![World Sports Entertainment : To iNSANITY... & Beyond! [get the wrestling OUT!]](http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y127/shanomacbry/7312847a-6aad-4bcc-b1f7-ca83b78c33fc_zpsyhuncysr.png "World Sports Entertainment : To iNSANITY... & Beyond! [get the wrestling OUT!]")
Post by THE Mac Bry v2 on Nov 17, 2009 10:00:10 GMT -6
[The scene opens outside of the Middle Of Nowhere Arena, in the parking lot. Mike Stand, the roving interviewer of WSE, is walking to the outside, microphone in hand as always, and as he walks, the camera follows. He looks into the lens, speaking as he walks.]
Mike: FOLKS! I've just received word that SOMEONE is making an appearance, right here, in this very parking lot, sometime tonight! I'm headed to the spot where he's promised to drop by in his personal vehicle. You can find out the identity of the SUPER DUPER SURPRISE MYSTERY MAN~!!1, right now, by texting the number 909039058095785097598585679858968903729837782393783498643637 and then the letters AMWYKFHGRVLPQCBNJJTRXZ followed by the middle names of every member of the St. Louis Cardinals! WSE has teamed up with the fine folks at Buht Raype Media to bring the wrestling Universe (tm) THE finest Useless Text Messaging Service Created Soley For the Purpose of Filling The Owner's Pockets Up With Even MORE of Your Money... EVER!
Mike: Over the coming months, Buht Raype will be providing WSE with the means of bringing you, the fans, an incredible slew of new methods of interacting with eachother, the StupidStars of World Sports Entertainment, and even God himself! ... Yes, that's right, the GOD of Sports Entertainment himself, our Chairman, the guy that writes my paychecks so I BETTER call him God, Jack... HOFF!
[Suddenly, Mike bumps into something... or someone... and stops dead in his tracks. Mike turns around... and his eyes widen.]
Mike: Jack! Er... uhm, er...
Jack: *grabs the microphone away from Stand* Mike, you're the most worthless member of our staff! And that includes Rhonda, the no-armed secretary!
Mike: Thank you sir... I consider being called worthless, by you, the greatest compliment I've ever received!
Jack: You've never received a compliment, have you?
Mike: No sir.
Jack: Well... you're a great kiss ass, Mike.
Mike: Thank you sir. ... And sir? ... Merry Christmas.
Jack: Ahh... isn't that sweet. Well, I just have one thing to say to that, Mike.
Mike: What's that, sir?
[Suddenly, Redd W. Bloo, Jack's bodygaurd, comes from behind Mike and breaks a Hannukah Menorah over his head. Mike falls to the ground, and Jack spits directly on his face, as Mike clutches the back of his head.]
Jack: Bah Humbug... BITCH!
[Jack smiles broadly, and looks at the camera. Redd stands over Mike, and after unzipping his own pants, he begins pissing all over Mike's face, as the interviewer chokes on the urine. Meanwhile, Jack stares into the camera.]
Jack: Happy F'n New Year. Welcome... to the year of World Sports Entertainment!!! Welcome... to the year... of the HOFF!!!
+++++++++++++++++
January 1st, 2009
Live (on tape) on Pay-Per-View!
+++++++++++++++++
[The camera opens to a jam packed Middle of Nowhere Arena. Yes indeed, boxes of Shmuckers Strawberry Jam fills the rafters from front row to balcony. I guess Jack has a purpose for those. Or they could be there specifically for the purpose of a lame joke. ... I'll go with the latter.]
[And speaking of latters, there's one standing tall in the center of the ring!]
Wes Rivers (play-by-play man extraordinaire) : Actually, Narrator, that would be LADDER, with two d's instead of two t's.
Rex Winters (color commentary, ie, crappy jokes and male chauvenistic statements) How would you know? You never even passed the first grade! By the way, I wonder if there's going to be any BOOBIES tonight?! Woohoo!
Wes: Crappy joke? Check. Male chauvenistic statement? Check. Anything we're forgetting?
Rex: Anything that points to you being a so-called "play-by-play man extraordinaire". I mean, c'mon, you're about as generic as Todd Grisham...
Wes: Am I really that bad?
Rex: ... Almost.
Wes: Well, that may be. In fact... yeah, it is. But the fact is, SPORTS FANS, this is the very first ever Top Rope Exclusive Edition of WSE!!! But not only that, it's the very first WSE event of the new year!
Rex: Whoopdie-fuckin' doo. I'll be spending most of the evening perusing through my favorite Christmas gift. Best of Penthouse 2008! Mom never fails when it comes to Christmas presents!
Wes: ... Your mom bought you an issue of Penthouse?
Rex: So? It's ALMOST as good as what she got me for my tenth birthday.
Wes: I'm afraid to ask... but what was it?
Rex: A hooker!
Wes: ...
Rex: Be jealous. :^P
Wes: Speaking of ripping off John Morrison and Mike Mizanin, our opening contest here at the 2009 edition of the Royal Royal is a tag team title match between our resident Miz and Morrison knock offs, "The Shaman of Stupidity" Scott Morrison, and "The Dick Magnet", Richy Rich.
Rex: I hear that they actually used to own their own wrestling promotion.
Wes: Really?
Rex: Oh yeah, it was called eWww.
Wes: What on earth does that stand for?
Rex: "Extremely White, Whiney, and Wack". And their biggest event had a REALLY innovative title.
Wes: What would that be?
Rex: eWwwMania!!!
Wes: ... Yeah, I can see this parody of Rich and Scott really isn't going to go over.
Rex: Ya THINK? Even I could tell that, and I'm the KING of retarded jokes!
Wes: Maybe we should repackage them.
Rex: I've got an idea! How about the Charlie Haas treatment?
Wes: Hm... you know, that could work! Ok, sports fans! We're giving YOU the power! Text your votes in RIGHT now, telling us who you want Rich and Scott to rip off first!
A. Sculder and Mully from the X-Files
B. Mr. and Mrs. Howell from Giligan's Island
C. Sanford and Son from... Sanford and Son
D. The New Age Outlaws
Wes: The rules are simple. Text the letter of the WRESTLING RELATED duo to our Buht Raype Media Service, and you will have successfully voted for who YOU want Scott and Rich to dress up as!
Rex: ... Wait. Only one of the four selections is wrestling related. ... How can the fans "vote" for who they want when there's only one feesible choice?
Wes: Hey, WWE does it every year with Cyber Tuesday!
Rex: I think you mean Tabboo Sunday.
Wes: Whatever. Anyway, the fans voted for D!
Rex: I'd ask you how you knew, but let's face it. If they voted for the Howell's then our fanbase must be even dumber than the people that write our scripts...
Wes: Which they aren't!
People That Write Our Scripts: HEY! I resent that!
Wes: And with that, here they are... The Middle Aged Inbreds!
Speakers: OH YOU DIDN'T KNOW?! WELL... That's ok, cuz, honestly, neither do we. ... SUCKAAAAA!!!
Rex: What the fuck's the "Suckaaa" for?
Wes: I think they were trying to save for the fact that the entrance sucks.
Rex: What? By making it even worse?
Wes: Well, Booker T uses it.
Rex: My point exactly.
Wes: What's wrong with Booker T?
Rex: Well, let me tell ya. He ain't no Sucka T.
Wes: ...
Rex: NOW CAN YOU DIG THAT... MUTHA FUCCCKKKAAAAAAA!!!
Wes: I never thought I'd actually meet a fan of Sucka T... or a fan of anyone on our roster, really...
Rex: Hey, it's the new year. Miracles can happen.
[Rich and Scott walk through the curtains... But wait! They're not dressed in the dollar store Road Dogg and Mr. Ass costumes Mr. Hoff bought them!]
Wes: Rich and Scott are walking to the ring... and they're both dressed in hot pink mini-skirts, fish net tank tops, and they're both carrying purses! What's the meaning of this?!
Rex: It means they're gay?
Wes: It couldn't be!
Rex: ... Actually, it could be, and it very well might be. Scott and Rich are in the ring, and Scott's got a microphone...
Scott: WE'RE GAY!
Rex: See! Told ya.
Wes: Wow.
Rex: Meh. I knew Scott and Rich were gay long, long ago.
Wes: These characters were just invented today!
Rex: I'm not talking about the characters!
Wes: Oh... ;^)
Rich: That's right! We're GAY! In fact... together, we ARE...
[Scott leans into the microphone, and both speak at the same time.]
Scott and Rich: THE WORLD'S GAYEST TAG TEAM!!!
Scott: And we're ready to claim the 4-play Tag Titles for our very own! And once we get our pretty little hands on those things, we're gonna... we're gonna...
Rich: We're gonna give 'em an EXTREME MAKEOVER!
Scott: That's right! We're gonna make those things so damn pretty, it'll be pitiful!
Rex: These guys ARE pitiful. Too bad I didn't get that Redd Ryder BB Gun I wanted for Christmas, or I'd -
Scott: WE HEAR YOU, MISSY!
Rich: Like, that Rex BITCH, is like, SUCH an L'!
Rex: ... An L'? Does that stand for Lovely? Or Looong, cuz you KNOW these pants are cutting off the air to my ginormous dic-
Scott: No! You... you... LOSER!!!
Rex: You're callin' ME a loser? You two are the ones that are tryin' tah be the male version of TNA's "The Beautiful People"! Fags...
Scott: LISTEN TO ME, SWEETIE! Angelina Love and Velvet Sky have nothing -
Rich: NOTHING!
Scott: - on us, do you hear me, you little... CREEP!
Rich: Ooo, let's call him CLB!
Rex: ... The fuck does THAT stand for?
Scott: Ugggh, you are SOOO out of the loop! CLB ; Creepy Little Bastard! Like, seriously, you're more of a loser than that tramp Kip James!
Rich: You mean Billy Gunn?
Scott: What-EVERRR. Oh, and by the way...
[Scott and Rich both reach down, rip their skirts off... to reveal thongs! Hot pink thongs!]
Scott: If you ain't down with that, then "The Brown Logg" Shit-Scotty Scott, and "Mr. Ass Hole" Richy Rich, have TWO words for yaaaaaa!
[Scott and Rich turn around and bend over, showing the camera the words "WE" and "SUCK", both spray painted across their asses in pink paint.]
Wes: Well, I guess this means that Scott and Rich are going to start taking WWE and TNA characters that aren't already parodied on our roster, and parody them in retardedly gay fashion.
Rex: What gives you that idea?
Wes: Because, it says here on the script, "Beginning tonight, Scott and Rich are going to start taking WWE and TNA characters that aren't already parodied on our roster, and parody them in retardedly gay fashion."
Rex: Ah.
[Suddenly, "Sweat Pants in Hell" hits on the speakers, and the boxes of strawberry jelly in the seats all begin to boo loudly. ... Or it might just be a recording.]
Wes: Sports fans, our Chairman is on his way to the ring! I wonder what he could possibly have in store for this match-up!
Rex: The real question is... Who the fuck cares?
Wes: Mr. Hoff steps through the ropes, and into the ring. He grabs the microphone from Scotty Scott.]
Jack: Scott... I'm sorry to say this, but you and your partner -
Rex: Partner in more ways than one...
Jack: - will NOT be competing for the 4-play titles here tonight. You see, unfortunately, El Taco and Burrito Del Grande, the title holders, were arrested earlier for smuggling illegal Chalupas!
Rex: ...
Wes: What has this world come to?!
Rex: Utter dumb-assery?
Jack: So, they have been sent directly to jail. They cannot pass go, and will NOT collect 200 dollars!
Rex: Monopoly!
Wes: ...
Jack: And with such shame placed on the 4-play championships, I have no choice... but to eliminate them from WSE forever !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!! ~ 1
Rex: GAT DAMN THAT'S A LOTTA EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!
Jack: So, there will now only be three titles in WSE!
Scott: Why weren't we told of this?!
Jack: Well come on, dumbass, do you see any belts hanging up there? For fuck's sake, do you REALLY think I'd let you fucks take two of MY company's titles?
Scott: Uhhh...
Jack: Say no.
Rich: To drugs?
Jack: ... GET OUT OF MY DAMN RING!!!
Scott: Jeez, don't have a man, cow.
[Jack smacks his forehead, before signaling for someone... Before long, Scott and Rich are wondering what Jack's looking at... they turn around... right into a BRUTAL double clothesline from Jack's musclebound henchman, Redd W. Bloo! Redd hits the jobbers with a pair of clotheslines so hard they actually send both men allll the way over the top rope, all the way from the middle of the ring.]
Rex: THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!
Jack: SILENCE! Common sense has no place in professional wrestling!!!
