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jOlt = dead, Trey = unemployed

June 14th, 2002
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Trey Vincent sat at a bar, looking down at his beer bottle. Ah yes, he’s going light today kids. No more hardcore alcoholing. The man has found himself in a very familiar position. Unemployed. Yes, this is a promo that is appearing in BOB, but so what? Does BOB really count as employment? And yes, this is supposed to be funny, but Trey Vincent is not in the funniest of moods, and neither is this detached narrator.

Anyway….jOlt, a once-proud sports entertainment company, succumbed to some sort of cancer. A cancer that began to spread around the time Trey Vincent arrived. If you look at the path of Trey Vincent’s career, you will see dead company after dead company. Extreme Wrestling Scene. Metal Edge Wrestling. jOlt. Not to mention the Specktacular Wrestling League, or whatever the hell that was called, the place where Trey never even got to make one TV appearance.

Trey Vincent doesn’t have the Midas touch. Oh no. It appears he has Montezuma’s Revenge. Every place he goes turns to shit. OK, that was sort of funny. I apologize. No humor here, this is so serious.

Suddenly, Trey noticed a pair of breasts in front of him. He looked up to see the breasts also were attached to a body, and that body had a head and a face too. Never know what you’re gonna see in a bar these days. And she was hot as hell too. Very sweet looking girl. You know that chick from that show “Scrubs”? Looks exactly like that. But hotter. Same haircut. Except her hair is multi-colored, it’s part blonde, part brunette, part red, mostly black. She’s wearing a tight white shirt, revealing some cleavage. And white jeans. Very hot.

Now, why was Trey Vincent watching “Scrubs”? Well, if you’ve followed Trey Vincent’s career, you know he loves to use the word scrubs, which is sports entertainment jargon for a jobber, loser, nobody or curtain jerker. Obviously, he was forced into checking out the show. Is it still on the air? Who knows. Learned one thing from that show. Porno is a great alternative. But he did get introduced to that woman, and Trey never forgets a face. Especially when it’s attached to a show with such a great name.

But getting back on track. The girl behind the bar looked at him, not saying anything. Just staring.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“You know, you have the type of the face that should be on TV.”

“Charming,” she said sarcastically.

“Oh, you know who I am then?”

“Does that line work when you let them know your initials are TV?”

“Sometimes. It’s not like I try to pick up smart women.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Why do you think?”

“You don’t think smart women can satisfy you?”

“Um, no.”

“Your loss. Want another beer?”

“Are you saying you’re smart and good in bed?”

“What’s it matter? You’ll never know,” she said leaning down to get another bottle of beer.

Trey didn’t even pretend not to look at her breasts. He smiled at her when she straightened up.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

She put the beer down.

“Because I know I sure as hell do.”

“I’m only showing off my goods to get a nice tip from you. And if you don’t give me a nice tip, you will pay.”

“How? I haven’t got a job in sports entertainment. The woman I’ve been hanging with is paid help. My promos aren’t funny anymore. And my one appearance on pay-per-view this year? Will be on BOB. Granted, it’s for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. But it’s BOB. Do you even know what BOB is?”

“A store offering clothing and footwear for men, women and children, wth locations throughout the northeast. Didn’t know they had a wrestling federation. Oops, I mean, a sports entertainment federation.”

“How DO you know me?”

“I followed jOlt. It was pretty good before you came along. Then it pretty much went to hell.”

Trey glared at her as he took a gulp of beer from his new bottle. He picked up the empty bottle and faked a fastball toss at her head.

She ducked.

Trey laughed.

“Asshole.”

“As charged,” he said with a grin. “You are beautiful, and you have a nice body. I’m a damn handsome man with a great body. You’re smart, I ain’t no genius, but I’m smart enough to know you want me.”

She laughed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do now,” he said with another grin.

“How?”

“I know chick’s brains. If you didn’t want me, you would’ve told me to go fuck myself or to fuck off.”

“Maybe I don’t swear.”

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“No.”

“See, we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Why, because I like eating meat?”

“Exactly.”

“OK,” she said with an eye roll. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

She did.

Trey pulled out his wallet and looked through. He pulled out a $50 bill and left it under his beer bottle. Then he left.

Outside, a homeless guy approached Trey.

“Do you have any spare change?”

Trey patted his black cargo pants, and then his jOlting TV T-shirt for no apparent reason.

“Sorry buddy, I only got fifties.”

And Trey walked to his Nissan Pathfinder. He pulled out his key ring, the car beeped like the Road Runner (the cartoon character), and Trey got into his vehicle.

“What now?” he asked himself. “Guess I got to book myself to a BOB title victory if I’m gonna ever get over this whole jOlt thing. Yes, that’s right, I said it. You see, unlike most other feds, where the president’s don’t deserve a title win, Trey Vincent does. He’s the booker and the greatest sports entertainer of all time. I need a world title to prove that, even if it’s BOB’s.”

Trey put his key in the ignition and started the SUV.

