"Conversations (And Matches) With Strange & Dead People"
"YOU'LL GET….orange pants, that's what you've got."
Sarah sat on a blanket in a little room backstage, staring at a door.
"Three squares and an Army cot…."
Somewhere else, Kay Fabe was reading what appeared to be a Red Magicks volume, but she suddenly turned the book sideways and a magazine centerfold page fell down all the way into her lap.
"Whoa. Look at those," she said, turning her head to the side.
"Three years till your next parole…."
In the halls, Michelle was heading toward the kitchen, intent on getting a bowl of ice cream. She paused as she passed a small monitor as she noticed herself on TV. She smiled and looked at the camera. She started dancing.
"Too bad, that's three to go…"
Little Good sat at what seemed to be a bar. A man sat down beside him. Little Good looked to see who it was. It was the Dyslexic Avenger, wearing a bra.
"What? Walked I it into the like said script! Was which tough!" said Dyslexic Avenger.
"CAUSE YOU'VE GOT! Orange pants! Orange pants in jail!
You'll get, ORANGE PANTS! Orange pants in jail!
You've got, ORANGE PANTS! Orange pants in jail!
You'll wear….ORANGE PANTS! ORANGE PANTS IN JAIL!
COME ON! Come on…."
In Sarah’s little area, Nurse Heidi and Candy Cantaloupes walked in the doorway.
"Here we go," Sarah said flatly.
Styles: OH MY GOD! Fans, welcome to Brawlers On a Budget!
Scotty Whatbody: Why is BigBOSS on his way out here? He doesn’t run this place anymore.
Mark Shill: BigBOSS in the FLIPPITYFLOPPITYFLU! It’s the most AMAZING entrance in SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM HISTORY!
SW: All I know is if I just gave everybody a two-cent raise, I sure wouldn’t be showing up.
Styles; From what I hear, we were lucky to get that. What are you complaining about, anyway? You have a Sony Playstation 2.
MS: BigBOSS has the stick.
BigBOSS: Hello to everyone in beautiful Raccoon City!
SW: Uh, BOSS?
BigBOSS: Yes, Scotty?
SW: You did notice me, Styles and Shill are the only other people in the building, right?
BigBOSS: I did, actually. I wonder why that is...
[Outside, zombies are seen roaming the streets. A group of four zombies are chomping on some unlucky person’s body. Fires rage out of control. Shattered glass and trash litters the streets.]
SW: Are we in Mexico?
BigBOSS: We’re in the United States, Scotty. I never did pass geometry.
Styles: Geometry? What’s that have to do with where we are?
BigBOSS: Please. Quit heckling me, underlings! There is business to attend to. Fans. I am BACK IN CHARGE.
Styles: OH MY GOD!
BigBOSS: That’s right. Why you ask? It’s all about money. I heard all the grumbles backstage about the raises. I know you were all counting on twenty-five cent raises, but for some reason, we’re not making any money this year. And then I started to realize something. Detached Narrator has failed grossly in the goal of all wrestling promoters: to squeeze every penny he can out of its fans.
[I’m going to interrupt this right now.]
BigBOSS: Oh, hello, Detached Narrator. You can stay on as detached narrator, but, you’re NOT going to book this federation any longer.
[You can’t do that!]
BigBOSS: This still is MY federation. So if anybody is going to book it into the ground, it’s going to be ME. One pay-per-view in all this time? That’s no way to make money!
[Hey, that’s one more than ECW and WCW combined! At least we’re still in business.]
BigBOSS: On another, completely unrelated note, I’m stripping Detached Narrator of the Swiss Army Title!
Styles: OH MY GOD!
MS: The landscape of sports entertainment has changed FOREVER!
[On what grounds?]
BigBOSS: You haven’t defended it in 30 days.
[There hasn’t been a SHOW in 30 days!]
BigBOSS: And whose fault is that?
BigBOSS: Right-o. Moving on...
[Hold on, you should strip EVERYONE of their titles then.]
BigBOSS: Why? Did you miss Poinkamania?
[Yes. You think I watch the shows?]
BigBOSS: Well, every other champion defended their belts.
BigBOSS: Am not.
BigBOSS: Am not!
BigBOSS: Am not!
BigBOSS: Are too!
BigBOSS: Good, now that you’ve seen the error of your ways...
[D’oh! I’ll get you for this, BigBOSS!]
BigBOSS: I’m BigBOSS, damn it! You can’t touch me. Now. Moving on to other business. We will decide the new Swiss Army Champion at our next pay-per-view, which will happen a little later this month. That’s right, at Explosion of Injuries, we will feature Dodge Brawl! Buy the show and find out who will be our next Swiss Army Champion.
BigBOSS: That’s right. Explosion Of Injuries, live on pay-per-view. It will be coming to you live from Kent State University. It’s sure to be a massacre that college will never, ever forget. No more taped pay-per-views. Also, on that show, Death will get his chance at the You Gotta Be Kidding, I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out of Your Frickin’ Mind? Champion, the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice)! Title Belt.
BigBOSS: I think every title will be on the line. Plus! In an Extremely Skimpy Clothing Match, Nurse Heidi will take on Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" and Candy Cantaloupes will be the referee.
SW: WOO-HOO! I’m calling RIGHT NOW!
Styles: You’ll be commentating on the show, won’t you?
SW: BOOYA! I can even save $20! You’re so smart, Styles.
BigBOSS: Styles. Don’t help. There’s $20 I’ll never see now.
Styles: Sorry, BigB.
BigBOSS: We’re also going to crown new Super Duper Keen Team Things champions since the "champions" have mysteriously disappeared and nobody bothered to notice until a month ago.
