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Post by stabthebitch on Jun 30, 2024 15:57:52 GMT -6
Yah but guest tards aren't posting pretending to be my gf, sister, parents etc That alone proves I'm Number one contender for the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation Championship 1. I think you meant boyfriend cuz let's face it. You ain't straight 2. Who wants to impersonate a 500 pound lump? 3. Your parents are useless Also when's the last time you won a match? Watkins just cooked Spiral Gawt damn |
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Post by Jordynne Rai on Jun 30, 2024 15:59:08 GMT -6
Yah but guest tards aren't posting pretending to be my gf, sister, parents etc That alone proves I'm Number one contender for the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation Championship 1. I think you meant boyfriend cuz let's face it. You ain't straight 2. Who wants to impersonate a 500 pound lump? 3. Your parents are useless Also when's the last time you won a match? Ouch |
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Post by stabthebitch on Jun 30, 2024 16:02:13 GMT -6
Watkins just cooked Spiral Gawt damn Watkins weighs 500 pounds. Despite him saying he's. It fat on GameFAQs. Go away Your boner for Watkins is getting dumb |
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Post by Austin Spiral on Jun 30, 2024 16:04:17 GMT -6
Yah but guest tards aren't posting pretending to be my gf, sister, parents etc That alone proves I'm Number one contender for the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation Championship 1. I think you meant boyfriend cuz let's face it. You ain't straight 2. Who wants to impersonate a 500 pound lump? 3. Your parents are useless Also when's the last time you won a match? So you lose weight and you become a prick Damn |
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Post by Shade Reeves on Jul 1, 2024 3:43:16 GMT -6
I should be Number one Contender to the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation Championship
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Post by Drunk Barney on Jul 1, 2024 15:28:34 GMT -6
Let's get back on track who is the number one contender to the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation Championship?
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Post by The Pug on Jul 1, 2024 16:55:33 GMT -6
One time I jumped off a 30 story balcony after watching my cartoons and landed on tyrones huge penis, thats how i got preggers before my abortion! Stop Okay? His sister doesn't use Internet and isn't retarded you fucking loser she is ten years old |
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Post by Vetwagina on Jul 4, 2024 18:17:12 GMT -6
Lol
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Post by Chris Corvus on Jul 6, 2024 5:51:03 GMT -6
: The roar of the crowd echoes through the arena as the spotlights converge on the center of the ring, illuminating the Prowrespect Wrestling Federation's iconic championship belt. The belt, studded with gleaming gold and encrusted with precious gems, lies across the velvety canvas, a symbol of glory and dominance. The anticipation is palpable, a tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and the electricity of adrenaline.
The stadium's sound system blares the opening notes of "Fly High," the anthem that sends a shiver down the spine of every fan as the reigning champion, Chris Corvus, emerges from the shadows of the backstage. His 5'11" frame, sculpted by years of relentless training, glides with a confidence that only a champion can possess. The black hair, tied back in a ponytail, bobs slightly with each step he takes, and his eyes are a piercing blue that seems to bore into the very soul of his opponent. His shorts cling to powerful legs, each muscle defined as if drawn by a master artist. The crowd goes wild, a sea of arms waving in the air as they chant his name.
: As the music reaches its crescendo, Andrew Watkins emerges from the opposite side, his 6'2" frame casting a shadow that seems to swallow the light. His brown hair is cropped short, and his brown eyes gleam with a fiery determination. He steps into the ring with a calculated grace that belies his 330 pounds of raw power. Each step he takes is deliberate, each movement a silent promise of the destruction he's about to unleash. The crowd roars in a mix of excitement and fear as he takes his place opposite Chris.
The bell rings and Corvus attacks Andrew with a vicious clothesline knocking him down.
Narrator: The bell tolls like the knell of battle, signaling the start of the match. Chris Corvus, the defending champion, wastes no time in asserting his dominance. He charges at Andrew Watkins, his muscles coiling like a spring before releasing in a blur of motion. The clothesline connects with a thunderous crack, sending Watkins to the canvas. The crowd gasps in a mix of shock and awe, their eyes glued to the unfolding spectacle.
Narrator: Andrew's breath is knocked out of him in a single, painful whoosh. He lies there for a moment, stunned by the sheer force of the blow. His thoughts race, calculating his next move, his eyes narrowing as he gets back to his feet. He wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, a crimson smear on his hand. He's not used to being on the defensive, but he knows better than to underestimate his opponent. Andrew hits Corvus with an elbow to the face. And than a body slam.
Narrator: The impact of the elbow is like a sledgehammer, snapping Corvus's head back and painting a crimson streak across his cheek. He stumbles but doesn't fall, a testament to his resilience. Before he can recover, Andrew's massive hand wraps around his neck, hoisting him into the air. The crowd holds its collective breath as Watkins delivers a bone-rattling body slam that shakes the very foundation of the ring. Watkins goes for the pin but Corvus kicks out at 2
Narrator: The canvas trembles as the challenger's body slams into it, the force of Andrew's attack echoing through the arena. Chris's body arches in a graceful display of pain, his eyes squeezed shut. The referee's count is a metronome of suspense, each number louder than the last. "One!" "Two!" The crowd's anticipation reaches a fever pitch, and just when it seems all hope is lost, Corvus's leg shoots out with the speed of a cobra's strike. The roar of the crowd turns into a symphony of relief and amazement as he breaks the pin.
Corvus kicks Watkins in the gut and delivers the DDT
Narrator: Chris Corvus moves with the agility of a man half his size, bouncing back from the near-defeat with a ferocious kick to Andrew's gut. The air is driven from the larger man's lungs with a guttural grunt, and before he can retaliate, Corvus has his head locked between his own legs. With a primal scream, the champion delivers a devastating DDT, planting Watkins's head into the mat with a sickening thud. The crowd erupts as Corvus pins him again, the referee's count beginning anew.
