Archive for December, 2003

New Year’s In Dimension Z

December 31st, 2003
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*We cut to Sir Zeno’s throne room, where an Ouroboros is hanging from the ceiling with a disco ball shoved in the center. The ruler of Dimension Z himself is sipping a martini while seated on a longer, leather-covered version of his couch-throne. Next to him is a blue-skinned, purple-eyed, and otherwise alien-but-still-human-looking woman in a long black dress. Various other bizarre entities mill around the room, occasionally making trips to a table of food and punch in the corner. Smiling, Sir Zeno finally looks into the camera.*

Sir Zeno: Good evening, creatures of Dimension E. I see that 2003 has finally pulled to a stop, and 2004 is just about to kick off. Amazing, isn’t it, that we’ve made it to this point? I am, of course, Sir Zeno, and this lovely lady is my friend and fellow monarch, Queen Mylisiv of Dimension G-4.

Queen Mylisiv: Thanks for inviting me, Zeno.

Sir Zeno: Anytime. The clock’s still ticking on 2003, but the party’s already started here in Dimension Z. And we have quite a show ahead of us! You see, at the stroke of midnight tonight, the Ouroboros that our dimension is balanced on will uncoil for exactly ten seconds!

Queen Mylisiv: But Zeno, won’t that destroy the dimension?

Sir Zeno: There will be a slight sense of inertia as we plummet, but it coils back up before any damage is dealt. In the end, the furniture may be slightly shaken, but otherwise nothing bad should happen. Besides, I daresay we’ll all be too drunk to care, don’t you?

*The laughter from the various creatures sounds slightly like Jason Voorhees being slammed by a truck while dismembering a live goose-pig.*

Sir Zeno: Gods, how I love your laugh, Mylisiv.

Queen Mylisiv: *She laughs again – she provided the goose-pig part earlier.*

Sir Zeno: Keep it up, dear. Now, not everybody could make it this year – Mr. Paradox is somewhere in Dimension E, Dr. Azathoth never RSVPed (and is missing, presumed stuck), Festering Death refused, and I never did receive a reply from Xamfir. Ah, well… Speaking of Mr. Paradox, I received a video card from him. Let’s watch.

*The screen cuts to Mr. Paradox riding in the back of an old pickup, his feet carefully rested atop his combat boots.*

Mr. Paradox: This is what I get for having a grudge, I guess. Either way, here I am, somewhere in Lousiana, getting a ride to New Orleans. Once I get there, who knows where I’ll go next? All I know is that somewhere in this country, I’ll find Studnuts… and then I can kill him for dishonoring me. Until that day comes, happy new year, Sir Zeno.

*The scene cuts back to the throne room, as the other guests mingle behind the throne. Daft Punk can be heard playing quietly in the background. Queen Mylisiv has rested her head on Sir Zeno’s shoulder, as he now sips a glass of vodka.*

Sir Zeno: Thank you, Mr. Paradox. I’m certain you’ll get revenge yet. Say, Mylisiv…

Queen Mylisiv: What, Zeno?

Sir Zeno: What’s your resolution for this year?

Queen Mylisiv: To finally take complete control of my family’s finances and to kill Ultimo Dragon. Yours?

Sir Zeno: To continue successfully ruling Dimension Z.

*Cut to Mr. Paradox, in a New Orleans bar.*

Mr. Paradox: To get my revenge and to score with that brunette with the low-cut dress and see-through bra.

*Cut to Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Living Robot, cleaning up after Slimelord Ugga.*


*Cut to a live feed from the Senate.*

Reporter: Senator Mudmick, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Drunken Wisconsin Senator: Ummmm… Pershonally, I intend to shqueeze da poor!

*Cut back to the throne room, as the partygoers begin to don their pointy hats, and Mylisiv is now sucking on Sir Zeno’s neck.*

Sir Zeno: That was interesting, wasn’t it? Well, I’m afraid our timeslot has finally run out, so until next time, this is Sir Zeno, wishing you all the best of luck for 2004.

*The music turns up, Sir Zeno kisses Queen Mylisiv on the lips, and we fade to black. The preceding has been a Dimension Z Television production. All rights reserved.*

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Arrested Development

December 31st, 2003

~~~Wednesday, December 31, 2003. It’s 4:00 A.M. and we’re at Steve Studnuts’ Phoenix mansion. Steve’s brain is in a fog, having drank copious amounts of Buttery Nipples and Sex on the Beach, he now pleasures himself with whipped creamed covered nipples and sex on his leather sectional, and beside his pool, and in the kitchen, and on his futon, and anywhere else he could find with no less than seven women he picked up from “FLUIDS”. There’s a knock at his door, just as Steve’s about to fake another orgasm and move on to the next girl~~~

Studs: (hearing the knock) Wha? What time is it? Who the fuck is that?

