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Posts Tagged ‘seth harker’

Zombieproof

October 23rd, 2008
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Death

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?”

“Braaaaains!”

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

“Brains.”

“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.”

“Uhhhhh~!”

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

“Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains!”

“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.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh!”

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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Black On Black Violence!

September 26th, 2008
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Kobe Gyant

Kobe Gyant stands in front of a podium. A throng of press corps surrounds The BOB’s MVP to hear what Kobe has to say.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

America, I have decided to postpone my campaign to become The BOB’s ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS.

Cameras flash.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

That’s right. You heard me. Insteadah, I am going to devote myself to go to Sin Citay, and save BOB from the greedy tycoons on Electric Avenue. The Brawlers on a Budget are desperately in need of a ratings bailout. I am the change The BOB needs. So, I have agreed to appear at Total Non-Action Wrestling iMPLOSION! and take head-on the most pressing need in our country. Black on black violence. Uh. Frankly, we need more of it. So that’s why I will go to iMPLOSION and defeat Black Chair. Thank you. Questions?

<--Mike Monroe-->

Hi, Kobe. Mike Monroe, Brawlers On a Budget. Um. Did you bring all these mirrors here to make it look like I’m more than one person? What’s up with this?

<--Kobe Gyant-->

I think that, at this point, some type of clarity is needed on this issue. And when I am the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, I will work non-stop to deliver the type of change that The BOB is crying out for like a baby that’s been dumped by an teenager down a sewer hole. It’s time to bail out that baby and wipe the doodoo off her face. You don’t hate children, do you, Mike?

<--Mike Monroe-->

Quick followup: huh?

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Again, I think that Acting BigBOSS Seth Harker, Vice President Trey Vincent, and Head Writer Michelle, the BOB leadership, needs to decide where we want to go as a federation. Do we want to go forward to the past? Or go onward into the present? I say, we should move back to the future. And the future is Kobe Gyant. Next?

<--Mike Monroe-->

Kobe, I

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Mike, Mike, please don’t dominate this press conference, let someone else ask a question. Yes, Mike?

<--Mike Monroe-->

I understand you’ve also agreed to participate in Snore Games at October Surprise. Who will be the fifth member of your team?

<--Kobe Gyant-->

It is my intention to be in Snore Games at October Surprise. Obviously, the biggest priority is making sure that I’m on the show so people will order it and send us money. But it’s also important to let everyone know that the 4 Steelchairs are flatter than Va-Jay-Jay Dillon. Seriously. The woman’s concave. Her nipples are innies. Her chest is like a black hole, you know. Maybe Stephen Hawking should investigate that instead of getting title shots while I feud with chairs. Anyone else?

<--Mike Monroe-->

Did you have sexual relations with Va-Jay-Jay Dillon?

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Let me make this clear. I (slams fist on podium). Had (slams fist on podium). Sexual (slams fist on podium). Relations (slams fist on podium). With (slams fist on podium). That (slams fist on podium). Woman (slams fist on podium). Many times. Let’s just say if she were a poor country, I’d be a missionary in it, you know…The game was on, and her mouth was the board, you know…I took a swab of the DNA in her cheek, but it wasn’t with no Q-tip, you know…

<--Mike Monroe-->

Is she carrying your child?

<--Kobe Gyant-->

Maybe, Mike. Maybe my unborn fetus will be my mysterious fifth teammate. Now how’s that for a heel turn? I can see it now. Kobe Jr. rips off the umbilical cord, wraps it around her bladder, makes her pee her pants, she slips in her own puddle, and break her leg. “Me So Horny” hits the speakers and that baby exits through the beef drapes to a standing ovation from the crowd! I like it a lot, Mike Monroe. Count on it! At October Surprise! Wouldn’t be the first time.

<--Mike Monroe-->

Pretty sure it would be.

<--Kobe Gyant-->

I had a life before BOB, you know… Anyway, press conference over. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go help Al U. Minium-Ladder, Woody Table, and Acoustic Guitar get ready for Snore Games.

