(More pyrotechnics call the audience back after the intermission. The pyro is slightly weaker, as if we were going into hour 2 of Raw or something. A red carpet is placed on the entryway, and Girl Friday comes out in a tight silver sequined outfit with matching top hat. She does a little dance. The audience seems restless.)
Only in a PPV can Girl Friday get a captive audience.
I wouldn't even go that far. Only at a SUPERCARD.
Yes, and we're back. As you can see, the ring attendants have placed the "Moat" for the Ebola Moat match at ringside.
I was wondering what those wading pools were for.
And here come the attendants in those yellow space suits carrying the diseased water. Apparently, Der Kommissaar was willing to spend the money for Ebola, but the stupid Human Rights Commission had to step in and say that the audience was in danger.
Dat's a ripoff!
Yeah, I would have said "screw the audience" too. So we've got the "deadly" rhinovirus in there.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong. Isn't rhinovirus just a fancy name for the common cold?
So the loser of this match basically gets a cold.
It's more practical. You can wrestle with a cold. No time off for these two.
This is a Rhinovirus Moat Match and is set for one fall. Entering first, from Newark, New Jersey and accompanied by "Helena", representing the Head Trauma Club, here is NECRO PHIL!
("Last Dance With Mary Jane" by Tom Petty plays. Phil comes to ringside, places the box on the Creepy Timekeeper's table, and enters the ring.)
His opponent, from Bolivar, Tennessee, accompanied by "Bob", representing nobody in particular, here is IDENTITY CRISIS MAN!
(ICM enters wearing a red turtleneck and bowler hat, sporting a handlebar moustache. Bob is dressed in a grey suit with a hat resembling the kind Rudy used to wear on Fat Albert. "Bob" is also wearing glasses and smoking a cigar. ICM pauses halfway down the aisle to knock the popcorn out of a kid's hand before entering the ring.)

Who is Identity Crisis Man trying to be?
Beats me.
***bell rings.
Necro Phil and Identity Crisis Busick in a collar-and-elbow tie up. Phil is bounced against the ropes. Double leg takedown by ICM, and now he's beating on Phil with those closed fists! The ref is warning him.
Fat lot of good that's going to do.
Big Bully Crisis Man on the receiving end of a hiptoss. Phil has slapped on an armbar. Look at ICM squirm! He's reaching for the ropes...but Phil just pulled him to the center of the ring!
How's 'e gonna get outta dis one?
Phil sees that he's not getting anywhere and breaks the hold. You could also say he knows this match isn't supposed to exceed ten minutes. Wait, backslide by ICM out of nowhere!, that was TOO close.
I haven't seen a backslide in this fed since...
Don't Ask, Don't Tell?
That wasn't very helpful, Jamal.
Really! They didn't have a backslide in their match.
Big Bully with a clothesline. He goes for an elbowdrop. The lecherous coroner blocks it with his semi-bionic elbow! Both men get hurt with THAT one. Necro Phil applies a waistlock...ICM counters by kicking backwards. This one could be over right here! Phil is being dragged over to that dangerous moat!
That bright yellow clear plastic and those friendly dinosaur heads don't look too dangerous, Vince.
One can never be too sure, Captain, NEVER. Phil is placed on the turnbuckle.
Saved fo' a few mo' seconds.
Definitely a high-risk area. I think that Identity Crisis Bully will go for some top-rope maneuver of some kind.
If we wanted insight like that, Der Kommissaar would have hired Tony Schiavone.
Necro Phil has just grabbed ICM's trunks, he suplexes that Bully wannabe over his back! There's a big splash as Identity Crisis Man flails in the rhinovirus moat. Phil is losing his balance...I think he's going in too!
Where's my umbrella?
The winner of this match...NECRO PHIL!
Phil victorious, but both men will have a nice cold for a while.
Can I keep the box? Ooooh.
Necro Phil: Give me that! Did he hurt you, baby? There, there.
I dunno who's weirder.
Definitely the Timekeeper. That's one mystery solved. Well, our next encounter should be a doozy. Claude Leroux, or should I say Bob Smith the New Zealand sheepshearer, will take on the mighty, the massive, the mmmm...Bohemoth. Okay, sue me, I couldn't think up another "m" word.
This contest is set for one fall. But you already knew that. First, from either New Zealand or Moosebutt, British Columbia, weighing 260 lbs. (if that IS his real weight), CLAUDE "LIGHTNING CLIPPERS" LEROUX!)
Vic the Sound Guy: Uh...I didn't get a new song for this guy. Hold on.
The sound of a synthesizer playing "Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits" is heard. Claude/Bob walks out to the eerie silence of a finished song.)
His opponent, from Charleston, West Virginia, weighing in at 490 lbs.,!
("In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg plays. Bohemoth rushes the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He immediately starts hammering Claude with his white cane.)

