Archive for February, 2000

The Wrath of EX-Con

February 25th, 2000
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(Bobo Fiendish gets set to hear the eloquent retort of Justin Voss. It blurs by, and Bobo looks puzzled. He rewinds the tape, and sets it for slo-mo, and STILL misses it. He taps his foot impatiently as he wires the news-services for a transcript. Ten seconds later the computer prints it out, and Bobo closely studies the sentence. He looks to the printer – perhaps expecting more – but nothing else comes over the wire. He crumples the paper and flings it into the trashcan.)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, even I’m surprised by this one, folks… Justin Voss seems intent to mount a campaign based on speeches that fit on bumper-stickers… I mean, come on! If I BLINKED I would have missed that last promo, Justy. This is beginning to look like you don’t take me seriously as an opponent. Well, if that’s the case then let me say this:

Those photos you have of the Big BOSS? He now knows you made them with Photoshop… Looks like your ‘Ace in the Hole’ just got trumped. Awww…. Too bad.

Now to business… I’ve decided to show the fans a Champion Caliber Promo, and for that I visited the soup kitchen and retrieved THIS.

(Bobo points to a large box with air-holes gouged in it. Soft sobbing is barely audible through the styrofoam peanuts. Bobo kicks the box, and it breaks open like a piñata. A smallish man in a bowler hat with a microphone in his hand spills out amidst the chaff, and Bobo hauls him to a vertical base…)

Dennis: I say there, old chap, where the bloody hell am I? It was Fish and Chips night at the bowery!

BF: Are you not Dennis, of Brawlers on a Budget?

Dennis: Well, I’m Dennis… I haven’t been allowed to interview anyone since they signed me, though… Hard cheese, I s’pose, but the rub is that I foolishly signed a pay-per-appearance contract; which brought me to the desperate times you trundled me away from in a box. Bit of a rip, that, eh what?

BF: ………That’s just sad. Well, since I went through all the trouble to fetch you, you may as well do your thing… Who knows? It might not suck…

Dennis: What are you asking?

BF: Duh? Why did they hire you?

Dennis: I was cheap.

BF: BESIDES that, you dink.

Dennis: I’m an interviewer?

BF: Well, the jury’s still deliberating…

Dennis: Are YOU a wrestler with… With BOB?

BF: Would anyone NOT in BOB know it existed?

Dennis: Oh, happy day! I can finally make some money without losing a pint of blood!

BF: ….Jury’s still out on THAT too. Heh.

Dennis: Uh… Well, moving right along, sir… What exactly is your name?

BF: Fiendish. Bobo Fiendish.

Dennis: Very droll… Nice jab with the ‘Bond’ bit, but really…

BF: No. REALLY. My name is Bobo Fiendish… Also known as the Angel of Death MOST EXALTED.

Dennis: Ooooo-Kay… And what brings you to Brawlers on a Budget?

BF: A bus.

Dennis: Two for two, then. Smashing…

BF: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves… Heh.

Dennis: I… -Ahem- Well, uh, how long have you been in BOB, uh, Bobo…?

BF: A good while, now…

Dennis: And what do you think of the other wrestlers here?

BF: Not much.

Dennis: Well, that’s grand… What have you been doing here, uh, in BOB?

BF: Winning.

Dennis: Uh… Future plans, or dare I imagine?

BF: Glad you asked… I figure at a Death Experience – BOBs Third PPV – I will jump up and down on the Stereo-Typical Face Justin Voss until he’s paper thin and DRY. After that, I expect to hold on to the Pan-Galactic Championship for thirty days, after which they’ll probably take it away because nobody wants to fight me, PERIOD. Belt or not. Not that I blame them, of course… For what the ‘boys’ make here, they’d have to be STUPID to step up for a severe thrashing at the hands of the Man, the Myth, the MONSTER that IS… Bobo Fiendish.

Dennis: Uh, what makes you so certain that you’ll defeat Justin Voss? People like to see faces win… And I also hear that he has pictures of the Big BOSS in flagrante…

BF: Those are fakes.

Dennis: Really?

BF: Yes. Pretty amateurish cut and paste job, too…

Dennis: Fascinating… So, what you”re saying is that Justin is going to have his hands full at a Death Experience?

BF: Well, he will once I give him back his HEAD… But I digress.

Dennis: Thanks EVER so…. Well, folks… Can Good triumph over Evil? Will Justin Voss overcome what seems to be impossible odds and defeat this… Monster?

BF: Not bloody likely, guv’nuh. Heh.

Dennis: That wasn’t very nice…

BF: And?

Dennis: …..Right then. Any parting comments for the folks at home?

