| Wrestler |
Join Date |
Biography |
| Showkishi |
February 18th, 2003 |
Showkishi is dressed just like rikishi with the belt and everything including the thongs thing but says Showkishi instead of Rikishi on his belt. He has short hair like the new Big Show also.
The Banzaii Drop is his first finisher off of the top rope and where the opponent is laying on his back and head toward the corner and Showkishi climbs to 2nd rope with his back toward the opponent then jumps back with his butt landing on the opponents' chest area.
The Show Driver is simply just Rikishi piledriver looking move he uses in the WWE. Or atleast use too.
|
| Hoong | February 19th, 2003 |
Hometown:Malaysia
Weight:260
Height:6'5
Age:25
Description:Hoong has a handsome face with short black hair. Hoong comes from a long generation of fighters. They were feared all around the land of Malaysia. Hoong doesn't wear anything to the ring, but what The Rock does. The Rock was his idle so he's trying to follow after him. Hoong remains to be seen as a good wrestler here, but we didn't start yet. Who knows, he may become the WFW Heavyweight champion, we don't know.
Biography:Hoong's father was a feared member of a backyard wrestling federation. Hoong scattered Malaysia to find a wrestling federation, but the trail led him to the United States. There he heard about the new WFW league, and opted to join it.
Type:Power
Face, Neutral, Heel:Face
Finisher: Hoong Bottom
Description:Just like The Rock Bottom.
Other Moves:Chokeslam
Hoong hopes to become a good superstar, and eventually the best. WFW better stay clear from this man. |
| Alonzo Hunter |
February 19th, 2003 |
Hometown:Columbus, GA
Weight:285
Height:5'11
Description:Alonzo Hooker is a black male. He wears a trench coat down to the ring. He resembles the image of Blade. He also wears a black bandana down to the ring.
Biography:He orginally hails from The Badlands in Georgia. While he was eight he witnessed his family get killer by as phycopahtic killer. After about twenty years, he turned up as a bounty hunter. Now, he's in the wrestling buisness, as his goal is to be the best in the WFW.
Alonzo Hooker loves to Brawl. SO, he defintily a brawler. He presents himself as a person fans can relate to. Not really, half the fans like him, half hate him. He's a neutral type of wrestler.
Finisher:Justified Homicide
Description of Finisher:it starts as the F-5 and finishes into a stunner.
Other Moves:Killer Instinct (sitdown powerbomb), Dead or Alive (tornado DDT) |
p>
| Nero |
February 19th, 2003 |
Hometown:San Francisco Bay
Weight:235
Height:5'9
Age:19
Description:e is a masked high-flying heavyweight man. He likes to takes things to the Xtreme.He is Everybodys Hero. He wears orange with orange mask
Biography:Strong High-Flyer that grew up learning Lucha Libre style wrestling.His family grew up in the bisnuess.
Nero is a high flyer. The fans absoloutely love Nero.
Finisher Name:The Stroke
Finsiher Description:Jeff Jarrett's version of the Russian Leg Sweep.
Other Moves:His 2 other signature moves are the Neronater, a diving reverse DDT and the Shooting Star Press.
He loves his Fans. He Believes he is everybodys hero and Nobody can go toe to toe with Nero |
| "Ironman" Ken Meyers
| February 20th, 2003 |
HOMETOWN: Chicago, Illinois
WEIGHT: 246 lbs.
HEIGHT: 6'2"
AGE: 28
DESCRIPTION: Determined and serious young man. Short dark brown hair and brown eyes, and usually unshaven. In excellent physical condition. Wrestles in black tights and boots, with dark red knee and elbow pads. Comes to the ring in dark sunglasses.
BIOGRAPHY: Ken Meyers has been wrestling for about ten years now. He has developed a highly technical style that, while not particularly flashy, is more often than not successful. Wrestling is his true passion, not just a career, and he will wrestle anyone at any time in order to prove his skill and hone his abilities even further. Meyers's patience, excellent stamina, and formidable will combined have provided him with the nickname of "Ironman."
STYLE: Technician
FAN ALIGNMENT: Neutral
FINISHER NAME: End of the Line
FINISHER DESCRIPTION: Single leg crab with an ankle lock simultaneously applied to the same leg.
OTHER MOVES: Abdominal stretch; Back drop pin; Chickenwing jawbreaker; Dragon sleeper; Dropkick; Fireman's carry; Michinoku driver; Northern lights suplex; Rear naked choke; Reverse DDT; Snap suplex; T-bone suplex.
|
| Landmine Larry |
February 20th, 2003 |
Hometown:Truth or Dare, Nevada
Weight:300
Height 6'5
Description:He wears a camoflauge suit with a Smokey The Bear hat. Although, Landmine Larry looks has the Mr. T cut, don't under estimate him. You may very well be looking at the WFW Heavyweight champion.He has a pitbull named spike that e brings down to the ring on a large, long chain
Biograpy:His biography is Top Secret
Landmine Larry is more of a technical wrestler. Landmine Larry can't be stood by any friend. Every wrestler and every fan seems to hate this man.
