Rehashed Material? Brilliant!
[We open in Styles's basement. But oddly, Styles isn't there. His usual BOB banner is hanging up, and standing in front of it are Steve Leary and Misty Waters. Leary is bandaging up his bloody hand.]
MW: Hey. Welcome to another episode of Classix. I'm Misty Waters, joined by this guy who is sports entertainmentally-challenged.
SL: I've got stroke, Missy. Don't give me any of your lip. Hey, I broke us into Styles' basement. Don't I get credit for that?
MW: Yeah. Great. You're paying for the window.
SL: I didn't know he left the door unlocked!
MW: Whatever. Alright guys. Tonight, we delve into the BOB archives to revisit the early days of parody. Now let's go get some sticky waffles, eh?
[Here we go. We open with two guys holding sparklers and shooting flare guns in the air. Then, through bad editing, we go to the announcer, which, I guess is me? Damn budget cuts. Argh. *Ahem* Making his way towards the ring, to no music, from Nice, France, weighing in at 209 pounds, StreetMime! StreetMime enters as if he was walking against the wind.]
SL: By using all these old shows on Classix, we don't have to think of any new material. BRILLIANT!
MW: In some circles, that's known as lazy. But OK. Why are you here anyway? Where's Trey?
SL: Well...if you notice, Detached Narrator is doing the intros, which mean Michelle isn't here. And Trey isn't here.
MW: Ahh, I see. Well, good for me then. But, Leary, just so you know, if you try and come onto me, I won't beat you within an inch of your life. I'll beat you the whole way.
SL: OK then.
["Bad" by Michael Jackson plays. *Ahem* And his opponent, accompanied by Mad Onna, from Never Never Land, weighing in at 230 pounds...MICHAEL WACKSON! Wackson is wearing a white T-shirt with black silk trousers, black jacket and black dancing shoes. Slight crowd pop.]
SL: I guess he isn't the king of crowd pop in this federation.
MW: I'm sure he's bad. And not the good kind of bad. I mean baaaad.
SL: It looks like he's scanning the crowd for some young boys for a quickie.
MW: That's disgusting.
SL: Did I cross the line? I'm sorry. Just trying to be funny. Damn, too bad Mad Onna isn't still around. She could manage Christina and Britney and kiss them awkwardly for cheap ratings.
MW: This is gonna be a long morning.
[The bell rings.]
MW: StreetMime offers his hand in friendship to Wackson.
SL: Dude, I wouldn't be offering anything to Wackson.
MW: And now he's handing him some imaginary flowers. But Wackson isn't into it.
SL: Yeah, he's only into little boys.
MW: Will you stop trying to be outrageous? I liked you much better when all you said was 'brilliant!'
SL: I'm not a one-trick unicorn, Missy.
MW: It's Misty. Hurricanrana by Wackson. StreetMime is down and Wackson tries for an elbowdrop, but StreetMime easily rolls out of the way. Wackson drags him up. Irish whip, reversed. And reversed again. Wackson connects with a flying forearm.
SL: Wackson won't stop til he gets enough. This match sure is a thriller, Misty.
MW: Leave me alone.
SL: Why you wanna trip on me? I can't help it.
MW: Wackson with a guillotine leg drop from the top rope.
SL: Wackson wants to be startin' somethin' here that will lead him to victory.
MW: Wackson picks up StreetMime and hits a dropkick that sends him out to the floor.
SL: Wackson is a speed demon.
MW: Plancha by Wackson.
SL: Oooh, that was dangerous.
MW: StreetMiime is not looking good. The fight has moved to the floor. Low blow by StreetMime.
SL: He's a smooth criminal. And at least Wackson is grabbing his crotch with good reason now.
MW: Back inside, Wackson connects with an enzugeri. He's heading up to the top rope.
SL: Do you remember the time he moonwalked across the top rope? I'll never forget it.
MW: Well, yeah, he just did it. Split-leg moonsault by Wackson. Cover. One. Two. Three. Wackson gets the win.
SL: And just like that, StreetMime is gone too soon. Not much of a performance there.