Watkins kicks out at 2
Narrator: Andrew's colossal frame twitches, and the crowd gasps as his shoulder lifts off the mat, halting the referee's count at two. Corvus glares down at him, his own breathing ragged, a trickle of blood staining his teeth. Watkins's eyes are a maelstrom of pain and determination, refusing to give in. The air thickens with the scent of sweat and burning muscles as the two titans begin to push themselves back to their feet, the battle far from over. Watkins delivers a piledriver to Corvus
Narrator: Andrew Watkins uses his superior size to hoist Chris Corvus into the air, a human projectile aimed at the unforgiving canvas. The crowd falls silent, watching the champion's body arc in a graceful yet brutal arc before it crashes down. The ring shakes with the impact, and the air seems to leave the arena for a brief moment. The referee scrambles over, slapping the mat with the back of his hand. "One!" "Two!" But again, Corvus's strength of will prevails, and he manages to kick out just in time.
Narrator: The match devolves into a series of powerful strikes and reversals, each man giving everything they have. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, punctuated by the grunts and roars of effort. They exchange blows like gladiators in an ancient arena, each one more punishing than the last. Yet, neither man falters. They're both seasoned warriors, and this is their dance of dominance.
Narrator: The minutes tick by, turning into a timeless blur of pain and endurance. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, a living, breathing entity that feeds off the tension in the ring. The air in the arena is charged with electricity, and every move is met with a cacophony of cheers and boos. The commentators are lost for words, their voices a backdrop to the symphony of combat unfolding before them.
Watkins hits a spinebuster on Corvus
Narrator: With a surge of power, Andrew Watkins wraps his arms around Chris Corvus's waist and hoists him up, his back bent in a perfect arch. The crowd's roar turns into a collective gasp as he slams Corvus down onto the mat with a spinebuster that seems to echo through the very bones of the arena. The impact is so intense that it feels like the earth itself has shuddered.
Watkins tries for the DDT but Corvus counters with a backdrop
Narrator: The challenger's eyes light up as he sees an opportunity to turn the tide. He charges at the champion, aiming for the same DDT that had brought him so close to victory. But Corvus is a seasoned tactician, and he anticipates the move. With a swift counter, he reverses the momentum, sending Watkins soaring over his head. The crowd's roar turns into a thunderous boom as Andrew's body crashes down, his own weight working against him.
Narrator: The championship belt glitters in the spotlight, a silent witness to the epic struggle. Each man's breath is a harsh symphony of effort and determination. Their eyes never leave each other, even as they roll away from the impact of their respective moves. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of blood, a testament to their unyielding spirit.
Corvus delivers a butterfly suplex for a 2 count
Narrator: The resilient Chris Corvus takes advantage of the brief opening, wrapping his arms around Andrew's massive torso. He hoists him up with a grunt, muscles bulging, and then slams him down with a butterfly suplex that showcases his surprising agility. The crowd goes wild as the referee's hand slaps the mat. "One!" "Two!" But again, the indomitable challenger refuses to stay down, powering out of the pin with a guttural roar that seems to shake the very rafters of the arena.
Corvus hooks Watkins in the sharpshooter
Narrator: The tide of the battle shifts again as Corvus, seizing the moment, locks Andrew in a sharpshooter, his legs wrapped around the challenger's head like a vice. The crowd holds its breath as the champion wrenches back on the hold, the leather of his boots creaking with the strain. Andrew's face contorts in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment, it seems like the title might change hands.
Narrator: The crowd's chant for the champion reaches a crescendo, their voices a wall of sound that threatens to drown out the grunts of effort from the two wrestlers. Corvus's blue eyes bore into Andrew's, his teeth gritted in concentration. The sweat on his brow glistens under the spotlights, each droplet a testament to his unwavering resolve. Yet, Andrew's face remains stoic, his jaw clenched as he refuses to tap out.
Narrator: The pressure on Andrew's legs is unbearable, a searing pain that shoots up his spine with every second that ticks by. But he's a man forged in the fires of adversity, and he won't go quietly. He reaches deep within himself, finding a well of strength that defies logic. With a roar that shakes the ring, he pulls himself towards the ropes, inch by agonizing inch.
Narrator: The crowd watches in awe as Andrew's hand closes around the bottom rope, the referee's whistle piercing the air like a gunshot. Corvus releases the hold, his own body trembling from the effort. The challenger collapses, gasping for air, the ropes the only thing keeping him upright. The champion rises to his feet, a smug smile playing on his lips, only to find Andrew's eyes locked onto him, the fire of determination burning brighter than ever.
Corvus hits Andrew with a super kick and pins him for the three count
Narrator: Chris Corvus steps back, the smug smile morphing into a snarl as he readies himself for the finishing blow. He charges, leaps, and unleashes a super kick that connects with a resounding smack. Andrew's head snaps back, and his body hits the mat with a thud that seems to silence the very air. The champion doesn't waste a second, dropping down for the pin, his muscles straining. The referee's count is swift and decisive. "One!" "Two!" "Three!" The bell rings out, a shrill declaration of victory.
Narrator: The arena erupts as confetti rains down from the rafters, the lights flashing in a kaleidoscope of colors. Corvus's theme song blares from the speakers, the sweet sound of triumph that fills his ears like a symphony. He rises to his feet, one hand held high, the other clutching the championship belt tightly to his chest. His eyes meet Andrew's, a silent acknowledgment of the war they've just waged
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