Brawlers On A Budget
 

>> home
>> upcoming shows
show archives
> 2008
> 2007
> 2006
> 2005
> 2004
2003
> 2002
> 2001
> 2000
> 1999
>> forums
>> roster
>> title history
>> rules
>> application
>> eWrestling wiki
>> credit
>> links

Sunday Morning Chloroform Logo

"More Conversations (And Matches) With Strange & Dead People"

Previously on Sunday Morning Chloroform:

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...

[Cut to the arena.]

SW: The PUAKMCT. Just rolls off your tongue, don’t it? Sounds German to me.

Masked Announcer: Everyone, please welcome, BOB’s stereotypical if mentally challenged luchadore, Insano MANO!

Styles: This gauntlet is about to get EXTREME!

SW: I guess I’ll give BOB this much credit. Any other federation would probably spend four or five weeks on a tournament like this. We are the kings of cram.

Styles: The kings of cram. Sounds like a club Shill would be part of. Insano Mano comes out on the attack. It’s a springboard Asai corkscrew suicida punch! He follows up with a catapult fliparama somersault moonsault diving punch!

SW: Undietaker used to work at Best Buy, but, for some reason, they never let him get on the register.

Styles: He did a lot of no-selling there too, eh?

SW: Yep.

MS: Mano doesn’t know WHAT to do. But fans, I know what YOU should do. Call you FRIENDS. Call your FAMILY. Call your distant relatives and your NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS. Because the main event is—

Styles: Not going to happen. You saw Polar. He’s a zombie! We can’t have a zombie as our world champion.

SW: Why not? We’ve had a 3-year-old, a supposed Angel thrown out of Heaven, a horribly obese man, a drug addict, a vampire and Premslwvk.

Styles: Ugh. I forgot how low this company has sunk at times. Premslwvk. Yich. But right now, Undietaker is trying to become the first-ever Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title. Mano is stumped. He leaps up onto Undietaker’s shoulders!

SW: What the?

MS: He just lifted up his mask!

Undietaker: AHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH!

{He throws Insano Mano to the mat, who quickly readjusts his mask. Undietaker quickly hops over the top rope, then to the floor and sort-of runs up the aisle. To picture Undietaker running...well, imagine trying to watch somebody without knee caps run. There you go. ]

SW: What the HELL was that?

Styles: Undietaker just went running up the aisle, screaming like a little girl.

SW: Can you even call that ‘running’?

Styles: Just barely. And Generic Ref has counted Undietaker out of this thing.

Generic Ref: SEVEN!

SW: Styles!

Generic Ref: TEN!

MS: WHAT AN UPSET! HEAVEN’S TO BETSY, YOU ONLY GET ACTION LIKE THIS IN BOB, FANS! STAY TUNED! AND BRING YOUR PETS! EVEN THEY WILL BE AMAZED BY BRAWLERS ON A BUDGET!

Masked Announcer: Coming out next, XXXtreme Machine!

SW: Now, we have the man with the scariest face in BOB against the man with the scariest grammar skills in BOB. Insano Mano and XXXtreme Machine.

Styles: This one should be—

SW: Extreme?

Styles: Dreadful. XXXtreme Machine gets in the ring.

Generic Ref: Good GOD! Are you a zombie?

XM: mo

Generic Ref: You smell like a corpse. A decaying, dead, corpse. You reek of death. When’s the last time you took a shower, smelly? Oh, screw this, ring the bell.

Masked Announcer: Generic Ref has disqualified XXXtreme Machine. For? Smelling really bad.

XM: o bolshet

Generic Ref: We’ll take this short timeout to air out the arena.


One in ten dentists recommend buying BOB’s upcoming pay-per-view. What happened to the nine that didn’t? They got shot.

*Gun shot*

Buy the pay-per-view, or you’ll be next on the list. Capiche?


[Backstage, Steve Studnuts was still searching for who he thought was Seth Harker. Instead, he found a grand piano. So, he did the logical thing. Grabbed some sheet music and began playing — perfectly, in fact. Studs looked at the camera.]

SS: What are YOU looking at, jerkweed? These hands are good for plenty of things. Just ask Connie.

[Studnuts sneezes, lifting both of his hands up, yet the piano music continues. He pauses, looks at the camera, and then puts his hands back into fake piano-playing mode for a few more seconds. Then, a secret panel in the wall opens up. Setjh Harker falls out screaming.]

SH: YER! YER! I’M FREE! YER YER!

SS: Did you see what happened to Trey, buddy? He got anally probed, and it wasn’t from visitors from some other planet. You and me are gonna go out to the ring, challenge those little fucker smileys to a match and teach them who invented the game of no-selling. And I ain’t talking about Hogan, ya dig?

SH: Yer, yer.

[Studs heads toward the door with Setjh following. Everything was going according to plan until.]

=<>: *STAB*

[Setjh fell to the floor, bleeding like a gaping wound in his midsection.]

SS: Oh, that does it jerkweeds. You think you can stab and rape my boys and I won’t get just a little bit pissed off? I’m STEVE FUCKING STUDNUTS! I PERFECTED YELLING IN ALL CAPS! I PERFECTED BEING PISSED! AND I’VE BEEN MAKING PEOPLE DISAPPEAR A LOT LONGER THAN YOU TWO LITTLE FUCKTARDS. TONIGHT, IT’S ME, SPACEFUCK, VERSUS YOU TWO, SPACECOCK AND SPACESUCK. AND THAT’S A FACT. JERKWEEDS! GET IN THE RING MOTHERFUCKERS.

=C}: WHATEVER. *RAPE*

=<>: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE HORRIBLY LIKE YOUR IMPOSTER FRIENDS HERE.


[Backstage, the BigBOSS was pacing back and forth, oblivious to an approaching crowd of zombies.]