~~~He mumbles incoherently, stands up and pulls on his silk boxers, then stumbles to the door.~~~

Studs: (just before pulling the door open) motherfuckercomingoverhereatgatdamnfourinthefuckingmorning… WHO IS IT?

~~~He opens the door and finds two policemen standing there~~~

Cop 1: Ummm, are you (squints at index card) are you (giggles) Steve Studnuts?

Studs: Yeah, I know. It’s my ring name. Okay? And before you even go there, everybody here is over 21 and consensual. Even the chick in the back that’s covered with barbeque sauce…

Cop 2: I don’t think you understand, sir. We’re investigating a murder.

Studs: Murder? Shit, I know I rode some of these bitches hard… but I doubt I killed any of ‘em.

Cop 1: You can cut the jokes, pal. We know you were at “FLUIDS” last night. We know there was a girl killed there last night. We know that we have the murder weapon with your fingerprints all over it and several witnesses have stated you danced on the body without a shred of remorse. You even tried to keep the paramedics from doing their job….

Studs: Hey now, hold on a fuckin’ minute. I only pulled the knife out to read the note stabbed into that chick’s body….

Cop 2: Note?

Studs: Yeah, a fuckin’ note. You know, paper with shit wrote all over it. A gatdamn note….

Cop 1: We didn’t find any note. I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you downtown for further questioning.

Studs: For what? I didn’t do anything… Wait up, it’s fuckin’ New Year’s Eve, dude! I got about two thousand people coming over tonight, it’s my biggest party of the year!

Cop 2: Looks like you’ll be spending it in Maricopa County’s finest facility… come on, now. Don’t fight us.

Studs: Whoa, whoa, whoa… Listen, go back to “FLUIDS”, dude. Check the trash cans, I crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. I swear! Hey, better yet… you guys have Internet?

Cop 1: Of course we do…

Studs: Then web-search Brawler’s on a fuckin’ Budget, dude, I wrestle there, okay? Go to forums and click on the one that says “Clubbin’ and Clobberin’” and read that motherfucker. It’s all right there, look at the responses! You don’t have to read the first one ‘cause it’s kinda long, but read the first response by that CircularAnswer dude. He does that Mr. Paradox character, man. Look at it, you’ll see the shadowy figure on the ceiling. You can read the note! It was Paradox, that jerkweed did it!

Cop 2: Likely story, sir. You have the right to remain…


Cop 1: We don’t currently have Internet access, Mr. Ummmm Studnuts. You know, that whole Millennium Bug thing, we’ve shut everything down…

Studs: WHAT? That was four fuckin’ years ago!

Cop 2: We’re backed up at the office, lot of crime in this city….

~~~They cuff him~~~


Cop 1: OooooooOOOOOh, and a threat to go with our other charges….


~~~The load him in the squad car and speed away. Meanwhile, Steve’s house gets looted by seven naked women.~~~

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Clubbin’ and clobberin’

December 30th, 2003

~~~The first thing you see is Felecia Fellatio, Steve Studnuts’ personal interview gal that looks as though Vanessa Williams and Beyonce Knowles morphed into a single human, standing outside a building on a slightly rainy night. Some might even argue that it’s a drizzle, my nizzle.

It would seem obvious that the brick building was a nightclub, noting that the heavy beat that’s audible through the walls sounds like that Justin Timberlake “Rock Your Body” song or whatever it is…

(Editor’s Note- Though I’m not a big fan of Justin Timberlake, more of the Slayer/Megadeth/Motley Crue mold, I’m aware of what’s popular on nightclub’s DJ list. Or at least I like to think that I am.)

There’s a purple and pink neon sign, just above the bouncer-laden entrance in a slanting cursive font, that simply reads “FLUIDS”. The name of the place could refer to the spirits served inside at a profitable rate for the establishment, or what ends up on the bed sheets before the next day’s sunrise, after a man and woman lose their inhibitions and indulge themselves with the pleasures of “hookin’ up”… albeit for one night.

Regardless your interpretation, Felecia has no problem getting in even though there’s a Studnuts paid for lackey following her with a video camera. She’s dressed for a hot time on the town, wearing a red, low cut blouse covered by a black, Debra-like sports coat and a mini skirt so short she almost required a second hair-do. Black pumps accentuate her outfit, making her mocha skin almost appear like the creamy center of a chocolate Oreo. The lackey was not dressed appropriately at all.

Once inside, she immediately spots Steve, wearing a white spandex shirt and black slacks, on the dance floor in the middle of a female mass of humanity that resembles thin, breast-enhanced moons revolving around a muscular tanned planet. She waves to him after making brief eye contact, which in turn is followed by Steve rolling his eyes just before he begrudgingly saunters off the floor and in her direction. The women he left now stand there, in the middle of the dance floor, motionless… even as Justin’s song slowly mixes into Britney Spears’ “Slave 4 You”. Steve meets Felecia and camera boy near the bar.~~~

Studs: (With a bit of disgust on his face) Felecia, this had better be good…. my doob’s about half fat and I think I have at least three of those chicks talked into comin’ back to the crib and getting nakey.

