[The camera opens to something BoB fans don't see often; a packed arena. And my GOD is this thing HUGE. An arena the size of... well... you know. This is Gordon Gardens, baby, the kind of place that BoB doesn't usually get the opportunity to host an event at. A place that doesn't reek of a nearby sewage dump, that doesn't have to be filled with carboard standups to create the illusion of a capacity crowd, and a place that doesn't usually serve as a 3 year old's day club. This is it, man. The first, and probably only time that BoB is going to see some REAL action, with some REAL stakes. The debut of what should soon become BoB's top title: The Job-a-thon championship. Yes siree... this is gonna be a happening.]
[A truckload of pyro sets off on the freshly polished stage, in front of the Mammoth-Tron, a screen bigger than a major league baseball diamond. There's standing room only in this facility, as tonight, the fans have been promised a true event, as this show isn't just a BoB show, oh no, no, no. It's also the first EVER ppv of the NEW WCWF. In support of this, many WCWF superstars will be competing in this event. And now, our announce team for the evening: Mark Shill, The Commentator, and Mac Bry's personal commentator, good ol' BJ!]
MS: Hello folks, and welcome to THE GREATEST WCWF SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF THE NEW WCWF!!!
BJ: Mark, the WCWF just reopened a week ago...
TC: Don't worry about it Ben, he's gonna be like that for the rest of the show.
BJ: By Gawd...
TC: By Gawd indeed.
MS: Ladies and gentlemen, let me just say, tonight, we are going to bear witness to THINGS that WILL shock AND amaze YOU!!!
BJ: Sorry. But folks, tonight, 10 matches!!! The sWo is back and in action, and everything's gonna be hellfire and brimstone!!!
TC: It's gonna be runnin' faster than a scalded dog with his tail between his legs through a catch-as-catch-can slobberknocker!!!
MS: And it's all here, NEXT!
TC: Where's the ads?
BJ: This is a helluva tuna-baker, I tell ya what!
MS: ... This is the GREATEST PORTION OF A SHOW IN WHICH THE CREW HAS ABSOLUTLEY NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON... EVER!!!
TC: Are we supposed to keep talking... or...
[We open to the backstage hallway, where Alex Smith is walking on his way... when all of a sudden:
BJ: STONE CUTTER!!!
MS: STONE CUTTER!!!
TC: BY GAWD, STONE CUTTER!!!
BJ: Smith is down, and by gawd out!
MS: Now what fans?! Luke Warm just conked out Smith, and Smith was set to be the last man in the Rumble to determine the # 1 Contender for the Job-a-thon title!
BJ: Who's going to replace him?!?!?!
TC: I have no idea folks, but right now, we've gotta kick things off with a match!
Jack Hoff: Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls... children of all ages. The following contest is a fatal fourway first to a fall match for the tag team titles of both the WCWF, AND BoB. The first team to pick up a pin over one of their three opponents, will hold BOTH championship pieces of gold. First, introducing from Drudleyville, USDA, they weigh in at a combined weight of... uh... the card says flip... and the back says flip... and the back says flip... and-
BJ: What in the world is going on with that card... BY GAWD, THE KENT STATE KREW JUST ATTACKED JACK HOFF FROM BEHIND!!!
TC: Those two jezebels, Brandon and Jim, have layed waste to Hoff, and as Gawd as my witness, the back of his head may be slightly bruised!!!
MS: THIS IS THE MOST SHOCKING BEATING OF A WCWF ANNOUNCER AT THE HANDS OF TWO BOB TAG CHAMPIONS FROM BEHIND IN THE HISTORY OF BEATINGS OF WCWF ANNOUNCERS AT THE HANDS OF TWO BOB TAG CHAMPIONS FROM BEHIND!!!
BJ: By Gawd...
TC: And he got that all in one take.
Brandon: Alright, it looks as if that WCWF jackoff Jack Hoff has become ill... so Jim and I have no choice but to take over as the ring announcers for this match!
Brandon: First, from a shitty town called Drudleyville where the only thing separating your wife from your sister... is the 2 spots in the bed they share along with you at night; Rubba-Ray and D-Van, those dumb Drudleyz!!!
Jim: What he said!
[A ball of pyro falls down from the sky, and explodes on the stage, setting off a blaze of flames, as "Welcome to Drudleyville" blasts over the speaker system, lighting up the crowd like no other. The Drudz come out, fists in the air with the sign of the Drudleyz: the circled pinkie and thumb, along with three other fingers pointed outward. D-Van storms the right side, while Rubba takes the left, setting the crowd a-buzz, as Brandon and Jim just stand there in the ring, looking totally pissed. The Drudleyz finally decide to come toward the ring, but stop just short at the end of the ramp, so the KSK can finish their intros before beginning the beatdown.]
Brandon: Next, one's a hooker, the other's a commie, they'd both be shot upon sight in Dubbya's House, ladies and gents, please welcome: Hooker T... and R... V... D!
['Ice... Ice... Ice. Ice... Ice... Ice. Ice... Ice... Ice. Ice... Ice... Ice. One Kommisar!!!' The remixed version of both superstars themes plays over the PA, and the fans pop once again, as Hooker and Ronald both emerge from the curtains... before being viciously pummeled behind by the WCWF Tag champs, Hack and Slash!!! Slash lands a double axe handle to the head of Hooker, before grabbing onto him by the hair and pulling him BACK through the curtains!!!]
BJ: It looks as if someone actually remembered where this match was supposed to take place.
MS: Yes, that's right Ben. This match was scheduled under Arcade Anarchy rules, and it looks as if that's how the game will be played.
[Slash and Hooker are followed backstage by the cameraman, right past a short hallway, through a door, and into the arcade, where lights are mounted on the ceiling, flashing every color of the rainbow. Slash slams Hooker's face into a coin exchange machine, shaking out a few quarters and whatnot. Slash picks up a half dollar, rips a tassle off his leather pants, and wraps the coin to his fist. Hooker mounts back up, and rushes in... Slash with the discus... and Hooker catches a vile shot to the jaw! Hooker crumples to a single knee, before Slash lands a boot to the face, crushing Hookers mug beneath the sole of Slash's shoe. T falls to the floor, and Slash looks back to the coin machine... He balls up his fist... and slugs the machine straight through the glass! Glass shatters to the floor, and Slash starts tossing coin after coin over his massive shoulders. Hooker slowly but surely makes his way back up, before kneeling down, and...]
BJ: LOW BLOW!
MS: LOW BLOW!
TC: BY GAWD, LOW BLOW!!!!
[Yes indeedy, low blow it was. Slash bends over, and Hooker hits the ax kick, followed by the Hookeroonie to the delight of the fans. The camera switches back to the ring where Hack whips D-Van into the ropes... The D'ster rebounds, and catches a boot to the mush. Hack bounces off one set of ropes... the other... another set of ropes... very reminiscent of a certain TV star, if ya catch my drift... And Hack drops a leg over the throat of D-Van. He goes for the pin: 1... 2... but Rubba Ray flies over the top rope with an elbow drop, breaking up the pin. RVD bolts for Rubba, landing a spinning double heel kick, sending Rubba floored into the corner. RVD's eyes widen, and a sly little smirk falls over his lips... He looks to the fans, who reciprocate with massive cheering (odd, seeing as how just a few months back, he wished these very same American 'pigs' dead...). RVD rolls to the floor, battling off Brandon and Jim in the process. He hits a twirling side kick to the side of Jim's head, sending him hurtling into the side of the Jewish announce table. Then, RVD dropkicks Brandon into the Czechoslavakian announce table. D-Van slings himself off the opposite side of the ring ropes, bounds across the ring, and soars high through the sky, sending himself toward RVD... but missing completely and totally destroying the Icelandic announce table. KSK out. D-Van out. And RVD pulls a chair out from beneath the bottom of the ring. RVD slides in the ring, and follows in himself, before propping the chair up in front of Rubba Ray... RVD points to the sky... and hops onto the turnbuckle. He looks to one side... the other... preparing to leap off the post, soaring through the air... straight from pillar to pillar... corner to corner... right across the ring... He readies himself, and...]
[We head over to the arcade, where-
TC: OH BY GAWD!!!
BH: Hellbrim and Firestone!!! Slash has piled three arcade consoles, one on top of the other, and has positioned Hooker between his thighs on top of the very tip top!
MS: Folks, you will ONLY see action like THIS, on a WCWF ppv!
TC: ... Mark. Please.
TC: Shut up.
BJ: Hahah! He sold you suckers out! SUCK IT!!!
[Slash slicks his hair back... and stares down at the floor far below... before lifting Hooker above his head... and...]
TC: BY GAWD!!!
[RVD is wrecked out on top of Rubba and the chair, apparently hitting that flying chair dropkick thingee whopper. A 'holysh!t' chant has risen from the crowd, and-
MS: OH MY GOD, FANS!!! THAT WAS SIMPLY HELLACIOUS!!!
TC: I have never, in my two years of broadcasting, seen ANYTHING like that! How in the WORLD do you learn to fly off the top of three arcade consoles through a FoozBall table?!
BJ: It's Pandemonium!!!
[Yes, it seems as though Slash has Jack-off powerbombed Hooker from the top of the machines THROUGH a FoozBall table! Slash slowly makes his way toward the prone body of Hizzy Tizzy... 1........................... 2........................]
[The camera switches back to where RVD has splayed himself out over the corpse of Rubba-Ray... 1............................. 2........................]
TC: Who won?
BJ: Isn't it obvious?
MS & TC: ... No.
BJ: Hack and Slash, baby!!!
MS & TC: Nahhh...
Masked Announcer: And the winners, and NEW Four-Play champions: Hack... and... Slash. The s.... W....
MS & TC: Oh.
TC: By Gawd...
BJ: Told ya.
WCWF: Where the Impossible... is Possible.
BoB had a title as the hardcore champion.
BoB had a title win itself.
But has BoB ever led a title to the World Heavyweight Championship?
We'll do anything for a cheap buyrate.
We're whores for ratings.
WCWF: Where everything makes sense... at least to one man.
MA: Alright, the next match is scheduled for one fall. Already in the ring, from Nintydugri, Pennsylvania, he is a former Olympic Luge Gold Medalist, and current WCWF superstar; Wright Angle!!! And his opponent, from Pig Latin America; Pig Latino Heat!!!
[The fans immediately burst into a wild ovation, and I'm starting to have doubts at the level of rich and fullfilling lives these people are leading... Heat stands at the top of the stage, soaking in the applause, as this could be the last time he experiences a reaction like this... sadly, that goes for just about every other BoB superstar...]
TC: Alright folks, this is just a straight up wrestlin' match between a WCWF boy, and a BoB boy, and the winner comes out the victor.
BJ: ... What's the winner SUPPOSED to come out as? The hotdog vendor?
MS: Folks, you're only going to see two commentators with the exact same gimmick bickering about a totally irrelevant subject like this on a BoB/WCWF ppv!!!
TC: There, that's a little bit better Mark.
