Posts Tagged ‘Mr. Paradox’

20.005 Leagues Over Your Head!

July 7th, 2008
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Kobe Gyant

The camera opens up on a large room. It’s the biggest room you’ve ever seen. It’s so big it’s in the Guiness Book of World Room Size Records. And it’s poorly lit because the owner of the room is 10,000% committed to fighting global warming. As well as all forms of cancer and AIDS and mad cow disease and world hunger. The only light comes from an energy efficient lamp in the corner. It’s so energy efficient that the power company pays him just for running it. on the far wall are tons of trophies. Thousands of trophies. The wall actually is eternal there are so many trophies and frames and article clippings.

The camera zooms in one one of the pictures that shows a man in a basketball uniform, his arms raised, one hand clutching a basketball. The name Kobe Gyant is scribbled across the picture like an autograph. Suddenly, the room is flooded with light, like if Hurricane Katrina were a lightbulb, it would be 20 times brighter. Camera pans around, passing a giant desk with an office chair that looks way more comfortable than even heaven could hope to be, then over to the doorway, the source of the light that no doubt has left you blinder than Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder combined. In the doorway is a tall, dark figure.

The door closes, and all of America rejoices as this dark figure takes a seat in front of the camera, which he patented by the way. The name? Kobe Gyant.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Welcome Brawlers On a Budget viewers to my palatial estate. This is a room I usually only let a select few lucky ladies visit before I let them ride my 20 inches of love. I only let myself into this room a couple hours ago to decorate for this big debut “Rant.” Sorry it’s not in better condition. But in that short amount of time, I’ve reached Nirvana, and hung out with Buddha, Jesus and some other cool cats somewhere in that great gig in the sky. They say Wilt Chamberlain slept with 20,000 women. I did that by last week, and I’m not even 18. Shoot, I’ll be having a fivesome right after this interview. The ladies can’t keep their hands off Kobe Gyant. Sadly, because sex education was outlawed in my state, I also have about 20,000 babies. I thought that spray ketchup and mustard on my stuff before sex was “prevention.” Turns out those are condiments, not condoms. Now, I know what you’re saying. How can someone with an IQ of 215 not know the difference between a condom and condiments. Well, let’s just say that public education in this country is odious.

Kobe picks up a frame off his desk. It’s a newspaper clipping with the headline: Gyant Rescues Midget, Sheep From Burning Orphanage. Subhead: Why Were There Sheep In Orphanage? You Won’t Baaa-lieve It!

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Ahh, memories. After I saved that poor orphan, I threw sheep up over his bed until he fell asleep. I couldn’t believe it took him four hours to fall asleep. Must have been all the thumping and crashing when the sheep landed. *Shrugs* Just another day in the life of Kobe Gyant. I’m a human, human interest story. I went on to score 49 points in the last minute of the championship game that night. Our team won 149 to 12. From the jaws of certain defeat, I delivered victory, along with my great teammate, Shaq Blaq. Poor Blaq, standing up there at the podium trying to take credit like a trooper, but he knew I was the real star that night. He only had 47 points. And yes, I know all too well the pain of being an orphan. I was orphaned five times. But I’m so loved that I had families killing each other just to adopt me.

Kobe shakes his head as if deep in thought while putting the picture back on the desk.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

There’s an entire wing named after me at my high school. I won the lottery and bought a wing. They made it in like three days. But then I had to give my baby mamas child support. And I’m also about $20 mil in debt thanks to an hour in Sin City. And did I mention I’m under indictment for points shaving? Which explains why I’m here today. The BOB, I’ve got some bills, son! My only fear in this life? Not being the best at everything I do. And now I can’t be the top basketball player in the universe anymore due to a lifetime ban from the sport, even at the YMCA! Like I always say, if you’re gonna get banned, get banned for life.

Kobe picks up a picture of Steve Studnuts holding the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. He tosses it aside.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

I’ve conquered basketball. I’ve conquered 20,000 women, soon to be 20,005 and counting. So, I might as well be the best wrestler I can be. Get ready, The BOB! Get ready, Steve Studnuts. Get ready The Great. Get ready Mr. Paradox. Get ready Dr. Silaconne M. Plants. You think you know what a champion is? You ain’t seen a champion yet. Someday you’ll have the honor of getting you butt kicked by Kobe Gyant. There’s been a lot of talk of me being a one-man show but that’s simply not the case. I’m a one-man team! I’ll win every title you’ve got, I’ll win every match you give me. They say I can’t win without Shaq. I guess we’ll see in The BOB. I’ll show them all.

