So, my current situation is not good, ladies and gentlemen…

I was hungry earlier, and had no money, so I went scavenging for food, and luckily (or rather unluckily, as I would soon find out) discovered a ham and cheese sandwich…

…with green, foamy mustard… sitting beneath the radiator.

I gobbled it up in a couple of bites, and now, my head is SWIMMING.

Positively F’d.

OH, SHIT, THE MATCH HAS STARTED!

SARS and I.F.E. lock-up, and Face-Eater is sent into the ropes with an Irish whip. … SARS hits the ropes, and there’s a collision, mid-ring, as SARS drops Face-Eater with a shoulder block! SARS hits the ropes… hops over I.F.E., who then kips up, and throws the clown with a deep arm-drag takeover upon return!

We have ourselves a standoff.

Thankfully, the preceding sequence ended when it did, as it was starting to confuse me and my poisoned mind! No more of that, now; keep it simple, stupid!

SARS, with a headlock on I.F.E, is shoved into full-on sprint into the ropes. I.F.E. hits the deck, springs to his feet, attempts a hurricanrana, but SARS has it scouted – he teeters back, dropping Face-Eater, throat-first, across the top cable!

Face-Eater’s head whips back, and he staggers round… into a violent KICK-WHAM-DDT! SARS doesn’t release his opponent’s head; instead, he cranks back with a front-choke-type thing. (I know it has a name, but my head is all acting all wonky right now; I swear I can actually see the radio waves! … They’re beautifully distracting.)

Face-Eater stands, his head wedged underneath SARS’ arm. SARS knees him in the face a couple times, before Facey decides not to be a dumbfuck, and puts into motion a sequence of moves the likes of which I’ve never, ever seen… because I didn’t actually see them; remember, now, I’m listening to the play-by-play on the radio! … Facey executes a Northern Lights Suplex for a count of two, before popping over and turning and locking SARS’ arm – the one presently flailing about like it’s attached to a Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm-Flailing Tube Man – in a cross-armbreaker! That was nifty!

SARS bridges and rolls, escaping what COULD and probably WOULD have been a broken arm; the name says it all… a truly nasty and debilitating fate.

SARS and I.F.E. are back standing, now. SARS leaps onto the middle rope and attacks with a leg-lariat that smacks Facey right in the, er, face. Facey’s nose’s all bloody, now. And SARS is going all Little Japanese Guy with a myriad of slaps, chops, and kicks that find their mark all over I.F.E.’s body. Face-Eater’s dazed, as SARS hoists him up for a BRAINBUSTAH~!

BUT NUH-UH! An upside-down Face-Eater drives a knee down into SARS’ head, causing SARS to drop him safely to the mat below.

I.F.E. into the ropes… SARS, with a spinning back kick, doubles him over! SARS sprints forward and executes a Shining Axe Kick! Face-Eater’s brains are scrambled – scrambled like the eggs I had for breakfast this morning! And now it seems SARS is fixing to make this match “over easy” – like the eggs I had the day before yesterday! Jesus H. Christ, how I love eggs! He drags I.F.E. off the mat, and it seems we might have ourselves a Killing Joke on the way… NO! SCRATCH THAT! Face-Eater blocks the clown’s finisher, and hits an Exploder of the Wristlock variety! SARS is dumped right on the top of his head! Facey covers!

ONE! TWO!

OH. … OH. …

No.

Just two.

I *think.*

Wildstar’s saying nothing of a three, so we’re just going go have to assume SARS kicked out. The match continues… (UGH~!)

SARS being pulled to his feet… NUT SHUT BY THAT DAMNED DASTARDLY CLOWN! AND THE REF SAW *NOTHING!*

A keeled-over I.F.E. backs away, clutching his “boys,” as SARS makes fun of him and points a finger to his head. Yes, SARS, you’re the smartest boy in class!

SARS sets him up for a piledriver, but I.F.E. says to hell with the pain in his loins, and back-body-drops him up and over! I.F.E. springboards off the middle rope into an attempted Lionsault, but SARS avoids it, and Face-Eater sticks the landing. SARS charges, but Facey sidesteps. … SARS puts on the brakes, turns, and blocks another attempt at a Wristlock Exploder (or is it Wristwatch Exploder? The latter sounds far more excruciating) by elbowing Facey into the side of the head.

SARS lands a head kick that dazes the Illustrious One! He’s got a hold of him! The crowd volume is cranked up a notch, and the tone of the play-by-play guy’s voice turns excited (albeit disappointed in the would-be result), meaning it can ONLY be…

THE KILLING JOKE!

SARS hits it!

He covers!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And thank God, we have ourselves a winner! I mean, I wouldn’t have cared if Facey had won; I just needed this match to end so that I can go throw-up!

AND I’M OFF~!

Winner: SARS via pinfall

GPX: Digital Mortality vs. Professor Tremendous

The Grand Prix series continued to roll along like an old bone wagon as Digital Mortality took on the Tremendous One himself, Professor Tremendous, a tremendous athlete if ever there was one. One step beyond perfect I have heard some say, but that may just be rumours and hear say. Gossip and scuttlebutt.

Digital Mortality made his way down to the ring, looking rather focused, hoping to take revenge on the man he believed had cost him the match with Doc Curiosity the previous night...

Wait, this man faced a doctor and a professor in the span of two days? He really has some issues with academics.

Mortality started the match hot, immediately lunging himself directly over the ropes on to Tremendous as he was making his way to the ring. There was some clubberin' going on outside the ring as both men brawled all over the ringside area while the wonderful NFW fans tried to grabs locks of Mortality's hair, I can only assume for scientific reasons but I'm no scientologist.

The brawl was brought to an abrupt halt as Tremendous rammed Mortality directly into the ring post and rolled him back in to the ring. Tremendous rolled into the ring and began attacking the grounded Mortality with series of fist drops, with a couple of stomps thrown in the add a little variety to the attacks.

Mortality managed to get back in the offence briefly, catch Tremendous' leg during one the stomps and bringing him to the ground with a dragon whip. However, the offence was short lived, as something on the entrance way had caught his attention.

Doctor Curiosity

Perhaps trying to return the favour to his fellow academic for last night, the Doc managed to distract Digital Mortality's attention long enough for Professor Tremendous to recover and spin him around in the Tremendous Plex for one, two, three and the sweet, sweet victory.

Curiosity was about to make his way to the back, satisfied in the result but something stopped him in his tracks. Well, more a someone.

