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(The show opens in the parking-lot of The Quorum, in beautiful Bunnytail, Wisconsin. A stretched Volkwagen pulls into the car-park. It's lisence plate reads "NQMCLB1". The doors open, and the Not-Quite Millonaires emerge.)

Mike Monroes Voice: The not-quite millonaires are HERE! SMP! DOUJA! HOMICIDAL HANK! BILLY POLAR! What's going to go down at Mayhem?!! GOOD LORD!

Scotty's Voice: Woo-frickin'-hoo!

Comas' Voice: I'll have two flapjacks and a carafe of gasoline, Manuel. Chezch Plees!

(Fade to the opening titles with the loud, obnoxious rock song. We pan the arena as the Festival of Mis-spelt Signs begins. Some winners: "GOAR! WHOAR! FLOAR!", "Rite too suk rools", "I spelt all the words my sign right!" and "Is the Hitman Here?". We pick up the announcers... well, Mike and Scotty at least. Coma is building a fort underneath the table with steel chairs.)

MM: Hello and WELCOME...

Masked Announcer: Ladies, Gentlemen, and assorted schmucks! This is our opening contest, if you don't count the dark match where a local jobber beat up StreetMime II.

Local Jobber: Hey, I tried to lose, okay! YOU try selling StreetMimes' offense...

MM: What the hell? I didn't even get to finish my long-winded intro! Did we switch to a one-hour format or something?

MA: This contest is a no-DQ match for the "Not Quite Big Enough For The Big Boys" Light-Heavyweight Title... introducing at this time, the still-not-offically-recognised Light-Heavyweight champ... MICHAEL McINTOSH!

(No theme music for Mike today... a cut-away shot sees Eddie B. stagger out of his "Shaggin' Waggon" in the carlot... I guess someone didn't have an early night...)

MA: And his opponent.. and challenger.. representing "Totally Face" (Huge high-pitched pop.)... BRANDON!

SW: Holy crap, the fans are buying this face turn!

MM: You sound suprised, Scotty... wrestling fans'll buy anything these days... we could even turn YOU face!

SW: You think? (He stands up.) SMP SUCKS! (A full bottle of Gatorade beans him back into his seat.) OW!

Coma: Hee hee hee... winklepickers!

MM: Brandon and Mike stare each other down as the bell rings... they lock up... Brandon goes to a side headlock and whips McIntosh to the ropes... leap-frog... monkey-flip! McIntosh skids across the ring. He kips up quickly... ducks a spinning heel kick from Brandon... and hits a standing monkeyflip of his own! They both kip up... nice opening to the match!

SW: What the hell was that? A actual wrestling sequence... in BOB?

MM: Yeah, well the BOSS told us to tighten up... no-ones' safe with that "Not" Keith maniac around...

Coma: Neep... give me warp drive, Mr Elephant! We haven't got the POOWER! Shields to boggle, stat!

MM: Test of strength... McIntosh switches to a hammerlock... Brandon looks for an escape route... standing switch to back suplex! Beautiful! Both men up... standing drop-kick sends the champion to the floor.... Brandon richochets off the ropes.. TOPE SUICIDA!!

SW: Was it? I thought it was a garden-variety plancha?

MM: I have no idea... I just love to say "TOPE SUICIDA!"... Both men brawl on the outside... Brandon gets sent into the post... McIntosh charges... B-to the r-to the... oh, the hell with that! Brandon ducks and McIntosh posts himself! Special Delivery! Brandon tosses him into the stairs... he backs up... Railrunner spear!


MM: He shouldn't have usesd the Flimsy Guard Rail for that one... Half the front row of fans just spilled into the ringside area! The Flunky's trying to get them out as Mike and Brandon roll back into the ring for their own safety!

Coma: Goo coo cachoob, Mrs Robinson... I'll defend your greenhouse to the death, or die trying!

MM: Coma, will you get out of there?! Brandon runs into a T-bone suplex! McIntosh to the ropes... asai moonsault! A cover... and Brandon kicks out at 2! Wheelbarrow pickup... Brandon reverses the slam into a facejam!

(Cut to GBH at BOB N.J, dancing with some badly-superimposed cartoon characters.)

