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Posts Tagged ‘Little Good’

Oh, the pain. The pain.

August 26th, 2008
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Little Good

Little Good is staring at an empty glass of beer at Jeers, the bar where nobody knows your name.

“Seth Harker? Insano Mano? Kamikazie Ken? And my partners are Coma and Hallucination Boy? Bloody hell. Ay! You got a cell phone I can have, mate?”

“Sure,” responded a booze hound. After getting the phone from the man, Little Good dials a number.

“Yeah. It’s me. Right then. I have a herniated disc in my neck and won’t be able to take part in the six-man match…It bloody well needs to be dealt with because I can’t feel a damn thing in my legs… What do you mean are you sure it’s cuz I’m drunk? Puh-leese. I’m in pain, mate. I’m losing about 20 percent of my strength every day…. What do you mean WHAT strength? Bloody hell! My arm is bloody well injured! That’s what I said, my leg. I mean, my neck! Oh, the pain, the pain….I don’t have health insurance, where do you expect me…right, the vet. Fine! I’ll be at Running On Empty!”

The booze hound angrily told Little Good, “Hey, give me my phone back.”

Little Good rolled his eyes. “Love to. Can’t. Wasn’t part of the deal.”

And Little Good stumbled, and he stumbled, and he stumbled away.

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That’s… How I Roll A Joint

June 12th, 2008
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Kurt Angel

[Wow, it’s been ages since I Ranted. Even though I swear I Ranted sometime in the past four years, I’ll be damned if I can find the proof. Ah, the things these drugs do to my brain. Well, UnFOURgiven is coming up, and I have a date with density. A man named Viruz. But enough of me narrating my own thoughts, let’s focus in on the door of a hotel room. The door has a “Kurt Angel” logo on it. The door opens quickly, and out steps the Greatest Parody Wrestler in the World Wide Web Today®, Kurt Angel, along with Little Good for some reason.]

Kurt: Can you believe Trey Vincent? I’m the only Heaven’s Olympics gold medal winner in Brawlers on a Budget, and they book me into a match with Viruz? Who the freak runs this place? I deserve a shot at the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. Not false, not false.

Little Good

Little Good: Why don’t you try ranting more than once every five years or so, mate?

Kurt: Oh yeah, buster? When’s the last time YOU ranted?

Little Good: I’m not the one crying like a bloody baby over it, mate. And why am I with you? Ain’t I with those conspiracy nuts?

Kurt: I think they’re getting cut.

Little Good: I can see it now. (Pretending to hold a bullhorn) My firing was an inside job! My firing was an inside job.

[Little Good lights up a cigarette.]

Kurt Angel: Viruz, my dookie has more talent than you. And it was even greener than your mask, buster!

LG: You might wanna see a doc about that, mate. That doesn’t sound right.

Kurt Angel: Where my stash at?

LG: I think you just smoked it all. *Cough* Remember?

Kurt Angel: No. So it must have been good. Viruz, remember, I’m a former ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS. Sure, you may have beaten me before, and you’ll probably beat me again. You just better make sure it’s bad enough that a hospital has to take me in and pump me full of morphine. DAMN full of morphine! ‘Cause that’s how I roll a joint!

LG: New catchphrase? I’m almost impressed. Too bad it is bloody awful. You still suck. Maybe you should wait seven years until your next rant…

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xxxtemre hikoo!!!

April 24th, 2008
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XXXtreme Machine

well kik ur asses
alx smith n litl gud!
cuz u rnt xxxteme!

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Fortune Cookie Say…

January 31st, 2008

Trey Vincent

[Open at a Chinese food restaurant. Misty Waters and Trey Vincent are seated at a table in the mostly empty restaurant. Misty breaks a fortune cookie in half.]

MW: Fortune cookie say, “Help, I’m being held prisoner in a Chinese bakery!” What’s yours?

[Trey doesn’t respond.]

Misty Waters

MW: Trey?

TV: Huh? Oh. Right.

[Trey breaks his fortune cookie in half.]

TV: Your present plants are going to succeed? The fuck?

MW: Does that mean SMP’s going to beat you and Kevin the Pyromaniac for the tag titles at Totally Dead?

TV: I don’t know. It wasn’t a capital P. But hey, like Death said, I’m the toughest champion in the game today.

MW: Why does Death keep saying that sort of stuff about you? Because you’re writing his promos?

TV: Probably. But he could actually mean it. Waiter?

