"Welcome, underlings. Don't forget to wipe your feet."
- The BigBOSS

[Kid Rock's "Lonely Road of Faith" starts up a promo, as the tenth edition of Sunday Morning Chloroform commences. Moving memories of all our prestigous heroes float by the screen...]

Sunday Morning Chloroform 1 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 2 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 3 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 4 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 5 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 6 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 7 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 8 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Sunday Morning Chloroform 9 -
Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

Hardcore JJ: WHAT?!


Yes, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The footage continues, visions of the most radical action in BoB history...

"Oh what a shot by Mully. Oh what a shot by Jim. Oh what a SHOT by Hooker!" ~ "Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch." ~ Styles: Undietaker just took the undies back from Undietaker! Mark Shill: The undies that Undietaker took off BVD's head? Styles: Those same ones! ~ BVD: HOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Crowd: HOOOOOOOOOOOO! ~ BVD: HOOOOOOOOOOOO! Crowd: HOOOOOOOOOOOO! ~ BVD: HOOOOOOOOOOOO! Crowd: HOOOOOOOOOOOO! ~ Scotty: And Seth locks in. A sleeper hold. Heidi: And he's still got it locked on. Scotty: What about now? Heidi: Yep, still on. Scotty: Did Brandon fall down on his ass yet? Heidi: Yep, he just did. Scotty: And are his eyes closed? Heidi: Yes they are. Scotty: Has he gone limp? Heidi: Is this a trick question? Quit grinning! I'm not going to set up some stupid Viagra joke. That's so 1999. Scotty: You're no fun with clothes on.

And the beat goes on...

"Sunday Morning Chloroform, IS ON THE AIR! It should be another HISTORIC night in the ANNALS OF PARODY EWRESTLING!...a confrontation of EPIC proportions... Nurse Heidi is an unstoppable force! ... JJ DROP! JJ DROP! JJ DROP! ... THAT’S HIS MOVE! ... This is going to be THE GREATEST CHLORO - GREATEST CHLORO- This is going to be THE GREATEST CHLOROFOR- THIS IS- THIS IS- ... !EVOM SIH S'TAHT ... !PORD JJ !PORD JJ !PORD JJ ... !ecrof elbappolk;rjfkjrfkj = = = = = = = = SCENE MISSING = = = = = = = ="

[The footage begins to cut away, the screen turning black and white, and splotches breaking into the film. A horizontal scroll begins to take hold... before a white screen is all that's left. A photograph gently floats onto the pure white, a photo... of Kurt Angel... with a piercing grin... as the camera fades to the arena...

The Sun's About To Rise, Can You Smell It?

[The camera pans the Beer Bottle Crossing School in Beer Bottle Crossing, Idaho. A capacity crowd of 13 has filled the gymnasium. We cut to the ringside announce team of Scotty Whatbody in the center, Nurse Heidi at his right and Mark Shill at his right.]

Scotty Whatbody: Hello everyone and welcome to the 10th anniversary of BOB’s Sunday Morning Chloroform. A show 10 episodes in the making.


Nurse Heidi: And tonight, I’m going to make Candy Cantaloupes wet.

SW: Wooohooo!

NH: Oh, shut up, Scotty. I meant when me and Candy wrestle in that squirt gun on a fishing pole match.

SW: Yep, it’s gonna get wet and wild here tonight. Uh, this morning. Yeaaaahhhh. This morning.

NH: That bitch is gonna pay for what she did to me at Explosion of Injuries.

SW: Grabbing your ass?

NH: No.

SW: Grabbing your hooters?

NH: No.

SW: For seducing me?

NH: No. Wait. Make that a HELL no.

SW: Jealous much?

NH: Please. There is more sexual tension between me and the ring bell than me and you.

SW: Whatever. Well, let me tell you fans that this morning’s edition of Sunday Morning Chloroform is brought to you by BigBOSS Vibrators. BigBOSS Vibrators: Go fuck yourself. Batteries not included.

NH: Ah, nice. The vibrator is just as cheap as the man himself. I wonder which one would last longer?

SW: Bwahahahaha. Oh wait. This just in, we understand we’re going to go to footage of Heidi being a bitch....now.

[The camera zooms in on Heidi.]

NH: Truth hurts, don’t it BigBOSS?

[The camera returns to normal. Then the camera cuts to the entryway as "Pussy Liquor" by Rob Zombie hits the speakers, leading out Trey Vincent of the iAd, the incurable Apathy disorder.]

SW: The fans love this guy. And why not? His handler is writing the show!

MS: He THE MOST despicable human BEING in the history of HUMAN BEINGS.

NH: What does Trey Vincent want tonight? Him, Seth Harker and Steve Studnuts have been trying to make jackasses out of the entire BOB roster of late with stupid stunts and pranks.

TV: *Ahem* If I can be serious for a minute. I am out here tonight, humbly before you, to make an announcement. This announcement will no doubt have a deep impact on BOB. But should not in any way effect my ability to keep churning out great Mystery Sports Entertainment 3000 shows with Seth Harker, Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot. Last time out, I saw a brave man by the name of BILL come out before you and reveal that he has been sexually harassed backstage...by himself....*sniffle* And fans, I come before you tonight....*sniffle* to reveal that I too am a victim....of myself! On occasions too numerous to count, I have found my own hand on my crotch. Grabbing it. Sometimes even jiggling it a little. I must have repressed all the memories, but when BILL revealed his sexual abuse, well, mine came flooding back to me in the form of old clips. So, BigBOSS, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to sue you for putting me in a dangerous work environment.

["Takin' care of Business" by BTO plays and out walks BigBOSS to the ring. He has his own microphone.]

BB: Trey, I had no idea this was going on. But surely you don't want money, right? How about I give you a main event match for the BOB ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS?

[The fans cheered that idea. A smile crept onto Vincent's face, but then slowly died away.]

TV: Well that WOULD be nice and all, but....

BB: Is there something else you want?

[A line of lawyers began filing down to ringside. There were about 10 in total. Two of them entered the ring. One presented Vincent with a legal document.]