GBH: Duh. Facejam... uh-huh... facejam. Yur! Get jiggy with my bad self. Yur!

(Cut to the BOSS-es office. The Li'LBOSS is with Miss Behave watching the monitor. A chilled bottle of mediumly-cheap sparkling wine is in an ice-bucket on the BOSS'es desk.)

Li'l B: So, do you know what they say about midgets, don't you? Nature tends to... overcompensate...

(Cut back to ringside)

SW: Well, that was disturbing...

Coma: Poink! I want the nice lavender font... BigsmallBigsmall... hee hee hee...

MM: Brandon has McIntosh on the ropes... jabbing lefts and rights... He runs up the ropes... Tornado Bulldog! Huge move... 1..2... thr-no!

Coma: Thrno? Neep... there's thrno place like home... there's thrno place like home...

MM: Brandon whips McIntoch into the corner.. sets him upon the top turnbuckle... Super-Facensteiner coming up... WHOA!

SW: No way! McIntosh caught him and hit a powerbomb off the top! A cover... and look at his feet!


Generic Ref: 1..2.. what? Hey, your feet are on the ropes!

SW: Oh, nice one Mike... could you yell a little louder next time? I think some guys in Cleveland didn't hear you!

MM: And incidently, that's where, BOB's next pay-per-view will emenate from! More on that later, though! Brandon is whipped to the ropes... backdrop... he landed on his feet! Mike straightens up... hangmans neckbreaker! He rolls backwards and covers... McIntosh gets the shoulder up at 2.75999 recurring!!

SW: This is a hell of a match for BOB... Brandon going for a victory roll... 1..2... McIntosh reverses the pin... 1..2... Brandon kicks out and schoolboys McIntosh... 1..2.. kickout!

MM: McIntosh rises... he bounces off the ropes and tries a Thesz Press... Brandon with a SPINEBUSTER! That might do it... NO! He's out at 2.9 and a smidgen! Both men up... criss-cross... McIntosh ducks... picks up Brandon in a firemans carry... TKO! Covers and hooks a handful of tights.. 1..2.. NO! Just got the shoulder up!

Coma: Richard Gere! Richard Gere! Hide the hamster, Winfred...

MM: Even Comas' getting excitied! McIntosh to the ropes once more... Brandon ducks a clothesline.. he turns... McIntosh with a crucifix...trying to pull Brandon down... OH! Brandon hits a reverse Death Valley Driver variation, slamming McIntosh on his head... he covers..1..2..3! He did it!

MA: Here is your winner... and NEWWWW "NQGETPWTBB" Light-Heavyweight Champion... BRANDONNNNN!

MM: WOW!! What an opening contest! You know what this means?

SW: Umm.. the rest of the card will be a huige dissapointment in comparison and the show will probably fizzle out into a abrubt and unsatisfying ending?

(Mike glares at Scotty.)

MM: Let's take a break...

FANS! Are you feeling lucky? Well, are ya, punk? Well someones' going to get the break of a lifetime at BOB's SEND US MONEY: A CHANCE WOULD BE A FINE THING"! Who'll get the title shots? We don't know! Who'll end up jerking the curtain against the Rite To Suck? We couldn't say! When will it screen? We're not even going to hazard a guess! (BOB's Time, yeah?) BOB's SUM: ACWBaFT! Coming SOON!

(Cut back to Mike and Scotty. In Comas' place is a small, overstuffed teddy bear. A superimposed caption reads "Mr Poindexter")

Coma: Mr Poindexter: Poink!

(Mike and Scotty look at Mr Poindexter. Mike shakes his head and glares under the table.)

MM: Coma, will you get out of there?! I will NOT commentate with your teddy bear!

Coma: Mr Poindexter: Chokeslam! Chokeslam! You gotta be kidding me! Nurf!

SW: You have to admit... he's pretty good, Mike...

(Cut to a deep, dank coal mine. Homicidal Hank enters the shot, wearing a miners helmet with a torch set into it.)

MM: Good Lord! The Coal Mine rumble is about to start! Bohemoth versus Homicidal Hank! This one has been brewing since... since...

SW: The Two-Minute Screwjob Main Event of Monday Nae Trous 56?

MM: That's RIGHT!

