Private: Bobby Dean
The night of ReVival #6.
Whoever told you “DUI’s bad” were a bunch of filthy, little liars, now weren’t they? These self-proclaimed dipshits are untouchable! Two challenges in, two challenges won. It’s been so lopsided there are rumors abound that the tribe format had to be dropped because management was worried Team Dick Pills and the Neanderthals wouldn’t have a fighting chance after the second straight win.
It’s true, they don’t.
Whatever the situation may be there are two members of the DUI making their way from the puzzle and slide area back towards the awaiting locker room. Old Man Dooze, with a look of astonishment on his face, is walking side by side with a cheery looking Bobby Dean.
Without much thought Dooze reaches over and drapes his arm over the big man’s shoulder, in a show of camaraderie, but he quickly removes it, inspecting it as the underside of his arm is now caked in Astroglide. A look of revulsion spreads on his face as he notices Bobby Dean scraping the gel-like substance off his expansive belly, before shoveling his fat fingers into his equally fat mouth.
This is the point where you dry heave.
Feeling eyes on him, Bobby looks up and smiles, before offering a finger full of gel to his friend. “Cherry!” Bobby says helpfully, to which Dooze, speechless, simply shakes his head vigorously in denial.
“Uhm, how about some grape?” Bobby asks while reaching for the inside of his thighs.
Whoever invented flavored lube should be shot.
On the other hand, let’s just be thankful Bobby hasn’t come across edible panties… yet.
“No, no, no, no.” Dooze finally finds his voice, as he quickly extends his stride and leaves Bobby in his dust as the Old Man rushes towards the awaiting shower, hoping the scalding hot water can erase yet another unwanted mental image that Bobby has created once more.
Bobby meanwhile offers a shrug of indifference as he continues to eat his cherry snack, humming happily as he continues his lackadaisical pace.
Hey, he’s a man with immunity, that’s cause for celebrating!
An hour and a half later, probably the longest 90 minutes of Dooze’s life passes in silence. No real surprise, he completed his shower in a matter of minutes, basically as soon as Bobby appeared, whether he was actually done or not, he was outta there nonetheless.
Fully dressed and now seated, he appears anxious to leave, but is forced to wait for the large man. Forced to sit there and listen as Bobby sings, “We don’t talk about Bobby, no, no, no.” Over and over and over some more, Bobby butchers the Disney song.
Finally Bobby emerges from the showers, with a beach towel wrapped around his waist as he walks towards the open locker, while whistling the familiar, and rather annoying tune. He smiles up at the impatient Dooze and explains, “When they say water resistant lube, they really mean water resistant! Damn, I had to scrub and scrub, and scrub. I think I might have scrubbed some skin right off the bone, wanna see?”
Without waiting for an answer, Bobby stands up and grasps his towel, ready to rip it free like he’s Magic Mike, but Dooze has two hands up immediately, ready to block anything from view. To be quite honest, he really only needed one hand, and he’d probably still have a couple of fingers left over. Dooze has already been mentally scarred today, no need to add visual scars on top of it.
“Bobbo, you’re killin’ me here!” Dooze exclaims, with a sigh of pure frustration. “We’ve got to go! He’s almost ready to come out, and we swore to him we’d be there at his side when he did.”
The large man looks down at the non-existent watch on his wrist before offering a quick, “Shoot, you’re right. Why didn’t you warn me!?” He scrambles out of his towel and into his clothes while Dooze simply stands there staring at the ceiling, wondering why Bobby was the way he is. Something he has wondered countless times before. Seriously, he cannot remember the number of times he’s wondered this.
With Bobby finally dressed, the two men rush out the door and down the hall. Pushing their way past familiar faces and nameless backstage personnel. Surprisingly enough it is Bobby in the lead, with Doozer trailing behind, and trust me, when you see a fast moving Bobby Dean heading your way, you will do anything and everything you can to get out of the way.
The two men arrive at the random door where the cryo-yolk chamber is stored. It doesn’t take long before Bobby Dean produces a random folding chair from somewhere and plops his large rotund ass down, heaving and gasping for breath. Sweat glistening on his forehead as Dooze casually walks up to the door to check that they aren’t too late.
“I can’t believe he’s still in there. It’s been close to a week now. Does that thing even have a toilet?” Doozer asks rhetorically, focusing his attention on the door.
Unaware of what a rhetorical question is, Bobby feels the need to answer regardless, as he says “His mouth.”
The two men share a chuckle.
The day after ReVival #6.
