"Sarah, Slayer Of The Jobbers," or "Sarah, The Slayer Who Knew No Fear"

Classical violin music swells as we fade in on a room. Book shelves are filled to capacity with various videotapes and DVDs from various promotions. HTTPWWW. CGIW. STWWF. WHEEE. 2XWAHWCHZ>!?SW, the great Japan promotion. Dozens, nay, hundreds more. Continuing to pan to the left, the camera passes by a desk filled with various objects. A timekeeper’s bell, a hammer, a pitcher of water, the script to this show, marked up with all sorts of red comments. Hanging on the wall is a poster of Seth Harker all matrixed out. Hanging over a fireplace (with a picture of a fire taped over it) is a lucha libre mask. Finally we get to the point of this stupid scene. Michelle, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer’s" younger sister, is sitting in a sexy red, silk bath robe, her bare legs crossed. She’s sitting in a leather chair, sucking on an unlit cigar. She’s got a video tape in her free hand, just about to pop a tape into a VCR.

"Oh, hello gentle viewers. You caught me just in time. I’ve been quite busy of late, trying to document the buildup to one of the most anticipated pay-per-view battles of all time," Michelle said.

Off-camera, somebody sneezed. Michelle looked toward the source of the noise, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, sorry, I’m allergic to bullshit," the voice said.

Michelle sighed. "My bad. Anywho...It’s great to get lost in a story involving a bunch of hot chicks, isn’t it?" Michelle pondered, slowly running a finger down the front of her red robe. For the next minute, Michelle executed one of the slowest leg crosses in history.

"Adventure," Michelle said, her leg crossing complete. And NO, this is NOT child porn. She’s just pretending to be a teenager, like all people in the business. Michelle is really in her 30s. *Ahem* "Little boobs. Heroics. Average boobs. Cat fights. Confusion. Big boobs. They all just to take you away. Not to that weird place where you see bugs crawling under your skin. But that other, good place. Come with me now, won’t you? It’s a little tale of sex and violence and sports entertainment I like to call ‘Sarah, Slayer of the Jobbers.’"

With that, she popped her tape into a VCR and pressed play. And we switch awkwardly to script-format to cause reader confusion.

Michelle (voice): Since Detached Narrator can’t be trusted to, well, narrate, I will play the part of narrator. It was a warm and foggy July night. It was a generic flashlight in a backyard scene. Sarah, my sister, and Little Good, her only-God-knows-what, had been passing the weeks by training and training and some more training of the Potential Slayers, Wilma "The Librarian," Claire Voyant, Inutu, Kara Yoki and Kennedy. Not to mention giving inspirational speeches that border on endless. Cloudydale is a town without pity. And Sarah is a Slayer without emotion. But she had a low-paying job to do this night.

STJS: A jobber is an animal. Sometimes they run in factions, sometimes alone. Who can tell us where we are?

Claire: A bug-infested back yard without any bug repellent.

STJS: How can you tell?

Claire: I’m itching and burning.

Kennedy: Only jobbers could live like this.

Little Good: Right. Because I bet you think none of us have any taste. Some of us have second-floor apartments with drawers full of sex toys, ya know.

STJS: Thanks, as usual, for nothing. But I guess he has a point.

Michelle (voice): Little Good looked down at his crotch.

STJS: Jobbers can live anywhere. Work anywhere. All in an attempt to bring the world to an apocalypse. Jobbers filled the world with apathy. Before jobbers, people actually cared about life. Now it’s just a thing we all take for granted. Well, not me. I’ve got a job to do. WE’VE got a job to do.

Michelle (voice): Little Good looked down at his crotch.

STJS: Jobbers can live anywhere. Work anywhere. All in an attempt to bring the world to an apocalypse. Jobbers filled the world with apathy. Before jobbers, people actually cared about life. Now it’s just a thing we all take for granted. Well, not me. I’ve got a job to do. WE’VE got a job to do. And there's no I in We.

Inutu: Yes there is.

STJS: No, there isn't.

Inutu: It's spelled o-u-i. It means yes in French.

STJS: Not oui, we. W-E.

Claire: What EVER.

STJS: Will you please go find a jobber to slay? Sheesh.

