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Archive for January, 2000

Hey, Rocky, watch me pull a SPINE out of this DINK… (Again?)

January 28th, 2000
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[The scene opens as Bobo is tossing a box into the furnace of the warehouse/hideout… Surprisingly adroit camera work on the part of the crew shows the side of the box says ‘Contents: One (1) Big Bullwinkle Suit, Size 5XL’ before Bobo slams the incinerator door shut and fires it up… He dusts his hands in satisfaction, and slowly turns to the camera…]

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, it seems that I’m going to have to – much like the song – E-lim… In-ate the Neige-a-tive… This pleases me.

So, you seem to think my ‘gimmick’ is old hat, and in the same breath ask ‘Whatcha gonna do?’ Oh, heavens… He’s gone to the ‘Mania’, and he wants to throw stones? It is to laugh. Heh. Listen, junior, and listen good… You can take that Ninja Snowman guff back to that Playstation game you stole it from, and try renting something that will be a better fit for your future in the business… I have a list, just so you don’t get lost in the Kid-Vid section… Again. Heh…

Dead Man Walking
Better Off Dead
Running Scared
Judgement Night
Apocalypse Now
No Way Out
A Lesson Before Dying
The Falcon and the Snowman
The Gods Must Be Crazy
HBO’s America Undercover Presents… AUTOPSY.

Looks a little bleak for the Neigeroo, don’t it? Well, there is a price to be paid for HUBRIS – and Bobo’s the COLLECTIONS DEPARTMENT. Heh. You big sissy, the only snowman I’ve ever seen get pissed was when I saw you PISS YOURSELF when you realized that you had been defeated by Alabama-Man in a Main Event… It is to laugh… A big, tough, snowbunny got his clock cleaned by some ham-sandwich, and for all the world to see… Does that bother you? To be defeated via CLEAN THREE-COUNT by what was pretty much the three-day old leftover scrapings from my BOOT? GOOD. You can’t do anything about it, even assuming you were foolish enough to take your life in your own hands and TOSS IT OUT THE WINDOW…. Heh. And you wanna THREATEN? Such as I? That’s just sad….

Such scandalous temerity shall not go unpunished, snowflake… No, clearly not. I will pummel your big, fat, head into a shattered bag of bone fragments and use it for a NOISEMAKER on New Year’s! There won’t be enough of you left for CLEAR MEMORIES, and that’s assuming you were ever GOING to BE remembered… Heh.

I just hope that the Neige of the FOURteen doesn’t get himself into a situation he can’t get out of – like YOU did… Sadly, I’m going to have to make sure you set a CLEAR example for your successor on how NOT to end one’s career… You can either face me, or HOPE I don’t FIND you… Seeing how your Snow Ninja Martial Arts served so well in that stunning loss to an already broken Alabama-Man, I would buy a ticket to the farthest place from FCP I could… But, since it’s too late to qualify for Greyhound’s $65 Go-Anywhere Ticket, I guess you’ll try to prove to all the little snowmen that I really DON’T scare the wet out of your bladder… Fine. But let me remind you that the worst liar of all is the one that LIES to THEMSELVES, and all the affirmations in the world about what a tough, smart, snowman you think you are – are going to be brought to a halt by the big, brutal Sluggo Stick of REALITY… I guarantee, snowflake, you’re going to think you were in a FOOTBALL game, BY YOURSELF…

To what passes for your teammates, I say this… If you have the ball, I will hurt you… However, since I’m going to hurt Neige ANYWAY, just give him the ball and save yourselves some hospital time… Okay? Spiffy…

Just wondering, though… If I’m a ‘Manga Fascist’, just how does that construe a shortsighted view on ANIME? As any non-POSEUR could tell you, Manga are ‘Irresponsible Pictures’, also known as Comicbooks… Anime is the shortening of A-ni-me-shi-n, which is TV Cartoons… Uh oh… Looks like your ‘love of anime’ is as much a load of hooey as your touted wrestling skill…

Not that the fans can’t TELL you’re a couple hundred pounds of BS, of course… Even THEY aren’t that dopey. Proof? I don’t think any of the fans ever ONCE cheered for YOU…

But they’ll cheer for you soon…

You just won’t be able to hear it…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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The Smooth Operator? Must… Not… Laugh…

January 26th, 2000
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[We see Bobo Fiendish sitting in a chair by the television in the warehouse hideout while Dr. Plants rants incessantly… Bobo doesn’t move during the entire interview, and the camera starts moving VERY carefully towards him… We see a long stick – possibly a broom handle – shakily reach out and tap the back of the chair…]

Cameraman: Mr. Fiendish? Wake up! You’re on!

