Back, but why!
[Ultra-cheesy opening graphics appear on-screen, as 'BOB CLASSIX" your screen again. (This time accompanied by Metallicas' "Whiskey In The Jar"... which Eddie B dowloaded off Napster... so no royalties for you, Mr Hetfield) We fade into the Classix Set, which is squeezed into a the Flunkys' utility closet this week. GBH and Coma are sitting on plastic buckets behind a pressboard table. A third bucket is present, along with another set of headphoes for the shows' "Mystery Guest". Can you feel the tension rising? Didn't think so.]
GBH: Duh. Hello. Ummm.. We back.
Coma: Racing this time, and it's a fast start for Mr Lemming! Bob Dole is lagging behind, three lengths to Polecat Pete, a short nose to the Masked Herring and I'm enchanted by your mother, Mr Brown. Nipples!
[CAPTION: Hello, and welcome to the show.]
GBH: Duh. You silly, Coma. Duh. Anyway. We got guest today. Xamfir. Hee.
[Xamfir slouches into shot and takes his seat after some careful manuevring in the somewhat cramped space. He waves at the camera and smiles widely. He then looks into the camera lens and pulls his cheeks out to examine his teeth. He pulls out a bottle of Windex and sprays his teeth.]
[Xamfir then takes out some sort of dirty rag or bandana from his jeans and wipes his teeth clean. Once satisfied, he puts the rag away and smiles again. He seems pleased.]
Xamfir: Thanks for having me. The level of intelligence in this room is just staggering. Of course, this is a really small room. And most of it is mine. But thanks, guys, it's a real pleasure to be a guest on such a great show as Classiques. A lesser man would point out the implied symbolism of three men in a closet, but not Xamfir.
GBH: Duh. Yeah. Xamfir. (Thinks hard) You like waffles?
Xamfir: Do I whah? Waffles. Yeah. I once had sex in a waffle house. Do you believe that? A waffle house. With a girl! Good times, good times.
[Coma and GBH stare at him.]
Xamfir: OK, so it wasn't really sex. But I did see a girl at a waffle house who I WANTED to have sex with. That counts, right?
[Coma and GBH stare at him.]
Xamfir: Sure, she was my cousin, but you don't have to be so judgmental! Like you've never looked at a woman in waffle house and said, damn, I'd like to cover her in syrup and have an all I can eat buffet in bed.
[Coma and GBH stare at him.]
Xamfir: But did I? No! Instead, I went home and thought about her. I was alone.
[Coma and GBH stare at him.]
Xamfir: And naked in bed with a bottle of syrup. And thought about her. All alone. God, stop the Spanish inquisition will you?!
Coma: (sings) Do you know the way to San Jose? (Headbangs wildly) ALOHA!
Xamfir: You two aren't licensed gun owners, I hope. Hey, how about the three of us take a drive after the show. There's this great place I know that sells white jackets really cheap. There's plenty of arm room...What you say guys?
GBH: Okay. Match time. Yur. From house show. Some guys. Yur.
[Cut to the gymnasium of a high school in Poontang Junction, Alabama. The shot, courtesy of Kamkorder Kid waves around, Blair Witch-style.]
Mark Shill: Testing, testing.. Scotty, can you hear me?
SW: Yes, I hear you, Mark... now tell me why the heck are we taping this bathroom break of a match for? No-one's ever going to see it!
KK: You never know, Scotty... they might need it for a filler show, or something...
SW: Geez, I hope we never get THAT desperate for material!
MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 654 pounds, two men still on the roster only because the Li'lBOSS thinks they're still funny... CAPTAIN COMB-OVER and THE PERSIAN RUG!
[Eddie B mixes a generic superhero theme with some sitar music. It's not his finest moment behind the decks, but he tries... For those of you unfamiliar with these two, imagine a sixty-year old man in spandex trying to conceal a bald-spot that could double as a solar panel, and an old-as-dirt Iron Shiek (Boy is THAT a redundant phrase) wearing a toupee that looks like David Lettermans' hair. After he was electrocuted and dragged backwards through a bush. Which was subsequently dragged backwards through a combine harvester.]
MA: Are you finished?
MA: Thank you... and their opponents... representing the Jobbers With Attitude... UNORIGINAL MAN and BRUCE, THE EVIL NEW ZEALANDER!
[Eddie B spins "Pomp and Circumstance With Extra Bleating Sheep" as the duo make their appearance. Unoriginal man is having trouble moving properly due to the fact that he's got his 15-foot long chain entangled with his 12-foot long boa constrictor while showing off his 20-inch pythons. Bruce is wearing his first official BOB t-shirt that reads "G'day, I'm Bruce..." on the front. The back reads "And I'm EVVVVIL!"]
