Reloaded and Revolutionized, POINK!
Beneath You Part 1
A girl with pink hair was seen running very quickly. Trailing behind her on the deserted alley are those robed guys who run pretty well considering their eyes are shut tight.
Anyhow, that girl is climbing up a ladder to the roof of a club. What is that club? Club No Limit. The robed fellows have her surrounded on the roof.
One of them has a ketchup bottle! A sneaky Harbinger hits her from behind with his fist, knocking her flat on her back. The man with the ketchup bottle stabs at her!
She blocks it with a swift right hand!
Then, Stab! Stab! Stab! The other Harbinger of Weed got her with his own ketchup bottle. Oh no, the humanity. Her shirt is covered in red. She's no doubt going to die. Wait. She has something to say.
Girl: From 64, down to 1, a new evil arises.
And then she closed her eyes. Maybe even died.
(The following is yet another Public Rape Announcement from those damn smilies.)
=<>: HELLO, BOB. WE ARE, ONCE AGAIN, FESTERING DEATH.
=C]: FO' SHIZZLE, FESTERIZZLE DEATHIZZLE.
=<>: YOU HAVE NO DOUBT SEEN OUR PREVIOUS PUBLIC RAPE ANNOUNCEMENT CONCERNING OUR LACK OF DIMENSIONS. NOW THAT YOU HAVE SEEN OUR SECOND DIMENSION, THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO MAKE A VERY SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.
=C]: THIS ANNOUNCEMENT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT WE ACTUALLY DIDN'T PLAN TO KILL AND/OR RAPE ANYONE IN THIS PUBLIC RAPE ANNOUNCEMENT. EXPECT THIS TO CHANGE SINCE WE'RE EVIL.
=<>: NOW, OBVIOUSLY, I... SPACEDUCK B. KILLINGS, HAVE ALWAYS BEEN POLITICALLY INCLINED.
=<>: HEY, DETACHED NARRATOR, I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON VACATION.
(Hey, this is pretaped. I'm not quite on vacation yet.)
=<>: WELL, WHATEVER. ANYWAY, I AM POLITICALLY INCLINED. I BELIEVE THAT WE SHOULD BE ENTITLED TO LEGAL MURDER AND RAPE OF INNOCENT PEOPLE. I BELIEVE IN BABY EATING. I BELIEVE IN THE SPACEWORLD DREAM. AND THAT IS WHY, I, SPACEDUCK B. KILLINGS...
(Dramatic pauses rule!)
=<>: ...AM RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR OF CALIFORNIA!
(Styles suddenly popped out of a manhole that Spaceduck was standing on.)
Styles: OH MY GOD!
(Styles left before he could be killed and raped. In that order. Thankfully, Spaceduck didn't even notice. Possibly because he was no-selling.)
=<>: AS YOUR GOVERNOR, THE BLACK CHARIOT WILL TEAR THROUGH THE STREETS OF THE CITIES OF CALIFORNIA, KILLING HUNDREDS IN ITS PATH WITH ITS HORRIBLE BLADES OF FLESH CUTTING AND BLOOD SPRAYING. AS YOUR GOVERNOR, THERE WILL BE TWO BABIES IN EVERY OVEN! AND AS YOUR GOVERNOR, THE HEADS OF ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, GARY COLEMAN, AND THE OTHER FUCKER WHO HAPPENS TO BE THE GOVERNOR RIGHT NOW WILL BE PLACED ON WOODEN SPIKES ON A LARGE WHEEL AND USED IN THE LATEST VERSION OF OUR NEW GAME SHOW, THE WHEEL OF RAPE. I PROMISE MANY GREAT, PROMISING, RAPE-FILLED THINGS IN CALIFORNIA'S FUTURE, AND I THANK YOU ALL FOR LISTENING TO MY ANNOUNCEMENT.
(And suddenly, RVD... you know, the German guy, wandered into the room.)
RVD: Stupid American! You do not live in California! You live in New Jersey! And I am shocked and appalled that you would promise such things in a campaign... this is why Germany is a better con--
=<>: I'M SORRY, I'D LET YOU CONTINUE, BUT I HAD TO STAB YOUR THROAT OUT. SPACECOP, DO THE USUAL, I'M GOING TO GO OUT INTO THE PEOPLE, KISS SOME BABIES... THEN EAT THEM.
(I'll spare you the indignity of watching Spacecop rape RVD's cor--)
[A hand-lettered sign, held up in front of the camera.]
BOB CLASSIX. Yay.
Coma: I-iiiiiii, saw Mommy flushing Santas' drawers. Neep.
GBH: Duh. We on? Yur? 'Kay. Hi. We back.
Coma: Yonder lies the yak of Mr. Greene. Can you feel the heat of the railway, Marvin?
[CAPTION: You want a translation? What am I, your mother? Work it out yourself!]
GBH: We got guest.
GBH: Ummm. Him not here yet. We got match.
Mike Dangerous & Mike McIntosh vs. Pain & Pleasure
SW: OK, this is the absolute lowest BOB has ever sunk for Classix matches. I can’t even believe I agreed to waste my time on this.
DMD: CAVITY! Surely you’re glad to be here with the man who has the best smelling breath and whitest teeth in BOB.
SW: Look, dude, I wouldn’t care if Candy Cantaloupes’ breath smelled like sweat socks, I’d rather have her out here, OK? In a roster filled up with jobbers, you redefine the term.
DMD: CAVITY! Don’t make me get out my dental tools.
SW + DMD: AHHH!
Death: Nice to see you, too.
SW: Why are you here?
Death: Scotty, stop inching.
SW: I’m not inching.
Death: I can hear the wheels on the chair squeaking. I’m just out here to do some guest commentary.
DMD: CAVITY! I believe I was out here to provide the commentary.
[Great...where is the Masked Announcer? I swear, that guy would get tied up and tossed in a trunk full of cement after I spiked his drink if his head wasn’t attached to his shoulders.]
DMD: Did that make ANY sense at all to any of you?
[Screw you, DMD. I’m giving you a shot here. I am the HEAD BOOKER, after all.]
SW: That and Mike Monroe, Styles, Nurse Heidi, The Commentator and every other person who has EVER commentated for us met with several strange, unrelated accidents.
[*Ahem*. This match is scheduled to last until I’m incredibly bored of it. Which, looking at the competitors, won’t be long at all...First of all, from some place Death should visit, weighing something, it’s professional jobster Mike Dangerous. And his partner, straight outta his mother’s basement, Mike IBM.]
Mike Mcintosh: Hey, that’s Mike McIntosh.
[Oh, give it up. PCs rule the world.]
MM: It’s not even SPELLED the same way.
[Cut his pay.]
MM: Dude, this match is taped. From two years ago. From a different fed!
[What’s your point? Did you say all this crap on THAT inferior show? What was it called, Scotty?]
MM: Manic Monday Night.
[Oh, right. What were the initials of that show?]
[Dear readers, you are the first to EVER see five m’s in a row. Man, am I a good booker. Look. Fine. Let’s explain to the BOB viewers what the hell is going on. Da Man and Da Man’s Friend were supposed to do a show. I GAVE them a time slot. And they SCREWED me. Well, you know what the difference is between a trampoline and those two losers? I take my boots off before fucking a trampoline!....WAIT! That’s not the joke!]