***bell rings.
Bohemoth, in blatant regard for the rules, tosses his cane aside and switches to his forearms. Claude doesn't seem to have a chance here!
Claude? Ain't it Bob?
This is the biggest question mark for commentating since we found out that SuperWrestler was Plemmy.
That's not true. They were always separate until the very end. By then, he was fired and nobody cared.
Oh yeah. Anyway. Bohemoth with a big side suplex. Now he picks up the guy from New Zealand. He's gorilla pressing him! 1...2...3...4...5...6 times! This man's strength is amazing.
In my day, you weren't thought strong until you could press a man 15 times. In fact, you were thought a wimp if you couldn't.
Bob Smith is down. Bohemoth with a cover: 1...2...kickout! No way!
Ain't so unbelievable, V. My watch says only two minutes gone by.
Really? Is there time to plug the next PPV? Yes, folks, Canada Day Chaos is just around the corner - July 1st! And hopefully this time we'll all remember what happened.
All I remember is waking up next to a beer keg that smelled like vodka and a raccoon in a lace teddy.
Really? Same here! Except it was a G-string and pasties.

Alright, that does it. I've stayed quiet long enough. This PPV is now rated TV-14. Kids, go to bed. I don't care if you want to see Luke Warm.

Well, while we've wasted time not calling the match, "Lightning Clippers" seems to have gained the upper hand. There's a lariat, and now he's going up top for an Auckland Jam flying legdrop! Right on the money.
Wassup widdat? Auckland Jam?
Would you prefer I had said Moosebutt Jam?
Auckland's fine. Let's move on.
Yeah. The cover by Smith: Bohemoth is up. He picks up Bob in a bearhug position, now he's slamming the sheepshearer against his massive chest over and over! The life is being taken out of Claude, ever so slowly. And now he's been taken down is a variation of the spinebuster.
I t'ink Bohemoth gonna win, V.
Thanks, Jamal. He's only like the #1 contender to whoever wins the Intergalactic Belt tonight. He's going to the top's SMASHER time! And BOOM! There it is.
Say goodnight, son.
1...2...3. And Bohemoth in a lopsided victory. Claude Leroux didn't have a chance, and neither did Bob Smith. Awww.
Told choo.
Yes, you did, Mustafa, and we're glad to see your knowledge of the bloody obvious hasn't failed you.
Psss - stop that, V, I'm gonna blush here. we'll get to see what the Three Guys contingent of Pain and Pleasure, Sir Hungalot and Jean Bannister, can do to combat the Techie Salesmen from Hell.
A hotly-anticipated contest that I can only call the sleeper hit of SUPERCARD IV.
What, did the ratings dip? You already said they've bought the whole thing. And words won't salvage it if they've already changed the channel.
This is a tag team contest. And relax, it's the last one of the evening! (cheers) It's set for one fall! (cheers) Making their way first...(cheers)...okay, that's it. I'm done. I'm not getting paid overtime here.
What? Oh, that's just GREAT! Here are the Techie Salesmen from Hell, in their red capes jerseys? Okay, let's get this straight. Bait in a Jaromir Jagr jersey and Switch with an Avalanche Fleury jersey.
Obvious psychological tactics against one Jean Bannister.
And here come Pain and Pleasure, the adult film star and the hockey enforcer, looking visibly upset. They're yelling some stuff that nobody can hear because they're not wearing microphones.
Watch out for Edwina! She jus' blindsided dem!
Edwina into the spirit of things too with her Modano jersey from the Dallas Stars.
Come on, where's the St. Louis Blues jersey?
Right, Cap. The Blues? Honestly.
(hangs head and mutters) well, I like them...
The Three Guys members are rolled into the ring. All three of the Tri-Lambda Group are stomping away at these two. It's apparent that Pain and Pleasure have won by disqualification. And here comes the Pencil-Necked Geek, looking sporty in that Dominik Hasek jersey and suspenders on top.
