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Archive for October, 2003

Chores suck!

October 31st, 2003
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(The scene opens to the smell of freshly cut grass. What? You can’t smell through your screen? Fine! The scene opens to the sight of freshly cut grass. Every American under the age of 13’s soon to be favourite Pyromaniac, Kevin, trudges into site, pushing a noisy lawn mower with difficulty.)

Kevin: For the love of Pepsi, this is a waste of time. I should be out setting junk on fire and stuff, not doing chores!

(Kevin’s father pops his head unnaturally out through the door, his hair combed back and a pipe in his mouth. He takes the wooden instrument out of his lips and grins the cheesiest grin ever in this promo.)

Kevin’s Father: Hey sport, how are the old blades of grass coming along?

(Kevin curses under his breath a few times.)

Kevin’s Papa: What’s that sport?

Kevin: You suck Dad, I should be out runnin’ wild on all my Pyromaniacs, when you’ve got me in the frickin’ yard doin’ crap chores. Why does everything happen to me?

Kevin’s Old Man: Now, sport, that’s not the right kind of attitude if you’re trying to cut grass.

Kevin (the sarcasm almost physically dripping from him): Oh yeah? I reeeaaaallly wanna know what is.

Kevin’s Pa: Well that’s the spirit! I’ll tell you what the real secret is to cutting grass.

Kevin: Oh yeah? And, like, what is it?

Kevin’s Dad: Singing!

(An old, poor quality song stolen from a 1930s musical begins to play as if from nowhere as Kevin’s Pappy begins to dance his way towards him. Kevin stares in absolute horror.)

Kevin: Oh no, not old people music! I gots to get me some nu metal and fast.

(Kevin’s imagination, he IS a kid, runs rampant as he speeds away from his Daddy with the lawn mower as his Pyromaniamobile and the Batman theme tune swirling in his head. A good guess would be that this is because he likes to melt things and the fumes have done things to his mind.)

(After 8 minutes of nothing but footage of Kevin pushing a lawn mower in a meandering path through pedestrians, he stops. He reaches into his pockets and lifts out a CD player, forces the earphones into the holes on each side of his head, and puts the ‘music’ onto full blast. His teeth rattle as the sound of ‘poorly played electric guitars and drums hit randomly by sticks’ consumes his brain… he loves that band.)

Kevin (screaming due to the loudness of his music): PYROMANIA~!!!1

(Kevin whips out a box of matches and sparks forth Prometheus’ gift.)

Kevin: Huh?

(Fire!)

Kevin: PYROMANIAAAA~!!1`

(Kevin grabs a squirrel and tries to light it’s tail, but it bites his hand and scampers away. Kevin stomps his foot and curses before lightning another match. He is unsuccessful at finding anything to light so he looks at the camera. He forces the match at it and tries to melt the plastic around the lens.)

Clive: NO! Don’t melt the camera!

Kevin: Oh, sorry… I mean, yooooo!

Clive: *sigh*

(Kevin scratches his head for a moment before lightning yet another match and pointing his free index finger at the screen.)

Kevin: BOB, you had better get ready!

(Kevin wipes a globular sphere of snot from his nose with his sleeve before hulking up.)

Kevin: I’ve been complaining, taking my ridilin and saying my swears! All I’ve got to ask you is… whatcha gonna do BOB?!

(He proceeds to tear away his ‘Send Us Money’ t-shirt and hulks up a bit more.)

Kevin: Whatcha gonna do when Pyromania runs wild on yoooooouuuu?!?!?

(Kevin takes one of his matches and sets his baggy jeans alight, fanning the flames in an exhibition to BOB of his hardcore abilities. As his body is consumed in flames he points at the camera once more and weakly squeals.)

Kevin: Kevin The Pyromaniac is coming!

Clive: Ewwww!

Kevin: To BOB!!!

Clive: Oh.

(The camera fades out as Kevin stops, drops and rolls.)

Fin… thank God.

