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Topics - Lisa Frankenstein

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Non-Active Talent / Lisa Seldon (Snuff Fest)
« on: July 10, 2019, 07:00:39 PM »


RING NAME: Lisa Seldon
NICKNAME: Insert Here
DATE OF BIRTH: 07/28/1986
HEIGHT: 5'6"
WEIGHT: 130 lbs
BILLED FROM: Glasgow, Scotland
PRO DEBUT: A while ago. 15 years give or take.
HARDCORE/DEATHMATCH EXPERIENCE: Most of her career. Let's say 14 for Hardcore and at least 10 in Deathmatches.
ENTRANCE MUSIC: "Fear of Dying" by Jack Off Jill
PICBASE: Drew Barrymore (Around 2003)
TWITTER HANDLE: @lisacanrana

After Dark World Champion, Yamashi Promotions Unified Team Champion (w/Anna Mathews), 2019 DTW Blood Bowl winner, Rebel Pro Grandslam Champion

Hi-top Converse sneakers, black denim short shorts over some patterned leggings, one elbow pad on the left, white tape from knuckle to wrist, and whatever t-shirt she's trying to shill that day. Entrance wise it’s the same but she also has a variety of fancy leather and denim jackets.

Lisa is a fairly easy going sort for these kinda circumstances. She probably wouldn’t bother to check her opponent but not in a particularly malicious sense. More of a, I’ve done what I need to onto the next one type of deal. She’ll shake their hand if they’re offering but she’s not going out of her way.

In general she’s odd and irreverent and not great, but compared to some of the human garbage swilling around in this thing she’s positively delightful.

A chair, because it's versatile, but I guess since it's a Deathmatch the chair is also on fire.

1. Muay-Thai Clinch Knee Strikes
2. Roundhouse Kick
3. Yakuza Kick
4. Spinning Legsweep
5. Sliding Dropkick
6. X-Factor
7. Sitout Jawbreaker
8. Death Valley Driver
9. Snap Crucifix Driver
10. Spaceman Plancha

Lisa’s background is in Muay-Thai and general gameplan is to kick everyone to death or die trying. She’s also throw knees, elbows, chairs, kitchen sinks. She’s not quite so high-flying these days but if the opportunity arises she’ll go in for it. If she can, she’ll also drop people on their heads and faces, but opportunities for that are limited.

1. [The Evil Dead] Fisherman’s Driver.
2. [The Horror Pop] Top-Rope/Running/Tree-of-Woe Shotgun Double Knee Strike. Basically anytime she lifts two knees and puts them through a person's face.
3. [Killacanrana] Spike Hurricanrana.
4. [The Evil Dead 2 (Dead By Dawn)] Angle Slam lift to Fisherman’s Driver.
5. [Wolfsbane] Blinding Mist Attack.

1. [The Man Opener] Roundhouse Kick to the head of an opponent on all fours.
2. [Hovering Butterfly] Alligator Clutch Pin.
3. [The Evil Dead III (Army of Darkness)] Vertical Drop Wrist Clutch Fisherman’s Driver (death move).


“Fear of Dying” blasts out over the speakers; a thunderous flurry that soon draws Lisa out to the stage. Lisa steps out, drops to her knees and throws both arms out at her sides, pulling some applause from the crowd.


Lisa pops back up and saunters down to the ring, beaming a smile as she takes her time with it. Never breaking her stride she hops up onto the apron, leans back to shoot a wink into the nearest camera and then hops up over the ropes.


She lands with her arms out stretched and does a little spin for good measure. She then takes her corner and hops up for a seat on the top turnbuckle.

She will hop up onto the ropes and celebrate. Hopefully while not bleeding out.

[Upon signing the contract, each participant has to sign a waiver due to the violent nature of this tournament and if the waiver is refused, the participant is hereby removed from the tournament. Think before you sign because you can not back out later.]

Retrograde II / Blood and Rhetoric
« on: February 22, 2019, 11:06:26 PM »
Lisa Seldon is an arrogant, attention hungry psychopath, which makes it very hard to say nice things about her.

