Frenchie vs. Mayweather

CHRIS FINN: “Hello everyone! And welcome to a very special Wednesday Webcast. I’m Chris Finn, and as always, I sit alongside my cohort in crime, Matthew Zhuk.”

MATTHEW ZHUK: “That’s a turn of phrase. You never go out pilfering with me.”

FINN: “You never invite. Fans of the Fans Wrestling Organization…”

ZHUK: “He’s not talking to our enemies.”

FINN: “We have had two internet champions defending their titles here on our weekly webcast, and so far the champion’s prevailed in three of the four contests.

ZHUK: “That’s right. Last week, Frenchie defeated newcomer luchador/puro athlete, JET Naito. And remember Chris, Frenchie could cash in any of his other four title shots at any moment. Perhaps he gets on the mic and demands Keith Scott Zimmerman in the middle of the ring. Keith isn’t here… would that means he forfeits?”

FINN: “I’m sure Frenchie asked that very question before he steps through these entrance curtains. But before the Frenchie was champion, there was an Internet champion by the name of Max Danger. The Dangerman successfully defended the belt against go the opportunistic Jade Argent and the incredibly incompetent Mega Job, before losing the belt in a rescheduled match. Max Danger was set to face Ruben Ross, but Ross was not available. Brawn stepped in, and we had a new Internet Champ.”

ZHUK: “Didn’t last long, did it Finn?”

FINN: “Let’s take it to tonight’s challenger, the Tiny Attorney, one half of Team VIAGRA 1.2, Mary-Lynn Mayweather.”

ZHUK: “Oooh.”

FINN: “Put down those X-Ray glasses. They don’t even work.”

**********
"Hi there!" Mary-Lynn stated with bright rosey cheeks and an upturned grin. Her emerald eyes were bulged, as she dusted off her suit skirt. The deep crimson red of her jacket contrasted with the muted FWO colors on the hanging tarp behind her.

She smiled wide to the camera and waved, arms outstretched. "Internet viewers! Oh the internet is so expansive, isn't it? Just the other day I had a man IM me and ask a/s/l. He was 98 and from Thailand. I'd never talked to someone that old before! And to think, he could have been lying to me all along." She shook her head. "The anonymonimity of the internet is a strange thing, not just for society but for law. Which, I guess, laws allow us society by restricting freedom. And the internet is like a world without rules, without society, at least without justice and without persecution. I don't know if I'm exactly the poster child for the internet, the anything goes nature of the world wide web..." Mary frowned off screen. "No I shant call it a series of tubes. Cause it's not a series of tubes. There are no tubes in Japanese subway lines but people can use their cell phones down there."

Mary got into a huff, "You know what? I don't even know if I want to be champion of this so called inter-web if I can't have the belt when I ride a subway. It's all I ride!" Mary-Lynn shrugged and smiled knowingly and very coy toward the camera. "But I guess we'll cross that bridge after tonight's match. Mr. French? Get ready for the tiniest attorney."

**********

“Hyper Music” by the Muse eeked it’s way over the PA system, as a light red fog raised from the ramp way. Walking out from the entrance curtain was the spunky challenger, Mary-Lynn Mayweather. She clutched a clipboard to her chest as she cautiously made her way down the ramp to ringside.

Behind her was her mentor, one of her three trainers, and the former FWO Heavyweight champion, High Flyer. High Flyer was like a proud father pushing his child on a bicycle, edging her inch by inch to her eventual destination. Conflict, with the Frenchiest Frenchman alive. He wore a home made “KILL FRENCH DEAD” t-shirt, covered by an unbutton Philadelphia Phillies Ibanez jersey.

As Mayweather climbed the steel steps, Flyer hopped onto the apron and pushed the bottom rope down for her to make her entrance. She looked down at his gesture, and returned a glare to him, before hopping quickly over the top rope and landing on her feet.

Without her high heels, Mayweather’s head barely rose about the ring ropes. Flyer dropped down, and headed over to the commentary booth, grabbing a headset.

FINN: “Well this is a pleasant surprise. Former Heavyweight Champion High Flyer. How are you tonight?”

FLYER: “Well. Doin’ well. Just waitin’ to see lil’ ol Red Raspberry over there kick some foreigner in the face.”

FINN: “You failed in your chance to recover the-“

FLYER: “Finn. This is Mary’s time to shine. I didn’t come out here to over shadow her. I came here to support her.”

Cue Juke Joint Jezebelle. Cue the Internet Champion.

