Posted on 10/15/22 at 8:42pm by Bobby Dean
Event: ReVival 17
Strap in folks, and remember to keep your arms and legs within the car at all times. If you can’t tell, you’re on a rollercoaster today, baby!
It all started in the heartland of Missouri. In the backstage area at a Missouri Valley Wrestling show to be exact. That’s where we find our trio of lovable aficionados of egg. Doozer, the Old Goat, is currently pacing the length of the dressing room, a look of absolute bewilderment on his face.
Bobby Dean, the teddy bear of the group, currently finds himself seated on a steel folding chair that is structurally straining to remain upright at the moment. His face is also covered in shock and disbelief, as he watches Doozer doing laps.
The third member of the group is currently absent storms into the room, causing the door to smash into the wall with a loud clamor, two large gold plated title belts held tightly in the grasp of each hand. He suddenly launches each title belt across the room, one landing at the feet of Doozer, the other colliding with the cherubic face of Bobby Dean.
“There,” the voice of Cancer Jiles announces, a voice oozing both condescension and disappointment. “I have single handedly won the HOTv Tag Team titles for the two of you. Having to do everything myself, yet again. I’m really beginning to wonder, why are you two here?”
Doozer, having not even bothered to pick up the title from the floor, simply watches as Cancer Jiles walks over to his open locker, bending down to rummage around before strapping on what appears to be a fanny pack. You remember those, right? Turning around to face the room, Doozer and Bobby each gasp in surprise.
“What…” Doozer manages to say, his eyes never wavering from Cancer’s waist.
“Where do I get one of those?” Bobby asks while rubbing at the knot that is probably forming on his forehead from the collision with the title.
“You don’t get these, Bobbo, you earn them.” Cancer informs with a hoity toity air of superiority, as he looks down at the gold painted cardboard face of the PRIME Universal title, that is gorilla glued to the front of a black fanny pack. “Since Mom is going to be a Lee about things…”
“Forget that,” Dooze demands, finally stooping down to snatch the title off the ground. “Why is it, you’re able to win the tag team titles in a singles match?”
Cancer looks at Doozer as if he’s the dumbest man he’s ever met. His eyebrows cocked, his mirror t-shades tipped at an angle at the bridge of his nose, literally looking down his nose at the Old Goat. “It’s HOW. Need I say more?”
Bobby and Doozer share a look before nodding their heads in complete understanding.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a jet to catch. You see, I’ve been winning titles left and right lately and Missouri is not the place you want to celebrate!” Cancer Jiles announces, as he makes his way across the room, leaving Doozer and Bobby Dean behind, without a second glance.
A day or two has passed, and neither Doozer nor Bobby have heard a single peep from their friend Cancer Jiles. With the COOLympian still restricted to the lower floors of the MGM Hotel, the remaining two Bandits have missed their friend in the Den. Annabelle, not so much.
“Are you sure he’s here?” Doozer asks for the umpteenth time, as he follows Bobby down the sidewalk, wishing that his large friend would pick up the pace for once in his life.
Annabelle quietly follows along, with a pair of white Air Pops tucked into each ear, oblivious to the world around her, annoyance clearly shown on her face as she was forced to come along.
“I saw on Jabber that he was treating himself today,” Bobby answers while looking down at his phone, following the little map’s directions. “Since he wasn’t at 24/7 Posh Nail Lounge, he has to be… Here.”
The three find themselves standing in front of a brightly lit commercial building with the name “Bangkok Tai Massage” emblazoned on a huge sign above the entrance. A large muscular man, with a familiar scowl stands in front of the door in a two piece suit, his beady eyes never wavering as they drill holes through the face of Bobby Dean. Figuratively.
Doozer sees the man scowling in their direction and stage whispers, “Isn’t that…” only for Bobby to scream out in joy, “LASER!”
The beefy boi that is Bobby Dean runs forward and attempts to hug the former bodyguard of HOW’s Lee Best, but seconds later he finds himself on his back staring up at the sky, wondering how he got there so fast.
With a chuckle, Doozer calmly approaches, his cautious eyes never leaving the deadly bodyguard. “Laser.”
“…” Laser refuses to answer, as he takes his position before the door once again, fixing his suit jacket.
“What are you doing here?” the Old Man asks, as Bobby Dean struggles to get back to his feet.
“…” Laser still refuses to engage in conversation as he simply stands rooted in his spot, eyes staring lifelessly ahead.
“The fuck Laser!?” Bobby screams, while finally managing to get to his knees, poor Annabelle is stuck trying to help her father up. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
The narrowing eyes of Laser immediately snaps to Bobby, but before the man strikes out, he is muttering a series of numbers under his breath, “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
Doozer meanwhile attempts to step toward the door to open it, but Laser reaches out and places his palm against Doozer’s chest, stopping him, none too gently. The counting has stopped as Laser now looks into the eyes of the Old Man.
“I can’t let you in there.” Laser’s gruff voice can finally be heard.
“Why not?” The Old Man asks, obviously. “Is the Emperor in town, getting a handy tonight?”
