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MONDAY MORNING MAYHEM 15!

FIFTEEN MAYHEMS IN THE MAKING!

(It's MONDAY! And you know what that means! Yes, we are LIVE from The Un-named Arena in Hells' Buttocks, Arizona! (The second-smuttiest place name in the continental United States) The Shouty Rock Song With The Undechiperable Lyrics is playing as we get a montage of BOB Superstars. Every second shot is of Steve Studnuts, just for the cheap pop this garners in Arizona. Hell, even Mike Monroe is wearing a "Beefy Jerkweed" T-shirt ($19.95). Scotty is risking his life by wearing a "Nethry U" shirt and carrying a Half-Price Neigeboard. Coma is dressed like he wandered past a clothing store that exploded while carrying a tin of paint in each hand.)

MM: Hello and WELCOME to Monday Morning Mayhems' FIFTEENTH EPISODE EXTRAVAGAZA! Boy, have we got a show for you today?

SW: Have we?

MM: I just asked you that question... Lazy-Ass BigBOSS...

Coma: Gleep! Johan is a German, but I'm not mad! Hamsters at 5 o'clock, Neville! Nyeeeewwwwww.... budda budda budda!

MM: Anyway, fans, it appears that we have some bad news to relay. Something happened to Billy Polar this weekend. I don't know what transpired or the extent of his injuries, but, I WILL keep you posted on his condition.

SW: What are you talking about? I haven't heard anything about this! What's going on?

MM: Well, it's just that this is Monday and Billy Polar isn't talking, so SOMETHING must be wrong!

(Suddenly, they are interrupted by the "BOB-Tron". douja and Billy Polar can be seen inside a dusty, orange VW van. Apparently, they are driving to the arena or something. The van's "exhaust fumes" must be getting to them as they are both singing.)

BP: (in a barbershop quartet voice) Oh, I shot the sheriff!

douja:But I din'nit shoot da de-pu-ty! Huh huh.

BP: Man, what a great day it is! Look at the sun up there! Wow, man. Wow. Hey, douja, quick! Pull over!

(The van pulls up to a taco truck parked in front of a factory. A few workers are enjoying a smoke and a quick lunch. Billy walks up to them wearing dark sunglasses and a skaters' beanie. Suddenly he takes them off.)

BP: Hey everybody, I'm Billy Polar! Yes, that's right! It's Billy Polar, dammit! Ha-haha-haha!

(The factory workers, mostly Mexican, look at him with indifference and annoyance. Billy then laughs like a schizo as he jumps back in the van and it peels out.)

BP: Whoo! Did you SEE that, douja! I just blew their minds! That was fun. People just love seeing famous people. And you know, hey. When I'm in a good mood, as I am today, I just really feel motivated to just....give a little back to the fans that made me, you know. Kind of help the working man out. That type of thing. Light up their lives and such. Philanthropy! That's the word!

douja:Dat's right, foo'! We famous now, dogg. And we takin' dis muthafuckin' piece-a-shit podunk fed to new highs!

BP: We already have, my friend. We already have. Hey, there's the arena!

(The van pulls up and parks. A "Dirty Cars Attract Dirty Women" bumper sticker can barely be made out. "Sinister Dennister" is waiting there with a microphone.)

Dennis: Billy, if you please, might I secure some comments as to who the number one contender for the OWTTM title is?

BP: No! I'll announce that at the end of the night. I'm still deliberating....

(Billy Polar then fake-elbows douja in the ribs twice and winks at him. The camera then focusses back in on Dennis.)

Dennis: Well, there you have it, fans. It's still a mystery. Back to you, Mike.

BP: Hey! Give me that! I'M NOT FINISHED, DAMMIT! (pointing at himself) BILLY POLAR!!! I've gotten a few memos from the BigBOSS lately, suggesting that I should soon defend MY Swiss Army title. I just don't understand it. Haven't we established that I'm Billy Polar? I mean, who can possibly defeat I, Billy Polar? I'm THE greatest white luchador in the world, bar none.. I've only held the belt for a week or two and I'm already the greatest Swiss Army titlist thatthere's ever been, ESPECIALLY if you count all the other Swiss Army champions, and any other champion for that matter.