[Redd flexes a bit, posing for the thousands and thousands of jam jars in attendance, some of which are holding up signs for their favorite superstars.]
[Not really.]
[Dipshit.]
Jack: Getting down to business. After the heinous attack I suffered at the hands of Reeve Gordon at the end of Royal Royal 2008... I've taken it under advisement... and I am going to do the unthinkable. I'm going to grant the bastard a crack at MY World Sports Entertainment Title!!! Inside the confines of the three story, solid steel structure known as the TRIPLE CAGE!
Wes: OH MY GYAAAD! Did Mr. Hoff actually just say what I think he just said?! He's going to give a title shot to the man who tried to KILL him last month?!
Rex: I dunno. I'm too busy staring at the jugs in the front row!
Wes: You pervert!
Rex: What? Dude, there's two jugs of Shmucker's jelly in the front row. How am I a pervert? ... By the way, excuse me while I start jerking it to a copy of Penthouse. It's the January 2009 edition. An issue in honor of our new president, Barrack Obama!
Wes: How can a porn magazine pay tribute to Barrack?
Rex: It's got a really important, ground breaking centerfold!
Wes: Like what?
Rex: Two BLACK lesbians, getting it on in a 69!
Wes: ... How's that "ground breaking"?
Rex: They're wearing red, white, and blue bras!
Wes: ... Amazing.
Rex: I know!!! Woohoo!
Jack: Yes, Reeve, you WILL get a shot at this WSE belt... that is, IF you can make it through 39 other men, in the 40 man Royal Royal!!!
Wes: I knew there had to be a catch.
Rex: ...
Wes: No "witty" remarks?
Rex: SHHH! I'm mesmerized by this photo of Obama's wife!
Wes: *takes a look at the picture* Rex... That photo's OBVIOUSLY been photoshopped...
Rex: What would give you such an absurd idea?!
Wes: Well, maybe the fact that it's Michelle Obama's face... on a WHITE woman's body!
Rex: ... Maybe she's related to Michael Jackson?
Wes: Ugh...
Jack: And Reeve? Just so you know? You're going to be entry number ONE! Let's see how you do against an endless barrage of 39 of the most feared, most DOMINANT men in the entire world of professional, amateur, fake-ass e-sports entertainment WRASSLIN'!!!
Wes: I cannot believe this! Jack Hoff is an evil sunnuvabitch!!!
Rex: And that's why I love the guy!
Wes: Still trying to earn that holiday bonus, eh?
Rex: I'll do ANYTHING...
Jack: And without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, welcome... to the Royal Royal match of 2009! Reeve... get your ass down here!
["Back in Black", by ACDC, Reeve's theme, begins to play, and - ]
Speakers: BOING BOING!!!
[Suddenly, the music is interrupted by the sound of a voice, screaming the words... well, you just read them, so there ya go. The jars of jam leap to their feet, raising their cheering voices, as... oh, wait, that's right. They don't HAVE any voices. OR any feet. Because they're FRICKIN' JAM JARS!!! This shit just keeps getting more and more ridiculous. And trust me, that's a very difficult accomplishment...]
Wes: Is it... IT IS! It's him!
Rex: Him who?
Wes: He just came through the curtains!
Rex: I see him... and I still have no friggin' clue who this guy is.
Wes: It's Cactus ManLove!
Rex: ... Looks like a homeless bum to me. Wait... ManLove? His last name's ACTUALLY ManLove? ... That's just too funny!
Wes: Rex, this man is a hardcore LEGEND!
Rex: What? In gay porn?
Wes: NO! In extreme wrestling! He's an ICON!
Rex: Then why have I never heard of him?
Wes: Well... because... uh...
Rex: Maybe because he was JUST invented?
Wes: ... Er, uh, heheh... uhm... And Cactus steps into the ring!
Rex: Nice save... not.
Wes: He's got a microphone! Let's see what he's got to say!
Cactus: BUUURP! *scratches ass*
Rex: ...
Wes: Stirring words!
Cactus: 'Scuse me. Uh oh, think I got a boogie in my nose. *picks nose, pulls out a booger, then eats it*
Rex: ... You're SURE this guy is an "icon"?
Wes: Cactus is God! Or atleast Good.
Rex: GOOD GOD!
Wes: Yeah, one of those two.
Rex: No, I mean... the guy just pulled a JOCKSTRAP out of his pants!
Wes: HELLELUJAH! It's Mr. Jocko! Saints be praised!
Rex: Mr. Jocko? ... I think Royal Royal '09 has officially topped Royal Royal '08 on the Retard-O-Meter.
[Cactus pulls the jockstrap over his right hand, before lifting it high into the air. A "face" has been scrawled onto the jock with a marker, and is displayed... uh... proudly.]
Cactus: Now that I've sufficiently lowered the standards of this event by another 20 degrees... JACK HOFF!
Jack: CACTUS MANLOVE!
Cactus: ... Jack, I just got off of the computer in the back. And I finished placing the winning bid on eBay-W-mania.
Jack: What the hell's that?
Cactus: It's an exclusive eWrestling Auction Site. A site where there's auctions for eWrestling.
Wes: See, Cactus is smart! What an astounding description!
Rex: Yeah, you'd think he was a bestselling author or something.
Wes: He is! ... Well, atleast, he's an author. He wrote a pamphlet on how to fall off houses into mattresses, how to fall off stages into dumpsters, how to fall into thumbtacks, and most importantly, how to fall off cages through tables.
Rex: Riveting. I'm sure he won an award for that stunning piece of literature...
Wes: In fact, he did! He was the first winner of the Professional Amateur Fake-Ass E-Sports Entertainment Wrasslin' Commitee's "Wam, Bam, Thank Ya Mam Award of Much Insignificance".
Rex: Do the wrestling fans vote for those? Or a collection of wrestlers? Maybe the Commitee itself?
Wes: None of the above. Much like WSE's Annual "DAMN!-mmy" awards, the voting proccess is simple. There is none.
Rex: ...
Wes: The awards are given to three types of people. People that kiss ass, people whose asses are being kissed, and of course, people who are in the middle of important storylines and feuds.
Rex: So in other words... the awards really don't mean shit.
Wes: Pretty much.
Cactus: So, like I was saying, I placed the winning bid on eBay-W-Mania.
Jack: On what? Hopefully a new wardrobe, because the clothes you're wearing now practically make me look like a fashion guru...
Cactus: Nope. As of now, I hold 1/10th of a percent ownership of WSE!
Jack: 1/10th of a percent? Cactus, that's barely ANYTHING!
Cactus: You see Jack, that's where you're wrong. It IS anything! Atleast... as long as you mean anything to do with being a figure head whose sole responsibility is to "make matches" on a weekly televised program, and the occasional pay-per-view! Matches that have, in fact, actually already been booked by an incredibly irresponsible writer who doesn't know the first thing about wrestling! Matches that would make Vinnie... Ru OR Mac... blush!!!
Jack: But Cactus... this makes no sense!
Rex: He just now noticed something in this company doesn't make sense? ... Terrifying.
Cactus: Jack, it may not make sense... but it makes PERFECT non-sense! And in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in, that's all that matters! And as my first act as co-owner... I'm hereby dissallowing any of the people in charge of this company from actively competing! Jack... I've already pulled myself from competition... Now? You have two choices. You can either sell your 99.9 & 9/10s of the company to me now, so you can try and hold onto your precious gold strap in the main event Triple Cage Match... Or, you can vacate the belt now, and vow to never compete in the ring again. It's up to you, but I'd make your decision quick... because there's an ad coming up.
Rex: We're STILL running commercials during ppv's? You'd think we'd have done something about that before the new year...
Jack: DAMMIT! The belt... or being the boss... You BASTARD! You love to watch me suffer, don't you?!
Cactus: Honestly? Yes. Believe me, I've always fumed over the fact that your sweat pants, flip-flops, and beer stained shirt are more fashionable than anything in my entire closet...
Jack: Well... ok. You want me to give up my belt? I may hate it, I may despise it, I may do a lot of other things that mean the exact same thing... but the truth is, I will NEVER... EEEEEEEEEEVER... let go of my ownership of this company. A tenth of a percent I can handle, but not all 100%!!! So... the Royal Royal will now be to crown the next WSE Champion! That is... as long as I can choose all 40 men in the match. I'm not going to let just ANYONE fight for MY title!
Cactus: Fine! But no matter what, Reeve MUST be in the match. You know as well as I that he will stop at nothing to get to that belt... even if it means putting every last man on the roster in the hospital. And with me now holding a stake in this company, I just can't let that happen!
Jack: Deal. But as I said before, he's in the match as soon as the bell rings! And trust me... I've got someone special for him to face first!
Wes: There you have it folks, forty men, all dueling it out to crown the next World Sports Entertainment Champ! And it'll be taking place, right after these -
Rex: Wait! I've just received word that Mike Stand is in the parking lot, and the SUPER DUPER SURPRISE MYSTERY MAN~!!1 may very well be back there, waiting to reveal himself!
Wes: Ok, Mike, take it away.
[We head to the parking lot, where Mike Stand is... scratching his balls.]
Mike: Ahh, that's the spot.
[Uhm... Mike? Camera's on.]
Mike: ... *quickly stops scratching and speaks into the microphone* HELLO FOLKS! Errr... Yeah, uhm, actually, I thought the guy was here, but turns out... it was just WSE Asian StupidStar, Jippy Jam the Japanese Jughead. Heheh... sorry.
[...]
- ads -
[We return to the parking lot, where Mike Stand is... now using his microphone to scratch his balls.]
Mike: God DAMN, that feels good! Man, do I have crabs, or what?
[... Well, we'll just check up on him... later.]
[We return to the ring, where people AREN'T scratching their nuts, but where Jack Hoff IS sitting at the commentary desk, and Reeve Gordon is standing in the ring, staring over at the boss with a look of pure hate.]
Reeve: Actually, I always look like this. I'm EVIL!
[But... you're a face.]
Reeve: So?
[... "I'm Proud To Be An American" by Lee Greenwood hits on the speakers, and the lights flare three hues of red, white, and blue. The Not-The-TitanTron fills the image of a waving American Flag, while the muscle behind Chairman Hoff stomps through the curtains and down to the ring... Redd W. Bloo steps onto the apron, through the ropes, and immediately, begins to lay the fists into Reeve.]
Wes: Redd is taking to Reeve from the very minute the bell sounds! But Reeve is beginning to fight back. The American patriot and the God of Goth both struggle to get the upperhand in this epic battle!
Rex: Talk about your clashes of style! The red, white and blue, American through and through, old school wrestling champion, vs the painted up, black lipstick-wearing, dark and brooding emo with chains on his pants, and finger polish on his nails! These guys are night and day, black and white, up and down, left and right!
Wes: And Redd W. Bloo has been eliminated!
Rex: ... Fuck. We do all that work to build this crap up, and then it takes less than a minute for it to be over. If this match is over in five minutes, we might as well hire Brian Gerwitz and assign him as head booker!
Wes: Reeve is waving for the next participant of the Royal Royal to come and get some. The buzzer is about to sound... Ten... Nine... Eight... Seven...
Rex: Aw, get it over with already!
Wes: SixFiveFourThreeTwoONE!
[...]
Speakers: SWEAT PANTS! That's what I got!
Wes: OHMYGOOODDD!!!
Rex: Scream in my other ear why dont'cha?!
Wes: Ok.
[Wes moves his seat onto Rex's other side, and then - ]
Wes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rex: OH MY FUCKING CHRIST!!!
Wes: Sports Fans, it's Chairman Jack Hoff, the man in charge! He MUST be the third entrant in the Royal Royal!
Rex: Or, he could just be out to say something to Reeve.
Wes: No chance. No chance in hell.
Rex: Well, that's what it says here in the script.
Wes: We seriously need to get rid of those things...
Rex: Then what would we say? We're NOTHING without pre-formatted words shoved in our faces, do ya hear me?! NOTHING!!!
[Jack gets into the ring, with a microphone in his hand, and begins to speak, as Reeve gives the big boss man a dirty look.]
Big Boss Man: Isn't it bad enough that I'm DEAD?! Now people have to give me dirty looks while I'm rotting away in my grave?!
[Well, you did drag the Big Show's father around in a casket. And you made Al Snow eat his dog. Maybe you deserve it?]
Big Boss Man: ... Nahhh. ;^)
Jack Hoff: Reeve... I really hoped Redd W. Bloo would manage to take care of you. He let me down... He let his COUNTRY down... so that's why I've decided to release him as my bodyguard. BUT... Fret not, dear Mr. Gordon. For I have good news for you.
Reeve: You saved money by switching to Geico?
