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Archive for February, 2004

Kwai Chiang Siegel debut . . .

February 20th, 2004

[Cut to a mysterious mountaintop, somewhere. We can’t tell you where. Might be Asia, might be America, and actually, because the Freedom of Information could be invoked and cost us money, I should tell you. It’s not a mountain, it’s the Frank J. Heimlich Memorial Tall Building in Wyomingville, Wyoming, and below it is the world’s only 87-story Greyhound station. Hospitals sadly refuse to rent out office space to the Chartered Shaolin Brotherhood of the Catchable Ambulance.

Here we find Kwai Chiang Siegel, who is a ninja and an attorney by trade. It’s what happens when you can’t decide whether to be Chinese or Jewish, and your parents were one of each and damn good ones, too. He is instructing some trainees on the art of the deadly SLAPP of Much Harassment.

KCS: Howard J. Howe IV, let’s see how you would handle this situation. A transvestite hooker from that dump below us wanted to sue the Yugo Motor Company for putting all those suggestive women in the ads with those little deathtrap vehicles, so he purchased said tin-can with an eye for the poontang pie . . .

HHIV: For one, it’s not “transvestite hooker”, it’s “transsexual sex worker”. Political correctness is the lifeblood of vital litigatory fees, sensei.

KCS: Good, grasshopper, continue.

HHIV: And the Yugo Motor Company was owned by a country that no longer exists, so we have to sue Slobodan Milosevic in Belgium. Can I go, sir, I collect Belgian things . . . pretty Belgian things*?

KCS: FOCUS! This is hypothetical, grasshopper! There is no such case . . . Yet, Linda’s not sure about his ability to pay!

HHIV: And that lesbian redhead from BOB on Comedy Central will sue you if you say some wrestler’s catchphrase again, sensei.

KCS: Impressive, but not impressive enough. You . . . Hey, aren’t you Rob Cesternino? I never accepted you.

RC: But I’m famous! And supposedly highly entertaining!

[The other trainees quickly toss the Survivor washout out of the Tower before anyone realizes he was ever here. This isn’t the Unemployment Cheq Kliq, you know, if such a gag ever existed, which it didn’t. Kerry Earnhardt and Siegfried Fischbacher aren’t showing up.]

KCS: Next . . . A. Fiona Ballbricker, Esquirette. Ms. Ballbricker, Esq, say you represented the National Alliance of Crockery Manufacturers, in their battle to remove the phrase “crock of shit” from the dictionary. What then?

AFB,Esq.: I take my pay upfront, sensei.

KCS: Of course.

[The door-gong rings, and an oddly foreboding, yet still representative of a hot legal secretary who wears her Manolos to yoga class, not that Siegel approves of that decidedly non-Buddhist, non-Jewish bullshit, mind you, speaks.]

Secretary: 397 men with oddly constructed snowboards here to see you, Mr. Siegel.

Siegel: Is one of them wearing a red bandanna and mugging for the cameras?

Secretary: Yes, sir, the only one with a real snowboard.

KCS: Throw him out, please. And I mean, THROW him out.

[The door opens and 397, uh, 396 ninjas with oddly constructed snowboards come in. These snowboards are wack, yo. Some of them are made of like, construction paper and shit, some of them are aluminum foil, a couple are made out of repurposed Atari Combat cartridges, and one is even made out of Play-Doh. Then someone, who vaguely resembles a ninja, and has a surfboard, of all things, sneaks in . . .]

KCS: Mr. Cesternino . . .

RC: It’s Neige 299 now . . . The Collective have claimed me as their own. The Neige Collective owns you!

Neige 1: Shut up, 299. I am suing Brawlers on a Budget, who just received a show on the Comedy Central TV network . . . I know, you’ve never heard of it, but believe me, it exists . . . And, this BOB organization and its BigBoss employed a rogue member of our Collective . . . Someone who makes 299 look like me, the Neigefather . . . This man, who called himself Neige 13, despite the fact that number remains perpetually unassigned due to my triskaidekaphobia, defamed the collective by saying things like . . .

You jobbed Neige Thirteen! And your bookers didn’t even handle me correctly! I, Neige Thirteen, am not gay, gey, hgey, or geigh, and my snowboard is not made out of pencil lead, and I do not suck, and my strategy is superior to anything your feeble minds could come up with, and I am the God of Wrestling, and I know every technical detail of wrestling, and you don’t, and yet you’re running a wrestling promotion, and you make Neige 13 sick!

