October 17, 2019, 09:30:45 AM

Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.

Topics - Lucy Blaylock

Pages: [1] 2 3
PPV / Respect, Choices, Cowardice (I of II vs Jester Smiles)
« on: July 24, 2012, 07:25:34 AM »



The sweat pour profusely from the face of Lunatikk Crippler, as he does push up after push up. The training for RISE has already begun, and RISE draws nearer and nearer every single day.


Crippler continues to push himself hard, up and down in a fluid motion. This is a night he has been waiting for for a very long time. This is a match he has been craving, salivating over since Reckoning Day.

This is a match he has needed since Revolution 93, when his professional life mixed with his personal one.

That was the day the line was crossed. That was the day everything changed, and the day Jester Smiles will soon live to regret.

For months now, I've stood by and watched Jester Smiles play his little games.

He's sneak attacked me after I had just got done wrestling nearly a full hour in defense of the Sin City Championship.

He's hit me from behind during one of the more brutal street fights I've ever found myself a part of.

He's cost me the Rule of Surrender championship.

He's struck, and then he's run, and when the time came for me to strike back?

His feet didn't fail him in his retreat.

I can take all that. I can deal with it. It's the nature of professional wrestling, and after fifteen long years in this industry, I think it's safe to say I've become more than accustomed to it.

But Jester Smiles took things further than he should have. He went over the line.

He laid his hands on my wife.

He held her captive, just to prove some kind of sick point to me. He tortured her psychologically, and emotionally, and because of his choices, his actions, my marriage has been affected.

Jester Smiles made this thing between us personal.

And THAT was a huge mistake.

The Crippler reaches over and picks up a white towel, which he proceeds to use to mop the swear off his face, and as well the floor. He's pulled himself into a seated position. He grabs a nearby bottle of water, cold by the looks of the condensation on the plastic, and takes a nice, long drink from it. He pulls up his knee, draping his arm across it, and resting his forehead against forearm. The workout is normally quite taxing, but Lunatikk Crippler has been pushing himself extra hard for this one.

The Crippler lifts his head, and looks to his right. The camera pans out, and we see what has caught his attention. Photographs and posters line the room. Pictures of Lunatikk Crippler, holding championships, smiling next to friends, and men Crippler has come to respect. A promotional picture featuring Jack Daniels and The Crippler, for a NWF Pay Per View, is prominent on the wall. Jack was never a friend, but through all the wars the two have had, mutual respect had blossomed between them, and that fight was as good as any other they've had, perhaps even better. A Falls Count Anywhere, Anything Goes brawl that ended up in the parking garage of the arena, a match that only ended when Daniels put Crippler through the retractable roof of a convertable, and was finally able to cover him for the three.

He looks further left, still, and it's a more recent picture. Lunatikk Crippler holding the SHOOT Project's Sin City Championship, the night he won the title at Master of the Mat. He's surrounded by group of people, including Loco Martinez and Rocky Stellar, Jaime Alejandro, and one of the men he defeated to win that gold, Maya Nakashima. Next to him, eyes sparking wide, smile lines on her face from the uncontained glee she shared with her husband, is Miko West.


When I came back to SHOOT Project, just over a year ago, I was only looking for one thing.

It wasn't money. I've made enough cash throughout my career that I didn't need to take the payday that Jason Johnson offered me, just to come work for him.

I came here for respect.

I wasn't stupid, either. I knew I'd have to start from scratch here. Pull myself up to the top, starting from the bottomest of bottoms. And that?

That was fine by me.

So I took on all comers. Whether it was Crazy Boy, or Alex Cruz, or Cronos Diamante. Didn't matter if it was Danny Corsair or Maya Nakashima.

I went out there with determination, drive, and heart. These three things that Jester Smiles seems to have forgotten.

And, to be modest, I think I've done pretty okay for myself. I'm the longest reigning Sin City Champion in history. I won the Sin City Championship Series. I lasted to the final four in the 50 man Redemption Rumble.

I made my mark in SHOOT Project history by defeating Tanya Black and Crazy Boy at Reckoning Day, the grandest stage in all of SHOOT.

In more than one full year, my shoulders have not yet been pinned, nor have I been forced to submit.

So, naturally, Jester, I was sure someone was going to come along and shit in my Cheerios, and sure enough, you made your grand return at Reckoning Day. And who know that in just a few short weeks, you'd change my life forever.

Crippler is standing now, face to face with the photo, face to face with his beautiful wife. The smile and the look in her eyes was so genuine, it was infectious. She was, to the truest definition of the word, happy for her husband. And he was happy, too. Happy that he was able to share in his moment with his wife, and his friends.

It's been a long time since he's seen that smile. That twinkle in her eyes.

Miko hasn't been herself. Since the incident with Jester, she has, for lack of a better term, withdrawn herself from her husband.

They argue. Most married couples do.

She no longer wants anything to do with professional wrestling, at all. She has stood firm on this for some time, now.

Problem with that is Crippler's brand new contract he had signed literally minutes before seeing his wife, scared for her life, broadcast across the world.

Perhaps the bigger problem is that Crippler's first love was, is, and always will be professional wrestling.

Miko hasn't spoken to him since she lectured him following the Sin City Street Fight. She really let him have it that night. After all the blood, all the carnage, and all the pain she saw her husband in, she could no longer contain herself. It was SHOOT.....or her.

Can I let you in on a little secret, Jester?

I'm not afraid of you.

You don't intimidate me, you don't scare me, you don't make my fucking knees shake.

You don't give me goosebumps, you don't make me jump at things that go bump in the night.

You make me want to fucking vomit.

You sit on your high horse, acting like you're doing us all favors, like you were sincerely trying to do me a solid when you put your hands on my wife, and scared the wits out of her.

Like you're some sort of deluded, tragic hero that nobody understand. I think they call that "emo".

You fancy yourself as some sort of Savior, and yet, you feel that no one is worth saving.

Except yourself. You're always willing to save yourself, first and foremost.

Just like every time things got physical between you and I. Did you ever SHOOT straight? Did ya come at me face to face, like a man would do?

No. You know damn well you did not. You slithered up from behind. You hit me when I was at my most vulnerable. My weakest.

Whether it was in the middle of a match, after a match, or a sucker punch from behind a wall of human meat shields, you never looked me in the eyes and popped me one.

That I could have respected. I WOULD HAVE respected it.

Instead, you floated from behind like a butterfly, you sting like a bee.

And you ran like a pussy.

That, Jester, makes you a filthy fucking coward. It makes you the lowest common denominator.

It makes you afraid.

I don't have any respect for cowards, Jester. Doesn't matter the situation. You made the bed, but instead of lying in it, you piss in it, and run away to find dry sheets.

And now, thanks to your latest stroke of genius, we get to play rough. The SHOOT Project absolved of any and all responsibility, will not be held liable for any bodily harm inflicted upon either one of us.

This close to RISE, and you change your gameplan. Well done.

It was killing him. The choice. He loves Miko, there's no doubt about that. But wrestling's all he's ever known. It's the only thing he's ever done where he's felt...important. Loved. Feared. Hated. All rolled into one.

Respected. Nothing quite gets the emotion flowing like this does.

Add to the fact that this all started with that fucking clown, that eats away at him like acid.

The Crippler balls up his fists and tears his gaze away from the picture. The decision is going to have to wait.

There's more training to be done. This fight isn't going to fight itself.

You knew it was coming. You absolutely knew we were gonna get signed, sooner or later, whether you like it or not.

So, you decided to do one last mind fuck.

The contract. Which I signed without a second glance. Just like, I'm sure, you knew I would.

I never said cowards couldn't be smart, Jester. I'm sure it's all been a part of your little game with me. I'm sure you've planned it down to every last detail, down from the moment your drew my name from your little lottery machine, to the point where we are today.

Counting down the days.



Twelve. It will go on and on until the clock reaches the final second of the final hour, and we're left with just you, and just me, and time has run out.

And then, Jester?

There's no more running.

There's no more games.

It's nut up or shut up. It's survival of the fittest. Dog eat dog.

It's Jester Smiles, the jaded evil clown versus Lunatikk Crippler.

The Whole Fucked Up Show.

The Sin City Street Fight was probably the best thing I could do to prepare myself for this fight. I know it's going to be brutal. Unforgiving. Twisted.

I know it is, because I'm going to make damn sure of it.

No rules. No count out, no DQ. Which means we go until there's a winner.

Or until one of us cannot continue any longer.

I hope you're truly prepared for all of this. All your games, your duck and run tactics, don't mean SHIT anymore.

All of our accomplishments, all of our accolades. Who gives a fuck?

All it's about now is fist meeting flesh. Steel meeting flesh.

Anything that's not nailed down? It's going to hit your flesh.

If I get bored enough, I'll pry up the nailed down shit and beat you with it, too.

Doubt it will come to that. Me getting bored, I mean. I've been waiting for this for such a long time, I can't believe we're so close to the fateful day.

I've even sent you an invite to the event on Facebook, just so you don't forget.

You also shouldn't forget a few things that I think you didn't take into account.

I'm still Lunatikk Crippler. I was hardcore before hardcore was cool.

I can be as Brutal and Inhuman as Adrian Corazon.

I can butcher a man better than Jonas Coleman.

I am every bit as sick and twisted as you'll ever be.

And more.

And at the end of the day?

Maybe you'll no longer be a coward.

Maybe you'll nut up.

But you will most definately fucking respect me.


Thunk thunk.



This is satisfying. Much more so than push ups could ever be.

Pounding away at the leather heavy bag, every thunk of a landed blow makes the tension in Lunatikk Crippler disappear.

It makes things less difficult. The pain, the indecision, the chance of losing it all.

None of it exists.

Because when you are punching something with that much weight...

With that texture...

And it makes a sound like you're punching a human being, one you despise?

It feels so fucking good.

Revolution / House of Cards (II of II vs Fury/Stone)
« on: June 13, 2012, 05:59:29 PM »
Split your focus.

Are you gonna have my back?

They'll never go for that!

-Lunatikk Crippler runs his text conversation with Johnny Napalm through his head. What was he thinking? Can he seriously admonish someone who's head isn't into any match right now?

Did he have any right to question whether or not Napalm would have his back against people he holds a vendetta against?

Who is he to talk about crazy ideas? And why should he care who goes for it?

He's Lunatikk Crippler. The Whole Fucked Up Show. His signature match, The Asylum, was too violent, even for New York standards.

Hell, he closed down the American Wrestling Tournament when he got crucified, live on the air.

As for focus?

Crippler proved that focus wasn't a problem for him. For months, the only thing on his mind was Jester Smiles: getting his hands on Jester, beating him without end, without mercy.

And for what? Revenge? Revenge for Jester's repeated assaults against him? Laying him out at Reckoning Day after he had won his biggest match yet to date in SHOOT Project?

Revenge for kidnapping and terrorizing his wife, Miko? Using his personal life, which was to be off limits, as a mind fuck to throw him off his game?

That's a different story for a different day, my friends.

This week, Crippler's story with Piper Fury continues, and with a new twist.

Now, Johnny Napalm has returned to seek vengeance against Piper. And Piper has brought along a new friend, Kevin Stone. The Predator. The man who mentored and taught Piper Fury has come to stand at her side in a war against the SHOOT Project's Joker, and Lunatikk Crippler is seemingly out of place.

But let's face it. Lunatikk Crippler, by reputation, is NEVER out of place in a Street Fight.

The screen fades in, and Lunatikk Crippler sits alone, the room dimly lit, at a casino style poker table. A deck of Bicycle playing cards, the clear ones, lay spread out in a line in front of him. Crippler looks down at them, his gaze not rising.-

The more things change, the more, it seems, they stay the same. I've heard what Johnny Napalm has had to say, and I've heard what Piper Fury and her good friend, Mr. The Predator, have had to say as well. I seem to be a bit confused. Usually, people are calling me out and giving me shit because I talk too much, I run my mouth. Now, it seems, Piper and her little friend are giving me shit because I've been quiet.

You think because I'm Lunatikk Crippler, that I don't know when to hold 'em, or know when to fold 'em, to quote "The Gambler"?

It's called "listening", Piper. Look it up. Go ahead. I'll wait.

-Crippler picks up the cards in his hand, and begins shuffling them, his eyes never leaving the deck.-

It's kinda obvious you haven't been listening, Miss Thing. You've got an attitude, and a big mouth, and now, with Johnny Napalm returning to SHOOT, a HUGE fuckin' problem on your hands. A 6'9, 290 psychotic problem, to be precise.

Maybe I'm not bosom buddies with Johnny Napalm. Maybe I don't like the guy, considering that he's the man who beat me for my very first World Championship. Maybe I don't like the guy, because I don't like his brother, or some of the other fucks I've met that come outta Deep Ellum, Texas.

But make no mistake: I don't have to like someone to respect them.

And I've been in the ring with Napalm, on countless occasions, the most recent one being here in the SHOOT Project.

I know what the man is capable of. I know what he can do with his bare fucking hands, let alone when he's wielding something heavy and blunt.

So, go ahead, and continue to underestimate him. Continue to talk about him, as if he were a joke.

Continue to bury him, make your snide comments, ridicule everything he says.

Have your laughs, guys. Because Johnny Napalm can crush your vocal chords like it was brittle glass.

-Crippler sets the deck down, and flips the top two cards: a pair of aces, hearts and spades.-

We'll bring the bullets. That's cute, Piper. Think of that one yourself? I get what you're talking about, I do. Don't bring a knife to a gun fight. We don't stand a chance against you, because Johnny Napalm is a part of our team.

This is coming from the woman who told me that I wouldn't be able to beat her, because I've got Jester Smiles on the brain.

The same woman I nailed to The Cross last week at Revolution.

-The Crippler flips the next three cards: Ace of Clubs, Two of Diamonds, Three of Clubs.-

One, Two, and Three. Your winner, me. "The Whole Fucked Up Show." So much for your little theory, huh, that I couldn't get the job done, because you aren't Jester Smiles.

But that was a taste. An appetizer, if you will. The main course is gonna be served up this week at Revolution number 96. A Sin City Street Fight. Two on Two, no rules.

I gotta admit, you're right: I was expecting you to have a Jester up your sleeve to match my Joker. I've seen you around here, and I've seen Mason as well. The whole lot of you are a bunch of the biggest opportunists I've ever seen. Can you honestly blame me for thinking you might have tried to set me up for Jester Smiles just so you could get your hand raised?

-Crippler flips the next card, the King of Hearts. The Suicide King.-

Kevin Stone. The man they call Predator. A mountain of a man. The fans in the SHOOT Project Epicenter may have heard of you, may even have LIKED you at one point, but I have no clue who you are. You're big, I'll give you that. I'm sure you've got some power in you.

But you're stepping into the ring with a man who defies size. A man who can take a man who looks like the Arnold Schwarzenegger type of Predator and making him look like a Chris Hansen type of Predator.

I don't care what you've accomplished. I'm sure it means a lot to you, but until I've tested you for myself, it means dick to me. You won't get a single ounce of my respect until I know what you can do, and it ain't gonna matter how big you are. You could be over seven feet tall, over four hundred pounds of solid muscle, but if I kick you in the nuts enough times, you'll fall down, cryin' for mama to kiss it and make it better.

Yeah, I said it. I'll kick you in the nuts. Piper, too. I'll do whatever I wanna do. There's no rules, remember? A Sin City Street Fight. And who better to be inolved than Mr. Sin Fucking City?

So I'm going to kick you in the nuts. I'm going to bash your faces in with a chair. I'm going to bludgeon you with whatever isn't nailed down. That's the name of the game, the nature of the beast. You mess with the bull, you get the horns. Insert random cliche here, please.

Not like you two are gonna play it fair anyway, huh? I mean, you sit there, making your little wisecracks at the expense of Johnny Napalm, talking about how I got roped into this, you just want Napalm blah blah blah. Truth is? You guys are scared of him. He's unpredictable. He's a loose cannon. He's a wild card. They don't call him the SHOOT Project's resident Joker for nothing, you know.

And you went and pissed him off? For shame.

Truth is, maybe I wasn't all that convinced at first. Maybe I didn't wanna team with Napalm, didn't want to help him out with the two of you. Maybe I had other things on my mind. Maybe I still do.

Maybe that was before you put your hands on his girlfriend. You kidnapped Sakura. Sure, maybe she's not innocent. Maybe she ran her mouth a little bit, but c'mon, Leona already had a match with her.

But if you wanna sit here and applaud me for telling you how our match was gonna go down, and then turn around and do the exact same shit that Jester Smiles did to my fucking WIFE?

Shit's on, now.

Now, I can't sit back. Not that I had any intentions of simply letting you do what you wanted to do, anyway. I love a good fight. And I can expect that with you, Piper. I know that now, after our match last week. I just can't believe you'd pull the same shit with Napalm that got pulled on me, right in front of my face.

All you're doing is building a house of cards. Sure, that takes skill, and Piper, I know you have skill. And if this Predator of yours is the one who taught you what you know, maybe he's got skill, too. I'll find out for myself, because I don't feel like just taking your damn word for it.

But a house of cards is still a house of cards. All it takes is a little nudge..

-Crippler picks up the rest of the deck of cards and squeezes the ends of the deck, until the cards SHOOT out from the pressure. They flight straight, a couple actually hitting the camera.-

And now we're playing Fifty-Two card pick up. Who's gonna pick up the pieces when I put you in your place YET AGAIN? Mason? No, he's got enough on his plate if he wants to beat X-Calibur and go on to become World Champion.

Fact is, all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together, and they won't have any more luck than that when Napalm and I leave you in a broken, bloody heap after the Sin City Street Fight.

And you only have yourselves to thank for that. Piper, Stone, I'd wish you luck at Revolution, but it may already be too late for you, not that you'd get that impression listening to the pair of you. Ya'll think your shit don't stink.

But it does stink, Piper. It stinks like shit.

Hope you feel it was worth it, kidnapping someone for a bit of leverage. It works, believe me.

But you may not like the results of those actions. You'll see. Don't worry.

-The Crippler lifts his head, and his gaze falls for the first time straight into the camera, seemingly trying to stare into the eyes of Piper and Stone, one last look of warning before all hell breaks loose at Revolution.-[/i]


The following is a text message conversation between Lunatikk Crippler on Johnny Napalm on the morning of Wednesday June 13th.

I'm sorry.

For what?

Doubting you.

I know you'll have my back this week, and I yours.

Yeah, I got that.

No promises on the outcome, and no promises that Jester Smiles won't get involved.

We'll cross that bridge if we have to.


Just be ready to fight, they won't stand a chance.

For the shit they've done to you?

The shit they've done to Sakura?

You shouldn't be worried about them standing a chance.

THEY should be worried about just being able to STAND.


Revolution / Mistakes (II of II vs Piper Fury)
« on: May 27, 2012, 11:21:04 AM »
"Just a couple more miles."

-Lunatikk Crippler runs on a treadmill. Sweat is pouring from his forehead, and from pores across his body. There is a ring of sweat across the neckline of his muscle shirt as he continues his jogging pace, going at an incline. A television plays in front of him, no volume. Normally, The Crippler takes his run outside in the sun, regardless of the desert heat of Las Vegas. Normally, he has a smile on his face during his workout. Today, he remains in his house, shut up from the outside world. There is no smile on his face. He merely continues to run as if being chased very slowly. He hasn't left his house very much since the problems with his wife began, since Jester Smiles decided to put his hands on the love of his life. More than a few times, Crippler has gone to his regular bar, coming home drunk, but it didn't matter. Miko hasn't slept in the house since the incident. For some reason, unknown to The Crippler, she blamed HIM for everything. Him and the SHOOT Project.

The Crippler punches a button on the treadmill, and his pace slows to a walk. Cooldown mode. He reaches over and picks up a bottle of water, that is obviously cold by the way that condensation rolls down the bottle. He takes a gulp of it and punches another button, abandoning the cooldown. He hops off the treadmill, plopping down into a nearby chair. He grabs a nearby gym towel, and wipes his face, before pouring some of the water on his head. The water rolls off his face in beads, and he dabs at his face with the towel again.-

Fifteen years. Fifteen years I've been in professional wrestling, and I've faced some of the absolute best that the business has to offer. Men. Women. Teams. It don't matter. It never does.

The only thing that ever mattered was the thrill of competition. Going out to that ring, leaving everything I've got in the middle of it. Win. Lose. Draw. There's no better feeling in the world than when you walk back past that curtain, knowing you've stolen the show, knowing that you've just had the best match of your career.

I've had countless "best matches". I've had numberless show stealers, and I know, for a fact, that I'm not done yet.

Right now, this is all I've got. My personal life will take a backseat as I finish my preparations for Revolution 95, and Piper Fury.

You know, the women who ALMOST
-Crippler holds his thumb and forefinger up to the camera, very close together to signify how close Fury was to winning the gold- became Sin City Champion. I know all about being Sin City Champion. There isn't a person in SHOOT who has matched my reign in that division. I've held it longer, and I've defended it more than anyone, and Piper Fury scraped that ceiling, and couldn't break through.

Glad to see you aren't moping about your near win this past week. But I have to say, that your focus seems to be a bit off. You're putting too much stock in the fact that I enjoy a nice, stiff drink once in a while. You're putting me in a hole already, because I'm pissed off, at Jester Smiles. I don't expect a heartless harpy like yourself to relate to what I'm going through, so I'll forgive your ignorance this time.