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That music you hear is not of this world…

October 31st, 2003
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*A hardware store in east Detroit begins to shut down for the night. The owner, a crusty old soul, locks the doors, then turns to his TV set. Its screen has begun to-*

–INCOMING TRANSMISSION–

*Rather than finish the cliched intro above, the creator of this message has taken over your computer monitor. A new image flickers to life, showing a man with flowing green hair, lounging on a couch while dressed in a purple silk robe and long purple tights. He plucks a grape from a bowl and gingerly tastes it, then tosses the remaining bits of the grape to a man in black trenchcoat and hat. The second man, seated on a wood box, takes the grape and eats it, turning the skunk eye on the man in purple. It is not noticed.*

Man in Purple: Greetings, creatures of Dimension E. I am known as Sir Zeno, and I have something to tell you. Mr. Paradox, if you would turn on the projector…

*The man in black, Mr. Paradox, turns on a projector. The screen now contains a long reel of Sir Zeno practicing his wrestling moves on a guy in a full-body padded suit. On more than one occasion, the head portion of this suit slips to reveal that the man taking the beating is Mr. Paradox.*

Announcer: COMING THIS FALL TO BOB WRESTLING! The master of Dimension Z, Sir Zeno, has come to Earth for one purpose and one purpose only: TO WRESTLE! That’s right, ladies and gents, the king of a whole different DIMENSION is here to kick the asses of anybody he wants! With his handservant, Mr. Paradox, carryin his luggage, he has arrived, and now all other wrestlers are gonna be in for an assload of pain! Sir Zeno is HERE!

*The reel cuts off, and Mr. Paradox winces at the last word’s volume. Sir Zeno laughs, and tastes another grape.*

Sir Zeno: You heard what the man said, children of Earth. So you’d better prepare yourself… fo-

–TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED–
–TRANSMISSION LOST–

*We now return you to your regularly scheduled porn.*

rant

This Just in Injury Report……

October 23rd, 2003
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At a Recent BOAB house show accidental missed spot has caused a horrible accident the likes of which we will never know. Oh wait yes we will.

In a match scheduled by one William Polar, Street Mime vs Massive Man Rendition First, Street Mime hit a snapmare on the up and coming superstar and it broke his big toe….Doctors are unsure how much ring time he will miss.

😀

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Loose Ends: A Story of Pyromania!

October 21st, 2003
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(Fade in to the main event of XBYWF’s ‘October Xtreme Massacre.’ Two pale, skinny, blood covered teenagers occupy the top of a ten foot ladder as an unskilled commentator goes nuts.)

Ralph The Commentator: These two are easily the most Xtreme superstars to ever hit the XBYWF!

(One of the teenagers punches the other in the arm, knocking him out cold. The conscious teen then begins to set himself up, hooking one of the arms of the other teen.)

Ralph: What on earth is he going to do here?

(With a slow movement both competitors fall forward, the unconscious one rolling forward as much as he can as they come crashing down towards an ultra-thin piece of wood.)

Ralph: FOR THE LOVE OF FOLEY!!! HIP TOSS FROM THE TOP OF THAT LADDER THROUGH THE TABLE!!!!!

(The three fans clap sympathetically before looking at their watches and wondering if this is really the best thing they can occupy their time with.)

Ralph: This has got to be the greatest match in XBYWF’s history!

(One of the teens covers the other and the referee with black stripes painted on his white shirt makes the count.

… 1

… 2

… 3!!!

Ralph: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages…

(The two remaining fans, both 15 year old boys, look up.)

Ralph: Introducing our NEW XBYWF World Xtreme Champion… Kevin THE PYROMANIAC!!!

(Shrugs ensue as the two bored fans begin playing on a gameboy.

The referee hauls Kevin up from the splinters of the chipboard and clips the plastic title belt around his waist, raising his bloody arm into the air.)

Ralph: The fans are losing it; Kevin The Pyromaniac is our new champion! This is the greatest day in XBYWF’s history!

(Kevin stumbles about, blood pouring from the blade marks on his head. He roars out with adrenaline as he realises his glorious victory. Ralph trips out of his chair and waddles over to the new XBYWF champ, holding his empty fist to his mouth to simulate a microphone.)

Ralph: Kevin, could I have a few words?

Kevin: Sure!

Ralph: How does it feel to be the new champion?

Kevin: Yoooo, it feels great!

Ralph: What on earth was going through your mind when you sent X-Inferno crashing through that table with that awe inspiring hip toss from the top of that ten foot ladder?

Kevin: Not much!

Ralph: Well, ok. As we all know, with every title win here in XBYWF a weeks supply of Pepsi is given out. How do you feel about this?

Kevin Woah, Pepsi!!!

Ralph: I thought you might say that.

Kevin: Pepsi rocks you nerd!

