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The Route of All Evil…

July 28th, 2000
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(We cut once again to the Warehouse of Pain as Bobo Q. Fiendish is taking a break from his usual ‘would kill a Navy SEAL in three minutes’ training regimen and is reading the newspaper…)

Bobo Fiendish: ‘Two blown tires believed to be cause of Concorde Crash killing 109 passengers…’ Ah, I love the funnies…

(Knock knock)

BF: What the-? Who’d be simple enough to come HERE and BOTHER me unbidden? This deserves looking into…

(Bobo tiptoes to the door, just in case it’s those pesky law-enforcement people, and peers through the peephole. He turns to face the camera with a puzzled look on his face, and then checks the peep again to make sure he really saw what he did. Then Bobo flings open the door, and we see two nubile young goth-girls with several boxes of something…)

Mimi: Hi! Would you like to buy some GothScout Cookies?

Hazel: Yes, they are delicious! Won’t you please buy some, Mr. Fiend – er – kind sir?

BF: You’ve GOT to be kidding. GothScout Cookies? It is to laugh…

Mimi: Yes! And for every box we sell, a whole NICKEL goes to help deserving goths across the country get to their choice of New York or Seattle.

BF: A nickel huh? How much are the cookies?

Hazel: Five dollars a box.

BF: What happens to the other four ninety-five?

Mimi: Sadly, it is frittered away on overhead… In hindsight, we could have used a different business model than the GS of A, but it’s spilled milk now.

Hazel: So, would you please buy some?

BF: Alright, just to be rid of you… What have you got?

Mimi: We have today’s SPECIAL FLAVOR, called Blue Heaven…

BF: Are those D-Con pellets on the top?

Hazel: N-no! Those are… Those are SPRINKLES.

BF: Uh huh… You don’t happen to be friends of Wes Lipschitz, do you?

Girls: O-of course not!

BF: Then gimme a box of the Blue Heaven…

(Bobo passes the girls a fin, and rips open the box of cookies… The girls lean forward to watch while gleefully drywashing their hands. Bobo gobbles one of the cookies, as the girls look on wild-eyed.)

BF: They’re a little dry… Must be the D-Con…

(Bobo noshes another cookie, and the girls’ jaws drop in shock.)

BF: What? Come on, my MOM used to make cookies JUST LIKE these. Y’know, she used to watch me eat them, much like you girls are doing now… Come to think of it, JUST like you girls are doing now – even the part with the jaw dropping… Oh well.

(Bobo eats a few more cookies, and the gothgirls defy physics by going even PALER.)

Mimi: (whispers) The Blue Heaven isn’t working as advertised, Hazel….

Hazel: (whispers) I know. I’m afraid. Plan B?

Mimi: (whispers) What choice do we have?

Hazel: Mr. Fien- er – Kind sir, since you’ve been such a wonderful and supportive customer, we’ve decided to thank you by letting you test out our new flavor, Sugar Surprise.

BF: Izzat so? Well, what the heck… Let’s have one.

(The girls pass Bobo a cookie, and he crunches it. He chews thoughtfully as the girls lean forward expectantly. Bobo stops chewing, and grabs at his throat as if choking, and the girls start drywashing their hands happily. Bobo then spits something into his hand and looks at the girls, whose jaws drop in shock.)

BF: Hey…. Is this GLASS?

(Hazel faints.)

Mimi: Uh…. Um…. No! It’s… SUGAR. Yeah, that’s it!

BF: Beer bottle green?

Mimi: Uh, food coloring?

BF: Oh. Okay then.

(Bobo gulps the rest of the cookie, and chews happily. Mimi looks ready to throw up.)

BF: Y’know, I wonder if maybe you girls got hold of Mom’s recipe book… Which is strange, since I’m pretty SURE I threw it in her casket when I buried her… ALIVE. But I digress… Anyway, these cookies are pretty good – not as good as Mom’s, of course – but palatable. Lemme get a couple more boxes of both, what say?