Impulse

Impulse attacked the Doc while his attention was still focused on the ring and began brawling with Doc. Doc, not in the mood for a brawl powered his way away from Impulse and made a rapid trek to the back. That’s where he ran straight into High Flyer, the two former enemies tousled before Insurgent Security came out and grabbed Flyer…which allowed Curiosity to escape. Meanwhile, Flyer made his way towards the ring for his match against Simply Beautiful.

Winner: Professor Tremendous via pinfall

GPX: High Flyer vs. Simply Beautiful

What sort of name is Simply Beautiful anyway? I mean, it makes a spiffy nickname, but what made Mr. And Mrs. Beautiful decide . Well unless they were both strippers. And whores. Strippers and whores.

The Grand Prix series continued it's march forward to Poland as High Flyer, a man who sells snow for a living, went one on one with stripper boy. You'd think one profession would be enough for these men.

The match began as you would expect a wrestling match to begin, with the two wrestlers participating in the bout making their way down some form of entrance way and finding some way or another to enter the squared circle. Of course, during this entrance period there is much fanfare and show boating, I believe there was some of that music that the kids love so much playing too.

The two men started off hot, going after each other for the hurtful things they said to each other during that vital promo time we all rely on to decide who doesn't such. Of course, they were bickering about what happened elsewhere, so...

They must've been pretty mad with each other, considering all the punching directly to the face that was witnessed right off the bat. Flyer ended up with the upper hand, with a series of forearms and a quick whip to the ropes. A flying springboard elbow took Beautiful down for a mere two count however. Flyer stayed on the offence, heading out to the apron, however his flippity floo back splash missed as Simply Beautiful simply moved out of the way, causing Flyer to take all the impact on his back. That was a partially redundant sentence.

With Flyer temporally winded, Beautiful pulled himself back up and began stalking Flyer as he attempted to do the same. When Flyer pulled himself up he turned around right into a brutal lariat by Beautiful, turning the snow seller inside out and upside down. With Flyer once again down on the ground and winded, Beautiful went for a submission victory, locking Flyer in to an elevated Boston Crab he liked to call the Manhattan Crab... pretentious prick. However, he may have rushed into the submission, as he had positioned Flyer too near the ropes, and after a bit of a struggle, Flyer managed to power his way forward and grab 'em.

Frustrated at Flyer's escape, Beautiful adopted a more brawler-like approach, locking Flyer in a headlock and repeadetly striking him with a bunch of closed fists, and those are illegal in wrasslin' don't ya know. Beautiful continued the strikes, however breaking the headlock at each four count from the referee. This continued for a minute/minute and a half before the referee decided something had to be done, and pulled Beautiful away for the break.

With the referee pulling Beautiful away from Flyer, Flyer, showing his resilience, pulled himself back up once more. Beautiful went for his second charging lariat of the match, hoping to take Flyer out entirely, however what happened next didn't go exactly as Simply Beautiful was hoping...

Flyer had him scouted that time around, managing to show some power of his own, his lifted up the charging Beautiful, hotshotting Beautiful throat first on the top rope. Capitalising on this advantage, Flyer span the dazed Simply Beautiful around, and a kick to the gut and an underhook brainbuster later, the referee slapped that mat three times and Flyer picked up the victory.

Winner: High Flyer via pinfall

F.A.T.E. vs. Southern Remedy

Song number two off the Southern Harmony and Musical Companion kicked into high-gear as the crowd gave a mild and slightly frightened pop for the olde-tyme favorite tag team of Charlie Crowe, Duane Skynyrd – Southern Remedy. Of course, they’ve gained around 40 pounds of beer each in the last ten years…and unfortunately, they don’t have the money to buy new pants to accommodate this.

When Biohazards starts guitar dueling while Onyx starts rhyming, you can pretty much say that we’ve found the polar opposite of rock n’ roll theme music for the evening. F.A.T.E. – Zan Diego and Nakita Dahaka as a combined force had apparently signed their blood-red pentips to the NFW dotted lines of Latin 4 point font contracts.


Duane and Charlie apparently had picked the wrong moment and wrong time to be alive. Diego completely manhandled them before the bell began, crashing into their corner with a double clothesline which rattled the whiskey-soaked brains of popular 90’s tag. Diego pressed and pumped Crowe before tossing him through a table at ringside, then caught Skynyrd in a vice-grip bear-hug before jumping, spinning and planting him nearly through the mat with a belly-to-belly.

The crowd quieted as Diego tagged in Dahaka, planted a side backbreaker and held Duane in position for a vicious Spingboard Legdrop from The Dark Phenom. Why Charlie Crowe even tried to come back in the ring is beyond me as he hazily walked into kick to the gut by Dahaka, then dropped with a double-arm DDT. Diego walked into the ring…and at Nakita’s hand-waving orchestration – DOUBLE CHOKESLAM. Crowe and Skynyrd pinned and F.A.T.E stood in the ring, their arms raised in victory as their music played…and refusing to leave…even as their music kept playing.

Oh joy.

HERE COMES LEGION.

Winner: F.A.T.E. via double pin

And we briefly pause before Steve Knox wonders why he signed an extended contract with this house of insanity pancakes

And yes.

LUCI4.

The Devil’s Rejects walked out side-by-side and slowly made their way towards ringside. Smiling broadly and gesturing quite unfavorably at NFW’s recent inductions into their world…they entered the ring, all four started sizing each other up.

OH NO. WE’RE FEEDING THE VARGA. …JAMES VARGA.

The fans were SHAKEN, not stirred. They were disgusted and perturbed as the maniacal freak cackled into the microphone about the misnomers of demons, devils and evil smurfs trying to get inside his brain. I’m not actually going to ask if you believe if he said that or not, therein lies the beauty of Varga.

Did I just type those words together?

Ok, I’m losing myself.

Varga’s in the ring with a microphone starting to wonder what everyone would taste like and I’d never thought I’d bold this:

THANK GOD, ITS CRAIG MILES.

Miles has Varga’s microphone cut off, he’s talking about how he’s switched to American Spirits on the advice of his medical professionals. He didn’t say “doctors” …medical “professionals,” people…that’s NFW health insurance for you. Doctor Curiosity can cure a cold as well as comedic German gimmicks not usurped by Hollywood yet.

Miles says its either the cigarettes are doing something to his brain or Varga filmed stuff with a Koopa. Varga assures him it’s the latter…Miles pinches his nose in disgust. Miles says that’s what he was afraid of and courteously asks F.A.T.E. to leave the ring, which only works when Dahaka gets freaked out by Miles’ sunglasses.

