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Explosion of Injuries Logo

We like our wrestling like we like our porn: Hardcore!!!

[As we pan the interior of the Kent State (Krew) Dome, "Orange Pants In Jail" is already playing over the speakers. BigBOSS steps out, getting cheered by many and booed by others. The camera finds a "BigBOSS Is Average" sign at ringside.]

Mike Monroe: Hello fans, and welcome to Explosion Of Injuries, live on pay-per-view. We want to thank you for spending your money, uh, I mean, spending an evening with BOB! I’m Mike Monroe.

Scotty Whatbody: Are you getting close to retiring yet, Monroe? Because I’m ready to take the lead chair as soon as you quit holding me down.

MM: Maybe you should learn how to commentate.

SW: Booooring.

Mark Shill: Fans, call your FRIENDS and NEIGHBORS and let them know BOB is ON THE AIR. And if you don’t have any friends, call some strangers. And if you live in a shack in the woods, send out some smoke signals. The greatest PAY-PER-VIEW EXTRAVAGANZA OF ALL TIME IS HERE!

SW: Can I punch him in the face? Repeatedly?

MM: No.

SW: Awww.

MM: Looks like BigBOSS has something to say.

BigB: We all want to get home to our families and evade the IRS, so I’ll be brief. Tonight, I need to find two people to face Festering Death.

Crowd: BOOOOO!

BigB: But when I asked everyone backstage, everyone turned down the opportunity of fighting for the BOB Tag Conqueror titles. So...tonight, I’d like to reintroduce an old friend of mine. Everyone, please welcome, the Medium, Sized, Bucket!

[TCB by BTO hits the PA. The LB pushes the MSB for the PPV down the aisle.]

SW: Is the Detached Narrator typing in code?

[FU Scotty. Strip my SA title and this is what u get.]

SW: Why isn’t Shane in charge of narration tonight?

[Yeah, pops. C’mon. You’re obviously in a bad mood. Why don’t you take the night off?]

BigBOSS: Alright.

[A night off could be just the thing to make me feel better.]

BigBOSS: And the first participant in this completely random drawing who will get the chance at the Tag Conqueror Narrator!

[I did not just hear that, did I?]

MM: Festering Death will take on Detached Narrator tonight and a partner to be picked RIGHT NOW!

[WTFMF? This is BS. Not wrestling FD.]

BigB: If you don’t, I will FIRE YOUR ASS!

MS: And listen to the EXPLOSIVE cheers of the crowd on this EXPLOSIVE night of EXPLOSIVE action. Fans, I know we’re less than a minute into this show, but I am fairly sure I can go on record as saying, this pay-per-view, without a shadow of a doubt, is the GREATEST PAY-PER-VIEW IN BOB HISTORY!

[You can’t fire me. I’m everywhere, BigB. And you’re starting to piss me off just a little bit. Who is my partner going to be, bitch?]

BigB: Let’s’re partner will be....Detached Narrator!

[WHAT? How can I team with myself?]

BigB: That’s really not MY problem, is it? Tonight, it will be Detached Narrator and Detached Narrator challenging Festering Death for the Tag Conqueror titles! Welcome to Explosion of Injuries everybody!

[Detached Narrator leaves these brackets and I take over. Hey everybody. Shane Narrator with you. My pops doesn’t need this frustration. He’s got a big war with Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" to get ready for. Since he is the First. Cousin Of the Second Evil.]

DN: Hey, wait a second. All these names in the bucket say ‘Detached Narrator’!

BigB: (Grinning) Do they? I guess somebody up in the offices wants to screw you.

DN: What offices? You’re booking this show!

BigB: Well, duh! Let’s get this shew on the road!

[There is an awkward pause, which my pops doesn't like, because he soon walks towards those damned smilies!]



DN: ...wait, why aren't you killing and raping me horribly?



DN: Thanks, guys. My incredibly black heart is kinda touched.

BigB: What the fuck IS this shit?

DN: Actually, I dunno.

BigB: You're supposed to be killing each other! That was the entire purpose of me booking you two against each other! So I don't have to deal with EITHER of you!


DN: Oh? This, I gotta hear.


BigB: Oh, poopie.

DN: I like this idea.


Styles: OH MY GOD!

MM: You're not supposed to be out here, Styles.

Styles: Aww. :-(

BigB: I don't like this idea.

DN: Too bad, fuckstick. You probably should've thought about who you were putting me against.

BigB: Well, God dammit.



DN: Well, actually, I figured I'd do a better job if I went back up into the brackets.


DN: Okay.

=<>: NOW...

=C]: ONE.

=<>: TWO.


SW: And there goes the gunshot to start this thing!

MM: Actually, that gunshot came from the Detached Narrator, because he just plugged the grandmother in the front row with a bullet to the skull.

SW: Shut up, you're ruining my moment.

MM: You don't have mom— JESUS TAPDANCING CHRIST ON A CRUTCH! Spaceduck just splattered a baby! A BABY!

SW: That's what these idiot fans get for bringing women and children to an event that Festering Death attends.

[And now, I rip out a man's femur and beat him to death with it until I split his skull and his brains come pouring out of him like... well, brains pouring out of horrible head wound.]

MM: For those wondering, Spaceduck is currently ahead with four, seeing as though he just burst through the chests of three blind children who, for some GOD FORSAKEN REASON, elected to come to this show even though they couldn't actually see the action.

SW: It sounds to me like someone just wanted to be horribly immoral.

MM: Which would explain why this crowd isn't fleeing in terror yet.


MM: JESUS! The Detached Narrator just jumped into the lead by crushing four innocent bystanders with a biology book!

SW: Those things are really heavy.

MM: Meanwhile, Spacecop is at zero because he's just raping all of the corpses.


MM: Right. I'm never commentating for another Festering Death slaughter ever again.

=<>: HI-YAH~!


SW: And there goes a middle-aged woman's head!


SW: And there goes a Vietnam veteran's head!


SW: And there goes another baby!


SW: And there goes Carrot Top!

MM: Yes! No more 1-800-Collect commercials!


SW: Spaceduck with the Smiley Stunner on a security guard!


MM: Detached Narrator just broke a nun's neck!


SW: Spaceduck just slit the throat of the mayor of this fair city!


MM: Detached Narrator just diced the mayor's wife into fourteen equal pieces!



SW: Spacecop just raped everyone AT ONCE!

MM: How the hell was THAT possible!?


[You want to, uh... call this even?]



Masked Announcer: thismatchisadraw,bye

MM: And there goes the Masked Announcer!

[Cut to the announcers.]

The Commentator: What an auspicious way to kick this rollercoaster ride off tonight.

SW: You’re here too? We need a little less sausage and a lot more pie out here...

MM: Well fans, tonight, before the pay-per-view began, we crowned a new Swiss Army Champion.

TC: It was even before the ring was set up.

MM: That’s right, TC. The floor of the Kent State Dome, as you can see, is not covered up with boards. That is solid concrete painted like a hockey rink, though there is no ice there tonight.

MS: It was DodgeBRAWL!

MM: So, the teams were split up. The rules were simple. Hit your opponent with a squishy red ball and don’t let your feet cross the red, center line. So let’s kick off the show with this prerecorded match!

BigB: Hold on there a second, Mike. Mike?

MM: Yes?

BigB: Funny thing about that match. We can’t show it yet.

MM: We can’t? Why?

BigB: Uh, it’s too extreme for television! Yeah...yeah, that’s the ticket. It’s too hardcore!

SW: That, and nobody knows who the idiots are who caused the outcome...

BigB: Right, there’s that too. So, Um. I’ll keep you posted if the "censors" will "clear" the match if I go do some "editing" on it to take out the "naughty content."


["Better Days" by Tadpole hits the speakers.]

Masked Announcer: The curtain jerker match of Explosion of Injuries is scheduled for one pin. And it will decide the Pork & Beans Round The World Tag Titles. Introducing first, making their BOB DEBUT, GIVE IT UP FOR THE HOTTEST, COOLEST, MOST AMAZING TAG TEAM BIGBOSS HAS EVER SIGNED, John Skeet, Steve Leary. The DISTORTED ICONS!

SW: Who the hell are these two losers? Getting a title shot in their first match?

TC: It sounds like they’re friends of BigBOSS. Looks like he found a new team to shove down our throats.

MM: Skeet is coming out in a mosquito-looking costume. This Leary fellow is coming out smoking, eating red meat and drinking beer. Oh boy. Another winner here.

SW: Can’t we just fast-forward this match?

MM: I don’t think so. We can do that with DodgeBrawl, but this one is live.

SW: If only life were like TiVO.

MM: If life were like TiVO, you’d still be frozen in time with Candy Cantaloupes.

SW: Damn straight. Life would be all about play, rewind, play, rewind. You wanna talk about multiple orgasms!

MA: And their opponents. The reigning and defending Pork & Beans Round The World Tag Champions. Urine and Stinkbutt Nastyass!

SW: The second most disgusting tag team in the world. They are fitting champions for this title, I guess.

MM: Though, you’ve got to wonder. Stinkbutt Nastyass has joined up with Graphic Flatulence to create Fart Blanche. Where does Urine fit in to these plans?

SW: Uri-Mania is being flushed down the toilet, Monroe, and it’s about damn time. Nobody likes the smelly bastard. This isn’t kindergarten, it’s not cool to smell like pee anymore.

MS: This should be the GREATEST TAG TITLE DEFENSE IN BOB HISTORY! HOLD THE PHONE! Speak of the devil, it’s Graphic Flatulence!

MM: He comes up from behind on Urine and hits him in the back of the head with a chainsaw! Oh man, he picks him up and delivers a stiff punch to Urine’s jaw.

SW: And Urine is wetting his undies. And tights. How pathetic. He loses control of his bladder way too often. When will we spring for some Depends for this kid?

MM: GF hits Unsuitable for Anyone Who Has A Nose! GF and Stinkbutt shove Urine into the ring! What is going on?


MM: The bell has sounded. Skeeter heads to the top rope. He stings Urine with the West Nile Virus! The top rope elbow connected beautifully there. Leary heads to the second rope! Leary hits Bad Acoustics, a leg drop. Cover! One. Two. Three.

SW: It’s finally over? It’s about time!

TC: It only lasted for about 20 seconds, Scotty.

SW: Twenty seconds I’ll never get back again.

TC: Well, buckle yourself in. You’ve got about two and a half more hours you’ll never get back again.

MM: And now Stinkbutt and GF jump in the ring. They take down Skeeter with a chainsaw to the head. And down goes Leary. Oh my. A tag team feud has begun!

SW: Fart Blanche and the Distorted Icons. Whoop-de-frickin’-do.

MS: That’ll put the butts in the seats!

[Backstage, BigBOSS is addressing a group of people.]

BigB: Listen. My head writer is VERY, VERY lazy and didn’t want to rewrite his plans. So, tonight, I’ve taken you all under my wing. Sir Zeno. Pyromaniac guy.

Kevin: PYROMANIA~!!1

BigB: Cliché Moths. douja. Jerry Curl. Tonight. I’m throwing you into the Rigged Lottery Match against Kay Fabe and Xamfir. Good luck. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll leave here tonight as a champion!

douja: yo, bigboss, what da f*ck u talkin’ bout? I want dat cracka studnuts.