Death: And people say *I* suck at comedy.
SW: DN, that’s supposed to be a blonde and a trampoline.
[Ohhhh, right...I remember now. What’s the difference between a blonde and a trampoline. I take my boots off before fucking a trampoline. WAIT! NO!]
DMD: This show makes NO sense at all.
[Fine, comedy isn’t my thing. I guess I’ll just stick to being the most evil heel in the business.]
Death: Do what you know.
*Death turns around and kills a fan in the front row.*
SW: For God’s sake, it’s JUMPING on a trampoline!
[That sounds like a good plan, Scotty. Anyway. The opponents in this match...coming out to the sounds of "Love Roller Coaster" by some one-hit wonder band, it’s Sir Hungalot and Jean Bannister. Pain & Pleasure. The porn star and the NHL reject.]
Death: Jean Bannister. Ugh. Why do I keep running into this idiot. I should just kill him already.
DMD: Scotty, it’s your line.
SW: I’m NOT reading that line. You read it.
DMD: Really? OK. Yeah, Death, that’d be a nice change, Bannister being flat on HIS back after a meeting with you!
Death: *Grumble* I did defeat him at March Mayhem, you know. Why are the fans booing these losers? It must be because they love me and know I’ll kill them all dead if they don’t cheer me.
SW: Death’s greatest move was killing PCW, I think.
Death: I don’t kill efeds. That’s the iAd’s job. What’s up boys! Long time no hear! Trey, Seth, Steve...call me!
SW: The Big Sir is in with Mike McIntosh. I hear he has a new movie coming soon. What was it called? "In The Slit?"
DMD: Sounds like a movie he’d do.
Death: From my sources, the Big Sir has about a 70 pound weight advantage on that momma’s boy.
SW: Wow, he really is well-endowed.
Death: The Big Sir, it says here, it also in the soon to be released "Texas Dildo Massacre" and "School of Cock."
DMD: Can we say cock on television?
Death: Are we even ON television?
*Kay Fabe runs out*
KF: Yes! Yes we are! We’ve got a timeslot! It’s true!
*She runs away*
SW: Well that makes me happy.
DMD: What, that we’re on TV?
SW: No! Kay Fabe running! Did you see that shake? Fake hooters are cool.
Death: Unless you get them stuck in car doors. Or painful submission moves.
Death: He’s doing his best impersonation of a Macintosh for sure. Crashing!
DMD: We’ve been missing quite a match here. The Big Sir hit a gorilla press slam, a DDT and 10 German rolling suplexes! I wonder if he calls that the Multiple Orgasm.
SW: Whatever. We’re just out here to bury EVERYBODY.
Death: Literally. Nice set up, Scotty. I owe you an extra year. 2007 it is.
SW: Whoo!...uh, what?
Death: Kidding! Gotcha!
SW: Heh. Good one, Death.
Death: I’m a funny guy.
SW: Hey, DMD, didn’t you once treat such an ugly guy that you started poking around and couldn’t find his teeth. And you were like, "Dude, where are your teeth and why is your breath so bad?" Then there was a voice from his other end and he’s like, "That’s my ass!"
DMD: Very funny. I am not a proctologist. I’m a dentist.
SW: Tag by Double-M. Look at the Big Sir, he’s just laughing at that loser.
Death: He must have seen the size of his genitals.
SW: If that were the case, the Sir would be laughing all the time.
Death: Not if he got a look at my bone.
SW: Hungalot tries to tag in Bannister, Mike escapes and tags in the other mike. It’s the M&Ms against PP. Peepee!
DMD: Bannister and Dangerous ready to drop the gloves here. And here they go. It’s a hockey style brawl to start out things.
SW: Jean whips Mike D into the ropes. Clothesline. And there’s a, uh...
DMD: Boston crab.
DMD: So that’s why you don’t call matches?
SW: No, it’s because Monroe is holding me down.
SW: McIntosh gets in the ring, but the referee cuts him off.
Death: What the hell? Some federations have rules? How lame.
Death: OK. (Seriously) Some federations have rules? How lame. BWAHAHAHA. I crack me up.
SW: That could be fatal in your case.
Death: Silly boy, you can’t kill Death.
DMD: Scotty...your line again...
SW: I wouldn’t even suggest YOU read that one. "The Simpsons" episode is one I think our friend would rather forget.
SW: Great, now Death is crying. Way to go, DMD.
DMD: I didn’t write the show!
SW: Pain & Pleasure pull the old double team beating in the corner behind the referee dealie.
DMD: Somebody should invent a referee rear-view mirror. That would snuff out all this illegal activity. Thought, to be honest, it’s good for the dental business. Double beatdowns equal chipped teeth.
Death: The which Miller Lite girl debate rages on.
SW: Jean with a move of some sort.
Death: That’s The Slap Shot. Hockey is for losers. NASCAR racing, now there’s a fun sport.
SW: Yeah. More chances at fatalities there, huh?
Death: Fiery deaths you know will be all over the news. It’s great to get your cause out there to the people. Death and chance of death equals ratings. I gotta tell ya, the owner of NASCAR sure owes me. But I guess, Satan will have to collect on that one. MWAHAHAHAHA.
SW: Mr. Hockey Stick is in the ring. Jean hits Dangerous with the weapon.
DMD: That’s gonna be a five-minute major! And there goes the evidence. Hockey is better to me. More teeth problems.
Death: NASCAR is better.
DMD: No. Hockey.
SW: Ugh. Everyone knows pudding wrestling is the greatest sport ever. Don’t even get me started. With the heelishness over, the referee turns around. Here comes the Big Sir. (Pause) BWAHAHAHAHA. And what a mess THAT would be.
[Oh, is this match still going on? I was just having sex with Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera and some sexy cheerleader.]
SW: Man, if you ever leave this job, I know what I’m gonna apply for...
DMD: Bannister and McIntosh are out on the floor. Big Sir heads to Dangerous for the cover. This should be it and OH NO WAIT A MINUTE! DANGEROUS PUTS THE BIG SIR INTO A SMALL PACKAGE. C’MON REF! ONE! TWO! THREEHEGOTHIM. No, wait a second. Sir Hungalot kicked out.
SW: The Big Sir appears to be looking for something here. What could it be. It seems rather elusive. Ah, he’s got it! The G-Spot! Dangerous taps. This one’s all over.
[Thank God. And here are your winners...FINALLY.....Pain & Pleasure.]
Beneath You Part 2
England New England
There was the sound of a beep out front from a taxi cab.
"The cab is here," Styles said as he found Kay Fabe sitting out back on a patio chair, drinking a smoothie.
"We established that already."
"Oh, yes, right. Well, in keeping with New England tradition, you are expected to leave now and go work and stop being a freeloader. Um, are you ready to go?" Styles asked as gently as possible.
"Uhhh, not quite yet, Styles, I didn't finish my smoothie."
"Are you afraid to go back?" Styles questioned.