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!MPLOSION! 10

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!

~~~static~~~

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Petite Slayer Rendition Uno

August 26th, 2008
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Sarah The Jobber Slayer

[Sarah “The Jobber Slayer” is seen staring at a poster of Jerri Li.]

Sarah: I can’t believe you have a poster of her on your wall.

[Kay Fabe puts a finger against the two-dimensional lips of Jerri Li.]

Kay: Well, she did touch me down there. No woman has ever touched me like Jerri Li touched me. Not even Seth.

Sarah: Um-kay.

Far-off voice, possibly Seth: Did you just call me a woman?

Kay Fabe

Kay: No, sweetie. Don’t you have a backstage segment you’re late for or something.

[Dead silence.]

Sarah: How are you feeling, Kay?

Kay: The tombstone through the stack of tables. Yeah, it kinda hurt. Thus, the neckbrace.

Sarah: Ah, didn’t even notice it. Thanks, Detached Narrator.

[Second Cousin of the First Evil, remember?]

Sarah: Yeah, whatever happened to that whole deal, DN?

Kay: You vanquished evil, because it’s what you do! You’re the chosen one! You’re the one and…, well, you’re the one of three Jobber Slayers. That we know of anyway.

Sarah: Where’s Freddy Prinze Jr. when you need him.

Kay: Zuh?

Sarah: He’s a writer for SmackDown.

Kay: Writer? *Pffft* Think you have a brain injury, missy!

Sarah: Right. Anywho. How do you think I’ll do inside of Jell-O in a Cell-O?

Kay: You’ll do great. Just don’t let her grab your groin, or you’ll get all aroused and distracted. Serious not goodness.

Sarah: Yeah, I often have THAT problem when women grab my crotch. *Rolls eyes* Say, first, let’s ask that guy who’s chained to your wall who he thinks will win.

Kay: Who, Josh G?

Sarah: Why do I know that name? Man, I’m having a massive mental block. It’s like somebody renditioned my brain.

Kay: Josh, who do you think will win when Sarah and Jerri wrestle in jell-o?

Josh G: Umm…Sarah?

Sarah: Sounds good to me. Well, there you have it, straight from the lips of the guy who is chained to Kay Fabe’s wall for no apparent reason.

Kay: (Mouthing the words) Mistress. Of. Pain. (She then does the Rob Van Spam thumb pointing thingee.)

Sarah: Ariel, this time, I won’t drop the title. Because all I have to do is pin you.

[Kay hands Sarah a banana. Sarah hands Kay a plastic bag.]

Kay: Oh, baby!

[Um, what’s in the bag?]

Kay: Oh, I totally made this banana super powerful for added extra slayage power. All Sarah has to do is slay Jerri with this banana and she’ll become the T&A XX Division Champion and live out her full life as a champion. It’s sort of like that movie about the little mermaid…what was that movie called?

[Right…but what’s in the bag?]

Kay: … Stuff.

Sarah: It’s some hair, OK?

[You’re giving Kay some hair? That’s…hot. Wait, it doesn’t look like you’ve cut your beautiful blonde hair.]

Sarah: Well, I haven’t…

[…But that would mean…SEXY!]

Sarah: Sexy? Brought it back.

Kay: And someday soon, she’ll grow her hair back. And Trey will probably make her cut it again. And hopefully Sarah will need another favor from me. Goddess, I’ve missed you.

Sarah: Ditto. Well, I’m outie. Bye.

[Sarah rubs the banana against poster Jerri’s lips. Fade to black.]

Sarah (Voice): She’s totally slayed. She just doesn’t know it yet.

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Luke Out Below

August 26th, 2008
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Kurt Angel

[Nighttime. A smoke-filled room. Kurt Angel was watching “Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle” when all of a sudden the lights went out.]

KA: Did I just go blind? Oh wait, no, I can still see the movie.

[Kurt grabs his phone and dials a number.]

KA: Hello, phone company? I’d like to report a power outage. My lights just shut off by themselves. Well, duh, if I knew their phone number, I’d call them. Hello? Hello?

[Kurt dials some other numbers.]

KA: Hello, Pizza Hut? I’d like to report a power outage. No, this isn’t a prank call. No, my name isn’t Dave. It’s Kurt. Kurt Angel. What do you mean now you know it’s a joke? It’s not a joke, it’s so not a joke. Hello? Darnitall!

[Kurt grabs the phone’s antenna and, well…locks on a modified Angel Lock.]

KA: I’ll make you tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!

