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Sunday Morning Chloroform Logo

How about that March Mayhem, huh?

Yes, there is no opening thing. Deal with it.

Scotty Whatbody: Hello everybody and welcome to MY show, Sunday Morning Chloroform. We're live from Gaysport, Ohio. Need I say more?

Nurse Heidi: Your show? This is MY show.

Mark Shill: Fans, welcome to the number one show in parody ewrestling today. Yes, BOB, Sunday Morning Chloroform, IS ON THE AIR! It should be another HISTORIC night in the ANNALS OF PARODY EWRESTLING! HOLD THE PHONE! WE'RE GOING TO ISTANBUL, OHIO! WHAT'S HAPPENING THERE?

NH: It looks like there is a scared little girl running away from something.

SW: Wait a minute. Old men in robes? With plastic retractable knives? What is your family doing in town, Shill?

MS: Those most assuredly are NOT members of the SHILL clan.

NH: She's climbing up on a roof. Silly girl. Go DOWN when being chased.

SW: If she went down, well, I have a candidate for her. BWAHAHA. I kill me.

NH: I really hope those Harbinger of Weed kill you next.

SW: But the real question is, what does this have to do with anything?

NH: Patience, man, patience.

SW: I don't have any. Let's have sex!

NH: *Sigh*


NH: How can she be cornered in a place with no corners?

SW: Are you drunk?

NH: No.

SW: Here, drink this.

NH: There better not be roofies in this.

SW: Me? Me? Put roofies in your drink? Nah. Just lots and lots of alcohol.



NH: Well, if your lucky, or, if I'm lucky, you'll soak in that alcohol and get drunk and fall asleep. Or die.

SW: You DO realize that Billy Polar is frozen. Doesn't mean your cookie jar has to be.


SW: Wow! They all just stabbed her with their knives. What's with the ketchup bottle being tipped over her?


SW: Ohhhh, right. She's bleeding. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.


NH: Geez, are you to drunk to put in an exlamation point?

MS: Were'e alla delvoep8ig xxxtreme nameinc diseaee!!!!!!!!~!@E"QFA1

NH: Ghood goo#@~!. Gooat b4erak~!!! No23a

[Insert funny ha-ha here. Yeah. Nobody wanted to sponsor this break this week. Fuck em. Fuck em ALL!]

SW: *Ahem* Are we OK?

NH: I think so.

SW: Well alright! Let's bring out the winner of March Mayhem 2003. That sure was an amazing tournament, wasn't it?

NH: Indeed it was. When all that stuff happened at the end, just pure shock and awe right there. Swerves and stuff. Awesome.

SW: And here's the Japanese National Anthem!



SW: I hear you, Shill. Everyone hears you, you flamer.


SW: That's what they call somebody whose script is in ALL CAPS!

MS: It is not ALL CAPS. It is MOSTLY CAPS!

SW: So, you're half-flamer then?

MS: THAT would be FAIR, Scotty!

NH: BVD is in the ring and waving that silly Japanese flag around.



BVD: DOOOOOOD! Whatever! HOOOOOOOO! Well, I bet everybody who watched March Mayhem is wondering why BVD is in the ring when we were supposed to meet the REAL winner of March Mayhem, whatever guy. Well. The Japanese Hacksaw is here to tell you dooood, that BVD is NOT happy about what happened, HOOOOOOO!

[The fans are rightly confused. You are, aren't you? Well, you should be if you're reading this for the first time. So, here's the deal. BVD didn't win. No fucking way I'm letting HIM win.]


[Shut up you Asian person. Why don't you go try on a knight suit so I can make a funny racist joke about you being in armor.]

BVD: DOOOOD. I'm from Japan, not China.

[You people all look the same to me. You are NOTHING. Look. Now you're green.]

BVD: DOOOOD. I'm not from Mars! HOOOOOOO!

[Now poof, the flag pole levitates and sneaks around BVD's back. His sweatpants are pulled down. ANAL RAPE! ANAL RAPE! ANAL RAPE!]

SW: OH MY GOD! He's been hanging around with Festering Death a bit too much.

[Ahh, where's Britney Spears when I need her. She'd be a perfect follow up. Anyhow. Yes, I Detached Narrator, the King of Brackets, and the Man Who Makes Things Appear The Way They Do Because He Is The King Megaheel With Cheese…pulled off a swerve of swerves. Watch this.]

Styles: OH MY GOD! Detached Narrator was behind Kay Fabe's kidnapping! It's the Harbingers of Weed again. They have been nothing but trouble. What is behind this plot?

MS: This is despicable.

Commentator: Knocker slobber! Kidnapping! Barbecue sauce! Folks, I'm speechless.

NH: What is he doing? NO WAY! This isn't RIGHT!

[I'm on top of BVD for the pin.]

Generic Ref: You are?

[Yes, I'll count for you.]

[Generic Ref: ONE! TWO! THREE!]

Styles: Oh my GOD! Detached Narrator just pinned BVD!

SW: That's IMPOSSIBLE! Texas didn't beat Syracuse!

[What's that Whatbody? Did I mishear you? For you see, I have Kay Fabe here, she alone must protect the world between the real and the script. And Kay, if you ever want to see your friends again, you'll tell everybody what I want to hear.]

Kay Fabe: Detached Narrator…beat BVD fair and square.

[Bell rings. Bite me.]

MS: If you're seeing stuff that breaks every rule for the sake of stupidity, you're watching BOB!

[But was that it? No, that was just step one in the plan. I kept Kay Fabe hostage because there was one more match to win. And I needed her to prove to everybody that sometimes, you just can't judge the results of a BOB show by who won in a stupid basketball tournament. Hell, if it were up to me, we'd do this during FOOTBALL season. Because football and wrestling combined are ratings like you wouldn't believe. Let's go see what Vinnie has to say about that one.]

VKM: Why must you keep bringing up the XFL, DAMNIT?!

[But back to me, let's take a look at how I defeated Khan. It will never be forgotten.]

Mike Monotone: I don't believe what I'm seeing here.

SW: Gasoline is raining down into the entire arena. The fans have all been transported into a nearby church.

Commentator: Khan is locked in a cage that appeared out of nowhere!

NH: He's trapped and he's covered in gasoline. Dear lord, don't burn him! We'll be forced into inferno matches!

Lawyer for the WWE: I'm sorry Nurse Heidi, you'll have to come with me.

NH: I'll never be able to afford bail on my salary. Hmm.

Tom: HEY!


Crow: Hey! You can't use Tom as a weapon to hit lawyers.

Commentator: All the combustible elements are here.

MS: Except for a MATCH. Or a LIGHTER!

SW: I should have brought hamburger rolls. When I smell that cooked meat, I'm gonna be hungry.

NH: How can you joke about cannibalism?

[Enough chatter. Shut up. It's time to show everyone how I do business.]

[A minute passes. Khan tips over in the ring.]

Styles: Well that was a bit of a letdown. Passing out from the fumes.

[It's time for the cover! ONE! TWO! THREE! I win. Where's Kay Fabe. Let me just snap my fingers. Ah there you are in the cage with Khan. Kay, did I legitimately beat Khan?]

Kay: Yes. With the intestinal fortitude, you beat the biggest dog in the yard. Go you.

[I am your new BOOKER! BigBOSS, get your crusty ass out of my way! Ah, let's have some streamers fall from the ceiling. And balloons. And a few brackets. Ah yes, this is fun. Alright, fans, this has been March Mayhem. Prepare for all your worst nightmares to come true.]

[Back in Ohio, all the fans are booing me to levels equal to that of Luke Warm or Hardcore JJ's POP in their heyday. I have MEGA HEAT. BOO ME! HEAT! BOO ME! BIGGER HEAT! Ahh yes, it's like Texas in here tonight. It's like your mother's pussy when I come to town.]

SW: Will you leave her alone?

[Well, BVD, here's the deal. You suck and I have all the power. So what are you going to do about it?]

BVD: First, DOOOD, I'm gonna put some lotion on my ass. Then, I'm going to challenge you to a match.

[Oh, please do the second thing first, I'm not THAT low that I'd let you spread lotion on your bloody ass on Chloroform. So you want me in a match. Frankly, your ass scares me, I'm gonna be honest with you. So, tonight, we--]

BVD: In a Flagpole Up The Asshole match!

[Hey, you crowd, STOP CHEERING! That's right, the crowd is silent. They're all eating the crickets I just let loose. Hey, BVD, you know you're going to lose. You can't touch me. I can be anyone, anywhere, anytime, and I don't even have to get into the ring because the brackets have all the control. I am the ultimate jobber, but there comes a point when you have to destroy some people who have lost their way. You have lost your way. Therefore, you mean nothing to me. And since I'm the first jobber, I can do whatever I want to all my creations. So, everybody get ready. The first every Flagpole Up The Asshole match. Figure out the rules.

