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8.1.10 - Szalinski/Revolution v. Brainwave/Morningside

Fri, 30 Jul 2010 07:33:58 -0600

"Well...we're here."

"Yep."

"You know, this is only my second time here."

"First for me."

Ariel and I were holding our bags, me with my trusty videocamera at my eye. We were looking out, standing on some overcrowded sidewalk on an even more overcrowded street. We were standing in Shinjuku, one of the twenty-three special wards that make up the prefecture of Tokyo, Japan. According to Ariel's translation guide and map of the area, Nippon Budokan was in Chiyoda, the neighboring ward to the east. Since our hotel was a few blocks away, there was plenty of time for us to walk around. Since I haven't been here in eight years and Ariel hasn't ever been here, we were content to just hop on the subway once we got into the docks - yes, I was serious about not flying in - and just ride somewhere. Nah, actually, we got pulled off our boat and cussed out by EPW road agents for not flying with the rest of the boys. Then we got hooked up in a room, courtesy of our friends over at Nippon Pro. Tried to pay for it, but I wouldn't have any of it. I brought over a million dollars for this trip, and had it converted into yen. Almost eighty-seven million yen. So I plopped down the dough for Ariel and I's room, as an apology for disrespecting them by not flying in on their dime. I explained that I couldn't stand flying, that I had seen the Lynyrd Skynyrd Behind The Music and I was a Buddy Holly fan, and he simply bowed and quietly said "Waka rimashita.""I understand."I have got to learn this language. I'm going to give it my best shot for the next couple of weeks, it looks like.

"So...what do you want to do...?"

"I'm just amazed. Look at all of this...it's like, half the country is jailbait and the other half are evil scientists, just not so evil..."

"Yeah, I want to go and see the rest of Japan, too. The countryside has to be beautiful out here...and their television shows just give me the creeps, so I have to get out and do something."

"Oh, we will. I love this place."

"What the hell should we do, then?"

"Wait for someone to recognize us?"

"That'll take a while. You wear a mask, dipshit."

"You don't. Oh, you're not wearing a shirt that shows off your boobs, that's why nobody notices-"

Sorry about the sudden change of shot to the pavement, Ariel just backhanded me in the junk. A couple of Japanese teenagers got a laugh out of it.

"Itai!""Ouch!"

"Shiro-de kodomo tachino shounen!""No kids for you white boy!"

"Ouch...god...okay, okay. I'm good..."

I looked back up at the two kids walking off. I looked around some more, seeing what was around me. There's guys in pants so tight I can see their urethas, there's women my age that dress and look thirteen, and there's a few thirteen year old girls who dress and look like Ariel. Some people are in business gear, but some people think life is a fucking SquareEnix production and that somehow, dressing up like their favorite spellcaster in Final Fantasy VI will save them from the total apocalypse that is inevitable. Every day in Tokyo is an anime convention. There are kiosks in the sidewalk every few feet, it looks like. I can get a magazine, I can get a bottle of Yogurt Pepsi...which Ariel is doing right now...or I could get a...

"Kore-ha iku rade..suka?""How much for this?"

"Nihongo ha, TNA noyounayowaidesu. Two tsunoen ..""Your Japanese is weak like TNA. Two yen."

Ariel paid the man and walked back up to me with a small bottle of Pepsi White. I stood in front of a fountain and looked around, then at the camera.

"Can I get away with doing a promo?"

"Sure, it's just you and me, and about ten million Japanese people."

"Here, take this."

I held the camera straight up, into the sky and the sun. Hope you just went blind. If your retinas haven't recovered yet, you're looking right at me with a T-shirt tied around my face to resemble a ninja's headgear. But the Hollywod all black ninja garb is just nothing more than a stereotype. hopefully one that doesn't offend anybody. Now that the scene was on me, I began to speak.

"They call this place sacred, the land of the gods. You ever notice that wherever you go, the locals tell you that God chose their land? Here, though, you might start to believe it. I am standing in the middle of one of the most densely populated metropolitian areas in the world, yet in a half-hour train ride, I can be on the outskirts of the most beautiful countryside since we blew up the Wild West to make room for highways and Sturgis, South Dakota. This place has everything from the most simple of pleasures to the most intricate of pleasures, and this place does have pleasures..."

"Promo? I wanna get this done so we can go see that island where everybody goes to commit suicide."

"JULIUS MORNINGSIDE. I see I am not the only one who plays with fire. So you like to burn things, do you? You want people to believe you're truly demented to the point of which no man should step in your path? I'm stepping in your path, I'm not that big of a boulder but you'll still have to move me, my friend. And I don't go anywhere that I don't want to go. You wanna be fire? I've got some ice. I play Pokemon, I know your weakness. Double the damage, neutralize all attacks from Charmander, Charmeleon, AND Charizard. What you got now? No lighters, no gasoline, nothing but you and me. How long can you survive MY fire, my passion for what I do, before you bitch out and tag in your partner? How sick are ya? Are you going to just laugh when I lock you in the Deathtrap? Will you just look up at me and smile when I put you down with the Scoopstone? No, you'll go to sleep just like everyone else."

"And Brainwave, you are the same. You hide underneath a mask to draw questions, to make people insecure about you. If I cannot see your face, then I do not know what to expect, right? Google "Jeremy Cundiff" sometime. My face is not hidden. You know what's under this mask. I wear it because my face is not important, my heart is. Why do you hide your face? Why do you hide your heart? Are you trying to dodge the fact that you just don't believe in yourself the way I believe in myself? Two months ago, I was thought to be half-dead. In two weeks, I could very well be the EPW World Heavyweight Champion. That's how you handle adversity, sirs. I don't know what the hell happened in the past for you two men to become such benevolent forces, but I know what it feels like to be swallowed by evil. And as long as you two continue to choose the paths you have, I'm sorry to tell you, but your hearts will NEVER be as strong as mine. Ariel, turn the camera around."

"K..."

Ariel turned the camera to face her smile. I kissed her on the cheek, then turned the camera back around to face me.

"My heart is in the right place. I know why I am here, and it's not to scare kids or hope to get a cameo on some anime show. I'm here because I feel I have a business to protect...professional wrestling has no room for men like you, who disregard the rules not only of wrestling but the rules of society. I will not stoop to your levels...I won't have to. I feel as if I can handle the both of you by myself. So having an immortal god for a partner just ices this cake down perfect."

"Take this for a second."

Ariel handed the camera over to me. I took it, and pointed at her while she took a drink of the yogurt flavored Pepsi White...and immediately spewed it right back into the fountain behind me.

"JEEEEEEEEZZZZUZ! OH MY GOD! This shit tastes like milk that expired in 2005!"

"Let me try..."

"No! Don't do it, it's worse than The Cleveland Show!"

It was too late. I had picked up the bottle and downed a huge gulp to take into my mouth and sample. My stomach immeiately refused to allow a drop of this God-awful substance into my digestive system, so I followed suit and spit it all back out into the fountain.

"More like 2003. But that shit sucks. It's horrible. Hey, you want this soda?"

I handed the mostly-full bottle to a couple of guys who were walking past. One looked sort of excited as he saw us.

"Chotto, chotto! Watashi haanatawo shitte iru kun ga Madman Szalinski!""Hey! I know you! You're Madman Szalinski!"

"Kono gokuakuhidou na yuki no nomimono wo shomei suruka?" "Will you sign my abominable snow drink?"

I smiled as Ariel reached into her cleavage for a Sharpie, which she handed to me.

"God I love this job..."

Total Warfare

Thu, 29 Jul 2010 17:25:32 -0600

It looks like I'm going to have to step away from eFedding after the PPV. My free time has been hampered in recent weeks, and there are some projects that I have put off that, quite frankly, can't be put off any further.

Looking for some feedback!

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 17:05:49 -0600

Alright, my first RP for EPW is up. I haven't written anything for a fed in at least a year, so I feel a bit rusty. Any feedback I can get, positive or negative, would be great.

Debuting A Lion

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 17:02:28 -0600

The tension in the backseat of the limo was tense as Noriko glanced at Masato, who was currently staring out the tinted window through dark aviator sunglasses, his elbow propped on the armrest and his chin resting on the back of his hand. When she suspected he was about to turn his head she looked down at her feet, trying to avoid being caught in the act of looking at him. It wasn't cute like a schoolgirl eyeing her crush and hoping he didn't notice, but more closely resembled a beaten dog trying not to do anything else to raise the ire of its owner. Slender fingers moved to tap rhythmically on the clipboard resting in her lap, and though she was unaware that she was doing it, an irritated grunt from Masato was all it took to get the small woman to stop.

He was unhappy, and although she knew it wasn't her fault she still felt bad about it. That was just how she was. Her lips curled into a small frown as she looked up again, her eyes settling on the side of Masato's face. She could tell he was going to say something soon, and had a feeling it wouldn't be something she wanted to hear. It usually wasn't. The girl never complained about the treatment she received, fearing she would lose her job if she said anything about it. He was hard to deal with, but she did respect him for his accomplishments, and NPW was paying her well to deal with him. Plus, she'd be going to America soon and staying in New York. That had always been a childhood dream of hers, but that happy thought was soon interrupted when her boss spoke.

Masato Shibata: "私の助手である。それは正しい私の公共のイメージを維持するあなたの仕事の部分であるか?"

There was a small nod given to answer his question, and a single delicate eyebrow was raised slightly. Yes, it was part of her job to promote him and help shape his public image. He must have known that. The quirked brow quickly lowered as she realized what was about to happen. It was the same thing that always happened when he asked her if something was part of her job. It meant he was displeased with some aspect of her performance in that area. She tried not to let her nervousness show when he reached into the innter pocket of his brown dress coat, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. He then thrust it into her face with authority, his calm voice holding that all too familiar undercurrent of anger it always held when he was close to yelling.

Masato Shibata: "このフライヤと間違っているものを私に言うことができるか?"

The paper was a flier for the Evolution Pro Wrestling show to be held at the Nippon Budokan. The greater Tokyo area was plastered with them in an attempt to get people excited about the American promotion and hopefully fill the entire arena. Featured quite prominently was Masato himself, and in the picture they had chosen he never looked better. Despite being on the opening match of the show, much of the advertisement was dedicated to him with the hope of drawing more fans to the show and, of course, making him feel welcome. His assistant scanned the entire flier once, twice, three times over before she gave a disappointed sigh and shook her head. No, she couldn't find anything wrong with it. But she knew he did. He wouldn't have asked her what was wrong with it otherwise.

As soon as she began to shake her head he moved his finger to point at the brief description that had been written for his match against Jonny Briggs, which read "New talent squares off with a veteran in this exciting opener!" She really didn't see what was wrong with it. He was an accomplished wrestler, yes, but he was also a new talent as far as EPW went. Her attempt to explain it was stopped before she could even draw in the breath to speak.

Masato Shibata: "私は NPW Grand-Prix トーナメントの勝者である! 私は NPW ヘビー級選手権を二度保持したあることが! 私は私が歳でから苦闘するリングの私の生命の毎年を使った! 私は新しい才能ではない!"

Noriko did her best not to become upset when he began yelling at her, telling her why he felt he shouldn't have been listed as a new talent. She was fully aware of his accomplishments, but she remained silent when he reminded her of them at the top of his lungs. She didn't look like much, but she was a tough girl and had no problem handling harshness. Still, Masato spat words at her with such vitriol it was all she could do sometimes to keep from crying. She tried her best, but he always found something wrong with what she did, and always pointed it out in the most hurtful ways possible.

When he seemed to be finished she was quick to speak, hoping a mention of his opponent would perhaps cause him to focus on his debut to come and remind him he had things to worry about other than an advertisement.

Noriko Yamamata: "点によって、Shibata 氏、多分あなたの注意…およびあなたの反対者へのあなたの怒りを…回すべきである。私は私が彼の前のマッチのテープをよくするが見、ことを、彼を軽く取るべきではないことを知っている。"

As always her advice was prefaced by the phrase "With respect, Mr. Shibata." She knew anything less would displease him, and even that was rarely enough. Luckily for her he listened to what she had to say this time, finally moving the flier out of her face and looking down at it.

