Posts Tagged ‘Death’

Studnuts vs. SMP (NSFW)

November 22nd, 2008
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Steve Studnuts

~~~Steve Studnuts is seen sitting at his computer with the eWmania forums filling the monitor. He scrolls a little, clicks on a subject link or two, then leans back in his chair and sighs deeply. He scratches his head. He reads some more.

Then Connie Lingus, his houseguest arguably hanging around to mooch more than keep the place clean, walks into shot. She looks every bit of Cindy Crawford, Angie Everhart, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Darva Conger. Mostly Darva Conger, especially when it’s cold in the house.

Steve grumbles some more at the screen as Connie strikes up conversation.~~~

Connie: What ya doing, Steve? Plotting revenge against Plants?

Steve: Of course. I’m always doin’ that. If he’d return my calls, I’d fuck with him even more. He’s avoidin’ me. Maybe he’s busy fuckin’ up titties at one of his hack shops. I don’t know…

But I see that despite my repeated calls and us nearly killing his dumb ass at October Surprise in Snore Games, that fucker found the time to enter his promo for the eWmania Championship Tournament. He can’t answer his phone, but he can do that? Funny thing is, he never does a gatdamn promo here but he was the first to do one there. Then Death did his promo. Fuckin’ BOB guys. Lazy as fuck usually, but they are the first two to post in that tournament, I never would have guessed it. Imagine that. The deadline is tomorrow night, a minute till mid, and only three people have said a word. Plants, Death, and some fuck knuckle named Jason Kain.

Connie: Who’s that?

Studs: Fuck if I know. Some dumb fuck that thinks he’s the biggest star in the indy scene, getting million dollar contracts tossed at him. In the fuckin’ independents? Yeah, like they have a fuckin’ million bucks. Get real, dude.

A buddy of mine told me that Kain’s dick must’ve been really tiny when he did that interview. Heh. And they say I have an ego?

Even better, this Kain guy said the tournament would be over when he won it. He’s goin’ to feel really fuckin’ stupid when he doesn’t. Big mouth fucker.

Connie: I take it you don’t like him.

Studs: Like him? I don’t even fuckin’ KNOW him. I haven’t had the time to get to the point where I DON’T like him. Which I wouldn’t. The guy’s a pussy tit weak fuck. He says Death is probably a goofy character that belongs to a fed that relies on joke premises to get over? I’m in BOB, motherfucker. Am I a goofy character? Does this sound like a fuckin’ joke to you? You’re lucky I don’t come on down there to eWmania tournament land and rip your fuckin’ lungs out through your asshole, superstar.

Connie: Oh, stop being a goofy character. You wanna turkey pot pie?

Studs: Mmmm, that sure is temptin’. But I got blackmailin’ to do. Bring me my cell phone.

~~~Connie leaves and moments later, does in fact hand Steve his cell phone.~~~

Studs: This is goin’ to be good…

~~~He waits as the phone rings. After about the fifth ring, a “hello” is heard through the receiver.~~~

Studs: Doc! Buddy, how’s it goin’, jerkweed? [Steve shoos Connie away with a wave of his hand.]

Dr. Silaconne M. Plants

~~~The televised promo on your screen splits into two pictures, diagonally separated evenly from top right to bottom left. Studnuts occupies the upper left screen, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants is in the bottom right screen laying in a hospital bed and heavily bandaged.~~~

Studs: So, you’re NOT dead after all. Fuckin’ pity. I thought we killed you.

SMP: Nope. I’m still kicking. You’re not going to stop me until I take that ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS from you at MEGABRAWL II. Ten years I’ve waited to get my hands on that title. Ten long years. I will NOT be denied.

Studs: Pffft. Whatever. You’ll never win that belt, Plants. You’ll fuckin’ choke like you always do. Speakin’ of which, since you booked yourself into the match, I assume you also booked what type of match it’s gonna be, right?

SMP: Sure did.

Studs: How about sharin’ that info with the rest of us, fuck hole.

SMP: It’s going to be the exact same match I last won a major championship in… the NICOLAS CAGE MATCH!

Studs: Oh goody, a cage match with Nic Cage DVD’s attached to the walls. I’m scared. I’m shaking. I shit myself. Puh-lease!

SMP: I’ve never lost one.

Studs: So? How many have you been in?

SMP: Well… I’ve been in one.

Studs: Against?

SMP: Neige Thirteen.

Studs: BWAAA HAAA HAAAAAA! That guy was banned from the promotion at the time! How could you NOT have won that?

SMP: It was a tough match…

Studs: No, you ain’t fuckin’ seen tough yet. Which reminds me, since it seems like you get to make up all the rules lately, I have some stips of my own for this one.

SMP: Stips?

Studs: Yeah, motherfucker. Stips! Stipulations. You know, put up or fuckin’ shut up stuff. I’m puttin’ up the ONLY and my half of the tag straps, you’re puttin’ up the Swiss and your half of the tag straps, you picked the match so now I get to have some fun. You also have to put up your career.

SMP: Huh?

Studs: Retire, fuck wad. It’s YOUR match, you can’t win it you have to fuckin’ retire.

SMP: I ain’t gonna do it! I can’t put my career up against the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS, that’s too much pressure!

Studs: Oh no, you WILL do it. If not, I’ll close all your titty butcher clinics and put you out of business!

SMP: You’re blackmailing me?

