Post by Level-Two on May 24, 2008 20:57:43 GMT -4
The Job Squad Presents: APW BABIES (2)
(The story of the APW babies continues! Hurricane Baby Jeff has called upon, every all other baby in the play-pen, to meet amongst the middle. Hurricane Baby Jeff has spread out announcements for a huge meeting, just before nap-time, in regards to the new wrestling promotion he’s just started from scratch…)
Lambardo baby: Jeffy, Jeffy, Jeffy! Can I make the announcement? Everyone will hear me, because I am GOD! Nobody looks the other way when GOD is in their presence…Hey, Hey, Hey…Jeffy, Jeffy, Jeffy…Look at me, look at me! Pay me attention, please, please, please! I’m special, aren’t I? Tell me I’m special!
(Hurricane Baby Jeff closes his eyes in frustration, before softly shaking his head back and forth. Finally the babies of the play pen, have made there ways from there inner circles, and appeared in-front of Hurricane Baby Jeff)
Hurricane Baby Jeff: Hello, babies of the pen-yard, and super wrestlers of my new wrestling federation! I’m glad you all could crawl your way in-front of me today, as well as Kenny Lambardo…
Lambardo baby: ...GOD of everything in sight. I am better than you all! Look at you, all bowing before me. Why? Because this all about me, me, and me…ME! I am Kenny Lambardo!
(Hurricane Baby Jeff, flashes a disgusted look towards Lambardo, as if he just shat in his pants…Hmm, what’s that smell?)
Hurricane Baby Jeff: I’m just going to get to the point, fellow super-babies! Over the next few weeks, me and Kenny will be scouting you wrestlers, to see who is worthy of being the number 1 contender for the world heavyweight title.
(The babies look amongst each-other, all shocked by the announcement, as they break out in various conversations with each-other)
Jake Baby: Hmm…I heard about this on the internet. Is this kind of like, a battle of the best, per say? Where you take us competitors, put each-other in the middle of the play-yard, and we fight it out, until our immediate, unfortunate, and entertaining deaths? I’ve role played for this stuff, ever since I was a fetus.
Fyre Baby: lolz! Wat iz a fetuzz???oNe!!!
Diana Ez-ay-Baby!: Uh, you are such a ditz! Where’s that Justin Job cutie? I so just want to bang him right now…
Lambardo Baby: Hey! The GOD has ears, you know? And now the GOD is going to pretend he didn’t hear you, because if the GOD did hear you, he’d strike down Justin Job with a bolt of the thunder, because that’s just what gods do. Did I mention, I was a GOD? I rule, all!
Lively Baby: I’m right with you, Ken! Like right by your side, like Justin Job said. Like, you know, cleaning your ass with baby wipes, helping you change your diapers, you know the whole 10 yards.
(Lambardo baby’s eyes bulge out of his head, as Hurricane Baby Jeff giggles under his breath. Lambardo stomps up to Justin Job, pointing at him in anger)
Lambardo Baby: Why would you tell Jesus, such lies! He’s with me, because he’s very talented, just like I—Your god! I’ll tell you what, Justin Job! I am great, I am awesome, I am everything your not. You don’t have the talent to step foot in the middle of that pen-yard with me, so guess what. You’ll be taking on Jesus himself—4 PM just before nap-time, you got it?
Justin Job Baby: Ooooh, I’m shaking in my size two shoes now! I’ll see you there, and bring your COK too.
Lambardo Baby: Oh, trust me. I always have COK in the palm of my hands—Jesus is going to stroke it for all it’s worth, after he COMES to the middle of that pen-yard, and blows your load, of suck age, right out of this pen-yard.
(Michael Lively, picks his nose, before noticing he’s missed his cue. He stands up, and quickly hits his I am Jesus pose, as Justin Job nod’s his head, and walks away)
The Pen Yard, Scrap!
(The count of THREE decides the victor…Two Babies…and One Pen-Yard, the battle of the century is bound to go down, this after-noon, before nap-time! Justin Job slowly marches to the middle of the pen-yard, before smelling the air around him, for he is ready to rumble!)
