Private: Bobby Dean
Chapter 1: Training Begins
“PUSH!” Doozer barks out, spittle flying out of his mouth as a vein in his forehead looks like it’s about to burst. ”For all that is good and holy, Bob, you have to push!”
“Donuts are good and holy.” The Beautiful Man from Honalee’s eyes glaze over like one of those tasty treats on his mind. He shakes his head, snapping out of the delicious daydream before The Dooze bruises him. “Oh and, by the way, you’d make a really great Lamaze coach Dooze…” Bobby deadpans, as he struggles on his hands knees to push a marble across the floor of the eGG Carton. Not completely sure if it’s the size of the little glass ball or the length of the room that’s causing the rotund wrestler so much trouble. It might actually be the fact that it’s the physical exertion of just being on all fours that’s causing the large man so much difficulty.
Can’t really be surprised by his struggle, he has been known to break a sweat from merely tying his shoes before…
“What are we going to do when the boulder is twenty times the size of that stupid marble?” The Elder Bandit asks, kicking the small sphere out of Bobby’s hands, causing it to soar across the room only to be casually snatched out of the air by the cat-like reflexes of a reclining Cancer Jiles.
“Twenty times!?” Bobby gasps, collapsing stomach first onto the ground. “Why are we pushing little marbles around, if I’m supposed to be pushing huge boulders!?”
“It’s called training.” Dooze explains. “Baby steps, Bobby, baby steps. You’re having a hard enough time with the marble as it is, can you imagine the struggle if it was a boulder…”
“Think of it like butt plugs, Bobbo” The COOL bandit offers, as he nonchalantly tosses the tiny glass ball into the air, only for it to land into his awaiting hand. “Gotta work your way up to the big one, big guy. Get you accustomed to the girth and weight before you go up a size.”
“Uhm…” Dooze is at a loss. “I’m not quite sure that’s the way I’d explain it, but…”
Bobby meanwhile has a thoughtful look on his face before suddenly nodding to himself. “Makes sense. Thanks, Cancer!”
Said no one, ever.
Jiles shoots his fat friend a wink, so we assume, since his eyes are hidden behind his infamous, mirrored T-shades. Before tossing the marble back across the room to the awaiting grasp of Bobby Dean. With a determined look on his face, Bobby gets back to work, pushing the marble inch by inch across the room.
Forty minutes later, the large man is sprawled out on the floor, on his belly. Heavy snores rumbling out of him as Dooze and Jiles stand over him, looking down at the prone pile of flesh and bones before them. The Old Bull’s face is covered with concern, not for his friend, but for himself. How are we gonna pull this off? Is just one of many concerns running through his decrepit head.
Meanwhile ol’ Salt Shoes seems to be having the time of his life as he places the final marble on the top of his stacked masterpiece, like a rock stacking mural. He built said stack on Bobby’s backside… how he managed to stack marbles on such an uneven mass of flesh, yet one of many mysterious talents of our future Universal Champ.
Or it could be the gorilla glue peeking out of his back pocket.
The Boston Bruiser covers his face with both of his hands.
“We’re so fucked.”
Chapter 2: Plan B
From a proverbial mess to a literal one.
Anyone with OCD might want to close their eyes.
The room before us is an absolute pigsty.
Not a single inch of the floor is visible, littered with strewn about newspapers and opened bags of flour with white powder everywhere like Mike Best paid his old pals a visit. There’s a few buckets of water placed randomly amongst the chaos, some still sloshing from recent activity. Salt rounds can be found around the buckets, some still standing but most tipped over and half emptied on the many newspapers, at this point. Jars of Vaseline and canisters of gray paint, of varying shades, round out the messy room.
No need for concern regarding the Vaseline. Nothing kinky going on in here, at least not at the moment. Perhaps, maybe they’re preparing for a boot up the bum. Only a weirdo named Colin would know why.
“I can’t believe how good this is coming along.” Doozer says with genuine surprise in his voice, as Bobby steps back from their “project” to stand next to his friend.
