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Sunday Morning Chloroform 36

Last week on Sunday Morning Chloroform: Pigeon avoided the obvious racist joke when asked what the biggest difference between he and Queen Sharmell is. A masked man terrorized a paranoid conspiracy theorist. And Generic Ref nearly had a near death experience. Who will have a near death experience, THIS MORNING?

["Narayan" by Prodigy is playing as we fade into the BOB Ballroom in Sin City at the Riviera Hotel. Sir Zeno walks out to loud...snoring? Even the loud music doesn't wake up the majority of old farts making up this morning's audience.]

Nurse Heidi: This is an opening round match in the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS tournament. Introducing first, weighing 240 pounds, Sir Zeno!

Mike Monroe: Hello everyone and welcome to Sunday Morning Chloroform. I am Mike Monroe, along with Scotty Whatbody, and we're off and running right out of the gates.

Scotty Whatbody: And Absolutely Pathetic is off to a strong lead, followed closely by I Can't Believe This Show Hasn't Been Cancelled Yet. But here comes What Did I Do To Deserve This Paycheck. And way, way back is Any Sign Of Hope. And it looks like What Did I Do To Deserve This Paycheck wins it by a nose. My Soul didn't make it into the race because it was being raped by a pit bull in the stall.

MM: What was that?

SW: *Sigh* Three weeks in a row...three weeks in a row. I know soldiers are having it tough in Iraq, but there are times I wish I could trade places with them.

MM: Why? You want to die?

SW: No. I want their paycheck! If they survive, those guys will be rich.

MM: What about the post-traumatic stress disorder?

SW: What do you think I have every morning after I leave here? Dreams of lollipops and underage Korean girls? Mmmmm....that is a nice thought.

MM: Well, Unit 5 was supposed to be taking on Sir Zeno. But a couple weeks back, Kevin the Pyromaniac apparently set Unit 5 on fire and dumped the appliance in the pool in the hotel.

SW: Was Kevin's father in the Zippo mafia family? His father was The Flammable Don, right?

["Misery" by Soul Asylum begins playing.]

SW: Oh yeah, here comes Scotty Whatbody's new protégé.

MM: You have a protégé?

SW: Sure.

MM: Hey, that's the kid who put Arsenio Hall through the table last week?

SW: Hey, I recognize talent like Donald Trump recognizes teenage bimbos.

[Scotty's protégé spins around in a circle to reveal he is wearing a fast-food uniform with the words Jigaboo 4 Life written on the back.]

Randall Mooby: Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Randall Mooby.

Crowd: *Zzzzzzzz*

RM: Jesus. Is this Sin City or Senile City? Zeno, you put all these old fucks to sleep.

SW: BWAHAHAHA!

RM: C'mon old farts. Put your walkers in the air. And wave 'em like you just don't care. Eh, fuck all of you mouthbreathers. So let me break it down for you, Sir Zero. You know what I do? I work at a burger joint. I serve food to slobs. And it bores the ever loving fuck out of me. And when I get home and turn on BOB and see you, it pisses me the fuck off. All you do is whine and bitch when you lose. Shit, is that a tampon string I see dangling between your legs?

SW: BWAHAHAHAHA!

Crowd: *Zzzzzz*

MM: Zeno is infuriated. I'd hate to be in Mooby's shoes right now.

SW: I'd like to be in Heidi's panties. Woohoo!

MM: So here's what I'm gonna do, Tabitha. I'm gonna walk down this carpet, and I'm going to stick this microphone in your face, and if I don't hear the two magical words out of your mouth, being 'I retire,' then the third word will be 'Jesus. My mangina. My mangina. You punched me in my mangina."

SW: MANGINA! BWAHAHAHAHA!

MM: Viewers, if you're squeamish, you may want to close your eyes for the next few minutes. Mooby's in the ring. Zeno charges and nearly takes Mooby's head off with a clothesline. Well...this is getting ugly fast.

SW: It's not a problem. Sure, it looks like he's already bleeding like a fire hose. But not to worry. Randall can come back.

MM: He may not have any blood left in his body before the bell sounds.

SW: That's why they made hospitals, Monroe! He'll be fine after a week of recuperation. Maybe two. Would you believe six months?

MM: Zeno appears to be happy enough with the giant puddle of blood all over the mat finally. He grabs Mooby by the throat.

SZ: If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

MM: And there it is, the Eternal Question.

SW: Randall Mooby was...crap, how old was he? 28?

MM: You really should find out some information about your proteges. Sir Zeno gets the pin in convincing style and advances in the tournament.

SW: Funny, I thought Michelle swore she was going to make Zeno's chances of winning this tournament about as good as finding an obese Ethiopian.

[The lights go out.]

SW: What the hell?

["Groovy Underwear" by Pansy Division begins playing.]

SW: I don't recognize this music.

[The lights come on a little bit.]

MM: But I recognize the man who just walked out. It's the Undietaker.

SW: Crap. Is this the Handi one or the other one.

MM: The other one. The Phenom of Panties.

[Undietaker walks out and rips off some granny panties from some dozing grandmother. He gets down on one knee and holds the gigantic panties up in the air with his right hand, as if they have some sort of mystical power. His eyes roll back into his head.]

SW: EWW! Look at the skidmarks!

MM: Undietaker is making his way down toward the ring.

SW: So Michelle went looking for punishment, and this is it? She's going to send Undietaker after Zeno's undies? I guess it could hurt him from a monetary standpoint if he repeatedly rips his briefs.

Disembodied Voice of The Undietaker: ZENO! When I confiscate your French cuts, when I borrow forever your BVD's, when I steal your silk boxers....or take you cotton briefs. You'll have no other choice. But to...DRESS....IN....FLEECE!

