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A Low Budget Christmas

The Extended Version!

[On a black screen, the following warning was written: The following Christmas special is not recommended for anybody below the age of 18, or with a mental intelligence above the age of 12. If you don’t meet these criteria, you have no right to complain if you choose to continue watching. Thank you. — The BOB Legal Team.

The BigBOSS would also like to send the following message to our soon-to-be-outraged sponsors. "I've already cashed your checks, and you can't have the money back. So there! Oh, and Merry Christmas, suckers!"]

Introduction

A Ford Taurus rental car slowly came to a stop in a parking spot in what appeared to be a busy mall. Once the engine was killed, Sculder emerged from the driver side and Mully from the passenger side. The duo best known as among the worst jobbers in wrestling history, the Agency of Brawlers On a Budget shame.

"Think about it, Mully," Sculder said as he closed the door. "This disease has been spreading all month long. I’ve never seen anything like it."

"Sculder—" Mully tried to interrupt, to no avail.

"Places just like this mall. People who contract this disease have been reportedly breaking into cheery traditional songs. People have been getting drunk, but more drunk than usual. Egg nog is flying off the shelves. And in the ultimate conspiracy, I think the owners of malls just like this one are perpetrating. People are rushing to ATMs or whipping out their credit cards and putting themselves in debt. But as their spending rises, it’s also raising stress levels to astronomical proportions."

"Sculder. It’s Christmas time. These people are not sick. They just have the Christmas spirit."

"Are you saying they’re possessed?"

"In a way, sure. Tis the season to be jolly. Falalalala."

"Oh no. Mully. You’ve been possessed!"

"Come on Grinch. We’ve got us a company party to get to. Let’s go find something to bring. How much money do you have?"

As the pair began walking, Sculder dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He looked inside.

"You want to see something really spooky, Mully?" He turned the wallet upside down. Only a small ball of lint fell out. "Now that’s spooky."

"Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and find something up at that deserted cabin in the woods BigBOSS is holding this year’s party at. I can’t believe BigBOSS is making all of us bring everything."

"That’s one mystery we’ll never have to investigate, Mully. BigBOSS has a lot in common with Britney Spears?"

"He does?" Mully asked, eyebrows raised. "This isn’t just some attempt to get more Web hits by saying Britney Spears’ name, right?"

"No. But anyway. BigBOSS is a lot like Britney Spears: cheap, white and plastic."

Mully could only shake her head at her partner as the duo disappeared into a mass of humanity at the entrance to the mall. They were about to head somewhere where this narrator won’t even dare go. Inside a mall on December 24.

At The Cabin, Part 1

A dinged up limousine squealed and sputtered to a stop on the large snowy spot at the end of a long driveway, American flags blowing in the chilling breeze. It was the only car in sight on the partly sunny day. Or mostly cloudy, depending on if you’re the negative sort. Out from the driver side stepped a pudgy lady with long black hair, wearing a black dress. She slowly made her way to the back door, which was all of three steps away, and opened it up. Out stepped LBJ, Nixon and lastly, Clinton.

The 1600 Club.

The group of presidential lookalikes surveyed the scene for a moment before heading to the cabin.

"Looks like we’re the first to arrive fellas," Clinton said, pulling out a cigar and lighting it up. "Is anybody else horny? Wanna go find a private spot inside Mon?"

The pudgy brunette giggled and they rushed up to the door and headed inside. They were indeed the first to arrive.

"There is no electricity," Nixon reported to his allies. "I am not an animal!"

"Relax, we just need to build a fire."

"I’ve got some wood, but I don’t think it’s the sort you need," Clinton said, making himself and ‘Mon’ laugh. "Hey Mon, I better take your temperature. Take off your panties."

"If we hadn’t brought this peace treaty, I’d slug you one," Nixon said to Clinton.

"This federation, in this hour, has its first chance to build a great episode, a place where the meaning of man’s life matches the marvels of man’s labor," LBJ said.

"Too bad those men work for BOB," Clinton quipped, getting laughs from his two buddies. "But avoiding war and conflict is always a good thing. I’m all about being avoidy. I’m sure everyone will sign this treaty. Otherwise, we’ll kick their ass and won’t let them come inside. Speaking of coming inside..."

"And I thought Scotty Whatbody was bad..." Nixon said shaking his head.

That’s when the boys heard a squeaking of wet feet on bare wood behind them. They all turned to see a walking big pile of logs. The pile walked straight toward the fireplace and they realized it was none other than LilBOSS. He had obscured his entire body from view by carrying the giant stack of fire wood.

"Hello all. Welcome to the cabin," LilBOSS greeted.

"We brought a peace treaty," Nixon told LilBOSS. "We figure everyone can sign it and nobody will fight anymore."

"We already established that. I read the script. Let’s move this thing along, huh?"

"Will you sign it?" LBJ said. "Join our great episode?"

"Sure. I’m all for anything that lets me puke on somebody’s shoes and not end up in a hospital," LilBOSS said, taking the treaty and pen. After signing, there was a rap-tap-tapping at the cabin door. LilBOSS headed over and sprung it open wide to see who was outside.

Dyslexic Avenger. Only he and no one more.

"Brought I decoration a!" Dyslexic Avenger held up his decoration he had cut out of construction paper in green letters for everyone inside to read: L-O-N-E.

Quietly, Nixon asked Clinton, "Shouldn’t that say Noel?" Both men chuckled at the blunder by the dyslexic.

"Uh. Nice?" LilBOSS said. "Come in, Dyslexic..."

"Oh! Left somebody this." Dyslexic Avenger bent down and grabbed a box that was wrapped with human skin, had a ribbon made from large intestine and a bow that was a human heart.

"Say, you open it," LilBOSS said, grabbing his stomach and looking for somebody’s shoes to go vomit on. Instead, he settled for Mon’s dress.

"Hey, only I get to stain that dress little man," Clinton said in his raspy voice that wouldn’t scare anybody.

"It’s OK honey," Monica said, as she pulled off her dress to reveal a brand new clean dress underneath. She tossed her vomit-stained dress into her purse and didn’t miss a beat.

"Who could send such a thing," Nixon wondered.

Dyslexic Avenger was unfazed, tossing the heart aside, ripping the intestine with a hard tug and splitting the flesh open. The gift was in a box. A box filled with aborted fetuses.

There was also a card.

Dyslexic Avenger read the card aloud.

"YOU FUCK ALL. DUCKSPACE. FUCK YEAH ALL YOU, COPSPACE. Nice aww how..." Dyslexic said.

A Christmas Carol, Part 1

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.

[And BOB was dead about three times, but the BigBOSS wouldn't get the hint. What's your point?]

BigBOSS: Narrator, don't riff Dickens timeless Christmas Classic.

[Try and stop me. I’m practically omnipotent, remember? I'll do whatever I want. In fact, I'll abridge this sucker within an inch of its life so the MTV-generation don't get bored.]

Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

[Ding, dong, old Marley’s dead. I get first dibs on his stereo!]

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.

Death: He's probably right, you know.

But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for.

Sarah "The Jobber Slayer": Over-react much?

BigB: Good Lord, is EVERYONE going to have a part in this skit?

Flatline: Uhhh.. uh... probably. Yeah.

You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

[We got it. He's a stiff. A floater. He's popped his socks. Can we move on, please? It's only a two-hour show...]

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did.

BigB: So, I'm Scrooge, right?

[Uh-huh.]

BigB: How are the fans going to know this?

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner!

[Oh, I think they'll make the connection.]

BigB: HEY! I'm not old!

Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.

BigB: Does it get any LESS flattering than this? If he's just going to run me down, lets skip on a bit.