BJ: Aww... we both know which team you're REALLY playing for, Shill.
MS: I AM NOT GAY!!! That's only a rumor! ...
MS: OK, YOU BEAT IT OUTA ME! There was this one time, ONE TIME, at Schiavone's Camp for Broadcast Journalism, but it was oral, and oral does NOT constitute as REAL sex!!!
BJ & TC: ...
MS: And there goes Wright with a collar and elbow tie up... and Heat flips over with a flip and slings across with the double inverted underhook somersault plancha with a twist of mango, non-caffeinated!
BJ: That looked a helluva lot like a short-arm clothesline to me...
MS: PLH heads up top... and soars off with the Ogfray Ashsplay! He was feeling a bit Oggiefray on that one! And he hit every bit of it!
TC: Uhm... Mark.
MS: Heat picks up Wright and sets him up for the triple suplex! Uno suplex! Dos suplex! Tres suplex! Heat is on fire!!!
MS: And he goes for the pin!!! Heat is about to pick up the win!!! Do you feel it folks?! This is quite simply the greatest Wrasslemania EVER!!! And that's coming from the bottom of my heart! 1... 2...
BJ & TC: MARK!!!
BJ: Wright beat Heat ten minutes ago.
TC: He rolled the clothesline into the Angle Lock, and Heat tapped like a mad man.
BJ: What the hell is wrong with you?
MS: Hey, I was just reading from the script.
TC: Wait a minute... let me check that... [reads] ... Shill.
TC: This is the NEXT match. Double Gay vs Kay. Where Kay pulled out the win with the triple suplex. You've completely ruined the results!!!
MS: Uhm... sorry?
BJ: By GAWD you're a dumb@ss...
TC: Well folks, it looks like the Choosy One versus the People's Lesbian will have to wait for another day. So, next up, Kevin the Pyromaniac will be facing off with the legendary Sabu.
BJ: Let's take you back to a week ago to see how all this came about:
It is a calm and peaceful March morning in the rural outskirts of Parts Unknown. The birds are chirping through the fragrant cherry trees as a greasy teenager hauls himself through the tall grass of this gentle meadow, dragging a large tanker of fuel behind him.
Kevin: Oh man, being so damn hardcore is hard work.
Kevin wipes the sweat from his pale forehead with his baggy Vietallica t-shirt. He drops the fuel down and sits for a rest, looking around at all the beautiful, delicate petals gentle forming on the trees around him.
Kevin: Ugh, forget burning that old Farmer dudes barn, this crap right here will do just nicely for a sudden EXTREME EXPLOSION OF... PYROMANIA~!!!`!!1
The birds all turn their heads and stare at Kevin in bewilderment.
Bird #1: What a moron, he's even stupider than most of those humans who come by here gasping at how beautiful nature is and all that drivel.
Bird #2: Quite right Reginald, the man is an oaf and an imbecile.
Kevin: Hey, shut the hell up you stupid talking birds before I torch your stupid trees!
Bird #1: That's it, lets get Hitchcock on his ass!
The birds swoop down and proceed to peck at Kevin's face.
Kevin: No, not my face, I have to be on Comedy Central next wee... whenever the next Chloroform is.
Bird #2: Oh for the love of 0¿0 The Mysterious Birdman, you aren't one of those Brawlers on a Budget are you?
Kevin: Hey, yeah! Yeah I am, you want an autograph?!!1
Bird #2: God no, there's nothing less sophisticated than a bunch of roided up freaks smacking each other with steel chairs just to get ratings with the unintelligent human demographic.
Kein: Huh? Ratings? Are you sure you know what BOB is?
Bird #1: Silence! You sports entertainers should be seen and not heard.
Bird #2: I don't want to see or hear them.
Bird #1: Hahaha, your time is almost up, for the new awakening of a new and brutal sport shall soon seize the airwaves by the throat. Bloodthirsty armed combat between man and the almighty bird empire shall see the slaughter of countless unfeathered fools and the new kings of the planet shall take over and RULE THE GALAX...
The birds went up in flames as Kevin held a match up to a squirty box of fuel, the burning bodies fell to the ground and sizzled loudly.
Kevin: Don't ever badmouth the beautiful art of sports entertainment again! Mwahahaha, PYROMANIA!1 ownz j00 an teh entire bird empire.
Kevin suddenly turns to face the camera, trying to salvage the promo and make at least some sort of connection between this garbage and BOB.
Kevin: That's right BOB fans, PYROMANIA~!!1 is runnin wild, it's spreading like wild FIRE!!1 This past Chloroform I proved that I am hardcore, extreme and xtreme when I pinned Mr. Intensity 1, 2, 3 in the middle of the ring! And by the mighty God of pepsi, whether you be Mr. Intensity, The YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Title Belt, The WWF European Belt, 0¿0, Kevin will see you burn! Because Kevin is hardcore for Foley's sake!!1
Kevin tips over the tanker of fuel to douse the meadow, he then pumps his hand up into the air with a lighter and yells out.
The camera turns to static as Kevin drops the lighter and flames begin to rise around him.
VR: Kevin... bright eyed youngster. Do you know who I am?
You know that little shin-dig I'm throwin' in 2 weeks? Wrasslemania 48? Well...
Your presence is requested... naw. DEMANDED.
You... vs... hmmm....
We need someone hardcore...
So let's picture this: Kevin the Pyromaniac... in a hardcore inferno match... against...
You're toast, boy.
BJ: Yup. That about sums it up. The Flunky has the gasoline, and the tools of the trade have been scattered across the canvas.
TC: Folks, I just want to say before this match begins, do NOT set any rings you may have at home on fire and proceed to hit your friends repeatedly with kendo sticks and fire extinguishers. These are TRAINED professionals.
BJ: That's right folks, these men have trained for years to slam themselves through tables covered in lightbulbs and shattered glass. Before you do so yourself, I recommend you participate for a month or two at a qualified wrestling school.
MS: Like the Schiavone School for Announcers! IT'S AMAZING!!!
BJ: Just like this next contest promises to be! Let's head over to the Masked Announcer for the introductions!
MA: Ladies and gentlemen, the next bout is an XTREME INFERNO MATCH! The only way to win, is by PINFALL!! And to compete in this kind of match, you've got to be CRAZY!!! Which brings me to our first participant. Hailing from his mother's basement, and weighing in at a monstrous one hundred and twelve flaming, charcoaled pounds, he is the MASTER of the Burning Elbow Drop... when his mom told him to never play with matches, she didn't say ANYTHING about Zippos, please welcome... Kevin... the PYROMANIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCC!!!
['Firestarter' blazes over the speakers, and another pop rises from this sold-out crowd. Yep... they're pretty pathetic, aren't they? GET A LIFE YOU LOSERS!!! ... Sorry. Kevin walks out from the entryway curtain, holding a barbed wire 2x4... uh oh. I have a bad feeling about this... That's what you get when you let your kids watch too many episodes of RobotWars.]
[Kevin swings the 2x4 in the air a bit, before trailing down the ramp and rolling in. Kevin hops onto the turnbuckle and holds the 2x4 in the air, to the joy of the crowd. Their hardxor hero has finally made his debut on the biggest stage of them all. But, before Kev can get TOO excited, the lights blank out... sending the audience into whispering and suspense... And as soon as the lights return, the crowd is set to ULTRA-POP mode!]
BJ: It's HIM!!!
TC: He's really here!!!
MS: Fans, I never would have imagine in a thousand years, that a superstar like this would EVER appear on a BoB show! Thank you sWo! Thank you Russo!
[Kevin looks bewildered, still standing on the turnbuckle, pondering how the fans could be cheering for him THIS loud...]
KTP: God... they must not get out much...
[Kevin hops off the post, before turning around, and WAM!!! Sick chairshot to the head, by the one... the only...]
Kevin: Sa... Sabu?
Kevin: OMG~! You're so... small.
BJ: Uh oh, he shouldn't have done that! Sabu does NOT like people commenting on his height!
TC: He may be short, but he packs a wallop! And me thinks Kevin's about to find that out the hard way!
MS: Sabu lifts the chair, and brings it down toward Kevin... but Kev rolls out of the way! The chair hits the mat, and Sabu is getting even MORE infuriated!
BJ: And there's the Flunky with the gas can... He pours it over the ropes... match... BOOM! And we have inferno!!!
TC: BY GAWD!!!
Cat: SOMEBODY BETTA CALL MY MOMMA!!!
[Sabu lifts the chair again, brings it down, Kevin rolls out of the way. Sabu lifts the chair... brings it down... and Kev rolls out of the way. This occurs about three more times before Sabu becomes tired. He peers to the left, seeing the raging flames lapping from the ropes... as Kevin slowly makes it to his feet-
Edge: Quit stealing my lines!!! I'm coming, you know!
[Sabu steps forward... step by step... foot by foot... right.. left... right... left... Kevin reaches out for a rope... doesn't he know that thing's on fire? ... OH NO!!!]
BJ: He wouldn't DARE!!!
TC: You don't watch BoB very often, do you?
MS: Do you blame him?
TC: No... quite frankly, I'm jealous...
MS: HE'S DONE IT! Fans, this has got to be the most horrific sight I've ever born witness to in my days of broadcasting!
TC: And that would be in contrast to the ninety-nine hundred OTHER times someone's set fire to themselves for a cheap rating on our shows?
BJ: Kevin has an arm full of fire, and I don't think he's afraid to use it!
[Kevin lifts the flame engulfed arm skyward, to the cheers of the crowd. Sabu stares in shock, before his eyes set to a glare... he looks behind him... before looking back at Kevin with a grin... Sabu lifts an arm to the sky... before brining it down on the ropes!!!]
TC & BJ: BY GAWD ON A BISQUIK!!!
MS: Oh MY God!!! THIS is... MY GOD!!!
BJ: Kevin looks at Sabu... Sabby looks at Kev... both with an arm smothered in flames...
TC: They drag their forefingers slowly across their throats, and...
BJ: That was a cool game.
MS: And they collide into eachother!!! Double clothesline of fire!!! They're down! THEY'RE DOWN!!!
TC: And the fire spreads across the canvas... rising into the air, burning the ring to a crisp! This is simply HELLACIOUS!!!!!!
BJ: I can't believe this... AS GAWD AS MY WITNESS, THESE TWO MEN ARE DEAD!!!
MS: Aw heck, they'll be having drinks together after the show, what are you talking about?
BJ: ... What?
TC: Crash TV hasn't caught up with Ben's poor little heart.
MS: Where's Russo when ya need him?
[Suddenly, as the two men are lying motionless in the center of the ring as the fire blazes on, the now infamous beat begins to hit over the speakers... thump... thump... thump... thump...]
MS: Speak of the antichrist...
BJ: The leader of the rebel band of delinquents that have so graciously brought BoB this magnificent spectacle!
TC: Five syllables short of beating Mark's record...
MS: It's Vince, By Gawd, Russo!
BJ: The Ru is here baby!
