WWE New Year's Eve 2004 Party (a satire)

[Corkscrewed]

Okay, so I figure I haven't done any humorous pieces of writing for a while, not since the STUPID NOOB thread late last year. So I figured I'd so a nice little parody, reminiscent of some of the great TPWW articles featuring WWE characters.

This is, admittedly, quite long, but I feel it's the best parody I've ever written, and if you agree, feel free to positive rep me. :D In any case, it's my sort of New Years (or belated Christmas) present to all of you, and I hope you enjoy it. You may recognize a lot of the humor style from Family Guy, which I've been heavily addicted to, and there's a lot of random humor.

And since it's long, I've divided it into four parts, which will come in incriments after this one as I copy and paste from Word onto here and then add the italicize tags, etc...

Anyway, enjoy the...


WWE New Year's Eve 2004 Party

Feeling rather jovial despite some of the downs of the year, Vince McMahon has decided to host a New Year’s Eve party for all of his employees, gathering everyone to count down to the new year while also celebrating some of the highs of the past twelve months. The party takes place in a ritzy hotel ballroom, where Vince and his favorite son Triple H are standing at the entrance welcoming people as they come in. Quite a few wrestlers have already arrived, but others are entering as we join the scene.

TRIPLE H: "Great party, dad! Everything's looking great!"

VINCE: (smiling and doing his trademark swagger) "Yup! I made Shane pay for everything, so it's not like it’s coming out of my checkbook! Hahahahaha!"

The two share a round of laughter before a new arrival greets them. It's wrestling legend 16-time World Champion Ric Flair.

VINCE: (nudging Triple H and whispering) "Hey, your personal suck-up is here."

TRIPLE H: (grinning) "Hey, Ric! My good friend, how are you doing?"

FLAIR: "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I'm stylin' and profilin' boy! The Space Mountain is HERE, and it's time to PARTY!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You got girls and drinks! Just what the NATURE BOY loves!! Now where's the booze?"

TRIPLE H: "They're over by the corner, bud. Knock yourself out!"

FLAIR: “Diggity diggity diggity! Allll right!”

Flair strolls over drunkenly to the punch bowl. Meanwhile, next to show up is none other than Randy Orton, the youngest World Champion ever.

ORTON: (noticeably cold in its address) “Hunter.”

TRIPLE H: (similarly emotionless) “Randy.”

ORTON: “Good to see you well.”

TRIPLE H: “The same to you young Orton.”

ORTON: “I’ll be grabbing a bite.”

TRIPLE H: “Don’t let me stop you.”

Orton saunters away while HHH rolls his eyes and whispers under his breath.

TRIPLE H: “Just wait till you get the Buried Midcarder Treatment next year.”

Hunter’s expression cheers up, however, when he sees his good friend and protégé, Dave Batista, entering.

TRIPLE H: “Dave! How good to see you! Did you get my message?”

DAVE: (looking rather uncomfortable and nervous) “Hey Trips. Um, yeah. I got the message.”

TRIPLE H: “So you brought everything?”

DAVE: (sighing) “Yeah… the black leather whip, cucumber, handcuffs, two jars of petroleum jelly, candles, matches, and Shaniqua’s old wrestling costume.”

TRIPLE H: “Brilliant! I expect to see you later tonight. Room 913. Oh, and bring champagne. Kisses!!”

DAVE: (looking pale but trying to maintain a false sense of enthusiasm) “I’ll be there!” (then under his breath) “If this doesn’t lead to a sustained main event push, I’m going to TNA.”

Vince, who has not missed the exchange, eyes Dave warily then whispers to Hunter.

VINCE: “So what was all that about?”

TRIPLE H: “Ahem, nothing. We’re, uh, just going to, uh, practice our circus routine for the upcoming talent show. Um… the jelly is just a safe way to light a fire without burning down everything. Heh heh heh…”

VINCE: “Right…”

Before he can prod, however, reigning WWE Heavyweight Champion John Layfield Bradshaw comes in, flanked by his Cabinet. Triple H and JBL embrace like two old friends while Vince busies himself ogling Amy, who is looking sharp and sexy as usual.

TRIPLE H: “John, my very good friend! How’s everything going?”

JBL: “Oh man, things couldn’t be better. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you, Vince, for giving me a chance to prove myself!”

Vince is too engrossed in visually undressing Amy to notice, so Hunter takes the chance reciprocate the warm feelings.

TRIPLE H: “Oh, it’s not a problem at all, John. We all knew you can do it, and I’m glad you’re doing well, eh? Hahahahaha. Heil Hitler!”

JBL: “Hahahaha! Hunter, you’re such a stickler! You’re the funniest man in the world, but I’m sure what you really meant was Heil Hunter! Eh? Eh? Eh?” (nudging JBL as he lathers on the sycophancy)

TRIPLE H: “Oh, you smooth talker you! Alright, that gets you another four months as champ. Should take you all the way up to Wrestlemania!”

EDDIE GUERRERO: (standing across the room overhearing) “Dammit!” (downs two shots of tequila)

JBL: “Oh thank you, thank you very much Hunter. And for the record, I completely disagree with all those critics. You were definitely not to blame during all those months of falling ratings when you were World Champion.”

TRIPLE H: “Haha thanks!”

Hunter lets JBL pass before pausing to figure out whether that was flattery or a veiled insult. He doesn’t have long to ponder it before the next guests arrive: Luther Reigns and Mark Jindrak holding an extremely hyper-active Kurt Angle.

TRIPLE H & VINCE: “Welcome, gentlemen, welcome to the party!”

KURT: “Swing me! Swing me, Uncle Mark and Uncle Luther!!!”

Vince looks at Kurt nervously.

LUTHER: “Oh don’t worry. He just missed his monthly check-up with Dr. Jho last week, so we’ll be taking him there next week so he can get his monthly shots.”

KURT: “PICK ME UP! I wanna be an airplane!!!”

LUTHER: “He’ll be like this for a few days, but it’s nothing permanent.”

