MidKnightDreary Posted April 17, 2023 Share Posted April 17, 2023 Rasuev Goldberg by DQ Ilja New Guy: Sami Zayn Stipulation: Electric Ropes 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Old School Fan Posted April 17, 2023 Share Posted April 17, 2023 Sergey Belyev vs Tamerlan Rasuev Bill Goldberg vs 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov - the final stage of Goldberg's Gauntlet. Ilja Dragunov vs Edge - For The RFW World Title - Match stip - steel cage International wrestler to debut - I'm going with @Just here to look and predicting WALTER. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DinoKea Posted April 17, 2023 Share Posted April 17, 2023 Tamerlan Rasuev def. Sergey Belyev 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov def. Bill Goldberg Kulakov is the company's best character, may as well put him over RFW World Title: Ilja Dragunov (c) def. Edge New Debut: Randall Keith Orton 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ElectricX Posted April 18, 2023 Share Posted April 18, 2023 Sergey Belyev vs Tamerlan Rasuev Bill Goldberg vs 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov - the final stage of Goldberg's Gauntlet. Ilja Dragunov vs Edge - For The RFW World Title - Last Man Standing 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
St. Templar Posted April 18, 2023 Share Posted April 18, 2023 Rasuev. Goldberg, but by DQ after Kulakov almost muders him and gets disqualified Dragunov vs. Edge to a double countout/double DQ because blowing it off on only one match seems a bit...dull. The new guy: I'm staying with Tommy End/Malakai/Aleister Black (at least I think that's me staying with my last pick). Second choice would be either a Drew Galloway who's walked away from WWE or Andrade who's walked away from AEW (I guess End would have walked away from AEW, too, but...meh). St.T 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GreatreDRagon Posted April 18, 2023 Share Posted April 18, 2023 Sergey Belyev vs Tamerlan Rasuev Bill Goldberg vs 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov Ilja Dragunov vs Edge Match Stipulation: Last Man Standing Debut: I'm doubling down on Malakai Black 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted April 19, 2023 Author Share Posted April 19, 2023 (edited) In the small hours before Episode 6 of the Russian Wrestling Federation TV went on air, our grizzled veteran road agent Shane Douglas and I were having an important meeting. Douglas: "It was a good idea to let the fans pick the main event stipulation. It'll really get them involved, and the viewers will be glued to their TVs waiting to see if their match idea was chosen." Me: "Bleeeeeeeeuuuuuuuccchhh!" Douglas: "Just don't let the puke splash up into your hair, ok?" I handed him 2 pieces of what I thought was paper - but turned out to be cocktail napkins - without my head leaving the toilet. The former ECW champion studied them carefully. He'd been in a bad mood since I'd gone AWOL all week after my alcohol-infused trip into the wilderness. Me being unconscious for days on my living room floor hadn't gone down well. He'd (loudly) reminded me that running a wrestling show requires co-ordination, planning, strategy, organisation, communication... that sort of thing. Not lying face-down unconscious in a shallow pool of your own vomit for most of the week, ignoring your road agent's calls. He'd been somewhat cool about it when I finally showed up with just hours to spare before we went on air, but I could tell I was on thin ice. And then I'd started vomiting... He read the two papers / napkins with great interest, perhaps hoping I would somehow redeem myself. On the first was written (in crayon) "if the people choose wisely, then we go with what they pick. We appreciate all those who follow us and keep coming back for our weird little shows. They are amazing, and making their wishes become reality is the best way of thanking them." Those had sounded like words of great wisdom at the time. Douglas: "To be fair, some of their ideas were a blast. It's a shame the one with the steel cage with a bear in it didn't pan out. That was a doozie. I'm not kidding, even Heyman wouldn't have thought of that. What bad luck that all the captive bears in Russia were already booked for that weird secret "men's only" party at Putin's palace." Me: "Bleeeeeeeewwwww Bluuuuuuuuccchhh!" The lumps were becoming somehow larger, and more solid. Douglas: "For Christ sake flush already! Have mercy! What was the name of that dainty little cocktail that knocked you on your ass?" I flushed. I stood. I trembled. I wiped the thick, lumpy, cement-like vomit from my chin. I gathered what little strength I had left. I bravely mustered words. Me: "Dead Man's Toes. Or The Devil's Toes. Or something." Douglas: "Sounds like a woman's drink, you unimaginable p***y. Did it come with a cute little umbrella in it? Did they pour it from a soda can? I can't believe you're still ill a week after. I swatted a fly this morning with bigger balls than you." Me: "I'm about to die. The hand of death rests heavy on my shoulder. The songs of the afterlife call my name." Douglas: "Christ, you're such a drama queen. When was the last time you drank something that wasn't flammable?!" Me: "Dunno. 4 days ago? 5? I haven't drank anything un-alcoholic since the buffet after we wrapped the show last week." Douglas: "Jesus! How are you not dead?! I'm pretty sure the human body dies after 3 days without water. Are you a f*****g poltergeist or something?!" Me: "It's entirely possible that I died and came back as some sort of zombie. Just look at the colour of my skin." Douglas: "In ECW, The Sandman once drank 38 beers and literally sprinkled cocaine over his fries. The man then headlined the Hammerstein Ballroom and barely even flinched. In RFW, the boss goes for a couple of drinks with his fancy friends, craps out his own liver, and nearly kills national treasure Wee Man Acuna in the process. Quit crying. Start helping." I gestured towards the second note I'd handed him, which read: "If we can't fathom something logical out of the fan's ideas, let's just put on some sort of overly elaborate Ladder Match. One of our wonderful followers mentioned 2 out of 3 falls. We don't have time for that. We get maybe 15 minutes maximum before our fans get bored and start impromptu cock fighting tournaments in the stands. I'm thinking 3 suitcases or something. Put the title belt in one. Pot luck violence ensues. Also the actor Tom Sizemore is not really dead, but Wee Man might be. And I stole these crayons from a 5 year old child and she hasn't stopped crying since." That really was it. The grand sum of all my plans. Just hours before we were meant to go live. We had nothing. I looked up at Shane Douglas. He looked like he was about to explode. He looked like he was about to destroy me, just like that McDonald's Happy Meal toy he'd butchered a few weeks ago. Douglas: "What the hell, man? What's wrong with you?! This isn't a script for a TV show! This isn't a plan at all! This is nothing! It's literally just some gibberish scribbled on the back of an old napkin and something illegible written on some folded pieces of toilet paper! In crayon! What the f*** am I meant to do with this?" He was not happy. To be fair, I couldn't blame him. I'd been in a booze-induced coma for most of the week. And even though I was vertical now, my shuddering, wrecked husk of a body made it obvious I wasn't exactly going to be much help. Things after that got a little blurry. The last thing I remember was these hastily-uttered words: Me: "Just give me one of those cans of Lightning Bolt Energy Drink we have lying about. Grab Goldberg and some cameras. Let's go!" It was then that I began running and shouting, high-fiving strangers and laughing like I was deranged. I remember nothing else of that whole night. Broadcast on Russiya 1. Held in a dingy old theatre in central Moscow that looked like it'd been hastily Sellotaped back together after a bombing. 1221 in attendance. We are LIVE! Edge is in the ring! Bryan Daniels is in the ring! So's Ilja Dragunov! And Steven Seagal! The fans are excited! The commentators are psyched! And everything's REALLY REALLY LOUD! Edge looks fantastic despite his war with Daniels last week. The American Dragon looks like s*** on the other hand, looking like he'd crapped out his own spine. He looks like a pale, trembling horror movie survivor. We have the big Russian lad in the mask to thank for that. After a highlight reel of last week's main event, in which we (quite rightly) come across as rather smug about our very expensive foreign talent, the shell-shocked Daniels gets straight to business. He congratulates Edge, says what a great athlete he is, but bemoans distraction from Kulakov. "If that big scary freak wasn't ringside wrapped in chains I'd have won!" he bleats like a scared little lamb. Edge tells him he needs to get over his fear of 'The Nightmare', conquer his demons, then he can have a rematch. But not until we see the ass-kicking, care-free Daniels of old. "I don't understand why you're so afraid of him. Yeah, he flipped you in a car a zillion times" Edge pauses and turns to Seagal with a smile "that was amazing by the way." Seagal nods in appreciation. "But the Daniels I know wouldn't let someone get under their skin like that." Daniels goes on about what a monster Kulakov is until he says "anybody would be afraid of him". Our energy-drink-endorsing Zen Master Seagal then chimes in, saying "is it really him you're afraid of?!" We see a sudden realisation hit Daniels like a ton of bricks. But there's no time for inner reflection now. We have a show to run. This is Edge and our World Champion Ilja Dragunov's time. Their main event is coming up later tonight, and our goateed, Kimono-clad Authority Figure can't wait to tell us all about it. We let the fans make suggestions as to the stipulation, and the match type is a combination of some of the less crazy ideas. 3 identical suitcases will hang above the ring. One will contain the World Title. Whoever gets their mitts on that is obviously the winner. One will be full of fun, exciting weapons to hurt your opponent with. One will be full of Lightning Bolt Energy Drink - available in all good stores now. Edge and Dragunov would be given a ladder each, and left to hurt each other in the name of entertainment, without the hindrance of rules to slow them down. Dragunov and Edge like this a lot, both look excited as they shake hands. Daniels stands by, watching with great interest. He's not excited though. Or happy. Not any more. This is the face of Bryan Daniels now: The face of a man after a month or so of Russian 'hospitality'. Angle Rating: 74. Backstage Goldberg is warming up for the final match in his Gauntlet later tonight, which our commentary team hype to death with all the subtlety of a nuclear war. He's up against 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov, which they only mention a thousand or so times. The WCW and WWE legend is in his plush, luxurious dressing room, trying to mentally prepare himself for the battle ahead. He is still battered and bruised from the wars he's been through in recent weeks. He tries to fire himself up. But something just isn't there any more - you can see it in his eyes. There's a knock at the door. Boxing royalty turned commentator Roy Jones Jr barges in and tries to give the ageing superstar some advice, nearly tripping over one of the many crates of Lightning Bolt Energy Drink piled up around the place. He tells Goldberg to savour these moments, especially towards the end of his career. "In a couple of weeks, it's the 20 year anniversary of when I won the World Heavyweight Title. Nothing replaces those highs. If I'd known what I do now back then my career would've been different. I see you these past few weeks, you remind me of when my own time in the limelight was winding down. Live for every moment. Cherish this." Goldberg blows him off because he feels he's invincible. He's Bill f'n Goldberg. He doesn't need to hear that crap. "Trust me, Bill Goldberg, a time will come where you'll wish you'd listened. Just you wait and see!" says Jones Jr, as he storms out, slamming the door behind him like a diva. Angle Rating: 71. Tamerlan Rasuev vs Sergey Belyev Just before the opening bell, Rasuev grabs a mic and unleashes the fury: "It doesn't matter which of your pathetic students you throw at me, Seagal, I'll break them. I'll destroy them. I'll ruin them forever, just like my dreams of glory were ruined and destroyed. You're just like the National Wrestling Committee, Seagal - overlooking my talents, giving the best opportunities to the other students. I will not be sidelined again! If the only way for me to get the things I deserve is by hurting people, then so be it! Send me my next victim! Which of you cowards dares to face me?!" Seagal's brood fall silent. There's frightened faces everywhere. Finally one voice shouts out "I'll do it!" It's plucky little Sergey Belyev. "Pick me Steven! I haven't fought since facing Goldberg! I'm ready to go! Give me this chance!" Before Seagal can object, Belyev has rushed into the ring, and battle commences. Our commentators were quick to point out that Belyev is getting the shot totally on merit, and not at all because everyone forgot about him and feels bad about it. 1 minute later: Belyev: "Aaaaaaaaaagh! Heeeeeelp! Aaahhh!" 2 minutes after that: Belyev: "AAAAAGH! GET HIM OFF ME! AGGGGGHHHHH!" 