Waiter: Yes?

TV: Can I get a Yoohoo?

Waiter: … Yoohoo?

TV: Yeah, the drink.

Waiter: We don’t carry Yoohoo, sir.

TV: What a shock. Nobody does. Thanks. Go away.

[He does.]

TV: Yoohoo. I was watching Rachael Ray the other day. And she showed how you make Yoohoo. It’s really simple. You get a kiddie pool, fill it up with water, and then she strips down, gets in, and takes a giant shit in the pool. Then she mixes it around and tosses in some butter.

MW: What?

TV: Cilantro.

MW: What?

TV: Cloves.

MW: What the hell are you talking about?

TV: Then she rolls around in her own filthy concoction, and then they bottle it.

MW: Trey?

TV: Yes?

MW: That didn’t happen.

TV: Are you sure?

MW: Positive. You must have been dreaming again. She isn’t some hardcore porn cook.

TV: Well, she should be.

MW: You frighten me.

TV: Hey, look! Kevin the Pyromaniac’s here, and he’s doing his impersonation of a Luke Warm rant!

[The camera cuts toward the doorway. It’s empty.]

TV: Bravo! Bravo, Kevin. Luke Warm. You wanted the tag titles, you got your shot. Your bad luck? It’s against BOB Vice President In Charge of Everything. So, unless you happen to get Kevin in the ring, you have NO shot of taking this title from me. You’ve only just begun to feel my booking wrath, boys. You want screwjobs? I got screwjobs. There is no way in Minnesota that I’ll ever give you two a NO DQ, no countout sort of match, so these belts will be mine for a long time.

MW: You shouldn’t take SMP lightly, Trey.

TV: I’m not. I’m taking Luke Warm lightly. When I was dirtying diapers, SMP was becoming the Dirtiest Boobie Enhancer in the game today. When Heidi was doing porn, I was just starting to jerk off to it. When they were in the STWF, I didn’t have an ISP connection.

MW: Your point?

TV: They’re old?

MW: Been done.

TV: How about this. SMP is creatively bankrupt. He’s admitted as much in his promos. And you know what hurts the most? He didn’t ask ME to write his promos. He asked some guy named Leary? What is THAT?

MW: Got me…

TV: Well, Plants. As a matter of fact, since I am a former private investigator and have some friends in law enforcement, I’ve put out a warrant for your brain. I’ve also issue an all points bulletin. So if anybody has seen Plants’s brain, please, call your local police department. Alright, let’s finish this.

[Trey breaks another fortune cookie. This one is green for some reason.]

TV: It’s green because it’s a Trey Vincent fortune cookie. Let’s see here…Trey Vincent say you have no chance of winning the Not Good Enough To Fight Alone Tag Titles. Well, there you go, Sil, Luke. I couldn’t sum it up any better than that fortune cookie just did. So I won’t.

MW: Hey, what about Mr. Paradox and Dr. Thrilla? And did Little Good tell you who Soem Guy–

[Static.]

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DIE.

September 17th, 2003
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=<>: HELLO, BOB ROSTER. ALL THREE OF YOU.

=C]: TODAY, WE’RE HERE TO GIVE YOU ALL A LIST OF PEOPLE THAT WE… FESTERING DEATH… PLAN TO KILL AND RAPE IN OUR BOB FUTURE.

(If I have to say “in that exact order” for you people, you don’t read enough Festering Death segments.)

=<>: NOW, OF COURSE, IT IS OUR MISSION TO CONTINUE OUR NO-SELLING, OUR KILLING SPREE, OUR RAPING SPREE, AND THE HOGGING OF TAG TITLES ALONG THE WAY. SO, ON THAT NOTE, HERE ARE A LIST OF PEOPLE WE ARE PLANNING TO HORRIBLY SLAUGHTER IN A SPRAY OF BLOOD, AND PREFERABLY IN FRONT OF A LOT OF PEOPLE SO THAT THEY CAN ALL SIMULTANEOUSLY THROW UP.

=C]: AT THE TOP OF OUR LIST IS BILLY POLAR. WE HERE IN FESTERING DEATH DESPISE PEOPLE NAMED BILLY WITH EVERY OUNCE OF OUR BLACKENED SOULS, SO I GUESS IT’S TOUGH LUCK FOR THE HOLDER OF THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. NOW THEN, SPACEDUCK, PLEASE SPIN THE WHEEL OF RAPE AND CHOOSE A DEATH FOR THIS FUCKER.

