BOB eWrestling | Rant Zone Archive!

~~~As soon as Hallucination Boy jumps from his practice ladder and “fade it” occurs…. jump cut to some undisclosed location—

[WARNING! UNDISCLOSED LOCATION EQUATES TO A PLACE THAT CANNOT POSSIBLY, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, BE FOUND BY MR. PARADOX, DR. THRILLA, OR ANYBODY ELSE!]

—where you immediately see Steve Studnuts, Connie Lingus, Jizzabelle Cummings, and yes… Muhammad Ali. Steve and Ali are sitting on a white, leather couch, Connie and Jizz are stradling the armrests… Connie is on Steve’s right, Jizz is on Ali’s left… and playing with his hair.~~~

Studs: Hello, kiddies…. I’m just hangin’ out, checkin’ on all the shit that goes on in BOB. If you’d notice to my right, a scantily clad Connie Lingus, whose nipples look like marbles right now, is anxiously awaitin’ this to be over so she can be all over my stick.

Connie: Steve! Knock it off…

Studs: Oh, I’m gonna knock somethin’ off, alright…. I’m gonna knock me off a piece of that snappy whisker biscuit. Ya dig?

[Ali chimes in with a slight whisper and a shaky right hand waving in front of him]

Ali: You know… back in the day….. we called it…. a nappy little sister.

[DISCLAIMER: MUHAMMAD ALI, OR CASSIUS CLAY IF YOU WILL, MOST LIKELY DID NOT REFER TO PUSSY AS A NAPPY LITTLE SISTER]

~~~Steve acts surprised to see Ali~~~

Studs: (sarcastically) Why Muhammad, what on EARTH are you doin’ here? I thought you were….. kidnapped. Heh.

Ali: (whispering again) You know…. I told Smokin’ Joe, that Uncle Tom, not to go down to Manila. He wanted to ring the bell, wanted to be part of somethin’ special…… but how could anybody…. mistake that big, ugly gorilla….. for The Greatest? I’m pretty. I’m so pretty.

Jizz: Yes you are, Mr. Ali. Wanna do it? I can hold it for ya.

Studs: JIZZ! Gatdamn… don’t make light of the man’s Parkinson’s. This man’s a legend. A REAL LEGEND. Like Me. Like Trey. Like Seth…. but not like some fool like douja… who cowers in front of his gatdamn weed pimp like a little bitch over 500 clams. See, I told you guys that ass plug was only back in BOB to get some drug money. He can’t even pay up 5 Bens. Shit, I wipe my ASS with hundreds, jerkweed…. and it usually takes at least six or seven, because you see…. I always have this little bit that hangs on no matter how many times I wipe….

Connie: (interrupting) Steve? You’re getting gross….

Studs: ANY-way… Mr. Paradox, who I’m goin’ to WEAR OUT like a pair of fuckin’ socks, and Dr. Thrilla, who I’m goin’ to BREAK IN HALF like a wafer…. MADE OF NILLA, you two retards can’t even get stealin’ somebody right. By the way, I’d stay the fuck out of Manila if I were you guys, ’cause I’ve sent the authorities pictures of you clowns and they’ve been posted all over the country. And the authorities don’t play around there, they’d just assume shoot your ass than anythin’ else.

Connie: Steve? Are you about finished? I’m really horny.

Studs: Ya know, so am I. That’s why I’m goin’ to wrap this up….then I’m goin’ out to find some strange. That’s always more excitin’.

Connie: But what about me?

Studs: (whiny voice) What about me? What about me? *pffffft* What about Pigeon? (normal voice) You have a vibrator. Hell, you have Ali right here….I’m sure he’s still GREAT enough for a threesome with you and Jizz. Isn’t that right, Champ?

Ali: (whispering) I’ll float like a butterfly…. and sting like a bee.

[SECOND DISCLAIMER: DESPITE THE FACT THAT MUHAMMAD ALI IS LIKE....SIXTY SOME YEARS OLD.... I HAVE NO DOUBT THAT HE COULD STILL HANDLE TWO WOMEN AT THE SAME TIME, BUT I DO HAVE DOUBTS IF HE COULD STILL FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY OR STING LIKE A BEE.]

Studs: (to Connie and Jizz) You guys take care of The Greatest, now…. and be discreet about it. I don’t want Itchy and Scratchy tryin’ to find him and fuck up my plans by takin’ him. Okay?

In closin’, douja…. I apologize about the picture I posted of you a couple of days ago by sayin’ you looked like that guy. I stand corrected… your lips are bigger. YA DIG?! JERKWEED!

We’re outta here… have a nice day. And have fun, Champ.