So sign me up BigBoss or Trey Vincent or Seth Harker, whoever’s running this place. Oh wait, I already AM signed!

Kobe holds up a contract with the word “BOB” on top. Kobe quickly signs it.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Biggest contract in BOB history. I’ll be paying off my debts…on a weekly basis.


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I-don’t-even-read-the-shows-these-days promoing

July 7th, 2008

Mr. Paradox

*Completely ignoring that technically, there’s a PPV going on right now, Mr. Paradox sits in front of a cheap TV, Playstation 2 controller in his hands, his eyes narrow.*

Mr. Paradox: Block… Block, damn you! *sound of buttons clicking* Do I have to play as Ryu again? Come on… *Sighs, hits the soft reset combination* Fucking Birdie.

Dr. Thrilla

*Dr. Thrilla walks in, sipping from a bottle of Jack Daniels and accompanied by Cecil.*

Dr. Thrilla: *half-drunk metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor questions why you aren’t discussing Unfourgiven.

Mr. Paradox: Because I just skimmed through it and wasn’t impressed. For some reason my heart just isn’t in it these days. I don’t know why.

Dr. Thrilla: *Depressed metal clanging*

Cecil: WHat do you mean?

Mr. Paradox: I mean… Well, the excitement’s gone. Back in the days I had feuds that were the stuff of legend. Now? I’m just another two-bit tweener. Even Thrilla has better angles than I do.

Dr. Thrilla: *Unimpressed clanging*

Cecil: The doctor isn’t too happy with how it’s being handled lately, either. He doesn’t even watch iMPLOSION except for his matches.

Mr. Paradox: I can’t gather the excitement to promo more than the once or twice I need to in order to keep from joining XXXTreme Machine on the jobber ranks. It’s just tiresome.

Dr. Thrilla: *Careful metal clanging*

Cecil: The doctor wants to call it “apathy”, but doesn’t want Trey to sue us.

Mr. Paradox: Yeah…

*He hands Thrilla the Player 2 controller, and they resume playing Street Fighter Alpha 3.*

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I did not enter a valid subject the first time

July 3rd, 2008
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Steve Studnuts

~~~Steve Studnuts is at his computer, grumbling noticeably. Connie Lingus, the oh so hot Connie Lingus, approaches cautiously.~~~

Connie: What are you doing, Steve? Still trying to figure out what side I’m on? Your’s or Trey’s? I know it was little confusing at !MPLOSION! 8, but coming to one of shows for the very first time was kinda fun.

Studs: No, it wasn’t fun. You bein’ there cock blocked me all night. How the hell am I gonna snake some strange pussy with you around?

Connie: Huh? I KNEW you cheated on me at those things!

Studs: Umm, yeah. I was jokin’.

Connie: Oh, okay. You had me nervous for a minute there.

Studs: What-the-fuck-ever. Look, I don’t give a fuck about Trey right now. I’m pissed at him for makin’ me do promos this week. It’s fuckin’ summertime, motherfucker! It’s Fourth of July week! Who the fuck wants to be inside doin’ gatdamn promos? Plants doesn’t, he ain’t done shit since he fucked up the American Idol finale. I’m surprised he didn’t do one where he fucked up the Hell’s Kitchen finale.

Yet, even though he hasn’t done a gatdamn promo in a fuckin’ month, there he is in the GRAND SLAM FINAL. Remember the other day when I said that motherfucker has more lives than Victor Kiriakis?

Connie: Yes…

Studs: Well I just saw last night, while standing in line at the grocery store pickin’ up some MAGNUM BRAND RUBBERS, that Stefano is awake from his coma. THAT motherfucker has died more times than Kiriakis! And Plants has more lives than BOTH of them fuckin’ combined!

Connie: Ummm, what are you talking about?

Studs: STEFANO, motherfucker! Stefano fuckin’ DiMera! He has cheated death…. look, I Wikipedia-ed it for you. Come over here and look at this screen.

~~~Connie walks over and sees this:~~~

This list includes times Stefano faked his death, was presumed dead, or was reported dead by others.

