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The Darkhorse


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Here I sit, at the bar of some run down old taproom in Puerto Rico. Tonight I had my last show with IWA and tomorrow I am to be sent back state side, but as of right now I am belligerently drunk. But we will get to that...

My name is Luke Ripley and I’ve been a professional wrestler for the past 5 years. My life for the most part is a tale of almost and never was. Sometime back I blew what little cash I had on training at a shoddy little gym owned by some old timer whose 15 minutes came in the form of jobbing out to the Sheik at a show in Roanoke. I bounced around the nation for a while picking up whatever jobs I could and trying to learn as much as possible. Luckily for me I am a quick study. Before long a could grapple almost any style, and I could managed to drag a good match out of a guy named Beer-Buzz. (Whose gimmick was that of an alcoholic bumble bee.)

I have spent the last few years struggling to survive in a business that is doing the very same. The lifestyle of the independent wrestler is not a glamorous one. For the most part I live out of a beaten old 5 speed Metro that gets shitty mileage, I make the same wages I made when I worked for Dunkin Donuts in highschool, and I have a very intense diet regiment of Chinese take out, beer, and pop tarts. Every now and then I have to settle into a town and get a job as a bouncer or some other various muscle jobs to get by, but for the most part I live on the road. Sometimes I think about getting a real job full time, but the sad truth is that I love wrestling too much to give up the dream. I live a masochistic life. Christ, I am such an idiot.

I have developed a minor following in the wrestling world. Most serious wrestling fans know of me– thank god for the internet. I have developed the moniker Darkhorse Luke Ripley and it is catching on. For most finishes I use what I like to call the Rip Tide– a basic STO take down maneuver– and the Rainbow in the Dark a.k.a. the Rin D– a springboard dragon twister a kin to Jericho’s lion sault.

But back to why I have so much alcohol in me I piss draft beer... As I mentioned tonight was my last show with IWA-Puerto Rico.

What I didn’t mention is that it, much like most of my life, was a total catastrophe.

I had been in a program with the IWA-P Junior Heavyweight Champion Victor The Bodyguard for the past month or so. Now Victor was the muscle in a face stable known as the People’s Army, and I was in the heel stable with, and I kid you fucking not 10 other members, called the Corporation. The irony being that they tried to bill me as a loner. In the entire time I was down here, not once was I in the ring with the entire stable at once.

We had fought several matches against each other each ending with me winning through some dastardly methods of treachery. Tonight was supposed to be his big triumph, and it was billed as a first blood pink slip match.

Darkhorse Luke Ripley vs Victor the Bodyguard

Victor made his entrance first and played to the crowd. He lifted his Junior Heavyweight Title high in the air and boastfully showed it off to the fans. Next I came out to some rather generic gritty rock riff. I slowly made my way to the ring keeping my eyes fixed on Victor’s the entire way. Sure, we were just a midcard match but that wasn’t going to stop me from using the psychology of a main event. I was going steal the show with this match, and I didn’t care how far I had to carry Vic’s lard ass. I began to circle the ring and each time it looked like I was ready to slide in, I would pull out again to taunt a fan, or to avoid the charge The Bodyguard. I was going to make those people wait for it until they were ready to riot. Vic turned to the ref to complain that I was stalling and I struck! With that the bell rang.

I worked over Vic and tried to keep him off his feet, focusing a lot on his legs for a while before he began to no sell and mounted a full frenzy of brawling offense. Vic hit me with about the stiffest Powerslam I’ve ever taken, so just to remind him who was in charge I pushed out of a his next hold and hit a stiff rolling kick.

Later he took over with a Flapjack and that is about when things first turned sour. He whipped me into the turnbuckle and squashed me in the corner with a clothesline which bumbed the ref. So far so good. While he played to the crowd I countered with a sleeper hold. When he tried to fight out I hit a sleeping neckbreaker.

Now out comes my fellow Corporation member Ricky Banderas from the back to join me in the ring. While Rick laid the boots Vic I exited the ring. I went into the crowd and slapped around a planted fan and stool his chair before entering the ring. Just as I was poised to hit poor Vic his entire stable came pouring out into the ring to save him.

What the hell I thought? Somehow the booker never told which members to run out so all of them came. This was a minor mistake and could easily be remedied. We broke into a wild brawl. I knew we had to wrap it up. One of Vic’s stable mates, swang his chair and clocked me over the head.

