["I Wanna Be On TV" by Green Day hit. Then out walked The Vice President in Charge of Everything, Trey Vincent. He had his usual left hand on the crotch but something was missing. No, not from his green leather pants. From his face. His cocky grin. He seemed a bit pissed off, actually. He stomped down the aisle, grabbed the microphone from the Masked Announcer, walked around in a circle, spitting every two seconds. So it was like, stomp, stomp, spit. Stomp, stomp, spit. Stomp, stomp, spit. Imagine the opening to "We Will Rock You" done with body parts and fluids and there you go.]

TV: You fucks think you're pretty funny, don't you?

[The camera cut to two dudes in the front row who were wearing balloon crowns on their heads, Joker-style makeup and clown pants. One of the man blew a noisemaker and the other hit a button that made his bow-tie spin around quickly.]

TV: No, not THEM! I'm talking about the ess, dubya, ohh. Well let me tell you something, something World order. The joke's on you bitches. Not tonight. Because, hello, you're so banned from my show now. But at the PPV, I'm gonna un-ban you so we can do this thing. iAd vs. sWo. Stipulations? You want stipulations? Well since I'm the VPICOA, I can make all the stipulations I want. And since I think Seth is still pretending to be injured, we're going to have our match, not in this reality. But in virtual reality. That's right. We're going to Enter The Vortex!

[Insert pop here. Please. Because these fans are so dead tonight. We might as well start playing in cemeteries...]

TV: Get it? This is gonna be your last match ever in BOB. The iAd is the only group who is ever going to eventually take over this place. We would be running this place completely right now if they hadn't invented alcohol. Of course, if they never invented alcohol, I might not be here right now. But that's beside the point. The point is. Biggest Show Of The Century. Live on Pay-Per-View. Sometime this summer. You jackfucks are going out. And nobody is gonna care either way. Because Apathy is running wild in BOB. Ya hear me?

Crowd: ...

TV: You see? Apathy rules and so does the iAd! Later, monkeys.

We'll hit puberty any day now...

[Black and white stock footage of fireworks and staticky stock audio of a falling bomb/explosion send the crowd into a furious rage that they’ve spent their money on a ticket to BOB. The camera scans a moderately packed arena in Hooker, Oklahoma.]

Scotty Whatbody: Hello jerkoffs, and welcome to BOB Sunday Morning Chloroform.

Nurse Heidi: Geez, Scotty.

SW: What’d I say? Anyhow, if you’re looking for softcore porn, don’t change the channel. Why buy Cinemax when you can get Comedy Central? Right? In just a few seconds, it’s gonna be Britney Smears, Christina Gaguilera, Candy Cantaloupes and Misty Waters going at it! Woohoo!

Mark Shill: Fans, I know we’re only 20 seconds into the show. But I am going to say, that without a shadow of a doubt, this will be, the GREATEST SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM in the HISTORY OF SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM!

SW: And I’m sure there’s other stuff happening tonight, but who cares? It’s time to pop the ratings!

[Eddie B cranked out "Harrrdcore," a BOB original track you will never hear, as performed by Britney Smears and Christina Gaguilera, featuring Sleazy-C.]

SW: Woohoo! It's my new favorite team of all time.

MA: The following contest is a chick fight. Which means everything is legal except crying. Introducing first. From places yet to be determined by the handler, Britney. Christina. The Hardcore Divas!

SW: Both chicks are packing some lethal weapons. In addition to the ones in their tops!

MS: Britney's got a shopping bag loaded full of stuff. Christina has a garden hose? What good is THAT going to do?

SW: Plenty of good for our ratings once some T-shirts get wet. Woohoo! Oh, I hope Candy and Misty are in white T-shirts!

NH: And no, this isn't a Girls Gone Wild infomercial. It's BOB. I know it may be hard to tell the difference right now, what with that song playing and the girls in those skimpy clothes.

SW: BOB continues to be just tasteful enough for cable television each week.

NH: Yep. We've been meeting the minimum standards for four years and counting.


Misty Waters: Hey, Candy.

Candy Cantaloupes: Yep?

MW: I just want you to know. I know I said when I came to BOB that I was here because of some deep, dark secret that you needed to pay for. But tonight. Even though I wish you would die horribly, I'm willing to put our differences aside so we can win this tag team match. Even though it won't help our careers at all. Since next time I see you, your ass is going to be getting acquainted with my boots. And my god, I want to just rip clumps of hair out of your skull right now.

CC: Let me tell you something, Misty. You may be tougher than me in real life, but this is wrestling. So you're gonna have to play by the rules.

MW: I don't play by the rules of white men.

CC: Why not?

MW: Because white men are evil. They keep us down.

CC: Misty, you know you ARE white, right?

MW: Yeah, well, your breasts are abnormally large!

Voice from very far away: Woohoo!

CC: Thanks. Well, Misty. I guess we can work together this morning. But then, it's gonna be on like a condom.

MW: What the hell does that even mean?

CC: I don't know. It's all I could think of. *Pouts*

[Back to the ring. "Fuck And Run" by Liz Phair is playing.]

MA: And their opponents. At a combined weight that I dare not ask. Misty Waters. Candy Cantaloupes. The Hot Chicks Who Don't Need A Damn Team Name Period.

NH: This is so torturous.

SW: What? The Liz Phair song?

NH: No. Three women I consider friends are about to fight. Xtina, Britney and Misty. They should all be on the same team, fighting that slut, Candy.

SW: Look, I know you're envious that she's banging me, but that's no reason to...uhhh....

MS: Scotty, you're drooling...

SW: Humina humina humina?

NH: What is he? Oh. My girl Xtina is playing with that hose in a suggestive manner.

MS: Can we show this on TV?

NH: We sure can. There are no rules at this time of the day.

MS: The four ladies are at a standoff. Candy wants them to get rid of their weapons. But there are NO RULES in this ONE!

SW: It's time for some hair pulling, scratching, biting and clothes ripping.