With extra care Bobby reaches up and wipes the sweat from his brow with the crook of his elbow, afraid to get his splotchy face even messier, as his arms are covered in gray emulsion paint, from the tips of his fingers to his meaty forearms. “I told you, trust me!”
“Ha!” Dooze scoffs as he looks at Bobby with a look that says “Trust? You?”
“I’m telling you for the hundredth time,” Bobby begins, huffing with annoyance. “ALL of my ideas are great! Name one idea that was bad, I dare you!”
Dooze takes a deep breath in and suddenly begins ticking off ideas with the aid of an extended finger. “Hey let’s call Lee, I don’t think he hates us anymore.”
“You should join the Best Alliance…”
“Here Cancer, just go in this pitcher, we don’t have time to pull over.”
“Don’t worry about Zion and Hollywood, they’d never beat the Bandits.”
“Don’t be silly Jiles, no one can hear your mic from your bathroom.”
“Don’t forget, let’s get SCG laid!” Bobby says with a proud smile on his face, but it doesn’t last as Doozer reaches out and slaps Bobby on the forehead.
“Don’t you dare take credit for that, that was MY idea!” Dooze crows, crossing his arms across his massive chest. “No, your idea was to have Blueberry join the Bandits remember? Then again, you wanted Mikey Unlikely to leave Kendrix behind and join the Bandits too!”
Dooze continues rattling off idea after idea, many of which include inviting just about everyone into the Bandits. As he continues along, Bobby’s scowl grows deeper and deeper with each recital. “Yeah, well, THIS idea will work!” Bobby finally interrupts his friend, stomping away as Dooze remains back, smirking in triumph.
Chapter 3: Interlude, Hunger
MGM Grand Hotel
Dooze is walking through the lobby of the MGM Grand, with his head on a swivel, his eyes going from here to there and back again. He’s on the search for something and it appears he’s been looking for quite some time now.
Weaving in and out of the myriad of hotel patrons, Dooze finds himself walking towards the vending machines. A likely location for whatever or whomever he’s searching for, knowing his target as well as he does.
It comes as no surprise that his target is Bobby Dean, but finding Bobby Dean in the precarious spot that he’s in still manages to raise Doozer’s eyes in surprise. For there is Bobby, sitting on the ground in a thick, white bath robe, one arm stuck inside a vending machine to his right. The other arm stuck up in an entirely different vending machine to his left. He looks up to Dooze with an sheepish grin.
“What the hell man, we’re supposed to be field testing right now!” Dooze demands, waving his arms around theatrically for emphasis.
“Darn thing ate my dollar.” Bobby offers as an explanation.
“When do you carry dollars?” Dooze asks.
“Uhm…” Bobby is at a loss, looking down at his bathroom. “I don’t… Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a dollar, would you?”
“Why would that help?” Dooze wonders.
“Well, if you hit C12 I can get my hand back.” Bobby answers as if it were obvious.
“Or you can just let go of that candy bar…” Dooze counters, as if he were talking to a dimwitted child.
“But it’s mine…” Bobby whines, refusing to release the candy he’s been struggling to pry free for the last thirty minutes.
“Listen, if this idea of yours works, Buddy, I’ll buy you ten candy bars!” Dooze offers, and even before he can finish his offer Bobby has released his grasp on both candies, before struggling to ease his arms free. After a minute or two, Bobby looks up at Dooze with a look of abject terror.
“Shit, I think I’m really stuck!” Bobby says with panic in his voice.
The Old Man can simply shake his head in dismay. Of course he was stuck, sitting like he was for the past thirty minutes, his meaty arms were swelling with blood and expanding.
Twenty minutes later a member of the Janitorial staff of the MGM Grande arrives on the scene, amongst the many gathered with their cell phones out recording like they were at a zoo. With a skeleton key to the vending machines in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. Shaking his head, Jorge looks at Bobby as if this wasn’t the first time he’s had to come pull Bobby’s arm free.
That’s because it wasn’t.
