Brawlers On A Budget

>> home
>> upcoming shows
show archives
> 2008
> 2007
> 2006
> 2005
> 2004
> 2002
> 2001
> 2000
> 1999
>> forums
>> roster
>> title history
>> rules
>> application
>> eWrestling wiki
>> credit
>> links

Sunday Morning Chloroform Logo

It's Like Three's Company But Funnier

[Live? You've got to be kidding me. No, but BOB is in Wacahoota, Florida at some undisclosed high school gymnasium, and can you really blame the high school for not wanting to let the world know they let a BOB event go on there? Let's go see which big losers are calling this show tonight.]

Mikey Styles: Hello everyone, and welcome to BOB's Sunday Morning Chloroform. I'm Mikey Styles.

Scotty Whatbody: And nobody cares.

Mark MS: Get ready for the greatest SMC EVER!

SW: For once, I have to agree with you. Tonight, it's Nurse Heidi and Candy Cantaloupes in a Lesbians In Pudding Match. It just doesn't get any greater than that!

[Nurse Heidi walks out to the announce table.]

Nurse Heidi: I'm NOT a lesbian! No matter WHAT happened at Stupid Bowl I.

SW: Close enough! WOO-HOO!

[Heidi stomps away.]

SW: I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave. But you know why else this night is going to be great? Mark Shill has to defend his title against the Pope!

Styles: Got any last words, Shill?

MS: Fans, as your Alliance Hero Champion, I believe I am safe in saying, that I am, without a shadow of a doubt, THE GREATEST BOB ALLIANCE HERO CHAMPION EVER!

Styles: OH MY GOD, you are SO dead.

SW: Thank God I brought my cigars. Hey, maybe they could use them in that lesbian match too!

NH: (From across the room): STILL NOT A LESBIAN!

SW: Did you hear something?

[From over the big boombox at Eddie B's DJ table, "new, new, new, incurable Apathy disorder" was heard, followed by the playing of "N.W.O." by Ministry.]

Styles: OH MY GOD! The iAd is here in Wacahoota!

SW: And they're here in full force. Steve Studnuts, Trey Vincent and Seth Harker are heading down the aisle.

[The 150 or so fans in the bleachers booed for the bad heels. For the bad real sports entertainers. One fan raised a sign saying: We Don't Want Entertainment, Go Back To… Hmm...apparently he ran out of space on his sign. Dumbass.]

Styles: Will you stop insulting our fans?

[Why, they all suck! Yes, even YOU. Yes, I'm talking to you. The one reading this right now. BOOO! Fuck off and die.]

Styles: Fans, I'd like to apologize for the cheap heat antics of Detached Narrator.

[Your next BOB Swiss Army Champion. Thank you.]

Trey Vincent: Alright, BigBOSS, get out here now.

BigBOSS: Yes?

TV: What the???

BigB: I've been out here the whole time. Didn't you notice?

TV: Apparently…not. OK. Now. The great Steve Studnuts has something that he wants to get off his chest. Now, I know it's been many months since we heard this guy speak, so I'm sure you can just imagine how pissed off he is. So Mr. Studs. The microphone is yours.

[Trey takes a swig of alcohol from a small vial. And he wonders why he didn't notice BigBOSS.]

Steve Studnuts: I bet all you fuck knuckled bastards are wondering why the great Steve Studnuts hasn't graced you fuckers with my fucking beautiful fucking words for so fucking long. Well fine, you want words, here they fucking are.

Studs: First of all, Hell to all those that suck and bore.... which is pretty much everybody outside the iAd. And that, jerkweed..... IS A FACT!

Studs: It's real simple. I'm back in BOB again, not because I have to, but because I WANT to. Ya see, there's just something liberating about beatin' the shit out of some guy and gettin' paid to do it. And you know as well as I do, I don't need the dough... I just like punchin' somebody's face into his gatdamn neck hole. Ya dig?

Studs: I've made enough money that I don't need to wrestle. Shit.... I don't even have to WORK. ANY-way, while you all struggle to entertain like the immortal icon of coolness, Trey Vincent, and the comical whimsy of intelligence that is Seth Harker... let it be known that we laugh out loud in your pathetic faces.

Studs: You guys suck. So just leave. You ain't gonna do shit, because if any of you try to stand up to the iAd... I'll personally take your frail little frame and bend it backwards... Then I'll shove your heads so far up your own asses you can all collectively become the first people in recorded history to eat a second helpin' of your dinner from the previous night...

Studs: FROM INSIDE YOUR OWN GATDAMN STOMACH!!!! Notice all those exclamation points? I'm serious. And so is Trey. And so is Seth. You have been warned. And why is this possible? Because... I'M STEVE STUDNUTS! And you're close not even in the same fuckin' area code... BUT I KNOW.... YOU WISH YOU COULD BE!

[Trey snatched the mic back from Studnuts.]

TV: Seth, you can speak next. But first, let's get to some plot development and dramatic, stuff here. BigBOSS. It's time to end this crap once and for all. No, Trey Vincent doesn't mean end BOB. He means no more of this 33 1/3 booking control crap.

TV: He means let's put it all on the line in a tournament that can't be controlled by anybody. Not you. Not Trey Vincent. Not Totally Face. Not that bitch Sarah. Not LilBOSS, Medium Sized BOSS, The Right Hand Man, The I Still Haven't Thought Of Another Name For This BOSS BOSS or any of 'em. Trey Vincent says BOB needs one leader. One man. And that man is Trey Vincent.

