desperate roundhouse kick!
But Death Wish ducks under and hits her with a…
POISONRANA! Driving Vilaro’s skull against the mat!
TODD: Oh my God! Death Wish has it!
The VilaroMaxxers, sensing danger, move to the cage door to pry it open…
But Death Wish grabs the hammer off the mat… And jams it amidst the cage chains, preventing the VilaroMaxxers from the tearing at the lock!
TODD: Death Wish is in total control right now!
BAMA: He’s not stuck in the cage with Mari! Mari’s stuck in the cage with Death Wish!
With Mari cradling her aching noggin on the mat, Death Wish proceeds to climb up the turnbuckle to the top rope!
Dangerously Sexy Darren smacks Big Pretty and Beautiful Herschel and directs traffic, telling them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder…
Meanwhile, Death Wish stands on the top turnbuckle, prepared to descend upon Mari like a suicide diver!
TODD: Death Wish calls this move The Wages of Sin! And Mari is about to see retribution for the sins she’s committed against XXXVI!
…Darren quickly climbs up his associates’ shoulders!
Death Wish gets ready to leap…
But through the cage wall, Darren grasps as Death Wish, driving his skull against the back of the masked man, knocking him loopy!
TODD: What the Hell?!? The referee’s gotta stop this!
Death Wish shakes off the cobwebs as Darren desperately claws through the cage…
And drives his elbow against the wall into Darren’s perfectly symmetrical schnozz!
Darren falls and the two giant VilaroMaxxers topple to the padded concrete with him!
TODD: Score one for Death Wish!
Death Wish turns back to his opponent…
But Vilaro, with the agility of a marathon runner sprints up the turnbuckle!
Hooks him in a front facelock…
Aaaaand
VILAROIZER OFF THE TOP ROPE!
TODD: HUGE superplex!
Mari rolls over Death Wish and hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
…Death Wish kicks out!
…
JUST AFTER THE THREE!
Winner: Marisol Vilaro!
Mari scrambles off her opponent and she and her VilaroMaxxers get the hell outta dodge as Death Wish is in hot pursuit!
TODD: Mari steals the match! Death Wish had her right where he wanted her! If it wasn’t for those darn VilaroMaxxers!
BAMA: Cry me a river, Toddrick! And then use your tears to lather up with the Regensis Dermal Repair Bar! You look ugly when you cry. Well, actually, YOU look ugly all the time!
JC: Up next folks, we have ourselves an XWF Tag Team Championship match! The Brotherhood of Bastards — Charlie Nickles and Jordan Penn — defend the gold against a team that has, frankly, defied all conventional explanation as to why they're here. Two clowns!
JR: Jacuinde, I have covered a lot of professional wrestling in my time, and I need you to understand that I have never seen anything like what these clowns have been doing since they showed up in the XWF. They are chaotic, they are unpredictable, and I genuinely do not know what the fuck is going on with them.
JC: Two of the most dangerous men on the roster against two men who spent most of last week arguing at a space gas station. Let's get to the action!
Astronaut Clown hops down the ramp one foot at a time in zero gravity, while Houston Clown does a Texas two-step!
JC: What would happen if Clowns ‘R Us 2000 became the XWF Tag-Team champions, Joe?
JR: I think we’d just all quietly pretend like the XWF doesn’t have a tag division and that it never had one, Jacuinde!
JC: Well, the clowns won this tag title shot by beating the Chain Gang! But tonight, they’re facing BoB! A pair that managed to take down the two-time XWF Tag-Team champions, The Exiles!
JR: BoB is no laughing matter, Jacuinde! But the clowns have a strange tendency to make any opponent they face a laughing matter!
The Clowns hop up to the ring. Astronaut Clown plants a flag with a big happy face on it in the center of the ring…
…
The motherfuckin' saga just begun....
A flash of pyrotechnics go off across the stage, lighting up the arena in green and red. Then, the challengers step through the curtain and onto the ramp. A violent remix of a reggae anthem blares across the PA system.
WARNING!
Warning!
Warning!
Warning!
Charlie Nickles walks forward first- cracking his knuckles, twisting his neck, and wearing a pissed off look on his face.
And walking behind him?
Is the man carrying Sebastian's old Universal Championship over his shoulder.
Is the man formerly known as The Director.
With his mask off.
KILLIN'!
Killin'!
Killin'!
Killin'!
Jordan Penn, once known as the Director, walks down the ramp with Sebastian's old title on his shoulder- and with a shit-eating grin on his face.
The crowd is caught in a state of quiet shock as Gucci Mane's song blares through the PA system.
They never thought they'd see the day the Director unmasked!
Killin' dem' pussy, we kill dem' fi' fun!
Killin' a pussy, we kill dem' fi' fun!