“Again?” Jorge asks, unnecessarily. “What’s the count to now? Eight??”
Dooze looks down at his friend with disbelief. “You’ve been trapped in the vending machines EIGHT times?”
“This week…” Jorge informs, causing Dooze to burst out laughing.
“What? I like Whatchamacallits.” Bobby defends.
Chapter 4: Field Test
Lorenzi Park, Las Vegas
“PUSH!” the unseen muffled voice of Bobby Dean calls out from somewhere, as Dooze plants his shoulder into a massive oddly shaped boulder. “Come on Dooze, you gotta push!”
“I am pushing darn it!” Dooze screams out, struggling to keep the boulder from getting loose and rolling back down the hill that he’s managed to get halfway up. “If you’d help, this would go a lot easier!”
A portion of the boulder suddenly pops up right in front of Doozer’s straining face. The smiling face of Bobby Dean appears, a boulder piece strapped to the top of his head. “We have to sell it first, can’t just go running full out from the get go.” A pair of feet suddenly appear beneath the boulder as the strain on Dooze’s face eases away.
“Sheesh Bobby, you’re heavier than the damn rock they’re going to make us push!” Dooze complains, as Bobby, trussed up as a pretty convincing boulder, begins to slowly walk up the hill, Dooze in his wake, shaking his head in disbelief with every step.
“Admit it, this was a great idea!” Bobby says, nudging his friend. “I mean, look at this, they’ll never see it coming. You think Blueberry will have thought of this? Maybe put Super Cool Guy in the bubble, make it easier for him to push?” Suddenly Bobby drops his head and he’s a rock once more. Pops his head up for a split second before dropping back down. Over and over again.
“I don’t know,” Dooze admits, still unable to stop the flare of jealous rage at the mention of Blueberry’s name. “I don’t think he can count on SCG to give him much help in this race. I’m more worried about JonKris Hall and our old friend Darin Zion to be honest.”
“Why?” Bobby asks, clear confusion etched on his face. “Zion is suddenly all about self-love, who is he foolin’? No one is more into self love than “Beautiful” Bobby Dean!” Bobby struggles, but manages to squeeze his hand through the neck hole opening of the boulder, showing a crimp in his wrist, as if there is an unnatural bend. “See, this is what happens when you love yourself too much!”
Before Dooze can retort Bobby tucks his arm back into the boulder, and drops his head once more.
You know the saying, “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt?”
Well it doesn’t take long before Bobby, popping up and down, suddenly loses his balance. Dooze, distracted by Bobby’s Whack-A-Mole imitation, isn’t quick enough to catch his friend before suddenly the “boulder” that is Bobby Dean begins to roll back down the hill.
Doozer stands there helpless, near the top of the hill, with his mouth agape in shock, as soon the boulder is gaining a bit of air during its descent. With every jarring impact pieces of the paper mache boulder break away, revealing Bobby Dean in a giant Zorb, plastic bubble. The big man struggles as he is tossed and turned upside down, all he can do is pray that the ball doesn’t pop as he goes for the ride of his life.
Chapter 5: Film Study
Dooze walks into the eGG Den, passing by the drying paper mache boulder, dubbed “Boulder 2.0.” He walks into the sitting room of the suite to find Bobby Dean lounging on Cancer Jiles’ blue sofa, sitting before the television.
Instead of watching old PRIME tapes of Brandon Youngblood, Bobby Dean is watching Jeff Probst overseeing contestants on some “deserted” island competing for a plate of rice. While watching, Bobby is stuffing his face with a lemon glazed vanilla bundt cake, and a ½ gallon carton of what appears to be milk.
“What are you doing?” Dooze asks, curious why Bobby would be watching an episode of Survivor.
“Studying film.” Bobby answers around a mouthful of cake.
“Why?” Dooze can’t help himself with his inquisitive mind.
“This is Survivor right?” Bobby asks, as if the answer were obvious. “Who knows what cockamamie idea the eGG Queen and her Jester, Melvin Beauregard, will come up with, but what better way for you and I to prepare than watching film?”