Finisher Name:Baby Cake
Finisher Description:Its a suplex off the top rope but he spins on the way down and lands on the opponet. His other favorite moves are Headlock, boston crab, ankle twist, STF, crippler crossface.
Landmine Larry would like to make clear....HE'S NOT GAY! |
| Flaketee |
February 22nd, 2003 |
Hometown (Parts Unknown for none): New Orleans Louisiana
Weight: 220
Height: 5'11
Age: 23
Wrestler's Description: He is a Light Weight who confines to Hardcore tactics rather then top rope movies. He dresses in a Black Singlette with A white Spider logo from the back to front. When not in ring Attire He dressed in Flaketee Tee shirt.
Optional...only if you want to spend time writing one. The height and weight work for us. Wrestler's Biography: Ok lets see It all started with a conversation about who would win in a fight himself or his friend in a backyard hardcore match. Matt Lang decided to take on his friend in a match for pride and for the $200 Dollar wager. Matt Lang took on the Identity of Matt Meltdown. He went on to lose fight to his friend, but in doing so he gained a love for hurting and injuring people. That lesson of serves him to this very day. Even thought his name has changed and his skills have been sharpend and many lessons learned Flaketee stays true to himself and continues to fight for himself to make a name for himself.
Optional...in the sense that if you don't care what your bio looks like on our site. Whatever you put here, is what we put there. You could put a novel or a word...a letter...it's up to you. Choose the one that best describes your wrestler's style:
Brawler
Finisher Name: Flakemission
Finisher Description:Side Dragon Sleeper
Describe your finisher as best as possible, because if it's not descriptive enough or isn't here at all, we'll make a guess based on what we know...maybe we'll ask. Other Moves
Other: He's a Face. |
| Mass Suicide | February 22nd, 2003 |
hometown Phila.Pa
weight/hieght/age: 268/6'-5"/22
description:Mass ring attire varies at times,but usually he wears black,black cargo pants,black leather pants ect.he always wrestles with a t-shirt that has the sleeves cut off,he wears shirt with different designs such as the "Decepticon" logo,he has brown braided hair,tatoos on his upper body that also covers his arms,he has multiple piercings in his ears,one in his eyebrow and one on his lip
biography:went through life with lots of problems,to the point when he was consumed by his thoughts of anger,despair,fustration,and yes...suicide.
Mass now looks to destroy his enemies and claim respect through titles
style:brawler
Heel
finisher: Soul Eraser
finisher description:Mass sets up for the curtain call,lifts opponent in the air in a vertical postion.then drops them down for a inverted piledriver
other moves:corkscrew tombstone piledriver
ddt
cobra clutch
double arm ddt
dragon sleeper
sidewalk slam
moonsault
diving headbutt
|
| The Italian Assasin |
February 24th, 2003 |
None. Nothing is known about him. |
| "The Crowd Killer" Danny Black |
February 24th, 2003 |
Hometown:Bermuda Triangle
Weight:325
Height:7'2
Age:27
Description:all well muscled man with a scar running down the left hand side of his face, has a tendancy to talk to himself, he wears dirty dungarees at all times and work boots that seem to be covered in some foul smelling soil
Biogrpahy:The dull witted and slow man makes his way to the ring cuddling up closly to a machette which he has named mary, why he talks to it and why its named mary no one as yet knows, the refs have to keep a close eye on him as he tends to leap into the fans attempting to hack bits and pieces of their bodys off. is past is a bit misty, he doesnt actually remember very much but does claim of killed a whole tribe of eskimos.eople have attempted to find out more about him but have always been sent to a local supermarket for some strange reason where they shudder at his name and say hide the lobsters.
Power
Heel
Finisher Name:Dead Eskimos Dont Dance
Finisher Discription:Powerbomb
|
| Raziel | February 24th, 2003 |
Except for being the first ever WFW Heavyweight champion, and ticking JJ off. After this month he is deleted. |
| Snake |
February 24th, 2003 |
Hometown:Scranton, PA
Weight:180
Height:6'2
Age:24
Discription:The Terminator has black hair with blue eyes. He is strong and wears a tank top. He wears long blue jeans.
Biography:Snake has hand no wrestling talent before. The president saw him in a backyard wrestling event. After the Snakes's application was voided, JJ wants him. JJ has signed him.
Snake is a high flyer. Snake is also a face.