["Iron Man" sounds on the speakers, and the fans are STILL cheering. Hell, if they can cheer for THis guy, they'll cheer for anyone! Maybe I oughta give it a shot...]
Narrator: Hey guys!
Narrator: ... Fuck you.
[Ok, I gave it a shot... Next time I'm giving that heckler in the third row a shot of his own, right between the eyes... Russo steps out from behind the curtain, smile the size of New York plastered across his face, as he lifts his trusty black bat high into the sky. The bat that has laid waste to many a foe, including Diamond Dallas Page, Sting, and the Deite's Dragon, Javex Valerius. Russo saunters down the ramp, comforted in the knowledge that this is HIS show, so he can do whatever he pleases. No BigBoss to spoil THIS show...]
[Vince yells at the Flunky to extinguish the fire, and so he does. Russo then climbs into the ring, gathering up a microphone from the Masked Announcer, who steps aside for the heir apparent of both the WCWF and BoB thrones... only a matter of time. Vinny Ru eyes the crowd, who are STILL standing, showing their approval of Uncle Vinny... before he motions for them to quiet down. He lifts the mic to his lips... and speaks.]
VR: First off, Flunky, remove these two losers from my ring. I've got a few points to address, and I need a clean ring to do so. SO GET THESE FUCKING FUCKHEADS OUT OF MY FUCKING RING, DAMMIT!!! [Flunky scurries in and drags both Sabby and Kev out, before receiving anymore of a verbal lashing.] Now... I just want to welcome all you St. Louis scumbags to this show [huge pop] ... You St. Louis sons-a-bitches [hugerer pop] ... YOU ALL SUCK!!! [Hulk Hogan sized pop~!!!1] ... Ok, so The Pope, the JEWS, and Kay Fabe walk into a bar- [Sinatra sized pop] [starts singing] Are you lonesome, toniiiight- [ELVIS (costello) SIZED POP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] Alright, alright, settle down. [poppier pop than any other pop in the history of pops] Ok, now, I'm blushing... [soda POP!!!] I SAID SHUT IT!!! [...] Thank you... Now, As you all know, this is MY show. The sWo's show. And tonight, in the main event, Triple S will be defending a recreated version of the WCWF Heavyweight title, that I've christened the Job-a-thon belt. And to decide WHO he will be defending this title against, I have put together a 100 man, over the top Royal Rumble, that will simply DESTROY that stupid, shoddy, thrown together crapfest BoB put on a while back... what was it... the Boring Bumble? Doesn't matter. This match will blow that half-baked cure for insomnia! 2 minute intervals, begins with 2 superstars, only eliminated when both feet touch the ground, last man standing will be headed for the main event.
VR: But... this is not the only reason I'm here. It's come to my attention that this BoB... has just one show. And that's UNACCEPTABLE!!! So, beginning after March Madness, there will be TWO shows. Comedy Central has Sunday Morning Chloroform? Well, STV will have... W... W... E!!! We Win Everything! Presented soley by the sWo!!! And Big Boss, if you don't like it? You can just kiss my red, white, and blue ASS!!!
[Russo steps out through the middle rope, walking over to the time keeper, and propping up a chair beside the announce position. Uncle Vinny picks up a pair of headphones and turns to Joss.]
VR: Yo, BJ.
BJ: Yes, Mr. Russo?
VR: Could you go to the lobby and pick me up a soda? Decaff.
BJ: Yes sir, right away sir. [BJ drops his set]
VR: Good, now that that nutsack is out of the way. Commentator, Shill. You know BoB sucks, right?
TC: Yes, been aware of that for quite some time now.
MS: It's a fact that eats away at me every waking moment...
VR: Just checking. Whadya think so far about my extravaganza?
VR: What was that?
MS: Er... It's BEEN the GREATEST EXTRAVAGANZA PRESENTED BY VINCE RUSSO THAT ACTUALLY SUCKS BUT I'M GOING TO PRETEND IT'S GREAT SO AS TO PREVENT A BEATDOWN FROM THE OVER ONE HUNDRED MEMBER TEAM OF THE SWO!!!
VR: Good, that's what I thought. ... Wait, what?
TC: So, Vinny-Ru-
VR: You call me that again, I'll break your fuckin' neck. Only my friends call me that, and no member of the BoB army is a friend of mine.
TC: Uhm... er, ah...
MS: Hey, look pal, you may be able to talk like that to Joss, you may be able to talk like that to me, but you start talking to a commentary legend like the Commentator over here, and you start treading on some thin territory, bucko.
VR: GET OFF OF MY ANNOUNCE TEAM!!! And you too Commentator!
VR: Now, or I'll call Slash down here, and you do NOT want me calling Slash down here, ya got me?
TC: Yu-yu-yes... Come on Mark, you don't want us to get our @sses kicked-
TC: ... Huh?
MS: No, TC, I'm staying right here. I've been taking crap like this for years, and I'm not about to start taking it from an outsider! You may be rich, you may be powerful, but I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to start letting you boss me around! Sure I may be a joke to Big Boss and the BoB fans, but I have emotions, Commentator has emotions, and we're humans just like you, Russo! Hell... I wouldn't even call you human. You're a cad, Russo. You don't deserve to LIVE!!!
VR: Do you know who I am?! Now, you follow your little script, and you get your ass right on out of here, before you force me to bring in Slash AND Hack.
MS: NO, DAMMIT!!! Why don't you fight your battles on your own, Russo! I've had enough of this! I'm not following your scripts or your orders!!! The only man I listen to is Big Boss. His angles may suck, and he may push talent that should never see the light of sports entertainment day, but by God, atleast he listens to his talent! Sure, he may totally disregard every word they say, no matter how on target they may actually be, but atleast he LISTENS!!! You... you truly are the antichrist of professional wrestling. You're everything this business is becoming, and should never, EVER be! But it is... and it's all because of men like you! Who don't give a flying fuck about the history of this business! Who push people based on how much ass they kiss, and NOT on how far they've come... You want the best for those that have done the best for YOU, not this business. Well... I'm sick and tired of it. And if it's a war the sWo wants, its a war you're gonna get! Men like me... men like Commentator here... we've had it up to HERE with men like you. BoB's a joke, I know that. But I'll be damned if someone that hasn't LIVED that joke is going to make fun of it. You won't spit on this company, Russo. Not like you did WWE. Not like you did WCW. Not like you did TNA. The only ones that are going to spit on this company are those that have spit on it from the inside for the last five years. Working their asses off, for little to no pay. For the man that's led this business to... well... led this company to... well, pretty much hell. But he's done it all in the interest of the fans... what little we have... But you? The only man you think of is yourself. You're using the sWo just like you have so many others, and eventually, it's going to turn around and bite you right in ass. Mark my words, Russo... mark my words.
MS: No matter how many lives you destroy for your own selfish use... no matter how many souls you use to your own will... no matter how many men you throw away because they're of no use to you anymore... there is always someone out there... staring down at you... knowing what you're doing... knowing what you've done... and one day... one day. All this shit you've thrown in the face of the fans, every dream you've twisted into a nightmare, and every step you've taken on your path to create an empire of filth and demorality... it shall all come to a head. Soon, Russo... sooner than you think.
MS: No matter how long it takes... no matter how close you come to ultimate power... The bridges you've burned... the friends you've stabbed in the back... They shall come back to haunt you... far into your dying days. I curse you Russo... for BoB... for Big Boss... I CURSE YOU TO HELL!!!
MS: Now... Commentator... now. Let's go.
TC: ... Uh... Ok.
[Mark grabs Commentator by the wrist and leads him off, as Russo props his feet up on the table, arms crossed. He stares as Shill and TC make their way out of Gordon Gardens... leaving this show behind, and heading back home to the BoB arena... Russo looks on... and smiles...]
WCWF: Where the Impossible... is Possible.
BoB has had a plethora of match stipulations.
But have they ever had a chocolate pudding pogo death match?
Oh... which house show?
WCWF: Originality is a tough job... but we're working on it.
[We open up to the parking lot, where The Commentator is inside Shill's car, and Mark is beside the open driver's door, about to get inside... when a screeching sound is heard. Shill turns his head- Just to be slammed into the side of the car by... a HUMMER! A white hummer, to be exact! The hummer backs out, and Shill crumples to the gravel. The Commentator flings the passenger's side door open and stares down at the bloodied body of his partner. He gazes up... seeing the Hummer resting in neutral... lights shone on the Commentator's saucer-like eyes... The hummer's light shut down, and the door opens... The Commetnator begins to breathe heavily, afraid of who... what... this could be. The door slams shut, shadows hiding the figure of the driver...]
[And then... the driver steps out of the shadows...]
TC: No... By Gawd no...
MA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Standing tall in the ring, at a towering 75 feet, he is the former3 time You Gotta Be Kidding, I Ain't Doing That, Are you Out of Your Frickin' Mind Champion; Zilllllllllllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! And on his way to the ring-
JCL: Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, let me speak on this! You call yourself Zilla cuz you bigger than a house.
I strap on my Nike's, gonna squash you like a mouse!
They say bigger is better, and all that jazz.
You step up, bee-yotch, and I'll knock ya on ya azz!
You want some, get some, gimme me all ya got.
But'cha best be big enough to take a Long shot.
Cuz when JC get's illin', JC starts killin',
JC start thrillin' like a billin' till he's chillin'!
So drop me a line, when you get back home.
And while you be sleepin' in ya bed, I'll give ya dog a-
VR: BONE!!! Bwahahahahahahahah! I love that guy. No Pete Trabel, but he's good. And here comes the fatass. Howya doin' fatass? Brought my soda? Made sure it was caffeinated, right?
BJ: (gasping for air) W... Wait... Sir... Did... Didn't you say... God that's a long walk... Didn't you say-
VR: THIS ISN'T CAFFEINATED!!! I strictly said caffeinated, jackass! [Crushes the can over Ben's forehead] Now, go get me my damn CAFFEINATED soda, ya fat fucktard!
BJ: Yes... yes sir... *wheez*
VR: God, whadya gotta do to get good service these days. Hey, how ya doin' down there, Barbie?
[The back of Barbie "The Bride"'s head emerges from beneath the desk... Man, Russo's lucky.]
BB: Just fine, baby. Is there anything else I can do for you?
VR: Mmm... nope, that'll be about it. You keep this up and I may get you a spot toward the end of the Rumble, how's that sound?
BB: Heehee, sounds great, boss.
VR: Now, get back to work.
BB: Of course. [And there she goes... Man, Russo's lucky. Did I mention that already? Cuz, man... Russo's lucky...]
VR: Alright, Long stares up... up... UP at Zilla, who makes me glad we installed that new sun roof. Long bounces off the ropes... flies into the air with the crossbody... and... slams directly into Zilla's ankle. Man... Long got all the air he could on that one, and he didn't even reach Zilla's knee. Zilla reaches down, picks Long off his ankle, and lifts him into the sky... and this is gonna be a long night, I can already tell. Then again... DAMN!!! Slammage!!! Zilla just... fell to the mat! And Long is on top! 1........ 2........ 3!!! Now how in the hell did THAT happen? The entire ring's been crushed beneath the weight of Zilla's carcass, and now- WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?! A helicopter is lowering through the open sun roof! A ladder is being lowered, and... Wait... is that Commentator gagged and tied in the back of that 'copter? Who the hell is this, and why the fuck is he interrupting MY show?!
