It's like a funeral...with fights and screw jobs!
Super Mollusc: I think I'm gonna go fishing. If only I had a rod. Oh, what? What's my strategy? Whatever it is, it's gonna work. In this match of jobbaz, I'm gonna have to lose my bestest or I'll never get a shot to job to a champion ever again. Can you imagine the prestige of losing to Seth Harker? Man. That would be the biggest loss of my life!
[BOB's Tour of Indifference forges ahead, this time to the Staple Remover Center in French Lick, Maine. We pan the crowd before eventually heading to Scotty Whatbody and Nurse Heidi at ringside.]
SW: Welcome to the final NAGAM of all time, unless for some reason we resurrect this thing down the road. And I must say, this has been MY show and I sure as hell better be the lead man of the new BOB show, whatever the hell it's called.
NH: Sunday Morning Chloroform.
SW: Yeah, well, I better be the host of that show. Well, even if I'm not, I'm gonna go out in the ratings like we've always gone out. On the bottom. Heidi?
NH: Don't make me slap you.
SW: What? I thought you liked to be on top. Have I ever told you how round…
[Heidi gives Scotty the Evil Eye™.]
SW: …your eyes are. And how firm--
SW: Your voice is? Well, anyway, we've got a show I guess.
[Kurt Angel's music begins to play, as if out of the heavens, or the cheap speakers stacked up near the entrance.]
SW: Kurt is going to have a match against Trey Vincent tonight for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.
NH: He is? I thought
SW: Wait for Kurt to tell them that Trey's not here and he's pissed off about it.
NH: OK. Whatever.
SW: Wanna make out while he talks?
NH: No. Jeez, do you think I'll break down if you keep asking enough?
SW: Does that mean there's hope for us?
NH: Why is this crowd so dead tonight?
SW: Uh oh, they aren't cut-outs again, are they? Eh, it must be the heat. It is August.
Kurt: Your Olympic hero is a little ticked off. You see, Trey Vincent was SUPPOSED to grant me an OWTTM shot tonight. But it seems as though Mr. Vincent is not going to be here tonight.
SW: He isn't?
NH: I'm shocked.
KA: Well Mr. Vincent, you and I are going to fight, some other place, some other time, on some other show on some other day, buster! Whether you like it or not. And then I can FINALLY, get back into Heaven and out of this Hell.
[Then, over the speakers, the following begins to play:
We're in the money, we're in the money;
We've got a lot of what it takes to get along!
We're in the money, that sky is sunny,
We're in the money, come on, my honey,
Let's lend it, spend it, send it rolling along!
Oh, yes we're in the money, you bet we're in the money]
SW: It's the BigBOSS. And Mrs. BigBOSS!
[The music didn't stop though, until the newlyweds got into the ring.]
BB: Kurt, the line was Trey Vincent has not yet arrived. You have to stop shooting.
KA: Sorry. It's just, since you stopped giving me roids, I've been a little cranky.
BB: *Ahem.* Anyway, I'm SURE, Trey Vincent will be here tonight.
KA: It's not like these people care anyway. They're not even chanting 'what' or 'you suck' at me.
MBB: Perhaps we shouldn't have let Death do his stand-up act to warm up the crowd?
BB: What, were YOU going to turn him down?
BB: (Rolling his eyes). Wouldn't have either.
MBB: Wouldn't have either.
KA: Who frickin' cares about Death or these fans. All I want is to beat Trey Vincent and get the frick out of BOB, not false, SO not false.
BB: Well, anyway, I'm SURE, Trey Vincent will be here tonight.
[All three of them look toward the entrance.]
BB: I'M SURE, TREY VINCENT, WILL, BE, HERE, TONIGHT, FLUNKY!!
SW: Somebody better wake up Flunky.
[Then, "N.W.O." begins playing over the sound system, and out strolls a television set on a tall cart, like you'd have in a school perhaps. Flunky rolls it off to the right of the entrance platform. As close to the edge as possible.]
SW: The TV set is teetering on the edge!
NH: Scotty! Your pages are stuck together.
SW: Whoops! I mean, uh, um, I wonder why Flunky just wheeled out the TV?
BB: What is the meaning of this interruption of our in-ring promo?
[Flunky's mouth is seen moving, but nobody can hear him since he doesn't have a microphone.]
SW: Well, all the lip readers must be shocked by what's coming out of Flunky's mouth.
NH: Good thing he DOESN'T have a microphone.
SW: Whoa. I didn't even know he knew that word.
BB: OK, just play the tape.
[Flunky puts the tape in the VCR and presses play. On the 19-inch TV screen comes the face of…TV, Trey Vincent. He's smiling.]
TV: Through the magic of TV, I bring you TV! Hello, Kurt. Hello BigBOSS. Hello Mrs. BigBOSS. Hello Billy.
NH: Wow, when was this taped?
SW: Last minute script change?
TV: So I bet you're all wondering why I'm not there in that place with you. Most likely the ring. Well, it is because I'm here. Because I couldn't be at the show, this morning. And neither could the iAd. (To someone off camera) No way, Rams all the way. Put a couple of g's on them. No way those Patriots will win. Anyway guys.