SW: And that is the TRUTH, Mike. If he says it, it must be true. He IS our commissioner, after all, and he's the one who's authorized to make these calls.

MM: (with his arms folded) Well, if this weren't BOB, it wouldn't be true....#grumble#

BP: SOOOO, what I'm gonna do is this. The only person worthy, in my eyes, would be someone who has the stamina, the perseverance, and the sobriety to defeat three other competitors. YES THAT'S RIGHT! A tournament! Round one starts tonight with the Dyslexic Avenger versus, uh, that Big Hungry Giant guy?

Dennis: Wow, good show, ol' boy. That will certainly aid our falling ratings.

SW: Bohemoth fighting the Avenger? Where's my walkman?

MM: No, wait! I'm pretty sure he's talking about Massawa, the Mighty Emaciated One.

BP: Falling ratings? What are you talking about? Don't they know that I, Billy Polar, am doing the booking?

Dennis: Yes, I think that's the problem. COINCIDENCE! I said "coincidence". Don't hit me! Please!

BP: (lowering his fist) Oh, man. Low ratings. What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? DON'T PANIC! What if....what if we tried to pander to a new demographic? What about the six-year-old female market? No federation's ever tried to corner that one!

D: Uhhh, actually, the WWF made an attempt a few years ago. A succession of clowns, I believe. Evidently unsuccessful, however.

BP: Damn! Clowns that wrestle! Not even BOB can top that. What are we gonna do?! Wait! I got it! I know how to boost ratings! A ladder match!

Dennis: I'm sorry, Billy. This is BOB. All we have are step-ladders, I'm afraid.

BP: Damn! I can fix this. I've been to Harvard, dammit! THAT'S IT! Got low ratings? Hardcore match!

Dennis: Uhhhhhhh....

Coma: Poink? Mibble fwibble!

SW: BWAAAA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!! WAAAAA-HA-HAAAAA!!

MM: Cut Scotty's mic off quick, before Billy hears! I apologize, ladies and gentlemen. Our commissioner-slash-comedian in rare form tonight.

BP: You heard right, fans!Call your friends! It's VP and douja! TONIGHT!! Well, this morning!

(The crowd pops big-time for the Amoral Anti-fighter.)

SW: Wow, I didn't know douja was that popular. It's sad, but that's just a commentary on today's society, I'm afraid. Legalize it already!

MM: Shut up, Scotty! The audience of course reacting to the mention of the Violent Pacifist, one of the top contenders for the OWTTM title.

SW: Ooh, and the next target for douja, it looks like. A pacifist versus a procrastinating pot-head. I can't wait to see the intensity of that match.

douja:Yo yo, das right! Vp, your ass is grass an I mean ta smoke it, muthafucka! I'm outie!

(Billy Polar slaps his own forehead in frustration.)

BP: Yeah, later. Good luck tonight.

MM: Well, fans. That's douja for you. The Emperor of the Interview.

BP: Fans, before we get to the action, I would like to have my good friend, and former Olympic athlete, Coma, join me in the ring to share a few yuks and meandering memories of times past.

Coma: Fweep! My uncle dunked my donuts down on the farm, but the wax didn't take.

MM: Olympic athlete? Oh, please! Special Olympics, maybe!

SW: Hey, I wonder why I never tried that? How hard could it be to beat a bunch of feebs in wheelchairs in the hundred-yard dash? I think I can run at least a 13 second.

MM: I'm sure I don't know. I don't feel the need to go out and beat severely handicapped people in unfair athletic competitions.

(Coma has made his way to the ring and for some reason has decided to do jumping jacks.)

BP: Coma and I have been through so much together over the years. We've wrestled as a tag team in federations in Mexico, South Africa, Tahiti, Nova Scotia, Romania, and Sheboygan. And I can tell you this much: there is no doubt in my mind that Coma will one day become the Only World Champion That Matters! Because he IS that damn--uhhh, exceptionally talented. Damn copyrights! In fact, I brought him here with me to BOB, but until he recovers from his debilitating brain injury, he's just going to have to take it easy in a cushy commentary job. But NOT TONIGHT! Tonight he once more will get a chance to showcase his stunning athleticism as he steps into the ring with none other than Herbert T. Romaine. What do you think about that, Coma?