BigB: Tell you what, douja. When BOB makes its glorious return to the airwaves in 2004, you and Jerry Curl Jones can have Studnuts and a partner of his choice in a tag team match. That is my present to you.

douja: how bout my check, dogg?

BigB: Everybody out! C’mon underlings, I don’t have all day...Things to do. Plans to make. The rest of this show to write...

Masked Announcer: Guys and dolls, the following match at Explosion of Injuries will be an EXTREMELY SKIMPY CLOTHING MATCH!

[Huge pop.]

MM: Scotty, leave that poor kid alone. He paid good money for that balloon.

SW: What? I hate balloons! Hehe.

["I Want Candy" by Good Charlotte plays. Candy Cantaloupes steps out, dressed in a black and white striped bikini top that leaves, well, nipples to your imagination. Short tight black Daisy Duke shorts. Black high heels with six-inch heels.]

MM: Candy looking outstanding tonight!

SW: That is one piece of candy I could never get tired of licking. Or sucking. Or generally just stuffing in Bmy mouth.

MM: Settle down, Scotty. You’re adding letters randomly to words.

SW: Humibna-humbina-huminab. She could melt in my mouth, or my hand! Woohoob!

TC: Explosion of Injuries is presented to you this a misprint?

MM: The hell?

TC: The BIGBOSS-brand Vibrator? Available now at your favorite local adult store. BIGBOSS Vibrators. Bigger Is Better! This match is also brought to you by Barry Windham’s Ass.

SW: Say what?

TC: I’m just reading what the script says. I’m not happy about it.

SW: You think Candy might have a big-O when she’s refereeing this match and thinking of me?

MM: I highly doubt it. If she can’t get one with you in reality, I doubt she’d think about getting one with you in a fantasy.

[So what are you gonna do, pops? I’ve got an evil plan. I’m just going to watch this match before I reveal it. Good call!]

SW: Everybody will be watching this match with one hand for sure.

MM: Scotty. Put both your hands on the desk. NOW.

[Eddie B cranks up "Night Nurse" by Simply Red. I highly doubt anybody reading this knows how this song sounds, myself included, but who cares? It fits Heidi. Since she’s, you know, a nurse. And all. Anyhow. Nurse Heidi stepped out to a grunt of pleasure from all the men watching. She was dressed in a hospital green micro-top with hospital green panties!]

SW: WOOHOO! I love working here!

MM: Now that is skimpy. I highly doubt Sarah can compete with either of these two outfits.

[Styles joins the announce team.]


SW: All I know is I’m glad BigB likes girl-on-girl porn.

[Cut to BigBOSS, who is holding a lighter near a sprinkler system.]

BigB: Oh, uh, hey there. (He puts the lighter away and walks away whistling.)

[Back to ringside.]

SW: Man, I’d hate to be some loser reading a recap of this show! Usually, it wouldn’t make a difference, but wow. Look at all four of them!

TC: Four? I only see Heidi and Candy. Oh...right. Just got it.

MM: Styles? Are you out here to say anything?

Styles: ...

["Temptation Waits" by Garbage hits next and the fans continue to pop. And none of them stand up to greet Sarah as she steps out. Her outfit appears to be made out of green leaves, just covering up the naughty places. Kind of like Eve from the Garden of Eden.]

SW: Whoa! Look at Sarah’s bush!


SW: What? Look at it! She’s wearing a bush. She picked it out, not me. But man, I’m gonna be doing some big time leaf-peeping right now!

TC: Styles, this should be a tough match for Sarah, huh?

Styles: ...

MM: Styles is only getting paid for a few lines tonight.

SW: Oh, that’s why he’s out here. He’s Sarah’s Commentator. I forgot about that. Styles, keep quiet. More time for me to talk.

MM: What great skimpy outfits. This should be a classic. Huh Styles?

Styles: ...

MS: This should be the SKIMPIEST MATCH, IN THE HISTORY OF BOB. Now fans, I NEVER say this, but tonight, without a shadow of a doubt, with God as my witness, tonight’s show, is the GREATEST BOB PAY-PER-VIEW, AND THE GREATEST SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT PAY-PER-VIEW OF ALL TIME!

MM: The bell has sounded. Heidi and Sarah charge for each other—

Styles: CAT FIGHT! CAT FIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! *Sound of headphones being thrown down.*

MM: Uh, see you later, Styles. Man, that was weird.

SW: I want to see some pink nickels!

MM: Pink nickels?

SW: Or dimes. Or silver dollars. Anything pink and round. Woohoo! Rip off her top Sarah! Rip off her top Candy! Rip rip rip rip rip!

MM: Sarah is up. Oh my LORD what a kick that was!

SW: Humina humina humina. I think her bush needs a trimming!

MM: Uh-boy, here comes Mr. Single Entendre...

SW: I’d love to mow her lawn! Woohoo! If I was a squirrel right now, I know where I’d be busting a nut. Woohoo!

MM: Will you relax. The table is about six inches off the ground...Where did Candy get that big lollipop?

SW: Oh good god! And Sarah’s not at ALL happy about that. She’s heading out to the floor. She’s got a banana!

MM: How is Nurse Heidi going to get the attention back on herself? Sarah is devouring a banana at a medium pace. Candy is slowly licking that giant lollipop. What the...?

SW: That’s a loofa! Nurse Heidi brought her loofa! And a small tub of water! She’s going to give herself a sponge bath! Oh, if only I were that sponge. Or that banana. Or that lollipop.

[Cut to Scotty’s point of view. Everything is pulsing bright red. CAPTION: SENSORY OVERLOAD. Back to normal view.]

MM: This is the strangest match I have ever seen. Candy Cantaloupes has lost control of this match. Scotty Whatbody has lost control of his ability to speak. The fans are running en masse to the bathroom. I don’t know what the hell to do here.


MM: What is Sarah doing? She’s shaking something in her right hand up and down. And now she’s...she just sprayed Heidi in the face with...a stream of something white. It’s whipped cream! I hope...

[Scotty’s chair flips over backward, causing a giant crash and several thuds.]

MM: Scotty? Are you alright? This is, to steal a line from Styles, EXTREME!


[Cut to the lines of men waiting to get into the men’s rooms. A few walk out of the restrooms smoking a cigarette. One of them is The Commentator!]

MS: Hey! How did he get there? I didn’t even notice him leave?

MM: I did notice a lot less barbecue sauce references...Nurse Heidi is demanding Candy disqualify Sarah for use of a dairy-based object. But Candy says no! Heidi shoves Candy! Candy shoves Heidi back! Candy picks up the tub of water and dumps it over Nurse Heidi! The crowd is going WILD for these GIRLS. Who have, gone wild.


SW: What a match! This is the greatest match in BOB history!

MS: Hey! Stop stealing my bit.

SW: Shove it, Schiavone. Heidi spears Candy to the mat! Man, when she gets speared, she bounces like a bowl full of Jell-O.

MM: Sarah grabs Heidi and drags her to her feet. SARAHCONRANA!

SW: WOOHOO! Sarah’s bush was right in Heidi’s face!

MM: That was WAY too easy for you.

SW: Fish in a barrel, Monroe. DID YOU SEE THAT? Heidi just popped out!

[Flash bulbs begin going off like crazy.]

NH: Oh, crap. That’s gonna be all over the Internet in a few minutes...

STJS: Hey Heidi. *Kick* Think fast. Gee, I guess that wasn’t fast enough.

MM: Sarah grabs Heidi’s legs.

SW: Oh, yes! The heels over head Bugs Bunny cover! Candy is back up! And look at those gazongas! ONE! TWO!

MM: Yes, she has two. Most women do, Scotty...Candy makes the count! Sarah gets the pin on Heidi! Man, what a match. Match of the year, I’d dare say.

SW: Yep. Short and full of great spots. And Heidi’s boobies! Woohoo! Uniforms. Objects. Lesbian action. Sucking. Breasts. Two blondes. A brunette. Public nudity. All the softcore basics were touched there, guys. Christmas comes early for Scotty.

MM: Well, I guess we need to settle down the crowd and let them have some, uh, smoking breaks or something. Lord knows I need a cigarette and I don’t even smoke!


[Cut backstage to BigBOSS, who is smoking a cigarette, his clothes disheveled.]

BigB: Say, boys. We got that match cleared with the censors. So, why don’t we head to Dodge Brawl. I think we all need a chance to cool down.

Mrs. Behave: Stuart, why is the door locked?

BigB: Uh, no reason. Be right there dear.

MM: Well, without any further delay, let’s go to a tape from earlier tonight. Before the crowd. Before the ring. And before that match, there was, Dodge Brawl. And a new Swiss Army Champion crowned.

[Previously Recorded.]

Masked Announcer: Hello, uh, nobody. The following contest will be fought under dodge ball rules. I hold in my hand, a big, red ball.

SW: Please, there are ladies watching.

MM: He means the jelly ball.

SW: Duh. I’m the color commentator. Now if he had a blue ball in his hand—

MA: *Ahem* Anyhow. This is for the Swiss Army Title. BigBOSS has picked teams, naturally, at random. There will be two teams. This match will continue until there is one man standing. The rules are as follows. You eliminate members on the opposing team by hitting them with this ball below the waist. Unless, you’re a heel, then you can hit somebody in the head to eliminate them. But not if you’re a face. Teams must stay on their side of the red line. You can run with the ball. Oh, yes. Forgot this one. If you throw a ball at an opponent and they catch it, you’re eliminated.

MA: Now, if by some fluke, an entire team gets eliminated and there is more than one survivor from a team, it becomes a free-for-all and members of the team can move anywhere in the field of play. So even though your team may be successful, be on the lookout for members of your own team who may suddenly become your opponents. I think that’s it. And, oh yes, no crying. If I see any tears, we will stop the game, point at you and laugh.

MM: Wow, that seems rather harsh.

MA: Well, it *is* for a title. Introducing the first team to your left, if you’re reading at home. Already on the court. It is the team of Clinton, Mr. X, The Next Big Thingee Dustbuster Boy, Little Good, StreetMime 2K3, DovE and J.C. Long

MA: And their opponents. On the imaginary right side of your mind, Snapmare Kid, The Commentator, Undietaker, Pete Trable, Dyslexic Avenger, DMD and XXXtreme Machine.

Candy Cantaloupes: Hey guys.

SW: It’s Candy! *Girly scream*

MM: What the hell was that, Scotty?

SW: Sorry. *Ahem*

CC: I’ve made him scream a lot lately. So how are you, Mike?

MM: Much better now, thank you. What brings you out here, Candy?

CC: My feet.


MM: Generic Ref heads to center court with the ball. Looks like we’ll have a jump ball to start?

SW: Nah, I think it’ll be a coin flip?

GR: Coin flip? Wouldn’t I have to have MONEY to do that?

[The Flunky pushes out Kamikazie Ken’s human cannon and lights the fuse.]


XM: o carp itz cuming 4 me


MM: And the team on the right will get the ball first.

SW: Team Left and Team Right. What great, well-thought out names.