Tonight she’s bellowing at us from some quaint little rooftop garden in a city indistinguishable from the angle you’ve been given. They all sort of run together up here and she’s passed through all of them; fuzzy lights burning and expiring across the expanse. A healthy backdrop for the show.

It's cold out for this one. There’s fog on her breath and crystals hanging in the damp around her as she stands there freezing her tits off. She’s doing her best not to show it, even as she leans back into a bar around the buildings edge and felt ice water soaking through the faux army jacket she’d thrown on for the occasion. Her eyes light up like they’re on fire.

“I’ve had a lot of questions thrown my way since I signed on for this match. I guess everyone was as surprised about it as I was, and now they all want to know one thing. Why?

Well, more of a: what are you doing, you already work everywhere and now you think you can join 4CW as well? Those people will eat you alive and you will 100% deserve it you vain, desperate, money hungry bitch.

My dad and I have always had a very complicated relationship.”

Rimshot. She smiles indulgently. That was a joke and not a very good one, adequately setting the tone for tonight's proceedings. Don’t worry, it gets a lot more angry and sardonic as we go if you're willing to stick this first bit out.

“Anyway it’s a fairly simple answer. I’m back, because I have a debt to myself. One I’ve been letting build up for a while.”

She takes a step and kicks her heel up onto the barrier at her back, leaning into it.

“I signed on for Bad Company and did so with a great deal of bravado. We were rank outsiders, but that didn’t matter me. No one knew us, no one cared, but I knew we were good for it. Everyone else taking their chance was looking for a payday and a good showing. Me? I was here to win the whole fucking thing, and no one was going to stop me.

I didn’t need anyone to know we were good. I was going to show them. I didn’t need anyone to sing our praises. I was going to do it for us. I was going to march us out there, run the fucking gauntlet or murders and psychopaths this company keeps rolling out and leave as an overnight success story. One more audience begging for me to return. One more title to add to my increasingly redundant collection - and one I’d never have to give back, since apparently you don’t even have to defend them.

I promised myself the world. Then the bell rang, the world turned and I left that night with nothing but a headache.”

She hangs her head and leans into the smile. You’d think she’d be over it by now, but somethings never leave. They just fester and gnaw away at you.

“I have thrown a lot of things together to rationalise what happened that night. Craig and I don’t particularly gel as a team. There’s no shame in that. We’ve wrestled together in other places; it went just as well. There were better teams than us that did just as poorly. Hell, even the best in their business have off days. It’s why Rafa Nadal doesn’t have 12 French Open titles and Manny gets to say he’s been a 4CW World Champion for like a half hour.

There’s a rational explanation for anything if you’re willing to go looking for it. That doesn’t make me feel any better when I remember I’ve got a fucking loss to Nemesis on my record.”

She stops as it hits her like a dagger.

“That night I didn’t have any such answers. I didn’t have any anything. I just went back to my hotel room, lay face down full length on the floor and began thinking back through all the things I’ve ever done in my life that I regret. Which took ages.

It was very pitiful, I’m not gonna lie.”

A very - very - marked roll of the eyes. There’s a lot of things in this performance that are just hyperbole and rhetoric. That part was a little close to the bone.

“I made a joke the other day about the lowest point in my life. If I was giving an honest appraisal, I would struggle to find anything more humbling to pick from throughout the breadth of my career - a career in which I have wasted far too many nights digging hunks of glass from my hole and once lost a match to Reventon, who is a four foot tall barely intelligible little bull man.

Even amongst all that, I would still feel myself reaching for the time I got to watch my partner tap out while I was help helpless by some witch doctor looking cunt who doesn’t know how to moisturise.

Losing is never not awful, but there’s a special kind of low that comes with losing to someone you cannot stand in any form or fashion. I have very much visited the bottom of that particular well of despair and I would not at all recommended it on my Tripadvisor review. Nor do I intend to find my way back there again.”

She turned from the camera a moment, slid her hand across the bar and flicked a few droplets of water off the back end of the building.

“I have been annoyed about that ever since. Which was stupid really because there was a very obvious solution. I just had to get back here and setup a shoe closet in someone’s eye socket.