A stroke in 1983.
His car plunged into the icy waters of Salem’s harbor during a police chase in 1984
Marlena shot him, and he fell from a catwalk as the building caught fire in 1985 (he also had a brain tumor)
In 1991, he was presumed to have died in another fire and cave collapse.
In 1994, his car erupted into a fireball after being shot at by John.
Also in 1994, he drowned near Maison Blanche.
In 1996, he died in a plane explosion.
Again, in 1996, he was blown up and buried under collapsing tunnel during confrontation with Rachel Blake. This was his last depicted “death”.
In 2002, Andre Dimera claimed that his uncle had died from injuries sustained from a car crash in Monte Carlo.
In 2004, when Marlena found a blackened, unrecognizable corpse, Andre claimed it was Stefano. Andre said he had killed Stefano by draining his blood so Andre could cure his own blood disease.

Studs: See all that? Plants has outlasted all of that shit right there. How the hell did he make it to the GRAND SLAM FINALS?

Connie: I dunno.

Studs: It’s a pity push! Plants couldn’t win the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS even if he was the only guy in fuckin’ match. He’s cursed. Even though he made it there, he ain’t winning.

Mr. Paracoxin his mouth fucked himself right into blackball city and The Great is no where to be found. He ain’t said nothin’ in weeks. He must be scared. And by the way, who’s dick is HE suckin? Has that motherfucker lost a match since he’s been here?

Connie: Again, I have no idea.

Studs: Well tell me this…

~~~He goes back to studying the computer screen with his original project when Connie walked in.~~~

Studs: Do you think Trey will trade me LaDainian Tomlinson for Frank Gore?

Connie: What?

Studs: Fantasy football! Shit, do you live in a fuckin’ cave?

Connie:….God. You play THAT! That stuff is SO fake! It’s kind of like fantasy parody online wrestling.

Studs: Well, not really. At least these are real players. Ya dig?

Connie: *sigh* Whatever…

Studs: So… do you think he’ll trade me or what?

Connie: I have no idea.

Studs: Well, maybe you can ask him when you’re doin’ him on his washing machine while doin’ his laundry in it. Heh.

Connie: Steve? Let me explain…

Studs: SHUDDAP, BITCH! Go fix me a turkey pot pie.

~~~She leaves, apparently to go fix a turkey pot pie.~~~

Studs: At UnFOURgiven, Plants, Paradox, The Great…. you motherfuckers are goin’ down. I’m walkin’ out with all the gold.
Not a promise…
Not an idle threat….
Not anythin’ else….

……but a GAT-DAMN FACT!


…..and you’re not.

But I KNOW….
You WISH….



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Bad Hangover Promo #2

June 25th, 2008
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin The Pyromaniac is watching a portable TV on the porch before his backyard.]

Kevin: Mr. Paradox, Trey Vincent was my idol. To me he is the pinnacle of sports entertainment. When I held the NGETFA tag titles with him it was like a boyhood dream come true. Like when Edge held the tag belts in that other federation with Hulk Hogan. But just like the Hulk, Trey has an evil streak in him and it is as black as night. He betrayed me. He cost me my half of the titles. And he cost me my spot in the main event at Unfourgiven. And he cost me my idol. Tonight I have a chance to gain back some of the things I’ve lost, but to do it I have to not only defeat Trey Vincent I also have to stop Dr. Siliconne frickin’ M. Plants to do it. To be honest I don’t have a chance against two main eventers, but I did want to say something. I understand your hatred of Trey Vincent now, he is evil and sick and I wouldn’t want to hold the belts with him anymore either. But there is a weapon you and I share in common that these ‘sports entertainers’ don’t have. We’re both hardcore. If I can out sports entertain the sports entertainers, knock over that dumb ass Generic Ref, and have free reign with weapons and my trusty can of gasoline, we could become THE hardcore tag team. Sports entertainment be damned, nobody would take those straps off us.

[Kevin takes a sword from off screen and walks onto the parched earth of his backyard. He swings it around a few times as it sparkles in the June sun.]

Kevin: You know you could do a lot of damage with this.

[Kevin sets up two scarecrows stuffed with straw and sticks magazine cutouts of Trey Vincent and Siliconne M. Plants’ faces onto them. He sits on an upturned rock and pulls out his gas can.]

Kevin: I’m gonna have to save your ass from the shit your in, Mr. Paradox.