CC: Wait, which one is Team Left?

SW: The one of the left.

CC: Oh. Them?

SW: No, your OTHER left.

CC: Ohhhhh. Cool.

TC: Excuse me, guys. But The Commentator will be providing some on-the-court play-by-play! By gawd! By gawd! Some hallacious business is about to pick up!

MM: XXXtreme Machine pulls himself to his feet. Snapmare Kid with the ball...

SW: WTF? He just snapmared the ball?

SMK: Take that!

SW: Things are getting incredibly stupid early tonight.

MM: But the ball stays on their side of the red line, so they retain possession.

TC: Scotty, Mike, Candy, this one is NOT for the weak at heart! It’s getting hot and heavy out here on the floor.

SW: Speaking of getting hot and heavy, Candy...

MM: Enough. Don’t make us all sick again.

TC: But I’ve had enough and I grab the ball! I throw it in Clinton’s direction! DAMN YOU TO HELL CLINTON! He got out of the way.

Clinton: Blow me, Commentator.

SW: Typical Clinton evasive maneuvers there.

MM: He’s ripping off the best in the world at evading sticky issues.

SW: Sticky, like dresses?

MM: Um, yes. I guess.

CC: I hate when my dresses get sticky stuff on them.

DovE: Man, I don’t want to hurt anybody’s chances of getting a belt.

SW: Oh, what a lame ass.

Undietaker: Toss that ball right here, boy.

DovE: OK, sure!

MM: There’s the toss. Undietaker catches it.

MA: DovE has been eliminated!

DovE: You’re welcome, Taker.

MM: Oh man, he just whipped that ball right at DovE’s face! How unsportsmanlike!

UT: He just annoys me.

SW: And DovE is helped off the court by the Flunky. Where’s the ball?

MM: StreetMime 2K3 tosses an invisible ball at DMD. But here comes J.C. Long with the real ball! He plunks a defenseless DMD in the legs!

MA: DMD has been eliminated!

SW: Wow, a good fake out by StreetMime.

SM: " "

J.C. Long: Whatever.

Little Good: Hey, mate.

Dyslexic Avenger: Good Little yes?

Little Good: Do your impersonation of Christopher Reeve.

[DA holds still.]


MA: Dyslexic Avenger has been eliminated.

DA: It that’s, fired sire you’re!

LG: You can’t fire a bloody sire. I made you into a jobber. You just jobbed. Big bloody whoop. Hey, don’t walk away from me!

TC: As Little Good acts all British, I scoop up the ball and hurl it at Mr. X. BY GAWD, that shot nearly BROKE HIM IN HALF!

Mr. X: What shot?

MA: Mr. X has been eliminated?

Mr. X: Eliminated? What does that mean?

GR: Get off the court, smart guy.

Mr. X: Court? I don’t see a judge. Or a bench...

SW: I’m amazed that XXXtreme Machine has made it this long.

XM: im hrdkor


MM: Undietaker grabs Snapmare Kid’s underpants!

SMK: Dude, what gives? We’re on the same team.

Undietaker: You will DRESS....IN....FLEECE....

MM: SMK just tried to snapmare Undietaker over. And failed miserably.

SW: Dustbuster Boy tosses a shot right at XXXtreme Machine. And now he’s out.

MA: XXXtreme Machine has been eliminated.

SW: To nobody’s surprise. The day he holds a belt will be the first sign of the apocalypse.

CC: I have breasts.

SW: Yes, yes you do.

CC: Men like breasts.

SW: Yes, yes we do.

MM: What’s your point, Candy?

CC: None, really. Just reading the script.

MM: Ahh.

CC: Just hearing a woman say breasts makes a man salivate.

MM: Oh, is that why Scotty’s papers are all wet?

CC: I think so.

Pete Trable: Yo yo. The man with the biggest balls in the world has got a dodge ball in his hand. Pete Trable gonna win that Swiss Army Title cuz I’m in command. Yo, look, it’s JC Long, still trying to fight his personal demons. Yo, I heard you like going down on submarines cuz they’re loaded with seamen!


PT: Yo,’s all good Long, but you just ran out of luck. You don’t like me, but I don’t give a (mic in the air).

CC: Fuck!

MM: Candy!

CC: *Giggle*

MM: And StreetMime gets smashed by the dodge ball. He’s out of there.

CC: Awww, and now he’s miming crying. Poor guy.

PT: You can’t see me, dogg!

Clinton: Oh, I see you. And you’re gonna go down faster than a chubby intern.

PT: Oh, looks like slick Willy ain’t really so slick. And if you don’t like it, you can suck my (mic in the air)


MM: Why is she being written so dirty tonight?

SW: I don’t know, but I like it! I can’t wait for the Skimpy Clothing Match!

MM: Stop gyrating in her direction, Scotty.

TC: I grab the ball and with my educated wrist and throw it. I hit Clinton quicker than a hiccup! I hit Clinton! By gawd! By gawd!

MA: Clinton is eliminated.

MM: On the Left Team, Dustbuster Boy, Little Good and J.C. Long remain. And on the Right Team, Snapmare Kid, Commentator, Undietaker and Pete Trable remain. They’re all trying to become the next Swiss Army Champion.

CC: WHOO BABY! Little Good’s taking his pants off!

SW: Dude! Stop that!

CC: Hello!

SW: Dude! Stop that!

CC: It’s about time we had some male ass nudity. And what an ass that is! Scotty, you should take some lessons from him. Look, he even shaves his behind. No way my fingers would never get tangled up.

MM: *Gag* Candy, stop, please!

SW: You bitch. Stop talking about my hairy ass.

CC: Throw your pants here! Woohoo!

SW: Man, what a pervert.

MM: Little Good throws his boxers at Undietaker. He catches them! But Little Good chucks the dodge ball at Undietaker. Undietaker is eliminated.

MA: Um...what Mike said.

GR: Go on, Undietaker. Get out of here.

UT: You sure I got eliminated? I didn’t feel a large ball hit my legs.

SW: No selling to the bitter end.

TC: I pick up the ball and charge forward. Throw! Throw! Throw! Oh, I didn’t get all of that one. Long caught it! As God as my witness, I have been eliminated from this match. Let me tell ya, there’ll be hell to pay on the next Sunday Morning Chloroform!

MM: And Commentator storms off the rink floor.

SW: He’s gonna be loads of fun tonight. *Sigh*

MM: Hold on. What is this? It’s, it’’s John Skeet and Steve Leary! What are they doing out here?

SW: It’s the Distorted Icons. And they have weapons. Leary has a microphone stand and Skeet has a fly swatter. This is going to get ugly quick.

CC: I’ve never been spanked by a fly swatter before.

SW: There’s a first time for everything, my dear.

MM: Leary hits Snapmare Kid in the back of the knee! Oh, how brutal!


MM: Dustbuster Boy has the ball. Oh, how low. He just hit a defenseless SMK in the head! What a heelish tactic that was!

DB: Suck on that! Mwahahaha.

MA: Snapmare Kid has been eliminated.

MM: Look at this. Now Leary trips Pete Trable with the microphone stand. And Skeet is swatting Trable. Hey! Leary just kicked the ball right to Dustbuster Boy.

CC: All this violence is making me...

SW: Horny?

CC: Well, yeah. I love watching guys beat up on each other.

SW: Really?


MM: Hey! Don’t you ever punch me again, Scotty.

CC: Ohhhhhohoh, baby.

MA: Pete Trable has been eliminated!

MM: This match has just become a free for all. And we’ve got outside interference in the form of the Distorted Icons. Why the hell are they getting involved here.

SW: Yeah, it’s way to early for them to get pushes. They must be friends of BigBOSS or the head booker guy.

MM: The entire Right Team is gone.

LG: Hey. Stop that.

MM: Skeet is hitting Little Good with the fly swatter as Leary pummels Long with the microphone stand.

Little Good Number 2: Well, look at this.

[Little Good 1 stares at Little Good 2 in disbelief.]

LG2: You realize we’re not a champion, don’t you? And put some pants on for God’s sake.

LG1: We? Me? You? Who?

MM: It appears Little Good is talking to—


MM: No, I was going to say—

[THIN AIR! STFU, Monroe! It’s nothing but THIN AIR. Because he’s INSANE. And if you see anything other than thin air, maybe YOU’RE a tad insane. You’re not insane, are you, Monroe?]

MM: Umm, no?

SW: Who are you talking to Monroe?

MM: *Ahem* Nothing! I mean, nobody.

SW: The Next Big Thingee sneaks up on Long. He hits Long with the ball. Right across the nose! Man, I bet that’s a familiar sight for you, Candy.

CC: It’s down to that sexy British guy and Dustbuster Boy. Go, hot ass!

SW: Hey!

MM: But we are seeing some sort of conspiracy at work here. Little Good ducks a throw. But he seems a bit distracted by the, uh, thin air. He punches Leary to the floor. And he winds up and punches Skeet. But Dustbuster Boy has gotten the ball. Little Good charges.

CC: Yes, Little Good kicked the ball out of his hand.

LG2: You know mate, you’re only good at doing two things. Killing Slayers and making jobbers. So why don’t you just stand bloody still and let him eliminate you already.


SW: Heh, looks like that guy you’ve got the hots for is insane, Candy.

CC: Meh, I’m used to that. Nobody’s perfect.

MM: Ah, so that’s why you hooked up with Scotty.

SW: Hey!

MM: Dustbuster is running away from Little Good. Little Good throws the ball at Dustbuster Boy.


LG2: You’re not going to win. After all...

[Little Good 2 morphs into Sarah "The Jobber Slayer."]

STJS: You know you want to job. You know you want to be a loser. Because it’ll make me want to jump on you again.


MM: Steve Leary just saved Dustbuster Boy. The ball rebounds right to Little Good however. He throws again!


MM: And this time John "Skeeter" Skeet saved Dustbuster Boy. The ball is rolling toward Dustbuster Boy. Little Good charges after it.

STJS: You don’t want that ball, do you?

LG: What? Get out of my bloody way!

STJS: Why don’t you move me out of your bloody way.

CC: Ohhhh! Crap! Dustbuster Boy just hit Little Good in his sexy face! Think he needs mouth to mouth?

SW: Man, how do you work with someone as perverted as this every week.

MM: I’ve been doing it for four years, buddy.

SW: Really? At another job?

MM: That was an eye roll you just heard, fans.

[STJS kneels down beside Little Good, whose nose is busted open.]

STJS: There’s my little jobber.

["Sarah" vanishes after flashing a wicked smile. Little Good stares around the arena, mighty confused by the incident.]

MA: The winner of the match, and NEWWWWWW Swiss Army Champion. The Next Big Thingee, Dustbuster Boy!

MM: Dustbuster Boy. Leary. Skeet. A new faction has formed.

SW: Man, this is almost as bad as the iAd.

MM: What do you mean?

SW: Oh, you know...

MM: No, what?

SW: Let’s just go before I say something that will get us heavily censored by BigBOSS.

MM: No, say it.

[Picture suddenly goes dark.]

[We return to the present.]

MA: The following contest is for the vacant Super Duper Keen Team Things! This match will be fought under battle royal rules. All eight competitors will begin in the ring and the match will continue until two people remain. They will be our new champions. So let’s let the wackiness ensue! Introducing first...