The revived ref called for the bell. It was finally over I just had to slink away like any low villain in defeat and head home to the states completely free of that mess... I thought.

The referee walked over to me and kept tugging at my arm.

“What the hell is it? Que!?,” I said. Then it hit me. I quickly touched my head. I wasn’t bleeding at all. I looked over to Vic, and there he was gushing blood from the head. I later found out that the chair had hit Vic on the back swing and legitimately split him open.

Suddenly the ref thrust the Junior Heavyweight Title into my chest.

WINNER: Darkhorse Luke Ripley by Bloodshed

So here I am, Darkhorse Luke Ripley the Junior Heavyweight Champion of a company I no longer work for, getting piss drunk, trying to avoid several very angry Puerto Rican promoters who have no closure for a feud and need to somehow explain why I left the company when it was Vic who received a pinkslip.

Oh, and this is my life.

Edited by The Grifter
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Alright here is the logistics of this diary.

There is going to be a whole bulk of story involved with this diary, but EWR will still be playing a role. I am going to be tracing the path of Darkhorse as he ascends the ranks to superstardom. This means that this is actually going to be several EWR games for one diary. Essentially every time he goes to a new company, I start a new game.

If in the game he gets bought from my company, I follow him to where ever he jumps-- but I will also be sending him places at my fancy as to continue the story.

I will be reporting on the shows from Luke’s perspective, giving fewer details for segments he isn’t involved in and more for those that he is.

And finally I am using EWR 4.2

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Guest fultie

o ok.. where do you go to learn meanings of things like that? that's pretty cool... but anyway, Harrison has a CD called Dark Horses.. so i was like hmm..

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o ok.. where do you go to learn meanings of things like that?

We call it the English Language. :shifty:

Speaking of which, your writing definately has some potential, but you really need to proof read your work. What could be a decent peice of writing is brought down by quite a bit of grammer/spelling errors. Work on that, and you've got yourself a reader.

Edited by Gongsun Zan
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We call it the English Language. :shifty:

Speaking of which, your writing definately has some potential, but you really need to proof read your work. What could be a decent peice of writing is brought down by quite a bit of grammer/spelling errors. Work on that, and you've got yourself a reader.

Grammar :P

Also i have a soft spot for first person diaries so this has too my interest especially as it has a little twist at the start and isn't "Hi, i've been hired to WWE for no reason and am now the World Champion in the second week"

Good Luck!

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Thanks to all, sorry about the errors. I kinda made the mistake of starting a diary at like 2 am... but I had been thinking about the idea for a while. Would you believe I am an english major? haha

I should be posting a follow up tonight-- also extremely late.

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Chapter One

pt 1: Hangovers

They say that sometimes too much to drink is barely enough– I am currently on a plane headed home. Well, not home home, but back to the United States. Back to my POS Metro and my search for stardom.

Whilst in a drunken stupor last night I popped by Vic’s room and returned his title and I may or may not have sung the first two verses of Lucky Star by Madonna.

Before I left for the airport today the IWA promoters tried to convince me to stay to close the feud properly, but I explained that I had other dates to meet back home. They were none to pleased about having to explain why the man who won the pink slip match was leaving the country without the title he won but they said they’d figure something out. If one thing can be said for a wrestling promoter it is that they are a resourceful breed.

God I hate hangovers. I am operating at about a level 4 hangover at present which is like the silver medal of hangovers. You see hangovers, like any other destructive force such as earthquakes and tornados have different levels of severity. In level one you feel no pain or illness, you just are extremely parched and spend most of your downing as much soda as you can.

For a L2 there is still no pain and your only outward signs the prior evening’s festivities are your short attention span, and fascination with the skin on your hands. In step two you have moved from sodas to coffee, which you hope to god will keep you focused.

L3s are marked by a slight headache and a stomach that feels as bad as you look. In this stage your are about as effective as Bob Dole in an orgy. Bring on the coffee, bring on the soda, and maybe even bring on a beer to ween off last night’s adventures slowly. Oh, and fear the most dreaded member of the Level 3 ensemble of pain... the beer shits.

Which brings us to Level 4. Basically your life sucks, your head is throbbing and you can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. You wore clean clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, your eyes look like one big vein and your hair style makes you look like a reject from WB’s short lived the Mullets. So basically you are Scott Hall.