[Done.]

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you. When will you come to see me." No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge.

BigB: It's like the whole world took a restraining order out on me! Well, screw the lot of 'em! I like it that way!

But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked.

BigB: Told you so...

Once upon a time --

[Great, it's Dickens "Hansel and Gretel" all of a sudden.]

of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house.

BigB: One. Th' hell? That's it? Pay-Per-View my ASS!

It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts,

SW: Breasts? Where? Whose breasts? Please be Kay's, please be Kay's...

BigB: No breasts, Scotty. Stick around, though... we need someone to play my nephew.

and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already:

Little Good: An eclipse! it's a sign! From beneath you it tickles relentlessly!

BigB: Oh, shut up you loony...

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters.

Coma: Does that look like a "P" to you? Weeble.

BigB: My clerk seems demented. Maybe I put too much oxygen weed in his tank?

Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal.

BigB: ONE coal? I said you could have HALF a coal! No wonder I never make a profit with all this pilfering...

But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

[But, being Coma, he also tried to warm himself with a plate of oatmeal. Oddly, that seemed to work.]

"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice.

BigB: Have you seen these accounts? Not even GOD can save me.!

It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

SW: Just call me Scotty "Stealthbomber" Whatbody!

BigB: Quit sneaking up on me when I'm cooking the books! Uhhh, I mean, checking the profits.

"Bah!" said Scrooge, "Humbug!"

Coma: Mmmm.. humbugs! Jelly baby?

SW: Don't mind if I do.

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome;

[So why is Scotty playing him, then?]

SW: Wise ass.

his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

BigB: Have you been stealing my third-tier duty-free Cubans again?

"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean that, I am sure."

"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? what reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."

SW: That's so accurate, I'm depressed as hell.

"Come, then," returned the nephew gaily.

["Gaily"? *snort* Guess Scotty WAS the right choice to play the nephew.]

"What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."

SW: And you get to see Mrs. Behave naked.

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug."

"Don't be cross, uncle,'' said the nephew.

"What else can I be,'' returned the uncle, "when I live in such a world of fools as this Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,'' said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!''

"Uncle!'' pleaded the nephew.

SW: We already tried that on Billy Polar and he STILL came back from the dead!

[There's a big speech from the nephew here, but Scotty would just botch it, or start talking about tits, so let's skip to the end.]

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

Coma: Ronald, fetch me an indigo weasel, I have to immolate my pants again! Honk!

"Let me hear another sound from you,'' said Scrooge, "and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation.

BigB: And that sounds fairly painful...

You're quite a powerful speaker, sir,'' he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament.''

SW: Ahh, I'd never make it into English politics. I'm too honest, and I never indulge in bizarre sexual practises. THINK about them, yes...

"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.''

SW: I'll even let you Super-Size your meal!

Scrooge said that he would see him — yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.

SW: Huh?

BigB: That's like the Victorian equivalent of a cussword, Scotty.

SW: Oh, right. It's hard to feel insulted when you don't understand the language.

[You've got as much culture as a pot of yoghurt, Whatbody.]

"But why?'' cried Scrooge's nephew. "Why?''

[One brief, though slightly circular argument later.]

So A Merry Christmas, uncle!''

"Good afternoon!'' said Scrooge.

"And A Happy New Year!''

"Good afternoon!'' said Scrooge.

SW: Get bent, you old skinflint!

[Ahh, the rich poetry of the Dickensian prose, as rendered by Scotty Whatbody.]

SW: You can get bent too, dickweed.

His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding.

BigB: Nothwithstanding Scottys usual array of inventive profanity.

SW: Bite my sack, turkey dick.

He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greeting of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.

Coma: Salutations, fellow marshmellow! May the blessing of Floogle the Seven-Beaked shine upon your caboose. Urk!

"There's another fellow,'' muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam.''

[Coma's already half-way there. Let's skip over the scene with the guys collecting for charity.]

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring links,

IM: ¡Ayuda! ¡Mis salchichas se arden! ¡Oh, la humanidad!

proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a gothic window in the wall, became invisible,

[I thought this was "A Christmas Carol", not "David Copperfield".]

and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The cold became intense.

Mr. Intensity: (Encased in a block of ice, David Blain-style) You want INTENSE! I GOT YOUR INTENSE RIGHT HERE!

[Scene-setting, scene-setting... two whole paragraphs of Victorian people doing Victorian things. BOOOOR-ING!]

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool,

BB: HUP!

[Ooh, a little rough on the dismount... the Russian judge gives him a 5.6.... he may have to settle for the bronze!]

and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

Coma: My hat is made of liver. It's squishy. Narf.

"You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?'' said Scrooge.

"If quite convenient, Sir.''

Coma: I have to re-vanish my mule, Cedric. He's looking tatty.

"It's not convenient,'' said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?''

BigB: Humbug! I never use my underlings. Now, who should I book in the "Bra-and-Panties Mud Wrestling Rumble", I wonder?

The clerk smiled faintly.

Coma: Poink!

"And yet,'' said Scrooge, "you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work.''

BigB: Wages? For no work? I feel faint...

The clerk observed that it was only once a year.

MM: That's pretty much as often as our Pay-Per-Views are...

"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!'' said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. ``But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning!''

BigB: Four AM, if you please. I have some tax records to burn... uhh, audit. Yes, audit.

The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.

[Man, this clerk SO rocks the house. Can't wait for his next intense Parcheesi party. Loser! And now, so our Christmas Special doesn't last till NEXT Christmas, we cut to "Later That Night".]

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

[Then a strange, long-haired Japanese woman climbed out of his television set and told him BOB had seven days left to live.]

"It's humbug still!'' said Scrooge. "I won't believe it.''

BigB: This is literature, not reality TV!

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, ``I know him! Marley's Ghost!'' and fell again.

Bruce, the Evil New Zealander: Yeah, g'day. Sorry about all that noise before... opened the wrong door and fell down the cellar stairs. You need to put a light bulb in down there. Bugger of a thing to find your way back up.

BigB: Have you SEEN the price of light bulbs these days? Now go away. You're not real.

"Why do you doubt your senses?''

"Because,'' said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!''

[Huge pop.]

BigB: I'm glad we left that line in... it's a classic.

BtENZ: A cheap pop's a good pop, BOSS.

Humbug, I tell you; humbug!''

At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook itschain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon.

BtENZ: ARHHHHGH, I stubbed me bleeedin' toe! Stupid bloody chamber pot!

But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!

BtENZ: Aww, thod it! Thupid thing alwayth doth that!

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.

"Mercy!'' he said. ``Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?''

BtENZ: Look, mate... there's these three jokers who are gonna come visit you tonight, right? Three Evil Spirits. And I'm not talking about Jim Beam, Jack Daniels and Ron Rico, neither.

Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One.''

"Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?'' hinted Scrooge.

BtENZ: Nahhh, don't be a woofter, BOSS. Anyway, that's ya warning. I'm off for a pint of Steinlager.

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.

[Yep, BOB's special Effects budget just about stretched to a piece of fishing twine. Nice work, Flunky. Put it there!]

THUD!

BtENZ: OW! Me bloody fingers! Whydja let go of the string, Flunky?

The Flunky: (Off-screen) Sorry!

Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.

The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley's Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free.

BigB: Good Lord, it's the entire BOB roster! Subjugated, hopeless and in total mental anguish! Just the way they SHOULD be! Ha!

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!'' but stopped at the first syllable.

BigB: Hum! Hum, I say!

And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.

