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Poinkamania 2

BOB! Too stupid to quit, too cheap to buy a clue

[Someone leans heavily on a Casio keyboard. Either that or someone with the musical talent of a blind Ethiopian plumber is attempting to play a fanfare.]

Off-Screen Voice: Poink!

[*sigh* Fade up to see Coma attempting to play a fanfare on a Casio keyboard. I guess I was right on both counts, then. Seth Harker leans into shot and presses a button. A tinny MIDI version of "Rising Sun" begins to play as we pan over to the CLASSIX desk.]

SH: Welcome to CLASSIX, I'm Seth Harker, and I'm infinitely cooler than you are. Live with it.

GBH: Duh. Me too. (Stares blankly at the wrong camera.)

Coma: Wake up, Little Fredrich! I've got a xylophone full of Rice Krispies with your name on it!

Seth: So noted. On tonights' show, a triple-threat match between three guys I've neither heard of or care about.

Coma: YES! (Falls over)

Seth: A singles match featuring two guys who no longer work for us...

Coma: YES!! (Stands up, falls over again)

Seth: And in our Main Event, yet more proof that letting Coma book his own matches is a bloody stupid idea.

Coma: (sitting at the desk) I have no comment to make at this time. Let's go to the phones, Lorenzo!

GBH: Duh. Whut?

This episode of BOB: CLASSIX is brought to you by the island nation of Vanuaatu! What do you mean you've never heard of us? Pick up an atlas, you dummies!

[Cut to the Pahootatawnee Convention Centre and Casino (But mainly Casino), in scenic Holdemfoldem, Arizona.]

SW: ...right in the middle of the aisle!

NH: Oh gross, Scotty. Remind me to never ask you what you did on the weekend again.

MS: And we're back! And not before time...

MA: Ladies and gentlemen, and especially the people from Craps Table 9 who won free tickets to the show...

[Mild pop.]

MA: This is a match. With a time limit. (pause) These cue cards are getting more generic by the month. Screw it, I'm a pro. Just send the guys out and I'll wing it.

[The Pahootatawnees resident medicine man/DJ/part-time Pit Boss, DJ Wanna-Wedgie, cues up "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies. A skinny luchadore wearing a green bodysuit decorated with question marks wanders down the aisle.]

MA: From Triple-H Dub, hailing from Parts Forgotten... LOS AMNESIAC!

[DJ Wanna-Wedgie switches to "I'm Think I'm Turning Japanese" by The Vapours. An equally-skinny Japanese wrestler runs down the aisle.]

MA: Also from Triple-H Dub... hailing from Sashmi, Japan... SUPER HAPPY EXPLOSION GUY!

SW: Man, never pick your wrestler name using the Babelfish translator...

["I Think I'm Turning Japanese" makes way for "Keine Lust" by Rammstein. A crazed-looking skinhead runs down the aisle, arms full of Hardcore Plunderage.]

MA: And their opponent... from Dokken, Germany... DAS BASTARD!


MA: There goes the timer on my L'il Housewife Kiddy-Bake Oven! Das Bastard mistakes it as the actual bell, meaning the match is under way, AND we have delicious lightbulb-warmed molasses cookies to enjoy as we watch! THIS IS THE GREATES...



MA: ...I think I just lost my appetite.

SW: HOLY SHIT! Das Bastard just bladed HIMSELF with barbed-wire-wrapped barbed wire! That's HARDCORE!

NH: Explosion Guy looks both disgusted and terrified. He cartwheels across the ring... LEAPING, NO-LOOK, REVERSE HEAD SCISSORS! Das Bastard is catapulted out of the ring! He lands right in front of us, spraying blood all over Mark Shill!

MS: Gaaah...


NH: And Mark Shill passes out! I thought he was looking a little pale. I better give him mouth-to-mouth.


NH: Nice try, Whatbody... I wouldn't resuscitate you if you'd swallowed a kitten.

SW: (from the floor) Some nurse you are... what about your Hippopotamus Oath?

NH: Idiot...

SW: Anyway, Los Amnesiac attacks the Japanese guy with a kind of flippy-twisty thing! I have no idea what it's called, but he hit it! I think. He could have fucked it up, and I'd hardly know the difference! Damn it, Heidi, wake up Mark... he's our technical guy! I'm out of my depth here!

Off-Screen Voice: All right, move over, fatso! Let a couple of pros take over.

MH: Hi, folks! I'm Matt Heath, and along with me is my broadcast colleague Bil Withonel!

SW: Huh? Oh, you're those guys from Blood, Sweat and Chairs Wrestling, right? Didn't that place close down?

MH: (Cheerfully) Sure did! We've been on welfare for months!

BW: Screw YOU, Richard Vail! And your frikkin' Nutrageous, too!

SW: Hey, join the club. I've been in more failed feds than Comas' had concussions. You wanna help call this match?

MH: We could certainly use the paycheck!

SW: Be my guest.

MH: Okay, BOB fans, this should be a fantastic match! Our pre-match banter has got us through the boring "feeling out" process without having to make headlocks and leapfrogs sound interesting. All three men in the ring... Das Bastard has Super Happy Explosion Guy by the throat... drags him into a corner. And here come the turnbuckle shots!


MH: But Super Happy Explosion Guy blocks! And it's Das Bastard who meets the turnbuckle!


MH: Los Amnesiac with a double-noggin nocker! And another...





NH: Political correctness, thy name is Scotty. And BiLl's thy middle name.

BW: Bil. One "el".

MH: Los Amnesiac whips Super Happy Explosion Guy to the ropes! But he turns his back on him... It appears he's forgotten to follow up on that maneuver! A huge lariat to the back of the skull! Los Amnesiac tumbles over the top ropes to the floor!

BW: He hit him so hard, he'll have forgotten his own name! Again.

MH: Das Bastard spins Super Happy Explosion Guy around... Boot to the gut! Gutwrench suplex.. NO! Gets him half-way up and SLAMS him down with a Gutwrench Powerbomb! Great move! But why did I have to describe it? Why couldn't your Narrator do it, like we did back in BSCW?

[Well, I obviously got a better contract than that guy...]

NH: Oh, just humour him, DN. We'll be here all day otherwise.

