POINKAMANIA II, Part II: The Poinkaning (or, We Apologize to the French. For Nothing!)
[We return to Havanafannabanana, Texas, which is lucky because if we went to Havoc, West Virginia we'd spend ninety minutes staring at an empty gymnasium. A single firework goes "PHFUT!", followed by the sound of The Flunky cursing. The crowd goes monkey.]
MS: WE'RE BACK, FOLKS! I'm Mark Shill, and this should be the GREATEST SECOND HALF to a BOB Pay-Per-View in BOB History!
Burly Security Guard.: Marcus Theodore Shill?
MS: Ummm.. yes?
Burly Security Guard: Could you come with me please. We've been asked to escort you from the premesis.
NH: I told you you'd been fired, Mark.
SW: Yeah, beat the feet loser... I'm in charge of the mic now!
MS: (Fading) INCREDIBLE! I'm been dragged kicking and screaming from the announce desk! I'VE BEEN SWERVED! THIS IS THE GREATEST EVICTION IN WRESTLING HIS...!!!!
SW: And Mark Shill is OUTTA HERE! Well, at least he left us like he arrived... incredibly noisily.
MM: Well, I guess you're down an announcer, so allow me to fill in!
NH: Mike, you got fired too, remember.
MM: I know, but I have no place else to go...
SW: Fine, you be color commentator until the BigBOSS notices and kicks your ass out.
MM: Color commentator?! I can do that! Shit! Crap! Faces suck! Wanna have sex, Heidi? Right here on the desk?
NH: Wow, he's good, Scotty.
SW: He learned by watching the best, babe. Me. Okay, enough frigging around, let's get back to the show! I've got no idea what's coming up, and I'm guessing Coma doesn't either. So let's just roll with it. Detached Narrator... do your stuff!
[Like I know what's happening around here. Let's cut to a chorus line of dancing policemen while I find out what's coming up next.]
Dancing Policemen: (Singing) Hooray for Comas' pants!
They're long and grey and they're filled with ants!
And if you've got the time of day,
They'll steal your sporks away,
And make your do-nuts dance!
Midget: BAGPIPE SOLO!
[Enough with the musical numbers already! Cut to Paris. Okay, I see Paris, I see France. Where the hell are the underpants? I've been lied to in rhyme. I hate that. Cut to Coma in a somber grey suit, sitting at a desk.]
Coma: Good evening, here is the news.
[A picture of a sleeping walrus is flashed on the screen behind him.]
Coma: In Venezela today, Prime Minister Jose "Boom Boom" Marciano successfully defended his light-heavyweight anus-mauling title against Hogie "The Bumwrangler" Jones. Boom Boom was quoted as saying "Oy pardners, my tuchas are killing me.".
[The picture switches to a video of George W. Bush speaking.]
Coma: The National Spelling Bee Third Round Playoff was abandoned this afternoon in Spork, New Hampshire. No winner was declared after Johnny Umbilcus, aged 12, stabbed two judges during a lively debate on the correct pronunciation of "aluminium". The replay will be on Friday.
[The video shows Coma and Flatline repeatedly hitting themselves with roofing tiles.]
Coma: A volitile day on the stockmarket saw shares in Mr. T drop sharply in the morning, only to rebound in the afternooon, thanks to a convieneint bunjy rope. Mr. T pities the fool who doesn't carry a bunjy rope. Trading was heavy in semi-precious custards, but stagnant on the Sprokets and Flugelhorn Indexes.
[Cut to a still picture of a mountain climber.]
Coma's Voice: In sports news, the New York Giants Limping Back Lenny "Oof" Nurkins evolved three extra arms today during the Giants 42-7 paintbrushing of the Kinosha Werewolves. He's said to be pleased with the development, as he can now spike the ball with over 300% better accuracy.
[Cut to the live feed from the arena.]
Comas' Voice: Meanwhile, in far-out Gobsylvania, Count Totenandsayah dashed from the undergrowth, his rapier leaping to his hand. "Gosh, that's prickly!" he shouted, brandishing a daisy in front of Lady Pigswallow threateningly...
[He fades out.]
MA: The following contest is scheduled for one spanking! Introducing first, from backstage... DOUJA!
["How High" (Method Man vs Eddie B. Super Scratchy Couldn't Give a Rats Ass Because I'm Getting Thrown Out of the Booth As We Speak Mix) plays. Seeya Eddie B! Have fun playing weddings and Bar Mitzvahs! Hope you like ABBA! I'm better than you, anyway! Check THIS shit out!]
[See! You can scratch records, but only I can scratch Reality!]
SW: Two down, three to go! Your time is running out, Mikey!
NH: Although now you mention it, where's Dennis? I haven't seen him around.
[doujas' gotten lost on the way to ringside, so I'll help out. Let's cut to the set of the big-screen adaption of "Whoops, Mind That Trunceon, Constable!" being shot in Bulgaria.]
Dennis: A CAMEO? A bloody CAMEO? I flew all this way for a bloody CAMEO? I am going to bitchslap my agent so impolitely he'll never know what hit him. And then I'll tell him I was the one that hit him, just so he learns a lesson. I wonder if I can get my old job back?
[Cut to Seth, Trey and the bots on the Satellite of Love]
All: YOU'RE FIRED!
[Cut back to ringside. The Smoke Dogg is in the building! Somewhere. I hope we find him soon.]
MA: *ahem* And his opponent... from the balcony. HALLUCINATION BOY!
[One of the arresting officers pauses from his act of beating Eddie B. with a rubber baton long eough to spin "Drops of Jupiter" by...]
[...As Hallucination Boy runs off the balcony, plummeting into the PIT OF INDESCRIBABLE AGONY!]
HB: It's not as bad as it's cracked up to be...
Coma: RELEASE THE TIGER!
HB: Oh, crap.
[Cut back to the announce table. Loud roars and screams continue from off-screen for a lengthy period of time. Eventually...]
HB: (Off-screen) Gosh, I've just been mauled by a tiger! That's the best hallucination I've had today!
SW: I think this one's a no-contest.
NH: I'd say that's a pretty good guess.
MM: This card sucks. Every match is turning into a pointless cop-out! Give us something to get excited about, Coma!
Coma: Your wish is my pinata, Timmy! Dive into the well, my little friend, it's made of liquorice!
[And with that, we cut to Kamikazie Ken and Insano Mano in the dining room of a Hardlees' McLargeHuge Burger Duke World. Ken is batting Insano with a plastic tray, while Insano is attempting to force-feed him a "McManly Man" burger.]
SW: Insano, NO! That burger has more than eighteen times the daily recommended level of saturated fats! You'll kill him!
IOM: ¡Ésa es la idea, Sherlock! ¡Cómala! ¡CCÓMALA! ¡Agregué el tocino y el queso adicional apenas para usted, Ken!
KK: Could you have at least have held the pickle?