Santa Claus Is Coming, Part 1

"Ho, ho, ho....ho, ho, ho...ho, ho, ho," bellowed the man himself, Santa Claus.

"Hey, Santa," nine girls responded in their lustiest porn voices.

Santa sat in a sleigh, holding his sack, as he looked at the nine women he had gotten to replace his reindeer. At least, for the movie he was working on. Yes, Santa has gone into porn. He lost all his weight except for a small beer gut and had his white hair slicked back and his white beard tied up Captain Lou Albano-style.

"Have you girls been naughty?"

"Very naughty," the girls all responded.

"And, cut," the director said. "Sir Hungalot, it’s time for your closeup."

"Heh, don’t get too close. Santa, man, it’s an honor to meet you."

"Likewise. I loved your work in ‘Lord Of The Holes, Return To The Hole.’ Great ending to that menage a trois."

"Say, not-so-big-guy, why are you here anyway? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to deliver toys to all the boys and girls tonight?"

"Nah," Santa said, his eyes growing dark. "I’ve found a much better world. The world of porn! It all started when Mrs. Claus got us hooked up to broadband up in the North Pole. The rest is history."

"Dude, do you know how many little kids you’re going to disappoint tomorrow?" Sir Hungalot said, shocked by this development.

"It’s all about the Benjamins, Sir."

"Alright, people. Time for a big gangbang. And let’s get it right the first time. And, action."

Sir Hungalot stood there, still shocked as the reality that Santa Claus wouldn’t be coming to anybody’s home tonight.

"I said, ACTION," the director repeated. "Hungalot! Don’t tell me you forgot your two lines of dialogue!"

"Sorry," Hungalot said. "Santa, step aside. These hos need somebody who can ride them all night long without a sack full of Viagra!"

The Big Sir had delivered the line, and he took part in the gangbang. But his heart just wasn’t in it like it usually was. He knew he had to get Santa straightened up, and fast. It was Christmas Eve. It was up to him to save Christmas, with a little help from his friends.

Totally Face was going to save Christmas. Hopefully. Er...maybe?

How The Commentator Ruined Christmas, Part 1

"They’re gonna be so happy," DovE said as he exited the front door of his home and walked to his car with a sack full of presents. He was dressed up like Santa Claus. "Ah, it’s so much fun to be nice!"

At his car, he opened the passenger side door and stuffed his sack inside. He shut the door and turned around to see The Commentator standing there. He was also dressed up like Santa Claus.

"Hey, TC!" Dove exclaimed. "You look like me!"

"Screw you, DovE."

TC kicked DovE in the stomach and smashed his face into the hood of the car.

"Was it something I said?" DovE asked.

TC smashed his head into the hood again.

"This is fun!" DovE said, sounding a bit dazed.

"Give me the keys!" TC demanded.

"Only if you haven’t been drinking." DovE handed over the keys and TC dragged DovE towards the trunk.

"You ain’t gonna bring any presents up to those bastards on the BOB roster. They can all kiss my ass!"

"Bring the presents to who?!"

DovE was tossed in the trunk and TC slammed it shut.

"Now, to just take these presents on a little drive they’ll never forget. Merry Christmas, BOB! Mwahahaha."

His destination? The BBQ Hut in town at the mall. He arrived a few minutes later, grabbed the sack of toys and headed into the mall. Being dressed as Santa, well, he got quite a bit of attention. Children shouted excitedly. Mothers smiled seductively. Fathers waved. Other people did other things.

Inside the BBQ Hut, TC bought himself a vat of barbecue sauce. He dumped the sauce into all the presents that DovE was no doubt planning on giving out to the roster members up at the cabin later today. But now they were covered in barbecue sauce.

"I wonder where I could get some hellfire and brimstone to put on these presents?" TC wondered aloud.

"DovE! There you are!" a woman called. She was joined by three other men. "C’mon, your late."

"Late?" TC wondered.

Despite TC’s protests, they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him toward the center of the mall.

"Look who we found kids!"

TC looked around and saw dozens of kids waiting there.

"SANTA!" they all screamed.

"Awwww, hell..." TC said under his beard.

"It’s so great of you to pass out presents to all these homeless kids who literally would have never received anything if not for your generosity. Is the local newspaper here?"

"Right here!" a man with a camera responded. "Let’s get those kiddies up there and get us a photo."

"Aww, hell!" TC repeated.

"Benny? Could you wheel up little Joe?"

"Wheel up?" TC said to himself, since nobody else was listening to him.

That’s when a boy wheeled up another boy in a wheelchair.

"Aww, hell!" TC repeated as he was pulled into a special Santa chair.

The eyes of the local newspaper, last minute shoppers, employees and needy children were all upon TC.

"Hand out the gift to Joe," the woman told TC.

"Umm, ma’am, I’d rather not."

"What? Why? You have to. Just do it. You’re going to make their years."

Slowly, TC reached into his sack and pulled out a present dripping with barbecue sauce. Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty. Crying children. Pissed coordinators of some sort. A mall full of people.

A mob was quite quick to form. They chased TC from his seat, hitting him with bags full of presents, chasing him all the way to his car. He sped off, feeling guilty over the turn of events. This wasn’t at all what he had tried to do.

"Damn, DovE! Damn him to HELL!"

Reindeer Without A C(l)ause, Part 1

"That tree looks nice and big," Sarah said with a smile. "I want it."

"Are you going to help me carry it back to the winnebago?" Xamfir asked, looking up at the tree. "That’s huge. That’s huger than huge. It’s beyond huge," he emphasized with some hand gestures and finger pointing. "And I highly doubt we could put that monstronsity on the roof without it crushing in the roof, trapping us all inside as it bursts into flames the moment we start driving. Because, you know, God works in funny ways like that."

"No biggie, you’ve got the genie of a girlfriend, right?" Kay Fabe asked. "And, hello, witch, I could teleport it anywhere...I think."

"Hey! Standing right here. Don’t think you’re higher and mightier than me, you, redhead!"

Kay rolled her eyes at the weak insult.

"Relax guys. This is supposed to be all in fun. Sneaking onto somebody’s land, cutting down their tree and running away before they catch us or shoot us. It’s all about the teamwork," Sarah said, continuing to walk forward. "What about that one? Would that fit on the roof of the winnebago?"

"That’s much better," Xamfir said with a sigh of relief. "I came. And now I saw."

"Hey! Only I get to do funny puns," Sarah pouted.

"What? I’m due one once in a while."

"Yes. Just like he’s due multiple orgasms," Jeannie said, making the rest of the Shaggy Gang uncomfortable.

"This is going to be the dirtiest BOB show in history," Kay said, shaking her head. "Since when is Christmas all about the sex jokes, people?"

"It’s not ALL about sex. It’s also about the singing and the presents and the ho ho ho...ly crap." Sarah said, suddenly halting her dialogue.

The other Shaggy Gang members stopped and looked to see what Sarah was looking at. They had been surrounded by a group of reindeer, all decked out in sunglasses and leather jackets.

Dasher. Dancer. Prancer. Vixen. Comet. Cupid. Donner. Blitzen. Rudolph.

"Well...this is something I never thought I’d see," Kay said, staring wide-eyed, not knowing what in the hell they were going to do to get out of this situation.

At The Cabin, Part 2

A knock at the door grabbed LilBOSSes attention. He shuffled over, still feeling a bit woozy from vomiting. He opened the door and saw that StreetMime 2K3 had arrived.

"StreetMime!"

StreetMime responded with a wave and a smile.

"Come in."

StreetMime started for the door but suddenly stopped and began miming as if there was some sort of barrier up.

"Yeah, that bit isn’t old at all," LilBOSS said, rolling his eyes.