KURT: “Hey! I wonder if these medals have chocolate in them!” (takes a bite into his own Olympic gold medals) “Owie! Dey hurt me toof! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

VINCE: “Um… okay, if you say so. Just make sure he’s ready for the SmackDOWN! taping next week.”

LUTHER: “Oh don’t worry, Mr. McMahon. He’ll be back to his normal, pre-surgery self in no time.”

Holding Kurt’s hands, Luther and Mark pass, but Jindrak stops when he encounters a full height mirror by the wall, starts flexing, and then commences a full-on conversation with himself.

JINDRAK: “Oh hey, who’s that? Oh yeah, it’s you! Yeah, you’re just a sexy boy aren’t you?”

HBK: (on the other side of the room) “Hey! Copyright infringement!”

JINDRAK: “That’s right! You’re the reflection of perfection! The Mark of excellence! Get it? MARK? Ahahahah! You made a funny! That’s right you did! Oh yeah, look at those firm biceps, those rippling abs, those muscular pectorals! Oh yeah, you’re beautiful, aren’t you?”

LUTHER: “Mark!! Get over here! What the hell are you doing?”

JINDRAK: (abruptly returning to normal) “Coming.”

The next guests are Muhammad Hassan and his manager, Khosrow Daivari. Hassan arrives with a platter of hot dogs that he brought for the party.

VINCE: “Ah, my newest RAW wrestlers, Muhammad and Kosovo!”

DAIVARI: “That’s, uh, Khosrow. And we’re glad to be here.”

VINCE: “Whatever. Anyway, I see—wait, what did you say?”

DAIVARI: (looking somewhat confused) “I said we’re glad to be here.”

VINCE: “You speak English?”

DAIVARI: “Um… yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

VINCE: “But I see you on TV all the time, and you’re that guy blurting out them Indian words.”

DAIVARI: “It’s Farsi. And besides, that’s just my character.”

VINCE: “So you’re saying you… CAN… speak English?”

DAIVARI: “Of course. Heck, my real name’s Shawn if you didn’t know.”

VINCE: “Get out of here! Foreign wrestlers speaking English? My, what an age we live in!”

DAIVARI: “Um… yeah… anyway, my friend brought some hot dogs for the party.”

VINCE: “Lemme guess… they’re made with mustard gas!!! Hahaha! Get it? MUSTARD gas? Isn’t that what you people use for your terrorist acts?”

HUSSAN & DAIVARI: :wtf:

VINCE: “Hahaha, crazy terrorists. I thought you said you understood English.”

HUSSAN: “We’re not terrorists. Heck, we don’t even play terrorists. We’re just ‘Arabs,’ and our characters on TV are disgruntled with Americans.”

VINCE: “Hahaha, silly terrorists. Ah, get outta here. You should be grateful I don’t report your unabombing asses to the Homeland Security Department!”

TRIPLE H: “Hahaha! Good one, dad!” (high fives Vince)

Hussan and Daivari join the party looking rather disgruntled and insulted, but hold their tongues so as to not get fired. Suddenly, from the corner, comes the sound of several WWE Divas screaming.

TRIPLE H: “Oh boy, I think Ric’s gone tipsy again.”

Hunter goes over to the corner, where Flair has opened his robe to expose himself to the girls.

FLAIR: “WHOOOOO!!! All of you are at least ‘this tall’ to ride this ride! So who wants to ride it! I know I need some Joy in my life. Lita, it’s your job to sleep with creepy guys anyway. And Trish… I know you’re a dirty slu—”

TRIPLE H: (interjecting himself into the scene) “Ladies, ladies, I apologize. Ric’s just a bit… off right now. If you’ll excuse us, I’ll escort him back to his room.”

Hunter goes to tie the sash of the robe again, and marches Ric out of ballroom, visible protrusion from the crotch and all. The party-goers are still trying to recover from the event when fan favorite Chris Jericho enters.

JERICHO: “Hey guys! How’s it going? Am I late—”

VINCE: “Oh hey! The valet.”

JERICHO: “Actually, I’m…”

VINCE: (taking out a set of car keys and tossing them at Jericho) “It’s the gray Aston Martin DB9. I need it waxed and buffed and the rims shined, and I need it at the front gate at precisely 1:00 tonight.”

JERICHO: “No, you don’t understand. I’m—Aston Martin you say?”

VINCE: “Yep.”

JERICHO: (pocketing the keys) “Um, sure thing, boss! Um, do you mind if I indulge in some of your snacks before I go? They valet manager gives us peanuts and I’m kind of hungry.”

VINCE: “Aw hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m in a good mood… why not? But I need the car brought by one.”

JERICHO: “Oh, of course.”

VINCE: “Good. Oh, and what did you say your name was?”

JERICHO: “Chr—Dan. Daniel Fausterson, sir.”

VINCE: “Okay, thanks Dan.”

JERICHO: “No, thank YOU.” (then to himself) “Hehehe…”

[Corkscrewed]

As Chris walks to the refreshments, Vince begins to head toward the podium to make his speech, but he is interrupted by a group of apparent revelers headlined by a guy in a mask holding a tray of cookies and balloons as well as a slightly familiar face holding a guitar.

VINCE: “Hey, just what the hell are you trespassers doing here?”

ABYSS: “Would you… like to have some chocolate chip cookies… and one of my balloons?”

VINCE: “One of your balloons? You… sick… freak! Get out of here!!!”

JEFF JARRET: “Now just a moment here, we’re just trying to be friendly. Besides, I noticed your son-in-law leaving and I figured you’d need a replacement talentless sack who hogs the title and hurts the business.”

JBL: (stepping into the dialogue) “AHEM. Hellooooo? Who do you think I am? Pshaw!”

VINCE: “I’m giving you one last warning! If you don’t leave—hey, is that a camera???”

Vince points to America’s Most Wanted, who are holding a pair of camcorders and filming everything.

VINCE: “Dammit, I want that film NOW!!!”

