CONOR FUSE vs. CANCER JILES
From backstage, we return to the arena. The commentary table finds itself occupied with the PRIME commentary tandem of Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.
Nick Stuart: Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! This second night of PWA-02 has been a monumental event thus far! In the next scheduled match, High Octane’s own fan favorite Conor Fuse will meet the universally derided Cancer Jiles of PRIME!
Richard Parker: I’m not sure I’m going to have the stomach for this match, Nick, but then again, I have been drinking the water. This might be the one match where I’d rather not see a PRIME star come out with a win.
Nick Stuart: That doesn’t surprise me. In any case, folks… due to contractual mandates made by one of the competitors, we are obligated to include an additional analyst tonight on the basis of “balancing” the calling in this match. That being said, allow me to welcome to our table the newly anointed “lead anchor” of Cracking News…
The camera pans out, revealing a third person sitting at the commentary table. It appears to be a pimple-faced teenager with the shittiest looking bleached hair wearing a white Member’s Only jacket over an Arthur Pleasant t-shirt.
Nick Stuart: …Chris Chickentenders…
Chris Chickentenders: That’s “COOL” Chris Chickentenders, Nick.
Nick Stuart: …I’m not saying that.
Chris Chickentenders: Too bad. You know, you guys probably feel real honored to be joined by the new anchor to Cracking News. Kinda makes me, like, a big deal.
Richard Parker: Hey, screw you, kid! I know it’s YOU that’s been sending me those threatening letters!
Chris Chickentenders: I have no idea what you’re talking about, Richard. First of all, thanks to the wonderful legal system they have down here in Mexico, I can proudly say that I am a “kid”… no longer. I sit with you gentlemen as a fellow man, ehhhuehuehuehuehue…
Richard Parker: God, that laugh…
Chris Chickentenders: Secondly, if somebody was sending you threatening letters, then maybe that’s a sign that you should be less of an ignorant douchebag on commentary? Food for thought, old dude. Otherwise, you can just eat my butt.
Richard Parker: Why you little–!!
Nick Stuart: Settle down, partner! This is hardly the time or place to pick a fight with a teenager!
Richard Parker: No, but this sure as hell is the one place where I can get away with it!
Chris Chickentenders: Settle down, Rich. We’re here to do a job. Kinda weak that it takes a real professional like me to remind you of that.
Richard Parker: (stammers uncontrollably in rage)
Chris Chickentenders: So tell me, guys, are the rules different down here in Mexico? Like, do people get put through the English-speaking commentary table rather than the Spanish one?
Nick Stuart: Uhhh, looks like things are about to get underway here. PRIME’s own Vince Howard is standing ready in the ring.
The entrance quickly becomes flooded with cosplaying comic book characters. From Batman to Spiderman, Dr. Doom to Grigori Rasputin, anyone you can think of is there. Even Colossus from the X-Men makes an appearance… except in this case he’s wearing a name tag that says COOLossus and looks a lot more like a skinny Cancer Jiles in silver paint. Regardless, once the stage is full, the group raises their arms and claps their hands in unison. They turn and point to the massive LCD screen hanging above the entrance.
The word COMICONOR appears.
The lights dim and “Is She With You?” by Hans Zimmer begins over the PA as a smoke bomb goes off on the rampway, covering the entire stage. Even cell phones aren’t able to look through this thick fog. Meanwhile, on the big screen, footage plays of Conor Fuse wrestling various High Octane opponents, in what looks to be edited like the signature to a DC Hollywood movie.
A scene stops on Cancer Jiles and the montage ends. The smoke on the stage has settled, and the original cosplay characters have vanished. Green ropes fall from the ceiling, looking like vines from plants. Numerous Poison Ivy cosplayers slide down the vines, sporting various poses.
Richard Parker: What the hell does Cirque du Soleil have to do with wrestling? What does this have to do with ANYTHING!?
Some of the Poison Ivys blow kisses into the stands while others continue to show off their flexibility. A few of them even reach the floor and start throwing green pixie dust into the air.
