Archive for May, 2008

The Great gets ready for Implosion Eight

May 31st, 2008
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The Great

(In St. Louis, Missouri, The Great has called for a “family meeting.” The wife deeply sighs, the kids moan, the Mother in Law says, “Whah whah whuh, WHAH?” and Pete Trable pretty much says the same thing, which was, “What da f—k, n—–a?”.

Regardless of the unwillingness, everybody attends the meeting. They are all lined up on the couch, from left to right:

The wife, 15 year old Lori, 10 year old Nick, Pete Trable, 5 year old Johnny, and the Mother in Law, who now wishes to be known as O.G. Granny Master Flash, wearing a bathrobe, a large gold chain, sunglasses (Blu-Blockers) and a black leather pimp hat. The Great paces in front of them. )

“The Great”: As you all well know, The Great survived The Royal Flush Rumble and has advanced to the final eight of the Grand Slam Tournament. The Great was fortunate to draw a very lucky entry into the Rumble, and avoided disaster when the Pete Trable cyborg as a weapon fiasco went awry.

Little Johnny: Ah yes. This we must discuss. Did I not inform you that purified water minus electrolytes was absolutely paramount in initiating the regeneration process? You used electrolyte-enhanced water, didn’t you?

“The Great”: The Great is not sure. The Great used bottled water and The Great didn’t really bother to read the ingredients. The Great didn’t think water had ingredients other than clearness and liquid. Water is water.

Little Johnny: NO! Water is most certainly NOT water, you imbecile! Now, thanks to your blundering on national television, I’ve been made a fool. I’ve been exposed, unjustly, as a charlatan whose creations do not work. How do you suppose I’m going to be invited to the Evil Geniuses of Genocidal Inventions Conventions for the late September, early October sessions? I’ll be ridiculed!

XFactor Pete Trable

Pete: Ridiculed? Damn, yo, you don’t even know ridicule until you’re naked in front of a crowd and they be chantin’, “You got shrinkage.”

Lori: Hmmm, I don’t know about that. They used a lot of pixilation. Hee hee!

Little Johnny: No, they really didn’t. You did have shrinkage, Peter. I’ve seen children in Pre-K, getting their diapers changed, more hung than you.

Pete: YO! What up wit dat?!

The Mother in Law: Whurd!

“The Great”: Son, The Great apologizes. The Great needed a weapon and The Great couldn’t think of one right away.

Little Johnny: Father, there are times I’m embarrassed to be of your loins. I’ve not even completed my calculations with the cyborg pills, they’re not even ready for use. Otherwise, nimwit, I’d have conquered the world by now. And then you go and use that generic, DIRTY water. It’s a wonder there wasn’t a dangerous chain reaction from incongruent ingredients that caused a mutated side effect even I couldn’t remedy. I swear, there are times I think I could remove your brain, shove it up a gnat’s rectum, shake the gnat violently, and you brain would ricochet around in there like an Air-Soft pellet in Epcot Center.

“The Great”: Son? You’re headed for a spanking, young man.

Little Johnny: I’m sorry! Please forgive me, Father. I’m just really upset right now.

“The Great”: Well, so is The Great. Very upset. The Great’s next match is an encounter with Dr. Thrilla, The Swiss Army Champion. If The Great is victorious, The Great goes on to the final match at UnFOURgiven. But that has not upset The Great. What has upset The Great is that The Great has been accused of forcing some family members, namely “a son”, into Brawlers on a Budget promos, and has been called an abomination of a man for doing such.

Little Johnny: What in the blue flames of Hades is Brawlers on a Budget?

The Great’s wife: It’s that STUPID wrestling thing your dad is doing INSTEAD of getting a REAL second job so we can get LOTS of THINGS we NEED.

Little Johnny: Oh, is that why that strange man snuck into my room the other night? He was an employee of a wrestling promotion? What a relief, I thought it was a Catholic priest trying to cop some video footage of me convalescing in my Jimmy Neutron briefs.