But don't get me wrong: no matter how angry I am, no matter how badly we insult each other, you and I both know, that there's a tiny bit of respect there. It doesn't matter if I've done more in SHOOT than you have, or if I've done more outside of SHOOT. It doesn't matter if you put all your eggs in the MMA basket, spouting off the different styles of karate you know, and don't know anything else. Personally, you need to know everything you can about every style of wrestling, or you will find yourself with huge, gaping weaknesses, leaving yourself open for all kinds of attacks.

But you take me for granted. You think because I'm angry, you think because I'm not happy with Jester Smiles, and that I may be having some personal issues, that I don't have enough to take you down. You think I don't have what it takes to beat you, just because I have more than one thing on my mind.

That's your first mistake. You think too much. You ASSUME too much. You know what they say about people who assume? Well, you won't be making an ass out of me, at least.

But you need to get it through your thick ass skull that I'm not some ordinary jabroni, like Reed Brown. You need to remember that I was the longest reigning Sin City Champion for a damn REASON. You think I haven't gone into matches before, worrying about something else, having another person on my brain? To think, you have been a champion before, you should know that you have to always have eyes in the back of your head. You have to be able to multitask, so to speak.

Champion or no, you have to think you're always a target. Doesn't matter where your focus is, you have to be able to split it. Right now, my focus is on Jester Smiles, whether he wants to exact a little bit of revenge for the beating I put on him a couple weeks ago, and facing off with you.

Are you focused on me?

Only me?

Then, you've made another mistake. You've made enemies, Piper. Particularly, one enemy in Johnny Napalm. I know him, and I know his family. They....love vengeance. They love to hurt people who have hurt them, especially when they have been hurt in such an underhanded way. And especially if their loved ones are targeted. Didn't you jump him and put him on the shelf? Didn't you and Mason Pierce's arm candy try to do the same to the woman he loves?

Then think of this as a teaser, a preview of sorts. Whenever Napalm is cleared to return, he's going to come gunning for you. For what you did to him? Sure. But mostly, for what you have done to Sakura. Maybe you'll get a taste of what he's going to bring your way when you step into the ring, as I still plan on treating you exactly as I plan on treating Jester Smiles. And if you're still worried about focus, worried about me being pissed off, me wanting revenge on someone else?

You'll make a mistake. Don't count on anything, Piper. Don't count on me making mistakes. Don't count on Jester Smiles to come and save your ass. Don't count on me taking anything easy on you.

Don't pretend that I can't hurt you. Don't pretend that I don't want to. Don't think for a hot second that I can't end your career in the middle of the ring if I wanted to. There's a damn REASON they call me Crippler, even to this day: it's not just a nickname. There's a reason I'm "The Whole Fucked Up Show".

It's because I'm unpredictable. Notice I didn't say unstoppable. Don't think that I don't know you have got what it takes to pin my shoulders down for three seconds. As I've said, there's a bit of respect there. I'd be a fool not to think that you are less than capable. I'd be an idiot to go on and on about you making mistakes, and not thinkning for one second that you'll try and capitalize in any way, shape or form.

Wrong place, wrong time? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I said that. Glad you caught on. So you aren't Jester Smiles. You're Piper Fury. Glad you're able to remember what your damn name is. You're gonna have a bit of trouble remembering stuff like that after Revolution, so I'm glad your short term memory is still functional right now.

Just don't forget what you said: you're a predator. A hungry and, dare I remind you of what you said, a pissed-off predator.

So you go off on me for being pissed off, and how that's a mistake you're going to capitalize on in order to beat me, and now YOU'RE pissed off?

Did I touch a nerve, Piper, or are you just a hypocrite? It's cool for you to go into a match angry, but if I do it, I'm stupid? If you're pissed off, you have the advantage, but if I'M pissed, you have the advantage? Wow, did I say I respected you? How can anyone expect such gifted logic such as that? In case you aren't paying attention, that was sarcasm.

It really doesn't matter what either of us says anymore, Piper. It doesn't matter what I call myself, The Whole Fucked Up Show, Mr. Sin City, etcetera. It doesn't matter if you're a knockout, a vixen, or whatever.

All that matters is fists, and feet, and me stretching you more than Laffy Taffy. Revolution is upon us, Piper, and you had BEST be prepared for me. Be prepared for the fight of your life. And be prepared to lose. Because when you step into that ring with me, and the bell rings, and you're still in there?

That'll be your final fucking mistake.

Revolution / Wrong Place, Wrong Time (I of II vs Piper Fury)
« on: May 21, 2012, 06:46:55 AM »
"Gimme another."

"You sure about that, chief? You've had a few already."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you knew how much liquor I could take better than me. I said, another. Please."

"Pfft, fine."

-A man sits alone at a bar. A few of the tables in the establishment are filled, but he's the only one sitting up with the bartender, who pours some Jack Daniels into a glass, and hands it to the man. Lunatikk Crippler takes the drink, and sips it. He's one week removed from the assault he laid on Jester Smiles at Revolution He remembers how it felt, Bitchifying Jester in the center of the ring, hearing the rapid "thump" of Smiles tapping out on the canvas. This, finally, brings a smile to his face.-

Jester Smiles thought he was gonna keep me out of Revolution. He thought he was gonna waltz in and make a mockery of someone like El Asso Wipo, and get off clean for what he did to me. For what he did to my WIFE.

-Crippler takes another sip of his drink. He sets the glass down, keeping his eyes on the glass.-

It doesn't matter if I get banned from an arena, and it doesn't matter if the brass wants to levy down a fine or suspension against me. Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody messes with my family.

-Crippler nurses his drink with another sip. He still isn't looking into the camera, but at the drink in his hands, which, despite the barman's protests, are steady.-

But I'll have to admit, Jester: you won that particular battle. You've made my wife resent my choice of profession. You've made her see the ugly side of wrestling. Does it make you feel like a big man, picking on defenseless women? I'm sure it does, you have a track record of doing that. It wasn't all THAT long before you tucked tail and ran away from a fight with The Real Deal that you brought out a brand new interviewer to the ring and assaulted her. And that was without provocation.

-The Crippler grins. He sips his drink once more, and swirls the liquid lightly in the glass.-

Congratulations. My wife resents me, she wants me to quit wrestling. Leave SHOOT. As if I could. That contact I went to sign when you put your hands on the woman I love? It got signed. I'll be here another two years, at least. So much the better for me, so much the worse for you. Congratulations, Jester, you're in my head. The tricky part is trying to find your way out of it.

-Crippler drains the glass, and bangs it on the bar. The bartender looks at him, slightly annoyed, but refills the glass anyway. Crippler nods his acknowledgement.-

You got your fun at Wipo's expense, but do you see what it cost you? It cost that poor, mute luchadore, as well, though his headache will be easier to remedy than your pride. I got you, Jester, right in the middle of that ring. I had you tapping OUT. Doesn't matter if it was a match, or if it wasn't, the fact remains I had you at my damn mercy, and you were powerless to stop it.

And now, I wait. I wait to see what you'll do next, because the ball's in your court now. I know there has got to me gears turning in your head already, thinking of some fresh new way to exact a measure of revenge. And whatever diabolical plans you may concot will probably work, too. And that's fine. I enjoy a game of chess as much as the next guy, so no matter your next move, it'll just bring you one step closer to being checkmated.

-Crippler takes another sip of his drink, and finally raises his gaze to the camera. You can see the steely resolve in his eyes. He lowers his gaze once again.-

But before that happy day, it seems I have other business to attend to. Piper Fury. The woman who ALMOST became Sin City Champion. Don't worry, Piper, I'm sure there will come a time where you'll get another crack at that particular strap. Hell, it may be me holding it: I'm still contractually owed a return match, even if Dan Stein is no longer champion. But I digress. This is neither about titles, nor title shots.

This is merely about pride. This is just a contest between two competitors who know exactly what it means to hurt and be hurt. Don't you worry your pretty little head about where mine is gonna be at when the bell rings. In fact, you should probably hope that I'm more focused on Smiles than on you. That'll give you the edge, wouldn't you agree? Yeah, I'm sure you would. You're all about getting the edge. Why else would you have laid out Johnny Napalm the way you did? Why else would you have put the man on the shelf? I'm certain it wasn't fear. Not the tough as nails hellcat named Piper Fury. Not the woman who talks tough and carries a dangerous weapon. Nah, you weren't chewing your fingernails worrying about Johnny Napalm. You just wanted an advantage.

-Crippler smirks, and takes another drink. Some of the other patrons behind him leave cash on their table and make their way out of the bar.-

Don't worry. I'm not judging. I'm not gonna talk down to you. I know you can fight. I know you can let it all hang out, though, admittedly, not the parts that the men in the audience most wish to see. You're tough. You're capable. You're brash. That's cool.

But you're stepping in the ring with Lunatikk Crippler, and tough, capable, brash, or any other kind word I can throw at you isn't gonna be enough. I can sing your praises all damn day, and what'll it get me? Just a bit drunker, I guess, because my friendly barkeep will have to keep the Old Number Seven a-flowin'. Good for business, but I digress.

I'm not here to be your friend, Piper. You've got enough of those, and I don't need any more right now. What I need to do is get my hands around Jester Smiles' throat and squeeze, over and over again. What I did, while I enjoyed it, and while Jester deserved it, was not enough.

Unfortunately, it seems I can't get the man out of my head. Not an infatuation, more like...an obsession, I guess you could say. Jester has played a lot of games with me, young lady, dating back to Reckoning Day, after I put the supposed Alpha Female and Crazy Boy down and had them tapping as if they were Puttin' On the Ritz.

Unfortunately, I don't WANT Jester Smiles out of my head. I want him to pay for the things he's done to me. I want him to fucking suffer, and I don't think he's suffered enough.

Unfortunately, you're the speed bump that's in my road to getting him in the ring.

-Crippler takes another sip from his drink, and stares into the camera, a penatrating gaze. Cold, calculating.-

Unfortunately, for you, that's not a place you want to me.

Because all the frustration, all the anger, all the rage that I have built up inside of me, I get to take that out on you now. There's a difference between me and Jester: he picks on women who can't defend themselves, whilst I fight men or women that I know CAN. You certainly fit that bill, and that's a shame for you.

You've had it fairly easy these past few weeks, Piper. You get to do what you do, go after championships, and, with Napalm on the shelf, no fear of reprisals, of him exacting revenge upon you. In other words, no care in the world.

-Crippler drains his glass again, and sets it down. He again drops his gaze to the glass, as if it were the only thing in the world right now.-

Must be nice. I envy that, I really do. Since Reckoning Day, I've either been looking over my shoulder, or plotting revenge, or both. I'm sure you could appreciate that.

But don't get me wrong. My focus may be on Jester Smiles, but this week, I'll be gunning for YOU. I don't expect you to hand your ass to me on a platter, wrapped in paper, topped with a bow. I expect a fight. I expect a brawl.

And I expect to beat you. I expect to pummel you. I expect to flat out, no doubt out wrestle you. You're the perfect opponent for me, to prepare myself for an eventual encounter with that fucking clown. Your styles are similar. You both come out with that MMA crap as if it makes you tougher, as if it gives you some sort of a leg up because you can punch and kick hard, but it don't matter how big you are, or how accurately you can punch: I'll still beat you. I'll still knock you silly, and tie you up like a balloon animal. I'll drop you on your head so hard, your brain will rattle around in your skull. Go ahead and make your puns about weapons of mass concussion, but I'm gonna be the one who makes you cry home to momma.

-Crippler looks up at the barkeep, as he comes over and pours Crippler another round.-

"This one's on me, kid."

-Crippler cocks an eyebrow at the man who was ready to cut him off just moments before, but raises his glass and tips it in his direction. Crippler takes a sip, and nods appreciatively.-

Don't think I'm just some sad sack, here in some bar to drown his sorrows. It don't matter what's going on in my personal life right now. This, and I'm sure your friend Leona can relate, is just business. You said it yourself, we don't have any beef, yet. And I like you. Not very much, but I like you. You aren't just some conceited little brat like Tanya Black, but you have an edge to you.  But are you going to be able to say there's no beef after Revolution, when I bend you into positions most men would probably drain their savings accounts to bend you in? When I Bitchify you, right in the center of the ring, with all the spotlights glaring down at us, flashbulbs popping in all directions as the SHOOT Project faithful are snapping their pictures of your hand slapping the mat in surrender?

I'm glad you wanted a fight, because you're gonna get one. And you're gonna get one from one of the best in the business, no question. You talked about the Sin City Championship that Laura Seton was "lucky enough" to retain, but you should remember, I was the man who held that title longer than anyone, and regardless what Dan Stein may say, I'm still Mr. Sin City. I went through fierce competition to win that nickname, and it's not one I take lightly.

Don't worry about any Honor Guard. Everyone has their own agenda now. Jaime is chasing ghosts, Cronos is on the shelf, and as for me?

-Crippler shrugs, and sips his drink.-

Well, I've always done things my own way, anyway. But don't be fooled: I'm the best Sin City has to offer, and at Revolution, I'm going to prove it.

And if you get hurt in the process? Sorry, but that won't be my fault. It'll just be a case of wrong place, wrong time. Unfortunately, you'll be getting a taste of the viciousness I have in store for Jester Smiles. In fact, once the bell rings? You might as well be him.

In fact, you WILL be him.

And, sorry to say, that leaves you pretty well screwed. All that's left is to lay back and count the lights.

There's no tears in my beer. After I beat you, how salty will YOUR ale be?

-Crippler drains his glass yet again, and turns it upside down on the bar. He gets up from his stool, wallet out, and pulls a c-note from it, leaving it on top of the glass, before he walks away.-

SHOOT Project Discussion / Revolution 94: The Promos
« on: April 28, 2012, 07:16:45 PM »
I'll kick this off.

I'm not surprised at the quality of rps for the SCC battle royal.  Just wish everyone involved would have gotten their first up by now. Especially Reed Brown, who is getting a title shot from the get go and needs to prove himself, and am missing Henry Brown. Also I see CB has been on the boards for a few minutes now, so I definately hope that he's working on his first. Also, I haven't received any strats, except from Laz. Now, I know that I'm sure to receive from Mason and MJ, but Id like to get one from as many people as possible so I can make this a good match for you. I've got ideas, but as of right this second, not enough to fill a 30 minute battle royal. Big shoutouts to MJ on the return of JGB. Favorite frenchman ever.

Totally dug the firsts from B and Trey. Totally psyched for these matches.

Great display of dickedness from Jester on his first. Can't wait for the followup.

Let's keep it going guys! We rule!

Storyline & Character Development / Before and Aftermath
« on: April 25, 2012, 04:51:23 AM »
Revolution 93

-The show is in full swing right now, and we are backstage. Why are we backstage? I didn't want to come here. I just wanted a normal night out with my husband, without wrestling getting in the way.-


"Hmm? Yes, love?"

"You don't really wanna be here right now, do you?"


"Not really, no."

-I wish he wouldn't smile at me like that. I feel helpless, like I can't control myself.-

"Don't worry, love of mine, we won't be here long. Got a text from the boss. My new contract is ready."

-The new contract I didn't want you to sign?-

"Something wrong?"

-Guess I was obvious.-

"No, love. I just wish..."


"Oh, William, I wish we could just be....normal. Just you and me. No more wrestling."

"Miko, we've talked about this."

-No, YOU'VE talked about this. You won't listen to what I have to say.

"I know. So I'm selfish, and I want you all to myself. Is that wrong?"

"No, my love. It isn't. But I like what I do. I love it. It's the first thing that ever made me feel alive. I thought you understood."

"I do. I just....Don't want anything bad to happen to you. I already lost my brother.."

-There I go again. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes already.-

"I remember what happened to Eike. Sweetie, I know you still miss him. I do too."

"But WHY? We don't need money. We don't need fame."

"Just each other, right?"


"I know how you feel.."

-No you don't.-

"And I wish I could put into words why I need to do this. I really, truly do."

"*sigh* You aren't going to change your mind, are you?"

"I'm sorry, but no. Look, I won't be long. Just enough time to put pen to paper, and we're done. Why don't you go say hi to Laura? She should be near the dressing rooms."


"Don't fine me. You'll understand someday, love. Trust me."

-A kiss on the cheek. Even still, it gives me shivers down my back, and makes hairs on my neck stand up. That smile again, and he goes into a room with his boss, leaving me alone. Sure, it's not that long. That's not the point. Our night alone is the point. Our...who's that?-

Later that night.

"Miko? MIKO? What happened to you? Snap out of it!"


"MIKO?! Answer me! Please?"


"Man? What man? What did he do to you?"

"He...locked me in a room."

"Did he hurt you?"



"What did he want? Why did he take you? I've been looking all over for you!"

"He,,,,he said that....you shouldn't have brough me here."

"He WHO? Who did this to you, my love?"

"He...he said..."

-I don't know his name. What do you want me to tell you?-

"S-sm...Smiles Cam."

-No. Not that look. I don't ever want to see that look on your face again. Not since Jakob..

"I'll kill him."

"Please! Let's go! Let's just go home!"

"I will fucking kill Jester Smiles."

"Don't you see? If you hadn't brought me here, this wouldn't have happened!"

"What? This isn't my fault, Miko! That bastard took you! Who knows where you were, or what he could have done?"

"And I wouldn't have been in that position if you didn't have to sign your stupid contract!"


"I want to go home. I don't ever want to come back here. Take me home."

"But I..."

"Take. Me. Home."

-And calm the hell down. I didn't want you to do this to begin with, I don't need you doing something stupid. Like murder.-

Sports and Fighting / Baseball stuff
« on: April 13, 2012, 06:11:36 AM »
I like baseball. I know some of you (B) hate it, but I don't hate it.

I am not in love with my Cubbies being in the basement of NL Central. But I am liking the pitching of Samardzija and Garza thus far. Now, they just need to win more than the game at the end of a series, and I'll be happy.

-Fifteen years.

Nearly fifteen years have passed since Lunatikk Crippler made his professional wrestling debut for the American Wrestling Tournament. A decade and a half since he first stepped into the ring, and started facing off with the cream of the crop. He's gone through a lot of wars over the years, and has been scarred, literally and mentally, by the things he's seen and done.

We see Lunatikk Crippler home, alone. Miko won't be home for another couple of hours, so he has the time to himself. He rests comfortably in his trophy room, a room in his home dedicated to his wrestling career. We can't tell what color the walls are, as there is so many pieces of memorabilia, from posters to programs to championship titles. The last time we were in here, was months ago, during SHOOT Project's World Tour. The Crippler eyes the empty case with the plate reading "NYSWF World Championship" underneath as if he were looking at it yesterday, speaking out to Jack Reed.

Jack. A man whom many of the SHOOT Project fans have come to forget, but Lunatikk Crippler will always remember. A friend, back in the day, but also a rival. It is because of Lunatikk Crippler's reckless actions that the man once known as "The Walking Triple Threat" is no longer active in SHOOT, and also no longer active at all, laying in a hospital in New York City, comatose. It's a night that haunts Lunatikk Crippler to this day.

In a little less than a week, Lunatikk Crippler will enter the SHOOT Project Epicenter and take on Maya Nakashima for the Rule of Surrender championship. The irony of the situation is that when Lunatikk Crippler lost control and put Jack Reed on the shelf, it was on the eve of Master of the Mat, where Lunatikk Crippler defeated Maya and Jean-Gerard Baptiste to win the Sin City Championship Series. The Crippler cannot help but think about that moment, even though he is completely focused on the task at hand, going after his second championship reign in SHOOT.

Crippler is focused, currently, on a scrapbook that rests in his lap. He's put this together himself, with photos and press cuttings from all around the world. The book rests open, with a picture of Crippler smiling, standing with his friend, rival, and former partner, "The Madman" Spiral. The duo are holding the NWF Tag Team Championships, newly won, with blood dripping down the forehead of The Crippler. How one could be so joyful with their own bodily fluids pouring from their skull, this picture I guess can attest to that. Crippler closes the book now, and sets it on a table to the side of his chair. He leans forward, placing a hand on the side of his face. His head is tilted, but he looks straight into the camera.-

Forgive me. I've had some time to myself lately, and I cannot help but feel a little sentimental at times. I've had a good long career, that by most accounts, isn't even close to being over. I've been going for so long, it's easy to forget that I'll be turning 32 this year.

A lot of people will say that in this business, you either make friends, or you make money. I've been pretty fortunate, in the respect that I have made both. It seems that no matter what company I've worked for, there's always been someone I've just clicked with. Someone that I'm comfortable enough to travel with, share part of my life with, trust implicitly. There isn't a whole lot of that here, since we don't do a whole lot of traveling. But still, I'd like to say I have my share of friends. And I have my share of people I respect.

I can't start the list off unless I make mention of perhaps my oldest friend, Loco Martinez. Yeah, I know he's done here in SHOOT, but all the same, it was good working with Loco again. The stories I could tell about being on the road with that guy will either make your hair curl, or make you piss your pants. Or both. Then there's Jaime. I didn't know a whole lot about the guy, to be sure, until I faced him in the ring. With every chop, every slap, every punch, my respect for him grew.

