Archive for April, 2004

Old School

April 30th, 2004
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Hey, look here, it’s Farmer Brown and Atomo standing outside Farmer Brown’s dilapatated dellapadated dilabetated run-down old barn. Atomo has the “Pop-up Ads Crashed My Computer” belt over his shoulder.


Farmer Brown: Yeah, this’ll help get the Doc outa his funk. An old-school promo is just what ya’ll need right now. That pigshit with the meteors and the zombies and the 100$ production values might impress people where ya’ll are from, but round these parts ya gots ta remember the fundamentals.


FB: Ya gotta remember the Three B’s: Bluster, Badmouthing and… catchphrases. Also nicknames.


FB: Look, I know what ya’ll are gonna say, but lay off. I ain’t so good with naming things. Anyway, the whole thing’s really more art then science. Here, I’ll get ya’ll started:

Well Hoooowdy, ya’ll! It’s “Farmer” Reb Brown here with the greatest industry in the champion, Atomo, The Living Robot!


FB: Indeedy. Let me tell you this, jabronies and jabronettes, they don’t call Atomo here “Ol Iron Horse” on account a his copious fecal production, no sir! They call him that cause they’s afraid of the hardest working sumbitch this side a the Mekong delta, yeeha!


FB: That’s right, suckajamma, Ol’ Steeltoes here sure smells what he’s been cooking, and it tastes like momma’s old-fashioned VICTORY!


FB: And I tell you, cause I said so, that Atomo here didn’t get to be the first ever “Pop-up Ads Crashed My Computer” champion by leaving the iron on the pot while the kettle was still makin’ out with his wife, no sir! He done got that way through a technicality.


FB: But technicalities ain’t gonna keep you ahead of the game forever, which is why my boy, The Strongest Man in the Pacific Northwest, the Metal Nature Boy, The World’s Twenty-seventh Best Tag Team, The Million Ruble Man, The Fibbing, Snatching, Stone Cold Duke of Earl, the… wait, what was I saying?


FB: Oh, right, You tell ’em, boy!


FB: Awww, yeah! That’s MY MAN! you pheasent pluckers out there in wrestleland better heed what this man says, because the reckoning of the judgement of armageddon of apocalypse is coming sooner then ya’ll think! Peace out!

End Transmission

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The Signal

April 23rd, 2004
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*On the Jersey shore, near one of Dr. Azathoth’s old laboratories, Mr. Paradox picks his way through the dog-crab mutants and kneels, taking a small box from his coat and setting it on the ground in front of him. Meat-Puppet, covered in crabs, walks up beside him.*

Paradox: Is it ready?

Meat-Puppet: Owwwww…

Paradox: (whispered) Stay in character.

*Meat-Puppet claps twice and nods, twitching in agony.*

Paradox: Understood. I’ll let it go, then.

*The box flips open, and a small ball of light flies off into the distance.*

CUTTING TO: Mansion of Chaos Ruler…

*The scene switches to the throne room of Sir Zeno’s manor, where he is currently leaning back on his throne-couch. Queen Mylisiv is cuddled into his shoulder, and they both have their feet up on a pile of black-robed items that used to be Units 1 through 4. The ball of light hovers next to Zeno, who barely glances at it.*

Zeno: Ah… we’re almost ready for the next stage…

Dimension Z: The Gathering
It’ll Be Better Than Wrestlemania XX, Anyway

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Mixed Feelings…

April 22nd, 2004
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Go, Orbatron, go Orbatron, go Orbatron GO!

It’s dusk, as Azathoth and company arrive back at the rural farmstead of Farmer Brown, having just returned from March Mayham… Or possibly Mayhem. My spell-checker’s on the fritz. In any case the lot of us have decided to treat ourselves to some of Farmer Brown’s famous Apple Cider, and watch the sunset.

Farmer Brown: Well, that sure was an experience, yes sir.

Dr. Azathoth: Hmmm. I must say I have mixed feelings about the event. On the one hand, I’ll finally have a chance to get back at Violent Pacafist for what he did to me… I mean, US, what he did to us back at Basebrawl. Even beter, we’ll have another title belt to add to our collection.


Dr. A: I don’t think so, Atomo, as I’m none to confident about your abilities right now. Mayhem was the most important event we’ve been in yet, and you were defeated by a slow-moving clown.


Dr. A: Yes… But I’m not sure how to feel about that. I spent nearly a decade of my life working on you, Atomo, and you were shown up by a used washing machine.


I mean, what’s the point in even being a manager when Wrestlers who don’t even move seem to win the most matches?