(Round and round she goes, where it stops… we hope it doesn’t.)

=<>: AND IT LOOKS LIKE THE EVER-POPULAR “DEATH BY HANSON MUGGING” IS TODAY’S WINNER FOR MR. POLAR.

=C]: I WOULDN’T WANT TO DIE FROM THAT.

=<>: NO, I WOULDN’T EITHER.

=C]: NEXT ON OUR LIST IS, OF COURSE, ATOMOS. WE DON’T LIKE THIS GUY BECAUSE HE’S A ROBOT, AND ROBOTS ARE NOTORIOUSLY GAY. AND SINCE WE’RE VERY RACIST AGAINST EVERYBODY THAT ISN’T A SMILEY OR OBSESSED WITH WRONG-DOING LIKE WE ARE, YOU SUCK.

=<>: SO, NOW IS THE TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF RAPE.

(And round it goes, again, and where it stops… OH JESUS CHRIST!)

=<>: OOH. ATOMOS, YOU ARE GOING TO BE GANGRAPED BY A BUNCH OF SEXUALLY DEPRIVED GIANT FIRE ANTS BEFORE YOU ARE SLOWLY DIPPED UPSIDE-DOWN IN A VAT OF NITRIC ACID. HAVE FUN.

=C]: NOW, NEXT UP ARE A BUNCH OF PEOPLE WHO ARE ON OUR LIST ON GENERAL PRINCIPLE. FIRST OF ALL, BIGBOSS.

=<>: BIGBOSS, HERE IS YOUR DESTINY, COURTESY OF THE WHEEL OF RAPE!

(Good lord, someone get rid of this Wheel of Rape already.)

=<>: IT LOOKS LIKE BIGBOSS IS GOING TO BE TURNED INTO A VIETNAMESE HOOKER BY THE DETACHED NARRATOR AND THEN GET BEATEN TO DEATH BY A RUSSIAN PIMP.

=C]: THAT’S NOT SO BAD.

=<>: …IF YOU’RE THE PIMP.

=C]: TOUCHE.

=<>: NEXT ON OUR LIST, ON GENERAL PRINCIPLE, IS SARAH THE JOBBER SLAYER AND HER MISFITS. YOU’RE ALL A BUNCH OF MORONS. ESPECIALLY LITTLE GOOD. I HOPE DEATH COMES BY AND PLAYS TAG WITH YOU MORONS.

=C]: AND, HELL, WE HATE THE ENTIRE BOB ROSTER. WE WANT TO SHOVE A STRAW THROUGH DOVE’S BRAIN AND DRINK IT LIKE A GRAY SLUSHIE. WE WANT TO BEAT THE STREETMIME UNTIL HIS INTESTINES SPILL OUT WITH THE “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRICKIN’ MIND” HARDCORE TITLE BELT. WE WANT TO SHOVE THE UNDIETAKER’S HANDIS UP THE FAKE UNDIETAKER’S ASS, AND THEN KILL THE REAL UNDIETAKER… AGAIN.

=<>: AND THAT’S BEING NICE!

=C]: SO, ANYWAY, THERE WAS A POINT TO THIS, BUT I SUPPOSE “FUCK YOU, BOB” WILL WORK FOR THE TIME BEING.

(End.)

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The Cloudydale Penguins

December 5th, 2002
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Sarah The Jobber Slayer

It was a dark and forboding night in Cloudydale. As usual. Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” was out on a stroll around town. The backyard rings were quiet tonight. Probably the giant snow storm. But snow never stopped Sarah from strolling. Jobbers never sleep. Except when they do. Usually when there’s not a BOB rant or show in progress.

Sarah trudged through the snow on the dark and forboding, cold and snowy night, through several inches of snow. Then, in the distance, she saw a human-like figure heading toward her. As she got closer, she discovered it was another woman out on a walk. Now, this being Cloudydale, a place crawling with jobbers….Sarah was quite suspcious.

As the two women slowly fought their way through the wind, snow and dark forboding of the night, their eyes met.

“Are you a j-j-j-jobber?” Sarah asked, her teeth chattering.

“What?”

“ARE YOU A JOBBER!”

“No!”

“YOU SURE?”

“YEAH. I’m just a valet. Of this jobber named Xamfir!”

“Z-Z-Z-Xamfir?” Sarah asked, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm. “Did I miss some p-p-p-plot development?”

