[Fade up on the BOB Ballroom. A sold out crowd of a few hundred has packed the room. Before we can even get to Styles and Scotty Whatbody to hype up the show, "Not All Who Wander Are Lost" by DevilDriver begins blaring.]
Styles: Well this is a surprise, fittingly enough, to start off October Surprise! Hello everyone, and welcome to Brawlers On a Budget's October Surprise! I'm Mikey Styles, joined as always by Scotty Whatbody, and Scotty, why is Trey Vincent out here?
[Trey Vincent steps out from the back, scans the fans, and then walks toward the ring.]
SW: Trey Vincent doesn't need a reason to be out here. He's the Vice President in Charge of Everything. Finally, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants' reign of terror is over.
Styles: Reign of terror? I thought you were happy he got rid of Axl?
SW: Aside from that, it was a nightmare. Plants booked himself to win the Swiss Army Belt, and then inserts himself into the main event of MegaBrawl II? Why? You know what SMP's going to do at MegaBrawl II? *ackackack*
Styles: Will you stop it?
SW: *ackackack* And I'm pretty sure SMP's the one who pushed Hawking down the stairs.
Styles: What? Who told you that?
SW: A very reliable source. Studs did!
Styles: Studnuts? Reliable?
[Meanwhile, Trey has produced a bottle of beer, guzzles a bit of it, then throws the bottle into the crowd. Trey stands on the apron, looking down for a few seconds, before he suddenly spits a misty cloud of beer at a ringside fan.]
Styles: Trey doing his rare Dos Equis entrance tonight.
SW: Yeah. It's very rare to see him waste beer like that. You know, not all who wander are drunk, Styles.
[Trey gets in the ring and grabs the microphone from Nurse Heidi. Once the music is cut off, Trey stands in mid-ring and gets to his business.]
TV: The Vice President in Charge of Everything has several announcements to make. Because, if Trey Vincent knows ANYTHING, it's that people buy our On-Demand events for in-ring segments!
[The crowd boos.]
TV: First off, where is Generic Ref? Generic Ref, get your tubby old ass out here while Trey Vincent shows the idiots here in Sin City a little video. Roll tape, jackfucks!
Caption: Total Non-Action Wrestling iMPLOSION! #13
Kay Fabe: There just aren't enough jugs in that ring right now. Seth should hire a new referee. Preferably, a blonde.
SW: With gigantic boobies!
Styles: Kay Fabe goes for a hoodancanrana but Jerri powerbombs her with authority. 1, 2 and no. Kay Fabe just manages to kick out!
SW: I see London, I see France…
[A ‘too rude for TV’ image appears on the screen as Jerri’s clothes now cover little more than her nipples and vagina.]
SW: Talk about beaver! At least she shaves her legs I suppose.
Styles: Generic Ref is trying to cover Jerri up with a bathrobe.
SW: No! Fire him! Damn you Ref, my dreams have finally come true and you try to take them away!
Styles: Jerri is reluctant to wear the robe and argues with the Ref.
[Back to Vincent, who is joined by Generic Ref in the ring now.]
TV: Generic Ref, you've been here, what, nine, ten years or something?
GR: Uhh…(Generic Ref tries to begin counting with his fingers, but gets lost around four…)
TV: Didn't mean to stump you, Ref. Look. The budget came in for next year, and you're not in it. So, we had to go in a cheaper, more boobified direction.
GR: I don't understand.
TV: You're fired.
GR: Still don't get it.
[Trey scratches his head.]
TV: You no longer work here. You need to find another job. You are redundant. Dismissed. Discharged. Let go. Laid off. Shitcanned. Terminated. Unemployed!
GR: So, you're saying…?
TV: *Sigh* Bring out the new referee.
["Vicky Jean" by Michael Wackson hits. And out steps the girl of Scotty Whatbody's dreams, dressed in a low-cut white and black striped referre mini-dress, as well as knee-high black high-heeled boots. She is greeted by whistles and cheers from all the horny men in the crowd. And possibly Kay Fabe in the back.]
SW: Humina humina humina! Oh baby!
TV: Direct from some other small-time dead sports entertainment federation, please welcome the new Brawlers On a Budget referee, Vicky Jean!
SW: Oh baby! I hope Vicky Jean IS my lover! Or at least my sperm dumpster!
Styles: Lovely, Scotty. How you've not been sued yet for sexual harassment I'll never know.
SW: Um, this is wrestling. Degrading women is part of the job description.
GR: Wait, wait. I think I'm starting to get the picture now.
GR: So should I go backstage, set up an appointment with SMP for a boob job and get shaving all my body hair?
TV: Thanks for THAT mental image. (Trey closes his eyes and shivers.) Generic Ref. You. Are. FIRED! Go home. Your services are no longer required. No more three counts. Nah-nah-nah-nah-hey-hey-hey-goodbye.
[Generic Ref stares at Trey dumbly.]
TV: Right. Next point of business, Trey Vincent needs somebody in the back to drive Generic Ref into the woods and leave him.
["Too Drunk to Fuck" by Dead Kennedys hits. Little Good struts out smoking a cig and slides into the ring.]
LG: C'mon, gramps. Time to ride off into the bleedin' sunset. Will I get reimbursed for the petrol?
TV: Petrol? Don't make up words, Little Good.
LG: Bloody hell. The gas!
TV: Oh. No. But hey, you just forced Trey Vincent into paying you for appearing in this segment.
LG: Jeers, mate.
[Little Good grabs Generic Ref by the shirt and pulls him out of the ring.]
TV: Vicky, welcome to BOB. Next order of business, you know the whole card subject to change disclaimer? Well, there is one big change to the card tonight. So Sin City, please join me in welcoming back to BOB…AXL!
[Huge boos as "Do You Call My Name" by Ra hits. Axl steps out, rolls his eyes at the fans, and heads into the ring. Trey is holding what looks like a contract in his hand.]
Styles: What were you saying about SMP's reign of terror?
SW: Trey? Have you gone insane? Axl was GONE! Is he a glutton for punishment or something?