And so forth. And as the Neigefather, I must say this.

BOB acted like a bunch of morons when they jobbed the false Neige 13, they are a bunch of butt-cramming ass-munches, their rings are made out of crappy materials like nylon and steel, when everybody knows that is not how a wrestling ring is made, they have freaking smiley faces raping dead people, when everybody knows they prefer live rectal penetration! Yes, Bob makes Neige One sick!

KCS: Just one question, Neige One. Do you plan to pay up front?

Neige One: Yes, here is eight million dollars in Camel Cash . . . Valuable currency downstairs . . .

KCS: Uh, OK, I could use a pool table. And does Rob, uh, 299 get a share of the remains of BOB?

Neige One: Uh . . . no?

Neige 299: Hey! I’m smarter and funnier than all of you? Especially Neige 83 and Neige Ein-Zwei-Drei, or should I say, Kerry and Siegfried. I deserve my share of the meager funds of BOB.

Neige One: No, you don’t. Understand, 299?

Neige 299: OK.

KCS: OK, the case of Neige Collective v. Brawlers on a Budget, Uninc. is on like pr0n! Let’s litigate the pants of those fools . . . The ones that wear pants . . .

[fade to a banging gavel]

Voice-over: Injured? Call Siegel . . . 1 – Eight Hundred – S – H – A – O – L – I – N, and let the mystical arts of the East help you win the Lotto of stupdity!

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Paradox on Tour

February 18th, 2004
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*On a stage before a sold-out crowd, Mr. Paradox (in a ripped, “punk” version of his usual trenchcoat/singlet/boots outfit) is jamming a metal remix of “Vampire Killer” on an electric keytar. Meat-Puppet is thrashing in the mosh pits, out in the crowd. Meanwhile, the hooded figure from before is working the stand-up bass. The song comes to a crashing end as Meat-Puppet is rising-axehandled back onto the stage. Applause fills the arena as Paradox raises his hand in salute to the crowd. As he signals for silence, the applause dies.*

Mr. Paradox: Thank you! It’s great to be here in Cloudydale! You know, this is probably the best place in the world, short of Hot Springs…

*Another round of applause fills the arena before he cues silence.*

Mr. Paradox: I’ve got a few messages to deliver, so if any of you people are listening, now’s the time to pay attention. First, here’s one for Atomo…

*Paradox taps out the first few notes of “Mr. Roboto”, to the crowd’s delight.*

Mr. Paradox: To Atomo: if you’re out there, I can feel your pain, man. It must be most dreadful to constantly be tortured like that, all in the name of defeating Festering Death. Tell you what, man – if Azathoth permits, I’d like to help you with those bastards. What about it? You and me against Festering Death in a “Winner Rapes Loser” match. Hell, it would just wind up a screwjob – no pun intended – anyway, so why not? Now, as for the sWo…

*Now Paradox plays the opening of “I’m Going Slightly Mad”.*

Mr. Paradox: Do you have any idea how stupid you people look, with your silly “I-Wish-We-Were-in-WCW” promos and pointless gimmick? BOB is so large and utterly directionless that attempts to crush it just slide off the surface. We are our own villains, after all. And didn’t I see Hackmaster’s face on a milk carton once? And finally, to Nurse Heidi…

*Taking a deep breath, Paradox proceeds to speed-sing and speed-play “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” in about 12 seconds. The World Records people snort, unimpressed.*

Paradox: Now that I’ve got that out of the way… ladies and gentlemen, this one’s for you!

*The audience goes wild again, as Paradox swings the keytar to his side again and revvs up “Feel So Numb”. Meat-Puppet leaps into the mosh pit again, and we fade out.*

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I was in Playgirl.

February 12th, 2004

Dr. A: Greetings, gentle viewers, and hello to you all. There’s been a lot of talk lately about how virile all of you wrestlers are. Apparently those of you with large sexual organs are better able to succeed in combat. I don’t see the connection myself (Unless you plan to illegally garrote your opponent while the ref is not looking), but I’ve just imbibed enough ethanol to kill a bull elephant, so it may be that I’m missing something.

