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A blast from the past!!!!

[We pan the interior of the Tidy Bowl, in Lickstump, Arizona. The bowl is 1/8th full, so it's a very brief pan. Even with all the fans on one side of the ring, you can still see gaps on both ends during wide shots. Same shit, different roster, huh? Eventually we cut to Scotty Whatbody, The Flunky and Coma at the Flimsy Announce Desk. Coma blows a kazoo at random intervals as Scotty looks around at the Flunky.]

SW: (Scotty Whatbody... everyone with me so far?) Are we on? Where was the Discount Pyro I ordered?

Flunky: ("TF" from now on, yeah?) I think your check bounced...

SW: DAMMIT! Hi folks, Scotty Whatbody here, along with Mr "Don't Hate Me Because I'm Insane", Coma!

Coma: Nurfle.

SW: And The Flunky...

TF: Hiya!

SW: And welcome to BOB's "Sunday Afternoon Squash-Fest!" Join us as we welcome the latest Low-Budget Superstars to BOB by feeding them a complete loser to pummel!

[Eardrum-piercingly loud noise begins to issue from the speakers.]

SW: And speaking of losers!

[XXXtreme Machine and The Fire Chief make their way to the ring. The crowd can't even work up the enthusiasm to boo them.]

XXXtreme Machine: ur dam rit e we suk and so dos ur foortbal teem

TF: Why are you still giving this guy mic time, Scotty?

SW: Because it's FUNNY! What a gimp!

The Fire Chief: Our opponents heap big losers. How!

XXXtreme Machine: what

The Fire Chief: How?

XXXtreme Machine: what

The Fire Chief: How?

Coma: Poink?

The Masked Announcer: Okay, shut up you morons! *ahem* Our opening contest is a tag-team match scheduled for one fall! Introducing, representing The Former jWo, the current Rite To Suck, the possible Jobbers With Attitude and the not-too likely Not-Jobbers-At-All Club... XXXTREME MACHINE AND THE FIRE CHIEF!

[One guy holds up a "Boo!" sign. And that's about all the reaction they get.]

MA: And their opponents... hailing from The Mouth of Hell...

SW: Cleveland?

MA: Accompanied by Xamfir... SARAH THE JOBBER SLAYER and KAY FABE!

[There is silence for a few seconds. A quick cut shows Eddie B frantically checking a teetering pile of memos for the newbies theme music choices. Eventually he closes his eyes and grabs a CD at random. "Chances Are" as sung by Johhny Mathis fills the arena as Sarah and Kay enter to a good-sized pop from the snack-sized crowd. Xamfir trails behind, basking in his own mediocrity.]

SW: Bang goes Eddie B's street cred... again!

Coma: I have a rocket in my toaster oven! Lift-off in nine nanopoinkles! Is that MY nipple? Eep!

[Sarah and Kay reach the apron where Kay gives Sarah a helping hand into the ring. The placement of said hand garners this response from Scotty...]

SW: Huminahuminahumina.... A red-headed lesbian in BOB!! My life is COMPLETE! WOO-HOO!

TF: Breathe, Scotty, breathe...

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! She nods to Kay... they whip XXXtreme and The Chief together! Double noggin knocker! The Fire Chief rolls out to the floor!

TF: Kay finally leaves the ring, and the match is finally semi-offically under way! Sarah legsweeps XXXtreme and karate kicks him as he falls! She straddles him...


TW: Pummeling away with closed fists now! She reaches into her jacket for... whoa, I don't think the ref will allow THAT type of foreign object!

SW: Oh, do it! Stake him! Stake him, Sarah!

Coma: No, the round peg goes in the hexagonal hole! Apply glue here! Reverse or die, scumsucker!

TF: The ref manages to wrest the stake out of Sarahs hands! She remonstrates with him as XXXtreme Machine crawls to The Fire Chief to tag out!

SW: Getting beaten by a girl! Could anything be more humiliating than that for XXXtreme Machine?

[A tall albino leaps from the crowd and begins beating XXXtreme Machine with a Ne... a snowboard.]

