A dark screen. The sound of footsteps is heard as the TVM logo appears in the upper left hand corner of the screen. There is a buzzing noise and then there is light. We see a hand pulling away from a plug. Above the plug are the hand-written words: PLUG MY HOLE, BIG BOY!
You Can't Spell "BOOB" Without "BOB"!
["Taxman" by the Beatles begins playing as we get various shots of the streets of New Jersey. BigBOSS is driving a gas guzzling SUV because he can, while nervously looking in the rearview mirror. In the rearview mirror, we can now see why. The familiar green and white vehicles with the green sirens are in hot pursuit of the most wanted tax cheat in U.S. history. That’s right, the I.R.S. are on his tail. After puffing out some smoke, BigBOSS quickly cuts the wheel, doing a stunt-like 180-degree turn and blows past his pursuers. BigBOSS turns into the Buttzville Arena parking lot and gets out of the SUV. The words Brawlers On a Budget flash on the screen as the song comes to an end. Fade to black.]
[We fade in on BigBOSSes office. BigBOSS is playing Tiddly Winks on his desk as the camera pans around the room to discover LilBOSS tossing pencils up at the ceiling, and then quickly diving out of the way as none of the pencils hit the ceiling tiles properly. Trey Vincent is at another desk, feet up, smoking a cigar. In the far corner of the room, Steve Leary and John Skeet are quietly playing Madden Football, which is a little odd, because the game is on.]
LilB: Does it feel more crowded in here than usual?
TV: Yeah. It’s like the ceiling is lower and the floor is higher.
BigB: That’s just the 16:9 aspect ratio.
[Trey and LilBOSS look up and down at the new letterbox format.]
TV + LB: Oh yeah. Look at that.
LB: Very cinematic, BOSS.
[The door opens. In walks Mrs. Behave (BigBOSS’s wife) and Michelle Vincent (Trey’s wife).]
BigB: Hey! Hey! This is our office. No girls allowed.
MB: What are we? Ten?
TV: Only mentally.
MV: Hey, Daddy.
BigB: Hello, Michelle. How was announcing school?
MV: Good. I got some great tips on Victoria’s Secret. (To Trey) Hey, baby.
TV: It’s still so weird that you’re her father now. God bless the United States legal system.
BigB: Well, we needed a scapegoat.
[Mrs. Behave nudges him.]
BigB: Heir! Heir! Did I say scapegoat? Silly me. Where’s my mind at?
MV: So, where is everybody? There’s like, nobody left in BOB.
TV: Sure there is. It’s just, now, a bunch of them went back in time with Detached Narrator on their secret mission of doom that sort of backfired on us.
BigB: And some of the others demanded raises. I offered raisins. They declined.
[BigBOSS pops a handful of raisins into his mouth.]
BigB: Now that’s good eatin’.
MV: Really? So who got released?
BigB: Bride. The Drudleyz. Super Gluey. Domino. Igpay. Luke Warm. Urine. Nic Flare. Britney. Christina.
MV: *Gasp* The Hardcore Divas? How could you?
TV: It’s OK. They’re used to getting fucked over.
[Skeeter and Leary laugh.]
LilB: Besides, I hear they’re making boatloads. I had no idea so many guys had a scar tissue fetish.
TV: There were too many women. There are still are too many women. Sure, our female insomniac demographics were through the roof, but… This is a man’s sport.
[Mrs. Behave and Michelle cross their arms.]
TV: OK, hiding your breasts won’t change our minds. It’s just business. Seriously. Stop hiding your breasts! Please?
LB: We have two women as our champions already. Guys don’t want to see girls with superpowers. The fad is dead.
MV: Misty Waters doesn’t have superpowers.
LB: She has the ability to drain batteries without even breaking a sweat.
TV: Whatever. We’re gonna get BOB straight this morning.
BigB: Yep. So, Trey. Have you decided?
