Axl: Trips… you got that thing I sent you?

Trips: I sure do.

[Pigeon wakes from his slumber, still sitting beside the wall. He finds Axl, Viruz, Trips and Bing... Axl with the bat, Vi with a laptop, Bing with a bingo marker, and Trips with a sledgehammer.]

Pigeon: … Shit.

[The four men beat the crap out of Pigeon with the "weapons of mass destruction", before Trips takes the S&M belt up from off the ground.]

Trips: [looking into the belt] Oh you pretty, pretty thing you. Come here to daddy…

Axl: Trips, thanks for doing this for me. I couldn’t have found Pigeon’s hiding spot without you!

Trips: Hey man, it was easy. And having one last run on BoB tv… that’s payment enough. Now… if you might have some shampoo, or detergent or something, that would be great too. This alleyway…. lemme tell ya, it REEKS.

Axl: Hm… you know what?

*WAMMO*

[Axl suddenly knocks Trips down, flat on his back, with the Shot in the Dark superkick. He then looks at Bing, who wisely backs off, and high-tails it away from the alley. Axl then looks down at Trips.]

Axl: Never… EVER… ask for a handout from the King… you street begger!

[Axl picks up the belt... stares at the S&M sticker on the front... before ripping up the entire thing, sticker and all. He drops the bits and pieces atop Pigeon's chest.]

Axl: You want the belt so bad? Fine. You can have it. You were right… I do like to boost my ego, and the belts I make are an extension of that. But you were wrong about one thing…

Axl: In this business, an ego IS required. And so is power. And I just so happen to have both. And whether some people would like to admit it or not, I am the only man in this company today in possesion of as much talent and ability as I.

Axl: I am the TRUE blueprint of this business.

Axl: It’s time you people took notice.

[Axl looks at Vi, and motions for their departure. They take their leave, as the camera fades out on Pigeon's broken, bruised, and bloodied body...]

|the|

[Pigeon is still sitting, cross-legged, in his black kilt, with his S&M title settled in his lap. In his hands is the new and improved Sonytendo DSP. He stares at the screen, which displays Jerri's rant. When it wraps up, Pigeon pockets the cheap, knock-off handheld... er, I mean, "brilliant piece of technology", and he stares into the camera.]

Pigeon: Jerri… my love. You can run but you can never escape… my love. There is one undying thing in this cruel, abysmal world, and it IS… my love… for you.

Pigeon: Darkest of the dark, you are the reaper which Death could only be in his wildest dreams. I think about you at night… rubbing small cacti against my crotch… pouring fire ants upon my nipples…

Pigeon: You are… my love. Whether you wish to be or not. For I will win you over… showing you the demented fruits of my labor… Facing whatever obstacles may come my way.

Pigeon: Bring your gimp… I’ll bring the belt. But wait… for now, I must face the combined forces of Viruz the l33t and Axl the Gay, er, Great.

Pigeon: And once they Fly the Coop?

Quoth the Pigeon… The Gimp will Soar.

- coo -

Jerri: S&M champ? You shitty little puke.

[She unlocks a wooden box. A chained man with a studded black leather mask crawls out on his hands and knees.]

Jerri: Even if I have to book my own show my gimp here will take that title off you with ease. Show him what you can do.

[Jerri's gimp rolls around in what looks like chocolate pudding, broken glass and nine inch nails.]

Jerri: Don’t think that’s so bad? Lift up your mask, gimp.

[The gimp lifts up his mask a little to reveal a severely cut pair of lips and tongue. There's even a few pieces of glass left between his teeth.]

Jerri: If you really want to prove how much you enjoy pain, then defend your title against my gimp here on MY show… um… Send Us Money: You Are What You Eat!

[The gimp crawls back in his box.]

Jerri: Now, when the hell does this match start? I so need to kick Sarah’s ass.

[On Pigeon's left, there stands Triple S.]

[On Pigeon's right, there stands Bing O. Hall, another former sWo member.]

Bing: Hey… yo. Chico. Cut to the chase.

[Uhm, sure...]

Bing: Survey says? Nevermore.

[...]

Pigeon: AXL!!! You see this belt? [Pigeon holds the belt up to the camera] What this belt meant to you… in that twisted, misinformed little head of yours… is that you were the greatest thing going in this business.

Pigeon: All it means to me… is that you have the greatest, most swelled up ego in this business. To some, an ego goes along with the territory. To some, an ego is required.

Pigeon: But to me? PAIN is required. And though I may suffer when I face you… you and your dork brother shall suffer as well in that ring.

Pigeon: You can bring all the barbedwire and tables and piranha and anything else you want, but until you’ve BROKEN me… you will never defeat me. And the Pigeon is a bird which cannot be broken. Not even house broken! God knows how many statues I’ve paid a visit to…

Pigeon: Regardless. You two bring all the weapons you need… because I know you need them. I’ll bring Bing and Trips here, MY loyal subjects, aka The Coop… And I’ll bring this belt. And whether you pin me or not, I’ll TAKE this belt. Because until you can take as much pain as I can?

Pigeon: You will never deserve to call yourself the S&M Champion.

Pigeon: The Coop shall triumph… now and forever.

Quoth the Pigeon… Axl’s a bore.

- coo -

Little Johnny: Hmm, this is quite an interesting developement. I have not been personally contacted by either the United States government, a foriegn government, or any other government about this supposed “Operation Immortality”. This account is somewhat accurate, however, as I am more intelligent than most Americans.

I would never, though, be quoted as saying “bird-brain”. What am I? Five years old?

Well, I am five years old, but that’s irrelevant at the moment. I’m five years old in terms of living on the earth, calendar days incorporated, but my intelligence has far surpassed a mere five years of development.

One thing you did get correct, is that The Great and Pete Trable will be facing the tag-team champions and not you and your equally inept brother.

“Bird-brain”? I was “quoted” saying bird-brain? How juvenile. I feel dirty and need a tub.

Hopefully, the Breeder got The Dark Knight Bubble Bath as I requested the last time she did that whole “grocery shopping” ritual.

One can only dream—

Pete Trable, on the other hand, who doesn’t do anything other than wrestle for BOB, went to sleep on purpose. He states that by a quick skim via TiVo, and stopping to view snippets, declared that,”Dat stuff was just too boring to spend all that time watchin’ it, yo. It was WAY too long! So I just went straight to the Z’s, know what I’m sayin’? Less is more, yo!”

The Great’s budding scientist son, Little Johnny, contemplated using the promos to lull his “soon to be developed” Pete Trable cyborgs into a subservient, zombie-like state by forcing them to watch these rants over and over as a type of “torture equals total control” situation.

The Mother in Law, upon viewing Reloaded 1, simply shit in her adult diaper with general indifference.)

ANOTHER CAPTION: TWO WEEKS AGO

~~~Steve Studnuts is seen standing in front of a Greyhound bus~~~

Director: Okay, we need you to say, “There’s a reason you’ve never heard of ‘bus rage’.”

Studs: That’s gay. Don’t you guys serve meals? Are they good? You should promote that. I could say, “Greyhound, our in-trip meals are head and shoulders above the rest.”

Director: Hey, I kinda like that!

~~~He motions for quiet on the set~~~

Director: ACTION!

Studs: Hello, jerkweeds…I’m Steve Studnuts, the baddest man on the planet. I *ahem* single handedly won every major championship in Brawlers on a Budget on the same night. Sometimes, when I’m too tired to drive home after kicking ass, and don’t really want to bother with all that anti-terrorism checkin’ of all my shit at the airport, I ride Greyhound. They’re meals are awesome, they’re head and shoulders above the rest.

Director: CUT! BEAUTIFUL! IT’S A WRAP!

CAPTION: By ROB GILLIES, Associated Press Writer
11 minutes ago

TORONTO – Greyhound has scrapped an ad campaign that extolled the relaxing upside of bus travel after one of its passengers was accused of beheading and cannibalizing another traveler.

The ad’s tag line was “There’s a reason you’ve never heard of ‘bus rage.’”

Greyhound spokeswoman Abby Wambaugh said Wednesday a billboard and some tunnel posters near a bus terminal in Toronto are still up and would be removed later in the day.

“Greyhound knows how important it is to get these removed and we are doing everything possible,” Wambaugh said. “This is something that we immediately asked to be done last week, realizing that these could be offensive.”

Vince Weiguang Li, who immigrated to Canada from China in 2004, is charged with second-degree murder in the death of 22-year-old carnival worker Tim McLean. He has yet to enter a plea.

Thirty-seven passengers were aboard the Greyhound from Edmonton, Alberta, to Winnipeg, Manitoba, as it traveled at night along a desolate stretch of the TransCanada Highway about 12 miles from Portage La Prairie, Manitoba. Witnesses said Li attacked McLean unprovoked, stabbing him dozens of times.

As horrified passengers fled the bus, Li severed McLean’s head, displaying it to some of the passengers outside the bus, witnesses said.

A police officer at the scene reported seeing the attacker hacking off pieces of the victim’s body and eating them, according to a police report.

Wambaugh said the ads only appeared in Canada and that some in Ontario and western Canada have already been removed. About 20,000 inserts of the Greyhound ads were scheduled to be put into an Alberta Summer Games handbook but they stopped the presses.

In a related story, professional wrestler Steve Studnuts recently shot an ad spot for Greyhound promoting the company’s in-travel meals. In a text message received today by Mr. Studnuts, he responded to our offices’ questions about the bus’ food being “head and shoulders” above the rest and the bizarre irony of this incident:

“Guess the food wasn’t that good after all if the only other option was EATING THE FUCKING GUY NEXT TO YOU, huh?”

Pigeon: …

Pigeon: Now… where’s a damn cow farm… I’ve got some incisions to take care of…

- coo -

Pigeon: Needle in a haystack…

Pigeon: Slow and steady win the race…

Pigeon: Ask and ye shall receive.

[We find Pigeon sitting against a brick wall, legs stretched out before him... as he shifts a magnifying glass slowly from one hand to the other. The hot, bright, and simply scorching August sun blazes above... as Pigeon removes a threading needle from his kilt.]

Pigeon: They crawl upon the blistering pavement… the tiny inhabitants of a microcosm of life. Gathering crumbs for their meals… seeking tiny mates. And when they mate… they mulitply… creating hundreds… thousands more of themselves.

Pigeon: So, in the end… what is it for a Bird of Prey such as myself… if I am to pluck just a few… dozen or so? And to rid them from this sphere of discontent?

[Pigeon suddenly leaps from his perch, and shoves the threading needle through a single beetle... before lifting it, along with the beetle, and piercing six or seven more... before pulling out a tiny piece of clay, sticking it to the sidewalk, and stabbing the Beetle-Kabob into its form. Pigeon crouches above his work...]

Pigeon: Jerri… what you spoke of… taking your time… being patient… it truly reached me. It reached deep down inside of me… and tugged at my heart strings. A heart, seeped in cold blood. And tattered by treachorous treason… But a beating heart nonetheless. And now, you have opened mine eyes… to allow me to see that, without any doubt in my mind, that it is better to want something… to yearn for something… and to strive TOWARD that something… than to have it handed to you. To bleed… to sweat… to fall on your ass too many times to count. Because when you finally REACH that something, and you feel it and taste it and soak in it?

Pigeon: It makes it all the more sweeter.

[Pigeon lowers the magnifying glass to the Beetle-Kabob... and immediately all eight of the speared bugs begin to roast from the seering heat... Pigeon manages a smile.]

Pigeon: So… you can have your fun… if you want to call it that… with spineless jellyfish like your most recent conquest… What was his name, I didn’t quite catch it? Doesn’t matter. What does matter… is that when you finally get bored… and believe you me, you WILL get bored…

Pigeon: I’ll be waiting.

Pigeon: And while I’m waiting I’ll be doing things to myself… to others… that you’ve only fantasized… but never fully realized. I’ll be preparing my body… because when the two of us meet, Jerri? Well… let’s just put it this way. There’s two things that will go hand in hand in describing our relationship, that will be almost interchangeable… seperated by a line so thin it will be invisible to the naked eye.

Quoth the Pigeon – Love… and War.

[Pigeon looks back at the now burnt to a crisp bugs. He drops the magnifying glass, lifts the Beetle-Kabob, and removes the piece of clay. ... Before delicately pressing his lips to the beetle attached to the tip of the needle... playing at it with his toungue. He stares into the camera... all the while crunching loudly upon the feast of creepy crawlies. When finished, Pigeon uses the needle to pick his teeth... before flicking the needle toward the camera.]

Pigeon: Bon Apetit’.

[Pigeon lifts to his feet, and extends his arms to his sides...]

[... before flapping them about, 'flying' off screen, as "Come out and Play" leads us to black...]

- coo -

(1) http://www.commercialcloset.org/common/a….&ClientID=11064

Joe Namath was a tough son of a bitch and revolutionized professional football, but in1974, he was just a dude wearing hose in this infamous commercial.

(2) http://www.priceline.com/promo/shatner_pcln_negotiator.asp

See the “real” negotiator in action!

(3) That one should be self explainitory.

(4) A spoof on this shit….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEJJUGJZxpU

(5) Twisted around a bit…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYEXzx-TINc&feature=related

(6) A direct nod to Rocky’s failed attempt(s)… here’s The Itailian Stallion going for it.
http://rockybeastaftershave2.ytmnd.com/

(7) Reference to Dan Marino’s Isotoner glove commercial.

(8) Ripoff!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6krr40mdHM

(9) SUPERWHACKYFUNLAND™ created by Steven Skeet

(10) That’s their slogan…well, it WAS.