BigB: Must have main event. Polar’s a zombie. Who can I get.

[That’s when Massive Man Rendition First hobbled by on crutches.]

BigB: You there. You with the crutches (he says pointing at Massive Man).

MMR1: Who, me?

BigB: How would you like a shot at the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS?

MMR1: I’d rather get a raise.

BigB: I can hear it in your voice. You want that title bad, don’t you.

MMR1: My toe really hurts. It’s broken, you know. The doctors refused to clear me to wrestle.

BigB: There have been a lot of champions who fought through the pain to become champions. Granted, none were in BOB, but, you could be that sort of guy. I want you to go out there and give the fans a good toe.. uh, show! (Pause). I think there’s trouble a-foot, Josh. Maybe we should take this to my private office. What you say?

MMR1: No.

BigB: I’ve put my foot down, Josh. You’re wrestling in the main event. Hop to it.

MMR1: Will you carry me on your back then?

BigB: Well...alright, but just this once...


[Ring. The zombies are getting closer, btw.]

Styles: Thanks for that update, Shane. You’re a much better narrator than that Detached fellow.]

[He’s, uh, busy or something at the moment. Dad, put down those razor blades. We can still win this war.]

Styles: Xamfir is out. Hello, Xamfir.

Xamfir: Hey, Styles. Check me out. Got my genie girlfriend here.

Jeannie: Hey, Styles. Is there anything I can do for you, master.

Styles: Well—

Xamfir: I think she was talking to me!

Jeannie: Oh, right. Sure I was, Xamfir. What do you want.

Xamfir: According to my calculations, the only thing standing between me and that new title is four victories. So...I wish that I would defeat my next four opponents!

Jeannie: Gotta rub me the right way, honey.

Xamfir: On TV? In front of everyone?

Jeannie: Later, then. Your wish is granted.

Xamfir: Mano, you’re so screwed.

Styles: OH MY GOD! Did you see that?

SW: Mano just slapped himself! And again! His hands are going insane!

MS: INSANE HANDS?

TC: SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAPPITYSLAPSLAPSLAP!

Styles: This is rather embarrassing, isn’t it?

SW: And Mano goes down at his own hands. Which have, apparently gone crazy.

IM: ¡Hágale la parada, hágale la parada!

Xamfir: He just submitted, didn’t he?

Generic Ref: Uh, sure.

Masked Announcer: Here is your winner, Xamfir!

Styles: Xamfir should be the champion easily now.


[Backstage. Brandon, Jim, Sir Hungalot, Jean Bannister and Violent Pacifist are all outside BigBOSSes private room. He opens the door to see what all the pounding is about.]

BigBOSS: Yes?

VP: Can we borrow a flame thrower or a rocket launcher, perhaps?

BigB: What makes you think I have one of those?

Jim: Dude, we saw the backstage segment earlier.

BigB: It’s just, if I have to give you guys a flamethrower, than I’ll have to give EVERYONE a flame thrower. And let me tell you guys something, I only have one. So no.

[He closes the door.]

Brandon: That wasn’t cool.

Sir Hungalot: He will pay for this. He wants to give Massive Man the shot. Well, we’ll make it a memorable one. Won’t we guys?

[They all nod.]


[Back at the ring...]

MS: Too much action to SHAKE A STICK AT! This is the fastest 30 pages on the Internet, fans!

SW: And still more pages to go, it seems. At least two more anyway. I swear this script was only 28 pages when I first started ripping it to shreds.

Styles: Oh, you know BOB. Inflammable contracts, unrippable scripts.

MS: Silly, Styles. Flammable means inflammable!

Styles: Oh, can it, Shill. Mr. X is on his way out to the ring. And he’s got a gun! Oh good GOD no!

SW: Xamfir is standing there, as opposed to running for his life.

Styles: Not too many people have won races with bullets.

Xamfir: Hey, X. Nice gun.

Mr. X: Gun? What gun?

Xamfir: The one you got there in your right hand.

Mr. X: Suck a lemon.

Xamfir: You think you can shoot me? I’ve got a genie on my side. That beautiful blonde woman right there.

Mr. X: I don’t see any beautiful blondes.

Jeannie: Excuse me? Xamfir! Do something.

Styles: He just stuck his finger in the barrel of Mr. X’s gun.

SW: Yeah, that’ll save his life.

[Mr. X pulls the trigger. A cloud of black smoke erupts from the gun, which now looks like a peeled banana. Mr. X falls backward and Xamfir covers him.]

Styles: ONE! TWO! THREE! OH MY GOD! WHAT AN UPSET BY XAMFIR!

TC: Through GUNPOWDER and GUNSMOKE, Xamfir has PREVAILED!

Styles: DMD is in the ring! He’s not wasting a second. He spears Xamfir to the mat! One! Two! Kickout by Xamfir!

SW: Jeannie just grabbed Xamfir by the sneakers and shook him like she was trying to shake dust out of a throw rug. That was rather, odd, to say the least.

MS: YOU ONLY GET KICKOUTS LIKE THAT IN BOB!

Styles: Xamfir just pulled something out of his sneaker. What is that? Jeannie’s up on the apron, distracting Generic Ref with some generic chat.

Jeannie: Does this outfit make my butt look fat?

Generic Ref: No, it’s your butt that makes your, uh, never mind.

Styles: Xamfir has X-ray film! The same kind you have to stick in your mouth once a year! He’s stuffing it in DMD’s mouth! Oh what poetic irony! DMD is tapping out!

TC: TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

SW: CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP! The zombies just walked through the entryway!

Styles: OH MY GOD! THE KENT STATE KREW IS HERE! SO ARE THE THREE GUYS! They’re going after the ZOMBIES!

MS: Fans, don’t you DARE change the CHANNEL!


