Two Morons, One Bad Show

Yes, RAW CAN Get Worse!

Hello, my intended...

Your old buddy Bobo was chatting it up with his old buddy Der Kommissaar, and we started thinking; mostly because we like to try new things, but I digress... Anyway, the question came up: What if Raw didn't suck? Well, aside from us having to go back to making fun of other stuff instead, the question began to be discussed more in depth. DK and I have both 'booked' internet fantasy wrestling, and that was... well, purposely insane and head-scratchingly difficult to make the slightest sense of at all (huge surprise, I know). But... it was also somewhat entertaining.

DK: Not to mention intentionally funny, as opposed to the stuff on Raw that you laugh AT, as opposed to WITH.

Right, so it was decided that two of the biggest nutcases either of us knew would have a run at Raw. And maybe... Just maybe... Monday Night wouldn't suck - or at least could start sucking in a different way. We're not proud, we'll take what we can get.

DK: Without further ado, let's bring the madness! Minus Savage. *ahem*

Standard Montage, but Union Underground's 'Across the Nation' is replaced with Megadeth's 'Angry Again'. Why? Well, since most of the demographic is supposed to be people that remember the old bastards we have running around now, we figured we might as well throw these folks a bone musicwise.

The show opens to Eric Bischoff walking down the hallway to where Ross and Lawler sit. Lawler welcomes Ross back from his resignation, and Uncle Eric comes out with a mic. "Glad to see they gave you your job back, Jimmy Boy," sneers Eric. "That means I get to fire you AGAIN. Make like a Panda and get the 'F' out!"

"This isn't over," Ross warns. "Not by a damn sight!"

"Oh? What are you gonna do? Poke out your lower lip?" laughs Eric. "Tell ya what, I'll give you your job BACK i you can do that."

"You can do it, J.R.!" encourages King. But it is for naught, and Ross leaves in defeat.

Cut to Backstage, Dressing Room 420. RVD and Kane are sitting across from each other, the tag straps over their shoulders, and a 'mysterious hazy fog' is prevalent in the room with them... King suggests that their humidifier is turned up a bit too high, but the look on RVD is obviously not due to its being humid...

RVD: Listen, dude... I've told you a hundred times already that you need to loosen up, and it's still with the poor little woodland creatures in the basement with you. So now we gotta get with the EXTREME measures.

Kane: I'm not sure I can do that.

RVD: Come ON, brother. Don't say no to this... It's for your own good. You got to let it go... Forget it. It's easy...

Kane: What's easy?

RVD: There ya go! I told ya, dude... Just stick with me and everything's gonna be cool.

Kane: Fire is my thing... dude. Fire isn't 'cool'.

RVD: I hear ya, dude... Wrestling good... Fire bad. That's cool. You're bad, right? Big Bad Red Machine, right?

Kane: Why does it smell so strange in here?

RVD: Uh... MAGIC, dude. These are the, uh, healing vapors... YEAH.

Kane: Magic healing vapors?

RVD: Give 'em a chance, dude... They work GREAT for me...


(Return from commercial and RVD is eating a bag of "Xtreme" Doritos.)

RVD: You know, these aren't as extreme as I hoped they'd be.

Kane: Don't hog those, brother... (sighs wistfully) What am I doing here man? I'm some burned up freak defending some useless tag belts.

RVD: Now hold on just a...

Kane: My mom always told me I shoulda been a dentist! Right after I knocked that tooth out clean.

RVD: Whoa, a dentist, eh? So, can you like, recommend gum and stuff?

Kane: No.

RVD: Hunh. So you must be like that one in five, huh?

Kane: Don't we have a match against Storm and Morley right now?

RVD: It's Monday, isn't it?

(Cut to ring, where Storm and Morley are tapping their feet impatiently.)

Morley: I want you to start counting those two clowns out right now!

Offscreen: Wait just one minute, you homewrecker!