[Whatever. Stupid Harpy Implosion Geek lies on the mat whining like a crybaby. The Latino Freak does likewise on the floor. And the Hardcore Hun makes a gesture to the crowd that would get him arrested in Hamburg..]

[Mind if I take over?]

[How'd you get in my brackets, Harker?]

[The secret is, there are no brackets. Here's a duckling, go torture it while I call this match BSC-Dub-style. Super Happy Explosion Guy legsweeps Das Bastard from the mat and kips up to the cheers of the crowd. He bounds to the top rope and executes a picture-perfect no-look twisting moonsault.]

[Picture-Perfect No-Look Twisting Moonsault Pop!]


BW: Now there's a chant that would have trouble getting over, even in BSCW!

MH: I'd tend to agree! Super Happy Explosion Guy to the ropes... Los Amnesiac is on the apron...

[As Super Happy Explosion Guy reaches the ropes, Los Amnesiac pulls down the top strand.. Super Happy Explosion Guy is bent backwards, only to receive..]


SW: He gave Super Happy Explosion Guy smack? He'll get arrested!

[That's a BSCW stock sound-effect, Scotty...]

SW: Right, gotcha.

[Now I lost my place. Let's spin back time a few seconds.]

BW: He can do that?

[In this fed? Easily. Super Happy Explosion Guy is bent backwards, only to receive..]


[..A vicious high kick to the back of the skull!]

[High Velocity Head-Kicking Pop!]

NH: You have remarkably specific fans, Matt.

MH: Tell me about it! Das Bastard was just knocked off the apron by an errant spinning heel kick, so it's Los Amnesiac and Super Happy Explosion Guy in the ring. Los Amnesiac has the advantage, but God only knows how long he'll remember that fact! Picks up Super Happy Explosion Guy... looks like he's going for a back suplex..

[In mid-air, Los Amnesiac twists, spins Super Happy Explosion Guy 180 degrees and SLAMS him back to the mat! I'm not even sure what he calls that!]

LA: Se llama... un oh, espera, yo sabía esto... ¡Maldición! ¡Conseguiré de nuevo a usted, esse!

MH: Okay, apparently it's called 'The Llama'! Not sure why, but it's a great move nonetheless! Los Amnesiac to the ropes... Rolling Thunder! Pins.. 1.. 2... Super Happy Explosion Guy gets a shoulder up! Los Amnesiac needs to follow up quickly!

LA: (Looking around) ¿Qué el infierno yo está haciendo aquí? ¿Quiénes son todos lo que usted puebla?

NH: And I doubt he's going to... here comes Das Bastard!

[And here comes the first chairshot of the match!]


[Facist Backstabber Heel Heat!]

SW: Woof! That guy knows how to throw a chairshot! Hey, we got a run-in! A group of jobbers is hitting the ring... BILL's in the lead! Mr. X behind him! And there's The Pussy! listen to the crowd pop!


SW: Well, don't we all. Even Heidi, from what I hear. Oh wait a sec, is that group who I think it is?

[BOB would like to apologise for this following joke... But we're not going to.]

SW: Das Bastard still has the chair!





NH: I thought the JEWS split up?

SW: Yeah, but then the over-used joke wouldn't work.

BW: Das Bastard just cleared the ring... that was the worst run-in I've seen since... well, since Coma quit wrestling in BSCW, really.

MH: But it gave the two cruiserweights a chance to recover! And it looks like they're going to team up! Double dropkick staggers Das Bastard! Double Flying Elbows! DOUBLE SNAPMARE!

SW: Which just makes the snapmare look twice as lame.

BW: They're going up to opposite corners... looks like they want to going for something huge! They leap!

[The screen goes black. A white caption fades up quickly.]


[Cut back to the arena.]

NH: What the hell?

[Sorry about that. You see, the premise of this match was going to be "Moves Used in Former BSCW Matches as a Half-Assed Tribute." But the BSCW site isn't there anymore. It's just a blank page with an error message. So this whole ideas' gone to shit, really. Oh, and Super Happy Explosion Guy has Los Amnesiac in a full nelson, ready to deliver..]

[Black screen]


MH: And he's going for his signature move...


[Back to the match in time to see Super Happy Explosion Guy get the...]

MH: 1... 2...3!!!

[Yay! He Won, Somehow POP!]

SW: Uhh, well, Super Happy Explosion Guy won. Somehow. Yay?

[Cut back to the CLASSIX Studio. Seth sits alone at the desk, smiling slightly.]

SH: You have been watching a pointless, go-nowhere match with people in it you don't care about and concepts ripped wholesale from a previous CLASSIX. This has been a test of the BOB "Are You Really Reading These Cards, Or Just Skimming Through Looking For Your Own Wrestler?" Warning System. For those of you still with us, welcome...

[The camera zooms in slowly, until all you call see is a tiny, packed wrestling arena, superimposed in Seth mirrored sunglasses.]

SH: ...To Poinkamania 2!

[SLAM CUT to..]

[...The Geraldo Rivera Sports Emporium in decrepit Havanafannabanana, Texas! On a raised stage, a bagpiper is playing an upbeat version of Soundgardens' "Outshined", while an Irish midget in a safari suit raps the lyrics.]

Midget: Ootshined, ootshined, ootshined! BAGPIPE SOLO!

[We pan the arena, which is full to the rafters with weirdos, yahoos, dropkicks and loonies. And that's just the concession stand staff. (I mean, what sort of idiot mans a "Hot Buttered Poodle" franchise stand? Or thinks "Steamed Vegan Waffles" are going to get over? Or the guy selling knock-off t-shirts with slogans like "Bohemoth: He's Really Quite Fat, You Know!" and "XXXtreme Machine: Will He EVER Use Punctuation?")

Captain Obvious: Excuse me! I made these shirts myself, you know! That makes them hand-made shirts! They're for wearing!

