Archive for November, 2002

Wishes, Gravy and Madness

November 19th, 2002
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Xamfir paced back and forth in his little apartment. He had put his clothes back on, at the wishmistress’ request. She stood on the bed, staring down at Xamfir as he paced, in deep thought.

“I’ll call you Jeannie. That’s a very sexy name.”

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about for the last hour? I thought you were trying to come up with three wishes I will grant you which, in an ironic twist, also bring horrible, unspeakable tragedies to balance out the scales.”

“Umkay. Anyway,” Xamfir kneeled down under the bed and pulled out a shoebox. Inside, was a scrolled up piece of paper. So thick, it could have passed as a roll of double-ply toilet paper. Oh wait. That IS a roll of toilet paper.

“I need to go make a number 2,” Xamfir said before running into the bathroom.

Jeannie rolled her eyes. “Of all the people in all the world to buy the little tea pot, why did HE have to buy it?

[Sarah’s house.]

“I’m your sister,” the girl outside the front door said.

“Oh, OK,” Sarah said.

Styles and Kay Fabe nodded in agreement, as if that announcement made total sense. And it did! After all, THEY’RE SISTERS! Sisters know that sort of stuff.

“We were gonna go to the mall to help Kay try on referee shirts for her gravy and potato bowl match. Wanna come with?”

“No, I’m good here. Got tons of unpacking to do.” She stepped aside to reveal an orange and white U-Haul truck in the driveway.

“Kay Fabe says there’s no way to get our car out of the driveway with that truck in the way.”

“Pardon, me, but, um, you HAVE a car?”

They all looked at the driveway. No car there.

“Well, that was completely pointless,” Styles said flatly.

“Do you want Kay Fabe to lay the carpet down? Do you want to go ONE, on, ONE, with the LESBIAN!”

“Settle down Beavis,” Butt-Head said from somewhere.

Everyone laughed.

“Thanks Butt-Head.”

“Huh-huh-huh, huh-huh-huh,” was the reply from nowhere in particular.

[At a hospital.]

“This is a rather, tricky and experimental treatment. Are you sure you’re up to it?” a doctor asked a patient.

“Bloody right I’m sure,” the man answered. He was laying down on a metal table in a doctor’s office. All we could see was his peroxide colored hair. Take a guess who it is.

“OK,” the doctor said a bit nervously. “If you’re sure this will help.”

The doctor went over to his tray of tools. His hand passed over a pair of scissors, knives, scalpels, a hammer, a screwdriver, dental floss, duct tape and eventually came to a little vial with a bunch of little moving black objects inside.

“I want this CHIP outta my brain doc. Then I can truly be evil. Completely evil. Evilly evil. Ya dig?”

“All accept the ‘ya dig’ part, yes.” Carefully, the doctor inserted a straw into the vial with the little black objects. He then walked back over to the mysterious person with a chip in his brain.

“This may tickle a little bit.”

The doctor stuck the straw up his nose.

“Pretend you’re snorting some coke.”

“What?” the blonde-haired patient asked.

“Oh, sorry. I thought everyone hadnevermind. Um. Just inhale deeply.”

He did.


[Back at Xamfir’s.]

“Okay,” Xamfir said, finally ready to get down to business.

He took out a green three-ring binder filled with paper. You could even say overfilled. On the front cover, it said THINGS TO WISH FOR IN CASE I FIND A GENIE IN A BOTTLE.

“Wish number one. I wish you to only do MY bidding.”

“D’oh!” was her response.

“Number two. I wish you to be my sex slave!”

“Oh man,” she sighed. “Why did I let Mom convince me this was a good career choice. I’m ever so screwed.”

“Not yet you aren’t,” Xamfir said with a grin. “Kissing my virginity goodbye! And for my third and *ahem* FINAL *titter* wish *snort* I wish for INFINITE WISHES!”

“Oh my God. This is SO unfair. Of all the people to get, I get a guy who has been planning his whole life to find a genie in a bottle.”

“Well, that’s a good enough start. Now” Xamfir raised his eyebrows and took off his shirt. Revealing his nice big belly.

Jeannie shook her head. Robot-like, she answered her call. “Yes master. May I have sex with you now?”

“OH WAIT!” Xamfir belted out. “Before we have hot monkey sex, there are a couple things I want to wish for.”

“Yes master?”

“I wish I will win the world’s smallest battle royal at A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing.”

“Done,” Jeannie said.

“And, I wish that A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing would be posted on the BOB site by the end of the week.”

Jeannie laughed hysterically.

[Back at Sarah’s house.]