(music cues. "He's a man...such a man...he's a's...MAN!" Enter William Regal.)

Regal: So this is how it goes. Lonce, I leave for a month, and you're already shacking up with this hussy! You told me I was your one and only.

Storm: Come on, Billy, this isn't what it looks like. We're just partners!

Regal: Partners indeed.

Morley: Now that I'm a tag team champion, Regal, there's no way you're getting him back!

Regal: Oh, is that so? Well let's settle this like gentlemen, in the ring!

Storm: Come on, guys, there's no need to...

Regal and Morley: (in unison) Stay out of this.

(Storm pouts and goes to the announce booth with Lawler and JR.)

Storm: Weren't you just fired?

JR: What are you talking about?

(Bischoff sticks his head in from the side of the screen.)

Bischoff: Oh, by the way. JR? You're fired!

Storm: Hmm... who's writing this?

Bischoff: A chimp chained to a typewriter.

Storm: Good to see Tommy Dreamer's got the book again.

(The bell rings and the match begins. A bit of back-and-forth offense from both men, some chops from Morley and European Uppercuts from Regal.
Kane and RVD stumble their way to the ring, into what they think is their match. Huge pop. Kane and RVD throw Morley and Regal out of the ring and
the ref begins the count-out.)

Lawler: So, you have two guys fighting over you. That must be awkward for you.

Storm: Well it's not like two girls would be.

Lawler: Really? Two girls have fought over me, and it's GREAT!

Storm: Then the principal broke it up?

(The ref is up to 8. Regal slowly gets up and is about to crawl into the ring for the win and Storm's partnership. Morley pulls him back down before the ref can stop the count.)

Ref: 9! 10!

Lawler: I don't believe it! Both men have been counted out!

Storm: Where does that leave me?

Lawler: Judging from the way Morley and Regal are hugging and raising each other's hands, out in the cold!

Storm: Hold me?

Lawler: Sorry, son. You're too old for me.

(exit a dejected Storm)

The Rock has arrived! The Rock is in the building! We're excited because he's only twenty minutes late for a live show! Will he address Goldberg tonight? Will he perform a number on the People's Guitar? Will we ever stop asking pointless questions? ...Yes.

Terri: Rock, it's you! Everyone wants to know about your upcoming match with Bill Goldberg at Backlash.

Rock: What in the BLUE HELL do they still need to know? We're having it, okay? It's even on the website. Next question?

Terri: Well... could you address the fact that you seem to be... well, scared to death of him?

Rock: Scared? Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-WOAH! SCARED? The Rock isn't scared of NOBODY - and he's especially not scared of some bald reject from direct-to-video land that USED TO BE.... NOBODY. The Rock is gonna put all this junk to rest once and for all! (He raises an eyebrow, and then struts off.)

Terri: Rock! Wait! We still have an interv...

Y2J: Oh, are you looking for somebody to interview? Well, look no further. You can have an interview with a HUuuuuuge rock star. The Highlight... OF the NIGHT. The Ayotollah... of ROCK AND ROLLA! A guy that's the biggest thing on this PLANET, and KING OF THE WORLD!

Terri: Hmm... sounds good. (peeks past Jericho on either side) So, where is Mr. Michaels?

Y2J: MICHAELS!? MICHAELS!!!? (Jericho slaps Terri, and she falls to the floor. Jericho puts her in the Walls) Hey, honey, when you see that Heart Break Kid, you just give a yell! (Cranks back on the Walls)

Terri: AAAAAAAGGGGHHHH! (Terri taps pitifully)

Goldust is standing on one of the production boxes! Terri sees him, and a flicker of hope crosses her face that she will be rescued. Goldust leaps off the crate, and lands a guillotine legdrop on TERRI, who's still in the Walls! Lights out! Jericho releases her, completely stunned at this strange act by the Golden One.

Y2J: .......Geeze, man, on the concrete? Isn't that a bit over the top?

