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Archive for November, 2003

On the road

November 28th, 2003
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Orbnotron Online…
Establishing satellite link…
Link established!
Sending Transmission from space-time coordinates
W:14×10^9 X: 94.7 Y: 204.38 Z; 42
Outskirts of Raccoon City

(Fade up on a sun-baked dirt road. After a few minutes Dr. Azathoth, Atomo and Farmer brown step over a ridge and into view. Atomo is carrying a gas can and all three are drenched in sweat.)

Farmer Brown: Dagnabit Doc, we’ve been walking for miles… Why couldn’t we stay in the truck while Atomo went for the mechanic?

Dr. Azathoth: I’m already late for this engagement as it is. Besides, if your vehicle ran half as much as your mouth, we’d already be there.

FB: Oh, right, like it’s my fault you took out all them gaskets and sprockets and stuff outta my truck.

Dr. A: I needed the parts to build a new camera; That old Atomotron was idiotic; How can I show off my robot if people can’t even see him?

FB: You know Doc, most people would just go down to the store if’n they needed a video camera. Besides, what the hell kinda camera needs sparkplugs?

Dr. A: Oh, be silent, peon, we’re here.

(Pan around… this edge of Raccoon city seems curiously bereft of citizens. Atomo uses this pause to take a long swig from his gas can.)

Atomo: AHHH. SCANNING-AREA…

A:SCAN-COMPLETE; 0 LIFE-SIGNS, 42 UNLIFE-SIGNS, CONVERGING-ON-THIS-SECTOR.

(As Atomo says this, dozens of horrible rotting zombies start streaming out from inside the various buildings and alleyways)

Dr. A: Ah, I thought I smelled something unusual.

FB: Great googly-moogly-spoogly! What on earth are those things?!

Dr. A: Those, my good man, are clearly Zombies. They appear to exhibit characteristics consistent with the modern American type.

(Suddenly, the ground begins to tremble and a huge form bursts from the ground. It’s all rotting flesh, dull glassy eyes and jagged yellow teeth)

Dr. A: I’m not quite sure what that is, though… It does have some characteristics of a class three radiomutate, but at the same time with traces of an 80’s style biochem creature…

(As Dr. Azathoth stands contemplating the gargantuan terror, a horde of zombies rushes [well, shambles] past him, and hog piles Farmer Brown. A few stragglers try to bite Atomo, but without much success.)

Big Monster Thing: Thi splase iz terror! Intrder sshall be dis troyed! Yuw ill be dis troyed! Reaaaaagh!

Dr. A: Hey, wait a minute! I know that voice… Stickman! Dick Stickman! I haven’t seen you since college! How’s it going, man?

Stickman: Doc tor Azathoth! I have n’t sin yu sinse college! Wat yu bin up too?

Dr. A: Oh, you know, this and that. Spent some time trying to find myself in the nether-world, worked on some indy films

A: CLARIFICATION: PORN.

Dr. A: Built this idiot, spent an unfathomable period of time enduring fantastic amounts of pain in another dimension, and now I’m a pro-wrestling manager. How bout you? You seem to have done all right for yourself.

S: Yez, am now gool leader! Yu sayd liberl arts degree not amount to anything!

Dr. A: Well, I stand corrected. Anyway, I’d love to get caught up, but right now Atomo and I are late for a match…

S: Iz that whad that iz? I thot it waz moron convention! Not normally get such eezy prey!

Dr. A: Well, it can be hard to tell with these wrestlers. Speaking of, I think I should probably insult a couple of them, as otherwise this segment serves no purpose.

S: Inzult awai!

Dr. A: Oh… let’s see… That doofus Trable seems to have up and vanished, which is not surprising, considering he was soon to face the wrath of Atomo, The Living Robot!

A: IT-IS-A-SHAME-AS-I-CALCULATE-MY-CHANCES-OF-SUCCESS-AT-NEARLY 72%, MUCH-HIGHER-THEN-MY-CHANCES-WITH-

Dr. A: Festering Death, what the heck is wrong with you guys? Haven’t you tired of this pathetic kill/rape gimmick? You think you can shock a being such as I by such prosaic acts as murdering Girl Scout troupes? I was there when the mother-of-all, Shub-Niggurath was raped in each of her sixteen-hundred orifices by a descendant Uber-Fiend. The psychic shockwave destroyed nine proto-universes and was the first genesis of Zager and Evans. So go ahead, try to frighten me with your petty acts of violence. I look forward to watching you try your petty tricks against real evil.