Bobo Fiendish: Snurrrr… Wha? Who? Oh…

Hello, my intended…

Well, looks like the good doctor makes a nice living in the sleep disorder clinic, doesn’t it? I don’t recall anyone asking for your resume, Sillystring… I guess that if you repeat what you’ve ‘accomplished’ out loud enough times, people will think you’re some kind of VETERAN, eh? It is to laugh… Sure, you talk like you’ve been in the business for a while, but so has Buddy Lee Parker and he doesn’t impress me much either… Heh

Well, since we’re ‘examining’ each other, let’s go over your little palabra, shall we? The dirtiest Booby Enhancer in Wrestling today? Interesting twist on Ric Flair’s tag, but I think the BIGGER booby enhancer would have to be the optical zoom on the camera you interviewed in front of, Connie…

Sipping Amaretto? Went from Flair to DiBiase in one segue… I’d figure the middle ground to be that ‘Rich Boy Raven’ angle the WCW dragged to death… Not very interesting, but hey, at least the mosaic is showing some contrast…

Awww… Now he won’t put on the Bullwinkle suit, and he wants to yell at the boss… Wow, we haven’t seen THAT before, have we? Oh, hold on… My bad… EVERYBODY is doing THAT, so I guess you’re in fair company… It’s the Brass Versus the Boys, right? Yeah, let’s beat THAT horsie some more… That behind the scenes shyte may have flown six years ago, but it’s showing serious wear these days, Doc…

And let’s be honest, if you were as tough as you claim, you wouldn’t have to leave your options open by splitting your time between two feds, would you? You COULD rule in any fed out there, provided your little sister or some sidekicky foo-foo that thinks he’s your friend built IT, too. Five champs in five days, he says… Next thing he’ll probably steal the ‘You’re Next’, huh?

Just to provide some MORE education for this pathetically shallow talent pool, Doc, let me TEACH you that the term ‘Folding on BRAGS’ is a POKER term that denotes forcing out the competition with NOTHING even CLOSE to a winning hand… I can obviously see that a mook like you doesn’t NEED to brag, but seven minutes later I figure you just LIKE to… A LOT.

And now he wants to play the Prison angle? Good. Not that I really figure a guy that took 6 years of Gynecology just to be able to see a woman naked has a lot of room to cast aspersions, mind you, but I digress… Like most people on the Row, I was in Solitary… Before you made enough money quilting together the collective wrestling world and selling it as yours to be able to afford escorts named Heidi, I’m sure you spent quite a LOT of time in solitary… The difference being that I was there because of a JUDGE, and you were there because of GENETICS. Heh.

But it continues, as you seem to have forgotten a few people to steal from in the Plagary Stop-n-Go… You doof, nobody cared when Jim ‘call me WARRIOR, dammit’ Hellwig ‘outed’ Terry Bollea’s Disciple, so your attempts to ‘out’ me as some sort of clone are laughable… Mean Mark Callas couldn’t say his own name three times without tripping over it, but what does that have to do with anything? A big bag of ‘Who Gives a Rat’s Ass?’ I forget, did you steal that from Duane Johnson or Paige Falkenberg? Both, huh? Spiffy. Looks like you also stole Paige’s ‘No Respect from the Hot Mama’ spiel he’s working these days… Any port in a storm I guess…

And what’s with this Neige fixation? Oh, I get it… Personally, if I were you, I’d probably rather slapfight the little tinkerbunny than step in the ring with a guy that doesn’t read SCRIPTS as well… Heh.

But let me give you an out… Doc… Pack it up now and trot back to Some Tepid Widdle Fed – where a big mosaic of Russo Scripts that walks like you can prosper, even rule – and I won’t nail your casket shut with your TEETH. Deal?