(Mimi faints. Bobo counts out forty bucks and puts it in her hand. He then takes the rest of the GothScout cookies, and closes the door. He walks to the kitchen and puts the cookies away.)

BF: Nice kids. A little on the simple side, but what can you say for Sexbat’s groupies? They make a mean cookie, though. Heh. Anyway, snacktime’s over, so let’s get back to work… Ahem.

Hello, my intended…

Y’know, I’ve been looking at the influx of refugees from (censored) who’re looking to have something to DO while waiting for the Canadian thing, and I notice a couple interesting blurbs here and there… F’rinstance, Sexbat wants to be my ‘worst nightmare’ which I find kinda interesting, since THAT involves me being trapped in some alternate dimension with a lot of little blue critters three-apples high.

(Bobo shudders.)

BF: THEN we have that Salad Shooter ripping on me for providing a full multimedia experience to set me apart from the standard interview. He then goes on to be part of some spin-off reality bites show, and explains his sheep fetish extends to necro-level… Fine, I guess, if you want to be in GWAR (where EVERY day is sado-necro-bestiality day) or something, but does that make him worthy of a wrestling career? No, clearly not. Sadly, he seems intent to avenge himself here for the beating he’s going to get in Canada for DARING to pollute the airwaves with his ‘Message’ of how vegetarianism will save the world. Must… Not… Laugh… Listen, kid, if it weren’t for us carnivores, then all those critters would eat all the veggies, and there wouldn’t BE any for YOU.

THEN we have that kid, Craig Whatsisname, and his old man. Sigh. Sorry about beating up yer paw, kid, but he ran in the office while I was sitting down to discuss business. And seeing as I just HATE interruptions, I paintbrushed the old fellow to make it nice and clear that he should wait his turn like a good old coot… See, ol’ Bobo’s used to a high standard in the production value department… Since BOB’s just about broke, I was discussing how revenue from my wildly successful book, ‘Better Living Through Violence‘ would be invested under the ‘tax-evading sinkhole’ clause all us rich types enjoy.

For the layman, in order to diffuse our debt to Uncle Sam, most times we wealthy folk like to fritter our money away on bad investments, then claim the loss against our earnings. It’s a time honored system, and – though it leaves me open to Lou Thesz digs – I’ve decided to continue that fine tradition here in BOB.

You’re Welcome. See you SOON…

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Don’t Usually DO Requests, BUT….

July 27th, 2000
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(We cut to the Cucamonga High School Gymnasium… Mike the Monotone Monroe is looking VERY worried as Sexbat disappears into the crowd at slightly under Mach Seven. And at the other side of the gym, the steel doors are suddenly kicked open, and the imposing form of Bobo Fiendish strides in to the enthusiastic pop of the fans gathered… We see that Bobo has the Pan-Galactic Championship slung over his shoulder as he marches to the ring…)

MMM: BOBO! Man, you should have heard that Sexbat guy ripping you… I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about it, and neither can the fans!

Fans: (singsonging) Bobo’s Gonna Kill You… Bobo’s Gonna Kill You… (What did you expect? It IS a High School)

(Bobo stares at Mike for a second, and then crosses his arms across his massive chest. The girls Sexbat abandoned duck behind MMM totally intimidated – thus giving Mike nothing to hide behind himself…)

MMM: Uh, folks, Sexbat’s gone… Eh heh heh (sweat)

Fans: Oops. Sorry. Carry on.

MMM: Mr. Fiendish? Comments? Hey! Gimme back my microphone! Oof!

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended….

(The fans pop for the monster as Walt Disney quietly spins in his grave.)

BF: Much as I dislike appearing for these House Show promos, there have been some points brought up by the Umpire Lestat that just require me to address them..

Fans: This Pleases Me!

BF: …..That’s just sad. As I was saying, the mallrat has been selling some VERY expensive tickets of late, and as your Champion, I have to come out and make sure those tickets get PUNCHED. Say, what’s that puddle in the ring?

Fans: Sexbat Was Here.

