Monday Nae Trous
Tossing Out Punchlines That Were Never There

(The Slobberknocker Arena is completely filled...with 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen...oh, never mind the trace crap. Oh, and a few people too. They all look bored witless until the camera pans over them, at which point they turn into bristling dynamos. But you don't need to know that.)
WELCOME fans! It's Monday, and you know what that means...
It means I have to take my YELLOW pill!
Well possibly, but...uh...you had to ruin the effect, didn't you? Anyway, I'm Angus "Vince" McMadden, and that's Captain Twilight, Jamal's over there and he hasn't said anything yet, and hey, look, we're not wearing pants.
Yo V, watchall think of Virago gonna take down da "walking icicle" tanite?
It's going to be one hell of a confrontation, that's for sure!
You bet. But first, Tyfook makes his debut against BILL.
(DK's office. Virago is facing left and lensward, looking expectant. (No, she's not pregnant you idiots!) Rimshot and Sweet Candy Andy are in the background and have crossed arms. They're alongside Trapezoid, who's holding a folding chair for some reason.)
Virago: So boss, tonight I take down that little "payroll problem" you've been having?
DK: Yes, we've established that already! Come on, the viewers aren't stupid. They don't need to be told the same thing over and over.
(All the people on camera suddenly face the camera directly and look puzzled, then shrug in unison.)
Virago: So you called me in here why?
DK: Why, to repeat what...uh...hmmm. What I meant was, there's still some paperwork for your contract. Sign this.
Virago: Sure. And don't you worry, that cold guy is going DOWN! On ME! TO me. I meant "to".
(Rimshot and Sweet Candy Andy wince nonetheless)
DK: Ensure that he does. The last thing we need is somebody on payroll, that the STWF can do without.

(Cut to Neige Thirteen's locker room. He's lacing up his boots.)
Neige Thirteen: What do YOU want? GUNDAM IT! I can't get any privacy around here. Go away, because you know what happens when a snowman gets p<-BLEEP->ed!

