Private: Bobby Dean
The Sun and Moon have tagged each other in and out a couple times since the last ReVival.
Mother Troy has announced the next card to much fanfare.
Although, a certain tag match slash handicap match, to anyone with half a brain, listed on the booking sheet has caused a bit of a kerfuffle within the eGG Bandit camp.
The Ghostly Doozer and “Beautiful” Bobby Dean are walking down the bustling streets of the Las Vegas Strip. Bobby, trailing behind his friend, has his shirt raised over his massively protruding stomach, and is scratching at what appears to be a scab, over his recently acquired “ink”.
Dooze, oblivious to the scene behind him, is stomping along. Quiet, sullen, and apparently seething. After being around both Jiles and Doozer for so many years, Bobby has a keen sense when it comes to tension in the air, and being the people pleaser that he is, can’t help but want to fix whatever is bothering his friend.
“I’m hungry…” Bobby calls out, helpfully.
“…” The Chameleon, also known as Doozer, continues to march along, quietly.
“Hey Doozy, you hungry?” Bobby tries again, while maintaining his finger scratching at the edges of the scab.
“…” The Elder Bandit doesn’t say a word, but does offer a guttural sigh of frustration.
“Did Cancer piss in your Cheerios again?” the big man asks with a triumphant smile on his face, as he manages to raise one corner of the scab without breaking it.
Dooze stops in his tracks and immediately spins around, shoving the tip of his index finger into the chest of his friend. Before he can speak though, he is distracted by the sight before him.
“What the heck are you doin….” The Old Bull, realizing who he is speaking to, cuts himself off. “Nevermind, no! Cancer did not *piss* in my Cheerios again. It’s you!”
“Moi!?” Bobby asks, completely bewildered, while also furiously trying to think back to what he could possibly have done to tick off his oldest friend.
Not “oldest” as in Dooze is his longest known friend, but as in, he’s an ancient bag of bones!
“Yes, you!” Doozer reiterates, roughly shoving his finger into Bobby’s chest with each word. “You and King Blueberry go off gallivanting around on that damn forklift, and now all I hear from you is Blueberry this, Blueberry that. Now we have to face him and all you can talk about is how you can’t wait to see him again.”
“Soooooo…” Bobby draws out, confused as to what the problem could be. “What you’re saying is, I should get my head in the game? Focus on the match? Uhm… Try harder?”
“No! Like you would anyway!” Dooze says with a frustrated huff as Bobby completely misses the point, but sighs in relief when he hears he won’t have to try harder. “Why don’t *we* have fun like that anymore!? When’s the last time we stole a forklift? Or a golf cart, even? How long has it been since we egged someone? Or did anything even remotely fun together!?” The Elder Bandit deflates.
“We did have fun together, just the other night.” Bobby says thinking back. “You remember? That night with the chocolate fountain? I was keg standing the fountain while you were driving around the halls.”
“THAT was with Blueberry!” Doozer informs his friend, with a disbelieving shake of his head. He turns around and continues marching along. Bobby hurries after, trying to match his friend’s stride, which is harder for him than you might think.
“You’re right buddy,” Bobby attempts to console his friend. “I’m sorry, what kind of hijinks did you have in mind?”
Doozer slows down, which Bobby greatly appreciates. With a thoughtful expression on his face, The Ancient Egger offers out a suggestion, “We haven’t gone to any theme parks in a while? Maybe we can go over to The Adventuredome and ride the rollercoasters? We could even throw eggs at the people as we pass ‘em by?”
Bobby looks down at his feet, sadly, “I can’t.”
“Why?” Doozer asks, confused. “Because Blueberry didn’t suggest it?”
“No, I’m too big.” Bobby reluctantly informs. “The last time we tried that the safety bar couldn’t lock in place.”
“Oh yeah…” The Bruiser from Bean Town remembers, it was quite embarrassing for everyone involved. “What about go karts? We haven’t raced the karts in forever!”
“Can’t do that either, too big…” Bobby shakes his head while gently patting the expansive midriff. “But we can go and I can watch you?”