Masato Shibata: "はい...Jonny Briggs..."

The Wild Lion fell silent as he began to contemplate his first EPW match. They could have put him up against anyone, and they chose a man who had been in contention for a title only last week, and who had held titles before in the form of the now vacant Onyx Championship and New Age Championship. It eased his mind for a moment that they thought highly enough of him to give him such a challenge on his debut. That thought was enough to coax a small grin out of him. A good challenge would be what he needed, and his victory over an accomplished veteran of the roster would show everyone that he had been chosen to represent NPW for a reason.

Masato Shibata: "多分正しい。多分 EPW の部分であることは私のキャリアのためによい。"

Noriko couldn't help but smile when he said that. Maybe she was finally starting to get through to him! It wasn't much, but his acknowledgement that being in EPW may have been for the best was enough to rejuvenate her spirits.

Noriko Yamamata: "私は過去から Jonny Briggs のマッチのあるテープを得ることの自由を取った。、あなたのマッチのために準備するためにそれらを今夜見なさい。勝ちたいと思えば彼があなたで投げるすべての準備ができる必要がある!"

Masato nodded at her words before looking out the window once again. He didn't thank her verbally for getting tapes of some of Jonny's best matches, but she was certain he appreciated the effort. Silence returned to the limo as Masato began to think about the debut to come. Perhaps starting from the bottom again wouldn't be so bad. He was not afraid of proving himself to anyone. Jonny Briggs would be a steep mountain to climb, but there would be no fear on The Wild Lion's face when the two of them met in battle. Briggs was no pushover, but Masato was used to being king of the mountain, and The Evolution of Evolution would simply be the first step he took on his long journey to the top of EPW.

-端-

Terminator Sex and Rubber Monsters

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 15:32:14 -0600

What we’re treated to today is certainly not an apartment. It is not a training room, or a doctor’s office, or a desolate parking lot drenched in a torrent of rain. Rather, it is the lush surroundings of a well-off condo, complete with modern décor. Rounded tables, obsidian furniture with an almost-organic appearance, the occasional potted fern, inset ceiling lights, and a sixty-inch flatscreen television. An LED, if one most know. Nothing but the best for the owner of this paradise. The view outside was centered squarely on the ocean, sunlight glinting off of the gentle waves, the tide ebbing. This was what every tourist pictured when they decided to take a trip to Mexico.

Few got it. Mexico was a poor, starving country with a corrupt government. Such resorts, in all of their luxury, produced money for the government alone, none of which the populace ever saw. The owner of this condo, however, doesn’t really give a rat’s ass about poor farmers. Instead, her attention is focused on the expensive television, which is displaying a classic of science fiction. A movie that truly made an Austrian immigrant’s career.

Madelyne McTaggert: “Jesus Christ, I would have sex to this theme.”

From an adjacent room, the bald head of her manager emerges, his face wearing a perplexed look.

Clark Disantio: “…the Terminator theme?”

Madelyne McTaggert: “Not the heavy stuff… but the piano love theme thing, when Michael Biehn is nailing Linda Hamilton. I mean, she’s kind of frumpy in this one, what with the ‘80s feather hair, and Biehn is scrawny as a bendy straw… but the music? That’s the stuff, right there. I tell you, the next time I get naked and jump a guy’s bones, that shit will be playing!”

Clark blinks once, his bulbous eyes clearly displaying confusion. Perhaps bewilderment. What the hell was she babbling about? Did she smoke fifteen bowls before breakfast, or what? She must have caught onto his look, because she cast a glare in his direction.

Madelyne McTaggert: “What, you don’t agree? And what would you get it on with, humpty dumpty? ‘It’s a Small World?’”

Clark Disantio: “Hey now, that’s hitting below the belt!”

Madelyne McTagger: “Be happy, Clarky. That’s about the only thing besides your right hand that would go below your belt.”

Clark Disantio: “Maddie, give me some credit… I am ambidexterous.”

Madelyne McTaggert: “I had no idea you were into men.”

Clark’s hand immediately goes to his forehead, in what is affectionately referred to as a facepalm, followed by an exasperated sigh. He checks his watch, and his eyes bulge even further.

Clark Disantio: “Son of a… Madelyne, the flight for Japan leaves in forty minutes! We have to get down to the airport, stat!”

Madelyne McTaggert: “…they have airports in Mexico? I thought they just swam across.”

Clark Disantio: “To Japan?”

Madelyne McTaggert: “Duh. Isn’t that the reason they’re called wet-“

Clark Disantio: “Let’s just get to the plane!”

- - -

“Grraaaaawwwr!!!!”

The creature’s roar was terrifying, its appearance even moreso. Towering over the buildings surrounding it, it was a colossal beast… and full of malice, evidenced by a swipe of its tail. The building it smashed into crumbled like so much cardboard, flames leaping up from the devastation. Throngs of people fled from the massive monster, and a single reporter remained to cover the story.

Reporter: “The creature has ravaged Tokyo with reckless abandon! The military is unable to stop it, and there is sheer pandemonium! Panic in the streets! Who can save us?!”

A moment passes by, and the reporter looks around, clearing his throat.

Reporter: “I said… who will save us?!”

Madelyne McTaggert: “I’m not doing this, Clark.

Immediately, the monster turns around, the tail smashing another building… and then removes its head to reveal the bug-eyed visage of Clark Disantio, beads of sweat dotting his bald forehead.

Clark Disantio: “Come on, Maddie! The Japanese love this stuff!”

Maddie walks onto the set, for that is what the buildings are, dressed in a ridiculously skimpy outfit, with a tiny miniskirt revealing the lower part of her rump. She doesn’t look happy as she pokes a finger into Clark’s rubber-suited chest.

Madelyne McTaggert: “These people like cartoon sex and lesbians. And you had to put me in a promo that sports a monster movie theme? You couldn’t give me a lesbian role, at least?!”

Clark Disantio: “You could make out with a girl monster.”

Madelyne McTaggert: “You’re fucking sick, Clark.”

Madelyne turns away, much to the chagrin of her manager, who quickly begins to follow.

Clark Disantio: “Madelyne, look… sometimes, you have to do what you don’t want to get anywhere in this business. I mean, you’re facing Lust, that new-“

McTaggert whirls upon Clark/

Madelyne McTaggert: “Whoa whoa whoa whoa. I’m facing Lust?! That scary-ass team of psychos?! No, Clark! Abso-fucking-lutely not! I could take that Rylee slut or Jacob Wright, but that clusterfuck of a person is over the line! I don’t even know which one I’ll be against!”

Clark Disantio: “Madelyne, Maddie, come on! You have to participate, or you’ll lose your contract! You lose that contract, and neither of us gets a paycheck!”

Madelyne McTaggert: “…fine. Fine. But goddamn it Clark, you had better start getting me booked in fair matches.”

Clark Disantio: “You’re the only girl in EPW, Madelyne. How the hell am I supposed to book you in a fair match?”

Madelyne McTaggert: “What about Ariel Shadows?”

Clark Disantio: “She’s a manager, not a wrestler.”

Madelyne McTaggert: “The blondie that what’s-his-face Rex is training?”

Clark Disantio: “Doesn’t even have a contract.”

Madelyne McTaggert: “…Jacob Wright?”

Clark Disantio: “Not a girl.”

Madelyne McTaggert: “Not a man. Look, just get me some decent matches. Lust, Julius Morningside… I don’t want anything to do with those scary fucks. They might light me on fire, or bury me in dirt, or, God forbid, break one of my nails.”

Clark Disantio: “You got it, Maddie.”

The hunchback slips the rubber monster mask back on his head.

Clark Disantio: “Now, let’s finish this shoot, shall we? Please?”

Madelyne rolls her eyes, but after a moment, gives in.

Madelyne McTaggert: “Fiiiiiiiiine. Get back to kicking over buildings.”

The adventures of the EPW DDR champion

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 13:04:06 -0600

"Hey everyone, it's Sam Spacer, the residant spaceman in EPW. But now, that's not all. You see last week I may not have been on TV but your buddy here is a champion. That's right, last week in Mexico I became the first ever in the companies history..." The camera panned down towards his waist, highlighting what appears to be a championship belt. Most likley a replica of some other federation, spray painted baby blue and with the letters D D and R painted on with nail varnish.

"I am the first ever undisputied DDR champion." He said proudly, eyes half closed and the smugest smile he could muster.

"And as your champion, I promise to defend this title with as much honour and grace as I possibly can, and to those of you who think I'm not worthy of being a champion: like you Crazy KYD, I have something to show you all."

Nothing happened

"Guys, there was suppossed to be a clip there. What happened to it?"

"We lost it." One of the camera crew muttered.

"Lost it? Man, wait it's still on my phone. I'll show it now!" Sam said, pulling out his small mobile phone, pressing a few buttons before holding the screen up to the camera. The footage on the camera is to blurry to make out effectivley despite Spacer's enthusiasm about it.

"See that? Pure domination of the DDR curcuit, Red Zone, that Sweedish/Japanese dance thing that's a big hit at conventions, for any of you who don't want to get in trouble with sponsers for uploading it onto youtube, I'll do it and link it on my twitter so all of you know where it is. So as a cheap plog follow real space case, Samuel Spacer on twitter now. But back to crazy KYD. You may have already had plenty of matches and already won a title here in EWP, but the one thing you're not is fast enough. You know you can't match my speed on the dance mat, and no matter how low you put your difficulty setting, how easy a song you chose, no matter if you've rehearsed every step on Bloody Tears, origionaly made for Castlevania 2 and remixed in every other one of that series by the way, it will not stop me breaking the high score on whatever machine they bring out. Unless it's Tetris, I'm horrible at Tetris which is why I'm not a champion in Russia." Sam rambled a bit, his voice trailing off towards the end.

"This is your undisputed DDR champion, signing off. Space out."

Affliction 7/25

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 12:43:29 -0600

Feedback has been dwindling lately.......can I get some?

CWC North American Title - Guts and Glory

Tue, 27 Jul 2010 21:33:20 -0600

Titles.

More often than not, they are used to define the career of an individual. A mark of pride, of skill, they are goals which all have strived for.

The Tyrant King is no different.

It’s no secret that I have strived to attain the top title of Evolution Pro Wrestling. Before Evolution Wrestling merged with the Prominent Wrestling Organization, two reigns with the top belt graced my career. Twice, I had attained the height of glory, retaining it until the title itself was retired by Mike Powers. Possessing the New Age belt had been a defining moment in my career, as similar events have been for others in this business. It proved that I was the strongest, the best, that my determination had surpassed that of everyone else on the roster. No one could take it from me. But the EPW World Heavyweight Championship has escaped my grasp. As a multiple champion, Darin, you can understand this frustration. I’ve examined your career at length, thanks to archives provided by PWX, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t impressive. Six title reigns is most certainly something to be proud of… but you must have suffered your fair share of losses in the effort to gain those titles. You know the experience of just barely missing that three count. You know the disappointment of having your shoulders pressed to the mat for that fatal one-two-three. The glory and the shame have graced your career as well as mine. We are of the same mindset, Darin… we both recognize that the top titles of our respective companies are not the end-all be-all of our wrestling careers. They are the pinnacle of the companies we belong to, true enough… but the title belonging to a conglomerate, to a republic of which dozens of companies are members, is a far more glorious acquisition. And why not? You are defending it against not one roster, but that of each and every company that retains membership within the conglomerate. If that’s not challenging, I have no idea what is.

But before I continue, I believe congratulations are in order. Darin Zion, through devastating effort, you have not only managed to grasp the North American Title of the Championship Wrestling Council, you have successfully defended it. This is a hallmark of your career, and I must offer you the proverbial handshake. It was a daunting task, but you pushed through that intimidation, tossed it aside to defeat a truly despicable individual… an individual who brought shame upon that title. You have brought that title under a good name, once again returning it to a position of honor, and for that, you have my respect.

