Better Than You vs [DJ Killa Kyle]

[Scott Norton Fanclub]

Tanaka slams into the apron, gasping for air and slumping over. BTY's rush to get his damage in was unwarranted though, as DJ Killa Kyle was in the middle of the ring doing the exact opposite. Completely lacking in basic wrestling psychology, refusing to press his advantage he runs the ropes doing a perfect back hand spring back flip as he rebounds off them landing perfectly crouched in the middle of the ring in a Spider-Man like position. One of his hands is on the top of his head and the other extended behind his back like a cool Anime character. He turns head back, looking over his shoulder smirking at BTY from inside the ring.  

[HiroShinMozas]

".....10!"

DING DING DING!

"Here is your winner, by count out --- DJ KILLA KYLE!!!!"

SNAP, BACK TO REALITY - OPE THERE GOES GRAVITY, OPE, THERE GOES RABBIT, HE CHOKED, HE'S SO MAD BUT HE WONT, GIVE UP THAT EASY NO, HE WONT HAVE IT HE KNOWS, HIS WHOLE BACKS TO THOSE ROPES, IT DONT MATTER HE'S DOPE.

The ref calls for the bell as Better Than You. did not get back into the ring before the count of ten, still focusing on a match with Masato Tanaka in his head. At this point there match has ended up back in the ring, with Better Than You. measuring his opponent for a huge Stan Hansen-esq lariat. He shoots forward as the vet stands, but he flips through the clothesline, landing perfectly with a front flip on the other side of Better Than You.! The gaijin staggers into the corner and turns around, getting SLAMMED with a huge discus forearm and leave him slumped back in the corner! It's then that Tanaka steps back to center ring and takes off, grabbing on to BTY. in the corner and connect with Diamond Dust! Tanaka shoves over the limp body of Better Than You. on to his back and covers him, getting a quick win and barring him from ever entering Japan again!

Better Than You. flat backs at ringside and lays there, defeated, not aware of exactly what happened with his match against DJ Killa Kyle but feeling as though he has for sure lost here today. What a disgusting, disturbing, horrible, sad, and gnarly display in the zeitgeist of professional wrestling tonight. This was despicable.  

[Vic Venom]

The nearly empty arena matches on, the Jets fan with his hands in his thinning hair shaking his head after being forced to watch several more minutes of DJ Killa Kyle's contrived offense. Offense that could only work on an opponent who was just sort of standing there, waiting for things to happen. As he stands up on the second rope, raising his hands in the air after his first win a whirlwind rips through the television network headquarters in New York.

"GUYS! GUYS! LOOK AT THE NUMBERS! WE'RE SO DEAD"

Palmer Cannon sits in his office as desperate cries echo through the office, dark stains on the pits of his dress shirt. Eyes glued to the line graph tracking viewership of the last match. A flurry of paperwork, sweating men in suits fly around the offices. The executives had bet big on WWFG's revival and now were reaping their rewards with their worst rated segment ever. Swallowing hard, he opens his desk, dipping his fingers in an open jar of vaseline, smearing the substance on his chapped lips before opening a secret compartment in his drawer to reveal a large red button protected by a glass cover.

Palmer removes the cover, putting his finger to the button. For a moment he hesitates, his career mortality staring him in the face. He looks back at the graph, then at a framed picture on his desk of his wife and beautiful children. A single tear slides down his face as he presses the button and stands up to look outside his window.