BF: I see… Then why am I on the BobTron? Mike?

MMM: Uh… Well… Sexbat was explaining that you were… um… That is… He… Uh…

Fans: GET SOME BALLS, MIKE.

MMM: (ahem) Sexbat was explaining how you were a chimp….

Fans: OOOOOOOOH!

BF: A chimp? You’re kidding…. Then again, it fits with his whole ‘Bobo the Knuckledragger’ routine, so I guess I can see where he’s coming from… But you know what?

Fans: No, WHAT?

BF: I know where he’s GOING with it. Right into the GROUND via one-way passage on Bobo’s Wild Ride!

(The crowd pops again, keeping the momentum going for Uncle Walt…)

BF: See, I’ve been all across this big blue marble and I’ve dealt with the sort of thing that Sexbat claims to be…

MMM: Really? You’ve fought vampires?

BF: SURE. I had an uncle that was one of those… But nobody believed me, so I had to prove it. So I took this big STAKE, and RAMMED it right through his ticker – and he DIED. They believed me THEN, lemme tell ya.

Fans: ……….(cough)…..

MMM: Y’know, just when I think you’ve said the evillest thing on earth…

BF: I keep talking, I know. Don’t steal my catchphrases again or it’s The Treatment for you, savvy?

MMM: I’ll be good.

BF: Atta boy. So, Wes. You wanna claim I’m an ape, do you? You wanna claim you’re a vampire, do you? Well, kid, since you’ve obviously annoyed the BigBOSS with your nonsense to the point that he wants to be rid of you, you get the Grand Tour of Hell that is a match against the Angel of DEATH.. MOST… EXALTED. And just to make it interesting, he’s opted to make this a title match. Like you have a chance or something… It is to laugh. See, kid, that’s called IRONY. Nobody with two brain cells to rub together thinks some dink that serves up java at Starbucks can do anything but get wedged in the waffle of my BOOT.

Okay, now I notice he claims that my training by sundering concrete is only possible because of callouses I got whilst dragging my knucks on the pavement… So, as a demonstration of the sort of thing the Umpire has gotten himself into lemme just trot over here to this cornerpost…

MMM: What are you planning?

BF: This is the usual ring, right? No gimmick setup or anything?

MMM: Standard half-inch rolled steel posts five inches in diameter, Mr. Fiendish… Why?

BF: This is why… RAAAGH!

(Bobo spins, bringing his foot around in a Spinning Crescent Kick that SLAMS into the post, bending it in half!)

Fans: HOLY SHYTE!

BF: How’s THAT for your Darwin book, Wes? You see, between my YEARS of training and my lunatic strength, there really isn’t a whole lot some suburban milquetoast can hope to do…

Fans: ‘CEPT SMILE.

BF: …..Geeze, people, let’s get on the same page here.

Fans: But we haven’t said that in SO long….

BF: Okay, just that ONCE I’ll let you get away with it. Out of your systems now?

Fans: Yes. Thanks a lot.

BF: You’re Welcome…

Fans: See You SOON.

BF: I’m beginning to remember WHY I don’t do House Show Promos..

Fans: But I digress…

BF: ….Enough already! For the love of CHRIST can I cut my flippin’ promo and get on with the rest of my life?

Fans: ……….(cough)…..

BF: THANKS. As I was TRYING to say, Sexbat, you’re going to get something your mommy and daddy should have given you come Monday Morning Mayhem – and I DON’T mean a shiny tricycle. No, you’re going to get beaten half to DEATH, and put in the CORNER for a TIME OUT. Six weeks should be enough time for you to think about what you WERE going to do with your life – and for your BONES to KNIT. But I digress… So we’re going to have a nice little clash between Good and Evil OLD SCHOOL. Vampires are supposed to be evil, and Angels are supposed to be good… Sadly, THIS is ONE Angel that’s EVIL. And to make matters WORSE you mess up the formula by not BEING ANY GOOD. Heh.

So, folks, when Wes steps into the ring for a CRASH COURSE in the PRICE of HUBRIS, remember one thing…

I’m NOT monkeying around.