Dr. A: Since my brain is not working entirely correctly at this time, I’ve decided to share with you all a little of my own sexual exploits. I, like apparently all the rest of you, know the pain of having primary sexual characteristics that are too large to fit comfortably within modern garments. Also, sometimes they lash out and kill people, which is always embarrassing. Back in the day, I used to keep them in a lead-lined codpiece, which was better for everybody involved. Sadly today’s modern fashions do not allow such precautions to be taken, which has led to several deaths and an extensive career in pornography. Today, we shall examine that career:

(Dr. Azathoth takes a swig out of a bottle of medicinal alcohol)

Dr. A: Now, you know how these days there are all these animated programs coming out of Japan that feature young women becoming involved romantically with ropy horrors from beyond space? Well, back in the sixties, animation studios had much smaller budgets, making porn production all but impossible. Have you ever seen an episode of Gigantor? They’ve been known to cause cataracts because a person’s eyes will do anything to stop looking at them. Nobody can possibly masturbate to images of such quality, which left the fledgling porn with no choice but to use real actors.

Dr. A: Now, I was in need of quick cash back then, and I had the equipment necessary to star in these films, so I acted in the “Cadmium White” series of films under the nom de plume “Space Beast Gulex”. I was nearly as well known as that time I starred in a series of mid-nineteenth century engravings as “The Dastardly Gentleman”. “Tales of The Dastardly Gentleman and his Adventures in the Swarthy Maidens of the Dark Continent “ was an excellent seller, as I recall, but I digress. My point is that I was famous enough in the late sixties to get my own spread in Playgirl, which I’ve decided to show you here. The censors assure me that since no one could possibly find it erotic, I’m not violating any Standards and Practices. Now I shall have my droid describe it to you since I am not actually on TV, but merely pretending. Also, I’m going to pass out now.

Thank you, Dr. Azathoth. For the coming presentation I will be wearing a mortarboard, because this is a scholarly discussion and I look so darn cute in it.

Before we get started in earnest, I must first comment that Azathoth’s reproductive system is not an organ so much as a separate life-form that bonded with him at some point in the distant past, possibly at a toga party. After years of evolution, it is now part of him, yet it still has it’s own DNA. It has a relationship with him now quite closely resembles that which mitochondria has with human cells.

Moving on: Dr. Azathoth’s genitalia exist in two distinct stages, as is illustrated by the following Playgirl spread. On the left, we see Azathoth’s genitals in their first stage, also known as the “camo” stage. You will note that it superficially resembles the phallus and testicles of a human male, but differs in two important respects. First, size: Azathoth’s phallus appears to be large in both girth and length then the average human beings (This is emphatically NOT an advantage, as we shall se later). Second, it seems to have the texture of a human brain. The reason for this will become apparent momentarily.

Now, we turn our attention to the right side of the spread, where we see Azathoth’s genitals in their more natural state. As you can see, what appeared to be a phallus earlier was in fact a group of four tentacles, tightly coiled together to conserve space and protect the more fragile inner organs. When unwrapped, the four tentacles form a semi-circle below the true sexual organs. Each tentacle is approximately 2.5 centimeters in diameter, and has a reach of over a meter. Each tentacle is tipped with two toothed suckers, the purpose of which has yet to be determined.

Above the tentacles are two sharp bony protrusions. These are barbed, and can be launched a fair distance. In this they closely resemble the modified teeth of an animal known as a “sea-cone”. Don’t worry ladies, upon injection these “bone-hooks” release a local anesthetic, making them relatively painless.

On an unrelated note, we’re almost done with this abomination of a promo, thank god.

Now, Azathoth’s primary sexual organ is a purple tipped mushroom… literally. It releases a cloud of spores and everything. It’s also surrounded by a number of hollow fungoid tubes.

Here’s the part where I would discuss Azathoth’s abominably hairy legs (First lesson: it’s not hair) but this thing is taking forever to do and I’m starting to hate it and myself for doing it. So it’s over now.

Leave.

End Transmission

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BOB WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!! (The Epic-Part 2)

February 11th, 2004

(The camera fades out then fades in backstage at a BOB house show. douja and Jerry are standing outside one of the lockerrooms.)

Jerry: Yo, where is Bobby with those two dudes he said he would call??

douja: dont even sweat it, he will be here.. look, there he is..

Bobby: Excuse my lateness, boys. But please, douja, Jerry Curl Jones.. I am pleased to introduce you to a couple new buesniess partners…

(A shirtless, muscular man with short black hair and a pair of jeans and a huge, steroid wearing black trunks step into the view of the camera. Both men sport numerous tatoos and do not lucky happy at all.)

Bobby: First, allow me to introduce you to “Serious” Scott Kelly!! (He points to the smaller man in jeans. Scotts expression never changes.) And this monster.. This, my friends, is ROID!! (Points to the large fellow.) Well, I didnt dissapoint, did I boys??

douja: hell nah!! yo’, you have out done yourself! fella’s, lets go out here an make history!!

