The Dogg Zzone by 1900HOTDOG - Extra Wiener - PoxCo Regional Wrestling Finals

Episode Date: June 23, 2021

Hey hey! It's the PoxCo Regional Wrestling finals! A stunning display of skill, strategic drug use, and clashing meat! Seanbaby and Brockway duck out early to make room for your announcers: Rick Ravage "The Above Average Savage" and Dr. Chance Penis, who are not provably Seanbaby and Brockway doing goofy voices. Not in any US court anyway.

Extra! Winner! Extra! Winner! Extra! Winner! Extra! Winner! Gather together from the cosmic reaches of the universe. Here in this great hall of justice are the most powerful forces of good ever assembled. Sunbury! Brockway! Guest.

Extra! Winner! It's a monster! Let's get out of here! It's a monster! Let's get out of here! Welcome to Extra! Winner, the bonus podcast for the 1,900 hot dog comedy website's Dog Zone 9000 podcast. So Maggie May Fish had to leave early, so Brockway and I, for this bonus episode, are going to read from our own work, our team working day, Pox Co Wrestling, mail in finals. No, let's do it. This will be like a little radio play by two untrained actors. With no rehearsal. No, we haven't rehearsed it. And we're going to do it all in one take. We'll probably fuck with each other a little bit. This could be a total disaster.

Could. Basically promise. Alright. Hello and welcome to a very special team reflecting day. It's 1,900 hot dogs one year anniversary, and Sean and I are both here to talk to you earnestly and honestly about this amazing journey. Our strong points. When this all began, we weren't even sure there was a place left on the internet for pure comedy for comedy's sake, much less such a large and wonderful community willing to pay a few dollars, several Canadian, for a month of it. I said we need to build a place where people can gather together to simulate wrestling via postal mail. A place where that exact thing I just mentioned would be a three-part article spanning months and utilizing the professional skills of two industry veterans responsible for running some of the biggest comedy websites on the internet. And Brockway said, you sweet fool, I already mailed you a flying cross body two days ago. Did you ever get that?

I did. It fucked me up. Nice. Nice. I paid that mailman extra. Yeah. I kicked out, but it hurt. Of course. I didn't pay him to beat you. I guess we just wanted to say that you folks really came out for us. With your help, we've grown beyond anybody's expectations. And more importantly, you showed us that the work can be fun again. I don't know how to express what a gift that is to fully believe in- Aw, dude!

Ooh, Brockway has just been whipped with a motorcycle chain. He is down. He is down and staying that way. Hey, but that's what you get for a show and sincere gratitude when the Poxco Regional Wrestling Championships are already underway. This isn't a place for feminine emotions like honesty and pride. This is for wrestling emotions like revenge and steak. If you're just tuning in, I'm Rick Ravage, the above average savage, filling in for Don Bump, who is still recovering from his own brutal motorcycle chain in earlier tonight. We're here at the wonderful Don Bump Memorial Auditorium for- Really? Already writing them off like that. Cold blooded. We're here at the big bump to watch some of the finest local wrestling that bloodthirsty Long Hall of Truckers will pay six American dollars to see.

Hey, hey! Now, as a replacement commentator, I may not be familiar with the league, but if there's one thing I know and love, it's local wrestling. But that's not steak! Joining me is... I don't need an introduction, Ravage. I'm the long-time voice of F.E.R.W. Wrestling by mail. Dr. Chance Penis, a meaner than Don Bump's mom and uglier than Don Bump's kids. And in line with recent news, I'm worried I'm gonna have to throw out a lot of my prepared material. Let's start again from the top. Also, I have a couple notes about the character's name, and now I'm hearing we're live. Let me switch gears again, and now the producer's hissing the word penis over and over in my ear, which tells me it's a note on the name change as well.