[I'm happy for you. Moron. Let's pan around a little more. The ring has been painted fire-engine red, as has The Generic Refs' pants. A cage of hamsters is suspended over the ring. Banners hang from the balcony, each one in Esperanto. No-one on Earth knows what they say. The Timekeepers table hangs from the lighting rig, suspended on bunji cables. The seats have been arranged around a selection of Gimmick Areas... a hog pen, an open grave, a scaffold crossing a mud-pit, a Lions Den (With an actual lion asleep in the middle of it.) and a roped-off area of bare floor. A sign stands next to this area, with the words "PIT OF INDESCRIBABLE AGONY!" emblazoned on it in large, angry letters. A smaller sign in the shape of Coma, his arm outstretched, reads "You must be this TALL to enter!". We zoom to the BOB Extend-o-Desk. Eagle-eyed viewers may note a forest of cracks in the middle of the desk. I TOLD Kamikazie Ken to aim for the thinner left-hand side, but would he listen? Nuh-uh!]


NH: I'm Nurse Heidi!

SW: I'm Scotty Whatbody!

SH: And I'm Seth Harker, and I'm STILL infinitely cooler than anyone else in the room. In fact, I'm thinking of adding that to my bio.

MS: And WELCOME everyone to the Second Not-Exactly Annual Wrestling Extravaganza that is POINKAMANIA II! We're not exactly sure what's going to happen tonight, but it should be the GREATEST...

Everyone: HEARD IT!

MS: NIGHT IN... oh. Am I becoming a shade predictable?

NH: Just a little.

SW: Wanna have sex during the intermission, Heidi?

NH: Not as predictable as some though.

SW: Is that a yes?

NH: Forget it Scotty, it's a twenty-minute break. I'm not doing it with you 12 times...

SH: She shoots. She scores. Nice.

MS: Well, let's kick things off! Masked Announcer, take it away!

NH: Hey, didn't both you guys get fired?

MS: I have no recollection of that event.

MA: Or me. Ladies and gentlemen.. Our opening contest is our Curtain Jerker Eight-Man Tag Team Match, and it will be under Vaugely-Remembered Extra Rules, scheduled for ten minutes of punching and kicking, followed by a Schock Twist Ending! Please pay attention, there will be a test afterwards!

NH: What the heck is a "Vaguely-Remembered Extra" match?

SW: I don't remember.

MA: Introducing first, team 1! Their captain, our occasional stand-by cameraman... KAMKORDER KID!

["Girls on Film" by 80's pretty-boys Duran Duran plays as Kamkorder Kid walks down the aisle. His entrance video on the Geraldo-Vision Jumbo-Screen (As the BOB-Tron is currently situated in the window of Mels' Pawn Shop, in Popskillet, Maine.) is a shaky live feed from his camcorder.]

MA: Next... From Zimbabwe, CHEIF N!T!AU!

[Generic tribal drums herald the arrival of a large Zimbawean man in a fancy headdress. Viewers with long memories might remember him as the chief of the tribe the "Zimbabwe Street Fight" was held in.]

MS: Oh, wait... I think I understand! It looks like the participants of the Battle Royale will be the occasional extras who've appeared in BOB shows over the years! This is the GREATEST IDEA IN COMAS HISTORY!

SH: It's interesting, I'll give you that. But I wonder if any of them can wrestle?

SW: It's a eight-man fustercluck, Harker! Since when was wrestling that necessary?

SH: Point taken.

MA: Introducing, from whatever show it was that had the rotating scaffold match and Poinkamania I... GERRY, THE RING CREW CHIEF!

[Huey Lewis and the News start singing that "(All I Want is a) Couple Days Off" song. I forget the actual title, and I'm betting Eddie B. is standing in his booth with his fingers in his ears. Yes, Eddie B's here too. Gerry wanders down the aisle, waving his yellow hard hat at the fans. Minor pop from a group of drunks who think Coma has booked the Village People.]


NH: Shut up, Scotty.

MA: And their partner, from Barnyard Blitzkreig... JIM DANDY!

[Generic square-dance music plays as Jim waddles out, sequined shirt almost blinding people three rows back.]

MS: Barnyard Blitzkrieg? That was the Whatever Wrestling Federation! I think Comas' gotten confused...

SH: Comas' confused? Wow, let me break out of my state of cool detachment at THAT announcement.

MA: And there opponents, Team 2! Captain of the team, from the "Skate of Die" Match at MMM 11... former "Are You Out of Your Frickin' Mind?" Champion... FREEK BOY!

["Society" by Pennywise plays at braincell-killing volume as the skinny X-Treme Sportz Writer and one-time BOB commentator races down the aisle on his skateboard. He attempts a Switch Fingerflip Ollie as he reaches the ring.]


MS: Oooh That's going to leave a mark!

SH: Yeah, but that ringpost has had worse marks on it. It'll sponge off.

MA: Introducing next, from The BOB 36-Month Anniversary Show... CLYDE!

MS: Clyde?

NH: Who?

[An alpine horn and some yodelling is heard as a bemused-looking Norwegian Guy wanders out from the back.]

Clyde: Vot der hell is going on?

SH: Oh, that guy.

SW: I still don't recognize him.

NH: Clyde WHO?

SH: He was a throwaway character when Coma started ad-libbing. Remember the stampeding reindeer bit?

MH: Nope.

NH: Not really.

SW: With how much I drank that night? I'm still not sure why I woke up hugging a novelty rubber fire hydrant, or who puked in my shoes!

MA: Continuing to introduce people, I now introduce... THE GUY WHO DELIVERED THE TABLES from Monday Morning Mayhem... (Riffle of paper) Three? Or was it four? No, three!

[A delivery guy runs out. Zero pop.]

SW: Okay, could he get any more obscure?


SH: I'd have to say that's a pretty definite "yes", Scotty.


NH: Well, of course he is. Is there a word for how badly this is going to blow?

SW: The phrase "Coked-Up Tijuana Hooker With Bad Dental Hygene" springs to mind...

MA: And now... your special Guest Referee, Timekeeper, Pinball Wizard, Xylophone Player and Limbo Dancer... COMA!

[Huge pop. Ramones music. Strobe lights. Stock footage of fireworks exploding over the Washington Monument. Stock footage of model trains crashing into each other from an old Republic Pictures serial. Stock footage of the exploding sheep gag from Peter Jacksons' "Bad Taste". More Ramones Music. Stock footage of ninjas fighting. One brief shot of Coma, falling through the curtain. More fireworks. Stock footage of penguins sliding off an ice-shelf. Bootleg footage of Led Zeppelin playing "Whole Lotta Love". Slightly longer shot of Coma attempting to limbo dance under the ring. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Atomic Bomb test footage. And we're back to the live(ish) feed.]