Jack: NO! ... Although that IS a good idea. Thanks for the tip.
Reeve: No problemo.
Jack: I'll have to write that down... sounds so easy, even a cavemen could do it!
Caveman: BOOOO!!! Man, I can't get people to shut up about that crap no matter WHERE I go!
Jack: ... Anyway! I do have good news though. I have decided to change the rules of this match... just a tiny bit.
Reeve: Great, just what we needed. Another bait and switch...
Jack: Do you see any worms on hooks? Do you see any... uh... flippy things that turn on lights?!
Reeve: ... No? ... Should I? My eyesight's been acting up lately...
Jack: The bottom line is this! You are now going to face 38 other men... in a GAUNTLET MATCH! And Reeve? You have exactly 20 minutes to defeat all 38 men, or you'll not only have lost your chance at the Big Brass Belt... but BUCKO... Your ass? Will be SUSSSSSPPPPEEEENNNNDDDDEEEEDDDD... IIIIIIINNNDDDDDEEEEFFFFIIIIINNNNNIIIIIITTTTTTEEEEEELLLLYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~~~~!!!~!~!~!!!!~~~~!!!~!~!~!~!!!!11111!!!...
Reeve: Well -
Jack: - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~!!!!!!11111... ... ... ... ... ... ... !
Reeve: ... But -
Jack: And now I do commentary!
[Suddenly Jack is at the commentary desk.]
Jack: Heya fellas.
Rex: You walk fast for a fat dump ah lard, eh fat ass?
Wes: Heheh.
Jack: YOU'RE FIRED!
Rex: ... WHO WROTE THAT ON MY SCRIPT?!?!?!?!?!?
Wes: Ahh, you're right Rexxy boy. What WOULD we do without scripts? Heehee. :^P
Rex: YOU SORRY ASS MOTHER FUCKER!!!
Jack: Alright, alright, settle down boys. Especially since you two, along with Rat Bore and Mike Stand, are all Reeve's first Gauntlet opponents.
Wes and Rex at the same time: WHAT?!
[Suddenly, Wes, Rex, Mike and Rat are all in the ring.]
Jack: Narrator.
[Yeah?]
Jack: QUIT SLACKING! I don't pay you the kinda money I do just for you to cut corners!
[... Jack. You DON'T pay me. What else is a disembodied voice supposed to do with his life other than narrate crappy e-wrestling shows?]
Jack: ... Good point.
[Inside the ring, all four staff members are huddled in a corner, deciding who's going to go up against Reeve first.]
Jack: You morons! Don't go all stupid ninja style after him!!! Take him on all at once! Jeez, these guys expect me to do everything for them...
[And so, all four staff members fly at Reeve at the same time... before all four staff members fly over the top rope, you guessed it, at the same time.]
Jack: How on MY green earth did that S.o.B. manage to toss FOUR men over the top rope at the SAME time?! Narrator, are you cutting corners again?!
[Hey, if we don't hurry this shit up, and I don't get this posted as soon possible, Antione might do something crazy. Like get drunk, lick a girl's asshole, and get caught by the cops. Rick's already been up and down that lonely road of faith...]
Jack: ... Who in the fuck are these Antione and Rick goons? ... And what's wrong with licking a girl's asshole? ... Not that I've ever done anything like that. ...
[Wes, Rex, Mike and Rat are all carried away on stretchers, as Jack yells at Reeve.]
Jack: REEVE! You think you're such a tough guy, eliminating four scrawny announcers like that?! WELL! We're about to find out just how tough you are! Let's bring out the thirty!
Reeve: The thirty what?
Jack: THE THIRTY THIEVES!
[Suddenly - ]
Speakers: Arraaabian niiiiights, like aaaraaabiiiaaannn daaayyysss, more often than NOT, are hotter than HOT, in a lot of good waaays!!!
Jack: Ladies and gentle jam jars... THE THIRTY THIEVES!!!
["Arabian Nights" from the Aladdin Soundtrack continues to play, as two cloaked men walk out and part the curtains... before the sounds of hooves can be heard. A few moments pass... and finally, thirty men ride out, cloaked in turbans and sashes, and sitting atop their thirty camels!]
Reeve: Oh you have GOT to be kidding me...
Jack: Just call me Ali-Baba! Thirty Thieves... TOSS THE BASTARD!!!
[All thirty men leap from their camels, and rush into the ring, going after Reeve one after the other. Reeve drops a few with clotheslines, knocks a few others off balance with dropkicks, and slams a couple with his finisher named "The Finisher". Which is VERY original, mind you. If you're retarded.]
Jack: Dammit! You stupid fucks! You're supposed to be warriors from the desert! You're supposed to be an ARMY! You're dropping like flies at the hands of an EMO!!! You have GOT to be better than that!
[Reeve lines up all thirty men in a row, and rears back... before hitting his patented "Shot in the Dark" superkick! The superkick connects, sending all thirty men backward like dominoes, before they SUDDENLY all... uh... topple over the top rope!]
Jack: Dammit Narrator, quit making up shit as you go along!
[Hey, it's worked for me for the past ten years. Why stop now? And besides, these guys were destined to job anyhow, so what's the difference between having them job after a five minute "war" or having them be slaughtered in the most inane way possible?]
Jack: Got me there... REEVE! I am NOT going to allow you to walk out of MY ring with MY belt! You leave me with no choice... I wanted to wait till the debut of SmackRaw in Top Rope Definition [or TuRD... where the 'u' came from, I'll never know]... but seeing as how they are greatly needed, it is my honor, and a privilege, to introduce the WORLD... to the greatest assemblage of rip-offs of four World Champions EVER!
The Anti-Christ StupidStar, AntiChrist Cage!!!
Wrestling's ONLY Olympic Table Tennis Gold Champion, Wright Angle!!
The King of Jamaican Impersonators Who Have Trouble Staying In Dialect When They Get Pissed Off... KING SUCKA!
And of course... the Man They Called... STUNG!!!~1
Jack: These four men are collectively rip-offs of four men who are collectively the greatest collection of collected World Champions in a collection of collectively collected collections! But together, THESE men... are known as...
The Glass Ceiling.
Jack: And beginning tonight... WSE is changing... FOREVER.
Speakers: We are the best. The greatest. The supreme of the supreme. Worship us. Bow at our feets. And all that other jazz. Welcome... to the top floor. You're goin' down.
["Epic" by Faith No More hits, and four men, all wearing suits, ties, and sunglasses. Of course, the suits are... well, let's just say they're less than designer brand. And the sunglasses are those crummy plastic ones. But hey, it's called a LOOK!]
Jack: Yes siree, my men! The one with the short, blonde hair is Cage, the one with no hair is Angle, the one with black hair because he's black is Suckaaaaaaa! ... And the one with long, grey hair because he's old is Stung.
[Stung is old.]
Jack: Yup. And here comes Cage! And there goes Cage. And here comes Sucka! And there goes Sucka. DAMMIT! You guys are supposed to be the CREAM OF THE CROP! I hand picked you guys to battle those who oppose me, and now you're being destroyed as easily as those Thirty Thieves clowns! Cage and Sucka have already been eliminated, and that means I only have two men left at my disposal! DON'T YOU DARE FAIL ME!!!
[Or what?]
Jack: Or... Or I'll send all four of 'em to bed without supper!!!
[Oooo, I'm sure they're shakin' in their wrestling boots. :^P]
Jack: Right. Wright!
Wright: Are you talking to me, boss? Or did you just say "right" two times?
Jack: I said "right" one time. The second time was "Wright".
Wright: ... Huh?
Jack: ... GET IN THE FUCKING RING!
[Wright quickly slides into the ring, but as soon as he does, Reeve begins to rain down stomps onto the Olympian's back. Reeve backs up a few steps, before rushing forth, leaping into the air, and...]
Jack: Wright's up! And Wright picks the ankle out of mid-air! Reeve crashes to the canvas with a loud thud, and my boy Angle is synching in the 90 Degree Lock!
[The 90 Degree Lock?]
Jack: Named for the fact that it bends the leg at the knee, in a 90 Degree Angle... Also known as a Right Angle!]
[How clever... basically, it's an ankle lock, right?]
Jack: Well... yeah. But 90 Degree Lock sounds SOOO much cooler!
[... Sure.]
Jack: Wright Angle drags Reeve to the center of the ring... Wait a minute. Aw hell, WRIGHT! You can't beat him with a submission hold!
Wright: ... I can't?
Reeve: No, you can't ya big doofus!
Wright: Hey, you're supposed to be selling this move! ... I mean... ARRGGH! I'm pissed now!
[Wright lifts Reeve up, irish whips him, but before releasing, he pulls Reeve back in and snaps off a wicked belly to belly suplex! Reeve flies over the top rope... but the God of Goth lands on his feet, upon the apron.]
Jack: Clothesline him, Wright! Dropkick him! Do SOMETHING!
[Wright begins doing a hula dance.]
Jack: NOT THAT SOMETHING!!!
[Wright reaches toward Reeve... grabs him... and tries to shove him off the ring apron... But somehow, Reeve manages to extend a leg, and strike the Olympic Bronze Medalist with a well placed kick!]
Jack: Wright's stumbling... USE THE FORCE, WRIGHT!
Wright: The force?
Jack: ... Use THIS!
[Jack reaches under the desk, before lifting out a broom handle, and tossing it to Wright Angle. Wright snatches the broom stick out of the air, and turns around to use it... But instead, the Olympic Champ is superkicked over the top rope by the Goth God, who has made it back inside! Wright rolls across the outside mat, as Reeve stands on the middle rope nearest Wright, mocking the fallen Angle.]
Reeve: Neener neener neener! Yer momma wears combat boots!
Jack: SHIT! This can't be happening! This can't be true! This can't be real!
Reeve: It's both true AND real! It's DAMN both true AND real!
Jack: This... this... this is -
*WAMMO!*
Jack: THIS IS INCREDIBLE!
[Indeed it is, for as Reeve was busy making fun of Wright for his mother being adorned in army footwear, The Man They Called... Stung, rushed into the ring from behind Reeve Gordon, and quickly broke a black baseball bat over his back, sending the Gothic God of Godly Gothicocitude over the top rope, and slapping down upon the outside. ... Which means - ! ]
Jack: *rushing to the ring with a microphone* YOUR WINNER... and NEW World Sports Entertainment Heavyweight Champion of... uh... the WORLD... The Man They Called... STUNG!!!~1
["Epic" plays once again, and Jack makes it into the ring, WSE Title held firmly in his grasp. Wright, Sucka, and Cage all get into the ring from the other side. Jack proudly hands his most prized possesion over to the "legend", Stung. Stung lifts the title high into the air, as if he won it. Which... well, he did, but he's lifting it up all high and mighty. Like he EARNED it. And we just ain't gonna cotton tah none ah that now.]
Jack: You know... Ever since that sorry bastard Reeve nearly put me in the hospital, I've began rethinking the position I've held since the beginning of this company. No, not the ownership position. The CHAMPIONSHIP position. I've been the WSE Champ, previously the UnFed Champ, since I founded this federation. But with all of the work that being the boss entails... and the fact that I keep getting my ass kicked... I decided weeks ago that I HAD to find a successor. And with Cactus ManLove forcing me to choose between the belt and being the boss... really, it just gave me the opportunity to unleash that successor at the very first pay-per-view event of the new year! And Stung. Pal. You're the only man in this entire company, besides our three friends Cage, Angle, and the King, that knows the true meaning of Sports Entertainment. The only man that believes in the values of mediocre talent, shoddy soap opera storylines, and lackluster matches. And you are the ONLY man that's old enough... er, well, "experienced" enough, to truly know how to keep down the young, up and coming talent. You've had countless, and I do mean COUNTLESS years experience of not laying down... not selling shots... and basically... well, you're unbeatable. You're like the bastard son of a three way between Triple H, the Undertaker, and Hulk Hogan! In short... you're my dream come true! So Stung, you are the only man I can truly rely upon to lead my company into the new year.
Jack: For you, Stung, lay down for no man. Not even GOD himself! ... Well, the other God. That lesser God. Named God. Or is it Mick Foley...
[Stung, Wright, Cage, and King Sucka try to raise Jack onto their shoulders, but even their combined four shoulders cannot sustain the weight of Chairman Hoff. As he's a fat ass. So, they all five decide to raise their arms into the air instead, as the show heads into another commercial. On a ppv.]
[Happy New Year? More like CRAPPY, heheh... New... uh... Year. ... Nevermind.]
- ad :
[The camera opens to a table, with two plates. One holding a generic fast food burger. The other? A heaping helping of seal meat.]
