So, here I am with a whole weekend off from my two jobs to catch up on my writing. Where, oh where, shall I start? My unfinished Labour Day inspired column about "Above Average" Mike Sanders? My half-finished Shaddax-dedicated "Psychology of the Punch"? My nearly finished finale to my series on how I was convinced Wrestling is real? My Kurt Angle is a heel, RVD is a face, cue R.E.M. - it's the end of the world as we know it column? My oft-threatened "Why Llakor cheers for the heels" column? Not to mention all my unused research on Killer Kowalski and High Chief Peter Maivia. So many choices, so little time... (I'm sorry, am I being all - Dr. Watson, the Case of the Giant Rat of Sumatra can not be revealed at this time?)

But you know instead of those, I thought that I would take another crack at recapping a live show. After all, I got such great feedback last time. Well, no, no one started a thread about it on the EZ Board, not even to talk about it's spoilishness. And, no, I didn't get any e-mails about it. But hey, lookee at the feedback IN the column, "The cheque's in the mail." A six word CRZ editorial comment! Woo-Hoo! A new personal best! (What, no happy-face?) Oh and Y-PAC said that it was funnier. Being the paranoid insecure freak that I am, I would have preferred if he had said that it was funny (an absolute) rather than funnier (a qualified statement.) How many things could I possibly imagine that my column is funnier than without actually being - you know - funny? You have no idea.

But what live event could I report on? Brewguy has the PPV slot sewed up. I couldn't possibly compete with his balanced, objective, unbiased reporting of Whitby's finest -Test. I am incredibly jealous of his time-elapsed gimmick, it should be said. I wish that I had thought of it. The only difference between us is that when I sat down to type up my recap at midnight and got up from the computer at 5 am, shocked at how long it took, instead of going to bed like Brewguy, I took a shower and went to work.

The other element in a show to recap that I was looking for was a show that you, CRZ, had not seen. It's not like I mind that your SmackDown recap was waaaaay better than mine. No shame in being beaten by the Master. But it is somewhat embarrassing that like Michael Cole, I can't tell the difference between a schoolboy roll-up and a small package. God! the humiliation!

Speaking of cheque's in the mail by the way, I just wanted to let you know that I DO appreciate you recapping RAW-The Musical. I get the impression that they wanted to let the TV audience in on some of the off-air shenanigans that Stone Cold has been engaging in over the last couple of months. In any event, your Christmas present is as we speak winging (ok trucking) its way towards you. Hey maybe my cheque and your package will wave at each other on the way by! :-)

Now as you probably don't know, I watch the WWF PPV's every month at my local Famous Players theatre. I like the atmosphere of seeing the event live with a couple of hundred people. At last months PPV, as I was coming out of the theatre, jazzed by the great Jericho/Rock match, someone was handing out flyers to promote a wrestling show put on by a group called the Internet Wrestling Syndicate (www.syndicatewrestling.com). A show called, Born To Bleed, to be held Saturday, November 10th at the Bar Le Medley, and described (in advance) as "The Biggest Independent Wrestling Event Ever in North America!" Now, I know that wrestling is the language of hyperbole, but really. In June, I was at the Verdun Auditorium with about 2500 fans to witness the professional debut of Jacques Rougeau Jr's twelve year old son JJ, a FOURTH generation wrestler. (JJ beat the midget Little Broken thanks to the interference of his grand-dad Jacques Sr. Got to love the Rougeaus! Even as baby faces, they still cheat to win!) The point being that this wouldn't even qualify as the biggest independent event in Montreal, THIS YEAR! So, I was wavering back and forth on whether or not to see it, when I logged onto to their web-site and saw this warning:

We here at the IWS will not be held responsible for any injuries sustained in the crowd while watching an event. These such in juries include: cuts and minor lacerations, bruising, broken bones, trophy shots to the gonards, burns due to fire, burns due to electricity, and last but not least, heart attacks. If you and (or) any persons you are thereby responsible for are afraid of any of these potential injuries, please sit near the back of the room. Then again, if you're scared of a little pain and blood then you're definately not hardcore enough to be in the same room as our violent presentation.

Well, with a come-on like that, how could I stay away? OR as Brewguy put it, "They actually warn people not to come too close to the stage if you're worried about blood splatters?!? That's some crazy shit - or, a pretty smart marketing ploy."

So on Saturday, November 10th, I wandered down to Le Medley to see Born To Bleed. First, though I had to get up at 6am to go to work. Now, working in retail, I've always thought that shop-lifters were the absolute lowest forms of life. Silly me! People who come to retail stores and spread feces from the washrooms through the furniture section and into the sheets and shower curtain section are waaaaaay lower life-forms than shop-lifters. After getting off work at 6pm, it would have made sense to go home and take a nap before going to the bar at 9pm, but instead I decided to check out The Musketeer for only $3 (CDN) at the Eaton Center. Now I must say that the fight scenes were uniformly excellent, but the rest of the movie was as covered in crap as my furniture section was earlier in the day. The usual problem with adapting Alexandre Dumas' novel to the screen is deciding what parts to cut, because there is too much plot for one movie. The makers of this movie decided to invent a whole new plot. Morons! The opening sequence of the Three Musketeers where D'Artagnan rides to Paris and bumps into Athos, Porthos and Aramis challenging each of them to a duel the next day at 12, 12:30 and 1 pm, is one of the best opening sequences in all of literature and happily introduces us to each of the main characters and gives us some idea of their personalities. Doing a Three Musketeers movie without that sequence is like telling a Superman story where Clark Kent is the natural son of Jonathan and Martha Kent. It just isn't done. The casting was as atrocious as the script as we were given a bewildering array of accents ranging from American Mid-West to Irish to English to Parisian French speaking English. At least in The Man In the Iron Mask when they cast an Irishman as D'Artagnan, an Englishman as Athos, an American as Aramis and a Frenchman as Porthos, they had the good sense to get the finest Irish, English, American and French actors that they could find. (That would be Gabriel Byrne, Jeremy Irons, John Malkovich and Gerald Depardieu for those playing along at home.) Finally, The Musketeer has the distinction of being the worst acted Three Musketeers movie of all time. An impressive distinction when you consider that Charlie Sheen and Chris O'Donnell were in one. Usually, I stick around at the end of the movie to watch the credits, but this time I was out of my seat like I was catapulted and I raced out. Partly to put the filmic abortion behind me, and partly because it was already 9pm and I was worried about missing the opening bout at Born To Bleed!