StreetMime began pointing at LilBOSS as if he were scolding him. " "

"Alright, I’m sorry."

"Step aside, freak," a voice said behind StreetMiime.

"Da Sassy Bitch? I thought J.C. Long was going to be here today?"

"Why would you ask me about that? Look. All I wanted to do was bring in a gay yule log and a fruit cake—"

"Hey, get your log out of my face," LilBOSS said, backing up a few steps."

Everyone inside began laughing.

...for all my friends in BOB I haven’t seen in so long."

"He’s so gay," Clinton said.

"I’M NOT GAY! That’s it, I’m out of here."

"Out like out of a closet?" Clinton asked.

"I’M NOT GAY!"

And just like that, Da Sassy Bitch was gone.

Inside, StreetMime has signed the peace treaty and now was passing out his gifts. Party hats. Of course, nobody could see the party hats because they were mime party hats. But it’s the thought that counts, right?

Another knock at the door brought LilBOSS back to it. Outside stood J.C. Long.

"You’re back so soon?"

"Whassup wit you? No, homie. This is the first time I’ve been here. And J.C. Long sure could go for a beer!"

"Why did you change your clothes? And your hair?"

"Yo, dawg, I’m J.C. Long, you can’t see me? I’m J.C. Long dude, not at all Sassy."

"Ohhhh, right," LilBOSS said with a wink. "Gotcha. Come in then. What did you bring us, J.C.?"

"Yo, dogg, I’m gonna unveil the latest Christmas rap. And I’m gonna make every other holiday song look like crap."

"You gonna talk in rhyme all show too? Because you’re going to burn out the script writer..."

"Nah, dawg, I’ll chill out. Peace!"

"Uh, word life," LilBOSS said, trying to shut the door, but instead, there was a loud clunking noise.

"HEY! Whacha think ya doin’ uncle?" came the reaction of...

"Urine," LilBOSS said, his voice filled with a load of not-caring-a-bit.

"Here," Urine said, handing LilBOSS a pitcher full of a yellow, foamy liquid.

"Dude!" LilBOSS shouted, trying to push it back at Urine.

"Let me tell you something, grandma! That’s orange juice, second-cousin-twice-removed! Relax, godfather!"

Santa Clause is Coming, Part 2

In a room of the home where the crew was filming "Santa Clause Is Coming," Santa, in his first starring role, sat alone, reading a comic book. That is, until he noticed 10 legs standing around him. He lowered the book and looked at all the familiar faces.

"Well I’ll be! If it isn’t Jim! And Brandon! And little Violent Pacifist! And Jean Bannister! And of course, my co-star, Sir Hungalot. What’s up fellas?" Santa asked.

"Dude, you totally have to deliver presents to all the little boys and girls of the world tonight. It’s Christmas Eve!" Jim said.

"I know it is. But...I’m in the middle of this porn film. I can’t just leave."

"We need Santa, dude," VP said. "We can’t look up to politicians, athletes or celebrities anymore. But you know what hasn’t changed in hundreds of years? You, dude. You remember what you left for me when I was eight years old? Does Mr. Bat ring a bell?"

That’s when VP pulled out the bat from behind his back and showed it to Santa.

"And I still carry him to the ring with me today. So many years later," VP said, trying to tug at Santa’s emotions. And it worked, as a frown appeared on Santa’s face.

"What about this," Bannister asked, showing Santa a certain hockey stick mascot. "Mr. Hockey Stick. You gave him to me, Santa. And I’ve been hitting bullies, hockey players and wrestlers with it ever since."

"Awww," Santa said, his chin quivering just a bit.

"You know what Santa brought me, guys?" Jim asked. "Toys. Lots and lots of toys. G.I. Joes. Transformers. Masters of the Universe. And man, I wish I had hung onto them. I could make a killing on eBay. Dude, think you could get me those toys back? You have magical powers, right? I promise I won’t break them, or throw them out, or lose them, or let Da Sassy Bitch ‘borrow them’ this time!"

"Sorry, I don’t have magical powers..." Santa said, his eyes tearing up a bit at all the nostalgia he was experiencing.

"I’ll never forget what you gave me, Santa," Brandon said. "Socks. Pairs and pairs of socks. Mmm...socks...nothing like waking up early and having packages of socks waiting for you under the tree."

"And me?" The Big Sir said, rounding off the trip down memory lane of past Christmases. "You remember a little movie called ‘Deep Throat?’ I sure do. You see, Santa, you shouldn’t be making movies. You should be out delivering them, gift-wrapped under the Christmas tree, to boys, and sure, any girls who dig porn."

And with that, Santa wept. "Oh, I am a bad Santa. Bad, bad Santa. Boys, you’re right!" Santa stood up. "Boys, you may have just saved Christmas."

"May have?" VP asked.

"Well. There are nine mighty pissed off reindeer. And I don’t know where in the world they could be by now."

At The Cabin, Part 3

LilBOSS opened the cabin door and shrieked at the figure he saw standing there. The figure of Albert DeSalvo. And he was holding a paper bag.

"Hey, uh, Albert. Say, you don’t have a severed head in that bag, I hope."

"Severed head? Nope." Albert reached inside and pulled out a jug of egg nog.

"Ahh, my favorite kind. Filled with alcohol! Come in, come in. Oh yes, please sign this peace treaty..."

A soft vrooming sound made LilBOSS pause before he shut the door. He peeked outside and saw The Next Big Thingee Dustbuster Boy approaching, carrying the Swiss Army Title in one hand and his trusty dustbuster in the other. He was escorted by BOB newcomers Steve Leary (who was carrying a microphone on a stand and a thermos) and John "Skeeter" Skeet (with a fly swatter and a basket full of laundry). They also had their newly won Pork & Beans Tag Team belts.

"Hey LilBOSS."

"Dusty! Great to see you. Great job on my car dudes, it looks GREAT!"

"Glad to help out. As you can see, I brought my dustbuster. We can use it to clean up. Say, is two-ish OK Saturday for me to clean your apartment?"

"Sure."

"Oh!" Leary shouted. "Here," he said, handing LilBOSS a fresh cup of coffee.

"And here’s your laundry, buddy," Skeeter said, handing it to LilBOSS.

"You guys are the best!" LilBOSS said. "I see big things for you in this business, boys."

Leary and Skeeter smiled from ear to ear.

"We just need to come up with a name for your little stable. How about...the Clean My House Club?"

"I like it," Leary said.

"Great, boss!" Skeeter agreed.

"It works on SO many levels. Genius!" Dustbuster Boy agreed.

"Well, we’ll keep thinking. I don’t know if the fans will get it. Our fans are very stupid, after all."

"We’re stupid too, boss," Leary said.

"Yep, VERY, uh, whatever you said," Skeeter agreed. "Say, can we get a shot at the Kent State Krew on the next show?"

"We’ll talk," LilBOSS said with a wink and a smile.

"Oh, somebody dropped something on the floor, I’ll get it," Dustbuster said. He put his dustbuster on top of something.

"Idiot, that’s a card, not a ball of dust. Use your fingers. It might work better," LilBOSS suggested.

So, Dustbuster Boy used his fingers and handed the card to LilBOSS. He ripped it open and read it aloud.

"’On this holiday, we are giving you people the best gift ever. Not showing up. Signed, Graphic Flatulence and Stinkbutt Nastyass.’ That’s the best present I could have ever asked for. I guess it’s a good thing those guys aren’t bookers here, or you boys would have to kiss some mighty, smelly ass."

"LOL! Yeah, BOSS," Leary said.

Skeeter grinned. "Right-o!"

