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Archive for March, 2004

Punishment

March 12th, 2004
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Rubba Ray Drudley

The desert sand swirled up into the air as a gust of wind went by. A man in a referee’s uniform coughed loudly as a result and clutched at his chest.

“I hate the desert!” Yelled Geoff Gones, personal ref for the Drudley family, “It’s a God damn piece of motherfucking shit!”

D-Van Drudley

“There’s no need to swear.” Complained Grandpa Drudley through thick, taped frame spectacles.

“The hell there ain’t, it’s that God damn motherfucking Rubba Ray and D-Van’s fault!” Geoff wailed, dusting the sand out of his hair.

“Well, if you hadn’t have been hitting Tyke all the way to Vegas we might have been allowed to join in the gambling.” Grandpa explained.

‘Yeah, you son of a bitch!’ read Sign Dude’s sign.

“He was humming that God damn song! You know… that one, that goes da da da, du du du du, d…” Geoff moaned.

“Highway to Hell?” Grandpa interupted.

“Yeah, that’s it, he was humming it and it pissed me motherfucking off!”

“That’s our entrance music you moron.” Grandpa sighed.

“Well then save it for when we’re enterizing, we don’t need any motherfucking music when we’re sat in the back of D-Van’s God damn van!” Gones exclaimed.

Geoff scowled at Small Tyke Drudley, laying on the desert sand with flies buzzing around him.

“Is he ok?” Geoff asked.

“He’ll be ok, he saw Jesus, though it was actually just a cactus, and he decided to stare at the sky until he carried him off to Valhalla… he’ll come down in about an hour.” Grandpa explained.

Geoff turned his attention back to the dusty road before them, it was nothing more than a line drawn into the sand with a stick that cars drove on really.

It had been three hours since D-Van and Bertner had thrown them out of their van and Rubba Ray, who was following behind in his pick up truck, refused to let them in and told them to sit in the sand.

“Those guys are motherfucking douchebags, leaving us out here in the God damn desert. You know what, next time I’m refereeing for them I AM going to call it straight down the middle, and if they lose that’s their own damn fault.” Geoff proclaimed. “I’m making a stand against those guys, who’s with me?!”

Silence. Sign Dude held up a sign that read ‘Sit down you moron’ before throwing a small rock at him.

“Are you just going to take this kind of treatment?!” Geoff asked.

“I would’ve done the same if I was in their shoes, I’m surprised they don’t throw us out more often.” Grandpa said.

“Well I’m making a stand even if you guys are too chicken to.” Geoff said, holding one hand to his chest proudly.

‘They won’t give you any of the stuff they got from vegas if you do that!’ read Sign Dude’s sign. Geoff sat down.

“I hear they might make their debut in BOB soon.” Grandpa said with a smile.

“With BOB soon means in three months time.” Geoff snorted.

In the distance a small, dark shimmering block of color slowly swirled towards them. They could make out a second behind it. As it drew closer it was plain to see, and hear, that it was the rest of the Drudleys coming to get them.

“Should we throw some water on him or something?” Gones asked, looking over at Small Tyke who was running away in terror from a tumbleweed.

“Nah, just grab him and throw him in the back.” Grandpa said, dusting off his tye-die pants which were drawn up well past his waist.

As the two vehicles noisily came to a hault D-Van and Rubba Ray jumped out, whilst Bertner stared at himself in a mirror.

“We’re back!” D-Van yelled.

“You missed a hell of a time in Vegas, we beat up a waiter and stole this chicken!” Rubba Ray exclaimed, holding up a live chicken by the neck, “Anyone who’s going in my truck can expect smashed chicken brain soup!”

All of the Drudley lackeys grabbed Tyke and rushed to D-Van’s Vaulkswagen, with their hands over their mouths.

“Well, more for me I guess.” Rubba said to himself, climbing back into his truck.

“Oh TESTIFY!!!” D-Van screamed, spinning around with one hand in the air and his tongue sticking out.

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Jumping under the band-wagon

March 9th, 2004
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Atomo the Living Robot

I am Orbnauticus. Silence is my wisdom

Atomo: GREETINGS-ORGANIC-UNITS. IT-HAS-COME-TO-THIS-UNIT’S-ATTENTION-THAT-CREATING-A-“STABLE”-IS-THE-ONLY-WAY-TO-TRIUMPH-IN-THE-WRESTLING-WORL D.

A: THEREFORE, ATOMO-HAS-ASSEMBLED-A-CRACK-TEAM-OF-WRESTLERS-TO-AID-IN-DEFEATING-ENEMY-UNITS.

A: UNIT-1!

Cut to a cloaked figure, who stands at about 5’11”, and is completely rectangular. Since he’s the strong silent type, he says nothing and does not move

A: UNIT-2!

Another cloaked figure, standing about 1’5″. It makes a whirring noise and its cloak billows out in a menacing fashion

A: UNIT-3!

Yet another tiny cloaked figure, about the same height as the previous one, but much wider.

Unit 3: BEEP!

A: UNIT-4!

Okay, this one is pretty clearly a chair that has had a cloak drapped over it.

Unit 4: Watcha gonna do *click* Watcha gonna do *click* Watcha gonna do *click* (This continues for the rest of the segment)

A: UNIT-5!

Unit 5 is a 4′ cube. With a cloak, ‘natch.

Unit 5: *rumble rumble rumble*

A: TOGETHER-WE-ARE-[Echoplex]ROBOFORCE![/Echoplex]

A: WE-SHALL-ANNIHILATE-BOB-NEXT-SMC.

Meanwhile, somewhere in limbo…

Dr. Azathoth: Damnation, his “Naming Things Module” is on the fritz again!