TV: I'm just kidding by the way, dumbasses. This was made just a week ago. Well, when the iAd first came to BOB, we had one purpose. To either run BOB, or run it into the ground. Well, we're partly running it. But honestly, it's getting boring. This thing has lasted far too long. We're becoming like the nWo. And frankly, I'm a very busy man and I'm losing interest in playing around in the bush leagues. After all, I'm in LCW Evo. I've got far more important things to do close BOB like every other parody fed out there that's closed. You see, BOB is like this disease that makes your crotch itch and burn, no matter what you do, you can't cure. And then after you're done scratching down there, you accidentally touch your face and all these sores break out.
TV: (He pauses for a moment.) But perhaps I've said too much. Look, bottom line is, there is to be NO FUN and NO MOCKERY of this business in which Trey Vincent rules supreme. Seth Harker is a hardcore luchydore type guy in Blood, Sweat and Chairs Wrestling. Studs is, well…he could go to any fed he wants if not for some nagging injuries. I already have your ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS and Seth has your Hardcore Title. So I guess that only leaves the Tag Team Titles and the Swiss Army Title left that we need to get. Oddly enough, held by those boy band face guys.
TV: But, look, I'm giving this show too many ratings, so I'm gonna bottom line this. There is only one way BOB will close, and that's for the ratings-getters not to show up. So, we're pulling a Hogan tonight. WCW-era.
SW: Wow, even today, people still hate WCW.
NH: Oh, I thought that was for Hogan.
SW: Eh, either way, no lose really.
BB: Well let me tell you something Vincent. Since you're not here tonight, you WILL be on the first Sunday Morning Chloroform. And you will defend your title against Kurt Angel. Unless some shocking development changes plans and further pushes off this match.
Voiceover: Jimmy, I want a cookie…
[Sounds of cookie jars breaking fills the arena and a huge crowd pop accompanies Hardcore JJ as he enters, and he's got wheels! He's driving a tiny little Pepsi truck!]
SW: JJ! JJ! JJ! IS HERE!
NH: JJ just drove his tiny little Pepsi truck into the TV!
SW: The TV set is teetering on the edge!
NH: And JJ rams into the TV cart again! It falls off the tiny platform! Oh, my, what destruction! Good thing the set is strapped on.
SW: You said strapped on.
NH: And JJ is on top of the Pepsi truck! The fans are going wild. Oh, what's this? He's got a straw! Oh my! He's spitting Pepsi at the BigBOSS, Mrs. BigBOSS and Kurt Angel!
SW: And they're selling it like pros, even though that Pepsi is not even coming close. Hell, he's still at the entryway! He's about 20 feet away from the ring!
NH: Look at BigBOSS doing that fake swimming thing on the canvas.
SW: You know, every show, something so f***ing embarrassing happens, no matter how much you pray it won't.
Sleazy-C: Yeh, muthaphucka. I should win tha contest cuz I am the most hardcore jobba in the bizness today, jobba. Jobba, jobba, jobba, jobba pleeze! No 1 else jobz half az good az me. Know whut Im sayin? Word 2 tha muthaphucka. Im into big screen TVs, money, 8-balls, 40s and unprotected sex. Of course, my hand has no diseases I know of. But those 5 otha jobbaz will bow down to the king.
Hey sexy. Wanna see something unpredictable? Are you feeling lucky? Do you wanna get lucky with me? I really like to do it hardcore. For everyone who orders BOB's next Pay-Per-View, you will be entered into a contest to win a date with me… I've been hardcore ever since wrestling organizations had F's in them! And I'll prove it to you!
For I am…
Buy BOB: Send Us Money: A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing. And get the chance of your life, a date with BILL!
Styles: OH MY, GOD!
[Back to the action!]
SW: So I guess BILL is coming to BOB? Hmmph. So Heidi, really, where is Billy Polar.
NH: I'm not sure. I last saw him heading for a graveyard down the road. Why? I don't know. He hasn't been himself lately. I hope he's OK and nobody ends up taking advantage of him.
SW: Well I guess it's time to finally get a look at one of the most EXTREME and well-known superstars today!
[Eddie B cranks up "Xxxtreme", which brings out the mess known as XXXtreme Machine.]
NH: Well, he's xxxtreme?
SW: Say, are you single now? Because you bring a whole new meaning to the word 'edible.'
NH: Don't even start with this. Oh no, he has the mic.
XM: Finly th Xzxterem Machiane hasa ccum bac to wheraver the fguck we r. so im gona fuk up this losera. Cuz im the worst their is the worst ehtte was and ahe worst ahtheryll every b. Howwooo!
NH: What was that?
SW: XXXtreme Machine is in rare form tonight.
NH: He sure is.
[Eddie B puts on a remake of "Walk" by that Du Hast song band. Go do a search if you really care what the name of the band is. Oops, just remembered. It's Rammstein. OK? Happy now, factoid person?]
MA: And his opponent. Being accompanied by Dr. Doomsday, weighing 221 pounds, he is, R. V. D.
[The crowd popped. And then, in an odd twist, a giant hand reached into the arena, picking up a handful of the fans and ate them.]
MA: Reiner Von Duzendorf!
[Out walked a man wearing a get-up very similar to Rob Van Dam's, except instead of a ying/yang symbol, there was a red hammer and sickle. He walked to the ring with the devious Dr. Doomsday.]
SW: Now RVD has a mic.
RVD: America sucks. Communism rules!
[He throws the mic down as the crowd boos a bit.]
SW: Wow, this guy is gonna produce some of the greatest promos.
NH: And there's the bell.
SW: Think somebody will ring it?
NH: We can hope.
["Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" brings out Xamfir. He runs down to the bell ringer's table and takes a seat. He rings the bell.]
SW: Well, might as well use him for something.
