Archive for December, 2007

Enter the Disciples…

December 30th, 2007
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“Three weeks doth stand ‘tween the time of now… and the time of new.”

“Three painfully… agonizingly… hurtfull…y… long weeks. Soaked in the seconds and minutes and hours and days of an everflowing decadant collision of percussion-esque equal-ocitude.”

“No mere mortal man could dare BARE the long, long, looong anticipating of this anticipated anticipation.”

“And for there yet… this doth not bother thine Savior that I am… For I Am…”

“I AM…”

“No Mere Mortal Man.”


[We begin, opening upon footage from two days ago… Where four men, who shall soon serve in the name of our Lord… met, in the holiest of places…]

[The Sinister City arcade.]

Mark: Mathew, you’ve been playing Guitar Zero for five straight hours now! And you haven’t hit ONE right note yet! Can you PLEASE, for the love of GOD, give it up?!

Mathew: Not when I’ve almost got- DAMMIT! Who would have ever thought “I’m a Little Teapot” could be so damn hard to play on an electric guitar?!

[The Flock of Seagulls’ “I Ran” is playing over the arcade speakers, to the delight of all the pre-adult emos and goth posers in attendance. Well, I don’t quite know if ‘delight’ is the right term, as these kids have a thing against all that “being joyful and happy” biz. It’s just not their thing.]

[And two goth posers, in particular, around 18 or 19, are at a ‘Guitar Zero’ station. One is tall, skinny, and has a face awash in acne. The other, who is pounding away at the guitar like a retarded chimpanzee on acid who was dropped on his head shortly after its birth… is pounding away at the guitar like a retarded chimpanzee on acid… who was… Oops, did I already mention that? It’s just that he’s god-awfully HORRID at this game. No amount of comparisons can do any form of justice to this guy’s abomination of what could never, EVER, be known in a MILLION years as anything even RESEMBLING “skillz”. I mean, a blind, deaf, and stupid infant born from an incestual night of passion between the lowliest of country hicks and his mentally ill daughter could do better than this ignorant, moronic, stupid, dimwitted, dumb – ]

Mathew: HEY!


Mathew: I am NOT dumb! Dimwitted? Sure. Stupid? Yeah. Moronic? Ya got me there. Ignorant? That’s me to a tee. Unable to comprehend the concept of the shoe string? Maybe. But DUMB?! Sir? I think NOT!

[… Uhm… ok… sorry?]

Mathew: That’s better. … DAMMIT! The damn narrator just made me screw up “One-Note Song” by Tenacious D.

Mark: I can’t believe I’m asking, but… how many different notes does that song have?

Mathew: One.

Mark: … And you screwed it up.

Mathew: Yeah.

Mark: Matt.

Mathew: What?

Mark: Turn it off.

Mathew: Just ONE more song. I just KNOW I can nail Mozart’s “Requiem”.

Mark: … I’ll be at the Pac-Man cabinet.

[As Mark treks toward a much simpler, less complicated [and less… occupied] game, somewhere, at the exact same moment, in the exact same arcade…]

Luke: BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Take THAT and THAT and some ah THIS and THIS and even more of THAT! Haha, killing zombies is a blast, huh Jack?

Jack: …

Luke: What do you mean you wish the game were based in somewhere a bit more menacing than a haunted bakery? Don’t you know who the leader of this mad group of undead chefs is?! None other than The UndeadBaker!!! And if you don’t watch out, you’ll REST…. IN…. YEEEAAASSSTTT!!! Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hah! “Resident Strudel” – Undead and bakin’ bread!

Jack: …

Luke: What do you mean I just got eaten while I was talking to you? … HEY! I just got eaten while I was talking to you! See what you made me do!

Jack: …

Luke: What do you mean some skinny, pimply faced guy is walking by, who may or may not lead to us getting booked on some fifth rate indie wrestling promotion? … Hey! You there, with the ugly, nasty, pimply face!

Mark: You talking to me? Because if you are, I’ll have you know that I’ve been working to get rid of this break-out for a while now! … It’s just that pizza, candy, and other assorted junk food is just so… so… mmm. You wouldn’t happen to know where the vending machine is, would you? I could really go for some M&M’s…

Luke: Yeah, well, I don’t know where the vending machine is, but I do think you can help me. Do you happen to know of any fifth rate indie wrestling promotions?

Mark: Hmm… an odd question, but I do believe I saw an ad on one of the arcade’s walls about a certain… Brawlers on a Budget. It had something to do with this guy that just moved into the city… some guy by the name of ‘Axl’.

