BOBBY DEAN vs. BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD
The show comes back from commercial break and picks up with Nick and Dick.
Nick Stuart: What a night it has been thus far! I still can’t believe what I just saw. Ivan Stanislav is BACK and will be in action against Hayes Hanlon in just two weeks!
Richard Parker: Nothing could put me in a bad mood after seeing The Russian Bear up on the PRIME*View. Absolutely nothing.
Nick Stuart: We’re still one match away from UltraViolence, Rich, let’s try to keep our composure. But before we get there, we’ve got a good one. Bobby the Bandit and Brandon Youngblood!
Richard Parker: Dare I ask what could possibly go wrong?
The lights dim. A tremor shakes the building. The smell of BBQ chips and poutine permeates the air. “The Best Around” by Joe Esposito takes over the airwaves.
BOOM!
The Beaute from Honalee emerges from the back to a gargantuan set of pyros. The crowd, by default, cheers the Bandit Wonder Boy.
Nick Stuart: How does Bobby Dean win here tonight?
Richard Parker: He needs a miracle. Wait, scratch that. He needs two miracles.
Cancer Jiles: Well, he just got one of them!
Jaw drop.
Cancer Jiles: HELLO AGA!N BOYS! Looks like I’m back in the MAIN EVENT where I belong!
Still dropping,
Cancer Jiles: Not to mention someone had to wash the Brandon Youngblood taste from the announce booth’s mouth.
Dirty Dick Parker legit scoffs.
Cancer Jiles: And some people have the gall to say I don’t care about PRIME. HA!
Nick and Richard share a look of concern, but quickly realize their hands are tied and there’s nothing they can do. Jiles is back on commentary, and his greatest adversary is coming down to the ring next.
Richard Parker: But…
Bobby takes the ring steps up and enters between the top and bottom rope. Vince Howard introduces him while he’s making the arduous, minute long three step trek.
Vince Howard: Walking up the steps and weighing in at UNKNOWN, From New Honalee, he’s the Beautiful Bandit, BOBBBBBBBBBBBY DEAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNN!
Bob finds the middle of the ring and calmly disrobes. He strikes a pose that no one wants to remember seeing, and then moves over to his corner where he shares a brief word with his Bandit brethren sitting ringside.
Nick Stuart: What did you say to him?
Cancer Jiles: I told him not to forget he’s a Bandit, and as such just off speculation alone he’s got the bigger, dirtier, aqua sock between his legs. I then told him Crumbblood is eggsactly that– a crumb. And if there’s anyone anywhere who knows how to handle a crumb it’s a Honaleean fucking Prince.
Richard Parker: Of course you did.
Parker’s eyes roll all the way onto the floor.
Nick Stuart: And what about the kiss on his forehead?
Cancer Jiles: That was for good luck.
Nick Stuart: You used your tongue.
Cancer Jiles: He had some chocolate there.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
From the very start of Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH, Brandon Youngblood surges from the curtain, the fans in the MGM Grand Garden Arena exploding in a seismic ovation. There is no pomp, no circumstance, no delay. Through the blinding crimson and white strobing light cutting through the darkness of the arena, the Tower of Babel powerwalks, his eyes trained to the ring, toward Bobby Dean. His expression is devoid of all joy, only offering an oppressive scowl of intensity.
Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd for the former Universal Champion!
Richard Parker: He looks naked without the Championship Belt.
Cancer Jiles: Keep your pants on, crumb.
Richard Parker: …
Cancer Jiles: Need them to catch all your pre-cumb.
Richard Parker: …
Nick Stuart: This is… about what I expected.
Richard Parker: I’d rather be caught in a damn jet engine right now.
Cancer Jiles: Just so happens I know a guy.
The arm sway and bravado of the BMF walk. Youngblood can’t hear the COOLYMPIAN’s jabs at his expense, but knowing his presence, that is already assumed. The Hall of Famer is quick down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor. His stride along ringside brings him ever closer, and once he makes the turn near the announcer’s table, after acting as if he doesn’t see the crew, his head shoots towards them violently, eyes locking on one man. He stops, merely staring down Jiles, who remains seated, T-Shades, headset not misplacing a single strand of his impeccably slicked back hair. There is no quarter given. And then, Youngblood flips him off.
Richard Parker: Oh Hell yeah!
Cancer Jiles: What?
Nick Stuart: If looks could kill…
Cancer Jiles: What?
Richard Parker: That’s your daddy right there. Why don’t you go say hi? Get reacquainted. As in get the hell out of this damn booth.
Cancer Jiles: What?
Nick Stuart: This is liable to get ugly reaaaaaaal fast.
Cancer Jiles: What?
Seeing the COOLYMPIAN and preeminent Bandit seemingly unphased, Youngblood turns his full body and takes a few steps towards his arch rival. And as he does? There is no backing down. Jiles shoots from his seat, looking like he’s ready to go. The headset has flown from his head, probably because of the Deepwater Horizon level of oil in his gorgeous blonde locks. That’s the only reason we don’t hear the two, jaw jacking with each other.