Coma: Oh, obviously, obviously. She didn't know that her nose was running, but THEY did! They're watching us and they know EVERYTHING!! So lock up your spiders before it rains! Poink!

BP: Uhhhh, yes. Yes, I'll do that. Understand me, I know that we're buds, but I HAD to give him the match, Coma. He had called the cops. You see my friend, apparently that sheep wasn't of legal age to be stripped naked. As part of the deal we cut, he gets to face you in the ring, but YOU get to choose the match. That's fair. So tell us, old chum, what do you have in store for that self-righteous sheepherder?

Coma: MEEP! Can I rate your couch? Why can't I put gelatin in MY pants, mummy?

BP: What's that you say? A cage filled with gelatin? That's a great idea! You have a great mind for the business, my friend. Yes, tonight will be a great night. In fact, lets also have what the girls... and some... *guys*... have been wanting to see! Brandon getting a title shot against some guy who's the light-heavyweight champion. Yes, what a match that will be. Come, Coma, I'll walk you back to the announcers' table.

(Coma is standing there trying to shove his microphone up his nose.)

Coma: Williams' throttle is stuck! Quick, grab the tyre-iron before he implodes! Noink! (Coma sits down, then falls off his seat)

MM: I couldn't have put it better myself, Coma!

MA: Ladies and gentlemen... our opening contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing first... accompianied by INSANO MANO! He weighs 512 pounds.. or possibly, 251... he is the DSYLEXIC AVENGER!

SW: Insane Hands?

(The Mexican National Anthem is played. Backwards. Both jobbers... sorry, both winning-challenged grapplers are in the ring. Good pop, considering who they hang around with.)

MA: His opponent represents the Dungeon of Dumb... accompanied by the Flaskmaster ...weighing in at a slightly undernourished 125 pounds... MASSAWA, THE SOMALIAN GIANT!

(The pounding of jungle drums and the songs of native birds heralds the arrival of Massawa. The occasional electronic "Bleep" and "Zap" heralds the arrival of Eddie B. in the audio booth.)

MA: Joining him at ringside... making his BOB debut if you don't count the fact that he was seen stomping the crap out of Neige at NAGAM... Where was I? Oh, yes... weighing a collosal 345 pounds... THE SASQUATCH!

(A spotlight bathes a huge mound of horsedung in icy blue light. Eerie music plays as it cracks down the middle to reveal...)

SW: Frakensteins monster?

MM: No! It's THE SASQUTACH!

Coma: Narf? Hockey puck undies.

SW: Are you sure that's the Sasquatch? It looks like Frankensteins monster...

MM: Ding! And this one is underway!

SW: ... I mean, it's got bolts in its neck, even... Green skin? It IS Frankensteins monster!

MM: I said DING! (whispers urgently) SHUT UP! (Yes, Mike has the ability to shout in a whisper!) Costume department blew it... ixnay on the monster crap, Scotty...

SW: Oh, right... The... Sasquatch... stares down Insano Mano...

Coma: THUD! Neep!

MM: GOOD LORD! Just tossed him out of the ring like a ragdoll! Luckily for Mano, Coma broke the fall.

SW: Are you okay, Coma?

Coma: Yiddish clams are so impertinent these days. Was that the candle in your pocket, Mr. Bush?

MM: He's fine... Maasawa dashes across the ring and... misses D.A altogether... he slides to the floor... OH DEAR GOD! That poor cotton candy vendor! THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

SW: The wastage! The Sasquatch drags Massawa out of the crowd and rolls him back inside. The Avenger siezes the opportunity! Big lyfnig orefarm! The pink-sugar encrusted savage goes down hard! DA waits till he gets up... TDD! Hey, I'm getting pretty good at play-by-play... it's not that hard at all! Anyone could do it, Mike!

Coma: Poink! Massawa has the donuts! Nurf! Roger Ramjet alligator on the floor. Neep! Squidgey, squidgey, ecky thump!

MM: With a few notable exceptions... DA and Massawa brawl on the floor... DA with a baacccckkkkkkkk.....

(Pause as massawa floats to the ground like a feather.)

MM: ...body drop! Massawa bounces up and hits a high drop-kick! DA stumbles back.. The Sasquatch has got him! And he's throttling him! The ref is powerless to stop this, because he's a wimp! DA tries to fight off the huge monst... the huge Sasquatch... He's got my Big Jar Fulla Candy!