“No, playing with yourself is not as fun as playing with others.” Dooze says, unaware of a thing called phrasing, and completely oblivious to the smirk that slowly grows across Bobby’s face. “How about horseback riding? There’s that place that has the trail rides… Oh wait, last time we went there you got kicked out for eating that horse’s sugar cube.”
“I didn’t know it was for the horse!” Bobby says defensively, with a touch of hurt in his voice.
“Ooooh, I got one you’d love!” Doozer happily exclaims, causing Bobby’s face to light up with anticipation. “How about couples cooking lessons?”
Bobby’s face falls. “Listen, I want the baby! But I don’t really care how the baby is made, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t.” Dooze answers truthfully, he doesn’t have a fucking clue what Bobby meant.
“What else you got?” Bobby quickly asks, changing the subject so he doesn’t have to explain his thought process, which is probably good for everyone.
“What about a tandem bike?” The Thick Shelled Senior Citizen offers up, following it up with another suggestion. “Or a paddle boat ride? But you have to swear to me that you’ll actually pedal this time!”
“Oh yeah!” Bobby enthuses, remembering the last time they went on a paddle boat.
“But first, let’s finish this errand and then we’ll head over for some fun!” Dooze, always the wet blanket, chooses to be responsible. He turns and begins walking towards their destination, this time with a smile on his face.
Equally as happy, Bobby once again trails after. His finger picking and scratching once more.
“What are we doing out here again?” Bobby asks, forgetting what their plan was.
“I’ve told you, like twenty times now.” Dooze says with clear exasperation in his voice. “El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy is the threat we need to focus on for this match. So I’ve come up with a plan that will take Super Cool Guy completely out of the equation.”
Suddenly the scab that Bobby has been working at for God only knows how long, comes free. The big man is ecstatic, holding it up to get a better glimpse. He can’t help but be impressed as it’s a rather large scab, completely intact. Turning it this way and that, he’s distracted, but coherent enough to ask, probably for the twentieth time, “What’s your plan?”
“We’re here…” Dooze announces as the two come to a halt right outside The Lion’s Den. With a proud look on his face, Dooze crosses his arms across his chest, looking at his friend as if saying “Eh? Eh? See!?”
Bobby’s eyes light up, almost like they did when he was once seated before a bowl of 15 scoops of ice cream. Without much ado, he pops the scab into his mouth and quickly steps forward to open the door. Dooze’s face immediately falls, he looks a bit green, almost as if he’s mere seconds away from blowing chunks across the sidewalk.
He can’t help but ask forcibly, “What the hell man!?”
Not understanding the venomous tone, Bobby asks bewildered, “What?”
“You just ate a scab man!?” Dooze asks, as if Bobby were the dumbest person on the planet. A tone Bobby is VERY familiar with.
“Scab? That wasn’t a scab, it was a Hershey kiss.” Bobby exclaims, causing Dooze’s mind to implode. “I was eating snacks in bed last night, I know, I know. It’s against the Rules of Jiles. Anyway, I guess one of them thought they could get away. But I’m, what did Cancer say…”
“Annoying? Disgusting? Atrocious? Unhealthily Obese? The Perfect Patsy?” Dooze offers helpfully.
“Patsy? No, persistent, that’s the one!” Bobby says, as he lowers his shirt and makes his way into The Lion’s Den, leaving Doozer behind to gather himself, mentally.
The store is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. That is if you’ve never been in an adult sex toy store before. If you’ve been in one, then this is like any other store. Wall to wall goodies. Goodies for women. Goodies for men. Goodies for the in-between. Stores like these don’t judge, and neither does Bobby Dean.
Speaking of Bobby Dean, he is like a child in, well, a toy store. He’s quickly rushing from one wall of battery operated male enhancements, to the opposite wall filled with uniforms of all sorts of occupations. From maids, to schoolgirls. Librarians, to a sexy Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
He stops at one uniform, made up of nothing but pleather, you know, faux leather, with an accompanying riding crop. You know what kind of outfit I’m talking about. He holds it out in Dooze’s direction and asks aloud, “Hey look, I think LT has this same exact outfit!”
