Posts Tagged ‘Sir Zeno’

Home truths from a guy in a purple neckbrace

October 18th, 2005
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Rubba Ray Drudley

[We open this promo in a generic locker room, because I have no imagination. Sat on a bench, with his glasses steamed up, is Rubba Ray Drudley. He is looking at a glossy Kay Fabe poster which has her pointing her derriere at the camera (he probably picked it up at the Crap Zone or something… maybe you should go there too and spend some money). He reaches his hand out to touch the printed ass and caress the paper.]

RRD: So close…

D-Van Drudley

[All of a sudden D-Van barges into the room dragging a table along behind him.]

D-Van: Hey, what the hell are you doing?!


[Rubba quickly stuffs the poster into his pocket and folds his arms over his lap.]

RRD: What are you doing with that table?

D-Van: Didn’t you see what that purple tights wearin’ fruit Sir Zeno did to me on Sunday?

RRD: No, I don’t watch your matches if I’m not in them.

D-Van: That bitch knocked me unconcious, I had to go to the hospital.

RRD: Dude, a black guy getting knocked out by a white guy in a boxing match is totally pathetic.

Voice: Well, well, well.

(A chubby guy with a neckbrace and an exposed, hairy chest enters the Drudley locker room.)

Joel Bertner: It is I, the quintessential studcrumpet, the footlong hotdog between your girl’s buns, she took one bite and had mustard all over her face, Joel Bertner.

RRD: What do YOU want?

JB: I got those Kay Fabe pictures you wanted.

D-Van: Don’t you have enough of those already, you’d probably get in trouble if the wrong people found out how many of them you have.

RRD: No I wouldn’t, I have plenty of other pictures too, I’m not obsessed or anything.

[One of the locker doors bursts open with a wave of pictures of the red headed sports entertainer.]

RRD: They’re not mine!

JB: Whatever. Anyway, what’s the table for D-Van?

D-Van: Don’t any of you motherfuckers watch my matches?

JB: Actually I did, I was bored and drunk. Sir Zeno is way more over than you and an actual champion, you’re just a goofy parody that’s a few beers away from a Reverend D-Van gimmick.

D-Van: What?

JB: Nothing, I’m just trying to convince you to focus on more important things. You’re on the road to Grudge Match A-Go-Go… you could win the NGETFA tag titles and you just sit around drinking beer and looking at pictures of Kay Fabe.

D-Van: You know, you’re right. We should be training.


[Small Tyke Drudley convulses his way through the door.]

RRD: We need to start training and need you to practice putting people through tables. D-VAN… GET THE…

D-Van: I already set it up.

RRD: Ok, let’s get started.

[We fade out with splinters flying at the camera as Tyke is thrown through the first of many tables.]

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Aftermath: OYHD

May 26th, 2005

Sir Zeno

*In the Mansion of Chaos Ruler, Sir Zeno is reclining in his chair, Swiss Army Belt over his shoulder and Mylisiv on his lap.*

QM: Why so depressed? You finally picked up a title belt…

Zeno: Yeah, but it puts me below Sarah in the scale of things. Honestly, couldn’t you have attacked her backstage?

QM: I was too busy kicking Sleazy-C’s balls into his throat.

Zeno: Ah, well… I’m a champion now. That’s all that matters…

QM: Still plan on killing her?

Zeno: You know it.

Mr. Paradox

*Meanwhile, in Hot Springs, South Dakota, Mr. Paradox is polishing the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Title Belt while floating on a rubber alligator through Evans Plunge.*

Paradox: Welcome back, my friend. I hope your time with Studnuts hasn’t hardened you to the world.

*And in Tijuana, Mexico, Dr. Thrilla is sulking in a bar somewhere, polishing his teeth with an anti-rust agent. Once he’s done, he downs a whisky.*

Thrilla: *drunken metal clanging*

Dr. Thrilla

Bartender: (translated from Spanish) That’s your fifth one tonight. Had enough?

*Thrilla grabs the bartender’s collar.*

Thrilla: *drunken metal clanging*

Bartender: (translated from Spanish) All right, all right, I’ll get you another!

*And somewhere, at a pay phone, Meat Puppet has broken character. His voice sounds familiar.*

M-P: Why the hell didn’t I get booked for On Your Hard Drive?… I told Trey I was sorry for botching at Mayhem!… There’s still life in this gimmick, really!… Fine. Talk to you later. *Hangs up* I guess it’s back to being buried.