And finally my old friend L5 where you have a second heartbeat in your head. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva. Death seems pretty good right now. The only thing you can do is pass out. It's when you wake up a few hours later with a lower level hangover and live through that mess. Oh, and you have probably pissed yourself.

But in anycase I am getting off this flight in Florida, where I will be hoping into my trusty automobile, paying an outlandish parking garage bill, and trekking from Florida to New York. Once in New York I am booked for 4 shows with USA Pro Wrestling. If all goes well they will keep me on for a few more shows after that. This is my first time working for USA Pro and as such I am guessing they will have me job out to someone more established in NY, although I was seeing more and more Ripley signs at the closing shows of my last JAPW tour.

So that is the game plan. Well, I am going to finish my in flight peanuts and try to passout I am hoping to wake up somewhere around level 2.

pt 2: The Road Warrior

I am on the road again working my way up the East Coast. I am lucky to have ever gotten out of that damn airport. I spent 3 hours searching for my luggage because for whatever reason a 65 year-old woman named Ruth Wheelock managed to make off with my bags, and made it all the way to the next county before she had to stop and take her pills leaving me with a bag full what I think may have been bran muffins and enough medication to put Keith Richards under.

By the time she returned to the airport I was quite thoroughly pissed off. Then I got to the parking garage where I found that the stereo had been stolen from my Metro, and that my astronomical parking bill would be even higher than anticipated because they changed the rates while I was away.

So here I am, cruising along the open highway with all the windows down while the theme song from Cheers plays on repeat in my head. I hate Ted Dansen.

Atleast I am alone. I hate sharing a car with people, because somehow I always draw the worst partner. This one time while I was working in Mexico I was paired with a 300lb man named El Cabana. Ol’ Cabana wore his gear and only his gear 24/7. The crazy bastard even slept in his mask. Every night he’d ask me to rub some herbal cream over his chest for him and every night I had to threaten his life. He once even went as far as offering to shave his chest if it was the hair that grossed me out. I tried to explain that it was more of a combination of the hair, and his sagging man breasts that looked as though they could lactate at any moment.

That asshole in the caprice is still tailing me. Why wont he just pass me damnit?! I hate tail gaters. Tail gaiting is the lowest of lows in the unwritten laws of the road. It is equivalent to murder.

I wonder how far I can drive if I completely forsake my urge to sleep?

I doubt we will ever know, because I am pulling over at this rest stop and I am sleeping damnit.

Edited by The Grifter
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Dark Horse is in the dictionary. It's a fairly common expression. And Gongsun was joking with you Fultster.

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Chapter Two: Breakfast At Hank's

After several days on the road I pulled into a small diner on the outskirts of Southern, New York. I ran my fingers through my madded and tasseled brown hair as I came rolling to a halt. I was supposed to be meeting a handful of other workers and some of the staff to discuss the upcoming shows.

I stepped out of my car and tried to check my look in the reflections in the car windows. I have always believed that you can tell a lot about someone by how they conduct themselves the first time you meet and I wanted to make sure I didn’t come off poorly but that might be hard to accomplish. I was attired in a pair of old jeans, and my trusty brown flannel shirt. I was once told I look like the forgotten member of Pearl Jam. I think they meant it as an insult to my sense of style, but I kinda appreciated the sentiment. I was also sporting my morning stubble and a pair of aviator sunglasses.

I made my way towards the diner’s door and read the many fliers and posters plastered to it.

Apparently truckers are welcome.

When I made it inside I caught eye of the seat yourself sign and prepared to do just that when I heard my name being called by a slightly familiar voice.

“Luke Ripley? Are you Luke Ripley?” it inquired.

I turned to meet the voice trying to piece together the puzzle and link it with a face. When I made my way around I realized it was Frank Goodman the owner, president, and show manager of USA Pro. I had only spoken to him on the phone prior to this meeting.

“Yeah, that is me,” I replied. “It is nice to finally meet you Mr. Goodman.”

“The pleasure is mine. Please follow me, there are a few more of us in a couple of booths around the corner,” he said.

Goodman walked with a bit of a saunter, he seemed to be very relaxed in this setting. I followed him around the corner and was met by the faces of former ECW mainstay Balls Mahoney, Teddy Hart, Dan Maff, Jay Lethal, Simon Diamond and Matt Striker.

“I appreciate you coming here this morning; I like to get to know my workers the best I can.” Goodman said.