Felecia: Steve, I’m sorry… but I need some bits from you to add to your website. I also need some reaction to Explosion of Injuries and a response to Mr. Paradox and his intentions of killing you.

Studs: Killing me? Parasox? Which, in case anybody was wonderin’… I had already planned on callin’ him Parasox about a week before it was mentioned elsewhere, just for the record. I was just too lazy and/or busy getting laid to do it before now.

Felecia: I thought you were calling him Paracox, making fun of his name and saying that a pair of cocks was in his mouth.

Studs: That’s so last month, Felecia. Parasox refers to what he stuffs in the front of his fuckin’ pants to make people think he’s a dude. Ya dig? Gotta change it up or people lose interest. That’s a fact. (checks his watch)

Felecia: So?

Studs: So what?

Felecia: So what do you think about his plans on killing you? His last promo had him hiding under a table in Mexico looking for you. He killed a bunch of innocent people….

Studs: Hold up…. did you say he was lookin’ for me in Mexico? MEX-I-CO? Why the fuck would I be in Mexico? If I wanted refried beans and diarrhea I’d just eat at one of the fuckin’ taco stands here in Phoenix. Mexico… you gotta be shittin’ me.

Felecia: No, I’m not. He also said…

Studs: (interrupting again) He also said, he also said… I don’t give a flippity fuck what he said. Do you think I actually give a shit what that guy does or says? He’s invisible to me. Transparent. Saran fuckin’ Wrap. Ya dig?

Besides, I’m not even considering beatin’ his ass until I beat up his buddy, you know, that fag Zeno guy in that “Snake Match” shit.

But before all that… I got a date with douja and his fucked up little nephew. Looks like I get to pick a partner for some tag action against ‘em, which means I could pretty much choose ANYBODY and walk though ‘em like Hershey squirts. Hell, I could even pick a DEAD guy and beat those chumps.

Felecia: Undertaker? You’re partner’s going to be The Undertaker?

Studs: No, stupid… I meant a REAL dead guy, like a not fuckin’ breathin’, literally no pulse havin’ dead guy.

~~~In the background chaos, “Slave” fades out to Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”. Steve perks up when he realizes what song is now playing.~~~

Studs: Look, you’re gonna have to speed this shit up, chicks take this one and live up to its lyrics. I ain’t missin’ out on that, especially when they “let hang all out”. Know what I’m sayin’?

Felecia: Okay, okay… just one more question. Who’s going to be your partner?

Studs: (ponders for a second) Well, I was gonna keep it a surprise… but surprises are for jerkweeds who still believe in shit like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and Ron Jeremy endorsed Extenz. Which reminds me, I want my fuckin’ money back.

ANY-way… I’m gonna tell you who it is, then I’m outta here and back to the floor to bury my dong in the crack of some chick’s ass while she backs that thang up. Ya dig?

Now I could’ve picked Seth or Trey, but that’s just too easy.
My partner is gonna be….

MR. PARASOX. And that’s a fact….

Felecia: WHAT?! But you just said…. you just said you weren’t going to have anything to do with him. You just said…

Studs: Fuck what I just said. I do what I want, when I fuckin’ want, to whomever I want to do it to. He’s my partner and that’s it. He’s startin’ the match and he might, MIGHT see a tag when I get tired of watchin’ Toby and Kunta beat the shit outta him. And then when I see the need to end his sufferin’, I’ll tag his stupid ass and finish off douche-a and Jerry Cunt by myself. Okay?

Now get the fuck outta here or I’m gonna miss this song and be hella pissed. You wouldn’t like me hella pissed….

Felecia: O…

Studs: Don’t talk, Felecia, just leave. Okay? Get your shit… and split. I’m outta here, my scriptwriter is still a little sore from the tag-team Texas Streetfight he had Saturday night and wants to quit our dialog. He’s such a pussy…

~~~And with that, Steve turns and quickly descends a flight of stairs onto the sunken dance floor. He’s immediately engulfed and disappears into a sea of sweaty, hot chicks. Some of ‘em might even be lesbians. Some of them might be chicks with huge tits. Others could even be French kissing girls or Russian Mail Order brides. One might even have a picture of Madonna and Britney’s open mouth kiss at the MTV Music Awards in her purse, or maybe a picture of Stacy Kiebler’s cartwheel at Armageddon where sources say you got a glimpse of her raw snatch. Okay, I’ll stop now. That should be good for about 5 hits.~~~

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Paradox in Mexico

December 29th, 2003
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*In a bar, located in a town called Los Ventana de la Nariz de los Diablo (The Devil’s Nostril), somewhere in Mexico, the place is full of men on siesta. In a corner, three men sit around drinking. One, under the table, is carrying an oboe case. The other two men look a little like Johnny Depp, and both of them are carrying violin cases. All dialogue is translated into really badly-accented English from the Spanish.*

First Violin Guy: So, when’s Jack No-Hands getting here?