Luke: Hm… [turns to Jack] I guess I owe you a dollar. I’m gonna have to write you an I.O.U. … [turns back to Mark] So… “Brawlers on a Budget” you say?


[The Residence of Evil… Sinister City, Utah. It is Christmas Morning, and the Hierarchy are gathered around the dinner table. Of course, the Hierarchy family doesn’t celebrate Christmas. No, for they celebrate an altogether more important day… a day honoring THEIR God… THEIR master… THEIR Savior. A day that marks the beginning of the year in the holiest of religions… Axology. The study of the works of the most sacred of ALL religous figures…]


[And his day, which ironically falls on the 25th, is entitled “Christmahanukwanzaakka”… for His is greater, and of more significance, than that of Christmas, Hanukka, AND St. Patrick’s Day, all wrapped up and rolled into one. But not Kwanzaa. Cuz’ homie don’t play that.]

[The Dining Room of Darkness is set in dim light… hence its name. As raYne, Tony Spaghetti, Steve Roydz, Jim, Joe, Viruz, Trable, and Pigeon are all gathered on both sides of the table, Rose says a prayer from the very end of the table, blessing the Christmahanukwanzaakka meal.]

Rose: “And lo, He walked unto the squared circle… He looked upon his meager wretch of a so-called “opponent”… and though thusly did the drech decide to lower… and lower did he. And then His Holiness spake… calling for the peasant to lower still… and lower still did he. And then… Then, our Lord and Savior’s voice grew low… soft, yet sharp… soft as a whisper… sharp as the dagger of killing and much bloodiness. And he met to a knee… lowering himself… yet not as low as the disgusting sloth of a foe he faced on that glorious night. And he spokededified unto the unworthy ears of the mongrel… in a coarse, harsh, whisper…”


Rose: “And yes, he DID lower, even further still, before our master… the God of Metal. Before he was pinned unto the blood-stained canvas… for the one-eth… two-eth… three.” On this holiest nights, I ask of thee, O’ holy being of greatness… of heavenly body and hellish arsenal… O’ entity of awesomeness and better-than-you-ness… Let there be a Great Divide. Between the haves… and the have-nots. The youth of the nation… and the elder statesmen. The True Believers… and those with doubt filling their minds, bodies, and souls. Allow for thine spirit to fill the heartless sacks of flesh that stray from The Word. And let there be light…

[Suddenly, the once dim lights of the dining room flash a bright, magnificent gold… and the camera pans to the right, to find the dining room door swinging open…]

Axl: DAMMIT, I told you, not TOO bright!!! Rose, why do you always have to get my orders wrong- … Wait, are we taping? I thought this was a dress rehearsal… …

[The bright, golden light lessens its brigthness, as Axl strides toward the table… his customary poser outfit accentuated on this day by a great, long, black cape… flowing along the velvet carpet. Axl makes his way to the chair on the opposite side of Rose, and looks, first to the left side of the table, casting his gaze upon raYne, Tony, Steve, and Viruz… then to the right, where he sees Jim, Joe, Trable, and Pigeon. His followers await his first words with anxious excitement and bated breathe…]

Axl: What are you guys looking at?

Rose: … Your first words.

Axl: … I thought that I should never see… a man as beautiful, and gorgeous as me.


Axl: Indeed…

[Axl speaks… still standing.]

Axl: My followers… tonight marks the beginning… of the YEAR… of the HIEARCHY! As all good little Axology followers know, the world truly began when I, Axl, was born. And as all those with even half a molecule of a brain cell in their heads know, I was born on December 25th, of the year 1982. And through the darkness and blackness and bleakness of the dreary world of Earth and its inhabitants, on that very day, a prophecy began. A prophecy that would soon become a legacy… MY legacy. To go forth… and bring fruition… righteousness, to the slowly crumbling empire of ‘Brawlers’. To take a dying company… and give it new life. And at New Horizon? My journey begins…

[Axl finally takes a seat at the end of the table… smiling at his girlfriend, Rose, for a second, as she blows her King a kiss… Axl continues.]

Axl: raYne… Tony. New Horizon, the two of you shall prove to the WORLD… that the closer a tag team is to eachother, the more cohesive they shall be in the ring. Bannister… Hungalot… they haven’t been in the ring together, as a unit, in some time. While the two of you? Well… damn, if there isn’t two things in this world closer than Tony’s front and raYne’s back, than I haven’t a clue.

Axl: Viruz… brother. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you personally… But if ever there was a time I needed you, than now is that time. Kurt Angel is a legend around here… a BoB icon. He’s been with the federation for as long as anyone can remember… and my brother… it is with you that I place my faith that we have the POWER to crush that heathan.

