WBL Fear Factor
By: Dave Smith
The scene opens with a shot of a
park filled with tress with just one man standing in the middle of the park.
The camera zooms in to find that the one man standing in the park is South
African shortstop Dave Smith. He has a baseball glove in one hand and a bowl of
mush in the other hand.
“Ever wonder what it would be like
to mix the WBL with Fear Factor? Well the brilliant minds here at NBC obviously
wanted to see what it would be like, and so here I am hosting the WBL Fear
Factor.” He pauses a second to put down his glove, and bowl of mush, and then
continues. “Today we have the first WBL Fear Factor which consists of three
Eastern Hemisphere pitchers, and three Western Hemisphere pitchers.” He
explains to the camera in front of him.
“Now let’s see our competitors. From
the Great Britain Redcoats, Chad Slugga.” Slugga steps out from a behind a
humongous tree trunk in the park, and calmly walks over and stands next to
Smith on his left side. “From the Santo Domingo Rush, Paul Levesque.” Levesque
comes sprinting from off camera to join Smith on the right. “Next, Seoul Storm
Ace, Ernest P. Worrell.” Ernest climbs out of the same tree that Slugga was
hiding behind. “Mujuri Shipal from the Montreal Menace.” Shipal climbs out of a
trash can in the background.
“Stay in that trash can where you
belong, chink!” Levesque screams at Shipal as he is climbing out of the
trashcan. At that comment Slugga and Worrell both start cracking up.
“Gentlemen, come on! This is all
just for fun, please no racist comments.” Smith pleads with the three. While
Smith was correcting Levesque and company, Shipal had made his way over and is
now standing a few feet away from Levesque on the right side. “Now let’s see
who the last two competitors.”
“From the Frankfurt Force, Marc
Southworth II.” Southworth walks-on screen and takes his place next to Worrell.
“Last, but not least Chin Hui Tsao from the Caracas Cougars.” Once Tsao found
his place next to Shipal, Smith begins going over the rules.
“Here are the rules, guys. This is
NOT a team game, it’s an individual game, and so once all three from one
hemisphere are gone, the game is not over. We will have one competition per
day, and whoever has the worst performance is the one who will be heading home.
Also if a fight breaks out due to immaturity, I have the power to send anyone
home at anytime for any reason.” He glares at Levesque. “Understood? The
competition begins tomorrow at 10:30 A.M. I’ll see you all then. Hope you bring
your appetites.” Smith ends his speech with a grin, then turns and walks off
screen letting the pitcher’s there by themselves as the screen fades out.
((Commercials))
10:15 A.M
The scene comes in to see the six
competitors arriving one by one to the park. The only difference in the park is
that there is a table set up with six different bowls of various things on it.
After all six were present, Dave
Smith decided to arrive and grace them with his presence. The camera now zooms
in to show Dave standing next to the table with the “goods”. “Hello and welcome
back to the WBL Fear Factor, gentlemen. With that being said let the games
begin.” A white limo pulls up on the road next to the park. The limo just sits
motionless with no one exiting it.
Smith ignores the limo and
continues, “Today is day one of five, and after today one of you will not be
here anymore. Let’s get down to what these six bowls of delicate cuisine are.
Each one of you will be eating one of these bowls, and not one of them is the
same as another. BUT, there is a twist, the top hitter from one of your rival
teams got to pick and prepare what you will be eating.” Smith explains.
After hearing that, all six of them
stand staring blankly unsure of what to think. Shipal break the silence, “So
who picked what I have to eat?”
“Funny you should ask Shipal,
because you were randomly selected to go first. Who picked what you will eat
and what it is, you’ll have to wait a little longer to find out, because I
still have one more rule. Lastly, if all six of you should finish your food in
the three minutes you have then whoever finishes with the longest time is gone,
but if you don’t all finish then whoever throws up or quits in the shortest
amount of time is the one who’ll be packing for home.”
Smith finishes explaining the rules,
and feels it time to begin. “Shipal back to your question about who will be
picking your food.” Smith pauses with a grin. “Introducing Mr. Blake Roberts
from the Santo Domingo Rush.”
The camera quickly shifts to see the
door of the limo opening up, and Blake Roberts stepping out. “No way! That sick
freak’s going to make me eat something really disgusting.” A serious,
determined look suddenly crosses Shipal’s face and now he’s speaking
confidently, “Oh well! Bring it Roberts, you can’t hit me, and now I will beat
you in another thing.”