Richard Parker: This is pissing me off. I can’t believe we’re putting stock in Comic Book Guy to defeat Cancer Jiles.
Nick Stuart: Look, Conor Fuse is no joke. He’s an extreme risk taker, a two-time HOW World Champion, and a staple in DEFIANCE. He might be a little… uh, off, if you will, but look past the smoke and mirrors. Literally, look past them.
Richard Parker: I won’t hold my breath.
The broadcast feed switches to outside the arena, where a tumbler, similar to the vehicle found in The Dark Knight, speeds through the parking lot. An arena garage door opens and the tumbler enters, now driving through the backstage.
The crowd comes alive when the COMICONOR Mobile enters on the right, beside the elaborate staging. One of the Poison Ivys walks over as the car comes to a screeching halt and the driver’s door pops open…
This Poison Ivy’s face is shocked, because no one is inside.
Nick Stuart: If anything, I think this entrance is to piss off Cancer Jiles and take him off his game.
Richard Parker: It would’ve worked better if Jiles was, you know, already in the ring!
More smoke bombs explode, this time in the center of the squared circle. As the music continues to play, the lights dim again and a spotlight shines on the rampway entrance.
But nobody appears.
Finally, the smoke inside the ring clears and COMICONOR is revealed already inside the four corners, arms crossed, sporting a purple comic book inspired trench coat, while also covered in COMICONOR armor. The rest of the Poison Ivys enter the ring and start taking off Fuse’s additional gear.
Vince Howard: Introducing first… from Toronto, Ontario, Canada… weighing two-hundred-eight pounds… he is COMICONOR… CONOR FUUUUUUSSSSSSSEEEEEEE!!
There Conor stands in the center of the ring, sporting dark purple tights with comic book prints throughout. However, these are not sketches of real comic book scenes. Rather, they are markings of Conor and Jiles wrestling each other. There’s a sketch of Jiles being hit with the Super Splash 450 and another where The COOL has his head caved in via the Head Stomp. There’s even a drawing of Conor performing the Dark Phoenix Splash…
While Jiles bleeds yolk profusely.
Conor walks over to the referee as they exchange words. His theme song comes to a close and Fuse rests in a corner. However, the kid’s demeanor no longer seems carefree. He stares at the entrance, determined and intense.
Nick Stuart: I told you, when the bell goes… this guy is going to be a different animal.
Richard Parker: Well he better be. I nearly threw-up in my mouth many times over this nonsensical bullshit.
Vince Howard: And the opponent… hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at two-hundred and eighteen pounds… representing PRIME Wrestling… please welcome, the COOLympian… the MAIN EVENT…CAANCEERRR JIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLEEEESSSSS!!!
The lights slowly draw to a dim.
A cool breeze moves through the air.
A gull, perhaps one from the sea, can be heard squawking.
Then, the beat of the wolf begins to pulsate throughout the arena.
Nick Stuart: This isn’t Screaming Jay Hawkings!
Richard Parker: It’s Hawkins. No G. And I can’t believe I have to root for this guy. Never in my life, Nick, NEVER DID I THINK THIS DAY WOULD COME. I can’t wait for this to be over, and for Rezin to smoke this fool at ReVival 30.
Nick Stuart: Me either, yet here we are. 2023. Chris, anything you’d like to add?
The guest commentator does not answer. He can not. He is too amazed. He is too overcome. Plus, the bottom of his jaw is in Beijing eating nuk soo kow and he has good table manners.
Nick Stuart: Jiles is rolling DEEP tonight at PWA 2! I think that’s Max Shell! Oh. Wait. It’s just a cardboard cutout a fan threw towards the entrance ramp.
Nick isn’t lying. The whole fucking crew is here. All of them. The Bandits. Out first is Beautiful Bobby Dean. He’s got on his PRIME color tracksuit, and seems more than happy to not be competing here tonight. Next is Lunchbox Laser, and he has a bound and gagged Abe Lipshitz slung over his shoulder. Both of them are also in PRIME color tracksuits as well.
