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No Logo, huh BigBOSS? Cheap bastard.

We open with a shot of Madisons' Octagonal Arena... not to be confused with... well, you know. A sell-out crowd is raising the roof... which fell in half an hour before we came on air. We quickly cut to a shot of BOB New Jersey: The Club! It's also packed out... luckily Snore Games coincided with "Quarter Beer and Free Nachos" night. GBH is on hand, wearing a six-pack carton for a hat and drinking beer direct from the keg.


GBH: Duh. Hic. Hee...

BOB does not condone the abuse of alcohol... oh, screw it, have a brewski! Hell, have a couple!

MM: Hello and WELCOME! To SNORE GAMES: THE MATCH BE-YAWN!! With MORE exclamation marks and CAPITAL letters than any card we've ever had, this should be The GREATEST BOB Pay-Per-View in History!!!

SW: Yeah, right!

NH: Whatever.

MM: I'm Mike "The Monotone" Monroe, and as you can tell by the pissing and moaning beside me, I'm being joined by Scotty "Too" Whatbody, and Nurse (big pop) Heidi! And let's get things underway with out Interchangable Jobber Four-Way Dance! And to stave off the boredom that this match was bound to inspire, we pre-taped it and cut out the boring parts!

SW: Good call!

(Cut to a shot of XXXtreme 13, Alex "I Have a Guitar" Smith, Mr X and The Masked Jobber. (A jWo Prospect) Xenomorph is outside the ring, wearing a sign that reads "Gratuitious Interferance for Hire". The bell rings. A rapid montage follows.)

MM: Spinning heel kick by Mr X!

NH: Moonsault! Great mo...

SW: Spiked piledriver! That's gotta h...

MM: Head-scissors takedow...

SW: Powerbomb on the floor!

NH: XXtremeTon Bom...

MM: 1... 2... Xenomorph drags The Masked Jobber out of the ring!

SW: Biiiiig backb...


MM: Good lord! The roof just fell in on Mr X!


MM: The Masked Jobber has Alex's guitar!


MM: Okay, so it was a ukelele... but guitars are expensive! A cover by The Masked Jobber..1..2..3! He wins! And he's taking off his mask!

MA: Here is your winner... THE MAN WHO LOOKS A BIT LIKE NIXON!

(Cut to a shot of a man who looks a bit like Nixon in the ring. He's joined by a Native American Firefighter, an Afro-American with a fishing net and a mime.)

GOOD LORD! The Fire Chief! Bubba Gump! StreetMime II! It's the NEW jWo!

(Cut back to the annouce position.)

MM: What a match! But it's only the beginning! It should be a spectacular night tonght! Lord Sexbat, Sir Killalot, J.C Long and douja will battle for BOTH the Swiss Army and Pan-Galactic championships! We'll have a three-team Snore Games match! And...

NH: Oh, quit hyping it! They already paid for this thing, so let's shut up and wrestle!

SW: I thought you'd never ask, Heidi!

NH: Hey! get your hands off me, you pervert!

SW: I thought I could at least get one of those accidental "Sorry to bump into you, ma'am" things and cop a feel.

NH: You already did, Scotty...

MM: No, that was me. Sorry to bump into you, ma'am. (blushes)

NH: That's okay, Mike...I'm sure yours was an accident.

MM: Yep. (blushes again, wiggles uncomfortably in chair)

SW: Well, I'm hearing "I Booked A Room In The Hanoi Hilton And Didn't Get A Mint" by The Rambo Bustas. Must be Viet Kong coming to the ring for that Hanoi/Dublin Streetfight with Blackjack Hooligan.

MM: Yeah, I can't wait to see what this match is.

NH: Come on, know ALL streetfights are basically an unusually voilent regular match where the wrestlers wear normal, everyday attire. Don't read into it too much.

(Viet Kong and "Charlie" come down the aisle pelted by waded cups. A young boy is escorted out of the arena and into the parking lot...where he waits for his Father...and gets the third degree for wasting his old man's money on a ticket, only for his kid to miss the show for throwing cups. There's a lesson there, somewhere. "Charlie" joins the cast at ringside.)

"Charlie": AHHH SOOKIE! Eet be rong time since we rassle een BEE OH BEE! Bout time BeegBoss geet him heed on straigh, an' out him ah-soh.

MM: Did he just say what I think he said?

NH: Yes, Mike. He said BigBoss.

MM: No, I was talking about a...

SW: ...ace in the hole. I'm sure you have one. Right, "Charlie"?

NH: Nice save, Scotty.

"Charlie": We awoleway got game pran. Brackjack gonna geet him heed serve on pratter.

MM: Someone did tell Hooligan we were opening back up, right?

(Cut to backstage area™. BigBoss and Li'lBoss exchange glances and shrug. Both then get that "I thought he called him" look as they stare at each other.)

MM: Blackjack isn't here?! Man, these fans are gonna riot!

SW: Chill out, Mike...who cares? You know all ticket sales are final.

(A gong is heard, startling the announce team. Then again, followed by creepy pipe organ music (R). A man, easily 6' 11", walks down the aisle dressed as The Undertaker. Hat and all. A short, fat man in a white tux walks behind him, carrying a red pillow with a small, felt box on it.)


"Charlie": Diss is BOOLSHEET!

SW: Hey, that guy is getting up on the apron, he's stepping over the top rope! Kong is's not very often HE looks up to somebody!

NH: Where does BigBoss FIND these people?

SW: I know! This guy is a freak!

NH: I was talking about you, Scotty.

MM: Kong attempts a right hand, BLOCKED BY MYSTERY MAN! Then counters with a big right of his own staggering Kong! The mystery figure grabs Kong's neck, and now reaches around and grabs a handfull of his underwear! What in the world? WEDGIE AIDED CHOKESLAM FROM HELL! It's always more devastating when you add "From Hell" to it!

NH: Right, Mike. *sigh*. Hey, what's the guy in the tux doing?

