Teamworking Day: 1-900-HOT-DOG's One Year Anniversary Special! 🌭 (Patreon)

Brockway: Hello and welcome to a Very Special Team Reflecting Day: It’s 1-900-🌭’s one year anniversary! Sean and I are both here to talk to you earnestly and honestly about this amazing journey. 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.

Seanbaby: 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 crossbody two days ago."

Brockway: 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-

Rick Ravage: 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 showing sincere gratitude when the PoxCo Regional Wrestling Championships are already underway!

Rick Ravage: 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 chaining earlier tonight. We’re here at the wonderful Don Bump Memorial Auditorium for -- really? Already writing him off like that? Cold blooded. -- we’re here at the Big Bump to watch some of the finest local wrestling that bloodthirsty longhaul truckers will pay 6 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. It may be the only thing. I’ve lost so much, god, so much… but that’s not Steak! Joining me is...

Dr. Chance Penis: I don't need an introduction, Ravage! I'm the longtime voice of PRW mail-by-wrestling, Doctor Chance Penis! I'm meaner than Don Bump's mom and uglier than Don Bump's kids and in light of recent news I'm worried I'm going to have to throw out a lot of my prepared material! Let's start again from the top, also I have a couple notes about my character's name and now I'm hearing we're live! Let me switch gears again and now the producer is hissing the word "penis" over and over in my ear which tells me it's a no on the name change as well! How about a run down on the rules, Ravage?

Rick Ravage: You got it, Dr. P! I - hold on, yes, I’m being told that I cannot abbreviate Dr. Chance Penis’s name. Gotta say the full thing every time. Uh huh. With genuine disgust in my heart? Hey! That’s a little strange, but you got it, Dr. Chance Penis! The rules work a little different here in the PRW League. Apparently two grown men decided to start an actual mail-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 chose six moves from a comically long list of minor atrocities. Seanbaby 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 toward cardiac arrest or regular arrest, whichever claims them first.

Dr. Chance Penis: The PRW wrestle-by-mail systems process data on the same type of computer microchips Christopher Nolan used when he printed the screenplay for the very complicated movie Tenet. Bits of bytes or "databytes" are used to interpret or "modem" each wrestling maneuver allowing the machine to analyze or "buttlyze" them faster than .8 men with calculators ever could. In many ways it reminds me of the structure my father imposed, a man who had difficulty expressing his lo--

Rick Ravage: Let’s shelve that fatherly trauma for the Official PoxCo Regional Wrestling Fatherly Trauma Afterparty, 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 immoral matchups leading up to this championship bout, 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!

Rick Ravage: Here we are folks, the Championship Match. The big bonanza, the bloody banana, the dirtiest, hurtiest, meanest mammajamma in Alabama! Is this Alabama? I tell ya folks, I look out the window and I just see the void. I think I have two ungrateful kids and a pet iguana waiting on me out there, but is that just what they want me to think? To give my character grounding? Do I have 23 years of semi-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?

Dr. Chance Penis: Well, he's going to have trouble getting those tiny hands around the throat of his opponent, General Anesthetic! Not for any clever reason, but because everything is much harder when your arms end in toddler fingers. Catching a boomerang, drawing a turkey... and if you think those little things haven't affected his relationship with women, you're crazy. General Anesthetic isn't simply dealing with a cute grip-- he's across the ring from decades of indescribable frustration. Oh my god, I just realized he can't make shadow puppets.

Rick Ravage: And away we go! Hey! What an opening! Both Baby Hands and General Anesthetic start with a variation of the Adult Class Karate Attack. 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!

Dr. Chance Penis: General ties Baby Hands up in the Aztec Colonoscopy, and he's really testing the forgiveness of our sponsors. Speaking of, tonight's action is brought to us in part by Maurine's-- anal rupture! General Anesthetic has struck oil deep in the bowels of Baby Hands! Once again, tonight's action is brought to us by Maurine's-- 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, Maurine's-- picture-perfect Choke (Non-Erotic)! This gore-soaked, baby-fingered maniac is on the attack! You'd almost swear we were looking at a man with normal-sized hands. Thanks again to Maurine's Spiced Prune Chutney.

Rick Ravage: 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 well practiced kata in response. This shouldn’t work! This shouldn’t work on anything, but this rigid, pre-arranged solo karate squaredance is absolutely destroying Baby Hands!

Dr. Chance Penis: 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 Penis.

Rick Ravage: Hey 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 tussle history. But oh no, General Anesthetic counters with a Drug Awareness Skit -- users are losers! Hey! It seems to be working, Baby Hands is off balance. That could just be the osteonecrosis from decades of rampant steroid abuse weakening his meager ankles, but I am not willing to write off the efficacy of this upbeat rap number that rhymes ‘cocaine’ with ‘insane.’

Dr. Chance Penis: Baby Hands seems to be resisting the seduction of drug awareness! The crowd is behind him! These fans don't want anyone to undo this tiny-handed man's troubled relationship with narcotics! General Anesthetic can't believe it! And Baby Hands hits the Rugrats in Paris: The Movie! That has to be it! By the spiced prunes of Maurine, 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 avoi-- THE RABBIT CRUSHER! Don't call the veterinarian, call the chef! A brutal Rabbit Crusher has put the general on his back and it's one, two... we have a new champion!

Rick Ravage: 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.

Dr. Chance Penis: It is a truly great day for physical deformities, the relatable and widely enjoyed pastime of wrestling by mail, and the unchecked creative whims that led to us existing. So for Rick Ravage, and me: Dr. Chance Peni--

Rick Ravage: But what’s this? Hey! Oh no, hey hey! Seanbaby and Brockway are slipping into the ring behind Baby Hands! He doesn’t see them, he’s blinded by tears of pride - turn around Baby Hands! He can’t hear me! He’s deafened by pride!

Dr. Chance Penis: He may be lost in this narrative conceit! Baby Hands! The authors are your re-- he can't hear me either. Can anyone hear me? If you can, I'm not Dr. Chance Penis! My name iiss... Doctor Chance Penis! G-god it hurts when I resist! Please! My name is... peeeeeeniiiiiiiAAIIEEEEE! What kind of mad god would conceive of a prison such as this!?

Rick Ravage: To die is a gift every wrestler can give himself, and yet we are denied it! When we need it most! Hey! Baby Hands is down and oh - oh god. Oh hey. Seanbaby and Brockway have each taken one end of 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 purchase!

Dr. Chance Penis: It's like watching a raccoon drown in a life preserver and being able to do nothing, Ravage! I'm Dr. Chance Penis! I have no choice, I'll always be Dr. Chance Penis!!!

Rick Ravage: 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 Seanbaby and Brockway! This is treachery! This is disgusting!

This is disgusting!

Hey hey! This is PoxCo Regional Wrestling!