Yes, Maya, I do have a point. The point I have is, I'm really not that sure in which category I should place you.

Maybe we don't hang out. We don't go out to bars, or out to dinner. You've not been to my place, nor have I been to yours.

But you've always been polite. Cordial. Every single time I've seen you. Every single time I've faced you. The nature of this business would say we would need to be rivals, and maybe we are, but there's no rule in any book that says that rivals can't be friends.

And on the same side of the coin, there's a mutual respect there. We don't have to talk about it. I don't need to keep bringing it up. It's just there. The way we talk to one another, the way we sit and be honest and frank with each other for the world to see. It's as plain as the bandana you used to wear on your nose.

But, I have to be honest with you. Hell, I'm sure I won't be telling you anything you don't already know from experience.

I get extremely competitive. Especially when championship gold is on the line.

This is something you'll need to get used to, especially since you're gonna be defending that Rule of Surrender strap in every match you compete in, provided, that you can get by me this Monday night.

Some people will go to great lengths to become champion. Of any kind. Of this, you already have first hand experience. Case and point: the way Baptiste beat you to become Sin City Champion. The way Dan Stein is now Sin City Champion.

The disgusting way X-Calibur won the Redemption Rumble, in order to become our World Heavyweight Champion.

It's everywhere, Maya. Evil is prevalent not just in SHOOT, but in the world as we know it.

That? That's why we fight.

It's why I busted into Cronos Diamante's locker room before Reckoning Day, and told him and Jaime to their faces that I was with them, and not against them. It's why I offered my services to the Honor Guard.

It's why Jonas Coleman and Jun Kenshin live and breathe. The Shield of SHOOT and the Defender of Faith.

It's what keeps Jaime Alejandro ticking as he wages war with Project: SCAR. It's the reason he never gave up, though he could have and nobody would have thought less of him, no matter how much abuse Obsidian had to give him.

It's what has made you the man you are today, the CHAMPION you are today.

-The Crippler sits up straight now, grinning ear to ear.-

I don't need to tell you about the things you've gone through with X-Calibur anymore than you have to remind me of the things I did to Jack Reed. It's been months, and I still hate myself a little bit every single day about what I did to Jack, who was a friend. He could wake up tomorrow and that friendship could be out the window, and I'd understand.

But I don't give up hope, Maya.

For anything. For SHOOT, for Jack, for my very soul.

I've had a lot of blood stain these hands over my career. Some of it my own. And now, looking back, with the exception of the day before the Sin City Championship Series came to an end, I wouldn't change a thing.

If it weren't for the horrible things that I've done, Maya, I wouldn't be the same person that I am today, that is speaking to you now. If it weren't for the horrible things that were done TO ME, I wouldn't truly be able to appreciate the place I'm at today.

Or the spot that I'm in. In less than a year, I've cemented myself as a contender here in SHOOT, a status that there are people on the roster who are still fighting for that.

I've held championship gold and yes, I'm sorry to say, I let it go right to my head. But rather than obsess over it, rather than mope and throw myself a pity party in my honor, I've taken the experiences and I've learned from them. I've grown because of them, not just as a wrestler, but as a man.

Yeah, I'm still Lunatikk Crippler. I'm the guy who demanded a bunch of goofy shit when he signed his contract, including a football helmet filled with cottage cheese, three dozen red M & M's, and a porno mag subscription. I'm still the guy who came in here a little less than a year ago, giving people purple nurples, noogies, wedgies, and the dreaded Indian Burn.

But I'm still Lunatikk Crippler. The guy who would come in and not be stopped. The man who debuted against two former Legacy World Champs, got his lip busted open, and still pulled out the submission victory. The guy who would step up against all comers, no matter how badly he was beaten, and give every last thing he had to try and not only survive, but win.

And I'm still Lunatikk Crippler. I'm the foul-mouthed, take no shit from anyone "Whole Fucked Up Show" that can make any person on the SHOOT Project payroll Tap. Out.

That includes you.

It doesn't matter how much I respect you, and trust me, it's a great deal. It won't matter how much you may respect me in return.

The fact of the matter is when we are surrounded by four posts, three ropes, and thousands of screaming fans, wanting to see us give every last bit of energy we have to beat the shit out of each other to the point one of us has to submit?

I won't give up.

The problem is that neither will you.

And that's good, Maya. Because I don't want you to.

Don't get me wrong, I want the Rule of Surrender title, and I DO NOT want to hurt you.

But I want the competition. I want to be in the ring with someone, instead of resorting to cheap tactics, resorts to their heart, their fighting spirit, their determination to win. Succeed. Prove without a shadow of doubt that they deserve to be in the spot their in.

That someone is you, Maya. And for you, that someone is me.

-McCarran International Airport. Revolution 91 has came and went, and now we are here. Lunatikk Crippler sits in the airport bar, nursing a drink that looks a lot like a nice, cold glass of Pepsi. Believe it or not, there is a smile across his face, even though just days ago, he was defeated, by hook or crook, by Dan Stein for the Sin City Championship that he held most dear. He checks his watch before taking another sip of his icy carbonated beverage. The smile widens, however, when he notices the camera sticking in his face.-

Here to get my candid comments about losing to Dan Stein, are you? I bet this is the point where I'm supposed to bitch and complain about being screwed out of the Sin City Title that I worked so hard to win, even harder to defend, harder still to make mean something in SHOOT Project. I suppose this is where I'm supposed to make my excuses and swear an undying revenge upon Dan Stein for taking the title from me, right? Or should I flip out and be all obsessed-like, claiming that the Sin City Championship is my destiny, and that I won't be without it for very long.

That isn't going to happen.

Please, don't misunderstand me. Am I upset that I lost the gold at Revolution? Yes, I am. No doubt about it. That's probably why I've been here, drowning my sorrows in a rich, full glass of Pepsi cola. Does it piss me off that Stein won the belt under dubious circumstances? Sure does.

Perhaps I'm even madder about the fact that I didn't realize what had happened until I woke up a couple minutes later, having my bell rung so soundly a time before.

But I realized something about myself that night, and I have Dan Stein to thank for it.

I realized that the longer I held that Sin City Championship, the more I let myself become the very thing that a month ago I sought to stand up against. The think I swore to my good friend Jaime Alejandro and Cronos Diamante I would fight against.

As much as I would sit there and say that Dan Stein was the arrogant one, I was quickly becoming that myself.

Maybe you can blame it on the fact that I had a good, long layoff between championships. I sought to get my life in order, settle down, and look forward to my life away from professional wrestling. I don't know when exactly it was I decided to make my comeback, or what factored into my decision, but the decision was made.

I came into SHOOT, not with the intent of being top dog, like I was in the NYSWF, or even the man I was in the National Wrestling Federation after that. No, I came to SHOOT with every intention of working my way up from the bottom.

Like I should have done. Like I DID. With my history in the wrestling business, it wouldn't have been such a big leap for me to come in and immediately challenge the top guys around here, people like Donovan King, X-Calibur, Cade Sydal, the list goes on. I could have been in the hunt for the World Heavyweight Championship.

But I didn't want that. Yet.

I needed to prove myself. Against everyone I could. Against myself, even. I had to prove I still had it.

And then came the Sin City Championship Series. A novel idea to shake up an entire division, and make sure that many people had the chance to shine with the lights on bright.

During the SCCS, with very little argument, nobody shined brighter than Lunatikk Crippler.

And that's a fact. I cut through the competition like a hot knife through butter, and fought my way into the finals. At Master of the Mat, I took on Jean-Gerard Baptiste and Maya Nakashima, and I defeated them, to earn my first taste of gold here in SHOOT.

And I loved it. I savored it.

And it changed me. Because I let it change me.

Don't get me wrong, I stand by what I said: I wanted to do it for the fans, the people of Las Vegas for whom the title was named. I may not be a role model, but that doesn't disqualify me from championing anyone. Doesn't stop me from being a hero for any person.

And it went straight to my head. How could it not? It would have changed anyone. There I was, not even in SHOOT for a year, thrust into the Sin City spotlight as it's standard bearer, SHOOTing down all challengers, defending that gold more than anyone and holding it longer than even the longest Sin City title reign in SHOOT's storied history.

And that dream came to a crashing halt Monday night.

And you know what? Part of me is glad that it did.

Maybe Dan Stein will carry that title with grace, and dignity and respect. Probably not, but he could. Because championship gold will change a person.

As for me? I've got the week off. I'm going to take that time and go and visit some family. I haven't seen my nephew in God knows how long, and it's about time I made that trip. The flight should be here in about an hour, so this should give me some time to reflect and decide what's next. I've still got some unfinished business with Stein, and the day will come where I WILL get him in the ring again, and this time, I won't be putting anything past him, and I won't take him for granted, either.

I won't make any excuses. Conscious or not, I lost. Just because I didn't tap out doesn't mean I'm gonna go ahead and twist that into being undefeated. I have been beaten, plain and simple, so now? It's time to come back from that.

-The Crippler takes a swig of his soda and turns his head, losing himself in thought. Just when we thought that this moment couldn't be more real....-


-The Crippler nearly drops his phone as he hurries to answer it, his face glowing red as the world is now aware that "My Humps" is is ringtone. He drags his finger across the screen of his phone and holds it to his ear.-


-Crippler pauses, taking a sip of his soda as he listens to whomever is on the other end of that phone call. He promptly spits the soda out.-

What do you mean? I thought this was my week off!


Yeah, I understand but......Yeah, I get that, I really do, but couldn't you have called me before I booked my flight?

-Another pause.-

Well, yeah, I get that. Sorry, it's just...this was supposed to be my time off to go see some family. Now you're telling me I have to be to work this week?

-Crippler takes another drink of his soda, the glass beginning to empty.-

No, dude, I'm not saying I'm refusing. I'll be there, you know I will.

-Crippler listens some more, then his eyes grow wide.-

You're sure about this? What about Napalm?....Uh huh.......Yeah....Well, alright, I'll be there, you know I will.

-Crippler listens for a few more seconds, and then the call is done. He locks his phone and sets it down in front of him. He motions for the bartender to fill his glass up again, and sighs.-

Well, so much for a vacation, huh? No rest for the wicked, I think, is the phrase people would use here.

As it turns out, I won't be away from Revolution at all this week. Instead, I'll be competeing one on one with the new Rule of Surrender champion Maya Nakashima. And with Maya's latest announcement, the Rule of Surrender championship is going to be on the line. Just like every match Maya competes in while he holds that championship.

It's kind of funny. I just sat here talking about Maya, remembering the Sin City Championship Series finals from Master of the Mat, and now, all of a sudden, here Maya is again.

But this is a different Maya than what I've faced in the past.

The old Maya was unsure of hismelf. No confidence at all. He was stuck in the past, living off of memories of his lost love. I felt for the guy, I really did, but with the pressure of the big stage of Master of the Mat, my killer instinct was kicking in.

Needless to say, I wasn't very nice to Mr. Nakashima.

But something happened to Maya. Maybe it was from winning the Sin City title, then losing it to Baptiste that started his transformation. Maybe it was fighting with Mason Pierce not once, but twice that something just clicked for him. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it happened somewhere in between.

But Maya is a new man. He's confident. He has something to believe in, something driving him. Not only that, but he believes in HIMSELF.

Finally. I guess the days of him allowing The Hierarchy to push him around are long gone.

Believe it or not, Maya, I couldn't be happier for you. If anyone deserves to have the spotlight shone on them, it's you, kid. If I was proud of you before for just beginning this transformation, words can't fully measure up to how I feel now. Loco's proud of you too, you know.

We all are. You stood in the face of adversity and smacked it right in the face like X-Calibur used to do to you. You went toe to toe with Mason Pierce, after already having been defeated by him, and you took him down. There aren't too many people who can say they've beaten that man since he's debuted here in SHOOT, but you can, Maya, and for the rest of your career, you have something to hang your hat on: The Rule of Surrender championship you took as proof of your deed.

But you know what? Nothing is gonna define your reign more than what you did and what you said this past week at Revolution. You came out to that ring and, really, shocked the world. You announced that you intend on defending your championship in every single match you compete in. Whether it's one on one, whether it's a tag match, your title, YOUR TITLE, Maya, is on the line.

That takes balls, kid. No, scratch that, it's too vulgar, and I'm not looking to sully you here, kid.

That takes true HEART. There isn't a single person in the SHOOT Project who can deny you've got heart, Maya. Hell, I've been in the ring with you, I know what your heart is capable of.

I know that there isn't any quit in you.

But this brings us the dilemma: If there's no quit in you, how can I expect to become Rule of Surrender champion?

Maya, I talk about change like it's my job to do so. You've changed, I've changed. I need to change again. Because I'm scared, Maya, and I"m not afraid to admit it.

I'm not scared of you, not at all. And don't get me wrong, I don't mean that disrespectfully. But I cannot afford to have any fear in that ring, so I leave it where it can't find me.

I'm scared about how the Sin City Championship changed me, and I wonder if the Rule of Surrender title will be the same, or even worse. I can't let that happen again.

The last time we met, Maya, I was a different person. I wasn't looking to be the hero, wasn't looking to be the poster boy of anything.

Today, things are different. People are standing up left and right to be a savior. Myself, and yourself included as well.

Every Tom, Dick, and Jaime Alejandro wants to stand up to defend the SHOOT Project from the darkness that people like Project: SCAR and Hierarchy use to stain this company.

Maybe we're just being noble and all that stuff. Maybe we're standing up for what we believe in.

But all that's on hold right now.

There shouldn't be any bad blood between the two of us. I don't plan on sneak attacking you, or anything like that. I'm coming at you straight.

You deserve nothing less, Maya. I'm not gonna resort to any dirty tricks or cheap tactics.

I won't have to.

Whether I walk away Rule of Surrender champion, or you retain the gold, really, is immaterial. The SHOOT Project are gonna be the real winners come Revolution 92, and I think you would agree with me on that.

But still, don't expect me to lie down. Don't expect me to bring anything less than everything I have to give. Expect me to try every single move in my aresenal to make you submit. To do what Mason Pierce couldn't.

There's no underdogs here, Maya. You and I are coming into this match as equals, and I am gonna enjoy that.

In this business, there's always a grudge. There's always someone waiting in the wings to take you down.

There's so much hate, then when a match likes this comes along, it feels like a breath of fresh air.

I hope you're feeling the same about this as I am. This is going to be an important match for the both of us.

It's a match that neither of us really can afford to lose, but unfortunately, one of us has to.

And unfortunately, for you, it's not going to be me.

Because while respect is great, competition is good, too, and this is exactly the type of competition I've been waiting for.

I've just got to wonder how you're feeling about this whole thing. I'm sure it's come as a big a shock to you as it has been to me.

On one hand, you no longer have to worry about getting in the ring with a man twice your size, who looks like he can literally eat you. I don't know what's up with Johnny Napalm, personally, I haven't talked to the guy, but I'm not gonna pass on an opportunity to prove myself once again.

Because on the other hand, you now have to step into the ring and defend your championship, that can only be won or lost by submission, against a submission expert. A man who has come into SHOOT almost one year ago and submitted a lot of the top names in this industry: former World Champions such as Stephen Rawlings, Crazy Boy, and my personal favorite, Jester Smiles. A guy who has gone toe to toe with some of the greats in this industry, like Cronos Diamante and Cade Sydal, and not only hung with them, but knocked them on their ass a time or two.

It's the competition, Maya. I love it. And being in the running for a chance to be where you are, right smack dab in the middle of the spotlight is a chance only a fool would pass up.

I'm no fool, as I'm sure you can attest to. Again, see Master of the Mat to get what I mean.

I can't deny that I'm gonna look to tear you apart, Maya, any more than you cannot deny that you intend to do the very same to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking to put you on the shelf, but I've got a lot to prove coming off the biggest loss in my SHOOT career.

A lot more to prove than maybe you do.

I know you wanna prove that you're a fighting champion, the very definition of it. The only drawback to being champion is the golden belt shaped target you paint on yourself, that a lot of people can see and smell and taste.

People like me who are still hungry, who didn't get enough their first time up at the championship buffet.

I do respect you, Maya, I really do. And I respect that you're gonna do everything you can to make sure that you remain champion. After the tall order you put in front of yourself, you'll have to.

Just like I know you'll respect that I'll do what I can to unseat you from your throne.

I look forward to meeting you in the ring again, Maya. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to go home and surprise the wife with the good news.

-The Crippler takes his Black Eyed Peas playing phone and puts it in his pocket. He drops a c-note on the bar next to his refilled glass of Pepsi and walks away.-

At approximately three PM on Thursday, March the first, SHOOT Project Headquarters received this lengthy fax, along with instructions to post this upon the SHOOT Project website as is, with no alterations whatsoever. After some internal debate, and the thumbs up from management, we now comply with the wishes of the sender, bringing you this open letter to Dan "The Lights" Stein, as penned exactly by Lunatikk Crippler, the current Sin City Champion. The words of Lunatikk Crippler do not reflect that of the entire SHOOT Project, especially those of us who primarily work only on the website, so we would like to thank Mr. Stein in advance for not hunting us down for posting this. Than you.

You know, my opinion of Dan Stein, as I've been told, is dead wrong. It isn't my first time my opinion has struck people to be a little queer, a little strange, and I'm sure it won't be the last.

-The Crippler pauses to take a sip of an ice cold Pepsi cola. WEBMASTER'S NOTE: Yes, he actually wrote that.-

Believe it or not, there are things that I really like about Dan Stein. He really sells himself to the point where I truly feel he deserves a crack at the Sin City Championship. To the casual fan of SHOOT Project, maybe that sounds weird that I'd talk about him like that, after I have already torn him a new one verbally. But I've found out that Dan and I have a lot in common. We have both donated money in the past to help the starving children on the streets, we both enjoy General Tso's Chicken, as well as other Chinese dishes, and we both feel that children are the future of the world.

I really feel bad that I pegged
Dan Stein all wrong. Hell, the man has won two Iron Fists in his SHOOT career. That's impressive. I don't really think I can name too many people who have done that, so he's got a leg up on his resume over most of the current SHOOT roster. I mean, there's Issac Entragian, and I think Cade and X have done it, too, and they're no monkeys. The current World champ, the former World champ, and a future World champ? That's good company.

Dan Stein is more than just another guy. I see that now. He blows the competition away, just like he did at Reckoning Day. Doesn't matter what kind of dudes step to him, for Dan Stein will chew them up and spit them out merely for fun and send them on their merry way.

I'm looking forward to our match. So are lots of people. The Sin City Division is getting better and better every day, and now with Dan Stein as a challenger, I know we're gonna bring the best we got, which is better than phoning it in, like some people say Dan has done in the past. I sincerely doubt that Dan Stein is going to let me down, and is going to be completely on his "A" game at Revolution 91. I'm sure with his ego, he will settle for nothing less. He believes he's the best that there is, and I believe that I am the best technical wrestler in the Sin City Division, so the day this match happens will be a good one for SHOOT, no doubt about it.

I as well, have an ego, maybe just as big as Stein's. Am I a bad person for thinking that I am gonna to walk into Revolution 91 as Sin City Champion, and leave the same way? It can't hurt to have a little extra confidence. This is a big match situation, after all, and Dan Stein is not going to have a shortage of confidence.

you may have earned the right to face me, Dan, you will not beat me. How can you expect to do what nobody else has been able to do yet? Beat Lunatikk Crippler in a Sin City Championship match. The advantage lies with the champion, but we'll get into that a bit later, shall we? Yes, lets.

I do take a little issue with the fans that support you over me, however. They, like you, are so sure that you will end the longest Sin City title reign in company history. Give me a break. I'm sorry, Dan, but your first chance will be your last: this title isn't going anywhere. I know that the thought of being a top dog again makes you break out in goose pimples and makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, but that's just nerves. Once this is all over, it will pass.

You need to come prepared,
Dan. This match is not like any others you've had in the past. No, Stein, this one is gonna be different. I would say that the difference is subtle, but really, it's like that zit you were rocking on the bridge of your nose: you can't miss it. It's a major difference. March 5th will be a very important date in the growth of Dan Stein, not just as a wrestler, but as a man. It's not when we win the war on poverty, when Chris Brown stops hitting women, or Kobe Bryant stops being a rapist. It's where two of SHOOT's best collide in an effort to see who is the better man, in what should be an epic encounter. Hint: It's not you.

It's the night that
Lunatikk Crippler, not Dan Stein, celebrates the Sin City Championship with the people of Las Vegas. The outcome may not be predetermined, Dan, but it is going to be like when I faced Johnny Napalm, Crazy Boy, and even Tanya Black: I'm gonna be successful. I knock every opportunity out of the park. You may feel the same about yourself, but really, it's gonna be Strike one, Strike two, three strikes and you're out. You're not stupid, Dan, you know that I'm more than capable.

I didn't win the Sin City Championship Series because I was lucky, Dan. Just like
you didn't make it as far as you did in the Master of the Mat tournament for your stripping skills. You are a gifted athlete. You may not have completely dominated, but you found a way to win, time and time again. You have utterly silenced your critics, and you're ready to shove it down their throats, but it's not gonna come at the expense of "The Whole Fucked Up Show".

Let me repeat that for you, Dan.

You are completely and utterly fucked.

This isn't all about fun and games, who can make the other laugh more, or how many George Washingtons you can fit in your g-string.