“The Great”: Okay, that’s just about enough of that. The Great says Johnny needs to—-

Nick: Know his role and shut his mouth?

“The Great”: Um, no. The Great is putting Johnny on the back burner. Johnny? Quit talking so much. This is about The Great. Not the Great’s family.

The Great’s wife: Oh no! Hold on a minute! For Christ’s sake. JESUS! For Christ’s sake! It’s ALWAYS about the family!

“The Great”: Not this time. This time, it’s about The Great. The Great is putting The Great’s foot down. The Great needs to be devoid of distraction. The Great, needs to concentrate. The Great, needs to evaluate. The Great, needs to formulate. Then, The Great will dominate.

(The Great directly faces the camera)

“The Great”: Dr. Thilla. You’ve been placed into a very precarious position. On the one hand, you could become the first man in the Brawlers on a Budget to defeat The Great. On the other, you could become the first, of many, men The Great has taken a championship from. The Great assumes a D.Q. win for The Great is not good enough. Only the champions make it to the Grand Slam Finale, and titles don’t switch on D.Q.’s as The Great learned against Death. Therefore, one of us is getting pinned or submitted. One way or the other, Dr. Thrilla, wrestling The Great will make you famous.

Nick: Dad?

“The Great”: Yeah, son?

Nick: Am I still allowed to talk in your promo things?

“The Great”: The Great supposes so.

Nick: Good. Can I have a X-Station Wii60 and The Vortex?!


(As the family members scamper in various directions, O.G. Granny Master Flash stands in front of Pete Trable and opens her bathrobe. )

Pete: DAMN, YO! Where dat pixilation at, dogg! Granny Master FLASH, fo’ sho’!

The Mother in Law: Whuh whuh whuh whah whah.

Pete: What? I showed you mine, you show me yours? Yo, I didn’t show you, I was at a wrestling show, girl! Back dat train up!

The Mother in Law: Whuh whah?

Pete: Oh, HELL NAH! Not DAT train!

Lori: MOM! Granny’s rump shaking again!

The Great’s wife: Mom, stop shaking your rear at Pete! Mom? MOTHER! Stop that right now!

(Cut to commercial.)

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Direct Provocation

May 30th, 2008
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Mr. Paradox

*In a low-rent apartment in South Dakota, Mr. Paradox is gluing the plaster statue of Godzilla 2000 back together after the Stonecutter delivered to it at iMPLOSION. He is wearing a particle mask and goggles, but his eyes are still visible and narrow with anger.*

Mr. Paradox: God damn it. StompTokyo will have my legs broken for this one.

Dr. Thrilla

*Elsewhere in the apartment, presumably in a room not reached by the fumes and plaster dust, Dr. Thrilla is polishing his beartrap, wearing his Thrilla Life outfit, as Cecil sorts a set of index cards. He turns to the camera and begins to clang.*

Dr. Thrilla: *rhythmic, threatening metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor notes that his next match will be against the Great. He has this to say.

Dr. Thrilla: *obscene, angry metal clanging*

Cecil: Any man who would force his own son to appear in BOB promos is an abomination of a human being. The Great does not deserve a chance at any titles.

Dr. Thrilla: *threatening metal clanging*

Cecil: When the Doctor is through with you, you’d best hope your son has good decision-making skills, because he’ll be sending you to a nursing home.

Dr. Thrilla: *mocking metal clanging*

Cecil: And to Pete Trable, you make ICP look like the Beastie Boys. You haven’t done a decent rap song since the days you still feuded with Atomo.

Dr. Thrilla: *flashes a gang sign, concluding metal clanging*

Cecil: Peace.

