Post by Press1269 on Feb 14, 2020 20:09:49 GMT
Red strobe lights flicker all around the building, and finally settle on the entry way. When the song settles into the breakdown, Press strides out from behind the curtain, stopping at the top of the ramp and gazes intently out at the crowd. When the first lines bellow out, Youth appears, flashing around in front of Press, and spins a few times reaching out at the crowd who cheer in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, as he looks back at his massive partner who merely nods his approval. Youth takes off into a sprint for the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head. Press stalks up to the ring, rising up on the ring apron, and then stepping over the top rope with one fist pumped over his head.
Philo B. Pope: “What the fuck? That motherfucker is bigger than a Sasquatch!”
Constance Church: “That’s because that is a Yeti, the Sasquatch’s himalayan counterpart. Not known for it’s immense size, but here in Louisiana, they grow them much bigger in captivity.”
Youth takes a turnbuckle with a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, as Press turns and casually leans against the other corner, eying their opponents. Ring announcer, Rhonda Armstrong, steps to the center of the ring with her mic.
Rhonda Armstrong: “This match is a tag team match, scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. In the left corner, weighting in at a combined weight of 418lbs, hailing from………Neverland?........the team of Pan and Rufio, the Lost Boyzzzzzzzz!”
The wrestler known as Pan, wearing a green leotard, hops onto the second turnbuckle of his corner, and pumps his fists in the air. His partner, Rufio, wearing black trunks with a red see-through shirt, bounces around, pointing threateningly across the ring at The BombTrax.
Rhonda Armstrong: “And their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 560lbs, hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, Flaming Youth and Press, The BOMBTRAXXXXX!!!”
Rhonda Armstrong made her way for the ropes, but not before flashing the head of security, 4Loco, a smile that belied her tough exterior. Referee, Andreas Refmovrotiropoulos, ensured that both teams were ready, and then called for the bell.
Philo B. Pope: Alright, motherfuckers, we’re underway. Looks like Rufio and Youth are going to start this match off, as they circle each other looking for an opening. I don’t think there’s going to be a size advantage on this end, but that Press is one big mother fucker!
Constance Church: “Not as big as the fine we’re going to get if you don’t keep your stash hidden."
Philo B. Pope: “Frankie Mendoza said I ain’t got to. So fuck these motherfucking Louisiana pigs.”
Constance Church: “Up their stupid asses, no less!”
In the center of the ring, Rufio and Youth tie up. The two men jockey for position for a few seconds, until finally Rufio takes Youth by the wrist, and twists around into an arm wringer. Youth slaps at his shoulder, as Rufio spins underneath, never letting loose of his opponent’s wrist, and yanks down hard once again. Youth lets out a sharp cry, and then in one fluid motion, rolls forwards into a somersault, putting him down on the mat and taking the pressure off of his shoulder. He then kips up to his feet, and spins around Rufio, reversing the hold on his wrist, and arm wringing Rufio instead. Youth yanks his opponent’s arm a few times for effect, and then turns the arm twist into a standing switch, then into a hammerlock, and then up and over into a side headlock.
Philo B. Pope: “Nice bit of chain wrestling out of that motherfucker Youth there, as he now has total dominating control of Rufio.”
Constance Church: “Seems more like that little guy is aiming to use Rufio as apparatus for some sort of gymnastics routine to me.”
Youth rebounds off the ropes and ducks a clothesline attempt by Rufio, comes back again, and ducks a back elbow attempt. On the third rebound, however, Rufio changes tactics, and nails Youth with a perfect drop kick that takes the man off his feet. Neither man wastes any time getting back to their feet, and Rufio nails Youth with another drop kick. This time, Youth is a bit slower to get to his feet, as Rufio is already on him with stiff forearms to the back and shoulders. He stands him up, and throws him off the ropes, catching him with a tilt-a-whirl back breaker off the rebound.
Philo B. Pope: “Here’s our first cover."
1…
2...
Philo B. Pope: "NO! Way too motherfucking early for that shit!”
