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The Debut! (Even BOB has a B-roster)

[Men At Works' "Down Under" plays tinnily as some generic red titles fade onto the screen. They read:

BOB CLASSIX! Classic Crap From the BOB Archives!

[We fade to a shot of a wooden desk in what appears to be the basement of the BOB Corporate Offices. (Last seen way back at Monday Morning Mayhems' 2nd show!) Seated at the desk in an ill-fitting suit and a monkey costume respectivly are your hosts... GBH and Coma. Well, this bodes well...]

GBH: Duh. Hello.

Coma: Poink! Why are there no sheep in Mongolia? I must ask father for a goat this year. You skanky slapper, you!

[Caption: TRANSLATION: Hello and welcome to BOB CLASSIX! The cream of never-before seen matches from BOB's glorious past!]

GBH: (Squinting at a monitor) Duh. Hello. And welcome. To Bob Cla...

[The caption fades out]

GBH: Bugger.

Coma: Well, turtlenecks are in this year, big pointy horns on your helmet are out! So, three points to Chesterfield there, and a punch in the conker for Blink 182!

[Caption: TRANSLATION: Okay, okay, it's really just a bunch of house show filler and dark matches that we edited out of our shows. But they're GOOD matches!]

Coma: Gruntfuzzy!

[Caption: TRANSLATION: Well, not GOOD exactly. More like average to bad... well, really bad... okay, horrible. But anyway, on with the show!]

GBH: Duh: Yur. First we got. Ummm. Thingee. Duh. Some guys. Yur.

[Oh, for heavans sake! Allow me. It's a try-out match from Monday Morning Mayhem number 2, between some guys who weren't good enough to make the roster. End of story.]

[Cut to the floating ring at MMM #2. Former BOB ring announcer Scuzz is swaying unsteadily in the center of the ring.]

Scuzz: This con'est is for on' fall... innerducing first... GOOGOO CACHOOB!

[A man in a walrus costume enters the ring. What's that all about?]

Scuzz: An' his partner... from Goober, Misis... Mississssi... awdahellwithit... ELVISH PRESLEY!

[A skinny dude with a bad teenage goatee, fake pointy ears and an even faker Elvis wig swaggers down to the ring. He does a few intricate points at his partner. They come together.. right now... and not in the way you're thinking, you sick freaks!]

MA: 'Nd their opponfurfle... oppony.. th' other guys... TH' CHEFS 'F DOOM!

["O Sole Mio"(Eddie B Funkee Piano Accordian In Tha Hiz-ouse Mix") plays as Luigi and Tony run to the ring, twirling pizzas as they do. They climb into the ring, toss the pizzas into the crowd and pose on the turnbuckles to a StreetMime-like pop. Minus the pity claps. So basically nothing, then...]

MM: This should be an interesting match, Scotty... The Pizzata brothers are making their debut in BOB, and so are Cachoob and Presley!

SW: That's the best you could come up with, Mike? It's our second show, practically EVERYONE is making their debut! This is just a Dual Jobber match to keep the crowd.. and I use that term WAY loosely... pepped up until that schmuck Justin Voss comes out!

GBH: Duh. If you happy and you know it... duh. I forget. Hee!

MM: Nevertheless, it looks like Tony Pizzata is going to start things off against Elvish Presley! Lock-up... Elvish slides out of Tonys grasp like a greased pig and delivers a stinging chop!

Crowd: Thank Ya Very Much!

MM: And again!

Crowd: Uh-huh!

MM: And a third!

GBH: Duh. Me all shook up. Yur. Me choose you, Pickachu.

SW: Eh? Tony looks a little surprised that a skinny little D and D playing geek-boy like Elvish can move that fast!

MM: And he responds with a Greco-Roman punch in the face! European Uppercut drives Presley back against the ropes! Italian whip... leapfrog...


MM: From both men. That's going to leave a lump...

SW: Rookies... Oh, look they're repeating the spot... let's see if they get it right this time...


SW: Ay carumba... Presley rolls over and tags in Googoo... The 300 pounder going to work on Tony, slapping him a round like a b-BLEEP-h!

MM: Hooks him up... big suplex! And he's giving the high sign! Could we see his patented finishing manuever already?

SW: The "Don't Call Me An Egg-Man, F-BLEEP-nuts"? I really hope so! Just so I can yell that name three times!