Justin Job Baby: *Sniff* I smell…*Sniff* I smell shit! That only means one thing. Michael poopy pants, Lively is making his way to the pen-yard!
(Michael Lively, with half of the, super baby APW roster, behind him (They have like 1 million members already) make the way to the middle of the yard. Justin Job looks behind him, only Dr. Phate, Bryan Greatness, and Jake Ruby stand behind him. And in the mind of a COK—that makes them ‘’Harder’’ to beat.)
Lively Baby: Hey, Justin Job! Are you scared?
(The babies behind, Lively all utter the words ‘’ooooh’’ as they giggle amongst themselves. Hurricane Baby Jeff appears from the small crowd, and steps in-front of the two babies, with a stripped shirt on)
Hurricane Baby Jeff: To make everything fair; in Kenny Lambardo like fashion, I’ll be reffing this match.
Lambardo Baby: Hey, Jeff! Why can’t I ref the match? I am GOD, and GOD should be able to ref matches, just as God’s can compete. I demand you two allow me to ref this match!
Hurricane Baby Jeff: …Lambardo, can you even count to three?
Lambardo Baby: GOD doesn’t like being pestered with math questions!
Justin Job: Can you two just shut up, and let’s get this match on a role? Lively, is getting cranky…
(Michael Lively has his arms crossed in-front of him, as he pouts, and whines amongst himself)
Hurricane Baby Jeff: What is wrong with you, Lively?
Lively Baby: I wanted to ref this match!
Justin Job Baby: You can’t ref this match, your in it, you idiot! That’s like virtually in possible, your moron!
Lambardo Baby: I am great! I could ref my own match, and still win! Impossible, is never impossible. Anything is possible, for a GOD like my-self. They said I couldn’t turn milk into wine—but I did just that!
(Razor Ryan stumbles through the crowd on all fours, nearly tipping over in the middle of the play pen)
Razor Baby: Hey, Chico! That was some good, wine you know? Ugh, I think I’m going to go drink some more, you know drink, until I piss out my shitty life away, you know what I mean Chico? Hey they say life sucks, well it does. In that case, we should all just drink whine, and no show it! That’s what I does, Chico!!
(Razor Ryan stumbles back through the crowd, and falls face first onto the Pen-Yard ground, and breaks into a massive snore. The other babies, just turn there attention, back to the pen-yard fight)
Justin Job Baby: Enough talking, let’s just get this fight done and over with, so I can shut your mouth once and for all.
Lively Baby: That’s what your momma said!
(The crowd of babies break out into a chorus of ‘’ooooohs’’ and begin to chant ‘’Fight’’ over and over, as both babies step face to face to each-other)
Justin Job Baby: You’re head is inflated with your overblown ego, let me knock it down to size for you, with a couple of closed fists, and hard kicks.
Lively Baby: You stink!
Justin Job Baby: You’re the sperm, your mom should have swallowed, and pissed out the next morning. You epic fail!
Lively Baby: Your mom has hairy arm pits!
Justin Job Baby: You’re going to grow up, as useless as your father. Than again, I guess he was use-full in busting a nut inside your mom to create a pitiful human being like yourself…but even purposely causing pollution to the earth’s green space, isn’t very pro-productive now, is it?
(Lively Baby, breaks out into a sob, before punching Justin Job across the face)
Lively Baby: I hate you!
(Another chorus of ‘’Ooooh’s break out’’ as they chant ‘’Lively owned you’’ Justin Job rubs his cheek, and flashes a cute baby like smile)
Justin Job Baby: So verbally brutal, so mean. Did Lambardo teach you how to talk trash, too?
(Lively, throws his hands by his side, and breaks out to a loud cry. He closes his eyes, and taps his toes against the floor of the pen yard, as he tells himself)
Lively Baby: …There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, theres no place like home.
(Lively baby has Justin Job Baby set up, look he as he comes flying off the pen-yard fence! The Prelude, the prelude, Lively hits it, Lively hits it! It’s over, it’s over!)
1…
2…
3!
Michael Lively has defeated Justin Job…
(…Until he opens his eyes, and realizes he was just dreaming…AGAIN!)