SW: He's got a frozen pizza! He's sliding it into the ring! This mystery charge of his has Kong, again grabs his underwear...and piledrives him on that frozen Italian pie! It's a Tombstone Piledriver! I know that because it says so right on the package! So do even give me that "it could be a DiGiorno Piledriver". Or "Tony's".

NH: This is the dumbest thing I've ever seen.

MM: Kong lying there twitching, and the funeral looking guy has ripped VK's underwear off and stuffed them in his own pocket! The mystery guy has a mic!

(in a deep, deliberate, ominous voice) "When I steal...your cotton briefs...or rob you...of your silk will have no choice...when picking your" (eyes roll up into head.)


NH: Good Lord, you have GOT to be kidding me. Who's the little guy in the tux and the pillow, then?

SW: His sidekick, Ring Bearer! Of course...

NH: Sorry I asked...

MM: WOW! "Charlie", what do you think about what just happened to your meal ticket? "Charlie"? "Charlie"? Where'd he go?

SW: I don't know, maybe he went to clean out HIS underwear! Whatever the case, we're ready for our next match! And it's gonna be a doozy!

MA: This Frocked-Up Fourway contest is scheduled for either one fall or three falls if it's elimination-style, or possibly the best of five falls. I really don't care. Oh, and it's for the "YGHF" Tag Team titles... I think... Introducing first, from Parts Immaterial... EDDIE B. and THE FLUNKY!

("The Eddie B. Superfunk Techno Megamix" plays... as if anyone cared. Eddie and The Flunky run out to the gentle snores of a suddenly comatose crowd.)

MA: And their opponents...Firstly, accompanied by the semi-legend! The one and only (man with more gimmicks than Ed Leslie and Mike Awesome combined...) J.C BRAWLY! They are... THE BARBADOS SKANKS!

(The Skanks finally make their offical BOB debut to a bewildered crowd and no music... A quick shot of the booth shows Dennis trying to work Eddies sound system. To sum up for those who have no idea who or what a Barbados Skank is, visualise a young, over-privileged American kid manager leading two large, incoherant natives. (Carl X and Loomis The Vile) Don't even ask about the Two Spanish Girls with Accoustic Guitars that accompany the trio to ringside.)

MA: Next... Claude Leroux and Herb Romaine... They never picked a name, so let's just call them THE FABULOUS SHEEP MOLESTORS!

(Still no music as Herb and Claude run down the aisle. The crowd goes apathetic.)

MA: And now.. The "YGHF" Tag team champions... the Once and Future Jobber and the Upset Kid!! MIKE and JOSHUA CRAIG!!

(The champs run in to the sound of a stylus scraping across a record. Eddie B. flinches visibly.)

Voice-Over: Ooops! Sorry about that, chaps!

MM: All eight men in the ring for this tag-team elimination match! This should be spectacular!

SW: Yeah, right! I didn't think any of these guys still worked for us! Who's booking this shit?

NH: Oh, that's right, Scotty, lower the tone of the evening already! Hey, wait, they didn't Bleep him!

SW: Huh? Shit, she's right! WOO-HOOO! I LOVE Pay-Per-Views!

***Bell rings

MM: Bells gone, and so this one is under way! Barring the traditional five minutes of stalling... Yes, there's the "Who's going to start?" tactic... (One minute later) Okay, we've gotten everyone out except Carl X and Eddie B... here we go.. no, no, there's the good old "Tag Out to Avoid Facing That Guy" move by Eddie B! Herb Romaine is in... now there's a good example of the "Staredown" stall... (Another minute later) They lockup.. oh, the time-honoured "I Push You, You Push Me" stall! I haven't seen that since Hogan-Warrior II!! And a Greco-Roman Knucle-lock Stall! All the classics are being employed here!

(Cut for no apparent reason to BOB New Jersey. GBH is limbo dancing with a bunch of toasted fratboys.)

GBH: Duh. Flibble.

(Cut back to the ring.)

MM: Big clothesline from Carl X and Herb Romaine crashes to the mat!

SW: YEAH! Stomp him! Kick him while he's down!

NH: He's a Barbados Skank, not an L.A cop, Scotty! Ooh, tree-trunk like legdrop!

MM: Carl X covers! It could be a quick night for the Sheep Molestors if Herb gets pinned here! Remember, if one man on a team is pinned, or submits, both of them must go back to the locker room!

The Generic Ref: Are you done?

MM: Sure.

The Generic Ref: Good. One! Two!

MM: Kickout! Carl X drags Herb to his feet... tosses him into the Skanks corner! Tag to Lomis the Vile! Oh, no! they're slapping Herb silly! Claude runs in to help his partner!

SW: Loomis sees him coming! Huge thrust kick! Claude gets thrown into the corner as well!

MM: The Flunky is in the ring! Carl X adds him to the pile in the corner! And Eddie B! They drag in Joshua and Mike Craig as well! Joshua becomes the fifth man thrown into the corner! The Skanks pick up Mike Craig!

SW: Oh yeah! I haven't seen the Human Battering Ram in Years! Do it! Do it! Doitdoitdoitdoit!

MM: They charge!

Crowd: BOOM!

MM: Mike headbutts his son in the breadbasket! Joshua collapses! The Skanks back up again!

Crowd: BOOM!

MM: There's one for Eddie B!


MM: One by one they all fall prey to the Human Battering ram! Because, after all, there's NO WAY you can move out of the way once someone has placed you in a corner!

SW: That's right, Mike.. ahh.. ahhh.. CH-Bullshit!

NH: Geshundeit!

Crowd: BOO---OOooooh!

MM: OH! The Skanks finsh the move by ramming Mike Craig headfirst into the ringpost! He looks dazed!

MC: I'm only twee and a half years old... wibble...

MM: The Skanks rebound off the ropes... SKANKWICH! SKANKWICH! SKANKWICH!

MC: Pain. Extreme pain. Michael sleep now.