“APPARENTLY!”

“Hmm. Wanna get out of these wet clothes?”

“Oh God. Are you his lesbian friend?”

“Huh? No. I’m S-S-Sarah. And I’m highly regretting not wearing my heated p-p-panties tonight.”

“Sarah. The Jobber Slayer?”

“What? You know about me? Man, this secret identity thing just stops working once you get on TV.”

“I know everything that is, was and ever will be. And Sarah….”

“Yes?”

“Umm…sorry, I forgot my line…”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Gee, you’d think with knowing everything that is, was and ever will be, you’d know your LINES!”

“No need to get snippy!”

“Yes there is! I’m cold. I don’t have a boyfriend. The BOB pay-per-view hasn’t aired yet. And my ex-boyfriend has gone insane, claiming that something bad is about to rise in BOB.”

“Oh, right. There is. A dark power is growing.” Putting on her deep, dark, scary voice, Jeannie spoke the words that touched Sarah to her very soul: “From sixty-four, down to one.”

“From….Little Good said the same thing. But what does it mean?”

Jeannie grabbed Sarah by both arms. “In terms you can understand: Serious badness.”

Suddenly, Jeannie and Sarah weren’t alone in the snow storm. There were four jobbers ready to strike. But not just ANY kind of jobbers.

Jobbers in penguin suits!

“The freaks come out at night,” Sarah said. “OK boys. We can do this the easy way, or…”

They all pulled out fluroscent bulbs wrapped in barbed wire.

“Ohhhhhhhhh-kay,” Sarah said. “A new backyard fed in town?”

“That’s right. The Super Deth Kill Backyard Wrestling Federation!” one of the penguins said.

“WE’RE HARDKORE!”

Sarah slowly reached into her long, trenchcoat pocket and pulled out a handful of banana peels.
WHIP. “Ahhhh! Get it off!!” one of the men cried. But WHIP, WHIP, WHIP! All four of the penguins had banana peels stuck to their faces! Sarah seized the opportunity as some kickass fight music piped on to kick, kick, kick and kick some more. Spin kick on the first man.

“Now, not only can you penguins not fly,” CRACK went his kneecap, “you can’t ever job again!”

But there were three more to deal with. Sarah evaded a barbed wire bulb, slipping on the snow in the process as Jeannie looked at her watch impatiently. Sarah slid around and leg swept one man and the rest fell over like bowling pins. Sarah grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at them.

“AHHH! I’M BLIND!” one of the men cried.

“Hey, you’re playing DIRTY,” one of the others complained.

“I’m a dirty girl,” she said from her fight stance.

And then she flew through the air, kicking him in the midsection.

“Just say no to,” CRACK. “Oopsie.” There went his kneecap.

Two left. They got up, one of the men still blinded by the snow in the eyes trick. The other one still had a frozen banana peel stuck to his nose. That had to be hurting his oxygen intake. His breathing. Yeah. Sarah was surrounded.

They charged.

She ducked down and extended her fists.

Groin shots.

Both men bent over in pain. Sarah hit a double Jobber Dropper, crushing their faces into the snow. Sarah quickly managed to go after their legs and CRACK, CRACK.

“Phew,” Sarah said wiping her brow with a snowy glove. “That warmed me right up.”

“Where did the jobbers go?” Jeannie asked.

“Once their legs are broken, they just, disappear.”

“Huh. Oh well. Well…none of this will matter after it all comes down to one.”

Sarah stared at her. Then she rolled her eyes. “Let me guess…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Wishes, Gravy and Madness

November 19th, 2002
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Xamfir paced back and forth in his little apartment. He had put his clothes back on, at the wishmistress’ request. She stood on the bed, staring down at Xamfir as he paced, in deep thought.

“I’ll call you Jeannie. That’s a very sexy name.”

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about for the last hour? I thought you were trying to come up with three wishes I will grant you which, in an ironic twist, also bring horrible, unspeakable tragedies to balance out the scales.”

“Umkay. Anyway,” Xamfir kneeled down under the bed and pulled out a shoebox. Inside, was a scrolled up piece of paper. So thick, it could have passed as a roll of double-ply toilet paper. Oh wait. That IS a roll of toilet paper.

“I need to go make a number 2,” Xamfir said before running into the bathroom.

Jeannie rolled her eyes. “Of all the people in all the world to buy the little tea pot, why did HE have to buy it?

[Sarah’s house.]