TV: Yeah. Trey Vincent is going to return to the active roster. And no doubt push himself to the moon.
LB: Won’t Studnuts be pissed at you?
TV: Yeah. So won’t the rest of the roster. Trey Vincent is gonna put Triple H and Kevin Nash to shame, baby!
BigB: …So…did we cover all the major plot points in this intro?
TV: I think so. It was a long off-season.
LB: Say, who booked the card?
BigB: How long until showtime?
TV: About an hour.
BigB: Oh, we’ve got plenty of time.
[Knock on the door. Leary answers it.]
SL: Well….well it’s the Wig Show!
WS: You wanted to see me?
TV: I wouldn’t say I wanted to, more like I have to. Come in. Look. Trey Vincent doesn’t have time to pussyfoot around with you. You need a new gimmick.
WS: What? Why?
TV: Dustbuster Boy said so. Me? I’m fine with you wearing a wig and whatever. But…yeah. We’re in charge.
WS: Do you have any ideas.
[Everyone laughs hysterically for several minutes. Then...finallly...]
TV: No. None at all.
LB: Creative bankruptcy.
WS: OK. Well, I’ll go think up a new gimmick then.
TV: Good. You do that, genius.
[Cut to backstage. A dirty white sheet has been hung up as a background for interviews. BigBOSS and LilBOSS are on screen as some cheesy ‘80s porn music plays in the background.]
BigB: This morning, I’m going to make everyone’s life a living heaven! Because in heaven, nobody needs money or their health! And one unlucky soul might even get a double BOSS beat down.
LilB: You mean, Kurt Angel?
BigB: Why’d you pick him?
LilB: He isn’t feuding with anybody at the moment.
BigB: A-ha! This means war, Angel! I’ll teach you for not being involved in a feud! I’ll have you face, LilBOSS in a Boulevard Brawl! Does that make me sound snobby enough?
LilB: Works for me.
[Now Kurt Angel is standing alone in front of the sheet.]
Kurt Angel: This morning, BOSSes, when I finally escape BOB and get back to Heaven, I won’t be letting you in with me. That’s right, boys. I’m not sharing my stash with you! Not false! So not false!
[Now Trey Vincent is standing in front of the white sheet. He’s holding the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!]
TV: That’s right, jackfucks! Trey Vincent is the new OWCTM! In a hard fought house show match in Puerto Rico, Trey Vincent defeated Sarah "The Jobber Slayer"! Unfair and unsquare, as usual.
[Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" walks into the screen and grabs the belt.]
STJS: Give me that back! I never lost to you in Puerto Rico! You stole this belt from my house!
STJS: I have the police report to prove it. (She pulls out a piece of paper.) Victim reports one BOB ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS belt, seven pairs of dirty panties and one bottle of Southern Comfort were stolen from her house.
[Trey throws a liquor bottle against the wall.]
TV: Oh, that could be ANYBODY!
Little Good (off-screen): Do I smell Southern Comfort?
STJS: Dude, let’s just settle this once and for all. This morning. You against me. Winner gets the belt.
TV: Don’t call me dude, bitch.
STJS: Don’t call me bitch, dude.
[Sarah and Trey get nose to nose. Trey quickly forces a kiss on her until Sarah cracks him in the head with the belt.]
STJS: You’re SO dead. This morning. On Sunday Morning Chloroform on Comedy Central!
[Cut to a white screen. Two black guys are seated with guitars.]
Man 1: Sunday Chloroform.
Man 2: Sunday Chloroform.
Man 1: Repeat.
Man 2: Repeat.
Man 1: Oww.
Man 2: Sunday Chloroform.
[douja walks by.]
Man 1: Hoo hoo hoo. Hoo hoo. Let’s start the show.
douja: we have to? shiiit.
[We enter the KY Jelly Arena in Buttzville, New Jersey, where a screaming crowd of about 200 is, uh, screaming? Quick cut to The Flunky, who is standing at the entryway with a microphone.]
