Earl Wilson Stadium, Las Vega Nevada.

Soon to hold the much anticipated Sin City Wrestling’s mega-event; Into The Void.

A show that is stacked from the top to the bottom with blood feuds and heated rivalries. One match may seem not to have a lot of history behind it to the uneducated but in reality has been around since the beginning of time in a manner of speaking.


Johnny: History is littered with cases of ungrateful people biting the hand that feeds them.. Adam and Eve were ejected from Eden because they did not heed the Lord’s decree to not eat the forbidden fruit.


Brutus literally stabbed Caesar in the back.

Wyatt Peterson has already betrayed his mentor… now at I.T.V. he will get his own ‘Second Battle of Philippi’.


After this loss, his head weighed down but the guilt of his own betrayal Brutus took his own life. Turn that lasso into a noose Wyatt, it’s the only way the redeem youself.


Climb to the tope rope, drape that noose over your thick head; toss the slack over the lighting rig. Make your peace with the world then save goodbye to it… don’t worry if you cannot take that final step, if you don’t have the balls to take that final step, I’ll do what Cobra Kai couldn’t and I will sweep the leg.

SNAP! Just like that all will be right with the world.


The Embodiment of Cool Britannia; Johnny ‘The Brand’ Brown, is stood on the pitchers mound. He is dressed in full cricket gear with ‘The Brand’s’ unique twist. He is covered in so many adverts the ‘whites’ look more like Time’s Square has thrown up on them.

Even his pads are covered.

From his kitbag of tricks Johnny pulls out a single stump and a mallet, he drives the stump into the dry dirt, before tossing the mallet back in the kit bag. From the bag Johnny pulls out a cricket ball then tosses it to Chuck Steinberg, who is dressed equally bizarrely, sans the knee pads. Not being very sporty; despite his career choice at SMI, Chuckie barely manages to catch the ball, he tries to toss it around and look confident but looks more like he is holding a hot potato. The ball has the faces of Wyatt Peterson, Narly and Radical on it; the three men who Johnny is planning on dismantling at the Supercard.

Chuck: Jonathan I don’t think we should be doing this. Obviously I’d love to play myself, the sound of the leather on willow and all that but, this is a baseball field, it’s like playing rugby on a soccer pitch.  

Chuck’s attempt at a British accent is poor to say the least.

Johnny: For the last time Baldo if you say soccer again my size 13 is gonna ‘Cupid Stunt’ yer shiny little melon. You’re the bowler and I’m going over there at that cage thing ta set up me stumps. When I say bowl… and fer Christ sakes do it over-arm like I showed ya; ya girl. Now keep stum I’m working on me promo fer the big show.

Leaving a nervous looking Chuck on the pitchers mound Johhny takes the kitbag to home plate to find a spot for the stumps and bails. As he goes about his work he continues spouting his mouth off as only he can.

Johnny: Not for a second do I think the Wyatt will give himself the ultimate hog-tie. He does have the iron-nerve of his idols, the True Brit doubts his true grit. He is only in this business for a fist full of dollars or perhaps a few dollars more.

He doesn’t care about the SCW Sinners, not that I do either, but the difference is I don’t pretend to. I’m not the one with stupid foam Stetson being sold at live events, I don’t ask them to yeehaw along with me.

He’s a fake cowboy, like all those rednecks in Wal-Mart ‘Cowboy’ t-shirts or that naked idiot in New York playing a guitar in his pants.

Chuck: Do you want me to throw the ball at you yet?

A nervous Chuck calls from the mound interrupting ‘The Brand’s’ verbal beatdown. Looking pi$$ed off Johnny storms over to his agent, brandishing his cricket bat looking like he’s going to use it for a non-sporting activity.

Johnny: I thought I told you to keep stum, shut up, be quiet!!

Chuck: That’s what stum means? I had no idea? Why didn’t you say that. Johnny put the bat down you’re making me feel uneasy. Look Johnny I appreciate the aggression its what makes you so great, but come one man don’t direct it at me I’m your agent, save it for Peterson and the Surf Boys.

Johnny: I’ve got plenty of aggression to go around Chuckles. Those two retarded waveriders are overdue for a beating. Did you here the crowd laugh when they pulled their comedy routine on me at Climax Control? No-one laughs at Johnny Brown, I’m not some greasepaint wearing clown, this place may be like a circus with the bunch of freaks on staff and the idiotic Amanda Hugginkiss and her “funny” song on each show but I set a new standard.

Now throw the feckin’ ball!!!!!

 ‘No man is an island entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as a manor of thy friends or of thine own were;
any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.

And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.’

John Donne uttered those immortal words; personally I have no idea of what he’s going on about. One thing I do know is that one man can be a brand; as long as that one man is me.

‘True Brit’ Johnny Brown is the brand. I am the product. I am marmite; Love me or hate me people tune in to see me. That equals ratings and that equals money. It seems my machine gun trash talk was struck a nerve with the S-C-Dub Sinners; they want to see someone shut my mouth up once and for all. Before I graced this place with my presence they all played nice. They all wanted to help ‘the product’; make this place great…

Me; I don’t care about making others look good, I don’t live by the rule is your opponent is made to look like crap in the advance hype would cares about your match. If you lose to $hit that makes you less than $hit, if you beat a piece of $hit so what he was no in your league anyway.

I get the point I just don’t subscribe to it. If I called you $hit kick my arse and prove me wrong. If I’ve called your favourite $hit tune in to see if your hero can prevail. The  more eyes on me the more I can sell my advertising space fer I mean for, my agent says I need to clear up my accent the dumbass Americans need subtitles when I’m on screen. Normally I wouldn’t give a f*ck but if it helps me make dollars it makes sense or something like that, I don’t get the American way of talking. My nation invented the language and now I need to change it for them? The things we do for love money.

I’ve always been proud of my nation, we are the leaders of the free world, or we were. I’ve always worn my heart and my flag on my sleeve but at London’s Brawling I should have been THE crowd favourite. I was the returning hero, they should have booed Rage out of the building, he stole my slot but they cheered the meathead.

My only consolation was that he lost; just like I knew he would. It was the office that got him to that slot, I saw the fast counts and selectively blind ref that got him through the tourney while eliminating the true talent, and by that I mean me. They made sure Goth got the win in our match cos they knew I would expose Rage in our match, even if they could pull of a screwball finish I would expose the 7DS bag handler for the brainless talentless hulk he was/is.

So, this is what brought me to where I am now. MY journey through BS has given me a new slant on things. I’m always gonna be me, nothing can change my nature but if I need to make a few changes to help the bank balance I’ll do it.

Time fer—;damn it, for me to go visit my agent to find out my latest sponsorship deals. Johnny ‘The Brand’ Brown is here and I want all eyes on me.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Palatial is a word bandied around these days… but this apartment takes palatial and wipes its arse on it. Charles ‘Chuck’ Steinberg lives large, sure the place is rented to try to impress me but I don’t care. I’m sipping cognac and living the dream.