Studs: You gatdamn right I am. I’ll close them all down, “Girl’s Breast Friend” on Areola Avenue and Mammary Lane, “Titties R Us” down on Nipple Drive and B Cup Boulevard, and even that new one you just opened, “Leave it to Cleavage!”

SMP: You’re a rat bastard!

[SMP pauses and thinks for a second or two]

Wait a minute…. you can’t close down my clinics. It’s free enterprise. I have the right to run my business outside of BOB.

Studs: Not without fuckin’ clients, jerkweed.

SMP: Okay. You have my attention.

Studs: I visited “Tit Jobs Gone Wrong” earlier today on the web and the site had thousands of testimonials from chicks whose fun bags got all fucked up. Most of them were done by you.

SMP: That’s ridiculous.

Studs: Oh really? Check this out…

~~~Steve sends SMP this picture over the cell phone. The Doc looks at it momentarily and responds~~~

Boobies 1

SMP: That’s not mine. I’ve never seen her before in my life.

Studs: You don’t say? She wrote a message below the image: “Dr. Plants, LOOK what you did to me, you quacker ass quacker! I hope you rot in Hell.” Signed, douja’s ole lady.

SMP: **snicker** Don’t….know….. her. **snicker**

Studs: What about this poor bitch?


SMP: Not a clue who that is…

Studs: She wrote: “Thank you so much, Dr. Plants…”

SMP: SEE! She’s happy! Another satisfied customer…

Studs: You didn’t let me finish, ass gobbler. “Thank you so much, Dr. Plants… for making me look like a goddamned freak! You need to die a slow, painful death, and just before you die, while you can still feel it, maggots should crawl up your pee hole and eat your testicles! I HATE YOU!”

SMP: Yikes.

Studs: Or this one?


SMP: Ummm, she doesn’t ring a bell.

Studs: I bet she fuckin’ could, standin’ 5 feet from it, with her fuckin’ nipples.

SMP: I don’t know her!

Studs: Maybe you’ll remember THIS one?


SMP: Oh Lord. Those look terrible!

Studs: Yeah, she’s not too fond of you either.

SMP: Again, I’ve never met any of these women.

Studs: Bet you’ve seen HER before!


SMP: Good God!

Studs: She writes: “Dr. Plants, I’m constantly squirting silicone out of my super deformed breasts because of your stupid, ignorant, non-medical no-having skills fucking self. I’ll kill you if I ever see you again!”

SMP: I can see why she’s upset, but I didn’t have anything to do with that.

Studs: Right, and U of A knows when to fuckin’ foul at the end of a game. Listen, Plants, either you put up your career, or I’ll plaster these chicks all over every one of your clinics, you’ll never touch a titty again.

SMP: Alright, you got me. I’ll put my career up.

Studs: Say it like I wanna hear it, fucker.

SMP: If I can’t defeat you at MEGABRAWL II and win THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS… I’ll retire from Brawler’s on a Budget.

Studs: I know most of the fuckin’ smart marks out there think that’s an automatic win for you right there, but you fuckin’ people would be wrong. You see, Plants is old. The game’s past his ass. I’m thinkin’ about jumpin’ to other promotions and spreadin’ the love like Trey did. Doin’ so leaves less time for old SMP. Ya dig?

So don’t go bettin’ the fuckin’ farm on him just yet.

SMP: It’s a deal.

Studs: Oh no, I ain’t done. Nurse Heidi is the special referee, and when I’ve won, not only do you have to retire, you have to film “Heidi’s Anatomy, Part 2” starring Nurse Heidi, and STEVE STUDNUTS! That’s right, Doc, you get to be the CAMERA MAN, and I want you to zoom in real close when I splooge all over your girl.

SMP: She’s not my girl.

Studs: Sure, Plants. What the fuck ever.

SMP: Hey, hold on. Did you say, “Heidi’s Anatomy, Part 2”?

Studs: Yeah, I did.

SMP: So there’s a part one?

Studs: Duh? Are you fuckin’ stupid? YEAH! There’s a part one! Didn’t you see it? I sent it to you months ago…

SMP: No.

Studs: You RPed about it, fuckstick.

SMP: Oh yeah, Heidi grabbed it and ran off.

Studs: Yeah, she’s good at grabbin’ and jerkin’ off.

SMP: I said RAN OFF.

Studs: I don’t give a shit what you said. Do we have a deal, or what?

SMP: I said it already! We have a deal!

Studs: Heh. This is too easy. Do you think Heidi is actually gonna count me out? I know she wants to ride the pole again.

SMP: I got your pole, right here, pal. I’ll see you at MEGABRAWL II!


~~~Steve looks into the camera~~~

Studs: Plants, I almost don’t’ want MEGABRAWL II to get here. The fuckin’ suspense is awesome. I hope it lasts.

Unfortunately for me, it will get here, and the suspense will be gone.

Unfortunately also for you, because MEGABRAWL II is gonna eventually get here… and when it does, and that cage is locked, I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ ass until you’re fuckin’ transparent. Ya dig?

This shit ain’t even gonna be funny.

Whether you agreed to the retirement stip or not, after MEGABRAWL II you wouldn’t have had any other option. The poundin’ I have planned, even if you, by some fuckin’ miracle, win this match… you’re gonna have to retire anyway.

Unlike this time with the blackmail, your retirement after MEGABRAWL II will be from necessity, not by contractual obligations. Ya dig?