[Cut to Robert Stack on the "Unsolved Mysteries" set. The theme song is playing in the background.]
RS: The Wolfenator and Mudman. We don’t know where they are. And honestly, we don’t care. Since the Wolfenator was using a theme song from another federation, the going theory is that a certain Vincent K. McMahon may have sent a special sanitation management team after them.]
[Cut back to BigBOSS.]
MS: Isn’t HE dead?
SW: Who, McMahon?
MS: Who? No, I meant Robert Stack!
MS: Then how did we just pull THAT one off?
[Back to Robert Stack.]
RS: How did BOB pull off getting me to do a stupid joke when I’m dead. Next time, on "Unsolved Mysteries."
[Back to BigBOSS.]
SW: I think the term ‘joke’ is being thrown around a bit too loosely there.
BigBOSS: Anyway. It will be decided in a Rigged Lottery Match. Four teams will enter. The last two people not to be pinned or submit will be the champions. So somebody may leave a winner with a different partner.
SW: Just like wife-swapping!
BigBOSS: And, we’ll make up the rest of the matches for that show, including the main event, as we go along tonight and I screw around with my wrestlers. But onto tonight. As you all know, Billy Polar is owed a rematch as a result of him losing the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. I’m glad to announce that that rematch will be....TONIGHT!
MS: The fans WOULD BE GOING WILD if there were any HERE on the GREATEST BOB SHOW OF ALL-TIME!
[You damn right. I’d be having rough sex with Mrs. Behave if you didn’t grant that rematch.]
BigBOSS: *Ahem* That had NOTHING to do with my decision. Now. For tonight. Detached Narrator came up with the idea of combining a bunch of titles to simplify life for the chump who maintains the Web site. That, and, well, we figured we’d get a bunch of people to apply since we had 50 titles. But, whatever. Life goes on. We live, we learn. Since I paid good money for them at the yard sale, and they mean so darn much to me, I’m keeping them in a special place, with all the BOB archives.
[Cut to a poorly lit little storage closet. The camera pans past an overextended extension cord, a can of gasoline, firecrackers, a stack of old newspapers and a malfunctioning light that is shooting sparks everywhere. Then there is a big bookcase with all the BOB master tapes and a box full of title belts. Back to BigBOSS.]
BigBOSS: Anyhow. Tonight, we are creating a new title to replace all those other silly titles. May I present to you...being worn by a lovely woman who thinks that appearing on BOB TV free of charge will help her career. I forget her name.
[A brunette walks down the aisle, dressed in a black miniskirt, black high heels and a red tank top. Oh yeah, and the title belt.]
BigBOSS: May I present. The Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer Title!
Styles: OH MY GOD!
SW: Hey. My script says this is the AOL Sucks title.
BigBOSS: Well, the BOB legal team thought that we could get sued for something like that. Lord knows why. So many stupid rules these days. Can’t say AOL sucks. Can’t cheat on your taxes. But anyway. Tonight, we are going to have the mother of all gauntlets. Tonight, 16 wrestlers will compete in a gauntlet match. We will start with one match. The winner of that match will move on to the next match and face a new competitor. The winner will continue to advance until he is eliminated. Then the new winner will continue to advance. And so on and so on. Eventually, after about 15 rushed matches, that will hopefully fill up this time slot. So, let’s get to it.
[Nuh-uh. For it seems "The Wedding March" is playing. That can only mean that Barbie "The Bride" Banner is here. But from now on, you can just call her The Bride.]
SW: Hmm. She looks a little different. Sluttier. I think it’s an improvement. Wait a second! Those are bigger. And that’s smaller. And that’s one smoking wedding dress.
BigBOSS: (Consults script). The Bride. You blocked my e-mail address. You changed your phone number. You put shades up over your windows. Where’s the love?
The Bride: I came back tonight because I am sick of all the men dominating this company. Why is it that you have a girl like Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" here and she’s not main eventing. Or Kay Fabe? Those girls are very talented. And what about me? What about Barbie?
SW: What about those hooters!
BigBOSS: Bleep her name out later.
Styles: I believe the editor was eaten. Remember when we cut outside?
BigBOSS: Oh, right. Just, be more careful, Bride, OK? Well, let me tell you something, Bride. Since I don’t have to suck up to anybody in the crowd here tonight. And I don’t need to be a face for any particular reason. I’d like to introduce you to my new henchmen.
[BILL, Mr. X, Albert DeSalvo and BVD walk down the aisle. HEY! YOU CAN’T STEAL MY IDEA BIGBOSS!]
BigBOSS: Your idea, Detached Narrator? I think this was Quarantino’s idea.
The Bride: (She looks down at her wedding dress and the goons approaching, led by BILL) Oh, crap...
BigBOSS: May I present to you, the Jobber Exterminating Warrior Samurais©.
SW: The JEWS? Oh, this has disaster written all over it.
BigBOSS: We’ll be back right after this commercial and severe beating. Stay tuned!
BOB’s most hardcore pay-per-view ever. Not one. Not two. Not three! Not four. Not even five! Nor 6! Or 7! And no, not 8. But NINE MAIN EVENT CALIBER MATCHES and plenty of extracurricular activity thrown in for free! No rules. Nothing is off limits. Now, what would a normal person pay for this? $34.95? Is anybody still THAT stupid? They’re not even $29.95 stupid these days. But they just might be stupid enough to waste $19.99 on BOB!
ORDER EXPLOSION OF INJURIES LIVE ON PAY-PER-VIEW. IT’S BRAWLERS ON A BUDGET. AND IT CAN’T BE ANY WORSE THAN THE WWE.