Studs: Umm, Trey.

Seth Harker: Who picked you again?

TV: Um. And if it isn't me, it'll be Studs or Seth. Phew. That was a good cover. So. BigBOSS. March Mayhem 2003. Put total booking control on the line. If you've got grapefruits the size of watermelons!

Seth: Need to polish up your game in the Xtreme Death Kill Kill Fed?

TV: I'm under the influence.

Seth: Of alcohol?

TV: No. BOB! But, BigBOSS, what do you say to my insane idea?

[BigBOSS nodded. The crowd popped HUGE.]

BigB: No I didn't!

[BigBOSS is TAUNTING the iAd!

TV: You son of a bitch!

BigB: No! I'm not! Detached Narrator! STOP IT!

[BigBOSS is MOONING the iAd! The crowd is eating up the rebel spirit of the owner of BOB.]

Studs: You better disappear scumbag....and don't fuckin' come back unless you're invited. Which most likely will be never. Ya dig?

[BigBOSS ran away like a pussy. You pussy.]

BigB: I have no control over my own legs. Damn you Detached Narrator.

[We cut to the announcers to clean up the plot-holes.]

Styles: Well, the last two years, the goal was to crown a new ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS. This year, it's for the coveted 'head booker' slot of BOB.

SW: Coveted? More like cursed. You remember what happened to J and Nate, don't you?

Styles: Who?

SW: Not to mention DK. And that other guy there. And those other guys.

Styles: Well fans, this year in March Mayhem 2003, I understand from the rules wrestlers holding titles at the time seeds are announced will get higher spots in the tournament, and those without titles will be seeded lower. So anyone who wants a better spot in the rumble better get a title belt!

MS: IT'S GOING TO BE OUTSTANDING AND INNOVATIVE! And you can only find this action in BOB!

Styles: And we are ready for the first match of the night I think.

[Some music plays. The crowd sits and watches as the SMK, Snapmare Kid is out!]

Styles: OH MY GOD! SMK is BACK in BOB.

SW: He was back at Stupid Bowl I.

MS: I don't know WHAT Scotty is talking about. WHAT A MOMENT! You only get moments like THESE in BOB! SMK's got the stick.

SW: You're looking at his package?

SMK: Fans. Romans. Countrymen. The SMK is back!

Fans: ...

SMK: Now, the SMK may not be what he used to be. I injured my wrist for this business. For you people. The FANS.

Fans: ...

SMK: To cut to the chase, Hardcore JJ, since I'm back from a minor injury, that means I deserve an ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS shot! I want you tonight. Not to wrestle. Because God knows the SMK has enough trouble opening pickle jars these days. And don't even get me started on tomato sauce. But I could go for a good-old fashioned fight. So Hardcore JJ. I think it was you who gave me that warm milk, rendering it impossible to tell the difference between right and wrong, and then you dared me to snapmare SpongeBob. Well, SpongeBob injured my wrist. And now you're gonna pay the Snap-Marer. The S. M. K!

SW: And that is why SMK never gets the microphone.

[Sounds of cookie jars breaking fill the high school gymnasium.]

Styles: Hardcore JJ is HERE! And he's going to accept the challenge of Snapmare Kid.

SW: JJ is in the ring. Oh and he's opening up a sippy cup full of whoop ass on Snapmare Kid.

Styles: JJ whips him into the ropes. He jumps up. Oh, right into SMK's crotch. Couldn't get much height on that jump there.

SW: SMK's gonna need to take another unpaid vacation I think. Not like the $7.34 per show is helping him much anyway.

MS: $7.34?

SW: Yes.

MS: This is the blackest day in the history of Mark Shill's life. SMK makes more than I do?

SW: And you're surprised...why?

Styles: You suck.

SW: Boatloads. You suck so much I know suffer from Post-Sucking Distress Syndrome after every show we call together.

Styles: You suck so much you should be called "Sir Suckalot."

SW: Wasn't that Sir Hungalot's brother?

Styles: Let me consult my videotapes...

SW: You carry your videotapes out here with you?

Styles: Just my travel pack. No, Scotty, I believe you were thinking of his sister, Madam Suckalot.

SW: Sister? Wasn't that his wife?

Styles: That WOULD have made more sense, wouldn't it.

SW: Far less incestual overtones. And despite what Mark Shill claims, incest is NOT best.

Styles: Indeed.

[The bell sounds.]

Masked Announcer: The winner of the match, Hardcore JJ!

Styles: OH MY GOD! What happened?

SW: To what?

Styles: The wrestling match!

SW: Looks like Hardcore JJ won.

Styles: Yes, I realize that. But HOW?

SW: I don't know. Can we go to instant

Styles: We don't have instant replay.

SW: Well, I'm sure the fans saw it, even if we didn't. But the winner, and still ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS HARDCORE JJ.



[A rock suddenly crashes down on the table, breaking it.]

Pre-recorded crowd chant: HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT!

Styles: OH MY GOD! Did you see that rock just destroyed our E-Z Break Announce Table?

SW: That Rock?

Styles: OH NO!

Pre-recorded crowd chant: ROCKY. ROCKY! ROCKY!

Styles: A star is born.

[Screw that, a hardcore legend. Did you see that bump!]


[<----Gimmick genius! An actual rock...and we will call him That Rock. Thank you Styles. You and me own BOB.]

Styles: I'm not on your team.

[Are you saying you're a blatant homosexual?]

Styles: NO!


Styles: I'm not any kind of homosexual. I love women.