Roberts laughs and walks over to
stand next to Smith. “Welcome to the show Blake! Would you please show us what
you had prepared for Mr. Shipal?”
“Surely.” Roberts agrees as he walks
over and picks up the bowl full of the yellow glue like substance. “This is
what I like to call ‘Cycles of Fly’, it has maggots mixed with abdomens of
flies.” Roberts informs Shipal. “This is for all those K’s, Bon appetite.”
Roberts adds with a chuckle, as he hands the bowl to the pale-faced Shipal.
“You have three minutes to eat all
of it, throw up and it’s over,” Smith explains. “Ready… Begin!”
Shipal stares at the bowl of gook
with his face looking even paler then usual, and makes a face that shows his
disgust with Roberts and the bowl in front of him. “Thirty Seconds” Smith
proclaims as Shipal finally picks up his spoon to get eating. After two bites
Shipal gags and shares the distastefulness with the rest of them. “Oh man this
stuff’s rancid (cough) GROSS!”
“You stupid chink, you’ll never win
because you’re a pussy. Look at you!” Chad Slugga shouts from behind him.
Shipal must not like to be made fun of, because with that comment, the
determined look fills Shipal’s face again.
“One minutes, and thirty seconds.”
Smith tells Shipal, but Shipal isn’t hearing anything anyone is saying. His
mouth is full of flies and maggots and his face is full of the determination of
100 men going into battle. Even with maggots dripping down his chin, he doesn’t
stop to wipe them off, but keeps on going.
(Cough, cough) “Nasty! Finished,
DONE!” Shipal screams as he catches the aftertaste left in his mouth. Smith
carefully examines the bowl and Shipal’s mouth. After a second or two, he
declares Shipal has finished in two minutes and 34 seconds.
“Next up we have Marc Southworth II.
Who, oh, who could have made your treat? Oh! I know, Shawn Baig from the Seoul
Storm.”
Shawn sprints to the table wasting
no time, grabbing his lovely bowl of “food”. “Marc here’s your scrumptious
dessert! Yum, smell those mutilated bull testicles.” Marc’s mouth drops as the
word leave Shawn’s mouth.
“Someone put something in Marc’s
mouth, my zipper’s stuck. Ha ha, OK you know the deal Southworth. Three
minutes…. GO!” Southworth, getting over being stunned, wastes no time. Without
a spoon, he picks up his bowl, and tilts it towards his mouth gulping with
every mouthful, wanting to win and not yearning to go home as he continues to
chug.
“I knew it! You’re a homo! I knew
it, I knew it you queer!” Paul Levesque shouts laughing to distract Southworth.
Distract is what he did, as Southworth caught the humor, and begins to laugh
mid gulp. Laughing in the middle of a gulp of bull’s testicles is obviously not
a good thing to do because with that laughter out comes a lot of bull testes
and Southworth’s turn is over.
“Fifty-five seconds Marc.” Smith
informs him. “So you threw up on a joke from Small Paul? Never thought I’d see
the day that Southworth ate testes of any sort. So how did they taste?”
“Disgusting! They are by far the
worst things I have ever tasted in my entire life.” Southworth answers Smith.
“Southworth, unfortunately you’re
future on this show is still uncertain, but one man is definitely moving on.
Congrats Mujuri Shipal.” Smith tells Shipal. “One more thing, if anyone decides
to stall to beat Southworth, ten seconds of being idle is considered a throw
up!” Smith tells the other four a waiting their turns. “I will not inform you
of the time until after one minute because of this.”
“Now let’s see who lucky number
three will be.” Smith looks down at his clipboard, and after a few seconds’
looks back up. “And the lucky winner is Ernest P. Worrell. Welcome to the party
buddy.”
Worrell walks over to stand next to
Smith. “I wonder who prepared your food? We have no other then the infamous Joe
Slugga of the Great Britain Redcoats.” The camera shows Slugga get out of the
limo and walk over to the table.
“Welcome to the show Joe thanks for
coming, and for making a treat for your pal Ernest. Could you please show us
what you made?”
“Sure Dave! Well it’s called a
Manure S’more. We have a couple marshmallows, and one graham cracker, mixed
with a big pile of cow manure. It has all been blended together and is awaiting
Worrell’s mouth.”
“Mmmmmmmmmmm, that sounds scrumptious.”