This is war. There may be bloodshed. There will be a winner, and there definitely be a loser. That's where you come in.

Just ask Tanya Black, if you can find her. She was so dejected after our match at Reckoning Day that she up and disappeared, probably lost somewhere in a pint or twelve of Chunky Monkey.

Better yet, Dan, go talk to my new best friend, Jester Smiles. He shouldn't be too hard to find. Wherever I'm facing, look in the opposite direction. He may have chosen me at random as his newest target, but I'm sure he was very happy with the selection, given how his last official SHOOT Project match ended: Him, in the center of the ring, forced by me to submit.

That was his last match before his self-imposed exile.

Now, he's back, and once I'm finished with you, I can focus completely on him.

Are you gonna disappear too, Dan? When I beat you, I mean. I seem to be quite the magician with my disappearing acts lately. Are you gonna be so upset that you just wanna be alone with your favorite person: yourself?

Hey, now. It's not the end of the world. There wil be lots of other opportunities coming your way in the future, slugger. Some of which you'll even succeed at.

But not this one. Or any one that features myself and the Sin City Championship.

You may say you're the "Sexiest in SHOOT" but I say I'm the most dangerous. And it doesn't matter who I'm up against, I can't afford to fail.

So I won't.

Unfortunately, that one is at YOUR expense. This is as friendly as I'm gonna be, Dan, so I wouldn't get used to it if I were you. You've got a lot of work ahead of you, and you're gonna need your mental faculties in tact. Both of them.

You'll need 'em to get used to the animal that I will become once the bell rings. It's the Champion's Advantage: You have to beat ME, I don't have to beat YOU.

But I want to.

I have pride, Dan. It's what normal people have in themselves, when they aren't grinding against metal poles while fat women are stuffing their Speedoes fuller than you normally do.

Being prideful kinda sucks, when it comes to proving you're the best. You have to keep continuing to prove it, day after day, night after night.

It's called pressure, Dan. I live with the pressure that every Tom, Dick and Jean-Gerard Baptiste wants to be Sin City Champion. You think I'm unaware of being a target? Think I don't see the looks some of the boys give me each and every night since I won the Sin City title?

Stevie Wonder can see that I'm the hunted, not the hunter.

Thing is, though, that doesn't bother me. I don't mind being hunted, pursued, challenged, whatever. I thrive on high pressure situations, and I always come out on top.

But what about you? What will you do when the game is on the line? Will you pass the ball? Will you take the shot? Will you hit? Miss? Airball? Step out of bounds?

I think you'll take the shot. Who wouldn't? You always wanna be the one who wins the game for your team, no matter what. You want to be the one lifted up on everyone's shoulders, carried off the court, because that feeling is one of the best in the world.

You wanna be the one with your arm raised in the air when the bell rings, Dan. I don't blame you: I want the same thing. When there's championship gold in your hand as it's raised, that makes the moment all the much more sweeter.

It's been a very long time since Dan Stein held SHOOT Project gold. About three and a half years, according to the SHOOT Project website, where this letter is sure to find itself, as that's where I sent it.

Come to think of it, can I be sure Dan Stein knows how to read?

Nah, I'm sure it would at least be read to him by his assistant, Molly. Or one of his gaggle of bitches, a murder of hoes.

Keep on dancin', Stein, like you got Saturday Night Fever. Dance your ass all the way to the SHOOT Project Epicenter, right into the ring, and right into my hands. I'll teach you a few moves, personally.

Like the Blood Drive. That's sharp and to the point.

Or The Lunatikk Sweet. It may surprise you, but I can bust that dance out of anywhere.

Or my personal favorite, The Bitchified. Because no matter where you start that dance, where it's applied, you'd better have shined your dancin' shoes real nice.

Because you'll need 'em. The Bitchified is a TAP dance.

Get it? GET IT??

Good luck, anyway, Daniel-San.
You have earned this opportunity, whether I like it or not. So do your best to not mess this one up. Try not to get hurt, I'm sure Molly won't wanna visit you in the infirmary. Try not to go down in a blaze of glory or however Bon Jovi sings it. Whatever happens, happens. I've made my bed, and now I'll lie in it. Just like you've dug your holes to do the same thing.

One of us is walking out of Revolution as Sin City Champion, Dan.

Hope you don't mind leaving empty handed.

Revolution / ...And the horse you rode in on (SCC vs Stein I of II)
« on: February 23, 2012, 07:09:57 AM »

-A couple weeks now removed from the grand spectacle that was Reckoning Day 2012, and Revolution is back in full force with their 91st installment. Two title matches and a huge main event that the fans of SHOOT Project will be clamoring to see. One of those title matches is for the Sin City Championship. "The Whole Fucked Up Show" Lunatikk Crippler was successful in his title defense against Tanya Black and Crazy Boy, thus officially making him the longest reigning Sin City Champion in SHOOT Project history, edging out Laura Seton at the top of that list. The night before, a Triple Threat match was held to determine the next person in line for a shot at the Sin City title, and by hook or by crook, Dan "The Lights" Stein emerged victorious, much to the chagrin of fans everywhere. Not to mention the grapes of Johnny Napalm. But I digress.

The point is, Stein IS the number one contender for the Sin City Championship, and that title match is going to take place on the first Revolution since Reckoning Day. Whether or not The Crippler is going to be able to stave off yet another able opponent or whether Dan Stein will snatch the Sin City Championship away from the defending champion, only time will tell.

Heh. I said snatch.

Anyway, why are we here? Good question. A better one would be WHERE IS HERE but, hey. Baby steps. Moving on now.

We are in a hall of mirrors. All we can see is a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, multiplied many times due to the mirrors. An eerie sight, to be sure. It is then that a voice is heard. A very familiar one.-

Let me first start off, here tonight, by offering my congratulations to the winner of Reckoning Day's big triple threat match.

It was a very hard fought contest, to be sure. But I think that we all had a feeling just exactly what the outcome would be, and sure enough, it's the outcome we got.

So a huge congratulatory high five goes to me, for finally being able to put Crazy Boy and Tanya Black in my rear view mirror, and now I can finally look forward and leave those two in my dust.

Oh, and good job, Danny boy, on beating Johnny Napalm and Piper Fury. I guess.

-The Crippler chuckles, and moves into the open, so to speak. He steps into the camera view, and instantly there are a couple dozen Lunatikk Crippler's standing there, in the mirrors. Each of them wearing a cheshire cat looking grin, as well as the SHOOT Project's Sin City Championship around his waist. A Singapore Cane hangs limp at his left side. He removes his right arm from his leather duster, and switches hands with the Cane, removing the coat completely, showing us that he is still rocking his brand new SHOOT Official T-shirt, the Batman logo with "T.W.F.U.S" spray painted in green over it.-

What exactly should I be congratulating you for, anyway, Dan? You beat a woman? I did too. Wow, that sounded pretty fucking bad, even coming from my mouth.

You won a triple threat match at Reckoning Day. Hey, me too! So you have to have the shiny gold title around your waist too, right? What's that? You don't?

-The Crippler pulls off some of the worst acting of ALL TIME, trying to look honestly shocked, but failing at it miserably. He laughs again.-

That's right, Dan. I'm the SHOOT Project's Sin City Champion. I'm Mr. Sin City, and proud to be. You should probably fire your agent, he booked you in the wrong triple threat on the wrong night.

But, nonetheless, you didn't leave empty handed, did you? Nope, you earned the right to challenge me, Lunatikk Crippler, The Whole Fucked Up Show himself, for the prize that just looks so good around my waist: The Sin City title. Have to give you credit, you did earn the shot. Doesn't matter how you earned it. What matters is that the record books show a W in a contendership match, and now here we are.

I'm sure you were probably rooting for Crazy Boy Smith to come out on top the next night, though. Make things a little bit easier for you? Lighten your load, so to speak? Hate to break it to you, but it's going to take more than a deranged skitso to stop me. It's gonna take more than Tyrone Smith, too.

And it's gonna take more than Dan Fucking Stein.

A lot of people have told me you're arrogant, Dan. Well, I know arrogance, and when I look at you...okay, they're right, you ARE arrogant.

But fuck, Dan. You've got the RIGHT to be, huh? You're a two-time Iron Fist champion. That's impressive. It puts you on a list that not many people are on, but you're right there, Danny.

Can I call you Danny?

Fuck you, I'm gonna call you what I wanna call you. What are you gonna do? Correct me? As if.

That's the thing about me, Danny. I'm stubborn as hell. It would have been much too easy to let Tanya Black walk away Sin City Champion for a third time. She's stronger than she looks, and, as much as I may hate to admit, she knows her way around the ring. You may call her a five or a six, and you'd probably be being generous at that, but she'll put ten knuckles upside your head before you can even state your fuckin' name.

I could have given up. Lots of times. Let Tanya have the glory. I mean, the sun shines on a dog's ass once in it's lifetime.

But I didn't.

Scratch that: I would not.

Why? Because that's how I roll, Danny. I don't quit. I don't give up.

I survive.

I'm good at surviving.

Ya think you're gonna be the one who ends my winning ways?

You think you'll be the first person to pin me here in SHOOT?

God, you don't know how fuckin' wrong you are.

You see, I don't care about you professing yourself to being the "Sexiest in SHOOT". What's that gotten you, Danny? A bit of poontang? Some late night calls from ring rats and maybe some heavy breathing dudes?

I know I'm not the sexiest in SHOOT, but that doesn't bother me.

Because I'm the fuckin' BEST WRESTLER in SHOOT.

X-Calibur can call himself a technical god all he wants. He's World Heavyweight Champion, and while I have no love for him and his actions with The Hierarchy, I respect the fact that he holds SHOOT's top prize.

But I hold something better than that.

I hold the Sin City Championship. A title created for the people of Las Vegas, our home, so that they are represented by the absolute BEST this business has to offer.

In case you weren't listening Danny, and you might not have been, that would be me.

It don't matter who you are, how big you are, how seasoned of a veteran you are, or dammit, I can't believe I'm gonna say this, how good looking you THINK you are, holding this championship around my waist means that I am better than you are.

Disrespect? Moi?

You're damn right. I can afford that luxury, Stein. From day one since I came back to SHOOT, there hasn't been a single person who could top me.

I've knocked off former World Champions.

I've made most everyone I've face submit, right in the center of the ring. From Tanya Black, to Crazy Boy, all the way down.....

-The Crippler's grin vanishes, leaving him with a very ugly look on his face, like he just tasted something putrid.-

...to Jester Smiles.

-The Crippler takes a moment to compose himself, as the actions of Jester Smiles following his Triple Threat match at Reckoning Day are still somewhat fresh in his mind.-

A shame, Danny, that I had to bring Jester Smiles' name into this.

I'm sure you saw what happened after I defended the Sin City title a couple weeks ago. The mummy unraveled, showing the world that a Killer Clown from Outer fucking Space had randomly selected me for a beating.

It's a shame, Danny, not for Jester Smiles.

No no, it's a shame for you.

Because Jester Smiles really pissed me off..

And you're gonna be the first fuckin' person I see in the ring since.

Put two and two together, Danny. I know that Barbie says that Math is Hard, but I know you can do it.

This means that all of my anger, all of my frustration with that fuckin' clown?

I'll be taking that out on you.

Mr. Two Time Iron Fist Champion.

Mr. Two Times You LOST the fucking Iron Fist title.

Mr. I'm Too Sexy to win a match without kicking Johnny Napalm in the nuts.

Why don't you kick ME in the nuts, Dan?

Why don't YOU piss me off? Like Jester Smiles did?

Like what you did to Johnny Napalm?

So I can turn the Sexiest in SHOOT into a fuckin' Franken-Stein.

So I can kick your teeth so far down your throat that you'll be flossing with your dick hair.

Think I'm playing games? Not today, jackass.

Only one game on my agenda: the Pain Game. Let's see how far I can stretch your legs back before you cry like a little girl who lost her dolly?

Let's see how long "The Lights" can survive when he's being Bitchified, right in the center of the ring.

Maybe I'll let you go when the match is over.

Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll hold on, listen to you scream. Listen to you fuckin' cry.

You gonna cry, Dan? You gonna shed a tear? You gettin' choked up?

You're pathetic. There's no crying in wrestling.

I'm a one time Sin City Champion, Dan, and that may not sound like such an accomplishment to YOU, but the only reason I'm a one time Sin City Champion is because there hasn't been a soul who can take this fuckin' title away from me.

And Danny Stein thinks he's the guy. Danny Stein thinks he's got the answer. A little bit of Kryptonite on the end of his fist.

Maybe you think you can wrestle better than Tanya Black, or Maya Nakashima, or Jean-Gerard Baptiste.

And maybe you can, Danny. I'm not gonna take anything away from you in that ring.

Except the victory.

Try as you might, you're gonna have to KILL ME to take this Sin City Championship away from me. No matter how you slice it, you're going back to Cedar Rapids empty handed.

I'll be staying here, in Las Vegas, my home, SHOOT's home, and give the people what the want to see.

Don't worry, Danny. They want to see you.

You tapping out.

-The Crippler raises the Singapore Cane now, resting it on his right shoulder.-

They say that I'm not right in the head. Oh well. Sometimes that's okay. Sometimes I'm just a bit goofy. I like to make people laugh and smile, Danny.

But right now? Do I look like I'm fuckin' laughing? Am I having the time of my life?

No, then yes, Dan. There's another side of me, you know. A side that only Jack Reed has seen here in SHOOT. A side that Jester Smiles is gonna get to know REAL fuckin' well.

A side you don't wanna get on, in other words.

So good luck, Danny boy. Go train, eat your vitamins, drink your milk, barf that shit up because it makes your ass look fat.

But come to the ring prepared, pretty boy. You may like mirrors such as these so you can stare lovingly at your favorite person when you look in them, but there won't be any love from me at Revolution.

This is your first warning.

Because "The Lights" may be on...

-The Crippler steps forward now, and the image of him in the mirrors changes from his front to his back. Lunatikk Crippler is now squarely in the center of the room, no reflection necessary to see the scowl upon his face, right before he swings the Singapore Cane violently, and accurately, into the light bulb, shattering it, plunging the entire room into darkness.

..but no one's fucking home.

SHOOT Project Discussion / Partner Wanted
« on: February 13, 2012, 06:59:27 PM »
I'm looking to move El Asso Wipo into the tag team division, and am looking for someone who would wanna be my full time partner. Whether its a current character, or someone you wanna bring in specifically for that, I'd be interested. Hit me up here on PM if you wanna pitch an idea.

Or El Asso Wipo may just break you like so TCHA! With his knee!

Storyline & Character Development / An Itsy Bitsy Favor
« on: February 06, 2012, 09:13:07 AM »
-Lunatikk Crippler loves his iPhone.

Okay, maybe he doesn't LOVE it. For instance, he accidentaly told Loco Martinez last week, thanks to the wonder that is Auto Correct, that he wanted a slice of pepperoni penis, instead of pizza. But that was the old phone, that was inexplicably shattered into a million little pieces when The Crippler threw it against the wall. This is the new phone, where he's yet to make that kind of mistake. Not that there's anything wrong with wanting a pepperoni penis, it's just not Crippler's style. Anyshit, he has his phone out now, and he's sliding through his contact list. We briefly see the names of Loco, Jaime Alejandro, and Cronos Diamante as he moves with speed down towards the bottom. About three entries from the end of the list, he finds the contact he was looking for.-

"Uncle Adam"

-He presses his finger against the screen, the phone begins to dial the number. We hear the dial tone, and it's not long before someone on the other end picks up.-


Hey, Uncle Adam! It's good to hear from you!

"Do I know you?"

Um, it's your nephew. William.

"Go on."

Um, William West?

"Great Scott, it is you! My dearest nephew, how are you?"

I'm good, Uncle Adam. I've been keeping busy at work.

"Are you putting all the evil doers in their place?"

I'm doin' my best. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.

"I'll do it."


"I'll be your tag team partner. I knew this day would come, that's why I always stay prepared."

-A series of wretching noises can be heard from the other end of the phone line. Then we hear something like an object clattering onto a wooden desk of some sorts.-

"I bought this book, it's supposed to teach me all about the ins and outs of professional wrestling."

That's great, Uncle Adam, that really is, but I wasn't calling you to be my tag team partner.


-More wretching can be heard. It seriously sounds like Crip's Uncle Adam is seriously ill. Another thud.-

"Then Hungry Hungry Hippos? I have Hungry Hungry Hippos now."

Fuck yes! I mean, wait! Hold on, you're distracting me. I almost forgot what I wanted to ask you.

"Fire away, good sir. I have nothing to hide."

Awesome. Listen, I have this match coming up and-

Uncle Adam is gonna be sick again. The dry heaving commences, and this time, we hear something metallic flop onto a table.-

Uncle Adam, was that your crowbar, again?

"Yes, citizen! The only way I can bust skulls of evil doers these days! My trusty Crowbar!"

But I don't need you to bust some skulls for me. I have a match, and it's important. And it's on a very important show.

"You want me to help you with your introduction?"

Um, yeah. That's exactly what I wanted to ask you.

"Say no more, my young nephew, I will be there with bells on. Actual bells, if I can manage it. Good day to you!"

-There's a click, and the phone call ends. The Crippler stares blankly at his phone, amazed it didn't take that long to convince his Uncle Adam to help, but also wondering how he's going to get to Vegas, when Crippler didn't tell his uncle where the show was going to be.-

Reckoning Day 2012 / Let's Get Dangerous (II of II Sin City Championship)
« on: January 31, 2012, 04:04:35 PM »
Keep your eyes on the prize
That's as close as you will get
You think that you will
Take this title as a thrill
But you ain't seen nothin' yet

Crazy Boy Smith, thinks he is tough
But he's as tough as a freshly lain turd
And Miss Tanya Black
Must be smoking crack
If she thinks I am stung by her words

For weeks you have tried
To take what I worked to own
You can't win whether
Alone or together
Now you will reap what you've sewn

It doesn't matter what you think.

It doesn't matter what you believe.

Plain and simple, at Reckoning Day, I'm walking in as the SHOOT Project's Sin City Champion.

And I'm walking out the same way.

Doesn't matter what Tanya's plans are. I don't care what Crazy Boy Smith has to say, either.

It isn't luck that I'm considered to be one of, if not, the greatest Sin City Champion of all time.

My record speaks for itself. I've held it longer than most of the former champions, yourself included, Miss Black. I've defended it more, too.

I'm not gonna sit here and say my record's been perfect, however. That'd be a lie, and I don't lie.

Laura Seton technically owns a victory over me. As does Cade Sydal. I guess we can pin a W, technically, on an unconscious Alpha Female, as well. Even though, as I just said, she didn't even know she was victorious until she woke up a little later on.

But you know what? I'm still telling the truth when I say that nobody has truly beaten me yet.

Don't worry. I won't walk around breathing fireworks, talking about some ridiculous streak.

I'm going to keep going out there, keep defending the Sin City Championship against all comers.

And I'm going to keep winning.

But the problem with wanting to defend against all comers is that I have two people who refuse to step aside and let someone else get a crack at the Sin City title. We are less than a week away from Reckoning Day, the biggest night, the grandest stage.

This is where champions become heroes.

Where heroes become icons.

Where icons become legendary.

Where legends become immortal.

Tanya, Tyrone, we're taking our first steps toward immortality, and for one of your, or both of you if I have my way, you're taking your final steps towards the Sin City Championship. Because if you don't win

And you wont

Then I'm moving on. There are others who are deserving of a shot. Hell, we've got three of SHOOT's brightest fighting for just that coming up soon, as well.

I know this show doesn't belong to us. Day one belongs to Carver and Issac. Day two, of course, will be headlined by the World Heavyweight Championship match.

But you both need to realize that even though the show doesn't belong to us, doesn't mean we can't steal it.

You've got the best technical wrestling in SHOOT Project's Sin City Division, and maybe the company as a whole.

You've got a fighting champion, a person who doesn't back down from any challenge.

You've got a person who defines the Sin City division, who is completely synonymous with the championship.

Then you've got Tanya Black and Crazy Boy.

I know Tanya's been spewing something that's supposed to be cleverness and wit, but smells like bullshit, but I'm pretty shocked I've not heard anything from Crazy Boy Smith lately.

Maybe he's scared. I would be if I were him. He's talked a lot of trash for a guy who can't stand up face to face. He sure is a big man, coming up from behind someone.

Because when you looked me in the eyes, Tyrone...It just wasn't FAIR.

Haven't you realized yet, that you can't beat me?

You've tried, that's for sure. Maybe you're thinkin' Tanya's gonna finish me off, and you'll have free reign over her.

Maybe you're hoping I'll get hurt and I won't be able to continue.

Got news for you. Tanya, too.

You're gonna have to kill me if you think I'm gonna just let ya'll walk away with MY title.

Tyrone, I really think I'm beginning to understand what Tanya feels about this title.

Gold has a natural pull over people. Hey, everyone is drawn to the shiny and the sparkly things, right?

This is different, though.

This Sin City Championship proves that I am one of the best SHOOT has to offer.

I don't think that this title has meant more right now since it's inception over a year ago, at last year's Master of the Mat. Remember who won the title that night?

Your old buddy, Jaime Alejandro, that's who.