WILDCAT: “Oh shit.”

RAVEN: “Hey, you can’t talk to us like that! Just because most of us used to work for you… You’re so selfish, always thinking about yourself. Well, WHAT ABOUT US? WHAT ABOUT TNA???” (holds arms out in signature cross pose)

Realizing that continued argument might escalate the party into a full scale riot, Vince racks his mind for an alternate solution. After a moment of though, he snaps his fingers, as though coming up with a great idea.

VINCE: “Brock? Hey Lesnar! Get over here!”

Brock emerges from seemingly out of nowhere. Even a lot of the WWE wrestlers are surprised to see him.

BROCK: “You called Vinnie-poo?”

VINCE: “Shhhh! Not in front of everyone…”

BROCK: “But aren’t I with the company now? I’m gonna make my return at Wrestlemania!”

VINCE: “Yeah, but I want to keep it secret. You know those stupid writers… always spoiling my plans.

At that moment, a bush with human legs sneaks across the hallway. But because everyone is focused on Vince, who is looking at Brock, nobody notices the shrubbery settle by the doorway, nor does anyone hear the click of a tape recorder or see a faint red light emanate from one of the branches.

BROCK: “Oh, all right.” (pouts)

VINCE: “Listen. See those two losers with cameras?”

BROCK: “Uh huh.”

VINCE: “Well, those are really web cams.”

The TNA crew shifts around nervously as they start to realize what Vince has in mind.

BROCK: “So…”

VINCE: “So it means that right now, they’re filming everything and broadcasting everything live… on the INTERNET.”

BROCK: “INTERNET?! KILL!!!!!”

VINCE: (pointing to Ron Killings) “Oh yeah, and that guy said you had a cute butt.”

BROCK: “RRRRROOOAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!”

Instantly rabid, Brock turns into a force of rage, hurtling himself at the TNA workers, who scatter like ants, running around the room. The WWE wrestlers step out of the way, dodging the screaming TNA guys and letting Brock rove around on his hunt.

BROCK: “I’m gonna kill all of you!!!”

DUSTY RHODES: “Dammit, someone do something!!!”

BRIAN JAMES: (huddling in a fetal position in the corner) “He’s a beastly maniac! There’s no way to stop him—unless…” (an idea forms in his mind) “Hey Styles! Hold him off for a bit!”

While the wrestler formerly known as Road Dogg fumbles around a backpack he brought, AJ Styles hits a perfect shoot star press on a charging Lesnar, stopping him right in his tracks.

BROCK: “YOU… ARE… MOCKING ME!!!!”

STYLES: “Oh shit.”

BJ finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a life-size cardboard cutout of Sable. He assembles the item, then waits until Lesnar hurtles his way before placing it right in Lesnar’s path. Brock screeches to a stop, stands up straight, and attempts a look of suavity that is easily overrun by his nervousness.

BROCK: “Oh, um, hi Sable. I didn’t see you there. Heheh… uh, didn’t mean to almost run over you and all.” (blushes) “What’s that? Oh it’s good to see you too. I didn’t know you were at the party. Uh huh… how’s my football career going? Oh, it was okay. Had some fun with the boys. You know some good old fashion horseplay. We showered together and anything, but they promised they weren’t gay, so it was okay. So… how are you doing? Uh huh. Uh huh. Really? You still feel that way?”

EVERYONE: :wtf:

BROCK: “Well, my feelings for you haven’t changed either. You want me to what? In here? But everyone’s staring at us! Oh, no, of course I’m not ashamed of you! Okay… if you insist…”

Brock bends down slightly to embrace the cardboard cut out, placing two hands on “Sable’s rear” while he locks his lips with the glossy cardboard of Sable’s “mouth.”

BROCK: “Oh yeah… that feels good. Am I making you hot?”

All self control seems to flee from Brock’s heart, and he quickly falls on top of the cut out, kissing and groping it. After a moment, however, he seems to regain himself, and stands back up, face sweaty, and picks the cutout up.

BROCK: “We’re gonna go back to my place, okay baby? That way, I can show you my next big thing.”

Brock walks out with the Sable cardboard cutout in his arms. For a full minute, everyone is too shocked and grossed out to really do much of anything. Finally, Vince finds some sound in his voice.

VINCE: “Ah hell, fine. You TNA guys can stay, but you can’t film jack! Big Show?”

BIG SHOW: (munching on a massive leg of meat that looks like it came from a caribou) “Yeah boss?”

VINCE: “Cameras. Take care of them.”

Before AMW can react, Big Show reaches out and snatches their Handycams away and stuff them into his mouth. The crunching of hard plastic and twisted MiniDV tape is accompanied by a smile as Big Show walks away to further satiate his hunger. Meanwhile, Vince heads toward the podium to make his speech.

VINCE: “Ahem. Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to thank all of you for showing up and appearing at the party, even though only half of you have actually appeared on RAW or SmackDOWN! over this past year…

Some grumbling ripples through the audience.

VINCE: “Anyway, the party will begin in just a moment, but I have a few announcements to make. Firstly, I want to thank Rhyno for graciously putting up all the decorations. Aren’t they lovely?”

The crowd claps lightly.

VINCE: “Rhyno, you did a great job! How did you get all of these heavy-looking things to hang so solidly?”

RHYNO: “Oh, you can just attribute it to my… stick-to-it-ness… if you know what I mean!” ;)

VINCE: “No I don’t, but to reflect my appreciation, I’m going to let you appear on the next RAW in addition to the RAW you get to be on, doubling your monthly quota!”

RHYNO: “That’s great! Thank you sir!”

VINCE: “Now, you’ll be jobbing to Hurricane after he hits his chokeslam on you in a random match with zero buildup, but hey, at least you’ll be seen!”

RHYNO: “Thanks.” (grumbling to himself) “Oh man, just wait until you sit down on your toilet seat tonight and then try to get up…”

VINCE: “Also, I have two awards to present right now. The first is the RAW MVP, which goes to the outstanding wrestler who helped make RAW a better show by attracting fans, interest, ratings, and PPV buy rates. And the winner of the 2004 RAW Most Valuable Person is…”

Chris Benoit crosses his fingers.

