Brawlers On A Budget
 

>> home
>> upcoming shows
show archives
> 2009
> 2008
> 2007
> 2006
> 2005
> 2004
> 2003
2002
> 2001
> 2000
> 1999
>> forums
>> roster
>> title history
>> rules
>> application
>> eWrestling wiki
>> credit
>> links

Cybersuplex

A special bOb presentation. Semi-live from Muddy Shack, Arkansas!

Welcome

The show opens in the office of new BOB 33 1/3 owner Travis Beaver. The man who inherited control when Kurt Angel won the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. He is sitting behind a desk, in a dark, dingy room, beneath a single light bulb swinging a little bit from some sort of breeze. He appears to have short dark blond hair. He is typing away on a little laptop computer until he notices that a camera has joined him.

"Oh, hello there. Now, I'm not going to say what you're going to see tonight is the best because less equals more. So all I will say is check it out and tell all your friends how great it is for me. For I am a humble ewrestling god. A man who is made fun of in numerous chat rooms just because of my accomplishments."

Travis shook his head. "Sad. Can't we all work together for the greater good? That's what I plan to do with BOB, at least for tonight. I have put together a great." He paused and looked to be in thought. "What I hope will be an entertaining show that will make you all kiss my ass or flame me on forums worldwide.

"But I've noticed there is one minor problem with BOB. It isn't an angle fed. It isn't an RP fed. I don't know what the hell it is. It just doesn't make sense. So, since nobody is 'ranting' here, I had no idea what to do. Who do I give title shots to? Who is contending for what titles? Is anybody even feuding here anymore?"

Travis shook his head again. "Whoever is running this place needs his head examined. So, I've made a decision."

A loud crash is heard from somewhere else in the dank room.

PFFFFTTT!

"Are you OK," Travis asked, getting to his feet. He then looked down and noticed that below the waist, he was only wearing boxers with the words fWo entrance around his crotch area, so he sat back down. Travis wasn't a very tall man…and had very thin legs. Almost, womanly…

"I'm fine!" a man's voice said. He then stepped forward and in front of the desk. The tall, well-built bald man slammed his fists down on the desk. "When am I *PFFFFTT* getting paid! Mother*PFFFFFFTTT*. Graphic *PFFFFFTTT* Flatulence don't work for *PFFFFFT* free for NO *PFFFFFFT* man."

Travis pinched his nose, trying to block some of the smell.

"You know, I'm not happy about having to *PFFFFFTT* fight Albert DeSalvo tonight!"

"I can tell," he said, still pinching his nose. "But you will get paid GF. I promise."

Graphic Flatulence slammed his fists down on the desk once again, turned around and stormed off.

Travis shook his head.

And was replaced by a much shorter man with long brown hair and glowing green eyes. Las Vegas Davis!

"Hey Davis."

"Hey Trav. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to tell you how your match is gonna go down tonight against DMD."

"OK," Davis said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Right, so you're gonna do the job tonight."

Davis shook his head in understanding. "OK."

"Now, go put on a great match!" Travis said.

Davis turned around as Travis returned to working on his laptop. He put a finger to his lips, as if contemplating something.

"You know…I think I've got a good shot at a win tonight!" Davis exclaimed.


Tonight's show is brought to you by...

Smuggle

bOb will be right back!


A gamble

Las Vegas Davis was seen walking down a hallway. He stopped at a payphone and dug into his jeans for a quarter. He pulled out some lint. Then a handful of M&Ms. A lighter. A few business cards, which he then dropped all over the floor. And then he found a quarter. He picked up the mess and then found a card with the number he needed.

"Hey, bookie man? It's Davis. Yeah. What's that supposed to mean? Well listen, if you can dick thus, SUCKAAAAA, I've got my entire bOb paycheck. That's right. $11.24 baby, and I'm gonna bet it all. What are the odds for the Las Vegas Davis vs. DMD match? OK…Wow. I'm a long shot! Put it ALL on me to win! That's right, ME! I don't care what the odds say, or even what the booker says. I just have a hunch I'm gonna win this one against DMD. Alright? Thanks!"

The love begins…

We head somewhere else to find a man in a perfectly clean black T-shirt with a big red heart on it and brand new blue jeans walking with a bouquet of flowers. That man is DovE! He stops at a man drinking a cup of coffee. No doubt an employee of the arena.

"Here you go my friend? Enjoy a flower!" DovE told the man.