And you say I sound robotic? Your spoken word is just as I suspected, like it comes from the poster boy of the Special Olympics or a tracheostomy patient experimenting with a voice box modifier. That was truely scary, and sadly, the most entertaining promo you’ve ever produced. Worst of all, it’s all for nothing Mr Fantastics, because Stupendous Steve Hawking is still going to roll over you, literally, at Power is Stolen. Kudos on the technological aspect of your latest rant, albeit similar to giving a retarded kid an iPhone. It’s like putting a solid gold toilet in an outhouse. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer reading your threats from now on, easier to understand and easier to `hear` since I won’t be laughing as hard. See you at Power is Stolen, you loser.

Mr. Fantastic: I’m sorry I still think you’re paralyzed, its just hard for me to accept that a person can talk like a robot with a speech impediment and NOT be using a computer. Besides, BOB has nothing to do with being entertaining. BOB is hell for all the wrestlers who’s gimmicks are too stupid for real promotions. Steven Hawkings belongs here at least.

Watch This Reply!

Mr. Fantastics, this is geting very old Mr. Fantastics. I’ve explained this before, but since we knew we’d encounter people with chowdered mush in place of a brain that operates concentration and retaining processes, I’ll explain again Mr. Fantastics. I speak slow and deliberate so planarians like you, can understand. It’s that simple. How about this? You over look the fact that I sound robotic, and we’ll pretend you actually have a chance to defeat Stupendous Steve Hawking at Power is Stolen. Because in gimmick hell, we’re still light years ahead of you. By the way, when you respond next time with yet another sub human form of mumbled viva voce, speak up Mr. Fantastics. I can’t `HEAR` you. I can’t, `HEAR` you! I can’t……… `HEAR` you!

Mr. Fantastic: I’m sorry I still think you’re paralyzed, its just hard for me to accept that a person can talk like a robot with a speech impediment and NOT be using a computer. Besides, BOB has nothing to do with being entertaining. BOB is hell for all the wrestlers who’s gimmicks are too stupid for real promotions. Steven Hawkings belongs here at least.

Hello? I’m not paralyzed Mr. Fantastic, I think you missed that memo also. While I’m not paralyzed, obviously your brain is. The proof is yet another sophomoric rant delivered by you that further proves that man evolved from apes, and some men, like yourself, didn’t ascend past the link on the chain labeled Neanderthal. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, I’m just speaking the truth. Advancement in BOB, according to rule, is by being somewhat entertaining. It’s sports entertainment, and you’re about as entertaining as a cancerous tumor. I’m most certain you don’t even know what a mega ton is. You’re bland. You’re dumb. You’re Steve Hawking’s personal speed bump, and it’s a `bump` that won’t even slow him down. You’re a footnote, the first entry in a long line of a rabble of victims. Don’t feel bad, you couldn’t help it. Blame the inferior genetics you inherited from your inbred parents. This is going to be easier than we thought.

Pigeon: Seemingly alone in the world… if only he knew about… her.

Pigeon: But he doesn’t… yet.

Pigeon: … And I aim to keep it that way.

- welcome… to the biodome -

Mr. Fantastic: That pimply geek Steven Hawkings already makes Cleetus look like Gerard Depardieu any day of the week.

[He grates some nutmeg on a handheld nutmeg grater.]

Mr. Fantastic: But trying to hurt people’s feelings isn’t going to get you anywhere in BOB. If you can’t resort to sticks and stones then you’re gonna get squashed.

[He cuts the head off a chicken and starts plucking it's feathers out.]

Mr. Fantastic: Steven Hawkings is gonna need a concealed weapon to defeat me and he’s gonna need to use it fast before I knock him into next Tuesday. When the splash comes he will be wiped out, I will make his face dissappear with my 500 megaton pistons and that’s the stone cold truth! Even if I have to go through heaven and hell to defeat you two paraplegics I will, because I’m the real deal. Oh yeah!

Let me start by saying Mister Fantastic, the comment about the world record bean eating claim is believeable because you’re full of gas. Beans beans, good for the heart? The more you eat them the more you fart right? Unfortunately for you, you fart from your mouth and call it a promo. Your inferior intellect and lack of any recognized wrestling skills translates to an easy victory for the only wrestler that is Stupendous. That’s Steve Hawking. You’re merely fodder, a fuel for the Hawking machine. In the meantime, enjoy your Bahamian steaks while you can, at Power is Stolen, Steve Hawking is going to humilate you. It will barely resemble a contest. When he’s finished, the result of your twisted carcass will make that double jointed retard you associate with look like Mel Gibson circa 1985. He was the `sexiest man alive` that year. Didn’t you get the memo?

[That's when he hit him.]

Jimmy: Oh dear God, what have I done?!

[Jimmy leaped off the motorcycle, and ran toward the fallen body of the homeless person... a man with a gnarly beard... scraggly hair...]

[... and a black kilt.]

Jimmy: Sir… Sir! Are… are you ok?

[The homeless man reached out a bloody hand to the pants leg of the biker... using Jimmy to pull himself up... slowly he made it to a vertical base.]

[The two stood atop a concrete bridge over a tunnel... a drop that couldn't be any less than 30 feet.]

? : *muffled speech*

Jimmy: I can’t understand… Sir, do you want me to take you to a doctor?

?: Doctors… who needs them. Paid to care… caring only about being paid. Love is their business. Warm, gentle hands desiring only fistfulls of cold, hard cash… And besides, why “heal” that which makes life so much sweeter? The sweet… sweet taste of pain. Friend…

Pigeon: … Allow me to return the favor.

[Pigeon sent a boot quickly to Jimmy's gut... before dropping him soundly to the cement with the Pigeon Effect.]

Pigeon: It’s the Pigeon Drop. Get it right next time.

[Ok, ok, the Pigeon Drop. Are you still hailing from "Darkness Falls"?

Pigeon: Yup. Two towns over from 'Parts Unknown'.

[Gotcha. Anyway, Pigeon latched onto the hair of his prey... and pulled him to the edge of the bridge, lowering his face over the side, so he may view his doom.]

Pigeon: Look into the depths of hell, ye of which is damned! This shall be your fate… Quoth Nirvana… NEVERMIND!

[Down, down, down Jimmy fell... before splattering against the highway. His destiny as roadkill was sealed... and Pigeon, with a sick and twisted smirk... faded, once again, into the night...]

- welcome… to the biodome -

Pigeon: Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday dear… sweet… venomous Jerri…

Happy Birthday to you.

Pigeon: Quoth the Pigeon – And many more.

[Pigeon pulls a gift-wrapped item from his kilt... he rips off the paper, to reveal a large broken mirror piece, covered in fish hooks and barbed-wire. The scene fades out on the image of Pigeon staring into this reflection... smiling...]

- coo -

[Mr. Fantastic takes off his sunglasses and looks into the camera with a serious look on his face.]

Mr. Fantastic: As for Steven Hawkings, I will kick his ass three ways from sunday and make him return my library books. That poindexter doesn’t stand a chance, no matter how much secret science stuff he has in his brain thing. When the splash comes he will be wiped out.

[Mr. Fantastic flexes his muscles.]

Mr. Fantastic: And on a side note, I’m the world record holder for most amount of beans ever eaten in one sitting… and that’s the bottom line!

Mister Fantastic, I do not have a voice machine due to not being able to speak, my voice is audible because like everyone else who watches or participates in BOB, other than Steve Hawking and myself, you probably can’t read. We are making it easier for a mooncalf like you to comprehend the beating you will take at Power is Stolen. Stupendous Steve Hawking has no equal. Intellectually, you are enhancement talent. Your legs work to be sure, but thanks to the algorithm of precise pre-match scouting and devised counter attacks, formulated by an unmatched genius, any advantage you have by being a biped will be negated. And thus, just like intellectually, in the ring you’ll also be reminded that you’re simply enhancement talent there as well. You’re going to become a blip on the Stupendous radar of victims. You’ll be his first conquest in BOB. Congratulations, it’s the only time you’ll be number one at anything.

Pigeon: Now THERE’S a woman…

[The promo finishes, and Pigeon takes off into the night...]

- coo -

Oh well? You rule of Insane I run? What does that mean Leary? That’s what your response translated to. Are you saying Insayno Man-o no longer loosely translates to insane hands? I think everybody in this promotion, save for Steve Hawking and myself, are intellectually equal to the combined efforts of a turnip and a dishrag. Taking over this place will be so easy. You people are very stupid. And ugly. Stupendous Steve Hawking will out wit every one of you with nary a sweat bead forming on his brow. You will all kneel to his foot pedals and relinquish more convenient parking spaces. Let the take over begin.

Oh bien. ¡Reglas de Insano Mano!

Thank you Steve. You will not be disappointed. I think we’ll make an incredible team, the likes of which these dullards cannot fathom. We’ll be unstoppable, and rule this federation like a king and queen, which by the looks of the place will be the equivilent of being the royalty of a cardboard shanty infested slum in Mexico. And by the way, thanks for solving the riddle of Pauly Shore, all this time I thought his success in Hollywood was attributed to him being the anticrist. I’ll testify to this in court, once while I was watching Bio dome on a dare, I’m certain I saw him metamorph into Beelzebub at least twice. But I was shit faced on Speight’s Old Dark, so who knows for sure? I’ll see you soon! Hugs and kisses!

Angelina. I’m sorry I did not reply to you sooner, but i was thinking. And when a genius thinks, he thinks hard.

I was thinking so hard about your request to be my valet, I accidently invented a new theory linking the expansion of the Universe to the high incidence of gum disease in parts of rural Kentucky and the dissasociative nature of time, space and country-western music.

This led to a startling revelation that explained once and for all the exact reason that Pauly Shore still has a career in the entertainment industry.

Don’t ask me to go into details, the tiny-brained mortals that watch BOB would never understand it.Angelina, I will be honoured if you would join me in my rise to greatness.

Together we will defeat all who challenge us.And I promise I will think about you every day.Think hard.Very, very hard.

Steve, I was hoping you would say I could be your assistant by now. I hope the thing about the roach looking skin flap didn’t scare you off.

It’s just a tag, I could have it removed surgically if you’d like, but my friends say it’s part of my charm. It makes me unique, like Madonna’s gap between her teeth and the blotch on dusty roads belly.

I really want to be a part of your life and your meteoric rise to the top of this dump. Call me soon, just remember to not slap my shoulder if I’m sleeveless. I’ll be waiting. Impatiently!

Mr. Fantastic: Oh yeah! Steven Hawkings, you don’t need to worry about XXXtreme Machine’s retardedness anymore because you have me to face at Power Is Stolen!

Clive: That doesn’t sound right.

Mr. Fantastic: I’ll pick you up by your legs and mop the floor with you. You’d better bring shampoo and conditioner with you because BOB is all about blood, sweat, tears, beer, urine and other bodily fluids!

[Mr. Fantastic hulks his muscles up until he's blue in the face.]

Mr. Fantastic: You’re gonna hafta crawl your way to the top poindexter, cuz when the splash comes you will be wiped out! Oh yeah!

Dr. Thrilla: *Maddened metal clanging*

Fuzzy Wabbit: Let’s drive bamboo under his fingernails and hammer spikes into them through the top!

Scruffy Wuffy Badger: Let’s peel his skin off as slowly as possible!

Wubby Fawn: Let’s use steel mesh to slice him into cubes!

Hamster: Let’s pull his skeleton out in one piece and trample his body into the ground!

Teddy Bear: What’s funny is you’re about as funny as a wet cardboard tube you sniveling, wrinkled, puss covered pimple of a shit bag. Go shove your dick up your own ass if it’ll reach that far, little dick.

Mr. Paradox: You know, stuff like that Happy Tree Friends-lite garbage make me tired of BOB even more. It’s just… what’s supposed to be funny about that?

What’s so funny about most of the “humor” in this organization, anyway?

Teddy Bear: Don’t be down y’all, Brawlers on a Budget can be great again.

Tweety McDove: How?

Teddy Bear: We just have to start tearing people’s scrotums out and jamming red hot pokers in the bleeding wounds.

Fuzzy Wabbit: Not even that can save BOB.

Teddy Bear: Then we have to open people’s jaws wider than they’re supposed to go and pour molten metal into their stomachs.

Hamster: But where do we get molten metal?

Teddy Bear: Well, even on a budget we can dip fish hooks in poisonous toad venom and tear people’s eyeballs in two and stick snakes in the middle so that their fangs bite on the nerve endings and send them into convulsions lasting for hours and hours.

Scruffy Wuffy Badger: What does this have to do with Mr. Paradox?

Teddy Bear: He loves shit like this… just like Whiskey The Kitten here loves baseball bats with nails sticking out at all angles driven into rectums stretched out enough and then closed around the weapon and superglued in place.

Whiskey The Kitten: Let’s rip the necks off our enemies and shit in their lungs!

Teddy Bear: You said it Whiskey!

[Mr. Fantastic wobbles about, flexing his muscles as the skin on his neck flaps about. He kicks over a few model trains and cardboard buildings to make himself seem imposing rather than retarded but it doesn't work.]

Duke Thompson, supposedly the shit but he is just shit… where the fuck did my match against him go?

TV: The question isn’t where did your match go. The question is where the fuck did HE go? I’ll check the men’s room…

Little Good: *Spittake* Bloody hell! Victor bloody Kiriakis? I don’t know what’s worse. That he referenced it, or that I actually knew who that was without having to go to Wikipedia. I need a bleedin’ life and stop watchin’ so much tele…

BG Voice: Like the sands of the hour glass, so are the days of our lives….

Sound from side room: *WHAM* *WHAM* *WHAM* *WHAM* *WHAM* *WHAM*

[Trey Vincent is seen banging his head against a wall.]