VINCE: “My son-in-law, Hunter Hearst Helmsley!”

BENOIT: “DAMMIT!”

VINCE: “For being the Cerebral Assassin, The Game, and our best champion. And because he lets me watch him every night when he’s boning my lovely daughter. Yup, I get to see him slide that massive shaft into my baby girl’s tight, dripping love hole….”

EVERYONE: :eek:

VINCE: “Oh crap, did I say that out loud or just think it?”

JOHNNY ACE: “You only thought about watching Hunter and Steph have sex, sir.”

VINCE: “Oh. Whew! Anyway, since Hunter isn’t here, accepting the award will be the SmackDOWN! Most Valuable Person… none other than my personal success of an idea, John Layfield Bradshaw!!!”

EDDIE & BOOKER T: “Sonofa!”

JBL comes up to the podium in tears of joy, ecstatic to take the statues.

JBL: “Oh man… what can I say. This… this is such an honor. To be the…” (points thumbs at himself) “M…V…P…”

RVD: “That mother fucking bastard…”

JBL: “…it all means so much to me. And there’s so many people to thank… Um, I want to thank Ron Simmons for getting his ass fired so that I could pursue this gimmick. Um, I want to thank the Nazis, for being role models…”

EVERYONE: :wtf:

JBL: “…I mean I want to thank my Cabinet! Yeah, I couldn’t have done it without the 7-UP guy or with the help of those S&M boys…”

ORLANDO JORDAN & THE BASHAMS: :rant:

JBL: “…and most of all, I want to thank the beautiful Amy for playing ‘HHH and Stephanie’ with me in the locker room before every match. Yup, that’s right. That’s what they meant by Image Consultant, if you know what I mean! Hahahaha!”

Lita comes bounding up to the stage.

LITA: “Yay. I can not believe it. You really. Really. Do love me. I am so happy. Oh yes. I am.”

JBL: (with a look of confusion and disgust) “Ew! Not you, Amy Dumas, I meant Diva Search loser Amy Weber!! Geez, is there anything you CAN’T botch?”

LITA: “Losing. I think. Or is it winning?” :?:

JBL: “Idiot.”

LITA: :'(

VINCE: (taking the mike back) “Anyway… that’s it. We will be having a raffle at 11:30 tonight, and of course, right before midnight, we’ll be counting down to the brand new year! Feel free to mingle around and enjoy yourselves at the WWE New Year’s Eve 2004 Party!!!”

Vince steps down as the party commences, with various wrestlers congregating into familiar groups. On his way to the salad bar, Vince passes Taker, JBL, and Shawn Michaels already deep in an elitist conversation.

TAKER: “So then I was like… ‘Oh yeah, you can come up here and join me! It’s perfectly safe!’ So he starts climbing and hits his head on the glass and falls back down! Hahahaha!”

JBL: “Ahahah! Ah, Mark lemme tell ya. You are a funny, funny man. Listen, I appreciate the fact that you’ve let me be champ and get a couple of wins over you without complaining to Vince. So I’m gonna send back that ‘Lampshade Video’ I was holding for ransom.”

TAKER: “Thanks.”

JBL: “Yeah, and I’ll also give you back that tape of your wife in the shower.”

TAKER: “The WHAT?!”

HBK: “Gentlemen, gentlemen, calm down. Let us handle this like the intelligent Christian men we are.”

TAKER: “But I play the equivalent of an anti-Christ who fans just happen to cheer…”

JBL: “And I love Nazis…”

HBK: “All… right… but think of it this way. Taker, your old logo had a cross in it, which is related to Christianity. And Bradshaw, that just means you hate Jews. It doesn’t make you anti-Christian!”

TAKER & JBL: “Oh, you’re right.”

HBK: “Of course I am. Now shake hands and make up.”

JBL: “Friends?”

TAKER: “Okay. Friends.”

JBL: “By the way, your wife has really nice tits.”

TAKER: “YOU SONOFA!!!” (proceeds to chase JBL out of the ballroom)

HBK: “Ah well. I tried. Now where’s a Canadian to totally screw over?”

As Michaels wanders around, he passes John Cena and Randy Orton discussing possible upcoming plans.

ORTON: “Seriously, you don’t want to come over and feud with Trips. Once he figures out you’re more popular than him, he’ll bury you faster than a landslide.”

JERICHO: (passing by) “Don’t I know it.”

CENA: “Man, you trippin’. I’ve been unstoppable. Did you see how I destroyed Carlito AND his lackey? No way they could bury me!”

ORTON: “Look, man, all I’m saying is that I went from World Champ to almost getting the Benoit Treatment in a month.”

BENOIT: “Hey!”

ORTON: “Luckily, I got myself a backup plan that’s sure to work.”

CENA: “Really? What exactly is that?”

At that moment, Stephanie McMahon comes in wearing a lacy black dress revealing plenty of cleavage and plenty of thigh. She makes a beeline toward Randy and whispers softly into his ear while grabbing his butt as she brushes by.

STEPH: “I’m not wearing any underwear, and this room’s awfully cold. That breeze going up my legs is making me awfully wet. It’s going in and out and… STEVEN RICHARDS, IS THAT YOU???”

STEVIE: :naughty:

STEPH: “Get off me!”

STEVIE: “I’ve done what I came here to do. Sure thing!”

STEPH: (immediately regaining her husky, seductive voice) “I have something to show you in my limo. Care to come?”

ORTON: “Oh yeah. They might call me the Legend Killer, but I also gain the skill of the legends I defeat. And one of the skills that I got was… um… well, I dunno where I’m going with this, but the point is I’m gonna sex you up baby!”

Winking at Cena, Orton leaves hand in hand with Stephanie.

CENA: (to himself) “So that was what his plan was… eh? Hmm… maybe I can wrangle something for myself too…” (looking up) “Hey Linda! Linda McMahon, you are looking GORGEOUS tonight!”