"No, not really, just kinda thirsty," Kay said with a friendly wink.
"Try to be very specific, what exactly are you afraid of. That BOB is getting all rumbly again? That you know it is waking up. Could it be you're afraid you can't handle what might come out of that hole. Or maybe you're afraid you CAN handle what will come out of the. That you might be a bigger, gooder goodass than the source of all badness? And what if you go all hetero and GRRRRR, again. And what if--"
"Sheesh, I really need another smoothie now." Kay gets up and walks inside the house as Styles continues to talk to her chair.
"Kay, we could drag out this angle to Sting-lengths, being all mysteriious and non-committal, but, OH MY GOD, how boring would that be to watch again. You are strong, your wiccan powers can't be matched by anyone who isn't a fake character. And you know, the big issue you have is, what if they don't want you back.
"BOB, Sarah, Xamfir, Michelle, Jeannie, and even Little Good. I wish I could offer you something more than just fear, but, I'm EXTREMEly bad at giving pep talks. You may not be wanted, but you will be needed. For angle purposes."
Kay Fabe walked back out and returned to her seat.
Styles was staring at Kay.
"What'd I miss?" Kay said, laughing innocently.
"All I can tell you, is trust in your wrestling skills, trust in your ability not to kill other wrestlers, even if they do suck and make fun of you on television. Although, really, we DO fight evil jobbers, don't we. So why the hell were we here now?"
"You got me."
"Right. Anyhow. Trust yourself and maybe everyone else will trust you too."
"What now?" Kay wondered.
"Why are you still here?"
Kay lifted her smoothie.
"Oh my god, do we have to go through this again?"
[The CLASSIX studio. Phil Collins music is playing, so I guess it's a stu-stu-studio. HA! I kill me!]
Coma: Garfield ate the Smurfs! Oh, the SMURFANITY!
A Moment With Festering Death
=<>: WE, UH, ATE THE OTHER TEAM.
=C]: YEAH, SORRY. WE'LL SHIT THEM OUT LATER IF YOU LIKE.
Mark Shill: THIS IS THE DARKEST DAY IN SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY!
=<>: DON'T WE KNOW IT?
Scotty Whatbody: Hi, I'm here to say something that isn't in all caps.
=C]: SHUT THE FUCK UP, WHATBODY, OR I'LL--
SW: Yeah yeah, kill me, rape my corpse, etc., etc. I get you.
[The CLASSIX studio again.]
GBH: Duh. Our editing sucks. Umm. We got guest now.
GBH: Whut? Ummm. He still in makeup. Be here soon.
Coma: So on that note... B-sharp, I believe... Let's have the Romanian Electric Fork Band! Take it away, Floyd!
Major Change & MonkeyBoy vs. Massively Packaged
Scotty Whatbody: Hello, Shill.
Mark Shill: HELLO, SCOTTY! This should be the GREATEST MATCH IN BOB HISTORY!
Insano Mano: El engranaje de pesca est· en la cocina.
SW: What the hell is HE doing at our table?
MS: We forgot to get a Spanish announce desk on this, BOB’S BIGGEST EXTRAVAGANZA!
SW: Riiiight. Well, welcome aboard, Mano. Just don’t swear or anything that’ll get us booted off the Spanish channels.
IM: Cosa segura, Scotty, usted poopooheado. Tenemos esos cabritos loveable de la universidad de Kent, Ohio que toma en un individuo que piense he?s un mono y un general anterior del ejÈrcito de ESTADOS UNIDOS.
Generic Announcer: This tag team match is scheduled for a bunch of stuff you’ve seen a hundred times, but just in a slightly different order.
SW: I like this new announcer lad.
GA: Introducing first. Already in the ring...
GA: Accompanied by Private Pain, this is Major Change. And accompanied by nobody, MONKEYBOY!
[Fans make "oook-oook-oook" noises. But that is quickly drowned out when "Pop" by N’ Sync blasts over the sound system as hundreds of pre-pubescent girls scream and try to touch Jim and Josh. Jim and Josh rip off their T-shirts and throw them into the crowd. Fights break out over the T-shirts causing rioting. The lights go out.]
Booming Voice: We’re not going to continue until you’ve calmed down.
SW: Oh, why couldn’t this show be in South Central? Why do you mock me, Lord?
BV: I’m not God, Scotty.
SW: Then how do you know my name?
SW: g2g? WTFMF? God speaks AOLese?
IM: Si siempre habÌa una razÛn de ser un el ma's athiest.
[Order is restored and Josh and Jim pose on the corners of the ring for photo-ops to a huge pop as the lights come up.)
GA: And their opponents from Kent, Ohio, it’s Passively Packaged, Josh and Jim!
MS: What’s so FUNNY, Scotty?
SW: Sorry, just reading the original script. I can’t believe how much the writers put over themselves. That’s always so embarrassing. Anyway. You know who’s great? Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" and the Shaggy Gang! They rule!
MS: They’re the GREATEST GROUP IN BOB HISTORY!
IM: El alza precedente del ego le fue traÌda por Juan Leary.
SW: Ah, the kids are in their wife beater phase here...I gotta tell you, Massive Man going single was a great move. He was held back so badly here. Even in his own fed! Tagging with Jim? I’d quit the business.
MS: They were the GREATEST TAG TEAM IN SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY, you lame...uh, Scotty.
MS: You going to call the match, or should I?
SW: Uh, sure.
MS: Alright. Jim and MonkeyBoy in the ring. And fans, DON’T YOU DARE CHANGE THE CHANNEL BECAUSE OUR MAIN EVENT IS COMING UP! And what about the BigBOSS? What does HE have in store for the current ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS?
SW: Umm...you do realize there is a match going on? You don’t have to keep hyping the main event. Especially since we have NO FRICKIN’ CLUE WHAT IT IS!
IM: Ay-yi-yi. Atan para arriba. MonkeyBoy con una fricciÛn del brazo toma abajo. …l tiene Jim en un armbar. MonkeyBoy con un azote irlandÈs. …l va para un clothesline. Jim ducks lo y golpea un dropkick.
SW: He’s making fun of you, Shill.
MS: Heavens to Betsy!
SW: They’re all making fun of you, Shill.
MS: THAT’S HIS MOVE!
IM: Jim marca con etiqueta en Josh, y Josh va a trabajar en MonkeyBoy. …l le da un suplex r·pido. Los irlandeses azotan en la esquina. Josh marca la parte posteriora de Jim con etiqueta adentro.
SW: Quite amazing stuff going on here. I guess the KSK is like the Dudley Boyz of BOB, huh?
MS: The Dudley who?
SW: Oh, right, you never heard of that company in Stamford.
MS: What company? There is no other program besides BOB ON THE AIR!
IM: MonkeyBoy necesita desesperadamente hacer una etiqueta. Josh ase MonkeyBoy y le da un azote irlandÈs. Jim est· adentro.
SW: MonkeyBoy is the lamest monkey ever. No bananas. No vine swinging. No poo flinging. Where is the fun in that?
SW: The hell was THAT?
IM: Los ventiladores son insanos.
SW: Insano Fanos?