TV: Settle down, people.
[The crowd doesn't. A chair flies between Axl and Trey's heads.]
TV: Axl, welcome back. Now listen, what I have here is a guaranteed one year contract that expires at the end of 2009. Which means you can't get fired. And that's pretty much it. You have no creative control. No guaranteed title shots. Hell, with BOB, not even a guarantee that you'll really get paid. But at least, you have a place to Rant…Oh right, sorry, forgot.
SW: This isn't funny.
Styles: I know. But that line was.
TV: Axl, buddy, you may be more annoying than Neige 13 ever was, but…uh…yeah, see this is why Trey Vincent never went into coaching. You're just more annoying than Neige. But you've got a job here because, well, Trey Vincent just hates all you people so much, and Trey Vincent wanted to frost the faces of BOB fans with my proverbial feces.
[The crowd actually is booing Trey now.]
TV: Do you have anything you'd like to say?
TV: Nicely said. Beat it. Oh yeah, and Axl. You're in that match tonight against American Panda. And remember, there isn't a no-getting-eaten-by-American-Panda-clause in that contract either.
TV: However, tonight, Trey Vincent is banning any eating of any other BOB superstar!
TV: So American Panda, if you eat Axl, you'll so be disqualified.
[Axl wanders away.]
TV: Next piece of business.
SW: Man, there's nothing like a great, long segment of a figurehead blabbering on and on, is there?
Styles: That's sports entertainment…
SW: I hate sports entertainment.
["Halo" by Soil hit. Trey seemed a bit stumped by this development. After a few seconds, a guy stepped out from the back with a black and yellow duffel bag. He slid the bag into the ring and then slid into the ring as well.]
Guy: Mr. Vincent. Sorry to interrupt your show, but this was of great importance. I have some friends who need to speak with you.
[The man kicks the bag to Vincent's feet.]
TV: Are they really tiny friends?
Guy: Open it.
TV: I have an irrational fear of midgets.
Guy: No midgets. Promise.
[Trey kneels down and unzips the bag. Inside he finds…]
TV: The FUCK?
Guy: Mr. Vincent, I represent the Legacy of Champions. And we require your services. Consider that a down payment.
[Trey is speechless, staring into the bag full of, whatever it is. After a few seconds, Trey zips up the bag.]
Crowd: You're selling out! You're selling out! You're selling out!
[Trey flips off the crowd, only increasing the boos from the fans.]
SW: He re-signs Axl, and now is leaving? Son of a BITCH! Why couldn't he leave FIRST? Welcome to DanTrey's Inferno.
Loc Guy: All I need from you is a signature and we can be on our way. Television. Pay-per-view. Money. Fame. Do you want to be a big fish in a little pond, or would you rather be a big fish in a really big pond?
SW: He may be a big fish, but he'll always have a tiny, tiny fish penis.
TV: Sir, I will sign your contract. Or die trying.
[Trey holds out his hand. The man quickly pulls out a contract and a pen.]
Fans: You're selling out! You're selling out! You're selling out!
Styles: Scotty, this is bad. BigBOSS is who knows where. Trey is leaving. Who is going to lead BOB in 2009?
Styles: God save us. Trey has just signed a contract with the Legacy of Champions.
SW: What a sell-out. How dare he get guaranteed money, a large audience, pay-per-view appearances, merchandise…Trey, take me with you! I can be your heel manager! Please! Call me Scotty "The Scoundrel" or something. Anything! Buddy!
Man: There's a limo waiting for you outside. I'll let you say goodbye.
[The man leaves.]
Crowd: Fuck you, Trey! *Clap, clap, clapclapclap* Fuck you, Trey! *Clap, clap, clapclapclap* Fuck you, Trey! *Clap, clap, clapclapclap*
TV: Trey Vincent brought BOB out here you ungrateful little fucks! Trey Vincent got BOB onto G5 TV after this company fucked up its Comedy Central deal. Trey Vincent brought you week after week of entertainment. He delivered the greatest Rants this company has ever seen. And this is how you thank Trey Vincent? Shit, if Trey Vincent had known what little bitches you all were, Trey Vincent would've re-signed Axl for LIFE!
TV: Halloween's over, losers. Trey Vincent is glad that Trey Vincent got to fuck every chick here before Trey Vincent left. Other than that, Trey Vincent has no regrets.
["Dead Between the Walls" by Pelican hits.]
Styles: Oh boy. This is about to get interesting. It's BOB's ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, one-half of the Not Good Enough to Fight Alone Tag Team Champions, Steve Studnuts!
SW: Not to mention, together they formed the iAd back in 2002. The greatest heel stable ever.
[Studs comes out without his title belts, still dressed in his street clothes.]
Studs: What the FUCK bullshit is this?
Studs: Shuddap, faggots.
[Crowd cheers. Wow, tough crowd.]
Studs: You are staying for this gat damn Snore Games match tonight, or I will beat the piss out of you until there ain't nothing left for the Legacy of Cunts.
TV: No, Trey Vincent WON'T! Studs, buddy, if you were in Trey Vincent's boots, you would do the same thing. Well, of course, if you were in TREY VINCENT's boots, you also might not have jobbed out to that fossil titty doctor last week.
Styles: Oh my god.
Studs: Trey, never burn a bridge while you're still fuckin' on it, ya dig?
TV: Lay a hand on Trey Vincent and Trey Vincent will hand off the VP title to some little scrub who won't play nice with you.
Studs: I'm in Sin City. I'm willing to gamble.
[There's a huge roar from the crowd and Studs hits the first shot!]
Styles: Oh my GOD! Trey Vincent and Steve Studnuts are fighting! Studnuts and Vincent trading punches in the middle of the ring.
SW: Is this really happening?
Styles: It definitely is! Steve Studnuts and Trey Vincent are brawling. Trey with a kick. Coming Down, no! Studs avoids. Low blow connects. DEATH VALLEY (OF THE SUN) DRIVER ON VINCENT!
