You would think, when the camera crews put down their cameras they would remember to turn them off. But on this day, that isn’t the case. Bobby Dean and his protege, Lunchbox Larry are on set, filming a commercial for the upcoming line of Classic Wrestling action figures.
Larry is currently on the floor, sitting cross legged, playing with himself. Slamming the rubberized version of Lunchbox Larry against the twice as round rubber Bobby Dean. Making sound effects as the two collide, providing commentary as if he were Otto Price himself.
The rubber Bobby Dean suddenly drops rubber Larry on his head and before you know it, he’s making the pinfall.
“One! Two! THREEEEEE!” Larry calls out with mounting excitement, raising the small figure of Bobby Dean in the air triumphantly.
“What do you mean?” Bobby demands, talking into the grey brick cellular phone he’s currently got shoved against his ear. He looks over his shoulder venomously at his unaware partner. “I don’t get it, why isn’t it me!? It should be me! Yeah, yeah, I get it. Whatever.”
With a furious push of the button, Bobby ends his phone call. Growling, he attempts to shove the brick into his jeans pocket, but the girthy thing just wasn’t meant for such a small hole. Failing that he simply slams it down onto the nearby table, causing Larry to look up with a look of perplexion on his face.
“Everything okay Mr. Dean?” Larry asks from the floor, his new toys suddenly forgotten.
“No!” Bobby answers back brusquely. “I mean, yeah. I don’t know. I just found out that you’re booked against those Foreigners again.”
“Really!?” Larry asks, scrambling to his feet. “Are we defending the titles!?” Concern mixed with excitement heavy in his voice.
“No, no… Uhm, I’m not in the match.” Bobby announces grudgingly.
“WHAT!?” Larry exclaims loudly. “I can’t face the Legion by myself! Are they INSANE!?”
“You’re not.” Bobby deadpans back, dejected. “It’s a one-on-one match, with you and Leon. I guess me and Shredder are just supposed to stand at ringside and be cheerleaders.”
“Oh… What’s wrong then? Did you want to face Mr. Zandt? I can try and ask the powers that be to switch, if you really want me to.” Larry offers kindly, with a reassuring smile.
“No! Don’t be absurd!” Bobby retorts, as if that is the dumbest idea in the world. “I don’t want to wrestle anyone by myself, but it’s the dang principle of the matter! *I* Should have been the one offered the match. *I* should have been the one to decline said match, and *I* should have been the one to let you have it, because I’m so freaking nice!”
“Oh, well, then thank you so much Mr. Bobby, sir.” Larry responds, causing Bobby’s eyes to dart over to him immediately, thinking the youngster was mocking him. But the earnest look of gratitude on Larry’s face suddenly makes Bobby shake his head in wonder.
“I’m actually kinda nervous.” Larry continues, showing a little trepidation. “I mean, it’s my very first solo match here. What happens if I lose? I don’t want to let you down.”
“Listen Jerry,” Bobby says, patting the kid on the shoulder. “You won’t let me down when you lose. You’ll be letting down ALLLLllllll those fans out there who are rooting for you! But me? I’ll be okay, because I’ll be holding onto these beautiful shiny title belts for us.” Bobby reaches down and lovingly strokes the tag team title belts that I don’t think he’s taken off since the moment he won them.
Larry gulps, his throat suddenly parched, his eyes grow wider and wider by the second. “I, uhm, didn’t think of that.”
“But don’t worry about it kid,” Bobby offers helpfully, with a smile. “All you have to do is remember, we can’t lose the titles this way!”
“Right…” Larry answers, as if THAT would reassure him.