Sonichu What if Chris owned a pro wrestling company? CWC - Champions of World Combat -

[Le Bateleur]

Hello all.

In this preamble I shall explain that this is my first attempt at writing fan-fiction, and that I'm shy about posting it, and other such self-deprecating insecurities.

This aside, I would genuinely welcome feedback of all natures. Especially praise.

The following is my re-imagining of the Sonichu universe. Rather than the city of CWCville, Chris presides over America's #1 professional wrestling federation - Champions of World Combat.

Sonichu and the Chaotic Combo are the most prominent babyface (good-guy) wrestlers at the company, and naturally they are often booked to win matches and look invincible and awesome. The heel (bad guy) wrestlers are villains from the Sonichu comics, and/or various well known trollsonas from Christian's online existence.

Professional wrestling is, of course, pre-determined. I thought the role of pro wrestling booker (person who decides who will win and lose, and under what circumstances) is a good parallel to Chris' role as creator of the Sonichu canon - in both cases he decides what goes on, and theoretically should do this in a way which will entertain an audience. The extent to which he succeeds may vary in this fiction compared to real life. I'm interested in the concept, often discussed on these boards, that Chris has outgrown or abandoned Sonichu.

What I intend to happen here (spoilers) is Chris being forced to choose between his favourite creation and a fanbase who are fed up with the bland, ever-victorious superhero which Sonichu has become.

Anyhow, here is the first chapter. We join the action in mid-March. The CWC promotion are in the busiest period of their year; the Backyard Safari pay-per-view event is in the books, and the build is on to their marquee annual show: Amnyfest.

 

[Le Bateleur]

Spoiler: Chapter 1 - Things Have Begun

Christian and the Hedgehog Boys will rock the world!
Christian and the Hedgehog Boys will rock a world!
Yeah!
Oh, yeah!

As the music died away, a brash voice rang out around the arena

"Hey guys, gals, dudes and dudettes of aaaaaaaaallllll ages! Where in the wide world of sports entertainment are we? We're rockin' hawt right here at the CWC Cola Centre in Clarksville, Ten-uh-see! Y'all know me as Jamsta Sonichu, da DJ with da powAHHHH! This right here to my left is my main diggity-dawg -"

A far less enthusiastic voice momentarily took over, before Jamsta's bray returned

"Bill Schwartz..."

"and you are live and locked in to the slammin', jammin', all-action wrasslin' juggernaught that is the C-to-tha-W-to-tha-C! Yep - we're on TV!"

Jamsta held on to the last syllable of 'TV' for a long time, joined by some of the younger members of the crowd.

"Tonight's broadcast is brought to you by Q-Sands! Q-Sands - take the taste, any place!. So Bill, how does it feel to be back here in fan-tabulous Clarksville?"

As he said the name of the town, the anthropomorphic hedgehog stuck both his gloved hands in the air and gave a cheesy thumbs-up, drinking in the cheap pop from the crowd, and in particular from a section just behind the announcers' table which was occupied by a group of similar hedgehog creatures.

"Well Jamsta, this town of course has a lot of good memories for me. A lot of good memories."

A brief chant of "Doctor Bill! Doctor Bill!" broke out, which Schwartz acknowledged with a nod and a small smile as he continued.

"But tonight is about the road to Amnyfest, and it's going to be intense."

"Speaking of electric" blurted Jamsta, in one of the botched segue attempts which had earned him a cult internet following "let me introduce a hero who needs no introduction. B-boys and fly-girls, it's Mr Electricity himself...still the CWC True and Honest Champion...SONICHUUUUUUU!"

The giant CWCvision screens each side of the entrance ramp began to flash with CGI bolts of lightning as 'Sonichu Zip' pealed out at high volume from the arena PA

S-O-N-I-C-H-U!
S-O-N-I-C-H-U!
Go! Go! Go! Go!
Let's zip!

A phosphate-yellow bipedal hedgehog walked out onto the ramp. Even accounting for his pointed, black-tipped ears, he could not have exceeded 5'5" in height. He wore a white t-shirt, with the slogan 'BORN FROM ENERGY' in gothic lettering, and a red pair of shiny, tight wrestling trunks. These trunks were barely visible beneath an enormous golden championship belt, engraved with a child-like representation of his own face.

The crowd were on their feet. Families, groups of young teenagers and every hedgehog present seemed to be singing along and waving. The older sections of the crowd waved too, but tended only to use a single finger on each hand. All the while, Sonichu posed and flexed at the top of the ramp, a microphone in his hand.

Conquer trouble!
Save you all, and zip away!

"Hey folks! How y'all doing down here in Clarksville?"

The reaction was certainly louder than the one Jamsta received, and decidedly mixed. Enthusiastic, high-pitched chants of "So-ni-chu" competed with deeper, mocking refrains of "Reeee-colour".

"Today is a real special day. I know for all of y'all it's special, seeing as how y'all get to see me and the rest of the Chaotic Combo demonstrate of our elbow-greased strength in this very ring!"

Sonichu pointed dramatically to the wrestling ring set up in the centre of the arena.

"And for me it's also a very special day." Sonichu did his best to affect coyness - stood as he was, on a stage, under a spotlight, wearing a large golden belt with his face on it.

"It's my birthday. And let me tell you- good golly!" Sonichu's train of thought was interrupted by a pair of stage technicians who entered the arena from a side entrance, wheeling a trolley upon which stood an enormous white cake. They dragged the cake around ringside until it was positioned at the bottom of the entrance ramp.