Second Violin Guy: Not sure, man. He said something about a delivery to some guy and his robot pal.

Guy Under Table: Azathoth and Atomo?

Second Violin Guy: Think that’s it, yeah.

Guy Under Table: Don’t hold your breath. They vanished after Explosion of Injuries.

First Violin Guy: …shit. There goes dinner tonight.

Second Violin Guy: Damn it, amigo! I told you not to trust our chicken to some guy named Jack No-Hands!

*There’s a bit of a disturbance, as the door is kicked down by a guy with a Snidely Whiplash mustache. He points a gun at the bartender.*

Bartender: Can I help you, man?

Guy With SW Mustache: Is there a gringo here named Mr. Paradox?

Bartender: I don’t know who you’re…

*Fifty American dollars are slapped on the table.*

Bartender: He’s under the table there, drinking with the violin guys.

*The guy with the mustache heads over and kicks the table over, causing all three guys to curse as their beer goes flying.*

Guy with SW Mustache: Rico Anybody sent me, Paradox. He wants me to kill you for what you did to his horse and sister.

Guy No Longer Under Table (Mr. Paradox): Is that so? …what did I do again?

Guy with SW Mustache: You killed his horse and did not-nice things to his sister!

Mr. Paradox: Ah, now I remember. Your pardon, senor…

*The guys with the violin cases open them as Mr. Paradox opens his oboe case and assembles something. After a couple of minutes, the violin guys are playing “Bittersweet Symphony” on their violins.*

Guy with SW Mustache: So. Looks like you get to hear some music for your death, Paradox.

*Standing up, Mr. Paradox lifts a Uzi and opens fire, killing everything that moves in the room (except the bartender, who ducks). A short while later, he disassembles the Uzi and puts its parts back in the oboe case.*

Mr. Paradox: (To the dead violinists) That’s for playing KC and the Sunshine Band! (To the bartender) Get up, it’s over.

Bartender: So, where do you go from here, gringo?

Mr. Paradox: I just remembered what I’m supposed to be doing. I must kill Steve Studnuts, and I don’t think he’s in town.

Bartender: Will you pay your tab before you leave?

Mr. Paradox: …I should have killed you while I was at it. Oh, and by the way…

Bartender: Yes?

Mr. Paradox: (As he studies the dead corpse of a guy at table four) Call a doctor, I think I just killed Bobo Q. Fiendish.

*He walks out, as the scene freeze-frames and fades to gray.*

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Kevin’s Xtreme Adventure at the Hospital

December 28th, 2003
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[WARNING!: Before reading this, please realise that it makes no sense. But seeing as it is about a 13 year old who inhales the fumes of melting plastic every day I cannot see how it ever could.]

(The scene opens in the parking lot of a large building, ambulances are scattered around amidst people rushed around on stretchers chaotically. The camera moves forward for a while, bobbing up and down with each step, until a sign comes into view. ‘The Parts Unknown Professional Wrestling Hospital.’)

(Another scene opens, this time inside a small room with a bed as the focal point. On this bed lays a patient named Kevin. The charts all say that he is being treated, after Explosion of Injuries, for severe burns and a broken nose. As is tradition with the pro-wrestling hospital, his treatment consists of bandages being wrapped around his abdomen and a neck brace.)

Kevin: This is SOOO boring, they took my Mr. Box of Matches and Gary Gasoline off me and now I haven’t set anything on fire in DAYS!!!

(Kevin begins slamming the palm of his hand against a button, which either calls the nurse or shoots him fall of morphine. As a buxom lady in a skin tight PVC nurse’s uniform walks in Kevin’s jaw drops a little, the neck brace stops it from falling to full droop.)

Nurse: Time for a sponge bath Kevin baby?

Kevin: Ahhhhh, uhhhhhhhhhh…

(A young doctor runs in suddenly and grabs the nurse by the shoulders.)

Doctor: Dammit, the ratings in Mr. Kowalski’s rooms are hitting code blue, get down there and have a bikini contest! If the situation worsens get into a catfight and slip a nipple out… STAT!

(The nurse runs out, much to the disappointment of Kevin.)

Doctor: How ya doing Kevin?

Kevin: Well, I have a pain in my…


Kevin: Huh?

Doctor: The Doc says this, shut your roody poo CAANDY ass!

Kevin: Eh yo, isn’t that, like, gimmick infringement?

Doctor: Well, uh, hey! Aren’t you the kid who ripped off Mr. Intensity?

Kevin: NO! I am way more l33t than Mr. Intensity ever was.

Doctor: Who in the blue hell are YOU?!

Kevin: You have such a crappy gimmick.

Voice from outside the room: What?

Kevin: Oh no.

(Another doctor walks in, raising his arms at the four corners of the room before returning to the side of Kevin’s bed. The first doctor stares him down for a few minutes.)

The Doc: Who in the blue HELL are YOU?!?!!!

‘Stone Cold’ Steve Doctor: What?