“I’m your sister,” the girl outside the front door said.

“Oh, OK,” Sarah said.

Styles and Kay Fabe nodded in agreement, as if that announcement made total sense. And it did! After all, THEY’RE SISTERS! Sisters know that sort of stuff.

“We were gonna go to the mall to help Kay try on referee shirts for her gravy and potato bowl match. Wanna come with?”

“No, I’m good here. Got tons of unpacking to do.” She stepped aside to reveal an orange and white U-Haul truck in the driveway.

“Kay Fabe says there’s no way to get our car out of the driveway with that truck in the way.”

“Pardon, me, but, um, you HAVE a car?”

They all looked at the driveway. No car there.

“Well, that was completely pointless,” Styles said flatly.

“Do you want Kay Fabe to lay the carpet down? Do you want to go ONE, on, ONE, with the LESBIAN!”

“Settle down Beavis,” Butt-Head said from somewhere.

Everyone laughed.

“Thanks Butt-Head.”

“Huh-huh-huh, huh-huh-huh,” was the reply from nowhere in particular.

[At a hospital.]

“This is a rather, tricky and experimental treatment. Are you sure you’re up to it?” a doctor asked a patient.

“Bloody right I’m sure,” the man answered. He was laying down on a metal table in a doctor’s office. All we could see was his peroxide colored hair. Take a guess who it is.

“OK,” the doctor said a bit nervously. “If you’re sure this will help.”

The doctor went over to his tray of tools. His hand passed over a pair of scissors, knives, scalpels, a hammer, a screwdriver, dental floss, duct tape and eventually came to a little vial with a bunch of little moving black objects inside.

“I want this CHIP outta my brain doc. Then I can truly be evil. Completely evil. Evilly evil. Ya dig?”

“All accept the ‘ya dig’ part, yes.” Carefully, the doctor inserted a straw into the vial with the little black objects. He then walked back over to the mysterious person with a chip in his brain.

“This may tickle a little bit.”

The doctor stuck the straw up his nose.

“Pretend you’re snorting some coke.”

“What?” the blonde-haired patient asked.

“Oh, sorry. I thought everyone hadnevermind. Um. Just inhale deeply.”

He did.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

[Back at Xamfir’s.]

“Okay,” Xamfir said, finally ready to get down to business.

He took out a green three-ring binder filled with paper. You could even say overfilled. On the front cover, it said THINGS TO WISH FOR IN CASE I FIND A GENIE IN A BOTTLE.

“Wish number one. I wish you to only do MY bidding.”

“D’oh!” was her response.

“Number two. I wish you to be my sex slave!”

“Oh man,” she sighed. “Why did I let Mom convince me this was a good career choice. I’m ever so screwed.”

“Not yet you aren’t,” Xamfir said with a grin. “Kissing my virginity goodbye! And for my third and *ahem* FINAL *titter* wish *snort* I wish for INFINITE WISHES!”

“Oh my God. This is SO unfair. Of all the people to get, I get a guy who has been planning his whole life to find a genie in a bottle.”

“Well, that’s a good enough start. Now” Xamfir raised his eyebrows and took off his shirt. Revealing his nice big belly.

Jeannie shook her head. Robot-like, she answered her call. “Yes master. May I have sex with you now?”

“OH WAIT!” Xamfir belted out. “Before we have hot monkey sex, there are a couple things I want to wish for.”

“Yes master?”

“I wish I will win the world’s smallest battle royal at A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing.”

“Done,” Jeannie said.

“And, I wish that A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing would be posted on the BOB site by the end of the week.”

Jeannie laughed hysterically.

[Back at Sarah’s house.]

“So your name is Dusk huh?” Kay asked.

“Yep,” Dusk, Sarah’s sister answered. She’s her sister ya know?

“There are two things that go down every night. One is the sun. The other is”

“KAY!” Sarah yelled.

“Exactly!” Kay answered.

“Don’t hit on my sister! She’s only…um”

“Sixteen! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FORGET MY BIRTHDAY! I HATE YOU! WHY DO YOU PEOPLE HATE ME SO MUCH!”

“We don’t even know you,” Styles said.

“Oh, right. Guess I’m jumping ahead a bit. My bad.”

“It’s OK,” Sarah said hugging her sister. Dusk.

“Well,” Kay said. “I’m going to cook dinner. Want to help me Dusk?”

“Um, OK?”