(Justin Job Baby, rolls up Michael Lively, scoring the 3 count. Justin Job baby hops up to his feet, and Lively’s own COK friends, blow a load over his victory, as the cheer him on)
Justin Job Baby: Nice try kiddo, maybe when we all grown up, you can beat me?
(Justin Job looks down at Lively, who breaks out into a loud cry, with tears streaming down his face)
Justin Job Baby: …Or maybe not.
Lively, welcome to reality!
(The scene opens up to Justin Job sitting in a class-room. Behind him a large chalk board with ‘’Lively= Loves COK’’ across the board. You do the math, and you’ll solve Lively’s little problem, in no time!)
I find it hilarious Lively, hilarious at your attempts to be…Funny? I mean, I didn’t know which to laugh at. Your attempts to be controversial, or your attempts, to make us all take what you have to say seriously? You claim I am a bad role model for all of America—yet if you check up your local neighborhood pedophile check, your house is located, right with a big red dot.
No surprise, that you took a little visit to Timmy’s house, right? You sick fuck. Running around with a cancer patient, making fun about un-fortunate, terminal ill children, are we now? Why don’t you just take a Sharpe, and just state that you want attention really bad, right across your forehead. Maybe the next time, your standing next to Lambardo, for your 2 seconds of camera time, someone may actually take notice of your existence.
They call me a joke—but I’m not the man, who dreams about beating my opponents a few days before the match. I mean, are you fucking serious? Do I have to wave my hand in-front of your fucking face, to have you wake up and realize, you’re the same shit, 2 months ago?
I don’t know what the hell did you do to ‘’earn’’ this title shot anyways? I mean, I’m just surprised you were able to have your lips surgically removed of Kenny Lambardos dick, long enough to spew your sperm-mixed-Silva to the entire world in time for this match. I’m not the one to condone homosexually activity, but you WERE a lot quite, and maybe even likeable, when you had Kenny down your throat—for the sole purpose, nobody really wants to hear you speak.
Your jokes are as dry, Diana Steel’s vagina—and they don’t call her sand paper, pussy for no reason.
Lively, I think its best—that you just shut your mouth, and crawl behind Lambardo and the rest of COK like the good little pussy, you are. It’s obvious you can’t stand on your own two feet—look at you! I can see you crumbling from your very own foundation as we speak.
Piece by piece—it’s how they’re all built, and it’s how they all fall! I can’t wait to watch you fall! It’s almost as good as a Saturday morning, you know where I watch Scooby doo, and eat cheeto’s with Gilbert all day?
But than come Sunday—it’s all business! Hurricane Jeff wants to put asses in seats, and I’m here to help him. I put asses in seats, and I put money in cheque-books.
You know, people always ask me, Justin Job—are you ready? Are you ready to break way into the main-event? Can you beat Kenny Lambardo? You know why? Because the work ethic I’ve put in so far—doesn’t show them I’m the best. Maybe it’s my down-fall, maybe I should go out there every single night, and make whatever match on the card the main-event…You want to steal the show, don’t you Lively?
…Well, too bad. I’m a man who likes to cut his work ethic in proportions. You don’t get the expensive dinner, yet Lively. You get the cheese burgers and fries, maybe a little toy, to keep your mouth shut. But trust me Lively, I’m ready. I’m going to beat you at Mayhem, and maybe if I feel like it? I’ll throw away this title, and you can scramble for it, on another night.
But not tonight, because you don’t deserve it! This is my title, and I’ll give it up, when I feel like giving it up. I’m sending a message to you, Lively. And I want you to pass it over to GOD himself, Kenny Lambardo. I want you to put him on notice, and I want you to tell him yourself…
…I’m coming for his world heavyweight title.
As for you? You’re getting a sample, of what Kenny will get, the minute he puts that world heavyweight title on the line, and in-front of my face. However, make no mistake about it.
It isn’t my job to spoon feed you this ass kicking, but I have no problem in forcing feeding it straight down your throat.
I’ll see you at Mayhem, prepared to be worked.