Ali: (whispering) Oh, I will. I’m gonna shake up their worlds.

Studs: (snickers) No pun intended, right?

Steve Studnuts rant douja, Dr. Thrilla, e-fed, e-wrestling, Mr. Paradox, parody, seth harker, Steve Studnuts, Trey Vincent, wrestling

Caption: Ladder Match Practise Session, Day 2

[Fade up. It's the carpark again. And that's all the scene-setting you get until I get a raise.]

The Flunky: Okay, Coma?

Coma: SMELL THE GLOVE! Wheeee!

TF: Coma, can you point to the ladder for me?

Coma: Yoink!

TF: Close, that’s a bush.

Coma: Is THIS your card, Inspector Krab? J’accuse!

TF: Nope, that’s Hallucination Boy. Here’s a hint… the ladder is the the big metal-y thing with the rungs attached.

Coma: Narf?

TF: That’s the one!

Coma: GOTCHA! Now, stay out of my accordian factory, Ashton Kutcher!

HB: You know Indy, I fail to see how this helps us find the Lost Temple of Potzrezbie…

TF: Try to stay focused, Hallucination Boy. Well, now we’ve mastered the basics, let’s move to lesson 3. Climbing the ladder. Notice how I climb steadily up the ladder, one foot in fornt of the other. Easy, isn’t it? Coma, let’s see you do it

Coma: (sings loudly) Oh, I been working on in the mailroom! All the kling-klong day!

THUMP!

Coma: (From the ground) My Weebles wobbled, but they didn’t fall down! Ole!

TF: Nice effort. Nearly made it to the first rung. Hallucination Boy, would you like to try?

HB: How can I when I’m stuck to the ceiling like this? Damn you BigBOSS, stop inflating me with helium!

Coma: BANZAIIII!

THUD!

CLATTER!

Various chicken noises

TF: Coma, put that down, please. I don’t know where you found it, but PETA banned us from using live poultry after that “Hen Grenade” gag at Poinkamania.

Coma: But I am Cluckula! Demon-Lord of Roosters, Hens, Rubber Chickens and all their subsidiary rights! Bow before me and tremble, squishy mortal!

HB: Look everyone, I made it to the top of the ladder!

TF: Good grief, he did too! Okay, Hallucination Boy, just stay there while I find the lesson on Top Ladder Offense.

[The Flunky flips through Ladder Matches for Dummies frantically.]

TF: Let’s see… Leeson 4: Using the Ladder as a Weapon… Lesson 5: Using Weapons While ON the Ladder. Lesson 6: Stop Using Sex as a Weapon. Lesson 7: Shawn Micheals’ Guide to Overselling. Where the hell is it?

HB: Gosh, I can see my house from up here!

TF: Try to stay in THIS reality, Aitch Bee! Lesson 8: Kevin Nash’s Guide to Underselling… Ahh, found it! Okay, Hallucination Boy…

HB: TRAIN!

THUMP!

TF: (closes book) Okay, same time tomorrow, then?

[Fade it.]

Coma rant BigBOSS, Coma, e-fed, e-wrestling, Hallucination Boy, parody, wrestling

(The camera fades in and we see the set of douja’s brand new talk segment, “Chronic Break With douja”. douja is seated at his desk. He is shuffling papers, moving pens around, and packing up the large bong that sits on his desk instead of a coffee mug. He lights the peice and takes a long hit and exhales a huge cloud of smoke. He then looks at the camera and smiles and waves. The camera fades in and he begins to speak.)

douja: the time has come, motha’ fuckas, for a small chronic break! i am yo’ damn host, bob legend and world renowned weed expert, douja.

(The camera turns to the audience. It is filled with cardboard cutouts. Clapping is piped in over the PA system.)

douja: thank you, fucka’s, thank you… you motha fucka’s is too kind! basically, folks, i will have a guest on each episode and we will talk about the simple pleasures of life… you know, all da good shit.. blazin’ blunts, fuckin’ bitches, spittin’ on people, stealin’ stuff, all the things a cool motha’ fucka’ like me does! dat is enough jibba jabba from me though, are you stank ass crackas ready foe da first guest an’ shit?!?

(The camera turns back to the cardboard cutout audience. This time cheers are heard over the PA.)

douja: dat is what da fuck i figured! now, my guest this evenin’ is very close to my heart… dis motha’ fucka’ been with me through da thick an’ da thin.. he is my rock, he is there for me when i ain’t got noone.. it is da man who provides me wit’ dat sweet, sweet cheeba, da best dope dealer in da land…. PEACHEY GARCIA! GET YO SLIMY ASS OUT HERE, PEACHEY!