Ralph: I know it does… and hey, I aint no nerd!

Kevin: That’s the kinda thing a nerd would say!

Ralph: Anyway, now that you have reached the highest point in XBYWF what are your goals now?

Kevin: Yo, I’m, like, getting the hell outta this place.

Ralph: WHAT?!?!!

Kevin: I’ve got bigger and better things to do with my career. I’m gunna go get signed up with BOB!

Ralph: Brawlers on a Budget?!?

Kevin: Hell yeah! I am THE Only World Pyromaniac That Matters! And BOB had better get ready… for Kevin!

(Kevin drops the plastic XBYWF World Xtreme Title belt to the floor and squirts gasoline onto it; he then drops a match and laughs. Ralph cries out as the title belt melts and Kevin struts away.)

Kevin: Eh yo, whacha gunna do BOB when Pyromania runs wild on yooooooouuuuuu?!

(Cut to a washing line and then static.)

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The Condemned MF

October 16th, 2003
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~~~We find Steve Studnuts in his Phoenix, Arizona mansion, wearing a pair of khaki shorts, hand made leather sandals, and a white Polo golf shirt that is so tight on his upper torso it would appear it was made of Saran wrap. He’s pacing at the moment across the checkerboard designed marble floor in his kitchen. Connie Lingus, the Angie Everhart, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Cindy Crawford, and Tara Reid looking trollop that lives with Steve, is seen at the kitchen table frantically writing something down. And yes, she’s damn near naked as per usual. Jizzabelle Cummings, Steve’s other live-in cock warmer and bearing her usual resemblance to Anna Kournikova and Shannon Elizabeth, has just joined Connie at the table. She too, is barely wearing enough clothing to cover her dirty pillows and her snappy whisker biscuit. Use your imagination. Steve’s appears flustered at the moment.~~~

Studs: Connie? Did you write down those Hilton chicks? Those two bitches HAVE to come to my party, and perhaps in their panties when they see me. Did ya? Huh? Did you write ’em in?

Connie: Yes, Steve…. I did. And would you quit asking me that? You’ve already asked me that three times.

Studs: Well, I have to hook Seth up, ya know? He scared a lot of the normal whores that show up at my shin-digs when he brought that porno of guys shittin’ on chicks. Kinda grossed some of ’em out. We thought it was funny, though… especially when that one girl was expectin’ a log and she got a mouth full of diarrhea. HA! I still laugh about that one!

Jizzabelle: Steve, that’s really nasty…. I can’t believe you guys watch that shit.

Studs: We did it for shock effect. Ya know, a rib. We don’t really pop a wood watchin’ it, we just like a reaction, that’s our angle… Trey too. We don’t care about nothin’ and don’t give a flip flyin’ fuck about shit. People don’t like it? Fuck ’em.

We do what we want, to who we want, whenever the fuck we want to. We’re iAd, gatdammit… and we ain’t afraid of nothin’. Especially those fuckin’ smileys.

Jizzabelle: That reminds me, Steve. Spaceduck said you was going to die, and die painfully. Then Spacecop was going to rape you and your family.

Studs: OoooooOOOOOoooOOoooOoh. I’m shakin’! Look!
(he holds out his hand, it’s not shaking)
*sigh* Ya know, if I had a dollar for everytime some sad sack motherfucker said he was going to kill me…. I’d be dead by now.

Connie: *ahem* I think you flubbed that one, honey.

Studs: What’d I say?

Connie: If you had a dollar for everytime someone said they was going to kill you that you’d be dead.

Studs: I realize you’re repeating my shit for promo filler, but that sounded right to me.

Jizzabelle: No Steve, you fucked it up.

Studs: OKAY THEN! How about… if I had a dollar for everytime some sad sack motherfucker said he was going to kill me… I wouldn’t have to wrestle. Shit, I wouldn’t have to WORK!

I could’ve retired three years and hired Bill Gates to wash my fuckin’ laundry. Ya dig?

Fact is, Spaceduck… you can threaten me all you want to. You can threaten my buds. You can say you’re going to kill my family and rape them all you want. You can pull Kiefer Sutherland shit on me….

But you know what?

It won’t work, bitch. Cause I’m Steve Studnuts. And you’re not. But I know you wish you could be. I’d no-sell like a motherfucker and you’d just look stupid. If you call a spot in the ring, I ain’t givin’ you shit. You try and stiff me, I’ll beat your ass even harder.