Kevin: Look, could you two please…


Kevin: Well, if you let me finis…


(Steve Doctor puts his middle fingers up before snatching Kevin’s carton of grape juice and bursting it open, pouring it over his face in an attempt to get it in his mouth.)

Kevin: You guys really need to get some good gimmicks, yo.

SCSD: What?

Kevin: You can stop that for starters man.

(Suddenly a third doctor, man this room is going to get crowded, runs in with a steel chair and drives it into the back of The Doc. Before he can hit anyone else Steve Doctor hits him with a stunner, which he oversells right back out of the room.)

SCSD: You don’t mess with ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Doctor, what? I am the toughest S.O.B. in this hospital, and that’s the bottom liiine, because Stone Cold said so.

(Steve clicks a button on his walkman and his theme music plays, allowing him to walk off triumphantly.)

Kevin: This hospital is whack man.

(Kevin pulls off his neck brace and climbs out of his bed, tying up his backless hospital singlet before striding out into the corridor.)

The Doc: NO, you can’t walk around without your neck brace, your burns haven’t properly healed yet!

Kevin: I’m harrdk0R!!1 dammit, I don’t need no time to heal, I need PYROMANIA!!1

(The hallways of the pro-wrestling hospital were littered with bad gimmicks, but Kevin ploughed through. To speed things up we’ll skip ahead. Kevin finally got to a door with ‘wrestling props’ written on it in black marker, HIS props must be in there too. He walked inside.)

Kevin: Whoa…

(Like a glorious janitor’s closet, the props room was a spectacular sight. Kendo sticks, mannequin heads, hobbyhorses, socks… it was an impressive sight to behold. Our hero was quick to snatch up Mr. Box of Matches and Gary Gasoline… and a baseball bat too. He then hurried back out, still on his quest for the exit.)

Kevin: Man, I need some nu metal, pepsi and PyR0Mania!1 fast.

Voice: Hey, get out of that closet!

Kevin: Who the hell are you, jobber?

Doctor T: What did you just say? TELL me you didn’t just say that.

Kevin: Foley give me strength, you guys are all nutcases… now get out of my way so I can set something on fire!

Doctor T: Can you dig it SUCKAAA?!

Kevin: Can YOU?

Doctor T: Huh?

(Kevin hit him over the head with the baseball bat before continuing his charge through the corridors. There is footage of him running for a few minutes,. Not really doing much else, until he reaches the exit. He pushes the door open with an evil laugh.)

Kevin: Freedom, sweet hardK0re freedom!

Another voice from behind: Not so fast, Kevin!

(Kevin turns round and takes a lit match to the doctor’s uniform. Though his flame retardant suit is in plain sight, he goes up like a Christmas tree and rolls around on the parking lot floor.)


(Kevin takes his trust fuel and matches combo and gets to work on a nearby tree, soaking it thoroughly and expertly with Gary Gasoline.)


Third voice from behind: Hey, what are you doing there!?

(Kevin span round and cracked a baseball bat across the jobber-doctor’s head.)

Kevin: Jobber, you suck!

Jobber #2: Hey, what have you done to Jobber #1?

Kevin: This!

(Kevin snaps the bat over the second jobber-doctor’s head. Kevin is ready to hit more people with pre-cut balsa wood weapons when one of them spouts a catchphrase.)

The Doc: Who in the BLUE HELL are YOU?!

Kevin: You again? Ahhh for the love of Foley, what do you want?! This tree was just about to go up in flames!!!

The Doc: The Doc says this, you have to get your roody poo CAANDY ass back to your room, or you could hurt yourself.

Kevin: Duh, I’m a masokis… masercis… I can take pain dammit!

The Doc: The Doc says this, you come to this hospital, you run your mouth, you hit our jobber-doctors… you fail to realise you’re just a jobber round here too. So get back to your room and back in your neck brace before The Doc takes off his wristwatch, throws it to the crowd, runs across the ring and hits you with the Paediatrician’s Elbow!

Kevin: Screw you, I’m hardK0Rz!!1!`

The Doc: Well, ok, but you can’t have this magazine full of pictures of Nurse Heidi back if you don’t.

Kevin: Uhhhhhhhh Nuuuuuuurse Heiiiiiiiiiidiiiiiiii…. Ok.

(The Doc leads the horny pyromaniac back to his room and puts him back in his bed, his magazine stuffed underneath the mattress where it belongs. The Doc holds one more thing behind his back and raises the Paediatrician’s eyebrow.)

Kevin: What’s that you have behind your ba…

The Doc: IF YA SMEEEEEEEELLLAALALALAA… what The Doc… is… cookin’!!!

Kevin: Hospital food?

The Doc: Damn right.

(The Doc hands the tray of mushy crap to Kevin as the scene fades out to black.)

The End

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Gifts for Everyone!