(A white, blonde, blue-eyed, suit and tie wearing man is sitting at the table, with a look of disgust on his face.)
Man: Uh... what in the hell is on this one plate?
[This man is from San Diego, California.]
[He is a Seal Meat King virgin.]
Man: I was told I'd be trying out burgers? ... This REALLY doesn't look like a burger...
Director: JUST EAT IT!
Man: But it smells like shit... Is it shit?
Director: No! ... Look, I'll give you a Whopper if you eat it, ok?
Man: Eww... how about a Big Mac?
Director: Deal! Just eat the fuckin' - uh... meat.
Man: What KIND of meat?
Director: Do you want me to do nasty, nasty things to your pet gerbil?
Man: NOT POOR MR. SQUEAKY! Alright, I'll eat this garbage...
[The man eats the seal meat... and proceeds to barf. He then eats the burger to try and cleanse the taste of seal meat.]
Man: Mmmm... nyum, nyum, nyum... now THIS is good... Better than whatever that other crap was... By the way, what kind of burger is this?
Director: Oh, that's our new special! The McBaboon Ass With Cheese!
Man: ...
*BARF*
[Seal Meat King : I'm Clubbin' It.]
: end ad -
[We return to the Middle of Nowhere, backstage in one of the lockerrooms. Mike Stand is standing... mic in hand... Thankfully he's no longer scratching his balls with it. Instead, he's holding it to his mouth. God, I hope that thing's been cleaned...]
Mike: Hi there fans! It's Mike Stand here, in the backstage lockerroom of the StupidStars of this fine promotion! hYpo's here, Team 2D's here, and I have Joe-Kishi-Maga with me as we speak! BUT... before we get to this pressing interview, I just want to make sure you're all dialing that crucial text number RIGHT now, to our brand spankin' new Buht Raype Media Service! They'll not only give you hints as to who the SUPER SECRET MYSTERY MAN!!!~1 is that WILL arrive later tonight, but in addition, they will provide to the first lucky five callers... or possibly three, I dunno, you'll have to find out your own damn self. But they WILL provide SOMEONE, the first few someones that test out the brand new WSE Experience (tm), with free... T-Shirts! That's right! Free Jack Hoff T-Shirts! With our Chairman's face, as well as the word "Rutabaga" underneath. Because the word "Rutabaga" is funny. ... To somebody, I'm sure. It also comes in five other words! All with Mr. Hoff's face presented proudly. Those words include, but are limited to ;
"Porcupine"
"Trinidad"
"Jalepeno"
"Antidisestablishmentarianism"
"Rutabagas"
Mike: Note that Rutabaga with the additional "s" costs extra. Because Rutabagas are even more funny when they come in plural form.
Joe-Kishi-Maga: Are you FINALLY... going to shut up about the damn WCW Hotline rip-off, and get to interviewing THE JOE-KISHI-MAGA?!
hYpo: Seriously. You do know that TNA ripped the Hotline off first, right?
Brother Mario: I thought ECW ripped it off first?
Brother Luigi: I thought WCW ripped off ECW?
All: ...
Cactus: BOING BOING!
Mike: Oh, and I forgot, Cactus is here too.
Cactus: Nice save there, JB.
Mike: Who?
Cactus: Jeremy Bor- ... Oh, fuck, sorry. Nevermind...
Mike: ... Cactus, what are you going to do now that Jack Hoff has swerved the Royal Royal into Stung walking away with the WSE Title? Now, Mr. Hoff is leading Stung, along with Anti-Christ Cage, King Sucka, and Wright Angle, into the new year as a collective force... known collectively as "The Glass Ceiling". Cactus, what do you plan to do now?
Cactus: What do I plan on doing about it, MS?
Mike: No, what do you plan on doing about the threat of the Glass Ceiling, not what do you plan on doing about Multiple Sclerosis.
Cactus: ... Huh?
Mike: Fuck it... stupid joke. Uhm, so, yeah, what are you going to do now?
Cactus: What am I going to do now? Mike... I'm going to do the only thing I CAN do! ... I'M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD LAND!!!
Mike: ... Where?
Cactus: Actually Mike, I, Team 2D, hYpo, and Joe-Kishi-Maga, have all formed a resistence against this scourge... this... "Glass Ceiling". People have heard of "The New Breed". People have heard of "The New Blood". Well now? It's time... Time for a New Breed of Blood... it's time... For The New Bleed!
Mike: Er... Cactus? I hate to burst your bubble... But don't you think that sounds kinda... dumb?
Cactus: Ok... We'll call it the Front of the Line! Because, just like in the grocery store, it's time for those slow-moving, slow-walking, slow-paced GEEZERS to get in the BACK of the line!
Mike: Well... truthfully, that sounds even MORE dumb. If that's even possible... and really, it doesn't even make that much sense. Seriously, you can't think up anything better than THAT?
Cactus: FINE! WSE Originals maybe?
Mike: That still doesn't work! I mean, really, no one knows who ANY of the guys in WSE are. No one knows a King Sucka from a Jippy Jam the Japanese Jughead or a Big Poppa Dump from a Goo the Adventurer! So really... all of them are about as original as the next.
Cactus: DAMMIT! Aw screw it, let's just name 'em "Those Guys" and call it a day.
Mike: Well, "Those Guys", do you have anything to say about your war with the Glass Ceiling?
Joe-Kishi-Maga: IF YA SMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE -
Mike: Wait a minute folks! I've just received word that the limo has pulled into the parking garage, and the SUPER SECRET MYSTERY MAN!!!~1 is HERE! Let me forget all about these jobbers now and go catch up with someone that matters!
Those Guys: HEY!!!
[Mike Stand runs out of the lockerroom (perhaps to get away from the angry 'Those Guys' just as much as he does to meet with the mystery man). He heads toward the garage, where he finds a limousine parked. The front door opens, and the driver steps out... The driver walks toward the back door, before opening it... and the camera instantly drops to ground level. We see one foot step out... clad in a giant yellow shoe...]
Mike (from off-screen) : OH MY GOD! It... IT CAN'T BE!
[The rest of the person... or whatever it is... steps out, and the camera follows up from the yellow shoes... to a pair of red shorts... to a body covered in black felt... and finally, we find a head with big, round ears.]
Mike: It's you! It's really, really you!
"The Rated G StupidStar" Nicky Mowse: Hey there, hi there, ho there everybody! Itttttssss ME, Nicky Mowse, Rated G for General Audiences! Kid tested, parent approved, THAT'S ME!
Mike: I can't believe you're finally here in WSE! It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Mowse!
Nicky: Hey kiddo, it's great to meet an adoring fan! Kids, do your homework, stay in school, BUY WSE PRODUCTS, drink your milk, eat your vegetables, BUY DISNEY PRODUCTS, and make sure to follow the rules! And don't give in to peer BUY WSE & DISNEY PRODUCTS pressure!
Mike: ... Uhm... OK! Well folks, this has been Mike Stand, greeting the arrival of WSE's newest StupidStar, Nicky Mowse! This is Mike Stand, WSE's roving interviewer, reporting, as always, from the Middle of Nowhere! Back to you Wes and Rex!
Wes: I'm glad to see Nicky Mowse make his debut here.
Rex: I dunno... there's something I don't like about the guy. Something... subliminal. ... By the way, could you buy something off of WSEShop.com for me?
Wes: Why?
Rex: I really don't know... just suddenly had this urge to buy WSE products... and the entire series collections of Hannah Montana, Zack&Cody, and Wizards of Waverly Place...
Wes: Well sports fans, the Glass Ceiling is still celebrating inside the ring, with Stung clutching the WSE Championship Gold Belt Strap Title of the World and Also of Sports Entertainment, while Jack Hoff stands in the center of his four cornerstones of this new era in the federation. And with that, I have to tell you folks... I'm a bit dissapointed in Royal Royal '09. ... Goodnight everyone!
Rex: Wait, you're gonna leave 'em with that? You're just gonna say that you thought the show they all just bought AND watched sucked... and then leave 'em with that? ... You might not be so bad after all. ;^)
Wes: Well, it's just... there needs to be more action! There's needs to be more excitement! There needs to be more thrills, chills, and spills!
Lil Jon: And grills?
Wes: No.
Lil Jon: WHAAAAAT!
Wes: I said NO!
Lil Jon: OKAAAAAAY!
Rex: Well, I for one think that the action that WAS there more than made up for the fact that there wasn't that MUCH. Quality over quantity, dude.
Wes: You really mean that?
Rex: Fuck no.
Wes: ...
Speakers: BOING BOING!
Rex: Oh dear lord no! Not this fool again!
Wes: Cactus ManLove is coming back to the ring, and he's got a microphone! And standing tall behind him is the group now known as "Those Guys".
Rex: I already called them "Those Guys". Mainly due to the fact that I have no fuckin' clue what their names are.
Cactus: JACK HOFF!!!
Jack: CACTUS MANLOVE!
Cactus: Will you please stop copying my schtick?!
Jack: Well, you're copying someone ELSE, you know...
Cactus: *sigh* Of course. Anyway, I'm out here to let you know, that right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere! [cheap pop], I'm announcing that right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere!! [cheap pop x2], we're going to have the very first EVER... Royal Survivor Rumble Series!!!... right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere~!!!~1 [cheap pop x3] A five vs five, elimination tag team match! The Glass Ceiling vs Those Guys! And the teams will be led... by you... and ME!
Jack: Hold your horses, buddy boy! We can't lead our teams! We both signed a contract... or, er, well, atleast we commited to a spoken agreement... which is, like, ALMOST the same thing... And we agreed that neither of us would compete in the ring as long as we held part of the company! We can't back out of that! We said a promise! With words! ... Those mean something! ... Dog nabbit!
Cactus: Jackie, Jackie, JACKIE! Wrestlers have SAID they were retiring from active competition for DECADES. But did they ever keep THEIR word? NO! So why buck tradition?
Jack: Well...
Cactus: Besides, I'm 1/10th Owner, and I've got a say around here! And I get to make matches! As long as they've actually already been made and I'm only ACTING as if "I'm" making them, on-air. And in this match that's already been made, the winning team's leader will be able to make the main event for WrestleNymphoMania, WSE's biggest spectacle of the year! And Jack... just so you know? I already know the match I'm going to make... when MY team wins! It's going to be ME... vs YOU, for the entire ownership of WSE!!!
Jack: Cactus... I'm sorry. But there's one match that HAS already been made for WrestleNymphoMania. It was a match that was made before you even THOUGHT about winning your part of this promotion on eBay! That match is the main event. A main event... between the World Champ, who now just so happens to be Stung... vs a returning WSE General Manager... A. STICK!!!
[Oh brother... For those just now following WSE, A. Stick was one of the General Managers back when WSE (then, the UnFed) had seven weekly programs. That lasted for about... a week. I'm sure someone was watching back then... There's gotta be SOMEONE out there that follows this junk... oh, who am I kidding.]
Jack: While you and your bunch of REJECTS... well, I'm sure you'll all have fun mopping the floors of the arena! And if you want something else to do, Cactus? I suggest you put a REAL wrestling uniform on, because you'll have your hands full facing Anti-Christ Cage... King Sucka... AND Wright Angle, in a Three on One, Handicap, Triple Cage Match!!!
Cactus: YOU... YOU...
Jack: You! Choke on that! Slap Nuts! Oh... and Have a Nice Day! :^D
[Jack smiles a satanic smirk, as his men gloat behind him, taunting the Extreme Icon and the rest of "Those Guys".]
Wes: The epic war HAS begun! The Glass Ceiling vs Those Guys, and it looks as though The Glass Ceiling has fired the first volley!
Rex: If this feud is anything like the one in TNA we're ripping off, expect about twenty more "volleys" to be fired by the Ceiling. Then maybe, just maybe, Those Guys will get in a shot. Possibly even two!
Wes: Well sports fans, that does it for this shitbomb of a pay-per-view. Maybe this isn't a sign of things to come... Maybe... just maybe... WSE can turn things around and, well, you know... actually entertain a fan or two into showing up at the actual arena.
Rex: Even paying fans to show up didn't work. Now we're stuck with jars of jelly filling the seats from front row to balcony.
Wes: Yup...
Rex: ... 2009's gonna suck a suckload of suck... ain't it, Wes?
Wes: ... Yup.
Both: ...
Rex: I'm gonna go grab the January issue of Hustler. I hear they have a tribute to Barrack, just like Penthouse.
Wes: What's on the centerfold?
Rex: A black midget getting ass fucked by a black chick in a black dominatrix outfit with a black dildo, holding a black whip, inside a black lit room.
Wes: ...
Rex: Wanna go with? I'll let you buy an issue of 'Penthouse Kids'.