"Is that for me! Oh boy! I...I don't know what to say. I'd have...I would've...I wasn't expecting this."

Sonichu dashed down the ramp, microphone still in his hand, eager to inspect the cake - which was easily as tall as he was.

"What a cake! It's got frosting, it's got..."

Sonichu was puzzled by the oversized, dark green candles which were placed at intervals along the cake's outside edge. He pulled one off, looked it over, and sniffed at it.

"PICKLES! Whaaaat?"

Recoiling physically from the tainted confection, all Sonichu's excitement turned instantly to confusion and disgust. A murmur flitted around the audience, turning into a low, excited buzz as a mop of spiky black hair rose slowly through the icing on top of the cake. The inky spikes were followed by a very orange face, standing out in sharp contrast against the white icing of the rapidly-collapsing cake.

An explosion of noise from the crowd accompanied the man raising himself up to his full height. Sonichu stumbled backwards and lost his footing, his fall broken sharply by the metal barrier between ringside and the seating area. The figure rising from the cake wore a white wing collared shirt, without any sleeves. A black bow tie was draped, un-knotted, around his neck. His black formal trousers were cut off almost as soon as they began, showing his legs to be almost the same shade as his arms and face.

After a good minute or so, the crowd finally simmered down. The heavily-tanned newcomer stepped through the wreckage of the cake to the arena floor, taking the microphone from Sonichu's unresisting grasp. Raising it to his lips, he began to sing in a breathy, seductive voice.

"Happy birthday - to you. Happy birthday - to you. Happy birthday - Mr Sonichu. Happy birthday - to youu-"

As he sang, he moved slowly closer toward the electric hedgehog, using his free hand to rub stray specks of icing into his bare legs and arms. At the end of the song, the tangerine troubadour's final note was interrputed as his microphone was abruptly cut off. After a second of dead air, a hard rock riff began to pump over the sound system.

Everyone in attendance knew what this meant - Revive Zordon was one of the most recognisable theme songs in all of pro wrestling, signalling the arrival of the owner, chief writer, head booker and sometime heavyweight champion of America's #1 wrestling promotion - Mr Christian Weston Chandler.

Chandler strutted out onto the ramp: a portly man in his early thirties, his dark brown hair beginning to recede, dressed in one of his trademark oddly-coloured suits - this one a blue and red horizontal pinstripe. His walk was purposeful, his countenance was serious and businesslike, his voice was unexpectedly nasal and pitchy.

"That's enough of you, Clyde Cash, with your DAMN, DIRTY PROMOS! You're just a dang lowlife!"

During the frequent pauses in Chandler's delivery, a few solitary voices in the crowd could be heard to call out "JULAY!"

"You failed in the..in the...you and your trollin' stupid friends LOST! The name and the concept of the match we had at the...at the Backyard Safari PPV was the Loser Leaves CWC match, and you...you lost the match, and so you gotta leave. And if you were any...were any kinda man you'd have left already an' you wouldn't be here. This is my company, this is my show, GET OUT."

As he listened to Chandler's demands, Clyde pursed his lips and leaned against the barricade, waiting until Chandler ran out of breath before replying.

"Hello there, Chris. How've you been?" His tone was warm, but with an undercurrent of condescension.

"Never you mind! Get out!"

"Oh, I'm going, don't worry. I just thought I'd extend you an invitation of sorts."

"I'm gonna be very social and civil about it. Goodbye."

"I think you'll want to hear this invitation, Mr Chandler."

"No I won't. Sonichu, get him!"

Sonichu had recovered from the triple ordeal of having touched a hated pickle, Clyde emerging from the cake, and the disturbing personalised birthday greeting. At his father's command he leaped toward Clyde, swinging his fist upward to deliver his signature Sky Uppercut. Clyde quickly sidestepped the attack and jabbed at his opponent, catching Sonichu squarely in what would be a human's solar plexus. Sonichu bent forward in pain, and Clyde draped one leg over the back of Sonichu's neck.

"Ohhhhhhh" The crowd's yell of expectation reached a crescendo, and Clyde brought his standing leg up to join the other, falling backward and driving Sonichu face-first into unyielding concrete. This was his finishing move - the 'Cash Out' - and it drew the usual loud reaction from the audience. Clyde got to his feet and looked up the ramp at Chandler. Sonichu lay motionless.

"You said "get him," I figured as much." Clyde bent to address his fallen oppenent. "So, happy birthday." He turned back to Chandler. "As I was saying...I think you ought to invite me and the rest of the Miscreants to join in all the fun at Amnyfest!"

"And why should I do that?!" Chandler's voice was a reedy explosion of outrage.

"We do have fun, Chris - you have to admit, we do have some fun. Without us, Amnyfest will be an Amnesiafest - not memorable. You book us, and we'll show the crowd the sort of good time they haven't seen since you came down here to Clarksville and bought out a little company called 4-cent Garbage!"

At this point, Clyde was drowned out by a thunderous chant of "4-C-G!". Eventually, the volume reduced to a level which Clyde could talk above.

"You make a big deal about a family product, something for ages 7-and-up, but we all know that what everyone really wants is some good, clean garbage wrestling!"

There was more chanting, and another pause.

"We want tables! We want chairs! We want light-tubes and barbed wire and old wooden fencing! Come on - the Chaotic Combo vs Team Trollin' Train at Amnyfest. It'll be so cash!"