This portion of Sunday Morning Chloroform is brought to you by:

Breasts

Her breasts.

Women are sex objects. Accept it. Welcome to the real world of professional wrestling.

Sponsored by False.com.org


Styles: Well, here we go. The Next Big Thingee Dustbuster Boy has arrived for his contest with Xamfir.

SW: Go Dustbuster Boy! He’s my cousin, you know.

MS: HE SUCKS!

SW: That’s it!

[Sounds of chaos follow for the next minute.]

Styles: That’s it. Shill, YOU’RE EJECTED. Get out of the booth. No. Don’t argue with me. Man. How unprofessional of him. We’re not supposed to be as biased as Shill has been all night. He’s going to get us thrown off the...uh...what network are we on?

SW: Um...

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BigB: Sorry, what was the question?

[Back to the ring.]

Styles: Anyway. I’m sure you fans noticed that there is indeed a match going on. Sort of.

SW: Yep. Jeannie is up on the apron, again, causing a distraction. I gotta tell you, I’d love to have her in my corner. Of my bed, that is.

Styles: I’m sure you would. You’d probably make her scream all night long. But you still wouldn’t let her out.

SW: Damn right.

Styles: Dustbuster Boy has Xamfir up on his shoulders. But a dustbuster suddenly poofs into his hand! He smacks Dustbuster Boy in the back of the head. OH MY GOD! That was EXTREME!

SW: Yeah, yeah. Did we forget to mention that the KSK and The Three Guys have been chopping up zombies with a lawnmower?

Styles: I think we did, yeah.

SW: OK. Just as long as we’re clear. They’ve really been saving BOB’s butt for years, and just like now, we barely even notice. What a shame, eh?

Styles: Yeah, but what are you gonna do? Anyway! How about this match!

SW: I wish those guys would keep down the frigging noise. Hey BigBOSS. What’s up?

BigB: I noticed Shill was gone. And, hello? My federation. My show. Back in control.

SW: Great to see you BOSS. Xamfir has the cover.

Styles: ONE! TWO! THREE! It’s over! Xamfir has WON THE TITLE. OHMYGOD!!!

BigB: What are you getting so excited about?

Styles: XAMFIR’S A CHAMPION! XAMFIR’S A CHAMPION!

BigB: No, he’s not actually.

Styles: WHAT? OH MY GOD! WE HAVE JUST WITNESSED THE BIGGEST SCREW JOB EVER! XAMFIR JUST WON.

BigB: Honestly, Styles, I don’t really like your tone of voice. I’m trying to explain—

Styles: YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU SCREWED XAMFIR! BURN IN HELL, BIGBOSS! BURN IN HELL!

BigB: Styles, calm down. Atomo is the last guy in the tournament. Check you script.

SW: Gee, he’s right, Styles.

Styles: OH MY GOD! FANS, WE HAVE JUST WITNESSED ONE OF THE WORST EVENTS IN SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY!

BigB: OK. That’s it. Styles, you’re off the announce team.

Styles: WHAT? YOU CAN’T DO THAT, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH! I’M MIKEY STYLES! I’M THE BEST COMMENTATOR IN THE BUSINESS TODAY!

BigB: Well, now, you’re the best commentator not to be commentating, then. Hit the bricks. Get to steppin’.

[Sound of headphones being thrown down.]

BigB: Hey, Commentator.

TC: Yes, sir?

BigB: Come join the A-team.

TC: If you insist, sir.

SW: Oh, crap. This better not turn into an announcer vs. announcer angle.

BigB: Say what?

SW: Oh, uh, nothing. I’m staying the complete hell away from THIS one.

Masked Announcer: Now making his way to the ring, Atomo The Living Robot.

Jeannie: Uh, Xamfir.

Xamfir: Not now, honey. Just keep working that dark mojo of yours.

Jeannie: But, it’s just that you need to wish—

Xamfir: The only thing that I need to wish now is for Atomo to be in the ring so I can beat him faster with my already snugly in place wish.

Jeannie: But!

Xamfir: That’s right, dark mojo.

Jeannie: *Sigh*

TC: Atomo is in the ring, suddenly! In less than a heartbeat, Atomo went from the ramp to the ring! And now it’s on like barbecue sauce on a scalded dog!

BigB: You really have emotional issues, don’t you?

TC: No, sir. Not really. Aw hell yeah! Xamfir is whipping Atomo like a government robot!

SW: Jeannie would make a fine sexbot. I wonder whatever happened to that Sarah_Bot.

BigB: I don’t know what you’re talking about, Scotty.

SW: Sarah_Bot. She was a cyborg type of thing. Built for sex. You know, steamy hardcore action. Penetration. Sex sex sex boobs.

BigB: Alright, enough cheap Web search hit tactics.

SW: xiaoxiao!

BigB: What the hell was that?

SW: Japanese, I think.

TC: Atomo flails an arm and whacks Xamfir flat on his back, back, back! He’s heading up to the top rope! BY GAWD, look at him FLY!

SW: That’s the Atomic Bomb. This one’s all over.

Jeannie: Poor Xamfir.

TC: ONE! TWO! THREE! NEW CHAMP! NEW CHAMP! NEW CHAMP! Atomo has climbed to the mountain top and reached the prize in the sky. Aw, you only get amazing action like this in BOB!

SW: Don’t read Shill’s lines, TC, umkay?

[After Atomo is out of the ring, Jeannie heads inside the ring. Xamfir’s head suddenly pops off the mat.]

Xamfir: What...where...what...huh?

Jeannie: You lost, sweetie.

Xamfir: Why didn’t you help me?

Jeannie: Well, you said you wanted to beat the remaining four people. I didn’t know there were five.

Xamfir: D’oh.