[Kevin ignites the sword which goes up with a whoosh. Kevin screams and charges at the scarecrows, stabbing and slashing them with the burning sword until they go up in flames.]

Kevin: PYROMANIA~!!1

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Bitter Reaction

June 24th, 2008

Mr. Paradox

*The abandoned warehouse that Mr. Paradox and Dr. Thrilla usually film in now looks like it was hit with a cruise missile. Dr. Thrilla himself is carrying a sledgehammer, clanging in fury and putting holes in the walls.*

Dr. Thrilla: *irate metal clanging*

*Cecil enters the scene, wearing riot gear.*

Dr. Thrilla

Cecil: Doctor, calm down. Just because you lost a meaningless title in a parody federation does not mean it’s the end of the world.

Dr. Thrilla: *incredulous metal clanging*

*The doctor hits the wall again, then bites through the wall with his metal teeth.*

Cecil: Do you really think anybody in this organization is fond of Studnuts? Rude jackass heels are a dime a dozen. He’s our equivalent of Gene Snitsky.

Dr. Thrilla: *Pause, chuckling metal clanging*

Cecil: The title will be off of him by the next PPV. Relax.

*Elsewhere in the building, Mr. Paradox hangs his half of the Not Good Enough to Fight Alone title from a hook, attaching a weight to the bottom half.*

Mr. Paradox: Trey, Trey, Trey… Do you really think I’ll accept being another part of your stupid little games?

*He draws his sword.*

Mr. Paradox: I’d rather be a jobber on the bottom of the pile… one step up from XXXtreme Machine… than hold a title alongside you. I used to be the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM champion. This is an insult to me and to my history in BOB.

*His feet shift.*

Mr. Paradox: And why the hell has Studnuts gotten all the push lately? His promos are nothing but the same dick jokes over and over again. I know it’s in our contract that we all job equally, but fuck that.

*The sword lifts, and he holds it out to his side.*

Mr. Paradox: I reject this title, and demand a shot at Studnuts for the Swiss Army Belt. If you do not grant it, I will just lay down and throw the tag titles anyway. Besides, if you don’t give Kevin back his half of the title he might burn down the arena next time.

*Mr. Paradox swings the sword, and then returns to his original stance and resheathes it. The Not Good Enough to Fight Alone belt sways for a moment, and then is cut in half, the weighted bottom half falling to the floor.*

Mr. Paradox: You may need some duct tape.

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Sad, Confusing, Happy Ending

June 12th, 2008
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Trey Vincent

[The scene: Happy Ending Bar. Trey Vincent is sitting at the bar, emptying a glass full of brown liquid. That’s when he noticed a lovely young thing next to him.]

TV: Wow (he said staring directly at her chest). Awesome.

[The Asian was about to get up when Trey put a hand on her shoulder.]

TV: You know how some guys are all about gigantic boobs. Let me tell you, honey. Those are absolutely perfect just the way they are. I bet some guys just pass you by. Their loss. Seriously. You have no idea what I would give just to have the honor of seeing that flat chest of yours and rubbing my face on it all night long. I’m harder than a wall, you’re flatter than one. We’re a perfect match. Seriously. Do me a favor. Promise me you’ll never get implants.

Asian: Seriously? You…who are you? I swear I’ve seen you before.

Sarah The Jobber Slayer

[Trey noticed the front door of the bar open then, and Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” stepped inside and scanned the place, probably looking for him.]

TV: Hey, I’ve gotta go hang out with my girlfriend. Wanna hang with us?

Asian: No thanks, I’m not into three-ways.

TV: How do you feel about lesbian sitch with a guy just watching?

Asian: I need to go.

TV: What if I’m not even in the room. Are you opposed to me watching via Web cam?

Asian: Not funny.

TV: Seriously, don’t get implants. Especially not from Dr. Silaconne M. Plants. He’ll ruin those fried eggs! Awwwwww! Plants, don’t think I forgot about you. I know you’ve been busy crying in your tears over Heidi’s cheatin’ pussy. Did you know I hit that, too? Oh yeah. I hit that. I think EVERYONE has hit that except for you by this point. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are a ton of flat-chested Asians in here I have to stop from getting unnecessary tit surgery from you. Once Kevin and I beat you and Paradox, a guy you’ve been having tons of problems with on the last couple episodes of iMPLOSION, well, I’ll be one step closer to shoving myself down everyone’s throats. Much like I’ll be doing to Sarah later. But shhhh. Don’t tell her. Heh.

