Las Vegas Strip
The Boulder Dash debacle just finished. The group from DUI is celebrating, each member surrounding Solid Gold Rock ‘N Roll, and delivering slaps of appreciation on the backs of Trent Sadikaj and Barry Delgado. Well deserved, as those two managed to push and kick the boulder the remaining inches across the finish line. Relief is clearly covering all of their exhausted faces, even the mannequin’s, because now they all know that not only have they won, but thanks to Delgado and Sadikaj, are all now immune from elimination.
There is one person noticeably absent from the jubilation. For that person is currently lying on the ground, taking in massive gulps of air, in a puddle of his own sweat that’s growing by the second. Surprise! (Not really). It is none other than “Beautiful” Bobby Dean, in all his glory, slowly shaking his head from side to side like he regrets every life choice he’s made up until this moment..
His partner in crime, and fellow eGG Bandit, Doozer walks over with a triumphant smile across his face. Pride shining in his electric, blue eyes as he stands over his friend, looking down on him, literally, not figuratively.
For once, not figuratively.
“I can’t believe you did it.” The Elder Bandit says with a mix of shock and pride in his voice. “You actually tried!”
Still struggling for breath, Bobby manages to eek out, “Never… Again…”
“I’m proud of you, buddy.” The Boston Bruiser admits, reaching his hand out to help his friend up to his feet. He realizes his mistake too late, as he finds out just how hard it is to lift 369 lbs of dead weight off the ground, especially after having spent all his energy on pushing a boulder earlier in the night. The Old Bull thinks quickly, and pretends to lose his grip.
“Your hands are wicked sweaty, Bob. If I wasn’t so damn happy with you, I’d be disgusted. Don’t think I can keep a hold, though. You’re going back down, big guy. Brace yourself!” Releasing the sweating palm of his friend, Dooze simply stands there shaking his head, with an ear to ear smile that looks like it might be permanent at this point, as the mass that is Bobby Dean falls back to the ground with a thud.
“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”
Countdown to ReVival #6
The eGG Carton/Den
Last time we were in the eGG Carton the room was a disaster. Full of newspapers, and all the other ingredients for paper mache. Today, it’s still a disaster, just a different kind. Doozer can be found seated at the dining room table, surrounded by all sorts of puzzles. He’s got two tablets before him, one with a half finished sudoku and the other a half finished game of minesweeper. There’s also a newspaper, probably leftover from the last visit, opened to the crossword page.
Scattered throughout the table are completed slide puzzles, finished hitori, calcudoku, kakurasu, a few perfected nonograms (also known as picross), a finished nurikabe, shikaku, cryptogram, and quite a few completed word scrambles, or anagrams to some.
He’s been a busy boy, and he appears to be in the zone as Bobby calls his name, and not for the first time.
“DOOZE!!!” Bobby screams from across the room.
The large man in blue finds himself seated in front of the television, smack dab in the middle of a SAW movie marathon. On the coffee table before him sits a barely started jigsaw puzzle, with about six pieces aligned properly. Next to the jigsaw is a half finished crossword, with not a single word correct. Quite a few children’s magazines opened to Spot the Difference, each “puzzle” is covered in massive circles. Obviously the big man couldn’t spot the difference so he hoped if his circles were big enough he would miraculously “catch” them regardless if he was aware of them or not… oh, and a stack of Where’s Waldo books that the Beautiful Man from Honalee is honestly afraid to open.
“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOZERRRRRRRRRRRR!” Bobby tries again, causing the old man to look up, scowling at his friend’s interruption.
“WHAT!?” The Elder Bandit bellows.
With an impish smile on his face, Bobby casually calls out, “Can you please toss me the glue? It’s right there on the table to your left.”
Sure enough, a half empty bottle of Gorilla Glue sits on the dining room table next to a Rubix Cube that Bobby has somehow managed to break apart. The cube is currently half completed, waiting for Bobby to finish once the glue has time to dry. Dooze shakes his head, but does what his friend asks regardless, reaching over and grabbing the glue and sending it airborne in his friend’s direction, before going back to his puzzles.