*In the main room, the statue is now repaired, and Mr. Paradox turns to the camera, still in particle mask and goggles.*

Mr. Paradox: Trey, Kevin… I’m thinking of making a bet with Dr. Plants. We pick one of you, he uses a scalpel, I use a sword, and the one who leaves his target less recognizable wins. I don’t make bets I can’t win, either…

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Pyromania runs wild again

May 28th, 2008
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin grabs a chunk of meat as sweat from the oven’s heat pours down his face. He pulls the bones out from beneath the skin and drop them into a brown paper bag. Be puts the baking tray into the oven, praying it doesn’t explode. Kevin the falls back into a chair as though he had deflated.]

Kevin: You need a will of iron for this cooking bullshit.

[Kevin brushes the bowl of grated cheese he plans to melt onto the meat and places a photograph of a sumo wrestler on the counter. He holds an orange lighter up to the corner.]


[Kevin ignites the photo and watches as it burns. He blinks a number of times before putting out the remnants in the sink.]

Kevin: There must be a tree I can set fire to.

[Kevin throws the lighter out of his fingers into his pocket before running past the refrigerator and through the door. He gawks at the beech tree he sees before him in his friend Tim’s backyard. He takes a swig of pepsi and chews the cream off the side of an oreo.]

Kevin: It’s pyromania time and I’m late!

[Kevin pumps his fists as he runs to the tree and starts hitting it repeatedly with an axe. He then takes out a couple of matches and his trusty can of gasoline.]

Kevin: Pyromania!

[The tree bursts into flames and a dog begins barking uncontrollably. Kevin then sets fire to himself and rolls around in the grass until he puts himself out and recites a classic Lethal Weapon quote.]

Kevin: I’m too old for this shit.

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In The Mind Of A Madman

May 28th, 2008
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[The Portuguese Man Of War is sat in front of a television set watching a rant by Duke Thompson. He’s wearing a pink frilly tuxedo from the 70s and a metallic colored version of his mask. His trainer, Paul Yoman, is sat on a chair with his arms crossed.]

Yoman: This man is seriously and dangerously a threat in your BOB debut. You haven’t even started the diet.

[PMOW looks up whilst eating a donut.]

Yoman: You’re stuffing your face like a pig, it’s disgusting. And I don’t want to know how many sauce stains you’ve got on that suit.

PMOW: This is the only suit the bailiffs left me with, I haven’t worn this thing since I worked in Puerto Rico.

Yoman: The holes are ridiculous, you need to get yourself spic and span, you’re knees aren’t what they used to be and this guy has muscles like melons. He’ll cut through them like hot butter.

PMOW: Well what the hell do I do? I’m a terrible luchador compared to some of these other guys and he’d crush them with his melon muscles… he’s like the hulk.

Yoman: Well, maybe you should cheat.

PMOW: I’m not a heel! I just have to use my intellect to beat him.

Yoman: You have to cut a promo against him, you need the fan support. If you’ve got any chance of pinning him you need to get under his skin somehow. BOB also wants you to drink from a bottle of tequila to make you seem more surly because your a luchador he can’t even spin during his moves.

PMOW: Hey, those guys take steroids. I’m the real deal.

Yoman: Well, here’s the tequila they want you to use. Don’t drink it before the promo!

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Rubber & Glue

May 27th, 2008

Mr. Fantastic

[A 50 year old bodybuilder covered in baby oil is flexing his muscles in front of a mirror. He smiles his overly whitened teeth and clenches his fists. He turns to the camera and points.]

Mr. Fantastic: Woo! I’m coming to Brawlers On A Budget and can’t nobody stop me!

[He stops flexing his muscles and picks an empty can of beer before crushing it in his hands.]

Mr. Fantastic: You’d better take your vitamins BOB, cuz when the splash comes you’ll all be wiped out. You’ll be bodyslammed so hard you wont know what hit you!

[He puts on a pair of sunglasses before pointing at the screen with both of his fingers. The screen fades to black as Mr. Fantastic tries to catch his breath.]

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May 26th, 2008
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin is hiding in long grass amongst daisies trying to catch frogs. His hair is covered in mud and he has a black eye. He grabs hold of the frog and stands up, spinning on his feet and jumping into the air.]

Kevin: One more for the lawnmower.