Richard Parker: Hopefully they tie a weight to the bottom of Abe’s leg and drop him overboard on their way home.
Nick Stuart: Fair.
Behind LL and appearing for the first time ever as the eGG Queen is Lindsay Troy. Not that she is dressed as the eGG Queen, it just says it in the graphic on the screen. Also this is clearly a cardboard cutout because she’s in the back getting ready for the main event, you know that show ending match that Jiles used to be in once upon a time that he’s probably never going to be in again because you didn’t ask me ahead of time if this was ok, GEORGE?
Richard Parker: I’d literally take anyone else out there right now over Jiles. Anyone. Even the alien living inside Bobby Dean.
Lastly, the Greek God of COOL, Cancer Jiles, emerges. His hair is best in show. The mirror tint on his T-Shades is cocaine sniff ready. The collar on his PRIME colored tracksuit is popped to the sky.
Richard Parker: I hate this. I hate this more than anything.
There is no mixed reaction for Jiles. Everyone there boos. Everyone. Both the PRIMEates and the Octanites alike. Their fervor doesn’t matter though. It has no effect. This is Cancer Jiles. KING COOL. He doesn’t falter. He doesn’t fetter. He doesn’t flake. Not on PRIME. No, he is him, and him, rather he, simply smiles widely for all to see and then releases a short burst of COOLYPIAN YOLJK into the air to mark his territory.
Nick Stuart: Lucky fan. I bet he paid a lot for that seat.
After wiping his mouth and then exchanging high fives with the Bandits, Jiles, alone, heads toward the ring. Well, he slaps everyone high five except for the eGG Queen. She is of the fancy regal blood, and therefore does not touch the help. Not even if the help is a demigod who descended from Mount COOLYMPUS. Also, again, a cardboard cutout. Once down there, THE MAIN EVENT takes the long way around just so the people at ringside can get a good look at him. Plus, he stops by the announce table to hand off his precious T-Shades to Chris Chickentenders.
If his parents are watching the live broadcast, tell them CPR was administered and Chris was brought back to life.
Nick Stuart: Jiles said he had something special for Conor Fuse. Something from memory lane. My guess is it’s under that tracksuit.
Richard Parker: You don’t think they were…
WOLF TOTEM continues to blare. Jiles makes his way up the steps, and with one leg through the ropes tells his close buddy Timo Bolamba to keep Conor back while he’s entering the ring. Timo does as he’s told, albeit begrudgingly, and Conor rolls his eyes in return.
Nick Stuart: Maybe we’ll have a match at some point. Who knows?
The Maestro arrogantly moves to the center of the ring, and stares into his opposition’s eyes. He waits a few seconds, and then tears the tearaway PRIME colored tracksuit from his body in one swift motion.
Richard Parker: Check out his wrestling tights, Nick! Those aren’t his normal ones! Jiles has Conor Fuse’s face on them!
Nick Stuart: If I had to guess Jiles had them made after he defended the High Octane World Championship against Conor Fuse back in 2021. If I had to guess.
Conor seethes.
Cancer puckers.
Timo calls for the bell.
DING DING
Chris Chickentenders: Gentlemen… worlds are about to COOLlide.
Richard Parker: Please unplug him, Nick. I’m begging you.
Grinning ear to ear, Fuse energetically bounds out of his corner. Sneering in repugnance, Jiles reluctantly comes out of his own and joins him in the center of the ring. They circle each other for a beat before Conor offers up his hand.
Nick Stuart: Fuse is wanting to break the ice here with an old fashioned test of strength! But will Cancer go for it?
Richard Parker: Of course not. Because it’s a gesture of class and respect.
Chris Chickentenders: Class and respect are like, overrated, dude.
Cancer’s expression is one that suggests that Conor’s fluttering fingers look as appealing to him as one of Bobby’s bathroom towels. He instead propositions his own hand.
BOOOOOOOO!!
Richard Parker: UGH… figures!
Chris Chickentenders: Hey man, he doesn’t know where that hand has been. Like my cousin Craig’s Switch controller. Freakin’ GROSS, dude!