Chandler's face turned scarlet, and he strode down the ramp toward the announcers' table. He waved at Bill Schwartz to get up, and picked up the vacated office chair, hoisting it with effort above his head. The announcers' table microphones picked up his ragged-breathed shouting.

"YOU ARE WEAK, CLYDE CASH! Weak, and trollin' stupid. Ya want chairs? I got chairs! And I got my true blue security team!"

A quartet of blue-uniformed guards emerged from a side entrance, and Clyde vaulted the metal barrier and disappeared through the crowd, Chandler's nasal tones following after him.

"You wanna see real muscles? Check these out! But anyway, enough said about me. This guy is really weak. Stay tuned for another piece."

The TV feed cut to a commercial.



Two neighbours were mowing their respective lawns, looking hot and bothered from the hard work. After a moment, their respective wives brought each of them a large glass of orange Fanta. The first man pulled out a very thin straw and struggled to drink a satisfying amount of Fanta. The second man smiled and produced an enormous red drinking straw, through which he rapidly drained his glass.

CWenchers - first for thirst!

 

[exball]

How the fuck did fatty become a hulkamaniac?

 

[Dr. Meme]

I'LL BREAK YOU DEAD

 

[Le Bateleur]

How the fuck did fatty become a hulkamaniac?

ICOPRO

 

[Le Bateleur]

I'LL BREAK YOU DEAD

That'll almost certainly be the name of Chris' finisher; still trying to figure out a suitably unathletic move for him to use, though...

 

[BatNapalm]

 

[Seahorses]

4 1/2 stars out of 5 because it wasn't in the Tokyo Dome.

 

[A-Stump]

Probably the least autistic Sonichu fanfic

 

[Le Bateleur]

So, without further ado:

Spoiler: Chapter 2 - Electric Rosechu

As the commercial break finished, and a brief CWC - Yep We're' on TV' title card was shown, DJ Jamsta addressed the audience. His usual clanging exuberance was missing, although his dated slang persisted.

"So, I've got the skinny from the EMTs, and I'll give it to ya straight. My homeslice Sonichu took a most bogus beatdown just now from that whack-daddy Cash. He took a lickin' but he kept on kickin'- he's gonna be A-OK once the doctor dudes get a chance to do their fixin', but it doesn't look like he'll be given the ol' thumbs-up to compete later tonight. Bill, you're a sawbones, can you give us more of a low-down?"

"Well Jamsta" began his colleague "as you might infer from the fact that I'm colour commentating at a wrestling show, it has been a while since I was practising medicine. Although, I do recall the consensus among Emergency Room physicians being that it's better to avoid having your face come into sudden contact with the floor.”

"Uh-huh..." as usual, Bill Schwartz's dry sarcasm sailed smoothly over Jamsta's head.

"However, I have to say that Sonichu has shown in the past that he can bounce back from injuries much quicker than any kind of logic suggests he ought to, so I wouldn't rule anything out."

"As you say, Bill, the show must go on! Y'all should recall that at the Backyard Safari PP-Vizzle we crowned a box-fresh Transcontinental Champion. Well tonight, the former champion has invoked the clause that gives pause - can I hear a RE-MATCH? And just to add an extra pinch of spice, the new champion of course is Sonichu's very own heartsweet, the ravishing Rosechu! What do you think, Bill - will Rosechu be extra fired-up after what she just saw happen to her man?"

"You'd need a microscope to locate the amount of thought I've given it, Jamsta." Bill had long ago noticed that, provided the tone and cadence where what he was expecting, Jamsta paid no attention to the actual wording of Bill's comments, plunging instead ever onward with his own line of thought.

"My sentiments exactly, Bill! We go over now to ringside to mah main squeeze, the luscious Lo-lisa!"

“The following contest is set for one fall, and is for the CWC Transcontinental Championship! Making her way to the ring...from Cwcville, Virginia – the Incredible Lioness...Rosechu!”

The entrance ramp flooded with thick smoke, and the lights changed to a hot pink wash. Rosechu's music kicked in – an ominous metal rendition of In the Hall of the Mountain King. Many in the rowdy, smarkish sections of the crowd thrust their hands forward, their index fingers making the sign of the cross – the universal ham actor's gesture for repelling the unholy.

Through the roiling candy-floss clouds strode a terrible sight. Standing 4'8” tall, and easily this wide at the shoulders, the beast must once have been a hedgehog creature similar to Jamsta or Sonichu. Years of weightlifting, quite blatantly assisted by some form of growth hormone, had built an intimidating mass of lean muscle wrapped in cable-like veins, which protruded even through a coat of pink fur.

This, then, was Rosechu – Incredible Lioness, Tenth Wonder of the World, Sonichu's beloved heartsweet. Her biceps were easily thicker than her husband's thighs, her thighs comfortably the thickness of his torso. Her skimpy, feminised outfit was a study in denial of her Herculean physique – she wore a skin-tight, white tube top and a matching pair of short wrestling trunks (although these were noticeably looser-fitting). On her legs she sported a pair of white cotton socks which came up to her gargantuan thighs. On her head, above her lantern jaw and bloodshot eyes, she wore a jaunty pink satin bow. Over her left shoulder was draped a championship belt with an octagonal silver faceplate.