BigB: I told Styles it was a miscalculation. I’m not out here to screw over people. Just because I’m the owner of the company and sitting out here does not signal an impending screw job of monumental proportions. I mean, if I wanted to inflate my ego, I’d book myself against Coma and beat him, after hitting my finishing move about four times. And he’d take it like a little bitch.


[Cloudydale. Little Good is walking Dyslexic Avenger toward the back of a building. Dyslexic Avenger is confused when they come to a cheap ring set up in the backyard. He turns around to see Little Good’s face has changed a bit. Well, alright, he’s only scowling...but we have a low budget. Conveniently enough, a backyard referee walks by, drops his bag of groceries, and makes the cover. One! Two! Three! After getting the win in the impromptu BOB match, Little Good falls onto his back and pulls Dyslexic Avenger on top of himself. The ref again makes the cover. One! Two! Three! Dyslexic Avenger wins?]

TC: Do you realize what this means?

SW: Not a frigging clue.

TC: Little Good just SIRED Dyslexic Avenger!

SW: ...And that means...?

TC: I don’t know! Maybe we’ll know by EXPLOSION OF INJURIES FANS!

SW: Yeah, that’s gonna pop the buy rates. Hype up the real star of THAT show, Sarah vs. Nurse Heidi vs. Candy Cantaloupes! WOOHOO!

[Scotty gets up on the announce desk and gyrates again.]


[Backstage, Dennis has popped in on the AYOOYFM Title Belt, which has been duct taped to the YGBKIADT Title Belt. They are on a table beside a chair, where the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice)! Title Belt is seated.]

Dennis: Pardon me old bean, you don’t mind if I borrow the former champ for a moment, do you?

HWAI?TINTTB: ...

Dennis: Bloody splendid. Frickin. I was wondering what your thoughts on you losing yourself were?

AYOOYFMTB: ...

Dennis: Oh, come now, I know losing is tough, but keeping your feelings inside is no way to move on and cope with your grief.

AYOOYFMTB: ...

[That’s when the door opened and Kevin The Pyromaniac rushed inside.]

Dennis: What’s the meaning of this old chap?

Kevin The Pyromaniac: I like to burn things.

[Kevin grabs all three title belts.]

KTP: Top o’ the world! Top o’ the world!

[He runs crazily out of the room. We return to give the announcers some face (killing) time. ]

TC: Fans, that was Kevin The Pyromaniac. And lord knows what in the HELL he has in store for 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.

BigB: Wow. That was a mouthful.

SW: Good thing he’s been practicing, stuffing pet coons in there.

TC: Aw, cram it, Scotty.

[Backstage.]

BigB: Hey, look! It’s the Cliche Moths! That new tag team I just signed.

SW: Look at them. What are they gonna do tonight? Wrestle?

BigB: Nope. I figure some nice walking footage will get them over.

[The Cliche Moths keep walking. The screen suddenly turns to black and white and slow motion. Then it returns to normal as they walk past the camera.]

TC: Who is editing tonight’s show?

BigB: Some new guy. Anyway. Those Cliché Moths, they’re gonna be huge stars. I can just feel it.

SW: Worked for me. Who needs personality. Anybody who has the ability to walk is good enough for BOB.

BigB: So, I guess we’re ready to go backstage, yeah?

[Sure.]

TC: That’s...that’s Kevin The Pyromaniac! What’s he doing near that Dumpster! And what’s he doing with all that gasoline.

SW: Thank God you didn’t go into brain surgery. He’s got the belts. He’s gonna burn them into ashes.

BigB: You’d think that, wouldn’t you...

SW: Do you know something?

BigB: I know a lot of things...

SW: ... Have you been taking lessons from Mr. X?

BigB: Who?

SW: Fuhgetaboutit.

[Kevin tosses the gas in and tosses matches in, igniting a big Dumpster fire.]

Kevin: See you in hell, BELTS! MWAHAHAHAHA.

TC: It’s Kamikazie Ken! He just hit Kevin in the face with a chair!

KK: A quick impression... Southern California!

BigB: BOB would like to stress that the opinions of Ken are his own. And he's mental.

[After holding still for several seconds, a voice is heard saying "cut" off-screen. Ken lets Kevin get down and picks up an out of view "dummy" version of Kevin. He puts the dummy into heaving-into-flaming-Dumpster-position.]

BigB: This is great, not going live, huh?

SW: The editor is still dead, right? I didn’t imagine he was eaten by zombies?

BigB: Yeah, I’ll hire some new guy. Jazz up the footage somehow. More artsy. And edit this bit out. We ready? OK.

Voice off-screen backstage: Action!

[Ken hurls Kevin The Pyromaniac into the Dumpster!]

Styles (from backstage): OH MY GOD!

TC: Kamikazie Ken just treated Kevin The Pyromaniac like a luau pig!

BigB: BOB would like to stress that the opinions of The Commentator are his own. And he's mental.

SW: I got nothing controversial to say. Ah well, Let’s move along to the next match, huh?

TC: Indeed. I’m not putting that shit over.

[Back to the ring.]

SW: It’s Steve Studnuts? I thought we were going to the main event?

BB: Last second editing. Had to fit this match in somewhere.

SW: Ahh.

["Brain of J" by Pearl Jam hits the speakers.]

MA: Now coming to the ring, Steve Studnuts! Soon to be coming to the ring Festering Death. Thus my hasty departure to sit on something made of metal.

TC: It’s gonna be handicapped action right now. Here comes Festering Death out to that putrid song that has been played more times on John Leary’s iTunes than "Oops I Did It Again" by Britney Spears!

SW: John who?

BB: I’ll have to introduce you to him sometime. But he rarely leaves his home other than to get drunk.

SW: Sounds like my kind of dude.