MS: This should be a sensational match, Scotty! Wait, what's this? Unoriginal Man is asking for a mic...
SW: Well, he can keep on asking!
UM: (Faintly) Hey! Announcer! Give me the mic! What? What? Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat? Don't walk away from me, jabronie! I'll lay my candy ass on you, and that's the bottom line! WHOOO!
SW: That six-pack of Coors I gave the Masked Announcer was the best investment I ever made...
MS: Good thinking, Scotty... OW! In his efforts to get a microphone, Unoriginal Man runs straight into Captain Comb-Overs' "Ungrateful Whipper-Slapper"! Bruce comes to his partners aid with a thunderous diving clothseline! WHADDAMANEUVER!
SW: Yeah, he calls that one "I'm Baaaaa-d", Mark. Frickin' sheep-obsessed New Zealanders...
MS: The Persian Rug back-elbows Bruce, knocking him to the floor! And look at him go to work on Bruce with a devastating arsnel of stomps and kicks!
SW: Hey Mark, stop me if you've heard this one... a New Zealander walks into a barn with velcro gloves on, and says "Anyone else feel like a little lamb?"
MS: Huh? I don't get it, Scotty...
MS: Captain Comb-Over has Unoriginal Man in the corner... look at those Euoprean uppercuts! He still looks like he did in his heyday!
SW: Yeah, I heard he sucked just as badly back in 1962 as he does today...
MS: HEART PUNCH! OH MY GOD, the Heart Punch!! That could stop Unoriginal Mans' heart!
MS: The Persian Rug is still bruatalising Bruce with fingernails to the back! Oh no, the dreaded abdominal stretch!
SW: Oh, MAN do these old-school matches suck! Pass me that chair, Mark...
MS: Sure, Scotty, but why do you need another...
MS: GOOD NIGHT and it's only 7pm! Scotty just waffled Captain Comb-Over and the ref never saw it! It's breaking loose in Poontang! (pause) Did I just say what I thought I said?
SW: See, THAT's new-school wrestling, Mark... let's see the worm-fodder make a superman comeback from THAT!
MS: That's despicable, Scotty! You should be ashamed of yourself!
SW: Hey, I wasn't ashamed when Nurse Heidi caught me trying on her underwear last week, so hitting someone with a chair aint gonna do it, either! GO GET HIM, UNORIGINAL MAN!
MS: And that's exactly what's happening as the Generic Ref ushers the Persian Rug out of the ring! Unoriginal Man props Captain Comb-Over in the corner... Unoriginal Splash! He backs up... another Unoriginal Splash! Captain Comb-Over slumps down into the corner!
[Unoriginal Man walks out into the center of the ring, then does a showy "turn-and-look" move, before hitching up his tights and giving himself a hella-wedgie.]
SW: Oh good Lord, NO! There's some things you should NOT imitate!
Bruce, The Evil New Zealander: (faintly) Bugger that for a joke, mate...
SW: Oh, thank God! Bruce reached over and tagged himself in!
MS: Unoriginal Man is slightly upset at his partner about that, but he is leaving the ring. Bruce picks up Comb-Over... Pumphandle slam! Well, no slam yet, just the pumphandle part... You think this an improvement, Scotty? What the heck is Bruce doing to Captain Comb-Over?
SW: That's the "Give Ewe One!", Mark... Hey, why do Scotsmen wear kilts? Because sheep can hear a zipper a mile away!
MS: Huh? I'm not following you, Scotty...
SW: Why am I not surprised? Geez, Mark, you've got Van Goghs' ear for comedy!
MS: Finally Bruce slams Captain Comb-Over and applies an anklelock! The Persian Rug is strecthing out his hand for a tag! Can captain Comb-Over reach his partner? Will he submit? This is what it's all about, folks! The pinnacle of our sport! What a match! What a battle!
SW: What a pile of horeshit! Of course he'll make the tag, Mark! He's just playing Ricky Morton!
CC-O: (Faintly) I heard that... I was doing this when Ricky Morton was an itch in his daddys' pants!
MS: OH! Comb-Over witn a sudden burst of strength... and he BREAKS THE HOLD! Reaches out.. and TAGS! Here comes the Persian Rug! Clothesline! Unoriginal man comes in... another clothesline! He picks Bruce up... shoulderbreaker! He's a house of fire!