90 seconds further on: Belyev: "Noooooo! Aaaaaagh! Mommy! Mommy! I want my Mommy!" Finally, after 5 or so minutes: Alex Koslov: "Well folks, let's just hope that medical science has advanced far enough to put that poor guy back together." Roy Jones Jr: "I definitely heard something explode in there. I bet it was his spleen. Made a noise like a melon being hit by a sledgehammer." Rico Bushido: "I've never seen a man's ankle touch a man's forehead like that before. Especially at that angle. I'm surprised he didn't crap out his own pelvis after that manoeuvre!" Alex Koslov: "Sergey's face looked like a Picasso painting by the end. And not one of the good ones. I mean one of those ugly dark ones full of evil and pain, when Picasso was drinking nothing but Absinth and wasn't getting laid." I don't even know if it was a pinfall or a submission or what. All anyone remembers is the broken remains of what used to be Sergey Belyev being taken away on a stretcher, and Rasuev laughing his ass off like the hyenas from the Lion King. After the match, once the unfortunate Belyev is stretchered away, 'The Pitbull' Andrei Arlovski and Alen Khubulov get in the ring with their bodyguards The Arrows Of Russia. Despite one of them being on crutches and the other with his face messed up so bad he looked like a melted waxworks, they still want a piece of the man who hurt them. Rasuev does a throat-slitting gesture before high-tailing it up the ramp to safety. Arlovski demands Seagal let him get his hands on Rasuev, but Big Steve is worried Rasuev will hurt him permanently this time if he's not 100% going into their match. Arlovski claims he's good to go, but Seagal won't let him even think about wrestling without medical clearance. Match Rating: 43. After many commercials, we go backstage where the man with the loudest, shiniest jacket in pro wrestling history - Vlad Rudinov - is standing by to interview an upset-looking Alen Khubulov and Andrei Arlovski. Khubulov is still on crutches after Rasuev made his ligaments explode like fireworks. Arlovski looks like crap after he caught a whole can of pepper spray with his mouth and eyes last week. The poor b*****d looks like a god-damned racoon. Not even the magical, medicinal powers of the Lightning Bolt Energy Drinks they both hold can heal their considerable wounds. They're both pissed off at how Rasuev has ruined their plans, as well as their bodies. They vow payback, pain, revenge, and all the other fun stuff that you've heard in every wrestling promo ever recorded. The best bit about this segment was definitely the sight of Devon and Incarus - the Arrows Of Russia - who have been assigned to protect these two formerly proud warriors while they recover. The way they stood in the shadows, menacingly cracking their knuckles and grunting in agreement was masterful. It was superb booking, if I do say so myself. Angle Rating: 49. In the next of what would be a surprising amount of backstage segments, Edge is doing backstage stuff. You know. Working out. Or strutting. Or flexing. Or something. It's not important. He's sipping from a can of Cherry Charge flavoured Lightning Bolt energy drink and looking resplendent, thanks to the potent yet totally natural ingredients that lie within. Suddenly he's joined by Aleksandr 'Vertigo' Klaptsov - the nerdy Russian who saved his ass last week. Edge politely greets him, but is clearly unsure of what to make of the dweeby, long-haired specimen before him. Vertigo wishes Edge well before his main event bout later tonight, but warns him he's a "fish out of water in Russia" and that "he could do with someone to help him in this country, like you were helped with Nightmare last time." Edge gives him a chance to prove himself worthy. "Do an Open Challenge next week. If you impress me, we can hang." Angle Rating: 61. Back in the ring, Goldberg has a microphone and he is ready. His big muscles glisten. His eyes are lit with flames. He's ready to kick lots and lots and lots of ass. "Seagal! I'm not afraid of the circus freak in a mask you have charging around this place like a bull in a china shop. I'll smash the big, goofy bitch into tiny little pieces! When will you let me get my hands on him?!" Seagal, in a moment of typical zen clarity, just laughs and says one word: "Now!" And then the monster is instantly upon him. And all hell breaks loose. Angle Rating: 72. Bill Goldberg vs 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov - The 5th And Final Stage Of Goldberg's Gauntlet After trying to hide the fact that he'd obviously crapped his shorts when 'The Nightmare' appeared next to him like some kind of ninja, Goldberg gets busy. The two brawl all around the ring, through the crowd, up and down the ramps, banging each other's heads into stuff. Dropping each other on to metal things in creative, painful-looking ways. You know the routine. Despite Goldberg's supreme power, there's nothing he can do to even slow the Russian monster down. A piledriver off the stage onto the concrete below would have finished any other opponent, but it barely makes a dent. A glorious Jackhammer on the steel entrance ramp, which had so much power it caused the lights to go out for about 5 seconds, just about musters a 2 count from our referee 'Boris'. At no point did anyone mention this was a Falls Count Anywhere match. According to the rulebook, both men should've been counted out a hundred times by this point. But 'Boris' was smart enough to not mess with these two giants and just leave them to it. A breakthrough comes when, in a moment of exhausted, panicked desperation, Goldberg ends up throwing the masked maniac head-first through one of the giant screens near the ring entrance. There's an explosion of sparks and smoke. Broken glass cascades all over the place. The whole scaffolding rig to the left of the ramp collapses on top of 'The Nightmare', along with $15,000 worth of lighting equipment. There's screams from the audience. Colour commentator Alex Koslov sees this, faints, and has to be revived. Medics rush in. Seagal's army of Russians dive in too, trying to free their comrade from the destruction. Goldberg looks terrified that he's killed the poor b******d. Perhaps the weekly wars he's suffered through are having an emotional effect, as well as a physical one. "Surely nobody could have survived that!" exclaims play-by-play guy Rico Bushido. Suddenly the wreckage begins to move. Kulakov is up, dusting himself off. The medics and Russians can't believe it. Goldberg high-tails it out of there. 'The Nightmare' adjusts his mask, shrugs, then slowly walks after him like some kind of freaky energy-drink-fuelled Jason Voorhees. The fans go wild as our colour commentator helpfully hollers "this one's not over, folks!" Match Rating: 58. Next we are treated to a fantastic, fabulous display of pink and purple pyrotechnics. There's so many lasers. Smoke. Flashing lights. It's all very pretty. Seagal and his many muscular Russians are back in the ring, while an army of carpenters and engineers rush to try and put our whole stage area back together, after 'The Nightmare' accidentally destroyed it all with his massive head. Everyone stops what they're doing and stares at the entrance ramp in confusion and disbelief. Even Seagal is perplexed. Suddenly a well-oiled, glittering figure struts through the smoke, waving his hand in the air victoriously. Before we can even see his face, we're treated to what has to be the greatest, most decadent, fluffiest jacket in pro wrestling history. Made of crushed velvet, mink, diamonds and what may or may not have been flamingo feathers. Slowly the smoke cleared, and 'The Fabulous' John Hennigan slinked his way into the ring. The Russians were speechless. Completely unsure of what the hell to make of all this. Then came the bubbles. So many bubbles. I don't know where the hell all those bubbles came from. But there were millions of the f*****s. Above: This jacket cost more than Ilja Dragunov, was slightly heavier, and should have been made out of Pegasus feathers for the amount we paid for it. It was worth every penny though. You should've seen the faces on our straight-laced, uber-traditional, orthodox, God-fearing fans as he began pulling pink roses from somewhere within that magnificent coat, handing them out to men and women alike. From the moment they set eyes on him, they hated him. The boos were magnificent in their scale and noise. It was like a tidal wave of sound. All those macho Russians in the crowd, covered in bubbles, bathed in pink and purple light and lasers, screaming insults at the guy for being 'un-manly'. It was perfect. Over the coming weeks and months we would turn every bit of their misguided hatred into dollars. But for now it was wonderful how easy it was to harness their negativity. The man hadn't even spoken, and already he was the most despised heel in Russian wrestling history. Steven Seagal cut the party short and got on the mic. "Johnny, Johnny, what the hell are you doing? You weren't supposed to debut until next week. We have nothing booked for you. You're not supposed to be here and..." Seagal didn't even get to finish. The fans suddenly went thermonuclear. Security had to hold them back. Why? Hennigan had reached into that awe-inspiring coat again, and from deep within it, he produced... ... in what was, in my humble opinion, the greatest unveiling in all of wrestling history... ... we were introduced to ... ... drum-roll please ... GERALD! Let me tell you this for a fact. No joking, no kidding. The greatest signing we ever made in all the history of The Russian Federation Of Wrestling was a Bichon Frisé / Poodle crossbreed called Gerald. Forget Goldberg. Forget Edge, or Daniels, or any of the multitude of expensive names that'd join us through our crazy journey. None of them stirred the emotions of our Russian fanbase quite like this little fella. The fans were ready to kill the moment they saw the little chap. Then he started yapping. Then our on-screen graphics declared the fluffy little sod as Hennigan's "manager, mentor and tag-team partner". And they somehow got even angrier. And then the squeaky, barking little b*****d pissed all over the ring. Suddenly the fans were becoming almost too much for our security team. We had to cut this segment short before something bad happened. Security guards and 'Boris' the referee had to escort him to safety as beer cans, ice and God knows what else began flying through the air in Hennigan's direction. All the way back to the curtain, 'The Fabulous One' was laughing his ass off, and rightly so. Just as he was about to disappear, he turned and blew them all a kiss. A chair was thrown at him, followed by dozens and dozens of others. Before long they littered the entrance like confetti at a wedding. It would take nearly 5 whole minutes for the fans to stop yelling and booing. "Gold-mine!" I remember slurring to anyone who'd listen backstage. "We have a f*****g gold-mine on our hands here!" Despite a hangover that'd make Jesus cry, I couldn't help but jump for joy. Angle Rating: 77. Next we had what felt like the millionth backstage interview of the night. This time, 'The Party Tsar' Vlad Radinov was interviewing our big new signing Edge. Behind him was the hacker-turned-wrestler Aleksandr 'Vertigo' Klaptsov. It was obvious that Edge was still unsure about this guy, and not thrilled about him even being there with him, but carried on anyway. He cut a promo hyping the main event with Dragunov. It was great. It doesn't matter what he said. It was fantastic, and the reaction was even bigger than his chin. However, it was suddenly cut short when news came of a disturbance elsewhere backstage... Angle Rating: 60. Bill Goldberg vs "The Nightmare" Vladimir Kulakov, (continued) The match that never actually finished is suddenly back on. Despite having been buried under tons of destroyed stage and equipment, 'The Nightmare' is back. Of course he's back. The only person who was surprised by this seemed to be Old Bill, who was suddenly aware of the size of the task facing him. An almighty backstage brawl ensued. They smashed up the venue's entrance hallway in glorious fashion. Goldberg ripped a crystal chandelier out of the ceiling and beat the living crap out of the Russian with it. The masked maniac was then thrown head-first through the glass doors to the venue, and back again. None of this produced more than a 1 count from referee 'Boris' who had appeared from out of nowhere like a bad smell. Moments later the fun had moved into the corridors backstage. Kulakov was thrown into a vending machine with such force, the thing came off it's supports, fell and exploded into a cacophony of chocolates and bottled water. Goldberg Piledrivered Kulakov on top of it for good measure. That just about produced a 2 count. Moments later 'The Nightmare' was back on his feet. In a feat of inhuman strength he effortlessly picked up the whole vending machine and launched it at the terrified-looking WCW and WWE legend. It missed by millimetres and hit the wall with such impact that both exploded. It was at this point that Goldberg dropped all pretence of machismo and literally began running for his life. He sprinted up some stairs, onto a mezzanine above the changing rooms. He was just about fast enough to elude his murderous opponent... for now... Match Rating: 58 Elsewhere, the 'Party Tsar' is back again! This time he's with 'American Dragon' Bryan Daniels, who had been chilling out with a can of 'Asian Experience' flavour Lightning Bolt Energy drink. He seemed surprised by this impromptu interview, perhaps preoccupied by a certain masked Russian. You'd be forgiven for thinking this whole episode was just one long close-up of Vlad's wonderful, bearded, shiny face. Maybe we went overboard with all the interviews. But that's what you get when your whole episode is planned in 5 minutes, in crayon, on the back of a used napkin, during the hangover equivalent of that George Clooney movie The Perfect Storm. Despite looking like some kind of pale, sweaty trauma victim, Daniels had a lot to get off his chest. He was pissed off at The Russian Federation Of Wrestling for constantly putting him in harm's way with Kulakov. He was upset about not being able to show his true range of talents yet to his many adoring fans. He was worried that something was holding him back... but he wasn't sure what. And most of all he still had Dragunov on his mind, and that shiny World Title of his. It was good, traditional, by-the-book stuff. Oleg and The Ministry would have been pleased with this segment. And then all hell broke loose. Again. It was at this exact moment that the ceiling above them exploded. Yes, exploded. The 'bang' was so loud it actually damaged our state-of-the-art camera equipment. Our expertly-lit, carefully set-up scene was suddenly invisible for dust, smoke and debris. Hurriedly-assembled slow-motion replays showed two big, shadowy figures falling from the roof. No prizes for guessing who had just crashed the party... Angle Rating: 75. Bill Goldberg vs "The Nightmare" Vladimir Kulakov. The final instalment of this s***-tastic trilogy. It took a long time for all the dust, smoke (and what we hoped to God wasn't asbestos) to clear. When it finally did, our viewers at home were treated to a panting, wheezing, coughing giant of a man, covered head-to-toe in white ceiling debris and masonry powder. He was literally white from head to toe. The big, angry b*****d looked like a pissed-off, muscular Casper The Friendly Ghost. Goldberg screamed like an unchained beast as he frantically tried to wipe a mixture of fiberglass and dust from his pink, throbbing, bloodshot eyes. Bruises and lacerations were clearly visible all over his torso, even through all the crap that was stuck to it. He'd been lucky not to be more badly injured. We could see now that what these two massive men had fallen through was actually a massive glass skylight. Huge broken shards of plate glass covered the floor, on top of a huge mountain of destroyed masonry and ceiling tiles. There must have been half a ton of rubble and destruction that'd collapsed under the weight of them both. Yet the pile of rubble seemed to be... breathing. Quickly, Goldberg came to his senses and realised who was trapped under there. With an agility and poise unseen from him in decades, he leaped upon the rubble like a gazelle. 