SMASH!

MM: OH! Leveled the big guy... Hersheys Kisses fly everywhere! Maasawa has gone nuts! He's trying to collect up the candy!

SW: Avengers back in the ring... holy crap, Generic Refs' count is up to 6...

GR: 6...6...23...5..6...10!!

Coma: DINGPOINK! Hee hee hee...

MA: Here is your winner as the result of an unexpected count-out... TEH SID EXLIC REVENGAR!

MM: I don't believe it! Massawas lapse in concentration has cost him dearly and The Dsylexic Avenger has won it! The Flaskmaster is furious! The Sasquatch is taking out his frustrations on Insano Mano... Massawa is on his way to an awe-inspiring sugar rush... What an upset! What a start to the morning!

SW: Yeah, whatever...


PAY-PER-VIEW! It's on Pay-per-view! Pay for it! And View it! ONLY ON PAY-PER-VIEW! It's BOB's "Pay-Per-View"!


MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing, the former 3-time, 3-TIME, 3-TIME Hardcore Champion... representing the Kent State Krew... "BITCH SMACKER" BRANNNDONNNNN!

(Brittany Spears "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" plays, as Eddie figured it was somehow appropriate. It does get a sound heel reaction for Brandon from the locals.)

MA: His opponent... from Parts Not Listed On The Roster Because The Boss Is A Lazy Schmuck Who Won't Update It... Some Guy Who's the Unoficially recognised Light-Heavyweight Champion of his own Federation... MIKE MYERS!

SW: Oops.. I think he means Michael McIntosh...

(Eddie cues "Soul Bossa Nova" by Quincy Jones. Huge pop as... Mike Myers enters in full Austin Powers getup?!! What the hell?)

SW: I agree with the disembodied announcer! What's going on here?

Coma: Quirp! Nonsensical sentances are my specialty. Rampaging mollusc in the bed! Thump!

(Mike arrives at ringside in a and grabs the Masked Announcers microphone.)

MMy: Groovvvy baby! (Huge pop) Well, it wouldn't be a 15 episode extrvaganza without a celebrity apearance, right? You see, last year, The BigBOSS was forced to settle out-of-court with my lawyers...

(The BOB-Tron shows a quick series of stills from the short-lived Parody career of "Tostin Showers")

MMy:... and one clause was that I get to make a cameo appearance.. AND wrestle whoever I please during one Mayhem... and buddy... (points at Brandon)... you're going to face some Keltic Karate... (Scottish accent)... FECK YOO!

(Cut to the BOSSes)

LB: Wow... good deal, BOSS...

BB: Not really... he also gets 40% of the gate AND the T-shirt sales...

LB: Ouch.

(Back to ringside)

MM: This is unbelievable... a celebrity match right here! This could be right up there with Rodman/Macho Man! With Leno/Bischoff! With that fat actor guy and Brett Hart!

SW: Mike?

MM: Yes?

SW: Never mind... Mike and Brandon lock-up... headlock from Myers... Brandon squirms out and slaps the taste out of the actors mouth!

MM: YEAH! Slap him like a bitch, Brandon!

Coma: Poink?

MM: Yes, You're right, Coma... (Mike and Scotty exchange scripts.) Big forearm sends Brandon reeling! Headbutt from Myers! Gut-wrench suplex! Well executed!

SW: Come on, Brandon! YEAH! Drop-kicked Mr Hollywood right in his mush! Kick his ass!

Coma: Narf. They squidged my tail, Norman. Eep.

MM: Brandon hefts up Myers... brainbuster! This could do it right there! NO! Myers kicks out at two! You have to wonder... where the heck is Mike McIntosh?

SW: Actually, I was wondering... WHO the heck is Mike McIntosh?! Hell, Mountain Dew Man was more verbose than McIntosh...

MM: Wait a minute... McIntosh is on his way to the ring... OH! He levels Brandon with his Unrecognised Light-Heavyweight belt! He nails Myers! He nails the Generic Ref! This is insane...r than usual...

SW: HEY! Here comes The Pardy Boyz! Wayne and Garth attack McIntosh... Myers staggers up.. and he's helping the Pardyz! All three men beating the heck out of Mike McIntosh...