Brave were the hands and few which were offered for Rosechu to high-five by the ringside crowd as she loped to the ring. Mothers told young children that it was rude to point, and OK to be afraid sometimes. With a minimum of effort, Rosechu scaled the ring steps, vaulted the top rope and climbed a turnbuckle, posing and flexing until her music faded.

“And her opponent...from Harlem, New York...Jerkhief!”

High up near the arena roof, a disco ball began to revolve. Down the ramp marched a tall, powerfully built man, dressed in a brown uniform which looked as if it might have been designed for the Idi Amin of store detectives. His soulful theme song was a crowd favourite.

Who is the black Jerkop chief who makes the ladies all say “please”?

“Jerkhief!” roared the crowd.

You're damn right! Who is the man who would risk his neck for his brother man?

“Jerkhief!”

Can you dig it? Who's the 'kop who won't cop out, when there's danger all about?

“Jerkhief!”

Right on! You see, this cat Jerkhief is a bad mother-

“Shut your mouth!” the call-and-response entrace was normally well-received, and the Clarksville crowed seemed particularly into the audience participation.

But I'm talkin' about Jerkhief!

“Then we can dig it!”

He's a complicated man
But his wooden badge is delicious!

“JOHN JERKHIEF!”

Stepping through the ropes into the ring, Jerkhief shrugged off his cod-military jacked and removed his peaked cap to reveal a close-cropped haircut. Drawing himself up to his full height, he stared down at Rosechu, a good foot-and-a-half below. Noticing the TV camera pointing in their direction, a man in the crowd help up a home-made sign reading “Roidschu”.

The bell rang, and the two combatants locked up. Their first exchange made it clear that this was not going to be a technical wrestling clinic. A brief struggle for advantage ended with Jerkhief bringing an elbow down on Rosechu's skull, then laying her out with a knee lift.

The pink hedgehog was grounded for a split second before kipping straight back up – right into a running clothesline from Jerkhief. This time Rosechu was down for long enough for her opponent to stomp on her a couple of times before she rolled out of the ring to recover.

“That's a yellow-bellied way to fight!” Among DJ Jamsta's virtues was the fact that he never pretended to be impartial in his commentary. “Is that what they teach you at the Jerkop Academy? Kick 'em when they're down?”

“I'm more interested in what Rosechu is up to.” countered Bill Schwartz. “She's the champion – if she stays outside the ring and gets herself counted out, she'll hold on to the title.”

“Well, even so, she'd be playing by the rules!” retorted the hedgehog in the sunglasses. There was a marked difference between Jamsta the broadcaster and Jamsta the commentator – while both had a somewhat dated style, the all-pervasive goofy slang was only really present under the first of the two circumstances.

As the referee's count reached eight, Rosechu slid back into the ring. Jerkhief struck a mocking pose and motioned for her to come at him. She did so, barrelling across the ring with a speed which took her opponent by surprise, allowing her to lift him bodily and slam him back-first into the corner.

With Jerkhief winded and penned in, Rosechu battered his abdomen with a string of open-hand chops, rounding off her assault with a crunching elbow strike to his sternum. Then, with an ease which belied the fact that Jerkhief weighed in excess of 300lb, Rosechu lifted and rotated her foe 180 degrees, handing him upside-down from the ropes. Stepping back, she blew a kiss to the crowd before delivering her signature dropkick, clocking Jerkhief full in the face.

“There's the Sourbolt!” crowed Jamsta. “Officer down!”

Rosechu dragged Jerkhief away from the corner before covering him for the pin. The referee's count reached two before Jerkhief kicked out.

“Jerkhief hangs on! What will Rosechu do next?” exclaimed Jamsta as Rosechu bounced off the ring ropes, building momentum for another attack – momentum quickly lost as she ran straight into a big boot from Jerkhief.

“It might be a good idea to count her teeth” observed Bill.

Jerkhief pulled his fallen opponent up into a sitting position, and knelt down behind her, applying a sleeper hold. Rosechu struggled in his grip, but eventually powered her way to her feet, an elbow to Jerkhief's stomach enough to make him break his hold.

Rosechu rounded on the Jerkop and caught him with a right hook to the head. Jerkhief reeled backward but kept his feet, then stepped forward to deliver a punch of his own, which had a similar effect on Rosechu.

“Back and forth they go – trading blows, locked in gladitorial combat!”

Stepping forward and underneath a haymaker, Rosechu lifted Jerkhief onto her shoulders and carried him toward the edge of the ring, allowing him to fall neck-first onto the top rope.

“Ooh. That'll take the wind out of your sails!” Jamsta seemed very proud of his quip.

While Jerkhief rolled around the mat in agony, clutching his throat, Rosechu smiled and waved at the crowd. As with Sonichu, the reaction was mixed, and split roughly along age and gender lines: young kids and their mothers cheered for her, teenagers and men rooted for her opponent.

While the pink hedgehog played to the audience, Jerkhief had regained his feet and approached Rosechu from behind.

“Look out, Rosey!”

Jamsta's warning came too late – by the time Rosechu knew what was happening, Jerkhief had lifted her up and held her horizontally above his head. He paused for a second before stepping nonchalantly forward, dropping Rosechu back-first to the mat.

“He calls that the Jerkop-tastrophy” Bill informed the audience with a touch more glee than he'd previously shown that evening. Jerkhief tried for the pin but got only a two-count.

“We've had two finishers – but no finish!” exclaimed Jamsta “with the belt on the line, what will it take to put one of these warriors away?”