Fuse merely chuckles, and goes for it…
Nick Stuart: Cancer with a BOOTTOTHEGUT–!
NO.
RRRAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Nick Stuart: CAUGHT by Conor!
Cancer finds himself stuck on a single leg, the other caught up in the hands of a grinning Conor. Before he can react, Fuse pushes back, and Jiles ends up stumbling back to the ropes. Conor (some would say) graciously allows him a moment to regain his bearings, enthusiastically hopping between feet in the center of the ring while the capacity crowd
Nick Stuart: Jiles went for the cheap shot, but Fuse wasn’t about to be fooled by that!
Richard Parker: On!
Chris Chickentenders: …um… yeah, I think Cancer forgot to wipe his boots when he came into the ring.
Nick Stuart: Well Fuse, a two-time HOW World Champion in his own right, is hardly the kind of competitor for anyone to wipe their feet on!
Presiding official Timo Bolamba chides the lingering Jiles for delaying the action and tells him to get the fight going. Cancer doesn’t even waste the effort looking to the ref to show him his sneer of indignance, but finally breaks away from the ropes. Only because he wants to, though.
They go straight into a lock-up, only for Jiles to slip under and around to find Conor trapped into a waistlock. Cancer forces him toward a corner, only for Conor to spryly run up the turnbuckle and somersaults over Cancer in a display of agility that switches their positions and gets a rise from the crowd.
Again, Fuse doesn’t capitalize, but stands hopping in the center of the ring beaming his daring smile while Cancer stands in the corner completely red-faced.
Nick Stuart: You can truly sense that Fuse is getting under the skin of Cancer Jiles!
Richard Parker: If anyone can, it’s c0nOr!
Chris Chickentenders: Speak for yourself, Rich. It’s obvious that Cancer lives in your butt rent free.
Richard Parker: That’s now how that… ugh, whatever.
Jiles’s lips curl into a sour pucker of contempt. He marches out of the corner and the two lock up once again. Cancer is the clear aggressor now, delivering a trio of knee lifts to Fuse’s mid-section to back him into the corner. Bolamba is immediately there to call for the break. Cancer, blatantly getting his hands into Conor’s face, once again doesn’t seem to acknowledge Timo’s ability to carry any respectable level of authority.
Timo Bolamba: Break it up, Cancer! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOU–
Jiles breaks.
SLAP!
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Nick Stuart: Yikes! They could hear that all the way back home!
Chris Chickentenders: Ehuehuehuehheee…
The smile is gone from Conor’s face… but only briefly. Giving his jaw a brief rubdown, Fuse rolls his shoulders and comes out of the corner with his game face on. Pun intended. He joins Jiles in the middle of the ring looking for another lock up, but Cancer is waiting for him with another boot to the gut, this time connecting, and snags the arm into a single wristlock.
Cancer wrenches the arm, torqueing Fuse’s shoulder, but Conor doesn’t stay put long, flipping over onto his feet to reverse with a sharp arm wringer of his own that snaps Cancer over onto his back. Conor quickly pulls him back up by the same arm and Irish whips him to the ropes.
Nick Stuart: Jiles in motion now… ducks a leapfrog from Fuse, who goes the other way… Cancer comes back with a running clothesline–but NO! He instead goes to the mat off the SPRINGBOARD DROPKICK by Conor!
Chris Chickentenders: Ugh… wall kicks are so lame.
Jiles rolls over onto his knees and again backs to the ropes for safety, holding up his hand and begging off Fuse. Conor sees the hand as an invitation for a high-five, which he joyously accepts, and then yanks Cancer back to his feet.
Richard Parker: Don’t give that scumbag even a second, cOn0r!
Nick Stuart: Fuse pulling Jiles up, traps him into a low front waistlock… and a RELEASED NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX sends the COOLympian flying over onto his back!
Cancer is clutching his back when he again rolls to his knees. Groping again for the ropes, he blubbers to Timo about keeping that punk off of him, but now it’s Bolamba’s turn to pretend to hear nothing. Conor presses the advantage, pushing Jiles off the ropes to send him running again.