'Boris' the referee - who had once again appeared unseen - dutifully did the 3 count. And yes, everyone ran for their lives immediately after, including the formerly-brave former WWE champion Bryan Daniels, who'd used 'Party Tsar' Vlad Rudinov as a human shield the moment he realised who'd crashed through the ceiling. It really is amazing what a month or so in Russia does to a guy. Match Rating: 50 While our staff hurriedly tried to restore order from chaos, we cut to a pre-recorded promo from earlier in the night. Our glorious World Champion Ilja Dragunov and his mentor Steven Seagal were on hype duty for the main event, and were keen to point out that Edge was not feared, despite his considerable reputation. It was good. But after what just happened, let's be honest, nobody gave a s***. Angle Rating: 62. Ilja Dragunov vs Edge - For The RFW World Title A 3 Suitcases Ladder Match. You've never heard of that match type before or since. You're about to find out why. When booking a match of this magnitude, there's a number of important things you must do to make it work. Firstly, you must never ever give a match this big away for free on TV. This must be an epic Pay-Per-View main event which is built up and teased for months. The whole show in which this happens must be built up around this main event extravaganza. And when the time comes, you must give the match plenty of time to develop. Go slow build. Give it sufficient time to tell a story. Make it memorable. Looking back, I can see why my decision to tack this on to the end of an episode, give it just 15 minutes, and barely advertise it at all, backfired. It didn't just backfire, it simultaneously imploded, exploded, s*** the bed, melted, collapsed, died, was re-born, then died again, in a crescendo of s****y booking decisions and painful inexperience. As one of the Dirt Sheets wrote at the time "whoever booked this managed to somehow turn diamonds into plastic. They indie-fedded the crap out of this one. This is what happens when you take the crown jewels of wrestling, put them into a dimly-lit s***hole in the darkest depths of Russia, and give the reigns to a retarded monkey with a typewriter." I mean, it hurt, but they weren't wrong. But f*** them all. I was hungover. It wasn't just a hangover, it was like a wrecking ball smash and a voodoo curse rolled into one with a napalm explosion thrown in for good measure. But whatever. I suck, and so did this match. There were some fun moments though. The first few minutes were just Edge beating the holy crap out of Dragunov. Both competitors were given one ladder each, and the former WWE mainstay weaponised his to great effect. When he managed to retrieve the first suitcase, it turned out to be the one full of weapons. Cue more violent yet somehow family-friendly goodness. For the first 7 minutes or so this wasn't even a wrestling match - it was a spanking. But then, as tends to happen in this bizarre sport, things quickly changed. Edge tried a Spear too many. He missed, went through the ring ropes to the outside, and was swarmed upon by every shirtless Russian on our roster. They politely formed an orderly queue and literally took turns stomping the besieged Canadian. This gave the battered RFW Champion enough time to regroup, ascend his own ladder, and collect the 2nd suitcase. This turned out to be the one full of Lightning Bolt Energy Drink. Despite being used as a human Crash Test Dummy throughout the whole encounter, the moment that neon-bright crap hit his lips, he was supercharged. Think prime Hulk Hogan on a kilogram of crack. He was like Crash Bandicoot and Sonic The Hedgehog combined, in fast-forward. The spritely Russian was suddenly superhuman. He grabbed Edge, pulled him back in the ring and beat the living crap out of him. The fans were euphoric as the 'Rated R Superstar' bounced off the canvas again, and again, and again like a ragdoll. Then things swung again. Dragunov set up the ladder to climb for the third and final suitcase, which had to be the one containing the World Title, given it was the last one left. He was right at the top, inches from his prize, when Edge summoned the last of his energy and dropkicked the ladder, sending our champion flying out of the ring. He fell awkwardly, and the ladder bent and buckled under the fall, becoming instantly useless. Edge, seizing the moment, grabbed his own (and last remaining) ladder, set it up carefully in the centre of the ring, and slowly climbed to glory. The veteran of a zillion ladder and TLC matches was surely just moments from adding another belt to his glittering legacy. Victory was assured. And then Seagal sent Vladimir Kulakov into the ring. Yes, the Kulakov who was surely killed by Goldberg just minutes earlier. He was back, seemingly completely unhurt despite taking enough damage to murder a man a thousand times over. Yes he was covered head to toe in dust, grime and Christ-knows what else. Yes his mask had a giant crack down the front. But none of that stopped him from easily picking up the ladder - with Edge clamouring to the top - and snapping it in half like a twig. He dumped both the ruined ladder and the bruised WWE legend out of the ring like trash. Even if Edge had somehow survived the impact of that move, his chances of winning were now completely gone, now that both ladders were destroyed. Now it was the turn of all the lesser Russians to make their presence felt. It was almost as if they'd been carefully introduced one by one ready for big moments like this. RFW's strongman Ivan 'The Body' Markov held Edge still with his massive, well-oiled, glistening muscles. 'Dirty' Dragan Spazic then sprayed Edge in the eyes with one of the cans of Lightning Bolt energy drink - God knows how the poor bastard wasn't blinded. I've seen people go into Toxic Shock Syndrome just from drinking that stuff. Who knows what it'd do to your retinas. While this was happening, 'The Falcon' Kris Jokic helped the fallen World Champion to his feet, guided him to the centre of the ring, then up onto the massive shoulders of 'The Nightmare' Kulakov. From this high pinnacle, despite both ladders being taken out of action, Dragunov was able to reach the 3rd and final suitcase, retrieve his title belt, and raise it in celebration high into the air. This was the moment our foreign superstar realised he'd been screwed over by the Russians. In a fury, Edge took out Dragan and Jokic simultaneously with one massive Spear. He hit the Edge-O-Matic on Markov, flattening him like a pancake. He was then about to unwisely go after Kulakov when his new buddy 'Vertigo' jumped into the ring, making him see sense. Edge was livid. 'Vertigo' put his arm round him, escorting the furious veteran out the ring, as the rest of the Russians celebrated a somewhat hollow victory. Match Rating: 58. Overall Show Rating: 62. Edited Thursday at 07:20 PM by dstephe4 7 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MidKnightDreary Posted April 20, 2023 Share Posted April 20, 2023 I genuinely look forward to your updates more than any other diary. I'm in awe 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Taylor2020 Posted April 20, 2023 Share Posted April 20, 2023 That last show had everything: destruction, dogs, ladders, energy drinks, a rowdy crowd, Bryan Daniels regretting everything ever, and most of all, Goldberg having to work what was basically one match split into three (at least based on what I imagine your process in booking through the game was). 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
St. Templar Posted April 21, 2023 Share Posted April 21, 2023 Let's go, Gerald! clap clap clap-clap-clap Let's go, Gerald! clap clap clap-clap-clap St.T 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ElectricX Posted April 23, 2023 Share Posted April 23, 2023 Another fantastic show! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted April 23, 2023 Author Share Posted April 23, 2023 (edited) Thank you to all of the amazing folks who posted their predictions for Episode 6. The fact that Goldberg vs Kulakov was viewed by most as a 50/50 match-up means I must be doing something right. (Even if every other aspect of my booking appears to be the work of a baffled moron). Here are some numbers for your ocular consumption: @Just here to look: 2 points. (And if Walter / Gunther does join RFW, he is definitely being called Gunthalter, as you say, because that is absolutely brilliant.) @MidKnightDreary: 3 points. @Old School Fan: 3 points. @DinoKea: 2 points. (And if Orton does join RFW, he absolutely must be called Randall Keith Orton, for that is as fantastic as the Gunthalter thing above. It would be worth me signing those guys, just to give them those names.) @ElectricX: 2 points. (Did I sign Edge because you've always had him as your avatar and seem to be a big fan of his? Very possibly.) @St. Templar: 2 points. (You made an excellent point in your reasonings, by the way. Only an absolute idiot would have a blow-off match and have Ilja beat Edge. That would be stupid booking lol) @GreatreDRagon: 2 points. And so, MidKnightDreary and Old School Fan are our joint winners this time around. Both of you please private message me a choice of Tag Team you'd like me to sign. The Russian Federation Of Wrestling is "getting it's Tag on." Thank you all for reading. Your engagement keeps this silly, ridiculous diary moving forward. You all rock. A huge thank you to @Old School Fan for nominating this diary in the Diary Of The Month Nominations for April 2023. Was very pleasantly surprised by that - it brought a big ol' smile to my face, cheers. I never really expected this silly little dynasty would ever be nominated for anything, mainly because @Togg doesn't have a category for 'What The F*** Am I Reading?!' Unexpected, but very welcome, thank you. Looks like I'd better keep this ridiculous thing going lol Edited April 23, 2023 by dstephe4 5 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
St. Templar Posted April 26, 2023 Share Posted April 26, 2023 On 4/23/2023 at 12:33 AM, dstephe4 said: Thank you to all of the amazing folks who posted their predictions for Episode 6. The fact that Goldberg vs Kulakov was viewed by most as a 50/50 match-up means I must be doing something right. (Even if every other aspect of my booking appears to be the work of a baffled moron). Here are some numbers for your ocular consumption: @Just here to look: 2 points. (And if Walter / Gunther does join RFW, he is definitely being called Gunthalter, as you say, because that is absolutely brilliant.) @MidKnightDreary: 3 points. @Old School Fan: 3 points. @DinoKea: 2 points. (And if Orton does join RFW, he absolutely must be called Randall Keith Orton, for that is as fantastic as the Gunthalter thing above. It would be worth me signing those guys, just to give them those names.) @ElectricX: 2 points. (Did I sign Edge because you've always had him as your avatar and seem to be a big fan of his? Very possibly.) @St. Templar: 2 points. (You made an excellent point in your reasonings, by the way. Only an absolute idiot would have a blow-off match and have Ilja beat Edge. That would be stupid booking lol) @GreatreDRagon: 2 points. And so, MidKnightDreary and Old School Fan are our joint winners this time around. Both of you please private message me a choice of Tag Team you'd like me to sign. The Russian Federation Of Wrestling is "getting it's Tag on." Thank you all for reading. Your engagement keeps this silly, ridiculous diary moving forward. You all rock. A huge thank you to @Old School Fan for nominating this diary in the Diary Of The Month Nominations for April 2023. Was very pleasantly surprised by that - it brought a big ol' smile to my face, cheers. I never really expected this silly little dynasty would ever be nominated for anything, mainly because @Togg doesn't have a category for 'What The F*** Am I Reading?!' Unexpected, but very welcome, thank you. Looks like I'd better keep this ridiculous thing going lol I will point out that I didn't use the word "idiot". 