MM: Where did that voice come from? Oh, what powers the Undietaker has.

SW: What are you talking about? It came from those speakers over there.

MM: Way to kill suspension of belief, Scotty.

SW: Zeno has bailed out. Leaving Undietaker all alone in the ring with the bloody and beaten Randall Mooby.

MM: Looks like Undietaker's about to add some injury to Mooby's multiple injuries.

SW: I may need a new protégé.

MM: Wedgie-aided chokeslam from hell by the Undietaker on Mooby.

SW: Eww. I just got splashed with blood. I hope Randall didn't have any funky diseases.

Sunday Morning Chloroform Logo

How's Our Wrestling? Dial 1-888-BITE-MEE!


Styles: Promotional consideration paid for by the following:

Jesus Will BRB

The Catholic Church. Remember, Jesus did acronyms before acronyms were cool! Next time your chatting with your buddies on the internets, don't forget to ask, WWJD?


[We return to the show at ringside with Mike Monroe and Scotty Whatbody at the EZ Break Announce Desk. Several old people are sitting upright behind them, sleeping.]

MM: Welcome back everyone.

SW: And don't you dare watch "The Jeffersons," "Sanford And Son," "Green Acres" or "Leave it To Beaver" on that other channel this morning. Why live in the squeaky clean past when you can experience the vulgarist, moral free fucking show on television at this motherfucking hour!

MM: What a pitchman.

SW: Speaking of living in the past, Mike, I think the viewers deserve to know why all these smelly fossils have filled up our audience this morning. I know I sure do.

MM: From what I understand, they've been here for hours. Apparently they all were gambling in the casino since about 5 a.m. yesterday.

SW: So, what, they came here because they needed a nap?

MM: Apparently the hotel was full of guests, so this was the only room available.

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BigB: And they didn't care WHAT they paid! *Tosses a huge pile of money and credit card receipts in the air* YIPEE!

[Back to ringside, as "Smooth Operator" by Sade begins playing. The Sinister Surgeon walks out carrying a replica STWF InterGalactic Heavyweight Championship Belt.]

SW: It's the Smooth Operator, The Sinister Surgeon, The Dirtiest Boobie Enhancer in Wrestling Today…Dr. Silaconne M. Plants!

MM: Plants made his shocking return last week by attacking douja and costing him a shot at the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

SW: Yeah, it was great!

SMP: douja! The man I have owned like a house slave over the last decade. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again, but it is true. And you all know it.

SMP: I've got something to say to you, douja. You have never defeated me in a match that mattered. You have never taken a championship from me. You have never defeated me in a match that mattered. You have never taken a championship from me. If it wasn't for me, your claim to have winning every championship in this dump would have never come to fruition. I carried you to the tag-team titles. Duke University lucked you to the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. You beat a bum for the Pan-Galactic. And the Hardcore Title? What's so special about that? The belt won itself. Multiple times. 'Nuff said.

SMP: You're not getting these battles because you've earned it. You're getting it so I can, once and for all, run you out of this profession. I'm not kidding, douja. I'm going to mangle you worse than my first hack job on some tittles back when I was a young intern.

SMP: Indeed, I said "battles". You see, I can't risk you getting lucky and taking my championship in one match. So I have a proposition for you. Best of three, titles on the line for all three matches.

SMP: The first match, at the next BOB Web Cast event... a Moving Bus Match, the very match you defeated The Tiger in to win the STWF version of the IC title that wasn't really the IC title but it was close title. Thing.

SMP: As much as it pains me, I can't say I ever beat The Tiger. I think he retired before I got the chance. Actually, I think he retired for that reason, so I couldn't beat him after he ended my first InterGalactic reign. But you did, and now I'm going to beat you in the match you beat him, retrospectically beating him.

SMP: Second match, at the next BOB Web Cast of the year, a Rickety Easel Match. Just you and me. And after I beat you two straight in Rickety Easel matches and two straight in our series, I'll undoubtedly be the greatest wrestler of all time. At least in two promotions.

SMP: However, if by some chance you again luck up and win one of the first two... and the series is all tied up... then at the third BOB Web Cast this year... we'll settle it once and for all in the match I defeated Neige 13 to win my second STWF IG Title... A Nicolas Cage Match!

SMP: Mr. Cage has made quite a bit of movies since my last one, more stuff to beat you with.

["How High" by Method Man and Redman plays. Out walks douja.]

SW: Look at this...he's...all alone? What a coward!

MM: Why is he a coward for that?

SW: I don't know. He just is!

douja: yo plants....you no different than any other plant i've eva smoked motha fucka....ya wanna come out here and bore da fuck outta dis crowd talkin' shit like ya a legend or somethin'...well I wanna come down there and beat da piss outta you ya old fuck....IF YA SMELL WHAT DOUJA'S SMOKIN'!!!

MM: And douja's on his way to the ring. Plants is ready.

SW: Hey, look! Those two old farts that were just sleeping behind us just ran past us.

MM: I don't think they're old farts at all.

SW: Fine. Soon To Be Dead Americans. Whatever.

MM: No, I meant they're moving too fast to be that old.

[One of the men was wearing tan pants that were belted up to his nipples, a white shirt, one of those old man hats and point white shoes, and the other man was wearing plaid pants, a Hawaiian shirt and slippers. Both men attack Plants from behind with their canes.]

SW: Holy crap. It's like that Fox show, "When Grandpas Attack!"

MM: Those aren't grandpas! Those are stoners dressed up like grandpas.

SW: Wow, it was Rob Van Spam and Kurt Angel under those clever disguises. Plants has been out-heeled!

MM: RVS connects with a one-star frog splash. Now Kurt Angel drags him up. It's the Heavenly Slam.