I’m gonna fuckin’ beat you to death. Period.

Get it? Got it? GOOD!



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R.I.P. Snore

November 10th, 2008
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Caption: The Night Before October Surprise

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

Death: What the hell is that noise?

[Death rolls over to look at the clock. 3:29 A.M. The noise? That was his wife, Katie. Snoring. As if the bowels of hell were about to spill forth from her mouth.]

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*


[That’s the cell phone vibrating now. Death throws the covers off and walks naked over to the dresser. Oh yes, it’s the classic naked pelvis in the moonlight shot. It’ll have to do since Death doesn’t have an ass. Death grabs his cell phone and looks at the caller ID. After sighing, Death opens the phone.]

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

Voice: Good ME, what is that noise?

Death: Hey, Boss. That’s Katie. She ate some drunk and you know how she gets when she’s been devouring booze-soaked brains.

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

Voice: Death, Your Lord Thy God hates to wakest thou. Your Lord Thy God knows you’ve got that oh-so-important match in ROB tomorrow.

Death: BOB.

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

Voice: Right. But Your Lord Thy God really needs you to goest to a nursing home. Your Lord Thy God has two delays on the Big Board, and Your Lord Thy God can’t get a hold of Reaper. Your Lord Thy God isn’t U.S. Airways, for my sake. Can thou doest this for your Lord thy God?

Death: Fine. I can’t sleep anyway with all this snoring.

[Death yawns.]

Caption: Waiting To Die Nursing Home

[A while later, Death breezes his way through the hallways of a nursing home. All is quiet. Tomb-like.]

Death: Am I in a nursing home or at a BOB show? BWAHAHAHA!

[Eventually, Death finds the room he was looking for. He walks past one bed and looks into bed number two and finds an old man wearing a Death T-shirt, holding a bony foam Death finger, and a Skull & Bones black baseball cap. The man is smiling widely.]

Man: Death. I’m your biggest fan!

[Death cocks his head to the left, confused by this.]

Death: You know I’m here to KILL you, yeah?

Man: Heh?

Death: I’m here to KILL YOU.

Man: Heh?

Death: Oh this going well. Look, pal, I’ve got two more stops to make tonight.

Man: Death. I just wanted to tell you that I’m your biggest fan. I’ve seen all your matches on the idiot box (he says pointing at the TV mounted on the wall behind Death). But lately, it’s been so sad. I was such a huge fan of yours.

Death: Say WHAT?

Man: Heh? Anyway. You lose all the time now. You big loser. You’re like the world’s biggest loser now. You lost to Steve Studnuts, and then to all those guys in that egg match with those coloreds.

Death: Coloreds? Is this 1940?

Man: Look, Death. It’s just not worth living any more watching you lose all the time. I used to think, wow, there’s a guy who’s got less talent than me, but he was able to make it in rasslin. Even if it was in BOB. But now? There’s no reason. I bet you couldn’t even kill me!

Death: Oh, you’re about to find out.

Man: Bring it on you cracker sonofawhore!

[As if in slow motion, the man pulls the covers back, revealing that he’s just barely got more skin than Death. Shakily, the old man tries to push himself up, but he can’t do it, because all of his muscles have wasted away. While this is going on, Death reaches up and yanks the TV off the wall.]

Death: Here’s a “Big Bang Theory” for you.


Death: Man, it’s so nice and quiet in here. Maybe I could sneak in a nap.

*ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .*

Death: Son of a!

[Death walks to the other bed where a man is snoring loudly. That was when he noticed a deck of cards on a table.]

Death: Oooh, isn’t this convenient. Hey, snoring guy, you ever played 52 Card Choke?

[Back outside in a bit, Death was cruising in his Deathmobile when a radio ad caught his attention.]

Announcer: Do you want to stop snoring for good?

Death: Think I’m doing OK myself, pal.

Announcer: Is your wife a heavy drinker, a smoker, or a zombie! Then you need our product!

[Death changes the radio station. “Smooth Operator” by Sade.]

Death: Bah! I hate this song! Wait…did he say zombie?

[Death flips back to the other station.]

Announcer: …dot-com now!

[“(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones starts up.]

Death: Ohhhh!

DJ: Wassup, creatures of the night. This one’s going out to my man, The Great, who will be rocking it in Snore Games this week and leading his team to victory.

Death: His team? HIS team?

DJ: Stones on Kay Yew Enn Tee Sin City, and we’re taking your requests all night long!

Death: Oh, this night can’t get any worse, can it? Am I over the hill? I need a stable to hide my fading talent.

[Death pulls out his cell phone.]

Death: Hey. It’s me. We’re getting the band back together. I’ll explain in detail once this Rant fades to black.

[Fade to black.]

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Can a turkey gooble “TrableTrableTrable”?

November 10th, 2008
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The Great

(The Great and Pete “X-Factor” Trable are packing their gear bags for October Surprise. Actually, they should have already done so and be at October Surprise, so this could be a day or so late in translation. Oh well.)

The Great: Pete, are you ready for Snore Games: The Match Be-Yawn? The Great sure is ready. This is the biggest match in The Great’s career. Even bigger than when The Great wrestled Death for THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

Pete: Why you shoutin’, dawg? I’m right here, yo!

XFactor Pete Trable

The Great: The Great was told you must capitalize ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS when typing, er, saying it. You should know that, you’ve been in BOB long enough.

