Masked Announcer: The BOB logo slowly fades onto the screen.

MA: Yes, that one. Then the SMC logo.

MA: Yep, that’s the one. And then the number 13 began flashing on the screen. But I have no idea how to HTML that, so we’ll just leave that to your imagination. *Ahem* The following takes place in Veribest, Texas between when BigBOSS woke up from his night of heavy drinking (2:13 p.m. for the record) until around 10:30 at night. We join the action in BigBOSSes bathroom.

2:13 p.m.

BB: Tequila is the drink of the devil. And why are you doing the narrating?

MA: Detached Narrator called in sick, remember?

BB: Oh, right. He did?

MA: Well, not yet, but he will in a few minutes.

BB: Wait, wait, I’m confused. He called out sick but he didn’t call in sick yet?

MA: Right. Are we clear?

BB: Are you drunk now?

MA: No. You?

BB: Hungover.

MA: You know what makes a hangover go away?

BB: What’s that?

MA: Moving on with the plot. Either that or a hot shower.

BB: Ah, that sounds good.

2:31 p.m.

BB: Ah, what a great shower, I’m glad I thought of it.

MA: Your cell phone is ringing.

BB: I have a cell phone?

MA: You do now.

BB: Alright, smarty, if I have a cell phone, what song is it playing?

MA: Sounds like that Shania Twain song...you know..."Man! I Feel Like A Woman."

BB: *Ahem* I’ll just go answer that right now.

MA: He picks up the phone.

BB: What are you—

MA: Detached Narrator, remember? No brackety bits today, BOSS.

BB: And why are you—

MA: The phone!

BB: Oh, right. Hello?

MA: It was Albert DeSalvo.

BB: Hey, Albert. What’s up?...It was just a mild concussion, wasn’t it? I’m sure you could....well, if you’re seeing double....triple? Where can I get these drugs? Alright, fine. I guess you can sit this one out. Say, you’re not afraid The Bride is gonna beat you up again, right?...Oh, relax. I was just kidding. No worries, mate. Later...

MA: Albert DeSalvo had just called in sick.

BB: I thought you said Detached Narrator called in sick. Did he call you?

MA: ... No. He called you. But not yet.

BB: ...

MA: BigBOSS seemed puzzled.

BB: You noticed, huh?

MA: But BigBOSS dismissed me, thinking I was two parts crazy and three parts annoying.

BB: I’d drink to that if the thought of alcohol didn’t want to make me puke.

MA: Instead, he began to think about what he should do on Sunday Morning Chloroform at tonight’s taping for broadcast on Comedy Central.

BB: Good call. ...

3:20 p.m.

BB: Damnit, how many times are they doing to show this OutKast video. Roses smell like poopoo? I’ll have no more slandering of roses! Rap music has finally gone too far.

MA: As you can guess, BigBOSS hadn’t done much. After getting dressed, he sunk into his couch and curled up with a good remote control.

BB: More like adequate.

MA: That was when the phone rang again.

BB: The cell phone?

MA: Yep.

BB: Um..hello?

MA: It was Clinton.

BB: Oh, hey Clinton. What’s up. Wait...don’t answer that. Um, why are you calling me? Uh-huh...I see. And how long has she had that, uh, problem? I see...so, needless to say, you won’t be able to wrestle tonight. Alright. No worries. Might I suggest you go to the nearest clinic? Right. Bye. Herpes? Bloody hell. Did I really need to know Monica has herpes and now Clinton does too? These kids today.

MA: Clinton had called in sick.

BB: Thought I made that clear for everyone.

MA: Just setting up the running theme.

BB: What? So three people are going to miss tonight’s show?

MA: Better check your phone. It’s ringing again.

BB: D’oh! Hello?

Trey Vincent: Hello, Stuart.

BB: Treyster?

TV: The one and only. What’s crackin’, BOSS?

BB: Cracking? Just my skull. Too much tequila last night.

TV: I warned you my parties are a lot of fun, didn’t I?

BB: Yes, that’s the word for this. Fun...

TV: Anyhow...I had a great idea for tonight’s show?

BB: Oh?

MA: BigBOSS quickly scooped up his trusty notebook and a pencil.

TV: Who’s that?

BB: It’s Masked Announcer.

TV: What’s he doing there.

BB: Narrating.

TV: Huh? Why?

BB: He said Detached Narrator called in sick...in the future or something.

TV: Whatever. Anyway. Picture this...Trey Vincent vs. Avril Lavigne. Whoever has an orgasm first wins.

BB: My goodness, Trey. That is without a doubt the most disturbing thing I’ve heard today.

TV: Huh? She’s like, 19. She’s legal.

BB: The BOB fans do not want to watch you have sex with Avril Lavigne.

TV: Porn equals ratings, BOSS. When are you gonna get out of the ‘80s?

BB: I’m not stuck in the ‘80s.

TV: Whatever. Fine. I thought you might not like that plan. So I came up with...plan B.

BB: Yep?

TV: ... Hey, can you hang on a second. My hotel phone is ringing. Hang on....Hello?

MA: It was Seth Harker.

TV: How did he know that? Masked Announcer...Some weird thing. I think he’s filling in for Detached Narrator. So what’s up you fucking cruiserweight? Huh? Your leg is still in the shitter? So? You can at least show up and act cool like me and Studs. Huh? Studs is with you? Who are YOU with? Why are you in Sweden with hot blondes? You’re Seth Harker! Don’t you hang up on me! God damn it! BigBOSS, you still there?

MA: He was.

BB: Apparently.

TV: Shut up, Masked Announcer. Seth and Studs have called in ‘sick.’ Fuckin’ a.

BB: This isn’t good. Clinton and Albert DeSalvo have called in sick, too.

TV: So what? They fucking SUCK. This is Seth Harker and Steve Studnuts. The iAd, hello?

BB: Hello!

TV: Something is seriously weird here.

BB: Not really. A lot of people call in sick for BOB. Especially when I ask them to visit the Rant Zone.

TV: But this is different. This is MY television show now. I demand respect. I don’t know what we’re gonna do for a main event now.

BB: Violent Pacifist is the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS now. We’ve got Dustbuster Boy, the Swiss Army Belt champion. Atomo is the Pop-Up-Ads-Crashed-My-Computer champion.

TV: We still have that belt?

BB: Yep.

TV: Man, we should really start booking him if he’s a champion.

BB: Yeah. But I’m sure plenty of people think we should book them.

TV: Bastards. They do realize this is a parody federation, right?

BB: These kids today...what are you gonna do?

TV: Stick my foot up their ass.

BB: Listen, I should really get on with my planning. I love these pep talks and all.

TV: Fuckers. Fuck you. See you at the show...

BB: Alrighty then...I need to pee...

MA: BigBOSS walked into the bathroom, painfully unaware that he had left a skateboard right next to the—

BB: Whew. Thanks for pointing that out.

MA: D’oh!

BB: I could have WHOA!

MA: Then, with a mighty crash, BigBOSS tripped on my foot, banging his elbow into the cheap motel room’s mirror.

BB: Oh, crap! I had almost worked off my seven years of bad luck after that other mirror. This can’t be good.

MA: No, it couldn’t.

3:36 p.m.

MA: Back at the couch, BigBOSS began flipping between channels.

BB: Okay, hold on. I’m not the only one on this planet who realizes that Usher both sucks AND blows, right?

MA: That’s when the cell phone rang again.

BB: I don’t remember giving this number to anybody.

MA: Yeah, that’s tough.

BB: Hello? ...

MA: It was Igpay Atinolay Eathay.

BB: Oh! That’s why I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Slow down, slow down. You what? Ahh...I see...well, this is just great.

MA: He hung up.

BB: Icksay...explosiveway iarrheaday. Doesn’t sound good. I think he literally had to run.

MA: Most likely.

BB: Darn. I hope the other guys who worked in Mexico last night didn’t also get sick like that.

MA: Cell phone. Rings.

BB: I just HAD to say that, didn’t I? Hello?

MA: It was an unfamiliar voice.

BB: Who is this?

MA: The man said he was Dr. Somebody from Conveniently Nearby Hospital.

BB: I see...

MA: He had some bad news.

BB: Oh?

MA: Yes.

BB: Yes, the Undietaker....no, no need to be embarrassed by saying it, it’s his gimmick after all...lightning you say? So he’s....right. Could you put me through to the burn unit anyway? He might want to check himself out....No? Alright. Thanks.