Chuck:The match is in Johnny and it’s a big one!

Do you see how signing with SMI was the greatest move of all time?!

That’s Chuck, he’s my agent. Weird bald little bastard isn’t he. Nice suit though. His middle name is hyperbole, well actually its Norris it’s clear his parents had a sense of humour. My point is Chuckie maybe cheesy but he pumps everyone up. It could be what I need to take the next step.

Of course the match this week is the main event; about damn time! Last week I got Dennis Stamped; and wasn’t even booked, Casey Williams took the brunt of my displeasure, payback is yo momma or something like that. My choking of a giant seemed to have worked wonders as this week I’m rubbing shoulder with the SCW champions.

Alongside the True Brit is THE champion, the big man on campus, a man I should have faced; and beaten at London’s Brawling, SCW Champion Nick ‘The Prick’ Jones.[/COLOR]  

Johnny: What’s the saying about keeping your enemies close? An unconfirmed rumour says Nick asked for me to be his partner. Does he know that one day soon I’ll be beating down his door so he wanted to scout me up close and personal? P’haps… Perhaps!

It doesn’t bother me, he can put me under a microscope and poke me with a stick it won’t help him. When I’m ready to flip the switch and take him down none of his well-oiled machines will stop me, that is a tale for another day.  

Like a kid at Christmas Chuck is beaming an running around like a loon, his ever present glass of red wine leaving a trail as he goes. By stark contrast the other member of my entourage; you don’t have a monopoly on that NJ, is Tyler.

Tyler ‘calling me master wasn’t funny the first 20 times’ Bates is too cool for school. Seriously just looking at him makes me want to punch him in the face, and that’s why I like him so much. He’s what I need; lately I’ve been getting a few cheers, they are quiet but they are there. I don’t need them; in the U.K. they would have been expected (didn’t happen but were expected), after all I was a returning conquering hero but to think of the damn Yankees cheering me for my impressive displays of bad-assery no thank you sir!

Chuck:Man, Tyler was right, since you’ve dropped your accent you’ve become even more hated. Those chicks dug you and your sexy ‘cor blimeyness’ Bates you’re a genius.

Tyler holds up two fingers in a salute of sorts. Trademarked stuff.

Johnny: Chuck I have never said cor or blimey together. But I get Tyler’s point. I don’t like wrestling fans, or other wrestlers really, so why not eliminate anything that draws them to me. I am a arsehole, I always have been and always will be. I could quite happily beat the pi$$ out of both of you right now and not care.

Chuck:Ha ha Johnny, good one?? You’re not joking are. I can respect that, but lets not waste your aggression on those of us that are only here to help lets focus on your opponents. My secretary has brought you the notes she prepared.

Johnny: Do you mean these?

I grab the reams of paper  left my baldies bit of skirt on the side and rip them into pieces; a flick of the wrist and they’re airborne giving Chuck an impromptu tickertape parade. Steinberg drops to his knees picking them up then piecing back together.

Johnny: A scouting report from a secretary? What’s next? A weight-loss program by Casey Williams? Let you secretary do what she’s good at and chew on your schmuck and let me take care of the wrestling. I  know what Douchespayre and Gaybriel are all about. They hide behind their bull$hit façade of… whatever the hell it i? Emo, magic, deep tortured soul I don’t know and frankly I don’t care.

They’re tag team champs… so am I supposed to be impressed by that? I don’t do tag teams, I don’t play nice with others. The deal with Kennedy last week was purely a mutually beneficial arrangement, neither one of us likes Casey. The big lug choked me out, I wonder how Case liked them apples, payback is done… for now.

Chuck:Don’t shut that door to soon, there’s money to be made there John, Casey Williams may have a sketchy win/loss record but he’s an attraction with title wins under his belt. He could win the Roulette title this week, next week you call him out ka-ching you’re the new champion.

Johnny: The Roulette champion? Me? The only Roulette champion I’m interested in is the ex-champ Bo Dreamwolf. The office clearly has him marked for a shot at Jones, if I take him out “ka-ching” I get the shot at the Cocky Tw*t. Bigger picture guys.

Dollar signs light up in my sidekick’s eyes. I know how to work them both, Despite his cool exterior even Tyler is motivated by the almighty dollar.

Johnny: Dreamwolf could be the best in the business, next to me, yet he holds onto grudges of his mentor that’s stops him from achieving his greatness; shame for him; bonus for me. In a few short days I will be hitting the headlines for taking out 5 men in one match. Pick your chin up Chuck I know it’s not a free for all. I’ll keep myself in check until the final bell rings, once the ref counts 1-2-3 anyone left standing will be mine.

Cage is to raw to be considered competition to me, I might even let him walk away, but Jones, Dreamwolf or Rage’s bosses are fair game. They stand in the Brands way of making money, its as simple as that.  

Chuck:Johnny, I love you, we’re going to make so much money together. Everything is about money, although I think taking on Jones at the moment is a mistake. Take on Bo or find a teammate and take out Sinful Obsession then go for Jones, play the long game, it’ll make you more cash.

What the f*ck doesn’t this d*ckhead believe in me, that’s right back up motherf*cker. The True Brit is getting in your face. Ha I can see the sweat popping across his bald little head. Looks like Tyler doesn’t care he’s too busy playing with his luscious locks, bastard.

Johnny: So you don’t think I can take Jones? You think Bo is a soft touch? Or that I should split my winnings with a partner? What sort of agent are you? I’ll tell you want, I’ll clean up my language, because I want everyone of the dumb-arse Sinners hear what I have to say. I’ll where all this gear because of the money people are throwing at me.

But I WILL NOT take tactical advice from a suit, or your seemingly mute partner in crime. I am the True Brit, I am the Brand!

Your agency, SCW and the whole effin world revolves around me.

I am the moon, the stars, the whole bloody universe!

Despy can close your eyes, cuddle your little bear real tight and wish I wasn’t on his horizon. It wont make it any less real. He is a disgrace to this sport, he’s not a real man. Has he even looked in a mirror? He looks like something out of a budget horror movie, those stupid marks on his face will be replaced with real scars, I’ll rip clumps of hair out until he looks like a real man. Who the hell shaves half of their head?

Chuck:Your preaching to the choir John, I think Despayre is even weirder than his tag team partner.

Johnny: That’s not an easy thing to do but you’re right Chuckster. Despite his cheap parlour tricks and hokey act Gabriel is not as lame as Desp, at least he’s clever enough to get Rage to carry his bags. Despite the rumours I don’t think he’s a Brit.

There’s no way he could survive wearing leather pants that tight in the U.K. still he was the first heavyweight champ in SCW so kicking his bony arse all over Nuggets will up my stock, I guess.

When I have wiped the mat with the Angel of Sin I’ll take the final member of the Village People.