MM: NO! Tony rakes the eyes as Googoo picks him up... lowblow! OH! The "Hold The Anchovies" bulldog! And both men are down and needing to tag after this gruelling 90 second match! Unfortunatley, both men are crawling into each others corners.

SW: Said it before, say it again.. rookies!

MM: They'll work it out in a minute... in the meantime, here's some comments from DJ Rawkus and MC Carjack we taped earlier!

[Rawkus and Carjack appear in a small box at the bottom of the screen. Dennis stands between them, holdng a microphone.]

MC CJ: Yo, yo, wazzzzzzuuuuuuup? We's in da howse wit some funky funkies, and we gots the 411 for dose two honky wannabes, Da Universal Donors... (pause) Am I allowed to call dem "honkys"? That could be called some racist shit, yo?

DJ R: Carjack, you whiter dan dey are, dogg! Just cos' we talks all dope an' shit while we be gettin' jiggy wit' it, don' make it racist to use da "H" word, yo?

MC CJ: We be white? I thought we was black, like douja!

DJ R: douja is black? You sure, dogg?

Dennis: Actually, I have noticed that the two of you rap like wiggers. You'd get a cap in your arse in my hood if the Bristol Cripps heard you talking like that...

MC C: Anyways, Easy-D...ennis... we gonna get medievil on those Donors asses...

Dennis: How exactly? With some sort of crop rotation system or something?

MC C: Say whut?

DRJ R: Yo, don' confuse him Dennis... Carjack aint that bright, yo?

Director: Twenty seconds guys, wrap it up...

DJ R: Hey, we aint even started, man! Yo, we just wanna say dat we be puttin' on a house an' techno concert on Pay-Per-View next year. It's gonna be da biggest thing on TV, yo?

Dennis: Word up, chaps! When would that be then?

MC C: September 11th, 10 pm... it's gonna be da BOMB!

{{DISCLAIMER: If anyone finds this gag to be in bad taste, then my work here is done. All complaints/threats/comparisons to pond scum can be e-mailed to the BigBOSS, who will completly ignore them.}}

MM: Strong words there from Rawkus and Carjack... This feud with the Universal Donors could be one for the ages!


SW: And Bonehead Cachoob has finally reached his partner.

MM: So has Tony! Hot tags all around!

GBH: Duh. Who house on fire? Whut?

MM: Luigi floors Elvish with a right! Googoo comes back in and gets one as well! Bodyslam on Elvish! Bodyslam on Googoo! Luigi bodyslams himself! He picks up Elvish... THE SHAKE AND BAKE!

SW: I'd pay real money to see Heidi do that move!

MM: He covers.. one! Two.. GOOGOO CACHOB! GOOGOO CACHOOB... makes the save...

GBH: Duh. Lucys in the sky. Duh. With thingees. Yur.

MM: Googoo distracts the ref with a copy of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue and is about to give Luigi the "Don't Call Me An..." NO! Tony with the "Delivered To Your Door In Thirty Minutes Or The Next One's Free" spinebuster!

GBH: Duh. Dis stoopid.

SW: Took the words right out of my mouth, bud...

MM: Luigi covers... but the Generic Ref is engrossed in his magazine! He never notices as Elvish regains his feet... nails Tony with the "I Shoot My TV With a Longbow And Score A Critical Hit" DDT! Luigi still trying to get the pinfall on Googoo as the ref finally notices the cover.. 1...2... ThrNO! Elvish nails him in the back to break the cover! And he's going for his finisher! The dreaded "Elvish Bodyslam"!

SW: A BODYSLAM? What the BLEEP is this BLEEP?

MM: He hits it! And he's the legal man! Covers.. 1... 2... (High-pitched shriek) HE GOT IT!

[Cut to Styles in the backstage area.]

Styles: Hey, stop stealing my bit! OH MY GOD!

[Back to ringside.]

SW: Who was that?

MM: Who?

MA: Here is your winners, GOOGOO CACHOOB and ELVISH PRESLEY!

[We cut back to the BOB Classix Cheap-Ass set.]

GBH: Duh. Dat was good. Yur. Now we got. Mayhem match. Duh. Crappy squash thingee.

Coma: Read me a story, Pauline. Yoinks, tally-ho, I'm off to London for a pair of exploding socks! Huzzah!

[Caption: TRANSLATION: The match comes from Mayhem number 7, and was edited out for being somewhat dull, and overly short. But the HeadWriter was sick that week, apparently... Enjoy!]