Smith turns towards Worrell. “You know the deal three minutes, no idling for
over 10 seconds. Ready?” Worrell nods. “Go!”
Worrell places one hand on his nose,
and with his other hand he picks up his spoon. The expression on his face tells
all. One spoonful down, two, three, and it’s obviously getting harder to
swallow with each spoonful. “One minute.” Worrell continues to hold his nose
and eat the foul smelling manure s’more.
With just a few spoonfuls left the
taste finals breaks through the nose holding tactic. Worrell breaks out into a
gagging and coughing rage, and can’t stop. “One minute, and thirty seconds.”
The gagging continues, but Worrell fights on and continues fighting down one
bite after another. “One spoonful left, down that stuff.” With that Worrell
finishes and raises his arms in victory. “Congrats Worrell, you finished in two
minutes and three seconds, and you are MOVING ON!”
“Wow! That stuff sucked. It tastes
just as bad as it smells.” Worrell complains as he looks for a drink to down
the horrendous taste left in his mouth.
“Good job Worrell. Now it is time to
move on, and next up is Chin Hui Tsao. Giving Tsao his food will be Montreal
Menace superstar ANX.”
ANX walks slowly from the limo to
the table and the six competitors. “Welcome to the show ANX. Let’s see if you
can get Tsao to blow chunks or quit.”
“Just like I knock the lights out of
his fastballs, I will beat him on here as well.” ANX moves over to the table to
pick up his bowl of food. “What I have here is called ‘Goat Eye Pot Pie’. Heh
good one ANX.” Giving props to himself. “What’s in it are goat eyes in a broth
of goat milk. Have fun, the mighty chink ain’t so mighty anymore.”
“That better be on the menu at the
next restaurant I go to because that looks banging.” Smith jokes dryly. “So I’m
not funny, but I’m in charge so when I make a joke, you better start laughing.”
All six start faking laughter, as Smith commanded.
“If it looks so good to you, then
you can go ahead and eat that for me.” Tsao says back to Smith.
“Dude I was just joking. GO!” Smith
suddenly says as he starts the clock to get back at him for not laughing at his
dry humor jokes.
“What…. Go? Oh man!” Tsao grabs his
spoon, and fork and goes to work. He starts taking spoonfuls of milk, but to
get done quicker he drops his utensils, picks up the bowl and chugs the nasty
goat milk.
“How can he drink that disgusting
goat milk?” Southworth asks aloud from behind him.
“It’s easy for him, chinks are poor
and can’t afford real cow milk, so they buy goats and drink their milk. Stupid
Poor chinks!” Levesque shouts his answer.
By the time Levesque finished, Tsao
was done the milk, and was now chewing on the rubber-like eyeballs in his
potpie. Tsao had downed two eyes, and still had two more to go. “I can’t eat
anymore. This S***’s gross!”
“Keep going man, you can do it.”
Shipal shouts. “Just don’t think about it, come on man.”
“What is this, THE CHINK CLUB? Shut
up Shipal, and Tsao stop being such a pansy and eat it!” Levesque scolds the
two. Smith throws a mean glare at Levesque warning him of the racist slurs, and
then looks back to Tsao.
Tsao’s face is turning red, when
suddenly he whips his entire body around to be looking right at Levesque, when,
“ERRRRRRRRRRR!” A horn sounds denoting 10 seconds of being idle, and Tsao is
done. “Fifty….” Southworth holds his breathe hoping it to be under fifty- five
seconds. “…. Nine seconds!”
“I’m in, I’m in! Hell yeah!
Southworth, See ya’ sucker!” Tsao shouts in Southworth’s general direction.
“Southworth is not out yet, but you
are right, and you will be here tomorrow. Two more pitcher’s left. Who’s next?
Mr. Chad Slugga!”
Slugga quickly moves next to Smith
“So how do you think you’re going to do in this challenge, Chad?” Smith
ponders.
“Well I eat anything, so whatever
they want to throw at me, I’m ready!” Slugga replies.
“The two bowls over there look
completely different, one almost looks like throw up, and the other looks like
potato chips. Which one do you hope to get?”
“Obviously, I want the chip-like one.”
Slugga says. The limo door is suddenly flung open, and it catches everyone’s
attention as Frankfurt Force third baseman Tony Kobbs steps out and walks over
to the group.
“Hey Tony! So which one of those two
bowls did you have prepared for Chad, the puke-like stuff, or the chips?”