I needn't have worried. The good news was that when I got to the bar there was still a line-up to get in. The bad news was that when I got to the bar there was still a line-up to get in. As the line finally started moving, I found out that they were looking for exact change only at the Ticket Booth for the $15 entrance fee. D'oh! My twenties completely useless. So I found myself at the Ticket Booth counting out dimes and nickels to make out $15 even. Then when I entered, I ran smack dab into the mandatory $1.50 coat check which COULD change a twenty. Grrrrr... So as I was looking for a seat, my mood was ramping up from my usual grumpiness onwards to murderous rage.

From the coat check at the east end of Le Medley, I passed a long counter-top bar to come into view of the ring. On the east-side of the ring were about six rows of ten folding chairs. On the west side of the ring were another six rows of ten folding chairs, followed by some tables, followed by another long counter-top bar. At the south end of the ring were four rows of ten folding chairs followed by a railing and a step-up level with another three rows of ten folding chairs, followed by another railing and step-up level and another two rows of ten folding chairs. On the north end of the ring was a stage - running from the ring towards an employee entrance on the north-east corner of Le Medley - which was set up as wrestler's entrance. Hiding this entrance-way on the north side was a large projection screen.

All of the good seats on the main level having already been taken, (Damn! Blood-Splattering Denied!) I headed up into the balcony. The balcony surrounded the stage like a really bumpy U, curving into towards the ring at the top. On each of the east, west and south sides of the balcony were another three rows of ten chairs. The best seats in the balcony were in a lowered sub-balcony on the south side of Le Medley. About ten feet up and ten feet away from the ring, it was perfectly situated for a swan-dive into the ring. Sadly, it was already filled by the technical crew. I ended up taking a seat on the north-west corner about twelve feet up and about twenty feet away from the ring. The view was slightly obstructed by a set of speakers, but since they were at my eye-level, they would only block my view of - say a move off the top of a ladder. The big advantage to this bird's-eye view was that it was a favourite spot of the wrestler's, who came out to watch at various periods. Now, I would like to say that I got gobs of autographs and some special quotes for you, CRZ, but I wussed, I choked, I froze. I just couldn't figure out a way of saying that I was reporting on this event for slashwrestling.com without coming across as a total geek. Now I'm not labouring under any delusions here, but there is a big difference between BEING a geek and ADVERTISING the fact that you're a geek.

The one exception to my embarrassment was this was the guy who came out before the action started. Him I didn't talk to because he scared the crap out of me. Now I was taking notes of the surroundings when I saw him and what I nearly wrote down was: "BBH M-F Lks = KK" or ?ig Bald Headed M-Fer looks like King Kong.?Now I DID NOT write this down, because honestly I was petrified at the thought that he would notice me taking notes and decipher what I had written, before could I tear out the offending page and eat it to destroy the evidence. (Not to mention that eating my notes might look a little suspicious.) I tell you CRZ this guy looked like a man among boys. And based on an odd theory that I heard once, that people destined to become celebrities have really big heads, let me tell you this guy has what it takes to be a star! We're talking, the first thing that pops into your head when you see him, is to wince and hope his mom had a caesarean. I'm not saying that his head is bigger than Tazz's, but it would take a tape-measure to be sure. I'm sure that he's a lovely guy, sweet, polite, nice to his fans, but frankly I wasn't going to risk finding out otherwise.

So, I took my seat and got ready to take some notes congratulating myself on picking a seat that looked directly into the wrestler's entrance area. Then I realized that for the second live event in a row, I had forgotten to bring either a flashlight or binoculars. D'oh! While I was waiting for something to happen, I gradually came to realize that Le Medley had hired Lemmy from Motorhead to program the music before the show or at least Lemmy's female counterpart. What I ask you is wrong with playing classical music before a wrestling show? If its good enough for Ric Flair, its good enough for me! In any case, the raging death-metal was giving me a splitting headache.

Now, I include all this preamble to give you some idea of my mood going into the show. I am naturally a grumpy bitch, but by the time the show started at 10:15 having been provoked by fatigue, a shitty day at work, a crappy movie, a group of idiots that couldn't figure out how to swap change between a ticket booth and the adjoining coat check, as well as fueled by a throbbing death-metal migraine, I was a full-blown rageaholic. In addition, I am by nature more impressed by a good step-over toe-hold than a chair-shot. As usual, I don't recap punches. Hmmmm...let's see fatigue, rage, dislike of the style and I'm typing up my notes two weeks after the event, any other way I can let bias and inaccuracy charge into this recap! Well, I could try writing this drunk, but I don't think that I have enough beer in the house to do this show justice. All of that being said, here is what I saw:

Internet Wrestling Syndicate: BORN TO BLEED!

Before we go any further, please be advised that the fine people who make up the Internet Wrestling Syndicate draw much of their inspiration from ECW, more specifically from Rhyno's ECW promos. So put the children to bed cause this show (and this recap) ain't rated PG!

Show starts at 10:15 pm with a variety of promos which I couldn? see since I'm sitting perpendicular to the screen. (D'OH!) The most impressive sounding one is by a guy named "The Green Phantom" who swears vengeance against a wrestler named the Arsenal who has been ducking him for weeks. The Green Phantom sounds like the Undertaker if Marc Calloway gargled with razor blades before cutting his promos. There is also a weird ass promo from the former IWS heavyweight champion promising to get his belt back and promising that the match will be ultra-violent but that his fans shouldn't worry because, "I'll be so fucking high, I won't feel a thing." Huh?

After the promos, someone gets on the mike to introduce the most electrifying man in the IWS, headlining sold-out shows at the ComedyWorks, star of his own Chevrolet Oldsmobile commercial: Iron Mike Patterson. At which point a goofy looking white guy (curly hair, glasses, leather jacket gold lame pants) trips into the ring and announces, "I meant to do that!" Hmmmm... same voice as the ring announcer. Oh! I get it! The ring announcer IS Iron Mike Patterson and he's introducing himself. Apparently, Mike has a history with long time fans of IWS as the fans who were chanting I-W-S waiting for the show are now chanting, "MIke sucks dick" "I do not, your mother does, but I don't! SHHAAAADDDUUUPPP!" Mike proceeds to insult pretty much the entire room, attacking one guy in the front row because he's wearing a turtleneck. Hey! I'm wearing a turtleneck too! Screw you Iron Mike Patterson! Mike sucks dick! Mike sucks dick! Mike sucks dick! "I do not! SHHHHAAAADDUPP! I have my own Oldsmobile commercial!" Mike proceeds to attack the entire front row on the east side of the ring who are all from Deux Montagnes, telling the waitresses to make sure that these "Two Mountain boys get plenty of beer, cause I want them to be drunk out of their minds when the show ends so that they drive home drunk and DIE! DIE! DIE!" Ha! This guy is a natural heat machine but oddly he is on the side of the baby-faces all night. Somebody in IWS should just bite the bullet and make the guy a heel, cause it makes no sense him sucking up to the good guys.