[Kevin throws the frog into a bucket and covers it with a lid. He takes the bucket inside with him and drops it on the kitchen floor. Kevin then crumbles a piece of chocolate cake into a bowl of rice pudding and jam. Strawberry and lemon flavored. He pours himself a pepsi and takes a long sip. He then takes one of the frogs out of the bucket and tries to put it into the microwave but it slips out of his hand.]

Referee: 1, 2, 3!

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Finding Axl.

May 25th, 2008
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[Scene: Outside Goth Topik… Sinister City, Utah.]

[Axl and Rose are standing outside the display window of Goth Topik, both wearing black from head to toe.]

Axl: I just don’t know Rose…

Rose: Are you sure you’re not mistaken about what the guy meant? Are you SURE you have to get a new wardrobe? I mean… wouldn’t just changing a few catchphrases around suffice?

Axl: Rose, Garth said I have to be true to mySELF, if I want to be truly evil. And… well… I really don’t think this whole goth thing is true to who I am on the inside… ya know?

Rose: … No, not really.

Axl: I just KNOW that deep down within is someone hiding… and today, I’m going to FIND that someone. No matter how long it takes … half a day, a whole day… hell, it could take until UnFourGiven… I am GOING to find out who I REALLY am! And Rose… you’re going to help me.

Rose: Oh brother…

Axl: There’s another shop at this strip mall that’s got some material that’s GOT to help me. And Rose, you’re going to help me pick it out!

Rose: Why couldn’t Viruz have come… I could be at home watching porn, but nooo, I have to be out shopping for clothes! Axl just doesn’t know how to treat a lady…

– – –
– – –

[We find Axl and Rose in a hunting supplies shop entitled “Big Game Hunter”. There’s a cardboard cut-out of a hunter aiming a rifle… pointed in the direction of a cardboard cutout of a turtle. And not one of those giant sea turtles, either, more like a baby box turtle… and upon further exploration, it appears as though this store supposedly targeting ‘big game hunters’ has a wide variety of traps, guns, and other assorted equipment aimed at the capture and killing of… well, lesser creatures. You’ve heard of elephant guns? This store has ‘grasshopper’ guns. A few mouse traps are stockpiled on one shelf… And the coup de grace ; camo made specifically for the great hunt of worms. Dirt brown camoflauge is the best way to nab that elusive fishing bait, I always say. Well… ‘never say’ really, but who’s reading this anyway?]

[Rose comes out of a dressing room, and turns around, scratching the back of her head…]

Rose: Axl, I dunno about this… I think you may want to stick to attire from… perhaps THIS century?

Axl: Whaddya mean? Or should I say – Cheerio, and bag the rubbish, my good man!

[Axl walks out of the dressing room, wearing a long-brimmed safari hat and a complete safari outfit… and to top off the outfit, he wears a fake white moustache, and a monacle. Along with the black and white face paint. Needless to say, Rose is shaking her head.]

Rose: Axl…

Axl: The name is no longer Axl, me dear, tis ARTHUR… SAFARI SUPERMAN! [Axl whips around, showing a khaki cape, with the picture of a monkey with an arrow through its head] My dear, I am the shooter of wild beasts, I Am the killer of treachorous boars! I AM… the HUNTER!

Rose: Hearst Helmsley?

Axl: Huh? Beg your pardon?

Rose: Axl, you KNOW that’s not the so-called “inner you”. And as far as I’m concerned, there IS no inner you! There’s just the you that wins the belt, takes home the money, and buys me more Doritos and Budweiser! And if you want the belt so damn bad, you’re going to have to find a you that doesn’t really give two shits about himself, and is willing to kill himself even MORE just so he can satisfy ME! Now, get the hell out of that ridiculous get-up and drop the accent. The Man Show’s on.

