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Post by @xL on Mar 6, 2007 4:30:48 GMT -5
:: Thursday, March 5th, 2007 - 2:30 p.m. ::
~ Location: Las Vegas, Nevada. Right outside the Riviera. ~
[It is a warm afternoon in Vegas. The gamblers are here in droves, and it is only a few hours before SMC. The camera slowly pans up the building... We finally reach the top of the hotel/casino, and we find a newly painted billboard, now displaying an ad for adult diapers. The ad reads - ]
"Dependants Diapers for Adults: With a bladder like this, you need a diaper you can depend on!"
[Under these words, there's a GIANT picture of a certain Dr. Plants, taken from the other day during his promo, the very second he looked down to see his pants, stained by his own urine. And as we close in on the bill board, we find Axl VanHalen leaning against the board's support pole, as he looks into the camera... with a sinister smirk spread across his face.]
Axl: Dr. Plants... there's alot of things I could say. Things about how you OBVIOUSLY took my "wrinkled prune" comment out of context. I was merely stating that while I may think you're too old to still be in the game, you still deserve the respect to not be bothered by the likes of Dimension Z. What a pity... you seem to have sided with them nevertheless. Too bad. I thought you were above all that... Then, I could say something about how you keep saying the only people I can defeat are jobbers I "pay" to job to me. Which is a pathetic thing for you to say, as fighting Douja is as close as it comes to fighting a jobber while still maintaining a shred of credibility. Douja is to jobbers what Ric Flair is to REAL wrestlers. He's someone that doesn't have talent... skill... or anything really that could make him viable for a REAL title belt, so he makes up his own, and calls himself a "legend". Which, lets face it, as far as jobbers are concerned, he is. But when it comes to REAL wrestlers... guys like, well, me for example, he just doesn't slice the cake. Know what I mean, babe?
Axl: I could say any of these things and a whole lot more... but I'm not going to. Because one picture... one... single... picture, captures what a thousand words can't. Look at this, Plants. Look at what you truly represent. A man that has shown his true color.
Yellow.
Axl: And I mean that both literally, as well as figuratively. Because, dude, I can see it. You're afraid. Of me... of the power of the Hair... of the whole damn Rock-O-Lution in general. And when you pissed your pants, you didn't do it because you were drunk, or whatever lame EXCUSE you may have... you did it for one reason, and you know that reason quite well. It's called fear, Doc. The fear that eats at you when you know... one of these days... your wrinkled old @ss won't be staring across the ring at some washed-up has-been, like yourself... or a never-was, like douja. No, because Doc, one of these days, when you head down the ramp, you'll be doing so for your last time. You'll be headed into your last match. You'll step into the ring, you'll look across from you, and you'll be face to face with me. I will, and I repeat, but louder, to stress importance, WILL be the man to end your career... Just as I will be the single man to face, defeat, and KILL the legends of every last haggard old vet on this roster.
Axl: From this day forward, the Rock-O-Lution has a purpose. Douja... you say you haven't been able to teach anyone anything. You talk about how the young guys just aren't listening to you. Well, believe me, babe... I've listened. And I've learned one thing. I must focus on one thing... and one thing alone. And I have. The Rock-O-Lution, as of now, is set to rid BoB of all the pests that fill it like the plague. The Rock-O-Lution, as of this very moment, is my destiny... and my destiny, is to bring BoB to a new future. A new era... an era... of new stars, new battles, and most importantly, new hope. I AM that hope...
Axl: And noone... not SMP... not douja... not Steve Studnuts... not Kurt Angel, Sarah the Jobber Slayer, Seth Harker... not even Big Boss him SELF can stand in my way... of killing every last god forsaken B@STARD on this roster that's overstayed their time here in the federation... of the FUTURE.
Axl: Fear is the drug of the old wave. The drug every last one of you old, washed up, burned out, so-called "legends" are on now... because I... I am...
The Doctor.
Axl: And the Doctor... is IN. Welcome... to the Rock-O-Lution.
[Axl heads off camera, and the view fades out on the scene of SMP... with his pants filled with piss, and his face filled with shock.]