Michelle (voice): The girls milled about the back yard as Little Good and Sarah chatted.

LG: Quite an army you've got here.

STJS: Was that sarcasm?

LG: You'd like that, wouldn't you? All I know is these little bints make the 2003 Iraqi Army look like a superpower.

STJS: I'm the only one with superpowers. These are just girls. And I've got to turn them into women. Smart women who won't fall for easy ploys or tricks.

Kara Yoki: Hey, look. Somebody is hurt inside the ring with the steel cage!

LG: You were saying?

STJS: Gah!

LG: If you want me to make women out of these girls, I'm more than willing to--

Michelle (voice): That's when Kara screamed. The jobber was suddenly up. He grabbed her by the hair and tossed her into the corner. He was preparing to unleash his finishing maneuver, a move so controversial it was banned in all feds but XPW. The naked bronco buster.

STJS: Girls, let's go take care of this perv.

Michelle (Voice): Wilma climbed in. Then Claire. Then Inutu. Then Kennedy. Then Sarah.

STJS: Well, well, well. If it isn't B.J. Cummings.

BJC: Slayer. I've always wondered if you spit or swallow.

STJS: Neither actually. I bite. But not tonight.

Michelle (Voice): That's when Sarah shocked her girl power gang. She pulled out a banana, dropped it in the middle of the cheap-ass backyard ring and then climbed out of the cage, locking them in there alone with the jobber. The four girls looked at each other. They knew they had to save Kara from a fate worse than winning a summer home in Baghdad.

BJC: Me alone with five little girls in a cage. I almost feel like I should shill some beer or something.

LG: As long as it isn't Keystone, mate.

Back in Michelle's room, she slowly inhaled on an unlit cigar, then puffed out some imaginary smoke.

"Wow, what a situation the girls have found themselves in. Well, due to some shoddy editing-slash-laziness, we rejoin the action a little later," Michelle said. "Brace yourself to re-enter script-mode. Seat belts on? OK."

Kara Yoki: I'm sure the jobber thought we were like, five wallflowers at an orgy. And then Wilma actually yells, "We're just five virgins."

Wilma: What, you guys aren't?

Michelle (voice): Everyone looked around guiltily. Is guiltily even a word?

Inutu: But once we started fighting, it's like we knew what we were doing. Kinda like sex...ercise.

Wilma: Sexercise?

Inutu: No, I said exercise. Dirty girl...

Claire: Yay for me bouncing his head off the cage. Did you see how bloody he was? Little Good said he was bloody bloody. Which, OK, nice work by Kennedy with the low blow to soften him up a bit for me.

Kennedy: We all did good. Even if I was the one to bust his kneecap. Not that I'm bragging or anything.

Kara Yoki: She popped her cherry.

Kennedy: The rush was like...

Inutu: Exercise?

Michelle (voice): All the girls, but Wilma, laughed.

Kennedy: Yeah, exercise. With Kay Fabe. All I know is...I'm a woman now. I've slayed a jobber.

STJS: Hey guys. Anybody ready to exercise with me?

Michelle (voice): Everyone but Wilma busted out laughing. Back to novel-mode in three, two, one...

"There we are," Michelle said. "Yes, even in the face of danger, these girls were laughing. At least for tonight. Usually there were in tears of boredom after having to listen to one of Sarah's speeches about the difference between good and evil. Of Slayers and Jobbers. I had planned to take snippets of her speeches, but I accidentally dropped the tape in the toilet. And peed on it. But don't tell Sarah. And Sarah, if you're watching this, just kidding! Anywho...this was a very trying time. After all, all of the Shaggies were crammed into one house. Little Good often joked that we were living like Mexican immigrants. Which, I guess isn't racist since he's from England, or something. The potential Slayers. Sarah. Me. Xamfir. Jeannie. Principal Blackman. Little Good. Kay Fabe. It wasn't because we were trying to be united or whatever. It's what we had to do to scrape by on our puny BOB paychecks, obviously."

Michelle ejected a tape and inserted a new one.