The Sabres? Oh, you must be joking.
Pain and Pleasure are still down and convulsing in the ring, winners nonetheless.
Do you think we'd let this opportunity pass us by? What are we, idiots? Like you Canadians? What kind of a country of morons deports people three times and accepts them back through immigration three times? What kind of a cheap copycat-America country has a school shooting in Taber, Alberta, killing one kid? You WANTED to be Littleton, but of course, being Canadians, it just doesn't measure up. What kind of country gives out free health care? Or re-elects Prime Ministers who admit they went back on their promises? You people WISH you were us.
Sir Hungalot: I'm not Canadian! (Edwina stomps him to quiet him)
Yeah, I'm sure you want to deny it now that I'm telling the truth. Have you ever seen Canadian television? What the hell is Traders? Nobody wants to see a drama about stockbrokers. And what's up with the Friendly Giant, anyway? (boos from Canadians in the crowd - you just don't knock the Friendly Giant) Okay, okay. But just to show you what a heel I am...I won't be needing THIS anymore!
My God! That's an Oilers jersey autographed by Wayne Gretzky!
He's pulling out a matchbook and setting it on fire! He's throwing away money that rich eccentric fanboys would pay him! But he doesn't care, the boos are all he cares about now.
"Flash" Flanagan: Alright, Geek, that's enough out of you.
Flanagan is racing to the ring to the cheers of all. The Tri-Lambs hightail it out. The Pencil-Necked Geek starts walking backwards with mic still in hand.
This isn't over, Flanagan! Or my name isn't...*mic shuts off*
Well, the Geek seems pretty angry but unfortunately we can't hear word one of the rest of his rant. Flanagan is just making funny faces and flapping his fingers to imitate a mouth.
And the crowd loves every second!
They SO easy to please.
Hey Jamal, he's in YOUR stable, boy. And it's the same audience that chants "J-T-M".
*sniff* Thass cold, V. I juss wanna be loved.
Even though this should be the big main events, believe it or not, we're STILL recapping stuff! Screw you, pay-per-view consumers, SCREW YOU!
Our buyrates for Canada Day Chaos CAN'T be good after this...

Anyhoo, Lenny "the Force" Baxter won by forfeit after "Big" Buck Johanson got his antlers caught in the coat hangers of the cloakroom and no-showed. He spent some time practicing his magic. The pen in the ref's breast pocket spilled its ink, but that's about it. Lenny considered it a big victory.

Petey the Peanut Guy vs. the Mad Cow ended in a no-contest. Boy, you should have SEEN the brawl in the ring. Mad Force Five and Reno Inc. both entered the ring. Well, the Mason didn't. Maybe he was too busy courting Tiffany Lane? We don't know. But what an amazing brawl! Bodies flying everywhere, they actually needed MOPS to clean up the blood, and some lucky fans got souvenir teeth at ringside. Even a cow-tipping of Madame Bovine. Afterwards, the fratboys who jumped the ring to accomplish that were taken away by security and later arrested, cavity-searched, and some other really nasty things were done to them at the hands of some inmates who haven't seen women in a long, long time.

We're BACK? Oh, come ON!
Yes, unfortunately. Of course, I would have liked some more details about those fratboys, but we can't always get what we want. Okay, now we'll see the Tiger vs. Prisoner X. Who do you think will leave the STWF forever, Jamal?
Uh...Craig Heyward?
Yeah, that sounds about right.
Introducing first, the special guest referee for this contest, your favourite running-back-with-a-falsetto and mine, CRAIG "IRONHEAD" HEYWARD!
Voiceover: But Ironhead, what's with this thingee?
(Heyward enters, with a big dopey grin on his face. It's obvious he hasn't signed an STWF contract and thinks wrestling is a big stupid joke, just like every other mainstream celebrity with the same big dopey grin. It's true! Go watch old tapes if you don't believe me.)