That’s normal compared to the following…half-hour or so. See, Miles has apparently not only HIRED someone to CATCH the Koopa. (seriously, there’s a wellness plan here?) BUT.

BUT.

If that Koopa is caught, Varga can’t wrestle on Crash 46…in fact, he can’t wrestle until SUPERCRASH 2. Where he will face LEGION and the loser will be FORCED to manage the other person and help them ensure victories under threat of DISMISSAL. Miles remarks “That if I can’t beat sense into the two of you, he’ll just make you ONE problem to deal with.” I don’t know if that’s smart or crazy, I NEVER know when he’s smart or just crazy.

Meanwhile, tonight…Legion and Varga can tag team with each other against the only man willing to associate himself with a man willing to catch a freaking Koopa. No music…but Steve Knox is the lone wrestler that shamefully walks out onto the entrance ramp.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let him near NFW cameramen.”

Miles shoots back “And Knowledge is Power knowing that once that Koopa is caught, we’re stringing him up on a pole for a FRONTIER STAMPEDE. ChickenWire Cage, Bring Your Own Blank.” Miles goes onto let everyone know that anyone who responded to the Koopa or admitted it existed will wrestle in the match.

Poor, poor NFW wrestlers.

So, Legion and Varga are forced to tag against Steve Knox and?

Well, what can Miles say, but its time Steve Knox started understanding the pains of hanging around on the wrong side of NFW’s neighborhood.

Legion and James Varga vs. Steve Knox and ...

With Legion and Varga in the ring, both trying to resist the urge to punch the other directly in the nuts, Steve Knox made his way on down to the contest, looking mildly bewildered, as he expected The Codemaster aka the only man willing to Catch a Koopa to be heading down the ring with him. Perhaps even arm in arm, we'll never know now.

As Steve Knox entered the ring, Craig Miles instead informs Steve Knox that his partner for this evening will NOT be The Codemaster, which makes Steve Knox a sad panda. Mile informs Knox that in the interested of a fair and balanced match, he had to reconjigger – at least I think he said jigger – the teams so they were evenly matched in emotional stability. He introduced Knox to his partner for tonight...

KOOTER MICHAELS-CRUISE.

I think Knox may have emptied his bowls in the ring at his first sight of Kooter on the ramp. I don’t want to check either, so let’s consider that an “expression”

KMC stormed his way to the ring, where Legion and Varga where already fighting with each other, taking them both out with Coat Hanger Abortions. I can't believe I just typed that. With both men out on the ground, KMC attempted to pin them both, but the referee didn't allow it, informing Kooter that the bell hadn't even rung yet.

Kooter, looking like a gloomy Gus, headed over the his corner and Steve Knox entered the ring. The referee signalled for the bell and the match officially began. Knox rushed over and tried to pin Varga, but the referee informed him Legion was the legal man. How the referee decided this, only Sebastian Tellier knows. Knox was about to go for the pin on Legion, but Mike Knox jumped the barrier, jumped in the ring, yelled “FOR THE LAST TIME! I AM NOT HIM!” pointing to Steve Knox, before jumping over the barricade on the opposite side of the ring. This caused enough of a distraction for Legion to recover from his Abortion...

Legion and Knox traded fore-arms back and forth, then some fists, and a leg or two. It was a verifiable body market in that ring as the two men battled back and forth. Knox got the upper hand, knocking Legion back into his corner where James Varga slapped him really hard in the back for the tag. Legion and Varga stared each other down as Varga entered the ring.

Knox and Varga battled back and forth for a short while, then something happened. Well I'm pretty sure it happened anyway. Some sort of giant turtle man made his way to the ring. I swear, this actually happened. The Koopa Troopa, I was informed it was. Around this time, Legion distracted the referee by trying to get in to the ring, and while the referee's attention was focused on Legion, the Troopa smashes Varga brutally with his shell and bails out of the ring. Varga turns around dazed to Steve Knox, who takes advantage of this bizarre situation by taking out James with a vicious and incredibly nasty looking suplex.

With the referee's attention back on the match at hand, Knox tagged in Kooter, unsure if he had actually made a mistake there or not. Thankfully, on this occasion, it would appear Mr. Knox was in luck as Kooter launched himself from the corner on to one James Varga with a powerful Vader Bomb. The referee dove down the counted the three, giving victory to the super team of Steve Knox and Kooter Michaels-Cruise.

Now, my mind already felt fucked, witnessing a turtle beat up Varga with his shell and I believe Legion was feeling the same way, looking at the scene that unfolded before him in a look of nothing but sheer dumbfoundment. Legion tried to go after the Koopa Troopa for costing him the match, but the Troopa escaped up the entrance.

His escape was short lived however as out from the back came The Codemaster. The Koopa Troopa turned around straight into a kick to the gut from The Codemaster, visor and all. While doubled over in pain, The Codemaster struck the Troopa with a big double stomp, knocking the Troopa out cold in a tightly coiled fetal position.

At this point, a very disgusted Craig Miles appeared once again, instructing security to handcuff the Troopa and escort him backstage. The security team happily obliged Miles' wishes, but honestly, who wouldn't.

I am not making any of this shit up, I swear. Honest to god this actually happened.

The ringside area took a long 10 minutes to clear out the cast of characters involved and just when you thought we were headed towards a little bit more insanity. Teresa Quaranta and her National Championship title belt were informed by Insurgent Security patrol on the STARtron that she’d be defending in a Triple Threat match against CAMERON CRUISE…and PHIL ATKEN.

Winner: KOOTER MICHAELS-CRUISE and STEVE KNOX via pinfall

NFW National Championship: Teresa Quaranta © vs. Cameron Cruise vs. Phil Atken

Just another day at the office for TQ, against Cameron Cruise and a man who came to ringside with his possible midget father and viking mother.

Seriously, she's a viking. Check out the horns.

Someone help me. Please?

By the way, she may weigh at least 275 pounds and has to be about 6’3 inches. Where did they find this woman?

TQ’s distracted by the abominable Viking woman and that opens up Cruise and Atken double - teaming her. Apparently they decided it would be easier to remove her as National Champion if they removed her from the match entirely. It nearly worked, as Atken took her first few shots while Cruise hooked her from behind, and Phil returned the favor.

The two challengers kept the pressure on with a high backdrop and a spinebuster/legdrop combination that nearly put her down for the count. When Cruise picked her up and deposited a pair of elbows into her chin, he set her up for a Total Elimination - style legsweep and kick to the chest.