MA: Undietaker also wouldn’t be in tonight.

BB: So much for Voss vs. Undietaker. That was going to maybe be my main event.

MA: BigBOSSes plans were crumbling all around him. Wrestlers were calling in sick. And he had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.

BB: I did? Well...yeah. I guess this could be a sign of bad luck. But by god, there will be a Sunday Morning Chloroform this week.

MA: The phone rang again.

BB: Yes? Detached Narrator. You’re kidding? Sick? You? Get outta here! Alright. I had a feeling you might be calling in sick. You better not just be pretending to be sick so you can morph into Jessica Biel again and, uh, do whatever you do when you’re her. Hello? Hello? I think he hung up or something...

MA: The situation was growing bleaker by the minute. At least until now.

BB: Things are usually bleakest before the feds come looking for you. That’s what my dad always said.

3:54 p.m.

BB: OK. After several minutes of deliberation, I’ve come up with an idea for tonight’s main event. Massive Man Rendition First vs. Violent Pacifist in a rematch for THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

MA: But fate was against BigBOSS this day. The day of the 13th episode of Sunday Morning Chloroform. And it was May 13. And he had broken a mirror. And walked under a ladder.

BB: I don’t remember walking under a ladder...

MA: Oh, right. You will. But enough story development. BigBOSSes phone rang again.

BB: Yo? Hey, VP. Guess who’s main eventing tonight! What do you mean not you? Oh. You were at the Mexico house show too? Tell me, what did they serve there that’s made you all get the runs? Hello? Hello? Hmm. Guess he had to run.

MA: With a simple phone call, BigBOSSes big plans had gone down the toilet.

BB: Over dramatize much?

MA: Buffy-speak much?

BB: On occasion.

MA: The phone rang again.

BB: Crap. Yes?

TV: Hey, BigB. I got more bad news for you. Kay Fabe called Seth and said she was tied up tonight.

BB: Tied up?

TV: I don’t know if she meant in the bondage sense or whatever. All I know is when I heard that, I got aroused.

BB: A redheaded lesbian tied up. I wonder who the lucky lady is. Although...why would she call Seth?

TV: Apparently she has him on speed dial for some reason. Anyway. There you go. Oh yeah. And apparently Jeannie told Kay that Xamfir also got Indian syphilis from some construction site he was working at.

BB: ... Riiiight. Why didn’t he just ask Jeannie to wish that away?

TV: I don’t know. I don’t care. They’re probably just off boinking and can’t be bothered to go down to wherever the hell we are here in Texas.

BB: Alright. Fine. Our roster is getting thinner by the minute, Trey.

TV: Really? I thought it already was pretty thin. ...

BB: Is there anything else.

TV: Umm....

BB: Uh-oh.

TV: I guess this would be a bad time to tell you I gave the sWo a fake schedule and sent them to Dingwall, Nova Scotia.

BB: You did what?!

TV: Sorry. They just piss me off.

BB: Trey!

TV: Huh? What’s it matter? They want to destroy BOB. I figured you’d be happy by this news.

BB: I gotta go. See you at the show.

TV: Whatever. Later.

MA: Hmm...did BigBOSS seem more than usually angry at Trey Vincent’s antics, which any other day wouldn’t affect the show, but today was a major problem. Annoying or not, the sWo was a group of wrestlers who could, most likely, wrestle. But they were in Canada.

BB: Two hours until I need to be at the Windex Arena, the arena boasting the cleanest windows in the country. Okay, time to get serious now...

MA: BigBOSS picked up his pencil and began scribbling tonight’s script in his notebook.

4:22 p.m.

MA: BigBOSS is still giggling uncontrollably and scarfing down Twinkies. Let’s check back in a few more minutes.

4:30 p.m.

MA: The cell phone rang.

BB: Ahh! Yes? DMD? You have emergery surgency back in Jersey? Wait, there’s a NEW Jersey? BWAHAHAHAHA! Hehehehehehehe. Hehehehehehe.

MA: DMD couldn’t wait for BigBOSSes laughing fit to end, so he hung up and did something else. Sorry, I can’t see what, like you even care.

BB: It’s cool. It’s not like he even has a bio up on the site. And he’s been here for over a year.

MA: It was true.

BB: Okay, things look bad. It looks like there is a lot of bad luck going on right here. I’m hungover. Almost half of my roster has been depleted by explosive diarrhea, injuries, STDs, bondage and lightning strikes.

MA: Go on, say it.

BB: Could things get any worse?

MA: Oh yes, they could. You should see what’s going on up on the roof.

BB: The roof? Who’s up there?

4:34 p.m.

MA: BigBOSS opened the door and rushed outside. He would have been out the door three minutes earlier, but he had to find his shoes first. And make a quit pit stop. Anyway. As he was walking out the door, he realized, just a tad too late, that a couple of men from the hotel had set up a ladder outside his door. They were fixing a lightbulb.

BB: Still not convinced. Look! I just found a lucky penny on the carpet.

Cat: REOW!

BB: Ah!

MA: That was when a black cat jumped up, grabbed the penny from BigBOSSes fingers and swallowed it.

BB: Hey! That was my penny! Give it back.

MA: The cat ran around in a circle around BigBOSS, ensuring that whatever direction BigBOSS walked now, he would be in the cat’s path.

BB: D’oh.

MA: Then things got worse. The cat began to choke on the penny, collapsed and died.

BB: Uh oh. I better get away before somebody sees me.

Leprechaun: Pardon me sir, have you seen my ca—

MA: But BigBOSS hadn’t heard the Leprechaun. He took off running and tripped over the leprechaun, killing him, too.

BB: He’s...dead?

MA: ‘Fraid so.

BB: I didn’t see him, I swear!

MA: That was when things got rather surreal.

BB: Oh no. Is Coma on the roof?

MA: That’s not the point. The point is, that’s when a mirror punched itself in the face and leapt into BigBOSSes hands.

BB: Ohhhh!

MA: BigBOSS did a double take.

BB: What the heck was that?

MA: What? The dog that just ran into your motel room?

BB: Dog? Oh, crap!

MA: BigBOSS rushed into his room and found a white dog on his couch, chewing his notebook.

BB: Oh, crap, I just finished the first draft of Chloroform!

MA: BigBOSSes cell phone rang, but he was busy chasing the dog out of his room and didn’t hear it. When he got back, I told him he had voice mails.

BB: Cool, thanks. It’s Candy Cantaloupes. Her doctor is advising her to stay off her back? Alright...who else here. Commentator had an accident with some barbecue sauce or something. How many calls did I miss?

MA: A few. To save time.

BB: Mr. X. He may or may not be in tonight. He’s not sayin’ nothin’. Great. So, I’ll list him as ‘maybe’? What do you think, Masked Announcer?

MA: I wouldn’t count on him.

BB: Awww, Sarah had an accident involving a banana peel. Her knee is hurt. This is awful. My roster is dropping like a pair of comic pants. And XXXtreme Machine is yelling for ‘br8nz.’ Amazingly he could call my number, though.

MA: Yeah. Weird. So he’s out, too.

BB: No loss, really. Say, wasn’t there supposed to be somebody on the roof?

MA: Forget about that. Look at the time. You gotta get moving.

BB: Fine.

4:48 p.m.

MA: BigBOSS got into his rental car and plunged his key into the ignition. Slowly, he turned it over. Nothing happened.

BB: Will you stop with the sexual innuendo.

MA: *Ahem* BigBOSS got out of his car and popped the hood to find...nothing.

BB: Damnit, somebody stole my engine again. That’s the third time this week!

MA: It was time to get desperate. He dialed some digits.

BB: Hey, Death. Can I possibly get a ride with you to the arena? You’re where? Aww, c’mon! Everybody is calling out sick tonight! Can’t you make up some excuse? I know he’s God and all, but c’mon!

MA: That was when it started to rain.

BB: Gah! It never rains in Texas!

MA: Having now angered the Lord on top of all his other luck, BigBOSS would have to walk to the arena.

BB: Never!

MA: But it’s only a two minute walk.

BB: I’m the owner of Brawlers On a Budget. I don’t walk!

MA: And it shows.

BB: Hey! Hmm. Maybe I can hitchhike?

MA: Maybe...but hey, your cell phone’s ringing.

BB: He—whoops! No!