😛 And, despite that point, I did like the way you went about it. Interesting storytelling is way more important than wins and losses. *ducks behind nearest cover* 😆 St.T 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted April 26, 2023 Author Share Posted April 26, 2023 (edited) "Hey Shane! I'm on a battleship! An actual, real life, badass motherf*****g battle cruiser! This thing's got more helicopters on it than I have cars - and I have a lot of cars!" I was beyond excited. Screaming with glee. Like a sugar-fuelled, ADD-riddled kid after 15 Easter eggs. I was verbally high-fiving our Road Agent through the phone whether he liked it or not. "I'm friends with the Captain now. We're in the f*****g missile bay! The F*****G MISSILE BAY! You should see the size of these warheads! You could blow a God-damn hole on the Earth with one of these things! They're letting me go up in one of their top secret new Jet Fighters this evening too! This! Is! Awesome!" I screeched into my cell-phone, my hands shaking with joyous delight. I was literally jumping up and down on the spot. Yes, the Captain and half a dozen of his crew were glaring at me like they wanted to kill me. But so what? "This is Russia, baybeeeee! And I'm on a motherf*****g' Battleship! Wooo hooo!" I hung up, happy that all the important points had been covered. I offered the Captain a fist bump, but he just looked at me and quietly fondled the handle of his pistol in it's holster, silently regretting his life choices. But I'm getting ahead of myself. This chapter of the story doesn't start on a kickass, state-of-the-art war cruiser. It begins in the bowels of a dingy Russian theatre. Let's take it from the beginning... Above: Do those other diaries you read have big, kickass battleships in them? No? Screw those other diaries lol It was shortly after Episode 6 had aired that I found myself on clean-up duty with Shane Douglas and a few other unlucky volunteers. We'd smashed the living crap out of this venue, causing thousands of dollars worth of damage. The plan was to put everything back nice and tidy, sweep up a bit, and hope nobody would notice. I realised we might have a problem when I wandered into the room where Kulakov and Goldberg had fallen through the skylight window in the roof. I saw Douglas up to his knees in broken glass, shards of twisted metal, lumps of ceiling tile and masonry. There was still a weird white dust hazing through the air. Was it polystyrene? Dirt? Asbestos? Anthrax? Bat s***? Who knew? I tried my best to smile and not choke to death as I surveyed the scene. I was still feeling like a bloodless, brainless microwaved corpse at this point - still the victim of the Dead Man's Toes, or whatever that Devil's piss of a drink was called. The Lightning Bolt Energy Drink that'd sustained me was wearing off, and the gates of the afterlife were creaking open for me once again. My mouth tasted like I'd been drinking diesel. My nose was full of a smell like pissy wet hamster cages. I knew there was a high chance I'd be s***ing fireworks in a couple of hours, so I was determined to be useful while it was still medically possible. Shane seemed in a better mood than he had been earlier, back when I genuinely thought he was going to kick my ass until it came flying out of my mouth. I decided to open the conversation with a compliment, just in case he remembered the unscripted, cyclonic clusterf*** tonight's show could've become. "It was clever of you to use fake glass for the bit where they came in through the skylight on the roof. It looked amazing" I said, trying to make my face do a smile. The effort involved was Herculean. The result looked more like I was having a toothy blowjob. "That wasn't fake glass. We didn't script s***. I'm genuinely amazed nobody's arteries exploded falling through all that. How nobody got cut in half like a cheap parlour trick is beyond me" growled The Franchise in that gravely voice of his. "Hang on, you're joking, right?" I stuttered, trying not to burp. The last time I belched Lightning Bolt, a window beside me exploded. "Nope. I can only assume that Russian glass must really, really, really suck. Otherwise both guys'd come out of this thing looking like human Voodoo dolls." No matter what crazy s*** RFW threw at this guy, he took it in his stride. "Wow. It must've hurt like hell though, falling through a glass skylight, all the way to the floor like that?" I mused, stroking my chin for emphasis. As if I knew what the hell I was talking about. I couldn't even climb into the ring without falling on my arse or breaking an ankle. "Yeah, I thought so too. All I know is they both pounded a can of Lightning Bolt energy drink before the cameras started rolling. It must be good s***" said Douglas, wiping fiberglass powder of the ass of his pants as he talked. "I saw that. Kulakov tried drinking it through his mask, spilled some on the floor. It burned a hole right through the God-damned carpet." "Mustn't have spilled much, otherwise it'd have melted the damn floorboards too." "All-natural ingredients my ass" I replied, laughing for the first time in forever. The grumpy former ECW champion nearly busted out a smile. "The drink is certified as 'organic.' It really is. I'm not kidding you. But then, I guess raw plutonium is 'organic' by definition. So's arsenic" he fired back, laughing. It was good to see the grizzly old toad happy again. Something had been up lately, and it wasn't just my ridiculously inept daily destruction of Russian pro wrestling. I seized the moment. "It's good to see you laughing. You've had a face like a doomed horse recently." He laughed out loud at that. It wasn't my line, but it worked. "You haven't looked this sad since you made us all organise a proper burial for that McDonald's Happy Meal toy you broke. What's going on?" "My wife Carla" he muttered, looking at the floor sheepishly and blushing. "You mean your ex-wife Carla? You and her were divorced in 2017." Douglas got spicy all of a sudden. "How the hell did you know that? It's private information! How did you know..." "This is Russia" I said, with a knowing glance. He looked alarmed for a few moments, but soon shrugged it off. "We got sort-of, kind-of back together for a while back in America. It was good, you know? Like old times. Then some weird Brit offered me a treasure chest full of money, so I came to Russia. Alone. I felt like I missed her. This is a strange country to have nobody by your side. So I called her. Next thing I know she's packing her bags and catching the red-eye over!" "That's great news!" I enthused, genuinely happy for the leathery old goat. "Nah man! It's terrible! I've made a huge mistake! But it's too late to stop it now! The ticket's been bought! Her skanky ass already boarded her flight half an hour ago! She wants to move in with me! This is a nightmare!" One of the toughest SOBs in wrestling history was trembling, almost in tears with fright. "I love her. Deep down, somewhere within myself, I really do. Even after all our rocky history, I still think of her and get all mushy. But let me be clear on this - I would rather get skull-f****d by King Kong than share my home with that woman" he eloquently concluded. "So... what are you going to do? Surely the best, most decent thing would be to call her, explain it's going too fast, tell her that you don't want a new life in Russia with her and..." "Are you kidding?!" snapped Douglas, his bottom lip beginning to shake with emotion. "She'd cut my balls off and wear them as a hat!" He meant it too. "I have some... useful friends who can help you" I said, a devious smile slowly spreading across my crafty little face. Above: When I said "I have useful friends" I meant these guys. "This is Russia. Things are done differently here. Anything is possible with an envelope full of cash. You'd be amazed at the variety of scumbags I have access to. Oleg Matytsin's the Russian Minister For Sport, he regularly plays golf with Alexander Bortnikov, the head of the FSB (that's what they call the KGB these days). And they have people everywhere. I make a call, then Oleg makes a call, then Alexander makes a call." I paused dramatically. Douglas had a hopeful look upon his face, hanging on my every word. "Go on" he implored me. "There's dozens of reasons a traveller might get detained at a busy international airport. There's loads of things that could happen that could deny a person access to a country. You choose any reason you like. Passport irregularities. Visa problems. 'Random' cavity search. Mysterious ticking object found in her hand luggage. Sniffer dog just happens to find a kilo of black tar heroin in her suitcase. Maybe her name comes up as a 'person of interest' on an international terrorism watch-list. This is Russia. We can take this game wherever you want it to go." I stopped talking for a moment to try and gauge his reaction. He seemed genuinely open to all of those suggestions. "Failing that, maybe we could get creative. For a few grand, maybe her taxi driver gets lost and accidentally drives her to Siberia" I suggested. "You'd... you'd really do all that for me?" said the first ever ECW champion. The guy famous for breaking necks was on the verge of becoming all teary and emotional. I gave the big old sap a hug. He really went for it, pulling me in close with the crushing force of a boa constrictor, nearly popping both my lungs with his muscular death-grip. After an eternity of compassionate suffocation he'd gathered himself again and mercifully let me go. "Thanks man. Sorry I got so emotional just then. It's all just a big culture shock - one moment I'm in Pittsburgh shooting pool with the guys, next thing I'm bouncing all over Russia like the ringmaster of some crazy, magic circus. It's taking a lot of getting used to." I would've loved to have carried on this heart-to-heart chat, but my phone started ringing. It was my shadowy paymaster Oleg. I genuinely wondered if he'd heard me saying his name and had called me to ask why. I couldn't ignore it either. While I was unconscious in a booze-induced slumber, Oleg had his shadowy Cyber contacts hacked my phone and installed malware, which made it impossible to reject his calls. I'm not kidding - he really did that. Normally I hate talking to the lanky, Skeletor-looking-b*****d, but this time was different. I had that favour for Shane to ask for, which was orchestrated in less than 60 seconds. Then Oleg got to business. He informed me that Episode 7 would be broadcast from a very special venue. "American! We make history! Next episode will be the first wrestling show ever to take place on a Battleship!" The Russian Federation Of Wrestling was set up to distract the masses from the stumbling s***-show that was the 'Special Operation' in Ukraine. The whole enterprise existed to boost morale. "A happy nation does not ask questions" Russiya 1 boss Konstantin Ernst once told me. And as such we were being hauled off to a battle cruiser full of disgruntled sailors. We would be spreading "Russian Patriotism" through the medium of family-friendly violence... surrounded by guns and bombs and missiles... on the open seas. All of a sudden, I needed to be at the airport in less than an hour. A special helicopter was ready to fly me to an undisclosed location on the Crimean Sea. There was no time to lose. But getting there would be a problem. I had enough booze in my system to make my blood literally flammable, so driving was out of the question. I couldn't get a taxi because the driver would ask too many questions. And I couldn't ride my limo there, as my driver was away getting his legs waxed. (Yes, really.) "Vladimir can drive you" declared Shane once my call was finished. He'd been snooping, but I was too excited to care. "Vlad Radinov doesn't drive any more. The cops took his licence away after the... incident" I said with confusion in my voice. "No" said Shane "Kulakov. Vladimir Kulakov." I suddenly felt very cold. Sweaty palms. Dread. Goosebumps. The lot. "The big guy's got a brand new car. He's really excited about it. Keeps offering rides to everyone. For some reason nobody's accepted yet though" he laughed. He saw the look of fear in my eyes and laughed even more. "I can't take you. I've got to finish the clean-up here before the manager gets back and realises we've destroyed a local landmark. It's Kulakov or nothing." An awkward silence filled the air. My mouth went dry. He shook his head, pulled out his cell-phone, wiped a few layers of fiberglass and plaster dust off it, then made the call. "Look just be normal, ok? Just drive the car and be normal" I heard him say. "Maybe there's nothing to worry about" I reassured myself as the slick new Mercedes pulled up. I opened the door, gulped, then got inside. This is what greeted me: Above: This is his casual street attire. Just a few short hours later I was on board the biggest, most lethal boat you can imagine. Episode 7 of the Russian Federation Of Wrestling TV would be held on the Nastoychivyy, a Sovremenny-class destroyer battleship with guns the size of neighbourhoods. It was part of the Черноморский флот, Putin's Black Sea Fleet, the scourge of the Black Sea, the Sea of Azov, the Mediterranean, and more recently the Crimean Peninsula. I know all this because the Captain insisted on giving me a guided tour before the show. I couldn't give a single burning, flaming s*** about Russian naval warfare - I just wanted a ride on one of those big, shiny jets like Maverick in Top Gun - but when the twelve massive, uniformed guys behind you all have machine guns, you listen. Like Oleg said, we'd be there to improve morale. "To entertain the brave souls that pilot the mighty craft" was his wording of it. It meant we were limited in how crazy we could make next week's show. There wasn't exactly much room to manoeuvre. The logistical constraints of having to helicopter our people and equipment over the vast ocean (and at least two active warzones) would rule out a lot of the crazy stuff I'd had planned. But it meant a lively crowd of all 1400 crew would be clapping along to every Suplex. I was never really sure who was driving the boat while everyone stopped what they were doing to watch our guys pretending to hurt each other. I was too afraid to ask. Above: Hell yeah! This is awesome! This is wrestling! This is Russia. Edited June 19, 2023 by dstephe4 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Just here to look Posted April 26, 2023 Share Posted April 26, 2023 30 minutes ago, dstephe4 said: "Hey Shane! I'm on a battleship! An actual, real life, badass motherf*****g battle cruiser! This thing's got more helicopters on it than I have cars - and I have a lot of cars!" I was beyond excited. Screaming with glee. Like a sugar-fuelled, ADD-riddled kid after 15 Easter eggs. I was verbally high-fiving our Road Agent through the phone whether he liked it or not. "I'm friends with the Captain now. We're in the f*****g missile bay! The F*****G MISSILE BAY! You should see the size of these warheads! You could blow a