Goldust: Te-te-te-TELL y-y-you WHAT, Fuh-fuh-fuh-FOZZY bear... YOU marry the cunt-cunt-cunt-CONTROLLING bit-WAAAAAA-bitbit(bleep) and-and-and ask me again in a few years. RAAAA-WAAAAA-NYUH! (He spits on her) Fuh-fuh-fuh... OH, HELL with her! (Goldust scoops her up and puts her butt-first in a trashcan, with her arms and legs jutting out - yet she still has hold of the mic. Goldust appraises his handiwork.) She never looked better... AH! AAAAAH! Woof!


(Return from commercial, and Rock's entrance begins.)

He strides out to the ring with the People's Guitar, and sets it gently down in the neutral corner. Huge pops from the crowd, as Rock calls for a mic. Referee is Nick Patrick.

Rock: I've had it up to HERE with all of you giving the Rock a bunch of jibber-jabber about (mockingly) Rock is scared. The Rock is gonna get his candy ass whooped. (Crowd pops) Stop cheering! You shouldn't be proud of being dumb(bleep)s! (Crowd boos) So the Rock is gonna settle this right now. The Rock isn't gonna wait for no Backlash! The Rock is gonna show all you dumb(bleeps) out there once and for DAMN ALL. Tell that bald jabronie to... just... BRING IT. (Rock makes with the 'bring it' gesture, and nothing happens.) See? That lousy so and so doesn't want no piece of the ROCK!

Goldberg's Intro begins. Crowd pops. Rock makes with the 'holy crap, what have I done' looks. Pyro starts, and the Rock falls back in a panic. Extreme closeups of the back of a bald head. Extreme closeups of black trunks. Rock flails around as if looking for a place to hide. Crowd begins to chant 'Goldberg', and here comes... A midget Goldberg.

King: Hey! Someone must've showered in hot water...

JR: Oh, stop it. This is obviously just Rock mocking Goldberg. It's a sickening display.

King: Weren't you fired?

Rock continues to act like he's on the verge of soiling himself, and falls down on his knees and starts begging off... The Mini-Goldberg rolls into the ring and stands in front of Rock, who's on his knees.

Mini-Goldberg: You're NEXT!

Rock stops cold, and opens his eyes. He then rubs them like he can't believe what he's seeing. He then checks his height on his knees against the Mini-Goldberg, and it's about even. Rock smiles. ROCK BOTTOM! Rock hops up all happy-like, and gestures 'ta-da' - but the Mini-Goldberg is up as well. Rock Bottom had no effect! He slowly turns to survey the damage he did on Mini-Goldberg, and is SPEARED! Rock goes down in a heap, and Mini-Goldberg makes the cover! 1... 2... 3!!! Mini-Goldberg has won the match and leaves down the ramp to a good pop; his arms up in victory.

King: Wow, that was... different.

Cut to Lockerroom, Lance Storm is sitting morosely on the bench, and he sighs heavily. "I don't get it... I was a tag-champ with two different teams in two weeks, and now I've got nothing. What am I going to do now?"

Off camera: A-hem!

Lance: (looking up) Oh.... no....

Camera pans back, and we see the Hurricane - arms across his chest, scrutinizing Storm. Crowd pops.

Hurricane: Citizen Storm! Why do you look so down? (Leans closer, gives the hairy eyeball.) And where are your partners-in-crime?

Storm: Awww... They kicked me out of the team.

Hurricane: Hmmm... So they decided that being a Canadian wasn't sufficient to be a 'bad-guy'? Wassupwiddat?

Storm: I dunno. I mean, I'm always a bad guy... Everybody hates me. Right?

Hurricane: Citizen Storm, the truth is nobody likes you. That's not quite the same. Look around. Every Canadian on Raw is a badguy. Citizen Jericho. Citizen Christian. Citizen Test. And you. We're up to our eyes in Canadian Badguys... You don't exactly stand out, you see?