“Fantastic,” Kay smiled. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” Kay grabbed Dusk’s hand and started leading her away. “Now, so you don’t get anything on your shirt, maybe you should take it off.”

“No, thanks, that’s OK,” Dusk said nervously.

“Well, OK,” Kay said.

Once they were out of the room, it should’ve been time to gossip about the new arrival. But instead

The front door OPENED. Slowly. So slowly that Sarah and Styles consulted their watches a couple of times and sighed a combined five times. Just waiting. Sarah wasn’t in the mood for drama so she walked over and opened it.

Little Good was on the front steps, his head in his hands. He began ranting and raving.

“I have seen the bloody future,” he said rocking back and forth. “Bodies falling. Upsets. Tossers. Mass chaos. Power struggles. Basketballs. Title changes. Lies. Deceit. Pain. Agony. Cheering crowds. Riots. Bugger! Slam dunks!”

VERY SCARY MUSIC SUDDENLY CAME ON.

Little Good looked up at Sarah and Styles, eyes filled with terror.

He pointed up. “From sixty-four,” he then pointed down, “down to one.”

He then tipped over and rolled up into a ball.

“Well, he’s quite mad,” Styles said.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Spotfest

November 6th, 2002
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Little Good was in Jeers, his usual hangout spot. The bar where nobody knows your name. Suddenly a FAT BROAD came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. Yes, a FAT BROAD.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“I’m evil,” Little Good said.

“Sorry to hear.”

“Bugger off you fat bint.”

She huffed.

The bartender came over to talk to Little Good. “What’s the problem, fella?”

“Hey, aren’t you Las Vegas Davis? From that Cybersuplex show?”

“Yes I am. You saw it?”

“Yeah I did. Bloody awful show, mate. You’re one dumb arse.”

“I know. I had to get this job.”

“Figures. Anyway, I’ve got a pay-per-view match coming up….sometime…against Kamikazie Ken. It’s not just any kind a match. It’s not a spot. Not my dog Spot. Not my liver spot. But a spotfest supreme match.”

“Really?” Davis said, scratching his chin.

“I don’t have a bleedin’ chance in hell. The odds are all against me. Bugger, my life has just gone in the crapper of late. First Sarah dumps me. Then this. The only comfort I have is in my two titles. I hope these aren’t on the line. The odds couldn’t be stacked higher against me.”

Mark Shill’s voice suddenly boomed in: “THE STAKES…..COULDN’T, BE HIGHER!”

“Ah well. I’ve got to go,” Little Good said.

Little Good got up from the stool and headed to the door.

Las Vegas Davis picked up the phone.

“Hello, bookie man? I’ve got a hunch. I want to be this week’s tips on Little Good to win at the BOB Pay-Per-View, A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing. I know what the odds are. Thanks.”

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So I have a chip in my brain?

August 9th, 2002
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Little Good: Damn, I forgot about that.

Doctor: Forgot about what?

LG: The CHIP in my BRAIN, doc.

Doctor: Oh, right. How do you suppose that got in there? A secret agency that wanted you to job for your entire career?

LG: Bloody hell, I don’t remember. Hmm. Let me try.

[He puts a hand to his chin and starts rubbing it. Nothing happens. So he rubs a little faster. The film gets a little wavy.]

LG: Stubborn today.

Doctor: I could prescribe that new Barbie drug.

LG: That drug isn’t even legal yet.

Doctor: Did I say it was?

LG: Bugger off you quack. You’re wrecking the moment.

[Little Good begins to rub his chin again, and the film gets all wavy and we have violin action too. Success! Without drugs! The scene shifts to some sort of party at The Little Brown Ring. Little Good has a bottle of brew in his hand and is eyeing some goodies on the buffet style table. Suddenly, Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” is there.]

STJS: Eat chips and be fat!

[Little Good was in mid-yawn as she slammed his face into a bowl of Lays. He began to hack and cough as chips began to clog up his air hole.]

STJS: And that is the only way you will be getting Lay-d by me.

[He was able to give himself the Heimlich maneuver and spit up the mushy orange goodness onto Xamfir, who timely enough, walked over.]

Xamfir: Hey! I just stole this shirt.

LG: CoughcoughHACK. What can I say bloke? I’m evil.

LG (Voice): Nope that wasn’t it.