Flunky: PYRO! PYRO! PYRO! P-P-P-PYRO!
[The camera zig-zags and eventually spins around and around, out of control, and falls. After a few seconds of gray static, the picture returns as the 2-Cheap-2-Own Monitor lights up with some bearded guy in a cowboy hat. Some generic country-ish rock music begins playing.]
Bearded Guy: Are you ready for some FOOTBALL? I mean, low budget WRESTLING! (He stops singing as the music screeches to a halt.) And that’s all they paid me for.
Styles: Hello everyone, and welcome to the year 2006! Welcome to Brawlers On a Budget. And welcome to Sunday Morning Chloroform! I’m Mikey Styles, and for the next two hours I will be joined by the lovely Nurse Heidi.
Styles: And what a way to kick off the show than with…
["This Is XXXtreme" by Harry Dick & The No-Tones plays.]
Styles: Never mind.
NH: Points for effort.
Styles: Triple X Treem, the *coughcough* You Gotta Be Kidding Me This Guy’s A Champion is on his way to the ring.
NH: So many young girls here this morning. I bet Scotty’s gonna be pissed he went back in time to 1997.
Styles: Especially since Comedy Central didn’t pick up Monday Nae Trous. But no doubt, BOB does boast some great female role models for these young girls. Sarah "The Jobber Slayer." Misty Waters. Michelle Vincent. Mrs. Behave. Kay Fabe.
Styles: Oh, right, how could I forget XXXtreme Machine’s girlfriend Marsha?
XXX: jorj boosh iz gawd!!!
NH: Usual cheap heat tactics by the blue-haired freak.
XXX: u jobles peses og jobles sgit smel wurs thn keng kungs harry azz!
XXX: im hardkorr! thas y i m the u got a b kidn me r u owt of ur fukin mynd i taint do n tat cgamp! Beecuz im sew hardkor!
["Taking Care Of Business" plays. Here comes BigBOSS, along with his personal bodyguards, Lock, Shock and Barry.]
BigB: Well, if it isn’t XXXtreme Machine.
XXX: whut teh fuk doo u watn bigbass
BigB: Well, at BOB’s last Send Us Money event, Grudge Match A-Go-Go, now available for sale on our Web site and at most grungy gas stations on DVD, you somehow managed to win that Brawlers On a (Budget) Truck Match, even though you weren’t booked to be in it.
XXX: im xxxtreeem!
BigB: Well. Our Bored Of Directors has decided that by you holding that title, it no longer has any value whatsoever.
XXX: mi bellt? Teh 1 toene hok n steev the dull cumpewtr guy 1?
BigB: Exactly. So. As of this moment there IS no You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Hardcore title.
XXX: nooo! ive ben robed!
BigB: Yes. Besides, I sold the belt on eBay to some dude in West Africa who claims it holds some god or something. He just wrote on and on about how he needed the belt to destroy the world, and I’m like, look. Send me your money, not your life story, pal. So give me the belt.
XXX: fuk u!
[Lock, Shock and Barry quickly circle in and begin pounding the hell out of him. Lock retrieves the belt from XXXtreme Machine’s bloody, limp hand.]
BigB: Thanks. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?
[Backstage, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" was tying her boots when she noticed a humongous shadow.]
STJS: I didn’t order any eclipses, did I? OH, hey, Wig Show!
Wig Show: Hey, Sarah. Can I borrow a banana?
Sarah: Sure thing big guy. Sorry I don’t have a ham to go with it.
Wig Show: Oh, I’m not making my banana ham. This is for someone special.
[The cameras cut to ringside, where Styles and Nurse Heidi have on their "the paycheck bounced again" faces.]
Styles: Fans, we have learned, just moments ago, that Atomo The Living Robot, the reigning Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer Champion, has been kidnapped. Details are very sketchy at this point, we don’t know who has taken him, where they’ve taken him or even WHO has taken him.