SW: Hey look, JC Long is heading out to the ring. Was he scheduled to be here?

Styles: Oh, you didn't get the rewrite?

SW: Rewrite?

[Sounds of papers shuffling.]

SW: It's JC Long! I wonder why he's heading out to the ring. Oh wait, that's why. Because of the restraining order angle.

Styles: Stop reading ahead. Now everyone will tune out that they know why he's coming out.

SW: *Pffft* Yeah, THAT'S the reason they're tuning out.

JC Long: I just want to let the world know that I am sick of being harassed and stalked. So I got on the phone with my lawyer and the cops and just to let everyone know, it is now official. I have put a restraining order on the Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind Hardcore Title Belt!

Styles: OH MY GOD!

JC Long: And if you don't believe me, or this folded up piece of paper in my hands that most definitely is not blank, then take a look at this!

[He points at the TinyTron. Everyone squints to see what's on the blurry 13-inch monitor.]

Styles: That's the AYOOYFM's class room! Since we don't have locker rooms here tonight, everyone was assigned a class room. Hell, it's better than the usual cram into a van behind the arena.

SW: Yeah, especially when Heidi refused to change in there with the rest of the boys. This is actually a stroke of, well, not quite genius by the BigBOSS. I'm guessing we're going high schools until we die, huh?

Styles: It would seem that way. Oops. Let's listen to the pre-taped segment, joined already in progress.

Actor Dressed Up Like Police Officer: ...consider yourself served.

[ADULPO shoves a folded up piece of paper against the AYOOYFM Title, which only glares at ADULPO, emotionlessly.]

JC Long: Do you see the venom in his eyes? Oh yeah, he wants me bad. But that's TOO BAD. You ain't gonna get me! So, "Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind" Title Belt, you have to stay 100 feet away from me at all times.

[Dennis heads down the aisle and gets in the ring.]

Dennis: Pardon me dear boy, but how do you plan on winning the "Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind" Title from the "Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind" Title Belt if you can't get within 100 feet of it?

JC Long: Well that's easy, I...umm....shut up!

[JC Long leaves the ring.]

Dennis: Good show.

[JC Long comes back into the ring.]

JC Long: It's simple. I'll withdraw my restraining order on him.

[The TinyTron lights up. It's a live picture of the AYOOYFM Title Belt. It's sitting on top of a desk beside the belt it won at Stupid Bowl I, the Inordinate Championship. Behind it, on the chalkboard, dozens and dozens of Polaroid's of JC Long are taped up.]

The AYOOYFM Title Belt: ...


[He hops out of the ring and runs up the aisle, and out of the gymnasium.]

Styles: What mind games the AYOOYFM Title Belt is playing here. The double champion looks intent on using whatever means necessary to defend himself and his newly won Inordinate Championship belt.

MS: Well fans, I must leave you for a moment. Because it is time FOR THE GREATEST TITLE DEFENSE IN THE HISTORY OF BRAWLERS ON A BUDGET. Mark Shill vs. Pope John Paul II!

Styles: See you in 30 seconds.

SW: I bet 20.

Masked Announcer: The following contest is for the Alliance Hero Title. Introducing first, without any music, no doubt signaling the squash police, here is Mark Shill.


SW: Wow, crowd doesn't like him.

Styles: That wasn't the crowd. That was Detached Narrator. What's up with our crowd tonight. Doesn't anybody care?

SW: About BOB? Styles, I don't even care about BOB.

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BigBOSS: Mental note: Cut Whatbody's salary.

[Back to ringside.]

SW: DAMN IT! Detached Narrator!

[MWAHAHAHAHA. I am King Heel. Nobody can touch me. Unless I write it to be so. Check out my amazing power.]

Ashanti: Whoa. Where am I?

[Hey baby. How's it going?]

Ashanti: Other than being here with you, no complaints.

[Oh come on girl. Once you get Detached, you never want to be back together again.]

Ashanti: What the hell does that mean?

[Less perplexed, more sex. *SLAP* Hey!]

Ashanti: Aww. I'm sorry.

[Some Barry White begins to play. Sexing up my new woman. Me likes the dark meat.]

Ashanti: Maybe I've been unfair. Anyway I can make it up to you?

[Well, "it" is already up. But maybe, *ahem*, you could make it go down?]

Styles: And the Pope is heading down the aisle, apparently figuring it was just another Eddie B track screw up. And we're ready to get this match underway.

[Ohhh, baby. Oh yeah. That's it honey. Right there.]

Styles: And the bell sounds. I guess the Detached Narrator will be of no help with us

SW: For the remainder of this 30-second squash match. But after that, he should have nothing else to do.

[Yeah baby. Take it, take it, take it!]

MS: Pardon me guys, but would you like me to call the match, FROM the RING in the most INNOVATIVE IDEA EVER!

SW: Sure, knock yourself out.

Styles: OH MY GOD! It's THE COMMENTATOR! The Commentator is in the--

The Commentator: I'll take if from here, Styles. The Commentator is in the ring, and OH, I deck Mark Shill with a hard right to his chubby face. I stand and accept the cheers of my adoring crowd, victorious over the man who claims to be innovative when I was the first to call my own match! But uh oh, The Pope doesn't look happy that I'm interfering. Either that, or because I'm not Catholic.

PJP2: You're not?