SW: He's not on fire, he's moving so slow he's barely smouldering! Hey, Mark, why do Australian men get married? Because a sheep can't cook or wash the dishes!
SW: Never mind... Oh, no, not this...
MS: An AIRPLANE SPIN! He's setting him up for his finisher!
SW: Let me guess... an Iron Claw? A camel clutch? An atomic drop?
MS: You've never studied the classics, Scotty! The Persian Rug was the first man to use a Superkick!
SW: You're shitting me! Hey, he is setting up for a superkick! No way!
MS: And HERE IT COMES!
UM: (Faintly) OW! My knee!
MS: Of course, he's not getting the elevation he used to...
SW: Unoriginal Man sells it like a pro, though... One.. two! Bruce tries to break it up...
MS: OH MY GOD! The "Brylcreem Deluxe" from Captain Comb-Over on Bruce! Put a fork in him, he's done! The Generic Ref counts the three on Unoriginal Man and this one is in the books! Goodnight Irene, turn out the lights, the party is OVER!
SW: Geez, what is this, a three-for-the-price-of-one cliche' sale?
MA: Here are your winners, CAPTAIN COMB-OVER AND THE PERSIAN RUG!
[Back to the closet.]
GBH: That was. Duh. Fun. Xamfir, Kay Fabe is. Ummm. Hottie. You got her. Duh. Thingees? Umm. Digits?
Xamfir: Yeah, she has nice fingers. I guess. Never really, noticed her fingers. Me, Kay and Sarah all had a threesome. You believe that? The three of us. Had sex. Together. The three of us. But you do realize she is a lesbian right? You can't like, date her. Besides, she's kind of into, girls who can put a sentence together without, y'know, losing the point of it, before, you're done? Or something. But I know a lot of people want to know about the broomstick stories we have only vaguely hinted at, so let's discuss that now, shall--
Coma: What's that? (Points randomly) Nurfball.
Xamfir: OK, what the hell is going on here? Did both of you graduate from Random Q-Niversity? Or is BOB just like the supermarkets that hire those people like Special Ed? You know. Those kids with the black hair, chubby faces, sloping foreheads and great conversational skills. The ones who pile your cans of beans...
[Somebody farts. Conincidence? Or promotional tool? You decide.]
Xamfir: Before I was so rudely interrupted. On top of your bread. The ones who put your bag of chips in the bottom of the bag and then throw a six-pack right on top of it, popping the bag and crushing hundreds of innocent chips. Those chip bags could have contained faces of famous people who I could have found so I could go on "The Tonight Show" and be noticed. I'm funny! I can tell jokes! I can find people's faces in food I eat. Just yesterday, I noticed that this food I was eating looked like letters. It was so weird. I found A's and B's and C's and even some D's and stuff. Every piece of the cereal looked like letters. I even spelled by name with it on the floor.
GBH: You do nasty with Kay?
Xamfir: No, I did not have sex with the letter K. Sheesh. First of all, the letter K doesn't have any holes. And besides that, how small do you think I am? Xamfir's panflute is no small thing! I even crushed the O!
Coma: Wally, get me an axe so I can rescue garandma.. boof!
[CAPTION: Time for another match...]
[Cut to the Richmond Less Important Events Center, in Richmond, Virginia. The Kent State Krew are in the ring, finishing up a "live" performance of their new (At the time) single "Blond Hair, Blue Eyes and A Training Bra. (She's The One 4 Me)"]
Sw: Is it over? Can I take these earmuffs off yet?
NH: Oh, for goodness sake, Scotty... it wasn't THAT bad!
SW: Yeah, right... I've heard waterbuffalos in heat with more rythym than those three!
[Nurse Heidi looks at Scotty with an amused expression.]
SW: I've got the Discovery Channel, okay?!
NH: Sure, Sir Humpdalot... we all remember "Gluttons For Punishment..."
SW: HEY! Quit bringing that up!
MA: This contest is set for one fall, with a time-limit of fifteen minutes, or seven sexual innuendos from Scotty. Introducing first, from Who Can Remember Any More... LYNETTE "BULL" DYKSTRA!
[And yes, the sole remaining member of the blink-and-you-missed-it BOB Womens' Division is in the ring, getting a huge round of apathy...]
MA: And her opponent... Accompanied by the Swiss Army Champion, Sarah The Jobber Slayer...
MA: ...And hailing from Cloudydale, not Richmond, although she thinks Richmond, Virginia is super-nifty keen...