*He looks at his outfit.*

M-P: No pun intended.

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Training for SUM:OYHD

May 3rd, 2005
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Sir Zeno

*Our first stop is in Sir Zeno’s training room. Judging by the assorted equipment, he occasionally tortures political prisoners in here as well. Currently, the ruler of Dimension Z is strapped to a set of electrodes, with Nucleo the Not-Quite-Living Robot below him holding a lever.*


Zeno: Indeed I’m sure. And make damn sure to double the duration. I have two matches to get through at the PPV.

Nucleo: HERE-WE-GO.

*Nucleo pulls the lever, and Zeno goes rigid from the shock.*

Mr. Paradox

*Cut to Mr. Paradox, sword on one hip and jug of sake on the other. He’s wandering through a vacant lot, somewhere on Earth. A group of muggers in black suits step out, each one carrying an axe.*

Lead Mugger: Got any cash?

Mr. Paradox: No, but I do have this.

*There’s a blur, and Mr. Paradox is now standing behind the group, sword drawn. He puts the sword away, whereupon every last one of the muggers collapse in small, individual piles of flesh. He takes out a watch.*

Mr. Paradox: Hum. .15 seconds. Not my best time…

Dr. Thrilla

*Cut to a beautiful hillside, overlooking Steve Studnut’s house. Dr. Thrilla is again hard at work, slamming his sign over a rock with the name “Steve Studnuts” painted on it. As last time, the sign slips out of his hand and hits Steve’s window… only to bounce off. Apparently, he’s replaced the glass with something less breakable. Shrugging, Thrilla pulls a gun out of his surgical scrubs and takes a few shots at the walls before running off.*

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Back in the gatdamn saddle (again)

April 9th, 2005

Steve Studnuts

~~~Steve Studnut’s handler, after taking the time to actually read cards and figure out which is which, has some ‘splaining to do. So does Steve, since Connie hinted that Steve was trying to bed Sarah “the Jobber Slayer”, whom EVERYBODY knows Steve’s good buddy, Trey Vincent, would also like to lay the pipe to. Let’s see if Steve can wiggle his way out of this one~~~

Studs: [holding his flip cell] Come on, dude, answer the gatdamn phone. You know I was just goofin’ around. Hell, who wouldn’t like to bone Sarah? Come on ,Trey. Hello?

[Connie walks in, ironically wearing the same thing she had on earlier today. With her is Jizzabelle Cummings, the Shannon Elizabeth and Reese Witherspoon looking tramp that wears even less than Connie and hangs around in Steve’s house.]

Connie: What are you doing, Steve? Trying to smooth things over with Trey?

Studs: Huh? There’s nothin’ to smooth over. I never wanted to bang Sarah. That was YOU assuming shit again. Trying to stir up some shit and hope the smell gets delivered so I get in trouble. Say, did you guys see me beat up Zeno’s bitch? Cool, huh?

Jizz: (sighs) Yeah, real cool, Steve. You’re such a man.

Studs: Hey, she got in the ring…

Connie: So, Steve, what’d Trey say about you calling Sarah “one of those bitches”? And Seth, too. I bet he’s pissed.

Studs: Nah, they know I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. That’s just me bein’ me. I call all women bitches. It’s not personal. Except Zeno’s bitch. And that Bride chick, now she’s a bitch. And Oprah, she’s an overpaid bitch, sittin’-on-a-fuckin’-couch-and-talkin’-to-people overpaid bitch. But I wouldn’t mind pluggin’ that sidekick of hers, Lisa Ling. I could call her Lisa Lingus, ya dig? And she could join you two bitches in my house and spend all my money like you do…

Connie: Don’t try to change the subject, Steve. You’re in some hot water with your iAd buddies, aren’t you? At least you will be when they see your last promo.

Studs: Nope. This one will clear it all up since they know my typing boy is a lame and pitiful wretch that has a bad habit of just writing shit before he pays any attention to storylines and events. Kay Fabe is wonderful gal and Seth and her make an awesome couple. Trey and Sarah are perfect for each other and I honestly think they should get married. Then Trey could knock Sarah up and then she could squeeze out some fuckin’ kick ass future sports entertainers without equal.
Can you imagine that gene pool? Trey and Sarah? Those kids would be fuckin’ unbeatable. That’s a fact.

Jizz: Okay, Steve, you’ve kissed enough ass for one promo….

Studs: You think? Just in case, I think the rug rats Trey and Sarah would produce would be better than the ones Goldberg and Lesnar would have if they fucked each other and Goldberg shitted a kid out. Really, I’m being honest.

Connie: You’re such a suck-up…

Studs: Perhaps, but all that’s tomorrow’s news.

Jizz: You mean yesterday’s?

Studs: Nah, that was about that pope guy. I want to talk about that little fucker with the permanent toe jam. Ya know, it really pays off to follow the shows. How dare that scrub call me out. I’m Steve Studnuts, and he’s not even close… but I know he wishes he could be. So for him to even fuckin’ LOOK at me is an insult. On second though, I’ve decided to keep this YGBKMIADT/AYOOYFM title, and if I ain’t got nothin’ else to do at SUM: ON MY HARD DICK P-P-V, I want that fuckin’ MMR1 guy in whatever hardcore shit this promotion can come up with. Then when I’m finished with that jerkweed…. they’re gonna have to come up with a second rendition for him.

And that…. IS … A …. FACT!

Cut to static, you keyboard striking fucker. I’m outta here.