No? Good… Looks like I get some more COLOR for my backstories… Why do you call yourself something like the Smooth Operator, and then presume to derrogate MY honorific…? Hell, at least I didn’t pick a nick so I could pretend ‘Sade’ was singing about me while Heidi flossed, eh? You’ve defeated the best, have you? I don’t see how that’s possible, since I just GOT here, DOC. Now, since you’re so tough, if you’ve got THIS promoter doing you favors FOR favors like these other places you supposedly rule, then you should be confident that they’ll get me to read the ‘Doc Wins’ script you carry around like a Get Out of Jail Free Card…

But you know that won’t happen, don’t you? Sure you do… All I want is you in the ring for a match, Doc… Then you’ll see how many DIFFERENT ways a guy can be crippled as I see how many pieces of you I can tear off before you GIVE UP AND DIE, part-timer.

Oh, that was Rick Rude’s schtick, too… You’ll have something ELSE in common soon enough, DOC.

I PROMISE.

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Well, THAT was almost a WARMUP… What’s next?

January 25th, 2000
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[Bobo comes storming into the warehouse/hideout after MMM#6… He looks a little agitated, which is never a good thing… He turns to the camera, and we see that he’s got a look on his face that seems to bespeak volumes of the horror to come.]

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, as you can already tell, your ‘hero’ is probably getting the rest of his head stitched back on after that little girl beat him up. This pleases me… Maybe the bookers here will get it through their head that these ‘Battle of the Sexes’ matches are just not going over. At least not on MY watch. Consider NOTICE served. If you lot don’t get some women for her to fight, I’ll personally see to it that as long as she faces men, she’ll be a blonde Goldberg. Not for HER sake, mind you… But for the sport.

For too long I’ve seen promotion after promotion gleefully leap into the gutter to provide this kind of broadband SEWAGE, and I’ve had enough. Wrestling is to take back it’s DIGNITY- by FORCE, and by all the Hells there are, Bobo Q. Fiendish will lead the charge…

And speaking of charge… What the hell kind of PPV is this Full Court press supposed to be? Some kind of BS MTV Rock ‘n Jock Ripoff? Mind you, I was a Power Forward in the Prison League so my concern is not for being out of my element… And I’m pretty sure that the feebs in Team One are at least as pathetic as the feebs I’ll be carrying ON MY BACK to victory… No, my concern is for the fact that this has nothing to do with wrestling… I mean, what’s next? Putting has-been WWF ‘superstars’ in a BOXING ring? Oops… Ahem. But I digress…

Let’s look over my ‘teammates’…

PZREMSLWVK? What carwash did the Boss hire these knuckledraggers from? And did he keep his receipt? Heh.

Kermit? What the hell is this? Sesame Street?

The Domino? Well, I guess we COULD celebrate our victory with some pizza…

Birdboy? Must… Not… Laugh…

XXXTreme Machine? He’s still alive? Better luck next time, I guess…

Barbie Banner? The GIRL? Oh well, I suppose we could use a cheerleader…

Blackjack Hooligan? Are they kidding? Irish people can’t play basketball any better than they can play chess or read or stay sober… I’d use him for the waterboy, but he’d probably just tap a keg and float his liver under the bleachers… Heh. Oh well, we can send him in for intentional fouls – which should confuse the referee some, since putting that fat paddy out on the floor in the first place with only a nylon b-ball uniform to contain the stink is an intentional foul ON US. But I digress…

Listen, you halfwits… You just remember ONE thing come the PPV… Give Bobo the ball, and you’ll win…

Now, if it turns out that this will be some kind of 8-on-8 Battle, well, that calls for a slight change in tactics…

Tag Bobo, and you’ll win… Don’t EVER touch the GIRL, or you’ll spend the rest of your life WISHING I KILLED YOU… That is all.

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Is this feeb SERIOUS?

January 25th, 2000
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Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

First, allow me to clear the air between this big dink doctor and myself… Ahem. Sir, please do not misunderstand about my referring to a ‘Love Boat’ character could POSSIBLY implicate you… Hell, just by listening to you talk, it’s pretty obvious that you couldn’t get the Love Boat gig as a Key Grip – if your DADDY was the PRODUCER that week. Heh.