And as this is going down, Bobby Dean stands in the ring, hand inside a box of Little Debbie’s, which he’s pretty much smashed, the cellophane wrappers being swept out of the ring by the boot of an annoyed Ashley Barlow.
Nick Stuart: These two… oh my God the verbal exchange!
Richard Parker: I… I think I need to go pray.
No resolution. The tension between Jiles and Youngblood pauses, only because the Tower of Babel is sick of it, flipping him off again before rolling into the ring. He explodes to his feet as Vince Howard makes his announcement.
Vince Howard: Hailing from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 280 pounds… THE LAST DIAMOND! BRANDON! YOUNGBLOOD!
The bell needs to ring fast, because it looks as though Brandon is ready to make a beeline right for The Man From Honalee. On cue, Ashley Barlow calls for it.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And we’re underway!
Youngblood charges in showing no signs of caution. He firmly plants his shoulder into Bob’s gut, and drives him back into the corner. He then quickly steps back like he’s taking a three pointer, and lights up Bob’s chest with a chop so thunderous it cracks the mirror-tint on the guest commentator’s T-Shades.
Nick Stuart: DEAR GOD HE MIGHT HAVE KILLED HIM.
Bob’s eyes go wide, and mostly lifeless.
Richard Parker: WOW. You can see Youngblood’s fingerprints on Bob’s boob! I bet you could unlock his iPhone with Dean’s nipple!
Bob pushes his way out of the corner as if he were drowning; causing the ref to check in on him and make sure his heart is still working. Youngblood shows no remorse for what he’s done. He grabs Dean by the arm, wrenches back, and whips him hard into the opposing corner.
Nick Stuart: Never knew Bob had that kind of pep in his step.
Cancer Jiles: You should see him at a breakfast buffet.
Bob crashes into the corner chest first. There he stays, leaning on the top turnbuckle until Brandon charges in yet again and delivers a stiff clothesline to the back of his neck. Comically, but also very much still lifelessly, Bob slowly rolls down the turnbuckles until he finds the mat.
Richard Parker: Well at least we won’t be here all night.
Nick Stuart: I’m Nick Stuart, he’s Richard Parker, thank you for join–
Youngblood reaches down, and when he crouches, Bobby kicks him in the side of his knee. The very same knee Jiles almost destroyed all those months ago. The Tower of Babel moves away from his ferocious plan of attack to gather himself.
Cancer Jiles: I did that.
Brandon tries to walk it off, and vigorously shakes the pain from his lower extremity.
Bob gets to his feet using the ropes to pull himself upward. He clears the webs, and slides in behind Brandon who is still tending to that pesky knee of his. Bob wraps his arms around Youngblood’s waist, hoists, and then bends the Suplex Daddy in half with a Belly to Back Honaleean Powerplex!
Richard Parker: Wow. That was…
Nick Stuart: Impressive.
Bob scurries upright, and then drops that massive leg across Youngblood’s throat, returning the decapitation favor from moments prior. Youngblood chokes for air, and rolls out of the ring to find a spell of respite. Out there waiting like a coiled snake, still with the headset and T-Shades on, is the COOLympian.
Richard Parker: HEY! GET BACK HERE!
Nick Stuart: LOOK OUT!
Cancer Jiles: Come get a taste you fucking crumb!
The former UNIVERSAL Champion gathers himself after finally coughing up his lung. He turns, looks up, and right as Jiles is about to blind him with the precious YOLJK, Senior Referee Ashely Barlow slides to the outside and gets in between them.
Nick Stuart: Whoops!
Richard Parker: Poor kid.
Jiles misfires and winds up spraying the only MESSIAH fan to ever sit ringside, or to have ever existed. One of the two. Or both. For the folly, Barlow tries to send him to the back, but the native Philadelphian no sells her decree and sits back down at commentary.
Nick Stuart: Welcome back.
While all of that is happening, Bobby Dean slyly positions himself on the outside of the apron. Youngblood, whose attention is focused on the snake in the grass, doesn’t know it yet, but the whole world is about to see something special at his expense.
Something that just doesn’t happen.
Bob soars through the skies, like a meteor plummeting to the Earth, and lands the worst body splash in the history of body splashes. The move, as ugly and graceless as it is, totally engulfs Youngblood. He vanishes underneath Bob’s massive girth.
Nick Stuart: He got like a negative millisecond of air time!
Richard Parker: Where is Brandon Youngblood? Can anyone see Brandon Youngblood!?!
Ashley Barlow vomits, and coincidentally it’s on the same, lone, MESSIAH fan that accidentally got misted.
Nick Stuart: Poor Ashley, she’s not going to be able to unsee that.
Eggshausted, and double jet lagged, Bob slowly rolls off of Youngblood. A ringside doctor quickly moves in and checks for a pulse. Suspense builds. Then, the doc signals he’s alive.
Cancer Jiles: Damn it!
Richard Parker: THANK GOD.