The Commentator: OH NO. The Pope is laying the smack down on me. Oh what a stiff punch to my jaw. He's whipping me like a government mule. I'm running like a pet coon, but oh no, Pope has caught me and slams me! I'm reeling. I can't move. But the Pope is bouncing off the ropes for the most religifying move in sports entertainment...The Papal's Elbow! And now that I'm out of the way, The Holy One covers Mark Shill. ONE! TWO! THREE!

MA: The winner of the match, and NEW Alliance Hero Champion, The Pope.

[Beat it bitch. Alright, I'm back. Let's move this show along. We head backstage for A-GLIMPSE.]

Styles: What the hell is A-Glimpse?


Styles: Oh, I get it. This is like a rip-off of F-VIEW. Without the clever title behind it. Must be one of Kamkorder Kid's bright ideas.

SW: He's still alive?

Styles: Well, the iAd is backstage. There they are.

SW: Backstage?

Styles: Oh, right. In their private classroom. Dear lord, look at all the bottles of alcohol on the teacher's desk. There's no way they can drink all that.

SW: I don't know. Studs is pounding away on the bottle of champagne right there. And Vincent vs. vodka is a longtime rivalry that Vincent has constantly had the upper-hand in, aside from a few occasions where vodka had him taking a few trips to the toilet in defeat.

Styles: It's been a bloody war alright. Does Harker even drink?

SW: I can't tell. The TinyTron feed is too fuzzy. Whoa, Studs just belched. And Vincent answers. Somebody just farted!

Styles: I think that was the Pope.

SW: Well, I didn't say it was in the iAd room, did I? That old man doesn't have control of his bowels anymore.

Styles: Is that enough of the A-GLIMPSE segment?

[Sure. Since "Takin' Care of Business" is playing, that means my old buddy is on his way out to the ring. Dressed in a French maid's outfit. Ewww. That's just disturbing. Damn, I'm good. Somebody in the audience whistles at BigBOSS]

BigBOSS: Thank you sir. OK. Onto business. Everyone, but mainly me, forgot the purpose of the Undefendable Title. Well, not really the purpose, but we basically forgot to book it into the shows. But this is 2003. A brand new year. So the rule is this. The Undefendable Title has been held for too long. It's time for somebody else to carry it around. The title can't be defended, but it can be awarded by me, the BigBOSS, to whomever I think deserves it. So...let's give it to...Dude Whose A Dead Ringer For Clinton!

[That presidential song plays and Clinton walks down the aisle with a saxaphone strapped around his neck and smoking a cigar. He gets in the ring and blows a puff of smoke in BigBOSS' eyes, YES! Look at that freak stumbling around.]

BigB: Detached Narrator! You're SO dead whenever I get my vision back. Here's your title.

Clinton: Thanks dude. You know. First of all, I want to state, that I did not have sexual relations with this man to get this belt, no matter how he's dressed. Though I was tempted, I did not falter.

["Undies" by Biz Limpkit begins playing, interrupting Clinton in mid-acceptance speech.]

Clinton: This is highly unexpected. Hey, any chicks wanna play Swallow The Leader?

Styles: OH MY GOD! It's Randy Handi! The former Undefendable Champion. And he doesn't look happy!

SW: Not to mention he doesn't look normal, good-looking, intelligent....the list goes on and on.

Styles: Let's see what Randy has to say about this development.

Randy: MRGH!

Clinton: Listen my big friend, I just want you to know one thing. I think you are a great competitor. I am not trying to distract you with my raspy voice. And I want you to be the first person I defend this title against. Of course, the funny part is, I can't defend this title against you. And if you don't mind, I have some wood to go stain.

Randy: MRGH!

Clinton: Listen my big friend, I am still not trying to distract you from my two allies who are strategically moving themselves into position to inflict some aggression upon you.

Styles: The Man Who Looks A Bit Like Nixon and Guy Who Slightly Resembles LBJ are in the ring. Oh no. The presidential look-alikes are stomping away on Randy.

SW: Setting up the obvious six-man match at a future date.

Styles: Naturally. But here comes Undietaker and Khan! And look at the presidents go running.

SW: And the taped crowd noise sure doesn't like the presidential look-alikes.

Styles: It looks like Dennis is going to try and catch up with the president guys.

Dennis: Gentlemen. If I can interrupt your girly fleeing, I'd be curious to learn what is the name of this new alliance?

[Clinton, Nixon and LBJ stared at each other.]

Nixon: Dead President Society?

Clinton: No, the 1600 Club.

Nixon: Oh, right, that was it.

Dennis: The 1600 Club?

Clinton: Yes.

Dennis: Care to speculate?

Clinton: Not at the moment.

LBJ: All you need to know is that....we are going to bury this place in bureaucracy!

Dennis: Oh dear. Well fans, it appears, WHOA!

Styles: OH MY GOD! Undietaker and his Handis just ran over Dennis, and the chase heads out the doors. Mark? You back with us now?

MS: No. I think I need to go have some therapy from Nurse Heidi. My neck is really aching. It's the WORST PAIN IN THE HISTORY OF SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!

Styles: Well, what are we supposed to do for a color commentator?

Albert DeSalvo: Hello there.

Styles: Ahh! Where'd YOU come from?

Albert: Boston. You?

Styles: My basement in Connecticut.

SW: So, you like prostitutes, huh?

Albert: Like? Not particularly.

Styles: This show is getting dangerous now. Why do we keep hiring alleged killers?

Albert: Pardon me, Styles?

Styles: Yes?

Albert: Would you put this outfit on?

Styles: Why sure, I...hey WAIT A MINUTE! This is a prostitute outfit!