BF: Certainly. Folks, for too long you have been hoodwinked by the likes of the Stereo-Typical Feces Justin Voss. You have been led to believe that of all the wrestlers in Brawlers on a Budget, HE is the one you should cheer. That is not so. And as he further insults your intelligence with lame asides, re-re-recycled catch-phrases and sound bites that wouldn’t fill a supermodel’s belly, you have to ask yourself… ‘Why the hell am I cheering for THAT big DINK Justin Voss?’ Then, I’ll be happy to give you something you’ve not seen in YEARS of professional wrestling…


You’re welcome… See you SOON.

Dennis: …..Right-o. Well, folks, this has been Dennis the Interviewer… On behalf of Brawlers on a Budget, let me say ‘Good Night, and God Help Justin Voss…’

BF: …. What the hell are you doing?

Dennis: I’m, uh, wrapping up…. The interview is over, right?

BF: The SEGMENT ends with me saying ‘You’re Welcome’… Like it ALWAYS has for three years….

Dennis: Uh… Sorry, old chap, I’m a little out of the loop…

BF: Well, we can fix that… C’mere….

Clive: Oh, I can’t look…. (Camera points down)

Dennis: AAAAAAIIIIIEEE! For the love of GOD, NOoooooO! Someone call a CONSTABLE! AAAAAAaaaa!

BF: You can look now… Heh.

(The camera comes into focus to see Dennis is nowhere in sight, as Bobo nails shut a big box marked ‘London’ with three stamps on it… The box DOESN’T have air-holes…)

Clive: That doesn’t look like enough postage…

BF: I know… But at least he’ll be in the loop… The Postal Loop, I admit, but why be picky?

Clive: That is SO disturbing…

BF: Heh. Remember, Dennis… Short breaths… CONSERVATION is the key to survival…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Countdown to Extinction

February 24th, 2000
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(Bobo Fiendish sits in front of the TV with a sinister smile on his face. He looks to the calender, and the folks at home see that the date of the PPV is circled in red.)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, as even OUR fanbase can clearly see, I’m looking forward to the Pan-Galactic Championship Match which – unless I get hit by a bus or kidnapped by the Visitors – will end with me being crowned the Pan-Galactic Champion… This pleases me.

Now, you might be saying, ‘But Bobo, Justin Voss is a tough competitor… Justin Voss is the Swiss Army Champ – after beating Viet Kong, who beat HIM for it before.’ And I’ll have to reply, ‘SO?’ Justin Voss couldn’t fight his way out of BED – as anyone can clearly see. He’s just a strand of wheat before the COMBINE HARVESTER that is… The ANGEL of DEATH Most… EXALTED.

Voss, you couldn’t take a SHIRT to the cleaners… In fact, the only people you DO take to the cleaners are your two dozen fans and assorted family members that you get to squander their SSI checks on tickets so they can cheer for you. Now you’re calling yourself the ‘Federation’? It is to laugh. Guess that means you watch ‘Star Trek’ or something… Lemme guess, ‘No one conquers the Federation’ or somesuch, right? Bah. You watch too much television… I mean, really, ‘A Real American Hero’? Well… Knowing is half the battle… Heh.

Let’s be realistic… YOU are a pop-tart. Square. Sweet. And full of jelly. Whereas I am the Angel of Death MOST EXALTED. When such as you DARES step into the ring against such as I… Well, you big foo-foo, I hope you’re not too attached to your KIDNEYS. When you get closed into that cage with ME… NO ESCAPE… and I lay these big hands on your scrawny little Swiss Army chest to see whether I can pry the Can-Opener attachment out of your RIBCAGE, I figure that you’ll take a personal moment to ask yourself two very important questions… To wit:

“I thought I could WIN? Was I DRUNK?’

You think you can shout down from on high that you deign to accept a hardcore match? “If you want hardcore, you GOT hardcore,” you say? Must… Not… Laugh… You FOOL. Hardcore doesn’t BEGIN to describe the man, the myth, the monster that is Bobo Fiendish. I guess it’s standard for a dink like you to pretend to agree to match stipulations you BLUNDERED into. Remember? But to just out and out LIE that I’d have No Chance in Hell (and where have we heard THAT before? Hmmm) to stomp your yellow guts out and take MY Pan-Galactic Championship? SPARE ME your wild fantasy. The only place you could POSSIBLY win is the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and even there it’s posted 20 to 1 against…

Now, I see that you’ve got your midget back. This pleases me. This means, naturally, that you’ll have to lower the handles on your WHEELCHAIR so he can push you around. Of course, you’ll have to play navigator on the Federation Shuttle with your one good eye, but that’s to be expected… Sadly, he’ll have to drop his book in the Lollipop Guild to join Helper Monkey Local E-E, but I digress…

Voss, the second thing that should be going through your mind – right behind my FIST – is whether you have your affairs in order. For example, on the off chance I leave any of them undamaged, you should sign an organ donor card… Maybe shave the dwarf and pass him off as your son so he can get some of that SSI bonanza? Maybe get that WILL written… You know how those trailer-trash relatives of yours are after a funeral/flea market, so you better divvy up your property now… Just don’t let Andy stand on the lawn too long, or they’ll snatch him when they get your flamingo. Heh.