"New friends Kennedy and Kay Fabe were reaching a crisis moment, though they didn't know it yet. Since it's kind of a disgusting concept, here's the family entertainment version....hmm...there really is no way. Well, let's say that somebody put a curse on Kay Fabe where if she had a certain type of, well, exercise, with Kennedy, at a certain time of the month, then something bad would happen. Due to the graphic nature of that videotape, you can send me $19.95 and I'll gladly burn you off a DVD. But here's what happened afterward in the afterglow in Kay Fabe's love shack."

Kennedy: I love you.

Kay Fabe: Kay Fabe loves you too, honey.

Kennedy: Since when do you speak in the third person?

Kay Fabe: What are you talking about, jabroney? Kay Fabe is NOT talking in the third-person. Don't make Kay Fabe take you on a ride down to the corner of Domino Rally Drive and Tip Over Ave...whoawhoawhoawhoaWHOA! Why in the BLUE HELL is Kay Fabe talking in the third-person? And when did my voice get so deep? And when did my chest get so flat?

Michelle (voice): That's when Kennedy turned on the light. Then screamed. Then fell out of bed and crawled into the nearest corner.

Kay Fabe/The Domino: Eep!

[Static.]

Michelle (voice): What the heck is this? We’re in a courtroom and Sleazy-C is on the stand and Trey Vincent is dressed up as a judge? Oh no! I hear bad rap music playing in the background. Don’t tell me somebody taped over my Kay Fabe video! There goes all my money. Argh!

Sleazy-C: Fuck the LB, killing BOB with apathy
R.I.P. courtesy of the iAd
Killing feds, our business
Apathy, your sickness
Boredom, ratings through the floor
Be3cause we’re all ratings whores
It’s all about the iAd
Rest of you no one wants to see
Just Seth Harker, Steve Studnuts
Trey Vincent kickin’ butts
Swearing, drunk, sleazy backstabbing
Two hours of the great ones blabbering
On and on and on and on
BOB keeps airing at the break of dawn
So we’re driving viewers away
We won’t be happy ‘til BOB’s dying day
Now we’re bookers, we’re in control
Fuck the LB, iAd’s on a roll!

Michelle: And there’s the jury, made up of the old JWA (Jobbaz Wit’ Attitudez). How old is this tape anyway?

JWA: Fuck the LB! Fuck the LB! Fuck the LB! Fuck the LB!

Michelle (voice): Is the LB LilBOSS? I sure hope so. Ohhh no. Here’s Trey.

Trey Vincent: I don’t rap, I sports entertain

SC: Yo man, you wrote this song!

TV: Sports entertainers can’t rhyme

SC: No way man, I think you’re wrong

TV: Want TV to give it a try?

SC: The Rock did it...where’s my bong?

TV: In sports entertainment I am king
Ruler of the sports entertainment ring
Big time fist drop, coming down
Compared to TV, all are clowns

SC: You crazy muthaphucka!
You’re a rhyme machine

TV: Damn it Kool, don’t interrupt me!

SC: I ain’t Kool!

TV: You’re a fool!

SC: Fuck you TV!

TV: Fuck you J.D.!

SC: Fuck the LB!

TV: Fuck the LB
Political mastermind of 2002
Hey LB, fuck you
Let’s finish this song, it’s too long

SC: Gotta bore the readers
These lyrics are so unique, we’re leaders
Rewriting the rules of the game
Watching us phuckers you feel dirty, ashamed
The humor its gone, we’re dirty and cruel
That fucking LB is as dead as DJ Cool
Little crowds, little mind, little BOSS
Our balls are big and you hada get tossed
We’re running this show or canceling
Your product was embarrassing
A joke, so clean, so little talent
Your jobbaz can’t even pay the rent
We’re gonna put this place out of its misery
Or bring it to the level called legendary
Fuck the talentless, the jobbaz day’s here
All you bitches better run in fear
Cuz we’re running things in BOB
The JWA is the booking mob

TV: Hey yo, you mean iAd

SC: Fuck you Trey

TV: No, fuck the LB!
Now the crowds are so late
I gotta go masturbate
To Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" videotapes
BOB’s infected, BOB’s been raped
Die, BOB, die, we’re taking over
I’m leading these jobbers to the top!