Now, I bring the title to the Honor Guard of SHOOT, standing side by side with the inaugural champion, to defend this company, and this title, against people that look to twist it into something foul.

I can think of nothing worse than Crazy Boy Smith being champion. Of anything.

I take pride in being Mr. Sin City. It wasn't that long ago where I didn't really care if I was cheered or if I was booed.

I didn't go out there and try to be a role model for the people. I didn't get involved in other people's affairs.

I watched out for myself.

In other words, Tyrone, I used to be a lot like you and Tanya.

You want to be Sin City Champion just because you think people will remember your past glory.

You want people to remember your former triumphs.

You were Legacy's last World Heavyweight Champion.

Not an easy feat, that's for sure. But maybe, just maybe, you should leave that little piece of info alone, Crazy Boy Smith.

Sure, it's always good to be remembered as a World Champion.

But you're gonna be remembered as Legacy's LAST World Champion.

You weren't the one they turned to to save the sinking ship.

You were the one who sunk it.

You think I'm gonna give you a chance to do that to SHOOT? To the Sin City Division that I've helped build?

Dream on, Crazy Boy.

Tanya, do me a favor, will you, sweetie?

Shut the fuck up, already.

You talk and you talk, spewing bullshit out of your mouth like a cow that OD'd on laxatives.

It started well before you and Cade Sydal revealed the worst kept secret in the history of anything, that you guys were in cahoots.

It continued through the Sin City Championship Series.

Which you still lost, by the way.

And it continues now, on the road to Redemption Day, as you call it.

You talk out your ass as if you've earned a spot at the Big Boy's table.

You talk about things that you don't understand, and that are none of your damn business.

You bully people that are weaker than you. People like Crazy Boy, like Abigail Chase, like Laura Seton. You must expect the rest of us to just fall in line and be all intimidated.

Um, ok.

Today, I'm not going to go on about how you are ragging 24/7.

And I'm not gonna talk about you being a diseased whore.

You are.

And you are.

But I don't need to get into that again.

And I'm not going to ignore the things you've said about me. But I, unlike you, don't feel the need to analyze every little insult you throw my way.

I don't feel the need to examine every little thing you say, and find some witty comeback, some way to make it blow up in your face.

See? Right there, I said it! I talked about things blowing up in your face, and not once did I mention anything about the gazillion cocks that did that very thing in the past! I can be good if I wanna.

Maybe I can talk about the fact that you like to play chess without an opponent, so it looks like you're dominating. Cute, but again, I don't wanna go there, because all I could really say is that you enjoy playing with yourself.

No, Tanya, instead I'm gonna shine some light on the Sin City Championship, and why I'm the better fit as the token flag bearer for this division, more than you ever have, nor ever will be.

You like to talk a lot about "business", Tanya. That's the first sign.

Your partnership with Cade Sydal is just "business". The Sinister Syndicate is a "business" opportunity that you just can't pass up.

You being Sin City Champion is good for "business".

Fuck your business.

Wrestling is my LIFE. I can understand if it's just business for you, little girl, because if it WAS your life, then you'd fail at life itself.

You're wrong, by the way. You being Sin City Champion is NEVER good for business.

For someone who has held so much championship gold, like you say you have, and no, I'm not disputing that, you have no IDEA what it means to be a champion.

You have zero respect for that term.

Hell, you have zero respect for anything. The only thing you care about are your own selfish desires. Your wants, not your needs.

You want to be recognized as the Greatest Sin City Champion that ever lived.

You want to be recognized as not just the Alpha Female of SHOOT, but Queen Turd as well. Hate to break it to you, but being Queen Turd just means you're a bit polished, and you wear a crown, but you're still a fuckin' turd.

As champion, I carry the standard for SHOOT. I don't expect you to understand any of what that means, to have an entire company, hell, an entire CITY depending on you. When you were Sin City Champion, it was only "What's next for Tanya Black?"

That's pitiful.

You've always been selfish, Tanya. When Diamond Del Carver returned to SHOOT, it was a joyous day for the SHOOT Project faithful. A man who helped bulid this company, a man who paved the way for you as well as me, returned to his old stomping grounds. For money? For main events? No.

For the people.

The people who spend their hard earned money to see US. The people that, as Sin City Champion, YOU were supposed to represent.

And did you welcome DDC back into the fold? Did you do as the people you were representing would want you to do?

No. You did not.

All you could do was complain about how it affected YOU. How he was taking YOUR spot away. How Carver was nothing but a "Lazy Legend" who wasn't worth the paper his contract was printed on, and how it meant that it would be that much longer for YOU to move up the card.

Let me tell you something, Tanya.

I'm not friends with Del Carver. I barely know people like Jun Kenshin and Christopher Davis.

I've never met people like Roland Caldwell and Trevor Worrens. I've barely shaken hands with people like Ichiro Seppuku and Ben Jackman.

But you know what? That doesn't matter.

Because without them, and countless others, we wouldn't be here.

I wouldn't stand up for SHOOT if people like The Real Deal hadn't done it first, because there wouldn't be a SHOOT to stand up for.

Do you think people would take you seriously as a wrestler, as a credible contender for a championship of anything other than Jello Wrestling if Sinnocence hadn't been here first?

Thing is, you probably do. You probably feel that the SHOOT Project didn't exist before you got here.

Whatever, girl. You think what you want. You go ahead and live with your illusions of grandeur. I'm cool with that, because I'm going to stay right here in reality.

And the reality is, at Reckoning Day, you're gonna be done talking.

You're gonna be done boasting, done bragging about being the Goddess of Sin, being the Black Queen, or anything else.

You're not even going to be Tanya Black. Not really.

You're going to be beaten badly.

You're going to be hurt.

You're going to be Bitchified.

Think I'm not taking this seriously, do you? Think I'm playing games?

You go ahead and play your games, spin your tales, do what you need to do to get your confidence up.

But be warned: I'm not playing shit. I'm deadly serious.

I will NOT settle for anything less than breaking the both of you into pieces.

I will NOT settle for anything less than victory.

I fight, not just for myself.

Not just for Las Vegas

But for SHOOT Project as a whole.

I am Mr. Sin City, The Whole Fucked Up Show. The Sin City Champion, and your worst fuckin' nightmare.

After all, you're just a dirty ho who is on a constant visit from Aunt Flow.

Whoops. Made it that far, but I couldn't help myself.

Goodnight, Tanya Black. Goodnight, Tyrone Smith.

I say that, because if you think you're going to beat me, take my title?

You're fuckin' dreamin'.

Reckoning Day 2012 / Choose Your Own Adventure! (Sin City Title I of II)
« on: January 23, 2012, 08:01:32 PM »

Click the link so the story can begin! Scroll down for the ending!

Do you idiots see a pattern here?

That story should tell you something. Tanya Black, Crazy Boy, you don't stand a chance to beat me.

No matter what you try to do, no matter what tactics you try and use, I won't be stopped.

No matter what either of you think, I am the one going into Reckoning Day as Sin City Champion, and I am going to be the one walking out STILL Sin City Champion.

Tyrone, did you think this was going to have a happy ending for you? Really? You did? Well, I'm sure maybe you thought the match would end with Tanya giving you a handy-jay, and that's not out of the realm of possibility, but as far as you taking what I've worked so hard to earn, the Sin City Championship? You're totally fuckin' wrong.

You've had chance after chance, and you still couldn't take this title away from me. Say what you will about Tanya Black and her interference, but still, if you were going to take the gold from me, you still would have done. You talk about hitting me with the Crazy Slam before as if I was going to forget. But apparently, I've hit you so hard that YOU forgot what it feels like to be Bitchified, dead center in the ring.

If I'm good for anything, it's helping people to remember that pain.

So please, by all means, continue to believe you've got what it takes to beat me. Please, continue to feel that you're the man destined to be Mr. Sin City. It would be no higher pleasure, after all you've done to me, to prove you wrong.

To make you suffer.

To make you taste defeat, ONE MORE TIME.

I can't think of another person who has been handed opportunity after opportunity to be Sin City Champion, as many as you've had in the past month alone, and doesn't deserve these opportunities. I can list a half dozen people off the top of my head who deserves a shot other than you. But you can't just fuckin' LET IT GO. You're like Tanya in that respect, to the point where the both of you actually believe you should be where I am, the conquering champion walking into battle, defending against all comers.

The main problem I have with the pair of you, Tyrone, is that you are making me to look like a liar. I said I would defend against all comers, but it's been just you, and just Tanya, because you can't take the fact that I've already beaten you. Tanya can't take the fact that she is a two time loser of the Sin City Championship.

But like I've said already, Tyrone, this is your last chance so long as I'm Sin City Champion. There are others who deserve a chance to be Sin City Champion, and I'm sick and tired of looking at your damn face. I'm tired of having to put you down again and again, and you keep coming back, crying foul.

There won't be any excuses for anyone. Not for you, because Tanya is involved in the match. Not for Tanya, because she has the opportunity to regain what she lost fair and square to Maya Nakashima. And not for me, because if I want to retain the Sin City title, I have to beat both of you.

Both of you.

Does that seem fair? It is. Nobody can bitch after Reckoning Day. A Triple Threat elimination contest means that the last man standing walks out with the gold. Whether I beat you and Tanya beats me, or you beat Tanya and I beat you, or I beat you both, there won't be any bitching about how someone lost this match without being beat. There won't be any outside interference this time, because all parties involved are in the match.

That means, Tyrone, that your excuses have run out.

You call yourself a Crazy Boy, Tyrone. That's cute. But you see, you're coming up against a Crazy Man, someone who has been around the block a time or two, someone who is more well versed in technical skill than you can hope to ever be.

A Boy vs a Man. Seems a little unfair, huh?

I'd have to agree. I've got you covered more than enough.

So go ahead. Bring every personality you say you have. Listen to every voice in your head that says that you should keep going, keep coming at me.

Though, to be honest, you should be listening to the voice in your head that is saying that you should run and hide. It's a pain to be insane, Tyrone, and that is something you need to learn through trial by fire.

And maybe I'll be bringing you some literal fire.

And now, we go from a Crazy Boy to a Crazy Bitch. Tanya fucking Black, the most disgusting TB since tuberculosis. Probably less popular than the disease, as well.

Tanya, I hope you feel that it's been worth it. Your Pearl Harbor jobs against myself and Crazy Boy. Your incessant bitching and moaning about being the rightful Sin City Champion, and supposed "Goddess of Sin". You should have just stayed at home, making Cade some sandwiches and making sure his house is clean.

I don't care what you have to say, Tanya. I mean, as if it would be any different from what I've heard in the past. It's not like you can come up with your own material, anyway. It's like I said on Revolution, all you have to say is what I've already said to you. You just try and figure out a new and clever way to turn things around on me.

It gets real boring, real fast.

Just like you. Maybe you think you should still be Sin City Champion, but as long as I'm holding it, you'll never get closer to it than watching me strap it around my waist, or hold it in the air over your beaten body.

Did you think there was going to be some way you were going to beat me, Tanya? I mean, I could go on about how you twist things to fit your own version of reality: How you complain about losing to Jaime Alejandro because the ref called the match, but don't seem to remember that you won the Sin City Championship from Laura Seton the exact same way. You can tell me how they're different situations, but they aren't. The ref saw Laura was unable to defend herself, just the same as he saw that YOU were unable to defend YOURSELF.

You can talk about how "convoluted" the Sin City Championship Series was, but I know you would be lording it over everyone if you had won the whole thing, like certain Lunatikk Crippler's that are involved in our match. Let me just say this one more time, Tanya, so it will hopefully sink in.

I won the Sin City Championship Series.

I won the Sin City Championship from the person who took it from the person who took it from YOU.

I am Mr. Sin City, The Sin City Champion, and you are not a Goddess of any kind.

In fact, I'm pretty certain you were created by God as some sort of cruel joke to your parents.

Okay, that last one I made up. But the rest of it is true, Tanya. You may think you're the rightful owner of MY Sin City title, but until you beat me for it, you're just blowing smoke up your own ass. While normally, I'd applaud you for being that flexible, I can't do that. It's giving you some sense of confidence that you just don't deserve.

Really, I mean, what have you done lately?

I know, I know. The first thing you're gonna say is that you just beat me last week at Revolution. Well, hate to break it to you, but FALSE. You didn't beat anyone.

You were unconscious, having your head spiked into the mat via a Lunatikk Sweet. I did that. You're welcome.

I don't need to sit and complain that Cade cheated to beat Cronos. It just further proves that you beat nobody.

And speaking of Cronos, you're going to mention next how handily you beat him a few weeks ago. But I bet you're also going to not mention that Cronos had been assaulted prior to the match, and prove that your "victory" proved nothing. Same old song and dance, Tanya.

You talk up your accomplishments, but not the shallow circumstances in which you accomplished them.

I bet if you eliminate Crazy Boy this week, you're going to try and claim a partial victory, even if it ends up you submit, which you will.

Even further deluding your fragile ego, huh?

Oh well. It's going to be such fun to shatter the facade you put up to the world in an attempt to pass yourself off as an "Alpha Female". Again, you finished First out of two. Congrats.

No matter what, kids, it's going to be fun leaving you in the dust at Reckoning Day. It's going to be fun retaining the Sin City Championship.

Fun for me, that is.

Revolution / Unfinished Business (vs Sinister Syndicate)
« on: January 14, 2012, 02:49:16 AM »
The fuck kind of joke is this?

-Hello to you, too! The outburst was from one Lunatikk Crippler. Why, you may ask? Well, he just saw the bookings for Revolution 90. He sees who he's facing, Cade Sydal and Tanya Black, better known as the Sinister Syndicate, and that suits him just fine. Crippler has wanted to get his hands on Tanya Black for quite some time, to teach her to keep her nose out his business and her mouth shut. Facing Cade Sydal would be a challenge, given Cade's status as a perrenial World Title contender. It was his partner in all of this that catches Crippler by suprise.-

"Cronos Diamante."

-He lays down the piece of paper with the advertised match ups for Revolution down. He picks up another piece of paper, slightly more worn, as if it were torn off of another piece of paper. Some numbers are scribbled down on it, and nothing else. Crippler studies these numbers, an indifferent look upon his face.-

"Should I? I dunno. I mean, remember last time...."

-Crippler shakes his head and crumples the numbers into his fist. The last time what?-

"I definately owe him a good thumping that's for sure. Why they thought we'd make good partners....They say I'M crazy."

-Crippler debates to himself now, silently. He lightly pounds his fist against his leg a few times before opening his hand, and smoothing the piece of paper flat. The numbers stare back up at him again, as if taunting him.-

"SHUT UP, NUMBERS! Dammit! Aw, what the hell."

-The Crippler picks up his phone, and begins to punch in the numbers on the paper, apparently a phone number. Before he punches in the last number, he hangs up the phone. He sighs, and looks into the camera.-

You know, this might work out a bit better than I thought.

Don't get me wrong, Cade. I plan on saving you for The Devil himself. Doesn't mean that I won't want a piece of you once that bell rings. You've done it all in SHOOT. Up until recently, you were World Champion. You've held title after title, after title. Hell, you have the audacity to call yourself "God's Favorite Wrestler". You wouldn't have an ego that big if you hadn't done anythiing to earn it, that's for sure.

My main focus in this match is to put a hurtin' on your walkin', talkin' STD you call a partner. But, again, I'm not afraid to put a few lumps on your head on my way to doin' that.

You think I'm intimidated? Think I'm scared? Shit, I've faced bigger and badder than you in the past. You don't scare me. You're type's all the same, anyway. You sit in a dark room, talk about who you're facing, talk shit about people like Cronos Diamante, people like myself. Maybe, if we're lucky, you'll get our names correct, right? Right.

You sit there, smack your lips together and form a bunch of derrogatory, insanely slanderous words, strung together in a very hurtful sentence. Ended with a period of course, not to be confused with the period Tanya seems to be on 24/7, I should add.

You talk and talk and talk some more.

And then you add a little bit more verbage.

Then you tell a story.

Then you remind us of all your accolades. In chronological, or alphabetical, order. Depends on your mood.

Then you talk about how we can't beat you. Then you mention what you're going to do in order to beat us.

Then you take a sip of Dr. Pepper. Then you continue to talk.

Have you caught the pattern yet? You do a lot of talking. You don't do enough fighting. You prefer to let your little henchmen do the dirty work, rather than yourself get physcially involved. Why, though? I've seen your resume, it's impressive. You aren't the type of guy who needs to hide behind bigger people with bigger muscles.

There are very few people who have had more success than Cade Sydal. But looking at you now? Running from a couple of veterans like Cronos and Jaime Alejandro, letting Sam and Chance weaken a man for you.

That's just....sad.

Sure, you didn't need any help beating Johnny Napalm. I've been in the ring with Napalm, he's not a cake walk. I should probably still point out that I've already beaten him, too. I guess that makes us even, huh?

But I know something that you don't. I've actually accomplished something here in SHOOT, that you haven't even done.

-The Crippler pats the Sin City Championship sitting on the table next to him.-

You've never been Sin City Champion. It's exhilarating, really, representing the fair city of Las Vegas. Ask your cumdumpster friend Tanya. She's won the thing twice, and still wants more. Still can't move on from being a FORMER two time Sin City Champion.

It's addicting, really. Being the champion. You should know better than anyone, right? Wasn't it a great feeling walking out of Master of the Mat, shiny gold title around your waist? Oh, shit....Sorry, dude. I forgot.

You. Tapped. Out.

That's another thing, Cade, that you've done in SHOOT that I haven't. Lost.

It's alright. Don't cry. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I've faced Eryk Van Warren before in the past, and he wasn't an easy adversary in the slightest.

But Cade, don't take my sympathy for weakness. I'm not gonna sit here and say I'm invincible. I'm far from it. I've felt pain a time or two, and I'm sure you'll have ways to hurt me.

But you'll never break me, Cade, that's for damn sure.

You may be one of the best in the business today, Cade, but there are people that would say the same thing about me. There's going to be quite  a few eyes on us this week, that's for sure.

It'll be the first time we lock up. Ever. Not in SHOOT, but ever. I'm sure it won't be the last, especially if we both want the same thing, and that's to be the top dog in SHOOT. But this is a milestone, for the both of us.

The task at hand, which team is going to be superior on this given night? The united tandem of the Sinister Syndicate? The rag tag grouping of Lunatikk Crippler and Cronos Diamante? Perhaps we'll get to see the TCHA of DOOM make an appearance in an attempt to assert their own brand of dominance.

Doesn't matter. When it's you and me in the ring, Cade, that's all that's gonna matter. I know to keep my eyes on you, or else I'll eat canvas after eating a Ninjaguiri. That's where the trust factor is going to come into play.

Do you think I'm gonna be able to trust my own partner? A man who fashions himself after The Devil himself? It's no secret that Cronos Diamante isn't high on the list of do-gooders or charity workers or anything like that. In fact, my parter, plain and simple, is an asshole.

Thing is, you have to be the bigger asshole, because the people, the SHOOT Project faithful, will back HIM rather than YOU. Not that you give a shit though, right?

You should, though. Having the support of a few is far worse off than having the support of thousands, and that's what we're going to have, whether we trust each other or not. The thing is, we have common ground.

We don't like you. We want to hurt you.

We're going to beat you.

You think Tanya Black is gonna make that big of a difference? Please. Her biggest claim to fame is talking out of both sides of her mouth. Tanya likes to bitch and moan about losing to Jaime Alejandro because the ref stepped in and saved her damn life by calling the match. The ref stopped the match because he felt that Tanya was no longer capable of defending herself.

Remind me again, how Tanya won her second Sin City Championship? Oh yeah. She beat Laura Seton down to the point where the ref stopped the match because he felt that Laura was no longer capable of defending herself.

Tanya, I see you don't bitch about that kind of stuff when it benefits YOU. Yet, when it cost you the chance to go forward in the Sin City Championship Series, the world is against you, it wasn't fair, it was convoluted, et cetera. I can guarantee that if you had won the SCCS, you wouldn't be bitching.

But of course, it's not fair to you because you DIDN'T win. Just like it wasn't fair for me, right? I mean, I was just the only person to go unbeaten throughout the same Series. They really stuck it to me that time, huh?

You're just pissed because you lost. You're jealous because I won. No amount of cute and not that clever nicknames you can come up with for me is going to change the fact that you are a sore ass loser, Tanya.

First you run your mouth to Eryk Masters and Other Guy, claiming you're some sort of "Goddess of Sin". Then you try and interfere in my match with Crazy Boy, and you cost that poor goof the Sin City title.

Then you run your mouth some more, this time to my face, and then pull a Cade Sydal and leave the ring when faced with a confrontation and let other people do your dirty work.

And last week? Oh, don't get me started on last week, you stupid little bitch. Bet you thought you were clever, huh? Hitting me with a pipe and leaving before I could regain consciousness. Why didn't you stick around, Tanya? I sure did want to show you how I reward people like you for using their brains in that fashion.

Because let's face it, you don't use your brains for much else, do you? All you know is the Sin City Title, and you're willing to do whatever it takes to get it. I mean, whatever it takes besides face me like the man you look like.

Revolution 90 is just a taster, an appetizer if you will, a free sample of what you're going to have coming at Reckoning Day. And I'm not the only person you've pissed off, either, but I'm the one you are gonna need to worry about.