Ya see… there’s an old sayin’ I’m fond of:

There’s a bear and a rabbit in the woods. Their walkin’ to find something to fuckin’ eat I guess, I don’t know but the bear has to take a shit. He shits behind a tree… then turns to the rabbit:

“Hey, rabbit.. do you ever have a problem with shit stickin’ your fur?”

“No”, says the rabbit.

“Good”, replies the bear. He then wipes his ass with the rabbit.

Moral of the story?

If you have shit on your ass and you’re out of T.P…. pray a rabbit hops by.

Connie: WHAT?! That made absolutely no sense at all, Steve! What does that have to do with anything involving wrestling or Spaceduck? It makes no sense!

Studs: Correct-a-mundo… I ain’t here to make fuckin’ sense. I don’t care if I entertain. All I care about is beating the tee-total fuck outta somebody and pickin’ up a paycheck to do it. Everything else you get from me, take it as you will.

Fans can suck my wang. If they didn’t feel like they got their’s money’s worth…. tough shit. I ain’t here to pander to some gatdamn chair squatters.

Kick somebody’s ass. Cha-ching.
That’s me.

Connie: I dunno, Steve. I think you’re taking them too lightly. Spaceduck is scaring me… I don’t want to die and get raped. Hell, if I did get raped by Spacecop, I’d at least like to be able to be alive and enjoy it.

Studs: Listen, the day I lose to a fuckin’ smiley, not only will I retire from wrestling… I’d retire from LIVIN’. Spaceduck wouldn’t even have to kill me… I’d die from embarrassment.

It can’t happen, it won’t happen. No worries.

Hey, did you add Madonna to the guest list? We have to have music and that D.J. I got last time sucked ass. So… who better to be the night’s entertainment than Madonna? I figure I could talk to her into doing a 3 hour set for about 22 mill.

Connie: I’ll add her…

Studs: Tell her to bring the Spears chick with her too…. I want ’em to expand on that shit they pulled at the MTV Music Awards. Ya dig?

ANY-way… Spaceduck, go back to killin’ and rapin’ girlscouts, you pansy ass fuck. I ain’t no girl scout, or even the little bitches’ Scout Master. ANYBODY could kill THEM…. I’m not impressed.

Jizz, call Trey and tell him it’s his turn to bring the Dom Perignon. We’ll need about 15 cases… I’d hate to run out like last time.

And call Lance Mayhem, too. We can’t have a party without my old tag-team partner from back in that shithole we wrestled in. Studly Mayhem indeed.

If we’re gonna put this thing back together with the iAd, why not add a little Old Skool Killa action in with it?

That’s a fact.

(Steve then checks his watch)

Studs: Alright, camera dude… time for you to make like a tree and split.

