WSE 2008 : We Win Everything [WSE's First Show]

[THE Mac Bry v2]

THE Mac Bry: Hello ladies and men who look like ladies! I'm THE Mac Bry. You may know me from e-feds such as "Xtreme Alliance Wrestling", "Mid-west Championship Wrestling", and "Heartland Championship Badminton". I'm THE Chairman of the Bored, and you've unfortunately stumbled upon World Sports Entertainment, where dinosaurs roam the earth! You will obey! ... Whoops, what I meant to say is, you will have FUN! Yes indeedy, World Sports Entertainment is better than sex! It's better than drugs! It's better than rock and roll!

...

TMB: Er, what I mean is, it's better than GOD! I know I'd probably offend alot of rock and roll fans if I said it was better than rock, eh?

(I think the Christians will be more offended...)

TMB: ... Christians? What are these 'Christians' you speak of? And why would they be offended by me comparing myself to Rock and Roll?

(I meant God! ... Nevermind.)

TMB: WSE was created by myself when I decided I wanted to waste an abundance of the time that I could be spending on something much more productive. Like... uh, well... anything else. As WSE Chairman & Creator, I SOLEMNLY swear to put as much time as I possibly can into slapping together crappy shows that are about fifty pages too long... And I PROMISE to put as little time as humanly imagineable into producing quality shows. If you want quality, check out Brawlers on a Budget at www.bobwrestling.com [where I used to rp as the character 'Axl']. Not MUCH quality, mind you, but hey. Anything beats this shit. ... Well, except for a swift kick to the nads. That's pretty much a tie.

TMB: Remember, Humanoidz, this is WSE! Where the big boys play with the little boys!

(... And we've officially hit rock bottom.)

TMB: HOO-RAHHH!

- THE Mac Bry

"Where it all begins... but really, who cares?"

+++++++++++++++++
September 15th, 2008
+++++++++++++++++

[The camera opens to Jack Hoff, sitting in a comfortable looking leather chair, with his feet resting upon a wooden desk. Jack is wearing his usual beer stained shirt, blue sweat pants, and flip-flops... a stark contrast to the well-furnished room surrounding him. Jack lifts a cold beer from off the desktop, and chugs its entire contents down his gullet, before crushing the can in his hand and chucking it behind him, missing the trash can by a near mile. Jack belches... and smiles.]

Jack Hoff: Fuck knuckles. A word used to describe those lower on the food chain. And this word describes the bunch ah yuz in fine detail.

Jack: It also accurately describes a guy by the name of Steve Studnuts.

Jack: This asswipe... lemme tell ya. He's honestly somethin' else. He has the NERVE to sue me over sayin' a few stupid catchphrases ah his? Well, fine jerkweed. Have it your way. I guess spring cleaning comes late for the UnFed.

Jack: Enjoy the show... or don't. I don't really give a shit, because I already got ya damn money. Jackfucks...

> > > cue shoddily put together intro package... crappy "nu-metal" theme... enter Sinister Stadium < < <

[The camera sweeps the arena, where thousands and thousands of people have been payed enormous amounts of money to be here! ... Yeah, doesn't sound very impressive that way, does it... Let's try that again.]

> > > cue shoddily put together intro package [again]... crappy "nu-metal" theme [again]... enter Sinister Stadium [again] < < <

[The camera sweeps the arena, where thousands and thousands of people have NOT been payed enormous amounts of money to be here, but have shown up ENTIRELY of their own free will! ... Much better.]

[Some of them are even holding up signs. There's a "Men's Room" sign, a stop sign, a sign of the times... and many others are calling for their favorite stars. Which is odd, as this will be the first event any of tonight's match participants will have competed in...]

[Tons and tons of pyro blasts away on the stage, the ramp, around the ring, and even in the seats. There goes somebody's arm! What a way to kick things off. We head to ringside, where "Scalded Dawg" Boom Boom Quaker is seated at the commentary table, alongside one of his many announce partners, Spazzz.]

BBQ: Bah Gawd folks, and welcome tah the first ever pay-per-view extravaganza from the Good Ol' folks here at the bah gawd UnFed! With me, as always, is muh good pal Spazzz!

Spazzz: Not fah nuthin' BBQ, but tonight's gonna be gang bustah's!

BBQ: Right you are, and -

Spazzz: I mean, not fah nuthin', but this guy, lemme tell ya, he's word life born and word life bred, and when he's gone he's gonna be word life dead!

BBQ: ... Ok?

Spazzz: I mean, not fah nuthin', but ya hit a guy in the yambags like that, and he's gonna PUKE! HE'S GONNA PUKE!!!!!!!~!1

BBQ: ...

