Archive for January, 2002

It’s not WARM here….it’s cold, very cold.

January 31st, 2002
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The interior of Dr. Silaconne M. Plants’ other augmentation clinic, “A Girl’s Breast Friend” located at the intersection of Areola Ave. and Mammary Lane. Its painted pale walls are covered with phony medical degrees and the shelves filled with never opened medical journals. The “Dirtiest Boobie Enhancer in Wrestling Today™” is seen sitting behind a gigantic, faux marble table and has such a shit eating grin on his face it looks like…well, it looks like he just ate a plate full of shit. And he grinned about it. He’s licking his chops and salivating, probably also wishing he had a Certs©…but things so trivial as shit breath doesn’t concern him right now. For he knows, his arch-nemesis has returned. You see, that’s what he’s licking his chops about. That’s why he’s drooling. The very thought of getting ultimate revenge on Luke Warm has become Priority One for “The Sinister Surgeon (patent pending)”. Forget some stupid “Panties on a Pole” match… like anybody would pay to see Heidi’s panties on a pole anyway. Oh no, this is more important. This is right on top of his “To Do” list. This makes everything else take a back seat, even his patients…who wait outside his office over in “chairs” and wonder what the hell could be taking him so long. He doesn’t care. Luke Warm is back. And Luke Warm- his bald-headed, jean-short wearing, Yoo-Hoo® drinking ass has got to be wiped off the face of the planet once and for all. According to Dr. Plants. And anything according to Plants is right. Go ahead, just ask him.

SMP: Well, well, WELL, well, well….. What have we HERE? Luke Warm cut a promo? Should I prepare for the sky to fall? Have cigarettes dropped to a dollar a pack? Is the world coming to an end? Is Armageddon just around the corner?

Well, Armageddon IS right around the corner, Luke ole boy, and you’re LOOKING at him. That’s right, meatball…just when I was getting ready to crawl directly up The Undietaker’s turd cutter and kick his ass from the INSIDE OUT, look what the cat dragged in. Luke Warm. The uncool to my cool. The ratings disaster to my standing-room-only draw power. The Hamburger Helper to my Filet Mignon…

Ah, what a glorious day indeed this has become. So glorious in fact, I have done nothing all day but sit here in my office and contemplate the various ways of which I’m going to beat the Yoo-Hoo out of your dumb ass until it bleeds from your pores. Then I’m gonna get nasty.

SMP then leans back in his black, pleather chair and props his feet up on his desk.

Now, then…I don’t have any clue where you got this idea I was in a car wreck. That’s nonsense. As you can see, I’m still here IN THE FLESH and getting ready to tell you how bad I’m going to pound that bald dome of yours into your ribcage. So you can take your lower latitude, your luketh downs, and that stupid STONECUTTER and stick ’em up all right up your dookie poot, crusty ass, pal. This is BOB, not that pansy ass STWF where I won TWO MORE Intergalactic Titles than you did and took your North American Title. THIS IS BOB! This is MY world. And this is MY YARD! I mean, MY BACKYARD? Sideditch? Ummm. Yeah. Barkyard works.

Get it? You GOT it? GOOD!

Because you see, Puke Warm…we have some unfinished business. Oh yes we do. Do you think I liked tag-teaming with you? Do you actually think I liked having my mother tell me to get along with you because she was buds with that tub ‘o lard mother of yours that farted you out in some cow pasture in Bumbledink, Texas so many years ago?

Hell no! I hated it, I hated every minute of it. Except of course, giving your sister my “Russel The Love Muscle” after every “Mama’s Boyz” appearance. And she loved every minute of it, too. In fact, she said I was ten times the man in bed that you were. I’m not really sure what she meant by that, but it had to be good for me.

Anyway, about this 3-4-1 tag-team title deal. No, I’m not teaming with that dope head, douja anymore. He retired. Like you should have done. At least while you still have the luxury to consider it an OPTION. It was like this, douja was on a little roll for some reason here in the BOB, and I used his retarded ass to capture the YGHF straps so I could combine them with the 3-4-1’s. Which was 1⁄2 mine, by the way… and since nobody had heard diddy friggin’ squat from you, I assumed full ownership to do with them what I pleased. Without your consent, because I didn’t need it. Or want it. So there.

What do you think about THAT? Luke-Hoo. Luke-Who?

Plants now raises his arms in a relaxed position behind his neck and clasps his fingers as he continues to prop his feet on the desk. Don’t pay any attention to the pit stains, it’ll only detract from his “tough guy” image he’s trying to convey.

So. SO? What are we going to do about this, Luke? We both know BOB isn’t big enough for the both of us. Don’t we? Here’s what I propose, that is if you have THE GUTS to accept. And if you do have the guts, you won’t for long ’cause I’m gonna stomp ’em out and dump ’em in a vat of spaghetti for MY mom to send to YOUR mom. Because I’m….E-VOL!

A Japanese man runs into view, maybe even a “ninja snowmens”….


He exits stage left

I’m challenging you, Lance Mayhem’s whippin’ boy… to the most notorious match in all of wrestling history. I already ran Neige ‘ IQ ‘ 13 out of the sport with this match, and now I have to do it again. To you.

Luke Warm, I challenge you to a NICOLAS CAGE MATCH!

That’s right! A 10-foot high chain link monster with every movie VHS cassette Nick Cage ever made taped to the walls. You get hold of a video, you can use it any way you wish. And may God save your soul if I get my hands on the one DVD in that cage, ’cause I’m going to use it to carve you up like a Ginzu through butta.

Luke, if it’s beating your face off with Face/Off, or shoving Con-Air up your cornholio…it doesn’t matter to me, either way…you’ll be GONE IN SIXTY SECONDS!

It Could Happen To You. And it will….

In front of the COUNT-LESS…..and COUNT-LESS…..
Most strategically placed, on-the-payroll insanely rabid fan base in the biz….my fans, “THE PLANTS”.
The fans of The SMOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooth OP-ER-A-TOR…

I’M going to lay the luketh down this time. And when I lay Luketh down, Luketh not ever going to get back up. If you don’t believe me….

He jumps to his feet

And say “hi” To Brianne for me.

Okay, get lost, Clive…. I have work not to do around here.

Clive responds to verbal stimuli, and acts accordingly to The Doc’s demands.

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return The incredible of…

January 31st, 2002
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— Clive and Dennis have been briefly assigned to BOB’s “Ain’t Quite Tuff Enuff” training facility where fast rising curtain jerker to solid midcarder THE DYSLEXIC AVENGER has been rehabbing a dislocation of the patella/ran out of angles knee injury. Dennis is quick to get The D.A.’s thoughts, as he plans a return to full-time action soon, which means a good match or two every six months in THIS promotion. D.A. is busy on a treadmill, then takes a break to pop a blister. Cross trainers would be good. Dennis moves in, noticing the opportunity to pick D.A.’s brain with some questions, as the masked grappler wraps his right big toe with some gauze. —

Dennis: Crikey! I say old chap, you look better than ever!

DA: must agree I you with ,Dennis. never I felt have my in life better.

Dennis: Queen Mother of England! It’s been a tad. Let me see if I can still do this…you said, “I must…agree with you, Dennis?” And then, “I have never felt….umm, better in my life?”

DA: what That’s said I.

Dennis: “That’s what I said.” That’s what you just said, right?

DA: exactly That’s I said what.

Dennis You said what? When?

DA: mind Never ,Dennis. asked you I today here to challenge an open issue anybody to in fed the. don’t care I it’s if of Josh State Krew the Kent, Jim or Krew the State Kent of, or Kent Brandon the Krew of State. I care don’t if it’s Geek The. Or it’s if even Kay Fabe Xamfir or. I fight need a. Do understand ,Dennis you?

Dennis: I understand I have a bloody headache! But at least you’re not that damned XXXtreme Machine! That guy has marbles in his mouth, old chap!

DA: has He Dad’s his marbles mouth his in, Dennis. can tell You him that said okay, I? he’ll Maybe me fight then. I’ll kick Then ass his.

Dennis: What you said! Jolly Good! Well, D.A., I’m sure the fan of BOB is anxiously awaiting your return no matter who you’ll fight. BOB is ready for you to come back, your Avenger 6:13 shirts are still one of our best sellers!

