Missus...will ya...MNT...make love to me...

(Slobberknocker Arena. A particularly somber crowd.)
Yes, folks, news has reached the fans that Mittens is no longer fully active in the STWF and will be retiring as of tonight. Yet another force here leaving the IG belt vacant...leaving some to believe it's cursed. But tonight...two of the biggest loudmouths in the business will go at it for that strap, and one of them will have to shut up for a month! I'm Angus "V..."
(Suddenly, a cross-eyed man dressed in red with yellow lightning bolt and toilet seat designs on it appears)
"Flush Gordon" Gordon Sully-Kevinson: Not tonight you don't! Tonight WE'RE going to be doin' the commentatin'! And just to show our power, I'm taking your place personally, McMadden!
The Crack (Fiend) Booking Team! Announcing? You're not going to take my white voice, are you?
GSK: You bet I am!
Patrick "the Finger" Patrickson: Dese muddaf<-BLEEP->er commentators t'ink dey get every card, eh? We show dem!
Duth T. Woads: Leeeea'th show 'em how ith done, fellath!
Sure! Tonight it's the North American and 3-4-1 tag belts on the line in addition to our main event, as well as Herb Romaine vs. Coma and that Undefendable Belt presentation.
Hey Duth, waddayoo t'inking wit' dat Undefendable Belt, eh? Wadda stoopid muddaf<-BLEEP->ing ideer, eh?
Well I thay, and I maintaaaain, that ith a good way to give thome newa contendahth that little nudge, and I can give mah friendth belth withouuuut th'Executiveth breathin' down mah neck, hear?
Yeah, that's good strategy, Duth. But right now, it's our first matchup, Gruff vs. BILL!
This contest is set for one fall. Entering first, accompanied by Bobo Q. Fiendish, from Springfield, Illinois...BILL!
(The 1812 Overture plays. Bobo is being led in on a dolly in a muzzle and straitjacket)
And his opponent, accompanied by Anarchy and Serena "Hot Pants" Bazooka, from merry old England...GRUFF!
(The 450 pounder enters to the tunes of the Super Furry Animals. Serena is pushing Anarchy's wheelchair to the ring.)

***bell rings.
Ey, 'oo let dat Bobo guy back in 'ere, eh? 'E so crazy an' 'e don' respond kindly ta group showers, da muddaf<-BLEEP->er.
Apparently, he got locked in the basement of the Slobberknocker Arena by accident...or someone locked him in, or something. It's hard to tell what he told me from that muzzle.
Ithtill be innerethin ta thee what he gonna do heah at Cannaday Chaoth eff ya know wh' I'm thayyyyin'.
Hardly ever, Duth, hardly ever. And oh! Gruff with a piledriver, that was unbelievable!
Wasso 'ard to believe about dat, eh?
Yah, Gruff'th dubbatuff and BEEILL ith juthome little guy who may got heart but ain't got alotta fightin' happnin' in da squarethircuh.
Guys, please, we have to make this look good so we get our contracts renewed!
Gruff bounces BILL off the ropes, gorilla press slam. Big legdrop by Gruff. This is a good match considering there's no toilets.
We all had enuffa dem toileth, Flush Gor'n.
Muddaf<-BLEEP->ing toilet only good for a few t'ings and rasslin' ain't one-a-dem.
BILL with a knife-edge chop...Gruff just barks out a laugh as best he can for a guy who can't talk. Gruff taking BILL to Turnbuckle Central! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! Okay, he's done. Tosses BILL like a ragdoll to the center of the ring.
Ragdoll? Dat remind me of da red-light district back 'ome in Québec. Not dat I ever 'ave use for ladies like dat.
Or in general. Gruff going to the top rope...he's showboating to the crowd...
Looka Bobo! He rippin' outta hith thraitjacket an' hegonna innafere in thith heah match! Leth have thome dethenthy!
Bobo has to run to the opposite corner to get Gruff in time...but Serena "Hot Pants" Bazooka just created a distraction.
Whoa neeeelly thathome dithraction right theah!
Eh, she's okay if you like dat sorta t'ing.
Even madmen like Bobo have to stop and smell the proverbial roses. Gruff has just executed the Billy Goat's Gruff moonsault! 1...2...3! BILL goes down in defeat once more. And just for injury's own sake, Gruff adds a punch in the teeth!
(crowd boos)
Nice touch, Duth, eh?
Thankya, I thought y'all might like thattun right theah.
The winner of this match, GRUFF!
Fantastic! And now, here's up-and-comer Herb Romaine as he battles the walking cerebral enigma, Coma! And I have a feeling this one'll be right up Porcelain Alley!
This match is scheduled for one fall and is also scheduled to head to the bathroom.
*ahem* First, from Endive, ND, weighing in at 235 lbs., the Caprinid Kid...HERB ROMAINE!
(Andy Williams starts singing "Born Free" as Herb Romaine walks dutifully down the aisle)
His opponent, from Parts Forgotten...(people start yelling out "douja!") No, the other guy from Parts Forgotten...(people then start yelling out "Coma!") Yeah...him.
(Vic cues up Richard Harris' "MacArthur Park" for some reason. Coma does handsprings down the aisle.)