Constance Church: “I think fancy boy there is trying to send a message that The FANCY Lost Boyz won’t be overshadowed by these two shit men. I mean hit men.”
As if in response to Constance’s statement, Rufio yanks Youth up to his feet, and sends him crashing back down to the mat with a scoop slam. He steps over to one of the neutral corners, hops up to the second rope, and comes sailing off with a leg drop. He floats over quickly into another pin, which is promptly kicked out of as well. Dragging Youth to his corner by the hair, he reaches out and makes the tag to his partner, Pan.
Philo B. Pope: “Pan in the ring for the first time, and I gotta say, I’m about fucking shocked to see The Lost Boyz this dominant. I think everyone expected this to be an easy payday for The BombTrax.”
Constance Church: “Are you kidding? Who the hell are these ‘Bombtraxx’ anyways? Anyone, who’s anyone, bet on The Lost Boyz to take this. And look at them rewarding the faithful. They’ve done a good job of isolating Youth in their corner. I’m thinking we’re going to be seeing big things from Neverland from now on.”
Pan delivers a stiff boot to Youth’s skull before Rufio releases the man’s hair, and hops out onto his corner. Pan pulls youth up to his feet, and hooks him around the head, and then delivers a snap suplex. Youth grabs at his back, as Pan delivers a few stiff kicks that cause his opponent to flip over onto his stomach. He drops down, burying his knee into Youth’s back, and reaches down beneath Youth’s chin, and yanks back in a modified camel clutch.
Constance Church: “See?”
Philo B. Pope: “Pan is holding on tight to his happy thought!”.
Pan continues to yank back as REF continually asks Youth if he wants to give up. ‘No’ can be heard several time, as he begins to pull himself with his arms towards the ropes. Press can be heard from the corner yelling for his partner, and inch by inch Youth crawls closer and closer. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely touching, but just enough to snatch the bottom rope. REF immediately tells Pan to release the hold, but he refuses, calling for the ref to start a five count. Just at the count of five, Pan releases the hold, and jeers at Press, throwing him a hand gesture. The Big Man doesn’t hesitate as he enters the ring, ready to bowl his opponent over, but REF is there to stop him. The two argue in The BombTrax corner, until finally Press throws up his hands, and exits the ring.
Philo B. Pope: “Jones having words with REF, and that gives those motherfuckers Pan and Rufio just enough time to make the switch without making a motherfucking tag.”
Constance Church: “Oh well, not like REF can see shit through those shoddy eyeholes in his mask.”
Rufio takes time from the distraction, to grab the top rope, and reign repeated stomps into Youth’s back and shoulders. The crowd begins to boo a bit, as REF finally leaves The BombTrax corner, and begins to admonish Rufio. At the count of five, Rufio steps back, hands in the air as REF threatens to disqualify him. Youth uses the ropes to gingerly pull himself up to his feet, and he looks over to Press, whose hand is extended to make a tag. Before he can even think about heading that way, Rufio is back on him with right hands to the face, using the ropes to keep his opponent upright.
Philo B. Pope: “Fuck, these motherfucking Lost Boyz are relentless! Rufio with Youth now, sends him to the far side, Wait! Youth held onto the fucking ropes! Here comes Rufio with a full head of steam, but Youth ducks, and back body drops him over the top rope, NO!”
Rufio was able to hold onto the top rope, and spun around to land on the apron! Youth turns around, and runs right into a shoulder thrust by Rufio through the middle and top ropes. With Youth doubled over clutching his stomach, Rufio takes hold of the top rope, and springboards up and over to grab hold of Youth by the hips, and roll him up into a sunset flip. Youth, however, much to the surprise of Rufio, continues his roll all the way back up to his feet, and then throws both feet out in front of him for a stiff falling drop kick that sends Rufio’s head snapping back to the mat with authority.
Constance Church: “Oh. So this is actually a wrestling match and not some sort of training bout, then?”
Philo B. Pope: “Both motherfuckers down after that exchange, and REF is starting a double count.