(Nifty split-screen effect shows Hank stalking through the mine on one side and Bohemoth battling Hank on the other. The battle is brief, following a run-in from Seargant Genocide to draw a lame DQ.)

MM: It was Bohemoths one shot at Hanks Intergalactic belt and he was screwed out of the title! This is going to be good!

Hank: Heerrre, kitty, kitty, kitty! Bring your big fat ass out here, Meat! Hank the Tank is comin' ta getcha...

(A figure moves in the dimness. He moves into the light to reveal...)

MM: SETH HARKER! Blood, Sweat and Chairs Wrestling is Invading BOB! Good LORD!

Seth: Hey, Hank, lend me a ten-spot would you... Just until my IEW back-pay arrives..

SW: And then again... maybe not...

Hank: Here ya go little bro... seen Bo around?

Seth: Yes. He lurks... in every shadow.. He is your deepest fear, Hank.. He...

Hank: Look, just knock off the Goth shit and tell me where he is, Meat!

Seth: (pouting slightly) He's standing right behind you...

Hank: Thank you! Wait, he's WHAT?


MM: Ooh! Bohemoth strikes the first blow with a sackful of coal! Hank is staggered... he reaches for some... coal... to fight Bohemoth off!

SW: Mucho original, Hank...

MM: Well, what else is there in a coal mine?

SW: Bo'll be the one to answer that! Look, he's dragging Hank over to a rack of mining equipment!

Bo: Take your pick, Hank!

(The screen briefly cuts to a "CENSORED" caption superimposed on a picture of a field full of fluffy lambs.)

MM: Oh, that's disgusting! Hank is busted open! Bohemoth drags him to a slightly-out-of-place glass-topped table balanced on two sawhorses! POWERBOM...

(Cut to the "CENSORED" picture again. This time the audio cuts out as well.)

Coma: Nurf! That's going to stir my cranberries and add mustard to your mayo! Eep!

MM: I agree... I think! Oh, Lord.. not the COAL MINERS GLOVE OF ICKY DOOM!

(The CENSORED picture appears again... for nearly 20 seconds this time...)

SW: Oh, man, I'm gonna barf! How is the network getting away with this? How is Hank even standing?

MM: He's not just standing, he's fighting back! Good Lord, what's he got there?

SW: A Welsh Coal Miners choir? And they're attacking Bohemoth!

(Cut to the CENSORED screen. A military march plays at high volume to drown out the not-nice sounds ementaing from the Coal Mine)

MM: Bo's fighting them off! Lowblow! And another! That baritones' a soprano! The soprano will never be audible again! Hank siezes the moment and breaks a 2x4 over Bo's head! Bo no-sells it!

SW: Hanks' backing off! I've never seen this before! He's RUNNING! Hank's trying to escape!

MM: Unbelievable! Hank dives into a mine cart and rolls off into the mine! Bohemoth squeezes into a second minecart... and there he goes as well!


(Cut to the Exciting Mine Chase Sequence as Hank and Bo race through the mine. The mine gets crappier and crappier as they proceed, showing that the "Mine" is actually a cheap soundstage somewhere. They even race through the same section three times, a fact only slightly disguised by the addition of a sign the second time past, then a broken beam on the third. Eventually Hanks cart whizzes past a sign reading "End Of The Line".)

MM: THERE'S NO MORE TRACK! A crevasse is copming up! I can't watch!

(Cut to the CENSORED SIGN. Apparently, neither can we.)

MM: Hank is down! What a fall... here comes Bohemoths cart... He leaps... INVERSE SMASHER! SMASHER! SMASHER! Forget it, it's over!! The On-Location Referee appears out of nowhere and counts the inevitable three! Bohemoth wins it! Revenge was a long time coming, followed by a predictably short match for the Big Bo!

Coma: There's a hole in my glasshouse, dear Webster, a hole! Zoom goes Mr Jelly! Neep!

MM: Coming up next, the Swiss Army title is ON THE LINE!

This edition of Monday Morning Mayhem is brought to you by Paul's Super-Discount Computers, Ltd! Suppliers to the BigBOSS since *plink*

(Cut to the Blue Screen of Death)

MM: And we're back!