***bell rings.
Herb Romaine: Can someone please tell me... what's all this about toilets?
Coma with a sunset flip! One...two...oh, and a near fall. We could have had a quick ending!
Dey know it gonna go to da toilets, so dey know dat Herb gonna kick out, ya muddaf<-BLEEP->er.
Oh yeah, wanna make something out of it, Finger?
Whoa, thimmah down now! Herb now takin' hith libatieth out on Coma eeein tha ring. Beeeig puncheth left `n' raaaight by tha Caprineeeid Keeeid, efff ya weeeill.
(Audience members just behind Duth don their ponchos handed to them by event officials)
Coma with a headscissor. Groin kick by Herb...reversal by Coma!
How do you reverse a muddaf<-BLEEP->ing groin kick, eh?
Eeeif anyus know, ith goanbe you, Patrick.
Both men leaving the ring now...*giggle* I can't wait, I'm shivering with excitement!
Oh, tho ith not cold in heah? I can nevatell - I ain't neva feelin' cold fo' thome reath'n...
Probally all dat fat give you insulation, eh? Ha ha ha!
Coma just grabbed the Creepy Timekeeper's bell! Herb trying to wrest it away from Coma... the bell just went flying and it's headed straight towards the Spanish announcement table...
Dis isn't gonna look pretty...
¡ Viva España in Euro 2000 futball! GOOOOOOAL! *CLANG* *slump*
Dere, dat wathen tho bad...
Kamera Kid, go follow them into the bathroom!
Kamera Kid: Awww, do I hafta? It smells in there and I always get injured with shards of mirror and stuff.
I said now, boy! *giggle* I can hardly wait! They're all sleeping with my Nancy, you know.
I know plenty Nancies but don't know about yours.
Ah, she ain't nothin' ta write home about, Patrickthon. She juthome Woman.
So I 'eard.
And there they are, in the bathroom! Is this the greatest federation in the world, or what!
They open up a stall...where's the toilet? What's going on here...
We nev-ER got 'roun' to fix-ING the toil-ETS from las' TIME dey were use, mon ami.
Zut alors!
Hey, thath pretty good French, ith almost ath if you got Patrickthon's tongue o' thomethin'.
Don' I wish.
So here we are in the bathroom and no toilets. I really should have thought this one through.
Herb (whispering): I'm calling a urinal shot...shh...
And miking wrestlers ain't too smart either.
Lookadat! Coma takin' his libatieth out'n Herb Romaine and he drivin' his melon right through tha urinal...hooeee! Thath juth NATHTAY! Ith indethent ith what it ith...
Coma covering Herb: 1...2...shoulder up! This man just withstood a urinal shot! Wait, Herb's grabbing that urinal cake... he's clutching it in his hand for weight...boom! Coma just went down like he was hit with a urinal cake!
The cover: 1...2...3! YES! Herb Romaine pulling off a spectacular win...and I think he's going to be ready for a championship if he keeps this up.
'Ey, if 'e keeps DIS up 'e can 'ave all de championships 'e want, eh? Ha ha ha!
*****uncomfortable silence*****
What? As if you don' t'ink of it, nuh?
*****more uncomfortable silence*****
(mumble mumble) tabarnak (mumble mumble) caker anglos (mumble mumble) muddaf<-BLEEP->ing (mumble mumble)
While the Finger continues his rant, let's have a commercial!