~~~Cut to static…again~~~

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Back in the gatdamn saddle

April 8th, 2005

Steve Studnuts

~~~Phoenix, Az. It’s hot already and it’s only April. It’s gonna get hotter. And so is BOB. It’s gonna get hotter ’cause the iAd is full strength once again. Don’t believe me, read….. er, watch SMC 18. Speaking of hot, Connie Lingus just walked into view… wearing just enough clothing to cover her fun buttons and “runway” trimmed snappy whisker biscuit. The Cindy Crawford, Angie Everhart, Tara Reid, and some other chick I forgot et all looking broad approaches Steve Studnuts who is sitting on a long, black leather sectional flipping through the channels of his SUPER WIDE PLASMA SCREEN. Steve’s casual today, wearing yellow silk boxers and some flip flops. The AYOOYFM/YGBCIADT lay beside him in a heap. Connie questions Steve’s antics as we join in~~~

Connie: Can I start now?

Studs: Didn’t you read the fuckin’ set-up? I know most people don’t but at least the people IN it should. Take it away, honey.

Connie: Steve, what are you doing?

Studs: Funny you should ask…

Connie: Are you going to tell me?

Studs: Are you fixin’ my turkey pot pie, bitch?

Connie: Umm, no…

Studs: Then… SHUDDAP, BITCH! Go fix me a turkey pot pie! HA! Judd Nelson as John Bender, the coolest mother fucker on the planet. Besides me, Trey, and Seth, of course. Anyway, don’t go anywhere, Connie… I was just fuckin’ around. I need some help here.

Connie: You know, Steve… I wish you’d stop calling me a bitch. It’s degrading, like I’m nothing more than an object for sex and cooking.

[Steve just stares at her]

Connie: Uhhhh, okay, what do you need me for then?

Studs: I need you to tell me why I’m not the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS? I mean, didn’t Carolina win that shit? I just know I pulled Carolina in the lottery.

Connie: No Steve, I think you had Arizona. Something about the “home state thing”.

Studs: Nah, they fuckin’ choked. I’d never choke like that.

Connie: Maybe it was Kentucky then, I remember you saying you wanted them because if you changed some letters around they’d be Komfuckme. And that was perfect for you or something.

Studs: Nope. You must’ve been hearing things. I had Carolina. I know it. But that’s cool, if this shit hole promotion wants to hang the strap on Sarah or whomever she’s facin’… so be it. They ain’t done a thing right since I got here, why start now?

Connie: Isn’t she wrestling that Zeno guy?

Studs: How the fuck should I know? I don’t read the whole card, I just skim until I see iAd shit, then what I did, then I get my lazy writer off his ass so I can comment about it, then I go to a club, pick up a chick I don’t give a rat’s ass about, and then I…

Connie: What? You do what?

Studs: Ummmm, nothin’. Talk about wrestling. Shit like that, you know.

Connie: Sure. Anyway, why do you care about that title in the first place? You have one.

Studs: THIS? [holds up the AYOOYFM/YGBCIADT belt, then throws it back on the sectional] This is a fuckin’ joke. NOBODY wants this title, except maybe that Ken guy or that fuckin’ Mexican. Do you believe this belt is SO pathetic it actually had to cut promos? They couldn’t do anything with it or get anybody towear it, it had to fuckin’ WRESTLE matches. Nobody wants this thing…. it’s a handout. It’s a pity belt. It’s a title they put on guys that can’t hold the big one. And I can HOLD THE BIG ONE, ya dig? Do it everytime I piss.

[Connie sarcastically rolls her eyes]

Studs: Seriously, do you think Sarah is gonna make any money for this place? She couldn’t draw a dime unless she was on a corner. And Zeno? That fucker couldn’t make money if he inked it himself.

Connie: Steve, they are gifted entertainers… I’m sure the promotion thinks they could do good for….

Studs: ARE YOU SMOKIN’ CRACK? Do you know this Big Boss guy? He’s the IRS wet dream! If they ever catch that fuckin’ dude and get him to pay what he owes, nobody else in the fuckin’ country would ever have to pay taxes again. Including myself, which is really all I care about in the first place. That guy does the dumbest things, he’s ran this place into the ground. This fed makes no money at all, and then he’s goin’ to do something like this, and put the title on either one of them? Then expect me to compete in hardcore matches? It’s stupid. I ain’t gonna do it, which it why I need your help.

Connie: I thought my help was remember what March Sadness team you had.