The man stared at him.

"You are looking good today," DovE continued. "You must have tons of lovers. You are one damn good looking man! Here, have another flower!"

The man spit out his coffee, dribbling it on his shirt.

"Oh my." DovE produced a napkin and began cleaning the man's wet T-shirt.

The man pulled away barking out a "Heyheyheyhey!"

"I'm sorry," DovE responded. "Have another flower!" he said with a sick smile.

The man ran away, screaming!

"Hmmm." DovE shrugged. "Such a shiny, happy day," he said, walking on down the hall. He then tripped over something on the floor.

A pair of feet.

Attached to a couple of legs.

Attacked to a pelvis.

Attached to an abdomen.

Attached to some arms.

Attached to a head also.

And somehow all working together to form beautiful life. Sweet, innocent life.

In the form of Maui Wauie. Another bOb superstar!

"MAUI" DovE greeted!

DovE bent down and extended a flower to the man, who was covered in tattoos and appeared to be really dirty and disheveled. Maui looked quizzically at the flower and then snatched it away. He pulled out a lighter and put the stem into his mouth. He then tried to light the petals and smoke the flower.

Maui inhaled deeply.

He then blew out some smoke and stared up at the crumbling ceiling above his head.

"Nah man, that ain't even buzzin me."

Maui then looked at his jacket sleeve and began to rip it off. It must be made out of hemp. He rolled up the hemp.

Flick. Flick. Flick. Flick.

"Damn Bic."

DovE produced a lighter and lit the jacket sleeve for him.

"Duuuuuuude. Thanks mon."

K-Con vs. Kelly Erik

The cameras opened in the Couldn't Think of A Clever Name Arena in Muddy Shack, Arkansas. "Better Than You" by Metallica blared, bringing out the man known as K-Con. The bald man, built like a cruiserweight, headed to the ring. Once there, he grabbed the mic from ring announcer Ray Pist.

"It's so good to be here in, Miami, Florida!"

The sparse crowd booed at the wrong city heat getter dealie.

"Tonight, Kelly Erik will feel the Attention Deficit Disorder! Because I'm two letters better! And if you don't believe me. What was I saying? Ooh, what a pretty sign."

"Bodies" by Drowning Pool blared next, bringing out Kelly Erik.

The bell rang and we were ready for the first bOb action of the night.

"COLLAR AND ELBOW TIE-UP!" Erik yelled at the top of his lungs.

The crowd popped.

Erik and K-Con began with a collar and elbow tie-up. Oddly enough.

"HEADLOCK!" Erik yelled.

*Sigh* I'm not gonna be needed for a bit I don't think…

"WHIP TO THE ROPES!…CLOTHESLINE!"

The crowd popped.

But K-Con ducks, finally catching on the Erik is yelling all his moves before he does them for some odd reason. He comes flying off the ropes and hits a cross body block onto Erik. Cover!

One.

Two.

No.

I said NO damnit!

Both men are up.

"BODYSLAM!" Connects. "HEADING UP TOP!" Erik did just that and waited. "MISSILE DROPKICK!"

"What'd you just say?" K-Con asked, not paying attention.

Missile dropkick connected to K-Con's face!

Cover.

ONNNNNE.

TWWWWOOOO.

THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It was NOT A PIN PEOPLE! Can't you FEEL THE DRAMA?

Uh oh, looks like Erik is gonna finish him off.

This ain't gonna be pretty…

Erik inhaled deeply and then leaned backward and began yelling: "BODY SLAM THROUGH LEGS PILEDRIVER, A.K.A., GREETINGS FROM ASBURY PARK, A.K.A. JUVI DRIVER, A.K.A. MICHINOKU DRIVER II, A.K.A. EXCALIBUR!"

The crowd was popping, but he needs to pick a much quicker name. Because K-Con was up about halfway through and grabbed Erik and locked in his FINISHER!

The Attention Deficit Disorder was LOCKED in.

It's a Canadian CROSSFACE people!

Check the bio page!

Oh right, he doesn't HAVE ONE!

So, NEVER MIND!

Erik looks like he's about to TAP OUT!

But K-Con drops the hold!

HIS SHOE IS UNTIED!

K-Con is trying to tie it!

Will he tie the lace successfully?

There's the pull!

There's the loop!

AND THERE'S THE KNOT!

He DID IT!

He TIED HIS BOOTS!