MA: He dropped the cell phone in a puddle. BigBOSS reached in quickly, but it was too late. The phone was dead.

BB: I just got that phone...today. Now I won’t even know if people are calling in sick or why.

MA: Well, the sooner you get over to the arena, the sooner you’ll know.

BB: Fine. I’ll walk. Sheesh.

4:56 p.m.

MA: Inside the Windex Arena, BigBOSS sloshed his way out to the ring. It was there.

BB: Woohoo!

MA: He looked out a convenient window. It was bright and sunny outside now.

BB: Figures.

MA: Man am I hungry. I’m gonna go grab a snack and get down to writing. Flunky! You made it.

The Flunky: Yes indeed.

BB: Listen, underling. I need you to keep track of who shows up to the arena and who doesn’t. When is everyone supposed to be here by?

TF: 6 o’clock.

BB: Good. Tell everyone once they get here to come to a, uh, meeting at 6:01 p.m. Alright?

TF: Sure thing, BOSS.

5:02 p.m.

BB: Mmmm, pie.

MA: BigBOSS slipped a $1 bill into a vending machine and pressed the correct numbered buttons. The vending machine buzzed, but the blueberry pie BigBOSS longed for didn’t move.

BB: D’oh!

MA: BigBOSS pulled out a second $1 bill and repeated the drill.

BB: D’oh!

5:07 p.m.

BB: D’oh!

MA: That was $3 BigBOSS would never see again.

BB: Time to cut Shill’s salary.

Mark Shill: This is the blackest day for Mark Shill in the HISTORY of Mark Shill’s life!

5:34 p.m.

MA: BigBOSS had shut himself in a cramped upstairs office. He had his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, rocking back and forth. In front of him was a blank piece of paper and a pencil.

BB: Think. Think. Think. Think.

5:43 p.m.

BB: Think. Think. Think. Think.

5:49 p.m.

BB: Think. Think. Think. Think.

5:56 p.m.

BB: Think. Think. Think. Think.

6 p.m.

BB: Think. Think. Think. Think.

6:01 p.m.

TF: Hey, BOSS. Everybody’s out in the ring.

BB: Everyone?

TF: Yeah. I should warn you, there aren’t a lot of guys here.

BB: I know. Take me to them. I think I’ve got the show figured out.

MA: The Flunky looked at the blank piece of paper.

TF: Booking on the fly as usual?

BB: Quiet, you. I had a script earlier, but a dog ate it.

TF: Sure.

6:03 p.m.

MA: Trey Vincent. Sir Zeno. Kamikazie Ken. Meat Puppet. Dustbuster Boy. John Skeet. Steve Leary. The Drudleyz. Justin Voss. Kevin The Pyromaniac and that kleptomaniac guy he hangs out with.

Bruce The Kleptomaniac: Bruce.

MA: Right, Bruce. Hmm. Unit 5. The You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Title Belt. Styles. Scotty Whatbody. Mark Shill. Nurse Heidi. That was everyone. That’s right, that’s all.

TV: Suck on it. Deal with it. And let’s move on already. Let me take a look at the plan.

MA: He grabs the script from BigBOSS.

TV: I see. OK. First of all. The Drudley Boyz will take on a mystery team. Meat Puppet, you’ll take on Kamikazie Ken in some dangerously stupid sort of gimmick match. Unit 5! Let’s see how tough you really are. Because tonight, you’re taking on Kevin The Pyromaniac.

Unit 5: *Soft whirring*

TV: Yeah, that’s right you big hunk of junk. Also, I, Trey Vincent, will step out of semi-retirement to boost the ratings and take on YOU!

MA: He pointed at the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Hardcore Title Belt.

YGBKIADTAYOOYFM: ...

TV: See that? Its speechless. It’s trembling in fear, knowing I’m about to teach it the sports entertainment lesson of a LIFETIME! And. In our main event. Swiss Army Belt on the line! Dustbuster Boy takes on the Number One contender. Sir Zeno.

DB: Is this because I wouldn’t wash your Jeep?

TV: What do you think, jackfuck?

DB: ... I think it’s because I wouldn’t wash your Jeep.

TV: So there we go. It’s gonna suck even more than usual. And just so you all know, everybody is out tonight due to various sicknesses, injuries or brilliant plotting on my part. Have a great show everybody. Doors open at 7. We’re on at...7:30. Let’s get everyone home early tonight. Sooner the show’s over, sooner we’ll pass out your money.

6:31 p.m.

MA: Backstage. John Skeet is sitting with his feet on a coffee table, playing Madden '04. The Li'lBOSS is watching.

JS: Man, Steve is SUCH a pussy... This game isn't that hard!

LB: You think? I though he was going to have a stroke last time he played!

JS: Nahhh.. watch! Blue 32! Blue 32! Hut! HUT!

Digitised John Madden: TOUCHDOWWWNNNN!

JS: HahaHA! Brilliant! You see? 56-nil! I so rock!

LB: Uhh, John?

JS: What?

LB: You're team was the one on defense...

JS: Say what?

LB: You're playing the Buffalo Bills... not the Giants. That was the computer that just scored.

JS:...

LB: John?

JS: SON OF A GOD-DAMN MOTHERHUMPING BITCH!!

LB: Yeah, pretty much.

JS: I wondered why the computers linebacker kept trying to sack the cheerleaders! FUCK!!

LB: Oh, look, relax John... Hook up another controller and I'll take you on...

JS: (Calming down) Fine. Get ready for a digital ass-whipping, Li'l B...

6:59 p.m.

MA: The Stereotyped Face Justin Voss knocked on BigBOSSes door.

BigBOSS: Enter crawling, underling.

JV: I crawl for no man. Maybe one or two women.

BB: Oh, it’s you.

JV: Yes, it is.

BB: What do you want?

JV: I’m just here to let you know that even though you may have the advantage right now, it’s not going to last.

BB: Is that right?

JV: Yep, that’s right. Because I am Justin Voss. Even if you won’t book me into a match, I’ll make my presence known some how tonight. You won’t know what. You won’t know when. You won’t know where. You won’t know how. You won’t even know why.

BB: Very well.

JV: Because I’m doing this for the people of Veribest. For all the people of Texas. For the people of America. And the people of the world. God bless us every one!

BB: Does anybody have a land sickness bag?

7:14 p.m.

MA: The corridor. A door, partially open.

Digitised John Madden: (From inside) TOUCHDOWWWNNNN!

John Skeet: (From inside) OH, FUCK YOU, YOU SAWN-OFF LITTLE NAZI!!

7:26 p.m.

MA: The ring. A pretty good sized crowd (about 250 people) were all just about in their seats as Styles walked into the ring to a small ECW chant. Even though he never was in ECW.

Styles: Hello everyone and WELCOME TO, SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM and BRAWLERS ON A BUDGET!

MA: Eh, not so bad response from the crowd. The usual first apathetic cheer of the night.

Styles: Are you fans ready to get...EXTREME?

MA: The usual reaction to BOB: indifference.

Styles: In just a few minutes, the show is gonna start taping for national broadcast *under his breath* at 4 a.m. *normal* on COMEDY CENTRAL! OH MY GOD!

Front row fan: They killed Kenny!

Other fan: You BASTARD!

Styles: So when the TinyTron lights up, let me hear you scream louder than you’ve ever screamed before!

7:30 p.m.

BOB: An ongoing apocalypse!

Dennis: Hello there, sports fans, and welcome to Sunday Morning Chloroform! I’m here in the locker room talking with the newest BOB superstar, Unit 5. Yes, this strapping young… man… went through 64 men during March Madness, winning him the top chance at The Only World Title That Matters at the end of the year. In related news, my entire life is a sham. I’m interviewing a bloody washing machine! Oh, I’d love to be able to say that this is a low point in my career, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with this idiocy! How many times will I have to interview inanimate objects and corpses before my agent gets me a real job, like selling pencils on street corners? Oi... Well, BB said he'd fire me if I didn't do this, and since this is slightly preferable to eating cold beef wellington out of a can at the local train depot, here we go.

Dennis: So, Unit 5, how does it feel to have come so far in our federation in such a short time?

Unit-5: …

Dennis: Fascinating. Let’s take a look at a clip of that:

MA: Cut to a clip of people being hurled into the inanimate Unit 5 during March Mayhem.