DA: appreciate I kind words ,Dennis the. ready I’m. anybody So there out, YOU IF SOME WANT, SOME GET COME!

Dennis: HOLY PRINCE OF WALES! Could you at least try to get that “Some Get Come” turned around right?

DA: do What mean you by ,Dennis that?

Dennis: Means we’re out of time, D.A. Good luck on your return.

DA: forward Look it to.

—Black to Fade—

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Is it WARM in here…. OR IS IT JUST ME!?!?! BOO-YAH!

January 30th, 2002
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[Welcome, rasslin’ fans, to BOB. It’s high time something worthwhile happened around here, and it’s about to. The arena is quiet…. nothing has happened in a few minutes, and you can feel the electricity in the air, because someone backstage broke the microwave again. The PA clicks a bit, as if someone is queuing up a tape, and a murmur floats through the crowd… they expect something. They don’t know why, but tonight is DIFFERENT.]

(Voice over the PA, strangely familiar yet distant, somehow.)

“This is a test. Is this thing on? If it is, I’ve got something to say… and THAT’S THE LOWER LATTITUDE.”

[The crowd explodes to the sound of stuff breaking as LUKE WARM marches to the ring from outside the arena. There are, strangely, two men in the crowd who are not cheering. One, a scrawny little man with a lousy haircut — the other, a Bob Marley wannabe who looks like he has used enough ganja in his day that he actually has naturally occurring serum levels of THC. Luke arrives in the ring.]


[The scrawny man rises to his feet and joins in the applause, revealing himself to be Beck, of MTV (and even MTV2) fame.]


[Now reggae guy is up too. Way to get the whole crowd pumped, Luke.]

LUKE: Listen up everyone… Luke Warm’s got something to say!


LUKE: I said… Luke Warm’s got something to say!


[Luke fumbles awkwardly with the mic for a second and plugs it back in.]

That’s better. I SAID… I’ve got something to say! Here’s the deal. Luke Warm’s been away for a while, and that’s just fine. The world will spin without me. Fine. Mama Warm’s pride and joy is still alive and kicking, though, you folks just haven’t seen me lately. So where has Luke Warm been? Well, that’s a long and complicated tale, but let’s just say I am no longer allowed within 300 feet of a caulking gun in the state of Tennessee.

[Crowd shifts uncomfortably.]

Anyway, here I am back in the ring! And It’s high time I LAYETH THE LUKETH DOWN on BOB! Because really, there’s nowhere else to go. And layeth the luketh down. You know how it is.

So here’s the deal: Plants, I got a beef with you. I never liked you, I never wanted to like you, and our moms made us try to get along. We to hell with all that! First of all, you’re not even really dead! What was al this crap about a car crash a little over a year ago? Second thing, why, when I went to the BOB offices to look up title histories, why are YOU listed as holding the 3-for-1 belts? I RULED the STWF! Lukeamania was running wilder than ever when it all hit the fan, and I was the 3-for-1 champs. LUKE WARM, also know as “The Mama’s Boys.”

THREE- you’re teaming with Douja? My archest of arch enemies? Wussupwiddat?

Whatever. Plants, point is this- I’m gonna whip you like you never been whipped before when I get my hands on you, because the big boy is back in the pasture, and you’re nothing more than a lit…tle…..girl.

[Luke briefly crumples to the floor, sobbing and mumbling uninteligibly. Didn’t you miss that? He rights himself and gets back some semblance of composure.]

And that’s the lower lattitude. I know it will be because my brilliant calculating mind has left no detail unchecked… my precise tactical precision has accounted for everything… Luke Warm is gonna-

[As people who are not signed to wrestle with the promotion generally (especially when someone recently broke into the BOB offices and went through the title history records) should not assume they have mic time, nor should they be in the ring, security has found their way to where Luke is and chase him out of the arena. Night, kids!]

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Ahhh that’s F’N Life.

January 30th, 2002
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(Scene up somewhere in the catacombs of the Kent State Krews two bedroom apartment. The three newly disappointed college kids are discussing what happened at NAGAM. That is all of them but Josh who is very visibly losing an argument on the phone.)

Josh: No, but baby, no I meant Heidi, of course I didn’t call you baby, No, honestly I was at the hospital with my sick mother. No really all the phones were broken. What do you mean why didn’t I talk to you when you were giving us those drug test. I said hey what’s up. But that’s all I ever say. (Heidi has hung up the phone) Yeah that’s right you better recognize..(josh looks over to see if Jim and Brandon are watching him, they are) Hey maybe I’ll call you maybe I won’t we’ll see. Oh and another thing….

Voice from the phone: If you’d like to place a call please hang up and dial again.

Josh: (Looks at Jim and Brandon) : Ahhh bye! (Hangs up the phone. Looks back at Jim and Brandon) How come you guys didn’t remind me I was supposed to call Heidi, Nurse Heidi, I mean you only get one chance with Nurse Heidi.

(Jim and Brandon shrug)

Josh: I mean I was wrestling a great match, I can’t be expected to remember all these thing…..Ah well….I blame myself really…..NO! NO! NO! I BLAME YOU TWO DUMB BUTTS. You guys have been holding me back since day one.

Brandon: Come on Josh, I think someone needs a hug.

Josh: Don’t touch me you light weight loser.

(Brandon begins to whimper and then runs out of the room crying)

Jim: Hmm, Josh I think you need to talk to someone who knows how it feels to be shit on.

(Jim rips off a fart and STARTS to put his hand down his pants.)

Josh: Jim you put your hand anywhere near you ass and you will regret it.

(Jim slowly puts his hand in his pocket.)

Josh: Oh my God, I’m never gonna make it in this fed.

Jim: Josh I think you over looking something.

Josh: What?

Jim: We’ve already made it.
Josh: How do you mean?

Jim: Think about it Josh. You went one on one with the Champ, and in the end you had to be screwed over to lose. Meaning you must be the top guy in the fed.

Josh: Hey maybe your right.

Jim: And Brandon and I are easily the #1 contenders for the tag titles, seeing as we were totally screwed out of them.

Josh: What are you talking about? You ran right into a Back Body drop.

Jim: But, I was only running to get away of Terr ism and Sgt. Walkers friend, you know that smelly Middle Eastern guy. Man those guy really reek of smelliness.

Josh: I see.

(Suddenly a ghetto voice is heard, Jim’s hand pops up with a dirty gym sock on it.)

Jim: (as Frank the Fart) Hey man you be maken a brother proud yo.

Josh: Frank I didn’t even hear you come in.

Jim: (as Frank the Fart) S.B. Freakin’ D Bro.

Josh: Cool! (Catches a whiff of the SBD) I guess. So it was really a good match?

Jim: (as Frank the Fart) You know it Bro, but if I were you I’d be worried bout what dat Polar guy gonna be doing to you at Polarvision. If you know what I mean.

(Background Music: dun Dun DUN! Brandon sneaks back in the room with his hand behind his back)

Brandon: (With a Jock Strap on his hand) Yes Homey, you best be watching your back.

Jim: (as Frank the Fart) What the Hell you be?

Brandon: (With the Jock Strap) I am Jack Cole.

Jim: (as Frank the Fart) Oh you da cracka Biz Nich who be moving in on my talkin’ inanimate object turf.

Brandon: (as Jack the Jock Strap) Oh come on gimme some support….get it Jock strap, support.

Josh: That’s it leave it to Brandon to ruin a good thing. I’m outta here.

Brandon: (as Jack the Jock Strap) Fine Go!

Josh: Oh and I’m taking the promo with me. “Yes Ladies we got “Attitude” and “We I.D.””

(Fade Out)

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Hardcore Occult Sports Entertainment: Live on Channel 1 Publick Axxess

January 29th, 2002
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“Blasted to Death” by Satan’s Plastic Surgeons, Cloudydale’s resident garage death metal band, begins playing, and with it, come some hardcore visuals. A fireball. Bloody faces. Graveyards. Candles. Knives. Inverted crosses. Then a bunch of guys brawling inside a darkened wrestling ring surrounded by fire. And after 45 seconds of blast beats, speeding guitars and grinding noise, we have darkness.