The rotund wrestler fumbles the catch, but luckily for him, his gigantic gut manages to catch most things he can’t. Bob happily pats his tummy, muttering “Old Faithful” as he grabs the glue off his stomach shelf. Glue in hand, Bobby turns his attention back to the two pieces that obviously belong together but are currently being too stubborn to admit their love and ultimate destiny. Two seconds later, Bobby gets them adhered together and smiles, knowing they will spend the rest of their lives happily ever after.
“Did you know just how strong this Gorilla Glue stuff is, Doozy?” The question garners no response. “I wonder why they called it that, though. Do you think it’s made from Gorillas? I feel like PETA would be all over that, ya know? Maybe we should ask that Phil Atkens guy…”
Without breaking focus, The Elder Bandit chimes in, “Heard he’ll put a boot up your bum.”
“What size boot?” The Honolean seeks clarification, trying to properly assess the risk.
Countdown to ReVival #6
The Gym at the MGM
The MGM has an impressive array of workout equipment. Many PRIME stars can be seen getting their pump on. That’s what gym people say, right? I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been to a gym in over two decades now. Anyway, we’re in the MGM Gym where Doozer is currently using the Stairmaster.
His glutes are on fire! His thighs are screaming in agony! Sweat is dripping off the edge of the steps, forming a pool at the base of the machine. The Elder Bandit’s laboring for breath as he chugs along, one step after another. It is monotonous but it enables him to focus his mind on other things at hand. And currently all his brain power is set on solving multiple mental puzzles floating around in his head. You can see his eyes moving chess pieces, solving obscure math algorithms that would make Professor Fluffernutter’s head hurt.
We’re talking Sieve of Eratosthenes type shit.
Every single brain cell in the old man’s skull is focused on the upcoming task at hand.
Stairs & Puzzles
Puzzles & Stairs
His body is practically begging him to stop. His mind is slowly turning numb as every single synapse in his brain fatigues. But deep down inside, he knows that if DUI doesn’t pick up immunity from this event, his and Bobby’s future in the Survivor competition is pretty bleak. So he forces his foot to take the next step. And the next. And the next.
Meanwhile on the opposite end of the MGM, Doozer’s friend finds himself training equally as hard. Well, if you asked him he’d say he was training equally as hard… in his own way.
Sweat doesn’t drip from his forehead, or really from any other part of his body. Although moisture does appear to be currently coalescing at the corner of his mouth. His heart isn’t racing. His breath isn’t labored. His muscles aren’t straining. No more than usual for a man his size, I should say.
But Bobby Dean, like The Dooze, is currently going up a flight of stairs as well. It just so happens that his flight of stairs tends to move on its own accord, as he finds himself on an escalator, stuffing his face with a recently purchased lemon glazed blueberry Bundt cake.
He’s been “training” in this fashion for the past two hours, and he’s made an untold amount of trips up and down the escalators. Up, and down, and up, and down, and uuuuuup, and doooooown. Who knows how many Bundt cakes have been devoured in the process. I lost count after thirteen.
The bright side? The distance it takes him to walk from one escalator to the next, which is exactly four steps, repeated over and over as much as he’s done, is probably the most he’s consecutively walked in quite some time. The ride on the escalator gives him plenty of time to recover before he begins his next leg of training, too.
Countdown to ReVival #6
4 Hours Later
“Bobby?” The gruff voice belonging to The Dooze asks, breathing hard himself as he manages to take a break from the stairmaster, standing on unsteady legs as if he just finished sailing across the world’s seven seas.
“Ye’h.” Bobby answers, talking into the speaker phone, his breath equally as unsteady.
“Man, you sound like me! Wicked pumped to hear you’re training as hard as me, Bobbo! You continue to surprise and impress me, man, not gonna lie.” The Elder Bandit informs his friend with overwhelming pride in his voice. “Keep it up, good buddy! I was actually going to duck out early, but man you’ve motivated me to go another hour here, at least!”
“‘Kay” Bobby manages to blurt out, before clicking the red button on his Samsung android, because only losers use iPhones.
Doozer puts his iPhone down on the interface of the Stairmaster. On the other end of the call, however…
“Wow, that panting, nice touch!” Remarks a bartender, extending his fist in camaraderie.