[The scene shifts to Jeers. Here’s the set-up since this is only a flashback and this would make no sense at all out of context. Little Good had been talking to a fellow jobber at the bar by the name of Ruffle Man. He was dressed up like Superman, blue body suit and red shorts and a red cape. He said he had this gizmo that shot potato chips like one of those baseball pitching contraptions used in batting cages. Little Good asked to see how it worked. Thus we had this]

LG: Where should I stand?

RM: Oh, right there is fine.

[RM aimed the machine for Little Good’s chest and had it aimed perfect. Then he stood up and bumped the barrel unbeknownst to anybody but you that it was now aimed at Little Good’s mouth. He then looked for the switch. A cat entered the bar. He hit the switch. Then noticed the cat and began sneezing. He’s allergic to cats, y’know.]

LG: Hey (was his last mistake).

[THUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCKTHUCK. (Those are the chips entering his mouth and creating a collection.) Little Good’s eyes got wider by the second as chip after chip entered his mouth until his mouth was a bloated full collection of bits of chips. He couldn’t even close his mouth to chew.]

RM: ACHOOACHOOACHOOACHOOACHOOACHOO.

[Long story short, Little Good continued to be pelted in the face by the machine until he tripped and fell and hit his head. He later woke up in the hospital room. He saw a doctor with tweezers pull out a hunk of chip.]

Different Doctor: Hmm. I never ate lunch. So hungry. (He looked at the nurse.) Could you get me some dip?

Nurse: Right away doctor.

[She left the room.]

Diff. Doctor: What an idiot. Can’t believe she fell for that.

[The Different Doctor shoved the chip into his mouth and ate it. He then continued this procedure step by step until Little Good was able to chew the rest of his way out. The scene shifts back to the present time. To the first doctor’s office.]

LG: No, I still sucked then.

Doctor: Hmm. Well, according to the X-ray, it looked like a Dorito. Dorito. Dorito. Dorito. Dorito.

LG: Why are you repeating that?

Doctor: I was hoping it would send you into a spiral of memory recovery. Oops, forgot to play this.

[He puts on a tension-building memory recovery track and says Dorito over and over again. This time, it works, as Little Good flashes back to when he was a boy. A group of boys bet him he couldn’t stuff a bag of Doritos up his nose. So he tried to prove them wrong.]

LG: I say dear boy, you are indubitably wrong. I wager I can crammeth the entire contents of this container of chip artifacts in my nose.

[Little Good pulled out his trusty pushing straw as the boys gasped in a mixture of terror and appreciation. Little Good, then known as Little Excellency, pulled out a chip and held it up high for everyone to see. He then put the pointy projectile to his tiny nostril and proceeded to cram it up there.]

Boys: Cram it up, cram it up, WAAAAY up!

[Back to present day.]

Doctor: Ah-ha.

LG: And that’s why I suck to this day. I pushed that little bugger too far up into my brain. But for some reason, I can’t remember most of my life after that point until I started here in BOB. No loss I wager. Maybe some more stuff will come to me when I promo more often. Now doc, I want this chip out of my brain. Can you help me?

Doctor: I may be a doctor, but I’m no brain surgeon.

LG: Right, then recommend one to me. Because I don’t want to suck anymore. I need to fight Death soon.

Doctor: Death? I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You only have three weeks to live.

LG: What? Why?

Doctor: Cuz that’s when Death is gonna kill you.

LG: I’m gonna get this chip out of my brain. One way or another.

Doctor: Well, then, my only suggestion to you

LG: Yes?

Doctor: I would prescribe you get a straw, go outside and catch some ants, and then pretend like they’re sweet cocaine and hope they ONLY take the Dorito.

LG: Is that your professional opinion?

Doctor: (Looks at his watch.) Can you wait a minute? I have to go get my pay check.

LG: Bloody hell. I’ll go get the ants then. Cuz I’m evil. And I need to become the smart, evil man I once was if I ever hope to fight Death and win. But first, I’m gonna go shag Sarah once more. I’m gonna stop at the supermarket and buy her a dozen bananas. Who cares why she turned heel? Bollocks, as long as she keeps eating bananas, she can be all the heel or face she wants to be. I’ll keep popping for her.

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A new enemy

May 22nd, 2002
Comments Off on A new enemy

We open on a milk carton with the logo of BOB HardXcore Polarvision. Over the logo is the line: Have you seen HardXcore Polarvision 4?

Oddly enough, the milk carton is sitting in the middle of a ring. A Brawlers On a Budget ring. Not surprisingly, none of the roster is around working. Just like the Rant Zone! But I digress….