SW: And here it comes. The most censored move in wrestling today: the Fuck Knuckle Shuffle! Talk about a virtual money shot. Take it Trey, you whore!
Styles: Studnuts has just embarrassed Trey Vincent on his way out of the company. And now Studs is taking a peek inside Vincent's bag.
SW: Hey! He's stealing wads of cash! I should do that before Trey gets up.
Styles: Sit down! In an odd twist of fate, after firing Generic Ref and re-signing Axl, Trey ends up leaving BOB. What a shocking way to start off October Surprise!
SW: You left out the part about getting punked out and robbed by Studnuts. That was the best part!
Styles: Let's send it backstage, as The Flunky and our crew gets ready for Snore Games!
SW: Which one? The one we pre-taped or the main event one?
SW: Oh, right. Whoopsie.
[Kay Fabe is standing by with Kobe Gyant's team of Al U. Minium-Ladder, Woody Table, Acoustic Guitar and Mike "The Monotone" Monroe.]
Kay Fabe: Um, hey everyone. We're just moments away from Snore Games. Kobe Gyant, you feeling the wigguns?
KG: No, but I damn sure would like to feel the Wiccan. I hear you're a reformed lesbo. How'd you like to break your dependence on unnaturally pale white boys?
KF: Whoa whoa! Hey! You!
KG: Sorry, girl. It's just I've got more darkness in one hair on my black ass than he has in his entire body. Your boy was once in Blood, Sweat and Chairs Wrestling? Shoot, girl, tonight you're about to see Blood, Sweat, Four Steel Chairs, Ladder, Table, Guitar, Monotone, and Little Blonde Ho Wrestling! And the champion of this federation? Kobe Gyant. I'm like three cruiserweights in one gorgeous Nubian body, Kay. After every outstanding move I unleash, the crowd will chant BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub! BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub! BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub! Tell 'em, Mike.
MM: Kay, there are a lot of confident individuals here in Brawlers On a Budget. One that comes immediate to mind is Steel Chair. Steel Chair? More action on the way. Stay tuned.
KF: Whatever. Bored now. Back to you guys.
[Back to the ballroom, a cage has been erected around the ring.]
NH: Ladies and gentlemen, this opening contest is the Snore Games match! The rules are as follows. The match will begin with one man, woman, or inanimate object from both teams. At the end of the first five minute period, there will be a coin toss to determine which team can send in the next entrant. Entrants will then alternate between teams until all 10 men, women, or inanimate objects are in the cage. Then, the Match Be-Yawn begins. The only way to win is by submission, surrender, or knockout.
["Me So Horny" by 2 Live Crew hits.]
[Various noisemakers are blown and streamers are thrown at the cage unsuccessfully, as well as Kobe's team as they walk down the aisle.]
SW: Is it Kobe's birthday?
Styles: No. It's BOB's! Wow. The fans threw us a surprise party! How awesome is that!
SW: Not very.
NH: Introducing first, team number one! At a combined weight of something, Acoustic Guitar, Woody Table, Al U. Minium-Ladder, Mike "The Monotone" Monroe" and Kobe Gyant!
Styles: And here come the balloons. Wow. That's right fans, BOB was born back in 1999. We're celebrating nine years tonight.
SW: And just like with life, every year gets worse and worse. Happy birthday, BOB. You poor bastard.
["Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears begins playing. The crowd cheers as the heel team steps out. Er, rolls out?]
[More noisemakers and streamers.]
NH: And their opponents. Red Chair, Steel Chair, Beige Chair and Black Chair, the 4 Steelchairs! And their partner. Is in a wheelchair and wearing a neckbrace, Va-Jay-Jay Dillon!
SW: What is this? And who's pushing her out?
Styles: That's the Human Foreign Object! That's one of Steel Chair's apprentices.
SW: One of? It better not have more out there.
VD: I'm sorry to disappoint all my fans, but due to a slight case of whiplash, I will be unable to compete tonight. So, subbing for me will be the Human Foreign Object!
KG: Whiplash? What's the matter, did you fall on your face while aluminum mask boy was piledriving you last night?
Crowd: Oooooh! Kobe! Kobe! Kobe!
VD: That's not relevant! Kobe, all you need to know is that you are going to need an HMO after the HFO gets done with you!
KG: You seriously think anyone in BOB has health insurance? Bitch, please. Get a new catchphrase for that retard or get back down on your knees.
Styles: And with that, here comes the Human Foreign Object after Kobe!
SW: Save him Woody. Oh right, you can't, you're a table! It's too bad McCain lost, because I'd be all for overturning Roe vs. Wade if it would stop future abortions of matches such as this one.
Styles: I have no idea what to say to that. OK! Kobe's in the cage, with the Human Foreign Object in pursuit! Vicky Jean shuts the cage door and this one is officially underway. The Human Foreign Object with the early advantage here on Kobe Gyant.
SW: Too bad the Human Foreign Object isn't a chick. Kobe's great at taking advantage of them.
Styles: If he were a woman, then he, er, she'd also probably be pregnant by now.
SW: True true.
Styles: Human Foreign Object runs to the ropes. Springboard…eye rake?
SW: Aerial idiocy at its finest.
Styles: HFO now with an Asai dropkick, very nicely done! And Kobe Gyant is in some trouble like we haven't seen yet in his BOB stint.
SW: Oh yeah. It's amazing those inanimate objects haven't fought him harder. Or that wigger who sucked donkey balls and didn't even make it past one show.
Styles: Kobe fighting back now. Chop!
Styles: And another huge chop!
Styles: But HFO fighting back once again. He's got Kobe cornered now and is just unloading on him. Elbow to the face. Kobe's staggered. HFO to the ropes and—
Styles: OH MY GOD! HFO just got tripped up by the cage and landing on his HEAD!
SW: The cage is in the tank for Kobe! Oh come on!
Styles: And Kobe's right on him. Dribbler Crossface locked on! But even if HFO taps out, it won't matter, because this match can't end until all 10 members are in the ring.