Phone: *Bleep*

[Kurt interprets the “low battery” warning as a submission and drops the move.]

KA: Whoooo!

[Kurt prances around in celebration.]

KA: Who da evil? I’m da evil! The man who pinned Steve Studnuts at Power is Stolen. Not false, not false. If not for the most corrupt Generic Referee on the planet, you would be looking at the number one contender for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. Studnuts. Vincent. Harker. The iAd will go down someday. And when you do, you’ll be the ones on your knees before Axl! And not in a gay way, either, busters!

KA: Instead, I’ve got to face Luke. Luke who? Mr. Luke-Hoo himself. Luke Warm. And mister, that plate glass window is gonna feel like the best day of you’re life after I get through with you at…Neil Patrick Harris is the man! Hey, the light went out? Where’s the phone?

Phone: *Bleep*

KA: I better get a ladder and replace that light bulb.

[Kurt gets a ladder and climbs up.]

KA: Come on, bucko!

[Kurt falls off the ladder.]

KA: Ow.

[After a few seconds of “selling the bump,” Kurt’s back up quickly. He unscrews the bulb and belly-to-light bulb suplexes it?]

*SMASH*

KA: Ow!

[Need a light bulb?]

KA: Whoa. The walls are talking to me again!

[Yes, yes. Check the table there for a new light bulb. And here goes Kurt up the ladder again. Amazingly, he gets it in. Then, the light goes out.]

KA: The hell?

*SMASH*

*THUD*

*Footsteps*

*Creak*

*SLAM*

*Creak*

*Flick*

[Lights on.]

*SLAM*

[Kurt is laying at the bottom of the ladder, surrounded by bits of a broken Cheap-Ass™ Guitar. Who attacked Kurt? Who who? Who who? Who attacked Kurt. Who who, who who. I really wanna know…]

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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.

[END]

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Finding Axl… pt.3

June 25th, 2008
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Axl

“Face the Truth.”

“SMP… he’s washed up. Hell, he hasn’t even earned the title of BEING washed up! The guy’s barely a blip on the radar! And he has just about as much chance of holding the OWTTM as he does of holding Nurse Heidi… which is about the same chance he has of defeating Trey Vincent, or even Kevin! SMP? He’s a joke.”

“Seth… he’s way too preoccupied with fighting his former best friend to even THINK about the Beer in the Belly Match. And let’s face it… the guy’s… well… he’s full of himself. You just gotta hate people like that. Seth Harker? He’s a joke.”

“Mano… he’s not even worth mentioning, but because I must, THE GUY’S THE BIGGEST JOKE OF THEM ALL.”

“And no matter WHO pins Seth [because you just know there’s no chance in hell Seth’s walking away with the win], whether they be big, small, fat, thin, male, female, or have a hundred legs, a soda can for a nose, and a stick lodged through their head, I WILL CRUSH THEM. For I am NO joke.”

“I am Axl.”

“And I Am better… than… you.”

Rose: AXL! Are you washing the dishes in there, or are you running your DAMN mouth?!

Axl: I’m sorry dear! *mumbling* bitch…

Rose: WHAT WAS THAT?!

Axl: Uh… er, uhm, ah- I said I’m RICH… with love and affection for you, sweetiekins.

Rose: Sure… Just you make sure those pots are spotless, or I’m taking a sharp knife and cutting off that toothpick dick of yours, so I can have TWO holes to shove my strap-on in!

Axl: I’M WASHING, I’M WASHING!

[We open to the kitchen of the Residence of Evil. Axl is busy scrubbing the dishes clean, while Rose sets down on the sofa, picking the meat of a chicken bone, her eyes glued to the tv set. On the screen is Viruz, who is holding a press conference in Sinister City… discussing the details of the X-Station Wii60… and more importantly, the Vortex.]

Viruz

Viruz: Ladies and gentlemen. I have gathered you here today to reveal the greatness of a gaming console, which will soon be available in stores across the nation. A system that shall revolutionize the way we think of not only video games, but entertainment itself, forEVER. For years, the gamers have been bored with what has been presented to them. I’m telling you, it’s time for a CHANGE! And so, I give you… the X-Station… Wii…SIXTY!!!

[Viruz rips a sheet from off the covered console, unveiling it for the first time… Wait. Is that… a potted plant? …]

Viruz: [looks over at the plant] DAMMIT! Wrong sheet. Wait a minute…

