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BigBOSSes voice: In 20004...no, make that 2003...I mean 2004! Gah! Can we re-edit that bit?

Voice: Sure.

BigBOSS: In 2003...DAMNIT!

Voice: Are you alright?

BigBOSS: I’m FINE! I just can’t type. My script is a mess.

Voice: What happened to it?

BigBOSS: Same old story. I’m just typing away and my wife just keeps nagging me. Women...

Voice: Yep. What’s that have to do with the script.

BigBOSS: Nothing, really. Say, are you going to finish that doughnut?

Voice: Umm...yes?

BigBOSS: You sound a bit unsure.

Voice: Do I?

BigBOSS: Yes. You do.

Voice: Why don’t you just explain what BOB is for all the viewers.

BigBOSS: Boobs.

Voice: BOB is Boobs?

BigBOSS: Say, that’s a good name for our new B-show!

Voice: B-show?

BigBOSS: You know, like Smackdown is Raw’s B-show.

Voice: I don’t think we’re supposed to mention the WWE.

BigBOSS: Nobody else is mentioning ‘em much these days either my friend. BOB is sweeping the nation! Next? The world! I hear we’ve got a strong showing in New Zealand already.

Voice: What about wrestling?

BigBOSS: What about it?

Voice: Well, the viewers are going to want to know a new wrestling program will be airing on Comedy Central.

BigBOSS: Sure, at 3 a.m. And there are no rules then, baby! Probably because everyone is asleep, or in an alcoholic coma.

Coma: Poink!

BOB. Are you ready to rumble?

February 2004.

Look out, WWE!

Sunday Morning Chloroform Logo

Order Our Next PPV and Get a Free Toothpick!

[The camera pans the Cheese Dome in Spread Eagle, Wisconsin. About 400 fans, many wearing those cheese-head things seen at Packer games, have filled the stands. Yep, BOB is out of the high schools, at least for this week. The camera pans the crowd and we see signs that say "Go Packers!" "Go Packers!" and "Go Packers!" Apparently, they don’t realize the season for Green Bay is long since over. Or, they’re just so incredibly bored up here they’re already waiting for next year. Whatever. Let’s head to ringside where Scotty Whatbody is flanked by Nurse Heidi and Mark Shill.]

Scotty Whatbody: Hello everyone and welcome to Sunday Morning Chloroform 9. Finally, I’m back in the lead chair. I guess somebody up there likes me.

Nurse Heidi: You sure it was just because nobody else wanted to work at 3 a.m.? *Yawn*

SW: Could be. I guess insomnia is finally paying off for something, other than my Web surfing for pictures of Britney Spears topless.

NH: *Sigh* New year, same pig.

Mark Shill: Fans, WHAT A MAIN EVENT WE HAVE TONIGHT! This should be the GREATEST, CHLOROFORM, IN THE HISTORY OF SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORMS!

SW: Only if Heidi loses her top again! Woohoo!

NH: Ugh. I still can’t believe that happened.

SW: Popping out of your top pops buyrates. And woodies!

MS: Call your friends and neighbors and let them know, BOB IS ON THE AIR!

SW: Right, right. We’re on Comedy Central, too, apparently. Hell is one strange dimension.

NH: BigBOSS does have a strange sense of humor.

SW: You know, I always was pretty sure BOB was a joke. Now, being on this channel just confirms it.

[Cut backstage to BigBOSS, who is watching with several Comedy Central consultants. BigBOSS laughs nervously and tugs at his collar.]


[We cut to a shot of the exterior of the Off-White House. The Off-White House looks just like the White House, except, it’s off-white.]

Voice-Over: And now, the 1600 Club presents, the latest reality television series...

Caption: Who Looks Enough Like A Former Or Current President To Be In Our Stable?

Voice-Over: And here are your hosts. Clinton, LBJ and Nixon!

[Canned cheering and clapping is dubbed in as we fade in on the Oblong Office in the Off-White House, the 1600 Club’s headquarters on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Clinton is sitting behind a desk.]

Clinton: My fellow Americans. Welcome to "Who Looks Enough Like A Former or Current President To Be In Our Stable." You know me as Clinton. Over the last month, we have seen tapes of people who look like former or the current president, and we’ve narrowed the field down to 40 potentials. Over the next several months, we will weed out the candidates through various trials, tribulations and challenges. Only the best will remain to become the fourth member of the 1600 Club. Myself, LBJ and Nixon will judge the potentials tonight on a very tough project. But first, let’s meet the contestants. Monica? Could you show in the contestants?

[Clinton slides backwards and zips up his pants as Monica, his chubby valet gets up from underneath, rubbing a gooey stain on her dress.]

Clinton: Here is, Washington.

Washington: My teeth are wood, but DAMN, I’m good!

Clinton: Next. Adams!

Adams: I’ll win this competition as easy as X-Y-Z!

Clinton: Jefferson! Come on down!

Jefferson: If there isn’t a weapon good enough to hurt you, I’ll invent it!

Clinton: Very nice. Next. Madison!

Madison: Knowledge will forever govern ignorance. And I have never seen so many ignorant people as in BOB!

Clinton: Up next. Monroe!

[Mike Monroe walks into the office.]

MM: Hi.

Clinton: You’re not a potential wrestler.

MM: Hey, I’ve got more potential than LBJ ever had!

Clinton: Fair enough point.

MM: Plus it saves BigBOSS from spending extra money.

Clinton: Fine, fine. You won’t make it to the final erection anyhow. I mean, election. The final election. Right. Moving on.

MM: Wait, I have to do my catchphrase. *Ahem* Fuck New Hampshire!

Clinton: Zuh? Alrighty...umm...Next is Adams. Wait. Another Adams? Crap.

[Adams 2 enters the room.]

Clinton: Sorry, Adams. We’re gonna have to impeach you.

Adams: What? Why?

Clinton: To avoid confusion. Stupid Nixon.

[Nixon runs into the room and raises his hands into the air.]

Nixon: I am not...stupid!

[Nixon leaves the room, dragging the second Adams with him.]

Clinton: Next up. Jackson!

Jackson: I sir, challenge you, to a duel!

Clinton: And how could we forget Van Buren!

Van Buren: OK!!!!

Clinton: Yikes, calm down fella.

Van Buren: OK!

Clinton: Who is next here...umm...Harrison!

Harrison: I *ACHOOOOOO!*

Clinton: Whoa. You sound a bit sick there, Harrison.

Harrison: *ACHOOOOO* I’m fine. Just got the sniffles. *ACHOOOOO!*

Clinton: Riiiight. Next up. Tyler!

Tyler: Could I interest anybody in my corn crop?

[douja walks in the room.]

douja; yo did sumone mention crops?

Clinton: Get out of here. Well. That’s all the time we have right now. We’ll be back shortly with introductions on the rest of our participants in "Who Looks Enough Like A Former Or Current President To Be In Our Stable?" And we’ll also have tonight’s first challenge! Stay tuned!


Voice-over: Eyhay! Ouyay antway omesay Igpay Atinolay Eathay?

SW: What the HELL was that?

["Low Rider" by Korn kicks in.]

SW: Who the hell is this guy?

NH: According to the format, his name is Igpay Atinolay Eathay.

SW: What is he? French?

NH: Uhh, no.

SW: German.

NH: Noooo...

SW: That sounded German. Anyhow, we've got quite a show lined up. Hopefully. Steve Studnuts and the iAd are here. Massive Man Rendition First is here. And I'm sure we've got at least two new viewers on at...wait, 4 a.m.? I thought we were at 3 a.m.? Aww, man. Most people have already slipped off into alcoholic comas by now.

NH: Life's a bitch.

SW: And so are you. Hey, how come you're back anyway? What happened to that rumble for the third chair?

NH: I won it.

SW: You did?

NH: Oh yeah. Didn't you watch Fictional Friday Night?

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BigBOSS: BWAHAHAHAHA. Oh, that joke is still golden!

[Back to the ring.]

NH: Yep. I beat Dennis, The Commentator, Candy Cantaloupes and Styles.

SW: Whatever.

IAE: At'swhay upway omieshay? Aysay ellohay otay Igpay Atinolay Eathay! It'sway allway aboutway yinglay, eatingchay andway ealingstay, omeshay. Osay ifway anybodyway inway ethay ackbay ashay otgay ethay ajonescay otay omecay outway erehay andway acefay emay, ingbray itway onway. Andway I'llway unleashway ymay Igpay Atinolay empertay allway overway ouryay unluckyway uttbay! Omecay onway, anmay. Iway idn'tday omecay outway ofway ehabray ustjay otay ebay oodstay upway ikelay omesay ickchay atway ethay altarway.

SW: Can you hear the ratings plummeting?

NH: BOB is reaching out to diverse communities.