SW: And listen to the snores from this crowd. They sure...ah, fuck it.

MM: Now douja dragging up SMP. Chronic Neck Pain. He just spiked SMP.

SW: The Rolling Stoners have left SMP black and blue.

MM: Well, wasn't that clever. Fans, we'll be right back.

SW: They need a stable name, right? Damnit, respect my creativity!


Voice-Over: Train, ho! Let's go!

["Spider-Man" by the Ramones plays, as Coma and Hallucination Boy emerge dressed in matching Spider-Man costumes.]

NH: The following match is for the Not Good Enough To Fight Alone Tag Team Titles. Introducing first...

HB: SPIDER! *Dives*

NH: From Queens, New York. The Spider-Men!

SW: It's the retarded superheroes. I figured Hallucination Boy wouldn't be scared of spiders, what with them crawling under his skin all the time.

MM: Nice, Scotty...

[Coma takes the microphone from Heidi. He first starts talking in the wrong end, so Heidi spins it around for him.]

Coma: Peter Parker picked a pack of portly pigmies! Zonk!

[Hallucination Boy is handed the microphone.]

HB: With flour power comes great cakes, Markie Post!

[Coma takes the microphone back.]

Coma: And we are yore fluffy Netherland Spider--

HB: *Dives*

Coma: Men! Xoops!

SW: Xooops? Zonk? WTF?

MM: Maybe he's afraid to say 'poink' or "narf" because it'll give away his secret identity.

["Thus Spake The Night Spirit" by Emperor plays.]

NH: And their opponents. At a combined weight of, something, Uber Vampire Warrior and Lord Athackkimentham, the Skull & Bones Society.

MM: The Spider-Men must have come to fight the evil forces of, uh, evil. In the form of Uber Vamp and Lord A.

SW: So, if Coma is afraid of giving away his identity, why did they bring the title belts?

MM: Maybe it's a swerve.

SW: Logic gaps bigger than "24." And I didn't think that would ever be possible.

MM: Uh-oh, the crowd just let out a loud snort as Dr. Silaconne M. Plants is on his way out here. Uh-oh, he's got one of those canes he was beaten with in the last segment.

SW: (Singing) Spider-Men, Spider-Men.
You both better run as fast as you can.
SMP has got a cane.
He's gonna further damage both your brains.
Look out! Here comes SMP!
Is he pissed?
Listen, bud.
He's gonna spill somebody's blood.
Can he swing that walking cane?
Cause those four guys a lot of pain.
Hey, there. There goes SMP.

MM: Scotty...

SW: (Singing) He hits Vamp in the head.
And Lord A. in the crotch.
I think Vamp might be dead.
This is violence, I love to watch.
Spider-Men, Spider-Men, fluffy Netherland Spider-Men.
No wealth or fame, this is BOB.
I sure regret taking this job.
To him, life is a great big boob job.
Whenever there's a noob to job.
You'll find, SMP!

MM: Great job rhyming job with job three times, buddy. Now if we may take a break from BOB: The Musical, an angry Silaconne M. Plants has destroyed everyone in the ring with that cane, except for Generic Ref, who was smart enough to leave.

SW: I can't believe we used the word "smart" and "Generic Ref" in the same sentence. That's a first.

Generic Ref: Too bad they'll never use the words "well-endowed" and "Scotty Whatbody" in the same sentence.

SW: Hey! I'm plenty dowed. Oh look, it's Spooky the cheerleading ghost!

GR: Ahhh! Where?

MM: While Scotty and Generic Ref were bickering, SMP hit the Scalpel's Edge on Hallucination Boy. And there's a Scalpel's Edge on Coma. Nipple Cutter on Uber Vamp. Nipple Cutter on Lord Athackkimentham.

SW: SMP showing everyone why he's the Smooth Operator right here.

MM: Oh no! SMP just grabbed a sleeping man from ringside. Nipple Cutter on the old man.

SW: BWAHAHAHA! Did you see his dentures go flying!

MM: Somebody stop this.

[Death walks down the aisle. SMP sees Death and pauses, then walks around the ring and grabs the microphone from Heidi.]

SMP: What's the matter Death? You pissed off that I knocked out Dracula and Gene Simmons? You out here to save those unconscious freaks?

[Death pulls a microphone out from under his cloak.]

Death: You know something, Plants... Sure, I'm a little peeved that you knocked out my boys. But, I'm just figuring that if you keep going on your rampage, somebody's bound to drop dead. And I'm guessing with how red your face is that it'll probably be you. You ever looked into an anger management course, doc? Tell you what, doc. You want a fight against somebody old, how about you have a match against...me. This morning.

SMP: You want it? You want it? You've GOT it, pal! I don't fear the reaper. This morning, your name is douja. And I'm going to beat you so bad that even that bitch on "Bones" won't be able to identify you. Get it? Got it? GOOD!

MM: Death vs. SMP. This morning. Don't go anywhere, fans. What a Chloroform.


[In the hallway somewhere in the Riviera, Kay Fabe and Seth Harker were doing their cool walking thing when all of a sudden Eliza "The Jobber Slayer" walked into the shot.]

ETJS: Great match last week, Seth. You're the best wrestler EVER!

[Seth doesn't react visibly.]

KF: Do you mind?

ETJS: My real name is Shann--

KF: LALALALALALALALALA! You BITCH! How dare you try to show me up in front of my man. Nobody breaks me in front of my love.

ETJS: Yeah, well I'm pretty evil. How dare you make me be naked in front of Sarah the other week. You know, if you did that again, I wouldn't mind so much right now. (She winks at Seth). I bet you TiVo'ed that, right?