[Cut to footage of the Unfinished Dome, in Toxic Falls, Colorado. "Eat It" is audible in the background.]

Mike Monroe: G.I Slow FINALLY reaches the ring! I think the BigBOSS should hire a forklift to get his huge carcass down the aisle in future, Scotty!

SW: Huh? Whna..? I'm awake, Mommy! Huh? Oh, he made it...

MA: And his opponent... from England, circa 1969... TOSTIN SHOWERS!

Voice-Over: GROOVY, BABY!

[Tostin runs down the aisle to complete silence. No wonder this guy was yanked from TV and re-packaged as Wayne of the Pardy Boyz...]

MM: Tostin leaps into the ring and goes to work like a jackhammer on the Obscenly Obese Abdominals of G.I Slow! But the former "Are You Out Of Your Frickin' Mind" champion no-sells it. Actually, I don't even think he's noticed those shots! He's still finishing his pre-match snack!

SW: Pre-match snack? It's an entire baked ham, Mike! Tostin tries a clothesline... ewww, he's got his arm embedded in one of Slows' flabby, sweaty rolls of fat! He's trapped!

MM: He fires offf a punch with his free hand... and it sinks into Slows ample gut up to the wrist! Slow continues to calmly chew away as his opponent falls prey to the rarely-seen "Tar Baby" strategy! Tostins' struggling to get free... he tries to use a foot for leverage... and now his right leg is trapped! Slow finally finishes his ham...

SW: Look out... TIMBERRRR!


MM: OH! He keeled over onto Showers! There's no way he can kick out.. One! Two! Three! It's over!

SW: Geez, if Slow's had a fatal heart attack, we'll need a crane to get him out of the arena! No, wait, he's moving...

MM: He is indeed... he slooowwwwllly rolls off Showers!

Tostin Showers: Mummy? I'm ready for my cocoa, now... (The Ambulance Jockeys arrive to load him onto a gurney) Oh, are we going for a ride? Smashing... oooh...

SW: That man will never be the same again!

[A blank screen]

Voice-Over: TARBUCKS!: We already own Seattle, now we want the rest of the world! Resistance is futile! You belong to us, mortals! Bwa-ha-ha-haaaa!

Another V/o: Buy the coffee.

[Cut back to the set. GBH is doing some nasal exploration with a pencil, while Coma is trying to insert a squidgy Cartman doll into his ear.]

The Flunky: GBH! You're on!

GBH: Whut? Duh. Whut?

Coma: (Sings) Milk products in Montana, that's the place for me! (High-pitched voice) Trifle, anyone? (Normal(?) Voice) Wales is lovely when the lemmings explode in the spring. Palindromes for supper again? Pshaw!

[Caption: TRANSLATION: Oh, sorry, the match was shorter than I thought!]

GBH: And last. Duh. We got a match. From NAGAM... (counts on his fingers for a while) somefing. Dat Brandon Guy and... Umm.. Him. (points at Coma)

Coma: YES! (Falls backwards off chair)

[We cut to the Matlock Arena in Orlando, Florida. Don't bother checking the Archives, this was the venue for the pre-empted NAGAM 14. Coma is in the ring already... well, sort of. He's actually gotten entangled in the ropes en route, and is being freed by the Generic Ref.]

MA: And his opponent, wearing a championship belt I don't recognise! Representing the Kent State Krew and weighing in at 150 pounds... "THE BITCH SMACKER" (With Attitude!)... BRANDON!

[Eddie B spins The Backstreet Boys under extreme duress, as Brandon enters to the usual high-pitched screams. A quick cut to the crowd shows a gaggle of 14-year-old KSK-groupies. And a 13-year-old boy holding a sign that reads "Why Didn't You Call Me, Brandon?". We quickly cut back to ringside.]

Nurse Heidi: Brandon enters the ring as Coma finally gets loose from the ropes...

Scotty Whatbody: Seeing Coma tied up probably brought back a few memories, right Heidi?

NH: Welll, Coma wasn't the one tied up, but yes we enjoyed... HEY! Stop it, you gutter-dwelling swamp-rat!

SW: And proud of it, babe! The Generic Ref calls for the bell! And this match is underway! Coma charges and hits a flying plancha on The Flunky, who was selling popcorn at ringside! Good aim, bad choice of target from the Head Trauma Boy!