A: I-DO-NOT. MY-BUTTOCKS-ARE-VERY-PRECIOUS-TO-ME.

Dr. A: Next, Steve Studnuts. Calm down Mr. Studnuts, I wasn’t trying to rile you when is said your name was stupid, I was merely pointing out an objective fact. The proper person to argue with is your whore of a mother. Again, not trying to be insulting, just pointing out the fact that your mother has undoubtedly turned a trick or two. I’ve asked around, and numerous sources confirm this. Anyway, as I was saying, I have no desire to start a fight with you, or the two other, rather more dangerous members of the iAd. It would be foolish of us to try to take on such formidable opponents at this juncture, so please, calm down. You have enough on your plate with Sir Zeno.

Dr A: Speaking of whom, I did have a couple of comments for you, oh Lord of Dimension Z. First of, don’t underestimate that hideous little imp known as “Coma”. He may seem harmless, but he was savvy enough to book himself a title win at the latest pay-per-view. Besides that, a seemingly innocent exterior can hide limitless potential for evil; believe me, I know first-hand.

Also, regarding your comments in your challenge to Mr. Studnuts: Who stole whose gimmick, now?

Over and out simians, I’m going for coffee with my old friend here, while Atomo heads on to the match.

S: Covee!

End Transmission

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Sex, fire and video tapes

November 28th, 2003
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(The scene opens to the sight of various pungent shoes laying in a row. The camera pans up to a wrestling ring where Silicone M Plants tells douja to go smell some shoe… another camera pans out from this, past the television screen which it is on and to an armchair.)

Kevin: Yooooo man, them shoes have GOT to be stinky!

(Kevin is seen on the edge of his seat, squealing in excitement as Da Sassy Bitch is told to go sniff up some footwear.)

Kevin: SMP! SMP! SMP!

(A door behind him opens and a figure walks in to the living room, looking puzzled at the TV.)

Mom: Kevin, what is this you’re watching?

(Kevin pushes the pause button, stopping Ronald Killalot mid-spelling, and swings round suddenly, a scowl on his face.)

Kevin: Yo, what are you doing just chargin in here unannounced? Can’t I get some privacy?! I’m doin my research on BOB with these old tapes I got from Billy.

Mom: Well, turn it off, it’s time for dinner.

Kevin: Ughhh, can’t I just eat it in here?

Mom: Don’t you want to spend at least some time with your family?

Kevin: Hell no! I’ve got to prepare myself for the extreme hardcore crap I’m gunna be doin in BOB!

Mom: Well, ok. But get started on your homework as soon as it’s finished.

Kevin: Ahhh man! Why the crap do I need grammar when I gots my extreme hardcore career to get ready for?

Mom: Don’t make me take these tapes off you! You’ll do your homework the second it finishes.

Kevin: Ugggghhh!!!

(Kevin unpauses the tape, becoming enthralled instantly as Sir Killalot finishes his spelling of silicone.)

SMP: HEY! You got it! You win!

(douja drives a forearm smash straight to SMP, Kevin shrieks loudly at the action.)

MA: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE WINNER…AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW…. ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS…SIR RONALD KILLALOT!

Kevin: Ahhhh wow!

(There’s a knock on the door.)

Kevin: What the… who the crap could that be?!

(Kevin stops and ejects the footbrawl tape before heading to the front door and opening it.)

Billy: Yo, Kevin, s’up?

Kevin: S’up?

Billy: I asked you first!!!

Kevin: Umm, oh, err, nothing man, yo, what you, yo, here for?

Billy: I wanted to see which BOB tape you’d gotten up to and take back whatever you’ve watched.

Kevin: Yo, that’s whack.

Billy: Hey, they’re MY tapes, yo.

Kevin: True dat. Errm, anyway, yeah, yo, I gots up to footbrawl so far.

Billy: Woah, oh, yeah, I got Poinkamania now too.

(Billy produces a tape with ‘pOiNkaMAniA~!!1’ written messily on it in black marker. From his school bag.)

Kevin: Yoooo, I’m on that one!

Billy: You sucked on it.

Kevin: What the, heeeeell naw, that was hardcore whats I gots up to on that.

Billy: Whatever, anyway, yo, can I come in?

(Kevin turns round and walks back to living room, shortly followed by Billy who slams himself onto the sofa.)

Billy: Yo, this next NAGAM is in hell and Violent Pacifist wins back the Are You…

Kevin: YO! Don’t spoil it for me then.

Billy: Yo, what you getting all angry bout? You’re whack!