Speaking of sucking up to the good guys, here comes the former IWS heavyweight champion, PCP Crazy Fucking Manny. He's wearing a black T-Shirt, black short pants, black sneakers and black knee pads. He comes to the ring accompanied by Carol Cox, who I take it is some local porn queen. Her company Wild Rose Productions is putting up the money for the show and putting on a hot-oil wrestling match during the intermission. She is very hot in a black leather bra/mini-skirt/boots ensemble. Iron Mike: "We're not proud! We would taken money off the Mafia to put on this show, so we have no problem taking it from a porn queen! So tonight, I want all you professional masturbators from Two Mountains to go home tonight click on to www.carolcox.com and jerk off to that. Shaaddduupp! You know you're all going to jerk off anyway because you're all big losers without girlfriends or wives! I'm a professional comedian! I'm being paid to be here! You're all professional masturbators!" Manny eventually takes the microphone and starts to cut a promo about getting back the belt, when the evil Commissioner Joe comes out with the IWS champion The Sex XXXpress, Triple X Sexxxy Eddy and the man he has brought in to help guarantee victory for his champion: Justice Pain, the CZW champion. (Hey! He #325 on the DVDVR 500!) After taunting Manny for a while, they leave Manny to announce that he is guaranteed to beat Sexxxy Eddy because, "I'm faster, I'm stronger, I'm smarter & I'm on more drugs than he is!" Throughout his promos, Eddy is constantly rubbing his head and scratching himself to give the impression that he has the DT's. The ex-champ is a junkie and the new champ is a porn star. Could be an interesting night.

Match#1 starts at 10:40. First guy out is a blond French guy in a singlet whose name I don't catch. He has himself announced as being from Quebec, Quebec, Quebec! Huge Boos. (See he's saying he's from Quebec the city, Quebec the province, and Quebec the country. He's a French separatist in front of an English crowd. Huge heat.) He proceeds to steal one of Austin's What promos only he delivers it in French. "Je comprends rien tu dis! Parlez francais! On est dans un pays francais, parle francais! Je te comprends pas! Fuck You! Ca c'est l'anglais! Ca tu comprend!" I am is at this point rolling on the floor in laughter. I LOVE French heels. I was a Rougeau fan before I was a wrestling fan, so I am loving this guy. His opponent from the Bronx, NY is called TNT and is a big fan favourite. He is wearing black taped arm bands and black & gold leather pants. He announces that he is still recovering from a broken leg, "But I had the doctors cut the cast off because I wasn't going to miss Born To Bleed!" (Suck-Up!)

The French heel immediately blows all the goodwill that I had towards him by not pouncing on TNT's leg like a rabid pit-bull. No commitment to the craft these days... TNT in fact dominates hitting a drop-kick off the ring apron, bashing Frenchy's head off the turn buckle, dragging him back into the ring the hard way, hitting a snap-mare before going up top for a top-rope butt splash that gets two. Frenchy rallies briefly to hit a flying shoulder block, but TNT goes right back to the attack hitting an under-arm face-jam and then landing a jumping bulldog that gets two. Frenchy manages to hit an arm-drag followed by a top-rope face jam that gets two. TNT rallies but Frenchy goes downstairs and drags him over the top onto the railing, into the railing, over the railing, into the crowd and back over the railing. Dragging TNT back into the ring, Frenchy hits a SWANK~ Top Rope Leg Drop on the back of TNT's head to get two. He hits a Fisherman's suplex for one-two-Johnny Ace! He goes back to the Fisherman's suplex for one-two-th-JOHNNY BY GOD ACE! Frenchy gets right in ref Dynamite Dave's face, slapping him for being unable to count to three. Frenchy grabs a chair, and hits a standing Van Daminator for two! Frustrated, he hits a running body-flip on the chair for two. At this point, Dynamite Dave has had enough and when TNT gets back up they combine for a Hart Attack! (Memories!) Dynamite Dave follows up with a weak chair-shot, and then holds the chair so that TNT can hit his top-rope butt splash (called Tha Bomb according to www.syndicatewrestling.com) for the pin at 10:55 (15:00?) Your Winner: TNT! After the match, TNT grabs the mike and taunts Frenchy telling him to, "Go back to Hochelaga!" Ha! TNT then asks Dynamite Dave to lend him his referee shirt tonight for the main event. This brings out the Commissioner who agrees! Hmmmm! He then slaps TNT and directs his bodyguards/goons to deliver a High Times on TNT.

Energetic opening bout, but really what's the point in having the baby-face announce that he just took off a cast if the heel doesn't work over the weak leg? Virtually every wrestler that I respect would have fastened on that leg as if it was a filet mignon. Frankly, if you're any kind of heel at all, and the baby-face turns his back on you to announce that he just had a cast removed from his leg, you shouldn't even have to think about it, you should already be chop-blocking the hell out of him.