NH: You already said that.
Styles: Oh, right. Sorry. I meant to say, WHO-—
Styles: So, since Atomo isn’t here, I guess that means we have to fill up more time with interview segments~!
["Under The Knife" by AC/DC plays.]
NH: What? Dr. Thrilla got an interview segment?
Styles: Wait, Heidi. That’s not Dr. Thrilla. That’s, oh my GOD! It’s THRILLA LIFE! Dr. Thrilla’s rapping alter ego!
NH: Ah, so, instead of wearing bloody surgical clothes, he’s decided to wear bloody Fubu. Big improvement.
Styles: I thought Dimension Z went back to 1997?
NH: Apparently, he didn’t stay. I wonder if any of the other members of the BOB roster who call Dimension Z home will show up here this morning.
[Sound of papers flipping.]
Voice: ¡Según esta escritura gravemente escrita, sí!
Styles: Insano Mano? What are you doing here? I thought you were kicked off this show at Boo! Monday?
IM: ¿Desde entonces cuando tenga las estipulaciones importaron siempre a una compañía de lucha?
Styles: Can’t argue with that. Especially when I have no idea what you said. Can we please get some subtitles?
IM: De todas formas, estoy aquí ser un reemplazo más barato de Scotty Whatbody.
NH: So now BigBOSS is filling job openings with cheaper, illegal immigrants?
IM: ¡Justo como los Estados Unidos!
Thrilla Life: *Angry metal clanging*
Styles: Oh, sorry, TL. Let’s send it to the ring and Thrilla Life!
Thrilla Life: *Rhythmic metal clanging*
NH: Can he clang that?
TL: *Rhythmic metal clanging*
Styles: He did NOT just go there! Oh my god! How can Pete Trable sit back and take this verbal raping?
IM: ¿Usted no puede entender mi español de Babelfish, sino que usted puede entender su metalo clangingo? Poopooheado.
TL: *Angry rhythmic metal clanging*
NH: Thrilla Life has just called out Pete Trable! Will Trable answer the challenge?
["X Gonna Get Ya" hits and the crowd erupts in deafening boos. Fans begin throwing cups, chairs and small children at him.]
Styles: What an amazing response for Trable, the most beloved member of the BOB roster of ALL TIME!
[Cut backstage to Trey Vincent and BigBOSS, who are wearing headsets in the control room.]
TV: Think the marks will buy it?
[Back to the ring.]
NH: Trable isn’t coming out alone. He’s got a bag with him! A clear plastic bag! Whatever is in that bag could be lethal!
IM: ¡Hielo, hielo, bebé! Hombre, no pueden reservar este carácter para la mierda.
Styles: OH MY GOD! Thrilla’s got lighter fluid! He’s trying to set that oversized clock on fire! But Trable’s in the ring. Thrilla charges at Trable. CD! I bet Thrilla Life wishes that he skipped feeling that move.
NH: Was that an attempt at a joke, Styles?
Styles: I don’t write them, I just read them.
IM: Eso estaba más allá de hoja de metal. Usted debe estar avergonzado, quienquiera escribió esto.
Script: I am very ashamed. And fuck you.
Styles: Trable’s got the clear plastic bag. Oh my GOD! It’s hundreds of ICE CUBES!
[A fan in the front row holds up an "EARTH TO CREATIVE: STOP BOOKING TRABLE AS A FACE!!!" sign. He is quickly tackled and beaten by security.]
Styles: Trable picks up Thrilla. He punches. And punches. And punches some more!
[The boos from the crowd are deafening.]
IM: ¡Mirada! ¡Un ventilador acaba de saltar sobre la barandilla débil!
[The teenage boy grabs a steel chair and cracks Trable in the back. HUGE POP! Lock, Shock and Barry chase after the fan.]
Styles: Thrilla Life is up. He clocks Trable with the clock! CD ON TRABLE ONTO THE ICE CUBES! OHMYGOD!