Dennis: Yes, you certainly gave them the what-for, old bean. Now, are you afraid that people will come after you, as an opportunity to get some quick recognition?

Unit 5: …

Dennis: Or for Christ’s sake! What are we offering to the fans here? We might as well start the show with footage of an apple browning! What am I supposed to accomplish here? The bloody chair could get as much out of this infernal machine as I could!

MA: Flunky walks by.

Flunky: Here man, try this:

MA: Flunky plugs the machine into the wall and twists the knob.

Flunky: Now ask it something.

Dennis: Oh, for… Are you aware, Unit 5, that I plan to go without food for a month just to have the money it’ll take to hire men to destroy you with sledgehammers?

Unit 5: (Sounds of a gentle wash cycle)

Dennis: And with those stirring words, let’s head to ringside for our first match of the morning. Or, you could just turn off your TV and bang your head into the glass. Either way, here’s Scotty.

MA: We cut to the BOB E-Z Break Extend-O-Desk.

Scotty Whatbody: Hello insomniacs. We’re are here in Veribest, Texas, to give you the Veriworst in wrestling today.

Nurse Heidi: Wow, a rare moment of truth from Scotty. Finally admitting you are the worst commentator in the sport today.

SW: Oh you bitch.

Mark Shill: Fans, get on the HORN and call your friends and neighbors and let them know BOB is on the AIR!

SW: Yep. I’m sure they’ll appreciate being woken up at 4 a.m. on a Sunday for this show. Of course, that’s assuming any of our viewers have friends.

NH: Let’s just head right to the ring for...those DRAMN DRUDLEYZ!

SW: Heidi said ‘head.’

NH: *Sigh*

MA: The following handicap match is scheduled for one fall and doesn’t have a very long time limit. Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by Small Tyke Drudley, Grampa Drudley, Sign Dude Drudley, ‘Judge’ Geoff Gones and Joel Bertner! From Drudleyville… THE DRUDLEY BOYZ!!! *Ahem* ‘Highway to Hell’ by AC/DC plays over the speaker as The Drudley stable marches down to the ring.

SW: Why did Detached Narrator have to call in sick tonight. This is going to be SO annoying. I hate concept shows!

Styles: Oh my God!

SW: What are you doing here?

Styles: I was asked to commentate on this match.

NH: Why?

Styles: *shrug*

MS: That dastardly Joel Bertner just stole the microphone from the Masked Announcer, he is an evil mastermind!

JB: Well, well, well. It is I, the quintessential studcrumpet, more hung than Hungalot, Joel ‘The jackhammer driving into your girlfriend’s nether regions’ Bertner. Introducing first, from a quiet corner in Drudleyville, the innovator of silence, the man of the moment, the guy with the signs… Sign Dude Drudley!

MA: Sign Dude holds up a sign reading ‘This Town Sucks!’ to gain heel heat.

JB: And your referee for this evening’s match-up. The man who calls it somewhere near the middle, ‘Judge’ Geoff Gones! Next, the original giant killer, the ultimate bad trip, Small Tyke Drudley! And… Grampa’s here too.

NH: How long is this going to take?

JB: And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. From China Town, Drudleyville. Weighing in at a rough, ready, humble, steady, hardcore, extreme, crazy and rambunctious 279 lbs… the man Scotty Whatbody now calls daddy… RUBAAAA RAYYYYYYYY DRUUUUUDLEEEEYYY!!!

MA: Rubba climbs the turnbuckle, raising four fingers up into the air.

JB: And his partner, from the east side of Drudleyville. Weighing in this evening at a slim, trim, buff, cut, ripped, chiselled, slender, muscular, well toned and JACCCCCKKKEEEEDDD 253 lbs, give it up for the brother from some other mother… DEEEEE-VAAAAAAN DRUUUUUUUUUUDDLEEEEYYYYY!!!

MA: The Masked Announcer takes back his microphone as the many Drudley managers take to ringside.

MS: Finally some order and control, sanity has returned to BOB at last.

SW: Hahaha, sanity… in BOB, good one Shill.

MA: And their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 5000 lbs…

SW: Hehe, I think that was a typo.

Styles: Either that or Bohemoth has brought a few of his brothers with him tonight.

MA: The team of Tommy Screamer, Soilman, New Yak, Jewish Roadkill, Rob Van Spam, Tazzz, Al Qaida, Little Spiido, Big Fat Greasyonee, Pigeon, Super Gluey, Mikey Shipwreck, Justin Dustrial, Kid Ka$$$h, Nuts Maloney, Chris Candildo, Mason Uranus, ASL Rotten, Melvin Rotten and Ham Ham Gigolo!

Styles: Oh… my… GOD!!!

NH: The Drudley Boyz are facing… how many people was that?

MS: Twenty Heidi, twenty. And here they come, all twenty wrestlers walking down the ring together, at the same time… oh dear, they’re stuck!

SW: Quick Heidi, give them some of your lube.

NH: Shut it Whatbody!

MS: Referee Geoff Gones is suggesting that only a few of them come into the ring at a time, twenty three men in the ring at the same time is bound to have catastrophic consequences!

SW: They aren’t paying attention to him and are all climbing into the ring, they’re packed in like sardines.

*Ding*

MS: And this match is underway!

NH: That guy there hits a surprising kick that connects hard with Rubba Ray’s jaw out of nowhere.

Styles: That is Rob Van Spam, Heidi. D-Van goes to grab him but gets a spinkick for his troubles. And Tommy Screamer comes to help his team-mate RVS, body slam on Rubba Ray.

SW: That, errr, guy on the outside who looks like Perry Saturn gets a steel chair into the ring.

Styles: Perry who? That’s Mason Uranus and don’t you forget it.

MS: Mason Uranus with a chairshot to D-Van! And one for Rubba Ray! He hands the chair over to Tazzz… chairshot to both Drudleys!

NH: And this twenty-man team is now taking it in turns to hit the Drudley Boyz with that steel chair.

MA: A man with messy hair, ripped jeans and a leather jacket tries to get a go with the chair but gets pushed aside.

SW: Wait a second, is that who I think it is?

Pigeon: What about me? What about Pigeon?

MS: Pigeon pokes Ham Ham Gigolo in the eye and steals the chair from him… chairshot to D-Van!

NH: Bertner’s telling Small Tyke something, Tyke runs into the ring and tries to fight off all twenty of the opposing team… and gets pounded into the mat by them.

MS: This is carnage!

SW: Yeah! D-Van with a chairshot to… Mason Uranus. The Drudleys are back in full force as they begin to chairshot each and every one of the twenty man team.

NH: Don’t you think there’s been enough chairshots in this match already?

Styles: Chairshot to Little Spiido, one of the Crazy Idiotic Armenians.

SW: You know, his Dad’s a Priestzio and his mom’s a Nunzio.

MS: What? I don’t understand.

SW: Forget it.

Styles: Chairshot to Tazzz, chairshot to Tommy Screamer, chairshot to Pigeon! The Drudleys are cleaning house!

Fans: We want Trable! We want Trable! We want Trable!

NH: Rubba Ray shoves D-Van in the chest.

RRD: D-VAN!!!

DVD: What?

RRD: GET THE TRABL…

Styles: Big Fat Greasyonee, the only man of the twenty man team standing right now, and the other member of the Crazy Idiotic Armenians, with a clubbing forearm to the back of Rubba Ray’s head as he was calling for D-Van to get Pete ‘The X-Factor’ Trable in the ring.

MS: And a kick to the gut on D-Van! He goes for a powerbomb, but he counters and throws him back over his shoulder… D-Van’s back gives in after lifting all that weight.

NH: Little Spiido roars out at the sight of his team mate being forced to bump like that and runs at Rubba Ray, who knocks him flat on his ass with a boot to the face.

SW: The laziest kick I have ever seen.

MS: It was a VICIOUS giant boot, Spiido’s jaw could be shattered into dust after such a FEROCIOUS shot like that!

MA: As the Drudleys start pounding on Tommy Screamer; ASL Rotten and his brother Melvin climb out of the ring and look underneath the canvas.

SW: What’re they doing?

Styles: Oh my God! They’re pouring what appears to be hot glue onto their own hands! And now they’re dipping them into that tray of broken glass! Good LORD that’s EXTREME!

NH: ASL and Melvin climb back in and hit the Drudleys with… terrible looking punches.

MS: Terrible? They have glass glued to their hands for the love of Godfrey!

