Archive for March, 2008

Phone Call

March 23rd, 2008

Jerri Li

[Jerri opens a drawer filled with dust. She takes out a pair of nail clippers, a nail file and a brown and turquoise makeup bag. Suddenly her cell phone rings and she answers with a smile, knowing who the caller is.]

Jerri: What’s up Doc?

Jason: Freddy told me you wanted to come to the zentai party at Lumpy’s house.

Jerri: I was drunk and had a lot on my mind at the time, but it still sounds like fun.

Jason: Heavy. Sanders didn’t think you’d want to come because of all the amateurs trying to grope people instead of whipping them.

Jerri: Fuckers.

[Jerri walks out of the bathroom and heads towards the kitchen in her small apartment to get a can of orange soda from the fridge.]

Jason: So you’ll be there?

[Jerri opens a carton of milk only to find it way past it’s deadline.]

Jerri: Yeah.

Jason: Slammin’. I’ll go tell Fingers and Chin.

[The phone call ends.]

Jerri: What the hell is with these guys and this slang talk?

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Melting Cheese

March 17th, 2008
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin The Pyromaniac is seen in a bubble bath eating fresh fruit. His face is covered in puss oozing zits that just seem to get bigger and bigger. A lot of his body has swollen up due to severe burns. Kevin picks another piece of fresh fruit from a mesh bag and puffs his chest and stomach out and places it on the crease between.]

Kevin: This is like a nightmare, who would have thought a human firewood match could end so disgustingly. I kinda liked it, but that one guy who jumped on some dudes stomach and made him puke was pretty fucked up.

Bobo: At least it shows you have guts.

Kevin: Bobo, you’re just a bloody monkey who smells worse than a necrophiliac’s wet dream.

Bobo: Thanks. Anyway, how will you compete in BOB after this? That had to be as bad a match as you had in you.

Kevin: Probably. I’m not sweating it, they need stupid guys like me to take those risks. Hell, I can’t even read the directions on a packet of gravy… but I guess I am only 17.

Bobo: It’s all that punishment you’ve taken to the head, you just need to relax on a beach somewhere and look up at the sky.

Kevin: I’m too hardcore, I’d rather go to prison.

[Kevin pops his pimples and introverts into himself like some sort of chess game that never ends. The bubbles splatter against the white tiles on the wall as Bobo the monkey does some DIY with a hammer and nails and a smile on his face.]

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Salisbury steak in 6 minutes? Part 2

March 16th, 2008
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The Great

(Continued from last time:

Dinner is over and most everybody is in the family room. The Mother in Law has the letter. The Great and his wife are on the couch. 14-year old Lori had “better things to do” and went to her room. 10-year old Nick and 5-year old Little Johnny are sitting on the floor. Nick fumbles with a hand held video game while Little Johnny has a very detailed blue print of a nuclear missile spread out across an area rug.)

The Great’s wife: Hurry up Mother, read the note! We’ve waited long enough, is he finally going to start getting some money for this stupid wrestling thing?

The Mother in Law: Whaaaaah whuh.

“The Great”: Just read the letter. Forget the semantics.

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

The Great’s wife: What the hell is a RP? And why does it matter now?

“The Great”: The Great is more concerned as to why it didn’t matter for the NEW HORIZON.

The Mother in Law: WHAH whuh whuh whuh WHAH WHAH whuh whah whah WHUH WHUH whaaaaaaaaa. Whaaaaah whuh whuh whuh whah whah whuh whuh whuh whah WHUH.

The Great’s wife: Funny? Is that why these cameras keep coming over here? You’re doing your wrestling skits here and people are making fun of our family, aren’t they?

“The Great”: The Great doesn’t wish to speculate.

The Great’s wife: Oh for crying out loud! It’s true! That’s why Mother got sent all those so-called gifts from people! Bikini wax! A hedge clipper! A bush-hog! A gearshift knob off a Plymouth Duster!

“The Great”: The Great pleads the Fifth.

The Great’s wife: What have you said about me when I’m not here?

“The Great”: All nice things, The Great is sure of it.

The Mother in Law: Whah whuh whuh whah!

“The Great”: Okay, The Great concedes— that ONE time when The Great said—

The Great’s wife: Said what? Hmmmm? WHAT?

“The Great”: Something about Randy’s mother planting tomatoes—

The Great’s wife: Oh, the lady in the halter? THAT bitch?

“The Great”: The Great wishes to not continue this conversation.