MM: Carl covers! One! Two! Three! Good Lord, the tag champs have been eliminated! It's anybodys ballgame now! This could be the greatest match in history! The Sheep Molestors and the Skanks meet in the center of the ring! The MEGAPOWERS EXPL.. umm.. sorry... I got carried away there...

SW: Damn straight! Look out! All four men tumble out of the ring! One pier-sixer coming up!

NH: The Generic Ref has a count going!

GR: One! Two! Three! Ummm.. what comes after three?

Eddie B.: Ten.

GR: TEN! Ring the bell!


MM: What the hell?

MA: Ladies and Gentlemen.. The referee has incompentantly counted both the Sheep Molesters and the Skanks out... and soo.. your NEWWWWWWWWW "You Gotta Have Friends" tag Team Champions... EDDIE B. and THE FLUNKY... THE CORPORATE CREW!

(Cut to the announce table. The team are sitting in stunned silence. Cut to the back, where the BigBOSS and the Li'lBOSS have identical smug smiles. Cut to the ring. A lone fan holds up a sign reading "THIS is Wrestlecrap." Cut to a commercial.)

HEY! While you're sitting here enjoying(?) this BOB Pay-Per-View, why not think about ordering the NEXT BOB Pay-Per-View! SEND US MONEY: FOOTBRAWL! It'll be like nothing you've ever seen before!! (As long as you didn't order "Send us Money: Full Court Press". Then it might ring a few bells.)

MM: And... we're back. For those of you that haven't tuned out due to the quality of that last screwjob match, thank you. My paycheck depends on the $14.95 you shelled out for this crap.

SW: Enough talk! Let's get HARDCORRRRRRRE!

NH: Calm down, drooling monkey boy! If you want plasma, I'll show you around an E.R sometime.

MA: This contest, is scheduled for one fall, and is a non-titled Handicap Hardcore match. Introducing first, "TOO FAT" MATT and "SLIGHTLY GAY" RAY... TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-deep breath-OOOOOOOOO LAAAAAMMMME!

("We're 2 Lame" plays as Too Lame dance their way down the aisle. Ray is pushing a shopping trolley full of Hardcore Plunder™ and doing his best Micheal Jackson impersonation. Matt demonstrates the "Lawn Sprinkler" dance. The fan holds up his "THIS is Wrestlecrap" sign again.)

NH: I think GBH has more rhythym than these guys.

MM: I wouldn't go THAT far...

(Cut to BOB New Jersy. GBH is body-popping with surprising agility for a 400 pound man with the intelligence of an overcooked brussel sprout. Back to ringside.)

MA: And their opponent... The BOB "Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind" Champion... He... is... ZILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL...

NH: Get on with it!


Voice-Over: Snootchie Bootchies to My Homies In Tha Hood!

(Pounding rap music... possibly Vanilla Ice with extra bass... begins to play as Zilla makes his appearance to a big pop from deprived ECW fans. He brandishes a Suspiciously Shiny Trash Can and runs to the ring. The music continues throughout the duration of the match, natch.)

MM: Here we go! Matt and Ray go right to the attack with their Easily Crackable Kendo Sticks! Look at them go to work! Zilla struggles to his feet under a barrage of blows! Blocks a shot with his trash can! Lowblows Matt!

SW: A crotchshot already? Ooh, make it two as Ray gets one as well! Trash Can shot! And another! YEAH!

NH: You're so easily pleased, Scotty... Zilla lays the warped trash can on the mat... Gut wrench suplexes Ray right onto it! Ray writhing in pain! Scotty, stop groping my leg or you'll be writhing in pain as well...

SW: Sorry, was that my hand? You know how excited I get about hardcore matches! Hey, Matts going for a cookie sheet! Zilla fights him off with a pair of trash can lids!

NH: Could we get any more cliched?

MM: We're just following the Hardcore Standards and Practices, Heidi. It's the LAW, I'm afraid.

The LAW Radio

MM: Big Bulldog headlock onto the "No Parking" sign by Zilla and Fat Matt is laid out Flat! Ray has rolled to the floor and is trying to decide between a chair and the fire extinguisher... Zilla ricochets off the far ropes... Tope Suicida!

NH: Suicide dive through the ropes for the non-smarks out there... Zilla's dragging Ray to the Spanish Announcers Table!

SW: The EMPTY Spanish Announcers Table... were they laid off or something?

MM: Uh-huh. But we have to have the table there anyway... it's the LAW!

The LAW Radio

NH: What's with that subliminal flashing logo everytime Mike says "The Law"?

The LAW Radio

SW: Beats me... It's like we're plugging someone or something. Making money on the side, Mike? Oooh! Zilla slams Ray onto the table, which somehow doesn't break!

MM: That's a first... Zilla blasts Ray with the ringbell... what the heck? Zilla's dragging the table away from ringside with Ray still on it... he's heading into the crowd with it... Matt slowly follows...

SW: YES! He's setting it up underneath the balcony! This is going to be SO cool! AW, nuts! That spoilsport Matt attacked him from behind! CHEATER!

NH: Sit down, Scotty... Matt and Zilla fight their way into the crowd! Matt's playing a Conchairto in D Major on Zillas' body! Zilla has Wes, the Enchanted Skateboard! Where did he find that? Oh, baby, he's brutalising Matt with it! They're heading for high ground...Ray is either selling that bell-shot like a corpse, or he's fallen asleep on the table...

SW: Zillas' going for a powerbomb... BOOM! Matt goes through an entire row of folding chairs! YEAH! WOO-HOO!

NH: Scotty you're such a Hardcore Mark... Oh, my! Zillas' going to the edge of the balcony!

MM: Zilla teeters on the edge... he pauses...

Zilla: Blow that! Come here, Matt!

MM: What? He's grabbed Matt... drags him to the edge and... WHOA! Tosses him over...



SW: YES! OH YEAH! YES! Oh my GOD! YES! (Slumps in his seat)

NH: Could someone get Scotty a Kleenex and a smoke, please?