[Some odd, disturbing music from the Cliché Moths plays.]

MA: Weighing something and hailing from somewhere, it’s Martin "Screeching Old Lady" Dimick and Peter "The Secret Pervert" McKenzie!

MM: These guys are huge. Remember their walking footage from the last SMC. The Internet’s been buzzing about these guys.

SW: The only thing people buzz about on the Internet is Britney Spears naked and the Paris Hilton sex tape. And don’t forget about Brooke Burke and Pamela Anderson. And then there’s Hilary Duff.

MM: Scotty, she’s only 16.

SW: Yep, she’s just about legal. Woohoo!

["Trowels & Hoes" by the Insane Gardening Posse hits the PA!]

SW: The who?

TC: Aww man, douja ain’t gonna like THIS entrance music.

SW: Still no worse than Insane Clown Posse.

TC: Nothing is worse than ICP.

SW: True dat.

MA: Introducing next. douja and Jerry Curl Jones. It’s...the, uh...yeah.

MM: Interesting team name there. Way to ad-lib, Masked Announcer.

MA: They just pay me to read the cards, not write them.

["Queer" by Garbage plays. Jeannie steps out, followed by the Shaggy Gang representin’ yo!]

MA: From Cloudydale, Xamfir, Kay Fabe, the Shaggy Gang!

Voiceover: PYROMANIA~!!!1

[Eddie B cranks up two of Prodigy’s songs at the same time, making both unidentifiable to the human ear.]

MA: Up next, from his mother’s basement, Kevin the Pyromaniac. And from Dimension Z, Sir Zeno!

MM: Oh my, and Sir Zeno has started early. He just cheap shotted Kevin on the way to the ring with a karate kick to the back of the head. This partnership is ending before it even began. Wouldn’t it be ironic if they won the titles after all this?

SW: No, it’d be ironic if you needed a fork and all you had was a spoon.

MM: That’s not irony, Scotty.

TC: Didn’t we do this irony bit on another show this year?

SW: Aw, crap, we’re not stealing old scripts again, are we?

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BigB: Just read it underling! I can’t be bothered to remember where I stole what from when. Let alone yesterday or three weeks ago!

[Back to the ring.]

SW: Well, as long as Alanis Morrisette doesn’t show up here and sing that song, I’ll deal. Unless, of course, she sings it naked!

MM: And it’s on in the ring. All the guys, except for Xamfir, head right toward Kay Fabe. Scotty! Sit down.

SW: What? Everyone else is doing it, why can’t I?

TC: What, trying to cop a feel?

SW: Yes!

MM: But Xamfir is over talking to Jeannie.

Xamfir: OK Jeannie.

Jeannie: Let me guess. Through some set of circumstances, you want to win.

Kay: Hello? Xamfir? Little help?

Xamfir: Be right there! Exactly, Jeannie. So, I wish we win, make it as much fun for yourself as you want.

Jeannie: Aw, that’s so sweet.

Xamfir: Well, you are much more than a sex slave to me, you know.

Jeannie: Really?

Xamfir: Yeah.

Jeannie: much more, exactly?

Kay: Um, HELLO?

Xamfir: Oh, right. The match.

MM: And here we go. Xamfir knocks down McKenzie. And he knocks down Dimick. Zeno tosses Kevin into the ring. And there is the bell.

SW: douja and Jerry Curl Jones still all over Kay Fabe. They do like the fine white women with the nice booty. I wonder if they could convert Kay.

TC: I highly doubt that, Scotty.

SW: I hear douja has a pretty big bong though...One hit of that and—

TC: C’mon Scotty...

MM: But here comes Kay Fabe!

SW: Woohoo!

TC: I swear you’d need a stepladder to get INTO the gutter, Scotty.

MM: She punches her way out. She knocks down douja with a big punch. And Jerry Curl goes down.

TC: She’s still using her old offense, the one she ripped off from The Domino. You think we’ll see the Lesbian’s Tongue tonight?

SW: I hope we see the Lesbian’s hooters!

MM: Say, why is the Flunky pushing out a big wading pool full of sewerage?

TC: I got a bad feeling. Something bad is about to happen, and it’s just a heartbeat away.

MM: It looks like Kay Fabe and Xamfir are surrounded now. They’re center ring, back to back.

Voice-over: A new-new-new-new-incurable Apathy disorder!

[The crowd pops huge.]

TC: BY GAWD! The iAd is here!

MM: It’s Steve Studnuts. Seth Harker. And Trey Vincent. And they’ve got shopping carts loaded up with...what the hell are those? Everyone in the ring has stopped dead in their tracks. Are they here to help Kay Fabe and Xamfir?

SW: No, they’re not here to help anybody, Monroe. The iAd is here to put themselves over. It’s the iAd way! It’s why I love them and why you’re so incredibly dumb.

TC: They leave the shopping carts and pull out...those look like wood ramps!

MM: Wait a second. Wooden ramps. Shopping carts. Raw sewage. It’s all starting to add up. Sir Zeno wants a piece of Steve Studnuts. But so do douja and Jerry Curl Jones. They have been exchanging some heated words in the Rant Zone.

SW: Studs has some real backup now though. He’s got his boys with him tonight, not some French imposters.

MM: Here we go. The iAd has hit the ring. Harker goes right after Jones. Studnuts grabs douja! Vincent tackles Zeno to the mat. And everybody else is just watching this craziness unfold.

TC: Kay Fabe isn’t! She just grabbed Martin Dimick and launches him over the top rope!

SW: Living up to his name there. He sounded like a screeching old lady as he fell to the floor.

MM: And Xamfir just tossed out the pervert.

SW: Pervert eliminating pervert. Almost ironic, doncha think?

TC: Can it, Scotty.

SW: Man, Studnuts is kicking douja’s ass here! He’s stomping an asshole and walking it dry, right TC.

TC: It sure looks that way. Wait, what did you say?

[The match suddenly slows down and zooms in on Seth Harker, who does a cartwheel kick on Jerry Curl Jones, sending him flying out of the ring over the top rope. The film speed returns to normal as Harker lands on his feet.]

SW: Isn’t this PPV supposed to be live?

[Cut to a super horrified look on Kay Fabe’s face.]

KF: We’re live! So very live! Cunt. See? I couldn’t say cunt if we weren’t live! Seth, you’ll pay for this.

SH: For what? Being too cool for reality to handle? After all, when you're this cool, the rules do not apply. There is no spoon. See. That doesn't even make sense, but if I say it in a cool enough way, reality warps around you and makes it true.

SW: Where did my spoon go? I was eating fro-ghurt! Damn you, Harker!

MM: Harker heads to the top rope. Jones is still out on the floor.

[The match, again, slows down as Harker does an amazing moonsault all the way to the floor, landing on Jones. Then, the match resumes at normal speed.]

SW: Man, watching a Harker match is like watching a live instant slow-motion replay!

TC: The Cliché Moths are both out of it. I’m getting word that even though Harker eliminated Jones, it counts, because under battle royal rules, you hit the floor, you’re out.

MM: Speaking of being out, Vincent is punching Zeno’s lights out. He clotheslines Zeno over the top rope to the floor. Zeno is out of this one.

SW: And Studnuts tosses douja over the top rope and he lands hard on the floor. The kings of the no-sell are back, baby!

TC: It’s down to Xamfir, Kay Fabe and Kevin The Pyromaniac. What an odd triangle here.

KTP: Pyromania ownz j00~!!1

TC: On the floor, Trey is setting up, those ramps, in front of the cesspool there. What in the hell are they going to do?

SW: They’re gonna go "Jackass" on Zeno, douja and Jerry Curl! Woohoo!

TC: Well you couldn’t get a more fitting group of jackasses to be jackasses.


MM: Get that off the screen, right now.

[Cut to BigBOSS counting a big wad of cash.]

BigB: I won’t be taking that off the screen for another...*consults watch* 30 seconds or so...sorry. They paid for the ad.

[Back to ringside.]

TC: Kevin is dousing himself in gasoline. He pulls out a lighter.


TC: BY GAWD! It’s Mr. Intensity! He’s back!

SW: And I don’t think he’s digging this near-gimmick theft!

MM: Mr. Intensity is in the ring! Now HE’S dousing himself with gasoline. No doubt wanting to hit the Intense Bear Hug.

Xamfir: This is rather unexpected.

[Xamfir gives a thumbs up to Jeannie, who giggles.]

Kay: As if I need another reminder why men are SOOOO stupid.

SW: The iAd has douja in a shopping cart. Which, I think is ironic, since he’s been living in one for the last several months without a job. Bwahahaha.

MM: Studnuts takes off with the cart. Up the ramp!


SW: douja is dumped in the sewage!

[The announcers make sounds of revulsion and gagging noises.]

TC: Vincent has Zeno in a cart! He’s off and running!


[The announcers make sounds of revulsion and gagging noises.]

SW: Why do I suddenly sense an impending six-man tag team match sometime in the new year?

MM: Don’t get ahead of yourself. Seth pulls up to the starting line. Jerry Curl is on the way.

["Spybreak" by the Propellerheads suddenly hits. The sprint heads into slow motion. As the third cart his the ramp, the camera zooms in and revolves around the front of the cart. The cart goes into the sewage in slow-motion as Seth stares on, emotionless. Normal speed resumes.]

MM: Vincent, Studnuts and Harker are pointing and laughing. They’re nothing more than bullies.

SW: They’re the coolest bullies ever.

TC: GOOD GAWD ALMIGHTY! Mr. Intensity and Kevin The Pyromaniac just went up in flames! They fly out of the ring and are running toward the cesspool to put themselves out.

MM: This has disaster written all over it.

SW: That’s what all the critics will write in reviews for this show tomorrow too. Isn’t that ironic?

MM: No.

[The iAd side-steps as Kevin and Mr. Intensity hit the sewage.]



TC: OH NO! The entire cesspool just went up in flames! This is getting outrageous! And those sons of bitches in the iAd are just standing there, laughing!

MM: It’s the Fire Chief. He runs out to the rescue with a fire hose. Thank God somebody is coming to the rescue. The iAd takes their bows to the crowd, which is giving them a standing ovation. I don’t like this at all. These were some childish stunts that got way out of hand.

SW: We’ve been catering to the lowest common denominator for years, Monroe. You just catching on? As the old saying goes, you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned!

TC: Meanwhile, in all this, we have ourselves new champions.

MA: *Ahem* The winners of the match, and NEW holders of the Super Duper Keen Team Things, Xamfir and Kay Fabe!

MM: Well, while we try to clean up this disaster area that the iAd has destroyed, let’s head over to another part of campus. I understand Dr. Azathoth is standing by with Atomo the Living Robot.

[Cut to the Mad Science Research Laboratory at Kent State University’s School of Mad And Weird Science. Dr. Azathoth and Atomo The Living Robot are inside, standing beside some sort of doohickey thingamabob.]

Dr. A: At last, Atomo. Our super secret plan has come to fruition. By you winning the Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer Title, you secured the one thing that would finally complete this giant orbital nuclear laser.