(A guy is opening up a package of Fat Matt Gigantic Beef Jerky Sticks for the Morbidly Obese. The Rump Ranger is dressed up as a Fat Matt stick.)
So, you want BEEF and SPICE...
(Guy looks around nervously)
(Guy frowns)
Um...no thanks, I'd rather not.
(Rump Ranger shrugs and looks into the camera)
Need a little excitement? Slap into a Fat Matt!

(A guy and a girl are sitting in a car, drinking a Slam Cola (a subsidiary of Marq's Root Beer). The girl looks ready to ask a question.)
Girl: Jeff, be honest. When you and I are intimate...do you fantasize about other girls?
Guy: Well no. When we're intimate, it's always just you.
Girl: Thanks. I just wanted to know.
(Guy sips cola)
Guy: Heh, in FACT, when I'm intimate with OTHER girls, I'm fantasizing about YOU!
(Girl gets evil look on her face like she's about to explode. The next thing you see is the guy flying through the windshield off the lovers' lane cliff)
Get a Slam.

Okey dokey, and now Announcer Lad's in the ring, ready to say some names...
And take some a<-BLEEP->?
In your dreams, baby! *ahem* This contest is for the STWF/MBC/RDWA 3-4-1 Tag Team Championship. Oh, hell, do we really need to do this? Tonight? I'm hung over from that all-you-can-drink martini brunch at Lester Leary's.
(announcers confer)
Skip it!
Right! Challengers in the ring, Pain and Pleasure...and here come the Mama'z Boyz!
(They enter. Let's just get to the match, it doesn't MATTER how much they weigh!)
***bell rings.
Luke Warm ripping into Sir Hungalot!
Jus' 'ow I like it, eh?
Whoa, thimmah down now.
Luke Warm with a Texan-Samoan drop. And now a Texan-Irish whip to the buckles...
Tho whenny gonna do a Tekthath Clovahleaf?
Luke Warm: Me? Do something technical? You're joking, right? I'm over! Listen to these fans!
(crowds cheer like they've never cheered before...unless it was for one of Luke Warm's previous entrances)
He's got a point, Duth. If you're over your skills go down the toilet.
Enough of da toilet t'ing already, eh? What dat cross-eye do to your 'ead, nuh?
The knight in latex armor tags in Jean Bannister. Jean hops the ropes and trips on the top one.
Thath ther'ndippitee fo' the Mama'th Boyth competitah foh yah right theah!
What the hell did you just say, Duth?
Don' answer dat, Duth, I don' need to get spittled agin, eh?
Luke Warm kicking away at Jean Bannister. Jean with a sweep to the knees of his opponent, Luke is down. Elbowdrop, elbowdrop, elbowdrop! What an original series of maneuvers. Jean Bannister thinks he has a chance...1...kickout. SMP just tagged himself in. I think he's tired of his partner hogging the spotlight...
Thath thomethin' of your own fault, Sully-Kevinson. You pushed the guy to the moon and now he'th thome unthoppabah foath!
I was just following orders! Besides, is it any better than the Rump Ranger-Sassy One feud Patrickson made up?
'Ey, dat's a good angle. Tap in to new market segment, n'est-ce pas? Muddaf<-BLEEP->ing breeders t'ink it all about dem.
Luke Warm is going up to SMP... and there's one of them stonecutters.
You ain't doin' it raaaight. THTONECUTTAH! THTONECUTTAH! THTONECUTTAH! There, thath how it'th done.
Brianne Warm jumping on the apron...he's given LUKE WARM the business end of his own move! Jean Bannister slides right in for the cover: 1...2....3!!!
Here are your winners...and NEEE...
Now wait jutha doggone minute heah! Hith thithtah came in and maliciouthlay, viciouthlay, downright b<-BLEEP->chouthlay attacked Luke Warm with no provocation, motivation, or compenthation!
Is he Duth T. Woads or Don King? HEY DUTH! I WROTE IT IN!
Don' innerup me. Now, I demand that we have thome dethenthy in the ring an' you reverthat theah dethision tho we can have thome juthtice heah! Ith juth not raaight!
Uh...here are your winners, as a result of a disqualification, and STIIIILLL Tag Team Champions... THE MAMA'Z BOYZ!
Wadjoo go and do dat for, nuh? It was a perfectly legal match until you decide it was was no good!
My reathonth ah mah ooown.
Give me strength! Now I believe before the next match we have the results of the Candy-Bambi lap dance competition with MonkeyBoy as judge?
Girls lapdance - is dis the dumbest concept I ever 'eard. Dis 'as no place in wrestling or anywhere else for dat matter.
Oh yeah? What about lapdancing boys?
Nudder story completely.