TV: Paradox, are you HIGH? Have you not been following things here at ALL? Grand Slam tournament ring ANY fucking bells, genius? Good God. I know this may tough for you to understand, so I’ll talk. Really. Really. Slow. In. Two. Weeks. You. Are. In. The. Main. Event. Of. UnFOURgiven. Against. Steve. Studnuts. AND. The. Great. You. Had. The. Opportunity. To. Win. EVERY. MOTHER. FUCKING. BOB. TITLE. YOU. RETARDED. MONKEY.

TV: Next. The. Great. Has. The. Swiss. Army. Belt. Dumb. Ass. Not. Steve. Studnuts. Studnuts. Has. The. ONLY. WORLD. TITLE. THAT. MATTERS. Not. That. I. Am. At. All. Happy. About. It. Get. It?

TV: If you want to reject the tag title, that’s great. Then you’re out of the main event. And since I’m booking this federation, you’ll never get another fucking title shot you whining little bitch.

TV: By the way, you want to know why Studnuts is getting a push? As much as I may not be on the same page as him at the moment, at least he doesn’t take a giant shit on a title when it’s handed to him. Aside from ALL OF THAT, I may not even BE your fucking partner by the time UnFOURgiven comes around because Seth Harker is trying to screw me!

TV: To sum up…Fuck you, Paradox. You job, you bitch. You win, you bitch. Do you have a vagina? Are you ragging right now? This federation doesn’t revolve around you or your bruised ego. Seriously. Actually, you know what, you’re staying in the main event of UnFOURgiven. Good luck, pal. You’re gonna need it.

[Cut.]

Here’s a little somethin’ that reminds me of you, it’s a bootleg I took in Mesa some time ago. Listen to the words, consider it a dedication.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSlPoimhdKE

Studs: I know it won’t be long now before you’re all over my tip like stink on shit. And remember, that ain’t no sock in my crotch.

Studs: Call me!

[Jerri sinks into her bed, daydreaming away whilst listening to 'Beat That Bitch With A Waffle Iron.']

Jerri: I don’t care if you’re hung like a horse, I don’t feel that shit until it’s wrapped in barbedwire and has a razor blade stuck in the urethra. I ain’t shitting bricks over you.

Studs: Umm. Uh-rah. Yeah. Ya know, you’re hot and all, but I kinda have this thing. Call me crazy, but I like a bitch whose pussy doesn’t look like chimichanga meat. I’ll catch ya on the flip side, Shreddy Munster.

On second thought, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. Or try something new.

~~~His cell phone chirps with a ringtone very similar to Luke Skyywalker and the 2 Live Crew’s “We Want Some Pussy.”~~~

Studs: (singing) If ya wanna blow, just let me know, we can go back stage at the end of the show….(/singing)

HELLO?

Yeah, this is Steve Studnuts. U-Niq Kondoms? Hey, glad you called.

You got it? That was fast.

Look, it has to be reinforced with some metal or some shit like that, ya dig?

Yes, I ordered it wrapped in barbed wire. That is correct. But I wanted razor wire, that shit at the prisons to keep the motherfuckers from climbing over the fence.

That’s it. Just like that.

I also need a drill bit, probably a 3/8″, put on the cap, with an umbrella feature that opens up with rusty nails. And I wanted a laser beam attached to it.

What? You don’t have laser beams? How fuckin’ hard is it to get a metal condom, wrapped in razor wire, with a drill bit and rusty nail umbrella on the head, and NOT be able to get a fuckin’ laser beam attached?

Would I be interested in gettin’ free anal beads for my partner instead of the laser beam? Umm, can you make one with bricks?

Yeah, REAL fuckin’ bricks.

I know.

This chick has to shit bricks to get turned on, I guess.

You CAN do the bricks? You gotta deal!

Sweet. Put it on my tab.

~~~He hangs up.~~~

Studs: Jerri, I’m gonna rock your world. Ya dig?

~~~static~~~

Dr. Thrilla: *Deeply divided metal clanging*

Studs: Ya know, I always knew you didn’t have to know how to split fuckin’ atoms to be in the BOB T & A division, but Jerri, you’re one stupid bitch.

You said I’m not exactly splittin’ you on the inside? No shit, we haven’t fucked yet.

Call me.

Mr. Fantastic: You don’t get to yawn until you’ve stepped in the ring with ME! Cuz when the 500 megaton pistons start hammering away and the fantastic feet start shuffling around you like road runner you will be knocked out.

[He puts on a pair of sunglasses and points at the camera.]

Mr. Fantastic: When the splash comes you will be wiped out. Can you dig it brother? I’ll make you look like a photograph of roadkill put through a paper shredder and then ran over with a chevy. And that’s the stone cold truth!

[He flexes his muscles in various poses until his face turns purple.]

Dr. Silaconne M. Plants, who stirred some controversy last December at a taping of “Jeopardy!”, was sitting in the audience with Heidi Hobson, who portrays Nurse Heidi for the wrestling promotion Brawlers on a Budget, but not in the capacity of a nurse. Dr. Plants is supposedly a plastic surgeon specializing in breast augmentations, and works for the underground federation as a wrestler. Sources say he’s not very good at either job.

Dr. Plants, an Italian originally from Naples, Italy, moved from his homeland with his family to Naples, Florida, where he graduated high school and then went to further his education in medical school. After completing his studies, he took specialty courses in “plastics”, presumably in a third world country, and went to work as a surgeon in a hospital where Miss Hobson also worked in Phoenix, Az.

Hobson, tired of cleaning bedpans, left for the world of professional wrestling in late 1998 as a manager/valet of sorts with a couple of ER techs that had formed a tag-team called “The Ambulance Jockeys”. Plants later followed the trio in early 1999, teaming up with a disturbed coroner from the same facility that dubbed himself “Necro Phil”.

Hospital gossip suggests that Plants couldn’t stand the thought of continuing to work there without Hobson, who was also rumored to be enamored with the physician, and left to join a wrestling league known as the Stereo Type Wrestling Federation to be close to her.

The two later joined Brawlers on a Budget, where they’re both currently employed.

At the widely popular FOX show’s finale, the couple was sitting in the audience behind Blake Lewis, who lost the 2007 season title to Jordin Sparks, and “Idol” reject, William Hung, who is infamous for poor singing and is best known for his abysmal rendition of Ricky Martin’s “She Bangs” during a previous season tryout, where Hung, despite claiming to be studying civil engineering at Cal Berkley, sings the song like a little, retarded Asian kid.

See William Hung suck right here:

Sources sitting close to the tandem say that Plants was getting agitated talking to Hobson about a night out with another wrestler in the promotion named Steve Studnuts, who portrays a foul-mouthed, womanizing character. The tryst with Hobson and Studnuts occurred after a dialog constructed during the promotion’s Total Non Action Implosion #2 show was set up by the Vice President in Charge of Everything” in the federation, Trey Vincent.

Here is that exchange:

Sarah: I’m glad that you’re brain isn’t as tiny as your weenie. I’m just so sorry it took you this long to tell all the BOB viewers that you were wrong about how great I am. Finally, you’re putting the priority on your career. That’s great to see, Stevie. It’ll be my pleasure to take the Swiss Army Belt back for a second time from you, or whoever beats you, at UnFOURgiven. OK. I’m ready for my apology!

[Studnuts pauses, and looks at the crowd.]

Studs: Heh. First off, I’d like to apologize to those two faggots in Re-Generation-X. I guess you guys retired or something last week? Good *BEEP*in’ riddance. I told Josh, or Jim, or Brandon or whoever the *BEEP* I beat for this *BEEP*in’ belt that I’d leave him like a sack of *BEEP*in’ *BEEP*! That’s the way a TRUE champion says goodbye to a piece of *BEEP*.

Studs: So, Sarah, from stud to *BEEP*, I heard from Trey you’ve got some educated knees. I also heard that you love his jizz so much that you’d brush your teeth with it if Colgate bottled it. I heard, the secret to how you keep your face so smooth is Oil of Bukkake. I heard, your pet name for Trey Vincent is actually “Skeet,” and not because he reminds you of that loser you two ran out of this fed, ya dig? I heard that Trey’s name for you is Eliot Swallower. I heard your favorite canned food is Man Chowder.

[Mano and Ken step toward Studs. Sarah throws down the OWTTM in anger.]

Studs: Easy, retards. Sarah, I’d offer you my hand in friendship, but who the *BEEP* knows where those fingers have been. You might want to check Trey’s ass, it looks like you lost one of your nails, bitch. Oh, right, apologies. I’m sorry for kicking Mano’s and Ken’s asses so many times.

Styles: Whoawhoawhoawhoa! Studnuts has Ken up. Death Valley (of the Sun) Driver! Mano stomping on Studnuts, but Studnuts shoves him away. Death Valley (of the Sun) Driver on Mano! Oh my GOD!

[Sarah gets into fighting stance as Studs picks up the microphone.]

Studs: And Sarah. I know this is what you’ve been waitin’ to hear. I’m sorry that…YOU CAN’T BE ME. BUT I KNOW, YOU WISH…YOU COULD BE! Ya dig? And I’m so *BEEP*in’ sorry if you were expectin’ a real apology from Steve *BEEP*in’ Studnuts. But just because Trey’s tongue is playin’ the part of your tampon does NOT mean *BEEP* to me! All that means is that he’s got really *BEEP*ty taste in women, no gatdamn pun intended. Bitchweed.

Sarah: You know what Studnuts. We should settle this one on one and with a lot of run-ins to make sure I win. The biggest ONE-NOTE, overrated, roided up, fake tan having scumbag, versus the hottest, toughest chick in the world!

Studs: The easiest chick on the planet? You’re gatdamn right you are!

[Trey Vincent runs into the ring.]

TV: Hold on, guys, hold on!

[Trey gets between Sarah and Studnuts.]

TV: First off, both of you need to relax. I don’t want to get in the middle here. Sarah, Steve is one of my best friends. And Steve, Sarah is my girl now, man. And in case you both forgot, you have to listen to me because I’m the Vice President In Charge of Everything! And Ken, Mano. You guys can fall off a friggin’ 20 foot scaffold into electrified sharks with chainsaws, but you get knocked out by one finishing move? The hell is up with that?

TV: Anyway. Look. You two can’t have a match. In case you both forgot, BOB has this Grand Slam tournament going on. Studs, you’ve got Dr. Thrilla to worry about coming up. And Sarah? Putting aside the fact that I’ve still yet to book your first-round opponent, but you’ve got Eliza “The Jobber Slayer” in a CAGE match in just a few minutes. You guys seriously need to focus. Whoa. Look at the breasts on that chick in the front row! You need a job, honey?

[Sarah kicks Trey in the thigh.]

TV: I mean. Right. So, Studs, buddy. I thank you for coming out here and apologizing to Sarah.

Sarah: He did NOT apologize!

TV: What are you talking about? He apologized like 20 times to you!

Sarah: *Sigh*

TV: Hey, look over there, Studs. Isn’t that the lovely and talented Nurse Heidi?

Studs: Yeah. So?

TV: Well, how about I send you, Heidi and a cameraman out on the town on Sin City. All on the BOB company account.

Seriously. (He digs in his pockets.) You can even use the footage in the Rant Zone, as long as it doesn’t get too dirty, heh. Here’s $50 on top of what you’re getting as your regular BOB pay.

Studs: So, $50 then?

TV: Right. You two kids go have a fun time. I can find some chick to announce the matches.

NH: Hey, what are you, my pimp?

TV: Flex for her, Studs.

[Studs shows off his muscles.]

NH: Humina humina, humina.

TV: Have fun you two. Be back by next week! Seriously. I might need you for a segment or a match or something.

[Studnuts watches as Heidi leaves the ring, then he leaves the ring, walking behind her.]

During Reynado Lapuz’s live performance of his hand written song for “all the people in the world”, which the “singer” titled, “I am Your Brother”, it is said that Miss Hobson told Plants that she would come clean about the alleged sex tape featuring her and Studnuts if Plants could win the GRAND SLAM match at the promotion’s UnFOURgiven event. Dr. Plants, realizing that he hasn’t won a meaningful title in his entire career, including BOB’s top prize since he joined the promotion some nine years ago, simply panicked under the stress of such an ultimatum.

This was about the same time as Lapuz, who was accompanied on stage by the USC cheerleaders and marching band, was getting into his song’s chorus, which oddly sounded like the rest of it. A little over the one minute mark into the performance, the garishly dressed Lapuz fumbled his own words, yet continued singing out of rhythm with the band…

This apparently drove Plants over the edge and he snapped. Coupled with the insurmountable task of winning a title he’s never held after trying for nine years to be the only way he’ll find out about if or not Miss Hobson’s bedroom exploits have been caught on film, Plants wigged out, slapped William Hung for being William Hung and then snuck backstage by hiding under Season 2’s winner Ruben Studdard’s fatty rolls under his left bosom.

There, he attacked Lapuz, screamed obscenities at him, and said he would get even with Miss Hobson by making a sex tape with Season 4 “Idol” champion Carrie Underwood.

When questioned about her participation, Underwood stated, “I’d rather suffer the torture of his augmentation than sleep with him.”

Plants is no stranger to temper tantrums. Last December, at a “Jeopardy!” celebrity edition, he went postal after being ridiculed by host Alex Trebek.

See the show here: http://rant.bobwrestling.com/2007/11/30/voiceover-this-is/

The follow up report on Alex Trebek’s heart attack is here: http://rant.bobwrestling.com/2007/12/12/news-wire/

When again asked if Lapuz was going to file charges against Dr. Plants, his lawyer continued to be adamant about saying no.

“Reynaldo is terrible. I’d have probably hit him with a folding chair myself if he sang much longer. Besides, what money could we get from Dr. Plants? Lapuz will probably make more than Plants this year just on talk show appearances alone”, he said.

He’s probably right….

Mr. Paradox: Due to our handler never checking his Private Messages, I will indeed be in the above-mentioned match. For my weapon, I choose my…

*Cecil leans in and whispers in Mr. Paradox’s ear.*

Mr. Paradox: What do you mean “G5 Standards and Practices”?!? Pussies… Very well. As some coward at the network has decided my sword is not acceptable on basic cable, I choose the following for my weapon.

*He walks offscreen and then returns, carrying a large statue of Godzilla on his shoulder.*

Mr. Paradox: My weapon will be this solid plaster statue of Godzilla 2000.

Cecil: She’s going to kill you for this, you do realize, Doctor?

Dr. Thrilla: *disagreeing metal clanging*

Cecil: Putting little spurs in its paws was not a wise decision.

*Shrugging it off, Dr. Thrilla sets the dog on Jerri’s doorstep, a card with his signature on its neck, and rings her doorbell before jumping into the van. The van drives off before she can answer the door.*

“The Great”: Oh shit. The Great hopes Nick doesn’t see this!

[Axl is sitting at his computer, working on his MySpace (yes, he has a MySpace, so what, big whoop, wanna fight about it?).]

Axl: Let’s see… Status? In a Relationship… Here for? … Well, it doesn’t have ‘Allowing the World to Share in the Awesomeness of Me’, so I guess I’ll put friends… Orientation? … Uh…

[Rose walks up behind Axl as he hovers his mouse past 'Bi', and onto 'Gay/Lesbian'... possibly towards 'Straight']

Rose: AHEM…

Axl: Huh! [turns around] Oh, hey Rose. Man my tounge’s been a bitch lately… Thank God I’m not scheduled to wrestle, or I’d have to forfeit. :-/

Rose: Axl. What’s with the ‘Gay’ thing on your MySpace?

Axl: You mean the picture of two guys kissing? That’s just a symbol of my sense of freedom of love…

Rose: No, not that -

Axl: You mean the picture of Burt Reynolds naked?

Rose: … NO. You were just about to click on ‘Gay/Lesbian’ for Orientation… I TOLD you! Now the cat’s out of the bag!

Axl: Uhhh… [turns his head and sees this] … Uhm… [turns back to Rose] … That’s a coincidence, huh sweetiekins?

Rose: It’s ok Axl, I understand. You think of me as the ultimate man. The looks of the hottest of hot women… with the strong backbone of the kind of a man you need. You know, the kind that fights all your battles for you.

Axl: >:(

Rose: It’s fine, don’t worry hun. Your secret’s safe with me… and the people watching this promo. Which probably includes ol’ Studs. By the way… I found a business card in the pocket of your favorite leather skirt.

Axl: … From where?

Rose: [takes the card out of her pocket and shows it to Axl] Spankee’s. You know, the gay men’s club on Velvet Avenue?

[Axl takes the card from Rose and looks at it.]

Axl: Huh… Ohhh, now I remember. I went there to meet with an old friend from high school. He just so happened to be in Sinister City to visit his parents.

Rose: So, what, he invited you over to a gay club for a few drinks to celebrate old times? And then what, maybe play spin the bottle?!

Axl: Babe, come on, it was his birthday! His dad was there, his grandpa, even his brother! I was his BEST friend, not his boyfriend, ok? Trust me, you’re all the woman… or man… I can handle.

Rose: Hm… well, fine. But where DID you get that blister from if it isn’t from… you know.

Axl: Ohhh, that? That’s simple. I can’t believe you’d think that came from something as wild and out there as me being GAY, heheh.

Rose: Then what IS it from, hmm?

Axl: Well, remember a couple of nights ago when we were using the whips and knives?

Rose: Yeah? So?

Axl: Well, remember when we thought it’d be cool to shit in eachother’s mouths?

Rose: Ohh, yeah, I remember, teehee That was AWESOME!

Axl: Well, it seems like my tounge’s allergic to feces.

Rose: Oh. Damn. Well… urine?

Axl: Hm… nope.

Rose: …

Axl: … ;D

Rose: First one to the bedroom is Connie’s clit!

Axl: Ewww! I am SO there!

[As Axl races to the master bedroom, Rose begins to take off... but stops and turns her head to the computer. It seems as though while they were talking, Axl completed the changes to his 'Space...]

Rose: Orientation… ‘Not Sure’.

[Rose looks at the screen with a bit of bewilderement... before turning and taking off toward the bedroom...]

- the -

Studs: Looooove, Oh it’s shin-y and new.
Come aboooooard….we’re EX-pect-ING yoooooooooooooooou!

THE LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE BOAT!

Pre-par-ing for a great vo-YAGE!

The Looooove Boat!

Here’s hop-ing you’ll suck my sau-SAGE!

Overhead P.A. System: Um, sir… please leave the stage at this time.