Holy cow! Even in the midst of his greatest victory, Dr. Azathoth is in lower spirits then ever! What will happen next? Will Azathoth pull through his depression and get back to managing? Or will he leave BOB? Will his handler get past his writers block and edit this promo, so it has a less abrupt ending? Who knows? Anyway, this is Orbmobot saying

End Transmission.

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Hello, all

April 22nd, 2004

(We see the man once known as Jerry Curl Jones standing in the middle of a desert. His head is now completely shaved. He is dressed in complete white and holds onto a stuffed kitten.)

Good evening, freinds. Jerald Jones, here. I hope that all of you are having a lovely day. I know I am. You see, Jerald Jones is a new man. I have seen the light. I have seen they way. And what I am here to do is help all of you see this way. The way that will cleanse all of your souls and set you on a pack of love and unity. Dont be scared, freinds. Jerald Jones means no harm. I have nothing but love in my heart for each and every one of you. You are my brothers. You are my sisters. You will all soon see! This I promise you! You will see the way of MEOW-MEOW THE CUDDLEY!! (Jerald rubs the stuffed cat against his face and kisses it.) MEOW-MEOW THE CUDDLEY knows all. He knows well. Dont be afraid to look into his eyes for the answer!! You will find peace in the way of MEOW-MEOW THE CUDDLEY!! Allow me to teach you!

(The camera fades out.)

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April 14th, 2004

Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Open to… where are we? Well, it’s dark. Very dark.]

KtP: This is so cool, finally some revenge on them idiot people.

BtK: Yeah, and then we can steal some of their bikes and cars and stuff.

KtP: And set some on fire!

[Kevin the Pyromaniac and his new manager/lackey, Bruce the Kleptomaniac, are hidden somewhere. A light flickers on and Bruce’s stolen torch guides them through the thick black night. They walk for a while until they stop at a large sign reading ‘The Parts Unknown High School.’]

KtP: You got the spray paint?

BtK: Yeah, I stole it from some teeny-bopper ‘sk8a boi’ along with his sandwiches and flask of warm milk.

KtP: Brilliant! You get to work writing this message whilst I set up the fire.

[And so the two innocent teens go to work vandalizing the school sign, with such slogans as ‘this high skool sukz0rz’ and ‘this skool is full of n00bz’. Unfortunately a young man steps out from inside, a jacket draped over him as well as a sports bag over one shoulder. His blue eyes piercing through the night and spotting the two drop-outs making mischief.]

Jock: Hey, what the hell are you two doing over there?

KtP: What’s it to ya?

BtK: Yeah?

Jock: My name is Dawson Creek and that is my school’s sign you are defacing!

KtP: I don’t believe you, if you really go to this school why are you here so late?

BtK: He’s a janitor!

DC: No, I am no janitor. I was getting in some extra training after school; I am on the school’s wrestling team.

[Dawson drops his bag to the ground and dashes over to the two hoodlums.]

DC: Hey, I know you guys! You’re those drop-outs who wanted to go fulltime for some pro-wrestling league.

KtP: Hey! Not some pro-wrestling league… THE pro-wrestling league. Brawlers on a Budget bitch, read it and weep.

DC: Read what and weep? And… isn’t Brawlers on a Budget that weird thing on Comedy Central on Sundays?

KtP: Yep, the best pro-wrestling league in the worl… UNIVERSE!

DC: The same Brawlers on a Budget that had a champion under the age of 5? The same league that had a championship title win itself? The same BOB that has seen a respectable Harvard graduate turned into a zombie, twice!? The same federation who’s first grand slam champion was stoned out of his gourd upon earning that prestige?

BtK: Yep.

DC: What happened? Couldn’t you get onto the real wrestling team at school? Is that why you dropped out?

KtP: Pfft. I went to the try-outs, walloped a guy with a barbedwire encased steel chair after setting it on fire and I get sent the fuck home. That ain’t what I’d call real.

DC: You are retarded beyond belief.

KtP: Quick Bruce, get him!

[Bruce then proceeds to spray a green mist of paint into Dawson’s eyes, sending him screaming to the ground below. A pyromania style wedgie later, and a big gasoline fire around the defaced sign, the duo of teens with impulse disorders run into the distance to steal stuff and set it on fire.]

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Uh oh, someone’s drunk

April 5th, 2004
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D-Van Drudley

The scene? Some dark, smelly alleyway on the sleazy side of Belchertown, Massachusets. Yes, the same town that was the setting for Sunday Morning Chloroform 12. Why are we still here? The Drudleyz won their match, so they’ve been drunk since late morning on Sunday.