SW: And a weak looking double axe handle, and it was about a foot away from Rubba’s head… these guys are crap.

MS: It doesn’t have to look good, gee wiz, they have broken shards of GLASS glued onto their own HANDS and now they’re punching the Drudleys with these deadly WEAPONS that they call hands!

SW: Just looks like broken bits of clear plastic to me, and poorly hidden blades underneath.

MS: GLASS!!!

NH: Small Tyke, out of nowhere, jumps onto ASL and puts him in a sleeper. Rubba Ray grabs his hands and makes ASL punch himself in the face.

RRD: Stop punching yourself, stop punching yourself.

MS: ASL is wearing the crimson mask!

SW: Melvin comes to try and help his brother but D-Van grabs the back of both of their heads and bangs them together. The Drudleys hit stereo headbutts as Melvin and ASL do the worst bumps ever, they didn’t even try to make it look realistic.

MS: The Rotten brothers are DOWN!

SW: Rotten brothers… rotten wrestlers. I get Severe Brain Trauma just from watching them wrestle.

MS: ‘The Human Clothesline Machine’ Tazzz just clotheslined Rubba Ray from behind, and now he’s setting up D-Van. Release Tiger Clothesline! One………… two……… kickout! Tazzz almost had him!

NH: That was the slowest count in history.

SW: Geoff Gones is a wonderful referee, none of that ‘calling it straight down the middle’ crap for this guy.

NH: Rubba Ray is up but Tazzz sends him back down with a belly-to-belly clothesline.

Styles: The Human Clothesline Machine is on fire!

MA: ASL Rotten wanders over towards the announcer’s desk, wiping the juice from his face.

SW: What the hell do you want?

ASL: uhhhhjh, heyyYy nerse hEiDi!!1! uhh, ummm,>..,… asl?!1

Styles: Oh my God! Bytch slap to ASL Rotten, and he juices like a fountain!

MS: There’s action in the ring! Chris Candildo and Tazzz try to double team Rubba Ray but D-Van comes to his aid. Bertner throws in a weapon… Rubba Ray shattered that 2x4 plank of wood over Tazzz’s head! Toilet seat shot to Candildo!

Styles: ‘Mr. No Fingers Needed’ Chris Candildo is wearing the crimson mask!

MS: Super Gluey is in… the stickiest luchadore in history! Super Gluey dropkicks D-Van down and he has to pull his feet off his face afterwards.

NH: Super Gluey is gross.

SW: He jumps up onto the rope for a catapult moonsault on Rubba… but his feet stick to the ropes. And he’s kicked down to the outside.

Styles: Justin Dustrial locks the downed D-Van in a rest hold… and Rubba Ray shatters his skull with a frying pan! Grampa Drudley is setting a table up on the outside! OH MY GOD!!! JUSTIN DUSTRIAL JUST GOT POWERBOMBED TO THE OUTSIDE THROUGH A TABLE!!!

Fans: Holy Poo! Holy Poo! Holy Poo!

MS: Al Qaida dropkicks the STEEL chair that D-Van was holding into his face!

SW: Damn that Al Qaida.

Styles: The most homicidal, suicidal and genocidal terrorist in wrestling today, Alan Qaida, is setting up a table in the middle of the ring. He lays D-Van over the top as Soilman keeps Rubba Ray busy with rights and lefts. Al goes up top MOONSAULT THROUGH THE TABLE!!! But D-Van rolled off just in time! He goes to pin Al, one, two, Rob Van Spam breaks it up!

MS: ‘Mr. Sunday Morning’ Rob Van Spam throws a chair to D-Van, he catches it VAN SPAMINATOR!!! One, two, Rubba breaks it up after charging past Soilman. Bionic elbow to Van Spam! Bionic elbow to Soilman! Bionic elbow to Al Qaida!

Styles: Mason Uranus, Justin Dustrial and Kid Ka$$$h are in… Mason gets a chairshot and falls backwards over the two behind him.

NH: Joel Bertner and Sign Dude throw a coffee table into the ring. That scruffy looking guy with a chair runs towar…

MS: Heidi! That is Nuts Maloney, you should know that.

NH: Whatever. Nuts has D-Van up on his shoulders and goes to swing him roun…

Styles: BUTTCRACK-A SUITE THROUGH THE COFFEE TABLE!!!

NH: … but Rubba levels him with a keyboard before he can execute the move. D-Van lifts Nuts up and Rubba grabs him by the neck…

MS: 4D THROUGH THE COFFEE TABLE!!!

Styles: OH MY GOD!!!

NH: Would you two shut up for once!?

MS: The Drudleys are kicking booty and taking names. Mikey Shipwreck is in the ring to break up the cover attempt at two with his detachable wooden leg in hand!

Mikey Shipwreck: Arrrr matey. I will send ye down to the bottom of the ocean and into Davey Jones’ locker room.

SW: Shippersnapper on Shipwreck, Rubba Ray used Mikey’s own move on him. That tomato-red haired pirate had that coming.

NH: Rubba grabs his wooden leg and goes for Jewish Roadkill, but gets a flying belly attack.

Roadkill: Matzah!

Styles: Oh no, Ham Ham Gigolo is in the ring too. Gigolo and Roadkill do not get along, on account of Ham Ham not being kosher.

MA: Ham Ham Gigolo does a cartwheel before beginning some sub-par trash talking.

HHG: You suck Roadkill!

Roadkill: Matzah!

HHG: I’m gunna kick your ass!

Roadkill: Matzah!!

HHG: Oh yeah? Well your mother is stupid!

Roadkill: MATZAH!!!

HHG: Eat this you dumb stupid head!

MS: GREETINGS FROM LINKIN PARK ON JEWISH ROADKILL!

SW: He no-sells it! Ham Ham looks like he’s about to plotz!

Styles: JEWISH BOMB! D-Van drives a microwave oven right between Roadkill’s eyes before slamming it down onto Ham Ham, and the TV dinner that was cooking inside is all over him!

NH: Across the ring Tommy Screamer has Rubba Ray tucked under his arm, oh God he’s screaming… really loud. Someone make him shut up, please.

MS: The Screamer DDT is vanquished as D-Van breaks an ornamental, glass swan over Tommy’s head.

Styles: Soilman runs at The Drudleys with a rolled up newspaper… but they have a plank of wood with nails in it each. Uh oh, Soilman has soiled himself.

SW: … Oh please God no.

MS: Soilman has entered his zone! He pulls out a tin of talcum powder from his soiled pants and hits himself in the head with it! Over and over again!

Styles: EXTREME! He’s juicing! He’s juicing! He’s juicing!

NH: A stunned Rubba Ray is levelled with a crappy headbutt and D-Van is dragged to the corner, up onto the top…

Styles: HEINEKENRANA!!! FRANKENSOILER!!! TOP ROPE FRONT HEADSCISSOR TAKEOVER!!! One, kickout!

SW: I guess D-Van didn’t want to sell that one. Super Gluey is on the top rope with a cookie sheet in his hand… with cookies still on it. Flying cookie sheet shot to Rubba Ray! And… Super Gluey can’t let go. The weapon has stuck to his sticky hands.

Styles: He tries to shake it off, but it is stuck real good. D-Van has Soilman up over his head in a gorilla press type deal and THROWS HIM ONTO SUPER GLUEY!!!

SW: Hahaha, Super Gluey tried to blade but he ended up with a razor stuck to his forehead.

NH: And… a cow just jumped from the top rope onto the Drudleys.

Styles: No Heidi. New Yak, the original gangsta of mountain dwelling cattle, just hit a PLANCHA onto the Drudleys to save his doomed teammates from being pinned.

MS: New Yak has a ukulele held in his teeth. Ukulele shot to Rubba! Ukulele shot to D-Van!

NH: Joel Bertner pushes Small Tyke into the ring. He grabs New Yak by the throat and runs up the ring post, but New Yak has no intention of selling his finisher and just pushes him to the outside, through a table that I didn’t even notice was there before.

Styles: OH MY GOD! Rollup by Soilman on an unsuspecting D-Van. One………… two…………………… kickout!

NH: Gones isn’t fooling anyone, those counts are ridiculously slow.

Styles: Soilman has a Singapore Kendo Cane, Rubba Ray’s in trouble WHITE ‘WITH A FEW BROWN STAINS’ RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP!!! One…………………… two………………

MA: Geoff Gones scratches his head, looks around at the audience and picks his nose for a while.