- ads -

BBQ: Alrighty folks, we're back, and with me now, as always, is Michael Propane!

Michael: ... I got nothin'.

BBQ: Good. Alright folks, this here night's gonna be one helluva knobber slocker! We've got action! Thrills! Chills! Excitement! Entertainment! None of the above! And it all begins right NEXT!

- ads -

[Jack Hoff's theme, "Sweat Pants in Hell" begins to play on the speakers, and the fans begin to boo like crazy. Because they were paid to do so? Maybe. But I ain't sayin'.]

BBQ: BAH GAWD! Through hell-fahr and rhinestone, as GAWD as muh witness, here comes our Chairman of the Bored, that BAH GAWD satan himself, Jack Hoff!

Michael: I collect model airplanes.

BBQ: BAH GAWD you're lame as hell, let's get someone else out here to make you not boring.

[Spazzz comes out.]

BBQ: SOMEONE ELSE.

[The sounds of a bunch of cars crashing into eachother is heard, and the crowd begins to chant "Foley! Foley!". And then it turns out that there was just a massive twenty car-pile up outside the building, and the crowd's all like "Dammit!" and I'm like, haha, yall suck. And then Don West's less attractive ( ? ) cousin, Don SouthWest comes out.]

Don: OUR PRICES ARE INSANE!!! And I'm a huge SHILL!!!

BBQ: BahGoddamit, I guess you'll have to do. Anyway, the devil in sweat pants himself, Jack Hoff walks down the bah gawd ramp, to the bah gawd ring, gets in and grabs a bah gawd microphone, before BAH GAWD, BAH GAWD, BAH GAWD!

Jack Hoff: Wassup Jacksonville, Missouri!

[Cheap heel heat.]

Jack Hoff: I just wanna welcome you all to the greatest gat dam wrestling company that doesn't totally suck and isn't going to end up closing shop in a month!

[Crowd boos. For some reason.]

Jack Hoff: I know there's a whole damn lockeroom in the back, just WAITIN' tah step inside this ring and blow the roof off this joint! And they're fired.

[Crowd is asleep. ... Yup.]

Jack Hoff: Ya see, some mantard named Steve Studnuts, whoever the hell THAT is, decided to sue me. For what, you ask? For using his slogans.

Crowd: WHAT?!

Jack Hoff: His sayings.

Crowd: WHAT?!

Jack Hoff: His lines he uses in every promo to try and establish a character.

Lil Jon: WHAT?! OKAAAY!

Jack Hoff: So, I've decided... that it's bettah to take advice than to close ya ears. In other words... there ain't no chance in hell that I'm goin' tah jail over this shit, so I'm gotta start cleanin' house, even if this IS our first show. I'll be damned if I'm gonna give up my fancy office... my fancy pyro and theme music and titan-tron rip-off screen thingy... my fancy payed fans... or my fancy clothes ( ? ) just tah pay off this creep. So, I have no choice but to give a buncha guys the ax. So, this is how it's gonna work. Starting tonight, there's gonna be a huge tournament, with all the current jobbers that aren't in the elite ten I've picked to build the company around. And I'm gonna pit these bastards against eachother in various rounds of elimination. And the winner of the tournament gets to keep his job! Now, I know I didn't tell none ah you guys back there about this before just now, but hey, you're all a buncha lousy fuckin' jobbers, so who really gives a shit, ya know? So have fun in this ring and may the best man not lose his only source of income!

Jack Hoff: To make room for this tournament, tonight's card's been changed. Here it is, on the screen.

The Milkman vs Tom E-Mailer vs "The Whole F'n Digitally Recorded Copy of a Show onto a Disc", Dan Van Dam vs Justin Appropriate vs Sucka T- Don't Pin Anybody Match : jWo Tournament

John Semen vs "Drunk Ass" Don Stevens - The Battle of the Wrestlers That Are Rip-offs of Other Wrestlers that Are Even Worse Wrestlers than the Wrestlers They're Ripping Off : jWo Tournament

Redd W. Bloo vs SuperGuyManDudePerson vs Goo the Adventurer vs The Brown Power Ranger vs raYne - World Sports Entertainment Heavyweight Championship Scrambled Eggs and Bacon Match

Fan in third row: Where is it?!

Jack Hoff: ... On the screen!

Fan in third row: No it isn't!

Jack Hoff: Yes, it is.

Fan in third row: No it ain't!

Jack Hoff: Goddamit, if I say it is, then it is! ... Ok, yeah, it's not, but I didn't feel like announcing it verbally so I just typed it up in basic, so-and-so vs so-and-so format. So sue me.

Fan in third row: You were already sued! By Steve Studnuts! That's why you set up the tournament, remember?