[Viruz turns to the other side, and our camera pans to find another covered console. The sheet is removed… and we find a plate full of pancakes. Wow, this must be the most disorganized unveiling in the history of computer entertainment… or anything for that matter.]

Viruz: Huh. Well, ok, I’ll just say this. It looks cool. … REALLY cool. And it IS real… so don’t start- NO, don’t start leaving! People! Come back- FUCK!

Press Guy: We shoulda known better than to trust someone in a mask to unveil a “cool” gaming system! He’s afraid to show his face, cuz he knows we might come to his house and kick his ass!

Viruz: HA! I scoff! I could kick every last one of your asses!

[A big, burly bastard of a guy steps onto the stage, and gets in Vi’s face.]

Viruz: Uh… maybe… not EVERY last one of you? Heheh… *gulp*

[The focus switches back to the living room of the Residence of Evil, as we hear loud crashing noises coming from the set.]

Rose: Ugh… leave it to Axl’s nerdy brother to have his face pounded in by the press. I guess you could say Vi’s one guy who didn’t want to “MEET THE PRESS”, bwahahahahahahahahaha! … Crickets.

: . . . meanwhile . . . :

[We head on over to “Blah-Mart”, the local supermarket of Sinister City. Pigeon is sitting atop a display of Diet Cherry Vannilla Chocolate ‘Pipsa’ Cola, legs dangling, both of them in a cast. He broods.]

Pigeon

Pigeon: Pipsa… the Cola of a New Generation. A generation on the brink of a total and unequivocal meltdown. A meltdown that will bring this sordid mortal coil to its knees. Knees dirty with the mud of a forgotten youth.

Pigeon: Quoth the Pigeon… Product Placement Rules.

[Steve Roydz walks into the scene, wearing a wig of dreadlocks, along with short black spandex, with the letter “T” on the back. His entire body is covered with black-flesh-colored make-up… This can’t be good.]

Steve Roydz

Roydz: Stevie Roydz is on like a pot ah chicken bone, dawg! Save the drama fo’ ya mammy, dawg! I’m black, bitch dawg! Once ya go black, ya go deaf, dawg! It’s time to hate the game and dawg the playa’, dawg! You want some, come get some, best be big nuff’ bad nuff take some, you don’t like me, bite me, you best be big nuff, bad nuff… uh… DAWG!

[“Stevie” tries to perform a Spinaroonie, but only succeeds in smacking his feet into the display…]

Pigeon: AAAAHHHH!!!

[Pigeon falls off the display… all of the cans tumbling down upon him as he collides with the floor.]

Pigeon: MY ARMS! NOW HOW WILL I FLAP THEM!!! YOU STUPID SON-OF-A-

Stevie: You DIDN’T say that! TELL ME… you didn’t just say that! Now can you shovel that…

: . . . meanwhi –

Stevie: BLOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

: . . . meanwhile . . . :

*ring…ring*

Axl: Hello… Oh, Lord Vader, I- … Choose? Between what? … My success, and…. you can’t be serious? But… I- I understand. It’s just… yes, I know. I have to take a stand if I expect to master the power of the dark side. And to do so – I must choose. I… I will… Soon. … Tonight? … Fine. I’ll… I’ll see you tonight. Goodbye…

*click*

|where one door closes… another door opens|

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Garbage ‘n’ Weapons

May 22nd, 2008

Trey Vincent

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

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

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

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

[Trey takes off the Vader mask.]

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

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

[Trey looks around.]

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

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

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

[Trey turns around and checks his email.]

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

[Trey turns around.]

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

TV: Until we meet agayne…

[Cut.]

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Seth Harker, who goes there?

April 12th, 2008
Comments Off on Seth Harker, who goes there?

The Great

(The Great is at his home in St. Louis, Mo. He’s sitting at his kitchen table, with a stack of envelopes about 3 feet high in front of him. He’s diligently writing in a fold-over notepad, most likely his check balance register. Probably is, since The Great is noticeably sweating.)