I have since made an excuse of biding my time, setting deadlines for myself that I always managed to find a way out of. Holidays, big events, tournaments, once in a lifetime opportunities. It was never the right time, but course, it never is. There’s always a reason not to do something, you just have to stop listening to yourself and get on with it.”

Without a word of warning she kicks up her heels and takes a seat on the railing. Evidently it was a surprise to everyone, since the the camera takes a little wobble, while all across the world wrestling promoters feel their hearts leap in their chest.

She’s got like half a dozen belts to her name right now. That would be such a waste.

“So. I was with that frame of mind I was perusing my now quite standard, quarterly sales pitch from Perry Wallace. Apparently he’s hard up on dumb bitches willing to fall into pits glass and piles of Bryan Laughlin’s old used up needles for an absurdly low amount of money.

He was giving it the usual spiel. Please join, we need you, I hate my roster, all of them want me dead except for that one dude who definitely looks like he was birthed in a rape crisis centre. You all know exactly which guy I’m talking about.”

She lets it sit for a beat.

“I’m joking, mostly, but the gist is all sort of there.”

Then quickly waves it off as she rattles on. There’s some pace about the proceedings now.

“He offered me a proposition. One night, leveraged as a favour to him and a little tester for me. Round out his card and put a twist on the show. I figured why not. Fuck it. He needed a body and I wanted my win back. Either way it was only one match, so I signed up right there and then.

Then I thought about it for a bit, and now quite a lot of me wishes I hadn’t bothered.”

She holds up a finger as if trying to get in front of the argument. The only other sound is the occasional thrust of the wind or the gentle hum of traffic streaming well off below.

“There’s a dignity that can be found in coming up short against someone with a record. You can build off a loss to someone like Bronx Valescence or Genevie Carlson in their house. When you lose to Erik Holland, nobody gives you a pat on the back for a good showing and a job well done. They start asking if you’re feeling okay or if you’ve contracted some kind of feral wasting disease.

Those are the stakes I’ve been given. Win and I’ve only done exactly what I was supposed to do. I beat Erik Holland and unlike everyone else doing it, I didn’t even get to wave a belt at him for a laugh. Lose and I’ve properly obliterated myself and I get to spend the rest of my career digging my way back out of that hole.”

She shivers a bit too theatrically.

“Every argument I ever have will be undermined by someone going yeah but what about Holland, because wrestlers are horrible people and they love to play on your insecurities like that. Every group that ever backed me will be scrutinised into the ground. That’s like 14 different places, I’ll bring half the independent wrestling circuit down around me.

There will be a special place for me in 4CW hell, alongside the pedo, HUGE CAWK guy and maybe Burn if he’s actually dead. All of which I think has now just about exhausted my repertoire of 4CW references. A couple of which I don't actually understand.”

A little sigh escapes her, barely audible as the wind picks up for a second.

“Now, it’s not that I think I’m above my opponent or anything like that. That would be really rude of me and I like to think I’m a better person than that. No, it’s that everyone else thinks it because it’s right and I am, which means I’ve really got nowhere good to go from here.

I’ve got goals you know I want to spit blood with Laughlin and Kaiser. I want to fall off the ridiculous murder cage and have everyone tell me how exciting it was when I fell off the ridiculous murder cage. I want to beat Dakota half to death with a giant metal plaque showing how much more widely respected I am as a deathmatch wrestler than the guy who describes himself as the flesh that hates.

I want to carve out a niche here. I get none of that when I’m still wallowing in the stink of a loss to the guy everyone decided was the softest fucking cunt in wrestling. Which he accepted, because he is.”

She leans right into the camera for that one and nods along.

“Erik Holland has a massively inflated opinion of himself that nobody else in the world shares. He marshals around like he’s some sort of deathmatch legend and humbly includes himself as maybe just the second or third best in the world whenever he says he’s trying to talk someone up.

If you told Erik Holland you were hosting a dick sucking content and there was a belt in it, he'd be the first in line telling you he was easily one of the top dick suckers in the world, having once sucked five dicks in the rain and gotten a medal for it. And all the time he’d be reminding us he was rapidly sucking his way through the ranks.”

She clicks her tongue.