Axl: Rose… We finally embrace once again… as lovers… as partners… and as King, and Queen, of the Hiearchy. A new era has dawned on BoB, and you, my ravishing princess, shall be by my side to lead the charge. And when the first day of the New Horizon cometh…eths… thee and ye Nikki shall duke it out with both Misty… and that blasphemous BITCH Kay Fabe. Such a sorceress of witchcraft as she is of great chagrin to our glorious religion.

Rose: I thought only Christians were anti-witchcraft?

Axl: No, no my dear. Many religious people are. And Axolologists more than any! Simply because of one reason; The only being… and I mean the ONLY being that has magic on this planet is yours truly. The evidence is plentiful, and any who DARE deny it shall be burned at the stake.

Brother Joe: But-

Axl: BURNED AT THE STAKE! … Rose, do you have anything you’d like to say to either your opponents, or perhaps your tag team partner, Nikki Mantle?

Rose: Hm… well… let’s see… Kay Fabe’s an ungodly witch, who should be burned at the stake… Misty’s an ungodly whore, who should be burned at the stake… And Nikki’s an ungodly softball player… who should team with me, do most of the heavy lifting, tag me in and let me get the pin… Before she’s burned at the stake.

Axl: Which brings me to… Trable.

Axl: … Trable.

Axl: …

Trable: Yeah, homey?

Axl: …

Trable: Dawg?

Axl: …

Trable: What up?

Axl: … Pigeon!

Trable: Day-um… that was cold…

Axl: Pigeon… the way you took that wench Michelle, and spiked her head into the mat? Pigeon, with that one ddt, you broke the shackles that were placed upon you by the great order of geezers! Michelle was simply a minion in their army… secretly siding with the dispicable Trey Vincent. He, just like every other wrinkled old bag, wanted to keep you, one of the rising stars of the next generation, down… and leave you there. He knew if he kept you distracted by Michelle’s charms, he would have the OWTTM to himself! But you… you saw the light. And Brother Pigeon, you now are in line for the Swiss Army Belt… I bless thee, and shall be watching as you drop Massive Man… and take his strap. May the good fortune of Christmahanukwanzaakka shine upon you, my child.

Trable: Didn’t wish no shinin’ fortunes down on me, yo… I’mma do what Pigeon COULDN’T. That TV’s gonna get BUSTED, knaw mean?!

Axl: No… not really. … And now, my children. It is time that the Guardians of the Gold were chosen. At first, when Rose alerted me to the stipulations of my match, I had thought I would be needing to travel to some forest and ask a few woodsmen to act as my outside enforcers. She then explained that the term “lumberjack”, in this case, alluded to an entirely different thing. And so, it was then obvious to me that I would choose, as my lead lumberjack, Prophet. –

Brother Jim: What about me and Joe, master?

Axl: What ABOUT you and Joe?

Brother Jim: Well-

Axl: Well NOTHING! For one thing, you and the guy I’m facing… are BOTH named JIM!!! How is anyone supposed to tell the two of you apart?!

Brother Jim: …

Axl: Let’s face it. You’re both jobbers.



Axl: And Joe… well, Joe’s a shmoe.

Brother Joe: HEY!

Axl: So, the two of you, just close your traps, and forget about appearing at New Horizon. This event is for the FUTURE of the business. You two? Should be glad you even get to BE a part of the winning side!

Joe / Jim: … Damn.

Axl: The only fair and balanced way of gathering a few guys for this job… this most prestigous and surely to be sought after of duties… is to put up a few “Help Wanted” posters around the City.


Rose: It shall be a wonderful gift for any man or woman to join the Hierarchy… even for a day’s time.

Axl: Indeed, my dearest. Indeed…


[December 30th… 2007. Mercy Drive, on the corner of Know Your Role Boulevard. Yes, those are both actual places in Sinister City. Of course, Sinister City isn’t an actual place in and of itself, but HEY, LOOKIT THAT!]


[Damn, I forgot that only works on TV… and with stupid people. Anyway, Axl is sitting on the Residence of Evil’s porch… with his head resting on the palm of his hand… as he sits, looking forlornly into the winter’s afternoon…]

Axl: It’s been five days… and not a single person’s responded to my posters… I put them in the mall… I put them in restrooms… I even put one up the mayor’s ass. He should have been able to see it, seeing as how his head’s always up there. But nooo, not one… single… solitary-

[Suddenly, four shadows appear before Axl, casting out from beyond the camera…]

? : So… Axl, I presume?

? : We heard about you from this poster at the arcade.

? : You need a few guys to put some idiots in check? Well, we’ve got five words for ya…

? : …

? : Ya damnnn right.