MS: WHAT A MATCH! Fans, without a shadow of a doubt, this is going to be the GREATEST SUNDAY MORNING CHOLORFORM TO AIR IN THE HISTORY OF SUNDAY MORNING PROGRAMMING SINCE THE TELEVISION WAS INVENTED. Fans, stay tuned, call your friends and enemies and let them know BOB is on the AIR!

NH: We'll be right back.

Coming soon to DVD, the most outrageous practical jokes ever! That's right, watch as douja goes into an unsuspecting gym class, sets up the ring and tells everyone that a BOB show is about to begin! Watch the horror as they students try to understand his ebonics! Watch the human drama! The sadness, the dismay! And then watch the relief when they learn it's all just a joke! This and so many other practical jokes, so outrageous we haven't even thought of them yet! I mean, we can't show them here!

That's right, coming soon, it's BOB Gone Wild! All the girls will love it!

SW: Welcome back to the most worthless show on television today.


Scotty Whatbody: Oh, yeah, sure. We're holding a match in Gaysport, Ohio, in possibly the only place in the universe where most of the crowd is made up of quadriplegics.

NH: Oh, god, as soon as you said THAT, we get THESE GUYS.

PA: Yo, yo, I got two testicles in a box, my Burger King box!
Drivin' away with my Burger King takeout, bent in a nugget that wasn't too... TAKEOUT!
Oh, dear lord, this can't be right!
What in the world did I just buy?
Takin' down by those Burger King fools,
In my mouth was some damn goat jewels!

NH: Oh, geez, I'm going to be sick.

SW: Dear GOD. GOD! The BOB Tag Conqueror Champions have arrived, and they're already making with the killing and raping of innocent crowd members! Why are these two allowed to LIVE?!

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

SW: Ladies and gentlemen, that sound you just heard was BOB hitting its lowest point and creating a giant hole that collapsed in on itself.

NH: I don't know how they're doing that while still holding both the Tag Conqueror titles and the D'oh Title. Say, I wonder if BigBOSS has gotten over the fact that smilies are holding two titles here in BOB?

[Scene cut to BigBOSS, who's wearing nothing except a leather domniatrix outfit and is being whipped by bikini-wearing pandas.]

BigBOSS: D'oh!

[Scene cut to the idiots.]

SW: Hey, only Shill's an idiot here, Detached Narrator.

[No. Fuck you. Now you're wearing a donkey on your head.]

MS: This is the darkest day in Sports Entertainment History.

Masked Announcer: This is a match for the BOB Tag Conqueror Championships! Introducing first... in the bleachers... kicking over a little old lady's wheelchair and raping her relentles-- okay, SCREW THIS, I'm not introducing Festering Death now.

=<> & =C]: GOD DAMMIT!

SW: And now the smilies are trying to get to the ring to kill and rape the Masked Announcer. In that specific order.

Masked Announcer: *hastily* AndtheiropponentstheentireGaysportfootballteambyenow.

SW: And there goes the Masked Announcer, just as Festering Death hit the ring.


NH: What's that? Who are all of those people coming down the aisle? And why is the "Gaysport Fight Song" playing?


[Oh, yes. The Gaysport High School football team, also known as the Fighting Rapists. Why do you think they came out here with their uniforms on, but without any pants, hmm? Muwahahahaha.]

SW: Oh, God.

NH: I think I'm going to be sicker than I was when Festering Death came out here.

SW: Now all of these tragically depants-ed football players have all occupied the apron. All twenty of them. Only the Quarterback is in the ring, though. Heidi, you slept with this guy, right? Can you tell me something about him? Like, how hard can I kill him?


SW: Well, okay, maybe not.


Quarterback: Okay, someone pass me the balls!


Quarterback: ....Eww.

Halfback: OH, GOD! THE AGONY! THE AGONY! *clutches crotch and falls over*


SW: OH! SMILEY STUNNER TO THE GAYSPORT HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM'S QUARTERBACK! I think that's the first time I've ever seen a Stone Cold Stunner-like move actually DECAPITATE someone! Blood's pouring right out of the torso where the head used to be, and now... oh, CHRIST, where's my barf bag!

[You think YOU'RE sick? I have to actually describe Spacecop shitting down his neck and raping the shit right out of the corpse in a shower of blood, shit, and cum. Trust me, Whatbody, you don't want my job. As a matter of fact, you're now wearing Mark Shill as a hat, while riding the donkey.]


SW: The amazing part is that it's true. Get off of my head, Shill.


NH: The Gaysport High School Football Team is in UTTER SHOCK right now, what with their Quarterback dead and everything. Now the Fullback is in the ring, and I think he wants a piece of Spacecop.




SW: Come on, ref! Get that foreign object out of there!

Generic Ref: .................You want ME, to tell the smiley with the unearthly gigantic penis who likes to kill people and then rape their corpses, to not use it as a weapon in this match?

SW: Yes.

Generic Ref: I'm just gonna let him do what he wants, we all know they're going to win this match any way.





SW: Spacecop just BISECTED the Fullback of the Gaysport High School Football Team with his PENIS.

MS: That was the greatest moment we've ever seen!

SW: Yes, because I'm sure you love to watch violence and penises all mixed together in one package, Shill. And get off my head already.

MS: I'm comfy!

SW: You're sick. Detached Narrator?

[I actually think it's cute, myself.]

SW: Damn you.

NH: Oh, God, what are the smilies doing with the pieces of the Gaysport Fullback?

SW: I dunno, but I think the Punter has something to say about it.


SW: No, actually... nevermind, he isn't gonna say much.

[Ooh! Look at the little bits of skull after that Con-Fullback-To! Pretty!]

SW: You're a sick, depraved bastard, Detached Narrator.

[Ah ah ah! Now you have Mark Shill on your lap, and he has no pants on. Have fun.]

SW: *looking up at the heavens with contempt and anger on his face* DETACHED NARRRRRRAAATTTOOOORRRRRR!!!!!

NH: While we straighten this out, let's take a quick commercial break!


Jeff Goldblum: Hi, I'm Jeff Goldblum, and...


Jeff Goldblum: AHH! MY EYELID! *falls over*



[We come back to the Announcers. Mark Shill and Scotty Whatbody are tied to their chairs(and to each other), while Nurse Heidi is wearing a leather dominatrix outfit and wielding a whip.]

NH: Is it just me, or does Spaceduck and Spacecop end up everywhere nowadays?


SW: The Detached Narrator has got to be stopped.

[I can't be stopped, Whatbody. Nobody can stop me.]

NH: Well, while we were out, Spaceduck and Spacecop played a game called "How Far Can The Wide Receivers Catch Their Own Heads From A Fifty Yard Hail Mary". Naturally, every one of them could only one run yard before they collapsed and died. We're left with the Linebackers, the Kicker, the Centerback, and the Safety.

SW: I believe the Safety had the right idea when he chose to run for his own safety, but it was too bad that one of the Wide Receiver's heads was lobbed in his direction, hit him, and knocked him into a conveniently placed "Giant Fan of Cutting".

MS: This is a dark day for the Gaysport High School Football Team.


Fullback: I don't. :(


=<>: *STAB!*

SW: And the Fullback, who has been laying on the outside and holding his crotch for the last ten minutes, has been stabbed to death.


[And suddenly, a giant box labeled "THE BEAST" is wheeled out, and it has a hole at the top. Well, hey, there's no way I can twist this into my favor, and besides, Festering Death are heels anyway. Why make them lose?]



Linebacker #1: Um, excuse me... I know you killed most of my friends and caused all of us linebackers to wet ourselves, but are you really going to kill all of us?



Linebacker #1: AIIIIEEEE!!!

SW: Oh no! That linebacker just conveniently flew into the hole, where...

The Beast: RUAHH~!



SW: I guess the Beast doesn't like eating crotches.


NH: And that flying crotch just conveniently caved in the skull of the other linebacker! We're down to the Kicker and the Centerback!

SW: What are they doing?

NH: I believe they're playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who would distract Festering Death while the other one would make their escape.

Kicker: Scissors beats paper, bitch.

Centerback: That's a black hole, not a paper. I win.

Kicker: FUCK!

SW: And there goes the Centerback, running for his life! But wait, Spacecop has a crowbar!


The Beast: RUAHH~!





SW: What the fuck!? The Beast is tearing apart this quadriplegic crowd in an attempt to kill the Centerback of this town's high school football team, and you're calling it a great moment?!

MS: Yes.

SW: I hate you SO much, Shill.

NH: Meanwhile, in the ring, the Kicker is trying to not get killed by Spaceduck.



SW: And a Smiley Stunner, right into Spaceduck's knife. Ladies and gentlemen, Festering Death just murdered an entire football team, and nobody's here to arrest them.

Masked Announcer: Your... ahhh... winners, and STILL BOB Tag Conqueror Champions... those fucking smilies. That's it. I'm leaving.

NH: I think Spaceduck and Spacecop are the first champions we've seen who have actually successfully defended their belts on BOB programming.


SW: Right. And, um, Heidi? Could you, like, untie us?