SH: TiVo? Don't know what that is. Besides, there's too much sex on television. I have enough trouble keeping Kay under control as it is.

ETJS: Aww...sex on television can't hurt you. Unless you fall off. Hehehehehe.

KF: Bored now. Seth, you need to do something about her.

SH: Eliza...The friendship between a man and a woman which does not lead to marriage or desire for marriage may be a life long experience of the greatest value to themselves and to all their circle of acquaintance and of activity; but for this type of friendship both a rare man and a rare woman are needed. Perhaps it should be added that either the man or the woman thus deeply bound in lifelong friendship who seeks marriage must find a still rarer man or woman to wed, to make such a three cornered comradeship a permanent success.

KF: Yeah!

ETJS: Zuh?

[Michelle Vincent comes up from behind Eliza.]

MV: I hope I'm not interrupting anything terribly boring.

SH: Hey. That was deep.

MV: Listen, I don't mean to interrupt your little love triangle thingee, but, Seth, I need to talk to you.

KF: Whore!

ETJS: Slut!

MV: Um, who can fire you?

KF + ETJS: Sorry.

MV: Don't worry ladies, he's not my chosen one. I need to tell you something. I don't want you out here week after week bringing up the memory of that unemployed comatose ex-husband of mine.

SH: Are you referring to my TV armband, the same kind that are on sale in the Crap Zone at www.bobwrestling.com?

MV: *Sigh* I'd take them down right now, but I'm sure I'm somehow making money off the merchandise sales. But yeah. Just so we're clear. There will be no more Mystery Sports Entertainment Theater 3000 unless you're gonna do it with one of these girls or somebody else. Your partner isn't coming back, Seth.

SH: Oh, he'll wake up.

MV: He might wake up, but he'll never work in BOB again. So stop the Trey Vincent memorial tour NOW.

SH: Or what?

MV: I don't know. Maybe I'll make sure to write scenes for you--

KF: *AHEM*

MV: Crap. Forgot you were here.

KF: Yeah, it's crazy how that just randomly happened. And, oh look. Camera. Hi camera. Life is so random, huh?

MV: Hmm. Ah! I've got it. How about a Seth Harker vs. Stinkbutt Nastyass best of 99 series?

SH: Ugh. Fine. I guess I'll just have to dedicate my matches to Kay.

KF: Just? JUST? Oh, you don't want to have any kind of sex in the next month, do you?

ETJS: Hey, if she won't put out, I will.

KF: Oh yeah? Seth! Get up to our room and take off your pants!

[Meanwhile, Dubya and his underlings Fingerbang XXX (Snapmare Kid and XXXtreme Machine) were in what looked like a low-budget version of the Oval Office. Dubya sat behind a desk in a chair about 10 sizes too big for him while XXXtreme Machine and SMK sat in some chairs in front of the desk.]

Dubya: My fellow Fingerbangers. I must command you for the great job you've done here this morning. I was just thinking how hungry I am. And I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family. But so many waffles? You guys be the best. Never misunderestimate my appetite.

[Dubya digs into the stack of waffles.]

Dubya: You know what would be even bitter? Strawbrerry jam! Anybody got any strawbrerry jam?

SMK: Uh, boss, we didn't get those for you.

Dubya: Don't mess with Dubya.

SMK: I'm serious.

XM: u thinc i no how 2 cok i c@nt evn spel!!

Dubya: This is disturbing. Oooh! Waffles! Thanks guys.

SMK: Remember about 10 seconds ago when we told you we didn't get those for you?

Dubya: Don't mess with Dubya.

SMK: *Sigh*

XM: dOOd ur a reeturd.

Dubya: Alright, here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna find the people who put these waffles on my desk.

SMK: Then what?

Dubya: Oooh, waffles!

SMK: *Sigh* Nobody can be this stupid.

[He looks at XXXtreme Machine.]

SMK: I stand corrected. Guys, what about Alan Qaida? I have to face him next week.

Dubya: I promise you that hunting down and eliminating Alan Qaida is my number three priority. After ateing these waffles.

SMK: What's number two?

Dubya: To relieve my vowels. Dubya's gonna make some mud babies.

SMK: Just make sure you do it in a toilet this time.

Dubya: Alan Qaida is on the run. We will sniff out this enema and show BOB that you don't mess with Fingerbang XXX, and you don't mess with Dubya. Just so we're clear, Fingerbang XXX is not getting ready to sneak attack Alan Qaida. And having said that, all options are on the table. Speaking of the table, I've got waffles to eat. Did anybody get my strawbrerry sauce?

[Fade to black.]


NH: The following is an opening round match in the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS tournament. And there will be no disqualification!

["Come Out And Play" by Offspring plays.]

NH: Introducing first. Weighing 240 pounds. This is Pigeon.

SW: This one should be bloody. And fiery.

[Pigeon gets in the ring, extends his arms and flaps them to no reaction from the sleeping crowd. He grabs the microphone from Heidi, then kneels in the corner and stares at the canvas while he speaks.]

Pigeon: Michelle, my unrequested love.

[Heidi bends down and whispers something to him.]

P: No, I'm pretty sure it's unrequested.

[Heidi pulls out a script.]

P: Unrequieted?

NH: Ugh, it's unrequited!

P: Gee, sorry I didn't get go to college, Heidi. Why don't you just rip out my heart. Go on. Nobody's using it anyway. Michelle. You're obviously searching for the next love of your life. I've only got one thing to say about that. And so, since you didn't write this promo for me, I decided to rip off some lyrics from the Internet to show you how I feel.

P: In the day
In the night
Say it right
Say it all
You either got it
Or you don't
You either stand or you fall
When your will is broken
When it slips from your hand
When there's no time for joking
There's a hole in the plan
Oh you don't mean nothing at all to me
No you don't mean nothing at all to me
But you got what it takes to set me free
Oh you could mean everything to me
What about me? What about PIGEON!