NH: Oh, come on, try and set a good example for the kids watching, Ken! The pickles are the only thing in that burger that even remotely resemble a vegetable!
MM: Vegetables are for wussbags, Heidi! Real men eat meat! Raw meat! Justin Voss sucks!
SW: Man, Mikes' a better heel commentator than I thought. Maybe he won't have to become a wino after tonight. Is is too late to change my bet?
MM: You guys are running a pool on my post-BOB career? That sucks! (pause) What were the odds of me becoming a hopeless wino?
NH: Eight to one.
MM: Put me down for a ten-spot.
SW: Ken breaks free! Jumping straight kick sends the McManly Man burger spiralling across the resturant! It splatters on the back of a businessman carrying a gym bag.
"Business Man": I TOLD you, I don't want lunch, I want breakfast!
NH: He's got a gun!
*Stock Sound Effects of automatic gunfire*
SW: Ken and Insno hardly even notice! Kens' still slamming Insanos' head in a trash recepticle! Insano mule-kicks him, blinds him with a discarded Dr. Pepper..
NH: Roductpay lacementpay..
SW: ...Pepsi! I meant Pepsi. The choice of the Self-Destructive Generation. That guy is still shooting the place up! This would be so much cooler in Bullet Time! Where the heck did Seth go?
[Cut to Kay Fabes' locker room.]
SH: The HELL you do.
[Spoilsort. Cut to Flattop, Arizona.]
Sir Zeno: You know, I think we missed it.
Mr. Paradox: I am NOT turning this car around, mister! And stop fighting back there!
ATOMO: Unit: NUCLEO-STARTED-IT.
NUCLEO: I-DID-NOT-Unit: ATOMO-STARTED-IT.
Mr. Paradox: I don't care who started it, I'll finish it! Do you want me to turn this car around and go home?
Sir Zeno: Frankly, yes.
Mr. Paradox: You're not helping things, Zeno. One of these days... BAM! POW! Straight to the Moon of Grimace in the Qui-Zom Delta Dimension!
[Cut to the roof of the fast-food resturant from the last Ken/Insano Mano segment. Ken and Insano are teetering on the edge, both attempting to put a headlock on each other simultaneously. It looks even more retarded than it sounds, believe me.]
SW: Oh, baby! They have to be nearly fifty feet in the air! If that wasn't a cheap mock-up set in front of a blue-screen, that is.
NH: Honesty isn't always the best policy, Scoot.
MM: Sure it is! It's my last day, and I'll say what I want! The BigBOSS is a cheap prick that cheats on his wife! Trey Vincent is gay! I'm wearing a lacey teddy and crotchless panties!
[Cut to a scoreboard with Mikes' post-BOB odds on it. The Flunky rubs out the 8-1 odds for "Hopeless Wino" and changes it to 4-1. The BigBOSS is nearby with Miss Behave.]
BigB: Well, of course he's lying. I'm not a prick.
[Cut back to ringside.]
SW: (Edging away from Mike) Ken and Insano are toppling!
[Off a mock-up? Real extreme, guys. I don't think so. Cut to the same shot of Ken and Insano on a REAL building roof. A tall one. Don't try this at home, kids. Although if you do, you'll probably get a cool scar and a cast for your friends to sign.]
SW: THERE THEY GO!
[Cut to Styles at the Cloudydale High School.]
[Does double-take, tries to hold up his notepad to camera, we cut away before he does so ]
SW: KEN AND INSANO FELL OFF THE ROOF! This one has to be over!
IM's Voice: ¿Es usted alambique vivo, Ken?
KK's Voice: I think so.
IM: ¿llamar eso un descanso del cinco-minuto
KK: Good call.
[Cut to Coma tapdancing wildly. His hat explodes in a shower of confetti.]
Coma: And now for an pointless and unconnected extended cutaway to a taxi driver in Knobee, New York.
Man in Street: TAXI!
Travis, the taxi driver: (driving past) Yes, I am!
[Crackle of radio]
Female Dispatcher: (Very Concerned) Travis! Travis, a man just called saying there's a bomb in your cab! Once you go fifty miles an hour, it's armed... and once you drop below fifty, it goes off! You're in terrible danger!
Travis: Hardly, Dispatch, I'm on the freeway at rush hour. I haven't been out of second gear for an hour.
Dispatcher: (sighs) Well, that's a relief. Can you do a pick-up at Corombite Road?
Travis: Copy that...
[Cut to Corombite Road. The cab drives up with a screech of brakes.]
Travis: Oh, that's right, the bomb! Forgot about that...
[The cab door opens, and Death climbs in as creepy organ music plays.]
Death: Greetings! Cower before me, for I am DEATH, the Collector of Souls, the Grim Reaper, the...
[The creepy organ music has become the opening riff to Van Halens' "Jump".]
Death: Knock off the improvising!
[There's an off-key organ chord, before the creepy music resumes.]
Death: I have come for you, Travis Bickle...
Death: (Continuing) ...to take you to places unknown, where... pardon?
Travis: It's pronounced Bick-EL... not Bickle.
Death: Oh... Just a second.
[Death shuffles through a handful of papers.]
Death: Just to check... You do live at 21B Chakotay Drive, don't you?
Death: (Deflating slightly) Have a birthmark shaped like a walrus on your left buttock?
Travis: Can't say I do...
Death: (Slightly desperate) You go bowling with "Chad" and "Benny"?
Travis: Never even met them.
Death: Damn. Wrong corpse. (Resigned sigh) This is the last time I use temps.
Travis: (chuckles) Well, it looks like you were dead wrong this time... Ha haha...
Death: Watch it, boy, only fools laugh at Death! Look, I'll be back once I get this sorted out.. I'm Death, remember! I'm infalliable!
RATTLE RATTLE CLUNK!
Death: Umm.. How do you open this door?
Travis: Oh, that sticks a bit.. pull up the lock and jiggle it a bit.
Death: Thank you. I bet this has been a strange day for you...
Travis: Oh, not really. I have days like this all the time. You should have seen the group I picked up last year..
[Twiddly harp music, we do a wobbly fade to a Flashback. Two figures struggle up a rock-strewn slope. We hear whistling wind, the distant rumble of thunder, and deep, bassy volcano noises if the budget allows it. Cut to the Generic Ref.]
GR: I'll allow it!
[Cut back to the two figures.]
Frodo: It's hopeless, Sam! I can't make it! The Ring is too heavy!
[He falls over. Heavy thump.]
Sam: Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! (Over-emoting) Well, I can't carry the Ring, Mr. Frodo... but I can... hail us a taxi!
Travis: Hi there, where to?
Sam: The Cracks of Doom, please.
Travis: The Cracks of Doom? Just let me check my mapbook.
Travis: Hmm, let's see. So, I should head up the Incredibly Steep Stairway, bypass the Black Gate and take a left on Sybock Road.
Frodo: Sir, you must hurry!
Travis: Oh, I'm sure it's not the end of the world, sir...