“Well, the chips are what I had made
for him.” A grin goes across Slugga’s face from ear to ear. “Yup, they are
giraffe toenail chips.” The grin vanishes from Slugga’s face. “Have fun Chad.”
“Alright Slugga, three minutes, and
be careful not to choke…. Begin!” Slugga looks at the chips, and slowly reaches
for one. He brings it to his nose, smells it, and then moves it back to his
mouth. His teeth embrace the chip with a crunch, and Slugga has begun.
With each bite Slugga has to chew
very hard to break up the nasty toenails embedded in each chip. He finishes the
first, and moves onto the second chip. Still being very careful to chew, and
not to choke. As he completes the second one he looks up and says, “I hope I
don’t get anything like athlete’s foot of the throat or some crap.” With that
he begins to chew on the third round of toenails.
“One minute.” Smith announces to the
sluggish eating Slugga.
“Screw proving a point, screw it!
I’m done, and I’m moving on.” Slugga quits and takes the easy way out.
“Alright, that’s a legal move, so
you’re moving on to tomorrow. Congrats are in order then I guess.”
“Thanks man! Anyone got something to
drink? I think I still have a piece of it stuck in my throat.” Slugga says
disgusted with what he just ate.
“Well now we know that Tsao, Shipal,
Slugga, and Worrell are moving on to tomorrow’s (next week’s) competition. The
fate of Marc Southworth II is still uncertain, and it all depends on what
happens next. One more competitor still remains for today. Last, but not least,
Mean Paul Levesque. How are you doing Paul?”
“I’m fine. A little anxious to see
what this crap is.” He answers briefly and anxiously.
“Well let’s find out what it is for
you then. Bring out Jermaine Guzman please.” Guzman gets out of the limo and
slowly walks over to the table. “Jermaine, please tell us what Mr. Bully over
here will be eating.”
“OK, this may sound disgusting and
disturbing, but…. it is. You my friend will be eating Rhinoceros vomit. Enjoy,
punk!” Guzman says as he heads back to the limo immediately.
“Man, this even beats out bull
testes, well ties it. Hope you like it when you throw up, and swallow it,
because that is what this will most likely taste like. Good luck with this one,
can’t say you don’t deserve it for all the picking on people you do. Three
minutes, ready?” Levesque nods slowly. “Begin!”
Levesque, a man who talks the talk,
but also walks the walk, picks up his spoon, and goes to work. With each bite,
a grimace look crosses his face, but he continues to fight it, and eats
striving towards being here tomorrow. Three or four bites into it, he stops and
looks up.
“He doesn’t look so good. Look how
pale he is.” Worrell points out to everyone. Levesque, with a ghost-like face,
continues to eat, but suddenly stands straight up with eyes the size of
baseballs.
“Woohhhhlll
(cough, cough, gag, gag) Blehhhhhhhhh”. Rhino and human vomit come out mixed as
one, as Levesque’s supper and turn are up.
“Fifty-three seconds!” Smith
announces to the pleasure of Southworth, Shipal, and Tsao. “Levesque you threw
up in the shortest amount of time, and that means you will be leaving us. How’d
that stuff taste?”
“About as good, as it sounded when
it all came back up. I tried to keep it down, but it was just so nasty it came
back up.”
“Any last comments?” Smith asks.
“Yeah! What the hell? How do I lose
to two chinks, and a dork like Southworth?” Levesque questions angrily.
“You’re time here is up, please grab
your things and head on home.” Smith says with a farewell wave.
“Na Na Na Na… Na Na Na Na…. Hey Hey
Hey… GOODBYE!” The other five contestants sing as Levesque walks away. “(Same
beat) Paul Levesque…. Paul Levesque… Paul Levesque… IS MAD!” They all sing
laughing as the scene fades out.
And now a preview for next week’s WBL Fear
Factor….
Five WBL pitchers left…
Chad Slugga
Mujuri Shipal
Marc Southworth II
Chin Hui Tsao
And…
Ernest P. Worrell
Southworth barely escaped last week,
but we’ll see how he does when it comes time to pitching accurately on a tight
rope, 150 feet off the ground. Twists and surprises around every corner for
these superstars. Who will still be here? Who will join Paul Levesque at home
on the couch watching? Find all this out next week, when WBL Fear Factor
continues.
© 2004 Dave Smith Enterprises – All ideas are original by Dave Smith
except the giraffe toenails which was suggested by Vin Distasio