IM: AtornÌllele. MonkeyBoy ducks el clothesline de Josh?s, pero el retroceso del talÛn de la falta Jim?s del doesn?t que hace girar. Jim toma MonkeyBoy y el irlandÈs lo azota en las cuerdas. Cambio importante con una etiqueta oculta. Jim con un golpe lateral en MonkeyBoy.
MS: THAT’S HIS MOVE!
SW: You are the most shallow character ever. Whoa! Look at the boobs on the chick in the third row!
MS: That’s the YOUNGEST GIRL I’VE EVER SEEN YOU DROOL OVER!
SW: I’ve drooled over younger...but look at the knockers!
IM: El cambio importante correcto detr·s de Jim. Major Change que se lamenta en Jim. Josh que intenta romperlo para arriba. Y la referencia no tendr· nada hacer con ella.
SW: I think the referee is distracted by that hot girl.
MS: Oh, stop that. Fans, Scotty is LITERALLY making me SICK TO MY STOMACH!
SW: At least we’re both nauseous then.
IM: El cambio importante arrastra sabiamente Jim encima a su esquina. MonkeyBoy y el comandante que lo da al estudiante de Kent.
SW: Now that’s what I call hazing.
IM: Finalmente, la referencia rompe para arriba a equipo doble. Jim est· en necesidad de una etiqueta aquÌ, pero el cambio importante no lo est· permitiendo. Los irlandeses azotan a Jim en la esquina, he?s stomping un mudhole en Èl.
SW: Screw Major Change. Maybe we can dig up some of those topless pictures of Major Gunns! Woohoo!
MS: Oh my goodness!
SW: Then your neck won’t be the only stiff thing around here.
IM: Cambio importante listo golpear Jim con un suplex vertical. No, espera. It?s un CAMBIO DEL CORAZ"N. CAMBIO DEL CORAZ"N. CAMBIO DEL CORAZ"N.
SW: Cambio, you’re getting a Dell!
MS: Whoa, NELLY!
IM: El Oh mi dios, Jim est· totalmente hacia fuera y parece cambio importante setting-up para tomar Jim "de nuevo a campo del cargador." øY what?s para arriba con mÌ que llama un fÛsforo tan recto? Surreal. Cambio importante empujado de Josh apenas. Jim lo ase y lo rueda para arriba.
Crowd: One . . . two . . . . kickout.
SW: Why did they just yell kickout? The sign guy get confused again?
MS: Sign guy?
SW: Ah well, small miracle they didn’t say "dot, dot, dot" in between the count, I guess.
IM: Josh y MonkeyBoy ambos se han marcado con etiqueta adentro y est·n atando para arriba. Josh con un retroceso a la tripa. …l lo instala para un powerbomb. Y clavos Èl. Josh funciona hacia las cuerdas y golpea el cambio importante del delantal. ø…l marca con etiqueta en Jim y la creaciÛn MonkeyBoy del they?re para el Hangin? Resistente.
SW: Now THAT’S their move.
MS: This one is ACADEMIC!
IM: Y allÌ es. Jim con la cubierta. Y el triunfo.
SW: What about Qbert? I used to love that game.
GA: Here is your winner MASSIVELY PACKAGED.
SW: That was pure c-
MS: Friends, CALL YOUR FAMILY, FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS, BECAUSE BOB IS ON THE AIR!
SW: Hey, Mano. Shill was talking bad about you again.
SW: Damn it, why did I have to take French in ninth grade. El Shillo waso talkingo bado abouto youo.
IM: (Angrily) Poopooheado! °CTEMA MI MUERTE LLAMEANTE!
SW: Man, Spanish isn’t that hard at all, huh?
MS: *Nervous laughter*
Beneath You, Part 3
New Meadows, Ohio (where Sarah will stay from now on).
"This is so cool," Michelle said. "You're coming to the BOB show with me. Your ego is FINALLY in check."
"Hey. My ego's been in check since yesterday. Besides, I'm finally getting used to having you around. Especially since you weren't originally part of the plan."
"Um, nothing. Let's just go in." Sarah opened the door to an office.
"Sarah!" Principal Evil Blackman greeted. "How are you?"
"Fine," Sarah said, a little put off by something. "You always carry that thing around?" Sarah wondered, pointing at a kendo stick he was failing to hide behind his back.
"That kendo stick behind your back."
Blackman flicked the stick as far as he could while trying not to be obvious about it.
"Oh, guess I was seeing things," Sarah said. "Anyhow, I guess I have a job with you now."
"That's what the script said," Michelle pointed out.
"This is why I don't hang out with you," Sarah said sarcastically.
"Oh yeah? You're no fun, that's why I don't hang with you," Michelle retorted.
"REEEEEEOW," Blackman said, kinda softly. "Anyhow, Michelle, why don't you take off?"
"Because I'll get kidnapped and force Sarah into some sort of a fight. Or so she tells me."
"Ohhhhkay. Anyhow, Sarah, you're going to be a counselor of sorts to the students here."
"Right, right. Anyhow, they're just looking for someone to relate to. Somebody hot to stare at. Tell their troubles to. Kind of like Lucy in Peanuts, except you can't accept any money from them."
"Can I slay them?"
Michelle elbowed Sarah.
"Slay?" Blackman asked, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, I mean, you know, tell them funny jokes," was Sarah's cover-up.
"Sure, sure. Good luck. I'll be in my office doing stuff you need not worry about."
"K," Sarah said. "Thanks again."
Blackman smiled and headed to his office.
[CLASSIX Studio. Coma is trapped in his folding chair. GBH has nodded off. Still no sign of the guest. Sigh.]
Voice-Over: And now another Ampitheatre Home Video Exclusive! "At Home With Tentin Quarrintino"!!
TQ: What the BLEEEP are you BLEEEPs doing in my BLEEPP BLEEEEEP house, BLEEEEPers? Get the BLEEEP out of here or I'll BLEEEEp your BLEEEP BLEEEEEP with a BLEEEP BLEEEP and ram a BLEEEP BLEEEP foot long BLEEEP up your BLEEEP BLEPPP BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!
Voice-Over: This has been an Ampitheatre Home Video Exclusive!
Jobber Tryouts Part 1
Fade in at a small office block that has seen better days. Better years, actually. A hand-lettered sign on the wall reads "BOB's Jobber Tryouts! Today!" We fade inside to see Scotty Whatbody, Nurse Heidi and Coma sitting at a long table with clipboards and pens at the ready.]
Scotty Whatbody: Okay, here we go... send in the first one, GBH!
GBH (At the door): Yur.
[A Large Afro-American Man with a guitar and dark glasses enters the room.]
Man: Blind Boy Baker, the Bluesman Brawler!
SW: Nice gimmick!
[Baker misses his chair and crashes heavily to the floor. He fails around for a few seconds, knocking over a lamp.]
Nurse Heidi: Mr. Baker... are you actually blind?
Baker: Who said that?
[An emaciated-looking man in very loose wrestling attire enters.]
SW: Yowza, someone get this guy a Whopper, stat! Name?
Man: "Self-Inflating" Sam Smith!