SW: And even if the heels win the toss, which they WILL, do you really think a chair is gonna be able to break up this hold? Kobe can hold this on all day if he wants.
Styles: Well, it won't be all day, as he drops the hold. But now Kobe's heading up top to inflict some more damage.
SW: Kobe's about to go hit HFO froggy style.
Styles: No! HFO avoids the splash. HFO heading up top. Moonsault! Kobe moves, but HFO lands on his feet. Kobe grabs HFO by the face. SLAM DUNK INTO THE CAGE! Oh man! The back of HFO's skull was just rammed viciously into the cage. And I think HFO might have just lost a tooth after that one.
SW: Wrong side of the head, genius. That wasn't a tooth. Actually, I think it was a razor blade. Blade job to the back of the head? Sick!
Styles: *Ahem* Indeed, HFO has been busted wide open by the cage.
SW: What do you call that? The crimson winter hat since it's on the back of his head? Or the crimson mullet maybe?
Styles: I don't know. Never had this issue before. Kobe grabs HFO. HFO tries for a hoodanconrana! No! Nice reversal as Kobe just powerbombed HFO. Kobe drags up HFO and tosses him face-first into the steel. And again! And again!
[HFO collapses to the mat.]
SW: He's in Approved Blading Position™.
Styles: And I think HFO may now also be lacerated on the front as well.
SW: Ahahahaha! Look at that. His aluminum foil mask is cut.
Styles: And his aluminum mask is now part crimson.
Crowd: 10, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
SW: I think they missed six. Idiots.
Styles: Who will win the coin toss?
[At ringside, referee Vicky Jean is with Mike Monroe and Va-Jay-Jay Dillon.]
Vicky Jean: OK. This side is heads. This side is ALSO heads. Va-Jay-Jay, call it in the air.
[Vicky flips the coin.]
[The coin lands on the ground.]
VJ: Uh, you're supposed to call either heads or tails.
VD: Oh! Sorry, these rules are so complicated. I'll get it this time.
VJ: OK. Call it in the air. HEADS, ortails.
[Vicky flips the coin a second time. The coin lands on the ground.]
VD: In the air!
[Mike and Vicky look at each other and roll their eyes at Va-Jay-Jay Dillon's stupidity.]
VJ: OK. First off, no. And second off…did you learn to speak when you were six or something?
[Mike whispers something to Vicky. Vicky slaps him. Mike then whispers something I assume is less vulgar to her. This time she smiles.]
VJ: OK. One more try. Ready?
VD: *Sigh* Yeah.
VJ: Call it HEADS.
[Vicky flips the coin. It lands on the ground.]
VJ: Close enough.
Styles: And Steel Chair's team gains the advantage for the first period.
SW: Which is almost over after those shenanigans. Not that I'm complaining.
Styles: The cage is open and in goes Beige chair. And the Human Foreign Object just tossed Kobe into the cage. HFO grabs Beige Chair and wedges it between the middle and top rope.
Styles: And Kobe is rammed into Beige Chair hard. That had to suck.
SW: Well, yeah. By definition this whole match sucks.
Styles: Now HFO and Beige Chair looking for a double team. Kobe goes for the ride. Double back body drop! Beige Chair heading up top. And HFO with a rocket launcher sending Beige Chair down onto Kobe. Shades of the old Midnight Express there.
[HFO sets up Beige Chair so it's open. HFO then wraps Kobe's legs around it.]
Styles: Is that some sort of…sharpshooter?
SW: More like a dullshooter.
Styles: Meanwhile, HFO's off the ropes. Dropkick to the face on the incapacitated Kobe Gyant.
SW: Yeah, Beige Chair is really a master of those submission moves. It makes ME want to tap out to end the pain. Here.
*BANG BANG BANG*
Styles: Sadly, the match continues. Now HFO's got Beige Chair and is choking Kobe. HFO and Beige chair heading to the top rope. Double dropkick connects!
Crowd: 10, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!
SW: Why do they keep missing six?
[Cut to The Flunky. His countdown cue card is missing the six.]
SW: Flunky, you moron!
Styles: Acoustic Guitar is in next. HFO goes right after it. HFO's got it by the neck, but OH low blow connects! And there's a six-stringline! Acoustic Guitar definitely hitting all the right chords early on here.
SW: Yeah, no reason for Kobe to FRET. He certainly PICKED the right inanimate object to AMPLIFY the odds of a victory.
Styles: And thus ends our guitar puns, hopefully. Acoustic Guitar with a wood to belly suplex. Beige Chair just got tossed into the cage for some reason. And now Kobe and Acoustic Guitar looking for a team move here.
SW: I think it's time for a little Pete Townshend action here. No! I was wrong! Kobe's got lighter fluid. Jimi Hendrix action! Sweet!
Styles: Is Kevin the Pyromaniac in the building? Kobe Gyant is lighting Acoustic Guitar on fire.
SW: It used to be let me stand next to your fire. Kobe just updated it to be, let me smash my burning guitar into your aluminum foil face!
Styles: The only good for Human Foreign Object is that fire probably stopped the massive bleeding.
SW: Yeah, but I think it melted the foil to his face permanently.
Styles: Oh, right. That can't be good.
SW: You THINK?
Styles: And now Kobe's team is also down a member for the remainder of the match. But HFO may be useless going forward from here as well. Only time will tell. This match is beyond extreme. Kobe grabs Beige Chair now and is smashing at the door? What is this all about? The door just crashed open!
SW: What a chicken! He's trying to get out.
Styles: Kobe's going around to Va-Jay-Jay Dillon. He just grabbed Red Chair and Black Chair!
[Kobe tosses both chairs up onto the roof of the cage. Then Beige Chair is tossed up as well. Kobe walks around to the other side of the ring and grabs Al U-Minium Ladder and tosses it up top. Then Mike and Kobe tag team to get Woody Table on top of the cage.]
Styles: Oh my god. I don't like where this is going.