Back in the eGG Den Dooze is shown walking towards the bathroom for his post workout shower, sweat falling off his body with ever step. Bobby finds himself seated before the television watching one of his mid day soaps while eating Baby Bel swiss cheese rounds dipped in Cool Whip. The sight causes Doozer to shudder.
A chime sounds throughout the room as both men’s phones chirp with an incoming text message.
Bobby lifts his phone up and sees it’s a message from Melvin Beauregard, and without bothering to read the message he simply deletes it and goes back to his show. Doozer meanwhile digs his phone out of his pocket and goes through the effort of reading the message that Melvin Beauregard went to the trouble of writing.
“Oh shit!” Doozer exclaims as a wide smile begins to spread on his face. “Bobby…”
At the repeated sound of his name Bobby grabs the remote and turns the volume up. It works for only a second as the Old Man simply marches across the room and turns the television off. Before he can say a word he’s hit in the cheek with a Cool Whip covered swiss cheese round.
“What the hell?” Both men say to the other simultaneously.
“We got the next challenge.” Doozer explains, to which Bobby says “So? Debra was just about to be caught cheating on Chad with Daniel. And Missy was about to tell Daniel she’s pregnant with Chad’s baby.”
“Gross Food Challenge!” Dooze reads from his phone. At the word food Bobby’s ears perk up. “You hear me? A FOOD challenge, Bobby! It’s your time to shine baby!”
Bobby smiles as Dooze continues, “We’ll get in the gym and start training our core. I know some exercises that can help with our stomach, and some deep breathing stuff. It’ll be hard work, but man this is going to be epic!”
The smile that was beginning to spread slowly dissipates as Dooze continues explaining his training regime. Suddenly Bobby climbs to his feet and walks over to Dooze, simply placing his swiss smelling index finger against Dooze’s mouth.
“No, no, no,” Bobby says tsking his friend. “This is a FOOD challenge. This is MY challenge. I’ll be the one to dictate our training schedule this week. You’ll be following MY lead, for once Doozey. And trust me, you’ll be glad you listened to me!”
Dooze is shocked at the confidence Bobby is displaying. So unlike his large friend, Dooze simply stands there nodding his head, both in an attempt to dislodge the disgusting digit from his face and also to show Bobby that he agrees with his new trainer.
A muffled chime is heard emanating from the bedroom of Cancer Jiles. A second later the maniacal laughter of Jiles can be heard. Apparently Cancer Jiles has received some news…
“All You Can Eat, But None You Want To”
A couple of days have passed since ReVival #6.
We’re back in the deserted kitchens of the MGM Grand Hotel. Well, nearly deserted, as Doozer and Bobby Dean are there, seated at the expansive countertop with a vast array of dishes placed in front of them.
Doozer is looking perplexed, Bobby Dean is looking revolted.
Lying before them is plate after plate of the most disgusting foods Bobby could find and prepare. We have a plate of spinach, without an ounce of melted cheese. Followed by a plate of steaming hot broccoli, also without a shred of cheese. Then a plate full of wet kale, a bowl of quinoa, a plate of asparagus, Brussel sprouts, black eyed peas, a salad full of cucumber, zucchini, and tomatoes, but not a single drop of ranch dressing.
Then there is a plate of okra, you’d think Bobby would like because it’s fried. You’d be wrong. A plate of tilapia with a lemon wedge on top, a bowl of grapefruit without sugar. Like I said, plate after plate after plate.
“I don’t understand, Bobby,” Doozer admits, looking at the dishes before him with a smirk. “I thought the challenge was going to be disgusting foods?”
“Right, and here are the most disgusting and vile, and most hated foods I could find!” Bobby retorts, with a scowl on his face. It’s the unhappiest we’ve ever seen “Beautiful” Bobby Dean. “If you can eat these dishes then there isn’t a single thing they could put before you that you couldn’t handle!”
Before Dooze can say anything Cancer Jiles walks behind the pair, carrying a large cooking pot with something bubbling inside. The trailing smell wafting out of the pot causes Bobby to immediately dry heave. The sound of Bobby on the verge of puking, causes Dooze to look unsteady.
A few minutes pass, and the duo are back to normal, Dooze sliding his first dish closer to him, fork in hand, ready to get to work. Bobby meanwhile pulls forth a jar of long pickle wedges, and a tub of pimento cheese…
As Bobby drags the pickle through the chunky pimento cheese, Dooze stops him, saying, “Woah, woah, woah. Buddy, you really shouldn’t be eating. I mean,, we’re going to be relying on you and that iron stomach of yours. Maybe you should limit what you eat to make room?”
“What!?” Bobby asks, infuriated.