Pete: Word. But I never get to umm, say that, since I ain’t never be rasslin’ for it. Feel me?

The Great: The Great gets your point. By the way, The Great must ask you something about what you said back at the Swiss Army Scrabble Scramble.

Pete: Shoot. I be all ears.

The Great: The Great cannot sugar coat this. The Great will not beat around the bush. Although it appears you’ve been beating around some bush during The Great’s moments of working The Great’s day job.

Pete: Word?

The Great: Oh? Pete has for gotten? Let The Great refresh your memory. Here’s what you said. Then feel free to look at The Great. And elaborate.

(The Great pulls out an iMPLOSION! 14 transcript and begins to read)

You said: Then there’s the dude who calls himself The Great
Let me ya’ll a little secret: his first name’s not Nate
His identity
May be a mystery
Even to me
But there is one thing that I know about the Great’s wife
You’ve heard my raps, you know about Barney Fife and word life?
Then you also know I’d love to be in her face, sucka
And you could call Pete Trable a mother— *mic in the air*

Then the crowd said: *BLEEEEP*

And Styles added: OH MY GOD!

(The Great crumples the paper and tosses in on the floor.)

The Great: Well? Explain this to The Great.

Pete: Yo, dawg! I was just playin’! I’m not tryin’ to talk to your girl, your girl can’t even cook, yo! My boo gots to be able to mix up some red beans and rice at the drop of a hat. Fry some chicken if need be, know what I’m sayin’?

(The Great stares at Pete with a look of suspicion.)

Pete: YO! We partnahs! This is the most action I’ve got in BOB, yo! I ain’t stuck in broke ass factions like Heirarchy and sayin’ dumb shit like gram-gram. Since we hook up, I got regular work! I ain’t tryin’ to hate on you and get busy wit your girl. I ain’t tryin’ to hit that!

The Great: Oh, so now The Great’s wife “ain’t worth hitting?”

Pete: Nah, she worth hittin’, I didn’t mean it like that, yo!

The Great: So you WOULD like to hit it.

Pete: Dude, you be twissin’ my words around! Chill, bro! I was just tryin’ to pump up the fans, that’s all! Like I said, my boo gotta cook! She gotta stir up some chitlins and fatback. Pigs feet, yo! All I eat since I got here is Top Ramen and Skahetti O’s! What kinda gangsta eat Skahetti O’s?

The Great: The Great guesses one from the ghetti – o’s? Maybe some Latin gangstas from the— barrios?

Pete: That ain’t right, dawg! Look, I was just Pete bein’ Pete, yo! I was freestylin’, and when I be freestylin’, the raps just flow, know what I’m sayin’? Sometimes I can’t control it.

The Great: Okay. Okay. I guess The Great will accept that apology. But only if you finished that video you promised to make The Great. The one for Angelina X. I hope she didn’t renig on that turkey dinner because The Great didn’t flop for Hawking.

Pete: Yeah, it ain’t cool bein’ a renigger!

The Great: Did you finish it?

Pete: Word! It’s all set. You sang my lyrics like a champ, dawg! Got the sunglasses on there and everythin’. Yo face is a little whack, but I added some beats and it’s all good. Check it out! After Angelina see this, she won’t be able to say no to cookin’ us some bird!

(They go over to The Great’s television and Pete plops a DVD into the player)

The Great: That’s——-well, THAT’S GREAT! You’re right, she can’t say no to THAT! Let’s go to Snore Games and kick some ass, pal!


(They grab their bags and leave.)

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October 23rd, 2008
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Katie Death, a zombie who dresses in a cheerleader uniform, was washing the dishes with blood in the sink when her husband, Death, walked into the room. God’s Hitman opened up the refrigerator, looked around, and then slammed the door shut.

“Why is there never any food in this house? I have Snore Games coming up in just a couple of weeks, and I need to bribe The Great with food apparently so he won’t do a job for the either Steve Studnuts, Trey Vincent, Sarah “The Jobber Slayer,” Seth Harker, or Dr. Silaconne M. Plants apparently now, too. And I still haven’t figured out what to bribe my other teammates with. Let’s see…write this down. Let’s see, for Trable…how about some fried chicken, watermelon, and grape juice? For Jerri Li? Hmm. Some Jagged Metal Krusty-O’s and battery acid. Kid Pirate probably likes booze. Rum. Hell, how about some peg leg polish as well. Did you get all that, Katie?”

“Braains!” Katie roared.

“Why do you make everything so hard except right here,” Death said, performing a crotch chop in his wife’s direction.

“Braaaains!” Katie replied.

“Is this mansion not big enough for you? What about all those dead people stacked in the meat locker? Where’s the respect for Death?”


“Did you at least dry clean my wrestling cloak.”


“Son of a…” Death started before pounding his bony fist on the countertop. “I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE, KATIE!”

“Brains brains brains brains brains brains!”

“What does this have to do with my yacht? Don’t I deserve a little ME time? I work my fingers to the bone…wait, they already are bone. I work my bones to the…you know what I mean! I work non-stop for the Big Guy who created this universe. He created you for ME, not me for YOU! You’re just a bit player.”


“It’s ironic. I figured I would’ve been the one to kill this relationship…”


“You want out? That’s FINE with me!”

Katie Death shuffles away to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She grabs a framed picture of Zombie Mr. Fantastic off her dresser.