Studs: No, stupid. I intend on befriending some slacker that doesn’t know anything about this place and give him the belt as a gesture of good faith. You know, make him think I’m I swell guy and all. Then watch him get the shit beat outta him in one of Ken’s exploding tacks on a stick matches or Mano’s Mexican Food The Day After Death Matches and laugh my ass off. I’m too good for shit like that, I need to be the man. Not some hardcore champion…. unless they let me rename it the harddick champion. Every chick knows I won’t have a problem defending that title.

Connie: (yawns) Whatever, Steve. What help can I be?

Studs: Well, I’ve been flippin’ though the channels, checkin’ out cats from other promotions as well as this one. Bottom rungers that would never win a title even if they’d wrestle them fuckin’ selves for it. Check ’em out, and help me pick one I can give this title to, or else I’ll just have to suck it up and keep the gatdamn thing myself.

Connie: Steve, this is a pretty mean thing to do to a new guy.

Studs: You really think I give a shit? Now shut up and look at this first one.

[Steve turns on the TiVo. There’s a he-she conducting an interview]

On the screen: NEEP! Do you really want to hurt me? POINK! Do you really want to make me cry?

Studs: Fuck yeah, I wanna hurt you and make you cry, you son of a bitch. Take this title and you’ll hurt and cry every night. What do you think, Connie?

Connie: Is that?

Studs: I dunno. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I don’t care. You think it’ll take the belt?

Connie: I doubt it, he looks pretty frail, and needing a hit. What else do you have?

[hits play again. There’s a very skinny man on screen dressed in leather pants and a trenchcoat. He’s holding a large semi automatic assault rifle]


Connie: Oh my God, you gotta be kidding me. That guy it like a buck ‘o five including his gimmick and his rifle…

Studs: Shit! This guy is great! Oh wait, look at this one.

[He flips the channel, then hits play. It’s a dryer.]

Dryer: Hum! Clank Clank! Hum!

Studs: Uh, oh… somebody left change in their pocket. Heh. What do you think?

Connie: A dryer? That’s stupid.

Studs: Well? They have a gatdamn washin’ machine here! Why not?

Connie: Anything else?

Studs: How about I just give it to Death? He wouldn’t be afraid to get into any kind of match. I mean, he is Death, after all. I dunno, maybe I’ll just keep it. But I ain’t juicin’ all the fuckin’ time. Nah, fuck that. I don’t want to end up havin’ the Dusty or Abdullah forehead. Scars and shit all over the place. I bet Dusty went through about 18,000 blades by himself, and Abdullah was at the point he could probably just hold his breath real hard like he was takin’ a giant dump and his noggin’ would just bust open from that. I don’t wanna be like that. Hell no…

Connie: Steve, this isn’t about you not wanting to be hardcore or thinking Sarah shouldn’t win that main title. You wouldn’t have helped Sarah’s friend, Kay, if you didn’t think…. hey, wait a minute. I know what you’re doing…

Studs: Hold up, I know what you’re thinkin’. But it’s cool, I ain’t like that. Sarah’s gay. She’s lez, she munches the carpet… I ain’t tryin’ to hook up….

Connie: NO! Kay Fabe’s the lesbian. I think Sarah is straight and you’re trying to get in her pants. That’s what this whole thing is about. You think she’s going to win, and you know you can’t get a shot at that OWTTM while you have a different one. You’re trying to get into the main title picture so you can grope and fondle her in the ring, and try to get her bed with you aren’t you? That’s why you helped Kay Fabe, you think Sarah will owe you one, right?

Studs: No.

Connie: You’re trying to…. ooooh, I know what you’re doing!

Studs: Look, I don’t know who I saved at SMC 18, that was like three days ago when I read that shit and I didn’t bother to look at it again for this bit. I thought I saved Kay, hell, I dunno… it was one of those bitches, they all look the same to me. All I want to do it get rid of this hardcore title and put it on some dumbass who doesn’t know any better. Get the title that I deserve… the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. You act like every other girl I see, I want to fuck ’em.

[Connie just stares at Steve like he did at her earlier]

Studs: Well, it doesn’t mean I actually do…

[Connie continues to stare]

Studs: Not all the time…

[Connie continues to stare, starts tapping her foot and crosses her arms]

Studs: You really think that?

[Connie lets out a huge sigh]

Studs: Really? You think that I try to play hide the sausage with all of ’em?

Connie: Yep.

Studs: I’m hurt. Really I am. [fakes a sniffle] I can’t believe you’d think that… and I really can’t believe my lazy ass writer has dragged this promo out so long. He must be off work today. I’m sure there’s some things around his shitty house he could be doing…. isn’t that right, loser?