I politely said I loved the idea, although a secretly would have preferred a lunch to a 6am breakfast any day of the week. I introduced myself to everyone and took a seat in a booth with Goodman, Hart, Simon Diamond and Matt Striker.

“I’ve heard great things about you, I hope we can work together sometime,” said Striker.

“Thanks, I am a big fan of yours,” I replied.

Suddenly a waitress who look even more haggard than I felt drug herself to the edge of our table to take our orders.

“Hi, welcome to Hank’s how can I take your order today,” she said keeping the same monotonous tone.

“Hey there--” I looked up at her name tag, “Barb. I am going to have–”

“Normally we start with something for everyone to drink sir,” she interrupted.

Bitch I thought.

“Fine, I’ll have the biggest cup of coffee you have with cream and--”

“You put in your own cream and sugar,” she returned.

Bitch. I retreated from our dialogue as the rest of the of the booth ordered their drinks. Then I placed my order.

“I’ll take Hank’s famous egg and cheese omlet with a side of home fries and do you have any tabasco sauce?” I asked.

“Eww. That is gross.”

I gave up.

Everyone else took their order’s and when Barb the she-bitch from hell retreated we resumed conversation.

“So who will I be working with tomorrow?”

“I am sure you have heard of Malice,” Goodman said, “Well we were going to have him place an open challenge and then you will come out from the crowd and will take him on for the X-Treme title. You will be provided a solid amount of time for a match, and we want you to take a lot of his offence but to keep coming back. We want to establish a real, never say die attitude for your character. Ultimately he will wrap it up by putting you through a table with his chokeslam.”

Yay a glorified squash against the Wall, I had to come up with something more for that match than the same finish that he used a hundred times against Crowbar and David Flair in WCW.

“Sounds great, but I have a little twist for the ending of the match I’d like to run by you...”

Goodman, loved it. Maybe I can escape this thing with my honor intact. Barb came back with our food– well with everyone else’s food. The bitch somehow lost my order.

“Isn’t this place great?” asked Goodman.

Yeah, it is real great you bastard.

Edited by The Grifter
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MELTDOWN 2: Turning up the Heat

Saturday Afternoon, June 19th

@ the Franklin Square Fire House

842 Liberty Place, Fanklin Square, NY

Special start time: 3:00pm (doors open @ 2:30)










Also USA Pro Wrestling X-Treme Champion Malice will be in attendence!

Edited by The Grifter
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Guest Rubber Band Man

Might would have been better if you ddin't tell us their plans for you. It would have surprised us... I like this and I will be reading.

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I wont be giving away so much as the diary progresses but it seemed logical to discuss the plans for me upon the first meeting. I wont be doing this with every fed I join but I liked the idea for this one.

Plus I did leave a little bit of a teaser there for you.

My biggest worry is about using other charactors wrong-- but I am trying to keep everything as close to reality as possible. Meltdown is actually USA PW's next show, and I tried to get some of the matches from the actual show onto mine.

Edited by The Grifter
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USA Pro Wrestling’s Meltdown 2!

It had been a very long day and it was only 3pm. After the breakfast I never had, I went to the fire house and helped to set up the ring with some of the openers and the tech crew. I am established enough that I don’t have to do this anymore but as a tradition I like to do it the first time I work with any promotion. More than being a silly character builder it helps me to know how much the ring, ropes, and turnbuckles are going to give without ever having to take a bump.

After that I went over the match for a little bit with Malice. He is a nice enough guy but he is just a little off. He seems like the type of guy who might have a few dead animals back at the house.

After that I filed in with the fans and took a seat in the 3rd row. A few fans actually recognized me from my JAPW work but figured that I was just here to watch the show. I tried to light one of my cigarillos but was forced to put it out. Bastard non-smokers. The first match was...

Balls Mahoney vs Dan Maff

Chair on a Pole Match

The point of this match was simple, be the first to get the chair and then hand out abuse like you are Ike turner and there is no dinner on your table. Balls has a pretty good following here. When he came out it was to a very warm crowd. Maff on the other hand... He really needs a new gimmick.

The match saw a lot of headbutts, forearms, and shoulder tackles. Maff was the first to the chair and even landed a few shots with it but was not able to pull off the win. Balls managed to get the chair and laid into poor Maff with some of the hardest looking chair shots I’ve ever seen.

Eventually Balls went for the kill and hit Nutcracker Suite. 1....2...3. After the match Dan Maff left and walked back down the aisle and in an unscripted bit Balls Mahoney went running after and hit him with the chair a few more times. The crowd pretty much ate that up.