Sam: You'd be surprised, Mr. Driver.
[The cab accelerates out of shot. Cut to...]
Gandalf: YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!
Gandalf: Jolly good. Pile in, boys.
Travis: Wait, how many of you are there?
Gandalf: Ummm.. 2,000 Rhoheim riders, 2,000 horses and one wizard carrying a staff with a knob on the end. Is there a problem?
Travis: Oooh, I don't know. I may have to make two trips.
Gandalf: That's fine, we're not expected until the Extended Edition anyway.
[Wobbly fade to Travis and Death again.]
Death: Well, that's fascinating, although hardly relevant to the Pay-Per-View. Still, it did eat up some time, I suppose. (beat) What is that traffic cop doing? Is he having my firey steed towed? (outraged) You don't impound Deaths' horse! I'm allowed to park wherever I like! (Shouting) Take that off, right now! Don't you walk away from me! I'll see you in HELL, pal! And I'm serious about that!
Travis: Where can I take you?
Death: (Disgruntled) The Flaming Pits of Hades, where the screams of the damned echo night and day.
Travis: Detroit, here we come!
POINKAMANIA II IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE ALL-SHOUTING NETWORK! WE LOVE SHOUTING! AND BY KOOL-AID! OH YEAH! AND BY THE NATIONAL COUNCIL FOR CAPITAL LETTERS! and bi aol messngr lol u r0xr d00d!!!!!1
SHUT UP, PART 3!
DAMN YOU, ALL-SHOUTING NETWORK!
SIGN: EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY!
Shut Up, Part 3
Michelle looked at the Shabby Gang,
"You guys are in the wrong set." she said.
"Bugger" said Rancid Ron, wiping his nose with Sarahs' second-best tablecloth. "Probably a typo. Let's go, boys!"
They trooped out. A few minutes later, the Shaggy Gang walked in. Sarah looked at the departing figure of Decrepit Dan, then held up her notepad.
"Coma made another typo, Sawah. Just like that one." Michelle explained. "But that's not the real problem! We have to get your microphones back! Without a mic, you're helpless! You can't cut promos, you won't get pushes, your career will wither and die like an overweight luchadore in WCW! But we don't even know where to start looking!"
Xamfir suddenly brightened and began making big arm gestures.
"Ummm.. You're a twin-engine plane? No, a windmill! You're dancing on hot coals! I don't understand, Xamfir! No wonder you always lose when we play charades!
Xanmif grabbed a notepad and began drawing frantically.
"Uhhh.. It's a car? No, a truck! With things exploding off the top of it... fireworks! Fourth of July! Comas' hat! Geez, you're a real whiz at Pictionary, too, huh?"
Xamfir tossed the notepad aside in frustration. It bounced off Little Goods' head as he hopped into the room.
Xamfir ran into the living room and knelt in front of the TV.
"You're praying! Praying to the TV! Trey Vincent is God? No! Call to prayer! Mecca!"
Xamfir waved her off impatiently. From the VCR, a mechanical whirring sound became audible.
"You were taping the show? That means..."
Xamfir nodded and pressed PLAY.
"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.
Michelle's eyes widened.
"StreetMime! Of course! And that looked like the old clocktower!"
She looked at Xamfir, somewhat reproachfully.
"You know, this is a bit of a cheat. But that cab-driver segment did eat up an awful lot of time, so I guess it's alright. Let's go! I just hope you know how to defeat those guys, Sarah!"
Sarah, her face set in a determined expression, nodded. She wrote briefly on her pad. Everyone crowded around..
" !" Kay said.
"I heard that!" John Skeet said, leaning in the window. Stop stealing my catchphrase!"
[Okay, we're back. Bonaduce's still hanging around backstage like a bad smell, so let's go to him. If we must.]
DB: Okay, folks, I'm here with the Masked Announcer. Can I call you Neville?
MA: Why not, everybody else does.
DB: Neville. Big Nev. Nev, mate. You were fired from BOB by Trey Vincent, and you're only on this show because Coma hasn't realised it yet. Are you disappointed?
MA: Somewhat. But que serah serah, that's what my mother always said to me. She was French you see. Didn't speak a word of English. God only knows what it means.
DB: As you prepare to leave BOB for the last time, how would you like the fans to remember you?
MA: Basically, as that guy that was "better than Scuzz". It's all I can hope for.
DB: Touching. And finally, do you think you'll get a big send-off at the end of the night?
MA: I think I've earned it, don't you?
DB: Yep! But I wouldn't put any big money bets on it, dude.
[Danny pulls a lever, and the Masked Announcer vanishes downwards with a yelp.]
DB: And he's out of here! Hey, Scotty! How much does a Guest Ring Announcer earn in this place?
SW: (off-screen) Not a lot!
DB: I'll take it!
[Cut to Coma, standing in a field holding a frying pan.]
Coma: I will fight me on the beaches!
Coma: I will fight me in the undergrowth!
Coma: I will... WHOA, too hard!
[He falls over. Cut to the carpark of the Havanafannabanana Holiday Inn. A worn-out looking car limps into the carpark, belching blue smoke. It shudders painfully to a halt with a final CLANK that would make a mechanic mentally add another zero to your bill. Sir Zeno climbs out.]
Sir Zeno: WE MADE IT!
[He looks up at the Holiday Inns' Convention Centre sign.]
TONIGHT: BOB'S POINKAMANIA II.
[Plastered over it is a sticker reading "Venue Changed"]
Sir Zeno: CRAP!
Shut Up, Finale
Sarah crept through the darkness of the old clocktower. Up ahead, three of the four black-clad figures clustered around The Dude Named Flatline, peering greedily as he worked on their ill-gotten gains. His jury-rigged Portable Promo-Making Machine was taking shape.
"Who knew Flatline had a hidden talent for electronics?" Barry "The Dude" Brown said.
"Not even him, I'm guessing," replied Dude Greene.
The lead Dude shot a glare at Garry.
"Oops, sorry StreetMime, dude. Shut the hell up, Barry!" he whispered.
Apparently satisfied, StreetMime made a complicated series of gestures and pantomimes. Garry nodded, and went to fetch the sacrifice. What, you're telling me you didn't realise that was the mime for "Sacrifice"? That bit with the wiggly motion?
Sarah motioned to Kay, who crept behind some old crates to flank the jobbers. Sarah nodded to Xamfir, who tiptoed into the shadows to her right. Michelle and Styles slipped silently to the left. Back at the house, Jeannie returned from the Buster Keaton film festival, still totally unaware that anything was wrong. And finally, just as Garry returned with a young, brunette woman, Sarah waved Little Good into position.
The Four Dudes spun around, raising their scalpels threateningly. Except for Flatline, who continued soldering for nearly five seconds. Finally, his battered synapses registered the noise, and he turned too.
" , ! Sarah said angrily.
Little Good made a gesture.
"He said you're a j..." Michelle began.
" !" Sarah said, as the Dudes charged.