(Peachey walks out as the cheers are heard again. He has long, greased back black hair that is tied in a pony tail. He is dressed in black alligator shoes, black slacks, and a black leather coat with no shirt underneath. douja goes to shake Peachey’s hand and Peachey quickly pulls out a switch blade. douja acts startled.)

douja: whoa, whoa, what da fuck is goin’ on peachey! i thought we was homies!!

Peachey: Homies? No dirty cockroach who owes Peachey $500 is Peachey’s homie! Peachey wants his money or he is going to start slicing and dicing in this bitch!

douja: damn, peach… you just gonna bust me out like dat? you just gonna bust me out on my own show? i told you last week i was gonna have the money for you! you aint gotta play me on tv like that, you feel me?

Peachey: Peachey could give a fuck about you or tv! Peachey is a business man and you are fucking with Peachey’s business. When you fuck with Peachey’s business, you fuck with his heart! You are breaking Peachey’s heart, douja, breaking it into peices. You know what Peachey does at night when he thinks of this situation at night, my man?

douja: nah.. what?

Peachey: Peachey weeps. He lays in his bed and weeps at the thought of having to cut off your bojangles, grind them in a coffee grinder, brewing a special pot of bojangle coffee for you, and forcing you to drink and enjoy it in the early morning sunlight. This all is an emotional overload for Peachy, you see?

douja: goddamn, nigga, you violent! it is only $500 bills! i thought you was big ballin’, peachey! i thought you did big dope slingin’!

Peachey: Peachey’s business affairs are of no concern to a simple minded son of a bitch much like yourself! You should only be concerned with attaining my $500 and delivering it to me by tommorow. You will also bring Peachey a large pot of spaghetti and meatballs as a sign of good faith. Understood?

douja: c’mon, peachey, i don’t know how to make no damn spaghetti!

Peachey: Peachey is sure you will find a way. You have until tommorow at noon. Peachey does not play games. You will be forced to drink a cup of fresh coffee brewed from the grindings of your bojangles. You bring the money and the spaghetti and we continue to do business. Peachey just got some new shit that will blow your mind. The finest smoke on the west coast. It has been known to collapse lungs.

douja: damn, i need some of that… aight, fine, i will get you da money and pasta.. just put the knife up and quit talkin’ about nut coffee.. shit, you aint have to come embarrassin’ me on my show anyway!

Peachey: Maybe some other time Peachey will return and make for a better guest. Tommorow, douja. Peachey will be waiting.

(Peachey flips his switchblade away and walks off the set.)

douja: fuck, my first motha’ fuckin’ is show ruined! well, dat is all da time we got left, i gotta go hustle $500 bucks somehow.. i guess dat is it for this “chronic break”, see you motha’ fuckin’ crackas next time…. PEACE!!

(douja gets up and runs from his desk. The camera turns back to the cardboard cutouts once again. “How High” by Method Man and Redman plays as the credits roll. Well, not really credits. They actually just read “douja” over and over again. The camera fades out.)

douja rant douja, e-fed, e-wrestling, parody, wrestling

[The Carpark of BOBs' current Corporate Headquarters. The BOB Megasuite Office can been seen parked behind them. Who knew the BigBOSS could afford an entire Winnebago?]

Caption: Ladder Match Practise Session: Day 1.

The Flunky: Okay, Coma, Hallucination…

HB: TRAIN!

TF: …Boy. Welcome to your first offical ladder match training session. Now, has either of you ever been in a ladder match before?

HB: What’s a ladder match?

Coma: I ONCE WRESTLED CLIVE ANDERSON BAREFOOT IN FIGGY PUDDING!

TF: Whoa, could we turn down Comas’ mic, please?

Offscreen Voice: Comas’ not wearing a mic!

TF: Oh. Well, is it possible to turn down Coma?

Coma: TESTING TESting, nurfleweeblesquoink!

HB: Oh great, my pants have spontaneously combusted! Pass the bucket and sponge, Sir Rutherford!

Coma: Don’t fiddle with that. It’s a fiddler crab, they’re dangerous! It could go off in your hand and drench us all in soy sauce! Tweep!

TF: All righty, then. Off to a great start. Okay, lesson 1. What is this?

[The Flunky points to a BOB Budget Brand™ Slightly Wobbly Stepladder.]

Coma: An eight-foot tall organ grinders’ money! And I’ve never seen such an enormous organ, either!

HB: It’s my grandfathers Iron Lung with attached Iron Spleen! Oh, wait, no… it’s a ladder, isn’t it?

TF: Excellent, Hallucination Boy. Clarity dawns…

HB: HORSE-DRAWN CART!

