It’s Bobby Dean and Lunchbox Larry.
AKA Bobby Dean and Some Man.
Bob’s wearing his usual; the baby blue everything.
Larry’s in his usual; black and orange uni with the back to back Ls.
There’s nothing else.
No bundt cake.
Just 100% BDSM.
Lunchbox: You know, I thought I was going to be too bummed out for this. But-
Bobby: I think what my mentally lacking lackey is trying to say-
Bobby turns from the camera to his cohort, stunned.
Lunchbox: You’ve said enough. It’s my time.
We’d need a tape measure to determine whether Bob’s eyes popped out further than his jaw dropped, so we’ll just have to call it even.
Lunchbox: I don’t care how awesome you are. Or how popular you are. Or-
Bobby: Keep going…
Lunchbox: You’re the worst! You know that?
Poor Bob was almost there, too.
Lunchbox: I worked my tail off, day after day, to be the absolute best I could be.
Bobby: Ahem, don’t you think about stealing my theme mu-
Lunchbox: I don’t want your stupid theme music! I don’t even want you! You haven’t done anything for us except make me feel like I’m not doing enough to be by your side, taking all the credit when we win, and putting all the blame on me when we don’t!
Bobby: Well I nev-
Lunchbox: Yes you ever! Every freakin’ day you ever! And I’m never putting up with it again! That’s why, as I was going to say, even though I THOUGHT I was going to be bummed out by this final booking… I’M NOT! I’m freakin’ pumped! I get to go out there, redeem myself against Gnash, win the CLASSIC Tag Titles BY MYSELF, and I NEVER… EVER… have to slap your filthy, fat hand again!
Mouth open, eyes still popped, Bob stands there unable to move a muscle if he tried.
Lunchbox: See, I don’t need you anymore. I’ve faced Repossed with you. I’ve faced Gnash alone. I know these guys. I know how they work together, and I’ve studied how they don’t.
Dean looks more flabbergasted by the second.
Lunchbox: Yeah, that’s right! I. STUDIED! You said I didn’t even know what that word meant. Well guess what?! I looked it up! And then I did it! A BUNCH!
Larry, with his chest puffed in personal victory, turns from Bobby to the camera.
Lunchbox: Gnash, I know you probably don’t care… but you’re facing the same crap I am! If you think Haul actually gives two hoots about you, you might be as dumb as Bob thinks I am! He just pretends to care about you. Heck, just like the rest of us, brother or not, you know he can’t understand a thing you say! He just pretends to, then humors you just to keep you in line to do all the hard work.
Bobby: Yeah and he’s not even goo-
Lunchbox: Enough YOU! I don’t need you! All I need are these!
Larry raises both hands, each balled into a knuckle sandwich.
Lunchbox: I’ve got one for you, Bobby. And one for Haul. And well, if Gnash decides he wants to stay under his brother’s evil wing, following him like an illiterate sheep-
Bobby: Aren’t all shee-
Lunchbox: MAYBE! That’s not the point! Point is, if Gnash wants to keep being a-
Lunchbox: – lackey… then I’ll just have to take back your knuckle sandwich, before you finish it, and give it to him!
Bobby: But what if I’m really hun-
Lunchbox: Stop right there! You know what? I don’t even care if you SHOW UP to Final Countdown. ‘Cause either way, it’ll be me, COUNTING DOWN, wth the ref, when I win the Tag Titles.
Bobby: They uh… they count up when you pin some-
Lunchbox: THEN I’LL BE COUNTING UP! You hear that, REPOSSESSED? When I get to that ring, and if tubby here is next to me, you better a whole party platter of Knuckle Sandwiches… WITH YOUR NAMES ON ‘EM!
Bobby: AT THE FINAL COUNDOWN… DUH-DUH DUH DUHHHHH!
Lunchbox: I hate you.
Larry storms off the set. Dean is left alone, a tear forming from one eye.
Bobby: That’s my little guy, all grown up.
Bobby: Taught that dummy everything he knows. Maybe he deserves a night… erm… a couple minutes of solid effort.
He scratches his third chin in contemplation.
Bobby: Maybe just one minute. But giving it everything I got. Like Larry.