The Great’s wife: Oh, The Great wishes to not continue BLAH BLAH BLAH! That’s all I ever hear! Nothing is ever YOUR fault! And when the conversation gets too hot for you, OOOOOOH, you don’t want to talk about it anymore!

The Mother in Law: WHAH WHAH WHUH?

“The Great”: This is degenerating very quickly. The Great just wanted to know what the letter had on it, not ruin The Great’s marriage.

The Great’s wife: Well, you think about THAT while you’re sleeping on the couch! I’m so depressed now. I need to go buy something VERY expensive to lift my spirits!

(She gets up off the couch and begins to walk away—–)

“The Great”: You must be depressed every waking moment of your life.

The Great’s wife: WHAT?

“The Great”: Nothing.

Little Johnny: The sperm donor suggests that your continuous spending habits and the claim you need to do so to quell your—– oh, forget I mentioned a thing. I have a very important meeting this weekend with some fine gentlemen looking to sell a harmless projectile, after I briefly attend Ronnie Baxter’s laser tag themed birthday party, and I don’t want to risk being grounded. Grounded from the meeting, that is. The party? Not sweating that one if I should miss. Ronnie Baxter, despite somehow making it to Kindergarten, intellectually is barely out of diapers.

The Great’s wife: Honey, we’ll talk later!

(she leaves)

The Mother in Law: Whuh?

“The Great”: Sure. Continue reading. Why not?

The Mother in Law: Whuh whuh whah WHUH whah whah iWHUH! whuh whuh whah whah whuuuuuuuuuuh.

“The Great”: Does The Great have a match at the iMPLOSION!?

The Mother in Law: Whuh whuh whuh.

“The Great”: Maybe the next one? That’s just fine with The Great. But The Great is a tad worried. There’s now more—at stake, for The Great. The Great’s undefeated record will really be put to the test now. But The Great accepts the new challenge. Funny? The Great is not a comedian. Entertaining? The Great is not a singer or dancer. The Great can’t juggle or ride a unicycle. The Great can’t play a ukulele or eat jell-o without using a spoon.

But when it comes to wrestling, The Great can do that.
Put The Great in the ring, and let The Great dominate.

That’s where it matters.


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Salisbury steak in 6 minutes?

March 15th, 2008
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The Great

(The Great and his family are just settling in at the supper table: )

“The Great”: Mmmmm. That smells good. The Great is starving, if The Great doesn’t eat soon there’s a possibility The Great—– might evaporate.

The Great’s wife: It does smell good! Only 5 more minutes, that’s assuming Lori moved the microwave power setting to 10 instead of 8.

“The Great”: Oh. Well, whatever it is, it’s making The Great salivate. What is it?

The Great’s wife: I don’t know! Ask Lori.

“The Great”: The Great wonders if you’re ever going to make a home cooked meal.

The Great’s wife: Huh? We ARE at home.

“The Great”: That’s not quite the same thing now is it?

The Great’s wife: For crying out loud, does it matter? You’re still going to eat, and it’s a miracle we can even put food on the table. Are you ever going to get a second job that pays?

The Mother in Law: Whuh whuh whuh whah.

The Great’s wife: A letter? From Brawlers on a Budget? Is it money?

The Mother in Law: Whah whah whah whah.

“The Great”: You opened The Great’s mail?

The Mother in Law: Whah?

“The Great”: “So”? You say “so” to The Great? Nick, go get the full body constraint. The Great is finding it hard to show restraint.

The Great’s wife: How dare you threaten Mother!

“The Great”: You’re right. The Great didn’t mean to be a taint. Please don’t faint.

Nick: Dad, how do you “be a taint?” I thought taint was like contamination or something. That doesn’t make any sense.

“The Great”: There’s another kind of “taint”, son.

Little Johnny: Nicolas, if you could find the time in the near future to mature past upright, oxygen breathing amoeba, you’ll learn that the taint is that little area of useless flesh between—

The Great’s wife: JOHNNY!

Little Johnny: A quadrillion apologies, Breeder. But somebody has to smarten the kid up.

Nick: Mom, what’s a taint?

Lori: Good grief, Nick! It taint the butthole and it taint the—-

The Great’s wife: LORI! This is not proper conversation at the dinner table! But the content of that letter IS appropriate. Is it payday? I have a new pearl necklace in mind that’d make a perfect Easter gift!

“The Great”: Oh, The Great would love to give you a pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

Lori: Gross, Dad!

“The Great”: What? The Great was being serious.

(The familiar beeping of a microwave can be heard in the background.)