How The Commentator Ruined Christmas, Part 2

With the faces of the disappointed crying small people fresh in his mind, The Commentator made a call to BILL. He had a reputation for helping out people backstage.

"Hello, BILL?"

"Yes?"

"I need help. You have a reputation for helping out people backstage."

"We already established that, TC. I can lend you Mr. X and BVD to help you out with your issue. But remember something, TC. You’re gonna owe me a favor somewhere down the road."

"By gawd, you got yourself a deal."

"Very well."

Not ten minutes later, BVD and Mr. X arrived.

"HOOOOOOO dooood!" BVD greeted.

"So, what’s the plan?"

"Get in the car," Mr. X answered.

As they drove, Mr. X laid out the plan. It was simple.

"Wait, we’re going to hijack a truck filled with toys and drive it back to town?" TC asked, just making sure he had heard Mr. X correctly.

"Who told you that?" Mr. X asked.

"You just did," TC said.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Mr. X responded. "We never had that conversation. Perhaps you are high on crack cocaine."

So, they hijacked a truck. They drove it back to the mall and were lucky to find that all the children were still outside the mall, singing songs for the shoppers in hopes of getting some pity in the form of coins. Mr. X drove the big truck right up to the sidewalk and TC got on the roof of the truck. His salvation was so just a heartbeat away. Or so he thought.

BVD opened up the back. "HOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Remember, the line is ho, ho, ho. Not a long hooooo. OK?"

"HOOOOOOO!" BVD responded, giving TC a thumbs up. "HOOOOOOOOOO! HOOOOOOOOOO! HOOOOOOOOO!"

"Merry Christmas everyone. I’d like to apologize for the earlier barbecue sauce fiasco with hijac—I mean, presents from the real Santa Claus. You see, kids, I am not the real Santa Claus. I am just a commentator for a wrestling promotion. But Santa trusted me by giving me this suit. And I let him down. So, please take these toys as a way to say, I won’t press any charges against you!"

With that, BVD tossed out toys to all the needy boys and girls. Mr. X and BVD then got on top of the truck. Then, TC decided they should all sing.

"Let’s all sing."

"I don’t sing," Mr. X said.

"Why not?"

"Don’t know how."

"Just fake it."

"HOOOOOO!" BVD said.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?. Should blah blah blah yeah da da duh, blah blah, yeah yeah yeah yeah."

The kids all groaned at the awful singing. And as it continued with a bunch more blahs, yeahs and duhs, one boy chucked a toy right at Mr. X, hitting him in the head. It was just the opening shot. The singing heels were pelted with toys until they shut up, took shelter in their truck and drove away.

Far, far away.

Many minutes past in silence in the truck.

"Well, that didn’t go very well, did it," TC said.

The members of the JEWS only glared at him.

Reindeer Without A C(l)ause, Part 2

"Xamfir, look out!" Sarah called, but, it was already too late.

Xamfir got antlered from behind.

"YEEEOW! Hey! I don’t even let Jeannie put her finger up there!" Xamfir said, grabbing at his behind.

"BWAHAHA," came the callous laugh of Blitzen, who had lived up to his name with the surprise attack.

"Listen, I’m sure we can work this out," Sarah pleaded.

"Whatever, fatty," Vixen said to Sarah. "You know what you are, girl? Fat and ugly."

"I am not," Sarah protested. "I’m pretty and thin."

"Whatever, fugly," Comet added.

"Why must you call us names? Rudolph?"

"Yes, ugly?"

"There was a time when all these reindeer used to call YOU names, you know."

"Yeah, I’ve heard the song, stupidhead," Rudolph responded, his nose growing bright red. "Just shut your mouth poopiebreath."

"I do NOT have poopie breath," Sarah said, putting her hand to her mouth, blowing and then trying to sniff, just to make sure.

"What are you reindeer rebelling against anyway?" Kay Fabe asked.

"What have you got?" Donner responded.

Suddenly, the tension was cut by a cellular phone ringing to the tune of "Jingle Bells." Blitzen answered the call.

"Hello?" His little deer mouth dropped open in shock. "It’s...Santa!" he announced.

"Is that a good?" Sarah wondered.

"Still stuck on the fact that Blitzen has a cell phone and I don’t..." Kay said.

At The Cabin, Part 4

"You brought a Christmas rap too?" LilBOSS asked.

"You betta believe it, little man," replied Pete "Xfactor" Trable as he signed the peace treaty. "And what do you mean too?"

"J.C. Long also has a Christmas rap."

"Oh, is that right. I guess we’ll have to have ourselves some Christmas rapping then. See whose keepin’ it real in BOB for the oh-three."

"Uh, yeah. G’s up, hos down," LilBOSS said, about to shut the door when he noticed somebody limping out there. "Champ!"

It was indeed BOB’s ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, Massive Man Rendition First. "How’s the, uh, big toe doing?"

"Good. I’m hoping it’ll heal sometime before November."

"Really? That serious, huh?"

"Yep, but I’m a trooper. Doc says I can go on wrestling as long as I use the toe guard," Massive Man said. "I’m all about sacrificing my body for this sport I love."

"So...what’d ya bring?" LilBOSS wondered.

"I am giving everyone the greatest present: My presence."

"Nice. So where are they?" LilBOSS asked.

"Where are what?"

"Your presents. Where are the presents?"

"No, no, my presents is my presence," Massive Man said, trying to explain the confusion.

"So...where are the presents? In the car?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, sign this peace treaty and then I’ll help bring your presents in for everybody."

"Scotty Whatbody has arrived!" the man himself announced from the doorway. "Where is Candy? I brought something special for her."

"Is that mistletoe you have hanging over your crotch?" LilBOSS asked sternly.

"Yeah?"

"You are just a walking lawsuit, aren’t you? At least hang that up over a doorway."

"Spoil sport," Scotty said, shutting the door behind himself and hanging the mistletoe up above the door. "But I’m on door duty."

"Fine, fine. I have to help Massive Man with his presents anyhow."

"Dude. Let me try and explain this once more," Massive Man started, walking into the crowd of BOBsters.

Mountaintop Madness

"Glad to see you could make it," Kamikazie Ken said.

"porqué usted quisiera que le satisficiera para arriba en la tapa de esta montaña traidora, el muchacho azul?"

"Well, we never did finish off that best of seven series of ours. Why not end it with a little bit of a suicidal race down the mountain. Why be like all those other softies and take a stupid road and driving a car or walking when the road less traveled is much more fun. Treacherous woods. Sharp rocks."

That’s when Kamikazie Ken suddenly realized Insano Mano had already taken a head-first dive and was body surfing down the mountain.

"This is why I should talk less..."

With that, Ken took two steps backward and then charged forward onto his back, using his cape almost like a slide, but that wouldn’t last long as the cape shredded into hundreds of pieces and Ken began tumbling like a ball.

After several seconds of tumbling, falling, and rolling through branches, rocks, ice and snow, both men fell off a rock ledge which dropped them straight down onto a small frozen lake.

Mano slowly lifted his head up. Ken slowly lifted his head up.

CRACK

SPLASH

Both men were tired, but managed to swim to the surface. The ice broke away as they swam toward the edge.

"Oww, stop biting me," Ken yelled at Mano.

"No le estoy mordiendo, poopooheado."

"Piranha! I thought they were TROPICAL fish!"

"Tropical, cómico. ¡Ay-yi-yi! ¡Mis tuercas!"

Suddenly, both Mano and Ken were pulled from the water by a creature with inhuman strength. Ken and Mano both stared in horror at the creature.

"Bigfoot!"

