We cut to another STWF House Show in Someplacewithrednecks, Georgia... Streetmime and BILL are in the 7th Annual NWA's First of the Worst Alternative Round-Robin Invitational... Nobody's really watching the match, but they're happy that they can see at least a LITTLE of a show while they wait for the PPV... The fans are tightly grouped all on one side of the arena, giving an appearance of a packed house that is required when the promoters can't even GIVE enough tickets away to seem legitimate, assuming anyone at home got to the mid-thousands on their satellite dish without finding something GOOD to watch... The announcers look fairly nervous, matching the crowd's palpable angst.

Angus: So, Pops... We're in the quarter-finals of the NWA tourney, and look at how well-matched the STWF representatives are...

Khorne: That's true, Vince. BILL eliminated the ASTONISHINGLY-stiff-as-usual Sid 'Softball' Eudy when Sid was disqualified for missing the show due to a double-header in Topeka. 'Mime had a rougher time, but managed to eliminate the PITIFULLY untalented in EVERY way David 'Not Possessing Any' Flair, who was on top for a few seconds before 'Mime accidently coldcocked him when the Flair kid goon-walked too close to the Cliched Invisible Wall Mime Thing. Wotta putz.

Angus: Well, Pops, they say talent skips a generation... Dave's KIDS should be sharp as tacks, though...

Khorne: If they let him BREED.

Angus: Well, let's see how badly THIS one goes...

Announcer Lad: Next match, as if you care, pits (and is it EVER) the STWF's Streetmime....

Crowd: ........(cough).....

Announcer Lad: Against the STWF's BILL.

Yay. Go BILL. Double 'A' all the way.

Angus: The capacity crowd is really divided on this one, Pops, with half the arena cheering for BILL, and the other half absolutely silent.

Khorne: True... Though the fact that the half that's behind BILL is pretty much just Bobo Fiendish - who is sitting by himself because even REDNECKS are only SO stupid - does tilt that otherwise fine assessment of general apathy a skosh.

Angus: And there's the bell for the match to start... Streetmime and BILL circle each other and actually go to a collar and elbow tie-up... But BILL trips on his shoelaces and falls, dragging 'Mime with him to the canvas. They're tangled up on the mat and Streetmime manages to free himself and get to his feet... BILL starts to do the same, and Streetmime FLATTENS him with a Pantomime Chair Shot!

Boo! No fair!

Khorne: No chair, either... BILL very believably 'sells' the imaginary chairshot and crumples to the mat. Streetmime goes into a Pantomime Tribute to La Parka, culminating with a sit-down on that SAME imaginary chair he used on BILL. And Oh my GOD! Streetmime is BLASTED in the grease-painted skimmer with a brick flung from the side of the arena that Bobo is in ALL BY HIMSELF...

Did you SEE that? La Parka just came in, threw a brick at that poor mime and then ran away! Call security! Heh.

Angus: You folks at home don't really believe that, do you?

They'd BETTER.

Khorne: Streetmime is just wiped out by that alley-apple from La Parka, and -

Angus: POPS! C'mon! You can't mean to tell me that you buy in to that nonsense about La Parka interfering...

Khorne: .... Yes I am. Pundits will doubtlessly attribute the attack to La Parka's unstable mental condition since being released from Uncle Ted's Circus, and Streetmime stealing his schtick just drove him over the edge...

Atta boy. Pin him, BILL!

Angus: BILL looks a little confused at this 'mysterious' stroke of fortune, but he bounces off the ropes to get up some steam and leaps in the air for a body splash...

(CRUNCHY!)

Khorne: Ouch! Looks like BILL totally misjudged the distance and lands on his HEAD nowhere NEAR the fallen Streetmime... The referee has begun a count on both men...

D'oh! Get up, BILL! You can do it...

Ref: 4.... 5.... 6....

BILL! You mort! You're embarrassing us! Up with you!

Ref: 8.... 9..... 10!

Boo! Screw... JOB... Screw... JOB.

Angus: Looks like BOTH of the STWF representatives are eliminated... Bad luck there, eh, Pops?

Khorne: It's getting worse, Vince... Bobo is moving towards the ring for some undoubtedly dark purpose...

Angus: He's got a mic! What the hell is going on? Bobo NEVER cuts House Show Promos...

Khorne: Bad omen, there...

Hello, my intended...