["Firestarter" by Prodigy plays next.]

SW: Why couldn't they start that music a minute ago and drown out that drivel?

MM: Pigeon is in love.

SW: I don't want to hear him whine about it. What about ME? What about Scotty?

NH: Weighing in at 112 pounds, Kevin the Pyromaniac!

MM: Kevin is down to ringside and already dousing his boots. He's in.

*WHOOOSH*

MM: Flaming dropkick connects. And Kevin's got the early advantage in this one.

SW: Every match is an inferno match with this guy.

MM: The Flunky is out here with a fire extinguisher. He just put Kevin's boots out. And that gives Pigeon the chance to battle back. But Kevin with an eye rake. Kevin runs out and grabs a chair. And that's on fire now. Pigeon whipped to the ropes. Flapjack on the burning chair.

SW: And there's Flunky again, spraying Kevin, which of course blinds and disorients him, since this IS a hardcore match after all.

MM: It seems like he's recovered now. Kevin just pulled out a glove. He puts it on and douses it with lighter fluid.

*WHOOSH*

MM: He grabs Pigeon's legs. Oh no! Flaming fist to the groin!

SW: Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!

MM: Pigeon has never been challenged like this before. Flunky again sprays Kevin. Kevin's dazed, but he charges at Pigeon. Drop toe hold onto the middle rope. And now Pigeon is choking BOB's hottest commodity. Now Pigeon sets up the chair and grabs Kevin. Bulldog.

SW: Ooooh! Nice. Kevin's bleeding.

MM: One. Two. No, Kevin escapes. Uh-oh, Kevin just doused his other boot.

*WHOOOSH*

MM: Flaming spin kick stuns Pigeon. And he follows that up with an inverted DDT.

SW: Kevin is like one of those candles that you just can't blow out.

MM: Oh no. Don't do it, Kevin.

SW: Is this a mid-match shampooing?

MM: Kevin is rubbing lighter fluid into his hair.

*WHOOSH*

MM: He grabs Pigeon. Flaming hair chin breaker. And once again, Flunky sprays Kevin.

SW: Kevin may be the first person to suffer from male-smoldering baldness.

[Alex Smith then emerged from the back with his bullhorn.]

AS: 9/11 was an inside job! 9/11 was an inside job! 9/11 was an inside job! 9/11 was an inside job! We're on the march! The empire's on the run! We're exposing corruption in this once great land of ours, and we won't stop until the murderers are brought to justice!

SW: Can't we stop this from happening every week?

AS: They may mock me! They may job me! But they can't kill the truth! They can't kill ideas! And they can't kill our freedom!

SW: Look at this. Kevin has set up four tables out here in front of us. This is gonna rule!

AS: It's time to stand up and realize, that we should NOT allow ourselves to be crammed into this rat maze. We should not SUBMIT to dehumanization. I don't know about you, but I'm concerned with what's happening in this world. I'm concerned with the structure. I'm concerned with the systems of control. Those that control my life, and those that seek to control it EVEN MORE! I want FREEDOM! That's what I want, and that's what YOU should want!

SW: Damnit, why is he ruining my escapism? I just want to see somebody get hurt? Is that so wrong?

MM: That's why we have jobs, Scotty.

AS: It's up to each and every one of us to turn loose of just some of the greed, the hatred, the envy, and yes, the insecurities, because that is the central mode of control, make us feel pathetic, small, so we'll willingly give up our sovereignty, our liberty, our destiny. We have GOT to realize we're being conditioned on a mass scale. Start challenging this corporate slave state!

MM: Pigeon's fighting off Kevin. Both men are fighting on the apron.

AS: What a bunch of garbage, liberal, Democratic, conservative, Republican, it's all there to control you, two sides of the same coin! Two management teams, bidding for control of the CEO job of Slavery Incorporated! The TRUTH is out there in front of you, but they lay out this buffet of LIES! I'm SICK of it, and I'M NOT GONNA TAKE A BITE OUT OF IT! DO YA GOT ME? Resistance is NOT futile, we're gonna win this thing.

MM: Pigeon has Kevin up top.

*CRASH!*

AS: Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Wrestlewars.com, steelcageplanet.com, smithreport.com.

SW: How does he always manage to get plugs on this show for his Web sites? Why not just plug a decent site like 911blogger.com?

MM: Pigeon just delivered a Pigeon Drop through all four tables to the floor. Both men are broken. Fans, this match is going to continue, assuming either man can continue. Don't go anywhere.


MM: Welcome back fans. During the break, both men were able to crawl back into the ring. And Pigeon just hit a swinging neckbreaker on Kevin. Both men are going really slow right now.

SW: Man, it's chilly in here. Maybe we should burn the tables for some warmth?

MM: That could be a fire hazard. Pigeon slams Kevin on the chair. Well, what's left of that bent mess of burnt steel. Here comes another Pigeon Drop. No. Kevin whips Pigeon to the ropes. Clothesline by Kevin.

SW: Heh, he was too tired to even set himself on fire for that one.

MM: And there's a DDT by Kevin. It looks like it may be time for Kevin's finisher, the Burning Elbow. He's got the elbow doused. And now he's heading up top.

SW: He's having trouble getting the lighter lit.

MM: Ah, he's got it.

*WOOOSH*

MM: Here it comes. Oh no! It missed! Kevin holding his burning elbow in pain.

SW: Right, because if the fire didn't hurt it, landing on the mat REALLY stings.

MM: Flunky sprays Kevin again. And Pigeon uses the opportunity to hit the Pigeon Drop. One. Two. Three. Wow. Pigeon with the big win there.