God-damn hole on the Earth with one of these things! They're letting me go up in one of their top secret new Jet Fighters this evening too! This! Is! Awesome!" I screeched into my cell-phone, my hands shaking with joyous delight. I was literally jumping up and down on the spot. Yes, the Captain and half a dozen of his crew were glaring at me like they wanted to kill me. But so what? "This is Russia, baybeeeee! And I'm on a motherf*****g' Battleship! Wooo hooo!" I hung up, happy that all the important points had been covered. I offered the Captain a fist bump, but he just looked at me and quietly fondled the handle of his pistol in it's holster, silently regretting his life choices. But I'm getting ahead of myself. This chapter of the story doesn't start on a kickass, state-of-the-art war cruiser. It begins in the bowels of a dingy Russian theatre. Let's take it from the beginning... Above: Do those other diaries you read have big, kickass battleships in them? No? Screw those other diaries lol It was shortly after Episode 6 had aired that I found myself on clean-up duty with Shane Douglas and a few other unlucky volunteers. We'd smashed the living crap out of this venue, causing thousands of dollars worth of damage. The plan was to put everything back nice and tidy, sweep up a bit, and hope nobody would notice. I realised we might have a problem when I wandered into the room where Kulakov and Goldberg had fallen through skylight window in the roof. I saw Douglas up to his knees in broken glass, shards of twisted metal, lumps of ceiling tile and masonry. There was still a weird white dust hazing through the air. Was it polystyrene? Dirt? Asbestos? Anthrax? Bat s***? Who knew? I tried my best to smile and not choke to death as I surveyed the scene. I was still feeling like a bloodless, brainless microwaved corpse at this point - still the victim of the Dead Man's Toes, or whatever that Devil's piss of a drink was called. The Lightning Bolt Energy Drink that'd sustained me was wearing off, and the gates of the afterlife were creaking open for me once again. My mouth tasted like I'd been drinking diesel. My nose was full of a smell like pissy wet hamster cages. I knew there was a high chance I'd be s***ing fireworks in a couple of hours, so I was determined to be useful while it was still medically possible. Shane seemed in a better mood than he had been earlier, back when I genuinely thought he was going to kick my ass until it came flying out of my mouth. I decided to open the conversation with a compliment, just in case he remembered the unscripted, cyclonic clusterf*** tonight's show could've become. "It was clever of you to use fake glass for the bit where they came in through the skylight on the roof. It looked amazing" I said, trying to make my face do a smile. The effort involved was Herculean. The result looked more like I was having a toothy blowjob. "That wasn't fake glass. We didn't script s***. I'm genuinely amazed nobody's arteries exploded falling through all that. How nobody got cut in half like a cheap parlour trick is beyond me" growled The Franchise in that gravely voice of his. "Hang on, you're joking, right?" I stuttered, trying not to burp. The last time I belched Lightning Bolt, a window beside me exploded. "Nope. I can only assume that Russian glass must really, really, really suck. Otherwise both guys'd come out of this thing looking like human Voodoo dolls." No matter what crazy s*** RFW threw at this guy, he took it in his stride. "Wow. It must've hurt like hell though, falling through a glass skylight, all the way to the floor like that?" I mused, stroking my chin for emphasis. As if I knew what the hell I was talking about. I couldn't even climb into the ring without falling on my arse or breaking an ankle. "Yeah, I thought so too. All I know is they both pounded a can of Lightning Bolt energy drink before the cameras started rolling. It must be good s***" said Douglas, wiping fiberglass powder of the ass of his pants as he talked. "I saw that. Kulakov tried drinking it through his mask, spilled some on the floor. It burned a hole right through the God-damned carpet." "Mustn't have spilled much, otherwise it'd have melted the damn floorboards too." "All-natural ingredients my ass" I replied, laughing for the first time in forever. The grumpy former ECW champion nearly busted out a smile. "The drink is certified as 'organic.' It really is. I'm not kidding you. But then, I guess raw plutonium is 'organic' by definition. So's arsenic" he fired back, laughing. It was good to see the grizzly old toad happy again. Something had been up lately, and it wasn't just my ridiculously inept daily destruction of Russian pro wrestling. I seized the moment. "It's good to see you laughing. You've had a face like a doomed horse recently." He laughed out loud at that. It wasn't my line, but it worked. "You haven't looked this sad since you made us all organise a proper burial for that McDonald's Happy Meal toy you broke. What's going on?" "My wife Carla" he muttered, looking at the floor sheepishly and blushing. "You mean your ex-wife Carla? You and her were divorced in 2017." Douglas got spicy all of a sudden. "How the hell did you know that? It's private information! How did you know..." "This is Russia" I said, with a knowing glance. He looked alarmed for a few moments, but soon shrugged it off. "We got sort-of, kind-of back together for a while back in America. It was good, you know? Like old times. Then some weird Brit offered me a treasure chest full of money, so I came to Russia. Alone. I felt like I missed her. This is a strange country to have nobody by your side. So I called her. Next thing I know she's packing her bags and catching the red-eye over!" "That's great news!" I enthused, genuinely happy for the leathery old goat. "Nah man! It's terrible! I've made a huge mistake! But it's too late to stop it now! The ticket's been bought! Her skanky ass already boarded her flight half an hour ago! She wants to move in with me! This is a nightmare!" One of the toughest SOBs in wrestling history was trembling, almost in tears with fright. "I love her. Deep down, somewhere within myself, I really do. Even after all our rocky history, I still think of her and get all mushy. But let me be clear on this - I would rather get skull-f****d by King Kong than share my home with that woman" he eloquently concluded. "So... what are you going to do? Surely the best, most decent thing would be to call her, explain it's going too fast, tell her that you don't want a new life in Russia with her and..." "Are you kidding?!" snapped Douglas, his bottom lip beginning to shake with emotion. "She'd cut my balls off and wear them as a hat!" He meant it too. "I have some... useful friends who can help you" I said, a devious smile slowly spreading across my crafty little face. Above: When I said "I have useful friends" I meant these guys. "This is Russia. Things are done differently here. Anything is possible with an envelope full of cash. You'd be amazed at the variety of scumbags I have access to. Oleg Matytsin's the Russian Minister For Sport, he regularly plays golf with Alexander Bortnikov, the head of the FSB (that's what they call the KGB these days). And they have people everywhere. I make a call, then Oleg makes a call, then Alexander makes a call." I paused dramatically. Douglas had a hopeful look upon his face, hanging on my every word. "Go on" he implored me. "There's dozens of reasons a traveller might get detained at a busy international airport. There's loads of things that could happen that could deny a person access to a country. You choose any reason you like. Passport irregularities. Visa problems. 'Random' cavity search. Mysterious ticking object found in her hand luggage. Sniffer dog just happens to find a kilo of black tar heroin in her suitcase. Maybe her name comes up as a 'person of interest' on an international terrorism watch-list. This is Russia. We can take this game wherever you want it to go." I stopped talking for a moment to try and gauge his reaction. He seemed genuinely open to all of those suggestions. "Failing that, maybe we could get creative. For a few grand, maybe her taxi driver gets lost and accidentally drives her to Siberia" I suggested. "You'd... you'd really do all that for me?" said the first ever ECW champion. The guy famous for breaking necks was on the verge of becoming all teary and emotional. I gave the big old sap a hug. He really went for it, pulling me in close with the crushing force of a boa constrictor, nearly popping both my lungs with his muscular death-grip. After an eternity of compassionate suffocation he'd gathered himself again and mercifully let me go. "Thanks man. Sorry I got so emotional just then. It's all just a big culture shock - one moment I'm in Pittsburgh shooting pool with the guys, next thing I'm bouncing all over Russia like the ringmaster of some crazy, magic circus. It's taking a lot of getting used to." I would've loved to have carried on this heart-to-heart chat, but my phone started ringing. It was my shadowy paymaster Oleg. I genuinely wondered if he'd heard me saying his name and had called me to ask why. I couldn't ignore it either. While I was unconscious in a booze-induced slumber, Oleg had his shadowy Cyber contacts hacked my phone and installed malware, which made it impossible to reject his calls. I'm not kidding - he really did that. Normally I hate talking to the lanky, Skeletor-looking-b*****d, but this time was different. I had that favour for Shane to ask for, which was orchestrated in less than 60 seconds. Then Oleg got to business. He informed me that Episode 7 would be broadcast from a very special venue. "American! We make history! Next episode will be the first wrestling show ever to take place on a Battleship!" The Russian Federation Of Wrestling was set up to distract the masses from the stumbling s***-show that was the 'Special Operation' in Ukraine. The whole enterprise existed to boost morale. "A happy nation does not ask questions" Russiya 1 boss Konstantin Ernst once told me. And as such we were being hauled off to a battle cruiser full of disgruntled sailors. We would be spreading "Russian Patriotism" through the medium of family-friendly violence... surrounded by guns and bombs and missiles... on the open seas. All of a sudden, I needed to be at the airport in less than an hour. A special helicopter was ready to fly me to an undisclosed location on the Crimean Sea. There was no time to lose. But getting there would be a problem. I had enough booze in my system to make my blood literally flammable, so driving was out of the question. I couldn't get a taxi because the driver would ask too many questions. And I couldn't ride my limo there, as my driver was away getting his legs waxed. (Yes, really.) "Vladimir can drive you" declared Shane once my call was finished. He'd been snooping, but I was too excited to care. "Vlad Radinov doesn't drive any more. The cops took his licence away after the... incident" I said with confusion in my voice. "No" said Shane "Kulakov. Vladimir Kulakov." I suddenly felt very cold. Sweaty palms. Dread. Goosebumps. The lot. "The big guy's got a brand new car. He's really excited about it. Keeps offering rides to everyone. For some reason nobody's accepted yet though" he laughed. He saw the look of fear in my eyes and laughed even more. "I can't take you. I've got to finish the clean-up here before the manager gets back and realises we've destroyed a local landmark. It's Kulakov or nothing." An awkward silence filled the air. My mouth went dry. He shook his head, pulled out his cell-phone, wiped a few layers of fiberglass and plaster dust off it, then made the call. "Look just be normal, ok? Just drive the car and be normal" I heard him say. "Maybe there's nothing to worry about" I reassured myself as the slick new Mercedes pulled up. I opened the door, gulped, then got inside. This is what greeted me: Above: This is his casual street attire. Just a few short hours later I was on board the biggest, most lethal boat you can imagine. Episode 7 of the Russian Federation Of Wrestling TV would be held on the Nastoychivyy, a Sovremenny-class destroyer battleship with guns the size of neighbourhoods. It was part of the Черноморский флот, Putin's Black Sea Fleet, the scourge of the Black Sea, the Sea of Azov, the Mediterranean, and more recently the Crimean Peninsula. I know all this because the Captain insisted on giving me a guided tour before the show. I couldn't give a single burning, flaming s*** about Russian naval warfare - I just wanted a ride on one of those big, shiny jets like Maverick in Top Gun - but when the twelve massive, uniformed guys behind you all have machine guns, you listen. Like Oleg said, we'd be there to improve morale. "To entertain the brave souls that pilot the mighty craft" was his wording of it. It meant we were limited in how crazy we could make next week's show. There wasn't exactly much room to manoeuvre. The logistical constraints of having to helicopter our people and equipment over the vast ocean (and at least two active warzones) would rule out a lot of the crazy stuff I'd had planned. But it meant a lively crowd of all 1400 crew would be clapping along to every Suplex. I was never really sure who was driving the boat while everyone stopped what they were doing to watch our guys pretending to hurt each other. I was too afraid to ask. Above: Hell yeah! This is awesome! This is wrestling! This is Russia. This is sheer insanity. I now want a real wrestling show held on a battleship. The fact that I can genuinely picture WCW doing this in their “all out writers are on crack” era and I’m not sure whether to laugh, cry (that I think WCW could’ve came to that) or cry (that it didn’t). The Shane Douglas and Carla part was also funny, and yet also genuinely sweet, and also genuinely terrifying. I absolutely love this diary. I love it so much that I’ve begun to regret calling myself “just here to look” because I’m sure as hell doing more than looking. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Old School Fan Posted April 26, 2023 Share Posted April 26, 2023 26 minutes ago, Just here to look said: I absolutely love this diary. I love it so much that I’ve begun to regret calling myself “just here to look” because I’m sure as hell doing more than looking. Nothing to regret, as we sure do appreciate the comments we get on our diaries (regarding events/shows, behind-the-scenes happenings, presentation styles, etc.), as I remember... 😁 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted April 28, 2023 Author Share Posted April 28, 2023 (edited) Before I post the card for Episode 7, a small confession. As alluded to in The Arse Of The Dragon, a few famous international stars were signed at the same time, in one day. One of which was correctly guessed by one or more of you in previous predictions. That wrestler was all set to debut in Episode 6, and would have been a bonus point. However, due to a favourable Backstage Incident, 'The Fabulous' John Hennigan and his 'spiritual guide' Gerald jumped the queue. What I'm saying is keep plugging away with the Predictions thing - one or more of you are closer than you might realise. Anyhow, enough rambling from me. Here's what my inept booking is serving up next: First, we will have an exclusive update on the condition of Sergey Belyev, after his savage beating at the hands of Rasuev. We will visit him in hospital and update the fans, who are all really, really worried about him I'm sure. Tamerlan Rasuev sent a big message to the RFW roster by hospitalising the young Russian - speaking of which... Tamerlan Rasuev vs ???Rasuev has sworn to injure another member of the roster every week until Seagal gives him the title shots and opportunities he feels have been denied him his whole career. With a big shortage of willing volunteers, who will dare to step into the ring? Rasuev victims Andrei 'The Pitbull' Arlovski and Alen Khubolov will be very interested spectators, as will their new bodyguards The Arrows Of Russia. Speaking of which... The Arrows Of Russia vs Edge & Bryan DanielsThe Dirt Sheets are baffled as to why this tag team are suddenly receiving such a huge opportunity, speculating as to which mysterious, shadowy benefactor is behind their sudden rise to prominence. What's certain is the size of the opportunity for the Arrows - win, lose or draw, they have a huge platform to show what they can do in their in-ring debut. With Daniels still paranoid and shell-shocked thanks to a certain masked competitor, and Edge having been through an absolute war last week, the Arrows will never have a better shot at the big time. Also on Episode 7: Aleksandr 'Vertigo' Klaptsov vs ???Wanting to prove to himself worthy of his "new comrade" Edge's attention, the hacker-turned-wrestler known as Vertigo will be issuing an Open Challenge. But who will answer the call? As well as all this, will we see more of 'The Fabulous' John Hennigan after his not-so-well received debut last week? And will his "guru" Gerald be with him? The Big Fight Contract SigningHaving somehow stopped the unstoppable monster Kulakov last week and successfully navigated his Gauntlet, Goldberg has journeyed through Hell to earn his World Title rematch. The contract signing for that big match-up takes place at Episode 7. The last obstacle for the WCW and WWE legend to overcome: Ilja Dragunov. Speaking of which... Our World Champion Dragunov has also stated via social media that he wants a "warm-up match" before taking on Goldberg. Will he get his wish? If so, who will face him? One point per correct match result. One point per correct mystery opponent. Also, with this event taking place on a top-secret Battleship, there were maximum-level security checks on every member of the RFW roster who tried to get on board. Unfortunately, one member of the roster wasn't allowed on board under any circumstances, due to being deemed "a risk to security" by everyone who dared to look, so they won't be in Episode 7 at all. A bonus point for guessing who. The prize this time: In addition to the handful of foreign stars signed during The Arse Of The Dragon, there might be just room enough for one more foreigner. The lucky winner gets to choose who. Good luck! Edited April 29, 2023 by dstephe4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Just here to look Posted April 28, 2023 Share Posted April 28, 2023 (edited) 5 hours ago, dstephe4 said: 5 hours ago, dstephe4 said: , speculating as to which mysterious, shadowy benefactor is behind their sudden rise to prominence. From now on you may refer to me only as my proper title, “mysterious benefactor”. Jokes aside, ON WITH PREDICTING. BADLY. First up, Rasuev’s match. I predict that Seagal seems Rasuev as just a bit annoying, and so won’t set Kulakov on him just yet. I predict that Rasuev will win against… uhhhh, I don’t have a clue. Catherine the Great? The Arrows of Not Hungary will beat the Americans via DQ after Daniels gets flashbacks to ‘Nam and proceeds to attempt to kill one of them. Oh, sorry, I meant “The Nightmare” Vladimir Kulakov, not Vietnam. Cool visor man wins his match, though I don’t know who against. oh why was that typing in the quote section? Ah well. Nobody‘ll notice Goldberg gets his title shot, and Dragunov faces… GUNTHALTER? Look, one of these times it’s gonna be him. It just plain will be. Hennigan will be doing some promo work because that’s what he does for now, Goldberg is signing a contract, The Nightmare should be dead, Goldberg should ALSO be dead now that I think about it, and everyone else that anyone cares about is on the card. what the hell actually happened to this reply? There’s 2 quote sections in one, and I posted half of it… in one of the quote bits? Edited April 28, 2023 by Just here to look Confusion 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MidKnightDreary Posted April 28, 2023 Share Posted April 28, 2023 Rasuev gets another victim. Jokic catches those hands. Russia Arrows win Kulakov is definitely the guy banned. Klaptsov def. Markov. Ilja will win his match against Malakai Black 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DinoKea Posted April 28, 2023 Share Posted April 28, 2023 (edited) Tamerlan Rasuev def. Kris "the Falcon" Jovik Edge & Bryan Daniels def. Arrows of Russia Randall Keith Orton def. Aleksandr "Vertigo" Klaptsov Ilja Dragunov def. "The Pitbull" Andrei Arlovski Obviously a battleship is not going to allow Mr. Kulakov on board under any circumstances, not that it will actually stop him Edited April 28, 2023 by DinoKea 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
St. Templar Posted April 29, 2023 Share Posted April 29, 2023 I'm joining the crowd that thinks Jovik will face Rasuev, and Rasuev will beat him silly. The Arrows beat Edge & Daniels thanks to a ton of overbooked mayhem from the other Russians. Vertigo loses to an enraged (still enraged?) Kulakov. Ilja retains by cheating Russian Solidarity over a debuting Malakai/Aleister Black/Tommy End. I firmly expect John Hennigan, Bryan, or Edge to start trying to build some solidarity among the non-Russian wrestlers. St.T 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GreatreDRagon Posted May 1, 2023 Share Posted May 1, 2023 Rasuev def. Dragan Spazic The Arrows of Russia def. Edge & Bryan Daniels Malakai Black/Tommy End def. Klaptsov I'm gonna take a gamble and say that the open challenge won't actually officially start (due to battleship shenanigans). I think every show so far has only had three matches. So my prediction is that Ilja won't get his match (although I guess it would make sense for Ivan Markov to accept the challenge since he gave Goldberg a hard fight in the gauntlet). Kulakov is the banned wrestler. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted May 3, 2023 Author Share Posted May 3, 2023 (edited) Broadcast on Russiya 1. Held beneath the massive, pointy cannons of the Nastoychivyy, a Sovremenny-class Destroyer, in an undisclosed location somewhere in the Crimean Peninsula. 1400 in attendance. This one was technically our first ever 'sell out' event. But can it really be considered a "sell out" if the only alternative to watching our show is to jump in the ocean? We were live on the deck on the Nastoychivyy with a beautiful moonlit sky above us, 1400 drunken rowdy Russian marines cheering us on, and hundreds of millions of dollars of cutting-edge, death-bringing weaponry surrounding us. There were missiles and bombs everywhere, and snipers high above with strict instructions on what to do if we touched any of them. I'd wanted to use our battleship setting to full effect for our show, but was denied at every turn. My idea of having the loser of a match loaded into a torpedo bay and shot out into the sea, for instance, was shot down nearly as quickly as the aircraft this warship had gunned to bits earlier that day. My idea of having The Arrows Of Russia piledriver Bryan Daniels through the cockpit window of an Su-57 Multirole Fighter Jet was about as welcome as a hooker with a penis at a children's birthday party. They wouldn't let us play with any of their cool toys and it just wasn't fair! The captain wouldn't even let me wear his hat! Perhaps even more of a problem was the limits our unique location imposed on us. Due to "security clearance" and other bulls*** reasons, we could only bring a certain number of our roster. They even tried stopping Steven Seagal coming on board - apparently they had a hard time believing the Michigan-born star of 58 Hollywood movies was really a Russian citizen. Even a signed letter from Vladimir Putin himself, describing him as "Special Representative for Russia-US Diplomatic Links, Cultural and Historical Heritage" wasn't enough to sway them. Eventually he managed to change their mind by picking up the First Mate and throwing him into the side of a helicopter. They soon came around. Unfortunately we were not so lucky in our attempts to get 'The Nightmare' Vladimir Kulakov on board. To be fair, him turning up covered in fake blood, wearing a serial killer mask, carrying a chainsaw, probably didn't help his case. Him wearing a t-shirt with мне нравится причинять людям боль ("I Like To Hurt People") printed on it in massive letters didn't help either. And our attempt to smuggle him aboard in a giant crate of Lightning Bolt Energy Drinks wasn't met with good humour either. A show without Kulakov seemed unthinkable. But like the rest of Russia, we just had to put up with the bulls*** and carry on as best we could. Our show begins with two Americans and a Canadian meeting in secret in a dimly lit room somewhere deep within the bowels of a Russian warship. There was a time such activities would get them shot for treason. Nowadays this was just family entertainment. Even in a room lit only by radar screens and navigation computers, we can see Bryan Daniels is a pale, sweaty shadow of the man who once took the WWE by storm. With a trembling voice and paranoid eyes, he proposes an alliance between our 3 most expensive imports. "It's the only way to get on top" he states, "clearly the Russians are conspiring against me... I mean us... to keep a Russian as champion. If we all work together, their advantage is gone" he says, with industrial-strength anxiety. "Everyone saw what happened in last week's main event - Edge got screwed over. That monster Kulakov got involved - they're clearly using him to nullify any foreigners who stand in their way. Then the other Russian guys swarmed in like piranhas for the kill. It's a conspiracy against us Westerners!" He's biting his nails again. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Goldberg's ego won't let him accept, despite having consecutively fought World Wars 1, 2 and 3 last week. His face and chest are still covered in the cuts and bruises he sustained, but he's Bill f'n Goldberg - and Bill f'n Goldberg don't need anybody's help. He accentuated this point and his desire to go Lone Wolf, by storming out and slamming every door he could find along the way. Despite the alliance offer making a ton of sense, it seemed the man they used to call 'The American Dragon' would be going it alone. Edge then spoke up. "This isn't you, Bryan. I don't recognise you any more. The Bryan Daniels I know wouldn't let himself get spooked like this. The Daniels I remember wouldn't let some big freak in a mask get under his skin. Talking about 'conspiracies', forming alliances, and obsessing over Kulakov... it just isn't what champions do. I don't know what's rattled you, but there's something wrong. And it's not just a bunch of Russians causing trouble. I'm not convinced it's just that Nightmare guy who's freaking you out. You need to find what it is that's holding you back, Bryan, or your career will never be the same again." Angle Rating: 75. Our next segment is a nugget of pre-recorded goodness which happened earlier in the week. In our previous show, Tamerlan Rasuev - on his continuing mission to hurt everyone until he gets what he wants - made Sergey Belyev scream in such a high pitched tone that every dog in Russia started barking all at once. We're treated to a cheesy, very Sports Entertainment scene in which Seagal and our intrepid interviewer Vlad Radinov visit Belyev in hospital. Seagal is appalled at the damage inflicted. He really goes to town with his acting, leaving nothing behind, giving an Oscar-worthy performance. I'm kidding, obviously. Every syllable was pure ham. After mutilating our script like it'd kidnapped his daughter, our lumpy Authority Figure announces to the world that Rasuev is no longer his student. He's washing his hands of him, wants nothing to do with him - he's disgraced the Russian Federation Of Wrestling and Russia itself with his actions. Radinov's role in this was to pull shocked and appalled faces whenever the camera came close to him. As the scene finally, mercifully ends, the camera spins round so we can see what fate has befallen our brave, wounded Russian... Above: I still think we were too subtle. I wanted to use more bandages. Angle Rating: 51. Last week, we saw hacker-turned-wrestler Alexander 'Vertigo' Klaptsov trying to get the 'Rated R Superstar' Edge on his side. The mammoth-chinned Canadian gave the dweeby Russian a chance to prove himself, telling him to issue an Open Challenge and show his skills against whoever answered the call. So he did. And that's when the fun started. 