~~~Yes, you are correct, Steve. Say something quick so I can end this thing.~~~

Studs: Why don’t you just cut to static like you normally do when you run out of things to type?

~~~Okay. Sounds good. Cut to static.~~~

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First Challenge

March 16th, 2005
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Sir Zeno

*There’s a broken TV in an alleyway. Interestingly, it’s a 40′ plasma TV with the words, “He Fuckin’ Left Me!” spray-painted on the corner. It comes to life, showing Sir Zeno sitting on a throne in the center of a dark room. A small man in gray is doing the Monkey behind him.*

SZ: Miss Sarah the Jobber Slayer… I have the privilege of selecting your first opponent, do I not? It was hard to decide, but I have chosen. Your first opponent in our feud will be… Dr. Thrilla.

Dr. Thrilla

*As his name is spoken, the bear-trap-toothed man in the bloodstained surgeon’s gown charges into the room and clocks the dancing man with a street sign. Turning to the camera, he gives a speech on the horror that is his life, but all we can hear is metal clanging.*

SZ: Scared? Good.

*And the TV shorts out.*

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Dimension Z Update: SMC11 Aftermath

March 7th, 2004
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*Inside the Mansion of Chaos Ruler, in the training room, Sir Zeno is busily sparring inside the ring with a large, green-skinned freak of nature (who looks a bit like Ron Jeremy). After knocking the creature down, Zeno leans over the ropes and swigs a glass of water being held up by Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Living Robot.*

Sir Zeno: Nucleo, I’m still mad at you. Your antics with the horse nearly cost me a title shot!


Sir Zeno: You’re just lucky my opponent was a man who commonly finds himself thinking he’s a fruit basket. As I’ve said, there was no chance I could lose… But I do have a comment for the commentators.


Sir Zeno: I am not a heel, friends. I am… neutral. In fact, I could even be a face… I do hate Studnuts, after all.


Sir Zeno: Whatever, my mechanical lackey. If you excuse me, I must train for whenever I face Dustbuster.

*Zeno returns to his training…*


*There’s a flash of blue light, and as “Diesel Power” by Prodigy kicks up, Mr. Paradox, Meat-Puppet, and another black-robe guy step into view, slow-motion style. A flash of gold light marks the appearance of the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM belt around Paradox’s waist.*

Mr. Paradox: Pity I didn’t get to finish my fight with Studnuts… Still, getting my hands on some gold was worth all the trouble. Don’t you agree, Meat-Puppet?

Meat-Puppet: …

Mr. Paradox: Ah, yes, forgot.

Meat-Puppet/Alex “No Gimmick” Smith: Now that you’ve got a title, can I change gimmicks?

Mr. Paradox: No breaking kayfabe. What do you think, mysterious fellow?


Mr. Paradox: Shut up.

*They walk the streets as the music keeps playing.*


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Wise Fwom Da Gwave!

February 1st, 2004
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*The video finally cuts in, and we see Mr. Paradox (flush with his successful revenge against Studnuts at SMC9) bent over a slab, stitching away at something just off camera. Pausing to wipe his forehead with a rag, he resumes, smirking to himself. His blood-stained sword lays next to him.*

Mr. Paradox: Let’s see… With that arm I stole from the late Birdboy, my creation is complete! I can finally finish the work that the late Professor McShifty started!

*Cutting the thread and tying a knot in it, Mr. Paradox stands over the slab, raising his hands.*

Mr. Paradox: What was that charm again? Oh, yeah…
“Death song,
death door,
death river awaiting…”

*The rest of the chant, delivered in a guttural tone, makes no sense to the ears of those unfamiliar with Dimension Z and the art of chain-desecration. The end effect, however, causes all of the tombstones in the graveyard to explode, creating a shower of granite and marble.*

Mr. Paradox: Crap. There goes this month’s rent. Now, did it work?

*A skinless hand grabs Mr. Paradox’s collar.*