Jack Hoff: Aw shaddap and watch the fuckin' show! Sheesh... give a fan a ticket and they think they can yell at the Chairman. I'm the boss of this place!

[Suddenly, the WrestleMania theme plays, and the fans go monkey! It's Linda Hoff!]

Linda: Hello Jack. I bet you weren't expecting me.

Jack Hoff: Who the fuck are you?

Linda: ... I'm your wife?

Jack Hoff: I ain't married, bitch! And what's with the monotone? Ya sound like a fuckin' robot!

Linda: I... I... Does not compute. Self destruct sequence in 5... 4... 3... 2...

- ads -

Speakers: THE MILK... is here!!!

["Enter Milkman" by Gwartellica plays, and everybody's favorite dairy provider, the Milkman, walks down through the crowd, bottle of milk in one hand, pogo stick in the other. The Milkman steps ontop of the fan barricade, and lifts the pogostick into the air, before taking a swig of milk. He then proceeds to hit the bottle of milk against his forehead a few times, finally smashing it on the fourth strike, sending glass scattering. He then falls off the barricade, and passes out from blood loss.]

[...]

Rat-Bore: Whoopsie of daisies! Ah, but keed! Today, we having of the match you no can pin nobodies! Twenty minutes of the time clock and five every minute they come to beat hell out of the two who is being first in match with not can pin nobody! When beat of hell through, you can not no longer pin nobody, for fact, you can pin still nobody! You can pin so many not nobodies you can not have the time to YES pin nobody! When time run out of everybody lose! Man that being first here is Man made from milk, who fall and he go boom! Next up is rips off in Championship Wrestling which is Extreme? He is Whole Show Fucker, he is being Monday Night Mister, he is also being champion of frog splashes which have five stars! Very much good, he is Dan... Dam... Vannn!!!!!! Or Dan Van Dam too.

["Four of a Kind" plays on the speakers, and everybody is gone now, because let's face it, even being payed thousands and thousands of dollars isn't worth this kind of torture. A man in a "Blockbuster" uniform comes through the curtains, stopping mid-ramp to point at himself, mouthing the words "Rent... Or... Buy!", before kicking at the air, and then promptly tripping over his own feet, stumbling, and falling flat on his face.]

BBQ: BAH GAWD! This match hasn't even begun, and already two of the five combatants have tasted pain!

Don SouthWest: GOOD GOD, PLEASE BUY THE DAMN TRADING CARDS!!! MY CHILDREN ARE STARVING!!!!

BBQ: Meh, you're old. NEXT!

Rip-off-of-Joey-Styles-that-isn't Mikey-Styles Styles: OH MY GOD!

BBQ: Hello... uh, your name.

R-O-O-J-S-T-I-M-S Styles: OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, CATFIIIGHT! OH MY G-

BBQ: Ok, NEXT!

Tony Shiavone: Fans, this is THE GREATEST LAME-ASS ATTEMPT AT FILLING AIR TIME IN THE HISTORY OF LAME-ASS ATTEMPTS AT FILLING AIR TIME!!!

BBQ: NE-

-ads -

BBQ: -XT! ... Wait a minute, how are we having ads on a pay-per-view?! This is worse than WWE Raw! This is WWE, We Win Everything!

Paul E. Hymen: And THIS... is XXXTREME!

BBQ: Oh dear lord, not you. Folks, this here's Paul E. Hymen, the General Manager of our Tuesday night program, Xtremely Crappy Wrestling on Sci-Fi, which will be broadcasted on the Weather Channel.

Paul E: BBQ, XCW is THE most XXXTREME company in the HISTORY of professional amateur fake-ass e-sports entertainment wrestling, and I am commited to leading it to the same glory which it enjoyed in the past. Which is none.

BBQ: There ya go. Anyway, on to matters that are actually important.

Paul E: HEY, XCW is important!

BBQ: Hahaha, good one, Paul.

Paul E:

BBQ: Alrighty folks, after these-

- ads -

BBQ: - DVD's gunna take on The Milkman in da first five minutes of this here "Don't Pin Anybody" match. Right -

- ads -

BBQ: - now.

- ads -

BBQ: Or now...

- ads -

BBQ: Or maybe now.

- aids -

BBQ: I quit.

- abs -

Paul E: ... Uhhh... Watch XCW! IT'S XXXTREME!!!

Wes Rivers: Hi there sports fans, and welcome to the debut pay-per-view of what is soon to become the greatest wrestling company on the planet!

Paul E: ... Who in the hell are you?

Wes: I'm Wes Rivers, and I'll be replacing that Jim Ross clone that just quit.