Our first competitor, fresh from prison, accompanied by the Warden, sure he hasn't been around in ages but that won't stop him from trying to retire one of the most popular wrestlers in STWF history...PRISONER X!
(Hell's Bells by AC/DC. Prisoner X enters to a collective yawn.)
His opponent...the man who needs no introduction and for that reason I won't give one...THE TIGER!
("Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. Crowd's cheers are deafening. Well, somewhat deafening. It's not a big crowd. And the acoustics suck. The Tiger enters, too.)
***bell rings.
And look at the Tiger go! The Warden just has enough time to unlock the handcuffs and hightail it out of the ring. The Tiger with a HUGE right hand to the Prisoner's jaw. That rocked P-X right into a different time zone. The Tiger wasting no time, he's gone right into a crossface chickenwing! And his eyes are bugging out.
Such charisma. This guy could run for President.
That's the last thing we need here, Cap.
Maybe he could be Hogan's running mate.
Hogan? What about Pat Buchanan, now THERE'S a wholesome young man.
I don't even know if that was sarcasm. Ironhead Heyward is looking for a submission...and he GOT one? What the hell?
The winner of this contest as a result of a submission, THE TIGER!
Prisoner X: I never wanted to be in this stupid fed anyway. Thanks for the match, Tiger. Now here's a little parting gift from me to you.
Omigawd! Prisna X is beatin' on da Tiger's left knee wit' a lead pipe!
The Tiger could actually sustain a legitimate injury here!
In the STWF? Get out of here. But the Tiger does look really hurt, or he's laughing, I can't tell. You never can. The Tiger getting up slowly with the help of the ref, and security officials are escorting him to the locker room. Ironhead looking around for somebody to give him a paycheck. He showboats in the ring until he gets one.
Football players. Hunh.
Did I say last tag match of the evening? Well, I lied. Hahahahaha! (boos) You see these two teams in the ring? The Ambulance Jockeys? Spontaneous Human Combustion? They're fighting. For a belt which neither of them possesses. Confused? I sure am. Anyone needs me, I'll be in the bar.
***bell rings.
Offscreen: Oh no you don't!
Here come Smooth and Crunchy, obviously upset about the current state of affairs.
Petey: Damn right! Where do these guys get off wrestling for our belts? We should at least get a chance to defend 'em. Three teams, first pinfall wins.
Some discussin' among da two otha' teams.
They seem to agree. This match is now...on!
Offscreen: Oh no you don't...squeeble.
The Head Trauma Boys are coming to ringside with Dr. Zigmund Fraud! What do THEY want? Does it have something to do with those RDWA tag belts they've got?
Coma: Nibble...meep...GRONK!
Flatline: Call 555-8181 ahr better yet, cahme ahn dahn! Hi Mom.
Dr. Fraud: What my clients are trying to zay iz, zey would like to unify ze Doppelcrown mit these belts and zettle all zis tag nunzense once und für alles, ja? Four teams, und first pinfall wins. Zound gut?

