Thursday Something Or Other #14
So good, you'll need a (chocolate) cigarette afterwards!

(Pan interior of the CowPie Palace. The Pyro Guys are wearing gas masks and waving around their sparklers, which seem to glow brighter than usual.)
Hello Something-or-Other fans and welcome to Thursday...something-or-other. With me is the ever-competent Captain Twilight.
Happy to be here, Vince.
Happy just to be alive at your age, I'm sure. Anyway, we have a lot of ground to cover tonight, so what better way to keep you fans glued to your seats in anticipation of the main event - Homicidal Hank vs. a surprise opponent for the North American Title - than with a debut match as film director-turned-wrestler Tentin Quarentino faces Four.
Wait, you did say keep the fans glued to their seats, right? Are you sure this is wise?
Like it's up to me? I just sell the matches. The Finger does the his own unique style. All you guys in the locker room...what would YOU do for a title shot?

Hey, I'm not even finished my coffee yet! Damn it! Okay, this program is rated TV-14 for mature subject matter and because Patrick Patrickson's been mentioned. *slurp* Ahhh...

What do you think that slurping noise was all about?
I'm not acknowledging this...
This contest is set for one fall! Currently in the ring, weighing 244 4/4 lbs., the man they call FOUR!
(He steps on a turnbuckle and raises four fingers. A piece of popcorn hits him squarely in the forehead...or is that fourhead?)
And his opponent, from Hollywood, California, weighing in at 232 lbs., quite possibly the biggest head in sports entertainment today, Tentin Quarentino!
("Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel plays over the PA. Tentin emerges, notable with his black shades and fake Baretta. He swaggers to the ring like he was the sh<-BLEEP-> or something. Minimal crowd pop.)

***bell rings.
Four getting the upper hand at first here. Some vicious right hands, and he's really getting a few holds into that huge cranium!
Tentin retaliates with a few elbows, and there's a snapmare. This director may have learned something from all that stagefighting.
That's quite possible. But there are other pressing matters at hand. Have you seen the terrible performance of the Pencil-Necked Geek at the Egghead Chess World championships last week on the Nerd Network? Simply dismal; I don't know what got into the guy!
I missed it. Do we have any footage?
As a matter of fact, we do. Roll it, Chet!
Wait, what about this match?
It's fairly obvious Quarentino is going to beat Four. And look, they're both in a resthold. We've got time. Chet? Let's go!

(Rolling tape. A frazzled and sweating Pencil-Necked Geek is playing against some guy's chess algorithm that he coded for a Commodore 64. The computer guy, looking sharp in his solar-system T-shirt, is acting pretty smug.)
Nerd: Yeah! You're goin' DOWN, boy-eeee! Heh heh *snort*
Shut up and let me think! Okay...this looks safe.
Announcer: Looks like the Geek is about to lose his bishop!
Nerd: Right there. Heh heh *snort*
Crowd: E-C-W! E-C-W!

Well, you can guess the rest, really; the Geek lost to the Commodore, sparking new interest in the dilapidated machine. Next week the Commodore is planning to take on Kasparov and frankly I like its chances.
You do, huh? Well in my day, a person could play chess against an abacus and damn it, he would WIN!
(uncomfortable silence)
Well, touché. Okay, Tentin Quarentino is now mercilessly pounding on Four with that gigantic skull of his. To the top rope, the director...diving headbutt! OUCH! I don't even think he's going to need his finisher, the Reservoir Dog, for this one, and Tentin seems to agree with me 100%. There's a cover: 1...2...3! And Four will be picking up that paycheck within five minutes.
Here is your winner, Tentin Quarentino!
Wait, he's grabbing a mic.
This oughta be profane.
TQ: Alright, I just gotta say, like, you oughta pronounce my name in all-caps from now on, Announcer Lad, cause I'm like the f<-BLEEP->in' man, okay? I can get all my f<-BLEEP->in' friends to, like, come in and f<-BLEEP-> you up bad, okay? And I'll get a film crew too cause it sounds like a great premise for a movie. Gives me a chance to show the world that when it comes to acting, I'm the sh<-BLEEP->! I just need that breakout picture...

I think the crowd's spoken, Vince.
It certainly has, but whether our friend up there heeds their request or not remains to be seen.
So what's up next on the ol' Schedule-o'-Mediocrity?
I'm not sure. It was whited-out for some reason. Maybe Announcer Lad knows...
And now, the STWF is not-quite-proud to present...
Mirage vs. Invisiblo - wrestling as performance art.
("Invisible Touch" by Genesis plays. Mirage walks to the ring in a black Speedo and does an Elvis point to an empty space behind him. He then enters the ring and takes off a cloak that isn't there, handing it to a ring official that also isn't there. He slaps his shoulders and gets ready for the match, whatever it might be.)