Sarah: Hey, asshole.

TV: Hey, Sarah. You ready to get shitfaced?

Sarah: For the last time, no! Now let’s get drunk.

TV: Can’t blame a guy for trying.

Sarah: You’re sick. Now, about Studnuts. What’s the plan? He threatened my fallopian tubes!

TV: Honestly, I’m on my own mission tonight. To save the world of plastic surgery disasters. Won’t you help?

Sarah: What? Since when are you against gigantic boobs?

TV: Since SMP is my opponent next week on iMPLOSION. I need to crush him.

Sarah: Speaking of Plants and Heidi, what about Studnuts?

TV: Well, I guess everyone will just tune in to find out where I stand. Now, are you down with having a three-way with someone in here tonight, or do we need to crown a new ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS?

[Sarah stared at him in shock for several seconds.]

Sarah: You fucking asshole.

[Sarah grabbed a beer and threw it in his face and then stormed away toward the door.]

TV: *Hic* … Oh, fuck. KEY*Hic*STONE? That’s just LOW, Sarah!

[Trey retook his stool.]

TV: (To no one in particular) She’ll be back. Bartender! Ooh, I’m vibrating.

[Trey reached into his pants and pulled out his cell phone.]

TV: 602? Hello? … Connie Lingus? I was just looking at naked pictures of you yesterday. Tell me, what are you wearing? …

[The plot thickens? So we fade out with a confusing ending after a sad ending at the Happy Ending.]

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I Am Dlacura, Coo-Coo-Cachoo

June 12th, 2008
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Trey Vincent

[Trey Vincent was lost in the hell that is Sin City’s Chinatown district. He took off his black winter cap, rubbed his brown hair, and looked around at the bustling little Chinamen and Chinawomen.]

Voice: You awl rost.

[Trey spun around. A man with a long gray moustache stood behind him. Well, in front of him now.]

TV: I am Trey. Shit, you’re not gonna try and sell me a Gremlin, are you?

[The Chinese man did not react.]

Chinese Man: You awl found.

TV: How can I be both lose AND found, pal? C’mon. Do you know where the, uh, Happy Ending Bar is? I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend there.

Chinese Man: This sentence is farse.

TV: Huh?

Chinese Man: Such a shame. Yowl mind is weak. You rill not be able to defeat Dr. Siroconne M. Prants and Mistel Palladox at iMPROSION 8.

TV: Hey, how did you know that?

[The Chinese Man points at Trey’s chest, which has a picture of himself with the words BOB Wrestling Presents TREY VINCENT + Kevin the Pyromaniac vs. Dr. Silaconne M. Plants + Mr. Paradox on iMPLOSION 8 on G5TV!]

TV: Oh, right. Our advertising budget sucks. I was thinking of using some Lite Brite things for some guerilla marketing tactics, but figured I didn’t want Homeland Security on my ass, get it? Wait, how did you know I’m Trey Vincent?

Chinese Man: Rucky guess.

TV: Look, pal, I’m not looking for a guru, can you just tell me how to get to the Happy Ending.

[A Chinese woman stops dead in her tracks.]

Chinese Girl: Peeg!

[She walks on.]

Chinese Man: Rich is bettawl, etelnar happriness oal a ham sandrich? It rould appeal tat etelnar happriness is bettawl, but this is learry not so! Aftel arr, noffing is bettaw zen etelnar happriness, and a ham sandrich is celtainry bettaw zen noting. Thellfoll, a ham sandrich is bettawl zen etelnar happriness.

TV: The fuck? Look, dude, I can barely understand whatever the fuck it is you’re trying to teach me.

Chinese Man: Mind reak. No ray you can beat Palladox.

TV: I don’t need a sharp mind. All I need is my outstanding body to beat the crap out of him and make him the star of “Deep Throat 2008” when I make him give head to his own sword, get it?

Chinese Man: Nor learry.

TV: Leary?

Chinese Man: Reawwy?

TV: What are you TALKING about?! I’m Trey Vincent!

Chinese Man: Learry?

TV: Yes, REALLY! I know you get your R’s and L’s fucked up, but c’mon, man. This is just silly. I’ve got to go now. Later…

Chinese Man: Rait!

TV: (Mocking) Rut?