SW: And this match is underway. They lock up and RVD with a monkeyflip. XXXtreme Machine didn't like that too much.
XM: hay u dikc quit this crap or ill kik yur as ack to grmhyeny.
SW: And RVD responds with a spin kick right to XXXtreme Machine's jaw. He's down.
NH: A very familiar position.
SW: For him, or for you?
NH: Call the match pig.
SW: RVD off the ropes. Tumbling dealie splash.
NH: Does he call that the Capitalist Crusher?
SW: Oh, I get it. Instead of Rolling Thunder? Sure, why not.
NH: Better than tumbling dealie splash.
SW: Dr. Doomsday tosses RVD a chair.
NH: Well, at least he doesn't blow a whistle through the whole match.
SW: RVD picks up XXXtreme Machine.
RVD: Here, hold this.
SW: Von Duzenator!
Generic Ref: I'll allow it. This is an XXXtreme match.
NH: And the German American-hating Communist is on the top rope. Six-star frog splash.
SW: Cover. One. Two. Three. This one's all over. Well, these guys seem like a very nice addition to BOB. I completely trust them. I'm sure they won't do anything down the road that will in any way harm this federation. If that's even possible.
NH: I so wish we did racial profiling in BOB.
Xamfir: Hey! Some of my best friends are, Germans.
NH: Was I talking to you?
NH: No I wasn't.
Xamfir: Just shut up! You, you, GIRL!
NH: Would you care to join us and add your commentary?
Xamfir: No. I'm perfectly happy with my ring bell. (He finally rings it, signaling the end of the match.)
The Man Who Looks a Bit Like Nixon: Why should I win Survivor? Well look at my competition. Nobody dresses with the style I do. I am not a jobber. I am NOT a jobber. What? I know I have to job, that's just my catchphrase.
How many times do you people sit at home, looking back at your miserable pathetic excuse for a life and think to yourself..."If only I was handsome, if only I was cool, if only people liked me." You don't know what to do.
Well there are other people as miserable and pathetic as you using Rentafriend.com. Opening soon.
Now, instead of wasting all that money on video games, computer upgrades, and other useless crap that gives the deception of depth to your otherwise empty life, you could rent a friend and use that money to build a solid friendship.
Just remember one thing, friends who pretend to like you are just as good as any other friend. You are not alone...
[Outside the arena. Kurt Angel is sitting on a little box. He's staring up at the blue sky. Oh yeah, it's day time.]
KA: What? This is a morning show people.
[Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" comes walking into the shot.]
STJS: What is this? (she asks picking up a little white rolled up piece of paper.) And why do you smell like every Phish concert I've ever been to?
KA: Why don't you mind your own business?
STJS: Don't you even want to thank me for helping you become the number one contender?
KA: No. In fact, I want to know why you helped me.
STJS: SO DO I! Nobody will tell me!
KA: Tell you? Let me tell you something, you may be a jobber Slayer, but you know what you'll never be?
STJS: A weed smoking Special Olympic gold medalist who got tossed out of Heaven and is now banished to BOB for a year or until he wins the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS?
KA: Hey, that was NOT the Special Olympics. I'm not retarded!
STJS: Whatever. Let's not get bogged down in facts. You need my help.
KA: I need your help?
STJS: Otherwise, you're in for a long life of badness and eternal damnation in BOB and, a lot of other bad stuff.
KA: Why do you want to help me?
STJS: I want to help you get back into Heaven.
KA: Oh, please, get a clue. Want me to loan you a quarter so you can call St. Peter.
STJS: No need to be snippy. And besides, phone calls cost 35 cents.
KA: It's freakin' boring up in Heaven. Maybe I don't want to go back.
STJS: Why are you so…avoidy?
KA: I'm not avoidy.
STJS: Well, Angel.
KA: It's Kurt.
STJS: Angel, I'm going to restore your soul. I mean, your wings.
KA: Maybe I don't want my soul back. Maybe I like being bad. I'm bad. Oh not false.
STJS: Really Angel?
KA: Why are you calling me that?
STJS: I try not to think about you, but I can't stop myself. I know it's wrong. I shouldn't love you. After all, you're not really a man.
KA: Do you know where I can get some Pringles? I'm kinda hungry. Or maybe some Doritos.
STJS: This is nice. I like seeing you first thing in the morning. I like seeing you. And it's getting harder and harder to not be with you.
KA: What do you mean? Look, I'm weak. That's why I'm condemned to BOB.
STJS: You're weak. Everybody is. Everybody fails. So you did some angel dust and smoked a little weed up in Heaven. Big deal. For the last eight months or so, you've endured endless, annoying chants. But now it's time for you to do the right thing, to do good. To right a wrong. You're not a monster. You're an idiot.
KA: You just want to take credit for slaying me, don't you.
STJS: Yeah, but that's beside the point.
KA: What do you want?
STJS: I'm gonna give you…a moment of happiness.
[Back to inside.]
SW: Whoa. Does that mean Sarah and Angel are gonna have sex? I hope we see THAT segment!
NH: Oh, it's so romantic! Those two are just PERFECT for each other. It's a match made in Heaven.
SW: Yeah, and then it'll get cast out if history repeats itself.
MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first…
[Lenny emerges from the back to "Rainbows And Stuff," walking to the ring in his usual straitjacket. He barks at a few fans nearby.]
MA: From Unknown, he weighs 225 pounds, "Loony" Lenny.