MM: Zilla poses to the thunderous cheers of the crowd! Look out!! A Masked Man has appeared out of the crowd! Shoulder blocks Zilla off the balcony!


MM: Ouch! Zilla never saw that one coming and he's been completly wiped out!! He's covering Matt! The ref counts to three and it's over! All three men are out cold, but Zilla still scores the pinfall! Now THAT's Hardcore!

SW: Yeah! But who was that Masked Man?

(Eddie B. cues the "William Tell Overture" as we fade to an intermission.)

BOB 2001: Do Not Adjust Reality. Normal Service Will Resume Shortly.



Still No Logo Included.

WARNING! WARNING! DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! The rest of this Pay-Per-View may contain words that some people may consider offensive, naughty, and well, just plain rude. Especially if Scotty flaunts the "No Bleep" rule tonight. You've been warned.

NH: Scotty. Scotty? Wake up, Scotty!

SW: Huh? What? Where's Mike?

(cut to Mike Monroe. He's covered with spider webs and a one week + 5 o'clock shadow. Okay, it's a full beard)

SW: Wow, we must've fell asleep during the intermission! I hate when that happens!

NH: You're telling me. They did name this P-P-V "Snore Games", after all. And now I have the *ahem* pleasure of listening to you snore for a week.

SW: I don't snore!

NH: That's what your mouth says, but I think you need to check into a Breathe Right Strip ™ at night time. MIKE! Go wake up the Masked Announcer...

MM: Huh? Where's Freddie My Teddy? Huh? (rubs eyes) Oh. Masked Annoucer, WAKE UP!

MA: What? (grabs intro card) Ladies and *YAWN* Gentlemen, this match is for the WWF, IN-TER-CON-TI-NENTAL TITLE! What? *YAWN* Oh, not really. Sorry. The Pan-Galactic thing with Swiss Army thing. Regular guy. Sexbat. Some other guys. LET'S GET IT *YAWN*!

NH: That was horrible. It's a wonder you guys keep anybody on the roster here.

MM: Really. I mean, why not? There's no action like BOB action!

NH: That is SO true. I don't think any fed can match this excitment. *sigh*

MM: Look at this! These guys have been chomping at the bit for what seems like a week or two. Three even! They're already going at it! Looks like douja and Sexbat have started this on the entrance ramp! douja with a right, Sexbat fires back...his poofed up hair swaying like a pendelum! Chop from douja! Sends Wes into the rail!

(Both men grab each other by the hair in that "We're leading the other guy this way" walk down the ramp and Sexbat rolls douja into the ring. douja catches Lestat with a kick as Sexbat entered)

SW: Here comes J.C. Brawley! Looks like things are heating up...

NH: That's J.C. Long, you idiot. The Regular Guy.

SW: What's his secret? High fiber? Exlax? I need to talk to him after the show. (rubs stomach)

MM: Long mounting the turnbuckle...DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE! All three men are down!

MA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is for the Pan-Galactic Title, the Swiss Army Title, and that's about it. Already in the ring, from Compton, the current Swiss Army Champion....douja! The reigning Pan-Galactic Champion, from the unholy hell of his Father's basement...LORD LESTAT VON SEXBAT! And, J.C. Penney!


MA: Why, thank you...Nurse Heidi. So, the pump IS working!

(Beck's "Loser" begins to play as Eddie B. finally gets to the booth after his tag-title win. Sir Ronald Killalot sprints to the ring to a loud ovation. It's either he's really popular, or these fans have waited WAY to long for some wrestling and would cheer anything at this point. SRK slides under the ropes...)

MM: Sexbat rolling to the floor, J.C. tries a right hand to Killalot. Sir Ronald blocks it! Catches Long with a shot of his own to the jaw. ANOTHER! Sending Long to his back. Turns around...douja with a X-Factor! The Swiss Army champ now after J.C...Irish whip. Tilt-A-Whirl suplex! douja looks sharp tonight!

NH: Maybe his buzz has worn off by now. Sexbat has a chair, where'd he come from?

SW: From his Dad's basement, aren't you listening? And you said I was asleep...


MM: What a shot to douja! Never saw it coming...

SW: The current P.G. champ is the only one standing at the moment. J.C. outside on the apron now, shaking the cobwebs. Speaking of cobwebs...Mike, wipe your shirt.

MM: Thanks, Scotty. Long rolls to the floor. Sexbat trying to press slam douja! His spindly arms can't quite get the pot head up...Killalot with a chop block! douja falls on top of Lestat...ONE, TWO...Oh, that was close.

SW: Would've had him...but Ronald broke it up. douja almost won it right there!

NH: I thought this was an elimination match.

MM: We're playing it by ear, I think. I don't think anybody knows what's going on.

SW: Look at J.C.! Cross body block off the top rope on Killalot! ONE, TWO...


MM: What an upset that would've been! Sexbat with a clubbering forearm knocks J.C. down face first. douja with a spinning heel kick sends Sexbat through the ropes and to the floor!

SW: douja looks disoriented, he doesn't know who to go after next.

NH: What else is new?

MM: Looks like he's going for a Figure Four on Killalot...

NH: I didn't think he could count that high.

SW: He can't! He only got to three! Killalot rolls him in a small package! ONE, TWO...


MM: Long broke that up...NEVER go for a move like that in a match like this. Leaves you wide open for attack!

NH: Which one? The Figure Four or the Small Package?

mM: Ummmmm. Ummmmmmm.

NH: Sexbat with a corkscrew plancha! Nails Long AND Killalot! All four men are down! Make that five...the Generic Ref caught one of Lestat's pointy boots upside his head!

SW: Here comes "Bloody" Mary! Shoud've known Sexbat would cheat...WHOO HOO!

MM: Hold on, here comes Mary-Beth...Mary's in the ring putting Sexbat over douja...that would be "Bloody" Mary. Mary-Beth now in...and grabs the other Mary's black dress!


MM: HEY! Looks like we got that Evening Gown Match after all! Is that a metal bra?