His opponent, from Pahpeete, Tahiti, weighing 227 lbs., making his STWF debut, here is TYFOOK!
("O.P.P." by Naughty by Nature plays. Tyfook enters dribbling a basketball. He's wearing something that looks suspiciously like a San Antonio Spurs jersey, but magic-markered out in numerous places, like where "Spurs" would be.)
That song's a little dated, wouldn't you agree, Jamal?
Iss cool, yo', kickin' it wit' da old-school.
What smells like licorice?
You mean, like a licorice-scented Mr. Sketch?
Who's Mr. Sketch? Is he our new interview writer? Why would he smell like licorice?
***bell rings.
Tyfook maneuvering around BILL now. He's ducking and weaving, his head flailing from side to side. He attempts a clothesline, and BILL goes down. BILL back up now. He applies a full-nelson, and SLAM! Tyfook goes back.
BILL, ever hovering around the border to greatness. Just when you think he's ready for the scrap heap, he shows up with something that says, "Wait, maybe he's not so terrible after all."
He'd be pretty good if it wasn't for a series of crippling injuries. You STWF fans out there check your local bookstores, because BILL just came out with his new book. It's bound to be a bestseller, it's called, "My Insurance Doesn't Cover This", and may I say, it's one grisly book.
Tyfook just nailed that baseball-slide dropkick! It works MORE effectively when the opponent is outside the ring, but it managed to take BILL off his feet nonetheless.
We can't expect Tyfook to know everything. He's only been studying with Billy Polar for a few weeks now.
And thass a prob'm in isself.
Are you questioning the Great White Luchador's skills?
Uh...no?
Tyfook with a drop toehold. Now he's putting on the Rings of Tyfook!
Rookie mistake. You should never start applying jewellery in the middle of a match! What's he setting this up for?
He just gave BILL a backhanded slap that sent his opponent crashing to the mat. He's checking his cheek for blood...whoa Nellie, is there juice. And in the first match, yet! Now Tyfook going to the top rope.
Me `n' Tyfook were kickin' it in back. He was tellin' me about his finisher, da Slam Dunk, an' I think we gonna see it right now!
BILL slowly getting up. There goes Tyfook with a big double axehandle!
Does he have to stick his tongue out like that?
Works for Jordan.
What applications could that move possibly have in Middle Eastern countries?
BILL sent down one final time, there's a cover, a count, and a victory!
Here is your winner, TYFOOK!
BILL getting up, shaking hands with Tyfook. THERE'S good sportsmanship.
Tyfook: Yo BILL, mon, less go shoot some hoops guy. Catch!
Ouch, BILL got the business end of that basketball. I think his nose is busted...again.
Both men leaving for the locker room. And not a moment too soon. These things can only be taken in small doses mind.
Now to replace Tyfook with Tyrone Mayhem.
Did I say small doses?
Don't dis my homey, b<-BLEEP->ch.
I'm not dissin' nobody, mofo, si sitcha<-BLEEP-> down and keep yo' damn mouth shut until you got sumpin' important ta say. B<-BLEEP->ch.
Angus McMadden! That's terrible. And such poor grammar, too.
Sorry...watched a Spike Lee marathon on BET last week.
This contest is scheduled for one fall. Now making his way to the ring, accompanied by "Helena"...from Newark, New Jersey, the Lecherous Coroner, NECRO PHIL!
("Last Dance With Mary Jane" plays as Necro comes out in full facial tic form. He's carrying his "valet", as always. Someone holds up a sign reading "HELENA I WANT YOUR BOX". The Thought Police carry him away, followed closely by a man in a lab coat, holding a syringe.)
His opponent, here to represent...hmm, doesn't say who he's representing. That doesn't make sense. He is the self-proclaimed "most talented man never to hold a belt", he is TYRONE MAYHEM!
("Regulate" plays as Tyrone enters, inviting everyone to check his package. Everyone declines except for a guy in leather. Tyrone runs to the ring and attacks Necro before the...)
***bell rings.
Necro is nearly stunned at the premature attack. Tyrone with a hurricanrana! He bounces off the ropes now and there's an elbowdrop. He pulls up Necro by the lapels. Necro pokes Tyrone in the eyes! Tyrone covering his face and shrieking in agony!
Possibly the effects of formaldehyde all over Phil's fingers. Tyrone Mayhem must be feeling a sting something fierce!
Oh sho', attack the brutha.
I'm sure that poke was anything but racially motivated.
Didn't Stacey Koon say the same thing?
Okay, the fact that I'm here is the closest to an apology that you're getting. You know the drill.
Necro Phil with a sunset flip! Tyrone goes over. 1...2...oh, so close. Tyrone with a series of hits to the face of the Lecherous Coroner. Those facial tics aren't helping Phil either, he's ramming his own face into Mayhem's fist half the time. Mayhem goes up top for a flying elbow but Necro gets out of the way just in time. Necro gets up, he legdrops Tyrone and covers: 1...kickout. Tyrone is up! He looks to be getting his second wind. There's a punch, a punch, a kick, a spin kick, a dropkick and Necro is down! His eyes are rolled back. We can see the @!
Say what?
I agree, what did you vocalize?
That blood vessel in his eye. What did it sound like?
Sort of like part of an e-mail address.
That's good. Necro dusting himself off...he doesn't see or hear Tyrone pounding his foot against the canvas! Setting up for the Smackdown! BAM!
###phone rings.
Hello? What? ... You can't do that; we used that word before you guys ever made it a TV program! ... Well yes, I know you can afford better lawyers than we can, but this is principle! ... Oh YEAH? Same to your momma! (slams phone)
Someone objecting to our use of the word "Smackdown"?
Of course. They should be glad we're using it. It's almost like a plug for them. But logic and wrestling definitely don't mix.
Hey! The match is over! Who won?
Who ya think? Tyrone! He used da...uh..."Tyrone's Upside Yo' Head".
Thank goodness it has two names.
So what's up next?
My card here says it's the Organ Grinder and Neige Thirteen, but I have a feeling that's not happening JUST yet.
("Androgynous" by the Crash Test Dummies plays. Out comes Virago to a small pop. She does some flexing for the camera and grabs a mic.)
Virago: Hello honies! It is I, Virago, your worst nightmare and your greatest fantasy rolled into one! Steel and velvet in perfect harmony. Mmm...
Crowd: GET ON WITH IT!
Virago: Right! I'm here tonight, for one reason and one reason only. I have to take care of a little business right here and now. There's a little someone on payroll who needs removing, at DK's request.
Crowd: YES, WE KNOW, WE'RE NOT STUPID!
Virago: Wow, DK was right...how often does that happen? So here we go...

(Pan to the locker room. Neige Thirteen is in there, reading an "Oh My Goddess!" comic.)
Neige Thirteen: What, is it time for my match already? (looks at his watch)
Kamera Kid: No, I'm just waiting...

Virago: I'm calling out..."COLD BLOODED" KEN THOMPSON!