Killin' pussy, we kill dem' fi' fun!
Charlie Nickles rolls under the bottom rope and slides into the ring, bouncing around like a wild man ready to let loose.
Jordan Penn, on the other hand, walks up the stairs with a regal swagger. Then, he steps between the ropes before showing off Sebastian's old belt in front of the hardcam.
Before 'im come, The Nickleman come-
Before 'im come, Jordan Penn come!
Charlie paces around the ring, testing the ropes whilst Jordan Penn hands his championship belt over to the referee for safekeeping.
Man I murder fo' fun but my job is never done!
From morning morn' to the setting of the sun-
Bad men come come, come get murdered for fun!
Charlie and Jordan wait impatiently in the center of the ring, anxiously awaiting the ringing of the murder bell.
JC: BoB has been an absolute menace, attacking everyone they feel is in their way, Joe!
JR: They’ve made it clear there’s a pecking order! There’s BoB and everyone else is a joke.
JC: But how will the tag champs handle a pair that don’t mind being the butt of a punchline if it means getting a laugh?
The bell rings and Jordan Penn steps out first for BoB, adjusting his black gloves with the cool precision of a man who has never lost a room in his life. Across the ring, a heated strategic discussion is already underway as to who starts for the challengers. Houston Clown has produced a chalkboard and is working through what appears to be a complex equation to determine the answer scientifically. The equation covers the entire chalkboard. It spills onto a second chalkboard that Announce Clown passes in from ringside. It continues onto the ring canvas itself in chalk. It concludes, after forty-five seconds of frantic calculation, with Houston Clown circling a single number and pointing at Astronaut Clown with authority. Astronaut Clown looks at the equation. He cannot find the flaw. He steps through the ropes, adjusting his fishbowl helmet — not a real helmet, a fishbowl with a rocket sticker on it — and waves pleasantly at Jordan Penn.
JR: There are two chalkboards at ringside and the ring has math on it now.
JC: This is an XWF Tag Team Championship match, Joe.
JR: I'm aware of that, Jacuinde.
Penn wastes no time. He fires a forearm smash directly at Astronaut Clown's head — and Astronaut Clown's head moves. Not dodges. Moves. His neck extends like a spring, his head swinging out of the way of the forearm on a rubbery arc before snapping back into place. Penn stares at the space where the head was. Astronaut Clown tilts his fishbowl helmet apologetically. Penn throws the forearm again. The head swings the other way. Penn grabs Astronaut Clown by the collar, lifts him clean off the ground, and hurls him with a German suplex that sends him skidding across the entire length of the canvas. Astronaut Clown hits the far turnbuckle, compresses like an accordion against it, and then springs back across the ring at enormous speed, connecting with a headbutt to Penn's chest that drops the champion flat on his back.
JC: Penn down early! Astronaut Clown with a headbutt off the rebound and the champion is on the mat!
JR: That man's neck did something that necks cannot do. I need to be on record about that.
Penn is back up fast and grabs Astronaut Clown's arm, whipping him into the corner. He charges in with a running knee — but Astronaut Clown simply walks up the turnbuckles as Penn approaches, continuing straight up the ring post, along the top rope, and across to the opposite corner like gravity has filed a formal complaint and lost. Penn's knee hits the buckle hard. He recoils, cursing. Astronaut Clown descends from the opposite corner, dusts off his spacesuit, and tags in Houston Clown, who steps through the ropes and immediately slips on literally nothing — there is nothing on the canvas, the banana hasn't even appeared yet — hitting the mat face first with a spectacular crash. He stands up, checks his hat is still on, and nods as though this was planned.
JR: He slipped on the ground, Jacuinde. The ground.
JC: It happens to the best of us, Joe.
Penn, shaking off the knee, tags in Charlie Nickles. Nickles lumbers in and the energy changes immediately — this is a big man with bad intentions and zero patience for foolishness. He fires a hook at Houston Clown that Houston Clown ducks, a jab that Houston Clown leans away from, and a headbutt that Houston Clown sidesteps by a margin that shouldn't be physically achievable for a man in enormous clown shoes. Nickles grabs him in a headlock and Houston Clown reaches into his jacket — the jacket he absolutely should not have room in for anything — and produces a bicycle horn which he honks directly into Nickles' ear at point-blank range. Nickles releases the headlock. He stands very still. His eye twitches.
Houston Clown honks it again.
Nickles roars and charges, and Houston Clown sprints away from him around the ring. Nickles chases. Houston Clown laps him. Nickles, a large man running at full speed, somehow finds himself being lapped by a clown in oversized shoes. Announce Clown at ringside begins waving a chequered flag. Nickles stops running. Houston Clown runs directly into him from behind.