NH: Are we about to break into an advertisement for beer?

SW: It would be the appropriate time.

[A man in a suit is sitting at a table with a 24-pack of Keystone beer.]

Man: Fuck you, BOB. Our beer is good!

[He cracks open a can and takes a long sip. He puts the can down. He stares at the camera for a couple of seconds before spitting out the beer.]

Man: Ahh, who am I kidding? If you want to rot your organs, drink our beer. It's cheaper than the good beer!

Announcer: Keystone. After you're drunk, it won't taste as bad.

SW: What the FUCK was that?

NH: I have no idea. Their advertisers are about as good as ours.

In about 26 weeks. The ultimate showdown. Finally, BOB will decide once and for all, who is, the stronger life(?) form.


Or machine?

Unit 5 vs. THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS...whoever it'll be by then.

Man versus machine, live on pay-per-view. Unless by some fluke a chick wins the top belt. Then it will be...

Woman versus machine, live on pay-per-view. Unless by some fluke an inanimate object, like a title belt wins the OWTTM. Then it will be...

Inanimate object versus machine, live on pay-per-view.


NH: See what I mean?

SW: Clearly.


SW: A couple crappy ads.

MS: NO! In the RING!

SW: Hey, look! Candy just bulldogged Misty Waters. What a cheap shot. What a heelish act. I LOVE IT!

NH: This isn't good. Misty is so cool, this is just gonna steal her heat.

SW: Don't worry, Heidi. I'll heat her up after the show.

NH: Xtina and Britney don't know what to do. They're just baffled. Help her guys!

CG: Do we have to? *Sigh*

BS: Oh my, like, gawwwwd, like, whatever. Like, teehee!

SW: She is soooo blonde. I heard she hurt herself once when she was raking leaves and fell out of the tree.

NH: Wait a second! It's Sir Hungalot! And Jean Bannister! And Violent Pacifist! The Three Guys have arrived. I hope they'll talk some sense into that stupid cu--WHAT THE HELL?

SW: Oh man! Bannister just hit a facebuster on Gaguilera! The Big Sir charges in and spears Britney! ... BWAHAHAHA! He's quite used to 'spearing' girls, though, isn't he Heidi?

NH: This is no joking matter. The Three Guys have just attacked three defenseless women.

SW: They're not defenseless. The Diva chicks had weapons.

NH: Well...

MS: This is the most disgusting attack I have EVER seen in the HISTORY of Sunday Morning Chloroform!

[Cut to The Bride.]

TB: Oh, Shill, you just made my death list. You're on Death List 23. Be patient. I'll get you eventually.

[Back to ringside.]

SW: Hate to be you, Shill. Of course, I'd hate to be you even if some chick WASN'T targeting you for bloody vengeance.

MS: This is the BLACKEST moment in the HISTORY of Mark Shill's LIFE!

NH: This sucks. Candy covers Britney and Xtina. One. Two. Three. Ugh. What is wrong with The Three Guys.

SW: They're Threevil.

[Cut to Trey Vincent.]

TV: Scotty, don't make me beat you.

SW: What did I say?

TV: Don't. Make. Me. Beat. You. No fucking fWo references. They're a fake, online, efed. None of our fans will get that joke.

[Back to ringside.]

SW: A fake, online, efed, huh? Unlike us, since we're on Comedy Central. Except ANYWHERE.

[Cut to Seth Harker.]

SH: I have no control over Scotty, Kay. So, uh...do you like...uh...stuff?

[Back to ringside.]

SW: Well, it seems that Candy is rejoining up with the Three Guys...but why? What is going on? Why are they turning heel? What's the deal?

VP: I bet some of you are wondering what the deal is with me turning heel. It is time to right some major wrongs that have been done of late. The biggest problem? Massive Man Rendition First holding this belt for way too long. It's time to get back to my roots.

JB: Your African roots?

VP: No, not quite that far back. My wrestling roots. In my reign I promise less violent and more pacifist!

[The crowd boos.]

VP: I figured you people wouldn't like that. So that's why I turned heel. Because you people can't appreciate the art of not bringing harm to your enemies.

[VP was about to continue, but Massive Man and Jim emerged from the back.]

NH: Are we seeing a Kent State Krew reunion?

SW: God, I hope not.

MMR1: Violent Pacifist. Jean Bannister. Sir Hungalot. You boys think you're so tough picking on women. Well, why don't you try picking on us?

NH: The crowd likes the sound of that.

VP: What would be the difference exactly?

SW: BWAHAHAHA! He just called them women!

VP: Wait, wait. Are you two losers challenging The Three Guys to a match?

MMR1: Yes. Yes, we are. And we're gonna dedicate this victory to Brandon, who's recuperating in the fine state of Tokyo, Japan!

NH: The fine state of Tokyo?

SW: He's been lost in the state of confusion for years, Heidi.

VP: Tell you girls what. You got it. Tonight in the main event. A six-man match. Assuming, of course, that you two can find a partner. And I'm not talking in the gay marriage sense, either. Unless you two are like that now.

[Jim and Massive Man raise an eyebrow in each other's direction. They then quickly shake their heads no.]

MMR1: You got a deal, champ. And that belt. You might as well get your jollies with it for a little while longer. Because I'm gonna get my belt back!

VP: No you're not.

MMR1: Oh yes I am.

VP: No you're not.

MMR1: Oh yes I am.

VP: No you're not.

MMR1: Oh yes I am.

VP: No you're not.

MMR1: Oh yes I am.

VP: ... *Whispering to Hungalot* What's my line?

SH: *Whispering* No you're not.

VP: Right. *Back to normal* No you're not.

MMR1: Oh yes I am.

SW: As the...whatever the hell that is continues in the ring, let's go somewhere else. Please.

[For a change of pace, we cut at a local military store. The one-armed man behind the glass counter looked up as an air-raid siren went off, signaling that somebody had entered his store. She looked around, not really too concerned by the loud volume. The thin blonde wearing a yellow jumpsuit walked straight toward the man as the siren died down.]

