the.weej 0 Report post Posted March 13, 2004 Oh, and I should note. The MiSTing wasn't just the work of Raynor and I, but rather, a cast of thousands. Judge, MVS and Tom also contributed. (But anything that's actually funny is probably mine. ) -Z Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted March 13, 2004 The second, and imho better, Crossfire Match: Fade in on the Staples Center! Various signs are shown as the camera pans the crowd. Unfortunately, the camera is panning so quickly that we can’t see any of them. Finally, it settles on the announce table, where, as usual, are two suited men who most of the fans have never seen before. “Fans,” says the moppy-haired, bow-tied man on the right, “welcome back to SWF Smarkdown! Tonight in the Crossfire we’re going to have two of the SWF’s more prominent workers, Tom Flesher and Longdogger Pete! I’m Tucker Carlson…” “And I’m Paul Begala,” adds the short, bald guy on the left. “Let’s go to Funyon.” Funyon announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a special Crossfire match! The first competitor…” The SmarkTron goes white with the blue words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" on it. Then, with an explosion of blue pyro, "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin bursts out over the loudspeaker. Tom Flesher emerges from the cloud of smoke, striding confidently to the ring as videos of his signature moves alternate in half-second clips with the words "SUPERIOR ONE," "AWARD-WINNING," "MAIN ATTRACTION" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN." Wearing his grey suit with the SWF Tag Team Title strapped around his waist, Flesher enters the ring and poses in the center head bobbing in time with the music, until the symphonic hook at 50 seconds in, which cues a machinegun-like burst of blue and white pyro from each corner. “Hailing from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at 213 pounds… ladies and gentlemen, bow down before the only man in the free world willing to admit that Ralph Nader’s not such a bad guy, bow down before your Superior One, TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “You know, Tucker, Tom Flesher is actually one of the most politically active men in Buffalo.” “The problem with that, Paul, is that you’re a balding midget who Robert Novak shit out one morning.” “You know, that’s not fair.” “Tell it to Billy Rehnquist! Muahahahahahahahaha!” Flesher poses in the center of the ring, grinning, as Funyon hands him a lectern. Flesher adjusts it, then sets a pile of notecards on it. Meanwhile…. “And his opponent…” "You will get yours... you will get yours... you will get yours... you will get yours... YOU WILL GET YOURS!" After the fifth repetition of the opening line, an explosion of white pyro goes off on the stage, and then the entrance fills with smoke. Pete steps out, decked out in an unusually natty tie-dyed t-shirt and hemp pants over knee braces, topped off with a blazer. He wastes little time getting to the ring, walking down the ramp with one arm raised in anticipated victory. The lyrics continue as he enters the ring. "You have no right to calm me down You were never that around And I have missed Cold contagious All the mighty mighty men What you save is what you lose out in the end Cold contagious Cold contagious...!" “From Miami, Florida,” intones everyone’s favorite salted snack treat, “and weighing in at 272 pounds, this is LONG… DOGGER…. PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETE!!!!!” “Ahhh, Florida,” says Carlson, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Where would we be without you?” Begala simply grumbles under his breath. Pete moves into the center of the ring, attempting to share the lectern with Flesher. Tom glances sidelong at Pete, then shuffles over to the center of the lectern to crowd him out. Referee Eddy Long checks both men’s notes to make sure everything is kosher, and then rings the bell. DING DING DING!!!!! “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Eddy Long, and I’ll be your moderator this evening. Each of you has been allotted two mintues for your opening remarks, and we’ll start with you, Mr. Flesher.” Long takes out his stopwatch. “And, go.” Flesher smiles and nods. “Thank you, Mr. Long. I’d like to start off this evening with a quote from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. ‘When I was a young man,’ says Nick Carraway, the narrator, ‘my father gave me a piece of advice that I’ve been turning over in my head ever since. “Nick,” he said, “Longdogger Pete eats bags of dicks regularly.”’ “That quote has had life-changing implications on me,” continues Flesher, “and this evening I’d like to put it into practice.” He turns to LDP. “Pete, that’s quite a feat, and I think our fans would like to see it. I’ll produce a bag of dicks. Just say the word.” “Brilliant!” says Carlson. “What a tool,” mumbles Begala. “Don’t make me get Novak!!!!” says Carlson threateningly. Begala cowers. “I’ll be good!” “Mr. Long, that concludes my opening statement.” Long clicks the stopwatch, then turns to Pete. “Would you like to make a rebuttal?” “Please.” “And… go.” Pete turns toward Flesher. “Tom, we’ve got a saying down on the bayou that… BLARG!” With that, Pete lunges at Flesher and nails him with an overhead right hand! Flesher staggers backwards, the lectern tipping over. Pete continues pressuring him backwards with overhead rights, and when Flesher reaches the ropes, Pete nails him with a right cross that draws an unbelievable pop from the crowd. “Longdogger Pete gains the upper hand,” says Begala. “Get it? Upper hand? HA!” Carlson turns around, bitchslaps Begala, and without a word turns back to the action. Begala sighs and mutters, “I wish James Carville was here.” Pete turns around and plays to the crowd a bit while Flesher regroups. He grabs the mic and says, “Mr. Moderator, permission to break protocol?” Long shrugs. “Granted.” With that, Flesher steps forward just as Pete spins around and nails him flush in the crotch with a hard kick of his Doc Marten boot! Longdogger Pete doubles over in pain as Flesher slides over to the lectern. He picks up the podium by the base. When Pete stands up, his face flushed from the pain of the completely gratuitous low blow, Flesher spins quickly and cracks him across the face with the wooden lectern! The fans burst into a chorus of boos as Pete falls backwards in a Nestea plunge to the mat and Flesher tosses the stand off to the side. Flesher drops onto the unconscious Pete, and Eddy Long counts ONE! TWO! THREE!!!!!!!!! DING DING DING!!!!!! Funyon announces, “The winner of the match, via attack ad baculum, TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “That was GREAT!” says Tucker Carlson. “That was almost as nice as it will be when Miguel Estrada is