Mr. Paradox: Question answered. Now let go of me…

*The creature rises, and we focus on it. It’s a hideous creation, all skinned limbs and faceless head. The muscles twinge randomly… That’s what it looks like from this distance, but a close examination will reveal the latex seams.*

Mr. Paradox: *He points to the thing.* Meat-Puppet!

*Cue dramatic organ crash.*

Mr. Paradox: Damn, need to sew the heart back in. But with the aid of Meat-Puppet, I can begin to wreak havoc on BOB’s Tag-Team Titles! And then I might just have a chance at…


*The screen goes to static. As the camera pulls back, we see Sir Zeno (fresh from his own victory over the Pope at SMC9) curled up on his couch with Queen Mylisiv, the blue-skinned woman he picked up at the New Year’s party. She’s currently dozing.*

Sir Zeno: Crap. Looks like I’ll have to take steps after all.

*Fade to black.*

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Hell’s Bells

January 19th, 2004

Orbamajig Online…
Yeah, I’m in kind of a searching phase of my life right now, so I’m still trying to decide on an appropriate name, one that really reflects my true inner light… Oh, yeah, we’re in The Discombobulator, the swingingist nightclub in hell’s swingingest city. This is like the eighth time they’ve played that stupid “I’m on fire feeling hot hot hot! song. I swear, if that DJ doesn’t put some techno on soon I’m gonna-

Dr Azathoth: AHEM.

Oh, sorry, the doc is here too. He’s chatting up some chick who looks a bit like Beyonce Knowles… With a gapping stab wound in her back.

Beyonce Chick: …So, I’m in there dancin’, and the next thing I know, there’s this shoting pain in my back, and Boom! I’m on this ferry with some old geezer going across a river of blood… I don’t even know what I did to end up here.


Dr. A: Be silent YHWH, unless you want me to get all Pnakoptic on your ass. You know I’ll do it. Man, what a story. Me, I was banished here by the holy power of the cross, which really bit, let me tell you.

Dr. A: I was watching that promo where you died.

BC: Pardon? Watching where, exactly?

Dr. A: TV, it was on one of those BOB promos they show on cable access.

BC: So… you’re saying that the ending moments of my life, the most tragic event my parents have ever gone through, was used to promote a low-tier wrestling match?

A Girl Scout, missing an eye, walks up

Girls Scout: Yeah, you and half the people in here, sister. Some freakish monster attacked my troupe and stabbed me through the eye. I was lucky though, since I died quick I wasn’t around to see what that bignosed motherfucker did to me after. You know what the worst part is? Instead of informing my family, those BOB assholes just aired the whole massacre, uncut. The first my parents heard about it was when they turned on the TV to see a smiley violating my headless corpse.

Another woman, butchered in a way I won’t even describe, walks up.

Woman: What, are me talking about Maldoror?

Dr. A: Fear not, ladies, for as soon as I leave this wretched yet entertaining place, you shalt be avenged. My robot is about to show that smiley the what-for, and I, Personally, have a challenge to Mr. Parallax: You’ve been trying to rise above your station in life, and I simply can’t abide by that. You should murder only those whom your master tells you to. Since Sir Zeno seems reluctant to punish you adequetly, the task falls to me. Well, me and Steve Spudnuts… and douJa… and that Afro Zimbofro guy… But really, thse crushing defeats won’t put you in your place quite the same way a beating from me will. Therefore, I challenge you to a Yog-Sothoth match.

Yog-Sothoth knows the rules…
Yog-Sothoth is the ring…
Yog-Sothoth is the referee and the announcer of the match…
Wins, losses, and draws, all are one in Yog-Sothoth.

So, Once the rest of the BOB roster has finished pummeling you into submission, I hope you have the guts to extra-dimensionally rotate your pathetic carcass over to my neck of the cosmos. Now, shut the camera off, as I hear my favorite song coming on and I can’t think of a witty way to end this.

End Transmission

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New Year’s In Dimension Z