Sarah sprang forward, like a closet-dwelling cat in a cheap horror film. Her stylish Italian leather wrestling boot flashed out. Kick!
For a moment , noone moved a muscle. StreetMime made a comical face of shock, then childish glee.
"It's started already, Sarah!" Michelle cried. "He's stealing your heat! If he cuts his first-ever promo, he'll be unstoppable! "
Chaos erupted in the room. Styles ducked a roundhouse punch from Barry and hooked him in a full nelson. Xamfir reared back and aimed a kick at the Ambulance Dudes nether regions. Missed! Tried again! Missed! Once more! Kicked Styles in the shins!
"Depth perception's a bitch, ain't it Cyclops Boy?!" Barry sneered.
Styles held up his notepad.
Ripped of the top sheet.
Kay leapt for Garry, who was raising his scalpel, the young womans microphone cable clasped in one stark white hand. Punch! Kick! Former Lesbians Tongue! Sarah kicked again. Block. A punch. Block! Spinning kick. StreetMime ducked and..
Sarah flew backwards, face a mask of shock. An offensive manuever? From StreetMime? The French street performer advanced on her slowly, grinning, held back only by a pantomime wind. He was then briefly thwarthed by an invisible glass wall, but finally he stood over her. Smiling, he drew back his fist.
From nowhere, a figure in camoflauge fatigues punched StreetMime so hard his beret spun in a complete circle. Another punch and the Mime went reeling to the floor. Sarah looked up.
" ?" she said, as he dragged her to her feet.
" ." he replied.
Sarah assesed the situatuion. The Ambulance Jockey Dudes were still locked in their struggles with Kay and Xamfir. Flatline was frantically soldering the mics back together. Little Good had overturned his chair attempting to fight Garry, and was lying on his back like a turtle, cursing silently. And Michelle was by the door of the warehouse. She caught Sarahs' eye.
" !!!!" Sarah screamed.
Michelle opened the door. A bald-headed figure stood shillouetted by an unexpectedly powerful klieg light someone had left on outside the room.
The Dudes clapped their hands over their ears, faces contorted in pain.
"It's working!" Michelle cried. "It's working!"
Little Good finally struggled free from the wreckage of the chair.
Luke grabbed him. STONECUTTER!
Scaplels tumbled from the Dudes hands. A soldering iron clattered to the ground. Luke turned to Styles.
Luke turned to the camera and gave a thumbs-up. Reached up to his own head.
StreetMime rose to his feet, hands pressed to his temples. He stared at Sarah, eyes locked. Until..
A moment of silence.
"Ewwww, gross!" Sarah said.
Sarah and Trey stood in the light of a single streetlight.
"I guess we have to talk." Sarah said softly.
"Do we?" Trey replied. "Why? Is this a chick thing?"
"No dummy. I meant, we have to talk about tonight. What was with the fatigues?"
"I was playing paintball with the guys at Abandoned Clocktower War Games, Inc. StreetMime can't pick a hideout for shit. I thought he was Steve Studnuts."
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains everything. 'Night, Trey!"
Kay and the young woman stood in the kitchen.
"I'm Kay Fabe," said Kay Fabe. "What's your name?"
"I...I...I'm.. ummm.. I'm.. ummmm..." stuttered the young woman.
"Flatline's little sister?" Kay prompted.
"Nuh..no. I... I'm..."
"Y..Yes. My n.. name is.. Luh.. Lesbina."
At the Geraldo Rivera Sports Emporium in Havanafannabanana, Texas, Seth Harker spilled his drink.
"I have bad feeling about this..." he said.
Back inside the house, Styles entered the living room, carrying mugs full of steaming hot chocolate.
"Excellent plan, Sarah. Jobbers have always been affected by the crowd. And when you've been a jobber as long as StreetMime, a crowd reaction of that magnitude had to cause him physical pain. I can't say I was expecting the Head Explody, though."
"Maybe Lenny "The Force" Baxter was in town?" Kay said.
"Whatever. At least now I can relax and watch the rest of the Pay-Per-View." Sarah said,
[Cut to Danny Bonaduce.]
DB: This is our MAIN EVENT of the evening! And it will be for the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!
[Cut to Sarahs' living room.]
StJS: Or not.
[Cut to the arena. Sarah walks out to her theme music. I forget what it is, but if I play the wrong one, I don't really care. She finishes her hot chocolate while waiting for her opponent.]
StJS: Way to skimp on the marshmallows, Styles.
Styles: We'd run out! Hi Scotty, Heidi! Oh, and hi to you too, Mike. Here's a bottle of Night Train as a going away present! Drink up!
SW: So how much have you got on him?
Styles: Fifty. Don't sip, Mike! Chug!
[The crowd suddenly groans as Coma is sighted, pushing out the Big Wheel o' Random Thingees.]
NH: Oh, not this again! I know a random stipulation is a very Coma-esque concept, but remember the chaos it caused LAST time?
DB: I wouldn't worry about that, Heidi... we're not using it to pick the stip! *ahem* And her opponent....
Coma: White Russians all round, it's St. Swithins day! Chocks away, pip pip and yoiks!
Styles: OH MY GOD!
MM: And Mark Shill was the one fired for getting too predictable? Yeesh.
Styles: Coma is picking a Random Opponent for Sarah to wrestle! Any member of the BOB Roster could get a chance at the big one tonight!
SW: Wake up, Mike! he said "big one" and "member in the same sentence! You'll never make a color commentator if you let lines like that slip by you!
MM: Oops. Umm... Ooh-er! That's a bit rude, Styles!
Styles: I knew I should have made it a c-note. The wheel is stopping! Who's it going to be? It's... It's...
[The camera zooms in on the needle, pointing to "ALL OF THE ABOVE".]
Coma: Hee hee hee... now that's fairly interesting!
StJS: Oh, you've got to be kidding me...
DB: Uhhh.. do I have to read all these names? No? Good! It's elimination style, first one to pin Sarah gets the belt! Ring the bell!
[Cut to tastefully-edited footage from Sir Hungalots' "Studskey and Hump".]
SH: YES! YES! YES!
[Cut back to the ring.]
Styles: AND HERE WE GO! Sarah waits on her opponents, who are probably frantically getting their wrestling gear on in the back! Who'll get here first?!
NH: This. Is. Insane. Even Coma wouldn't book a match that invovled EVERYONE on the Active Roster!
SW: (flipping through the script) He didn't.
NH: Well, thank the Ghost of Gorilla Monsoon for that!
MM: Let's have sex to celebrate, Heidi!
SW: Hey, you didn't let me finish! I mean it doesn't mention the word "Active" at any time in this thing.
NH: Excuse me?
["Return to Sender" starts to play as a pudgy, sweat-stained man in a blue uniform jogs to ringside.]
Styles: It's MR CLAVEN, THE DISGRUNTLED POSTMAN!