“Mister Jiles has booked the establishment for the evening, and neither of your two names are on the approved list of visitors.” Laser informs mechanically, before darting his eyes towards the mini-Bandit. “And I’ve been given strict orders that she is to be kept as far away from Mister Jiles as possible.”
“What the fuck did I do?” a smirking Annabelle asks rhetorically, knowing full damn well what she’s done.
The large slab of beef finally makes it to his feet, ignoring the potty mouth teenager in front of him, as he simply looks towards Laser and asks, “Mister Jiles?”
“Yes, Mister Jiles, Emperor of the eGG, Architect of Everlasting Yolk, Keeper of the Carton. Father of the Shell.” Laser’s monotonous tone rattles off title after title, without conviction, but impressive none-the-less.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Doozer mutters as he once again tries to step towards the door, only to be rebuffed once more.
“Try that again and I’ll suddenly remember why I hate you guys so much.” Laser threatens. Not very well, but threatens all the same.
“I’m curious, why do you hate them?” Annabelle asks with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Before the hulking form can answer, the door swings open, colliding into the man’s massive back, causing him to lurch forward. The second time’s the charm as the now unimpeded door opens easily and quickly, allowing a scowling Cancer Jiles to emerge, followed by a handful of security guards.
Before the Architect of Everlasting Yolk can reprimand his underling Laser immediately apologizes, with contrition in his voice. “I’m deeply sorry, Mister Jiles. These… clowns… distracted me.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again, crumb, or you,” the COOLympian finally notices the three new arrivals, a smarmy smile slowly spreads on his face, as his arms go out wide in a long lost greeting. “Bandits!”
“What is going on here?” Doozer demands, pointedly looking at the numerous security guards milling around, then looking at the ostentatious massage parlor.
“And why weren’t we invited?” Bobby asks, with a wounded expression on his face. “You know how much I love massages.”
“Well, when either of you two start to decide to step your game up, and show me why I even bother keeping you around, maybe then we can go out and celebrate our victories.” Cancer informs the duo, still smirking, still with that air of superiority about him. “Until then, the two of you can go about jobbing to Zion and the Fruit of the Loom guys.”
Doozer and Bobby are speechless as Cancer Jiles simply pushes his way between the two, stopping as he approaches an indifferent Annabelle Dean. Not even bothering to look down his nose at the teen, Jiles simply says, “I don’t even have the energy to pretend to like you today.”
“You might be able to fool all these people into believing that you are something special, but I will always be that one person who’s figured you out, and knows who you really are behind all that mirror-shaded bullshit.” Annabelle offers under her breath, just loud enough for Cancer to hear.
“Maybe,” Cancer claps back, now looking her directly in the eye, well, behind his t-shades. “But in the end, you’ll still be nothing more than a Dean.” He shudders in revulsion, before smiling in triumph and walking away.
There is nothing quite like floating lifeless in a body of water. I prefer the pools, since the tide won’t carry me away, and bathtubs are quite confining. But, the fine people working at the MGM have revoked my pool access. Apparently they’ve received too many complaints about a hungry man eating snacks while floating on his back soaking up the beautiful rays of sunshine.
So here I am, sadly, “floating” in the bathtub of the master bath. It used to be Cancer’s self appointed bathroom, but he’s slumming down in the mid deck of the tower, so I called dibs. Unfortunately even the girthier master bath tub isn’t actually deep enough for me to float, as I continuously feel the drag of my fat ass hitting the bottom of the tub.
None-the-less, I am in heaven. Naked. Submerged in the lukewarm waters with my eyes closed, and just enough of my face free of the water to enable me to still breath. Thankfully.
Some people enjoy working out, or running, to get their thoughts out, I find that to be too much work. Others enjoy meditating on a yoga mat, but the constant “Ohhhhhms” annoying the ever loving fuck outta me. I swear, makes me want to jab my thumb in their eye and turn their “Ohhhhms” into blood curdling “Ahhhhhhhhs!”
I’ve even heard that some people turn to sex to sort through their innermost thoughts, but my thoughts last longer than four seconds, and the women I pay charge WAAAAAAY too much for pillow talk afterward.
So no, ole Bobby Dean here, resorts to floating in a bath tub. It’s cheap, it’s easy, and no one yells at you when you make bubbles…
I have to admit something here, in my safe space, the world of the Bandits is on the verge of implosion. There has always been this budding strife between Doozer and Cancer, but here lately I sense a shift in tone. The words pack a little more punch. The schoolyard insults are turning more hurtful, with actual feelings behind them.
Beginning to wonder… Does Zion have to deal with this kind of stuff with JCH? Whoever thought I’d be envious of Zion of all people!?
Funny how the Bandits become the HOTv Tag Team champions and our first match after winning the belts is a match against Zion and partner… For a minute there I actually forgot which company we were in. Was about to break out my #97Red trunks and robe.
What would Cancer think? He wins the tag titles singlehandedly only to watch Dooze and I lose to Zion and JCH…
I’m beginning to worry that Cancer has outgrown us, and I worry that without Cancer, Doozer may drift away on a yacht, reminiscing about his golden years in DREAM, never to return again. Where would that leave me? I can’t remember the last time I had to rely on just myself to get a job done…
I wonder, is Annabelle old enough to learn how to wrestle?