Albert: Oh, you don't normally wear high heels, black stockings, a short black-mini skirt and a low-cut red top?

Styles: No, not normally. Just on a few occasions when the need arose.

Albert: Fine. But don't set me off or it'll be all over for you. Try me. I'll strangle you like a hooker.

Styles: Ohhhhhkay. Moving right along....It's time for RVD to face off with DovE. You know DovE pretty well, don't you Albert?

Albert: No. Not at all actually. I'm pretty much a loner.

SW: Well, DovE is one scary dude. No offense Albert. But..

Albert: Offense?

SW: This should be an easy win for RVD.

Albert: If you believe nipple script, I'd have to agree.

["Freebird" begins playing, and out walks DovE. He walks down the aisle, smiling and waving at all the fans.]

Styles: And he's going the extra effort to go to the bleachers to shake their hands. All of their hands. Oh crap. This is gonna take a while. Fans, we'll be right back.

Albert: All I know is if they start calling me A-Trayne, I'm gonna grab BigBOSS by nipple throat and kick his box all around nipple room.

Styles: Welcome back everyone!

["Walk" by Du Hast Group plays, bringing out the angry German RVD. I'd put his whole name, but it's too hard to spell.]

Masked Announcer: The following contest is gonna suck. It's for the UNRECOGNIZED ONLY COMMUNIST WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. Introducing first, still shaking hands with a few fans, DovE. And his opponent, RVD. Let's GET IT ON!

Pre-recorded crowd chant: R-V-D! R-V-D!

SW: Crowd's all over RVD...wait a second. Isn't he a heel?

Albert: Look at that idiot DovE. He's shaking every stupid fan's hand. He's gonna have so many germs.

Styles: RVD is going after him. Look at RVD, shoving aside the loyal BOB fans. The ones we screw over week after week but still can't seem to get rid of.

SW: As the old saying goes, try until you succeed. Speaking of which, maybe I should go see if Heidi needs a pre-match workout.

Styles: Don't you leave me with...


Albert: What's wrong, Styles? Don't you like me?

Styles: You're great. But now we're down a heel commentator.

Albert: Are you saying I'm not a good enough heel? BUT THIS OUTFIT ON RIGHT NOW SO I CAN STRANGLE YOU!

Styles: NO!

Albert: DAMN YOU! Stop foiling my plans. I'll get you yet!

Styles: OH NO! Check out the action in the crowd!

DovE: Hello RVD. I will be with you once I finish shaking the hands of these super awesome fans.

Styles: RVD didn't like that one. OH MY GOD! He just threw DovE down the bleachers!

Albert: Man, he must have had some practice on strangling prostitutes.

Styles: RVD is about to fly! OH MY GOD! From the top of the bleachers all the way to the floor! A SIX-STAR FROG SPLASH!

Albert: Not bad. For a German.

DMD: Hi ya.

Styles: Ohhhh, NO! Why are YOU out here now?

DMD: Oh, most likely to brawl with Albert and set up a future match.

Styles: I see.

Albert: That sounded like a threat to me, DMD.

DMD: Did it now?

Albert: Yes.

DMD: Well it wasn't. So what are you going to do about it?

Albert: I'm going to--


Albert: Shut up you moron. This is nipple least thought out gimmick I've ever seen.

DMD: You will pay The Bill! The longer you put off our confrontation, the more it is going to hurt you.

Albert: I'll strangle you with dental floss.


Albert: Didn't like that one, did you, DMD?

Styles: Guys, there IS a match going on. RVD has tossed DovE back into the ring. And now he's got a chair.

RVD: Will you hold this for me?

DovE: Sure. But wouldn't it do MORE damage if I held it here?

RVD: Yes. Yes it would, you pig.

DovE: Anything to help!

Styles: DovE is set up in one corner of the ring. He's going for the, um...Von Terminazunator?

Albert: Sure.


Styles: OH MY GOD! RVD just tripped! He's down!

DovE: *Gasp* ROB! Are you OK?

Styles: DovE is going to check on him. OH MY GOD! He's giving RVD mouth to mouth!

Albert: It also appears as if the referee is counting as DovE is doing that chest thing there.

Styles: There's the bell! You've GOT to be kidding me!


Dr. Doomsday: Hold on a second! (He produces a book from somewhere. Nice description, huh?) According to the rules of THE ONLY COMMUNIST WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS, there is no way that the title can change hands if the winner of the match administers CPR on RVD during the match. That is just too many three letter acronyms. Thus it says in Chapter 7, Subsection D, line 23. Read it and weep, Masked Announcer, you big communist pig, you.

Masked Announcer: *Ahem*. Right. The winner, but not new champion, DovE.

Albert: Is DovE ever going to *stop* giving nipple mouth to mouth. It looks like RVD is sitting up now.

DMD: Hey DeSalvo?

Albert: Yes?

DMD: I've got your wallet. Now you can't go solicit any prostitutes.

Albert: You. Are. About. To. Make. Me. Stop. Talking. In. One. Word. Sentences. And KICK YOUR BOX!

[Fighting noises are heard as Styles runs for his life. So, we'll go check out another iAd segment via A-GLIMPSE. This time, Trey is in the school cafeteria. A slutty looking chick is bouncing her head to some music playing on a jukebox.]

TV: Hey darling.

Slutty Looking Chick: Hey.

TV: Is your seat taken?

SLC: Pshaw.

TV: WTF was that?

SLC: Hey, I just read my lines and get my free cola. That's all I know Trey.