Match#2 starts at 11:00. First guy out, "from Venice Beach, California, the Natural Superstar, Steve Roids!" He is wearing a red & gold robe, red trunks, sunglasses and a pony-tail. He is accompanied by a valet, a brunette in a black leather dress who he introduces as Miss Natural who, "has a great natural body just like me." It appears that this is a Three-Way dance that started as a challenge in the IWS home arena of the bar Le Skratch in Laval. "Bring out the Smurf and the Gorilla!" Second guy out, "from Montreal, Quebec, weighing a full metric ton, every man's hero, Maxx Fury." (So this would be the Smurf I'm guessing.) Yep, Black/Green/Red Singlet with a green elbow pad and a red elbow pad. He gives your standard it's not the biggest dog in the fight it's the biggest fight in the dog promo. Third out, "From the Brink of Insanity, Ravage!" (Brink of Insanity, huh? I hear they have some nice Bed and Breakfasts there.) The Smurf starts it with a corkscrew plancha off the top rope on the Gorilla and a drop-kick to the Natural. Bell Rings at 11:05. The Smurf goes to climb again, but the Gorilla catches him going up. He flips out of the Gorilla's arms and hits a baseball slide to the Natural's face. He is caught by the Gorilla again and flipped at the Natural who catches him. ScaryRana! Gorilla grabs the Smurf by the neck and climbs to the top rope choking the Smurf in mid-air. This leads to a two-count broken up by the Natural. The Gorilla hits the worst DDT I have ever seen, nearly breaking his own neck in the process, leading to a "You Fucked Up" chant and the Smurf trying to get the cover off of the Gorilla's finisher. (Ballsy little guy.) The Smurf hits a small package on the Natural that gets two. The Natural gets up and murders the Smurf with a Clothesline that the Smurf gives a full rotation and a twist to. That gets two broken up by the Gorilla. Gorilla covers the still prone Smurf and gets two. The heels murder the Smurf and toss him outside and turn on each other. After some fisticuffs, the Gorilla hits a DDT that the Smurf breaks up with a bouncy off-the-ropes drop-kick. The Smurf tries to use the ropes to get a pin on the Gorilla, but Dynamite Dave refuses to count. The Gorilla tries to do a catapult under the ropes but it's amateur hour and you fucked up again. The Smurf hits Shattered Dreams on the Natural and then sidesteps a charging Gorilla. A Smurf standing moonsault on the Natural gets two, broken up by the Gorilla. The Natural and the Gorilla go outside where the Natural retrieves his robe to choke out the Gorilla. (Love that move!) Meanwhile the Smurf is setting up a table in the ring. The Natural gets back into the ring and the Smurf drags him into the corner where they completely blow a spot. I think that the Smurf was trying to hit a Bulldog only he ended up underneath the Natural. Dynamite Dave checks to see that they are still breathing while we chant, "You Fucked Up!" The Gorilla takes advantage to grab the Smurf and to hit a running power bomb onto the Natural lying on the table. Big "Holy Shit" Chant. Ms. Natural distracts Dynamite Dave to prevent a Gorilla win. The Natural flips out the Gorilla onto the floor. He then hits a Gorilla Press on the Smurf (three push-ups!) which he turns into a Diamond Cutter. This move is called the Anabolic Drop apparently. Ms. Natural grabs the Gorilla's leg holding him back so that the Natural can get the pin at 11:15. (10:00?) Your Winner: The Natural Superstar Steve Roids! Ugh! That was sloppy as hell! It's a little hard for me to get into a match when I'm worried that the wrestlers are going to kill each other by accident. A lot of charisma in that match especially on the part of the Smurf (Maxx Fury), but the match was just high-spot, sloppy high-spot, blown high-spot. No psychology at all.

Match #3 is a Tag-Team Match. First man out, "at 180 lbs, the former IWS champion from Santa Cruz California... Nixon Stratus!" (Trish has a brother?) He's got slick backed hair and a red leather jacket and black pants. Nixon grabs the mike and delivers a very Bobby Heenan - I'm about to teach Terry Taylor a lesson - promo. He finishes by promising to introduce his mystery partner but only after his opponents are introduced. His former pupils are introduced to the first music that I recognize all night: Touch Myself! They are called Soul Rage and Malice and one is a blonde in a white shirt and red pants while the other is a brunette with no shirt and black leather pants, combined they weigh 390 pounds (soaking wet I would imagine.) Unfortunately, I have no idea which is which, so I hereby dub them Blondie & Skins. Of much more interest than these pathetic Edge and Christian clones are their valets: each of them has brought two girls to the ring! The hottest of the group is a brunette dressed as a catholic school-girl with white go-go boots. (Because nothing screams, ?lut!?like white stripper boots.) Soul Rage and Malice proceed to rather graphically tell us how much better life has gotten for them since splitting from Nixon Stratus. "When you were my manager, I couldn't get a lap-dance with a hundred-dollar bill, now I've got two beautiful women who came up to me in the back and offered to suck my dick!" (It's not really as sad as it sounds. See there are so many fake $100 bills floating around Montreal that even the strippers have stopped taking them. So he's not a loser, he's just stupid.) "When you were my manager, the only date that I could get was with my right hand, now I can make love to these two fine babes at the same time!" (Sigh. I DID warn you. In the interest of fair-play, I should point out that when Nixon was their manager the promotion wasn't sponsored by an amateur porn studio. And honestly, if you're a wrestler and you can't score with amateur porn babes, you're just hopeless. Sadly, Nixon Stratus DOES NOT point that out.) Nixon takes back the mike, presumably to introduce his mystery partner. Personally, I'm all anti-climaxed because having flashed to the Heenan-Taylor feud, I'm thinking that it's a shame that that feud was too late for Heenan to bring out Andre the Giant as a mystery partner. Since I don't know ANY of the wrestlers in ISW, all of them are a mystery to me, so I really don't see the point of a "MYSTERY PARTNER". In addition to which, if I was the Terry Taylor twins instead of waiting for Heenan to bring out Andre the Giant, I would jump him NOW so you could at least get a few licks in while you can. "My mystery partner is a second generation wrestler..." Huh? I didn't think there were any FIRST-generation wrestlers in this outfit. The crowd is going nuts, and Soul Rage and Malice are on their knees?! "at 240 lbs, from Montreal, Carl XL Leduc!" Omigod it's Kong! Just like I saw in the balcony, he's wearing a black t-shirt, black short pants and black knee-pads. He's still a big bald-headed mother-fucker, he still looks like King Kong, but now he's carrying a six-pack of Corona. Leduc proceeds to cut a GREAT promo about how he should be in the main event rather than beating the crap out of these losers. The crowd is right there with him too. He may be allied with a heel, but to this crowd he is pure baby-face. (Baby-face, the other other white meat!) Match starts at 11:33. Nixon and Skins start. Skins is reluctant to actually hit Nixon. I guess that he's hoping that if he sucks up to his old boss that he can keep Kong out of the ring. Nixon takes advantage to hit... an Arm Bar? Holy Crap! A wrestling move! Hey that's a SWEET~ wringing arm bar too!