MS: The highly sought after PIG LATIN demographic.

SW: Sure, why go for the 18- to 35-year-olds when you could go for the Pig Latin crowd.

MS: Some of my best friends are Pig Latin, Scotty!

SW: Well put them back on a boat to Pig Latinia then. I've had it with the foreigners! Less foreigners, more hot women. That's it. I'm demanding my own show from now on!

["Ride of the Valkryies" begins playing. All eyes turn to the rafters...well, rafter of the building. They could only afford to put in one when they built the place.]

NH: Wow. To everyone's surprise, here comes Ken down the aisle with the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain't Doing That Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind Title Belt. That belt is on a campaign to win itself back from the clutches of Death.

SW: How the hell did Ken get that belt from Death?

NH: Ken's been evading Death for years. He's gotten pretty damn good at it.

Masked Announcer: Hmm. OK. Introducing first. Already in the ring, from Equilatay, Ississippimay. Igpay Atinooooooooooooooolay Eathay! And his opponent, from Death's clutches, being accompanied by its bodyguard Kamikazie Ken and its conjoined twin, the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain't Doing That belt, the Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind Hardcore Title Belt.

MS: What a way to OPEN THE NEW YEAR.

SW: It's February, Shill.

MS: This year, will without a shadow of a doubt, BE THE GREATEST IN BOB HISTORY. And February 2004, will go down as the GREATEST FEBRUARY 2004 OF ALL TIME! And fans, how about that main event tonight? It's shaping up to be the GREATEST MAIN EVENT IN BOB HISTORY AND SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM HISTORY, and yes, SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY!

DING DING DING

SW: What is the main event, Shill?

MS: THE GREATEST--

SW: No, no, no. Who's in it?

MS: I DON'T HAVE THE FOGGIEST CLUE, but it's going to be a STUPENDOUS EXTRAVAGANZA! And fans, it's all leading up to March Mayhem 2004 in April!

NH: Is that a mistake? March Mayhem is in April this year?

SW: Nope, that's right. It's better than it getting finished in August last year though. If you can even call that mess finished.

NH: Yep. The annual March Mayhem has always been followed closely by booker burnout. A rare disease among fools who try to write 60 matches in three weeks to entertain seven people.

SW: That is some math that does not add up indeed. The drunken nameless bookers still haven't recovered.

NH: I prescribed them a fifth of vodka. It seemed to lessen the pain, but not cure it.

SW: Say, wanna examine me after the show? I've been a little stiff all night long.

NH: Little being the key word?

SW: Oh, please. If you saw me naked, it'd bring a whole new meaning to the term 'wet nurse.' Bwahahaha.

MS: WHATAMANEUVER!

SW: Hey! Ken just hit Igpay Atinolay Eathay with the eltbay! I mean, the belt! Why isn't Generic Ref calling for the bell? And why is he counting?

NH: He's calling for the bell now.

MA: The winner of the match, the Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind Hardcore Title Belt!

SW: I didn't think this was a hardcore match.

Generic Ref: I didn't disqualify the AYOOYFM Title Belt for a simple reason. The belt was the competitor in the match. How could I disqualify a competitor for using his, him, or in this case, ITself, from hitting somebody? It would just be crazy.

SW: I guess that makes sense in a way that makes no kind of sense at all.

NH: Well, credit Kamikazie Ken, the new bodyguard. I wonder how the AYOOYFM belt is paying him?

MS: Both competitors just respect each other.

SW: Sure, yeah. Either that, or how else could we keep up the stupid angle of an inanimate object winning matches?

MS: Speaking of inanimate objects, let's head backstage to Dennis.

SW: Yep, that's a fair assessment. He's quite inanimate.

MS: Fans, he's with the former 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.

SW: Oh.


[Backstage, Dennis is standing beside a wood bench. The aformentioned belt is laying on the bench.]

Dennis: I say old bean, are the rumors true? Have you really challenged Death to a rematch? And have you really agreed to put your career on the line?

HWAI?TINT!B: ...

Dennis: You seem rather relaxed about it, just laying here, even though in minutes you could be in your last match ever?

HWAI?TINT!B: ...

Dennis: There you have it fans. The <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> Title Belt not showing a hint of fear, even in the face of Death. Back to you!

SW: It's not even a pay-per-view. Awww....

MS: ONLY ON SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM and in BOB DO YOU GET COMPETITORS PUTTING THEIR CAREERS ON THE LINE!

SW: I should have known I was setting up Shill for that one...


Announcer: Not coming soon!

[Cut to a recording studio, where Death is standing at a microphone, holding headphones to his, uh, cloak.]

Death: BWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Female Back Up Singers: Death and money, death and money, moneeeeey.

Announcer: Gouge out your own ears as BOB's sub-stars perform Un-Original tracks. Featuring Death!

Death: Everybody's got a price. Everybody's gonna die. Cuz the Million Dollar Entity! Always makes 'em lie. As in the sense that they're dead, ya dig? BWAHAHAHAHA!

Female Back Up Singers: Death and money, death and money, moneeeeey.

Death: Some might scream a little. Some might scream a lot. But I'm the Million Dollar Entity. And I can make your blood clot! BWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Female Back Up Singers: Death and money, death and money, moneeeeey.

Death: And Death!

Announcer: BOB Un-Originals! Hopefully never to see the light of day!


SW: Million Dollar Entity? What is that all about?

NH: Let's find out. Standing by, way backstage is Death.

[We go split screen and Death nods.]

Death: Hi, Heidi.

NH: We just saw that commercial. What's this Million Dollar Entity business?

Death: Ah, right. Well. You remember on the pay-per-view, when I killed XXXtreme Machine and took his money? Well. During BOB's burnout break, I invested the money. And let me tell you guys something. I made an absolute KILLING in the market! Oh man, it's absolute MURDER how much money I have now. When I wasn't slaying them with my jokes, or my finger, I was writing myself a ONE-WAY TICKET to mansions, big screen TVs and SUVs the size of your little houses. It's all about the dead presidents, boys. I killed 'em all, might as well have the money their faces still float around on! BWAHAHAHAHA.

NH: What about your big match with the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> Title Belt?

Death: I'm gonna do what I always do. Retire that belt. Permanently. Hey, Heidi. I heard you had a near ME experience the other day.

NH: Huh?

Death: Yeah. I heard you went horseback riding. Everything was going fine until the horse started bouncing out of control. You tried with all your might to hang on, but you were thrown off.

SW: Heh, you sure it was a horse, Death?

Death: Mwahahaha. Anyway. Just when things could not possibly get worse, Heidi's foot got caught in the stirrup. She fell head-first to the ground and her head continued to bounce harder as the horse did not stop or even slow down. Just as Heidi was giving up hope and losing consciousness, the Wal-Mart manager happened to walk by and unplug it.

SW: BWAHAHAHAHA.

MS: *Snort*

NH: Shut up! I'm smarter than both of you!

SW: Whatever. Thanks for joining us, Death. Man, that sounds like your whole sexual relationship with Coma too! A lot of falling off and head injury.

NH: Just...die...

SW: Hey! Don’t say that when Death is listening.

NH: DIE DIE DIE!

SW: Alright. Let’s go to this and get Heidi some Midol...


Voice-Over: And now, the 1600 Club presents, the latest reality television series...

Caption: Who Looks Enough Like A Former Or Current President To Be In Our Stable?

Voice-Over: And here are your hosts. Clinton, LBJ and Nixon!

[Canned cheering and clapping is dubbed in as we fade in on the Oblong Office in the Off-White House, the 1600 Club’s headquarters on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. LBJ is sitting behind a desk.]

LBJ: Welcome back. As you can see, there are already several gentlemen in the office who look, sound, smell or talk vaguely like a president. And we’ve already seen our first elimination, as we got rid of one of those Adams people to avoid confusion. Let’s keep the rest of the field coming. Everyone, say hello to Polk!

Polk: If it isn’t my manifest destiny to win this competition, then my name isn’t Young Hickory!

LBJ: Next. Say hello to Taylor!

Taylor: I promise slaves for all. Viva la UNION!

LBJ: OK, that was just awful.

Taylor: You try and come up with some material for this president. Sheesh.

LBJ: OK. Next up. Fillmore!

Fillmore: ... Hmm...Fuck Oxford!

LBJ: Oh great, a running gag with obscure references nobody up at this time of morning will get. Just what we needed. Next, say hello to Pierce! Pierce! Why are you covered in blood?

Pierce: Pardon?

LBJ: Your suit and shirt are soaked in blood?

Pierce: So they seem.

LBJ: What have you been doing.

Pierce: Certainly not running over any old women on my horse, no siree...

LBJ: *Sigh* Fine. Just get in line.

Pierce: You can’t prove a thing. Anybody want a Pierce of this?