MA: This match is for the Swiss Army Title and is scheduled for the best of nine falls! PYSCH! It's one fall as always... introducing first, the challenger... representing the Not-Quite Millionares Club... "Good Old B.R"... BILLLLY POLLLLLARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR....R!

("Money (That's what I want)" plays as Billy Polar runs out to a hearty round of boos and a light shower of wadded-up paper cups.)

MA: And his opponent.. and champion... from Seattle, Washington... the current "Swiss Army" Champion... but you already knew that because I called him the champion... anyway... your champion... THE VIOLENT PACIFIST!

("Closer" (Naughty Words Bleeped Out Family-Friendly Mix) plays as the commisioner strides confidently down to ringside.)

MM: This is going to be fantastic! BP vs VP in a rematch from "Pay-Per-View" all those months agao!

SW: Months ago? It was our second-to-last card!

Coma: Neep. Bob's time... hee hee hee...


MM: Help Coma back into his seat, Scotty... The bell rings and we're off and stalling!! They're getting in each others faces, Billy talking smack at an incredible pace! VP is coming back with some nonsensical replies! Billy's poking him in the chest now! VP pokes his tongue out! What intensity! Billy called VP a "poopy head"! VP has had enough... NIPPLE CRIPPLE! He's tweaking Billys nipple like crazy! Billy stomps on VP's toe... INDIAN BURN!! NOOGIE! VP's writhing in pain... he strikes...

BP: (High-pitched) Eeeeeeek!

MM: SUB-ATOMIC WEDGIE! This is some of the most brutal action I've seen since I left elementary school!

Coma: Watch me jump the orang-utan, mummy! I have THREE budgies now! Springform bakeware!

MM: Billy with a non-luchador-like headbutt! Here we go for REAL! Big forearm! Backs VP up and slingshots him to the ropes... beautiful deep armdrag! Billys showboating like he just won the title right there!

SW: VP's up... he hits a rolling German!

German: Ow! Vhat vas dat for? I vas only rolling!

MM: Or with that accent, possibly Swedish. Billy turns around... VP's got him... relase overhead suplex! Billy bounces out of the ring! VP follows him out!

SW: Brawl-for-all! VP's beating BP with the Masked Announcers clipboard! Disqualify him, ref!

MM: Billy won't get the title that way, Scotty...

SW: Good point... excuse me...


Coma: Nurf?

MM: Good LORD! Scotty just wiped out the ref with a steel chair! Scotty, are you nuts?!

SW: Nope... (peels off his sweater to reveal a "Not Quite A Millionare: Show Me The IOU!" T-shirt)

MM: Oh, typical! Scotty joins BP in a senseless and violent beatdown of the Swiss Army Champ! The Generic Ref is down, but not out... and he's calling for the bell! Has he DQ-ed Billy Polar? I think he has!

Coma: Squirtle! This is a job for SUPERWACKYFUNMAN! Roger, wilco, over and out!

(Coma takes off the Hefty Bag he's been wearing to reveal a "Faces Inc: Nice Guys Finish Last (But Get The Chicks)" T-shirt

MM: Oh brother... Coma leaps from his seat and attacks Scotty! What anarchy!

(A cut backstage sees the entire locker room in chaos. Faces Inc. are attacking The Not Quite Millionares, Kamikazie Ken, Insano Mano and the Dsylexic Avenger are attackng The Rite To Suck, and Blackjack Hooligan (Yes, he's still on the roster) is having a few pints of stout with Sir Donald McKillalot. J.C Long walks into the locker room.)

BH: Sure, an' if it's not the lahddie who t'inks we all wear dresses... teek this ya bastard!

(Hooligan proceeds to knock him senseless with an empty bottle of McEwans Export. Sir Donald covers him.)

BH: One.. two... three... Tha's it.. it's alll oover, lahddies... Reet, last one to the pubs' a tosser!

(As one, everyone stops fighting and dashes out the door. Cut back to the suddenly-empty arena. Mike Monroe is the only one left, unless you count Mr Poindexter.)

MM: What in the name of God just happend?

Clive: Don't ask me, Mike... I just hold the camera... I guess the BigBOSS'es Book-O-Matic 2000 died again... C'mon, I'll buy you a drink, eh?

(Mike stands, shakes his head and walks out of shot. Slowly, the show fades to static.)


*Insert light music here*



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