He's trying to hyper-extend the elbow! I said, he's trying to BY GOD! hyper-extend the elbow! Sadly, I am the only one who appreciates this ray of light during an eclipse, this four-leaf clover in a cow-pie, this pine-tree air freshener in a taxi-cab filled with flatulent cowboys. The crowd wants Kong and they want him NOW! So Nixon delivers a sloppy elbow drop before tagging in Kong. Blondie tries to save his partner but he gets Gorilla Press Slammed for his trouble onto his partner. Throwing Blondie into the corner, Kong winds up and the whole crowd goes dead silent. I recognize the noise that the silence makes. It's exactly like the silence just before Vladimir Guerrero comes up to bat for the Expos. It's the silence before Rocket Richard was introduced during the last game at the old Forum. It's an anticipatory silence, a hungry silence. I'm busy wondering what all the fuss over a knife-edged chop is when it hits. WHOOOO! I didn't just see that. Tell me I didn't just see that! WHOOOO! Holy Shit! That can't be the best knife-edged chop that I've ever seen. WHOOOO! OH! MY! GOD! Now, I'm not saying that I just saw a knife-edged chop better that Benoit's, but I would have to see them side-by-side to be sure, preferably on Regal so you could properly measure the redness and welting and stuff. I almost forgive the crowd for completely ignoring the arm-bar. Top Rope Flip by Kong. Top Rope Leg Drop by Kong. With the Terry Taylor twins out for the count, Kong retrieves his Corona and proceeds to shatter six bottles onto to the floor outside of the ring. He picks up Skins to Slam him onto the shattered bottles, but a chair-shot from Blondie stops that. Blondie does a top-rope flippy thing onto the chair, but it doesn't keep Kong down and he proceeds to deliver some vicious chair shots to Blondie's back. Kong asks for ANOTHER chair from the audience and getting it, throws it to Skins. CHAIR WAR~ Whack! Chair hits chair! WHACK! Solid chair to chair shot and Skins is doing the hand-dance of foul pop pain. Kong naturally has NO sympathy for the wuss and Skins eats chair. Kong exits the ring to do a victory lap with his adoring public. While he does that, Nixon enters the ring and tries to get Blondie to turn on Skins, handing him a chair to take out his partner. Naturally this backfires. Blondie chair shots Nixon! Skins chair shots Nixon! Double-leg hook-up and a pin at 11:40 (7:00?) Your Winners... Soul Rage and Malice! Now that match was shorter and had about a tenth of the high-spots of either of the first two matches, but it was so much more satisfying because it actually told a story. Not to mention that a simple move expertly applied (Arm-Bar, Knife-Edged Chop) is infinitely more interesting than some sloppy flippy-floppy nonsense. It turns out that Carl XL Leduc is the son of Paul Leduc who started out wrestling with Pat Patterson. Carl has actually had a cup of coffee with the WWF and holds a pin-fall victory over Bradshaw to his credit. (Pre-APA Bradshaw mind you, but it's still impressive.) And the story-telling's not done, because after the match, Nixon and Leduc destroy Soul Rage and Malice and leave them in a heap outside the ring. A nurse rushes out to perform... CPR? This would be a Major Gunns thing I'm thinking. Yep, it's a Major Gunns thing. The slutty catholic school-girl in the white stripper boots takes exception to the nurse's CPR techniques and we have a CATFIGHT! (Wait, I'm confused. She's not jealous of the other valet that she's sharing this loser with, BUT she is jealous of the nurse trying to revive him. This makes TONS of sense, but maybe I'm over-thinking things, and should just lean forward and enjoy the...) CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT! Iron Mike Patterson gets in between them! "I can't allow two women to fight like this!" "Mike sucks dick!" (I mean, he must, right?) "I can't allow two women to fight like this... UNLESS it's in a pool of pudding!" Mike books a pudding match on the spot. This is cool, they're actually giving a back-story to the half-time match. Hey! Wait a minute! We were promised a half-time hot oil wrestling match! Bait and Switch! Bait and Switch! We've been swerved! Russo Lives! Russo Lives! (With the possible exception of elcybergoth, who the fuck books a pudding match instead of a hot-oil match?)

Match#4 is a Hardcore Tag-Team Match. First in the ring, "At a combined weight of 666 pounds, from Faber-Town, Japan, the Hardcore Ninjas!" (The Faber-Town thing is a Quebec joke. I'm guessing that they're actually from the metro stop Fabreville which can be translated as Faber-Town. I didn't say it was a FUNNY Quebec joke, now did I?) Both Ninjas are wearing black outfits with black masks and white rising sun bandannas. One Ninja has a yellow sash, the other Ninja has a white sash and white gloves. There is no way in hell that I'm going to be able to keep track of which is which, so I'm not even going to try. The commissioner comes on to announce that the mystery opponents of the Ninjas will be each other. Instead of a Hardcore Tag Team match, we have hardcore singles action. Iron Mike Patterson is in full suck-up mode, "How about it Ninjas? Will you agree to face each other?" Crowd goes NUTS! I guess they've been teasing Ninja on Ninja violence for a while without delivering or something. The Commissioner, none too pleased that the crowd likes his idea for a match, promises to interfere again later. The Ninjas BTW are mute, so we are cheated of NINJA~ Promos. The match starts at 11:50 with a ladder already in the ring, which is an odd choice. Russian leg-sweep onto the propped ladder. Lots of flippy-floppy and ducked kicks leads to the pose of mutual respect and a big crowd pop at which point (11:54) the lights go out. "Ladies and Gentlemen, from Yonkers, New York, USA, weighing in at 202 pounds, ranked by the Death Valley Driver Video Review as the 325th best wrestler on the planet, the Ultra-Violent All-Star, the CZW champion, Justice Pain!" Glaring at Iron Mike Patterson, as he enters the ring, Justice Pain is wearing a big-ass belt and black trunks. (I think he was upset at the mention of the DVDVR 500. Can't think why. It's an honour just to be named to the list. Right?! Right??) After tearing Montreal and ISW a new asshole, Justice announces that he will defend his title against the Hardcore Ninjas in a three-way dance. Match resumes at 11:58. Ninjas take advantage of Justice Pain's overconfidence to hit a drop-kick from the top rope and a spin kick from the ladder. With Justice Pain down, we have NINJA~ Dissension~ as they are unable to agree on who will cover. Some Nasty NINJA~ kicking later, Justice Pain bounces one, two Ninjas off the ladder. NINJA~ Tornado DDT on Ninja. Justice Pain clotheslines a Ninja out of the ring so hard that his feet bounce off the railing outside. (Ouch!) Plancha by Justice Pain gets nothing but railing, and Justice Pain ends up hung up on the railing. NINJA~ chair shot! NINJA~ leg drop! Ninja builds a NINJA~ device out of four chairs and a fan sign. This doesn't work in a couple of ways: 1) Justice Pain drops the Ninja on his own NINJA~ device, 2) rather than the sign breaking in two, the entire contraption just collapses on-top of the Ninja. Still awfully impressive. Justice Pain goes outside and eats NINJA~ Corkscrew Plancha. Remaining Ninja tries to NINJA~ slide the ladder into the faces of Justice Pain and Ninja, but they lift the ladder to foil his NINJA~ Plot. One of the Ninjas is placed on the ladder, on the apron and is catapulted off. The ladder is brought back into the ring, and propped back in the corner. Justice Pain release suplexes a Ninja onto the ladder knee first. (OUCH!) Justice Pain eats ladder. Ninja misses a NINJA~ Top-Rope Leg Drop. A table is set up outside the ring and NINJA~ Dissension leads to NINJA~ Splinters. Justice Pain threatens to throw the ladder at the crowd. (HA!) Further NINJA~ Dissension lets Justice Pain set up the ladder and a table. Justice Pain DDT's a Ninja onto a chair. He then suplexes the other Ninja off the ladder onto the table. "Holy Shit!" To finish the match, Justice Pain DDTs one Ninja and Olympic Slams the other to get the pin at 12:10. (4:00? + 12:00?) Well, for over-booked high-spot nonsense that was quite good. I admire the long-term booking, teasing NINJA~ on NINJA~ violence without actually delivering. And Hey! other than Chuck Norris who doesn't like NINJAS~? Obviously, Justice Pain wasn't going to lose his title, but by making it look like the Ninjas could have won if they only cooperated, everybody wins. Justice Pain can brag that he won a handicapped match to defend his title, and the Ninjas, if they could speak, could boast that they stood toe-to-toe with the CZW champion and would have won if it wasn't for the selfishness of their Ninja brother. The match was filled with high spots but they were delivered with authority. Even the spots that may have been blown were delivered so smoothly that they looked intentional. I'm fairly certain that Justice Pain wasn't planning on release suplexing a Ninja knees first into the ladder, but the important thing is that it LOOKED intentional, not to mention vicious as hell. Justice Pain celebrating after the spot to get crowd heat (and give Dynamite Dave a chance to make sure that the Ninja could still walk) helped a lot. My only quibble is that some of the Ninja on Ninja violence felt a little forced. It came off as, "I guess it's out turn to fight." It would have made a lot more sense if they had done a sequence where one Ninja was trying to chase Justice Pain and the other dragged him back to the ring. Or one of the Ninjas could have laid down and when his brother tried to get the easy pin, they could have done a pin-fall reversal sequence. Or they could have done a sequence built around Justice Pain unconscious in the ring and the Ninjas squabbling over who was going to pin him. Tons of possibilities. Still, highly enjoyable match with good story-telling. It was a huge compliment to the Ninjas to book them in a match with the CZW champion (ranked 325 on the DVDVR 500!) and they more than justified that confidence. This was one of the two matches all night where the locker room emptied and the wrestlers spilled out to watch.