Finisher Name:He uses two moves, a Sharpshooter and a Shooting Star Press
Finisher Discription:Everyone knows those two. |
| "New Blood" Shane Avan |
February 24th, 2003 |
Hometown:Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada
Hieght:6'3
Weight:242
Age:22
Appearance:"Live for the Moment" by Monster Magnet is his music.Shaggy brown hair (just over his eyes), somewhat muscular build (not bulky though)
Taped wrists & hands, no top, red & blue elbow pad on rght arm, tattoo of a cross hairs on his left arm, blue wrestling trunks (that end alittle befor his knee's) with S.A. in red on the right side and red cross-hairs on the left side. His knee pads look like the elbow pad. And he has shinny red boots. Well rounded superstar.
Biography:One of the most cockey, arrogent, pompus wretlers in the history of WAM. Avan grew up in a small city in Sydney Nova Scotia ( a small city on the eastern side of Canada). As a teenager, Avan had alot come easy. Shane was the most popular kid growing up and had no trouble with ladies adding to his narrsism. He was always the best at every sport he played but quit them because he wanted all the spot light for himself. One of the reasons he joined wrestling.He moved out west to get training. There he met his now best friend Todd Zadik. He'll never back down from a fight but his massive ego may get the better of him. Ava refers to himself as "New Blood" meaning he is the future of VSW. But the fans greet him with chants of "New Blood Sucks!!" He's part of the tag team X-Drive with Todd Zadik. Recently he left VSW and was revealed as Commissioner X of WAM. He is now the leader of the feared stable called the New Blood Corporation. Let's see how he will do in the WFW.
Finisher Name: Emerald Fusion
Finisher Discription:kind of variation of a brainbuster/Al Snow's "SnowPlow") |
| "The Technician" Lenny Dissin | February 24th, 2003 |
His Hometown is not yet known. His weight his 540 pounds, and his height is 4'6. His age...heh, he's 52. His Discription is a short fat man. He looks like a nerd,but wait...we don't know. He comes dressed in a Michael Meyers mask. He wrestles in the mask, and has the full Michael Meyers attire to go with it. His entrance music is the Halloween theme. This man is cool. Biography:He just pounced into wrestling.He's a techinical wrestler, and also hated by the fans. His finisher name is called "The Move" This move shows Lenny Dissin delivering a thunderous DDT. |
| Lady Despair |
February 24th, 2003 |
She lives in Washington, D.C.. Her height totals at 6'0 at 210 pounds. Shes the only female as of right not in the WFW. Don't let her fool you though, she's tough. Some of her titles inclue ESW Heavyweight, NSW Heavyweight, ESW Television, and NSW Cruiserweight. History:In the last couple of years, Lady Despair has realized that she is bisexaul. She has not told anyone in Shootclub afraid that people would treat her differently. But on occasion she will give small hints to her stable mates. Attitude by metallica is her music.Clothes: Out of ring Despair likes to wear black leather pants wit a purple & black medieval cross corset and spike leather high heel boots. For in the ring she wears black vinyl hot shorts with a black long sleeve fishnot top with a black lace bra under it and black platform shoes
Appearance: She stands at 6'0" with short blond hair wit dark red highlights and sparkling green eyes. Her make-up is light and natural looking, on her eyes a light shadow of brown with almost as light on her lips. She always wears a celtic cross around her neck to show her irish pride.
Her finisher is called hands of glory. The description is well, a chokeslam.
|
| Giggles |
February 24, 2003 |
Hometown:Juno, Alaska. Weight:416 Height:Not known, about 6'6.Discription:Why anybody on this planet would want to read my autobiography, I have no idea. I'm no superstar, I'm no legend, I'm lucky if I get myself tossed into a midcard match with the more popular wrestlers. The fact is, my contract has a clause for me to give you an autobiography, and so here it is. Marcus Hearing to Giggles, the journey from the Bronx to the big time. To the ESW. To wearing lipstick on my lips and blowing kisses at the handsome fellows in the crowd. I guess it may just be a good read, maybe it's worth your time to hear about how life pushes somebody around like the wind would to an autumn leaf.
Maybe this isn't worth reading at all.
But working on the idea that it is worth reading, here is the story. It starts off just like any other tale, with me living at home with my family. The Hearing Family. There was a time when people would hear about the Hearing family and not boo automatically, showing large signs about how much we suck, how I blow goats, blah blah blah. Of course, that was when me and my two brothers, Noel and Jack, could only start trouble in school, instead of in a ring. My father was a carpenter, my mother was a homemaker. My brothers played little league. I was the butterball young one. We were the portrait of the American family.
Portraits never do a good job of showing reality.
Most people are only vaguely interested in portraits.
Be that as it may, the Hearing family was just like those families you see on TV, the kind of family that sits around the dinner table eating roast beef and mashed potatoes, each member reciting the events of their day while everybody listened between chewing. My dad put the frame up for that arched doorway. My mom finally got that stain out of her favorite blouse. Jack passed that math test. Noel didn't. Brian Heinsler is still picking on me. I didn't tell anybody.