I'm the one who will hold your health in his hands this week.

I'm the one who holds the Championship you so crave and mistakenly feel you deserve.

I'm the one willing to give you a shot at this title, just so I can stick it in your face when I win. Show you what a real Sin City Champion is like.

I don't plan on being a two time Sin City Champion, Tanya, because I don't plan on LOSING this championship in the first place.

I know you're gonna say this week isn't about the Sin City title, but you're wrong, Tanya. That's EXACTLY what it's about.

You think that by hiding on the very coattails you've hitched a ride on so far that your good buddy Cade is gonna soften me up for you. That when Reckoning Day comes along, I'm gonna be easy pickin's, and then all you'll have to deal with is Crazy Boy.

Knock knock. Who's there?

It's reality, Tanya. And you two need to talk.

I'm not some run of the mill has-been. I'm not some "lazy legend".

I'm the Innovator of Insanity.

I'm the King of Crazy.

I'm The Whole Fucked Up Show.

And, probably what eats at you the most to this day, I am Mr. Sin City.

I'm Lunatikk Crippler, bitch. And I don't really care if you fancy yourself as the "Alpha Female" of SHOOT. What, isn't there like, two of you? If you finish first out of two, what kind of accomplishment is that, really? Sounds to me like something an insecure person would make up just to pad her ego as much as she pads her bra.

I'd like to see you go up to people like Sinnocence or Ainsley Lake and tell THEM that you're the Alpha Female. It really would carry more weight than when you have to intimidate a female announcer just to make yourself feel important.

Try to intimidate me, Tanya. If that's what you've been trying to do all this time, well, I think we have different definitions of the word.

All you've done is piss me off. But what's that matter to you? After all, you've got what you want: a shot at MY Sin City Championship. Congratulations. You should probably work hard and try to win this match we have this week. Do yourself proud. Do Cade proud. Do Sammy and Chance proud.

Because if you can't beat me here, if you can't beat Cronos...

Then that's the only chance you're gonna have to take us down.

You act all crazy like it's in style, Tanya, but you need to know that it's a pain to be insane. I seriously think I'm gonna enjoy this, maybe even more than Cronos will. Either way..

I think I'm gonna enjoy this.

Revolution / UMADBRO? (II of II vs Crazy Boy/Sin City Title)
« on: January 08, 2012, 03:50:33 PM »
-The camera opens on Lunatikk Crippler, in his basement, working on a heavy bag. He peppers the bag with rights and lefts. It looks like he's been here for a while, because he's in full-on sweat mode. The stuff is just pouring from his head and face. He lays into the bag with one last, heavy right hand, and it seems this stage of his workout is over. He walks to a bench on the wall of the room and sits, grabbing a nearby bottle of water. He takes a sip of the water and then pours a little bit of the cold liquid on top of his head. As the beads of water roll down his face, he picks up a towel and wipes his forehead. He leans over again and picks something up, and when he sits back straight, we see that something is the SHOOT Project Sin City Championship. He folds the straps in and rests the title on his lap, staring straight into the camera.-

As predicted, Tyrone, you aren't happy at all, are you? Didn't think you would be. I also knew that you'd be crying foul, claiming to be screwed over, feeling that you and you alone are deserving of a shot at the Sin City title. Dude, I don't disagree with the fact that you deserve a rematch, not one bit. I do, however, think that there are more deserving challengers out there, waiting for their shot, and as long as I'm champion, and I should probably point out here that I plan on being Sin City Champion for a very long time, they will get their shot.

But I have to appease the big mouth, first. I gotta comply with the edict from management that you get one more shot. This begs the question, Tyrone, what is gonna happen wehn I beat you again? Maybe you had an infected hangnail that caused you to not be at a hundred percent for this contest. Maybe a fan will throw a banana peel in the ring, causing you to slip and fall directly into a Lunatikk Sweet, putting you out for the count.

The point I'm making is, no matter what the outcome is, no matter how I beat you, you are still going to be unhappy because the fact will still remain that I BEAT YOU. I'm just wondering what you excuse is going to be this time, is all.

Because there will be excuses coming from your mouth. I know it. I already told you that there isn't going to be any excuses, but I know a fine, upstanding citizen such as yourself is going to find one.

Me, on the other hand, I'll be looking towards the future, towards Reckoning Day. I'll be going on to the biggest show of the year, as Sin City Champion, looking to once again retain the title. You will be sucking down Twinkies and vanilla milkshakes, wishing it could be you.

Wish in one hand, and crap in the other, Tyrone. Guess which hand is gonna get filled first.

Last time you saw me, I was in the heat of the moment. I was still pretty pissed off that you jumped me from behind. I'm not sure if my anger really projected well, but that's in the past. Now, I see why you did it. I really do get it.

Mommy didn't hug you enough, right?

No that's not right. Sorry. Years of useless therapy will put crazy ideas into one's head, whether you want them there or not.

The reason you're so pissed is that you want to be me. Hey, on any other day, I'd tell you to calm down and just be yourself, but being yourself isn't exactly that appealing.

I mean, hey. You have to get in the ring with a certifiable madman.

My mood can flip depending on many things. The weather, the amount of precipitation. The number of people in the crowd wearing El Asso Wipo t-shirts. All of these things can and probably will affect my frame of mind going into our match.

That's something you need to hope for in a very positive manner. Make sure you're prayin' that the weather is nice, there's no rain, and only three people are supporting SHOOT's legendary luchadore on their chests and backs.

Otherwise, I'd sooner snap my fingers than snap your neck, and I can do either without you even noticing until it's too late.

You know, Crazy Boy, what I really need to say is-

-The Crippler doesn't finish his thought, as the door leading to his basement gym crashes open.-

The fuck? Miko?

-Not quite. A semi-elderly man stomps down the stairs. The man is dressed in a cheap suit with a plaid kind of shirt on underneath the jacket, and no tie. His hair is greased back, and he smiles, showing off his buttery yellows. The hell is this?-

Who the hell do you think you are, coming in my house uninvited?

Ah, dear sir, your charming wife let me in! And may I say, she is quite the beauty.

I guess you can say that. Thank you.

Not at all. And may I say, as well, that she's got an ass you can bounce a quarter off of?

Now THAT you cannot say. Say it again, your tongue will find itself forcibly removed from your mouth.

Fair enough, sir, fair enough!

Now what the hell do you want?

Well, I understand that you are quite the professional athlete, sir, and I am the secret to your success!

No, you aren't.

But I could be! I, sir, am what you could call a professional athlete's motivational speaker!


I am a motivational speaker for professional athletes! I come to them and give them one helluva pep talk before the big game!

So you're here to give me a pep talk?

That's right!

You're going to give me the confidence to win my next match?


And you say a friend of mine sent you over here?

He did, he did!

*sigh* Excuse me for a moment.

-The Crippler reaches over to his left and picks up his cellphone. He dials up a number, and puts the thing to his ear. We hear a click, and vaguely hear someone say "Hello?"-

I hate you.

-We here indistinct words being said by the person on the phone.-

Yeah he's here.

-The Crippler jerks the phone away from his ear. All that can be heard from the earpiece is hysterical laughter. The Crippler jabs his finger into the phone and hangs up.-

Look, I don't need any motivation, okay? I'm the SHOOT Project's Sin City Champion, and I-

Nonsense! Everyone needs motivation! Why, without motivation, the world would be full of nothing but lazy slobs with no drive to even get off the couch and grab another beer!

Wow, that's.....Pretty pessimistic for a motivational speaker.

Well, that's why I'm here! To make sure that you have that intestinal fortitude to not only make it through Crazy Guy-

Crazy BOY.

-And you are able to roll right on to Redemption Day!

It's Reckoning Day. Seriously, it's the biggest show of the year, why don't you even know what the name of it is?

I don't watch wrestling.

You don't watch wrestling?


But you think you can motivate me to win a wrestling match?

I can!

But you don't even know what a wrestling match is like.

I've watched a lot of boxing, so I think I've got the gist of it.

I can't believe I'm saying this to another person, but, that doesn't make any fucking sense.

Sure it does! All you need to do is dig down deep, and give it your best shot!

-The Crippler sits there, stunned in silence. He shakes his head.-

Okay, and?

And nothing! It is scientifically proven that nine times out of ten, when you dig down deep AND give it your best shot, you will probably win.




Yeah, I guess, sure!

You are probably the worst motivational speaker I have ever seen.

Ha, that accent of yours! You pronounced "Best" where it sounded like "Worst".

It sounded like worst, because I said worst. "Dig Down Deep?" The fuck is that? I told a fifth grader to dig down deep in his pee wee football league. You don't tell a grown man to "dig down deep".

So what you're saying is that you are a better person than any fifth grader?

Now you're putting words in my mouth.

I understood you quite plainly sir! You are PREJUDICED against fifth graders! You can't stand the way they sit there, all fifth-gradery. How they have recess and shit. You're a GRADIST.

You are, by far, the single dumbest person I have ever met in my life, and I have met El Asso Wipo on at least three occasions.

Don't talk to me like that, you fucking bigot! My son happens to be in the fifth grade!

I never said I was prejudiced against the fifth grade.

You didn't have to, gradist. It's written all over your face. It's in your body language. I found this piece of paper on my way down.

-The man holds up a piece of paper, on which "I HATE FIF GRADERZ." is written. In crayon, no less.-

You wrote that. I don't even OWN crayons anymore.

You can't prove that I wrote it!

Is your name Gus?

Yeah, how'd you know?

You signed your little hate note there. And the S is backward.

-The man turns the paper around and looks at his signature.-

Alright, I admit it! I hate fifth graders! Those little bastards think they're so great, just because they get to have square pizza and play tetherball. Fuck them!

Get the fuck out of my house.

Can I borrow a dollar?


Kay, bye!

-Gus the demotivational speaker flees up the stairs before Crippler can get up and at him. Crippler shakes his head, and looks back into the camera.-

Anycrap, Tyrone, there isn't much time left until you get your big rematch. Not much time left before you can start making your plans for Reckoning Day weekend. Maybe you can have some friends over and play Scrabble and Stratego. Have some chips and dip, order a pizza, get buzzed on an O'Douls, and watch the show from the comforts of your own home.

Because regardless what you may think, you aren't taking my Sin City Championship away.

-The Crippler grabs the Sin City Title in his lap and holds it up by a strap. The center part of the title is level with Crippler's face.-

THIS is what it's all about, Tyrone! It's what you want! It's what Tanya Black wants! It's what any newcomer and veteran in the SHOOT Project wants! It's what I own, and what you never will, as long as I can fucking help it! There isn't a person alive who wouldn't do whatever it takes to have their hands on this championship right here, because being Sin City Champion means that you are on the rise in SHOOT. And I am. And you aren't. You're on the descent right now, Tyrone, because one more time, you stand face to face with Lunatikk Crippler, The Whole Fucked Up Show.

I'm walking into Revolution as Sin City Champion. I'm walking out the same way.

You, my friend, will be lucky just to be able to walk out.

See? I can turn on the anger, turn on the rage at a mere whim. This isn't good news for you, Tyrone, because this is when I'm most dangerous. Like a momma bear protecting her cubs, I am the Sin City Champion. This title right here is my baby. I've earned the right to be the man who represents the whole of Las Vegas as their champion, and I do it with fucking furious pride. You will NOT just take what I have worked so hard to attain. You will not just take away my baby, like you work for Child Protective Services. The only abuse that is going to be going on is when I beat you within an inch of reason, just for choosing to fuck with me. I'm the wrong guy to fuck with, Tyrone, and very soon, you will know why.

It's a pain to be insane, Tyrone. At Revolution? It'll be your fucking agony.

Revolution / Resolve (I of II vs Crazy Boy/Sin City Title)
« on: January 07, 2012, 04:01:54 AM »
-Happy Holidays, SHOOT Project! Hope you are not too hungover from your New Year's celebrations, because we have a lot to cover. Lunatikk Crippler is back, and once again is getting set to defend his Sin City Championship against Crazy Boy. The last time these two faced off, Crippler pulled out the victory, but under devious circumstances. Tanya Black interjected herself in the proceedings, looking to blast Lunatikk Crippler with his own Sin City title, but instead nailing Crazy Boy, allowing Crippler to snap Tyrone down, Bitchifying him in the middle of the ring.

Follow that up with a standoff the following week between Tanya and Crippler, and follow THAT with a sneak attack by Crazy Boy, leaving Crippler laying in the center of the ring on the last installment of Revolution. Now, Crippler is not in a good mood, and is looking to take it out on anyone who gets in his path. Luckily for him, that someone is the man who nailed him with the Crazy Slam himself. We will have to wait and see what Crippler's actions are going to be, but for now, let's go to this pre-recorded message sent to the SHOOT Project offices just this morning.-

Second verse, same as the first.

Have you heard that phrase before, Tyrone? Basically, that means that we're repeating history, and it's going to go down just like it did before.

Regardless of whatever you may be thinking about how our last match ended, and no matter what exactly you were smoking right before you jumped me from behind, thinking you were going to get away with it, things are going to happen just like they did before.

You'll try to beat me, you'll end up tapping out, and I'll walk away STILL the Sin City Champion.

It's been the usual tale for anyone thinking they were hard enough to take the Sin City title away from me. You, Johnny Napalm, Jean-Gerard Baptiste. None of you could stop me from laying hands on the gold after the bell rang.

Don't use Tanya Black as a crutch, even though she probably enjoys guys leaning on her, and on top of her, and behind her on all fours, and in the Chinese Sex Swing. I'm not happy with her interferring in our amtch any more than you are. But in case she rang your bell just a little too loudly last time, you should probably rewatch that match, and notice that she was aiming for me. She was probably thinking that the self-professed "Goddess of Sin" would have an easier time wrestling the Sin City Championship away from you rather than me. Maybe she proved that when she backed away from a face to face confrontation with me last week.  Maybe she thinks you're an easier mark for regaining "her" championship.

If that's the case, she doesn't know you very well. Tyrone you're a former LEGACY World Champion. That puts you on a list with all types of esteemed talent. Guys like X-Calibur, Issac Entragian, and the recently retired Loco Martinez. You can say that you have been World Champion, Tyrone.

But unlike Tanya, and unlike myself, you cannot say that you've been Sin City Champion. Neither one of you can say that you won the Sin City Championship Series, either. I did that. I beat four former Sin City Champions on the way to earning this strap, and nobody can take that away from me. Just like you can't take the Sin City Title away from me. So let's just chalk up what happened in our last bout to a strong case of "It doesn't matter". The end of the day came, and it saw you tapping out, saw me retaining my title, and saw you get bitter. Bitter enough to think your best line of action was to jump me, and lay me out in the middle of everyone and their mom's prying eyes.

And that was a mistake.

You probably thought you'd be lucky enough to get one up on me. Congratulations! You succeeded! You thought that you might be able to goad me into getting in the ring with you again, putting the Sin City gold on the line. Great job! You're two for two!

Did you think you were gonna have some kind of mental edge over me, or perhaps you did enough damage to give you a better chance at beating me? Sorry, but we've all gotta miss sometimes, and that was you missing the mark.

See, you thought wrong on that one. I'm just fine now. I've had plenty of time to heal in just a couple short days, and in a couple more, you'll be playing victim to me once again. All you succeeded in doing was pissing me off, and you need to learn that is something that you just don't do.

Jack Reed did that, Tyrone, and now he's in a coma.

You see, Jack Reed wanted to embarass me. He wanted to provoke me, belittle me, and pick a fight with me. He did everything he could to do so on the eve of the biggest night of my SHOOT Project career,  and no matter how many times I tried to turn the other cheek, he just slapped it again and again. As you may know, he eventually got his wish, and I snapped. I saw red, and I brutally attacked Reed. And then some.

Much like in any situation, there was good news and bad news. The bad news was that he gets to spend all his free time away from the ring, laying in a bed that isn't that comfy, enjoying three course meals through the finests straws paid for my the Las Vegas hospitals. The good news was that I figured after that display, it would set an example for anyone who thought it would be a good idea to fuck with me, exactly what I was capable of doing to a man. Exactly what happens when I am forced to let the anger and insanity take control, and give in to the Dark Side of the Force.

Do you know what the most important factor in all of this was, Tyrone?

Jack Reed was my friend.

And still, I did those things to him. He has the current brain capacity of a cucumber, or any other common garden vegetable. And I get to live with the knowledge that I did that to a friend. A man that I had a great respect for.

A friend, Tyrone.

That is something you are not.

You want me to snap? You want me to get nuts? I can get nuts. But you have to really question whether of not that the Sin City Championship is worth pushing me over the edge that I'm very close to going over. But go ahead. When I attacked Jack Reed, people came in to stop me. Why? Because we weren't sanctioned to have a fight like that. We are, however.

Still feeling brave?

Did you know that I know countless ways to cause lasting pain without breaking bones, tearing muscles, or leaving any sort of mark at all?

Did you know that I can tie you in knots before you even know that the bell has rung?

Did you know that you could have avoided all of this by just STAYING THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY?

I'm sure this is all information you could have used before your cowardly attack. Thing is, I have gotta admit, I AM kinda glad you did what you did. My back certainly disagreed for a few moments, but hell, like I said before, I wasn't happy with what that interferring harpy did, sticking her nose in our business as if our match was held in the confines of Cade Sydal's ass.

Now, you got your rematch. A second chance to take what is mine. Not that you'll be successful, but still, you at least have a chance.

But Tanya Black won't be sticking her fat face in the ring this time. I'm sure she realizes that right now, if she likes the shape her nose is, she'll leave it away from our business. It will be just you, and just me.

And there will be no excuses.

You get what you wished for, and you should have been more careful there, buddy. Because this time when you get trapped in the center of the ring, unable to move, unable to escape, only able to feel pain, you'll know that the only means of release will be to tap out or verbally submit?

That will be all on you. Don't blame me. Don't blame Tanya Black.

Point the finger at the sad son of a bitch you see in the mirror. The man who once held the LEGACY World Heavyweight Championship.

You know, I held a World Championship in the past, as well. What does that mean in SHOOT? Absolutely nothing. You work your way up here, just like it should be everywhere else. You may be rewarded with another shot at the Sin City Title, but really, Tyrone? What kind of reward is it really? I mean all you are doing is subjecting yourself to another beating, again at my hands? I can do this all day, but how well is your body gonna hold up when I've put it through the ringer once again?

You can act as tough as you want to, that's fine. You can say that the voices in your head are telling you to hurt me and make me suffer. That some other personality inside you is clamoring to become champion at my expense.

And the key word is TRY. You can try and if at first you don't succeed, try again. And you can try again after that, as well. And again after that. Doesn't matter to me if you don't listen to the warnings I give you. Again, all that pain, all that misery is on YOU. I'm very close to snapping, and when it happens, if you're the man in my path, llike how Jack Reed was, all the better for me and the worse it is for you.

This is a new day and a new year, Crazy Boy. We're lucky enough to have the esteem of being the SHOOT Project's inagural match in the 2012 campaign. An as it is a new year, I have made a few resolutions, just like any other person.

I resolve to be the greatest Sin City Champion in SHOOT Project's history. I may sound a bit like  a dick when I say that, and I'm sorry if I do. Fact is, I want the Sin City title to mean something. It represents the city we call home. The town we shed blood, sweat, and tears in for the people. And I've beaten most of the former champions already. Jaime Alejandro, the first ever SCC? Beat him. Laura Seton? Jean-Gerard Baptiste? Maya Nakashima? Beat them. Even Jester Smiles, a legendary figure in SHOOT Project, submitted when he was being Bitchified in the center of the ring. I've already held this title longer than most that held it before me. Only Mr. Heart and Laura Seton have held it longer, and I'm creeping closer to passing Heart very soon. In fact, I will be second on the all time list once I beat you again this week.

I also resolve that I will no longer be taking yyou for granted, Tyrone. Your chicken shit stunt last week proved that you're capable of anything if you are capable of sneaking up on a rabid dog and  poking him with a sharp stick before he can turn around and bit you. We'll see if your bite is as bad as your bark any more once I've knocked your teeth down your throat.

But most importantly, Tyrone, we will both resolve this situation between us very soon. Time is ticking. And you will see that I am not a man you want to push too far.

I am a madman.

I'm the SHOOT Project's Sin City Champion.

I am Mr. Sin City.

I'm Lunatikk Crippler, and I'm "The Whole Fucked Up Show".

And you're not.

And you're fucked.

-This is the end of transmission. We hope to hear more from Lunatikk Crippler by Sunday evening. Keep your eyes on the SHOOT Project, as we will bring you Lunatikk Crippler's words first!-

General Discussion / Pictures I Like-NSFW Version
« on: December 09, 2011, 04:09:26 AM »
I don't know if there was already a thread for this, but I figure I'll kick one off if there isn't.

" width="400" height="648" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-653

Revolution / Who We Are (II of II vs Crazy Boy/Sin City Title)
« on: December 03, 2011, 02:20:17 PM »

That's the sound the weight bar makes when Lunatikk Crippler replaces it after a set of reps. He's in the middle of his workout, and it seems that he's going to take a short break. In his basement, where he has a home gym set up, he sits up on the bench and picks up a water bottle. He pours some into his mouth, then pours a little on top of his head. He picks up a nearby towel and pats his face with it, beads of sweat and water rolling down it.