“I remember once, when he was writing up the rankings for the best in the world at getting razor blades pushed into your face, he told me I was good but not quite worth rating yet because I didn’t quite have the resume he did. Imagine, that fat cunt talking down to me, even though I’ve been doing stupid shit to my body since like 1920s prohibition era wrestling and had already body-bagged him once in a match in which the ring explode.

I figured he’d remember that one. I can only assume when you’re a giant, 300 odd pound bag of shit and garbage, rings collapse under you all the time and it gets a bit samey after a while, but his continual pigheaded ignorance and absolute disdain for fact makes him quite hard to take seriously.”

A snarl tears across her face as she rattles off prose. When she is eventually standing over him, his insides rapidly becoming outsides and spreading about the ring, it’s probably that little exchange she’s going to use to justify.

It won’t take a lot.

“In 4CW meanwhile he’s not even earning pity praise. Days after getting his head chunked up by Viduus, he was up in the tweets bragging about not being a corpse, like it was his fault Holland didn’t have the decency to go another round with the man and die.

You can only piss with the cock you’ve got and Viduus practically drowned the man, while Holland is out there probably going against doctor’s orders to carry on ruining himself and treating it like a moral victory.

Everyone else in the world would know they weren’t on to a winner when they were trying to brag they only got beaten unconscious, but here comes the Bye Bye Man, trying to pedal it like a bike with two flat tyres and no seat that’s constantly catching fire.

And incidentally, that is the worst fucking nickname since all of the other nicknames he definitely gave himself”

She gives us a little tut and a shake of the head, no time to indulge in it now.

“This isn’t even just a taken aback by the rigors and demands of 4CW type of thing either. He’s crap everywhere else in the world too. Erik Holland has taken a similar approach to wrestling as grass has to fighting back the lawnmower and he’s come out of it looking just as good.

He just wants to bang out a brawl with everyone who comes his way and is always quite thankful when he gets to spend the evening talking up an injury that wasn’t actually as bad as the one his opponent promised but was still actually quite enough to get shot of him for a night.

That would be fine if we were in some carnival sideshow, but I’m not content to just spill a bunch of my blood about the ring and say we put on a great show for the fans. I’m out here for a bloody win and I’m going to Drederick Tatum this fat fuck while he tries to weather the storm like he was a third world country.

Which is fitting, because he’s not equipped for this, doesn’t have the infrastructure, and no one is going to care enough to help him when it’s over.”

She lets that one hang and twist in the wind.

“See, I get nothing for a win over this load, so I have to do more. I have to make a story of it, turn this match into a spectacle, undermine every terrible thing everyone else has ever done to him, Viduus backwards and beyond.

I want his autopsy reports to say it looked like someone accidently set off a blender inside him. I want death and terrible loss of life, children running from the stands for an entirely different reason than he’s used to. I want scorched earth and questions to my sanity, wrestlers coming up to me after their matches, complaining about the smell and panicking because they think they can catch type 2 diabetes from the stain of him I made in that ring.

They’re calling it a Deathmatch, so fine. I want him to die, but I’ll settle for him going down broken in chunks when his dangerously oversized heart gives out on him, because I am nothing if not flexible.”

Another little smile as she throws us a wink. Suddenly the pace of it all settles.

“I’m going to unmake him in as horrific a fashion as he can handle. I will see him look back on what two defending champions did to turn his body into a crime scene with fondness from the confines of his iron lung.

I will ruin his life in one single outing, and for that, I’ll have earned myself a foothold in this place. Perhaps not a particularly strong one; Holland has seen less marks in the win column here than he has of his own dick; the fat, repugnant loser. I can hardly expect to ride that to a guaranteed title shot - despite everything everyone who works here has told me to the contrary - but I’ll have cleared the slate at least and that’s good enough for now.

4CW is a goal of mine, like it is for a lot of people out there. Unlike the rest of them however, I’m not going to be another blustering big name, forever promising to get around to it, someday... maybe... one day soon, although hopefully not all that soon because I don't want to actually do.

That was me, but not anymore. No, I’m taking my steps. The first one is now.”