Axl: *grumbling to himself* There IS an inner me… I’ll show you… YOU’LL see…

[As Axl heads back out from the dressing room once he’s changed back into his usual goth poser attire, he tosses the safari costume aside… Rose already outside and revving up the VW Beetle’s engine. Axl heads toward the exit of the store… He emerges into the bright sunlight, looking toward his and Rose’s vehicle, with a glum look on his face… before turning his head toward a third shop…]

[… A skater shop. Filled with torn jeans… flannel shirts… and collectible shirts, displaying the logos of bands such as Pearl Jam, and of course, Nirvana. In the front store display window stands a cardboard cut out, with the likeness of musical, and teen angst, icon, Kurt Cobain.]

[Axl stands, with a palm against the side of the Beetle… he stares at the picture of the man who took his own life before his prime.]

Rose: GET. IN.

Axl: *whispering* Now I know why the guy offed himself…

[Axl and Rose drive off… dust filling the air… as “Come As You Are” plays in the background…]

|never sell out… never surrender|

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“Icon?” ruins “Idol?”

May 25th, 2008

Dr. Silaconne M. Plants

LOS ANGELES – The grown-up rocker triumphed over the smooth-voiced kid as David Cook claimed the “American Idol” title Wednesday, and it wasn’t as much of a surprise as it seemed. However, a little known professional wrestler from a small time, and arguably low budget “promotion” caused several surprises of his own.

While the judges all but crowned 17-year-old David Archuleta the night before, the voters decided otherwise — and in a huge and unexpected way. Host Ryan Seacrest said before the results that that the margin was 12 million votes, and it turns out they broke in the favor of the 25-year-old from Blue Springs, Mo. Meanwhile, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants, an aging grappler from Nipples, er Naples, Florida was crowning the night his own special way.

Plants, who was in the news several months ago after causing a ruckus during a studio taping of “Jeopardy!”, one in which had allegedly caused host Alex Trebek to have a heart attack, has once again shown that professional wrestlers from insignificant federations should not be allowed in public venues.

While Plants was disturbing the event backstage, Cook was overcome by emotion, bending toward the stage after his name was announced. When he stood up, his eyes were filled with tears, the second time in as many nights that the scruffy, grainy-voiced belter had broken down.

“This is amazing,” he said. “This is all your fault,” he added, addressing his brother, Andrew. The story goes that Cook was only tagging along with his sibling to the “Idol” auditions to lend support, and wound up getting on the show.

The festivities began innocent enough as Cook immediately took the microphone and began to sing “Time of my Life” by Nashville singer/songwriter Regie Hamm, winner of the annual “Idol” songwriting competition, to close out season seven.

Cook refused to bow to the conventional during his three-song set Tuesday, with Collective Soul’s “The World I Know” as his pick for a closing performance. He also sang U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” and the power ballad “Dream Big,” his choice from the songwriting competition’s non-winning finalists.

During the show, viewers got songs from runners-up including Syesha Mercado, who dueted with Seal on his song “Waiting for You,” and a solo on “Hallelujah” by dreadlocked Jason Castro.

Other “Idol” contestant and name-brand pairings: Cook with ZZ Top, Archuleta with OneRepublic, Bryan Adams with the top six male singers and Brooke White with Graham Nash.

“Brooke looks so much better than Crosby,” Nash quipped backstage, referring to bandmate David Crosby.

The Jonas Brothers got the stage to themselves for a performance.

“American Idol” also celebrated the awfulness that is part of the show, usually confined to the early auditions, with a performance by failed contestant Reynaldo Lapuz that threw in University of Southern California cheerleaders and marching band members. And this is where the proverbial “went to hell in a hand basket” part of the show occurred.

Plants, who was in the audience next to last year’s runner up Blake Lewis and former “Idol” reject William “She Bangs” Hung, took exception to Reynaldo’s butchery of his hand penned tune for controversial judge Simon Cowell. During the portion of the performance where the off-key Lapuz couldn’t even keep tempo with the band, Plants left his seat and somehow managed to get backstage by hiding under Season 2’s winner Ruben Studdard’s left titty.