Coma: POINK!

MM: What the hell??!! Mike Dangerous! Mike Dangerous! He's in the ring! AND HE'S CLEARING HOUSE! Garth goes flying! Wayne too! Dangerous has a chair... Brandon stands up... SLAM! Down he goes...

Coma: NURF!!

(A midget in camoflage pants runs down the aisle.)

SW: What the?

MM: MIKE DUDLEY!

SW: Oh, for the love of Mik.. Pete!

MM: He's in the ring... Dangerous turns.. TINY LITTLE ACID TRIP! Dangerous hits the mat... bounces up again... climbs out of the ring, stumbles around... finds a table, sets it up... and falls through it!

SW: Oh, sure, that didn't look contrived!

(The lights go out. When they come on again, a huge, hulking masked man is in the ring.)

MM: MICHEAL MYERS From "Halloween!" He's got Mike Myers by the neck! Myers hefts Myers up... CHOKESLAM!!! CHOKESLAM!!! ALL THE WAY TO HELL!! ONE HUNDRED FEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD! HE'S DEAD!

SW: Chill oww-t!!

MM: Brandon crawls over and covers... The referee spontaneously revives... ONE! TWO! THREE! It's over! Brandon beats Myers! What an upset!!

SW: In whose universe?

(Quick shot of Micheal Douglas and Micheal Jackson in the crowd. They smile.)

Coma: Heffalump! Dans' earlobe is attacking! Barricade the fireplace, Mom! Johnoakley!

SW: This is the most surreal Mayhem ever, Mike...

MM: And it can only get worse! Up next, Coma versus Herb Romaine!

Coma: Neep!


This episode of Mayhem brought to you by Johnson and Johnson Chewable Ectasy For Kids! And by Karls House o' Sawn-Off Shotguns! Permits? Karl don't need no stinking permits!


MA: Ladies and gentlemen... this contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing first... The Caprind Kid... HERB ROMAINE!

(Herb runs down the aisle to the sound of someone gargling Gershwin... yes, Coma even got creative control of this match! Heb is wearing a pair of inflatable plastic pants filled with Jell-o (Jamacian Lime flavour), a flak jacket, tennis shoes and Dennis' bowler hat. Betty-Lou follows, wearing a knitted jersey.)

MA: And his opponent... The Hallucination Kid... COMA!

(Eddie B plays "Sound of Man Reciting the Alphabet In a Nasal Monotone" as Coma runs out from behind the announce table. He's also put on his Jell-O pants (Strawberry Magurita flavour), a Leonardo DeCaprio mask and his day-glo orange vest. The Generic Ref has been replaced by a man dressed as the statue of Liberty.)

MDATSoL: Kling!

MM: And I THINK this one is underway... Coma on the attack quickly, as he Riverdances away in the center of the ring. Herb begins reciting Shakespeare in Klingon!

Herb: Doth! T'hock! Y'r goyt exct t'hr'ok'... R'u'i'e'a'u'o'u'th'ch... pil'lock!

MM: Oh! Devestating combination of syllables sends Coma reeling! He tries to come back by imitating Scott Keith!

Coma: CANADIAN VIOLENCE! CANADIAN VIOLENCE! Playing Ricky Morton! He's just TOO FAT!.... *deep breath*.... ORANGE GOBLIN!!!

MM: Oh my God! He invoked the name of The Hogan! Herb tumbles out of the ring! An albino jumps out of the crowd and puts the boots to him! Herb makes it back into the ring as the entire crowd rises like a bad Indian takeaway and kicks nine colors of shit out of the albino!

SW: Why? It's not THAT albino... oh, never mind, they're enjoying themselves...

MM: Coma picks up Herb... NOSE TWEAK OF INSIDIOUS HURTINESS! Yodelling legdrop! Comas going up... he's on the top turnbuckle... he's on the camera boom... he's on the lighting gantry... Here he comes...

***INSERT SOUNDS OF TABLE-RENDING VIOLENCE HERE***

MM: Double-twisting blindfold corkscrew plancha though a thumbtack-encrusted table and a stack of fluroescent tubes...

SW: That was Kamikazie Ken, wasn't it?

MM: I think so... oh, here comes Coma...