SW: Oh yes you do. It's gonna be a dangerous gigantic spot. I know I'm all for it. It's an On-Demand. Gotta give our fans something for their money!
Styles: Kobe is setting up Woody Table now on top. And now he stacks up three of the 4 Steelchairs on Woody! Oh no! Don't tell me…He's climbing the ladder on the roof of the cage!
SW: Oh baby! This has disaster written ALL over it! I can't wait!
Fans: Please don't die! Please don't die!
[Cut to Death.]
Death: Aww, you guys are no fun.
[Back to the ring.]
Styles: Kobe Gyant atop Al U. Minium-Ladder! Every fan in the ballroom is standing.
SW: Except for Va-Jay-Jay. Poor girl. She can't even see what's going on due to that severe neck injury.
Crowd: HOLY SHITE! HOLY SHITE! HOLY SHITE!
SW: BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub! BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub! BSFSCLTGMLBH Dub!
Styles: That Shooting All-Star Press by Kobe Gyant just crushed the chairs through the table, and then the roof collapsed and all of them crashed down to the ring below! Everybody is down and hurt!
SW: This wasn't in the rules Heidi listed off. Kobe is such a cheater. It's only a matter of time before he gets thrown out of BOB at this rate.
Styles: There is a giant stack of wood, chairs, and human bodies in the middle of the ring.
SW: Too bad Monroe wasn't directly under the roof when it collapsed. That would've made my night!
Styles: That's terrible, Scotty! They just barely missed the Human Foreign Object as it is! Well, only two competitors left to get in the ring now. Va-Jay-Jay's out of the wheelchair! She's right behind Monroe!
Styles: Oh my GOD! Va-Jay-Jay just cracked Mike Monroe with Steel Chair! The cage door is still open, as Vicky Jean just doesn't know what to do. She's lost control of her first BOB match.
SW: Yeah, she needs a good spanking. I'm the human spanking object.
Styles: Please. And yes, Mike Monroe is busted wide open! Steel Chair and Mike Monroe are the only ones moving at this point.
SW: And Steel Chair's only moving because Va-Jay-Jay is hitting Mike with it.
Styles: The Human Foreign Object is, amazingly, back up on his feet. Steel Chair and Va-Jay-Jay are holding Mike Monroe in place. HFO off the ropes. Monroe ducks!
Styles: OH MY GOD! Steel Chair just got smashed into Va-Jay-Jay Dillon! HFO turns around. CROSSLADDER BLOCK! And HFO and Al U. Minium-Ladder just landed hard on the floor! KOBE GYANT IS UP!
SW: Has the Match Be-Yawn begun?
NH: Uh, sure. Ladies and gentlemen! It is now time for the Match Be-Yawn!
Styles: And Mike just dragged Red Chair out of the pile of wreckage.
SW: Oh, holy sledding Jesus Christ on a slip n slide.
Styles: Mike Monroe with a Boston crab on Red Chair! And now Kobe's got the Dribbler Crossface locked in! Oh my GOD! Red Chair is literally being bent in half!
Styles: Somebody stop the damn match! There's no way Red Chair can continue.
SW: Right, because Acoustic Guitar and Woody Table are contributing so much at this point. *Sigh* Hey look! Va-Jay-Jay's bleeding from her mouth?
Styles: Steel Chair did some damage when it collided with her face.
SW: Bwahahaha! Va-Jay-Jay's a master of biting the condom. And I'm sure Kobe would agree with that.
SW: Hey look! Va-Jay-Jay and Steel Chair are leaving! They must be pissed that HFO hit them.
Styles: This Snore Games is just like nothing we've ever seen before in BOB. And this is only the FIRST one. Just imagine what's going to happen later tonight when we actually get some PEOPLE in the cage.
SW: Oh, Styles. Just because Kobe's black doesn't mean he's not a person.
Styles: That's not what I meant! Vicky Jean is trying to break up the fight with Al U. Minium-Ladder and the Human Foreign Object on the floor.
*TAP TAP TAP*
[Vicky turns around and sees Mike Monroe still with the Boston crab locked in. She calls for the bell!]
SW: WHAT? Red Chair didn't tap out! They faked it!
NH: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners as a result of a submission, Kobe Gyant, Mike Monroe, Acoustic Guitar, Al U. Minium-Ladder and Woody Table!
Styles: Wow. I doubt we'll ever see anything like this one again.
SW: I pray we don't. Kobe is such a cheater. And what about this Steel Chair and Human Foreign Object thing? Has the teacher turned on the student?
Styles: It sure looks that way. We've probably seen the last of many of the competitors in this match, but I think the Human Foreign Object, Al U. Minium-Ladder and Steel Chair still have a little unfinished business. To the back.
[Outside of the hotel, Trey Vincent was pacing back and forth, drinking from a bottle of beer.]
Jerri Li: Trey?
TV: Jerri Li? I'm not in that Snore Games match anymore, so if you plan to cheese grate my balls or hammer a nail through my dick, it will accomplish nothing. Aside from making my cry and possibly vomit.
JL: Please. I just want to know if you're still selling your job as Vice President In Charge of Everything. Because I want to book my own event. I can see it now: Send Us Money: Deathmatchpalooza.
TV: Am I?! (Trey chugs some beer.) Yes. Yes I am. Or renting it out, I guess. I'm staying on as the Brawlers On a Budget Executive Producer, which means I can do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want. So if you want to do something, well, I'll tell you what. I'll make you the greatest deal of your life.
[Trey hands her the bottle of beer.]
TV: First, promise to stab the shit out of Studnuts with this.
TV: And next…well.
[Trey whispers in her ear.]
JL: So, if I do that, I get my show?
[Trey knocks on the back door. The door opens, and LoC Guy steps out in a cloud of smoke.]
LoC Guy: Yea-uhhh! (He kicks over an invisible mic stand) Fuck yeah!
TV: Hit the bricks for a few minutes. Go find some Twinkies or something. *Cough* Damn, dude. You LoC guys know how to get really fucking stoned, don't you?
[LoC Guy wanders away without saying anything else.]