Kamera Kid: Oh crap! Where's the service elevator to the sub-basement?
Neige Thirteen: How would I know? This is the first time I've been in this building, GUNDAM IT!
This could take a while. Roll a commercial.

(Totally white background. A peppy, upbeat version of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall Part 2" plays. Suddenly, rows and rows of emotionless teens dressed in exactly the same khaki pants and bright orange vests start marching in lockstep across the screen. Occasionally they raise an arm in salute. We then see black text on a white background...)
That's marketing.
GYP
Thass creepy, more like.
Oooohh...that's not so creepy.
(Shot of the Creepy Timekeeper wearing khakis and the bright orange vest with no shirt, still licking that gigantic swirly lollipop.)
How many times have I told you to ignore him?

(Shot of a dingy dungeon-like atmosphere. Many old wrestlers can be seen in the cells. The Stick is banging a cup back and forth across the bars. Broadway Musical Man is playing "Oklahoma!" on a harmonica. "Black" Jack Dealer is building a massive house of razorcards. One cell holds the costume for IRONMAN's "Tony Starks" persona and nothing else. We finally come to a cell inhabited by a man whose arm is wrapped in a red bandage, and a man with light blue skin.
Kamera Kid: Alright, guys, one last hurrah.
"Plasmatic" Peter Thompson: It's about time!
"Cold-Blooded" Ken Thompson: S-s-s-so c-c-c-c-cold. Eternal c-c-c-cold. V-v-v-vengeance!
Kamera Kid: Yeah, let's just go.