Kevin: What did you just say? Teeell me you didn’t just say that!

Billy: You suck!

(Kevin erupts from his comfortable chair and flies at Billy, slamming the side of his head into a coffee table. Kevin then quickly charges at the fireplace and screams out.)

Kevin: PYROMANIA~!!1

(Kevin pushes his arm into the fire, pulling it back out, now encased in flames, and drops an elbow right to the back of Billy’s head. He turns him and makes a cover, making the count himself for lack of referee.)

… 1

… 2

… 3

Kevin: I win, yo! I am Kevin the Pyromaniac!

(Kevin throws Billy out of his house and turns back on his video, drooling as Nurse Heidi in a bikini wafts across his screen dreamily.)

Kevin: Nuuurrrse Heiiiidii…. yaaaggghllwwffph!

(We cut to static as the horny teenager drips saliva on himself.)

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A challenge

November 26th, 2003
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(douja and Jerry are once again hanging out at douja’s house. Jerry is down doing some push-ups while douja is seated on the couch smoking a joint.)

douja: boy, what da fuck you doin’?

Jerry: Push-ups, Uncle D, I have to get some training in around here?

douja: training?? you know how i trained the night before i became da first eva’ only world champion dat matter? i drank a whole gallon of vodka, smoked 12 blunts, and fucked a cuban whore! DAT RIGHT THERE IS A TRAININ’ SESSION!! but you do what helps you, cause we got some things we gotta deal with.. dat studnuts fucker has been runnin his mouth, and i just dont take kindly to dat shit..

Jerry: What are we going to do about it?

douja: well, i didnt wanna do dis’, but it looks like douja is gonna have to get in back in da ring.. and your gonna help me..

Jerry: How am I going to help you, the other day you said I was terrible in the ring.

douja: well, you betta get it togetha, cause me and you are challengin’ studnuts to a tag match!! you can drag any peice of shit you wanna drag with you, steve, but da fact of da matta is me and my nephew are comin’ to beat yo ass.. its common knowledge around BOB that i dont take kindly to shit talkin.. you come around with yo’ flat screen tv’s and nice cars, but dont think i dont know where you got dat loot from, steve.. i know your a dick sucka for hire!! i know all about it.. i know dat for a couple hundred bucks you will lick any set of balls on da planet!! i mean, look at your name, steve studnuts?? bitch, you was born to be a male hoe!! but are you da pitcher or da catcher? or do you even have a preference? like i said, gay man-whore, go find yaself’ a partna’, and come get ya’ ass whoopin that i got here waitin for ya’!!

Jerry: Geese, my first match is gonna be sooner then i expected!! I have to get to work!! I need to lift, do some running, and get some things worked out in the ring!!

douja: nah, f*ck dat shit.. i wanna introduce you to a very special lady in my life.. come meet mary jane, jerry.. she just wanna say hi to ya..

Jerry: I dont know.. I have never smoked that stuff before.

douja: well, its as good a time as eva’… cmon’, come sit next to ya uncle.. here, take a puff..

(Jerry looks at the joint for a second, then hits it. He falls right over on the floor and passes out.)

douja: pussy… when he wakes up, he gonna be a new man..

(douja picks the joint up off the ground and finishes the joint. We fade out.)