SC: You fucked up that rhyme

TV: I hired you to rhyme

SC: You wrote these lyricz!

TV: Suck my peniz.

SC: I ain’t no fag

TV: Your bitching like you’re on the rag

SC: Are we gonna keep busting balls?

TV: Until I hear last call

SC: You’re drunk as phuck

TV: MY rappin’ sucks, I’m done

SC: That all you gonna say?

TV: Trey Vincent is the icon

SC: LB’s a phuckin homo, he’s so gay
FUCK THE LB!

"Alright. Well. Um. I’m back. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s amazing what writer’s block will do to some people. Anyhow. Kay Fabe turned into the Domino. It turned out that Detached Narrator pulled in the services of Sabrina The Twenty-Something Witch. Kennedy was forced to kiss a man to her disgust to break the spell or something like that.

"Now, among the many problems swirling around the Shaggy Gang, the latest was between Principal Blackman and Little Good," Michelle said, slowly stroking her unlit cigar. "And it all started over Little Good's leather jacket. Or so he says. It all started one day."

She popped in a tape and pressed play.

PB: I don't like you.

LG: No?

PB: No. Because I don't trust you.

LG: Well I don't trust you either.

PB: Nice jacket. Where'd you get it?

LG: New York.

PB: Really? Where in New York?

LG: What do you care?

PB: I used to work in the city.

LG: I can't bloody well remember. I was drunk of my arse at the time.

PB: What size is it.

LG: Extra large.

PB: It looks soft. Is it soft?

LG: Softer than Sarah's hairless flat bottom.

PB: Italian?

LG: 100 percent Italian moo cow.

PB: Pockets?

LG: Spacious and copious.

PB: Inner pockets?

LG: Where else do you think I hide my flasks?

PB: Warm on cold days?

LG: My jacket's like the ocean mate. It's warm in the winter and cool in the spring and fall. But smelly in summer.

PB: How much you pay for it?

LG: About $70. That was back before when I had a decent paying job. Y'know. Before BOB. You got some kind of leather trenchcoat fetish, mate?

PB: I'm just naturally curious.

LG: You know what curiosity did for the rat.

PB: Rat?

LG: Curiosity killed the rat. That or eating trash. I always get my history mixed up.

PB: Did you even go through a school system?

LG: Like diarrhea, mate. Nothing stuck and I came out even messier than when I went in.

PB: Say, wanna go download some mp3s and play with guns?

LG: With you? Yeah, I ain't got anything else to do at the moment. Though I did plan on watching some paint dry. No difference to me.

Caption: A little bit later.

LG: What's this place then?

PB: This is a place I go to get away from things. A sanctuary, if you will.

LG: A wooden shack in the middle of nowhere. The Unabomer would be proud.

Michelle (voice): The boys entered the shack. Blackman switched on the light.

LG: Bloody hell!

Michelle (voice): Bananas were strung up everywhere along the walls of the shack. Nailed to the walls. Hanging from the ceiling. Bright yellow ones. Spotted brown ones. Unripened green ones. But mainly, the rotted brown and black remains of bananas.

LG: What is this?

Michelle (voice): Blackman walked over and turned on an iMac computer. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a trash can lid. And a pair of nunchucks.]

PB: I told you, it's my sanctuary.

LG: You got a monkey in leather trenchcoat fetish then?

PB: No. I had something else in mind. Namely, breaking your knee cap and taking your leather jacket.

LG: You know, you could go buy yourself a jacket of your own and let me live.

PB: On this salary? You must be joking. No, no, it'd be much easier to beat you up and break your knee. Your Achilles heel.

LG: And your gonna break my heel? Well, then, you, just bring it on, tough guy.

PB: Oh, I'm gonna bring it. Street fight. Oh wait. Would you like some entrance music?

Michelle (voice): Blackman clicked on an mp3 of "Talk Dirty to Me" by Poison. Little Good's trigger song. He immediately grabbed his head in pain.]

Caption: Flashback. Bloody Olde England. The '80s.

Michelle (voice): A small child with the familiar peroxide-colored hair walked down a short hallway. Yes, before he was Little Good, he was Very Little Good. The faint sounds of music could be heard behind a doorway. Very Little Good knocked.