LBJ: Just get in line! Next! Buchanan!

Buchanan: All I can say is, it’s not my fault!

LBJ: What isn’t?

Buchanan: Anything. When I win, when I lose. Don’t blame me! Blame your own damn selves for once.

LBJ: Right then. Next we have...Lincoln.

Lincoln: Four years and a couple months ago, our bosses brought forth upon this continent a new federation; conceived in poverty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are inferior to BigBOSS...

[A man enters the room.]

LBJ: Hey, you’re not next on my list.

Man: Nope. I’m not.

LBJ: Say, you kind of look like John Wilkes Booth.

Lincoln: Ohhh, cra—

BANG

THUD

LBJ: Lincoln has been shot. Who could have seen this one coming? Way to help catch the assassin, guys. Hmm...well, seeing as how my full name is Johnson, we’ll just skip over this other Johnson fellow.

Johnson: Hey! You go by LBJ, not Johnson.

LBJ: Who’s running this compeition. Sorry, you have been impeached.

[Nixon and Clinton enter the room and drag out Johnson and Lincoln’s body.]

LBJ: Let’s see. Next. Please welcome, Grant!

Grant: I never learned to swear ... I could never see the use of swearing ... I have always noticed ... that swearing helps to rouse a man's anger.

MM: Fuck you, Grant.

[Grant charges at Mike Monroe and starts pummeling him.]

Grant: You see what you made me do?

MM: Why couldn’t there be a president with the last name of Whatbody. *Sigh*

LBJ: Up next, we have Garfield!

Hayes: Um, pardon me. I believe you forgot me.

LBJ: Oh, right. Here’s Hayes. Next, it’s Garfield!

Garfield: Anybody got any lasagna? Where’s Odie! I’m so tired.

LBJ: BWAHAHAHA. A-material there, buddy!

Garfield: Thank you.

LBJ: Crap, how many more presidents are there?

BANG

LBJ: What the? Hey! You look vaguely like Charles J. Guiteau!

Guiteau: Mwahahahaha. Those who haven’t learned history are doomed to watch it on a low-budget wrestling show!

LBJ: Well, great, now Garfield is dead too. Cross him off the list. Next, please welcome...Arthur?

Everyone: WHO?

Arthur: That’s right. Arthur! The most forgotten president.

Everyone: WHO?

Arthur: Ha-ha, very funny guys.

Everyone: WHO?

Arthur: I think I’ll just get in line then...

LBJ: Right. Well. How about we take a break. We’ll be back soon with the rest of the cast and their first challenge. Stay tuned.


[Cut backstage, a woman is straightening a teenager’s sick-green hair with a comb and neatening his neckbrace.]

Kevin: Mom, stop that now before they turn that camera on!

Cameraman: We are already on the air.

Kevin: WTF?! Mom, get out of sight!

[He pushes her off screen. Before sitting down on a steel chair next to Dennis, BOB’s interview guy.]

Dennis: Good day all BOB fans. I, Dennis, I’m joined here today by none other than Kevin the Pyromaniac. Good day old chap.

[He reaches out his hand to shake, but Kevin does not accept it.]

Kevin: S’up?

Dennis: Well, ahhh, erm, do you mind if I ask you a few questions my old chum?

Kevin: Huh? I thought that was what we were here for!

Dennis: Yes, rather. Anyway, at Explosion of Injuries you sustained some frightfully awful burns after you and Mr. Intensity set fire to yourself and jumped into some goo.

Kevin: Yeah, well, I’m hardcore dammit, I can take pain. I was jumping off of roofs through barbedwire wrapped planks of burning wood when Mr. Intensity was still body slamming his teddy bears!

Dennis: Ok old bean. We know that you were admitted to the Parts Unknown Hospital for Professional Wrestlers, but it seems like a terribly short period of time for a full recovery, did they give you enough time to heal?

Kevin: Pfft, I escaped dammit! I jumped out my room’s window, fell through a wooden table that was below, and set fire to anything that was in my way!

Dennis: Do you not think it unwise not to have fully recovered?

Kevin: I am BOB’s hardcore icon for the new generation for Foley’s sake, I HAVE to escape from hospitals to get ready for more hardcore action at the next show!

Dennis: Gosh, do you have anything planned for this evening?

Kevin: WTFMF?!?! I don’t PLAN these things, Pyr0Mania!1 guides the way. Where there is a table unbroken, or a flammable fuel unlit, Kevin is there!

Dennis: Right-o. Do you have any plans for the future here in BOB, there are a lot of titles that could be made available to a young, talented chap like yourself.

[Kevin sticks his finger up his nose.]

Kevin: I’m just in it for the hardkorrenessisity. Titles are only good if they melt.

Dennis: I think quite a few of BOB’s titles will melt.

Kevin: HARRdkoRe!!1

[Dennis reaches out again to shake Kevin’s hand]

Dennis: Well, it’s been absolutely splendid speaking with you Kevin, but now I must… hey!

[Kevin, holding up a lighter, sets fire to Dennis’ tie. Dennis runs around trying to put it out as Kevin receives a sharp blow to the side of his head from his mother.]

Kevin: Ouch, mom! g2g BOB fans!


[Prodigy's "Narayan" is cranked up as Sir Zeno approaches the ring. Behind him, holding a tray loaded with carpentry tools, is Nucleo the Not-Quite-Living Robot, puttering along with what would be a sad expression if he had a face.]

SW: What's going on? Sir Zeno doesn't have a match scheduled tonight.

MS: This is the BIGGEST SURPRISE IN BOB HISTORY!

NH: Oh. A Zeno match. If you need me, I'll be in the bathroom. *Leaves*

[Hopping over the top rope, Zeno strolls into the center of the ring, holding a microphone hooked up to a speaker on Nucleo's back.]

SZ: Good evening, friends. Ever since my humiliating defeat at the hands of that idiot Xamfir and his genie whore - assisted by the iAd fools, of course - I've had a pressing need to inflict pain on someone. My opponent tonight shall suffer the wrath of Dimension Z! Now, bring him out!

[There is silence. Zeno's look of triumph does not fade.]

SZ: Come on! Surely not everyone in this organization is afraid of me!

[More silence. It's a fucking tomb in here. Zeno's expression turns sour.]

SZ: Don't tell me you're all too scared to wrestle?

NTNQLR: ERROR. YOU-ARE-NOT-ACTUALLY-SCHEDULED-TO-WRESTLE-AT-THIS-EVENT.

SZ: ...what was that?

NTNQLR: YOU-HAVE-NO-SCHEDULED-OPPONENT.

SZ: I see. *Throws his head back and stares at the ceiling* So, what are you going to do about this?

[Are you talking to me?]

SZ: You may not be the booker, but you could always bring somebody out. Hurry up and give me an opponent!

[Listen, buddy, I don't usually put up with shit like this, and I'm not about to start now!]

SZ: I have powers too, friend. Watch.

[Sir Zeno raises a hand, closes his fist, and... iopsughasdpghi9parusrpasgh!!!111!!]

SW: If I'm not mistaken, Sir Zeno is actually TORTURING the Detatched Narrator! I don't have a clue how, but he's doing it!

MS: This is the MOST INTERESTING TWIST IN CHLOROFORM HISTORY EVER!

[Sir Zeno lowers his fist and unclenches... What the fuck was THAT?!?]

SZ: Are you going to give me an opponent or not, Mr. Narrator? Take them out of retirement if you have to, just set up the damned match!

[Okay, okay! Christ... "When I'm 64" starts playing all of a sudden, and Pope John Paul II hobbles out of the dressing rooms, traveling slowly towards the ring. Nucleo the Not-Quite-Living-Robot steps out of the ring, grabs the Pope, and throws him into the ring.]

Masked Announcer: Already in the ring, hailing from Dimension Z, Sir Zeno! Also in the ring, from Vatican City, Italy, Pope John Paul II! Fight!

SW: Sir Zeno opens the match by kicking the Pope in the stomach! Now he's dancing around his Holiness and occasionally elbowing him! The Pope tries to grab Zeno's arm, but gets kicked in the chin!

MS: This is the MOST VIOLENT ABUSE OF AN OLD MAN IN RECENT MEMORY!

SW: Wait... The Pope just got a twin-headed staff from someone in the crowd! He's whacking Zeno in the shins while cursing in Latin! Why isn't the referee doing something about this?

[Out in the parking lot, three guys in black robes with handlebar mustaches are watching the match on a portable TV hooked up to a small bug in the wall. They have horrible Mexican accents.]

First Mexican: I know we got cee bribes een... Ees that Mr. Paradocks?

Second Mexican: No... That's hees boss, Senor Zeeno.

Third Mexican: Good. If hees boss gets keeled, it'll send heem a message not to mess weeth Johnny No-Neck!