NH: He could get, uh, cold from that! And those sharp icy edges. The horror. The horror.
IM: Trable que consigue tal calor del talón, está derritiendo probablemente esos cubos del hielo.
Styles: Thrilla Life is out of there!
NH: Think we’ll get a match when we come back? We’re only, what halfway through this show already.
Styles: Sadly, we’re not even halfway through.
NH: We’re not? It sure feels like it.
IM: ¿Usted falta Scotty?
NH: I definitely do not miss Scotty.
IM: ¿Es eso porque usted me encuentra sexual atractivo? ¿usted tiene gusto de tragar mi burrito?
NH: You better not have said what I think you just said you said.
Styles: Trable is up. And he’s smiling!
Styles: He’s chasing after Thrilla with that chair.
[Backstage, Misty Waters is staring at a copy of her latest straight-to-DVD softcore classic, "Inside Woman." The classic tale about a bank robbery orgy. Who comes up with this crap?]
Pigeon: Where is the moment we needed the most
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue skies fade to grey
They tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on
Pigeon: You stand in the line just to hit a new low
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go
You tell me your life's been way off line
You're falling to pieces everytime
And I don't need no carryin' on
Pigeon: Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
The camera don't lie
You're coming back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day
You had a bad day
Pigeon: What about me. What about PIGEON!!
Misty: Do you have a point?
Pigeon: You thought TODAY was a bad day. Wait until you put that title on the line against me. Against PIGEON~!
[Pigeon begins flapping his arms wildly.]
Misty: I knew there was a reason I swore off real men...
[Back to ringside.]
Styles: What a segment-packed show we've had so far!
NH: More! More! I want more segments! More interviews! More DRAMA!
IM: Esto es casi tan pathetic una demostración como que la compañía verdadera pondría hacia fuera.
[Backstage, Little Good was standing with a microphone near a metal door. In walked two former BOB champions! Yes, that's right, TWO former BOB champions. One of these two men held tag team gold, the Swiss Army Belt, the Up Yo' Ass Sucka title, not to mention he is a former ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! The other man held tag title gold on more than one occasion. Aren't you just dying to know who they are? Well, according to the BOB forums, we already know who they are, so I won't tell you.]
Little Good: Bloody hell! It's YOU! And YOU! What are you and you doing back in BOB?
[Isn't the suspense killing you?]: I don't know.
[Or am I just pushing it now?]: Yeah, nobody's told us what we're doing. If we're going to reform a certain stable. You know the one I mean, right?
LG: Not a bleedin' clue, mate. I don't even really give a rat's ass about either one of you. Trey Vincent just handed me this microphone and told me to go talk to the next two wankers who came through this door.
[Just wait a little longer for the payoff]: That's no way to treat US! We MADE BOB. Get ready, BOB, because MASS--
LG: Do what?
[Speaker's Identity Goes Here]: Huh?
LG: What did you make BOB do? Suck like a thirsty hooker? So you're the two tossers to blame?
[The two guys looked at each other.]
[The Former OWCTM]: Dude. We just got in. We're a little tired. And you're British. Do the math.
LG: I can't. I'm too drunk at the moment.
[Little Good falls flat on his face.]
[The one who wasn't an OWCTM]: Well, that was unexpected. Much like the return of....JIM "TOTALLY PACKAGED"! And Josh Massive Man Rendition First!
MMR1: That's right, Jim. We're back! But dude, I'm the one who deserved all caps, not you...Anyway, we don't know what we're doing here, but here we are, BOB! Feast your eyes on our creamy goodness!
[Back to ringside. Michelle is in the ring, stroking a microphone.]
MV: Ladies and gentlemen, this is our opening contest!
Fan in front row: It's about friggin' time!
Styles: Right after these commercial break!
Comichael brake goos hear?