How about a rundown on the rules, Ravage? You got it, Dr. P. I- hold on. Yes? I'm being told that I cannot abbreviate Dr. Chance Penis' name. Gotta say the full thing every time. Uh-huh. With genuine disgust in my heart. All right. Hey, that's a little strange, but you got it, Dr. Chance Penis. The rules work a little different here in the P.R.W. League. Apparently, two grown men decided to start an actual male in wrestling league in 2020. And what we're going to see tonight are the real wrestlers that fans submitted. I'm not sure how we're here watching this, or who I am, where I came from, and where I'll go when it's all over. It's... hold on. I'm being told it's likely a Monkey's Paw wish here to punish us for our hubris, but in any event, I sure am glad to be briefly alive to witness this momentous event.

Hey! Here's how it works. Participants designed a wrestler's persona and custom finisher, then show six moves from a comically long list of minor atrocities. Sean Baby designed an actual working game system, and all the matches were genuinely played through to their conclusions. Now, all these worksheets don't look like much to me since I've lost some object recognition and most of my numbers to wrestling-related tragedy. But I'm told these documents actually depict epic battles between beefy titans overclocked beyond human endurance, each one racing towards cardiac arrest or regular arrest, whichever claims them first. The P.R.W. wrestling by male systems processed data on the same type of computer microchips Christopher Nolan used when he printed the screenplay for the very complicated movie Dennett. Bits of bytes or data bytes are used to interpret, or modem, each wrestling maneuver allowing the machine to analyze or butt-lize faster than .8 men with calculators ever could. In many ways, it reminds me of the structure my father imposed on men who had difficulty expressing his l... l... Let's shelve that fatherly trauma for the official Poxco regional wrestling fatherly trauma after-party, Dr. Chance Penis, because it looks like we're almost ready for the big match.

If you've missed any of the exciting, possibly fatal, certainly a moral match-up's leading to this championship out. You can find recaps of the quarter and semifinals in this month's Poxco regional wrestling magazine, on sale exclusively from the backs of trucks, which are not legally allowed to stop moving. If you had a wrestler in one of those matches, you should have received your lavishly printed and tastefully enveloped notice of loss and or death in the mail by now. Hey! Here we are, folks, the championship match. The big bonanza, the bloody banana, the dirtiest, hurdiest, meanest Mamma Jamma in Alabama. Is this Alabama? I tell you, folks, I look out the window and I just see the void. I think I have two ungrateful kids and a pedigwana waiting on me out there, but is that just what they want me to think? To give my character grounding? Now, do I have 23 years of professional wrestling experience as the above-average savage and hepatitis C, or are those just lies to give me a history and a reason to be yellow? Hey! Hey! Tonight we have two wrestlers at the top of their games. Baby Hands from Holy Oaks, the master of pokes, the butt of small dick jokes.

He wants the belt to prove that he's a real man to his daddy. Long dead, but still haunting his memories. Hey! Holy shit, me too, Baby Hands, what are the odds? Well, he's gonna have trouble getting those tiny hands around the throat of his abominant general anesthetic. Not for any clever reason, but because everything is much harder when your arms stand to doddle a finger, sketch in a boomerang, drawing a turkey, and if you think those little things have an effect on his relationship with women, you're crazy. General anesthetic isn't simply dealing with the cute grip. He's across the ring for decades of indescribable frustration. Oh my god, I just realized he can't make shadow puppets. Oh, Jesus Christ, is that worth living? I know where we go. Hey, what an opening. Both Baby Hands and General anesthetic start with a variation of the adult class karate attack. Now, as we all know, the only thing that can counter karate is the exact same variant of karate, or any basic punch or kick, but it looks like Baby Hands was not ready for somebody else having watched the karate kid all the way to the end. General anesthetic presses the advantage. General ties Baby Hands up in the Aztec colonoscopy, and he's really testing the forgiveness of our sponsors. Speaking of tonight's action, it's brought to us in part by Maureen's anal rupture.