SW: And here goes the old struggle to get into the ring bit again from Lenny.
NH: And it looks like the Generic Ref isn't gonna help get that key out again.
["Golden Showers" then begins to blare as the crowd goes wild for Urine, who walks out in his Urine Still Pees bandana and yellow get-up.]
NH: This guy is disgusting.
[Xamfir rings the bell.]
SW: And here we go.
NH: Lenny is still in his straitjacket.
SW: Urine charges, but as they collide, Urine falls down.
[The bell rings.]
SW: What the hell?
NH: Why did you ring the bell?
Xamfir: The Masked Announcer said one fall to a finish. Urine fell down. Match is over folks. Nothing more to see here.
SW: I think somebody was out of clever ends to matches.
NH: Ah, this must've been the last match written. Love when that happens.
SW: Well, Urine is scratching his head. I don't think this is how he expected his gimmick change to get buried so quickly.
NH: And I'm sure Lenny would be scratching his head, except for the really long sleeves.
U: Hey, uncle, this match has gotta continue, uncle. Because the dozens of Uri-maniacs wanna see the largest bladder in the world, uncle.
GR: Lenny, do you want the match to continue?
LL: The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind.
U: Hey man, that's gross.
[Lenny and Generic Ref look down as a puddle of pee begins to form at Urine's feet.]
GR: I'll allow it. Ring the bell, dumb bell.
Xamfir: No. I stand by my decision.
GR: Fine. Ding, ding, ding.
GR: What you gonna do about it?
Xamfir: I'm gonna pout and make faces at you.
SW: Oh my, big head butt by Lenny. Urine goes down. Cover. One, two, Urine kicks out!
NH: Uh oh, you know what time it is!
SW: Urine is 'foaming up.' Lenny with a kick. No sell. Another kick, no sell. Urine's up to a knee. One more kick, but that ain't gonna do a thing.
NH: Urine's back on his feet and rubbing wildly at his crotch. Lenny with a dropkick.
SW: And Urine waves a finger right in Lenny's face once he gets up. Punch. Punch. Punch. Whip of the ropes. Big boot to Lenny's thigh!
NH: Urine goes off the ropes! Oh, he misses the atomic corkscrew leg drop. Lenny drives his head into Urine's crotch. Oh, and now he's regretting it. It's still all moist and smelly.
SW: But he's heading up to the top rope. He's on the first rope. The second rope. I've never seen a wrestler climb up the ropes backwards in a straitjacket.
NH: There's probably a good reason you never saw that before.
SW: Loony Landing!
NH: How did he do that in a straitjacket?
SW: Umm…the word fiction comes to mind.
NH: Cover. One. Two. Three!
[Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.]
Xamfir: What? Who says you only have to ring it three times? That's a SILLY rule. Silly I tell ya.
SW: Are you going to be this annoying all night?
Xamfir: If I can.
Buy BOB: Send Us Money: A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing. And gain several inches where it counts!
BOB on Pay-Per-View: It might help satisfy your significant other.
Dyslexic Avenger: Survivor will I win those because jobbers other the aren't entertaining as speech impediment my. Bring I world the happiness, the while laughs world me at and me brings misery! Might I well as something get out of laughingstock of this a life. Laughing stop!
[Back to NAGAM.]
MA: The following match is a Death Match. Introducing first.
["Peter Gunn" begins playing as Little Good steps out, smoking a cigarette and power walking to the ring, sneering.]
MA: From Cloudydale, Connecticut. Weighing 180 pounds. Little Good!
[Little Good slides into the ring and throws his cigarette away. He forcefully takes his jacket off and throws it to the floor.]
SW: Little Good looks ready to die tonight!
NH: He can't wait!
[Eddie B. cranks up "Them Bones" by Alice In Chains, as Death emerges from the back with his scythe. We slowly walks to the ring.]
MA: Weighing it at, who knows what, from the Netherworld, Death!
SW: The 7-footer is BOB's low budget answer to Kevin Nash and The Big Show. Though our big man is less prone to injuries.
NH: Yeah, not a lot of muscles to worry about. That, and he rarely goes off his feet.
SW: Heidi, don't be silly. Don't insult the wrestling ability of the most agile big man in our sport today.
NH: Oh, right. Thanks.
[Heidi just read a note from Scotty that says "Shut up you idiot or Death will kill you!!!!!!!! You look really pretty tonight. She then flips the paper over.]
[Side two of the note said "I'd like to name a multiple orgasm after you!!]
SW: And Death has entered the ring. I don't even know why we go through the façade of this match.
NH: Death didn't rant, did he?
SW: No, he didn't. Which, in any other fed, would mean Little Good would win.
NH: But here, I guess Death is above ranting like the rest of the miserable roster.
SW: Um, Heidi.
NH: Oh, right, thanks.
[Another note, same message on side one. She turns it over and discovers "Hey babe, pretend my pants are France and invade them!"]
Xamfir: Hey Scotty?
SW: What Xamfir?
Xamfir: Ooga booga! Blah. Booooboaaalallaalalala.
[Ding, ding, ding.]
SW: Why me?
NH: Let me guess, karma?
Little Good: What ya say mate? Wanna do a job for an old pal?
Death: Death doesn't lay down for anybody.
Little Good: Oh really? Memory's not too good, is it?
Death: What are you talking about?
Little Good: Don't you remember March Mayhem 2002?
Death: Oh come on, that loss falls under house show rules. If it doesn't air, it doesn't count. If we had a rematch, I'm sure I'd kick his ass. Enough.