Styles: And we're back! Oh, fans, you just missed one hell of a match! Let's take you back, courtesy of www.bobincomplete.com. BOB newcomer Angelfire was set to take on Rob Van Spam in what no doubt would have been a brutal, bloody war! It's a shame it didn't have a start, middle or conclusion, but maybe on the next show, the match will be finished?
NH: We can hope.
IM: ¿este medio que vamos a tener MÁS segmentos?
[Backstage, Dustbuster Boy was dustbustering his suit in the men's room when the door crashed open.]
Wig Show: Well…well it’s Dustbuster Boy.
Wig Show: I heard you don’t like my old gimmick. And you know what I had to do this morning. I had to think up a NEW gimmick. You bastard! Now I’ve got a splitting headache.
DB: Would you like to borrow a Tylenol? I have plenty.
WS: No. I thought up a new gimmick all right. But it wasn’t for me.
DB: Was it for Skeeter?
DB: Snapmare Kid?
DB: Rob Van Spam?
WS: Wrong again. It’s for you.
DB: Me? I’m the muthafucking Dustbuster Boy!
WS: Not anymore you’re not.
[Wig Show pulls out a banana.]
WS: From now on, you’re name is Monkey Spunk! Grab your ankles, bitch!
[Cut to the outside of the arena.]
[We head to the ring. I'm as shocked as you are.]
MV: The following contest is for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!
["Money" by Pink Floyd begins playing.]
MV: Introducing first, the challenger. The studliest man on the planet. And the man who can still get it up despite his heavy steroid usage. My husband, the next ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, TREY VINCENT!
NH: What's up with that laser pointed on Trey's chest? I thought those were outlawed at sporting events?
Styles: Are you kidding, Heidi? This place doesn't even have a metal detector. Or much of a security team. Look, there are drunk people over there shooting off illegal fireworks. And over there, see that fat guy making a bootleg of this event.
IM: Why would he waste the tape on BOB?
Styles: Not to mention that guy over there strangling that nun with a rosary.
NH: Great. I knew I should have brought my AK-47.
["Born To Be Wild" by Slayer plays, for some reason.]
MV: Ugh. And his opponent. The reigning bitch of the century. Sarah "The Jobber Slayer."
Styles: My Slayer certainly has held onto the gold for a long time now.
IM: Poco un demasiado largo si usted me pregunta.
NH: She is the real deal.
IM: Y no lastima que su tratante escribe todas las demostraciones. Neige sería tan orgulloso de la situación.
Styles: Pardon my channeling of Mark Shill for a moment, but this match has to rank as one of the BIGGEST in Sunday Morning Chloroform history.
NH: Maybe. We'll see. I've got a funny feeling that the fans will somehow get screwed out of this match.
Styles: Really? What makes you think that?
NH: Page 19 of the script.
[Sound of pages flipping.]
Styles: Oh...I see. Well, it could be worse, I guess. Fans, forget what I just said. This match won't be one of the biggest in SMC history.
NH: But feel free to keep watching to see the stupidity unfold. Chloroform in 2006, it's almost like rubbernecking at a car crash. You don't want to look, but you have to out of morbid curiosity.
Styles: We are ready to get this one going. Generic Ref holds up the title and here we go.
IM: Hey, hay un realmente pálido tattooed la perra que funciona abajo del pasillo.
Styles: Someone just ran into the ring and, she's...tickling Generic Ref? He collapses to the canvas and is laughing hysterically! What on earth is this?
[Sarah grabs the woman by the hair and tosses her across the ring.]
Eliza "The Jobber Slayer": AHHHHHHHAHAHAHA! I just cost you the title! AHHHHHHHH! (She sticks out her tongue, puts her thumbs in her ears and begins waving her fingers.) AHHHHHHHH!
STJS: Earth to dumbass, already the champion.
Styles: I'm not surprised by this chicken move at all. Trey would never risk losing cleanly to a woman. It would ruin him forever.