[The camera focuses on the panel as deep breathing is heard from Smith.]
NH: Is that actually possible?
Coma: Eep! There's no toast in the garden anymore!
SW: Wow! That's very impress...
SW: ...ive. Um... NEXT!
[A young man enters and runs to the desk. He begins to arrange Scottys' pens into straight lines, turning each one 90 degrees, then back again.]
Man: Red, blue, black, green. Red, blue... Where's another black pen? (Snatches one off Coma) Black! green pen, green pan, nice straight lines...
NH: Uhhh.. "Obsessive-Compulsive" Otto?
Man: There's no green! No green! AHHHHH!!
[Cut to a shot of a balding, overweight man in a tanktop. He wears a horned helmet, for no readily apparent reason.]
Man: I am... EARL THE BARBARIAN!
Coma: See Spot run! Run Spot, the geraniums are coming! NEXT!
[Cut to a familiar-looking man.]
NH: Name? Man: Marcus "Buff" Bagwell!
Scotty: GET OUT!
Buff: My mom's gonna hear about this!
[As he exits, another prospect runs in and leaps through a plate-glass window.]
SW: "Suicidal" Sid Simmons?
Voice From Outside: Uhhh... Yes?
SW: We're on the first floor, Sid...
Voice: I noticed. Thank you...
NH: We'll let you know...
[The door is flung open and a bizarre-looking individual runs in. He wears a pink cowboy hat with an 18-inch feather in it, glasses (w/adhesive tape on one bow), jean shorts with "Bionic" on one leg and "Thump" on the other, and long tassels that dangle from each bicep. A scorpion is painted on his bare chest.]
Man: Ooh yeah! Whoo! I'm a stylin', proflin' roody-poo rattlesnake with two words for ya! So watcha gonna do, when Unoriginality runs wild in the Smackdown Hotel! And that's the bottom line... Jerkweed!
NH: You invited Unoriginal Man, Scotty?
SW: I HAD to... he's Comas' cousin...
[Coma draws a large, unsteady "10" on his sheet and give UM the thumbs up.]
NH: And sadly, he's leading the pack so far... NEXT!
[A scrawny white guy enters.]
NH: So you'd be... John "The Wooly Mammoth of Love" Smith? What kind of nickname is th...
SW: Oh, that's just not right! Or fair!
Coma: Poink! call Aunt Edna, her cookies are escaping! I broke the gyroscope!
NH: Well, that's a "10" from me...
SW: I'd say 12 myself...
[To Be Continued]
[The CLASSIX Studio.]
Coma: Didn't I use to have a title belt? Narf.
GBH: We still got no guest, huh?
Atomo: I'M HERE.
GBH: He never going to turn up!
Coma: Fluff my pillows, it's time for lunch! Wooshka!
Festering Death vs. The REALLY Nasty Boys
=<>: OH, FUCK. COULD YOU TWO, LIKE, STOP SMELLING BAD?
Phil: Oh, sorry. Um. Wait a second, you don't have a nose!
=C]: I HAVE ENOUGH OF A NOSE FOR BOTH OF US, MOTHERFUCKER, AND I SAY THAT YOUR ASS SMELLS LIKE IT CAME OUT OF CHER'S FACIAL JELLY. NOW, SIT DOWN, SHUT UP, STAB YOURSELF WITH THIS INK PEN, AND LET ME RAPE THE HOLE THAT THE PEN CREATES.
Phil: You'd actually rape me?
=C]: I'D USE A CONDOM.
Phil: I dunno, being raped in a newly-created wound would kinda hurt.
=<>: SO DOES THIS.
Mark Shill: OH MY GOD! THAT WAS THE GREATEST CHAIRSHOT IN THE HISTORY OF CHAIRSHOTS!
Scotty Whatbody: He didn't use a chair. He used Rosie O'Donell's hair. Though I can totally understand the confusion. Here comes Beastie Al with a chairshot of his own! Actually, he's using Richard Simmons, but still.
Nurse Heidi: Oh, great, Spaceduck's just standing there, and not even budging.
Beastie Al: Hey, could you, like, sell?
=<>: SELL? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN? I'M NOT ABOUT TO SELL ANYTHING TO YOU, YOU NONSENSICAL FUCK WIELDING A GAY MAN AS A WEAPON.
Phil: Does, um, that mean I can stop sel--?
=C]: NO. YOU STILL DIE.
SW: Oh, GOD. Spacecop just ripped out Necro Phil's femur!
=C]: WELL, I GUESS YOU DON'T HAVE A LEG TO STAND ON, DO YOU, PHILLY?
SW: Oh no! The dreaded Corny Joke After Ripping Out A Body Part maneuver by Spaceduck knocks down Necro Phil!
NH: Well, OF COURSE IT DID! He lost the largest bone in his body to a smiley for God's sakes!
Beastie Al: Jesus! I didn't sign up for this!
=<>: NEITHER DID WE, BUT IT DOESN'T MEAN WE DON'T ENJOY IT!
NH: Oh, come on, Detached Narrator! End this already!
[What? I think BOB needs more senseless, gory violence. If it weren't for the fact that I'm too busy getting head from Jennifer Aniston, I'd have all three of you killed with a ten foot metal spike that stabs all of your heads like a shish-kabob.]
MS: THIS IS A DARKEST DAY IN THE HISTORY OF SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT!
Necro Phil: Ow! My eyelid!
=C]: I JUST STABBED YOU IN THE CHEST WITH YOUR OWN FEMUR, AND YOU'RE COMPLAINING ABOUT YOUR EYELID?
Necro Phil: Well, yeah.
STAB, SPLATTER, STAB, SPLATTER
=C]: NOW YOU CAN COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR EYELIDS.
Necro Phil: Ahhh! My wisdom teeth!
=C]: GOD DAMMIT.
Beastie Al: Hey, why haven't I run away in terror?
=<>: PROBABLY BECAUSE I STABBED YOUR FEET INTO THE CANVAS WITH SOME LONG NAILS THAT I FOUND CONVIENIENTLY ON THE OUTSIDE. ALONG WITH A NAIL MACHINE GUN.
Beastie Al: Um, uh oh?
BUDDA BUDDA BUDDA STAB STAB STAB SPLATTER SPLATTER SPLATTER
SW: I think I'm going to be sick.
NH: Me too.
MS: THAT WAS THE GREATEST MOMENT ANY OF US HAVE EVER WIT--
SW: Put a sock in it, Shill.
=<>: WELL, WHILE HE'S BUSY... HELLO, NECRO PHIL.
Necro Phil: Hey, I can't see right now, so, um, what's going on?
=<>: I JUST FILLED YOUR TAG TEAM PARTNER WITH ABOUT SEVEN POUNDS OF REALLY SHARP NAILS AND NOW SPACECOP IS RAPING HIS INCREDIBLY BLOODY CORPSE. NOTHING BIG.
Necro Phil: I don't think our nastiness has anything on yours.
=<>: TELL ME ABOUT IT.
(At this point, I think I'll interject myself, because the following scene is so graphic and so violent that even I'm sick to my stomach looking at it. Let's just say that involves peanut butter, an Asian porno, and some of Trey Vincent's vomit.)