The other teams are laughing their heads off and beckoning. Sure, they'll take that! And why wouldn't they, the Head Trauma Boys suck!
If they suck, how did they get the RDWA belts?
If I could answer that, I'd be a booker.
***bell rings to signify the REAL match starting.
Well, we've got four teams to work with now. And any member of any team can be tagged in, and the first pinfall wins. Scythe and Barry Brown will start off because they were going to start the two-team match. Scythe with a kick to the midsection. Barry sent back to the ropes. Garry pushes him back into the fray. Barry instinctively puts a clothesline arm out, and it works beautifully. Scythe is down. Barry is stomping away at the larger combustible beast from Guyana. And a legdrop. The cover: 1...2...sorry, not that easy. He pulls up Scythe by the mask. Cranial kick does little to nothing. Scythe picks him up and throws him into the turnbuckle, where Mr. Planters has been tagged. Planters reluctantly getting in.
I hope he's rested. This is not Mr. Planters' day.
Yeh, he been a regular BILL.
Mr. Planters sweeps Scythe's leg. Now he's going for a figure-four!
On Scythe? Man, he nuts.
Exactly - peanuts.
I was wondering when you'd get around to that stupid joke. And peanuts are legumes, not nuts. You know how Petey reacts about that.
Unfortunately, we do.
Scythe easily breaks the Figure Four and laughingly tags in Coma. Even monsters like that have a sense of humour it would seem.
They'd haveta, ta work here.
Planters chuckles to himself and inches closer. Coma does a pirouette or six and sticks out a leg. Mr. Planters wasn't guessing that would happen at all! But Coma can surprise you. Coma right now, trapped in some demented ballet fantasy. Planters hitting him with everything he has. Coma must have numbed nerves, or that part of his brain's shut off, because he doesn't appear to feel any of it! The man in the large peanut suit, exasperated, tags in Garry "the Gurney" Greene.
Things might get interesting now. Both teams represented in the ring are members of the same stable apparently.
Mr. Planters: MMLLM?! Moooohhh, F<-BLEEP->mmfs fmmfppffsss <-BLEEP->!
I'm amazed da cusses came out so clear!
Garry still working on Coma though. Some kicks, some hits, an Asai moonsault that seems oh so out-of-place here. Coma manages to get a Boston Crab on Garry!
Will wonders never cease?
Garry struggling to get to a corner, any corner...he's moving towards the Head Trauma Boys corner!
Good strategy.
Can he do that?
First pinfall wins - never was stipulated that someone couldn't pin his partner to win.
Implosion: Unga bung gungadug. (Subtitled: We should have thought of that.)
Scythe: Gutunga bungabug? (Subtitled: Why is our language a bunch of pygmy grunts when Guyana was under British rule?) (Yes folks, it's a remarkably efficient language.)

Flatline has been tagged in. Petey the Peanut Guy slapping his forehead at the prospect of losing his belt.
SUPERCARD IV just wasn't a good outing for Smooth and Crunchy, or Sister Deloris. Only the Reno Bros. did well for their corporation-stable.
They'll do well in the future though; I'm almost positive of it! Flatline flops over the top rope and lands in a pinning position over Coma. 1...2...3! And in one of the most pathetic moments of STWF history, the Head Trauma Boys have collected what is effectively three belts, with some smart planning by the Ambulance Jockeys as well.
Here are your winners, and NEEEEEEW STWF/MBPD/RDWA tag team champions...*snicker* the HEAD TRAUMA BOYS! Bwahahahaha! Oh man, this is too funny.
The Ambulance Jockeys doing those Elvis points and lifting up the HTBs on their shoulders.
This is wack. So who gets first shot and the inevitable win over dem?
That's something the Ivory Tower should decide. The Circus Freaks? Smooth and Crunchy? The Ambulance Jockeys in a "professional jealousy" angle? Maybe the Rogue will have a say and submit one of his teams? It could be anyone.
Only three matches remain. Up next is Irving Goldstein against Jeffrey Steingold, both of the mid-East Alliance.
This is a contest scheduled for one fall. Making their way...together? From various spots in New York and accompanied by Très Sheik, here are IRVING GOLDSTEIN AND JEFFREY STEINGOLD!
("Hava Nagila" plays. Both men enter the ring and grab microphones.)

Irving: Oy oy oy! Hello kiddies! Now as you know, Jeffrey and I, we have no feud anymore but this match was booked some time ago. Sure we COULD have a legitimate match...
***bell rings.
Jeffrey: But we decided we'll just let the time limit expire. And we'll sing you some nice Yiddish songs. Or maybe Fiddler on the Roof! Whattaya say?
(sings) Away above my head, I see a curious sight, a fiddler on the roof, he's up there day and night. He fiddles when it rains, he fiddles when it snows, I've never seen him leave, yet on and on he goes.