December 27th, 2003
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Orbnotron Online
Broadcasting from some specific position in space and/or time…

(Fade up on Farmer Brown’s house. despite his having been severely bitten by zombies, he has still found the time to sit at home and watch Explosion of Injuries)

Farmer Brown: Unnngghhh… Arghhh… Brains…

Well, this isn’t very interesting. Since every single other character is incapacitated, I guess it falls to me, Orbotron, the Robot Cameraman, to do this promo. Yeah, that’ll really strike fear into the other wrestlers’ hearts…

Let’s see… What the heck could I do to entertain the folks in TV-Land? Uh… I know! I’ll look through the Doc’s mail!

(The Camera Dollies out into the hallway, where a number of presents are wrapped and ready to ship)

Oh, look, Dr. Azathoth bought presents for his fellow wrestlers, that’s sweet. I’ll just read the cards that go with each of them…

To: Sir Zeno

My dear friend, I was so sorry to hear about your sewage accident at EOI. Enclosed is some fine gourmet shampoo to wash the offal from your hair, as well as some wig powder in case it all burned off. As well, I have included a pink hair-ribbon made of finest bore-worm silk.

For your maidservant or walking organ bank or whatever he is, I got a gift that matches his name: A pair of socks. Don’t be disappointed though, these are my special uranium powered self-warming socks. Guaranteed to keep your feet warm for at least ten thousand years. They are also extra-wide to accommodate any extra toes you may grow.

FB: Unnngh… How… could… he write card…? He… disappeared… after… EOI…

Boy, even as a zombie that guy still asks annoying questions. Moving on…

To: Pete Table

Dear Sir; Your primitive rhyme schemes make me twinge. Enclosed is a copy of The Moron’s Guide to Sonnets. If these revolutionary ideas about verse don’t cause your puny brain to explode, you might want to give it a try.

To: Festering Death
My Daughter sent you something. Normally I would not approach you directly, but it is possible that a lifetime of receiving coal in your stockings is what made you into the violent morons you are today. Also, Atomo is still trying to get on your good side, so he insists that I deliver the goods. Anyway, here’s what she says:

Dearest Spaceduck,

I send you this tanto knife, forged by the hand of Masamune himself, as a token of my undying love. I hope you will think of me when you next use it to stab a Girl Scout in the face. As for your compatriot, What could I get for the smiley who has everything? The only thing that came to mind was the rotting corpse of that foul creature known as “Ziggy”. I hope you enjoy.

Yours eternally, Great Helga.

To: The iAd.

Gentleman, as I am already embroiled in a contest with Festering Death, I do not need any more unstoppable heels kicking Atomo or myself in the back of the head. Therefore, please except these gifts as a peace offering:

For Mr. Studnuts, I send this shriveled monkey’s paw I bought from an old Gypsy. There are many legends surrounding it, but half the fun is finding these things out for yourself!

For Mr. Harker, I send this Chinese puzzle box, sure to provide hours of mind-bending entertainment.

For Mr. Vincent, I send this potato peeler. What can I say, I choked.

Well, that’s it folks! Until Dr. Azathoth claws his way up from the depths of hell, this is Orbmotron saying-

End Transmission.

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I saw that coming…

December 23rd, 2003
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*We cut to Dimension Z, in a part of Zeno’s home we haven’t seen before. The main features seem to be a large, four-poster bed and a number of speed bags. Standing on the bed is Sir Zeno, showing no sign of having been involved in anything at Explosion of Injuries. He sighs and finishes straightening the cuffs of his tights.*

Sir Zeno: Hello again, creatures of Dimension E. By now you’ve probably seen Explosion of Injuries, and you’ve seen the iAd running in and beating me senseless. Curse you, Xamfir. Curse you.

*The camera angle changes, as Sir Zeno stretches on one of the posts of the bed.*

Sir Zeno: *Tensely* You’re probably wondering… *Normal* Why I show no signs of having been beaten savagely. tossed into sewage, and lit afire. Well, that’s all because I took a cue from the rest of BoB and mastered the art of no-selling. Yes, I no-sold a sewage fire. In fact, I have a diploma from the School of No-Sell Wrestling.

*Cut to a still of Sir Zeno being handed a diploma by Brutus Beefcake. Then return to Sir Zeno on the bed.*

Sir Zeno: Either way, I suppose I should comment on the PPV. But first, a few words for Steve Studnuts: You had the chance to prove you could beat me… and you let Trey Vincent do it instead? Are you a coward or just lazy?
Next, a comment to the “Shaggy Gang”. Have you gone through seasons 1-5 in previous shows, and if so, why didn’t you just kill STJS and let the gimmick die with her rather than go into the crappiest season of them all?
And now, a quick word to Kevin the Pyromaniac: Get out of BoB, kid. Your gimmick will get you killed soon enough.

*Sir Zeno jumps onto one of the posts of the bed.*

Sir Zeno: Actually, since I had little to do with the PPV, why should I bother discussing it? Until next time, this is Sir Zeno, letting you know that I will have my revenge in due time.