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Driving Miss Lazy

November 25th, 2003

~~~You’re sitting there enjoying a FOLLICLE-BE-GONE infomercial when all of a sudden… (and it was right at the good part where it mentions the removal of unsightly “bikini line” hair with accompanying footage of a shapely model in a bathing suit. Bad timing indeed, especially if you’re the type that really gets into or likes to watch the removal of bikini line hair ) … the image cuts to a deserted strip of asphalt set in a desert surrounding. Coincidentally, “deserted” has double meaning in that sentence. Brief shot of a lone cactus until a yellow blur whizzes by….

…the very next image is of Steve Studnuts, behind the wheel of his Faience yellow, Porsche Carrera GT. Since your view is now from the passenger seat, where Connie Lingus, Steve’s Cindy Crawford, Angie Everhart, Sarah Michelle Gellar, with a pinch of Tara Reid looking splooge dispenser, is desperately trying to hold a camera straight, you can’t really see the outer paint job. You will notice, if you please, that black leather interior. Thank you. You may also happen to notice Steve is wearing an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball jersey and not an Arizona Cardinals football jersey because quite frankly… Steve likes sports, especially football, but the Cardinals suck.

Steve acknowledges the camera from time to time, glancing at it out of the corner of his profiled right eye while he continues to drive well above the posted speed limit. Connie shall be heard and not seen for obvious reasons.~~~

Connie: Steve, can you slow down a bit? It’s hard to concentrate on filming you when I can’t really concentrate on what you’re about to run over… I’d like to at least be able to brace myself.

Studs: (while shifting to a higher gear) Shuddap and keep rollin’. (He glances over at her for a nanosecond before quickly focusing back to the street) Felicia called yesterday after watchin’ the latest round of feeble attempts to thwart my efforts of insulting douja and his faggy nephew and said I caused quite a stir. douja was pissed and called me a third rate heel… then mentioned something about some SMP character being a “real” heel. Yeah, I remember SMP… that’s that gimp Lance Mayhem and I damn near killed at Sunday Bloody Sunday. What a pussy…. I think that dude cried after we started beatin’ his ass. (He glances towards Connie again, then back to the road. Steve then leans to his left as it appears he’s beginning to hang a curve. He then straightens back up.)

Listen, Toby… I also heard you dared question my title history. Man, I’ve FORFEITED more World Championships due to lack of competition and or interest than you’ve won matches, pal. Maybe even HAD matches. To be brutally honest, I could beat you, your nephew, your Aunt Jemima, your Uncle Tom, and your sister Thelma from “Good Times” all in one fair swoop…. and not even break a fuckin’ sweat. (Steve quickly checks his rearview mirror, then continues without looking over towards Connie) And that’s a fact, jerkweed.

So, anytime you’re feelin’ a little froggy… sign the dots, buddy. And from there, I’ll do somethin’ I haven’t had to do since I was in third grade… and that’s SPANK MY MONKEY! ‘Cause you’re my monkey, douja… and you’re MY BITCH. Take it to the bank and live off the interest, Chim Chim.

(Steve then gases it a little more)

Studs: As for the retard that said my name was stupid…. you are….. WHO? Never heard of ya, jerkweed. Aren’t you some kind of robot? Or a scientist or something? Maybe I HAVE heard something about you… in a poor joke told by one of my party guest. You appear intelligent, yet you can’t figure out how to destroy douja because you don’t know if he’s caramel filled or nougat filled? Tell ya what, sit at ringside when I beat the shit out of him and then you’ll know. Better still… why don’t you just open that big mouth of yours and SWALLOW him? Don’t grab him, just swallow him…. everybody knows milk chocolate melts in your mouth and not in your hands. I guess simple logic doesn’t apply to robots/scientists. Go do a chemistry experiment or somethin’ and keep your gatdamn nose out of my biz-nass before I take the one of you that’s posin’ as the scientist and shove you up the ass of one that’s posin’ as the robot. Ya dig?

Hey Connie? Who was that other fag that had somethin’ to say? Jizzabelle say anything to you?

Connie: Yeah, she talked to Felicia, too. His name was Sir Zeno.

Studs: (Looks towards Connie with that “What the fuck?” look on his face. Then…. back to the road.)
Is that the one that’s “tired” of my whining?

Connie: Think so…

Studs: Tired, huh? Well, superstar…why don’t you fuckin’ do somethin’ about it? I’m not a hard man to find. Pick a match. Sign a contract. Get in the ring…. then I’ll make you disappear quicker than I did Spaceduck and Spacecop. Or Essa Rios, he was gone pretty quick, too.

Speakin’ of Spacedick and his ass rapin’ sidekick…. where DID they go? I whipped out the jammy and told those two what’s up, and nobody’s heard from ‘em since.

SEE? SEE WHAT I DO? You people are goin’ to FUCK with ME? I ran off Festering Death. Come to think if it, I ran off Bobo Q. Fiendish back in the day, too. I killed SMP. I’ve ended more careers over more promotions than ruptured ACL’s, jack.

You wanna join the rest of the rabble out in the pasture? Step up, climb through those ropes, and stand there… stand there and TRY to maintain some dignity while I pound your fuckin’ head into a barely recognizable nub.

And if you REALLY want to get nasty… go right ahead. Trey Vincent and Seth Harker have my back. We’re iAd…. and nothin’, and nobody, is better than we are. Period. And if you ever interrupt my porn again I won’t kill you, and then make Spacecop buttfuck you like I planned… but you can pretty much bet the rest of your meals will be of the pureed variety. That too… is a fact.

P.S. Mr. Paradox can suck my dick.

Okay, I’m done….

