04x11 - The Mysterious T

[bunniefuu]

Crazy game show host pillage and plunder.

Rampaging psychics attack and destroy

banging pop rap divers pop rap and

bang on each other. Is it a

nightmarish shadow world ruled by robot

mommies?Razor blade eyes? Or

is it simply Celebrity Deathmatch?

Good evening everybody. I'm Johnny Gomez,

I'm Nick Diamond, and get ready for

tonight's punishing star packed lineup.

First up, The Price Is Right, Bob

Barker gets into a showcase. Throw down

with the weakest Links and Robinson. Then

there's a Sci-fi Channel's John Edwards

have the crystal ba*ls to wipe out

the world's oldest and most famous

prophet, Nostradamus. And in our main

event, Beyoncé Knowles of Destinys child

takes on MTV. Sassiest, craziest and,

we're hoping, nasty. Missy Elliott,

ladies and gentlemen, joining us in the

booth, Special guest John Edwards, star

of the Sci-fi Channel's enormously

popular Crossing Over. So, John, what

exactly are you? Psychic, A mind reader

of Voodoo? High Priestess? Actually,

Nick, I'm more of a medium. I commune

with the dead and they share information

with me. At the living. Excuse me,

Johnny. Are you thirsty? No, not right

now. Someone in your family, then? I'm

getting very extreme thirst. Your mother,

perhaps. Was she very, very thirsty? My

mother died a long time ago. OK.

Did she consume a great deal of

liquids? She drowned. Wow. That's

incredible. Hey, do me. Do me. OK,

Nick, I'm getting the letter T. Something

very dangerous about you. And the letter

T Really. The letter T Maybe that's

because it's TIME for our first fight.

No, I don't think that's it. Bob

Barker, a distinguished animal rights

activist and America's most beloved. Game

show host for over 30 years. And then

Robinson, a former Fleet Street drunk,

now wowing them in the States with cheeky

insults and high ratings. It used to be

that aging Whitehead male Desario's with

a standard at the helm of America's game

show. But now cranky Hots, not Robinson,

is here to shake things up and to

teach. Marker, how to treat a lady.

Nick, who in your life has this

tea in their name? I'm seeing something

very painful at T, Huh? We'll get

back to that tea later, John. Right

now we've got a fight to call

Bob Barker. Come on down.

And Robinson, come on down.

Not you, lady. And Robinson, the game

show host. As

I am rarely seen moving below the neck,

I refuse to run up and down steps

like some godforsaken trained poodle

head. We show the audience a little

smile, a pretty face for the viewers at

home. Get your prize happy hands out of

me.

Robertson has started this fight off

with a vicious, slapping man. Enjoy

spokesmodels prancing around in skimpy

swimsuits. Do we? Haven't heard of

woman's liberation, have you we? Tell

me, Mr. Barker, what's the price

for women's rights?Bye bye.

Don't you know those things are inhumane?

Perhaps you would prefer the fox. The

king of the happiest hour on television

is taking it on the chin. You are

the weakest thing. You are the weakest

link. You tired catch phrase police. I'd

like to report a crime in progress and

you're wretched little show. Thetic

flabby Americans trying to guess the

prices of trash no one would buy anyway.

Look at this. Robertson is launching

into her insulting quiz show Stick.

The indigenous people of Katy, BT

are distinguishable by what? Birth

defects. Enormous hands? Wrong. Then it's

her lips. This

round is really taking its toll on bucket

in the canvas movie Lovey Bear and Kisses

Bear do battle with what evil force of

nature.

Darkness slung puppies.

These two.

Someone whose initials are B, which

stands for Bubbling Bustard.

Things aren't looking so good for

bumbling fast. I mean Bob Barker, your

show is just a cheap RIP off of

Millionaire and Survivor.

Ohh rockers, expensive karate training

pays off now this 2 bit

dominatrixes leg is broken in a

number of places. Would anyone like

to guess how many places contestant

#1 Bob I'm going to say



OHK OK, OK, 17 points

and contested #3 alright Bob,

I'm going to bid one

break and the actual number

of breaks is 13. Contested

number one. Oh my God,

Oh my God, Oh my

God, oh. I love you, Papa.

And Robinson is attacking that poor old

woman. Thanks for playing. Let's take the

walk of shame, shall we? Yes.

Lookout and Robinson's got the left off.

Be careful with that canine. Get back, I

tell you. OK. Now just put down the

dog and nobody will get hurt. You let

me win or I twist. This must heaven.

You don't have that gut, lady. Ohh, yeah.

There goes your hostage. I'm afraid I'm

going to have to put you down, Robinson.

Holy mother of no children. He took

her ovaries. Bob Buckner has just

sterilized Ann Robinson now. Wait,

Johnny, It looks like he grabbed a

few vital organs as well. Ohh, this

fight may be over. I guess the

price is death, Johnny. Bob Barker.