[Well, why don't ya go find out for yourself?]
VR: Ya know what, I think I will.
[And there he goes... man, I was just joking... Russo drops the headset, and slides into the ring, mic in hand, as the ladder lowers into the center of the ring... and someone's coming out of the driver's side of the heli- HOLY HELL!!! It's... it's...]
VR: SHANE!!! You BASTARD!!! What the fuck's the meaning of this shit?!
MB: [yelling through a megaphone at Russo, while climbing down the ladder] Vince, long time, no see, eh? It's been a while since I fired your butt, hasn't it? Say... about a month?
VR: Uhm... er... YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!!!
MB: Oh contrair, my Russo. I've talked with BigB, and I've secured a match.
VR: With who?!
MB: Heheh... [Shane hops off the ladder, and into the ring] With YOU!
MB: Yup. In the first EVER Triple Decker Trailer match!
VR: You stole my idea! It's obviously a rip-off of the Triple Cage!
MB: Well, it's payback for all those ideas you stole from BigB. I mean, an actor as the World Champion? You KNOW Biggie was in talks with Marlon Wayans LONG before you gave the strap to Arquette!
VR: Phfff... Ok, you want a match with me? FINE. But what about my tag match with Reeve against the Psuedo-Icons?
MB: I guess that'll just have to be a handicap match, now won't it?
VR: Hmph. Fine. You. Me. Semi-Main Event. Under ONE condition.
MB: And what's that?
VR: I win, you leave me and my business with this company alone. Capice?
MB: Great. And I win, I take over the sWo.
VR: Grrr... ok. Fine. I'll see you in the triple-wide!
MB: Heheh... ciao.
[The ladder rises, and Shane heads to the back, and onward to the trailers in the backyard. A single, atop a double, atop a triple-wide trailer. That one'll be a doozy... Russo looks back at the crowd, who have become silent at this shocking turn of events. Or maybe they're just bored of staring at crap all day. Have they finally come to their senses? Find out, NEXT!]
[Wait a minute... What about the Commentator? And why would Shane crash into Mark Shill... Let's head backstage!]
MB: Mmmheheheh... All is going according to plan.
[We open up to the backyard, where Shane is inside the bottom trailer, staring into a seemingly blank television screen.]
MB: Russo's so stupid... He'd never guess I wasn't really Shane in a millin years... [turns his head to the back of the trailer] And YOU! You shall be the key to my success, and the destruction of the sWo... forEVER!!!
TC: But... I HATE THE SWO!!!
MB?: Bwahahahahah! It's already working! Your mind is melting, and your bending to my will!
TC: ... Sir, I already hated the sWo. And why you would need me to destroy them... I haven't a clue.
"MB": Look, [pulls off his face... wait... it's a mask! It's... Francis? Without the clown nose, that is... ... Sting?] NO!!! Stung. The forgotten member of the sWo. Shane just discarded me. And buddied up with that damndable Russo... they took over, creating the Industry, and they totally forgot about me. Well, I don't take being forgotten easily. I am going to destroy Russo, AND the sWo, all in one shot!
TC: But... uh... Shane doesn't own the sWo anymore. Reeve does.
Stung: Oh, you silly, silly mortal. Reeve Gordon is the COUSIN of Shane McMahon Bryant. Shane owns that stupid WCWF, and gave control of one HALF of the sWo over to Reeve. He took this control, along with Triple S, Hack, and Slash, and asked them to work part time for both WCWF and BoB. Which means, over in that idiotic federation of Shane's, the sWo lives as well! BUT, with control of the BoB incarnation of the group, I can take over this ppv, and FORCE Shane to come to this arena, and save his precious Russo.
TC: ... So... uh... where do I come in?
Stung: I haven't trained for a match in 3 years. You, my jolly round jelly bean, will give me the DNA, along with that of Shill, to create a super protein potion to build up the strength to defeat Russo!
TC: ... By Gawd you must be weak, if you need the strength of two announcers to defeat Vince By Gawd Russo in a fight.
Stung; ... SHUT UP!!! I know what the hell I'm doing, ok? I don't need your advice on how to destroy my adversaries! All I need from you is your penis.
TC: ... Say what now?
Stung: Your penis. There's loads upon loads of protein in your penis! And I will eat both yours and Shill's, and throw up in a vanilla milkshake, then DRINK the milkshake, thus giving me the endurance I need to take out The Ru!
TC: ... Are you on crack?
Stung: Now, to bring out Shill! [Stung walks toward a curtained off area of the trailer, and pulls it back... revealing... nothing.] What the- *WAM!!!*
TC: By Gawd...
WCWF: Where the Impossible... is Possible.
Ok... you've driven it out of me.
It was at day camp.
And I had a couple too many Zema's.
But it was just that ONE time.
I'm not proud of it...
But it happened.
Can we move on now?
WCWF: Life's an expirement in a supermarket. We're on the Frankenstein aisle.
MA: The following contest is a Steel Match!
VR: Steel match...
MA: In the right corner, weighing in at 200 pounds, and at a height of 6 feet, he is the work of that wild and crazy guy Dr. Azathoth, he's Atomo, the Living Robooooooooooottttttttttttttttttt!!! And, in the left corner, weighing in at a ton, and that's BEFORE going on an unstoppable drinking binge, he hails from the fabulous world of Futurama, please welcome, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR!!! Get it on!
VR: Alright, how am I supposed to call this shit... Bender wobbles toward Atomo... Atomo wobbles toward Bender... Bender looks drunk as hell... Atomo looks like... well... like he normally does. The two robos make their way toward the center of the ring... and... Atomo tips over. Bender wobbles a bit more, before throwing up on Atomo, and fall over himself.
GR: 1! 2! 3! Your winner: Bender!
Bender: Ergh... shouldn't have drank that keg with Little Good earlier... or atleast should have actually let him have a drop... Blargh *throwing up sound*...
VR: ... Damn. Well slimebags, it looks like a cartoon character has beaten a BoB superstar. Can you take a hint? And now, I'm joined by two of the greatest mic men in the biz, "The Choosy One" Double Gay, and the best in the Game, the Mang-ah, he's just that... dern... jawesome; Triple S! How ya doin', boys?
SSS: Great, Vinny-Ru. How are you today?
VR: Couldn't be better. Are you ready for the REAL action to begin?
SSS: Sure am.
GG: So, when do I get my match?
VR: You already did.
SSS: And ya lost, LOSER!
GG: ... I am, like, sooo outa here. Catch you two lates.
VR: YOU'RE GAY!!!
GG: Like, for sure. Ciao, babes.
GG: ... I'm gone.
GG: ... I am, like, sooo-
VR: And stop with that damn "...". It gets annoying after the fourtieth time.
GG: WELL FINE! FUCK YOU! I quit...
GG: Oh, I couldn't stay mad at you, Uncle Vinny. You want me to take over for Barbie down there?
VR: GOD NO!!! You can stay as long as you keep your damn mouth shut. And after that last remark, I mean SHUT! Yuck...
SSS: You're sick, ya know that Jeff.
GG: Hey guy, I told you not to call me by my real name!
SSS: Ooooo, I'm so scared. What are ya gonna do-ah, huh?
GG: GUITAR SHOT TO TRIPS!
SSS: Don't EVEN think about it.
GGG: Ha! What do you think about that!
SSS: YOU GET THAT EXTRA G OFF RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!!!
Geoff Gones: Did somebody call for me?
SSS: ... Who the hell are you?
GG: I'm motherfucking Geoff Gones! I heard SOMEBODY say god-damn Geoff!
SSS: No, I said-
GG: Hey, slappy!
GG: You stole my initials! Only one Double G can talk on this team! So butt out!
GG: Why dontcha make me, douche!
GG: Don't mind if I do! GUITAR SHOT TO GEOFF!!! *CRASH*
[And Geoff is knocked out like a light. Wait... who the hell would KO a light fixture?]
SSS: Now, as I was saying-
VR: Hold on Trips, I'm getting word from the back that the limousine of HollyRock and MantusLove has arrived in the parking lot! Lets send our cameras back there right now!
[The cameras open up to a shiny new black limo, where a chauffer is opening the door for the two WCWF stars. First, out comes MantusLove, a fat man dressed in an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a tie-dyed tee, wearing a mask resembling that worn by the late, great, Dannimal Kekter. He reaches into his flannel pocket, and pulls out... Mr. Jocko! AKA, a jockstrap with a smileyface scrawled in marker. Mantus slides the strap over his right hand, to the queesy stomachs of viewers across the nation. Love steps aside, as-
HR: No, no, no! Sam, The HollyRock said he does NOT want to work on another Terentino flick, ok? Last time he made the HollyRock wear leather. The HollyRock does NOT wear leather, do you hear me? Denim and khakis, I can do, but NO leather! Now, I've got to go, I've got one of those match thingees to do before I head off to my next movie. These suckers will pay ANYTHING to see the HollyRock's overrated ass make his annual appearance. ... [turns to the camera] Is that thing on? ... [shuts the phone off] Heyyyy! FINALLY... the HollyRock... has-come-BACK! To.... uh... Yo Mantus, where are we again?
ML: Mmmphhah rhahahul.
HR: Dammit, Love, didn't the HollyRock tell you not to speak with that stupid monkey ass mask covering your ugly face? [removes the mask, and takes one look at Love's face... before putting the mask back on] On second thought... just don't talk. Ok, the HollyRock is back for the millions- [crowd shouts 'and millions!'] - of the HollyRock's fans, and- *ring, ring* Hold on for just one second. [HollyRock pulls out his cell and flips it open... he nods his head a few times...] Really?! ET2: Clone Wars, you say? Hmmm... the HollyRock says your on! Forget this match, The HollyRock gets more cash in one movie than he does a whole year working these trashy arenas. Alright, it's a deal, I'll be over in 5. Ciao, babe. *click* Ok, sorry Mantus, the reunion of the Rock and Jock Connection will have to wait another year. But, I may as well fit this in for the extra mil: IF YA SMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLALALALALALALA- *ring, ring* Uhm... Alright. Mantus, The PeopleTM, it's been fun. Seeya in a year.
The PeopleTM : Ho-llyRo-cky, Ho-llyRo-cky, Ho-llyRo-cky, Ho-llyRo-cky!!!
[HollyRock gets back into the limo, and the chauffer speeds off in a cloud of smoke, leaving Mantus all by his lonesome. Wait... his match is next! And he's gotta face three people! Who will come to his aid?!?!?!?!?!]