(“How High” by Method Man and Redman fizzles from the speakers. douja and Jerry make their way to the ring. douja grabs the mic.)

douja: i am about to make your peoples night, and i am about to make history.. so you can all just sit da hell down and shut da hell up!! now, let me explain a few things to you people in da crowd, and to all you clowns in da back.. i am from a different era.. i got my start before BOB even exsisted, in a lil’ company called da STWF! everything that you see here tonight.. everything you see on BOB television.. you see that because of da STWF! BOB owns its slot on comedy central to the STWF!! it was the blueprint for dis’ shit! now, the STWF was home to some of the best.. It was home to THE TIGER.. it was home to BF SACK.. it was home to SMP.. home to BOHEMOTH, HOMOCIDAL HANK… it was home to da legendary ROGUE and the ROGUES GALLERY!! Hell, it was home to guys you see every damn night like VIOLENT PACIFIST, BILLY POLAR, THE KENT STATE KREW!! a lot of big names, a lot of big time players.. then i came to BOB, and a lot of these same guys.. a lot, not all.. found a home at BOB. with the mix of STWF stars and BOB’s own stars, BOB was once a great place , too. and the very best of the bunch, was the man on the mic right now, DOUJA! i held more titles in the STWF then anyone EVER!! I AM DA ONLY MAN TO HOLD EVERY SINGLE BOB TITLE!! I WAS THE FIRST EVER ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS!! ive done it all and ive seen it all.. but when i came back to BOB i saw a shell of my old stompin grounds, yo… i saw a joke of a place.. but, i also saw the chance to make the power move of a lifetime!!! BOB is soft now.. bunch of soggy corn flaky type bitches in the back.. and i have an answer for that.. AND THAT ANSWER CAN COME DOWN RIGHT NOW!!

(Music that sounds very similair to the old Dangerous Alliance music plays and Bobby, Scott, and Roid make their way down to the ring to a chorus of boos and trash thrown at them. They all exchange hugs, and douja hands the mic )

Bobby: Pipe down, losers, I am here to educate you all!! First and foremost, I am the legendary “Bluffing” Bobby Snive, managerial mastermind!! Standing behind me to my left is the worlds greatest technical wrestler, “Serious” Scott Kelly! To my right, the monster, the freak, ROID!!! douja and myself have put together the most amazing group of athletes the BOB has ever seen!! We have come to save this company from the lowly states it has sunk to!! You want buyrates?? You want ratings?? Well, BigBoss!! Well, Comedy Central!! Here they are, staring you right in the face!! Wrestlers, executives, all employees of BOB, PREPARE FOR A NEW ERA! This busniess goes through cycles, boys and girls. This busniess has ups and it has downs. Every few years something comes around that jerks the busniess of professional wrestling off of its deathbed and into the stratusphere!! That time has come!! The future of BOB is standing in the middle of this ring, and we are taking no prisoners!! If you dont like it, if you have a problem with it.. We will NOT be hard to find!!

douja: i couldnt have said dat shit betta myself, bobby!! it is just like he said!! we are here to give BOB a kick in da ass cause noone else here steppin’ up to do it!! mr. paradox, slash, your whole crew.. you need to step it up.. you are weak, you are soft as grapes! you do not have what it takes to compete with us, and we will DESTROY you, and we will take you out the motha’ fuckin’ game, beleive that.. iAd.. STEVE STUDNUTS, TREY VINCENT, SETH HARKER!! i am talkin to you, so you listein very closely.. you all keep doin’ ya fuckin’ space show, keep havin fun.. while you all do that, we are goin to be takin over.. we are goin to be destroying everything in our paths!! you all are fallin’ off, you are dealing with the BOB kingpen, the best who ever did it!! listein closely, you need to step your heel game.. your heel game needs to get to this level.. allow me to demonstrate…

(douja quickly hits Jerry in the head with the mic. Roid and Scott lay the boots to him then hold him up while douja slaps him in the face. Bobby then steps in and spits right in his face. Roid then picks him up and dumps him over the top rope.)

douja: YOU SEE THAT BOB!! THAT IS HOW A REAL HEEL DOES IT!! I AM AN OG AT THIS, DAMNIT!! I AM BOB’S ORIGINAL GANGSTA, AND I AM TAKING BACK WHATS MINE!! WE ARE RUNNING BOB!! i am makin’ an open call to anyone out their who feels what im sayin.. SMP, BOHEMOTH.. “SOFTCORE” ZACK.. WHEREVER YOU ARE, ROGUE!! anyone from the old school who wants to take back what belongs to us.. join us.. help us.. this is a movement, yo.. a takeover.. and you can either ride with us.. or you can collide with us.. those are the choices!