Then blood red light. We open up in the spacious Cloudydale High School gymnasium. The camera pans the bleachers, which hold about 100 oddly sedate wrestling fans. Many dressed in black, some with painted faces, some with colored hair, such as that dude with the blood red hair. Not one hot chick to be seen. It’s mostly guys. A wrestling ring is set up in front of the bleachers. It has black ropes and the canvas is black.

Two figures get in the ring.

“Hello everyone, and welcome to Haardcore Occult Sporrrts EntertaiiiiiiinMENT!” Styles belts out.

The crowd claps apathetically, or pathetically. Both really.

“I’m Styles.”

The other figure grabs the mic. “And my, my, my….It is I, Sarah, if Satan and I should cross paths, I’ll bend that jobber in two and stick his horns up his ass, for I am the chosen one, I’m here to stay, and you losers are looking at one hot POA you’re never gonna lay…..’The Jobber Slayer.'”

The crowd boos and jeers her: “Satan will rape you. All three inputs! And he’l make more and rape those too!”; “The Ancient Ones will tear your soul apart”; and “God is dead, you will soon join him in Hell!” are among those heard.

Sarah looks around at the angry teenage….whatever they are. “Man, who’da thought I’d be a heel for trashing the devil? Well, then our first guest certainly will be an unpopular figure. Please welcome, all the way from Heaven, Jesus…..Christ!”

Sarah points to the door. All the fans get to their feet. Someone raises a Jesus Was A Crybaby sign.

No theme music.

The gym is silent.


“Psyche!” Sarah yells.

The fans boo. Someone throws a rock at her. Sarah instinctively kicks the rock away with her right foot with a graceful spin kick.

“I’ll kick ALL your asses!” Sarah says shaking her fist at the bleachers.

“We’re not here for that,” Styles says taking the mic back. “We’re here for HOSE.”

The fans are still booing Sarah. She flips off the crowd.

“Please welcome, our REAL first guest, the top HO in the business, the Evil Mastermind!”

Lights go out.

It’s dark.

The crowd pulls out lighters. Someone lights up a doobie, trying to get stoned under the cover of evil, Satanic, blackness. Dude.

Lights, the red ones, come back on. Mysteriously, there is a man, er, boy, in the ring. The Evil Mastermind stands there. Not a day over 16. Long black hair, wearing and evil cloak that kind of looks like a raincoat. He has a replica title over his shoulder.

TEM speaketh: “Am I evil?” he says flatly, hailing from Monotone City. “Yes I am.” He pauses. “Am I evil?” He pauses. “I am man.” He pauses. “Yes I am.”

Lights out.

Eventually, when somebody turns on the lights switch, the lights magically come back on.

“Ripping off lyrics is an interview? What the hell?” Sarah asks. “He couldn’t make popcorn pop, forget about wrestling fans.”

[Backstage. (The boys locker room)]

Shot711 has some comments to make about the interview we’ve just heard from TEM.

711: Tonight, I win the title. I’ve been shot 50 times. I’ve had plenty of near death experiences. I’m shot at 7-11. I’m Shot711. And I’m shot 24-7.”


MESSAGE: Stealing cable is a crime. Especially if it’s to watch this channel. Please, don’t steal cable. Or you’ll pay. One way or another.


Announcers get face time at ringside.

“Tonight, fans, it’s going to be EXXX, I mean, HARDCORE! In our main event, the HOSE title will be on the line!”

“Yes. Mr. Charisma from the last segment out here will face a guy named Shot711. I’ve heard nothing but bad things about both these guys. If sucking were an Olympic sport, these two would bring home gold. It’s true, it’s true.”

“But now fans-”

“Being a little presumptous there Styles. The whole plural thing.”

“….Let’s head to the ring.”

[An oddly familiar riff plays, just barely audible from a boombox on the gym floor. Then it is butchered, death metal style.

“Ohhhh, I’m a werewolf baybeeee
So why don’t you kill meeeee.
Ohh, I’m gonna rip your throat
I’m a werewolf baybeeee
Why don’t you kill meeeee]

Is gurgled out. That brings out Barker. Barker is 14.

“Legend has it, he was bitten by a werewolf. Wait till you see the punchline,” Sarah says.

“What’s that?” Styles asks. “Oh my God! You’re not going to!”

“Watch me!”

[Meanwhile, backstage (the girls locker room) Kay Fabe arrives! But since Sarah and Styles don’t have monitors, they don’t see it. Kay clutches a broomstick. She’s decked out in black and it wearing a pointy black hat.

“At last, I belong.”]

Back to the gym. There is a pause as a “druid” changes cassette tapes. Yes, they don’t even have a CD player. He presses play, but it’s the wrong song.

“Oh my God!” Styles says. “This is embarrassing!”

“Just knowing I’m going to kick all their asses in the end makes me smile. On the inside of course. Because I really am an emotionless robot,” Sarah says.

Then, the theme from the movie “Poltergeist” begins playing. Complete with an opening “They’re here!” from that dead girl.

“Man, just like the WWF! I’m impressed,” Sarah says. “Catchphrase, theme song, it’s all, crap. How about some originality?”

A gym door opens with a crash, but nobody comes through the open door. Or so it would seem.

“You’re kidding. A poltergeist?”

“The Poltergeist,” Styles corrects.

“What are his stats?”

“Unknown. He’s from the Other Side. That’s all we know about him. Or her. If it even is a he or she.”

“Well, if it doesn’t have the hardware…it very well can’t have sex, or be a sex.”

A buzzer, the kind used at basketball games, sounds three times to signal the start of the match.

“Geez, no Satanic bell tolling? What?”

“Barker, who is in his, well, meager human form, since there is no full moon tonight, begins circling his invisible adversary. This should highlight some very contrasting styles.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hey, let’s have some fun.”

Sarah stands up. She picks up a big black piece of cardboard. “Hey Barker!” Sarah turns the cardboard around.

The moon.


Barker howls and collapses to hands and knees. His skinny teenage frame suddenly looks like it has been invaded by steroids. He splits out of his wrestling gear and is naked.

Completely naked.

Sarah continues to hold up the photo of the full moon. But she sits down and actually cracks a smile.

The punchline?

“Barker hasn’t hit puberty yet.”

Barker has NO body hair.

“How ironic.”

“And Poltergeist takes the opportunity to, uh, attack Barker. Barker’s head is going left and right, left and right, as if he’s being punched. And HARD!”

“You said hard,” Sarah says.

“Barker is being pummeled.”

“I can’t belive we can have full frontal nudity in HOSE.”

“It is Public Access.”

“Renamed Pubic Access.”



“Barker is flipped over.”

“He better hope The Poltergeist isn’t come ci, come ca.”

“But Barker comes back.”

“Man, are you dirty Styles. Come?”

“You said come twice before me! Why are you so dirty tonight?”

“I’m a dirty girl,” she says in a baby voice.

“A headlock! Oh my God!”

“Rest spots? In HOSE! We want blood!”

“Uh oh. Barker just tossed Poltergeist outside.”

“My arms are tired.”

Barker roars. Sarah puts down the moon.

Barker reverts.

Barker looks down at himself. Both hands quickly cover up his shame area.

“And he should be ashamed,” Sarah says. “Do you think all the ladies really believe it’s not the size, but how you use it?”

“That’s not true? Err, oh my GOD! Barker just hit a fan! He’s stealing his pants!”

“Theft and assault? This is hardcore?” Sarah asks.

“Barker has the pants on. OH MY GOD!”

“Zipper! Zipper! Zipper! The zipper has got his head in a world of hurt!”

“Oh, Barker gets himself free,” Styles says.

Barker gets a chair.

“I’m guessing Barker’s zipper had a LOT of bite,” Sarah says.

“Oh, what a shot! Barker just nailed the Poltergeist with a thunderous chair shot. I think. Barker goes back into the ring, triumphant. He holds the chair high. The fans boo.”

“Barker is the face after all,” Sarah says.

The ref starts the count.






“And Poltergeist just gets back in in time and hits Barker with a low blow.”

“What’s up with the sixes?”

“Wrestlers get a 6-count outside.”