[Cut back to the ring.]

SZ: *No-sells the cane* Sir, I must let you know I do not worship your god, and thus don't have anything to fear from you!

SW: Ooooh! Sir Zeno has grabbed a Allen wrench from Nucleo's tray and is now cranking it into the Pope's nipples! If that doesn't leave permanent bruises, nothing will!

MS: What's His Holiness doing?

PJP2: Special delivery!

SW: SWEET MONKEY NUTS IN BUTTER! Pope John Paul II has just exposed himself to Sir Zeno!

SZ: Mother of the Ouroboros! I did not need to see that!

SW: Sir Zeno has staggered away while covering his eyes! And trust me, folks, I can understand WHY!

MS: I do believe this is the MOST DISTURBING THING WE'VE EVER, EVER SEEN ON CHLOROFORM!

SW: For once, I agree with you, Shill... The Pope has pulled his diaper back up, thankfully, and is now setting Zeno up for a suplex! There it goes... and the Pope's back is giving out! But Zeno is squirming around in mental agony from what he just saw!

MS: You only get OLD MEN FLASHING LIKE THIS ON BOB!

SW: The Pope is stomping the prone Zeno... and now... He's giving the signal! Is it... it is! He's setting up for the Papal's Elbow!

MS: The PAPAL'S ELBOW?!?

SW: Yes, indeed! I think it's over...

NH: Help! I'm being groped!

Governor Arnold Schwartzenegger: I have to stop myself!

SW: Sit down, Governor, it's not you this time! Wait, wasn't that Nurse Heidi?

[There's a loud slap, and then the Benny Hill Show theme starts playing as a large, drunken man in a suit who slightly resembles Ted Kennedy runs at top speed away from a furious - and topless - Nurse Heidi. The sound of cameras going off fills the area. Sir Zeno looks up...]

MS: Scotty, put that camera away.

SW: I’m gonna make Heidi bigger than Paris Hilton, Shill. She’s already got bigger hooters at least. Now if only she had a trillion dollars in her bank account, Heidi would be perfect!

SZ: ...Senator Mudmick?

MS: Heaven’s to Betsy, that's Senator Mudmick (D., Wisconsin)! He's climbing into the ring to avoid Nurse Heidi! The Pope's attention span has run out, and...

WHAM!

MS: That's the BIGGEST ATTACK IN BOB HISTORY!

SW: Again we agree! Sir Zeno has just PICKED UP the Senator and used him to knock Pope John Paul II to the mat!

Senator Mudmick: Ehhh... Schrew you, man! *Hic!*

SW: What a turn-around! The sight of Nurse Heidi topless cleaned the sight of the Holy Wang out of Sir Zeno's mind!

[As Sir Zeno grabs Pope John Paul II by the back of his neck, Nurse Heidi sits back at the announcer's table, having managed to secure her top again. Damn it.]

NH: What is it with drunken politicians and my tits?

SW: No clue, Heidi. But suddenly my hands are being pulled towards your boobies. Are your nipples magnetic?

NH: Ugh. You pig.

SW: Wait... Sir Zeno's picked up the Pope and is lifting him off the floor with one hand! Is it a chokeslam?

MS: It isn't! It's the ETERNAL QUESTION! Just listen to Sir Zeno...

SZ: Why did the last episode of Xena: Warrior Princess suck so very badly?

SW: Yep, that's an Eternal Question! He's thrown the Pope up, and... Whoa! He just kicked him down! Going for the pin...

Generic Ref: Eh, screw it, they paid me in pesos. One-Two-Three!

MS: Zeno wins in what had to be the MOST DISTURBING MATCH SINCE THE FORMATION OF BOB!

SW: Once again, I gotta agree! Time has not been fair to Pope John Paul II since SUM:ACWBAFT! Either way, Zeno seems to have something to say...

SZ: There. Now I feel better... If you excuse me, I have some... carpentry... to do.

NTNQLR: PRAY-FOR-NUCLEO.


[Fade up on an ordinary man is sitting on a couch, stuffing his face with some popcorn and staring at you. Yes, you. Hey you. You there.]

Ordinary Man: Me?

[Yes, you. Are you feeling a little bit naughty?]

Ordinary Man: Uh, sure. Dude, where are you?

[I’m everywhere, little boy. I am somewhere you can’t even conceive.]

Ordinary Man: You’re in the television, aren’t you?

[... I am beyond evil. Beyond naughty. Beyond...other stuff. I am the thing the censors fear. You never see me but I’m there. I’m in the hearts of every man, woman and child. I am the noise you hear in the dark but are too afraid to put on the light, but even if you did put on the light you wouldn’t see me because you never see me even when I’m there.]

Ordinary Man: Was this commercial going somewhere?

[Oh, right. *Ahem* If you’re feeling really naughty and a little sleazy, why not Chloroform Your TV!]

Ordinary Man: Say what?

[C’mon. Grab some ether, put it on a piece of cloth and Chloroform Your TV!]

Ordinary Man: Dude, you’re a very twisted narrator.

[Some would even call me...Detached.]

Ordinary Man: All I know is I am not Chloroforming my TV.

[Oh, c’mon. Every Sunday. 3 a.m. Just get a little drunk and Chloroform Your TV!]

Ordinary Man: No! Stop talking to me! You’re not here. (He puts his hands to his ears.) Lalalalalalalalalalalaalalala.

[*Sigh* Sunday Morning Chloroform. Watch it, you twisted little f***s!]

BOB. Are you ready to rumble?

February 2004.

Look out, WWE!


Masked Announcer: The following contest is for the Pop Up Ads Crashed My Computer Title. Introducing first. Not coming to the ring, not accomanied by Dr. Azathoth, Atomo The Living Robot. And his opponent, also not coming to the ring, not accompanied by Spacecop, he, er, it? Is one half of the Tag Conqueror Champions, Spaceduck!

SW: Are you both incredibly lost?

NH: Yep...

MS: I have never been this lost before, IN MY LIFE!

[The bell sounds.]

SW: Generic Ref is looking around. OK, one guy not coming out, I get that. But BOTH guys? This is beyond stupid.

MS: You only get non-action like this in BOB!

SW: *Sigh* BigBOSS must have forgot to tell them they were on the show. Can we move along?

GR: Sure.

[The bell sounds.]

MA: This match has been ruled, a no contest. Which, is actually an accurate ruling for once.

["Woke Up This Morning" hits.]

NH: Wait! Here comes...oh, it’s BILL.

MS: The leader of the BLACKLY EVIL JEWS!

NH: Will you stop saying that?

SW: BILL, along with Albert DeSalvo, Mr. X and BVD are on their way to the ring. Hey, isn’t that the theme song from "The Sopranos"?

MS: I don’t know Scotty. I can’t afford HBO!

NH: You and me both.

SW: God bless illegal cable.

The views of Scotty Whatbody do not reflect those of Brawlers On a Budget or Comedy Central. His home address is--

SW: Hey! Don’t put that on the air!

Why not?

SW: Oh, I am NOT having a conversation with a scroll bar.

Why not??

SW: Because I’m not insane. You know how stupid I would sound?

And that’s different from every other BOB show, how?

SW: Why don’t you go have a match with Detached Narrator.

Who needs a hug?

SW: Stop it!

NH: Scotty?

SW: What?

NH: Are you insane?

SW: *Sigh*

MS: I have not seen THIS MANY lawyers, IN MY LIFE!

SW: Not even your first divorce?

MS: No!

SW: Or your second?

MS: Not EVEN THEN!

SW: What about your third?

MS: Not even close, lame...uh...Scotty.

NH: Those appear to be lawyers from the firm of Helmsley, Helmsley & Helmsley. The most egotistical law firm on the planet.

Lawyer: Nowah, I’dah, likeah, your attentionah. Myah, clientah, isah, suingah, theah, BigBOSSah! Iah, amah, theah, law! Andah it’sah thatah damnah legalah!

["Takin’ Care of Business" plays and the BigBOSS walks down the aisle, looking a tad bit concerned. Either that or that chili isn’t settling very well in his belly.]

BigB: You’re suing me? Is this because I asked you to whack that IRS guy?

BILL: No.

BigB: It’s not because I suggested calling your group Pastamania, is it?

BILL: Um, no.

BigB: Why don’t you just tell me why you’re suing me then?

BILL: Sexual harassment.

BigB: Hey! I never sexually harassed you. I don’t swing that way. Wait! I didn’t mean that. There’s nothing wrong with people who swing that way.

SW: There isn’t?

Scotty, don’t make me scroll another disclaimer.

BILL: If you would let me speak. It’s very simple BigBOSS. Earlier tonight, in my locker room, I was harassed by myself, and since you put me in that locker room with me, you put me into a dangerous working environment.