VLG: Mum?

Michelle (Voice): He put his hand on the knob and opened it.

VLG: Wait a minute. Why is mum dancing 'round with a shag carpet around her legs. And why is mum's chest so droopy. Bloody 'ell!

Michelle (voice): Very Little Good dropped to the floor as the sound of "Talk Dirty To Me" played in the background. Little Good sucked on his thumb, staring catatonic, his jaw locked in petrified horror.]

Caption: Sorry. Back to the now.

*THUNK*

Michelle (voice) Blackman hit Little Good over the head with the trash lid.

LG: That was cheap. The screen was still all wavy. I couldn't see you coming.

*THUNK*

LG: Fool me twice, shame on you.

PB: I'm well-schooled in the art of using trash can lids as weapons.

LG: Yeah? Well my brain has a doctorate in feeling no pain.

*THUNK*

LG: OWWW! Bloody hell, that hurt!

*THUNK*

LG: OWWW! Stop it you wanker!

PB: Where'd you get that degree? The School of Soft Knocks?

*THUNK*

PB: Captain Peroxide goes down. One. Two. Three. Ten. That jacket is mine now. I'm am gonna look damn pretty in it, too.

Michelle (voice): Blackman rips the jacket from Little Good and puts it on.

LG: (From the floor) I'm sorry.

PB: You're sorry? *Punch* Sorry? *Punch* Sorry ain't gonna cut it pal. You've endangered this mission from the start. And you've been looking like Euro-trash for way longer.

LG: I'm sorry for that flashback. I don't give a piss about you. But the poor viewers shouldn't have been subjected to my portly mum dancing around in the buff.

PB: That jacket should have been mine! My mother was going to buy me that jacket, had we been living in New York at the time and been at that shop moments before you.

LG: Riiiight. Well I guess your mum didn't care about you to let you take her credit card and go on a huge spending spree before she reported it stolen.

Michelle (voice): Blackman tries for a jumping thrust kick. Little Good grabs the leg and spins him to the floor. Little Good winds up huge and delivers a full out punch to Blackman's skull, knocking him to the floor.

LG: I had repressed that flashback for several shows now, probably due to Detached Narrator. Which means I'm not under his control anymore. I may need some therapy, but I'm not gonna go postal on anybody 'round here. But what am I gonna do is take back my jacket and walk out of here a winner. With both kneecaps intact.

Michelle (voice): With that, Little Good ripped the jacket off of Blackman and walked out of the shack. And with that, we head back to...me.

"Hi!" Michelle said, waving to the camera. "With both kneecaps intact, indeed. Blackman and Little Good's sexual tension finally came to a head. And Little Good was victorious. Now, with our story finally reaching its climax...after, what, a three month wait or so?" Michelle said, trying to figure out how long it's taken to write this damn show...you'd think Skeeter wrote it. "But I digress, gentle reader. For our head booker is lazy. Both of them now, apparently. But again I digress. New faces were heading to Cloudydale, as well as some familiar ones. And we switch over to script mode in three, two one."

Generic Dead Girl: Ahhhhh!

Michelle: Sarah had been out with the Gang and Potential Gangstas when that scream pierced the night air. How's THAT for drama, eh? Hehehe.

Sarah: That sounded like it came from the ring at the old Sutherland place!

Michelle: The girls--

Xamfir: Um, hello?

Michelle: And Xamfir.

Little Good: Hey!

Michelle: And Little Good all ran off toward the source of the scream. At the old Sutherland place, they saw a girl lying on her back in the middle of the ring.

Little Good: Jackpot!

STJS: Excuse me?

Little Good: Um...nothing.

STJS: Mind controlling the necrophiliac impulses for just two minutes.

LG: Bugger off.

Kennedy: Who could do something like this.

Wilma: Like, what, exactly?

Kennedy: Leave such a hot chick alone in the ring.

Kay Fabe: Hey! Standing right here.

Kennedy: I'm not saying I would...I'm just saying...girl...all alone on her back.

Kay Fabe: And kinda dead. Not to mention generic.

Xamfir: And probably underage. Humina, humina, humina.