“… and then I hit him with a left hook, then a right and then a kick to the NUTS! He was getting the beatdown of his life I tells ya.” Rambled ‘Judge’ Geoff Gones drunkilly.

Rubba Ray Drudley

The bar was poorly lit and smelt. The bartender had an eye patch over one eye, a hook on one arm, two peg-legs, a hunch on his back and dandruff. He was spit cleaning glasses as Small Tyke Drudley span around, clinging tightly to a slow moving ceiling fan.

“You talk shit Gones, that guy was a God damn cardboard cutout. And it was a thin and tearable cutout at THAT!” Rubba Ray ranted, pointing his stubbing finger at Geoff’s nose.

“It’s these modern damn cardboard cutouts that are so flimsy in my… in MY day cardboard cutouts were tough sons of bitches.” Grampa Drudley contributed over the top of his half empty beer mug.

“What the hell are YOU talking about old man?” Gones asked, looking at a potted plant as he spoke.

“You kids these days have gone soft with your Sneakers, Nintendo, McDonalds and Popular Music. We didn’t have these… these… these THINGS in MY day. We had a brick that we threw into ponds and lakes and rivers and THAT was our only form of entertainment. Hell, when I got my first job at the Bank of Drudleyville I could afford an expensive brick and I was the ENVY of everyone. The chicks adored me, I was a stud with a God damn magneefasent brick.” Grampa continued, tilting slightly to his left.

‘the old doodS gon off his rocker!!’ Read Sign Dude Drudley’s messily written sign.

A waitress began to take away the hordes of empty bottles and mugs before the Drudley stable. She seems to be a little too attractive for a dump like this, maybe it’s the beer goggles talking.

“Well, well, well. It is the quintessential studcrumpet, Joel ‘I’m a… a… well, I’m a sexy DOOD’ Bertner. If you’ve got an hour, I’m a peeled banana in a fruit bowl of love and if you don’t eat your meat you can’t have no pudding and… and…” Bertner said, reaching out to pinch the ladies buttocks before falling from his stool all the way to the carpet, and unconcioussness, below.

“You guys are seriously messed up.” Said the bartender.

“Brother Bartender, you sell your alcoholic beverages to the working man… with your eye patch and wooden legs and hook and Hogan-style hair. But you, you are a SINNER! You do not follow the 16th Drudley Commandment my brother!” D-Van preached.

“And what is that?” Chuckled the bartender.

“Thou shalt give D-Van BEER! NOW! You attempt to poison and destroy my brothers, and I shall smite thee down with great vegenace and furious anger those who would not serve me a God damn beer! Jesus told me you were a loser and now I know he was right.” D-Van said, half laying across the piles of empty bottles.

“That’s it, I think you guys should get out now, you’ve had enough.” The bartnder said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then, out of nowhere, a skinny, blonde haired runt grabbed him by the throat, ran up the bar and dropped him down through a table.

“AMPHETAMINE DROP!!! That’s his move!!” Roared Rubba Ray, doing his best Mark Shill impersonation.

“I’m the original giant killer!” Wailed Small Tyke as he stood above the body of the bartender.

“Hey, I guess the drinks are free now… WAAAHOOOO!!!” Said a crazed Grampa, shaking violently.

Rubba Ray shoved D-Van in the chest.



“Get me a beer.”

D-Van stood up from his stool and took a step back. He then raised one arm in the air, stuck out his tongue and began spinning around on an axis.

“Oh TESTIFY!!!!!!”

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Party of the Slumber

April 1st, 2004
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

(The scene opens from the inside of a teenage girl’s bedroom. What? Just read it, it’s not like that. Anyway, on the floor, wrapped in sleeping bags, are a group of teenage girls at a slumber party. With empty pizza boxes and smuggled in beer bottles already shoved under the bed, the young ladies turn to the tried and tested game of truth or dare.)

Cindy: I think Jennifer should go first because it is like SO her house.

Jennifer: Whatever, surely I get to choose who goes first?

Mindy: Like no way, you go first!

Jennifer: Fine. I’ll take truth.

Wilma: What does your gross younger brother really do, we like SO can tell he doesn’t deliver groceries to sick kids on sundays.

Jennifer: You… ok. You know that thing that’s on Comedy Central at, like, the middle of the night? That wrestling federation thing.

Cindy: Yeah, I caught my brother watching it one time… what about it?

Jennifer: He works for them, it’s like SO embarrasing.

(All the girls except for the hostess have a giggle before turning to Wilma.)