Out of nowhere Cancer Jiles runs across the kitchens, his chefs apron covered in sludge, as whatever concoction he was brewing appears to have exploded. The interruption was enough to calm the growing tension as Dooze begins digging into his disgusting foods, while Bobby simply looks forlornly at his pickles and cheese.
ReVival #7 is mere days away.
The sound of a large man crying fills the otherwise empty eGG Den. Bobby Dean is seated Cancer’s favorite blue couch, his knees tucked as close to his chest as he can get them. Which, sadly, isn’t really all that close. But he’s in the fetal position as much as he can manage, as he cries his beautiful blues away.
His phone in hand, he continues scrolling through Jabber, reading Jab after Jab.
“Talk about a setup! You have to wonder, what do the Bandits have on Lindsay Troy that she even agreed to a match that fits Bobby Dean so perfectly…” – PRiMETiME
“I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE BOBBY DEAN EAT HIS COMPETITION!” – 97RED
“@PRiMETiME Well, they don’t call her the eGG Queen for nothing… She’s handing the Bandits immunity and not even hiding it!!!!” – LTSUX
“Can the match be everyone vs. Bobby Dean? At least then Bobby Dean will have a challenge!” – MiracleMilkMan
“INSERT RANDOM ALEXA BLISS PICTURE HERE” – NotAlexaBliss
“This FAT FUCK must have the biggest BONER, knowing he’s about to EAT his way to VICTORY!” – BobbyDean’s#1Fan
“GREAT BEAR WOULD EAT OUT BOBBY DEAN ANY DAY OF THE WEEK! BECAUSE HE’S GREAT AND HE’S A FUCKING BEAR!” – @GREATSCOTTNESS
“Who would even want to watch Bobby Dean eat? DISGUSTING!” – PaulaDean
Having read plenty, Bobby drops his phone next to him on the couch and simply bawls his eyes out. He’s so caught up in his sobbing that he is completely unaware of the arrival of Cancer Jiles. The blonde COOLYMPIAN silently tiptoes his way through the eGG Den heading towards his room. He’s dressed in his usual street clothes with a stain covered chefs apron tossed casually over his shoulder.
He looks at the crying big man but shakes his head to himself, in denial, as if telling himself to not fall for it. The last thing he really wants at this time is to console Bobby Dean. As he enters his bedroom, and just before he can close his soundproofed bedroom door he stops as Bobby offers the most pitiful sob Cancer has ever heard. And trust me, he’s heard quite a few pitiful sobs. He once worked in High Octane…
Sighing, Jiles turns around and petulantly stomps his way back across the room and roughly plops down into the cushions of his favorite blue couch. His shade covered eyes look over to Bobby Dean and he asks with the most boring and ingenious voice he’s ever used, “What’s wrong?”
Bobby looks at Cancer and tries to answer his friend while stuttering, tears continually falling down his chubby cheeks. “I’m gonna screw it all up!” Bobby wails with despair. “Doozer is relying on me. The fans are all saying how I’m gonna win, and do it so easily. All this pressure is on me because it’s a food challenge and all I can think about is how I’m gonna screw it up!”
“Of course you are.” Cancer readily agrees.
“Wait, what?” Bobby stops crying for a moment, looking at one of his bestest friends in the whole wide world, agreeing so easily to his biggest fear.
“Come on Bobbo, it’s you.” Cancer explains, gesturing his arm in Bobby’s direction, as if it were obvious, while chuckling aloud. “You’ve got a record as long as my… arm. Anytime you’ve been handed a victory, you somehow fumble it all up. I honestly don’t understand why soooooo many people are hyping you up for this thing. I mean, I could name countless instances where you’ve left me and Doozer completely disappointed, hell we’d be here all night.”
“This isn’t really cheering me up, Cancer…” Bobby says, with his bottom lip quivering pitifully.
“Oh, you wanted me to cheer you up?” Cancer asks honestly, not understanding what the goal of this conversation was. With a shrug he says, “Alright. I guess you need to understand the one thing you got going for you. Win, lose, or draw, in the end it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day you’ve got Cancer Jiles, the future World Champion, in your corner to save the day.
“You and Dooze lose this tag team survivor and it’s okay. Because in a month or so when everyone has forgotten this silly little experiment, Dooze and I will win the tag team titles.” Cancer states this with such conviction Bobby can’t help but nod his head in agreement. “And you know what buddy, after we’ve won the titles I’ll happily allow you to polish them for me. Hell, I’ll even let you wear them at ringside when I defend them for you.”