That's where it all broke down. Cruise went for the cover, and Atken pulled him off. A brief argument broke up when Atken took a swing, only for Cruise to duck the shot, hook him under the arm, and drop him on top of TQ with a uranage. A cover on both opponents nearly yielded a three count, but TQ grabbed the bottom rope.

With the wind sufficiently knocked out of the champion, Cruise turned his attention to Phil Atken, who took a knee to the gut and a DDT, but yielded only two and a half. Atken's standing with the fans was hardly helped by the way Helga shouted at Cruise to leave her boy alone, though Cruise gained a few fans by slapping Atken in the face.

"You can act like a man!" he shouted.

"You tell 'em!" shouted Dickwood, while propositioning some fat guy in a pair of bleach - stained sweatpants for a beer.

Atken stayed by the ropes, looking like he was trying to negotiate with Cruise, all the while the Champ was gathering her wits. Cross - corner whip, and Cruise followed with a clothesline! He climbed up on the second rope, and fired a series of right hands to Atken's head. One, Two, Three, Four, Fiv...

...you get the idea.

Before he could get to ten, he was knocked over.

TQ saw the situation, backed up to the opposite corner, and launched herself at her opponents.

This was a twofold maneuver: she drove her fists in a double axe handle to Cruise's spine, which sent him forward, sending his stomach into Atken's face, snapping HIS head back.

It's a good thing this is BRAWL, because if we had to sit through this getting dissected on a slow - motion instant replay the show would be over.

As TQ landed, she backed off to assess the situation, and Atken grabbed Cruise around the waist and walked him off the middle rope, dropping him to the mat with a vicious slam. He dropped down for the cover, but Teresa pulled him off!

Atken broke her grip with a blind elbow back, after which, he open - hand slapped her across the face. It was enough to stagger her back a step, but she replied with a right hand, and another right hand, and a third, all the while backing him up to the ropes.

That's when he did it.

Atken's hands reached out and grabbed TQ's nipples, and twisted.

The referee looked about as lost as I was, trying to figure out the legalities of this one. Fortunately, we didn't have to wait too long, as TQ broke the hold by kicking him square in the groin.

She stepped back to catch her breath... so to speak... and decided to kick him again. Atken was doubled over, and TQ hooked him around the waist, raised him in the air, and prepared to drop him down with a powerbomb---

---when she suddenly dropped him, somewhat off - center. And, of course, the bell rang.

Because you see, Helga had entered the ring, incensed at the treatment TQ was giving her precious boy. She had shoved TQ in the back and arm hard enough for her to drop Atken to the mat, and Helga continued her attack, punching and flailing her arms about as Teresa was driven into the corner.

The bell continued to ring, and Sims told us that Teresa had been declared the winner via disqualification, which was something of an understatement. Atken was still out on the mat as Dirk Dickwood climbed into the ring, ostensibly to yell at Helga for what she just did.

It was about this point that Cameron Cruise stood up and surveyed the ring.

"Screw this," I heard him say, as he left the ring, disgusted.

TQ tried her best to fight out of the corner, but Helga had too much girth for her to try and move around. She was finally able to duck down and get a shoulder into Helga's chest enough to back her up and duck through the top and middle ropes.

In the ring, the fans were treated to an impromptu family feud, as Helga knelt down to see to her boy, all the while Dickwood yelled at him to stop babying the boy, he'll never grow up to be a man with her constantly smothering him. Et cetera.

Yeah, it's just another night in the NFW.

Winner: Teresa Quaranta via disqualification, retains National Championship

Brock Alyas vs. Kin Hiroshi

The stage was set and the entire crowd was ready to see Kin Hiroshi and Brock Alyas settle their personal vendetta of late – for the first time. If you caught anything from the Revolutions most recent taping in Nashville – you’d understand the recent but thick hatred these men have developed for each other. Major personality clash but we haven’t come to expect any less in the chaos thus far, have we?

I think they should just duke it out here in Charlotte .

In Nashville, Craig Miles agreed with me.

Kin Hiroshi was first out to the ring to the theme of Adema where he was showered in jeers from the crowd that made him feel right at home. Dressed like he was ready to wrestle, Kin paid little attention to the fans and continued en route to the ring with a little swagger in his step and a short smirk on his face. Maybe that was because a stolen World Heavyweight Championship was around his waist. Hiroshi slid underneath the ropes making his way centre stage before posting up in his corner awaiting his opponent.

And his opponent?

An angry behemoth from South Detroit whose freshly obsessed with taking Mr. Hiroshi out in his own game for causing a loss over Cameron Cruise in Nashville. Payback’s a bitch and you can bet that bitch is on her rag when it’s Alyas’ idea of payback.

Brock made his way to the ring en route to some underground Detroit rap that punished the basslines of the amplifiers and subwoofers hooked up around the set. Unlike his opponent, Brock looked like it was another day in the office, clad in some baggy oversized jean-shorts and a blank white t. Brock received a better reaction of the two as the NFW faithful must have a soft spot for the man whose been making a name for himself and making waves in attempts to avoid the fact that he remains a rookie on this deep NFW roster.

Brock made his way to the ring, eyes locked on his opponent for the evening with the same damn expression he’s had on his face since he made his debut back in late ’07.

But now, Brock had earned himself a bit more credibility, a .800 win-percentage and a bite-size idea of how things work in the Revolution. Brock stepped through the ropes and into his corner still starring daggers through the eyes of Kin Hiroshi who still had a short smirk on his face.

The official made the bout well, official with the sound of the bell and both men made their way to the centre of the ring as an intense staredown took place and exchange of toilet talk from the looks of things.

Action picked up with Hiroshi using a snap-dropkick to the ankles of Alyas that caused him to double over and set Hiroshi up perfectly with a headlock that Alyas would attempt to power out of but instead force him to send Hiroshi into the opposing ropes to come back and be taken off his feet by Kin with a shoulder block.

Hiroshi wasted no time and instead of going for the cover he ducked Alyas who quickly made his way to his feet and missed the Clothesline from Hell attempt that would have knocked Hiroshi senseless had he connected. Hiroshi instead ducked underneath and kept running doing “the Ninth Mile” over with a bulldog that scraped Brock’s face against canvas – something he wasn’t too pleased about.

Hiroshi was rewarded a quick one-two but a three count wouldn’t even be considered at this point in time. Hiroshi kept his distance from the behemoth and the scouting report told him that if you let this guy get up anywhere near you, he may just take your head off with a clothesline.