*Yes, it could be. This is BOB, after all... a fed that put on a "Footbrawl" PPV, then canceled the football game.
MS: Fans, during the break, those low-down, dirty JEWS—
Styles: Uh-boy. I see what you meant now, Scotty.
MS: Beat the living crap out of The Bride. We may not see her for a long, long time.
Styles: Well, the JEWS, have beat up The Bride. She is being taken out of here on a stretcher. Well, she would be, but, seeing as how there are no medics here, she’s really just laying in a pool of her own blood in the ring.
SW: It’ll be like an obstacle course for the other wrestlers tonight.
Styles: OH MY GOD! What are those construction workers doing out here?
[A crew of carpenters have indeed arrived. They’ve got wood, saws, nails and hammers. As if the zombies outside weren’t an interesting enough element, now we have this. BY GAWD BY GAWD!]
Styles: Fans, I don’t know what’s going on here. But this should no doubt make OUR lives more difficult, trying to call the matches. The Bride is still in the ring, gasping for breath, after a brutal beating at the hands of
MS: Those BLACKLY EVIL JEWS!
Styles: Shill! We won’t tolerate racist comments like that.
[Insert annoying saw sound effect.]
Styles: Sheesh. We couldn’t even be heard just then, could we?
SW: Nope. I said swear words and didn’t get bleeped once.
Backstage, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer, Candy Cantaloupes and Nurse Heidi stood in the small room.
"So," Sarah started, trying to break the ice. "We have a match."
"I guess we do," answered Nurse Heidi. "It’s such a shame, too."
"Why?" Sarah wondered.
"Well, all I know is that I’m going to be dressed skimpier than you, simply because I have a lot less to hide," Heidi said with a smile.
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked. "I don’t have anything at all to hide."
"Don’t you?" Heidi asked, as if she was asking more than she was asking.
"Heidi, you’re a nurse, not a psychologist," Sarah said rolling her eyes. "And you’re not as pretty as me."
"Oh please," Heidi said, taking a few steps away from Sarah.
"Uh, ladies," Candy interrupted. "You both should realize that, even though I’ll be the referee, I’ll be the most skimpily dressed woman out there."
"I don’t get this," Sarah said, looking between her opponent and referee. "Why do you two care so much about who is dressing more skimpy than who? If a woman was running this federation, do you think we’d be in this Skimpy Clothing Match?"
"If it was Kay Fabe, oh yeah," Nurse Heidi said, almost with a shiver of disgust.
"Definitely," Candy agreed.
"Fair point. Well. I guess it’s just sad then," Sarah said, shaking her head. "That you two have to use your skin to be sexy. You know. It’s like, I’m a Christmas present. I’m shiny and everybody wants me. But my goodies are still hidden inside the package, and I’m just waiting for somebody special to come along and rip me open with his bare hands and I’m going to stop talking right now."
"Whatever, Sarah," Candy said, sounding uninterested in Sarah’s analogy. "I get the most hits on the BOB site, and I don’t even have my picture posted there yet."
"Just because guys want to see you topless doesn’t mean your popular, honey," Heidi said.
"I never wanted it to be like this. You know? There was once a time when I wanted to be taken seriously as a girl. For my brains. I used to be an A-student," Candy confessed.
"What happened?" Sarah asked.
"I became a Double-D student," Candy said, grabbing her breasts. "And all the boys gave me everything I wanted. You know. Kisses. French kisses. Hickeys." She began rubbing her breasts. "Then they wanted me to pose naked on Web cams. Then make porns with me. Then they wanted to sell the porns. I gotta tell you, sixth-grade changed my life forever.
Sarah and Heidi raised their eyebrows at that statement.
"Gee, that’s so rough," Sarah said in her sarcastic style. "When I was in high school, I was fighting jobbers every day of my life. I met the first of my many soul mates who up and left me. You know why? Because I had a calling. To Slay. And I slayed and I slayed and I slayed. All I had in high school I really ever had was myself and my banana."
Heidi and Candy raised their eyebrows at THAT statement, taking it in a whole different place than it was intended.
"Are you two going to whine about your childhood?" Heidi asked, growing bored. "I didn’t have any childhood trauma. At least that I can remember. But man, you two losers should get over it already. Move on. You’re both poorly paid wrestlers now. Well, at least you are, Sarah. I don’t know what it is you really even do, Candy. Other than, any man with a pulse."
"Oh, right," Candy said, sounding a bit upset. "As if doing Billy Polar makes you better than me?"
"Well, yeah. He was the champion twice."
"Right. So you’re just a gold digger then, right? Too bad the only gold you might ever find is in Billy’s teeth," Candy said.
"Nope. From what I hear, it’s just aluminum foil," Sarah said.
"Billy doesn’t have any cavities," Heidi protested.
"Yeah, I guess eating brains doesn’t give you cavities," Sarah joked. "Not much in the sugar department."
"Bitch, you’re so dead," Heidi said, now getting pissed off. "Billy has sworn off brains, bitch. That was over a year ago. He’ll never touch another brain. And hello? You were screwing a jobber. You and Little Good? Eating brains may have been in bad taste, but at least he had the excuse of being a zombie and really depressed. What’s your excuse for screwing Little Good?"
"I was horny and drunk," Sarah said with a shrug. "He was there. Same old story."
"I’ve been there," Candy confessed.
"You LIVE there," Sarah replied.
"Hey! I am not drunk right now!" Candy said, stomping her foot.
"Well, whatever. Sarah, I know you’ve got these superpowers of good and all. But I’m bad now. I’m evil and stuff," Heidi said, rubbing her hands together, villain style. "So, when we meet at the pay-per-view, I’m going to not only kick your ass, but maybe expose it as well.
