It's on now...

[Steve Studnuts]

~~~ Meanwhile…back at “TITTIES ‘R’ US” ©, Dr. Plants is wrapping up a phone call to one of his patients before he takes his “vacation” away from the clinic ~~~

SMP: It’ll be okay. They’re ummmm, supposed to look like that.

What?

No, that should go away in a couple of months…

That, too.

Yes, that, too.

I doubt that will…

~~~ Steve Studnuts bursts in carrying a video ~~~

Studs: Hang up that phone, jerkweed. Ya gotta see THIS.

SMP: [covering the phone with his hand] Hold on a minute… this is a very important pa….

Studs: It’s from douja.

SMP: [into the phone] Goodbye. [hangs up] Did you say that was from douja?

Studs: Yep. You gotta place to check this out right here?

SMP: Sure, follow me!

~~~ They enter a back door in Plants’ office that leads to a recreation room. His own. The walls are covered with pictures of SMP’s career… SMP pinning Neige in a “Nicolas Cage Match” for the STWF Intergalactic Title, SMP pinning Sgt. Genocide for the STWF Intergalactic Title, SMP with the WWF NQGETBWCC Title after defeating The Domino at “Barnyard Blitzkrieg”, SMP with the STWF North American Title posing beside a rickety easel.

CAMEO APPEARANCE: DON’T CALL ME THAT!

…. An autographed picture of SMP that SMP autographed to himself. A picture of SMP and Luke Warm with the STWF 3-4-1 tag-team titles. A picture of SMP with Nurse Heidi before she was ruined by the cruelties and sexism of the business. One whole wall dedicated to the SMP/douja feud, even one with SMP and douja holding the Four Play Tag-team Titles of BOB. douja’s face has recently been “x’ed” out with a black magic marker, though. There’s another door in the back of this room, slightly opened. Steve notices it and looks in. Although the room he’s currently in is crammed full of stuff, this one appears larger and is completely empty ~~~

Studs: [still peeking in] Hey, Doc… what’s in this room?

SMP: [quickly running over and shutting the door] Nothing! The VCR’s over there… [before joining the two watching douja’s promo, the nameless cameraman pans up to the sign on this door… it reads: “Reserved For My Ego.”

~~~ Cut to a couch, where SMP sits staring at the video clip, Steve just relaxes and probably daydreams about fucking the receptionist ~~~

SMP: WHOO WHEE! I sure lit a fire under that son-of-a-bitch, didn’t I? Hot damn, that’s the longest promo that scraggly hair bastard has done in his lifetime!

[takes in a deep breath]

douja! You’re fired up? ARE YOU FIRED UP?! GOOD!

I want you fired up, I want you ready to go! Because EVERYBODY, that’s ANYBODY… knows that you and I have heat that’s NEVER going to be settled until one of us is crippled up in a wheelchair or dead and buried!

We’ve been in the ring, we’ve done it all! You and I have one of the longest running blood feuds in the history of this goddamned sport, so when Steve asked me to be his partner I JUMPED at the chance! Granted, I’ve been away for awhile, and yes…. I’ve gotten a little out of shape. But you know what? When this thing looked like it might be a reality… I went straight to the stores, pal!

I’ve got Slim Fast! Hydroxycut! Ab-Blaster! Thigh-Master! Creatine! Some pills from Jose Canseco! I even got a Gazelle!

CAMEO APPEARANCE #2: YOU CAN DO IIIIIIIIIIIT!

SMP: I’ll be in shape, you cheeba zombie little son-of-a-bitch! You SON-OF-A-BITCH! SON-OF-A-BITCH!

Studs: * pfffft *

SMP: douja, I know why I’m at the top of that shit list of yours… it’s because you KNOW you’ll never be the wrestler I am. You were in the STWF before I got there…. and I shot past you and into the record books, and left you standing on the corner. I’m a legend! A REAL LEGEND THAT D.K. HAD TO BAN EXCLAMATION POINTS FROM DURING INTROS! I was that DAMN GOOD! I…AM…A… LEGEND! I’m not some jobber that gets squashed in another galaxy by some dolt that couldn’t lace my fucking shoes… by a guy that’s not had as many MATCHES in his CAREER as I have had MAIN EVENTS in mine! Not some self titled “BOB Legend” like you, douja. That reminds me, who the HELL is Leary?

Studs: Focus, Doc.

SMP: No, I WANT TO KNOW! I got that DVD set, and that scrub had the NERVE to talk about my win/loss record, said my win/loss record wasn’t the greatest. Let me tell you something, pal…. it’s not about wins and losses that makes you a legend, it’s what you do BETWEEN the wins and losses that makes you a legend. Now, you go to that STWF site and you COUNT how many wrestlers were in that promotion. COUNT THEM!

Then you count, out of all those people, how many held the INTERGALACTIC TITLE!

THEN! Count how many out of THOSE held it TWICE!

After you’re finished with that, you lousy punk… go back and look, out of all those competitors, and find the ONE MAN that did what no other human being alive walking the face of this planet can say they did.
Won the BIG THREE in the STWF. Tag-Titles, North American, and I.G.! I would’ve won that goddamned Not A Cruiserweight Title But It’s Close Title if I wasn’t FIGHTIN’ THE BIG BOYS!