Erik is BACK UP! And he's got his scissors and glue and is about to do some major CUTTING AND PASTING!

Erik inhaled deeply and then leaned backward and began yelling: "BODY SLAM THROUGH LEGS PILEDRIVER, A.K.A., GREETINGS FROM ASBURY PARK, A.K.A. JUVI DRIVER, A.K.A. MICHINOKU DRIVER II, A.K.A. EXCALIBUR!"

But the name is (still) too long, and K-Con put the finisher back on!

Erik continued to yell three words as we headed to a break and a dramatic non-finish:

"WON'T TAP OUT!"


bOb will be right back!

Don't forget to order our PPV, Send Us Money: A Chance Would Be A Fine Thing. It's brought to you by Killsbury. If you buy it, I'll put the logo up later. OK? When is it? You think I know? Sometime. Just order it and it'll pop on eventually.


Arrival

Outside the arena, a van with tinted windows arrives. A threesome of hookers, dressed in low cut skirts and tops, approach the vehicle and talk to the driver. They walk around to the back of the van and open the back door. Inside, they find a bloodstained mattress

Albert DeSalvo has arrived!

The hookers climbed into the van and closed the door.

The van starts rocking.

The pre-match workout has begun!

DovE vs. Maui Wauie

"Freebird" begins to blare, bringing out the well-dressed, Heavenly creature known as DovE for this no-holds barred match!

That song is replaced a few seconds later by Maui Wauie's theme, Eazy-E's "Down To Tha Last Roach." He stumbles down the aisle and gets in the ring. He trips over the middle rope and starts laughing hysterically.

DovE headed outside to the floor as the bell rang. He headed under the ring and pulled out a steel chair and a lead pipe. He then got an aluminum garbage can and a crowbar.

The fans were buzzing.

So was Maui Wauie actually…

It was about to get EXTREME!

DovE gave Maui the steel chair!

WHACK!

OH WHAT A CHAIRSHOT! DovE went down!

Maui dropped the chair and fell down. All that swinging was hard work.

DovE was back to his feet first. He grabbed Maui's hands…and WRAPPED THEM AROUND DOVE'S OWN THROAT!

Maui is choking the life out of DovE!

He finally dropped the hold and DovE coughed, fighting for breath.

After a few seconds, DovE kicked the garbage can toward Maui, hitting him in the knees and knocking him over! DovE's jaw dropped open in HORROR! He ran over to Maui and pulled him up to his feet, apologizing and helping dust him off.

DovE handed Maui the can.

SMACK!

DovE went down.

Maui went down.

The fans were going wild for this hardcore insanity!

DovE got up first. He tried to pull up Maui, but he wasn't budging.

Was he asleep?

Or just unconscious?

I dunno. But either way, DovE wasn't gonna let Maui get off the hook! So what did DovE do?

He picked up the lead pipe!

Right to DovE's skull!

DovE went down, HARD!

The crowd popped.

DovE was BUSTED WIDE OPEN.

And bleeding too!

DovE somehow shook it off, and grabbed the crowbar.

It was time to payback DovE for that lost shot to DovE.

And revenge was made!

DovE hit DovE in the head with the crowbar!

The crowd was on fire!

Maui Wauie was snoring.

As DovE got up, the fans knew what had just happened!

DovE has PINK VISION!

He smiled!

DovE was tossed OUT OF THE RING TO THE FLOOR!

OH NO!

DovE sets up DovE on the empty announce table!

DovE isn't moving!

What is DovE gonna do?

DovE is up!

OH NO!

He's climbing to the top rope!

OH MY GOD!

DovE just crushed DovE through the TABLE!

"DEVIL'S CRAP! DEVIL'S CRAP! DEVIL'S CRAP!" the crowd chanted.

Somehow, DovE was able to get DovE back in the ring!

DovE grabbed Maui Wauie and pulled him on top of DovE!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ding, ding, ding!

Maui came to at the sound of the bell and looked down at the bloody and battered DovE.

"Whut da?"

"You're welcome," DovE gurgled out.

"Man, Id think thiz wuz so strange if I wuzn't blitzed."

K-Con was in the ring!

He began stomping away on the bloody DovE! After a few kicks, he called for a microphone.

"DovE! I challenge you to a match next time. Cuz I'm two letters better. And in your case. I'm two species better!"


bOb will be right back!