Bobby: Yes, yes, yes!! We are a tight-knit union of destruction.. Collectively, you may to refer to us as.. as.. umm.. (Puts hand over the mic.) Damnit!! We didnt come up with a name!!

douja: yo, we will get back to you on the name soon, but remember the options BOB!! ride with us or collide with us, its simple as that.. and like i said the invitation is out there to whoever sees our vision!! SMOKE ON THAT!!

(The Dangerous Alliance-esque music plays once again as douja pulls out a joint and lights up. The group embraces in the middle of the ring as the crowd boos wildly and showers them with trash. The camera fades out.)

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BOB WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!! (The Epic-Part1)

February 11th, 2004
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(Jerry passes the joint to douja and the camera fades out. When the camera fades back in the two are stepping out of douja’s car. The camera looks up and reads the sign on the building they pull up to that reads “Gimmicks R’ Us”.)

Jerry: Yo, what da hell kind of place is this?

douja: this is da first stop on the road of my master plan.. Gimmicks R’ Us.. we fittin to get us a good ol’ fashioned stable!!

(They walk through the front door and are immediately approached by a small, balding salesman in glasses. His “Gimmicks R’ Us” name tag reads “Tim”.)

Tim: Hello, welcome to “Gimmicks R’ Us “!! Anything I can interest you boys in today?

douja: hell yea, cracka, we lookin’ into coppin’ us a stable.. first, we need to find us a manager..

Tim: Well, you are in just the place. Right now we are running a special on diva’s. I have some beautiful ones in right now that would make a great valet. Why dont you meet a good friend of mine. Samanatha, could you come here a second?

(Out walks a beautiful blond dressed in a short, black, leather dress. She stands beside Tim.)

Jerry: Daaaaaaaaaaamn!!

Tim: May I introduce you to Samantha? She would just love to guide your group to championship glory, wouldnt you Samantha?

Sam: Ohhhh yessss..

Jerry: WE’LL TAKE HER! Now, why dont you bring ya pretty lil’ self over here, and let Uncle Jerry whisper in your ear..

douja: WHOA!! slow down, youngsta’.. now, no doubt baby is fine.. but she just aint what we lookin for, nahmean.. we aint bringin no hoe in thats gonna end up gettin’ mo heat then us.. we dont want no nurse heidis around here!

Jerry: Nurse who?

douja: dont even worry about it, thats before ya time, playa.. but, look cracka, dont you got someone sneaky back there? someone that will do anything to help his boys win.. yo’, this group needs an old school manager.. help me out here, i know you got someone like that back there.. i need evil sum bitch that will take one fot the team!! im talkin’ old school here, cracka!!

Tim: Hmm. Actually, I do have something that may interest you.. Let me introduce you to “Bluffing” Bobby Snive.

(Out walks a plump man with a shaved head. He is dressed in a taylored black Armani suit, black tie, and black crocodile skin shoes.)

Bobby: Hit the bricks, monkey, the master will take it from here.

(Bobby kicks Tim in the ass as he quickly scurries off.)

Jerry: (Whispering to douja) He’s good, yo.

Bobby: Well, well, well.. Let me guess.. You are looking to put together a stable to dominate the company that currently employees you, while seeking to gain past glory for yourself and the ones in your circle of peers, all the while holding back yonger and more deserving talent from ever reaching their full potential out of fear and paranoia of losing your so called “spot”. You need someone to help you sterr the ship, work on the busniess end of things. Be the brains. Help get the job done. Am I right, or am I right?

Jerry: Damn, yo, he IS good!

douja: that is exactly right!! so are you in?

Bobby: Oh, I am definately in. You are going to need a couple more guys. Enforcers, if you will. I know a couple of boys I can give a ring to. I think they will be JUST what we are looking for to get the job done. Now, come one, lets go get a bite to eat and you can fill me in on the rest of the details about this plan of yours..

(Bobby puts his arms around douja and Jerry as they exit the store.)