SW: Say anything, Shill, and I'll do that to you.
Generic Ref: I'm so disgusted that I'm going to call for the bell!
=<>: YOU KNOW, THAT WOULD WORK HAD I NOT EATEN THE BELL THIS MORNING.
Generic Ref: Hey! We paid a lot of money for that bell!
=<>: FUCK YOU.
Masked Announcer: thewinnersarefesteringdeathi'mleavingnowbye *ZIP!*
SW: Why didn't we do that?
NH: Why, indeed.
Beneath You, Part 4
In the high school hallway where all the Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" stuff was going on, there was only the sound of high heels echoing. The camera panned up to reveal legs. Then a mighty fine butt. And then up to the back of her, Nurse Heidi. Who couldn't recognize her?
Anyhow, as she walked innocently along, playing with her hair she heard something behind her. She paused. It got louder. And closer. And it almost felt like the floor was shaking.
Curious now, Heidi turned around.
"AHHHHHHHH!" She took off running, as did the camera. Heidi ran all the way down the hall and then found a door to her left that led to another hall.
She took it.
She slammed the door behind her. And turned around.
"Ahhhhh!" Heidi squealed.
"Relax," Xamfir greeted. "What's up, Heidi?"
"Is she hitting on you?" Jeannie questioned, coming from further down the hall. "Because if you are, I'm gonna wish you into some hospital in China."
"I'm not hitting on him, relax, Jeannie. There was a--"
"What was it? You can tell us."
"It was horrible."
That's when they all saw what Heidi had been chased by.
That unmistakable, chubby face.
"Slightly Gay" Ray! Of Too Lame, if that team still exists. Why, he hasn't been around since, well, who knows when! All three of them screamed, yes, even Xamfir, and ran down the hall. They spied the principal's office ahead.
"Oooh, the cafeteria," Xamfir noticed. "Anybody up for some sloppy pizza and hamburgers?"
Heidi and Jeannie both sighed.
[Five minutes later.]
Sarah entered the cafeteria. "What's the up, guys?"
"Yeah, why is Nurse Heidi with the Shaggies?" Michelle asked
"You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" Heidi wondered.
"Well, you do continue to let Scotty Whatbody verbally seduce you every week without punching him nearly enough. But, otherwise, no, you're one of the more saner people here," Sarah said.
"Wow, I'm so glad you didn't even remember the whole freezing Billy Polar thing. You're so sweet."
There was a slight pause.
"You need bleedin' help," came the voice of Little Good.
Sarah looked up at him. "Are you still in my life. And why in the world would I need your help, when I have Xamfir and my sister."
"Let's think, three girls ain't gonna help you in a fight with the new uber evil that's out there. You need my help. I'm as Little Good as they come. I don't like helping you - say, what are you looking at, bint?" he said to Jeannie.
"You. You're, different."
"I ain't bleeding different," he said, walking toward her.
"What did you do?"
"Shut your bloody mouth."
"How did you do it?"
The Shaggy Gang was wondering what exactly was going on.
"You got your s--"
"That's enough!" Little Good punched Jeannie in the face, knocking her to the floor.
Jeannie was up in a flash and hit Little Good in the face. He returned a punch of his own and then picked up Jeannie's tray of food and dumped it on her.
"Hey!" Sarah interrupted, grabbing Little Good's arm. "There are some things I just won't put up with. Staining Jeannie's clothes with greasy food is one of them."
Punch to Little Good's face.
"We don't have time for fights now. This segment is running long."
"So, let's all go get Slightly Gay Ray and end this."
Everyone filed out, except for Little Good and Michelle. Michelle grabbed his arm before letting him go.
"You sleep, right? You jobbers, you sleep?" Michelle wondered.
"Yeah, what's your point?"
"Well, I can't wrestle you, but if you hurt my sister, touch her ever again, punch her, kick her, sending a singing telegram, anything disgusting like that, you're gonna wake up with a bunch of banana peels around your bed."
[Hey, where did everyone go? ]
Jobber Tryouts Part 2
[The BOB Corporate Rental Offices. The Jobber Tryouts continue. Coma has built a small wigwam with the sheets of paper off his clipboard by this stage. Scotty Whatbody checks his notes and peers at the wrestler before him.]
SW: And you'd be "Unitelligent" Eddie Andrews?
EA: NO! No, I am not... (thinks)... YES! Yes, I am!
Nurse Heidi: And why do you want to join BOB?
EA: Who's that, then? Who are you?
NH: We'll get back to you... NEXT!
[A skinny English teenager runs into the room. He wears day-glo yellow shorts that are three sizes two big, a huge, floppy lid and is blowing a whistle. He begins to dance wildly... either that or he's being electrocuted.]
English Lad: Bangin'! Bangin'! I'm off my nippa!
English Lad: Easy "E"! This is brilliant! I love you, mate! Phat beats! Yeah!
NH: I think I know what the "E" stands for... he'll never make it past the first urine test...
SW: Agreed... NEXT!
[Three bare-chested young black men enter and begin making strange facial contortions.]
NH: Who are these guys?
SW: Uhh.. "The Flock"... "The Pebble"... and "The Igneous Formation"
The Flock: If ya smell what I'm herding!
NH: Forget it! No cheap knock-offs!
SW: (Checking his sheet) Okay, okay... GBH, tell "Ice Cool" Sam Allen, "White Hot" Sean Avery and "Rock Hard" Stefan Victoria thanks, but no thanks... diplomatically, huh?
GBH: Yur. (Opens door) Oi! You free. Bugger off!
Coma: Poink! My scriptwriter is a hosehead! Honk if you love ham!
[A man in blue jeans and a white tank top enters.]
Man: Trevor, the Evil New Zealander.
SW: And what makes you so evil?
Trevor: (Thinks) Umm.. well, I'm not from the United States, mate.
NH: Our fans would buy that...
SW: You're on the short list, Trevor.
[Two men enter next. One wears a leather vest with no shirt, the other has a studded dog-collar on.]
Taller Man: Greetings! I am The Flagellator!
Shorter Man: And I am Masochistic Mel! We can work both singles and tag team matches! I'm especially good at Strap matches! (Starts to breathe heavily) Mmm... Straps!
Tall Man: Our manager, The Gimp would have been here... but he's... tied up.. at the moment.
[The next prospect enters the room.]
NH: Hang on... "Unintelligible" Eddie Andrews? Were you here earlier on?
EA: Himmahn gklithdy flfmph. Nhrh blrrp.
Coma: Neep! Oscar Wilde is in Newfoundland! Eckythump!
[A young man enters.]
Youth: TRAIN! (Dives to one side) That was close! Hello, Mr. President... no, I haven't seen Marilyn Monroe. TRAIN! (he dives aside again)
SW: (Checking his sheet) So, you'd be Hallucination Boy, then?
Coma: Cuckoo! Cuckoo! And so on and so on, carpe lupus infirmum...
HB: Seize the diseased wolf?
[The door opens.]
SW: (Without looking up from his notes) Name?
Applicant: " "
SW: You'll have to speak up...