It's been a tough week. Not just getting prepared to defend his Sin City Championship, though that is an important factor. It isn't just preparing for Crazy Boy, either. But The Crippler has had other things on his mind.

But that is a story meant for another day. Today, that's all about Revolution. It's Lunatikk Crippler vs Crazy Boy for the Sin City Championship. The Crippler has gone out and defended his Sin City Championship that he won from Jean Gerard Baptiste at Master of the Mat, defeating the Frenchman as well as Maya Nakashima in the finals of the Sin City Championship Series. Thus far, winning the Sin City Championship is the highlight of his SHOOT career, as well as perhaps a sign of things to come.

But it will all be for nothing if The Crippler cannot defeat Crazy Boy. The title he worked so hard to win, the reputation he has been building since his debut in SHOOT Project, they will be all gone.

Just like Loco Martinez, who was forced to retire this past week due to being unable to defeat X-Calibur for the World Heavyweight Championship.

Just like Jack Reed.

The Crippler shakes his head. He looks over to his right, and sitting atop a table, next to his cigarettes and ashtray, is the Sin City Championship. This may be the first time since winning the title that we have not seen him holding it firmly in his hands. He looks at it with great pride, knowing that his hard work indeed paid off, and grins slightly, knowing what having a strong reign as Sin City Championship can do for his career in the SHOOT Project.-

That right there, sitting on that table? No, not the Marlboros. That championship is a symbol. It's a sign of dedication, determination, and drive. From the moment that my Redemption Rumble performance earned me a spot in the Sin City Championship Series, to the very first match, locking up with Jaiime Alejandro, a man I respect greatly since, to the finale at Master of the Mat, where I pinned Jean-Gerard Baptiste to claim my first piece of SHOOT Project gold, through Johnny Napalm, and now to today and beyond: I want this more than anyone.

Of course, it is my ultimate goal to be World Champion someday, Tyrone. Isn't it everyone's? If it ain't yours, you shouldn't even be here.

But here in the right now, I'm the Sin City Champion, the pride and joy of Las Vegas, Nevada. And I'm proud to be. I'm going to defend this against all comers, anytime, anyplace. That includes you, of course.

But that's the kind of person I am. If Tanya Black were still holding the Sin City title, you probably wouldn't see a title shot. But I'm not Tanya.

I'm Lunatikk Crippler. I'm "The Whole Fucked Up Show".

There are many things that make me who I am, Tyrone. The personality is a many layered thing, and cannot be labelled by one specific trait.

But I'm sure you know this. Maybe they don't call you Crazy Boy for nothing.

Myself, personally? I've seen crazier.

I've been in the ring with a great number of competitors in my time. Drunks, psychos, thugs, rappers with a Harvard degree. I've been in the ring with men who got sexual pleasure from a World Championship. I've been in the ring with men who literally cannot feel pain.

I've been in the ring with people who have everything to lose. I've been there with people who have absolutely nothing to lose.

Which are you, Tyrone? What do you fight for? Is it personal gain and greed? That seems to be common in this industry. I've seen way too many people come into the ring, looking to make big money, looking to use professional wrestling as a stepping stone into something bigger. They never last very long, to be honest, especially when they are placed in the ring with me.

I mean, let's be honest, they call me The Crippler for a reason. I've broken lesser men in the matter of minutes. Not always physically, mind you, but mentally. I've shown them pain like that of which they couldn't even imagine. I've done things to people that would make your hair stand on end.

I'm not proud of every single thing I've done, but who is? Every single person has their share of regrets.

What do you regret, Tyrone? Do you even feel anymore? You're a completely different Crazy Boy than what I faced the last time.

Doesn't matter, though. In the end, the result will be the same.

What do you fight for? Honor? Dignity? Respect? All of them are important things, Crazy Boy. Which is more important to you?

Respect? Yeah, that's a big one. I mean, if you aren't respected in this industry, what are you other than a punchline? Guys like X-Calibur are respected. Guys like Dan Stein, Cade Sydal, they are respected, even if they aren't well liked. Guys like Jonas Coleman, Jaime Alejandro, they are well respected AND liked.

Crazy Boy, I don't like you. And I damn sure don't respect you. So what are you?

Do you even have any dignity left? Any honor? Did you throw all of that away when you turned on Jaime? How vidicated were you exactly, knowing that Alejandro BEAT you like a fucking dog at Master of the Mat? Was it what you expected?

Was it all worth it?

I guess, in your eyes, it was. After all, here you are, rewarded for your treachery with a shot to become Sin City Champion.

Over my dead body, that is.

I already asked what kind of person you are, Tyrone. I know you're quiet, that's for sure, but let me tell you what kind of person I am.

I'm greedy for respect. I don't half ass anything, and I don't take anything, or anyone, for granted. I look, each and every night, to become better. Not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of the world. I don't slow down, and I don't fucking stop until the job is done. And that is a lifestyle that has treated me very well.

From the early days of my career, where I could only get a job by being the token Hardcore wrestler. Where the only way I could get work is if I was willing to bleed night in and night out. From that point on, I was all about earning respect. And I did just that. There aren't any men that I have been in the ring with who can't honestly say that they don't respect me. Because it's either respect me, or I'll teach you some respect.

Also, Tyrone, I am a wrestler's wrestler. It doesn't matter who you put me in the ring with, I can go with anyone. You want to take it to the air, that's fine. I can fly with the best of them. You want to keep it on the mat? That's cool, too. I can tie you in knots and make you hurt in places you didn't even know you had places. You want a fist fight with me? No, Tyrone, you really don't. And you definately don't want to get hardcore with me, because that may very well be the last thing you ever fucking do.

I'm also a realist, Tyrone. I realize that you have done a lot in this business, with the accolade that jumps out the most in peoples minds being that you were a former LEGACY World Champion. Kudos, I guess. I never stepped foot in LEGACY, personally. Never got an invite.  But still, you had to beat someone for that title, and you did.

You've won championship after championship, title after title, and now you want some more.

Too fucking bad, Tyrone. The closest you'll get to the Sin City Championship is if I allow you to check your damn reflection in it.

The Sin City Title belings to me, and there isn't a person in the SHOOT Project is going to tell me different. You think you have what it takes to pry the Sin City Title from my hands? You think you got the stones enough to beat me for it?

I think different. So you're gonna have to prove me wrong, aren't you? Well, that's easier said than done, isn't it?

For you see, I am a lifer. I've been doing this for years, Tyrone. Longer than most here in SHOOT.  I'm a lot like guys like Alejandro and Diamond Del Carver in that respect: I'll never quit. I'll be doing this until my body gives out, and I'll probably do it for a little while after that, as well. Wrestling is what I know. It's my blood, sweat, and tears. It's what I eat and drink, inhale and exhale. It is my main focus, and it is my first love. My wife understands that wrestling is my passion, and I sink myself completely into it to the point of obsession. I am not my accomplishments, but I take great pride in what I've accomplished, and I know that I am far from done making my wrestling resume grow.

I'm just now reaching the prime of my career, Tyrone. That's bad news for you, I'm afraid. It was bad news for Johnny Napalm just a couple weeks ago, when I bitchified him in the center of the ring. What's more is that I will keep getting better and better each and every time I step into the ring.

That's bad for you, worse for whomever comes next.

We're almost there, Crazy Boy. The moment of truth. You may not have personally done anything to wrong me, but rest assured, I'm going to beat you like you owe me money. Now you know who I am, what I'm about, and what I am going to do to you. All that's left for you to do....

.....is try and stop me. Good luck with that.

-The Crippler takes another drink of water, before laying back down on the bench. He lifts the weight bar up and brings it down to his chest, continuing his workout. Revolution 87 comes to us live in two days, December 5th, being kicked off with this Sin City Championship match. Be there!!-

SHOOT Project Discussion / Okay so here it is
« on: November 30, 2011, 05:02:48 PM »
I'm wondering what you all think of the work I've been putting out. Not just with the roleplays and everything, but with my match writing as well. Josh helped me figure out the problem I was having with my segments and matches with the spacing issue, so I don't think that will be an issue anymore, but really, with the rp's what do you like? What do you dislike? What jumps out at you?

I would like to get some honest opinions, and I know I will get them here. I want to do my best and be able to compete with the upper echelon here in SHOOT, not that I don't like the position I'm in, but I just wanna know where you guys think I stand.

Thanks a lot in advance.

Revolution / History (I of II vs Crazy Boy/SCC Title)
« on: November 30, 2011, 12:33:44 PM »
It's been a while, Crazy Boy.

-The Crippler sits alone in his rec room in his house. The Sin City Championship rests comfortably in his lap, and an ice cold bottle of Pepsi rests on a coaster next to him. He lifts up the bottle and removes the cap and takes a sip. Crippler replaces the cap and returns it to the coaster on the table with a smirk.-

The wife makes me use these things. As if the bottle itself is going to cause the table to stain. Well, she may have a point, but men are not yet used to caring for their furniture the way they might care about other things.

You know, Tyrone, can I call you Tyrone? Ah, who cares? I'm going to do what I want, anyway. Tyrone, there are only a few people here in SHOOT that I can honestly now say I have some sort of history with. There's X-Calibur, of course. I'm sure you remember him, and the beating he gave you not all that long ago. There's Jaime Alejandro, another name, I'm sure, you're all too familiar with.

And then, Tyrone, there's you.

Don't get me wrong, I had never had one second of interaction with you before I came to SHOOT Project. But what many people may not realize, what you yourself may not remember....

In my SHOOT Project debut? You were my opponent.

Well, one of my opponents. It was a triple threat match, after all. This very match right here.

-Lunatikk Crippler motions towards his television, which is replaying the Triple Threat match between The Crippler, Crazy Boy, and Stephen Rawlings from Dominion 4. We've just seen the spot where Rawlings dropkicks Crazy Boy and lands on Lunatikk Crippler with a leg drop, busting his lip. Crippler absentmindedly puts his hand to his mouth, remembering the old injury.-

Heh. I forgot about that one. Usually, I'm quick to remember every time my blood is drawn. But I suppose I merely felt that Stevie Rawlings was just insignificant enough to let it slide.

I bring this match up for good reason, Tyrone. This thing between you and I needs to be history. It may not be as personal as your beef with Jaime, but still, you cannot deny that we have unfinished business to take care of.

And what a treat for you! You have been named as number one contender to my Sin City Championship! Some people would kill for an opportunity at this championship that I have laying here in my lap. I mean, just look at the names who have held this golden title around their waists.

Men like Jaime Alejandro, your old friend.
-The Crippler smirks, stopping only to take another swallow of his carbonated beverage.- Then there's men like Mr. Heart, who was a little, well, we really don't have to get into what he was.

Then there's men like Jester Smiles, whether you loved him or hated him, you couldn't deny the credibility that Jester brought to the Sin City Division. Without Jester Smiles, you wouldn't see men like Jean Gerard Baptiste holding this title, or men like Maya Nakashima.

Or men like Tanya Black.

And now, I am the standard in the Sin City Division. I am the man who carries the torch for the town of Las Vegas. I am Mr. Sin City, and you, Tyrone? You're not just Crazy Boy anymore.

You're just plain crazy if you think you'll take this from me.

I've made it quite clear that I take a great deal of pride at being Sin City Champion. Once I defeat you, Tyrone, I will have held this championship for two months. Only Laura Seton held this title longer, but no matter. I beat her, too, and I'll do it again. You aren't good enough or smart enough to figure out a way to take this from me, Tyrone, though I do welcome you to try.

Maybe all the success I've had here in SHOOT is going to my head. I know I'm sounding a little bit.....arrogant. But you know what the say: It's not arrogance if you can back it up. And my mouth writes checks that my ass can cash, no matter the size.

My record should speak for itself, Crazy Guy. I made my debut in SHOOT back in April of this year, and to this very fucking day, not a single person has been able to pin me. Nobody has been able to make me submit.  What makes you think that you are going to make some sort of....history....by being the first under the SHOOT Project banner to do so?

What makes you think you've got what it takes to beat me? Do you think that I can be manipulated into thinking that I've got little chance against you? Sure you've won your fair share of titles in the past, but much like I called my record here in SHOOT into question, I'm calling yours out as well. The difference is, well, you've got a lot of "L's" on your conscience. You've spent a lot of time on your back. More than a Las Vegas call girl, some could say.

But recently, I will admit, you seem to have found a new fire lit under your ass. Maybe that's why you're being given a chance that some could argue there are others on the roster more deserving of. For example, Maya, JGB, Laura Seton, and Tanya Black never received a chance to regain this championship. Not a one on one opportunity, at least. The Sin City Championship Series was a grueling test, mind you, to determine the right person to carry this torch that burns around my waist, and forgive me if I show a little bit of conceit, but I do believe that the right person won.

The only man to go through the entire series without having a blemish on his record. A man who kicked, fought, clawed his way to the top of the standings. The person who went to Master of the Mat and overcame the odds to become Sin City Champion.

The Whole Fucked Up Show.

Maybe that's the real issue here, Tyrone. Maybe you're a little jealous of the success I've been having, and the success you've been getting isn't meeting your lofty expectations. Maybe you feel that you deserve better? Maybe you feel that you've earned something?

Then fucking prove it, Tyrone. Don't just sit there and cry about it. Prove it to me. Get off your ass and don't bring that same shit you brought to Jaime Alejandro at Master of the Mat, because it isn't going to be good enough. If you can't even beat Jaime, how do you think you're going to beat me?

If you have done your homework, than you know in recent history, I made Jaime Alejandro tap out.

You know how tough he is, having failed in beating him on a grand stage, Tyrone. But let me repeat that so it can sink in a little better.

You couldn't beat Jaime Alejandro.

I beat him to the point that he submitted.

What the hell do you think I'm going to do to you? Do you think this is going to be some kind of repeat performance from the last time we stepped into the ring?

There isn't going to be any Stephen Rawlings to take my attention away from you this time, Crazy Boy. There is not going to be anything except for me and except for you.

And except for the SHOOT Project's Sin City Championship. I've already gone on record in saying that I will defend against anyone at anytime, Tyrone. That includes you.

It doesn't matter to me what has been done in the past. Whether my opponent is.....deserving. What makes me different from champions like X-Calibur and Mason Pierce is that I don't fear losing my title. I don't have to be picky about selecting who I defend against and who doesn't get a shot. My list of contenders is, well, everybody. And yes, Tyrone, you are a part of everybody. So you are the lucky victim on this week's broadcast of the pain game.

So I don't fear losing my title. I think I've gotten that point across rather well, rather quickly. Does that mean I won't be upset if I lose it? Absolutely not. I, like you, am human. I know that eventually, the right person is going to come along and beat me for it, fair and square. However, am I supposed to take solace in that? Bullshit.

I am a man, just like you are, and as a man, I have PRIDE. And I take great pride in being the man representing Las Vegas and SHOOT Project in general as Sin City Champion. Do you think I won't snap if you do something underhanded and take this gold from me?

I guess the only way you're going to know for sure is by beating me. And let me just say, for the record, since we are in Las Vegas, the house wouldn't bet in your favor.

Because you're not going to make me submit, Tyrone. I've been doing this nearly 15 years, and in that time span not one single fucking time have I tapped out.

And I've been in the ring with some of the best the wrestling business has to offer. Guys like Ray Willmott and Alexander Harmston.

Men like John Iley who will twist you into a pretzel and make you sing him a jaunty tune before he lets you out.

Guys like X-Calibur who know just as many ways as I do to make you hurt.

You see, while I may not yet have been in SHOOT for a full year Crazy Boy, I've still been around the block a few times. I've shed blood around the world, some of it my own, but that's just a small sacrifice that is necessary to make in order to truly belong.

Belong in this business. Belong holding the crown of champion.

Belong in the pages of HISTORY.

Are you going to make history, Tyrone? Are you going to do whatever it takes for the SHOOT Project fans to remember you for a lifetime?

Are you going to put your name in the record books for all eternity by becoming SHOOT Project's 10th Sin City Champion?

Are you going to beat me?

-The Crippler turns his head and focuses fully on the television screen. He has just begun to Bitchify Stephen Rawlings. Rawlings is screaming in pain, and Crazy Boy is trying to crawl his way across the ring in order to break up the submission, but he is too late. Much like Gregory Hines, Rawlings is tapping. Crippler grins, and turns back to the camera-

No. You're not. But you will see to it that history does not, in fact, repeat itself.

This time, you'll be the one tapping out. You'll be the one who gets Bitchified. And Tyrone?

You'll know more than anyone that it's a pain to be insane.

Revolution / From Darkness to the Light (II of II vs Napalm/SCC Title)
« on: November 08, 2011, 10:10:31 PM »
The more things change.

And yet, the more things stay the same.

-The light is bright. This is a lot different from the setting from the last time we heard from the reigning Sin City Champion. Crippler sits in the middle of what could be the same room. Same chair, same table. The Sin City Championship rests in front of Crippler on the table, and with the camera angle, we can only see his eyes and above on his face. The title belt shines brightly in the light, as Crippler continues.-

It took me a while to get through all of what you said, Johnny. And people thought that -I- was crazy.

I'm going to clear a little bit of air once, and once only, Napalm, because you seem to have a very warped attention span. For most, seeing is believing, but for you, it seems that what you see is the opposite of what you get.

You brought up the topic of Jack Reed. What business is it of yours? None, for the record, so you would do better to keep your trap shut about things that don't concern you: that's SHOOT Project 101. Otherwise known as MIND YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

But I have to set the record straight, again, because of your ignorance.

I do not jump people from behind. I SHOOT right between the eyes. What happened to Jack Reed was his own damn fault, even though I regret my actions. But jumping him from behind? Did not happen. He is the one who picked the fight, no matter how hard I fought to control my temper. And when I finally struck him, I hit him in the face. Again. And again. And again.

That's going to be a recurring thing, Johnny, because I plan on hitting you in the face over and over and over.

Secondly, are you seriously that egocentric that you truly believe that my whole world revolves around you? My ego is writing checks that my ass can't cash? You are my illusion? The one triggering my insanity? My grim reaper?

You tell me again what checks my ego is writing after Sunday, Johnny. Or better yet, tell me what checks I've not cashed? Must have been that time recently that someone pinned me. Or that time I tapped out.

Wait a minute. Neither of those things have happened yet in SHOOT.

Do I have an ego? Sure I do. So does every single person in SHOOT, such as yourself. But I think I've earned the right to have a bit of confidence, since out of the nine people selected to compete in the Sin City Championship Series, I'm the only one to walk out with the gold, and I am the only one to not be defeated within it's duration.

You honestly think that all the decisions I make are because of you? That I fear you? That you drive me crazy? That you're going to be the end of me?

And I thought you said that I was full of myself?

-The Crippler lets out a little laugh. His eyes, however, are unchanged. There is no humor behind that laugh.-

I have every right to talk about myself as being on top of the world. I am a champion, Johnny. That's something I've been far more times than you ever have. You are the challenger, that is to say, you're going to attempt to take this shiny, golden title away from me.

Perhaps these past couple weeks you may feel that I am hiding behind the gold I covet, the championship glory that rests in front of me to this time.

Perhaps you feel that I fear you to the point that I do not wish to show you my face.

You'd be wrong on both counts.

You need to understand that there is nothing more important than the gold you challenge for, Napalm. This Sin City Championship means so much to the people of Las Vegas, and to SHOOT in general. It's their hometown title.

Not only that, but being champion means that the target is on your back. As champion, I carry the torch for the entire division and the entire Sin City.

The title is in it's rightful place. It doesn't matter who I am anymore, Johnny, which should be a comfort to you, since you don't seem to know which nickname you want to roll with anymore.

It doesn't matter who you are, because THIS is what defines you.

-The Crippler reaches forward and taps the nameplate on the Sin City title. A nameplate that reads "Lunatikk Crippler".-

You make mention of the fact that I have to defend this title, and defend it more than any other championship. Is that supposed to make me nervous? Am I supposed to just say "Here you go" and hand you this championship, something I've worked so hard to earn?

You talk about us having history, and so have I, but it's things like that that makes me wonder if we've even met at all.

I'm no stranger to championships, and no stranger to defending them. I am PROUD to be Sin City Champion, Napalm, and I will be even more proud to defend this title with my life, if need be. But just so everyone knows, that if my life is on the line when I defend this title, so is yours, so is Maya Nakashima's, so is Tanya Black's, Laura Seton's, Jaime Alejandro's. Those are names you need to familiarize yourself with, because they are all former Sin City Champions. All of them will tell you the importance of this title is up there near the World Heavyweight Championship. They will all tell you that they gave their all to win this, gave a little bit more to keep this, and lost a bit of themselves when they had to relinquish it. This may not be the marquee championship in SHOOT Project, and it may not have the storied history that the Iron Fist title has, but that doesn't mean it's value is any less.

And that means that the person holding it, yes, has to fight hard to keep it. Maybe a little harder than most, but they fight all the same.

And that means that you have to have a certain level of confidence to hold this, Johnny. Last time we met with gold on the line, I did not have that confidence. I was told by some of my peers that I was killing a federation that had barely been given life by holding their top prize. They said I was unproven. That I was not worthy of being World Champion.