THUMP!

TF: …Albeit briefly. Okay, Lesson 2. Climbing the ladder. Coma, you’re up first.

Coma: YOU FILTHY SWINE! [He slaps The Flunky] I’ll teach you to pollinate my oyster beds with your disgusting French mustard! I challenge you to a duel. No, a square dance! Do-si-do’s at fifteen paces. And may the best petticoat-wearing son-of-a-bitch win!

TF: Are you done?

Coma: Blurge. (Falls over)

TF: Good effort. Hallucination Boy, would you like to have a go?

HB: What, with you? That’s disgusting! You haven’t even brought me dinner yet, Mr. President!

TF: (resigned sigh) I am NOT getting paid enough for this gig.

[Fade Out]

Coma rant Coma, e-fed, ewrestling, Hallucination Boy, parody, wrestling

[Scene? What's that?]

Anyhow, your Vice President In Charge of Everything has been reviewing the doins a transpirin’ here in the Rant Zone. It had been in my thinking for a Paradox/Studnuts re-match to happen at Send Us Money On Your Hard Drive.

But plans can, and usually do, change around here.

So, here’s the way it’s gonna go. Depending on who leaves the Mini-March Mayhem Sunday Morning Chloroform with the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Title Belt, we will have a title match of BIG TIME proportions.

As of right now, the Booker Man says this.

Hardcore Title Match.

Steve Studnuts will be in it.

Dr. Thrilla will be in it.

Mr. Paradox will be in it.

Now the question is…will anybody else be in it?

I’ve talked to the BigBOSS, and he has OK’d for BOB to get something we’ve had in storage for a couple of years now.

A steel cage!

Not that huge fence triple-decker dealie we got on clearance sale from WCW. No. We’re talking big ugly orange bars, people.

That’s right, we’re giving our old-school cage a fresh paint job. It’s gonna be Rage In The Ugly Orange Cage! Exclusively on Send Us Money: On Your Hard Drive!

So if Studnuts loses that belt during Mini-March Mayhem, we will add a fourth person at OYHD. I’m all about fair play. I may add Seth Harker to the mix if I feel like it, just so things don’t get too one-sided in favor of Dimension Z.

I’ll keep you updated, boys, after we see who the victors are in March Mayhem.

This is the least predictable division in BOB. Remember, it’s the 16/6 rule. That belt could change hands 50 times before then.

That is all monkeys. Stay tuned…

Trey Vincent rant e-fed, e-wrestling, parody, Trey Vincent, wrestling

(The camera fades into a small, run down looking gym. Standing in the middle of a shabby ring is the first ever BOB Only World Champion That Matters, douja. Beside him is what appears to be a dryer. douja has a wooden baseball bat in his hands and he is puffing on a large joint. The camera continues to fade in as he begins to speak.)

douja: you know, i was thinkin’ and shit, and studnuts was right… i am facin’ a motha’ fuckin’ washin’ machine! what kinda’ return match is dat foe a returnin’ legend? a fucked up one, dats what kind… i am da last bob world champ, the first eva only world champ dat matters.. i been da swiss army champ, tag champ, i done it all! what kinda return is it foe a motha’ fuckin’ hero like me to be in da ring with a washin’ machine? but, im da type of motha’ fucka’ dat looks at the fuckin’ glass as half full.. so, ima’ do what i do best, and whoop fuckin’ ass! you see this dryer, unit 5? dis’ is ya family, kid! you and dis’ motha’ fucka’ right here could have been partners on a load of clothes together back in the day, homie! watch how i do this peice of shit!

(douja taps his feet with the bat, gets in his stance, and take a mighty cut. He totally misses and falls flat on his face. douja jumps up and goes right to bashng the machine. He beats on it for a bit, kicked it over, and spit on it. He then sits on top of it, rests the bat on his shoulder, and lights up another joint. He takes a few puffs then begins to speak again.)

douja: ya see how i get down, unit 5? ya see how i roll? dat is some gangsta shit right dere, bitch! and dats exactly how its goin’ down, homie! and when it is all said and done, and after i whooped yo’ clothes washin’ ass, like i have said befoe’! i am gonna open dat loadin’ door, pop a squat, and shit like a fuckin’ african rhyno! den’ i am gonna send yo’ ass to da junk heap, never to bee seen in bob again! i am back in bob to take whats mine, the only world title dat matters… 2005 is da motha’ fuckin’ year, and douja is back! i blaze more trees den a forrest fire and whoop ass until da day i retire! believe dat!