~~~static~~~

Cecil: It’s not your fault she ordered an even better one for herself, doctor.

Dr. Thrilla: *heartbroken metal clanging*

Cecil: Look on the bright side. She might not have a hydraulic jack yet.

Dr. Thrilla: *optimistic metal clanging*

Dr. Thrilla: *Confirming metal clanging*

Cecil: Firing one, doctor.

*Cecil fires off the weapon, which blows a massive hole in the side of the cruise ship. The tugboat sails away, Thrilla clanging “Yellow Submarine”.*

Jerri: He has metal teeth, why should he be nervous? Or at least his metal clanging sounded nervous.

Cecil: You’ll have to do it eventually, doctor.

Dr. Thrilla: *Nervous metal clanging*

Cecil: Remember her number?

Dr. Thrilla: *affirmative metal clanging*

*He takes a deep breath, picks up the phone, dials her number and gets the answering machine.*

Dr. Thrilla: *sigh, nervously romantic metal clanging*

*He hangs up.*

Cecil: Was it that hard?

Dr. Thrilla: *exhausted metal clanging*

Rose: Except for the gay thing.

Axl: You mean Joe Banana’s gay?

Rose: … Yeah, sure, that’s what I meant…

Axl: …

- the -

Joe: Well at least I’m better looking than you, with your false teeth,

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor asks that you be more sensitive to the subject of his beartrap.

glass eye,

Dr. Thrilla: *confused metal clanging*

Cecil: What do you mean, his glass eye? Both are real.

Dr. Thrilla: *pokes at them, moving them in the sockets*

wig,

Dr. Thrilla: *angry metal clanging*

Cecil: A direct translation: “I may be bald, but I don’t wear wigs, dumbass.”

rubber gloves

Dr. Thrilla: *snide metal clanging*

Cecil: As the name imples, he’s a doctor. They tend to wear rubber gloves as a matter of course.

and a face that looks like a pineapple stuck in a blender.

Dr. Thrilla: *academic metal clanging*

Cecil: He prefers “badly-sculpted reconstructive putty”.

And at least XXXtreme Machine is funnier than you.

Dr. Thrilla: *sarcastic metal clanging*

Cecil: Yes, because poorly-spell profanity is hilarious.

Dr. Thrilla: *threatening metal clanging*

Cecil: Joe Bananas, you have done nothing since your arrival but pick fights with the established BOB stars. You are earning your way towards a brutal and fully-deserved beating, and he will be more than happy to administer it.

TV: Wow. That was awesome!

[Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" walks out of the bathroom.]

STJS: Oh, you heard that? *Teehee*

TV: Huh? No.

STJS: Phew!

TV: This.

[Sarah walks over to his computer monitor and looks.]

Sarah: I must be missing something. What’s so awesome about that promo?

TV: There’s a promo? I was just listening to Strapping Young Lad.

[Sarah sighs and rolls her eyes.]

TV: Hell yeah, you fuckin’ suck.

STJS: Irony, sweet irony…

TV: What? I was talking to you.

STJS: I don’t suck!

TV: Your knees beg to differ.

[Cut.]

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor says you are making him long for the days of XXXtreme Machine.

TV: Damnit, Paradox, quit hacking my hard drive to see what I have planned for iMPLOSION 3!

Sarah: Maybe he’s just psychic? Besides, it’s not like we have a huge roster. Process of elimination, maybe?

TV: Oh, look, Bananas finally sent me his bio. And a nice little bribe. Oh well, so much for giving Homicidal Hank a payday! Huzzah!

Sarah: Seth’s gonna be pissed. But I’m sure Generic Ref is happy. I’m sure he didn’t want to get powerbombed. And why aren’t I booked for the first iMPLOSION?

TV: Oh, you are, Sarah. Have no fear. We’ve got some big things in store…

[Cut.]

Joe: I wasn’t expecting that to happen, my next RP will have to be about an electric nail gun or hitting people with tennis rackets. The intricacies of armed robbery in bobble hats with a little wine and spaghetti afterwards is lost on you guys. Y’all just think I’m some drug addict that stares at those fiber optic lamp things all day. I’m the king and no matter how much you try to cheaply beat me into the ground, I’m still standing.

[Joe takes a toke on a joint and just sort of wanders off.]

Axl: Less-talented than douja… That’s sayin’ something!

Rose: Indeed.

- the -

Joe: Leave me alone Mr. Paradox, you just didn’t get it.

[He takes another puff on the joint and takes a big swig from a bottle of Captain Morgan's.]

Cecil: Meaningless. Let us do… that thing.

*Dr. Thrilla takes the other half of the printout, and they kneel on the ground as Mr. Paradox draws his sword.*

Mr. Paradox: Incoherent!

*He cuts the printout in half.*

TV: Joe Bananas? Who is that?

Sarah: When are we going to do OUR Rant? It’s been a week. No doubt everybody wants an explanation.

TV: Too much sex. Plus, if we wait, the ratings for iMPLOSION will be huge.

Sarah: Yeah.

TV: Joe Bananas? You want to work here, you better get down and worship BOB’s Vice President In Charge of Everything. Nobody works here unless you stroke something of mine. And since you’re a dude, it better be my ego. Get it? Either that, or send me your bio.

Sarah: What have you got?

TV: Four aces.

Sarah: *Pffft* I’ve got FIVE aces.

TV: Five aces!? You’re cheating!

Sarah: Yeah, well, I’m a heel.

Cecil: Doctor, put the gun down… Yes, I know you’re violently jealous of Mr. Benny, but that’s no reason to be murderous.

Dr. Thrilla: *Heartbroken metal clanging*

Cecil: Just send her flowers…

Dr. Thrilla: *awed metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor wishes to know what you are doing next Monday night.

Dr. Thrilla: *rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*

*He flashes a few more gang signs, letting out an incoherent yell.*

Dr. Thrilla: *rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*
*rhythmic metal clanging*

*Flashing a peace sign, he walks away.*

Trey Vincent: Mr. Paradox? I may have to report you to the South Dakota cops for having sex with a five-year-old. Did Stitch watch, too, you sick bastard?

TV: Hey, seriously, next time I’m in South Dakota, drinks are most definitely on you. Good luck with your match against Pigeon and Trable. Hopefully, Plants won’t come out all jealous and start hurting you for beating on his man, Pete Trable.

Mr. Paradox: You think it’s clever, sitting in a bar with a looser woman than LiLo, pretending you’re “Last Call” Scott Hall, huh? Well, here’s a real drinking challenge…

*He snaps his fingers, and Dr. Thrilla clangs in response, flipping bottles a la “Cocktail”.*

Mr. Paradox: Try drinking anything this son of a bitch mixes up. There’s a one in ten chance he waters the drinks with metal polish. THAT’S a drink, let me tell you.

*Thrilla pours from two bottles at once, filling a mug to the halfway point. Setting the bottles down, he pushes the mug to Mr. Paradox.*

Dr. Thrilla: *Cautious metal clanging*

Mr. Paradox: Here we go.

*He takes the mug.*

Mr. Paradox: Ashes to dust, dust to ashes, hope it works before it smashes.

*In one go, Mr. Paradox drains the glass before setting it down.*

Mr. Paradox: Thrilla… It’s rum and coke, not rum and vermouth.

Dr. Thrilla: *Self-defeating metal clanging*

*At the far end of the bar, Cecil throws up as the camera fuzzes out.*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ap6EzDN-4Ro

And no, I am not responsible for brain explosions caused by this video.

Studs: What the fuck was that? Hey Plants, why do you like that pussy version?

This one is better….it even includes a brief shot of me dressed up like a kung-fu samurai, doin’ a noggin’ buster to some mother fucker that in a few days is going to be played by Massive Man Rendition First. Ya dig?

Other things included:
douja’s fat girlfriend havin’ seizures and Mr Paradox’s live-in fagfriend, dressed up like Chris Farley.

It’s got it all!
Even a glimpse of Colin Farrell, I’m guessin’ that who the fuck it is, showing everybody what Axl wanted to do to him after the Oscars were over last year…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmdeSW4OA-I&NR=1

SMP: Wha in tha heall? Doesth The Heearchy ever learn that “housth shows” SUCK ASSTH?

And wha happen to PeteTrable? He usth to be good an’ hads some good raps that psyche docsth had to decipher.

Like rightchere…
http://rant.bobwrestling.com/2003/08/12/in-yo-face-sucka/

Only one thing will lifth my spirith after watchin’ dis shit.

WHA TIME IS IT?

I SAID WHA TIME IS IT?

[SMP stumbles over to his computer, pulls up YouTube, and goes directly to this link...]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcmYrSDp-70&feature=related

Little Johnny: This is preposterously piteous. I’ve told the Breeder at least a quattuorvigintillion times not to get me Happy Meals® for this very reason. But alas, if I was to melt this inferior, commercial purposes mass produced plastic and adhere it with ahhhhhhh. It just— might—- work—

Rose: Axl, what are you doing?