The Great’s wife: Dinner’s ready! I guess we’ll have to continue this later, and find out what that letter is about!

“The Great”: (sigh) The Great can hardly—- wait.

(To be continued—-)

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Massively Cool Mini-Commentary

March 15th, 2008
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Sarah The Jobber Slayer

Caption: From Massively Cool

Sarah "The ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS": Greetings, BOB viewers. It’s your new ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS and favorite jobber slayer, along with…

Trey Vincent: The Vice President in Charge of Everything, and one-half of the Most Flammable Tag Team Period, Trey Vincent.

Sarah: Is that really your new tag team name?

Trey Vincent

TV: Sure, why not?

Sarah: Well, what have we got today, Trey?

TV: Well, since Skeeter and Leary were fired, we’re going to do some commentary.

Sarah: Brilliant! By the way, thank you for firing those bastards, and even Dustbuster Boy. Revenge is so sweet.

TV: Hey, I remember the build-up to Grudge Match A-Go-Go. Steve Studnuts was using his power to get his way backstage and stacking the odds against you. That S.O.B.

Sarah: Finally, everyone who has wronged me is gone, except for Steve. When’s he going?

TV: Now, Sarah. Studs is my buddy. We’re iAd. I’m not getting in the middle of this thing. Let’s just do the commentary. *Ahem*

[Back to the ballroom. "Soemwhere I Belong" by Linkin Park is playing. The mysterious Soem Guy In A Mask steps out wearing all black and a "Come Get Soem" T-shirt. He apparently is looking to slap hands, but nobody offers any. Poor guy.]

TV: You even had Detached Narrator fooled.

Sarah: It was so hard to hide my boobs.

TV: You should never hide those boobs. From me, anyway. Fuck everyone else.

NH: The following is a Fourplay Match. Introducing first, he hails from Soemwhere and weighs soemthing, this is Soem Guy In A Mask.
Styles: This is a return of sorts for Soem Guy…I think. There was a Soem Guy In A Mask who appeared in BOB previously in 2000. Does that look like the same guy to you?
SW: All masked jobbers look the same to me, Styles. Though he does have a nice ass.

TV: Gotta give Scotty props. Even though you were dressed as a guy, he still had his chick radar on. Scary, isn’t it?

Styles: Excuse me?

Sarah: The only thing scarier would be a gay Scotty, honestly. Scotty knows a hot ass when he sees one. And you all know that’s exactly what I got. No junk in this trunk.

TV: I can fix that after this commentary.

Sarah: Oh yeah?

SW: Did I say that out loud?
Styles: You most certainly did.
SW: Shit, am I turning gay? I know I’ve heard of heel turns, but GAY turns? Oh man…*Slap slap slap* Get it together Scotty. That’s a dude!
Styles: Yeah, keep going. Scotty is slapping himself silly.

TV: We should fast-forward to the best parts. Yours. Besides, the only thing you’ll miss here is a great line one of the bookers lifted from the "Colbert Report." Something about a mouse being killed instantly.

Sarah: Was that bit with the mouse a rib on Dustin Rhodes’ latest triumphant gimmick in TNA, the one with the rat?

TV: Probably. Oh, and the line about Luger and the stroke! Brilliant! But we miss that because I’m fast-forwarding as you can plainly see here in front of you.

Sarah: We should’ve gotten into the MST studio for this.

TV: Oh. Now you think of it. Tom and Crow would’ve loved to do commentary with you. Maybe next time I have some time to kill we’ll head over to the Satellite of Love and hang with the bots, do some commentating…ah, here we go.

Styles: And Kevin just tagged in Soem Guy.

SW: This should be….soemthing.

Styles: Both men circling each other. Are you staring at his ass, Scotty?

SW: …No. Fuck you.

TV: *Laughs* It was so funny to see Scotty struggle with his sexuality.

Sarah: I should have sent him a jock to really mess with him. Once he got a whiff, he’d be REALLY confused.

Styles: Soem Guy charges, but right into a heel kick from Jim. Soem Guy bails out to the floor. Incoming! Jim with a cross body to the floor. Jim sending Soem Guy back into the ring for soem more punishment.

Sarah: This is where the fun began with Jim "Totally Packaged." See? I already beat him in this match. How does HE deserve to face Death for MY title?

TV: Right. If Jim had simply beaten you…

Sarah: He can’t beat me!

TV: Right. I said if. IF! *Sigh*

SW: So if this is a Fourplay match, does that mean only chicks watching are enjoying this right now? Because I sure as hell am not.