Chinese Man: Everyrun is aflaid of Dlacura. Dlacura is aflaid of only me. Thellfore, I am Dlacura!

TV: Oh, c’mon. You are NOT Dracula! You don’t have any fangs. Or a cape. If your next words are “I raunt to suck youl brud…

Chinese Man: Ry am I Dlacura?

TV: I don’t know!

Chinese Man: Yes, you do!

TV: *Sigh* Because Dracula’s a fag?

Chinese Man: Long!

[He throws a chopstick at Trey.]

TV: Hey!

Chinese Man: Ry am I Dlacura? How can you defeat Mistel Palladox unress you know ry I’m Dlacura!

TV: I don’t know. Umm… OK. Everyone’s afraid of Dracula, right? So, that means Dracula is afraid of Dracula. So, Dracula is afraid of Dracula, but also is afraid of no one but you. Therefore, you’re Dracula?

Chinese Man: To get to Happy Ending Bawl, rawk thlee brocks, zen tuln reft at thaw right.

TV: Turn left at the right? Oh, light. Right. Got it. Later, jackfuck.

[Trey walks away in the direction the Chinese Man instructed.]

Female Voice: Excuse me, sir? Do you know how to get to the Happy Ending?

[The Chinese Man came face to face with a beautiful blonde woman.]

Female: I’m supposed to meet soem guy there.

Chinese Man: Sure. Three fuckin’ blocks that fuckin’ way, turn your fuckin’ ass left at the fuckin’ light, ya dig, jerkweed?

Female: Who are you, Chink Chinknuts?

[She walks away, flipping him off without looking back.]

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2 Grills 1 Steak

June 11th, 2008
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Kevin the Pyromaniac

[Kevin The Pyromaniac is sat in front of a television set, guzzling down five year old beer and chain smoking cigarettes like they’re going out of fashion. He pulls a VHS tape out of his ripped denim jacket with what appears to be the letters ‘BMW’ written on in black marker.]

Kevin: Next week is the biggest match of my career, I’ve got to snap out of this jobber mentality if I want even a chance at keeping my half of the NGETFA belts. Even with Trey Vincent I don’t know how I’m going to beat Dr. Silaconne M. Plants and Mr. Paradox.

[Kevin pops the tape into the player.]

Kevin: Hell for leather I suppose.

[Fuzzy static appears on the television screen until we see the canvas of a wrestling ring. Sabu and The Sheik (not the iron one) are in one corner and two Japs are in the other. The screen becomes ablaze with reds and oranges as the ring is set alight, curls of charcoal colored smoke swirling into the air.]

Kevin: The source. The very first fire deathmatch. These motherfuckers were tough as nails.

[The match quickly deflates as the fire gets out of control and the wrestlers clammer for oxygen. As the match gets totally out of hand Kevin fast forwards and downs another can of beer.]

Kevin: I need something that will give me the advantage. Plants has experience, hell, he’s been here longer than anyone, and Paradox can be a sadistic bastard when he wants to be.

[Kevin stops presses play as a man in camouflage pants puts another wrestler into a coffin and sets it on fire to win the match.]

Kevin: I know those guys would be happy to see me die in this match. Paradox has a god damn sword for christ’s sake, I’ll end up like BVD if I can’t come up with something to give me the upper hand.

[Kevin fast forwards again to some guy called Shadow WX setting himself on fire whilst on the top turnbuckle before putting his opponent through a table with a diving splash. He fast forwards again until stopping randomly at a wrestler being powerbombed onto a knee. ]

Kevin: That’s it!

[Kevin stops the tape before running out of his living room and into the backyard. Mannequins lay across the yellowed and scorched grass under the sweltering June sun. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber hangs heavy in the air.]

Kevin: I need a brand new finshing move!

[Kevin hops over car parts and broken bottles to the middle of the lawn. He lifts up one of the mannequins and puts it into the piledriver position. He then pours gas onto his knee and ignites it with a lighter. He hauls the mannequin up onto his shoulder before driving it into the flaming knee.]

Kevin: This one names itself. Plants and Paradox, I know you guys are bigger and more skilled than me. But if I can hit you with my new move, the Go 2 Hell, you’ve got no chance of kicking out!

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Who’s on first?