So Hiroshi let Brock stand to his feet and would attack as soon as he was up. However, Hiroshi wasn’t so lucky this time because the shoulder block was telegraphed by the Detroit Lion and it looked as if Hiroshi shoulder-blocked a brick wall. A quick kick in the gut cause Hiroshi to double-over and a roughhouse swinging neck breaker worked in the favor of Alyas who had the fans on their feet in doing so. However, a two-count was a petty reward at this point.

Alyas took control of the match-up at this point and wore his opponent down with a very clean, unorthodox falcon-arrow set-up turned into seat-out stunner followed swiftly by a release sidewinder that gave Brock only a two-count.

Panic seemed to be attacking Alyas at this point in the match wondering what it would take for him to finish off Hiroshi who was arguably Brock’s toughest task thus far in his short career as a NFW member.

With a look of vengeance still on his face, Brock he wasted no time forcing Hiroshi to his feet and also kept his distance from being punched in the berries… a tactic Brock’s opponents have learned has a high percentage rate of working.

Instead Brock continued to wear Hiroshi down with rights but his final blow took a split second too long and Hiroshi ducked underneath and telegraphed Brock’s attempt to stay on the attack. Hiroshi quickly took the big man over using a backbody drop that we’d be smart to dub as the “HOLY FUCK YOU’RE NECK IS BROKEN Back Body Drop” around here.

Hiroshi took control in the match-up here using quick, smart tactics that kept Alyas off his feet and kept himself out of danger of that home-run like swing in the form of a clothesline. Hiroshi would give Brock just enough time to attempt it and it would throw him off-guard and allow Hiroshi to set up an abundance of maneuvers such as a DDT, Russian Leg Sweep and Swinging Neckbreaker all surprisingly in sequence.

Each time Brock would attempt to bullrush Hiroshi anytime he was anywhere near him while he was on a knee with a clothesline but Hiroshi continued to telegraph his attempts. One of the times stuck out to me when he ducked underneath a clothesline and a short backfist attempt to set up some clean sweet chin music that landed flush on Brock’s jaw putting him on his back.

Still relentless, you could literally see the steam coming out of Brock’s ears as he was being out-smarted here in the ring by a NFW veteran who Brock refused to believe was better than he.

Brock forgot about the clothesline as it was obviously becoming useless and instead used his gridiron tactics and laid Hiroshi out Middle Linebacker style.

Brock harpooned the shit out of his opponent and put him between a ROCK and a HARD place taking him back for a 5 yard loss into the turnbuckle. With the fans on their feet Brock got up with the look of vengeance still in his eyes, stomped mudholes into the head of Hiroshi.

If you thought Hiroshi was the only one who’d been watching tape, Brock began focusing on the previously injured rib-cage of his opponent with the use of a powerbomb, belly to belly overhead release suplex and a sidewinder that would’ve put the average man out of commission and been a perfect set-up for the patented Extra Mile Explodaggggh.

Instead, Brock was rewarded NEARLY a three-count for his troubles and the match continued with the fans reaction to thus bloodshed like a Slipknot mosh-pit.

Alyas sat-up with Hiroshi laid out on his back centre stage and looked out at the fans with a small smile on his face and you could literally see the clockwork in his head asking “what the fuck is it going to take to put this guy out?”

So Alyas decided to think a little hard and when I say a little I mean A LOT because before you know it, Alyas made his way outside the ring and underneath it where he pulled out a nice picnic sized wooden table that would be laid diagonally across a nearby turnbuckle.

Things were destined to get bloody and Hiroshi wasn’t even aware of the fact that a wooden table was set up and his opponent had all intentions on putting him through it – neck first.

Alyas focused his attention back onto Hiroshi who was beginning to shake some of the cobwebs out of his head and slowly beginning to stir. Brock stomped a couple into the cranium of his and Hiroshi must’ve seen the table set-up in the corner of his eye because he fought like a rabid animal to get up and out of Alyas’ reach… sliding out of the ring where fans around ringside were reaching over literally trying to throw sucker punches at the Muffin Man.

And we thought North Carolina was a first-rate state.

Hiroshi was nearly counted out before Brock turned his back to him for a split second after chuckling to himself about Hiroshi’s credibility as a man and you had better believe the Muffin Man tripped him up and slid into the ring quickly to stomp some mudholes into the head of the Extra Mile.

Hiroshi wore Alyas down with some wisely decided technical tactics and every time he’d give a long hard look at that wooden table screaming his name. Hiroshi had a sadistic smile on his face and after executing a quick Reverse DDT, Hiroshi was going to go for it.

With Alyas dazed, Hiroshi positioned himself back to the table and he was going to piledrive Alyas’ head through the wooden table set-up. Sacrificing the amount of splinters that would likely end up in his back, Hiroshi didn’t know what else it would take to put this rather tough rookie out of his misery.

The ever elongated piledriver that Hiroshi slammed Alyas’ dazed head ended up costing him ‘coz they went through that table alright… Brock’s head even possibly landing first.

But instead it would be an Alabama Slam delivered with whiplashing effect on Hiroshi’s neck and back that would render both men unconscious for a solid 15 seconds.

The NFW faithful were eating… the scene… ALIVE. And then coming alive because someone decided it was time to make a visit.

CAMERON CRUISE

Yeah, Cruise sauntered down the aisle fresh of these two trying to send him up the river in Nashville. Without any hesitation or a smile, he grabbed the World Championship off the timeskeeper’s table and decided that he was going to climb onto the apron. The ref immediately cut him off and started trying to reason with Cruise, while behind him…Alyas and Hiroshi were starting to stir themselves up. Alyas is up first and goes for a leaping kneestrike, but Hiroshi moves and Alyas slams into the back of the referee. The ref collides with Cruise and goes down, Alyas tries to grab Cruise but gets rolled up by Hiroshi with a hook of the tights.

NO REF.

Hiroshi gets up, sees Cruise holding his title and freaks the hell out. He screams and charges at Cruise who absolutely WAFFLES him with the title belt, shocking the crowd! Wildstar nearly leaps out of his seat, while Calamity just MARKS.

Cruise stares down at Hiroshi, not even paying attention to Alyas who gets up and looks at the scene in slight surprise.. Cruise hops off the apron, puts the title belt OVER his shoulder as Alyas drops down on Hiroshi.

UNO.
DOS.
TRES.