“So your name is Dusk huh?” Kay asked.

“Yep,” Dusk, Sarah’s sister answered. She’s her sister ya know?

“There are two things that go down every night. One is the sun. The other is”

“KAY!” Sarah yelled.

“Exactly!” Kay answered.

“Don’t hit on my sister! She’s only…um”


“We don’t even know you,” Styles said.

“Oh, right. Guess I’m jumping ahead a bit. My bad.”

“It’s OK,” Sarah said hugging her sister. Dusk.

“Well,” Kay said. “I’m going to cook dinner. Want to help me Dusk?”

“Um, OK?”

“Fantastic,” Kay smiled. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” Kay grabbed Dusk’s hand and started leading her away. “Now, so you don’t get anything on your shirt, maybe you should take it off.”

“No, thanks, that’s OK,” Dusk said nervously.

“Well, OK,” Kay said.

Once they were out of the room, it should’ve been time to gossip about the new arrival. But instead

The front door OPENED. Slowly. So slowly that Sarah and Styles consulted their watches a couple of times and sighed a combined five times. Just waiting. Sarah wasn’t in the mood for drama so she walked over and opened it.

Little Good was on the front steps, his head in his hands. He began ranting and raving.

“I have seen the bloody future,” he said rocking back and forth. “Bodies falling. Upsets. Tossers. Mass chaos. Power struggles. Basketballs. Title changes. Lies. Deceit. Pain. Agony. Cheering crowds. Riots. Bugger! Slam dunks!”


Little Good looked up at Sarah and Styles, eyes filled with terror.

He pointed up. “From sixty-four,” he then pointed down, “down to one.”

He then tipped over and rolled up into a ball.

“Well, he’s quite mad,” Styles said.


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Thou shalt not embarrass me

November 19th, 2002
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[Heaven. The east side. One of God’s houses.]

GOD: Now, Death, your Lord thy God really shouldn’t have to keep calling thou up here like this is the principal’s office. But.

[God suddenly broke into hysterics.]

GOD: Your Lord thy God cannot believe that thou lost to Jean Bannister. TWICE! *Snort* BWAHAHAHAHA.

DEATH: It won’t happen again God. I promise.

GOD: That’s what you said about the Kennedy’s. First John. Then Robert. Then one by damn one. Don’t you know what TEDDY looks like yet?

DEATH: Umm…Listen, Teddy’s a great guy. We went out drinking. He dressed up as Tyrannosaurus Sex. It was all in good fun.

[Jesus walked into the room.]

GOD: MEDAMNIT. Will you wipe the blood from thou feet off the floor?

JESUS: Me! Sorry dad. Yea.

GOD: Don’t take that righteous tone with me!

JESUS: Oh, verily, verily, I say, why doesn’t thou just crucify me again?

GOD: How many times are thou going to throw THAT in my face? I made you a LEGEND! All that healing the sick and making food from thin air, if you hadn’t died, thou’d be just another magician.

DEATH: Listen, guys. Should I leave you alone? I don’t want to intrude here.

GOD: No, it’s fine. Son, go get the holy mop.

JESUS: Yes Dad.

GOD: Now, Death. Thou’ve been doing a good job, but I REALLY wish thou’d stop this stupid BOB crap. I mean, come on. They’re already in Hell. I don’t understand why thou want to go down into Satan’s pit.

[Satan suddenly materializes.]

GOD: MEDAMNIT. Didn’t I kick thou out of here!

SATAN: Are you badmouthing me again God? One of these days

GOD: Oh please. Thou hast been saying that for years now.

SATAN: Yeah, well…whatever. I’ve got more boy bands to go get signed.


[Satan flashed an evil smile and vanished.]

DEATH: So why did you call me up here again?

GOD: Your Lord they God just wanted to make sure thou art OK. We’ve got that new kid who looks pretty good if thou want to take some time off

DEATH: OH NO. This scythe is MINE!

GOD: It’s just…first the comedy thing. Now the wrestling thing. Isn’t killing thousands of people enough fun for thou?

DEATH: Of course it is God. But. I dunno. Don’t you ever wish you could just go in front of a cheering crowd…well, a small crowd of apathetic peopleand do your ‘work’ in front of the world? Well, OK, 10 viewers. But still…

GOD: Ahh, your Lord they God sees what this is. Thou are my hitman, but thou’re feeling like thou don’t get any credit. Well, does thou think I enjoy it when everyone BLAMES me for their deaths? Death, I’m writing the GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD. Granted, nobody can see it just yet, but in time, they will. Death, we’re all a team here. Just as Jesus takes the blame for everything, War starts trouble in the Middle East, Pestilence does his thing, and that other guy…what does he do again?