SW: Don't know, I'm looking at the barbed wire thong!

MM: Mary-Beth rolls Killalot over Long and is outta there quicker than she showed up. "Bloody" Mary also hitting the skids, she's out of here. Look at that wedgie! That's gotta hurt!

NH: But should keep The Undietaker from grabbing HER panties.

SW: Generic Ref waking up...slow count! ONE........TWO........NO!

crowd: "WE WANT TABLES! *clap-clap-clapclapclap* WE WANT TABLES! *clap-clap-clapclapclap* WE WANT TABLES!

MM: Long staggers back to feet, fine showing by this relative newcomer in the ring with these three established stars. Suplexes Killalot. Sexbat whips douja into the ropes, lowers his head for a backdrop...douja with a DDT! The cover!

Crowd: WE WANT COFFEE! *clap-clap-clapclapclap*

SW: ONE...TWO...Long pulled douja off by the leg. Holds on to it, douja manages to get to his foot...enziguri! Killalot with a clothesline on douja as soon as he stood back up. This thing is crazy!

MM: Killalot goes after Sexbat, he's setting him up....MCPILEDRIVER! That's gotta be it, the crowd is counting along with The Generic Ref in that "it must be over"...ummmmm, count along!


SW: NO! douja grabs Killalot. CHRONIC NECK PAIN! HIS PILEDRIVER! The cover, ONE...TWO....broken up by Long!

NH: Long now going after Sexbat...

Sexbat: "You can't see me, I'm invisble right now. You see, I have mystical dark powers of goth and stuff."

Long: "Oh, okay..."

SW: Sexbat tricked him! The roll up, ONE...TWO...THREE! Long is long gone!

NH: Did Sexbat win? Did he win?

MM: He thinks he did, but I thought this was an elimination match like you did, Nurse Heidi! He's leaving the ring!

MA: Ladies and Gentlemen, J.C. Long has been eliminated!

SW: The Generic Ref is putting the count on Sexbat!

GR: "One, two...and two is four, plus five is six. Uhrah, ten."

MA: Ladies and Gentlemen...Lord Lestat Von Sexbat has been COUNTED OUT!

Sexbat: "WHAT?! You miserable swine of filth! How doth thee stabbeth my backside, you foul wretch!"

NH: Does anybody know what the hell is going on here?

MM: It must be down to douja and Killalot...

NH: No shit, Sherlock. Hey! They're still not bleeping the dirty words! I love Pay Per View! Fuckityfuckfuckfuck...

NH: Nice, Scotty...

MM: douja with an eye rake, snap mare takeover...he's leaving the ring. Looking under the ring now...HE'S GOT A TABLE!

SW: This crowd is going nuts!

Man in crowd: "Has anybody seen the rug? Anybody?"

Another man: "Shine on me, oh power globe of indifferent brightness."

Woman in crowd: "Are you talking to me? Yes, I am. Are you talking to me? Yes, I am."

NH: Literally...

MM: douja setting up the table in the ring. Turns around...Killalot with a kick to the gut...sit-out powerbomb! He's placed douja on the table!

SW: Sir Ronald Killalot going to the turnbuckle now! Sentan bomb...douja rolled off! Killalot landed on the table, but it didn't break! What is that, up in the rafters?

MM: It's Kamakazie Ken! He hasn't screwed a title match in quite some time. RAFTER-JUMP-TWISTY-PLANCHA-TUCK-ROLL-LAY-OUT-SWAN-DIVE! CRUSHES KILLALOT THROUGH THE TABLE! Oh yeah, looks like Ken also crushed his own ribcage.

SW: The Generic Ref with a blind eye to all of that. douja with the cover, NO! Generic in position...

crowd: "ONE...TWO...THREE"!



MM: douja has won the Pan-Galactic Title! And Killalot will take the Swiss Army Title for his efforts...

SW: More importantly, douja gets the top seed in the ONLY WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT THAT MATTERS and the best chance to become the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! Killalot also gets a one seed, but will probably be shipped to the tough Midwest Bracket.

NH: Sexbat will take another one seed, as will Bobo Q. Fiendish. Despite his efforts tonight, Long will probably be no higher than a 12 seed. Since he's new and all. But he has a good chance...12 seeds always do well against 5 seeds.

MM: Whew, after all that...we still have Snore Games to come!

SW: Wake me up, will ya?

FANS! It's Coming! THE ONLY WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT THAT MATTERS! FOR THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! To crown THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! Follow your favorite team and your favorite BOB superstar as they go for the biggest prizes in their respective sports! It's MArCh MaDneSSS!

(We cut to the backstage area. The members of Ass Club 7 are lying on the floor of their locker room, which has been nearly demolished. Except for "Butt" Plugg, who's been stuffed into a locker.)

MM: MY god! Ass Club 7 HAVE BEEN punked out!

NH: Excuse me?

MM: Sorry... I put emphasis on all the wrong words, didn't I? I meant to say.. My GOD! Ass Club 7 have been PUNKED OUT! Who could have done this?

(The camera pans to reveal a trio of mysterious figures leaving the locker room. We see no details except they are all wearing matching black tights.) Flashing Caption: THE MYSTERY TEAM!

MM: Well that answers that question... I guess Ass Club Seven will not be participating in Snore Games after all! But WHO IS THE MYSTERY TEAM?

SW: Sillicone M. Plants, Luke Warm and The Tiger?

NH: Neige Thirteen, Bobo Fiendish and Justin Voss?

(Cut to BOB N.J.)

GBH: Duh. Why you ask me?

(Back to the ring.)

MM: Good question.

MA: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! It is now time.. for SNORE GAMES! THE MATCH BE-YAWN! The most dangerous match in the history of... umm... Dangerousness!

(The Double-ring steel cage lowers ominously to the ring as Eddie B cues an "Ironman" knock-off that was hastily whipped up once we dicovered we couldn't afford the rights to the original.)