TV: Well, *sniffle* according to my lawyers, the only way we would not sue you for millions of dollars and put you in jail for many, many years where you would be somebody's pint-sized bitch. Well...I will settle if you give me a title.

BB: Sure. Which one do you want? Fore-Play Tag Titles? Swiss Army? Super Duper Keen Team Things?

TV: No, no, no. Sorry. I meant, an administrative title. I want booking control. I want.....to be the Vice President In Charge of Everything.

BB: In charge of everything?

TV: Yep. I just want the title and full creative control. I want to be your Vince Russo.

BB: But, the Medium-Sized Bucket is my Vince Russo...

TV: Awww, c'mon. This is simple really, BOSS. Either give me my job title, or I'll sue your for a lot of money and make you start running shows in front of crowds of, uh...(Trey looks around and tries to estimate how many people are in attendance). Twelve! You wouldn't be able to run shows at swanky middle schools like this one ever again!

BB: Alright! I'll sign. I'll make you my Vice President In Charge of Everything.

TV: Excellent.

BB: But I'm still the BigBOSS. The pecking order goes me, then you, then LilBOSS.

TV: Right. Though I'll make LilBOSS do all my boring work. Because I can do that.

BB: Yep.

[Cut backstage to LilBOSS, who slaps his forehead. Back in the ring, BigBOSS is signing the papers.]

TV: Nice doing business with you. Now. As my first decree, I'm taking a two week vacation. See you later.

BB: Hey, we've got a show to book.

TV: Eh, somebody will fill in for me. Later, jackass.


SW: Speaking of big, it’s time for Nurse Heidi to take on Candy Cantaloupes!

NH: I’m gonna show put this girl in the hospital.

SW: And then give her a sponge bath?

NH: ... No. *THUD*

SW: Alright! Here we go! Take it away Masked Announcer!

Masked Announcer: The following contest is a Water Gun On A Fishing Pole Match. The two hot lesbians—

NH: I am NOT a lesbian!

MA: That’s what my card says.

NH: No it doesn’t. (She grabs the card.) Hmm. So it does. (She shrugs and hands the card back to him).

MA: As I was saying. The two hot lesbians will do battle. Whoever uses the gun on her opponent first will win the match.

SW: But all the viewers will be the true winners.

MA: Introducing first, already in the ring, Nurrrrrrrse Heidi!

SW: Uh-oh. Heidi just got the jobber entrance. That can’t be good for her chance tonight!

MS: Heidi is the greatest female sports entertainer in the history of BOB!

SW: I never thought I’d be wishing for Monroe out here. Shill, you are just in total suck-ass mode tonight.

MS: I take offense to that.

SW: So does your mother.

["Centerfold" by J. Geils Band plays over the speakers.]

MA: And her opponent, now walking down the aisle, Candy Cantaloupes!

[The camera suddenly begins flipping, as if it were a tape with bad tracking.]

SW: No! Not during this match!

MS: What in the heck is going on here?

SW: This looks like the scrambled porn back at the motel. This sucks!

MS: Scotty, the match is about 15 feet away from you.

SW: Oh yeah! Woohoo! Man, sucks to be you viewers!

MS: Maybe it’s just our monitors.

SW: Well, we’ve got the bell. Heidi and Candy charge at each other. Heidi gets Candy into a Heidi-canrana!

MS: This is why you’ve got to get BOB live on Pay-Per-View. No technical glitches, EVER! And BOB returns to pay-per-view in April with MARCH MAYHEM 2004! And the STAKES have NEVER been HIGHER!

SW: And that’s saying something, considering the arrival of the Uber Vampire Warrior in BOB. Candy whips Heidi into the corner and charges in with a double breast splash! Hope nothing popped! OH YEAH! Here it comes! Candy backs up to the opposite corner. It’s the Big O! Heidi gets the Big O! Now she can’t deny she’s a lesbian, Shill.


SW: Candy is going toward the fishing pole. Nothing turns me on more than chicks with guns. Well, aside from topless chicks with guns!

MS: Wait just a minute! What is going on here?

SW: Whoa! I don’t know. A hot brunette chick just slid into the ring. She grabs Candy and lifts her up in the air! Wow! A breast buster by this busty brunette!

MS: Heid is up! The mysterious woman turns around and looks at Heidi. Wait...what...what have we just seen here? Heidi hugs this mysterious woman who just came in and possibly cost Candy Cantaloupes a victory!

SW: Something smells fishy here...

MS: You mean how this looks to be the BIGGEST SET-UP in BOB HISTORY?

SW: No, I really smell something fishy. *Sniff sniff*

MS: The brunette grabs the water gun. Heidi picks up Candy. The woman cocks the gun.

SW: She looks like she’s quite familiar with cocking, if you catch my drift.

MS: She’s squirting Heidi with the water gun! And there’s apparently no disqualification.

SW: Either that, all the blood has rushed away from his brain and he’s forgotten where he is. That should be the match, but Generic Ref is just staring as this brunette makes Candy wetter and wetter. And I understand we’ve got those technical difficulties under control now. Finally. Well, luckily it’s just in time for the money shot anyhow.

NH: Umm, you gonna declare me the winner or what?

Generic Ref: Of what?

NH: The match. I just squirted Candy with water. I win!

GR: Ohhh, right. The match. Sure. You win.

[Ding, ding, ding.]

MA: The winner of the—

[Scotty grabs Masked Announcer’s microphone and heads into the ring.]

SW: Heidi, who’s your friend and what’s her phone number?

NH: This, right here, is Misty Waters! She’s an old friend/enemy/room mate/relative.

SW: Are you here to wrestle, Misty? And if so, will you start with me? I’ll even take you out for dinner. I’ve got a coupon for McDonald’s, I think.

MW: I will never be drunk enough to make you look good to me. For two years or so, I have searched for Candy Cantaloupes. Back when we were in the business, together, Candy did something to me that I will never forgive. It’s something sleeping with countless men, drinking tons of Jack Daniels and snorting cocaine couldn’t put out of my mind. Something that she must pay for. And that deep, dark, secret is—

SW: So the rumors are true. BOB is looking to start a porn division. I mean, a, uh, women’s division? Wow. How great. We’ll be right back after this!