Not one man walks through the sacred halls of their respective companies without feeling a deep hunger stir in their bellies… a desire that can only be satiated by the acquisition of thirty pounds of gold attached to a leather strap. It’s an extremely common drive, yet very few actually see it through to the end. Many have tried, but those who have failed far outnumber those who have succeeded. I’m sure you have seen many hopefuls in your illustrious career, Darin. You’ve put many down, and have had a number remove your title from you. I am sure that you see me as another hopeful, and old dinosaur looking to further establish his name. It would almost be accurate to say that you would be right in assuming as much. I desire your title for the sake of my career. Many times in my life, I have pursued a title to remove it from the hands of bad men. I have sought to return honor and decency to those championships, but this is not the case, here. You are not a bad man. You do not disgrace the CWC North American title by possessing it.

But I desire it nonetheless.

A man steeped within the business of wrestling is defined by his career. Within my own company, I am well-known. I have the respect of all top competitors from JC Sharp to Kris Keebler. They may dislike me, but they respect what I have done and what I continue to do. I have proven myself time and time again in Evolution Pro Wrestling, placing my body and my very livelihood on the line more times than I can count.

But EPW is not the only company out there, is it? Being a man of importance in one company does not make one a force to be reckoned within another. I could go from company to company, facing down every champion I come across… but that would only gain me the reputation of a drifter. A selfish vagabond who cares not for the companies I invest my time in. That is decidedly not who the Tyrant King is. Rather, I would put myself in the position of competing in front of every eye of every company affiliated with the Championship Wrestling Council. I would prefer these companies to come to me, to view what I am capable of, to make their own judgments. They have seen what the men of EPW can do when they witnessed the contest between JC Sharp and The Measuring Stick, Kris Keebler, and they were impressed. It is up to me to carry on that tradition, and so I shall.

This is not a personal vendetta, however.

This is for glory.

That which every man in every company so desires when he signs that contract.

Darin Zion, it would make it much easier if you were a vile creature whose depravity knows no bounds. It would make this match simpler if you were a villainous being, a man who took advantage of others and discarded those he could not use. But seeing as the reality of the situation is quite the opposite, I find myself in a predicament, as it were. I do not wish to dash the hopes of good men, nor do I wish to scatter their dreams to the wind. But good man or not, I have a match against you on the second day of August, on the grounds of EPW. It would appear that I have home field advantage, but I am not for one moment allowing myself to fall into such a false sense of security. Anyone who can attain a CWC title is a master within the squared circle, regardless of its location.

And it is a master which the Tyrant King must test his mettle against.

So come to Evolution Pro Wrestling, Darin Zion. Strap that belt about your waist, walk down that ramp, and step up to your destiny.

I’ll be meeting mine.

* * *

“It is the heart that matters.”

Deep within the bowels of the training, Shannon Vastor sits upon one of the benches, wrapping tape about her wrists and knuckles. Determination burns within her orbs, though the clenching of her jaw belies a nervousness. I can understand that feeling perfectly. She has her first match tonight. Though it’s a house show, nothing that will truly be broadcast over the air, it is still the first time she will officially step into the ring. The trainers at the school had shown her the basics. Afterwards, she had come to me for the specifics of the game, which I had done my best to impart over the last few weeks. But she still had much to learn.

“A lot of guys will brag about strength. Others will showboat their technical skills. More still will think their size is the equalizer. While all of those will be a factor, they all pale in comparison to the amount of heart you hold within you. Forty percent of the game is physical, and the other sixty is mental. Your ability to return from certain defeat is all about willpower. You remember that, and you’ll do fine.”

She looked up, strands of blonde hair hanging in her eyes. The new ring gear she sported was simplistic in nature, but I never thought elaborate outfits did much good. The fact that she hadn’t donned a cape and shoulder pads said a lot about her focus. She continued to wrap the tape about her wrists, listening intently. She was a sponge, absorbing every bit of information that came her way.

“Willpower is sixty percent, and a sixty alone is a failing grade. You need talent, you need physical ability. In your case, Shannon, you need to be faster than your opponent. Your strength comes in handy, but your truest asset is your speed. Remember the lessons imparted on you by Malicia: strike hard, strike fast, and strike often. Be relentless in your assault, but also keep in mind that your offense can be turned around in the blink of an eye.”

“You’ve trained me, Rex. You’ve done everything you can to give me knowledge, even giving me tutors such as the brutal Malicia Savage and the wizened Bruce Manheim. You’ve forced me to watch every single match of every single show produced by EPW, and even those of other companies. As you’ve instructed, I’ve studied individuals from Garth Gaffney, Jacob Tolle, and Joey Jenova to Michael Thunder, Hannah Rickman, and JC Sharp.

And now is the time to implement that painstaking education.”

She stood, and the confidence radiating off of her was refreshing. She was tiny, only standing barely above five feet. But she practically vibrated with energy and determination.

And hunger.

She desired not only victory, but to prove herself ready. We’d made a deal some time ago; she would sign no actual contract until I deemed her ready. Tonight, she would prove to me whether or not she was indeed prepared to step into the big leagues. If she won, my approval would spur her on to sign any contract she desired, be it here at EPW or at another company affiliated with the CWC.

However, if she lost, she would be forced to choose more training, or to flat-out quit. In the event that she faced defeat, I very much doubt she would choose the latter course. Shannon was new to the game, but one could easily tell by looking at her that she was no quitter.

She moved towards the door, her time near.

“Get out there. Show them just what Shannon Vastor can do.”

She gave a nod, slipping out of the door, closing it behind her. A nostalgic memory flashed through my mind just then; an image from my past, of me setting foot in the squared circle from the first time. The adrenaline that rushed through my veins had made me feel invincible. Even today, I can feel that rush when I set climb between the ropes, and I know that Shannon must be feeling that same emotional cocktail of apprehension and expectation. It’s something that never really goes away. It is what ties veterans and rookies together.

It’s what I will feel when I set foot in the ring with Darin Zion.

My thoughts shift towards that match I have with the CWC North American Champion, and what it will mean to stand against such a man… and what it would mean should I fall before him. Many times in my career have I come close to winning titles, nearly reaching the finish line only to falter at that last step. It happened with Kris Keebler, and Michael Thunder before him.

But the opposite side of the spectrum was equally daunting.

Should I win over Zion, legions of individuals will come before me, just begging for a chance at that particular championship. I would never be short of dogs nipping at my heels, just waiting for a chance, waiting for my to trip. And the day that happens, they will pounce on me like the ravenous wolves they are, casting me aside once they take that which they so desire.

Good.

As a former champion, I know the pressures. I know the trials, the tribulations, the challenges… but above all, I know what a champion should be. I don’t believe Darin to be an inferior champion, or that he is somehow lacking in integrity. Not by any stretch. This is about whether I can stand among giants. It will be the first CWC title reign of an EPW member, and that will bring glory to the company. Once I bring home that belt, the spotlight will be centered squarely upon Evolution Pro Wrestling.

Slowly, my gaze settles upon the belt resting upon the bench, halogen bulbs casting brilliant highlights over its golden surface. Personal glory, I already have in this belt. The Television Title is not the top championship in EPW, but I am thoroughly satisfied in possessing it. No, aiming for CWC’s title is about glory for Evolution as a whole. With Brainwave’s inability to acquire the Hardcore Championship, it falls upon the shoulders of one man to bring that glory home.

It falls upon the Tyrant King. It will be my pleasure to square off in the ring with Darin Zion. It will be my honor to face a worthy opponent.But it is my duty to remove that title from his possession.

We two have the hearts of champions beating deep within our respective chests. So come, Darin Zion. Let us show the world what we can accomplish.

And the world shall feel that same passion that flows through our veins.

Toy Story 3: Inception.

Tue, 27 Jul 2010 19:54:49 -0600

http://insidemovies.moviefone.com/2010/0...r-video%2F

A cool mash-up of the two. I think it works well.

The CWC Tour continues at CWC Wrestling episode 10!

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 16:51:02 -0600

- Skip Tripper reports

SCW Superstar Dorling faced CWC World Champion Tyler Graves in the main event of CWC Wrestling Episode 10 on Sunday night.

It was the second date of the CWC Tour, and while Dorling came up short against the World Champion, he was happy to be involved in what he is already calling one of the matches of his career.

'To be in the ring in front of so many of my contemporaries and with a skilled and gifted competitor such as Tyler was an honour.' Dorling continued, 'The whole night from beginning to end can truly be described as an epic. I encourage all fans of wrestling to check it out.'

The match was the finale to an amazing evening, and this reporter thoroughly encourages you all to check out the event results here: http://wearecwc.com/boards/index.php?top...14551#new.

Next up for Dorling is Terence 'Twister' Thompson of PWX, and a scheduled appearance on Vindication, flagship show of Pryde.

I'm Skip Tripper for SCW news.

Linda Hogan engaged.

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 13:22:43 -0600

http://www.popeater.com/2010/07/26/linda-hogan-engaged/

Yikes!

Affliction 8/1

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 02:39:48 -0600

Evolution Pro Wrestling Presents:

Live from the Nippon Budokan
Tokyo, Japan

-- Opening Match --
Singles Match
"New talent, squares off with a veteran in this exciting opener!"

Jonny Briggs
-v-
Masato Shibata

-- Second Match --
Singles Match
"What does the EPW newcomer have in store for EPW's lone female competitor?"

Lust
-v-
Madelyne McTaggert

-- Third Match --
Singles Match
"Crazy KYD has had attention divided for weeks now; can EPW's Spaceman take advantage?"

Crazy KYD
(w/Jasmyn)
-v-
Samuel Spacer

-- Fourth Match --
Tag Team Match
"Can Madman teach Revolution the knowledge that he seeks, or will rivals (forced to team) BrainWave and Julius Morningside get the win?"

Madman Szalinski & Project: Revolution
(w/Ariel Shadows)
-v-
BrainWave & Julius Morningside

-- Main Event --
CWC North American Title Match
"Can Thatcher Rex garner EPW it's biggest win ever as an organization?"

Darin Zion ©
-v-
Thatcher Rex ©

PLUS!

~ Details on EPW's next pay per view!! ~

Lust

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 00:06:38 -0600

Wrestler Name: Lust
Preferred Alignment: (Face Neutral Heel): Heel
Wrestler's Height: 6'4"
Wrestler's Weight: 240 lbs

Gimmick: Manipulative, talks in rhyme a lot, always tells the truth (or at least his version of it)

Wrestler's Theme Music: Monster by Skillet

Wrestler's Entrance: (The lights go out and fog fills the stage. The arena is left in silence for a few moments. As Monster by Skillet begins to play, a woman's laugh can be hard echoing throughout the arena followed by a the haunting cackle of a man. The female Lust walks out followed closely by the large, phychotic Lust. They walk part-way down the ramp before turning around to point at the stage. At that point, the music cuts out and Lust (the one competing) comes out from behind the curtain with Slave following close behind him. Slave looks to be cowering behind him.. Together the three masked wrestlers walk down the ramp towards the ring with Slave crawling behind them. As they get to the ringside, the female Lust climbs onto the turnbuckle and opens the ring ropes. The competing Lust climbs onto the turnbuckle and enters the ring through the opening as the larger man rolls into the ring and goes after the ring announcer. The female Lust gets ahead of him and tries to get a hold of him as the competeing Lust gets Slave to take off his jacket. The female Lust gets the larger Lust out of the ring as Slave leaves the ring with the leather jacket.