General anesthetic is struck oil deep in the bails of Baby Hands. Once again, tonight's action is brought to us by Maureen's squirting, blinding squirt of anal viscera to the eyes. Baby Hands has hemorrhaged his way into some breathing room and given us time to thank our sponsor Maureen's picture-perfect choke, non-erotic. This gore-soaked baby-fingered maniac is on the attack. You'd almost swear we're looking at a man with normal size hands. Thanks again to Maureen's sparse, prune, chutney. Long time sponsor. Now, this is a strange strategy for Baby Hands, who is once again going in for a choke without the slightest hint of an erection. A choke can tell if you're not into it. Hey! General anesthetic unleashes a whale practice kata in response. This shouldn't work. This shouldn't work on anything, but this rigid, pre-arranged solo karate square dance is absolutely destroying Baby Hands. What's happening is clear. We are seeing the exact circumstance all of karate has been training for. Wait, no. Baby Hands has countered with the Chuck E. Cheese ball pit. What? A moist impact and a haunting reminder of one of the many places I'm no longer welcome since my name became Dr. Chance Beans.

You gotta say the whole thing with disgust in your heart. It does make it tough to go places. Don't love it, babe. Hey, it looks like Baby Hands is setting up for a crane kick. It's a bold approach, holding perfectly still while advertising possibly the most telegraphed move in playground hustle history. But oh no. General anesthetic counters with the drug awareness kit. Users are losers. Hey, it seems to be working Baby Hands' off balance. Now, that could just be the osteonecrosis from decades of rampant steroid abuse weakened in his already meager ankles. But I am not willing to write off the efficacy of this upbeat rap number that rhymes cocaine with insane. Baby Hands seem to be resisting the seduction of drug awareness. The crowd is behind him. His fans don't want anyone to undo this tiny-handed man's troubling relationship with narcotics. General anesthetic can't believe it, babe. And Baby Hands hits the Rugrats in Paris the movie. That has to be it. By the spiced prunes of Maureen, that has got to be it.

What's this? Baby Hands lifts General anesthetic up, tenderly and holds him. Many of us could live a thousand lives and never feel this type of love. But anesthetic needs to get out of there if he wants to avoid the rabbit crusher. Don't call the veterinarian, call the chef a brutal rabbit crusher. Put the general on his back and it's one, two. We have a new champion. Baby Hands wins. Baby Hands wins it all. And just look at that, folks. His weird little fingers trying to grip the championship belt. It's adorable. It's unsettling. It's like a raccoon trying to steal a life preserver. Hey, hey, it's a championship moment. It is truly a great day for physical deformities. Though relatable and widely enjoyed, best time of wrestling by mail and the unchecked creative whims that led us to existing. So for Rick Ravage and me, Dr. Chance... What's this? Hey! Oh no! Hey, hey! Sean Baby and Brockway are slipping into the ring behind Baby Hands. He doesn't see him. He's blinded by tears of pride.

Turn around, Baby Hands. Turn around. He can't hear me. He's deafened by pride. He may be lost in this narrative. Conceit Baby Hands. The authors are your... He can't hear me either. Can anyone hear me if you can, babe? I'm not Dr. Chance Penis. My name is Dr. Chance Penis. Get out of here. You gotta say it. It hurts when I resist. Please. My name is Penis. What kind of mad god would conceive of a prison such as this? Nah, to die is a gift every wrestler can and should give himself. And yet we are denied it when we need it most. Hey! Baby Hands is down and oh... oh god. Oh hey. Sean Baby and Brockway have each taken one end to the championship belt and are strangling Baby Hands with it. He's trying to claw it away, but his little hands... folks! Hey! His little hands just can't get purchased! It's like watching a raccoon drowning in a life-preserve from being able to do nothing, Ravage. I'm Dr. Chance Penis. I have no choice. I'll always be...