MA: The rules are simple! Each participant drew an entry number at random! The first two to enter will wrestle for a five-minute period! Every two minutes ater that, another participant willl enter! The match can end at any time by pinfall or submission, but probably won't until everyone is here. Hey, we're paying these guys, and they're going to have to earn it! Hopefully, by juicing like a bastard!

SW: You took the words right out of my mouth, bud!

MA: And now.. The first participant! Representing the Three Guys! He is... THE VIOLENT PACIFIST!

("Not-Ironman" fades into "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails (Unbleeped Pay-Per-View TV-M Mix). He appears at the top of the ramp to a loud (though extremely mixed) reaction. He removes his jacket to reveal his first offical BOB t-shirt, which reads "If I'm Forced To Kick Your Ass, I'll Apologise, Okay?" on the front and "Three Heads Are Better Than One" on the back. A little wordy perhaps, but sure to make you the envy of your friends! Only $19.95! He pauses as The Flunky sets off some pyro, then walks to the ring. He stops at ringside, reaches under the ring and removes...)

MM: MR BAT! The Violent Pacifist has been re-united with Mr Bat!

NH: What? I though Josh of the Kent Staters had Mr Bat?

MA: Secondly... Representing the Kent State Crew... BRANDON!

(An equally mixed reaction greets the first of the Kent Staters. He's accompanied by The Kent State marching band who march down the aisle playing a quickstep version of "Louie, Louie." More pyro... bang goes your bonus, Scotty. Brandons' T-shirt reads "Dude, Where's The Ring?" Somehow, he finds it on the first attempt and enters just as the)

***Bell rinWHAP!

MM: OOH! VP didn't even wait for the bell before he whapped Brandon upside the head with Mr. Bat! Brandon is down cradling his head...

SW: Cradling be damned! BLADING! BLADING! Right off the bat! WOO-HOO! A new record! (Scotty stands and does a "Gettin' Jiggy Wit' My Bad Self" dance.)

NH: I don't believe it! Even Steve Austin never juiced that quickly! And listen to the crowd pop for the Pacifist! Hey, who are the Heels in this one?

MM: Beats me... whoever gets the traditional 2-on-1 advantange, I guess. The VP with a Mr. Bat-assisted camel clutch on Brandon! He's trying for an early submission!

SW: Yeah, right! FIGHT IT, you colleigate sissy-boy!

MM: Brandon manages to power out! VP with a standing dropkick! The back of Brandons head clangs off the cage! Floating Weasel Suplex! Nice execution! Misses an elbow drop, though! Can Brandon recover his wits enough to take charge?

NH: You're asking a lot, Mike. He's never seemed to have his wits about him since he signed with us.

MM: Big right hand! Mediumly-large left hand! A small knee-lift! BOOM! Brandon's on fire!

NH: You're right! Whose idea was it to have pyro in the cage?

(Cut to the Li'lBOSS, who's in a phonebooth. He raises a hand apologetically.)

LB: Hello? BigBOSS? Where are you, Stuart? The second half has started... Oh. Sorry to interrupt... Well, give my regards to Miss Behave.

MM: VP helps Brandon to beat out the flames and then clotheslines him into the second ring!

NH: YEAH! Slap him like a bitch, VP!

SW: Did you read my line, Heidi? It sounded like one of mine...

NH: No, that was an ad-lib... have you seen how these guys treat women in their promos?

MM: The Pacifist is going to the top... flying axe-handle... Brandon dropkicks him on the way down! Desperation move, but extremely effective nonetheless! Brandon drops a knee right into the VP's crotch! Waaaaay South of the border there! Sets him up... SLINGSHOT into the cage! Falls back into a roll-up.. kicks out at two! Is he busted open?

SW: Only a small cut, Mikey! Don't be a wuss, VP! Look, Brandon's juicing like a faucet!

VP: (just audibly) Hey, butt out! That was legit, okay! Oh, screw it.. give me the blade, ref!

MM: Brandon whips the Pcifist to the ropes.. DROP-TOE HOLD INTO THE STEEL! The Pacifist looks hurt.. YES! He's been BUSTED WIDE OPEN! He's back to his feet, though! A gutsy competitor! Both bloodied warriors slugging it out toe-to-toe... Brandon ducks a roundhouse right... Release German suplex dumps the Pacifist on his head! Brandon's going to the top... this could be a mistake! Moonsault coming up... VP rolls away!

NH: Are you turning pyschic on us Mike? VP retrieves Mr Bat from the first ring and is attacking Brandons knee! Brandon tries to cover up... but VP won't stop the assault! He's methodically destroying Brandon's vertical base! The crowd counting along with the bat shots!

Crowd: ... 5, 6, 7, 8...!

(1 minute, 45 seconds later)

Crowd: ...113, 114, 115, 116...!

SW: You know, there's a fine line between "methodical" and "obsessive-compulsive"! Hey, there's a count down on-screen... three, two, one... the five minutes is up! Who is it? Who's next?

(Eddie B hits "random" on his CD player, resulting in Josh of the Kent State Krew entering to "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. The crowd, well versed in War/Snore games ettiquette, boos lustily. He cheapshots a distracted Violent Pacifist with Mr Bat II and makes an obscene gesture to the crowd, drawing more heel heat.)

Brandon: HEY! I though we were faces?

Josh: Does it matter?

Brandon: Well, no...

MM: The Violent Pacifist is in trouble now! Double whip to the ropes... DOUBLE STUN-GUN! Devastating! No cover, though! They pick up the Violent Pacifist and ram him into the roof of the cage! The Kent Staters are in control! They start posing for the crowd... that could be a big mistake!

NH: I'll say! The clock is counting down... 20 seconds to a new entrant... 10... 5... Here we go!

(A single figure appears at the top of the ramp. He's wearing black tights and a gorilla mask. The fans fall silent as he raises a microphone to his lips.)

Mystery Man: I told ya I'd be back again! IT'S TIME TO GET REAL REAL!!