Wrestler's Moveset (note, he's a brawler)
Over the shoulder DDT
Signature moves
Diving leg drop
Legsweep
Military press drop
Spinebuster
DDT
Spinning heel kick
punches

Finisher with Description
Die Wahrheit! - Dominator (Inverted front powerslam) - done quickly, at times out-of-nowhere

Signature with Description
Exposed! - diving forearm lariat, used as a counter or desperation move

Picture Base:
James from Slipknot

Managers/allies:

Name: Unknown, also known as Lust
Pic Base: Gene Simmons in makeup
Theme: Gott Sein by Megaherz
Personality: phychotic, snake-like, sadistic

Size: 6'6", 300+ lbs
Style: Typical big man, uses a lot of clubbing blows and stomps,

Moveset:
Backbreaker, sometimes into a submission
Big boot
Corner clothesline
Diving clothesline
Falling powerbomb
Military press drop
Multiple powerslam variations
-Running
-Scoop
-Sidewalk
Running low-angle dropkick to a seated opponent
Tilt-a-whirl slam
Two-handed chokelift
Uppercut, sometimes to the opponent's throat
chokes, lots of chokes

Signature:
Running big boot

Finishers:
Bloodlust Infliction: bites his thumb so it bleeds followed by a Samoan spike
oops: Samoan drop

Name: Unknown, also known as Lust
Pic Base: japanese female wearing mask
personality: sexual manipulative though never gives in nor shows off anything. Very smart
height: 5' 7"
Theme: Monsters by (to be remembered, crap i forget)

move set: a lot of flying kicks and shops, Capoeira like in her movements
a lot of handsrings
jumping knee strikes to downed opponent
jumping elbow drops
chokes

Finishing sequence:
trantuala submission in the corner, as the opponent stubles out of it after she lets go, she hits a 540 crescent kick (cough trouble in paradice cough). She follows it up with a springboard moonsault.

(Myn-night ride to Myn-night Bliss to Myn-Night Hollow)

Name: Unknown, referred to as Sajem Kubbolc. Has also been called Lust
Pic Base: Corey Taylor, Slipknot
Personality: Treated like a rookie by the other 'Lusts', his temper causes him to 'break character'
*note, not as often seen as the other Lusts, off air personality only*

Name: Slave
Pic Base: Marilyn Manson
Theme: Slave by Brittany Spears
Personality: Weak, feeble, calls everyone master, gets bossed around by the other 'Lusts'. At times though, it seems as he's the one in charge
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 150 lbs

Results 7/25

Sun, 25 Jul 2010 23:53:32 -0600

***************************

Jay Betts: "Welcome everyone to another edition of EPW Affliction!!! I'm Jay Betts and to my right is my counterpart, Roger McQueen."

Roger McQueen: "What do you think of the new theme song and intro Jay?"

Jay Betts: "Completely awesome Rog!! Speaking of our new intro, we'd like to give a shoutout to KapowGFX.com for producing that slick new entrance for us! Thanks guys!"

Opening Contest
-- Triple Threat Match --

Jacob Wright
-v-
Madelyne McTaggert
-v-
Rylee Renegade

All three competitors take a brief moment to study their opponents, getting each other’s measure before they attack...well before Rylee and Madelyne attack. Without warning the two femme fatales turn their attention on Jacob Wright and lay him out with dual clotheslines.

Roger McQueen: This is a threesome any man would enjoy!

Jay Betts: Except for the women beating you up part.

The Righteous Prince is on his feet in a flash but Rylee jumps high into the air for a dropkick whereas Madelyne dives down low with a chop block, the women taking Wright down once more. Rylee attempts a falling reverse DDT on her same gender compatriot but McTaggart blocks the move, twisting her body around to face her opponent and counter into a scoop slam.

Roger McQueen: Never can say no to a little girl on girl action

Jay Betts: Are you going to be like this the whole match?

Roger McQueen: Probably.

Jacob Wright gains a degree of payback, catching Madelyne off guard with a Russian leg sweep then turns his attention to a recovering Rylee and connects with an inverted neck breaker. Miss Renegade kicks out of the ensuing pin at the count of two and rolls underneath Jacob’s reaching arms, and leaps off of the ring ropes into a springboard DDT, catching both of her opponents and driving them head first into the mat.

Jay Betts: If looks could kill, Rylee Renegade would be doubly dangerous!

Rylee motions to the fans and performs an odd little shimmy before flipping herself backwards for a standing moonsault onto Madelyne McTaggart. Jacob Wright makes his presence felt, breaking up the pin just after the two count by pulling Rylee off and tossing her over the ropes. As Madelyne stands up, Jacob catches her with a combination of a running dropkick to the knee, followed by a running spin kick to the head.

Roger McQueen: The Wright Place at the Wright Time!

Unfortunately unbeknownst to the Righteous Prince, Rylee Renegade had managed to hold herself on the apron and climbs to the top of the turnbuckle and calling out to Mr Wright, who turns around and looks on as Rylee catches him by surprise with a diving hurricanrana. Rylee doesn’t end there, pulling Jacob into the centre of the ring and sets him up into the Cameltoe Clutch.

Roger McQueen: How embarrassing for Jacob, getting his arse handed to him by a woman.

Jay Betts: What are you talking about, that happens to you all the time in the bedroom.

The hold is broken as soon as Rylee sees Madelyne standing back up and she hopes to take advantage with a sneak attack, Jacob Wright however has something else in store for Miss Renegade, having enough sense to grab her feet and trip her up, into an Olympic slam from McTaggart. Jacob makes a blind rush for Madelyne who proves more than ready for Mr Wright, grabbing onto his pants and throwing him through the ring ropes and to the outside of the ring.

Roger McQueen: Yeah Jacob, you have no place in the ring. Not when there are two sexy ladies about to get all hot and sweaty with each other.

For good measure Madelyne connects with the Goodnight Kiss then drags Rylee to the centre of the ring and applies the Lock, Stock and Smoking Barrel submission. Jacob is unable to intervene in time and Rylee gives in, tapping out and handing the victory to Madelyne McTaggart.

Winner – Madelyne McTaggert

***************************

The screen is filled with static for several moments, before an image slowly begins to clear up.

The Whitehouse appears in the background as a woman wearing a white mask walks onto the screen. She has her hair pulled back into a bun and she is wearing a Sarah Palin type grey, suit.

Woman: "He was born into greatness. As a child, he was enrolled into all of the best classes and courses that money could buy. Even as a teenager, it was clear that he would be a true leader. Upon graduating high school, he turned down offers from Harvord and the rest of the Ivy League to persue studies at the historic Oxford University. It was evident that nothing in the world would be able to keep him from persuing his dreams."

The backdrop begins to burn behind her.

Woman: "So we took him out."

She begins to laugh as the paper image of America's most famous house burns behind her.

Woman: "Some people look to make names for themselves, some people's names make them. As for us, you can call me Lust."

The fire engulfs the screen as she walks away laughing.

The screen briefly decends into static again for a few moments, before clearing up again.

A black station-wagon drives down the street and as the light turns red, the car drives through the intersection. A red toyata plows into the side of it sending a shower of glass and twisted metal into the path of large pick-up truck. Another car slams on the breaks and swerves to avoid the wreck but crashes into a parked car. From among the wreckage emerges a large man wearing a horrible mask.

Man: "Shame...this one wasn't even my fault."

Onlookers rush to help out the wounded as the man walks away from the mess, not even casting a look behind him. He begins laughing to himself.

Man: "He's going to be mad at me... he's going to punish me... it wasn't my fault though, not this time.... I swear it... I used to live for this carnage, but not no more... they changed me, made me into a better man... it's not my fault..."

The man walks into an alleyway as sirens begin to arrive at the scene.

Man: "You can call me Lust."

The man pulls the breaks off of a mobile dumpster sending it flying out of the alleyway into the streets. He opens the door of the building as a crashing glass is heard from the street.

Man: "It's never my fault!"

For a third time, the picture degrades into a mass of static for several long seconds, before slowly becoming clear again.

A fog rolls through the graveyard covering the tombstones in a thick haze. A man's voice cuts through the silence.

Man: "We work amongst the shadows, the darkness is our home.
We've cast aside our memories, our past lives are unknown.
We sacrifice our own goals to become one with our cause.
One image, one life, one name, we gain all through our loss."

The camera pans over to one empty grave, the fog covers the name on the tombstone.

Man: "Heed my words fools, they you know you can trust.
The only thing you can believe come from the mouths of..."

The fog dispearses to reveal the four letter name on the tombstone.

Man: "Lust."

For a final time, the screen decends into static. This time, when we slowly fade back in, we are looking at the stunned faces of our announce duo, Jay Betts and Roger McQueen.

Jay Betts: "Roger.....what in the hell was that?!?

Roger McQueen: "Some of the most disturbing imagery this side of Clive Barker?"

Jay Betts: "If these 'Lust' guys are coming to EPW, I think I may want to ask for a raise!"

***************************

Second Contest
-- Singles Match --

BrainWave
-v-
Julius Morningside

The lights dim as a needle scratches across old vinyl. A recording of a pipe organ, old-sounding as if it was recorded in the first days of recorded sound, filters into the arena. Julius Morningside steps through the curtain and walks slowly to the ring. His rain slicker flows all around him, and his eyes, somewhat discreet beneath his hood, are fixated on the ring. His demeanor is stoic and unaffected, as if he walks in an empty arena. The crowd does not register to him.

Jay Betts: Damn, there he is. He scares me.”

Roger McQueen: “What? Just because he’s very unstable and he tried to kill someone on a pay per view a few weeks ago and he’d rip you to shreds if you crossed him…”

Jay Betts: “Okay, that’s enough. Your going to freak people out again.”

"Judith" by A Perfect Circle begins to play. Brainwave wakes his way down to the ring, calmly and slowly.

Jay Betts: “The fans don’t really like either of these two guys.”

Roger McQueen: “So? I don’t really like you!”

Jay Betts: “You know, you're much nicer when Graham is here to keep you in check.”

The match starts slowly, both men trying to size each other up. They go to tie up but Julius kicks Brainwave in the gut. Julius lines him up with a European uppercut that sends BW staggering backwards. Julies chases after him but BW responds with a lariat that sends Julius staggering back himself. Julius responds and hits him, three stiff kicks. Brainwave. An irish whip got reversed, and Julius catches BW on the rebound with a BIG backbreaker.

Roger McQueen: “Dammit!”

Jay Betts: “What?”

Roger McQueen: “These guys aren’t trying to massacre each other.”

Jay Betts: "That might not be a bad thing…”

Julius picked up BW, and tossed him in the corner, leveling in punches to the midsection. Seven, eight nine, and Julius backed off before getting disqualified. BW stumbled out of the corner, and was driven with monster stalling vertical suplex.

Jay Betts: “That was a nice stalling suplex.”

Roger McQueen: “Very insightful commentary, as usual.”

1...

2...

BW easily kicked out, and Julius hauled him to his feet, delivering a couple knee strikes to the head on the way up. Julius set up the The Final Collection, but while he’s holding B-wave up in the brainbuster position, BW threw a few elbows to the ribs, gets back to his feet and hits an Overhead Belly-to-Belly suplex.

Jay Betts: “Oh wow, have you ever seen a big man thrown around like that?”

Roger McQueen: “No but I’ve seen a big man throw you around…”

Jay Betts: “….you didn’t just go there.”

BW begins to go to work on Julius. He locks Morningside in a Camel Clutch and starts wrenching it but Julius gets to the ropes. He lets go quick and rolls Julius into he ring more and locks in an Abdominal Stretch. After a brief fight, Julius powers out. BW wasn't done yet, however, and after taking down Julius with a headlock he leapt to the nearest turnbuckle, flying off with a sweet Moonsault from second turnbuckle!!! BW rolled off due to momentum, but dove back on for the cover.

1...

2...

Julius rolled the shoulder, keeping the match alive. BW got Julius up, and tried to irish whip him but instead got himself whipped him to the ropes. What he was planning, we'll never know, as BW caught him, lifting him up for a Uranage!!!

Jay Betts: “Nice counter into an uranage!”

Roger McQueen: “This is much more methodical then I was hoping for…”

Jay Betts: “C’mon, enjoy the technical beauty of this.”

Julius was definitely in some pain, and BW hauled him up, looking to end this... time for WaveForm! But Julius wasn't quite ready to get his head taken off, and he fired elbows to the head, hoping to get out. Stunned from the blows, BW released his hold just a bit, and Julius managed to swing his body around mid-air to reverse the cutter-like maneaver into a bull-dog!

Jay Betts: “Who knew the big man could move like that?”

Roger McQueen: “You making these jokes too easy.”

Jay Betts: “Speaking of easy…”

BW got up slowly, though, but a Mafia kick from Julius sent him back down. Again BW popped up, but another Mafia kick sent him sprawling. For a third time, BW got to his feet, and JM caught him, driving him down with the Slingshot suplex! Cover, could that be it?

1...

2...