[The gates of a vacant factory, crescent moon shining down, two vans parked next to it. The Masked Announcer's standing there and waiting for the wrestlers to get out of their respective vans. The doors of douja's van open, and a massive cloud of smoke announces that we can forget getting our deposit back.]

MA: From Parts Unknown, douja and Jerry Curl Jones!

["In the Hood" by Wu-Tang Clan cranks up on the boombox next to the vans, and douja flops out of the van before stumbling up alongside the Masked Announcer. Jerry Curl Jones stands with him, occasionally preventing the pothead from collapsing.]

Voice: A new-new-na-nuh-nuh-new incurable Apathy disorder...

MA: And from the iAd, Steve Studnuts!

["Right Now" by Korn starts up, and Studnuts walks up to the meeting point.]

MA: And their opponents: from Dimension Z and Shady Rest Cemetary, respectively, Mr. Paradox and Meat-Puppet - Necromancy Go!

["We Don't Die" by Twizted plays as Mr. Paradox steps out of their van, his skinless corpse partner in tow. Meat-Puppet randomly shudders due to sudden nerve activity.]

MA: And their partner... um, I don't have a clue who it is.

[Mr. Paradox swipes the announcer's mike as a man in a long black robe steps out of the van. The man stops, the robe falls... and an eight-inch-tall sprite figure stands there. You've gotta be kidding me.]

Paradox: From River City, the star of "River City Ransom", ALEX!

[The title screen music from "River City Ransom" starts playing as ALEX (his name is spelled in all caps) walks to the factory gates. Generic Ref takes the mike from Paradox.]

GR: The stipulations for this match are as follows. This is a "Last Moron Standing Team Elimination Match". All six of you will go into that factory, and after ten minutes, try to pin members of the opposing side. If you're pinned, leave the factory immediately. The team that manages to eliminate all of their opponents wins. Now, enter the factory!

[Paradox nods to Studnuts, and the wrestlers enter the factory. We cut elsewhere. It’s dark. Most likely night, after the sun’s gone down. The camera pans up on a gravestone that reads "her lyz XXXtreme Mcahine RPI" A scythe handle is thrust into the earth and the camera pans around to reveal bony feet, then a long cloak. If you couldn’t guess, it’s Death.]

Death: Oh, GOD? Say, God? Buddy? It’s your hitman calling. If you can talk to that Joan chick, you can surely make time for me.

God’s Voice: What does thou want?

[Death looks around and spots a white cartoon dog walking towards him with a martini in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.]

Death: Umm...I thought I asked for God?

God: And thou got Me. Your Lord thy God does not have all night.

Death: Fine. I’m sure there’s some dyslexic joke in here I’m missing. Anyhow. Can you bring XXXtreme Machine back as a zombie, Boss?

God: Bring him back? Why?

Death: I need another partner for my six-man tag match tonight.

God: But your Lord thy God put that creature out of his misery. So it was booked and so it shall be.

Death: Aww, c’mon. You brought Jesus back to life.

God: Hello? Jesus was my son!

Death: But, isn’t all of mankind like your son?

God: No. They don’t all have holes in their hands and feet. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Death: Yeah, that’s rich. Just bring him back, alright? You owe me, Boss.

God: *Sigh* Thou and that stupid BOB. Thou shalt be the death of your Lord thy God. If your Lord thy God could die, that is. Fine. He is risen. But you’re not getting any overtime this week.

Death: Awww....

SW: …And we’re back.


[Suddenly, everybody is wearing a different set of clothes. The same sets they had back in SMC 9, to be precise]

SW: Dahh! What was that?

MS: This is the most mysterious event in the history of sports entertainment!

[Not that mysterious, really; it’s pretty clear that we just shut the camera off when you went to go change, then turned it on when you got back into position. That’s why Mark’s water glass is empty now.]

The Disembodied Voice of Dr. Azathoth: Who dares to question the mystic might of Yog-Sothoth?!

SW: Dahh! Again! What was that?

NH: It sounded like Dr. Azathoth… but I don’t see him…

Dr. A: I am all around you mortals! I am at one with Yog-Sothoth, and, as such, am present in all times and places, simultaneously. Past and Future, near and far, all are one in Yog-Sothoth! Tekele-li! Tekele-li!

MS: Wow!

Dr. A: It’s not as much fun as you might think. I am, for example, witnessing the sum total of human sexual activity…

SW: Does it involve Jenna Haze and a couple other chicks?

Dr. A: Again, I must emphasize that this experience is not as pleasant as it might seem. Many of you humans are ugly, and you spend quite a lot of time engaged in "solo activity", if you catch my meaning. On that subject, did you know that moments of Scotty Whatbody masturbating make up nearly 18% of human sexual activity?


SW: Uh… so, uhm, why are we wearing last weeks clothes? I haven’t done the laundry yet, so I was kind of hoping not to wear them today.

Dr. A: This is a time warp! Although Yog-Sothoth intersected with your dimension on 1 February, your limited human minds repressed the memory, and are only now comprehending things.

[He means he thought this match was due a week later then it was, and didn’t get it done in time.]

Dr. A: Once more I sense someone questioning the might of Yog-Sothoth! I must ask you to stop or pay the consequences!

[Uh-huh, whatever.]

Dr. A: Good. Now, does anyone have any further questions?

NH: Yes, I have one: Since you are experiencing time as a single object, rather then a sequence of events, doesn’t that make activities like, say, talking more difficult? After all, the meaning of language is dependent on the order of the words, so don’t you have trouble not saying entire sentences in a single instant, or putting words in the incorrect order?

SW: Also, shouldn’t you already know if we have questions, since you can see the future?

Dr. A: Uh… Well…. Yog-Sothtothquestionnotthemightof! Now that I have answered all your questions, I will direct your attention to the center of the ring.

MS: MY GOD! It’s awe-inspiring!

