- When : Wed. , 02.27.08 , 9:03pm / Where : 2120 S. Street, Parts Unknown, Oklahoma... -
[The AWE promo channel runs an ad for 'Colgate Toothpaste', showing a woman with a glowing smile, beaming with teeth as white as a fresh layer of newly fallen snow. This quickly fades away, and is soon replaced by the view of a long, dusty, dirt road, winding out of Parts Unknown... a road, cracked upon the surface, from time... and the sun's harsh rays. An old, beat-up, '78 Ford pick-up truck makes its way over the weathered path. The vehicle's exterior is rusted, with the crimson paint chipping away, from the hood, all the way to the truck bed. Each of the truck's windows is hidden behind a healthy sheet of dirt, impairing the driver's vision... but not anymore so than the alcohol already surging through his system.]
[As the truck closes in on its destination, we find our eyes set upon the vision of 2120, South Street. Otherwise known as... Parts Unknown Cemetary. A horrifying, ghastly section of P.U., O.K. So ghastly, it's taken home the award for "Most Horrifying, Ghastly Section of P.U., O.K.", three years running. The old Ford settles its engine, resting on the edge of the road outside the cemetary fencing... Exhaust travels into the air... which is already thick with fog. As the driver's side door swings open, a leather boot steps out... followed closely by its twin. A figure emerges from within the truck's confines... The man's face is shielded from the camera's lens, thanks to a long-brimmed hat, and the man's insistance to lower his head...]
[The man reaches into the back of his truck, and procures a long shovel... splintered handle, rusted head... The man rests the tool over his shoulder, and, with his his head still staring down at the acreage of crab grass before him, he ventures forth. As his boots crunch along the ground, he walks steadily toward the fence... before kicking the gate open with the toe of his boot, and making his way inside the hellish lair of the deceased...]
- When : Same Day , 10:30pm / Where : Parts Unknown Cemetary... -
[We reopen, an hour later, to the graveyard's inner sanctum. Our camera operator pans across a long stretch of tombstones... the harsh wind sending a sharp chill through his spine. As the camera comes in close enough to view the stones, we find ourselves gazing at the gravesites of those whose time has passed...]
[Anna Nicole Smith...]
[Chris Benoit...]
[Adolf Hitler...]
[The Patriot's winning streak...]
[The bitter, sickening stench of death crawls along every vile inch of this foreboding place... Crawling with the stench of murder... Crawling with the stench of blood, and guts, and horrors unknown... Crawling with the stench of... well, let's face it, you name just about any stench, this place is more than likely crawling with it. The glowing moon looms above, shrouded by a veil of clouds, and resting on a field of stars... Below, the same man from the truck... clad in a trenchcoat and black, fingerless gloves... digs away at a grave. He sings an eery tune to himself...]
"Ohhh, I've been
workin' in the graveyard,
All the live long day.
I've been workin'
in the graveyard,
As the flesh just rots away.
Don't ya step into
the darkness,
Cuz I will bury you alive
I've been workin' in the
graveyaaard,
Just tryin' to survive!"
[A black, ten-gallon hat rests upon the man's head, hiding his facial features. As soon as he notices the approaching camera, he slowly lifts his head... and slowly, and quite spookily, removes the hat from atop his crown. As the hat is removed, through the curtain of darkness, we see this SCARY image...]
[SCAAARY! ... Ok, who'm I kidding? Even a numbskull with the eyesight of a blind BAT can tell it's only Jack Hoff in a cheap trenchcoat and some dollar store biker gloves. And the removal of the hat only lessens the supposedly "scary" image, by revealing one of the ugliest, rattiest wigs I've seen since William Shatner's hairpiece was ripped off by his cat Scotty and buried in the litter box. Regardless, Jack goes back to work on the grave. He tosses shovelful after shovelful of dirt over his right shoulder... Jack drives the shovel once again into the ground, stomping it down further by running the sole of his boot into the shovel's metal head. He removes a chunk of dirt, and tosses it over his shoulder...]
[The shovel continues to be driven again and again into the ground's surface, before lifting another load of dirt from its rest... and with each bit of dirt removed, the hole becomes deeper... and deeper... and deeper still, till Jack finally reaches the depths which he'd sought... 6 feet deep. Jack lets out a tired huff, his breath hovering in the air like smoke from a pipe... The Hoff-Ster stakes his shovel into the mound of dirt piled tall beside the mouth of the open grave. He wipes the sweat from his brow... and his cheek... and his forehead... and from just about every square inch of his blubber encrusted body. Jack lets out a mighty belch, and scratches his ass.]
Jack Hoff: It's alot ah damn hard work, lemme tell ya... But I've been sent here on a mission... and by god, I'm gonna deliver!!!
[Jack reaches toward the shovel, and grips it by the handle... before lifting the tool into the air, and dropping it far, far below into the clutches of the grave. Jack then slowly drags his chubby thumb across his throat, in a sliding motion. His toungue dangles from his mouth, giving off the ominous vision of a viper, ready to strike. Or, more likely, Jack on a typical day, salivating over the latest concoction from 'Red Robin'. Jack tries desperately to roll his eyes into the back of their sockets... but ends up looking more like a cross-eyed, slack-jawed yokel. Jack lowers to a knee... and raises a palm out before him, fingers outstretched... and a bolt of lightning suddenly splits through the night, driving its force into the gaping hole, sending a shockwave through the ground, and causing the pile of dirt to shift perfectly into the grave, filling it to the top.]
[The lightning illimunates the engraving upon the tombstone...]
"Mike Mahone... Hated by all, Respected by none... Transexual Extraordinaire. May he..."
"Cross-dress...
in...