BigB: What are you, part Catholic?

The views of BigBOSS do not reflect those of Brawlers On a Budget, Comedy Central or the BigBOSS....even though he just SAID that, and wrote it. Thank you....

BILL: Now you’re mocking my molestation? Oh, add that up, Helmsley. I already wanted millions, but that’s gonna ad a few thousand more for mental pain.

BigB: Millions? I just got the Comedy Central deal.

BILL: Plus you’ll have all those lawyer fees to deal with. You’re gonna have to rob banks and deal drugs just so you can pay me.

BigB: An HONEST living? Oh, you are a sick, twisted, little man.

BILL: ... Me and my team came up with a figure of $1.57 million.

BigB: Gah! Wait. Isn’t there another way we could settle this?

BILL: Another way? Well...we are prepared to negotiate. There is one thing I want...

BigB: Name it!

BILL: I want...a shot at THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS, tonight!

BigB: Fine! You got it! And you know what else? I’m gonna give you and yourself separate rooms from now on!

SW: What a scam that was! Brilliant! Those JEWS are geniuses.

NH: The Jobber Exterminating Warrior Samurais© were put together by BigBOSS and now they’re turning on each other.

SW: I don’t think they think of each other like that...

NH: What?

SW: I mean, BigBOSS has a wife. And it isn’t one of those Hollywood deals. He bangs her, I’m pretty sure.

NH: I didn’t mean they were turning each other on. I meant, turning on.

SW: Whatever, Heidi. It’s all about sex with you.

NH: Me?

SW: Yes, you. We’ve been here in Spread Eagle and I’ve yet to mention how I’d love to have you spread eagled in my bed. Woohoo!


CAPTION: COMING IN FEBRUARY...

[A sexy photo of Kay Fabe flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Nurse Heidi flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Candy Cantaloupes flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Jeannie flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Britney Spears flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Brooke Burke flashes on the screen. Then a sexy photo of Jenna Jameson flashes on the screen.]

BigBOSS’s voice: Hold it, hold it! Who is running this slideshow? We’re supposed to be showing picture of BOB’s sexiest women. Britney Spears and Jenna Jameson are not in BOB.

[Cut to a cramped television studio.]

Scotty Whatbody: You told me to fill 30 seconds, BOSS. Have you seen Massive Man in a thong? Not a pretty sight...Hey, I forgot this hot BOB chick!

[A photo of Michelle Gellar flashes on the screen.]

BigBOSS: Scotty! She’s only 16!

SW: You mean her hooters are gonna get bigger? Woohoo!

BOB. Are you ready to rumble?

February 2004.

Look out, WWE!


SW: Welcome back to MY Sunday Morning Chloroform. We’re live on Comedy Central this morning and according to my script here, It’s now time for a rematch from our last Pay-Per-View, Send Us Money: Explosion of Injuries, between Death and the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> Title Belt for the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Hardcore Title Belt.

BANG

NH: Scotty?

MS: Oh my GOODNESS! I think Scotty just passed out from oxygen deprivation!

NH: That wasn’t THAT long of a long sentence. Oh well. Does that mean I’m in charge?

["Godzilla" by Blue Oyster Cult hits the speakers. The Flunky walks out with the Hirohito belt and tossed it into the ring from the floor.]

MA: The following match is for the You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Hardcore Title Belt. Introducing first, now in the ring, the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice>. And its opponents..

["Them Bones" by Alice In Chains plays.]

MA: NowheadingtowardtheringaccompaniedbyhisscythefromtheNetherworld, Death!

NH: Wow, I can’t remember seeing Masked Announcer move quite that fast before.

MS: It’s DEATH!

NH: Yes, yes it is. Well, the title belt has put its career on the line in tonight’s match. If it loses, it retires. Permanently. No return. Gone. Over. Finished. Done.

MS: The stakes, COULDN’T BE HIGHER!

NH: We’ve got the bell and here comes Death to mid-ring. He attempts a lock up, of sorts, with the belt. He picks up the title belt. Side slam! Cover! One! Two! Three? That’s it? Man, the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> barely put up any kind of fight again.

MS: It’s career is OVER. This is, without a SHADOW OF A DOUBT, the BLACKEST moment in the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> title belt’s existence!

NH: Well, there’s a typical negative-star match from one ‘wrestler’ with no moves, or a pulse for that matter, and the <badly dubbed voice>Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! </badly dubbed voice> title belt.

Death: What did you just say?

NH: Uhhh...nothing...Let’s go to this segment. NOW!

THUD


Voice-Over: And now, the 1600 Club presents, the latest reality television series...

Caption: Who Looks Enough Like A Former Or Current President To Be In Our Stable?

Voice-Over: And here are your hosts. Clinton, LBJ and Nixon!

[Canned cheering and clapping is dubbed in as we fade in on the Oblong Office in the Off-White House, the 1600 Club’s headquarters on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Nixon is sitting behind a desk.]

Nixon: Let’s get this show on the road already. Say hello to Cleveland.

[Cut to a large group of people gathered outside somewhere in Cleveland, Ohio.]

Cleveland People: HI!

[Back to the office.]

Cleveland: I promise Death and Destruction to all of my competitors. (He pulls out a hunting rifle and cocks it.)

[Nixon pulls out a Vice President Hunting Season Only sign from beneath his desk.]

Cleveland: Awww....

Nixon: Umm....Here’s Harrison!

Harrison: I may not have been the greatest president, but I was a great man!

Nixon: Yeah, that really matters. Moving on...here is McKinley!

McKinley: I—

[Somebody wearing an anarchy T-shirt ran into the room with a gun.]

BANG

Nixon: I have no clue who you’re supposed to be.

Man: Leon Czolgosz. ANARCHY!!!!

BANG

Nixon: Thank you Cleveland.

Cleveland: Sure...

Nixon: Well...give it up for Roosevelt!

THUD

Nixon: What the? Harrison just keeled over?

Van Buren: He’s dead! Just the sniffles my shoe!

Roosevelt: Man, talk about stepping on somebody’s entrance! No wonder why HE never got his face put on a mountain...

Nixon: Up next, we have, Taft!

Taft: War, huuh, what is it good for?

Everyone: Absolutely NOTHING.

Nixon: ... That was odd. Anyhow. Here’s Wilson.

Wilson: The schoolmaster in politics is in the house. I summon all honest men, all patriotic, all forward-looking men, to my side.

Nixon: Not gonna get many of those here, my friend. Next. It’s, Harding!

Harding: *Cough*

THUD

Nixon: Poor bastard. Hey! We’ve got corpses that need to be cleaned up!

[Clinton and LBJ come in and drag out Harding and Harrison.]

Nixon: Coolidge? You out there?

Coolidge: ...

Nixon: Well?

Coolidge: ...

Wilson: He’s known as Silent Cal.

Nixon: Oh, great. Just what we need. Ohhhkay. Next. Here’s Hoover!

Hoover: I—

Nixon: Say, you’re the crossdressing fruit, aren’t you?

Hoover: No. That was J. Edgar Hoover.

Nixon: Oh. OK. Go on.

Hoover: I—

Nixon: Did you invent the vacuum cleaner?

Hoover: Will you let me talk!

Nixon: Yes.

Hoover: I—

Nixon: Eventually, anyway. It’s fun interrupting you.

Hoover: Grrrrr.

Nixon: Nothing else to say then? Fine. Be that way. Next. Oh, right, another Roosevelt. You can go home. Already got a Roosevelt. Gotta avoid confusion and all.

Other Roosevelt: Damn damn damn!

Nixon: So, let’s move on to Truman!

Truman: Nixon, you suck. Clinton sucks. LBJ sucks. And you all know it. I’m the man for the fourth spot!

Hoover: Give ‘em hell, Truman!

Truman: Shut up and die!

Nixon: Hmm...interesting. Next. Eisenhower!

Eisenhower: We Like Ike! We Like Ike! Vote For Ike! Ike Is Mike without the M! IKE IKE IKE!

Nixon: Stop that! Alright. Next up. It’s...Kennedy! Hey! You’re a chick.

Kennedy: Yes, I am. And, a pretty damn hot one. Ask not, what you can do for this country. Ask what your country can do for you!

Nixon: I think you have that backwards. No matter anyway. Here comes your assassin. A fellow who looks like Lee Harvey Oswald!

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

Kennedy: What the frick? I’m still alive?

[Mully and Sculder enter the room.]

Sculder: Single bullet theory my ass! There is a conspiracy at work here!

Mully: Let’s get her!

Kennedy: Screw this competition, I’m out of here.

[She runs out, chased by The Agency.]

Nixon: Up next, here’s, Ford!

Ford: Hello everyone.

Nixon: *BURP* Whew, pardon me.

Ford: Again?