1….
2…..
3……
4…..
Philo B. Pope: "Youth starting to move!”
Constance Church: “He’s finished. REF call it. Both men are crawling for their waiting partners, and my money’s on Rufio to make it to his first.”
Rufio makes the tag, and Pan hops into the ring quickly to cut off Youth. The high flyer, however, pushes off with his foot, and bounds across the ring slapping Press hand. The big man steps over the top rope and into the ring as Pan rushes him with right hands. Press absorbs the punishment for a second or two, before firing back with rights of his own. Pan is rocked backwards towards the center of the ring, and with one shove Press sends him into the ropes. Pan rebounds, and Press catches him with a high knee lift that sends him sprawling to the mat.
Philo B. Pope: “There went his happy thought! It is GONE!”
Constance Church: “Would you be very happy if you had to fight a Sasquatch’s angry cousin?”
As Pan tries to get back to his feet, Press is already there, clubbing blows into the man’s spine. He reaches into the man’s brown locks, and gets a tight fistful of hair, pulling him over to a neutral corner and driving him face first into the turnbuckle. REF admonishes him, and Press agrees to watch the hair before rearing back and chopping Pan with such force the blow echoes throughout the arena. Pan groans, the fans ‘oooo’, as Press does it again. He takes Pan by the hand, and pulls hard, flinging him into the far turnbuckle with such authority that he damn near moves the ring. Pan stumbles out, gripping at his back, and runs face first into a running big boot that appears to take his head off.
Constance Church: “If I were to check my bio sheet here the event staff so kindly slipped onto my desk, I’d be able to tell you what YetiPress calls that move. But since I’m still doing my nails, I’ll just give it a name of my choosing. How about…. ‘The Sudden Stop!’. Sound good? Good.”
Philo B. Pope: “Mother...FUCK! Big man’s going for a cover!”
1…
2….
Philo B. Pope: “NO! Rufio flew in and dropped a bad ass elbow on the back of Press’ head to stop the count! Wait, here comes Youth! All four motherfuckers in the ring now!”
Youth takes Rufio and shoves him into a corner, right hand after right hand finding their mark. Press pulls Pan up off the canvas, and throws him into the opposite corner as well. After a certified mugging by The BombTrax in their respective corners, the two men nod to each other across the ring, and send their opponents sailing towards each other with irish whips. Pan and Rufio hook arms in the center of the ring, and spin around, stopping their momentum. They both rush out of the spin towards their opponents, who side step, allowing the men to crash back into the turnbuckles chest first.
Philo B. Pope: “You can’t roll a blunt without some practice and this is where The Bombtrax’s experience comes in motherfucking handy.”
As Rufio stumbles out, Youth takes him by the back of the head, and sends him flying over the top rope and crashing down to the concrete floor below. Press spins Pan around, boots him in the midsection, doubling him over, and then places his head between his legs. He looks out at the crowd that is coming unglued, before lifting him up into a powerbomb position onto his chest. Youth with a single leap bounds up to the top rope, and comes soaring off with a spin wheel kick. His heel connects with Pan’s face, adding momentum as Press thunders their opponent down to the mat.
Constance Church: “So… when did the Bombtraxx steal The Lost Boyz’ happy thoughts, huh? Theft? On our first taping?! I bet these assholes know where Toodles lost his marbles, too!”
When Youth lands, he rolls to the outside right in front of Rufio who’s trying to get back to his feet, and nails him with a superkick that lays him back out.
Philo B. Pope: “Rufio just got ROOFIED!!!”
Press hoists his boot up on Pan for the pin.
Constance Church: “So… I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t put any money down on these LOSER BOYZ, huh?”
1….
2…..
3!
Rhonda Armstrong: “Here are your winners, Press and Flaming Youth, THE BOMBTRAXXXX!!!!”
Philo B. Pope: “That was a pretty sweet showing out of those two motherfuckers.”
Constance Church: “Do you have to keep calling them that?”