"Oh, so we’re talking violence, adult content and partial nudity, huh?" Sarah asked. She paused for a moment, as if in thought. "I can deal with that. Of course, you’ll be the one dying of em-bare-ass-ment. Get it?"
Sarcastically, Nurse Heidi answered with a "Gee, great pun, Sarah. Great, pun."
"Heidi, you’re SO dead, you’ll be the deadest dead person in Deadsylvania," Sarah said.
"Well, as your referee, I won’t stop the match for excessive clothes loss," Candy announced.
"Good," Heidi said.
"Great!" replied Sarah.
[Back to ringside. Scotty is dancing on top of the Flimsy Announce Table, gyrating and pumping his arm.]
SW: OH YEAH!
Masked Announcer: Styles, Scotty and Shill. The opening match in the Gauntlet Match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first. Already in the ring. Being accompanied by the The You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind? Hardcore Champion, the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo (/badly dubbed voice) Title Belt, this is, The You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind? Hardcore Title Belt.
SW: Did everybody got that.
MS: EVERY BIT, SCOTTY!
SW: Man, I can’t believe how badly the AYOOYFM Title Belt is slumping. A jobber intro? Can its life get any worse?
[Insert annoying saw sound effect.]
Masked Announcer: ALBERT DESALVO!
Styles: DeSalvo is a disgrace to the human race, beating up The Bride like that.
SW: It’s not like beating and killing women is a new thing for him. He’s been leaving a trail of hookers across the country. Much like how Festering Death has been leaving a trail of raped corpses. Man...this really is the most hardcore federation on the planet today. Nobody has a higher fatality and rapality count.
Styles: That’s something to be proud of. ‘Hey mom, I work for the most killingest and rapingest federation going today.’ I thought people said crime pays. If that’s the case, why are we all so poor?
SW: I’m still wondering how I have a Playstation 2.
MS: Can I borrow that from you, Scotty?
SW: You’ll just try and pawn it.
MS: Your point being?
SW: You can live another year or two of your rolls of fat, Shill.
[Insert annoying saw sound effect.]
Masked Announcer: And the winner of the match, Albert DeSalvo!
SW: Man, the AYOOFM Title Belt is on a big-time losing streak now. It must be near time for a gimmick change for him.
Styles: How can a title belt have a gimmick change?
SW: I don’t know. Maybe the BigBOSS will chop off one of his straps and he can be the first ever belt with one strap to compete in a wrestling ring.
Styles: Don’t give him any ideas.
MS: This is no doubt the BLACKEST DAY for the belt on the GREATEST CHLOROFORM OF ALL TIME!
Styles: So, Albert DeSalvo continues on.
Dennis: I say, dear boy, it seems as though the zombies have us surrounded.
[He looks around the room.]
BigBOSS: Are they invisible zombies?
Dennis: No, outside the arena.
BigBOSS: It’s OK. I found a rocket launcher and a flame thrower. I’m thinking there might be some guns and other junk around here to help us fight them off.
Dennis: Bloody splendid, old bean.
BigBOSS: Where is Billy Polar. I didn’t see him inside yet. Ah well, what’s the worst that could happen to him?
Zombie 3456: Ooooooooooooo.....ooooooooo.
Billy Polar: Great, another brain dead BOB fan.
[He bangs on the back entrance. Turns around. Now there are five zombies approaching him. He turns back around and bangs on the door again. Turns back around. Now 16 zombies are slowly shuffling in his direction.]
BP: Using my Harvard intellect, I’m going to say that something smells rotten in Raccoon City. And it’s all you!
[Two zombies grab him.]
BP: Hey! I have a bad groin! Be careful! Oww. Only Heidi can bite me there—OW! Stop that!
[The door opens. It’s DovE.]
DovE: Billy! I’ll save you from these brain eating fiends.
[A zombie knocks out DovE with a piece of lumber. But Polar shoves off the zombies and runs inside. He pushes the door almost closed, but not quite closed enough, but he can’t go back because he’s bleeding and his groin, well, it hurts and all.]
Styles: OH MY GOD! Billy Polar is going to become a zombie. Again! This is unprecedented. The earth is DOOMED.
[In the arena, the carpenters have finished creating an announce table looking thing. The sounds of hammers overwhelms the commentators’ voices for several seconds.]
Styles: Well, moving along...
Masked Announcer: Still in the ring, Albert DeSalvo. And his opponent, making his BOB debut, give it up for the hottest shizzle to ever splatter on a BOB contract, Pete Trable! What up dogg?
Styles: The X-Factor finally makes his in-ring debut here. And fans, we must apologize for the excessive hammering that those carpenters are doing.
SW: You know what’s even worse than the hammering?
SW: Da Web Guy is writing this script. And that guy has no black in him whatsoever. Prepare for some of the worst scripted wrestling rap you’ve ever heard.
MS: It will be the WORST RAPPING IN THE ANALS OF BOB HISTORY.
MS: I mean, uh, I hope that’s a typo.
PT: Yo, yo, kill the beat a minute. Yo.
The X-Factor is in BOB so you all better bow down.
I see Albert DeSalvo’s shorts are already stained brown
Hey Albert, I think you missed your train
I’m on the boat with the caviar and champagne
You still living in hotel rooms, playing with whores
No wonder why your genitals are covered with sores
Yo. Yo. Yo.
While you cleaning up the bathtub, I still be clubbin’
You be staring at a corpse and doing a lot of rubbin’
You prolly soak in the blood and have a bubble bath
Tonight, DeSalvo, I’ll bathe in your blood after you feel my wrath
Matter of fact, dogg, you make me sick
And if you don’t like the X-Factor, you can eat a
[Microphone in the air.]