Styles: Jim is dominating at the moment. Soem Guy tags out to Kevin.

Sarah: No sense wasting my energy on such inferior jobbers.

TV: Whoa. You’re calling Jim "Totally Packaged" a jobber?

Sarah: Everyone’s a jobber when compared to me. Even you.

TV: The fuck? I’m a sports entertainment icon!

Sarah: Oh yeah. You’re a tag champ. Forgot. *Snort*

TV: You have turned into such a bitch since you turned heel. I’m so aroused right now.

Sarah: Fast-forward this stuff.

TV: Right. Here’s a bunch of stuff and…here we go…did we ever figure out how Dr. Thrilla and Paradox got rehired, or did that go down the memory hole like so many other angles here?

Sarah: No clue. I have a feeling it’ll turn out to be BigBOSS though, since, you know, he runs the place. Occasionally.

Styles: There’s a tag for Soem Guy. Springboard hoodanconrana! That was soem hoodanconrana, Scotty. Spin kick. Spin jab. Wow, what technique. I wonder if Soem Guy knows soem karate or martial arts.

Sarah: Clue, clue!

SW: I wonder if Kevin has been taking lessons on being a punching bag, because if so, he’s a pro at it. Soem Guy is putting the hurt on that green-haired teenage goof.

Sarah: That’s quite the partner you have there, Trey.

TV: Yeah, well, at least I didn’t authorize hiring some bald-Texan who has still yet to earn his gigantic contract. The term "return on investment" is thrown around a lot these days…but I’m getting way more out of Kevin then Luke Warm. We might as well call ourselves WCW and hiring Luke was like hiring Hulk Hogan, except we’re getting even LESS out of Luke Warm.

Sarah: But those movies were cute. Maybe it was like WCW hiring the Ultimate Warrior? Oh, fast-forward again. This part’s boring.

Styles: Soem Guy charges, but right into a Krew Kutter! Here comes Thrilla. Krew Kutter for Thrilla. Cover on Soem Guy! One! Two and no! Soem Guy soemhow kicked out. Jim might have gotten the pin if not for Dr. Thrilla getting involved there.

Sarah: I’m a champion. That’s why I kicked out.

TV: Well, that, and it wasn’t the ending I booked.

Sarah: Take that up your ass, Kay Fabe! You have just been BROKEN!

TV: Are you girls still not made up yet?

SW: Kevin’s boots were made for burning.
Styles: Flaming dropkick takes down Jim!
[Flunky sprays Kevin again with the extinguisher, knocking him over.]

Sarah: We’re NFF’s. Not Friends Forever.

TV: So sad. I had hoped to get the two of you in bed someday, with Seth’s blessing of course.

Sarah: Right. Like that would ever happen.

TV: So…you’re open to it then?

Sarah: … Shut up, Trey.

Styles: Everybody is down and out. Thrilla’s up first. Soem Guy charges, Thrilla ducks. Sunset flip! One! Two! Kevin with a crossbody of sorts! One! Two! Soem Guy kicks out. Jim’s back up. He’s got Kevin! Fisherman Krewplex! One! Two! Soem Guy with a springboard splash! Cover! One! Two! Thrilla breaks it up! Wow, the pace picked up in this one.

TV: Nice spots.

Sarah: B-O-B! B-O-B!

SW: Well, anything looks like an improvement when you’re starting at zero miles an hour.
Styles: Thrilla grabs Kevin. Powerbomb coming up. Hold on… Oh my GOD!
Styles: How do you describe that one, Scotty?

TV: Sweetest move ever! I’m surprised Kevin’s face didn’t cave in.

Sarah: Hey, this isn’t MST. Stop the inside jokes. Now! Do I look like a pale trenchcoat wearing cruiserweight?

SW: Well…Thrilla was trying for a powerbomb on Kevin, then Jim and Soem Guy came up from behind him and hit a double back suplex sort of thing, which simultaneously drove Kevin face first into the mat!
Styles: I’ve never seen anything like that before.
SW: That’s because any sane people would never try crazy bumps like that!
Styles: It’s safe to say Kevin won’t be much of a factor in this one for the rest of the way. Oh man! Soem Guy just connected with one hell of a superkick to Jim.

Sarah: Styles loves my wrestling style. Could it be because, hmm, he trained me or something?

TV: Yeah. He’s such a mark. Styles must be so embarrassed now, to find out that this new character who came into BOB and Styles marked out for and thought he was great, only to find out it was just a longtime BOB veteran pretending to be some new character.