“How do you win?”

“A 666, instead of a 123.”

“Wow. Pathetic much?”

“Poltergeist with a rollup! 6….6….No! Small package!”

“No kidding,” Sarah says, no doubt referring to Barker.

“6…..6……6, no!”

Sarah holds up the moon.

Barker changes. Again. He’s naked, again. Barker roars and charges, but then Sarah drops the sign and he realizes he’s naked. Again.

“Poltergeist with a huge….MOVE! Was that a hudanconrana?”

“I wasn’t looking at that. Sorry. I was mesmerized by, something else during that move.”

“Pin! But Barker reverses! 6! 6! 6!!! Barker upsets Poltergeist!”

“How can you tell? Yeah, the ref’s raising his hand, but still….”

[Backstage, Kay Fabe stands over the bodies of Evil Mastermind, Shot711, Dr. Butcher and Satanus the Impaler. All unconscious. Kay drops her broomstick and does the walk. You know the one. The main event shuffle.]

“Golden Showers” by the Mentors begins playing, bringing out a guy NOBODY likes, Urine! He just flat out sucks.

“Man, didn’t this guy get jobbed out of every federation on Hypermart and Angelfire?” Sarah asks.

“He has quite a, shall we say, pathetic history.”

“We shall. And that’s putting it nicely.”

Urine has a mic. He puts it to his mouth and the mic hits his teeth with a thud.

“Even the mic hates Urine!”

The mic falls to the canvas. Urine gets down on his knees and strangles the mic.

“Demon, be gone!”

“The only demon in that mic probably left after smelling his urine breath,” Sarah says.

The fans boo. And chant: “Satan kill Urine! Satan kill Urine! Master take Urine!”

“Shut up, you suck!” Urine yells. “The Ancient Guys won’t take me til I’m done. I steal dead bodies. Then I have sex with them and pee all over them!”

Fans: “Shut up!”

“No, you shut up! I’m great, you suck!”

Fans: “Go to Heaven!” Clap, clap, clapclapclap.

“May Satan have mercy on you!”

The fans boo. A butcher knife flies past Urine’s head.


“So close. Damnit!” Sarah says.

“You threw that?”

“I plead the fifth. I need a banana. I’ll be back.”

Sarah leaves to visit the cafeteria. Once out the doors, the doors on the opposite side of the gym crash open.

“What the hell?” Styles yells. “It’s Kay Fabe! Kay Fabe has broken into HOSE!”

Kay walks, zombie-like, to the ring. She clutches a broomstick like a sword. Urine stares at her, paralyzed. Kay gets in the ring.

“Sarah! We need you! Where are you?” Styles asks.

[Cafeteria. Refrigerator. Bananas. She picks one and heads back to the gym.]

Kay bludgeons Urine with a broomstick. Until he’s an unconscious mess. A puddle of smelly wetness forms on the canvas near his crotch. Kay grabs the mic. Then she smells it and drops it. Instead, she decides to talk really loud.

“Styles! Where is Sarah?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t make me come out there.”

The gym door opens.

Kay turns.

Sarah notices Kay is here.

“I’m going to make a bigger mess of you than I did The Poltergeist,” Kay says.

“Why?” Sarah asks, walking to the ring.

“Because I’m nothing to you anymore.”

“Yes you are.”

“What, supporting material?”

Sarah gets in the ring. “Kay, you’re my best friend in the whole world. Ever since we first met way back in high school.

“The power has shifted. Now I’m ‘The Jobber Slayer.'”

“No you’re not.”

Who took out the entire HOSE roster? HOSErs are laying everywhere. At my hands!”

“Big deal. You beat up teenagers. Probably was the thrill of their lives. I’m not going to fight you Kay.”

“Good.” She raises the broomstick.

“I love you Kay. Just remember that as you crack my skull.”

She starts the swing.

And pauses.

Starts the swing.

And stops just short of Sarah’s forehead.

Kay and Sarah stare at each other.

The fans encourage Kay to hit Sarah. “Blood, blood, blood, blood!”

Sarah grabs the stick and softly shoves it aside. Sarah approaches Kay slowly. Sarah takes off Kay’s witch hat and drops it on the canvas. Sarah runs a hand through Kay’s beautiful red hair.

“Oh, my,” Styles says, loosening his tie and trying to unbuckle his belt.

The girls look deep into each others eyes. Their lips inch and inch closer together.

A crash at the gym doors.

“Bloody hell!”

“Little Good! Little Good! Little Good!” Styles belts out. “Oh my God!”

Little Good walks to the ring. He looks at the girls.

“What a happy little scene. My, my, my. I should have known you couldn’t beat up the Slayer. No balls.”

“Well, duh,” Kay says.

“Fine. I’m gonna get you Slayer. Some day. Some way. Well, I’ll be,” he says looking over their heads. Kay and Sarah turn around.


Little Good crashes through the doors.

“Damn. What a little good bastard,” Kay says.

“Well, for Styles, this complete waste of time ends happily. Every HOSEr is hurt and this fed is dead! Good night, and rot in HELL!”

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Sick of repeats

January 25th, 2002
Comments Off on Sick of repeats

[A basement.]

A big BOB banner is on one wall. A washing machine and dryer are against another wall. In front of the third wall is a TV camera, some chairs and video equipment. On the fourth wall is the door.

[It’s Styles’ basement.]

Styles opens the door and is followed in by Swiss Army Champion Sarah “The Jobber Slayer.”

“I just needed to talk to you,” Styles says.

They take seats on steel folding chairs.

“No problemo. What’s up?” Sarah asks.

“I think Xamfir and Kay, well, may be feeling, left out. By you.”

“Bummer. But Styles, you’ve got to understand…” she looks at the title on her shoulder. “It’s my first time being with a title. That’s huge for me. I’m a woman in a man’s business. Granted, ‘man’ might be a little strong for BOB, but still…”

“The jobber activity is getting worse here. A psychotic scotter, a talking skateboard, a boy band, a geek, fallen angels, Billy Polar!”

“Yeah, that is bad. We need Kay and Xamfir on board. They’re great distractions. Pretty good supporting material too.”

[Meanwhile, in parts unknown (in Cloudydale, most likely, since she lives there), Kay Fabe puts a broomstick through her TV set.]

[Meanwhile, elsewhere, Xamfir pisses on his TV set. Then he goes to get a sponge and paper towels to clean up the mess.]

“But enough about them. There’s NAGAM to discuss. You’re coming to my world,” Styles says.

“Oh my God!”

“I know! So, I’ve arranged for us to attend one of the hardcore backyard feds in town and videotape it to provide commentary.”


“I said, I’ve arranged for us-”


“Well, we’ll film the opening here and then the show will air on Channel 1 public access sometime around 4:30 p.m. Monday. Or Tuesday.”

“Good, that gives me the weekend to write results.”

“What did you say?” Styles asks perplexed.

“Nothing,” Sarah says innocently. “Last thing I said was ‘when.’ Why?”

“You said that gives you the weekend to, um, WRITE results. Why would you have to WRITE results when we’ll be TAPING a show?

“No I didn’t!”

“Read up five lines.

“Huh…I don’t remember saying it. If Kay Fabe were here, a comment like that never would have happened.

[Kay, who had repaired her TV through the power of witchcraft, plunges the broomstick through it for a second time.]

“This whole conversation never would have happened. But since it did, yes, we will go ‘tape’ the ‘show’ to be ‘broadcast’ on ‘Channel 1.’

“Now it’s time for you to shine.”

“Which fed is it?”

“A new group in Cloudydale. It’s called Hardcore Occult Sports Entertainment.”


“Uh, yes. Should be entertaining. As long as you’re there.”

“You know what will have to happen after the show?”

“Of course.”

“OK. Do I play the heel or face announcer?”

[Kay screams. Yes, her TV is, well, was, fixed again.]

“Well, I’m the commentator. You’re the heelish type I guess.”

“But I’m so pretty. I’ll play a tweener.”

[Though her TV is not fixed, through some black force, she now hears every word Sarah says. Kay grabs her heart. Is it breaking?

“No, not getting rid of me that easy. Time for a surprise guest at HOSE.”]