The fans are going to see something they’ve never seen before in BOB… A wrestling match. Sure, it’d be better if it was between two WRESTLERS, but you’ll have to settle for the Stereo-Typical Face. BRIEFLY. So fans, take some advice from your buddy Bobo… Buy all the cheesy Voss-Man merchandise you can… They’re about to become COLLECTOR’S ITEMS. Think of the resell on some of the bones I DON’T crush. Gotta catch a rib…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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More unethical behavior…

February 24th, 2000
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–“Charlie” and his two charges, Viet Kong and Blackjack Hooligan, have just left yet another topless bar… this one called “YOU CAN BARELY SEE THE ENHANCEMENT SCARS” down on Something Ave. and Anywhere Ln. The camera focuses in on the trio as the enter a cab…–

Cabbie: “Where to fellas?” (looks in the rearview) “What tha hell?”

“Charlie”: “AH SOOKIE! HELLRO YOO STOOPID CABBEE! Doon’t bee ararmed by-ee awr appeeronce…WEE RASSLURS!”

Cabbie: “Yeah, okay…whatever.”

Blackjack Hooligan: “Whatta matta, laaaaadie? You doon’t believe tha little man you doon’t? Doo ya REAL-ly think I’d be a wearin’ this for nuddin’?”

Cabbie: “Are you guys…like gay or something?”

“Charlie”: “Yoo wanna see gay-ee? Yoo bettur rook at Roomp Ranjur een dee ESS TEE DUBBA YOO EFF…DAT BOYEE FRAMIN’!”

Cabbie: “You mean flaming, right?”

“Charlie”: “Dat wha mee sayee. Yoo goot heerin’ probrem?”

Cabbie: “Look man, I don’t want any problems…I just drive a cab, a-ight? Where ya’ll going?”

BH: “We be a goin’ too dat new tittee bar doown oon It Dooesn’t Matta Dr. an’ a Maybe Yoouv’e Heard ‘O It Boulevard called “Free Ripple and Quarter Size Nipple”…an’ step oon tha gas ya will…my alcohol level be a dippin’ beloow it nor-MAL standards it is. Noot too mention me tallywacker be a needin’ soome attention. AYE! It shoor dooes, laaaaaadie.”

Cabbie: “You guys ARE gay aren’t you? Hey, does the guy in the black hood ever talk?”

(Kong stares at him)

“Charlie”: “Noo, him nev-a haff too sayee ENYDING! Him doo awl him tarkin’ een dee reeng.”

Cabbie: “Tarkin’?” What the hell does that mean? Hey, we’re here. Look guys, I was going to have you sign this waiver because you’re currently being filmed for Taxi Cab Confessions #78…but I can’t use any of this sh!t for the show. Matter of fact, don’t even pay me for the ride. Get your sh!t, your stupid looking costumes, and get the funk out of my cab!”

“Charlie”: “WEE AWN TACKY CAB CONFESSON?! MEE ROVE DAT SHOO! Especiree ween dey goot beeches awn dere dat tark aboot…

Cabbie: “GET OUT!”

“Charlie”: “HEY! Mee, “Charrie”, charrenge dat midjet dat hang aroon’ Jussin Voss rike dingolberree! DAT’S RIGH! Yoo enterfeer een Viet Kon may-che…YOO AN’ MEE RITTLE BEEG MAN…AT NEER DEFF EXPEERIONCE! SOOKIE!”

Cabbie: “GET THE FUC……”

–Quick cut to static-

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What does everybody want? SMILES!

February 23rd, 2000
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(We hear “Get a smile on your dial” just before “If You’re Happy and You Know It” plays and the crowd goes beserk.  Justin Voss walks out to the crowd holding the belt above his head.  He rests it on his shoulder as he puts a finger on each cheek and smiles at them.  He makes his way down to the ring.  He gets a mike off a techy and hushes the crowd with a finger to his lips.)

JV: Here I am in front of your very own eyes with the gold of the moment, the only gold that counts at the moment in this federation of mine, the BOB SWISS ARMY TITLE!


JV: At a Near Deth Experience you will see your All-American hero stepping into the ring that Voss built…


JV: …to take on the Are You Out of Your Fricken Mind Hardcore Champion, Bobo Fiendish.  Well Bobo, if it’s hardcore you want, it’s hardcore you get!