(jumps onto the apron) Ref! Here's a hunned-fitty bucks. Make the time limit draw thirty seconds.
That wasn't very nice, Jamal, he didn't even get to the chorus! But the ref is happy to take the money and time-limit draw this match.
Irving: What? It's over? Our filibuster done? What goy did this to us? I'll...I'll...oy, I forget. Come on, Jeffrey, Sheekie, let's go to Swiss Chalet.
Très Sheik: It's not very elegant, but since you're paying, who am I to turn it down?

What IS it wit' old people an' Swiss Chalet?
Don't ask me, I hate chicken.
Well, now that that "match" is done...let's continue to something fun. A "rickety easel" match. Who will climb the easel and become, or stay, the North American Champion? Luke Warm? douja? Dr. Sillaconne M. Plants? Or the Violent Pacifist?
This is really the Pacifist's kind of match. You don't need a lot of contact, just skill and good balance. The VP has both.
Much as I hate to say it, I t'ink douja's got next.
Okay, we'll put those up on the old tote board, and take it to Announcer Lad.
(on phone) I'm wearing a tux, why? Can I what? No, why would I want to...listen, I think you have the wrong number... NO, I'M NOT THAT WAY, damn you Jenny Jones! DAMN YOU! (clicks phone shut) This contest is a "rickety easel" match for the North American Championship. First, from Naples, Italy, DR. SILLACONNE M. PLANTS!
("A Change Would Do You Good" by Sheryl Crow plays. Dr. Plants sizes up the easel and looks at the belt hanging above it.)
Next, from Seattle, Washington, THE VIOLENT PACIFIST!
("Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. VP is shaking hands on his way down.)
Thirdly, from Parts Forgotten, the Gallery-ite, douja!
(douja zigzags his way to the ring, avoiding every piece of garbage thrown at him. You just can't hit a moving object that shifts direction so randomly.)
And finally...the current North American Champion...from the Hubcap Gang...LUKE WARM!
(Stuff breaking is heard. Luke Warm is coming out with a snack tray, swarmed by canaries - we think they're attracted to his Yoo-Hoo. He grabs one of them...)