SW: And they lock up? Death backs Little Good into the corner. Knee lift. Knee lift. Knee lift. Knee lift. What offense from Death.
NH: Oh please, he's a one move
NH: If you write me one more pick up line.
SW: Do you like jigsaw puzzles?
SW: Well, after the show we can go back to my motel room and put our pieces together.
NH: Little Good swings wildly and punches himself in the cheek! Little Good just knocked himself out! Death is looking around and raises his hands up in disbelief at this turn of events. He goes for the cover.
SW: Little Good with a small package!
NH: ONE. TWO. DEATH KICKS OUT!
SW: Wow. I can't believe that almost worked.
NH: Death is mad now. He picks up Little Good with a bony hand. Sidewalk slam! Cover! One, two. Kick out by Little Good.
SW: And Little Good scurries to the corner. Oh no! He's got Death's scythe! He swings at Death with his own scythe! And misses. TOUCH OF DEATH from out of nowhere!
NH: One, two, THREE! Death wins.
SW: And Death recovers his scythe and is heading out of here.
Mr. X: So how are Sculder and Mully doing? Really, they got abducted. Hmm. Whodathunkit. So sorry I couldn't see that happen. Those bastards. I was jobbing while these losers were just learning how to job. These guys are just posers. You can't fade Mr. X. I don't even need a name, just a letter. These J.W.A.-ites are selling out. I'm the only one that's down for the jobbaz.
Buy one BOB Pay-Per-View, get the next Pay-Per-View half-price*. Why not start with Send Us Money: A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing.
COMING SOON! Order now.
*Subsequent PPV must be of lesser value.
MA: The following contest will be a triple threat, double title, tag team match.
[Eddie B cranks up "Porno Star (Rock 'n' Roll Part 2 Mega Mix)" by Buckcherry/Gary Glitter.]
MA: Introducing first. At a combined weight of 495 pounds and a combined height of 12 feet, 8 inches. Representing Totally Face, the only members without titles, Pain and Pleasure!
[The tag team walks out from backstage and walk to the ring. They seem a little disappointed in the lack of pop-age.]
SW: Hungalot's used to seeing things pop. This is rather odd.
NH: Maybe they saw his last film.
SW: Which one was his last film? Like I ever read the copyright dates.
NH: I think it was called Triple-Sexxx.
SW: Oh baby. I loved that movie. The girl with the Sexxx tattooed just over alimony alley. I'll never forget the scene where he shot off his heat seeking moisture missile.
NH: Enough Scotty. Alimony alley?
["Pop" by N'Sync begins playing.]
SW: Hey, isn't this tune on Totally Face: The Music Volume 1! In stores now?
NH: I dunno.
[Team number two.]
MA: Hey, that's MY job.
[Oops, brain cramp.]
MA: They are the You Gotta Have Friends Tag Team Champions.
[NO! You're having a flashback.]
MA: I am? Oh, right. They're the Four-Play Tag Team Champions. Satisfied?
[I'm HERE, aren't I? I want YOUR JOB.]
MA: You couldn't HANDLE this job pal.
[Oh really? Is that a challenge? I bet I could out announce you. I should be the announcer on EVERY BOB show. And I'm going to go ask BigBOSS for that opportunity. I'm going to show some USELESS AGGRESSION.]
SW: Well, as Masked Announcer and the Detached Narrator argue, here come the tag team champions, Brandon and Jim down the aisle. And the girls are going wild. Look at them jumping, up, and down, up and down.
NH: Scotty! They're not even legal yet.
SW: I know, I know. But it's not illegal to look.
NH: That's just sick.
MA: So you really think you can do this better. Fine. Here's your chance.
NH: What the hell is going to happen now?
Detached Narrator: And now, the final team in this match. At a combined weight of 505 pounds, they are the Swiss Army Champions and are from Seattle, Washington, or Kent, Ohio, depending on which guy it is. They are The Violent Pacifist and Josh "MASSIVE MAN." Totally Massive Pacifists!
[What song is that playing?]
DN: What's wrong friend, hard to figure out what's going on when you don't have me writing your material?
[I want my life back!]
DN: Too bad buddy. I got your job now.
SW: And with that, the Detached Narrator, our new ring announcer, is getting out of the ring? How did he switch their spots?
NH: I don't know. But now our little detailed bracketed paragraphs are gonna suck.
SW: Yeah they are.
Xamfir: But your bell ringing RULES!
NH: Are you still here?
Xamfir: No place I'd rather be. Other than yours.
NH: My what?
NH: How did you manage to grasp the concept of gravity?
SW: Wait a minute.
SW: Oh, right. Masked Announcer?
[Yes? Oh, right, sorry. I'll get in the groove in a minute. Um, OK. It's just so dark here, hard to read the script.]
NH: Where exactly are you?
[I'm not sure. But it's very dark. And all I can see is a computer screen. And oddly enough, as I think, all my thoughts form into words. Even if I screw up, it's like they just disappear. This is trippy man. Wooo. Look. I make words. I make sentences. Heehee! This is fun.]
NH: Can we please move along?
SW: Yeah, we don't get paid enough to do your job too. We're only here to entertain, not to inform.
[Right then. Ding, ding, ding.]
Xamfir: Hey. Don't I get credit for that bell ringing?
SW: Wait a minute.
SW: I said, WAIT A MINUTE!
[Is that a cue for me?]
DN: Will you admit you suck now?