NH: Here is your winner, Pigeon.

[Meanwhile, Axl Van Halen is looking down, his hair in his face, looking all rock 'n' roll. As the camera pans down, we see that he is holding a dustbuster in his hands as if it were a guitar. He pushes the suck button and it makes a vroom sound. And again. And again. He bangs his head with every vroom as if he is coming to a crescendo. He then holds the dustbuster high up in the air and begins pulling a Pete Townshend on the dustbuster and smashing it on the floor repeatedly until it finally cracks into bits.]

AVH: ROCK 'N' ROLL! Thank you St. Louis! Yeah!

[Tifa Bon Jovie claps, whistles and cheers for the dustbuster solo grand finale.]

DB: Oprah? Are you in he---NOOOOOOOOO! OPRAH! OH NO!

[Axl and Tifa run out a side door of the conference room. Dustbuster Boy runs over to the bits of "Oprah" and cradles them in his chest.]

DB: No! Take me instead! Take MEEEEEE! Oh, you'll pay for this whoever the hell you were! I swear he'll pay, baby!

[Dustbuster Boy quietly weeps as we fade out.]


MM: Welcome back everyone. It's time for a dream match.

SW: Yeah. Let's throw away a money match for free on a throwaway episode of Chloroform. Great booking. Total. Nonsense. Ahoy.

NH: The following contest is scheduled for one fall.

["Killed by Death" by Motorhead plays.]

NH: Introducing first. From the Netherworld. The Million Dollar Entity, this, is, Death!

SW: Check out this film from last night. This is great.

[Cut to the pool area of the Riviera. Death is standing with a young boy. Instead of Death's usual scythe, he is holding a basketball.]

Death: Hello viewers. I'm here with little Todd. And Todd, I understand that you want to be a basketball player when you grow up.

Todd: Yeah!

Death: That's great. Why don't you show Uncle Death if you can dribble a basketball 10 times. And...go. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

[The kid smiles up at Death.]

Death: Wow. That's impressive. Tell you what, kid. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. If you can dribble this same ball 15 times consecutively without missing, I'm going to give you $500, which you can use for college or, gambling, whatever you're into. I'm sure your daddy could use more than $500 to invest in the blackjack table. Or to pay off his losses. Alright, Todd. Fifteen times. Ready? Go!

Death: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Whooops!

[Death gives him the Touch of Death. A woman offscreen screams.]

Death: Awww. We didn't get the fifteen, Todd! You didn't get to fifteen, did you? What have you got to say for yourself?

Kid: ...

Death: Oh right, he's dead. Well, another contestant, another failure. And you know what that means? He had to learn a hard, cruel fact of life. When you don't do the job right, you don't get paid. BAH HAHAHAHAHA!

[Back to the ring.]

MM: That was terrible.

SW: *Snicker* Yeah. Death should be ashamed. Hehehe.

NH: And his opponent...

["Smooth Operator" by Sade hits.]

NH: From Naples, Italy. Weighing 240 pounds, the Sinister Surgeon, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants!

MM: Well, this is a match I thought I'd never see in my lifetime, but fans, you're getting it this morning in BOB.

*CRACK*

MM: It's douja. douja has just attacked Plants with a steel chair.

SW: Man, these guys are going to kill each other before we even get to Living In Sin, exclusively available on BOB-On-Demand.

MM: Death is just...wait a second. Massive Man is in the ring. He just hit a Leap of Fate on Death.

SW: Oh no, no, no...Massive Man. Now is not the time to blow a load of Joshitude. Especially not on Death!

MM: Massive Man and Death, both winners in the first round of the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS tournament are set to face each other in round number two.

[Several hotel staff members are trying to separate SMP and douja in the aisle.]

MM: It is absolute pandemonium out here.

[Massive Man grabs Death's scythe. He tries to break it over his knee, unsuccessfully.]

MMR1: Yowch!

[MMR1 grabs his leg in pain.]

MM: Fans, while we try to regain control, why don't you watch these commercials.

SW: Wait, so there's no match? Bullsh--

[We fade up on the mean streets of Lookout, California. MC Carjack, wearing a pink and white warm-up suit and a oil-stained Montreal Expos baseball cap on sideways, and DJ Rawkus, wearing a cyan and white warmup suit, and tons of low-budget bling that his turned his bare chest bright green, are standing next to a convenience store.]

DJ Rawkus: Fo' shizzle, mah nizzle, what up with you, dawg!

MC Carjack: Yo sonizzle, thizzle be how we dizzle!

DJR Yo, we so ghetto, wigga!

MC: Yeah, booooy! We be thug lifin' it, and hip hoppin' it, and R&Bin' it, and Jerry Curl Jonesin' it....and....YO!

[Both guys grab their balls. A woman walks by and laughs at them.]

DJ: What up, biznotch?

MC: Whaddit be, homebase? Yo, to all my peepers down in BOBizzle, these wiggas be on the way. Yo, we from the westside--

DJ: WEST-SIIIIIIIDE!

MC: Of Lookout, Cali.

[DJ begins making an L hand gesture. Whether it's because he's a loser, or because it's supposed to represent a gun, or Lookout, I have no idea...]

DJ: Lookout! Lookout!

MC: Yo, you know we be representin' the LKT in BOB. Know what I'm sayin' brutha?

DJ: Yo, BOB tag teams, you all betta step off son and get out my grill. I'ma bust a cup in yo ass fool. Don't make me get ma dawgs.

MC: Roof! Roof! Roof!

DJ: Aw, yeah. Is about to get bloody up in this bitch. I'll get ma shorty to sit on yo ass with her ghettoooooooo boooooootay!