Without even waiting to get his hand raised, Alyas is OUT of the ring – the crowd freaks as he tackles Cruise from behind. We’ve got a donnybrook going through the stadium walkway into the backstage area, where they’re knocking over tables. Keep in mind, there’s no dressing rooms folks. Ever since the freaking Koopa showed up, everyone’s on edge and on free-roam snipe patrol. So as we’ve got several wrestlers trying to stop Alyas and Cruise from destroying the free deli platters, Hiroshi stumbles into the scene.

CHAIRSHOT.

Alyas goes down from the seatbreaking headshot courtesy of Kin. Cruise gets up and backs off, Hiroshi picks up the World Championship belt. Looks to the left, looks to the right…drops the chair and runs.

Not surprisingly as we go to break, Craig Miles has added Hiroshi, Cruise and the Devil’s Rejects to the Stampede. Brock Alyas is spared…for once.

Winner: Brock Alyas

DC Stratton vs…

The next series of events shouldn’t be remember for what’s happened, but what may become. Scheduled for this slot in the setlist was DC Stratton vs. Blaine Hollywood, but that’s not exactly what DC came to receive after he came out alone to his music. Billed as a ‘no holds barred, grudge match,’ Charlotte was literally frothing at the mouth to see some old-school street justice dispensed upon the Oxonian of Bel Air.

Except…

…there was no Betty Boop laugh.

There was a man in a navy suit, carrying a briefcase and wearing J. Edgar Hoover spectacles. Apparently, where there is Carlton Trusts there is…

”Mr. Middle Management” Mike McGee.

Apparently, he’s moved on from his previous Charlotte endeavors and is here tonight to represent Blaine Hollywood and Carlton Trusts. In fact, McGee goes onto explain to a seething DC Stratton that Blaine Hollywood isn’t even in the city limits due to the fact that he’s protesting the idea of wrestling outside in a rancid, cow-manure fuming city that could possibly stricken him with an airborne disease. With such deplorable conditions and Blaine’s refusal to wrestle in a no-holds bar environment, Mike McGee sternly informs that DC Stratton will not be wrestling tonight and will be contacted at a later date regarding possible litigation regarding Blaine’s legal restitutions.

McGee hands Stratton his business card, nods his head and leaves DC with the mic as he turns to exit the ring.

Um.

No.

Stratton pulls McGee around and says deadpan into the mic, “Neither of us are leaving this ring, until Blaine gets here.” Micshot to the face follows with McGee nearly falling over, Stratton keeping him standing by yanking on his tie. Now, he’s just choking the crap out of him, when we hit a hard left turn in the proceedings.

Using the tie to pull McGree, Stratton starts pummeling and pulverizing the guy’s face with kneestrike upon kneestrike upon kneestrike. McGee’s nose sprays blood around shot…SIXTEEN as the crowd freaks the hell out ‘cause Stratton’s lost his mind and just screams out Blaine’s name.

You think the mercy call is in as Stratton stops…he paces around the ring, Charlotte buzzing. Stratton picks up the mic, “Get out here, Blaine…or I’m going to break this fool’s neck!” Stratton blasts McGee in the head with the mic, reels him up…

PACKAGE PILEDRIVER.

McGee’s body is on the fritz, fans are cupping their mouths as Stratton goes for another…

AND HITS IT.

Here comes Insurgent Patrol and Stratton flies out of the ring, taking out four of them with a SUICIDE SENTON. Stratton gets up…starts going back towards the ring, but that’s when none other than…

MALIK ANDERSON grabs Stratton from behind by the hair and uses the momentum to send him barreling shoulderfirst into the ringpost. Stratton goes down quick, the arm and shoulder already taped up from his Crash 45 suicidal antics. Anderson quickly takes him into the ring, sends him off the ropes and goes for the SPINEBUSTAAHHHHHHHHH….

…NO.

Stratton’s headbutting, firing punches and converts the reversal into a Lou Thesz mounting and smackdown on the shocked Anderson who covers up with his arms as…

BLAINE. OXFORD ROWING OAR.

…


THWACK!

The baseball swing gets a complete shattering effect courtesy of Stratton’s skull as the crowd loses its freaking mind and starts tossing everything into the ring. Now, Calvin Carlton’s running down and sliding in with his tennis racket.

Did we mention that NEITHER Rayne or Tsunami were in Charlotte tonight?

No?

Well, Wildstar has about thirty-seven times right now to Sean Toombs.

Blaine Hollywood grabs the microphone as a beaten down Stratton is forced to look up at him from his knees. And I quote the Oxonian:

“Did you really think I would waste my breath in this pig-farmer abode of an outdoor stadium? In fact…”

Blaine turns to the crowd.

“None of you even deserve to hear me SPEAK.”

Blaine drops the mic.

The crowd boos.

The smark in you boos.

Trix are for Heels!

Of course, these particular heels are not your average heels. Malik picks up Stratton reels him with the injured shoulder – ARMBREAKER DDT. He holds out Stratton’s arm, while Blaine starts overhead axe-chopping Stratton’s arm with the oar. Not satisfied with just that sort of exposition, Calvin Carlton decided to bring a steel chair into the proceedings. Anderson’s locked Stratton into a Fujiwara, which gets enough screamed obscenities to make some good Baptists faint nearby.

Blaine heads to the top, ladies and gentlemen.

Carlton locks the chair around Stratton’s shoulder as Malik keeps him in place…Malik holds Stratton’s outstretched arm down, Blaine flies off…DIVING ELBOW DROP TO THE SHOULDER. Stratton’s shoulder is DONE. BUSTED. Security finally comes out, but the HWC know the damage is done. They don’t even stay around for McGee to get taken away on a stretcher. Stratton walks back on his own in extreme pain, held up by medical personnel.

Winner: No Match, No-Contest aka “IT’S A TRAP!” – Calamari Star Wars Dude

GPX: Lord Coyner Pollard vs. Felix Red

Hour #3 in Charlotte, the crowd still a little blazed over the heel copout by the HWC. Wildstar starts calling out Miles AND Mayfield, saying that the Hollywood Wrecking Crew need to be held accountable for their contractual obligations.

With that exposition, Wildstar finds his Inner Buddha and moves on. Calamity mentions he’s thinking about starting up a boobshot website for NFW, but Toombs remarks that nobody likes photoshopping wrinkled tits.

Um.

Gross, Sean…gross.