Connie: Ummmm, Steve? You, ah…..

~~~Cut to static~~~

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Fountain of Youth

October 16th, 2003
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(Fade in to the carbonated beverage aisle of a small convenience store, the looming and ominous figures of two skinny teenagers prance into view. They both have ludicrously baggy clothes that make them look like weird rap-clowns… an insane posse of stupid looking teenagers if you will.)

Chad: Yo Kevin, here we are at last.

Kevin: The fountain of youth, the bottled elixir of eternal life, ambrosia of the Gods!

(Both boys bow their heads in reverence as they pay homage to the plastic bottles and it’s blue logo… Pepsi.)

Chad: I thought I was gunna die out there while we were walking down here.

Kevin: Me too, it’s been hours since I’ve had a Pepsi.

Chad: That’s awful dude!

Kevin: I know, the only reason I survive at times of depraved Pepsi is because of how hardcore I am.

(Kevin reaches out and grabs hold of a large, rounded plastic bottle and slowly lifts it from the shelf. He holds it above his head, staring at it’s magnificence.)

Kevin: I don’t think I can wait any longer.

Chad: Dude, what are you saying?

(Kevin unscrews the lid like a maniac and tilts the bottle upside down and into his mouth, the sticky brown liquid washes down his throat like a refreshing tsunami.)

Chad: Dude!!! That’s, like, stealing… you haven’t paid for that yet.

(Kevin drops the bottle from his lips, throwing his spiky green locks back from his face and sighing in sugar addiction relief.)

Kevin: I don’t care; I couldn’t wait another moment without tasting that sweet sweet Pepsi.

Chad: Dude, yo, you know there are kids in them poor countries who hardly have any Pepsi at all.

Kevin: God, well, I suppose those poor people are truly the hardcore ones to last so long without it.

(Chad looks at the sparkling nectar and snatches the bottle from Kevin’s hands, gulping down the sugary drink as fast as he can.)

Kevin: In a perfect Yootopeea type thing people would have all the Pepsi they wanted, all over the world. And not just Pepsi, Big Macs as well! Even the poorest of people deserve these basics staples of food.

Chad: Yootopeea? Yo, dude, why you, like, using all those, like, long words and shit?

(Suddenly a man in a dark blue smock appears from the canned food aisle and stares at the two teenagers and the half empty, half full if he had been an optimist, bottle of Pepsi.)

Hank the assistant: I hope you kids are going to pay for that!

(Kevin turns to him and smiles.)

Kevin: Don’t worry dude, don’t have a heart attack, Chad has all the money we need.

Chad: Yo, dude, like, what are talking about?

Kevin: You brought the money, yo, for, like, the Pepsi and shit.

Chad: Yo! I told YOU to bring the money for the Pepsi and shit!

Kevin: Hell no you didn’t, it was the other way round, I told YOU!!!

Hank: So neither of you have any money?!

(Kevin stares at Hank and the furious expression beginning to form. He sticks up his middle finger and grabs the Pepsi back from Chad.)

Kevin: Hey, geezer, don’t fuck with me… I’m hardcore.

(Hank charges at them and they begin to run, dropping the bottle onto the floor so that the remaining liquid spills out.)

Hank: You stupid kids!!!

(Chad and Kevin dive forward, as though from the temple of doom, through the pneumatic doors and out of danger. Hank is left to wave his broom at them until he is called for a clean up in aisle 3.)

Chad: Yo, dude, like, we made it, like, out of there alive!

Kevin: Well, when you, like, hang around with someone as hardcore as me you get out of all danger.

Chad: So, like, what’re you gunna do now?

Kevin: Well, I am Kevin THE PYROMANIAC!!! I’ll do what I do best.

Chad: What’s, like, that?

Kevin: I’ll torch the place.

(Kevin then reveals a box of matches and a can of gasoline from his preposterously baggy pants and smiles wickedly.)

(Fade out, at last.)

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Why is everybody picking on the corpse-rapists?

October 15th, 2003
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** Cut to a funeral home in a rich district of Concordia, Roosevelt, the city maps ignore for a reason . . . You see Martin Dimick standing guard in front of the embalming room, for some reason wearing a duck suit with a large pointy bill . . .

. . . Inside, is Peter McKenzie, wearing a police uniform and staring down at the corpse of an attractive young woman . . . Hey, not only is this sick and wrong, they’re stealing Festering Death’s gimmick!!!