Compared to the beating I’ll give Mr D-Wolf the Indian Removal Act will seem like a happy event. I wont just relocate the injun apple from his homeland I’ll relocate his head from his shoulders courtesy of the EDL. They’ll have to use his stupid tattoos to identify his body. This paleface is gonna leave his red skin black and blue.

Why is this idiot stood here with his mouth open? Let me guess.

Chuck:Johnny you can't say that! We’ll be kicked off the network? We’ll….

Johnny: Shut it Chuck! You can open a bottle then ask for the lightning to jump back in. You wanted controversy, you wanted press we’ll I’m going to get it. I don’t care about race I care about getting under my opponent’s skin, whatever colour it is. If they want to shut me up they can try.

Despy, Gabby, Bo or Jones I’ll take them on.

Chuck:Don’t forget Bobby Cage-

I just smile, Bobby Cage? I guess he picks up the soap in the SCW showers too. He doesn’t register on my radar. MY eyes are set on the Heavyweight title, I don’t care about anything else. Rule f*cking Britannia.

The True Brit is coming an’ I'm gonna kick yer effin head in!

 Johnny Brown’s old stomping ground.-
For your own sakes let’s not say where.

Why is Johnny here so deep in thought? Well as deep as he gets, he’s not a man with a poetic heart or a man full of sentiment. This is one of the places he hung out with his former best friend Stu ‘Bruvver from another Mother’ Smith when Smith caravan rolled back into town. Now its an abandoned wreck. Mud, rubble and rubbish, left in such a state by the last group of travellers no one can be bothered to tidy it up and as such no-one wants to redevelop it. As soon as a shovel hits the ground a sea of trailers and mobile homes will roll in taking it over and costs thousands in building delays. O it is left an eye sore to most but a place to come and think for Johnny.

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

It seems I am; my ‘Bruvver from another mother’ Stu Smith needed a keeper, an’ I got the job. Here’s me thinking he was a grown arse man accountable for his own actions. If he was too much of a pu$$y to fight Aleksei in my place he should have grown a set and said no.

But he tried ta be a big man an’ fight my fight an’ got a kicking.

Now I’m kicked out a society I’ve grown up around…. Travellers.

Using a broken broom as a spear he picks up a mound off the floor, upon closer inspection it is a dead cat. He flicks it up then volleys it away. The dark blood remaining on his steel toe cap will need a scrub.

These stinkin’ thieving pikey f**ks would have probably ate them… they eat road kill… not just dears or pheasants but badgers an’ hedgehogs YET they think they’re better than me! Well f**k them and their sister-mums, buncha inbred ba$tards. They roll in worm, take over then leave devastation behind. I usta admire them, the freedom they had. P’haps that one of the reason I became a wrestler so I could be like them an’ see the world not knowing where the road was gonna take me. But them I saw them as the lying, cheating scum they are.

They’re not some romantic free spirits they are raping my nation. Now ya have foreign f**kers like Aleksei joining them. It takes tha pi$$.

Stu and his ilk can eff right off. At London’s Brawling I beat the Romani scum, that was for every Brit was has had to deal with stinkin’ gypo’s. Now as Sin-C-Dub returns to America I wave goodbye to GREAT Britain for a while I want every patriotic Brit to punch a gypsy, kick a gypsy, burn down their f**king caravans. They are a plague that needs ta be eliminated.

Still with his ‘cat-prodding stick’ Johnny climbs a small hill, a hillock or a knoll if you will. He stands proud puffing his already impressive chest out as he spikes the stick into the ground like an explorer atop Everest.

JB: Heed my cry people of Britain! Stand up and be counted but let them move into your town. Gypo’s are worse than Americans!!! Look up yer pets!

Block yer drives! Refuse to buy clothes pegs or watch that crap show on Channel 4!!

STOP THEM NOW! !!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As soon as he steps off the plan Johnny Brown turns on his phone, it’s an i-phone for those keeping count and yes he is not in the terminal building but that’s the kinda guy he is. Brown runs through his voicemails, one from the office about his match this week. It makes him smile and whisper finally, The second message is the one that draws a reaction.

JB: That’s how ta do it. Damn I’m good. What a difference a few days make. Ditch that dead weight Stu, hire a sports agent then secure a big arse sponsorship deal. Easy street here I come.


Elated Brown slips his phone back into his pocket then heads to the bar., well it is 5 o’clock somewhere; or so the song goes.  

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Reno, Nevada
The Biggest Little City in the World, or so the poorly thought out nicknames says. Reno has been chosen to host SCW’S return home from it’s European tour.

A tour that saw the Roulette and the World tag team titles change hands.

While Bo Dreamwolf is doing his best Iron Eyes Cody impression over his lost; Casey Williams is rumoured to have completely lost it over his title loss.

Renowned for his tact True Brit Johnny Brown is sure to skirt around the issue while delicately weaving a verbal masterpiece to promote their coming match  

JB:  What a dumb way to lose a title belt! NXT took their eyes off the prize and lost their gold without actually losing the match.


Ok; so the embodiment of Cool Britannia has no tact, but when you can fight like he can who needs tact. Johnny is the kick down the door and smack someone in the mouth sort.

Knock, knock Casey get ready the door’s coming down.

Jordan tried to make the save but just couldn’t make it. Casey on the other hand was too busy fighting a nobody he should have destroyed in seconds.

Casey Williams is big, damn big. He’s literally a giant of a man. Wiv’ paws big enuff to crush water melons; if he get his hands on ya it’ll be game over.

The easy route would be to mock his intelligence, his mobility, his butterface girlfriend but I don’t take the easy route, it’s kinda a curse really. To dwell on his negatives would be too easy.

Despite his boooooring promotional videos doing the same stuff week in and week out, I want ta like him.

I really do!

He wants to succeed he tries hard but he just doesn’t get it!

He should be a big mean sonnova b*tch but he’s more like a teddy bear. Hanging wiv his mates, chatting to his bird?!?

Perturbed Johnny stops, he scratches his shaved head, then his arse. With different hands by the way, he’s not a savage.

JB: Really?!?!

Look ya big lummox we don’t care if ya work out like a demon… we don’t care about how hard it is fer ya to travel, we get it yer a freak of nature. Everyone stares at ya, they all treat ya different, well cry me a mother-f**king river.

I stand out here in the land of the free cos I’m English. I stand out cos’ I don’t feel the need to carry a gun at all times or ta eat twice my weight in BBQ’ed red meat. I do drape myself in the red, white an’ blue; not the star spangled banner… a real flag the Union Jack, a flag worth saluting.

His actions mimicking his words; Johnny turns to salute his flag hanging behind him. He hold the pose a little too long just to pi$$ off anyone watching. When he turns back to the camera he has a knowing grin plastered on his face.

JB: Learn ta celebrate what makes you unique an’ embrace it Case.

Fer me the recent European tour was a breath of fresh, despite my dislike of the Dutch, Germans and the French next ta Americans they are spot on. But lets not turn this inta a tired xenophobic rant, I’ll let Kennedy do that.