On that note, Lord Coynard Pollard walks out. I bet if Felix Red were British, he’d call Pollard a “wrinkled tit,” but Felix Red is from around Boston, Massachusetts which means he’s going to fit really into the southern aesthetics. Judging by some in the crowd, they were put off by both characters…but obviously, NOBODY LIKES A SNOTTY BRIT – C’MON.

The crowd’s behind Felix as we get set to take it down the homestretch with two Grand Prix matches and a crazy Koopa Stampede. (really? We won’t cancel this?)

Bell rings and we’re off, Pollard quickly wrenching in the side headlock advantage off the initial lock-up. Felix pushes him off, Pollard ducks under a spin kick on one side and gets caught in a Japanese Armdrag on the other. We get a couple of similar runs as Felix uses his aerial array to his advantage. Pollard constantly moving, turning and going against the grain of his ground game. Felix nails a spinning leg lariat, a couple of dropkicks and completes the first frame with a lunging thrust kick to the chest that knocks Pollard out of the ring.

Jeeves tries to help his master get his bearings, but they’re interrupted by Felix sliding out of the ring. Felix rams Pollard into the barricade, but this is where things start getting weird as the referee immediately warns Felix than any use of a FOREIGN OBJECT against an opponent is grounds for Diplomatic Immunity Disqualification. Using outside structures and objects are both illegal.

Felix is forced to take it back in the ring. Goes for the missile dropkick off the top, but Pollard moves out of Buckingham Square. Back Suplex puts the English Channel back on tide patrol, Pollard starts attacking the upper back and neck area with stomps…a few shots at the head interspersed to keep the resourceful Felix down on the mat.

Pollard hits a nasty clothesline, followed by a Reverse Neckbreaker. Pollard hits a beauty of a delayed vertical suplex with a rollover – UNO.DOS.TR—NO. Felix kicks out, Pollard starts choking him and the referee starts counting immediately. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Pollard lifts up the gasping Felix bulls him into the corner and cracks a kneelift. Forearm uppercut. Rinse. Repeat. Slap to the face, English Whip across the ring and an Avalanche Back Elbow Smash right into Felix’s jaw. Red teeters around, Pollard takes him down with a Side British Legsweep Facebuster. UNO. DOS. No dice and Pollard decides to go for a standing headscissors, but gets flipped over by Felix. Pollard scrambles up and Felix hits a blindly charged-up running kneestrike that connects with Pollard’s chest. Felix wearily swings some reverse knife edges that back Pollard into the corner.

Pollard pleads and buries a knee into Felix’s gut as he comes in close. Turns around the proceedings, but gets his English Whip across the ring reversed into a Boston Irish one that sends him chestfirst into the buckles and backpedaling into a Dragon Suplex and two count from Felix. After that, both were down and out for nearly the standing ten-count…but Felix gets up first and hits a Hurricanrana that sends Pollard rolling out of the ring.

Felix connects with a suicide plancha, but again the ref is forcing him to put it back in the ring. Felix goes back to the top, but Jeeves pulls on the ropes causing Red to crotch himself on the turnbuckles. Pollard uses the advantage for a top rope superplex, but can only get the two count. Pollard hooks in an STS, but after a long crawl…Felix forces the break.

Pollard hits a half-nelson Suplex, but can’t get the three count again. As he sets up for the infamous Boleyn Driver, Felix somehow slips out the backdoor and takes down Pollard with a Snap DDT. Felix made his way up slowly towards the turnbuckles, Jeeves tried to pull him off and took a kick to the head. FLYING CROSSBODY PRESS…and Pollard pulled the ref in for a nice sandwiching moment, which staved off the attempted Felix Red pin attempt after a nasty Enziguiri following that up.

Jeeves now entered the ring with a chair, attempting to strike Felix’s skull and he did. Except, he’s skinny and a bit of a ninny…so yeah, that didn’t work that well. Felix yanked the chair out of his hands, but noticed the ref coming to…

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Red pulverized his OWN head with the chair. As he staggered around the ring, Pollard stood shakily up as Jeeves looked on at the bleeding Red (ha! secret wordplay!) in horror. As Felix fell to the mat, he tossed the chair and Pollard caught it in abhor…which turned to livid anger as the referee started ringing for the bell…DISQUALIFYING HIM.

Apparently, diplomatic immunity came back to bite the Lord in the butt…or so you would think. As Felix Red escaped up the stadium walkway, Eddie Mayfield aka El Presidente came on full-screen on the STARtron flanked by Cojones Mercado glowering as usual.

Mayfield lit up his cigar and congratulated Felix Red on exposing the laws of diplomatic immunity. He would indeed uphold Felix’s two points. In the ring, Pollard and Jeeves looked angrily at each other. Mayfield then also noted that Lord Coyner Pollard would earn ONE point for the dishonorable and cheap actions taken by Felix Red in this Grand Prix. The crowd was livid, Pollard smirked and nodded in approval…then slapped Jeeves in the back of the head for all the mistakes made in the match.

Winner: Felix Red via disqualification, Lord Coyner Pollard awarded one point for diplomatic immunity principles regarding dishonorable heel tactics taken against a Lord. …got that? Good.

FRONTIER STAMPEDE KOOPA ON A POLE MATCH…WHAT? YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF THIS KIND OF MATCH BEFORE?

The real question isn’t whether this or did or didn’t happen. Its whether or not I could consume the amount of drugs necessary to properly recap this match. Well, we’ll see won’t we. First of all, we’ve got a chicken wire cage with a dude in a koopa suit hanging from a hook. If you could only witness the construction crane used for this, you’d understand how the Demolition Derby was even remotely believable.

There were these ways to get eliminated: Leave the cage, get pinned, tap out or fail to answer a standing 10-count. Four referees and hordes of Insurgent Security Patrol surrounded the ringside. Eliminations would only begin when the Koopa was unhooked.

Oh yeah, B.Y.O.B. rules were in effect aka Bring Your Own Blank. Which really means, we may see the use of a soldering iron, we may see the use of a weedwhacker…we really don’t know.

The Freaks in this thing

The Devil’s Rejects (Luci4/Legion): All-black attire, strapped with magazines holstering different types of scissors.

Kin Hiroshi: black t-shirt, cargo pants. Did not bring the World Championship, but did carry a large trashbag to the ring.

Steve Knox: T-shirt that read "AWESOME PERSONFIEID" on the front and "STEVE KNOX: ROCKING NFW WITH HIS AWESOME" on the back, and a pair of jeans and work boots. Basically, he comes looking like he's involved in a street fight. Oh yeah, he’s bringing down a freaking steel pipe. Joe the Plumber, take notice.