(douja takes a few more hits from his joint. He then flicks it away.)

douja: now, studnuts, a little message to you, you punk ass cracka! did i ever tell you about da night i spent with ya mama? oh, what a glorious night! i had dat bitch hittin’ high notes she neva’ thought she could! when i woke up in da mornin’, i smelled eggs and bacon comin’ from da kitchen…. i walked in and da bitch was on one knee.. i thought i was gonna get a lil mornin’ glory, but da bitch pulled out an engangement ring! she proposed to me right dere on da fuckin’ spot.. you believe dat? da bitch wanted to put a ring on douja’s finger.. what did i do? i put a motha’ fuckin’ ring around here right eye! yes sir, i socked dat bitch in da eye, den kicked her da fuck out da crib! basically, da moral of da story is ya mama is a dirty slut and you are a bitch.. so kiss my ass studnuts, i hate you! SMOKE DOGG BABY, I BITE HARD!

(douja sits up from the dryer and pulls yet another joint from his pocket. He lights it up, takes a long hit, and blows the smoke into the camera. It fades out.)

douja rant douja, e-fed, e-wrestling, parody, Steve Studnuts, Unit 5, wrestling

~~~Steve’s seen on his BRAND NEW leather sectional, taking in the Back to the Future Trilogy on his BRAND NEW SUPER WIDER THAN THE LAST ONE HE HAD PLASMA SCREEN for two reasons… one, it’s the first thing his writer could think of the keep the running “Back” gag in the subject blocks and two…he simply digs the series. Steve’s enjoying Part Two, and it’s at the part where Marty McFly’s “borrowed” hoverboard just stalled out over the water in front of the old clock tower. Steve’s not paying attention now, he’s beginning to daydream about having his own time machine so he could go back in time and have sex with chicks like Rita Hayward, Marilyn Monroe, and Jane Fonda in their primes. Connie interrupts, holding a video tape~~~

Connie: Steve? I found this in the trash…. are you hiding home made porn from me again?

Studs: Huh? GATDAMMIT! I was just gettin’ ready to get it on with Barbarella…. What? What’s that? Home made porn? Why would I hide that?

Connie: I don’t know, I’m just asking…. you usually don’t hide ‘em in the trashcan…

Studs: Ooooh, wait a minute. That’s that shit from Dr. Thrilla. I watched that this mornin’, he seems to think I have a match with Mr. Paracox-in-his-mouth even though I checked the upcomin’ events and have no such match scheduled with him. Hell, my TITLE BELT has a match at the PPV, but I’m not on there yet. So, Dr. Thrilla has no excuse not to face me. He was right about a couple of things, though…. I could beat Mr. Paracox until my fuckin’ arms fell off and I’d still have enough left over for Thrilla. And NO FAN in the world would argue about seein’ me twice in a night…. that’s a fact.

But since I don’t see anythin’ about me havin’ a match with that jerkweed, Paracox….it looks like it’s gonna be me, THE TANNED, VANILLA, GORILLA…. DOWN IN MANILLA, WHERE I WILLA, KILLA, DR. FUCKIN’ THRILLA.

And THAT….IS A FACT!

Connie: So I can throw this away? (holds up video)

Studs: You can stick it up your ass and spin around on it for all I care.

Connie: You’re an asshole…

Studs: Tell me somethin’ I don’t know… I gotta call Trey, he has some bookin’ stroke. I WILL get my match with Dr. Metal Mouth… and when I get my hands on him, I’m gonna rip off his steel teeth, and pound his fuckin’ face into mush. Then he can spend the next couple of months drinkin’ his meals. Ya dig?

Connie: I’m going back to bed…

Studs: Whatever, I need to go RIGHT now, and call Trey. He’s gotta hook this up for me. Man, he’s gotta hook me up!

And douja, if you’re watchin’ this… mind your own fuckin’ affairs, washin’ machine boy. By the way, Unit 5 was hangin’ out here the other night at my party… he told me to pass this along to ya…

*RUMBLE * RUMBLE*

BWAAAA HAAA HAAAAA!

Loser….

Steve Studnuts rant douja, Dr. Thrilla, e-fed, e-wrestling, Mr. Paradox, parody, Steve Studnuts, Trey Vincent, wrestling

~~~Steve, Connie, and Jizz return in the wee hours of the a.m. from Graham’s Central Station, one of Arizona’s most notorious “meet (meat?) markets” in Phoenix. Connie and Jizz are especially tired after performing their “two hot chicks dancing together” routine all night and go straight to bed to ready themselves for further action from the man of the house. Steve goes to the freezer the fetch a microwavable burrito, knowing full well that it’ll hide the stench of “foreign beaver” if he dips his willy into it. It’ll come in handy this time, he bagged one in the janitor’s closet and another by her parked car around 11:45pm, the same time Connie and Jizz were being surrounding by no less than 15 horny and drunk guys. He throws it in the microwave and sets it to defrost low. Steve then grabs a glass, throws a couple cubes of ice in it, pours a little Jack Daniels with it… and heads into his living room…..~~~

Studs: WHAT THA FUCK?!