Marty ** screaming loudly ** : If anybody stops PeteCop from raping this beautiful dead chick, they’re going to get poked with my big steel duck bill . . .

** Marty switches into the old lady voice. **

Marty: Yeah!!! Ecclesiastes 69:72 says “He who crosses the duck must be cast into the pit . . . Especially Puritans . . . God hates Puritans, with their black hats and shiny buckles . . .

** Meanwhile, Pete is undressing, and a really long pixelated bar appears . . . It is obvious that 90% of the three-foot length is nothing but background. . . .**

Pete: You are so beautiful . . . Aaah, accidental overdoses rock . . .

** The girl wakes up. . . **

Girl: Uggh . . . WHOA!!! . . . You’re that guy from that shitty band! Where am I?

Pete: The morgue. You . .. uh, died two days ago . .

Girl: Oh, yeah, I remember that . . . The white light bit . . . Met Alanis, did she die too?

Pete: No, that’s God . . . They just kind of look alike . . .

Girl: Oh . . . So that’s why She can’t sing . . .

Pete: MartyDuck, come here . . .

** Marty wanders into the embalming room. **

Marty: Yeah, PeteCop?

Pete: You know that guy who told us God looked like Alanis Morrisette?

Marty: Yeah, the famous film director . . . That fat-ass . . .

Pete: It’s true, dude . . .

Marty: WHAT? God’s an angst-ridden pop singer? Not a German nihilist?

Pete: Uh-huh . . . Tell him, dead girl . . .

Girl: I am not dead! It’s not corpse-rape if I’m alive, you idiot! . . . But anyway, yeah, God is pop . . .

Marty: God can bite me. And so can those damn smily-faces. I’m a Jewish convenience-store clerk with a massive appetite for weed, not a collection of ASCII characters!

Pete: And I’m not a cop . . . I HATE COPS!!! I, however, do appreciate corpse-rape . . .

Girl: Uggh . . .

Marty: And so, Feathering Dest, or whatever you’re called, we want your 8-bit asses, NOW!!!

Pete: So does everybody else, though . . .

Marty: But they’re not us!!!

Pete: OK . . .

** fade 2 black **

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WE ARE LOVED.

October 15th, 2003

=<>: WE HERE IN FESTERING DEATH HAVE WRITTEN SOME OPEN LETTERS TO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE CARED TO RESPOND TO OUR REPETITIVE, SPELLING-IS-OUR-BITCH, KILLING, STABBING, AND GENERALLY WRONG ANTICS. LET’S BEGIN WITH ATOWEDON’TGIVEAFUCKWHATYOURNAMEISMOS.

DEAR FUCKFACE,

WE DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER.

SORRY THAT YOUR ROBOTIC EGO THAT’S BEEN PROGRAMMED INTO YOU BY RETARDED GOATMONKEYS HAS BEEN BRUISED BY US NOT GIVING A FUCK ABOUT YOU. OR THE LAWS OF ENGLISH, FOR THAT MATTER. THEN AGAIN, WE’RE SMILIES, NOT FUCKING ENGLISH PROFESSORS. WE SCREAM IN ALL CAPS AND ARE GENERALLY, IN TERMS OF THIS THING CALLED THE INTERNET, RUDE.

SO, SORRY, SPELLING YOUR NAME ISN’T OUR PRIMARY CONCERN, BUT WE’LL BE MORE CAREFUL. IN A “LITERALLY SHOVE YOUR HEAD UP YOUR ASS” KIND OF WAY.

ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE, WE ALSO DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT GIMMICK MATCHES, AND WE ALSO DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHY THE FIRST ONE YOU SUGGESTED JUST HAPPENED TO BE THE WORST AND LEAST VIOLENT FUCKING GIMMICK MATCH IN THE HISTORY OF WORST AND LEAST VIOLENT FUCKING GIMMICK MATCHES. GIMMICK MATCHES ARE SIMPLY MATCHES THAT HAVE DIFFERENT SETS OF RULES, AND WHEN THE FUCK HAVE FESTERING DEATH EVER ABIDED BY THE RULES AND LAWS OF THE WORLD/AFTERLIFE?

BESIDES, AS SMILIES, WE DON’T EXACTLY HAVE A HAND TO FIT A COAL MINER’S GLOVE ON.

ANYWAY, THE POINT IS, WE HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU, AND WE STILL INTEND TO KILL YOU IN SOME REALLY HORRIBLE WAYS. IT’S JUST THAT WE DON’T CARE ENOUGH TO TORTURE YOU BEFOREHAND.

LOVE,
SPACEDUCK & SPACECOP
FESTERING DEATH

=<>: NEXT UP, WE HAVE TREY VINCENT.

DEAR TREY,

WE HAVE BEEN DISAPPOINTED IN YOUR PORNOS AS OF LATE. PLEASE STOP SUCKING AND GET BACK TO BEATING UP YOUR HOOKER AS YOU’RE FUCKING HER IN THE ASS.

LOVE,
SPACEDUCK & SPACECOP
FESTERING DEATH

=<>: FINALLY, WE COME TO THE CONDEMNED MOTHERFUCKER WHO WILL LIKELY BE HORRIBLY KILLED AT THE NEXT TIME OF CONVIENIENCE… YOU KNOW, WHEN WE’RE NOT INVOLVED IN SEGMENTS ANNOUNCING OUR POLITICAL NATURE ON HORRIBLY LATE SHOWS LIKE THE COMA PPV OR ON A SATURDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM WHEN WE’RE NOT DOING SOMETHING VERY WRONG TO EITHER A) SPORTS TEAMS OR B) FUCKFACE. THAT BEING STEVE STUDNUTS.

DEAR SHITHEAD,

YOU ARE GOING TO DIE PAINFULLY.

YOU ARE GOING TO BE RAPED.

WE WILL KILL YOUR FAMILY.

WE WILL RAPE YOUR FAMILY.

IN THAT SPECIFIC ORDER.