'Fabulous' John Hennigan came strutting onto the scene. He refused to get into the ring until he'd checked his hair in a mirror. Finding a split end in his luscious, flowing plumage, he retrieved a pair of Hair Straighteners from somewhere within that magnificent coat and proceeded to give himself a makeover. The whole show ground to a halt as the American painstakingly teased his hair into the perfect position. The crowd of noisy trained killers began booing and jeering at full volume from the moment he appeared, but this amusing delay made them go full-on volcanic. Nearly all of the 1400 in attendance pelted him with ice, cigarettes, empty Lightning Bolt cans, and God knows what else. John just laughed at them and blew them a kiss. In hindsight, bringing 'The Fabulous One' on this boat trip with us was one hell of a ballsy move. Hennigan accepts Vertigo's open challenge, and the two quickly agree to begin kicking each other's arses immediately. Hennigan seems impressed not only that the wrestler we'd nicknamed 'Lord Nerd' had the cojones to challenge him, but that he also seemed to have the legendary Edge taking an interest in him. Vertigo rips off his Decepticon t-shirt, throws down his Geordi La Forge visor, and he is ready! Hennigan carefully takes off that spectacular coat and places it on a hanger. He checks his eyebrows in a tiny little mirror. He makes sure his hair is still perfect, and he is ready! Then there's suddenly a commotion at ringside. The big, Hulk-like Ivan Markov is goading Gerald The Dog, who had escaped from Hennigan's clutches the moment the Hair Straighteners came out. It was a strange sight to see the big, oiled-up bodybuilder sticking his tongue out at this tiny little dog, trying to grab Hennigan's "spiritual guru" and failing comically every time. After a comedic eternity of near-misses, Markov finally grabs Gerald, threatening to put him between two slices of bread and "eat the yappy little pocket rat like a sandwich". Hennigan looks really concerned at this curious development, stating "that was a big mistake. You really shouldn't have done that." The big Russian is not impressed. "Why's that, tough guy?! You gonna make me regret it?!" scoffs the Adonis-like, fake-tan enthusiast. "I won't have to" laughs the American. Markov quickly regretted getting his hands on the most famous Bichon Frisé in wrestling, as it sank it's funky little fangs into his massive hand. He screamed like a girl, hopping up and down on the spot, shrieking Russian obscenities in a pitch higher than anyone thought medically possible. The Russian throws the dog. The American catches the dog. The American, still clutching the dog in his arms like a baby, lets loose with spectacular Plancha over the top rope, crushing his muscular new enemy like a bug on a windshield. Somewhere in the distance a bell rings, and this ridiculous bag of boiled nonsense has somehow escalated into an actual match-up. Above: Gerald was unhappy. Angle Rating: 64. Ivan 'The Body' Markov vs 'The Fabulous' John Hennigan. Many of our Russian viewers were surprised that as soon as the bell rang, Hennigan was the ass-kicking machine of old. But why wouldn't he be? Was he suddenly going to lose all his ability due to his sudden interest in fine clothing? Does owning a small dog stop you from kicking some guy directly in the heart? Yet our Neanderthal fanbase would somehow be dumbstruck every time Hennigan would take to the air and blow up an opponent like a human SCUD missile. Despite Hennigan's high-flying histrionics, it's an even bout until Gerald starts yapping at Markov. The big Russian suddenly stops fighting, and we're treated to the sight of a giant, oily man in tiny shorts chasing a little dog around and around the ring. Five times. Markov, losing his temper, then grabs a microphone off ring announcer Vlad Radinov. He throws it like an axe, launching it mightily. It misses the dog by miles, ricochets off the ring post, and hits him right in the middle of his face. Gerald runs for his life, fleeing under the ring. Even more pissed off than ever, the Russian then dives under the ring after him. "This is wrestling! This is wrestling!" cheer our fans, clearly loving every moment of this top-notch athletic spectacle. Boris finally stops laughing his Greek ass off long enough to begin administering a 10 count. Hearing this, Markov suddenly comes back to his senses, sliding back into the ring just as Boris was up to 9. He slides across the canvas like a Baseball MVP, right up to Hennigan, who delivers a Seth Rollins-esque Curb Stomp for the ages. Markov is out cold. Hennigan casually sits on the unconscious Russian, grinning like a Cheshire Cat as Gerald jumps back into his arms, right as the referee counts to 3. This match was... certainly memorable. Nearly as memorable as the moment soon after, when the smallest member of our roster cocked it's leg up and relieved itself all over it's fallen foe. Edge and Vertigo were seen watching from ringside. One of them was laughing his ass off, kicking back and enjoying the action with a couple of cans of Cherry Charge Lightning Bolt Energy Drink as the spectacle drew to a close. The other was less happy. "Markov! You swine! You stole my match-up! I was about to make all of Russia proud tonight with my victory! I was going to show our 'new comrade' Edge my considerable abilities! But you stole my moment, then spent half the evening being out-smarted by a tiny, little dog! You uneducated brute! What does Seagal even see in you?!" Hennigan hears Vertigo's rant, and signals that he's next. On seeing this, the geeky Russian's mood improves considerably. Edge shoves an energy drink into his hand and gestures at him to lighten the hell up. They applaud RFW's new dynamic duo, clearly impressed at Hennigan's ability to turn RFW into Crufts, eagerly anticipating the day that 'Lord Nerd' and 'The Fabulous One' get to trade blows. Match Rating: 53. And now it's time for the big, official contract signing for next week's titanic bout between Bill Goldberg and our fighting champion Ilja Dragunov. You've seen this sort of thing before in pro wrestling. There's a dramatically lit table. A red carpet. Solemn music. A needlessly heightened sense of tension. It's a cheap, cheesy way of building up interest in something, and one of the most hackneyed, done-to-death, over-used staples in the business. So of course we were delighted to milk the premise for all it was worth. Stuff always goes wrong in angles like this. Pro wrestling seems deathly allergic to having a signing go off without a hitch. There's always some poor sap who gets Powerbombed through the table. Or attacked by midgets hiding under the ring. Or gets pies thrown at them. Or evil clowns turn up. Or a malevolent sumo wrestler turns up and sits on a guy until he turns blue. All of these things have genuinely happened in pro wrestling. Yes, really. Our Authority Figure Steven Seagal was well aware of how it always seems to rain bulls*** at these contract signings, and was having none of it. Seagal states that there will be no shenanigans in this title bout. There will be no interference - he saw all the Russians leaping in to help Dragunov against Edge and he didn't like it. "A mighty champion of Ilja's stature does not require such unnecessary assistance. Outside interference would cheapen what will be a magnificent victory for Mother Russia. He has the athletic ability to defeat Goldberg by himself, and he shall do so next week! As such, anyone who interferes in the match-up will be fired immediately from RFW!" He also states that a match between two fine, evenly-matched titans like this doesn't need any fancy, ridiculous stipulations that would distract from this "demonstration of masculine combat" - this will be one vs one, man on man, no gimmicks, no nonsense. This is Goldberg vs Dragunov. That is enough for anybody; it doesn't need to be anything else. The fans were genuinely amazed as both men signed on the dotted line, stared at each other a bit, then sportingly shook hands. That was it. It didn't go entirely smoothly though. Seeing Seagal, the fans and everybody all smiling and happy was clearly too much for the never-ending joy-kill that was Tamerlan Rasuev. He stormed into the ring, screaming at his former mentor for "cutting him loose", for his "dishonest, spineless betrayal" and for "conspiring endlessly against him". "All my career I had to stand by and watch as the opportunities I deserved were given to others. That pretender Alen Khubulov is still champion, but he's not even physically capable of defending his belt! The imposter Andrei Arlovski isn't even from our sport, yet you seem to still have him as #1 contender for the National title - he hasn't fought in ages either! Yet you'd rather have these forgotten men mope and sulk at ringside than give the title to a national hero like me! You're giving the main event tonight to these so-called Arrows Of Russia, who have never even proven themselves in this ring! That should have been my spot! Where's my main event?! No matter who I hurt, no matter what I do to get people's attention, the opportunities always go to someone else! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of so-called 'mentors' like you turning their back on me! I will not leave this ring until I get the title shot I deserve!" As if screaming in Seagal's face wasn't stupid enough, he then shoves the large, kimono-wearing 'Russian Patriot'. Clearly Rasuev hadn't seen any of Seagal's 58 movies or the trail of bodies the guy left in his wake. Perhaps it was his insistence that this contract signing go off without any violence, that stopped him from bitch-slapping Rasuev to death. Instead, our Authority Figure remained completely zen, even smiling at his former student's petulance. "You want a title shot so badly, Kohai? You crave the spotlight so badly that you're willing to burn all your bridges like this? You would shatter your own spiritual, karmic path for a big opportunity? Be careful what you wish for! Because my Dairokkan tells me you'll soon regret it!" Up steps our champion Dragunov, the RFW title glistening around his waist. "You see, one of my other protégés - one who has not turned his back on all I taught him - wants a warm-up match tonight. You want a title so badly? Come get it!" Suddenly the bell rings, and we have an impromptu World Title bout on our hands! Angle Rating: 67. Ilja Dragunov vs Tamerlan Rasuev - For The RFW World Title So here it was, the big match Rasuev had been screaming and maiming his way towards all these weeks. He really went for it too, tearing into the champion like a rabid, demented feral beast. Dragunov was ready for him though, just about managing to block or counter every shot, to nullify every attack. Rasuev began to lose it, screaming at 'Boris' the referee for "conspiring against him". Then he blamed Khubulov, Arlovski and their bodyguards the Arrows Of Russia, who were watching from ringside. "They're distracting me" he squealed like a child having a tantrum "it's not fair! It's like 5 on 1!" Seagal was not amused, but retained an almost scary level of calm. He instructed that everyone ringside - Khubulov & Co, as well as all Seagal's shirtless Russians - be banished to the backstage area. With only Dragunov and Rasuev remaining, battle commenced again. It was a close-fought bout, technically very good at times. Rasuev's amateur National Championship pedigree was clearly apparent, as he pushed the World Champion right to his limits. His temper again got the better of him though, and he reverted back to his sadistic habit of inflicting pain rather than thinking about strategy. Time and again he refused to relinquish holds long after the referee had ordered him to release. It got to the stage that our official was about to end the match and disqualify Rasuev. But as he was about to wave it off, Seagal leaped to the apron, demanding the match continue. There would be no excuses this time - Seagal was making sure of it. No matter what Rasuev did, he just couldn't stop Dragunov, whose endurance and guile seemed endless. He got more and more angry and frustrated, and this soon lead to uncharacteristic mistakes. The World Champion seized the moment, pulled his Grüße aus Moskau Lariat finisher from out of the blue, and almost in an instant this one was over. Dragunov won fair and square. No nonsense. No shenanigans. No excuses. That should have been the end of it. Dragunov went to celebrate with the patriotic sailors who cheered his victory. He was tired after a very hard-fought win, but clearly happy with his 'warm-up' before next week's big battle with Goldberg. Rasuev wasn't so happy. By now he was an enraged, screaming mess. He shoved the referee, howling like a wolf under a full moon. "This is not over! You haven't seen the last of me!" he screamed, as security officials forcibly escorted him from the ring. "I'll get you for this! Dragunov! Seagal! Khubulov! Arlovski! All of you! I will have my revenge!" Match Rating: 55. After trillions of adverts and a newsflash informing us of Russia's superb handling of international affairs, we're backstage. It's one of those segments where we come in mid-way through an argument. You've seen this stuff millions of times before. 