confirmed for the Supreme Court and they finally push that ‘frying baby seals’ legislation through!” “Tucker, that’s simply despicable. What could you possibly have to gain by eating the flesh of innocent baby seals?” Carlson winds up and cracks Begala upside the head. “NOTHING!!!!! But who’s going to stop us?! Muahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Begala sighs. “From the left, I’m Paul Begala.” “And from the right, I’m Tucker Carlson! We'll see you next time Flesher doesn't finish a match on time on SWF Crossfire!” Begala looks up with a cocked eyebrow and says, "What the hell does that mea-?" FADE. And the quintessential "Idea-execution" promo, in which I took a two-dimensional character and wrote him as if he were hilarious, mainly because I was bored with fighting Ash again on PPV: Gus huffs and puffs, following the microphone-bearing Ben Hardy through the Denver International Airport. Hardy, looking unusually professional, walks backwards as he talks. "We're here," he says, "at Denver International Airport, where Tom Flesher's flight from Buffalo-Niagara was scheduled to land half an hour ago. We imagine he's out of security by now, so..." Hardy looks up and sees a big arrow-shaped sign. BAR! Next right! He mutters, "and there we are." He takes a quick right, and as he turns, he sees Flesher sitting forlornly on a stool with his equipment bag under the seat and his punk-patched black messenger bag over his shoulder. Flesher has on his standard jeans, blue and white Boilermaker t-shirt and Doc Martens on, with the US Title wrapped neatly around his waist. In his hand, he holds... A boilermaker, of course. You expected any less? Hardy sits down next to him. Flesher looks up and grunts approvingly. Hardy begins his spiel. "This Sunday, at SWF Apocalypse, Tom Flesher will defend-" "Hey, Ben?" Tom interrupts, after taking a sip of his drink. "Can you cut the crap? I'm kinda depressed." Hardy breaks character, his face falling. "Seriously? Tom, what's wrong?" Flesher sighs and takes another swig of his boilermaker. "Ben, I don't think people respect me." Hardy clears his throat and begins to talk, but Flesher cuts him off. "They don't appreciate all I've put into this sport. Ben, do you know everything I've done here?" "Well, I-" "Ben, I labored in the JL for what seemed like an eternity. I was there for TWO and a HALF MONTHS! TWO AND A HALF! Those were 78 of the best days of my life, all spent paying my dues in the minors! Jesus, with that kind of luck, it's a miracle I didn't peak right there in the bush leagues! Luckily, I'm superior enough that I held it off for a while. But Ben, every one of those days, I sat in the SJL locker room and thought. I thought long and hard about the road to the SWF, and at the end of those 11 weeks, I was as happy as I've ever been." "Your pay-per-view opponent, Ash Ketchum, was in the IGNML and SJL for a total of-" "Happy... except, Ben, for one thing." "What's tha-" "I was stuck with a horrible, awful, terrible gimmick! 'Durandal.' What does that even mean?" "It was-" "I KNOW what it means, Ben. That's not the point. The point was that I got stuck playing a goddamn Goth for a month and a half... the longest month and a half of my life. Sure, I had the SJL World Championship... but jesus, all the groupies! It's nice to screw a buxom Goth chick once in a while, but it was CONSTANT! I was so tired that my ringwork was suffering!" "On that note, as you know, Misty is preg-" "Ben, do you know how annoying it is to be in demand the way I am? But I'm dedicated to this sport! Why, on less than a week's notice, I once had to book a first class flight from Buffalo to Toronto! Do you know how hard that is?" "Couldn't you dri-" "NO ONE flies first class from Buffalo to Toronto! They're all commuter planes! But I managed to dig through all those listings and find a flight, and guess what. I got there, and I got a measly $1500 payday. Mind you, Ben, that's $1500 CANADIAN. But did I complain?" "It sounds li-" "And jesus. Speaking of planes, I just went through this again. Every time I go through a metal detector, it goes off. Why, you ask? Is it because of the steel plates in my left arm? The change in my pockets? The steel toes on my Docs?" "It's the bel-" "No, Ben, it's the fact that I have two championship belts with me. ALL THE TIME. Do you know what happens when I go through the metal detector?" "It goes-" "It goes OFF, Ben. And I have to take my belts out of the bags and show them to the security guards. And once the belts are out, all hell breaks loose. The kids all come running up to me and asking if they can see the belts, hold the belts, kiss my boots, date me, all that crap. In fact, there are so many kids wanting to have their photos taken with my belts that I have to line them up in three lines: US, Light Heavyweight and Both. And would you believe the parents? Ben, some of them won't even pay the fee." "Ash Ketchum has held-" "And I have TWO of them! Do you know how heavy these things are?" "I'd wager around-" "Fifteen pounds EACH! They just get so heavy at the end of the day." "Ash was also a double-" "But Ben, it's worth it. Do you know why?" Hardy thinks before opening his mouth, then very, very quickly says, "Why?" "Because of my legions of adoring fans." Flesher starts to look up, slightly energized. "Ben, my fans are what keep me going. And they're what's going to win me the match against Ash Ketchum this week at Apocalypse. Yes, Ben, my fans are going to follow me into Denver and cheer me on while I brutally slaughter the Cerebral Prankster." "So you-" "That, and the fact that Ash sucks more nuts than a squirrel packing for winter." Hardy sighs, and then looks at Gus as Flesher slams down the last of his boilermaker. "Ladies and gentlemen," says Hardy, "there you have it. Tom Flesher predicts a retention and further posits that Ash Ketchum swings the way of Bobby Riley. Thank you, and goodnight." ~EPILOGUE~ Ben Hardy was brutally beaten by a gang of midgets. Tom Flesher had another boilermaker. Andrew Rickmen is still at large. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Suicide King Report post Posted March 13, 2004 The Nature's Gift Nutshot match concept may very well have been my greatest creation, although the reverse inferno match always had a special place in my heart. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Angel_Grace_Blue 0 Report post Posted March 14, 2004 In several minutes I shall go on a posting spree, giving you people such classics as Grahf vs. Cardboard Comet, Grahf vs. NTD, and other stuff. But right now, Mr. Galatea's Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire match, to be followed by Comet's winning version of said match. From the horribly no-showed Wreck the Hallz, here we gooo! Ben: It’s main event time here at Wreck The Halls! It’s certainly been an interesting night to say the least! Nervous Sheep: This match should prove to be a real classic. It’s called a Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire Match. To win, you must light on fire, the testicles of both your opponents! I’ve got one question Ben: Why the HELL would these guys agree to this? Ben: Well Sheep, neither of these three men have ever really been considered sane in the first place. Fortunately for them, they have been provided with a protective cup so that they don’t actually burn their… you know… Sheep: Still, would you really want to take the risk of permanently burning your most precious possession? Ben: I know I wouldn’t, but as I said, these guys aren’t exactly sane. [“Antipop” begins to play and Mr. Galatea comes out and takes his usual pause. He waits especially long at the entrance, as he is very sure that Santa would deliver Miss Galatea for him. After “Antipop” has finished playing through, a stage hand whispers something to Mr. Galatea about a message from Miss Galatea that says simpley “Not in this lifetime.” A frown covers Mr. G’s face as he heads to the ring, fighting off the tears. He appears to be staggering, and he can’t quite walk in a straight line.] Sheep: Looks like Mr. Galatea dressed up for Christmas! He’s wearing some red and white pants tonight! Ben: He always wears red and white, Sheep. They’re the Canadian colours. Sheep: That may be true, but does Mr. Galatea usually have his beard dyed white? Ben: No, I believe that’s new… [A super kick-ass heroic theme kicks up and blue, white and gold lights flash like crazy, nearly causing seizures to the many epilepsy sufferers in attendance. A spotlight finds Cyclone Comet at the top of the ramp, standing proud as always while a fan blows his mighty hair. Comet raises one hand in the air, and runs to the ring pretending to fly.] Sheep: The triumphant Cyclone Comet enters the ring, and stands tall, dwarfing the tiny Mr. Galatea! Ben: What the hell are you talking about? They’re almost exactly the same height and weight. They’re both 6’2”, and Mr. Galatea is 235lbs, just 3 more pounds then Comet! Sheep: Really? Hmmm, maybe it’s the cape? Ben: Yeah, it’s gotta be the cape… wait a second! Look, out in the crowd! It’s Funyon! We saw him earlier tonight! Sheep: Where? I don’t see him. Ben: Look, he’s disguised as a popcorn vendor! I wonder if he’s planning on doing a run-in during this match! Sheep: Actually Ben, I think he’s just selling popcorn. Jayson doesn’t exactly give good retirement packages from what I hear… [Cyclone bounds around the ring, walking in circles, as Mr. Galatea looks towards the entryway. For some unknown reason, Galatea looks eagerly at the curtain and seems to be fighting back laughter. “The Homo Rainbow” by Ween starts playing and Mr. Galatea bursts out laughing. Exploding Chicken appears from behind the curtain holding two boxes. Upon hearing the music, Chicken can been seen mouthing the words “What the f*ck?!?!”] Ben: It appears Mr. Galatea decided to play a little joke on Chicken tonight. Sheep: Are you sure? I’ve heard that Chicken was thinking about changing music… Ben: I’d say this is Galatea’s doing. Do you think it’s wise of him, considering the fact that the Exploding Chicken has attempted to kill him on more than one occasion? Sheep: 3,452 to be exact. [EC gets in the ring, sets the two boxes down and begins to speak.] EC: ‘Tis the season to be jolly guys, so I brought you some presents. For you Cyclone, I brought… IGNWF Action Figures! [He hands Comet the box of figures. Cyclone begins looking through the toys until he finds the figures of Chicken, Galatea and himself. Also in the box is a toy ring. CC heads to the outside and sits down at the commentary desk. He sets up the ring and positions the Mr. Galatea and Chicken figures so that they’re standing the same way as their human counterparts.] Sheep: Wow! Look at all the accessories Mr. Galatea comes with! A trenchcoat… nightvision goggles… panties… Ben: What is he supposed to be, like, a spy or something? Sheep: Something like that… [back in the ring] EC: And for you, Galy baby… I brought… BAM! [Chicken whips out a gun and shoots Mr. Galatea in the arm. Galatea falls back and can be heard muttering “…damn…chicken…” EC immediately jumps on Mr. G and begins punching him in the face. At the table, Comet makes the EC figure jump on the Mr. Galatea figure and begin punching him in the face. Chicken pulls Mr. Galatea to his feet and throws him to the ropes. Galatea ducks a clothesline and comes back with a High Cross Body. Completely no selling the gun shot wound, Mr. Galatea picks Chicken high up over his head and does an Ultimate Warrior style Guerilla Press. Meanwhile, the Galatea figure preforms a stunning Guerilla Press on the smaller EC figure…] Ben: Hmm, that bullet in the arm doesn’t really seem to be affecting Mr. Galatea too much. Sheep: I’ve heard Galatea has been training with Goldberg, and he now completely no sells everything! Ben: Yeah, but a gunshot? I can see the blood dripping out!! Sheep: Hey, when you’re as good as the ‘Berg, not even a gun can stop you. Besides, it was only a 9mm… [Galateaberg, having hit one move, signals that it’s time for Chicken to be finished. He picks EC up for a Jackhammer, but Chicken escapes the suplex and delivers a brutal kick to Galatea’s stomach, causing him to double over. While he’s hunched over, EC throws another kick, this time to Galatea’s head. He throws another, and another, and another. Mr. G drops face down on the mat, and a small stain begins to form on the back of his tights.] Ben: What the hell is that?!?! Sheep: You don’t know? Ben: It’s looks like Galatea just took a… Sheep: Don’t you see? Chicken just kicked the sh*t out of Mr. Galatea!! Ben: I thought that was just an expression!!! Sheep: Normally it is, but I heard Mr. Galatea had some been buritoes for lunch today. Ben: I think I’m gonna be sick… [A disgusted EC picks up the Crapmaster and throws him to the outside. As Galatea gets to his feet, he is met with a perfect looking Sprinboard Sommersault Plancha. Chicken picks Galatea up to his feet and works him in the direction of the commentary table with a series of knife edge chops. Comet, who has been mimicking the entire match, continues to do so by having the figure EC chop the figure Mr. G around the outside. EC goes behind Mr. Galatea, and sets him up for a German Suplex. Ben and Sheep clear the area, but Cyclone, determined to act out the match move for move, stays in place. Chicken pulls back and German Suplexes Mr. Galatea through the announce table, right on top of Cyclone’s toys. The result is a completely anihilated set of IGNWF Action Figures. Galatea lays motionless as Cyclone Comet gets an enraged look