I’ve been knocking on the bathroom door for the last twenty minutes, to no avail. Ten minutes later I try the knob and find the door unlocked. Of course he wouldn’t lock the door. But I’m leery about just walking in. I mean, it’s Bobby Dean, in a bathroom…
What if the big guy is in trouble? What if he’s drowning? What if he’s had a panic attack because he found out they cut him off from the obligatory Continental Breakfasts? What if he finds out Annabelle set him up for a second date with Kaitlyn?
“That’s it, I’m coming in!” I yell through the door, seconds before tentatively inching my way in. I try to both see where I am going, while also trying to avert my eyes to any potential nakedness.
What I see before me causes me to stop in my tracks, I feel my mouth open wide, jaw dropped, at a complete loss for words.
There Bobby is, floating in the massive garden tub built big enough for three, belly up, naked as the day he was born, but with a single HOTv Tag Team title draped over his crotch, and the other draped over his pendulious breasts. It’s both mind boggling how perfectly they’re situated, and how only Bobby Dean would think to do this…
I’ve heard of rubber duckies, but title belts?
“Bobby, what am I going to do with you?” I mutter aloud, not really sure where I should look. “Listen Bobbo, we got a problem with Jiles. I think his recent success has started to get to his head. Perhaps it’s time we sat him down for a little ego intervention and remind him what it means to be a Bandit of the eGG?”
I walk over to the far sink, resting the back of my thighs against the edge as I cross my arms over my chest, staring off into nothing. “I remember what it’s like, to stand atop the peak of that mountain, looking down at everyone below you. It’s exhilarating, and you begin to forget about all those who helped you get there. I’m worried if we don’t drag him back down to earth, he’ll do something neither of us can forgive or forget. “
The silence in the room is overwhelming.
“Bobby?” I ask, noticing for the first time that Bobby’s eyes are closed. “Bobbo? Can you hear me?”
I step close to the tub with my arm outstretched, about to tap Bobby’s submerged shoulder, only to see his eyes pop open wide in shock and fear.
“AHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh!” the blood curdling scream emitted from the fat man is impressive, and deafening. “GHOST DOOZE NOOOOOOoooooooo!”
I really hate this bit.
The COOL Straw
Ya know, sometimes it feels good to be seen.
Yeah, that’s right. Doozer here.
I’m walking the strip right now, taking a break from the grind an old man like me has to in order to keep up. It’s not easy, but hey, sometimes it’s worth it. Even though everyone knows how I feel about it being dickhead, of all three of us, to swoop down and take the High Octane Tag belts for us. I went from drawing first blood to some dumb shit like:
“Was Doozer even there?”
I get it. But they say with enough time, people just remember the title history… the HOW gets lost in the mix.
Anyway, I actually had a PRIME fan come up to me just a few minutes ago, wanting the Elder Bandit’s autograph. He might’ve been a fifty year old man child, but it wasn’t a joke this time.
So that was pretty coo… I mean great.
Ironically, or maybe more coincidentally, but either way major fuckedupally… there was fate, right there to take this old man down a notch after a glimpse of the good ole’ days.
Fate is a bitch.
And almost as ugly as this fucking poster, covering way too many windows by tree way, hanging above the street for maximum exposure.
I thought I said the words internally, but unfortunately said crumb’s voice piping up out of nowhere proved that wrong.
“What’s that, Snoozer?” Jiles sneers that sneer I hate the most. “Do you remember the last time a PPV was named for YOU?”
The sneer I hate the most turns into the smirk I hate the most.
“Oh, actually, that was way back over a decade ago… and it was named after US, wasn’t it?” The Blond Bandit snickers. “Scrambled Dreams!” He throws both hands to the Vegas night sky. “A launching point for yours truly… and a sad prophecy for… yours.”
My nose twitches and I’m pretty sure I even snarled a bit instinctively. I step up to get in my long-time “friend’s face.
“You’d never even sniffed a Main Event before me, Jiles. Or did you forget that? Need me to rattle that salt mine between your ears and knock some memories loose? Maybe we can even get some replays of YOU losing OUR tag titles to fucking Darin Zion back in the day like he was Brandon fuckin’ Youngblood or some shit.”
I spit a liquid dart toward his golden shoes.
“I’d love to see you try and make it without me doing your dirty work.”
That’s when the skinny prick raised his pointer finger and placed it over my lips. Despite half a thought to bite the fucking thing off, I snap backwards.
“I think you need to go take a nap, old man.” He winks that wink I hate the most. “And be careful what you wish for, huh?”
Jiles peeks over his shoulder and nods. A large man in all black, who also doesn’t appear to be Laser, steps up between me and the disease known as Cancer.
I look the bigger man up and down like I could give a shit about his size.
“Who the fuck is this fuckin’ guy?”
Jiles chuckles, then turns and begins to walk away.
I look up at the mountain of a man straight in the eyes… and he gives me this sheepishly strange smile. Almost innocent. Almost… special.
Then he simply extends an open hand my way, like the tension just miraculously melted away.
“Name’s Larry. BIG FAN! Wanna get some lunch?”