Thanks for playing, and remember, it's

our job to control the game show host

population. Have your opponents spayed or

neutered? Bob Barker has defeated Anne

Robinson and dispatched her without a

single parting gift. Did you foresee

that, Mister Edward? I'm seeing it. Team

Nick. This enormous evil team. It has

something. A financial arrangement and

a head injury. Look, I don't know

any TV's, do I, Johnny? Do I

have financial arrangements with any

enormous tease, huh? Right now, let's go

down to the deathmatch time machine where

we're about to summon John Edwards

opponent, the faint traffic Nostradamus.

What the hell?

I saw that I would lose, so I'm

not coming. Sign nostril. Nostril. Hey,

it's from. What's his name? He's not

coming. We're short a fighter, Nick. Now

what do we do?

Honey, I'll make a few phone calls and

take care of it as soon as I figure out

who this tea is.

Right. OK, Good. Good. Yeah, it's all

taken care of, Johnny. She'll be right

over. Good work, folks. Our scheduled

second bout fell through because the

prophet Nostradamus foresaw his own death

and refused to participate. But that's

OK, because we found a perfect.

Replacements for that Old World hack

direct from her late night infomercials

and the top half of the screen

on the TV Guide channel. It's Miss

Cleo, the renowned Jamaican 1900 fortune

teller, and her opponent John Edwards.

He's one ordinary man with one

extraordinary talent. We've thrown them

together in the. With the tools of

their trade, every conceivable fortune

telling device that isn't ill*gal or

copyrighted. Hello, Miss Sweet Peas.

There's Miss Cleo. Now. I can't believe

I have to fight this. This charlatan,

this fake. I came to fight a

prophet on my own level, not some

fraud. Following me, no fraud. Do you

have any idea how many babies fathers I

have named? And if you'd like to know if

your husband is cheating on you, the

number to call is 1900. Alright, I want a

good clean fight and I want to know who's

going to win next year Super Bowl and I

want some stock tip and do I need to

worry about this mold?This is disgusting.

You people are making a mockery of the

spiritual world. And you, you're giving a

bad name to psychics and mediums

everywhere. Oh. Oh, and mighty are you?

Yeah, but I read about them putting all

the hidden microphones in your studio

audience. You're the fake Mr. Edwards.

How dare you.

Miss Cleo seems a little reluctant to get

into it with John Edwards. She must be

afraid of his spectacular gifts or she's

stalling to drive the price up. But at



paying her $4.99 a minute to fight fair?

Ridiculous for. Personal appearances she

gets $499 a minute. This spirits been

telling me that the best thing for us to

do now would be to take the long nap

to get the strength up.

Wait, wait. I'm seeing. Yes, they're

asking me to acknowledge. Yes, they're

telling me that you're not going to win

this fight, Miss Cleo.

Yikes, how dare you've been telling Miss

Cleo her own fortune. Me future is

in me own tarot cards and nowhere

else.

Will I be seeing something bad? Alrighty,

but not for me. It's for someone in

their purple hat. What do you call this,

you imbecile?

Now let me show you the power of

the terror.

Right in the third eye. Give me your

stupid cards.

John Edward has ripped off 1 of Miss

Cleo's fingers. OK, I'm seeing. OK.

They're showing me. Are you dealing with

a recent separation? Who's doing all this

pointing in your life? Who is always

dialing the telephone? Is it you?That

was my lucky finger, Mr. Edward. You'll

be paying for that with your life.

Ohh, your future is ugly, Mr. Edward,

And if you want to know your

future, come on and call me then

me, tender flowers. Despite the earlier

predictions, Miss Cleo seems to have the

upper hand over Edwards. Yeah, no

kidding. I can't afford this.

And now would be the time to translate

these documents into the Japanese. You

are an old-fashioned hocus pocus. Ask

backwards, fortune telling. You got it.

This cycle's going psycho on this,

Cleo. Well, what do you know?

Look at this unprecedented John Abbott

is practicing the mysterious voodoo art

of fortune telling by reading entrails.

Disgusting, but incredibly accurate. Now

how about a fortune cookie?

More bad news, you have many friends and

Miss Cleos are Garner in Ben. Can Miss

Cleo live to refute these disturbing

foresights? Or is it all over for her?

And if it is all over, do I have

to pay her? There's only one way to k*ll

a mumbo jumbo which, like you, took a

stake through the heart. Don't

k*ll me. I'm not Miss Cleo. What? What?

My name is Marjorie Thompson. I'm just a

telemarketer from Spokane, WA. What the

hell? You didn't get the real Miss Cleo

when you called. I've never even met her.

But if you're not Miss Cleo, then who

is? Miss Cleo is a mysterious force

whose. Towers are threatened by angry and

jealous men like yourself. You can k*ll

me, Miss Cleo #1742, but you'll never

k*ll all of us. Wait a minute. If

you're not the real Miss Cleo, but one

of us is going to die. And that

leaves you. You can see attached

with the psychic 8 ball and Edward is

down. Now let me think about this. John

Edward is the the loser, right?

Now, Mr. Nick, you'll be owing

my company to $3784. I can't

believe it. What a RIP off.