[Just before Heidi could untie Whatbody, she makes love to Mark Shill while Whatbody's forced to watch.]

SW: *looking up at the heavens with contempt and anger on his face* DETACHED NARRRRRRAAATTTOOOORRRRRR!!!!!



[Wow. THAT was a spectacular match---NOT! You know, Heidi, I never DID properly get to thank you for getting rid of that annoying "I am from Harvard and therefore smart" Billy "Dammit" Polar guy all those months ago. That was truly inspired.]

NH: Huh?

Styles: Good lord. Where the hell did THAT come from??

MS: Left field?

Styles: Yeah, stop talking right now. Please?


MS: #mmmffffph#

[And, if it's not too much trouble, Heidi, I'd like to take this poorly-timed and ill-fitting moment that goes against the entire flow of the plot thus far to thank you. If you would please join me in the ring, milady? Okay, so you can't really see me. Just pretend I'm there. You know. Like you do every time you have sex.]

SW: zzzzzzz-Huh?! Sex? What? I'm awake! I'm awake!

NH: Huh? How did he--? Fine, I'm coming.

MS: #nnngggh#

Styles: Don't, Heidi! It's gotta be a trap. Sorry. That was Mark Shill's line. But somebody had to say it. Might I advise caution?

NH: Thanks, but I'll be alright, Styles. He doesn't even exist after all. Okay, I'm in the ring now, Detached Narrator, what do you want?

[Suddenly "Wurd 2 Yor Mawmz, Eye Kayme 2 Drawp Bawmz!" by XXXtreme Machine & the G-Chlirin frum tha Huud blasts through the arena. #sigh# What now? Must wrestling interviews ALWAYS be interrupted?]

XTM: Yo oy oyo yoo! Dorp meya hpat beet, G! Pepe thiss hit, ypo!
Cante belvive tis shuit i"m herin! Hoo thee fuclk r u?
Bitce, u ani't got lade sinse te Filnstones! Yaba Dabaa Doo!
So do'nt b tokkin bowt my wuman, doo, wee be n luve thnak yuo verry mutch
We ebe hapee at nmy moma's howz. eye trimms the rozez, sher kleens th rabit hutch.
Sos y yur as sbe frunt in, dfawg, anbt no nede 2 hait mee
Koz im da wun hoo lans tis trik, bich, f u doan lyk it, aet me!
Qwe hab the gud lyfe, yo, anit know ned 2 tri an nokkit.
At lest Ii gotz a wimun at nyte. U gtot yurr han insiede yror pokkit!
Y o babee yo b aybe yo! #coughcough# I meen, uhh, Wrud lif! Kiknit frestlye!

[Well, that wasn't at all disturbing. I didn't understand a single word you just said. Did you guys get that? Did you guys get ANY of that?]

Styles: Not a word, I'm afraid. Just ignore him. It's better for all concerned that way.

[Okay then. I'm pretty sure he has end-stage mouth cancer anyway. That's why he talks so funny. See? Is that a bowling ball in your mouth, XXX, or are you just happy to see me?]

Styles: What the hell? That made no sense. This is ridiculous. (looking at XXXtreme's swollen jowels) OH MY GOD!!


[Hee, hee! The power, it tingles.... Now, Heidi, as I was saying, you did the wrestling world a big favor when you had Billy Polar cryogenically frozen all those months ago. That was a stroke of sheer GENIUS! Hey, gee, what put you up to it, Heidi? Oh, wait, that's right, it was ME! Hee-hee-hee! I rule! FIRST THERE WAS GOD, THEN THERE WAS DETACHED NARRATOR! Prostrate yourselves before me!]

SW: Sheesh. And I thought Bohemoth was bad....

NH: Yeah, you MAY have put me up to it, but let me tell you something. Let me tell you all something. I WANTED TO DO IT! I'm not sorry! He had it coming. Don't you dare even ask why! Any of you. You KNOW why!

[Now, now, Heidi. These ARE wrestling fans, after all. Give their little brains a nudge.]

NH: Fine. It's simple. It's 'cause I WAS TOO GOOD FOR HIM!! He couldn't hold my jock on his best day. I mean, um, well you know what I mean. He may have been to Harvard, but he is still the very definition of "white trash"!

[Uh-oh, don't look now, Heidi, but that sounds like Billy Polar's theme music: "Pickin' Boogers" by Biz Markie. Looks like you got some 'splainin' to do.....]

Styles: (looking like he doesn't want to be here) Oh good God. Hey, that's not Billy's theme--oh, why do I even bother anymore. That's Shill's job, not mine.

MS: #mmmmfffph# #mmff-mmmmmmph-mm#

SW: Hey, don't look at me, buddy! They don't pay me enough. Or anything at all for that matter.

Styles: Fine. Someone's got to do the narrating around here. God forbid we leave it to the NARRATOR! Fans, Billy Polar has just entered the ring and he's brought his own microphone to the ring. He owns his own microphone? So that's how he gets all that interview time on the air. I'll have to tell Sarah about this. Anyway, fans, wait---no, I will not say THAT. It's absolutely asinine! Who talks like that?

MS: #mmmmfffphmmmphffmm#

SW: He's got you there, Styles. You better do it.

Styles: Fine! Oh, what an historic moment this is. It's been a year in the making, folks. There, you happy? Wait, I don't believe it. They're actually cheering him. OH MY GOD!

BP: Well, well, well. It's good to see you, too. In fact, it's good to see anything! Yes, yes, my fans....I, Billy Polar, do hereby validate your existence. So stop with the chaotic screaming already! Although, I can't say I blame you for screeching like maniacs. This building may not be on fire, BUT I SURE AS HELL AM! In fact, my record speaks for itself. I AM UNDEFEATED SINCE MY RETURN!! (the fans go nuts again) Now, now. My brush with near-death has taught me some very important things. But enough about all that---(falling to his hands and knees and hugging Heidi's leg while balling like a baby) WHY, HEIDI! TELL ME WHYYYYY!!!

NH: I thought I already did. Your short attention span is definitely a large part of it---

[Suddenly, "Liquid Dreams" by O-Town interrupts Heidi in mid-sentence. D'oh! It's Joshitude and his hardcore hiphugger, J.C. Long. Is it just me, or is this segment disgustingly over-booked?]

MMR1: Damn you, DN! That's NOT my theme music!

[Yes it is. Look at your bio.]

MMR1: Oh. Anyway, hey Billy! So you wanna know why? You're asking the wrong person!

SW: What's he talking about?

Styles: (rubbing his head due to his growing migraine) Why isn't this show over yet, would be a much more appropriate question.

BP: Huh?

MMR1: Don't ask HER. Ask Heidi!

BP: Wha?

MMR1: You've been duped, Billy. We all have! Observe:

Styles: Now, what's all this then? J.C. Long has just wheeled out the BOB TinyTron. He's fiddling with the remote now, still fiddling, trying to adjust the tracking, rewinding the tape, fast-forwarding it a little, rewinding it again, still rewinding, there. OH MY GOD! It's Nurse Heidi. I sure didn't see that one coming.

SW: Well, how could you? Man, what a bombshell. Look, she's in a KFC uniform. Nice. Whoa, she's talking. Quiet! Let's hear what she has to say while we're staring at her breasts.

NH: Hello, how are you doing today? Welcome to KFC. Can I take your order?

male voice (sounding similar to Josh's): Yeah, I'd like a 13-piece original, and, uh, hee hee, YOU, to go.

NH: (rolling her eyes) That'll be 30 bucks. Do you want cole slaw with that?

male voice: (pulling up to the window) Only if you--HEIDI??

NH: (maliciously spitting on his chicken) hoooock-PTOO. Wait a second. Josh?

Josh: Yeah, it's me!

NH: Oh, I don't believe it! (maliciously spitting on his chicken again) Hey, how are you? Long time, no see.

Josh: Umm, okay? What are you doing here? There's a BOB show later tonight. Why aren't you at the building yet? I'm already late so I figured I might as well stop off and eat, seeing as how all catering ever offers is fried pinto beans.

NH: Huh? What are you talking about? My BOB contract lapsed last summer. Are you STILL waiting on the next card?

Josh: No, umm, I don't understand. Is this some kind of joke? Come on nowww, is this a rib? StreetMime put you up to this, didn't he? Where are you, you little mimey bastard!

NH: Umm, yeah, enjoy your meal, sir.

Josh: Wait a minute. Do you seriously mean to tell me that you DON'T know what I'm talking about? You haven't been doing any commentating since last July??

NH: Uhhh, no. BOB and I amicably parted ways. You see, I'm almost thirty-five now and I have to start thinking about my future, so I left BOB for this job because it pays more. Plus, if I stick to my guns, in fifteen or twenty years, I could be manager of this place....

Josh: Whoa, this's like the Twilight Zone. Are you aware that an evil you-clone has been impersonating you on our television and even had Billy Polar cryogenically frozen?