In fact, even though the stupid STWF rankings don’t reflect it… I was the LAST I.G. Champion! HEY! I’m STILL the I.G. CHAMPION! I’M GOING TO GET A REPLICA BELT! COME ON, STEVE!

~~~ Cut to Steve, who is motionless, slumped over on the armrest. He’s drooling profusely. ~~~

SMP: Uh, well… I’m STILL GETTING THAT REPLICA BELT!

[takes another deep breath]

THRILLA, SEE IF YOU CAN CLANG THAT METAL FUCKING MOUTH LONG ENOUGH TO SQUEEZE OUT A YES!

I don’t care about your University of Coma Diploma. I don’t care about your stupid rap video. I don’t care about your record deal.

All I want from you is for your little interpreter guy to come on here and say that you have accepted the match. That’s it.

And after that happens…. It’ll be payback time, when you step into MY galaxy! And I will watch you bleed. And I will watch you die.

GET IT? GOT IT? GOOD!

~~~ cut to Steve, who has now slid on to the floor and is snoring. Fade out ~~~

CREDITS:

IDEA: STOLEN FROM SKEETER

CAMEO #2 : TONY LITTLE

CAMEO #1: BOBBY “THE BRAIN” HEENAN

Girl on phone: BITCH WITH FUCKED UP TITTIES

[BOB LEGEND douja]

douja: wow, you are fuckin' dumb... you talk about me being in da stwf before you and dat you still did more then me? well, you were in bob a long ass time before i came around and i won every damn title dis shithole has to offer.. da only strap you EVER won in bob was because i CARRIED you to it.. i was da last bob p.g. champion and da first only world champion dat fuckin' matters.. so, go ahead and brag about winnin' da big three in da stwf.. big fuckin' deal... when it comes to bob, i have held EVERY title there is to hold.. what do you have on me, motha' fucka'? not shit! so, get ready to feel the chronic neck pain one last time and go ahead and put the wheelchair on lay-a-way.. matter of fact, go ahead and get two.. onenut is gonna need some wheels, too....

[The Smooth Operator]

[SMP is seen clearing off his desk for the day. He's wearing black slacks, designer wing-tips, a light blue button up and a red tie. He's just taken off his white lab coat and replaced it with a black leather one. Yeah, that one. It reads "Suck My Scapel" on the back. Obviously, The Doc has just seen douja's "reply"]

SMP: Ah yes, that's the douja I remember. Appears out of nowhere and flaps his gums about how I don't have anything on him. Nobody knows where's he's at, nobody cares, and he's on and on about how he is BOB's legend, but never mentions that he could never be "The Smooth Operator" in the STWF, and had to come to BOB to make a name for himself.

douja, you KNOW that the STWF had FAR more competetion than BOB, and that you just weren't good enough to make it there. You couldn't get over until you came here, Brawler's on a Budget, the bastard step son of the STWF. A place with far less budget and far less competetion than the STWF had on it's worst day.

When I got here, I begged The BigBoss to put the P.G. Title on me to give this place some instant credibility. And what did he do? He jobbed me to a talentless bum because he thought "Stereotyped Face" was the next "Hulkamania". HA!

Besides, he didn't want to pay me what I wanted. So I told him to go screw himself. He actually tried to pay me with meatballs, like I was going to accept that? What'd he think I was? A Wedding Singer? Hell, my mother runs an Italian restaraunt... I could get all the meatballs I wanted.

Not only that, if it wasn't for that stupid Ted DiBiase, I would have been the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS. I tried to buy this place, and make it something, but The BigBoss double crossed me by having Sir Hungalot hump some kid's momma!

So after all that, I wanted this place to burn to the ground... I didn't care about titles, I just wanted to beat people up and cause as much dismay and chaos as possible. In a way, I was the ORIGINAL iAd. I wanted this place to fold so The BigBoss would starve to death.

That is, until we won the Four Play Tag-Team titles. And by the way, the ONLY thing you CARRIED that night, pal... was my fucking bags to the arena.

[He loosens his tie]

SMP: So, basically put. Yeah, you're the BOB Legend, douja. A second rate legend in a second rate federation. I'm the REAL LEGEND, of the STWF. A REAL PROMOTION!

So, I'll tell you this... after I get my STWF replica belt, and when you get finished shitting in washing machines and become a contender again, maybe I'll give you crack at it. That is... if there's anything left of you AFTER Grudge Match a Go-Go. And that is... if your partner ever decides to find the guts to accept.

No Thrilla. No match. Period.

So, I guess you better ante up and do what your mammie does when she needs a hit of crack. Get on your knees...

With this exception, all you have to do is ask him to be your partner and accept the match. You can probably leave the knee pads and pistol grip ears at home. Ummmm, "probably".

[He walks out and leaves the "clinic", hanging a sign on the door that reads: "I'm Off to Kill douja and Dr. (?) Thrilla. Closed Until Jan 2nd, or after the National Championship Game, Which Ever Comes First"]

[CircularAnswer]

*Dr. Thrilla comes on camera for a very brief time. He holds up a cardboard sign.

Written on the sign is "The match is on, bitches."

He bites the sign in half and spits it at the camera. Cut to static.*