(Opening Credits)
 

The Crowd: You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You 

Shawn Michaels: Hul….

Crowd: You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret!

HBK: You know….

Crowd: You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret! You Screwed Bret!

HBK: Honest to God, people. 1997 called, they want their chant back. You got Hebner fired, can’t you just be happy with that? I’ll tell you what, I’m here tonight to make amends. Yes, I’m here to admit that I did screw Bret Hart. I’d like Bret Hart to come on down to the ring so I can shake his hand, compliment his Hammer Pants and apologize for being such a total dick to him all those years ago.

Crowd: What?

Stone Cold Steve Austin: What?

Sean Cold Val Venis: What?

Sure enough, Bret Hart makes his way down to the ring. The crowd sits in stunned silence.

HBK: Bret, I’m sorry. I’ve made a mockery of your career and for that I apologize. If I could take back the years of torment I’ve brought you, I would. I know that I’m the reason you stand here today a broken man, and for what we’ve done to you, McMahon, Hebner and I deserve nothing less than a kick in the balls. But I know you can’t kick any more, so all I can do is weep and gnash my teeth and hope that I don’t job to Hulk Hogan on Sunday.

Bret Hart: Uh…who the hell are you?

HBK: He’s gone senile! Oh no! The DVD will be a huge failure. Oh, I’m sorry, Bret!

Bret: Look, I think there must be some kind of mistake. I’m Bret Hart, the artist/musician. Look, you can check out my website (http://hartsongs.tripod.com/bret_hart_page1.htm)! Honestly, I don’t want to be involved in any of this wrestling nonsense. I think you should just leave that poor old man alone. You people have caused enough grief in his life.

HBK: Blammo!

Shawn Superkicks Bret.

HBK: See that? I screwed Bret again! And Hulk, I’m going to screw you too! Because you see, I (mumble mumble mumblemumblemumble)

Hulk’s music plays! The Hulk his here tonight!!

HBK: Uh….

Lou Ferrigno: Haf yao sen mah abdormanauls?

HBK: Man, say “brother” and “dude” and you’re plenty close enough.

Ferrigno: Broffer, doud.

HBK: Not close enough! Blammo!

Shawn Superkicks The Hulk.

HBK: Now, as I was saying….

Dave Meltzer: NO! You killed my brother!! Oh, Lou. Now who will I compare pecs with?

The Montreal crowd, with a dearth of halfway decent sports teams to chant for when they’re confused, decides to sing the “Hey, Hey, Hey, Goodbye” song, for no apparent reason. His work done, Shawn Michaels smiles, humps a Canadian flag, and prances back up the ramp.

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The Big Show v. The Heart Throbs
In a Special, “Hey! Look! It’s The Big Show!” Match

Hey! Look! It’s The Big Show! Seriously, has he ever been hotter at any point in his career? Not even when he was feuding with Bossman over the WWE Title, I tell you! The Montreal crowd goes nuts whenever Show so much as nibbles on a Heart Throb. What a silly crowd. I wish they could all move down to Washington, D.C. so that SummerSlam could be this much fun. Hey, then they’d get to watch the Expos again. Show squishes Romeo for the biggest win of the year. Next week: Show challenges for the tag team titles. And wins!

(ads)

Eugene is out.

Eugene: It is great to be out here in a town with so much wrestling history. I give the Montreal wrestling crowd five stars. But seriously, folks, tonight, I have a match that I’m afraid won’t go well. I’m telling you this so you don’t feel swerved, but needless to say, I’m taking on a stiff who doesn’t know how to trade restholds, if you know what I’m saying. Hahaha! Ha! Hoo. Oh, Christy, I need my inhaler.

Rene Dupree v. Eugene (w/ Christy Hemme)
In a Eugene Invitational Match

Oh, I don’t know. Rene’s not that bad. Though I though Snidley was from “the Outer Reaches of Your Mind.” Speaking of the outer reaches of our minds, how come there hasn’t been a Boogeyman promo in forever? Man. I’m gonna miss that guy. Dupree looks drunk as he locks up with Eugene and then bursts into tears at the thought that he’ll never beat this fat slob. All those years of sculpting your abs and for WHAT, Rene? Mutley won’t even hang out with you anymore. There goes $500,000 fantasy dollars down the toilet. Kurt Angle runs in and punches Eugene, and referee WWE RAW Referee Jack Doan has no chance to declare this one “too boring to continue.” Eugene wins! Angle grabs the mic and screams that after putting up with all this crap over the last few months, and being assigned to carry both Hogan and Eugene, he’d better the hell be main eventing for the rest of the year. I guess he hasn’t seen next month’s PPV poster?