Peeeaaace."
[Jack clutches his fingers together, before rising to his feet... He then raises a single, gloved fist high above his head... before quickly turning his head to the camera, and bringing down his fist... he smiles devilishly... before - ]
*FRAAAP!*
[Oh dear LORD, Jack, not on sacred ground!]
Jack Hoff: Hey, when ya gotta rip one, ya gotta rip one. Hell, my farts smell like floral shampoo compared to some of the smells I've come across here... If you think Anna Nicole Smith's poon' was rank ABOVE ground, you should smell it when it's been underground for months on end, with ants and maggots hollowing it out and turning it into a condo.
[OH, GROSS!!! Jack! You seriously need to take Xoquon's advice, and have your head checked on by some professionals...]
Jack Hoff: Zawk-when? If ya ask me, the guy doesn't have any room to talk about sounding 'crazy'. Half the time the guy makes less sense than a Picaso paintin'! Friggin' Manequin Head... next time I meet up with the jerk, I'll show him a thing or two!
[What, how to job and how to smell like rotten eggs while doing so?]
Jack Hoff: HEY! You... you... >:-(
[Oooo, breakin' out the smilies I see! Now I'm DEFINITELY scared... Who are you supposed to be, anyway, the Undertaker's fat cousin, Ernie?]
Jack Hoff: Hmph! If you just GOTTA know... I'm goin' by the name "The UnderHoffer".
[The UnderHeffer?]
Jack Hoff: The UnderHoffer.
[The UnDr.Pepper?]
Jack Hoff: The UnderHoffer!
[*snort* The UnderWearTAKER?!]
Jack Hoff: DAMMIT, THE UNDERHOFFER!!! I'M the one that's supposed tah be crackin' wise-ass, ovah hee-yah, not you. I'm the Star, you're the Narrator. So just shut ya damn trap until somethin' needs... narratin'.
[Fine, fine...]
Jack Hoff: That's better...
["The UnderHoffer" walks back toward the grave of 'Mike Mahone', and returns to a knee... Somewhere, far off in the distance, a lone wolf howls at the moon hanging in the darkened sky... a moon now shining without the cover of cloud. Jack lowers a finger toward the mound covering the hole, and begins to draw something in the dirt... As he draws an unknown figure, or perhaps message, '"The UnderHoffer" begins to speak once again...]
Jack Hoff: There is a curse that falls upon the souls of all mankind... as well as all dude love, and all cactus jack. This curse... this... immortal omen... shall extinguish the light at the end of the tunnel... The cold blackness and scorching fire shall envelope all that IS and all that ever WILL be... till the end of eternity. Poor Mike Baloney... poor, dear, sweet, simple, puny, worthless, weak, but still full of hope, Mike Baloney. Soon... your soul shall belong to the Dead Fatty Walkin'... Joining each and every one of those who have dared to cross paths with the UnderHoffer. Your fate is sealed upon the crucifix of destiny... You can run, son... but you sure can't hide.
Jack Hoff: I've been sent on a quest by the one and only Chairman of this here company... A man by the name of Aidan Knox. He looked high... he looked low... he even looked somewhere in the middle, where all the mid-carders dwell in mid-card-land. He traveled through the dankest, deepest reaches of the oceans... he traveled upon beaten paths... he climbed treacherous mountains and stony cliffs. He made his way to the edge of the world and back again... to the depths of hell, and high into the clouds of heaven. He searched for one man... ANY man... that had the power to save this company from another Mike Baloney diatribe. Mike... Aidan looked for a man... and the Hoff IS that man!
Jack Hoff: The Hoff-A-Holics have had it up to here, listening to you run at the mouth about how you're on some sorta winning streak, even though the one and ONLY win you've picked up here in the good ol' ADoubleE is over some joker who I can't even seem to find on the roster page... Leading to me only one conclusion ; the guy never even existed! Which means, instead of never LOSING a match, buddy boy, as far as I can tell, you've never even WON a match! Heheheh... Brett Adams. Must be one ah dem imaginary characters, like the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy, or an emo kid who doesn't think the world revolves around him...
[Jack halts his speech... and removes his finger from the mound, having finished leaving his message on the grave. He lifts himself up, brushing the dirt from his shoulders and cheaply manufactured trenchcoat. Jack reaches a hand to the ground... before pulling it back up, along with his black hat. He wipes the dust and dirt off the hat's brim, and places it back on his head... patting the top, so it fits snugly into place. He turns an eye to the camera... smiling.]
Jack Hoff: So, if I were you Mikey... well, for one thing, if I were you, I'd be damn glad I had the woman you do, because bud, compared to my bitch of a wife, that chick's a livin' angel, lemme tell ya! But IF I were you... I'd be gettin' ready. Cuz soon... this here grave? It's not gonna hold just some lousy, two-bit gardening tool. Hell no... soon... this Sunday tah be a bit more precise... this hole's gonna be a restin' place for your poor, pathetic carcass. Cuz at Dead End... when the lights are on, your lights go out. When the cameras roll, so will your head! And when the one and only Hoff meets you in the center of the circled-square? Son... you'll drop to that mat, back-first, and The UnderHoffer will cover you... 1, 2, 3... and you WILL -
"REST...
IN...
... PEEEAAACE!!!"
[Jack slowly walks away from the grave... when from out of nowhere, thunder booms in the distance, lighting up the sky just as a flashlight lights a hollow cave. The camera zooms in to the gravestone, our view slowly creeping downward... before finally resting upon the message scrawled into the dirt... The picture of a ham sandwich, in front of what appears to be the image of a cross... and beneath this lies the message...]
"Feel the wrath... Taste the ham."
- the -