SH: Nice intro, but he forgot the Rockettes kick-line and the balancing elephants.

Coma: Salutations, my fellow vegetarians! Are we ready for the Muskrat Ramble?


Coma: Then start your engines, Paul Newmans under the gun! Let's haul ass to the Chapel of Love! POINK!

[Cut to a man with two large mallets. He rapidly brings them down three times. From out of shot comes...]


MS: And with that blatant steal of Monty Pythons' "Mouse Organ" skit, this match is under way! And it's an all-in brawl! So all-in that people are attacking their own team members! It's almost like someone started to book this as a Battle Royale, then changed his mind halfway through!

Coma: Kayfabe is for losers. Nurf.

Jim Dandy: YEEEE-HA!

(Sings)Wellll, take your partner, round you go!
Kick and punch and do-si-do!
I'll punch that German in the gut!
Try and kick him in butt!!

Clyde: Actually, I'm not German, ja? I'm a skiing instructor from Vendelschburg... Please to be schtopping vit der punching!

Cheif N!t!au: Nunta zuma BLUNG! Okedoo.

[Caption: And I though MY country was stuffed up. Okay, let's do this.]

MS: Big Zimbabwean headbutt to Freek Boy! Gerry the ring crew chief with some sledgehammer-like blows (crowd groans) to the back of the Table Delivery Guy! JACKHAMMER!

[The crowd groans louder.]

MS: He's on fire! Grabs Clyde... Hooks a leg... picks him up, twists... DRAGON SCREW-DRIVER!

[The crowd groans again. It's like a porno soundtrack, here!]

NH: Oh, dear Lord, someone taught Gerry a move that dangerous for the sake of a couple of awful puns?

SH: Coma LIKES bad puns.

Coma: That's RIGHT, Maurice! Drop it like it's a hotdog, I'm on it like Bostick!

SW: Speak of the dimwit! Hey, Coma, make yourself at home.

SH: Tha's a bad idea, Scotty. Have you SEEN Comas' house?

[Cut to a still picture of Comas' living room, furnished in Post-Modernist Exploding Marketplace style. The front half of the stuffed swordfish embedded in the wall over the fireplace full of styrofoam beer coolers is a nice touch.]

Coma: Yessir, that's my hedgehog! Feel it, that's REAL nylon on the pointy bits!

NH: Shouldn't you be refereeing the match, sweetie?

Coma: I officiate via BINARY FISSON! Watch as I replicate for your listening pleasure!

MS: Freek Boy HAS to be the favorite in this match! He was the "AYOOYFM" champion, after all!

SW: Yeah, for like, eleven seconds! This is BOB, not Bob Backlund!


SW: That didn't make sense, even to me. I withdraw the analogy.

NH: Good. Freek Boy and the Promo Extra are exchanging right hands in the corner. Kamkorder Kid hasn't thrown a punch yet... he's been too busy filming the chaos. Someone tell him he's off the clock. Man, this is uglier than Scottys last three dates combined.

SW: Yeah, I... HEY!

Coma: And I'm in the mood for big velcro gloves! Richard Simmons, you're my hero! Poink!

MS: The Un-Named Promo Extra with a wild roundhouse swing... doesn't come within a foot of anyone, so I have no idea who he was aiming at! Kamkorder Kid bops him with his camera... He's on the ropes!

NH: Which are sagging badly. I hope our ring crew set up properly today.

Gerry: Of course we did! I did it myself! Followed the plans exactly!

SH: These plans?

Gerry: Ayup!

SH: The ones marked "Magic Fingers Vibrating Bed"?

[Sound of a coin dropping into a slot]


SH: Well, that cleared the ring quite nicely.

MS: Coma, the In-No-Way Generic ref is finally getting things straightened out. Looks like Freek Boy is going to face off with Jim Dandy! Lock-up... no, Freek Boy with a right hand! HE'S EXTREME!

SW: Extremely stoned?

SH: Extremely untalented?

MS: Yes. And yes. But he'll make up for that, because HE'S EXTREME!

[Seths' cellphone rings.]

SH: Harker. Hold on, I'll tell him. Mark, Styles wants you to stop stealing his catchphrase. Or he'll hurt you.

[Cut to Boliva.]

Mr. Paradox: Shit, I am so lost today. Anyone see the arena yet?


[Cut to the match.]

NH: Jim Dandy blocks a punch! That was almost a wrestling move! HIP-TOSS! That WAS a wrestling move! A simplistic one, but a wrestling move all the same.

MS: HE'S... uhhh..

[Cut to GBH]

GBH: Duh. Rad?

[Cut to Tony Hawk]

TH: Sick?

[Cut the former lead singer of Rage Against the Machine.]

Former Lead Singer of Rage Against the Machine: It's Zac De La Rocha, you morons.

[Cut back to the match.]

MS: Jim Dandy is calling for a mic!


SH: Great, country music. Not cool. Not cool at all.

SW: Hey, we're in Texas, Harker. You know it was bound to happen.

JD: (To the tune of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia)

Well Jim Dandy went down to BOB
And he was lookin' for a match to steal.
He was in a bind,
Because in his mind,
He's wasn't sure if he's a heel.

But he came across a Freek Boy
And he stepped up and knocked him flat.
Kicked him in the rump
And gave him a lump
And said "Boy, watcha think of that!"

Freek Boy: (also singing)

Well I guess you didn't know it,
But I'm a square dance caller too!
And though it ain't hip,
You better zip your lip,
Or I'll beat you black and blue!

Yeah, you call a pretty good squaredance,
But give Freek Boy his due!
I'll bet my DVD's
of "Extreme TV"!
Cause I think I'm better than you!

Entire Crowd: (Also, oddly enough, singing)

Well Freek Boy you get up right now,
And wrestle this match hard!
'Cause Hell's broke loose in Texas,
Since Comas' booked the card!

And if you win, you'll get an overwhelming sense of pride,
But if you lose, your reputations fried!

Irish Midget: BAGPIPE SOLO!

SW: This is about nine colors of NEEP-ed up...

SH: No HONK, Scotty.

NH: I'm just hoping this insanity is the "Schock Twist Ending", otherwise it could get even stranger.