[Steve immediately goes to his state of the art surveillance room, throws his glass against the wall, and sets every monitor back 3 hours. He hits the high speed/fast foward feature... and finds the exact moment a street sign breaks his window]

Studs: That fuckin’ bastard. THAT BASTARD! THAT METAL MOUTH MOTHER FUCKIN’ BASTARD!

Okay, jerkweed…. you wanna fuckin’ play? You wanna tear up my shit? You think you scare me ’cause you have a fuckin’ bear trap for teeth and some bloodstains on your scrubs?

Shit, man… I’ve busted cherries that produce more blood than you have on your shirt, pal. That’s a fact.

[Connie appears from the bedroom wearing a pink, lace nightie... yeah, if look close enough, you CAN see through it.]

Connie: Steve? What’s going on?

Studs: What’s goin’ on, huh? What’s goin’ on? Look at my fuckin’ livin’ room. Look at my plasma screen. Look at all my shit torn up. Ya see, there’s a luggage totin’ cutain jerkweed new to the BOB that wants to play with the big boys. He wants to run up against the iAd. He wants to test me. He wants to see what it’s like to be sports entertained like a mother fucker. So, he wants to start somethin’, ya see? Well, this time the green beans in this fed that want to make a name for themselves have gone too far.

Get my cellphone…

Connie: Steve? It’s like four in the morning…

Studs: I don’t give a shit. Gimme the gatdamn phone.

[She does. Steve speed dials]

Studs: Hello? Sorry to wake ya man, I know it’s late. Listen, are you free for a shitty little P-P-V run by a shitty little promotion called BOB? Yeah, that’s the date. You’ve actually heard of it? *pfffft* Whatever…

Listen, would you do me the honor of reffin’ a special match? Yeah, I know it might be hard for you to count the three with your Parkinson’s and all…. but that’s cool, it’ll just give me more time to beat the shit outta this guy. You will? Gravy…. *beep*

Connie: Who was that?

Studs: Oh, don’t you worry. You’ll figure it out, because at SUM: ON YOUR HARD DRIVE… I’m goin’ all out. Forget that shit with Massive Man Rendition 1st against me, MASSIVE GLAND RENDITION LAST…. I’ve changed my schedule. And the best part of all, it’s gonna cost the shit out of BOB.

I want Dr. Thrilla, against me- THE GREAT TANNED GORILLA…. CLOSED WEB SIMULCAST LIVE FROM MANILLA! With special referee, the WINNA, OF THE THRILLA IN MANILLA, MUHAMMAD ALI!

Joe Frazier can come along too, if he wants. He can like, ring the bell or somethin’. Be special time keeper, or special ring announcer, I don’t give a shit.

Connie: Wasn’t there just a “Thrilla in Manilla” not too long ago, I mean… other than Ali/Frazier?

Studs: Yeah, but that sucked. I have it on tape…check this out.

[Steve brings out an alternate plasma screen from the guest room. Pops in a tape]

“Welcome back fight fans to the beautiful city of Manilla as we get ready for the main event in this year’s “Thrilla in Manila”, I am your host Johnny Dakota.”

“As you all know, this year’s main event involves former Spice Girl, and current hopeful for a successful solo career, Geri Halliwell who will take on the man, the myth, the legend. The son of God himself, Jesus Christ.”

“How did a fight between such two super colossal entities get brought about? As many of you may know earlier this year Ms. Halliwell was in Manila promoting birth control and contraception. The religious sect took exception and protested her activities, and as they say, one thing lead to another, and there was only one way to settle this dispute.”

” ‘Thrilla in Manila’ is brought to you by ‘Don King Enterprises’ and ‘The Rosie O’donnell Show’. After these commercial messages, we’ll return with their ring entrances and the 1st round of the fight.”

[Commercials for Huggies Diapers, Trojan Condoms, and the NRA run.]

“Welcome back everyone, let’s go down to the ring.”
“Manilla are you ready?” [slight cheer]

“Manilla aaare you reeaady?” [slightly bigger cheer]
“For the thousands in attendance and millions watching around the world, let’s get ready to
rumble!”