NH: Well, if you’re impressed by film projection… or gold-painted plaster…

SW: No, even then it’s still pretty pathetic.

(What we are looking at is a "portal" that has appeared in the middle of the ring. It’s has an asymmetrical, six-sided frame, inside of which is a projection screen. A kind of swirly pattern is being projected onto the screen.)

Dr. A: Yes, gaze… Gaze into the awesome maw of Yog-Sothoth! But do not gaze long! For those who stare too deeply into the eldritch hole are said to go mad! Tekele-li! Tekele-li!

Dr. A: And it is into this very vortex that the insolent Parachute shall be thrown! And from thence, he shall face me, in the most mind-blowing match in the history of wrestling!

SW: Wasn’t this match cancelled?

[BigBoss’s music starts up, and the man himself strides into the ring]

BigBoss: Yes, Scotty, Paradox did indeed turn down this match. Which makes me ask myself, "What the hell is this monstrosity doing in my ring?"

Dr. A: I know of no cancellation by Paradox!

BB: Yes you do, you talked about it with your therapist.

Dr. A: That was in the future!

BB: Okay… fine, but you said you could see into the future.

Dr. A: Nevertheless, I refuse to acknowledge that a mere human minion would dare to turn down the mighty Azathoth! Also, we need to throw someone in here pretty soon. Yog-Sothoth hungers! A wrestler must enter the portal, or all will be lost! Yog-Sothoth shall not be denied! Tekele-li! Tekele-li!

BB (rubbing his temples in annoyance): Okay, where to start? First of all, that’s not a portal, that’s a projection screen showing an endless loop of the opening to The Twilight Zone. I mean, there’s the damn logo, right there. Second, we don’t have time for another match. Your cruddy demon is just gonna have to go hungry.

Dr. A: YOU FOOL! Do you not know what will happen if Yog-Sothoth does not receive a sacrifice?! The very fabric of existance shall be torn asunder!

BB: I’ll show you how to tear fabric asunder!

[At this, BigBoss punches a hole in the projection screen.]

BB: There! Flunky, turn that projector off, and then come clear this thing out of my ring.

[Flunky yells his assent from off-screen, and the projector winds down and stops. Within moments an unearthly roar starts up, and the ground starts to quake. Well, actually the camera starts shaking and our personnel toss themselves around. Only Mark Shill puts any effort into it. In fact, he manages to throw himself out of his chair and break his hip)

BB: Yowza, how many cheesy effects do you have, Azathoth? This show is low class enough without all this.

Dr. A: This is just the beginning, mortal!

[Suddenly a fierce wind [or industrial fan, take your pick] starts up, blowing all lose objects around the arena. This includes things like loose change, snacks, Shill’s hairpiece, and the announcers’ scripts to go flying everywhere.]

BB: Dammit! Do you know how much Kinkos charges for copies!? Alright, alright what do I have to do to get this to stop?

Dr. A: A sacrifice must be given to Yog-Sothoth! Bring forth the jobbers! They shall draw lots from this, the sacred vessel of Yog-Sothoth!

[With this there is a poof of smoke, a quick camera cut, and the Medium-sized Bucket appears onstage.]

SW: And here comes the parade of losers! First out is Snapmare Kid…

MS: With an AMAZING snapmare to one of the lots! This is the most exciting lottery in BOB history!

SW: Next out, xxxtreme machine…

NH: Didn’t he die?

SW: Well, I guess this must be a time warp…

[That, and the author couldn’t be bothered to check if he was alive or not… Huh, who’s there? Oh, it’s you. What’re you… OH NO! Not that! Ow! Not in the face! Arrghh! Oof. Actually you can do that one in the face… OH JIMMINY!]

[Hello, Kay Fabe here. Detached Narrator just had a small ‘accident’, so I’ll be filling in while he’s taken to the hospital to have his chest wrapped in bandages. Now, back to Dr. Azathoth’s TOTALLY CONVINCING space-time warp thingy.]

SW: Well, the other sub-stars are filling in… We’ve got Mr. X, Streetmime 2k3, Pete "Xfactor" Trable, Sculder and Mully, Little Good…and...]

MS: Wow! It’s a real blast from the past, as Birdboy comes out!

NH: Followed by a bunch of people I only vaguely remember… Who the heck are these people?

SW: According to the remnants of my script, they’re The Dungeon of Dumb, Mr. Claven, and someone or something called "Choads Moker".

Dr. A: Enough! BigBoss, I command you to find the person who has been chosen for the unrimmiting horror of Yog-Sothoth!

BB: Yeah, command my ass. Yo! Mr. X, what’s your chip say?

Mr. X: Chip? What chip? I ain’t ever heard a no chip, and you screws can’t prove different!

BB: Okay… Snapmare Kid?

SK: (Snapmares his chip again)

BB: Right… xxxtreme machine?

XM: yo mdy chi[ps ays soemthig abot lozing!

BB: Whatever. Streetmime?

SM: (Exaggerates carefully reading his chip, then jerks way back in surprise)

BB: God, this is going to take forever. Dustbuster Boy?

DB: (Quickly uses his dustbuster to vacuum up his chip which reads "Have fun in Hell!") Uh, you know, instead of drawing lots, we could save a lot of time by just throwing xxxtreme machine in there.

BB: Yeah, that makes sense. Do it.

XM: dud wa tthe fck?1 I jstr caem bak alive! I goig sped mi refnusd!

(In a show of solidarity, all the wrestlers grab xxxtreme machine and toss him through the portal. The portal rips in half, falls over, and then dissapears in a puff of smoke. The wind and shaking stop immediately)

BB: So, Doc, that’s it?

BB: Doc?

BB: Okay then. And now for something completely different!

Inside a school science room, Little Good found himself chained to a wall. All the shades had been pulled closed, but the room was lit by flickering fluorescent light bulbs. The Potential Presidents are practicing speeches that all seem to consist of saying "My fellow American losers..." followed by insults about local football teams and how gay they are. Little Good was a bloody mess. An ugly face suddenly appeared in front of him, making him jump in surprise.

The Uber Vampire Warrior.