NH: What the hell? Clones cryogenically freezing people? Are you talking about BOB or the WWE? A clone, ey? Aww, that must be my sister, Heli. We're identical twins.

Josh: No WAY! YOU have a SISTER?! Yes! And she's going with XXXtreme Machine. Ohmigosh. You know what this means? I might actually have a chance with her!

NH: She's going with WHO?! While pretending to be WHO!?! I did not need to hear that. Josh, honey, move over. We're going for a ride!

Josh: Boo-yeah! 2 Heidis. 1 ring. YES! To the arena, woman!

NH: No way, I'm going home. My shift's over.

[Well, that was a grotesque waste of TV time. I applaud you.]

MMR1: Thanks. You see, Billy? THAT'S NOT HEIDI!!

BP: I see. So you're saying-?

MMR1: Uhmm. That---that's not Heidi. That's what I'm saying.

BP: You don't have to tell me! (pointing to self) HARVARD CRIMINAL PSYCH, BABY! Dammit! Let's see here. Oh. Hmm. (giving Heidi the once over as she just stands there looking scared) Wait a minute. Something wrong here. Three inches higher. Shaved armpits. More professional boob-job. No stretch-marks on the upper thighs. No signs of electrolysis on the upper lip. And what happened to your knock-knees, Heidi? Wait a minute. It all makes sense. All this time. I don't believe it. I was dating the fake Heidi, and then the real Heidi came back and cryogenically froze me!

MMR1: Uhhhhh, close enough.

NH?: (running from the ring and shaking her fists) I am TOO the real Heidi! You'll see, Polar! You'll see! Curses! This isn't over! And you, you're on my list, Josh!

MMR1: Ooh, I'm scared! What are you gonna do? Spread nasty rumors about me being gay to all your friends at the beauty salon?

NH?: I just might.


[So, it seems you kids and that dog have uncovered my little plot. Oh yeah? Well, I've got news for you. YOU'RE ALL FIRED!!]

J.C. Long: Damn! Again?

MMR1: Oooooh, fired! And that would affect our pay HOW? Do you believe this guy, Billy? Billy?

BP: What?

MMR1: So, are you ready for our #1 contenders' match tonight?

BP: Yeah, sure.

MMR1: So, what's up, dude? I just did you, like, this huge favor, and you're not even gonna thank me, man? How gay is that?

BP: Uh, thank you. Look, you can go ahead and have the number one contendership. I've gotta go find the real Heidi.

MMR1: What are you talking about? You're not going nowhere! We have a match, man!

BP: Maybe you didn't hear me. I'm GIVING you the title shot with Hardcore J.J. no questions asked. You can have the night off and I'm going to find Heidi. I miss her, man! You know?

MMR1: (while J.C. is furiously trying to give him the "cut it" signal) No, I DON'T know. But, here's what I DO know: I've been waiting a year and a half to show the world that I have what it takes to defeat you; that I am a main eventer. You're my stepping stone, man! You're like this old, decrepit veteran dude who needs to put over the future crop of talent, which is pretty much just me, so that our fed can rise out of the doldrums it's in and totally, like, move onward into the future and junk. Moving on into the future, of course, is something that BOB seems to have a hard time doing, and tonight I'd like to change all that. In front of the whole world. Of Idaho. And you're just gonna leave?

BP: Old and decrepit? I'm only 25. How old ARE you? 16? Look, I hear what you're saying, but this is really important to me. I am HANDING you the title shot. Why don't you prove all of this crap you're talking about by WINNING THE FREAKING CHAMPIONSHIP. I've been cryogenically frozen, alright? Heidi and I have a lot of catching up to do, if you know what I mean.

MMR1: (while J.C. is desperately trying to clamp his hands over Josh's mouth) Damn, man! I can't believe you're saying all this! Are YOU even the real Billy Polar? The Billy Polar I knew would do ANYTHING for that title! And I mean ANYTHING! The Billy Polar I knew won that title in a battle royal by bringing chloroform to the ring and handcuffing himself to the ring ropes, getting slapped in the face a few times before getting thrown out, and STILL managing to come out on top over 100 other men in post-production. Where's the Billy Polar I knew? Where is he? Where's the Billy Polar who, over a year ago, managed to barely defeat me after being knocked unconscious, due to massive outside interference, extensive and blatant cheating, and a few well-timed Pearl Harbor jobs? Where is that firecracker we've all grown to know and hate? The guy who couldn't lose a match to save his life? Huh? Where'd that guy go? Oh, what? Go ahead, Polar, I know you want to. You want to hit me with a chair, huh? Or that lead pipe hidden in your pants. Well, go ahead, I can take it. I SAID, GO AHEAD! Do it.

BP: (fuming) You know what? You're lucky it's time for a commercial. You want your match? You got it. Sometime after these messages.

MMR1: (while J.C. is shaking his head in frustration) Ha ha! Good. I think.

The following promotional advertisement has been paid for by two cats and a chick who want to get laid:

WIN A DATE WITH YOUR FAVORITE PARODY E-WRESTLING SUPERSTAR! THAT'S RIGHT, WE SAID "WIN"! How, you ask? Just choose from one of our three lucky bachelors/bachelorette and write them a letter. All entries must be submitted by July the 1st of this year, or next year, depending on when they get around to reading them. Once all entries are in, our three willing-and-able singles will choose their favorite submission, and if you're that lucky person, you'll get to go out on a televised 6-hour date with them. BOB is not responsible for any physical injuries incurred in said date. All proceeds go to the BOB Hospice House for Retards & Corporate Office Headquarters Building


Bachelor 1

Tito Aqmed Aziz al'Watkins aka "douja"


Bachelor 2

Jeb Bush (no relation) aka "Mittens the Mannerless"
Turn-ons: SWIMMING ("I take to the water quite nicely") & THE LADIES
Turn-offs: RENTAL CARS & PATRICIA ARQUETTE ("I just don't like her face")


Bachelorette 1

Lurlene R. Butts aka "Candy Cantaloupes"

MS: Well, fans, we're back, and WHOOOO!! I can talk again! As you can see from the fact that I'm talking. Again.

Styles: Yes, we're so happy for you, Mark. It seems the Detached Narrator has decided to cooperate with us once again for reasons known only to him.

[And they're good reasons, too. My reasons RULE! And I suppose you want me to rehire those idiots while I'm at it, huh?]

Styles: Well, seeing as how no one in BOB has seen a paycheck since 2002, I don't know that it matters.

SW: Well, let's keep this nightmare of a show going or something. Now heading to the ring are Trey Vincent and Seth Harker to some song. Like I care right now.

[The song is "N.W.O." by Ministry. I love these guys. What great You Gotta Have Friends Tag Team Champions They Are. ]

MS: Umm, Mr. Narrator? It's the Four-Play Titles, now.


SW: You're so dead, Shill.

[That's when the raw sewage fell down on Shill. And ONLY Mark Shill. But if you other mofos start getting lippy, I'll drop that sewage on you too. Got it?]

SW: Yes sir! Zig heil!

NH: Way to smell like raw sewage, Schiavone.

MS: This is the SMELLISEST CHLOROFORM in the HISTORY of…whatever. Can I PLEASE get a towel?


MS: Umm, possibly some ones that aren't ON FIRE?

SW: It's getting HOT in here. So, Heidi, take off all your clothes!

NH: Eat me, Whatbody.

SW: Love to.

NH: You DO realize I could break your neck, right?

SW: Are your legs that strong? You been using the Thighmaster? You know, I've been referred to as the Thigh Master on MANY occasions?

NH: Oh yeah? Shill called you that?


Trey Vincent: Are you scrubs done talking? You better be. Alright, here's the deal. Some moron made this match have stipulations that Trey Vincent, Seth Harker and Steve Studnuts did not agree too.

[Cut to BigBOSS, who is up in a tree eating a banana and making noises like a monkey.]


[Back to Trey. And yo Trey?]

Trey: Yes?

[I am booking the shows now. And you ASKED me for this match.]

Trey: …

[You even wrote the script for this match. We haven't forgotten your stroke back here.]

Trey: Shut up! You're not supposed to break kayfabe! Where is she, anyway?

[Stay tuned. I hear there's a lot of lesbian kissing.]

Trey: Woohoo! Anyway, Mully, Sculder, why don't you two come out here and erase everyone's memories.

[Here they come. There they go.]

Trey: And don't you two scrubs ever get into a Trey Vincent promo!

Seth: Hey, Treyster?

Trey: Oh, right, you're here. What's up, Sethster?

Seth: Why did you ask for this match.

Trey: Damnit! Didn't we erase this part?

[Hehehehe. I guess you guys have selective memories.]

Trey: Or repressed.

Seth: Anyhow, we haven't done an MST in a while. The iAd site is still getting plenty of hits though.

Trey: Right then. You know, this is rather fun, just talking. We never talk anymore.

Seth: I h--

Trey: I mean, here we are, two guys in the coolest stable in the world, and it seems like I ever pick up the phone to call you, or when I do it's just to complain and bitch to you and ignore every thing you say.