SW: DICK! HAHAHA.
Styles: Please show some restraint.
SW: It’s not like our non-existent fans were gonna scream it back.
Styles: And here we go. DeSalvo knocks Trable down with a pair of punches. And he stomps on him.
[DeSalvo looks up. Steps aside. Kamikazie Ken crashes down on Pete Trable.]
Styles: OH MY GOD! That was EXTREEEEEME! Kamikazie Ken just fell from the roof onto Pete Trable!
SW: This is a literal squash match with a splash of screwjob. Yep, BigBOSS is back in charge. And pushing Ken.
MS: Did he push him off the roof?
SW: Would you be shocked if he did?
Styles: DeSalvo picks, well, rolls Ken off of Trable and makes the cover. But Generic Ref is calling for the bell.
Masked Announcer: The Generic Ref has ruled that due to outside interference, the winner of the match, is the X-Factor Pete Trable!
Styles: OH MY GOD.
MS: What a TWISTING turn of EVENTS this is! Oh fans, without a SHADOW OF A DOUBT, THIS IS THE BEST CHLOROFORM IN CHLOROFORM HISTORY!
AD: What nipple hell, Ref? He didn’t come in to help me you stupid box.
Generic Ref: Rules and rules.
AD: This is BOB. Rules are meaningless.
Generic Ref: It is my job to selectively enforce. BigBOSS is pulling the strings here. I’m just a puppet.
AD: Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a hooker! Because I’d chop up your body and scatter your little chunks all over this arena. Man, am I suddenly horny.
[He walks out of the ring.]
Generic Ref: Hey! You forgot a line!
SW: I had no idea crowd noise covered up lines like those. Especially with our crowd size.
MS: I didn’t hear anything.
AD: I did? (He scratches his head.) OH! Kamikazie Ken! Mark my words. This is NOT over! Well, nipple match is over, but our war has JUST BEGUN!
MS: Strong words by a crazy man right there. And what a main event we have tonight, fans. Don’t you dare change the channel. Coma. Billy Polar. A re-match from Coma And Get Some!
SW: Effectively making your purchase meaningless and destroying the specialness of ordering a pay-per-view!
Styles: If they missed the Coma/Polar match, Scotty, they missed—
MS: THE GREATEST MAIN EVENT IN BOB HISTORY! UNTIL TONIGHT WHEN WE TOP THAT MAIN EVENT WITH THE NEW GREATEST MAIN EVENT IN BOB HISTORY ONLY HERE, THIS MORNING, ON SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM.
Michelle spun around and put her spoon down on the table at the loud banging sound. She was in the kitchen area of the Raccoon City Arena (or whatever the hell it was called).
"OK. That wasn’t normal. Get a grip. And a bowl. And some ice cream. And everything will be fine."
She got the bowl. Then the ice cream. Double mint chocolate chip. She went back to her spoon, ready to dive into the creamy goodness, but when she picked up her spoon, she noticed it was bent in half.
Michelle spun around in a complete circle. Nobody else was in there.
"What the hell? Did you just do that?" Michelle asked the cameraman.
"I did it, eh? It was funny, eh?" Clive asked.
"Why did you bend my spoon?"
"I didn’t touch your spoon, eh? I just made the banging noise, eh?"
"If you didn’t...is somebody else here."
"OK, eh, that wasn’t me. Eh?"
"Shut up, Clive," Michelle said. Michelle thought quickly, trying to figure out how to understand the banging. "Once for yes. Twice for no. Three for screw you, Michelle. Are you a celebrity?"
BANG, BANG, BANG
"OK, not going to get very far if you try to be funny..." Michelle said, a bit worried. "And I really need to pee. OK. Do I know you?"
There was a long pause.
"OK. Um. Four for I don’t know."
"Well that was a swerve...Um...Are you related to me?"
"Is that really you?"
*Impatient tapping.* A clock flew at her head.
"Right, right. Sorry. I’m sure you’re pressed for time. Um. Any chance of you helping pay some bills? And I’m thinking about college whenever we get out of this season..."
"Awww, that’s not nice, Dad. You never call or write. Now you won’t pay my bills..."
A copy of a newspaper flew at Michelle’s head. She screamed. "Oww, papercut." But then she looked at the page the paper had landed on. The obituaries. Circled in red was the obituary for Uri Summers. The man who Uri Geller had allegedly stolen his bad act from, if you hear it from Sarah and Michelle, his children.
"Oh, right, you’re dead. Well, did you by any chance leave a bank account or anything for me and Sarah?"
The newspaper rattled.
"Oh, right, dead. Still. Uh. Are you alone?"
"You’re not alone?"
Suddenly, a pad of paper and a pen appeared in front of Michelle. The pen jumped into Michelle’s hand and she began writing quickly. She then read what she had just "psychically" written.
"’Must you ask every question twice? Let’s move this segment along.’ Oh, nice, Dad. You come back, give me a papercut, don’t help out with my bills...and what? You want me to help you?"
Michelle crossed her arms. "I don’t care who is with you."
A wad of $100 bills appeared in front of Michelle.
"Oh, so you think you can buy my love now?"
With that, the room glowed as if a light switch had been turned on. That’s when her father, Uri Summers, appeared.
"Damn it, woman. You’re just like your mother! I can’t please you no matter how much money I give you."
"Not talking to you," Michelle said, turning her back on the angelic figure of her father.
"But Michelle, it really is me. But I just wanted to let you know. When the time comes. Sarah won’t pick you."
Now, finally, Michelle turned around. "What do you mean?"
Uri Summers faded into nothing. As if the light switch was turned off.