Storm: So... What do you suggest?

Hurricane: I thought you'd never ASK...


(Return from commercial. Rodney Mack and Jazz, with Teddy Long, come to the ring.)

JR: Here, tonight, it's gonna be an intergender tag team match: Rodney Mack and Jazz to take on Three Minute Warning.

Lawler: WHAT? One of Three Minute Warning is a woman?

JR: Well, not exactly, but Jazz claims that she's twice the man either Rosie or Jamal is, so...

Teddy Long: Now, all you people know that the MAN is against us poor playas, brothahs and sistahs. Look at my old protege, D-Lo. He was just FIRED for no reason at all! And why? Cause he was a BLACK man! And then they went and fired the Godfather too. Because he was a BLACK man! And then there was Bull Buchanan. They fired HIM because he was a BL... because he said "Booyah", which is a BLACK thing. *shifts eyes nervously* Yeah. So, I gotta ask, where's it gonna end, huh? When is this ... this HOLOCAUST against the black man gonna end?

(A guy in a FedEx uniform walks to the ring.)

FedEx guy: Package for Mr. Teddy Long. Sign here please.

(Teddy's eyes go wide and he signs with a quivering hand, then rips open the package and pulls out a sheet of pink paper.)

Teddy Long: You ... you can't do this to me! I'm a BLACK man!

FedEx guy: Sir? I have one more package. Can you direct me to a Mr. Jim Ross?

(Teddy Long leaves in anger and frustration. Rodney and Jazz follow. Three Minute Warning enter the ring and look at each other confusedly.)

Jamal: Looks like we don't have a match.

Rosey: Um...anyone want to fight us? Anyone?

Voiceover: Staaaaaaaaaaaaand BACK! There's a Hurricane comin' through!

(Three Minute Warning look at each other and chuckle as the Hurricane, a man one-third their size enters. Lance Storm follows behind, looking happy that he has a partner once again.)

***bell rings.

(Three Minute Warning throw punches so slow they wouldn't splash in water. The Hurricane and Lance Storm nimbly dodge them and counter with offense of their own.)

Lawler: Boy, I sure wish JR was here. I wonder what he'd say.

JR: Lance Storm, the Hurricane, and Three Minute Warning! This is turning into a slobberknocker!

Lawler: Uh...yeah. Something like that.

(Several high spots as Hurricane and Lance Storm drill away at 3MW. We'd love to tell you what they were, but JR's calling the action...)

JR: What is HHH going to be up to tonight? The Game is in the building! The Cerebral Assassin, he'll be here later tonight with the Dirtiest Player in the Game, and they'll probably be hatching some devious plot.

Lawler: Whoa! Did you see that?!

JR: See what?

Ref: 2! 3!

JR: And this one is over. Storm and the Hurricane win! Let's not forget that HHH pinned the Hurricane just a few weeks ago, though.

Lawler: Will you stop talking about HHH?

JR: I would, but HHH is paying me five bucks every time I mention HHH.

Bischoff: (Popping Up) Dammit, JR, that's the last time I let you cut side deals with the talent! You're fired!

King: Again?

Bischoff: Shut yer cake, Lawler, your cousin Wayne's just chomping at the bit for your chair.

King: Nice working with you, JR. So, boss, who's going in his chair?

Coach: The engineers put this together according to specifications, sir.

Bischoff: Great. Now, John, I'd love nothing better than for you to replace Ross, but there's a problem... Nobody likes you.

Coach: I understand, sir. Thanks for this opportunity, and I'll do my best not to let you-

Bischoff: Just shut up and sit down, okay?

King: What the heck is that thing?

Coach: It's a compact soundboard, built to do commentary. Check it out. (click) 'And there goes (click) Three Minute Warning (click) back to the locker room.'

King: Hey, that sounds just like JR... I wonder what he would say if he were still here?

JR: I -am- still here!