[Well... apparently nobody. As soon as Love went to the ring, he awaited someone, ANYONE to come to his aid... but an hour later, he was still waiting. That is, after the team of the Agency and the Snapmare Kid had kicked his @ss from pillar to post. Sadly, they actually took turns kicking his ass, making it all the more embarrasing. But that's what he's become famous for over all these... days. Taking a can of whoop ass like a man. Too bad that's about all he does... Oh, and here comes little Tyke to add to the beating... Folks, this is getting... monotonous, really. So let's head back to the trailer.]
MS: So... what are we gonna do with him?
TC: Let's grind his bones to make some bread.
MS: ... You're one sick individual.
[Commentator and Shill stand over the fallen body of Stung, black bat in Shill's hand. Commentator pokes Stung with a stick.]
MS: I think he's out.
MS: You don't have to poke him anymore, he's pretty much KO'ed.
TC: Whadya mean?
MS: ... Nevermind. So, where we going to put him?
TC: Garbade chutes are great hiding places!
MS: Great! So, where is it?
TC: I don't think there is one.
MS: ... You're absolutely no help.
MA: The following contest is a fatal fourway elimination match, and is to crown the first ever WCWF Shanecore champion!
[An explosion of red pyro sets off on stage, and Finger Eleven's new smash hit, "I'm Listening" plays over the PA system. WCWF superstar Krane comes out through the curtains, dressed in black suit with blood red tie, black and red face mask, and shoulder-length hair, with a bit of a bald spot on top. He's built like... a man in his late 30's. He walks down the aisle, solemn expression showing through the firey mask, before stepping over the top rope and into the ring.]
MA: From the hell known as Seattle, Washington, he is former radio psychologist, and current monster from hades: Kraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaane!!!
[The lights dim, before... another explosion sets off on stage, this time of white pyro. "Break the Walls Down", remixed by Cher, plays on the speakers, and WCWF dudester Y2Jerkoff stands, back turned to the cheering audience, arms extended to his sides... before he turns around and accepts the applause of this massive congregation. Y2Jerkoff saunters down the ramp with a smug smile, before hopping up on the apron, and planting one foot on the inside of the ring, through the ropes, as he gazes out at the fans. He then climbs inside, and goes nose to nose with the monster Krane.]
MA: He is the Ayatollah of My Sharona, the KING of... uh... something. Y-2-JERKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFF!!!
[The organs strike up on the system, welcoming the feared fleece phenom. Undietaker walks through the curtain, stomping down the ramp, and climbing on the ring, and through the ropes, and really, this is getting rather old fast, so let's just scoot right on over to-
[The lights begin to flicker rapidly, as the fans come alive! It's the man they call - Francis! Francis lowers himself down on the cable cord, red nose in towe, before snapping the chord and dropping in the center of the ring. The rules for this one are simple: Four men, one ring, last man standing walks away with the gold.]
MA: Let's get it on!
[Undie charges toward Francis, who simply extends an arm, which Undie rams himself into. Francsi reaches down and picks up Undie, whipping him into the ropes, and leapfrogging over him on the rebound. Undie bounces off the other set of ropes, and Francis turns around, and launches into the spinning forearm, knocking Undie on his ass. Francis hops on the second rope, and leaps off with a fist right smack dab to the face. Undie shakes violently, selling the fist like a champ. On the other side of the ring, Y2Jerkoff is being pummeled unmercifully by the killer Krane. The monster bounces off one set of ropes, the other, and drops the leg over Y2Jerkoff's chest. Krane pcisk Y2Jerkoff off the mat and drapes him over his shoulder, as Undie does the same to Francis, and the two behemoths run toard eachother... before clobbering their javeline-like opponents' heads directly into eachother! Francis and Y2Jerkoff drop to the canvas, before Krane and Undietaker stare eachother dead center in the eyes.]
[And there go the fists! Taker slams his right into Krane's jaw, only adding fury to the monster's arsenal. Krane returns the favor with a horrific left to the forehead. Taker then raises a blade from his pocket and I don't think I'm supposed to be reporting this... Ok, Oooooooooo Taker sporting the crimson mask! ... Yeah, sorta ruined it, didn't I... Anyhow, Krane grabs Taker by the arm and whips him into the corner. Krane backs up into the opposite corner, and then charges into his 'brother' with a massive clothesline... but misses entirely when Taker scurries out of the way. Krane bashes his skull into the post, turns around, and catches a GARGANTUAN boot to the mug! Krane backs back, bouncing off the ropes, and right into a vicous chokeslam, straight to the fiery pits of hell! Taker lowers and tries for the pin: 1............ 2......... kick out!!! Krane kicked out of the chokeslam!!!]
[Meanwhile, Y2Jerkoff and Francis have rolled to the outside of the ring. Francis gather his barings, and glares at Y2Jerkoff. The Showman backs up a few steps, back up the ramp... Y2Jerkoff slowly rises to his feet, and- WAMMO!!! Flying clothesline off the crowd barrier! Francis mounts Y2Jerkoff and lands in the fists, right after left after right after left, before getting off and reaching under the ring... pulling out a table! Francis sets the table up against the turnbuckle, and grabs Y2Jerkoff by the wrist... but he pulls Francis in instead, sending Francis slamming headfirst into the barrier!!! Francis bounces off the barrier, right into a schoolboy from Y2Jerkoff: 1....... 2....... kickout!]
[INCOMING!!! Taker soars over the top rope with the flying clothesline, colliding with Y2Jerkoff, and the two slam into the barrier!!! Francis hurridly slides into the ring to avoid any further chaos... but is NOT in luck, as he runs right into the- I'M LISTENING!!! Yes, the move in which Krane big boots his way right through his opponent's ear canal!!! Krane pulls out the boot, and Francis falls to the ground. Krane goes for the cover: 1......2......3!!! Francis is eliminated!]
[Back on the outside, The Undietaker is whipping on Y2Jerkoff like a government mule (BJ's note: Quit stealing my catchphrases, asshole!). Taker whips Y2Jerkoff into the ringsteps, sending him hurtling over, and onto the floor. Y2Jerkoff uses every bit of strength left in his reserve, when... BAMMO!!! Flying, somersault clothesline from Undie!]
[Y2Jerkoff wasted on the floor from that massive clothesline, reaches out desperately to pull himself up by the apron... when... BIG MOTHER FRICKIN' BOOT!!! And then: 1... 2...
[Y2Jerkoff has been eliminated from the equation, and folks, it's down to two men. The Undietaker... and Krane. Brothers seperated at birth, and now, they collide on the biggest stage of them all: Wrasslemania 48! After years of exile by his father and former manager of Undie, Smaul Dearier, Krane his finally entered the squared-circle to seek revenge on the man that has risen to fame while he was left in a basement with little food and even less porno. Very sad times... He's back... and this time...]
[He will rise above the fleece.]
[Taker stands before Krane... The masked monster staring right back into those beady little eyes of the Hanes Man... And then... they fight! Krane delves in for the lockup, and Undie obliges, before tosses Krane into the ropes... Krane comes back, ducking under the clothesline... he bounds off the other set of ropes with a boot, but Undie ducks under this... sending Krane to be caught up on the top rope! Ouch, now that's GOTTA hurt! Undie turns around... and smiles. He reaches down... and pulls up Krane's undies, right over his masked head! Right before lifting him up, and- HURRICANRANA!!! OH - MY - GOD!!! The giant Krane has just hurricanranad Taker over, with Krane's undies still pulled over his face! And Undie falls to the canvas like a sack of soiled undergarments! Krane slowly pulls the undies off his face... looks down... and slides his forefinger across his throat!]
[He wouldn't! He couldn't! HE IS!!! Krane picks up Undie, turns him upside down, and drops him right on his head with the dreaded Fear of Falling!!! Krane goes for the win: 1....... 2....... KICKOUT!!! Undie just kicked out of the Fear of Falling! Krane slams his fist against the mat, before picking up the Taker. Krane drapes Taker over his shoulder, rushes in toward the turnbuckle, and - The Krane Komplex!!! AKA, the Snake Eyes, followed by the swinging neckbreaker. Krane drops to a knee, and places a hand over Taker's chest.]
[1......... 2............ 3!!! Krane has eliminated his brother! Krane has won the match! Krane has won the Shanecore title!!! It's a momentous occasion folks, and it's only in WCWF!!!]
WCWF: Where the Impossible... is Possible.
When the world looks at you as a loser...
When you never seem to catch a break...
When all seems lost...
Believe me... it's not getting any better.
WCWF: About the only company willing to hire you. Yeah, we said it.
VR: Alright Trips, whadya say? Let's start the Rumble.
SSS: Sounds like a plan, Vince. What do you think, Gay?
SSS: IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!
SSS: I crack me up.
MA: Ladies and gentlemen, the next match is the One Hundred Man Over the Top Royal Rumble for the #1 Contendership to the Job-a-Thon Championship. First, in the ring, he is one half of the tag team of STV, Travis! And on his way to the ring-
"So... ya think you're a BoBster? sWo-rd Life!"
[Trabel's remix of 'Word Life' skitters across the speaker system, as the fans come unglued. Pete waltzes out from the back in an ice blue throwback and backwards baseball cap, golden padlock wrapped around his neck, throwing up a few various gang signs that problem don't really mean a damn thing. Trabel slaps a few hands on his way to the ring, before picking up a mic from the Flunky, and beginning to bust a few fresh rhymes.]
"Alright, alright, alright. Chil, chill... Travis from STV, you must be kiddin'.
You look more like an STD, that BVD be pistol-whippin'.
You crack me up, ya know that? With ya funny jokes and gags.
Too bad your ass is gonna be wasted when I drop you in a garbage bag.
Cartoons are for pussies, I take my tunes on the beat box.
You may be comic gold on Sundays, but in real life, I got more on my knuckles than Fort Knox.
Tonight, you're the first, of 99 to get they ass kicked.
And when Barbie's numbers called? She can do just like BigBoss can, and suck-my-"
VR: DICK!!! Man, JC Long's got a run for his money!
SSS: That he does, that he does...
VR: And the two men collide, Travis going for a toekick, but Pete reversing it into an ankle lock! Travis immediately goes into a tapping fury, but that ain't gonna do him a damn bit of good!
SSS: Tha'ts right, Vince. That bitch Travis is going to have to be thrown over the top before we don't have to look at his ugly ass face anymore!
VR: Trabel releases the lock, and pulls off his chain, before tying it around his fist! Looks like we're going to see a face full of pad, baby! And I LOVE IT!
SSS: YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, LACKEY!!! You're only on the hierarchy because you have that damn cell phone. We have too many important things to get to worry about cells and the bills that go along with 'em.
VR: Yeah, like robot hands that crack omelets!
SSS: Yeah! So just shut your pie-hole and let the brains behind this group do what they do best; talk!
VR: Travis gets up... grabs onto the rope with all his might, turs around, and... BAM!!! Bwahahahaha, face full of knuckles!!!
SSS: And Travis is DOWN!!!
MA: Coming up next, Travis's tag partner, BobHead!!!
[The theme of the Travis and BobHead cartoon strikes up on the PA, and BobHead storms down the ramp, leaping into the ring and jumping on Trabel's back.]