TV: Fine. So....(he grabs her hand). Wanna be on TV?

SLC: Sorry, TV bores me.

TV: Is it cold in here, or do your nipples have frostbite.

SLC: Will you...

TV: I'm a certified breast inspector. Let me check those for you, that condition could be life threatening. Will you allow me to administer treatment.


[The sound of a slap, Trey's head being smashed into the table and then him tipping over in his already drunken state. He began chuckling on the floor and then got up and found the next closest chick.]

Dude Whose A Dead Ringer For Clinton: Hey baby. Ever had a taste for power?


Clinton: Aww. My cigar.

[Outside of the school, a short bus came to a stop. Off stepped Coma, GBH, Sleazy-C and a few other regular BOB-sters. After the bus drove off, they started heading into the school. But before Sleazy could make it inside, he heard his name called.]

Voice: Sleazy.

Sleazy: Who dat?

Voice: Sleazy. I've got a contract....

Sleazy: A contract? I betta b the 1 gettin most tha Benjamins.

Voice: Oh yeah, you are.

[Suddenly, a group of men in cloaks charged at Sleazy, surrounding him, and hitting him with various letters of the alphabet. Mainly the letter "g", perhaps trying to beat the language back into him? Oh, I see a "t" "w" and "o" being utilized. "E" and "r" are also in the mix.]

Sleazy: Dayyyyyyym.

[The group puts Sleazy into a giant sack and tosses him into a van. The group of cloaked alphabet-wielding thugs look around, get inside and speed off to wherever the hell they're going. But OH CRAP! Why I am worrying about this crap? It's time to get ready for my big TITLE WIN! And since Styles and those other two idiots have cleared out the area, I'm going to take this one all by myself.]

Masked Announcer: Laides and gentlemen, this

[Laides? God you suck. I don't need an introduction. Here I am. The Almighty, GOD-LIKE Detached Narrator! And here come my opponents, out to some generic poppy music that sucks, Violent Pacifist and Massive Man Rendition First, that Josh fellow. If I cared, I'd have to wonder how they might work together since Josh is out of Totally Face. But I don't. Now. The rules are simple. You can't win. The sooner you realize this, the easier it will be on both of you.]

MMR1: Sounds like somebody needs a shot of Joshitude!

[How you gonna fight me? You can't even get near me.]

VP: He's got a point there, Josh.

MMR1: It's Massive Man Rendition First. Do you want to be a disciple of Joshitude?

VP: Umm. Let me think about that--no.

[MMR1 sucker punches VP.]

VP: Hey man.

MMR1: I didn't do it. Even though I should.

[VP punches MMR1 back.]

VP: I don't want to fight you.

MMR1: You're not SUPPOSED to fight me. We're supposed to fight Detached Narrator and retain our title.

VP: My title, you mean?

MMR1: Yes, my title. That's what I meant. Not this we crap. Do you even realize I haven't defended this title ONCE since I won it?

VP: Are you sure?

[What are you two doing? Stop talking and lay down already.]

VP: Excuse me?

[I am DETACHED NARRATOR! Tremble in fear before me!]

MMR1: Beat it.

[That's it. I'm gonna deal with this the only way I know how. Suddenly, MMR1 morphs into Jasmin St. Claire and Violent Pacifist morphs into Jenna Jameson. Both of them stand there a minute and then fall flat on their backs. Yep, right where they belong. Detached Narrator appears in the ring finally and pins both women. ONNNNNNE. TWOOOOO. THREEEEEEEE! I RULE YOUR WORLD BITCHES! YEEEEEEEE HAW! While I go and celebrate with Jenna and Jasmin, why don't you all go see what the Slayaholics are up the women's locker room?]

Kay Fabe: Hello Michelle. Kay Fabe couldn't help but notice you smell dirty. You should go take a shower.

Michelle Monroe: You're so silly.

KF: Yes. Silly. Michelle, these last few weeks, or however long it's been since Stupid Bowl Part 2 aired, have been magical. Now granted, Kay Fabe is a witch, but Kay Fabe means magical in a different way. Kay Fabe has had this magical feeling down low.

Michelle: How, down low exactly?

KF: Down in the pie region. But Michelle. You have made Kay Fabe the happiest sexiest redheaded wiccan lesbian possessed by the spirit of an allegedly dead parody sports entertainer in parody sports entertainment today. And Michelle, will you marry me?

Mike "The Monotone" Monroe: NO!

Michelle: MIke? Where did you come from? I didn't see you come in.

Mike: The door. But Michelle, I made a mistake, don't marry her, please. I'll do anything.

Sarah "The Jobber Slayer": Hey guys, what's up?

KF: Kay Fabe just proposed to Michelle Monroe.

STJS: Wow. Shock me, why don't you.

Mike: Michelle, I need you back. I need you to cook my meals and wash my dirty clothes. And the living room is really dusty. Come on baby. Can't we work it out.

Michelle: Well...

KF: But Michelle. Who gives you that funny feeling? Kay Fabe does. Mike Monroe is about as --

Little Good: And people say I'M mad. That I'm crazy. You're all crazy.

KF: Hey, Kay Fabe was in mid-insult.

LG: Bloody hell. The Mayhem is coming. And we're all gonna die. BOB is going to die. And we're going to be swallowed up by it, digested and flushed down the bleedin' toilet.

Michelle: Hey, wait a second. I just got a bad feeling. If I marry you....didn't that old guy die in that angle?

KF: Angle? What's an angle? Nobody's going to die.