~~~He steps on it. The view jerks quickly to the left as Connie falls back into her seat. Static soon follows.~~~

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The Art of The Promo

November 21st, 2003
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(douja, Jerry, and “Homeless” Fred are sitting in douja’s living room. douja and Fred are taking part in a bit of “herbal” refreshment while Jerry watches TV.)

Jerry: Uncle D, is that all you do? Just sit around and smoke that trash?

douja: well.. i f*ck a lot of b*tches too.. AND DONT YOU EVA’, EVA’, CALL DA SWEET CHEEBA TRASH IN MY HOUSE AGAIN!! I THROW YOU OUT ON YA’ ASS!!

Jerry: Sorry, I didnt know you were that touchy about it..

douja: well, you showed you aint worth a f*ck in da ring, so you gonna need anotha way to make it in da BOB.. you gotta be able to cut a killa’ promo!! dat is what we gonna work on today! fred, go get my video camera!!

(Fred gets up and comes back with it.)

Jerry: Yea, this will be great!! Ill talk about that Studnuts guy! Hey, my name is already starting to get around, isnt it?

douja: dat is what happens when you wit’ me.. im like a god around dat place, dey all worship me.. i made dat place..

Jerry: Studnuts didnt sound like he was too crazy about you..

douja: F*CK HIM!! DAT IS WHY I F*CK HIS MAMA EVERY DAY OF DA WEEK, AND 7 TIMES ON SUNDAYS!! matta’ of fact, she be here soon for her daily dose, so we gotta be quick wit’ dis lesson.. aight, when i say action, you let studnuts have it.. ACTION!

Jerry: Steve Studnuts, you sit in your lavish home, with your expensive tv’s and run your mouth about how you can so easily take out Jerry “Curl” Jones.. But, I do beleive your mouth has just cut a check YOUR PUNK ASS CANT CASH!! If you want a peice of me, I will be very happy to let you come get it. You see, Studnuts, I have seen many like you.. I ha-

douja: CUT!!! BOY, WHAT DA F*CK YOU JIBBA-JABBERIN’ ABOUT!! you aint makin a damn bit of sense!! here, come hold this camera and let me show you how its done!! and dont drip none of dat sh*t on my camera!!

(They trade places.)

Jerry: Whenever you are ready..

douja: i hate when a cracka’ punk motha f*cka starts talkin’ sh*t!! look here,steve studnuts, you stinkin’ f*ck face, you done f*cked up!! you can talk about douja’s mama.. you can talk about douja’s daddy.. but when you start talkin about douja’s titles, thats when you gone too far!! im fittin’ to smoke you like dis cali-chronic i puff on everyday!! you wanna talk about da belts i won, but lets talk about yours? what belts you had on yo’ honkie waist? any? not a motha f*ckin’ one!! so you wanna be da first to test Jerry, you be my motha’ f*ckin’ guest!! just rememba, once he gets done wit’ yo’ ass, douja gonna have somethin’ fo’ ya!! next time you kiss ya mama, think about da 15 INCHES OF CHOCLATEY GOODNESS YOU KISSIN!! IF YA SMELL!! WHAT DOUJA!! IS SMOKIN’!!!!!!!

Fred: Hell Yea!! I hate puppys!

douja: you pay attention to dat, jerry? dat is how you cut a promo!! now, get over there, and do it right!

Jerry: Ok.. Umm.. Studnuts you.. umm.. you.. Cracker.. umm.. F*ck.. Sh*t… Im going to have sex with your mother.. umm.. F*ck…

douja: you need more f*ck’s!! dats how you get ya message across!! da f*ck’s are da key!

Jerry: Ummm.. Gee, Uncle D, I feel dumb talking like this..

douja: SHUT DA F*CK UP AND KEEP TALKIN’!! YOU FINALLY DOIN SOMETHIN’ RIGHT!

Jerry: Umm.. F*ck.. I smoke a lot of dope and have intercourse with whores.. F*ck.. I will kick your ass Steve Studnuts you Cracker.. Umm.. Can I quit now, i gotta use the bathroom?

douja: whateva!! go use it!!

(Jerry walks off to use the bathroom.)

douja: hes helpless, yo’… motha’ f*ckin’ helpless!!

Fred: I once ate eight packs of bacon for lunch.

douja: no sh*t??

(douja begins to roll a blunt as we fade out.)

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Traing Day

November 21st, 2003
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(We fade into douja and Jerry in the middle of a small ring in a tiny little gym.)

douja: aight, boy, yo’ mama told me you wanted to be a wrestla’, so i need you to show a brotha what you know so far.. i need to see what da’ f*ck you all about!!