Now, now, don’t get all mad… I’m just serious. Heh. C’mon, Sillystring, you wanna play shuffleboard with my gall bladder? Fine. In case you don’t register, you pillowbiting pillroller, if you want to make a threat to such as I – you’d better have something to back it up with, because if you’re trying to fold me on BRAGS, you’re in for a rude shock.

I don’t SCARE, MptyPants. To be afraid of something, you have to believe that it has the capacity to harm you… Any fool can see that such as you – some frustrated mail order med-school T&A man – has precious little to make the likes of the Angel of DEATH Most Exalted so much as notice he EXISTS. Fear? It is to laugh. So you can go peddle your homoerotic fantasies back at the Alley Apple Abortion Clinic you clean coathangers for all night, okay? Nobody’s buying here, fluffernutter.

Further, you seem to think that people actually CARE that you and this Neige-a-tive don’t like each other… It is to laugh… If you two put your hearts and souls into selling that line of schmaltz, you could generate enough heat to toast some BREAD…. LIGHTLY. We all see you two hanging out together… Going to clubs… Sharing each other’s lipstick… You’re like sisters – only not interesting. Kindly go soak your skull until enough dandruff crust comes off that oxygen can reach your brain once more… Remember… You’re not slow…. You’re not fast… You’re HALF FAST

Just looking out for what passes for ‘stars’ in this grab-astic podunk promotion…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Bloody hell….

January 24th, 2000
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Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, well, well, it took a bit to figure out that the other links in my bio were still active, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out that the last communicae between us was still on the old challenge board… Heh. You had me going there for a sec, Noogie… Let me state what that means…

STRIKE ONE. And you only get THREE before your side is RETIRED. FOREVER. Do you think a feeb like you can make me feel welcome by claiming to KNOW someone whose skull I want to use for a SOCK PUPPET? Truly? Fine.

Then you should have no problem accepting a friendly MAUL or eight on their behalf, huh, BUDDY? Spiffy.

Now to business… You dare compare the Angel of Death MOST EXALTED to some quack named Sillystring Mpty Pants? It is to laugh… While I’m sure he squealed like a schoolgirl to be thought cool by association with such as I, it is not so… Now, he wants to show off a little and write checks he can’t cash, does he? Thinks he can TAKE us? To be honest, Sillystring, YOU DON’T HAVE ENOUGH FLIPPIN’ FRIENDS TO EVEN WISH YOU COULD. Better stick to the ol’ Nip & Tuck Drive-thru, Nil-a-thon… It’s a lot easier to make forty year old hags think they’re twenty-something again than it’d be to convince anyone with two brain cells to rub together that you have a Snow Ninja’s chance in a blast furnace against the Omega Supreme that is BOBO Q. FIENDISH… Don’t kid yourself like that, okay, Ducky M? It’s a LONG fall. Consider yourself WARNED.

By the way, I WAS referring to the GO-FISH with the Love Boat reference, you dink. Better stay out of the area from now on, okay, Doc? You’ll just KEEP getting your FEELINGS hurt, and that impotent rage that just floods in when you know there’s no way you can EVER do anything to redeem yourself will just KEEP piling up until your head pops… Luckily, I picked up a little neurosurgery in my travels, though… So when the pressure of your powerlessness gets to be too much to bear, just call… I’ll be happy to pull your brain out your eyesocket for you, you big Poof. Just send up a flare, and I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anymore… EVER. I promise.

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Oh, cool…

January 24th, 2000
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[The scene opens to the semi-abandoned warehouse that Bobo is currently renovating to be one of his many secret hideouts… The TV is on, and we hear Neige Thirteen desperately trying to impersonate Chris Jericho – or Bill Nye, we’re not sure – Bobo takes a break from clearing some of the debris and starts chugging some Gatorade as the TV relays a single line…]

“How about this…? Hey NUTSACK! Only YOU can prevent forest fires…”

[Bobo spews Gatorade in surprise. He then wheels on the TV and stares at the image on the screen. After a few seconds study, he turns to face the camera.]