[Axl looks up from the ground at these four men… and grins.]

Axl: What are your names, gentlemen?

Mathew: I’m Mathew.

Mark: I’m Mark.

Luke: I’m Luke.

Jack: …

Axl: Good thing your name’s at the beginning, or I’d have no idea who you are, kid.

Jack: …

Axl: No, not you. That Mark guy. Try and keep the pizza out of your mouth next time you talk, ok pal? No wonder you’ve got zits the size of SUV’s…

Mark: HEY!

Axl: Nothing you can say!

[Axl stands up, and swings the front door open… looking back at his new recruits.]

Axl: Now… my flock. It is time that thou foursome commence hither-to to the quarters of the Residence of Evil’s Dungeon… The Gym of Doom. Mine Prophet shall lead thee all to a workout that shant be light… but quite heavy indeed, giving you all a taste of what you must endure when the 19th of this oncoming month approaches and arrives and is here and is not, alas, not here, wither-more.

Mathew / Mark / Luke / Jack: …

Axl: And so it begins…

~ Believe … or Be left. ~

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Spinning Doors

December 25th, 2007
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin stands staring at the door as his eyes spin. Jenga pieces and a crumpled twister mat make a mess over the carpet. Kevin smokes on a cigarette and falls down. Pinwheel fireworks are scattered about in the dim light.]

Kevin: I need a glass of orange juice.

[Snow began to fall outside as the sun burnt out for the day. Kevin lay flat by a basketball and put out the cigarette with a crunch.]

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Camping Trip

December 24th, 2007
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[A crow flies across the skyline even though it’s past midnight. We pan down to a bonfire where Kevin is also. He moves his hands like it’s supposed to mean something.]

Kevin: I’m in hell!

[We cut to steel fence and the camera glides across it trying to be artistic. We cut back to Kevin who is toasting marshmallows over zealously in the cold air. There is a ring of indigo around the moon.]

Kevin: At least I have fishing tomorrow.

[Kevin pulls a fish hook with a feathery bait out of his pocket. He looks up the sky like he’s reflecting on the feelings deep inside him.]

Kevin: What the fuck is going on?

[Bats screech past his ear, zooming to a sleeping cow to suck it’s blood, their sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight. Kevin pulls a photograph out of his other pocket and stares at it. A girl with pimples covering her entire face like a pepperoni micro-pizza stands eating an ice cream on it.]

Kevin: Sometimes things collapse like a house of cards when you throw knives at them.

[Kevin dug his fingernails in and peeled the photo from the cardboard backing slowly. The moon’s light reflected off his nose.]

Kevin: Dammit! I have to win those damn tag titles! For Bertha!

[We cut to a cow with bat on it’s back. Possible cow mutilation makes the thinning bovine look like a demon. The bat looks at the camera.]

Bat: What?!

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Rocky Balboa never had it like this…

December 24th, 2007
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Jean Bannister

(Scene opens in a dark damp warehouse in Green Bay, Wisconsin. A door opens and two men walk in.)

SH: Hello?!? We were told to come into this dark damp warehouse to be trained on how to beat The Hierarchy.

JB: Where are you at eh?

(Pain and Pleasure walk further into the warehouse. Jean Bannister is smacked on the butt.)

Voice: Tag you’re it.(giggle)

(Jean and the Big Sir look around the warehouse.)

SH: Was that you?

JB: I’m the one who got smacked on the ass….I don’t think it was me.

(Suddenly, a bright light shines in their faces and loud techno music begins to blare.)

SH: What the…

(A shadowy figure comes toward them from the light, and he’s wearing sequins.)

DSB: I see you boys accepted my little invitation.

SH: We really had no choice. We have to defeat these morons and we felt that you might be able to give us an edge.

DSB: Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m going to teach you how to totally dominate them into submission and then rub their noses in their little mistake.

JB: What?

DSB: Oh sorry, I got a little carried away.

SH: It’s cool. But first, did you smack him on the ass?

DSB: Yes. And you passed your first test.

JB: Test? What test?…eh.

DSB: The Rump Ranger Exam.

SH: Wasn’t the Rump Ranger a former parody wrestler?

DSB: Yes, God rest his soul. But I learned about the Rump Ranger Exam from the true master of the arts David Copperfield.

JB: David Copperfield’s gay?

DSB: No, and neither am I. Now boys, you need to have wonderful costumes in order to get their eyes off the prize.

SH: What’s wrong with what we’re wearing?

DSB: Three-legged jeans? Really?!? That’s so 1980s.

JB: What were you thinking?

DSB: I was thinking this…

(Da Sassy One goes to his trunk and pulls out two pairs of leather pants.)