***bell rings.
Are we actually going through with this? Mirage is fighting someone who may or may not even be there, all the while having hallucinations that someone really is there. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. Maybe the two will coincide and he'll have a victory.
If he did, how would we know?
Mirage locks up. He puts a waistlock on whatever might be there. He tries for a German suplex but receives an elbow in the head, nice reversal by Invisiblo.
Assuming it was him.
Mirage getting set up for the ride, he's in the corner, and OH! there's what we can only guess was a vicious kick to the head. Mirage is down and he turns over, or is turned over. The leg is hooked: Mirage gets up, he's chopping away, and whoa! He just got a dropkick from behind, he didn't see that coming at all! Mirage now complaining to the ref, who shrugs as he sips his coffee.
You can just see that coffee being used offensively, can't you?
Why, no, Cap, how would that be accomplished? Please explain.
Never mind. It's very 1998.
Well, that's before my time. Mirage with a Russian legsweep. He's now leaning over the apron, presumably for some guidance from the Space Coyote.
You realize he's up for manager of the year.
Who, the Space Coyote?
Can't be any worse than the other managers we've got.
Charismatic managers are at an all-time low that's for sure. Someone just threw a chair at Mirage. Mirage on the receiving end of an Invisiblonator! The crowd's going wild!
Since when does Invisiblo have a signature maneuver? He might not even exist!
Don't ruin my fun, it's just performance art.
(Cut to audience. Some pale members in black berets and small goatees are snapping their fingers in applause and discussing the deeper meanings of the match over their espressos.)
Mirage, it seems, has no hope left. He's going to the top rope in a last-ditch effort. Wait, he may be going for it. YES! ONE-AND-A-HALF-STAR FROG SPLASH! He hooks the leg of Invisiblo: 1...2...3! Great match!
Here is your winner...MIRAGE!
Go to commercial. After that I think we all need a break.

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And we're back. Wow, that was a couple of great matches there eh Cap?
Sure was, uh, what happened, and who won....oh well after seeing about 20000 of these match things they all begin to look the same anyway.
OK, now we've got a real barnburner coming up, get out the firehoses if you want to save the cows because here comes none other than the Mad Cow!
(big pop for the Mad Cow, even though it sounds like booing, what with all the mooing going on)
Who's he going to go up against, Angus? And where's Announcer Lad?
He went to the little announcer's room. But what'd you say, Mad Cow's opponent? Uhhhh, let's see here, yeah, this guy, you know the pothead.
You mean douja?
No, the other pothead, slater. Here comes slater now, taking his time in the wake of the Cow. This will be a big test for the Cow, seeing as he has that big match with Homicidal Hank for the N.A. belt. The bell rings as slater hits the ring, toppling the Mad Cow from his unsteady perch on the top turnbuckle. So much for his imitation of Luke Warm.
Whatever happened to Mr. Warm, injured his neck or something?
No actually, last I heard he was being chased by several fat ladies down interstate 95, yelling something about "Not again". But oh well, let's talk about the match.
Do we have to?
A few minutes before we hype the Pay Per View. slater with an armbar on the Mad Cow, dragging the big bovine down to his knees. slater lets go of the painful move, runs and drops an elbow on the Cow's head. slater seems to really be in the match tonight, he must be laying off the roaches.
Ugh, he eats cockroaches? Kids today. Oh look at that, Mad Cow is standing back up, and it seems he has taken the advantage with a belly to belly suplex.
Ref with the quick count, 1...2... and slater kicks out of it. Both men up, exchanging blows, slater back on the offence, the Cow can't seem to take the punches, he's begging off into the corner!
Slater seems mighty proud of himself, turning to the crowded side of the arena and asking the crowd if they'd like to see the Mad Cow lactate. The crowd doesn't seem too fond of the idea. What's that behind the ring there, is that a propeller I see? But there's no biplane attached to it.
More like a 747, I think Mittens may have been hiding under there, difficult as that is to believe. But there's no trap door, of course. Mad Cow sees him, and tries to say something, but slater is totally oblivious, the ref is trying to get him to come down from his perch, but slater is lost in a haze of something or other. Here comes that Ultimate Heel Mittens to take advantage of the situation. Mittens up on the mat, grabs slater by the throat, and chokeslams him to the floor. The big beanie capped one quickly moves up the ramp, as the Mad Cow goes out, grabs slater, and makes the cover. 1..2..3. Mad Cow with the tainted victory over slater.
Back in my my day that sort of behaviour would not be tolerated, there was honour back then. Mittens should be ashamed of himself.
You really miss being in that ring, don't you?
Oh hell yes.
And here is your winner by Pinfall, THE MAD COW!
. OK, up next we've got the highlight of the night. It may not have happened, but judging from our other performances this has to be it by default. That's right, here comes the most anticipated wrestler in STWF history. Fresh from his recent stint with Zack's No Talent Soldiers, here comes the recently de-institutionalized BILL! (collective groan from the crowd).
And taking him on here, tonight, on a Thursday, in this very ring, is the Violent Pacifist!
(Closer, by Nine Inch Nails belts out the speakers, causing several people in the audience severe pain. The native of Seattle, Washington comes out of the corridor to a round of boos, VP smiles broadly, it seems he's a heel at last.)
BILL is giving up almost a hundred pounds here. Is this going to be one of those squash matches that gets the Asylum all mad due to the horrible, and unfair beating that VP is about to administer?
Oh, don't give it away...I mean, I uh think BILL is due. That's right, we are in for a big upset here tonight folks, in this very ring..... uh-oh, BILL just got leveled by a big forearm smash by VP, and he drops an elbow on BILL's face. VP up, kicking the prone one in the ribs, telling him to get up and fight like a man.
Oh, that's really raised the ire of the often beaten-up one. BILL's up with a kick to VP's rather broad midsection. BILL off the ropes, trying to catch VP's neck with that recently broken arm of his.
VP catches him, and give that arm a nice twist. BILL screaming in pain. VP locks that arm in the ropes, and proceeds to work on it. Way to go, Cap, thanks for bringing up the arm thing. The Violent Pacifist's violent tendencies are really coming out these days and BILL is paying the price. VP releases BILL from his trap, and he drops to the mat, cluching that arm of his. VP grabs BILL, brings him over to the turnbuckle, kicks him in the stomach a couple of times to get BILL in the right position, and up go BILL's legs, as VP piledrives him into the mat. Nine Inch Nailer, and BILL's screaming has stopped. Ref counts 1...2..3.
The winner of this match...evidently, not BILL!
That's just dirty pool. VP continuing to work on that arm of BILL's. The referee has tried to get in between the two, but VP just turned and punched him in the face. Who shall save BILL from this beastly VP???
I said who shall save BILL from this?

(Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King plays).
Here comes Bohemoth!!! He hits the ring, picking up the ringsteps, and bounces them off the head of the Violent Pacifist. VP goes down, and Bo climbs up the ropes, it looks like SMASHER time.
I see that Propeller again, Mittens grabs the gigantic legs of the Miner, and Bo goes down headfirst, knocking himself senseless, once again.
Mittens grabs the leg of Bohemoth, and gives him a taste of the Glove, and VP quickly recovers, and pounds on Bo's head with those closed fists of his. BILL now up, trying to save.....his own skin, but V.P. grabs a chair and cracks BILL over the head, turning out the lights on him once again. Mittens lets go of Bo's leg, and V.P. lays that chair over the Big Bo's leg. OK the Gloved Giggler steps back and looks like Bo's going to need some extra big crutches in a minute.
("Intergalactic" plays, and the crowd goes completely nuts.)
It appears that -YAWN-, the Intergalactic Champion, Dr. S.M.P, has come to save the day. To right what's wrong, justice and all that.
Right you are, Cap, S.M.P. launches himself into the ring, grabs both V.P. and Mittens, and cracks their heelish heads together. The gruesome twosome retreat from the ring, but not before The Big Bo gets up and tosses that chair at the Violent Pacifist. Great aim too, right across the a-BLEEP-.
S.M.P. and Bohemoth look at each other, the Champion extends a hand, Bo, looks at it, takes it, shakes it, and lariats S.M.P. across the face. How could he, I mean S.M.P. just saved the man.
Yeah, but the good Doctor has that belt around his waist, and Bo wants it bad. Bo leaves the ring, leaving S.M.P. cursing in the ring, along with the still prone BILL. Think we should call the paramedics in?
Nope, BILL can handle himself.
Anyway folks, I think this qualifies as out BEST SOMETHING OR OTHER IN OUR SPORT'S HISTORY. (giggle) I hope you'll join us next time. Good night all.
Or something.
©1999 Stereo Type Wrestling Federation/Consejo Stereotypicos de Lucha Libre
©1999 Stereo Type Wrestling Federation/Consejo Stereotypicos de Lucha Libre