NH: What? He hasn't wrestled here in three years, at least! Oh, Coma... you have officially lost it. More than ever, I mean.
Coma: Thank you! I'm proud to be voted Miss. Latvia, and will endevour to ruffle the chincillas on a regular basis!
SW: Hey, Coma... Have a seat, you lunatic!
Coma: Whee! (falls over)
Styles: Mr. Claven has reached the ring! He rolls in... and Sarah is on him like a tiger!
[Cut to the Tiger]
The Tiger: Impossible. I never even wrestled in BOB. Even though I'm on the Roster for some reason.
[Cut back to ringside.]
NH: I'd watch those metaphors, Styles, Coma takes a lot of things too literally.
Styles: So noted! Sarah with a vicious scissor kick! Mr Claven rolls with it and manages to clumsily legsweep Sarahs feet out from under her! He tries for a quick cover... not even a one-count!
Coma: I found my spoon.
SH: There is no spoon, Coma. You can tell because it's not spoon-shaped. That's a hammer. Mind if I sit in?
SW: We didn't get the Extend-o-Desk out for nothing, Seth! Sarah whips Mr. Claven to the ropes.. Flying forearm! Mr. Claven goes down in a sweaty heap!
MM: I hope Sarah gets all sweaty! Hot and sweaty! I'd do her all night and twice on weekends!
NH: Is your wife watching this, Mike?
MM: Yep! What are the odds on me getting divorced after BOB?
[Cut to The Flunky]
TF: Getting shorter all the time, Mike!
[Cut back to Mike.]
MM: Put me down for five!
["The 1812 Overture" plays. Fireworks explode. A capacity crowd goes wild. Bill Goldberg enters, meaning I switched off the old WCW stock footage a few seconds too late. BILL runs out to a somewhat lesser pop.]
Styles: And here comes BILL! One of the few wrestlers to sucessfully make the transition from the STWF to BOB! Only him, StreetMime, Billy Polar, Homicidal Hank, The Head Trauma Boys and SMP managed that! Oh, and The Ambulance Jockeys. And Nurse Heidi..
SW: I'll have to interrupt you there Styles, because you're boring the hell out of our fans. BILL in the ring now! Elbow to the back of Mr. Clavens' head, breaking up a bearhug! And by the looks of it, breaking BILLs own elbow in the process.
SH: BILL's a fighter, though. He's still throwing punches with his one working hand.
NH: Ooh, might have dislocated a thumb, there. Tries a headbutt!
BILL: OW! BY DOSE!
NH: The man is a walking compund fracture. Maybe he's got brittle bone disease?
Coma: DODGEBALL! Run, Miguel, run!
Styles: Mr. Clavens' got BILL up in the air! AIRPLANE SPIN!
SH: Just try to go limp, BILL!
BILL: AHHH! My inner ear problem!
SW: Mr Claven dumps BILL... but's he's made himself dizzy in the process! He staggers.. sways.. and falls!
Styles: Sarah catches him and rolls him up! 1..2..3! (high-pitch squeal) SHE GOT HIM!
SH: Proof positive that this guy IS related to Joey Styles. But it's not over for Sarah yet.
SW: He's right, here comes MAUIE WAUI! It looks like Sarah will have to pin and eliminate everyone in BOB to retain her title!
NH: I don't like her odds... Even Triple H would think twice about putting himself over the entire roster in one night. He'd probably still do it, mind you...
Styles: But they'll only have to get lucky one time and we'll have a new champ! Do you realise what this could mean?
SH: Yeah. The real possibility of XXXtreme Machine, OWTTM Champion.
[Everyone looks at Coma accusingly. Coma blinks twice, slowly.]
SW: Yeah. Oops. You better hope that doesn't happen, or Mike will have a drinking buddy.
MM: Ooh! Maui just hit Sarah from behind with a boogie board! Was he even a surfer?
SW: Like I'd know! It's not MY job to remember everyone's gimmick!
MM: Well, whose job is it?
NH: Comas'. He won it via the Medium-Sized Bucket at a staff meeting a few years back. Why do you think Mr. X kept getting repackaged? BILL's back on his feet again!
BILL: AGGH, MY HIP!
Heidi: Briefly, at least.
Styles: Maui is trying to choke out Sarah with a garland of flowers! Is that leagal!
MM: Hell no! If anyone's going to give Sarah a lei, it's me! Ha! Get it?
[Cut to the Flunky. He erase the 4-1 odds for "Hopeless Wino" and writes "3-1". Then adjusts the odds for Mike taking up stand-up comedy to 120-1. Cut to the National Thumb-Wrestling Championships in Washington, DC.]
Commentator: THIS IS EXTREME!
[Cut to the ESPN broadcast of Professional Frisbee Catching in San Franciso.]
Commentator: No, THIS IS EXTREME!
[Cut to the finals of the International Chess Tournament in London, England.]
[Fairly long beat]
[Someone moves a pawn.]
Commentator: (whispering) Gosh, this is extreme.
[Cut back to ringside.]
SW: We got more wrerstlers on the way! XENOMORPH! BIVALVE! TOSTIN SHOWERS!
NH: I thought you said "wrestlers", Scotty?
SW: Yeah, but I'd get bleeped if I called them BLEEP-ers.
SH: Harsh, though fair.
Styles: Bivalve vaults the top rope!
BILL: OW! You stood on my foot!
Styles: Discus punch! Sarah avoids it with ease! Arcing back-kick connects with the off-balance Bivlave! Tostin Showers runs into the ring...
Styles:...post. I guess his skills haven't improved much since he left BOB. Xenomorph's in there! He's carrying a plastic Alien model... swings it at Sarah! He tags her with it! Didn't seem to do much damage, though.
SW: Maybe if he took it out of the cardboard box...
Xenomorph: And de-value it? Are you insane, Whatbody? It's a limited edition!
MM:You suck! (pause) Just generally, I mean. I have nothing to clarify that with, though. (pause) But you do. (long pause) Suck, I mean.
[Cut to the Flunky, writing "2-1" on the Wino Odds. Behind him, the chain-link-fence-wheels has been rolled into shot by the BigBOSS. A large whiteboard is attached to it, clearly labled "MAIN EVENT SIGN-UP SHEET". Two wrestlers are struggling over the whiteboard marker. One gains control of the pen, then stares blankly at the sheet.]
BigB: Look, just make an "X" or we'll never get done. Good. Anddddd...go!
[Cut to the ring as MASSAWA, THE ETHIOPIAN GIANT runs to the ring. He gets fatigued from hunger on the way, passing out on the ringsteps. BARRY BROWN follows him with an IV drip. He sets it up, then climbs into the ring.]
Coma: Inverted comma, epsilion, umlaut, hut, hut, hut! GO LONG!
SW: We're up to five-on-one! If you count BILL and Massawa, that is. So I guess it's more like 3 and a half on one! Tostin Showers finally makes it into the ring! He poses. He flashes his rotten teeth.