Buy ACWABDAUDHEYA> Whatever it's called. The PPV. Buy it! it'll be much better than THIS show ;^). Oh, I shouldn't have winked when I said that, should I?


DMD vs. Las Vegas Davis

The fans blew up in cheers as DMD walked to the ring to "I Fought The (Dentist)." He grabbed the microphone.

"I entered wrestling for the money!"

The crowd responded: "Cavity!"

"OK, true. Look where I am. Well, I did it for the notoriety!"

The crowd, sensing yet another lie, responded: "Cavity!"

"Yes, BOB. Point made. But I can be a big star when I'm not feuding with an owner!"

"Cavity!" the crowd responded.

"Well, one thing that isn't a lie is that Graphic Flatulence is avoiding seeing the dentist!"

"Cavity!"

"I've seen your X-rays, and I know you've got to pay a visit sometime. The longer you put it off, the more it's gonna hurt you!"

"Cavity!"

"And I forgot the rest of the script, so yeah."

With that, the little wrestler Las Vegas Davis, everyone's favorite underdog, came to the ring to Pink Floyd's "Money."

At the bell, DMD attacked, hitting the drill! The spear connected and took the breath out of LVD.

DMD picked up LVD and then hit the finishing maneuver!

The most DEVASTATING MOVE.

The move that cripples anyone facing a dentist.

THE BILL!

A.k.a., the sharpshooter!

Because THE BILL makes everyone PAY!

This one was all over.

Tap, tap, tap.

Ding, ding, ding.

DMD grabbed the microphone again from Ray Pist and warned Graphic Flatulence that "You are gonna have to face me sometime! And you will pay the dentist's BILL!"

Weed money

Down in Travis Beaver's office, Maui Wauie was talking to Travis.

"Hey man, I needs sum weed money, bro."

"No," Travis said flatly. " I can't afford it just yet."

Maui tsked. "I might as well go back to drug dealing, pays more than this place."

Backstage assault!

K-Con was celebrating his match and successful atttack for the night, in between staring at his pretty car keys, when all of a sudden, there was a crash at the door.

DovE had burst into K-Con's locker room!

And he had a chair!

K-Con put his hands over his face, expecting to get walloped. Instead, he felt a finger poking at his biceps.

He looked at the bloody, happy face of DovE.

He held the chair out for K-Con.

"Hey man. You really didn't hurt me enough in the ring. It was only a few stomps. So I was thinking you could hit me some more to teach me a lesson."

K-Con stared at him. "What?" But he shook his head and shrugged.

WHACK!

"Yeah!" DovE screamed out. "Hit me man."

WHACK! WHACK!

"Oh man, you're hurting me now!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Oooh. I think you broke my elbow with THAT ONE!"

WHACK! WHACK!

*Cough* "Oh yeah, can't even feel below my waist anymore. Keep it coming!"

K-Con wiped some sweat off his forehead. Then he noticed his car keys on the floor. He picked them up.

JINGLE JINGLE.

"Hee hee. Gold." K-Con played with the keys and then fell down on the floor onto his back and played with the keys with his feet and hands, like a cat playing with a ball of string.

Where's the green?

Yep, another office segment with Travis. This time, he's with Kelly Erik.

"HEY BOSS WHEN AM I GONNA GET PAID?"

"Soon, Kelly, soon. The show isn't even over yet. What are you in such a rush to do?"

"I'VE GOT TO GO GET SOME FOOD, I'M STARVING! YOU SAID WHEN YOU HIRED ME YOU WERE GONNA PAY ME."

"I'm gonna pay you. Did I ever say when?"

"WELL, IF I DON'T GET PAID, I'M GONNA GET INJURED AND FORM A UNION."

"Don't you EVER use that word again or I'll FIRE YOU!"

"WHAT WORD? UNION?"

"No, PAID!"

Walking footage

Yep, main event time. Almost. Graphic Flatulence is walking down a backstage hallway. Maui Wauie is on the floor, trying to light up a blunt.

FLICK. FLICK. FLICK.

"Damn Bic."

FLICK.

Success!

PFFFFTTT.

A HUGE fireball shot up from the lighter as GF's gas combined with the lighter!

As GF headed out of the shot, the camera zoomed in on Maui, whose hair was all standing on end and his face was soot black.

"Whoaaaaaa, duuuuuude!"

I'll Strangle You!

The psychotic eyes of Albert DeSalvo stared at the camera thru his blood red hair. The other man in the main event had something to say.