The Bride: Hi. Nice bell.

OAM: I got it at the Saddam Going Out of Business Sale last February. That's the actual bell from one of his palaces.

TB: Very cheery.

OAM: He was a complex man. What can I do for you, ma'am?

TB: I'm sort of on this bloody vengeance kick at the moment. I have become a one-woman arm.

OAM: Hwhut?

TB: I mean, army! And I need you to make something.

OAM: A sandwich?

TB: Well, I could go for a finger sandwich...

OAM: Hwhut?

TB: Uh, I mean. I'm fine. Thanks. I actually need you to make me...a flagpole.

OAM: What! No! I made a vow to myself when I lost my left arm in a flagpole fight that I would NEVER make another instrument of dismemberment again!

TB: Aww, c'mon...

OAM: No!

TB: C'mon.

OAM: No!

TB: C'mon.

OAM: No!

TB: No!

OAM: C'mon.

TB: No.

OAM: C'mon

TB: Well, alright. If you insist.

OAM: I do.

Caption: 10 minutes later...

[The One-Armed Man returned from behind a curtain out back. He held out a metal flag pole with a green flag rolled up on it. The Bride unrolled the flag and looked at it. It was all the same dark green color.]

TB: What flag is this of?

OAM: Libya.

TB: Libya?

OAM: Sorry. Can't do much stitching these days.

TB: What a lame flag.

OAM: You see this? (He asked holding up a brand-new tennis ball)

TB: Yes. I see it.

[The One-Armed Man suddenly chucked the ball towards her. On instinct, The Bride swung at the ball, knocking it against the wall behind the man and then careening around the store.]






OAM: Now look at it.

[He held up two halves of a dirty tennis ball.]

TB: What's that bouncing noise?

OAM: Probably a rat or something...anyway. That flag just CHOPPED this ball in half. It is the most lethal device I have created in years.

TB: And here I thought this flagpole was harmless.

OAM: Hwhut?

TB: Harmless, not...anyway. I should go. Got vengeance to unleash on BVD. Time to chop a different kind of ball in half.

OAM: Always remember, blonde warrior. Revenge is like a sushi restaurant. Very smelly. But oddly, arousing...

TB: Thanks...I'll remember that.

[The Bride looked up at the bell hanging near the door. As the door hit the bell, the air raid siren sounded again.]

TB: How does that work?

OAM: Hwhut?

TB: Nothing. It's BOB. BOB is stupid.

[Back to ringside. "Learn Chinese" by Lin is playing and the fans are cheering weakly as J.C. Long walks the aisle, dressed in a red high school baseball jersey for the Hooker Cannibals (nice name, eh?).]

NH: The Hooker Cannibals?

SW: Man, I bet Albert DeSalvo would hate to run into one of those. He’d kill a hooker, then she’d come back and eat him. And he’d become a hooker.

NH: You mean a zombie.

SW: Yeah. What did I say?

NH: You said he’d become a hooker.

SW: A male hooker? Yich. I really need a break. When’s BOB’s unscheduled hiatus this year?

NH: July, I believe.

SW: July? Aww, man. That’s still a couple months away.

MS: J.C.’s got the stick.

J.C. Long: I look around today at all the rappers and it makes me sick
You can brag about your toys and keep thinking your slick

Why you feel the need to brag, won't you tell me?
Keep talking and I'll piss all over you like R-Kelly

You got your pimped out rides with your GPS and DVD
But it'll just be a pile of junk when I hit you with my ’79 Chevy

They say the root of all evil is money, so I must be a saint
These posers see me charging 'em in their rearview they gonna faint

You all don't rap about shit no more you're just making noise
You all suck more than Michael Jackson does little boys

You all a lot like Mary Kate and Ashley, sure they got riches
But when it comes down to it, they're just a couple stupid bitches

The Cristal, the gold teeth, the mansions, sure it's all fun
But it could all just as easy be mine if I got myself a gun

Pretend I'm Tony Soprano getting rid of a rat
Hunt you down like a 21st century Van Helsing -- using a gat

I'm representin' for all the poor dawgs in this crowd
Can't you hear 'em cheering loud?


JCL: Quit waving your bling-bling in the air
We don't care
Another rapper dead
Shot in the head
Let's be clear
Y'all better fear
J.C.'s goin’ solo

SW: Well that was entirely pointless. As far as I can tell. What’s next? Bring on more boobs!

NH: Speaking of which...

BOB Is Boobs. America’s favorite parody sports entertainment B-show is coming back! Sometime! Check local listings! Proud to be the lowest rated show on cable television!

["Undies" by Biz Limpkit began playing.]

MA: The following match is scheduled for some reason. Introducing first. Direct from the burn unit, here is, the Undietaker.

SW: Damn, what happened to this guy?

NH: From what I heard, he was hit by lightning a couple weeks ago.

SW: I told him never to play with tin foil and an antenna when it was thundering out.

MS: The phenom has RISEN FROM HIS DEATH BED to take on Justin Voss!

SW: Yep. And Voss has risen from his dead career in obscurity. I wonder what the hell he's been doing for the last few years. Aside from sucking royally, that is.

NH: Voss is one of the biggest stars in BOB history.

MS: I think I just heard Steve Studnuts’ head explode!

SW: I thought Sir Hungalot was the biggest star in BOB history.

NH: Well...in a different way, yeah.

SW: Whatever. All I know is that Voss has never won the top belt in the company. And he blames BigBOSS. Because BigBOSS can't book his way out of a wet paper bag.

NH: That's why Trey's in charge now.

SW: Undietaker looks like the mummy tonight. And he's looking less mobile than ever.

NH: How can you tell?

["If You're Happy And You Know It (Clap Your Hands)" began playing.]

SW: It's Voss versus the Mummietaker this morning on SMC. Aren't you glad you stayed up?

MA: And from somewhere, Justin VOOOOOSSSSSS!