DEATH: I forget. Famine?

GOD: AH! YES. That’s it. We’re all a team. And I’m the Boss. But we’re a family. And remember Death. Don’t ever FUCK with the family. Comprende?

DEATH: Yes, God.

GOD: Now go whack those people I told thou to.


[Death walked out of God’s office. The secretary looked up and watched as the black shrouded figure left the office. She looked over at the Holy Ghost on the couch.]

SECRETARY: God will see you now.

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Kick The Baby!

November 19th, 2002
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On screen, on Trey Vincent’s newly bought first season of “South Park,” we hear familiar voices. “Kick the baby!” Then, a different voice says “Don’t kick the baby.” The baby is then kicked through the bus windows.


Vincent lights up a cigar. As we zoom back from the TV screen, we see the back of Vincent’s head and then a cloud of smoke.

“Ah, that’s good. Hardcore JJ is gonna be the baby that I’m gonna kick through something. Probably not a bus window since I doubt there’ll be a bus there. But yeah.” A deep inhale was followed by another cloud of smoke. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said quite content.

Vincent turned around.

“Old school promo time. You see, unlike real feds like PIW, where I don’t have to make stupid promos about matches, this is BOB. This is my hell for all my successes I guess. But fine. At some point, hopefully this year, Trey Vincent will sports entertain Hardcore JJ at BOB’s Pay-Per-View. That little summabitch doesn’t stand a CHANCE against the Sports Entertainment Icon, Trey Vincent.”

Vincent put the cigar in his mouth and stood up as the episode continued to play on his television screen. Vincent stretched and headed toward the bedroom.

“Need proof? Fine. Hey, um, YOU,” he said to the woman in his bed. “Damn, my memory sucks.

“Excuse me?” asked the woman who Trey knows wants to be a softcore porn star, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what her name is. To draw a parallel, it’s like her name is on a Web site in a part of his mind that he just can’t access for some reason. Likely because he doesn’t want to log on since dial-up is sooooo slow. And then open up Internet Explorer and then type in the address and then search thru said site for the one little piece of info he needs when it’s really such a small part of this promo anyway. “You don’t remember my name?”

“Um. Not at the moment.”

“Man, those drugs VossMan gave you WERE good, huh? No wonder why he’s the virtual drug kingpin.”

Vincent laughed nervously and looked at the camera. “She kids, she kids.” *Ahem* “Anyway, instead of YOU telling me your name, how about you just bring that little doll out here.”

“OK,” she said rolling her eyes. For your reading and imagining pleasure, this chick has long black hair with streaks of blonde, red and purple. She looks like one of those chicks from that show “Scrubs.” And she’s got a really big rack. Today, she is dressed in a tight black T-shirt, stone-gray hooded sweater and red pants. She’s carrying a Stone Cold Steve Austin brawling buddies dealie thingee.

She handed Vincent the toy. Vincent smiled, grabbed her and kissed her. Eventually working it so he slowly bent her backward and kissed her all the way to the ground. Once satisfied, he unlocked their lips and she looked up at him all lovey-dovey, and put her hands over her chest.

“Now, I know there are issues I have yet to address. Mainly Sarah costing me the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS by trying to seduce the Franchise Player through song during my match with Kurt Angel. Fine. I have a weakness for hot chicks with a good set of lungs. I cannot tell a lie. But I will SNATCH that title back by taking care of business with a little three-year-old poop stain named Hardcore JJ.

“And YES, it’s true. Incurable apathy has finally destroyed the Rant Zone. But hell, this is for a title, so I HAVE to show up here. Trey Vincent may be dumb, but he ain’t an idiot. And if somehow Trey Vincent loses to that little accident JJ, well, then this federation makes absolutely NO sense at all.”

He cocked an eyebrow a second. As if in thought. Then, Vincent reached down and picked up the little SCSA doll. “Now. This is about how tall Hardcore JJ is. And this is the gimmick that toothless jackass wants to emulate. So here’s what we’re gonna do JJ. This IS you as far as I’m concerned.”

Vincent opened the glass door that took him out to a little, um, outside area. He is in a penthouse, what the hell do you call those things? Not a fire escape. It’s like

“Shut up you annoying narrator. Quit making TV look like a jackass. Now.” Vincent sat the little toy on the stone ledge.



Spinning around, Vincent looked at the wall to find a golden cat. Amazingly, the cat rolled onto its feet, stood up and walked into Vincent’s penthouse. Inside, he walked up to the wannabe softcore porn queen who was on the floor, smoking. The cat got on her chest, swatted the cigarette from her mouth and stuck into into its mouth!