NH: More company is on the way. Members of the Skull & Bones Society are walking down the aisle. Skeeter, Leary, Kay Fabe, Seth Harker, Steve Studnuts...Death is here? I thought he went back to 1997?
Leary: Hello, Sarah. What, you thought the fun was over, just because you beat Death and beat us all up in Montreal? Please. We're heels! And like all good heels, we have a backup plan. And it's a BRILLIANT backup plan.
Skeeter: That's right. Please allow us to introduce Eliza "The Jobber Slayer"!
STJS: We've already met. Multiple times.
Skeeter: Oh. Well...here she is AGAIN, then. Bitch.
STJS: Bite me, Skeeter.
TV: Hey, Seth, don't you have the hots for Eliza?
SH: *Shifty eyes* No.
[Kay looks a little worried at her man, and then Eliza, who is smiling at Seth.]
TV: Well, it's highly irregular to bring in outside talent to challenge for the company's top belt, but I'll do it this once. Since Seth thinks she's hot.
[There is a loud scream of frustration somewhere in the rafters. Everyone looks up.]
[Trey Vincent collapses. He looks down at his chest. Which isn't bloody. He bangs on his chest and suddenly some red begins to seep through his white T-shirt. Did I mention he was wearing a white T-shirt? Because he was. I'm not too good with the details. With the whole being lazy. You know...]
Styles: OH MY GOD! Trey's been shot!
[Death kneels down beside Trey.]
Death: Oh, this doesn't look good.
IM: Ay-yi-yi. Detecto una pregunta del cliffhanger.
Styles: But now the question becomes...WHO SHOT TV?
NH: We'll be right back with the Boulevard Brawl right after we get Trey's corpse out of the ring.
TV: I'm not dead yet, bitches!
Leary: It's a miracle! Brilliant!
TV: Hospital? Pronto! And some booze?
Styles: Who shot TV?
PRETEND THAT A COMMERCIAL GOES HERE! Like, uh...don't forget to watch the Colbert Report and Daily Show with Jon Steward repeats every Monday! In the spot that WOULD have been BOB's new show! PRICKS!
[Back at ringside, the fans are chanting "We want refunds!" clap, clap, clapclapclap.]
Michelle Vincent: The following contest—
MV: Is a Boulevard Brawl!
Fans: Still want refunds! *Clap, clap, clapclapclap*
["I Don't Like The Drugs (But The Drugs Like Me)" by Marilyn Manson begins playing.]
MV: Introducing first, Kurt Angel!
Fans: You're stoned! You're stoned! You're stoned! You're stoned!
Styles: LilBOSS just jumped Angel from behind.
NH: He needs all the help he can get.
Styles: He could have at least tried a weapon of some sort. Those wimpy kicks to Angel's calves aren't going to win him a Boulevard Brawl. Uh oh! BigBOSS just snuck up behind Angel. He's down on his hands and knees. LilBOSS charges! But Angel sidesteps, and LilBOSS falls over BigBOSS!
NH: Damn. Angel is carrying BigBOSS over one shoulder and LilBOSS over his other shoulder down to the ring. So sad to think that these two men are the creative genius behind BOB.
Styles: BOB's creativity may be snuffed out this morning!
IM: Believe me, it happened YEARS ago, Styles.
Styles: Why wasn't that in Spanish?
IM: Era demasiado bueno de una línea.
NH: Angel tosses our BOSSES into the ring. And now he's going under the ring.
Styles: This contest is about to be taken to the EXTREME!
IM: ¿Opinión, estilos, usted va a anunciar nuestro en-demando demostraciones, o él va a comenzar a toparle para Mike Monroe?
Styles: What are you saying?
NH: This doesn't look good.
MV: Daddy! Daddy! NO!
NH: That is just wrong. BigBOSS is legally Michelle's daughter. BOB just gets more incestuous by the day.
IM: ¿BigBOSS durmió con Michelle? No puede decir que me dan una sacudida eléctrica. Quién no tiene. ¿Tengo razón?