Sarah: Yeah. How lame is it to be Styles?

[Jim collapses throat first on the middle rope.]
Styles: Soem Guy looking to hit the 555?
SW: 555? Oh, I get it, instead of the 619. How clever, Styles.

Sarah: Thanks for feeding Styles that name.

TV: Sarah Mysterio. Though you did a terrible impersonation of him. You actually won your matches. *Laughs*

Sarah: *Laughs*

TV: Now we can simply call it the 469. Since you definitely are.

Styles: 555 connects. Soem Guy’s on the apron. Here comes the Soem Kind Of Finisher! HOODANCANRANA ROLLUP! ONE! TWO! THREE? HEGOTHIM!
SW: What? Jim jobbed to a masked jobber? Who did HE piss off?

TV: Me! Trey the Gay? I think not. I’m not the one hanging around with Da Sassy Bitch. I’m hanging around with Sarah. Who never even once gave into the temptation of lesbianism, even though she had Kay Fabe drooling over her for like eight years straight.

Sarah: I also did give into the temptation of you for like, six years.

TV: Yeah, but you can’t resist my charms forever. No chick can. If I just kept begging and pleading, you all eventually get sick of it and give in. Or, if I slip them a roofie. Either way…

NH: Here is your winner, Soem Guy In A Mask!

Crowd: WTF! WTF! WTF! WTF!

Styles: This is unbelievable. Let me go try and grab an interview with that masked man.

TV: And here’s Styles going into business for himself. What’s up with this?

Sarah: Yeah. He ruined my moment. I had to run and couldn’t even soak up the stupid chants of the loser smarks in the crowd.

SW: Uh…OK.

[Styles heads to the ring.]

Styles: Excuse me, Soem Guy?

[Soem Guy turns around. His eyes go wide, and Soem Guy bolts out of the ring and runs at top speed up the aisle and out of the ballroom.]

SW: The hell?

Styles: Um…

SW: Way to go, Styles. I guess Soem Guy’s a little hot. SHY! I meant…fuck me…

Sarah: In your dreams.

TV: In my reality. Woohoo!

Sarah: So, this has been our mini-commentary on my debut match. We’ll be back with more installments, revealing our master plan and belittling everyone in this fed along the way.

TV: Good times, good times. Later jackfucks!

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March 15th, 2008
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Joe Bananas

[The scene opens inside a small hut with a smoky atmosphere. The bamboo walls are covered with severed hands nailed at the fingers, skulls and photographs of men with their eyes burnt out. Sat next to a refrigerator at a dusk pink table playing cards is an old man wearing black sunglasses and a toothy grin. He has a machete close by for his protection as a lot of people dislike his practices. The rustling beads at his door signal someone entering.]

Witchdoctor: Enter young blood, but beware the mosquitoes in the air.

[Joe Bananas sits down in the chair opposite the Witchdoctor. The Witchdoctor takes a chicken’s head from out of his pocket and begins wrapping it in twine to ward off evil spirits.]

Witchdoctor: They will just fly past you now. So, what have you come to me for?

Joe: A few men at my work have been insulting me for taking drugs and talking in a confusing manner. Whilst I can be thick skinned, they have made my blood boil.

Witchdoctor: I see, a thinly veiled revenge?

Joe: I guess, but they still deserve something.

Witchdoctor: Bring me a lock of hair from the main protagonist to braid.

Joe: I think he’s bald.

[The Witchdoctor holds the chicken head up to his forehead as he closes his eyes. He stands up from his chair and walks towards the back of his hut, returning with a chainsaw, a set of false teeth and an electric drill.]

Witchdoctor: Go outside and bring that tied up goat in here.

[Joe does as he’s told and returns with the goat on a leash.]

Witchdoctor: First I will bind these false teeth to the chainsaw, then I will bind the electric drill to the other side. You must spin this machete in the air in a circular motion to take on the spirit of the goat. You must then sacrifice it to appease the demons.

[He hands Joe the chainsaw, which he turns on without a second thought (he grew up in Jamaica) and slices the goat’s head clean off. The Witchdoctor unbinds the chainsaw and takes the false teeth in his hand. He paints a smiley face onto an orange and uses the teeth to peel it in a spiral motion.]

Witchdoctor: The curse is in place, all those who insulted you will be given bad luck and you will gain strength. Any further insults will have to really bring the shit to get to you, rise above their simple language they use to try to walk all over you. Keep your eyes on the road and move forward with a head full of steam.