SW: Oh, man! Even the Masked Announcer is getting cheap pops! Remind me to chairshot him when he's least expecting it...
NH: You mean like the time you broke a guitar over the Flunkys' head... and he was in the shower at the time?
SW: Heh heh... You got it!
MA: ...Ladies and Gentlemen... KAY FABE!
[Big Pop as Kay and Sarah emerge from behind the threadbare curtain to the strains of Garbages' "Queer".]
NH: This stable has really won the hearts and minds of the BOB faithful, haven't they Scotty?
SW: You mean they're getting a monster push because they're appealling to the lowest common denominator...
NH: What are you talking about Scotty? What lowest common denominator?
SW: The BigBOSS... he's a Buffy Mark from way back! Not to mention a red-headed lesbian Mark as well...
NH: Well, that's as may be, Scotty... but right now, Kay is going to have to show her stuff in the ring...
NH: ...Wrestling-wise... Sheesh! That's one, Whatbody... six more remarks like that and this match is over.
NH: And, we're off and running! They lock up in a test-of-strength... and it looks like Dykstra is far too powerful for Kay Fabe. Kay's struggling... she's on her knees!
SW: Oh, let me take a picture of that! YEAH!
NH: That's two! Kay is in trouble... how can she esacape from this?
[Kays broomstick suddenly levitates, spins around and flies blunt-end first toward the back of Lynettes head.]
SW: Ooh, got her right in the melon! And Sarah didn't interfere, so the Generic Ref can't do a thing! HA!
NH: That's what you think, Scotty! The Generic Ref is ordering Kays' broomstick to go back to the locker room!
SW: Th' hell? Whaddup wit dat?
NH: Oh, great, I'm commentating with Scotty Tupac Mustafa... Kay beils Lynette across the ring by her hair! She runs to the ropes... springboard guillotine leg-drop! Beautiful move!
SW: Watching this makes me wish our womens' division had caught on...
SW: Yeah, every man loves watching a little girl-on-girl action from time to time!
NH: That's three, you drooling sleazebag. Scoop.. and a slam! Lynette rolls to the floor... that could be a mistake as she's ended up right next to Sarah! A bit of push and shove between the two...
SW: BITCH-SLAP! Eat THAT Sarah! Spanky-spankies!
Faint Voice From the Locker Rooms: Oh my God!
NH: And Sarah responds with her patented spinning heel kick! And a side kick! Oh, and that's FOUR!
Scotty: I thought Kay and Xamfir were the sidekicks? Lynette better get back in the ring before Sarah goes all Pam Grier on her ass...
NH: And she does indeed roll back in... Kay charges... Lynette ducks and pancakes her! She applies an STF! Kay's in trouble! Can the rookie work some magic against the hardend veteran?
SW: Stetch her, Lynette! Heh. She's not the only thing around here that's hard...
SW: HEY! I was talking about Kay, okay? Check out her abs! I think she's channeling someone! I love it when this happens!
NH: You're right! Her muscles are tightening... someone's about to take over her body...
Sarah: They're herrre....
SW: Oh, MY GOD! What the hell happened?!
[A shot of Kay reveals her previously tight abdominals have suddenly expanded into a huge pot belly. Her red hair retracts, leaving her balder than Ron Howard sans baseball cap. With a burst of effort, she throws Lynette off her. Turning to the camera, she pokes a large, green tongue out and grins.]
SW: Oh, good Lord, she's been possesed by George "The Animal" Steele... no, don't turn around...
[Too late. Kay has turned away from Scotty, revealling a VERY hairy back.]
SW: Awww, GROSS! (Thinks briefly) On the plus side, it would give a guy something to hang on to...
Kay, Sarah, Lynette and Heidi: FIVE!
SW: I am what I am, ladies...
NH: Yeah, a pig... Vicious headbutt from Kay "The Animal" Fabe! Clubbing forearm! And... some more forearms. And there's a right hand. Fairly limited offense, but effective.
SW: Well, it could have been worse. She could have channelled Lex Luger and then you'ld be going "Clothesline. Clothesline. Clothesline." for the rest of the match... I was actually hoping she'd channel X-Pac...
NH: For the Bronco Buster, right?
SW: Oooh, yeah!
NH: SIX! Choose your next wittiscm carefully, Whatbody...
SW: All right, all right... I wom't say another sleazy word... (sulks)
NH: Good... I can't believe I'm the only one with standards here...
SW: Standards? You're polishing Billys "Pole"-ar and you think you have STANDARDS?
NH: I'll ignore that... Lynette isn't faring too well against Kay since her unexpected transformation! She's trying to take a breather on the outside!