Axl: …

Rose: Why are you standing there, with that look on your face? … Are you constipated again?

Axl: :-[

Rose: Well, you asked for the double-wide anal dildo. I didn’t force you to take it!

Axl: I’M NOT CONSTIPATED!!! SMP… he… he said I’m imitating him. :’(

Rose: Oh, he knows you’d never do something like that.

Axl: … Really?

Rose: Of course! You’re too original!

Axl: You know it!

*they high five*

Axl: …

Rose: …

- the -

http://rant.bobwrestling.com/2007/03/14/im-ready/

Axl: I’M YOUR BITCH. I’m your bitch, I’m your bitch, I’M YOUR BITCH! *drops to his knees, and wraps his arms around Rose’s legs, sobbing with tears…* I’m your bitch! Oh God, I’m sorry Rose…

Rose: *stroking her fingers through Axl’s hair* It’s ok, hun. It’s ok. You just need to remember where your place is, that’s all.

Nelson: HAH HAH!

Mr. Paradox: Once again, Stevie-boy, you disappoint me. All of your promos are exactly the same as every other – a lot of hot air, blathering, and childish putdowns. I think my PC has the count at 2,325 now. You’ve never left the playground.

*He holds up a picture of Steve Studnuts at the Superbowl; it clearly shows Steve holding a “FUCK THE GIANTS UP!” sign.*

Mr. Paradox: Aren’t surveillance cameras fun? So don’t give me that bullshit about cheerleaders. You haven’t had a woman without paying for her in years.

*He draws his sword, testing its edge in the sunlight.*

Mr. Paradox: I think you need a reminder about who’s the jobber in this arrangement damn quick.

*The camera cuts out.*

Studs: Heh. That’s why you two fuckers never get laid. Do you think I like the Patriots? I wore that jersey to piss people off and score some New England cheerleaders, ’cause they’re a little bit hotter and looser than what the Giants had . Can’t you read?

You guys really are losers, you just constantly have to find ways to prove it. You’ve succeeded again.

Now then, excuse me while I foam up this fuckin’ jacuzzi with some spermatazoa.

Later, faggots.

Steve Studnuts is wearing a Patriots jersey,

*Mr. Paradox and Dr. Thrilla, holding a transcript of that line, look at the sports section of the newspaper in front of them. They then look to each other.*

Mr. Paradox: On three. One…

Dr. Thrilla: *Double-clang*

Mr. Paradox: Three.

*The sound of uproarous laughter and gleeful metal clanging echo long into the evening.*

SMP: GAK!

BW: What?

SMP: I didn’t know YooHoo had chunks, now it all makes sense!

BW: No, you just have to shake it real good before you drink. Hey, why am I in this promo and not Heidi?

SMP: I dunno. I guess she’s out shooting a porno or something. It seems to be the general consensus lately. I do the promos, she does the pornos, or something to the effect.

[SMP throws his YooHoo into the trash.]

BW: Hey, what did you do that for?

SMP: I just can’t get that image of Rachael Ray pinching a loaf into a kiddie pool. Dammit, Trey!

BW: Yeah, Trey sure is a jerk. He tried to proposition me to let Luke back into BOB.

SMP: You must have said no, because I haven’t seen Luke since I dropped him at New Horizon. That reminds me, how did Trey and Kevin end up with the belts? I thought that angle was over? What happened to booger?

BW: Too many questions! I’m from Bumbledink, remember?

SMP: Okay, I’m going to make this simple. Where in the hell is Luke? And I guess I’m going to have to read New Horizon again, closely this time without skimming, to find out what is going on.

BW: I guess…

[A generic bartender walks up and pours Brianne another Amaretto.]

SMP: Bartender, a fortune cookie, please?

Bartender: Dude, this is a bar. Not an almost empty Chinese restaurant.

SMP: Work with me here, will ya?

Bartender: Okay, hold on a minute.

[The bartender goes to a nearby table and retrieves SMP a peanut from one of the several bowls throughout the bar.]

Bartender: This is the best I can do.

BW: You found your brain! The all points bulletin worked!

SMP: Hold up, whose side are you on?

[SMP cracks open the peanut.]

SMP: There’s an inscription. Find Rachael Ray, and read the message on her chocolate hotdog. It all ties in together.

[SMP scratches his chin]

SMP: What the hell?

CAPTION:
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
RACHAEL RAY’S TOILET

[SMP is looking into the bowl.]

SMP: I can’t see a thing. Where’s my glasses? I can’t read shit without my glasses.

[He looks closer. Squints, and begins reading the turd. ]

SMP: What’s this? “Where do you think those peanuts come from”? The hell?

CAPTION:
BACK AT THE BAR

BW: How’d it go?

SMP: Uh-rah, don’t eat the peanuts.

BW: Okay. Why?

SMP: Just don’t eat the peanuts.

BW: Okay. While you were gone, I got a fortune cookie for you.

SMP: Let me see it, this could be the answer to Totally Dead and Luke and I, as much as I hate him, winning the tag-team titles.

[She hands it to him. He opens it and begins to read.]

SMP: “He who eat peanut, see it rater. He who eat Rachael Ray peanut rearry stoopid”.

BW: I don’t get it.

SMP: Nobody gets it. Better put out another APB for my brain. But Trey, I’ve been winning matches for years without a brain. I’ve been winning titles for years without a brain. I don’t need a brain to beat you. All I need is a STONECUTTER. Come on, Luke! You rat bastard! Show up and let’s win these things. I forgive you for being a dumbass that never post rants! Just one, just one is all we need! I can’t do it alone, obviously from this you can tell.

COME ON, MAN!

[SMP gets on his knees like he’s praying.]

SMP: COME ON, MAN! COME ON! DON’T LEAVE ME, COME BACK!

Bartender: Sir? You have to go. You’re scaring the customers…

SMP: Come on, you rotten no-showing bastard!

Bartender: Security!

[They drag him out mercifully….]