TS: YEAH BABY, YEAH!
NH: He pretty much just exhausted his moveset in ten seconds. Sarah spins him around!
Styles: OH MY GOD! The Chun Li Super Street Fight Hyper Turbo Extended Series Flurry-O-Kicks Kick! Tostin gets a faceful of shoe leather!
TS: Oh, be-have! (topples over)
Styles: Sarah pins...1..2..3! (Very high-pitched squeal) SHE GOT HIM!
SH: I'd hide the crystalware, folks... if Styles get more excited, there's going to be breakage.
BILL: OW, my femur!
SH: Yeah, just like that.
SW: Maui Waui with a clothesline out of nowhere! Snap suplex! He covers.. 1..2.. Barry Brown drops and elbow to make the save! He covers..1.. Xenomorph drags him off! It's busting loose in Tulsa!
[Cut to Tulsa.]
Some Guy: Quiet night tonight.
Some other Guy: Yep. Sure is.
[Cut to Pier Six, New Jersey]
Dockworker: Anyone wanna fight?
Other Dockworker: Not particularly.
Dockworker: Cool. Let's go get a beer.
[Cut to the ring.]
Voice-Over: Oy, pardner, my tuchas are killing me!
NH: We've got more entrants! It's IGNATIUS CODY, the Amish Cowboy! And behind him is..
MM: ..His ass!
NH: That's a mule, not an ass, Mike. Why there's a mule at ringside is anyone's guess...
SW: Coma, we're looking in your direction for an explanation?
Styles: That's no mule! It's KRITCH the sheep in a clever disguise! And he's taken Ignatius completely by surprise! Headbutt! And another headbutt! A third headbutt!
SH: Kritch's offensene kindly provided by the estate of the Junkyard Dog.
SW: It's breaking down in there! Xenomorph and Barry Brown are slugging it out! Massawa's done the Zombie Situp!
Massawa: (Looking at Kritch) FOOD!
SW: Xenomorph and Bivalve are in each others faces! There's probably some backstory here, but they're jWo, so who cares. Straight right hand sends Bivalve sprawling! BILLs' the only man paying attention to the real target... Sarah! He throws a superkick!
BILL: AHHH! Groin pull!
SW: He falls on his ass!
BILL: AHHH! My ass!
Coma: That's no ass, that's a space station! Rip me a new one, I'm off to the Brown Derby!
Styles: Coma, come back, the Brown Derby closed years ago! Stay focused!
NH: Someone else is on the way! It's...
Voice-Over: Stand back, a can of whoop-ass is getting all up in your area! WHOO!
All: Unoriginal Man.
[UNORIGINAL MAN runs down the aisle. He's decked out in a cowboy hat, a chest protector, a Li'L Luchadore mask ($12.99 at the Crapzone), iceskate-design boots and uh... well, something you'd see if you tuned into RAW this week. Triple H's manboobs, maybe. Who watches RAW these days?]
StJS: Hey, Unoriginal Man! Imitate BILL!
UM: OW! MY DOSE!
BILL: THAT'S NOT FUNNurk! (whispers) Ow. I strained my vocal chords.
[Blink 182's "What's My Age Again" plays, badly overdubbed to make it "What's my Gimmick Again?" as ED TENTA-SHAW hits the ring. And just to confuse things, the Who break in with "Who Are You?", bringing IDENTITY CRISIS MAN to the ring. He's dressed like Unoriginal Man.]
MM: What the hell? This isn't a match, this is what Hallucination Boy sees on a daily basis!
SW: You said it, Mikey! Now shut up.
Styles: Heidi, Seth, I just thought of something! You two should be in this match too! Why aren't you in the ring?
SH: What, with the jobbers and punching bags? I'm insulted, Styles. This match is like comedy. Because the secret to great comed...
NH: I have to agree with Seth. Pick your opportunity and try for a quick win. Beats getting into the middle of that shemozzle.
SW: Besides, Heidi hasn't wrestled in years and frankly, she's looking a little pudgy..
SH: On the other hand, she hasn't lost her speed or accuracy, Scotty.
Styles: Thre three gimmickly-challenged grapplers are teaming up on Sarah! She ducks, weaves, dodges... looks to the camera for a brief witticism!
StJS: One jobber, two jobbers, three jobbers... FLOOR!
Styles: SPINNING CIRCLE KICK! All three men go down like skittles!
NH: We're not sponsered by Skittles, Styles!
Styles: Like M&M's! Sarah piles them up and covers! 1..2..3! A TRIPLE ELIMINATION! She rolls off... KIP-UP KICK! Maui Wauie took it flush on the jaw! A cover.. and HE'S gone too!
NH: Sarah's holding her own here...
MM: Humina humina humina!
NH: But fatigue has got to become a factor sooner or later! Massawa sneaks up on her... his footsteps are light as a feather, and he doesn't weight much more himself! Facebuster! Massawa to the top rope... Elbowdrop!
[There will now be a slight pause as Massawa wafts gently to the ground.]
[Hang on, he's nearly there.]
SW: He missed!
StJS: (at the concession stand) You're telling me. One Pepsi, please.
Concession Stand Guy: Sorry, we're out. Of everything. *Belch*
StJS: Hey, aren't you...?
Voice-Over: GO SLOW!
NH: It's G.I Slow! And he just overturned the concession stand on Sarah! CHOLESTEROLBOMB! 1..2..
SW: She kicks out! Slow picks her up... BLUBBA-CUTTA! He covers again... Barry Brown with the save! And he's stomping away at Slow with a vengeance!
BB: I! Have picked up! ENOUGH! Fatasses! Like! You! To last! A Lifetime! YOU! FAT! BASTARD!
SH: Now that's channeling your aggression...
NH: Barry's always had a few grievances with his job. If Slow was a senile old lady with a yapping poodle, he'd probably cripple him.
Styles: Bivalve and Xenomporph are still battling in the ring! Over what, we'll never know! They are yelling at each other, but we can't make out what they're saying!
SW: Well, they don't have mics on! That was kind of the premise behind "Shut Up", after all.
Coma: HERE COMES THE RED BARON!
SW: Or in our Universe, Massawa runs at Sarah!
MM: OH MY GOD! A kick that goes "DOKE"! Ha! Beat you to it, Styles!
NH: Where did she learn that move?
SH: I guess at least one person was matching "Mystery Sports Entertainment Theatre". That's gratifying.
SW: There's a quick three-count and Massawa is done! BILL tries to capitalise!
MM: Just like his name!
[Quick cut to The Flunky, adding a zero to the odds of Mike becoming a comedian.]
NH: BILL's accidently run into the PIT OF INDESCRIBABLE AGONY!
Coma: Oh, THAT'S where I left my anteater trap! Matron will spank me! Poink!
[The Microsoft Sound reverberates around the arena. BAIT and SWITCH, the Techie Salesmen From Hell run out. Due to the fact they only appeared on one CLASSIX, no-one pops for them. Or recognises them. Except Mike.]