TV: OK then. You go do your thing, and I'll be up front. And hey camera guy, this is definitely NSFOD. So beat it.
[Jerri gets in the smoky back part of the limo, and Trey gets into the front passenger side. Cut back to the ring.]
Voiceover: r u rede/
["My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit hits. There's a huge anti-pop.]
NH: Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a tag team match and set for one fall. Introducing first, XXXtreme Machine and the Snapmare Kid, Fingerbang XXX!
SW: Oh yay, it's the reunion nobody's been waiting for.
Styles: FXXX had a pretty insignificant run last time they're together. Let's see if they can keep up those lofty standards tonight as they face off against a couple guys making their debut.
["Magic Man" by Heart hits. Pretty much no reaction from the crowd.]
NH: And their opponents. From Devon, England and somewhere on the edge of a cliff, making their BOB debut, The Wizard and Thomas Largeman!
SW: Is the Wizard gay like Dumbledore?
Styles: I'm not sure. You want go ask him?
SW: No. I'd rather go grab a beer. This match will probably be heavy on the Dumb and light on the ledore anyway.
Styles: Sit down. OK. We're ready to go with this match. Wizard and XXXtreme Machine to begin. XXXtreme charges forward, but Wizard holds up a hand. And XXXtreme Machine just got shoved to the mat, as if with an invisible hand!
SW: The hell?
Styles: The Wizard showing off some impressive sorcery here. XXXtreme Machine back up, but now he gets bent over by some sort of blow to the midsection as The Wizard uses the power of the universe against XXXtreme Machine. And XXXtreme Machine is down again after, um, an invisible dropkick perhaps?
SW: Oh boy. Look! SMK is so worried that he's over there praying in the corner.
SMK: My father, who art in Hollywood, hallowed by thy name…
Styles: That didn't sound right.
SW: Isn't he a Christian? Why's he praying to the Godless Hollywood people?
Styles: I'm not sure. Perhaps SMK is very very—
Styles: Confused about religion. XXXtreme Machine charges at the Wizard, who raises a hand. XXXtreme Machine is bent over again. Wizard makes another hand gesture and…suplex? Wow. What an impressive start here by The Wizard. And he hasn't even laid a hand on his opponent yet.
SW: In all fairness, it IS XXXtreme Machine. I could kick his ass.
Styles: And XXXtreme Machine wants out. Will the power of SMK's Hollywood God be enough to match up against The Wizard's magic? And there's a tag to Largeman as well. The Wizard must be feeling a little drained.
SW: Yeah, he probably needs to get his Depends changed.
Styles: I didn't mean that!
SW: He's so old, he could be John McCain's mother's grandfather!
Styles: Oh come on. SMK looking for a snapmare on Largeman here.
SW: Pray harder, Kid.
Styles: Largeman reaches around.
Styles: He's got SMK by the throat. CHOKESLAM! One! Two! XXXtreme Machine breaks up the pin.
[XXXtreme Machine does a crotch chop to Largeman, but hits himself in the balls, bending him over in pain.]
Styles: CHOKESLAM for XXXtreme Machine! SMK's back up. He grabs Largeman by the throat. Tornado snapmare attempt! But Largeman just tosses him aside.
SW: Hey! Wizard just broke his wand over XXXtreme Machine's head! No fair!
Styles: And yes, XXXtreme Machine has been busted wide open! What a bloody night it's been so far.
SW: Yeah. Bloody awful.
Styles: SMK just went flying out of the ring! Largeman heading to the top rope now. Oh my GOD! Frog splash connects!
SW: Frog splash? That was more like a manatee splash. Yowza.
Styles: The Largemanatee Splash gets the one. Two. Three. And Largeman and the Wizard victorious in their debut.
NH: Here are your winners, The Wizard and Thomas Largeman.
Styles: To the back. Take it, Kay.
SW: What is something overheard in Seth Harker's bedroom?
SW: Oh, that wasn't a "Jeopardy" clue?
[Kay Fabe stands in front of the camera and beside a bird feeder. Pretty Boy flies into shot and makes herself comfortable on a perch, helping herself to a grain of corn or two.]
Kay Fabe: Are you guys serious? I'm interviewing a bird?
Pretty Boy: RAWK! Interviewing a bird. Interviewing a bird! RAWK!
[Kay slaps his herself on the side of the head.]
KF: You can't be serious, I mean. The bird just repeats everything I say. It's like a Vladimir Koslov promo, you think something is happening but by the end you realize that Russian's just wasted some more of your time.
Pretty Boy: RAWK! Vladimir! RAWK!
KF: See? This is just stupid! BOB's made me do some stupid things but interview a bird?
[Pretty Boy bobs up and down like she was getting angry, Kay gives her a strange look.]
KF: What's it doing now? Is it going to drop a deuce or something? Got corn stuck in your throat?
Pretty Boy: Listen here, baby, I don't like this shtick as much as you do, capiche? I mean, let's take a look at me here. I'm a God damn bird, right? I girl bird bein' called Pretty Boy bein' upstaged by a guy with a peg leg and an eye patch. It's the gimmick I'm playin' so learn it, like it, love it. O-KAY?
[Kay's jaw drops as Pretty Boy continues her rant.]
Pretty Boy: This business is tough fer us gals, honey. Ya oughta pay me some damn respect before I bomb you from above. I ain't shy to take a crap on camera. I done it before so I'll do it again. I'm not all breasts and drumsticks, you better remember that, ya whore.
[Pretty Boy turns to the camera.]
Pretty Boy: And as fer you, Kamikazie Ken, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I got more talent in my tail feathers than you've got in yer whole meatsack of a body. You know what you is, Ken? Yer birdseed, and I'ma eat you alive, ya mook!
KF: Wow... I'm er, I'm sorry I guess.
Pretty Boy: And you Kay, I don't expect you knockin' on my locker room door chasin' my tail feathers now that you know I got brains as well as looks, ya pleb. Get outta here, ya bum. I got a match to win.