My focus is the Freight Train of Pain, I’m sorry bruv that name is awful whoever came up with that needs a WMD on the double.

That big punch of yours will knock out an elephant, luckily I’m not such a beast but I do a wicked elephant impression, all I need ta do is pull me pockets out then use me John Thomas as the beast's trunk.

Johnny pulls his jean pockets out then grabs his fly (zipper to the non-English put there) then thankfully stops. Exposing yerself may not be one of the seven deadly sins or in the 10 commandments but it is certainly one of the things best not done in a wrestling promo.  

JB: A bit of a sidebar but talking about a cock does take me full circle back to Case.

Guys like you an’Alexsei are beasts, plain and simple, yer true destructive forces but ya lack a killer instinct. Now me… I beat the pi$$ outta me dear old Nan if it means I’ll get another tick in the win column. Hell it was me Nan who taught me that.

No one is gonna hand ya anything in life, you’ve gotta reach up and take it. Snatch the brass ring or the gold belt, whichever analogy ya want, at tha end of tha day all a man has is himself.

Just like when Stu an’ his fellow stinkin’ gypo’s turned their backs on me just like the “lovely” Laura will on you.. Do ya think she’ll want you around once she drops the sprog?

She’ll be taking you for every penny, yer little ba$tard will wreck her when it comes out… judging by yer size it’ll be 2 foot tall an’ just as wide. She’ gonna be a mess down there. It’ll look like a deli counter covered in Tommy sauce…

Holding back fake sick Johnny continues to point south in-between clasping his hands in floppy diamond  shape to demonstrate Laura’s deformed lady garden.

JB: As a favour to ya Big Man I can have a crack at her, my flagpole will give her a workout, while I cant in clear conscience say my impressive girth is 2 foot wide according to the ring rats I’m a giant in that department while yer more of a dwarf.

Point number two of what not to do in a wrestling promo- sing hi ho hi it’s off to work we to an imaginary groin connected to a real giant.

JB: Are ya mad yet CW? Someone told me you were so mad about losing yer belt nothing could make your even angrier… sounds like a dare to me I said. They lol’ed I gave them a slap for lol’ing. The end.

For them it was the end fer you it’s just the beginning. Pulling a big dog’s tail isn’t a clever idea..

P’haps if you tried to get under his skin to get him ta make a mistake that could work out, but that only works if ya don’t point that fact out to him.

Ya see while you turn inta the worlds biggest Gollum crying about yer precioussssss gold I’m turning over a new leaf.

Yes Casey a metaphoric leaf I haven’t taken up gardening. I have decided to not give a f**k, not in the sense you didn’t give a f**k before you met yer fugly bird and gave yer a pity shag, I mean as in I don’t care.

I don’t care about the office, I don’t care if anyone likes my promos.

I’m just gonna do what the hell I want when I want until the fire me or I run this place. Either way I’m good.

Casey save yer tears fer when I defeat you at Climax Control. I’m not here to get a quick 1-2-3 I’m gonna make a statement and wipe the mat wiv’ ya.

Yer gonna leave the worlds biggest stain on the mat they will have to stop the show just ta burn the ring. It will be that messy.

But I guess when ya stamp on 375lbs of crap it’ll leave a mark.  

 It’s a street just like any other.

Any other in Britain, that is.

Yes this week we have returned to Johnny Brown’s homeland.

GREAT Britain.

As Johnny walks down the middle of the road a few people mill around. Kids kick a ball around and a man hoses his front lawn; despite the hose pipe ban.

A postman stops to listen as Johnny begins to talk.  

JB: The momentum is building. A fever is sweeping the nation. Johnny Brown is coming home.
   
A couple of rosy-cheeked rascals fall in line Johnny as he continues his tirade, the friends soon follow suit.

JB: My people have faith in me, even if I hate all of them. They all live vicariously through me, their nothing lives will be validated when I win at London’s Brawling. Their misbegotten sad squalid existence will have a ray of light. Drunks will stop beating their wives and kids as the live their dream

Steadily others join the kids; men, women and more children march along, their faces proud with national pride. The army begins to form.

JB: Do you feel it?! The whole U.K. wants Aleksei Koji to lose. Not just England but the whole U.K. Even the Welsh, the Scots and the Irish want this, not the Southern Irish  they’re crazy. Who wants you to win? The SCW office? Their opinions and a quid will get you a 99p burger and a penny change?

Like rats following the pied piper they come thick and fast. From houses and flats, people abandon their cars to join the precession. People at phone boxes drop the receiver to fall in line. Some don’t even know why but they feel the emotion in the crowd.

JB: Your time in S-C-Dub will be over before it’s begun. The Albert Hall will not be able to contain the violence I have planned for you. Blood will flow like a geyser, your scarred up carcass will be shredded
.
Every inch of your 255lb bulk  will ache; as me E.D.L. will rock you to ya core. When you are so busy you have nothing left I will drag ya up an’ hit ya again.

Rope a dope may have been first used nearly forty years ago but it’s due for a comeback. You need a lot of gas in ya tank to carry that bulk around, where as I’m a mean lean B.F.F. machine.

I’m gonna put ya through a London Marathon.

P’haps I shouldn’t be tellin’ ya my tactics, but hell I know it’s too late for you to match me step for step, hold fer hold.

You strike me as the sort of guy who’s never been accused of over-thinking stuff. The kinda of guy who didn’t have to try too hard ta stand out, cos of his natural ability… and I applaud that. Some people are born great, others like me; hafta work for it.

From a siding a brass band file in as the throng passes. The bass drum sets the pace, as the piccolo whistle over them. Two men in suits toss away their bowler hats and back flip across Johnny’s path. He doesn’t break step continuing his war cry.

JB: I’ve known ba$tards like you before, big ugly mental cases who scare others inta submission… that wont work on me. I’m not scared of a Romanian Captain Caveman. Your mono-brow and ape-like gait may scare those who once were sheltered by the Iron curtain but to a brash Brit ba$tard like me not so much.

I must admit we do have things in common. People like us, didn’t have a pot ta piss in or a window to throw it out of. A kid with hand-me-downs that Oxfam didn’t want. Mis-matching kit with holes around the nuts. People like me that have ta worked harder to get something.

Mummy an’ Daddy couldn’t send us ta Uni or buy us a car for our 18th. All we got was a clip around the ear an’ told ta stop whining.

The world owes you nothing, you may have earned what ya had but I’ve had enough of people coming to inta my world to strip it clean and take what should be mine back home wiv ya.

Don’t think these people are motivating me, or that I’m fighting fer them. I know not being loved will hurt you deep down. Ya care about the fans, care about how they perceive ya, do ya want to break the stereotype? Prove that Eastern Europeans are scroungers? Do ya want to be idolised to be revered as the Best of All.