“The Great”: 200 and 50 dollars for a manicure? And what the hell is eyebrow waxing? 100 dollars? For THAT?

(The Great’s wife walks into view.)

“The Great”: Can The Great ask you a question? The Great wonders how it is possible that a person requires weekly dead skin cell removal at 55 dollars per visit? You and The Great would save a lot of money if you’d simply let The Great exfoliate.

The Great’s wife: Oh sure! It’s always about me. It’s always my fault! Why don’t find another job that pays? That stupid wrestling stuff ain’t working. YOU ain’t working! When’s the last match you had? Three months ago? Huh? Are they EVER going to pay you? I’m calling Olive Garden right now and get you on as dish cleaner or something.

“The Great”: Clam down. The Great is booked for a match in the next couple of weeks. Against Seth Harker.

The Great’s wife: Who?

“The Great”: Seth Harker.

The Great’s wife: Seth Harker? What kind of stupid name is that? Is wrestling him going to get you any money?

“The Great”: That is something The Great will have to debate.

The Great’s wife: What? Then wrestle somebody else! Somebody that will guarantee you a payday from that cheap ass wrestling promotion you “work” for. Work means pay! You work, they pay. Then I spend. That’s how it works!

“The Great”: Oh, The Great knows that last part is working pretty well.

The Great’s wife: Whatdidyousay?

“The Great”: No need to get snippy. The Great, did formulate, a plan. Remember when The Great defeated Axl?

The Great’s wife: Now that’s the gay one, right? The one that looks like a faggy Crow Sting?

“The Great”: That’s him. The Great helped one of his Hierarchy members escape the unspeakable hell that was being associated with that group. The Great figures he at least owes The Great like 25 dollars or something.

The Great’s wife: OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Don’t break the bank! What WILL we DO with ALL THAT MONEY? I think I’ll call Expedia right now and get us a room at the Palais de la Méditerranée on the French Riviera with that!

“The Great”: You know what? Sometimes The Great would really like to—

(The doorbell rings)

“The Great”: Are you expecting anybody?

The Great’s wife: Publisher’s Clearing House. It’s Ed MCMAHON! How do I look?

“The Great”: Hey, maybe it’s Vince McMahon. And then The Great can find Matt Stryker on ECWWE and kick him square in the nuts for calling The Great a jobber.

(The Great’s wife peeks through a curtain and out a window that let’s her see who’s on the porch.)

The Great’s wife: I know it’s not going to be anybody for Lori. She’s grounded for sneaking out of the house at 4:30 in the morning and “practice” driving the car around the neighborhood. Nick’s in trouble for not finishing his parade float of Vermont for his class project, so his friends cant’ come over. And neither can Johnny’s, did I tell you he was grounded too? Yeah, he decided to try and commandeer all the televisions in his school, you know the ones that show the educational, PBS stuff? Yeah, he tried to use that goofy commercial by Silver Shamrock Novelties and mind control the entire elementary. Silly kid.

“The Great”: Can you see who it is? Why don’t you just open the door?

The Great’s wife: No way! It’s a white guy, dressed like a black guy, with baggy jeans and boots. He looks pretty scary and pissed. He could be a mugger! Or a rapist!

“The Great”: The Great assumes we can rule out rapist.

The Great’s wife: He’s wearing an Atlanta Black Crackers baseball jersey and he’s holding a St. Louis Stars jersey.

“The Great”: He brought The Great a gift! It’s a Negro League throwback jersey! It’s Pete Trable, let him in!

(to be continued?)

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Hanging with Misty, identity theft and crank calls

October 18th, 2007
Comments Off on Hanging with Misty, identity theft and crank calls

Trey Vincent

Caption: Sin City, King Leary Motel

[Inside a motel room, Trey Vincent was typing away on a computer and wearing a green iAd T-shirt, sweatpants and headphones. If you had a really good ear, you could hear the strains of “Gears of War” by Megadeth playing. A knock at the door interrupted whatever porn Trey was looking for. He headed to the door and looked through the peephole before opening it.]