Wes: ... Sure, why the hell not. Sports fans, for Rex Winters, this is Wes Rivers saying... Fuck it, I GOTTA see what's in 'Penthouse Kids'!
Rex: Trust me. It's illegal in 49 states. It's good shit.
Wes: Peace out, bitches.
- ads -
Mike: FOLKS! I've just received word that SOMEONE is making an appearance, right here, in this very parking lot, sometime tonight! I'm headed to the spot where he's promised to drop by in his personal vehicle. You can find out the identity of the SUPER DUPER SURPRISE MYSTERY MAN~!!1, right now, by texting the number 909039058095785097598585679858968903729837782393783498643637 and then the letters AMWYKFHGRVLPQCBNJJTRXZ followed by the middle names of every member of the St. Louis Cardinals! WSE has teamed up with the fine folks at Buht Raype Media to bring the wrestling Universe (tm) THE finest Useless Text Messaging Service Created Soley For the Purpose of Filling The Owner's Pockets Up With Even MORE of Your Money... EVER!
Mike: Over the coming months, Buht Raype will be providing WSE with the means of bringing you, the fans, an incredible slew of new methods of interacting with eachother, the StupidStars of World Sports Entertainment, and even God himself! ... Yes, that's right, the GOD of Sports Entertainment himself, our Chairman, the guy that writes my paychecks so I BETTER call him God, Jack... HOFF!
[Suddenly, Mike bumps into something... or someone... and stops dead in his tracks. Mike turns around... and his eyes widen.]
Mike: Jack! Er... uhm, er...
Jack: *grabs the microphone away from Stand* Mike, you're the most worthless member of our staff! And that includes Rhonda, the no-armed secretary!
Mike: Thank you sir... I consider being called worthless, by you, the greatest compliment I've ever received!
Jack: You've never received a compliment, have you?
Mike: No sir.
Jack: Well... you're a great kiss ass, Mike.
Mike: Thank you sir. ... And sir? ... Merry Christmas.
Jack: Ahh... isn't that sweet. Well, I just have one thing to say to that, Mike.
Mike: What's that, sir?
[Suddenly, Redd W. Bloo, Jack's bodygaurd, comes from behind Mike and breaks a Hannukah Menorah over his head. Mike falls to the ground, and Jack spits directly on his face, as Mike clutches the back of his head.]
Jack: Bah Humbug... BITCH!
[Jack smiles broadly, and looks at the camera. Redd stands over Mike, and after unzipping his own pants, he begins pissing all over Mike's face, as the interviewer chokes on the urine. Meanwhile, Jack stares into the camera.]
Jack: Happy F'n New Year. Welcome... to the year of World Sports Entertainment!!! Welcome... to the year... of the HOFF!!!
+++++++++++++++++
January 1st, 2009
Live (on tape) on Pay-Per-View!
+++++++++++++++++
[The camera opens to a jam packed Middle of Nowhere Arena. Yes indeed, boxes of Shmuckers Strawberry Jam fills the rafters from front row to balcony. I guess Jack has a purpose for those. Or they could be there specifically for the purpose of a lame joke. ... I'll go with the latter.]
[And speaking of latters, there's one standing tall in the center of the ring!]
Wes Rivers (play-by-play man extraordinaire) : Actually, Narrator, that would be LADDER, with two d's instead of two t's.
Rex Winters (color commentary, ie, crappy jokes and male chauvenistic statements) How would you know? You never even passed the first grade! By the way, I wonder if there's going to be any BOOBIES tonight?! Woohoo!
Wes: Crappy joke? Check. Male chauvenistic statement? Check. Anything we're forgetting?
Rex: Anything that points to you being a so-called "play-by-play man extraordinaire". I mean, c'mon, you're about as generic as Todd Grisham...
Wes: Am I really that bad?
Rex: ... Almost.
Wes: Well, that may be. In fact... yeah, it is. But the fact is, SPORTS FANS, this is the very first ever Top Rope Exclusive Edition of WSE!!! But not only that, it's the very first WSE event of the new year!
Rex: Whoopdie-fuckin' doo. I'll be spending most of the evening perusing through my favorite Christmas gift. Best of Penthouse 2008! Mom never fails when it comes to Christmas presents!
Wes: ... Your mom bought you an issue of Penthouse?
Rex: So? It's ALMOST as good as what she got me for my tenth birthday.
Wes: I'm afraid to ask... but what was it?
Rex: A hooker!
Wes: ...
Rex: Be jealous. :^P
Wes: Speaking of ripping off John Morrison and Mike Mizanin, our opening contest here at the 2009 edition of the Royal Royal is a tag team title match between our resident Miz and Morrison knock offs, "The Shaman of Stupidity" Scott Morrison, and "The Dick Magnet", Richy Rich.
Rex: I hear that they actually used to own their own wrestling promotion.
Wes: Really?
Rex: Oh yeah, it was called eWww.
Wes: What on earth does that stand for?
Rex: "Extremely White, Whiney, and Wack". And their biggest event had a REALLY innovative title.
Wes: What would that be?
Rex: eWwwMania!!!
Wes: ... Yeah, I can see this parody of Rich and Scott really isn't going to go over.
Rex: Ya THINK? Even I could tell that, and I'm the KING of retarded jokes!
Wes: Maybe we should repackage them.
Rex: I've got an idea! How about the Charlie Haas treatment?
Wes: Hm... you know, that could work! Ok, sports fans! We're giving YOU the power! Text your votes in RIGHT now, telling us who you want Rich and Scott to rip off first!
A. Sculder and Mully from the X-Files
B. Mr. and Mrs. Howell from Giligan's Island
C. Sanford and Son from... Sanford and Son
D. The New Age Outlaws
Wes: The rules are simple. Text the letter of the WRESTLING RELATED duo to our Buht Raype Media Service, and you will have successfully voted for who YOU want Scott and Rich to dress up as!
Rex: ... Wait. Only one of the four selections is wrestling related. ... How can the fans "vote" for who they want when there's only one feesible choice?
Wes: Hey, WWE does it every year with Cyber Tuesday!
Rex: I think you mean Tabboo Sunday.
Wes: Whatever. Anyway, the fans voted for D!
Rex: I'd ask you how you knew, but let's face it. If they voted for the Howell's then our fanbase must be even dumber than the people that write our scripts...
Wes: Which they aren't!
People That Write Our Scripts: HEY! I resent that!
Wes: And with that, here they are... The Middle Aged Inbreds!
Speakers: OH YOU DIDN'T KNOW?! WELL... That's ok, cuz, honestly, neither do we. ... SUCKAAAAA!!!
Rex: What the fuck's the "Suckaaa" for?
Wes: I think they were trying to save for the fact that the entrance sucks.
Rex: What? By making it even worse?
Wes: Well, Booker T uses it.
Rex: My point exactly.
Wes: What's wrong with Booker T?
Rex: Well, let me tell ya. He ain't no Sucka T.
Wes: ...
Rex: NOW CAN YOU DIG THAT... MUTHA FUCCCKKKAAAAAAA!!!
Wes: I never thought I'd actually meet a fan of Sucka T... or a fan of anyone on our roster, really...
Rex: Hey, it's the new year. Miracles can happen.
[Rich and Scott walk through the curtains... But wait! They're not dressed in the dollar store Road Dogg and Mr. Ass costumes Mr. Hoff bought them!]
Wes: Rich and Scott are walking to the ring... and they're both dressed in hot pink mini-skirts, fish net tank tops, and they're both carrying purses! What's the meaning of this?!
Rex: It means they're gay?
Wes: It couldn't be!
Rex: ... Actually, it could be, and it very well might be. Scott and Rich are in the ring, and Scott's got a microphone...
Scott: WE'RE GAY!
Rex: See! Told ya.
Wes: Wow.
Rex: Meh. I knew Scott and Rich were gay long, long ago.
Wes: These characters were just invented today!
Rex: I'm not talking about the characters!
Wes: Oh... ;^)
Rich: That's right! We're GAY! In fact... together, we ARE...
[Scott leans into the microphone, and both speak at the same time.]
Scott and Rich: THE WORLD'S GAYEST TAG TEAM!!!
Scott: And we're ready to claim the 4-play Tag Titles for our very own! And once we get our pretty little hands on those things, we're gonna... we're gonna...
Rich: We're gonna give 'em an EXTREME MAKEOVER!
Scott: That's right! We're gonna make those things so damn pretty, it'll be pitiful!
Rex: These guys ARE pitiful. Too bad I didn't get that Redd Ryder BB Gun I wanted for Christmas, or I'd -
Scott: WE HEAR YOU, MISSY!
Rich: Like, that Rex BITCH, is like, SUCH an L'!
Rex: ... An L'? Does that stand for Lovely? Or Looong, cuz you KNOW these pants are cutting off the air to my ginormous dic-
Scott: No! You... you... LOSER!!!
Rex: You're callin' ME a loser? You two are the ones that are tryin' tah be the male version of TNA's "The Beautiful People"! Fags...
Scott: LISTEN TO ME, SWEETIE! Angelina Love and Velvet Sky have nothing -
Rich: NOTHING!
Scott: - on us, do you hear me, you little... CREEP!
Rich: Ooo, let's call him CLB!
Rex: ... The fuck does THAT stand for?
Scott: Ugggh, you are SOOO out of the loop! CLB ; Creepy Little Bastard! Like, seriously, you're more of a loser than that tramp Kip James!
Rich: You mean Billy Gunn?
Scott: What-EVERRR. Oh, and by the way...
[Scott and Rich both reach down, rip their skirts off... to reveal thongs! Hot pink thongs!]
Scott: If you ain't down with that, then "The Brown Logg" Shit-Scotty Scott, and "Mr. Ass Hole" Richy Rich, have TWO words for yaaaaaa!
[Scott and Rich turn around and bend over, showing the camera the words "WE" and "SUCK", both spray painted across their asses in pink paint.]
Wes: Well, I guess this means that Scott and Rich are going to start taking WWE and TNA characters that aren't already parodied on our roster, and parody them in retardedly gay fashion.
Rex: What gives you that idea?
Wes: Because, it says here on the script, "Beginning tonight, Scott and Rich are going to start taking WWE and TNA characters that aren't already parodied on our roster, and parody them in retardedly gay fashion."
Rex: Ah.
[Suddenly, "Sweat Pants in Hell" hits on the speakers, and the boxes of strawberry jelly in the seats all begin to boo loudly. ... Or it might just be a recording.]
Wes: Sports fans, our Chairman is on his way to the ring! I wonder what he could possibly have in store for this match-up!
Rex: The real question is... Who the fuck cares?
Wes: Mr. Hoff steps through the ropes, and into the ring. He grabs the microphone from Scotty Scott.]
Jack: Scott... I'm sorry to say this, but you and your partner -
Rex: Partner in more ways than one...
Jack: - will NOT be competing for the 4-play titles here tonight. You see, unfortunately, El Taco and Burrito Del Grande, the title holders, were arrested earlier for smuggling illegal Chalupas!
Rex: ...
Wes: What has this world come to?!
Rex: Utter dumb-assery?
Jack: So, they have been sent directly to jail. They cannot pass go, and will NOT collect 200 dollars!
Rex: Monopoly!
Wes: ...
Jack: And with such shame placed on the 4-play championships, I have no choice... but to eliminate them from WSE forever !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!! ~ 1
Rex: GAT DAMN THAT'S A LOTTA EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!
Jack: So, there will now only be three titles in WSE!
Scott: Why weren't we told of this?!
Jack: Well come on, dumbass, do you see any belts hanging up there? For fuck's sake, do you REALLY think I'd let you fucks take two of MY company's titles?
Scott: Uhhh...
Jack: Say no.
Rich: To drugs?
Jack: ... GET OUT OF MY DAMN RING!!!
Scott: Jeez, don't have a man, cow.
[Jack smacks his forehead, before signaling for someone... Before long, Scott and Rich are wondering what Jack's looking at... they turn around... right into a BRUTAL double clothesline from Jack's musclebound henchman, Redd W. Bloo! Redd hits the jobbers with a pair of clotheslines so hard they actually send both men allll the way over the top rope, all the way from the middle of the ring.]
Rex: THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!
Jack: SILENCE! Common sense has no place in professional wrestling!!!
[Redd flexes a bit, posing for the thousands and thousands of jam jars in attendance, some of which are holding up signs for their favorite superstars.]
[Not really.]
[Dipshit.]
Jack: Getting down to business. After the heinous attack I suffered at the hands of Reeve Gordon at the end of Royal Royal 2008... I've taken it under advisement... and I am going to do the unthinkable. I'm going to grant the bastard a crack at MY World Sports Entertainment Title!!! Inside the confines of the three story, solid steel structure known as the TRIPLE CAGE!