Seth: Well--

Trey: You have to be more forceful, I think, and stop playing the heelish goth straight-man and be more like your iAd brethren.

Seth: You do--

Trey: Anyhow. It's time for a rematch between us and that KRP group. How is Less Nessman gonna compare to us? Loni Anderson? Ohhh, those jugs. The things I could do to those funbags. And that black guy. He ain't got nothing on me. Those pussies were once afraid of a tornado. Try living in Minnesota!

Seth: TREY!

Trey: Man, you're Mr. Gabby today.

Seth: *Sigh*

Trey: Who are you, Charlie Brown now? Here, go long.

Seth: Try living in parts unknown. It's really tough to find the way home, some nights.

Trey: Oh, please. I know where you live.

[Oh good fricking hell. Let's put on some new Kent State Krew stuff, done exclusively by Brandon and Jim. Since Josh is cool and left. And I got a letter from a girl named Katie, an adopted girl, who wants to donate this song to her unknown real parents. It's a song called "We're Not Boys, Not Yet Men (Until We Win Our Titles Back)" And it's coming in at number three on this week's countdown. And cue the screaming 10 and 11 year olds.]

SW: Hey girls! Those two will leave you a cold, lifeless shell. Come with me!

NH: Yeah, there's something to aspire too. I'd rather be with Billy than you, how's that.

SW: I can deal with that. *Cough*bitch*Cough*

MS: What is the meaning of THIS! Brandon is walking to the ring with a bottle of Southern Comfort! And Jim is bringing down a black, leather trench coat. What could this be about?

SW: I hope we have some impersonations! That would be funny! Mockery is always enjoyable.

Jim: Hellllllloooo, GIRLS.

[Girly screams! Ahh, my frickin' ears.]

Jim: You know something GIRLS.

[Those ear piercing screams? They're getting worse. That's it, I'm turning that sound into chicks having orgasms.]

Jim: We want to wrap some gold around you tonight. Back at our, hotel rooms.


Brandon: Hey, Jim, we don't have hotel rooms tonight. But if any young, but legal, ladies would like to rent us one, we'd be more than happy to join you there. Throw us your key cards up until we leave the parking lot and start trying to hitchhike to the next show!

Trey: *Pfffft* Legal.

Seth: Trey. Your microphone is on.

Trey: … D'oh!

Jim: And to get the gold, we are going to sing a tune to the incurable Apathy disorder. That's right, the iAd. You, Trey Vincent. And you, Seth Harker.

Trey: We must stop getting drunk and coming here.

Seth: Agreed.

Jim: So, Trey, I have something here you want.

Trey: Trey Vincent doesn't wear trench coats, you dumb, guy. Damnit, BOB is really starting to affect my wit.

Seth: Is it?

Brandon: Well, then, Seth, I have something here, YOU will want then. How about this bottle of Southern Comfort.

Seth: That's tempting. But I think I'll have to pass. If you had some beer or wine, errrr, I mean if you had some blood, or something, I'd drink that in a heartbeat.

Trey: Blood?

Seth: Damnit! BOB has really affected me now.

Trey: Has it? This is why I don't let you speak. You get all nervous around me, since I AM such a big star.

Seth: Yeah, that's it.

Jim: Darn. I thought this would have given you guys each something you would have wanted.

SW: Jim, you moron! Give Trey the Southern Comfort, and Seth the trench coat!

[Of course, Jim couldn't hear Scotty over the orgasming ladies. And me whacking my meat.]

MS: If you've got nonsensical shenanigans and bribes for the Four-Play Tag Team Titles, you've GOT to be watching, BOB!

Trey: Well, I don't know how to settle this.

Seth: I'm stumped.

Brandon: Yeah. Stumped.


SW: Whoa! Brandon just hit Trey Vincent in the head with the bottle of Southern Comfort! And now Jim wraps the trench coat over Seth Harker's head! And he wrestles him to the mat!


NH: New champions! Wow. Brandon just beat Trey Vincent. This has got to be yet another low in Trey Vincent's BOB career.


[Meanwhile, outside of the arena.]

Sarah "The Jobber Slayer": Nothing good can come of this. This is a sign. Of something. Hey, it should be a good first day of school though.

Michelle: Not to mention we're at a low-budget arena and not a school, but, umm, Sarah, you do realize it is like, June now, don't you?

Xamfir: Don't worry about it. We're already IN hell. How could things get any worse?

Sarah: Oh, you jinxing person. If you're going to say stuff like that, don't.

Xamfir: Aww, come on. What's the worst that could happen?

Sarah: Well, we're in the hallway, and nobody has tried to attack me. I take this as a good.

Mysterious voice: It's hard to let go, isn't it?

Michelle: I like to grab Xamfir's ass when I'm nervous. His ass is my stress ball.

Sarah: He's very stress assy. Who are you?

Mystery man: Oh, sorry. I should introduce myself. I'm Principal Evil Blackman. I have a very complex past. But I didn't burn any TV studios down like someone I know.

Sarah: How did you--

Principal: Well, I've been cryptic enough. See you around.

Sarah: Principal of the arena, huh? Well, he's gonna have trouble keeping those jobbers in line.

XXXtreme Machine: hay u r teh prinnsapul wahrre iz hteh bahtoom?


Michelle: Yep, he's gonna get eaten alive.

Xamfir: Perhaps literally.

[Back to the ring area place.]

SW: It's now time for an Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind? Hardcore Title defense. Khan vs. the title belt. Yep. This is BOB. Inanimate objects win titles here. Don't you want to join?

NH: How did this match come about? Well, let's go back to March Mayhem 2003 and see!

[Cut to the TinyTron. "Footage not available" is seen." Back to you losers!]

NH: Damn. And we were doing so well with that tournament.

SW: Sure, we are. Anyhow. During that stupid moment, Khan made his way to the ring. Out to that "Undies" song, I guess. And he's not looking to good. Not that he ever did.


SW: Where is the Masked Announcer anyway?

MS: It's a mystery! Something is afoot!

NH: Yep. Announcers usually disappear before some big angle goes down.

[Hey, nimrods, I'm the only one here who matters. I could make any of you turn heel, face, or into animals if I wanted.]






MS: That, low down, 1600 Club. Dude Whose A Dead Ringer For Clinton, Man Who Looks A Bit Like Nixon, Guy Who Slightly Looks Like LBJ. This war between the Undietaker and his Handis and the 1600 Club is far from over! Don't you DARE change that channel!

{England…=delete=…New England.}

(Kay Fabe is making a flower come in and out of the ground.)

[Hey! Who the HELL are you?]

(Name's Leary. John Leary. You got a problem with that?)

[Yes. Yes I do.]

(Too bad. I can delete you.)




(Hahahaha SHUT UP! Alright then. Here comes Mikey Styles, who SHOULD be doing the play-by-play, but isn't. Why? Because he's in New England and not Ohio. Now is it sinking in? Alright, let me try this again…)

Styles: That flower may be there, but I know one flower that will never be back again.

Kay: Huh?

Styles: You know. The first time with you were a man.

Kay: Hey there, Avenger Dyslexic. Try that one again. Actually, don't. I may not be able to make myself a virgin, but I can turn you into a Dick.

Styles: Don't be preposterous.

Kay: Done

Dick: What the? Hey! Stop that! OH MY GOD! I'm a DICK!

Kay: There, is that better?

Dick: NO!

Kay: Ooops. How about that?

Dick: OH MY GOD! What is wrong with you!

Kay: Excuse me?

Small Dick: I meant, uh, OH MY GOD! Kay, please, let me be Styles again. Please?

Kay: OK then. Glad we're on the same page.

(Kay and Styles both consult their scripts and nod in that noddy way.)

Styles: All right then.

Kay: Styles, I'm scared of going back.

Styles: Well, they do have big penises.

Kay: Not BLACK. Back!

Styles: Well, once you go black…

Kay: OH MY GOD! Will you shut your mouth?

Styles: Sorry.

Kay: It's just…I'm afraid I might turn back into Domino. Or someone worse. It's all connected, Styles. The grass. The dirt. The roots. The jobbers. I've learned that.

Styles: That's extreme!

Kay: You want to know what's extreme? The coven that taught me all about my witchy ways looks at me like I'm going to turn the world into a bunch of Scott Halls and Kevin Nashes.

Styles: What do you want? They're a bunch of extremely sad women who can't rely on their looks anymore so they turn to magic….not that you've lost your looks…um…so do you want to be punished…by a black man?

Kay: No. I want to be Kay Fabe again. I want to protect the wrestling and sport entertainment worlds from the truth.

Styles: Well, in the end, we all are the same. A bunch of assholes.

Kay: …

MS: Well, fans, what a night it's been, and it's only getting better! Up next we have our main event, between one of those Kent State freaks and the returning Billy Polar!! So, set your VCRs, because you'll no doubt want to see this one again and again and again. It's sure to be a match for the AGES! I can't believe we're giving it away for free, can you guys?