VR: He's got that headlock on like a rabid monkey!
SSS: This is getting ugly, Vince.
VR: Yeah... you're right. Masked Announcer! Announce the next participant!
MA: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG DADDY!!!
SSS: He totally lengthened the wrong portion of the name...
VR: You're so right. Masked Announcer!
VR: GET OUT OF MY ARENA!!!
VR: Yeah, that's right! Get back to BoB where you're wanted!
MA: I'm wanted in BoB...
VR: I SAID GET!!!
MA: Razza-frackin' summina... Why I oughta... [walks out of the ring] If BoB payed me enough, you'd be hearing from my lawyer! So you better be glad, mister!!!
SSS: What a loser.
[Greg Daddy slides into the ring and takes after STV, whipping Travis into the ropes, and slamming into him with a clothesline. Greg Daddy pumps his fist into the air, and heads to the top of the turnbuckle, readying himself for something big... Travis gets to his feet [eh!] and turns around... GLOCKBUSTER!!! The rolling neckbreaker from the top rope, bringing Travis back to the canvas. Greg bounces off the ropes, leaps into the air, and brings down a heavy elbow, right in the heart of the cartoon rolemodel. Greg gets up, and- dropkick to the back of the head from Trabel, sending Greg to the outside!!! One sWo Z-team member has been eliminated!]
VR: Dammit... and I was rooting for that guy. Uhm... what's his name again?
SSS: Vince... he's on our team. Greg Daddy?
VR: Who? I mean... him! Of course.
[BobHead assaults Peter from behind, ramming a knee into the small of the back, nearly cracking the rapmaster's spinal cord. Pete turns around, only to catch a double dropkick from STV... but instead of tumbling to the outside, he simply bounces off the ropes, and slams into both Travis AND BobHead with a double clothesline!]
Scuzz: Back Road Billyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!
VR: And there's Billy from behind, with a baby alligator in hand! He slaps the gator upside BobHead's face, causing him to become draped across the ropes. BobHead untangles himself... before catching a flying Travis to the skull. Wait, what...
SSS: Trabel just threw Travis into BobHead, mang-ah!
VR: You're the Mang-ah!
SSS: I know, mang-ah! Dang-ah!
SSS: Uhhhh-ah.... Anyway, Bob tumbles to the outside, Travis standing on the apron. Billy flies into the air, gator in towe... He comes down with the gator... and... and...
VR: GATOR TO TRAVIS! GATOR TO TRAVIS! GATOR TO TRAVIS!
SSS: Travis was just eliminated by a baby aligator!
VR: And Trabel comes from behind Billy and lifts him up and over! Billy's gone! Hey Barbie, get your ass in there and tussle with Trabel. Make sure to get your hair all messed up, I love it when girls' hair is messed up! It's pure ratings, baby!
BB: Mmmkekpphh pphhuiioadd...
SSS: Heheh, Vince, seems like her mouth's full.
VR: Awww... yup, I'd say so. Alright, let's see a few more jobbers, er, Z-team members in this thing before my darling Barbie enters the ring. Scuzz, let's have five more!!!
Scuzz: Rightio, boss. Bubba Gump! Birdboy! Bait! Ed Tenta Shaw! DJ Rawkus! Come on down!!!
VR: Bubba slams into Birdboy, Bait is clobbering Rawkus, Ed is all over Trabel! This is GREAT!!! Completely impossible to tell what's going on, indecipherable action, not an actual wrestling hold in sight! This is my kind of wrestling, baby!
SSS: It's a full out pier six brawl, dude! This is WICKED!!!
[Gump whips Birdboy into the ropes, and comes up with a lou thesz press, followed by a full on knuckle sandwich fest to the face of Da Bird Guy. Gump rolls off, hops up, and-
VR: CLOTHESLINE FOM TENTA!!! Gump to the outside, and Ed is in control of this one. He turns his focus to DJ Rawkus and Bait...
SSS: The big man slams both these losers heads into eachother, and they're BOTH knocked out!
VR: Tenta drags Bait to the corner, heads to the top... and... BIG BUTT BUMP!!! Bait is CRUSHED beneath that gelatinous tub of goo!
SSS: Awww, that's mean Vince. And people wonder why I've always modeled after you!
VR: Tenta picks up Bait and throws him over the top rope! Bait gone!
SSS: Trabel slingshots Rawkus into the far ropes, and on his return- BACK BODY DROP!
VR: At this rate, we may just finish this Rumble before Dubbya gets his ass kicked out of the oval office!
SSS: Aw hell, it's going to be a BIT longer than that!
[Well, while this thing's going on, we're going to head on back to the trailers, to see if Shill and the Commentator have disposed of the body...]
MS: So... Where'd you put him?
TC: Wait... you wanted ME to get rid of him? I thought YOU were going to?
MS: ... You jackass.
[We open to the outside of the bottom trailer, where Mark is lambasting TC for not doing a damn thing with Stung.]
MS: Ok... not to worry. I'll just plant him up in the top trailer. Russo will NEVER make it that far up before he realizes "Shane" is actually just a cotton-filled dummy in a $2 souvenir stand Shane-o-mac Bry mask!
TC: So... I just-
MS: You just stay here, and I'll drag that Francis rip-off to the top trailer. See you in thirty minutes.
[Camera switches view to the BoB interview set, set up in the Lobby, where Dennis is standing next to co-leader of the sWo, Reeve. Reeve will be facing both members of the Distorted Icons in a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match. Let's listen in.]
Dennis: I say, my good Reevie old chap, would you mind giving us a word or t-
Reeve: PEDIGREE TO DENNIS!!! [Reeve pedigrees Dennis, before snatching the mic] Ok, TNA rejects known as the 'Bobsters'!!! Your asses are set for a tidal wave of pain in the form of the sWo, and you better be damn well glad that we were kind enough to ALLOW you to take part in a ppv at MY illustrious arena! If it weren't for me, you'd be relegated to children's bar mitvah's, and day care centers!!! Which you have been for the last five years, but now? Now that all changes! Starting after March Madness, the sWo will be presenting to you: WWE - We Win Everything, emenating from THIS very arena! Each show, we will be conducting special sitdown interviews with the greatest stars of... BOB!!! Bwahahahahahah, what an oxymoron! I crack me up... But anyhell, we will have classic bouts from the archives of my career, as well as matches in which the sWo will be taking on both BoB losers, as well as men stupid enough to step into the ring with our warriors of the squared-circle! But right now, tonight, I have been forced into a handicap match against John Skeet and Steve Leary, the Disgruntled Eye-sores or some such nonsense. IT DOESN'T MAKE A DAMN BIT OF DIFFERENCE!!! I'll take them on, and anyone else BoB throws in my way of claiming what so rightfully belongs to me: The Only World Title That Matters! And at March Madness, it all comes to pass!!! For I am the God of the sWo, the God of wrestling, and the God... of the UNIVERSE!!! I am Reeve, hear me ROOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!
VR: Ah, it's nice to hear a promisng younge piece of talent like Reeve lay down an award-winning promo like that, isn't it Trips?
SSS: Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. He's no H. God bless my bro'...
VR: Don't worry. I do!
VR: But seriously folks, fift men are in this ring, and in a few seconds the one hundredth and LAST man will be entering.
SSS: We have some of the best, and that's a stretch, of the sWo Z-team in here. From Trabel to Barbs, and 48 other idiots I'm not going to take the precious time to name.
VR: And Scuzz, who's the last man?
Scuzz: Uhhh... ohmiga'... you WON'T believe this...
VR: What? Don't tell me Alex Smith got his lazy rear up and decided to come down here anyway?
Scuzz: No... you're not going to like this.
SSS: What do you-
*CRASH!* *CRUSH!* *CRISHLE*
Vinny Ru: What the...
[As soon as these words leave Russo's mouth, the crowd lifts from their seats, and explode into the biggest pop of the night [and that's saying something from this group of pathetic excuses for human waste], as LUKE WARM! LUKE WARM! BY GAWD LUKE WARM! steps out through those velvet curtains, middle fingers in the air, showing off for the crowd, before speeding on down the aisle, and rushing into the ring.]
VR: NO!!! THIS CAN'T BE!!!
SSS: STONECUTTER TO Fanboy!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO G.I. Slow!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Barry Brown!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Ben Dover!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Hector "Crude" Oil!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO The Ultimate Worrier!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Neige Thirteen!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Ensign Dick Groper!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Fumbducker Leon!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Fumbducker Diontray!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Identity Crisis Man!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Pedro Chang the Chinese Spic!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Flatline!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Colonel Khorne!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO "Too Fat" Matt!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO The Flaskmaster!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO The Undietaker!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Sgt. Genocide!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Fullah Shiite!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Feminine Mystique!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Homicidal Hank!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO TransContinental Jim!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Herbert T. Romaine!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Premslwvk!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO The Fire Chief!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO George!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Garry "The Gurney" Green!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO K-Con!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Mr. Intensity!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO "Slightly Gay" Ray!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Captain Twilight!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Sleazy-C !!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Enrique Espanyola!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Dizzy Desi!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Choads Moker!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Dean Kamen!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Da Sassy Bitch!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Blackjack Hooligan!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Claude Leroux!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Colossal Cranium Chris!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Ignacius Cody!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Bivalve!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO "Cap" Larrie!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Buffalo!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Shaw!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Captain Obvious!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Birdboy!!!!!
STONECUTTER TO Trable!!!!!
And all fifty of them toppled to the ground outside the ring! It's down to two men! Luke Warm, and-
VR: STONE HOT! STONE HOT! BY GAWD, STONE HOT! That sonofabitch better win this thing, or I'm going to be pissed!!! Come on Stone Hot, kick that bastard's ass!!!
SSS: Uhm... Vince?
SSS: Luke just stonecutted Dawson over the top rope.
VR: ... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! DAMMIT, DAMMIT, GOD DIDDLY DAMMIT!!!
Scuzz: Your winner, and new #1 Job-a-thon contender: Luke Waaaaaaaaaaaaaarm!!!
VR: NO, DAMMIT, NO! He's not in the damn sWo! He does NOT deserve the fucking spot in the main event!!!
SSS: Sorry boss... them's the breaks.
VR: No... it's not going down this way. I've got a plan. Watch how a man takes care of his business, Trips.
SSS: Go get him, Unc!
[Russo stands up from the booth and throws the phones down with some static. He stomps up to the ring, and grabs a mic right out of Scuzz's hands.]
VR: LUKE WARM!!! DAMMIT, LUKE WARM!!! This is not how I had planned it!!! Trabel was supposed to win this thing, and job out to Triple S! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!!! Now... you PAY!!! In the main event, you will face Triple S... in a 2 out of 3 falls match! First fall, five count streetfight! Second fall, best of five tables! And if neccessary, which knowing Trips, it won't be, but if it is, you will both compete... in a Job-a-thon.
Luke Warm: Now what in tarnation is a Job-a-thon, WHAT?!