The cat took a long drag. He pulled the cigarette out of its mouth and blew the smoke in the woman’s face. She coughed and hacked. The cat dropped the cigarette on the floor, stepped on it with a paw and headed toward the front door. The sound of the door opening and closing was heard.

After that surreal moment, Vincent looked up and across the street at his neighbor.


The man on the roof of the building across the street shook his fist at Vincent.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHA,” Vincent said flipping off the man who had CAT-apulted the kitty at Vincent, an attempt at payback for an earlier incident that is best not gone into here. Let’s just say a pussy got quite familiar with that man’s crotch.

“Now.” Vincent held the brawling buddy thing as if he were about to punt a football. “KICK THE BABY!”

After dropping the stuffed toy, he wound up and kicked that little summabitch about 20 feet in the air…OK, 10.but he SHANKED it! And on the way down, it was headed for the street below.

With a smile, Vincent leaned over the ledge and watched as the stuffed Stone Cold headed to the street below. Luckily there were no cars coming.

Well, at least there weren’t when I thought that.

Suddenly a black Oldsmobile and a yellow taxi cab were coming at each other from opposite directions. The Olds on Trey’s side of the street, the cab coming the other way.





“This can’t be good,” Vincent sighed. “Oh well. Anyway. Hardcore JJ, I’m gonna punt you like a football and KICK YOU LIKE THE BABY YOU ARE! This is a MAN’S sport. This is not ONLY a man’s sport, but an ADULT’S sport. Trey Vincent will not allow a little toothless jackass to make a mockery of this business in which Trey Vincent is the brightest star. THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS is coming back where it belongs.

“The place where ratings follow. The most entertaining man on the planet. The most entertaining there is, was, or ever will be. The excellence of entertainment. What are you gonna do when my EGO-mania drips all over you? And speaking of dripping”

The woman sat up as Vincent came back into the penthouse.

“We’ve got business to attend to”

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Catching Up

November 7th, 2002
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Cloudydale. A place that Sarah “The Jobber Slayer,” Kay Fabe and Xamfir (and Styles and Little Good to a lesser extent) put on the map. Granted, not Rand McNally’s map, but on the parody e-wrestling map. The place is legendary, giving us the beautiful Sarah, the hot lesbian Kay and, well, the other guys. Do you even remember the last time this group was together? If so, you’re a loser, because even I, the writer, don’t remember their last exploits. But tonight, that all changes. Because it is time, to head back, to Cloudydale!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So let’s get to it:

Xamfir was out antiqueing in some dusty old shop in town. He was looking over various items on a shelf, including pots, pans, glasses, bongs and dildos, when he noticed a tea kettle on the bottom shelf.

“Wow, a dirty tea kettle!”

He went up to the register and put down the tea kettle. The woman behind the counter looked down at the kettle, then up at Xamfir.

“Are you SURE, you want to buy this tea kettle?”

“No,” Xamfir said. “I mean, yes. I mean. I don’t know.”

The woman smiled. “This will be too easy for you,” she said patting the handle of the kettle.
Xamfir looked down at the kettle.

“MWAHAHAHA,” the woman began to laugh. “That will be $20. MWAHAHAHAHA.”

“What’s so funny?” Xamfir asked. “Is this a cursed tea kettle or something?”

“No,” she said with one last snort. “But, on a completely unrelated note, ALL SALES FINAL!” After putting the money in her drawers, she bagged his kettle. “Thank you. Come again.”

Xamfir slowly walked out the door as the lady MWAHAHAHAed a couple more times.

“This can’t be good,” Xamfir said.

Cue that opening theme song, “Temptation Waits.” Hey, I remember when that happened. Oh that was a good promo. LOL! Oh man, that was funny. This Rant stars Sarah. Kay Fabe. Xamfir. And special guest star…..STYLES! The Slayaholics are back baby! WOOOO!

“I’ll send an SOS to the world, I’ll send an SOS to the world, I hope that someone gets my, I hope that someone gets my, I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle,” sang out Sting’s beautiful voice.

Meanwhile, another beautiful thing was in the room. Er, person. Sarah “The Jobber Slayer.” She sat against the pillows in her bed, knees curled up to her lovely chest, just listening to the music.

And staring at her target on the wall.

Trey Vincent. With a big red circle and a bulls eye around his cocky face.

Knock, knock.

Sarah looked up. Kay Fabe was standing there in nothing but a white towel. Her voluptuous milk-white breasts wanted to just spill over the towel, or maybe I’m just wishing that would happen, but they didn’t.