[Making his way towards the ring to "Hit The Road, Jack," representing the Entertainment Industry, from Rama, Ontario, Canada, weighing 237 pounds, "Black" Jack Dealer! A Native Canadian man wearing a casino uniform enters, along with Rimshot in his wheelchair, the Vegas Connection, and Presto Cadabra. The crowd gives a mixed reaction.]
MW: Not much of a break there. And as a result, Wackson has just come face to face with the Entertainment Industry.
SL: Will this explode now or on a future episode?
MW: Looks like a future episode. They're going their separate ways.
[And his opponent, accompanied by his manager Bucho Mugralez, from South Central Los Angeles and weighing in at 235 lbs..."the Chinese Spic" Pedro Chang! "Rico Suave" plays. Pedro wears a black bandana tied backwards. His shirt is red flannel buttoned only at the top. He wears black jeans. Bucho Mugralez is a stereotypical Mexican Western bad guy, or so it seems. The bell rings.]
MW: And here we go. Dealer and Chang lock up. Chang with a kick to the stomach. Leg sweep. And here is a figure four leglock by Dealer.
SL: I'm not usually a betting man, but I'd lay good odds that won't finish this match.
MW: That's the only thing you'll be laying. Ever.
SL: I'm cute. My mother told me so.
MW: Chang with a reversal, and now Dealer is being dealt some pain. Look out. Presto Cadabra is up on the apron to distract the referee. There goes the ref. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Lester Leary is in the ring.
SL: What up Lester! Great last name! Yeah!
MW: You related?
SL: Quite possibly. I never did know my dad.
MW: Lester hits Chang in the head with the microphone. That's a way to break that hold. Both guys are down. Now the ref starts to make a count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Chang is up. And he connects with elbowdrops. He pulls up Dealer. DDT! Cover. One. Two, no.
SL: The house always wins, Misty.
MW: Dealer is whipped into the turnbuckles. Looks like he's about to deal out fists.
Crowd: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ten! Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one!
SL: Chang with a Greco-Roman eye poke! Sidewalk slam!
MW: That was an inverted atomic drop, Shill.
SL: Sidewalk slam!
MW: That's a cover! And a kickout by Dealer. Do you know the names of any moves?
SL: Sidewalk slam?
MW: *Sigh* Bucho is on the apron complaining about the slow count. And here comes the industry, stomping away on Dealer. And there they go.
SL: Referees are so dumb. And deaf. And blind. And who says we don't hire the handicapped.
MW: Chang and Dealer brawling. And Chang answers with turnbuckle smashes.
Crowd: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!
MW: Chang is calling for his finisher, the L.A. Hangover. And I've had plenty of those in my life. The asai moonsault connects. One. Two. Three. Chang wins.
SL: I don't think this one's over yet though. Dealer just pulled out a metal playing card from his sleeve. The cheater.
MW: Ooh, that's gotta hurt. Chang is bleeding. Here comes Bucho Mugralez. And here comes the stable. And...that's it. Damn cliffhanger cuts.
SL: So what's next?
MW: Tag team action.
SL: Ah, great. My specialty.
MW: Yeah, you're special.
[*Ahem* Now making their way towards the ring, with a combined weight of 830 pounds, Hugo, Slick, the Stonebreakers!]
SL: Are they prisoners or something?
[Hugo comes out first. He is 7'3". Following him is the very average-looking Slick. No theme, no special costume, no crowd pop whatsoever.]
MW: It's just like a Distorted Icons pop.
[*Ahem* And their opponents, with a combined weight of 561 pounds, Sasquatch, Dizzy Desi, the CIRCUS FREAKS!]
SL: Just like a Misty Waters date. Freakly.
MW: Oww, I'm so stung. How will I ever recover.
SL: Hey, no punching.
[Big top music plays. Sasquatch is a large degenerate with hair covering his body. Dizzy Desi looks normal; nobody knows why he's a freak. All the same, they don't get a bad pop. The bell rings.]
MW: Sasquatch and Hugo start off.
SL: It's speed versus speed here, Missy.
MW: What? It's power versus power. Will you stop talking. You guys never did any interviews. It was so much more tolerable when you and Skeeter never talked. Actually, it was best when you weren't even in BOB.
SL: You know you want me. You've got the itch bad.
MW: Sasquatch bounces off the ropes for a shoulder block.
SL: No sell!