Applicant: " "!
[Scotty looks up.]
StreetMime: " "! (Walks against the wind to Scotty and mimes giving him a diploma)
SW: Nice to have you back, buddy! Heidi, can we keep him?
NH: If we must! Congratulations, StreetMime you're hired... again.
StreetMime " "!! (Does mimed lap of honor around the office)
[The panel suddenly freezes in horror as a large, flabby man enters. Apart from some strategically placed pixelation, he's butt-nekkid.]
NH: Umm.. name?
Naked Man: "The Naturist Boy", Buddy Flair! (High-pitched) Whoo!
All Three: NEXT!
Beneath You, Part 5
As the Shaggies roamed the hallway, looking for Slightly Gay Ray, Little Good and Sarah exchanged some confusing looks.
"So how'd you do it, Little Good?" Jeannie asked again. "How'd you get the stain out of your trenchcoat?"
"That's what you were wondering? Bloody hell."
"What did you think I was asking about?"
"Look, we'll have time for Little Good Living later on, now we need to find Ray.
That's when Little Good roared in pain. "Bloody hell!"
Punch to Sarah sent her flying up against the wall.
"I think it's time to kill me a Slayer."
"You don't want to do this now."
"Yeah, I think I bloody well do."
Heidi rolled her eyes and walked away from the second fight between the group members.
"That's right, Little Good is back in all his glory."
Little Good punched Sarah. Sarah punched back, missed a kick to his head, and Little Good grabbed her around the throat.
"Ah, it's been fun playing games with you since, well, forever, but I think now it's time for curtains."
Backward headbutt by Sarah. "Not quite yet. The British man hasn't bored me yet."
"Uh guys, not to bring up relevant plot issues, but, Heidi is gone," Xamfir informed everyone.
"This isn't over yet," Sarah told Little Good.
"No, not yet. The joke's on all of us. Lots of funnies. Come see the show. 'Cause it's gonna be a circus. This... just the beginning, love. A warm-up act. The real headliner's coming, and when that band hits the stage, all of this... (he said, pointing at the roof of the school) All this... will come tumbling in death and screaming, horror and bloodshed. From 64 down to 1, a new evil arise."
"Drop the cryptic--"
"That came from the ring," Sarah said.
"Strike walking line."
They did. And went.
Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" vs. Slightly Gay Ray
When Sarah got out to the ring, she saw Slightly Gay Ray threatening to show Heidi the worm.
Styles: OH MY GOD! Sarah’s on the way down to the ring to do some damage to Matt's worm. Sarah hits the ring. She's telling Heidi to get out of the way. She does. OH MY GOD! Little Good just came running in and punched the holy hell out of Matt! He's out. Sarah is staring at him in disbelief.
Little Good: The hell? Oh GOD NOO! NOOOOOO! Somebody HELP ME!
Sarah: Will you shut it?
Styles: But makes the cover like the great Jobber Slayer she is.
Crowd: One! Two! Three!
Styles: And there's the bell! Oh NO! Sarah has Matt's leg!
Styles: And Slightly Gay Ray is HISTORY. And Little Good runs away. Don't we have disqualifications anymore?
[CLASSIX studios, if anyone even cares anymore.]
GBH: Duh. Who you?
GBH: Duh. You too late. Come back next week.
Coma: It's TIME! It's squishy time! Gargle the molasses and jump on the badwagon, it's time for THIS!
Preparing For a Violent Main Event
Trey Vincent: What in the hell are WE doing here?
Seth Harker: I think we made a really wrong turn, Trey.
TV: I’m sure Tom and Crow will be OK. What’s the worst that can happen?
[Cut to the Satellite of Love. Tom and Crow are calmly standing in the middle of what looks like a fiery inferno. Back to the action.]
TV: Well fans, you’ve got two of the best personalities in the business out here now, and we’re going to teach you all about this thing we call sports entertainment.
[Suddenly Nine Inch Nails "Closer" is closely followed by "Who Let the Dogs Out" by Baha Men.]
TV: Uh-boy. It’s Violent Pacifist. And he’s getting booed. That’s interesting. I thought he was always a stereotypical face.
SH: No, that was Voss.
TV: Ahh. Whatever. I can’t be bothered to learn the names and gimmicks or just about ANYTHING about anybody on this roster. Not when there is booze to be drunk and women to be done.
SH: Amen, brother.
VP: You know, I think the fans would like nothing more than to see me beat some ass.
TV: It better be a chick’s ass. That’s about the only thing that could save this segment from ratings death.
SH: VP is going to unveil his new finisher, the Human Bongo Spank of Doom!
VP And since there are no champions, why don’t you make the main event a *BEEP* match tonight.
TV: Wow, did he actually just swear?
SH: Nope. Just testing the legal system. See if there really is any copyright on the Internet.
TV: He asks a good question. Why doesn’t VP be made the main event. How about lack of charisma.
SH: And talent.
TV: And he sucks.
SH: Plummeting ratings.
[Da Man’s Friend grabs the mic.]
TV: (Rapping) Yo, my name is MCA!
SH: Word life.
DMF: You want a match, you got it. Tonight here in Savannah, Georgia . . . .
SH: Whoops, he dropped his marble collection.
[Huge pop, cheap, but still huge.]
TV: (Sales man) All our pops must go! They’re cheap and huge. If you can find a better deal, TAKE IT LIKE A BITCH!
DMF: You will get your title shot against none other than, "Mr. Thursday Night" J.C. Long.
TV: Oh, Christ. We HAVE got to see this. I mean, I know it’s gonna suck, but, as we always tell each other, we can turn chicken poo into chicken poo with a side of caviar.
VP: (laughing) Fine.
[VP exits to a loud chorus of boos.]
TV + SH: BOOOO!
TV: You suck!
SH: Here’s a beer for you, Treyster.
TV: You the man, Seth.
SH: Wow, it’s a LIGHTS OUT BRAWL!
TV: I’ve always wondered what the hell that was. So, they just turn the cameras off and we listen to it, huh?
SH: Nah, I think this is just sloppy BOB editing.
TV: I thought this fed was called, uh, POS or something.
SH: No, it *is* a POS, but that’s not what it’s actually called.
TV: Ah, I see. If this fed wasn’t already dead, we’d surely bury everyone here upside down, pee on them and build a hotel over their graves.
SH: We need to book another show.
TV: Agreed. That was the best BOB show ever. I miss Joanie and Scott Baio so much. They MADE that show. And Seth, your golden pipes mocking every little scrub. Pure greatness.
Violent Pacifist vs. J.C. Long
SH: Let the mocking resume...
["Closer" by Nine Inch Nails hits loudly on the sound system with the appropriate censoring for the foul language.]
TV: I do hate that. What is wrong with the word "fuck" anyhow?
SH: Nothing at all. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuckityfuckfuck motherfuck. Just a word like any other word. The FCC recently took fuck off its naughty words list as long as it’s not referring to your favorite pastime.
TV: Did they? Those fucking stupid fuckers. Now we’re just gonna fucking say fuck all fucking night.
SH: I fucking know!