“Let’s hope the next competition is food related…” Dooze mutters under his breath as Bobby stuffs his chubby cheeks to the brim, before chugging down some more milk. “Wait, is that 2%?” Dooze asks, unable to read the label on the carton. “You should really look into drinking that low fat, soy almond milk, buddy. It’s so much better for you.”
“Ish hey keem.” Bobby tries to answer around a mouthful, causing milk to dribble down his chin.
“What?” Dooze asks, but immediately regrets it as he registers what Bobby just said, seconds before Bobby repeats it. “No. It can’t be…”
“It’s heavy cream.” Bobby says nonetheless, after forcing the food down his gullet like a sword swallowing performer swallowing a broadsword.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Dooze says, unable to comprehend another human being chugging heavy cream as his drink of choice.
“We’re so fucked…”
Chapter 6: Inner Monologue
Inside My Head
Culture Shock is upon us.
Can you believe it, we’ve made it this far and haven’t disappeared on you yet? I mean, there was that one time Dooze slept past his alarm, but can you blame him, the guy was using a sundial. Have no fear, Cancer and I have helped usher him into the digital age, so no more worries for the Old Man.
The Almasy Tournament didn’t really turnout the way we expected. I mean, both Dooze and I were ejected in the first round? Thank goodness Cancer Jiles is so much better than we are! Now you all can see why I’ve always attached my fat ass to his long flowing coattails. All these years and people never understood, they never stopped and realized just how dangerous he could be.
But Dooze and I knew. We’ve known all along. And soon, I’ll be wearing the Universal title around my waist, while Cancer sleeps… But don’t tell him.
Survivor is here folks!
I gotta be honest with you, we’re kind of worried about this whole Survivor thing. I mean, in a competition like this, where you no longer have to rely on skill, but more on popularity? Well, let’s just say that name, “The eGG Bandits” it sticks out like a sore thumb. Then again, any competition relying on our skill doesn’t really do us any favors either. But popularity!? Every team here knows the name Bandit.
So when they’re all staring down at the Ballot, and they see…
- Dangerous Mix
- Solid Gold Rock N’ Rock
- Two Nates Don’t Make A Right
Wait, was that it, or were they…
- Nate & Nate = Great
It doesn’t matter what name they go by, because when these teams see that Ballot the only thing they’ll be thinking is, “Who!?”
That is, until their eyes go further down the list and see…
- The eGG Bandits
And every other team in this competition will say to themselves, “Oh hey, I know them!” And suddenly, the Bandits are prematurely ejected once more. And trust me, Dooze and I know ALL about premature ejections!
Well, Old Man Dooze is lucky to get an ejection at all now a days.
You see, it’s the teams no one has ever heard about that will be able to fly under the radar here, safe from anyone’s notice. For once in my life I actually wish we weren’t so damn lovable!
Now we gotta race down the strip. Pushing a boulder. We must rely on our speed and tenacity to win a race. Yeah, speed, being an attribute I have in spades, right. If it’s in relation to eating, drinking, masterb…, or making a fart joke, I’m your man.
I’m not normally one to count my yolks before the eggs are cracked, but if, and this is a huge IF, if the Bandits make it past this opening round of the competition then we just may have what it takes to win the whole damn thing. Then again, considering how well we did in the Almasy tournament, I gotta admit, our odds are not looking too good.
Just get us past the opening round and we will have lasted longer than any other tournament, or group competition, we’ve ever been in. Then our loyalty will be available for purchase. You come on down to the eGG Carton and make us an offer we can’t refuse, and we’ll be selling our vote to the highest bidder!
Unless you’re the Bruvs.
Fuck those douche bags.
So cross your fingers, cross your toes, hell, cross your beady little eyes! Unless you have a lazy eye, then just stare straight ahead. Do all of the above, because come Culture Shock, the Bandits are gonna need as much luck as we can get! Even if we have to create our own luck along the way…