At that she let herself hang back, legs swinging, body teetering on the edge quite quiet, quite content. The camera cut there and hours, upon days, upon weeks upon months of pent up tension and hurt feelings fell with it.

She’d dreaded making this return. Everywhere she’d gone, everything she’d done, 4CW was always hanging over her like a curse. Now she was in it. She had a voice again and relief spread through her unchecked. Now she just had to act on it. That had always been the easy part.

Bye bye, man.

News Wire / Hellcat Spangled Death Squad best of 2018
« on: December 01, 2018, 10:47:13 AM »
Craig Anderson vs. Cosmo Cooper - 4CW Octane [ep 20]

Craig entered 4CW on a whim, having threatened to do so on numerous occasions and with the way in which he carried himself, there wasn’t a great deal expected of him. He’d done well enough elsewhere, but this was 4CW.

Cosmo meanwhile was a well-respected name in the company. A safe pair of hands, well liked across the wrestling world, but not without a mean streak and an ability pick people apart. He would later go on to help shoulder an entire division and carve out a name as one of their signature stars.

Craig was expected to go down swinging. Instead he stepped to the challenge, turned a lot of heads and shut a lot of mouths. He might not have stayed with the company much longer, but he left with a great deal more respect than he came.

Bad Company IV / You're My Wife Now, Dave!
« on: August 25, 2018, 08:25:51 PM »
What was the point of it all? What was it to do this to yourself? To spin out endlessly across the earth, wrestling every other night, obliterating yourself. All just so you could stand in any of three different continents, face pressed to a mirror, watching yourself be eaten away.

She could have just walked away, moved off in a new direction. Promoting had worked for her, she could have rounded off her career, profiting on someone else’s misery for a change. Instead, she’d decided to ruin herself completely. Squeeze out the last few years. Steal a couple more belts, run up a few more highlight reels, burn up the last few miles before she steered this car into a wall.

She’d carved a nice little niche in the corner of the world. Why did she have to mess with that? Why she was plotting one more big run?

“I’ll be honest, I couldn’t think of a good intro. I wanted to do a big speech about how 4CW is the proving ground. How people come here with their big dreams and reems of history. Only to find themselves face up and feeling stupid when they realise they just became a talking point for whichever big time start is trying to work their way back into the main event.

I even had a really great line about Erik Holland. About how he’s a fat sack of garbage everywhere in the world, and will be here too, just a sadder one than normal.

I wanted to try and ease myself into the scene. Then fucking Freddy and Jason tried to beat me down with fat jokes and suddenly I felt really stupid trying to big these cunts up.”

She swung her feet out from under and planted them on the floor.

“4CW is an embarrassment of riches when it comes to talent, but apparently not everyone is getting their fair share. Your tag champion is on his car screaming at traffic like a broken down, divorced dad who hasn’t seen his kids in three years and my our big, world-ending opponents could barely be fucked to google me.

You’ve got a main event pool that has turned this place into a bastion, but trickle down economics have failed you. The talent are getting complacent and Cosmo Cooper is no Bronx Valescence.”

She’d dragged herself together in the middle of the night, made it presentable, then thrown it at a camera. She did her best thinking in the middle of the night. It was partially why she was trying to avoid it.

“Here's the pitch then. I'm really fucking good at this. I've gone all the way around the world. collecting titles like Bryan Williams collects head injuries and convincing people to say goodbye to their bones and internal organs. I win a tag title every time I turn up on a show and I’m never going to be content. This time around, I’ve teamed with a chronic underachiever in Craig Anderson. A frustrating, disappointing figure, who never quite reached his potential. In spite of that, he still managed to sweep an entire division in NJFC and embarrass one of your champs.

Now imagine that guy if he just happened to be rushing toward the end of his career and decided to go out giving a shit.

About the only thing we don’t have is a long and storied history together, but amidst the line-up of have a go heroes and top stars who just happened to remember that 4CW has a tag division, I’m not worried. I don't need to wire my snatch to a car battery to know it'll hurt and I don't need to team with the guy who rolled every half decent junior heavyweight passing through Japan to know he's good at winning tournaments and snatching belts."

She rears off the numbers with her hands.