"Grr...Argh...Yur....Hee," responded the mythic creature, before running away.

"Oh my God!" Kamkorder Kid yelled from just a ways away. "You’ll never believe what I just got incredibly shaky footage of that mysterious creature walking in the same area as you guys!"

"Give me that," Ken said, grabbing the camera. He hit Kamkorder Kid over the head with the camera. "Thank you."

Mano took off running again. Ken charged right after him. After sliding through an icy path, they came to a sudden opening.

THUD

"Dude!" a snowmobiler shouted in surprise after hitting Mano in the head.

"Crap santo!" Insano Mano shouted as he was dragged further down the mountain on his backside. "No pare!"

"What?" the snowmobiler asked.

"Más rápidamente!"

Meanwhile...

THUD

"Ahhhh!" yelled Ken.

"Whoa!" a different snowmobiler shouted after colliding with Ken’s head. "What place are you in!" Ken shouted after a two-second blackout and he realized he was in a race.

"I’m in seventh dude!"

"Hmm. I have an idea!"

Mano, somehow, had moved himself up so he was being dragged on one boot. He looked back and saw as Ken pulled himself up and balanced himself on one foot.

Mano looked down and saw a submachine gun in this snowmobiler’s vehicle. He grabbed it and aimed at Ken and began firing. At the sound of the machine gun fire, Ken looked down and grabbed a submachine gun of his own and began firing back at Mano. Neither man connected with any of the thousands of bullets they shot, amazingly, and the race continued.

Mano, who was in the lead, looked down and found a banana. He stripped the banana and ate it, and then dropped the peel on the track.

CRASH CRASH CRASH CRASH CRASH

Five snowmobiles taken out by one banana peel. Not bad...

But Ken’s snowmobile was not one of them. He found himself a rope and tied it up. He began twirling it overhead and launched it.

Mano tried to duck out of the way, but couldn’t. It cinched in around his throat. Ken and Mano stared at each other. Mano’s eyes went wide with terror.

Ken jumped off his snowmobile.

Mano was violently pulled off of his, and both men began a violent, tumbly roll down the remainder of the mountain.

Both men landed face first in some blood-stained snow. Ken rolled over onto his back and saw the cabin just a few yards away. He saw Mano was still flat on his back, so Ken quickly stood up.

SNAP

"Ahh, my leg!" Ken roared out.

That’s when he heard the roar of a mountain lion. Ken turned around and saw two mountain lions walking towards him and Mano. Mano was up on his feet. That’s when he looked down and saw what he had landed on.

A mountain lion.

"Chillidos," Mano said.

"What?" Ken asked, turning around. "Ohh. It’s OK, Mano. We can beat them up."

"Realmente?"

"It’s Christmas, man. It’s all about the spirit of giving. Now let’s show these two little mountain lions what it’s all about."

Mano nodded at Ken. Both men stepped forward. The only difference was Mano kept running forward toward the lions. He turned his head when he noticed Ken was no longer beside him and saw him hobbling toward the cabin. He then turned back around and saw the two lions leaping for him!

"Ay-yi-yi!" Mano screamed out. He continued to scream as Ken hopped the rest of the way toward the cabin. He looked back and paused. Looked at the front door of the cabin. Looked back at Mano and the lions. Then the front door. Looked at Mano. Then the front door. Then Mano.

Ken sighed and started to head back to help Mano.

"Hey Ken!" Candy Cantaloupes greeted. Ken turned around and his jaw dropped open. "Like my special Christmas stockings?"

Candy was dressed in a teeny red skirt with that white Santa frill and a tight, low-cut red top to match. She had on thigh-high red stockings and red high heels. To Ken, she looked like one of Santa’s little sluts, if ever he decided to give up elves for porn stars...as if THAT would ever happen.

"Say, you look hurt. Need help getting inside? I can be your Candy cane. Get it?"

"Eh, Mano’ll be fine," Ken said quietly to himself, hobbling toward Candy, even as Mano continued to scream in the distance.

Christmas Rapping

"Yo! Yo! Can we have your short attentions!" Pete Trable called out to his fellow wrestlers. "Me and this inferior rapper seem to have both brought y’all a new Christmas rap. So, it’s about time we kick it. And see whose got more jingle to go with their balls. You ready, Long?"

"Hellz yeah," Long replied.

"The floor is yours, beyotch," Trable said, stepping aside.

"Yo, this is a song I like to call Little Drummer G! Kick it!"

Some generic beats were played and Long started his rap.

"Die, them pigs told me, a rata tat tat. Just a flesh wound, a rata tat tat. Came back and smoked some pork a rata tat tat. Buried him in New York a rata tat tat. Rata tat tat. Rata tat tat. So I bang some bitch a rata tat tat. Then I come."

The BOBsters looked around, a tad confused by the poor parody, if you could even call it a parody.

"Little G a rata tat tat. I’m a gangsta too a rata tat tat. I got a gun to shoot a rata tat tat. It’s fit to kill a bitch a rata tat tat. Rata tat tat. Rata tat tat. Shall I shoot for you a rata tat tat. With my gun."

"Hold the muthaphuckin’ phone!"

The music stopped. Everyone looked to the door and saw, none other than, Sleazy-C. He was back in BOB (at least for this show) fresh off his stint in Action! Wrestling, where he’d been a supporting player for Kurt Angel.

"Wiggaz, pleeze! Shut da phuck up and letta real muthaphuckin jobba kick it!"

With that, Sleazy’s friends from Action came in. They were Claire Voyant, a busty brunette bitch; Wilma, a mousy brunette chick was dressed up like a librarian; Inutu, a blonde girl dressed up like a security guard; a Chinese woman named Kara Yoki; and Kurt Kobain, a dude with brown hair who looked eternally depressed and suicidal. Kara wheeled in a karaoke machine and hit a button. We had ourselves some rap beats playing. Sleazy grabbed the microphone from Steve Leary and started rapping.

"Merry muthafuckin' Christmas and a ho ho ho! While I'm ridin' that cock under the mistle toe. Now dashin' through the snow. In a candy right top 6-4. Over the hills I go. Laughin' at this ho. Nuts on her chin ring. Makin' me feel right. Oh what fun it is to know that I'm gonna get this pussy tonight. So...ring them bells, ring them bells, she’s takin' it all the way. Oh what fun it is to watch her suck my dick this way."

"HEY!" the BOBsters shouted back.

"Ring them bells, ring them bells, she’s takin' it all the way. Oh what fun it is to nut, while she's suckin' my dick oh yay! Tis the season to get bit. Jobton crime lick and I'm smokin' on this stick."

Scotty Whatbody walked up to Claire. "Ho ho ho come sit on my face. I mean lap and tell me what you want for Christmas. Ho ho!"

Claire responded by grabbing the mic from Sleazy and breaking into rap.

"I want a slay ride. A CD player. A fifty rum. She said slide down the chimney in a pool of cum. A VCR on a set with nuttin but porno flicks. Give that to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. To that rum like a everlastin' gobstoper. Give me a hump for his cock will be a party poppa. I jobba ho, crack a dough, by the North Pole. I'm wanna be havin' fun fuckin' in tha snow. I made him drop to his knees yeah you know what’s up. A nut crack candy canes eat 'em up. Bon appetite, with a condom in a nut tree."

With that, Sleazy grabbed back the mic. "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. My two front teeth, my two front teeth. All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. Yo where’s ya rhyme tell Pete."