SW: You got beat up a lot when you were a kid, didn't you?

MS: No, because I was on the track team. But first, stay tuned fans: to honor everyone's favorite Harvard alum (who's not Chris Nowinski), we've put together this special video package from the all the boys in the back. Welcome home, Billy!

[Alright, alright. I'm cooperating. Let's see, here. Oh yes, to set the scene, the Clive the camera guy has set up the camera in the backstage area. A caption along the top of the screen reads: "WHAT BILLY POLAR MEANS TO ME".]

Clive: Let's see if I can get anybody. Oh, look, there's StreetMime! Nah, better not waste the film. Aha! It's Reiner von Duzendorf! Hey, Rein-man! Yo! Over here! I'm doing a little documentary on what the wrestlers feel about Billy Polar. Care to say a few words?

RVD: Wer ist Billy Polar? Ich habe von ihn nie gehört.

Clive: Uh, nevermind, hey! Hey! Sir Hungalot! It's the Big Sir, everybody! Hey, care to say a few words about Billy Polar and his career here in BOB?

SH: Sure. I'm glad that loud-mouthed lamedick commissioner is LONG gone from BOB. This place has enough problems from people with big egos right now as it is. Can you imagine if HE was here, too? BOB would go STRAIGHT to hell! That impotent idiot deserved to get cryogenically frozen, if you ask me. His three inches--I mean, three MINUTES of fame are up and, the best part of it is, he's not even around to whine and rant about it. How cool is that?

Clive: Okay. How about you, Candy?

SH: (while Candy is looking at the camera with a seething look of murderous rage) Oh, you don't wanna go there. Trust me. Keep it live, Clive.

Clive: Yeah, will do. Hey look, it's Insano Mano!

IM: ¡Hey, tipo! ¿Cuál es el 4-1-1 en el abajo-bajo, C?

Clive: Alright. If you could describe Billy Polar in just three words, what would they be?

IM: David Ogden Stiers.

Clive: Huh?

IM: Si usted ha visto que demostración, MASH, después usted sabe de lo que estoy hablando. Bastantes dijeron.

Clive: I see. Oh, look, it's Sarah's over there at the pay-phone. Let's talk to her. Hey, Sarah! I'm doing a video package on Billy Polar. Do you have anything special to say about him?

StJS: (holding up a finger in the classic "one second, I'm on the phone" gesture)

KF: I can talk about Billy. So what would you like to know?

Clive: Kay Fabe! It's Kay Fabe, everybody. So, if you could describe Billy Polar in just three words, what would they be?

KF: Oh, please. It would take me only one word to describe Billy Polar, and that one word is BURRRRRRPPP!! (she then walks off-screen)

StJS: (to the phone) Hold on a second. (to the retreating Kay Fabe) Hey! You say "excuse me" when you do that in public, young lady! (to the phone again) That girl really worries me sometimes, I swear. So, hey, did you talk to Maude about getting that new shag-carpeting yet?

Clive: Uhhh, okay, that's about three minutes of material. I think I've got enough. Back to you, Mark.

Styles: Well, that was certainly......insightful. What about you, Scotty? I had thought that Billy Polar and you were the best of friends before he was frozen. Yet, you haven't had much to say since he made his return. What gives?

SW: What?! Billy Polar's back? Why didn't you wake me! No, I'm kidding. Actually, and this has nothing to do with us being friends or anything, but I've had a lot more commentating gigs since he's been gone. He kind of took my spot back then. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's back, and all, but, truthfully? I could stand to see him frozen for a few more months.

MS: Oh, please. Well, the wrestlers might not be too pleased to see Billy back, but the fans sure are! In fact, let's just look at the response we've gotten from our latest poll. Today's poll asks, "Who do you think will win the #1 contendership to the OWTTM tonight?" and, uhhh, let's see here. Huh. So far we've got Billy Polar at 0% of the vote and Massive Man Rendition First at....0%. Interesting. According to the fans, it's a dead heat so far, just like it's going to be in the ring! It's anybody's game tonight, folks! What a match this is going to be! If you want to vote on our daily poll, just log on to to vote, folks. Vote now! Let's see---yeah.......still 0%. Is the Web site down, or--no? Oh, come on! Somebody vote already!

Styles: Yes, well, you keep us updated on those results, Mark. But as for right now, it's finally time for our main event. Thank God. Take it away, Masked Announcer!

MA: Ladies and gentlemen and French-Canadians, it is now time for our main event of the evening!

[The crowd gets on their feet---to leave early in order to avoid the inevitable parking lot traffic jam.]

MA: Introducing first, officially making his return to Brawlers on a Budget, and weighing in at a buck 62, please welcome back a-BEDEE-A-BEDEE-A-BEDEE-A-BILLY POLARRRRRRRR!!

Styles: Interesting Porky Pig impression from Masked Announcer there.

SW: No, didn't you get the memo? That's his new gimmick. The Masked Stutterer. He's gonna team with the Dyslexic Avenger over the summer.

Styles: OH MY GOD! I can't believe I work here!

SW: Hey, I'm sure our storylines would be a lot better if the WWE would stop stealing away our writers.

Styles: Wow. That explains a lot, actually.

MA: And his opponent, making his way to ringside, and being accompanied by his loser lapdog, J.C. Long, weighing in at 175 pounds while still maintaining that he's a professional wrestler, here is the Master of the Homosexual Something-or-Other, the Originator of Joshitude, M-M-M-MASSIVE MAN RENDITION FIRRRRRRST!!

[Suddenly, a bluish car with chipped paint, of indistinguishable make, comes bouncing down to ringside. Willa Ford's "I Wanna Be Bad" blares from the car's "kickin'" sound system. Ugh.]

SW: Wow. Either those are some really kick-ass hydraulics, or Josh needs to buy himself some new shocks PRONTO!!

Styles: Yeah, I would definitely say he needs to have his car aligned.

MS: Will you two stop? It's Josh's Massivemobile! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!! Fans, you can't see this stuff just anywhere! Tune in to if you---

Scotty & Styles together: ENOUGH ABOUT THE DAMN WEBSITE!!

Styles: Sorry about the outburst, Mark, but, wait---there's the bell. And they lockup.

MS: OH! Billy Polar with a kick to the balls. I guess he's back to his old---no wait a second, that was Josh who did that. And now Josh is choking Billy out on the mat.

SW: Well, I guess that's Joshitude for ya. The kid's coming around quite nicely. Years of experience around the BOB ring taught him that, Mark.

Styles: Yes, that much is quite obvious. Billy now looking somewhat the worst for wear.

MS: He certainly didn't expect that coming from Josh, that's for certain. Last time he was here, Josh was still a card-carrying member of Totally Face.

SW: What? He's not still?

Styles: I knew there was a reason we weren't paying you. Josh now clamping in a front chancery, but that's not stopping Billy from making his way up to a vertical base now. OH! And Rendition First now with a beautiful snap-gutwrench suplex to take Billy off his feet again. You know another thing it could be? He hasn't wrestled in nearly a year. It could be ring-rust.

SW: Oh, please, he's doing great! He's still the Billy Polar from old. Everything he does in that ring is calculated well beforehand.

Styles: (under his breath) Kayfabe, Scotty.

SW: Where? No, I mean, nobody's brain works faster than Billy's! Observe. See that? Shoulderblock to Josh's fist! Headbutt to Josh's boot! He's obviously setting him up for something, Styles. See there? Big splash to Josh's....shadow. Whoops, he missed.

Styles: He didn't miss! That was just him falling to the mat after Josh dropkicked him! How stupid do you think the fans ARE?

SW: Oh, believe me, if they're fans of ours, they're pretty stupid. Look, Billy now grabbing for the ring ropes. There're those Harvard smarts of his!

MS: Massive Man now has Polar by the feet and is trying to pull him free of the ropes, but Billy's desperate. He won't let go! The ref is counting....

SW: Yeah, counting the number of fans still in attendance. And he stops at three! Sad.

Styles: Josh just yanked one last time and Billy went flying, OH MY GOD, and he landed flat on his face!

SW: Heh heh. He's probably having flashbacks of the day he was born.

MS: And Josh now, stomping away on Billy's hand! Oh, what a despicable move by the L. Ron Hubbard of the wrestling set. He could've broken Billy's fingers!

SW: And now Billy's holding his hand in shock and screaming at it, as if it grew a penis or something.

MS: That's not funny, that's disgusting!!

SW: Whaaaat, geez, I'm sorry. They can't all be polished gold. Go all postal on me, why don't you. What's up YOUR ass?

MS: Oh, like YOU'VE never had that nightmare!

Styles: Ewwww, now THAT'S disgusting! Changing the subject NOW. Billy now back to his feet, albeit still a little wobbly. OH! Nevermind. The Jesus of Joshitude just floored him again with a humongous lariat. Nope. I definitely don't think we're seeing Billy Polar's best stuff here tonight. Perhaps he's a little pre-occupied.