VR: Well, I'm glad you asked. You will both be given a set amount of jobbers to job out. And, the man to job those jobbers out in the alloted time, shall become the Job-a-thon champion. Simple, eh?
Luke Warm: Hmmm... YOU'RE ON!!! Now, give me a few cans, we're gonna have us a Stacker Chew YJTobacker bash!
[With Russo eyeing him furiously from the outside, Luke Warm gulped down a few YJTobacker's on the turnbuckle, as the camera faded out on the ring...]
[And fading back on the ring, with the sounds of cookie jars crashing in the background. Hardcore Double J is standing in the middle of the ring, ref's shirt on, and it looks like we're ready for the first match of our quadruple main event. The long awaited meeting between BoB star and WCWF superstar: 'The Next Big Thingee' Dustbuster Boy vs CatDogBerg!!! The 3 year old holds the mic, and begins the introductions.]
JJ: Alright, I got a bedtime in 30 minutes, so we need to hurry this thing up. First up, to my right, already in the ring, he's the so-called 'Next Big Thingee', and the current Swiss Army Champ, he may be 5 feet taller than me, but I could probably kick his ass before night night, Dustbin Rooooooooooooooooy!!!
[Kind of a shaky intro there, by the 3 year old wrasslin' prodigy... The fans begin chanting "CatDogBeeeeeeerg, CatDogBeeeeeeerg, CatDogBeeeeeeerg!", and it looks as if it's time for Da Freak to come on down! The MammothTron shows a legion of janitors standing outside what would appear to be a janitorial closet, only with a carboard sign duct taped on with the name 'CatDogBerg' markered on. The door begins to wobble, as a solid drum beat begins to play over the speakers, and yes folks, it look sas though he's about to burst out of that door at any second! One knock... two knocks... three knocks... ... ok, it seems as though CatDogBerg is having troubles with the door. One of the janitors turn to the door and fumbles with a set of keys, before unlocking the door. That MIGHT help, just a bit... A loud bash is heard, and the door falls off its hinges (thanks to some quick pre-show screwdriver work) and out comes... The hell is that thing?]
VR: It's CATDOGBERG!!! Half cat, half dog, half berg!
SSS: ... Dude... that's just... I think I'm going to be sick...
VR: Yes, it is indeed sickening. But that freak packs a punch! Genetically crafted in a mad scientist's mom's basement, it's basically a muscle man with a dog's head stitched to the side of his skull, his legs cut off, and replaced with those of a cat, restricting him to walk on his hands.
SSS: ... This is both the most disgusting, and dumbest fucking thing I've seen in my entire life. And that includes when I accidentally walked in on my wife's breast operation, and Michael Jackson. Combined. That's saying something. Hell... Michael Jackson alone is saying alot of things...
VR: Although he may be a freak, he is nevertheless cheered by the fans! Unfortunately, this is a non-title match, but hey, CDB can still kick Dustbuster Boy's ass and live to tell about it!
[CDB walks down the hall, flanked by the janitors till he gets to the curtain. The camera switches to the stage, where two towers of sparks shoot up. CDB walks out, and the chants only get louder. CDB's cat legs start swatting the air, creating the illusion of a few uppercuts and jabs and such. CDB bounces up and down on his hands, before walking down the ramp, and... well hell, how is he going to get in the ring? He tries to climb up the stairs with his hands... but he falls off. He then starts kicking his cat legs wildly, and his dog head begins barking and yapping, as Dustbuster Boy laughs from the inside. Hardcore JJ signals for the bell, then begins the count:
Scuzz: Your winner, because CatDogBerg is a dumbass and has cat apendages for legs, DUSTBUSTER BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYY!!!
VR: Well, that's sorta mean by Scuzz...
SSS: I thought you said CatDogBerg was a monster, Vinny Ru?
VR: Well... you can't blame a guy... cat... dog... hybrid for trying.
SSS: Couldn't have said it better myself. Well... I can ALWAYS say things better myself... for 40 minutes at a time in fact... but we'll let it slide this time.
Scuzz: The next match is a handicap TLC match, and.......................................................
Scuzz: ... And in the ring, the Distorted Icons!
VR: What the fuck was that?
SSS: The writer was thinking about ending the show early, but his Mom gave him thirty more minutes on the computer. So I guess we're going to get to see these next three matches after all!
WG: Did somebody call on me, baby?
VR: EGADS!!! No! Go back to NBC, dammit, and get off my show!
WG: Fine. I get paid more in an episode there than I would ever make on some crappy cable channel like this.
SSS: And Vinny Ru, the camera has entered black and white mode, which can mean only one thing!
VR: Hell, it could mean alot of things, knowing these damn faulty BoB cameras.
SSS: ... Our buddy's in the hizzy, baby!!!
VR: Ohhh, you mean-
VR: ... Oh. I was thinking Jarret's contract with TNA had expired and he was a free agent... damn, this is dissapointing.
SSS: You're in for alot of that here, trust me...
[The camera begins to fuzz up a bit with static, as a few horizontal lines cascade downward... before "X Gonna Give it To Ya", the sWo remix kicks in. Sounds of, 'WE ARE IN CONTROL!', 'THE GREATEST ICONS IN WRESTLING!', and, 'THEN WE'RE GONNA GO TO TEXAS! AND ARIZONA! AND ARKANSAS! AND THEN WE'RE GONNA GO TO OKLAHOMA, AND NEBRASKA, AND ILLANOIS!!! AND NEW YORK, AND-' Reeve comes out of the closet, er, curtain, clad in sports bra, flashy silk pants, and leather pumps. He runs down the ramp, and slides in, immediately being attacked by both John and Steve. The two 'Icons' lay down the boots to the back of Reeve, as he struggles to make it to his feet [EH!!!], and when he does, he starts throwing a few jabs here, a few jabs there, knocking the wind out of his opponents. John bounces off the ropes, slings himself in Reeve's direction, Reeve leapfrogs over John, and swings around with a shining wizard on John's return. John goes down in a heap. Reeve runs toward the turnbuckle, up the post, and leaps into the air, turning around mid-air, and bringing down Steve with a HUGE flying neckbreaker. Both Icons down, Reeve heads to the outside to pick up a few TLC essentials.]
[He tosses into the ring a chair, a table, another chair, two more tables, and one more chair, before heading back in... only to receive a VILE chairshot from the now standing Leary. Reeve falls backwards, getting tied up in the ropes. Steve backs up a few, before charging in, chair in hand, and taking to the air.... he swings close to his descent... but Reeve dives, and Steve brings the chair down on the top rope, bouncing it off and smacking himself in the face! He stumbles backwards, and turns around, catching a shot from Reeve with another chair. Steve drops his chair, and Reeve charges off one set of ropes, coming back with a bulldog on Steve, ramming his face into the chair he had just dropped. Reeve takes the chair he just had and lays it over the fallen Leary's head. Reeve then holds the third chair to his chest, and lionsaults off the ropes, WITH the chair, and brings the steel clattering to the other chair, smashing Steve's head and driving it into the chair his face was pressed against!!! Reeve turns Steve over, revealing the CRIMSON MASK!!!]
[Just then, John Skeet rolls Reeve up with the schoolboy: 1... 2... kickout! Reeve instantenously kippups to his feet, and starts socking Skeet with right after right, before whipping him into the ropes. Reeve springboards off the other set, and upon Skeet's return, John is dropped with the tornadoe ddt from Mr. Gordon. Skeet is spiked directly into the canvas, standing up like a tentpost for about ten seconds, before dropping to the mat, face first. Reeve leaps over the top rope onto the apron, before flipping right over into a legdrop over the back of Skeet's neck. Reeve picks Skeet up by the hair, and whips him into the ropes, bounces off his own set, and brings Skeet down with a clothesline from hell. Drops for the cover: 1............. 2........... kickout! Hmmm... seemed a bit longer there, wouldn't ya say? Reeve eyes the ref, but the ref simply shrugs. BAM!!! Chairshot to the back from Leary! Reeve tumbles forward, right into a superkick from Skeet. Reeve timbers backward, right into Leary's waiting arms. The hooking of the arms, the pick up, and the full nelson slam! Reeve is thrown harshly to the ground by Steve. Steve picks up a chair... Skeet does likewise, and they both bang the chairs down a few times in preperation... Reeve slowly stands himself up, before- WHACK!!! The Icons went for the Con-chair-to, but Reeve ducked down just in the nick of time, causing both Icons to wallop eachother upside the head with the pieces of steel!!! They both fall down, and Reeve topples into the corner from exhaustion.]
[Reeve peers to the side... seeing the tables. He makes it to his feet [EH!!!! Hahahahahahahah! EH!!! YA GET IT!!! ... I'm drunk...], and sets up a table in three of the four corners. He then hooks Leary up by the arm, and whips him into one of the table-occupied corners... but he simply runs up the table, and backflips off... right into a full nelson, this time by Reeve! Skeet runs in for a clothesline... but Reeve senses this just in time, and bends over, sending Skeet running toward the table... but he stops himself. Turns around. REEVE SPLASH INTO THE CORNER!!! Driving Skeet through the table. He drops to a sitting position, and Reeve lifts a hand to the air, fixing to land some... sort... of move. CHAIRSHOT FROM THE BEHIND!!! By Steve Leary. Reeve drops to a knee, before receiving another chairshot, this time to the back of the head... sending him facefirst into Skeet's crotch! Hmm... seems to be enjoying that. Leary raises the chair to the air... before spotting the other two tabled corners... He drops the chair, and begins to set the two tables on top of the other. He tip toes over to Reeve so he doesn't know who's coming... which is odd, seeing as how the only other man in this match is being... mishandled. Leary grabs Reeve by the back of the shirt, before laying him on the top table. Steve heads to the top floor... and... Reeve rolls off the table, walks over to Leary, and delievers a roundhouse right to Steve's gonads!!! GONADS!!! ... Reeve picks up Leary, turns him around, and sits him on the post... before climbing up the turnbuckle, and standing in front of him. WHAT MOVE COULD HE POSSIBLY COME UP WITH HERE?!?!?!?! He leaps into the air, and-]
VR: SUNSET FLIP POWERBOMB!!! RIGHT THROUGH BOTH GODDAMN TABLES!!! THAT'S AMAZING!!!
SSS: Damn, Vince, you're gonna bust a vocal cord over there. And my eardrums...
[Leary is defragulated through the tables, and Skeet is still knocked out in the corner. Reeve drapes an arm over Leary... 1........... 2.......... 3!!! He did it!!!]
VR: HE DID IT!!!
SSS: Yeah, I heard the narrator.
VR: Score one for the good guys. Or bad guys. Or... The COOL guys!
VR: Yeah. Us. Heheh...
SSS: Alright, Unc. Your match is up. If I were you, I'd head over to the triple decker trailers right about now.
VR: Ugh... alright. This better be quick, because I want to see you kick Luke's ass.
SSS: Don't worry. For the two main events of the evening, this oughta be the shortest 20 minutes in recorded history!