You’re Welcome. See you SOON.

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The Phone Call

July 24th, 2000
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(Bobo Fiendish is sitting in his dressing room at the (censored) Canada Day Chaos, wondering – much like everyone else – whether the show will start before Y3K. A call comes through on the cell-phone, and Bobo answers it…)

Bobo Fiendish: Hello, my intended…

What? Are you kidding? (Censored) is re-opening? Yeah, I know I have their Pan-Galactic Belt… It’s one of at least a DOZEN belts I’ve retired… Yet another meaningless accolade, as far as I’m concerned… What? SEXBAT’s in (censored)? Are you joking? Still pissed off about me hiring those girls that week, huh? Christ he should THANK me for giving him a little heat… Nobody even knew he EXISTED until I started in on the putz. Knuckledragger? XEROX COPY? That little so and so! After all the years I’ve been in this sport, THIS is the thanks I get!? (CENSORED)!

(Bobo hangs up the phone, and spins to face the camera….)

BF: NOW we officially have an UNHAPPY BOBO.

Wes, you MORON, I would think that you’d be better off throwing your life away at the MALL, but it seems that’s not happening fast enough for you… FINE. Since I’m not exactly fantasically busy ripping the roster at (censored) to shreds for this Canadian Thing, I guess I can stroll on over to (censored) and beat the hell out that bunch of DINKS again… Assuming any of them are LEFT, of course. What do they have over there these days? I retired Voss… I retired Neige TWICE… And if I can ever get that quack Plants to step up, I got a nice BEATING STRAIGHT OUT OF THE BUSINESS for him that’s still got the styrofoam PEANUTS on it. The only thing POSSIBLE is that the rest of these stiffs in this cheap ‘Stranded in Canada’ podunk promotion decide to moonlight over there at (censored) just to have something to DO. Personally, I think I see a merger in the works… This pleases me. After all, both promotions will shortly have the same CHAMPION, so it stands to reason…

ALSO fine. I don’t think it matters WHAT flag flies over the ring, folks… It’ll be at HALF-MAST after the MATCH, regardless! Hope the bellringer at (censored) has his Ten-Count practiced… Heh. Let’s examine the (Must… Not… Laugh…) matchup between Sexbat and myself.

I have been Champion in so many feds that belts don’t even interest me anymore… Sexbat may or may not have any interest in belts, and I’m sure that any interest he DOES have tones down a skosh when he hears that these belts don’t come with matching pumps or purse.

I have spent YEARS honing my craft.Years in dojos. Years in institutions. Years in wrestling. Years in that damp little 4 by 6 cell in the prison basement…Sexbat, on the other hand, has spent years honing something ELSE, and personally, I’m kinda surprised he isn’t blind by now…

I am known far and wide for my combination of styles in the squared circle… I am equal parts Technician, Shooter, Power, Aerial, and Hardcore that can only be defined as the OMEGA SUPREME. I have a won-loss record of 245-2-23 that spans ELEVEN feds and FOUR years. Sexbat, on the other hand, is known for…. Uh… Well, you get the idea.

The real question, I think, is why? Why, so soon after actually getting IN the business would this mock-Latin-spewing refugee from a Rice novel want to be PUT OUT OF IT? Who cares? You fans want to see me wring all the juice outta this little mallrat like a DISHRAG? Fine! I remember having an open contract in (censored)… Sure, the wrestlers there signed the names of OTHER wrestlers, but that changes NOTHING. Bobo Fiendish gave his WORD that as long as there WAS a (censored), he would take whomever was stupid enough to step up.

Admittedly, when (censored) closed I figured that promise was behind me, but since (censored) exists again so does the PROMISE.

You fans are worthy of a Champion with the skill, the will, and most importantly the stones to BACK UP what he says… One promotion already HAS this, and once we get the show started at the OTHER one, then they BOTH will. And, as an added laugh, they’ll be the same GUY…

You’re WELCOME. See you SOON.

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