Dooze, without even batting an eye, answers, “Nah, hers is made of real leather and costs a fortune. Now put that back and get over here.”
Bobby reluctantly follows orders, and soon the two men are marching through the aisles to the checkout counter where a woman is seated, flipping through the latest Road & Track.
What? Did you think it’d be an Adam & Eve catalog?
“Excuse me, I’m here to pick up a special order?” Dooze announces. No nervous quiver in his voice, no bead of uncomfortable sweat dripping down his forehead. Cool, calm, and collected. He’s a man on a mission.
“Name?” the woman asks, bored.
“George.” Doozer offers, causing Bobby’s eyebrows to raise in question. As the lady goes towards the back to retrieve the order, Dooze answers the unasked question. “It’s the dumb fake name I use when I don’t want anyone to know it’s me.”
“Oh, I get it.” Bobby answers, nodding his head. “I use Scott for mine.”
The lady returns, as Dooze gives Bobbo the stink eye, for whatever reason. “Here you are.” The lady announces as she places a full sized silicone sex doll next to the counter. The doll is 4’-10”, 110 lbs, and completely life-like. It is NOT like your typical blow up doll. Garbage Bag Johnny knows what I’m talking about.
It’s adorned in one of the too-small school-girl uniforms Bobby saw on his way in, so all the goodies are covered, just barely. But it doesn’t leave much to the imagination as Doozer circles it, as if it were a thoroughbred horse he were sizing up for purchase. Nodding his head, a smile slowly emerges.
Not like a pervy smile from a guy who hasn’t been laid in a couple of months, but more the smile of a well thought plan coming together. If he were a super villain he’d probably be wringing his hands together and laughing maniacally right now. Instead he offers a simple, “We’ll take it,” while pulling out a credit card with the name George XXXXX written along the front of it.
A little time has passed, the afternoon sun is beating down on them as the trio find themselves on a man-made pond at The Las Vegas Water Sports. Doozer and Bobby seated in the two front seats, and with “Charity” (yes Bobby named her) strapped, upside down, in the back. It’s a bit obscene because her skirt is now flipped and her thong covered ass is hanging out for all the world to see.
But hey, these things are heavy, and the old man isn’t in the best of moods at the moment, as the paddle boat seems to be doing circles.
“I told you!” Doozer screams out, his face red with exertion, sweat pouring down his face, pooling and staining the pits of his T-Shirt. “Pedal!”
Bobby, oblivious to his angry friend, simply licks away at the three scooped ice cream cone in hand. “So, tell me the plan one more time?”
With an obvious strain in his voice, Doozer lays it out for the umpteenth time. “You help Charity down to ringside, she makes eyes at Super Cool Guy, he forgets all about you and I, and leaves ole Blue-balls in the lurch. 2-on-1, well, 1-1/2-on-1, we win.”
Dooze looks over to see if Bobby is following along, but finds his large friend conked out. His ice cream cone hovering precariously in his hand, as little snores escape him. The full day in the sun, walking up and down the strip has apparently tuckered the big guy out.
The paddle boat continues to circle.
The eGG Carton (also known as the eGG Den)
Time for Hurtful Words
The sitting room of their suite is where you can usually find the eGG Bandits. Jiles is usually found in his blue chair, snoozing, or trolling social media. If he’s not in his chair, he’s probably in the bathroom, not washing his hands.
Bobby Dean can be found in the kitchen, staring into the fridge, deciding what snack he would like next. Tapioca pudding cups? Peanut Butter M&M’s, according to him, his diabetes doctor said peanut butter was good for you…
If he’s not in the kitchen, he’s usually sneaking his way onto Jiles’ blue chair, which infuriates the COOLympian, because he HATES sitting in crumbs. But, that is where the big man finds himself this day, stuffing his chubby cheeks like a squirrel preparing for winter.