(ads)

Shocking everyone, Elisabeth reveals that this entire time, she’s been Dean Malenko in drag this whole time. Apparently, he’s been investigating a case, and would like to thank the fans for their cooperation in keeping him around while he gathered the facts. However, Dean does not want to be the next Lance Storm so he’s decided to drop out of the competition. The girls are relieved. Ashley or Leyla who will it be?

What do you mean I’ve got to wait to find out? Ugh.

Back in the Bischoffice, a plan is undertaken,

Eric Bischoff: So, here’s my plan. I’ve always wanted to try being a face, so I thought, tonight, I would come out and say I was a Canadian, and the fans would cheer. Hell, they cheered Test once, so it’s worth a shot.

Carlito: Eric, that is quite plainly, the worst friggin’ plan I’ve ever heard.

Bischoff: Come on, it’ll be fun! Chris, we’ll even say that you’re Canadian!

Chris Jericho: Uh…I am Canadian.

Bischoff: I thought you were from New York?

Jericho: Only when I’m a face.

Bischoff: So if you want to be a face, we’ll say you’re from New York?

Jericho: Uh-huh.

Bischoff: But…then you’ll get booed because you’re not from Canada.

Jericho: Right.

Bischoff: See, this is why I friggin’ hate RAW.

Jericho: You and me both, sister.

Bischoff: So how will we get them to boo Cena?

Jericho: Play his video again?

Carlito: I’ll tell you what. I’ll say I’m from Canada. That’ll make me cool, right? Prince Edward Island. Is that cool? It’s still an island. I’m down with that. Guys? Am I cool now?

Bischoff: We’ll…uh…we’ll let you know.

(ads)

Konnan is gettin’ rowdy to start. D’Amore waves the flag and the crowd cheers. They’re the best Team Canada since Lance Storm and Jim Duggan. HOOO! Konan goes for the rolling kick, which gets a pop. Suddenly undecided on who to cheer for, the crowd decides to chant “USA” instead. K-Dawg clears the ring and hops around for a few minutes. He’s 3 Live Krew 4 Ever! Somewhere, Road Dogg and Billy Gunn have a staredown. Let’s take a commercial break.

(ads)

Wait, there aren’t ads in TNA, are there? Scratch that then. Where the hell is K-Kwick when you need him anyway? Wasn’t he the champion a while back? That’s awesome. Konan hits a DVD on Young, and locks in the Tequilla Sunrise for the victory. D’Amore comes in after the match and breaks the hockey stick over Konan’s head. Williams runs in and nails a chairshot. Canadian Destroyer on the chair! K-Dawg is knocked out. Tenay and West throw it backstage where Shane Douglas is with Dusty Rhodes.

Shane Douglas: I thought you left for the WWE, Dust! What’s up with that?

Dusty Rhodes: Petey and Konan, they be clubberin’, Shane. They’re havin’ a good ole fashion slobbahknockah if you wheeeeel.

Douglas: Hahahaha! Franchise!

Dusty: Sacrifice was funky like a monkey!

The Diva Search finalists are out, and it’s about time to find out who the winner was. Literally dozens of votes were cast. And the winner is…Ashley! Ashley celebrates by making her boobies flop around while screaming in Coach’s ear. She gets a giant novelty check, which she can cash at a giant novelty bank, then she and Lita can go shirt shopping. Oh well, enjoy Smackdown Leyla. For now, I’ve just got to gear up for DIVA SEARCH 2006! Ladies get your entry forms ready!

Here’s an exclusive phone interview I scored with Ashley after the win:

Ashley: I WON! OMIGOSH!

Matt Hocking: He…hello?

Ashley: Who is this?

Matt: OMG, did you seriously give out your real number?

Ashley: Did you seriously just say “OMG”?

Matt: Oh, geez. A girl. I…uh…heh. Boobies.

Ashley: (click)

I’d like to thank Diva Search Winner Ashley for taking the time out to be interviewed by Mr. Cassanova himself, Simon Dean. Oh, wait. That’s just Nova. Never mind.

(ads)

Kurt Angle prepares for wrestling Hogan by ramming his head into a wall.

Yeah, where’s Val’s vindication in all this? I mean, Edge defiled his sister LONG before any of this Lita crap. Forced to chose between two Canadians, the crowd decides to make fun of Lita for a while, and when that loses its appeal, give up caring entirely. Val misses a kick, and that’s all the opening Edge needs to lock in the Educator. The crowd wakes up momentarily thinking he’s going for the Sharpshooter, but when they figure out that he’s not they just amuse themselves by booing in French. Beuux! Beuux!

Super Stacy is looking in a mirror taking stock of her life. Things don’t look so good without me, eh? Gay Biker, Rob Conway pushes her out of the way, and checks out his awesome sideburns.