As Cena departs to woo the company matriarch, Dawn, Torrie, Stacy, Christy, and Michelle come over to refill on the punch.

CHRISTY: “OMG OMG OMG ThisissuchareallygreatpartyIcan’tbelieveI’mhere!!!”

TORRIE: “Wow, you really need to lay off those sugar pills.”

CHRISTY: “What? What? What? AreyoucallingmehyperbecauseI’mnotandifyousayIamthenyou’reaslutyoubimbo!!”

MICHELLE: “How’d she win the whole thing anyway? Don’t you have to not have any mental disorders… OH!”

Michelle exclaims in surprise as a drunken Charlie Haas stumbles over and leans on her to support his weight, blatantly groping her breast in the process.

MICHELLE: “Charlie! You’re grabbing my…”

HAAS: “Hehehehehehe… boobie!”

Haas stands straight, then makes a lung and proceeds to “accidentally grope” Dawn and Stacy in the same way.

STACY: “My heavens!”

DAWN: “Oh yeah, baby, oh yeah!”

Haas stumbles around some more before a voice interrupts his molestation attempts.

JACKIE: “How come you never do that to ME anymore? Am I just a used object to you? No longer novel anymore?”

HAAS: “Um… HIC! Yeah…”

JACKIE: “You used to love me. What does a girl have to do to get some love anymore? Do another nipple slip?”

HALF THE MALE LOCKERROOM: (staring eagerly) “Oh yeah…”

JACKIE: “Well, I’m not going to lower myself to the standards of… THAT…” (pointing at Dawn Marie, who is still writhing with pleasure) “I’m not going to show some skin just because—oops!”

[Corkscrewed]

The boys cheer as Jackie’s top accidentally falls down.

HAAS: (still in a drunken stupor) “Oh… yeah… baby… Girls, show Charlie all of your thesies!” (falls on Torrie and Christy and gropes them in the same over-the-shoulder way)

KIDMAN: “Hey! Leave your hands off of my wife!!!”

HAAS: “Oh…. Pbbbbbt… she’s yours? Haha! She’s… pretty.”

KIDMAN: (climbing on top of a table) “I’m warning you!!!!”

HAAS: “Oh yeah? Watch this.” (proceeds to touch each referenced part of Torrie’s body as he says the words) “Milk, milk, lemonade. Around the corner fudge is made. Heheheheheheh!!”

KIDMAN: “Oh that’s it!!!”

Enraged, Kidman hurls himself at Haas, twisting backwards out of habit, but having gained absolutely no air on his jump, he lands right on Michelle, who had been standing a bit in front of Charlie, instead.

MICHELLE: “Ow my neck!”

PAUL LONDON: “Pfffft… loser.”

Paul climbs on the same table and hits a beautiful shooting star press on top of Kidman, further squashing Michelle.

MICHELLE: “Ow my spleen!!”

Not to be outdone, AJ Styles decides to do a Spiral Tap onto top of the mess of bodies.

MICHELLE: “Ow my ovaries!!!”

With nothing else to do, the Dudley Boys cart the wreck out of the room. Meanwhile, Haas puts an arm around Torrie’s shoulder and a hand on her breast.

HAAS: “C’mon baby, lets get out of here.”

TORRIE: “Get off!!” (heaves Charlie off, only to find Kenzo making smooching motions and noises at her; Torrie immediately retreats under the arms of Haas) “Lets go.”

JACKIE: (placing herself under Charlie’s feeling hands) “Can I join as well?”

HAAS: (managing to take a swig of vodka) “Suuurrrrre… we can… can haf what dey call in Frrrance a…. a manager tra!!! HIC! Hehe…”

The two divas and Haas stumble out of the room, passing Shelton Benjamin.

SHELTON: “Man, must have been having it rough these past few months. Boy am I glad to be IC champ!

DUPREE: “He may be drunk as a mule, but it looks like tonight, he will be using his… how do you say it… super-sized French fry?”

SHELTON: “Hey! Renee! How have you been getting along over on that place I used to wrestle at?”

DUPREE: “You mean SmackDOWN!? Oh, it’s been okay. It’s had its ups and bruises.”

SHELTON: “Oh.”

Suddenly, a voice pierces the conversation.

BOB HOLLY: “You! I thought I said I never wanted to see your stinking maggot carcass again!!!”

DUPREE: “Oh shitzu.”

BOB HOLLY: “You cocky non-dues-paying sonofabitch! I’m gonna give you a beating you won’t soon forget, or my name wasn’t Sparkplug Bob Holly!!!”

Holly makes a lung at Dupree, how ducks under it and starts to run away. Bobcore gives chase but stops when a challenging voice interrupts.

PUDER: “Hey! You! Yeah, you’re a bully aren’t you? How about you teach me a lesson, cuz I didn’t pay any dues and I got a million dollars. That’s like… more than you’ve earned in your entire career here! Hahahaha!”

BOB HOLLY: “You ungrateful little wench! I’ll teach you!!!”

Holly takes a couple of swings at Puder and then pounces on top of the kid, but five seconds later is tapping out violently to rear naked choke-hold.

BOB HOLLY: “Owowowowow!!! It hurts!!!! Make him stop!!!”

PUDER: “Say uncle you stupid bastard!!!”

BOB HOLLY: “Uncle uncle uncle!!!

CARLITO COOL: (interjecting himself into the fight) “Guys! Guys! Guys! Calm down! Das not cool, hurting dis man right here.”

Winking at Puder, Carlito bends and helps Holly up, but the veteran is too much in pain to do much standing. Cradling Holly in a gordbuster position, Carlito makes a heave as if to lift Hardcore onto his feet, but in the middle of it, he seems to overshoot the maneuver, bringing Holly upside down. Suddenly aware of his mistake, Carlito freaks out and drops Hardcore right on his head.

BOB HOLLY: “OW MY NECK! My legs! I can’t feel my legs!!!”