Jerry: Don’t worry, Uncle D, I have been training for a long time. I have even wrestled a few matches!!

douja: i dont give a f*ck!! you dont know shit, you wet-haired lil’ pussy!! now, i got someone for you to train with.. jerry, meet fred.

(A tiny old man wearing tattered clothes climbs into the ring. He looks a bit confused.)

Fred: Where is that samich’ you promised me, partner?

douja: you gonna get yo’ samich’, dont be greedy!! you gotta do yo’ job first!!

Jerry: Uncle D, i cant wrestle that guy!! He has to be 80 years old!

Fred: Im 71, and Im still young enough to whip your ass!!

douja: you hear da ol’ f*ck!! lets get motha’ f*ckin busy!! ding motha f*ckin’ ding, dats da bell!!

(Jerry grabs Fred and sends him into the ropes and hits a picture perfect drop kick. He then lifts him up and delivers a vertical suplex. Jerry then goes to the top and executes a beautiful shooting star press. Fred lays in the ring not moving.)

Jerry: How was that, Uncle D? Better then you thought, huh?

douja: WHAT?!?! dat was da worst sh*t i eva’ seen!! you call dat wrestling?!?!? boy, i thought you said you been trained!! let me show you how its done!

(douja lifts up Fred’s motionless body and delivers the worst excuse for what can only be called a bodyslam. He then kicks him a few times and drops a weak elbow on him. He stands up and slips on a puddle of Jerry’s “juice”. He bounces up quickly, pulls a blunt from his pocket, and lights it up)

douja: you see dat’ sh*t, boy!! ART!! DAT’ IS F*CKIN ART!! POETRY IN MOTHA’ F*CKIN’ MOTION!!

Jerry: All you did was flop him on the ground and kick him a few times? I though you used to be a champion??

douja: boy, you here to learn, or you here to flap them fat gums of yours!! you gonna have to straighten yourself out if you wanna’ stay out here with me and learn how its done!!

Jerry: But..

douja: no!! dere aint no buts!! my way.. or da f*ckin’ highway fa’ sho’!!

Jerry: *sigh* Alright Uncle.. Hey, is he ok?

douja: yea, he be fine.. i used to beat his ass all da time, he take it like a f*ckin’ man.. lets get outta here, brotha’ all hungry an’ sh*t!!

Jerry: WHAT? We have only been training for 7 minutes!! I thought we were going to put in a whole days work?!

douja: dis’ da longest i ever trained in my life!! got me out here over workin’ my ass tryin to get you ready!! lets go!!

(They climb out of the ring and leave the gym. Fred follows soon after. We fade out.)

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In My Pants

November 19th, 2003

~~~Steve Studnuts is seen in his VERY SPACIOUS AND LAVISHLY DECORATED mansion which is nestled somewhere in Phoenix, Az. A scantily clad Connie Lingus is also seen, sitting on Steve’s ALL BLACK & GENUINE LEATHER sectional. She’s watching some kind of crappy awards show on Steve’s SUPER EXPENSIVE PLASMA SCREEN T.V. THAT’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HOUSE. Steve now moves off screen, but you can still hear him as the view focuses on a VERY BORED AND NEARLY SUICIDAL Connie as she’s forced to continue watching Steve’s SUPER EXPENSIVE PLASMA SCREEN T.V. THAT’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HOUSE. Did I mention that Connie’s nipples are ERECT AND EASILY NOTICABLE?~~~

Studs: (from off screen) Hey, Connie… did I win niecs ass?

Connie: No, Steve… some dumb chick won it.

Studs: (still off screen) What about Goodest Good Guy?

Connie: That was a joke, hon… I don’t think that was an actual award.

Studs: (continuing to be off screen) GAT-DAMMIT!

~~~Steve now appears in view because I’m tired already of writing ‘off screen’. He joins Connie on the sectional and he’s looking very tan and muscular. Look at him and you’ll see.~~~

Studs: I hated that fed, but I thought they’d at least give me something.

Connie: Come on, Steve… you didn’t REALLY work there, you just like watching MST.

Studs: WHO DOESN’T? Well, not counting the fuckin’ retards that run those shitty feds. I mean really, you have to LOVE retarded fed heads that run those piss poor shitholes, which in turn causes cool and smart dudes like Trey and Seth to pick on their stupid, retarded, no spellin’ skills havin’, retarded, retard feds. THEY’RE RETARDED! And their feds are retarded. And if they shit on their own promotion, their shit would be retarded.