As the camera pulls back, we see a little boy with a sad look on his face. A tear runs down his face. He is wearing a blue flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, a plain black baseball cap and big blue pants.

“I’ve been waiting sooooo long for this show,” the boy said. “I had hoped to see it before the cancer completely eats up my insides. I was given six months to live.” He sniffles. “Damn you BOB. You’re all gonna go to hell. My cancer has only gotten worse since those guys in the iAd came to BOB. Now I just don’t care about this place anymore. Screw it, I’m gonna go check out my grave site.”

“I don’t believe you,” a woman’s voice said.

The boy gasped. He got up and came face to stomach with the beautiful Sarah “The Jobber Slayer.” She was wearing a black belly shirt, white skirt and knee-high black boots. Sarah looked down at the milk carton in the ring and picked it up.

“Yeah. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. But I’m sure it’ll turn up someday. And you know it’ll be good since I’ll be on it. You’ve got to see what I do to the iAd.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No.”

“You’re denying a dying boy his wish?”

“Yes.”

“You’re cold.”

“Well, being dead will do that to you.”

“You died?”

“Three times.”

“Really?”

“The first time, it was at my senior promo.”

“Don’t you mean prom?”

“No. Since I’m a jobber Slayer, I didn’t get a senior prom. Instead, I had to do a promo. But that’s not the point. The point is, I show up to the set, and Kay Fabe and I were wearing the same blue backless dress. I died. Of embarrassment.”

The kid rolled his eyes.

“It happened a couple more times. Once when Little Good and I got caught…well, I probably shouldn’t tell you that one. And then there was that whole thing where somebody who shall remain nameless claimed he killed my career. But I came back. Granted, to BOB, but I came back. And I’m sure you can beat whatever’s wrong with you.”

“I’ve got cancer.”

“Cancer? Aw, I’m sorry kid. I had no idea. I thought you were just dying of boredom, not dying, dying. My bad.”

“No big.”

“Hey, that’s my line. But that’s OK,” she says messing up his hair with her right hand. “With you dying and all, you can use all my lines you want.”

“Hey, since I’m dying and all….I was wondering. I had one wish I was hoping maybe you could make come true. I fell in love with you the second I saw you wrestle. You’re so hot. And I’ll never get to be with a woman. So, I’d never ask to sleep with you, but I could die a happy boy if you would do me the honor of seeing your boobies.”

“Well…”

“Or your HEY NOW.”

“Ummm….well….I guess I should. I mean, you are dying and all.”

“Yeah I am.”

Sarah looks at the camera and then turns her back. She lifts up the front of the shirt as the cameraman rushes around trying to get a glimpse. But alas, it is over too quick. Unless there was somebody in the shadows taking a picture from the other side. Wouldn’t that be just perfect timing? And that might explain that bright blue flash. Uh oh.

The kid starts laughing.

“You’re one dumb bitch.”

“What did you say?”

“Nice tits and all, but now I’ve got ’em on film. Ha ha!”

The kid pulls out brass knuckles and punches her in the face! Sarah falls down and is unconscious.
The kid looks at the camera.

“Hmm. That was easier than I thought. All you losers couldn’t stop the Slayer. But a little 12-year-old kid has knocked out the bitch. What the fuck’s wrong with you idiots out there. Now I can have my way with this ho. Word to the motherfucker. Now get the fuck out of here!”

The kid pushes the cameraman down and takes out a gun.

“Let’s play race the bullet.”

The camera falls to the floor and we hear racing footsteps get quieter and quieter. Then a door opens and tires squeal.

The kid picks up the camera and turns it onto Sarah.

“Sleazy-C is in the hizouse! Now let’s film a porno movie and sell it over the Internet! Oh yeah. You see Sarah, I am the jobber who will take your ass out. I am the boy who is going to end your Slaying career. I am going to poke you, pin you and laugh all the way to the bank. And I am going to lead the Jobbers With Attitude to the top. As Executive Producer, beyotch.”

“Sarah!”

It’s Little Good.

“Bloody hell,” he said.

“Hey man, why you wreckin’ my shit? I’ll fuck you up bad, man,” C said. Sleazy-C raised the barrel of the gun and lined it up with Little Good’s head. Little Good stopped dead in his tracks.

Sleazy-C squeezed the trigger.

And Little Good was left a yellow, smelly mess. The camera then flew through the air, crashed, and the promo ended abruptly.

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