Nixon: Good one! Next! Carter!

Carter: Hi!

Nixon: NEXT!

Carter: Hey!

Nixon: Running short on time. Reagan! Get in here?

Reagan: Well......I forgot the rest of my speech...

Nixon: Lovely. Bush! Get in here.

Bush: Read my lips...I’m gonna win!

Nixon: And finally, Dubya!

Dubya: We're concerned about AIDS inside our Off-White House - make no mistake about it.

Nixon: What do you expect with Clinton around here. Alright people. Please welcome the entity who will be giving you your first task today....Detached NARRATOR!

[Hello. And fade out with THIS thrilling twist!]


SW: Well, how about that? Detached Narrator is the smarmy host! Good for him.

["Gasoline Dream" by Overkill begins blasting away on the system. Eddie B combines that with a touch of the classic "Disco Inferno" by whoever the hell did that song. And a slab of "Light My Fire" by The Doors. The end result? A big train wreck of noise.]

MA: The following match is a Light My Fire Match. The first person to successfully light themselves on fire and hit an offensive move will win the match! Introducing first. Mr. Intensity!

Voice-Over: YOU WANT INTENSITY? I GOT YOUR INTENSITY RIGHT HERE!

[Now, Eddie B cranks up "Fire" by Van Halen, mixed together "It’s Getting Hot In Here (So Take Of All Your Clothes)" by that rap guy I can’t think of the name of. And on top of that was "In Hell I Burn" by Deicide, drowning out everything else, essentially.]

MA: And his opponent. Kevin The Pyromaniac runs out to the ring. He hops up onto the top rope and he jumps down and dropkicks Mr. Intensity in the face! And why am I still talking? I’m getting out of here!

SW: Smart move, Masked Announcer. You were due one eventually.

MA: Screw you, Scotty.

SW: Why can you hear me so well?

MA: I read the script before I went in there.

SW: Oh. Well then.

NH: Scotty. Don’t improv. You’ll only embarrass yourself.

MS: It’s BROKEN loose!

SW: Intensity and Kevin are exchanging punches in the middle of the ring.

NH: If this keeps up, they’ll be exchanging insurance information in the ER.

SW: Did you forget where you work again?

NH: It’s a lot easier to get up in the morning when you embellish the truth a bit. Just like you embellish the size of your

SW: Shut your mouth.

MS: WHADDAMANEUVER!

SW: Kevin took control with that move. Now he’s heading to the floor and under the ring. He pulls out...a blanket? What good is THAT going to do him.

NH: I’ll take it if he doesn’t want it. *Yawn*

SW: He goes back under the ring and pulls out....a pillow?

NH: I’ll take that too!

MS: I have never seen PLUNDER like this before IN MY LIFE!

SW: That’s not plunder. What’s going on under there? Now what’s he got? He pulls out John Skeet! He was apparently sleeping under the ring.

NH: He must have gotten worn out when he was putting it together. Him and Steve Leary did quite a good job.

SW: Yeah, they do plenty of good jobs to get ahead here. They’re not afraid to get their knees dirty for a push.

NH: I think you mean hands, Scotty.

SW: I stand by my statement. Besides, LilBOSS is just using them to avoid doing his own work.

MS: He...HE TOSSES SKEETER ONTO THE APRON! But OH MY! Mr. Intensity just dropkicked Skeeter right into Kevin The Pyromaniac’s face! How BRUTAL!

SW: That is one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen.

NH: Kevin is down on the floor. Intensity heads to the apron and drags a groggy Skeet up onto the apron. He suplexes him up and DOWN onto Kevin! All three bodies crash to the floor.

SW: Now Mr. Intensity heads under the ring. He pulls out...It’s the other half of the Distorted Icons! It’s...what’s his name again?

NH: Steve Leary!

SW: Ahh, that’s it. Now what’s he doing? He tosses Leary and Skeeter into the ring. He picks up Leary and wedges him into the corner? This is getting STRANGE. I’ve seen chairs wedged in between the turnbuckles but never a human body.

NH: And now Skeeter is wedged into the corner opposite Leary. Intensity drags the Pyromaniac back inside. He whips Kevin, but Kevin reverses and Mr. Intensity SMASHES into Steve Leary!

SW: Oh, please! That couldn’t hurt!

NH: He’s grabbing his back.

SW: Oh, whatever. I’m not selling this crap. This is another anti-hardcore match between two guys who should be destroying the hell out of each other.

NH: Well, when you can’t afford tables and chairs, we have to use the hardcore weapons we have available. And right now, that’s other wrestlers.

SW: It’s frigging pathetic!

NH: Well, maybe things are about to change.

MS: Kevin is heading back under the ring. He’s got a container of gasoline.

SW: Fire! Fire! Fire! YES!

NH: Settle down, Scotty.

MS: Things are about to HEAT UP here on Chloroform!

SW: Kevin is back in the ring and dumps the gasoline down on his body. He’s looking for a match. But Mr. Intensity charges and clotheslines him down. Kevin loses his lighter!

NH: Mr. Intensity has the gasoline. He dumps the rest of it on himself. He dives for the lighter. Both men are scratching and clawing, fighting for the lighter. Intensity has it! But Kevin is quickly digging into his boot. He’s got his OWN lighter.

SW: Here we go! Call the fire department and the burn unit!

WHOOOOOSH

SW: Man, both men just went up like Christmas trees...and all the presents underneath...and the house....and there’s one memory I thought I’d repressed forever.

NH: Both men charge at each other. Double clothesline!

[The bell sounds. Both men are rolling around on the mat, trying to put themselves out. Unfortunately, they’re only rolling around in puddles of gasoline and making the burns worse. The Fire Chief runs in and sprays both men with a hose.]

SW: Kevin The Pyromaniac drags himself to his feet and is raising his hand.

NH: So is Mr. Intensity! He’s raising his extra crispy arms in victory.

SW: These guys better hope there are no cannibals in the crowd who are in the mood for mesquite tonight.

MS: Let’s go to MASKED ANNOUNCER!

MA: This contest has ended in a DRAW!

[Kevin and Intensity collapse from their injuries...OK, more likely the stupid booking.]

SW: Oh, man. Are they just trying to drag out this feud for another couple of weeks or something?

NH: Yep. You know BigBOSSes motto: Milk till it bleeds.

SW: I hope he never worked on a farm them.


In the basement, Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" and the Shaggy Gang, made up of Kay Fabe, Xamfir, Jeannie and Michelle, were standing around Little Good, who was tied to the wall.

"Well," Sarah started. "That should hold him, huh?"

"Yep," Kay said, nodding.

"Guess we should, uh...I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted," Sarah said.

"By what?" Xamfir asked.

"Well, aside from us not knowing who is out to get us or why, there’s the whole Principal Evil Blackman standing over in the corner of the room behind that plant thing."

"No I’m not," Blackman said.

"Yeah. What’s up with that name anyway? It’s like he’s supposed to be, you know, evil? I don’t trust him," Xamfir decided.

"Doesn’t he kind of look like Steve Black—" Sarah started.

"No, I don’t."

"Yeah!" Kay said. "And he’s got the kendo stick, that’s a lethal weapon, buster. It’s all starting to make sense. You know what I think? I think HE’S the big bad of this season."

Giving up his hiding spot, Blackman stepped out. "I’m not the big bad. I thought chicks dug guys who are all, you know, mysterious and stuff."

"That bloody wanker ain’t a big bad. He’s not even a little good. Because I’m Little Good. I think..."

"Looks like you’re tied to a wall at the moment. What’s up with that?" Blackman asked.

"I dunno. It’s a real mystery."

A second Little Good appeared in the room then and looked down at the first Little Good. Nobody else noticed the second Little Good except for the first Little Good. The second Little Good began singing.

"You know I never, I never seen you look so good. You never act the way you should. But I like it...And I know you like it too. The way that I want you. I gotta have you. Oh yes, I do. You know I never. I never ever stay out late. You know that I can hardly wait. Just to see you...And I know you cannot wait. Wait to see me too. I gotta touch you. Cause baby we'll be. At the drive-in. In the old man's Ford. Behind the bushes. Till I'm screamin' for more. Down the basement. Lock the cellar door. And baby. Talk dirty to me..."

That’s when Little Good, the first one that is, got up, and broke free from the chains, pulling them straight out of the wall.

"Well...this should be interesting," the second Little Good said.

That’s when 29 presidental lookalikes and Mike Monroe charged into the room. They all charged for the Shaggy Gang members. Blackman was able to smack some over the head with his cane, as Sarah, Kay, Xamfir and Jeannie started brawling with the presidents.

"What the hell is going on?" Sarah asked.

"History is coming alive, and history is pissed off!" Jeannie shouted over the fighting.