Dooze is usually pacing the length of the room, ranting and raving about kids these days, and how much better the world was back when he was kid. He’s probably DREAMing again. Or he’s watching Tik Tok videos. I know, it’s a shock to everyone. He’s curated a list of videos that include cute animals, slow motion heavy machinery, and random young people helping old people in their daily struggles, while songs that make you cry play in the background. You know the ones that you hear during those animal rescue commercials?
Who knew the old bastard had such a soft heart… I think it’s the multitude of medications he’s on that makes his heart so mushy. Apparently he’s not on his meds today, because, today he is ranting up a storm!
“Why is King Blueberry so popular?” Doozer asks the room at large, whether it’s rhetorical or not we may never know, as Bobby Dean is currently chewing and thus unable to answer. “I mean, the guy uses a freaking mannequin! Who in the world uses inanimate objects to pander to the audience for a cheap pop?”
The view of the room pans out and we see Cardboard Dan Ryan is looking out the massive floor to ceiling window, like a tyrant observing his miserable subjects. It’s where he’s most happy. We can also see Cardboard Zeb Martin positioned at the dining room table in front of an ongoing game of Guess Who: PRIME Edition. Then in the kitchen, thrown haphazardly in a trash can are the shredded remains of Cardboard Bobbinette Carey. But don’t feel bad for her, 1. She belongs in the trash, and 2. She’s replaced daily. Bobby Dean has unresolved issues with CBBC, it’s best not to mention it around him…
“And don’t even get me started on his mask.” Doozer continues ranting, like only a man in his later years can. “What’s he trying to hide? Why can’t he just be like the rest of us? Is he that insecure?”
Just as the Old Bull finishes that last question, Cancer Jiles walks across the room, having just finished in the bathroom, dressed in his usual PRIME blue jumpsuit, as well as his T-Shades covering half of his face. His eyebrows are cocked as he passes by quietly, refusing to point out the obvious…
“You know what else really bothers my bones about this fruit we’re facing? What’s this guy’s deal going around calling himself King Blueberry? Blueberry! Who even eats blueberries outside of some rednecks in Maine? Prince Strawberry, that I can understand. King Cantaloupe I could get behind. Cantaloupes are a good fruit to eat when trying to lose weight, by the way.” The Elder Bandit shoots his fat friend a look. Bobby doesn’t notice. “Duke Grapefruit even. But sheesh, who uses food as a crutch to help put themselves over?” Doozer rails, completely oblivious to Bobby Dean in the background digging a yellow Skittles out of his cavernous belly button or the eGG Bandit poster on the wall behind them, Bundt cake and all.
If Alanis Morissette were still making music, this moment would probably inspire a remake of a certain song.
“And who crowned this clown, anyway?” The old man releases an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands in the air. “And so help me god, if he throws the blueberries…”
The Man Who Must Be Good Looking Because He’s So Hard To See turns lobster red at the thought. His electric blue eyes light up so bright they’re almost glowing.
“I might kill him.”
Bobby laughs awkwardly at what must be a joke or an exaggeration.
“Think you can waterboard someone with egg whites?” The question somehow leaves Doozer’s mouth without a flinch, grin, or any associated emotion.
Bob chuckles again, even more awkwardly this time. He loosens the collar of his T-shirt, which could barely be reached under his third chin.
“I don’t know Dooze,” Bobby says with a half eaten skittle being tossed around his disgusting mouth. “I kinda like the guy. He’s fun, and his favorite color is blue. We have a lot in common!”
Doozer is about to explode, but Cancer Jiles, seated at the table across from Cardboard Zeb Martin, looks up from his game and smiles encouragingly towards his friends. “Hey, guys, come on, don’t let this match get you down. No matter the result, no matter if you guys remain winless, in the end it will all be okay. Because I will be THE Universal Champion. I’m practically already a two time Champ, if you think about it. And being the generous, benevolent KING of Cool that I am, I have no problem letting either of you wear it around the Carton.” His eyes linger on Bobby, “Well, after you wash your hands of course. And no taking it outside. And no water after midnight.”
Isn’t it ironic?
Don’t ya think?