Meanwhile, outside, Death has his scythe and begins bashing a trash barrel with the handle. After several seconds of clatter, Death looks up and notices a zombie eating somebody’s face in the street. Both are starting at him curiously.

“Help me?” the victim gurgled out, blood oozing from everywhere on his (or her?) face.

“Rar?” the zombie queried.

“Sorry, Face Eater. Go about your business.”

The zombie continued eating the victim’s face as Death threw his trash back into the trash bucket. One of the plastic bags ripped and several cans fell out with a dull clatter as they hit the driveway. Brains In A Can. It was eerily silent — as long as you ignored the dying screams and disgusting face-eating noises in the background.

“And she can’t even recycle on top of everything else?”

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Winner, Winner, Turkey Dinner!

October 6th, 2008
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[We open on a sign: Reb’s Turkey Farm. The camera pans left to reveal several turkeys wandering around in the darkness, along with a taller figure hooded figure. Why, it’s none other than Death. He is creeping up on one unsuspecting turkey eating some feed in the dirt. Suddenly, Death dives.]

Turkey: *Gobble gobble*

Death: Damn it. I’ve never had to kill an animal before.

[Death dusts himself off.]

Death: Why couldn’t BOB afford that helicopter and the shotgun. This would’ve been so much easier.

[Slowly, Death creeps toward the turkey again. Dives!]

Turkey: *Gobble gobble*

[Misses again.]

Farmer: Excuse me there, fella. What ya doin’ to my turkeys?

[Death turns around to see the farmer.]

Death: Well…if you must know, I’m trying to kill one of your turkeys.

Farmer: Really? Why? What did they do to you?

Death: Well, that one right there won’t let me kill it for starters…

Farmer: Are you trying to kill it, or, um, lay down with it.

Death: What? No! No, man. I kill things with my finger.

Farmer: Oh, are you Death himself?

Death: Guilty as charged.

Farmer: Well shoot, son, why didn’t you say so! You need a shotgun, Death.

Death: My company can’t afford a shotgun. I work for Brawlers On a Budget. And I really need to kill a turkey before October Surprise. I need to bribe The Great with it.

Farmer: The Great?

Death: Yeah. He’s this wrestler. Talks in third person. Apparently, he’ll job for food, so I’m hoping he WON’T job for food as well if I promise to cook him a turkey dinner.

Farmer: Um…Death. Now don’t kill me over this, but uh…why don’t you just go to a store and buy a turkey? They sell ’em frozen. And heck, if you can kill anybody with your finger, you could just kill anybody who tries to stop you for shoplifting.

Death: …

[Death scratches his hooded skull. ]

Death: Fuck!



[Death and the farmer turn around at the odd sounds. A dark figure is attacking the turkey!]

Death: Hey!

??: Turkey…brains….uhhhhh….

*Shuffle shuffle shuffle*

Death: Zombie Mr. Fantastic! How dare you!

Farmer: What in the? He ate the turkey’s brains!

[The turkey’s legs suddenly begin jerking.]

Farmer: Turkey zombie!

[The farmer runs away.]

Turkey Zombie: Gawwwwwwb. Gawwwwwb.

[Death grabs the zombie turkey by the legs.]

Death: Well, The Great. I hope you like your turkey, zombified. And I hope you will learn to trust me when we team up as the Greatful Dead at October Surprise against the iAd and Sarah. And as far as the Scrabble things on the next iMPLOSION goes. I’m most definitely not going to bomb like the Sin City Icons did yesterday! Bwahahahaha!

Turkey Zombie: Gawwwwwwb. Gawwwwwb.


[The zombie turkey flies out of Death’s bony grasp.]

Death: What the hell was that? Great, now I have to go find another dead turkey to bribe The Great with. Thanks, Reb. I hope Katie knows how to cook one of these things.

Farmer: There’s nothing wrong with this ‘un. Just spit out the shrapnel.

[Death throws the turkey and walks away.]

Turkey Zombie: Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwb. *twitch* *twitch*

Caption: THE END


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Send My Wife Dead Flowers

September 24th, 2008
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Death was feeling nostalgic. He looked over various photos and random merchandise he collected over the years that never sold because BOB is terrible at running a profitable company. Ah, the good old days of the Skull & Bones Society. But now Death and Steve Studnuts will face each other for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. In a cage. On Total Non-Action Wrestling iMPLOSION 10.

“Them Bones” by Alice in Chains ringing on his cell phone agitated Death.


“Uhhhhhhh,” came the reply, followed by wheezing.

“For the last time, this isn’t 976-HOTT.” Death hung up the phone.

Then the doorbell rang.

“I’ve got to get to Sin City. The show’s about to start. Now what?”

Death rushed to the door of his palatial estate. After a few seconds, he opened the door. A bald, veiny, pale mishapen creature stood on his front step with a handful of dead black roses.

“Hey, Death.”

“Tyrant. How’s it going?”

“Not bad. Got a delivery here for your wife.”

Death stared at Tyrant for several seconds.

“I don’t need a signature, I guess.”

Death stared at Tyrant.

“So, I guess there’s no tip?”

Death stared at Tyrant.

“C’mon, man. I’ve got two Cerberus’s to feed. Have a heart.”

“I don’t HAVE a heart.”

“Do I have to kick your ass?” Tyrant asked, tossing the flowers down.

“I don’t have an ass.”