Bobby looks at Cancer as if he doesn’t know who he’s looking at. Cancer, feeling as if he has cheered up his sad friend, begins to climb to his feet. During the process he continues, “Bobby, you’ve done a great job so far. You haven’t missed a single show. You may not have won every match, but you also haven’t lost very many either. I’d say you’ve definitely exceeded my expectations, buddy. And ultimately my opinion is the only one that should matter to you.”
Now fully on his feet, Cancer reaches out and pats his chubby friend on the top of the head before making his way back towards his bedroom. Bobby, stupefied, simply watches him leave, unsure of how he should feel at this moment.
“Dooze vs. Food”
For the next day or two, Doozer placed his life in Bobby Dean’s capable hands. Cancer told him not to do it, but Dooze thought to himself: Who better to prepare me for a food challenge than Bobby Dean?
It was possibly the biggest regret of Old Doozy’s life.
The first stop was Cereal Killerz. At first Bobby assumed it was Serial Killers, and they would have a cannibalism challenge, but luckily it was simply a cereal eating challenge instead. The two men devoured one monster bowl of more than 130 different cereals, yet only one of them could do it in the allotted 60-minutes or less. In the end only one of them walked out of there with a free t-shirt, a $50 gift card, and a picture of their chubby triumphant face added to the Wall of Fame.
The next stop was right up their alley.
The place was called Stacks & Yolks.
Upon entering the dining establishment, one thing that immediately caught Doozer by surprise was picture after picture after picture of Cancer Jiles’ smiling mug hanging throughout the place. Cancer had never mentioned the establishment before.
The two men were looking at the Get Stacked, Get Yolked Challenge.
All they had to do was finish 10 pancakes and 10 scrambled eggs in 60 minutes or less. The catch? Each pancake was roughly 9 inches in diameter, and ¾ inches thick. If you won, you walked out with a picture on the wall, a new t-shirt to add to your collection, and a bottle of maple syrup.
In the end, once again, only one man was walking out of the diner with his chubby cheeked face pictured on the wall, and a nice yellow tee draped over his rotund shoulder.
I’m afraid to mention the next stop, but I suppose we must discuss it.
Dick’s Last Resort…
Originally Bobby thought it was going to be a challenge involving penis. He was going to sit this one out, but then he found out it simply involved a 12” wiener, the pork variety. As well as a 16 ounce steak, nachos, a salad, and a double portion of loaded mashed potatoes. The time limit, like all the others, 60 minutes or less.
It was called Dick’s Big T-Boner Challenge, now maybe you can see the initial confusion?
Yet again, only one of the two men walked away with victory. But it was a close one, as Bobby struggled mightily with the small house salad. Dooze, having competed so much already, was only able to finish the salad, much to Bobby’s dismay.
For two whole days the two men competed in one competition after another. They ate ice cream, burgers, steaks, sausages, pancakes, sushi, chicken wings doused in the hottest sauce that either man has ever seen. Sauce so hot that Doozer burned his penis when he tried to piss 30 minutes AFTER the competition ended.
The entire time Bobby was there egging his friend along, reminding him of the upcoming challenge. Like a good trainer ought to.
“Uhhhhh” a groan of abject agony sounds throughout the eGG Den, as Doozer finds himself lying on the communal floor of the suite, his t-shirt raised to his chin, as his extended stomach rises and lowers with every labored breath. He is unable to move, simply staring at the ceiling fan above him, watching the blades circle, as misery encompasses his very being.
Meanwhile, his friend, Bobby Dean, sits on the couch nearby dipping a slim jim meat stick into a jar of French onion dip before squirting a line of Cheese Wiz across the top of it.
Doozer, simply hearing the sound of the cheese wiz exiting the can, groans once more before all of a sudden his stomach begins to gurgle. You know the gurgle, the sound your stomach makes before you end up projectiling across the room whatever you happened to have in your stomach at the time.
All throughout the eGG Den are scattered the most random shirts. Shirts from Dick’s Last Resort, Heart Attack Grill, Cereal Killerz, Stacks & Yolks, and so much more. All have been awarded to none other than “Beautiful” Bobby Dean.
“How…” Doozer can’t help but ask. “How did you end up like this?”
“Just think,” Bobby says in between bites. “Back in the day I had a body like Adonis. Perfect hair that would rival even Cancer’s. Sparkling megawatt smile. 6 pack abs. Definition you wouldn’t believe. I once held multiple titles at one time… Dooze, I was good!”
“What happened?” Doozer wonders.
“Well, I joined the Bandits…” Bobby answers with a shrug, before shoving the meat stick back into his mouth.