JV: You see, Bobo, the Voss-Man has no troubles whatsoever in taking your *ss to the cleaners.  I can take you to the rug beaters if that’s what you’ve asked for, coz there ain’t no hope in Hell that you are going to come out of that ring holding up the BOB Pan-Galactic Championship!

Crowd: VOSS….MAN….VOSS….MAN….etc.

JV: I’m getting sick and tired of hearing you whinge and whine about the Federation, a.k.a. me, and this crowd will see right before their very eyes your blood splattering and smearing all over my dman RING!


JV: If you’ve got yourself a front row ticket you better get a man sized windsreen and some windscreen wipers too boot!  I’m gonna make you lose pint after pint after DAMN PINT until the dozens of-


JV: ..of me, myself and I see me, the Federation, hold up that damn title along with that damn Swiss Army Title and they will hail the most fantsmagorical man in sports entertainment as he puts a tooty to your booty and is declared by the Masked Anouncer the champion of BOB.


JV: “Hurrah!” the fans will say, “Hurrah!” when you are stretchered out of the ring by the medics.  You’d be lucky if we can even afford them!  There ain’t a hope in Hell that you can put my shoulders on the canvass for the count of a trio.  NO CHANCE!


JV: And there ain’t nothing you can do ’bout it-


JV: Where’s the tunes maestro?

(Voss leaves and the camera fades out and back in to Justin in the carpark walking to the car.  He sees Andrew in the trash can still.)

JV: Oh dammit, knew I forgot something!

(He pulls him out.)

AS: Dat mudda f*cka is gonna fo’ dat, he is.  I is not gonna take dat sh*t from no damn punk, I is saying dat now an’ dat’s final.

JV: Need a lift home?

AS: Sure, dat’d be great.

JV: Sorry, Andy, you stink like my tuna sandwich I threw out after one month of sitting in the sun.

AS: Dat was yo’ tuna sandwich, man, dat was delicious.

JV: You’re a sicko, y’know that?

(The camera fades entirely to black.)

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She’s a Blonde, Single Girl in a Fantasy World…

February 23rd, 2000
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(We see Bobo Fiendish swirling his Patented Poorbox Sock-o-Swag as he watches Barbie cut a rare interview.)

Barbie “The Bride” Banner: I know that many of you have been wondering just what I’ve been up to.

Bobo Fiendish: I already KNOW what you’re up to… The eighth bottle of peroxide this week. Heh.

BB: I mean, it isn’t every day that the sexiest wrestler in BOB decides to pull the silent treatment.

BF: Actually, it HAS been every day… For over a month.

BB: But I’ve had more important things to do than jabber endlessly to a bunch of no-talent losers! Unlike most of you fools, I actually have a life.

BF: Well, isn’t THIS interesting…? So she’s had more important things to do, has she? Has a LIFE, does she? It is to laugh… Can’t be bothered talking to us since her job at the mall is taking so much of her time, I suppose…

BB: I never did get the chance to brag about my victory over that moron, Justin Voss. Justin, how did it feel being defeated by the greatest athlete to enter this pathetic federation? (she laughs)

BF: WELL, at least she got THAT right… Then he let Barbie make the cover… Heh.

BB: I know. I know. It kinda leaves you speechless, huh? I guess that will teach all of you morons to never underestimate the power of this Sex Siren! That goes for the “women”, and I use that term very loosely, in this fed, as well. Von Trapp, you and I won’t have a problem as long as you realize that I am the goddess of BOB. As long as you stay in your god-given role as second best, you won’t have to worry about me smacking the taste out of your mouth.

BF: Oh, yes… You did SUCH a good job the last time… The way you smacked her across the shoulder with your chin, and then just laid there while she made her escape. She’s obviously hiding in the convent so you won’t fall on her when you crash… Again.

BB: (she laughs) Who am I kidding?

BF: Definitely not me…

BB: As if I would ever pass up the opportunity to give some old hag a beatdown! But I didn’t come here to badmouth Von Trapp. She gets enough of that from the fans when she wobbles to ringside.

BF: Oh? And what DID we come to say? I’m guessing it isn’t ‘Thanks for protecting me, Bobo…’

BB: I came to issue a challenge to any and all of the wrestlers in BOB. Do any of you have the guts to test yourself against moi? Come one and come all. It doesn’t matter if you’re man, woman, or filthy beast, I’m an equal opportunity ass kicker! Anyone up to the challenge?