CARLITO: “Uh…..”

Biting into an apple, he backs away, then runs out. The last people he pass, however, glimpse a slight smile on his lips as he mouths something about “being for Jesus.” Meanwhile, Vince pushes his way through the gathered crowd.

VINCE: “What the hell is going on here? Bob? What are you doing on the ground? What happened to you?”

BOB HOLLY: “Ack! Puder and Carlito did this!”

VINCE: “Puder and Carlito? You mean you got beat up by two rookies?”

BOB HOLLY: (realizing what it would do to his reputation if he admitted it) “What? Oh hell no. I must have been out of it… I slipped. That’s what happened. I fell. And my neck really hurts.”

VINCE: “Uh…huh… is that what really happened Dupree?”

DUPREE: “Oh yeah. He fell alright.” (lowering his voice to a whispering snicker) “Fell to two rookies!!!”

The crowd tries to suppress its laughter as paramedics arrive and strap Holly onto a gurney Vince accompanies the crew out, but before he leaves, he turns around, a set of keys in his hand.

VINCE: “I’m gonna accompany poor Hardcore to the hospital. In the meantime, I name John Heidenreich in charge of the party until I get back.”

He closes the doors. Shannon Moore and Rey Mysterio, understanding what Vince has in mind, spring to action and run towards the doors, trying to prevent a complete closure, but they are a second too late, as the lock ratchets right before they can slam the doors open.

SHANNON: “Crap!”

STYLES: “Dude, he just named someone else in charge. What’s the panic?

Heidenreich approaches the podium.

SHANNON: (in a panic) “Oh man, you’ve never been locked in the same room with John have you? He reads his poetry to you!”

DDP: “But that’s not a bad thing… it’s a GOOD thing!”

REY: “No it’s not. His poetry is worse than listening to me rap in Spanglish!”

HEIDENREICH: “Listen up!! This is a poem!! By Heidenreich!!!”

SHANNON: “Crap! Crap! Crap! Hey Viscera! You’re a big guy! Charge this door and try to knock it down like a battering ram!!”

HEIDENREICH: “The PAIN! Which I possess!! Is incomprehensible!! To thee!!!”

VISCERA: “Ok.”

REY: “Hurry!!”

HEIDENREICH: “I guard!!! Myself!!! In deep, deep, AGONY!!!”

Viscera lines up as the other wrestlers clear a path. With a war cry, he charges towards the door, but slams into the solid, oaken panels face first, knocking himself out. The doors, reinforced and might strong, hardly budge.

HEIDENREICH: “I SIT! Alone! In self contemplation!!! I never! Experience! Any type of elation!!!”

SHANNON: “Dammit! Show! You’ve been known to rip out doors! Help us out!!!

DDP: (cringing as he hears the lines) “Yeah. I’m starting to agree. That poetry’s not a good thing… it’s a bad thing!”

In the corner, Big Show, a huge rack of meaty ribs in hand, looks up at the cries. He tries to utter a questioning reply despite a completely stuffed mouth.

BIG SHOW: “Mmb dib oo shy?”

REY: “What? Swallow that food dammit!”

HEIDENREICH: “The nights! Spent lying! In self wallowing pity!!!”

BIG SHOW: “I said what did you say?”

SHANNON: “I said get over here and help us knock down this door, because you’re huge and strong!!”

HEIDENREICH: “No one! Hears my cries! All over the city!!!”

BIG SHOW: “Sorry, can’t do. Eating some delicious baby back ribs.”

REY: “BABY back ribs? What kind of baby is that huge???”

BIG SHOW: (with an innocent expression across his face) “Baby elephants…”

HEIDENREICH: “My thoughts!! Echo!!! Only in!! My BRAIN!!!”

SHANNON: “Aw crap, this is hopeless!!!”

HEIDENREICH: “Those people! They point! They call me INSANE!!!”

REY: “Wait, I know! Hey problem solver! Give us a solution to this mess!!!”

TOMKO: “Guh…. Buh?” (shrugging shoulders)

HEIDENREICH: “My only! Consolation! Is to write these dear words!!!”

SHANNON: “Dammit, now we’re really screwed!!”

HEIDENREICH: “I will make!!! Them pay!! Those dumb bullying turds!!!”

EVERYONE ELSE: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Fade to two hours later, with most people either on the floor cringing in trauma or fast asleep.

HBK: (mumbling in his sleep) “No Hunter it’s too big to fit!”

BOOKER T: (also sleeping) “Mrm mrm… can you suck it, digga?”

TAZZ: (dreaming) “I was once ECW champion… Kill metrosexuals… Survive if I let you…”

HEIDENREICH: (still reading his poem) “And SO! I tell all of you!!! My vengeance!!! Won’t be askew!!!”

The doors suddenly open, rousing most of the party-goers, and Vince strolls in, seemingly unaware that everyone except for Heidenreich had been sleeping over the past two hours.

VINCE: “Well, I’m back!”

EVERYONE: (groggily) “Huh… oh… yeah, yeah…”

Noting everyone’s expressions and glancing at Heidenreich, Vince immediately discerns the situation and approaches the podium.

VINCE: “John. John! It’s okay! You’re done now!!!”

HEIDENREICH: (too engrossed to hear) “With Heyman by my side!! I will at last be able to RIDE!!! The chariot of rage!!! To destroy all that—”

VINCE: “JOHN!!!”

HEIDENREICH: “…stand like a dumb sage!!”

VINCE: “John! There’s a guy from poetry.com at the first floor waiting to give you an award!”

HEIDENREICH: “Poetry.com??? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO???”

John leaps up and runs straight out of the room. Bypassing the elevator, he races down the emergency stairs instead.

[Corkscrewed]

VINCE: (taking the mike) “If anyone sees him coming back, close the door and barricade it.”

SHANNON: “Will do sir!”

VINCE: “Who are you?”

SHANNON: “I’m…” (realizing identifying himself would be useless) “Nevermind.”