After the dreadful “performance”, Plants met Reynaldo as he left the stage, kicked him in the stomach, and delivered a “wrestling finisher” Plants calls the “Med Degree”, his version of popular wrestler Hunter Hearst Helmsley’s (Jean Paul Levesque) maneuver christened the “Pedigree”.

Plants was heard by several bystanders as he stood over the prone Lupuz saying, “You couldn’t even sing the goddamn song WITH a band”!

No charges have been filed due to the fact when Reynaldo’s lawyer was contacted, he replied, “What defense do we have? Reynaldo sucks.”

Plants was in the news in a related incident less than a year ago when competing on a “Celebrity” show of “Jeopardy!” with fellow wrestlers Abdullah the Butcher (who chased a live chicken on the set) and former Florida State All-American Ron Simmons when Plants became enraged, flipped his podium, and wiped his own doo-doo on a door inside the studio.

Plants’ actions have been blamed for the cause of Trebek’s infarction that hospitalized the long-time host for several days.

Plants is also being looked at for being directly and/or indirectly responsible in some way to other tragedies ranging from China’s recent series of earthquakes, the four severed human feet found off the coast of British Columbia, rising gas prices, the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, the Myanmar cyclone, helping R. Kelly conspire to literally piss on his fans, Watergate, the second gunman on the grassy knoll, to being responsible for the mega push of Hannah Montana merchandise.

Plants could not be reached for comment, but sources close to the self proclaimed “Sinister Surgeon” and “Dirtiest Boobie Enhancer in Wrestling” say that the doctor turned wrestler is aloof and “on-edge” recently after locker room rumors put his co-worker Nurse Heidi, who is also rumored to be in love with Dr. Plants, in a home made sex video with another wrestler. Luckily, it’s not Sean Waltman, but rather a wrestler who also works for the same promotion Plants is affiliated with.

The source says that despite on-going denials, Dr. Plants has feelings for his nurse, who works for him in a breast augmentation clinic as well as sometimes appearing as his valet at matches when she’s not doing ring introductions, and his bizarre behavior is related to the supposed sex tape and its actual existence.

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in Which Zee Dook Rants Like Madman

May 24th, 2008
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[Duke Thompson. “The Shit”. A hulking mammoth of a man at 6’8″ tall and nearly three-hundred muscle-bound pounds squeezed tightly into a much-too-small tank top. For this displays his impressive bodybuilding physique, you see. Confidently, he stands before a cheap-o “BOB” banner loosely taped to a nondescript white wall.]

YARG~! On yon feet, bitches! For Zee Dook ist now here!

[His voice is loud and booming, echoing throughout the halls as if being amplified through a pair of gigantic speakers. His voice also carries with it an indeterminate accent – sounding very much like a slightly intoxicated and surly Arnold Schwarzeneggar.]

And how dare you artless barnacles leaves him off zee line-up for Un4Given? Surely zere must be some doltish peon lurking about zee arena tonight who’s brave enough to test me considerable skill? Courageous enough to step between zee ropes and test _zis_?

[Wearing a genuinely perplexed and sour puss, Duke flexes his mighty bicep. It’s an impressive sight, as big around as a friggin’ melon. Clearly the product of hard work and much “vitamin” consumption.]

Pfffft! I Scoff at zee poor misguided ghetto-larks who get roped into facing me! ‘Tis a hopeless endeavor for which zere is no possible victory. Just looks at me! I’m frickin’ HYOOOGE! My biceps are massive and bulging! I can crush even zee largest of craniums in zee unnaturally large crux of my elbow! I can rips through a New York phone directory vith unfathomable ease! In short…

[Duke bends his torso down to meet the camera, delivering his next in line in a matter-of-fact tone.]

I’m zee shit.

[Eyes narrowing, Duke suddenly becomes deadly serious.]

You see, zere’s a tin line between bravery and recklessness, Bob-O management. A very tin line indeed and you’ve just gone and crossed it, dummies. Brazenly and vithout proper forethought you’ve gone and stepped over zee line, practically begging for me to comes and rearrange your facial structure. And I’m more zan happy to oblige. I’m frickin’ thrilled! I vill fux you up royally for zis transgression!