And we have reached the half-time break at 12:25. Time for Match#5: The Pudding Match!

Ugh. I may never eat Chocolate Pudding again. Someone once said something along the lines of, "those who witness the making of sausage or politics may never again wish to partake of either." I'm thinking that pudding falls into that category. The plastic sheeting wasn't so bad. The pool with yellow sides and a green bottom, looking all the world like a left-over prop from an episode of Barney and Friends, was a little much. If you're going to have a match in a kiddie pool couldn't it at least NOT look like one of the strippers/wrestlers stole it from their kid's garderie? Is there something wrong with solid colours? Red, black or white would all have been fine, especially if the pools looked like they were made of some vinyl or leather fabric. The worst bit was yet to come though. The worst bit was the bit where they brought in garbage pails filled what I'm guessing was Chocolate pudding, but which resembled nothing so much as some form of runny Chocolate diarrhea. (Hey! I was disgusted too! I feel no need to spare YOUR feelings.) Then the combatants came out to roll around in the filthy goo. Now, I'm not saying that I wasn't aroused. I WAS. I was aroused; aroused and sweaty; aroused and nauseous; aroused and feverish; aroused and flatulent. I was Tony Soprano in the season finale to year two: aroused, delirious and overstimulated, dreaming of treacherous Big Pussy. Not to get all obsessed by colour or anything, but Chocolate was so not the right choice. Vanilla, Butterscotch or Tapioca would all have been fine. Of course, then it would have looked like they were rolling around in a pool of semen, but that at least would have been appropriate. Or they could have chosen Strawberry, Raspberry or Cherry. Then it would have looked like they were rolling around in blood, which would have matched the theme of the evening! Now you would think that a pudding match would just be a mindless food fight, but this match had a story to it. Sistah (the Nurse) and Elsa (the Catholic school girl) came to the ring to resolve their differences and express themselves by tearing each other's clothes off and smearing each other with pudding. Sadly, our patriarchal male society, represented in this case by an interfering referee, moved to stifle their chosen means of expression. (The referee was not Dynamite Dave BTW but a 'special pudding referee.' He must travel from town-to-town or something following the pudding wrestling circuit.) Prevented from doing more than ripping their t-shirts off, the pudding wrestlers united to turn on their oppressors, in this case, by dragging the referee into the pudding and sitting on his head. Afterwards, recognizing that they made better allies than enemies, Elsa and Sistah kissed and made up. (It brings a tear to my eye, just thinking about it.) In other words, this match had more of a story-line than the first two matches of the evening combined. The pudding match was over by 12:33. Your Winners: Everybody! (Except possibly for the standards of good taste.) Hey! Wait a minute! Nobody got naked! The flyer had NAKED hot oil wrestling action on it and we get bikini pudding action? Swerved again! Russo Lives! Russo Lives! Damn You Vince Russo! Damn You All To HELL! Now my only quibble... (Yes, I am kibitzing a pudding match. This is nothing. You ARE reading a man who once was threatened with expulsion for doing heel colour commentary in a schoolyard fight. I still think that that was a crock. I was only quoting Winston Churchill, "He shall fight him in the sandbox; he shall fight him on the swing sets; he shall fight him through the tennis courts; he shall never surrender!" Well, OK, strictly speaking I was paraphrasing Churchill, but I was still demonstrating my understanding of British History. Right?! Right??) As I was saying, my only quibble is that for the storyline to have made sense, after getting their revenge on the pudding referee, Elsa and Sistah should have continued doing what the referee was preventing and gotten naked, or at least topless. Not that I'm in favour of gratuitous nudity or anything :-) Wait! Did I say that with a straight face? Let me try again: Not that I'm in favour of gratuitous nudity or anything :-) Damn! Must Focus! Must summon my inner Dean Malenko! Spirit of the Shooter! Spirit of the Shooter! Not that I'm in favour of gratuitous nudity or anything :-l , but since the storyline calls for the nudity, strictly speaking it wouldn't be gratuitous, just welcome :-l