Dr. A: Those fools at BOB. If only they had known that in the Intercontinental Cruiserweight "This Is Not A Championship Belt But It’s Close contained a sub-quantum reflection grosner, and it was the only object on earth that had the correct refractive properties.


Dr. A: Considering all the peons of this planet will bow before me and at last do my bidding, I’d say, yes.


Dr. A: It’s quite simple actually. All I need to do is flip this switch, turn this knob, jiggle that handle, press AEIOU on the keyboard and then everyone can stand back in awe. Ready?


Dr. A: Did you say three?


Dr. A: Oh, right, the cameraman fellow there.


Dr. A: We must get this operational! Let’s see...Switch, flipped. Yes, yes. Knob, turned. Handle, jiggled. A-E-I-O-U. Prepare to stand back in awe!

Atomo: WHY?


Dr. A: (Ignoring the racket) No, I mathematically found a way to avoid the sometimes-Y issue I’d been having.


Dr. A: Well that’s simple...uh...

Coma: The rubber ducky is losing water fast! I can’t keep ‘er afloat Captain Boxershorts! Man the vanderjets!

Dr. A: That voice...that...voice! I’d recognize it anywhere...


Dr. A: I spent the last 40-odd years in the nether dimension of Sathrak before I came here. A place where every second feels like a thousand year long marathon of "Mama’s Family." There, I was tormented by a demon named...Omac. Could is possibly be that he has followed me to this dimension? I’ll never forget that voice, that tutu he wore or that goatee upon his face!


Coma: Doctor, nursemaid, give me the blues, you’ve got a bad pair of running shoes, NEEP!


[Dr. Azathoth makes the sign of the cross. Dr. Azathoth spontaneously combusts and vanishes.]


MM: Oh my. Atomo just hit a low blow on Coma.

SW: Where are these guys? How is the Generic Ref supposed to referee this?

MM: Oh, I’m sure we’re about to get a typical BigBOSS writer’s block finish right

MA: *Ahem* The following contest is for the Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer Title. Introducing first, now clutching his testicles, Coma! And his opponent, trying to tip over that nuclear reactor on top of Coma, Atomo The Living Robot!

TC: The bell just sounded. And Generic Ref is beginning to count both men out!

GR: One, two, seven, ten! You’re out!

[Bell sounds.]

MA: Generic Ref has declared this a double countout!

SW: And this is our pay-per-view, right?

MM: You know it, Scotty.

SW: And a few people actually paid money for this show, right?

MM: That’s right.

SW: OK. I thought so, just checking.


MM: Uh oh.


TC: By gawd, they just blew up the Kent State Mad Science Lab!

SW: BOB would like to apologize to the people of Ohio for the nuclear fallout. Not that the people of Ohio will notice much difference, with the skin condition and teeth falling out anyway.

MM: This is no time for jokes, Scotty.

SW: BOB has finally had a nuclear disaster, and I’m supposed to NOT make a joke about it? C’mon, Monroe.

MM: Well, it’s time for another title match. We’ll try and keep you updated on the condition of Coma and Atomo. Take it away, Masked Announcer.

MA: The following is for the (deep inhale) You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out of Your Frickin’ Mind Hardcore Title! Introducing first...

["Them Bones" by Alice In Chains hits the speakers and Death emerges to eerie silence.]

MA: Now making his way to the ring. Standing at about seven-feet tall and weighing a lot for a big old skeleton, accompanied by his scythe, this, is, Death! And already in the ring, the reigning and defending, 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!

TC: The (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice) title belt escaped becoming part of that Pop-Up title, but tonight it’s got to face Death.

MM: Generic Ref holds up the belt with the really long name and hands it to Masked Announcer. Death and the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice) staring each other down, neither, uh, entity blinking.

SW: Doesn’t hurt that neither one has eyes. Well, Death has eye holes, but no eyes.

MM: Death approaches the title belt, which stands its ground. Death raises his arms in the air. And listen to the silence, Scotty.

SW: I don’t know why this guy doesn’t get the biggest pops on shows. They need to turn Death face.

MM: It’s kind of hard with all the killing he does. Everyone respects Death, they just are scared.

TC: Death steps forward. TOUCH OF DEATH. He put a little extra barbecue sauce on that one, fellas.

MM: Death with the cover. One. Two. Three! What have we just seen here?


MA: The winner of the match, and NEW, You Gotta Be Kidding I Ain’t Doing That, Are You Out Of Your Frickin’ Mind Hardcore Champion! DEATH!

SW: Man, the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice) didn’t even put up any kind of fight there.

MM: It might have underestimated the challenger tonight.

TC: Let’s face it guys, Death just had the (badly dubbed voice) Hirohito, Where Am I? This Is Not Tokyo! (/badly dubbed voice) belt’s number tonight. But who in the hell is going to want to challenge this supernatural, no-selling, son of a bitch?

MM: Well, it is now time for another BOB innovation. Tonight, we're going to head to the roof of a high-class restaurant somewhere in Ohio for Kamikazie Ken and Albert DeSalvo.

SW: How did we get permission to do this sort of match on our budget anyway?

MM: Restaurants are all about free advertising. That's why we'd like to thank, uh...hold on, the name is right here somewhere. For, letting us use their facility.

[Cut to a night view of an Ohio skyline.]

SW: Wow, look at all the corn.

TC: Aw hell yeah! It reminds me of home.

SW: No wonder you're completely mental. You're one of the children of the corn!

MM: It looks as though Kamikazie Ken and Albert DeSalvo are still chowing down on a free dinner, courtesy's right here, I know BigBOSS handed me the note right before we came on the air.

KK: So I told them, just replace the damn thing with metal, I don't need it anymore!

AD: Ahahahaha! Good show old boy. Say, why is that cameraman filming us?

KK: Oh, right, we have that match thing.

TC: Good god almighty! Kamikazie Ken just stabbed Albert DeSalvo in the hand with his fork!

KK: Fork you, Albert.

SW: And there's the post-violence pun.

TC: But Albert picks up his plate with his good right hand and smashes the plate over Ken's skull.

MM: Ken yelps in pain, but he grabs a champagne bottle from a bucket of ice. He grabs a handful of ice cubes and tosses them in DeSalvo's face, blinding him temporarily.

SW: Blinding him with ice cubes?

TC: From where I sit, those ice cubes look like they have some sharp edges.

SW: Ken does realize he had a frickin’ champagne bottle in his hand before the ice cubes though, right?

TC: DeSalvo tips over the table. Oh, Ken is buried underneath food and champagne and silverware. Ken kicks the table right back into DeSalvo's face, and he goes flying back first into the bar.

MM: DeSalvo grabs a beer hose. Ken charges in. Oh, he's getting doused with beer.

SW: Yuck, and it's Keystone Light! Ken may be hardcore and all, but, that's just wrong!

MM: And with him being sprayed in the face, Ken's got to deal with being blinded by the awful beer, as well as ingesting some of it. Not to mention the smell of it will be in his mask for the rest of the match. Ken is trying to fight forward. He blocks the stream with a plate. Oh, what a counter there. The beer is spraying in every direction.

SW: BWAHAHAHA! The beer just melted a hole in the plate! I've never seen that before.

TC: By gawd, Ken has to walk through hellfire and Keystone!

MM: Ken tosses the remainder of the plate at DeSalvo like a Frisbee and clocks him in the jaw. DeSalvo loses his grip on the beer hose. Ken starts pounding away on DeSalvo. He lays him out on top of one of the dining tables. What the hell is he doing?

SW: He's using DeSalvo as a human coaster.

TC: Ken is stacking up wine glasses, champagne glasses, beer mugs. All on top of DeSalvo’s body. What in the HELL is he planning to do?

SW: I'm going to guess, oh, I don't know, something incredibly stupid as usual.

MM: Kamikazie Ken hops up on the bar.


TC: What a suicidal Shooting Star Press!

MM: Ken just smashed through all those glasses onto DeSalvo, and the table collapsed under the impact. Ken is insane.

TC: Both men crawling around on the floor, trying to muster up some strength to keep this brutal match going.

SW: I know this is a completely random thought, but didn't we start this show with Shill? Whatever happened to Shill?

MM: That's a good question.

TC: Nahhh, it's a pointless question. Let's call the action. Ken and DeSalvo have put their bodies and careers and SOULS on the line tonight.

SW: Really? I thought they already lost their souls, which is why they're both in BOB.

MM: Wait a second. What is that Ken just found.

SW: As if there was any doubt Ken would find the speed switch.

MM: The rooftop restaurant, essentially, is built on a really big turntable like contraption.

KK: Hmm. Let's see. Off. Slow. Regular. Fast. Really Fast. I Can't Believe They Made This Speed! Bingo!


[Cut to an exterior shot of the building. The camera pans up to the rooftop restaurant as it begins picking up speed until the thing is whirling around and around at Ridiculous Comedic Speed ©.]

SW: Man, if not for the fuzzy picture from the fast forward button, this might have actually fooled somebody.

MM: Scotty!


TC: BY GAWD! BY GAWD! Two bodies are plummeting all the way down from the 19th floor of that building!



MM: They just landed in a watermelon truck!

TC: How do you learn to fall from 19 floors up into a truck full of watermelons.

KK: Man, it sure was lucky we landed in this truck full of watermelons.

Truck Driver: Aww, man, Gallagher's gonna be pissed.

AD: Why, because he's bald?

TD: No, this truck was on the way to deliver him his watermelons.

KK: Gallagher is still alive?

TD: Yeah, dude, and he's gonna be pissed. He'll probably use your head during his act.

AD: Hate to be you, Ken.

KK: You do realize this match isn't over.

MM: Whoa, here we go. Ken just jumped out of the truck and he knocks down the truck driver. He hops in the driver's seat. It's our own little piece of Grand Theft Auto here in BOB!

AD: Hmm. I seem to be stuck in a watermelon. This can't be good.

MM: Wait a second. He's...he's...he's driving it straight for that motorcycle in the abandoned parking lot!

TC: We're speeding toward disaster here. Stop, Ken, stop!

SW: Go speed racer, go!

KK: Hey Albert, do your best impersonation of Princess Diana!

MM: Ken just dove from the moving vehicle!



TC: GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! Did you see that impact! The truck just EXPLODED upon hitting that motorcycle!

SW: The hell?

MM: It’s raining watermelon. DeSalvo is buried underneath a pile of exploded watermelon. Kamikazie Ken crawls on top of the gigantic pile DeSalvo is buried under.

SW: Did I just imagine that a truck exploded when it hit a MOTORCYCLE?

MM: Those motorcycle are deadly, Scotty.

TC: There’s no ref! Aww, somebody probably should have thought of this ahead of time. Ken is a bloody mess. DeSalvo is a bloody and watermelony mess.

MM: What is Generic Ref doing? He’s in the ring, several miles away from the, uh, whatever the name of that restaurant is. But he’s making the count from here. One, two, three. It’s all over.

MA: The winner of the match, Kamikazie Ken!

TC: This night is sure living up to its billing. It’s had tons of explosions and tons of injuries. You get what you pay for when you watch BOB.


Man In Suit: XXXtreme Machine?