And as for zee rest of you lilly-livered nut-hooks – you had best be paying close attention! What I’m about to do to zese foolish suits is but a mere sampling of zee hell zat I intend to visit upon each and every one of you unsightly toads! I’ve been ruthlessly stomping zose weaker zan me – vich is everybody – me whole life and I certainly does not intends to stop now on account of you insufferable crybabies whining about zee bigger kid – me- beating your weakling asses and stealing your lunch money… or in zis case, Zee Only World Title Zat Matters!

[And with that, Duke robotically turns his massive frame and saunters down the hall, bellowing laughter issuing from him in uncontrollable waves.]

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Garbage ‘n’ Weapons

May 22nd, 2008

Trey Vincent

[We open at Trey Vincent’s office, which is — sadly — his apartment, because BOB no longer has corporate offices as a result of that Comedy Central fiasco. Trey is seated in a black leather chair in front of a computer monitor, which sits atop a generic folding table (the same kind that guys usually get put through on wrestling shows, you know the kind). A framed picture of Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” can be seen over his left shoulder.]

TV: Greetings, humans. I know what you’re thinking. Trey, you’re doing a Rant? But you don’t have a match this week on iMPLOSION 7. WTF? This is true. But I come with a message for all BOBsters to read, or hear, or whatever. That idiot underling, Ted, forgot to mention something important about the Royal Flush Rumble weapon match. You get to pick your weapon. Now, this is important, because if YOU don’t pick your weapon…

[Trey picks up a Darth Vader mask and puts it on.]

TV: I WILL! Hooooo. Heeeee. Hoooo. Heeeee.

[Trey takes off the Vader mask.]

TV: Who the fuck is Garth Vader? And how the hell did Axl get into the Beer in the Belly Match? Didn’t I, or somebody very similar to me, say that to get in the BITB match that you had to have never won the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS? Didn’t Izzy have the title for like two seconds or something? I’ll get back to you in a second, Gilby.

TV: Also, I didn’t hear from Mr. Paradox this week, so he’s in the Royal Flush match. It’s amazing how my own underlings won’t even reply to my PMs. Bastards. So, to Death, XXXtreme Machine, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants, Mr. Paradox, Luke Warm, Pigeon, The Great, and Duff, pick your weapon, or I’ll pick it for you! What will you get?

[Trey looks around.]

TV: Well, you might get such great items, as, uh, a circular for the local supermarket. And we all now how dangerous newspapers are! Or, maybe…

[Trey looks around. Trey drags a plastic trash bag in front of him.]

TV: An empty pasta box. Oh, I’ve got tissues boys. You think Sarah’s snot is gonna propel you to the final eight in the Grand Slam tournament? Maybe we’ll find out. What else is in here…bananas peels, an empty diet soda can, crushed water bottles. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Fuck the earth, fuck recycling and fuck Al Gore. You want a weapon, you name it. Or you’ll get my garbage.

[Trey turns around and checks his email.]

TV: Ah, excellent. Looks like SMP has already weighed in with his weapon of choice. This pleases me.

[Trey turns around.]

TV: Now, as for the rest of you. Choose your weapon. Or suck on my garbage. That is all for now. One other thing. I’ll shortly be getting out my famous deck of Hooters cards to determine the order of entrance. It will be random. And it may take a while. *Ahem* Right. So, back to Matt Sorum. I don’t know who this Garth Vader is, but this stupidity is going to end soon. I don’t know who this Superior Power is, but so help me if it’s BigBOSS, or Seth Harker, or, ME, I’ll be so pissed. I’m the most Superior Power in BOB so it must be me, which SUCKS, because I can’t stand Axl or Pigeon or any of those guys. In the words of your own latest member, “hell yeah, you fucking suck.”

TV: Until we meet agayne…


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