MS: OH MY G...

[Seths' cellphone rings.]

MS:. ...OODNESS! Kamkorder Kid just knocked out Freekboy with his camera! Coma never saw a thing!

Coma: Who said that? Hee hee.

NH: Jim Dandy covers! Coma counts!

Coma: 8! 47! Purple! 3! Hit the spaniel, it's all gone black!

[Cut to stock footage of drunken German Soldiers singing.]

Germans: Ja! Ja! Ja!

[Cut back to the ring.]

MA: Here are you winners... JIM DANDY, GERRY, CHIEF N!T!AU and KAMKORDER KID!

MS: What a MATCH! Jim Dandy gets the win for his team!

NH: In remarkably conventional fashion, too.

[Cut to the BigBOSS]

BigB: What? Why are you looking at me like that for?


BigB: Okay, okay, Coma couldn't think of an ending. So I booked it for him. Leave me alone.

PONKAMANIA II is brought to you by the West Cheshire All-Nude Coal Miners Choir! Now with new, improved Nudity! And by Dr. Hobarts Elective Surgery Clinic! Come in for a free consultation and let us point out EXACTLY how hideous you look! Lower self-esteem in one session guaranteed, or we'll give you a free shot of ass-fat into your lips!

Shut Up, part 1

Stuffy English Voice-Over: Previously on "Sarah the Jobber Slayer".

SW: *ahem*... *voice cracks* Kay... *Cough*...*normal voice* Kay enters the ring and is staring down the Fire Chief! XXXtreme Machine tries to assert himself with Sarah!


TF: Oooh! He'll never dance the tango again!

Coma: Caps Lock! Get your ass off my TV, Vince! Whoops!

SW: Kay whips The Chief into the corner! Handspring elbow! Sarah has XXXtreme Machine in the opposite corner and is kicking away at him! And some more kicks! And another kick! Spinning heel kick! And a kick!

[Cut to]

MM: Sarah "The Jobber Slayer" has taken out the J.W.A., Totally Face, her best friends and saved the last shot for the BigBoss, who was just added to this match.

MS: This is the blackest day in the history of this greatest extravaganza of all time.

MM: Trey Vincent stands up. Sarah drops the chair. They smile! Oh God, they embrace. Don't tell me Sarah is the ultimate screw job Trey Vincent promised!

SW: What a heel turn. But why? Why Sarah, you bad, bad, girl! We demand answers.

[Cut to]

LG: Look, am I even in the bloody re-cap, or not?

[Cut to]

[Two figures silloutted in a window.]

KF: I knew you'd come, Seth. Just not so... fast.

SH: I drove over as fast as I could, Kay. I just hope tonight I won't... break kayfabe.

KF: I wouldn't worry about that, Seth...

[The figures move closer together.]

KF: ...That's harder than it looks.


SH: There's a double meaning in that...

[Lights out]

SH: Whoa.

[Cut to]

Sarah sat up on the couch.

Came face to face with Triple H.

"Not even DEATH will stop me from jobbing you out!"

[Cut to]

StJS: What is up with these clips, Styles? They're all out of sequence, they're irrelevant, one of them was from our first show here, and I swear I've never seen that one with Kay and Seth before!

Styles: OH MY GOD, you're right! And I don't remember THIS bit, either!

StJS: And what's up with all the shots of Trey?

[Cut to]

MM: Fans, there's no secret what's going on here...Bohemoth eliminated Studnuts from last year's March Mayhem tournament to go to the UnFourtunate Four, and I'm sure Studs hasn't forgotten that! And Trey has already made it known that he'd like to get it on with Sarah!

SW: Who wouldn't?!

MS: I knew he was gonna say that!

MM: HERE WE GO! Studnuts has charged Bo! Trey and Sarah are exchanging blows!


[Fade to a more narrative style]

Xamfir put down the phone, and turned to the other Shaggies. Most of whom were slumped in front of the TV, eating take-out pizza and laughing at Comas' idiotic booking.

"That was the Li'lBOSS," he said, helping himself to the last slice of pepperoni. "He wants us to show up on Monday to cut a promo for the RantZone."

"What, all of us?" Kay asked, stretching out in a way that increased the buy-rate for the encore screening by nearly 10%.

"Well, he said Sarah first, then you, then Styles, then Michelle, then Little Good and then me. But he told me not to make a special trip, or anything."

Xamfir puffed out what could conceivably be called a chest, if you looked at it in the right light.

"Guess SOMEONE'S the new BOSSes pet." he said.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Sarah said as kindly as she could. "I hate cutting promos. Do we really have to, Styles?"

"OH MY GOD, yes!" Styles said, rummaging in the cooler for another product placement. Pepsi. I meant Pepsi. The choice of a Slayer Generation. "You're a wrestler, Sarah... a professional wrestler at that."

"Hello, working for BOB, remember?" Sarah replied.

"Semi-professional, then," Styles conceded. "You have to cut promos! Trash talk, empty threats, cliches, overly-complex skits that become meaningless after the bookers scrap your program unexpectedly... all these things are the heart of a professional wrestler! Promos are your heart, training your lungs, autograph signing sessions your spleen, and the matches... well the matches are your genitals. They're mainly there for fun, but they invariably end up lasting less than two minutes and having a limp, unsatisfying climax."

"That's SO too much info, Styles," Xamfir said with a shudder.

"Fine, I'll do a promo, then," sulked Sarah. "Yadda yadda yadda, kick your ass, blah blah blah, see you at Chloroform... I could do it in my sleep."

"Oh, don't say the 'S' word," Kay said. "Remember what happened LAST time we fell asleep during Poinkamania?"

No response.

"Guys? Oh, come on! No-one falls asleep THAT fast!"



Outside, the last fading light of the day colored the garden in shades of ocher and burnt umber. Or slightly orange-and-red-ish if you didn't study art. Slowly, four shadows appeared, creeping forward, stretching out onto the side of the house. Four figures, each swathed in a long black overcoat, faces hidden in the gathering dusk. One glided silently forward, one bone-white hand outstretched. Inside the house, Kay Fabe slipped swiftly into a dreamless slumber. While behind her, the doorhandle began to turn.