Dis buildup is too much, yo.
No doubt! Virago can't work the crowd forever.
Virago: So, does anyone need proof that I'm a woman? I can show you all right now if you like...(starts tugging at her tight shorts)
Crowd: NO! WE BELIEVE YOU!
Her opponent, FINALLY, accompanied by his brother "Plasmatic" Peter Thompson, here is "COLD BLOODED" KEN THOMPSON!
("Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins plays for about three seconds.)
***bell rings.
The cryogenically-frozen wrestler delivering some stiff shots to Virago's six-pack of abs. Virago staggering a bit. Collar-and-elbow tie-up...Virago backs off and starts blowing on her hands to warm them up.
Not only is Ken Thompson's blood diluted with ice water, he's also been spending time in the cold of the sub-basement! You can even see some of the condensate coming off of him! Virago with an enzuigiri kick - I don't know how she does it! I mean, she's a woman, technically she should have no skills at all except for cooking and cleaning!
Captain Twilight and his outdated value system's opinions in no way reflect those of the STWF/CSTLL or any of its affiliated groups or sponsors. Send those letters to...
Oh be quiet.
Virago picks up Thompson...turns him over...piledriver! She tries to hook the leg, but the knee won't bend. 1...2...no. Ken Thompson gets up and delivers an icy forearm shiver.
Yeah, you be shiverin' from the cold!
The fans could have made that joke up for themselves.
I think you give the fans too much credit, Vince. Have you seen the comments people make on the Internet lately?
If I'm on the Internet, the last thing I want to look up is work-related stuff.
Juss porn, right?
Well, of course, I mean I'm paying...NO! That's not it at all. I could have you ejected, Jamal. Virago with a catapult on the former Hemophiliac. If you'll all recall, Thompson appeared to die at the hands of Colonel "Pops" Khorne from a simple cut, and was restored in the cryochamber completely by accident. Now he's back and seeking revenge on humanity but I don't think he'll find it....HERE and there's a sidewalk slam from the woman of Androscoggin County, Maine. I think it's just about it now...she's going to the top rope.
It's Viragonator time! There she goes! Ooh, did I hear a crack?
I hope Ken isn't that brittle. That top-rope atomic drop just sent Thompson into dreamland. 1...2...3! Ken Thompson's GONE!
I don' believe it!
Why not?
Here is your winner...VIRAGO!
Virago leaving the ring. Wait...Deus X. Masheena just appeared in the ring! He grabbed the Thompson Twins...and now he disappeared! I guess those guys really are gone. Neige Thirteen is entering, he meets Virago halfway up.
Neige Thirteen: I thought you wanted ME!
Virago: Don't flatter yourself, honey. (presses breasts together) See you Thursday. (blows him a kiss)
Currently in the ring, your special guest referee for this match, the Pixie King, SUGARPLUM HARRY!
(small pop for the big man. He gets on a turnbuckle and sprinkles some of his Pixie Dust around, then does a suggestive blubber-shaking dance in the ring.)
Just about ready to enter the ring, from Montreal, Quebec, but holding a weird nationalism towards Japan...NEIGE THIRTEEN!
("Daddy Cool" by QRN plays. Boos to rival those given to Sergeant Genocide.)
His opponent, accompanied by J. Fred Kokomo, Jr., the power-mad organ grinder...the ORGAN GR...inder. Hmmm.
(Vic the Sound Guy misinterprets the gimmick and starts playing "Deutschland Deutschland Über Alles". J. Fred is carrying a small flag with the Organ Grinder's face on it.)
***bell rings.
The Organ Grinder just asked for a mic! The match has officially started.
Organ Grinder: BOW DOWN TO ME, PEASANTS! (boos) DK! You will obey my commands! I am the ultimate arbiter around here, and I will tolerate your oppressive system no longer! I will be declared champion, and if you think you can just choose who wins and loses, you're WRONG! Public speaking skills? Athletic ability? These mean nothing! My sheer charisma alone should...nay, MUST...guarantee me the Intergalactic Championship on a silver platter despite my win/loss record. Fred, don't do that to the flag! Aw, man...
Neige Thirteen: QUIT STEALING MY GIMMICK!
Neige just nailed the Organ Grinder with a reverse DDT! Sugarplum Harry counts: 1....2....3! And just like that, it's over.
As long as we don't get a long speech, I'm fine with it. Neige is pulling up the Organ Grinder. I think he wants more! He's going for the "DOKE" kick!
The kick dat sounds like "d'okay"?
Container of margarine on the announcer's booth: Butter.
Why is Gary Gourmando leaving his margarine around? And we said "DOKE", not....
Container: Butter.
That's enough out of YOU! (throws container of margarine)
You're supposed to throw things AWAY from the ring, AWAY!
Good shot! Y'all hit Neige square in da head!
And saved the Organ Grinder from an insult on top of his defeat. You just may be on his hit list now, though.
I didn't mean to! Honest! Hopefully he feels the same way about hitting the elderly as he does about hitting women.
Neige Thirteen: I DON'T!
Damn.
Sugarplum Harry happy to pick up a paycheque. And we're into the final match, but first, it says that an interview is imminent...with Homicidal Hank!
("Du Hast" by Rammstein erupts over the speakers. Since they're STWF-quality, they quickly burn out. Homicidal Hank enters to a huge pop... even more so when he takes off his offical "Heelside Stranglers" jacket to reveal a "Hank 19:50" T-shirt.)
Welcome Hank. My first question: Why are the fans cheering you? I thought you were a Heelsider now?
Homicidal Hank: I know, Vince. I try, and I try to get some heel heat, but they just won't boo me. Look, I'll demonstrate!
(Hank scoops Vince up and powerbombs him into a table. The cheers increase.)
Hank: See? Vince? Damn... Jamal, get your a<-BLEEP-> over here...
Yo, you gots to be kidding! Cap, go interview the pyscho, willya?
Okey-dokey! Hank, what's on your mind?
Hank: The Bunkhouse 'Blivion Brawl is on my damn mind! You're looking at the reigning record-holder. 19 minutes and 50 seconds... well, this time I want to go one better... I am gonna be number one! Because I will be number one! And after I've won, there will be only one! And no-one will beat me! Capisce?
Not a word. Please explain.
Hank: *sigh* I mean, I'm volunteering to be the FIRST MAN in the Brawl! El Numero Uno! First in the ring... and last out!
This is the strangest thing I've ever heard. You actually want to START the Brawl?
Hank: Damn right! DK, you heard me... make it happen! Now, I'm outta here... King Spike's gotta hot date tonight, and I have to drive him there.
Thanks for your time, Hank.
(Hank grabs his jacket and leaves, headbutting a popcorn salesman on the way out.)
Dat guy's nuts!
Jamal, hand me the smelling salts.
Huh? UGH! Get those things away from me. I'm up, I'm up.
This is your final match of the evening...and damn if it's going to be a doozy! It is set for TWO FALLS OUT OF THREE. Entering first, with a total combined weight of 624 pounds, accompanied by Li'l Peppy Polar, they are the tag team champions - why are they entering first? I don't know, they just are *wink*, the team of Billy Polar and Mittens, they are...BILLY POLAR AND MITTENS!
(Vic doesn't know which theme to play, so he cues up "It's Not Right But It's OK" by Whitney Houston. Li'l Peppy Polar, formerly known as Pepe the Mexican Midget, is with them for some reason. Peppy still has his sombrero but his head bandage can be seen underneath from being thrown out a second-storey window.)
Their opponents, the challengers, with a total combined weight of 561 lbs., from Parts Unknown...they are...THE CIRCUS FREAKS!
(Nothing happens for about a minute.)
I've just received word that the Circus Freaks have been attacked! Let's go there now.