Joe: Thank you Witchdoctor.

Witchdoctor: Here, have a piece of liquorice.

[Joe takes a piece and stretches it with his teeth until it snaps. He leaves the hut and the Witchdoctor begins melting a toy baby with acid.]

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Tell me how much they fuckin’ suck.

March 15th, 2008

So this is my first attempt at any sort of comedy character, I realize it’s not too funny, but I didn’t really try too hard, just a kind of introduction of sorts. Have fun reading it!


[The picture fades in to see a fat man sitting on a tattered leather couch with his fingers buried in his pants. In his other hand, he holds a gold hued bottle of beer which, for copyright purposes, has had its label covered by a foam can holder. He takes a long gulp and belches from a place deep within his bowels. He coughs a little bit afterwards and picks up a cigarette that has burned halfway through because of neglect, much to his dismay. He takes what he can from it and stubs it out in the skull he uses as an ash tray. He lights up another one and it hangs from his lip, a la Eddie Monroe.]

Düff: You don’t know who I am, but I know where you live… erm… sorry, wrong introduction. But yeah, none of you fuckers know who I am just yet, or at least I will play it off as such because I like appearing mysterious and dark and br00tal. Though I guess telling the ten people watching this who I am wouldn’t be so bad. Hell, this tape probably won’t get farther than my camcorder, and if it does, it’ll probably because some stupid fucker decided to rob my house, found this tape, thought it was porn, and when he found out what it really was, he posted it on YouTube. I would know, that’s pretty much the story behind this tape. I dunno who Duff Côte d’Ivoire is, but that asshole is down one promo now.

[He takes a long puff from his cigarette, coughs a bit, and flicks the ashes in the tray.]

Düff: Anyways, I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it… SHIT! Wrong line again. That’s what I get for sitting here all day, watching re-runs of The Simpsons, Family Guy, and Robot Chicken while scarfing down handfuls of Doritos and drinking beer. The ideal habits for a pro wrestler? Probably not, but I don’t need to be totally trained and hone my skills for years just to be good. I’ve wrestled in back yards for years! That’s good enough, I would think. I have won countless titles in countless federations in countless matches! I say this because all the alcohol has kind of erased any memories of those matches and federations, but the titles in my trophy case are real!

[Camera pans over to said trophy case, which is basically a giant maple armoire painted black with the words “Indecent Exposure” carved all over it. Düff walks over to it and wings the door open, breaking it off of his hinges.]

Düff: Shit. Eh, easily replaced. Look at these belts, though! I am a former WWE World Champion… whatever the WWE is. I also won the TNA X-Division title under the name Jay Lethal! … Actually, I’m pretty sure these were just some things I bought while browsing eBay, drunk. But there’s still a whole bunch of other belts… hidden away behind the other door. I don’t want to blind you guys with the glare from all that gold, so I’ll spare you a look in there.

[He picks up the stray door and leans it up against the rest of the armoire and sighs, realizing the time this will take away from the Married… With Children marathon.]

Düff: What I’m trying to say is that I’m a force to be reckon with. I am the greatest superstar the world has ever seen! And when I finally show up at Brawlers On a Budget, I will show that I am truly the best in show! … Er, in the business!

[In all of his talking, that cigarette that hangs low from his lip falls out and burns his hand before rolling down his pants.]


[He gets up and dances around, trying to shake the tobacco from his shorts. The cigarette falls out and onto the couch, creating yet another warp in the already horribly beaten leather. He stomps the cigarette, breaking the couch in the process.]

Düff: AH BALLS! Well, I guess shit can’t get much worse here, can it? Look out, BooB! … Er… BoB! I’m coming soon to a theater near you! … Wait…

[Scene abruptly cuts to black.]

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So Where Are They Filming From Anyway?

March 13th, 2008

Mr. Paradox

*Somewhere in South Dakota, Mr. Paradox adjusts the camera and then sits at a round, stained table alongside Dr. Thrilla and Cecil, the next card in front of them. Mr. Paradox runs a line alongside it and smirks.*

Mr. Paradox: Me versus the Snapmare Kid, huh? Well, that should be simple enough. I mean, if I ever have trouble countering a snapmare then my career is dead in the water.

Dr. Thrilla

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor wonders why he wasn’t scheduled for a match.

Mr. Paradox: Well, for starters, we share our promos, so it’s possible the booker flipped a coin for which of us got on the card. Besides, you still have to make that challenge to Studnuts.

Dr. Thrilla: *rusty metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor groans.