[Kay leaves the scene so Pretty Boy can eat some more grains of corn to keep up her energy.]
[Outside, Trey Vincent is tucking his TVMA T-shirt back into his pants.]
Michelle: Hey, baby.
TV: Baby? Michelle?
Michelle: Trey, I'm really, really sorry.
[Michelle runs her hand up and down Trey's chest and abs.]
TV: For divorcing me and stealing all my money while I was in a coma?
Michelle: I'll be honest. I really want your job.
TV: I really want a job too. (Trey blows in her face.) Catch my drift?
Michelle: I'll catch more than your drift.
TV: *Ahem* No, no, no. I plan to leave my job empty. Empty like your vagina when you're having sex with Axl.
Michelle: Is that a tiny penis crack? Because if so, I really should introduce you to my friend kettle over here.
TV: Michelle, you're breaking character.
Michelle: Huh? Oh, right. I was trying to sweet talk and seduce you into giving me your powerful position, wasn't I?
TV: Just can't pass up a chance to try and piss me off.
[The limo door opens. LoC Guy is covered in blood and holding a decapitated chicken covered in barbed wire and thumbtacks.]
LoC Guy: What the HELL happened in here?
TV: Take a walk, dude. I have negotiations to make with Michelle. For old time's sake.
[Michelle reaches under her skirt and pulls down her black panties. She tosses them to the LoC guy, who catches them, but drops his chicken. Michelle crawls into the limo, giving Trey quite the eyeful. Trey grabs a trash can and starts tossing trash into the back of the limo.]
TV: Time to get dirty…
[Trey tosses the trash bucket over his head and jumps inside the limo. The door closes.]
LoC Guy: Am I in hell?
[Back to the ring.]
NH: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a hardcore tag team snowball fight!
[“My Sperm Come Full Blast On Your Face” by Cunt Blasting plays.]
NH: Introducing first, weighing in at a combined weight of 402 lbs… Christian St. Christian and Scatman, The Fetish Freaks!
Styles: All eyes are on the ring as The Flunky covers it with fake snow.
SW: Who the hell comes up with these stipulations?
Styles: Well, this match was originally devised by Jerri Li and was supposed to be a match between these two but Dr. Silaconne M. Plants made it a tag team contest against former BOBsters, but wouldn’t reveal who.
[CSC and Scatman start making snowballs.]
SW: This is bound to be dumb.
NH: And their opponents…
Voice-Over: You want intensity? I got your intensity RIGHT HERE!
[“Closer” by Nine Inch Nails hits.]
Styles: No way!
NH: … weighing in at a combined weight of 633 lbs. The team of Mr. Intensity and The Violent Pacifist!
Styles: Mr. Intensity and Violent Pacifist are back in BOB! I don’t believe it! Scatman and St. Christian throw snowballs at them as they charge down to the ring with steel chairs in hand.
[They slide in under the bottom rope.]
Styles: Chairshot to Scatman! Chairshot to St. Christian! And the crowd is going ballistic!
Crowd: We want tables! We want tables!
[Mr. Intensity pushes Violent Pacifist in the chest.]
Mr. Intensity: VP!
Violent Pacifist: What?
Mr. Intensity: Get the tables!
Styles: Violent Pacifist slides back out of the ring and drags a table out from under the apron. Mr. Intensity stomps the Fetish Freaks to keep them down as Violent Pacifist sets the table up in the corner.
SW: This is going to be over quickly.
Styles: Mr. Intensity lifts St. Christian up onto his shoulder and drives him through the table hard with a running powerslam!
SW: It just shattered into splinters.
Styles: Violent Pacifist has Scatman now and almost snaps his leg with a shinbreaker onto one of those steel chairs. He closes the chair around his knee and tries to crush the bone with the other one, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing throughout the arena! The crowd cheers the kings of hardcore as they continue to lay waste to the Fetish Freaks!
SW: Take a shot every time something hardcore happens and you’ll get liver poisoning.
Mr. Intensity: Someone give me a weapon!
[A fan throws a kendo stick for him to catch. Then another fan throws his chair. Soon every fan in the arena starts hurling weapons into the ring.]
Styles: It’s raining weapons!
SW: These fans must hate the Freaks.
Styles: Violent Pacifist and Mr. Intensity stand St. Christian and Scatman up back to back and grab a chair each. Sandwich chairshot! Mr. Intensity takes a kendo stick and cracks it repeatedly over the fallen Freaks until it splinters into pieces.
SW: I’m already drunk.
[Seeing as their opponents are already beaten to a pulp, and Mr. Intensity is happy to just keep smacking them with kendo sticks, Violent Pacifist starts rolling the fake snow into a ball.]
SW: What the hell is he doing?
Styles: He’s making a snowman in the corner! He pulls a few pieces of coal out of his tights and wraps a scarf around it’s neck.
SW: Must have visited the snowman store downtown before the show.
Styles: Violent Pacifist stops Mr. Intensity and points at the snowman he has built. VP lifts Scatman up into the opposite corner.
SW: Frosty the Scatman coming up?
Styles: Irish whip… but Scatman reverses in desperation and sends him crashing through the snowman! Mr. Intensity with a rake to the eyes but St. Christian comes out of nowhere with a hard chairshot that bends the metal over his head.
Mr. Intensity: That all you got?
Styles: St. Christian uses the tip of his finger to tilt Mr. Intensity’s head back before cracking his jaw with another chairshot!
[Mr. Intensity picks up two chairs from the mat.]
Mr. Intensity: Come on dude, put some heart into it.
Styles: Mr. Intensity hands St. Christian one of the chairs and points at his face. St. Christian takes a step back and smiles. Thunderous chairshot nearly caves Mr. Intensity’s skull in! Mr. Intensity returns with a chairshot of his own before both men fall.
[Meanwhile, Scatman drags Violent Pacifist out of the ring by his feet.]
SW: Don’t come near us!
Styles: Scatman with a fist right between the eyes of Violent Pacifist.
[He goes under the ring and pulls out a table and periodically stomps VP as he sets it up.]