VINCE: “Anyway. I have some sad news to report… Hardcore Holly has a broken neck and will be out for a year at least.”

BUSH OUTSIDE THE DOOR: “Yesssss!!!!”

VINCE: “What the hell was that? Did that shrubbery just talk?”

MATT HARDY: (quick to protect internet fans) “Oh… um… erm… it just has… um… Talking Bush Syndrome.”

VINCE: “Oh, TBS, eh?”

MATT HARDY: “Yeah.”

VINCE: “Alright then.”

MATT HARDY: “Whew.”

VINCE: “Yeah, Hunter says Steph used to have Talking Bush Syndrome… that’s why he made her shave down there! Ahahahahaha!!!”

EVERYONE: ….

VINCE: “Anyway, it’s 11:30. Time for the raffle!”

Everyone seems to perk up in interest.

VINCE: “We have some great prizes here, including some main event pushes and other great stuff that you’d normally only get if you sucked my penis.”

EVERYONE: ….

VINCE: “Anyway, does everyone have their stubs with the drawing numbers?”

Everyone takes out his stub, with a raffle number imprinted on the end.

VINCE: “All right! This first raffle is for a guaranteed one month WWE Title reign!”

EVERYONE: “Ooooooooo!”

VINCE: (reaching into a tumbler) “All right, the number is 45920…5!!!”

JBL: (having come back earlier with Taker after apologizing) “Yes!!! Hallelujah! I won!!!”

Some grumbling murmurs spread throughout the middle and lower carders.

VINCE: “Congrats JBL! At this rate, you’ll be champ through Summerslam as well!”

EDDIE: (to himself) “I am gonna kill that cholo…”

VINCE: “Now, this next raffle is for a guaranteed WIN at the main event at Wrestlemania 21!!! Isn’t that awesome?”

Everyone’s spirits lift in anticipation.

VINCE: “Alright, we have 5…3…9...5…”

JERICHO: “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”

VINCE: “…7!!!”

TAKER: “I WIN!!!”

JERICHO: “DAMMIT! That’s it, I’m leaving.” (jingles Vince’s keys and ditches)

VINCE: “All right. Now, this next prize is really special. Since no hometown hero has won, we’ve decided to raffle Kurt’s Olympic gold medals to a lucky winner in this room!”

Again, wrestlers’ spirits improve in anticipation.

VINCE: “The new owner of two gold medals has the number 41005!!!”

KURT: “Yay!!!! I win Uncle Luther!!! Yay!!! What’s my prize??”

VINCE: “Your own gold medals!! Isn’t that a wonderful coincidence Kurt?”

KURT: “Yay!!! I love you, Uncle Vinnie!!!”

VINCE: (tussling Kurt’s head) “Aw… you’ve earned it!”

From the resentment of the other wrestlers, a voice rings out.

BENOIT: “FIXED!!!”

VINCE: (shocked at the audacity) “Who said that?”

The wrestlers part, isolating Benoit and Funaki.

BENOIT: “Um…. It was him.” (pointing at Funaki)

VINCE: “You’re fired.”

FUNAKI: “But… but…”

VINCE: “No buts! I never want to see your face again!!!”

FUNAKI: “But… I… Cruiserweight Champion!”

VINCE: “WHHHAAAAATTT?????”

FUNAKI: “Yes! It true! I pin Spike Dudley!”

VINCE: “Dammit, who the hell authorized that move? You know we don’t give belts to foreigners!!!”

JR: “Baw gawd, we gave a tag title to Kenzo Suzuki!”

VINCE: “Yeah but that’s cuz I’m boning his wife.”

HIROKO: :$

KENZO: :foc:

VINCE: “Anyway, fine. I’m stripping Funaki of the Cruiserweight Title and giving it to…”

PAUL LONDON: “Come on… come on…”

VINCE: “Lita!”

ENTIRE CRUISERWEIGHT DIVISION: !!!

VINCE: “She can do one of them hurricanranas, so she’s a Cruiserweight. Case closed. Now GET OUT OF HERE FUNAKI!!!”

FUNAKI: :'( (leaves)

VINCE: "Now, lets see, where was I? Oh yeah! Our next raffle non other than a free gimmick change!!!”

NICK DINSMORE: “Oh, I was destined to have this…”

VINCE: “The winner holds ticket number… 3…1. .2…4…4!!!”

ULTIMO DRAGON: “W-w-wait! That’s me!!! THAT’S ME!!! I’ve never won ANYTHING here!!! That’s me!!!”

Ultimo rushes up to the stage but slips on his way. Standing up and dusting himself off, he assumes a faux dignified air and strolls up to get his prize.

ULTIMO DRAGON: “Thank you Mr. McMahon. I—”

It suddenly occurs to him that his current gimmick is exactly what makes him so recognizable, and that a gimmick change will do him no good. Ultimo’s worries are aggravated by Vince’s next announcement.

VINCE: “Oh, and I forgot to tell you what your new gimmick is, as exactly stated on this raffle! But don’t fret. It’s not so different… you’ll get to be another masked person dressed who has a reputation for falling… none other than… THE SHOCKMASTER!!!!”

ULTIMO DRAGON: “Whhhaaaa??? Oh that’s it! I’m going back to Japan! Again!”

Ultimo marches out of the room, presumably headed to the airport.

VINCE: (rather taken aback) “Well, goodness. If people are going to be that ungrateful after winning, then I won’t be raffling anything else! See how you like that!!”

The audience doesn’t seem too dejected.

VINCE: “The next prize was going to be a guaranteed sustained push and continued main event status with future multiple WWE Title wins for the rest of the winner’s career, but I’m not giving that away anymore. Consequently, the number for that prize would have been 90382!!”

Eddie Guerrero stands shell shocked, looking at his stub, which reads: 90382.

EDDIE: “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair ese!!!” (falls into a fit of sobbing)

VINCE: “No matter. It’s time to countdown towards 2005 anyway! Look, we’re almost down to ten seconds left on the year! Lets count down everyone!!!”