A hip toss from Jerkhief left Rosechu sprawled on the mat near one corner of the ring. Jerkhief stepped through the ropes to the outer edge of the ring and stepped along the permiter until he reached the ring post, when he began to climb the turnbuckles.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures – the Jerkop goes up top! What do you think he'll do from up there, Bill?”

“The obvious answer, Jamsta, would be that he's going to leap off the top turnbuckle in a manner which is intended to inflict injury on his opponent. That's what ordinarily you'd expect a wrestler to do in those circumstances. So, in answer to your question, I'm going to go with 'conduct the crowd in a rousing rendition of Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

Before Jerkhief could steady himself on the third turnbuckle, Rosechu had sprang to her feet, grabbed hold of his leg, and pulled downward – crotching her opponent on the top rope. Lifting her stricken foe, she carried him a few steps backward, steadied her feet, and hurled him downward into the corner of the ring. Dragging him by his leg, she pulled him away from the ropes before covering him for another pin attempt.

“1-2-no! Jerkhief kicks out! Rosechu did so well until the end!”

Rosechu beat the mat in frustration at being denied her victory. Leaping to her feet, she then dragged her groggy opponent to his before climbing onto the second rope.

“I AM WOMAN!” she shouted, her voice a full octave deeper than Sonichu's.

“Here we go...” Jamsta could barely contain his excitement. A hush full upon the crowd.

“HEAR ME ROAR!” leaping forward onto Jerkhief's shoulders, Rosechu began hammering away at the top of his head with her fists. Jerkhief collapsed onto his back under this assault, allowing Rosechu to continue pounding away from her mounted position. Instinct took over, and his right foot reached out and found the rope. Unfortunately, a different kind of instinct seemed to have taken over Rosechu – rope break or not, there was no convincing her to stop her attack.

An open cut was visible on Jerkhief's forehead as the referee tried to pull his opponent off him, quickly calling for the disqualification when she refused to yield.

“This is madness – get her out of there!”

“That's females for ya, eh Bill? There's just no understanding them.”

Bill had no response for Jamsta, looking on open-mouthed as four officials finally managed to pull a slavering Rosechu off of Jerkhief. In the moment before she was lifted away, it seemed as though she might be about to sink her teeth into the Jerkop's scalp. Paramedics swarmed the fallen man as the TV feed cut to a commercial break.



A short clip showed in turn a schoolboy in a playground, a construction worker on a building site, and a business woman on a train. Each of them produced a quarter of a fried chicken sandwich – the schoolboy from a brown paper lunch bag, the construction worker from a pocket on his tool belt, the business woman from her purse, and consumed it with rapturous pleasure. All the while, a song played in the background, the lyrics sung by a group of young children.


These Sands are your Sands
These Sands are my Sands
These Sands are Q-Sands
Best-you-can-buy-Sands

 

[Le Bateleur]

This next update presents the CWC roster as of the night of the show in Chapters 1 and 2. While it doesn't advance the story, it's useful (at least for me) to have a list of characters and alignments to help make sense of what's to come. The workers are listed in descending order of precedence – ie those at the top of the lists are featured more prominently by the company.
Clyde Cash and associates are, for storyline purposes, banished from CWC and so don't appear on this list.

Spoiler: CWC Roster

Men's division

Face

• Mr Chandler
• Sonichu (CWC True and Honest Champion)
• Rosechu (CWC Transcontinental Champion)
• Magi-Chan
• MS Comic
• Collossal Chan
• Punchy
• Wild
• Shinabe
• Gerald Grant
• Louis Perez
• Junior Jenkins

Heel

• Punislav
• Count Graduon
• Blachu
• Jerkhief
• WM Manajerk (CWC Tag Team Champion, with B Manajerk)
• B Manajerk (CWC Tag Team Champion, with WM Manajerk)
• Reldnahc Ha-Taque
• Running Bear Wasabi
• Inos
• Eduardo Novio
• Carlos Chantor
• Turdijerk

Women's Division

Face

• Lovely Weather
• Crystal (CWC Women's Champion)
• Angelica
• Bubbles
• Allison Amber
• Kimmi Kawamata

Heel

• Simonla
• Silvana
• Kel
• Officer Nasty
• Mypoe Byashiko
• Heather Iglesias

Broadcast Team

• DJ Jamsta
• Bill Schwartz
• Lolisa
• Greta Squall

Personalities/Managers

Face

• Layla Flaaffy
• Chief Lightning Hog
• Mitch Sonichu
• Marvey Dirdban

Heel

• Clawdorf
• Ms. Jackaras
• Florance Fisher
• Waterboy

Referees

• Naitsirhc
• Darkbind

 

[Le Bateleur]

I've got some little bits of content which don't fit into the main narrative, which I'll be dropping in as sub-episodes. Like this one:

Spoiler: Sub-Episode 1: 4-Cent Garbage interview

RP: Welcome back to the Picklemann Podcast – I'm Rob Picklemann and my guest at this time is the notorious Jason Kendrick Howell, one-time mastermind of 4-Cent Garbage Wrestling. Jason, thanks for joining us.


JKH: Pleasure to be here, Rob.


RP: Let's get straight down to it, Jason. 4-Cent Garbage Wrestling was infamous for pushing the envelope.


JKH: Thank you.


RP: Well, yes, but toward the end you had things which are still looked back on as pretty much as far as professional wrestling has ever been taken in terms of extreme violence and bad taste. You had, for instance, the 'silent light tube' match: six men dressed as nuns, fluorescent light tubes all over the ring, and only making a noise would get you eliminated...