[Both guys grab their balls again.]

MC: Yo, we should head back to our crib and drink some Crunk Juice, wegro!

DJ: Yo, let me axe you a quession, playa! Ain't that why we came to this convilzzle stizzle, dawg?

MC: Oh, for shizzle! Lay-Z. Next week, bitches! Y'all betta recognizzle!

DJ: Word!

[Both guys show various "gangsta" signs and then limp into the store like they have a giant load in their pants. And we return to the BOB Ballroom.]

SW: Holy FUCK! What genius thought bringing them back to BOB was a good idea?

["Pop" by NSYNC plays.]

NH: The following is an opening round match in THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS tournament. Introducing first. From Kent, Ohio. Weighing 180 pounds. "Totally Packaged" Jim!

Voice-Over: TRAIN! HO! LET'S GO!

["The KKK Took My Baby Away" by the Ramones plays, and out comes Coma.]

SW: Ha! He looks more dazed than usual. I guess Spider-Coma doesn't really have any super powers other than the ability to get the crap caned out of him.

MM: If you just joined us--

SW: Or if you're skimming...or got Alzheimer's...

MM: Earlier in the show Coma, dressed up as Spider-Man was attacked by Silaconne M. Plants as the Sinister Surgeon went on a rampage. It's been a crazy morning.

SW: Yeah, this show's been crazier than a sack of rabid weasels.

MM: With Coma in this bad of condition, Jim has the advantage, I'd dare say. And Jim looks to get the jump on Coma as he connects with a springboard press on Coma on the floor.

SW: Jim is up celebrating, but if he's expecting any kind of cheers from this crowd, I've got some oceanfront property in Nevada I'd like to sell him.

MM: Jim shoves Coma into the ring. And now Jim getting back in. Hey, what happened there. Jim just collapsed as he was getting into the ring.

SW: What a klutz. No wonder Massive Man went solo.

MM: Coma with the cover? One, two, three? Coma just beat Jim. But what happened there?

[Death stands up from the other side of the ring.]

MM: Death just helped Coma win?

SW: Well, I didn't see that one coming. Is there some sort of alliance between Death and Coma? This show has been harder to follow than when I took Driver's Ed from a Chinese guy. I still don't know how to make a 'reft turn' properly.

MM: We'll be right back.

SW: Or how to 'pehrehraw park.'


Styles

[In a hallway of the Riviera Hotel, Styles was standing by with Death.]

Styles: Death, why did you help Coma?

Death: Why did I help Coma? The question you should be asking is why did I kill Jim. And the answer is this: Because he and Massive Man are friends. And if Massive Man wants to get in my business, then I'm going to kill Massive Man's friends.

Styles: Actually, Massive Man and Jim are sort of on the outs right now.

Death: Your damn right they're...WHAT?

Styles: You know. They're sort of on opposite sides at the moment. Almost feuding. No doubt they would be feuding if this tournament wasn't going on.

Death: They are? Really?

Styles: Yeah. Haven't you been following their rants?

Death: (He shakes his skull in disbelief) You know...that just blows. Massive Man. You may have won this round, but I'll get you. I'll take away something that you actually do like. Just you wait.

[We return to the BOB Ballroom. "Living Dead Girl" by Rob Zombie plays.]

NH: The following match is an opening round contest in the T&A XX Division tournament. Introducing first. From Hell...Michigan. This is Katie Vicks.

SW: Now, tell me if I understand this right. Katie Vicks apparently had a boyfriend named Abel Kane who was really rich until he went crazy and got institutionalized. During a huge fire, he escaped from the asylum, stole a police car and crashed after he noticed there was a bunny rabbit in the backseat of the car, and the last words anybody ever heard from him was the word "Buddy Rose" written in his own blood in the middle of a country road. That sound about right?

MM: I don't know. Where are you getting that information from?

SW: Michelle told me to make a bio for Katie. I'm just making shit up. I have no idea what her story is. But it sounds like a winner to me. It's got the insanity. And it's got the death. It's a true love story.

MM: So why is SHE a zombie cheerleader?

SW: She got bit by a radioactive toupee.

MM: Oh, c'mon.

SW: I still need to come up with a twist ending. Hell, I might even make this into a movie. You can be an extra. Unpaid, of course.

["Temptation Waits" by Garbage plays.]

NH: And her opponent. From Cloudydale, Connecticut. This is Sarah "The Jobber Slayer"!

MM: The last ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS is here.

SW: The FORMER champion. She was stripped because she has boobies. And might I just mention I LOVE that policy. There should be more stripping in my opinion.

MM: We don't know a thing about Katie. Scotty, what's her finisher.

SW: Ahh, good question. Man, this is great, I get to kill two birds with one stone. Think up a bio for Katie and then just cut and paste it into an HTML file. Hmm...how about a brainbuster? We'll call is the braaaaainsbuster!

MM: Sounds like a winner. Alright, this one should be--

NH: Here is your winner, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer"!

SW: Ohhhh! What happened?

MM: Apparently you forgot to give her a wrestling style.

SW: Damn! Well, maybe next week. Or whenever she gets a chance to wrestle again.

MM: Sarah makes quick work of Katie Vicks.

SW: Is BOB on a wrestling diet this morning? Man...we've had less actual wrestling than TNA Impact, which I also thought was impossible.

[Meanwhile, Sir Zeno is pouring a pot of coffee on top of John "Skeeter" Skeet in one of the many fine restaurants on the premises of the Riviera.]

JS: OWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEE! IT BURNNNNNS!

SZ: Oh? Let me cool you off then.

[Zeno smashes the glass coffee pot into Skeeter's face.]