TV: Aw, fuck. This fucking joke will get fucking old quick though.
SH: No fucking shit.
[VP has the mic.)
VP: Ok Da Man, get your sorry ass out here. Let’s go now.
TV: Wow. I haven’t heard such a command of the English language since Christ Benoit’s last promo.
["It’s All About the Benjamins (rock remix)" by P. Diddy begins playing. Da Man slowly makes his way down the ramp, as Da Man’s Friend follows holding his elbow.]
SH: Are they about to do some dirty dancing?
TV: I hope to God not. Otherwise, we’re gonna need a lot more beer. And some much harder liquor.
VP: I can’t wait any longer.
SH: Uh oh, somebody forget to take a bathroom break before putting on his gear.
TV: Somebody get the squeegee! Clean up in aisle four!
SH: VP is out of the ring and heading for Da Man. It must suck working for Da Man.
TV: Stop the whitey!
SH: The hell?
TV: Old "Sherman Oaks" reference. Boyeee!
SH: Sherman Oaks? Ohhhkay.
TV: That was the best show EVER.
[Suddenly and for no apparent reason "Magic Carpet Ride (Steir’s remix) By Philip Steir featuring Steppenwolf blares over the sound system.]
TV: Ugh, I’ve hated this song ever since you got that Playstation Triple Play game.
SH: We should play that back at the SOL.
SH: Hey look, it’s that white rapper guy.
TV: This was before that gimmick...I hope. He’s still Mr. Tuesday Afternoon here.
(J.C. Long comes down the ramp waving to the fans and doing a "J.C. Long" thing with his thumbs like Rob Van Damm.)
TV: You know what I heard he does with those thumbs backstage?
SH: You see that 10-foot pole on the ground there, Trey? I’m not even going to pick it up.
TV: Fair enough. J.C. getting a pop. Don’t you just hate characters that rip off other characters?
SH: Didn’t you rip off your personality from The Rock?
TV: Shut up jabroney. I mean...huh?
SH: I would NEVER rip-off a chararcter. (Leaves in slow-motion to The Propellerheads' "Spybreak")
[Camera cuts to J.C. Long eating some Kalugg’s Korn Pops.]
TV: If this was our show, he’d be eating Smellogg’s Butt Nuggets.
SH: Russo has NOTHING on you, Trey.
TV: Let’s get this disaster going, huh?
SH: Really. This main event has about as much movement as a WCW main event ever had.
TV: Ah, how we miss the fossil factory...
SH: And they tie-up.
TV: Something they usually reserve for the privacy of their bedrooms.
SH: Homo-eroticism at its best. VP punches J.C. in the gut. VP backs J.C. into the corner and begins to pound on him.
TV: What penetrating blows.
SH: VP out of the ring. It’s the evil steel chair. You know, I’ve wondered, since tables and chairs get such great reactions, why not have a steel chair vs. table match?
TV: If we can have three belts competing in one match, why not?
SH: Da Man grabs the chair from VP.
TV: Damn Da Man. Da Man’s always trying to keep you down.
SH: VP chases Da Man around, who is screaming like a little girl. Must bring memories for you Trey?
TV: What, you mean when I was younger?
SH: No, last week when you were trolling the kindergarten playground.
TV: Oh yeah, with Chesta The Molesta? Good times...
SH: J.C. Long hits a flying clothesline. He got a good, what, six inches off the ground there?
TV: Great vertical leap. That’s another one of MY skills, Seth. The ladies love my vertical leap. And plunge.
SH: Both jobbers are down. The ref makes the count.
TV: Rest spot. They’re blown up after, what, one minute? What a main event!
SH: And the crappy action gets back into the ring. J.C. goes on the offensive here.
TV: He’s offensive, alright.
SH: J.C. with a back body drop. VP no-sells and is up on his feet. J.C. hits a dropkick. Here comes a sharpshooter attempt.
TV: Bret Hart is turning over in his grave.
SH: He’s not dead.
TV: He isn’t? Oh. My bad.
SH: Wait! It’s a masked man dressed all in black! He has a steel chair!
TV: Just once, I’d like to see a masked man dressed all in plaid. Or flannel.
SH: The mysterious man hits J.C. Long with the chair. There’s the bell. It’s a slow moving main event ended with a screw job. If this wasn’t a tribute to WCW, I don’t know what could be!
TV: J.C. Long wins the match. And all the viewers win, because the incurable Apathy disorder has given this show some ratings and entertainment and sex appeal.
SH: Shall we head back to the SoL?
TV: Sure. I’m good to drive. Only had about three beers.
SH: During that short match?
TV: Your point?
SH: I’ll drive.
GBH: Okay, we done. Watch Sarah and bugger off.
SH: GBH, your studio is next door.
TV: Ahh, like it matters. What's the worst that could happen?
[Cut to Coma in the CLASSIX studio, standing in what appears to be a firey inferno. Wacky coincidences never cease, huh?]
Beneath You, Part 6
Backstage. Sarah went in search of Little Good. Oddly enough, she found him in the gymnasium. He was holding onto the basketball rim, blabbering.
"What am I?" Little Good asked. "Is this metal? Is this really metal?" He banged the backboard with his fist. "What are you! Get OUT OF THERE, MATE! Show your bloody face! Gotta jump, gotta make the slam dunk."
"Will you stop it!" Sarah pleaded.
She pulled Little Good to the floor. She noticed a basketball slowly rolling away.
"Is this wood?" Little Good wondered. "Is that dust? Is that wood and dust? Or is it not even real?"
Sarah kicked him in the face. Little Good stood up and kicked her in the stomach and knocked her on her butt with a punch to her face.
"Right, girl doesn't like basketball players. Because there's no coordination. Birds can't throw balls."
"Have you COMPLETELY lost your mind?" Sarah asked.
"Is the Pope Jewish?"
"Noooooo...yeah, your mind is gone."
"I tried to find it.."
"No. The bark. The bit that I was missing from my life. My apartment. My company. That would make me - quit looking at me with your eyes!"
Little Good stood up and ran for the basketball. He began dribbling it, slowly, almost mesmerizing.
"Nowell should have warned me. About it. About you. He makes it seem easy. The sarcasm. The trenchcoat. The look. He doesn't have the peroxide though."
"This is what it was all about? A trip to the hair salon?"
"Nooo. It's about the bark. I wanted to show you that I've changed. What I can give you now. And I got it."
"What is it?" Sarah wondered.
"I found the bark." Little Good turned around.
"Your puppy. You...how..."
"That doesn't make him any less lonely does it. Isn't this what you wanted. Isn't this what made you fall in stupid annoying love? You wanted puppies. I wanted puppies. I got a puppy. But now, everybody is in here. Talking. To me. To him. To her. Everything I did...and HIM. From 64 down to 1, a new evil rises. It's here. They all want me to go. To New Jersey."
Sarah's mouth opened in shock. She couldn't believe they wanted him to go to New Jersey. That was just plain evil.
"The eyes. The tail. The bark." He begins crying. "To be a jobber with a puppy. To be a man. Not some, thing. And he will be loved. By her. By you. Can we go home now, Sarah? Can we go?"
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