MW: No sell? He's way bigger than him. Dumbass. Sasquatch tries again. Still nothing. Sasquatch gets him in a bearhug. Hugo is struggling to get out. Now he's giggling! Sasquatch's fur must be tickling him.
SL: Hugo won't give up from the extreme embrace.
MW: Oh no. Hugo just crushed Sasquatch by falling on him.
SL: That boy's got some weight issues. He's well over the I'm-a-fatso mark.
MW: Hugo picks him up, going for a piledriver, but no. Sasquatch with a leg sweep. Sasquatch gets the tag. And here comes Dizzy Desi to tangle with Hugo. Dizzy hits a splash. And a cover. One. And that's all he gets. Hugo catapults Desi into the corner, and now Slick is strangling Desi with the tag rope.
SL: They're almost as well-oiled of a machine as the Distorted Icons.
MW: Yeah...except they know how to wrestle. Hugo with hard chops. Look at how red Desi's chest is.
SL: My chest has looked like that when I forget suntan lotion.
MW: And here comes Slick in. Vertical suplex connects. The Stonebreakers are in complete control here. But he's looking for more. He dives and hits a kneedrop to the solar plexus.
SL: He should've just kneed him in the 'nads. And what the hell is up with solar plexus. Does that mean shiny belly or something?
MW: Ignoring you. Slick gets a sleeperhold locked in on Desi. The dizzy man is struggling...struggling...lifeless...STRUGGLING...lifeless. The ref checking on him. The arm drops limply, and suddenly I'm glad Trey isn't here.
SL: Oh! He left me a bunch of limp jokes. Where did I put those?
MW: The arm falls a second time. And here comes number three. But Sasquatch breaks the hold? The ref is warning him.
SL: (Larry of the Three Stooges) I'm warning you!
MW: Here comes Hugo. He's sitting on Desi!
SL: Guess we could change his name from Desi to Flatty.
MW: And now he's bouncing on him. Oh no! It's Bohemoth! Big Bo is here. He rolls in the ring and hits Hugo in the head with a blind man's cane! Sasquatch grabs Desi's dizzy hammer and goes after Slick! That's it...the ref is ending it.
SL: This match is ending in a double disqualification.
[The crowd boos loudly.]
[And we return to Style's basement.]
SL: Gee, Misty, I'm feeling a little...
MW: Steve? Oh man. I guess he lost too much blood. But now I don't have anybody to finish the rest of the show with.
[There's a knock at the door. Misty goes to open it.]
Pigeon: Oh, hey, Misty. What are you doing here? (He notices the camera.)
MW: I'm actually in the middle of taping a Classix episode. Leary just passed out on me. Want to help me finish?
Pigeon: Not really.
MW: Great! Come on in.
Pigeon: (Frustrated) Ohhh!
[And here we go again.]
Pigeon: I don't think I've ever done commentary before.
MW: Well, you won't be any worse than Leary. We had no chemistry whatsoever.
[*Ahem* Making his way towards the ring, from Charleston, West Virginia, weighing in at 490 pounds, BOHEMOTH! Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" plays. Bohemoth slowly comes out wearing his soiled coveralls and miner's helmet. He is still using the blind man's cane. Decent pop.]
Pigeon: That's as slim as I've ever seen Bohemoth.
MW: Well, I guess if he wasn't a behemoth, he wouldn't be Bohemoth.
[*Ahem* And his opponent, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 266 pounds, Cross-Eyed CHRIS ARMSTRONG! The Rogue's Gallery theme song - a variation of the nWo theme. Sad but true. Chris wavers back and forth to the ring. He wears a Rogue's Gallery T-shirt (his profile in an ornate frame) with brown trunks and aviation goggles. A few boos from the audience.]
Pigeon: What was that noise?
MW: The bell?
Pigeon: Oh! Right. Now I remember. I haven't heard a ring bell in so long working for BOB.
MW: I know what you mean.
Pigeon: I heard Bo can be seen in the latest Star Wars crapfest. He's one of the moons.
MW: Bohemoth starts off with a big belly-to-belly suplex.
Pigeon: Does anybody have a shovel?
MW: Bohemoth goes for a splash, and hits it. He picks Armstrong up, bounces against the ropes, and a clothesline sends Chris flying.