NH: Brandon shakes his head at his opponents erratic behaviour and launches a pescado! Coma rolls away and Brandon lands on The Flunky like a ton of bricks!

SW: Whoo, is The Flunky earning his Bump Bonus tonight?! Brandon rises, only to be hit with a flying leg lariat from Coma! He picks up The Flunkys' popcorn tray and hurls it at Brandon!

NH: Who ducks...

The Flunky: OW!

SW: Ooh, right in the head! Superkick from Brandon sends Coma reeling back to the Flimsy Guardrail™! Flying bodypress... Coma avoids it!

NH: By falling over inadvertantly... Oh my GOD! Brandon landed in a pack of pre-teen girls!

[EXTREMELY high-pitched screaming]

NH: And they're all over Brandon like a rash trying to get a souvineer! He's getting mauled!

SW: Y'know, this even makes ME feel unconfortable! And that's a first!


NH: Oh, NO! There go the tights! Brandon manages to climb back over the gurdrail, his dignity only protected by his Jockey shorts!

SW: You call THAT protecting your dignity? A rolled-up sock fell out! Coma is laughing so hard can hardly walk straight! Either that, or he's just being Coma... Brandons' female fan-base are are so excited, they're pelting him with training bras!

NH: We are SO not going to be able to screen this match... Coma Irish whips Brandon back into the Flunky, who gets knocked back on his butt again! Coma charges... and runs right into a desperation back body drop from Brandon!

SW: Landing head-first on The Flunkys nuts! Brandon rolls back into the ring... oh, no... he can NOT be doing dance moves in his underwear! Do I really have to see that?

NH: Well, he seems to be enjoying himself, at least...

SW: Not surprising, Heidi, he's been seen hanging around with douja backstage... Hell, he's probably stoned right now! He's in a band after all... one of them HAS to have a drug problem... it's the law!

NH: Coma rolls back into the ring! And now he's dancing as well!

SW: Dancing as well as what?

NH: Dancing as well as Brandon, for whatever that's worth...

[Techno music begins to play, as a spotlight illuminates a previously-unnoticed DJ scratching away at his decks]

SW: God help us, someone hired DJ Ran!

NH: No it isn't! It's Comas' former partner, Head Trauma Boy Flatline... AKA "DJ Uhhhh"!

SW: Huh?

Flatline: Uhhh... Like, yeah... Uhhh.. Get up... Or something. Uhhh.. Yeah.

SW: Geez, was douja handing out free samples today? Look out! Coma just leveled Brandon with a Leaping Milli Vanilli Chestbuster! He's going up top... and predictably, he falls off...

NH: And even more predictably, he landed on The Flunky! Brandon waits until Coma gets back into the ring...

[Several minutes pass]

SW: This could take a while... so, uh, Heidi... are you a cat person or a dog person?

NH: I prefer cats myself...

SW: Yeah, I'd like a little pussy, too...

NH: Gee, like that wasn't predictable... PIG!

SW: Heh heh heh... It's true though... besides, my ex-girlfriend got custody of my springer spaniel, Lucky... I can only see him on weekends now...

NH: Yes, I've heard you don't "Get Lucky" very often... *giggle*

SW: HEY! That's not true! I'm a chick magnet!

NH: Yeah, sure, Scoot... in what universe exactly? Brandon must have gotten tired of waiting for Coma to find the ring again... He just went out and bounced him off the ringpost... rolls him in and climbs to the top rope... KENT STATE PLUNGE! Top-rope diving roll into a clothesline! One! Two! Three! Brandon retains the "Not Big Enough for the Big Boys" title!

SW: Is that what it was? I didn't recognise it...

NH: Well, that was a whole lot of nothing... hopefully our next match will be more entertaining, folks...

[Caption: SADLY, IT WASN'T.]

[we cut back to the basement.]

GBH: Nyurr. Dat's it. We finish now. Duh. Next week. We got guest. Dunno who. And more. Um. Thingees. Duh. Matches. Yur. Buh-bye.

Coma: Poink!

[We cut to an ultra-cheap credit roll, along with still pictures of BOB wrestlers in action, ending on a shot of SteetMime staring down... Bobo Fiendish? Boy, I really hope they show THAT match! Fade out.]

©2002 BOB Wrestling! You were expecting Shakespeare or something?


© BOB Wrestling!

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