“What?” Bobby asks with confusion while also flinching at the approaching fist.
“The panting?” The bartender offers, while drawing his offered fist back to his side. “Trying to avoid your overbearing boss, right? That shit was gold.”
“Oh, that, no that was legit.” Bobby informs him while putting his fork back to his plate of pickled eggs and oysters. “I dropped my fork and bending over tends to get the lungs burning.”
The bartender stares at the Beautiful Man from Honalee in equal parts awe, dismay, and disgust as the large man before him puts the recently dropped fork into his mouth. As he walks away as quickly as he can, he mutters to himself, “When did we start serving pickled eggs?”
Countdown to ReVival #6
A Very Familiar Location
Bobby Dean hates stakeouts.
He used to love them, but that was only momentarily. Then he was informed that stakeouts didn’t actually involve any steaks or going out to eat whatsoever.
But, Bobby Dean is a loyal person, and he was here for a reason. The DUI needed him, and he was not going to let the DUI down. So if the DUI needed him to hole up in his favorite stall, the 3rd from the right, in his favorite bathroom, then hole up he shall!
A class act, really.
The big guy’s seated on the toilet, with his top half leaning to the side, his head pressed up against the stalls wall, eyes closed, soft snores emitting from his large frame. This is how Bobby Dean conducts a stakeout.
The slamming of the neighboring stall door awakens the slumbering slothman. Moments later he spies a pair of familiar shoes in the stall next to his, causing a large smile to slowly emerge on his chubby cheeked, cherubic face.
“Fancy meeting you here again, eh, Melvin Beauregard?” Bobby calls out jovially.
A groan emanates from the neighboring stall, whether that’s a groan of exertion or exasperation Bobby isn’t quite sure. But, neither stops him from continuing, “I tried to schedule a meeting with you all week long, but you’ve been as swamped as my wrestling tights after a show night.”
“Please, not now.” Melvin pleads.
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll make this quick.” Bobby says reassuring, albeit unsuccessfully so as Melvin releases yet another groan. “I noticed with Delta Upsilion Iota winning immunity from the Boulder Dash that we’ve got an extra two members for the upcoming Puzzle & Slide race.”
With nothing more being said, Melvin sighs. A part of him would like nothing more than to ignore the man intruding on his special time, but another part of him would really like to know where he’s going with this. So it should come as no surprise when Melvin says, “Annnnnd?”
“Well, don’t you think it would be unfair to Team Cialis and The Cavemen?” Bobby explains. “I mean, we’d have two extra members. Wouldn’t it be more fair to say, allow two members from DUI to sit out the next race, and even the playing field?”
“Oh?” Melvin retorts as if he hadn’t thought of this before. Spoiler alert, he had. “Who did you have in mind? Sitting out, I mean.”
“Well, I haven’t had a chance to run it by the others,” Bobby offers with what he hopes is a nonchalant and inconspicuous tone. “But I think it only fair for El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy and myself to sit out. I’ve been watching all the SAW movies on repeat the past week or so. And my boy El Hijo has never broken a sweat, so those stairs stand no chance, you know what I mean? This way it gives the other two tribes a fighting chance to win.”
“How very generous of you Robert.” Melvin says, with a bit of an edge to his voice. “Now, allow me to explain. No, you may not have two members sit out. No, your team will not be at an advantage. In fact your team will be at a huge disadvantage because I hear the slide we’re looking at bringing in is tubular.”
An audible gulp of dismay sounds from Bobby Dean. It does little to deter Melvin Beauregard.
“I have a feeling that slide will be a lot like my colon right now, backed up with the biggest piece of shit imaginable.” Melvin spits out with venom. “Now, if you interrupt my bathroom time once more I’ll go straight to Lindsay Troy and have you fired.”
“You can do that?” Bobby ponders aloud.
“Catch me in the toilet one more time and you’ll find out.” Mr. Beauregard replies.
Huffing in annoyance, Bobby Dean storms out of his stall, not even bothering to flush, as he marches over to the stall on the opposite side of Melvin. Without a knock or a heads up of any sort, Bobby simply opens the door and casually drags El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy from off the toilet.