MA: Fine, I suck. I want my old job back.
DN: Who's the man?
MA: You're the man, Detached Narrator. You are the man.
SW: Jeez, get a marriage license you too.
NH: Well, Masked Announcer is back in his chair at ringside.
[I'm here as well. Now, I just wanted everyone to know how important I am to the proceedings.]
Josh: Hey, Billy Polar has been walking down the aisle while you two were fighting. Can we please catch up now?
SW: Billy Polar?
NH: He's here!
SW: And looks about just as lively as last time. Is that blood on his lips?
NH: Don't listen to him Billy.
Josh: We've got something that's about to change the ratings!
[Flunky rolls out the TV set on a stand again. The wheel that fell off from the last disastrous segment with the TV is all fixed now.]
SW: Well, Nurse Heidi is helping lead Billy into the ring.
Xamfir: Scotty, you're so jenny say qua.
SW: Will you stop injecting yourself into this show!
Xamfir: Does my mastery of many tongues threaten you? Perhaps Heidi will fall for my, tongue. Ci?
[Flunky pops in another tape of Trey Vincent.]
TV: If you're watching this tape it either means I am dead or there is some sort of angle development I'm needed for here. In BOB's case, it likely means I am dead. So I, Trey Vincent, hereby leave all my earthly belongings to Steve Studnuts.
Brandon: Well, if you're done blabbering…
SW: Owww. My ears! I think our mic just blew up.
NH: Sorry about that.
SW: Heidi! Go stop Billy.
NH: Why? Oh no. BILLY! STOP TRYING TO EAT JEAN!
[Totally Face pulls him off. The boys look around, not sure what to do. Meanwhile, the camera cuts to Trey Vincent, who is staring blankly ahead at the camera, and then starts making faces as if he is bored and wants them to get on with their speech. He taps his wrist, but there is no watch there. He then stops and stares straight ahead. His jaw drops open.]
NH: Here comes Flunky with a new microphone.
SW: Wow. This better be something shocking. And Billy is now trying to eat Brandon. Sir Hungalot could pitch this love story as his next film. I Love To Get Eaten By A Zombie. Co-starring Billy Polar and Nurse Heidi.
[The girls in the crowd scream!!! Meanwhile, the TV is showing static. The tape is over. Any coordinated tape/live action sequence has been blown by equipment malfunction.]
Brandon: We would like to reveal something to all the ladies tonight.
[The girls scream louder.]
Brandon: It may shock you, because, well, it's huge!
[The girls scream even louder.]
Brandon: Sir Hungalot?
[The Sir reaches into his pants…]
SW: Duck and cover!
[…and pulls out…a round, white object and holds it high up for the world to see.]
NH: A rolled up piece of paper?
SW: Oh, so he doesn't have a detachable penis. OK.
Jim: You see (he says, before waiting for the girly screeching to die down a tad), Billy Polar is in no shape to run 33 and 1/3 percent of this company. But oddly enough, he did have the ability to sign his name, to THIS legally binding contract! Sir, go bring Flunky this tape with the signing.
[Sir takes the tape, and then looks at it a bit funny.]
SH: Um, was THIS the tape with the contract signing on it?
Jim: Yes, why?
SH: Well, um. I kinda taped over it.
Jim: You what?
SH: I taped over it. There's this movie…
Josh: It doesn't matter if we have the tape or not. We have his signature. Giving us booking control and also telling us that if he becomes a zombie, we will cryogenically freeze him until a cure is found.
NH: Oh no! He said he wants to be cremated! Damn it!
Josh: Heidi, I'm sorry. We're not gonna burn him. He wants to be frozen until they find a cure for zombiefication.
NH: Well, fine. I guess.
[Billy tries to bite Sir Hungalot's leg. The Big Sir kicks him away.]
Jim: So, what this contract means, is that Totally Face has Billy's old 33 1/3 booking power.
SW: That's like, 5.5 percent booking power per guy!
NH: I'm sorry Scotty. I have to go say goodbye to Billy.
SW: Well, Heidi's pulling Billy away out of the ring. And
Voiceover: Jimmy, I want a cookie…
[Sounds of cookie jars breaking fills the arena and a huge crowd pop accompanies Hardcore JJ as he enters, and he's got wheels! This time, he's driving a tiny little black Hardcore JJ pick-up truck. "Back In Black" is blaring from inside.]
SW: Wow, that toy car has a CD player? Oh no! He rams the stand. And it falls off the stage again! Oh, this time two wheels have broken! Oh the humanity. Well, the crowd is absolutely on fire as JJ gets on the bed of his truck and salutes them with Pepsi's. The choice of a new generation! Come sponsor us! We're giving you free publicity! Or else we'll start calling them JJsi's!
[Meanwhile, Billy is at the entryway. He turns around and Heidi lifts up one of his arms and waves it the crowd. It would've been a touching moment, if anybody cared. But sadly, he was a heel, and he was from Harvard, damn it.]
SW: Oh wait! All might not be lost! JJ's saluting Billy! Maybe, some day soon, they'll find a cure for your condition and you can come back to BOB! Whether you liked him or you hated him, that man gave you, something, every time he wrestled or talked. He was one of the least respected men in this business. There are a lotta jerks, a lotta asses in the business. And he was one of them. And that's why I loved him. He has seen his last match. He's gonna leave here like the zombie he is. Billy Polar's career is over. As the fans say their final farewells, they're giving him, or JJ, a standing ovation. Whose to say. Goodbye my friend. Thanks for the great memories. You're gonna be missed by me. God speed, Billy. Go get your head frozen!