"NO! DON’T LEAVE ME!"
Michelle collapsed to the floor, sobbing. After a couple of seconds, she stood up and went to the drawer to get an unbent spoon. She looked inside but found they were ALL bent. So she took one out, unbent it and brought the carton of ice cream with her.
"My Dad is SO weird."
SW: I guess our next match has begun. Generic Ref is beginning the double count since both men are still flat on their backs.
Generic Ref: ONE!
Generic Ref: TWO!
Generic Ref: THREE!
Styles: If both people are counted out, we’ll start with two new competitors. Both will be eliminated.
SW: Well they better hurry. Generic Ref didn’t pass basic counting in kindergarten.
Generic Ref: SEVEN!
MS: THAT’S HIS MOVE!
Styles: Kamikazie Ken rolls on top of Trable. And that is NOT his move. His move is a Ken-Ton Bomb from the rafters.
SW: And the unconscious Pete Trable is defeated by BigBOSSes favorite wrestler, Kamikazie Ken. I gotta tell you, Styles, I think BOB is in a creative slump right here. These matches lack any kind of wrestling.
Styles: That’s Train-Wreck-TV.
SW: All disaster, all the time now, huh? We got no room for wrestling anymore.
MS: SMC is the greatest ACTION ADVENTURE SHOW on TELEVISION TODAY!
[Cut to Kiefer Sutherland.]
KS: Oh. (Pause.) Fuc—
[Back to the BOB show.]
SW: All I can say is there better be more women showing more cleavage than EVER before. I wish Candy was out here instead of Shill. She tasted like...
SW: I was gonna say wine, actually.
SW: Yeah. I spilled a bottle of it on her by accident. You should have seen the mess that bed was when we left it.
Styles: Too. Much. Information.
[Backstage. Steve Studnuts is walking down a deserted hallway all by his lonesome. He stops at a door, knocks on it and heads inside.]
SS: Hey Trey! Hey Seth! Guess who’s...
[He looks around. Empty.]
[He walks inside, shutting the door behind himself.]
SS: Jerkweeds must be late.
[He notices something scrawled on one of the walls.]
SS: (Reading from the wall) "The most frightening thing the internet has ever done is show that absolutely no one is alone in their perversion," -Sampo Repairman. Welp, Seth was obviously here. Only he could appreciate a quote like that. If it were Trey, it’d say, "Have Pussy, Open Wide."
[Back to the ring.]
J.C. Long: Yo. Yo.
SW: Uh oh. Here comes J.C. Long. The Massivetude Follower.
Styles: The Double MFer.
SW: Don’t call him an MFer you AHole.
J.C. Long: Hey, look, it’s Kamikazie Ken.
I hear you like to play with men — oh yeah, I went there
Well, your momma liked to play with men too
The other day she wanted my whole crew
So we took off her clothes and sang her a song
Because, like all the ladies, she likes ‘em Long
SW: Kamikazie Ken’s mom is easy? Wow, I had no idea. Hey, J.C., you got her phone number?
JC Long: Actually, it’s in a stall in the bathroom. Since that’s one of her favorite spots to get down with people.
Styles: Kamikazie Ken’s first stunt was being born. I doubt she’s ever been the same, Scotty. Well, it’s time for this match to get started. Kamikazie Ken has recovered enough, perhaps fueled by J.C. Long’s rant, to get back on his feet.
MS: Don’t forget fans. Coma. Polar. MAIN EVENT! Isn’t Billy Polar the GREATEST wrestler in the world, guys?
SW: The whole Nurse Heidi thing is what makes Billy a hero to me. I’d love to pull my groin with her anyday. Woohoo!
Styles: As opposed to pulling it when you’re alone?
MS: Billy Polar put BOB on the proverbial wrestling map. He built this company from the ground up and puts the butts in the seats. And he’s the reason BOB is the number one parody sports entertainment federation today!
SW: Not to mention the ONLY ‘parody sports entertainment federation’ today. It’s great to make up titles for you fed so you become number one. Which lawyer found that loophole?
Styles: The Oakley, Gordon & Courim firm. OH MY GOD! Albert DeSalvo is back. And wait! Pete Trable just woke up! Trable attacks J.C. Long. And DeSalvo comes in and attacks Kamikazie Ken! I guess those weren’t just fighting words from DeSalvo.
SW: I need to start my own fed. This would be so much better if all these guys were women, don’t you think.
Styles: We are trying to crowd the first-ever Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title, sponsored in part by 1wrestling.com. Thanks, Bob. Thanks. But now it seems we have a double disqualification in the ring. J.C. Long is disqualified because Albert DeSalvo attacked Kamikazie Ken and Ken is disqualified because Trable attacked J.C. Long.
MS: It’s a PIER-SIXER BRAWL!
SW: Can we please fire him for THAT comment? That was as lame as they come.
MS: Long is wearing the Crimson Mask.
SW: And Ken is wearing the blue mask with the target stitched on it.
Styles: Don’t confuse the readers, Scotty. I guess we should take a break. Catch our breath. And keep this gauntlet match for the new belt going. Or something.
BigBOSS: Everybody, STOP! I was watching in the back and have come up with a solution to what is going on in that ring right now. At our next Pay-Per-View spectacular, I have decided to book Albert DeSalvo vs. Kamikazie Ken. In a Revolving Rooftop Restaurant Match! As for you, J.C. and Pete, you’re going to be in the Dodge Brawl game. Now let’s go to commercial!
You know who is cool? People who buy BOB Pay-Per-Views.