Bob lazily reaches down and pulls Youngblood upright. He lands a few punches that would comfort a gnat, and pushes his foe back first into the barricade. Barlow finally recovers from witnessing that which words can not describe, and instructs both men to get back into the ring. Bob, because deep down he’s a good person, listens, and climbs under the bottom rope. It takes him such a long time to do so that Youngblood is able to recover enough to actually beat him back inside the ring.
Nick Stuart: Stamina is not a strong suit.
Cancer Jiles: You should see him at the breakfast buffet.
Nick Stuat: You said that already.
The two meet up in the center of the ring. Nose to nose. Brandon Youngblood and Bobby Dean. Granted there is a three foot space between them because of Bob’s carriage, but it is to be considered nose to nose. Bob winds up, and slaps the sweat from off of Brandon’s bald head.
The entirety of the MGM Grand gasps.
Youngblood’s entire face turns murder red. Like, get that guy some blood pressure medicine.
If it wasn’t bad enough that Bobby had impersonated him at ReVival 7.
If it wasn’t bad enough that Bob suplexed the Suplex Daddy.
If it wasn’t bad enough that Bob hit a high risk maneuver which turned the Almasy Invitational Winner into a pancake.
But, to slap him.
Like a bitch.
Nick Stuart: That was a mistake.
Richard Parker: A big one.
Bob goes to slap Youngblood again, but this time Brandon catches the attempt by grabbing Bob’s wrist in midswing; causing the Honaleean to quiver in fear.
Nick Stuart: Looks like he shit his pants, and not in a fun, happy go lucky type of way.
THEN.
From out of nowhere.
Bobby Dean mists Brandon Youngblood.
Cancer Jiles: GOT EM! NOW STUFF HIS FUCKING ASS.
Richard Parker: Wait. What did you just say?
Nick Stuart: You all can do that?
Cancer Jiles: You can’t see it when Doozer does it but yes, we all can. Mine just has a cool name and is marketable. Plus, as you can see, Bob’s is more of a mayonnaise base.
Youngblood releases his grasp, and reels back in pain. Bob doesn’t blink, and quickly moves in on the Pillar of PRIME, former UNIVERSAL CHAMPION AND ALMASY INVITATIONAL WINNER, Brandon Youngblood.
Cancer Jiles: FINISH HIM!
Bob pulls out his trunks, stuffs Youngblood’s head down them, and looks over at Jiles who has a tear rolling down his cheek. The COOLympian is either laughing too hard or he’s crying since Bob is about to return the favor.
See, earlier in the night Jiles beat the guy who knocked Bobby out of the Almasy. Now, Bobby is about to beat the guy who knocked Jiles out of it.
Cancer Jiles: FOR THE FUCKING BANDITS!
Before Bobby can spike Youngblood with a Deankosher Driver, Brandon powers the fuck up, and stands upright shouldering all of Bob’s weight with relative ease. Of note, Brandon’s whole head is still stuffed down Bob’s trunks so I’m sure that is stoking the flame, too.
Cancer Jiles: That’s not good.
Richard Parker: Bringing back old memories?
Both men crash down to the mat, Bobby’s back and neck taking the absolute worst of it. Luckily for Youngblood he slips out of Bob’s trunks on the way down, and emerges from the dark abyss not only with a clean face but a souvenir.
Nick Stuart: Oh look! Brandon found the other aqua sock.
Cancer Jiles: *sobbing*
Youngblood, like Hayes Hanlon before him, throws the aqua sock to the crowd. The camera stays with it and by sheer coincidence it strikes the same MESSIAH fan who was misted and puked on.
Richard Parker: For the who? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Youngblood doesn’t try to pin Bob. He’s not finished. He has a message he wants to send. The Tower of Babel rolls him out of the ring, grabs him by the hair, and drags the Bandit’s remarkably rotund butt to where the announce team is. Once there, Youngblood coldly gazes into Jiles’ soul — as if he had one.
Richard Parker: Look at him you coward!
As soon as Jiles looks up to meet his eyes, Brandon swiftly and devastatingly Belly to Back Honaleean Powerplexes Bob through the announce table. Everything goes everywhere. Parker and Stuart get blown back from the impact. The table pretty much disintegrates. Papers and other items float around like a plane crash. Bob’s boots are still flying through the air. Jiles, though, remains seated amongst all the debris. His Bandit Brethren motionless at his feet.
Brandon rolls out of the mayhem, and takes the steps back into the ring.
Barlow starts to count.
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
While she counts, Youngblood stands with his arms resting on the top rope. He smiles for the first time in a while. Turns out cracking the shell of Cancer Jiles is quite the remedy.
Who’d have fucking thought?
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
Bob moves. It’s involuntary. Trapped air. Between his cheeks.
NINE
His mouth.
TEN!
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner by unanimous and unequivocal count out– The Tower of Babel, Brandon Youngbloooooooood!!!!
With no commentary team to close the show, ReVival awkwardly cuts to a commercial.