Dr. Chance Penis! I will say your name! I will say your name! And remember, find me in the after, Dr. Chance Penis! I will wait for you! Hey! Hey! Baby Hands! He's... yes, the ref is calling it... Baby Hands is dead. His greatest moment of victory was stolen along with his life. And I'm not surprised. I'm not even surprised anymore that the referee is ruling this a valid move. Your champions are Sean Baby and Brockway. This is treachery. This is disgusting. This is disgusting. Hey! Hey! This is Boxco Regional Wrestling! I honestly can't believe we did so much male by wrestling jokes and then ended a very real competition, participated in with like our most loyal fans and then betrayed them and murdered. And they still loved us. They're still talking to us. Yeah, they still... they still like us. I think... I mean, what else would they have expected? How weird would it have been if it was just a straight, like, ending? Like, hey, great job. Like, we're fucking ten years old. Like, you're... you're a guy who won the contest! Okay, honestly, if you did not see this coming, it's your fault and I have no respect for you. This was, like, legitimately fun. I remember when we first posted the... oh, I think it was the second article about the wrestling and Jason Parjan tweeted at us on Twitter. He's like, this looks like it fucking took forever, guys. Well, it did span an entire year. We started a year-long joke.

Yeah, this looks exhausting. I can feel the work and I hate it. It wasn't much more than our usual amount. Like, it was a lot of Photoshopping and back and forth, I guess. It wasn't much more than our usual... I had sat there and ran every one of those... I don't know if that would just lived in your head, but, like, you had this complicated rule set and I sat there and ran every single one. Some of the matches took, like, an hour and a half just to figure out a match. That's true. There was a couple that went on. If I'm being honest, I cheated on a couple of them where I was just like, I think I see where this one's going to go. Yeah, I developed a rule where it was, like, ten. If there was, like, ten rounds, this was after I had spent, I don't know, six hours on matches that were just like, oh my god, he hits him, he hits him, he hits him, he hits him. Yeah, I didn't account for all possible infinite loops, which means about one out of every six or seven matches had an infinite loop.

But I used him in discretion. I feel like I'm allowed, as the man who created the universe, you know. If we ever release the rule set for this for people to play at home, and they should, we should do that. We're probably not going to, but we should. I think I could incorporate this into an easy dice game that we could, like, paper-part type. Well, I think it works almost entirely. Yeah, maybe dice or something. You'll need something. It works almost entirely, I don't know, with cards, with whatever, but you need that ten-round system to prevent the infinite loop, so that's my one addition to the entire game system that Sean designed just for this bit that nobody will ever see. Right. You know what? They should see it. We should, we should do something. We should. And again, it's not that much more work than I usually do. Which is, which is a personal problem. Destroying your life and body.

It's true. Oh wait, no, that's my body. Destroying your life and my body. But I'm, I'm still, I still managed to get a third through Resident Evil Village with just the knife, so I mean, I'm still living a pretty. Still got it. A pretty huge personal life. Still got a lot going on. All right, before we end, I just want to say, we did not practice our wrestling voices for each other, and I didn't know he was going to do Dennis Miller turning Texan. I was not prepared for Texas Miller. I didn't either. I didn't rehearse that at all. I was like, I should probably do something Dennis Miller like, and then I started doing exactly Dennis Miller.

I'm like, in the middle of it, thought maybe he's like Southern Dennis Miller, and then I think I went back to Dennis Miller several times. Maybe he's not. Maybe he hates himself. Yeah. I think I nailed it. I mean, I don't know. I think we all nailed it anyway. Expect our next. What a great bonus podcast. Great job. Inevitable Betrayal coming to you anytime now. Got to plan our next year anniversary, which will, by tradition, have to be Betrayal. Exactly. I honestly would do this exact same thing again. Exact same ending.

I don't. I just promise him it's going to be different this time. Trust us, baby. It's going to be different, and then we kill the champion again. Hey, hey! Dr. Chance Beeney! I will find you in the after! It's a monster! Let's get out of here! It's a monster! Let's get out of here!