SH: Ass-less chaps?!?

DSB: They will cause those fudge-packers to go insane.

SH: Yeah, insane on my cornhole.

DSB: I know….

(Pain and Pleasure look inquisitively at Da Sassy One.)

DSB: Just kidding guys.

(Da Sassy One looks disappointed.)

DSB: How about these?

(Da Sassy One pulls out small pieces of spandex.)

JB: I don’t wear thongs.

DSB: You two are so picky. We’ll skip the outfits for right now and move onto the wrestling.

(The three men move into the make-shift ring that’s in the middle of the warehouse.)

DSB: I’ve invited a few friends to give you a taste of what you’ll be facing. Consider it a Somewhere Over the Rainbow Gauntlet Match. Have at it girls.

(There is a bell that rings and suddenly there are two large men dressed as Dorothy Gale entering the ring and trying to “attack” Pain and Pleasure. I use the term “attack” loosely. Pain and Pleasure escape with a pinfall, but the Dorothys seemed to enjoy it a bit too much.)

JB: How was that?

DSB: It was ok, but I was hoping for more sweating and grunting, but I’ll watch tennis later.

SH: Oh, you get off on women’s tennis too?

DSB: Women’s tennis?

SH: You watch women’s tennis right?

DSB: Umm, right…so can we figure out the costumes? Are you sure I can’t talk you into the ass-less chaps?

JB: Do they have sequins?

SH: Jean, shut up.

JB: Just asking.

DSB: Guys, you will have to concentrate. Focusing is the most important part. Imagine the match as that one thing that you want more than anything….

JB: The Stanley Cup.

SH: Hayden Panettiere.

DSB: Scott Baio.

SH: What?!?

DSB: Oh come on, he’s androgynous enough that no one’s gay. Right?

SH: Jean, do you know what gay smells like?

JB: Liz Taylor’s “Diamonds” perfume mixed with Michael Jackson’s spooge?

SH: What?!?

DSB: He’s right it does smell like that.

(Pain and Pleasure look inquisitively at Da Sassy One.)

DSB: Not that I know because I’m not gay.

SH: Well The Hierarchy is going to have to learn that we take great pleasure in providing them with pain.

DSB: Wow, that gives me goosebumps.

JB: Stop being gay.

DSB: I’m not gay.

SH: Sure, and I’m Abe Lincoln.

DSB: Well Mr. President, how did you enjoy the play?

SH: You’re ridiculous.

DSB: You’re chances are ridiculously good that you’ll win.

JB: Thanks Frank.

DSB: Please, call me Da One.

SH: Will we see you again?

DSB: Of course you will bitches. I’m your new manager.

SH & JB: WHAT?!?!?

(Fade to black.)

DSB: Wait don’t fade on me now….are you sure I can’t get you in those ass-less chaps?

( I said FADE TO BLACK!!!)




(Fade to pink)

DSB:Ooooo now you’re speaking my language.


JB: Are we still in this promo?

DSB: No you came out.

SH: No I think that would be you.

DSB: I told you…ass-less chaps were awesome.

SH: I’m not wearing ass-less chaps.

DSB: You are in my imagination.


(Can we be done now…please, I’ve got some throwing up to do.)

DSB: Okay mister smarty pants.

(Fade out)

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On the road and shopping—

December 21st, 2007

The Great

(“The Great” and his family are headed to Union Station by way of the ‘tricked out’ Escalade. Christmas shopping tops the list of things to do, even though “The Great” would rather talk about himself in third person and do a little boasting. Okay, a lot of boasting. His 14 year-old daughter, Lori, blonde and ambitious, is in the third row of seats next to the Mother in Law. Nick and Little Johnny occupy the middle row, Nick is busy pressing away at buttons on some hand held video game and Little Johnny watches a Hitler biography on an overhead, flip-down flat screen. “The Great” is behind the wheel and The Great’s Wife has shotgun. And probably a pistol since they’re going downtown to shop—)

“The Great”: Now remember, stay close and don’t anybody mention The Great’s name out loud. The Great is damn near famous. The Great doesn’t want to cause a riot at Union Station.

The Great’s Wife: Oh please. You’ve won one match in a wrestling promotion nobody has ever heard of. Nobody is going to recognize you. Although I hope you keep winning, I enjoyed your present the other night.

“The Great”: The Great had a huge victory. The Great wanted to celebrate and The Great thought that would be a good way to commemorate.

The Great’s Wife: It was really good. Actually, it was great. Hee! I did wonder why you smelled like ralph, though.

“The Great”: The Great hopes you mean ralph as in vomit and not Ralph as in neighbor.