Jeannie: Oh my god. You want to cheat on me like all these other cheaters?

Xamfir: What? No. Noooo.

STJS: I don't even see what's so hot about this dead girl anyway.

Kennedy: You do realize she's just pretending to be dead, yeah?

Generic Dead Girl: *Cough*

STJS: Stop breaking character!

GDG: Sorry. Whoops!

STJS: Who attacked you?

Xamfir: Uh, Sarah. Generic Dead Girl's, well, dead.

STJS: Oh, right.

Voice: I saw who attacked her. AHHHHHHH!

Michelle (voice): That's when everybody turned around and saw the palest and most tattooed Slayer on the planet. That's right. Eliza "The Jobber Slayer" was back in town.

Eliza: AHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHA! Hey, SARAHHHHHHHH!

STJS: Damn, damn, damn. I think I know who attacked this girl now!

Michelle: Sarah charged toward Eliza and wound up. She delivered a punch to Eliza's jaw.

Eliza: Hey! I didn't attack her! AHHHHHH! It's a good thing you still punch like a girl! AHHHHHHH!

STJS: And it's a bad thing you still haven't tried this little invention we call toothpaste.

Kay Fabe: So, Eliza, still insanely crazy?

Eliza: No. I've actually been adding words to my vocabulary so I don't just scream all the time. AHHHHHH!

Kay Fabe: Yeah. Impressive.

Little Good: So what did our O.J. look like?

Eliza: O.J.?

LG: The guy who attacked this dead girl?

Eliza: The guy used a reverse backbreaker with a Spanish twist. He looked about 5-11. About 150 pounds. He wore a black fedora, a black unitard with long sleeves, covered by a long, black mesh coat and combat boots.

Sarah: That could be anybody. Oh, if only Styles were here. He'd know who we are looking for.

Voice: What's t'e matta? Not stayin' up on yer Slayer research?

Sarah: Bianca "The Jobber Slayer"? What are YOU doing here?

BTJS: T'e bookers never killed me off like t'ey were s'posed to.

STJS: Oh. And did you always have that horrid Jamaican accent?

BTJS: Yes.

STJS: OK.

ETJS: AHHHHHH!

STJS: Eliza, that's Bianca. Bianca, Eliza. We're all Slayers.

BTJS: Anyway. T'e man who attacked t'e dead girl was Mr. Paradox.

STJS: Mr. Paradox? Don't tell me he's an agent of the Second?

BTJS: He's an agent of the Second.

STJS: I asked you not to tell me that.

ETJS: AHHHHHHH!

STJS: Well. This is quite a shocking turn of events in just a few minutes. Eliza returns. Bianca returns. Mr. Paradox kills one of my Potential Slayers. Mr. Paradox returns to the ring with a portable blender.

BTJS: Portable blender?

Mr. Paradox: Yoink!

Michelle: Mr. Paradox grabbed the bananas out of the hands of Kennedy and Inutu. He quickly put the bananas into the blender and hit the squishify button, grinding the weapons into mush. He took the lid off and pulled out a handful of mush, tossing one load into Kennedy's face, then another into Inutu's face. The Shaggy Gang retreated, trying to save them from being bananaed.

STJS: Huddle up everybody. OK. It’s time for war. We’ve got Eliza and Bianca. We’ve got a bunch of girls ready for a big fight. So Xamfir, go get him!

Xamfir: What? Huh? What? Me? What? Huh?

Masked Announcer: The following contest is an Eye For An Eye match. Introducing first, from Dimension Z, by way of Hot Springs, South Dakota, it's Mr. Paradox!

Shaggy Gang: Booooo!

Mr. Paradox: I'm going to kill you all. Me and Detached Narrator.

Shaggy Gang: Booooo!

Masked Announcer: And his opponent. From right here in Cloudydale!

Shaggy Gang: YAAAAAY!

Masked Announcer: It's Xamfir! Let's get it on!

Xamfir: With the dead girl?

Shaggy Gang: NO!

Xamfir: Oh, the match. Right. Not afraid of you, Mr. Paradox. No siree. Say, Generic Ref, what are the rules of the match?

GR: First guy to lose an eye loses.