It’s a “Show Full of HOSE!” Taped on Channel 1, Cloudydale Publick Axxess. Airing sometime soon. Stay tuned!

Upcoming backyard fed shows on Channel 1:
Saturday: Interspecies Grapplin’ Federation.
Sunday: Main Event Bad-@ss Babies
Monday: Hardcore Occult Sports Entertainment
Tuesday: TBA
Wednesday: Pathetic Poser Federation
Thursday: Soap Opera Wrestling: Starring Ladders, Chairs and Tables
Friday: Pillowfight Championship Wrestling

Volunteers needed:
Call Uncle Eric at (555) 555-5555.
Plastic Championship Wrestling is HIRING!!! PCW: It’s FAKE!

Need a WRESTLING ring? Send $8,000 to:
3 Laydown Drive
Cloudydale, CT 00000.

HOSE needs writers.
Send resumes to Channel 1, care of HOSE.
(Vince Russo need not apply.)

Coke addiction.
Maybe it’s time to start.
See what everyone’s talking about,
Coke. It dulls the pain of life.


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Anger, swerves, betrayal, an unexpected climax….

January 16th, 2002
Comments Off on Anger, swerves, betrayal, an unexpected climax….

Posted by Little Good on 1/16/2002 at 21:07:26

Little Good threw his remote onto the floor of his apartment and began jumping up and down on it. Bits of plastic and little numbers and buttons spread in every direction. Two AA batteries roll away.

“Oh, bloody hell. Now how the hell am I supposed to change the channel? Damn the Slayer. Damn her.”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out from his leather jacket, pulls out a lighter, and lights up. He had been watching the “classic” Buffy “The Jobber Slayer” roleplays.

“Fine, let’s just do an old school promo here. Sarah. I’m sick of these frigging classic roleplays. Nobody cares where you come from. They only watch you because you’re so hot. What the hell was the point of the last three promos? Huh? You’re not even trashing an opponent in them. What’s wrong with you? Damn BOB, damn the Burp channel, whatever the hell that is. You’re just so proud of that damn Swiss Army Title, aren’t you? So you have to gloat. Live off your past glory. Can’t even grace us with new material?”

He paces back and forth, inhaling most of the rest of the cigarette.

“And what about BOB? Gluttons For Punishment? I didn’t win, I know. My great evil plan didn’t pan out, but I’m sure I’ll have more little good plans, which will hurt none more than the Slayer. I am going to make your life a living hell. The Jobber Revolution is coming. It only takes one jobber to end the Slayer’s career. And I’m going to find that jobber…or I’ll end your career myself….But only if it’s on PPV. Now bugger off.”

Later. At Jeers. The bar in Cloudydale.

Little Good is seated at the bar, drinking. A girl sits down next to him. A redhead. It’s Kay Fabe!

The door opens.

“Evening everybody!”

“Xamfir!” everyone but Little Good greets.

Then Xamfir sits down on the other side of Little Good. Little Good looks at both of them in disbelief. Why in the hell are they at Jeers?

A bartender wearing a horse’s mask (ah, the irony) walks up to Xamfir.

“Beer me,” Xamfir tells him.

“Hold on, hold on,” Little Good says. “Wait a bleeding minute. Why are you two Slayaholics sitting next to one of your biggest enemies?”

“I don’t know,” Kay says. “It’s just, we haven’t had much to do since the title win. With Sarah off on her ego trip, I’ve been forced to look back at myself in my pre-everything that makes me sexy phase. It sucks.”

“And I’m not even introduced yet. Dick Hurtz. C’mon. Such a good move dropping him for me. I’m so much prettier than he. But Little Good, we came here for a reason.”

“Are you two trying to turn heel? That’s so…..intriguing. Well, if you two want to turn heel, there’s only one way to do it. If you want to discuss this further, perhaps over some Chinese, come on over later tonight. We can wait for the next amazing blast from the past to air. Where is Sarah now?”

[Sarah’s bedroom.]

It’s dark, but we can see Sarah laying in bed under a blanket. Her shoulders are naked, and she’s snuggled up next to her Swiss Army title belt, which lays on the pillow beside her. She strokes the belt softly and then closes her eyes to get some sleep.

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January 16th, 2002
Comments Off on Bitchcraft

[How did Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” come to be? Fair question. If you care, the BOBRP Channel (known affectionately as the ‘Burp’ channel) is going to be showing Sarah, from the beginning. All the great promos (including the early Buffy “The Jobber Slayer” promos, before the whole lawsuit thing) that made Sarah into a cult phenomenon and led her to BOB. Tonight, we show RP 3. This RP is called “Bitchcraft.”]

“First crazed diaper men, now a group of skinny bitches. Can it BE any more fun here in Cloudydale?” Buffy asked.

Cloudydale High School. The gymnasium. Afternoon. Cheerleader practice. Plenty of teenage girls in short skirts stretching and jumping. Buffy Summers entered the gymnasium with Kay Fabe and Richard Hurtz behind her. Richard looked around in amazement at all the poon. Not long there, when….

“Buffy,” Connie greeted.

“Connie,” Buffy returned.

“What brings you here?”

“Blind much,” Buffy asks, pointing out the gray and blue cheerleading uniform she’s wearing.

“Listen Buffy, you may have been a bad-ass bitch up in Greenwich, but we play by different rules down here. My rules. I am the game, and you don’t want to play me.”

“I do,” Richard says. “Oh sorry, did you say play you, or play WITH you?”

“Not even if you were the last man on earth and I had Buffy’s body,” Connie says before walking away.

The Shaggy Gang get to steppin’ again, but only manage a few steps before Kay falls down. Buffy and Richard ask if she’s okay and offer to help her up. Kay realizes she tripped over a broom.

“I’m down, but not broken,” she says. She picks up the broom and looks at it. She slides her hands up and down the smooth, hard, wood. She likes the feel of it. She wonders if….

“Hey, gimme that,” the Evil Janitor Man demanded.

“I don’t want to. I like it,” Kay told him.

He grabs the base end and tries to wrestle it from her. She tugs on it. He ends up pulling the broom end against his crotch and pulls hard. She pulls back. If someone wanted to notice this, this would be a borderline pornographic visual, with the broom playing the part of pubic hair, and the stick, well, figure it out jerkass. The tug of war continued until a girl who has yet to be introduced intervened. She pulled the broom easily from Kay’s grasp. The broom sagged to the floor, still in the hands of its owner, Evil Janitor Man.

“Ana?” Kay asks the stranger, who is also dressed in the cheerleader uniform.

“Hi Kay. Dad, you weren’t giving my friend a hard time, were you?”

“Yes. She touched my broom. My BROOM! This is my broom! You keep your hands off it, ya hear?” He walks away, giving Kay and Ana the chance to talk. Since they are minor characters, we’ll ignore their convo and move along.

Dance music begins to play and a cheerleader takes center floor. She begins to do her thing, when suddenly, she slips and falls heels over head. She ends up stuck on the floor, Bugs Bunny style, with her legs over her head.

“She’s hurt!” Kay yells.

“Hey Sherlock, here’s some shit for you,” Connie yells at Kay. “Since you obviously have none.”

Buffy runs over to the girl. She notices a wet spot on the floor. A wet spot?

“Did you get nervous and slip on your own pee?” Buffy asks.

“No. Check my panties. They’re dry.”

Buffy feels the girl’s crotch. And ass. Gotta be thorough. “I sense trouble. You been to a doctor lately?”
“No, why?”

“I think you’re hurt. You should go.”

“Sky blue still? I can’t move! I think my back is broken. Or stuck or something.”

Richard and Kay show up behind Buffy.

“Don’t move her,” Richard cautions. He then excuses himself. He walks under the bleachers. There is a bang from underneath there, as if he just dropped down to his knees. Figure out the next paragraph for yourself.


Next day.

At Buffy’s house, Buffy bumps into her mom in the kitchen. She is making toast and eggs. They say hello before Buffy’s mom starts to make conversation.

“I think it’s good you’re getting back into cheerleading. I think it’ll keep you from burning down the school. I’d like to encourage you not to burn down that school. It’s good not to get expelled more than two times a year.”

Buffy runs away.