(Bobo’s eyes narrow as she prattles about with her ‘World’s Greatest Athlete’ schtick, and he finally puts a stop to it with an overhand swipe of the Sock-o-Swag that sends yet another cheap TV to the big Nick-At-Nite. He wheels on the camera and holds up a hand, as if asking for a moment to collect himself. The moment passes, and he speaks…)

BF: Hello, my intended…

Well, isn’t THIS a kick in the pants? Not that we EXPECTED too much in the way of gratitude, but to completely take credit for pinning a Voss that was ALREADY unconscious when we POURED him into the ring is a bit much… So, she wins one match, and now she’s all TOUGH, huh? Wants to toss Challenges around now, eh? It is to laugh…

Well, in response, all I can say is this: Barbie Banner is NO LONGER under my protection. She is on her OWN. Since we SAW what a stellar competitor she is on Thursday’s House Show when the Nun left her seeing STARS, you’d have to admit that she’s ASKING for it, folks. Give it to her. With my BLESSING. Heh. I’m sure David Hasselhoff carries a grudge against ALL stuck up peroxide blondes that should be seen and not heard, and that’s just ONE of no doubt DOZENS of people that would LOVE to pin your ears back, Babs. And judging from your mat skills as presented thus far… Well, kid, it’s lucky you already GOT a PRIEST handy.

Personally, I would consider the RIDICULOUS, INANE, ADDLE-PATED ramblings of the Bride to be just another Blonde Joke. But it’s so much more… She wants to make an impression, does she? Fine. She can do that at the DENTIST’s office when he fits her for her NEW TEETH. She thinks I was threatening HER? What a blonde… In case anyone else out there is as vacuous as Babs, then let me state SUCCINCTLY that when I said ‘Accidents Happen to Girls as well as Guys,’ it was regarding Mouse vonTrapp. If Babs had just kept her MOUTH shut, she could have made some money, but I guess keeping her mouth shut isn’t how she WANTS to earn money. Though, I suppose, swallowing is extra… Heh.

Now then, seeing as how I had to squash the munchkin myself, that means you FAILED to stop the nun from impugning upon my signature match. Therefore, you get NO CASH, Babs. Sorry, but at least you get a consolation prize…

A Damn Fine BEATING – Courtesy of the Angel of Death Most Exalted.

The stakes are thus… Remember that two-hundred seventy-eight bucks I WAS going to give Barbie? Well, now it’s for YOU. I don’t care WHO does it, I want ‘the Bride’ to made PAINFULLY aware of her limitations… Poste Haste. If she can still WALK at the end of the pay-per-view, I’ll consider it a BOTCH – but I have faith in the ‘boys’. I know how little the roster gets paid, so this should be an offer NO ONE can refuse.

Talk about a Witch Hunt, huh? Tally-ho.

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Sister? Oh, BROTHER…

February 19th, 2000
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(We see Bobo Fiendish relaxing in front of the television as Sister Von Trapp’s promo rolls past. He seems somewhat bemused by it, but pays attention all the same…)

Shutt Von Trapp: You will be delighted to know that in His own time, God has revealed to me the exact stipulations of our forthcoming match

Bobo Fiendish: This should be funny… Heh.

SVT: It will be a lumberjack match, in which all those who assist in the lumberjacking are to be dressed as religious figures, such as Jesus Christ, Martin Luther, or Ulrich Zwingli.

BF: Oh? Hmmm…. I pick Gabriel.The original Angel of Death… Heh. And since he can look any way he pleases, that gets me out of that stupid costume bit… Though as I recall, except for Jesus, Joseph and Noah, not too many religious figures had much to do with lumber… But I digress…

SVT: He has asked me to point out that Justin Voss is not a religous figure, he just seems to think he is God. Remember Justin, true greatness walks hand in hand with humility.

BF: What IS this with picking on Voss? I mean, he’s an easy enough target, but when people start stealing my angles ten seconds after they get off the BOAT, something’s to be done. Soon.

SVT: Also, in the match, the only way to win is via pinfall, as forcing your opponent to scream for mercy is ungodly, and the fans don’t want count outs or DQ’s and God always gives the people what they want.

BF: WHAAAAAT? What the hell did she say? Win only by pinfall? The stupid COW… That’s MY match. MINE. This is getting flippin’ RIDICULOUS… And for a match between a nun and a dwarf to just NOW start getting ridiculous, that’s saying something…

SVT: Blessings be upon you all, apart from the Little Big Man, the Stereotyped Face, and anyone else who stands in between me and my Daddy.

BF: Is this chick RETARDED? Her Daddy? Does this look like ‘National Lost Loved One Search’? No, clearly not. Obviously, she’s a few beads short of a rosary… BUT that’s no excuse to just flippin’ PLAGARIZE the hell out of ME, and that’s that…

(Bobo notices the camera….)

BF: Hello, my intended.

Well, well, well… What have we here? GOD has made it clear to her what stips she should have, has He? It is to laugh… I guess even GOD knows a good idea when He hears one, huh? Sister, a few moments ago I would have said that there was no way in heaven, hell, or Hoboken that I’d get involved in anyone’s match… But you know what? Since you’re trying to steal MY thunder on the UNDERcard by having MY match, well, that is not to BE… PERIOD.