XM: yx

Man: I represent the U.S Government... it appears we goofed on your tax return... for the last eight years. Here's a check for $127,000.

XM; holly krat im ric...

[Death strolls into the picture and hits the TOUCH OF DEATH on XXXtreme Machine!]


[Death grabs the check as it flutters slowly to the ground. The man runs away.]

Death: Hmm, what to buy, what to buy...

[Cut to inside a Kent State University classroom, where the Shaggy Gang was sitting around, waiting for this segment to begin.]

Kay Fabe: I just can’t believe it. You looked so sexy in your outfit, Sarah. Why did you take it off?

STJS: Can we focus, please. Bigger issues afoot. And I’m not talking about Massive Man’s injury.

Kay: Well, all I know is, on Chloroform, the lies were just so truth-like. I actually thought he, or it, whatever, had talked to Marilyn Monroe in heaven about me.

Jeannie: Yeah, that sounds REALLY believable, Kay.

Kay: Well, it seemed that way at the time at least...

STJS: How you doin’, sis?

Michelle: Not so bad. I just can’t believe Dad was so...petty...

STJS: That’s ghosts for you. Look, it’s obvious all these things happened to you for a reason. Because you’ve been bad.

Michelle: Have not. Sarah, this is no time for jokes.

Xamfir: Guys? If I could interject. I know I didn’t have anybody strange or dead to talk to on Chloroform. Aside from Jeannie.

Jeannie: Hello? Sitting right here. And I’m not dead!

Xamfir: Didn’t say you were, sweetie. But. I saw Little Good sire Dyslexic Avenger. And he even made mention of siring Dyslexic Avenger during the match. And how did you morph into Little Good?

STJS: I didn’t morph anything with Little Good. Not for many, many months anyway. That...somebody is playing us.


STJS: I don’t know who it is, or why, but we’ll get to the bottom of this.

[Fuck you, Sarah. You’ll never figure out it’s me.]

STJS: Do you mind?

[Yes, yes I do. Kiss my black ass.]

STJS: Your ass is not black.

[It is at the moment. Biiiiiiiiiitch!]

STJS: Just shut up, kay?

Kay: Hey, what did I do? Just been politely quiet over here.

STJS: *Sigh* Fine. I’ll go talk to Little Good and see what’s the what.

[The bitch exits the room and heads down the hallway. She passes by a door and hears Little Good speaking.]

LG1: You’re NOT here.

STJS: But I am. And I want to know what you’ve been doing lately. Xamfir tells me you’ve been siring again?

LG2: Well, mate, looks like the fun’s about to begin. The rules are changing. Look at her. You can take her. You’ve taken her before. Had some nice, sweaty times too.

LG1: I don’t know why I did it.

STJS: Did you do it all for some nookie? Or a cookie? Well, if you did, you can take that cookie and stick it up your—

LG1: I didn’t do it for nookie, love. I wanted to do it. He told me to do it.

LG2: It’s time to slay us a Slayer. (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...


TC: By gawd, Little Good punched Sarah, sending her flying into the wall.

MM: The door just crashed open.

SW: Wow, it’s a bunch of pale, gimmickless local jobbers. Damn BigBOSS and his cheap ways!

MM: They all charge for Sarah.

STJS: Little Good! What are you doing?

LG1: Let me answer that with a kick. *Kick*

[The jobbers all grab Sarah and hold her for Little Good, who slowly approaches with a grin.]

Xamfir: Hey, peroxide boy! Look at this!

MM: What is this? Xamfir just wheeled in a television set.

SW: He’s about to force him to have a flashback.

TC: Right you are, Scotty. It’s a video of Sunday Morning Chloroform 8, where Little Good is siring Dyslexic Avenger.

SW: Jobberfying somebody is so strange. You pin them. They pin you. Then they’re jobbers? Shouldn’t there be some blood exchanged or something? Like Little Good cuts his forehead open with a razor, then cuts Dyslexic Avenger’s forehead open, and they have to head butt each other three times? That’d be cool.

MM: You should pitch that at the next meeting.

SW: I better get some money for it.

LG1: (A horrified look comes across his face) GAHHHHHH!

MM: Little Good just saw what he did and can’t believe it. Sarah seizes the opportunity and starts kicking some jobber ass. She gets free. She is busting some caps tonight. Knee caps, that is.

TC: Little Good is in the fetal position, yet again, on the floor.

LG2: You failed, mate. She’s gonna bust your kneecap.


LG2: Why? I like it in here. So much room.

STJS: There’s something here with us.

LG2: Uh oh. She’s onto us. And I’d love to be onto her. Wouldn’t you, me?

LG1: I told me to do it. Then you told me to do it. I sing to me...

STJS: I don’t tell people to sire jobbers.

LG2: You failed. Again.

[Slowly, Little Good comes out of the ball he’s been in and extends his right leg up in the air toward Sarah.]

LG1: Make it quick love, yeah?

[Sarah stares at his leg and takes hold of his ankle. She then pushes it to the floor.]

LG1: No... You’ve got to.

STJS: I’m not going to break your kneecap. But I am going to figure out the mystery of who has been tormenting you. Who has been tormenting all of us. No matter what it takes. Because I’m Sarah. You’re not evil. You have a puppy. You’re just really dumb and confused. You are blond after all...


MM: It's time to lower, the Plexiglass Elimination Chamber.

[Cut to a shot of the bottom of the hockey dasher. The camera slowly pans up, to create the obviously fake illusion of lowering.]

SW: What are you talking about, Monroe? The 'plexiglass chamber' is just the hockey boards set up.

TC: By god, I don't think the folks at Kent State will be happy to see this on pay-per-view.

SW: I doubt many people are seeing this, TC.

TC: It's gonna be bloody! And it's just an arrhythmia away.

SW: A what? When is Heidi coming back on commentary? I need my own B-show again, damnit!

MM: Take it away, Masked Announcer.

MA: Ladies, gentlemen, young girls and all you stoned kids in the crowd.

Stoners: Whooooo!

MA: This is your main event of the evening. And it is for THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS! Six men will enter this chamber after I introduce them. Two will begin the contest in the chamber. They can fight in the ring and anywhere around it on the concrete floor. The other four men will be placed in four different areas. One will be in the home bench. One in the away bench. One in the home penalty box. And one in the away penalty box. All the participants drew numbers during the show.

[Cut to the tunnel entrance area.]

All: We did?

[Cut to BigBOSS.]

BB: Why must I do everything around here? Staff meeting, my office, NOW!

[Cut to the announcers.]

SW: One of these days I'll work for a real company.

MM: Well. Uh. Any ideas anyone?

TC: Scalding a dog with barbecue sauce?

MM: Any sane ideas then?

SW: Hooters!

MM: What about them?

SW: Let's look at some! I actually have a special video I put together. I call it my Salute To Titilation.

MM: I highly doubt we could air that.

SW: Why not? If we can have Festering Death doing unholy things to members of the roster—

MM: That's not what I mean. I meant, I doubt the tape is watchable anymore.

SW: ... Why?

MM: Well...

[As Monroe scratches his chin, the screen gets cloudy and Flashback Music in E-Minor plays.]

CAPTION: Kent State University Television Studio
7:42 p.m.

[Mully walks into the studio to find her Agency partner, Sculder, with his feet up on the desk, his arms behind his head, watching something on a television.]

Mully: (Looking at screen) Well, that isn't your usual fair...oh wait, yes it is...Where did you get this tape?

Sculder: It's a mystery, actually. I was just rummaging through Scotty Whatbody's bag, and there it was.

Mully: (Rolls eyes) I don't think you're going to solve the mysteries of wrestling by watching stuff like that.

Sculder: Why won't you open yourself to the possibility that just maybe, after everything you've witnessed, after all you've seen, after the events you've observed, after all the, uh, stuff your eyes have looked at, why is it so hard for you to accept that maybe, just perhaps, there is the possibility of probability that this tape may hold all the answers to our every question about the very fabric of what we've been investigating for years now?

Mully: Sorry, I don't see how titillation will explain the rise in popularity of banana sales in towns we travel to, or why hookers keep turning up dead or why stabbed and raped corpses are found in every city we go to, or which booker keeps turning Billy Polar into a zombie to write him out of the shows.

[Sculder picks up his cell phone.]

Sculder: Sculder... What? ... When? ... OK.

Mully: What is it?

Sculder: (Looking at the cell phone) A cell phone.

Mully: I didn't even hear it ring.

Sculder: (Mumbling) Maybeyouneedtocheckyourhearing.

Mully: What?

Sculder: I didn't say anything. Are you hearing voices?

Mully: Who was on the phone?

Sculder: I don't know. It was some dude. Said I was gonna die in seven days. Yadda, yadda, yadda...

Mully: Some guy?

Sculder: If I had a nickel for everybody who said they were going to kill me, I'd be making more than my BOB paycheck. Now that's spooky.

[Sculder gets up and takes the tape out.]

Sculder: Guess I should put this back where I found it.

Mully: What about the phone call?

Sculder: The usual. Guttural voice. Clinking scythe in the background. Swoosh of a long black cloak. Your cliche phony death call.

Mully: That sounds like Death.

Sculder: Or a poor attempt at a "The Ring" parody.

Mully: Maybe we need to destroy that tape to lift the curse.

Sculder: That's not how they solved it in the movie...

Mully: They copied it?

Sculder: Now you're thinking. Want me to make you a copy?

Mully: Why would I want a copy?

Sculder: ... Just thought you might enjoy it when you're all alone, listening to your Indigo Girls and burning incense.

Mully: What are you insinuating?

Sculder: Who says I'm insinuating?

Mully: You can't draw conclusions about my lifestyle just from two random facts like that and assume I enjoy hootermania.

Sculder: Fine. Let's just make twenty copies of this tape and be done with it...

Mully: Twenty?

Sculder: Some old college buddies of mine should study this tape...

Clinton: Hey guys, what's up?

Sculder: A lot more than they'll let you believe.

Clinton: Say, is that the Paris Hilton sex tape?

[Thanks for playing Cheap Web Site Tactic Of The Day! Thanks for clicking on the link to our site, you pervert!]

Sculder: Why—

Clinton: Yoink!

Sculder: Yoink?

Mully: Hey!

Sculder: Let's load up. It's flashlight scene time.

Mully: We need to get a copy of that tape back before you get killed by Death.

Sculder: Or Scotty.

Mully: Or both...

Sculder: And you were wondering what that tape had to do with anything...

Mully: I still am, Sculder.

Sculder: This scene is bigger than all of us, Mully. This goes all the way to the top of BOB. We're talking presidential lookalikes pulling puppet strings with the lives of innocent citizens of this country. There is a conspiracy at work in BOB.

[Flashback Music in E-Minor plays and we return to Mike Monroe at the end of his chin scratching.]

SW: Son of a bitch. Clinton stole my sex tape.

MM: Big shocker there. Are we ready?

MA: We are NOW ready for the main event. So here we go.

["Love Rollercoaster" hits the speakers.]

MA: Introducing first, from somewhere and weighing something I can't check since I'm at work, Sir HUNGALOT.

TC: By gawd, what an awful introduction.

SW: He's at work? I don't get it.