I’ve been told ya are found of saying what ya do and don’t do… Well let me tell ya what you aint gonna do, you aint gonna win, yer gonna get beaten down like an old dog. You know that old mongrel that hangs by the side of the dirt track you call a road. The one that is forced to live on scraps, the one everyone wants to die just to ease its pain… you will wish that dog was you. You will look up from where I leave you laying and aspire to be that dog.

You’re a long way from yer homeland. Look around ya this is England!

Eng-Er-Land! Eng-Er-Land!   Eng-Er-Land!   Eng-Er-Land!

A poorly pronounced and very familiar chant spreads across the crowd like wildfire, or crabs across Essex. Ever patriotic, when a foreigner is in their midst, Johnny’s fellow Brits fall back to a chant normally heard across the terraces. The rabid fans are lost in the moment. If someone took a poll of those that could string a sentence together, most would probably have no idea why they were there. All they saw was the red, white and blue and saw the crowd. The poll would also revel 90% of those present read the Sun or the Star; with the remainder being unable to read. Such is Eng-Er-Land.

JB: Aleksei Koji how’s this for an entourage? I should be in the main event but I’m not. I’m stuck facing you in a nothing match. If I want to get back to where I need ta be I need to show them what I am capable of. When we stand nose to nose in the middle of MY ring… when the air crackles with electricity… when the whole arena rise to their feet ready to erupt there will only be you and me.

None of your beloved fans will be able to help me, just as none of your turnip eating family will be able to help you.

The time for talk will be over, my motor mouth will be silent. All we have is what god gave us and the skills we spent blood, sweat and some tears to develop. Do you have the substance to match your style? Are you ring skills as sharper than the rags you call clothes?

P’haps… but are you really as good as me?

SCW has yet to see what you can do, while I have only been here a few short weeks, so the advantage is yours. During my time here I kept my ring work limited for a moment like this, now I can show ya all just what I can do.

If by some miracle the Gods of luck favour you and a lightning bolt strikes me down allowing you to get the 1-2-3 your stock will sky rocket. Beating a Brit in front of his home crowd.

But fer you… if you lose to a loudmouth British with a pi$$ poor record what does that say about ya?

Will it reveal that you weren’t as good as yer claim, that you are not a big bad Bucharest brawler. That all along you were braggin’ cos when the chips are down ya can’t back it up?

Don’t get me wrong, you are good. Ya couldn’t get out of the hell hole that you called home without having some talent.

Our match is so close I bet ya can almost taste it… it’s almost a shame ya wont win.

Unlike our beloved Royals you wont be getting past a single match let alone a jubilee, congrats to Liz and Crazy ol’ Phil. Yer a diamond geezer, you would ‘ave me a hell of a wrestler, if just for yer unintentionally racist promos.

I digress, back to Aleksei Koji, the Romanian Rocky, Oh Romania…A gorgeous country... a pity it's inhabited.




Do ya think I’ll let you be the cock of the walk, well yer a cock…

… a ball bag, a bell end, a plonker, a muppet, a numpty, twat, tosser and wanker…

A pair of elephants enter the shot, one from each side. Johnny’s jaw drops in disbelief. He walks to the left, the crowd follows, he turns on his heels and turns to the right. Then turns to his followers.

JB: Will ya f*ckwits stop it! CUT! CUT! CUT! I KNEW THIS WAS A F’KING STUPID IDEA.

Why did I let the dipshit SCW office talk me inta this. “This is a big event” they said. “We need to go big, get the British market to buy in, please!” they begged.

How many times do I have ta say it I don’t care about the fans, even the British ones, I do this for me! If people want to buy my merch to support me, ill take the money, if they want ta buy tickets to see me get me arse kicked then let ‘em line up.

But this crap aint me, I aint no f’king sell out. I speak my mind, warts and all. All killer no filler, that’s me. Image may be everything to Nick Jones but I’m better than that; I’m better than HIM!.

A clichéd cap and headset wearing producer runs in. Snatches his cap off his head and tosses it to the floor, then jumps up and down on it.

Producer: No! No! No! This was supposed to be one long shot, now you’ve ruined it.

JB: This aint Cypress Ranch High School  or Southpark, I don’t need dumbarse gimmicks and song an’ dance numbers, fer f*cks sake elephants and guys in bowler hats doing back flips. I get it ya wanted an analogy to Nick’s entourage. But I’m not in that match. Why did we need to use this crap?

Nick Jones greased the ref’s hands ta make sure he didn’t have ta face me. He hides behind his Entourage, he uses his influence to make sure things go his way.

Me an’ Stu having been watching each others back for as long as I remember, we’re mates cos that’s what we are.

Nick Jones is still my target… Aleksei is target practice. I hope he makes it to the show.

I pray to whatever god he worships that he doesn’t get hurt before than, that would leave me at a loose end… I will have nothing to do but to watch the main event VERY CLOSELY… from ringside.

Sorry Alek, right place at the wrong time.

Yer gonna get yer f’king head kicked in!

 2 and 0

Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll

A chant often heard across the terraces. The winning team chant at their opponents fans, mocking them, goading them, letting them know we are better than you.

True Brit Johnny Brown may not be a football team, or particularly a football fans, most use it as an excuse for violence; Johnny has never needed an excuse. Flip that chant around and you have Johnny’s record since joining Sin-C-Dub.

None of his opponents have picked up on that train of thought yet. But inside the head of ‘The Embodiment of Britannia’, yes I known technically she was a chick, he hears them.

Jared Black and Goth, two men that have beaten him so far in Sin-C-Dub, would another add their name to the list? Given his record against Pryde alumni he had better hope it wasn’t Casey Williams.

It isn’t, it’s Adam Smith, better known as The Jackal.

A name that could be pivotal in the career of the True Brit. Will he be the next name with a W to Johnny’s L? Or will he be the first to fall, the first of many or the exception to the rule. Confidence as never been a thing Johnny Brown has lacked. He hasn’t had a choice really, when you move around like a gypsy sans a caravan and tarmacing business you get treated like one. The calls of pikey are water of a ducks back.

North, south, east and west Johnny had lived everywhere, well except Wales. The things they do to sheep is unnatural, or so it’s said.

The closest place he has to home is Northampton, an unremarkable place known for its once great shoe-making empire now better known for its rugby team The Saints.

Johnny is no saint, he is a sinner in every meaning of the word, he bears the scars from a deeply religious family, scars; that haven’t turned him away from God, but ones that have certainly not left them on speaking terms. A St. Christopher around his neck is the last sign of anything resembling faith, a present from his long gone nanna.

The patron saint of travellers is hopefully watching over Johnny now as he travels from Amsterdam to Paris for the next leg of the SCW European Tour. Alongside him is the ever present Bruvver from another mother Stu ‘The Gentleman’ Smith, a friendly bruiser who’s friendly affable manner is held in stark contrast to his dark thoughts or carnality and violence.

Both men ride their hired hogs, to be more precise Triumph Rocket III Roadster’s. radio headsets allow them to talk as the burn rubber.