My mistake was that I listened. I took that to heart. So when Ray Willmott came to me with the idea of dropping that golden strap, Johnny, I accepted it without question. I proved that I wasn't ready.

But Ray Willmott allowed me to select the man whom I would be dropping the title to. Maybe I'm breaking down the fourth and fifth walls, but I don't see the point in protecting boundaries that have already crumbled to the ground anymore.

Ray Willmott allowed me to hand pick my opponent, Johnny Napalm. The man whom would be the SECOND ever IWF Champion.

Do you get what I'm telling you, here?

There's a reason you felt that the World Title was handed to you, dude.

It was.

This is the part of our conversation, Johnny, where I'm going to go off the beaten path. A lot of people say that I'm bipolar, because my mood can shift at the blink of an eye.

I could spend all day breaking you apart verbally. But the fact is, Johnny, I have to give credit where credit was due.

Ray Willmott wanted to be the guy who gave the chances to people that didn't have them before. And so did I.

I chose you.

Not Ray Willmott, me.

I thought you had what it took to take the ball and run with it, I really did. We came from similar backgrounds. We had similar, smashmouth, hardcore ties in the wrestling business. We're the same age, even though we come from different molds. I thought you were the perfect fit for Willmott, and had enough credibility that you could make at the very least, a decent champion for him and his company.

Needless to say, I was wrong.

Not that you still weren't deserving, Johnny. Back then, you were. You, like me, clawed and fought your way up the ladder. And you, like me, were tired of people telling you that you weren't ready.

Becoming a champion and becoming the face of a company are two completely different things, Johnny.

If you were the face of the IWF, then it was a sad face, because the company didn't even last two lousy months.

I shoulder some of the blame. I left the fold shortly after you became World champion. Had nothing to do with you carrying the belt I rightfully should have carried. Had nothing to do with the fact that people were whispering behind my back, calling me a "failed experiment."

It had everything to do with timing. The time was not right for me to be anyone's ball carrier. It was not the right time for me to be the measuring stick.

So I moved on. I returned to the NYSWF, more experience under my belt, and I tangled with quite a few others who called Deep Ellum home at least once in their lives.

But I learned things from that whole experience, Napalm. And I grew. I didn't ditch the hardcore mentality, but I chose not to keep it as my primary offense.

And wouldn't you know? I made for a damn fine wrestler without all the steel chairs and barbed wire.

I learned how to hurt people that were much bigger than me with my bare fucking hands. I learned how to tell the difference between a muscle pull and tear by feeling it in my hands. I learned the difference between a fracture and a break by sound alone.

I already knew the difference between sweat and blood by taste, Johnny.

But I extended my game. Learned new tricks. Long story short, I got better.

That was then. This is SHOOT, and you've been here for a cup of coffee, and you already think you've got a feel for what SHOOT Project is all about.

That's a mistake. Your past means shit around here, just as mine did. You may be getting a shot at the Sin City Championship Day One, but there's no guarantees that you're walking out with the gold.

Hell, if you want me to be honest, there's no guarantee you're walking out at all.

I know you won't be scared or intimidated. That's fine by me. Act as fearless as you like, because once we step into the ring together, you may be singing a different tune.

I know that you fancy yourself with many names, Napalm, and that's fine. I've had my share of nicknames, even though people know me as "The Whole Fucked Up Show". Mostly, I remember you as calling yourself "God of Violence". Well, I'm going to be putting that moniker to the test, Napalm, come Revolution. It's sink or swim, and you don't look too buoyant.

"God of Violence"? I don't know about that, anymore, Johnny. But what I do know is that if you give me a cross

I'll make you Jesus.

Revolution / Mr. Sin City (I of II vs Napalm/SCC)
« on: November 02, 2011, 06:41:25 PM »
-Mere days removed from Master of the Mat. It was a weekend that will not be forgotten for a very long time. The SHOOT Project returned home for an epic two night festival of bitter grudges and championship glory. For some, the heartache of defeat still rings in their ears. Unbelieving that they were capable of losing on such a stage. For others, the celebration continues, even through to today. The champagne flows like water, the party no where close to stopping.

And then there's Lunatikk Crippler. His party is over.

He focuses now on the task at hand, being the target of the Sin City Championship division, as well as being the man who will spearhead that very division as it's champion. The newly crowned Sin City titleholder as well as the new Mr. Sin City is not a man for excess. Too much of a good thing, you know.

On this day, he spent his morning hours in the gym. His evening cocktail replaces with a flavorless sports drink. The previous nights dancing makes way for the current morning's cardio.

The afternoon provided him with similiar entertainment. After deciding to splurge one last time on a cheeseburger in celebration of his victory, he returned to the gym, this time for weights. No matter how strong you are, you can be stronger, as nobody often says.

The hard part of his task lies before him. The easy part was winning the Sin City Title from Jean Gerard Baptiste. The hard part is keeping it around his waist. He knows that a lot of people are going to be gunning for him, for he holds the gold, and the gold is what drives a professional to be the best, and even better.

This week, another flash from the past. The self-proclaimed "God of Violence" Johnny Napalm. The Crippler will be ready, only time will tell if Napalm will be ready as well.

On a wooden table in a dimly lit room rests the SHOOT Project's Sin City Championship. A lone light bulb swings on a chain above it, giving the title sort of a spotlight effect. As the bulb swings slightly to and fro, we see that a man sits in a chair behind the gold, of course, this is Lunatikk Crippler, "The Whole Fucked Up Show". He stares ahead, directly into the camera, however, he stares without seeing. He is in his zone of focus, mentally preparing himself for war.-

The more things change, it seems, the more things stay the same.

At Master of the Mat, I did what I said I was going to do, what I set out to do since the very announcement of the Sin City Championship Series: I won. I defeated Jaime Alejandro and Danny Corsair to prove what the power of Inspiration can do. I defeated Laura Seton to earn my place in the SCCS Finals.

And you were there, Johnny. You saw what happened next. Not like I really have to say it.

-The Crippler reaches over and taps the Sin City Championship with his index finger. A trace of a grin can be seen on his face in the shadows.-

Imagine my surprise Johnny, when I saw you come out, with Las Vegas giving you such a generous reception, only to hear my name in your mouth again. Only to see you calling me out when I was mere moments away from winning the Sin City Championship.

Do we really have to go through this again?

Doesn't matter to me, really. You may be big, and you may be bad, but I've beaten bigger and badder, Napalm. Yes, believe it or not, there are bigger and badder men than the "God of Violence".

What the people of the SHOOT Project may or may not know, Johnny, is that we have quite the bit of history together. And also, what they may or may not know, Johnny, is you seem to be skating over a few details in your own personal account of what happened between us.

You want to talk IWF? Fine, let's talk about it. Let's talk about the time when Lunatikk Crippler finally hit the mountain top. When Ray Willmott, god rest his soul, gave me the chance to shine. And he took the five best in the industry at the time and put them in one ring. The winner would be his first World Champion. So naturally, you were there, right?

What's that?

-We see the outline of Lunatikk Crippler leaning forward, his hand cupping his ear. He holds that pose for a hot second before leaning back in his chair.-

That's right, Johnny. You weren't there. You didn't go through a living hell of a match to earn the right to be called the first. You picked the bones to become the second.

Sure, Johnny. You beat me. Not just once, but you did it twice. Sure, Ray Willmott was behind you as World Champion, just like he was to me.

But Johnny? I'm not sure how to tell you this, but Ray Willmott isn't with us anymore.

So who's got your back now?

Doesn't matter. Our history doesn't end there, Napalm. I remember you following me to the NEWF shortly thereafter.

I also remember chasing you out of it.

Perhaps you don't. That was a very nasty fall you took through the roof of a Cell. Perhaps you hit your head a little hard.

But me? My brain cells are intact. And each and every one of them is telling me I should hurt you.

I should maim you.

I should........cripple. You.

But you see? I don't let my hot head do ALL the talking. Because that was all YEARS ago. Ancient history. Water under the bridge, yes?

The people love you, Johnny. They love me, too. It's going to be interesting to see how exactly they react when we are going toe to toe one more time. These nostalgia trips, I must admit, haven't been terribly good to me.

Successful, yes, but I can't help but still feel a horrible amount of regret to the fact that because of me, Jack Reed is laying in a hospital bed. And lie there he shall, for an indefinite amount of time.

Is this the future that lies in store for the might "God Of Violence"?

Probably not, Johnny. I don't define my career, nor my Sin City reign, on a single episode of blind rage.

And speaking of the Sin City Championship, let me be the first, and probably only, to congratulate you on receiving a shot at this shiny gold title. You need to understand how fortunate you are. Nine people, myself included, nearly killed ourselves and each other to even have the CHANCE to earn the right to call ourselves Mr. Sin City and to hold this coveted championship. Maybe I can't speak for people like Curtis Rose and Tanya Black, since I did not have the opportunity to face them, but I fought my heart out to get to where I am today, and people like Maya Nakashima and Jaime Alejandro, they fought theirs out to try. I take nothing away from my opponents, not even Monsieur Baptiste, they gave everything they had. Just like I know you will, Johnny. You've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, have you? I know you plan on making the most of the opportunity given to you, and I'm sure that right now, you're sitting on your couch, tipping back some Michelob, scratching your crotch, sure as hell that you are gonna beat me. That you are big enough, bad enough, GOOD enough to take this title from me.

Keep dreamin', kemosabe. It ain't gonna happen.

There hasn't been a man in SHOOT who is more focused, more driven than "The Whole Fucked Up Show" Lunatikk Crippler.

Hell, there are very few who can even boast a record like mine. I've yet to be pinned. I've yet to be made to submit.

I've tapped out some of the absolute BEST to come down the pike to the SHOOT Project. I'm talking former World Champions, Johnny.

You think you're gonna be any different?

I'm willing to guess you think you're gonna roll past me, and onto something similar to what you've been used to, right? Get real, Napalm. This isn't the NYSWF. This isn't the IWF. This is SHOOT. This is a completely different animal than what you are used to. People like SmirtDogg would be chewed up and spat out by guys like Donovan King faster than he could say "Au Revoir". Guys like Erik Draven would meet the end of their fuckin' story once they ran into a blinding white brick wall like The Ivory Terror.

I guess what I'm saying, Johnny, is that you shouldn't rely on what you know to make it here. Just because I found success on both sides of the coin, so to speak, doesn't mean that it's gonna be easy for you.

You're not going to be able to just get over based on name alone. You're gonna have to show these people something that they haven't seen before. You're going to have to step up your game at least three levels.

Just unfortunately for you, it isn't going to be a successful debut. I'm not gonna let you just slide into a victory. Nothing is going to be handed to you here, Napalm. You better be ready to work hard. You better be ready to sweat and bleed and cry. You better be ready to put your physical well being on the line.  Because I am.

I am ready to make you sweat. Ready to make you bleed and cry.

I'm willing to put your body on the line, Johnny.

Because I just don't represent myself anymore. I represent the whole of Sin City. I am their champion, and I've earned the right to be.

What have you earned in the past six or seven years, Johnny? I mean, besides royalty checks from Guitar Hero for them using your name?



Zip zero zilch.

Guess what, though?

You want this?

-The Crippler's hands come from the shadows to rest on either side of the Sin City Championship. He lifts it up and holds it higher, closer to the light. The glare is nearly blinding.-

You're gonna HAVE TO earn it. The time is long gone where I let someone steal my spotlight. I've earned my spot here in SHOOT, Johnny. You're just getting started, and you're already getting a jumpstart into things here.

Just don't expect too much, okay?

Perhaps you wonder when you can only see the gold, but you don't really see my face?

Is it really that important to you to know, Johnny?

Fine, I'll tell you.

Because this is what is important. The Sin City Championship.

It doesn't matter if we're friends or foes. Whether we are fighting for the same thing or something different. What it all boils down to is that we are fighting for THIS. This title proves that I am one of the best that SHOOT Project has to offer. Napalm, don't tell me that you don't care about that, ok? Because it would be a damn lie. If you aren't here to prove that you are one of the best, then you need to get the fuck out.

The Sin City title means that I am the best Las Vegas has to offer. This is the brass ring you need to grab onto, Johnny. The glass ceiling is here. All you need to do is bust on through.

You said you had one more run left in you, Johnny. Isn't that nice? See, I have several runs left in me. I've not yet even hit my prime yet. There is still so much left to do here in SHOOT before I'm done. But Johnny? If you only have one more run left in you, then do yourself a favor.

After Revolution, when I've made you submit?

Go play with someone else. It's a pain to be insane, Napalm. You'll find out first hand.

I am Mr. Sin City, The SHOOT Project's Sin City Champion, and Johnny Napalm, that. ISN'T. Changing.

-The light bulb flickers and dies, leaving us with no light. The glare off of the Sin City title finally dies.-


Revolution / These Filthy Hands (II of II vs Laura)
« on: September 24, 2011, 03:04:02 PM »
-The open road.

We pass a sign that says "Charleston 15 Miles". Just like the traveler in this car, we are getting closer and closer to Revolution 84. There is a song playing in the background, coming from an iPod plugged into the cigarette lighter.-

Haphazardly tumbling down
Fall right down, laugh out loud

-We see a puff of smoke escaping from the driver's seat, and the camera turns and we see "The Whole Fucked Up Show" Lunatikk Crippler there, driving to the arena to get ready for tomorrow's show.-

All in the scheme of things
We're all looking up growing tall

-The Crippler removes his aviator shades so he can get a better look at the road, as the skies are looking a little dark.-

It's like pulling one hair
(You are what you are to me)
With wet fingers
In my eyes you're a star

-The Crippler takes a puff from his cigarette, and then flicks it out the open window, before pressing the button to roll the thing up. Then he presses the pause button on his iPod. -

Laura, don't worry. I'm not going to insult you today.

I'm not going to insult your intelligence. Not gonna insult your heart. Your character, your lifestyle? Maybe they are easy targets, as they are for everyone, but today, it's not gonna happen.

Instead, Laura, I need to thank you. And I need to apologize.

I shouldn't have jumped the gun, and I'm sorry I did, thinking that you didn't really have what it took to hang here. That you didn't even want to be here if it meant missing tip off. Sure, I can understand that you don't want to miss a game. But really, you reminded me about so many things, miss. You reminded me that a very long time ago, a raw rookie named Laura broke into this business in the NYSWF, and has hung with it for this long.

Maybe my memory isn't what it used to be, dear. Maybe I've taken one too many shots to the head. But I should never have questioned your heart.

Instead of insulting you today, I'm going to return the favor, Laura. I'm going to give you a history lesson on Lunatikk Crippler. I'm not gonna give you a blow by blow account of every single match, no. Don't worry, we don't have that kind of time.

But I'm going to give you the bulletpoints. The cliff notes version, if you will, so you can fully understand what a driven, focused Lunatikk Crippler is truly capable of, because I'm not quite sure anyone in SHOOT truly understands what that means for the future of the Sin City Championship.

I guess the first place we can go, is the beginning, Laura. To the American Wrestling Tournament. Believe it or not, I was a tag team wrestler when I started out. My partner, Aramund Fury, and myself, were the very first Tag Team Champions that the AWT had ever seen. We weren't the last, of course, but we were fighting champions, and we fought tooth and nail. And when the AWT folded, we took our collective talents elsewhere, namely this toilet called the Supreme Wrestling Federation. I mean, we didn't have a choice, they were the only company willing to pay us at the time, since we had barely had our feet wet in this business.

I had to watch a lot of things in that place that were very unwatchable, Laura. The matches that most of their "big names" were putting on were beyond horrible. But I think the worst thing I had to watch was my partner, my best friend, succumbing to the cheap thrills of drug addiction. I know that Jaime is a recovering addict, but this was my first taste of drug addiction in this industry, and it was the worst thing I had ever seen. Fury was so strung out on pills and heroin that it scared me to death every time he went to sleep, because I didn't know if he'd wake up the next morning. There was no moderation here. IT was party, party, party for him, and I had had enough. I secured my release from my contract, and left him at it.

What did you expect me to do? I was only 17 years old, I didn't know how to deal with something like that. Did I make the wrong decision? Yes. Do I wish I could do it over again? No. I never want to go through that again.

Why am I telling you this, Laura? Because, that was an important step in the maturity process for me. As far as I know, my old friend is enjoying his career. Maybe you saw him for the cup of coffee he was in the NYSWF. Hell, the man was Hardcore champion for a little while. But he was so fucked from the drugs, that he didn't even know who I was. And maybe, just maybe, I preferred it that way.

It's funny you mention the NYSWF to me, Laura, since that was the place I held dearest to my heart. I had so many epic wars there that would find their way to DVD if a collection were ever put together. There was the Straightjacket Match with Shawn Hunter. I really put him on the map with that one. There was the time I teamed up with "Lights Out" Matt Hoffman. Warred with men such as Sean Boden, SHOOT's own Ryan Cross, Dubelicious, and the original Madman, Spiral. And yes, Laura, there was the Hell Frozen Over match with Greggy Blaxland for the Hardcore title.

I'm very happy you brought that match up, Laura, because it was a turning point in my career.

During that match, I suffered an injury: a fractured collar bone. You'd think it would have been more serious, considering we were in an electrified cage, surrounded by melting ice. We took careful consideration into that match so we wouldn't be electrocuted, at least to death. We lose control of our bowels, oh well, it's in our contracts to do what we need to do. But the thing is, after I hit the ice, and I felt my collar bone break, I thought to myself "Do I need to do this?" I was gonna be out of action for a little while, let alone losing the match.

And I lost the match. And I was out with my injury. And as I sat at home, in my New York apartment, I was healing and thinking. While I may have been helping out a young kid named Josh Osbourne in getting his feet wet in the Hardcore division, I questioned if I needed to be in it at all. So I groomed him for my replacement, as was probably already scheduled anyway, what with me being hurt and all. And I told Corey Collins that I wasn't interested in fighting over broken glass anymore. That I didn't want to do the barbed wire anymore.

I told him that while once in a while would be fine to pull out the old toybox, so to speak, that an every night thing needs to stop. There's no reason I needed to be making a trip to the hospital for stitches or worse night in and night out. I knew that if I kept going at that rate, I'd be crippled by the age of 25. While it may be funny to think about a Crippled Crippler, Corey saw my point, and we worked to change my character for when I made my return.

So, Laura, I'm not the hardcore icon I used to be.

But that still doesn't mean that I can't get a little nuts like the old days. No, there will be no weapons involved in our match.

But it doesn't mean that I won't hurt you still.

It's nothing personal, Laura, really, it's not. At least I'm giving you some sort of warning as to what you can expect.

But I've built my career on being physical inside the ring. Whether it was with weapons, or with submissions, or with high impact technical moves.

And we come to SHOOT, and nearing the end of the Sin City Championship Series.

And it seems like my filthy hands need to get filthy.

I'm not looking to injure you, but cause you enough pain that you can no longer continue.

Your long career and mine are crossing paths one more time, Laura, and this time one of us must beat the other. There's no third leg to slow us down or cause any technicalities.

Its just you and me, and this time? It's got to be me.

You may have your own reasons for wanting to win this, to go to Master of the Mat and challenge for the Sin City Championship. Maybe it's Jean-Gerard Baptiste, and that you want to beat him since you couldn't do it the last time. Maybe it's going back to Tanya Black, and you want to regain the title that you never lost. Then again, you aren't such a whiny cunt like Tanya, and you just want one more shot at the gold.

But it doesn't matter, because you aren't the only one who wants the gold.

Maya Nakashima wants to regain the gold that was unlawfully taken from him. Your special friend Jaime Alejandro, wants to make history repeat itself and become Sin City Champion at Master of the Mat two years running.

But you don't need to worry about them, and you won't be facing either of them at Master of the Mat.

Because you won't get past me.

Because I want the gold, too.

Because I need it more than you do.

You've had your shot, Laura, and a good one, at being Sin City Champion. You have had a successful title defense, that I had a ringside seat for. You had a Pay Per View title match, which you just fell short of.

You may THINK you want this more than me, but it's my time, Laura.

Go ahead and argue the point, but who has been hotter in the SHOOT Project than I have? Everyone that I've defeated, I've made submit, including Jaime, including Danny Corsair. Including Stephen Rawlings, a former LEGACY World Champion, and including Jester Smiles, who is a former SHOOT World Champion.

On paper, that's a very impressive list.

And the list isn't finished. Because this Sunday, at Revolution?

Your name will join them. You aren't a man or a woman when we're in those ropes. You're another gladiator, just like me, fighting each other because the winner isn't going to be fed to the lions.

I'm going to continue to tear through the SCCS like a man on fire, Laura. I'm going to the finals and then at Master of the Mat, no matter if it's me, Baptiste, and either Maya or Jaime, I will be the next Sin City Champion.

I'm not talking about fate or destiny. This isn't karma rewarding me for some kind deed, like freeing a possum into the wilderness.

This is me, Lunatikk Crippler, making the most of his opportunity. This is "The Whole Fucked Up Show", looking to put on a show like none other.

And this is William West, Laura, apologizing to you, for thinking that your heart wasn't in this.

And this is me, Laura, apologizing to you, for what I will have to do to beat you.

You're something I'll never be
And watch the rain dance
You're something I'm frightened of
I've got to get clean
The rain will cleanse me
And I've got to wash

These filthy hands

Pages: [1] 2 3