(Candy went first, but her lapdancing skills had been dulled from years in the adult film industry. Still, MonkeyBoy says:)
MB: Oooh. Good. Me'sa like. Good beat, can dance to it, give an 83.
(Then was Bambi's turn.)
Bambi: Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
MB: Mmm. Is banana. Banana good. (proceeds to eat it, seemingly oblivious to Bambi)
Bambi: Hello! Scantily clad girl here! Slut for ratings here to dance on your lap!
MB: Hmph. Banana good.
Bambi: Now what?

(Sound of a whipcrack offscreen is heard. MonkeyBoy looks up to see a Courtney Love-esque figure dressed in black with boots that go past the knee and cause irregular walking patterns. She puts a stiletto heel in a very sassy place and whispers in MonkeyBoy's ear.)
Be a good boy and declare me the winner...your mistress commands it.
MB: Oooh. Okay. What your name?

(she whispers it)
MB: Okay...me declare winner...DEVIANCE!
Candy and Bambi: WHAT?!

(Three-way catfight ensues. MonkeyBoy gets overexcited and has to be pulled away by security.)

Good gollay Mith Mollay!
Not interesting at all. Except maybe MonkeyBoy. Somet'ing about 'airy guys...
Shhh! They're getting douja in the ring now and getting the smelling salts to get him ready for the match...
You uthin' "get" three tahmth in tha thame thententh? You sho' you cracked up tah be in thannounthin biz?
Yeah, stick to booking ya muddaf<-BLEEP->ing toilet guy who can't spoke Henglish.
I'll make do.
***bell rings.
Violent Pacifist with a double underhook suplex. douja doesn't seem to notice he's on the ground, he's kicking his legs as if running somewhere.
I theen mah houndawg do that. douja muthbe dreamin' o' chathin' rabbith.
I don't think that's what he's doing, Woads. VP picks him up and there's a scoop slam. Legdrop by the Pacifist. He helps up his opponent and sends him right back down for a clothesline.
Dat what 'appen when you smoke dat stuff before da match. But dat smoke, it not like I against it, you be amazed the kind of result you get after a few and you talk to breeders, mon ami.
Get away from me, Finger. Just get away. Okay? douja is on his feet, swaying, hiptoss by douja. Kneedrop to follow up. Going up top...not always a smart move for douja in his condition...
douja: i can fly, yo..huh huh..
douja realizes gravity at the same time the VP realizes he's been hit with a splash! 1...2...kickout.
VP: You wanna fly?
The Violent Pacifist puts douja in an airplane spin...then hoists him up for a gorilla press onto the top rope! Ouch!
Thith match itho back'n'forth, I thurprithed Flush Gordon ain't got hith eyeth back ta normal! Heh heh heh!
Watch the eye comments, all four of you!
VP: What, you're talking to us too?
No, you four in the ring do your thing. Why have we instituted a two-ref rule tonight?
'Ere, wear dis eyepatch. I use it when I feel like a pirate, eh?
Hey, half the people disappeared! Is this some Deus X. Masheena thing? No matter, douja going for the Chronic Neck Pain now...
He can't get the Pathifith tup!
I tell you somet'ing. If douja can get...oh dear, I 'ave already did that line, oui?
Muddaf<-BLEEP->ing repetitive scriptwriters.
And over douja goes. The Violent Pacifist is going for his pacifistic sleeperhold to black douja out on his way to a championship.
douja been black and out fo' a loooong time. I'm thayin' that in a totally non-rathith manner. Juth becauth'n I'm from thah Thouth 'n' like to push Irish guyth doan mean I'm rathith, unnustan?
(The STWF Thought Police take away Duth T. Woads, shoving an Insta-Fine in his face on the way)
Have merthay! Thith ith undignifaaahd, unjuthtan'indethent! An futhumore...(he's silenced with chloroform to cheers from the crowd)
The ref is lifting up douja's hand...once...twice...three times...is that it? YES! douja's just submitted to his own fate!
Here is your winner....and once again NEEEEEW North American Champion...the VIOLENT PACIFIST!
Wow! The Violent Pacifist, North American Champion AGAIN! Who will be next to dethrone him? Who cares enough about this belt?
Offscreen voice: MAYBE I DO! AND THAT'S A FACT, JACK! OR MY NAME AIN'T...get your hands off me!...*static*
'Is name is Getyour Andsoffme? Sounds Littuanian.
Well, I don't know about that. Now, we were SUPPOSED to have a Nicolas Cage match, but let's see what transpired backstage tonight.