SS: Do or die Johnny Boy, your opponent this week is no pushover

JB: Ya don’t get to tha top by facing jobbers Stu. I wanted competition; that’s why I came to Sin-C-Dub. They’re a top flight group with ties to the NEWA. If I want ta make waves fast I need ta take out people out, sure Adam doesn’t have the rep of a guy like Casey Williams. But he has been here longer than me, so he has a bigger rep, if I take him down I get his rep.

SS: Yer make it sound like that Highlander flick; "There can be only one," are you gonna cut his bloody head off then Brownie?

Despite Stu’s best Scottish accent the impression isn’t good.

JB: Considering the fed has a shed load of rules, murdering someone must be in there, especially on live TeeVee. I do remember watching all 3 films in one long drunken weekend.

SS: Bruv why do all of our stories end up about being drunk or one of us having rumpy pumpy?

JB: That’s cos that’s what we do, well that an’ fight but what kinda idiot is gonna talk about beating non-wrestlers up on camera, or worse still randomly attack people while they being filmed.

SS: The Jackal… quite a brute isn’t he. I would love to introduce my clenched fist to his Roman nose.

JB: Every time you speak you become more British… most people would lose their accent in a place like Vegas… you start talking wiv a goddamn plum in yer mouth.

SS: The chicks dig it, of course I need to get all common when its time ta get down and dirty. They fall inta my trap every time.

JB: P’haps you should be called the Predator and not the Master Adam Smith. He’s not lived up to his billing so far. Losing to a Dutchman is never a good start. Especially one like Goth. Not that I can talk, I lost to him last week too.

SS: Aw c’mon John, technically you haven’t lost a match, Old Skool dropped the tag match and Jared lost this match.

JB: I don’t play that game Stu. I’m a bastard but not some kinda anal freak.

SS: I know a hundred birds that’ll testify otherwise bruv.

JB: Ya know what I mean ya tw*t. The fans have ta make excuses for the bad things in their lives, I’m not fat it’s my glands, my teacher doesn’t like me, blah blah blah. I didn’t win my matches I’m gonna use that to kick it inta a higher gear. You long lost ancestor is going to be the first on my list back to the top.

SS: Adam may be a Smith but he’s no relation of mine. I’m the first of my family to go north of the Watford gap, let alone Canada. I bet he couldn’t even open my granddads stout with his teeth.

JB: Your granddad is amazing, he only has two teeth but the way he pops those bottle tops off is a true skill. Still compared to Adam, a man some say is the best man to never have held a World Championship, I think Grampy Smith would struggle.

SS: Don’t diss me granddad. Look Johnny, enough of this chatting shit. Are you going to eff this guy up? Ya need ta cut lose and pound the crap outta him.

JB: Other than you Stu I pretty much hate everyone. I’m a miserable, selfish pr*ck. An’ they're my strong points. All I do is fight and think about fightin’, even when I’m biking or f*ckin’ I'm thinking of smashing some tw*t in tha mouth. I’m Millwall personified. The Jackal will be left neutered. I’ll chop his balls off then hold them up for his pack to see. An’ if his b*tch wife sniffs my crotch I’ll bend her oven an-

A car swerves as Johnny overtakes cutting him off mid-sentence, I’m sure the censors breathed a sigh of relief there. Johnny powers past the Saab and offers a single finger salute, he gets a loud blast of the Saab’s horn in response. Stu sidles up to the car and starts to kick every panel he can reach. Johnny drops to the other side to do the same. The driver swerves a bit but doesn’t have the courage of his convictions to actually make a serious attempt at mowing his adversaries down. The Triumphs roar off overtaking another half dozen cars before dropping back in and conversations resuming.

JB: Wot a d*ck. Lets drop of behind the next big sign or summat and follow that Saab from a distance. When he gets out scare the cr*p outta ‘im.

SS: Maybe we should give it a miss and save your aggression for Jackoff--- Nawww  

JB: Damn right, he’s got a long list of titles in his past, sure he aint done much in Sin-C-Dub so far, but neither have I.  At least I’m not named after a mangy scavenging animal or a 62 year old terrorist. Neither one strikes fear inta my heart.  Ya know what lets not dwell on names. This one will put me a step closer to a title shot. Personally I don’t need gold to validate my existence like the rest of the boys. I just want hold gold so the favourites of the SCW fans, the so-called Sinners, don’t have it. I’ll be the spoiler, I’ll be the one who lights a bonfire on a sunny day, the one who complains about the loud music. If I can do anything ta pi$$ these people off I’ll do It.

SS: Your ranting again.

JB: It’s what I do, I don’t need window dressing and stalling fer time. I come out here hit record on the camera then do my thing. Before I even stepped foot in Sin-C-Dub I did my homework on this b*tch. I thought he would be my first opponent but I was wrong. Well next week at Climax Control live from the land of the surrender monkeys I’ll show the Jackal who is the king of the jungle an’ the real deal in SCW. That tw*t will wish he was that snot nosed 12 he once was, crying to his daddy about the bullies picking on him. This time though he will ignore his lone parent’s advice and not strike back against those bigger and better than him. Doing that led him to the  beating that I will have handed down to him.

SS: Didn’t ya say his dad was dead?

JB: Sure is, total worm food. Good thing really, at least he won’t have the embarrassment of seeing his son tapping to my ‘Go Home’, especially since it’s the same move as Adam’s St. John's Stretch. If Adam’s alleged father wasn’t a stiff he would probably kill himself when he sees how his boy turned out.  

SS: That’s cold!

JB: Not as cold as Papa Smith’s corpse, it’s cold in Canuck land especially 6 feet under. Ha ha maybe I should change me name to true wit, I’m a funny f*cker. Not as funny as the story of Adam Smith. Yu were there when I read it Stu, have you ever read a bigger load of bullshit? Superstar trainer; a true hardcore legend. He doesn’t look like the sort of guy that does that garbage $hit.

His whole story sounds like a crock of crap. Which is fine by me when I’m done with him he’ll be singing like an effin canary. Please don’t beat me Mr. Brown… I’m sorry I lied about my career but I wanted to be scary. The only thing I have in common with my supposed trainer is that my best friend is a tube sock, his name is Crusty and I love him a lot.

With little to do but sit back and listen to his friends increasingly unstable ranting Stu checks his mirror. He spots the earlier Saab at the back of a queue of traffic. Ahead of himself he spots a large sign. Taking advantage of Johnny’s pause he chimes in.

SS: There’s a sign coming up lets pull up let the road hog past. My boot hasn’t stamped on any heads for a while and its itching like an Essex girl on a Sunday morning.

JB: Yeah lets do it big man. Me bloods pumpin’ I can wait ta get a win. After I beat Jackoff I get a chance at revenge on Goth. I hope he gets through to the second round. I owe the palerider an’ I intend ta collect. First let’s sort Saab boy out.