Michelle: You don't sound very convincing. That, and why are you standing behind me?

Death: Nothing. Just, sharpening my scythe. *Hmmm hmm hmmm.*

LG: From 64, down to 1. A new evil will rise.

STJS: Great. A new big bad is coming. Just great. Guess I better cancel my hair appointment.

Mike: Wait, wait, who is she?

[Everyone looks at the newest person to enter the room.]

STJS: Yeah, who are you?

Bianca "The Jobber Slayer": I am Bianca. "The Jobber Slayer."

LG: One little, two little, three little Slayers. Four little five little six little slayers. Seven little eight little nine little slayers. Hey, wait a minute. A new Slayer is called when the old Slayer jobs. So why are you here?

BTJS: Apparently, sumbody jobbed.

STJS: Me? I don't remember jobbing...

LG: What about when you lost the Gluttons For Punishment match?

KF: Or at Wrestlestarrmaniacade?

Mike: Don't forget StupidBowl I. I know I never will.

KF: Sarah in bra and panties, my lips against hers, and Heidi's in the same night. And then a night of passion with Michelle Monroe. What more could one Lesbian want?

STJS: Guys, don't help.

BTJS: So you've been jobbin' for a while, haven't ya?

STJS: I thought it could only happen if I was pinned? Wait, so does that mean there are, like, four other Jobber Slayers?

BTJS: Why don't ya just check Styles' phone bill?

STJS: Styles called you?

BTJS: Apparently, he just remembered to read his Commentators Rulebook. And he's doing a bit of catching up.

STJS: But...I've already lost my powers when I sacrificed myself for Angel in the Royal Battle Battle Royal. I want them back, don't you get that? Without my Slayer powers, I'm not me!

BTJS: Yes. And there's only one way to get them back.

[It's time for another A-GLIMPSE. This time, we find Seth Harker sitting alone, tapping his fingers on the desk. He looks to his left, to his right, then under his desk. He smiles widely and pulls out a…comic book? He slowly opens it up and begins reading, a happy grin on his face. He chuckles a bit at something he's reading. Suddenly, a door crashes open and the sound of bottles rattling on the floor is heard.]

TV: Watch where you're going scrub!

Studs: Shaddup jerkweed!

[Meanwhile, in the bottle-falling, insult hurling chaos, Seth has switched books, and now is reading "Another End Of The World." Studnuts and Trey stare at him.]

Studs: That is one weird son of a bitch. Wanna go pay some kids to do some "Jackass" stunts?

TV: Now, THAT's a good idea. We can just blame MTV. You're a genius.

Masked Announcer: The following contest is a Lesbians In Pudding Match.

Styles: As you fans can see, they have brought a kids wading pool out here to ringside.

["Maneater" begins playing, bringing out the most popular member of the BOB roster. And no, it isn't because she shares the name with a porno star. No way. And why would so many sickos want to do a search for her?]

SW: And we'd like to welcome all those losers. Hopefully they'll enjoy what Candy Cantaloupes is going to do for free here. It's gonna be hardcore. Hey Styles, think any wacahootas might pop out during the match?

Masked Announcer: Introducing first. Candy Cantaloupes!

Styles: Candy is decked out in a red and white bikini, and the crowd is sure loving this so far. Look at her, putting her toes in the pudding.

Styles: Scotty?

SW: Huh?

Styles: Um, your line.

SW: My, huh?

Styles: Oh man. I'm flying solo for this one I guess.

[And her opponent, Nurse Heidi.]

MA: What the? That was my line!

[It was? Oh, my head's not thinking clearly either. I'm with Scotty. Whatever. I'm shutting up now and watching this match.]

Heidi: Look. I want to say this again. I am NOT a lesbian!

Styles: OH MAN, Candy just grabbed Heidi, who is in a beautiful short white mini-skirt and white bikini top and dragged her into the pudding. Oh, look at the women. They're both completely covered in white pudding! Oh man, Candy just threw a handful of pudding at Nurse Heidi, blinding her! Oh, this is BRUTAL!

SW: Man, maybe I should grab a handful of the pudding, put it in my pants and tell them I've got a pudding pop they can

Styles: ALRIGHT, stop right there.

SW: You know, both of these girls are claiming they're not lesbians.

Styles: No, actually, Heidi was the only one.

SW: Well, as the old saying goes, the proof is in the pudding. This is a Lesbians In Pudding match. Can't get much clearer than that. They must be lesbians because they're in pudding and I am so aroused right now. You know, sometimes BOB gets things right.

Styles: Yep. Usually when it involves women in degrading matches. Oh, but Heidi puts Candy's head between her legs.


Styles: And Heidi is slapping Candy's ass! OH MY GOD, this is EXTREME! But Candy reverses! Candy backdrops Heidi into the pudding! And look at that white stuff splatter in every direction.

[You saw that?]

Styles + SW: WHAT???!!!!

[Um, nothing.]

SW: WOOHOO! Candy fell on Heidi's face! Oh baby. This is great!

Styles: And now, Candy locks on headscissors! Oh man, those are some strong thighs right there. Will Heidi tap out?

SW: I'm sure Heidi is loving this just as much as me. She could last an hour in that hold. I know I could.

Styles: Let me guess, you're a lesbian trapped in a man's body, right? But wait. Here comes Heidi.

SW: I bet she's a screamer!

Styles: I meant she's getting up. She's gets out of the hold. Both ladies get to their feet. Heidi with a spin kick! Candy goes down!