Styles: ……… kickout! Rubba Ray kicked out of HIS MOVE!!!

MS: Super Gluey hits an ENZEEGUREE on D-Van… and now he has two feet stuck to his opponent.

SW: Al Qaida with a flying springboard moonsault out of nowhere! He has a bunch of tables set up outside the ring. He throws D-Van out onto one and then Rubba Ray. He grabs a steel chair, wraps it in barbedwire, glues some thumbtacks on, sets it alight, paints a smiley face on it and ties it to the back of his legs before climbing to the top rope.

MA: Everyone around Shill covers the ears.

MS: AFGHANISTANI FACEBUSTER TO THE OUTSIDE THROUGH TABLES!!! THE DRUDLEYS ARE DEAD!!! THE DRUDLEYS ARE DEAD!!!

Styles: OH… MY… GOD!!!!!

NH: Just look at this senseless destruction.

SW: It looks like a bomb just hit ringside thanks to Al Qaida.

Styles: Al Qaida committed suicide for what he believes in… EXTREMEness.

NH: Pigeon rolls D-Van back into the ring, he wants all the attention doesn’t he?

MS: Unevenflow DDT on D-Van Drudley! One…………………………………………………………….. two……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

MA: There are three minutes of Gones just waiting.

MS: Kickout! D-Van kicked out of Pigeon’s finisher!

NH: Can I hear mooing?

MA: They look towards the rafters where they see a shaggy cow with large horns.

MS: New Yak is in the rafters and he has a DVD player in his hooves!

Styles: 987 FROM THE RAFTERS ONTO D-VAN!!!!!!

MS: THAT’S HIS MOVE!!!

SW: Seeing New Yak unconciou… I’m not even going to pretend, DEAD… Tazzz runs to D-Van and sends him to the mat with a double-underhook clothesline. He gets him back up for a head and arm clothesline.

MS: Once more… D-Van now gets SPIKED onto his head with a T-Bone Tazzzline! THAT’S HIS MOVE!

Styles: All 4’ 3’’ of Tazzz looks absolutely enraged. D-Van is in serious trouble as Tazzz puts him into his signature submission hold the Kata Hajimemashite!!!

MS: Rubba Ray out of nowhere hits Tazzz to break up the hold! He puts some smelling salts under D-Van’s nose. As he wakes Rubba sets up a barbedwire wrapped table with staples, thumbtacks, swords, guns, knives, a plate of uncooked chicken, some cheese and a big load of exploding steel chairs piled on top of each other. He whips Tazzz to the ropes 4D THROUGH THE TABLE WITH TOO MANY WEAPONS TO REPEAT!!! EXPLOSIONS, FIRE, BULLETS, JUICING, IT’S ALL THERE!!! One, two, three!!!

MA: The winners of this squash… The Drudley Boyz!

MS: That was the GREATEST 2 on 20 handicap match in the HISTORY of 2 on 20 HANDICAP matches!

Styles: That was EXTREME!

NH: Who’s going to clean up all these bodies? And that dead cow is going to be difficult to get into the dumpster out back.

Styles: The ring crew will take care of it.

SW: We have a ring crew!?

MA: A scrawny, pimply faced, buck toothed and sweaty teenager walks into view. His t-shirt has ‘wring cru~!!1’ written on it messily in red crayon. He chuckles for a few minutes before falling over.

MS: The most dedicated ring crew in the HISTORY of sports entertainment!


[Various shots of happy people doing happy things outside are shown.]

Announcer: Are you one of the millions of people affected by the embarrassing ailment known as hangnails? If so, you’re not alone. But now there’s help. Now you no longer have to hide your hands or pretend your hands were severed in a freak industrial accident. Because now there is Pellelibera. It cures all known cases of hangnail.

Different announcer: . Consult doctor before using. Pregnant woman should not use Pellelibera. Neither should women who ever hope to get pregnantKnown side effects include instant death, heart attack, stroke, projectile vomiting, explosive diarrhea, bleeding from the eyes, bones turning to dust, infertility, psychotic episodes, schizophrenia, blindness, deafness, rabies, hyperactive thyroid, lung cancer, emphysema, depression or insomnia.

Announcer: Pellelibera. Where God failed you, we’ll fix you.


MA: The camera pans up to the rafters, where Meat-Puppet and Mr. Paradox are standing on one bar, while Kamikaze Ken hangs head-down from a rope. *Ahem* Now atop the arena... Standing on a rafter, from Shady Rest Cemetery, Meat-Puppet! "Chemical Burn" by the Chemical Brothers plays as Meat-Puppet gets a very small pop.

SW: Did Shane Narrator call in sick too? I’m sorry, but Masked Announcer is the worst detached narrator ever.

MA: Hanging from the rope, probably from getting dropped on his head too often as an infant, Kamikaze Ken! "Ride of the Valkyries" plays, and a semi-decent pop is granted Ken. Paradox attaches a leather strap to one ankle of each competitor.

MS: And the first-ever Free Falling Strap Match in BOB history is ABOUT TO BEGIN!

NH: May I ask why? Other than it's the only way either of these morons can get a decent shot?

SW: How else do you expect us to work two competitors with dropping finishing moves into the same match? Hang on...

***

MS: AND THEY'RE OFF!

SW: Ken drops, Paradox gives Meat-Puppet a shove, and they're falling and flailing!

NH: Wait... Paradox has a boom-box, and he's playing... Rob Zombie's "Never Gonna Stop"?

SW: Much like Bernie, Meat-Puppet works best with kick-ass music! OH! And that's a punishing elbow to Ken's gut! But Ken snap-kicks Meat-Puppet in the back of the head!

NH: Hold it! How high is the ceiling here?

SW: About ten feet... Oh, crap.

BANG!

MS: AND THEY'RE DOWN!

SW: Meat-Puppet is on top of Ken! 1, 2...

MA: "If You're Happy and You Know It" cranks up, and "The Stereotyped Face" Justin Voss rushes in.

SW: The hell?

NH: Hang on, what's Voss doing here? He has nothing to do with either of these guys!

SW: No, but he just doesn't like dead bodies. Says they're not happy enough.

MS: VOSS FLIPS THEM OVER!

SW: And now Ken is on top of Meat-Puppet! 1, 2...

MA: "All Your Base Are Belong to Us" (Dance Remix) starts playing, and a mysterious cloaked figure floats in.

Mysterious Cloaky Guy: YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DOING.

ZARK!

MS: CLOAK-GUY SHOOTS VOSS WITH A LASER! THE CORPSES GO WILD!

MA: Cut to a small group of zombies in the bleachers.

Zombies: RARGH.

SW: Now the cloaked figure flips the two over! Meat-Puppet's on top... 1, 2,3! And Meat-Puppet wins!

NH: Even by screwjob standards, that sucked.

MA: Paradox enters the ring, cuts the strap, flings Meat-Puppet over one shoulder, and walks out.


Monster Truck announcer: Coming in July. Or possibly August. BOB makes it’s HIGH-OCTANE return to pay-per-view to CRUSH all the competition! But this isn’t gonna be just any old pay-per-view. It’s gonna be THE GREATEST SHOW OF THE CENTURY! SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY! SEND US MONEY: THE GREATEST SHOW OF THE CENTURY 2004. Order now!


Jay-Z: If you’re havin’ girl problems I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one.

MA: The following contest is scheduled for one ego-job. Introducing first, already in the ring, the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, "Are You Out of Your Frickin’ Mind?" Hardcore Title Belt! And making his way to the ring. From Minneapolis, Minnesota, weighing 265 pounds, the Vice President of Everything, TREY VINCENT.

SW: There is the most shocking man in sports entertainment today. And he’s about to do something he knows a lot about, according to Heidi.

NH: What’s that?

SW: Get hardcore.

NH: Oh, please. As if he has a shot with me. Do you hear this song he’s coming out to?

SW: Yeah, it rocks!

NH: Trey thinks of women as nothing but bitches and sex objects.

SW: What’s wrong with that? You are!

*THUD*

SW: Owww. Stop slapping me!

MS: THERE’S THE BELL!

SW: And you! Stop talking! OK? You stop with the slapping and you stop with the shilling. OK. Vincent picks up the belt and drags it to the corner and lays it on the top rope. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. And the belt collapses to the mat.