“I’ll skin you alive!”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Death said with a chuckle. “Wait. Steve? Studnuts?”

“No. Tyrant! Remember?”

“Oh. You just sounded like some other jacked up idiot who won’t ever be able to conquer me. My bad.”

“Hmm. Why do I feel like I’ve been used as a prop in a roleplay?”

“That’s YOUR issue, man. Not mine. And who sent the dead black roses?”

“I think it was Zorro.”

Tyrant handed Death a small envelope. After a rip and a poof, Death shook out a card. The inside of the card was simply signed with a bloody “Z.” Oh, and a piece of tongue.

“Vincent van Zombie?” Tyrant asked.

Once again, “Them Bones” on his cell phone played.


“Uhhhhhhh,” came the reply, followed by wheezing.

Death hung up. Tyrant stared at him.

“You’re waiting for a tip, aren’t you? Fine.”

Death reached into his cloak. Instead of money, Tyrant received a middle finger salute. Then the door was slammed shut in his face.

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September 24th, 2008

Steve Studnuts

~~~Steve Studnuts is sitting at his computer, contemplating if he should play Jonathan Stewart instead of Michael Turner in week 4. Connie Lingus walks up.~~~

Connie: Steve? Shouldn’t you be doing a promo for your match with Death instead of worrying about your fantasy football team?

Studs: The fuck? What do you think is more important?

Connie: I guess the promo since I’m asking you about it.

Studs: NOTHING is more important than fantasy football. Ya dig? Besides, I can beat Death any day of the week. He can never beat me, the jerkweed has no heart. Heh.

Connie: Is that a bad joke about him being a skeleton?

Studs: I didn’t think it was that fuckin’ bad. Besides, I have a lot to prove this week. This is a cage match, on an !MPLOSION! card. What the fuck is that? I’m the GRAND SLAM ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS wrestling the number 1 contender, a former ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, IN A CAGE MATCH? For FREE? Why is this not an On-Demand match? I’m in demand for On-Demand!

Connie: Oooooookay.

Studs: On top of that, I’m extra motivated to stomp the fuck out of Death since somebody in the locker room recently called me a primadonna.

Connie: Somebody called you Cher?

Studs: Huh?

Connie: Diana Ross?

Studs: What the fuck? No, bitch…. not “PRE” Madonna. P-R-I-M-A-D-O-N-N-A.

Connie: I’d agree with that.

Studs: What-the-fuck-ever. ANY-way…I can’t believe the boys up front didn’t think Studnuts/Death/Cage wasn’t a draw enough for some Send Us Money action. It’s an insult. So, instead of mailin’ it in like I planned on doin’, I’m gonna beat the skin off Death.

Connie: How is that possible? He doesn’t have skin.

Studs: Alright then. I’ll rip his fuckin’ guts out.

Connie: No guts, either.

Studs: I’ll poke his eyes out and skull fuck him to death.

Connie: What eyes? And what does humping his skull have to do with wrestling?

Studs: I’ll kick his fuckin’ ass!

Connie: But he doesn’t have an ass. Technically.

Studs: GATDAMMIT! Can’t I get a human fuckin’ bein’ to talk trash about? How about this? I’ll break all his readily accessible and visibly obvious bones!

Connie: Doesn’t quite have the ring of “kicking his ass.”

Studs: Good point. Regardless, I’ll make the suits sorry for offering this TOTAL DOMINATION on free television. A beatin’ this bad, you should have to pay to see, then look away and waste your money due to the sheer brutality of it.

Connie: I thought Trey and Seth were in charge of setting up the matches.

~~~Studnuts ponders this for a minute~~~

Studs: Do you think Trey is fuckin’ with me?

Connie: Well, he had the chance to keep Death from coming after you, and here you are wrestling Death in a cage match.

Studs: Yeeeeeah. And Trey, or Seth, had to sign this fuckin’ match, right?

Connie: I’m sure you guys have a plan.

Studs: I haven’t heard of a plan. Trey’s fuckin’ with me, I know it. Before long he’ll have me wrestlin’ a gatdamn grizzly bear like they did in the 70’s or in an angle with a cheap Cryme Tyme knock-off.

Connie: Panda.

Studs: Huh?

Connie: Panda bear. There’s a panda bear in your wrestling league.

Studs: You’re fuckin’ kiddin me, right?

Connie: Don’t you look at the other promos?

Studs: Duh? Why?

Connie: You should, before Thiefer Sutherland steals your spot.