NH: Masked Announcer a bit off his game this morning.

SW: That's what happens when the booker writes a show when he's at work and the boss isn't WHOOPS.


NH: Huh? What the HELL was that?

SW: Shhh....boss...stop talking...


SW: OK. Coast is clear again.

NH: I don't see BigBOSS...

SW: Not him...never mind. Why is this even in the script? Is he just trying to make me look foolish?

NH: No, you do a fine job of that all by yourself Scotty.

JV: Looks like somebody needs a hug!

NH: And here we go. Voss wraps Undietaker up with a bear hug.

MS: He's GOT him. There is NO escaping from the bear hug!

SW: Look at Undie. He just standing there, not howling in pain. Or even groaning. He scratches the top of his bandaged head. Now he looks at his watch. I think he just sighed. And now he's tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for the pain to begin.

U: Excuse me, is this thing going to start hurting, ever?

SW: He's taking no-selling to new heights this morning.

MS: HOLD the phone! He just pulled out a for--I mean, international object! It's a ruler! What devious torture will he inflict on Voss with that weapon?

SW: Looks like he's just scratching himself with it.

JV: Give up, Undietaker. You can't escape this hold!

U: Why don't YOU give up?

JV: Heroes don't give up?

U: Again, why don't YOU give up?

SW: Now Voss is looking a bit upset. He releases the hold as Undietaker continues to scratch his body, which has gotta be itching like Heidi's snat--

NH: Would you like to keep your tongue?

SW: ...

MS: Undietaker lays Voss out with a punch! He's flat on his back. But Undietaker is wrapped up so tight he can't seem to bend his knees enough to get down and make the cover.

SW: Is this different than any other match? I haven't seen the Undietaker leave his feet in about three years.

MS: Kip up by VOSS! Punch. Punch. Punch. He's trying to slam Undietaker!

NH: No, he couldn't lift up all that dead weight. Voss is grabbing at his back.

SW: Yep, trying to carry the Undietaker to even a below-average match will put a strain on you. What's that noise?

NH: It's...the fans?

SW: The hell?

NH: The fans are clapping for Voss, who is about to turn around right into Undietaker's hands!


NH: The Wedgie-Aided Chokeslam To Hell connects! And looks at Voss. He's spasming like a dying fish!

SW: Undietaker turns around and falls backward onto Voss. It's a lame ass cover. One. Two. Three. What? He kicked out? Damn.

NH: That shoulder got off the mat just in the nick of time. Voss gets to his feet and listen to that crowd. I haven't heard a BOB crowd this loud in quite a long time.

SW: Yep. Trey-booked shows generally lack any sort of emotion.

[Cut to Trey Vincent backstage.]

TV: I have feelings, you know. Don't blame ME for dead crowds. Dick. You're FIRED!

[Cut to Scotty.]

SW: Hooray!

[Back to Trey Vincent.]

TV: Just kidding!

[Back to ringside.]

SW: Damnit! I almost was free, Heidi. Maybe if I jam my tongue down your throat, he'll fire me since you two are an item now.

NH: Don't believe everything you see on the Internet.

SW: There's a new Heidi sex tape? Yes!

NH: No! I just meant --

MS: Undietaker is stuck on the mat! Generic Ref's count is up to SIX!

SW: You're kidding.

MS: No, Scotty, I'm NOT!

SW: He can actually count to six? Those night sessions of kindergarten are finally starting to pay off.

MS: It's over!

MA: The winner by knockout, Justin Voss!

SW: What? There was no knockout!

NH: That's the rules. Taker couldn't get up by 10.

SW: And here come the Ambulance Jockeys to stretcher Undietaker out. I hope it'll be a long time before he heals properly and can forge a doctor's note.

NH: With our luck, he'll be back for the next edition of SMC.

MA: The following is the first EVER BLT match: Benches, Ladders, and Televisions!

[Mully and Sculder of The Agency stand in the ring, ready for their four opponents... "Low Rider" hits, and the fans are off and running in droves to the bathroom. This one's gonna be a snickersnapper if I've ever seen one! Which is impossible, as I have no eyes... being the Detached Narrator and all. But anyway...]

[Igpay steps into the ring and grabs a microphone, Dyslexic standing by his side.]

Igpay: Yo, homes. It’s Pig Latino Heat. Straight out of rehab and into all of your hearts. This is for the family, man! It’s all about the blood, sweat and lines of coke. I mean, tears, homey.

Dyslexic Avenger: Right that’s yeah!

["Complicated" by Avril Lavigne plays and the Arby's Boyz come out, and by GOD does Phil have a litteral POOL of paint dripping from his face, down his chest, and forming around his feet. In fact, he looks like he's about to choke on that paint... and there he goes, he coughing and weezing and he drops to the floor, gagging on the paint, Al looks down and kneels to check on his brother, while the Agency immediately goes for the... weapons? Mulder tries to lift a television, but ends up dropping it on his foot. He hops around in pain, before falling out over the top rope. Dyslexic and Igpay go for a double clothesline to Scully, but he ducks under, bounces off the other ropes... and Al pulls them down, sending Scully to the outside! Al scampers in, dropkicks Dyslexic out of the ring... Igpay tries to lift a bench to take it to Al... but that is OBVOIOUSLY a stupid move, and the bench falls over him, pinning him to the mat. The ref goes for the count: 1... 2... 3!

NH: Since when does Detached Narrator do our job?

SW: Eh, what’re ya gonna do?

MA: Winner, The Bench!!!

[And Al doesn't like this one bit, as he takes Generic under his arm... and Twist and Shout! Yes, the swinging neckbreaker with a stupid name. Al lifts a hand to the air like he's pointing a gun, and... the arena is completely empty. He looks out at the imaginary crowd, and sighs, before heading back up the ramp to carry Phil to the imaginary medical staff. No wonder they call it fantasy wrestling!]

MA: The following contest is a dueling flagpole match. Introducing first...