[Backstage at Poinkamania. The BOB Special Celebrity Guest Interviewer is standing by. I don't see him, though. The only person there is some dink with a mic.]

Danny Bonaduce: Hi folks, Danny Bonaduce here, your Special Celebrity Guest Interviewer!


DB: I'll be here all night, talking with some of the fantastic superstars of BOB! I've never actually watched the show, and have no idea which wrestler is which. So most of my interviews will probably start out with "Who the Hell are you?"! Who the hell are you?

XM: ur wurst nitemor

DB: Oh, you're that retarded kid I commentated with last time, right?

XM: m nto rtarted imx xxtreem macone n dot u 4get it puink

DB: Sorry, didn't catch that?

XM: ime xxtrme mschin bich

DB: One more time?


DB: Oh, XXXtreme Machine.Well, thanks for your time. My next guest is one of the up-and-coming stars here in BOB! Please welcome, UNIT 5!

Unit 5: *rumble, rumble, rumble*

[Long pause]

DB: Am I interviewing a washing machine?

Unit 5: *spin cycle*

DB: O-oooo-kay.

[We'll leave Danny Bonadorky there for the moment and head back to ringside.]

MA: Laddies and lassies, this is a special EXTREME TEXAS DEATH MATCH, hoots, och aye the noo! Please fire your guns in the air and shout "Yee-Haw" if you approve.

[Stock footage of an old Davy Crockett film.]


[Seths' cell-phone rings.]

SH: Hello? Hello? (hangs up)

NH: Who was that?

SH: No idea. Just the sound of someone snoring.

MA: Here are the rules of the EXTREME TEXAS DEATH MATCH! Rule One: It ain't over till it's over! Rule 2: It's over when someone dies! Rule 3: No biting! LET'S GET READY TO SNUFF IT!

[Huge poop]

[Pop! POP! Not poo...]


NH: Oh, gross! Disembodied Narrator, I'm guessing that was your fault.

[Sorry, typo. Or possibly a Freudian Slip . I'll clean that up. Cut to the carpark of the arena in the meantime.]

MA's Voice: Here are the participants of the EXTREME TEXAS DEATH MATCH! KAMIKAZIE KEN and INSANO MANO!

MS: WOW! This is going to be huge! Who else knows more about Texas Death than these two?

SW: Any member of the von Erich family?

[Cut to Santas' Grotto]

Santa: HO! HO! HO!

[Back to the carpark]

MS: And we're under way! The MOST EXTREME MATCH OF ALL TIME! It won't end until someone gets killed! If this doesn't get us a better buy-rate, nothing will! I can see Kamikazie Ken entering the carpark now. He's moving cautiously, keeping an eye out for Insano Mano. Wait, what's that sound? INSANO MANO is HERE! He's in a lowrider! He can't be trying to run down Ken, surely?

SW: Guess again, pal!

[Rattle of gunfire]

MS: GOOD GOLLY MISS MOLLY! Insano Mano attempts a drive-by shooting to end the match early! Looks like he missed, though!

SH: He didn't miss everyone...

douja: Damn, dogg! Why can't you crackas shoot straight? Thass a new shirt you just fucked up! (collapses)

NH: This is disgusting! I cannot condone a match that's going to be as brutal, violent and repellant as this one is obviously going to be! I'm leaving, and if you three have any morals and standards, you'll do likewise.

[Scotty and Seth look at each other, then start laughing.]

SW: Seeya!

SH: Grab me a soda on your way back...

NH: That's what I thought. Men!

MS: Insano Mano swings the car in a tight circle! Looks like he's coming back for a second attempt! A paramedic is trying to haul douja out of the danger zone!

SW: Hey, that's Art Terry! Why's he here? I thought the Ambulance Jockeys were supposed to be on duty tonight! I smell an angle...

MS: Insano Mano takes aim... and Ken runs TOWARD the car! Is he insane?!

[Seth makes a gesture. Time slows down to the point where you can see individual bullets flying around Ken. He sprints forward, leaps high and lands on the hood of the speeding car.]

SH: Yeah, I know it's an overused technique. Bite me.

[Another gesture. Time resumes it's normal passage. Fricking showoff cruiserweight.]

MS: AND KEN IS CLINGING TO THE HOOD OF THE CAR! Insano swerves to try and shake him off! He can't see where he's going. Ken leaps from the hood and...


[Wow, Insano crashed the car so hard it turned into a completely different model and apparently traveled backwards in time. I think the BigBOSS is stealing footage from "Smokey and the Bandit" again. Cut to the actual car, in remarkably good condition considering the triple roll-over it just did. See previous note about the stolen footage.]

MS: Ken is up and running! Where's he going?

SW: And who parked a fork-lift out there? We cannot be stealing this bit! We can't make a parody of something that was cartoonishly stupid when Triple H did it!

SH: We're going to try, I think. Ken's lifting the car up with the forklift!

MS: It's tipping! It's going to fall off! FORTY FEET IN THE AIR AND IT'S GOING TO FALL OFF...!!!

[It falls off. Cut to a shot of a junked car exploding. In a field. Shot from a helicopter.]

SH: Oh, come on, that was from the original "Dawn of the Dead"! They're not even trying to make the stock footage match, are they?

[Nahh. Back in the real world, Insano Mano stumbles away from his flaming lowrider.]

IM: ¿Es ése todo lo que usted consiguió, Ken? Le batiré con una mano atada detrás de mi parte posteriora! (falls over)


[Where did he come from? Cut to a group of fishtanks in a large petstore. A goldfish is swimming in place before a large school of tropical fish.]

Goldfish: I am your new leader, Cliffie, the Angry Goldfish! I will lead you from these glass-walled prisons and together we will overthrow the world of the Non-Aquatic Apemen!


Goldfish: I will free you from the shackles of tyranny! I will show no mercy those who buy cutesy plastic deep-sea divers! Join me! You have nothing to lose but your cramped and dirty aquariums!


Goldfish: And when I rule the earth, I shall choose the finest of you to be my husband!


Smallest Fish: Cliffies' a GIRL?

[Cut back to the announce desk.]

SW: I did NOT get that last sketch at all.

SH: Private joke?