Wes: OH MY GYAAAD! Did Mr. Hoff actually just say what I think he just said?! He's going to give a title shot to the man who tried to KILL him last month?!
Rex: I dunno. I'm too busy staring at the jugs in the front row!
Wes: You pervert!
Rex: What? Dude, there's two jugs of Shmucker's jelly in the front row. How am I a pervert? ... By the way, excuse me while I start jerking it to a copy of Penthouse. It's the January 2009 edition. An issue in honor of our new president, Barrack Obama!
Wes: How can a porn magazine pay tribute to Barrack?
Rex: It's got a really important, ground breaking centerfold!
Wes: Like what?
Rex: Two BLACK lesbians, getting it on in a 69!
Wes: ... How's that "ground breaking"?
Rex: They're wearing red, white, and blue bras!
Wes: ... Amazing.
Rex: I know!!! Woohoo!
Jack: Yes, Reeve, you WILL get a shot at this WSE belt... that is, IF you can make it through 39 other men, in the 40 man Royal Royal!!!
Wes: I knew there had to be a catch.
Rex: ...
Wes: No "witty" remarks?
Rex: SHHH! I'm mesmerized by this photo of Obama's wife!
Wes: *takes a look at the picture* Rex... That photo's OBVIOUSLY been photoshopped...
Rex: What would give you such an absurd idea?!
Wes: Well, maybe the fact that it's Michelle Obama's face... on a WHITE woman's body!
Rex: ... Maybe she's related to Michael Jackson?
Wes: Ugh...
Jack: And Reeve? Just so you know? You're going to be entry number ONE! Let's see how you do against an endless barrage of 39 of the most feared, most DOMINANT men in the entire world of professional, amateur, fake-ass e-sports entertainment WRASSLIN'!!!
Wes: I cannot believe this! Jack Hoff is an evil sunnuvabitch!!!
Rex: And that's why I love the guy!
Wes: Still trying to earn that holiday bonus, eh?
Rex: I'll do ANYTHING...
Jack: And without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, welcome... to the Royal Royal match of 2009! Reeve... get your ass down here!
["Back in Black", by ACDC, Reeve's theme, begins to play, and - ]
Speakers: BOING BOING!!!
[Suddenly, the music is interrupted by the sound of a voice, screaming the words... well, you just read them, so there ya go. The jars of jam leap to their feet, raising their cheering voices, as... oh, wait, that's right. They don't HAVE any voices. OR any feet. Because they're FRICKIN' JAM JARS!!! This shit just keeps getting more and more ridiculous. And trust me, that's a very difficult accomplishment...]
Wes: Is it... IT IS! It's him!
Rex: Him who?
Wes: He just came through the curtains!
Rex: I see him... and I still have no friggin' clue who this guy is.
Wes: It's Cactus ManLove!
Rex: ... Looks like a homeless bum to me. Wait... ManLove? His last name's ACTUALLY ManLove? ... That's just too funny!
Wes: Rex, this man is a hardcore LEGEND!
Rex: What? In gay porn?
Wes: NO! In extreme wrestling! He's an ICON!
Rex: Then why have I never heard of him?
Wes: Well... because... uh...
Rex: Maybe because he was JUST invented?
Wes: ... Er, uh, heheh... uhm... And Cactus steps into the ring!
Rex: Nice save... not.
Wes: He's got a microphone! Let's see what he's got to say!
Cactus: BUUURP! *scratches ass*
Rex: ...
Wes: Stirring words!
Cactus: 'Scuse me. Uh oh, think I got a boogie in my nose. *picks nose, pulls out a booger, then eats it*
Rex: ... You're SURE this guy is an "icon"?
Wes: Cactus is God! Or atleast Good.
Rex: GOOD GOD!
Wes: Yeah, one of those two.
Rex: No, I mean... the guy just pulled a JOCKSTRAP out of his pants!
Wes: HELLELUJAH! It's Mr. Jocko! Saints be praised!
Rex: Mr. Jocko? ... I think Royal Royal '09 has officially topped Royal Royal '08 on the Retard-O-Meter.
[Cactus pulls the jockstrap over his right hand, before lifting it high into the air. A "face" has been scrawled onto the jock with a marker, and is displayed... uh... proudly.]
Cactus: Now that I've sufficiently lowered the standards of this event by another 20 degrees... JACK HOFF!
Jack: CACTUS MANLOVE!
Cactus: ... Jack, I just got off of the computer in the back. And I finished placing the winning bid on eBay-W-mania.
Jack: What the hell's that?
Cactus: It's an exclusive eWrestling Auction Site. A site where there's auctions for eWrestling.
Wes: See, Cactus is smart! What an astounding description!
Rex: Yeah, you'd think he was a bestselling author or something.
Wes: He is! ... Well, atleast, he's an author. He wrote a pamphlet on how to fall off houses into mattresses, how to fall off stages into dumpsters, how to fall into thumbtacks, and most importantly, how to fall off cages through tables.
Rex: Riveting. I'm sure he won an award for that stunning piece of literature...
Wes: In fact, he did! He was the first winner of the Professional Amateur Fake-Ass E-Sports Entertainment Wrasslin' Commitee's "Wam, Bam, Thank Ya Mam Award of Much Insignificance".
Rex: Do the wrestling fans vote for those? Or a collection of wrestlers? Maybe the Commitee itself?
Wes: None of the above. Much like WSE's Annual "DAMN!-mmy" awards, the voting proccess is simple. There is none.
Rex: ...
Wes: The awards are given to three types of people. People that kiss ass, people whose asses are being kissed, and of course, people who are in the middle of important storylines and feuds.
Rex: So in other words... the awards really don't mean shit.
Wes: Pretty much.
Cactus: So, like I was saying, I placed the winning bid on eBay-W-Mania.
Jack: On what? Hopefully a new wardrobe, because the clothes you're wearing now practically make me look like a fashion guru...
Cactus: Nope. As of now, I hold 1/10th of a percent ownership of WSE!
Jack: 1/10th of a percent? Cactus, that's barely ANYTHING!
Cactus: You see Jack, that's where you're wrong. It IS anything! Atleast... as long as you mean anything to do with being a figure head whose sole responsibility is to "make matches" on a weekly televised program, and the occasional pay-per-view! Matches that have, in fact, actually already been booked by an incredibly irresponsible writer who doesn't know the first thing about wrestling! Matches that would make Vinnie... Ru OR Mac... blush!!!
Jack: But Cactus... this makes no sense!
Rex: He just now noticed something in this company doesn't make sense? ... Terrifying.
Cactus: Jack, it may not make sense... but it makes PERFECT non-sense! And in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in, that's all that matters! And as my first act as co-owner... I'm hereby dissallowing any of the people in charge of this company from actively competing! Jack... I've already pulled myself from competition... Now? You have two choices. You can either sell your 99.9 & 9/10s of the company to me now, so you can try and hold onto your precious gold strap in the main event Triple Cage Match... Or, you can vacate the belt now, and vow to never compete in the ring again. It's up to you, but I'd make your decision quick... because there's an ad coming up.
Rex: We're STILL running commercials during ppv's? You'd think we'd have done something about that before the new year...
Jack: DAMMIT! The belt... or being the boss... You BASTARD! You love to watch me suffer, don't you?!
Cactus: Honestly? Yes. Believe me, I've always fumed over the fact that your sweat pants, flip-flops, and beer stained shirt are more fashionable than anything in my entire closet...
Jack: Well... ok. You want me to give up my belt? I may hate it, I may despise it, I may do a lot of other things that mean the exact same thing... but the truth is, I will NEVER... EEEEEEEEEEVER... let go of my ownership of this company. A tenth of a percent I can handle, but not all 100%!!! So... the Royal Royal will now be to crown the next WSE Champion! That is... as long as I can choose all 40 men in the match. I'm not going to let just ANYONE fight for MY title!
Cactus: Fine! But no matter what, Reeve MUST be in the match. You know as well as I that he will stop at nothing to get to that belt... even if it means putting every last man on the roster in the hospital. And with me now holding a stake in this company, I just can't let that happen!
Jack: Deal. But as I said before, he's in the match as soon as the bell rings! And trust me... I've got someone special for him to face first!
Wes: There you have it folks, forty men, all dueling it out to crown the next World Sports Entertainment Champ! And it'll be taking place, right after these -
Rex: Wait! I've just received word that Mike Stand is in the parking lot, and the SUPER DUPER SURPRISE MYSTERY MAN~!!1 may very well be back there, waiting to reveal himself!
Wes: Ok, Mike, take it away.
[We head to the parking lot, where Mike Stand is... scratching his balls.]
Mike: Ahh, that's the spot.
[Uhm... Mike? Camera's on.]
Mike: ... *quickly stops scratching and speaks into the microphone* HELLO FOLKS! Errr... Yeah, uhm, actually, I thought the guy was here, but turns out... it was just WSE Asian StupidStar, Jippy Jam the Japanese Jughead. Heheh... sorry.
[...]
- ads -
[We return to the parking lot, where Mike Stand is... now using his microphone to scratch his balls.]
Mike: God DAMN, that feels good! Man, do I have crabs, or what?
[... Well, we'll just check up on him... later.]
[We return to the ring, where people AREN'T scratching their nuts, but where Jack Hoff IS sitting at the commentary desk, and Reeve Gordon is standing in the ring, staring over at the boss with a look of pure hate.]
Reeve: Actually, I always look like this. I'm EVIL!
[But... you're a face.]
Reeve: So?
[... "I'm Proud To Be An American" by Lee Greenwood hits on the speakers, and the lights flare three hues of red, white, and blue. The Not-The-TitanTron fills the image of a waving American Flag, while the muscle behind Chairman Hoff stomps through the curtains and down to the ring... Redd W. Bloo steps onto the apron, through the ropes, and immediately, begins to lay the fists into Reeve.]
Wes: Redd is taking to Reeve from the very minute the bell sounds! But Reeve is beginning to fight back. The American patriot and the God of Goth both struggle to get the upperhand in this epic battle!
Rex: Talk about your clashes of style! The red, white and blue, American through and through, old school wrestling champion, vs the painted up, black lipstick-wearing, dark and brooding emo with chains on his pants, and finger polish on his nails! These guys are night and day, black and white, up and down, left and right!
Wes: And Redd W. Bloo has been eliminated!
Rex: ... Fuck. We do all that work to build this crap up, and then it takes less than a minute for it to be over. If this match is over in five minutes, we might as well hire Brian Gerwitz and assign him as head booker!
Wes: Reeve is waving for the next participant of the Royal Royal to come and get some. The buzzer is about to sound... Ten... Nine... Eight... Seven...
Rex: Aw, get it over with already!
Wes: SixFiveFourThreeTwoONE!
[...]
Speakers: SWEAT PANTS! That's what I got!
Wes: OHMYGOOODDD!!!
Rex: Scream in my other ear why dont'cha?!
Wes: Ok.
[Wes moves his seat onto Rex's other side, and then - ]
Wes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rex: OH MY FUCKING CHRIST!!!
Wes: Sports Fans, it's Chairman Jack Hoff, the man in charge! He MUST be the third entrant in the Royal Royal!
Rex: Or, he could just be out to say something to Reeve.
Wes: No chance. No chance in hell.
Rex: Well, that's what it says here in the script.
Wes: We seriously need to get rid of those things...
Rex: Then what would we say? We're NOTHING without pre-formatted words shoved in our faces, do ya hear me?! NOTHING!!!
[Jack gets into the ring, with a microphone in his hand, and begins to speak, as Reeve gives the big boss man a dirty look.]
Big Boss Man: Isn't it bad enough that I'm DEAD?! Now people have to give me dirty looks while I'm rotting away in my grave?!
[Well, you did drag the Big Show's father around in a casket. And you made Al Snow eat his dog. Maybe you deserve it?]
Big Boss Man: ... Nahhh. ;^)
Jack Hoff: Reeve... I really hoped Redd W. Bloo would manage to take care of you. He let me down... He let his COUNTRY down... so that's why I've decided to release him as my bodyguard. BUT... Fret not, dear Mr. Gordon. For I have good news for you.
Reeve: You saved money by switching to Geico?
Jack: NO! ... Although that IS a good idea. Thanks for the tip.
Reeve: No problemo.
Jack: I'll have to write that down... sounds so easy, even a cavemen could do it!
Caveman: BOOOO!!! Man, I can't get people to shut up about that crap no matter WHERE I go!
Jack: ... Anyway! I do have good news though. I have decided to change the rules of this match... just a tiny bit.