Nick Stuart: Jiles off the ropes… and Fuse is ready on the return for a HURRICANRANA! Timo is there for the count!
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout by Jiles!
Richard Parker: Faster, Timo! FASTER!
Chris Chickentenders: Obviously, Richard, they have a different numerical system on the island of Fiji.
Richard Parker: …Bolambo is SAMOAN, you idiot!
Chris Chickentenders: He certainly is “someone”.
Richard Parker: …Nick, can I hit him? Just once?
Nick Stuart: Easy, partner… maybe just try ignoring him and focusing on the match?
Cancer scrambles under the ropes immediately after the kickout and powders out to ringside to mentally reassess the situation. The fans across the barricade jeer him in a plethora of languages that he both can and cannot understand, but their sentiment cannot be mistaken.
Richard Parker: Looks like Cancer can’t take the heat!
Chris Chickentenders: Ehhuehuehuehueee… you know nothing, Rich. He’s just reCOOLlecting himself.
Unphased by the opinions of mere plebeians, Jiles runs his hands through his heavenly white hair, and flicks his sweat into the front row. But when he turns his attention back to the ring, he discovers a human torpedo hurtling at him through the ropes!
Nick Stuart: SUICIDE DIVE by “The Vintage” Conor Fuse, completely laying out Cancer at ringside!
Richard Parker: Serves him right for taking his eyes off the match.
Chris Chickentenders: Sometimes, Rich, a star has gotta show these ungrateful butt-heads their place. Cancer’s just reminding them that seeing a star like him should be, like, a privilege.
Nick Stuart: Cancer is certainly seeing stars himself, as Jiles lights him up before throwing him back into the ring!
Jiles is knocked loopy, but nevertheless staggers up to his feet. Fuse doesn’t immediately follow him in, instead scaling the ringpost.
Nick Stuart: Conor is going UP TOP!
Chris Chickentenders: Heads up, Cancer! He’s using the -noclip cheat!
Nick Stuart: DIVING CROSSBODY CONNECTS and Fuse makes the PIN!
ONE!
TWO!
NO!! Jiles kicks out!
Richard Parker: Stay on him, c()nOuR! There’s no pause button here!
Fuse pops back to his feet and launches himself into the ropes for some speed. Cancer gets up in time to be met with a flipping neckbreaker by the returning Conor to put him back to the mat. He reaches for his neck and winces, but Fuse is only getting warmed up as he kips up to his feet and springs into the ropes again, bouncing off into a graceful backflip!
Nick Stuart: SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT by Conor Fuse! Hooking the legs for another pin attempt, and Timo with the count!
ONE!
TWO!
But Cancer gets the shoulder up again!
Chris Chickentenders: All this cheap flippy crap can go eat my butt! Cancer can’t even get a chance to get to his feet!
Richard Parker: Hopefully, he never does! I take back everything I ever said about Cirque du Soleil!
Once again on his feet, Conor backs into the corner and plots his next move. Slowly, he lowers his knuckles, taps the canvas, and pumps his fist high into the air a la Mega Man.
Conor Fuse: ARMA… OBTENER!!
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Chris Chickentenders: What did he say? I don’t speak “l33tspeak” like some boomer.
Richard Parker: I believe the accurate translation is “get BENT, Cancer!”
Jiles is still trying to catch his breath as he works himself off the mat. Clutching the top rope, Fuse begins loading the boot.
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
Nick Stuart: This could spell doom for Cancer! Conor Fuse has him locked in his sights!
Jiles finally gets himself back onto two jelly-filled legs, and slowly turns around just as Fuse bursts forward with a SUPERKICK!
Nick Stuart: Looking to give Cancer a taste of his own medicine with TERMINAL–
Cancer yanks Timo into the path!
Nick Stuart: NO!! Look out, Timo!
Thrown off balance, Fuse has to put on the brakes at the last minute to keep himself from kicking the Samoan Slicer’s head clear off his shoulders. By the time he turns around, Jiles is there to greet him with a European uppercut that sends spittle and effluvia arcing through the air. Conor twirls off the impact and is left staggering in a daze, leaving himself open to a running forearm strike to the back of the head to drop him to the mat.
BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!
Nick Stuart: Fuse to the mat, and Cancer Jiles may have finally turned this match into his favor, although it’s heavily thanks in part to using the ref as a human shield!
Chris Chickentenders: A brilliant and next-level tactic, that only a genius like Cancer Jiles can pull off in a pinch.
Richard Parker: Damn! What was Timo thinking, getting close to the action?!
Nick Stuart: Trying to officiate the match? I mean, unfortunate as his positioning was at that time, it is his job.
Conor Fuse crawls his way into the corner, but the punishment comes back in spades as Cancer Jiles stomps a mudhole into him so deep he might as well put up oil derricks. Timo’s calls for him to let up fall on deaf ears. Tired of being ignored, the official grabs Jiles by the shoulder to pull him back. In doing so, he sets Cancer off, and the COOLypmian responds in kind by giving Timo a hard SHOVE to the chest.
OOOOOOHHH…
Nick Stuart: Oh boy! He’s asking for trouble now!
The enraged scowl on the Samoan Slicer’s face could sink entire islands. Timo steps forward and catches Jiles off guard with a shove of his own that knocks him onto his ass. Cancer is aghast, but the official tugs his shirt and dares him to do something about it.
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHH!!
Chris Chickentenders: Stupid Tim Alabama! What kind of umpire wears facepaint anyway?!
Richard Parker: That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night, kid, but for once, Timo is being Timo for a righteous cause!
Nick Stuart: What do you mean ‘for once’, Rich? Timo’s a saint!
Chris Chickentenders: More like a TAINT! Ehhuehuehuehuehueee…
Jiles takes his anger out on Fuse, dragging him out of the corner to continue his vicious assault of stomps, now while also verbally berating the Samoan Slicer turned wrestling referee, his professionalism, his ability to call a match, and his litany of allegedly illegitimate children. When he gets tired of wearing out his soles on Conor’s head and shoulders, he extends the arm and gives the fingers a stamp.
Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles continues to go to work on Fuse, stomping him into a pulp and leaving him helpless to be picked back up off the mat! There’s a rear waistlock… and the GERMAN SUPLEX bridges Conor’s shoulders to the mat!
ONE!
TWO!
THR–SHOULDER UP, by Conor! Still some hearts left in his life bar!
Chris Chickentenders: Yeah, but only a paltry few. And it’s at that point where it keeps making that annoying sound like BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP–
Richard Parker: MY GOD, SHUT UP!!
Chris Chickentenders: Geez… say it, don’t spray it, old dude. Don’t take it out on me because you hate Nintendo’s game design.
Jiles takes Fuse by the head to pull him back up and this time leads him to a corner, viciously driving his head into the top turnbuckle over and over. When he finally has him softened up, Cancer lifts Conor up to the top rope. Timo begins protesting, but the COOLympian dismisses him with a flick off his chin and climbs up to join Fuse.
Nick Stuart: We’re going into risky territory here as Jiles brings Conor to the top rope! He hooks the head and grabs the waistband, looking for the SUPLERPLEX… but it’s BLOCKED by Fuse!
Richard Parker: Fight, you weird comic nerd! Do literally ANYTHING right now!
Nick Stuart: Shots to the ribs leave Jiles stunned… and DOWN HE GOES after a shove by Conor.
Chris Chickentenders: HyhwhuuAAT?!
RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Cancer sprawls backwards and lands awkwardly on his head, flopping lifelessly onto his back off the impact. He looks completely OUT, and Conor doesn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. Quickly, he repositions his feet to the top rope.
Nick Stuart: Hang on, Conor Fuse now in a position to do something!
Richard Parker: Do it, kAwNuWOAr! Give him the FLIPPIEST of FLIPS!
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
Nick Stuart: Fuse off the top with the SUPER SPLASH–
Knees up!
NOOOOOOOO!!!