[The Microsoft Critic Error Sound plays. Both Bait and Switch stop running and fall over. Sarah pins them for three-counts.]
MM: ...A lame Microsoft joke. Who saw that coming?
[Cut to Stevie Wonder.]
SW: I didn't see nothing!
[Cut to Mr. X]
Mr X: You heard the man, he din't see nuffin! Whaddaya talking about? GEDDOUTTAHERE!
[Cut to Yahoo Serious.]
YS: G'day. Remember me?
[No. Cut back to the ring.]
MM: Hey! I just realised something! I could enter this, right?
SW: I guess so...
MM: And if I win, I'll be the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS, right?
NH: Well, yes...
MM: And they can't fire the OWTTM Champion! I've found a loophole! CHARGGGGE!
SW: 1! 2! 3!! Ee-be-de-ee-be-de-ee-be-deh, THAT'S ALL, MIKE!
[Cut to The Flunky. He shakes his head sadly and writes 'EVENS' on the betting board.]
Styles: Mike "The Monotone" Monroe has LEFT the building! Or will have, once Security drags his carcass out of here and flings him into the dumpster. Sarah can't get a breather, though! She's been headbutted repeatedly by Kritch! That sheep is ON FIRE!
Voice: What? I'LL SAVE YOU, MY FLEECY FRIEND!
SW: Huh? Oh great, Herb Romaine. What? Oh, the producers telling me to say that loudly, to save on introductions. It's HERB ROMAINE! Ignatius Cody intercepts him and forearms him to the deck! And now the Amish Cowboy has found a barbwire-wrapped fence-post! I have no idea what this is all about, although it's probably some obscure historical reference.
SH: Good guess, Whatbody. You stealing the History Channel now?
NH: Xenomorph has Bivalve in the Paralyzing Neck Pinch! And Bivlave is making history by actually selling it! Sarah checks Bivalves' arm. It drops once.. twice.. three times! Does that count as an elimination? Generic Ref?
GR: I'll allow it!
SH: Big surprise.
Coma: Boring! Send in the dancing wenches! Alley OOP!
SW: Whoa, the gang's all here! SUPER GLUEY, "The Little Big Man" ANDREW SPINK., AL QUEDA, BUBBA GUMP and STREETMIME are all on the way down the aisle! Meanwhile Coma's on his way UP the aisle, threough the curtain and into the backstage area. It's getting more confusing by the second.
StJS: No duh. I wish a few of these guys would get eliminated real quick.
Jeannie: Xanfir told me to make your wish my command, or no orgasms for a week. *pouts* So...
Jeannie: Oops, wrong "homage". Never mind, it should work just as well...
StJS: Thanks! Hiiiii-YA!
Styles: OH MY GOD! CHAIN LIGHTNING KICK! Xenomorph takes the brunt of it!
GR: He's out! Eliminated!
Styles: G.I Slow looks like he's out too! He is! Kritch is down! He didn't get all of it, but it might be enough! Sarah with the pin! 1..2... (silence) !!!!
[Dogs begin howling outside the arena.]
SH: MIGHT want to drop it down an octave, Styles. Barry Brown was just winged by that kick, looks like he's still in this thing. They're getting very close to the "Over-Used Gimmick Match" area. Al Queda's going for a sneak attack, raising the Obvious Political Satire Threat Level to Purpley-Red.
SH: Beats me, no-one knows what that scale represents.
NH: Okay, one "Sneak Attack" gag and an attack on the ineptitude of the Homeland Security Act. I think Al's served his purpose for the night?
StJS: Agreed. KICK OF TERROR!
Al Queda: Eek. (Falls over)
NH: Pin. Count. Three. Elimination! Next!
["Du Hast" by Rammstein blares over the speakers as HOMICIDAL HANK runs out from the backstage area. He pauses to break a 2-by-4 over his own skull, earning a good pop and a minor concussion. BILL, his old STWF stablemate high-fives him.]
BILL: OW! I broke one of my non-broken fingers!
NH: One of the legends of Parody Wrestling has just entered the match!
SW: Legend? As in "Old, fat and boring to watch", Hedi? Yeah, I'll go with that.
SW: Oh, right. Hank's your brother, right? Don't tell him I said that.
SH: I make no promises.
SW: He's come out pretty early, though! You'd think it'd make more sense to wait for Sarah to get tired.
NH: That would make more sense. But why would you expect Hank to make a logical choice?
SW: Well, improved anti-psychoses drugs are being developed all the time, so, y'know...
Styles: Hank headbutts Bubba Gump! Forearm shiver on Herb Romaine. It's chaos again! Andrew Spink with the leaping crotch-bite on Super Gluey! Super Gluey is trying to shake him off, but he's sticking to him like glu... ahh, like a limpet!
Voice-Over: Limpet? That's MY gimmick, you cad!
Styles: SUPER MOLLUSC! The Defender of Tiny Crusteceans is back in BOB!
SW: He left? I thought we just stopped pushing him?
SH: You're trying to tell me we ever STARTED pushing him?
NH: Homicidal Hank boots Barry Brown in the face! He charges like an enraged bull at Sarah.. SHE CAUGHT HIM! Powerslam right into the Hog Pen!
Voice: Hey, paw! They's in OUR back paddock now!
Other Voice: Ayup!
Styles: It's the Amazing Inbreds! One of them with a diving bodyblock on Hank! Is that COUSIN PA or UNCLE JUNIOR? Or was it the other way around?
SW: Who can tell? Their family tree's missing more than a few branches, if you know what I mean! The gene pool has had too many people whizzing in the shallow end, yeah?
NH: We get the picture. Bubba Gump hits a Retard-o-Slam on StreetMime! That's the first time I've seen him use that on TV! And hopefully it'll be the last time, or we'll be picketed by handicapped people! Two new entrants on the way!
Styles: Here come the Men in Black!
SW: Johhny Cash?
SH: And me?
Styles: No, MULLY and SCULDER of The Agency!
SW: You think Mully qualifies as a MAN in Black? Time to change the bifocals, Styles. They reach the hog-pen...
[A bright light suddenly switches on, spoltlighting Sculder. A high-pitched humming is audible.]
Sculder: (looking skywards) Oh, not you guys again! At least leave my anus alone this time!
[He rapidly vanishes in the direction of up.]
Styles: I do not believe what I'm seeing!
Mully: Look at the light, please.
Mully: You saw nothing.
NH: Everyone's piling into the hog-pen! Except Ignatius Cody and Herb Romaine... I guess sheep-lovers and cowboys won't lower themsleves to hogpens. StreetMime tries for a roll-up on Sarah! She's fighting it.. struggling.. holding up a picture of Luke War...
StreetMime: " !"
NH: StreetMime recoils in pain! Sarah mimes a kick... and he's DOWN! 1..2..3! Homicidal Hank scoops up Barry Brown... Gutbuster Bomb! He covers! Will the Generic Ref allow wrestlers other than Sarah to eliminate people?