Reeve: Great, just what we needed. Another bait and switch...
Jack: Do you see any worms on hooks? Do you see any... uh... flippy things that turn on lights?!
Reeve: ... No? ... Should I? My eyesight's been acting up lately...
Jack: The bottom line is this! You are now going to face 38 other men... in a GAUNTLET MATCH! And Reeve? You have exactly 20 minutes to defeat all 38 men, or you'll not only have lost your chance at the Big Brass Belt... but BUCKO... Your ass? Will be SUSSSSSPPPPEEEENNNNDDDDEEEEDDDD... IIIIIIINNNDDDDDEEEEFFFFIIIIINNNNNIIIIIITTTTTTEEEEEELLLLYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~~~~!!!~!~!~!!!!~~~~!!!~!~!~!~!!!!11111!!!...
Reeve: Well -
Jack: - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~!!!!!!11111... ... ... ... ... ... ... !
Reeve: ... But -
Jack: And now I do commentary!
[Suddenly Jack is at the commentary desk.]
Jack: Heya fellas.
Rex: You walk fast for a fat dump ah lard, eh fat ass?
Wes: Heheh.
Jack: YOU'RE FIRED!
Rex: ... WHO WROTE THAT ON MY SCRIPT?!?!?!?!?!?
Wes: Ahh, you're right Rexxy boy. What WOULD we do without scripts? Heehee. :^P
Rex: YOU SORRY ASS MOTHER FUCKER!!!
Jack: Alright, alright, settle down boys. Especially since you two, along with Rat Bore and Mike Stand, are all Reeve's first Gauntlet opponents.
Wes and Rex at the same time: WHAT?!
[Suddenly, Wes, Rex, Mike and Rat are all in the ring.]
Jack: Narrator.
[Yeah?]
Jack: QUIT SLACKING! I don't pay you the kinda money I do just for you to cut corners!
[... Jack. You DON'T pay me. What else is a disembodied voice supposed to do with his life other than narrate crappy e-wrestling shows?]
Jack: ... Good point.
[Inside the ring, all four staff members are huddled in a corner, deciding who's going to go up against Reeve first.]
Jack: You morons! Don't go all stupid ninja style after him!!! Take him on all at once! Jeez, these guys expect me to do everything for them...
[And so, all four staff members fly at Reeve at the same time... before all four staff members fly over the top rope, you guessed it, at the same time.]
Jack: How on MY green earth did that S.o.B. manage to toss FOUR men over the top rope at the SAME time?! Narrator, are you cutting corners again?!
[Hey, if we don't hurry this shit up, and I don't get this posted as soon possible, Antione might do something crazy. Like get drunk, lick a girl's asshole, and get caught by the cops. Rick's already been up and down that lonely road of faith...]
Jack: ... Who in the fuck are these Antione and Rick goons? ... And what's wrong with licking a girl's asshole? ... Not that I've ever done anything like that. ...
[Wes, Rex, Mike and Rat are all carried away on stretchers, as Jack yells at Reeve.]
Jack: REEVE! You think you're such a tough guy, eliminating four scrawny announcers like that?! WELL! We're about to find out just how tough you are! Let's bring out the thirty!
Reeve: The thirty what?
Jack: THE THIRTY THIEVES!
[Suddenly - ]
Speakers: Arraaabian niiiiights, like aaaraaabiiiaaannn daaayyysss, more often than NOT, are hotter than HOT, in a lot of good waaays!!!
Jack: Ladies and gentle jam jars... THE THIRTY THIEVES!!!
["Arabian Nights" from the Aladdin Soundtrack continues to play, as two cloaked men walk out and part the curtains... before the sounds of hooves can be heard. A few moments pass... and finally, thirty men ride out, cloaked in turbans and sashes, and sitting atop their thirty camels!]
Reeve: Oh you have GOT to be kidding me...
Jack: Just call me Ali-Baba! Thirty Thieves... TOSS THE BASTARD!!!
[All thirty men leap from their camels, and rush into the ring, going after Reeve one after the other. Reeve drops a few with clotheslines, knocks a few others off balance with dropkicks, and slams a couple with his finisher named "The Finisher". Which is VERY original, mind you. If you're retarded.]
Jack: Dammit! You stupid fucks! You're supposed to be warriors from the desert! You're supposed to be an ARMY! You're dropping like flies at the hands of an EMO!!! You have GOT to be better than that!
[Reeve lines up all thirty men in a row, and rears back... before hitting his patented "Shot in the Dark" superkick! The superkick connects, sending all thirty men backward like dominoes, before they SUDDENLY all... uh... topple over the top rope!]
Jack: Dammit Narrator, quit making up shit as you go along!
[Hey, it's worked for me for the past ten years. Why stop now? And besides, these guys were destined to job anyhow, so what's the difference between having them job after a five minute "war" or having them be slaughtered in the most inane way possible?]
Jack: Got me there... REEVE! I am NOT going to allow you to walk out of MY ring with MY belt! You leave me with no choice... I wanted to wait till the debut of SmackRaw in Top Rope Definition [or TuRD... where the 'u' came from, I'll never know]... but seeing as how they are greatly needed, it is my honor, and a privilege, to introduce the WORLD... to the greatest assemblage of rip-offs of four World Champions EVER!
The Anti-Christ StupidStar, AntiChrist Cage!!!
Wrestling's ONLY Olympic Table Tennis Gold Champion, Wright Angle!!
The King of Jamaican Impersonators Who Have Trouble Staying In Dialect When They Get Pissed Off... KING SUCKA!
And of course... the Man They Called... STUNG!!!~1
Jack: These four men are collectively rip-offs of four men who are collectively the greatest collection of collected World Champions in a collection of collectively collected collections! But together, THESE men... are known as...
The Glass Ceiling.
Jack: And beginning tonight... WSE is changing... FOREVER.
Speakers: We are the best. The greatest. The supreme of the supreme. Worship us. Bow at our feets. And all that other jazz. Welcome... to the top floor. You're goin' down.
["Epic" by Faith No More hits, and four men, all wearing suits, ties, and sunglasses. Of course, the suits are... well, let's just say they're less than designer brand. And the sunglasses are those crummy plastic ones. But hey, it's called a LOOK!]
Jack: Yes siree, my men! The one with the short, blonde hair is Cage, the one with no hair is Angle, the one with black hair because he's black is Suckaaaaaaa! ... And the one with long, grey hair because he's old is Stung.
[Stung is old.]
Jack: Yup. And here comes Cage! And there goes Cage. And here comes Sucka! And there goes Sucka. DAMMIT! You guys are supposed to be the CREAM OF THE CROP! I hand picked you guys to battle those who oppose me, and now you're being destroyed as easily as those Thirty Thieves clowns! Cage and Sucka have already been eliminated, and that means I only have two men left at my disposal! DON'T YOU DARE FAIL ME!!!
[Or what?]
Jack: Or... Or I'll send all four of 'em to bed without supper!!!
[Oooo, I'm sure they're shakin' in their wrestling boots. :^P]
Jack: Right. Wright!
Wright: Are you talking to me, boss? Or did you just say "right" two times?
Jack: I said "right" one time. The second time was "Wright".
Wright: ... Huh?
Jack: ... GET IN THE FUCKING RING!
[Wright quickly slides into the ring, but as soon as he does, Reeve begins to rain down stomps onto the Olympian's back. Reeve backs up a few steps, before rushing forth, leaping into the air, and...]
Jack: Wright's up! And Wright picks the ankle out of mid-air! Reeve crashes to the canvas with a loud thud, and my boy Angle is synching in the 90 Degree Lock!
[The 90 Degree Lock?]
Jack: Named for the fact that it bends the leg at the knee, in a 90 Degree Angle... Also known as a Right Angle!]
[How clever... basically, it's an ankle lock, right?]
Jack: Well... yeah. But 90 Degree Lock sounds SOOO much cooler!
[... Sure.]
Jack: Wright Angle drags Reeve to the center of the ring... Wait a minute. Aw hell, WRIGHT! You can't beat him with a submission hold!
Wright: ... I can't?
Reeve: No, you can't ya big doofus!
Wright: Hey, you're supposed to be selling this move! ... I mean... ARRGGH! I'm pissed now!
[Wright lifts Reeve up, irish whips him, but before releasing, he pulls Reeve back in and snaps off a wicked belly to belly suplex! Reeve flies over the top rope... but the God of Goth lands on his feet, upon the apron.]
Jack: Clothesline him, Wright! Dropkick him! Do SOMETHING!
[Wright begins doing a hula dance.]
Jack: NOT THAT SOMETHING!!!
[Wright reaches toward Reeve... grabs him... and tries to shove him off the ring apron... But somehow, Reeve manages to extend a leg, and strike the Olympic Bronze Medalist with a well placed kick!]
Jack: Wright's stumbling... USE THE FORCE, WRIGHT!
Wright: The force?
Jack: ... Use THIS!
[Jack reaches under the desk, before lifting out a broom handle, and tossing it to Wright Angle. Wright snatches the broom stick out of the air, and turns around to use it... But instead, the Olympic Champ is superkicked over the top rope by the Goth God, who has made it back inside! Wright rolls across the outside mat, as Reeve stands on the middle rope nearest Wright, mocking the fallen Angle.]
Reeve: Neener neener neener! Yer momma wears combat boots!
Jack: SHIT! This can't be happening! This can't be true! This can't be real!
Reeve: It's both true AND real! It's DAMN both true AND real!
Jack: This... this... this is -
*WAMMO!*
Jack: THIS IS INCREDIBLE!
[Indeed it is, for as Reeve was busy making fun of Wright for his mother being adorned in army footwear, The Man They Called... Stung, rushed into the ring from behind Reeve Gordon, and quickly broke a black baseball bat over his back, sending the Gothic God of Godly Gothicocitude over the top rope, and slapping down upon the outside. ... Which means - ! ]
Jack: *rushing to the ring with a microphone* YOUR WINNER... and NEW World Sports Entertainment Heavyweight Champion of... uh... the WORLD... The Man They Called... STUNG!!!~1
["Epic" plays once again, and Jack makes it into the ring, WSE Title held firmly in his grasp. Wright, Sucka, and Cage all get into the ring from the other side. Jack proudly hands his most prized possesion over to the "legend", Stung. Stung lifts the title high into the air, as if he won it. Which... well, he did, but he's lifting it up all high and mighty. Like he EARNED it. And we just ain't gonna cotton tah none ah that now.]
Jack: You know... Ever since that sorry bastard Reeve nearly put me in the hospital, I've began rethinking the position I've held since the beginning of this company. No, not the ownership position. The CHAMPIONSHIP position. I've been the WSE Champ, previously the UnFed Champ, since I founded this federation. But with all of the work that being the boss entails... and the fact that I keep getting my ass kicked... I decided weeks ago that I HAD to find a successor. And with Cactus ManLove forcing me to choose between the belt and being the boss... really, it just gave me the opportunity to unleash that successor at the very first pay-per-view event of the new year! And Stung. Pal. You're the only man in this entire company, besides our three friends Cage, Angle, and the King, that knows the true meaning of Sports Entertainment. The only man that believes in the values of mediocre talent, shoddy soap opera storylines, and lackluster matches. And you are the ONLY man that's old enough... er, well, "experienced" enough, to truly know how to keep down the young, up and coming talent. You've had countless, and I do mean COUNTLESS years experience of not laying down... not selling shots... and basically... well, you're unbeatable. You're like the bastard son of a three way between Triple H, the Undertaker, and Hulk Hogan! In short... you're my dream come true! So Stung, you are the only man I can truly rely upon to lead my company into the new year.
Jack: For you, Stung, lay down for no man. Not even GOD himself! ... Well, the other God. That lesser God. Named God. Or is it Mick Foley...
[Stung, Wright, Cage, and King Sucka try to raise Jack onto their shoulders, but even their combined four shoulders cannot sustain the weight of Chairman Hoff. As he's a fat ass. So, they all five decide to raise their arms into the air instead, as the show heads into another commercial. On a ppv.]
[Happy New Year? More like CRAPPY, heheh... New... uh... Year. ... Nevermind.]
- ad :
[The camera opens to a table, with two plates. One holding a generic fast food burger. The other? A heaping helping of seal meat.]
(A white, blonde, blue-eyed, suit and tie wearing man is sitting at the table, with a look of disgust on his face.)
Man: Uh... what in the hell is on this one plate?
[This man is from San Diego, California.]
[He is a Seal Meat King virgin.]
Man: I was told I'd be trying out burgers? ... This REALLY doesn't look like a burger...
Director: JUST EAT IT!
Man: But it smells like shit... Is it shit?