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Bad language, bad smells and bad sandwiches

February 9th, 2004

D-Van Drudley

The back of the old, second hand Volkswagen van was dilapidated to say the very least. With small cracks of sunlight poking through the edges of duct tape that seemingly held the whole vehicle together. The man who owned, and was currently driving, this hunk of crap was a member of the Drudley family, and hailed from Drudleyville. His name? Well, his name was D-Van. A well built, black man with a tie-dye t-shirt, dungarees and a pair of heavilly taped spectacles.

“You know I hope you’re going the right way, Geoff’s accident with the hot sauce could lead us half way across a chasm.” Said Joel Bertner, a young man in a purple neckbrace who was sat next to the driver.

“Fuck you Joel, that hot sauce bottle was frickin slippy, anyone would have spilt it!” Exclaimed Geoff Gones, a man in a referee’s uniform and one of four men squatting in the back of the van.

“You’re a moron Geoff, you can ride in Rubba Ray’s pick-up truck from now on.” Snorted Joel, gazing at the desert road through the dusty glass.

“You gotta be kidding me, that thing stinks. You know he just cooks whatever he runs over and eats it while he drives. No chance in hell I’m trying another possom burger.” Geoff moaned.

“Sit your ass down!” Said D-Van, taking his hands off the wheel to push Geoff back.

“Don’t take your frickin hands off the wheel you moron!” Screamed Joel, forcing D-Van back into place.

“Relax, it’s the desert, who the fuck cares if I run over a cactus or a coyote?” D-Van asked, taking back control of the van.

“If coyotes can get ran over by frickin steam rollers and still live to throw TNT at stuff then I think they can handle this van, I saw one fall off a cliff a couple of times too.” Said Geoff.

“What was that, on the discovery channel or something?” Asked D-Van, “I hate them programs, I don’t wanna see two wilderbeast humpin each other while I’m eatin my motherfucking dinner!”

“Those wilderbeast ain’t got nothing on me.” Said Joel smugly.

“Yes, you’re the quintessential studcrumpet, the bursting sausage of love, we’ve heard it all a thousand times before Joel!” Wailed Geoff.

“I’m a damn handsome man, I can’t help it.” Joel replied.

“Whatever, say, when’s the next gas station guys? Granpda Drudley is making some bad smells and Tyke is having convulsions again.” Geoff asked.

“UghhhhhAghh!!!” Mumbled Small Tyke Drudley, a skinny, blonde haired young man in similar attire to the other Drudley brothers.

“Not for a long way yet douchebag. Besides, they’re Drudleys, they’ll survive, extremeness is in the blood.” D-Van replied.

“I thought hemophillia was in the Drudley blood?” Joel asked with a snicker.

“Huh? Heemofillya?!” Geoff confusingly asked.

“It means expertly blading, Geoff.” D-Van replied.

Suddenly a big, white sheet of cardboard went up into the air as the Drudley mute held up one of his signs reading ‘I need to blast a dookie!’

“Hey, Sign Dude needs the bathroom, can you put the pedal to the metal so we can get to a fucking gas station already?” Asked Geoff, a worried expression on his face as the van slowly filled with even more bad smells.

“We’re going the wrong way, I doubt there’ll be another gas station period.” Said Joel, looking confusedly at the bright blotches of sauce on the map.

“We ain’t lost Bertner!” Yelled D-Van.

“Well that guy never mentioned anything about crossing a desert to get to the BOB Headquarters.” Joel said.

“That’s where we’re going!? I’m pretty sure that was just a frickin joke!” Geoff wailed.

“Hey, this federation is strict with its contract signings, they’d have been sued so far through the ground they’d be putting on house shows in China by now if they weren’t.” Joel explained.

“And I want to make sure I get my fucking ‘no-bump’ clause this time, I’m too old for bumpin’ now.” Grandpa Drudley said quietly.

“Oh stop whining, you can take a couple of chairshots per week like the rest of us!” Scolded Geoff.

“Besides, the way they said they’d be pushing us we’d be giving out the chairshots more often than taking them.” Said D-Van with a grin.

“Erm, D-Van, they were covering their mouths trying to stop themselves from laughing when they said that.” Said Geoff.

“They must have been smoking dope or something then, because we are a frickin extreme stable going straight to the top of BOB!” Said Joel excitedly.

“Oh TESTIFY!!” Yelled D-Van.

Rubba Ray Drudley

The van drove further into the desert as Rubba Ray Drudley glanced at his wristwatch halfway across the country waiting for the rest of his stable.

“Where are those losers?” He asked himself, taking another bite into his flattened-rabbit sandwich.