A lot of times, I hear people complaining about how their families are nothing like the ones you see on TV. As if we really want them to be. As if we want every day to be a shining example of how great it is to live life for the sake of a live studio audience, as if living the good life means that problems melt away every half hour.
As if insignificant moments pass on through during the commercial break.
The problem with living life like a TV family is that every day seemed exactly the same. In fact, life was so bland that there are entire years that seem like a big chunk of nothingness, where nothing significant happened whatsoever. Huge glopping portions of time that sloppily disappear like those mashed potatoes on my plate, leaving only a small bit of residue behind.
Only to be washed away.
And so during my senior year of high school, life was so boring that I could hardly find a reason to get myself out of bed in the morning. I could see exactly how my day would turn out by the time I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I would know what my mom would say to me before she even said it. I knew to brace myself right before I got up from the table, knowing that Noel was about to smack me in the back of the head. I knew everything before it even happened.
Not only was life TV, life was reruns. And so three months before it was time for me to graduate and go to work with my dad, I took the single most daring chance that I ever made in my entire life.
The type of chance somebody would take on TV.
A traveling circus act was in town and they were putting on a couple of shows in the park, a mere walking distance from my house. They came every year. Predictable as usual. But this time, I didn't go to see the bearded woman or the acrobats or even the elephants. I came to see the ringmaster. I remember asking a woman wearing a tight, revealing spandex outfit where to find him, and she pointed out a cruddy trailer with a screen door.
Stepping through that screen door was a lot like stepping through a portal to another dimension, life would never be the same.
He said he didn't really need anybody. I begged him. He said I didn't have any talents. I said I'd learn. He said I was too young. I said I was eighteen. I begged and pleaded and groveled for a chance at a new life, while he calmly puffed away on his cigar. He said I looked like trouble. I said I would look however he wanted me to. Just when I was pretty much ready to stop asking, he butted his cigar in his ash tray, rubbing it out until not a single strand of smoke came from it.
He slid the ashtray across his makeshift desk.
He told me to eat the cigar butt.
You would think that's the most disgusting thing I've ever done in my entire life. You would be mistaken. With the cigar butt in my mouth, I gently tested it with my tongue. The outside was sweet and sugary. I ground it up with my teeth, and all the saliva in my mouth was instantly absorbed by the dried tobacco leaves inside. It felt like I had a wad of bitter, crunchy cotton in my mouth.
He laughed.
He laughed really hard, his eyes occasionally returning to the look on my face.
He tossed me a water bottle and told me to rinse my mouth out.
He called me a damn fool.
From then on, I was the new geek for the Roland Sampson Traveling Circus.
You won't really find any geeks in the circus anymore. Nowadays, circuses are watered down family entertainment. Most people don't even know what a geek is. I do. I was one. A geek, for those of us that don't know, is a person who bites the heads off chickens, eats nails, pretty much putting anything in his mouth and swallows.
I bet you find that funny.
Of course, this was done purely for the shock value. In the northeast, most people have never even seen a live chicken, let alone a headless one. In other parts of the country, people knew exactly what it meant to have a chicken's head inside your mouth. It meant trouble. It meant filth. It meant you were an idiot. It meant you were one of the most psychotic people to have ever made the mistake of being born.
To me, if they fell for it, they were the idiots.
The trick was that none of it was real. We had rubber chickens with real feathers and heads made mostly of cheese. The head feathers were made of really thin sugar cane. The arms were constructed so that if you flung it around right, it looked like the chicken was flapping its wings. My job was to reach into a box of live chickens, pull out the fake one, fling it around to look like it was trying to fight me, and bite the head off.
They weren't real, but they still didn't taste so great.
When the circus would hit really rural areas, the places where everybody owned a farm, I wouldn't do my act. The problem was that there was one thing we couldn't fake. One thing every farmer would spot. That problem was that when I dropped the fake chicken on the ground, it wouldn't move. Real chickens, when you chop their heads off, move around for at least a minute. I'm serious. They jerk around on the ground, as if there's a spare head naturally kept in the chicken's body that is somehow trying to pop out.
Even the quickest ways of dying are pretty slow.
While traveling the country, I always kept it in the back of my mind that I had disappeared without a trace to the rest of my family. I pictured my mom crying. My dad calling the police. My brothers looking around the whole neighborhood, asking folks if they had seen me. Of course, I knew that none of it would really be like that. Not with a made-for-TV family like mine. I knew that they would simply go on with life without me, as if I had been cleverly written out of the script by some underpaid writer in his office.
To the Hearing family, I was an expendable character.