["Rock & Roll Part 2" hits next.]

MA: Introducing next, from Canada, I think, Jean BANNISTER!

TC: Masked Announcer just doesn't care anymore, does he?

SW: Did he once?

["Closer (Festering Death Remix)" plays next.]

SW: Festering Death remix? So, instead of the animal bit, it would 'I want to stab and rape you like a corpse' I'm guessing...

MM: At least it's cleaner than the original.

SW: If you say so...

MA: VIOLENT PACIFIST. Sorry, forgot to do that bit. Hehe.

SW: How can he forget to do the ONLY part of his job? *Ahem* Giant boobs!

MM: What a pay-per-view. Don't forget to join us for Sunday Morning Chloroform every week.

TC: By gawd! By gawd!

["Us Against The Recording Biz (It's Metasexual Baby)" by the Kent State Krew hits the speakers.]

MA: Coming out together, FROM RIGHT HERE IN KENT!

[Big pop.]


[Bigger pop.]

MA: And they're so cool, they'll probably be here at KENT STATE UNIVERSITY UNTIL THEY GRADUATE!

[Bigger pop, even bigger than the last one.]


[All the pre-pubescent girls went absolutely crazy. Windows shattered. Ear drums exploded into bloody chunks. It was pretty intense. The pair walked out, taking phone numbers, ripping their shirts and grabbing at their crotches, sending the girls into orgasmic heights. Assuming girls can have orgasms at that age.]

MM: Jim and Brandon are bigger than Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera put together.

SW: I'd like to put Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera together. Naked. In bed. With me! Woohoo! I'll teach them how to do lesbian kisses!

TC: Will you put on a Madonna wig?

SW: Why would you even WONDER about that?


SW: Smooth, buddy, smooth...

Yes it's a big, bad toe tonight, dawg...
Comin out' live it's a Massive One, y'all...
Well you may not see it cuz it's covered...
But I promise you'll know...

SW: We have got to stop letting Eddie B record our songs when he's stoned.

MM: In all fairness, it was BigBOSS's idea.

SW: He was stoned?

MM: Drunk, most likely.

TC: He was drunker than a Kennedy on the carpet who had vomited hellfire and brimstone!

SW: I’m on the edge of my ‘feet’ for this one, guys. Get it? Feet! Seat...Yeah...

MM: Violent Pacifist and Brandon are staying in the ring. Sir Hungalot heading to the away penalty box. Jim heading to the home bench. Jean Bannister heads to the away bench and Massive Man heads to the home penalty box. So, every two minutes, the loud buzzer will sound and people will get out of their area and get into the chamber—

SW: *Cough*yeahright*cough*

TC: It's gonna be a hockersnocker!

SW: Oh, quit making up words, TC.

MM: And we're ready to get this underway.

[The arena siren wails.]

MM: And the Bitch Smacker moves in quickly, hitting VP with several quick right-handed punches. He whips VP into the ropes. Dropkick connects. And VP falls out of the ring. Oh man, they're getting into some dangerous waters early. That chamber can be used as a weapon!

SW: It could have been used as a weapon all night long, but the wrestlers were told not to.

MM: Scotty!

TC: Brandon boots VP in the head, but VP gets back up to his uneducated feet. He roars back with a PhD punch of his own. And he Irish whips Brandon toward the chamber.

SW: He...could...go...all...the...way, but he doesn't. He might want to get Brandon a little closer next time.

MM: VP walks slowly toward Brandon, who waits on him to arrive. He grabs VP by the head and rams his face into the Plexiglass Chamber!

[Cut to a shot from behind the glass. Blood suddenly splatters and begins gushing as if a bucket of blood had been tossed at the glass.]

TC: He's been lacerated by gawd!

SW: This should be bloodier than a Tarrantino picture in a few minutes.

TC: It's hardcore! It's extreme! It's...BOB!

SW: VP is soaked in blood, or some red Kool-Aid. Brandon whacks VP over the head with an empty bucket. Gee, I wonder what was in that bucket a few seconds ago...

TC: Brutal bucketbanger by Brandon.

SW: Did he just say butt banger?

MM: You know he didn't, Scotty. He cracks VP in the head with the bucket again. Oh, look at that blood squirting from VP's head after that one.

SW: Yikes. That's not glorifying violence at all...whose doing the special effects for THIS match?

MM: That's coming from his head, Scotty. How can you fake a big gushing bloody thing like that?

SW: A tube. Some fake blood. A pump. Not too hard. I once rigged that up to one of my ex-girlfriends at a party. Man, her white dress was RUINED and she was just mortified.

MM: Don't go there, EVER AGAIN, Scotty. Way too much information.

TC: I'm just shocked Scotty *had* a girlfriend.

SW: Well, I wouldn't call her a friend.

MM: And I doubt she'd call you human.

SW: You know what I've got to say to that, Monroe?

MM: What?

SW: What. Ever.

MM: VP is gushing blood, but he grabs the bucket from Brandon's hand. He hits Brandon over the head with the plastic bucket!

SW: Now HE'S gushing blood? This is going to be the bloodiest match in history. If only it were real..

TC: How do you learn to bleed, Scotty?

SW: Let me call Festering Death and I'll show you.

TC: Well, all I know is that is one deadly lethal bucket. Both competitors are bleeding like stuck hogs! This is becoming a bloody massacre.

MM: VP tosses the bucket at Brandon's head. He catches it but VP hits a dropkick into the bucket on the floor. Innovative use of a plastic bucket there, Scotty.

SW: Yeah, why watch lame promotions that feature guys getting kicked in the head with chairs when you can have one that features buckets being kicked into heads. We're hardcore. We're hardcore.

MM: Enough, Mr. Sarcasm. Violent Pacifist just spotted something. He positions it on the floor. Oh my. He just hit a drop toe hold, sending Brandon face-first into a plastic cup.

TC: And that cup, fans, is not biodegradable. That's solid plastic right there.

MM: VP grabs a handful of popcorn that's on the floor. OH MY. And he's rubbing it into Brandon's bloody face, blinding him.

TC: Through butter and salt, Brandon continues to fight!

[Arena siren wails.]

MM: And I guess that means we've reached approximately two minutes. The Big Sir, Sir Hungalot is the next one to enter the chamber. The away penalty box door is open, and the Flunky is heading over toward the home bench, which hints to me that Jim just might be the next one in in two minutes.

SW: Ya think?

MM: The Big Sir heads toward VP. Oh man, and they're gonna double team Brandon here. The Three Guys putting it to the KSK member.

SW: Big Sir knows a little bit about double-teaming. I just saw his latest film, "Naughty Santa." That guy knows how to deliver a package...

TC: He's delivering some pain to Jim right now. It's a hellacious stompapalooza in that chamber!

MM: VP and Sir Hungalot pick up Brandon. Oh no. They use his head like a battering ram, smashing him into the boards. And now they're heading back toward the ring, dragging Brandon's limp body. Man, look at that blood all over the floor. VP and Brandon are still bleeding.

TC: VP heading under the ring. He pulls out a crate full of water bottles. This is gonna be heinous!

SW: And preposterous.

MM: VP tosses the Big Sir a water bottle. Oh no. They both have one. And those are of the 1.5 liter variety.

TC: Those aren't your mommy's water bottles! They're lethal!

SW: C'mon, water is good for you.

MM: Not in this case. The Big Sir winds up. Brandon blocks it, Sir loses the water bottle. Brandon dropkicks Hungalot in the shins! Oh my! Big Sir lands crotch first on the water bottle.

SW: That could be fatal!

TC: VP swings at Brandon's head, but he ducks. He hits VP's water bottle out of his hands and picks it up. Oh did you HEAR that?

SW: Nope.

TC: I've never heard a more Satanic dull thud in my life!

MM: Brandon spins around. OH. What a water bottle shot to the top of the Big Sir's head. He falls face first to the mat. And look at that pool of blood beginning to form on the canvas!

SW: They really should have put plastic everywhere for these guys.

TC: Bir Sir is busted WIDE open. And Brandon is smashing away on Big Sir's back with that water bottle. Over and over and over, and the fans are loving it. Brandon is in control.

SW: If he really wanted to hurt him, he'd hit him between the legs. With a REAL weapon.

MM: How can you say he's not hurt? He's gushing blood! Look at it. He looks like a bloody fountain.

SW: They all look like that!

TC: Brandon sits Big Sir up and puts the empty milk crate on his head.


TC: BY GAWD what a shot! He just smashed the water bottle into the crate. What a shot.

[Arena siren wails.]

MM: Who will be out next?

SW: *Sigh* Jim. Remember?

TC: And Jim hops the boards. He sprints toward the ring and climbs to the top rope. Flying clothesline on Violent Pacifist! The Kent State Krew are in charge now. Jim picks up one of the 1.5 liter water bottles and clotheslines The Big Sir down. Oh no! Jim and Brandon both have a water bottle! They're waiting on VP getting up.

SW: It's the H2-Uh-0!

MM: And Scotty comes through with a winner for a change.

SW: Hey!

TC: The Kent State Krew is showing why they are the best tag team in BOB history right here. Sure, they've just been here the longest. But they're also pretty damn good.

MM: They're main eventing this pay-per-view, lest you forget. They're all trying to win the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS.

TC: The Big Sir clotheslines both members of the KSK down. But he's starting to show signs of fatigue.

SW: They don't call this guy the 15-minute man for nothing, TC. He'll get his second wind here.

MM: Hungalot tosses Jim over the top rope to the floor. And he's coming out after him.

SW: The Big Sir is coming? Duck and cover!

TC: VP is dazed. But remember fans, the only way to win is to throw your opponent out of the chamber. Both feet must leave the floor in a decisive manner.

MM: Jim and Hungalot exchanging blows on the floor—

SW: Monroe! There are children watching.

MM: Oh grow up, Scotty.

TC: Nobody knows more about blowing than Sir Hungalot.

SW: I see the referee has made his way over to Jean Bannister, who is in the away bench. He's sat on plenty of pine in his day. During his hockey days, he was benched more often than a barbell.

MM: Jim and Sir fighting towards the bench where Bannister is eagerly waiting to hear that siren so he can get into the action and help out his tag partner.

TC: VP hits a piledriver on Brandon in the ring on the water bottle! Water goes flying in every direction. I know what some of you people at home are thinking, but ask yourself, if you're a water bottle, how do you learn to be fallen on? How do you learn to explode?

SW: Which mental hospital did we sign TC from, Mike?

MM: I'm truly beginning to wonder...VP heads under the ring and pulls out...


[Sound of Scotty and Mike's chairs squeaking a few inches away from TC. Then the arena siren wails.]

MM: Jean Bannister is out next. He hops over the boards and the Big Sir and Bannister start double teaming. There's no third man rule in here. This is BOB.

SW: Yeah, there are barely any rules here.

MM: Bannister and Hungalot have Jim wide open for a shot. Here comes VP charging in.


SW: Somewhere, Kamikazie Ken is laughing at this lame ass hardcore. Probably in intensive care, but still laughing. HOLY SHIT!

MM: SCOTTY! Language. HOLY FLERKING SHNIT! There is a bloody geyser shooting 10 feet in the air from Jim's head!