in his eyes. Chicken sees Comet’s psychoticness and runs away. He dives into the ring, and Comet is quick to follow. Seeing no other option but to fight, Chicken charges at Comet, only to be taken down by an Arm Drag. Chicken gets up and again charges at Cyclone, who takes down Chicken with a Hip Toss. Another charge, another Hip Toss. This goes on for about 5 or 6 minutes (a la early 90’s Tito Santana matches) until both men get tired out and fall over. After another few minutes of them laying around (a la early 90’s Bastion Booger matches) the two men finally get back to their feet. They exchange punches until EC misses, leaving him open for a Reverse Facelock Suplex. Cyclone immediately comes down with a Split-leg Sit-out Leg Drop. In complete control, Comet picks up Chicken and hooks his arms for Straitjacket Suplex. Chicken hits a knee to the gut grabs Comet’s head and nails THE ORIGINAL RECIPE!] Ben: Oh my Gawd!! That came out of nowhere! Sheep: Chicken is reaching into his pants!! What could he be reaching for?!?! Ben: It’s a lighter! I think Chicken is going to try to eliminate Cyclone Comet! [Chicken sparks the lighter and begins to move closer to Cyclone’s heroic, manly nards. Chicken lowers his hand, and sure enough, lights up nuts.] Sheep: Great Balls of Fire!! Ben: How did I know you’d say something like that… [Comet begins running around like a madman (but a heroic madman) all around the ring. He finally runs up the ramp where he is met by serveral EMTs who begin grabbing Cyclone’s jimmies. Although they are trying to extinguish the fire, to the naked eye it appears as if the EMTs are simpley giving Comet a hand job. As all this has been going on, Mr. Galatea, who despite having no sold a gun shot earlier, has been selling a German Suplex for about 20 minutes. He finally begins to stagger to his feet and climbs into the ring. Chicken, who has been watching the free show being put on by Comet and the EMTs, doesn’t notice Mr. G come up behind him and grab him for a Newfiplex. Galatea heads straight up to the top and hits a Fleur-de-lis, and rolls Chicken onto his back. Mr. G runs at the ropes, and comes down with a Galasault. But as the G-Man is coming down, EC extends a hand and locks on the Testicular Claw! EC squeezes with all his might, making Galatea feel like he’s in a German porno film. Once they are back to their feet, Chicken forces Galatea into a Jumping Spike Piledriver. Mr. Galatea bounces right back up! He begins shaking his head. Chicken throws a punch… Mr. Galatea no sells! Galatea heads to the middle of the ropes and begins to shake them like crazy. Desperately needing a way to stop Mr. G, Chicken picks up the gun he used at the beginning of the match. *BAM… Mr. Galatea no sells and moves on to shake the next set of ropes. *BAM… another no sell and Mr. G shakes the next set of ropes. *BAM… once again it has no affect as Mr. G makes his transformation in the the Ultimate Galatea. The Ultimate Galatea reaches into his pants and pulls out a blow torch (I wear big pants). He fires it up, and nods his head to EC as if to say “I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight”. The UG rears back, sucks in as much air as possible and prepares to exhale…] Ben: What is he gonna do? Blow out the flame? Sheep: Don’t you know anything? With the amount of booze that Galatea drinks, he’s bound to blow a fireball the size of Roseanne! Ben: Is he insane!!! Sheep: I think we established that a loooong time ago… (The following events take place in super-ultra-mega slow motion) [Mr. Galatea begins to blow out, and a fireball begins to form. In a last ditch effort to save himself, EC spins around, bends over and points his ass into the air. Chicken squeezes with all of his might, and unleashes a fart so devastatingly loud that the windows in the arena shatter, and in the background the sound of car alarms going off can be heard. Chicken’s gascious blast causes an even larger fireball to form, which blows right back at Mr. Galatea, igniting his hair. Chicken, his last breath spent (sort of), collapses to the mat landing on his back. Finally feeling the affects of being shot four times, Mr. Galatea begins to fall forward, in the same direction as Chicken. As he hits the ground, Mr. Galatea’s head lands directly on the croch of the Exploding Chicken. After Galatea’s head lays against Chicken’s gonads for several seconds, the fire from Mr. Galatea’s hair lights up the chicken’s balls. The referee calls for the bell.] Ben: Oh my Gawd!!!! After the Chicken Exploded with an Atomic Fart, Mr. Galatea passed out and ignited EC’s testicles!!! That’s just sick!!! Sheep: Even sicker is the fact that despite having won the match, Mr. Galatea doesn’t appear to be moving his head away from Chicken’s groin!! Ben: I think he’s passed out, Sheep. Sheep: I really, REALLY hope he’s passed out. Ben: Though all of them deserve a big hand, I’ve really got to hand it to Mr. Galatea. Even though he was shot four times, and had his head lit on fire, he STILL found a way to win! Sheep: And I’ve got to hand it to the Exploding Chicken, for creating probably the worst smell known to man!! Ben: That’s it for matches folks, but after we clear this mess up, we’ve got an annual holiday tradition that you don’t want to miss! It’s just a few short moments away, on IGNWF Wreck the Halls!! [Meanwhile, despite having put out the fire some ten minutes ago, the EMTs continue to pat and rub Cyclone Comet’s genitals…] Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Angel_Grace_Blue 0 Report post Posted March 14, 2004 As stated twelve seconds ago, Comet's winning match! To think that two people wrote for this match for WtH is mind-blowing. (…and we're back! The crowd is going ooh-aah-ohh at a laser light show; the lasers, shooting onto the IGN big screen, shows snowflakes exploding, icicles falling, and various IGN wrestlers' faces, finally ending by writing "WRECK THE HALLS" in laser-light. The crowd cheers it as we go to Drew F., Ben Hardy, and Nervous Sheep at ringside.) Drew: We're back… my God, what a weird night it's been, and it can only get weirder, I guess, with this next match…and I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's a Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire match! Sheep: HEE HEE HEE! This is going to be the funniest damn thing EVER! I LOVE IT! BenH: Yeah, but underneath, it's a damn dangerous match! Three wrestlers enter the ring; you have to eliminate both of your opponents by …setting them on fire. Only… Sheep: No no no! It's setting their NUTS on fire! Their NUTS! BenH: They ARE nuts! But each wrestler has this specially-designed protective cup to protect them from any, er, permanent damage. Sheep: BOOO! Safety SUCKS! BOOOO! BenH: You know what sounds good right now? Roast Sheep! Drew (as the bell rings): You two cool off…the only heat I want is gonna be in that ring right now! (The arena darkens; strange mist spreads in front of the entrance. Suddenly, chickens drop from the ceiling, blowing up into dazzling firebursts!) Funyon (in the ring, into the mike): Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for two falls; it is a Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire match! Introducing first, from Vancouver, Canada, weighing in at 195 pounds, from Prime Evil…the EXPLODING CHICKEN! (Exploding Chicken appears; he is wearing what looks like a Santa suit, but when he steps into the light it is clear that the red and white suit is made of colored feathers! EC gets into the ring and dramatically rips off the suit!) Sheep: AAAAH! I'm BLIND! AAAAH! BenH: Uh, Sheep, Chicken was actually wearing something under that suit, so you didn't see him naked… Sheep: Oh, thank God! …I think that counts as a Christmas miracle! ("Antipop" by Primus kicks up as Funyon raises the mike again…) Funyon: Now entering the arena, from London, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 235 pounds… MISTER GALATEAAAA! (Mr. Galatea stands at the entrance, smirking; a sprig of mistletoe dangles over his head, suspended on a wire attached to his back; his T-shirt reads: "Kiss Me, Miss Me!") BenH: "Kiss me, miss me"? What's that supposed…oh, Miss ME, Miss Galatea, ha ha. Sheep: HA HA HA! You think Mr. Galatea's gonna get his Christmas wish? Maybe he can go to the IGN Christmas party and steal a kiss from Miss Galatea! Drew: I don't think that restraining order takes a break even on the holidays! There is no way that Galatea's even getting near Chris Sabga, much less Miss Galatea! Sheep: YUCK! Don't talk about mistletoe and Chris Sabga! Ecch, I need some egg nog to wash that thought from my mind… (Mr. Galatea, keeping an eye on EC, enters the ring and rests in the corner opposite the Chicken. They both have lighters in their hands, marked with the "Wreck the Halls" logo. Sheep (drinking egg nog): <glug> …And you know, folks, what better way to say I-love-you than with our souvenir Wreck the Halls lighter! It can roast nuts anywhere! BenH: Shill… Sheep: WHAT WAS THAT?! BenH: Err…"she'll". I mean, (breaks into song), SHE'LL…BE HOME…FOR CHRISTMAS…YOUUU CAN COUUUNT ON, uh, HER… Drew: Ben Hardy, ladies and gentleman; the wrestling countertenor! BenH: Don't make me hurt you, Drew… Funyon: And their opponent, entering the arena at this time, from Portland, Oregon, USA (…cheap pop!…), weighing in at 232 pounds…he is the IGN Junior League Heavyweight Champion…Cyclooooone COMET! (As heroic music plays, pyro begins bursting out of the stage, shooting like comets in huge arcs to either side. Onscreen, a giant blue fireball spins in a circle, with a tornado being formed underneath it. A spotlight stabs down and reveals the IGNJL champion, who pumps one fist in the air as he heads down to the ring. He stops at the end of the aisle, removes his gold belt, and raises it into the air with both hands. He then walks around the ring, glancing at both Mr. G and EC as he slaps a few of his fan's hands, then hands his belt to Funyon, who has left the ring and was about to sit down.) Drew: You can hear the ovation being given to the new champion, Cyclone Comet, who was granted that belt by his friend and mentor Mercury! Sheep: Handed on a silver platter, you mean! Comet's an unproven champion! He hasn't defended that belt once! He's never held a singles title anywhere! BenH: He's holding one now…(sinister music suddenly blasts through the arena!) …what the…? I know that music! It's Prime Evil! What the hell do they want? (Prime Evil stalks from the back and lines up on the entrance stage; Madrac stands in the middle, with the IGNWF tag champs The Fallen flanking him.) Sheep: They just want to wish their buddy Exploding Chicken good luck! Drew: They should have done that before he came out here! (A chant of "MA-DRAC-SUX" starts up, but Madrac ignores it as he raises his mike…) Madrac: Well, well, well! We meet again, Cyclone Comet! And you're still the pansy freak that we left back in the Junior League! Well, Comet… and you too, Galatea… I'm afraid there's been a change in the program! This will not be a Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire match; this will be a Prime Evil Sets Fire To Both Your Sorry <BEEP>s match!! Sheep: WOW! That sounds like a great match to me! BenH: Anything involving fire sounds good to you, Sheep… Sheep: It's true! It's true! …Wait a sec, now Comet's got a mike… Comet: Well, Madrac, we do indeed meet again, and you're still the title-less mike-hog that we were glad to kick out of the Justice League! But I'm afraid this match right here is going to continue, because you guys have a slightly more serious problem! You see, Drax, this is the holiday season, a time of miracles…and so I've brought a few friends that love the holdays, but love kicking your butts even more! Madrac (laughing evilly): Spare me your pointless threats, Vomit! I don't care who you brought with you; bring them on, because NO-ONE can defeat Prime Evil! Comet: Not even…PRIME EVIL ITSELF?? (Suddenly, figures jump out from backstage and start attacking Prime Evil, who fight back; a fairly equal brawl ensues!) BenH: Hey, who are all those guys? They look kinda familiar…wait a sec, they're all dressed up just like Prime Evil! It's PE versus PE! But who…? (The figures are indeed doubles of each member of Prime Evil! Madrac, enraged at the ambush, chops at his clone's throat…and looks shocked when the figure's head rips off and bounces on the floor! The figure is still active, and clutches Madrac around the throat, choking him!) Sheep: AAAAH! That guy's dead!! But he's still wrestling!! What's going on! Drew: I'LL tell you what's going on! It's the Attack of the Living Dummies! Cyclone Comet's fictional tale of dummies brought to life has taken on a life of its own! The dummies, often mistaken for real wrestlers and viciously attacked, are now taking revenge on their flesh-and-blood twins! Sheep: But…!! But that was just a story…? OR WAS IT??? (Eventually, the two sets of Prime Evil beat themselves backstage. Cyclone Comet enters the ring, and he, Mr. Galatea, and the Exploding Chicken circle each other as the bell rings!) BenH: The bell has rung; I guess we're back to the Open Fire match! Sheep: Ben?!? You realize that we just had FICTIONAL characters attack Prime Evil!! BenH: Really? Fictional characters? In the IGNWF? Ya think? Moron… Sheep: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!! (Mr. Galatea holds his lit lighter in front of him, pointing it at EC and CC; the Chicken flicks away at his, failing to get a spark; Comet just sticks the lighter into his boot for safe-keeping. There's a tense moment, as