At the same time, I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. Even after I finally mustered up the courage to write them a letter, the guilt never went away. I felt like a deserter. I was their prodigal son. Their Benedict Arnold. No matter how many fake chicken heads, fake nails, fake rocks I ate, the guilt never went away. The empty void I felt inside couldn't be filled with a million fake chicken heads, but I guess that's always how these things go. That didn't stop me from eating every second of the day, though.
I thought I could drown my pain in grease.
I wished I could deep-fry my depression.
Put melted butter on top and sell it to hungry patrons.
Smother it in salt.
Whip it into the cotton candy.
When's the last time you've seen one of the circus performers eating the food they serve? A clown eating a hot dog? A bearded woman munching on some popcorn? I bet you never have. The thing is, all the circus performers know what the real deal is behind all that traveling circus food. The circus performers know how the leftover popcorn is thrown into big plastic garbage bags to be resold at the next show. How the soda machines never get cleaned. Ever. How the hot dogs get hauled around until they can't get passed off as hotdogs anymore.
How the bread would get so stale not even the chickens would eat it.
If you've ever seen the Roland Sampson Traveling Circus, then there's a chance you may have seen one performer eating the circus food. One performer loved the undercooked corndogs and cotton candy with bits of animal hair. That performer was me. After all, I was the geek, right? It didn't matter what I ate, as long as that food was going toward the great task of filling that empty void inside my body.
I was gaining weight so fast I would have to borrow pants from The Largest Man on Earth. Around my second year at the circus, things really began to pick up in terms of business. We had recruited a couple of stunt men who would ride their motorcycles off a thirty foot ramp and catch the hands of the trapeze artists above, just before their motorcycles would burst into flames below them. A lot of people would show up at each show, hoping to see something go terribly wrong.
Nothing ever goes wrong in the circus.
But when the crowd got bigger and bigger, I became more and more nervous. Once I almost bit the head off one of the real chickens by mistake. Every eye felt like a pin pricked into my skin, every tooth from every smile was like a five pound weight nestled in my stomach. Every crowd was filled with big happy faces, and every happy face was happy because of me.
Enough happy faces will drive anybody crazy.
So even as I hated stepping out into the center ring, even as I became more and more terrified of those big happy faces with their eyes made of needles, I did my job for two more years. What else was I supposed to do? Leave and go home? Type up my resume?
Job Experience: Biting the heads off fake chickens.
Was I supposed to go home to my long lost family? Explain how I was really sorry about leaving all those years ago, please take me back? I was stuck in the worst dead end job of my entire life, and I was going to do it until the day I died.
Then they made me a clown. Like I said before, the circus needed some smoothing out, and too many little kids were crying when I would bite the cheese heads off my chickens, so I needed to be a clown. As if I cared. Being a clown meant moving around. Smiling. Talking to people. Giving out balloons. That was all stuff I was terrible at. But when I was told to be a clown, I put on the makeup without a single complaint.
I'm lactose intolerant.
The thing about clowns is that nobody ever wants to go near them. Especially kids. People like clowns at a distance. A safe distance. The second you get too close, the little girl starts crying and the family walks away, making you feel like a monster. At the same time, you are a monster. You're a big colorful happy monster. One that used to bite the heads off chickens. The monster everybody laughs at to hide their fear.
Ironically, if I hadn't become a clown, I never would have become a wrestler. You see, a clown has to do a lot of physical humor. Things like falling down. Getting punched in the face. Lit on fire. Smashed with a giant mallet. Funny things like that. For two years, I was a clown. A big clown that laughed all day and cried all night.
A lactose intolerant clown.
Every couple of months, we kept getting flashier and flashier acts, so our shows kept getting bigger and better. We started a big tour heading up through Canada, into Alaska, and eventually into California. Everybody thought it was a great idea. Going into Canada would make us an international show. We could triple ticket prices and nobody would complain.
As if anybody really cared if the show was international.
And so we did it, putting on shows through Canada and into Juno. Putting on shows in Canada was tougher than we thought, though, because the Canadians didn't always know what we were talking about. Not only was there a different form of slang, but a lot of French as well. Heck, some of our act was cut short because they couldn't get passports. They were left behind.
Do you know the one thing about Canada that I hate? Not the syrup. Not the confusion between Canadian bacon and actual bacon. Not the lower drinking age. The one thing that drives me nuts about Canada is so horrible that I know for a fact I'll never go back, even if the SWA becomes Super Canadian Wrestling.