MS: Probably. Well folks, we've lost sight of Ken and Insano Mano, but we'll catch up with them in due course! Remember, that match will continue until one of them DIES! Call your friends, call your neighbors, tell them someone's going to get cacked RIGHT HERE, TONIGHT! Keep watching, you bloodthirsty sons of bitches! We'll be right back!

POINKAMANIA II was brought to you with slight reluctance and no small amount of trepidation. We're sorry.

Shut Up, part 2

Sarah sat up sharply, knocking the empty pizza box off the table. It bounced off Xamfirs head, who lay curled in a fetal position on the floor.

" !" she said.

Xamfirs lips moved slightly in his sleep, before he stirred slightly. Sarahs' brow furrowed.

" ? , , , , ?" she said, wiggling a finger in her ear.

" !" Styles yelled suddenly, sitting bolt upright. " !"

" ? ?"

" ."

" ." Sarah cursed. Her eyes widened as she realized even the Profanity Bleeper had been somehow silenced.

Outside, night had fallen. From the empty street came a solitary sound.


"A little help here? Bloody hell, where is everybody tonight? ANYONE?"


A figure hopped out of the darkness into the pool of pale illumination cast by a streetlight. Blonde, bedraggled, bound to a chair.

"Last time I go drinking with Blackjack Hooligan! Bloody Micks and their hilarious practical jokes. HEY? Anybody out there want to help me with this? Anyone good with knots? Where's a bloody Boy Scout when you need one?"




A small girl, skipping rope in a garden. Swish. Swish. You could have sworn she wasn't there a second ago. Little Good didn't care.

"Hey, kid! Could you give us a hand here?"

"One, two, Freddys' coming for you. Three, four, better lock the door."

"Bloody hell."




A second little girl, playing hopscotch on the street.

"You know it's a school night? You should be in bed, kid. But first, could you loosen these ropes a bit?"

"Candyman, candyman..."

"Bugger it."




Another garden, another little girl. Skip. Skip.

"What are they doing, selling them in six-packs now? Hey, kid..."

Girl: Can't even shout, can't even cry
The Four Dudes are coming by
Perving in windows, puking on doors
They need to get heat and they might get yours
Can't cut a promo, can't say a word
Your career dies screaming but it won't be heard

Little Good looked up. Four figures glided down the road toward him., the leader carrying a small wooden box in his outstretched hands. One passed beneath a streetlight, revealing the lower half of his face, powder-white, locked in a wide, mirthless smile.

" !", Little Good said.

Back in the living room, Xamfir picked up the TV remote control. He aimed it at Kay and pressed a button several times.




He put it down and shrugged. Kay rolled her eyes to the heavens and said a naughty word.

" ."

[Cut to Venezuela]

Sir Zeno: Look, I told you before, it's LEFT at the alpaca farm, then head through the mountain pass!

Mr. Paradox: Do YOU want to drive?

Sir Zeno: May I?

Mr. Paradox: No. Atomo, look at the map again. Are we getting closer?


Sir Zeno: 734... Poink? Oh dear. Is this the best map we could get?


Sir Zeno: This could be a long day.

BOB is brought to you by the Letters "B" and "O", and the number 4. Also by the mathematical sign for "Greater Than", the province of Manitoba, and with the co-operation of the National Surrealist Arts Endowment Council. NSAEC! Encouraging pretentious cockmasters the world over to display spray-painted frozen Pop-Tarts and call it Art!

DB: Welcome back, folks! Danny "The Man... e" Bonaduce here again, along with Hallucination Boy!

HB: You know, my sister had a moongoose hat, just like that one! It looks good on you.

DB: Thank you, but it's not actually a hat. He just likes to sleep there.

Mongoose: HISSSS!

DB: Quiet, Bartholemew. Hallucination Boy, you're just one match, a Sarah the Jobber Slayer skit, a Ken/Insano update and an intermission away from your match with douja. How are you feeling?

HB: Like I'm floating through time and space, wearing toasty, oven-fresh boxer shorts. Although that could just be because my meds haven't kicked in yet.

DB: Fascinating. Now according to these crib notes the Flunky just gave me, many people are wondering... just what IS the difference between your gimmick and Comas'?

HB: Well, it's fairly simple really. I only hallucinate from time to time, whereas Coma is surreal and random 23/7.

DB: 23/7?

HB: Yes, he's actually fairly normal from 4am to 5. Not many people realize this, because he's usually asleep, of course. The other major difference is that Coma can't see the giant, multi-colored centipedes, similar to the three that are eating your pants. I on the other hand, can.

DB: Well, thanks for your time.

HB: My pleasure, Mrs. Thatcher.

DB: Scotty, Heidi, Shill... Back to you!

SW: You know, apart from the country and western songs and the attempted drive-by, this has been a pretty restrained show for Coma.

MA: The following contest will be under Cage Full of Enraged Schnauzers, Exploding Coal Miners Glove, Custard Pie-Fight Rules!

NH: Way to jinx it, Whatbody.

MA: Introducing first, representing every semi-literate teenager who ever misspelled "the" in a AoL chatroom... KEVIN THE PYROMANIAC!

["Disco Inferno" (Big Wiggle Bagpipe Fever Mix) plays as Kevin runs down the aisle, leaving a trail of what we can only pray is gasoline in his wake.]

MA: And his opponent... representing the commentary team... SETH HARKER!

SH: Huh? Man, why doesn't he tell me these things in advance...

MS: WOW! Seth Harker will take on Kevin the Pyromaniac! *DINGDONGBOING* This will be one for the ages! *WOOF* THE BATTLE OF THE *THUD* CENTURY! A true BOB classic! A *BOOOMSPLAT* match they'll be talking about for YEARS! A knock-down, *tingtingting* drag-out...

SH: I'm back.

SW: Jeez, he nearly had you there for the first second, Seth.

SH: Yeah, kid put up a good fight.

MS: barred, brutal, bloody streetfight! THE GREATEST..

NH: Uhhh, Mark?


SH: Mark? Hello, Mark?

[I don't think we're going to be able to shut him up too soon. Let's cut to Peru.]

Mr. Paradox: I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque...

[Cut to a skink-trimming factory in Loogie, South Carolina.]


[Oh, no-one's there. Guess they close Sundays. Well, that's one insipid musical number we won't have to suffer through.]