MS: MMR1 now whipping Billy to the ropes, and J.C. Long just grabbed his boot! J.C. Long just tripped Billy up! OH MY GOD!!

Styles: HEY! Don't ever say that again. I'm serious.

SW: And it's a good thing that J.C. distracted him right then because Billy was right about to win this match. Yeah. That little JFer is really on the ball tonight....

MS: Billy now down to his knees. He's barely conscious. And now Josh is slapping him in the face. And he slapped him again! And a third time! Uh-oh! Billy's goggles just went flying! AND HE'S SNAPPED!! Polar just tackled him like he was an applied calculus problem! And BP is a house of fire! Rights! Lefts! Knees to the groin! What a beating Billy is handing out! What incredible carnage! I want to look away, but I can't! He's being mugged! Somebody get some help out there! Oh, this has gone too far! Security!

Styles: #sigh# My broadcast partner, of course, neglecting to mention that Billy has errantly taken down the referee while Josh is standing over them laughing. I guess those goggles WEREN'T just for show.

MS: Josh to the ropes now, and a baseball slide straight to Billy's face! Billy now looking around confused!

SW: Yeah. We call that his "interview face". Josh now with a front-facelock. And he's reaching between Billy's legs! Could we be seeing the "Homosexual Cutdown"? YES!! A pumphandle backbreaker? What a gay-ass move.

MS: Josh now with the cover! ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!

Styles: But the ref's still out cold and lying prone on the mat. He could've had him! And now Josh is making the cardinal mistake of rookie mistakes!!

SW: What? Trying to win a match before you've been squashed by everybody in the fed?

Styles: No, he's trying to revive the ref. Kayfabe, you idiot!

SW: You know, that Jim guy should just leave the ref alone. This isn't a pay-per-view, so this match will probably end in a schmoz anyway. They're better off without him.

Styles: His name's Josh, brain-case. Are you even TRYING to do your job? At all?

SW: Hey, you get what you pay for, BigBOSS. And besides, rookies SHOULD wear name tags.


MS: #ahem# You guys're missing some great action. Billy Polar's actually in control of this match now. Flying spinning elbow!! WHATTAMANEUVER!! Billy now jumps up for a hurricanrana!! But Josh with the strength advantage, he's holding Billy up in mid-air. It looks like he's about to go for a powerbomb! But NO! Billy just popped his head downward again and used the momentum to complete a monstrous Frankensteiner!!

SW: Hey, hey, can you imagine Scott Steiner doing a Frankensteiner nowadays? Just imagine it. Picture it in your head. BWAAAA-haha-HAAAAAA!

Styles: HAAAAAAAA-ha-haaaa!

MS: Hee-hee-hee-hee!

[Hoohoohoo, good stuff, Scotty. Even Josh is chuckling a little until he gets pegged in the face by a flying calf kick. Oh, let's say from Billy Polar. That's who he's fighting, right?]

MMR1: OW! By dose! Dab you, Dee-int!

Styles: Hey, you know what I don't understand? If the referee's out of action, then why isn't J.C. Long interfering on behalf of his lifestyle Guru?

SW: Hey, yeah, why isn't J.C. in the ring right now? I thought they were heels.

MS: Where IS J.C.? I don't see him?

Styles: Hey, Detached Narrator, go over to J.C.'s side of the ring and tell us what's happening.

[Well, Styles, it appears that J.C. Long has been knocked even more senseless than the referee. The culprit? Uhhhh, well, I do see a sledgehammer standing upright and leaning against the ring. And wrapped around its base is the AYOOYFM Title Belt. Chyah, right! You know, I can turn people into penguins on a whim, but this is just weird if you ask me.]

MS: You---you don't think that the AYOOYFM Title Belt just---nahhhh!!

Styles: Oh, please! How could it? It's an inanimate object, for crying out loud! Will you get real?

MS: That's what _I_ thought! But then again, it IS holding that sledgehammer. Hey, I'm just doing the math....

Styles: Are you INSANE!! It's a freaking title belt! It can't even MOVE, let alone hit people with sledgehammers!!

SW: Now, now, I wouldn't put it past it. It has squinty eyes. You can't trust people with squinty eyes.

Styles: It doesn't even have eyes, it's a belt! IT'S A BELT!! GOD!!!

SW: Fine. Whatever you say, Detective Sherlock von Einstein. Hey, you're the authority on "things that don't move" around here. What do WE know?

MS: He's right you know, Styles. You really should hit a gym, man. And soon.

Styles: Wow. At times like this it's hard to believe I'm still alive. I mean, I DO own a gun, after all.....

MS: Right now in the ring, Billy just nailed Josh with a belly-to-belly OUT OF NOWHERE! And now Billy tries to whip Josh into the ropes, but Josh reverses it, and Billy reverses it again on him, but Josh re-reverses it, and now they're both grappling against the ropes and WHOA!! Where'd that come from?

SW: Yes! See, I told you, Styles! The AYOOYFM Belt just flew into the ring and klonked Josh in the back of the head! Did you see anyone throw it at him, Styles? I didn't, either! Do you believe me now?

Styles: (staring at the ring aghast. A fly enters his open mouth)

MS: And OH! What's this?! The fans are staring at the ramp area! Someone's running down to ringside! I don't believe it! HE iss back in BOB! What can this possibly mean for the future of BOB, folks!?! It's---

[Suddenly the screen goes black and the letters "B-N-N" flash across.]

BILL: Hi y'all, how y'all doing. I'd like to report that I'm doing fine to pretty fine today. But, aside from that, my shoulder's staying steady at a high 99, my lice count is once again down to zero and my genital warts scare have gone down today from orange alert to green alert. Yup. It looks like I'm doing just dandy. Except for my shattered foot and ankle and pelvis, but they seem to be healing quite nicely. My foot's still at 0% maneuverability, but my spirits are high -- thanks to all your letters of encouragement and esteem. I couldn't do it without you, you know.

[BILL pauses to down a little bottled water and reflect for a few seconds.]

BILL: Huh? Oh, and I have even more good news. In order to pay for my much needed surgery to put a screw in my ankle, I have decided to start accepting donations through my Web site, Just leave your credit card number and the amount you want to donate, and I'll take care of the rest myself as I have just recently successfully recovered from that carpal tunnel scare of a few months back thanks to your support. Once again, I love you guys.

[BILL pauses to down a little bottled water and reflect for a few seconds.]

BILL: Oh, right! Now with that said, I'd like to remind you to send your positive thoughts and well-wishes to I can't do any of this without you. Oh, and ladies, feel free to send me naked pictures of yourselves, unless you're fat, or possess a penis and/or unseemly surgical scars in addition to your female genitalia, or have noticeably unkempt pubic hair.

[BILL pauses to down a little bottled water and reflect for a few seconds.]

BILL: Yes. Yes, I know it's a lot to ask, but the doctors feel that this will almost assuredly hasten my recovery and speed my greatly anticipated return to BOB TV, much to the delight of you, my cherished fans. This is BILL and this has been an BNN special report. I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming. I gotta pee. Nurse, where's my colostomy bag?


SW: There's a panda coming now?

Panda: ROOOAR.

SW: Panda's roar?

[They do now.]

SW: And there goes the panda.

MS: Polar with the pin! ONE. TWOO. THHHREE!

[Well, this isn't overbooked enough. So…hmm…how about we bring in Luke Warm.]


SW: I think we better hide.

[When you hear the cookies, it's, nookie? Anyway, Hardcore JJ is on his way to the ring! Luke Warm and Hardcore JJ are staring at each other like sorry Steve Austin impersonators. I mean, um.]

Styles: The three remaining fans are going WILD.

SW: Heidi in bed wild, or panda bear wild? Or Girls Gone Wild? Or the Wildlife Channel?

Styles: One of those. Luke Warm and Hardcore JJ are staring eye to eye, though separated by several feet.

SW: Warm kneels down.

Styles: They're nose to nose, OH MY GOD! The thirstiest son of a bitch in BOB and the toughest little summabitch in BOB are face to little 4-year-old face.


Are you looking for a job? Are you about as intelligent as a monkey? Can you type, or write legibly? Well, then, we are looking for you! We are looking for writers to help put out the greatest and biggest wrestling project in the world. Steroid-filled stars, scantily clad women, bad gimmicks. Yes. We want you to book our shows!

Send application to:
Stamford, CT.


SW: Weren't they supposed to leave when the cameras went off.

Styles: I don't think anybody told them. WHAT? WE'RE on the air, RIGHT NOW! Are you SURE! Well do something about it!


BOB'S next Pay-Per-View, tentatively scheduled for sometime this year, is coming. We think. Maybe. Oh, who knows. Superstars. Great matches. Pyrotechnics. A big ramp. A large cheering crowd. It won't have any of these things, but hey. Buy it. SEND US MONEY! Our workers are getting suspicious!