the three men square off…finally it's the Chicken that makes the first move, locking up with Comet. Mr. Galatea immediately dives towards them, dropping to his knees and waving the lighter at their crotches; both Comet and Chicken lash out with kicks, knocking Mr. G back. Chicken quickly locks onto Comet's arm, hits a big armwringer, then into a hammerlock, and Chicken puts on a half nelson with his other hand to tie Comet up. Mr. G again dodges forward with his lighter, trying for a quick win, and gets kicked back again. Comet reverses the hammerlock, then shoves Chicken forward. Once more Galatea thrusts his lighter at Chicken's groin…Chicken kicks Galatea in the HEAD, then again, and AGAIN! Dazed, Galatea thrusts his lighter blindly forward, and Chicken grabs his hand and shoves it into his face; there's a burst of flame, and Galatea shouts in pain and scrambles away.) Drew: Mr. Galatea needs to come up with a better game plan; his opponents aren't exactly going to just give him their crotches! Sheep: …I need more egg nog… (Chicken is dancing with glee at Galatea's pain; Comet clobbers him from behind, then ducks under one arm and goes for a belly-to-back; Chicken turns into it and hits a sunset flip. The ref shrugs, since pinfalls don't count…but the Chicken quickly lights his lighter, raises it up, and plunges it down towards Comet's groin! Comet slams his legs together, catching EC's hand between his knees; as Chicken tries to force his hand down, Mr. Galatea angrily storms up from behind and kicks Chicken in the back of the head, breaking up the pin. As Comet rolls into a corner, Galatea pounds on Chicken, whips him into the ropes and meets him with a kick to the gut, then ties him up and lands the Dollar Value Plummet brainbuster! Galatea leans over Chicken with his lighter, but Chicken still has his lighter and sticks his hand almost into Galatea's "Little Mister". Galatea jumps away, Chicken vaults to his feet…and Comet jumps onto Chicken's shoulders and hits a Victory Roll!) Sheep: He keeps going for those pins! They don't count, you idiot! Drew: Wait a second, Chicken's legs are spread! Galatea's flicking his Bic crazily, trying to get a flame…Chicken's trying to kick out, if Galatea can apply that flame it's all over for EC…Galatea's lighter seems to be broken…no, there, it's lit! Galatea reaches down…Chicken kicks out! He's scrambling away from Galatea… (Galatea pursues the Chicken, as Comet quickly slips out of the ring. Chicken lashes out with some punches, stunning Galatea; EC puts Galatea into the ropes, goes for a clothesline, misses, Galatea slides around and puts a waistlock on Chicken, Chicken blocks the German suplex, then rolls forward, scissoring Galatea's leg and yanking him forward and onto his face. Chicken with a variation on the ankle-lock on Mr. G, now Chicken lights his lighter and tries to eliminate Galatea, but Galatea kicks with his free foot and lashes out in all directions, quickly breaking the hold. Now Comet re-enters the ring…and he's got a fire extinguisher from underneath the ring!) Sheep: Hey, why do we keep that stupid fire extinguisher under the ring anyway? Drew: Actually, with all the tables, two-by-fours, canes, kendo sticks, and other wooden hardcore objects underneath it, the entire ring represents a severe fire hazard… Sheep: Someone really needs to clean that ring out one of these days… (But Comet doesn't fire the extinguisher just yet. Instead he sneaks up behind Chicken, then tosses the extinguisher over Chicken's head to Galatea, who catches it reflexively. Chicken spins around, and Comet drop-kicks him, knocking him backward into Galatea and into the fire extinguisher! The Chicken falls to the ground, clutching his head. Comet jumps up in a celebratory mood, which is dashed as Mr. G douses him with the fire extinguisher!) Drew: Oh no! I think Cyclone's blinded! Look at all that retardant on him! Sheep: That WHAT? Are Ted Flink's Flailing Fruits attacking him or something? Drew: I meant FIRE RETARDANT, you numb-wit! Sheep: Huh-huh, you said…OW! Quit hitting me! (Mr. Galatea follows up by slugging Comet in the head with the fire extinguisher, taking the masked man down hard! Now Mr. Galatea has the advantage; he quickly grabs the injured Comet and ties him up in the ropes, then does the same to the Exploding Chicken on the side opposite Comet. Now Mr. Galatea goes to the outside and roots around under the ring. He brings out a long board with a mass of cloth on one end. The cloth looks strangely wet…Mr. Galatea applies his lighter to the cloth; it lights up; it's a torch, using gasoline-soaked cloth! Mr. Galatea re-enters the ring, waving the torch around to the crowd's delight!) Drew: This could be it! Galatea is all ready to torch both the Chicken and Comet right here and now! Sheep: And not just their nuts either! It's gonna be a barbeque! Drew: Galatea is walking towards Chicken…he's lowering that torch, he's going for it…he's stopped? What's he doing? BenH: Hey, he's looking down the aisle…wait a sec, who's there at the entrance? (A female figure is visible near the entrance. A spotlight finally focuses on her…) Drew: OH MY GOD! IT'S…IT'S MISS GALATEA! BenH: What?? THAT'S Miss Galatea? Sheep: WOW!! Look at her! Look at her legs! Look at her body! Look at her eyes! She's…she's…what's the word?? Drew: Indescribable. Sheep: That's it! …Oooh, she's got a mike! HA, look at Mr. Galatea! (Mr. Galatea is gaping at his idol as she raises her microphone to her lips in an outrageously seductive manner…) Miss Galatea: Hello…loverboy! …You know, Mister, I always thought you were Mr. Wrong, I thought you were Mr. Stalker…but now I see you're nothing if not Mr. Galatea! And all I want right now is for you to come down here, because you don't need to "Miss Me"…when you can kissssss me! Sheep: YES! YES! It's Mr. Galatea's dream come to life! Ooh la la! BenH: I think he's drooling… (The torch falls from the drooling Mr. Galatea's hand as he boggles at Miss Galatea, his jaw dropped practically to the canvas. Miss Galatea crooks one finger in a "c'mere" motion. Mr. Galatea shivers with suppressed ardor…and, with a fiery whoosh, Mr. Galatea's crotch bursts into cherry-red flame!!) BenH: What the hell…?? He's been set on fire! He's eliminated! He's gone! But…but how? Both Chicken and Comet are still tied up in the ropes! How did it happen? Drew: Well, you know what spontaneous combustion is, Ben? I think we've just witnessed spontaneous SEXUAL combustion! Mr. Galatea's passion has been restrained for so long, that now that it finally is able to be let loose, it's causing a chemical reaction in Mr. G's groinal area! Sheep: I feel like I've walked into an episode of the X-Files! But there it is, guys; Mr. G is out of this match, and he's leaving the ring, and going to meet the