JKH: I'm not...you want me to apologise for something then keep waiting. I won't. Ever. If you'da went to a 4-cent show, you'da seen a crowd full of regular, everyday people, having a good time, enjoying themselves. I didn't tell 'em no lies to get 'em to to buy a ticket, and no-one pointed a gun at 'em and said to stay in your seats once they was inside. That came later (laughs). Seriously, though, never had one complaint about the...artistic direction of our product.


RP: What would you say changed then, that lead to...lead up to to how things eventually ended up for 4CG?


JKH: You're asking whether our audience stopped liking what we put out?


RP: Well, in a way...


JKH: Lemme put it to you like this. Suppose you find there's gold underneath your house. So you clear the land, and you dig a mine, and you mine for the gold. Now at some point, the gold's all gone and the mine closes. Did the mine close because it was a failure, or because it was a success?


RP: So...4CG is the gold mine?


JKH: Yeah. 4CG is the gold mine, and the product – that's the gold, and that's what we had for a good few years – gold. Now you gotta remember that 4CG was only a small group of us. We were the Mom and Pop company you wouldn't bring your mom and pop to. Now when you're booking wrestling, week after week, show after show, there's only a certain amount of good stuff in each of our heads – and when it's gone, you can either start scraping out the barrel or you can take some time off and recharge your batteries – and when there's just a handful of us that second one is just not gonna happen.


RP: So, by the time you sold up to CWC, you were pretty much burned out creatively?


JKH: Not exactly, no. CWC sped things up a whole lot – they were the swarm of cockroaches that invaded the mine, if you will.


RP: How so?


JKH: Well, one of the great things about the more informal set-up at 4CG was that if there was a real promising talent to be found, we could act quickly. You'd get young guys from the indy scene coming in to pitch stuff, or our boys would know someone and they'd call them up and next thing you know we'd be running the rule over them, see what they had.

Case in point – MS Comic. That whole frustrated comedian character of his, the one that's still selling t-shirts for Mr Chandler, that's pretty much all his own creation – promos, costumes, everything. He came in to see me one night after a show in Clarksville, and I told him he had 30 seconds to impress me. He nailed it. He started off saying he'd spent three years getting his ass kicked on the standup circuit, and now he wanted a go at something where he'd get a chance to kick at least one guy back. Jack told him to try out for the Special Olympics, and Comic just went off on him. Crushed him. Like Bill Hicks on that 'Freebird' guy. Crushed him (laughs).

So yeah. Every so often we used to get some fresh blood, some new ideas. Then as soon as the Big C got us in their sights, that all changed. Suddenly, we'd give people tryouts, tell 'em to come work a few shows, then a day or two beforehand they'd call and say they had a better offer from Chandler's developmental system in Virginia.


RP: So CWC poached your talent? Was that all they did?


JKH: Heh. I'm not going to go into all of what went on between the two companies, 'cos every time I do I get a gentle reminder from my attorney that it's not a good idea, and I wanna save at least some of his retainer for my next divorce (laughs). Hell – Chandler won't ever get all of those videos down off the internet – you can see for yourself. All I will say is, like Bob Dylan put it, “money doesn't talk, it swears”. As much as the everyday guys loves to think that a rag-tag crew of dreamers can take on a publicly-traded media giant, that just ain't the way the cards fell.


RP: Ok, let's take things back a bit. I've always wondered how the name 4-Cent Garbage actually came about?


JKH: Well. As you know, Reeb got involved with us right at the beginning for both companies. The original deal we ended up with was that Reeb wouldn't give us anything up front, but that for a year or so we'd get a percentage of their sales in an area around Clarkesville, which ended up being about 4 cents on a bottle. I was working one of the last shows I did for Tennessee Valley Wrestling, and I remember looking at this big pile of empty beer bottles in the parking lot after the show, and thinking – yeah, from now on that ain't just garbage, that's 4 cents a piece.


RP: So, what about the future for you? Are you angry at how things turned out#?


JKH: Nah, I'm good, I'm good. And I wish Chandler well, I do. Actually, I'll rephrase that. I wish him bankruptcy and syphilis (laughs). But seriously, only good wishes to all the 4-cent guys that went on to CWC. And Alison – call me, would ya, honey?

My future? Well I'm doing pretty OK. I ended up with a bunch of Reeb stock, still involved with the company, lots of exciting things planned with them for the future. I'm thinking about launching a lifestyle website. 4-cent-garbage.com. Got a ring to it, yeah?


RP: And how about the wider 4CG company – if there were a reunion or something, would you be a part of that?


JKH: I dunno. Obviously Christian has the rights to the name, and the logos and stuff. You know what, if he was to call me, and say that I could get the old gang back together for a night, and we could book one more 4CG show – he ain't gonna call me. But the people, us guys that made 4CG what it was, I've got a feeling that we'll end up doing something together at some point. Signing the sex offenders register – or waiting on a liver transplant (laughs for a long time).


RP: We're almost out of time, I'm afraid – just to wrap things up, what would you say was the best memory you have of 4CG.


JKH: The Make a Wish kid. Hands down. Eleven-year-old kid, battling some kinda cancer, and all he wants to do is meet Asperchu. And his parents and the Make a Wish folks are all asking him whether he means Sonichu – but no, this kid is a 4CG fanatic, and he wants to meet Asperchu...and punch him square in the nuts!