SMP: Well guys, do you have the tapes for the match I asked for?
Official: We sure do, Dr. Plants - "Nicholas Cage in 'Smoking a 9-inch Cuban'"... 'I Want It That Way'... 'Three Men and a Baby Goat'...
SMP: YOU IMBECILE! Those aren't his movies!
Official: Oh? Says right here, "Nicholas Cage". If you wanted that highfalutin' actor without the "h" in his name, Nicolas Cage, you damn sure shoulda been clearer.
SMP: And if I stick this wingtip up your backchute so far that you'd think you'd need to brush, floss AND polish, would THAT make it clearer?
Official: Probably, but that's beside the issue. So whaddaya wanna do about this match now? We got these tapes...
SMP: Well get the RIGHT tapes, you moron, and do it before (a) Canada Day Chaos, (b) I finish counting to ten and you're still here! You got that now?
Official: Sure hing, so you want to make it at Canada Day Chaos then?
SMP: One...

(Official runs off yelling instructions to people)

Now what wrong wit' Nicholas Cage? He is good actor, nuh? "Caddyback II" was a masterpiece.
Really? I heard it didn't compare to the orig...anyway, looks like we'll have to end it there...except for the Undefendable Belt presentation. Hold the phone...Da Sassy One is coming out with his OJPW Junior Heavyweight Belt!
DSO: Is there anyone MAN enough to take me on?
Patrick, sit down.
Who will fight me and try to take this belt away from me? I know you're all too chicken, but surely someone can evolve!
Who's that guy? He's huge!
Mmm...he sure is.
Here, take a handkerchief and don't drool on the monitors.
Mysterious Man: On behalf of Old Japan Pro Wrestling and by the orders of Sensei Masa Shinto and Giant Baba Gizaa, I, the Invincible Guts Machine, ask you to kindly give back this belt which the Organ Grinder stole from us. It was not fictional, but it was not won properly. Please.
DSO: What? I won this belt fair and square!
IGM: We understand your position but this is a matter of honour. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, and looking at you, I really don't want to do this the hard way. Now, I ask again, hand over the Junior Heavyweight Belt.
DSO: *Hmph* Fine. Take your stupid trash belt. I don't need it, I'm Da Sassy One!
RHM: That's not all...Da Sassy One, you're now the new Undefendable Champ!

I put in a good word. They listen to me, eh?
You sicken me.
RHM: We're sorry the Rump Ranger couldn't be here to hand it over...he's taking some kind of mental health day. But he's agreed to hand over the belt, as if he had a choice.
DSO: Me? Undefendable Champ? Tee hee! Look at me! I'm the queen of the world! King! I mean King! I'M NOT GAY!
*snaps his fingers*
You knew that already. Remember when you goosed him when he was a towelboy?
DSO: YOU! Patrickson! ARGH!
Well, that's it for Nae Trous tonight I guess. I'm Gordon Sully-Kevinson...goodnight, and quit sleeping with my Nancy!
©2000 Stereo Type Wrestling Federation/Consejo Stereotypicos de Lucha Libre