"We're not here to play spoiler, we’re going to turn the entire fucking thing over and steal it. Conversely the spooky dudes are looking past us towards a showdown with a guy who thinks your entire group is a joke. And honest to God, is he wrong?

Viduus had the right idea by playing dumb and saying nothing. Nemesis pipes up and suddenly the all consuming God Killer or whatever is an 8 year old boy, getting pulled up by the bigger kids because he doesn't know how to have a wank yet. I don't think they're going to save 4CW from the Japanese or whatever. I'll be surprised if he makes it to the next show without having to post another Salvation have done all they need. Goodbye forever tweet.

Honestly Nemesis, if you were a good minion, serf or whatever you are, you’d walk out right now and save poor Lurch the trouble of stabbing you in the back, because he could be something and you’re just another piece of shit nobody with ideas well above your station. Trying to carry yourself on one memorable reign in a company from which you ran away screaming the second things started to get tough.

You are a joke, a mess and you’ll be lucky if they let you leave this company a nobody.”

Less than a year ago she was out. She’d moved on. Now she was leant forward in an armchair, snarling at some would be psychopath in blackface.

Was it really that bad to be alone in your head?

“Viduus is at least better by comparison, but that’s hardly something to feel good about. He’s had a good innings, but he’s surrounded himself with nonsense makers. A circus troupe of idiots and a hype man whose job appears to be just to spew rhetoric and kill time while Papa Lazarou stands about looking constipated.

And by the way, imagine taking a trip to Pearl Harbor and seeing these four fucking clowns dicking around like pantomime goons.”

A soft tut. Her eyes briefly twinged as her phone quietly rumbled, just low enough not to make the edit. That had been a surprise all of its own. How strange the way things come around together like that.

“Salvation are a ridiculous carnival of stupid and we’re all bored with theatrics. In the end, it will turn out like it always does for these types. Bones break, flesh renders and every monster is just another man when you’re standing on their throat. Let’s not drag this out any longer than we need to.”

A brief smile played about her lips and she threw a wink for good measure. She was never particularly good at it. Always killed the moment.

“We’re going to beat Salvation. We’re going to break them. We’re going to end this lunacy before it even gets going. Then we’re going to do the same to every other team in the way. And I ask you, who’s going to stop us? Who really wants this?

Do you think Ana and Bronx see this as anything more than a distraction? Do you think the Omerta guys are still going to care the second we dump Salvation and they get denied their big freakshow fight? You think Zombie and Tommy see this as anything more than a chance to pad the stats? You think the Carlsons really give a fuck when they’re best ideas were The Dogs are like dogs and here’s Genie waking up ready with a tight three minutes on everything wrong with them.

Battleborn care, but at the same time Cosmo is already sizing up an MMA career. So you have to wonder how much of his heart is really still in it? What's more, if he does drop out, who is going to be left to hold this division together?”

A little shrug escaped her as she brought the proceedings to a standstill.

“I’m not arrogant enough to think we’re going to turn up here and world is going to fall down around us, but I can certainly see the cracks. Half these teams are passing through for a payday, most of them have been tossed together and your tag champs are drowning.

So fine. When we win, I'll sign a contract. I'll drag Craig to the heights he always should have reached and together we'll bludgeon any combo dumb enough to try and make their name at our expense. I'll get you the tag team champions this company deserves, or I'll break myself into a thousand pieces trying.

You invited me into your home. That’s my gift.”

Lisa stepped forward out of her chair, flicked the camera off and then dropped back into the echoing silence. She sighed. Shut her eyes.

Was that enough? Did that scratch the itch?

Non-Active Talent / Lisa Seldon
« on: July 27, 2018, 02:18:12 PM »

NAME: Lisa Seldon
NICKNAME: Lisa Frankenstein
DATE OF BIRTH: 28/07/??
PROFESSIONAL DEBUT: I can’t remember
HEIGHT: 5'6"
WEIGHT: 130 lbs
BILLED FROM: Glasgow, Scotland
ENTRANCE MUSIC: "Fear of Dying" by Jack Off Jill
PICBASE: Drew Barrymore
TWITTER HANDLE: @lisacanrana

She’s not great, but she's doing her best.