We took a ten-fifteen minute break, during which they cleaned the ring of plastic sheeting, kiddie pool and of course pudding. Dynamite Dan supervised, leading me to wonder if Earl Hebner has ever had to check the ropes for pudding residue. While this was going on, Iron Mike Patterson had gone into the crowd in a segment he called, "Iron Mike Patterson meets his fans." In practice, it worked more like, "Iron Mike Patterson searches for his fan, singular, and insults a lot of people looking." Now, I had been having a rather ambivalent "Not that there's anything wrong with that" feeling about the "Mike sucks dick!" chants. They didn't bother me as much as the "Faggot!" chants that Two Much got at the WWF house show that I was at three years ago, but still... Then Mike opens his damn mouth and, "I do not suck dick! I was in the back just now and Carol Cox offered to suck MY dick! That's right a porn queen offered to suck my dick. But you know what? I turned her down! Because I'm a professional! I'm a professional comedian and you're all professional masturbators who will never have porn queens offering to suck YOUR dicks!" Oh to hell with it! Mike sucks dick! Mike sucks dick! Mike sucks dick!

At 1:00, we're back for Match#6. Entering first, our hardcore hero, the Green Phantom who is wearing a green lucha mask and a green suit with a gold sash. Now I would like to say that the Green Phantom, and his large fan following, demonstrates the easy access that Montreal has to Lucha Libre and its natural effect on the populace. Sadly, our exposure to Lucha is narrowly confined to the annual El Santos midnight movie at the Fantasia film fest. El Fantomas Verto cuts another good promo, "It's time to FEEL THE GREEN!!" and asks Iron Mike Patterson to be in his corner. Iron Mike slips into über-mark mode instantly, again causing me to wonder why he is on the side of the good guys when he's such a smarmy little shit. The Green Phantom TAKES HIS MASK OFF! to give to Iron Mike Patterson. Oh! He has another one underneath! Well, that's all right then. While this is going on, Arsenal, the Green Phantom's scheduled opponent, comes on the screen and channels Christian to give a "cough, cough, I am sick" promo to get out of his match. But because the show must go on, Arsenal promises to send out a replacement. (I smell fresh meat!) A guy in doctor's gown and stethoscope wearing a chef's hat (?) comes to the ring. Oh! Wait, those aren't a stethoscope, those are sausages! He's wearing a Butcher's Smock! It's Lupo the Butcher! (No, I didn't actually catch his name.) Lupo starts things off by throwing sliced meat into the mask of the Green Phantom. How very Curt Hennig of him. This disconcerts the Green Phantom enough for Lupo to get the advantage and he starts choking the Green Phantom with the sausages. That's cool and all, but where are the sausage nun-chuks? How can you reference Mr. Boo without sausage nun-chuks? (I'm betting that reference went woosh over the whole crowd.) Meat Mayhem can't keep El Fantomas Verto down for long and after batting Lupo around for a while, the Green Phantom brings two chairs and a fan sign into the ring. He then does a shoulder-slam onto the sign getting much better results than the NINJA~ device did earlier in the night. Picking up Lupo on the apron and putting him over his shoulder, Green Phantom tries to move the ring by charging the turn buckle, and we have an Irresistible Force meets Immovable Object sandwich with Lupo jelly. The Green Phantom rolls Lupo back into the ring and he sets up a table in the center of the ring. Wait! We have a RUN-IN! Two guys both with Singapore canes. One must be Arsenal, the other one wearing the black suit with the skull mask, must be his manager the Motivator of Madness. We have Singapore canes and a BURNING table and we have Green Phantom going through the burning table. The Motivator of Madness reminds the timekeeper that the bell hasn't actually rung yet to officially start the match so if he wouldn't mind awfully... The bell rings to start the match at 1:15. (That was really very considerate and thoughtful of the Motivator of Madness. Why it would be just terrible if the match wasn't official.) Arsenal roll-up gets two. Suplex lands Green Phantom with his foot on the ropes. Dynamite Dan refuses to count so Arsenal drags Phantom off the rope and covers to get two. The Motivator of Madness gets into the ring and puts the Green Phantom into a Steiner Recliner. While the Phantom is stuck in the recliner, Arsenal hits a butt drop onto his head followed by a van daminator. Pulling the Green Phantom, Arsenal hits a Singapore cane neck-breaker. And we have a Tree of Woe, reinforced with duct tape. (Arsenal is like the Red Green of wrestlers!) Ooooh! FLAMING Singapore canes! While the Motivator of Madness and Arsenal discuss strategy, Iron Mike Patterson frees the Green Phantom. Green elbow drop! Green leg drop! Sit-out Phantom bomb! The Green Phantom puts a chair over Arsenal's face and we have a Green butt drop and another Green butt drop! The lackadaisical foot on the chest cover gets two. Chair propped in the corner backfires on the Green Phantom, but Arsenal is bleeding. Motivator of Madness interferes and Phantom delivers simultaneous shoulder Phantom bombs. And we have a heel sundae with a chair cherry. Green Phantom splashes the chair/heel sundae. Phantom handle Slam! Green Super-Kick! Singapore cane assisted Alabama Phantom Jam! Hey! When did they build that pyramid out of chairs on the floor outside of the ring? He's not going to... OH! MY! GOD! Sitout Phantom bomb onto the top of the pyramid. That is totally insane. The Green Phantom has green socks in case anyone was wondering. Green Phantom assembles a table in the ring. Top-rope Alabama Phantom Jam! Arsenal has a chair propped on his face, and the field goal is good! Three Points! Ten Count Puch-a-long leads to... well I don't know what that was, but it looked awkward as hell. Arsenal sunset flips Green Phantom and Green Phantom's head clips the table, twice! That gets two. Death Valley Driver! Before Arsenal can cover, Iron Mike Patterson hits a DDT? Iron Mike chair shot to the Motivator of Madness! Iron Mike chair shot to Arsenal! Green Phantom grabs Arsenal and drags him up on the table. Standing on the table, Green Phantom lifts Arsenal up behind his shoulder as though he was about to hit a Razor's Edge. Naaaah! He's standing on a table... OH! MY! GOD! Phantom's Edge onto the table! Dynamite Dan counts 1-2-3 amidst the wreckage at 1:32 (15:00? + 17:00?) Your Winner: El Fantomas Verto, The Green Phantom! Admittedly, I haven't seen much Lucha Libre, but I don't remember El Santo ever delivering a sit-out power bomb onto a chair pyramid or a Razor's Edge onto a table while standing on the table. I did like the old-school dickishness of sending out decoy, jumping the baby-face, and only then getting the time-keeper to ring the bell. There were a couple of awkward spots. My usual concerns about the escalation of violence in these matches apply. I'm not saying that a power-bomb onto a chair pyramid is a BAD thing, I just think that it is an acceptable way to end a match, and you don't have to get all K-Tel, "But wait there's more!" I'm also not a big fan of Hogan level baby-faces that can't be pinned no matter what you do to them. Finally letting ring announcers hit DDT's is just lowering standards all around. Let him an UNSKILLED move like a low blow or something.