*Leaping up, Sir Zeno spin-kicks, breaking several of the speed bags off the ceiling. Fade out.*

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December 16th, 2003
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~~~Scene opens with Steve Studnuts, dressed in black slacks, an acetate stretch shirt (gray), with an unbuttoned sport coat on over it. He’s sitting in a wooden chair in a darkened room, spotlighted with a single bulbed area lamp that’s hanging just over him. A corporate type grills him (but not literally)~~~

Voice: Thank you for coming in today on such short notice, I’m sure you know why you’re here, right Mr. Studnuts.

Studs: Yep.

Voice: Now you know we can’t have you bashing your co-workers on a personal level as you did with your little bio dissecting of a Mr. MMR1 and a Mr. J.C. Long, correct?

Studs: If you say so, jerkweed…

Voice: I’m sure you don’t understand the importance of this violation, Mr. Studnuts. You broke into a password protected forum and copied their bios, then posted childish quips where you thought it would be funny, right? However, Mr. Studnuts, and I do use ‘Mister’ loosely, for you are not a man but a coward to do such a dastardly act, what you did was not funny and very damaging to their characters. I’m ashamed of you. You should be suspended from this promotion, without pay, indefinitely for what you did.

Studs: Did you say “without pay”? Dude, that’s the same as fuckin’ workin’ here. The only difference is that I don’t get to beat anybody up…

Voice: SILENCE! You will speak when spoken to and will not elaborate on your own free will!

Studs: ….

Voice: Now then, I will let you continue to participate in this federation as long as you apologize to those you have offended, and be sincere about it, and promise that you’ll never do such a thing again. Okay?

Studs: …

Voice: Well?

Studs: …

Voice: You have nothing to say?

Studs: Yes.

Voice: Okay, speak freely.

Studs: Stacy Keibler’s Armageddon cartwheel.

Voice: Excuse me?

Studs: Picture of Stacy’s pussy while doing a cartwheel. WWE. Armageddon.

Voice: I know what you’re doing and it’s not humorous in the least bit. Are you going to apologize or not?

Studs: Pussy, Keibler, WWE. Snatch. Armageddon.

Voice: You have absolutely no remorse, do you?

Studs: Terri Runnels’ giant, marble-like nipples.

Voice: Okay, that’s it! Cut tape….

Studs: Gail Kim naked. WWE naked bitches.



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MST (Mystery Steve Theater) does MMR1 & JC’s bios!

December 14th, 2003
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~~~And why? Because I’m an asshole.~~~

***Josh Massive Man Rendtion First***

Studs: *cough*—IPOFF!

Finisher: Leap of Fate (Fameasser) Sideways Effect (Side Effect only done all wrong)***

Studs: The Sideways Effect isn’t the ONLY thing done all wrong here. That’s a fact.

***Entrance Music: Don’t want you back by Eamon***

Studs: Never heard of “Don’t you want me back by Eamon”, but I bet it sucks. I have heard “Don’t you want me?” by The Human League. And “Do you really want to hurt me?” by Culture Club. Speakin’ of which, I bet you really want to hurt me right now, don’t you? But you can’t. You know why? Because you fuckin’ suck, that’s why.

***Back Story: Josh had spent much of his wrestling career as member a peon***

Studs: As member a peon? A logo, a go-go? Maybe he pee on his own member? YOO GAH

***in the world of sprot entertainment.***


***And the leader of the amazingly successful boyband***

Studs: What the fuck?

***and triad Then Kent State Krew he then went on to be a founding member of the elite Totally Face which dominated BOB’s wrestling for a little over a month.***

Studs: Easy for you to say…. say what? Elite, Totally Face and dominant should NEVER be mentioned in the same run-on sentence again, young man. Shame on you.

***But then Josh found his calling.***

Studs: Lead dancer at a gay men’s cabaret?

***He was put here on this very earth***

Studs: You mean there’s ANOTHER one somewhere? Gatdamned On Star. I knew this fuckin’ thing wouldn’t work right.

***to spread the word of the greatest power known to man. JOSHITUDE!***

Studs: Ummm, that’s a lie. Everybody knows the greatest power known to man is pussy. At least it is on MY planet….

***The Rabbi of Joshitude***

Studs: Silly rabbi, kids are for tricks. But I guess the Catholic priests already knew that….

***as he calls himself has been and will destroy any foe put in his path and he will do it with a smile on his face, well a smile or a frown, or even maybe a smirk.***

Studs: And quite possibly some jism from this next knob gobbler you’ll hear about.

***JC Long (aka The Regular Guy JC Long, aka Mr. Thursday Night JC Long)
Finisher: Drop The Mic (Full Nelson Slam)***

Studs: After knockin’ a Jagger of his feet or a Tyson off his feet depending on your pronounciation.

*** Beat Box (JC spits in his opponents face (trying to do a beat box) and then gives him the clothesline from hell)***

Studs: Which is basically The Clothesline from Cleveland.