The Mother in Law: Whah whah WHAH whuh whuh.

“The Great”: No, The Great did not call your daughter a slut. The Great did not even insinuate. It just so happens that The Great whipped a man The Great called Dougie so severely at the MegaBrawl that the guy puked all over everybody in the ring. The Great got the win, and so The Great came home and knocked off a little sumthin sumthin to remember The Great’s first triumph in the Brawler’s on a Budget.

Nick: Ewwww!

Lori: Double ewwww! Parent sex, I so didn’t need to hear that!

The Great’s Wife: Well, I think we may have had an accident.

“The Great”: WHAT? It was your time to ovulate?

The Great’s Wife: It was.

“The Great”: Are you late?

The Great’s Wife: A couple of days.

“The Great”: Get a pregnancy test and don’t hesitate! Get an instant results one so we don’t have to wait! My god, the last thing The Great needs is to procreate!

Nick: Hey Dad, haven’t you done this one before? I mean, it was like different and stuff but you used the same words.

Little Johnny: QUIET! I can’t hear my DVD!

The Mother In Law: Whah whah whah whuh whuh.

“The Great”: Did The Great get paid? Um, well The Great kind of did. The Great was rewarded with a World Title Match.

The Mother in Law: Whah whuh whuh whuh.

“The Great”: You want The Great to earn extra money giving plasma to the blood bank? The Great won’t do it. The Great will not donate. The mere thought of needles makes The Great start to shake.

Lori: That doesn’t even rhyme.

“The Great”: The Great thinks it’s close enough.

Lori: It doesn’t even end with the same letters!

“The Great”: So?

Nick: How’d you get a title match, Dad?

“The Great”: It was easy, all The Great had to do was talk to Trey Vincent, who is in charge of everything, then beat up a couple of losers that had been fired. That reminds The Great, you owe The Great five bucks because the Roddy Piper strikes worked like a charm. Anyway, Trey gave The Great a shot at the promotion’s main title in the main event at the next over-hyped mediocre card they’re passing off as a pay-per-view.

Nick: Just like WWE, huh?

“The Great”: Over-hyped mediocre shows? Definitely! But not when it comes to The Great. The Great has captured the attention and imagination of the entire planet. The Great is now being mentioned by other wrestlers in the Brawler’s during their interviews and skits. Those other wrestlers that have became jealous of The Great and The Great’s skyrocketing stardom. Fans look at The Great, and towards The Great they begin to gravitate. They sit in their chairs with excitement and start to vibrate. The mere thought of them seeing The Great makes them salivate. Some women look at The Great and with The Great they hope to copulate.

The Great’s Wife: Okay that’s enough.

“The Great”: Really? The Great was just getting warmed up.

The Mother in Law: Whuh whuh whuh WHAH WHAH.

“The Great”: Huh? Oh, The Great was punched in the eye by Pete Trable during a backstage skirmish. It was sort of a letdown because The Great thought The Great and Pete Trable would have made an excellent tag-team combination. He rhymes, The Great rhymes. We could rhyme great together. He has a good looking roster pic, The Great has a good looking roster pic. It would have been the hottest thing ever until that bald guy showed up and re-formed an old tag-team. Besides, The Great now has a shot at THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

The Great’s Wife: Do you have to yell?

“The Great”: The Great thinks so. It’s always printed in ALL CAPS.

The Great’s Wife: Well whatever, just quit yelling. And I want to go by that new fondue place on the way home.

“The Great”: No. The Great will not have fondue on The Great’s plate. Fondue makes The Great constipate.

Lori: Hello? T.M.I., Dad! That’s T.M.I.!

“The Great”: Sorry.

Nick: So what you have a shot? You’re not going to win, Dad. Nobody wins a world title in their second match.

“The Great”: It is possible, son. The Great is an enigma. The Great is special. The Great knows upon reading that Sir Zeno held the same title and never cut promos, then the guy that beat him wasn’t even entertaining, and then they guy that beat him wasn’t even a wrestler. There have been titles to win themselves in this promotion, son. Why couldn’t a guy with as much charisma and drawing power as The Great not win the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS in only The Great’s second match? Stranger things have happened, and that happening wouldn’t be so strange after all. The Great has a date, with Death-stiny. And as much as The Great appreciates Death’s talent and accomplishments, and admitting that his Million Dollar Entity Kneelift is much more impressive than Mr. Wrestling II’s Million Dollar Kneelift, sadly—- The Great has to defeat you.

Nick: You can’t beat Death! I saw him on YouTube killing some people in an earthquake! How will you do it, Dad?