TC: Well, here we go. Generic Ref isn’t even going to try and get one of the Festering Death members out of the ring. It’s gonna be two on one right now. BY GAWD! Spaceduck with a STAB, STAB, STAB!

SW: That was only one stab, TC. Don’t go exaggerating again.

TC: Studnuts is still standing. This kid has a LOT of heart, and it’s likely gonna be falling out of his chest in a few moments.

SW: No. Studnuts has just NO-SOLD the STAB! I don’t believe it!

TC: How do you learn how to no-sell a stab wound?

SW: Studs just did it. Look! He’s just standing there.

=<>: OK MOTHERFUCKER, NOW I’M PISSED.

BB: Well, this is completely messed up.

TC: SMILEY STUNNER! But Studnuts gets right back up!

SW: Right back up? He never even budged!

SS: Jackoffs, HE DOESN’T HAVE ANY FRICKIN’ ARMS! HOW CAN HE STUN ME? OR STAB ME? Now THIS is how you do it.

TC: Studnuts hits Spaceduck with the Death Valley (Of The Sun) Driver! This has GOT to be it!

SW: Uh-oh. Spaceduck just no-sold on STUDNUTS!

BigB: Alright. This is about where I ran out of ideas for a finish. Excuse me.

SW: What did he just say?

TC: BigBOSS is heading toward the ring. He gets Generic Ref’s attention. And there’s the bell?

MA: Ladies and gentlemen, as a result of the referee’s decision, this match has been declared a no contest for gratuitous amounts of no-selling.

SW: If there was a crowd here, somebody might actually care. Score one for BOB.

SS: Man this place sucks.

[Studnuts wanders off.]

=<>: URGE TO KILL RISING, RISING...

=C]: URGE TO RAPE, RISING, RISING...

Altar Boy: Pardon me, I’m a little lost. Can anybody tell me how to get back to Main Street? (Sees Festering Death charging at him.) AHHHH!

[There is a long pause.]

Voice: Whooooooaaaa.....whoa it’s his BIG TOE!

SW: The hell?

Masked Announcer: The following match is the main event and is for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. Introducing first, the challenger, Massive Man Rendition First!

[A rip-off of Big Show’s theme plays, with these lyrics:
"Well it’s a big, bad toe tonight, y’all.
You might not see it cuz it’s covered.
But I promise you’ll know.
THE BIG TOE!]

BigB: What a song! That kid is gonna be a star some day.

TC: The Big Toe? What in the HELL is going on here tonight?

BigB: It’s not a gimmick change. He’s still the leaders of the Massivites, or whatever they are. He had a shot at the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTTERS, and he’s going for it.

SW: He could never beat Polar.

BigB: Well, Scotty, Billy’s a zombie. Again. And he was walking by when I needed somebody to replace Polar. So there you go.

TC: People have to earn the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS in BOB. Coma walked through hellfire, brimstone, Hazzard, Dublin, Zimbabwe and Cleveland.

SW: You said hell twice.

TC: I did?

SW: Well, hell is in Cleveland. No need to be redundant.

BigB: Goodness no, why start now? (Shatner) Why.....start now.

Shatner: Quit stealing... my... bit!

SW: Massive Man is...the Toe-minator! When there’s trouble-a-foot, who you gonna call?

BigB: If you notice, it appears that Massive Man is protecting that injured toe with a Toe-Guard.

TC: By gawd. That’s an illegal object. In my 2 years in this sport, I have never seen anything as heinous as that Toe Guard. Doesn’t his boot protect his toe?

SW: Wow. Massive Man may just be a shoe-in to win this match after all!

*Rim shot*

SW: Thank you! Good night!

BigB: Sit down, Scotty.

[The cameras headed over to a little stage area. A group of cats with instruments were there. The lead cat stepped up to the microphone. "1, 2, 3, 4!" and "Blitzkreig Bop" started playing. The cats on stage started bobbing onstage as the cats lip-synched to the song. Suddenly, there was a mosh pit full of cats in front of the stage.

Hopping cats. Body-surfing cats. If you saw the VH1 commercial, you know exactly what this looked like, since, well, that’s where we taped it off of. Except...the VH1 ad didn’t feature Coma running up onstage and moshing it up. He dove into the crowd, only to discover there really weren’t any cats, and that was only a blue screen behind him being projected on. Needless to say, Coma took a nasty fall. But he picked himself up and headed toward the ring.]

SW: I think that’s the only pussy Coma will be seeing tonight.

BigB: Scotty!

TC: There’s our world champ. The only wrestler with more brain damage than Mick Foley, folks.

SW: Can he be beaten? It'll be no small "feet" for Massive Man. Ha!

TC: Here we go. Massive Man talking smack to Coma.

SW: Coma talking retard to Massive Man.

TC: And here we go. Massive Man punches Coma in the head. And again. And again. Whips him into the ropes. But Coma hangs on. Massive Man charges, Coma ducks and Massive Man falls over the top rope all the way to the floor.

SW: OK. It should be about time for a run-in here.

TC: It’s J.C. LONG! Why is he on his way out here!

VP: Whoa. Where do you think you’re going?

JCL: Yo, yo, you can’t see me. I’m wearing camouflage dogg.

SH: We all see you.

JCL: Man, this floor sure is bloody. Hey Bannister, is this from your mommy? She forget her tampons again?

BigB: Oh my! The Three Guys have cut off Massive Man’s help!

SW: And Massive Man just noticed.

BigB: Isn’t this an interesting development.

SW: Not really.

TC: Massive Man runs down the aisle toward the big pile of zombie corpses, but he slips! Oh no! He’s sliding out of control, comically flailing his arms! And he takes out Brandon, Jim, Sir Hungalot, Jean Bannister, Violent Pacifist and his Massivetude Follower, J.C. Long!

[The Flunky walks out with a Beware Of Blood sign for the floor.]