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

I could only HOPE that the people in the Witness Relocation Program were THIS incompetent… This pleases me. If you ARE who we THINK you are, then we’re going to LIKE it here… If you’re NOT who we think you are, we’re STILL going to like it here, but you’ll be sacrificed in vain. Bummer.

So, you wanna try to pull THAT card, do you? Fine. Assuming you ARE the feeble little finster-on-the-run that managed to keep from being killed TWICE through outside intervention, let me just remind you of this…

THIRD times the CHARM.

This definitely lends creedence to the Existence of God Theory… Would that it were so… Horsegoes Neige, allow me to add a smidge of education to your pitiful attempt to prove yourself otaku… There is no plural for any noun in Japanese… Ever. Thus, no TRUE otaku would ever be a fan of ‘mangas’, as to a true otaku, there’s no such thing. This, of course, proves you to be a poseur – but I digress.

You think watching Speed Racer makes you an anime fan? It is to laugh. What’s the gimmick you’re babbling about here? Wasted Childhood? Vicarious Social Acceptance Through Television? Some fat freak from the Simpsons that spends his days off from the comic book store WRESTLING? That might fly in the sticks, but so does Cowtipping… Funny thing though, is that once something BETTER comes along, cowtipping loses some of its appeal… The same will be said of you… POSTHUMOUSLY.

Now, since I’ve got to face this wifebeater named after a porno theater to show the fans that the higher-ups here CAN recognize talent when it falls out of the sky, I suggest in honor of the bloody swatch I will tear through what passes for a ROSTER here, they rename BOB to BLOB.

Bring Lots Of BODYBAGS.

The Angel of Death Most Exalted is IN…

Watch OUT.

Verbal abuse provided by Bobo Fiendish…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Old MICKdonald had a deathwish… E-I-E-I-O

January 22nd, 2000
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Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended.

[Bobo stands, and walks towards the camera… It seems he and the crew are in some kind of abandoned warehouse, and Bobo was cleaning it up enough to use for a temporary hideout… The camera shakes every so often – either from cold or fear, we can’t tell.]

BF: Well, well, well… He wants me to name another Irish Cowboy, does he? Fine. Troy Aikman. Happy? Heh.

You big mutt… If that was what you consider a reply, then you wasted the time of the three people that care about you… You, your mom, and your Sponsor – but I digress… Is THIS what I can look forward to facing? Is THIS the caliber of contention I bear witness to? Must… Not… Laugh… I’m guessing you’ll need another couple pints to clear the cobwebs, huh?

Well, that said, let me derrogate some to what I’ve got to ACTUALLY fight… Let’s see this 3×5… XXXtreme? Are they serious? Sounds like a porno theater… I gotta fight this? You, cameraman… You know anything about this cataclysmic mook?

Camerman: Uh, I think he’s a wifebeater, or something… Mr. Angel of Death Most Exalted…

BF: Very good… You get a cookie. So, you puds think that someone who beats on women is a match for such as I? Truly? Well, I guess I’ll have to wring all the juice out of this guy’s skull to show the kids that might be watching that people that beat women deserve no mercy… And what’s this? The ‘Stereotyped Face’ is facing… A woman? is this a typo? A WOMAN?

Cameraman: It’s a debut match… Justin is a good guy, so we’re pretty sure he won’t try to damage her TOO much…

BF: That’s just sad… So, let’s check the line for Bobo’s Wild Ride as it stands… First, I get to squeeze the frickin’ life out of someone named after a porn theater that beats women… THEN to complete my WARM-UP, I get to use the big Green Horn for a MOP to clean up all the blood I wring out of the porno theater… THEN, I’ll hang around until this alleged ‘face’ comes out to fight a GIRL, and I’ll crack his head open to the whitemeat. Spiffy. Should be worth the price of admission, huh? This pleases me…

Cameraman: You can’t just attack JV, man… He’s our franchise or something… I think…

BF: Franchises close, pal. If he wants to be a stereotypical face, then he’ll have to have the penultimate heel, and since the closest we have to that is some refugee from the ‘Love Boat’ and a Vietnamese Cook, I’ll step up.