"Go on. Punch Captain Peroxide, why don’t you?" said the voice of the other Little Good. The one Detached Narrator was pretending to be. But that shape didn’t last long as Little Good suddenly morphed into Jessica Biel, who was in her "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" attire. ... Right. Since nobody saw that movie, it’s tight blue jeans and a tight white top. I think. I forget now. Anyway... "Let’s take this little bitch to Seventh Heaven."

Gangrel kicked Little Good in the balls then, making Little Good roar in pain. But with his arms tied, he couldn’t collapse into the fetal position and suck his thumb like he normally would here. Instead, he had to look at Jessica Biel. The woman he most wanted to stalk in the whole world if he wasn’t so incredibly lazy.

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm. Hmm hmm hmm hmmm."

Little Good sighed. "That all you do mate? Chuckle and lick your pointy teeth?" he asked the Uber Vampire Warrior.

"He’s got buckets of blood, blondie bear. He’s been laying in wait for his moment since he’s been unemployed." Jessica walked over to Gangrel. "By the end of this night, you’ll have the taste of that pretty little Slayer on your lips. And then, the both of you will have something else in common."

"Something else?"

"Yeah. You’re both blond. Now torture him, Ubey."

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm," Gangrel laughed before picking up a chalkboard and a fork.


"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Little Good roared.

[On the factory's processing floor, douja has retrieved a joint from somewhere on his person and is busily re-incapacitating himself.]


douja: wut the fuck is DAT?


["Dat" is the Dead Man Falling, as Meat-Puppet falls from the rafters and crashes to the ground. If he had fallen five feet to his right, he would have landed on douja. Getting up, Meat-Puppet just stands there.]

douja: you dat creepy zombie fucker, right? dunno if it's right, beatin' on a helpless, skinless brudda like you... you got some brudda parts, don't ya?

M-P: ... *Shakes head no*

douja: good, dat way i can beat ya wi'out guilt.

[Meat-Puppet points to the intercom, and "Die Motherfucka Die" by Twizted begins playing over it... Back in the stadium, the announcer's video hook-ups (provided by Dimension Z Video) finally kick in.]

SW: Holy shit! Meat-Puppet is laying into douja with both skinless fists!


SW: Now Meat-Puppet is climbing onto douja's shoulders... PELVIC THRUSTS!

NH: You know, one thing I never needed to see is a dead guy humping douja's face. Especially a dead guy without genitals.

[The music stops, and Meat-Puppet stops his attack and just sits there. Then...]


SW: Studnuts just hit Meat-Puppet with a chair! Meat-Puppet's no-selling...

MS: Well, he's DEAD! And that has advantages - nothing hurts him, nothing scare him. HE'S DEAD! Nobody has EVER been DEADER in BOB history!

SW: douja throws Meat-Puppet down and steps on his chest... Generic Ref does the count via intercom! Meat-Puppet is out of this match!

NH: I wonder if he'll be able to find the door on his own.

[Back in the school gymnasium. "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" hits the speakers. The speakers no-sell it.]

MS: Oh my lord! It's Saint Nick! Why is Jolly Old Saint Nick in BOB?

SW: Why am *I* in BOB is the question I most ask myself.

NH: What a coincidence. I ask myself why you're in BOB too.

MS: Santa already looking like he's slimmed down a bit since Christmas.

SW: He looks better than Flair anyway.

NH: How is that possible anyway that Santa is in better shape than somebody about four hundred years younger than him?

SW: Maybe Santa Claus is a vampire.

NH: No, he couldn't be a vampire, because he'd need an invite to get into everyone's houses.

SW: Yes, but he only enters the homes of children. Santa hasn't visited my home since I was about nine.

MS: Really? Not even with those 15-YEAR-OLDS you've been sleeping with?

SW: Hey! That girl was 17, and we never took our underwear off. That's just a vicious lie from Heidi since Billy ate her unborn baby.

NH: What unborn baby?

Santa Claus: Um, excuse me?

SW: Anyway. The kids invite him in because they are greedy and want gifts. They want him to come in and give them presents. Thus, he's invited. And he COULD be a vampire. Which would explain why he doesn't look nearly as bad as Flair.

NH: But why then would people leave out cookies and milk? Don't vampire drink blood?

SW: They do drink blood, sure. But that's like saying all Italians eat spaghetti and meatballs and all Spanish people eat at Taco Bell.

MS: That would actually be Mexican people, lame Scotty.

SW: Spanish, Mexican, whatever. They're all cheap labor to us.

Santa Claus: Pardon me, but--

SW: I mean, look at Heidi. I see the blonde hair, those breasts, that ass, those legs, those lips

NH: Are you coming to a point?

SW: What was I saying?

NH: Stereotypes.

SW: Yeah, those are funny!

NH: Even for vampires like Santa Claus?


[The camera pans around a shocked crowd. Then the announcers, all with their mouths wide open in shock.]

Santa Claus: Now...Sir Hungalot was kind enough to invite me on here because he thought it was about time for Santa Claus to spread some season's beatings to a person I've been holding a grudge against for many, many years. Now, I know, I know. Santa has a grudge? Isn't he just a jolly old soul? Well, not when it comes to stealing my catchphrase. HO HO HO! Who is this person I want a piece of. His name is...the Jolly Green Giant. Take a look at the TinyTron.

[Cut to the 13-inch black and white TinyTron. On it is an advertisement for green beans. JGG can be heard saying "Ho ho ho" followed by the trademark whimpy "Green giant" spot finisher.]

Santa Claus: I taped that in 1989. For 15 years I have watched that tape over and over, just waiting for an opportunity to fall into my lap, not unlike a small child.


NH: I don't think he meant like that, Scotty.

SW: Too late, the entendre has been doubled.

Santa Claus: And now, I'm going to use BOB's powerful cable presence to call out that big bastard! So Jolly Green Giant, get your gigantic, 100 foot tall ass down that beanstalk and face me, legend to legend. Myth to myth. Come on!

MS: This is going to be the HUGEST MATCH IN BOB HISTORY.