Shut Up, part 3

A lecture theatre at Cloudydale High. Sarah, Kay and Xamfir sat in the front row, looking worried. Styles tinkered with an overhead projector. All was silent. Except for...


Little Good hopped through the open doorway, his face a picture of rage and frustration. He saw the assembled Shaggies, and made furious gestures with his head in the general direction of his bonds.

" ! ?"

Xamfir looked confused, and scribbled briefly on a notepad he was holding. He held it up, revealing a single word.


It was physically impossible for Little Good to look more annoyed than he already was. Yet somehow, he almost managed it. Styles managed to start up the projector at last, then turned to a portable record player sitting nearby. He switched it on and carefully lowered the needle onto the record.

The Looney Toons theme.

Styles did a double take, stared at the album cover, then tried to read the label on the spinning disc. Finally, he looked up and glared at Xamfir, who was holding up his notepad again.


Styles turned back to the projector as Michelle walked into the room. Sarah waved at her.

"Hi, sis." Michelle said.

No-one moved for a second. Then there's a flurry of scribbling. Four notepads are held up simultaneously.




(and in huge letters)


Styles tore off the top sheet.


Michelle: What? What's with all the whats? What?

Sarah pointed at her and used her hand to imitate Pac-Man.

Michelle: Oh, why can I still talk? Well, duh. It's a Season 4 parody and I didn't arrive 'til Season 5, remember. So, totally immune. Cool, huh?

Styles and Sarah exchanged a glance. Styles shrugged, and placed a sheet on his overhead projector. It's a hurriedly written sheet with one stark sentence.


He removed it, and replaced it with one showing a crude drawing. A stick figure reclines on a wobbly-looking sofa, a cloud hovering over its head. Inside the cloud are four stick figures. Xamfirs' brow furrowed, then he suddenly brightened. He scrawled a message frantically.


Styles looked pained.

"I think Styles means he dreamed of whoever is causing this, Xamfir", Michelle said.

Style nodded frantically, one finger held to the side of his nose. Little Good, who had managed to work one arm partially free, made a gesture.

"And Little Good wants to stake them."

Little Good shook his head and repeated the gesture.

"Oh, sorry. He thinks you're a jerkoff, Xamfir."

" !!" yelled Xamfir.

Styles changed the sheet. Another picture, this time of a figure wearing what appears to be a circus tent. A small disclaimer underneath read "Not to scale". Styles rubbed his hand on a nearby blackboard, coating his hand in white chalkdust.

"So, long coats, white skin..." Michelle said.


Little Good bounced up and down excitedly, his face locked in an insane, frozen grin.

"Little Good's gone insane. Oh, sorry, he means they have frozen smiles..."

Sarah pointed to a crude doodle in the lower corner of the page, resembling a butane safety match. Styles made stabby motions.

"Oh, and they carry very sharp knives."

Styles nodded again. He placed one final transparency on the projector.



Little Good hopped around in a circle, revealing a black box clipped to his belt buckle. Severed wires hung limply from the device. Kay held up her notepad.


The other Shaggies reached around to feel behind them, eyes wide, as Michelle looked shocked.

"Your cordless mics! They STOLE your cordless mics!"

A dimly lit room, dominated by a clockface, viewed from behind. A small wooden table, low to the floor. One of the black-garbed figures sat cross-legged before it, perched over the wooden box, peering in at the microphones that were contained within. Behind him, another figure peered over his shoulder, mouth locked in a wide, goofy smile.

"Huh huh huh... cool. Uhhh... yeah."

In the background, the other two figures compared their scalpels.

"Man, if we don't get these back to SMP soon, he's going to flip, Garry!"

"Shut the hell up, Barry! We're supposed to be evil, silent types, remember?"

The lead figure looked around, irritated. He raises a finger to his lips.

" !" hissed StreetMime.


"Told you." Garry Greene said smugly.

POINKAMANIA II is a registered trademark of BOB and may not be re-broadcast, edited, folded, spindled, mutilated, recycled or deep-fried and fed to the starving people of Lithuania without the express written consent of Coma. But ask him nicely and he'll probably let you do it.

[The execution chamber of the Havanafannabannaba Correctional Facility. A Texas Ranger stands before a prisoner and his lawyer, thumbs hooked in his belt.]

TR: All right, boy, you been convicted on the heinous crime of thinkin' NASCAR is "kinda boring", and have been sentenced to death. Now, y'all want us to pump you fulla drugs and go out high as a kite, or just fry your ass on the 'lectric chair like a pound of bacon?

Lawyer: This is a travesty! My client is mentally deficient, has a third-grade education and has no concept of right or wrong! He shouldn't be subject to the death penalty! Besides, he's leading the polls to be the next Governer of this state, and this is cutting into his campaigning time!

[The door bursts open, spilling Kamikazie Ken and Insano Mano into the room.]

MS: (off-screen) GOOD LORD! Look at these two! What a titanic struggle! Ken scoops up Insano Mano! SLAMS him down on the execution gurney! He's reaching for the lethal injection needle! Insano Mano tries to fight him off!

SW: You know, he should give him an alcohol swab... he's going to get an infection!

MS: Mano busts Ken over the head with the cardio-thingamabob-machine! Rolls off the gurney and SMASHES Kens head into the seat of Old Sparky!

IM: ¡Consiga listo montar el relámpago, Ken!

TR: Hey, he's speaking Spanish! We got us a border jumper, here! Call for backup, I'm going in!

MS: The Texas Ranger draws his billyclub and wades into the melee! This is insane!

TR: You're going back to Mexico, amigo! We got us enough busboys and waiters in Havanafannabanana!

IM: ¿Usted necesita a alguien conducir un taxi?

MS: Kamikazie Ken sees his opportunity to escape... dives for a window!


TR: Hey, we're on the fourth floor, buddy!

KK: ARRRRrgghhhhhh... (thud)

MS: THIS IS INTENSE! Someone will die tonight! And you'll see it, LIVE!

Coma: But first, twenty minutes of adverts for the new Eckythump 2000! Cleans, disinfects AND invades the third-world country of your choice! Poink!

[Fade to Intermission]

©2005 BOB Wrestling: Still less actual wrestling than any other wrestling show on TV! Narf.


© BOB Wrestling!

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