Evilhippy 2-Tornado 0

Shortly after my waking this morning I received a surprising knock at my door. It was, of course, the Jehovah's Witnesses, but, as I was hiding in the living room with the lights off waiting for them to leave, an even bigger surprise came knocking. The Tornado I defeated earlier in the week twirled violently up the stairs and swept the JWs away.

Needless to say, I was shocked. I had thought this funnel cloud was clearly trounced and would be far away twisting in shame, but no, here it was again, angry and defiant at my door. Angry it may have been, but it demurely knocked at my door and waited patiently for me to answer, tapping its foot to some internal melody.

After a few moments, carefully calculated for effect. I opened the door on the chain and asked “What do you want?”

It whirled and blustered on for a few moments, and I caught sight of a startled cow whipping about it’s insides, and it told me that it did not feel that our earlier battle had been fair. I had cheated it postulated. Or at least that’s what I got from it’s spinning about. You don’t really think something like that has a human voice do you?

It was challenging me to another battle. One to be fought in the only place that such a battle can be fought....

....the squared circle.

Luckily there is a wrestling ring set up in my living room for just such an occasion, and I threw wide the door to let in the violent storm. It had obviously come prepared, as I heard music coming from inside it’s depths, Round and Round by Ratt blared from a boombox that churned somewhere deep inside it.

Lured by the prospect of violence and the sound of the storm, a crowd had already begun to gather. Here already were Country Hulkamaniac and Shelbyville Ditka. A line formed outside my door of people with crudely printed free passes, and I knew that the storm had been planning this for awhile.

The crowd took their seats and Timekeeper Tiny rang the bell as I rolled under the ropes and stared down my impressive opponent. He was Von Erichen in his splendor and power, much larger than when we last met. Perhaps he had gobbled a steroid factory, I know not.

Confused by the lack of referee I stupidly turned my back on the storm for a moment, and it slammed into me, striking me repeatedly with a metal folding chair. I fell to my knees as more music hit.

Culture Club’s Karma-Chameleon could mean only one thing, and my fears were confirmed as Tommy entered the ring, clad in the black and white vertical stripes of a referee’s uniform.

He smiled and made a rude gesture as he casually counted to five and bade the Tornado stop using it’s weapon. It reluctantly complied and threw the chair from the ring. Dropping a knee into the small of my prone back, it gestured to the crowd for approval and grasped my chin with both arms pulling me into a camel clutch.

Valiantly I struggled towards the ropes as the blood drained from my head. I reached the ropes just before losing consciousness, and pulled myself under the bottom rope and out of the ring as Tommy admonished the Tornado.

Trying to gather myself outside the ring I looked up just in time to see the Tornado flying over the top rope in a cork-screw maneuver. I stepped to the side just in time and it fell through the coffee table, much to the delight of the crowd. I picked up the chair from where it lay beside me and gave the Tornado’s back several thunderous whacks.

The crowd was hot now, chanting my name and yelling obscenities at the Tornado. I rolled back into the ring and posed for the crowd. The Storm looked concerned at the turn of events and shook it’s head as it rolled back into the ring, where it was met with my boots. It fell back against the ropes and I grabbed it’s arm and whipped it into the turnbuckle. A Stinger Splash later and it was facedown on the mat.

I raised my arms to call for my finishing hold, but as I did so I was met with a low-blow from behind by that dastardly referee, Tommy. He stood over me smirking as the Tornado rolled over to go for the pin.

1-2-No go as I got a shoulder up. The Tornado stomped around in fury and Tommy could not believe it. I began to Hulk up as the crowd chanted my name and cheered.

The storm went for a right, but I blocked it, then hit it with one of my own. A left met a similar fate. I whipped it into the ropes and took it down with a big boot, and then the coup de grace, the Leg Drop of Doom. Not content to pin it now I ascended the turnbuckle and dove off into a Senton Bomb, rolling over into an STF after landing.

After fifteen agonizing seconds the pain was finally too much and the Tornado tapped out. Tommy reluctantly called for the bell and declared me the winner.

After the match I helped the defeated Tornado up and shook its hand. The crowd applauded my sportsmanship, but as I kicked the storm in the midsection and proceeded to give it a Tombstone Piledriver onto the chair, they turned on me.

You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to get them out of my apartment after that.