SPLUNGE!

SW: Not nearly as impressive, I'm afraid...

MM: LOOK! In the aisle!

(A shot shows the ramp is empty.)

SW: What?

MM: INVISIBLO! Invisiblo from the STWF is HERE! Live! TONIGHT! And he's potentially in the ring!

SW: Is he?

MM: Coma falls back under a fusillade of unseen blows... He flies back over the ropes!

(Herb stands up in the ring and salutes the crowd. He is unexpectedly buried beneath 100 pounds of freshly-popped pocorn which falls from the rafters.)

MM: Holy Salty Snack-related Injury! That has to hurt.. or at least, itch like the dickens! Coma leads the crowd in a spontaneous rendition of "YMCA" as Herb tunnels out...

Jamal Tupac Mustafa: Yo, wassup?

SW: Jamal? What are you doing here?

JTM: A cameo... Later, bro, I'm outie..

SW: Word. Look out, here comes Herb... Plancha....

(Matrix-like effect as Herb freezes in mid-air. Coma doesn't, taking the time to set up a folding card table, make a sandwich and drink a can of Sprite before retuning to the table. Herb finally finshes the move, smashing Coma through the table.)

MM: My GOD!

(Coma and Herb battle on the outside, lefts and rights flying! Like mighty titans they fought, over hill and dale, for forty days and forty nights, not stopping for food or rest, no quarter asked and none given...)

MM: SHUT UP! Coma hiptosses Herb through the Spanish Announcers table! The Spanish announcers have had it! They're attacking Coma! OH MY! The famous "Pinata" move! I can hardly look! Wait! The French announce team are here! They attack the Spanish announcers!

French Announcer: Winner gets to do ze Pay-Per-View, oui?

Spanish Announcer: Si!

(Sudden change to a field, shot in crisp Black-and-White. Coma is dressed like the Grim Reaper, Herb is dressed like a 15th-century peasant. They're playing chess.)

Herb: But should we treat our lives as such, when all men must face their fate in time? Or, being that we are mortal, should we savour our lives, relishing each precious moment?

Coma: I forgot how the horsie moves. Neep!

(Cut back to the ring. The Flunky rides past on a camel.)

The Flunky: NO PRISONERS!

(Cut to Billy Polar)

BP: Okay... so maybe this was a slight error in judgement... (Thinks briefly)... Nahhhhh!

(Back to ringside. Coma and Herb have thrown on the shades and are dancing to some hip-hop.)

SW: Where's Deus X. Macheena when you need him?

MM: Coma does some quick breakdancing... Herb waits till he rises.. SALAD SHOOTER! Out of no-where... he covers...

MDATSoL: Uno! Ni! Troi! Kling kling kling!

MM: I think... it's over!

MA: Here is your winner... HERB "El Mariachi" RRRRRRRRRRROMAINEEE!

MM: Herb wins it! Incredible!

SW: Trippy, man...

MM: Well, let's try to regain order with a HARDCORE TITLE MATCH!

SW: OKAY!

MM: LET'S GET IT ON!

SW: WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?

MA: Ding! This match is scheduled, yadda, yadda, yadda, one fall, "AYOOYFM" title, etc, etc, VIOLENT PCIFIST, whatever, and DOUJA. Check, please...

MM: What's that? This match has already started? Can we get a camera there?

(Shaky hand-held shot as Handi-Cam Harry (Clives' cousin) runs backstage, through the locker room... which is full of BOB-sters, of course.)

Candy Canteloupes: So, Jim, just gently braise the beef before adding the oinons..

Jim: (Scribbling furiously) Uh-huh... and then add the stock?

Barry Brown: Anyone want to go for a few beers tonight?

Zilla: I'm in...

Jean Bannister: Me too...

Coma: ...That was a nice match, Herb... I especially liked... HEY! Way to break kayfabe, pal!

Herb: Moron!

(Harry runs out of the locker room, down a corridor, past the BigBOSS who's swigging from a bottle in a brown paper bag.)

Coma: What? Uh.. medication, honest!

(The shot contuines out of the building, down the road and across the street into "Kennys Diner" VP and douja are wrestling furiously in the kitchen.)