3! NO! He got the shoulder up!!

Jay Betts: “Oh my God! How much more can Brainwave take?”

Roger McQueen: “At least he doesn’t take as much as you do.”

Jay Betts: ”I believe that was an awful attempt at a gay joke. Epic fail there.”

BW just managed to get the shoulder up, and kept himself alive. JM hauled him up, and caught him again, this time hitting a nice Cravat. BW began to slowly pick himself up, but JM was measuring him for the Repossession. JM goes to grab for it but BW hits a drop-toe-hold! He’s on top of Morningside…. The Zygoma Lock is locked in… Julius has nowhere to go.....and he taps!!!

Winner – BrainWave

***************************

We cut to a halfway lit hallway, with two metal doors on the left. Standing beside them is Project: Revolution, who is pacing back and forth as if full of energy. He wears his ring attire, which leaves little to the imagination.

Project Revolution: *slapping self in head* "I can do this. Can't be scared. ROAR!

Project then sighs and knocks on the door, which is met with a shout from the other side.

???: "Password."

Project Revolution: "What?"

???: "Come on..."

Project's eyes squint at the door, his shoulders tensing and his fists clenching. Project appears to be ready to burst through the door, but instead stops and begins to....sing?

Project Revolution: "If you're going to San Fransisco..."

As the crowd laughs and cheers, the voice continues the song for him.

???: "Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair..."

Project begins to grind up against the door, driving his groin harder and harder into the metal to the degree that it has to hurt. A guitar is also heard as the door is cracked slightly.

Project Revolution: "If you're going to San Fransisco..."

???: "You're gonna meet...some gentle people there...."

The guitar stops, and Project almost snaps out of a trance as he watches the door open.

Project Revolution: "Come on."

Madman Szalinski, clad in a mask resembling Majora's Mask, and a plain black singlet with a single dark purple stripe, is standing on the other side of the door - which is outside of the arena. He is holding a classic nylon guitar, while Ariel Shadows is standing next to him in a white halter top and skirt.

Madman Szalinski: "What's up...do I call you Project, Project: Revolution, do I have to put the pause in there, or can I just call you Proj....?"

Project Revolution: "You can call me anything you want, Mr. Madman."

Project stares at Madman longingly who scratches behind his mask for a second. Ariel remains latched onto his arm.

Project Revolution: "What's your secret? How come you're so good?"

Madman Szalinski: "What do you mean? I'm still the same guy."

Project Revolution: "You've pinned a god, three times in a row. It's like I suck and you're the best. Like you have something, something amazing and you've only just figured it out."

Madman Szalinski: "Nope. Nothing like that, just the same old me. It could be the power of Majora, I don't know."

Project Revolution: "Just share your secret with me. Let me taste it, let me smell it, let me have some."

Ariel's eyes get big, and she tugs on Madman's hand.

Ariel Shadows: "Ohhhh...I know what he means. Babe, this could be fun."

Project Revolution: "I think I could. But do you think I should?"

Ariel Shadows: "Hmmm....sure. Why not?"

Madman looks up from Ariel, back to Project, and smiles.

Madman Szalinski: "Well, Proj, it's your lucky day."

Project stares around, perhaps wondering if he's being punked. Then a look of joy spreads across his face, a look of blissful joy. Then his face freezes, and is replaced by a sadness.

Project Revolution: "When I pictured this moment, I thought you'd all be naked."

A midget walks on camera and punches Project in the dick, he doubles over in pain. He is dressed up as one of Santa's elves and does a little jig and hands something to Madman. There's a smug look on Madman's face as he motions for Project to get closer. He extends something to Project but the camera's begin to fade out.

***************************

Third Contest
-- Singles Match --

Project: Revolution
-v-
Crazy KYD

The lights go completely dark as we hear a warped music box begin to play the opening of a very creepy, off-tune version of a lullaby. Suddenly, we hear the loud “OH!” bring in the thrashing chords of “Gaia Bleeds (Make Way For Man)” by Set Your Goals breaks the unsettling opening. A huge pyrotechnical blast engulfs the entranceway, prompting the lights to return to normal Crazy KYD exiting the entranceway as it clears with Jasmine Ravyn in tow. He looks rather focused, Jasmine putting her hand on his back as he makes his way down the ring.

Nick Taggert: “The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied by Jasmine Ravyn…”

KYD makes his way to the ring, sliding under the ropes. Jasmine climbs up onto the apron, stepping into the ring as KYD stands up.

Nick Taggert: “…hailing from Folsom, California, weighing in at 225 pounds… He is CRAZY K-Y-D!”

KYD begins to run towards the ropes, bouncing off and stopping short of halfway through the ring, keeping his momentum up as Jasmine begins to talk with him a small bit. He nods as she turns to exit the ring; beginning to throw a few sparring punches to the air.

Jay Betts: “KYD does not look happy… He’s trying to keep the focus, but how can you when you’ve had the Television Championship and your daughter taken away from you in one night? He’s not been focused on wrestling a match at all, as his actions last week were evidence to that!”

Roger McQueen: “Last week KYD was proving a point, in my opinion. Project wants to prove that he’s a God still, why did he need KYD?”

The lighting in the arena changes to pink and purple flashing lights as the beginning of “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor begins to play through the arena. The fans begin to cheer, as the song all of the sudden changes to “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany as Project: Revolution runs out to the stage.

Nick Taggert: “And his opponent, from unknown origin, weighing in at 285 pounds…”

Project begins to run down to the ring, pumping his fist in the air. He stops to high-five with the fans, flexing and posing for them; especially stopping for young children who have face paint similar to his.

Jay Betts: “Don’t even say it…”

Roger McQueen: “What? He is a member of…”

Jay Betts: “Potential FCC complaint?”

Roger McQueen: “What?! When did you care? Hell…who cares about what those sick men think?! Project is a member of NAMBLA, and proves it because he keeps flexing for little boys!”

Project slides into the ring, moving over to the ropes and forcing them to bounce before turning around and starting at his opponent. “I Think We’re Alone Now” fades out as Project flexes at KYD, who simply shakes his head in amusement of Project’s actions.

Jay Betts: “I wouldn’t be laughing too much, there, KYD…”

Roger McQueen: “He just thinks the same thing I do…”

George Bailey, the official for this match, calls for the bell to start this match.

Jasmine pounds on the apron and shouts a brief amount of encouragement as KYD as he begins to circle the ring, Project following suit. KYD seems to adapt a martial arts stance as he moves around before locking up with the larger Project. Project wins the tie-up, sliding behind KYD and picking him up with a waist lock, slamming him down to the mat stomach first. Project transitions into a front facelock, standing up and bringing KYD up with him.

Roger McQueen: “There he goes again, getting his opponent into a front facelock on the ground to give him an excuse to present his ass to everyone…”

Jay Betts: “I don’t know how he’s presenting it, but I wonder how you know…”

Roger McQueen: “Uh…I asked Graham’s uncle?”

Project forces KYD to swing around before lifting him up into the air, Revolution maneuvering himself to a horizontal position as he drops KYD with a Lifted Swinging Neckbreaker. Project immediately goes back to KYD, picking him up before whipping him into the corner. Project charges the corner, but KYD somehow finds the ability to leap up to the second turnbuckle, using it to springboard and nail Project with a flying elbow shot, floating over the falling Project.

Roger McQueen: “Nice counter by KYD!”

KYD stands up, picking up Project from the mat. He pushes Project into the corner and begins to throw quick fists into various parts of Project’s face and torso before he begins to kick Project in the stomach and ribs repeatedly. After several kicks, Project slumps in the corner. KYD walks out away from the corner, his arms outspread as if he is dominating. He then turns around, running at Project. He leaps into the air, spinning in mid-air and slams an elbow drop into the chest of Project!

Jay Betts: “Good variation of the elbow drop in the corner by KYD! However, I don’t think that will derail Project that easily…”

Roger McQueen: “I disagree. KYD is Project’s weakness; the kryptonite to Superman.”

Project slumps to the mat completely from the shot, KYD standing up and letting out a tremendous roar to the fans displeasure. Jasmine claps as KYD comes back over to Project, picking him up and dragging out of the corner by his hair. He picks Project up, put Project breaks his grip and pushes him away with a tremendous roar of “RAGE!”

Jay Betts: “Looks like he’s built up a resistance to the kryptonite, there, Roger!”

Roger McQueen: “It won’t last…”

KYD goes to strike Project with a punch, but Project blocks it and grabs KYD by the throat! He heaves KYD up… Chokeslam! Project runs over to the ropes, bouncing off and dropping a massive leg drop across KYD’s throat! He leaves the leg draped across KYD, only getting a two-count from the somewhat lackadaisical pin attempt. Project does not seem terribly concerned about it, picking KYD up.

Jay Betts: “Project nearly guillotined KYD with that leg drop!”

Project picks KYD up, whipping him into the ropes. KYD bounces back, only to be lifted up into a Lateral Press! KYD’s mouth agape, he is at least seven feet in the air! Project roars before dropping KYD almost onto his head with a Samoan Driver out of the press, going for the pin attempt once again. Luckily for KYD, he kicks out in the nick of time!

Roger McQueen: “Close call for KYD! He’s lucky he didn’t die from that; Project could have seriously injured him!”

Jay Betts: “Maybe it would knock the stupid out of him finally!”

Project shakes his head as he stands up, picking KYD up from the mat. He picks KYD up once again, slinging him into the corner. Project runs at KYD, slamming a clothesline into his opponent’s smaller frame. KYD begins to stumble out of the corner, Project going to lift him up for what appears to be a Flapjack. KYD finds the quickness to throw his legs out, grabbing Project and slinging him down to the mat with a Hurricanrana!

Jay Betts: “Big momentum shift from that move!

KYD jumps up immediately, looking to follow-up on the momentum gained. He bounces off the ropes, looking to go for an attack. However, his return path is facing the entranceway, and the entranceway has a couple unsuspecting visitors standing on the stage.

Jay Betts: “Is…is that Rob Budai?!”

Roger McQueen: “That asshole! He has KYD’s daughter Alleigh with him! He’s just using her!”

Rob and Alleigh stand on the stage, Alleigh staying very close to Rob’s side. She is pointing at KYD and Jasmine, appearing rather upset as she seems to near cling to Rob. Rob has his arm wrapped around her shoulder, only looking towards the ring at KYD. KYD appears very upset with this, as he begins to make his way out of the ring. However, Jasmine stops him, screaming something about staying so many feet away from Rob and Alleigh due to the restraining order. KYD remembers, appearing to get angry as he makes his way back into the ring. He is still facing Rob as he backs away.

Roger McQueen: “He’s just baiting KYD… Mr. Talinsdale should be taking good note about this!”

Jay Betts: “Oh, I’m sure he is…just for you, Roger…”

Roger is right, as Project lifts KYD and locks him into the Torture Rack! After holding the submission in for about ten seconds, Project drops down onto his ass and shocks KYD with a nasty backbreaker! KYD hits the mat, grabbing his back! Project looks at the turnbuckle, and begins to climb!

Jay Betts: “He’s looking to start the Revolution back up…!”

Jasmine has climbed onto the apron, trying to distract George! Out of nowhere, Alleigh flies down the ramp! She slides over to where Jasmine is, grabbing her leg and yanking her down! Jasmine’s head hits the apron, sending her to the ground! Alleigh quickly runs back up to the ramp, Rob shaking his head with a grin!

Roger McQueen: “He just sent her down here to do that, I know it! She shouldn’t have even been allowed to be near that ring! Why isn’t Security doing their job?!”

Jay Betts: “I watched her run down there, completely unprovoked! She really hates Jasmine for whatever reason, and KYD apparently has been neglecting her… Maybe this is payback, Roger… Ever think about that?!”

As both Rob and Alleigh retreat backstage, Project is on the top rope… REVOLUTIONIZE THE AIR ONTO KYD!

Jay Betts: “Revolution complete!”

George is in position for the pinfall, counting three and awarding Project the win!

Winner – Project: Revolution

***************************

The camera cuts to the backstage area, where Jonny Briggs is seen standing......with crutches under each arm? Bobby Robertson is on a cell phone, standing next to his boss.