Mindy: Now it’s your turn!

Wilma: Truth.

Cindy: What really happened between you and Lance that time at Lover’s Lake? We aren’t buying your ‘we just held hands’ story anymore.

Wilma: I’ll take a dare instead.

(More giggles ensue.)

Mindy: I think you should… KISS JENNIFER’S BROTHER!

All: Ewwwww!

(Kevin the Pyromaniac cupped his hand to the wall as he tried to listen. He had bandages around his abdomen, a neckbrace and a plaster on his forehead to help him heal from the injuries he sustained in his Xtreme Hardcore Inferno match against Sabu at Wrasslemania. The people from Russo’s offices had paid him in peanuts to wrestle at the event, so he was chomping away on a handfull from a small bag.)

KtP: I wish they’d shut up, I’ve gotta rest up before the next Chloroform.

(He pulled his pillow over the top of his head, but it is not enough to drown out the giggle and footstep noises. Then his door slowly creaked open and the trespassers peered over to see if the most electrifying pyromaniac in sports entertainment was asleep or not.)

Wilma: Hey, he’s asleep, let’s do something else.

Jennifer: No way are you backing out of this now.

Cindy: Yeah!

KtP: WTF?! are you bitches doin in my room?!?!

Mindy: Bitches? You little…

KtP: Get out my room bitches!!1

Jennifer: Hold on douchebag, Wilma has something to give you first.

(Kevin sat up, ready to set fire to whatever it was. A pimply faced girl with braces moved in with her lips puckered up. Kevin screamed and jumped off his bed, running past the wall of teens and down the hall. As he was chased he thought of all his heroes and what they would do in a situation like this. He imagined stepping back and giving a JJ Drop to Cindy, a JJ Drop to Mindy, a JJ Drop to Jennifer and a JJ Drop to Wilma. He would then set fire to his arm and give them his move, the Burning Elbow Drop. He tried this, but a spray of overly strong perfume to the eyes sent him tumbling down the stairs and landing headfirst on the floor below.)

Cindy: Oh my God, you, like, totally killed him!

(Kevin lay there for a moment before standing up and limping away. He used to throw himself down the stairs for ‘hardcore training’ (as he put it) all the time, so this was nothing to him. He ran into the kitchen as the chase continued and out through the door.)

Mindy: Ewww, he, like, went outside.

Cindy: It’s cold out there and dark.

Jennifer: Let’s just go back and watch Glitter.

(As the herd trampled back upstairs Kevin lit a match so he could see in the dark. He found his trusty ladder and set it up by the house. He then found some dog poo and put it in a bag. Don’t ask me why.)

Kevin: This’ll show them bitches not to mess with the Kevster brutha.

(Kevin climbed the ladder and walked along the roof, resisting every temptation to dive off through stuff down below. When he came to Jennifer’s window, or just above, he winced at the piercing sound of giggling. He reached down and slowly pulled the window open without anyone noticing. He then set fire to the bag and flung it through onto the carpet where they proceeded to stomp the flames out… creating screams, wailing, ‘ewww’s and ‘gross’s.)

Jennifer: Kevin you bastard!

(Kevin turns to the camera, he seems to think this is passable as a wrestling promo.)

KtP: Yeah, BOB fans! PYROMANIA!!1 is sweeping the nation! The most electrifying Pyromaniac in sports and in entertainment is FINALLY back on the roof of his house! You think your hardcore?! You see Mr. Intensity getting 1,2,3 in the middle of the ring a few weeks back?! You see Sabu get pinned 1,2,3 in the middle of the ring?!

Clive: That didn’t happen!

KtP: Whatever, the point is all you who think you’re hardcore and extreme and xtreme are just speed bumps in my push to the most hardcore title there is! That’s RIGHT BOB fans! I am announcing right here that I want to challenge for the most hardcore title there is, I, Kevin the PYROMANIAC will be BOBs NEWWW Eastern Slavic Mongolian Goulash Champion!!!!

Clive: That title is inactive Kev.

KtP: Huh?

Clive: You can’t challenge for it.

KtP: In that case, I WILL be the NEWWWW United States Toaster Champion… and whoever the current champ is will be looking up as I raise my match, set fire to my arm, run across the ring and drop the Pyromaniac’s Burning Elbow Drop down on yuu caaandy asses!

Clive: No, that title is also inac…

KtP: If ya smelllalalala… what the Kevin is cooking.

(As the girls look up from the open window they see Jennifer’s little brother setting fire to himself and backflipping down from the roof and through an ornamental fountain.)


KtP: Huh?

The End!

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