The next match I was actually looking forward to a little. I have been wanting to work with Striker for a while now and this was the first time I got to see him live. It would be interesting to see if he and Diamond could get a solid match out of the Connection.

USAPRO Tag Team Title Match!

Diamond and Striker vs Christopher St Connection

The Godfather of Cool Simon Diamond started this one off against Mase and they traded some oldschool holds for a while. I think my favorite part of the match was within the opening moments when the “flamboyant”Mase attacked Simon from behind with a waist lock and Mr. Cool’s face went blank with fear.

Striker and Buff E. came in after Diamond nailed a superplex from the top rope on Mase. Striker took the advantage early on and held on to it. He tried for the Happy Monkey but Mase came in to break it up. Simon came in and hit a spinebuster and Striker gave Buff a drop toe hold that landed him face first in Mase’s groin.

In the end though it was Striker who floored Buff E. and locked in the Happy Monkey Buff E taps out! Diamond and Striker go into the crowd, where they celebrate their win. This match brought even more credibility to their straps.




Hmm... Two heel women wrestlers against each other with no strap, feud, or backstory? Who books this crap?

Allison Danger vs Becky Bayless

This one started with Danger hitting a spinning back kick but Becky fought back with a running dropkick into the corner.

Two moves was about all I could take, and I got up to take a piss.

When I came back the match was almost over and Simon Diamond had come running down the aisle and into the ring when Allison Danger turned around Diamond hit the Problem Solver giving his manager the win and further establishing himself as a heel. It is sad to say it but I think the crowd were about into this one as I was– not at all.




There was a little video package shown hyping the title match tonight between CW Anderson and Homicide. It was really low quality but it broke up the pace of the show nicely.


Suddenly a dark, menacing riff hit the speakers and the house lights “dimmed,” (were switched off.) Malice made his way to the ring ever so slowly and stepped over the toprope.

“Cut my music!” he forcefully demanded, “Every night the office books some peon to face me, to try and take this title from me. But no one is Xtreme enough to do so. No one in the back can take this title away from me. I have faced everyone of the “boys” and none even posed a threat. But you see, this brings about a little problem,” he said. “I have destroyed everyone I have faced, and no one wants a rematch. The brass who book the matches can’t find anyone willing to face me. But don’t worry Malice has found a way to fix our little problem... I am challenging anyone in attendance tonight to a hardcore match for my title, but that is not all. If you win not only are you the champion– but I will personally give you one thousand dollars.”

It was almost time.

“Are there anytakers?”


“Is no one brave enough to--”


I suddenly jumped the guard rail and the security people went to hold me back.

“No, no, let him through. So you think you are tough enough to defeat Malice?”

“Maybe I am not tough enough to beat you, but I am certainly tough enough to take you down a notch.” I replied.

“Big words little man. They shall be your last.”

“That was clever Malice, did you come up with that on your own? I mean, the whole “They Shall Be Your Last” bit. It is so original. Very menacing I believe I am shaking in my boots. No really, that was fresh.” I mocked.

The crowd seemed to like the dry wit there... Malice on the other hand did not, and precede to level me with a clothesline but everyone is a critic now a days.


USAPRO X-Treme Title Match!

Malice vs Darkhorse Luke Ripley

The announcers explained who I was, and my history wrestling as well as the Darkhorse gimmick. Once I got up from the clothesline Malice slammed me down again. I quickly got to my feet only to be put back down by another clothesline. I was hoping to drive home the never say die side of my character by coming back almost instantly at first. Almost like a mosquito that keeps landing on your arm despite your efforts to banish it.

After what seemed to be ages of Malice offense I was worn down enough to slowly make my way to my feet. Malice caught me a little off guard and tossed me out of the ring. I landed kind of awkwardly on my shoulder. Malice went to the other side of the ring and began to litter the ring’s interior with various hardcore items and even set up a table on the outside.

When he finally came around to meet me I sprayed him with a fire extinguisher and then used it to nail him in the face. Alright I thought, time to establish myself. I rolled back into the ring and hit the far ropes for momentum and dove out of the ring and onto the recovering Malice with a somersault plancha. Again I landed a bit akwardly but the crowd exploded for the move though making it all worth it.