SW: There is definitely a new writer and/or producer backstage. One who thinks gore will make the audience believe this is far more violent and entertaining than it actually is...

MM: But listen to that crowd, Scotty. They've been cheering the KSK on all night and booing the Three Guys, even though they're usually faces. They're solidly backing KSK in Kent, Ohio.

[Crowd pop.]

MM: Right here in Kent, OHIO!

[Bigger crowd pop.]

SW: Uh-boy...

MM: (Getting on top of the flimsy announce desk): KENT. OOOOOOOHIIIIIIIIOOOO!


[Mike, so incredibly pumped up by the cheap pops, pumps his fist and takes one excited jump in the air and comes crashing down through the Flimsy Announce Table, obliterating the entire desk!]



SW: HOLY FUCKING SHIT INDEED! Mike is DEAD. Which means, I'm in charge the rest of the way! WOOHOO!

TC: Everyone is STUNNED. All the wrestlers are staring at us, completely baffled that an announcer has taken the biggest spot of the match!

SW: Points for effort, I guess, for our injured announce partner. Just roll him out of here. My feet need room to breathe. There you go, Flunky.

TC: Bannister has Mr. Hockey Stick! Oh no! He crosschecks Jim into the plexiglass! How brutal. Spear in the back! High sticking to the nose. Butt end to the head. Man, he'd be looking at a year-long suspension for these infractions in the NHL!

SW: Awww, wahhh. Take your head injuries like men! You know the BigB is gonna start the XHL for his next failure of a product.

TC: And all eyes shift to the penalty box, where Massive Man Rendition First is patiently waiting, picking his nose, to get in there and start defending his title.

SW: The Three Guys are going for...a triple clothesline on Jim and Brandon on the floor?

TC: They charge! They slip in the blood! The Three Guys go down! The terrain is getting slippery out there.

SW: Man, if they freeze this blood, we could have the first ever hockey game played on a pool of blood! Maybe there are some chicks on the rag in the crowd to get the rink—

TC: BOB would like to apologize to any female viewers watching. BOB does not condone Scotty Whatbody's sexist comments. To complain, please e-mail

SW: Wow, I have my own e-mail address?

[Arena siren wails.]

TC: And here we go! Flunky opens up the penalty box and Massive Man comes out to a tremendous ovation from his home town fans. Though he isn't a good guy these days, the fans don't care.

SW: Yep, the fans stopped caring a LONG time ago about anything in BOB.

TC: Massive Man heads right for the big pileup of the faction formerly known as Totally Face. Massive Man gets Mr. Hockey Stick. He trips Bannister. He trips Hungalot. Tripping on VP. Massive Man drags Bannister up and tosses him into the ring. Bannister is up. TOE DOWN! TOE DOWN! BY GAWD HE HIT IT! Bannister is down. Massive Man using that toe-guard to his advantage. How long does it take for a toe to heal for goodness sake!

SW: From heel to toe? I dunno.

TC: Jim tosses VP in the ring. Where is Massive Man going? I thought we were about to have the KSK working together...

SW: Yep, at least until Massive Man stabs them in the back...

TC: Look at this! The Big Sir is on the dasher. He yanks one of the fans signs, the one reading "USE MY SING!"

SW: Bwahaha. What a loser. He must be Dyslexic Avenger’s cousin.

TC: Awwww, man. He rolls up the sign, ready to use it was a weapon.


Mysterious voice: Jean Bannister, was SMASHED THROUGH THE GLASS!

SW: Who said that?

TC: You got me.

MA: First elimination scored by Brandon!

SW: And the crowd goes monkey.

MA: The elimination was unassisted.

TC: Aww, but look at this. Brandon now has that rolled up sign. And that is some unforgivingly thick paper there. Possibly even cardboard!

SW: Let’s see, who ISN’T gushing blood from their forehead in a comical fashion.

TC: And look at Bannister as he gets up from that shattered Plexiglass. He’s been busted wide open and is bleeding all over the fans in the lower section!

SW: This would have been a good night to pass out raincoats. But, let’s see, we’re down to the champ, Massive Man. Our fearless champion is lounging in a bean bag chair, watching ESPN? I see the Big Sir is still around, Jim and Brandon and VP. VP and Brandon have been in there since this thing got underway and have got to be...tired or something.

TC: Brandon whacks VP over the head with the sign. And now the Big Sir.

SW: Jim just dragged Massive Man off his beanie chair and tossed him into the ring. They’re going at it! These guys once held the tag titles together. But now they’re fighting for the OWTTM.

MM: Yur.

SW: Monroe? You’re conscious?

MM: Poink!

SW: Oh great, another announcer with a severe brain injury. Just what we needed.

TC: Jim nails Massive Man with the Krew Kutter! The fans are absolutely going bananas.

MM: BOB, she’s monkeylicious!

SW: Jim has the pin, but it’ll do him no good here. He’s gotta send Massive Man out of the chamber.

TC: Brandon tosses Jim the sign. He’s waiting on Massive Man to get up. He does. Jim clocks him! OH GOOD GAWD! Massive Man’s head looks like Old Faithful!

MM: The dog?

TC: No, that was Old Yeller.

SW: Did you say Sarah Gellar?

TC: No, not the Jobber Slayer.

MM: (Screaming) ANGEL OF DEATH!!!! *Starts headbanging*

SW: Can we get a sedative for our friend here? But Massive Man picks up one of the heavy work gloves and hits Jim down to the mat. A second geyser opens up on Jim’s head. Say what you will about this match, but it’s bloody fantastic. These fans love gory violence.

TC: VP sneaks in behind Brandon. All five men are in the ring now. But VP puts Brandon up on the top rope. NINE INCH NAILER! VP gets up, ready to capitalize on this. But Jim gets up and, bends over?

SW: BWAHAHAHA. He’s spraying VP in the face with his gushing blood! VP goes flying out of the ring.

TC: Now that’s using your head.

SW: And Jim follows VP to the floor.

TC: A pizza delivery guy is here?

Pizza Guy: JOSH?

MMR1: Right here! How much do I owe you?

TC: The hell? Why is he getting pizza delivered DURING a main event he’s in?

SW: He’s obviously hungry.

TC: Brandon clotheslines Sir Hungalot to the mat.

SW: Big Sir rising to the occasion here. He gets back up.


Mysterious voice: Violent Pacifist, was SMASHED THROUGH THE GLASS!

SW: There’s that voice again!

MM: They’re all out to get me. Must kill. *Falls over*

Masked Announcer: The second elimination scored by Brandon! His second elimination of the night!

SW: Why is BRANDON getting pushed? (Sound of page turning.) Oh. Right.

TC: Massive Man’s dinner is over! Sir Hungalot tossed him into the ring and is looking for the G-spot on Massive Man!

SW: That may take a while to find. I know from personal experience.

MM: They’re all out to get me. Must kill. *Falls over*

[Cut to GBH.]

GBH: Dur. Stop, duh, stealing gimmick. *Falls over*

[Back to the ring.]

TC: Jim and Big Sir brawling near one of the benches. Big Sir lifts Jim up. OH MY, he just CROTCHED HIM ON THE BOARDS!

SW: Lil Jim not gonna like that one.

TC: But Jim punches the Big Sir in the face. And from behind, it’s Brandon! He grabs Sir Hungalot by the legs and puts him up on his shoulders. Good gawd, what are they gonna do?

SW: Jim gets up on the dasher. Dropkick! Brandon spins backward into a fall!


[Styles runs up to the spot where there used to be Plexiglass, looks down at Hungalot, looks around at the cheering crowd then stares at the camera.]

Styles: Oh my GOD!

Mysterious voice: Sir Hungalot, was SMASHED THROUGH THE GLASS!

SW: Wow. That was pretty cool.

TC: He could be broken in half!

SW: I know! That’s why it was so cool!

Masked Announcer: The third elimination scored by Brandon! Assisted by Jim. That is Brandon’s THIRD elimination of the night!

TC: He got himself a hat trick!

SW: And here come the rolled up socks! The fans are tossing the socks out of respect to Brandon’s hat trick here. Why not hats? It’s probably too inside of a joke for even the writer to understand Brandon’s sock pictures fetish.

TC: Probably better we don’t know, Scotty.

MM: They’re all out to get me. Must kill. *Falls over* Whoa. What happened?

SW: Monroe? You back with us? Your shellshock worn off?

MM: I fink so.

SW: Oddly, I don’t...

TC: It’s down to the original trio that made up the Kent State Krew. Brandon. Jim. Massive Man Rendition First.

MM: Let’s see here. Wow, I’ve never seen anybody gush blood like THAT before. Massive Man dives out of the way of Jim and Brandon, and slides on all the blood all the way to the floor.

TC: The bleeding messes who no doubt once looked like Jim and Brandon now going at it! The tag team partnership has been thrown out the window.

SW: Finally! Let the rumors of a breakup officially begin..

MM: Massive Man heading under the ring, no doubt looking for another weapon. What’s he got there....It’s J.C. Long!

SW: He might be better off with that posterboard...

MM: Wait! J.C. Long has one of the Star Wars plastic light sabres.

SW: It’s the red sabre. Since he’s a bad guy.

TC: J.C. heads into the ring. Jim ducks an attack. Krew Kutter! Brandon heads up top. Brandon pulls J.C. up to his feet. And there is the Kent State Plunge by Brandon!

MM: Massive Man is just standing around on the floor, pretending he’s talking on a cell phone, even though he isn’t even HOLDING one.

SW: Well, his toe is hurt.

MM: Then why is he wrestling in a hardcore main event?

SW: He loves the game that damn much! I mean, the sport. The sport. And the business too. He’s all about the fans.

MM: The fans my ass.

SW: This coming from a guy who was using a cheap pop to get over.

MM: That’s not what I meant!

TC: Brandon tosses Jim outside. He’s going for his fourth elimination and to solidify himself as a top contender for the OWTTM. And the man who could OWN this very match, and walk away for the first time in his career as the OWCTM!

MM: He has been dominant. Three eliminations. This is a force to be reckoned with.


MM: And there he goes.

Mysterious voice: Brandon, was SMASHED THROUGH THE GLASS!

Masked Announcer: The fourth elimination scored by Jim!

MM: And the crowd gives him a big hand! But WAIT! It’s Massive Man, who has literally done absolutely NOTHING in this match but sit around. He grabs hold of Jim from behind!




Mysterious voice: Jim, was SMASHED THROUGH THE GLASS!

MM: The fans are cheering for their hometown boy. Massive Man, with little to no help from J.C. Long, has retained the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!

Masked Announcer: The fifth elimination scored by Massive Man Rendition First! Here is your winner, and STILL, ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, Massive Man Rendition First!

SW: I knew Massive Man was a shoe-in for this match the whole time.

MM: Well, regardless, another BOB pay-per-view has mercifully come to an end. For Scotty Whatbody, The Commentator, Candy Cantaloupes, Mark Shill and Styles, I am Mike Monroe saying, good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

SW: It’s winter vacation, baby! Let’s go to Hooters!

© 2003 BOB Wrestling. As if you’d really want to steal this crap.


© BOB Wrestling!

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