Styles: He makes a snowball and throws it at him before snapping a kendo stick over his head. He rolls him onto the table and claws his way up onto the top turnbuckle. He puts his hands on his head and rotates his hips before leaping into the air… POO PLANCHA through the table!
Crowd: Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!
SW: That phrase has never been more poignant.
Styles: Back in the ring Mr. Intensity and St. Christian are back on their feet. Mr. Intensity just throws a steel chair at St. Christian’s head who stumbles backwards into the corner. Mr. Intensity runs at him with yet another chair and holds it in front of his arm as he hits a jumping elbow. St. Christian falls like a sack of potatoes.
[Mr. Intensity begins forming blocks of snow together.]
SW: Now he’s making an igloo?!
Styles: Scatman and Violent Pacifist are still out cold on the outside as Mr. Intensity lifts St. Christian up into the suplex position. Brainbuster through the igloo! There’s the cover. 1, 2, and St. Christian kicks out!
SW: What’s next? Ice sculptures?!
Styles: Scatman stirs on the outside and rolls Violent Pacifist back into the ring. He tries to get up onto the apron but Mr. Intensity knocks him back to the floor with a stop sign. Mr. Intensity helps his tag partner up before going out to get a table. He sets it up in the middle of the ring as Violent Pacifist gets his bearings. He motions for him to climb to the top rope. He lifts St. Christian up to roll him onto the table but gets whipped in the face with a metal chain!
Mr. Intensity: Ow! Fuck!
Styles: St. Christian lashes Violent Pacifist in the eyes before throwing the chain up around his neck and pulling him down onto the canvas! He puts his foot on his chest and tugs at the chain to choke him!
SW: His face is turning purple!
[Scatman hops onto the apron and puts Mr. Intensity in a full nelson.]
Styles: St. Christian ties the chain onto the end of a steel chair.
SW: Now he’s <i>making</i> a weapon?!
Styles: St. Christian swings the chair-mace but Mr. Intensity breaks free and the chair hits Scatman! St. Christian turns around and is leveled with a trash can lid!
Crowd: We want fire! *clap clap clap clap clap* We want fire! *clap clap clap clap clap*
Mr. Intensity: You want intensity? I got your intensity right here!
[Mr. Intensity douses himself in gasoline and lights a match.]
Styles: Mr. Intensity goes up like an old Christmas tree! INTENSE BEARHUG! OH MY GYAD!
SW: It’s over.
Styles: Scatman rolls into the ring and puts the intense bearhug out with a fire extinguisher!
[The crowd boos.]
Styles: Scatman with a fire extinguisher shot knocks Mr. Intensity out cold! Violent Pacifist tries to fight back but Scatman levels him with the fire extinguisher!
[Scatman tries to cool St. Christian down with snow.]
CSC: You idiot, it’s not real.
Styles: Scatman helps St. Christian up before dragging Mr. Intensity to the center of the ring.
[He holds his hands out as if offering him to St. Christian.]
Scatman: Do your thing man.
Styles: St. Christian lifts his knee up into the air before driving the sole of his boot down onto Mr. Intensity’s face! He tried to crush his head like a melon!
SW: He wasn’t pretty before, but God damn.
Styles: Cover! 1, 2—Violent Pacifist with a diving chairshot makes the save! Scatman wraps his arm around his throat and drags him out onto the apron. Fameasser attempt misses as Violent Pacifist steps back. St. Christian with a clothesline attempt but gets blinded with green mist! Violent Pacifist climbs in through the ropes and removes the covering from the nearest top turnbuckle. He scoops St. Christian up… snake eyes!
[He lifts up a trash can and drops it over St. Christian.]
Styles: Violent Pacifist now with a sledgehammer crushes the trash can around St. Christian!
[Scatman rolls back into the ring, holding his sore butt.]
Styles: Violent Pacifist swings at Scatman with the sledgehammer but he dodges! Brown mist!
Styles: VP wipes the, ugh, diarrhea out of his eyes to see Scatman smiling with the sledgehammer in hand. Scatman swings and VP ducks, picking up two steel chairs in the process. He holds them both together and cracks Scatman in the skull with a double decker chairshot!
[Violent Pacifist pulls the trashcan off St. Christian and kicks him in the gut.]
Styles: VP lifts St. Christian up onto the top rope and hits him with a baseball bat. He then starts piling steel chairs up on top of one another in the middle of the ring. He climbs up after St. Christian and hooks him up for a superplex.
[Mr. Intensity, now recovered, climbs up as well and puts Violent Pacifist onto his shoulders in the electric chair position.]
Styles: Mr. Intensity makes the move a double team… and here comes Scatman! He hooks Mr. Intensity’s legs for a powerbomb and all three men above coming crashing down on the steel chairs! VP rolls over to make the cover. 1, 2, Scatman dives over Mr. Intensity to make the save!
SW: This match is fucking ridiculous.
Styles: The ring is covered in snow, blood, dookie, weapons, bodies and tears. This has been a war between these competitors.
[Scatman helps St. Christian up and gives him a chair whilst on the other side of the ring Mr. Intensity does the same for Violent Pacifist.]
Styles: All four men simultaneously swing steel chairs at each other and collapse on impact.
[“Hung” by Napalm Death hits.]
Styles: It’s… it’s Jerri Li! And she’s got, an ironing board?
[She slides into the ring a sets the ironing board up before pouring gasoline over it and setting it alight.]
SW: Flaming ironing board! What the fuck?!
Styles: Jerri helps her fellow Fetish Freaks up and all three roll Violent Pacifist and Mr. Intensity onto the ironing board. Jerri holds them in place, the skin burning off her hands, as St. Christian and Scatman climb onto opposing top turnbuckles. DOUBLE DOUBLE STOMP THROUGH THE FLAMING IRONING BOARD! 1, 2, 3!
NH: Here are your winners, Christian St. Christian and Scatman, The Fetish Freaks!
TO BE CONTINUED…
©2008 BOB Wrestling!