Xamfir: *Gulp*

Styles: OH MY GOD! I'm Styles, here to call this EXTREME match! You want see anybody losing an eye up in Stamford! Or down in Nashville. Only here in BOB. Where the budgets are low and blood is spilled in buckets for no fathomable reason! And Mr. Paradox and Xamfir lock up in the middle of the poorly put together ring. Mr. Paradox slips Xamfir into a headlock. OH MY GOD! He's going for the eye early.

Mr. Paradox: If thine eye offends, pluck it out!

Xamfir: Pluck you! Jeannie. I wish Paris Hilton would appear and flash Generic Ref to distract him!

Jeannie: Paris Hilton? Can't it be somebody less skanky?

Xamfir: As long as she's hot and has boobs.

Styles: OH MY GOD! It's Miss Universe Jennifer Hawkins! She comes strutting down the aisle and THERE GOES HER DRESS! OH MY GOD! She lost her dress again! She loses her dress when she walks down any aisle, apparently. Generic Ref is sufficiently distracted. Mr. Paradox has Xamfir's eye! OH MY GOD!

Xamfir: Jeannie! I wish my eye was back in my head!

Jeannie: Done and done.

Styles: Xamfir lowers his hand from over his bloody eye. MY GOD! It's a miracle! Xamfir's eye is in tact! And the Ref never saw the eye! This match is gonna continue! OH MY GOD! Generic Ref is watching Miss Universe walking the aisle and losing her dress. There goes Xamfir's eye for a second time! Paradox rushes toward Generic Ref, but Xamfir just made another wish! OH MY GOD! He's healed again. How many times can Paradox poke Xamfir's eyes out and NOT win this match?

STJS: Generic Ref's losing interest. Claire. Flash Generic Ref. You've got the biggest boobs here. Besides Xamfir.

Claire: I'd only take off my clothes for Playboy.

Jeannie: Here's a Playboy. The current issue with some blonde on the cover. Now flash the ref and help me save my man. Or I'll wish you into a world where you have A-cups.

Claire: Fine. Whatever. Hey ref, take a look at THESE!

Xamfir: Jeannie! Please! I need my eyes. Now!

Jeannie: Hold on. I don't want you to look at her breasts. You can only look at mine.

Xamfir: I wish my eyes were in my head.

Jeannie: I bet you do.

Xamfir: Some genie-slash-girlfriend you are!

Jeannie: Promise not to look at them?

Xamfir: No!

Jeannie: Well then you can wait til her shirt's back down. And her heaving bosom isn't jiggling up and down. Wow. Those are really nice.

Claire: Thanks. I'll tell my doctor you like his work.

Styles: Claire lowers her shirt! Xamfir's eye is healed! The match continues to continue! We've had supermodels losing their skirts and Potential Slayers losing their tops. What else will be lost here tonight? Probably an eye! Possibly right now! ... OH MY GOD! Mr. Paradox just slipped. His thumb just went into Xamfir's eye! And Xamfir is screaming! Oh god, no! Paradox pulls out his thumb. OH MY GOD! OH GOD! THAT'S REALLY HIS EYE!

*Thud*

Michelle (voice): As Styles vomited and the Shaggy Gang looked on in horror, they all realized what had just happened. It could all be summed up with Mr. Paradox's reaction.

Mr. Paradox: Eww.

Michelle (Voice): Having just legitimately blinded Xamfir, Mr. Paradox slid the eye off his thumb, dropped it on the mat and ran away as fast as he could. And the censors put up a gigantic CENSORED black patch over Xamfir's head. And I return to narrative...

"Now. So here's the thing. The Shaggy Gang has absorbed a couple tremendous blows as we head toward the final confrontation. Two members of the group bananaed. Xamfir losing an eye. I'll be honest and say I don't know if we're all gonna make it through the last battle. If we win, the jobbers will remain in the minority. And we'll continue to fight their numbers back. But if the Second wins. The jobbers will finally accomplish their mission. To take over Cloudydale. BOB. And then the world." She sighs. "Good night. And I hope I don't die a virgin."


© 2004 BOB Wrestling. This show took longer to write than last year’s March Mayhem! Pray for me!

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

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