“FINALLYKay Fabe, HAS COME BACKTo Sarah’s room. Hello Sarah.”

“Hey Kay.”

“What in the pink hell is wrong with you?” Kay asked.

“I dunno. It’s just…with Angel going back to Heaven, I’m just feeling kinda…”

“Horny?” Kay said licking her lips with the Lesbian’s Tongue.

“No, God,” she said all disgusted-like. “I feel like I’ve lost my smile for efedding.”

“You had a smile?”

“I want to do some goodness with my newly won booking power. But I don’t know what I should do first. All I know is I want to get rid of Trey Vincent, Steve Studnuts and Seth Harker and get back to what I do best. Slaying jobbers. They SO screwed up my gimmick.”

Sarah stared at Vincent’s smiling face on her wall.

“Well, Kay Fabe will be in the bathtub with her hot gravy.”

Sarah raised both her eyebrows.

“You heard the Lesbian opening all those cans of gravy before, right?”

“Ahh. Is that what you were up to,” Sarah said, sounding a bit relieved. “Didn’t know we had an electric can opener.”

Kay looked puzzled. “We don’t.”

Now Sarah was puzzled.

“Want to come with? Kay Fabe could pin you in the gravy and then try to count three.”

“I’ll pass. But we’re still on for later. I will help you try out referee shirts at the mall.”


Meanwhile, Xamfir got back to his basement apartment. He tipped his sack over and the kettle fell out onto the bed. He looked at it, then quickly pulled off his shoes, pants, underwear and shirt and sat on the bed. He used his shirt and began rubbing.


Man, you guys are sick.

As he began rubbing, harder and harder, faster and faster, a strange thing happened.
Something came out.

OF THE KETTLE! How many times do.forget it.

It was an amorphous form. It oozed out from the tip.


And slowly began to take shape. Before Xamfir.

It was a hot woman with shortish blonde hair. She was dressed like a genie. Oddly enough, she just might have been one.

“Hello. I am your wishmaster. Your wish is my command.”

Naked Xamfir looked up at her, mouth hanging open. Perhaps wondering if he should do the Snoopy dance, or something far more important. Something that could change his life forever. And ever. AND EVER!

But you won’t know because Sarah and Kay are about to head out the front door of Sarah’s house, where apparently, Sarah and Kay are roommates, for more plot development.

But no time for minor details like that, because Styles burts in!

“OH MY GOD! Sarah, don’t you want me to be your Commentator anymore?”

Sarah shrugs. “No big. You can go announce matches and say Oh my god and all that goodness. It’s all gravy.”

“Kay Fabe was just NAKED in a bathtub full of gravy! So if you smell what Kay Fabe is cooking. It’s gravy.”

“Wanna come to the mall?” Sarah asked Styles.


They opened the door.

There was a beautiful, thin, teen-age girl with long brown hair there. Looking kinda awkward.

“Who are you?” Sarah asked.

“I’m your sister.”

[To be continued….]

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November 6th, 2002
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Little Good was in Jeers, his usual hangout spot. The bar where nobody knows your name. Suddenly a FAT BROAD came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. Yes, a FAT BROAD.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“I’m evil,” Little Good said.

“Sorry to hear.”

“Bugger off you fat bint.”

She huffed.

The bartender came over to talk to Little Good. “What’s the problem, fella?”

“Hey, aren’t you Las Vegas Davis? From that Cybersuplex show?”

“Yes I am. You saw it?”

“Yeah I did. Bloody awful show, mate. You’re one dumb arse.”

“I know. I had to get this job.”

“Figures. Anyway, I’ve got a pay-per-view match coming up….sometime…against Kamikazie Ken. It’s not just any kind a match. It’s not a spot. Not my dog Spot. Not my liver spot. But a spotfest supreme match.”

“Really?” Davis said, scratching his chin.

“I don’t have a bleedin’ chance in hell. The odds are all against me. Bugger, my life has just gone in the crapper of late. First Sarah dumps me. Then this. The only comfort I have is in my two titles. I hope these aren’t on the line. The odds couldn’t be stacked higher against me.”

Mark Shill’s voice suddenly boomed in: “THE STAKES…..COULDN’T, BE HIGHER!”

“Ah well. I’ve got to go,” Little Good said.

Little Good got up from the stool and headed to the door.

Las Vegas Davis picked up the phone.

“Hello, bookie man? I’ve got a hunch. I want to be this week’s tips on Little Good to win at the BOB Pay-Per-View, A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing. I know what the odds are. Thanks.”

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