Mr. Paradox: Look, if you want something to do in that show, try doing a run-in on Jerri Li’s behalf.

Dr. Thrilla: *perverted metal clanging*

Mr. Paradox: Cut that out!

Cecil: I note Joe Bananas was not booked.

Mr. Paradox: Right now he seems more interested in random breaking-and-entering than, you know, submitting a profile to the BigBOSS. That won’t get you anywhere in this business.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor wonders whether to make his challenge as himself or in Thrilla Life mode.

Mr. Paradox: Yourself. You remember what happened when you did the Thrilla Life challenge, right?

Dr. Thrilla: *rusty metal clanging*

*The camera fuzzes out.*

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Give Me Liberty, or Give Me Dr. Death!

March 12th, 2008
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By Haywood Jablome
FP Writer

WASHINGTON – Death, the former Brawlers On a Budget ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, has endorsed assisted suicide advocate Jack Kevorkian’s plan to run for Congress, one which complicates a Michigan race that is expected to be among the most competitive in the nation.

The so-called “Dr. Death,” who was released from prison last year and remains on parole, will run as a candidate with no party affiliation for a congressional seat representing Detroit’s suburbs, an associate said.

“You know…there’s been a lot of talk about change in this election,” said Death. “But I believe we need to hear more about death in this election. Who is going to kill the most constituents? I say, Jack! Because everyone knows, politics is all about who can kill the most people with the stroke of a pen. Why elect an amateur when you can hire the real deal?”

Kevorkian is hoping for some honesty in government. He plans to focus on prison reform and bringing integrity to the government. The retired pathologist was not available, but is expected to make formal announcement next week.

“I’m hopeful that Jack will make a special appearance with me at BOB’s debut broadcast on G5 TV, ‘Total Non-Action Wrestling iMPLOSION,’ when I defeat Kid Pirate,” Death continued. “It’ll make a killing in the ratings!”

Death lost the OWTTM at Totally Dead last month.

“I may just introduce Trey Vincent and Sarah ‘The Jobber Slayer’ to my paroled buddy,” Death added with a chuckle. “Trey and Sarah sitting in a tree…d-y-i-n-g. Sarah, I’m gonna give you the deadliest fingerbang of your life! And Trey? You’re gonna play the part of Rover, and get a bone of your own.”

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New Era RP. March 12, 2008.

March 12th, 2008
Comments Off on New Era RP. March 12, 2008.

Dr. Silaconne M. Plants

[Dr. Sliaconne M. Plants and Nurse Heidi are in his office. Yeah, this is pretty much the same thing as last time except that Plants no longer has ice on his balls. There seems to be a bit of distress on Heidi’s visage, as she uses a half a semester of “character acting” at Monserrat Nighttime Community College to convey a degree of concern.]

Nurse Heidi

NH: Hey Sil, have you seen this memo from Mr. Leary about the upcoming iMPLOSION! events?

SMP: Where was it?

NH: On the message board.

SMP: I thought that was Joe Bananas.

NH: No, stupid. Under the Vent Your Spleen section.

SMP: I don’t read that one. I think you have to be out of character on that board and I’m always in character. Like right now. See? I’m Doctor Silaconne M. Plants. The greatest professional wrestler in the history of history. The Dirtiest Boobie Enhancer in Wrestling Today™. Have I mentioned that I defeated Sgt. Genocide for the STWF InterGalactic title? Then won it again, one of only two men to hold it twice? And I was the LAST to hold it, have I mentioned that?

NH: About a million times. Million and one now…

SMP: I see. What’s the memo?

NH: RPs are going to matter now. No more gimmes. Here, I’ll read it to you:
OK, here’s the info on what I’m planning for iMPLOSION. Basically, over the last few years in BOB, RPs haven’t mattered too much, as long as you were participating, you usually got a decent enough presence on the cards. Sure, there are a lot of changes I’d love to make now looking back involving certain pushes/characters, but what can I say, I was drunk most of 2003-2004. And parts of 2002, honestly.

SMP: Who wasn’t? I’m drunk right now. Well, not really drunk… but slightly soused.

NH: Are you finished? Can I please continue?

SMP: Oh sure. But I guess that “drunk in ‘03/’04” explains Axl’s title run.

NH: He wasn’t even here then, was he?

SMP: Hardcore JJ’s title run?