December 31st, 2003
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*We cut to Sir Zeno’s throne room, where an Ouroboros is hanging from the ceiling with a disco ball shoved in the center. The ruler of Dimension Z himself is sipping a martini while seated on a longer, leather-covered version of his couch-throne. Next to him is a blue-skinned, purple-eyed, and otherwise alien-but-still-human-looking woman in a long black dress. Various other bizarre entities mill around the room, occasionally making trips to a table of food and punch in the corner. Smiling, Sir Zeno finally looks into the camera.*

Sir Zeno: Good evening, creatures of Dimension E. I see that 2003 has finally pulled to a stop, and 2004 is just about to kick off. Amazing, isn’t it, that we’ve made it to this point? I am, of course, Sir Zeno, and this lovely lady is my friend and fellow monarch, Queen Mylisiv of Dimension G-4.

Queen Mylisiv: Thanks for inviting me, Zeno.

Sir Zeno: Anytime. The clock’s still ticking on 2003, but the party’s already started here in Dimension Z. And we have quite a show ahead of us! You see, at the stroke of midnight tonight, the Ouroboros that our dimension is balanced on will uncoil for exactly ten seconds!

Queen Mylisiv: But Zeno, won’t that destroy the dimension?

Sir Zeno: There will be a slight sense of inertia as we plummet, but it coils back up before any damage is dealt. In the end, the furniture may be slightly shaken, but otherwise nothing bad should happen. Besides, I daresay we’ll all be too drunk to care, don’t you?

*The laughter from the various creatures sounds slightly like Jason Voorhees being slammed by a truck while dismembering a live goose-pig.*

Sir Zeno: Gods, how I love your laugh, Mylisiv.

Queen Mylisiv: *She laughs again – she provided the goose-pig part earlier.*

Sir Zeno: Keep it up, dear. Now, not everybody could make it this year – Mr. Paradox is somewhere in Dimension E, Dr. Azathoth never RSVPed (and is missing, presumed stuck), Festering Death refused, and I never did receive a reply from Xamfir. Ah, well… Speaking of Mr. Paradox, I received a video card from him. Let’s watch.

*The screen cuts to Mr. Paradox riding in the back of an old pickup, his feet carefully rested atop his combat boots.*

Mr. Paradox: This is what I get for having a grudge, I guess. Either way, here I am, somewhere in Lousiana, getting a ride to New Orleans. Once I get there, who knows where I’ll go next? All I know is that somewhere in this country, I’ll find Studnuts… and then I can kill him for dishonoring me. Until that day comes, happy new year, Sir Zeno.

*The scene cuts back to the throne room, as the other guests mingle behind the throne. Daft Punk can be heard playing quietly in the background. Queen Mylisiv has rested her head on Sir Zeno’s shoulder, as he now sips a glass of vodka.*

Sir Zeno: Thank you, Mr. Paradox. I’m certain you’ll get revenge yet. Say, Mylisiv…

Queen Mylisiv: What, Zeno?

Sir Zeno: What’s your resolution for this year?

Queen Mylisiv: To finally take complete control of my family’s finances and to kill Ultimo Dragon. Yours?

Sir Zeno: To continue successfully ruling Dimension Z.

*Cut to Mr. Paradox, in a New Orleans bar.*

Mr. Paradox: To get my revenge and to score with that brunette with the low-cut dress and see-through bra.

*Cut to Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Living Robot, cleaning up after Slimelord Ugga.*


*Cut to a live feed from the Senate.*

Reporter: Senator Mudmick, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Drunken Wisconsin Senator: Ummmm… Pershonally, I intend to shqueeze da poor!

*Cut back to the throne room, as the partygoers begin to don their pointy hats, and Mylisiv is now sucking on Sir Zeno’s neck.*

Sir Zeno: That was interesting, wasn’t it? Well, I’m afraid our timeslot has finally run out, so until next time, this is Sir Zeno, wishing you all the best of luck for 2004.

*The music turns up, Sir Zeno kisses Queen Mylisiv on the lips, and we fade to black. The preceding has been a Dimension Z Television production. All rights reserved.*

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