TV: Did anybody ever tell you you look totally sexy through a peephole?

Misty Waters

Misty Waters: I think that was a line in one of my movies, actually.

[Misty walks in, and Trey shuts the door.]

TV: Damn it. I need to come up with some original material.

[Misty tosses her jacket and purse on Trey’s bed.]

MW: Hey, you’re not speaking in third-person…again. What’s up with that?

TV: I’m not? Weird. *Ahem* I…*ahem* I…damn! So what brings you here?

MW: I dunno. Just seeing what you’re up to.

TV: Porn surfing, pretty much.

[A cell phone rings.]

TV: Hold on a second.

[Trey picks up the cell phone and looks at the number.]

TV: Hello?

MW: Oh, this is going to make fascinating Rant material…

TV: Yes. How are you guys?

MW: A one-way conversation.

TV: Awesome. So we’re good to go. What about BOB, that wrestling fed? Any interest in that?

MW: BOB?

TV: Really? Really? That’s fantastic. Of course. Right. Cool. Yeah. See you then. Thanks.

[Trey hangs up.]

TV: How do you feel about a little road trip with me?

MW: Where to?

TV: Los Santos.

MW: Really? Why?

TV: Trey Vincent’s getting back on TV.

MW: Oh he is? What about you?

TV: You got any good credit cards?

MW: Are you serious?

TV: *Sigh* That Kevin T. Pyromaniac got cancelled for some reason. I need to get a new one. Isn’t douja’s real name Adam or something?

MW: Trey!

TV: Huh? Fine. I won’t use douja’s name.

[Trey pulls out his wallet, and then a credit card. Misty grabs it.]

MW: Insane O. Mano?

TV: Right.

MW: Does he even have a Social Security number?

TV: Surprisingly, he does. At least, the guy who originally started with that gimmick.

MW: What? That’s not the original Mano?

TV: Does Mano sound like a white guy pretending to be a luchadore anymore? He’s fluent in Babelfish.

MW: I thought Mano’s real name was Frank.

TV: Oh, come on! That’s so unrealistic. How would you know that unless you just cheated and looked at his bio page.

MW: I have a photographic memory, asshole. The computer is right over there.

TV: What’s the worst that could happen?

MW: Hmm…you ARE facing him in a six-man tag match. Along with Kurt Angel and douja. That’s two former ONLY WORLD CHAMPIONS THAT MATTERS.

TV: douja? He’s been so busy getting stoned lately, he’s forgotten to rant since March Mayhem. Mano is just a Mexican cruiserweight. No big thing. And Kurt Angel…man, we’ve had some wars in BOB and in other places.

MW: Yeah, too bad you’re not sleeping with the BOSS’s daughter anymore.

TV: I know. I should be sleeping with Michelle and I should have the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. Wait…is Death sleeping with Michelle?

MW: I doubt it. Although, I did hear a rumor that she can’t have kids. Maybe Death killed her uterus.

TV: BWAHAHAHAHA! Awesome. Yeah, and Pigeon sure isn’t getting helped by his relationship with my ex-wife. I seriously need to find a new chick, Misty.

MW: Yep. You sure do.

TV: Misty.

MW: What?

TV: When are you gonna stop the charade and drop those panties?

MW: *Sigh*

TV: I’ll get an AIDS test. Whatever it takes.

MW: You’re such a romantic. How have you stayed single this long?

TV: Coma.

Voice from outside: POINK?

TV: Come on. We’ve got history to make, Misty. And I’ve got enough credit to get us a king-sized bed. I’ll even spring for a massage. And room-service. Whatever you want.

MW: Alright, Insane. Let’s hit the road.

TV: Oh, one last quick thing.

[Trey opens his phone and hits speed dial number. Misty grabs her stuff and then packs up Trey’s computer while he speaks.]

TV: Seth? Buddy! Great news! You gotta call me. Hey, you’re not having sex with a bear fur rug right now, are you? Hey, seriously, good luck in that main event match. Bring home the Swiss Army Belt for the iAd. Oh, and I think I just saw Massive Man and Jim walking on a cake with your picture on it and laughing outside. Don’t know what that means. Maybe you do? Later, bro.

[Trey hangs up.]

MW: You’re such a punk.

TV: Thanks! Oh WAIT! One last phone call.

[Trey opens his phone and hits speed dial number.]

TV: Hello, I’m looking for Connie Lingus? Hi Connie. I was wondering if I could squeeze your Charmins? BWAHAHAHAHA!

MW: *Snort*

[Trey hangs up.]

TV: Hope Studs doesn’t get belted again over that one.

MW: What am I gonna do with you?

TV: I can think of a few things.

[Fade out.]

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