The two *men* make their way towards the bathroom exit as Bobby says to his not so lively friend, “I still think it was a fantastic idea, buddy! Who knew he was such a crabby pants.” As they reach the door, it suddenly opens on its own accord.
Standing there is King Blueberry. His searching eyes go from Bobby Dean to SCG, before going back again to Bobby. Without a single word, Blueberry steps forward and grabs Super Cool Guy out from under Bobby Dean’s flabby arm, then turns around and walks out.
Bobby Dean remains standing there watching his new friend walk away with his other new friend, speechless.
Countdown to ReVival #6
Hallway outside the eGG Carton/Den
It’s been a long week for Cancer Jiles. Some neck in a noose type of shit.
You know why.
We don’t really need to explain it, do we?
Oh, but I will. He would want that. Probably.
Can’t even roll a dead motherfucker out of the ring before putting the crowd to sleep?
Talk about COOL blooded.
And gimmick infringement.
Dee. E. Dee.
Your biggest accomplishment will also be the most regrettable thing you’ve ever done in your life.
The guy has been walking around with Bobby Dean’s massive robe draped over his shoulders, like it was his security blanket. Just wandering throughout the MGM, shuffling his feet as he stares down at them, in a bit of a funk for the last few days. But on this particular afternoon he finds himself leaving the elevator and approaching the suite door to the eGG Carton or Den, whatever you wanna call it.
Once the door swings open, he suddenly stops and wishes he were anywhere else in the entire world. Hell, he’d rather be on the USS Octane, and trust me, NO ONE wants to be on that sinking piece of shit.
“What. The. Fuuuuuuuuuu.” Cancer’s voice trails off, as for once in his life he pulls his shades down to get a clearer picture. As if he cannot believe his deceiving eyes.
Standing there, in the center of the eGG Den are none other than Bobby Dean and Doozer. Bobby, in his wrestling gear, his back to the door. The Elder Bandit, kneeling on the ground facing Bobby’s backside, his glistening hands covered in two layers of surgical gloves, a half empty bottle of KY Jelly rests on the floor between Bobby’s widespread feet.
Doozer looks up, startled, and more than likely ashamed. He immediately begins stuttering, “I can explain!”
But before he can say another word, Bobby turns, smiling as he now notices Cancer’s arrival. As he continues to scan the room, Cancer sees a huge tub of Crisco held in the crook of Bobby’s arm. The Beautiful Man from Honalee casually rubs a handful of the grease across his massive belly. “Oh hiya, Cancer!” Bobby greets cheerily, as if nothing unusual was occurring, which knowing Bobby Dean, this probably was nothing unusual.
Cancer, eyes tightly shut, begins shaking his head as if that’ll help get the mental image out of his head. He slowly opens his eyes, hoping it were all a figment of his defeat addled brain. Maybe Youngblood hit him a little too hard at Culture Shock?
“Fuck. It’s real.” He thinks out loud.
“Seriously, I can explain.” The Bostonian begins, as Bobby continues applying the grease. “Bobby had this idea…”
“Say no more.” Cancer pleads, waving his arms in a stop stop stop motion. “Seriously, don’t say anything more.”
“He’s worried about the race.” Dooze continues unabashed. “He’s trying to think of anything he can do to help speed himself along, knowing he’s going to be our weakest link.”
“If I get nice and lubed up, I’ll be able to go down the slide faster.” Bobby chimes in, helpfully.
“Bobbo, I love you like a brother,” Cancer comments, still shaking his head in dismay. “But gravity is all you need. You’ll be going down that slide faster than anyone else in this race, trust me!”
Bobby Dean beams with pride.
“Oh and Dooze, you definitely missed a spot…” Cancer finishes, while pointing, and then waving his arm around as if to say The Old Bull missed a lot of spots, causing Dooze to turn his eyes back to the dreaded backside of “Beautiful” Bobby Dean.
Cancer Jiles slowly backs out of the room, letting the hotel door close in front of him before shuddering from head to toe. As he makes his way back to the elevator all he can think of is, do they make bleach for your brain?
The answer: yes. It’s called alcohol. Lots, and lots of alcohol.
But not Bud Light Watermelon Mojitos.