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[A girl covered in traditional Middle Eastern clothing lifts up her garb to reveal a toe! (but it's blurred out by the censors.]
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[Various other girls show off blurred fingers and in one shocking yet censored moment, we see two women standing next to each other!]
This all new, off the hook, totally uncensored video is packed with stunning REAL Al Qaeda girls! Hit the bombed villages with out of control terrorist sluts. Hang out with hot women exposing (some of) it all. And crash the most (literally) explosive parties ever caught on tape. It's non-stop, uncensored action you've got to see!
Bivalve: Why do we keep getting put into the most bizarre situations like this? I mean, when we signed on with Sleazy and Treyster, we assumed that we'd finally get a push to the Tag Team Titles. Instead, what are we doing? What are we doing? Fighting on a beach. Oh sorry, an island. To get a shot at the Hardcore Title? I'm so hungry. I'm gonna have to cannibalize somebody.
["Undies" began playing, bringing out the (New? Real? Other?) Undietaker!]
MA: The following contest is our main event before the final match of the night. Introducing first, now entering the ring, he is from London, England, and weighs 320 pounds, this is the Undietaker!
MA: YEEEOOWWWW! Hey!
SW: Come steal Heidi's panties! Undietaker!
NH: Will you shut up!
SW: What are you… HUMINA, HUMINA, HUMINA!
NH: Now shut up!
SW: I will treasure these panties always.
Xamfir: Got a pair for me too?
SW: Hey! He just took your panties, which were my panties! Give those back.
[He holds them up high, making Scotty jump for them. Then, over the PA, Kay Fabe's voice is heard: IF YA SMELLLLLALALALALALALA. What the LESBIAN. Is….Cooking! "Queer" by Garbage begins to play, bringing out the sexiest Wiccan lesbian parody sports entertainer, Kay Fabe.]
[Ding, ding, thud]
NH: Hey! Xamfir just hit Undietaker with the bell! And here comes Kay Fabe.
SW: Panty fumble! I got them and they will, go, all, the way, into my pocket!
[But that brings out the Handis, Randy and Khan!]
Xamfir: Uh oh!
SW: Well, the match has headed inside. WHOA. Kay Fabe is wearing a black SKIRT! That's gonna be easy access for Undietaker. Is she insane?
NH: And Xamfir is running around the ring, trying to avoid the huge handis. And they're not even up the aisle yet. Oh brother, he just ran into them.
SW: He's threatening to ring the bell if they touch him. Meanwhile, Kay Fabe has Undietaker in the corner and is slapping the taste out of his mouth with some bitchslaps. Oh, and there's a super-bitchslap. She put a lot of lick into that slap. I bet she puts a lot of tongue into everybody, being a lesbian and all.
NH: Scotty, quit drooling. Somebody's gonna slip and sue us.
SW: BigBOSS has the money now. Woohoo! I can drool all I want. Oh, but here comes the Undietaker. He tosses Kay into the corner. Punch. Punch. Punch. Papapapapunch. He whips her into the corner and comes running with a clothesline! And now he's looking for something to follow up the clothesline with. He's gonna for second base!
NH: Doesn't this border on sexual harassment?
SW: Who cares? It's gonna pop the ratings. My Nielsen is going through the roof. And he comes out empty handed? No bratake?
NH: She's not wearing a bra!
SW: OH GOD. I want to wrestle Kay Fabe next week. I don't care if I get my ass kicked. Do you think, she's wearing panties?
NH: She has to be. Nobody would wrestle in a skirt pantyless. Would they?
SW: I don't know, but I want to find out!
NH: And that time may be now! Look.
Undietaker: PANTY-TAKE. YESSSS!
SW: He's got her panties! But uh-oh, she used the opportunity to lock up Undietaker and hit Kay's Bottom! It's now time for the sexiest move in parody sports entertainment today!
NH: She hops off one side of the ring, and the other side. And she delivers
SW: THE LESBIAN'S TONGUE!
[Fans are popping.]
SW: Cover! One, two, KICK OUT! NO WAY!
NH: Kay is questioning the referee.
["Her Strut" begins to play!]
SW: OH NO. Here comes BVD again!
NH: He just tossed Kay a pair of panties! And she's putting them on!
SW: Oh, BOOOO!
NH: And BVD is tossing undies everywhere!
U: UNDIETAKE! UNDIETAKE! UNDIETAKE! Wait, these aren't USED!
NH: Xamfir just slid Kay the bell! Oh and she hits Undietaker! He's down.
[The lights go out.]
SW: Now what?
[Creepy organ music begins to play. The lights slowly come back on as out walk the fruits, carrying undies on sticks! They lead out The Undietaker. The other one.]
SW: Oh no, here we go again.
NH: But which one is the REAL Undietaker?
SW: Like I know.
NH: The fruits are fighting with the handis. And in the ring, BVD, The Undietaker and The Undietaker are all having a staredown.
SW: Wait a minute! The Undietaker and BVD are attacking The Undietaker! What's going on? It's two on one.
[Kay Fabe and Xamfir shrug and leave. Xamfir rings the bell and drops it along the way.]
NH: This is awful. The Undietaker picks up The Undietaker! CHOKESLAM AND WEDGIE TO HELL! And now, in the ultimate insult, The Undietaker is once again stealing The Undietaker's taken undies!