Connie: Ooooooo-kay.

Studs: Say, wasn’t that an AWESOME party I threw last month? GAT-DAMN that was one for the ages! I’ve never seen Seth so drunk. I think he did it with Jizzabelle.

Connie: No, that was Trey.

Studs: No, Trey watched from the closet. HEY! What time is it? I need to see what’s goin’ on with the BOB. Turn this shit off… put it on forums. Ya know, the Rant Zone shit.

(She complies. Steve watches, albeit very briefly. )

Studs: Who the fuck is Jerry Curl? At least he could have been somewhat 21st Century and called himself Jerri Kurl. You’re nobody until you intentionally misspell your name to get over. Ya dig?

Connie: But you don’t…

Studs: I don’t NEED to misspell MY name to get over, Connie. I’m over. Big time over. I’m over like over the fuckin’ rainbow over. That’s a fact. Jerry Curl? How fuckin’ stupid is THAT?

Connie: I think he’s douja’s nephew…. at least that’s what I think I read. Ummm, saw.

Studs: douja… prime example of a black dude threatenin’ to sue the man if he didn’t put multiple straps on him. douja sucks, always sucked, always will suck, yet that sorry fucker has held every single title in BOB. Al Sharpton had a hand in that, I tell ya. Jesse Jackson and that fucker that said, “If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit,” did to. It’s a conspiracy, I swear it is! If douja was in WWE, he’d be just another Booker T. An Intercontinental title and that’s it. IF he even got THAT. Punk ass bitch….

Connie: Steve?

Studs: What?

Connie: You’re sounding very racist.