“But how to beat that fat blob and that skinny nerd? God, as if that’s even going to be difficult. I’m gonna run interference like you’ve never seen before. I’m gonna give BOB the biggest screwing of its life! Then once I strip any credibility of that title, it won’t be long before Public Access cancels that crappy fed. Yeah. What else have I got to look forward to, other than destroying ANOTHER fed.”

Trey smiled at himself in the rear-view mirror. Then he turned on the radio.

Ba-dummmm, BOOM BOOM BOOM.

“Another one bites the dust.”

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

“Another one bites the dust. And another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust!”

[Detached Narrator’s note: Lyrics to “Another One Bites The Dust” not used by permission. Fuck you Queen! Come sue me! Bastards. Aren’t you all dead anyway? And Freddie was gay! Did I mention that? He was! And it’s not even insulting! But this is an efed so I have to use that against you. Queen. Bwahahaha. Freddie.]

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Straight Outta Jobton

June 4th, 2002
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[Video opens with a still shot of Dyslexic Avenger, Mr. X, Bivalve, Super Mollusc and Nixon standing behind Sleazy-C in a line. They are all dressed in black (black long-sleeve shirts, black jeans, and though you can’t see them, no doubt black boots. They’re all wearing black hats too. Mr. X’s hat has an X on it. And Sleazy has his usual shades on, but he has an LA Dodgers cap on to be different. They all exhale and some sort of smoke comes out their mouths. Don’t ask, just assume what it is. It’s a ‘rap’ group, what you think they be smoking?]

Sleazy C: You are now about to experience the weakness of ring fillaz.

[Some rap beats begin as on screen come the credits for the video:
J.W.A.

“Straight Outta Jobton”
(Trey Vincent, Sleazy-C)
Director: Trey Vincent
Talentless Recordz

The scene cuts to some run-down city, which we can assume is Jobton. The posse walks down some crummy ass road with abandoned cars and old ugly burnt out graffitied buildings with boarded up windows. Mr. X comes to the front of the pack and begins to lip synch to the words.]

Mr. X: Straight outta Jobton
Talentless little jobba named Mr. X
Been years since I got any kinda sex
Where the hell is the notoriety
No wonder I can’t master sobriety
If I want some real action
I head to a Star Trek convention
‘Captain Kirk loves to fuck fat boys,’ I scream
Plenty of fat loserz wanna fight with me
Then I got to BOB and SE with tumbleweed
No pop if I fall, win or bleed
Apathy
Phuck me
A man with no gimmick
The BigBOSS makes me sick
Hey Sculder, hey Mully, look at me now
No doubt you three bitchez gonna pay now
Cuz I’m straight outta Jobton!

[More rap beats beat.]

Voice/sample thing: City of Jobton, city of Jobton.

[Sleazy appears between Super Mollusc and Bivalve and shoves them toward the camera. He then shoves X backward and threatens him with a PP-47. X retreats.]

Sleazy: Yo boyz!

SM + B: Whazzup?

Sleazy: Tell em whatz up!

B: Keep sending us to Alaska
SM: Pay us in fish? How dare ya!
B: Now the JWA is going to the top
SM: We got the plastic, the jobbins gonna stop
B: No angles, no gimmicks or crowds
SM: BOB has failed us jobbaz, be proud
B + SM (together): Until you’re smellin all pissy
Yeah Boss, you’re too buzy
Jobbaz sick of the slave treatment
100 years of talent enhancement
Is gonna end!
It ain’t about cool, this ain’t no trend
We want the dollarz
You know its true if ya wanna follow
Get in line
It’s JWA time
B: I’m sick of being held down
SM: Working hick inbred towns
B: Arenas the size of apartments
SM: All to make precious cents
B + SM: After comin straight outta Jobton

[More rap beats beat.]

Voice/sample thing: City of Jobton, city of Jobton.

[Bivalve and Super Mollusc pull out their PP-47s and aim them at Sleazy.]

B + SM: Sleazy is his name and he’z comin straight outta Jobton

[Sleazy now leads the pack down the ugly ass road.]

Sleazy: I used to say no one can job az good az me
Now everybody better run from me
Ima entertain like neva before
Have money so I can phuck sum whorez
We got us a gimmick
We betta uze it!
And we’re gonna win muthaphuckas!
Don’t believe us, then you’re a stupid sucka
Spittin out deadly rhymes
All the phuckin time
Dissin all our fellow jobbin bitchez
On the road to JWA richez
Now I’m sick of bein a whore
TV wants us to be so much more
Big star, sportz entertainaz
Not these low-class moneyless jobbaz
Gonna buy me some cars and hos to go with
Serving up shots of vodka by the fifth
Drunk as phuck and proud soon to be
The JWA, straight outta Jobton, with me

[More rap beats beat.]

Voice/sample thing: City of Jobton, city of Jobton.