(The Ambulance Jockeys are seen taking the Circus Freaks away, occasionally "dropping" them and chuckling.) Announcer Lad: What's happened here?
Barry Brown: Nothing...they were laid out when we got here...*snicker*
Garry Greene: Shut the hell up, Barry. Now if you'll excuse us, we were asked to replace the Freaks.
YOU? Now wait a second...
Garry Greene: Easy, don't go all Okerlund on us now.
Here come the Ambulance Jockeys!
Billy Polar: What are you two morons doing out here! We're supposed to be wrestling the Circus Freaks!
Garry Greene: Yeah, well, we're replacing them. We got the bookers in our back pockets ever since Barry here treated Patrick Patrickson's "life partner" after a bizarre turn of events led a fluorescent light bulb to...
Billy Polar: *covering his ears* ENOUGH! Okay, I don't care who we wrestle, because the Lite Death and the Big HURTY are going to trample you flat!
Mittens: Mittens says, "Yeah!"
***bell rings.
Garry Greene to start off with Mittens. Mittens whips Garry to the corner and he runs in with a big scissors kick himself. Garry sinks to his knees and then collapses. Mittens goes for a running powerslam.
Mittens may not be much for opening strategy, but damn if he's not effective in that ring! He's MY pick for the Bunkhouse 'Blivion Brawl, and you can write that one down!
(writing)"...he's not effective in that ring..." Mittens know you dissin' 'im? I can show 'im dis, y'know.
Gimme that paper! You two behave, or off to bed with no post-show drinks and hookers!

I warned you...
Aw, V...*pout*
You never let us have any fun. *pout*
Mittens tagging in the Greatest White Luchador. Billy Polar springboards off the top rope and goes for a crossbody! Too bad he's only 145. Garry catches him and applies a backbreaker. The tag to Barry is made. Double-team action - double vertical suplex! Barry with a snapmare.
The Ambulance Jockeys really applying themselves. They could walk away the 3-4-1 champs.
Let's not go nuts. Billy Polar executes a flying headscissors! He covers: 1...2...no. Both men up, armdrag takedown by the Lite Death. Barry puts on a hammerlock, now takes Billy down and there's a Boston Crab! He's getting those legs back. Billy is in pain!
Nawwww, REALLY?
No, not really, this is sports entertainment! Mittens is trying to get the tag...Billy struggling to get there....he's THERE. Mittens the Mannerless is in. He takes a huge boot to the back of Barry's head. Barry is face-down on the canvas. Mittens sits on his spine! And there's a camel clutch!
Just checking. This isn't a submission match, is it?
Not according to my records.
Hunh.
The ref making Mittens break the hold; Barry has reached the ropes. Barry gets up...and he's asking for a test-o'-strength?
You MUSS be jokin'!
That's suicide!
Probably, but it's entertaining. Mittens locks up with Barry. Mittens picks Barry off the ground by the arms, and flings him right into Garry Greene! Both Ambulance Jockeys are outside the ring.
Coming down the aisle! It's Dr. Sillaconne M. Plants and Nurse Heidi! Nurse Heidi is distracting Li'l Peppy Polar with her...charm...and Dr. SMP has just chloroformed Billy Polar and Mittens both!
Didn't Billy once joke about being chloroformed? Something about Canada Day Chaos?
You're asking me?
Why don't y'all ever ask me?
Okay, has he?
I dunno.
Get out of the booth, Jamal! SMP has rolled both men in the ring. Barry crawls back in and lays a hand over the Big HURTY. 1........2........3!
Here are your winners...and NEEEEEW STWF/MBC/RDWA 3-4-1 Tag Team Champions...THE AMBULANCE JOCKEYS!
I don't believe this!
Dr. Plants is pulling out a syringe. What's he doing with it?
SMP: Tee hee...Billy's going to be so surprised in the morning!
He's injecting the syringe into Billy's left breast! I have no idea what this is going to do. Well, I have an IDEA...but whether or not it matches anything in reality is another story.
What a night!
Can we go now? I parked in a handicapped zone an' I don't think my car's there anymore.
Sure. On behalf of Captain Twilight and Jamal Tupac Mustafa, this is Angus "Vince" McMadden saying, Keep your pants off!
©1999 Stereo Type Wrestling Federation/Consejo Stereotypicos de Lucha Libre