SW: Man, there's so much lesbianism going on here, I love it!

Styles: Heidi is down on top of Candy!

SW: Oh, if this isn't a freeze frame moment, I don't know what is. Well, wait, could we have Sarah, Kay and Jeannie come out here too?

Styles: And Heidi gets the win! She retains the title! Heidi comes out on top

SW: Proving she is indeed a lesbian.


Styles: Damn it, when did YOU get back?

MS: Just now!

MA: The following contest is for the Pork & Beans Round The World In 80 Days Tag Team Titles!


MA: Oh?

SW: Those smelly guys missed the bus.

MA: Hmm. Which ones this for then? OH. Here we go. This one's for the Tag Conqueror Titles.

SW: Oh no, it's that Big D song no one's ever heard.


Crowd: *silence*

=<>: FUCK.


Crowd: *hesitant cheer*


Styles: This team is a disgrace even to us.


MA: And their opponents. The champions. Mr. Intensity and Coma.

SW: Is it just me, or does Masked Announcer just not care anymore.

Masked Announcer: I cared before?

[But instead of having a match, we have A-GLIMPSE in the boys' room. Steve Studnuts is looking in a mirror.]

Studnuts: Maggot pie! Nope. Doesn't quite have that ring.

[He walked over to the next mirror.]

Studnuts: Dickface! No…that ain't gonna do it.

[He shuffled down to the next mirror.

Studnuts: Pussbucket! nah..

[Studnuts headed into a stall and took a piss, not bothering to pull up the seat, or flush. Heh, you're lucky he zipped up before turning around and starting over at the first mirror.]

Studnuts: Pillow humper! Hmm…no.

[To the next mirror.]

Studnuts: Pussy-ass! Gat damn. Ahh, fuck it.. JERKWEED! Yeah, that still works...Ya dig?

Styles: And we're back. And apparently we're joining this match in progress. After more stuff that supposedly puts over the iAd. It's more like overkill in my opinion.

[Real reason: writer's block. Thanks BigBOSS.]

MS: Mr. Intensity lights himself on fire to lock in the Intense Bear Hug! LOOK AT HIM BURN

Styles: He's trying to lock in either of the smilies




SW: And Mr. Intensity is down!

Styles: And Spaceduck begins eating him right there.


Mr. Intensity: You call that eating! I COULD EAT ME BETTER!



Mr. Intensity: Somebody get me a fork!

Coma: Poink!

Styles: OH MY GOD! Mr. Intensity is EATING HIMSELF! Fans...we need a break....and I need to vomit!

SW: Now THIS is entertainment!


Styles: We're back, and sadly, this match is going on. This is our main event after all. Guess the show can't end til this match is over.

SW: Unless we're in the mood to be real dicks this week.

Styles: During the break Coma goes under the ring and pulled out a computer keyboard. Spacecop and Spaceduck are wondering what a complete moron can do with a keyboard...

SW: Can he even spell 'Poink'?

Styles: Well, he's tapping on various keys......OH MY GOD. He just typed in the equal sign (=), then the letter C, and then a right bracket! Now what's he doing? He's...he's OH NO! HE JUST ACCIDENTALLY MADE IT BOLD!


Coma: I am the Lord of the alphabet. Big rutabagas are everywhere. Launch the torpedoes. Starboard. NEEP!



SW: Coma just hit the delete key! Will that have any effect on Spacecop?


SW: And he hit it AGAIN!


Coma: AHH! The Christians are coming! Beware the wrath of Khan. Get your hands off my brother's anklepants!

Styles: Meanwhile, Mr. Intensity, who was still eating himself, passed out finally.





Coma: Poink!

SW: He hit the delete key again!

Styles: Has Spacecop been eliminated?



SW: Oh man, he's no-selling the delete key.

Styles: Well, it appears as though it's down to Coma and Spaceduck.

=<>: DIE.

Styles: OH MY GOD! Coma just threw the keyboard at Spaceduck!

SW: What a MORON!


SW: And Coma is running like a little girl, away from the deadly smilie.

Styles: How is anybody supposed to win this match? Festering Death doesn't have any shoulders, they can't be pinned.

SW: Not to mention the massive no-selling they're doing.


SW: And Spacecop hits random symbols!



SW: And the shocking thing is that this isn't even hyperbole.

Coma: Poink?

Styles: OH MY GOD! Spaceduck just hit Coma over the head with a comically huge hammer! Where in the HELL did he get that?


SW: You don't... no... wait... huh? What the fuck?

Coma: Trousers.....below.....narf....*falls over*



Styles: Now, all they have to do is PIN Coma!



=<>: I DUNNO.

[Detached Narrator: For the sake of the sanity of myself, I'm putting Spacecop's smiley back to normal.]


[It's good to be loved. Oh yeah, and in a shocking turn of events, Coma got up and jumped on top of both smilies, pinning them, 1, 2, 3 in a really big screw job as payback for not loving me.]


[Oh wait. I'm a an even FURTHER shocking turn of events, that referee is shown to have been taking a bribe from Coma, so the decision is thrown out and Spacecop and Spaceduck tackled Coma and pinned him for the 1, 2, 3!]



[Umm.....nah, that's alright....but I'm sure I can get you all the corpses your, um...punctuation marks desire. Look at Mr. Intensity's corpse. It's just laying there.]


SW: Oh god, NOW I'm going to be sick.


[Picture goes dark.]

© 2003 BOB Wrestling. Digging new lows with every show. China has got to be close now.


© BOB Wrestling!

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.