Welcome, the Frenchie.

He stood tall and proud on the ramp way, high above the roaring crowd. He gave them a flash of a smile, just long enough for a cheap pop to be heard. Frenchie strutted his way down to ringside area, and cautiously climbed onto the apron. He dusts himself off, and noticed Flyer by the commentator’s booth.

FINN: “Looks like Frenchie wants you to… is he suggesting you help him enter the ring like a woman?”

FLYER: “Looks like he’s makin’ fun of my girl.”

ZHUK: “Admit it. That was kind of chauvinistic.”

Frenchie tossed his head back in a laugh and entered the ring. Mayweather was bouncing from foot to foot, warming up her ankles and her feet for her one advantage. Speed.

As Frenchie gave one last look at his reflection inside the Internet Championship and handed it over to Junior Official Josh Klein, the bell rang… *DING DING DING*

FINN: Mayweather rushing toward Frenchie, no time. French misses a clothesline. Back off, Mayweather whiffs on an elbow.

The crowd let out an “Oomph,” as Frenchie grabbed at the petite red head’s hair, sending her crashing to the mat, back first.

FLYER: “OH, COME ON! Get in there ref! Do your fraking job!”

Frenchie lifted MLM to her feet and slammed a hard forearm into her back. She crashed back down to the canvas. The four time Heavyweight Champion lifted Mayweather back by her suit skirt, and slammed another elbow into her back. Mayweather fought back the third time she was lifted, rights and lefts. Frenchie leaned forward, hooking her head in a side headlock.

ZHUK: “You don’t honestly think this girl, who’s barely the size of my steak dinner every Tuesday Night, has any chance against the experience, the strength, the charisma of the Flying Frenchie?! Do you truly and utterly believe that Mary-Lynn Mayweather can become the Internet Champion.”

FLYER: “Don’t sell her short Zhuk. You know as well as I that any night can see the unexpected happen. You expect Brawn to beat someone like Max Danger for the Internet Title?! Max has beaten me the only time we’ve faced. He’s a multiple time Heavyweight Champion. Just because he didn’t win it here doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Frenchie/Mayweather is very much like Danger/Brawn.”

ZHUK: “But… Brawn’s a guy.”

FLYER: “And so’s your husband.”
Frenchie lifted the petite attorney in the air for a delayed vertical suplex. Her skirt suit flips upside down, revealing a wrestling singlet underneath. A few woots and hoots from the crowd are heard. Frenchie smiled, wide, before driving her back first into the mat.

FINN: “All that blood rushing to Mayweather’s head. That impact is just multiplied ten fold!”

FLYER: “C’mon Lynn! Get up!”

ZHUK: “If you wanna cheerlead my girlfriend has an outfit for you.”

FLYER: “How nice of him.”

Frenchie on top with a nonchalant cover.

One.
Two.
Th-No. Shoulder tossed up. Frenchie doesn’t let up. He grabbed Mayweather by her hair and body slams her into the mat. With a quick motion, he ascended the nearest turnbuckle. Camera bulbs flashing, the crowd on their feet, Frenchie pointed to the heavens, and then descended from grace.

FINN: “GUIOLLTINE LEG DRO-“

FLYER: “YEAH!”

FINN: “Mayweather rolls out of the way, and Frenchie eats nothing but canvas! Oh he’s gonna feel that in the morning.

As Frenchie covered his tailbone in pain, Mayweather quickly shot off the opposite ropes and charges. She crossed both arms over her chest, and caught Frenchie on both sides of his face with a double elbow. Frenchie sprawled backward, doing a full back roll. Frenchie stumbled into the corner, Mayweather charged and jumped on his shoulders. Frenchie tossed her off, Mayweather back flipping and landing on her feet. Mayweather charged again for a high angle splash in the corner and Frenchie sidestepped, sending her crashing into the turnbuckle padding face first. Mayweather stumbled out, and Frenchie waited, catching her with a snap superkick to the Tiny Attorney’s jaw.

FINN: “Mary-Lynn has been flattened by one of the greatest FWO wrestlers of all time.”

FLYER: “But she’s not out yet Finn. She avoided the leg drop, that’s the key so far in this matchup. C’MON MARY!”

ZHUK: “*scoffs* Jeez. Bias much?

Frenchie lifted Mayweather to her feet and kicked her in the gut. He placed her between his legs and then lifted her. Her skirt overflowed again, and the crowd got a kick, as the Frenchie hooked a leg in addition. He dropped MLM square on her head in a cradle piledriver, as the Raspberry one flopped onto the canvas.