Cameraman: You’re making fun of our top stars, Bobo… They won’t stand for it…

BF: Then we’ll make them LAY DOWN for it, won’t we? Think of the fans…

Cameraman: Both of them?

BF: ….Why do you have a job?

Cameraman: My mom told me to get one or she’d change the locks…

BF: ……..That’s just sad. Let’s assume that someone actually gets to the mid-700s on his satellite, and stumbles across this promotion… Say his kid’s with him, and the little rugrat is impressionable… Would you rather he see some ‘good’ guy whip some chick – thereby inferring that beating women is ‘good’, or would you rather have them learn to respect women by having some great big monster tear him a new one – and cram his head up his OLD one – for even TRYING such a thing? Thus showing not only that Bad Actions Have Bad Consequences, but other valuable life lessons… Such as Don’t Stand on the Tracks When the TRAIN’S COMING THROUGH… But I digress… This promotion isn’t ready for the level of mayhem that such as I routinely inflict… Too bad, though, because Bobo has a mission…

Cameraman: Mission? You wanna be the Best? Or the Best oof the Best? C’mon, our fanbase isn’t exactly watching this on PBS, okay?

BF: Any damn fool can be considered the Best at any one time… No, I propose to be something MUCH more difficult than the best… THE LAST.

Cameraman: Ulp…

BF: Remember, folks… This is all for YOU…

You’re Welcome… See you SOON…

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Re: Live from Stinky McNasty’s

January 22nd, 2000
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[The camera moves Blair Witch style, as if the operator realizes what a terrible part of town he’s in… We see the camera begin to back away from a corner, presumably to get back into the van and skedaddle… The hapless cameraman opens the door to get in and make good his escape, but the door opens on its own as he gets there…]

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

[The cameraman falls on his keister in surprise, and the mysterious stranger gets out of the van to loom in full view of the camera… He wears a ragged black jumpsuit with Department of Corrections markings on it, a mask that looks more like a muzzle, and a sticker on his chest that says ‘Hi. My name is _BOBO_’]

BF: Well, well, well… It seems we have some kind of potato rancher talking shyte… This pleases me. You there, cameraman… On your feet…

Cameraman: Me?

BF: Yes. You see, this sorry attempt at Old MICKdonald seems to feel threatened by our existance… Sorry, ‘lassie’, but seeing as how I have no idea who you are, there’s really no reason to rip off all your arms and legs. I guess that’s all bolluxed now though, huh? Fine.

You need to understand, Shame-Us. Although I grant that there are quite a few similarities twixt the average Irish NOOgin, and the below-average brick – the former being denser and the latter faster to conduct electricity, but I digress… Does this mean you think I ‘stole’ a move so elementary as a CLAW, from of all people the sad copy of BARRY frickin’ WINDHAM’s old man? It is to laugh… Heh.

You simpleton… You think after 27 beers you can muster enough courage to try and use ME to springboard into whatever passes for a spotlight in this farm-league? That’s sad… Do you know what happens when people like you let LIQUOR pump them up to believe they can challenge such as I? The world has FEWER people like YOU…

Know this: I am the Angel of DEATH Most Exalted. The day I back off from some punk that thinks he can challenge his betters will be one of the chilliest Hell’s ever had… You want to step up to the plate and take a ticket to Bobo’s Wild Ride? Done…

Nobody leaves empty-handed….

EVERYBODY gets a prize….

Today’s prize is a shiny WHEELCHAIR… Spiffy. One of the few vehicles you can’t get a ticket for driving under the influence in… Heh. Here’s your chance, Old MICKdonald… You wanna scramble with such as I? Really? Well, after I stomp the guts out of ‘AlabamaMan’, I’ll figure I’d need someone to finish warming up on, and if you got the brass (or your BUD has convinced you you do, whatever comes first) I say we have a little scrimmage..

And then I’ll cram that stupid cowboy hat down your neck! An Irish cowboy… Sheesh… You want something nobody’s done before, I suggest an Irish teetotaler… That’s gotta be worth some heat, huh?

Just a little help for your career from the Angel of Death Most Exalted…

You’re Welcome… See you SOON.

[The camera follows Fiendish as he walks to the shadows… And vanishes.]

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