Bobby Robertson: "Yessir........yessir.......I am aware of that.......I know but........right..........you want WHAT?........of course sir......."

Bobby lowers the cell from his ear, signifying the end of the call. All of the color has seemingly drained out of the former announcers face.

Jonny Briggs: "Well?"

Bobby Robertson: "I tried to explain to Mr. Powers that you injured your foot training, and couldn't compete tonight. He told me that he promoted a Television Title match, and there wll be a Television Title match......"

Jonny Briggs: "What does he want from me?!? I'm obviously hurt....."

Bobby Robertson: "Thatcher Rex won't be defending against you tonight......"

Jonny Briggs: "What!? I earned that shot!! Who did Powers say was getting it?"

By now, Bobby's face is white as a sheet, and he is visibly trembling.

Bobby Robertson: "Me......"

Briggs stares at his employee for a few moments, before a large smile breaks out across his face. Briggs tosses the cameraman a 'get lost' look, and we cut back to ringside.

***************************

Fourth Contest
-- Singles Match --

Madman Szalinski
-v-
Christoph Alexander III

The first bell toll of “Hells Bells” hits the sound system as the arena darkens to nearly pitch black. The lights blast a sea of red across the arena crowd as the bell tolls for the second time. Each time the auspicious bell sounds the fans grow more and more anxious. White lasers make patterns through the red light to match the sounds of the guitar kicking in. The music comes to a crescendo as two sets of white pyro go off in matching vertical plumes of exploding light. Finally JC Sharp steps out to the top of the entrance ramp to a dampened cheer from the Mexican fans. He hoists his EPW World Heavyweight Title above his head, giving a clear view of his “Canadians Are EH-Holes” shirt. Ca3 steps out after the champ and the two men make their way to the ring where they part ways. Ca3 enters the ring while JC Sharp heads over to the commentary booth.

JC Sharp: "Hello, hello gentlemen, I hope you don't mind if I join you tonight."

Jay Betts: "I'm sure the EPW fans would love to hear from their champion, especially after the sneak attack you tried to pull last week."

JC Sharp: "Me? You mean Christoph. I was in the ring the whole time."

Jay Betts: "Yet you had no problems taking liberties in getting a few shots in on Madman. What happened to the JC Sharp we saw evolve over the last few months?"

JC Sharp: "Evolve? Listen Saint Nick I never changed, I will always do anything to have this belt, you just didn't like the guy I was up against. I'm still the best tactician this company has ever seen, a part of tactics is knowing how to ensure victory."

Suddenly, a pyro flare shoots out from underneath the announce table, causing Sharp to almost jump into the front row. He grabs his headset as it falls off, quickly putting it back on as the intro chords to "Dr. Wily Part One" play over the PA.

JC Sharp: "What the hell was that?"

Jay Betts: "Madman's mind games."

Roger McQueen: "Madman Szalinski might rule the universe with these Jedi mind tricks."

Jay Betts: "Roger...he's probably got a remote."

JC Sharp: "He's got something. Herpes, maybe the clap? You had that once didn't you Rog?"

Madman comes through the curtain, Ariel at his side, and flies down the ramp, jumping at the change of chords in the song. Quickly sliding underneath the bottom rope, he stops halfway underneath the bottom rope and crawls up to sit against the ropes, staring up at Ca3 with a half-grin and a half-snarl through his bright yet dark mask.

Roger McQueen: "Love that game. That mask. See? He's saying to him, 'your ass belongs to me'."

Jay Betts: "It's not like Madman is a bully or anything, but he is on a hell of a winning streak since his return. And Christoph Alexander...."

JC Sharp: "DEEP BREATH BETTS!"

Jay Betts: ".......the Third, did try to hit him with a bottle last week, so he might be thirsty for payback."

Christoph charges at Madman once the bell rings, but Madman simply lays back into the ropes, tangling Alexander in. Once he is trapped, Szalinski quickly slithers free and is now above Ca3 in a rear mount, pulling him away by the waist and turning him around in the middle of the ring, laying a European uppercut into him. Alexander stumbles back into the corner, where the crowd gets hot as Madman pumps his chest and screams out before assuming a 3-point stance in the middle of the ring.

Madman Szalinski: "READY!...DOWN!..."

Jay Betts: "Here it comes!"

JC Sharp: "Oh boy, time for Roger to nut himself."

Roger McQueen: "He's gonna go Christian Okoye on your ass!"

JC Sharp: "Who?"

Madman snaps into the corner, slapping in an elbow to Ca3. Each subsequent elbow is met with a scream from the Human Anomaly.

Madman Szalinski: "HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT!"

Madman backs up to lay in a harder shot, but Alexander falls forward. Clearly off his feet, Madman is content to stand back and let him tumble face first into the canvas. The Monterrey crowd is whistling and cheering as Madman reaches for the sky, soaking in the cheers.

Jay Betts: "I don't know about the universe, but he just owned your boy Sharp."

JC Sharp: "Christoph is a tough son of a, but he's not the champ. I am. Madman won't get two of those in on me, I guarantee it."

Roger McQueen: "Why just say 'son of a' and not say 'son of a bitch'?"

JC Sharp: "Because there might be kids watching, you moron. Good god..."

Christoph is whipped to the ropes. A Madman hiptoss is blocked and met with a hiptoss in return. Christoph puts Szalinski down on the canvas and drops a leg. Quickly hitting the opposite ropes and coming back, Ca3 lands a high splash onto Madman and covers.

1...

2...

Madman kicks out. Alexander pulls Madman up and locks in a front face. He goes for a DDT, but Madman lands a pair of palms to the ribs before locking his arms around Alexander and landing a release Northern Lights suplex, tossing Ca3 halfway across the ring. Madman sits up and rubs his eyes, looking back at his opponent.

Jay Betts: "You know, Madman is wrestling a lot smarter here recently. I've noticed since he's worn the mask, he's been a lot more relaxed and a lot more careful in the ring."

JC Sharp: "I've also noticed that when it comes to big time matches, Madman has a history of choking. Losing the belt to Keebler.......who I defeated by the way......oh and getting his girlfriend and himself destroyed by Malicia and Calista Savage who are no longer employed here. Yep Betts, he's got one hell of a resume."

Madman now pulls Alexander up by the arm. An arm ringer is flowed into a fireman's carry almost effortlessly by Szalinski, but Madman still hangs onto the head and pulls Alexander back up to his feet. cinching in another arm ringer. Ca3 winches back with the pressure, standing straight up. Madman then surprises everybody with a swinging head scissors, putting Ca3 on the other side of the ring and soon after underneath the ropes, where he stands at the ringpost and recovers. Madman remains on his knees, pointing right at JC Sharp and smiling, pointing at his mask and then back at JC!

Jay Betts: "I think he's saying hello!"

JC Sharp: "Oh really? I think he's just a little mental and wants to remind me he wears a mask. Yes Madman, it's a very pretty mask, good for you."

Madman then runs away, hitting a baseball slide out onto Ca3 as he attempts to reenter the ring. Sharp, who was standing, now sits back down.

JC Sharp: "Christoph's got this under control."

Roger McQueen: "Sure doesn't look like it Champ."

Manman takes a run at Ca3 on the outside but the Canadian quickly dodges Madman, hitting a drop-toe hold and putting his masked face into the stairs.

JC Sharp: "OH! Who's the man now, dog?"

Roger McQueen: "Seriously? Sean Connery?"

JC Sharp: "You're damn right Queeny!"

Roger McQueen: "If only I could hit you.....without risking my life in the process......"

Madman holds his head as Ca3 struggles up and makes it to his feet. Alexander pulls Madman up and throws him back into the ring, stopping him to drive an elbow while his head still hangs off the apron. Ariel cringes from her adjacent corner as Madman rolls around in the middle of the ring, while Alexander rolls in under the bottom rope.

JC Sharp: "I taught him that one."

Jay Betts: "You're already the champ, now you're taking credit for Ca3's work?"

JC Sharp: "I train wrestlers, it's what I do Betts, it's very logical that I might teach my partner a few moves. Grow up."

Roger McQueen: "Yeah Jay, lighten up on the Champ."

Jay Betts: "Jesus Roger, you've managed to switch sides faster than Lebron drove the hell out of Cleveland ...."

Szalinski is on one knee, but not before Christoph drags him back down with a bulldog, planting Madman's forehead into the mat.

Jay Betts: "That was sick! I heard that one from over here!"

JC Sharp: "It's not like his face can look any worse."

Alexander covers Szalinski, but Madman's foot is on the rope. When Alexander pulls it away, Madman somehow wriggles free and turns Alexander over, mounting him and then rolling back over, clinching Alexander into the Deathtrap, folding his right leg over and kicking his left leg out trying to lock it in. Alexander somehow rolls through and remounts Szalinski, headbutting him viciously in the middle of the chest and laying in several brutal punches. Madman grabs a hold of Alexander and rolls him over but the two men end up in the ropes, being pulled apart by referee Greg Tassey.

JC Sharp: "You know gents, this has been fun and all but I think I want a better view."

Sharp stands up from his chair and steps towards ringside. In the ring Christoph has gained the offensive with a swift kick to the gut of Madman, following up with a DDT. The Canadian drops down for the pin.

1....

2....

Kickout from Madman. Sharp is furious on the outside and yells out to his partner. Alexander picks Madman up as the champ steps up on the ring apron with his title belt. JC holds it up pointing to it as a target, Christoph whips Madman towards Sharp but gets reversed. Alexander is barreling at the champ but manages to put on the breaks. Both men smile and indicate to the crowd that they are too smart for that to happen, when from behind Madman charges his opponent knocking Sharp off the ring apron. Madman follows through with a roll up!

1...

2...

3!!!

Jay Betts: "The champs plan backfired! Madman gets the win!"

Sharp is furious, bolting in to the ring he manages to get a few kicks in on Madman before the masked man rolls out of the ring. JC stands at the ropes fuming and yelling at Madman who is joined by Ariel. The two back up the ramp smiling and give Sharp a wave.

Jay Betts: "Szalinski is really enjoying this!"

Roger McQueen: "He's up two nothing against the Champs tricks. Of course he's enjoying it!!!"

Winner – Madman Szalinski

***************************

Street Fighter x Tekken, Tekken x Street Fighter.

Sun, 25 Jul 2010 11:54:45 -0600

http://comic-con.gamespot.com/story/6270...Btitle%3B1

There will be two Street Fighter x Tekken games. One by Capcom and the other by Namco.

Sounds sweet, though they won't be out for a while.

My Experts Tourney RP

Sun, 25 Jul 2010 02:12:14 -0600

Would love to hear what you guys think. This is the first roleplay I've ever written for this character.

http://ewexperts.com/forum/viewtopic.php...956#p37956

Wright Time: My True Intentions

Sat, 24 Jul 2010 18:25:31 -0600

"My name is Isabella."

(Wait, really? Did she really just say that? Could the resemblance be that subtle that it didn't come to me THE SECOND I saw her? How could I not put this together with first glance? The hair, the skin color and the eyes... I've seen these before. It's Antonio's. If he were a woman, he'd look like this. This woman is the one Antonio has only talked about. It's really eerie now that I'm standing here face to face with a woman I've only heard about before. This is Antonio's...)

"You're Isabella Lopez..."

(...little sister.)

"Yes sir."

(I outstretch my hand towards Isabella's to offer a handshake. For a second, I go for a "Greeting Ritual" style handshake; the preferred handshake for the members of Global Revolution. I'm confused for a moment, she looks so much like her brother.)

"My name is..."

(My handshake offer is rejected. Instead, she steps forward and her thigh presses up against the offering handshake. It's a beautiful accident that she doesn't notice just yet. Before I can finish my sentence my lips are firmly cupped by her soft hands. The wierdest combination of opposites, firm yet soft, I've felt in a while. She looks at me with her black eyes. They are reminiscent of a man I know. Her stare shows shades of wonder and curiousity at what's in her sight. They are the only things I see in this current moment. Her curiousity dances around in a wild yet fluid motion as the wonder just seems to spin infinitely. Her stationary stare is interrupted by her eyelids which meet halfway in front of her irises. She continues this ritual a couple more times as a smile grows on her face. She looks into my eyes for a couple more seconds before speaking.)

