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Flaming Bob

While Bob Muretic originally wrestled as happy-go-lucky masked hero Kid Bobo, an incident with fire at an underground wrestling show left him a disfigured shell of the valiant fighter he'd been. Though he eventually returned to action in the mid-90's, Kid Bobo found that wrestling had outgrown its need for heros, and the chants of "Flaming Bob" from sadistic fans followed him wherever he went. Disenfranchised with the fans he'd suffered permanent scars for, Bob dropped his heroic persona and embraced the very fire that scarred him, becoming Flaming Bob. The chants abruptly ceased as Bob committed the rest of his career to terrorizing the despicable fans and their anti-heroes. Though middle aged and physically broken down, Bob continues wrestling part-time to displease the fans while touring with gospel quartet "Trinity Plus Bob" during his off months.

Arena, FPWA, Warena

FLAMING BOB returns in...
"THE 5 PHASES OF BOB" or...
"PANCAKES AFTER ELEVEN"

"Long ago there was a man from the desert. He was not particularly impressive in any fashion. A simple man who like many other simple men, desired to be more than he was. A man who desired recognition through great accomplishments and feats. So desperate he was to achieve that greatness so far beyond his reach. So desperate he was to equal more than the sum of his parts."

[The back of a man's head can be seen. Not much can be discerned about him, except that his hair is a graying mess. His freckled scalp can be seen through the sparse covering of hair on top. The view slowly rotates from behind and begins to reveal more of his profile, cauliflowered ear and all.]

"So desperate to reach self actualization. So single minded toward his goal which layed at the end of a single narrow highway of self destruction. Once a man, then merely a man's outer husk. A tragic monument to a living, breathing individual who spent a lifetime on this lonely quest for self fulfillment. Most have forgotten the Five Phases of Death, but this man relives it again and again whether asleep or awake."

[It is Bob Muretic, frail and tired looking. His eyes which once gleamed mockingly vibrant are pale and dull. His face sags with the passage of the years. The scars that cover his forehead are a testament to the glory of days long past. The view becomes more distant to capture the dirty wheels of Bob Muretic's wheelchair. The navy blue house slippers that cover his feet. And finally, the hands that shake uncontrollably, balled up in loose fists. Thin and boney. The same hands that held World titles. The same hands that choked and gouged and tore flesh.]

Bob: Now...(weakly), after so much time away. I must prepare myself again. It is my time now. I run free...I am in paradise. I enjoy the things of life.

[Bob's head shakes as his mouth contorts into somewhat of a grotesque half smile, one side of his mouth refusing to cooperate with the other. He inhales shallowly and manages a strained chuckle, only barely reminiscent of his chuckles of old.]

Bob: You have your money men...your men that seek revenge...your men with dreams of titles. You have your Jean Pauls...and society to blame for his stupidity. You have your Adam Cage's...and a competitive spirit...a desire to succeed. You have your Irons...making success his god...doing what he can to achieve his piece of the pie. Your atheistic christians and other so very confused individuals. (weak chuckle) But Bob is basic...Bob is focused...Bob will be bought at no price.

[The view remains still and steady, watching the old fossil as he rambles on about God knows what. Days long gone. Names perhaps forgotten everywhere but in his confused and tormented mind. He reaches down into his lap with great effort and pulls the blanket aside, revealing the old SPW Heavyweight title beneath. Yes, the same belt that Bob once threw away and urinated on. It seems that it was worth something to him after all. Perhaps even more so now that it is the only thing he has left to hold on to.]

Bob: Hell On Earth is my motto...it's not a favorite scripture...not a bond between evils. It is me...and it is you. You don't have to look for your lusts...mind and body will tell you what they are. Lust is what it's all about.

[The smile appears again, this time the other side of his mouth straining to comply. His lips tremble as the corners turn upward, revealing yellow teeth behind. The familiar smile of the devil that he was. Two black holes for eyes.]

Bob: Only one job undone left for today before heaven can be brought up to put my feet on. A.J. Black as night and Pedro Kozaro by day for a 2 to 1 handicap with the Haughty Taughty of Hardcore. Chair wheel about turn around down the aisle toward the circle squared for the last stand of the Bob who flames.

[The lips quiver again as they turn up to reveal the dingy yellow behind them. After some time his mouth again falls, verbal ramblings replaced by mumbled groanings. A line of drool runs down his chin and drips into his lap.]