[Eddie B cranked up "Her Strut" by Bob Seger. Out stepped BVD with his thumbs up in the air.]


MA: He is "A Fifth Of The Friggin' Show," BVD!

BVD: J-A-P-A-N! J-A-P-A-N!

Fans: Boo!

BVD: AHHH! DOOD! Don't do that! HOOOOO!

NH: Wow, BVD sure is jumpy tonight.

SW: They did yell 'Boo!'

MS: I've never seen anyone JUMP HIGHER in FRIGHT...IN MY LIFE!

SW: I've never seen anyone randomly SHOUT more than YOU, SHILL!

MA: And his opponent. From Hell Hath No Fury, Texas. The BRIDE!

["Battle Without Honor Or Humanity" plays. The Bride walks out to a mighty big pop from the fans.]

SW: The Bride is looking HOT tonight. Man, I'd love to have the box her virginity came in.

NH: Didn't she put you on one of her death lists last time?

SW: Did she? Crap. I've got to stop drinking so much. I can't remember previous angles.

NH: BVD is standing, ready to fight. He's in fighting position. He's got that sword cocked up, staring at The Bride.

SW: Heh, is that supposed to be symbolic?

NH: I think so. The end is leaning against his crotch. He's flaunting his mighty manhood. Which, since he's Japanese, is why he needs that big stick to overcompensate.

SW: Heidi, you'll be glad to know that I only need short weapons when I fight. Nothing needs overcompensating here...

NH: Sure, Scotty...

SW: We've got the bell.





SW: Yowza.

NH: The Bride just chopped BVD's flagpole down from really big to...really small...

MS: You only get SHRINKAGE like THIS in BOB!



[Cut to Styles, staring at the camera.]

Styles: OH MY GOD!!!!

[Back to ringside.]



[I SAID, back to RINGSIDE!]


[You three, stop staring at the ring with your jaws hanging open and explain what the hell people just saw! Arrrgh! Fine. What you just saw was The Bride slice off BVD's leg, which then went flying into the crowd. There was some polite applause as the fan held up the leg as if it were nothing more than a caught foul baseball. Some fans patted him on the back and one mussed his hair up.]

The Bride: BVD. I have left you alive for one reason. Because I want you to tell BILL that I'm coming for him. And I want you to know that I know that he knows I know that I know he knows that I know that.

BVD: Ho?

TB: So you tell him that.

[Cut to the fans.]

The Flunky: Say, how'd you like a nice BOB T-shirt. Just give me that leg back--

Fan: No way, dude. You know how much I could get for this on eBay or the black market? I'm gonna be RICH! RICH! RICH!

[A mighty rumbling of thunder was heard. The lights went out for about 30 seconds. Just long enough for somebody to get out of hiding and get into center ring for a shocking arrival. Just, for instance, I mean. Not that somebody is doing that right now. No siree...]

SW: Are we still on?

NH: Yep.

SW: I don't know what to say. BVD has lost a leg.

MS: True, but one fan has GAINED a leg. Only in BOB will you get FOUL LEGS hit toward you!

SW: This would've been more appropriate for BaseBrawl.

NH: This would never be appropriate. BOB has finally gone too far in the name of entertainment.

SW: Say, Heidi, since the lights are out...

NH: You wanna make out?

SW: I thought you'd never ask!

[After some more groaning and thumping, the lights came on. Heidi sat on top of the announce table as Scotty and Mark were caught in a kiss.]

NH: You two should move to Massachusetts!

SW: Gah! *He begins spitting violently*

MS: This is the most HUMILIATING moment in the HISTORY OF CHLOROFORM! If I was ever going to KISS a MAN, it would NOT be YOU, Scotty.

SW: If?

Sharc: Um. What the fuck?

[The crowd laughs.]

NH: Who's that?

Sharc: Who are you? Where am I? Did I die? Is this hell?

[The crowd laughs.]

NH: It very well might be. So...you're Sharc?

Sharc: You know me?

[The crowd laughs.]

NH: No. It's what's being typed before you talk.

Sharc: Excuse me?

[The crowd laughs.]

NH: See? Right there?

Sharc: OK. I've GOT to be hallucinating. This can't be real.

[The crowd laughs.]

NH: So where do you come from, Sharc?

Sharc: Boston.

[The crowd laughs. Then, "99 Problems (But Extra Scratchin' Ain't One)" by Jay-Z hits the speakers. Trey Vincent runs down the aisle and grabs a mic.]

Sharc: Yep. I'm definitely in hell. Hello, Trey.

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: What the fuck are you doing here? I know you suck and all, but, you're not funny. Or entertaining. Or a parody. Why are you in BOB?

Sharc: That's what I want to know.

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: I want to know why you're getting a laugh track every time you talk. I didn't budget for this crap.

Sharc: That's not a laugh track. They're actually laughing. But WHY I have no idea.

[The crowd laughs.]

Sharc: The last thing I remember, I was in Action Wrestling.

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: I'm not going to pay you to work here. You'll kill all these people. This guy is the most hardcore wrestler to ever walk the earth. This guy has gone through stacks of burning tables. He's gone through barbed wire ladders. Light bulbs. You name it, he's done it. Well, aside from beat me anyway.

Sharc: Whatever.

[The crowd laughs.]

Sharc: I really don't get this.

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: They're going to laugh at anything you say. So...why not just say nothing. In fact...why don't you just leave the building and go back to Boston. Because in BOB knows who Sharc is. And nobody cares. And frankly, we can't afford weapons here.

["Enter Kevin" by Vietallica played. Then Kevin entered. With Bruce The Kleptomaniac. They headed down the aisle and got into the ring.]

TV: Hey, look. It's our hardcore character, Kevin the Pyromaniac. Say, Sharc. Since you're here. Why don't you to sports entertain, and I'll go and try to figure out why you're here.

Sharc: I have to trust YOU to get me out of here?

[The crowd laughs.]

Sharc: Will you STOP laughing at everything I say!