June 7th, 2008

Steve Studnuts

~~~Steve Studnuts is sitting at his computer reading !MPLOSION! 7. After observing him for several minutes, you noticed a range of emotions from exhilaration to dejection. Maybe you didn’t notice. Pay attention, motherfucker. Connie Lingus, Steve’s live-in mooch that looks like the combined mega-sexiness of Cindy Crawford, Darva Conger, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Angie Everhart, walks up to his left. Jizzabelle Cummins, Steve’s OTHER live-in mooch that resembles the offspring of lesbian sex between Tara Reid and Reese Witherspoon walks up to his right. It’s June. It’s Phoenix. So, it’s fucking hot. Even inside with a/c. Both girls are wearing bikinis that are just enough to cover their titty buttons and nicely trimmed ‘other’ hair.

Steve continues to look at the PC monitor, then opens a large, hardcover book, uses his index finger to scan through a paragraph or two, finds the proper context he’s looking for, then looks up from the screen.~~~

Studs: Fuck.

Connie: What’s wrong, Steve?

Studs: This show. It fuckin’ sucks.

Connie: Show?

Studs: Right here!

~~~He vehemently points at the monitor.~~~

Jizz: Ummm, didn’t you know this before you sat here today? I mean, weren’t you like there or something?

Studs: Huh? Are you fuckin’ stupid?

Connie: Sometimes I think I am.

~~~Connie leaves, but quickly returns with one of those novelty t-shirts with the big, handless, pointing glove that reads, “I’m with Stupid” over it. She stands next to Steve and says nothing for a minute or two while the glove points at him.~~~

Jizz: I know what you mean, girl!

Studs: Are you bitches finished? Let me explain. You see, we’re not real. Ya dig? You two are a couple of tramps some pickle head in North Carolina thought would be dream chicks to him circa 1999. I don’t really wrestle. I’m a parody. You gals are fake, too.

~~~Connie squeezes her ample breasts.~~~

Connie: I don’t know. I feel pretty REAL to me.

Studs: I can see this shit is fuckin’ pointless. So let’s skip the explainin’ and get down to some fuckin’ bizness.

~~~He stands from the computer and faces his highly sexual, minus the zany misunderstandings and wacky goings-on, 2/3 of this Three’s Company.~~~

Studs: I got a free pass back into the tournament since Joe whatever the fuck his name was got hurt, but now Trey has booked me against Sarah. Know what that means?

Connie: No.

Jizz: Me either.

Studs: It means I’m FUCKED! Trey ain’t gonna book me over his bitch. I was hopin’ that, ya know, bros before hos would come into effect but I’m not sure that it will.

Connie: Is that like dicks before chicks?

Studs: I’m I Axl? No, it’s not anythin’ like dicks before fuckin’ chicks. Bros before hos means you pick your buddy over some snatch when the shit gets thick. When the chips are down, you pick your pal over some deep thigh gash.

Jizz: That sounds kinda gay, Steve.

Studs: It ain’t fuckin’ gay! Dudes do it all the time. Go to the game with your buddy and drink beer, or stay at home watchin’ some motherfuckin’ bullshit like Sleepless in Seattle with a stank bimbo? Bros before hos! But I don’t think Trey is gonna go bro. I think he’s gonna go ho. I’m fucked.

Jizz: That would make me think bro before ho if YOU’RE fucked. Get it? Huh? You get it?

Studs: Bitch. Just shut your fuckin’ pie hole and look nice, okay? That’s all you’re really supposed to do. Look good. Shut the fuck up.

Connie: Does any of this matter, the thing with Trey and Sarah?

Studs: Yes, it fuckin’ matters! I got it all figured out. You see, we’re down to the final eight goin’ into UnFOURgiven. Me, Sarah, Trey, Kevin, Plants, Paradox, The Great, and Dr. Thrilla. Now then, I don’t know much about this guy that calls himself The Great, other than he has a dumb fuckin’ name. He’s got Dr. Thrilla. That’s a toss up in my book, ain’t neither one of them worth a fuck.

Jizz: But didn’t Thrilla just beat you?

Studs: ANY-way. Plants and Paradox got paired up to face Trey and Kevin. Now, Trey wouldn’t advance himself with the possibility of havin’ to face Sarah, and besides, look at his fuckin’ partner. He can barely see over the gatdamn rim of his roster pic box. Not only that, all the little motherfucker does is light shit on fire and get pinned by shit that shouldn’t be pinnin’ shit. 99 fuckin’ percent of the stuff that pins him ain’t even breathin’. Plants and Paradox should move on, if they don’t kill each other in the process.

Connie: Okay? So?

Studs: So that leaves Sarah against me. Since Trey will most likely not make the final, you know gatdamn well Sarah will. So, I’m fucked. Jobbed to a slit, by my best friend. Ain’t that some fuckin’ shit?

Jizz: You don’t know that. You can win, right?

Studs: Are you even fuckin’ listenin’ to me? I don’t stand a chance. And that fucks up my plans to keep SMP from winning. Maybe I’ll just do a run-in durin’ his match and make sure Trey and Kevin win.

Connie: Why do you care if Plants wins? Why would you want to stop him? What’d he do to you?

Studs: He didn’t do anythin’ to me, but I sure did somethin’ to somebody. Somebody he’s jonesing for. Ya dig?

Jizz: I’m confused.

Studs: We know that. Trust me, we fuckin’ know that. Look, in a fuckin’ nutshell, Nurse Heidi and I went out, we had a camera, I gave Heidi the tape cause I have like 2000 of them hidden around here from you bitches, Heidi got nervous, got a floor safe, jerked off The Flunky and got an extra set of keys to BOB’s prop closet, wrote the safe combination across the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS, the NGETFA tag-team titles, and the Swiss Army Title, put the tape in the safe, told Plants she’d come clean about the tape if he won the Grand Slam tournament and won all four titles, which is about as likely as Hillary fuckin’ Clinton as president, and here we are. I have to stop The Doc from getting his hands on those four titles, it’s the only way he can line up the combination. And then he’ll know.

Connie: Know what?

Studs: What’s on the fuckin’ tape.

Jizz: So what’s on it?

Studs: I just told you.

Connie: No you didn’t, you just said “the fuckin’ tape”.

Studs: Yes.

Jizz: Yes, what?

Studs: That’s it.

Connie: What’s it?

Studs: Who’s on first.

Jizz: Huh?

Studs: No, he’s in the bleachers getting a blowjob. Heh.

Connie: Stop it, Steve! You’re being a child! What’s on that tape?

Studs: You wanna know? I guess you bitches just became fans of Silaconne M. Plants, huh?

Jizz: We already are!