Codemaster: Master Chief plated uniform, burnt Megaton Hammer strapped to his back along with other ‘weapons’ that looked highly suspicious.

Craig Miles: No shirt (classy), jeans, workman’s belt with more pyrotechnic gadgets than a pyromaniac Batman birthed son with a menstruating Jean Grey as the mother, steel-tipped boots.

Phil Atken: Oversized Viking’s uniform most likely donated from his possible mother, although we’re glad it wasn’t from his possible father. The helmet is so large its covering his whole head and he’s walking around blindly. If that’s a real sword, this place has lost its mind.

Cameron Cruise: Work overalls, t-shirt, construction boots.

Koopa: Some idiot in a suit, hanging on a hook.

The bell rang.

Steve Knox gulped. Cameron Cruise for once seemed unfazed in this atmosphere, almost as if he expected it. Kin Hiroshi looked around shiftily, snickering slightly. Craig Miles lit a cigarette. Phil Atken asked the guy next to him what’s going on. Legion answered, “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?”

Knee to the gut, Devil’s Reject Double DDT!

The next 10 minutes came and went with a lot of punches, kicks, cage rakings, scissor stabs, hammer shots (Cruise’s overalls hid objects), flying fireballs, Megaton Hammer shots, Atken’s sword was plastic and useless…a spear from Cruise sent his helmet flying, so he could at least see. Kin’s bag contained frying pans, glass pitchers, used silverware – Craig Miles recognized it as the VIP Backstage Kegger appetizer section.

Luci4 unhooked Koopa the old-fashioned way, leaping off the cage into a leglock around his waist…their weight and momentum getting him off. Koopa got up a house afire, spinning around and knocking over people with his suit’s plastic shell. Until Codemaster and Craig Miles hit a Double Elimination on him. Codemaster hit a double stomp onto the shell, then Miles hit a sliding dropkick into the balled up Koopa who managed to trip up the Devil’s Rejects and Phil Atken after barreling into their feet.

Koopa staggered up in a backpedal – Codemaster picked it up in a Burning Hammer, Miles grabbed in a Snap Mare Headlock – SPIKE MEGATON HAMMAHHHHHHHHH! Miles and Codemaster held down the Koopa as security separated for a greasy, fat, hairy freak named…

CHESTER CHEESEBURGER

Miles shouted at Chester to climb the cage.

Yes, apparently Craig Miles PLANNED this out.

The Mexican 300 pounder hit the world’s squishiest SPLASH. The shell POPPED. IT FREAKING POPPED. And thus, the Koopa was eliminated. As Cheeseburger left the cage, Codemaster and Craig Miles exited as well…their job done.

ELIMINATED: #9 Koopa via …SHELL POPPAGE. #8/#7 THE FIREFLOWERS (Miles/Codemaster)

Blood really started to flow at this point. Atken totally got cut up by Legion and surived about twenty different near pinfalls in the process. He was finally put out by a Demolition Derby Elbow Drop courtesy of the Devil’s Rejects.

Eliminated: #6 Phil Atken

Of course, at this point – HELGA kicks open the cage door. KICKED THE MOTHERFUNKIN’ THING OFF ITS HINGES.

Steve Knox turns around after Inverted Atomic Dropping Kin Hiroshi and finds himself wrapped around the throat. CHOKESLAM.

And she just happened to plant him on a pile of tacks. Knox shoots to his feet, out of sheer hatred violently cracks Helga in the head with a right hand.

NO EFFECT.

Steve Knox promptly blinks as Helga’s cheeks start puffing.

He starts backpedaling and the Devil’s Rejects attack Helga from behind with a flurry of forearm smashes. Helga turns around.

DOUBLE CHOKESLAM.

Cruise at this point sits on the turnbuckles, while Kin screams at him to help as Helga turns her attention towards him. Kin charges.

CHOKESLAM.

The crowd is in complete shock. Helga’s going back after Knox, who starts climbing the cage. Helga can’t reach him as he starts playing Spider Man to her Norse Kong Woman. Helga starts climbing up, the cage swaying from her violent moving girth. Oh lookit – this Cameron Cruise isn’t moving, just shaking his head…as the Devil’s Reject start climbing up on opposite sides of the Steve/Helga. Luci4 and Legion, also much quicker…get to standing positions and crouch. Helga gets hold of Steve and starts trying to toss him over the side, but Luci4 leaps onto her back and starts going for a sleeper. Legion goes COMPLETELY INSANE.

HEADSCISSORS STYLE.

Knox holds onto the cage and tries to position Legion outside of it…Cruise and Hiroshi…

VETERANS from their Ultratitle days have both suffered horrible injuries in such matches known as the NFW Northern Conference Insane Asylum Cage Regular Season finale or who could forget the HULK-A-THON match from Season 2.

In fact, the one thing both learned horribly was to NEVER…EVER…get tangled up on that cage.

Both rushed in, got underneath the piles and pushed up.

And pushed OVER.

CRACK! BLAM! BOOM!

Two tables shatter with bodies everywhere outside the ring. We’ve got a six-car pileup right in the middle of Indian burial ground.

ELIMINATED: #5 Steve Knox, #4/#3 The Devil’s Rejects and a vengeful Helga

So, it came down to Cruise and Hiroshi.

They met in the middle of the ring, Hiroshi extended his hand for a show of honor from Cruise. Cruise extended his hand, then snuck around Hiroshi and all of a sudden had a wet rag over Hiroshi’s face!

CRUISE WITH THE HEEL MASTERMIND MOVE OF THE NIGHT!? WHAT!?

Eliminated: #2 Kin Hiroshi via Cruise Chloroform

ITS RAINING CATS AND DOGS, PEOPLE.

AVERT THE HELLFIRE THAT HAS COMETH!

…yet…

As if the whole thing’s a joke, Cruise doesn’t even stick around to get his hand raised. He wins with the standing ten-count, leaving Hiroshi on the ground with the rag. Ironically, the towel reads “MM” on the side and has a muffin logo…so we can only assume that Cruise played some artistry of stolen materials.

He gets stopped by Calamity trying to find out what he thinks about winning the “Koopa Match.”

Cruise looks at Calamity, spits on the ground and walks away. Way to satisfy those hometown fans, Cameron! …oh wait, you didn’t even acknowledge them. …man, what’s next? Kansas believing in evolution?

Your “Winner” Cameron Cruise

GPX: DOCTOR CURIOSITY vs. IMPULSE