[The JWA crew shoots their PP-47s at some ho walking down the road. It’s the bridge, thus, no lyrics. They laugh and point at her and keep on walking. Dyslexic Avenger takes the lead spot now.]

DA: Under I’m of sick
Over wanna be I
Me push!
Here the is talent
Straight outta Jobton
Entertainer superhero sports
With along my cohorts
AWJ. Life. For.

Sleazy: BITCH!

Voice: Jobton!

[Nixon runs up front and puts his face right in the camera with his weapon.]

Nixon: I look a bit like a former president
I should get a ho who looks a bit like a former intern
Hey Monica’s likeness, got sumthin you can take
A little dictation under the desk
My office ain’t in Washington
DC ain’t the place to be
My place is in my new hometown
The land of citizens held down
The future of this industry
Come suck me while you can
Cuz once I’m gone, I’m gone….
Straight outta Jobton

[Rap beats come to an end. The group celebrates and high-fives.]

Sleazy: Damn, that shit stunk!

[Fade to black.]

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The Jobba Mentality

June 4th, 2002
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[“Jobton”]

(Trey Vincent, Sleazy-C, Mr. X, The Man Who Looks A Bit Like Nixon, Bivalve, Super Mollusc and Dyslexic Avenger are hanging out on a corner under a street light. It’s nighttime. And we’re doing this promo old-school style, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s from the days of wayback. No more of this novel stuff when the JWA is in da house!)

Trey: So, it’s quiz time. You remember that first time we all got together and you signed your lives away to TV and Sleazy?

JWA: Yeah.

Trey: Wasn’t as funny as we thought.

Sleazy-C: So we’re skippin ahead to here, which hopefully WILL be funny.

Trey: Well, excuse me for being burnt out from writing your lyrics for you.

Sleazy: Phuck you Trey.

TV: Fuck you Sleazy. (Trey slaps Sleazy-C.) Bitch.

Sleazy: You juzt slap bitched me!

Dyslexic Avenger: Bitch slapped. Ha ha!

Trey: OK. Now. You boys are supposed to be down with street lingo. So…here’s the street. Let’s figure out your new gimmicks.

Mr. X: Yes, please.

Trey: Huh? Huh? Huh?

Mr. X: What’d I say?

Trey: Where’s your attitude, boy?

Mr. X: Oh, sorry!

Trey: Huh?

Mr. X: Fuck you Trey.

Sleazy: Hey! That’s my line, ya dig!

Trey: Sleazy!

Sleazy: Phuck Studnutz and Seth, phuck you, phuck the iAd. Phuck evrybody.

Trey: (He shakes his head.) I’ll let you write your own raps.

Sleazy: I’m a natural rappa, while you’re a natural flappa. Blah, blah, blah!

(Trey chokes Sleazy and starts violently shaking by the neck during the choking process. Mr. X breaks it up.)

Mr. X: Remember me?

Trey: Oh yeah. We’re gonna get you one of those hats with an X on it.

Mr. X: Umm….

Trey: Huh?

Mr. X: Whatever. As long as I’m getting paid.

(Sleazy whistles the way guilty people do when they’re trying to sound innocent but still sound guilty anyway but think they’re being cool even though they ain’t. Mr. X doesn’t pick up on it, strangely enough.)

Trey: OK. So you’re the pissed off bitter guy in the group.

Mr. X: Thanks.

Trey: God are you pathetic. Don’t thank me!

Mr. X: Right, sorry.

Trey: Arggh!!!

Dyslexic Avenger: What gimmick my is?

Trey: OK, DA, you’re gonna be the dyslexic one who can’t rap for shit but you’re so funny nobody will care.

DA: Do I can that.

Trey: And Nixon…

Nixon: Yes?

Trey: You’re gonna be the horny double entendre sex rapper. Tricky Dick and all that.

Nixon: I am not a crook, I’m a gosh darned criminal!

Trey: Ugh. We’re gonna have to get these guys some vulgar lessons.

Nixon: Yes sir!

Trey: Bivalve and Super Mollusc?

Bivalve + Super Mollusc: Yes Trey?

Trey: You are our tag team rappers. The ‘why me’ guys. Complain a lot.

Sleazy: Now we should go listen to “Rap For Dummies” on audio tape!

Nixon: I’ve got plenty of blank tapes we can use.

Trey: Huh? The studios don’t use blank tapes.

Nixon: Hmm…what should I use them for then?

Trey: Secret meeting conversations, blackmail, whatever you fancy.

Sleazy: Can we jet?

Trey: Shut up X-Pac.

JWA: Ohhh!

Sleazy: I ain’t X-Pac.

Trey: You’re my X-Pac.

Sleazy: Aight, let’s throw down, bitch!

Trey: Huh?

Sleazy: Jobba! Scrubster! CURTAIN JERKER!

(Trey winds up and kicks Sleazy in the nuts. He falls over.)

Trey: Let’s go write.

Sleazy: Nutz!

(We fade out on Sleazy grabbing his.)

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