~~~Both girls squeeze their tits~~~

Studs: The OTHER Silaconne M. Plants! The DOCTOR! FUCK! The only way ANYBODY is gonna find out what’s on that tape is if SMP wins all the belts at UnFOURgiven, line them up in the precise configuration, and decode the safe combination. And since he hasn’t won the fuckin’ OWTTM in like, forty fuckin’ years of tryin’, I think the secret is safe. In the safe. Ya dig?

Connie: Go Plants! We want to know what’s on the tape!

Jizz: Yeah! Whoo! Go SMP! Umm, who’s SMP?

Studs: Heh. One other thing before I get off here. Jerry Li, do you ever read a fuckin’ show? You had my picture in your locker room at !MPLOSION! 6 lustin’ over me and pickin’ out slutty bikinis to wear, then I rough you up a bit, like you like it, you save me from getting stabbed to death by Paradox, and then you didn’t even mention me in any of your promos, bitch. What the fuck? Follow the story lines, you metal faced chink. We could’ve already fucked by now.

Connie: Steve? We totally heard that.

Studs: Oh, did I say that out loud? I was just kiddin’. Yeah, that’s it.
Sarah? I may not beat you at !MPLOSION! 7, but I sure am gonna try and beat you up until your fallopian tubes bleed, you conniving, friend splittin’ hussy! Sometimes when you win, you lose. Ya dig?

You might advance, but there won’t be anything left of you for the championship match… that’s not an idle threat, a promise, or a fuckin’ guarantee.

That bitch, IS….. A….. FACT!

Your bad luck day just got a whole lot fuckin’ worse.

Because I’m Steve Studnuts, and you’re not.



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Direct Provocation

May 30th, 2008
Comments Off on Direct Provocation

Mr. Paradox

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

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

Dr. Thrilla

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

Dr. Thrilla: *rhythmic, threatening metal clanging*

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

Dr. Thrilla: *obscene, angry metal clanging*

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

Dr. Thrilla: *threatening metal clanging*

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

Dr. Thrilla: *mocking metal clanging*

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

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

Cecil: Peace.

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

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

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