NH: Speaking of huge, I wonder how big Jolly Green Giant's 'little giant' is?

SW: You think the Jolly Green Giant is actually watching BOB? Please. People in comas wake up just to change the channel when we hit the air.

[Cut to Coma, who is juggling hamsters.]

Coma: Poink!

[The hamsters fall to the floor, since Coma can't talk and juggle at the same time. We return to ringside.]

SW: Is there a rule that when somebody says the word 'coma', we have to cut away to wherever Coma is so he can say poink?

[Cut to Coma, who is now surfing in a bathtub.]

Coma: Narfle!

[Back to ringside.]

MS: We're still waiting for the Jolly Green Giant to show his face. He would no doubt be the LARGEST ATHLETE IN SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY and THE WORLD if he agrees to take part in this ultimate grudge match!

[The Japanese National Anthem plays.]

MS: It's BVD! Oh my lord! What is he doing out here? The Japanese Hacksaw is out waving the Japanese flag.


NH: The crowd doesn't like that chant.

BVD: DOOOOOD! You need to relax. Why don't you hop on your sleigh and head to the North Pole before I shove this flag pole up your butt! HOOOOOOOOOO! In a move Scotty could call the South Pooooooooole! Up your asshooooooooole!

Santa Claus: Stop saying that! Are you trying to get on my naughty list?

BVD: DOOD! Whatever! Eat my underpants!

Santa Claus: That does it!

MS: Santa Claus just ran out of the ring. BVD is waiting on Santa. Oh my! He just hit Santa in his belly, which jiggles like a BOWL FULL OF JELLY!

NH: Santa Claus is brawling with BVD in the aisle. Who knew Santa could fight?

SW: Must have been those trips to Harlem.

MS: It's the JEWS! The JEWS are coming to attack Santa Claus! Mr. X. Albert DeSalvo and BILL! They're all here! Even the newest member of the JEWS, the Pussy.

SW: Wait, wait, wait. What was that last name?

MS: The Pussy?

SW: Heidi, what did he just say?

NH: *Sigh* The Pussy.

SW: Somebody up there loves me.

NH: Can we please get back on script? You know how BigBOSS doesn’t like you ad-libbing.

SW: Fine. *Ahem* Man, I know they don't celebrate the holiday, but do you see a bunch of Christians attacking a menorah anywhere here?

NH: You are SO stupid, Scotty. They JEWS, not Jews.

SW: Ohhh, right. The Jobber Elimination Wrestling something or other.


NH: And they are beating down Santa Claus.

MS: GOODNESS GRACIOUS! They just broke the flag pole over Santa's skull. Santa Claus has been destroyed by the JEWS!

SW: Man, I hope Jesus never accidentally stops by BOB. They'd crucifiy him! Again!

MS: Scotty! Fans, needless to say

SW: You're right. Don't say it.

MS: I have to say it!

SW: Why? If you say what is needless to say then you've just butchered the whole point of needless to say.

MS: Fine! I won't say it. Santa Claus is lying in a pool of his own BLOOD. You only get bloodshed like this in BOB!

SW: Heidi, why don't you go help him?

NH: I ain't going anywhere near those JEWS.

SW: Oh, you're anti-Semitic, are you?

NH: Will you stop it! Stop trying to make Jewish jokes.

SW: Why? My resolution for 2004 is to become an equal opportunity offender. People are so sensitive. Why don't you go spread your legs and make me some food, woman!


NH: Jim, Brandon, Violent Pacifist, Sir Hungalot and Jean Bannister are out en force and they’ve cleared the ring. The war between these two teams is going to come to a head tonight in a huge 10-man tag match.

SW: It is? Oh, right. Yep, that’s the one where the winning team goes on to the next SMC in a 6-person Iron Man match.


SW: Well, while this mess gets cleaned up by The Flunky, let’s head backstage to, the Commentator? With Coma? Bwahahaha. By gawd, TC, how YOUR career has gone through hellfire and Keystone, into the toilet! BWAHAHAHAHA.

[Cameras cut to a hallway. The Commentator is standing in front of a row of lockers beside Coma.]

TC: Screw you, Scotty! Well fans, as you can see, I’m here with former ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, Coma. Now, Coma, the big question on everyone’s mind is how in God’s name did you survive that nuclear blast at Explosion of Injuries.

Coma: Poink... aluminunininium undies, fresh from Marks and Spencers. Hee hee.

TC: Are you suffering any side effects from the blast? Any glowing in the dark? Teeth, skin or limbs falling off?

Coma: I have fluffy feet! But I'm a cunning hobbiteses... Yoink!

TC: And finally...what are your thoughts on your match with Sir Zeno tonight? Are you afraid that Atomo or Dr. Azathoth might be back and looking for revenge in a match that has such high stakes with it, the number one contendership for the Swiss Army Belt.

[Coma falls over]

Coma: I found a nickel! Poink!

[Canned cheering and clapping is dubbed in as we fade in on the Oblong Office in the Off-White House, the 1600 Club’s headquarters on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. We find Clinton seated behind a desk and Nixon and LBJ standing off to the sides of him. The rest of the "potentials" for the fourth member of the 1600 Club are milling about the office.]

Clinton: Welcome ever—hey! Washington! Put that back on my wall.

[The camera cuts to Washington, who has a rectangular object stuffed under his shirt.]

Washington: What painting?

Clinton: I thought you couldn’t tell a lie?

Washington: That was a lie. And, by the way, you’re no Mr. Integrity.


Clinton: He said integrity, not intensity.

Mr. Intensity: Oh...OK.

[Mr. Intensity leaves the office.]

LBJ: We really need some security.

Nixon: Here, have a blanket.

LBJ: Thanks, dick.

Nixon: You better capitalize that name when you call me it in the future.

Clinton: Alright now. Let’s bring in tonight’s special celebrity, courtesy of the Detached Narrator, also known as the Second Cousin Of The First Evil.

[Hello losers.]

Potentials: Hey.

[Tonight, we are going to impeach four of you. Because tonight, it’s extreme impeachment through.....RUSSIAN ROULETTE! Hey. Why are they all running around and screaming in fear? And tipping the furniture over? And, hey! Reagan! Stop peeing on that fern!]