“I SO suck at parenting,” Buffy’s mom says.


After yesterday’s fiasco, they decided to postpone the remainder of the tryouts. So they continued today. Kay had a run in with Ana, then went to tell Buffy about it.

“I think something’s up with Ana.”

“Really, why?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t know for sure. But, you know how yesterday she really didn’t care about cheerleading? Well, today she does. She’s really excited about it. She also has a five o’clock shadow, smells like the school restrooms and grew a few inches overnight.”

“Eh, probably just drugs,” Buffy shrugs.


Later. The main office. Connie is sitting in the waiting area, still dressed in her cheerleading outfit. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs. Eventually, a secretary tells her to go into the assistant principal’s office.

“Fine. Service here sucks, by the way.”

She passed by the principal’s office, which has the name Josh Wheaton, written on it in gold. She goes into the next office, the door is open. We don’t see a name on the door. She takes a seat in a chair which is aimed toward the right. The assistant principal’s desk is out of sight. The door remains open.

“Finally, Connie Kuntz has come back to the assistant principal’s office,” Connie announces.

“Cawnie, I’m givin’ you detention.”

“For what?”

“You punched anawther student owt during cheerleading practice.”

“Is that a crime? Well pardon me for wanting to be the best at yelling out letters. This is a school. We’re not just cheerleaders, we’re teaching people how to spell! And she wasn’t doing it good enough. I could be Vanna White in a couple of years if I get really good!”

“Stop tryin’ to bust my awnions. I’ve got awnions the size of grapefruits baby! You will respect the powahs that be and repawt to detention today.”

“Whatever,” she says putting her thumbs together to make a W with her index fingers extended.


In detention, Connie was alone. Suddenly, a man dressed in black leather entered the room, pushing a TV set on one of those TV/VCR school carts. He shut the lights off and popped in a tape.

“Oh no, not again.”

Play is pressed.


“Oh GOD, I’m blind!”

The Master chuckles.


Meanwhile, practice continues. Until…..dum dum dum….

“Oww!” the girl cheering beside ‘Ana’ yells out.

A broomstick falls to the floor.

“What happened?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t know. That broomstick, just, kind of, fell on her face,” ‘Ana’ says.

The injured girl spits out teeth. And a mouthful of blood. She has to go for emergency surgency, er, emergery surgery, you know…..

After practice ends, Buffy heads to the library. Kay and Richard are seated at a table. Styles is standing near them with a videotape in hand.

“With Connie being blind, Slut Bunny stuck in traction and Miss Toothless in medical hell, I think somebody is trying to sabotage the cheerleading squad. Something’s up.

Styles looks down at his pants. But luckily, Buffy misses the look and Kay begins to talk.

“Why would somebody want to hurt a bunch of beautiful girls who have horrible, bitchy attitudes and who will only date jocks? I just answered my own question, didn’t I?”

“That’s the thrill of living in Cloudydale. There’s a veritable cornucopia of, of baby men and evil janitors and, clowns to engage….” Styles looks around at Kay, Richard and Buffy’s faces. “Pardon me for finding the glass half full.”


Ana’s house.

There, Buffy and Styles knock on ze door. Zen zey ring ze doorbell. Eventually, zere is an answere.

It’s Ana! It’s Ana! It’s Ana! Ana answers the door!

“Oh my God!” Styles says in shock. “It’s the REAL Ana.”

“Come in,” Ana tells them. “I guess I’ve got to give you the low down.”

Inside, Buffy immediately notices pictures on the mantel. The photos are of Ana’s father. But it gets worse. He’s in wrestling gear! In numerous dated photos, all at least 15 or 20 years old.

“My dad wanted to relive his youth. So he started wearing a wig and a cheerleader outfit, impersonating me. His final goal was to get back into wrestling with all sorts of plastic surgery.” She puts her hands to her face and collapses to the floor, weeping.

Buffy and Styles look at her. They shrug and leave.


“I can’t believe Ana’s dad is a jobber,” Buffy says as she opens the gym door. Once the door is open, she notices that a basketball game has broken out. “Was this on the schedule, or did we just have a soap opera time warp? How old do I look Styles?”

The coach comes up to Buffy. “You’re late. You will never, EVER, cheer in this town agayne.” She’s from Canada, in case you didn’t notice the accent. Or dialect.

“No problemo,” she says, once she sees that ‘Ana’, a.k.a. Evil Janitor Man, is on the sidelines, cheering on the boys.

Buffy blows by the coach and runs up to EJM. With his back still turned, Buffy pulls the wig off his head! He gasps and turns around to see who has foiled his ingenious plan. He looks at the court, at the other girls and at the whopping five fans in the stands, feeling all eyes on him (even though none are) and runs away.


A hallway.

The janitor is contemplating which restroom to hide in.

Men? Or women. He rubbed his crotch, trying to remember which he was at the moment, but that moment of forgetfulness gave Buffy the chance to come up from behind him and whack him in the knee with a broomstick.

“Sweet irony, why! Why!”

“Life sucks. And so do you.”

“Who are you.”

“I, am the chosen one.”

The Shaggies meet around the fallen victim. Buffy seems a bit sad.

“You don’t need to be a cheerleader,” Kay says rubbing Buffy’s back in a comforting way. “Couldn’t you just be happy leading us? Cheerfully or otherwise?” Then her hand slips down to Buffy’s ass briefly for a different kind of comfort.

“I guess it’s just us then, the Shaggy Gang.”

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The Havoc

January 14th, 2002
Comments Off on The Havoc

[How did Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” come to be? Fair question. If you care, the BOBRP Channel (known affectionately as the ‘Burp’ channel) is going to be showing Sarah, from the beginning. All the great promos (including the early Buffy “The Jobber Slayer” promos, before the whole lawsuit thing) that made Sarah into a cult phenomenon and led her to BOB. Tonight, we show with RP 2. This RP is called “The Havoc.”]

Luckily, Buffy Summers’ mother didn’t own her own funeral home. Instead, they lived in a nice normal suburban house. You know the kind. A couple of stories, a cellar, an attic. Plenty of room. Also luckily, Buffy’s mom made plenty of money off others deaths. The funeral home she worked for was in Stamford. And Connecticut is one of the most expensive states to live in (in parts). But the whole point of this paragraph is that Buffy has a closet full of leather pants, sleeveless shirts and plenty of kick-ass boots. She threw on a leather jacket, to match her brown leather pants, over her white sleeveless shirt and pulled on her stylish, yet sensible boots, and was on her way.

She was dressed to kill. Or Slay. Whatever.

As she walked on the cool fall night, she realized she was being followed. She stopped and turned and wanted the suspense to end before it could begin.

“Show yourself,” she demanded.

He did. A guy WAY too good looking stepped from the shadows. A guy who needed to get into a car accident and have severe facial damage. Oh wait, he’s ugly at some angels. I mean, angles. He’s equal parts breathtaking and vomit-inducing. But it worked overall for him. It was like he was a good soul trapped in a tormented body or something.

“Is there a problem with me following you? Free street, free country. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I don’t suck. I used to, but not anymore.” He looks her up and down. “I thought you’d be bigger,” he says while looking at her chest. “In the arms, I mean. And taller.”

“What do you want,” she asked.

“The same thing you do.”

“Okay. What do I want?”

“To slay them. To slay them all.”

“Sorry, wrong. But here’s a bird for your troubles,” she says, flipping him off. He only stares at her without reaction, Undertaker-style. “Who are you?”

“Let’s just say I’m a friend.”


Buffy and the man, together, say, “I’m a friend.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want another friend. I already have Connie.”

“I didn’t say I was yours.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be annoying me regularly, at least tell me, what is your name?”

“My name is-”

“It doesn’t MATTER what your name is!”

The man stares blankly at her. Buffy laughs.

“My name is Saint.”

“Saint what?”

“That’s it. Just, Saint.”

“No wonder why you’re so tormented. Saint Peter, Saint Paul, Saint Mark, then you. Just Saint. Maybe you should put the word ‘The’ in front of it so it doesn’t sound so….outdated ’80s pop-starish. Ta-ta Saint.”