SW: That’s really helpful, thanks Flunky.

TC: It’s a bloodbath of a main event tonight. This group was at one time known as Totally Face, but then Josh "Massive Man" left the crew. Now, it appears, finally, this war is turning bloody and personal!

BigB: Coma is under the ring. What’s he got? Skis? Who ordered skis?

TC: It’s a Coma match, BOSS. Prepare for the worst. Coma has on the skis and now is doing some cross-country skiing through the blood.

SW: He’s on the bloody Nordic track here.

TC: He’s getting closer to Massive Man. Oh! My GOD. He just hit him in the back with that ski pole.

SW: Massive Man just grabbed a severed zombie arm. He spins around!

SPLAT

SW: Yich. He just hit Coma with a the arm! He knocks Coma backwards, but his feet are so tight in the boots, he rebounds. HAHAHAHA.

BigB: He’s like a Weeble! Massive Man has pulled out the old Weebles Wobble But Won’t Fall Down move! The oldest trick in the book!

SPLAT

TC: Blood is flying. And don’t forget. Underneath that soft zombie skin is hard zombie bone! OH GAWD! Coma just lifted his ski up between Massive Man’s legs! Now that’s a low blow if I ever saw one.

SW: Coma found the sweet spot.

BigB: Coma bends down. Looks like he’s trying to get those skis off, realizing he can’t have much of an offense in them.

SW: J.C. Long just shoved Sir Hungalot into Jim. Jim turns around and knocks him down! Oh boy! Here we go!

SH: Whoops. Sorry Jim.

Jim: Sure. No problem.

BigB: Hmm.

TC: Jim gets up. Oh no! He just picked up a zombie head and hits Sir Hungalot in the family jewels!

SW: The Big Sir’s getting some head!

BigB: Indeed.

TC: Oh no! It’s all broken down now! OH THE HUMANITY! Brandon just attacked the Big Sir. Jim and Bannister are fighting. Violent Pacifist is trying to break up the in-fighting. But J.C. Long attacks VP!

BigB: Coma climbs to the top of the corpse pile! Massive Man is still down.

Coma: POINK ROCK WILL NEVER DIE!

TC: Look out!

SW: HOLY CRAP! BILLY POLAR JUST PUSHED COMA OFF THE BIG PILE OF ZOMBIE CORPSES! And I can’t believe I just SAID that!

TC: Coma crashes to the bloody floor. Let me ask you fans, how do you learn to fall off a pile of corpses onto a bloody floor, HUH? TELL ME! TELL ME YOU BASTARDS!

BigB: Settle down. Polar jumps off the pile of corpses, trying for a leg drop, but Massive Man rolls out of the way. Massive Man is soaked in blood, as is everybody else out there. It’s getting hard to tell who is who anymore.

TC: Massive Man grabs a belt from one of the zombies. He whips Coma with the belt like a government coon! He’s taking Coma to the blood shed!

SW: Great pun, TC. Not.

TC: But Massive Man’s big toe is slowing him down for sure.

SW: He's injured his toe... does this mean he's going to turn 'heel'?

TC: It’s safe to say that Generic Ref has lost control of this match.

SW: You think?

BigB: We’re not going to cheat the fans on the main event. We’ve cheated them enough already on these last two shows.

TC: Coma and Massive Man are slowly brawling their way back toward the ring, with Polar sluggishly following behind. Even in living death, he’s still pissed about losing his title to Coma. And Polar and Massive Man have had quite a rivalry in BOB as well. I’m sure he’d love to pay both of them back by biting them and turning them into inhuman soldiers of Satan.

SW: Can you imagine a Coma zombie? (Zombie Coma) Brains....POINK! Brains....POINK!

BigB: Coma with a kick to Billy. He goes flying through the wall. Massive Man spears Coma from behind. Good God! Listen to all that noise! The fighting sounds incredibly intense in there! Glass breaking! Objects being shattered.

[Massive Man walks out. The crashing sounds continue.]

TC: Polar must have opened a can of Whoopweiser on Coma. Good lord. Those sounds of glass breaking and objects crashing around, surely one of those men won’t walk out the same they went in.

[Polar shuffles his way out through the hole in the wall. The crashing sounds continue. Polar goes toward Massive Man. The camera finally decides to look inside. There, we see Coma violently throwing glass vases and antiques on the floor for no earthly reason.

Clive: Eh, uh, Coma?

[He looks up at the cameraman and smiles. Then heads toward the hole.]

SW: Theater of the retarded mind.

BigB: This has almost turned into a triple threat, except for the fact that Polar isn’t physically cleared to wrestle. I don’t want to get sued by one of the wrestlers if he zombifies one of them.

SW: They’d only come looking for brains. No money.

BigB: Really? Hmm. Maybe I should leave him on the active roster then. It’d sure save me a heck of a lot of money if I could pay the roster in brains instead of money.

TC: That’s not too unethical, I guess.

BigB: Oh, damn.

TC: What? OH BY GAWD! Billy Polar has found himself a pitchfork. This is turning into a B-movie of epic proportions.

SW: Where is Coma going?

TC: All HELL has broken loose!

BigB: The Three Guys, J.C. Long and the Kent State Krew have brawled down to ringside. Man, those guys are really impressing me to heck. But what are you gonna do?

SW: It’s Coma! He’s riding on a zamboni! Could this get any more insane?

TC: Considering that a penguin is driving the zamboni? No.

Coma: The redcoats are everywhere, captain. Guard the mast, the pirates are swarming overhead. NEEP!

TC: Massive Man is being held off by Polar and his pitchfork. But Massive Man wipes some blood off his own forehead and flicks it in Polar’s direction.

BigB: The old flick blood in the eyes of your mortal enemy whose wielding a pitchfork trick. A classic.