Rex Winters: And I guess I'll be replacing you, Paul E. Go back to that crap ass, fifth-rate show, XCW or whatever! Xtremely CRAPPY Wrestling! Not Championship! The 'C' stands for CRAPPY! Hahahaha, I am SO funny!

Paul E: ... But the 'C' DOES stand for 'Crappy'.

Rex: ... GET THE FUCK OUT.

[Paul does.]

Wes: Alright, sports fans, I'm Wes Rivers, and with me as always is Rex Winters!

Rex: Yeah, yeah. Can you believe that jack off Jack Hoff? Just because he's the owner, he thinks he can fire people! That's MY job!

Wes: Actually, he can fire people. And your job is to provide witty retorts. Which so far you have failed to do so...

Rex: Well, that's because of your big fat face!

Wes: ... Dan Van Dam and The Milkman are stilled knocked out on the outside of the ring, due to their own wan-ton stupidity.

Rex: They suck just about as much as our Chairman of the BORED! Get it! Chairman of the BORED! Bwahahaha, I replaced the word board with the word BORED!!! I am SO funny!

Wes: But Rex, that's his job title. Chairman of the Bored.

Rex: ... FUCK YOU!

[DVD slowly rises to his feet, and runs toward the ring... The Milkman uses his pogo stick to lean on and rise to his own feet, before running toward the ring... He tries to jump on top of the pogo stick to bounce high into the air and land in the ring, but it turns out he doesn't really know how to use the damn thing, and he ends up falling on his ass again. As soon as DVD slides into the ring, the ref says something to the ring announcer, Rat-Bore.]

Rat-Bore: Ladies and of gentlemens! Count out time at ten, means no mans! Man made from milk and Van Dam Dan both KAPUT!

Wes: I guess that means DVD and Milkman have been counted out.

Rex: The Milkman's gone sour! HA! I crack me up.

Wes: Well, you have to be funny to someone, I suppose.

Rex: I'm funny! I'm DAMN funny! Funny like a fox!

Wes: DVD is ticked off about being counted out... until he smokes a joint. Then he seems to be ok. The Milkman seems to be dead... Seeing as he's being carried off in a body bag.

Rex: It's death-TASTIC!!!

Wes: ... Anyway, we still have 2 and a half minutes on the clock. ... So -

- ads -

Rex: One minute left of crazy go nuts fun-a-licousness!!!

- ads -

Speakers: You've... Got... MAAAIIILLL!!!

Wes: And here comes XCW "legend", which is another term for old guy who's still a jobber, Tom E-Mailer!

Rex: This guy loses so damn much that he loses alot.

Wes: ... Yup. E-Mailer is an avid computer junkie, and he's carrying his trusty laptop. As soon as he steps into the ring, he flips it open, sits down in the corner of the ring, and begins to chat with his AIM buddies.

Rex: There's five whole friggin' minutes, and this guy's the only bastard in the ring! What's gonna happen for five friggin' minutes?!

Wes: Well, first of all, this -

- ads -

Wes: And then, this -

- ads -

Wes: And finally, this -

Speakers: Sorry... 'bout the damn fact that you fuckin' suck!

Wes: It's "Cowboy" James Hatfield!!!

Rex: Who?

Wes: He's NWA-RoH's most celebrated drunk! And he's Storm-ing down to the ring, with a beer in both hands, and at his side, the lovely Miss Jackie Lynn Mississippi, or Miss Mississippi for short.

Rex: ... Who?

Wes: The question is, what's the Cowboy doing here?! He has a microphone!

Rex: I'm still wondering who the fuck this guy is...

Cowboy: So yall think yall can get on that there fancy pants computer in the middle of a damn match, huh?!

E-Mailer: *typing*

Cowboy: Well VARMIT!!! Get ready tah feel... the... BANG!

DDP: Copyright infringement! Good Gawd!

Wes: The Cowboy rips the laptop out of Tom's hands, and begins to mock E-Mailer, goading him into standing up. He does, and James Hatfield smashes the computer over Tom's head! Bits of plastic and metal fly through the air, and E-Mailer's sporting the crimson mask!

Rex: The crimson mask is one of our top sellers. It's flies off the merchandising stands almost as fast as our black-market copies of Rey Mysterio's mask!

Wes: E-Mailer drops to the canvas, and the Cowboy lifts his fist into the air. Miss Mississippi then gives him a blow job.

Rex: An amazing technical maneuvre if I ever saw one.

[Hatfield and Miss Mississippi leave the ring, as the time meets the 15 minute mark. "Bodies" by Drowning Pool plays, and a bald dude in jean shorts carrying a kendo stick walks to the ring. He grabs a microphone.]