I'm not paying her. What an

expl*sive finale. John Edward crosses

over himself at the hands of

his opponent. Nick, look,

John Edwards corpse is trying to

communicate with you. That's just a

coincidence, right Johnny? I mean, that

doesn't mean anything at all, right

Johnny? Right, Right. Ohh no Missy

Elliott and Beyoncé Knowles of Destinys

child too hot recording stars. First

thing that the scenes with talent also

bursting at the seams for other reasons.

Beyoncé because her mother makes her

customs too small, and Missy, because

she's just plain large. Missy Elliott is

mad, mad as hell. She had to build

her career step by step, piece by piece,

all by herself. Meanwhile, Beyoncé

Knowles stumbled upon. Raymond Stardom at

the tender young age of 19. Could it have

anything to do with her fine leggy body

and her preference for spangled Daisy

Dukes? Or is it the guidance of her

supposed micromanaging control freak of a

father? What better way to test these

super starlets career climbing skills

then with a ladder match, This time the

prize at the top of the ladder. There's

a special mystery box of fun, but

no one knows what's in the mystery

box of fun until they open it

up. Let's go down to the ring.

Looks like Beyoncé's mother has designed

yet another costume that's both whimsical

and slotting. And look, here comes Missy

Elliott. Uh-huh.

Uh huh. What is it? A giant tire?

That's right, girl. I'm gonna roll all

over you. Alright, Missy. Beyoncé. I want

a good, clean fight. Beyoncé, do not try

to fire Missy or kick her out of

your band. And Misty, do not eat.

Beyoncé. Let's get it on, girl. You.

And that mystery box of fun is

mine. Ohh, Beyoncé principal balance or

something because it's a stupid name. The

girl you bouncing real nice. Missy

Elliott takes the lead and bounces

Beyoncé Knowles all over this ring. You

can see this one out girlfriend because

Missy misdemeanor. Over that ladder

looks like Michelle. It's going to

be the first one of the

ladder right? Ohh damn this letter

is freaking weak.

That's got to hurt. OK, now I've seen

this one before. It's an escalator, right?

Up. Up, Please. It's rope. What?

Oh, OK, I got it. What's

going on with Beyoncé Knowles? She

seems to be receiving messages. I

thought I told you that mystery

box of birthday is mine, right?

Wait. It looks

like girl gives you everything Girl.

This here is working that ladder like

a deep hip hop Blues. Just another

cookie cutter wannabe pop star. Even

crushed Janet Jackson RIP off. Now I'm

in servivor. I'm a survivor.

Once and for all. And a ladder is not

a toy. Ohh, really? Look, Johnny, our

hand is dangerously near the dreaded

ladder hinge. I've never seen such

horror. So cruel. I can taste it. Yes, I

understand. I must take the ladder from

the big one and use it to get to

the box. What the hell was that?

You definitely got your freak on girl

Miss cheerleading sticking up on Beyoncé.

How did you know I was going to do that?

Shoes and cat, I kick your

face in. The independent woman seems

to be gaining the lead. Throw

your hands up at her.

Something not right here. How could a

simple church go? An airhead like you

should be kicking my asss. Wait a minute.

Isn't it your daddy? That's Beyoncé

Knowles father in the crowd. And what's

that he's holding? Ohh, Looks like Missy

Elliott's going to find out. Is that a

remote control? No, no. It's all about.

Say my name.

Say my name. Say my name. Missy

Elliott. Is she Elliot? I cannot believe

this girl. Incredible. The Olsen's father

has been controlling his daughter's every

move in action from the stands. Girl,

you're a freaking robot. It's just one

little microchip in my brain. Daddy's.

Using it to make me rich and famous.

This is good. Hey, shut your button

shake. Give me some cheesecake. Candy

shop cheese cake. You sound like a dog.

Can I scratch your back and your neck

with both legs like a crazy dog sitters?

Humiliation for a rising young star? Now

that's me, that mystery box of fun

doggie. Go back and shining little Bunny

Foo Foo and Hebrew while you're at it.

Ohh.

Sophie said Beyoncé, she's got the

mystery box and she's taking it to Missy

now. You run away, little stick girl, and

go eat some popcorn until you get some

hips.

What did I get? Some bling. Bling. A pork

chop? A baby made of candy.

Lookout, Missy, It's a beehive.

Because when we said it was a mystery

box of fun, we meant fun for us

and the viewers. Because there's nothing

funnier than watching girls run from

bees. I can't stand the pain.

Beyoncé knows you're the winner.

Are there? What an incredible fight. Who

could have predicted something so

strange, so twisted? John Edward probably

could have, if he was alive.

You know, Johnny, that guy was a total

quack. All that talk about financial

arrangements with giant TV's and head

injuries from all of us here at Celebrity

Deathmatch. Good. Fight good. Can I help

you? No, Johnny, Mr. T is here tonight to

collect some money from a deadbeat who

not only owes money to Miss Cleo, but

hasn't paid his phone. In the last

several months. Ohh that. Hey no problem,

I'll just put a check in the mail

tomorrow.

Ohh.

Don't pay his bills. And remember kids,

don't be a fool. Stay in school.