(I know, who you are.)

(Odd, Antonio never mentioned she was a wrestling fan.)

"You do?"

"Yes, you think I'm unaware of my brothers' careers? Hell, I was at Matt's last match in Galveston. A hardcore gorefest he was pinned in. Still, for the amount blood he lost, he mustv'e received a huge paycheck. And of course, if you're going to talk about my older brother, you're name is synonymous with his career."

"Yes, absolutely. As his to mine."

"Please! Where are you two in the wrestling business right now? Let's compare. You're the PWX champion right now? You unified a title management didn't want to deal with anymore with yours. You're still reigning champion. You're on top of the wrestling world. And where is the Big Guy? Last I saw, he was fired for "behavioral problems?" Oh yeah, he is essential to Jacob Wright's career all right."

(Is she trying to turn me against him? All I her is her bashing Antonio when all I've received are benefits from his friendship. I don't understand it at all.)

"Listen, my brother isn't the chocolatiest Butterfinger on the shelf."

(Where have I heard that expression before?)

"That is why he's gone and you're on top. A Lopez was crushing his weight of burden on top of you and you're potential just a little while ago. It's embarassing really. I don't know much about that guy but I do know how much of an outspoken overthinker he is. He messed you're career up for the worse in my eyes. Which is why, I have a proposition for you."

(A proposition? This is amazing. I would never think Antonio could have something so beautiful related to him. I don't believe everything she is saying about him but even when she is spelling words of disaster, it's captivating. Right now, I feel I'd agree to just about anything she'd say.)

"What kind of proposition?"