Studs: Now THIS motherfucker’s got a shot. And speaking of an ass for 18 inches, that’s not a bad idea. Daddy needs some strange pussy. Ya dig?

~~~Steve leaves and quickly returns wearing slacks, dress shoes (no socks), and a tight yellow shirt with the slogan “Dick won’t suck Itself” on it.~~~

Studs: Time to hit the club.
Later, faggots.

CircularAnswer: Are you sure I can’t go on break?

*Dr. Thrilla cracks the whip.*

Leary: Yeah…writing the card…yeah…

[Leary goes back to playing Tiger Woods on his PS2.]

Leary: My friggin’ brain’s on strike…

Mr. Paradox: The last good wrestling game was WWF Smackdown for the Playstation. After that… all downhill from there.

Dr. Thrilla: *Inebriated metal clanging*

Mr. Paradox: What do you mean you don’t play wrestling games? Geez, Thrilla, what do you play?

Dr. Thrilla: *Inebriated metal clanging*

Mr. Paradox: Huh. Never took you for the Guitar Hero type.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging to the tune of “John the Fisherman”*

*Mr. Paradox looks to the camera, drawing his sword’s tip along the ground.*

Mr. Paradox: THE GREAT, huh? There’s a name that should count as assisted suicide. Trust me, when we meet, and it’ll be soon… you’ll be begging for your severed limbs back.

*The camera then dies.*

Mr. Paradox: Crap.

The Great’s Wife. Oh my! I just love my shoes! I need another pair to go with my cocktail dress, and another pair to match my china. You can’t have guests over for a china party without matching shoes!

“The Great”: The Great imagines you can.

The Great’s Wife: Well, aren’t you the grumpy one? Oooh dear, what’s that smell?

“The Great”: Oh yeah, The Great had to drop the kids off at the pool.

The Great’s Wife: Huh? It’s cold outside! Did you take them to the “Y”?

“The Great”: Yeah, um, The Great took them to the “Y”. And then The Great would have liked to eat at the “Y”, but that cute little thing that works the muffin and juice bar wasn’t in.

The Great’s Wife: What did you say?!

“The Great”: The Great would have liked some of her muffin. Muffins! The Great meant to say muffins. Um, juice. Yeah. Juice.

(Nick walks into view, as does the Mother in Law, wearing a nightgown that fully accentuates her saggy breasts. They sit at the table.)

The Great’s Wife: Hey, I thought you said you took the kids to the pool? And you never told me what that smell was. Did the cat drag in a dead squirrel again?

“The Great”: Not unless it was yours.

The Mother in Law: Whah whah WHUH WHUH!

“The Great”: No, The Great would have said that only if she said dead beaver.

Nick: I saw a dead rabbit one time. It was cool! Kitty tore his guts out and they were laying all over the back porch. Then I poked at its guts with a stick!

“The Great”: That’s nice, son. Maybe next time you can fry it up for dinner. It couldn’t be any worse than what your mother serves. Who would have thought Easy Cheese and Sociable crackers could be considered supper?

The Great’s Wife: Quit that! You make it sound like I never do anything around here!

“The Great”: Oh, you do plenty—-nag, spend a lot of money, lounge on the couch watching daytime soaps. Let’s see, nag some more.

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

“The Great”: The Great didn’t have a choice.

Nick: Dad, you seem to be doing a lot of talking lately. Getting ready for your big match?

“The Great”: That’s right, Nick. The Great is getting ready for January 19th or somewhere in that vicinity. The Great is going on vacation soon and has to squeeze in as many promos as The Great can. That explains why The Great has been so prolific lately. Hopefully these four bits will suffice until mid January.

The Great’s Wife: We’re going on vacation! Bahamas! No, Cancun! Oh wait a minute! Hawaii! Yes! Hawaii!

“The Great”: You misunderstood. The Great said The Great was going on vacation. The Great must go into seclusion and train for this match with Death. The Great must do this on The Great’s own. No family. No children. No Mother in Law.

The Mother in Law: WHUH?!

“The Great”: That’s right. Death, on January 19th—- history, The Great will create. The Great is going to do a ton of sit-ups. The Great is going to do a ton of push-ups. The Great is going to run 15 miles a day. The Great is probably going to ingest numerous quantities of performance enhancing drugs. The Great will be able to go all night long.

The Great’s Wife: Yeah, baby!

“The Great”: The Great did not mean THAT kind of all night long.

The Great’s Wife: Whatever! We’re going to Hawaii! Nick, go tell Lori and Johnny to pack their bags!

(Everybody except The Great runs off screen.)

“The Great”: Death, it will be an honor to face you. However, it will truly be a new horizon at New Horizon. The Great is going to be a machine. The Great is going to work out like a maniac, and take a bunch of roids and be all jacked up come January 19th. The Great will play endless hours of Smackdown vs. Raw 2004 and have an arsenal unmatched by any opponent you’ve ever faced. The Great will devise counters to the kneelift and your other two moves. The Great will be unstoppable to everything except the most screwy of all screw jobs.
Come January 19th:
When The Great walks out—
Ladies hips will gyrate.
Their bosoms will lactate.
Their boyfriends will be i-rate.
They’ll hyperventilate.
Can’t think straight.
The Great’s opponent’s will to win will hibernate.
The Great will dominate.
Abominate.
Penetrate.
Exfoliate.
And your bones will disintegrate.

And when all is said and done, The Great will have his hand held high. And all the ladies will say, “There goes that championship having son of a gun!” And then they’ll get in line, because with The Great, they’ll want to propagate, proliferate, integrate, amalgamate, accumulate, incorporate, consolidate, and BY GOD agglomerate! None, however—- will dissipate.

The Great’s Wife: (from another room) For crying out loud! Will you please stop with the LADIES MAN WRESTLER GIMMICK?! You’re no Matthew McConaughey! Hell, the only reason I married you was because you knocked me up when we were 15!

“The Great”: Yeah, honey. The Great loves you too. Death, The Great will grace you at New Horizon. See you there—-

“The Great”: HOLY SHATE! You guys bought too much stuff! The Great’s heart rate—- is starting to accelerate! The Great’s ticker is really starting to palpitate! Get a crate ready for The Great! The Great is going to die before he meets Death! By the way, forget the crate, The Great prefers to cremate.

The Great’s wife: Give it a rest, for cying out loud! We’re tired of your whining! And don’t you love my Pradas?

“The Great”: The Great doesn’t understand a pair of shoes costing 638 dollars. You could go to Payless and get almost the same thing for $19.99.

The Great’s Wife: WHAT?! People will think we’re poor!

“The Great”: They would think correct.

The Mother In Law: Whah whah whah whah whah whah whah whah——— whuh.

“The Great”: What’s that you say? The Great could park cars for extra money?

The Mother in Law: Whah whah WHAH!

“The Great”: The Great could park Luke Warm’s car? No, The Great doesn’t validate.

Nick: Hey Dad, are you going to bleed when you wrestle Death?

“The Great”: The Great hopes not. The Great really doesn’t want to self mutilate.

Lori: Jesus Christ, Dad! Would you please stop with The Great and something that rhymes with great? I’m getting a migrane!

“The Great”: The Great will, but first, The Great must tell Death that The Great is going to accomplish something no one else can ever duplicate. That is:
Win THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS faster than anybody in the history of the Brawler’s on a Budget.

The Great’s Wife: There you go with that yelling again! HEY! There’s Fondue Palace! Let’s stop!

“The Great”: Oh joy! The Great can now look foward to a long night of strain and wait. Thanks.

(They pull off the road and into the parking lot, and no longer visable to you viewers.)

“The Great”: The Great almost forgot this, Death.
But heed The Great’s warning:

On January 19th, your personal space— The Great will violate.
The pain you feel will excrutiate.
The Great will realize The Great’s fate.
That championship The Great will take.

Nick: (from the door of the Station) Come on, Dad! That sucked! And hurry up so we can buy some shit!

The Great’s Wife: ***Smacks Nick on the head***

Nick: What’d I do, mah? What’d I do!?

“The Great”: The Great is coming for you, Death. And The Great is undefeated.

The Great’s Wife: Oh for crying out loud, you’ve had one damn match! Come on!

“The Great”: At New Horizon, can The Great score a Check Mate? Can The Great become THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS? DAMN STRAIGHT!

The Mother in Law: WHAH WHAH WHUH WHAH!

“The Great”: Alright, already!

(The Great scurries off towards Union Station—-)

The representative added that Trebek did not have any previous known conditions that would have led to the heart attack, so everything is pretty much being blamed on the wild conclusion of a recent show involving professional wrestlers.

Prior to becoming “Jeopardy!” host, he served as emcee for a number of game shows, including “High Rollers,” “The Wizard of Odds” and “Battlestars.”

Trebek escaped a car crash unhurt in 2004 when he fell asleep at the wheel, sideswiped a string of mailboxes and wound up in a ditch, according to the California Highway Patrol.

“Jeopardy!,” a general knowledge quiz, is one of the longest running game shows on U.S. television and regularly places No. 1 in ratings among its rivals.

It reaches nearly 39 million viewers a week and airs in over 99 percent of the United States, which according to some experts, is nearly 38,999,999 more viewers than the show Dr. Silaconne M. Plants works for.

Dr. Plants was released early Friday morning from a local medical facility specializing in mental disorders after a complete psychiatric evaluation for his bizarre actions at the end of the show, which also saw legendary professional wrestling madman Abdullah the Butcher bloody himself with a plastic fork and chase a live chicken into the audience.

Plants threw a tantrum after Trebek clowned him about his Daily Double question, in which it seems Plants was trying to construct his answer, in the form of a question, as it ironically coincided with an upcoming match against the wrestling league Brawlers on a Budget’s champion, a man that calls himself “Death”. The category was called “Cheating Death”.

After Trebek lambasted Plants for his answer, Plants flipped his podium, began yelling and “doo-dooed” the front door of the show’s green room. Plants is also being investigated for punching a security guard, but charges will most likely be dropped according to a “SHOWSAFE” Security representative. “After researching the show he works for and Dr. Plants’ income from his profession, chances of gaining any kind of substantial monetary rewards for the assault will be useless.” He then added, “The guard that was punched said “It didn’t hurt, anyway.”

Dr. Plants has no further restrictions or evaluations and should be able to make his scheduled encounter for the promotion’s year end show called MEGABRAWL!.

He has, however, been banned from ever appearing on “Jeopardy!” again.

Upon hearing this, Ron Simmons, former Florida State All-American and also a player on the show, said, “DAMN!”

Steven Toccata, who was in the “Jeopardy!” studio audience during the “Wrestler” edition and is an admitted long time fan of Brawlers on a Budget commented that he has never seen Dr. Plants act in such a manner. “I’ve never seen him act in such a manner”, he said. Then he added, “Dr. Plants is more focused than I’ve ever seen him.”

Steven was then laughed at and ridiculed for watching BOB.

Alex Trebek continues to convalesce and seems to be doing fine.

Jim: I totally did.

MMR1: Wow! I really hope that writers strike ends soon because if I have to sit through another promo that Kay Fabe wrote herself, hell I don’t know what I’d do.

Jim: Dude I know.

MMR1: Oh well, at least we can rest easy knowing that our matches are in the bag.

Jim: Totally and because “We’re Back…

MMR1:…and we’re still better than ya’ll”

Steve: Booger? What the fuck? Brawler’s hired Mike Shaw? I thought that fuckin’ guy died. Bastion Booger….

Or is this booger the fuckin’ janitor guy on “Good Times”? Or maybe that jerkweed that picked his fuckin’ nose all the time on “Revenge of the Nerds”?

What in the fuck is goin’ on?

ANS: (Horny) Death??

Death: …Gotta go.

RVS: Woah.

[He watches Aneglfire's promo again.]

Professor: That would be the ninth circle of Hell, where traitors are sent.

Kevin: The fuck? Who the fuck is Pigeon?

[He throws a few coins into a nearby swear jar.]

Kevin: You come here running your mouth and calling me a jabroney, thinking you’re better than me just because you get paychecks. I am Kevin the Pyromaniac! I am the most hardcore wrestler this sorry federation has seen in months! I have beaten the likes of… well, I beat Little Good at that last PPV. But that’s gotta count for something, right?

[Kevin takes a box of matches and lights one of them, pointing the burning end at the camera as he speaks.]

Kevin: You say you want the OWTTM, what about me? What about Kevin? Don’t I deserve a shot first?

[Kevin looks to a guy off-screen who is shaking his head.]

Kevin: Shut the fuck up! I am hardcore, dammit!

[Kevin drops the lit match onto the TV covered in gas and makes away with the contents of the swear jar. We fade out as the flames rise.]

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: Our hearts go out to Jimmy “the Wine Cooler” McGillicuddy, who was arrested while cosplaying as Dr. Thrilla and committing arson. This will not affect the upcoming PPV in any way.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor adds that this won’t save your ass any, Studnuts.

*They walk away.*

“Dr. Thrilla will remain in our jurisdiction until his arraignment, which by my caculation, using an estimate on how our other cases are going, should be about August 2007. We found a gasoline can with his fingerprints on it, matches were found on his person, and he also had on his person an autographed picture of George Harrison that was identified as property of Mr. Trable. The item was personalized to Mr. Trable that read, “Pete, you could’ve been the 5th Beatle if rap was cool in the 60’s and 70’s. Always, George.”

“The evidence is overwhelming.”

“This is a slam dunk, not some JonBenet or O.J. Simpson deal. Case closed, it’s just going to take awhile. We regret to inform his “employer”, as this individual claims to be a professional wrestler in an outfit called Brawler’s on a Budget, that he will not be released, even on good behavior, to attend any events. Besides, I looked up Brawler’s on a Budget on the Internet and all I found was a couple of guys and two androids in a theater making fun of people who can’t type. So, needless to say, I don’t believe him.”

“In booking, we removed his bizarre metal teeth as we see it as a potential danger to other inmates and as a possible tool in aiding his flight. Any relatives of this individual can pick them up at the main desk. Ask for Sgt. Lipshick.”

“Thank you. Any inquiries can be directed to Fresnos Finest.”

Mr. Paradox: Remember, we can’t afford to kill the guy.

*Thrilla nods, and they enter the hotel. A few minutes later, a old man’s voice is heard yelling, “The hell!?” before a loud clanging noise fills the night air. A few minutes after that, Thrilla and Paradox leave the hotel, carrying a very large sack.*

Mr. Paradox: “Special ref” this, Smallnuts.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

*End scene.*

Studs: A cage match? Sweet.

But let me ask you a question, Booker Man… where does this leave Muhammad Ali and the 10 billion hut squatters in Manilla that’s expectin’ the biggest thing that’s EVER hit their miserable little third world shithole? What about them?

Granted, they probably won’t have any money to buy tickets down there to see me mop their fuckin’ dirt floors with these jerkweeds, but hey… I’m sure they can make some sneakers or some t-shirts or somethin’. Maybe some pottery, I dunno. Perhaps some envelopes. Everbody knows Manilla makes the BEST envelopes! Ya dig?

Big Boss can use some sweatshop goods, right?

Besides, I’ve already called Ali and he’s all jacked up about returnin’ to Manilla, the site of one his greatest victories some 30 years ago. Hell, I’ve already planned to tour the place with him and garner SUPER UNIMAGINABLE HOMEFIELD ADVANTAGE! You fucked everythin’ up….

The people of Manilla LOVE me! They’re already on the bandwagon, you see?… VANILLA GORILLA shirts are sellin’ like fuckin’ hotcakes down there. Well, if they even eat hotcakes down there. Whatever they really love to eat down there, that’s what my shirts are sellin’ like. Yeah. I can let you in on some of that action. Big Boss, you listenin’?

[Steve throws a hundred dollars on the table...then looks at the red-head who's just off camera]

Studs: Bring some more titties, honey.

[She leaves to gather some friends]

Studs: Look, I don’t give a flippity flyin’ fuck if it’s a cage match, a streetfight, a dog collar match, a fuckin’ pole match, don’t matter to me if we wrestle on a planet, a bus, a taxi, in the back of a pickup, in douja’s ass where I’ve heard there’s enough room to beat WrestleMania III’s attendance record… I don’t care.

Give me both of those sorry ass nut jugglers, give me Ali, and give me Manilla.

And if you don’t….

IF YOU DON’T!

Well, I guess I’ll take whatever you give me and beat the shit outta them anyways.

And that…. IS A FACT!

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor says he would like to take up your challenge to a match, but points out that you are not able to wrestle him because you are scheduled to wrestle Mr. Paradox at the PPV.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor notes that you may be assuming you will not even be winded by the match with Paradox, assuming you will crush him in short order. He points out that even if that is the case, the fans won’t like seeing you wrestle twice in one night. He also notes that frankly, you aren’t as big a star as you think you are.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

Cecil: He makes a suggestion. It is this: you should choose a replacement, someone you trust to wrestle in your place if you are too tired to wrestle him. The doctor notes that you have enough of an ego to assume there is no way you would be tired, nor that the fans wouldn’t like to see you wrestle twice in one night. In which case, he has two words for you.

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging, points twice to his crotch*

Cecil: “Suck it”.

*The tape ends.*

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

*The sign flies across the field like a metal boomerang, smashing through a window of Steve Studnuts’s house. And it is your house, Steve, I have pictures to prove it. No shifting the damage to some random sports star this time. Either way, it takes out the leather sectional’s upholstery, rebounding off a wall to do more damage to it, before plinging off the floor and burying itself in the super-wide plasma screen.*

Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*

*The doctor makes a run for it at top speed.*

You are an OVER THE HILL, WASHED UP, PIECE OF KING SHIT TRYIN’ ONE LAST TIME TO MAKE A COMEBACK, NEPHEW THAT LOOKS LIKE THE BUSINESS END OF A ROASTED MARSHMALLOW HAVIN’, SLACKER THAT WON HIS ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS BECAUSE OF DUKE, SHOULD BE USIN’ A WALKER…. BROKEN DOWN OLD GEEZER!

Everybody knows you’re only makin’ one last pass through this place because you ran out of blunt money, pal… who are you tryin’ to fool?

Don’t come on here, tryin’ to be all hard and talkin’ shit like you can still go.

Hello? YOU’RE WRESTLIN’ A FUCKIN’ WASHIN’ MACHINE AT A PAY PER VIEW! How low is that?

You’re not a fine wine, you’re ripple. You’re Boone’s Farm, jack. You’re Strawberry Hill. Hell, you’re not even that… you’re a buck nineteen 40 of King Cobra.

Shut your pie hole and go back to your crack house and light one up with your Momma. Drink some O.E. with your old man…. if you can find his dumb ass.

Keep your nose out of shit that don’t concern you, before the iAd sports entertains your ass out of here once and for all. Ya dig?

Please, we really don’t want to run you off…. we need people like you to wrestle the washin’ machine. Heh.

By the way, how’s your nephew, Jerry Curl Jones or whatever the fuck his name was? I heard through the grapevine that his activator caught on fire and now his head looks like the end of a struck match. Is that true? Pity. *pfffft*

In closing, watch out for Unit 5’s Airplane Spin Cycle….I hear it’s a doozy.

Farmer Reb Brown: A dryer? Uh-uh, no sir ree bob, you iAd boys already done run off wit’ mah washing machine, and that’s enough. Luckily I had mah old washboard from my jug band days, but there ain’t no way I’m gonna start pinning clothes to a laundry line. It rains all the damn time down here. Insert yer own damn folksy analogy about how much it rains; I’m too darned steamed ta think of anything good right now.

That’s right, you boys get anywhere near my dryer an’ I’ll show you the buisness end of my aught six, I tell you what. I’ll probably go all Deliverence or Texas Chainsaw Masacre on your asses, too. I haven’t actually seen either movie, but I sure will rent ‘em if I have to. you know I’ll do it; I got netflix.

…

Oh, wait, I got one! How ’bout it rains more here then it does under babe the blue ox after he’s… uh, had a lot of beer. Sheeyit, you think it’s so easy to talk like a folksy redneck I’d like to see you try it.

“An extra bit of footage is on the floor.”

ACTION: Take footage

“You take the footage.”

ACTION: Look

“You are in the Rant Zone Projector Room. There is a projector in the corner. It is plugged in but not running.”

ACTION: Check inventory

“You have a strip of footage, Meat Puppet’s hand, a book on Cthultic myths, and Scotty Whatbody’s belt.”

ACTION: Use footage on projector

“It threads in easily. The projector can now play it.”

ACTION: Turn projector on

“You must be joking, man.”

ACTION: Turn on projector

“What did it ever do to you?”

ACTION: Flip projector switch

“It begins running. The footage shows the bizzare Coma-like he-she running down the hallway. Suddenly, a bald man in a bloodstained lap coat shows up and hits him with a street sign. The man, Dr. Thrilla, turns to the camera and begins speaking. There is no sound on this footage, but it seems clear he isn’t actually saying anything legible. The footage runs out.”

ACTION: Flip projector switch

“The projector is now off.”

ACTION: Take footage

“The footage snapped in the projector. Sorry, Charlie.”

Mysterious Guest actually sang:
COMA COMA COMA COMA COMA …. CHAMELECLONE.

Remember, every day is my survival…
You’re my lover, not my rival.

I think that’s the next line, I dunno… but eww, that sounded gay anyway. Imagine that….

(Undietaker, with the new knowledge of Bing O’s whereabouts, is standing on the outside of a building. We learn that it is the arena. Undietaker, Khan, and Randy are standing at th e bottom. Undietaker has a harness on, which Randy is holding.)

Undietaker:Now, listen up, you idiot handis, I don’t want you screwing this up. Bing-O Hall is having a nap in his locker room. I’m just going to fire this grappling hook into that window over there. Then, I must scale the wall. Randy, you and Khan have the task of holding on to a rope. Think you can handle that, tardy boy?

Khan:I don’t see why not.

Randy:Pro bably.

Undietaker:Great. Now, when I get inside, I need you handis to look and make sure nobody’s tailing me. I’m breaking and entering, you know. I want Bing o’s undies bad, yeees, I do.

Randy:No problem.

Khan:Gotcha.

[Undietaker fires the hook. It hits on the window.]

Undietaker:Don’t let go now…

[He begins his ascent. About halfway up, he starts to smile. He's almost at the top.]

Vendor:CHEESE! Get your cheese here…

Khan:Cheese?

[They let go of the rope, and run over to the cheese. Undietaker falls in the background as khan buys 250 grams of gouda cheese, and a pound of fresh monterey jack.]

Undietaker:ugh….my…back…undies….uuugh…

[Undietaker passes out. Fade, and re-open in the same spot, 3 minutes later. A ladder is set up by the window.]

Undietaker:You stupid handis, I really should take action, but I still need you, I see. I need one of you to steady the ladder while I climb up, and then take bingo’s UNDIES! Got that?

Khan:Gotcha!

Undietaker:Alright. Remember to watch for a tail.

[Undietaker begins his climb. He reaches the 3/4 mark, when they are startled by a yell around a corner. Khan tosses the ladder sideways, sending the Undietaker into a sharp prickly bush. He climbs out, as a man walks around a corner.]

Man:I heard some commotion over here…

Khan:There was no commotion. I do not understand to which commotion you refer…

Randy:I farted, but…

Man:Oh my god!

[The scraped and beat up Undietaker stumbles up to them.]

Man:Oh, wait, I see that all the time. These guys in bob are so stiff, it’s like everybody’s drunk…or they just plain suck. Well, keep out of trouble, guys…

Undietaker:Yes…

[The man walks away, th en turn s around.]

Man:I noticed something kind of weird…

Undietaker:What is that?

Man:I could have sworn I wore underwear today…But, they seem to have vanished into thin air. Have you possibly seen them anywhere?

Undietaker:Why the hell would I have seen your undies?

Man:I don’t know…just…strikes me as odd to walk u p to a weird scene and leave without undies, you know what I mean?

Undietaker:I know precisely what you mean. Well, have a good day.

[The man leaves.]

Khan:Hey, I noticed something odd…I didn’t even wear undies today…

Undietaker:That’s because you’re a dirty handi. However, I have that moron’s undies, so now, I must go for the big prize…Bing O’s undies….YEEEEEES!

[Un dietaker sets the ladder back up.]

Undietaker:Screw holding the ladder for me, I’ll do it myself!

[Undietaker quickly scrambles to the top. He jumps into the room, and falls through a stack of tables which are always magically around wrestling events. After a minute or so, he regains himself, and sees Bing-O Hall drunk and passed out.]

Undietaker:Objective 1, gain entry to locker room, complete.

[He looks over, and sees the open door.]

Undietaker:DAMMIT! Oh well, I’m in here now. This will be like taking undies from a baby…

[We walks over to the sleeping bing o hall. Suddenly he disappears, as a trap door opens. We hear a muffled scream of 'blast!' and then the trap door shuts. The handis wait, tapping their feet outside the window. A metal piece falls off from the side of the building, and Undietaker crawls out of a vent, falling into that same pricklebush again. He gets up mumbling to himself, cursing something.]

Randy:Are you okay, sire?

Undietaker:Yes, yes, perfectly alright you fucking retard! UNDIETAKE!

Randy:Aww, man…

Undietaker:It’s just my luck there’s a trap door in an arena that probably cost $30 to build…

Khan:Did you get his undies?

Undietaker:DOES IT LOOK LIKE I HAVE HIS UNDIES!? If I had his undies, I would be running around screaming YEEEEEEEEES and EEEEEEEXCELLENT and shit like that, an d then I would run like hell to the undie collection, in the undie plasma-proof safe, and place them there. Then, I would cancel my match with those other losers and pursue somebody else’s undies! But no, I have to face this…sWo faction, of sorts, but really, I only have to face one member, the afore mentioned Bing O Hall. But you handis don’t need to be there…This is for me. It gets personal when the word fetish is used to describe my behaviour. In all my years, I’ve heard that word mentioned like…100’s of times. You ignorant bastards throw that word around like nothing. You see, I get no sexual gratification out of stealing people’s undies. Remember the undie machine I mentioned earlier? Well, the entire reason I do it is for that machine. When powered with enough Undies, it will send a powerful signal to the Undie-Sattelite, which will send out a ray perfectly in tune with the human brain. I call it the ‘Confuse Ray’. It will make everybody exhalt me as the king of earth! You see, my time is coming…Whether or not I win the match, I will get Bing O Hall’s undies, and I’ll be one p air closer to world domination. It’s a win win situation, for me. But, I’m still going to show you what happens when you or somebody associated with you calls me a pervert…Yeeees…Now, I’m going to give up my pursuit of your undies for today, in favor of taking people’s undies in the local mall. It’s always the best place. Come handis, we have work to do.

Khan:Yeeeeeeeees…

Undietaker:DON’T say that!

[They exit the scene.]

[A pleased Undietaker greets us on screen. He's smiling one of those 'I'm going to get your undies' smiles at the screen, and presumably, to bing o hall.]

Undietaker:Let’s cut through all the crap right away, and allow me to express how happy I am that somebody actually did something at this place, nevermind acknowledge me. Unfortunately, I don’t understand retard…So, I have Randy here to help me out with that.

Randy:Well, I think he said he wants to throw his undies into the hat in the 3 on 3 match.

Undietaker:I have a hat right here!

[He takes off his top hat, and holds it out.]

Randy:It was a figure of speech.

Undietaker:Well, UNDIETAKE anyway. Yeees.

Randy:Hey!

Undietaker:You see that, Undietaker? That’s what’s going to happen to you when we step into the ring. Yeees…That idiot Bing O just made the match possible by joining XXXtreme Machine’s team, and…

[Static cuts in. ew snoo relaize taht wee r in xtrm mchines loker rom, nd he has a mic))

xtrem:im here 2 say dat u r gay and ur undies will be mine yes

Undietaker:Now hold on just a second...

xtreme:i wud also liek 2 say that u like little boys penises

Undietaker:Alright now that's enough! Don't make me come back there...

xtreme:fuk u u stupid pervrted freak lick my xxxtreme big balls

Undietaker:You do know this building only has 2 rooms, and I'm 20 feet away from you...

xtreme:....................ur gay

[Static again.]

Undietaker:Randy, go investigate.

[Randy walks out of the room. We hear a yell of meah, and a smash. Randy walks in.]

Randy:He’s finished. And, I have his undies for you!

Undietaker:Why thank you, Randy…

Randy:…Can I have my cheese now?

Undietaker:Yes, sure, go nuts…

[he throws a square of cheese to the ground. Randy pounces.]

Undietaker:Idiot handi…Now, Undietaker, you see what the insolence of that little love-to-hatable XXXtreme Machine did for him in the end. You aren’t going to be any more successful. You’re undies will be mine, and that’s all there is to it. When all is done, you will…Rest…Without…UNDIES…

[Undietaker smiles very devilishly.]

Zeno: What the?

Mylisiv: Huh?

Paradox: You gotta be jokin’ me…

Meat-Puppet: …

Coma, tell the purple waterbuffalo I did like “I’m With Stupid”. TRAIN!

[Thud]

Hee hee hee. Poink!

[Thud]

Studs: What tha fuck? Hey Connie, come here, will ya? Bring Jizzy with ya, too… you’re not gonna believe the dumb ass fuckers on here.

One fag is called Coma, some bottom runger from the BOB, and the other is some poor sap called Hallucination Boy. They’re the most incomprehensible fuckin’ clowns I’ve ever seen. Except for Auryn. And well, that XXXtreme Machine guy. And some other loser called Justice, some clod I beat the shit out of all the time in ECCW or whatever the fuck it was. Hurry up! These guys royally suck ass!