TC: Massive Man picks up Polar! He’s tossed onto the floor. Polar looks up, he’s SMILING. That son of a bitch! That evil, sadistic, Satanic, devil-worshipping, Martha Stewart-loving, anal probing, son of a bitch is smiling.

*BEEP BEEP*

TC: Polar just stopped dead in his shuffling. He slowly turns around and sees the zamboni is coming right for him!

BP: Grrrrrr!

SW: It’s a low-speed chase. Raccoon City must be near Los Angeles. Polar is trying to shuffle away, but Coma’s zamboni is getting closer and closer to resurfacing his body with water!

BigB: Uh oh! J.C. Long just slid in the ring. Here comes Jim. Massive Man gets in Jim’s way! Jim shoves Massive Man. Massive Man shoves back! Oh, here we go! Totally Face is EXPLODING right before our eyes!

SW: Exploding, huh?

BigB: What a coincidence as Explosion of Injuries is upcoming in the next couple of weeks or so. I’m suddenly getting an idea for a match.

TC: The Three Guys, The Kent State Krew, Massive Man and J.C. Long are all brawling, all bloody messes. OH GAWD! Coma just ran over Polar with the zamboni! The CARNAGE!

SW: And now Coma is on his way back toward the ring.

Coma: Take the wheel, Spock! This engines not gonna land itself! POINK!

Penguin: Arp. Arp.

BigB: Coma dives off the hood of the zamboni!

SW: PLANCHA! Whoops, that was supposed to be Styles’ line.

TC: He just took out all seven men in the bloody ring. Everyone is struggling to get to their feet. Coma knocks down J.C. Long with a clothesline. Massive Man kicks Jim with his toe!

SW: It’s the TOE-DOWN! His new MOVE! The least painful finisher since the People’s Elbow.

BigB: Injury my foot! He’s using that Toe Guard as a weapon!

SW: (Sarcastic) No! Not Massive Man!

TC: He kicks Brandon!

SW: TOE-DOWN!

TC: TOE-DOWN ON VIOLENT PACIFIST! TOE-DOWN ON JEAN BANNISTER! TOE-DOWN ON SIR HUNGALOT! That was a LOW TOE! LOW TOE!

BigB: Coma charges at Massive Man! NO!

TC: TOE-DOWN ON COMA! The kick connected! Coma falls to the mat! Massive Man with the cover!

SW: YES!

TC: ONE! TWO! THREE! MASSIVE MAN WINS! MASSIVE MAN WINS! NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION! BY GAWD, THAT SON OF A BITCH DID IT! YOU BURN IN HELL MASSIVE MAN! BURN IN HELL!

BigB: Weren’t you going heel?

TC: You’re damn right I am. I’m just reading the damn script, BOSS.

BigB: Oh yeah. I did mean to add in those lines. But I had to go to the liquor store, so...

SW: It’s all about priorities.

TC: In one of the WILDEST BLOODBATHS IN HISTORY, Massive Man Rendition First has SHOCKED THE WORLD© by defeating COMA for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

SW: Shocked? The only shocking thing was that Coma beat Polar. Polar obviously didn’t want to do the job to Massive Man and pass the torch.

BigB: Yep. Pretty much. Oh well. See where Polar’s ego got him now? Turned into a zombie and run over by a zamboni.

SW: He’s a zambonied zombie.

TC: Fans, we’ve got a pay-per-view coming up! I don’t know what to expect now!

BigB: Oh, that’s right. Thanks for reminding me. We need a main event match, don’t we.

TC: Well, BigBOSS is leaving our table and heading into the ring.

BigB: Congratulations, Massive Man. You have just won the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. That’s the good news. The bad news? Well, since the next show is at Kent State University, and you’re the world champion, we’re gonna try and settle this issue you now have with your former Totally Face stablemates.

MMR1: What are you saying? (He says, starting to dig into his ears with his fingers.]

BigB: I’m saying, that at BOB’s next Pay-Per-View. You will be in the main event match against Josh. Against Brandon. Against Sir Hungalot. Against Jean Bannister. And against Violent Pacifist.

MMR1: (Continuing to dig in his ears) Did you just say your wife’s a bitch?

BigB: Excuse me? Don’t push me too far, Josh. That not hard enough for you?

MMR1: What? (Still digging.) I wasn’t looking at your crotch, dude!

BigB: I think you better keep that ego in check, Josh! Fine. It won’t just be a regular match. Oh no. Now, it’s going to be a...Plexiglas Elimination Chamber Match!

[MMR1 sighs in relief as he dislodges some goo from his ears.]

BigB: That’s right. You better not say another word. Explosion Of Injuries. Somebody is going to get hurt. Most likely everyone! Oh, Coma, you can fight Atomo The Living Robot for the Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer Title since Massive Man is gonna be busy.

MMR1: I am?

BigB: I had no idea he was actually going to win the title tonight.

MMR1: Didn’t you tell me I was winning it backstage in your office.

BigB: (Glaring at Massive Man) Order it live on pay-per-view! SEND US MONEY! Good night everybody?


Somewhere within the surreal world known as BOB, Kay Fabe sat alone at a long table, thumbing through a book and taking notes.

"Jenna. Likes long walks on beach....candlelight...wait a second," Kay Fabe said, realizing the amazingly cliched turn-ons. She pulled up the magazine that she had "hidden" within her magick book and looked closely. "Why don't any of these pin-ups ever like long nights in bed with redheads, or magic. Something a little unique might be nice for a change."

She paused as she heard what sounded like another person who was whistling, or had a really bad nasal condition, in the room with her. She looked around, not seeing anyone.

"Hello?" Kay asked, even though she wasn't expecting a reply.

"hayy!!!1111"

"Uh, hey. Do I, uh...have we...wait. I know you. I've seen your corpse before," Kay said, now a bit disturbed and confused. How could there be a corpse walking around in, Raccoon City?