Normally, I would take some delight in tearing off all your arms and legs… BUT since you are a WOMAN, I can’t… Fine. I guess God DOES watch over fools… Lemme check my wallet…

(Bobo fishes in his wallet and produces a fistful of money.)

BF: There’s someone out there that owes me a favor… SHE knows who SHE is, and I have…

(Bobo counts the money.)

BF: Two-hundred and seventy-eight dollars for her if she’ll knock this penguin for a row of ashcans poste haste. What say, Bride? Almost three-hundred bucks, AND you get to make it STANDING UP for a change. Wotta deal! BUT… IF this nun gets to the frickin’ ring, you don’t get a PENNY. That’s fair, I think…

But just to be sure, I’ll take this sock full of NICKELS from the Church POORBOX… And twirl it like so…

(Bobo twirls the loaded sock – it swishes in a circle at an alarming rate of speed.)

BF: And… Should the Bride FAIL… Well…

(Bobo pivots, and the sock bashes against the wall with a thunderous impact… Bobo pulls the sock back, and the cinderblock wall is cracked where the sock smashed it.)

BF: ACCIDENTS happen when people swing these around, y’know? And accidents can happen to GIRLS as well as GUYS, so be careful out there, sister… Heh. God isn’t the ONLY one watching…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Ill Postino

February 18th, 2000
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(Bobo paces in the hideout seeming more agitated than usual… NEVER a good thing. Every once in a while, he stops, and runs through the motions of the ‘Farewell’… Then he continues to pace…)

Cameraman: Uh, Mr. Fiendish…? We’re cutting a promo here…

Bobo Fiendish: Eh? Oh… Right…

Hello, my intended…

Well, I’m still trying to figure out how Claven survived the Farewell… Mayhap I didn’t apply it correctly before driving his fat head through that table… Mayhap I realized that his pathetic life as it was stood was more punishment than I could inflict, and thus released him before impact… I know not.

Cameraman: Uh, mayhap one actually has to HAVE a spine before you can BREAK it?

BF: ……Mayhap. Hmmm… That must be it. Let us consider the evidence…

BOSTON is a city populated by cowards… Look at their history… The SINGLE act that they are known for is that Tea Party those two-hundred odd years past. But, rather than simply – and honestly – ENACT that little protest, they dressed up as Natives so that the redcoats would blame – and subsequently punish – the indigenous peoples… Yay, team. As you can see, it would have made more sense for them to dress up as Chinamen, since they were ALL YELLOW. Fast forward to the present, and we note the stellar examples of Boston Commoner… Fat, lazy, stupid, and ever-forgetful of the monthly bathing. Normally, such a troglodyte as is spawned in Boston is usable for little except civil service, and even THAT they tend to foul up. Which I surmise is why Mr. Craven is no longer a mail-it.

Cameraman: Uh, don’t you mean mailMAN, or at the very least mailPERSON or mailCARRIER?

BF: …….No. Now, in case the fat slob wants to take offense, let me just say this…

Mail tampering – specifically the interference with the delivery of same – is a federal offense. Now, since it’s obvious that Craven STOLE every letter he ever had put in his bag – presumably to perpetrate that he had FRIENDS who could WRITE – that makes him guilty… And what does the Angel of Death Most EXALTED do to the guilty?

That’s RIGHT. He PUNISHES them. Cookie for you.

Cameraman: So, you’re not worried about Craven – er – CLAVEN going POSTAL on you, Mr. Fiendish?

BF: It is to laugh. Go Postal? What does that mean, really? The only place I’ve ever seen mail-its go is a BAR – WITH the mail… Sometimes, even with the MALE, but I digress… I’m sure the Post Office has adopted a ‘Don’t Ask – Don’t Tell’ Policy, though it seems they did so AFTER drumming Craven out of service… Awww… Another victim of poor timing…. OR they just used it as an excuse to drive you out, eh, Cliffie? Kinda like a conspiracy, huh? Heh.

Mr. Craven, I see fit to impart to you this lesson… Never forget it, no matter where you go, as long as you live…


Nobody Likes You.