~~~From off-screen, you begin to hear a voice that sounds like Connie Lingus, Steve’s live-in bank account Drain-O and no-strings-attached lay. Unless you consider her siphoning of his bank account a “string”. Anyway, if you listen closely to Connie’s voice, you can tell she’s almost naked. Nah, just joshin’. Connie’s always almost naked, and her voice couldn’t deem otherwise. You couldn’t possibly tell by her tone that she’s wearing just enough to cover her pink, fun bag buttons and her tiny acreage of freshly mowed pelvic turf. So, just assume that when you here her talk from off-screen she’s damn near naked. Never mind the tone. Okay? Hold on a sec.~~~

Off-screen voice that sounds like Connie: Can I talk now?

~~~Sure. Knock yo-self out~~~

Off-screen Connie: Steve? Can you wait a minute? Jizzabelle and I are almost done with these brownies!

Studs: Huh? Ya’ll don’t fuckin’ cook. Or bake. Or do anything in that gatdamn kitchen. But ya know, that reminds me of somethin’…. did you know I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts for eatin’ Brownies?

Off-screen Connie? What?! I can’t hear you….

Studs: HURRY UP! You’re gonna miss it! These fucks can’t even cut a promo. Hold up, somethin’ else is comin’ on here…. it’s an advert or somethin’.

Hey BOB-sters, It’s your once and future paycheck signer, the BigBOSS. As you may have noticed, we’ve got a new Tag-Team, comprised of Head Trauma Boy Coma and Hallucination Boy. The only thing left to decide is the teams’ name. (They had one, but Coma can’t remember what it is, and Hallucination Boy tells me a different one every time I ask him.) So, we’re throwing it open as a Poll. Votes close whenever I decide they’ve closed. Because I’m the BOSS, that’s why!

(NOTE: All potential names were actually mooted by either Coma, Hallucination Boy, or Scotty Whatbody during last Friday nights drinks.)

A) The Yorkshire Underwear and Spoon Band
B) FLAMING DEATH!
C) A-Trains Magic Pajaymas
D) Oooh, Titties!
E) Sex Machine
F) The Steam Team
G) The Invincible Immortals!
H) Crunchy Frog
I) The Team Too Big To Fit On a T-Shirt!
J) Whoopsy Daisy!
K) Muscularity Inc.
L) Boom!
M) Press the Thingy
N) We Like Pie

Or

O) Other (Please specify)

Studs: You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. (pausing for a second)
Hey, how about TWO ILLITERATE RETARDS? That’s a good tag-team name.

Or what about…. hmmmmm. ILLUSIONS OF POINKDEUR?
Man, these guys fuckin’ suck….

~~~Connie enters the living room area, wearing nothing but an apron with the phrase KISS THE COOK ON HER NETHER REGIONS in bold red letters across it. The suspenders are the only things covering her dirty pillows.~~~

Connie: Aww, why are you makin’ fun of those guys? They look so cute and innocent.

Studs: What? Why wouldn’t I make fun of ‘em? They ain’t Steve Studnuts, so they deserve to have fun made of ‘em. Just like everybody else. ‘Cause everybody else ain’t me…. which means they’re all fodder for jokes and bullying and shit like that. Ya dig?

Connie: But I feel sorry for ‘em.

Studs: Yeah? Well, I do too because they’re retarded. Well, one of ‘em is…. the other just hallucinates. But I’d wager he’s got a bit of mongoloid in him, too.

Connie: Steve, you’re just mean. I can’t believe you’re making fun of them.

Studs: Believe me, if I didn’t…. someone else sure as hell would.
Hey, how does this sound? I’M WITH STUPID?

Connie: STEVE?! That wasn’t nice! And don’t call me stupid, I’m just now starting to get used to “bitch.”

Studs: I ain’t talkin’ about you, bitch. I’m talkin’ about those two. Those morons need a tag-team name, ya see? They could both wear those dumb-ass, flea market shirts that say “I’m With Stupid”…. ya know, the one with the hand pointin’ on it? They could stand side-by-side when they get in the ring with their “I’m With Stupid” shirts on with the hands pointin’ at each other! Get it? They’re BOTH stupid! HA!

Connie: That’s terrible, Steve. I’m leaving now to go back in the kitchen….

Studs: Fine….fix me a turkey pot-pie, will ya?
(Steve sits there for minute, trying to come up with a real gem. All he could muster is…)

Studs: I GOT IT! LOW BUDGET EUGENES! CALL YOURSELVES THAT!, You dumb motherfuckers.

From the kitchen again. Yeah, it’s Connie: But they’re both not dumb, Steve. One just hallucinates.

Studs: It doesn’t have to be THAT specific!
(Steve ponders again, stroking his precision trimmed goatee while he thinks)

The Brain Busted-ers? Nope.

Ummmm,
Coo-Coo, Fran, and Coma? Nah.

Let’s see…
I See (Brain) Dead People? Pffft. That dog won’t hunt…

Scrambled Egg Heads? What the fuck? That blows….

The Immortal Incomprehensibles?

Yeah, put that motherfucker on a shirt, baby….

Off-screen Connie: STEVE?! The brownies are finished!

Studs: To hell with THAT, I’m comin’ in there to butter your muffins! Ya dig?

Go ahead, ask her yourself.