Chris Chickentenders: EEHHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEEEEE FUCKING BAAAADAAAASSSS!!!
Nick Stuart: JILES WAS PLAYING POSSUM!!
Richard Parker: THE RAT BASTARD!! THE RAT POSSUM BASTARD!!
Nick Stuart: INSIDE CRADLE FOR THE WIN!
ONE!!
TWO!!
THRRRR–KICKOUT!!
RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: I thought for a minute that could have been it! A classic deception by the COOLympian, but still not enough to win him this match!
Chris Chickentenders: Ugh… Conor can eat my butt! Obviously, Timo stalled on that last count! Cause he was temporarily blinded! By his stupid face paint! Because it melted it off his face from all the sweat he’s building up from worrying about how bad Cancer’s gonna kick his butt after this match!
Richard Parker: Oh, for crying out… you know, for as much as you spin facts, I’m beginning to understand why Cancer made you his lead anchor.
Chris Chickentenders: EAT my BUTT, Rich! Eat it after I ate TACO BELL!!
Jiles looks at Timo in disbelief, then follows through all five stages of grief in a matter of moments. The crowd doesn’t make the process any easier.
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
Jiles explodes to his feet. Fuse, clutching his ribs and struggling to breathe, is powerless as he’s yanked back to his feet and kicked to the gut. Cancer stuffs him with a DDT that spikes him so hard it sets him into a perfect headstand and planks to the canvas.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Cancer picks Conor up and does it again. Just because he can.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles has officially thrown off the gloves in this match, drilling Conor Fuse back to back DDTs straight to the head! I don’t know how anyone can withstand that!
Richard Parker: He’s not too good for cheat codes, is he?
Chris Chickentenders: Probably not. Unlike me, cause I always use cheat codes. I mean, the point is to, like, win, right?
Jiles struts to the corner. He clutches the top rope. He loads the boot. Conor struggles to rise. Mexico City cheers him on.
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
!RANGO
Nick Stuart: The COOLympian may be looking to put this one away!
Chris Chickentenders: Perfect timing! I got chicks waiting on me backstage.
Richard Parker: Oh, shut up, kid! If this nerd doesn’t flip his way out of this, I’ll hate him for life!
Fuse pushes himself up. Drops again to a knee. Jiles is coiled like a diamondback in the bush. Conor pushes himself up again…
Nick Stuart: Fuse back up… and here comes CANCER WITH THE–
Terminal Cancer.
Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER!! TERMINAL CANCER!! TERMINAL CANCER…
RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: …by CONOR FUUUUUSE!!
Chris Chickentenders: OOOAAAWWW THIS SUCKS!! This EATS SO MUCH NASTY BUTT!!
Jiles drops to the canvas, a twitching mess, and Conor falls flat across his chest…
Nick Stuart: HE’S GOT THE PIN!!
ONE!!
TWO!!
THRREE–
Kickout.
Richard Parker: BWAAHH you gotta be kidding me!
AAAAWWWwwww…
Nick Stuart: The counter superkick OUTTANOWHERE hit its mark perfectly, but was still not enough to put down Cancer Jiles!
Chris Chickentenders: WHOA… that was INTENSE! But there’s no way Cancer would ever allow himself to fall to his own move. He invented the superkick, you know.
Both men lie exhausted on the mat after a rigorous battle. Bolamba begins a ten count, and the crowd gets loud, rousing both competitors to continue.
Well… let’s be honest, mostly just rousing Conor. Cancer is pushing himself back up out of spite by this point. Several agonizing seconds later, they’re up on their knees and hobbling toward each other.
Cancer lands a knife edge chop.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Conor responds in kind with a slap.
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHH!
Cancer chops.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Conor slaps.
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHH!!
Cancer chops.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
Conor slaps.
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHH!!
And slaps.
RRRAAAAAAAAAHHH!!
And SLAPS!
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Nick Stuart: Fuse unloads on Jiles with a flurry of rights and lefts!
Richard Parker: Doing something every single one of us wishes we could have done to Jiles for years!