I slowly rose to my feet and forced Malice into the ring. I attempted an Irish whip but he reversed it and met me as I came off the ropes with a hard spine buster. Malice followed up with a spinning neckbreaker onto a chair and as I tried to stand he nailed a harsh looking running knee lift that caused the crowd to moan in pity. He then sent me to the corner and nailed a splash. He grabbed me and sent me in to the other corner with all his might, going as far as to fall to his stomach in doing so, causing me to collapse in the corner. He pulled me to my feet and delivered several hard shoulder thrusts. The crowd seemed genuinely concerned for me at this point. Malice goes up top for a superplex from the very top. The crowd went to their feet as the big man and I came crashing down to the canvas with a bang.

Malice struggled over to me to make the cover and 1... 2... 2.9999 and I lift my shoulder. Malice reacts in disbelief and attempts to pin me again. 1... 2... No! Again I lift my shoulder and again the furious Malice aggressively forces me down. This goes on for a while before he grabs a chair and waits for me to get to my feet.

Malice charged with the chair and I nailed a mule kick out of nowhere that sent the chair into his face. Next I hit a face jam on Malice landing him on the chair. I labor to the corner and struggle up the turnbuckle really selling my beating. I did my best Macho man before going for a flying elbow off the top rope only to have Malice move sending me crashing onto the chair. I rolled around on the mat clutching my elbow as the crowd began to suspect the end.

Malice grabbed the chair and began to play to the crowd as he waited for me to get to my feet. I crawled to the ring ropes and used them to pull myself up only to take a few steps and get turned inside-out with a chair shot. Pin : 1....2....no! My shoulder shot up at the last second. Malice again waited through my slow ascent to my feet and again clobbered me with a shot to the head this time that sent me out of the ring.

As I rolled around outside the ring I snagged a razor from my pants pocket and bladed. Usually I am against blading at little shows like this but I wanted to make a statement with this match. I wanted to give these folks something that they will be able to say is better than what they see every Monday night.

I stagger to my feet like a drunk with the juice now flowing down my face and I make it into the ring under my own power as Malice is held back by the ref. The ref asks if I can continue and I say yes. Malice goes for a punch but I blocked it– he however quickly scores with a low blow, then chokeslams me. 1...2... NO! Again I kick out and Malice throws a fit before accosting the ref about the speed of his count.

Suddenly his eyes lit up as if he had developed the most devious of plans. He whipped me into the corner again and took me up for what seemed to be a superplex with him standing firmly on the middle rope and I on the top. But suddenly he grasped my throat, and preceded to choke slam me out of the ring and through the table he had set up on the outside earlier in the match. From there it was academic 1...2...3!

After the match Malice took his title and walked away down the aisle as the medics took helped me to my feet. Malice looked back at my bloodied countenance and I began yelling like a madman, “I am standing! I AM STANDING! I AM STANDING!!!”




The USAPRO X-Treme title has gained in image.

After my match the boys in the back applauded me for my performance. I unfortunately missed the next match while getting cleaned up, but I heard the crowd had a tough time getting into it after my match.

USAPRO United States Title Match!

Skinhead Ivan vs Mike Tobin

I do know that Tobin won with his Spike Piledriver though.




Next up was the big title match and I made my way to the edge of the curtains to watch this one.

USAPRO World Heavyweight Title Match!

CW Anderson vs Homicide

CW was very well recieved by the crowd as was Homicide, who I believe was also having his debut match tonight. Some of us get shots at the biggest title, and others of us get squashed in a hardcore match... but I digress.

CW hits a right hand and slams Homicide hard. CW Anderson fires off some right and left hands taking the offense for a solid chunk of the matches start. He nailed a DDT and went for the nearfall.

Homicide countered a sleeper hold by turning it into a jaw breaker but handed over the advantage when he missed a big legdrop and was soon after flapjacked. After lots more in the way of brawling Homicide slugged CW Anderson, sending him down into the corner. While Homicide fires up the crowd, CW is removed the turnbuckle pad. That cheeky devil.

Eventually Homicide went over and CW grabbed him by the tights and uses the leverage to slingshot Homicide face first into the exposed steel turnbuckle but Homicide stops himself just inches away from the steel.The two battle it out a while longer and Homicide attempts to whip CW into the corner but the move is reversed. CW spends the remainder of the match working on Homicides back and then finished him off with a fisherman suplex from the top, and even puts his feet on the second rope to add insult to injury! 1....2...3!




Edited by The Grifter
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