NH: Now that’s debatable. Anyway…

So, here’s the deal with iMPLOSION. RPs are going to matter. It’s not going to be based on the basketball outcomes this year, but what’s going to happen is a much more focused version of our yearly attempt at March Mayhem. It’ll be 32 people involved in a big tournament (with the stakes to be revealed on the first show) that will be determined by YOU (and my judgment of you, basically).

SMP: Uh-oh. That doesn’t bode too well for me, does it? I was hoping for that luck of the draw thing this year like douja got that one time. Duke? Come on, now…he’d have never won that tournament without Duke.

NH: *ahem*

SMP: Sorry. Carry on.

NH: I don’t have a planned winner. The people who have the funniest or most creative or just all around most entertaining Rants will advance. Seedings have been based on an all-time BOB points system similar to hockey standings.

SMP: What?! I have to be funny and creative? And *gasp* ENTERTAINING? Shit. I’m toast. I’ll never win that tournament.

NH: Shhhhh. You’re not supposed to talk about that yet.

SMP: I’m not?

NH: No.
So, I’ll lay it out simply. If you RP and your opponent doesn’t, even if it’s just a one-liner for example, you win. If neither person RPs, then it’s up to me who advances (there won’t be any double-eliminations). If both RP, then whichever RP I enjoyed more gets rewarded. Pretty simple, right? I hope so.

SMP: Simple? It sounds simple enough. But I’m scared, Heidi. What if I lose to a one-liner?

NH: Duh, that’s if you don’t post, dummy. You’re doing one right now.

SMP: Phew! That was close!

NH: iMPLOSION will lead us to the big final match, which will feature the final four, at our yet-to-be-named next On-Demand event. As a somewhat related tangent, if anybody has any OnDemand names you’d like to throw out, I’m open to all ideas, even if it doesn’t end up being used for the next show.

SMP: How about Delusions of Grandeur? I like that! And any of Steven Seagal’s three-line titles can work in BOB. Like these for instance:
Flight of Fury. (wrestling on a plane!)
Above The Law (kudos to BigBoss’ constant dodging of the IRS!)
Today You Die (a card with all “death matches”!)
Marked For Death (Death in the main event!)
Hard To Kill (a tribute to BOB’s longevity and the people who keep it running!)
On Deadly Ground (that should be self explanatory.)
Fire Down Below (a nod to your recurring cystitis!)


SMP: Half Past Dead, Out Of Reach…

NH: How about his last movie? Straight to Video?

SMP: I know, BOB could hold an event in China, and call it Chinese Democracy. Then they wouldn’t have to post the card for 10 years!

NH: I know, right?

[They high five, then Heidi slaps the Doc.]

SMP: Hey! What was that for?

NH: My cystitis. I can’t help it if I have honeymoon syndrome all the time.

SMP: Duly noted. What’s the rest of the message?

NH: Right then. With that all in mind, the first card will be posted in a few minutes. If you are active and are not on the first show, don’t freak out. Everyone will have matches within the first three shows.

SMP: Am I on there?

NH: Yep. You got Pete Trable.

SMP: BWAAAHAAA HAAA! That’s a gimme! He sucks! His own handler doesn’t even like him! In fact, I heard through the grapevine that his handler gave The Great’s handler the rights to use him because Pete was mad that Axl’s handler made him say “Word to your gram-gram.”

NH: Huh?

SMP: It’s a long story. Anyway, I should advance with no problem. I also heard that Pete was on suspension from doing promos for a month for gratuitous use of the “N” word in his last rant. He was fined, reprimanded, and can’t say that anymore. Without that, he’s nothing. I should breeze on through.

NH: So he can’t RP?

SMP: Nope!

NH: This means you can win with a one–liner.


NH: That’s not how you say it. And it’s not funny, either.

SMP: Funny is irrelevant in this situation, Pete can’t respond!

NH: Well there you go. Let me finish the memo because I have to pee.

SMP: Cystitis?

NH: All I ask is that if you are ranting for the first show, don’t mention the tournament, because realistically, your character doesn’t know about it yet and none of you know what the stakes are. All you know is you have a match. Get it?


NH: Are we done?

SMP: Would you like for me to write you a script for Cipro?

NH: That’s soooo not funny…

SMP: I wasn’t saying that for RP sake. I was serious.

NH: Then sure.

SMP: Consider it done. By the way, before we sign off… the other day, when Steve was over here… I later found nipple pasties, a stripper pole, various sex toys including a cat-o-nine tails, and some K-Y jelly in the staff lounge. Do you know
anything about that?

NH: Not a thing. Gotta run! Ummm. See ya!

[Fade out]

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