Frenchie dove on top with a nonchalant cover, free hand in the air counting along.

One.
Two.
Thre-NO! Mayweather gets a shoulder up.

FINN: “Frenchie is definitely surprised at the spunk of your protégé Fly.”

FLYER: “Should never count out the determination and drive of a fiery Italian woman.”

Frenchie reached down and yanked Mayweather up onto his shoulders. He paraded her around the ring a little bit, before driving her head first into the canvas with a death valley driver. Mayweather once again fell to the canvas, sprawled out, arms out stretched. Frenchie rolled over back first, once again with a nonchalant cover.

One.
Two.
Thr-NO! Mayweather hooked Frenchie’s free counting arm with her legs and grabbed the other one with her arms, rolling him over into a crucifix.

One.
Two.
Th-NO! Frenchie back rolled out of it. Returns to his feet, only to eat another small package from the Tiny Attorney.

One.
Two.
Frenchie tossed a shoulder up. Both wrestlers recover. Frenchie whiffs on a clothesline, only to eat a stiff forearm to the spine of his back, aimed at his kidney’s. Frenchie fell forward to his knees. Mayweather reached up and hammerlocked a prone Frenchie. Standing above him, she leapt into the air and curled her knees into a fetal position. As she landed, she spun the Frenchie so that his back would snap onto her knees just as her back splashed onto the canvas.

FLYER: “JEEZ! I’ve never seen her do that before! I don’t even know what that is! Like a spinning codebreaker or something.”

FINN: “It’s a move from Japan. I believe it was made popular by independent star Conrad Kennedy III and Japan star Phil Atlas. OH-Standing Shooting star press! This could be it!”

One.
Two.
Frenchie got up a shoulder. An audible pound of a palm on a table is heard through the commentator’s microphones.

FLYER: “Thought she had him.”

FINN: “Mayweather, looks like she’s tuning up the locomotive, is she not?”

FLYER: “Sure Finn. Taught this to her myself. But she won’t inherit the name. Calls the damn thing M-Kicked.”

ZHUK: “Disapprove? Better than calling your move TRAIN.”

Frenchie recovered to his feet, and as he turned to see a charging Mayweather, he had just barely enough time to dive down to the ring, avoiding the Yakuza kick blow.

FINN: “How exactly is Mayweather going to his her M-Kicked on someone such as a Deacon or a Vince Jacobs exactly?”

FLYER: “I’m surprised she tried it against Frenchie. You saw she leapt into the air to perform it, that leaves her quite vulnerable.

Mayweather had indeed leapt into the air to perform the maneuver, and whiffed completely. Had MLM not been quite so graceful, she would have no doubt tumbled through the ropes and to the outside. Instead, she landed on the middle rope, and flipped for an Asai moonsault. Frenchie recovered, and caught the petite one on his shoulders in a powerslam position. He rolled her off his shoulders so he was hugging her body, and delivered a picture perfect tombstone piledriver, dead center of the ring.

FINN: “Mayweather doing what she can, but Frenchie too strong. And now he’s going up.”

FLYER: “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go shove him off his high horse.”

An audible sound of the microphone dropping is heard.

FINN: “Wait! You can’t!”

ZHUK: “What’s the crazy man doing?”

Flyer rushed around the ring at a breakneck speed, and leapt onto the apron. As he reached out to disrupt Frenchie’s flight, he found he was a second too late. The Flying Frenchie soared, landing square on Mayweather’s jaw with his patented Guillotine Leg drop.

The count was academic.

One.

Two.

Three.

FINN: And the Flying Frenchie has successfully retained. Wait, what is this?

The Flying Frenchie had turned his back to the action, instead appealing to the time keeper to return his Internet Championship. High Flyer had entered the ring, and looked furious for whatever reason. Eyes bulging, he stared daggers at the Frenchie. TFF turned, and saw Flyer’s gaze, and prepared himself for yet another fight.

With a sigh and a lowering of his shoulders, Flyer dropped down to his knees at the side of Mayweather. He began to check her vision and her cognizance. Frenchie, meanwhile, dropped out of the ring and figured celebrating would best be done up the entrance ramp.

FINN: Mayweather certainly showed something, but it’s the Flying Frenchie. A living legend, and STILL, your Internet Champion. Join us next week, as... Mega Job?! Oh Lordy. Exclusively, on www.thefwo.com.