Sleazy tossed the mic over to Trable. "Pete Trable is a waskal. That's no Christmas and all the toys, boys and girls fuck ya wishes. I got happy over joy in this muthafucka. No endo under my tree so Santa be a sucka. Bullshit on the roof caught with Rudolph’s nut. When I was young I was the only kid who had enough guts to be good ole hearin' on the East. Stay awake just to let America know that Santa was a fake. I used to believe in Saint Dick when Elvis was alive but all the fuckin' bullshit got played when I was five. Years oh just stay young, bold datin' singin' Silent Night Carolin' Recitin'. Now all I want for Christmas is my endo wreath. I got my two front teeth. Uncle Sleazy be the chief just spread me a leaf. Little kids don't cry when you find out the Santa Claus is just a fuckin' lie.

The mic was tossed back to Sleazy-C.

"On the third day of Christmas my homeboys gave to me...three pounds of endo, two birds of cocaine, and an A muthafuckin' K. Bitch."

All the girls from Sleazy’s posse broke into a chorus behind him. "Sleazy-C oh Sleazy-C. Show us how you treat those bitches. I saw mommy fuckin' Sleazy-Clause."

Sleazy shouted back "Close the door little bitch, I'm gettin' these draws."

"I'm a tell my daddy if ya ass don't stop," the girls responded.

"I don't give a fuck, I'm gettin' Christmas cock," Sleazy rapped back. "Ho ho ho and away I go."

The girls rapped back with "Oh Saint Nick’s got a dick like a pole, well where’s this shit. This muthafucka’s cheatin’."

"Shut the fuck up bitches and go back to sleep."

Everyone in the room suddenly began singing/rapping in a scene that could best be compared to the singing scene from a Garfield special (the one where their mouths exaggerate every word), except this one wasn’t a cartoon.

"Merry Muthafuckin' Christmas. Merry Muthafuckin' Christmas. Merry Muthafuckin' Christmas. And have a fucked up new year." That line was repeated four times before Sleazy capped off the song with a "You biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!!"

LilBOSS stood in the corner of the room, hands over his face. "If we don’t get sued for this lyrical theft, it’ll truly be a Christmas miracle."

Santa Clause Is Coming, Part 3

Santa Clause had left the set of the porno and he was off with what remains of Totally Face (Jim, Brandon, Violent Pacifist, Sir Hungalot and Jean Bannister). Now, they were in a restaurant.

"Eat, Santa, eat!" VP urged.

"What will you have?" a waitress asked the boys.

"Everything!" Santa responded. "Ho, ho, ho!"

"Yes sir!" the waitress responded.

The boys chatted. The food arrived. Santa began to eat.

And he ate.

And he ate.

And he ate.

And he belched.

And he ate.

And he burped.

And he ate.

And then everyone realized beer would help put on some pounds.

"It wouldn’t be the first year I was drunk. But let’s no revisit that SUI I got."

"SUI?" Jim asked.

"Sleighing Under the Influence. I got off with a warning though. Luckily, I’d given the judge’s daughter some Barbie thing..."

And he ate and he drank and he burped and he ate some more.

And he drank and he puked and he continued to eat.

And he burped and he farted and he ate and he drank.

He made a long trip to the bathroom and needed new clothes.

"Ah, screw it, let’s just get him some baggy clothes and put some padding inside," Violent Pacifist suggested.

"You think of that NOW?" Brandon asked.

Reindeer Without A C(l)ause, Part 3

In the woods, the daylight was giving way to night. The Shaggy Gang chatted with the reindeer, who were now in a much less insult-oriented mood.

"And hey, Xamfir. Sorry about that whole antlering you thing," Blitzen said.

"No big. I’ll just have Jeannie massage it later."

Everyone let out a gag of disgust.

"And thanks for that disturbing mental picture scar," Sarah said.

Quicker than you can say bad editing, Santa Clause had arrived with Totally Face.

Santa looked at his reindeer, which all gathered around him to see what the less-big-than-usual guy had to say.

"So, we should probably get to that BOB party. I’m sure they’re waiting for the tree. You guys need a ride?" Sarah asked the Totally Face boys.

"Yeah, thanks, Sarah," The Big Sir said. "Say, have you ever considered being in a porn movie?"

Totally Face and the Shaggy Gang worked together and carried the tree back to the winnebago. As they loaded it up and looked back at Santa’s emotional reunion with his reindeer, there was one thought on Jean Bannister’s mind.

"It’s a good thing he only has to cover America tonight, or the rest of the world would be pissed."

Pissed, indeed.

The reindeer took their places at the lead of Santa’s magical sleigh and took off.

"HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Santa’s voice bellowed through the night.

"Let’s roll!" Xamfir shouted. The winnebago fired into life and they were on the way to the cabin.

The 12 Days of Christmas

"And next on our show. Snapmare Kid would like to perform a carol with a bit of a BOB twist," LilBOSS announced to the BOBsters at the cabin, who all turned their attention to the front of the cabin. "I know he’s known as the Snapmarer, but tonight, he’s gonna wow us with another skill. Or something. So here he is."

LilBOSS clapped, as did some of the BOBsters. SMK approached the microphone with an acoustic guitar. After clearing his throat, SMK said "Well, this is to a little tune called the 12 Days of Christmas. Once you know the words, feel free to sing along. Here we go.

"On the first day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... a cartridge from his old Atari."

Some chuckles from the crowd.

"On the second day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me...two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the third day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari."

Slowly, the BOBsters were catching on and singing along. The egg nog was helping many of them "get in the spirit" to sing.

On the fourth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the fifth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... FIVE PUSSY JOKES!"

"WOOHOO!" Scotty yelled out. "This song rules!"

"Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the sixth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... six Shaggies slaying."

Everyone joined in already for this one: "FIVE PUSSY JOKES!"

"Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the seventh day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs and a cartridge from his old Atari."

The crowd was into the song now, laughing, singing and cheering along.

"On the eighth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... eight obvious bladejobs, seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the ninth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... nine lesbians in pudding, eight obvious bladejobs, seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari."

Undietaker entered the room and LilBOSS went over to tell him about the peace treaty as Snapmare Kid continued to get a good reaction from the room.

On the tenth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... ten promises a breaking, nine lesbians in pudding, eight obvious bladejobs, seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs and a cartridge from his old Atari. On the eleventh day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me... eleven brawlers brawling, ten promises a breaking, nine lesbians in pudding, eight obvious bladejobs, seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs, and a cartridge from his old Atari."

Undietaker had taken a spot next to SMK and was nodding his head as he enjoyed the song.

"I wanna hear everybody on this last one!" SMK shouted, getting cheers from the fellow BOBsters. On the twelfth day of Christmas the BigBOSS gave to me...twelve jobbers jobbing, eleven brawlers brawling, ten promises a breaking, nine lesbians in pudding, eight obvious bladejobs, seven yawns from ranting, six Shaggies slaying, FIVE PUSSY JOKES! Four blown spots, three bounced checks, two screw jobs...and a cartridge from his old Atari!"

The crowd cheered and clapped as SMK did his guitar finish. SMK smiled and looked around, then noticed Undietaker standing next to him.

"Hey, Taker."

"SMK. You know what they say, Snapmare? ‘Tis the season of giving."

RIIIIIIIIP

Undietaker walked away with SMK’s undies.

"Why am I not surprised he didn’t bring anything," LilBOSS mumbled to himself.

A Christmas Carol, Part 2

[Okay, back to the classics. We'll skip ahead to the first ghost, to save our MTV-addicted, ADD-suffering youth tuning out.]

The figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body.

BigB: Looks like Insano Mano and Kamikazie Ken after the "Giant Cusinart" Match...

"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?'' asked Scrooge.