Pigeon: Chris has no shot at beating Bohemoth unless he goes back in time to the late 1980s and morphs into Hulk Hogan. Did you ever notice that the WWF only employed fat guys so they could job out to that piece of crap?
MW: Don't you mean the WWE?
Pigeon: No. I can say the WWF because I won't get sued by the World Wildlife Federation. Now if I blow a panda's brains out with a gun, then they might come after me.
MW: Chris is trying to get in some offense, but he's throwing punches that aren't connecting. He misses to the left and right of Bohemoth.
Pigeon: I hope Chris doesn't have a license to drive.
MW: Bohemoth with a sidewalk slam. Cover. One. Two. Shoulder just barely up by Chris Armstrong. Bohemoth picks Chris up and, Armstrong with a small package.
Pigeon: Small package? More like an extra large package, Misty.
MW: But Bo escapes at two. Armstrong slides out of the ring.
Pigeon: I wonder if Chris had the Armstrong curse.
MW: What curse is that?
Pigeon: The inability to get a decent push.
MW: Armstrong sneaks up behind Bo. Neckbreaker connects.
Pigeon: Bo is half-blind. Armstrong with a smart move there.
MW: Cover. One. Two. Bo escapes yet again. Now Chris is trying for a suplex?
Pigeon: One smart move followed by a really stupid one. Why doesn't he just whip him in the ropes and try to back body drop him while he's at it?
MW: Bo, I guess, blocks it by default. Now Bo connects with a snap suplex. Bo pulls Armstrong up and whips him into the corner. He hits the Avalanche!
Pigeon: That could have caved in his...everything.
MW: Hold on. Here comes Jamal Tupac Mustafa into the ring to stop Bo from covering Armstrong. Bo grabs Armstrong and charges at Mustafa. And there goes Jamal after a meeting of the minds. Bohemoth hits a belly to back suplex on Armstrong.
Pigeon: I guess we could call that the 'Nuclear leg drop' due to the extreme devastation it creates.
MW: Cover. One. Two. Three.
[Bo wins. And did I mention I'm sick of doing the narrating AND ring announcing?]
Pigeon: Life is just pissing on you, isn't it, Detached Narrator?
[Yeah it is.]
Pigeon: Well, why don't you just insert somebody into the old footage? You can do that, you know. You've got power.
[You know what. You're right. Just for that, I won't send a bunch of flying piranha to eat your testicles.]
MW: We've got more stuff happening post-match. The Rogue and Sweet Candy Andy are coming to the ring.
[The Rogue has a Gallery T-shirt, black pants and slicked back hair. Sweet Candy Andy has a pimp daddy hat, wraparound shades, a fur-trimmed cape, and a silver duck's-head cane, the only thing that looks out of place is the Gallery T-shirt.]
MW: Sweet Candy Andy is slamming a duck head into Bohemoth's midsection over and over! Armstrong is back up and throwing some hard punches
Pigeon: Yeah, the air is about ready to tap out from the assault.
MW: Well, he's hitting a few anyway this time. Jamal is back in and assaulting Bo with his own cane.
[There is an extended crowd shot.]
Pigeon: This is just about long enough for someone to blade.
MW: Bo is bleeding!
Pigeon: I knew it. Well, I hope he had his aspirin and beer before the match to make it flow good.
MW: Wow, somebody I team with mentions blood flow and doesn't resort to a period joke. I'm in shock.
Pigeon: I don't find that sort of thing funny.
MW: What do you find funny?
Pigeon: I like jokes.
MW: Oh yeah?
Pigeon: Sure. Like, why did the girl fall off the swing?
Pigeon: Because she didn't have any arms.Or, why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
Pigeon: Because it was dead. Why did the baby fall out of the tree?
Pigeon: Because it was stapled to the monkey.
MW: Quite a delivery you've got there, Pigeon. Don't quit your day job. Or working for BOB.
[Cut to Death.]
Death: BWAHAHAHAHA! Because it was DEAD! I'm so stealing that!
[Back to the old footage.]
Death: Whoa! That was weird. Hey! Where am I?
[Sorry, Death, I needed a ring announcer, and you were the first guy I could track down.]