'The Pitbull' Andrei Arlovski has jumped headfirst into a heated confrontation with our man in charge Steven Seagal backstage. Well, perhaps 'heated confrontation' is the wrong choice of words. The Pitbull is screaming, clenching his fists and ready to start crushing skulls. He's crimson with fury. Incandescent. Seagal, on the other hand, is lighting Buddhist prayer candles and happily whistling a tune to himself while the massive Belarusian screams at him in a mixture of English, Russian and Caveman. Even his beard is going red, he's that angry. He wants revenge on Rasuev but Seagal won't let him fight without medical clearance. The Pitbull still looks like a Racoon thanks to the full can of Mace his eyes absorbed. Seagal waits for the UFC killing machine to finally stop for breath, before launching into some big speech about spiritual stuff. Incense is mentioned. A small, bronze gong gets a good ringing. I think a brochure on acupuncture was brandished. The overall gist is that without a signed doctor's note, there'll be no maiming of Rasuev, or anybody for that matter. Arlovski's about to detonate like one of Putin's 'Satan II' Nuclear Missiles, until Rasuev chooses this exact moment to storm in and confront him - like everyone trapped aboard this ship, he heard Andrei screaming nasty things about him, and is furious about Pitbull dissing him. Unlike Putin's failed nukes, however, Arlovski does actually explode. He completely loses his s*** and goes for the throat. After a couple of seconds of being choked to death on live national television, Rasuev slides out from the Belarusian's death-grip and latches on a Sambo Rolling Lapel Choke - the kind the Russian Spetsnaz (Special Forces) use to subdue their enemies. Security dives in and pulls them apart. It takes about a dozen guys to pry the two off each other. Arlovski starts screaming mean, nasty things in Belarusian. Rasuev screams mean, nasty things in Russian. Our whole security team look like they've had some kind of outer-body experience. And Seagal is still happily humming to himself, lighting his peace candles. Clearly he enjoyed this one. Angle Rating: 61. Next it was time for a somewhat calmer backstage angle. The only thing going thermonuclear in this scene was our interviewer Vlad Rudinov's jacket. It was a shade of violet so powerful it set off every Geiger counter on board the vessel. There may have been sequins - it was difficult to tell, due to the effervescent glow the garment emitted. I'm talking about the Party Tsar's jacket so much because it was the only good thing about this whole angle. He was interviewing Bill Goldberg, keen to find out his thought's ahead of next week's big title shot. His answer was... "I used to think the little Russian they call Dragunov was a snake. But he's less than that. What is left when you take away a snake's guts and its spine? You're left with nothing but a snakeskin belt, and that's all he is, just an empty belt, waiting to be collected!" This is why, despite his many loud protestations, from this point onwards I never let Goldberg improv ever, ever again. Angle Rating: 52. And finally, just before we cut to commercials and many, many close-ups of Vladimir Putin's surprisingly fleshy face, we treat our fans to one of the most glorious staples pro wrestling has to offer - the glorious sight of a World Champion walking quickly down a corridor. Our commentary team gleefully fizzed with excitement about Dragunov and his big, shiny belt. "He is ready! Goldberg better watch out next week!" boomed announcer Rico Bushido, almost dancing in his chair with excitement. This pristine scene is interrupted, however, by a rather annoyed Edge and his potential new stooge Vertigo. Last week's title contender gets straight to the point. "You beat me last time, well done. But can you do it without your circus of goons? Are you any good on your own?!" He gets right in the champion's face. He snarls. He stares him down and doesn't blink for a really, really long time. Dragunov doesn't have time for this crap though - this week's main event is about to begin, and he's heading ringside to scout the action. Edge watches the champion march off into the distance, never letting the Russian out of his sight, his eyes burning with intensity the whole time... until he realises "s***, I'm in this main event too" and hot-foots it to the ring. Angle Rating: 60. The Arrows Of Russia vs Edge & Bryan Daniels The Arrows Of Russia charged into the ring. Icarus and Dover looked pretty f***ing menacing in their Hungarian Russian War Masks - they were ready to kick some ass and take some names. Edge was cool, calm, collected, ready to smash his way back into the World Title picture. The man known as Vertigo was nearby, eager for a chance to impress the WWE legend - he looked about as ready as a human can be. Our resplendent World Champion Ilja Dragunov was ringside with his Senpai Steven Seagal - both the very picture of quiet confidence. And then there was Bryan Daniels, who just about managed not to cry. He'd been startled by his own pyrotechnics on his way to the ring. He nearly wet himself when he saw one of the sailors in the crowd was wearing a Kulakov mask. It took every last droplet of his bravery just to climb through those ropes. The match began. Many rowdy marines were on their feet, noisily anticipating the 15 minutes of seemingly random mayhem that was about to unfold. Here's what you need to know about Dover and Icarus, our unlikely main-eventers. Dover is big. Icarus is fast. Dover does the strong stuff. Icarus does the fast stuff. Dover has so much body hair that all forms of jackets and shirts are rendered instantly obsolete. Icarus has tattoos. Dover's body fat wobbles majestically when people kick him (which seems to happen often). Icarus sometimes sports a monobrow that looks like two mutant hairy caterpillars f***king in the middle of his face. I say 'sometimes' as they seem to disappear and re-appear - perhaps migrating away to hibernate for the winter, depending on which season he's fighting in. And the most important thing: They have a serious fighting chemistry thanks to a bazillion years of bouncing off of gazillions of the s***iest rings you ever saw, in every Eastern European dive you never heard of. They've worked their way up from canvases so dirty they'd give lesser mortals Hepatitis, all the way into this diary's main event. Edge and Daniels were in for the fight of their lives. The Arrows Of Russia operated like pristine clockwork. They'd been training for a night like this all their lives, and it showed. They swarmed all over Daniels, like pirhanas with a taste of blood. Devon with an Electric Chair Drop, Icarus immediately after with a Senton Bomb. Icarus dropkicking Daniels' legs from under him, Dover then hitting a top-rope leg drop a split-second later. They expertly engineered ways of knocking the man they used to call 'The American Dragon' down onto his knees, before sandwiching his head between massive kicks and running knee strikes, again and again and again. Daniels' eyes were getting cloudy. Daniels finally managed to get the upper hand - mainly down to the fact that he's really, really good at wrestling - and hot-shotted both men onto the top rope, stunning them both. He seized the momentum, hoisted Icarus onto the second turnbuckle, attempting some sort of fancy Superplex-type manoeuvre. Icarus saw what was coming and countered by pushing Daniels backwards, through the air, right onto the top of his head. He landed with a crunch, instantly grabbing his skull and shrieking with panic. He jumped to his feet, almost collapsing, clearly dazed. And that was it. He was done. With a defiant middle finger to both his foes, he rolled out of the ring and stormed off, clutching his poorly head the whole way up the ramp, never looking back. The cameras zoomed in on Edge's face as he gave what might be the greatest "oh s***, I'm f***ed" facial expression in television history. He nervously got in the ring, before accelerating into a blurry Blitzkrieg of punches to both his opponents. He actually looked good for about a minute, before the numerical difference showed. And then it was about 5 minutes of the brightly-tighted Canadian getting the absolute living crap kicked out of him. The 1400 uniformed fans loved every second of the onslaught. The former WWE man looked doomed. That's when Lord Nerd himself Alexander 'Vertigo' Klaptsov springboarded into the ring, knocking down both of the Arrows with an Eagle-like flying double clothesline. In one smooth move he leaped to his feet and in the same motion caught a can of Lightning Bolt Energy Drink which Seagal had tossed to him. He inhaled it. And then he was superhuman. Every ridiculous, over-the-top, needlessly elaborate high-flying move you never heard of was unleashed, in alphabetical order. The Arrows lashed him with huge kicks, but he didn't feel a damn thing - he had the power of Russian-grade pharmaceuticals surging through his bloodstream - he was unstoppable. He was like both Hulks - Hogan and The Incredible - combined. Edge, despite his beating, looked impressed - he had to be - this s*** was awesome! The Arrows had one trick left though. Utilising their extensive tag team experience, they picked the perfect moment and squashed the geeky former hacker behind a pair of massive Spears. 'Vertigo' was hit flush from both sides at once. It was like being hit front and back simultaneously by two speeding cars. The poor, gangly sod was totally flattened. Both the Hungarian Russians jumped on him - there was no way their high-flying foe would be able to kick out, even despite the fires of Russian chemistry lighting up his metabolism. Yes, you might realise, Klaptsov wasn't actually part of this match at all, wasn't even meant to be there, and shouldn't have been pinned at all. Yes, our referee 'Boris' should've disqualified him, rather than making the count. But this is a Russian pro-wrestling event held on a big, scary battleship in the middle of Christ-knows-where. Just go with it. Edge stumbled back into the ring, trying to make the save, but he was nowhere near, and was too badly beaten to interject. Luckily for him, it was at this exact moment that Bryan Daniels slid under the bottom rope and pushed the referee, interrupting the count. The Arrows got to their feet, unsure now what the hell was going on, who their opponents actually were, and who the holy hell the legal man was. Daniels used this moment of confusion, clocking Icarus with a kick to the head that'd give Jackie Chan a boner. He fell like an oak. Dover ran at the bearded interloper, but Edge cut him in half with a huge spear, causing both him and the hairy Arrow to tumble through the ropes. The coast was clear. Daniels made the pin. Daniels got the win. And Daniels got perhaps the loudest boos of his whole career. "What the hell?!" Edge could be heard screaming from ringside, furious with his disappearing tag partner. The fear flashed instantly back into Daniels' eyes, and he began fleeing the scene once again. "I'm sorry!" he yelled as he scurried off into the shadows, leaving a bewildered Edge - and the rest of us - to wonder what the hell had just happened. Match Rating: 55. We were just about to wrap things up and finish the show, when Seagal strolled into the ring, mic in hand. He lifted the fallen Arrows carefully back to their feet, dusting them down and smiling at them proudly. "Even in defeat, you covered yourselves with glory tonight. You faced two legends, and gave them a battle they shall never forget. I started The Russian Federation Of Wrestling to display our nation's fighting talents to the world, and to showcase their talents against the very best. We saw this ethos personified, in you both, here tonight." Our patriotic fans purred with delight at Seagal's smooth words. They swooned. "Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you got a taste of what top-class Tag Team wrestling is all about." He gestured to ringside, and proudly applauded as our retired boxing legend Roy Jones Jr entered the ring, a shiny new championship belt on each shoulder. The fans cheered at the sight of this. They could see where the big guy in the Kimono was going with this. "Magnificent people of Russia! I present to you a new chapter in our nation's wrestling history. The glorious Arrows and seven other teams from around the globe shall embark upon a spectacular tournament, the winner of which shall be crowned the first ever RFW World Tag Team Champions! And this world-changing tournament shall begin next week - here on Russian Federation Of Wrestling TV!" Our show drew to a close with the sight of a battleship-load of psyched-up, jacked-up, pent-up Russian marines jumping up and down with joy. Hats were thrown. Songs were sung. Dances were danced. It was scenes of euphoria as we faded to black. Beautiful, crazy, ridiculous, Lightning Bolt fuelled euphoria. But that's what you get when you combine our hammy brand of pro-wrestling with soft drinks more potent than cocaine. Yes, our show once again sucked. But we'd made a boat filled to the brim with over-excited trained killers very, very happy. And happiness is what we're all about. Angle Rating: 62. Overall Show Rating: 60. Edited 20 hours ago by dstephe4 7 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MidKnightDreary Posted May 4, 2023 Share Posted May 4, 2023 ... is it bad that I kinda liked Goldberg's promo? 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dstephe4 Posted May 6, 2023 Author Share Posted May 6, 2023 Thank you to all who took the time to post their Predictions. Seems my devilish plan of not really telling anyone what the matches were definitely made the Predictions thing harder. Also, the fact that many gave The Arrows Of Russia the victory over big names Edge & Daniels is either a compliment to my booking, or a nod to my willingness to throw big names under the bus in the name of Mother Russia. Either way, I like it. Here's some numbers. @Just here to look - I mean 'The Mysterious Benefactor' - 0 points. @MidKnightDreary - 1 point + 1 bonus. @DinoKea - 2 points + 1 bonus. @St. Templar - 1 point. @GreatreDRagon - 0 points + 1 bonus. If I'm wrong in any of my scores above, reply and let me know. It's entirely possible that my sleep-deprived brain has lost the ability to do basic maths. Thank you all for continuing to read and contribute to this diary. Hope you're having as much fun as me with all this mad s***. @DinoKea send me a private message with the name of your chosen international star. I'll give them tons of cash and throw them gleefully into the mixer. Thanks again to @Old School Fan for nominating this ridiculous dynasty in the Diary Of The Month competition thingy. Like I said before, I never thought this diary would ever make it into the voting, based on its absolute inability to take itself seriously. Thank you also to @DinoKea for voting - again, another milestone I never thought this thing could ever achieve. Thank you for sticking with this. More post-Soviet nonsense coming up soon! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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