Studs: Am I? Shit, I didn’t even get to the one where I asked you, “What do you call a black kid with a brand new bike?”

~~~Cut to static, for the simple reason that Steve Studnuts is dangerously close to breaking one of the few rules that’s actually enforced in BOB so they don’t get kicked of Proboards. Besides, his handler is at work and is dangerously close to getting busted in his office, fucking off on the computer, and wasting valuable company time playing when he could be designing a new form or something. So, in an attempt to save his job, Steve’s handler types:

END.~~~

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Zeno’s Confusion

November 15th, 2003

–INCOMING TRANSMISSION–

*Your monitor’s screen fades out, and we cut in on a scene of Sir Zeno’s throne room. The Paradox King himself is sitting on his couch, holding a long-arse printout and occasionally clucking to himself not unlike a chicken. Mr. Paradox, meanwhile, is attempting to work a VCR. He’s not doing too good at it.*

Sir Zeno: Greetings, creatures of Dimension E. I am, as you know, Sir Zeno, ruler of this dimension… and right now, I’m in a bit of a tiff. My manservant, Mr. Paradox, hacked into the active roster of BOB Wrestling, and it’s proving to be quite interesting – and laughable – reading.

*He turns to the list and snickers a bit.*

Sir Zeno: Starting from the top: Albert DeSalvo. As someone who once had dinner with the Boston Strangler, and actually recorded a cover version of “Strangler in the Night”, I must protest. This is just… wrong, somehow.
Moving down the list, I see Atomo the Living Robot. While I’m amused that my old college roommate, Dr. Azathoth, is doing well for himself, I must question why he built that thing. It’s such a letdown from the good old days, when he was planning to genetically alter asparagus to make them all uniform lengths.

*Mr. Paradox is electrocuted by the VCR, and Sir Zeno doesn’t even blink.*

Sir Zeno: Now we come to BVD… Eew. Get me the penecillin, please.
Next is Coma. Excuse me while I snicker. *He snickers.* I could defeat him with a leg tied to my arm.
Hmmm… Death is a wrestler here? It’s almost amusing. Too bad he couldn’t think out the roster some more. And I’m going to skip right over the Detatched Narrator…

[Fucker.]

Sir Zeno: Stop that. Now we reach the…

Mr. Paradox: (badly dubbed) Hirohito, Where am I? This is Not Tokyo!

Sir Zeno: …title belt. *He stares at Mr. Paradox for a brief moment.* Either way, an easy victory.
Insano Mano is a luchadore, which means that he’s into the high-flying, which means I just have to step to one side every few seconds.
And now… you know what, all of this people are wastes of time to discuss. I have better things to do, like sorting my laundry!

Mr. Paradox: What about Festering Death?

*Sir Zeno smiles, then gets up, grabs Mr. Paradox by his collar, and performs a reverse backbreaker with a Spanish twist. After checking to make sure the odd manuever didn’t kill his manservant, he turns back to the screen.*

Sir Zeno: Ah, yes, the emoticons. Spacecop and Spaceduck, the two most aggravating people since the end of Doink’s career. Well, all I have to say to you is this…
<( ' . '< ) <( ' . ' )> ( > ‘ . ‘ )>

*Stepping up to the VCR, Sir Zeno hits it and begins watching a classic Hogan match.*

–END TRANMISSION–

*You now have fifteen spam messages in your mail. Sorry about that.*

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Part 2- The Meeting

November 14th, 2003
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(We see Jerry just getting off his flight and getting his bags. His curls drip behind him as he walks. He then looks all over for the Uncle he has never met. He then sees douja standing with a cardboard sighn that reads “NEF-U”. Jerry walks over.)

Jerry: Uncle D?

douja: who da f*ck are you?

Jerry: It’s me, Uncle D., Jerry!! (Jerry drops his bags and hugs douja.)

douja: BOY, GET DA F*CK OFF ME!! I AINT DOWN WIT’ DAT GAY SH*T!!

Jerry: *ahem* Sorry, Uncle.. I didnt mean to offend you, I am just so happy and thankful for you letting me come out here! I want to be a wrestler more then anything, I promise you!! And wait until you see me, im good Uncle, im really good!! Mom said you were pretty good yourself.

douja: i wasnt good.. I WAS GREAT!! AND DONT YOU FORGET IT.. now.. boy, what da f*ck is wrong with your head?

(douja reaches up and touches Jerry’s jerry curl. He looks at his hand then wipes it off on Jerrys shirt.)

douja: you betta’ not drip none of dat sh*t in my car, seats is leather!! if one drop gets in my car, ima’ beat dat ass!! lets get da f*ck out of here, cant even smoke no weed in dis airport!! grab ya bags, lets go!! we gonna have some good times, boy, trust me!!

(The two walk off. If poor Jerry only knew what he is getting himself into.)

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Part 1- The Next Call

November 14th, 2003
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(We now fade into a messy little house in Compton, California. There is a smoky haze and the strong smell of burning pot is in the air. Laying on the couch is the long, lost douja. On the T.V. a porno plays with the volume up high. douja is smiling bright, obviously enjoying thr action.)

douja: yea!! oh, yea!! hell yea, b*tch!! f*ck dat b*tch!! tear dat ass up!! tear it up!!

(The phone rings. douja pauses the video and answers.)

douja: dis’ betta be good, im tryin’ to peep some titties!!

voice: Darryl?

douja: who da f*ck is this???

voice: It’s me, you no good, sack of shit!! Your sister, Jill.

douja: jill? b*tch, you owe me 10 christmas presents!! did you neva get my lists i sent you every year!!

Jill: I got your list, you half-baked idiot. I didnt want anything to do with you, non of the familiy did! You have ruined our familiy!!

douja: damn, girl, my bad an shit…

Jill: Damn right, your bad. But, I am willing to make this history if you do me a personal favor. Something very important to me.

douja: you got a motha’ f*cka’ listeinin’…

Jill: My son has spent the last year training to be a professional wrestler. He is really having just a horrible time making it. He just cant get any work. I told him what you used to do, and I told him you could help him.

douja: yo, you got a son? damn, i aint even know dat sh*t!! how old is da little guy? 5? 6?

Jill: Stay focused, moron!! He is 23 years old!! He wants to be a wrestler!! A W-R-E-S-T-L-E-R!!

douja: what da f*ck does dat stuff spell??

Jill: It is impossible to talk to you!! Look, I didnt want to call you, I didnt want to have anything to do with you. But, Jerry loves wrestling. This is what he wants to do with his life. I need you to help him. Im sending him out there to stay with you.

douja: fa’ sho, i always wanted a protege.. i make some calls, see what i can do for da motha’ f*cka’..

Jill: Thats great. His flight will be in on Sunday at 2. You will need to pick him up at the airport. Now, Darryl, do not mess this up. Jerry is a good kid. I need you to HELP him.. You hear me? HELP HIM..

douja: dont worry, girl.. i dont grown up and sh*t.. ima’ take good care of him….

Jill: Thats what I wanted to hear. Darryl?

douja: yea?

Jill: Thank you.

*click*

(douja look at the phone and smiles. He then hangs it up, grabs the remote, and starts the porno flick back up.)

douja: yea, b*tch!! lick dem balls!! lick dem motha’ f*ckas’ clean!! WHOOHOO!!

(We fade out)

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