The Little Brown Ring was filled to capacity tonight. Buffy found Connie Kuntz chatting with a group, all of them were dressed in similar short skirts and low cut tops.

“Buffy!” Air kiss, air kiss, from Connie. “Leather fetish?


“Well, you look okay, I suppose. We must go shopping. Excuse me a second. I need a line.”

One of the mindless drones asked Buffy about her bad girl past. Buffy was already bored with the convo before it began, so she just said, “I was a bitch. Deal with it.” Buffy looked around and saw Connie talking to a man dressed up as a baby, wearing only a diaper and complete with pacifier. Diaper Man lead Connie out the back door. Buffy’s got a hint something’s up. The narrator says so, that’s why. Or her instinct, whatever helps you get through this thing.

As she opened the back door, Buffy heard Diaper Man say, “I just shit myself.”

“Good for you. I hope my coke isn’t in your diaper,” Connie responds.

“Wanna touch my peepee?” Diaper Man tackles Connie. “Watch Monday Night Raw!”

Oh God! He was one of them!

Reacting on instinct, Buffy ran over to them and grabbed an ankle. She started to twist before she heard Connie yell, “Hey!” at her. “Watch the shoes!” Buffy then found the leg without the shoe and twisted.


Connie shoved the big baby with the broken legsy-wegsy off her and stood up from the garbage pile.

“I’ll never watch wrestling again! And you,” she says to Buffy. “For almost breaking my ankle, consider yourself depopularized A.O.R.N.” She pulls out a cell phone from her purse and heads back to the door.


“If I could hear you, I wouldn’t care anyway.”


“Hey Buffy,” Kay greeted as Buffy came in the back door. She’s now wearing blue overalls and a white flowery long sleeve shirt. Her hair is down and she’s without the purple glasses.

“Hey Kay. Cool, that rhymed. Anyway, whazzup?”

“Not much. I’ve been here for about five minutes. Still no guys look at me,” she tells Buffy as the head for a table. Buffy looks around and sees half a dozen boys looking in their direction. “They weren’t looking until you started to talk to me.”

“Hellllllllo, ladies,” Richard Hurtz greeted. “Kay?”


“I’m not going to ask the obvious question,” Buffy decided.

Kay gets all shy with her eyes.

Styles arrives. “Hello.”

They all greet him.

“Buffy, I need to talk to you about a bit of a problem that’s developed, um, in private.”

“Well, Dick knows already that I’m a Jobber Slayer. And you know Kay will find out eventually since she’s my best friend and all.”

“Right, well. We’ve gotten word that a Master is sending out jobbers into the streets to promote Raw.”

“Yeah, I just broke a Diaper Man’s leg. But I think he’s spread the word to Connie to never watch wrestling again. Negative reinforcement…”

“You’ve got to sop them. All of them.”

“No pressure there,” Buffy said shaking her head in disgust.

“We’ll help,” Kay volunteers.

Suddenly, the lights go out. The stage becomes backlit by a huge screen. A jumbo-tron of sorts. Farooq vs. Savio Vega! Oh no! It’s RAW!

“Be afraid. Be VERY afraid! Nobody leaves, nobody gets hurt. Just watch the show.”

Connie screams out. One of the dark followers grabs her and forces her onto the stage.

“It’s go time,” Buffy says.

The Master grabs Connie and forces her to watch the match, but worse, the show. The whole Raw experience. Buffy was on the move though. The Master’s minions had surrounded the stage and upon Buffy’s approach, prepared for a fight. These babies all wore leather jackets and were armed with bottles. As she approached, they grabbed the bottles by the nipples and broke the glass on the closest hard object. A table. A chair. A blonde’s head. The former innocent baby bottles were now instruments of death.

Buffy, armed with a pool cue, picked up the 8-ball and hit it like a baseball at one of the babies.

“Never played dodge ball before?”

Nine-ball. Baby 2 down.

“Didn’t anybody teach you the rules to this game?”

Cue ball. Another one down.

“Mark McGwire, eat your heart out.”

Four-ball. Another one down.

“The rules are simple.”

Five-ball. Another one gone.

“Buffy always wins Slay ball!”

And on and on until the only thing between Buffy and the Master was air.

“Uh, hello?” Connie asked. “Save me or you’ll so regret it.”

And with a wink and an evil smile, the Master threw Connie off the stage. Buffy missed the snag.

“Oww. I’m so suing this place!” Connie screamed.

A group of lawyers suddenly engulfed Connie and Buffy lost sight of the Master. She only heard something about how the havoc was just beginning.

“Wow, that was so cool. When you hit all those jobbers in the leg, they just disappear, huh?” Richard asked to no one in particular.

“It’s called Jobber Knee, it’s like an Achilles heel. It comes from Jobrony. That’s the proper name for jobbers. Just to hard to keep spelling over and over, y’know? To job a jobber, you gotta break the knee. Then they just go away like they never existed.


The next day. School.

Connie was talking to a friend. “I hear those baby men were part of a retarded gang. Rumor has it, Buffy knows them. They followed her here or something for revenge for her trying to kill them in a fire back in Greenwich. Well, the only thing getting burnt around here is her reputation.”

“Fire?” Kay asked as the ‘Shaggies’ eavesdropped on the conversation through a bush.

“Yeah, I burnt down the TV studio,” Buffy said matter-of-fact-like. “Kinda why I got kicked out of school. They made such bad shows there. People need to be entertained by television, not become mindless, psychotic robots because of it. TV is good. We must protect it.”

“Without good TV, the world is doomed,” Styles said.

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Town On the Verge of Existence

January 14th, 2002
Comments Off on Town On the Verge of Existence

[How did Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” come to be? Fair question. If you care, the BOBRP Channel (known affectionately as the ‘Burp’ channel) is going to be showing Sarah, from the beginning. All the great promos (including the early Buffy “The Jobber Slayer” promos, before the whole lawsuit thing) that made Sarah into a cult phenomenon and led her to BOB. Tonight, we begin with RP 1. The pilot RP is called “Town On The Verge of Existence.”]

Cloudydale High School. September, 1996.

Buffy Anne Summers arrived at high school. She wanted go home to bed, lay down and never get up again when she saw the teenage strangers around her in the hallways, smoking in front of the school, snorting coke in the parking lot, blabbing on and on about who was doing who, who was wearing what and who was wearing what while they were doing who. It was a big gossip fest. And Buffy wasn’t in on any of it. She felt lonely. She was just 16, you know what I mean? So very sweet and innocent. And hot.

Backstory: Buffy’s mother is a funeral director. Buffy’s parents are divorced. Before she came to this miserable little town nobody has ever heard of, not even the people at Rand McNally, she did time in Greenwich. There, she was a shallow, petty, spoiled, popular girl. She loved it. Now, she was down at the bottom of the food chain, forced to pay her dues and get noticed by the other kids so she get be in the “in-crowd” and be accepted.

She needed an “in.”

Then she saw it. The cafeteria. A beautiful raven-haired beauty in a baby-blue outfit that emphasized her long legs. The kind of legs that could wrap around a man’s head two or three times, eventually suffocating him, but the process would be worth it. She was gabbing at a vending machine with some fashion victims, who were wearing atrociously bright and slobby looking outfits. She put in some coinage and pressed a soda, only half paying attention to the mindless conversation. And with all she was doing at this point, her mind was pretty well stretched if ya dig what I’m saying.

The raven-haired beauty pressed the Pepsi button.

That wasn’t diet!

The girl picked up the soda, never glancing down to make sure what kind of soda she had bought. She cracked the top.

Buffy reacted instinctively. She ran toward the girl and went into a leap of sorts, eventually kicking the can, in some sort of slow-motion super high kicky motion, out of the girl’s hand. The can hit the ceiling, bringing down a bunch of tiles and dirt on the girl’s fashion victim friends, and then fell to the floor, and the soda began to slowly burn a hole in the floor.

“Hey bitch!” the girl said. “You owe me a soda.”

“Look at the can,” Buffy said. “I just saved you.”

The girl looks down at the can. Her jaw drops. “That isn’t diet. Wow. Sorry, I guess you don’t owe me a soda. Wait, yes you do! Wait. Who in the blue hell are you?”

“My name’s Buffy. Buffy Summers.”