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: Tonight. Kevin the Pyromaniac takes on a man who has been a former hardcore champion and won tons of other titles by doing stupid things in the ring. Against Kevin The Pyromaniac. Who also does tons of stupid things in and out of the ring.

Sharc: Trey, if you brought me here just to job, I will shatter your skull into so many pieces they'll be able to sell it as a puzzle.

[The crowd laughs.]

TV: Me? I think there is a greater force at work here. I'll go talk to Death and see what's up.

[Sharc rolled his eyes and waited as Vincent left the ring. Styles sprinted down the aisle.]

Styles: OH MY GOD! It's SHARC! Sharc is in BOB! OHMYGOD! This is going to be the most EXTREME match in BOB history!

SW: Are they gonna clean up all that blood first?

Styles: Why bother? The blood is going to fly in just moments here, Scotty!

SW: I wonder if Bruce can help Kevin steal a victory for a change here.

Kevin: PYROMANIA~!!!`1.

Fan: K3v1n SUKS!!~`1.

MA: The following impromptu hardcore match is scheduled for something. Introducing first. From Boston, Massachusetts. Sharc! And his opponent. From Truth Or Pyromania, New Mexico. Kevin The Pyromaniac!

SW: Never heard of Truth or Pyromania, New Mexico.

Styles: Some people I run into still haven’t heard of Cloudydale, Connecticut, Scotty.

SW: Gee, I wonder why that is...

Styles: And here we go. What is that IDIOT doing? He just dumped gasoline all over his gloves.


Styles: Kevin charges at Sharc. FLAMING FIST OF DEATH! OH MY GOD! Sharc is down. But he gets back up. He blocks a punch attempt.

Sharc: Owww! Bad move. Bad move!

[The crowd laughs.]

Styles: Sharc with a DDT! And now he stomps on Kevin’s hands. Putting out the flaming gloves.

MS: If you’re seeing burning limbs, you MUST be watching BOB!

Styles: The man with the blood red hair pulls up the kid with the green hair. Punch to the face. Punch to the face. And again. And again. And again. Those hard shots have opened up a gusher over Kevin’s left eye! Kevin falls to a knee.

SW: That idiot has another lighter.


NH: I wonder if the Shriner’s Burn Unit is going to sponsor Kevin.

Styles: Kevin’s boot is on fire. LOW BLOW!

SW: Man, that’s gotta feel worse than herpes.

NH: You talk from experience, I’m sure?

SW: Riiight. I’m sure YOU’VE never burned before.

NH: No. Because I actually have standards when it comes to men.

SW: Yeah. You like ‘em dead. Or brain dead.

Styles: Kevin with a SUPERFIREKICK! Sharc is down and...hurt!

NH: One. Two. Shoulder up by Sharc. How did he kick out?

Styles: Sharc is one of the most hardcore wrestlers of ALL TIME!

SW: Tone it down, Shill.

MS: I didn’t say anything.

SW: Oh...Styles?

Styles: I’ll try and contain myself. I’m just shouting out what Leary tells me to.

SW: Leary? Steve Leary?

Styles: Uh...yeah. That’s the one. He’s a big Sharc mark.

SW: Probably the only one.

Styles: Kevin charges at Sharc, but he runs right into a foot. Sharc lifts up Kevin, maybe to hit a piledriver? What the HELL is he doing?

SW: Did Sharc ever go to wrestling school? That’s not how you—

Styles: OH MY GOD! That’s the Sharc Cage! That’s one of his finishing moves! It’s a modified piledriver that drove Kevin face and chest first into the mat!

NH: Isn’t that the Styles Clash?

Styles: Yes. But it’d be too confusing to use that name, especially with me out here, and Sharc stealing that move and all...

NH: Ahh.

SW: What is a Styles Clash?

NH: A.J. Styles from NWATNA.

MS: What is THAT? I’ve never HEARD of that COMPANY?

SW: Sure you haven’t.

Styles: COVER! But Bruce the Kleptomaniac has STOLEN Generic Ref!

SW: Bruce stealing a victory from Sharc there.

NH: Sharc dives under the bottom rope and grabs Bruce. Oh what a punch. Both Bruce and the Generic Ref fall to the floor.

Voice: BANZAI!

*Insert cartoony falling effect*


Styles: IT’S KAMIKAZIE KEN! Oh my GOD! He just hit a 780 Kenton Bomb with a chair from the rafters! If Kevin wasn’t in pain before, he is now.

SW: Ay carumba, it’s Insano Mano! He just jumped Sharc. Why, I have no idea.

NH: Maybe because he was afraid Sharc would eat Babelfish?

SW: And the winner of the worst joke EVER award is...

NH: Shut up, Scotty.

Styles: Generic Ref is calling for the bell? Why? Just because Kamikazie Ken has attacked Kevin and Insano Mano has attacked Sharc?

SW: What’s going on? Are we enforcing rules now?

NH: Selectively, no doubt.

MA: This match has been ruled a no contest because Generic Ref felt violated by Bruce’s hands.

SW: There’s a new scandal for BOB.

Bruce: Dude, I didn’t touch his ass! I was just going through his pockets! I’m no fag! You know what homophobia really says about you.

GR: Still ending in a no contest! Homo!

SW: And Generic Ref runs away. The four hardcore idiots are all brawling in the ring. Hmm...you don’t suppose we’ll see some sort of tag team or four-way at the next PPV, do you?

NH: I’d count on it.

MS: Well, let’s head backstage and *static* what the... *static* in the heck... *static* one small step for... *static*... mankind.

[The screen suddenly fills entirely with static, before a few voices can be heard.]

Voice #1: Get the camera ready!

Voice #2: Ok Snapmare, we're going to cut away about thirty seconds in, we'll put in the mannequin, and... wait, Hack, is that mic on?

Voice #3: Uh... brother?