*Photos from Studnuts’s humiliation by Paradox on SMC9 flash on the screen, then silence.*

Oh, THAT, huh? You have to bring THAT up again. Obviously, Nurse Heidi booking, or perhaps fodder for Paracox’s weed jerkin’ stimuli.

Whatever the case may be… I’ve long forgotten it. I did, however, receive a very lucrative offer to pose on DonkeyDongs.com’s website.

Bought a new Porche, so it wasn’t a total loss….

Gimmick infringement? I’ve never once been a black jobber.

Ya dig?

*Static… then a voice.*

No, but you once sucked off a black jobber! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

*Photos from Studnuts’s humiliation by Paradox on SMC9 flash on the screen, then silence.*

Ya dig?

Johnson K’s 13 in perfect effort

RECAP | BOX SCORE | GAME LOG | PHOTOS

ATLANTA (AP) — Randy Johnson had pretty much done it all — Cy Young Awards, a no-hitter, strikeout records, a World Series championship. Only one thing was missing in his brilliant career, that rarest of pitching feats.

At the ripe ol’ age of 40, the Big Unit took care of that, too.

Johnson became the oldest pitcher in major league history to throw a perfect game, retiring all 27 hitters to lead the Arizona Diamondbacks over the Atlanta Braves 2-0 Tuesday night.

“A game like this was pretty special,” said Johnson, a five-time Cy Young Award winner. “It doesn’t come along very often. And yeah, this is pretty amazing for a guy my age doing this. But I’ll tell you, my house burned to the ground Sunday afternoon and my neighbor, Steve, informed me that a guy by the name of Mr. Paradox torched it. So every pitch, I imagined the mitt being his face. If I ever find that guy I’m gonna gut him like a goddamned fish.”

It was the 17th perfect game in major league history, the 15th since the modern era began in 1900 and the first since the New York Yankees’ David Cone against Montreal on July 18, 1999.

“Everything he’s done up to this point pales in comparison,” Arizona manager Bob Brenly said.
Johnson struck out 13 and went to three balls on just one hitter — Johnny Estrada in the second inning. Estrada fouled off three straight 3-2 pitches before going down swinging.

Dr. Azathoth: What? It’s not a turn-on to have horns on your phallus?! Damn you cindy, you lied to me! YOU LIED!

Atomo: QUERY: WHY-IS-UNIT: STUDNUTS-ALWAYS-CRUSHING-OUR-DREAMS?

Farmer Brown: I don’t rightly know… I just don’t know…

Studs: Hey Connie, what the fuck was that noise? I know you didn’t drop any pots or pans and shit ‘cause you never fuckin’ cook.

Connie: Randy Johnson’s house just exploded! I have to call 9-11!

Studs: Nah, the D-Backs are playin’ the Montreal Ex-blows at Bank One today…. he ain’t home. I hope his old lady went to the game today… that’d be a shame if she were there. Nice little trim….. ummmm. Anyway, the Big Unit is okay. Speakin’ of big units, wanna see my dick?

Connie: Steve? I heard something that sounded like a missile before the explosion…. you don’t think?

Studs: Paracox? Paracox ‘cause that’s what he has in his mouth all the time? Well, if it was…. you missed me, fuckbag.
Just like your mother missed the chance to abort your stupid ass back in the day. Ya dig? And before I forget…. The real reason I came back on here = take it away script boy!

[ Connie Lingus = the girl that looks like a morph of Cindy Crawford, Angie Everhart, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and a bit of Tara Reid.

Jizzabelle Cummings = a mix of Anna Kournikova and Shannon Elizabeth.

I got Felicia Fellatio right, Yay for me. The End ]

Studs: I’m outta here. Hey, Connie… round up the other bitch that bilks my hard earned wrestling money and let’s go to the ballpark. I gotta tell Randy his house is all fucked up and for him to hurry up and get his gay ass looking bird feeder that fell in my yard out of it. Ya dig? Crank the Benz while I get a shirt on….(looks at the camera) I’ll see the rest of you fuckers later. I’m out.

Paradox: Interesting. Meat Puppet, zoom in on the window.

*The corpse presses a button, causing a large missile to fire out of the bottom of the telescope. Studnut’s house explodes in a rain of debris and fire, leaving only the bathroom untouched.*

Paradox: I said “zoom in”, not “blow it to hell”.

D-Van: Oh my brothas. You talk about your MEOW-MEOWs and your Meat Puppets and your Unit 5s, well let me tell you something my brothas. Your false idols cannot save you when the Lord calls forth Judgment Day and the REAL Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse smite thee down.

[He lifts his hand up towards the sky.]

D-Van: I ain’t talkin about the big man upstairs. I ain’t talkin bout no Jesus, or Jehova, or Allah or Vishnu or whatever! I’m talkin bout the REAL divine bein you should all bow before and worship. ME! D-Van Drudley!

[Rubba Ray Drudley steps into view, a rattlesnake hotdog in his hand.]

Rubba Ray: You’re all fucking GAY! Yeah! And your mothers have sex in exchange for crack! YEAH! And… and… I slept with your sisters! And you smell!

D-Van: Oh TESTIFY!!!

*Watching this from a high hill, out of Jones’s sight, Mr. Paradox lowers his binoculars and turns to Meat-Puppet, who is holding a pad and a pencil.*

Paradox: Take note of this, Meat-Puppet. “Kidnap Meow-Meow, hold for ransom.”

*Meat-Puppet writes it down.*

Jerald Jones: Why would anyone want to harm a being as loving, as caring, as amazing as MEOW-MEOW THE CUDDLEY? MEOW-MEOW is here to show you the way, freinds.. Just to show you the way.. Do not be afraid! Do not be afraid to follow the light that leads you to MEOW-MEOW THE CUDDLEY!!

Sinister Figure: Gahh! what are you doing here? I’m not part of some new storyline; I just like to watch people.

Man: Now these heathen BOBites are inventing false idols! We must crush these fools before their cancer tempts the innocent!

Pilot: Patience, Crusader. BOB is right now infested with heels… perhaps too many even for us. In any case, it will be better if we let them fight amongst themselves. Great Helga is even now planning an offensive against Dr. Azathoth, and who knows what will happen with the sWo and iAd. We’ll wait until the end of the year to attack. By then things should have settled down.

Strange girl: Ahhh, father, at last I’ve found you.

Odd Guy: *pant* why… *pant, pant* Why did we have to go up so high?

SG: All the other hills around here were already booked.

OG; But why *pant* couldn’t we have just *pant* stayed on the ground *huff huff*?

SG: Look at me, Johnny; Look at the way the wind whips my hair; the way my figure is silhouetted against the setting sun. This is an introduction fit for a queen!

How do you think those peon viewers out there would react if the first glimpse they got of me was as a climbed out of your Studabaker and went into a gas-station bathroom? They wouldn’t be very impressed at all, would they, Johnny?

OG: *pant* Can’t *pant* breathe *pant* up here!

[The man known as "Johnny" comences to pass out on top of a Rattlesnake den]

SG: Oh dear. I guess I’ll have to suck the poison out, again.

Johnny [Very faintly]: Please, Tezcatlipoca, let me die before her lips touch me again.

Dr. Azathoth: Hmmm, a new deity makes the scene. Take note, Atomo, we must capture this new presence.

Atomo: QUERY: WHY?

Dr. Azathoth holds up a small stuffed animal.

Dr. A: Summer Fun-Time Cthulhu needs a playmate.

Paradox: Take note of this, Meat-Puppet. “Kidnap Meow-Meow, hold for ransom.”

*Meat-Puppet writes it down.*

Person 1: Here we are… damn, that sign’s STILL defaced.

Person 2: …

Person 3: Well, that’s what we’re here for. Who brought the paint?

Person 1 (Paradox): I did. And might I say you’re getting the dry-cleaning bill for my mesh coat.

Person 3: Shut it, Paradox. Who’s got the brushes?

Person 2 (Meat-Puppet): I do… oh, wait…

*The second person waves four brushes over his head.*

Person 3: Okay. And who’s got the rollers?

Person 4: FOR GREAT JUSTICE.

Paradox: I hung them on the front of Black-Robed Fellow over there. Now what’s this all about, Mylisiv?

Queen Mylisiv: Sir Zeno had an idea, one I personally like. Now, follow my orders…

*After thirty minutes of disgruntled grumbling from two parties, there’s a period of frantic activity. Dawson Creek tries to stop it, but gets decapitated. Finally, as the sun rises, a new piece of graffiti is on the sign…*

DIMENSION Z: THE GATHERING
COMING SOON, GOD WILLING

Travis: Heehee. Yeah. Wack.

Well, I don’t rightly know how my mother got accepted into the secretive and highly Japanese world of Ninjitsu, because it was a family secret . . . Much like how, before she was horribly executed by the Xiaoping government, she gave me this mysterious package to deliver to her Tokyo dojo. Well, being an attorney, and wanting to make sure I wasn’t violating any insane Japanese laws that would cause me to be Boong-Ga!!!’d by the local authorities, I opened it . . .

Inside were 50 pairs of used panties . . . My own mother’s used panties . . . Needless to say, I was horrified, until I found out that they were a lucrative item of commerce there . . . Then I initiated the “Panties for Charity” drive in the Wyomingville Unified School District . . . I win, Money for People wins, Japanese perverts win, it’s a good situation all around . . .

Why 1-800-SHAOLIN? It was available, and someone told me it would be catchy. And yes, I unify the disciplines of the martial arts and high-pressure barratry into my own monastic sect. But you can’t join until you can stop ambulances with your mind, so do not get any ideas . . .

And, I prefer Israeli army calisthenics for all my bodily maintenance needs . . . And if you excuse me, Azathoth, I will go ahead with exploring my Haitian roots now . . .

Wait a minute . . . I’m not Haitian! . . . I am filing a suit against you for Causing Undue Ethnic Confusion . . . After I bankrupt the BigBOSS for defaming my good cold-natured friends in the Neige Collective, that is . . .

Sincerely,
Kwai Chiang Siegel, Esquire.

P. S.: I’m gonna pop some litigation in your ass, biznitch. You be wack, yo! . . . Oh, wait, I’m not Ebonic, either . . .

I must admit to feeling a bit confused. How did a Chinese/Jewish man become trained in the art of Ninj…ing? I had thought that the Japanese were none to fond of the Chinese. Especially those testy Ninjas. Also, why the “SHAOLIN” phone number? Are you a monk, as well as a lawyer and ninja? And if you already have three different national identities, why not accept Yoga? Perhaps you should see a therapist about these identity troubles.
slogan

*Sir Zeno is staring at his computer in utter disbelief. Occasionally, he glances back at a picture in his hand, then back at the screen. Finally, he gets up the nerve to speak again.*

Sir Zeno: Um… Greetings, creatures of Dimension E. I am, of course, Sir Zeno, and – in the name of the almighty Man Called True, what the fuck is that?

*After a few seconds of frantic browser-closing and breathing into a paper bag, Zeno manages to regain his composture.*

Sir Zeno: I’m sorry… I should have known what I was getting myself into just by looking at the name of that topic. Still, one doesn’t expect to see their old college roommate buck-naked and sporting tentacles in the BOB forums, so perhaps my shock is justified.
And now that the haze of complete dementia is lifting, I… excuse me a second. An old, repressed memory is beginning to reassert itself… dear Ouroboros…

*Sir Zeno collapses in his chair, and we cut to…*

*…his flashback, in the studios of Playboy in the 1960’s. Dr. Azathoth is standing there in a bathrobe, quite obviously unclad otherwise. Several people are milling around, setting up the shots – and Sir Zeno is busily restocking the craft services table. Zeno is dressed in a somewhat-ratty jumpsuit and is wearing a short blonde wig, since he’d hate to be recognized; he’s only doing this because Dimension Z law requires new rulers to work as grunts for a year before taking the post. The viewpoint never moves from Zeno for the rest of the flashback.*

Dr. A: Is that blasted camera almost ready yet? I don’t have all day just to stand here, you know.

Photographer: Just a second… there, the lights are all set. You can drop the bathrobe now.

*There’s a slight gasp, and Zeno briefly glances over his shoulder before wincing and turning back to his work. Sir Hungalot cruises by and grabs a danish before walking out of the shot. We hear the cameras clicking briefly.*

Photographer: Okay, that’s good… Now, go to stage 2.

Dr. A: Are you absolutely sure?

Photographer: Yeah, just do it.

*Two seconds later, the screaming starts. The photographer is hurled over the craft services table by sheer mental shock. Zeno looks again and shrugs…*

*The flashback ends, and Sir Zeno sits up again. Shaking his head, he begins typing a command into his keyboard.*

Sir Zeno: Now I remember why I repressed that memory… Either way, I will refrain from commenting on my own organs, and don’t bother thanking me for it. Until next time, fare thee well, mortals.

*ORBAMAJIG HACK DISENGAGED*

(And Zeno would like to note that he’s only hacking into Orbamajig because his own system is broken.)

I was going to take over BOB, but there was such a long line line that I’ve put it on the back burner. I’m sure I don’t need to recite the long list of people who tried what you’re trying. Moreover, I don’t really think you particularly need any kind of strategy to rule BOB. My current plan is for Atomo to simply beat the living daylights out of all challengers, leaving us the defacto rulers, since everybody else will be in the hospital.

Atomo informs me that the company would go out of buisness if we crippled all the employees, but I think he’s just sour about the fact that he was brutally tortured for weeks in preparation for a match that didn’t happen.

Oh, by the way, while I’m thinking about it, Atomo is now the first and so far only Pop-up Ads Crashed My Computer Champion, so there’s at least one title you haven’t held. Come and get it.
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