Philo B. Pope: “Shut the fuck up motherfucker. Anyways, what the fuck is good backstage? I need a smoke break after watching the biggety BombTrax take out The Lost Boyz. I know something good must be brewing backstage, so check that out everybody. We’ll be right here at ringside so you fucking better stay tuned for more hot ass Pure motherfucking Amusing action to come!”
Philo B. Pope: “What the fuck? That motherfucker is bigger than a Sasquatch!”
Constance Church: “That’s because that is a Yeti, the Sasquatch’s himalayan counterpart. Not known for it’s immense size, but here in Louisiana, they grow them much bigger in captivity.”
Youth takes a turnbuckle with a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, as Press turns and casually leans against the other corner, eying their opponents. Ring announcer, Rhonda Armstrong, steps to the center of the ring with her mic.
Rhonda Armstrong: “This match is a tag team match, scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. In the left corner, weighting in at a combined weight of 418lbs, hailing from………Neverland?........the team of Pan and Rufio, the Lost Boyzzzzzzzz!”
The wrestler known as Pan, wearing a green leotard, hops onto the second turnbuckle of his corner, and pumps his fists in the air. His partner, Rufio, wearing black trunks with a red see-through shirt, bounces around, pointing threateningly across the ring at The BombTrax.
Rhonda Armstrong: “And their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 560lbs, hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, Flaming Youth and Press, The BOMBTRAXXXXX!!!”
Rhonda Armstrong made her way for the ropes, but not before flashing the head of security, 4Loco, a smile that belied her tough exterior. Referee, Andreas Refmovrotiropoulos, ensured that both teams were ready, and then called for the bell.
Philo B. Pope: Alright, motherfuckers, we’re underway. Looks like Rufio and Youth are going to start this match off, as they circle each other looking for an opening. I don’t think there’s going to be a size advantage on this end, but that Press is one big mother fucker!
Constance Church: “Not as big as the fine we’re going to get if you don’t keep your stash hidden."
Philo B. Pope: “Frankie Mendoza said I ain’t got to. So fuck these motherfucking Louisiana pigs.”
Constance Church: “Up their stupid asses, no less!”
In the center of the ring, Rufio and Youth tie up. The two men jockey for position for a few seconds, until finally Rufio takes Youth by the wrist, and twists around into an arm wringer. Youth slaps at his shoulder, as Rufio spins underneath, never letting loose of his opponent’s wrist, and yanks down hard once again. Youth lets out a sharp cry, and then in one fluid motion, rolls forwards into a somersault, putting him down on the mat and taking the pressure off of his shoulder. He then kips up to his feet, and spins around Rufio, reversing the hold on his wrist, and arm wringing Rufio instead. Youth yanks his opponent’s arm a few times for effect, and then turns the arm twist into a standing switch, then into a hammerlock, and then up and over into a side headlock.
Philo B. Pope: “Nice bit of chain wrestling out of that motherfucker Youth there, as he now has total dominating control of Rufio.”
Constance Church: “Seems more like that little guy is aiming to use Rufio as apparatus for some sort of gymnastics routine to me.”
Youth rebounds off the ropes and ducks a clothesline attempt by Rufio, comes back again, and ducks a back elbow attempt. On the third rebound, however, Rufio changes tactics, and nails Youth with a perfect drop kick that takes the man off his feet. Neither man wastes any time getting back to their feet, and Rufio nails Youth with another drop kick. This time, Youth is a bit slower to get to his feet, as Rufio is already on him with stiff forearms to the back and shoulders. He stands him up, and throws him off the ropes, catching him with a tilt-a-whirl back breaker off the rebound.
Philo B. Pope: “Here’s our first cover."
1…
2...
Philo B. Pope: "NO! Way too motherfucking early for that shit!”
Constance Church: “I think fancy boy there is trying to send a message that The FANCY Lost Boyz won’t be overshadowed by these two shit men. I mean hit men.”