love of his life! (Mr. Galatea, ignoring the fact that his lower body is on fire, staggers up the aisle like a sleepwalking zombie on drugs, hands held out for Miss Galatea, who steps towards him. As the crowd cheers madly, Mr. and Miss Galatea embrace at the entranceway, and the two exchange a smoldering kiss. Smoldering…) Drew: …? Wait a second… (Smoldering…Miss Galatea is now on fire! Mr. Galatea's pants, having made contact with Miss Galatea's clothing, have set her ablaze! Suddenly, the IGN columnist is engulfed in fire…but still she clutches Mr. Galatea to her in a passionate clinch! Within moments, it's over, and Mr. Galatea is left standing on the stage, clutching nothing but burnt ashes. A few wisps of straw flutter to the floor…) BenH: Oh no! You don't think…? Drew: Yes, Ben, I'm afraid Miss Galatea was nothing more than ANOTHER straw-filled dummy! As opposed to an alcohol-filled dummy like the rest of the IGN columnists… Sheep: Um, guys? Not to make a big deal out of this but…DUMMIES CAN'T WALK AROUND AND KISS PEOPLE!! BenH: You'd be an expert on that, wouldn't you, Sheep? Drew: I think Mr. Galatea doesn't care… (Mr. Galatea stands dazed at the entrance, his entire body blackened with burns and burnt straw. He is smiling stupidly, and eventually wanders off backstage.) BenH: See, Drew, wishes CAN come true! Sheep: This is RIDICULOUS! This is NOT HAPPENING! Drew: Shut up, Sheep! Just because you don't agree with the ref's call doesn't mean… Sheep: …God, I hope someone's spiked this egg nog…other than me, I mean… (As Sheep drinks up, the Exploding Chicken and Cyclone Comet free themselves from the ropes, and both dive for the flaming torch that Mr. Galatea left in the ring. The two engage in a tug-of-war, yanking the torch back and forth. Comet tries to shove the torch down towards Chicken, but Chicken jumps away and shoves right back. Finally, the torch is dropped back to the ground, and Chicken and Comet start pounding away on each other. Chicken blocks a punch, lunges forward, and bites Comet between the eyes! Now Chicken knees Comet in the gut, and locks him in a front facelock, and then signals that he's going for the Original Recipe falling DDT ON THE TORCH!) BenH: But that won't win the match! Sheep: No, but it'll be so SWEET! Do it, EC! (Exploding Chicken tries to, but Comet hits a few shots to Chicken's ribs, then picks up Chicken for a body-slam; Chicken drops down behind Comet with a reverse headlock on the champ; it looks like Chicken will go for a reverse DDT, but again Comet blocks, grabs Chicken by the head, and snap-mares him right onto the burning torch! For a second, Chicken just lies there, and then bolts upright, clucking in shock, and the crowd gasps in horror!) Sheep: YES! YES! OH YEEEEES! Drew: MY GOD! CHICKEN'S HAIR IS ON FIRE! MY GOD, SOMEONE PUT HIM OUT! BenH: Man, this morning I had a burning, itching sensation in my scalp, but not like THAT! And this'll take more than the right shampoo to fix! (Even Comet looks stunned by this. He reaches for the screaming Chicken as if to put out the flames…Chicken grabs Comet and hits a jawbreaker, roasting Comet's face in the process! Comet crashes to the ground, and Chicken quickly sets him up so that his legs are spread and his body is angled towards one of the ringposts. Exploding Chicken does a weird chicken-dance in the ring, ignoring the crown of flames he wears…then EC goes to the apron and starts climbing the turnbuckles!) Drew: Oh NO! The Exploding Chicken is going for a dropped head-BUTT from the top-rope onto Cyclone Comet's nuts! He's going to "use his head" to eliminate Comet and win the match! Sheep: Chicken's a human matchstick! Woo hoo, I LOVE IT!! EC (on the top, flapping his arms like a chicken): KLUK KLUK KLUK KABOOM! I kil u Sykloan Kaumit! U gonna B byrnt 2 a krisp! KLUK KLUK! Drew: Wow, all that fire on his head is clearly affecting his brain, worsening his grammar to the point of complete incoherency! BenH: What does that mean? Drew: It means he has even crappier spelling than usual!! (The Exploding Chicken balances on the top-rope, then jumps off in a beautiful head-BUTT, but Cyclone does a backward somersault, and EC hits nothing but canvas! Comet rolls to his feet, runs behind the still-fallen Chicken, binds up his legs, and hoists Chicken into the Comet's Tail, the reverse Texas Cloverleaf!) Sheep: Hey! Submissions don't count either! What's he doing?? Drew: Maybe he's just stalling for time until he can think of something… BenH: Or maybe he's hoping the fire will spread from Chicken's head to Chicken's <BEEP>! Then again, maybe Comet's already won, since Chicken's a <BEEP>-head! HA HA! Sheep: I am shocked, shocked by your insults, Mr. Hardy! BenH: Shut up, Sheep! (Chicken is scratching at the canvas with his hands, trying to get some leverage. Comet applies even more pressure; now Chicken's feet are practically bent all the way around to the back of his neck! For a second, it looks like Chicken will crack in half! …Suddenly, there's a burst of fire, and Comet jumps back with a yelp, sucking at his fingers!) BenH: What happened? What was that explosion? …Oh NO! Drew: It looks like that the fire on Chicken's head has spread to his FEET! That Comet's Tail made Chicken's boots touch his burning skull, which gave the fire more room to spread! Sheep: And Chicken is standing back up! I can't believe he's still in it! Someone send him back, because that chicken is too tough! (Chicken staggers towards Comet, who assumes a martial stance and punches EC in the head, which burns his hand again! Chicken lashes out with a fiery kick to Comet's midsection, knocking the superhero to his knees…Chicken kicks Comet IN THE FACE! AGAIN! AGAIN! Comet crashes to the ground as the burning Chicken raises his arms in triumph!) Sheep: I don't get it! Comet's wearing all that superhero clothing, but he's not on fire, not even his mask! Why can't Chicken set him on fire? Drew: I told you! Comet's got retardant all over him! Sheep: Yeah, it is a pretty crappy costume… BenH: No, you moron, he got sprayed with a fire extinguisher, and the chemicals on him are preventing him from being set on fire! (As Comet staggers up to his feet, Chicken drops to one knee and applies the testicular claw! Comet is in clear pain as Chicken actually lifts Comet off the ground, then powerbombs him back down!) Drew: A nice testicular tiger-bomb…but Comet's nuts are not roasted yet! (Chicken realizes this, and grins to the crowd. Raising both his hands, he plants them on top of his head! Now his hands are on fire, as well as his feet and head!) Sheep: Wow, now Chicken has turned into a walking menorah! And I didn't even know he was Jewish! BenH: He's out of his goddamn mind is what he is! Sheep: Not if he locks on that testicular claw! Then Comet's nuts will be