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Kevin’s Unusual Encounter With Some Birds

March 7th, 2004
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

It is a calm and peaceful March morning in the rural outskirts of Parts Unknown. The birds are chirping through the fragant cherry trees as a greasy teenager hauls himself through the tall grass of this gentle meadow, dragging a large tanker of fuel behind him.

Kevin: Oh man, being so damn hardcore is hard work.

Kevin wipes the sweat from his pale forehead with his baggy Vietallica t-shirt. He drops the fuel down and sits for a rest, looking around at all the beautiful, delicate petals gentle forming on the trees around him.

Kevin: Ugh, forget burning that old Farmer dudes barn, this crap right here will do just nicely for a sudden EXTREME EXPLOSION OF… PYROMANIA~!!!`!!1

The birds all turn their heads and stare at Kevin in bewilderment.

Bird #1: What a moron, he’s even stupider than most of those humans who come by here gasping at how beautiful nature is and all that drivel.

Bird #2: Quite right Reginald, the man is an oaf and an imbecile.

Kevin: Hey, shut the hell up you stupid talking birds before I torch your stupid trees!

Bird #1: That’s it, lets get Hitchcock on his ass!

The birds swoop down and proceed to peck at Kevin’s face.

Kevin: No, not my face, I have to be on Comedy Central next wee… whenever the next Chloroform is.

Bird #2: Oh for the love of 0¿0 The Mysterious Birdman, you aren’t one of those Brawlers on a Budget are you?

Kevin: Hey, yeah! Yeah I am, you want an autograph?!!1

Bird #2: God no, there’s nothing less sophisticated than a bunch of roided up freaks smacking each other with steel chairs just to get ratings with the unintelligent human demographic.

Kein: Huh? Ratings? Are you sure you know what BOB is?

Bird #1: Silence! You sports entertainers should be seen and not heard.

Bird #2: I don’t want to see or hear them.

Bird #1: Hahaha, your time is almost up, for the new awakening of a new and brutal sport shall soon seize the airwaves by the throat. Bloodthirsty armed combat between man and the almighty bird empire shall see the slaughter of countless unfeathered fools and the new kings of the planet shall take over and RULE THE GALAX…

The birds went up in flames as Kevin held a match up to a squirty box of fuel, the burning bodies fell to the ground and sizzled loudly.

Kevin: Don’t ever badmouth the beautiful art of sports entertainment again! Mwahahaha, PYROMANIA!1 ownz j00 an teh entire bird empire.

Kevin suddenly turns to face the camera, trying to salvage the promo and make at least some sort of connection between this garbage and BOB.

Kevin: That’s right BOB fans, PYROMANIA~!!1 is runnin wild, it’s spreading like wild FIRE!!1 This past Chloroform I proved that I am hardcore, extreme and xtreme when I pinned Mr. Intensity 1, 2, 3 in the middle of the ring! And by the mighty God of pepsi, whether you be Mr. Intensity, The YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Title Belt, The WWF European Belt, 0¿0, Kevin will see you burn! Because Kevin is hardcore for Foley’s sake!!1

Kevin tips over the tanker of fuel to douse the meadow, he then pumps his hand up into the air with a lighter and yells out.

Kevin: PYROMANIA~!!!!!1!!1`!

The camera turns to static as Kevin drops the lighter and flames begin to rise around him.

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Dimension Z Update: SMC11 Aftermath

March 7th, 2004
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ACTIVATING MONSEUIR PROMO-VIEWER…
NOW CONNECTING WITH DIMENSION Z…
CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. AIR IN 5, 4, 3…

*Inside the Mansion of Chaos Ruler, in the training room, Sir Zeno is busily sparring inside the ring with a large, green-skinned freak of nature (who looks a bit like Ron Jeremy). After knocking the creature down, Zeno leans over the ropes and swigs a glass of water being held up by Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Living Robot.*

Sir Zeno: Nucleo, I’m still mad at you. Your antics with the horse nearly cost me a title shot!

Nucleo: *SNIFF* ATOMO-DIDN’T-EVEN-LOOK-MY-WAY. I-FEEL-SO-ASHAMED…

Sir Zeno: You’re just lucky my opponent was a man who commonly finds himself thinking he’s a fruit basket. As I’ve said, there was no chance I could lose… But I do have a comment for the commentators.

Nucleo: AND-THAT-WOULD-BE?

Sir Zeno: I am not a heel, friends. I am… neutral. In fact, I could even be a face… I do hate Studnuts, after all.

Nucleo: EVERYONE-DOES.

Sir Zeno: Whatever, my mechanical lackey. If you excuse me, I must train for whenever I face Dustbuster.

*Zeno returns to his training…*

SWITCHING CONNECTION…
NOW CONNECTING TO DETROIT…

*There’s a flash of blue light, and as “Diesel Power” by Prodigy kicks up, Mr. Paradox, Meat-Puppet, and another black-robe guy step into view, slow-motion style. A flash of gold light marks the appearance of the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM belt around Paradox’s waist.*

Mr. Paradox: Pity I didn’t get to finish my fight with Studnuts… Still, getting my hands on some gold was worth all the trouble. Don’t you agree, Meat-Puppet?

Meat-Puppet: …

Mr. Paradox: Ah, yes, forgot.

Meat-Puppet/Alex “No Gimmick” Smith: Now that you’ve got a title, can I change gimmicks?

Mr. Paradox: No breaking kayfabe. What do you think, mysterious fellow?

Black-Robed Man: ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US.

Mr. Paradox: Shut up.

*They walk the streets as the music keeps playing.*

CONNECTION OFF

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