[Death looks around the arena, which is suddenly incredibly silent. Which is weird, because...um...I...oh CRAP. I think I just sent Death back in time.
MW: The hell? I didn't know Death was in the STWF back in 1997.
[Hmm...this is weird. I wonder what effect this would have had on the show?]
MW: What? Wait!
Angus Vince McMadden: What the? Where did our ring announcer go?
Jamal Tupac Mustafa: Hey, Twilight, looks like you got some company.
Captain Twilight: It's the grim reaper.
Death: No, it isn't. I'm Death. There is no such thing as the grim reaper.
CT: I'm too young!
Death: For what? Mummification?
[An acid rock version of the James Bond theme plays. OddJobber wears ripped jeans, a stained "Can I Have a Pancake?" T-shirt, a bowler hat and sunglasses.]
Death: Who is this loser? I can't believe I get sent back in time and the introduction cards aren't included.
AVM: Did he just say he's from the future?
Death: Yes I did. I'm from the year 2005. Where crime is soaring, people live in homes with bars on their windows, war rages in the Middle East and "The Simpsons" is still on the air for some God-forsaken reason.
[Oh, you did NOT just go there.]
Death: Yeah, so, in 2003, I'm gonna ask all you people to do me a favor. And if you all do me this favor, I won't kill you all now. I'm telling you, do NOT watch "The Simpsons" season premiere. There were script problems from the start. I did it for the money. But check me out in "Family Guy" in 2000. But perhaps I've said too much already.
["Bad" by Michael Jackson plays. Wackson is wearing the same costume he had last week. Err...I guess...earlier tonight...man, this is confusing. Am I in the past or the present? Who knows! The bell rings. But Death doesn't get out of the ring.]
AVM: What do you call yourself then? Future Death?
Death: No, jacka[bleep], I call myself Death. Hey, why did I just get bleeped for saying jack[bleep].
AVM: You can't swear in the STWF.
Death: Swear? Since when is [bleep] a swear? Man, 1997 sucks. And I am NOT leaving this ring until I am back in 2005. What do we have to do, have a triple threat match dance or something?
TJM: What's dat?
Death: You don't know what a triple threat match is? Good lord, are we in the dark ages of sports entertainment?
CT: Sports entertainment?
Death: Damn it, Detached Narrator, what the hell are you doing to me?
[I'm working on it.]
TJM: Who's he talkin' to?
AVM: I'm not sure. He must be schizophrenic as well.
[Death reluctantly steps over the top rope to the floor.]
AVM: OddJobber starts with a slap to the midsection. Interesting opener...Wackson responds with a dropkick and OddJobber is down. Surprise, surprise. The crowd is chanting "FREE JOE RAIN! FREE JOE RAIN!" and I have no idea what it means!
CT: You can stop the charade now. It's obvious the fans know that OddJobber's real name is Joe Rain. OddJobber is up, charges Wackson and gives a double underhook suplex, and this crowd goes berserk! The cover: 1...and a kickout. Oooh, the fans aren't pleased with that. OddJobber with an elbowdrop that finds its mark nicely. OddJobber has talent, no doubt about it.
Death: Umm, Detached Narrator? If you don't get me out of here soon, I'm gonna have to start hitting people. Maybe even killing them. And then we'll have all sorts of space-time contiuum issues, I'd imagine.
[Heh, that'd be funny. We could actually alter the past, couldn't we?]
Death: We already have.
JTM: OddJobber takes Wackson to the top rope for a superplex, and NAILS IT! Man, the crowd is lovin' it! I must admit, so am I! But wait, Wackson now with an inside cradle, and the cover, the count, and the victory! The crowd boos heavily, and the chant starts up again.
(crowd shot of some generation Xers in "Can I Have a Pancake?" T-shirts.)
[Hold on...who was THAT?]
Death: Who was what?
[The guy with the parentheses.]
Death: He must be their narrator.
[... This means war.]
AVM: Looks like OddJobber has found fans with just as little direction as he has. What is Future Death 2005 doing?
CT: Oh no. No!
AVM: Future Death 2005 just touched Michael Wackson, who crumpled to the mat unmoving. Fans, this was definitely NOT in the script.
[Not in YOUR script anyway. Now it's in MINE! MWAHAHAHAHA! Oh wait...]