MM: Good LORD! This is as hardcore as it gets! VP is whaling away at douja with some non-stick bakeware! The challenger is helpless at this point! VP picks him up... bodyslam on the kitchen floor! He finds a mop... snaps it over doujas back! Douja crawls to a preperation counter... He blinds The Pacifist with a handful of secret herbs and spices! douja looking focused here... Northern Lights suplex into a pile of pots and pans!

SW: YEAH! GO GET HIM, DOUJE! He's so heelish, ya gotta love him! Use the frypan, man!

douja: Sunny side up, yo!

CLANG!

SW: All right! I smell a title change tonight!

MM: That remains to be seen! douja tosses VP into the sink! VP grabs the high-pressure hose and fights douja off with a stream of high-velocity H2O! He's out of the sink... SPEAR! They're in the walk-in refrigerator!

SW: Cool!

MM: Lame, Scotty... This is no place for bad puns... VP bulldogs douja onto a tray full of hamburger patties...

VP: Pleased to "meat" you, douja! Here... "lettuce" be friends...

SCRUNCH!

MM: Okay, so maybe it is time for bad puns! douja grabs a Keilbasa sausage to defend himself with! Belts him upside the head with it! Big processed-meat-assisted clothesline! A cover... The Roving Referee counts..

SW: 1... 2.... Kickout! Hit him again, douja!

MM: He does just that! They're heading out into the resturant itself! VP gropes for the condiment rack...

SMASH!

SW: Hey! He a-salt-ted him!

MM: Well, I guess we could say that douja's a well-seasoned pro, now! VP with a Nosuchaluck Suplex through a Formica table! Covers... 1..2..

SW: Kick, douje, KICK!

MM: Kickout! VP whips douja into the counter.. no! douja reverses it... VP crashes into the jukebox!

(Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart" begins to play. All the rednecks in the house say yo!)

MM: Oh great, a spontaneous line-dance has broken out! douja lays into VP with some boot-scooting violence! Picks him up... Look OUT!

(Cut to the outside of the diner as VP and douja exit through the front window. Ouch.)

SW: WOOOO! That's the way, douje!

MM: They're fighting in the streets! VP bounces douja off a telephone booth! douja responds with a back-elbow and tosses VP into the side of a Jeep Cherokee! They're approaching the arena, now! VP stops to give money to a homeless person. And then gives him the Nine-Inch Nailer! Typical...

SW: The garbage can, douja! Use the garbage can!

douja: All'ight, dogg...

CLANG!

MM: Is he hooked into your headset?

SW: Yeah, so?

MM: Whatever... they're in the backstage area... Nameless BOB employees scatter as they battle back there! Hey, check it out... they're getting near to the BOSS'es stretched Volkswagen! VP has douja up in for an atomic drop... NO! Charging forward... OOH! Crotched him right on the hood ornament! Pick-up... Powerbomb on the hood! That'll be coming out of his pay-packet, methinks!

(The shot widens out to reveal Billy Polar standing behing VP. VP turns as Billy raises a chair... and.....)

THWACK!

VP: I'm going to get you for that too, Polar. Just so you know.

THUMP!

MM: Good Lord! Billy Polar just laid out the hardcore champion! I don't believe it! douja high-fives Billy! They're working together!

SW: Well, duh! Oooh, spiked powerbomb on the floor! This is great! Billy throws douja a chair... Oh, YEAH! Tandam chirshots to VP's cranium! They're literaly taking turns to pummel him into submission! VP stumbles down the aisle as a barrage of chairshots nails him in the back...

MM: He reaches the ring... turns..

SMACK!

MM: Right in the head!! He falls into the Approved Blading Position(c)... YES! douja has busted open the Hardcore champ!

SW: ALL RIGHT! Billy and douja toss VP into the ring and continue to hammer him! douja makes "Belt" motions and is going for the pin....

MM: Billys' got a mic!

BP: Wait! Wait, douja! This is all wrong. A title shouldn't change hands like this! It's not fair!

(douja looks confused, but steps back as Billy helps VP to his feet and dusts him off a little.)

BP: I mean, come on! Give him a chance to at least fight back a little. Here you go, VP. Go get him!

MM: What the hell is going on?

(Billy hands VP a chair. VP just stands there, swaying back and forth slightly. douja winks at Billy, runs to the ropes and delivers the best drop-kick of his career, right into the steel.)