Ted the Sarcastic Fratboy: No dude, I'm the Easter Bunny. *snicker*

BigB: Ted, the Sarcastic Fratboy? What are you doing here? I only borrowed you from the STWF for one night and we never even used the segment!

TtSF: Or paid me... that was a high-spot of my career, dude. *snicker* That's why I'm here. I'm like, the Ghost of Creditors Past!

"Long past?'' inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

"No. Your past.''

BigB: I'm screwed, aren't I?

TtSF: Like Monica, dude. *snicker*

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

"Rise! and walk with me!''

TtSF: And like, walk quick so people don't notice these cheesy blue-screen effects. You're like, the Peter Jackson of pro-wrestling, dude. Not.

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground. ``Good Heaven!'' said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. ``I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!''

BigB: Why, I passed my first bad check in that very store there! And there's Old Mr. Johnson's place! I still remember the day I got his to sign his welfare check over to me. What a nice, senile old man he was!

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air.

BRAPPPP!

Stinkybutt Nastyass: Pardon me, squire.

"You recollect the way?'' inquired the Spirit.

"Remember it!'' cried Scrooge with fervour; "I could walk it blindfold.''

BigB: My parents used to make me walk it blindfold! It was a logic test, I think, like the time they changed all the locks, or when they moved to Kansas without telling me...

"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!'' observed the Ghost. "Let us go on.''

They walked along the road; Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree;

BigB: Yes, I sold most of them to gullible travellers... ahh, what wonderful memories.

until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.

[How nice. Makes me want to take to it with a flamethrower. Is there a point to all of this?]

TtSF: Yeah, dude, I'm supposed to show the old dude his past, so he can, like, become a better man, y'know.

[Is it working?]

BigB: (Dreamily) And there's the Josephen's store, where I ran my rigged craps games! And there's the bar I nearly put out of business by selling their stock to the Mob!

TtSF: Uh, yeah... surrre it is. *snicker*

[It is? Good, we can cut the rest of this chapter, then.]

TtSF: Dude, wait, I was being sarcast...

====================

[Okay, later that same Christmas Classic...]

The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed. It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation.

[Yep, the BigBOSSes bedroom is now a stark white room full of TV monitors. On each one, the BigB's startled face. And in the center, a familiar figure in mirrored sunglasses.]

Seth Harker: Ahhh... Mr. Granger. I've been expecting you.

BigB: Okay, this is freakin' me out... How much did we spend on this set! I want to see figures, people!

Several dozen BigBOSSes on the TVs: How much did we spend! FIGURES! I wanna see figures! Show me the figures! HOW MUCH? Show it to me!

"Come in!'' exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in. and know me better, man!''

BigB: When did you turn into a hippy, Harker?

SH: Chill, man. And listen up... for I am the Ghost of Coolness Present. Look upon me.

BigB: Okay, have it your way...

"You have never seen the like of me before!'' exclaimed the Spirit.

BigB: Actually, I saw you this morning at the booking meeting...

"Spirit,'' said Scrooge submissively, "conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now.

BigB: And I have one HELL of a hangover! ECHO!

Several dozen BigBOSSes on the TVs: ECHO! ECHO! ECHO! ECHO!

SH: Please. Don't do that.

"Touch my robe!''

BigB: The hell I will!

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.

BigB: I don't care what Dickens says, I'm not doing it!

SH: Fine, we'll do it your way. Look at the TV's.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk.

Coma: Narf, poink, weeble! Can you fluff the ostrich, mother?

SH: You see, BigBOSS? Your humble servant, Bob "Coma" Cratchett, his wife Martha and his assorted children we can't show, since you wouldn't spring for the extras.

BigB: Hey, I let Hardcore JJ play Tiny Tim! I even gave him a crutch!

SH: Yes, one that was broken in a hardcore match last week. Notice how he keeps falling over?

[One meagre meal later...]

Then Bob proposed:

"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!''

Which all the family re-echoed.

"God bless us every one!'' said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

Hardcore JJ: WHAT? I said God Bless every one of us sumbitches! What?

"Spirit,'' said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "tell me if Tiny Tim will live.''

SH: Not unless you take him out of Kamikazie Kens "Self-Immolation Invitational Tournament".

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about.

Stone: Bollocks!

2nd Stone: Knickers!

"What place is this?'' asked Scrooge.

"A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,'' returned the Spirit.

BigB: And this concerns me how?

SH: No idea, but we had the footage lying around. Okay, Scrooge... It's decision time. There are two doors in this room. Leave by the door on your left, and you will continue to be an unloved, tightfisted miser. Leave by the right...

SLAM!

SH: (looking left) Why am I not surprised? Hmm.. I wonder if these TV's can pick up cable? Come in, Skin-imax!

BigB: Okay, where am I now? Detached Narrator, a little help here?

[Beats me, we abandoned the plot about ten minutes back.]

XXXtreme Machine: boo

BigB: Oh, God. Who are you?

XM: teh gost of angles yt 2 cum

BigB: Okay, give me the clip-board. Hmm, who wrote these angles, Trey Vincent?

XM: yea

BigB: Should have guessed. Tell him yes, yes, no, forget it, only if the ratings slip, yes, no and the hell with that one. Are we done with this stupid segment yet?

[Sure, just let me throw in the final couple of paragraphs from that Dickens hack.]

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!

BigB: That doesn't make any sense! I didn't change a bit! Besides, what was that "intercourse with spirits" crack meant to mean? That I get drunk and try to screw things? That hasn't happened in MONTHS! I hate Christmas! Bah, humbug!

[And another Christmas Classic trashed byond repair. Our work here is done! Merry Xmas, suckers!]

At The Cabin, Finale

And one by one, they all arrived. The winnebago with the Shaggy Gang and Totally Face arrived. Death showed up with the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Title Belt. The Agency finally arrived after escaping from the mall. BigBOSS mingled with all his underlings.

Mr. Paradox tried to explain how Christmas works to Sir Zeno most of the day while they tried to hitchhike to the cabin. Oddly, for the most part nobody was willing to stop for a green-haired, party-masked bishounen and his manservant. The Cliché Moths were kicked out of the cabin because when they performed one of their songs, they shouted "let’s burn this mother down," enticing Kevin The Pyromaniac to pull out a lighter. He was also ejected.

By the end, everyone who is on the Mildly Active Roster as of the writing of this show was there. And some who aren’t on that roster. And all the announcers and staff people like Mike Monroe, Flunky and Eddie B (whose "presents" were a big "hit"). Yes, even Detached Narrator was there.

[You are the most boring fucking narrator ever, by the way.]

Why, because I don’t resort to swearing and embarrassing people like you?

[Well, yeah.]

"Hey, did anybody else notice that nobody bothered to bring any food?" Massive Man Rendition First asked.

Everyone grumbled.

[Did I mention how much I hate all of you stupid sons of bitches? Well I do. But you know what? I’m hungry. And I know you all are hungry. And whatever. So, just remember I hate all of you. Fuckers.]

"What are you saying?" BigBOSS asked.

That was when the Christmas miracle happened. On the big dining room table, a feast appeared from thin air. Turkey. Chicken. All sorts of vegetables. Soups. Pasta. Chinese. Mexican. Indian. Thai. Fish. It was a Christmas bounty.

[And I hate all you fuckers. Now let’s eat.]

Everyone approached the table, grabbed a plate and dug in, piling food upon food.

"Say BOSS, is this really food, or are we all just hallucinating and dying of hunger?" LilBOSS asked BigBOSS.

"Who cares! Merry Christmas to all!"

"AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!" the rest of the roster said.


© 2003 BOB Wrestling. Happy Birthday!

 

© BOB Wrestling!

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