Justin Appropriate: Fuck all you bitches and suck my big fat horse cock! Women are cum dumpster baby makers that wash dishes and suck my big giant monster dick!

Wes: Oh dear GOD! This guy is so...

Rex: Inappropriate?

Wes: YES! Christ, man!

Rex: I remember that superhero. Christ Man died on the cross for our sins. And to save the planet from an oncoming meteor. Or some junk like that there.

[Justin Appropriate grabs Tom E-Mailer off the mat, and hits a crappy looking superkick that misses Tom by half a foot. Tom falls down to the mat. Well, hell, he was already half unconcious from the computer shot. He could collapse. It could happen. Seriously. Yeah, trying to save shitty moves is a tough job... Justin pins Tom. The ref then tells Rat-Bore something.]

Rat-Bore: Appropriate... NOT, who named Justin, is also being eliminate!

Wes: That's the rules, sports fans. When you pin someone, you're outta there. Justin looks peeved, as let's face it, the rules are horrendously contrived, and even worse, none of these guys were actually TOLD the rules before they came to the ring... Aw well.

Rex: Tom E-Mailer is still lying on the canvas, laying motionless. And we've still got 3 -

- ads -

Rex: 2 -

- ads -

Rex: One minute left before the last and final and last participant makes his entrance. So... Wes, you heard any good stories?

Wes: Nope... not really.

Rex: Huh...

Wes: Sports fans -

- ads -

Wes: - Here he comes!

Rex: Here who comes?

Speakers: Can you dig it........ motha' FUCKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Wes: Yes sports fans, the one, the only, Sucka T!

Rex: Who?

Wes: The man who grew up on the mean streets of the moon! The man that rode hard with the black hearted gangs of the moon! The very same man who began Moon Heat, with his brother Sucka Ray! ON THE MOON!

Rex: ... None of this is ringing a bell.

[Sucka T runs down the ramp, slides into the ring, and as soon as Tom E-Mailer begins to pick himself up, Sucka T drops him back down with the ax kick. Sucka goes for the pin... gets the 3... and is eliminated!]

Wes: Sucka T finds out he's been eliminated, and it looks like he's even more pissed off than Justin Appropriate was! Sucka grabs the ref, and drops him with the NotTheRockBottom! What a devestating move, that most certainly isn't the Rock Bottom!

Rex: It sure as hell LOOKED like the Rock Bottom.

Wes: You can tell it's not because when Sucka T stands back up he throws his arms in the air.

Rex: ... The fuck? How does that make it any different?

Wes: Sports fans, there goes Sucka T, back up the ramp, as Tom E-Mailer lies near unconcious in the center of the ring. There's only 3 -

- ads -

Wes: 2 -

- ads -

Wes: 1 minute left on the clock, and it looks like Tom E-Mailer will be the last man standing. Or laying. Since, well, you know, he's the only guy who hasn't been eliminated.

Rex: This match sucks donkey testicles.

Wes: Tom E-Mailer finally gets around to standing up... and the finals seconds count down... 3...2...1! Tom falls against the chest of ring announcer Rat-Bore, clutching his shirt to stay up.

Rat-Bore: Tom E-Mailer also he loses!

Tom: WHAT?! I lasted til the end!

Rat-Bore: Like I say, when time run out, everybody lose! You some of everybody, you lose too! Now go you be at line of unemployment!

Tom: GODDAMIT! X...C...W!!!

Wes: Poor Tom. ... Alright, up next sports fans -

- ads -

[The Titan-Tron-Rip-Off-Screen-Thingy shows Jack Hoff sitting at his desk in the back, feet propped up on top of the mahogany surface.]

Jack Hoff: Just wanted to tell all you sons ah bitches and bitches ah sons that since nobody won that last match, whoever wins this next match will take on a super secret special surprise jobber tomorrow night in the main event of jWo Nitro, to determine the winner of the tournament, and the guy that won't go home jobless. The stipulation, as well as the challenger, will be announced tomorrow. Now all yall shut the fuck up and keep watchin'.

Rat-Bore: Match which follows is "The Battle of the Wrestlers That Are Rip-offs of Other Wrestlers that Are Even Worse Wrestlers than the Wrestlers They're Ripping Off".

["Wiggah 2-D Fullest" by John Semen plays, and John Semen hops out of the curtains.]

Wes: Yes sports fans, here he is! The choice of kiddies everywhere, the Doctor of Economics, the Chain Gang Soldier of Fortune, and the white rapper with less talent than Eminem and Vanilla Ice combined - John SEMEN!

Rat-Bore: He is weighing 4000 and 4 pounds, hail from Jamaica!

Wes: That's not what it says on the script...

Rat-Bore: He is... JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHN Morrison!

Wes: ...

