We switch to the back, the view passing through a door labeled with the letters BDSM. And you wouldn’t believe the scene inside… or maybe you would. Either way, it’s not every show you see a six foot seven inch, half naked mountain of muscle covered in chocolate. Or, I guess if you’re said man’s tag team partner at Classic Wrestling, you do…
Lunchbox Larry: Uh, Bo-
A stern clearing of the throat from the rotund Bobby Dean, who’s standing in front of a mirror inspecting himself, shakes his head in disapproval, telling Larry to try that again.
Lunchbox Larry: Oh, I mean, Mister… Beautiful?
Dean smiles that megawatt smile of his.
Bobby Dean: What can it be now, buddy? Getting this beautiful doesn’t just happen overnight, you know. And unlike your easy little project over there, I don’t get any helpful manuals.
Chocolate covered Larry appears thoroughly befuddled beside a poorly constructed, if you could even call it that, fondue fountain, that leans practically sideways. You’d literally have to lay down on the ground and just have the chocolate drip into your open mouth.
Lunchbox Larry: Yeah, about that. I, uh… I think I did it wrong.
Bob’s aforementioned smile immediately turns to a scowl. The man’s impressive level of concentration on his reflection breaks, and he slowly turns to see what the hell Larry’s talking about.
The sight of his cherished chocolate fondue set duct taped together in ways unimaginable, next to his tag team partner decorated in his favorite treat, was almost too much. Sheer horror engulfed the usually jovial BBD.
Bobby Dean: What’d you do?!?!? Do you expect me to come over there and lick all that off? Because I won’t! I mean…
You can see Bobby beginning to think about it as Choco-Larry shrugs as innocently as a young kid who just got caught with a hand in the cookie jar.
Lunchbox Larry: The directions were in Chinese, I think, and didn’t make much sense, but I thought I-
A snapped up, extended Bobby hand stops his partner mid sentence once again.
Bobby Dean: What’d I tell you about doing that?
Larry rolls his head and eyes simultaneously.
Lunchbox Larry: The tape is only fo-
Bobby Dean: NO! Not about the tape! About thinking!
Larry’s face scrunches up as he exercises his brain in his best attempt to recall one of the many lessons his elder has imparted upon him since arriving at the arena not long ago.
Lightbulb.
Lunchbox Larry: Thinking shrinks muscles? And that’s all I got going for me?
Half of that smile from before reappears out from the side of Bobby’s mouth.
Bobby Dean: Well, at least we know you have the ability to learn. That’s a start. Just remember, I’m the brains, you’re the brawn! Now, what do we do with all that chocolate…
Larry raises a hand like he’s in grade school and he knows the answer.
…
Bobby licks his lips hungrily.
…
A few awkward moments pass as Larry waits to get called on. Bob, after realizing the man isn’t about to just speak up, nods impatiently.
Lunchbox Larry: Wash it off?
If looks could kill, those would’ve been Larry’s last words.
Bobby Dean: How dare you!
Confusion covers Larry like… melted chocolate, I guess.
Bobby Dean: Wasting such a tasty treat like chocolate, the nectar of Gods? Not an option! One of us is just going to have to get a spoon and get to work. If you won’t, then-
Larry raises a pointer finger.
Lunchbox Larry: But I haven’t even showered yet, anyway.
Two chubby hands cover Bob’s chubby face in disbelief.
Bobby Dean: You tainted the nectar of the Gods with your mortal filth!?!
Still covering his face is disgust, Bobby peeks out between his fingers as a thought strikes him.
Bobby Dean: To be honest, I’ve eaten worse…
Shaking his head violently, and waving his arms like a ref indicating the fourth down was not converted, Larry scrambles to his feet. He knocks the pathetic excuse for a fondue set over as he scurries to the showers, leaving his teammate and mentor left in dismay.