Normally, I wouldn't waste my precious time in showing you miserable trailer-park refugees what a wrestler is supposed to look like... However, there have been some developments that require me to address them... Lucky for you. NOW you get your foodstamps' worth for admission...So many gibbering humunculoids have opted to make the world aware they exist by mentioning me in their prattling that I scarce know which to throw under the floorboards first... But we shall not turn them away, surely... Always room for one more on Bobo's Wild Ride...

Nobody leaves empty-handed....

Crowd: Everybody gets a PRIZE...

You've been paying attention! Very GOOD! Today's prize is a vicious beating within an INCH of their pitiful lives, as well as a RULER to make sure I didn't cheat them out of that inch... Let's examine first the Salad Shooter - Herb 'After Bobo Gets Hold of Him, Not Much Will' Romaine... See, Herb, I actually GET the Endive Free Press Newspaper... It makes quite a conversation piece to have a newspaper that's written entirely in CRAYON, but I digress... In that editorial, you say alot of ridiculous things... You call it the Message. You know what -I- call it? Sad. Your Message, much like you, inspires only ONE emotive from the populace...

Pity.

See, Bobo was poor once, Herb. There was a time when Bobo couldn't afford meat, and had to pretend HE liked that Rabbit Food. But then Bobo made a name for himself as only a crazed, rampaging blight on humanity CAN. I see that in a weak-sister wannabe way, you - and others - are attempting to follow the path to Main Event that I blazed... This pleases me. However, you set very unrealistic goals, Herb... Let's play a little game I like to call 'Face the Facts'...

FACT: You are not - except in your own deluded, self-aggrandized dementia - worthy of so much as LICKING the dust from the BOOTS of the Angel of DEATH... Most... EXALTED. You have SHEEP that would last longer in the ring with such as I than you could on your BEST DAY. To suggest you can do anything except get GROUND into a FINE POWDER against the horrific monster that is I is laughable at best.

FACT: I cannot LAUGH. So, since you won't have me rolling on the mat with the wracking hilarity of your PITEOUSNESS, you get The Treatment reserved for ALL hopeless feebs that pollute my sport. Suffice to say, if you think CELERY crunches with satisfaction, keep an ear out for your FEMUR.

FACT: Your Message - much like your sobbing pleas for mercy  - will fall on deaf ears. I have no intention of being 'redeemed' - ESPECIALLY by some WEED-EATER. You don't have the MEANS to punish MY wickedness, Herbie Vore. You want to be a Face? Okay. You're a Face... And after the match, you'll be a RE-ARRANGED Face... Dream come true, yes? Spiffy. Never let it be said that Bobo Quite Fiendish doesn't help out the rookies... The kid wants a push, so I'll see to it he gets one... FROM BEHIND HIS WHEELCHAIR.

That said, we move on... Lord Sexbat...

Crowd: OOOOOOOOH!

Who said you can't train rednecks? Heh. Listen, you sad sack Gathering Gamer, you want to see me do magic? Fine. When I get my hands on your squirmy little carcass, I'll turn you into a shattered bag of bone fragments. That should make it REAL EASY for you to get back under your ROCK.

Crowd: OOOOOOOOH!

But look at the bright side, Gimperoo... At least you won't be able to be called a POSEUR anymore... Unless you're posing as a RORSCHACH TEST. Lucky for you they use a lot of black and red, ain't it? Eh? What the hell do YOU want?

Announcer Lad: Well, since you're in the ring cutting a promo, DK sent me out to bounce pertinent questions off you...

Such as?

Announcer Lad: Uh... Such as what do you think of Dr. Plants offering you the first shot at the IG strap?

.....Are you JOKING?

Announcer Lad: N-no, sir... P-P-Please don't hurt me...

BAH! And you wonder why I rank that Dirty Boobie as one of the Despised... Listen, DOC, I'm sure it must be nice to be in with the brass SO tight...

Crowd: How tight IS HE?

Only their proctologist knows for sure... But I digress. With Neige out of the way, DOC, there's only YOU in the 'Unfinished Business' column, and Mr. Fiendish will see those books BALANCED. You want to 'give' me a shot at the IG strap? You presume that your connections will see to it that you actually WIN the tourney. This is done without ONCE considering the niggling little detail that I'M in the SAME tourney, and there isn't ONE group of DINKS in it that can HOPE to defeat JUST ME - let alone me AND Gary AND Neige. Add in the OTHER little detail that I want to see you put through a cinderblock wall, and suddenly you look like a young Bollea sweating about whether the monster in the other corner will 'do the deed'... Well, rest assured that he will - but it won't be the 'putting you over' deed... It will be the 'putting you UNDER' deed. Don't worry though, I do ALL NATURAL anesthesia. Good, old fashioned, BLUNT TRAUMA. Accept no substitutes...