Rex: MORRISON! He called him Morrison instead of Semen! HA-HA-LARIOUS!

Wes: Maybe we should bring back Paul E. Or BBQ. Or even Tony Shiavone...

[Semen gets into the ring and grabs a microphone.]

John Semen: Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, YO! Lemme speak on this!

I'm like a butter knife, I'm too soft tah cut it
I suck so much, but you'll nevah see me spit -
- Rhymes that aren't crap, I'm a bitch fah hire
I'll tell you I'm hot shit but like Eddie I'm a liar.
I'll blow you away, or I might just blow period
I can't think of anything that rhymes with period.
I sell my soul to appease the pre-teen groupies.
F-U muh fucka, I just went and made a poopie!!!

John Semen: Word to ya gramma!

Speakers: *sound of glass shattering*

Wes: Yes sports fans, here he is! The choice of simple minded rednecks everywhere, the Arkansas Garter Snake, the Bionic Hick, and the white rapper with less talent than... whoops, that must be a typo.

Rex: Typos are FUNNY! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- ha.

Rat-Bore: Here he be - COLD AS STONE! COLD AS STONE! By the Gods, COLD AS THE STONE!!!

Wes: Yes, sports fans, and fans of sports, the man, the myth, the jobber - "Drunk Ass" Don Stevens. He's wearing his usual black vest, black shorts, black boots, and black eyepatch he got when he ran over himself in a drunk driving accident. Some people thought it was Rock-ishi. Some people thought it was Triple S, aka Super Sized Schnozz. Some people even thought it was the Black Scorpion in the White Hummer. But it turned out Stevens was just so drunk off his ass that he fell out of his car, and the car proceeded to roll over him. Amazingly he's still alive, but one of the car's back tired damaged his eye so badly that he can no longer see out of it.

Rex: Serves the jack ass right!

Wes: Yeah, it pretty much does, but hey, the empty headed hillbillies love this guy, and seeing as that demographic makes up 79 % of our audience, we're going to push this guy to the sky. Well, as far as a career jobber can be pushed anyway.

Rex: Hell, this guy could brutalize all fifty of his wives, walk out on the company in the middle of a show, AND commit an act of terrorism, and we'd STILL keep him on the pay-roll!

Wes: Unless he loses tonight or tomorrow. In which case he'll probably be fired via Fed-Ex.

Rex: Probably.

Wes: Stevens rolls into the ring... John Semen has his back turned, lifting random "gang signs" in the air... when Stevens spins Semen around, boots him in the gut, and fells Semen with a move he likes to call the Drunk Ass Drop! Semen flies backward through the air in the over-sell of the century, before slamming back first to the canvas... Stevens goes for the pin... 1, 2, 3... and Stevens is eliminated!

Rex: Uh, Wes, this isn't that dumb ass "Don't Pin Anybody" match.

Wes: Stevens wins! Stevens wins! Stevens is facing a mystery opponent, tomorrow night, in a match of Jack Hoff's very own creation! The stipulations of the match are yet to be revealed, and -

- ads -

[Redd W. Bloo, SuperGuyManDudePerson, Goo the Adventurer, and the Brown Power Ranger are all in the ring, as Rat-Bore makes the introductions.]

Rat-Bore: Following is "World Sports Entertainment Heavyweight Championship Scrambled Eggs and Bacon Match". Simple rules! Four peoples in ring first time, then make intro for fifth guy, over rope top throw the guy style royal battle, then you no get this! But he get this.

Rex: Jigga-wha'?

Rat-Bore: Here come guy, who is faggot gay homo queer! He suck a few of dicks in back when he prepare for hardcore man man action sexay times! Cumming from Forest of raYne, here is... raYne!

Rex: We might need to find a better ring announcer...

Wes: You're no Bobby Heenan yourself, chachi...

["Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper plays, and raYne skips to the ring, tossing petals from a woven basket. He slides into the ring, tosses the basket into the empty seats, and begins to strut around seductively, in a pair of blue jeans, covered by a black leather skirt. He also wears a blue jean vest over a long-sleeved, hot pink shirt, as well as brown sandals, gobs of makeup, and hair dyed every color of the rainbow. He grabs a microphone.]

raYne: HEEEY! Like, what's up Sinister City?! Hee-hee, I just KNOW you're all as excited over this match as I am! So, mister referee type person, PUH-LEASE, ring that bell!

Ref: I don't do that. The bell keeper does.

raYne: Oh, you know what I mean! Babe, tell that nice, strong, stud muffin over there with the bell that my hotel number is 69. He can be the 6... and I can be the 9!

Ref: *urp* Excuse me... I just threw up in my mouth.

Wes: Alright folks, the bell's sounded, and this is our main event of the evening!