::: The following announcement is paid for by the letters s, W, and o, and the number 0. Because everybody in BoB is one giant ZERO. ... Yeah, it sounded better last night before I went to bed...:::

[The camera opens to Snapmare crawling into his car in the parking lot. Why he's here when he OBVIOUSLY doesn't have a match this week (or any week, for that matter) is beyond me. He starts up the engine... and a golf cart quickly rushes toward the vehicle!!! And wouldn't ya know it, a little bit of that static fizzes in again... before we come back into view of the golf cart running directly into the side of the car... and Snapmare's head falls out, rolling along the pavement. With a price tag attached to his hair. Which falls off... in one big clump. Damn... sometimes I think Vince Russo is actually just BigBoss in a Yankees jersey with a cheap accent. But then I realize... not even BigB swears THAT much.]

SW: Wow. That was lame.

Shill: I can't believe it folks, this is the most shocking incident in the history of shocking incidents! Snapmare Kid... HAS actually LOST his HEAD!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!

SW: Not really.

NH: Nup.

MS: Well, let’s head backstage and see what Unit 5 has to say to Dennis about its upcoming handicap bout with the Drudleyz.

[We head to the boiler room.]

Dennis: I say, old bean, this is mighty scary down here. What in the bloody hell are we doing here?

Unit 5: ...

Dennis: Is this to try and scare the hardcore tag team known as the Drudleyz.

Unit 5: *Rumble rumble rumble*

Dennis: Getting back to your roots indeed, mate. Well, All I know is, I’d hate to be the Drudleyz right about now. And I’m not too crazy about being myself. Interviewing a bloody washing machine. Again! I’ve bloody well had it!

[We cut elsewhere backstage to a generic looking room where D-Van Drudley, Rubba Ray Drudley are sat. They’re just drinking a few beers until a tubby woman with a bald head, save for a black ponytail at the back, walks in with her gravely voice already set at top volume.]

Pearl E Dangerously: Hey guys! How you guys feeling?

D-Van: I’m feeling good.

Pearl: Are you happy?

D-Van: I’m happy!

Pearl: Are you happy?

D-Van: I’m happy!!!

[Pearl then slaps D-Van across the face and goes for Rubba, but he stops her and holds her by the throat.]


Pearl: What am I doing?

RRD: Yeah!

Pearl: What am I doing? I’m saving you! That’s what I’m doing! You guys are winning matches…

[The Drudleys scratch their heads at this.]

Pearl: … you guys are defeating top guys every week.

[More head scratching.]

Pearl: But where are you when Send Us Money time hits? You ain’t in the main event matches! Where are your title matches?! You don’t get em! You know why?


Pearl: You don’t make impact!


Pearl: You don’t.


Pearl: The Drudleys don’t make impact. You think you’re the only guys I talk to backstage? I want you to make an impact this morning, even if you have to make that impact on me!

[Pearl Heymon leaves the generic room as the Drudleys are left thinking, unfamiliar territory for them. Back to ringside.]

[‘You Spin Me Round’ by Dead or Alive booms over the speakers. The fans pop like never before as The People’s Appliance is rolled down to the ring on a set of wheels.]

MA: The following contest is a handicap match and is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from the Utility Room… Unit 5!!!

MS: The immortal Unit 5 is headed down to the ring… and look, he has a microphone in his hands!

NH: He doesn’t <i>have</i> any hands Shill.

MS: Ok, ok, he has it rested on top of him. But I am EXCITED at the sheer thought of what he could possibly have to say.

SW: I’m worried about the way he said ‘excited.’

[The guys wheeling Unit 5 down force it through the ropes with great difficulty. They then move it to the center of the ring and tape the mic around where they think his mouth would be.]

MS: Here it comes, the GREATEST in-ring promo in the HISTORY of in-ring promos!

Unit 5: *the thunderous sound of a vigorous spin cycle.*

NH: Do I really have to read this? Ugh. Strong words from… Unit 5.

[‘Highway to Hell’ plays and two men carrying a table walk out. They set up the item of furniture in the middle of the ring next to Unit 5 as Masked Announcer does his thing.]

MA: And its opponents, from Drudleyville… The Drudley Boyz!

MS: Those darn Drudleys have brought a TABLE into this ring, surely the odds are already stacked heavily in their favor.

SW: They want to make an impact here this morning… whichever one of them thought that putting a washing machine through a table was classed as impact is definitely the more retarded.

MS: Unit 5 is seeking revenge after the Drudleys defeated Atomo at Sunday Morning Chloroform 12.

SW: I bet it is.

MS: And this match is UNDERWAY as Rubba Ray hits a hellacious clubbing forearm to the top of Unit 5… and he’s reeling in pain.

NH: My life truly has hit rock bottom.


NH: Ooook, that was a bigger reaction than I expected.

MS: And the opposite is surely true for D-Van here as Unit 5 does not react at all to his side kick. Reverend Drudley is hopping on one leg in AGONY! Unit 5 is taunting his opponents!

Unit 5: *the pompous and arrogant sloshing about of wet clothes*

SW: Rubba Ray climbs back up and… oh God no… he’s got Unit 5 locked into a sleeper hold, can you get more stupid?

MS: Flying dropkick out of nowhere from D-Van!

SW: I suppose you can. D-Van is rolling around holding his legs as Unit 5 remains unmoved, I don’t think it knows how to bump.

MS: Unit 5 is the toughest S.O.B. in the history of S.O.B.s!

NH: Whatever.

SW: This is just too stupid.

MS: Rubba Ray goes for a suplex, will he hit it? No, he can’t even lift his opponent.


MS: Rubba hits a MASSIVE as all get out lariat that wobbles Unit 5 about.

SW: I just hope it ends soon.

MS: Rubba Ray is shouting to D-Van, now he’s pointing to that table, what could he be planning here?

SW: He’s going to pull a rubber chicken out, cover it in blue paint and hit Unit 5 with it… that’s just how ridiculous this crap is.

MS: D-Van goes to lift Unit 5 in the air, and Rubba Ray gets him by the neck… but D-Van falls in agony as his back SNAPS and Unit 5 drops onto Rubba. One, two, THREE!