JC: Nickles stops and Houston Clown just runs full speed into the back of him!
Nickles scoops him up and hits a thunderous powerslam that shakes the ring. He covers.
One.
Two. — Houston Clown kicks out. As he does, the bicycle horn honks again from somewhere inside his jacket.
Nickles hauls Houston Clown up and deposits him in the corner, firing running turnbuckle knees into him, one after another, brutal and heavy. Houston Clown's head bobs with each impact like a punching bag, and on the fourth knee his eyes spin in opposite directions before resetting. Nickles steps back to measure him for a fifth and Houston Clown produces a small sign from his jacket that reads GONE FISHING and holds it up in front of his face. Nickles' knee hits the sign.
The sign shatters. Houston Clown is already behind him. He rolls Nickles up.
One.
Two. — Nickles powers out with enough force to send Houston Clown rolling backward into the ropes, where he bounces off the middle rope, the top rope, then the middle rope of the adjacent side like a pinball, before popping back to his feet in the center of the ring. Nickles is already up and tags Penn back in. Penn stalks forward, cracking his neck, pulling the black glove off his right hand with theatrical purpose. He slaps Houston Clown across the face with the glove. Houston Clown's head spins a full three hundred and sixty degrees on his neck, stops, and faces forward again. He blinks.
JC: Penn with the glove slap and — Houston Clown's head just went all the way around.
JR: Are you surprised anymore with this shit?
JC: I think if I stop being surprised then that means mania has consumed me, Joe.
Penn measures him for the Whip Crack! And unloads it with full force. Houston Clown ducks it by dropping to the canvas like his legs have been removed, the clothesline passing clean over him, and Penn's momentum carries him spinning into the ropes. Houston Clown reaches into his jacket and produces a novelty flower on his lapel, spraying Penn directly in the eyes as he turns back around. Penn staggers, blinded, and Houston Clown tags out to Astronaut Clown, who is standing on the top rope — not the top turnbuckle, the top rope itself, balanced perfectly on the actual rope in his fishbowl helmet — before leaping off with a crossbody that puts Penn flat on the canvas.
One.
Two. — Penn gets a shoulder up.
JC: Astronaut Clown nearly steals it right there! The challengers are building momentum!
Astronaut Clown drags Penn toward the clown corner and makes the tag back to Houston Clown. The two of them attempt a double team that involves a set of hand signals, a thumbs up, an argument conducted entirely in mimes, a brief moment of anguish from Astronaut Clown, a counter-proposal from Houston Clown, and eventually a double Irish whip that sends Penn hard into the buckle. Houston Clown charges in for a splash and Penn sidesteps it, sending Houston Clown chest-first into the turnbuckle. Penn grabs him from behind and hits a German suplex. Then another. Then a third. He rolls through for a fourth and on the fourth release Houston Clown somehow lands on his feet, takes two confused steps, and falls over anyway.
JR: He stuck the landing and then just fell down.
JC: He stuck the landing, Joe. That has to count for something.
Penn tags Nickles. The champions are in sync now, cutting Houston Clown off from his corner with a precision that has nothing to do with clown logic and everything to do with two dangerous veterans who know how to work a ring. Nickles drives a series of elbows into Houston Clown's face and locks in a Boston crab, sitting down hard. Houston Clown reaches toward his corner — toward Astronaut Clown's outstretched hand — and produces from his jacket a telescoping reaching arm, the kind sold in novelty shops, extending it across the ring. It isn't quite long enough. He rummages in the jacket again and pulls out a second telescoping arm, attaching them end-to-end. The combined contraption taps Astronaut Clown's hand. The referee stares at it for a long time.
He counts it as a tag.
JR: The referee counted a telescoping novelty arm as a legal tag.
JC: The referee counted it! It's legal! Astronaut Clown is the legal man!
Astronaut Clown slingshots over the top rope and hits Nickles with a diving forearm that breaks the hold. He fires quick strikes at both champions, sending Penn off the apron with a spinning headbutt and hitting Nickles with a scoop slam. He goes to the second rope and drops an elbow — but Nickles rolls out of the way and Astronaut Clown's elbow hits the canvas. He looks at his elbow. His elbow is buried in the canvas up to the shoulder. He wiggles it free. Nickles is on him immediately with the Steubenville Screwdriver, the vicious Steiner Screwdriver that spikes Astronaut Clown headfirst into the mat. Cover.
One.
Two. — The fishbowl honks. Astronaut Clown is out at two.
JR: I keep waiting for that move to end someone and it keeps not ending someone.
JC: This clown will not stay down, Joe!