WE’D KILL YOUR FRIENDS, BUT WE THINK TREY VINCENT IS AN ALRIGHT GUY EVEN THOUGH HIS PORNOS HAVE BEEN SLIPPING AS OF LATE, AND SETH HARKER HASN’T ELECTED TO DO ANYTHING OF THE “SAY STUFF ABOUT FESTERING DEATH” SORT. EVEN THOUGH HE MAY DO THAT AS SOON AS HE SEES OUR OPEN LETTERS TO YOU FUCKERS.

THE SAME GOES FOR RAPING YOUR FRIENDS.

WELCOME BACK TO THE INJURED LIST, MOTHERFUCKER.

LOVE,
SPACEDUCK & SPACECOP
FESTERING DEATH

=<>: SO, THAT ABOUT DOES IT. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVE AND YOUR KIND WORDS, AND REST ASSURED THAT YOUR RAPE-FILLED DEATHS WILL BE MOST PAINFUL AND GRUESOME, AND WILL INDUCE VOMITING BY THOSE INNOCENT ONLOOKERS.

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Whore Man Smiley

October 14th, 2003
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~~~Shot of Steve Studn….~~~

Studs: Hey, fuck knuckle. Yeah you… scene set-up guy, shut your cakehole, pal… I don’t have time to sit through that shit today. Okay? Look… I’m at home, I have two slutty, half-naked sluts around here somewhere, I’m tan and I look good. That’s all you people need to know.

ANY-way, I see that Spaceduck got pissed… okay, PISSED, ‘cause I ribbed him a little. Dude, I was just trying to be cool like I thought you guys were. I wanted to join Festering Death.

Alright that’s a lie. Sue me.

I didn’t wanna join you two cyber fags, and why would I? I’m iAd, BEEE-ATCH! Everybody that’s ANYBODY knows iAd is the shit, man. The greatest fuckin’ thing to hit wrestling since G.L.O.W., jack. And that’s a fact. Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling revolutionized the biz, that is… until the iAd came along. You can make book on that, Missy…

( Steve walks over to his computer )

Studs: Now then, if my shenanigans from the other day ruffled your feathers, Spaceduck… you’re REALLY gonna LOVE this!

( Steve starts typing away, the camera zooms in on his Magnavox Super VGA comp monitor. )

=C]

Studs: Ya see that, Spaceduck? There’s your boy Spacecop, sitting there mindin’ his own business. He’s oblivious the fact that I’m getting ready to bunghole rape his stupid ass. But first, I have to work my stick a little and get it ready, ya dig?

8=D

Studs: There’s my wang, dude, all soft and lifeless at the moment… but a little lube, a stroke or two… and wah-lah…

8==D
8====D
8======D

Studs: OH YEAH! LIKE A BRICK, BABY!

8======D …………. =C]

Studs: There’s Spacecop again, with my wiener creepin’ up on him, the dumb ass doesn’t even see it coming…

8======D . =C]

Studs: I’m getting closer, but that retard doesn’t run at all. I think he WANTS it! Heh.

8======D =C]

Studs: He’s still sitting there, kinda like a sitting spaceduck. Nah, that would be you. I’ll get back to you on that…

8======8C]

Studs: LOOK AT HIS EYES! HIS EYES! I think it’s hurtin’ him a bit! BWAAAA HAAAA!

8=== >C|

Studs: He’s sqeezin’ those eyes pretty tight! That’s not the ONLY thing that’s tight if you catch my drift.

8== >Co

Studs: CAN YOU FEEL THAT? HUH… HUH…. HUH?!

8= >CO
8= >C (

Studs: What a trooper, he took the whole thing! And he told me his glory hole was pure! LYING BASTARD!

< ===o===8 Studs: As you can see, I’ve withdrawn and flipped my doob. It’s also appears I’ve picked up a foreign object on my shaft. Could be a kernel… DID YOU EAT CORN RECENTLY, SPACECOP? YOU FILTHY SMILEY FUCK? I guess it COULD be a speck of shit on there or somethin’, I’m no expert, ya know? It also would appear my meathead got mashed into a point from Spacecop's sphincter... but after the head got through it was smooth sailin' from there. Calm seas and blue skies... =<>

Studs: Uh oh, there you are, Spaceduck…. and my, don’t you look hungry.

=<> < ===o===8 Studs: Here it comes, big boy, and ain’t washin’ it off either! =<. .> < ===o===8 Studs: Well… would you look at that? Spaceduck looks very receptive for a dookie covered love muscle coming his way! You’re even openin’ up that gutter-talk spewin’ bill of yours... =< < ==o===8 >

Studs: WOW! I’m gonna start callin’ you SpaceJennaJamison! Or maybe after that chick from the porn classic, Deep Throat. SpaceLindaLovelace, yeah… that’s it. Or maybe just SpaceLace for short… has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?

B<>

Studs: You’re eyes are all bugged out, but you got it down. Congrats, dude.

So tell me, what did Spacecop’s asshole, plus my cyber trouser snake, taste like? Does it taste like chicken? I’m dyin’ to know… tell me! The suspense is riveting. I hope it lasts…

( Steve gets up and faces the camera )

Studs: Listen, you scroungy fuck… do you KNOW who I AM? DO YOU KNOW WHO WE ARE? We’re the iAd, you smiley little shit ass.

Don’t fuck with the fuckers… you might get FUCKED. Ya dig, jerkweed?
Roll the end of promo stuff, butt plug. I’m outta here.