Clinton: (Standing up) Hey! All of you! Stop running around and screaming! I order you!

LBJ: Uh, Clinton? You might want to zip your fly...

Clinton: I might, might I? How about you, zip your face! Ha! Suck on that one, LBJ!

Nixon: We assure you nobody is going to die. Just relax. That’s much better.

[The office door opened. Everyone saw Mr. X walking in with a pistol. They all resumed running around and screaming.]

Mr. X: This is the place boys!

Clinton: A little help?


Clinton: Have we got your attention now?

[That’s when Boris Yeltsin stumbled into the room. He took a swig from a large green bottle and looked around the room.]

BY: Hey comrades! Wassssssssssssup!

[And then the rest of the JEWS pushed in a big roulette wheel on a cart.]

Nixon: Everyone come gather around the roulette wheel. As you can see, this is a unique wheel, with numbers from 0-13 in red and black. Boris Yeltsin will spin the wheel four times. If your betting chip is on the number that he calls, you are impeached. Any questions?

[LBJ begins passing out slips of paper with the numbers each president has drawn on it, and its color.]

Dubya: When can we play with nucular weapons?

Nixon: Any relevant questions?

Mike Monroe: Yeah, can you make sure my number comes up so Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" won’t break my knee cap?

Clinton: Oh, don’t worry about Sarah "The Jobber Slayer," boys. We’ve got a new friend to take care of her. Her and all her little friends. But you’ll see that in a segment a little later on, even though this would be the perfect spot for a transition, but BigBOSS wanted to get this all done in one segment. So. To make this go even faster, we’re going to put four marbles on the wheel. One drawing. And it’s right now.

BY: Round and round she go, where she stop, nobody know!

[Everyone watches as the four marbles go around and around.]

BY: Oy, that’s making me dizzy. *THUD*

LBJ: Will somebody help Boris up? Thanks.

Clinton: OK. Here we go. Boris? Tell everyone where the marbles stopped.

BY: Winning number.. 13, black.

Truman: Aww, nuts!

Clinton: I’m sorry, Truman. You have been....impeached! God, it feels good to tell somebody ELSE that.


Truman: I’ll buy one of those.

Paper Boy: Here ya go mister. Say, mister. Didn’t they call 13 black? Why, golly, you’ve got 13 red.

Truman: I must be colorblind. And...not eliminated?

Clinton: Bah. Then who gets eliminated?

LBJ: (Consulting his master list) Cleveland.

Clinton: Fine. Cleveland! You are IMPEACHED!

*Sound of a hunting rifle being cocked*

Cleveland: All of you better stay out of Ohio! *Runs away*

BY: Winning number...6, red.

Van Buren: No! Stop lying! *Cries*

Clinton: I’m sorry, Van Buren. You have been...IMPEACHED! MWAHAHAHAHA.

Nixon: He’s enjoying this a bit too much.

[Clinton lights up a cigar.]

BY: Winning number...13, black!

Truman: Son of a BITCH!

BY: Yoink!

Truman: Hey! My paper!

[Yeltsin begins smacking Truman over the head with the paper.]

BY: Boris always win! Nyuk nyuk nyuk! *THUD*

Clinton: Will somebody please help Boris up. Again. And Truman. Remember before when I told you you were impeached. Well guess what. You’re IMPEACHED AGAIN! Now get outta here you crazy bastard.

BY: Final winning number. Black. 4.

Mike Monroe: Damn!

Nixon: What, that you?

MM: No, it’s not! That’s why I’m upset. I want to be out of this stupid reality show parody!

Madison: Damn you ignorant people! And damn your ignorant machine of gambling ignorance!

Clinton: Madison. You are....IMPEACHED! Well. Until next week. This is Clinton saying good night, and God bless my penis.

[Cut to...]

The Shaggy Gang’s classroom. Jeannie is lighting a candle on the teacher’s desk. Kay Fabe is seated behind the desk, doing some researchy type stuff on a computer there with Michelle sitting on her lap. Sarah and Xamfir stood at the far end of the room, looking out at the dark skies.

"So how’s it going?" Xamfir asked.

"Just great. Little Good is missing. I think Kay is seducing my underage sister. And, oh yeah, there’s some big evil with a presidential posse trying to make us all do the big jobaroo. No big though."

"And Michelle is on Kay’s lap, why?"

"She wanted to do some sort of locator spell. I dunno. It made more sense when I was drunk last night."

"What’s she trying to locate, her g-spot?"


"I’m just saying...Sarah, I know you’ve got a hangover. Why don’t you just go sleep it off."

"Nah, I’m fine. You haven’t seen the Second Cousin of the First Evil. I have."

"No, I’ve seen it before. I was in the fWEo Christmas show too, don’t forget. And I watched it a couple times, too."


Suddenly, Michelle went flying into the chalkboard and Jeannie went toppling over a row of desks. The lights went black before an evil red glowing filled the room, coming from the computer monitor. The Second crawled out of the laptop monitor and morphed into a giant penis and entered Kay’s mouth.

"Kay!" Sarah shouted, running toward her best friend, only to pause as the big red penis lunged at her. Sarah covered her mouth. The detached penis turned around and went back into Kay.

"You only make me harder!" Kay roared out in a guttural voice.

Xamfir ran forward and blew out the candle. Kay Fabe’s chair fell over and she crawled under the desk, gasping for breath. The lights returned to normal.

"It’s still in me! I feel it!"

"It’s gone," Sarah said, kneeling down and grabbing Kay’s leg in a reassuring way.

"I don’t want to hurt anybody. And I REALLY don’t ever want another one of those things in my mouth. Oh Goddess!" Kay whined.

"We’ll fight this thing with all we got, I promise," Sarah said.

A knock on the door grabbed Sarah’s attention. She grabbed Kay’s hand and helped her back into her seat.

"Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about me," Jeannie said, shoving a pile of desks off of her.

"Did you stub your breasts? They might swell. You want me to rub them for you?" Xamfir said.