As if in response to Constance’s statement, Rufio yanks Youth up to his feet, and sends him crashing back down to the mat with a scoop slam. He steps over to one of the neutral corners, hops up to the second rope, and comes sailing off with a leg drop. He floats over quickly into another pin, which is promptly kicked out of as well. Dragging Youth to his corner by the hair, he reaches out and makes the tag to his partner, Pan.
Philo B. Pope: “Pan in the ring for the first time, and I gotta say, I’m about fucking shocked to see The Lost Boyz this dominant. I think everyone expected this to be an easy payday for The BombTrax.”
Constance Church: “Are you kidding? Who the hell are these ‘Bombtraxx’ anyways? Anyone, who’s anyone, bet on The Lost Boyz to take this. And look at them rewarding the faithful. They’ve done a good job of isolating Youth in their corner. I’m thinking we’re going to be seeing big things from Neverland from now on.”
Pan delivers a stiff boot to Youth’s skull before Rufio releases the man’s hair, and hops out onto his corner. Pan pulls youth up to his feet, and hooks him around the head, and then delivers a snap suplex. Youth grabs at his back, as Pan delivers a few stiff kicks that cause his opponent to flip over onto his stomach. He drops down, burying his knee into Youth’s back, and reaches down beneath Youth’s chin, and yanks back in a modified camel clutch.
Constance Church: “See?”
Philo B. Pope: “Pan is holding on tight to his happy thought!”.
Pan continues to yank back as REF continually asks Youth if he wants to give up. ‘No’ can be heard several time, as he begins to pull himself with his arms towards the ropes. Press can be heard from the corner yelling for his partner, and inch by inch Youth crawls closer and closer. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely touching, but just enough to snatch the bottom rope. REF immediately tells Pan to release the hold, but he refuses, calling for the ref to start a five count. Just at the count of five, Pan releases the hold, and jeers at Press, throwing him a hand gesture. The Big Man doesn’t hesitate as he enters the ring, ready to bowl his opponent over, but REF is there to stop him. The two argue in The BombTrax corner, until finally Press throws up his hands, and exits the ring.
Philo B. Pope: “Jones having words with REF, and that gives those motherfuckers Pan and Rufio just enough time to make the switch without making a motherfucking tag.”
Constance Church: “Oh well, not like REF can see shit through those shoddy eyeholes in his mask.”
Rufio takes time from the distraction, to grab the top rope, and reign repeated stomps into Youth’s back and shoulders. The crowd begins to boo a bit, as REF finally leaves The BombTrax corner, and begins to admonish Rufio. At the count of five, Rufio steps back, hands in the air as REF threatens to disqualify him. Youth uses the ropes to gingerly pull himself up to his feet, and he looks over to Press, whose hand is extended to make a tag. Before he can even think about heading that way, Rufio is back on him with right hands to the face, using the ropes to keep his opponent upright.
Philo B. Pope: “Fuck, these motherfucking Lost Boyz are relentless! Rufio with Youth now, sends him to the far side, Wait! Youth held onto the fucking ropes! Here comes Rufio with a full head of steam, but Youth ducks, and back body drops him over the top rope, NO!”
Rufio was able to hold onto the top rope, and spun around to land on the apron! Youth turns around, and runs right into a shoulder thrust by Rufio through the middle and top ropes. With Youth doubled over clutching his stomach, Rufio takes hold of the top rope, and springboards up and over to grab hold of Youth by the hips, and roll him up into a sunset flip. Youth, however, much to the surprise of Rufio, continues his roll all the way back up to his feet, and then throws both feet out in front of him for a stiff falling drop kick that sends Rufio’s head snapping back to the mat with authority.
Constance Church: “Oh. So this is actually a wrestling match and not some sort of training bout, then?”
Philo B. Pope: “Both motherfuckers down after that exchange, and REF is starting a double count.
1….
2…..
3……
4…..
Philo B. Pope: "Youth starting to move!”
Constance Church: “He’s finished. REF call it. Both men are crawling for their waiting partners, and my money’s on Rufio to make it to his first.”