Chris Chickentenders: Speak for yourself, doofus…
Nick Stuart: Conor Fuse, mounting a comeback against one of the most–EYE RAKE!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Timo practically SPITS at the blatant gouge to the face, but is powerless to do anything as Cancer sizes up COMICONOR and puts his foot where the face is.
Chris Chickentenders: FUUUUUCK YEEEEEAAAAH TERMINAL CANCER!!
Richard Parker: NO!! GOD NO!! SOMEBODY GIVE HIM AN EXTRA LIFE!!
Nick Stuart: With just a single desperate act, and Cancer Jiles may have stolen this match out from under Conor Fuse!
With Conor Fuse finally on his back and at his feet, Cancer stands tall in triumph. He savors the moment. The audience boos thunderously. Millions watching at home are furiously creaming at their television sets. He has them all in the palm of his hand. Victorious, he leans down within inches of Fuse’s face, and whispers a message…
…that never gets heard.
Because without warning, he’s snatched off his feet and rolled forward by the legs of Conor Fuse.
Nick Stuart: ROLLING PRAWN HOLD!!
Chris Chickentenders: WhudthuhFWAAH?!
Nick Stuart: SHOULDERS DOWN!!
ONE!!!
TWO!!!
THREEEE!! GOT HIM!!
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Chris Chickentenders: WHAT THE FUCK, NO WAY!!
DING DING DING
Richard Parker: YYYYEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!
Hans Zimmer hits the PA. Arena Mexico becomes fuego with the thunderous peal of cheers.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by pinfall…COMICONOR… COOOOOONNNOOOOOOOORRR FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSEEEE!!!
With what strength he has left, Conor Fuse slips out of the ring as the eGG Bandits run in at all angles and throw themselves upon their fallen king.
Nick Stuart: When all seemed lost, poise and patience eventually paid off for the two-time former HOW World Champion! A hard-fought victory for Conor Fuse, and Cancer leaves Mexico with egg on his face!
Richard Parker: He did it by the skin of his teeth, but against my every expectation, cAwNoAr pulled it off, and I can sleep soundly tonight! Plus, it finally shut the Baby Bandit up! Got anything to say now, kid?
Chris Chickentenders: UH… UH… DUDE…
Nick Stuart: Fuse may have picked up the pinfall, but this was arguably far from a decisive win. I’m almost certain things are far from finished between these two. I’m also certain that the COOLympian will have a thing or two to say about this…
Richard Parker: More than likely, he’ll just punt it over to his resident spin doctor over here, Douchie Howser.
Chris Chickentenders: SHUT UP, Parker! And eat my butt! One day, I SWEAR I will kill you!
Nick Stuart: Hey now! Take it down a notch!
Abruptly, Chickentenders pops to his feet, stomps over to where Richard is sitting, pops an egg into his mouth, and defiles the color commentator by–
Chris Chickentenders: BLUGH!!
Oh wait, scratch that last part. Instead of doing whatever he was intending to do, Chris begins gagging as yolk pours from the corners of his mouth. Richard and Nick exchange confused glances.
Richard Parker: …what the hell are you doing?
Chris Chickentenders: Ugh… I was gonna, like, spit egg all over you, but I forgot to boil it!
Richard Parker: Great… can we get security out here, already?
Mexican police enter the frame and begin to drag the teenager away.
Chris Chickentenders: WAIT! I gotta get Cancer his glasses back!
Richard Parker: That’s okay! I’ll make sure they get to him.
Chickentenders gets an arm free as the police escort him away, and shakes it with all his might.
Chris Chickentenders: I’LL KILL YOU, PARKER!! MARK MY WORDS!!
Finally, he’s gone. The PRIME commentary team shake their heads in dismay.
Nick Stuart: Folks, on behalf of PRIME, I want to apologize for the quality of commentary tonight. Clearly, this doesn’t represent the standard we strive for at PRIME Wrestling.
Richard Parker: We swear, our hands were tied!
Nick Stuart: However, the main event is still to come tonight! Let’s take a quick commercial break and we’ll be right back!