***bell rings.
Luke Warm wheels out his snack tray and reveals all those treats inside. He's got it all: salty, sweet, everything to satisfy a case of the Munchies.
No big surprise that douja is running to the tray and gorging himself. But he's so thin, where does it all go?
I'll get y'all a book about it.
This match is effectively down to three people trying to grab that belt. The Rogue meanwhile is trying to coax douja to get back in this. He's not trying too hard though.
I think he's still betting on Genocide to win that Intergalactic belt.
Could very well be. The Violent Pacifist and Luke Warm are locked up. VP with a figure-four armbar. Now Luke Warm is down with his elbow pinned above his head and his back arched. Believe me, that's painful. VP putting some knees to Luke's ribs.
Still pretty humane, wouldn't you say?
I say he'd better watch out because Dr. Plants is ready to climb that rickety easel. The Pacifist backs off and kicks the easel down. Sillaconne tumbles. That was close!
Heaven forbid these matches are short.
Oh, they're plenty short. Have you ever seen those other feds? One match takes up 24K of hard drive space? And...uh...what was I talking about?
Yo' extramarital affair.
Right. And you should SEE Louise. I mean, DAMN! Legs up to her chin. Good thing I can always say I'm meeting with Der Kommissaar about the next card and my wife doesn't have a...hey, wait a doggone minute...
The Violent Pacifist meanwhile is trying to get up that easel. It's only two steps, officially. But it's rickety. Luke Warm grabs the Pacifist by the collar and slams him down, kind of like a small superplex. Luke gives a thumbs-up on the turnbuckle for more crowd approval.
###phone rings.
Like he needs it, CT.
(on phone) I was just kidding, honey! I really AM meeting with Der Kommissaar. And Louise means nothing to me. What, you want to know about that red silk bra in my underwear drawer?'s mine?
Luke Warm going up that easel...but he's teetering...he can't get his balance, the easel is falling, but even still...STONECUTTER! STONECUTTER ON THE EASEL!
Is dere anything he won't Stonecutter fo' props?
Luke Warm is rolling out of the ring! I think he thinks this match is over!
Luke Warm: Two Stonecutter-per-match contract. I'm done.
What about defending your North American Belt?
Luke: GASP!
Luke running back to the ring, but he's a smidge too late. Sillaconne M. Plants just dumped VP from the ring...he's halfway up the easel...he's on the top now...he jumps! Luke tackles the easel, but Dr. Plants gets a hold of it and he's hanging on! Plants drops...(crowd gasps) he's got the belt!
Here is your winner, and NEEEEEW North American Champion, DR. SILLACONNE M. PLANTS!
What a match. douja seems filled and enters the ring.
douja: A'ight, I ready to go..huh huh..
Is it all good on your end, Vince?
Yeah, talked my way out, good thing I married pretty and dumb.
And now...the big show...the match of the century...Sergeant Genocide vs. Homicidal Hank.
I can't wait. And neither can our competitors! They run out here without even waiting for Announcer Lad, who springboards out of the ring and slams his head on the Spanish Announcers' table! The table broken in half. It wouldn't be a SUPERCARD without that.
***bell rings.
Would'a been nice if it was a wrestler.
True, but I'll take Announcer Lad over nobody to take a bump. Hank with a chop to the throat. Genocide winces a bit. Hank with a reverse neckbreaker. He hooks the leg right away: 1...kickout. Forget it, the Top Rung won't be beaten so quickly. Genocide is up. He covers Homicidal Hank's eyes with his beret. Cheap shot after cheap shot! Bulldogging headlock now. And elbowdrops placed with clockwork precision. He's truly the champion of the "smart mark"s.
Oh, there's no such thing. Ask Mark Madden.
And who made HIM the authority? Genocide with a stomp - Hank grabs the foot and turns it over. Genocide topples over and puts his arms over the top rope for support. Hank choking the Sarge with the top rope! 1-2-3-Hank backs away. Sergeant looks angry now. He grabs Hank and there's a BIG chokeslam!
Nothin' small about this guy... I mean rasslin' wise... I mean... oh, juss fo'get it.
Hank with a Sunset Flip...Genocide is down! 1...2...Genocide gets out by pincing Hank's head with his feet. The Ukranian Monster has Hank in a vulnerable position. Boston Crab? Sharpshooter? Slingshot? Headbutt to the groin?
Come on, headbutt!
Headbutt it is!
YES! Pay up, Mustafa.
I still say it ain't fair seein' as you read da script.
Hank covering his groin, but that's closing the gate after the horse has already left...or is it putting the cart before the horse?
Do I look like I know horse proverbs?
Hey V, I t'ink you want "he looked a gift horse in da mouth." OW! Man, quit doin' that, you oppressin' me, Cap.
Sorry, it's just you deserve it so often.
Hank is up. Lowblow by Hank! Now both men have similar injuries, and we've got a level playing field! Spike is now up on the apron and boy is he looking frustrated! Genocide bounces off the ropes, tripped by Spike! Hank will resort to any tactics to get ahead and keep that belt.
You realize that Spike is a potted geranium.
Yes, and?
Hank turns Sarge over, the cover: Sergeant Genocide is up, and Spike is smashed right in Hank's face! Hank is blinded with soil, and shocked to boot. The Rogue with an evil grin right now.
Dis card finally gonna be over?
Looks that way...there's the setup...ELIMINATOR! What a dark day for the STWF.
I'll say...Head Trauma Boys?
Sergeant Genocide with a one-foot-salute-cover: 1...2...3! A terrible end to a better-than-average card.
(Sergeant Genocide is handed the belt. He lifts it up, and "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys plays. The Rogue's Gallery comes in and gives him the big lift on the arms. Aboriginal 1 has the Ukranian flag and starts waving it around as they move to the locker room)
Well, that's all for this card. I hope you enjoyed it despite this ending. For Captain Twilight and Jamal Tupac Mustafa, this is Angus "Vince" McMadden saying goodnight, and thanks for ordering SUPERCARD IV! Now get off our property.
©1999 Stereo Type Wrestling Federation/Consejo Stereotypicos de Lucha Libre