Bischoff: Cut his mic!

JR: Damn you Bischoff! Damn you strai- (silence)

Coach: (click) 'Damn you straight to Hell!'

King: Nice save, Coach.

Coach: (click) And business is about to pick up!


(Return from Commercial, Tommy Dreamer is in the ring with a Singapore cane awaiting his opponent. Cue Victoria's Intro, and Stevie Richards comes out... Well, it's more like he's being dragged out by the ear.)

Stevie: Ow! Vicki! Come on! Stop!

Victoria: Get in there, you jellyfish! (tosses him into the ring)

Coach: (click) Boy, that (click) Stevie Richards (click) is goofier than a pet coon.

King: That is just amazing... (ahem) Dreamer tosses Stevie a cane of his own, and hits him in the head shortly after!

Stevie: (holding his head and glaring at Dreamer) Ow! Damn it, that HURT! What's WRONG with you?

King: Stevie bails to the outside.

Coach: (click) Stevie Richards (click) with a case of the limber tail! (click) Victoria (click) moving in on the outside. (click) There's a verbal exchange. (click) Stevie Richards (click) back in the ring!

King: I guess Stevie decided to go with the lesser of two evils. He's trying to beg off... Dreamer rears back...


Coach: (click) My God! (click) What impact! (click) He took his damn HEAD OFF! (click) This is over!

King: Not yet, JR! Looks like Victoria's in the ring now! She grabs Dreamer's cane! Dreamer looks confused, and Victoria takes a shot!


Coach: (click) No effect! (click) Victoria (click) is in a bad spot now! (click) Tommy Dreamer (click) moves in for the kill. (click) LOW BLOW! (click) Tommy Dreamer (click) doubles over in pain!

King: She's going for the Widow's Peak on Dreamer! There's no way she's gonna be able to get him up... Wow. Looks like I was wrong...


Coach: (click) Victoria (click) drags (click) Stevie Richards (click) over for the cover. (click) This is a damn travesty! (click) My God!

King: And I guess Stevie's the winner of this one... He'll probably be happy to hear that once he wakes up. Now Victoria is dragging him back to the locker room - by his foot. Heh. She's quite a girl, ain't she JR?

Coach: (click) Stephanie's Voice: OOooooooh, YEAH! YEAH! Oh, Hunter... Yeah! Oooooooh! YOU'RE my daddy! YOU'RE my daddy!

King: ....What the hell was that?

Coach: Sorry, I hit the office intercom by mistake...

Bischoff: (Popping Up) JR! You're fired!

Coach: (click) You can't fire me, you son of a (bleep)! (click) I QUIT! (Coach turns off the machine.)

King: So... What now, boss?

Bischoff: Okay, okay... Turn his mic back on, but you better WATCH it, hillbilly.

King: Welcome back, JR. You were in rare form a few minutes there...

JR: I'm not talking to you anymore, Lawler.

King: Promises, promises...


(Return from commercial.)

Voiceover: Time to play the gaaaaaaaame...

(HHH enters wearing his suit. He's holding a very large piece of bristol board.

HHH: It's no secret that I'm the very best this federation has to offer. I've beaten practically every superstar on Raw. Take a look at this checklist to see for yourself! Booker T, Shawn Michaels, the Rock, Scott Steiner, Maven, the Hurricane, the list goes on. But my work isn't done till I've defeated everyone! So in the upcoming weeks, I'm dedicating my time to filling out this checklist.  Christopher Nowinski! I'm calling you out!

(Nowinski's theme plays as Nowinski enters the ring, looking smug.)

Nowinski: So I'm just another box to be checked off, huh? I don't think so. You might be the Cerebral Assassin, but I've got a lot of cerebrum! That's brains, in case you didn't know. Heh, in fact, looking at you, I bet you think college is a picture made from cut up magazines!

HHH: Alright, kid, you've had your ten seconds to talk. Time to make you my bitch!