“Making her way to the ring, weighing between 150 to 300 pounds, hailing from the United Kingdom, sporting the generic and tacky Nun outfit she wore in her even more generic and tacky ‘Look At Me’ video, Geri Haliwell!”
—
“And her opponent, weighing 215 pounds, hailing from the Promised Land, wearing a 100% white cotton Calvin Klein robe and brown Eddie Bauer leather sandals, Jesus Christ!”

Ding, ding, ding.

“Geri and Jesus start off cautiously circling the ring
attempting to get a feel for each others style and strategy.”

“Geri’s the first to go on the offense with a right hook, that’s blocked by Jesus. He counters with a leg sweep that trips Geri causing her to fall to the ring.”

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

“Jesus gets off three foot stomps to Geri’s stomach before she catches his foot and yanks him off his feet.”
“Geri returns the favor with three quick elbow drops to the sternum. She gets up from the third, runs, bounces off the ropes, aaaaand…. Oh my lord she executes one nasty body drop on Jesus. I don’t care who you are that’s got to hurt!”

Studs: See? That shit was lame. It’ll be NOTHING compared to what I do to this jerkweed, Dr. Thrilla. AND THAT, IS A FACT! SIGN IT! SIGN IT NOW, MOTHER FUCKERS! If you can’t pay Ali, I’ll pay him out of my own fuckin’ pocket. Ya dig?

[starts Ali impersonation]

Studs: I’M GONNA KILLA…DR. THRILLA….WHEN I GET HIS PUNK ASS…. IN MA-NILLA!

~~~Cut to static~~~

____________________________________________
Geri Halliwell vs. Jesus courtesy of www.mayonessa.com

Steve Studnuts rant douja, Dr. Thrilla, e-fed, e-wrestling, parody, Steve Studnuts, wrestling

~~~Steve Studnut’s handler, after taking the time to actually read cards and figure out which is which, has some ’splaining to do. So does Steve, since Connie hinted that Steve was trying to bed Sarah “the Jobber Slayer”, whom EVERYBODY knows Steve’s good buddy, Trey Vincent, would also like to lay the pipe to. Let’s see if Steve can wiggle his way out of this one~~~

Studs: [holding his flip cell] Come on, dude, answer the gatdamn phone. You know I was just goofin’ around. Hell, who wouldn’t like to bone Sarah? Come on ,Trey. Hello?

[Connie walks in, ironically wearing the same thing she had on earlier today. With her is Jizzabelle Cummings, the Shannon Elizabeth and Reese Witherspoon looking tramp that wears even less than Connie and hangs around in Steve's house.]

Connie: What are you doing, Steve? Trying to smooth things over with Trey?

Studs: Huh? There’s nothin’ to smooth over. I never wanted to bang Sarah. That was YOU assuming shit again. Trying to stir up some shit and hope the smell gets delivered so I get in trouble. Say, did you guys see me beat up Zeno’s bitch? Cool, huh?

Jizz: (sighs) Yeah, real cool, Steve. You’re such a man.

Studs: Hey, she got in the ring…

Connie: So, Steve, what’d Trey say about you calling Sarah “one of those bitches”? And Seth, too. I bet he’s pissed.

Studs: Nah, they know I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. That’s just me bein’ me. I call all women bitches. It’s not personal. Except Zeno’s bitch. And that Bride chick, now she’s a bitch. And Oprah, she’s an overpaid bitch, sittin’-on-a-fuckin’-couch-and-talkin’-to-people overpaid bitch. But I wouldn’t mind pluggin’ that sidekick of hers, Lisa Ling. I could call her Lisa Lingus, ya dig? And she could join you two bitches in my house and spend all my money like you do…

Connie: Don’t try to change the subject, Steve. You’re in some hot water with your iAd buddies, aren’t you? At least you will be when they see your last promo.

Studs: Nope. This one will clear it all up since they know my typing boy is a lame and pitiful wretch that has a bad habit of just writing shit before he pays any attention to storylines and events. Kay Fabe is wonderful gal and Seth and her make an awesome couple. Trey and Sarah are perfect for each other and I honestly think they should get married. Then Trey could knock Sarah up and then she could squeeze out some fuckin’ kick ass future sports entertainers without equal.
Can you imagine that gene pool? Trey and Sarah? Those kids would be fuckin’ unbeatable. That’s a fact.

Jizz: Okay, Steve, you’ve kissed enough ass for one promo….

Studs: You think? Just in case, I think the rug rats Trey and Sarah would produce would be better than the ones Goldberg and Lesnar would have if they fucked each other and Goldberg shitted a kid out. Really, I’m being honest.

Connie: You’re such a suck-up…

Studs: Perhaps, but all that’s tomorrow’s news.

Jizz: You mean yesterday’s?