So we have to tell him about this bone plate thing that all those spike-a-mice have down there which stops you from doing that. And he says “well can I hit him with a chair, then?” So he ends up part of a run-in on a PPV match, and he clocks Asper with a chair, and the kid just has the widest smile on his face the whole time. And I knew then that even if what I created only really resonated with, like, a handful of people, so long as it made them that happy, it was enough for me.

Also, for the sake of truth and honesty, I really enjoyed all the after-show china. Mmmmm. After-show china. Good times.

RP: Jason Kendrick Howell, it's been a pleasure.

JKH: Thank you, Rob. Peace.

 

[Le Bateleur]

An update. I'd wanted an update on this to be ready today, but since I'm without a laptop at the moment and since typing long paragraphs on my phone is impossible, I'm going to arun to have it up by Friday.

 

[SteelPlatedHeart]

MORTAL CWCBAT!

 

[Le Bateleur]

Here is chapter 3. Please feel free to give any feedback, comments or ideas. I have a pretty firm booking plan that goes up to and includes Amnyfest, but if there are any particular matches you'd like included or characters you want to appear then let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Spoiler: Chapter 3: Punch a bunch

The match immediately after the commercial break saw Blake Sonichu take on Punchy. Matches pitting hedgehog against hedgehog tended to be short and infrequent, to avoid alienating CWC's human-dominated audience. This was particularly a risk with matches featuring Blake Sonichu; the signs and chants referring to him as “Blahchu” may have been unkind, but they were accurate. Blake's wrestling style, in-ring storytelling skills and ability on the microphone were all equally mediocre.


Whenever reasons for CWC being bad for wrestling were being listed, toward the top was usually a variant of “they have a hedgehog called Punchy, and all he does is kick!”. This criticism was quite accurate: a devotee of both mixed martial arts and Japanese strong-style pro wrestling, Punchy had built his offence around painful-looking kicks and MMA submission holds. Punching didn't really factor into it.


The rumour was that at the creative meeting when Punchy's character and marketing were being fleshed out, there was a lot of debate about how to bill their new hard-kicking wrestler. The creative team had hit a rut of wordy suggestions such as Ironfoot the Mighty or Stormshanks Sonichu when Chandler got up and stormed out of the meeting, shouting “his name should be punchy!”. Unsure as to whether their boss was using a noun or an adjective, the creative team played it safe and went with the name Punchy on promotional material for the upcoming show, from which point onward it was too late to change anything.


Whilst he was oddly-named, Punchy was consistently entertaining, particularly with a microphone in hand – his hyperkinetic stream-of-conciousness promos could be counted on to wake up a listless audience.


In this instance, the crowd didn't even have to wait for the match to finish for Punchy to start saying his piece. A series of knees to Blake's chest brought him to the mat, and a triangle choke had him seemingly on the verge of passing out before he managed to reach the ropes. Having drained his opponent's strength, Punchy dropped to ringside and began prowling around, obviously looking for something. A hopeful chant of “we want chairs” started up from the crowd and quickly petered out.


“What's Punchy thinking, Bill?” DJ Jamsta enquired of his fellow commentator.


“I believe the American Psychiatric Association sponsor a prize for anyone who can answer that question, Jamsta.” replied Bill, leaning his head on one arm.


“He's coming over to us! Hey, Punchy – what are you doing?”


Leaning over the announcers' table, Punchy growled an answer into Jamsta's mic.


“The hunter can afford to wait, but the gatherer must seek his immediate needs. I am the gatherer now, Jamsta – give me a microphone, so I can become the hunter again!”


“Uh...OK, take mine.”


Newly-acquired microphone in hand, Punchy wandered back to the ring, declaiming as he went.


“In the beginning, the hunter tired of slaying trees. Still dressed in the skin of the fallen trees, he killed a mouse! He broke a rat! He tore a weasel in half! He found the cunning racoon, and as he shook it by the throat he demanded a worthier foe!”


Blake was by now back on his feet. Punchy slid through the ropes, still ranting into the microphone, and Blake saw his chance. He charged shoulder-first at Punchy, who in a fluid movement dropped to the mat and swept Blake's legs from under him. Punchy battered his opponent with kicks and knee strikes, never breaking off his monologue, occasionally using his free hand to lift Blake to his feet before kicking him down again.


“So the racoon brought him to the wolf, and the wolf stared into the hunter's soul and the hunter's soul stomped down on the soul of the wolf so that he became its master! Together they killed the bison! One bison, two bison, a hundred bison fell beneath the blade of the hunter and the tooth of the dog! And only then did the hunter see the mammoth, the great beast that shook the earth with its walking and its pacing!”


Dropping the microphone, Punchy scooped Blake up and delivered a piledriver which at that point looked wholly unnecessary. Picking the mic back up he stood with one foot on Blake's chest and continued his speech, paying little attention as the referee counted the pin.


“The hunter and the mammoth fought with the fury of the storm and the heat of the desert wind! When the dust settled, only the hunter remained, and the earth was red with blood. That was the battle that the hunter carved into immortality on the walls of his cave! Only the worthy foes deserve a place in history! I tire of of these rats and these weasels! Amnyfest is coming! Let me hunt trolls, Father!”


Finally understanding the point of Punchy's ramblings, the crowd cheered. Sliding out of the ring and tossing the microphone back to Jamsta, the red hedgehog strode back up the ramp, seemingly lost in thought.