Booming Voice: MWAHAHAHAHAHA!
*Crash of thunder*
JTM: Yo, dis some freaky [bleep] right here.
AVM: Future Death 2005 kicks OddJobber in the midsection. Oh no. Powerbomb!
Booming Voice: NETHERWORLD POWERBOMB!
AVM: I stand corrected.
Booming Voice: Puny mortals, you have NO idea what you have just done!
Death: Aw, now you've made Detached Narrator angry.
Booming Voice: Mark my words, mortals! Monday Nae Trous. The Stereo Type Wrestling Federation? Soon they will be NO MORE! For BOB is taking over!
*A bright flash and rumbling of thunder*
[Death vanishes, and the STWF ring announcer returns.]
AVM: Uh...Our next match for this evening features a stable war as Jamal Tupac Mustafa and Sweet Candy Andy of the Rogue's Gallery take on Los Mexicanos Nondescriptos of Mexico Unlimited.
Announcer Lad: The following tag team contest is set for one fall. Making their way towards the ring, with a combined weight of 513 lbs., representing the Rogue's Gallery, Jamal Tupac Mustafa and Sweet Candy Andy!
(Andy's voice saying, "Man, my chocolate's SOOOOOOOO sweet!" is heard, followed by the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive". The two men come out to loud boos.)
Announcer Lad: And their opponents, with a combined weight of 430 lbs., representing Mexico Unlimited, José, Julio, Los Mexicanos Nondescriptos!
(The Mexican Hat Dance plays. Two nondescript luchadores enter. They can barely be told apart. Mixed reaction from the crowd.)
AVM: Julio against Sweet Candy Andy to start. Both men exchanging armdrag takedowns, and I don't like the direction this is going!
CT: Wait, we need a third announcer! Who's it going to be? Wait, here he comes - the Square? Can he talk?
AVM: Can? Yes. Will he is another question, but apparently his presence here indicates he will. Welcome, Mr. Square.
Mr. Square: (very nasal quiet voice) Hellooo. It's goood to beee heeere.
CT: What brings you to ringside?
MS: I'm heeere to keeep tabs on Mexico Unlimited. They're liable to dooo anything to win. And I'm here to express my outrage at the fact I'm not getting my title shot this weeeeek.
AVM: That's true, El Spheros was supposed to defend today, but he backed out, saying he will defend when he's good and ready, and I assume that means at Mexico Madness.
CT: So, basically, you lied to the fans again.
AVM: Wait, let's get back to the match! What on earth? Are they still exchanging armdrag takedowns?
(Crowd is chanting "boring".)
MS: Apparently so.
CT: Our ratings are going down. I can smell it. When is something different going to happen? Ah, here it is. Right on cue. It's Bucho Mugralez and Pedro Chang! It's their turn to come to ringside. They're chatting with El Presidente, but again, we can't hear a word! They're shaking hands! I certainly hope this isn't what I think it is!
AVM: Pedro Chang enters the ring and nails Andy! He goes to the top rope and hits the L.A. Hangover on the pimp! Unfortunately, the ref was arguing with Jamal Tupac Mustafa, and Julio with the easy cover. 1...2...3! Did the other guys even tag in?
MS: Yes, but you missed it, and all they did was exchange armdrag takedowns toooo.
Announcer Lad: Here are your winners, Los Mexicanos Nondescriptos!
El Presidente is entering the ring with Bucho and Pedro. I hope this isn't what I think...
El Presidente: Plees khwelcome the newest members of Mehico Unlimited! Pedro Chang and Bucho Mugralez! Notting can stop us khnow!
(El Spheros and Pepe the Mexican Midget enter the ring. All of Mexico Unlimited is now together. The Mexican National Anthem plays.)
MS: I've gotta stop this...
AVM: Square! No! It's a suicide mission! The Square is trying to beat everyone up, but he's outnumbered five to one, plus managers. Oh, this isn't pretty, not at all. What? We can't go now!
(Cattle prod appears again)
AVM: Okay! We have to go! Next week, hopefully, Distruct, the Stonebreakers in action, and the Forces of Justice just might put their tag belts on the line! Goodnight everybody, and until next week, keep your pants off!
© 2005 BOB Wrestling. Please, keep your pants on.