Long red hair. Dresses like an angry teenager.

Red sneakers; black denim short shorts over some patterned leggings; one elbow pad on the left, white tape from knuckle to wrist, and whatever t-shirt she's trying to sell to top it off.

WRESTLING STYLE: High-Kicking Horrorshow.

  • Muay-Thai Clinch Knee Strikes
  • Roundhouse Kick
  • Back Brain Kick
  • Spinning Heelkick
  • Spinning Legsweep
  • Spinning Back Elbow
  • X-Factor
  • Sitout Gordbuster
  • Sitout Jawbreaker
  • Death Valley Driver
  • Snap Crucifix Driver
  • Northern Lights Suplex
  • Dragon Suplex

  • Sliding Dropkick
  • Penalty Kick
  • Triangle Hold
  • Frontflip Double Knees
  • A bunch of Really Cool Pins

  • Yakuza Kick
  • Step-Up Back Brain Kick

  • Springboard Legdrop
  • Springboard Dropkick
  • Springboard Sunset Flip
  • Diving Hurricanrana
  • Spaceman Plancha

  • Occasionally she will bite people in the face and spit blood in the air

The Evil Dead: Fisherman’s Driver.
Horror Pop: Top-Rope/Running/Tree-of-Woe Shotgun Double Knee Strike. Basically anytime she lifts two knees and puts them through a person's face.
Killa-cana-rama: Spike Hurricanrana.
Black Horse Riding Star: Top-Rope No Hand Asai Moonsault.
The Evil Dead 2 (Dead by Dawn): Angle Slam lift to Fisherman’s Driver.
Wolfsbane: Blinding Mist Attack.
Funlay Roll: Basement Roll Fireman's Carry Pick-up (ala Mark Haskins). Used as a setup for all manner of moves, such as the Death Valley Driver, the Evil Dead or all those stupid tag moves she does.

The Man Opener: Overhead Roundhouse Kick to an opponent on all fours (usually setup by knees from the clinch).
Hovering Butterfly: Alligator Clutch Pin.
The Evil Dead III (Army of Darkness): Vertical Drop Wrist Clutch Fisherman’s Driver (death move).

Lisa Seldon is a UK born professional wrestler, best known for her time in the various promotions under the umbrella of the AoWF. During this time she enjoyed a great deal of success, going as far as winning the community's World Championship and taking numerous accolades in the process.

Lisa Seldon would enjoy a few years in seclusion before eventually returning to action in the Oceanic Wrestling Federation, a territory of the CWC, where she currently resides as the OWF Ultimate Champion.

  • "name" Championship (#x)
  • "name" Championship (#x)

  • Continental Carnage Wrestling Tag Team Champion (w/Jamie Havoc)
  • High Impact Competition Orange Drink Champion
  • High Impact Competition Tn’T Champion (twice)
  • High Impact Competition World Champion (twice)
  • Unified Wrestling Alliance Tag Team Champion (twice w/Calista Miller)
  • Liberty Wrestling Federation World Champion
  • Pioneer Wrestling Association World Tag Team Champion (twice w/Dahlia Starr & Anna Mathews)
  • Epic Wrestling Organisation World Tag Team Champion (w/Sam Haines)
  • Sin Wrestling Ultraviolence Champion
  • Rebel Pro Aggression Champion
  • Rebel Pro World Champion
  • Rebel Pro Tag Team Champion (w/Emily Corlen)
  • The Alliance of Wrestling Federations World Champion
  • The Alliance of Wrestling Federations World Tag-Team Champion (w/Anna Mathews)
  • Oceanic Wrestling Federation Ultimate Champion
  • Grindhouse Triangle Champion
  • Stanton Entertainment Hardcore Champion
  • Stanton Entertainment Lightweight Champion
  • The Championship Wrestling Coalition Trios Champion (w/Anna Mathews & Jacky Rex Daniels)
  • Japan Legacy Openweight Tag Team Champion (w/Anna Mathews)
  • Rose City Wrestling Trios Champion (w/Ana Hayden & Betsy Granger)

NAME: Alex
AGE: age
PREFERRED METHOD OF CONTACT: Probably just twitter

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