“I’m Connie. Connie Kuntz. I’m the resident most popular sarcastic bitch of CHS. Buffy is a strange name. Don’t you think?”

“Pot: kettle: black.”

“Wit? I like that.” Connie looks around at her fallen friends and the ceiling. “Shame about them. Looks like I need a new friend. Guess that can be you.”

“Lucky me.”

“Consider yourself in. And believe me, unless you’re in with Kuntz, you ain’t in.”


Richard Hurtz looked on as the new girl and Connie chatted. He was already in love. But she didn’t even know he existed. How could she know? They hadn’t met, after all.


“I’ve heard you can help me,” Buffy told the awkward-looking redhead.

“Wha?” the redhead said, looking up from her book. Her breakfast eating also halted. The redhead wore small purple (Hippie-style) sunglasses and her hair was tied into a ponytail. She was wearing a long black skirt, combat boots and an Ani DiFranco T-Shirt. “Do what?”

“Study and junk. I hear you’re smart. Got a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend, *pfffft*, boys don’t even know I exist. Connie, your new friend, hasn’t even given me permission to share the hallways with her.”

“Tell you what. We’ll make a deal. You help me study, I’ll help you reach your potential.” Buffy lightly brushed the redhead’s face with the back of her hand. “Such a pretty face.”

The redhead blushed. “My name is Kay. Kay Fabe.”

Buffy stopped caressing Kay’s face. Kay noticed the sudden chill in the air. Then, a couple of guys walked by with a refrigerator on a cart. Buffy and Kay looked at them.

“How you doin’?” one of the guys asked.

“We’ll be better once you get to steppin’,” Buffy told him.

They get to steppin’.

“Did I say something?” Kay asks Buffy. “I kind of liked-”

The bell rings.

“I gotta go. Let’s meet tonight at the Little Brown Ring. I hear it’s the place to be. Actually, I hear it’s the ONLY place to be in Cloudydale.”



Buffy couldn’t find the class. Then she did. It was really scary there for a second. Once in class, she found out she’d need to take out a book for a research paper. Topic of her choice, within reason. She waited to research the myth of vampires. No doubt, she could find a book about vampires in a school library, right?

The name Kay Fabe still haunted her. But why?

“Oh my God!” The head librarian hung up the phone and seemed quite calm after that bizarre shout. She looked around at all the aisles of books. Stairs? More books upstairs? Yeah, whatever. She went to the librarian. “Can I help you?” he asked quite pleasantly with a hint of a British accent.

“Yeah. I’m kind of new here and, well, it’s my first time. In a library. And my first day here at school. I guess you could say I’m just losing all kinds of virginity today.”

The librarian takes off his glasses and wipes them with his tie. He shakes his head nervously. “New are you? Well, hmm, what can I, I, help you with….”

“A book.”

“Sorry, I wanted to know your name there.”

“What, at the pause?”


“Well, you should have said help you with, Miss….”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“No biggie. It’s Miss Summers.”


“Yeah,” she says puzzled. “How’d you know my name?”

The librarian walks out from behind the counter and heads toward the stairs. Buffy, after a pause, follows him.

“I want to write a paper on vampires.”

“Vampires? Isn’t that rather……” he trails off while they walk upstairs. “Odd?”


“Watch many movies?”

“No. My mom says movies are evil. We only get basic cable.”

“You poor girl,” he says stopping at the top of the staircase.

“I’m dealing. Chill. What’s your name anyway?”

“Mr. Styles.”

“Nice name. Very, stylish.”

“Yes, well.” They walk again. They go to the far wall, past aisle after aisle of dusty works. Buffy stops and turns around quick. “What is it?” Mr. Styles asks.

“Ever have the feeling you were being watched? I’ve felt that way all day. I didn’t feel that way yesterday.”

“You best get used to it.” He walks down an aisle.


Richard saw Buffy go into the library. But there was nobody around when he went inside. Empty much? Then he heard something upstairs, like a big book falling. He quickly ran, no, slowly ran, to the stairs and went up them, as opposed to going down the up staircase. When Richard realized how poorly grammatical his brain was, we switched scenes. Poorly grammatical, sheesh.


Mr. Styles picked up the thick tome and brought it to Buffy. She looked at it. The title: Jobbers.

“I hope Jobbers is Latin for vampires.”

“Sorry, no. Buffy, you’re the chosen one.”

“Are you trying to pick me up?”

“No. You are the Jobber Slayer. You were called by the Federation to end the era of bad gimmicks and take the sport in a more entertaining direction. The Federation is still very upset Disco Inferno has a job. He defeated the last Slayer.”

“But you digress,” Buffy said. “Look I know all about jobbers. To become a jobber you have to suck. Jobbers are a lot like vampires. Vampires want to suck, jobbers want to suck. It’s a big suck fest here in Cloudydale, isn’t it?”

“Right. It may take a year or two, but we believe wrestling is due for a big boom. With the new millennium coming and all, and wrestling gets big near the end of every decade, so with the millennium, it should be huge. That’s why you’re needed. Jobbers are everywhere. And for some unknown, mysterious reason, there is a high concentration of jobbers in this area. There’s a theory that industrial waste from Stamford is responsible for the outbreak. Stamford is where the World Wrestling Federation is based out of.”

“Damn McMahon. He sure has got an attitude, doesn’t he? If I ever see him, I’m gonna stick my foot straight up his ass. And that’s the bottom line, because Buffy Summers said so. So, we work for the WWF?”

“No, we work for The Federation. Completely different thing,” he says winking.


“Oh my God, no, no. I have a twitch. That wasn’t a lie wink,” he says winking again.

“Yeah, sure. Well, I’ll go read this book I guess. But I still need my vampire book. Don’t want to resurrect them demons of non-studiology.”


Lunch. Buffy didn’t go to the cafeteria. Instead, she sat alone outside at a picnic table. She began to read of the TV eyesores, such as Shockmaster, the Gobbledegooker, Koko B. Ware, Iron Mike Sharpe and the Yeti. So many bad gimmicks. The horror!

Then, somebody tripped over the table.

“Hi,” he said, looking at the book. “Can I lay down with you, I mean, for you? Or would you hurt me too badly?”

She closes the book and puts it in her backpack. “What?”

“I heard about you being the Slayer and all. Can I join your group?”

“There is no group.”

“Well, let’s get one then. C’mon, I’m a huge wrestling fan. Have you heard the ‘boring’ chants lately? It’s brutal. I want to help. And this way, I can not get mega-obsessed with you and cause you more problems by stalking you at inopportune times and being a generally major distraction.”

“As if. Fine, just, meet me later tonight.”

“Little Brown Ring? I know it well. See you there.”


“It’s an omen. It all makes sense.”

Back at the library.

“Styles, it’s just a student. How can you tell he stayed home because of a jobber on TV?”

“If the plague of apathy spreads, Cloudydale will exist. For real. Listen again.”

Styles plays the tape again for the reluctant Slayer.

“This is Ms. Kool. J.D. won’t be in today. He’s vomiting and extremely ill. Today is Tuesday. Thank you.”

Raw strikes again.

“Look at these numbers. The lower the ratings go, the day after, the more sick students there are.” He passes her the attendance records and Nielsen ratings from the last six months.

“Wait. These numbers are low. And then there are huge absences. Does that mean, wrestling helps people?”

“Yes, exactly. Especially teenagers.”

“So, if more people were entertained by wrestling, there would be less sickness and despair, and maybe, this would be a better world?”

“That’s why The Federation called you.”

Buffy thought to herself about all the good she could do. She could change the world. She could make people care about wrestling again by eliminating the problems. The bad gimmicks. The untalented performers. Those who lack charisma and just don’t have “it.”

“What would happen if Cloudydale existed?”

“I don’t know. The best way I could explain it would be to imagine somebody trying to compete with the NFL. In other words, it would be an EXTREME mistake, not to mention an EXTREME eyesore.

They both grab their bellies and laugh heartily at that preposterous thought.

“I don’t know,” Styles says, cleaning his glasses again. “But we could have a new promotion of embarrassing proportions or a never-ending supply of jobbers. Tough to say.”

“Guess we’ll have to save the world then.”

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