MM: VAN-DOUJ-INATOR! Good LORD! A cover..1! 2!!! THREE!!!! New champion! New Champion! Unbelievable! Where the heck is Pain and Pleasure when VP needed them?

(Cut to the locker room. P and P are in an animated conversation with Brandon and Josh of the KSK.)

Sir H: Well, I find that soaking them in cold water gets out most of the blood...

Josh: Even with spandex?

Sir H: Sure!

(Cut back to ringside. VP has made it back to his feet and has a microphone. Billy is at the top of the rampway.)

VP: I'll get you for this, Polar! This isn't over! I want you in this ring RIGHT NOW!

BP: Well, I'm the commissioner, dammit, and I say if you wanna fight me, sure! I'll fight you! But not here! At the next pay-per-view, BOB: Pay-Per-View! On Pay-Per-View! Yeah, I'll tell you what. I may be the commissioner, but this time I'll let YOU pick the match, and I'll let myself pick the winner! Heh heh!

VP: Fine! You're going down, Polar! Just so you know.

BP: Hey, you heard him say it! You're all witnesses! He agreed to it!

(Cut backstage. douja is being congratulated by several minor BOB-sters. Jim of the KSK approaches.)

Jim: Wow! You did it, douja! I knew you would, man.

douja:Thanks, guy. Could you go get me a latte'? Wit' da special mint foam?

Jim: Sure. Here, have a seat.

(douja takes a blunt out of his tights and goes to sit down. Jim suddenly pulls the chair out from under him, making douja crash to the floor.)

douja: Wha' da hell?

(Jim raises the chair high as douja sits up.... insert your own "WHAM" noise right about... NOW!)

MM: What in the name of Monsoon?! Jim covers... the Roving Referee is there..1!!! 2!!! 3!!! You're kidding me! Jim just won the "AYOOYFM" title! doujas' got to be livid!

SW: Or will be, when he regains conciousness...

(Billy appears blissfully unaware of what just happened backstage... but then, he had his back to the BOB-tron.)

BP: You know, as long as I'm out here, I might as well announce who the #1 contender is for the OWTTM. Well, you know, I've been thinking long and hard on this, but I've finally come to the conclusion that I'M the #1 contender (the crowd starts booing), BUT....seeing as how I'm already the Swiss Army champ, I guess I'll have to give that match to someone else, huh? (the crowd starts cheering) You know, there's just so many strong contenders here in BOB, that, heck, like I said, I'm in a good mood tonight. Donald McKillalot will have to defend his belt against....EVERYBODY tonight!! (the crowd starts going absolutely nuts) The first one who pins him gets the title!

MM: WHAT?

(Cut to the backstage area. Every wrestler present is staring at the one monitor the BOSS could afford to hire. Josh and Brandon even stop tussling with Jim. Slowly, every head turns to Donald McKillalot, who's frozen in the act of raising a glass to his lips.)

DMcK: Sod THIS for a game o' soldiers! I'm off like a newlyweds nightie!

(There is a blur of movement as Insano Mano leaps at Doanld. He misses, smashing through a window instead. Donald ducks a flying XXXtreme Machine, decks Jean Bannister and makes a run for the door. The picture flips sideways as Clive is knocked over in the stampede for the fleeing champion. Cut to the BOSSes office.)

LB: Well, this is good...

BB: Where did it all go so horribly wrong? Take a memo, Li'lB... The 16/6 rule on the "AYOOYFM" is suspended until "Pay-Per-View"

LB: Check!

BB: Send Billy a bill for the damage to that diner.

LB: Uh-huh...

BB: And find me some Tums, willya?

LB: Gotcha!

(Cut to the car-park of the Un-named Arena. Sir Donalds car comes careening out of the underground garage, with half-a-dozen assorted wrestlers clinging to the sides. The entire jWo is clinging to the bumper in a human chain. The car swerves around a corner and out of the shot as we return to ringside. Mike and Scotty are staring at their monitor. They continue to watch aghast, as Mayhem fades from the air replaced with a still picture of Steve Studnuts.)

(Huge Pop)


© 2001 BOB Wrestling! Surreal? No, That's Just What The Blue Hippo Told You...

 

© BOB Wrestling!

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