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[Steve Studnuts is seen walking the hallways backstage of the zombie infested arena. That’s when he ran into two people he mistook for Trey Vincent and Seth Harker. They were actually Tres Vincente, a French imposter who looked a lot like Trey Vincent, and Setjh Harker, a Swedish imposter who once even snuck into an episode of Mystery Sports Entertainment Theatre 3000.]
SS: Trey! Seth! Long time no see, bruddas.
TV: Oui oui.
SH: Yer yer.
SS: Gee, Trey, you look a bit more faggy than normal. You feeling OK?
TV: Oui oui.
SS: You need to take a piss or something?
TV: (Laughing) Hawhawhaw, no.
SS: Alright, Seth. Buddy. Tonight, we’re going to get those Festering Death jerkweeds, iAd style. Because we’re back together at last! What’s with this accent? That doesn’t sound like the Parts Unknown accent I remember.
SH: Oh, dis is der, from a cold. *Cough* Seeck.
SS: You’re sick? Crap, you better not have given Jizzabelle anything contagious.
SH: *Shifty eyes*
TV: Perhaps we should spleet oop and lick fer cloose.
SS: Lick for clues? Now that is definitely not a Minneapolis accent...
[Studs inspects both men very closely.]
SS: Whatever. I’ll head this way. You guys head the other way. We’ll meet back here if we see anybody being stabbed and raped. Get it? Got it? Good.
SH: Yer yer.
TV: Oui oui.
[Studs headed down a hallway and turned the corner. He slowly turned a doorknob and then shoved it wide open. Inside, he saw something on the ground that most BOB viewers have grown used to seeing. Not that it makes it easy to see or anything. There, on the floor of the room, was a bloody corpse, being stabbed by Spaceduck.]
=<>: I DON’T LIKE THIS FUCKING TOWN. THE CORPSES ARE SUPPOSED TO STAY DOWN ONCE YOU STAB THEM IN THE HEAD.
=C]: FOR THIS WE WILL PUT YOUR BRAINS INTO A BLENDER AND DRINK A BLOODY SKULLFUCK WITH EXTRA BRAINS.
[Festering Death looked up at Studnuts.]
=C}: HEY MOTHERFUCKER. YOU EVER HEARD THAT SAYING, IF YOU WERE DEAD, YOU’D BE RAPED NOW? IT IS THE MAN WHO CLAIMS TO MEASURE UP TO THE GIANT SMILEY DICK! IT’S STEVE SOON TO BE STABBED AND RAPED STUDNUTS.
=<>: (To the corpse) I WILL KEEP KILLING YOU UNTIL YOU STAY DEAD MOTHERFUCKER!
[Studs stepped slowly out of the room and headed back down the hallway to get backup.]
SS: Trey! Seth! I found the jerkweeds. Let’s go send their smiley asses back to the ‘70s.
SH: Yer ‘70s?
SS: Before there were fucking computers. Ya dig?
TV: Lick oot!
[Trey pulls out a handgun to the surprise of everyone and shoots at Spaceduck who is approaching quickly.]
=<>: TOO LATE, MOTHERFUCKER!
[Studnuts turns around. Seth has vanished.]
SS: Fucking jerkweed. Where the hell did he go?
=C]: OH FUCK YEAH, THIS CORPSE IS DOING A PERFECT IMITATION OF A JEWISH WOMAN IN BED. NOT MOVING AT ALL. PERFECT.
SS: Aww, Trey. I had hoped you’d commit a felony before getting anally raped. Oh well...
[Studnuts wanders off in search of Seth.]
Styles: We are back. And The Commentator is on his way out to the brand new Flimsy Announce Table those carpenters made. I don’t know what the hell this is all about. TC? TC? What are you doing?
TC: I’ll tell ya what I’m doing, Styles. Since BigBOSS has decided that Schiavone is better than me, I’m out here to run my own show. Welcome to Commentator is Chloroform everyone! I’m TC. And buckle yourselves in, it’s gonna be one HELLUVA ride!
SW: We are so not competing with him.
Styles: Moving along, we’re in the middle stages of a gauntlet to crown the new Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title, sponsored in part by too many porn sites to name.
Masked Announcer: Now coming down the aisle, the Snapmare Kid!
[No music = no bio and too much laziness to research it.]
Masked Announcer: And his opponent. From Japan. BVD!
["Her Strut" hits the boombox speakers. Hey, pops. Welcome back. You have a good smoke? It was fine. I’m just so depressed, Shane. I dunno what to do. I’m not even in the mood to turn BVD into a big penis and SMK into a big vagina.]
Styles: Snapmare Kid comes out fighting, nailing a beautiful snapmare. And there is another snapmare. BVD gets caught in a snapmare. The trifecta has BVD reeling.
SW: Who gave him that fishing rod?
TC: BY GAWD! BY GAWD!
Styles: Will somebody PLEASE shut him up.
TC: You can kiss my boots, son. I’ve been doing this longer than you.
Styles: No you haven’t. We’ve been doing this the same amount of time. We came to BOB at the same time.
TC: You can go to hell, Styles.
BVD: J-A-P-A-N! J-A-P-A-N!
MS: The crowd doesn’t like THAT.
Styles: I’m sure they don’t.
SW: They don’t like much of BOB, Shillvone.
Styles: SMK lifts BVD up onto the top rope. He is DOMINANT.
SW: I guess.
Styles: And SMK heads up top. OH MY GOD! SUPER SNAP MARE!
TC: BY GAWD! SMK showing off those educated wrists! The only thing that could have made that sweeter is if SMK dropped BVD into a vat of barbecue sauce and scalded him!
Styles: How can you say something like that? It’s not cool to scald somebody.
TC: Screw you, Styles, I’m turning heel.