Announcer Lad: Kamera Kid was right... You ARE mean.

......That didn't SOUND like a pertinent question, now DID IT?

Crowd: NO! Clearly NOT!

Announcer Lad: homina-homina-homina...

What, then, shall BECOME of this wretch that so AFFRONTS us with his PRESENCE?

Crowd: THE TREATMENT!

Well, you heard them... It's  The Treatment for you... Happy Day.

Announcer Lad: No. Oh, please... Don't...

Quiet! You know the cost for disappointing the FANS... Time to dance!

Angus: Oh, GEEZE. Bobo flattens Announcer Lad with a VICIOUS clubbing forearm to the back of the head! AL is feebly trying to squirm under the ropes, but Bobo drags him to the center of the ring and yanks him up by the collar... But AL with a desperation kneelift to the unmentionables! Fiendish goes back a step and then LAYS WASTE to AL with a BRUTAL Standing Lariat that turns the poor bastard end over end!

Khorne: The fans are getting into this, and start getting behind Fiendish for this totally pointless and vicious display... Fiendish now hauls the rubber-legged AL back to a vertical base.. Holy CHRISTMAS! He's lifted Announcer Lad over his head in a one-handed Gorilla Press! WOW! Fiendish takes two steps and LEAPS to the top turnbuckle, STILL holding AL over his head! Oh GOD! He flings AL to the mat in some Reversed Choke Slam from the TOP!  The crowd is going wild, and Bobo -still standing on the top - BACKFLIPS off and CRASHES into the crumpled form of AL KNEES FIRST! AL goes into convulsions at the HORRIFIC bump, and Bobo simply dusts himself off as he stands...

Angus: Remarkable show of agility on the part of Bobo, Pops... For such a large man - well over 300 pounds, he moves like a 98 pound cruiserweight with a Napolean Complex. Announcer Lad is in some bad shape, and the crowd is actually CHEERING this... this... MONSTER.

Khorne: Shows how far we've declined as a culture when some sadistic psychopath can get a FACE pop... Bobo grabs the stick...

Heh. Now, that was just the 'Under 12' dose of The Treatment... Just to get your attention. Folks may wonder why such as myself can be appreciated by you good people... But you know what? That's cuz they're STUPID. The fans like a WORKER. Someone who can get out there night after night and PROVE to them that they're NOT tossing their money down the CRAPPER... NO MORE will the fans accept some prettyboy whose only claim to fame is a DADDY that's a BOOKER. NO MORE will the fans accept the Brass over the Boys Angle... NO MORE will the fans accept Body-Builder STIFFS that wouldn't know a wristlock from a wristWATCH... NO MORE will fans accept some 'Monster Heel' that moonlights as a SITCOM DAD... NO MORE will fans accept that they have to sit through some BULLSHIT vignette starring some BULLSHIT gimp that couldn't get a rise out of the crowd with the Blowjob Concession. NO MORE. The fans don't want some stupid scripted fantasy character that has his face on DOLLS, T-Shirts, and Underoos... We've had that... We're TIRED of THAT... What do you fans REALLY want?

Crowd: A -REAL- CHAMPION.

That's RIGHT. A REAL Champion... Someone that will be able to stand as an EXAMPLE to ALL... Someone that is MORE than you, but not so much more that you cannot see yourself in him... You do not want to live vicariously through US... You want to live, PERIOD...

Crowd: THAT'S WHY WE'RE READING THE CUE-CARDS....

For cryin' out loud... Ixnay on the ayfabekay!

Crowd: WE'RE VERY SORRY. PLEASE DON'T HURT US.

SHADDAP!

Crowd: ...........(cough).....

Okay... Now that THAT little promo stands in flaming ruins, we'll move on... I don't know what will happen at CDC... Hell, on this, the eve before the PPV, anything can happen - especially when that particular eve makes nighttime in ALASKA look like the Summer Solstice, but I digress... But I do know ONE thing... On that night, Bobo Quite  FIENDISH will go to WORK.

Crowd: HOORAY!

You're Welcome... See you SOON.