***Back Story: JC Long has been involved in BOB’s wrestling since he first got here.***

Studs: As oppossed to when he second got here, when he wasn’t involved quite as much. Besides, isn’t being involved with somethin’ when you first get here about as obvious as one can get? I dunno, maybe it’s just me…

***He began his stint as The Regular Guy JC Long but was soon confused for the heteroly***

Studs: Heteroly? Is that even a word? Hey, isn’t the singer for Pearl Jam named Eddie Vedderoli? You betteroli go find out before I get pissed. Maybe my dog can sniff out the truth… I have an Irish Setteroli. Heh.

***impaired “Da Sassy One”***

Studs: Isn’t that redundant?

***so he quickly changed to Mr. Thursday Night JC Long which stuck with him for several years and through several heart breaking title match losses.***

Studs: What didn’t stick, however… was a comma or two. Hey, didn’t you compete in Uncany Carnage Wrestling?

*** So JC found a secret weapon a weapon in Joshitude.***

Studs: Hmmm, let’s see. A weapon in Joshitude, a SECRET weapon. A secret weapon a weapon, huh? Where was it hidin’? In his ass? How long did it take you to find it? And what was it? OoooooooOOOOOOoooh, Joshitude WAS the weapon, eh? I’m lost. I need a hug.

***Josh and JC became fast friends***

Studs: Hey, I’d be you friend, too, if you pulled a secret weapon a weapon that was in me. Oh yeah, I really would. So tell me, were you guys just “fast friends”, or butt buddies? And what’s the difference between fast friends, and say…. slow friends or medium speed friends? I mean, other than the blantantly obvious reference to motion?

***as JC was sent to pick up Josh’s dry cleaning and lunch and kids from school.***

Studs: Fast firends = “MY NEW BITCH”. Ooooooo-kay. And why didn’t MY school do my dry cleanin’? Fuckin’ cheap bastards….

***Nevertheless JC was soon rewarded for his long time service by being the first graduate of the school of Joshitude.***

Studs: (sings) JC ser-viced Jah-osh…. JC ser-viced Jah-osh! You guys ARE fags!

***JC is now not only on the path to one day become a BOB’s superstar but he is in talks to have a hip hop album released***

Studs: BWAAAAAA HAAAAA HAAAAAAA! I don’t know what’s more hilarious, the BOB superstar thingee or the hip hop album thingee. I guess it doesn’t matter…. really, it doesn’t.

Oh well…

Later, losers.

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Updates From Dimension Z

December 8th, 2003
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*Since it’s come to our attention that we are, indeeding, stepping on Azathoth’s gimmick, we’ll skip all that transmission stuff today. Instead, cut straight to Sir Zeno, lounging on his couch as always with a bowl of grapes. He gingerly eats one, then turns his attention to offscreen. Mr. Paradox can be heard calling Steve Studnuts all sorts of names, most of which are foul remarks on Studnut’s parentage and sexual orientation. Shrugging, Sir Zeno turns his attention back to a screen hanging from the ceiling, on which is playing the results of SMC 8.*

Sir Zeno: How very droll. Oh, the camera’s on… Greetings, creatures of Dimension E. As you’ve probably noticed, Steve Studnuts finally sent a reply to my challenge. I refuse to even give that fool’s messages a glance, so I’ve sent Mr. Paradox to look it up for me. Judging from his response, there’s more Paradox-bashing in it.

*Running one hand through his hair (which, following the pattern of other-dimensional lifeforms, is green), Zeno eats a few more grapes. Suddenly, Mr. Paradox steps in, carrying a long katana crooked over one shoulder.*

Sir Zeno: So?

Mr. Paradox: He accepts.

Sir Zeno: Did you ritually purify the computer?

Mr. Paradox: Yes, i did. Now if you excuse me, sir, I must go redeem my honor.

Sir Zeno:Very well, Mr. Paradox. The transporter’s on your left.

*Mr. Paradox storms out. Sir Zeno turns to the camera.*

Sir Zeno: Judging from his reaction, Studnuts must have intentionally screwed up his name. My servant hates that. Still… just having the challenge accepted doesn’t ensure that the match will happen. After all, I’ve already got a slot in Explosion of Injuries where I have to wrestle alongside… *He shudders.* Kevin the Pyromaniac. What did I do wrong in my past life to have to work with THAT little brat? And why do I get the feeling he’ll set both of us on fire?

*Reaching under his couch, he retrieves a small remote control.*

Sir Zeno: Either way, I’d best get back into training. Until Explosion of Injuries (or until I need more push), fare thee well.

*He presses a button, calling forth a robot that looks like a half-sized version of Atomo. This is Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Alive Robot, a prototype of Azathoth’s masterwork that was given to Zeno ages back.*

Sir Zeno: Nucleo, retrieve the punching bag and a bottle of ice water!

Nucleo: HELP-ME.

*Fade out. Again, we apologize to Dr. Azathoth, and point out that there are only so many gimmicks you can use in an eFed.*

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