JR: There's a kick...PEDIGREE! HHH is the absolute best this industry has to offer! He's the Game! The Cerebral Assassin has just won the match! Boomer Sooner!

Lawler: Sooner than expected. Aren't you supposed to hate him, though?

JR: How can you hate this man? He's the Game!

(HHH checks off Nowinski's box with a marker, then draws a moustache on Nowinski.)

HHH: And that takes care of that, so my next box will be...

(Goldberg's music plays. "Goldberg" chants start up immediately. Goldberg storms the ring.)

Goldberg: You want to know who's next? (draws a box on the checklist and quickly writes his name) I'm next!

HHH: *shrug* Okay.

JR: Another kick! PEDIGREE! HHH has just put the pedigree on Goldberg! Could this be over?

Lawler: In more ways than one.

JR: HHH has defeated Goldberg! Just like that!

HHH: Hey, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Why prolong it?

JR: HHH is now drawing a big checkmark on Goldberg's face! Oh, that's despicable! That's just UNCALLED for! But he's the greatest man this industry has ever known!

HHH: Anyone else?

Lawler: Nobody's responding. They're all chicken!

JR: Don't see you volunteering, King.

HHH: Didn't think so. See you next week!


(Return from commercial to see Stacy Keibler crying in the dressing room.)

Stacy: I just... don't understand it! (snif!) After all I've done... All my ideas and marketing expertise - not to mention a DARN nice haircut - and it's like I don't exist. (snif!) I -MADE- him. He was just a boring, stupid, bug-eyed, Canadian version of Kevin Nash whose only claim to fame was being a DOOR GUARD for MOTLEY CRUE! MOTLEY CRUE!!! (She blows her nose in the hanky she's crying in) At least DDP was tight with someone that had the occasional HIT, but the only thing the Crue was known for was one of them banged that Baywatch (bleep) and released the video. I'm tired of it. I bring a LOT to the table, dammit! So what if I don't have big boobs? ANYBODY can get those, at the DRIVE-IN. But you can't get stuff like THESE (She stretches her legs out languidly) at the drive-in surgeon. I mean, my body is one-hundred percent natural, with another hundred percent hard work... That makes me TWICE the diva of any of these Rose Bowl floats from the Chop Shop, and when you figure my MIND in it, I go straight off the charts! But that doesn't make any difference... Nobody cares about anything but the funbags, and I get ignored! (She stomps her foot in irritation) Even ANDREW is obsessing about Trish and that damned Playboy spread. It's not natural! He's got all THIS, and he'd rather gape at her pictures over a frosty container of hand-lotion... (snif!) I... I'm sorry... I don't mean to dump all this on you...

(Camera pans back, and we see Scott Steiner sitting across from her - the picture of sympathy and understanding.)

Scott: Stacy, it's okay... You and me go way back, remember? I was there when you got started in the business. If they hadn't paired me off with Midajah, I would have loved to have had you in my corner; but they decided Snaggletooth Jr. needed someone to help get him over, and they put you with him... It was a terrible waste of your talents, really.

Stacy: UGH! Don't REMIND me about DAVE. What a pathetic piece of nothing HE was... And that was when he was 'excited', if you know what I mean... But I tried to make the best of it. I tried to be a professional about it - even when they suggested I pretend he got me PREGNANT. HIM? That chode couldn't get any in a women's prison with a fistful of PARDONS, and they wanted to say he got ME in the family way? And don't get me started on the idea of being in THAT family... Ewwwww.

Scott: I remember that storyline. I tried to get it killed, but Ol' Crooked Teeth wanted his kid to get all the airtime he could. I remember when you were going to quit over it, and I talked to you about it. Kinda like we're doing now...

Stacy: I remember, Scott. You were a real friend. You told me to not let it get me down, because the fans could see I was better than that bull(bleep)... and...

Scott: Thanks. But don't let Test get you down.