The pair zoom off the road kicking up a pile of dust. They swing behind the sign and lay in wait like a true pair of jackals.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Paris, France
Some poncey café in the shadow of the Eiffel tower
Later that day

The dynamic duo have made the Saab owner cr*p his pants, literally. Stu wedgied him just to make sure; the headed to Gay Paris, not literally, although there’s nothing wrong with that kind of thing.

Hungry from the ride the pair found somewhere to park their bikes then hit the nearest café. Having stuffed there face with anything they recognised as real food; none of that foreign muck, they are now finishing their second beers as the waiter approaches.

JB: Waiter do you have frogs legs?

The waiter who could not be anymore of a stereotype if he was made on a production line for StereotypesRUs, raises an eyebrow as he takes out his notebook.

Waiter: Vhy of courze zir!

SS: Well hop to the bar and get us some more beers bwahahaha

Waiter: Zhat iz it get out you English louts… out, out I zay!

Laughing like a pair of Hyena (higher up the food chain than jackals) the twosome neck their last dregs of beer and depart. It will be a good 10 minutes before the waiter realises that they didn’t pay. Enroute back to their bikes they share their wisdom with anyone who will pay them heed.

JB: That’s the problem with the French…


SS: What’s that Johnny?

JB: They’re all still breathing.

SS: Wishing mass genocide? That’s a bit harsh John.

JB: I didn’t say I wanted to kill them or even wish them dead, they just have an over inflated sense of their worth and not one of them has a sense of humour. They didn’t even laugh at my Simpsonesque “My children need more wine” joke.

Now I know why the Americans hate the Canadians so much, they are their version of the French. They both speak the same language.

SS: Actually only 22.3% of the Canadians speak French.

JB: Never let facts get in the way of a story Stu, I thought you were brought up on British journalism, I’ve seen you look at the pictures in The Sun most days.

The facts are Canadians and the French are annoying smug ba$tards, Adam Smith is Canadian, hence is his an annoying smug ba$tard. If ya think about it; it isn’t even his fault, he was born that way.

SS: No-one asks to be born Canadian Johnny, it’s more of a curse. Eh!

JB: Now you’re talking Stu, lets us the standard Canadian insults, we can wander into Casey Williams level of trash talk, lets not bother with witty banter about Adam’s clichéd prey- predator lines lets say aboot and eh!

SS: What can I say Monsieur Brown, I like the classics.

JB: Yeah, I’ve some of the old grinners you’ve banged.

Lets stop talking about your alien looking exes; an' talk about Adam Smith.

To quote Arnie in one of his old films, Predator, “You're one... *ugly* motherfucker!”

Admittedly even of you were ranked number 1 on some teen magazine hotlist, you’re not my type. The reason I point out your complete absence of looks is that you have actually succeeded in making this match difficult for me.

Normally me and Stu here would have a wager, he would pick a body part and bet me various amounts I could mess it up big time. For you he picked your boat race, now you’re mug is soooo ugly a chav bird could make a list of jokes about it all day long, since I am neither a chav nor a bird I won’t bother but what I will say is that I will NEVER get tired of punching you in the face.

I will punch you over and over until the ref looks at the mashed up pile of flesh at the end of your neck and stop the match. I don’t want a pinfall or a submission I want you to be so disfigured they’ll need to redo yer passport to get home. We’re talking Casey Williams ugly.

SS: John, did we really just tape this bit so you can say he’s ugly.

JB: Well I wanted to get the frog’s leg joke in too. Just face it the jackal doesn’t give ya much ta work with. He has no real discernable character traits, he drops off the map at a moments notice, and frankly he isn’t very interesting. This week though I’m gonna make him a star.

People in the metro will be talking about the guy that got beat so bad Notre Dame got a new freak. He will be featured on the front page of Le Monde, people will hold a day of mourning he will be beaten that badly. France will adopt him as one of their own; all losers together.

In a few short days at Climax Control I will get back on track to being the biggest star Sin-C-Dub has ever seen. I will win the tourney and claim my shot at London Brawling.

Then everyone in the UK will know I'm the True Brit an’ if ya mess with me you’ll get yer feckin’ head kicked in!

 JB: What a difference a few months make.

One minute I’m taking the wrestling world by storm; kicking ass and taking names then I’m held on charges of making terroristic threats; orange jumpsuit the lot.

Well done Obama spending more money your country doesn’t have on keeping me locked up for no reason.

Now; thanks ta me lawyers you have even less money and I have a bulging bank balance and a new bike.

The personification of ‘Cool Britannia’ Johnny Brown is sat astride his Triumph Rocket III Roadster. His hair is freshly shorn and his Doc Martens freshly polished. With little more to do than work out during his time in detention the True Brit is looking jacked. It takes a lot for a man wearing jeans, a dress shirt and a bomber jacket to look like a beast but the True Brit has an air about him.

He is sat high in the hills looking down at the bright lights of Las Vegas. The power burning before him has probably doomed this planet to a hot and fiery death when the ozone layer finally goes pop.

Stood alongside him is his long time friend Stu Smith.

‘The Gentleman’ as he is know throughout the bareknuckle fighting scene in the U.K. looks like the bruiser he truly is. Wearing a wifebeater, shorts along with unflattering flip flops he truly is an Englishman in New York, well Vega but you get the point.

JB: One thing I lost during my time on the Press’s dime was my lucrative contract with *name removed under advice from lawyers*. Buncha pu$$ies got scared when the heat was on.

NO bovver, I’m got a better deal now, all thanks to me Bruvver from another mother; Stu Smith, The Gentleman to his fans.

SS: Fans Johnny? I wouldn’t call ‘em that mate. Ya don’t really have fans in the fight game just people who like putting money the odds of ya not getting ya ‘ead knocked off.

JB: That’s why I keep telling ya ta give this wrestling lark a go. With yer skills you’d kick all kinda arse.

SS:That reminds me man, this came through today.

A letter appears from Stu’s inside pocket, he flips it open and passes a sheet of paper to his long time running mate.

He unfolds it noisily, then looks at the bottom where the main event is listed; shrugs and works his way up the card looking more and more agitated with each match.

JB:The opener… A tag team? A bloody tag team match? I am in the opening match and it’s a bloody tag team match!

I don’t play well with others…

A screwed up copy of the latest Climax Control card bounces of the camera. Johnny Brown is pi$$ed, this was supposed to be his a fresh start; a chance to show the world that he is the best at what he does.

SS: You seem to get on well with the chicks Johnny.

JB: What are you doing man? What if Lane watches this and get the wrong idea?

SS: Lane? Are you crazy, you guys broke up months ago, when you first came to the states you dumped her and the kids. You featured a buncha tarts in your promos in *name removed under advice from lawyers*. Ya hooked up wiv’ one of ‘em.

JB: Aww they didn’t mean anything- look why are we chatting about this crap. I have a match… a tag match but a match. Seriously bruv I don’t know what bit is worse.