"Just help me up, master," Jeannie snarled.

Sarah opened the door and stared in surprise.

"Oh my GOD! I’m back!" Styles said.

"Styles!" Sarah shouted. She was ready to give him a big hug, but she was cut off by another woman who hugged Styles first and then entered the classroom.

"Ask not what your commentator can do for you. Ask what you can do for your commentator," said the woman, who eagle-eyed readers might recognize as the girl who escaped assassination on the last Sunday Morning Chloroform. That’s right, it’s Kennedy.

Then another girl hugged Styles and walked inside. She pushed her eyeglasses up and sheepishly walked past Sarah. "Wow, look at this place. It almost makes me wish I hadn’t been kidnapped as a child and missed out entirely on the school experience of bullies and people telling me how inferior I was even when I was getting betters grades than all of them, though I guess the joke’s on me since I’m working in BOB now."

"..." was Sarah’s reaction.

"My name’s Wilma The Librarian, by the way. Nice to meet you, ma’am."

Sarah again tried to hug Styles, but a third girl beat her to it, hugging him and then turning around and looking at Sarah. This woman was Japanese.

"Sarah, right?"


With that, Kara Yoki brushed right past Sarah. "What, EVER."

Sarah cocked an eyebrow in her direction. Then there was a fourth girl.

"Oh. My. God. Well if it isn’t little Miss I’m So Great Because I’ve Got A Nice Pair Of Shoes herself. And those are nice shoes. Where did you get them?"

"The shoe store," Sarah said flatly.

"Hmm. A chipmunk is going to eat those shoes in about five months. I’m Claire, by the way. Claire Voyant."

Sarah peeked around the corner and didn’t see anybody else. She went to hug Styles, but he walked past her and headed inside to say hello to the other members of the Shaggy Gang.

"I doubt you remember these girls, Sarah. But you met them in Action Wrestling when you made your guest appearance in that federation. They went with an old friend of yours."

"Angel," Claire said. "And what do you mean we went with him? Please. I wouldn’t sleep with him if all the beds in the world became extinct."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sarah said, trying to get a grip on what was going on here.

"Oh, right," Styles said. "Sorry to barge in and all. Just a slight sports entertainment apocalypse on the horizon."

"Zuh?" Sarah asked.

"I know this one," Michelle said. "They’re Potential Slayers, right?"

"How did you know that?" Styles asked.

"BigBOSS told me about them. For all the viewers, here’s a little fact you might not know though. Kara, Claire and Inutu were originally going to debut as the Groin Punching Bitches a few months back. But that Harley fellow quit. And the girls were left without gimmicks. Then they joined Kurt Angel in Action. Then they left Action. And now they need jobs and we need more hot chicks. Thus, they are Potential Slayers."

"Kay? Are you going to let her get away with that?" Jeannie asked.

"Hello? Traumatized over here. Not really caring about the illusion right now."

Sarah sighed. "Where is this Inutu person?"

"Not sure. Probably horribly mutilated and dead for all I know. Possibly in contract negotiations with BigBOSS."

"I see..." Sarah said.

"Right," Styles said. "There were more all over the world, waiting for a phone call in case Sarah was jobbed out and we needed a new EXTREME Slayer in BOB. There were many more, but now there are only a handful of Potentials. Luckily, there are more on the way to BOB."


"What was that?" Styles asked.

Sarah shrugged.

"Right. The others were murdered. We actually showed them on previous BOB shows, but we didn’t know what it meant at the time. But now it’s all starting to make sense to our viewers, hopefully. The Federation always feared this day would come. When the Second would start a war against the entire Slayer legacy."

"So the Second wants to wipe out not just me, but every other person who has ever had this gimmick and whoever might have it in the future?"

"Right," Styles said, taking off his glasses and wiping them with his tie. "He wants to erase every Slayer. Every Commentator."

"And then Bianca. And then Eliza. And then me? It’d be the end. No more slayer, ever."

"Yep. It’s rumored that Tom Araya, Kerry King, Jeff Hanneman and Dave Lombardo aren’t even safe, that’s how serious the Second is taking this."

"Who are they?" Sarah asked.

"They’re in the band Slayer," Jeannie said.

[Oh, come on, I’d be doing the world a favor. Death metal really isn’t music. Give me Sinatra any day...]

"What about the Federation? Can they help us?" Kay asked.

"Um, no. The Federation no longer exists."

"It doesn’t?" Sarah said.

"No. It’s gone....forever. And never coming back. It changed it’s name. It’s now called The Entertainment. But that’s not important now. They can’t help us anyway. I forgot to renew my membership there. Couldn’t afford the fee. All I know is that the Second can change form, it can take the shape of anybody. It can manipulate reality. Like, he could suddenly fill this room with chickens if he wanted. He could make it rain toasters."

"Could he make Kay and Sarah kiss?" Xamfir wondered. "Did I just say that out loud? Shutting up now..."

"Oh! Remember when we had those conversations with strange and dead people?" Kay pointed out.

"He can’t touch or fight on his own. Unless, of course, he leaves his brackets," Styles continued. "He mainly works through those he manipulates. And his followers. The Harbingers of Weed. And I understand he’s now joined up with a pack of Presidential Candidates?"


"Oh my God," Styles said. "He’s stealing OUR idea? That’s EXTREMEly evil."

[Thank you, bitch.]

"Is this segment almost over? I need to pee," Claire said.

Ignoring her, Styles continued. "The Second is unlike anything we’ve ever faced before. There are jobbers, and then there is the thing that created jobbers. The source. Sarah, you have to find a way to defeat him. Not just for you, Eliza, Bianca, all of us and the Potential Slayers. But for the entire world. As the quality of wrestling declines, so does the quality of life in the whole world. As our product decays, so decays the world. It’s all up to you to stop it."

"Is ‘eep’ too much of an understatement?" Sarah asked

© 2004 BOB Wrestling! Has anyone seen my plunger?

Brawlers On a Budget is an online fantasy parody wrestling sports entertainment federation (or e-fed) designed to be somewhat funny.

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