They put mayonnaise on their french fries. Every time I would go out to do my show, there was a million smiling faces eating their mayo fries like a bunch of fiends. Munching away. And to think, I was a geek. These people are putting mayo on their fries and I used to bite the heads off chickens. I pictured myself doing my act in front of them, what it would be like. Put a little mayo on that chicken head, eh? Finally we set foot once again on American soil, in the beautiful state of Alaska. This was supposed to be a really big deal. The Roland Sampson Circus returns to the USA. Nobody cared. The Alaskans didn't care. The Amazing Flarney didn't care. I certainly didn't care. Little did I know that this would be a big turning point in my life. The show that night was actually pretty good, and the circus was making cash like bandits. How many circus acts do you think go through Alaska? Not many. People were really laughing at me and the other clowns, they thought we were great. We were doing a bit where some clown bank robbers were robbing a clown bank. I was the hero clown who beats up the clown robbers and saves the clown money.
Even in the circus everything ends in violence.
After the show, we went around shaking hands and taking pictures and all that other stuff that nobody wants to do. Like I said, nobody would go near me because I was a clown. Something different happened this time, though. Something that had never happened to me beforehand. Something wild. A man in a suit came up to me with his hand outstretched.
I didn't know what he was doing.
He introduced himself.
I shook his hand.
His name was Tommy Chang, he owned and operated a show similar to the circus. He was interested in hiring me. He said I looked like I had a lot of charisma. Whatever that means. He said I looked like the perfect type to join his show. He said I would make more money. I wouldn't have to travel anymore. No more beating up bank robber clowns. No more Canadians with mayonnaise french fries. No more big smiling happy faces staring at me.
This man was my savior.
I agreed to work for him. I didn't even know what kind of show it was. I didn't care. I was that desperate to leave the circus. I took a ride with him. I didn't tell anybody I was going.
Sounds familiar?
Well it's not like I had a contract with the circus anyways. They could have cut me loose at any point if they wanted to. Those circus people are heartless. Tommy Chang took me to a mid-sized arena, the type our circus would have performed in right before we hit it big. He told me to check out the ring.
I didn't see a ring.
It was square.
It had ropes.
The only rings I knew were the rings from a three-ring circus.
He said he wanted me to be a wrestler. He said it was pretty much all the same as the circus, just that I would get hurt more. As if I wasn't hurting enough. He said people love wrestling around here, that it's where all the big bucks were. He was lying, but I didn't know that. I had already agreed, he could have told me I would have to wrestle a gorilla and I wouldn't have cared. I was freed from the circus. He pulled out a contract. He wrote my name at the top, then signed it himself at the bottom. I signed right next to his name. I didn't even see if the contract was written in English. He could have been the devil, I could have just sold my soul. I was a wrestler.
And so I was renamed Gonzo the Clown, and my days in the Alaskan Wrestling Federation began. I wrestled the likes of the Gremlin. Catfish, the guy that looked like a catfish. Tommy TuTone the double-crosser. Happy Jack Morrison. Jim Byrne. All these people you've probably never heard of, unless you're in Alaska and saw one of our shows.
Like I said, you've probably never heard of them. Imagine my surprise in my first match up with Happy Jack Morrison that I was really getting beaten. I'm serious. This guy was really hitting me. Really kicking me. He bit me. He dropkicked me. He climbed up the ropes and dropped his knee into me. I couldn't believe this. I was screaming for help, and everybody loved it. I looked out into the crowd for somebody to save me, somebody to keep this man from killing me.
What I saw was a sea of big happy smiley faces.
So finally, when this guy put me in something they call a full nelson, I grabbed him by the fingers and I twisted them. I twisted in all kinds of directions, feeling little things inside his hand snap this way and that. I held on with all my might. I squeezed until my knuckles were white hot. He dropped to his knees and yelped in pain, and the ref came over to check up on him. He was begging me to let go. I couldn't hear him, I was drunk off my own testosterone.
He submitted.
I won my first match.
I found out afterwards that as a big joke, the wrestlers of the AWF would really fight hard the first night. Sort of like a hazing process. I was part of the gang. It was my baptism. My first merit badge. My membership card. This ragtag group had become my new family, and for the first time in years I did something I thought I would never do.
I smiled without the makeup on.
It was that group of wrestlers that taught me everything I know about wrestling. How to smash somebody in the face with a chair. How to make the fans love you or hate you. How to bleed in the right places. How to clench your jaw when you fell on your face. How to sell a suplex without breaking your neck. They taught me everything. I was actually getting good. People cheered for me. I did a little dance. I made people laugh. I laughed too. Sometimes I would win. Other times I would lose.
And so I wrestled there for years. Years and years of Gonzo the Clown, selling moves to the other wrestlers, clamping on the Happy Fingers (my signature move), making the world a better place. It was the circus without the dead chickens. It was the laughter without the isolation. It was the companionship without the loneliness.
It was the violence without all that unnecessary filler.
I would have stayed there in the AWF, too. I felt no inclination to leave. We were doing really well, too. Our shows got better and better. Tommy Chang began writing scripts and storylines to go along with our matches. People began to know their favorite wrestlers well. People began buying some cheap merchandise we threw together. Things were looking up. The wrestlers were living nicer lives. We got our own lounge.