A horrible metallic screech from the PA system accompanied Jamsta's clumsy attempts to put his microphone back into its stand. As he struggled with it, the restless crowd broke into a chant.


“DJ Hamster!”

Clap-clap clap-clap-clap

“DJ Hamster!”


“My name...” screeeeeech “...my name is NOT DJ Hamster!”


“Yes-it-is! Yes-it-is!” The crowd loved baiting the hedgehog broadcaster. Jamsta was well known for the regularity with which his family emergencies or medical appointments happened to clash with CWC visits to Tennessee, but Chandler insisted on his top team being present throughout the road to Amnyfest.


“C'mon guys. Be cool. Bill, help me out here!”


“I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear what you said. It sounded almost like your cheeks were full of nuts and seeds...”


Jamsta shot his fellow announcer a filthy look, but there was no time for anything further because the giant CWCtron TV screens flashed on, showing the backstage area. Mr Chandler sat at a table, looking intently at a laptop. Opposite him stood Alison Amber, two-time CWC Women's Champion and Mr Chandler's personal assistant. The two were obviously in the middle of a conversation and seemed oblivious to the camera crew now filming them.


“Calm down...give me a minute would ya? I need to get the update on Sonichu.”


“I wish this could wait, Mr Chandler, but I'm about to go out there for my match, and so I need you to decide one way or another.”


“Look, why is this so important to you? What's your trouble?”


“My trouble? I have no trouble. Obviously someone has a problem because they changed the rules. I came here from Hollywood because I want to test myself out there, because I want to put everything on the line. You've done it – you've been in that ring and you've done what you had to do to win a match – how would you feel if you weren't allowed to hit the other guy in the face?”


“It's different, Alison. We're talking about ladies here, about...about feminist issues.”


“I really have to go out there, sir. Please can you answer me this: I'm going in to the ring with that b...razen cheat Officer Nasty. She is going to choke me, she is going to pull my hair, and she is going to hit me with her nightstick. In return, I'm going to kick her right in the jaw. Is that OK with you?”


“Alison, your input has been taken on board and accepted for future consideration. It's just that right now I'm working on something very important and...”


Looking up, Chandler noticed that Alison had already left.


“Hey you...with the camera! Come here. I got something to say. Will save me having to walk down to the ring.”


Chandler turned to fully face the camera as it was brought closer to where he sat.


“If y'all was watching earlier, y'all saw something horrible happen to Sonichu. Y'all might be wondering how this was possib...how this was allowed to happen. Well the thing is that I, Christian Weston Chandler, am a straight-and-true honest man – in all my ways. I simply didn't think that any dirty trolls would be so...dishonestly forthright with deceptiveness. I wasn't prepared, but that is not going to happen again!”


“Clyde Cash thinks he can dictate to me about my creation of Amnyfest, but he can go kick himself stupid because I am the director of the show and I say what goes! This is my house, Clyde – my house – and these are gonna be my rules. Here for y'all right now is a special preview of Amnyfest – the main event itself, straight from my handwritten creative process. We are gonna be thrilled by the combat stylings of not one, not two, but all the Chaotic Combo as they compete against the one original Sonichu for the CWC True and Honest Championship! Now we're gonna go back to tonight's event. Stay safe.”


Bill Schwartz wore a look of resigned anger as he saw the CWCtron screens go dark. In a low tone which suggested he might have forgotten he was sat in front of a live microphone, he expressed his feelings.


“A 'chu parade to close out Amnyfest 10? Never change, Chris.”


Startled at hearing his own voice amplified throughout the arena, he sat upright in his chair.


“Uh...and now this from our sponsors.”

***​

The advert was set in a busy shopping centre. A young man dressed in jeans and a striped rugby top stands around nervously, his attention captivated by a succession of pretty girls walking past – none of which seem to glance at him. He takes a can of CWC cola out of a bag and pops the tab with an audible hiss.


Immediately, an attractive blonde woman turns sharply on her heel and walks over to him.


“Hello” she says, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.


“Umm...hello would you like to grab some food with me?” says the young man, nervously.


The woman smiles even more broadly and pulls out her own can of CWC Cola.


“You had me at” <can opening noise>

The two walk off together through the mall.

***​

 

[Count Olaf]

I just keep imagining Clyde and Liquid coming out to D-Generation X's theme, and The Asperpedia Four coming out to Evolutions theme. The thought is amazing. Still trying to think up a perfect theme for the Pickleman.

 

[Le Bateleur]

I just keep imagining Clyde and Liquid coming out to D-Generation X's theme, and The Asperpedia Four coming out to Evolutions theme. The thought is amazing. Still trying to think up a perfect theme for the Pickleman.

While I've tried to come up with original characterisation and storylines, I have found it hard to avoid certain parallels with real world wrestlers.
Clyde and Jason as DX was a particularly good fit - I almost had them burst in on an armoured jeep before going with the birthday cake idea...

 

[A Random]

Shouldn't the Pickleman be the Undertaker?

 

[Le Bateleur]

Shouldn't the Pickleman be the Undertaker?

Interesting. I had Count Graduon pencilled as a kind of Taker - but it'd be great to know what made you suggest the Pickle Man.

 

[Randall Fragg]

Interesting. I had Count Graduon pencilled as a kind of Taker - but it'd be great to know what made you suggest the Pickle Man.

Is Naitsirhc going to be the most over the top gay stereotype ever? Because that would be obvious and hilarious.