Sarah grabbed hold of Polk’s knee and busts a cap. He disappears. She kicks Tyler in the face and quickly broke his knee cap as well. Poof. He vanished. But as she looked up, she sees the rest of the Gang has been knocked down and the 1600 Club Wannabes are retreating.

"You OK?" Sarah asked her friends.

"I think so," Kay said, dusting herself off. "Did you get all of them?"

"Just two," Sarah said. "How come you didn’t help out, Jeannie?"

"Xamfir didn’t wish it so," she said with a shrug.

"Sorry, my mouth was kinda full with Dubya’s fist at the moment," Xamfir said, rubbing his jaw.

"Where’s Little Good?" Michelle asked from the corner.

"I’ll call the milk carton people again," Xamfir said, heading toward the exit.


[Backstage, the camera found a door with the letters iAd spray painted in green upon it. The door opened outward and Steve Studnuts emerged, followed by Seth Harker and Trey Vincent.]

TV: You sure you don’t want any help.

SS: For Paracox and those crack addicts? Not necessary. Those jerkweeds are gonna get fucked worse than Paris Hilton. Ya dig?

SH: Uh, yeah. Word.

SS: What?

SH: Nothing. We’ll be here while you’re out there doing your thing in the ring. But we’ll be watching. If anybody tries anything, we’ll do our best to get out there to help you.

SS: Your best?

TV: Assuming we’ve finished our beer. Don’t want to leave our beer sitting out unattended.

SS: Whatever.

SH: (Turns to the camera) I know you’re out there. I can feel you now. Watching us. I know you’re afraid. You’re afraid of entertainment. I’m not going to tell you how his match is going to end, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to involve a big screwjob.

TV: Who are you talking to?

SH: I’m going to go back into our locker room and let you people endure what you cannot. The presence of douja and Jerry Curl Jones upon your television screens.

TV: Seth?

SH: I’m going to show them a world without...us.

TV: What EVER.

[Trey walks back into the iAd locker room.]

SH: BOB is a world without entertainment, and thus, no us. Anything can happen? Not if the world is infected with apathy. Incurable. The iAd is here. Nothing is possible. Except changing the channel. And that is a choice I leave up to you. Right Trey?

...

SH: Trey?

[He turns around.]

SH: *Sigh*

[Seth heads back into the room. Once he’s inside for a couple of seconds, a forklift drives up beside the door, being driven by Mr. Paradox. He hops off the forklift.]

Paradox: Good luck trying to get out, boys!

[Paradox pauses for a moment, then turns around and grabs a steel chair and wedges it under the door knob. He hops back onto the forklift and begins driving away.]

Paradox: Mwahahahaha!

[Back to ringside.]

MS: My goodness! Are YOU thinking what I’m thinking?

SW: Why didn’t he just park the forklift in front of the door?

MS: NO! How can Trey Vincent and Seth Harker get out of their LOCKER ROOM! WHAT A DEVIOUS PLAN by MR. PARADOX!

SW: Yeah, pure genius.

["In The Hood" by Wu-Tang Clan hits the speakers. Douja and Jerry "Curl" Jones stumbled out from a cloud of smoke.]

MA: The following is a tag team match. Introducing first. From Parts Forgotten. douja and Jerry "Curl" Jones!

SW: I still don’t understand why Studnuts chose Mr. Paradox as his tag team partner for this one.

NH: Well, he’s got one thing you don’t have. Well...two things. Wait, three. No, four. Wait...easily a dozen. Nah, that’s even low. Easily a hundred things you don’t.

SW: Shut it, woman.

MA: And their opponents...

Voice-over: A new-new-n-n-n-n-new incurable Apathy disorder.

MA: From Phoenix, Arizona, Steve Studnuts!

["Right Now" by Korn plays and the iAd member steps out.]

NH: Studnuts is looking tanned, handsome and fit.

SW: Something the other losers in this fed don’t know anything about.

MA: And his tag team partner. From Dimension Z. Mr. Paradox.

["Are We Ourselves" by the Fixx plays and Mr. Paradox heads down the aisle with as little description as possible. This card is getting too long for our ADD generation.]

SW: douja and Jones are already look like they’re half unconscious.

NH: Hey, Steve.

SS: I want your seat.

SW: So do I! Oh, you meant her chair?

NH: Here you go, Steve.

MS: Studnuts brings the CHAIR into the RING! Oh no! Studnuts is taking douja and Jones out with the chair!

SW: I think the weed they were smoking backstage REALLY took them out. But the bell hadn’t even rung yet. Douja and Jones are both down and out.

NH: What is Paradox doing?

SW: I can’t see from here. But there’s the bell. Studnuts using his foot to see if douja still has any signs of consciousness left. I can see the commercial in my mind already for this scene. Kids, don’t try this at home. Chairshots and weed just don’t mix.

MS: Paradox has got...HE’S GOT A SWORD!

NH: Paradox spins Studnuts around. OH! He just smashed the butt end of the handle into Studnuts’ skull! Not his face! Anything but his face!

SW: Studnuts is down to a knee. The fans are booing, a bit. Paradox backs up and charges forward and butt ends Studnuts in the face again. Damn. Studnuts has been punked out by Mr. Paradox. Studnuts has experienced a new low in his BOB career.

NH: And that’s saying something.

MS: And Trey Vincent and Seth Harker are TRAPPED in their LOCKER ROOM.

SW: They’re the lucky ones. They have alcohol with them. And the ability to change the channel, most likely.

NH: Now what is Paradox doing? He just produced a pair of tongs from his boot. The hell? Paradox picks Jones up and tosses him over the top rope to the floor.

SW: What the hell? I’m not gonna call this!

NH: I will! Woohoo! Paradox is using the tongs to pull down Studnuts’ tights! Whoa, baby!

SW: Slut.

NH: Whatever, Scotty. And now, douja’s pants are coming down.

SW: Dude! This is WAAAAY too gay.

MS: You only get FULL FRONTAL MALE NUDITY LIKE THIS IN BOB!

SW: And you are WAY too excited right now, Shill. OK.

NH: Paradox drags Studnuts...uh...on top of douja. Can we show this? This is getting borderline, even for Comedy Central.

SW: Don’t worry, it’s only, oh, 5:30 a.m. or so. Only freaks and perverts are up this time of day anyhow.

NH: You, included. Well, we’ve got Studnuts laying on top of douja in a rather, um, compromising position.

SW: Come on, Heidi. You know that’s 69-position. You’ve been in it enough times to know that.

NH: Paradox now has a digital camera and he’s taking photos. Oh, this is just getting worse and worse for Studnuts. And douja!

SW: And ME! And our viewers.

NH: For our ladies, I dunno. Maybe we should have a poll on our Web site. Who has the bigger penis. Studnuts or douja. Because from where I sit, it’s a toss up.

SW: Will you STOP!

NH: No! You can talk about breast size all the time, why can’t I talk about penis size?

SW: Because I’m not a flaming homo maybe?

NH: Paradox has taken several digital photos of douja and Studnuts with their tights down in 69 positions from multiple angles. That’ll be all over the Internet soon. And on my computer as soon as I can find them! Paradox kicks douja over and puts his boot on his chest.

SW: Onetwothree it’s over. Wow, quick count my Generic Ref and I can’t blame him. Paradox has taken this feud with Studnuts to a new level and I’m sure made an enemy in douja. Though I highly doubt this is the worst thing douja’s done when he’s been high. Heidi, please kiss me.

NH: Ugh, don’t ruin my afterglow.

SW: *Sigh* Well, I think we’ve officially created a new disturbing search tonight. Yes, everyone who was looking for unconscious black on white male on male gay photos, thanks for stopping by. FREAKS!


[Backstage, the iAd’s door.]

Seth’s voice: We should go help Steve, Trey.

Trey’s voice: Well, I’d like to, but looking at the monitor, it appears as though somebody has wedged a chair under our door knob.

Seth’s voice: Ah, yep. Pass a beer then.

*Crack crack*

Trey’s voice: Mmmmm, beer.


Sky

"BOB is the only thing that gets me out of bed."
-Porn actress Sky Lopez

With an endorsement like that, how can YOU not watch Sunday Morning Chloroform?

Brawlers On a Budget. Now on Comedy Central.


MA: Ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?

Fan: For what?

MA: I said, are, you, ready?

Fan: How am I supposed to know if you don't tell me what it's for?

MA: *Ahem* Then, for the hundreds in attendance, and the dozens watching around the world. Ladies and gentlemen. Let's get ready to

Fan: Yes?

MA: WRESTLE!

Fan: Man, what a jip.

MA: The following contest is for THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

["Woke Up This Morning" by A3 hits the speakers as Eddie B takes his own sort of hit.]

MA: The challenger. He is the leader of the JEWS.

SW: I thought Jesus was the leader of the Jews.