Match#7 "The rules are... there are no fucking rules!" (But if that's a rule, then there's at least one rule, right? So technically there are rules, right? This is one of those - where do you file the book that indexes all the books that are indexes - type logic problems isn't it?) Dynamite Dan takes off his referee shirt to give to TNT so that he can guest referee. TNT gives him this "Why are you taking your shirt off" look, so Dynamite Dan gives him this "Because you specifically asked me to lend you my shirt you big goof!" look, so TNT is all "Oh yeah I forgot. Never mind, keep the shirt, you might have cooties." Clearly, TNT's greatest asset is not his mental acumen. The champion is out first just to piss me off, "at 195 pounds, from the California Modeling Agency, the SeXXX XXXpress, Triple X Sexxxy Eddy!" He is accompanied by a babe manager, very hot in red (well pink) leather as well as by the Motivator of Madness who I guess is his agent or something. Eddy throws out photos to the crowd. He is dressed in a gold & black vest, red bow-tie and black pants. (Because nothing says "HEEL!" like a red bow-tie.) Eddy's manager praises his commitment to training and brings out a girl from the back as a special treat. Eddy's special treat strips off the vest and the pants revealing red boxers. Eddy does the Edge ring hump on top of his special treat, before taking off his boxers to reveal gold-lame briefs. He then prevents his special treat from taking HER clothes off, and if that was supposed to piss me off, well it worked. "And his opponent, the Montreal Death-Match Champion, PCP Crazy Fucking Manny!" Match starts at 1:45. Eddy hits a twisting back-breaker and a running back-flip off the apron. Sex bomb gets one. Sex Valley Driver gets two. Small (sex) package gets a very slow one and Eddy & TNT exchange glares. Eddy drags into the ring a table covered in fluorescent bulbs, and Irish whips Manny into it back first. (OUCH!) Sexy cross body block from the top rope gets one, two, Johnny Ace! Eddy breaks one, two fluorescent bulbs on Manny's back and Manny's back looks like it's ready to be marinated and thrown on the grill. Sexy roll-up gets two. Sexyplex! Sexy flip from the top gets nada. Manny is bleeding. (Well, that's a surprise.) Eddy hits the Come-on line on Manny flipping him out of the ring. The Motivator of Madness decides it's time for management to intervene. Mad chair-shot! Once, twice, three times a lady! Sex Valley Driver on the cold concrete floor! Sexy leg drop from the apron! Season with chair-shots! Eddy rolled into the ring. Sexyplex! The Last Ride onto another fluorescent light table! The ring is covered in fluorescent dust. Oh look somebody's handed Eddy some barb-wire, cause Manny just ain't bleeding enough. Eddy grabs a sign from the crowd, props it onto Manny's face and we have a Sexy sit-out leg drop onto the sign, which gets two. Manny and Eddy head outside. While they fight into the crowd, someone hands TNT a broom and he starts sweeping the ring. (Ha!) While in the crowd, Manny finally gets some sustained offence in, hanging up Eddy on the barrier and hitting a Coke-line off the apron. Eddy turns it around with a bit of Bouncy-Bouncy and gets two which TNT counts with the broom! (HA!) When Eddy gets in TNT's face over his lack of professionalism, Manny gets up and hits a Fuck-You DDT. TNT sweeps the dust off Manny's back. (HA!) A Junkie Driver brings out the Commissioner. TNT goes to intercept, swings the broom... Ladies and Gentlemen we have a heel turn! Double Coke Line! Double Junkie Elbow Drop! Manny grabs both guys and we have a DDT with one hand and an Alabama Face Jam with the other! (Now THAT was impressive.) We have a Justice Pain run-in! (His arm is bandaged due to NINJA~ violence.) They spill into the crowd on the side opposite me, so I don't see much until the crowd murmurs get really loud and I notice Eddy directly across from me on the opposite balcony. The crowd scatters and I can see Manny laid out on a table below. FIVE WAD FROG SPLASH OFF THE BALCONY ONTO THE TABLE! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! Manny's scattered remains are rolled into the ring and it's all one... two... JOHNNY ACE! TNT grabs a sign which is held on top of Manny. Top Rope Tha Bomb onto the sign onto Manny! Justice Pain does a front flip onto the sign onto Manny! Sexxxy Eddy goes up top and we have an ugly split-legged moonsault (Sez here it's called Sex on the Beach. It's no From Here To Eternity, I can tell you that.) onto the sign onto Manny. Eddy pins Manny with the sign still on top of him at 2:10! (25:00?) Well, that was... violent. Overbooked all to hell, and there were a lot of spots that made me down-right uncomfortable in the JR, "Don't tell me that he knows how to take a fall! How do you learn to do that?" way. Still it seems churlish to criticize two guys who put their bodies on the line like this.

Well, the evening started badly, and it wasn't a total success, but it was well worth the $15 (CDN). Hopefully we'll see some NINJA~ representation on the next DVDVR 500. Or Carl Leduc will get called up to the majors and every one can rejoice in his SWEET~ knife-edged chops. Speaking of the DVDVR 500, I was just editing my notes and a small inaccuracy appears to have crept into my recap. It appears that Iron Mike Patterson did NOT in fact make mention of the DVDVR 500 in his introduction of Justice Pain. My bad.

And so we come to the end of the re-cap. 10164 words? What the hell is this: War & Peace? 10173 words?! Must... stop... typing... need... an... exit... line...

How's this? Until I finish typing 5000 words about the psychology of the punch,

I remain,
Yours truly,

Llakor
Llakor
[slash] wrestling