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.




The Next Day

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


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