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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February 18th, 2000
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(We see Bobo standing resolute with the ‘AYOOYFM’ belt over his shoulder so the folks at home can see where he painted ‘YES! OK?’ on it. He seems somewhat LESS psychotically enraged than he usually is, and the wrestling world wonders what he’s up to while the BOB staff wonder where their next meal is coming from… He looks out the window, and almost seems to sigh wistfully… That, or he’s feeling ESPECIALLY evil today, and is trying to sucker us into dropping our guard…)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, well, WELL…. Shortly AFTER I deign to be part of Justin’s assisted suicide, he goes and wins the Swiss Army Belt… This pleases me. Now it’s starting to ALMOST look like a REAL PPV… Justin… The Hopelessly Hollow Hero Hybrid – 4H for short – gets to face off against The Angel of Death Most EXALTED – Bobo for short… AND as an added bonus to the fourteen people that will make up our buy-rate, it’ll be a Clash of the Titles… Swiss Army Voss against Hardcore Bobo for all the marbles in the NO ESCAPE Enclosed Cage…

Mind you, I kinda thought Kong would have beat you, which would send you to our match at the PPV with either grim determination, or no will to continue living… Either way would suffice, but you had to mess up the works by winning the belt, didn’t you? Now Bobo will have to modify your Entry Music… To wit:

If you’re crappy and you know it,
Cheer for Voss.
If you’re nose is runnin’ blow it,
Cheer for Voss…

But when ol’ Bobo runs out,
And tears your hero’s lungs out,
And you ask ‘Why’d he do that?’
Just BE – COSS.

Heh. Fans, for too long you’ve been led to believe that this limpet is worthy of your adulation… He isn’t. This guy had to hire a MIDGET so he wouldn’t be a liar when he said that people looked up to him. This guy got beat half to death by a GIRL. This guy propositions CHILDREN with Pokemon Cards. This guy runs to the Big Boss to try to weasel out of matches…

THIS guy is your HERO? Must… Not… Laugh…

Now, we all know that once Bobo gets his POWERFUL, VISELIKE hands on your ‘hero’, there will be much suffering for him – and whomever in the front few rows that have weak stomaches, and no ‘splash protection’. This suffering will continue UNABATED, because there is no ‘Tapping Out’… No ‘I Quit’… No MERCY… Voss, you’ve always struck me as the kind of guy that desperately wants to ‘fit in’… Well, after our match you WILL ‘fit in’… A PRINGLE’S CAN. You think you can put a smile on MY dial, Justin? Well, you will… After I put a SHINE on your SPINE and hang it ALL on a WALL.

Now, I notice that you were in front of a mirror saying ‘Who’s your Daddy’… Well, your mom didn’t tell you because she didn’t KNOW… I mean, when the poor sap turned out all the lights so he couldn’t SEE her, she pretty much couldn’t see him. All she knew was that she REALLY needed that five bucks… Heh.

You presume to be able to take my testes and smack me in the skimmer with them until I hemhorrage? It is to laugh. Such pillow-talk is better spent on your naked dwarf, and he’s MUCH more receptive to it. But I digress… You’re not GOING to the ‘Ring that Voss built’, Justin… You’re going on a RIDE. Bobo’s WILD RIDE. But you can call it the HELL EXPRESS… And there’s NOTHING you can DO about it…


Now when you and I mix it up, rest assured that I will break a COPIOUS amount of your BONES… Not JUST because puds like you with their watered-down ‘Hulkamania’ ripoffs are an EMBARRASSMENT to the SPORT. Not JUST because dinks like you turn this fine sport into the KISS PsychoCircus, with your midgets and freaks and ridiculous gimmick matches. Not JUST because you have that STUPID ‘happyface’ on your STUPID, HAPPY ASS… No, not JUST because of any of those… JUST BECAUSE of ALL of those… And because I CAN.

I know what you’re thinking… Good will always triumph over evil, right? Well, that only works if you’re any GOOD. Awww…. Should’ve read that fine print, huh? I mean, really… Fans Count the Pin? Last time I checked, people that cheer for you are too ignorant to be ABLE to count to three… In fact, if they lost ONE MORE brain-cell, they’d be dumb enough to fall off the WORLD. Vegetarian Weapons? The only vegetable the fans are going to see is a SQUASH, unless they visit you at the HOSPITAL after the show… But I digress…

All will be settled come the PPV… A DEATH Experience. I’m Bobo, and I’ll be your MAULER for that evening…

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

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Voss For A Loss

February 16th, 2000
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(We see Bobo Fiendish contemplating the hysterical rantings of Justin Voss. His eyes narrow as Voss lists his demands, and then widen in surprise as Voss verbally writes a suicide note… He stands as Voss continues his rant until Bobo puts a stop to it with the trusty Fling-A-Brick.)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Voss, you simpleton… Don’t you remember? Whomever challenged whomever – in this case you challenging ME – would wait until the challenged accepted – which, incidently, I do – AND set the stipulations for the match. Sorry, no Food Fight for you… You want to know what match you just asked for? Bobo’s Favorite… The NO ESCAPE MATCH.

You and I in an enclosed cage. No weapons. No allies. NO ESCAPE. Winner to be determined SOLELY by pinfall… In case you haven’t caught on, you’re going to spend alot of time HURTING before I put your shoulders on the mat… ONE IN EACH NEUTRAL CORNER.