GR: What do you think? 1..2..3! He's outta here!
SW: Good.. if any pinfall counts, the show might last less than a fortnight.
SH: And It'll stop Comas brain exploding from trying to think up new finishing kicks for Sarah to do...
Styles: The Screaming Like a Woman Kick! Super Gluey is Down! Sarah covers! A three-count!
Andrew Spink: Hey! Put me down, dickweeed! I ain't eliminated yet! Somone get me offa here!
Styles: And it looks like Andrew is gone by default! Super Gluey is headed for the showers!
Andrew Spink: NOOOOoooooooo...! (fades)
SW: Sarah's leaving the hog pen... Hank and The Inbreds are still slugging it out in there! Herb Romaine with a Salad Shooter on Bubba Gump! Got him! Bubbas' done like a shrimp dinner! Can you believe Ignatius Cody is still out there?
SH: He's lasted longer in this one match than his entire BOB career did.
[Okay, Heidis' getting close to the mud-pit. Let's send in some chicks...]
NH: Here comes half of our short-lived womans' division! SOCCER MOM! LYNETTE "BULL" DYKSTRA! MAXI PADDS! There's even "BLOODY" MARY, the valet of the Universal Donors! And CHRISTINA GAGULIRA is coming out!
SW: Coming out? She's a lesbian! I KNEW it! No wonder she turned that offer of dinner and sex !
SH: Yeah, sure. And the fact you told her dinner was 'optional' probably had nothing to do with it.
Styles: And they're in the mud!
Styles: Even Soccer Mom!7
SW: Agggh, warthog alert!
NH: Everyone crashes into a huge, writhing mud-caked dogpile! And suddenly there's lingerie-clad models handing out free beer. This is NOT Coma's booking style.
[Everyone looks at Scotty.]
SW: So, I freelance from time to time. Throw me a brewksi, Beer Wench!
Styles: The Generic Ref is counting.. 1..2..3! OH MY GOD! Did Sarah get pinned? Who's at the bottom of the pile? It's... incredibly difficult to tell what with all the mud.
[The Generic Ref runs in with a hose and proceeds to spray the girls, with icy-cold water. They flip their hair around in slow-mo for a while. I LIKE Scottys booking.]
NH: You would, DN! It looks like Maxine Padds was the girl who got pinned. Uncle Junior has been eliminated too, but only people who weren't perving at the Parade of Perky Nipples know how.
SH: Well, that's THIS table out for a start...
Styles: Here comes a tag-team! In fact, it's our first "You Gotta Have Friends" tag champs, PRESZLWVK and GOFFER! GOOGOO CACHOOB is right behind them! KEVIN SLASH! MR X! And XAMFIR! Sarah's first ally of the night!
StJS: MERCY KICK!
StJS: He'll thank me for it later... one of these guys would have killed him. Generic Ref, count it please?
NH: All's fair in love and Poinkamania, I suppose. There's more BOB-sters arriving! In a car!
Sir Zeno: We made it!
Atomo: FILE: Hooray.exe NOT FOUND. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AGAIN? Y/N?
Mr. Paradox: Never mind, just let Flesh Puppet and Dr. Thrilla out of the trunk. I'll be out back having a coffee. Nucleo, carry my bags!
NH: ATOMO, DR.THRILLA AND MEAT PUPPET are heading into the melee! 'TWISTED JAWS" STEINER MERCURY and ALL NATURAL BOY are here too! There's too many people out there!
SH: Yeah, spot the obvious set-up...
Styles: OH MY GOD! Googoo Cachoob just hit Lynette Dykstra!
GC: What? What did I do? What's the goddamn problem, BLEEPfaces? What are you all staring at?
["See You in Hell (Don't be Late)" by Zingwie Mlamst..Malwsan... Moominshine.. whoever... starts to play. Huge pop.]
SW: BOBO Q. FIENDISH! The most feared e-wrester in e-wrestlings e-lustrious e-history! He runs over Googoo Cachoob like a tank! HOLLY KRATT! He's going ballistic! LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR! LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR! LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR!
[Cut to GBH and Coma.]
GBH: Duh. Me rolling, rolling, rolling. Yur.
Coma: SQUEEK me Amadeus!!
[Cut to Captain Obvious.]
CO: GBH's line was a nu-metal joke. Really! I'm not kidding.
[Cut back to ringside.]
NH: Bobo is running riot out there! There's jobbers flying in all directions! Sarah's following him around... pinfalls are being scored at will! He's got BILL!
SW: FAREWELL TO THE FLESH! Do it, do it, do it!
BqF: I can't, I'll cripple him!
BILL: I can take it!
BILL: OW! My third cervical vertebrae!
Styles: He's all right, folks!
BILL: The hell I am! I can't move my legs!
SH: That's because Meat Puppet's lying on them!
BILL: Oh, gotcha!
NH: BILL rolls Meat Puppet over... and pins him! BILL scored a pin? That's got to be one of the signs of the End Times! Repent, for the end is near!
BILL: I did it! At LAST! I'M THE KING OF THE W...!
Styles: RANDI HANDI! Nearly MEEEEAHed BILL's head off! And goodnight Irene, he's done! Let's try and make some sense of things for you, folks! Ignatius Cody, Uncle Pa, Steiner Mercury, All Natural Boy, Kevin Slash, Googoo Cachoob, Mr. X and Goffer have all been eliminated after Bob's rampage! Soccer Mom was pinned by Bloody Mary, who was pinned in turn by Sarah! Homicidal Hank drilled Herb Romaine with a Homicidal Hammer, but was nailed by Mr. X's "Concrete Overcoat" strait-jacket slam! Bobo's in to clean up the scraps! A one-foot cover of Herb!
SW: One of his feet is covered in herbs? Who is he, Cornel Sanders? Oh, sorry, I get it. I kind of zoned out there.
SH: (Singing) It's not unusual... (stops singing) Wait, where are the 'bots? Where am I? This isn't "Mystery Sports Entertainment Theatre"? Whoa, I must have zoned out, too.
NH: It's hardly surpsising... I've counted 35 eliminations and most of our Main Eventers haven't even shown up yet! There's lifetime jobbers hanging in there due to the scriptwriter forgetting they've entered, and I've got a blank page in my script where Sculder was supoosed to show up! This is too confusing for words! Would it be in bad form to take another intermission?
Styles: No complaints here!
NH: Those in favour?
NH: Those opposed?
Coma: (Running back down the aisle) ME!
NH: You're outvoted, honey. Sarah, get us out of here!
StJS: You got it. Hey, Super Mollsuc, a little help here?
SM: Help? I like to help ! This is a job for...
StJS: FtB KICK!
Styles: The FADE TO BLACK! FADE TO BLACK! FADE...
©2005 BOB Wrestling: (Even Though the Card Could Last Until 2006.)