on fire and this match will be over! (The Chicken drags Comet to his feet, then drops to both knees and swipes up with one fiery hand…but Comet jumps up and backwards, avoiding Chicken's burning claw, and he lands sitting down on the top turnbuckle in the corner! Chicken squawks in anger and lunges at Comet, who leapfrogs over the charging Chicken! Chicken spins around and charges CC again, but Comet meets him with a kick to the groin! Quickly locking up Chicken, Comet suplexes him up, then runs forward and smashes him chest-first onto the turnbuckle; Chicken's groin lands hard on the ringpost itself!) Sheep: OOOOH! More egg nog! Drew: A great counter, but can he avoid Chicken's attacks much longer? …Wait a minute, what's Comet doing? He's signaling to someone, who's he…who…! What the…? (Comet is signaling over to a secluded part of the arena. A figure is standing over a panel of switches. The figure waves back, then reaches down to tug on a switch…) BenH: Oh no… Drew: That's the… Sheep: PYRO CONTROL…??? (The figure flicks the switch! The pyro attached to the ringpost explodes upward in a jet of red flame, RIGHT INTO CHICKEN'S CROTCH! The Exploding Chicken explodes into flames!! The ref calls for the bell as the crowd shrieks in horror and cheers in admiration!) Drew: GOOD GOD! Someone triggered the pyrotechnic attached to that ringpost directly underneath Chicken's nuts! Who the hell triggered that pyro? BenH: He's coming out now…it's…oh my God, it's MERCURY!! (The newest IGNWF recruit, Mercury, runs through the crowd and hits the ring. Comet and he give each other a big high-five! The ref has grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the Chicken finally, and the man with chicken DNA in his system rolls out of the ring and collapses!) Funyon: Here is your winner…CYCLOOOOOONE COMET!! (The crowd cheers as Mercury raises Comet's hand in victory!!) Drew: What an incredible match! And Comet, using his brains and his brawn, pulled it out! Sheep: And his living dummies…I still don't get that… BenH: Oh, shut up. You can't detract from Comet's victory here, and I'm sure that…? What's that sound? Oh no, it's the Corporation's music! What could happen now! (It's JAYSON G! The IGNWF boss-man strides down to ringside and slides into the ring, and demands Funyon's microphone.) JayG: Cyclone Comet, I'm here in part to congratulate you on your incredible win…but I'm also here to give you some good news. I couldn't help but notice that you have the IGNJL championship belt, AND you have had some great matches in the Junior League. Therefore, I will do what I have always done when that happens: steal you from the JL, and make you a jobber here in the IGNWF! Drew: WHAT?? HE CAN'T DO THAT! Dammit, he's screwing up the storylines AGAIN! JayG: Just think of it, Comet; you'll be paid twice as much for half the work! And all your work will pay off in the amount of money and ego-pumping that I, Jayson G, will receive! And, of course, as with every new IGNWF star, you'll have one night of passion with Trish Stratus! (crowd boos) What?! Why do you think Mercury wanted to jump up here in the first place? (crowd boos louder) So, what do you say, Comet? Do we have a deal? (Mercury and Comet quickly confer, then Comet asks for the mike.) Comet: Well, Mr. Jayson, I've thought about your offer, and I have only one thing to ask: which has more silicone, Trish's chest, OR YOUR BRAIN? (And Comet ducks behind JayG, locks him up, and runs up the turnbuckles…!) Drew: CYCLOTRON! CYCLOTRON ON JAYSON! My God, Comet, you've just fulfilled my wildest fantasy!! Sheep: Okay, hold on, STOP! Living dummies I can deal with, Exploding Chicken setting himself on fire like a Roman candle I can deal with, but Cyclone Comet refusing a night of love with Trish Stratus! That's just TOO MUCH! This has got to be some sort of crazy dream! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UUUUP! WAAAAAKE UUUUUUP…… (We cut to Cyclone Comet, who sits bolt upright in his hotel bed!) Comet: AAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAH! (pants, then looks around) What? What happened? …Oh NO! What time is it?!? (checks the clock) Oh NO! I missed my Wreck the Halls match! Where's that darn remote! (Comet quickly switches on the TV. Nervous Sheep is grinning into the camera.) Sheep: Well, there you have it, folks: we have a winner for our "Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire" match! Comet: Oh no… Sheep: Cyclone Comet! Comet: Huh?!?! But I'm not even there! Sheep: As you can see in this replay, Mr. Galatea and the Exploding Chicken set fire to each other's groins at the same time! This means that Cyclone Comet, as the third man in the match, automatically wins, despite the fact he never showed up! In a side note, Mr. Galatea has now declared that due to the bond he formed with Chicken during the match, that he will be henceforth known as "Mr. Chicken". The couple will be spending their Christmas vacation in Vermont. To conclude… (Comet switches off the TV and collapses back in bed.) Comet: Well, I feel a little silly sleeping through it all…I don't understand what made me so tired today…oh well, at least it was all just a dream… (There's a motion on the other side of the bed; Trish Stratus pokes her head out of the covers, sleepily plants a kiss on Cyclone Comet's masked cheek, then rolls over and starts to snore…) Comet (staring into the camera): …or…WAS IT????? (waits for a second, then…) C'mon, morons, fade to black, give a guy his privacy here… (Comet taps Trish on the shoulder as we fade to black…) Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
5_moves_of_doom 0 Report post Posted March 17, 2004 Someone find Fallout vs. TNT. ...It needs to be found. I think it was even the last time Fallout was booked! So it's HISTORYZ~! and... stuff! Oh, or hey, I could go fishing back to the SJL for a T-Bone/TNT/Ced tables match, where I thought I was being all clever by having T-Bone powerbombed through not just a table, but also the PERIODIC *TABLE* OF ELEMENTS! OH GOD THE IRONY OF IT ALL! ...I was *completely* serious about this at the time, it should be noted. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
5_moves_of_doom 0 Report post Posted March 17, 2004 OH, and why has no one brought up Tom LOSING TO ASH yet!? I mean yeesh, if only to just piss Taamo off... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thoth 0 Report post Posted March 17, 2004 Someone get Ted Flink stuff! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Beingz0wningj00 Report post Posted March 20, 2004 I wish you guys would be a little more serious about this. This fed is for wrestling, not for comedy... We ARE SERIOUS here people! On that note, does anyone have my Hide and Seek match with Ash? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