Now, you’re probably thinking the same thing the Boss is… Why is everyone after YOU? Easy. After the peons saw how much heat I get for kicking you around, they figured it was a gravy-run to glory by grabbing my coattails… Fine. I’m used to a certain degree of emulation. Who WOULDN’T want to be like the Angel of Death MOST EXALTED? But I digress… Rest assured that there’s a critical difference between them and myself…You know what that is?

You have a CHANCE against THEM.

Now, since you’ve ducked me since I got here, you want to try to come off all tough by trying to ‘turn the tables’ and chase me, eh? Consider THAT plan officially BACKFIRED. You’re not a ‘face’, Voss. You’re a ‘fuss’. All noise and no toys… Awwww…. That kind of stereo-typical crap went out with ‘Rock ‘n Wrestling’, and it’s high time you JOINED IT. You have the TEMERITY to think you can tell ME when MY life is going to end? Must… Not… Laugh… I guess that means you’ve hired a SNIPER. Heh.

Enough. You and me. NO ESCAPE. The Boss can drop the ‘Near’ in the PPV title, too… And there’s nothing you can do about it…


You’re Welcome… See you SOON.

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Here Comes the REIGN Again…

February 16th, 2000
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(Bobo is ‘training’ in the west area of the semi-reconstructed warehouse by swinging cinderblocks from chains in some sort of gauntlet… When they’re all going at a decent clip, Bobo marches through them. The camera stays on him, and we can hear the operator muttering about witnessing a suicide… The first block swings at Bobo’s head, but he whips off a backhand punch that changes its momentum abruptly…. Bobo continues to march.)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

Well, well, well, has it been thirty days already? It must be, since I’m treated to the deluded ramblings of this part-timer – or more accurately, this wannabe… You just don’t have any idea what you wanna be, do you? One second a T+A bodyshop monkey, one second some sort of ‘toughguy’, one second a one-man press kit… What’s it gonna be? What hat do y0u plan to wear, anyway? In short… What’s UP, Doc? Heh.

While you have the firm grasp of the obvious required to see that I am a force unbridled, even you cannot be so self-deluded as to believe you can do anything about it. Ever. However, even IF you were threatened WITH retirement more than Dusty Rhodes, I sincerely doubt it was voiced by another of my caliber. That aside, I’m sure you HAVE been in more scraps than the average BOBite… Scraps with HMOS, scraps with malpractice lawyers, hell even scraps from the table… But what does that mean? What do all your ‘sold out barns’ mean in the Big Picture? Here’s a hint – besides retire, something ELSE Virgil Runnels is unable to do…

(Bobo keeps moving, and a cinderblock hurtles towards him…)

Cameraman: Bobo, look out!

(Bobo punches the block into fragments, and the chain bounces harmlessly off his shoulder.)

BF: Answer: SQUAT.

You presume much, Doc. I already told you that I’m not hiring, so SPARE me the recitations of your resume’. We know you talk some tough stuff, even when you’re supposed to stay silent… But hell, how can you expect a liar to keep his obligations, right? Heh. The reason I REALLY compare you to Flair is that you’re both SORRY, TIRED and ANNOYING to listen to. Luckily, with the WCW seeming prepared to create a Seniors Division, he will have someone JUST as wretched and tired as he to kick him around the ring. You, on the other hand, will not. You will have ME to kick you around the ring, and believe me, Doc, you’re NOT going to walk away from it under your own steam. I PROMISE.

(Bobo keeps moving, and a third cinderblock bears down… Bobo headbutts it away and continues to march.)

BF: Now, before I get into the fact that ‘capice’ hasn’t got an ‘s’, let me tell you that you’d be MUCH better off part-timing somewhere ELSE. Say, the Kwik-E-Mart… Mind you, I think it’s commendable that through creative scheduling you’ve turned an impressive string of minimum wage jobs into the appearance of a ‘chic’ lifestyle… However, this is but ONE of your illusions that I will bring to an end. I figure when you’re crying and begging for me to stop twisting off your arms and legs, that should dissolve that ‘toughguy’ facade nicely. Mind you, your impersonation of the Church Lady was pretty spot-on… But I digress.

BF: Watch all you want, Doc. Your REAL lesson is ahead of you… Study up.

(The last cinderblock flies at Bobo and shatters against his skimmer. There is no reaction, save from the cameraman…)

Cameraman: Holy SHYTE!

BF: Get your ticket ready, Doc. Too bad it’s not round trip, huh?

You’re welcome… See you SOON.

(The camera fades…)

Cameraman: How the hell did you DO that?

BF: Mind over matter, kid. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter. Heh.

Cameraman: I feel sorry for Dr.Plants…

BF: Why should YOU be different?

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