NH: He does realize he looks like a fool wrestling a title belt, right?

TV: Excuse me? What did you just say?

SW: Uh oh. Trey is making a bee-line for you, Heidi.

NH: What did I say?

MS: The w-word.

NH: Oh, brother! WRESTLING WRESTLING WRESTLING!

TV: Stop that! You are witness sports entertainment, Heidi. Trey Vincent does not do that thing of which you speak. *Spits on the floor* We will speak that word NO MORE! Get it?

NH: Wrestling?

TV: Heidi. Think about what you’re doing here. I am the Vice President In Charge of Everything in BOB. I can make your life miserable.

NH: How?

TV: I can extend your contract for five more years. I can make you sit next to Scotty Whatbody for all those five years. And I can make you go to the movies with me and watch the new Mary-Kate and Ashley movie.

NH: NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT!

TV: Good girl. Now. Remember. I’m listening. And what are you doing later tonight? I’ve got all this money and nobody to spend it on.

NH: Whoa. Look at that bulge. Your wallet is so...big.

TV: That’s not the only thing that’s big in my pants, baby.

NH: *Giggles*

TV: I’ll see you after the show, honey.

SW: I thought you thought he was a sexist pig? What do you see in him that you don’t see in me?

NH: Not even going to dignify that with an answer. *Cough*youreapooroutofshapeloser*cough*.

SW: Huh?

MS: Heavens to BETSY. Vincent is stomping a new dent in the belt!

NH: Vincent drags the belt to mid-ring and hoists it up. Bucklebuster! And now Vincent gets up and stands next to the belt. Slowly, he pulls off his wrist band. He bounces off one side of the ring. Two sides of the ring. The third side. And the fourth side. It’s the BIG TIME FIST DROP! Delivered right into the faceplate of the title.

SW: Generic Ref makes the count. And there we go. This match is over.

TV: Hey, Seth! Looks like I did something YOU couldn’t do. Beat the title belt! BWAHAHAHAHA! Don’t you ever call in sick again you fucking cruiserweight!

MA: Meanwhile, in Sweden.

Seth Harker: (To the television) That’s fine, Trey.

Female voice: Seth?

SH: Be right there, Kay. I mean, uhhh....Helga! Cut away, damnit! Cut away!

SW: NO! NO! NO! Don’t tell me SETH converted Kay Fabe!

TV: WTFMF!!!

NH: I’m sure that wasn’t Kay Fabe.

MS: This is the most SHOCKING secret relationship in the HISTORY of SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM.

SW: Yeah, this is worse than Heidi and Coma. Or Heidi and Billy Polar. Or Heidi and Eddie B. Or Heidi and Mr. Claven!

NH: Will you shut up. Let’s move along here.

MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall.

Voice-Over: PYR0MANIA!!!!`!1

MA: ‘Enter Kevin’ by Vietallica plays and the brainless teen storms out with his new manager in tow. *Ahem* Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by Bruce the Kleptomaniac. From the great state of Parts Unknown… Kevin the PYROMANIAC!

MS: Kevin formed a deadly alliance with the most feared petty thief in Parts Unknown at Sunday Morning Chloroform number twelve. Will he be able to sway things in his favour and lead him to victory this morning?

NH: Probably not, manager or no manager, he’s still a jobber.

MS: And what a manager his manager is!

SW: But he’s a guy-manager… couldn’t he have gotten a hot blonde with big hooters like everyone else?

NH: Not all of the managers have to be your perverted eye candy.

SW: What’s wrong? Jealous? Don’t want me looking at other hot mamacitas?

NH: Ugh, you are a pig. You’re lower than a pig, you’re the slop that they eat.

SW: You want me bad.

MA: ‘Domo Arigatou Mr. Roboto’ by Styx plays. Some shredded newspaper and glitter is thrown into the air whilst some guy makes ‘whoosh’ noises. *Ahem* And his opponent, weighing in at 276 lbs. Being carried to the ring by a couple of guys… UNIT 5!

MS: Through wash powder and brimstone… it’s Unit 5! The toughest washing machine in BOB today.

NH: Mark, he’s the only washing machine in BOB ever.

SW: He can’t even walk to the ring himself, those guys with hernias have to carry him and lift him over the ropes.

MS: He survived 63 other men, woman and inanimate objects to become this year’s MARCH MAYHEM WINNER!

*Bell rings*

MS: This match is underway! Kevin is talking trash at his opponent while his manager is stealing one of the turnbuckle covers. Unit 5 stares him down cold, showing no emotions, just an eerie glare that shows his silent rage and viciousness.

Unit 5: *rumble rumble rumble*

SW: Kevin runs forward and goes for a big kick, what a moron.

NH: Kevin is hopping around the ring in agony.

MS: Unit 5 is unmoving, he is stalking his prey like a wild cat in the Serengeti. His menacing frown speaks a thousand, tortured stories from Unit 5’s pain filled past. He was born to hurt and Kevin will FEEL HIS PAIN!!!

Unit 5: *rumble rumble rumble*

SW: Kevin hooks his arms around the washing machine and tries to belly-to-belly suplex him over his head… and of course, he can’t.

MS: Bruce the Kleptomaniac can’t stand it any longer, he runs into the ring and throws salt in Unit 5’s eyes! The fans are rioting at this evil cheating!

MA: Silence.

NH: Bruce goes out and gets a steel chair; he smacks Unit 5 with it and destroys any hope of ever being taken seriously in the world of pro-wrestling.

MS: Unit 5 is still standing! Good Lordy that tough son of a gun can take some punishment. Bruce is poking a set of keys into his eyes! What hellacious cheating by Kevin’s manager!

MA: A few suds appear from Unit 5 and float into the air.

MS: HE’S BLEEDING!!!

SW: What?

MS: There’s blood everywhere!

NH: Those are suds Shill.

MS: After seeing his own blood Unit 5 goes into a violent rage! Bruce goes to punch him, but the sheer ferociousness of this adversary sends him reeling to the outside clutching his own hand! Kevin has a 2x4 and it SHATTERS over Unit 5’s head! Heavens to Betsy, he’s still standing after that hellacious shot!

NH: This is making us look really, really bad. Ugh… Kevin pushes that thing into the corner. Bruce comes to help him and they just manage to lift him up onto the top rope. Kevin locks his arms around it’s… the top part of it and…

MS: SUUUPEEEEERPLEEEEEEX!!! Both men are down! Kevin has him, he just has to cover him!

SW: Unlike a non-retarded person, Kevin doesn’t pin the inanimate object but lifts him back up with difficulty and 6 months of back injury leave in the making. He pulls out a can of fuel and a box of matches… this is about to get hardcore, I suppose.

MS: Kevin has set that steel chair from before on fire and is driving it into Unit 5! Bruce comes from behind and hits a big dropkick, and he rolls to the outside in agony. Uh oh, Unit 5 is wobbling, Kevin tries to stop him but the weight is too much and he falls on top of him. Cover! One, two, three!

NH: Oh for Pete’s sake.

MA: The winner of this match… UNIT 5!

SW: And Kevin’s career is so far down the toilet there are baby alligators snapping at it.

MS: I see big things here in BOB for Unit 5! Glory, fame… heck, maybe even our next ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS!

Unit 5: *rumbles rumble rumble*


Uh, my dog ate this commercial.


MA: It is now time for the main event of the morning. It is for the Swiss Army Belt! Introducing first, the challenger. From Dimension Z, and walking out to "Narayan" by Prodigy, Sir Zeno.

SW: I hate to say it, but I'm afraid Dustbuster Boy is going to die.

NH: You really think so.

SW: I just have a bad feeling in my gut. Oh wait a second. I think that's...

NH: Aww. Scotty had to leave us. Must be the Mexican seafood he ate last night finally catching up to him.

MS: You only get announcers losing their lunch on BOB!

NH: Or breakfast...

Styles: OH MY GOD!

NH: Hey, Styles. What great, coincidental timing.

Styles: I know, isn't it?

MS: It's the greatest COINCIDENCE--

Styles and Heidi: Shut up!

Styles: OH MY GOD, is your shtick EXTREME-ly lame!

MA: And his opponent. The reigning and defending Swiss Army Belt, uh, holder. Walking out to the ring to "Suck It Up" by hed(pe), Dustbuster Boy!