~ rock on ~
\oo/_ OvO _\oo/
~ rock on
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CircularAnswer
Jobber To The Stars
Yep. I'm hot. That's me, pretty much.
Posts: 154
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Post by CircularAnswer on Mar 6, 2007 8:35:03 GMT -5
*A few seconds later, the billboard explodes in a giant fireball, pieces of it flying out into the desert miles away. A helicopter lowers down, and a screen descends from beneath it, showing the red gloves from behind the chair as usual.*
Someone: Axl, Axl, Axl... So very immature of you. Don't you realize that promos like these are exactly why we want so badly to crush you? And besides, Axl...
*Pictures of Axl's most embarrasing moments flicker across the screen - from Tifa calling him "quicksilver" to, yes, him with yellow-stained pants. It then cuts back to the chair.*
Someone: Glass houses, Axl. Glass houses. Now run along, go play with your little jobber friends... and ready yourself. For when the time comes, we will bring down the hammer, and you will be the nail.
*The screen retracts, and the helicopter flies out of sight.*
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Post by SMP on Mar 6, 2007 11:02:07 GMT -5
[Meanwhile, Dr. Plants is back in his office, readying himself for another stressful day of hacking up titties. Nurse Heidi runs into the room as The Doc quickly tries to minimize his computer version of Solitaire. She brings a video cassette with her and shoves it into the VCR located on the north side of the office...]
NH: You HAVE GOT to see this!
SMP: Can you knock next time? I'm, ummmm, very busy with all this charting and stuff.
NH: Oh, shut-up and look at this...
SMP: What is it? Is it the first season of House? Man, I LOVE that show! Gregory House has to be the second coolest doctor to ever grace this planet...
NH: Can it, will you? Just watch...
*she hits "play" on the remote*
[Dr. Plants sits quietly as he watches Axl Van Halen's promo. Minutes later, he just lets out a small chuckle.]
SMP: Axl Van Halen, pfffft. What a joke. Is that guy serious?
NH: What about the ad?
SMP: Obviously somebody or some company has decided to use my vast fame and market value to sale their product, without my consent. So you know what that means?
NH: You're going to sue?
SMP: DAMN STRAIGHT! And you know what THAT means...
NH: Uh-rah? No...
SMP: [singing] We're goin' Sizzler... We're goin' Sizzler... [stops singing] Nah, what the hell? It's a Red Lobster night! I can smell that Admiral's Feast already...
NH: Oh my God, I LOVE their biscuits!
SMP: I know, right?
*they high-five*
SMP: Axl, let me tell you something: First of all, I'm glad to see you've crawled out from under the ocean, wiggled yourself up onto land, evolved a little bit, and somewhat developed a spine. Your promos still suck but at least it seems you've have a reason for doing what you're doing, instead of just mindlessly walking around sucking without a purpose.
If I had a dollar for every loud mouthed, peter swinging jerk that came into my backyard saying he was going to run me out of town, I would be sitting in Hawaii and drinking Amarettos all day, having my cuticles burned off by natives in hula skirts, until the ozone finally evaporated.
NH: Nice visual... *sigh*
SMP: You think I'm scared of you? YOU? Again, if I had a dollar for every guy who thought I was afraid....
NH: You made that point already...
SMP: So I did.
Listen, punk...
[Dr. Plants gets up and walks to his closet. He returns with a stethescope. Oooooh, and it's a Littman! Nice.]
SMP: You see this, sonny boy? There's a notch on this stethescope for every snot nosed, man kissing knob slobber, like yourself, that claimed he was the one to end my career.
NH: Ummm, Doc? I don't see anything on there...
SMP: It's metaphorical! If I cut it I can't hear though it, stupid!
NH: Sheesh! Okay...
SMP: Where was I, now?
NH: Notches...
SMP: Correctimundo...
*he gives a double thumbs up*
SMP: Aaaaaaaaaaaay.
NH: Oh good grief....
SMP: Check this out. You want to jump on douja and call him a jobber? Well, compared to me that statement would be accurate. But compared to rest of the locker room, including yourself, he's done what nobody else in the WORLD could ever do, and that's win every single title that BOB recognises as somewhat important to anybody that cares.
How many have YOU won?