EVERYONE: “TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! Happy—”

Just as the timer reaches zero, the lights go completely out, leaving everyone scrambling in confusion. The big screen TV by the corner suddenly flickers on, showing a vignette of flames erupting accompanied by creepy music, similar to the Titantrons that hyped Taker’s return prior to Wrestlemania. Brief flashes reveal a mask, a casket, a house on fire, dentist tools, a drill, and finally zooming toward a familiar message that reads, “I still remember…”

VINCE: “No… it can’t be!!!”

As if to answer his fears, the old organ intro music of Kane blasts through the speakers. Then, the entire room seems to explode as enormous pyrotechnics hit, lighting four blasts of fire into the air. The entire room is bathed in red light, and as the smoke clears, a familiar masked figure stands at the center.

VINCE: “No…! It’s Kane!!!!”

Indeed, Glenn Jacobs stands garbed in old attire. However, there’s something amiss. Instead of his Big Red Machine suit, he’s decked out in bright, flashy Christmas lights and red and green garb.

TAKER: “Wait a minute… Christmas Kane???”

KANE: “That is right... KANE has returned to…” (looks down at himself) “Aw crap! This IS the Christmas Kane outfit! I put on the wrong costume!!!”

Everyone erupts in laughter.

KANE: “Ah hell. I was going to exact my revenge on you, Vince McMahon, tonight, for years of countless character abuse incidents and burial of credibility, but I look too ridiculous to do anything like that tonight. Ah screw it. Just continue the party. But I would like to say one thing…

Kane joins Vince and all of the other wrestlers in the room to face the camera with a united message.

EVERYONE: “HAPPY NEW YEAR 2005 EVERYBODY!!!”

Fade to black.

[Savio]

thats a long ass read.

[Corkscrewed]

It's worth it. Trust me.

I hope.

[Nervous Ferret]

:rofl:

[RemyRed]

I liked it. Funny stuff.

[MVP]

LMAO good stuff Corky.

[MVP]

TRIPLE H: “Oh, you smooth talker you! Alright, that gets you another four months as champ. Should take you all the way up to Wrestlemania!”

EDDIE GUERRERO: (standing across the room overhearing) “Dammit!” (downs two shots of tequila)
Best line

[Volchok]

that shit was funny... Corky you are the fucking man...

[Corkscrewed]

:love:

[loopydate]

:D

Dr. Jho... You used my joke!

:love:

[FourFifty]

Okay, I haven't seen SmackDown in a few weeks (my thursday nights have been busy) and the whole off line thing sorta messed me up, so I have one simple question to ask....

WHO THE FUCK IS THE CW CHAMPION!?!?!??!?!?!

[Sephiroth]

Corky is so the goods :love:

[Splaya]

Corky you are the man :love:



Corky you need to pm me ASAP

[Fignuts]

LOL at the johnny ace part.

[Corkscrewed]

Okay, I haven't seen SmackDown in a few weeks (my thursday nights have been busy) and the whole off line thing sorta messed me up, so I have one simple question to ask....

WHO THE FUCK IS THE CW CHAMPION!?!?!??!?!?!

Funaki.

[The One]

It was funny...

[Xero]

:lol: Good read, really funny. One thing bothers me though, who was in the bush? Just a random internet fan?

[Gone Mad]

Corky, you are greatness! :)

And you referenced one of my jokes! !!!!POETRY.COM!!!!!

[Evolution]

Corky = greatness! And even a reference to one of my jokes (botching losing)

Rep for you (not that it would matter)

[Crashnburn]

The boys cheer as Jackie’s top accidentally falls down.

Enraged, Kidman hurls himself at Haas, twisting backwards out of habit, but having gained absolutely no air on his jump, he lands right on Michelle, who had been standing a bit in front of Charlie, instead.

PAUL LONDON: “Pfffft… loser.”

Paul climbs on the same table and hits a beautiful shooting star press on top of Kidman...



:lol:

[Mike the Metal Ed]

JERICHO: “Hey guys! How’s it going? Am I late—”

VINCE: “Oh hey! The valet.”

JERICHO: “Actually, I’m…”

VINCE: (taking out a set of car keys and tossing them at Jericho) “It’s the gray Aston Martin DB9. I need it waxed and buffed and the rims shined, and I need it at the front gate at precisely 1:00 tonight.”

JERICHO: “No, you don’t understand. I’m—Aston Martin you say?”

VINCE: “Yep.”

JERICHO: (pocketing the keys) “Um, sure thing, boss! Um, do you mind if I indulge in some of your snacks before I go? They valet manager gives us peanuts and I’m kind of hungry.”

VINCE: “Aw hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m in a good mood… why not? But I need the car brought by one.”

JERICHO: “Oh, of course.”

VINCE: “Good. Oh, and what did you say your name was?”

JERICHO: “Chr—Dan. Daniel Fausterson, sir.”

VINCE: “Okay, thanks Dan.”

JERICHO: “No, thank YOU.” (then to himself) “Hehehe…”

<marquee direction=right>:rofl:</marquee>

[Corkscrewed]

If you can find all the references in there, I'll give you reps as often as I can. :D

[Evil Vito]

VINCE: “The next prize was going to be a guaranteed sustained push and continued main event status with future multiple WWE Title wins for the rest of the winner’s career, but I’m not giving that away anymore. Consequently, the number for that prize would have been 90382!!”

Eddie Guerrero stands shell shocked, looking at his stub, which reads: 90382.

<font color=goldenrod>:lol:

Fucking great read.</font> :rofl:

[Hardkore Kidd J]

Cork you are a comic god. :rofl: :lol: :lol:

[Corkscrewed]

:lol: Good read, really funny. One thing bothers me though, who was in the bush? Just a random internet fan?

It was Dave Metzer.




*** bump ***

:shifty: :shifty: :shifty: (sometimes it's cool to go back and read about what the current gags were at the time. I guess I feel kinda bad now for writing Eddie in as a drunk.)