Styles: I guess we truly now live in an era where wrestlers who can't cut a decent promo get top belts.

NH: Not that anybody in BOB can cut a decent promo. Except for Trey, of course.

Styles: Are you kidding? Trey Vincent hasn't cut a decent promo this year!

NH: Yeah...but he COULD.

Styles: But he hasn't. He's incredibly lazy and unfocused. Why do you think he quit serious wrestling feds?

NH: Uh oh. Now you've done it, Styles.

Styles: OH MY GOD! I'm OUT OF HERE!

MS: I have never seen Styles run faster IN MY LIFE!

TV: Holy hell. That boy is in so much trouble.

NH: I know. Questioning your promo-cutting skills.

TV: Huh? No. He said the w-word. That fucker.

NH: That's why you came out here?

TV: BOB is parody sports entertainment. The number one parody sports entertainment federation in the business today, and you know why?

NH: Because you're here?

TV: No. Because there aren't any other federations out there claiming to be a parody sports entertainment federation. I brought this federation from a joke to a...well, it's still a joke. But at least it's a funny joke now. And after getting the most powerful position in this company without any of the legal implications, what's my reward? The fucking sWo? Well, I showed them tonight, didn't I? They're not here! Bwahahaha! How's Canada, eh? Fuck you guys, you suck, I rule. Bow to me, bitches. You know what BOB is gonna be from now on? I pledge more sex. More violence. And more sex! Because just because we're a joke doesn't mean we have to settle for ten fans. Damn it, let's shoot for twenty! Or thirty!

NH: And the match is underway, by the way.

TV: Damn straight! Sir Zeno is beating the ever-loving hell out of Dustbuster Boy. Dusty is already trying to crawl into the fetal position. Get your thumb out of your mouth you loser!

MS: He's regressing BEFORE OUR EYES.

TV: What are you saying, Shill? You saying that Dusty got beat up a lot as a fetus?

MS: ... No?

TV: You saying his daddy tried to perform a cheap-ass abortion, is THAT what you're saying?

MS: I didn't think so...

TV: I'm just messing with you, Tony. Lighten up.

MS: Tony?

TV: Sir Zeno is getting booed by the crowd, which is weird. I can't figure out who is a heel in this stupid fed. It changes every week. Who's booking this crap?

MS: YOU ARE!

TV: Oh, right. Well, not this match. This is all Suck Ups booking. I can't wait to see how this turns out. They're on my booking committee, you know.

NH: Is that wise, having wrestlers be on the booking committee?

TV: Oh, come on. It's not like having a wrestler booking matches will result in any jobbers, er, I mean, sports entertainers getting held down and totally devalued while we put ourselves over for months and months, winning whatever titles and matches we want and pissing off the Internet, while our match quality goes down from above average to bomb city.

NH: I can't help but feel there's a veiled shoot in there...

TV: Really? Weird. Anyway. Looks like Zeno is still kicking away on Dusty like Dusty is Zeno's abused wife.

NH: *Gasp*

TV: Huh?

NH: That's AWFUL to say.

TV: That's just a, uh, what do you call that? Parallelagram?

NH: What?

TV: You know, explaining something with something else. It may be in poor taste, but it's valid.

NH: You'd never hear any other announcer being this disrespectful toward women.

TV: You know, Heidi. Remember that Jay-Z song I came out to tonight? "99 Problems"?

NH: Yeah.

TV: I'd love to make it 100 Problems. When are we gonna hook up, honey?

NH: *Giggle*

TV: You gotta understand, I love women. Women are the greatest invention ever.

NH: Really? I knew you weren't just being sexist, it's just part of your gimmick.

TV: Yeah. Think about it. Aside from being beautiful, you chicks are all really great at cooking. And vaccuuming. And sweeping up my floors. Doing my dishes and laundry. And getting the cobwebs from the corners of my penthouse. And all this while dressed in a Catholic school outfit.

NH: ...

TV: Man, you are sexy when your jaw is hanging open like that.

NH: It's from disgust, Trey.

TV: You might as well put a welcome mat on your chin!

NH: ...

MS: BWAHAHAHAHA.

NH: SHILL!

MS: That is the FUNNIEST joke in SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM HISTORY!

TV: It's funny because it's true. And just to update you, Zeno is still pretending he's Ike and Dusty is Tina.

NH: Stop it!

TV: What's the matter baby? Am I making you upset?

NH: Yes!

TV: Good.

NH: Why good? I'm about ready to hit a Heidicanrana on you.

TV: Then my plan is working. As long as this ends with your legs wrapped around my face, I'm gonna keep pushing your buttons.

NH: How is Scotty doing?

TV: Oh, don't tell me you miss him!

NH: Oddly, yes.

TV: This is sexual tension here. I can feel it. You're attracted to me because I'm so charismatic and rich. Did I mention I have a plasma TV? And cable.

NH: You have cable?

TV: Yep. And Heidi. Just think. If we work out. In a year, you know what I'll get you?

NH: What?

TV: A broom. But I won't get you the dustpan, because I'll want you to have something to look forward to the next year.

NH: AHHH!

MS: OH MY GOODNESS! Heidi just jumped on top of Trey! They're rolling around at my feet. They're under the table. And...uh....oh boy...their fight just took a turn towards Skinemax territory and I'm going to stop calling it. Clive! Film the match! I don't think we can show that on television. Even if we are on Comedy Central. HOLD THE PHONE! Steve Leary and John "Skeeter" Skeet have just hit the ring! And now they're recovering and actually go INTO the RING! Skeet hits Zeno with a fly swatter! Leary hits Zeno with a microphone stand! The REF IS CALLING FOR THE BELL! OH! This is the BLACKEST MOMENT IN SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM HISTORY on the GREATEST SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM of ALL-TIME! Zeno has just been ROBBED of the Swiss Army Belt! Even though he's the HEEL! And now the Suck Ups are slowly getting OUT of DODGE!

Sir Zeno: Skeeter. Leary. Bravo. You really got me, didn't you? You screwed me out of the Swiss Army Belt. You boys want to run around out back like you have power. Well why don't you show everybody in BOB just how great you are right now. Why don't you paper champions come in here and fight me two on one.

SL: Because we want to live!

JS: Yeah!

SZ: So, you are admitting to the world that you are a couple of cowards?

JS: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on there a second. We're not cowards. We just don't want to fight you.

SL: We're Zenophobic.

JS: Brilliant!

SL: We have doctor notes!

JS: Brilliant! Yes! Doctor notes!

SZ: Okay, boys. We can either do this the predictable way, or the not-so-predictable way. And let me tell you. The unpredictable way involves me shoving wire down your throat, Leary until it comes out your ass. And then I'll take the wire that just came through your ass and shove it down your throat, Skeeter until that comes out your ass, too. Then I'll tie the ends together, hang you up on a tree, pretend your a pinata and hit you until all your guts come out like candy. But I won't be using a stick. I'll be using a sword.

SL: But if we do things the predictable way?

SZ: I'll just kill you. It'll be relatively painless. Although, well, all pain is relative. Let's see what YOU consider pain and I consider pain.

MA: Leary and Skeeter huddled up and discussed their decision.

JS: Brilliant! Let's do it!

SL: Alright, Zeno. Right now, the Distorted Icons are going to pretend that you are John Madden. And we just played the computer!

MS: And here we go! The Icons rush into the ring with their weapons and charge at Zeno. Leary MISSED WITH A MICSTAND CLOTHESLINE. Zeno spears an oncharging Skeeter. THAT'S HIS MOVE! And Leary is down! Both members of the Icons have been DECIMATED by Sir Zeno within TWO SECONDS! Dustbuster Boy is staring at Zeno from the aisle. Zeno pins the Icons! One! TWO! Three!

MA: The winner of this impromptu squash, Sir Zeno!

MS: That is TWO victories tonight for Sir Zeno. Fans, in MY mind, it's ONLY A MATTER OF TIME before Zeno gets the SWISS ARMY BELT from the devious hands of Dustbuster Boy! For Trey Vincent, Nurse Heidi, Scotty Whatbody and Styles, GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY!


© 2004 BOB wrestling. If it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all.


10:30 p.m.

BigBOSS: Ah sweet success...now to let the praise roll in.

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BB: Praise me!

MA: An anvil falls on his head.

BB: Poink! *Falls over*

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

WARNING: This site contains adult content. Surfer discretion is advised.