“The Great”: The Great will have a plan. The Great will formulate. Then articulate. Then manipulate. If that doesn’t work, The Great will innovate. Necessity is the mother of invention, my boy. The Great will find a way.

Little Johnny: Well find a way to the bathroom. I gotta piss!

The Great’s Wife: Johnny! No cussing in the car! Shut up and watch your Hitler show for crying out loud!

“The Great”: Don’t worry, we are here! Now remember, keep the Christmas shopping to a dull roar, please don’t over exaggerate. The Great doesn’t want his bank account to deflate!

The Great’s Wife: Stop that! We need these things! And I’m going right now to get a new dress and some new shoes. Prada, they have to be Prada!

“The Great”: The Great doesn’t know about Prada, but The Great certainly knows about prodding. In the meantime, Death—- keep this in mind:

The Great is coming for you on January 19th. In the year of The Great.

Two Thousand and EIGHT!

The Great will grace you later.


I Lost On Jeopardy…baby….oooh

December 14th, 2007
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[Scene opens in Alex Trebek’s hospital room. It’s nighttime, and there is only the dull glow of a fluorescent light.]


[That beeping sound is Alex’s heartbeat. Not too bad for a guy who had a mild heart attack. In the corner of the room opposite the bed, a pair of bony fingers are seen wrapped around a copy of the LA Times. The paper lowers a tad to reveal the familiar skull of none other than the BOB ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, Death. He’s seated in a chair with his bony legs crossed. Death flips a page, making a crinkly noise.]


[Death continues to finger through the newspaper, listening to the beeping heart monitor.]


[Death lowers the newspaper and sits forward, expectantly.]


[Death slouches a bit, perhaps in disappointment, and returns to his newspaper.]

Death: *Sigh*


[Death pulls out an mp3 player and a pair of earphones, ready to crank up some tunes. It’s almost MegaBrawl, no doubt Death is thinking, since I’m omniscient. So…how about some Megadeth? What to listen to? “Killing Is My Business…And Business Is Good”? “Wake Up Dead”? “Kill The King”? “Die Dead Enough”?]

Death: Oh, yes! Score!


Death: (Singing) One, two, princes kneel before you, thats what I said, now…Princes, princes who adore you…just go ahead, now. One has diamonds in his pockets…that sounds great, now. This one, said he wants to buy you lockets…ain’t in his head, now…


[Fade to black.]

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News Wire

December 12th, 2007

Dr. Silaconne M. Plants

LOS ANGELES — Longtime “Jeopardy!” host Alex Trebek was hospitalized Tuesday after a minor heart attack, a spokesman for the game show said.

Trebek, 67, was admitted to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center late Monday night and was expected to remain there about two days for tests and observation, said show spokesman Jeff Ritter.
“Thankfully it was a minor heart attack,” Ritter said. He did not give other details other than the heart attack may stem from the aftermath of an incident involving a recent show that had as game players two famous professional wrestlers and another wrestler not-so famous.

The show featured Larry Shreeve, a.k.a. Abdullah the Butcher, former Florida State All-American Ron Simmons, and a little known plastic surgeon turned wrestler stage named Dr. Silaconne M. Plants. His birth name was not readily available.

Shreeve cut himself during the show with a plastic kitchen utensil and then chased a live chicken on the set after feigning to bite it several times. Plants, after a mumbled tirade about an upcoming championship match, flipped his podium and caused quite a commotion before being lead off the set by security. Plants then wet farted (known in some areas as “sharting”) backstage, reached into the back of his trousers, and wiped feces on the green room’s door where guests wait before going on air. In addition, Plants punched a security guard and yelled repeatedly out loud that, “He was going to kill death.”

He was placed in protective custody and is awaiting psychiatric evaluation.

Canadian-born Trebek has hosted the syndicated show since 1984. He has won several daytime Emmy Awards for his work and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. He has never been known to shart.

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Dinner with The Great

December 10th, 2007
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The Great

(The Great is at the dinner table in his home, surrounded by his family. There’s The Great himself (as if I had to mention), The Great’s wife, The Great’s 14 year old daughter, Lori, his 10 year old son, Nick, his 5 year old son, Little Johnny, and The Great’s Mother in Law— simply known as The Mother in Law. She’s a disheveled, hunched over old lady that talks in a manner reminiscent of Charlie Brown’s school teacher. Finally! A home cooked meal? No, it’s Kentucky Fried Chicken.)

“The Great”: This? Again? And why do you always get Original Recipe? You know The Great prefers Extra Crispy. Original Recipe gives The Great the runs.

Lori: Ewww!

The Mother in Law: Whah Whah WHAH, whuh whuh whah?