SW: Oh my GOD! It's Flash Flanagan! RUN FOR THE HILLS!

Mystery Man: Just kidding! (Rips his mask off.)



(The crowd erupts into a huge pop, startling the hell out of BP. He recovers nicely, though.)

BP: Oh yes! It is I, the "Can't-Lose Kid". I'd like to apologize to all my fans out there in the audience who just shit their pants upon seeing the face of I once more. Or, of course, it could be because this arena doesn't have any bathrooms and they've been waiting here for two weeks, huh? Now quiet, quiet, I only have a minute or two to talk.

(The crowd grows hushed. Billy looks taken aback by this...)

BP: Ahhhh, BOB. The only federation where EVERYBODY gets heel heat! 'Cept me! 'Cause I'M BILLY POLAR, DAMMIT!!

(The crowd explodes into a huge cheer, underscored with a "BIL-LY! BIl-LY" chant.)

BP: They like me? They really LIKE ME! So, how are YOU doing, Kamera Kid?!

Dennis: Uhh, pardon me, but my name is Dennis. Ummm.. is this the best time to do one of your trademark long-winded interviews? I think they're expecting you...

(Cut to the ring. Brandon and Josh have VP in a double-bearhug that kind of looks like they're pulling a train on him.)

BP: Like they pay me enough to get involved in THAT! Well, BOB. I've come here for one thing and one thing only!!

Dennis: To win the Pan-Galactic Championship?

BP: To win the what-now? No, no, you British brummie bastard! I've come here for the money!! I have to pay back all those hefty college loans, you know. I did go to Harvard, after all.

Dennis: Yeah, uh, I'd heard that somewhere....

BP: I'm not surprised. I'm famed worldwide! You're lucky to have me and YOU DAMN WELL KNOW IT!! (Big pop) And, Denise, that's why, starting today, I, Billy Polar, have become BOB'S HIGHEST-PAID WRESTLER EVER!! Benjamin Q. Fiendish and Sillaconne M. Pricetag, STEP ASIDE! I, Billy Polar, am the greatest wrestler in this fed and the BOBBigA$$ knows it! I'm taking this fed by, uh, inclement weather, and I'm going to tear down the, uh, ceiling supports.... Damn copyrights! Nobody's safe! And especially that crackpot champion, Stephen Baldwin! Go back to Notre Dame where you belong, you moronic Hollywood dingbat!

Dennis: Uh, my dear fellow, I'm afraid that has not yet transpired. (staring at the camera nervously and gulping) Uh...heh heh.

BP: Oh, hmm. Somebody told me that was going to happen. I guess he's a major contender who's flying up through the rankings and can win the title at any time, then, huh?

Dennis: (looking into the camera even more nervously) Uh....heh heh. I guess you should get into the ring now... we seem to be holding up the show somewhat... the LIVE show? The one we're broadcasting LIVE tonight AS IT'S HAPPENING? LIVE?

BP: Uhhhhhh, okay! Okay, BOB-sters! Just bring it! Oops, uh, into the ring--right over here...where I'm standing. (He climbs into the ring to emphasise this.) Yeah. DAMN COPYRIGHTS!!

(Billy turns around and is promptly clotheslined by Brandon.)

MM: And it's all on again! I can still hardly believe it! The former STWF White Luchador Billy has joined BOB! And the fans are loving it!

LPP: Si! Beely, he is mucho popular, no?

SW: Li'l Peppy Polar? What are YOU doing here?

LPP: Color commentary, senor.

SW: The Hell you are, half-pint! That's MY gig!

MM: BP and VP are handing out some GBH to the Kent Staters now! They're not taking any BS! If Josh and Brandon don't shape up, ASAP, they'll end up DOA, PDQ!

SW: BFD, Mike... there's the count-down... 3..2..1!

("Rock and Roll, Part 2" plays as Jean Bannister makes his apperance. A sign reading "Goon2K" is shown. He reaches under the ring and retrieves "Mr Hockey Stick".)

NH: I sense a trend developing here...

MM: Really, ya think? VP has Brandon... Tombstone piledriver! Covers.. Legdrop to the back of the neck from Billy Polar! The White Luchador to the ropes.. springboard Polarsault takes out both VP and Brandon! Jean Bannister is using his hockey stick to devastating effect on Josh! Tripping! Slahing! Gouging! Crotching!

SW: Blading?

NH: Relax, Count Dorkula! There's still plenty of time for him to juice! Ooh, double lowblow by Brandon! Double-underhook suplex sends VP across the ring! Brandon slides out and is looking for the Box O' Hardcore Props...

Crowd: 3! 2! 1!

SW: What the hell? That was never two minutes!

NH: Well, after making the audience wait two weeks for this match, who's really conting, huh Scotty?

(A second member of the mystery team enters, wearing a mask. He pauses, poses, and whips it off.)


NH: It is not, Scotty! It's... some guy I've never seen before!

MA: Here is the second member of the Mystery Team... MIKE DANGEROUS!

All: WHO?

MA: Don't ask me, I'm just reading the card, pal...

MM: Well, fair enough. Brandon has found the Hardcore Thingees and is traumatising Billy Polars cranium with a BRAIN IN A JAR? What the hell? The Violent Pacifist blindsides Brandon with a plastic laser rifle! Billy defends himself with an Evil Latex Mutant Baby!! Did I just say what I think I said?

SW: Yup. Gimmie that Prop Bag... HEY! This isn't the Big Bag O' Hardcore Props! This is A Medium Sized Bag O' B-Movie Props! Who put that under there?

(Cut backstage to a *sigh* Mysterious Masked Man... like THAT angle hasn't been done to death in this fed...)

TC: It was I... THE CRITIC! And No-one shall pentrate my secret identity! Nya-ha-haaa!

(Enter the Li'lBOSS.)

LB: Oh, Hi BigBOSS... nice outfit... trying to make the roster look fuller?

(The Critic slumps visibly.)