Rufio makes the tag, and Pan hops into the ring quickly to cut off Youth. The high flyer, however, pushes off with his foot, and bounds across the ring slapping Press hand. The big man steps over the top rope and into the ring as Pan rushes him with right hands. Press absorbs the punishment for a second or two, before firing back with rights of his own. Pan is rocked backwards towards the center of the ring, and with one shove Press sends him into the ropes. Pan rebounds, and Press catches him with a high knee lift that sends him sprawling to the mat.
Philo B. Pope: “There went his happy thought! It is GONE!”
Constance Church: “Would you be very happy if you had to fight a Sasquatch’s angry cousin?”
As Pan tries to get back to his feet, Press is already there, clubbing blows into the man’s spine. He reaches into the man’s brown locks, and gets a tight fistful of hair, pulling him over to a neutral corner and driving him face first into the turnbuckle. REF admonishes him, and Press agrees to watch the hair before rearing back and chopping Pan with such force the blow echoes throughout the arena. Pan groans, the fans ‘oooo’, as Press does it again. He takes Pan by the hand, and pulls hard, flinging him into the far turnbuckle with such authority that he damn near moves the ring. Pan stumbles out, gripping at his back, and runs face first into a running big boot that appears to take his head off.
Constance Church: “If I were to check my bio sheet here the event staff so kindly slipped onto my desk, I’d be able to tell you what YetiPress calls that move. But since I’m still doing my nails, I’ll just give it a name of my choosing. How about…. ‘The Sudden Stop!’. Sound good? Good.”
Philo B. Pope: “Mother...FUCK! Big man’s going for a cover!”
1…
2….
Philo B. Pope: “NO! Rufio flew in and dropped a bad ass elbow on the back of Press’ head to stop the count! Wait, here comes Youth! All four motherfuckers in the ring now!”
Youth takes Rufio and shoves him into a corner, right hand after right hand finding their mark. Press pulls Pan up off the canvas, and throws him into the opposite corner as well. After a certified mugging by The BombTrax in their respective corners, the two men nod to each other across the ring, and send their opponents sailing towards each other with irish whips. Pan and Rufio hook arms in the center of the ring, and spin around, stopping their momentum. They both rush out of the spin towards their opponents, who side step, allowing the men to crash back into the turnbuckles chest first.
Philo B. Pope: “You can’t roll a blunt without some practice and this is where The Bombtrax’s experience comes in motherfucking handy.”
As Rufio stumbles out, Youth takes him by the back of the head, and sends him flying over the top rope and crashing down to the concrete floor below. Press spins Pan around, boots him in the midsection, doubling him over, and then places his head between his legs. He looks out at the crowd that is coming unglued, before lifting him up into a powerbomb position onto his chest. Youth with a single leap bounds up to the top rope, and comes soaring off with a spin wheel kick. His heel connects with Pan’s face, adding momentum as Press thunders their opponent down to the mat.
Constance Church: “So… when did the Bombtraxx steal The Lost Boyz’ happy thoughts, huh? Theft? On our first taping?! I bet these assholes know where Toodles lost his marbles, too!”
When Youth lands, he rolls to the outside right in front of Rufio who’s trying to get back to his feet, and nails him with a superkick that lays him back out.
Philo B. Pope: “Rufio just got ROOFIED!!!”
Press hoists his boot up on Pan for the pin.
Constance Church: “So… I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t put any money down on these LOSER BOYZ, huh?”
1….
2…..
3!
Rhonda Armstrong: “Here are your winners, Press and Flaming Youth, THE BOMBTRAXXXX!!!!”
Philo B. Pope: “That was a pretty sweet showing out of those two motherfuckers.”
Constance Church: “Do you have to keep calling them that?”
Philo B. Pope: “Shut the fuck up motherfucker. Anyways, what the fuck is good backstage? I need a smoke break after watching the biggety BombTrax take out The Lost Boyz. I know something good must be brewing backstage, so check that out everybody. We’ll be right here at ringside so you fucking better stay tuned for more hot ass Pure motherfucking Amusing action to come!”