SW: Well, there's always THAT, I suppose... Sarah hears the chief coming and floors him with a roundhouse kick! Throws him to the buckle and tags in Kay! She slaps a bearhug... on Sarah! I SO love this match! Xamfir looks kind of jealous, though... The Fire Chief slaps a bearhug of his own on Sarah! Sarah is struggling to free herself!

TF: I sure hope that's what she's doing, anyway...

[Several Minutes Pass]

TF: ... And Sarah finally breaks the hold!

[Sound of 200 males collectively violating the Tidy Bowl's "No Smoking" regulations]

Coma: Kay is in the doghouse! That's a three! Katy bar the frog, it's a dock-workers strike! Nyurrrrrr...

SW: Quit trying to do play-by-play, Coma, you just confuse people! An all-in brawl in progress! Kay is pummeling XXXtreme Machine! Sarah is kicking the crap out of The Fire Chief, and Xamfir is just trying to get someone, nay ANYONE to pay attention to him...


TF: OH! Sarah just hit the Finishing Maneuver Who's Name Is On The Scriptwriters Other Disc! One!

SW: Two!

Coma: Twang!

SW: And it's over!

TA: The winners of this match... SARAH THE JOBBER SLAYER, KAY FABE and Scotty Whatbodys' Over-fertile Imagination!

SW: You said it!

Cut to a wild-eyed man in a green corporate uniform.

Man: HiI'mJohnandIworkforTarbucksCoffeenowsomepeoplesaytoomuchcoffeisbadforyou....
(Deep breath)...
butIdrinkeigthquadruplelattesadayand... (He collapses in a heap on the floor.)

Tarbucks: Just Drink The Damn Coffee!

MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first....

[He is rudely cut off by an over-amplified voice.]

Voice: ... hailing from Johnstoneville, Georgia and weighing in at 261 pounds... THE COMMENTATOR!

[And indeed, it is him... Eddie B. cues "You Talk To Much" By George Thurogood as the Commentator enters...]

The Commentator: Allow me, Disembodied Narrator! The Commentator makes his way to the ring to a somewhat muted reaction! Can he win the fans over on his side? Only time will tell! This match should be a slobberknocker!

MA: You're going to hear from the Ring Announcers Union, buddy!

TC: Ooh, I'm shaking! And my opponent! From his parents house... accompanied by Kay Fabe... "SMART" MARK GREEN!

SW: What? Kay Fabe again? I thought she was a carpet-muncher? Why's she hanging out with this geek?

TF: No, that's a different Kay Fabe, Scotty! And that's not The Geek, that's Smart Mark Green!

SW: Who?

TF: Yeah, it is kind of confusing... I can see a very strange mixed tag-match being booked in the not-too distant future...

Coma: Anyone else smell bacon? Tune in Friday to see if Marge really is pregnant to Father Carmichael!

[During the last scintillating exchange, Mark has made his entrance to "She Blinded Me With Science". Like anyone cares what I say! After all, I'm just a Disembodied Narrator! That's it, I quit!]

TC: And there's the bell! This match is underway! Smart Mark gets a lightning-fast punch and I've gone crashing to the mat! A quick kip-up, however... Nice reactions!

SMark: Hey, you no-sold! You can't no-sell! Who do you think you are, Mark Calloway? You're a jobber!

TC: Stop your whining, geek-boy! OH! And I've slapped the taste out of his mouth! Mark responds with a straight left! And a chop!

Scotty, The Flunky & Coma: WHOO!

TC: And another!


TC: Standing dropkick sends me reeling back to the turnbuckle! Mark charges at me *faintly* knee *normal voice* but I get the knee up! And I explode out of the corner with a devastating clothesline! I'm going *whispers* missing a headbutt *normal voice* up top! Swandive headbutt...


TC: But Mark rolls out the way!

Smark: *whispering* Don't call the spots so loud!

TC: *Also whispering* Damn it, I dropped my blade...

SW: And THIS is why we shouldn't put microphones on the wrestlers!

[All right, I'm back... sorry about the tantrum before... did I miss anything?]

TF: True... But the Commentator is actually doing a pretty good job of calling the match, Scotty!

SW: Yeah, right... he's not fit to wipe the sweat off my headphones!

TF: Nice image, Scotty...