Director: No! ... Look, I'll give you a Whopper if you eat it, ok?
Man: Eww... how about a Big Mac?
Director: Deal! Just eat the fuckin' - uh... meat.
Man: What KIND of meat?
Director: Do you want me to do nasty, nasty things to your pet gerbil?
Man: NOT POOR MR. SQUEAKY! Alright, I'll eat this garbage...
[The man eats the seal meat... and proceeds to barf. He then eats the burger to try and cleanse the taste of seal meat.]
Man: Mmmm... nyum, nyum, nyum... now THIS is good... Better than whatever that other crap was... By the way, what kind of burger is this?
Director: Oh, that's our new special! The McBaboon Ass With Cheese!
Man: ...
*BARF*
[Seal Meat King : I'm Clubbin' It.]
: end ad -
[We return to the Middle of Nowhere, backstage in one of the lockerrooms. Mike Stand is standing... mic in hand... Thankfully he's no longer scratching his balls with it. Instead, he's holding it to his mouth. God, I hope that thing's been cleaned...]
Mike: Hi there fans! It's Mike Stand here, in the backstage lockerroom of the StupidStars of this fine promotion! hYpo's here, Team 2D's here, and I have Joe-Kishi-Maga with me as we speak! BUT... before we get to this pressing interview, I just want to make sure you're all dialing that crucial text number RIGHT now, to our brand spankin' new Buht Raype Media Service! They'll not only give you hints as to who the SUPER SECRET MYSTERY MAN!!!~1 is that WILL arrive later tonight, but in addition, they will provide to the first lucky five callers... or possibly three, I dunno, you'll have to find out your own damn self. But they WILL provide SOMEONE, the first few someones that test out the brand new WSE Experience (tm), with free... T-Shirts! That's right! Free Jack Hoff T-Shirts! With our Chairman's face, as well as the word "Rutabaga" underneath. Because the word "Rutabaga" is funny. ... To somebody, I'm sure. It also comes in five other words! All with Mr. Hoff's face presented proudly. Those words include, but are limited to ;
"Porcupine"
"Trinidad"
"Jalepeno"
"Antidisestablishmentarianism"
"Rutabagas"
Mike: Note that Rutabaga with the additional "s" costs extra. Because Rutabagas are even more funny when they come in plural form.
Joe-Kishi-Maga: Are you FINALLY... going to shut up about the damn WCW Hotline rip-off, and get to interviewing THE JOE-KISHI-MAGA?!
hYpo: Seriously. You do know that TNA ripped the Hotline off first, right?
Brother Mario: I thought ECW ripped it off first?
Brother Luigi: I thought WCW ripped off ECW?
All: ...
Cactus: BOING BOING!
Mike: Oh, and I forgot, Cactus is here too.
Cactus: Nice save there, JB.
Mike: Who?
Cactus: Jeremy Bor- ... Oh, fuck, sorry. Nevermind...
Mike: ... Cactus, what are you going to do now that Jack Hoff has swerved the Royal Royal into Stung walking away with the WSE Title? Now, Mr. Hoff is leading Stung, along with Anti-Christ Cage, King Sucka, and Wright Angle, into the new year as a collective force... known collectively as "The Glass Ceiling". Cactus, what do you plan to do now?
Cactus: What do I plan on doing about it, MS?
Mike: No, what do you plan on doing about the threat of the Glass Ceiling, not what do you plan on doing about Multiple Sclerosis.
Cactus: ... Huh?
Mike: Fuck it... stupid joke. Uhm, so, yeah, what are you going to do now?
Cactus: What am I going to do now? Mike... I'm going to do the only thing I CAN do! ... I'M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD LAND!!!
Mike: ... Where?
Cactus: Actually Mike, I, Team 2D, hYpo, and Joe-Kishi-Maga, have all formed a resistence against this scourge... this... "Glass Ceiling". People have heard of "The New Breed". People have heard of "The New Blood". Well now? It's time... Time for a New Breed of Blood... it's time... For The New Bleed!
Mike: Er... Cactus? I hate to burst your bubble... But don't you think that sounds kinda... dumb?
Cactus: Ok... We'll call it the Front of the Line! Because, just like in the grocery store, it's time for those slow-moving, slow-walking, slow-paced GEEZERS to get in the BACK of the line!
Mike: Well... truthfully, that sounds even MORE dumb. If that's even possible... and really, it doesn't even make that much sense. Seriously, you can't think up anything better than THAT?
Cactus: FINE! WSE Originals maybe?
Mike: That still doesn't work! I mean, really, no one knows who ANY of the guys in WSE are. No one knows a King Sucka from a Jippy Jam the Japanese Jughead or a Big Poppa Dump from a Goo the Adventurer! So really... all of them are about as original as the next.
Cactus: DAMMIT! Aw screw it, let's just name 'em "Those Guys" and call it a day.
Mike: Well, "Those Guys", do you have anything to say about your war with the Glass Ceiling?
Joe-Kishi-Maga: IF YA SMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE -
Mike: Wait a minute folks! I've just received word that the limo has pulled into the parking garage, and the SUPER SECRET MYSTERY MAN!!!~1 is HERE! Let me forget all about these jobbers now and go catch up with someone that matters!
Those Guys: HEY!!!
[Mike Stand runs out of the lockerroom (perhaps to get away from the angry 'Those Guys' just as much as he does to meet with the mystery man). He heads toward the garage, where he finds a limousine parked. The front door opens, and the driver steps out... The driver walks toward the back door, before opening it... and the camera instantly drops to ground level. We see one foot step out... clad in a giant yellow shoe...]
Mike (from off-screen) : OH MY GOD! It... IT CAN'T BE!
[The rest of the person... or whatever it is... steps out, and the camera follows up from the yellow shoes... to a pair of red shorts... to a body covered in black felt... and finally, we find a head with big, round ears.]
Mike: It's you! It's really, really you!
"The Rated G StupidStar" Nicky Mowse: Hey there, hi there, ho there everybody! Itttttssss ME, Nicky Mowse, Rated G for General Audiences! Kid tested, parent approved, THAT'S ME!
Mike: I can't believe you're finally here in WSE! It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Mowse!
Nicky: Hey kiddo, it's great to meet an adoring fan! Kids, do your homework, stay in school, BUY WSE PRODUCTS, drink your milk, eat your vegetables, BUY DISNEY PRODUCTS, and make sure to follow the rules! And don't give in to peer BUY WSE & DISNEY PRODUCTS pressure!
Mike: ... Uhm... OK! Well folks, this has been Mike Stand, greeting the arrival of WSE's newest StupidStar, Nicky Mowse! This is Mike Stand, WSE's roving interviewer, reporting, as always, from the Middle of Nowhere! Back to you Wes and Rex!
Wes: I'm glad to see Nicky Mowse make his debut here.
Rex: I dunno... there's something I don't like about the guy. Something... subliminal. ... By the way, could you buy something off of WSEShop.com for me?
Wes: Why?
Rex: I really don't know... just suddenly had this urge to buy WSE products... and the entire series collections of Hannah Montana, Zack&Cody, and Wizards of Waverly Place...
Wes: Well sports fans, the Glass Ceiling is still celebrating inside the ring, with Stung clutching the WSE Championship Gold Belt Strap Title of the World and Also of Sports Entertainment, while Jack Hoff stands in the center of his four cornerstones of this new era in the federation. And with that, I have to tell you folks... I'm a bit dissapointed in Royal Royal '09. ... Goodnight everyone!
Rex: Wait, you're gonna leave 'em with that? You're just gonna say that you thought the show they all just bought AND watched sucked... and then leave 'em with that? ... You might not be so bad after all. ;^)
Wes: Well, it's just... there needs to be more action! There's needs to be more excitement! There needs to be more thrills, chills, and spills!
Lil Jon: And grills?
Wes: No.
Lil Jon: WHAAAAAT!
Wes: I said NO!
Lil Jon: OKAAAAAAY!
Rex: Well, I for one think that the action that WAS there more than made up for the fact that there wasn't that MUCH. Quality over quantity, dude.
Wes: You really mean that?
Rex: Fuck no.
Wes: ...
Speakers: BOING BOING!
Rex: Oh dear lord no! Not this fool again!
Wes: Cactus ManLove is coming back to the ring, and he's got a microphone! And standing tall behind him is the group now known as "Those Guys".
Rex: I already called them "Those Guys". Mainly due to the fact that I have no fuckin' clue what their names are.
Cactus: JACK HOFF!!!
Jack: CACTUS MANLOVE!
Cactus: Will you please stop copying my schtick?!
Jack: Well, you're copying someone ELSE, you know...
Cactus: *sigh* Of course. Anyway, I'm out here to let you know, that right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere! [cheap pop], I'm announcing that right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere!! [cheap pop x2], we're going to have the very first EVER... Royal Survivor Rumble Series!!!... right now, right here in the Middle of Nowhere~!!!~1 [cheap pop x3] A five vs five, elimination tag team match! The Glass Ceiling vs Those Guys! And the teams will be led... by you... and ME!
Jack: Hold your horses, buddy boy! We can't lead our teams! We both signed a contract... or, er, well, atleast we commited to a spoken agreement... which is, like, ALMOST the same thing... And we agreed that neither of us would compete in the ring as long as we held part of the company! We can't back out of that! We said a promise! With words! ... Those mean something! ... Dog nabbit!
Cactus: Jackie, Jackie, JACKIE! Wrestlers have SAID they were retiring from active competition for DECADES. But did they ever keep THEIR word? NO! So why buck tradition?
Jack: Well...
Cactus: Besides, I'm 1/10th Owner, and I've got a say around here! And I get to make matches! As long as they've actually already been made and I'm only ACTING as if "I'm" making them, on-air. And in this match that's already been made, the winning team's leader will be able to make the main event for WrestleNymphoMania, WSE's biggest spectacle of the year! And Jack... just so you know? I already know the match I'm going to make... when MY team wins! It's going to be ME... vs YOU, for the entire ownership of WSE!!!
Jack: Cactus... I'm sorry. But there's one match that HAS already been made for WrestleNymphoMania. It was a match that was made before you even THOUGHT about winning your part of this promotion on eBay! That match is the main event. A main event... between the World Champ, who now just so happens to be Stung... vs a returning WSE General Manager... A. STICK!!!
[Oh brother... For those just now following WSE, A. Stick was one of the General Managers back when WSE (then, the UnFed) had seven weekly programs. That lasted for about... a week. I'm sure someone was watching back then... There's gotta be SOMEONE out there that follows this junk... oh, who am I kidding.]
Jack: While you and your bunch of REJECTS... well, I'm sure you'll all have fun mopping the floors of the arena! And if you want something else to do, Cactus? I suggest you put a REAL wrestling uniform on, because you'll have your hands full facing Anti-Christ Cage... King Sucka... AND Wright Angle, in a Three on One, Handicap, Triple Cage Match!!!
Cactus: YOU... YOU...
Jack: You! Choke on that! Slap Nuts! Oh... and Have a Nice Day! :^D
[Jack smiles a satanic smirk, as his men gloat behind him, taunting the Extreme Icon and the rest of "Those Guys".]
Wes: The epic war HAS begun! The Glass Ceiling vs Those Guys, and it looks as though The Glass Ceiling has fired the first volley!
Rex: If this feud is anything like the one in TNA we're ripping off, expect about twenty more "volleys" to be fired by the Ceiling. Then maybe, just maybe, Those Guys will get in a shot. Possibly even two!
Wes: Well sports fans, that does it for this shitbomb of a pay-per-view. Maybe this isn't a sign of things to come... Maybe... just maybe... WSE can turn things around and, well, you know... actually entertain a fan or two into showing up at the actual arena.
Rex: Even paying fans to show up didn't work. Now we're stuck with jars of jelly filling the seats from front row to balcony.
Wes: Yup...
Rex: ... 2009's gonna suck a suckload of suck... ain't it, Wes?
Wes: ... Yup.
Both: ...
Rex: I'm gonna go grab the January issue of Hustler. I hear they have a tribute to Barrack, just like Penthouse.
Wes: What's on the centerfold?
Rex: A black midget getting ass fucked by a black chick in a black dominatrix outfit with a black dildo, holding a black whip, inside a black lit room.
Wes: ...
Rex: Wanna go with? I'll let you buy an issue of 'Penthouse Kids'.
Wes: ... Sure, why the hell not. Sports fans, for Rex Winters, this is Wes Rivers saying... Fuck it, I GOTTA see what's in 'Penthouse Kids'!
Rex: Trust me. It's illegal in 49 states. It's good shit.
Wes: Peace out, bitches.
- ads -