(Who is this woman? This...what am I feeling. She must have planned this all from the beginning, it'd be rude of me to now say no without hearing her out. Little do I know, my life is about to change.)

~~~

"Well, here I am. Another week, another match to prove myself. Last week, I made the mistake of drinking the water pre-match. As you know, when in Mexico, you never drink the water."

"Well, this week I'm not really feeling all the much better. I'm happy though, I get to be the man that establishes new stars. What could be better than that?"

"The Wild Lion" Masato Shibata

Sat, 24 Jul 2010 13:23:52 -0600

Handler's Information
Name: Chad
E-Mail: masatoshibataepw@gmail.com
MSN: N/A
AIM: N/A
Where did you hear about us?: I want to say Roughkut, but I'm not sure. I was looking for a fed months ago, bookmarked this place and then got too busy to join. Recently rediscovered it in my bookmarks and decided to join now that I've got the time for it.

Character Information:
Character's Name: Masato Shibata
Character's Nickname: The Wild Lion
Gender: Male
Alignment: Heel
Hometown: Ebetsu, Hokkaidō, Japan, currently residing in Manhattan, New York
Age: 28
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 225

Pic Base: Lee Byung Hun
Physical Description: Medium length black hair generally styled in a "bedhead" fashion. Brown eyes. His body is well toned and athletic, though he isn't a huge wall of muscle like many other wrestlers, preferring to sacrifice a bit of strength for speed and flexibility.

In-Ring Attire:
Outfit I: Sleeveless black vinyl coat with red trim (entrance only). Black wrist tape, black boots with red laces. Black vinyl tights with a red lion design on the left leg.
Outfit II: Sleeveless white vinyl coat with black trim (entrance only). White wrist tape, black boots with white laces. White vinyl tights with a black lion design on the left leg
Outfit III: Sleeveless black vinyl coat with gold trim (entrance only). Black wrist tape, black boots with gold laces. Black viynl tights with a gold lion design on the left leg.
Backstage Attire: Masato prefers to wear suits, generally in darker colors. He tends to dress well, and is rarely without an expensive watch and sunglasses to complete the look.

Gimmick/Attitude: Arrogant badass/foreign star. He does not particularly want to work for Evolution and only left NJPW to help promote them in America. He treats in opponents with contempt, though he isn't above giving out respect on those rare occasions when he feels someone has pushed him beyond his limits. Masato refuses to speak English, despite being more or less fluent, and forces his assistant Noriko to translate what he says to anyone who can't speak Japanese. He also will not cheat, finding a clean victory much more satisfying and using losses to learn from his mistakes and become a better wrestler.

Entrance Music: "Damaedo Icchokusen" by Sex Machineguns
Entrance Description: The opening riff of "Damaedo Icchokusen" begins to play and Masato walks onto the stage with Kazao and Noriko standing behind him. He stands still, looking around at the crowd and the ring until there is a brief pause in the music. When the guitars start up again he begins walking down the ramp, ignoring the fans and heading straight to the ring. He takes his time walking up the ring steps before moving to the middle of the apron, taking another look at the crowd before jumping in through the middle and top ropes and heading to the turnbuckle, standing on it with his legs spread and pounding both fists against his chest once before throwing his arms out, giving his body an X shape. He then tilts his head back slightly just in time for a shower of white sparks to explode from the ceiling of the arena. His arms slowly lower and he looks around the crowd before jumping down and tearing his coat off, tossing it out to Kazao and stretching while he waits for the opponent.

Main Fighting Style: Technical
Masato tends to work slowly, repeating moves and focusing on a specific body part, usually the opponent's neck. He will take any opportunity he can to damage it. However, he will change his plan if the opponent has an injury elsewhere or some other vulnerability can be exploited.
Secondary Fighting Style: Striker
In addition to using throws and holds focusing on damaging the neck, Masato also utilizes multiple quick chops and kicks to wear down the opponent, often working himself into a frenzy and attacking with such speed and force that both he and his opponent end up on the ground.

Finisher: Magnum Slice
Finisher Description: Scorpio Sky's Argle Bargle

Signature: Ganmengiri
Finisher Description: Toshiaka Kawada's Ganmengiri

Common Moves:
Hesitation dropkick
Swinging neckbreaker
Neckbreaker
Chops to the back of the neck
Backdrop suplex
Running elbow to the back of sitting or kneeling opponent's neck
Spinning heel kick
Snapmare/dropkick combo
Cradle piledriver
Reverse slingshot (sometimes into turnbuckle)
German suplex
Enzu lariat
Running knee lift
Butterfly suplex into butterfly neck lock
Float-over DDT

5 Rare/Desperation Moves:
Catatonic Neckbreaker: This is a catatonic backbreaker, but instead of slamming the opponent's back into his knee he targets their neck.
Shining Wizard: This move is sometimes used when he wants to give his opponent an unexpected surprise to throw them off guard.
Super Kick: Like the Shining Wizard, it is only used every so often when he needs to keep the opponent guessing.
Asai Magnum Slice: The move is performed with the same setup as an Asai DDT. However, instead of forcing the opponent's body to the mat Masato comes down on one knee and catches their neck against the other knee.
Magnum Slice II: Masato performs a slingblade neckbreaker, altering the landing so that he ends up on one knee, driving the opponent's neck into his other knee instead of having them land on the mat. This move has only been used three times in his career, and is only used when every other possible option has failed.

Managers:
Name: Kazuo Murakami
Pic Base: Kengo Mashimo
Bio: Kazuo is former wrestler, having retired early due to an injury. He teamed with Masato very briefly when they were both starting out, but the two soon parted ways as Masato went on to develop a more technical style, while Kazuo worked on becoming more of a brawler/powerhouse. Though he is no longer active in the ring, he is still able to hold his own, and soon Masato hired him to work as a bodyguard. Now the 7'0" tall giant remains close to Masato at all times, never speaking unless spoken to, always ready to intervene at a moment's notice. This comes in quite handy when somebody tries to take out Masato prior to a match, and his attacker is usually the one who ends up with an injury. However, he will never directly interfere in a match, save for throwing an opponent back into the ring should they try to leave for a breather.

Name: Noriko Yamata
Pic Base: Ai Otsuka
Bio: Noriko was sent to America along with Masato to act as a financial adviser and general consultant and assistant. She seems to have a great deal of respect for her boss, even if it is not returned to her. Indeed, her best efforts to please him are often met with dismissal at best, but Noriko does all she can to not let her disappointment show. She is able to speak nearly perfect English to the point that her accent is hardly noticeable. Despite knowing passable English himself, Masato forces Noriko to translate what he says to any English speakers rather than just saying it himself, and her pleas to speak English now that they are in America are met with frustration by Masato.

Referal/Sample RP:

A perfect day awaited almost everyone on the plane coming in from Japan to New York. In the first class section sat a tall man in a black suit with thin white pinstripes, dark sunglasses covering his tired eyes. On his right wrist a gold watch indicated the time. 11:23 AM. He kept his disapproval of the situation to himself, not letting out so much as a sigh at the fact that he'd just spent sixteen hours of his life on a plane trip he didn't want to be taking in the first place. That was business. He'd learned long ago that in wrestling, it didn't really matter where you were or who you were. Somebody else always had some sway over you. Two perfectly shined black dress shoes rested flat against the floor as a flight attendant came by to ask the man if he needed anything, but he quietly shooed her away with a brief hand gesture. Masato Shibata. He was nearly a household name in Japan, and there wasn't a single wrestling fan there who didn't know who he was. But in America, he was virtually unknown, save for those who went out of their way to view his work. He would have little pull in the locker room or office, and that thought in itself was discouraging, though he was brought some manner of relief knowing he wouldn't be swarmed by fans. Well, not yet anyway.

To his right sat a pretty younger woman dressed for business who, despite obvious fatigue, was remaining awake, attempting to engage Masato in conversation. "Mr. Shibata, I know this is not ideal for you, but..." Her words, completely free of any accent, were cut off as the man next to her spoke, not even bothering to look at her when he did so. "日本語を話しなさい。" She sighed softly, running a small hand through her dark brown hair before continuing. "With respect, Mr. Shibata, if we are to live in America we should at least..." Again, she was cut off. This time he actually looked at her. She could almost feel the way he glared at her, even if he didn't remove his sunglasses to convey his anger. His voice held enough disdain as he repeated the words once again, placing more emphasis on each syllable though he remained calm. "日本語を話しなさい。" Poor Noriko. She simply sighed and continued her thought, speaking in Japanese as she had been told to do.

Some on the flight would be able to understand them, and some would not. One who did understand was sitting behind them, taking up two seats to himself. Long blonde hair was tied behind his head and, like the man in the seat before him, he wore dark sunglasses, though his sharp eyebrows could still be seen. His suit was a simple black one, completely lacking in any other color. It provided an interesting contrast to his pale skin. Altogether he was an intimidating figure, with a large body and arms that suited his height of an even seven feet. The man said nothing, his face lacking in expression as he simply...watched. Waited. That was Kazuo's job. Watch for trouble and deal with it should it crop up. With him around, trouble was rarely an issue.

As Noriko spoke, Masato tapped his fingers along the arm rests slowly, hardly even paying attention as the girl tried to make the best out of a bad situation. Not that it was a bad situation at all, really. Masato had been sent by New Japan Pro Wrestling to work for EPW, who thought that if they sent one of their main eventers over he may be able to attract more attention for them. Meanwhile, EPW would be gaining a new star, as well as a nice merchandising contract. They were allowed to market Masato while he remained in America with them, even keeping 80% of the profits with NJPW taking only a 20% cut. Of course, the wrestler was doing well for his part. He would be collecting a check from each company and living in a penthouse in Manhattan on his days off. Not a bad deal, but he loathed the thought of having to start over again. He would have his usual comforts, but as far as he was concerned he had to build his reputation from the ground up all over again.

Noriko tried so hard to get him to come around, but her words fell on deaf ears. A chance to hone his skills even more. Brand new competition. A variety of styles he hadn't worked with before. The chance to see a new country. All of these things she saw as being beneficial were just shrugged off. Masato Shibata was going from a god to a nobody, and he was not pleased about it. But there was no reason for him to throw a fit or make a scene, and when the plane finally landed and the three of them walked out to wait for their limo, Masato did so with the intent to let EPW know just who they were getting. He would break as many necks as he needed to climb the ladder to the top. His determination had gotten him to stardom in Japan, and it would do the same in America. At that thought, for the first time in sixteen hours, Masato smiled.

Sam Spacer on Twitter

Sat, 24 Jul 2010 13:11:27 -0600

[/i]

realspacecase: signing off 4 now. Probably spammed all my followers front pages

realspacecase: wait, what am I tweeting on if I don't have my laptop?

realspacecase: need my laptop, I got nothing to do so I could have a hat by now

realspacecase: undefeated DDR champion of the wooorld

realspacecase: Not to worry ppl Ill be round the building looking for challengers

realspacecase: It's a conspiracy!

realspacecase: why is it I can't fit all of Firefly on my PSP?

realspacecase: @manymaskguy don't u have a match tonight?

realspacecase: I claim to be undefeated at both DDR and wrestling

realspacecase: Masked guys can't dance very well, maybe they can't see the arrows

realspacecase: don't worry Szalin-thingy I didn't make a fake account 4 you

realspacecase: and a guy I know from EPW! Everyone follow @manymaskguy now! He's awesome

realspacecase: nvm found 1

realspacecase: do they know how hard it is to find a DDR in mexico

realspacecase: no match?

realspacecase: post me if u do, or I'll make u guys 1s for u

realspacecase: I wonder how many guys I know have one of these

---

later that day

Sam Spacer: Awesome! 10 fans! My career's going up!

Never Enough

Sat, 24 Jul 2010 08:59:23 -0600

All that I am.

All that I was.

All that I want to be.

It's nothing. A pipe dream. A worthless bit of daydreaming. I'm not a god. I'm no champion in waiting. I'm Jimmy the fat shit. Jimmy the needledick. Jimmy the waste. Jimmy the fucking kid who stuck a pen in his cat's asshole. The kid caught fucking a melon while watching Hentai porn, and not just any Hentai it was meeting of Goku and Vegeta. Don't dismiss it, imagine it, put yourself in the moment and remember I was there and I was Jimmy.

Remember Jimmy when you see me step through the ropes. Remember Jimmy's submission when I tap, tap, fucking tap. Jimmy's hand slapping the mat. Jimmy's voice screaming in agony. Jimmy's skills guiding to my losses. Jimmy's waste ruining me. Jimmy's existence killing me. And all that's left, all that matters is rage. The worthiness, the helplessness, the fucking worthlessness what does it matter? I lose. Everybody loses. Everybody quits. Everybody stops fighting at some point.

So why shouldn't I?

Do I not have the right to lay there and believe that what is happening is just? Do I not have the right to quit sometimes? To not fight back anymore? To accept I am nothing and I will never be nor amount to anything? Because Project: Revolution, I was once a concept, a belief. People had hope, they saw this guy full of energy, full of fire smashing through people. For three months I was untouchable. Three months I was unstoppable. Three months I trained, I breathed, I ate, I shit, I pissed, and most important of all I won. This past month I've been nothing but a let down to those people who saw something in me. Nothing but worthless to the children who once had hope for this world.

But I ask you, did you think it was never going to end? Perfection is not something that can be sustained. Perfection exists for a moment, and then it's gone. In the blink of an eye a perfect moment can be replaced by the worst moment of your life. Take Jimmy, the closest he got to sex was with that melon, and he enjoyed it. Then the football team happened to wander and see him in the coaches office with his pants down. They're not respectable, they don't see a man doing work. They see this fat motherfucker, with a melon in his lap. And worst of all? There's a Japanese cartoon on the computer and it's two guys together. Two guys who the football team maybe worshiped, maybe wanted to be. And their hopes were shattered.

Some never recovered. Some stopped sleeping, but mostly they just beat the fuck out of Jimmy.

So you tell me what Project: Revolution is about. Tell me why I need to run out there and be a crazy guy. I can't stop, and I'll take your criticisms into consideration and then I'll do my version of whatever it is you motherfuckers require.

Now what's the question? What's the reason why people care?

Well let me tell you, they once wondered who or what I really was. Normal people aren't named Project colon Revolution. They have names like Jimmy or Charles. But I'm different, I thought I was better, I thought I had something nobody else did.

Then Markus Brugman came along and changed that. He killed the fear, he beat me bloody and from that moment on I was just another. I wasn't the "best", I wasn't at the top of the mountain. I could fucking bleed. All this mystique, all this smoke and mirrors, it was nothing. Gods don't bleed, gods don't crumble under pressure, gods don't fucking lose.

So I'm bloody, I'm beaten and then comes along Crazy Kyd. He shows the world crazy is better than anger. He proves that he's got something that nobody else did. He beats me. He fucking destroys me. I go from the top of the top, to this mess. I'm not a god, I'm not a champion, I'm nothing but I still think I'm something. I still think I'm worthy.

Then there's Thatcher Rex, and we continue our war. I best him, and maybe I was lucky. Maybe I still mattered. I'm happy I celebrate, I fucking dance. Nobody had a problem with it, nobody cared. I can dance if I want to, and I can leave my friends behind.

Maybe that was error as I went into the 4th of July show. I didn't think anything occurring mattered. I didn't think it was Madman, I didn't think anybody could do it like he did. Then BAM! MOTHERFUCKING BAM! I'm staring up the lights and all I feel is frustration. I don't consider, not even for one moment that he's better. So I get up, I brush myself, and I say that's not gonna happen again. I repeat in front of a mirror for hours. I bellow it down the halls, and I carve it into my flesh.

Next week, there I am again. Courtesy of Madman, my eyes focused on the light, my asshole clenched closed, and my head filling with the thoughts. Thoughts that swirl around ceaselessly, thoughts that I'd long forgotten. I remembered the folds, the fat, and all the useless anger. All the wasted rage.

I cry. I cry and I cry and I cry. I fight security guards, I fight cops, I have sex with a hooker, and then I cry. And I can't prove this mind you, but I think she gave me crabs. It could have been the lady boy I paid five bucks, but I think it was the hooker.

I get all my tears, and I stare at myself. I bring myself to my feet and I remind myself of what I said. Setbacks happen, sometimes you just gotta get your shit together and get things back on track.

So that's what I wanted to do. I thought I could win on my own, I thought I could best Madman and Thatcher just like that. Then I'm tap-tap-tapping the mat like a little bitch. Like a school girl with pigtails and a purple dildo in her purse. Just fucking tap-tapping away. I beg the ref to stop this, I say, "It hurts." I might even have cried a little bit.

Then I go backstage, I'm in the locker room alone. That crazy fucker, his bag is open. I'm not gonna say what I did, I mean it's just inappropriate you know? But you walk out on me, you turn your back on me like I'm some bitch like you wanna fuck me. Well that's what we're gonna do.

You think you're crazy? I got crabs motherfucker. It's always itchy, and the god damn shampoo? I'm fucking allergic. So yeah, I'm pissed. I'm fucking angry. I'm not enraged though, maybe us rolling around together you'll get crabs too.

Then we can be friends? Right? Right?

Jimmy the fat shit and Crazy Kyd, best friends forever. Actually, fuck that. I'm gonna tighten up my asshole, roll in that ring and kick your ass. And just remember squeeze, and release. SQUEEZE! AND RELEASE!

Man I hope you're ready for a colon cleansing.

* * *

I guess I got the point. I sit down in my hotel room, and I stare. My focus and lose focus, maybe hours pass I stare into space. My mind is blank, memories of the lights glaring down at me and Madman forcing the tap out don't float to the surface. All I see is the stitched fabric on the pillow I cut open. The only smell is the unflushed toilet, and the only sound is the running water I declined to turn off. Steam filters in from the bathroom, but I'm busy staring.

My mind is blank because I can't comprehend this, I can't believe somebody is that much better. Everything that I stood for, everything that I was shattered like so many shards of glass upon the ground. Strewn across the earth and smudged and smeared with shit, piss, and blood. On top of it all, the hooker wouldn't give me a Cleveland Steamer. Only winners get what they want, only winners deserve everything. That isn't what she said, but I did get slapped. It reminded me of the good old boys, back when Jimmy the fat shit was happy to even have a girl look at him. Now I can't be happy about that. I've done everything a man can do, and more. I've sampled flesh that no one should, and the cherry on top of the mountain; I fucked a midget.

That doesn't concern me right now though. I've got to be calm, I must be serene, I must not rage. Thousands of dollars in damages have taught me one thing, no more of that shit. Sexy man's weekly visits have also taught I must be on my guard. At any time, at any moment the end is near. Bricks, logs, and cats lurk around every corner. They are ready to jump out and trip you, fall of a building onto your skull, and lick your face. What kind of sick freak wants any of that?

So I sit and I stare. The moment would come, the time would near. Soon enough I'd have another opportunity to prove something, I already know one thing for sure though. Madman is better. He's light years ahead, in fact he could rape me if he wanted to. Let's not get into semantics here, but it would be rape. Whether or not I'm willing doesn't matter, rape occurs between consenting adults. Just ask the American courts, it can happen all the time. One person just forgets throwing somebody a bone. It's like, "Hmm...I didn't fuck that guy. I just can't see myself doing that." As images flow through your slut mind and you remember exactly what happened. Maybe you're upset because it sucked or something, but it happened. Don't deny it, don't sit there and say, "Hey I didn't fuck that guy." Tell the truth, it sets you free. That heaviness on your heart, that's because you fucked up.

As I sit there I can't help but ponder this. Isn't it fucked for a woman to just forget she threw this guy a bone? Are we not in an age where it really doesn't matter? And why the fuck does it matter what we've done before we met? Just because I bang a hooker every now and then doesn't mean you need to walk off in a huff and not give me what I paid for. But enough is enough, these thoughts must stop.

I put my hand and the world seems to stop spinning. The room before me falls out of focus and I slip off the chair. I blink once, twice, three times. There's a ringing, a bell beside my ear and I hear a voice proclaim loudly, "WINNER!"

I slosh my way through this fantasy, I fight my way back to reality and I plant my feet firmly upon the ground. Standing up up I know one thing is for certain, no more.

Crazy Kyd was not Madman. He was not going to beat me, to embarrass me, to fucking humiliate me. I stamp my foot down and the world around me shakes, I stamp my foot again and I bellow, "YES I CAN!"

Maybe I'm quoting Richard Simmons, maybe I'm having a flashback to Jimmy the fat shit, or maybe this is just motivation. Either way it's a scene straight out of the Nutty Professor.

Fuck it, who cares about copycatting?

I stamp to the bathroom and I shave. The hair comes off easily and I stare in at my reflection. All of it is a lie. There is no truth in hulking monster staring back at me, he is a pussy. He has a sandy vagina, and he can not beat a man who is barely half his size. How the fuck does that work out?

Am I not working out enough? Am I not pumping the iron enough?

Shaving cream still dotting half my face, I lose my focus and I become a bloody mess. These simple little irritations, all they do is push me to the edge. Rage rushes out through my fingers, they smash the mirror, they crash through the medicine cabinet. They tug on the shower curtain, and moments later I'm wrapped in it fighting for my life.

The rage was going to defeat me again, the rage was going to take over.

I calm myself down, I force the rage back. It was becoming harder and harder. Hookers turning me down! Dogs turning their asses to me! And cats trying to lick my face?

"ROAR!" I tear through the curtain, I leave it in a blue mess in the bathtub and I fight off the urge to shit on it.

So I lean back against the sink, I stare at the tile in the shower and I let my mind blank. I let the world stop, and I try to savor this moment. Whatever little victories come along, they meant nothing until I bested Madman. But I still had a name to uphold, a vision to support. I wasn't done, I'll never be finished.

I smash my fist through the porcelain and I scream in agony. My fist throbbing, my mind no longer blank.

"WHY?" I yell at myself. But there's no answer, there's no reason. That's why I need to beat Crazy Kyd, that's why I need to focus. I couldn't let everyone become better then me. I couldn't become just another polished piece of crap.

I'd be something better, something above average. And most of all, I'd beat Crazy Kyd and then hookers would no longer turn me down. How can they? Let's forget about the bitch that did already, it's not my fault she doesn't know a good time when she hears about it.

But next week, a good time will be had. To the victor goes the spoils, and to Project: Revolution goes the hookers. And to the hookers, crabs and more crabs.