"Tonight, I'm going to pretend that Graphic Flatulence is a cheap hooker and KILL HIS BOX. YEAH. I'm gonna wrap my hands around his neck and pretend he's a HOOKER!

"And you may have had a chip put into your brain that makes you fart every time you try to swear, but by nipple time I'm done with you, you're gonna have a big boot in your ass and every time you try to fart, you're gonna EXPLODE!

"Your BOX is MINE! Tonight! Nipple main event! Nipple end is here for Graphic Flatulence. Because I am Albert DeSalvo. And I own bOb!


bOb will be right back!

BOB PPV: BUY IT! HYPE HYPE HYPE, SHILL SHILL SHILL, BUY BUY BUY NOW NOW NOW! GO ORDER OR WE'LL STAY IN CAPS LOCK FOR THE REST OF THE SHOW. DON'T TEST ME!!!!!


Main event: Graphic Flatulence vs. Albert DeSalvo

Graphic Flatulence walked to the ring to "Bring The Noise" by Anthrax/Public Enemy.

And then? "One Less Bitch" by the N.W.A. brought out Albert DeSalvo.

What entrances, huh?

WHOA!

SWERVE TIME!

DMD is on his way to the ring!

But wait!

TREY VINCENT IS HERE!

He ran down from behind DMD with his black aluminum baseball bat and laid out DMD with a brutal bat shot!

Vincent ran down to the ring, even as the entrance music was still playing, and laid out Graphic Flatulence and then Albert DeSalvo, and then hit them a few times until they stopped moving on the mat.

Vincent stared at the booing crowd and called for the mic from Ray Pist.

Las Vegas Davis ran in!

WHACK!

Down.

And Maui Wauie!

WHACK!

Down.

DovE ran to the ring with a bat.

A BIGGER bat.

He handed it to TV.

WHACK!

DovE went down.

And then K-Con and Kelly Erik were both easily taken out with repeated bat shots. All of them were down in the ring and DMD was still in the aisle.

Now, Trey Vincent, leader of the iAd and former owner of this portion of booking control, had the microphone.

"THAT IS IT!" he yelled. "Trey Vincent wants booking control back. Trey Vincent wants his ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS BACK! And Trey Vincent doesn't know who you think you are, Travis Beaver! But this is the dumbest show in the history of sports entertainment! And considering the legacy of this company, that is saying A LOT! So Beaver, get your ass out here and face me so TV can rule the airwaves of BOB, once AGAIN."


bOb will be right back!


Post main event segment (clever title, no?)

"What the hell? Who said you could take a commercial break! Screw the ratings! Bring me BEAVER! I WANT BEAVER! I WANT BEAVER RIGHT NOW!" He paused. "BWAHAHAHA."

And then, Travis Beaver came out. He seemed a bit shorter now. He was dressed in a bOb T-shirt now…that…kinda…hmmm…and a pair of pants. We now see that he has long hair, but it is just pulled back into a ponytail. And he's carrying a brown shopping bag.

"You and me, Beaver! One on one, let's do this for this show! Trey Vincent wants his booking power back!"

Slowly, he walked that aisle and stopped just outside the ring. he reached into the bag and pulled out…

A handful of banana peels!

And threw them all over the ring.

Vincent stared down at the peels and laughed. "As if I'm gonna slip on these stupid things. This isn't a cartoon Beaver!"

Vincent headed toward the ropes.

"AHHHHH!"

Vincent slipped!

Beaver got into the ring!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!

DING, DING, DING!

Vincent pounded on the mat and banana peels in frustration for about a minute as Beaver stood up and…"WHY!~ WHY! WHY!"

Wait a minute!

Travis Beaver has breasts!

I can see the outline, I swear!

Wait!

HE IS PULLING OFF HIS FACE!

IT WAS A MASK!

Vincent stared up in horror once he saw what was going on.

The shirt came off.

The pants came down.

Red leather pants?

A low-cut, white T-shirt?

And the hair came down!

The rest of the fake face was thrown at Trey's crotch.

SARAH "THE JOBBER SLAYER"!

[Black.]


© 2002 BOB Wrestling. The funny line got sewn into the bear...sorry.

 

© BOB Wrestling!

Brawlers On a Budget is an online fantasy parody wrestling sports entertainment federation (or e-fed) designed to be somewhat funny.

WARNING: This site contains adult content. Surfer discretion is advised.