Nickles, breathing hard, sets up for the Devil Hook Drop. He has Astronaut Clown's arms double-hooked and is about to drive him down when Astronaut Clown's legs begin running in mid-air — genuinely running, feet cycling rapidly against nothing — and the momentum lifts both men slightly off the canvas before Nickles loses his grip entirely and Astronaut Clown scoots out the back, running three steps up the ring post and backflipping off it to land behind Nickles. Nickles turns into a tag from the corner — Houston Clown is now the legal man — and Houston Clown comes off the top rope with a crossbody that puts Nickles down.
One.
Two. — Nickles throws him off.
Penn charges in and Houston Clown sidesteps, sending Penn through the ropes to the outside. Nickles is back up. Houston Clown reaches into his jacket — both Nickles and the referee visibly brace — and produces a cream pie. He measures Nickles carefully. He winds up. He throws it. Nickles ducks and the cream pie hits the referee directly in the face. The referee goes down like he's been shot. The crowd erupts.
With the referee down, Penn reaches under the ring and produces a steel chair. He slides into the ring with it, lining up Astronaut Clown on the apron — but Astronaut Clown catches the chair with one hand, looks at it, reaches into his spacesuit, and produces a bigger chair. Penn looks at the bigger chair. He looks at his chair. Astronaut Clown reaches in again and produces an even bigger chair. Penn slowly sets his chair down. Astronaut Clown places all three chairs in a neat stack. Nobody hits anyone with any of them. Penn throws his hands up.
JR: I — what are we watching?
JC: I genuinely could not tell you, Joe.
Nickles has had enough. He snatches Houston Clown up and plants him with the Devil Hook Drop, drilling him into the mat dead center. Penn covers as Nickles goes to hold Astronaut Clown back on the apron. The referee is crawling back toward the action, still trailing whipped cream. Penn has Houston Clown hooked. Astronaut Clown is straining against Nickles at the ropes. The referee slides into position.
JC: THIS IS IT! THIS COULD BE IT!
JR: SOMEBODY IS WINNING OR RETAINING THE XWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHICH IT'S GOING TO BE!
As Penn has Houston Clown hooked, the official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! The official gets hooked! A big hook comes from off-screen and hooks away the official!
JC: Straight outta vaudeville!
Penn stands up and reaches off-screen to try and get the official back from the off the hook, but the hook beats him upside the skull! He covers the top of his dome!
Charlie spins around, trying to figure out why the three-count hasn’t happened yet… from behind Astronaut Clown taps him on the shoulder!
Charlie spins around, but Astronaut Clown spins with him, getting his feet set!
Charlie turns around…
And Astronaut Clown lifts Charlie on his shoulders for a…
ROCKET SPIN! (An Airplane Spin at ROCKET SPEED!
Astronaut Clown spins Nickles on his shoulders! Faster! FASTER!
JC: Mach one! MACH TWO!
JR: Not just mock these two, Jacuinde! The clowns mock everyone with a pulse!
THE CLOWN SPIN GOES EVEN FASTER!
Distant merry-go-round music plays as Charlie’s body bobs up and down like a carousel!
The Clown section of the crowd is honking like mad!
JC: Who the fuck let clowns on Mars?!?
Eventually, the rocket ship slows… slows…
And stops… Astronaut Clown lets Charlie off…
And Charlie immediately staggers toward ringside and hurls!
Penn is loopy from getting knocked upside the head with that hook, he sees double as Houston Clown slowly stands in front of him!
Penn surges forward, eager to steal this match!
He goes for a rollup, shoving shoulders to the mat!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Penn springs up, still dizzy, but lifting his arms over his head!
JC: Penn just pinned…
…
JC: Charlie Nickles?!?
Astronaut Clown dropped and counted the three! Penn doesn’t realize the match is still going, celebrating what he thinks is a successful defense!
…Until he turns around into…
HOUSTON CLOWN!
”YEEHAW!”
Penn shakes off the cobwebs and goes for a punch to the clown’s big red schnozz!
But Houston Clown catches Penn’s fist in a lasso! Ties his arms behind his back! And hogties Penn like a prized pig!
Houston Clown then places a big clown boot on Penn’s chest!
Charlie wipes away the vomit from his mouth!
ONE!
He goes to run to break up the pin!!
TWO!
…
But he falls! Astronaut Clown tied his shoes together!
THREE!
JC: NO FUCKING WAY!
WINNER AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW XWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS: CLOWNS R US 2000
The entire arena starts fucking honking!
JC: The Clowns win! The Clowns win! CLOWNS R US 2000 IS THE NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!
JR: A joyous day for clowns! And a grim day for anyone that enjoys tag-team wrestling.
JC: Folks, don't touch that dial, we have even more of that non-stop XWF action... not... stopping! It's coming your way!
JR: Do people even touch their dials even more, Jacuinde?
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