Rex: Man, that raYne guy... he's even more flaming than the Human Torch!

Wes: Huh... That one was almost funny.

Rex: YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT WAS!

Wes: I said ALMOST! Yeesh... Goo, who is but 15 years old, runs toward Redd W. Bloo, but the much bigger, and much older, man swats Goo away like a human fly. Redd then grabs the Brown Power Ranger and chunks him over the top rope, making him the first to be eliminated.

Rex: Now THAT was crappy! GET IT?! Crappy?! He's the BROWN RANGER?! Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha -

- ads -

Rex: - hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

Wes: Now, the two big men, Redd W. Bloo and SuperGuyManDudePerson, are trading rights and lefts.

Redd: You have the rookie season card for that right handed baseball player?

SGMDP: Yup, here ya go. You got that platinum series card for that left handed tennis player?

Redd: Hell no! Tennis is fer steers and queers, boy!

SGMDP: Them's fightin' words!!!

Redd: Yeeeaah, them's fightin' words! Prepare to eat Old Glory!

SGMDP: Old what?

Wes: OUCH! Redd W. just took Person's head clear off his shoulders with the Old Glory clothesline!

Rex: Uh, looks like the Super guy still has his head intact...

Wes: It's a metaphor!

Rex: Or is it a simile?

Wes: What's a simile?

Rex: *shrugs shoulders* How the fuck should I know?

Wes: The humongous clothesline using that huge right arm sends the superhero flying up and over the top rope.

Rex: He's a bird, he's a plane, he's ELIMINATED!

Wes: Lame...

Rex:

Wes: Redd W. Bloo stomps away at Goo on the ground... but raYne comes up from behind, leaps onto Bloo's back and locks on a sleeper hold, slowly bringing the American patriot to his knees.

Rex: I'm sure raYne's used to being on HIS knees!

Wes: Meh, generic gay joke #8,997

Rex: I'M FUNNY, DAMN YOU!

Wes: You keep on telling yourself that. Meanwhile, Goo is standing by the ropes... when he slips on a bannana peel and falls outside over the top rope!

Rat-Bore: Eliminated has been Adventurer named Goo!

Wes: How likely is THAT?

Rex: Not very. But hey, this pay-per-view's already long enough, might as well cut to the point, right?

Wes: Right you are, and we're down to raYne vs Redd W. Bloo. raYne still has the deadly resthold locked onto Bloo... the ref lifts Bloo's hand up once... it falls. Again... it falls. One last time... and it falls!

Rex: Yay!

Wes: Too bad submissions don't count in a battle royal.

Rex: Damn! And I thought this torment was done...

Wes: Bloo breaks out of the hold, and two men lock up in a test of strength. raYne tries to irish whip Bloo, but Bloo's power is too much for the smaller wrestler, and the Great White Hope whips raYne toward the corner. raYne collides with the turnbuckle, shaking himself and the ring from the force of Bloo. Bloo rushes toward raYne, but raYne leaps backward ontop of the turnbuckle in one swift motion... and he hits the Whisper in the Wind!!!

Rex: raYne may be a flaming homo, but he's quite possibly the greatest athlete the UnFed has. Which isn't saying much.

Wes: raYne goes for the pin, but only gets the two. Which still doesn't matter, as pinfalls don't count either.

Rex: When are these morons going to realize the only way to win is by tossing the other guy over the top rope?

Wes: Bloo kicks out with so much force that he sends raYne flying over the top rope!

Rex: ...

Wes: BUT, raYne lands on his feet on the apron! He springboards off the top rope, and goes for a flying spinning heel kick, but Bloo picks him out of the air, before hitting a HUGE spinebuster to the center of the ring! Bloo climbs the turnbuckle... and looks for a flying elbow drop - which MISSES!

Rex: Saw that from a mile away...

Wes: Of course you did, you have the script!

Rex: Yeah, but still. He telegraphed that one.

Wes: Either way, Bloo lies on the mat, clutching his elbow, as raYne walks over to him. raYne reaches down and tries to lift the big man to his feet... but Bloo pulls him in... and wipes him out with a german suplex!!!

Rex: I think that was an AMERICAN suplex.

Wes: How can you tell?

Rex: Cuz. Bloo's American.

Wes: Ah... Well -

- ads -

Wes: ... I was about to say -

- ads -

Wes: AGGGHHH!!!

Rex: Haha! You can't even finish a sent-

- ads -

Rex: - ence. ... Fuckin' ads...

Wes: Bloo locks in the Crippler Crossface, which he's named the "America and Canada Relations Crossface", after the home country of the man who made this move famous.

Rex: Who?