Studs: Thiefer Sutherland? Pffft. That’s the most ridiculous fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard. Cool name, though.
Thiefer Sutherland… some fucker named that stealing my spot? What’s next? Clay Aiken finally admittin’ he’s fuckin’ gay?

~~~Steve goes back to his computer screen.~~~

Studs: Fuck it, I’m leavin Turner in there. WHAT THE FUCK? What dumb motherfucker dropped Mendenhall with Parker out this week? And who drops Roethlisberger for…. who THE FUCK is J.T. O’Sullivan?

Time to hit the waiver wire, bitches!


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There’s No Booze In Hell

September 3rd, 2008
Comments Off on There’s No Booze In Hell


[A bar? But not just any bar. This is the bar where Death got his big break in the wrestling business. He appeared in his first wrestling promo at this bar many years ago. OK, “big break” is probably pushing it, considering the promo appeared in Metal Edge Wrestling. But you have to start at the bottom, right? Anyway, it looks even more piss stained and decrepit than it did then. The bar area is empty, except for one tall figure wearing a cloak. A bony hand snatches a bottle of beer off the bar. After guzzling it for several seconds, Death’s custom-made cloak is soaked with beer.]

Death: You know….

[Death knee lifts the bar and notices he’s all wet.]

Death: Sonofa! Who stole my skin! BWAHAHAHAHA!

Bartender: Alright, buddy. I think you’ve had just about—

[Death put a bony finger against the man’s throat. Throat cancer. Instant death.]

Voice: The bartender’s dead! LET’S RIOT!

[Sounds of stampeding drunks and crashing furniture.]

Death: Uh oh.

[8 hours later. We return to the scene. Bodies are down everywhere. Looks like Death was busy.]

Death: Me? They did it to themselves. Well, except for that old guy there. He just really annoyed me. Well, now I know why they call them riots. That was hilarious! Although, now there’s not a drop of booze left in the place! Pure hell, right, Trey? It’s like your worst nightmare. A bar without beer. That’s exactly what it’s gonna be like for you at Running On Empty, buddy. Mr. Sports Entertainment Icon. Mr. Franchise Player. Mr. Vice President in Charge of Everything.

Death: Everyone knows I was the brains behind the Skull & Bones Society. And with my newest buddy, Kurt Angel, you know, that guy who beat you for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS before he ascended to Heaven, a.k.a., Action Wrestling? We’ve formed the Skull & Stoned Society. Theoretically. Not that we’ve worked out any details, but I’m pretty sure we’re cool. I’ll have to check with the guy who runs this place. And I’m not talking about YOU, Trey. You’re just a puppet. And it’s a good thing I’ve got the right to bear arms, cuz I’m shooting, baby!

Death: Anyway…you’re scum. Yadda yadda yadda. Trey, after you die, you’ll be sent to sports entertainment hell, where you’ll be forced to watch CircularAnswer Rants for all eternity. I have more talent in my one finger than you have in your whole body. I have a license to kill. Seriously…

[Death digs in his cloak.]

Death: It’s expired? Oh man. Trey, you and my license are gonna have a lot in common! You’re both gonna be expired! Yeah, come and arrest me for killing without a license, copper!

[How much did you have to drink, Death?]

Death: And Zombie Mr. Fantastic! Quit calling my zombie cheerleader nurse wife! For the last time, Katie’s not interested! *Shakes his bony fist in the air*

Death: And Studnuts, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. Wait, what was I talkin’ about?

[Death tips over. Fade to blackout.]

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Insert Subject Here

August 3rd, 2008

Steve Studnuts

~~~Becoming BOB’s first and only GRAND SLAM CHAMPION™ would undoubtedly come with some perks. Steve Studnuts has learned that winning every major championship in BOB on the same night has made him ENDORSEMENT GOD™!
Well, sort of~~~


~~~The camera starts at a shapely pair of feet attached to a reclined pair of muscular legs. It slowly, seductively pans upward over the calves, knees, then thighs. Continuing upward, it’s finally revealed the owner of such gams: STEVE STUDNUTS!

Studs: Now, I don’t wear panty hose, but if Beautymist can make my legs look this good, imagine what they can do for those pocked up, cellulite riddled fuckin’ fat sticks you have.

Director: CUT! You can’t say that, we’re trying to SELL these things! And you’ve stretched them all out anyway! We can’t shoot this, the hose has runs in them!

Studs: What do you expect? My legs are five times fuckin’ bigger than Namath’s.

Director: GET OUT!


Studs: Listen, fuckers. Buy your fuckin’ plane tickets at priceline-dot-com, or I’ll come over to your house and beat your fuckin’ ass. Oh yeah, get your hotel reservations from there too. Or then, after I kick your ass, I’ll fuck your wife. Well, if she’s a looker. If she’s a two-bagger, I’ll just kick her ass like I will yours.

Director: CUT!


Custom made wrestling trunks, (black), with yellow SUPERMAN logo. $85


Custom made wrestling boots (black patent leather) with 6” black leather tassels adorned from the top of them. $450


Purchase of expensive call girl to bribe VPiCoE, solidifying chances of becoming GRAND SLAM CHAMPION. $5, 650.



Being surrounded by gorgeous women because you’re a semi-famous professional athlete. Priceless.


OFFSCREEN VOICE: Isn’t that the American Express® catchphrase?

EDITOR: I don’t fucking know. I don’t really care. What are they gonna do, SUE ME?

CAPTION: A deserted island. Deserted except for cameras, extras, a sexy blonde (this is NOT to mean Nurse Heidi), The Flunky, and STEVE STUDNUTS. And possibly the bones of Jimmy Hoffa (NOT SHOWN).

Sexy Blonde: Mr. Studnuts, we’re on a deserted island and it’s virtually impossible for you to offend anyone with your vile language. So, what’s your honest opinion of Axl and his Hierarchy?

Studs: They are very talented. I’ve never met such fine, upstanding gentlemen. They’re among the top professional wrestlers in the business. And totally heterosexual.

Sexy Blonde: (she’s smiling, with a sparkling light reflecting off her over-the-top grin. She’s holding up a pack of ORBIT GUM®) Orbit Gum, providing a fresh clean mouth – NO MATTA WHOOT! (4)


~~~Two boys are looking at cereal bowls.~~~

Kid 1: I’m not gonna try it, you try it.