"o, plz!!11 ey ALWYZ dyes & ey ALWYZ cums beck!!11 4 ey em kne wer, & ey em hardkorr!!!!111" the corpse known only as Ken War said.

"Oh, well, okay." Kay stared at him for a few seconds. "So, uh, how's that whole death thing working out for you," she asked, raising her eyebrows and smiling uncomfortably.

"o, nto sew g8... ey wes het bi ay bes un me wey hear, & nwo eym messng mi lfet erm!!11" Ken War said, holding the bloody stump where his left arm should be.

"A bus?" Kay nervously looked toward the window. "Look, there was a bomb on it, and if I slowed down, it would blow up, or something. It was foggy. But I wasn't driving it, no siree...driving that bus sure wasn't me," she said before laughing nervously for a couple of seconds. "So, hey. Meet any cool people when you died? Elvis? Sinatra?"

"wlel, thare's dis meereyilin munroe check, btu seh wuz unlee entrested en key febe!!11 & ey cryed...>>>" Ken War said, before he ripped his left eye out and let it bleed, to simulate crying.

"Marilyn? She knows me? And she's a lesbian?" Kay frowned, suddenly feeling very sad that Marilyn Monroe was dead. "Tell her not to cry. One day I'll be dead and we can be all happy together."

"yah!!!11 its jest det seh doesnut liek teh mejec!!11"

"My magic?" Kay looked down at her Red Magicks book and quickly closed it and shoved it aside. "I've got that whole thing under control, now, really. Magic. *Pfffft* What magic? It's no biggie."

"o, bet et ES a beggie!!!1"

"It is? But why? Is she....is Marilyn here right now? Are you talking to her?"

"neh, ey donut heve mi clel fone w/ mi" Ken War said.

"Oh. Well next time you see her, tell her I lost her the Playboy she was in. And I miss it sooooo much. Did you talk about anything else with her, you know, about me?" Kay asked Ken War.

"wlel... u c, ey aleso spuke 2 gawd, & wile hi sed 2 mi, 'wat tuk u sew leng 2 git hear????/', hi elso sed det hi fwouns apun lasbeianism!!!!!!11111"

"Not a big God fan, myself. Must be why I dabble in the witch craft. I'll take my gods as goddesses, thank you very much," she said nodding proudly to herself.

"...u're meking et vary herd 2 convence u 2 aenbeodon ur eeeeeevel weys" Ken War said, with a bloody sigh.

"I try to be good. It's just hard. There are so many beautiful women and so many spells I'm using....but to help people. What can I do to be a better person?"

"u culd... u no... step"

"Stop? Why? Is...is something bad going to happen? What do you want me to do?" Kay asked, getting more worried by Ken War's presence.

"slepe w/ mi" Ken War suggested.

That's when Kay's eyes went wide. Slowly, she pushed her chair out and got to her feet, her eyes full of anger. And fear. And a little bit of residual horniess from the Marilyn Monroe talk. "Who are you?" Kay asked.

"cum un, cent u fele teh myghty penes ov kne wet sleding en2 ur virginia & therusteng vylonetly??//"

"Get. Out!" Kay Fabe demanded, referring to the room, of course. Ken hadn't made any move for Kay's nookie. He was just taunting her for some evil reason.

"flel teh come flewing ento ur virginial ragons!!11 flel et!!11"

"OK. You know what. If you don't tell me who you are, I'm gonna bring you back to life just so I can kill you dead again," Kay threatened.

Ken War looked Kay Fabe dead in her eyes with the single eye that happened to still be in its socket, "im elllllllllllllll erund u!!11 even en ur virginia ass wi speek!!11"

Kay suddenly got it. "From 64 down to 1...a new evil arises..." Kay said, repeating the phrase that Little Good, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" and others have mentioned for, hell, since before March Mayhem. "Don't tell me that you, Ken War, are the new evil?"

"nto teh nwe evel..."

[Me.]

With that Ken War, was crushed to death(?) by two large brackets, sending guts and blood flying in every direction. Mainly on Kay. She looked down in disgust at all the human bits and blood and...

"Ewww, man parts!"


[Backstage, a referee lets Styles and Mark Shill out of the penalty box and he starts walking down the hallway.]

MS: That was the LONGEST PENALTY I’VE SERVED IN WRESTLING HISTORY!

Styles: OH MY GOD! Will you shut up! It was bad enough I was stuck with you in there all this time. I was supposed to meet an old friend of mine from Cloudydale. I’m probably going to be late now.

MS: You only get penalized on SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM!

[That’s when Styles saw somebody slumped on the floor, covered in blood. Styles ran down the hallway.]

Styles: OH MY GOD! What happened?

Man on floor: Well, well, well, it is I, Michael, I’m in the throes of death like your momma was in the throes of passion last night, she thought that she won a prize while I was down between her thights....Gertner.

Styles: Shill, this is my old commentating friend from Cloudydale. He and I were the most EXTREME COMMENTATORS in The Federation. Before they laid us off. Are you OK?

Gertner: It’s time, Styles.

Styles: To die?

Gertner: Nope, not quite yet. I meant, it’s time for you to gather them.

Styles: OH MY GOD! I will!

[Behind Styles, a Stoned Priest, A Harbinger of Weed appeared wielding a knife and a bottle of ketchup! He lifted the knife up in the air and slashed down, aimed directly at Styles’ head!]

Styles: I understand!

[Black.]


© 2003 BOB. Less predictable than a moose butt!

 

© BOB Wrestling!

Brawlers On a Budget is an online fantasy parody wrestling sports entertainment federation (or e-fed) designed to be somewhat funny.

WARNING: This site contains adult content. Surfer discretion is advised.