Wes: Oh, you know! That one guy.

Rex: ... Huh?

Wes: Chr*bleeeeep*oit!

Rex: ... Chrbleepoit? What the fuck kinda name is that?

Wes: raYne manages to slip out, before crawling toward the ropes... Bloo stomps in his direction... but raYne hits the drop-toe-hold! Bloo's head drapes over the middle rope, raYne bounces off the far ropes, before coming back toward Bloo... Could it be?! Yes, it is! The 69!

Rex: Don't you mean the 619?

Wes: Does that look like the 619 to you?

Rex: EWWW! He's butt humping the poor racist, sexist, prejudice bigot! Have mercy on the bum!

Wes: Bloo fights out of the predicament, but when he is able to stand up, he turns around, right into a fierce LIPLOCK!!!

Rex: It's the Kiss of Death!

Wes: Yes sports fans, a french kiss given with such ferociousness that raYne literally sucks the breath out of his victim! Bloo slowly drops to a knee... before he's slipped from conciousness, and is lifeless in raYne's hands! raYne lifts Bloo over his shoulder, before simply tossing him over the top rope! He's done it! raYne is the World Sports Entertainment Heavyweight Champion, the most prestigous title in all of the UnFed!

Rex: Which still isn't saying much.

Wes: As raYne poses with the title in the ring, I just have to thank you all for buying this piece of crap pay-per-view, because if it wasn't for all you mooks out there, I wouldn't be able to afford my hair piece!

Rex: And I wouldn't have to put up with you! Hm... maybe you people should STOP buying the pay-per-views!

Wes: AHEM... Thanks sports fans, and remember to tune into jWo Nitro tomorrow night! Goodnigh-

[Suddenly, "Sweat Pants in Hell" plays, and Jack Hoff walks through the curtains, to pre-recorded boos. Jack steps through the ropes, and grabs a microphone, staring raYne in the eyes. Jack looks raYne up and down... and raYne does the same to Jack, but for different reasons I imagine...]

raYne: You're not bad looking for a big fat sweaty man, sugar. You ever taste... strudel?

Jack Hoff: Hell no! I'm straight as a fuckin' post!

raYne: I bet you say that to all the fellas... before you spend some good, quality "sleeping" time, with them.

Jack Hoff: ARGH! I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some QUEER hold MY greatest prize!

raYne: You mean your cock?

Jack Hoff: No! WHAT?! No, that's... THE BELT! The belt, ya jerk! There's only one man that deserves tah hold that belt...

[Jack rips the belt away from raYne.]

Jack Hoff: ... and that's ME!!!

Wes: You gotta be kidding me?!

Rex: Haha! You go boss!

Wes: But you were acting like you hated Jack earlier in the night!

Rex: Meh. I turned heel. Plus, I'm looking for a raise.

raYne: You BITCH! You can't do this! The owner of a federation should NEVER be the champion! It's just so totally unfair to the hard workers!

Jack Hoff: Aw SCREW the so-called "hard workers"! I'm the hardest workin' man in the business!

raYne: From the looks of your waist, I highly doubt that...

Jack Hoff: Bottom line is, if I want to be the champion, then dammit, I'm going to be the champion! But as for you, you're going to be in the ring tomorrow night... in your second main event! Because tomorrow night, on jobber World order Nitro, you'll be the super secret special surprise opponent for "Drunk Ass" Don Stevens! And you'll be facing him... in an anywhere falls, no disqualification, no count-out, hardcore streetfight!

raYne: You can't do this! Like, I am soooo ticked off right now, it isn't even funny!

Jack Hoff: I can do this, and it's GONNA happen, bitch cakes! I really couldn't care less which one ah yuz wins the damn match, as long as you beat the ever lovin' shit outta eachother and atleast one or two people tune in! The more blood, the more violence, and the more agony I put you piss-ants through, the more money goes intah my wallet! And that means more PIZZA! So, you better spend a good amount of time lookin' in the mirror, raYne, cuz after tomorrow? You sure as hell won't be lookin' so damn pretty anymore!

raYne: Aww! You think I'm pretty?

Jack Hoff: ... You are so dead.

[Jack's music plays once again, and the Chairman leaves, with the belt over his shoulder, as raYne leans against the ropes, staring out with a bleak look on his face.]

Wes: Well sports fans, it looks as if raYne just went from being on the very top of the company, to having absolutely nothing, except for his job in absolute jeapordy!

Rex: I love Alex Trabek.

Wes: For Rex Winters, this is Wes Rivers, telling you to tune into jWo Nitro, the show filled with nothing but jobbers, tomorrow night on the Food Network!

Rex: I love food...

- ads -

Wes: Goodnight everybody!

- ads -