[Oh, for FUCK's SAKE! Hardcore JJ and Luke Warm are still nose to nose in the longest stare down in wrestling history. Alright, time to poof them off to somewhereelseville. OK, it's time for the MAIN EVENT of the evening. Yep, I'm in it. But first, let's let BVD come out to the ring to, oh…some racist cliché Japanese music. Yep, that'll do. Ohh, that gong brings back so many Japanese memories.]

BVD: Detached Narrator is a HOOOOOOOOOOO!

[A rainstorm of videotapes begin raining down on BVD's head.]

BVD: DOOOD! It's raining HOOOOOOOOOme videos! What's this one? Detached Narrator gets beaten by BVD, dooood, HOOOOOOO!

[Shut the fuck up! That's it. This man is going to get ass invaded like never before.]

BVD: DOOOOD, whatever! HOOOOO!

[A chair is floating toward BVD from behind. Hey! Don't take that chair! It was supposed to hit you in the head and break your skull into little bits!]

BVD: You told me it was coming, invisible guy. HOOOOOO!

[*Sigh* Alright then. Let's get this started. Oh wait. What's that behind you now?]

BVD: Well, that's a…Frank Sinatra???

Frank: Ring a ding ding. Want some Jack Daniels?


BVD: dooooooooooo….oooo….d.

Frank: How'd all you people get in my living room?

[Oh, and I make the cover. One. Two. Three. Doood!]

SW: Hey, wasn't this a flagpole--

[I know what you're going to say, but you know, back in the day, I watched a lot of WCW matches that never lived up to the gimmick match title. And it sucked. And this is BOB. Do the math. Thanks Frank. Hope to see you guys back together soon in BOB.]

Frank: Yeah, right. The Rat Pack in BOB?

[Huge POP.]

Frank: Well…I'll think about it.

[Frank Sinatra everybody!]

MS: If you see three dead people reform a group that was popular in the 1960s, you MUST be WATCHING BOB!

SW: Hehe, maybe we could have the Rat Pack vs. the Brat Pack.

MS: The Brat Packers aren't dead.

SW: They aren't?

(Sarah headed into a womens bathroom. Once inside, she noticed a big hole in the floor.)

Sarah: Lousy BOB arenas.

Michelle: BUFFY! I mean, SARAH!

Sarah: Time to go in…

(Jump. Landing. YAY! But then she came face to face with three people. Well, three jobbers, actually. They're not REALLY human after all.)

"Loony" Lenny: I'm CRRAAAAAAAAYZE!

K-Con: I'm TWO letters better, yo. Why didn't you save us.

Sarah: You're jobbers.

K-Con: Oh, so that makes you better than…what was I saying?

RVD: You capitalist big! We will make you lose like, losers. We can be reborn. Or something. If that really happens. We really want you to disappear.

Sarah: been invisible before. It was fun. I got to kick a bunch of people's asses and make their pants fall down. You want me to do that to you three?

RVD: We want pushes!

Sarah: You know what? You're right. You deserve a push.

(Sarah opens a very convenient window.)

Sarah Ready for your push?

Lenny: Not will we kick you SANE ass!

Sarah: You know what I think?

K-Con: That you're attracted to me?

Sarah: … No.

Lenny: That you want to be in my strait-jacket with me?

Sarah: …No.

RVD: That you wish you were German?

Sarah: Not at all. I'm thinking you're trying to block that door?

(The three jobbers turn around.)

RVD, K-CON and Lenny: What door?

(Sarah throws a door at them, knocking them all over.)

Sarah: Of course. They fell for the old there's a door behind you and then the Jobber Slayer throws a door at you trick. The oldest trick in the book. (Snaps her fingers.)

(Cut to Don Adams.)

Maxwell Smart: I don't care what your name is, 99. Just spread those skinny legs wide--

(Cut away!! Damn it!)

Sarah: Little Good?

Little Good: (A crazed laugh followed, something like this) Hehehehehehahahahahahahahahahahahmmm.

Sarah: Is that really you?

Little Good: (That crazy laugh again) Hahahahahahahahahehehehehehehee. Yes. Duck, Sarah.

Sarah: This is no time for my shadow puppets.

(That was when RVD kicked her in the back of her noggin. Yes, I said noggin. Little Good pulled her into the room.)

Sarah: They might come in.

Little Good: Nobody comes in here. It's just the four of us.

Sarah: Why are you here?

Little Good: I tried to be good. The chip is in my head. Yeah it is. Forget that promo. There were two, or something. I want to be bad. I want to be a jobber. But I can't Because of her.

Sarah: Because of who?

Little Good: Because of you.

Sarah: I don't know what I'm dealing with out there. They're there and then they disappear.

Little Good: They're jobbers. Move in and out of the shadows.

Sarah: Ohhh.

Little Good: The talisman.

Sarah: They're controlled by a talisman?

Little Good: No…Use it.

(Sarah looked to the left of where Little Good slowly was having a nervous breakdown.)

Sarah: Ahhh. "The Talisman." By Stephen King and Peter Straub. This'll be a good.

Little Good: This is MY home now. He's in the walls. And the floor. He is in everything. Even you.

Sarah: There is no man in me. Well, I have to go do the Slay thing. I'll be back. When you're sane.

(Sarah opened the door and saw RVD lighting a cigarette for "Looney" Lenny as K-Con looked at his keys, mystified. She hit all three of them in the kneecaps within three seconds. Yep. Sure was a hard fight.)

Principal: Dumber and dumber.

Sarah: I need to go. Up there. And out there. See you.

[Sounds of cookie jars breaking. NO!]

SW: It's Hardcore JJ! The ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! The title that means more than the other 40 titles in BOB.

NH: For now.

SW: What?

NH: Wait until the next Chloroform.

SW: What do you mean?


JJ: There is a sorry summmmmmbitch running this show tonight.

Crowd: WHAT?

JJ: If you want Hardcore JJ to do stinkies in the pottie and then dump them on Detached Narrator, gimmie a Hell yeah!

Half of crowd: Hell YEAH!

Other half: WHAT?

[Flunky tosses JJ some Pepsis. He's SO fired.]

JJ: Tell yah what first I’m gonna finish this Pepsi, then I’m gonna get a bottle, and then another bottle and another and another and then another and then another and then I’m gonna get changed and then I’m gonna take a nap and then I’ll come back here and give you the biggest can of whoop-ass they allow in day care and that’s the bottom line cause JJ said so!

Crowd: WHAT?


Crowd: What?

JJ: Numero uno.

Crowd: What?

JJ: The big cheese.

Crowd: The big kahuna.

[JJ smashes his belt and his Pepsi together, the belt is dripping, and maybe melting a bit, from the soda. Then he pours another soda on himself.

[Alright, I've had enough.]

JJ: What?


JJ: What?

[No more of you.]

JJ: What?

[The END!]

JJ: What?

[That's it. You are fighting the POPE! Now! Hit that religious music.]

SW: And here we go. This is quite, well, weird. The Pope is coming here, is this for the OWTTM?

[It is NOW!]

JJ: I'm gonna take that stupid hat and drink Pepsi from it, you summmbitch!

SW: And the Pope is in the ring.


NH: Well that was quick. That lasted about as long as a night with Billy Polar.

[Stop that sound of Cookie Jars breaking! And you, JJ, put down those Pepsis. I've had it. This is IT! I'm firing the HECK out of you!]

JJ: What?

Crowd: WHAT?

[Oh, sorry. I'm FIRING the heck out of you! Get your stuff and go home! Go on. Get! Get out of my sight! Let's go to the basement and get out of this Gay town.]

Little Good: I had a script. I lost it.

[I noncorporally form into Sleazy-C]

Sleazy-C: U r dun, jobba. U dont haff 2 understand me. O yea. Fuhgit that little 4-year-old jobba, itz tyme 4 somethin amayzin 2 happen.

[Now I morph into Hulk Hogan. Fuck you WWE!]

Hulk Hogan: Let me tell you something, brother. I'm more than a jobber, brother. There isn't a sweet enough word to describe me, dude. Ironic, isn't it, brother? You don't matter to me, dude, nobody does. You are all going to die, brother. Especially you, since you're here, dude. Whatcha gonna do?

[Now I morph into Beaverton Mayor Hans Krueger. Fuck you fWEo!]

Hans Krueger: Zou may not ve a jubar anymore, but not being ve jubar iz toof. And zese next vew showz are going to show vou joost how hard iz going to be. Very.

[One more morph for good luck. Say hello to Uncle Eric!]

Eric Bischoff: So why don't you just sit back, because we're going back to the beginning. With a bang. Not the word. The true beginning. All of us should learn something. You? That you're a bad boy wannabe who fakes his accent and pretends to be a bad boy and dyes his hair like a chick. It's not about trenchcoats or cigarettes or beer.

[I morph into Sarah "The Jobber Slayer."]

Sarah: It's about power.

[© 2003 Detached Narrator. Executive Producer: Detached Narrator. The rest of you may die now.]


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