“The Great”: Yes, The Great DOES have manners at the dinner table.

Nick: Hey Dad, are you going to get me a drum set for Christmas?

Lori: I need an iPhone.

Little Johnny: I need a neuroplasmic sonic boom ray to complete my plans for world domination.

“The Great:” Lovely. The Great has a wannabe Stewie for a son.

The Great’s Wife: When are you going to get a decent second job? Christmas is coming up! We need gifts!

“The Great”: I have a second job.

The Mother in Law: Whah WHah whaaaaaaah. Whuh.

“The Great”: Wal-Mart is hiring? Thank you for mentioning that, but that is not necessary. The Great will soon be rolling in dough after the MEGABRAWL.

Lori: YES! Then I can get three iPhones!

“The Great”: Huh? Hold on. The Great might be exaggerating a bit.

Nick: Will you make enough to get Halo 3?

Lori: iPhones!

Nick: Halo 3!

Lori: iPhones!

Little Johnny: Atom splitting photon torch!

The Mother in Law: Whah WHAH!

The Great’s Wife: A new fur coat! A real one! Damn the animal rights activists!

“The Great”: PLEASE! You people are giving The Great—– a head—- ACHE!

The Great’s Wife: That wasn’t very nice.

“The Great”: So it wasn’t. What do you want? The Great can only take so much. Pass those potatoes and gravy. The Great LOVES KFC gravy, it should be its own food group.

The Mother in Law: Whah whah whuh, whuh whuh WHAH?

“The Great”: Thank you for asking, you seem to be the only one interested in The Great’s wrestling career. The Great will be facing a man by the name of “douja”. The Great will call him Dougie because that sounds pretty emasculating to The Great. Dougie is a stoner and upon research, somewhat of a legendary figure around the Brawlers on a Budget. It will be a giant leap for The Great’s status that in The Great’s first official match to defeat Dougie. From there, The Great will be a household name right off the get go.

The Great’s wife: Then I can get that coat? I want that kind made out of endangered white seal fur. They’re the most expensive!

“The Great”: That’s disgusting! How could you even suggest a thing? The Great wonders sometimes what The Great ever saw in you.

The Mother in Law: WHAH!

“The Great”: The Great is sorry. That was a bit out of line.

Nick: Dad?

“The Great”: Yes, son.

Nick: You’re not going to use that lame ass slingshot suplex, are you?

The Great’s Wife: Nick! Don’t swear at the table!

“The Great”: No, The Great is not. The Great looked over some other movesets on Smackdown vs. Raw 2004 and decided to go with a Matt Hardy finisher.

Nick: What? Top rope legdrop?

“The Great”: No, that will hurt The Great’s ass.

The Great’s Wife: Don’t swear at the table!

Nick: The Side Effect?

Lori: Who’s Matt Hardy?

Nick: Are you going to use the Lita inscribed 9 millimeter?

“The Great”: What?

Little Johnny: You should finish him off with a laser guided missle constructed from junkyard scraps I purchased with redeemed boxtop barcodes.

“The Great”: No. No. No. The Great’s new finisher, and The Great apologizes to the writers for constantly changing The Great’s mind, but The Great is sticking with this one. It’s perfect. The—– TWIST OF GREAT!

Nick: Sonofabitch. That’s lame as hell!

The Great’s Wife: NICK! Go to your room!

Nick: Aw, mah!

(Nelson Muntz is making his rounds and walks by.)

Nelson: (pointing at Nick) HAH-HAH!

The Mother in Law: (also pointing at Nick) WHAH-WHAH!

“The Great”: Dougie. Before The Great snaps and goes Omaha Shopping Mall on The Great’s family, The Great wants you to know that The Great considers it a honor to face a legend like you in The Great’s first match. The Great would also like to let you know that The Great will defeat you in The Great’s first match, and what will probably be your LAST match. The Great is destined for superstardom. The Great begins with you.

The Mother in Law: Whah whah whuh, whah WHAH WHAH whuh.

“The Great”: That’s ridiculous. Nobody can do THAT!
Dougie, The Great will grace you later at the MEGABRAWL.
Until then, count your days, as they are indeed numbered.

Little Johnny: MANKIND’S days are numbered! HA HA HA!

“The Great”: Huh? He’s BEEN washed-up—-


The Great’s Wife: Johnny, don’t talk about your nuclear triggered apocalypse and destruction of human beings at the table.

Little Johnny: Aw, mah!

The Mother in Law: (pointing at Little Johnny) WHAH-WHAH!

(The theme from Diff-rent Strokes plays for some reason and still shot highlights of the previous activities are seen before we go off the air.)