TC/BB: I don't believe this! First this little cockblocker interrupts my tryst with Miss Behave, and now he gives away my secret identity! Note to Myself, book you in a match at Send us Money: Footbrawl. Hardcore Match if possible...


(Cut back to ringside. Billy Polar is pummeling Josh with a stuffed lobster-like Cheesy Movie Monster. VP has Mark Dangerous locked in an energy-saving chinlock. Jean Bannister has snapped Mr Hockey Stick in two with a wild swing at Brandon and is now picking splinters from both hands. Brandon is unable to capitalise, having become slightly faint. Guess it was his first-ever bladejob...)

NH: Geez, even the disembodied announcer does a better play-by-play than you do, Scotty...

SW: Yeah, but I have a tighter ass than he does.. HEY!

MM: Powerbomb from Billy Polar levels Josh! Mike Dangerous reverses the chinlock ... Oooh, turns it into a CHOKESLAM!! Chokeslam! Chokeslam. Brandon recovers enough to whip Jean Bannister to the ropes... Flying Buttdrop!

NH: Ewww...

MM: The Flunky slides a table into the ring! Why, I'll never know...

SW: WHO CARES?! I want a Table! (Clap clap clap-clapclap)

MM: Billy Polar sets up the table! He scoops Josh up and places him gently on the top turnbuckle... a not-so-gentle forearm smash though! BP climbs the ropes... A Superplex is imminent!

SW: Check it out in the other ring! Brandon whipped Jean Bannister to the ropes... Baaaaaaaaacccckk body drop....



SW: Awwww YEAH! A 2-for-1 Special!

NH: Unbelievable! Jean Bannister was backdropped from Ring 1 into Ring 2 and went through the left side of the table, while at the same time, Billy Polar superplexed Josh through the RIGHT side of the table! They're both down... and in the Approved Blading Position(R), I might add...

SW: YES! They're BOTH Busted Wide Open™!!

Crowd: 3..2..1!

(Both Jim and Sir Hungalot emerge from opposite sides of the BOB-Tron, resulting in the mother of all mixed reactions. They stare each other down. Lip readers may note the following whispered exchange; "You idiot, I was next!" "The hell you were!", "Crap, what do we do now?", "Improvise, son, improvise!")

MM: The Big Sur and The Big Jim are going at it right on the entrance ramp! Listen to the crowd! Lefts! Rights! More lefts! Sir Hungalot pulls out a big...


MM: ...move! Gut-wrench on the ramp! He leaves him lying and heads to the ring. Reaches beneath it and finds.. oh, Lord, Mr Battery-Operated Adult Toy? Suddenly I wish we had the censors back...

SW: Not me, Mikey! Crap! Shit! Big floppy donkey dick!

Told you so.

NH: I'd say you were lowering the tone again Scotty, but I think it's already underground at this stage... Billy Polar's going airborne! A Ring-to-ring springboard dropkick on the Violent Pacifist! Billy soaks in the applause of the crowd... Sir Hungalot strikes.. VIBRATING PLEASURE DEVICE OF DOOM!

MM: Now that's novel...

NH: Oh LORD! It's on HIGH SPEED! I know how painful that is.. I mean, I can guess how... I mean... Oh, shut up Scotty!

SW: I didn't say anything!

NH: You were going to!

MM: BOB! Where we say and do things the STWF was only allowed to imply! The Big Sur has Billy pinned against the ropes? Will Billy be able to get off? Uh, get off the ropes, I mean...

NH: We know what you mean, Mike! Hey, we've got a countdown already? We must be running out of air-time! Who's the last man? Who's the final member of the Mystery team?

SW: Oh, come on! We all know it's that farting guy from the Rant Zone?

(Cut to the BOSS'es.)

BB: The hell with that! We're going to get in enough trouble with the networks as it is! Take a memo, Li'lBOSS. Find out who gave that guy a contract.

LB: Check.

MM: Here he comes.. it's.. it's... It's.....

("Enter Sandman" by Pat Boone w/extra Scratches, Bells and Whistles by Eddie B. plays...)

MM: Oh, lord, not HIM! "SOFT CORE" ZACK?

(The crowd pops like crazy as the Icon of Non-Agressive Garbage Wrestling raises his whiffle bat high in the spolights. Deviance, his valet is behind him, pushing the Dumpster of Doom.)

MM: What's going on? I didn't know he was in BOB?

Caption: CAMEO

MM: I guess he isn't, then... Zack enters the ring and is pummeling evryone in sight with his whiffle bat! OH! He just layed out Jim with a well-aimed can of "Beer For Girls"! Deviance throws him a foam finger and he continues his non-damaging assault!

NH: Look out! Sir Hungalot is thrown face-first into the cage door by Mike Dangerous! Add another to the bladed and bleeding list!

SW: Billy Polar's juicing too! I never even saw who did that to him! VP and Josh are struggling over Mr Bat!

NH: Which one... oh, like it matters! Zack has Brandon down... what's he going for... oh, God, NO!

SCZ: It's time to SMELL THE MAGIC!


MM: Every man in the ring dogpiles Zack! I guess that stinking, soiled jockstraps' reputation preceeds him! They're beating the tar out of him... Hang on! Sir Hungalot has Brandon... G-SPOT! He's got the G-SPOT and it's locked it!

NH: A man found the G-spot? That's a first!

SW: It's a submission move, Heidi!

NH: It always makes me submit... oh, I see! Brandons' team-mates are still struggling with Zack... he's in big trouble... HE's TAPPING! It's over!

MA: Here is are your winners... THE THREE GUYS!

MM: What a match! What a night! What the hell! Folks, we're out of time, so as the Snore Games participants brawl all the way out of the building, I'm Mike The Monotone Monroe, along with Nurse Heidi and Scotty Whatbody, say "So long!"... and we'll see you at NAGAM... when we'll find out just Who'll be in the running... for THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS! Good night!

© 2001 BOB Wrestling! Now with Extra Fibre!


© BOB Wrestling!

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