[Kay-Steele proceeds to rip open a turnbuckle with her teeth.]
SW: I have to say it...
NH: I'm warning you...
SW: SHE'S A PILLOW-BITER! YES!
NA: Ladies and gentlemen, due to Scotty Whatbodies overly-smutty commentary, this match has been declared a NO-CONTEST!
NH: Nice going, you sexually-deprived piece of primordial slime...
SW: Any time, babe... anytime. (Lights a cigarette.) Oh, yeah.
[Cut back to the BOB Closet-O'-Fun.]
GBH: Duh. Xamfir. You like kitties? Kitties are fuzzy. Yur.
Xamfir: Fine, I give up. Serious interviews are hard to come by in BOB. So I will reduce this interview to the lowest, most random level I possibly can. [Xamfir pulls out a piece of paper and begins reading, completely randomly, without any thought that he'd use this material on the show.] Xamfir: Death, absences thee from felicity not even for a while nor yet turn down an empty glass in memory of me. Let bloodlust darken thine eyes and let no smile furrow whats between in memory. I am passing away into the darkness. Now everything that I have seen was not for you to see. I will tear open the gates of hell on an innocent passerby. I'll see you on the other side. My blood runs true in thine veins, goths are the ultimate family. Thank you my brethern, for letting me see the true darkness inside of me. I will never forget you. WUCK THE FORLD!!! AND ALL OF CIVILIZATION!!! WE REIGN SUPREME!!!
Coma: Is there styrofoam in your leiderhosen, Frau Porkenstein?
Xamfir: You know what I like to do? I like to get a little black paint and paint little mouse holes on the baseboards of my cellar apartment. Then I watch as the mice try to go into it. It's quite funny. Of course, after that, and I go get drunk, sometimes I forget the holes are painted on and I bruise my panflute trying to get into them.
GBH: Duh... 'Kay! Last match. Then we go. Yur.
[Cut to Chicagos' Budget Arena, scene of the classic(??) BOB Pay-Per-View, "Send Us Money: Full Court Press!". "See You In Hell (Don't Be Late)" is reverberating around the arena, to the cheers of the assembled fans. In the ring, StreetMime is standing nose-to-nipples with Bobo Q. Fiendish in the WM III Hogan/Andre pose.]
MM: Fans, hello and welcome to the pre-game show of "FULL COURT PRESS"! I'm Mike "The Monotone" Monroe, along with Scotty Whatbody! And, just moments ago, former STWF champion, StreetMime came down to ringside and called out relative newcomer to BOB, Bobo Q Fiendish!
SW: That's ONE way of putting it!
[Brief footage of StreetMime in the ring alone. He mimes talking into an invisible microphone, walks against the wind, gets caught in an invisible glass box, and finally leans against an invisible table.]
MM: Nevertheless, Bobo Fiendish has answered the challenge of this resiliant and often-brusied superstar! This should be a classic for the ages! A clash of the titans!
SW: An ass-kicking of titanic proportions, more like!
MM: Oh, my Lord in Heaven! Better put Grandma to bed!
SW: OUCH! Even I felt that one! Thank God The flunky is a compatible bloodgroup for Streetmime!
SPLAT!! CRACK!! THAT POPPING SOUND A JOINT MAKES UNDER PRESSURE!
MM: The horror! The horror! Won't someone think of the children?!!
SW: StreetMime fires back with everything in his arsnel!
MM: WOW! He nearly made Fiendish change his expression with that one!
[A close-up shot of the ring shows StreetMime in a horribly complicated-looking wrist/elbow/anklelock combo. He's holding a hastily-scrawled sign towards the camera that reads "CaLL tHE pOLicE!!!!!!". He flips it over as we watch. The back reads. "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"]
MM: This is horrble! StreetMime's career could be ended tonight!
[Cut to a bedroom, decorated in black and white. StreetMime suddenly rears up out of bed, screaming silently. He looks around, then mimes a huge sigh of relief. Turning to the camera, he succinctly mimes "Thank heavens, it was all a dream", before we cut back to the studio/closet.]
GBH: Duh. Dat was. Wierd. Yur.
Coma: (Balancing a pot of hot English mustard on his head) NURF!
Xanfir: (Balancing a ketchup bottle) NURF!
Both: POINK! Hee hee hee....
GBH: Duh. 'Kay. We go now. Bye bye.
[Fade out to various silly noises.]
©2002 BOB Wrestling! It took eight weeks work to write THAT shit?