Stacy: Why do I always wind up with the wrong guy? I'm beginning to think there's nothing out there for me...

(Steiner flashes his "arm-wrestling" smile)

Scott: Listen, Stacy... how about us? I mean, you and I seem to be connecting. How about we see where that goes?

Stacy: I dunno, Scott. You're hot and all, but I don't agree with your position on Iraq.

(René Duprée walks in for no reason at all.)

René: Well, Stacy, I...

Stacy: Go away. Nobody wants you here. You're not even legal drinking age.

(He walks away sadly. Test walks in, his hair tousled.)

Test: Stacy! Steiner! What are you two doing together?

Stacy: Um...discussing world politics?

Test: Don't give me that.

Stacy: Listen, you're going to have to consider me as trustworthy as yourself if this relationship is going to work.

Test: Oh no, you're already going to hook up with him! (slumps down on to the floor) What about me? What about Test?

Scott: What about you?

Stacy: Listen. Here's your lotion. (hands Test the comically oversized bottle of lotion)

Scott: (hands Test the Playboy) And here's Torrie. Just be sure to bring her back by midnight, Andy.

Test: Rip on me, will you, dummy? I'll give you what's for!

(Test and Steiner tie up and start beating on each other.)

Stacy: Oh my God! Boys!

(Camera focuses on Test and Steiner for maybe two seconds at a time, then zooms in on Stacy's ass for 90% of the action. Test and Steiner take the battle outside the room, but the camera doesn't leave.)


(Return from commercial shows Stone Cold Steve Austin in his office, watching the monitor with total disgust that they've taken this long to work him in. He's staring morosely at the O'Douls in the cooler next to his desk, and then jumps up and starts striding to the ring. Crowd pops to mask the squeaking of his knee braces. He gets to the ring and does his standard spots flipping off the crowd from the second rope of all four corners, and gets a microphone...)

SCSA: You know something? This show sucks.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: It's sucked for a long goddamn time, too...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: But you know something?

Crowd: What?

SCSA: Tonight, in the middle of this damn ring, right here...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: The one I'm standing in.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: The squared circle...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: ....Okay, it's not funny anymore...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: I don't think its EVER been funny...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: Do Stone Cold a favor...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: Just... Just stop saying 'What' after every goddamn sentence, okay? Let's see how long you can go without doing it...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: ....You know what this watch says?

Crowd: What?

SCSA: This watch is saying something...

Crowd: What?

SCSA: This watch says you only went four hundredths of a second without saying 'What'.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: That's pitiful.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: That's more pitiful than a Triple H match with Kevin Nash main eventing a PPV.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: That's more pitiful than Hulk Hogan in a stupid superhero mask.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: That's more pitiful than Stone Cold's WWe Stock Options.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: Okay, stop it.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: You're pissing Stone Cold off, people.

Crowd: What?

SCSA: You say what one more time tonight, and I'm walking out on the company again.

Crowd: (Dead silence)

SCSA: So now that we know what side of our bread is buttered on, we can stop killing time and do something interesting for a change... (He looks to crowd with the hairy eyeball) Good, you're learning. You know? I've thought long and hard about this whole 'Co-General Manager' thing, and I've made an executive decision... It sucks. The writers are a bunch of shaved monkeys, and couldn't make this show entertaining if their lives depended on it. And Stone Cold is just plain tired of you fans wasting your hard earned money on this bull(bleep), because Stone Cold's the flagship of this company. So when IT sucks, it makes it look like Stone Cold sucks, and you know something? EH EH! Not gonna happen. Well, not anymore... So I'm gonna call down that little scrumbug Eric Bischoff to the ring right now. Get your Grecian Formula Ass down here, Eric! Right NOW! And make sure you got those goddamn pajamas on, too...

Eric Bischoff comes out to his Intro, and he's in his black karate gi. He also has a mic.