My opponents or my partner, dudes name is Old Skool?

What sort of name is that? I hope he doesn’t think I’m a replacement for Terrible T? I could repeat the arse kicking T gave him if he lets the side down, but I don’t think so. From what I've seen of the guy in SCW he’s been getting better, then again…


…Ya know what? I aint gonna bother myself with worrying if my partner is any good. This wont be the first time or the last I’ve fought two blokes on me lonesome. If my partner can hold his end of the deal up then it’s a bonus. I think his ability will show what the boss men think of me.

SS: I don’t get it John? ?!?!?!?!

Johnny’s chuckle is friendly enough Stu doesn’t register any offence. It’s like when a so-so chick hangs with a fatty, Johnny a man with a less than stellar education gets to feel intellectually superior.

JB: Stu you know I love you bruv, but you need to learn to look at the bigger picture. If they stick me with a jobber, some dudes who’s on his back more than Katie Price an’ Kerry Katona combined it shows they think I’m not worth jack.

It said that ya shouldn’t read a book by its cover right? Well “The Sin-Sational One” doesn’t seem like a lengthy tome to me yet he may well be War an’ frickin’ Peace in spandex. Point is as long as he turns up and doesn’t eff up we’re good.

Jared Black and "Prime Time" Matthew Kennedy, whatever happens they’re in fer a arse kickin’ they’ll never forget.

Having seen his friend in full on rant mode before Stu cracks open his cooler and takes a seat on the bonnet of his jeep. Brown hears the rasp of a ring pull so leaves his bike on the kick stand to grab a Stella for himself.

A near silence falls over the pair as they glug the beer, known as ‘wifebeater’ back in their homeland. After a pair of satisfied ahhhhs and the crumpling of the cans; as it the ritual the tête-à-tête resumes.

From what I’ve heard Jared was a fatboy who learnt to fight back against the bullies. Eventually he lost his fat ass but ta me he’s still a victim, this time I’m the bully. Only I’ll take more than his lunch money and squirt him in the face with his juice box!

I’ll wreck his SCW career before it’s begun. He’ll go scurrying back to Jacksonville to play golf until his dying days. Of course if he’s true to his rumoured form he won’t back down, he’ll keep coming and I’ll keep knocking him down. Then when I get bored I’ll tie him up in knots an’ snap a knee… an elbow, maybe even his bloody neck. I’ll show all of SCW that my partner isn’t the only Old Skool thing left in wrestling. I don’t need flips, a million catchphrases or a movie division to be the best. I’ll do it just like my family did through hard work, a concept lost on the fat lazy ungrateful Americans.

Am I resorting to a tired stereotype? Maybe, but no more than my opponents will about my alleged bad teeth or love for tea and crumpets, mine white with two sugars for those that are keeping score. Fact American is the GLOBAL leader in virtually everything, what they say goes.

They start the wars, they start the trends… and they made us all fat. Now thanks to my independent will and amazing genetics I look like a million quid but most folks back home… not so much. Britain has become an overweight lapdog obeying every bloated politician that gives an order.

To me Jared Black; regardless of his pant size is an example of what’s wrong with the world. He a fat f**k in a smaller body; when I wipe the mat with him he’ll eat a dozen whoppers soaked in his salty tears, then stuff down a handful of chilidogs to take the shame away.

He doesn’t belong in wrestling an’ ill enjoying putting him out of it.

Ever the Gentleman Stu offers Johnny another can before taking one for himself.

SS: That was some heavy stuff there John, I thought you were going to drop that stuff, the basement dwelling virgins and backward hillbilly’s that watch this stuff understand it, neither do the drunk tourists that turn up to the shows. I’ve lived here for about 6 weeks now and everyone is only interested in gambling and having a good time.


Draining his second can even faster than his first, Johnny burps about a two on the rector scale then continues.

JB: Do I look like I care about the SCW fans? I don’t have the urge to have people like me, I don’t need to feel loved. Did my mum an’ dad give me enough cuddles? Who gives a crap!

All that matters is what happens between those ropes!

You know who I feel sorry for in this match? Kennedy, what chance does he have? He had to face a 12 year old last week, but at least he won and now he’s paired with an unproven deflated blimp. Someone in the back must want him cancelled.

He clearly doesn’t like America must like me, but the country I don’t mind its just all the people in it, of course there’s a lot of Britain I don’t like either. I s’pose I better clear something up before the press gets hold of it.

I don’t care what colour you are I care about my country. If it wasn’t for all the Arabs I wouldn’t have anywhere to by more beer on Xmas day or to buy fags when I was 10. I care about the damn government that scaremonger an’ stir hatred up, the damn councils that wont let ya fly a union jack but will knock down listed building to build a mosque.

The people of GREAT Britain made the country great an’ it’s the government that’s ruining it, lead of course by Uncle Sam.

Of course I’m breaking the rules, the big taboo don’t talk about religion or politics… all I have left is ta show ya a funny growth on my arse and I’ve unleashed the unholy dinner party trinity of faux pas’s.

Well this aint no dinner party and I don’t give a $hit. SCW hired me to be controversial, ta bring in the rating and I damn well will. Lets face it they need all the help they can get. They have a bunch of talented wrestlers, even though I’m going ta kick 10 shades of pi$$ outta them in the weeks and months ta come most of them can work.

It’s the staff that I worry about? The announcers and backstage crew look like they escaped from a fetish club and as for the bookers…

…you’ve gotta give it to them, they’ve really got together to come up with the hook for this match, Sin City’s British wrestlers on opposite teams… yes that’s sarcasm, British wit is too complex for the yanks, so I thought it best to explain.

What are they? Monkeys with typewriters hoping to recreate the works of Shakespeare or blind men with a dartboard covered with names?

Did they think our love for our homelands and everything British would make an interest dichotomy… don’t try to understand Stu, just stand there and look menacing. You have a great right hand, amazing manners but word play isn’t your forte.

Of course I don’t need to tell everyone how tough I am, I don’t like having ta play a verbal game of chess, using words to dance and twist ta sell my fights. I don’t use verbs or nouns in the ring I use me fists and me ‘ead.

Sure a clever analogy works wonders ta talk ‘em inta the arena but its me take downs and submissions that’ll bring ‘em back week after week. Paying their hard-earned cash to ‘opefully see one of their heroes take down the $hit-shootin’ Brit; that’s fine. As long as the office redirects the dollars inta my pockets, I’m good wiv it.

Me mum always said I could charm the birds from the trees, well its time I put it to the test. If SCW really wants me ta speak my mind that better be ready. As me last boss what happens when ya give me a mic. Better yet ask my lawyer and my bank manager, Johnny Brown is money an’ at Climax Control Jared Black an’ Matthew Kennedy better be read to hit the headlines.

The British are coming and they’re gonna kick yer ‘eads in! Now take me to the Titty Twister Jack Stud owes me a drink.