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. 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:

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…”