*SMASH*

JS: That didn't cool me off! AHHHHHHH! AHAHOWW! AHHHHHH! WHYYYY?

SZ: Funny story. We thought your match with Thrilla was THIS week. But it's actually next week. You know how it is. All about the hype.

Dr. Thrilla: *Metal clanging*

[Fade to black.]


Styles: Promotional consideration paid for by the following:

Jesus Will BRB

The Catholic Church. Remember, Jesus did acronyms before acronyms were cool! Next time your chatting with your buddies on the internets, don't forget to ask, WWJD?


["X Gonna Give It to Ya" by DMX plays.]

NH: This is our main event of the morning. Introducing first. Representin' F-Town, California, weighing 275 pounds, Pete XFactor Trable!

SW: It's BOB's wigger with an attitude, Pete Trable. Fresno in the hizzy.

MM: Right. Anyway. This should be quite an interesting match-up. This will be the biggest test for Trable in his time in BOB.

SW: I remember Pete when he was just a plunder prop for the Drudley Boyz. Whatever happened to those guys? I loved it when they did that bit. D-Van! Get the Trable! The rest of the time, they sucked.

MM: Didn't you date one of the Drudleyz?

SW: You heard about me and Doublewide Drudley? Man, we had some good times with the Busch Light in the Pinto, usually right before I headed for her mountains. Nothing quite like sucking on a Busch at night, right, Mikey?

MM: I'll assume you're referring to the beer in this instance.

["Right Now" by Korn began playing.]

NH: And his opponent. From Phoenix, Arizona. Weighing 262 pounds. Steve Studnuts!

[Several seconds pass and Studnuts is nowhere to be seen.]

SW: Studnuts is here, right?

MM: I saw him earlier. He called me 'jerkweed.'

SW: That must've been him. Well, maybe he met some floozy and is doing it to her right now somewhere upstairs.

[The music stops playing. Michelle Vincent walks down the aisle and heads around to the announcers. She grabs the extra headset.]

MV: Nobody can find him, guys. I don't know what's going on. So, I'm going to tell Generic Ref to just start the count, and if Studnuts doesn't make it by ten, he's out of this tournament.

SW: Can you believe BigBOSS has such a smart and fuckable daughter?

MM: Calm down, Scotty.

SW: What's up for next week? More tournament matches?

MM: Indeed. Next week we'll be seeing Dr. Thrilla vs. John Skeet, Alan Qaida vs. Snapmare Kid, Axl Van Halen vs. Dustbuster Boy, Mr. Paradox vs. Gerald Fitzpatrick, and Little Good vs. Logonoa in early tournament action.

SW: Pew. I think I'll call in sick.

MM: And Generic Ref is starting the count. I don't know what could have happened with Steve Studnuts. I don't think he's ever missed a match in his life.

SW: All I hope is we get a crowd full of awake people next week. There is nobody here to hear my witty remarks.

MM: Thanks, Scotty. I appreciate that. And I'm sure the fans at home do as well.

SW: We should freak out all these people and carry them to the nearest morgue. That'll freak them out when they wake up!

MM: And Pete Trable has just won this match by countout. Unbelievable.

SW: Man, what a sucky way to end the show.

MM: It could be worse. Trable could've rapped.

SW: Ah, fair point. And with Michelle writing his promos, I would truly be scared. It's much better when J writes his raps.

MM: J?

SW: Never mind. Hey. What's Harker doing out here with Kamkorder Kid. He's heading right for Michelle. Wow. He DOES have the hots for her.

MM: I doubt it. Seth looks serious.

SW: Seth ALWAYS looks serious. Hell, he's as serious as hemophiliac in a razor blade factory.

[Kamkorder Kid shows Michelle some video on his camera.]

MM: Michelle is following Seth out of here quick.

SW: Kamkorder! WTF?!

[Kamkorder Kid runs over.]

KK: Sorry, Scotty. I'll show you the video right after I load it on YouTube.

SW: Um, hello? We're kinda doing a show here. Fuck YouTube.

KK: Oh? Really? Am I on TV right now? Hi Mom!

SW: What's your mom's name?

KK: Eighttrack. Why?

SW: Hey, how's your sister doing?

KK: VCR? She's great. She has a daughter now. Her name's Blackberry.

MM: Can we focus? What's going on, Kid? Where are Seth and Michelle going?

KK: Oh...right...they're going to check on Steve Studnuts, because he was totally attacked backstage.

MM: What?

SW: That wasn't in our script.

KK: Well...duh. He was attacked for real.

MM: Show us the video.

[The camera gets behind Scotty and Mike, who are both standing behind the EZ Break Announce Desk. Kamkorder Kid sets up the video and replays it for them.]

MM: Well fans, what we are looking at right here is...Steve Studnuts. He's is face down and appears to be covered in...what is that KK?

KK: Waffles.

SW: Waffles? Did he get in a fight with a chef or a waiter or something?

KK: I dunno. There was just waffles. Sticky waffles everywhere!

Spectre: Wow, that's spooky.

Spooky: No, I'm Spooky!

KK: Holy crap! Ghosts!

SW: Where?

KK: Right behind you.

Ghostie: Let me hear you scream! *Ghost clap*

KK: AHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Kamkorder Kid drops the camera and runs away.]

Spooky: Nice going, Ghostie.

MM: Well fans, I don't know what to make of this.

SW: Did you know the Riviera was haunted?

MM: I didn't. Hey, check that out. Did you hear that? That lady who works at the hotel said he was attacked by four guys dressed in black. Fans. We're out of time. But tune in next week for an update on Steve Studnuts condition. For Scotty Whatbody, this is Mike Monroe saying good morning.


©2007 BOB Wrestling! Pissing off the planet one viewer at a time!

 

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