SW: The crowd is dumbfounded. They don't know what the hell to make of this alliance of The Undietaker and BVD. But here come the Handis to the rescue. They run off The Undietaker and BVD, saving The Undietaker. The fruits are down.
[The Undertaker's Voice then fills the arena, as if it were tape recorded and played now, really loudly and booming (although without the boom, more like a loud tinny hissing), and he lip-synchs to it.]
Undietaker: I warned you boy! When you mess with Skidmark Inc., when you try to steal my gimmick, when you don't respect me. There's gonna be a problem. So you best stay away from my lawn, or I'll steal the undies from your anus.
[We cut to Survivor Island. There is a construct by numbers announce desk set up near a construct by numbers wrestling ring. Apparently, the boys have been busy working together to build the ring.]
Mark Shill: Hello everyone, and WELCOME, to the MOST INNOVATIVE MATCH IN THE HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. This is the SURVIVOR match.
SW: Hey, can you hear us Shill?
MS: I sure can Scotty. And I am here just to give some on scene reporting of this AMAZING SPECTACLE THAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN, RIGHT, NOOOOOWWWWWW! OK, fans, here is what has been decided.
Styles: OH MY GOD.
MS: Oh yes, and I am with Styles.
Styles: That's right, and this match is going to get EXTREME.
NH: OK. Take it away boys.
Styles: Thank you Nurse Heidi. OK, the following match is going to be a Hometown Heat Cliché Challenge Match. Everyone is going to cut an anti-deserted island/beach promo. Now, the loser of this match will be the winner of the challenge.
MS: The LOSER, will be the WINNER, and get the SHOT, and Seth Harker's Are You Out of Your Frickin' Mind Hardcore Title. ONLY HERE IN BOB!
Styles: So, the object of this challenge is to out-promo your opponents, and if you get pinned or submit, YOU have won the cliché challenge, though you will have lost the match. But your prize for jobbing? A shot at the AYOOYFM Hardcore Title. There will be no voting or any of that silly alliance crap. Are you ready?
MS: I was BORN ready!
[Dyslexic Avenger gets in the ring.]
DA: So nice it's here to be in, ISLAND POPULATED HEAVILY! Ha ha! See, really aren't we in populated island heavily. Just I'm props giving a to different town I don't because I am know where!
Styles: Oh boy, going for the old pretend we're in a different town card. It's a classic but a goodie.
[Sleazy-C get in the ring and steals the mic from DA.]
SC: Hey u bitches, u r all jobless pieces of jobless shit! Muthaphuck u all. Cuz I'm Sleazy-Muthaphucking Me! And it's 200C. Tha year of me.
Styles: Tasteful as always. Didn't Trey Vincent use that line in an MST?
SC: Hey man, muthaphuck u 2! Are you callin me a playjooriza?
[Nixon gets in next.]
TMWLABLN: It sucks to be here in, Survivor Island (he says putting his thumb down and frowning as he says it)! If you want an example of a winner, look at everybody who's not here on the island! You are all winners! And you are awesome!
Styles: I don't even GET that! He's supposed to insult the locals. I guess the locals are losers?
MS: What STRONG words there by Nixon.
[Here's Super Mollusc!]
SM: *Ahem* Your football team sucks! They will never win a Super Bowl. And your baseball team? Ha ha ha. They are pathetic. The only thing this island knows about is losing.
Styles: Wow. I didn't even know this island HAD sports teams. What are they, the Survivor Island Cannibals? Or maybe the Coconuts? Or maybe the Blue Lagoonies?
[And next up is Bivalve.]
B: The sand here is awful! The water is too cold. And it smells. I hate Survivor Island. It sucks. I don't know how you people live here. I would be ashamed. Ashamed, I tells ya. And all of you walk around with fly bites because you smell and the flies are attracted to your smells and they bite you cuz you smell.
[Mr. X is the last entrant.]
Mr. X: I've got a $20 bill that says these guys are NOT gonna win (he says to…)
Styles: Hey! That's Sculder! What's he doing in the referee shirt?
MS: Wasn't he ABDUCTED the last time we had a real show?
Sculder (Lifelessly, even more so than usual): Yes, $20.
Styles: Where did HE get a $20 bill?!
[Ding, ding, ding.]
MS: Mully is the timekeeper!
Styles: The fight is on. Mr. X wraps Sleazy-C into a small package! And then rolls him back on himself! Sleazy-C with a cover! Nobody else realizes it, they're too busy punching each other! Sculder with the count!
MS: ONE……TWO……THREE! Mr. X wins!
[Ding, ding, ding.]
Styles: Sleazy-C is livid! He doesn't know how to counter wrestle!
MS: It's BEDLAM!
Styles: Everyone is still fighting! They're all pounding and kicking each other. Look, some of the blows are even connecting!
[Ding, ding, ding.]
[Everyone stops fighting and starts to leave the ring.]
Styles: Well I'll be damned! Ringing the bell during the post-match fight actually worked with the J.W.A.!
MS: What a historical edition of NAGAM! This is the GREATEST SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF OUR SPORT.
[Back to the empty arena, would YOU stay around for that match?]
SW: Well, I guess that's it. Though I don't quite get it.
NH: You're not supposed to get it. We're just supposed to get off the air. We left that for last in case we ran long and they had to cut us off.
SW: Ah, good thinking. Well, for Nurse Heidi, I am Scotty Whatbody, and you have been watching MY show!
©2002 BOB Wrestling! Maybe the 3-D glasses would've helped?