With a pool table.
And a vending machine.
And a jukebox.
And satellite TV.
We loved the satellite TV. We had an endless number of channels to watch. Whatever we wanted. We could watch Russian line dancing if we wanted to. What we loved the most, though, was that we could watch wrestling from anywhere in the country. We watched WNW. GAW. We watched more and more wrestling shows pop up. Luchadore wrestling in Mexico. PCW. It was the best way for us to learn new techniques, we'd just watch some other guy do them and then steal them. It was easy as pie. We watched ESW.
We loved ESW. I even got on the website and ordered myself an AFWA t-shirt. I still have it. Its armpits are stained so I really don't like to wear it. ESW was great. We tuned in every Monday night just to watch. We wrote down new moves to try on each other. We wrote down interesting little phrases to say during our promos. We were wrestling pirates. We were thieves.
Funny how things work out.
It was one of those Monday nights, watching ESW in the lounge together as we love to do, when this new guy was introduced. Muscular. Kinda rough around the edges. Talking a lot of trash. He looked vaguely familiar. I wasn't really paying attention, the vending machine ate my change and I didn't get my Snickers bar. That's when I heard it, though. Noel Hearing.
I wheeled around to look at the TV, and sure enough he was my brother. Older, tougher, meaner. I couldn't believe the shape he was in. Here I was, this giant fat mess, and my brother is ripped and on ESW TV. Everybody was asking me a million questions at once. Why didn't you tell us your brother was a wrestler? Why is he in so much better shape then you? Why are you in Alaska while he's in New York?
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
So I went online and looked up a phone number to call.
Then I called it.
It was just some guy on the other line trying to sell me some ESW merchandise. I told him that I was Noel Hearing's long lost brother. He didn't seem to care. I told him that I haven't spoken to my brother in years. He asked me if I wanted to buy anything. I told him I needed a number to get in contact with my brother. He told me there was a sale on Adam Edwards shirts. I said I wanted to be an ESW wrestler.
He hung up the phone.
I called night after night. It was the same guy over and over. This guy refused to tell me anything. He wouldn't let me talk to his manager. Every question I asked was answered with the price of some piece of garbage I didn't want to buy. He was really bugging the crap out of me.
Days became weeks.
Weeks became a month.
Finally he buckled down and gave me a number to call.
I called it.
I recognized the voice right away. It wasn't my brother, though. It was the man that was going to give me my big shot at stardom. The man who was going to launch my life forward. The man who pretty much ran things in the wrestling world. The one person who could possibly reunite me with my long-lost family.
I was speaking to The Icon.
He was actually interested in what I had to say. I told him I was a wrestler. That he hired my brother. That I watched him on satellite TV all the time. That I wanted to join the ESW. That I had experience. I told him every wrestling move I could do, right there over the phone.
I told him Canadians eat french fries with mayonnaise.
He said he would give me a shot. He said he needed to talk it over with his team first. He said they needed to find a way and work me into an angle. He said it would take a month or two. He said he wasn't promising anything big. He said he was going to give me a shot. That's it. Just a shot. He kept downplaying it. In hindsight, he could have been pulling my leg. He could have hung up and ended the whole thing. Fast forward two months and I'm sitting on a flight from Juno, Alaska to New York City. The first plane ride I've ever taken in my entire life. I hated it. I was nervous enough as it was without having to worry about being on a plane. I was so scared it made me sick. They had these convenient paper bags nearby to vomit into. Planned vomiting. Go figure.
This time, I told my friends I was leaving.
All I had known was that Noel was a wrestler there, some sort of macho tough guy with attitude taking on the more experienced wrestlers in the ESW. A month prior, Jack Hearing debuted on ESW TV. I was going to be the third Hearing in the ESW. I knew enough about the business to know some sort of family plot was developing. They were going to use the Hearing family. That's all I knew. Like Icon said, there were no promises. Only a shot.
I got my ride over to the main office of ESW. My face was plastered against the taxi window the whole time. I was home again. The main office was in the Bronx. There was the old park. My elementary school. There was the mall my brothers used to steal candy from. I was reunited with my past. I had come full circle. I was completely terrified.
The receptionist took me to a dressing room. She told me I was supposed to put on my wrestling attire. The Icon did this with everybody. The first thing he would do is look you over. Tell you to cut a promo. See how you looked. If you had what it takes. All this other stuff you hear people say when they talk about wrestlers. The receptionist also said that Jack and Noel were going to be there and see me. They were eager to be reunited.
And so there I stood in my clown suit, standing in front of the door to The Icon's office. Another portal to another dimension. I knew that behind that door stood my future, be it success or failure. I stepped inside.
I wanted to vomit but there were no convenient paper bags.