Kid 2: No way. I’m not gonna try it.

Kid 1: Hey, let’s get Stevie! He’ll eat anything.

~~~Cut to Steve Studnuts~~~

Studs: Not unless it can grow hairs.

Boys: EWW!

Studs: You ain’t gettin’ me on a statutory.

Director: CUT!


~~~Steve Studnuts is seen wearing a caveman outfit.~~~

Studs: In the morning, when I….splash it on…. it makes me feel like a jungle rat. Umm, cat.

Director: CUT!


Studs: In the morning. I splash it on, it makes me…. feel like a jumbled cat.

Director: CUT! Good grief! Let’s go to the alternate set!


~~~Steve Studnuts is in a wrestling ring while two attractive women spray “sweat” on him from bottles.~~~

Studs: When I splash it on, it makes me smeel manely.

Director: CUT! Smeel manely? It’s SMELL MANLY! Can you see that, Steve?

Studs: Huh?

Director: The cards? Can you see them?

Studs: You think this stuff makes you smell manly? I don’t.

Director: Who cares? Just read what we write on the dummy cards!

Studs: Dummy cards? Yo, I might be… what you call….punchy, but I’m no dummy.

Director: CUT! I’m scrapping this whole thing! We’ve wasted a lot of time and money, because YOU CAN’T READ!

Studs: Heh.


Studs: I wear Isotoner gloves, because I take care of the hands that sometimes take care of me. Ya dig?

Director: No! That’s not in the script! What are you talking about?

Studs: You know, sometimes I gotta flog the dolphin a bit. Play old tug-o-war with Cyclops from time to time. Not a lot, just in emergencies.

Director: CUT!


~~~A nightclub full of wild boars. An attractive woman walks in and has a seat at the counter next to a boar. The boar leaves her side and walks to the bathroom, then up to a condom dispenser. A condom falls out and the boar takes it in his mouth and walks back into the bar.~~~

Director: CUT! This is the part where we “transform” the boar into a civilized human being, responsible enough to choose a condom! Where’s that wrestling actor guy?

Stage Hand: That’s him, sir.

Director: That’s a fucking pig!

Stage Hand: Exactly.

Director: CUT!



~~~Steve Studnuts is seen standing in front of a “TOWER OF DOOM” seat drop shaped like a giant penis.~~~



Director: Okay listen, we know your reputation. Remember, please… our slogan is: “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.” Can you manage it?

Studs: Sure.

Director: Are you POSITIVE?

Studs: Of course.

Director: ACTION!

Studs: If you don’t look good….

~~~There’s a brief pause, everybody except Steve Studnuts waits in nervous anticipation.~~~

Studs: …. It’s because you’re a fugly bitch and this gatdamn shampoo sure as fuck won’t help.

Director: Oh, FUCK ME! I KNEW IT! CUT!


Studs: Death, I see we’re matched up at Power is Stolen, pickin’ random partners for a tag-team match. I’ll assume the NGETFA, umm, management is gonna have to change that- I AM good enough to fuckin’ fight alone. Ya dig? I’m the tag-team champs by myself, totally destroying the logic behind the tag-team’s “title”. So to speak.

ANYway, are the titles on the line? It’s doesn’t matter really. Pick whomever you want, go ahead and dial a number. I’m pickin’ the most losery loser of all time to prove I can beat you with anybody.

He’s the biggest choker in BOB history. He doesn’t even RP anymore. He can’t win titles here unless he buys them or gets lucky in a triple threat match. How do I stand a chance with a fuckin’ lame like that as a partner, huh?

Why, because I’m Steve Studnuts, you bony mother fucker. And you’re not.



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July 29th, 2008
Comments Off on HIGHerarchy

Kurt Angel


[The scene? Raccoon City. Kurt Angel has an overweight zombie locked in the Angel Lock.]

KA: Tap! Tap! Tap!

Group of Zombies: You suck. Grrr. You suck. Brains.

[Kurt’s cell phone rings.]

KA: Hang on, Zombie Joe, I’ll finish making you tap out in a jiffy. And when did I get a Verizon cell phone? I MUST have been stoned… Hello? Yes, it’s me. Where am I? Where are YOU? And where is that? And how do I get there from here?

[Meanwhile, the zombie is shuffling up to its feet.]

KA: OK. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ve got to make this fat Zombie Joe tap out.


KA: Owww! What the? Did you just eat my hair?

Zombie: *Coughcoughhack*

KA: Oh no! A bald spot! This calls for drastic measures. 411? Get me the number for Sy Sperling. Oh, it’s still you, Death? What did you want anyway? Oh, right. Let me just finish off Fat Zombie Joe.

[Kurt hits an Angel Slam on the zombie right into a conveniently placed wood chipper. Insert horror movie sounds of flesh, muscle and bone being shredded in said wood chipper.]

KA: Time to snort some zombie dust. It’s gonna be a hallucination. A DAMN hallucination! *Snort* Now that’s the stuff. Damn, I should’ve saved his head for a bong…Oh well. Next time. Say, Death, you still there? Do you have a razor I can borrow when I come over. I don’t think I can afford to join the Hair Club for Men. Ha ha very funny. It didn’t cost me a damn thing to join the Hierarchy. Yes, just my soul…but I wasn’t using it anyway.

[Fade to blurry.]

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