Let's see, that would be zero.
So in my estimation, that would put you somewhere around Mully and Sculder, and as sucky as they were, I think THEY'VE even won titles around here.
So I don't think anybody's quaking in their boots just yet.
Except for maybe the ghost of Sgt. Genocide, and that's only because after he probably hung himself when you defamed him, his spirit lives in a quasi suspended state afraid that you'll try to enter the realm of the paranormal and dry hump his little, spirit butthole.
NH: Ewwww. That's a visual I could have died without having...
SMP: Indeed.
So it's going to be like this. And this is the way it's going to be. You want to be big time? You want to run with the big dogs? My feud with douja is going to consist of three matches spread out over three Web Casts on Demand type things as far as I know, everything in between is fair game.
All you've got to do is sign the dots, pal. My name is rubber stamped on there already.
And when I drop your sorry ass as quick as Kent State guys go through pre-pubescent groupies, maybe next time you'll think about what you're saying, and think about whom you're challenging, before that doobie warmer mouth of yours gets you in real trouble.
Kill me? I'm already dead! Kill me? I'm already dead!
NH: Sil? Not a good time to do the Ric thing....
SMP: No?
NH: Uhn-ah.
SMP: That's another thing. ANYBODY, that says that Ric Flair doesn't have talent or skill, which is pretty much the same thing, you idiot, has got to be either smoking crack, like douja's momma, or just plain retarded. Like douja's momma.
You don't have a clue, do you?
You want to bring new stars to BOB? New battles? Let me back up, NEW STARS?
First, you have to be a star. Which you're not. You're more like a black hole, which I'll assume you'll try to plug as quickly as possible with your jimmy when nobody's looking.
Take your stupid hair, your stupid girlfriend, your stupid lyrics, your stupid Rock-O-Lution, roll them all up into one, gigantic, stupid ball.... and shove them straight up your dingle berried, hemorroid infested, bunghole. Spin around on it as I'm sure that turns you on. Whatever you want to do.
The day I stand across from you in any ring, you can better bet there'll be a new picture under Dependants Diapers for Adults.
It sure as hell won't be a picture of me...
[He turns to Nurse Heidi]
SMP: Heidi? Be gone, please.... I have a lot of work to catch up on.
NH: Okay. By the way, your next appointment is here.
SMP: Huh? I thought today was Thursday, March 5th.
NH: No, it's Tuesday, March 6th.
SMP: Stupid Axl, don't even know what day it is! Moron... All right, I'll be ready to see her in about 30 minutes. Paperwork, you know?
[Heidi leaves, Dr. Plants quickly pulls up Minesweeper on his computer.]
SMP: Axl, you bring you stupid Rock-O-Lution, and watch it get squashed by DOC-O-LUTION.
GET IT? GOT IT? GOOD!
[Dr. Plants clicks his mouse pad, a tiny explosion is heard.]
SMP: Son-of-a.....
[Cut.]
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BOB LEGEND CHAMPION douja
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Post by BOB LEGEND CHAMPION douja on Mar 10, 2007 19:40:49 GMT -5
douja: you just got sonned by the good doc, homie.. i hate you smp, but i love to hate you, and it always brings a smile to my motha' fuckin' face to see you put a bitch in his place.. by da way, axl... if i have told you once i have told you a thousand times.. YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING... ANYTHING.. before you can come around and call me a jobber.. you are quickly becomin' da master of what i like to call "neige heat".. noone enjoys workin' with you, we all just want you to shut da fuck up.. i used to be one of da only people who could tolerate neige and actually teamed with da pale motha' fucka'.. you, tho, you i just don't like.. smp can waist his breath on you all he wants, and lets be honest, dat motha' fucka' doesn't need much of an excuse to start flappin' his dick suckers.. i am only goin' to tell you once, tho.. keep my name out of your motha' fuckin' mouth until you do something that makes you worthy to speak of me.. good luck on da swiss army title is all i can say.. by the way, that is a title dis' jobber right here won some 7 or 8 years ago, but who is countin'.. also, i would reccomend you stop makin' out wit' dudes.. it is not a good look, homie.. not a good look... that is all i gotta say about dat..
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