TC: Hey! I heard that, Whatbody! Come up here and say that! But what's this? Smart Mark takes advantage of my distracted state to apply the dreaded Standing Crossface! [Pause] I SAID, Smart Mark TAKES ADVANTAGE....

SMark: What? Oh, sorry, missed my cue...

TC: And applies the Mmphhfl...

SW: YES! That shut him up!

Coma: Stop the elevator, head, shoulders knees and toes! Beastie Al sleeps with the fishes!

SW: I'd believe that... Mark has really got that hold cinched in... Wait, no, the Commentator slipped out and rolls to the floor!

SMark: WHAT? You idiot! You just devalued my submission move! If you can escape, no-one's going to sell it! Take THIS!

TC: GOOD LORD! A plancha sends me to the hard, unforgiving floor of the arena!

SMark: NO! I held onto the top rope! It wasn't a plancha, it was a PESCADO! Get it right, Michael Cole!

SW: Mark is enraged! He's grabbed a chair!

TC: That's right, Scotty! [THUMP!] And he's bringing it crashing down on my skull! [THUMP!] The ref is calling for the bell! [THUMP!] This is brutal! [THUMP!] I can't remember my name! [THUMP!] There go the swimming lessons! [THUMP!] Mother?

MA: Well, this is unexpected... *ahem* Your winner, as the result of a disqualification... THE COMMENTATOR!

TF I don't believe it! Smart Mark LOSES his first match in BOB? Sad loser all ver the world will be writing internet columns about the Glass Ceiling for weeks about this one!

SW: Hey, Trust in the Whatbody, Flunky... *speaks to someone offscreen* Send him in...

TC: Mark is still beating me like a government mule! But here comes THE GEEK! Listen to that pre-recorded crowd reaction! THESZ BY GAWD PRESS takes down Smart Mark!

TF: What the?

SW: SWERVE! I knew who The Geek was! Geez, it doesn't take a McMahon to spot the Insta-Feud here! Look at them go at each other! GO GET HIM, GEEK!

TC: This is wild! They're in the crowd, beating the holy hell out of one another! What is going to happen next?

TF: According to my sheet, a commercial!

BOB: GLUTTONS FOR PUNISHMENT! It'll be the BIGGEST, BADDEST, most BRAIN-DAMAGE INDUCINGEST pay-per-view in HISTORY! watch as 100 men beat the snot out of each other for the glory of being crowned the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS! And some other belts that don't matter as much as the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!

Brought to you by Tarbucks Coffee, Pete's Discount Pyschotherapy and Phlemco!

MA: This is our alleged Main Event! It is a Three-Way Tag Team Dance under First Blood Elimination Rules! I didn't make the stips, people... three guesses who did!

[Everyone in the arena looks at Scotty Whatbody.]

SW: It was him! [Points at Coma]

Coma: Rabid Pickles in the Undergrowth! Shoot it Herbert, shoot it! Yummyfur!

MA: Introducing first, the token jobber team...Accompanied by StreetMime To The Third Power and Trevor, The Evil New Zealander... UNORIGINAL MAN and KEVIN, THE HOMICIDAL TOUR GUIDE!

["Thus Spake Zatrus... Zathus... The Theme From 2001" plays as Unoriginal Man makes his appearance. He wears a long, sequined robe and has a chain draped across his shoulders. He's also carrying a parrot for some reason. The music cross-fades into "Summer Holiday" by Cliff Richard as Kevin arrives, choking out StreetMime on the way to ringside. Trevor is behind the trio, waving his New Zealand flag. He swipes the Masked announcers mic to a chorus of boos.]

TtENZ: I find Americans slightly pushy, and prone to obesity!

SW: BOOOO! BOOOO! Stinking New Zealanders! With their clean, unpolluted air and their world-class scenery and that stupid "bunji-jumping" thing! BOO! BOO!

TF: Lowest common denominator, here we come!

MA: And their opponents... weighing in at ummm... 400-ish pounds. Give or take. MASSIVLY PACKAGED! With Brandon!

[High-pitched screaming greets Jim, Josh and Brandons' return to BOB. A girl is seen holding up a sign reading "Brandon, I'm Pregnant". We cut away just as she flips it over, revealing (To those with good quality videos with clear freeze-frames) "It's either you or my Dad!"]