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Gay porn on Comedy Central

February 8th, 2004
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(The camera fades in and joins douja and Jerry in the locker room of an undisclosed location.)

douja: so see, what we gonna do is a quick gimmick change with you, cause dat shit with you just being you sucked.. so now, you gotta just be my sidekick.. but, their is an up side to dat shit.. you gonna be smokin’ da best green, fuckin’ my hoes ugly friends.. its gonna be da shit!!

Jerry: I dont know, I have a college degree.. I dont really talk like you.

douja: the cameras on!! start talkin’ gangsta, nigga! you gonna ruin the gimmick!

Jerry: Yo!

douja: now, i want to talk about dat shit dat went down on sunday.. mr. paradox i have had some fucked up stuff done to me in my wrestling career… some really fucked up stuff.. but i have neva’.. I MEAN NEVA’!! been beatin down, then had awhite boys cock and balls all up on me!! YOU GONNA PAY FA’ DAT SHIT, MOTHA FUCKA!! OH, HELL YEA, YOU GONNA PAY. how dare you make douja look like a fag on national television.. c’mon, you know you gonna pay fa’ dat shit!! you are gonna pay for embarrassing douja and jerry curl jones on tv, and dats fa sho, right jerry!?!?

Jerry: Yo!!

douja: now, let me say somethin’ to you, studnuts.. its a well known fact douja is packin’ 15 inches of choclatey goodness fa’ all da hoes out there.. but i really gotta commend you on what your packin yourself.. in da most non-gay way i can, i gotta tell you for a white boy, you got quite a shaft on you. as nasty as it was havin that pale shit touchin me, i gotta say i respect you for what you got.. i too know the troubles of havin’ a gigantic peter.. its hard, nah mean? ask steve, its hard.. you ever see me wearing shorts? hell nah, a nigga just burn up.. i cant ride a bike, the shit gets caught in the spokes.. there is a lot of bad that comes with somethin’ like that.. aint that right, jerry?

Jerry: Yo!!

douja: hell yea, so what im sayin is, im hella pissed at what happened on sunday, and im offerin me and jerry’s help to you.. we want to help the iad.. im just so damn heely, you see, i just cant work with this bein a face stuff.. im a natural born heel.. so when you take out paradox, we want to be there helpin you stomp his ass, nah mean?? i am offering our services to the iad!! thats right!! with our help, there is no stopping the heel-ish shit we can do!! da bob just would not be ready.. when we put out huge dicks togetha’, studnuts, there is just no telling what can come from it!! tell em bout it, jerry!!

Jerry: Yo!!!

douja: yea.. you gettin kinda good at talkin jerry.. you a fast learner, you special.. anyway, studnuts, da offer is on da motha’ fuckin’ table.. i want revenge.. and ima’ get my shit, dere aint no doubt about dat shit.. so you can eitha ride wit me… or you can collide wit me.. cause paradox is catchin a beat down no matter what.. any last words jerry?

Jerry: Yo!!!

(The camera fades out as douja lights up a blunt.. And a new catchphrase is born just like that.)

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I’m melting, MEEELTING!!!

February 4th, 2004

Kevin the Pyromaniac

(The scene opens to a small, badly lit room. Posters of rock groups proclaiming superior hardcoreness plaster the walls whilst clothes, garbage, left over food and small animals litter what should be the floor. Sitting at a desk on a creaky, wooden chair is a familiar 13 year old. As the camera pans over his lime coloured hair we see various, seemingly random, objects beneath a dusty lamp.)

Kevin: Oh man, you don’t stand a chance in hell!

(A slow stream of black, putrid smoke rises from the desk along with the stench of burning plastic.)

Kevin: DIE plastic spoon!

(The dining utensil falls into two pieces, the disfigured handle alone remaining in the grinning teenagers skinny fist.)

Kevin: Mwahahaha, hardcore!

(The cameraman steps back, holding his head as the noxious fumes that swirl through the room get to him.)

Kevin: Hey, you’re here to show how hardcore I am!

(The camera leans to one side as the operator props himself against a cupboard. Kevin gets to work on a cell phone.)

Kevin: Telephone call, it’s PYROMANIA~!1!!2 brutha.

(Kevin reaches for another match, his hand not able to grasp very well as his eyesight goes in and out of focus. He finally snatches one and gets to work, pressing play on his low quality, but LOUD, CD player. After only a few senselessly over the top chords the door to his room swings open and an 18 year old girl wearing a white towell around her storms in.)