NH: Not Jews, JEWS.

SW: What's the difference?

MA: BILL!

SW: BILL is the difference?

MA: Um, noooo. I was finishing my introduction.

SW: Oh.

["Well It's The Big Toe!" hits the speakers. Yes it's a big bad toe tonight, y'all.]

SW: Hey, why did BILL come out with that dog anyhow?

MS: This must be some blackly evil plan by the JEWS!

NH: Ugh. We better make the JEWS face some day soon before some Jewish people lynch Shill.

SW: I fail to see your logic there, Heidi. Anyhow. Massive Man, still wearing that protective toe guard, he's troopering on despite that broken toe that's been dogging him since November.

NH: How long does it take to heal a toe?

SW: You want to turn his toe heel?

NH: His toe is already heel, being attached to Massive Man, Scotty. Quit playing word games.

SW: Fine, fine. Well, you know the rule. Heels heal slower than faces. He may be nursing that gimmick, er, I mean injury for a year. While a face has magical healing powers. Usually two weeks or less. It's almost like the injuries in wrestling are all fake.

[Kay Fabe runs out to ringside.]

KF: You...just...Are you crazy? Look at him limping around! He's hurt. Stop being naughty, Scotty!

SW: OK. I know Massive Man is really hurt anyhow.

KF: You...you do?

SW: Yep. I just wanted to see you run out here. The way your body moves. Mmm mmm...

NH: Pig.

KF: Don't toy with me boy. I could turn you into...something...

NH: How about a pig?

KF: I could do that.

SW: Nuh-uh.

KF: Could so.

NH: Kay, tell you what. If you turn Scotty into a pig...I might, uh...

KF: Yes?

NH: Kiss you again.

KF: Per i suoi sins ed i suoi crimini
Renda a questo maiale umano un maiale
Può wallow nella sua propria sporcizia
In moda da poterlo ottenere io un lesbico baci

SW: Oinkoinkoink *SQUEAL*

THUD

NH: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Scotty has just turned into a pig!

MS: HEAVENS TO BETSY!

BILL: A woman who speaks Italian. A girl after my own heart.

KF: That? I just couldn’t find a proper English to Latin translator online. Italian was the closest thing to Latin I could find. I was gonna try Chinese, but it was like, hey, let’s translate the English language into a bunch of question marks which would just be more confusing. And, hello? Lesbian anyway.

BILL: Alright, alright.

KF: Well, I guess you need somebody to commentate with you for the main event. Shoo! Shoo!

SW: *SQUEAL*

KF: Shall we kiss now?

NH: Sure.

KF: Oh baby, get ready to taste the lesbian's tongue!

NH: What have I done? Mmmpfh! Mmmphf! Mmmmphf!

MS: This is, without a SHADOW OF A DOUBT, the GREATEST LESBIAN KISS IN CHLOROFORM HISTORY!

[Bell rings.]

BILL Say, Ref.

Generic Ref: Ref.

BILL: Very funny. Say. Would you mind walking my dog?

GR: I don't see why not.

KF: Whoa. This is a new trick. Generic Ref is leaving the ring to walk BILL's dog. He's so naughty. I just want to kill BILL sometimes.

NH: *Pant*

KF: You OK, Heidi?

NH: Yeah. Umm...look! A match!

KF: Hey! It's the JEWS! Why are the JEWS coming down here? Hello? What about the rules?

NH: They don't play by anybody's rules except their own.

KF: Darn tootin.

NH: Albert DeSalvo and BVD clothesline Massive Man down with the flagpole. And now they're cracking Massive Man in the back with the pole, which splits conveniently in half.

KF: What?

NH: Nothing. Mr. X has got a gun! Oh no! He just hit Massive Man in the back of the head! He's pistol whipping Massive Man!

KF: This is very, very confusing. And violent. Are you as turned on as me?

MS: MORE!

KF: Wasn't talking to you, Shill. *Grumble grumble*

NH: Heels trying to screw heels, I never thought I'd see the day?

KF: Heels, what? Huh?

NH: Nothing, honey. Um...Here comes J.C. Long! And he's got a microphone with him. Aw, J.C. just tripped over Scotty Pigbody!

KF: Is he laughing?

NH: Can pigs laugh?

KF: Ooooh, that just makes me so...Heidi, kiss me again.

NH: No! Jeez, you're as bad as Scotty.

KF: I ain't too proud to beg, Heidi. I could use a sponge bath. I'm very, very dirty.

MS: THAT'S HIS MOVE!

NH: The hell? Jim, Brandon, Violent Pacifist, Jean Bannister and Sir Hungalot are storming the ring and beating on the JEWS.

KF: You have to wonder if it's because they're helping Massive Man. Or maybe, just maybe, THEY want to be the ones to take the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS from Massive Man.

NH: Interesting point, Kay.

KF: I know. I'm deep. Here, feel.

NH: Hey! Sexually harass much?

KF: Apparently.

NH: JEWS, Massive Man, Totally Face. It's total chaos!

MS: It's a PIER-SIXER BRAWL of EPIC PROPORTIONS! You only get action like this in BOB fans!

KF: Yeah, hot lesbian action!

NH: I am NOT a lesbian.

[SOUNDS OF COOKIE JARS BREAKING. HUGE F'N POP.]

NH: NO WAY!

KF: It's the toughest little summabitch on the planet! Hardcore JJ is back!

NH: JJ hits the ring! JJ DROP ON ALBERT DESALVO! JJ DROP ON BVD! JJ DROP ON SIR HUNGALOT. JJ DROP ON J.C. LONG! Take it, Kay.

KF: JJ DROP on Jim! JJ DROP on Brandon! JJ DROP on Violent Pacifist! JJ Drop on Mr. X! JJ DROP on BILL! JJ DROP on JEAN BANNISTER!

NH: Massive Man and Hardcore JJ are staring at each other!

MS: OH WHAT A MOMENT!

NH: What is going to happen? What is going to

[Black.]


© 2004 BOB Wrestling! Just kidding. Here’s the real ending:


The darkness slowly was replaced by flickering flames. Little Good opened his eyes to see a figure standing before him. The figure of Clinton. And a bunch of presidents standing in the shadows of the room.

"Well...how’s that for a shadow government," Little Good said. He looked left and right and discovered that he had been tied to a ladder that was standing up tall.

"Ain’t this just a kick in the nuts?" Clinton said, lighting up a cigarette. He moved toward Little Good, something small and shiny flashing in his hand, Little Good noticed.

[Well. Sometimes plans do go perfectly. If you’re me, anyway, and are controlling everything like a god.]

"You." Little Good said to the ceiling.

"You," a second Little Good said, morphing from thin air. "Me. Bloody hell."

"Hey! That’s my catchphrase mate!"

"Bollocks."

"Bloody hell! Stop that!"

The noncorporeal Little Good morphed into Sarah "The Jobber Slayer."

"This better?"

"Well...yeah. Easier on the eyes anyway. Say, could you make yourself look like Jessica Biel?"

"No."

"Bugger. Well, could you at least give me a smoke or something? I haven’t had any smokes in a long while."

"Aww, don’t look at me like that. You know I can’t pick up a pack of cigarettes anyway. Or a ball. Or a gun. Or a banana even."

Clinton picked up a steel chair.

CRACK

"Owww! Mind the skull, mate," Little Good protested. "Owww. Oww. OWWWWWWW! Bloody hell! You just sliced me open with a razor blade, didn’t you!"

"Shhh, trade secrets," Clinton said.

"I have to admit, I’m glad it worked out like this," Sarah continued. "I was gonna bleed one of the potentials here, but, since I killed two of them....and you look much better with your pants off...but I digress. I’m sick of being subtle. Now, Little Good. You want to see what a real jobber looks like?"

From behind, a few of the presidential lookalikes shoved Little Good forward until he fell on a seal that had been exposed on the floor of the basement. Little Good’s blood began to drip down onto the seal. After several seconds, some dark, scary music began playing. Then the seal was pushed open like it was nothing more than a painted sewer cap somebody had stolen from your ordinary street.

Little Good stared in horror as he watched a figure emerge from the hole in the ground. The camera slowly panned around, starting at the figure’s feet, then began panning upward.

Black boots.

Blue tights.

White puffy shirt.

Hands wringing together.

Stupid grin.

Vampire teeth.

A slicked back blond mullet.

Black wraparound sunglasses.

SW: Hey! It’s Gang—

NH: THE VAMPIRE WARRIOR!

"That’s right, the artist formerly known as Gangrel is in BOB. He has risen to serve me. The Second. Cousin. Of the First Evil," Sarah, aka Detached Narrator said.

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm," Gangrel chuckled, as he licked his pointy chompers. "Hmm hmm hmm hmm.

 

© 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.