~~~Steve stomps off, his computer screen still displaying a lot of equals, capital D’s, a capital B, several 8’s, and numerous arrows pointed east and west. Oh yeah, and a couple of lower case o’s~~~

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Please Don’t hurt me- No, please do hurt him.

October 14th, 2003
Comments Off on Please Don’t hurt me- No, please do hurt him.

AtomoTron online
Run “Omega_Hack.exe”
Working.
Working..
Working…
Comm. system override successful
Broadcasting Live

(Fade up on Atomo, looking at himself in the mirror)

Atomo: GREETINGS-HUMANOIDS-AND-NON-HUMANOIDS.

A: IT-HAS-RECENTLY-COME-TO-ATOMO’S-ATTENTION-THAT-TAG-TEAM-UNIT: Festering Death HAS-EXPRESSED-NON-HATRED-FOR-THOSE

“OBSESSED WITH WRONG-DOING LIKE WE ARE”

A; IT-SO-HAPPENS-THAT-ATOMO-WAS-IN-FACT-BUILT-FOR-THE-PURPOSE-OF-WRONG-DOING. ATOMO-WAS-NOT-BUILT-FOR-BEING-RAPED. TO-DEMONSTRATE-THAT-ATOMO-IS-ON-YOUR-SIDE-ATOMO-HAS-COMPILED-THIS-TAPE-OF-ATOMO’S-NEFARIOUS-ACTIONS. ROLLING-CLIP:

(We now witness a video montage of Atomo’s reign of terror. Highlights include: Atomo failing to hold the door open for a lady carrying several packages; Atomo pulling someone’s hair on the bus; Atomo starring in a collect call ad with Carrot Top; Atomo refusing to share his lunch with the hungry beggar kids from Aladdin; Atomo pushing all the buttons in the elevator; Atomo letting his dog pee on someone’s lawn; And Atomo putting an empty milk carton back in the fridge.)

A: END-CLIP. AS-YOU-CAN-SEE, WE-ARE-KINDRED-SPIRITS, AND-YOU-SHOULD-REFRAIN-FROM-STABBING-AND/OR-RAPING ME. FURTHER-INDICATIONS-OF-SIMILARITY-INCLUDE-THE-FACT-THAT-WE-ALL-SPEAK-ONLY-IN-CAPS, AS-WELL-AS-

Interrupt Transmission:
Priority Override

(Atomo’s speech abruptly fades out, and is replaced with a shot of a groggy looking Dr. Azathoth lying in bed)

Dr. Azathoth: I would have stopped that travesty earlier, but I’m still a bit hung-over from last night. Man, that Krangkor sure knows how to party.

Dr. A: Anyway, Festering Death, you should pay no attention to what you just saw. That was… uh… created by my enemies to make you lower your guard! Yeah, that’s it, but I wouldn’t want an unfair fight, so I’m correcting things. That sounds plausible.

Dr. A: Anyway Atomo really hates you guys. He’s been making fun of you for misspelling his name by calling you “Spacedork”. He also said Spacecop is fat.

Dr. A: Remember, sports entertaining is all about giving the fans a good show, and there is nothing earth creatures like more then gratuitous violence, especially if it is sexualized! Don’t hold back, my smiley brethren.

End Transmission

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