Styles: Angel has set up FOUR LADDERS on the floor on top of a pair of steel chairs.
NH: Four ladders? Did our crew get the numbers mixed up at Extreme Depot again? Probably should have been four tables and one ladder?
Styles: I'd guess so. Especially since Angel just slid a table into the ring. Belly to belly suplex on BigBOSS! And LilBOSS gets the same treatment! The fans are loving this.
IM: Se parece impar tener estas armas y no destruir mi cuerpo del cartoonish en ellas.
Styles: Oh my GOD! Angel is up on the table. He pulls LilBOSS up with him!
[BigBOSS grabs a microphone.]
NH: There's no cutting in wrestling!
IM: Bien, hay blading.
Styles: This isn't wrestling, Heidi. This is BOB.
BigBOSS: Insano Mano.
IM: Crap. Dios Querido. Éste es Insano Mano. ¡CCONSÍGAME DE AQUÍ!
BigBOSS: I ORDER YOU to go into that there ring and take LilBOSSes bump, or, you'll be given a CONTRACT EXTENSION!
[Mano drops the microphone and slides into the ring. LilBOSS jumps down and Mano takes his spot.]
BigBOSS: Sell it like a pro, now. And...ACTION!
Styles: OH MY GOD! SUPERPLEX FROM THE RING TO THE LADDERS ON THE FLOOR!
[Huge pop from the crowd.]
NH: Well, that should silence the refund chants for a few minutes.
[LilBOSS and BigBOSS shove Mano under the ring. LilBOSS lays down on the floor and begins to twitch like he actually took the bump. BigBOSS pulls Angel up and shoves him inside. Then he drags LilBOSS inside for the pin attempt.]
Styles: One! Two! No! Somehow Angel had enough to kick out.
NH: LilBOSS just doesn't have the body weight to keep Angel down. He's a frigging midget!
Styles: Angel is up. LilBOSS charges and Angel punts him! LilBOSS just flew a good ten feet and might have gone further if not for landing crotch-first on the top rope. Angel lays LilBOSS in the ring. And now he's heading up onto the ladder.
NH: Oh no! BigBOSS just hit Angel in the head with a...what the heck is that thing?
Styles: It's a wooden kung fu broadsword.
NH: It's all legal in a Boulevard Brawl.
Styles: LilBOSS with a headbutt to Angel's nether regions. And another one. And another one.
NH: His face must smell like all kinds of cock.
NH: Well, it must!
Styles: That is disgusting. LilBOSS with a cover, but Angel easily gets out of the cover. LilBOSS now trying to tip over the table on top of Angel. But it seems he's having some difficulty. And here comes BigBOSS to help out. And that gets the job done. They've just flipped the table over on Angel.
[Angel shoves the table off of himself and gets up.]
Kurt Angel: What the FRICK was that dookie?
Styles: Kurt grabs LilBOSS. HEAVENLY SLAM THROUGH THE TABLE! He puts a foot on top of LilBOSS. ONE! TWO! BigBOSS just grabbed Generic Ref's hand. And we've got a sudden, impromptu arm wrestling match! Generic Ref is winning! Oh no! BigBOSS just blew in Generic Ref's face! And that hot air is enough. BigBOSS slams Generic Ref's hand on the mat.
BigB: Oh, CRAP!
[The bell rings.]
MV: The winner of the match is, sadly, Kurt Angel!
Kurt Angel: Thanks, Daddy.
BigB: This isn't over, Angel.
[Angel grabs the broadsword and breaks it over BigBOSSes head.]
[BigBOSS falls face first onto the mat.]
Styles: Well, I guess that's it. For the broken-in-half Insano Mano and the lovely Nurse Heidi, this is Styles saying...buy our next BOB On-Demand event, whatever it's gonna be called and whenever it's gonna be held! Good morning!
© 2006 BOB Wrestling. Mad As Hell And Still Taking It!