MA: Here is your winner… Unit 5!

SW: And The Drudleys have lost so much heat you could keep your ice cream cold on them.

NH: Well, let’s see what Dustbuster Boy and the Suck Ups have to say about their huge upcoming six-man contest. Guys?

[We head backstage to a concrete wall.]



Voice: Where is Dustbuster Boy?

BigBOSSes voice: D’oh!

[We head back to the ring.]

MA: The following contest will be a six-man match. And it will be fought under fast-forward rules.


NH: whatsupwithyourvoiceyousoundlikeoneofthechipmunks.

SW: doIc*ahem*hestnutsroastingonanopenfire.

MA: Firstsirzenomeatpuppetandmrparadoxandtheiropponentsdustbusterboyjohnskeetandstevelearythesucksups.

SW: thisisridiculousandtheconceptisntevenfunny.

SL: ihavenothingleftintheuhthinkingthinginmyhead.

SW: rough.

NH: andtheresthebellandherewego.


MA: Thewinnersofthismatchsirzenomrparadoxandmeat-puppet.

SL: braincanrestnowzzzzzzz.

JS: fastforwardrulesBRILLIANT!

[We cut to a parking lot where a pickup truck is ready. We see two figures roughing up another figure. They force him into the trunk of the truck and slam the lid down onto his leg fiercely.]


D-Van: Oh TESTIFY!!!

[The Drudleys then get into the truck and drive off into the nigh… I mean, morning. The camera slowly moves over where we see a famous potted geranium resting on the ground.]

SW: It can’t be!

MS: Could that possibly be Spike the potted geranium?

NH: Does that mean Homicidal Hank is in the trunk?

SW: Maybe, but probably not. I think the head honchos thought teasing a return would boost ratings and they could just pretend this whole angle didn’t happen the following week.

[We see a woman walk over and pick up the geranium, chuckling to herself. We pan up to see that it is Pearl Heymon.]

SW: Ten bucks says we’re made to forget this even happened next time.

[Back to the ring, sad to say.]

MA: It is now time for the main event of the morning.

["Closer" by Nine Inch Nails sounded and away we go.]

MA: At a combined weight of...a lot. From various places. Jean Bannister and Sir Hungalot, Pain & Pleasure. And their tag team partner, the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, Violent Pacifist.

SW: And we're in near-burnout mode now, so expect a major league screw job here, fans.

NH: How do you know we're at near-burnout?

SW: Well, after the last match, if you can even call it that, I went backstage, and BigBOSS was in the fetal position, pulling out clumps of LilBOSSes hair. Luckily LilBOSS is short enough to allow BigBOSS to do that. Poor bastard.

NH: Isn't LilBOSS supposed to be bald? Like Mini-Me?

SW: Ummm...I didn't say he was pulling clumps of the hair on his head.

MS: Good lord!

SW: I did just catch the Sir's latest flick. Pretty good too. "Harry Poontang and the Prison of Asskaslam."

["Jim 'N' Josh From The Block," a rare B-side by the former supergroup Totally Face, played. The ear-piercing screams were...well, ear-piercing, as BOB's large pre-pubescent crowd began whipping training bras and flowery girl panties at Jim and Massive Man Rendition First.]

MA: And their opponents. Massive Man Rendition First. Jim "Totally Packaged." They are Totally Massively Packaged Rendition Second!

SW: Did these two losers find another loser to help them lose this match?

NH: You are a heel's heel, Scotty.

MS: The odds are STACKED against Massive Man and Jim. The Don't Call Us The Kent State Krew Krew.

NH: Massive Man and Jim are staring up at their opponents from the floor. Jim and Massive Man look ready to go this one alone.

["Learn Chinese" by Lin hits.]

SW: Well that wasn't too predictable, was it?

NH: J.C. Long is out. The odds have just evened up. Long and Massive Man high-five. And Jim and J.C. high-five. They charge into the ring!

SW: And VP, Hungalot and Bannister smartly jump to the floor to regroup. This is so unfair. Long sucks.

NH: I thought they were going to lose, Scotty. Not so sure now?

SW: Oh, I'm sure. VP is the champ. Long is a chump.

NH: And you have the intelligence of a chimp.

SW: And you're a cun--


SW: I don't know, what? I wasn't looking.

NH: Neither was I. I was too busy getting ready to throw my cup of water in Scotty's face.

MS: Massive Man just hit a SIDEWAYS EFFECT on J.C. LONG!

SW: Woohoo! Massive Man rules now!

NH: Jim is in shock. He shoves Massive Man away. Jim helping up Long.

SW: YES! Krew Kutter! Massive Man and Jim stomping that loser. That's what you get for trying to be a white rapper. Take that Vanilla Ice. The only flow J.C. has now is the blood that's flowing from his skull!

NH: VP, Jim and The Big Sir slide back in the ring.

MS: This is five on one. This is dreadful! This is like a gang beating.

SW: Yeah! It's great! Break his jaw so the bookers can stop writing lame ass raps for him!

[Sounds of cookie jars breaking fill the arena. Huge POP for the toughest 4-year-old on the planet.]


SW: And Totally Heel, or whatever their group name is, looks totally shocked. I bet they didn't figure on JJ coming to the rescue of Long, the chief suspect in running JJ down with that remote-controlled car a couple shows ago. Get out of there. You don't want to become a victim of the JJ DROP! Plus, you'll lose so much heel heat you'll be able to keep fish frozen on your asses.

NH: Thank goodness Kay Fabe isn't here to hear you say that.

MS: The big evil faction of DOOM flees as JJ hits the ring. They're retreating up the aisle. VP is pointing at JJ. JJ is pointing at VP.

NH: Uh, Mark. He's not pointing. Wrong finger.

SW: Another main event match never happens. But hey, tune in next time. Maybe one will. Not likely. But tune in anyway. Until then, we're out.

© 2004. Burnout is imminent. Again.

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