Bischoff: What is it now, you greasy, wifebeating alcoholic gimp? Huh? What is it? You want me to come out, here I am. And in my gi, just like you asked... You want something?

SCSA: Yeah, I want you to get your narrow ass in this ring, and we have that damn 'winner take all' thing and get it over with. You copacetic with that, you wife-pimping stripper salesman? Let's go. You and me. Winner is the GM - Loser isn't... Send out one of the zebras to call the match.

Bischoff: Fine, you and me. A karate expert against a truck loader... This won't take long.

King: The look on both these guys... I don't think this is a sanctioned match at all... And as rough as Stone Cold is, there's something about the other boss tonight. It's like he had those pajamas on already, and was waiting for this...

JR: I don't like the look of it, either, King. The referee is in place, and Stone Cold waits for Bischoff in the center of the ring... Bischoff gets the referee to back him off, and then climbs in there himself...

King: There's the bell, here we go!

JR: Austin whips Bischoff to the buckle. There's a kick! He's stompin' a mudhole in Eric Bischoff, and walkin' it dry!

King: What mud? How's he walking? They're both in the corner...

JR: Do you have to ruin my folksy metaphors now? They're all this old polecat in the black Resistol hat has got goin' for him.

King: That, and an apparent invulnerability to pink slips.

JR: You wish you had friends like I do... or friends, period...

King: I'll have you know I'm the most popular man in the My Little Pony collectors' club.

JR: For once, I want to call the match.

King: That's a new direction for you... Sorta like walking upright when Vince is in the room...

JR: Eric Bischoff putting some martial arts maneuvers on Austin now... there's a ... oh, let's call that a "Japanese finger strike."

King: It's a thumb, Jim...

JR: Austin going for the stomach kick, this could be the Stunner! NO! Bischoff catches the foot and hits on the knee, with AUTHORITY!

King: Austin's career could be over! Um...again! You might say the Rattlesnake's knees are his Achilles Heel...

JR: Leave the folksy sayings to me, King. I've had a coon's age of experience with 'em.

King: What is it with you and coons? You're not from THAT far south...


King: Eric Bischoff is pulling something out from his trunks! It looks like a pair of scissors!

JR: Taking a page out of Arn Anderson's book...

King: Arn didn't invent everything, JR.

JR: Eric Bischoff is cutting off Austin's beard! Shades of Brutus "the Barber" Beefcake!

King: How many people watching know who that is, JR? Five?

JR: All of them soon, because he's coming back next week!

(Cut to backstage. Goldberg is watching the shearing with horror. He's touching his beard protectively.)

Goldberg: NOOOO! The beard! How did he figure it out?!

King: I don't believe it, JR! Austin actually looks weaker with every snip! It's like the beard is the source of his strength!

JR: Yes, just like Moses of old, his hair seems to have given him power.

King: Don't you mean Samson?

JR: Don't argue with me, King.

King: Hey, ONE of us should earn our paycheck.

JR: Eric Bischoff hooks the leg: ONE! TWO! This one is over. Aw, what a travesty!

(Bischoff grabs the mic)

Bischoff: BWA HAHAHAHA! I win! Finally! I WIN! I'm the man! I feel so ... omnipotent! My chance has arrived to destroy this company and rebuild it in my image!

JR: Hasn't that already been done?

Bischoff: You have something to say to me, JR?

King: Oh, here it comes...

Bischoff: I've been wanting to say this to you for a long time, JR.

King and Bischoff: (in unison) JR! YOU'RE FIRED!

JR: We're out of time! I'll see you right here next week on Monday Night Raw!

King: No you won't...

Coach: Someone call me?

King: See you next week, JR.

(fade to black)

Well, folks, that's what happens when two of the more sick and twisted people out there are in charge of Monday Nights... Or when cousins marry, whatever. Did it suck as badly as the 'real show', or what? Let us know. On behalf of Der Kommissaar, and myself...

You're welcome. See you SOON