Kevin’s Sister: Turn that music down, they can hear it all over Parts Unknown!

Kevin: WTF?!

Sister: Stop saying those three letters!

Kevin: Dubya… tee… eff!!!

(Kevin’s sister looks at the cameraman who has turned a pale shade of green.)

Sister: Who’s he?

Kevin: He’s a cameraman from BOB, he’s here to show all my adoring fans how hardcore I am!

Sister: You’re not melting crap again are you?

Kevin: Hell yeah! I’m hardcore dammit!

Sister: Hey, that’s my cell phone!

(She snatches the half melted phone from Kevin’s Pyromania desk of doom.)

Sister: You dickweed!

Kevin: Bitch!

Sister: Douchebag!

Kevin: Whore!

Sister: Shut up! Just turn your crappy music down NOW… oh, and mom said you have to get on with your homework or you won’t get anything to eat.

Kevin: Pfft, all mom’s cooking tastes like crap… if it ain’t hospital food it ain’t right!

Sister: You are a retard.

(Kevin topples backwards as the fumes overtake his brain.)

Sister: Ugh.

(She storms back out, slamming the door as she goes back to her shower. The cameraman stumbles forward slowly, sliding the volume control down towards 0 on the CD player, before collapsing onto a pile of baggy t-shirts with burn holes through them.)

Kevin: WTFMF!?!1 You’re here to film me and get me over with the fans, not fall unconcious!

(Kevin grabs the camera and points it at himself.)

Kevin: Guess I’ll have to do it myself. Fans of BOB, listen to ME! I’ve been complaining, taking my ridilin and saying my swears… and I have just one question to ask you BOB fans. Whatcha gonna do?!?! Whatcha gonna do BOB when PYROMANIA~!!1! runs wild on YOOOOOUUUUU?!!?!

(Kevin tries to rip his Vietallica t-shirt from his chest, but the black smog knocks him out cold and the camera cracks upon hitting the floor, giving us static.)

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Wise Fwom Da Gwave!

February 1st, 2004
Comments Off on Wise Fwom Da Gwave!

ACTIVATING ORBAMAJIG HACK PROGRAM…

HACKING COMMENCED. PROCEEDING WITH PROGRAM: “REDIRECT”.

LOADING PROGRAM…

PROGRAM LOADED AND ACTIVATED. REDIRECTING TO: “SHADY REST CEMETARY.”

*The video finally cuts in, and we see Mr. Paradox (flush with his successful revenge against Studnuts at SMC9) bent over a slab, stitching away at something just off camera. Pausing to wipe his forehead with a rag, he resumes, smirking to himself. His blood-stained sword lays next to him.*

Mr. Paradox: Let’s see… With that arm I stole from the late Birdboy, my creation is complete! I can finally finish the work that the late Professor McShifty started!

*Cutting the thread and tying a knot in it, Mr. Paradox stands over the slab, raising his hands.*

Mr. Paradox: What was that charm again? Oh, yeah…
“Death song,
death door,
death river awaiting…”

*The rest of the chant, delivered in a guttural tone, makes no sense to the ears of those unfamiliar with Dimension Z and the art of chain-desecration. The end effect, however, causes all of the tombstones in the graveyard to explode, creating a shower of granite and marble.*

Mr. Paradox: Crap. There goes this month’s rent. Now, did it work?

*A skinless hand grabs Mr. Paradox’s collar.*

Mr. Paradox: Question answered. Now let go of me…

*The creature rises, and we focus on it. It’s a hideous creation, all skinned limbs and faceless head. The muscles twinge randomly… That’s what it looks like from this distance, but a close examination will reveal the latex seams.*

Mr. Paradox: *He points to the thing.* Meat-Puppet!

*Cue dramatic organ crash.*

Mr. Paradox: Damn, need to sew the heart back in. But with the aid of Meat-Puppet, I can begin to wreak havoc on BOB’s Tag-Team Titles! And then I might just have a chance at…

ORBAMAJIG HACK DETECTED
ACTIVATING COUNTERMEASURES…
HACK DESTROYED

*The screen goes to static. As the camera pulls back, we see Sir Zeno (fresh from his own victory over the Pope at SMC9) curled up on his couch with Queen Mylisiv, the blue-skinned woman he picked up at the New Year’s party. She’s currently dozing.*

Sir Zeno: Crap. Looks like I’ll have to take steps after all.

*Fade to black.*

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