[[[NOTE: BOB does not condone unnatural sexual practices. Even in Arizona. Hell, we even replaced The Flagellator and Masochistic Mel for this match...]]]

MA: And their opponents... Let's hope opposites attract, or these guys are screwed... KURT ANGEL and "LITTLE GOOD" VACANT!

TF: Scotty! How could you team those two up?

SW: Because I love to see teams that can't get along! And these guys will NEVER get along!

[Eddie B's "Hell-i-leujah Chorus" (W/Scary Organ Music and Heavy Metal Guitars) plays as Kurt and Vacant walk down the aisle, glaring at each other. Unoriginal Man stands on a turnbuckle and twirls his finger in the air a few times, then begins barking for no readily explainable reason.]

Coma: Poink! You're my hero, Ferris Bueller! Let's go, Huskies! There's a busload of one-legged racoons counting on us! Thump! Coma falls off chair.

[Stop reading my lines, Coma!]

Coma: Sorry. Neep!



SW: Holy crap, everyone jumped Unoriginal Man! He's taking a pounding! And he's busted open!


SW: And the Jobbers Du Jour are outta here!

TF: Scotty, you've got the most... unique... booking style I've ever seen....

SW: Thank you!

Coma: Quilting bee in aisle seven! Mayo on the midget! Hold my anchovies!

TF: Well, with Unoriginal Man and Kevin gone, this is down to a tag match! Jim is starting things out against Kurt Angel! Jim fakes a lockup and gets in a sneaky European uppercut! He forces Angel back into a neutral corner with a series of chops and whips him across the ring.... Angel reverses it, sending Jim hard into the buckle! Angle moves in, running into Jims' upraised foot! Jim tries to armdrag Angel, who spins out of it and hits a nice German suplex!

SW: Hey! Don't ruin my show with that fancy-schmancy wrestling stuff! Coma, hype the Pay-Per-View, quickly!

Coma: I see dead angles. Neep!

SW: Swell. Angel heads over to his corner to tag in Vacant... and Vacant sucker-punches his own partner! I KNEW they couldn't get along! Vacant is literally stomping on Angel!

Vacant: How do you like this ya bleeding pillock! Mr "I'm so cool they gave me my own series"! Angel! I was always cooler than you! I have bleached blonde hair, mate! Look at it! LOOK AT IT!!

TF: Okay, he's flipped! Josh tags in...double-dropkicks from the Attitudinals on Vacant!

SW: Attitudinals? Give me a break, Flunky! [Checks watch] Dammit, we're running out of time... CUE THE RUN-INS!

TF: Already? The shows only been going for 25 minutes! I wonder if I can get my old job at Wal-Mart back?

SW: Hey, we'll still fill the whole hour... I've booked EVERY participant in the Brawl to make a run-in!! Brilliant idea, huh?

[The sound of silence fills the arena. The ACTUAL sound, not the Simon and Garfunkle tune. Justin Voss and Adrew Spink can be seen, frozen in the act of running down the aisle. The Ambulance Jockeys are visible in the crowd.]

SW: *ahem* I can stop paychecks and start firing people!

[Justin Voss shrugs and finishes his charge, attacking Terra rising, who has appeared from under the ring. The Jocks hits the ring and attack the Kent Staters. As the Network does a merciful fade to black, we can hear Scotty Whatbodys voice in Full Jim Ross Mode]

SW: Oh MY GOD! It's Herb Romaine! But there's Mr Claven! They're duking it out in the aisle! Bohemoth is here, tussling with Homicidal Hank and SMP! Flatline! Flatline! Flatline! Virago and Mittens are renewing their rivalry! LUKE WARM!

[HUGE pop]

SW: ... and he's drinking a Yoo-Hoo!


SW {fading out]: This is the greatest moment in the history of of sport! There's the Undietaker! Through silk, satin and 100% polyester, it's the Undietaker! And there's Blackjack Hooligan! And.. a scooter of some sort, not too sure about that one... It's THE TIGER!

[Fade to Black]

©2002 BOB Wrestling!


© BOB Wrestling!

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