Studs: Nah, that was about that pope guy. I want to talk about that little fucker with the permanent toe jam. Ya know, it really pays off to follow the shows. How dare that scrub call me out. I’m Steve Studnuts, and he’s not even close… but I know he wishes he could be. So for him to even fuckin’ LOOK at me is an insult. On second though, I’ve decided to keep this YGBKMIADT/AYOOYFM title, and if I ain’t got nothin’ else to do at SUM: ON MY HARD DICK P-P-V, I want that fuckin’ MMR1 guy in whatever hardcore shit this promotion can come up with. Then when I’m finished with that jerkweed…. they’re gonna have to come up with a second rendition for him.

And that…. IS … A …. FACT!

Cut to static, you keyboard striking fucker. I’m outta here.

Steve Studnuts rant e-fed, e-wrestling, Kay Fabe, Massive Man Rendition First, parody, Queen Mylisiv, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer", seth harker, Sir Zeno, Steve Studnuts, Trey Vincent

[Orbopticon online... yo. I'm in the hizzy. Busy in the hizzy. With the snizzy. I don't know, I can only thing of so many start-up messages to display.

Anyway, Dr. Azathoth is standing inside Farmer Brown's Barn. He's set up all kinds of futuristic equipment, like a tesla coil and an osciliscope and crap like that. Atomo is laying on a big metal slab. Farmer Brown is milking a cow in the background]

Dr. Azathoth: Greetings, plebians! I have recently returned from my incredibly productive visits to anti-space, where I was busy unraveling the mysteries of existence!

Farmer Brown: You weren’t in no anti-space! You spent the last year sitting on mah couch and watching powerpuff girls, and now there’s a big ol person shaped splotch of mold where you sat. Do you ever shower?

Dr. A: Silence, cretin, or I will have Paul Prudhome cook your apendix!

FB: Damn mold stinks to high heaven too…

Dr. A: In any event, I have returned from my hiatus, and Atomo and I are ready to wreak untold havoc in BOB! Yes, Atomo has already won the Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title, but that’s just the first step on road to the top.

Dr. A: And the road to the top shall be strewn with corpses!

FB: I expect you to pay for the steam cleaning.

Dr. A: My stable shall rampage through BOB! You think that the Drudleys, or the iAd, or the Shaggy gang are scary, wait until you see us in action.

Atomo: QUERY: WHAT-HAPPENED-TO-SHAGGY-GANG-UNIT: XANDER? DIDN’T-HE-HAVE-A-SUPERNATURAL-BEING-AT-HIS-DISPOSAL?

Dr. A: Um… I killed him. Yes, that’s it, I subjected him to horrors beyond imagining, as my monstrous medical experiments reduced him to a quivering blob of protoplasm. And I did something bad to the Jinn, too. She… works at IHOP now and forevermore. I guess. I mean I KNOW!

Yes, and soon the whole world will tremble at the terrors unleashed by-

[Farmer Brown has stopped milking to listen, and at this point he comes up and puts his hand on Azathoth's shoulder]

FB: Awww, I get what’s going on here. You feel eclipsed by your old college room-mate Mr. Zeno.

Dr. A: No, fool-

FB: You’re jealous that he has a hardcore posse, and is getting all the title matches, while Atomo only appears in bathroom break sketches, is that it?

Dr. A: Um…

FB: I know just how you feel. Back when I was a few years outa college, I was living with mah parents tosave money, and I found out mah old roommate Zedadiah had invented a new kind of fertilizer spreading machine.

Yes sir, it sunk me into a funk when I saw him being interviewed on “Farm Report” and all, but I made the best of it.

See, I used that as a springboard to motivate me to achieve mah own goals. And I learned something, Dr. A.

Dr. A: LISTEN CRETIN!

FB: See, I learned that I was happier staying true to my own personality then tryin ta copy Zed. I learned that you can’t measure yourself against others, you can only measure yourself against who you want to be. Ya see what I’m sayin?

Dr. A: If you do not remove your simian paw from my shoulder, we shall turn your skin inside out and feed you to a thousand bees.

FB: Say, another thing I wanted ta ask ya: Who the heck is gonna be in your stable? I mean are you gonna include the smelly chick in the sailor suit? The mexican nerd? The washing machine? The hick farmer? You don’t really seem to actually like most of the people you know.

Dr. A: ENOUGH! You have cemented your place as our first victim!

[At this, Dr. A kicks Atmom off the slab, and shoves Farmer Brown onto it, strapping him down. We fade out as the Doc picks up a large scalpel...]

Dr. Azathoth rant Atomo the Living Robot, dr. azathoth, e-fed, e-wrestling, parody, wrestling