Styles: SMK gets the pin.
TC: By gawd! By gawd! Through hellfire and broadband, it’s the Undietaker!
Styles: The Undietaker is —
Styles: Undietaker climbs over the top rope. He walks right toward the deer in the headlights, Snapmare Kid. Undietaker grabs SMK by the throat. OH MY GOD! WEDGIE-AIDED CHOKESLAM FROM HELL!
TC: THE CARNAGE! THE CARNAGE!
SW: And he kept the undies in the process. He hangs SMK’s tighty-whities on his back pocket and makes the cover. One. Two. Three.
Styles: Good lord! Can anyone stop the man who steals your steals both your boxers and briefs.
SW: And makes you dress in fleece, or whatever he says.
Masked Announcer: And his opponent. It’s Urine!
MS: Uri-mania is flowing freely in Raccoon City tonight! The BOB fans are no doubt all members of the URI-NATION.
SW: Urine is in. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Whip to the ropes. Kick to the shins. But Undietaker doesn’t go down! CHOKESLAM!
TC: CHOKESLAM! CHOKESLAM! CHOKESLAM!
Styles: Is there an echo?
SW: Only in The Commentator’s empty skull.
MS: The Undietaker has killed URIMANIA! OH THIS IS THE BLACKEST DAY IN THE HISTORY OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD ON THE GREATEST SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM IN THE HISTORY OF SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORMS IN BOB HISTORY!
[Billy Polar walks out from backstage. His arms are stretched out forward and he’s walking with a limp, dragging his right leg behind him. He looks rather like a zombie.]
Styles: OH NO! Not again! Billy Polar has become a zombie for an unprecedented second time in TWO short years!
SW: And he’s going for Eddie B! Pretty soon, Eddie B will be Eddie Z!
Eddie B: Shhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiit. That looks like a damn zombie.
Zombie" Billy Polar: Arrrrrhhh, play Rob Zombieeeeeeee!
Eddie B: Fo’ sho, dogg, sho.
["Never Gonna Stop" by Rob Zombie hits the speakers and Billy Polar begins swaying back and forth, grooving to the noise.]
Styles: Oh, crap. More zombies are coming! Eddie, shut off that song!
[A zombie that looks like Edge pauses and looks at the camera.]
Edge: Eh, you seen my feet, eh?
[He moves along. A zombie that looks like Bill Gates pauses and looks at the camera.]
Bill Gates: Buy Microsoft Office. Grrrrrrrrrr!
Styles: Even shilling his crap after he’s dead. What a surprise.
[He moves along and yet more zombies file in.]
SW: Who left the back door open?
Styles: I don’t know. I wasn’t watching when that segment was on, let me consult the script.
[Sounds of pages flipping.]
Styles: Billy Polar!
SW: I can’t believe I once thought he was cool. Now he’s dead.
MS: YOU CAN CUT THE TENSION WITH A KNIFE!
Styles: Screw the tension, cut the heads off those zombies.
SW: Let’s toss them The Commentator.
TC: I’ll stomp a mudhole in them and scrape the zombie goo from the bottom of my shoes.
[Here comes BigBOSS and the JEWS to the rescue.]
BigBOSS: Polar! What the hell happened to you?
BigBOSS: Damn it. JEWS! Execute them!
BILL: Will do.
Mr. X: Fughettaboutit. (He pulls out a gun.) Let’s party, zombies.
[The film goes into black and white and slow motion.]
Mr. X: (Extreme Close-Up): AHHHHHHHHHHH!
[Several of the zombies collapse to the floor, blood spewing in every direction from the machine gun bullet wounds. Meanwhile, BILL slips on the blood and goes flying, knocking over all of the surviving zombies like subhuman bowling pins. BVD then steps forward and begins impaling zombies with his flag pole. Albert DeSalvo pulls out a machete and begins hacking off limbs. The screen returns to color and regular speed.]
Styles: Glorify violence much?
SW: All the time, baby! This is BOB and this is wrestling! Get used to it, skanks!
MS: The JEWS have MASSACRED all the zombies, but I believe Billy Polar wandered off during that big zombie standoff. Is there a RIFT developing between POLAR and the ZOMBIES?
SW: Highly unlikely now that they’re all dead. At least there are no more zombies...
[Cut to the back entrance. Here comes an army of scary zombies. Stupid, Scotty. He just has to test fate, doesn’t he. At least I’m safe in the brackets here.]
Masked Announcer: *Ahem* Anyway. Undietaker’s next opponent. Lest we forget there are matches we still need to finish here. StreetMime 2K3! Now, LET’S GET IT ON!
Styles: StreetMime has a new attitude of late here in BOB. New gimmick. Sort of. New attitude. I like it. He’s adapting.
SW: And he grew a brain. He just went to the floor to avoid the Undietaker. Oh no. He’s just picked up an invisible steel folding chair!
Styles: How can you tell?
SW: The script.
Styles: StreetMime is back in the ring. He winds up.
Styles: OH MY GOD! He hit Undietaker straight on the skull!
SW: I’d say that Undietaker no-sold that shot, but, well, there was really nothing there to no-sell. He hit him with air.
Styles: StreetMime is celebrating, raising his chair in the air. But Generic Ref has disqualified StreetMime2K3 for extreme stupidity. Undietaker is still alive and stacking up bodies as he’s in the hunt for the new BOB title.
[Fade to black.]
Announcer: Fans stay tuned for scenes from next week’s thrilling conclusion!
Different voice: We didn’t make that video package yet. We ran over budget.
Announcer: Ah screw it.
Caption: TO BE CONTINUED...
© 2003 BOB Wrestling! It makes you want to jump off a cliff!