VR: Hahahahaha! You da Mang-ah!
SSS: And you're a God, and Shane is not, and I just thought I'd let you know!
SSS: Break a leg!
VR: Oh, don't worry... I will.
WCWF: Where the Impossible... is Possible.
Admit it. There's TNA. There's WWE. And there's BoB.
Then there's us.
I think we both know the choice is clear.
WCWF: God, I miss the 90's...
[The camera opens to the inside of the the bottom trailer, which is a triple wide. Russo stands face to... uh... well, Shane seems to be sitting down... or laying down... or slumped down on the floor... But anyway, Generic Ref stands in the middle of the two, prepared to announce the rules.]
GR: The rules are simple. You two kick eachother's ass up and down this triple decker trailer thingee, before you get tired. First man to pick up the pin wins.
[Wow... how... generic, of Generic. Russo glares into the beady little eyes of Shane. Which actually are rather beady... in fact... they almost seem to be crafted out of... well... beads. Not to mention they are quite little. Russo neverminds this, and punces on Shane, laying in fists of fury. He picks up Shane and slams him into a refrigerator, which oddly happens to be in the bathroom. Lazy rednecks... Russo opens the fridge and slams Shane's head inbetween the crack.]
Travis: Heheh... crack.
[Russo picks up a toilet plunger and starts wacking Shane.]
Travis: Huh. Wack.
[Russo then lifts the plunger, and brings it down over Shane's legs... then his arms... his neck... and then... wow... that one's better left alone. Russo then pcisk up Shane's head and... wait a sec...]
VR: HEY!!! This is a head! And worse yet, there's no blood spurting out! No blood=poor ratings! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
MS: Yes!!! Revenge at its sweetest, baby!
TC: Now... what do we do with THIS body.
MS: Put it with the other one.
TC: You mean?
MS: Yup. In the top trailer, by the kitchenette. But try not to be too sloppy, I'm planning a dinner party there later.
MS: Don't ask.
SSS: THOSE BASTARDS!!! They just thwacked-
Travis: Huhuh. Thwack.
BobHead: Thwaaaaa- ACK!!!
SSS: YOU DO NOT INTERUPT THE MANG-AH!!! [grabbing tightly to BobHead's throat.] Now, you two leave the damn booth. I've got a main event, and I need some REAL commentators!
Travis: Duuuuude... fire. BUNGOLIO!!!
SSS: PEDICURE TO TRAVIS!!! [and Triple S pedicured Travis. Duh...] Now, you have anything to say, Bob?
BobHead: Could you please stop choking the life out of me... before... you know... I die?
SSS: Oh, sure.
BobHead: [deep breathe] Thanks.
SSS: No prob. PEDICURE TO BOBHEAD!!! [and... aw hell, do I really need to narrate this?]
SSS: Now, your main event. I'm headed to the ring, and this booth will be manned by... you've GOT to be kidding me.
Coma: POINK!!! The red firetruck is lifting off into the seventh zodiac dimension of Neptune, Captain Crunch!!! Let's get ready to NAAAAAAAAARFLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! First, from the deepest gallows of the French Rivierra, he is the eleventeenth time Ju-Ju Bee Champion of the Kodak Shake-em'-ups! TRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE NINTERDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
SSS: WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!?!?!
Coma: ... Zonk?
SSS: PEDICURE TO COMA!!!
Coma: NOT SO FAST!!!
SSS: ... What is it?
Coma: I may be payed to act like a chump-monkey in BoB, but when it comes to the sWo, and especially YOU, I'm NOT doing this sorta crap. And I'm NOT being Pedicured. It clashes with my manifold.
Coma: You can take your main event and shove it where the Z-Team plants their lips on a daily basis, just to keep the worthless positions they hold. Hell... they're worse off than the Bobsters, yet they stick by you Hierarchy jackoffs just so they can maintain their jobs. Well, I'm GLAD to be under BigBoss's control. Might be why they've labeled me an idiot... and may explain the gimmick I'm saddled with... but I am, and that's all there is to it. So SHOVE IT!!!
SSS: You don't walk out on me!!! You don't walk out on the Mang-ah!!! [yelling as Coma heads on through the cheering crowd (somebody must have turned on a faucet when this show began, or something, JESUS...)] Now... we need an announcer.
Flunky: Uhm... all the announcers took the night off. They want nothing to do with the sWo.
SSS: ... Why does the world hate me? THEY'RE JEALOUS, THAT'S WHY!!! Ok... let's see... I've got it! The ultimate plan!!! Luke Warm, come on d-
[STONE CUTTER TO TRIPS! STONE CUTTER TO TRIPS! STONE CUTTER TO TRIPS! Luke Warm made his way through the crowd, and just Stonecutted Trips by the announce table!!! And the match began like an hour ago, so Luke goes for the cover. Generic down for count: 1.... 2.... 3.... 4.... 5!!! First fall has been awarded to Luke Warm! And Triple S is IRATE!!! He stands right back up, clotheslines Luke, toppling him over onto the announce table. Trips gets up there as well, before- PEDACURE!!! Luke Warm has been driven right through the announce table!!!!! Trips stares into the ref's eyes vicously.]
GR: Uhm... it has come to my attention that... according to an aged old table match rule, an announce table counts for five tables! Yeah, that's the ticket... second fall goes to Triple S! It is a tie, and so, there shall be a Job-a-thon! 5 jobbers for Trips, 5 jobbers for Luke. First man to job the jobbers in 5 minutes wins. Let's get it on!
BJ: What's this thing with the number five? And where's Russo, I just got back with his decaff, and now he's gone... anyhow, folks, we've got ourselves a tunabaker of a Job-a-thon underway, and the winner of this match will be the first ever Job-a-thon champ!
[Triple S and Luke Warm stand in the middle of the ring, two lines of jobbers waiting outside the ring... only the line for Triple S seems to be filled with a sort of lesser variety than that of Luke's. While Bubba Gump, Fanboy, The Geek, Pencil Necked Geek, and ThatGuy await Triple S; Pete Trabel, Zilla, Stone Hot, Homicidal Hank, and... wait, there's only four men... Gump and Trabel run into the ring as the timer starts up on the MammothTron. SSS throws Gump into the corner and starts pounding away, as LukeWarm simply STONECUTS Trabel, and the 1, the 2, and the 3, and here comes Zilla! Meanwhile, Trips irishwhips Gump from the one corner to the corner, following in with a clothesline, reeling back Bubba. Trips steps back a few, measuring up, before heading in with the knee to the gut! Gump falls down to the ground: 1.... 2... 3!!! Zilla steps right from the outside and into the ring with one step, and goes to step on Luke... before Luke rolls out of the way, hops on the turnbuckle, and then leaps onto Zilla's back. He crawls upwards... inch by inch... niagara falls... and...]
BJ: STONECUTTER!!! Somehow, someway, STONECUTTER, BY GAWD STONECUTTER!!!
[Zilla falls, falls, falls to the ground, and Luke climbs on top of Zilla's stomach, for the cover: 1................................. 2................................. 3!!! Zilla's out! Luke stomps Zilla to the outside, and motions for the next guy to come get some... who just so happens to be Stone Hot. Luke Warm... Stone Hot. The match for the ages, baby! On the other side of the ring, Trips has already eliminated Fanboy, and is working over the Geek with a few elbows in the corner. He lands one more elbow, followed by a clothesline. He then sets Geek on the turnbuckle, and lands a huuuge superplex! AND OH MY GOD!!! Triple S has broken his quad!!! Oh wait, sorry, false alarm. His foot's asleep. Anyway, back on the other side of the ring, Stone Hot and Luke Warm are trading right... after right... after right... after right... after... and meanwhile, Triple S picks up Geek, places his head between his legs, and-
BJ: PEDICURE!!! PEDICURE TO THE GEEK, AND THAT BOY IS BY GAWD OUT!!! *hacking cough* That's weird... my voice seems to be giving out... That hasn't happened since... last Tuesday.
[1, 2, 3. In comes Pencil Necked Geek, Pedicure, 1, 2, 3. And if ThatGuy wasn't sleeping on the outside, we could just do a quick copy and paste job and get this thing over with. Luke Warm and Stone Hot both go for their finishers at the same time, sending Hot over the top rope, becoming eliminated, and Warm layed out in the center of the ring. One minute left on the clock... ThatGuy suddenly wakes up, and starts to get up, before-
[... What the...]
BJ: What in the indigo hell?! It sounds like...
BJ: A DONG!!! ... Er, GONG!!!
[Scary organ music begisn to play... and the lights dim into a dark blue. The lights flicker a bright white, as a flaming cross appears on the MammothTron. It's... It's...]
BJ: OH BY GAWD!!! IT'S DA DEAD GUY!!!
[Yes, indeedy, the WCWF super-duperstar, Da Dead Guy, and he's the fifth man for Luke Warm! The lights instantly go out... before coming back on, and we see Da Dead Guy stand right beside the corpse of Luke Warm. He bows down on one knee, and places one finger on Luke's chest, just as Triple S lands the Pedicure! They both go for the pin: 1... 2... 3!!! Luke's been defeated, and Triple S has-
BJ: WON THE JOB-A-THON CHAMPIONSHIP BELT!!!!! BY GAWD, BY GAWD, BY GAWD ON A BISQUIK!!! TRIPLE S HAS- *keels over*
[Alright folks, as Triple S holds the fresh new piece of gold, I'm just glad we can finally put this shitfest to bed. I mean... I hope you fine folks enjoyed yourselves! What a night, eh? [Edge: QUIT STEALING MY GODDAMN LINES! I'm coming, and since he's gone, I can say- YOU'RE NEXT!!!] Trips holds the title over his shoulder, staring Da Dead Guy eye to eye, as the fans are loving every bit of this ending to what was most definitely... Wrasslemania 48!!!]
[Where it all began... around ten hours ago. Goodnight!!!]
VR: So... you been here long?
Stung: Yup. Ever since those damn announcers stuck me in this stupid frigidaire...
VR: Hmph... so... any chance of us escaping?
Stung: Yeah. I had Jaleel White man the copter. He should be swinging by here any second now...
VR: Great. ... Uhm... I smell smoke...
Stung: Oh, yeah. That's just Kevin. He was kinda pissed about his match, so he told me he was going to set something on fire after the show. Must have found what he was looking for.
VR: ... Stung.
VR: I'm starting to feel very, VERY hot.
Stung: Duuude, I'm not Reeve. I don't swing that way.
VR: ... Why does God hate me?
Stung: Well, I dunno, maybe all those people you screwed over, or all the people you've degraded, or-
VR: Ok, ok... Urkle better hurry the hell up. I'm starting to get hungry.
Stung: Well... we ARE in a refrigerator.
VR: ... And yet I'm burning up.
Stung: Oh... wait... I forgot.
VR: What's that...
Stung: Jaleel had to go tape the Family Matters documentary. But not to worry. He should be back in about... an hour... or ten.
©2004 BOB Wrestling. I think...