There sat The Icon, live and in person. On either side of him was Noel and Jack. My brothers. They weren't wearing their wrestling attire, but I was. The Icon was wearing a dress shirt. All six eyeballs were fixated on me. Looking me up and down. At my clown pants. My clown shirt. My big puffy clown hair. My clown face. My fat stomach.
I said hi.
The Icon burst out laughing, much like the ringmaster did when I had his cigar butt in my mouth. Noel and Jack remained motionless, simply staring at me. They looked like they were staring at a car wreck, trying to commit every horrible detail to memory to tell their friends about later. The Icon finally stopped laughing and wiped the tears from his eyes.
The funny thing about laughing and crying is they look the same with no sound.
My name is Marcus Hearing. My gimmick is that of Gonzo the Clown.
Noel spoke. You're not my brother. I said, what do you mean. My brother isn't a fat slob. My brother isn't some idiot in a clown suit. I said yes I am. He said there's no way his brother Marcus would let himself go like that. He said I'm some guy just trying to get a shot at a contract.
I said I'm your brother.
He said no you're not.
I said I'm Marcus.
Jack said there's no way.
I said I missed you guys.
They both yelled. You're not our brother.
They denied me three times.
They denied me more than that, too. The Icon said he loved it. He wanted to hire me anyways. He said we could work it into the angle. He said I couldn't be the clown. The clown thing had been done. He said he was tired of clowns. He said clowns scare kids.
I said I know.
So he just gave me a new name. He said let's call you Giggles. You can be freakish. Like a clown without the makeup. Eccentric. That sort of thing. I signed on the dotted line. I'm always signing things I don't read. It gives me a sense of adventure. Noel grumbled that I should sign my real name. I told him I did. I couldn't believe they didn't recognize me at all. Was I really that hideous? Was I so warped that my own family couldn't tell it was me, little Marcus, under all that flab?
Talk about your identity crisis.
Every now and then I think I've found myself.
Every now and then I taste other people's blood in my mouth.
I like it.
So now here I am, wrestling with my brothers, united with my family I've lost so long ago... and I'm still feeling like I've never left that circus.
So I beat people up to feel more at home. Now, I'm off to WFW. My music is Slow Ride-Foghat |
| Serj Tankian | February 25th, 2003 |
Hometown: Armenia, Turkey Age:35 Weight: 190 Height: 6'4 Description: He comes down to the ring with a system of a down shirt. That's fitting since he's the lead singer of the group. Every time he wrestles he sings a system of a down song. Under false representations he believes the fans hate him. The fans boo him after he accuses them of it. So, instead to spite the fans he sings rap songs. Sometimes their real, and others he makes them up. Bigraphy: He's just a singer. Brawler, heel, Finisher Name: The Rapper Finisher discription: It's a F-5. His entrance is sort of funny. Fir the site's purpose will play "Ariels" by System of a Down over the main page. |
| The Doc |
February 25th, 2003 |
Hometown: Bermingham, Alabama Age: 19 Weight:165 Height: 5'8 Discription: Very Athletic, but not the strongest. He is a brave indivitual.Biography:Before he began he was a street drag racer. He decided to join the WFW because he wanted to feel the fame.Music:Prision Song By System of a down. Finisher: Modified chicken wing |
|
| Thorn |
March 8, 2003 |
Hometown: Tokyo, Japan
Weight: 240 lbs
Height: 6'4
Profile: "Thorn is a former New Yorker who has traveled the world looking for his calling in life. He found what he calls his "Salvation" when he moved to Tokyo, Japan. There, he was mentored by Japanese hardcore legend Atsushi Onita. It's been said that Onita taught Thorn more than headlocks. Rumours are that Onita has taught Thorn the world of violence that Thorn has taken to heart. Fellow wrestlers beware, There's only one man who knows what Thorn is capable of, and that's Thorn himself."
Style of wrestling: Well-rounded
Heel
Finisher: Vertebreaker that he calls "The Last Rites"
Describtion: Black Boots, Tatoo on shoulder of Japanese symbol that means "Pain", physique like Chief Morley's, long dyed blonde hair, black leather jean shorts. He comes out wearing a black leather robe the Japanese symbol in back of it that means "Thorn"
Theme Music: Cold "Just got wicked" |
| Caleb "The Magnificant One" Morrison | March 17th, 2003 |
Hometown: Detroit, Michigan
Weight: 244 lbs.
Height: 6'3"
Age: 27
Bio & Description: I'll send this later
Best Described as: Well-rounded.
Alignment: Face
Finisher: The Malevolent Buster (a reverse spine buster off the ropes)
Other Moves: The Maul (top rope spear), the jackknife powerbomb, and the spinning sideslam are other notable moves used by him. |
| Your name could be here |
The date you signed up |
Your bio |