Super Stacy: Are you trying to get a peek at my ass?

Rob Conway: No offense, hon, but I’m not really into your ass.

Stacy: Not into my ass? Buh?

Conway: Look at how I’m dressed. Give you any clues?

Stacy: You’re Buff Bagwell?

Conway: No. Guess again.

Stacy: Hurricane, I think this guy is hiding something. He said he wasn’t into my ass.

Hurricane: Not into your ass hmm? Sound suspicious. Sounds like a job for Gregory Helms, Intrepid Reporter!

Stacy: Good idea! I’ll go try to find him!

Hurricane: Uh…Stacy. Never…never mind. Good luck.

Conway: Hey there, cutie.

(ads)

Hurricane? Still one half of the tag team champions. I know. I know. Laugh it up. Rob spends the first half of the mask trying to get Hurricane to show him his beautiful eyes. No! His secret must remain hidden! Oh, Hurricane, you can’t hide in your closet forever. Hurricane’s determination to keep his secret life away from his lady friend is strong, so Conway puts him away with the Ego Trip. Conway’s like half a tag champ now. Stacy doesn’t care either way I don’t think.

Smackdown Rebound:

Eddie Guerrero: So you see, I think I’d make a great father.

Social Worker: Well, I don’t know.

Rey Misterio: Ma’am, I don’t think you fully grasp the gravity of this situation.

Social Worker: This coming from the guy who decided to wear a leather bondage mask to the custody hearing?

Rey: My, mask, it is my heritage. It gives me my power.

Eddie: See, holmes, he’s a little crazy.

Social Worker: You’re both idiots.

The Undertaker: I’m with her. You guys are idiots.

Social Worker: What are you doing here?

Undertaker: This is a matter for Wrestler’s court, ma’am.

JBL: Who wants to get raped?

Rey: Oh! Oh! Pick Eddie!

Randy Orton: Takerster, your ass is grass and I’m going to watch it grow!

“Dave” Batista “Davidson”: I’m BULL! Court is in SESSION!

Eddie: I’ve got it! We’ll wrestle for Dominick!

Undertaker: Good idea. Court is adjourned.

BONG

The lights go out and then come back on. Taker is gone.

Orton: This canst not be! How will I deflower that which I can’t not make to fall over?

Social Worker: You can’t have a wrestling match to decide the future of a child!

JBL: Why not? They do it on Dr. Phil! Er…so I’ve heard.

Social Worker: That’s it! I’m temporarily taking custody of this poor little boy!
Rey: Where are you taking me?

Social Worker: To a nice home, with a nice family that will love you.

Rey: But…but…Dominic!
Dominic Misterio-Guerrero: Don’t be scared, daddy!
Triple H: Yes, don’t be scared. Daddy’s here to PEDIGREE TO MIS…I mean…scare away the evil men.

Stephanie McMahon-H: GET ME A GLASS OF WATER!

(ads)

Kurt Angle er…oh.

(ads)

Hogan throws some punches, but Angle Angles-Out. This is, like, the baldest match ever. I should be taping this for historical purposes. Angle Slam hits, but The Hulkster doesn’t sell no stupid slammy crap. Hogan hobbles around and poses for a little bit, until Shawn Michaels prances out, literally hovers into the ring, and hits the Superkick. Woah. That was awesome. Is it a little weird that Shawn changed out of his suit for this? Or do the mirror chaps give him some kind of hovering power heretofore undisclosed. Shawn locks in the Sharpshooter and then rips up a picture of Bret’s kids. Put that on the DVD.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday: Shawn Michaels and Hulk Hogan go to a 60 minute draw when both contestants are too old to remember the finish. No, Bret Hart will not be there. John Cena finally figures out that he’s feuding with Chris Jericho, and beats him up. Plus, Matt Hardy and Edge have the most bloody match of Guess Who you’ve ever seen.

SummerSlam!

Excerpt From the Casefiles of Dean Malenko
Chapter One

From the moment this dame walked into the office, I knew she was trouble. I’d been moonlighting for a few months now, trying to track down this kid who was spreading rumors around on the streets. I was close to nabbing him, but then fate came, and like a cruel begger standing on a muddy, puddle coated street, came up and stabbed me in the face. She was a looker, no doubt about it. She wasn’t like the rest of these two bit bimbos carrying themselves around like circus ponies jumping through hoops for carrots, no, she was the kind of girl you could take home to your mother. I knew she was trouble because girls like this don’t come to my office, and when they do, they don’t have trouble getting through the door. Unfortunately, her behind looked like two cows had eaten the entire corn production of the state of Iowa and then had been shipped to a sweatshop in Cambodia where children working for thirteen cents a day had sewn them into the behind. Maria, my secretary (cute as a china shop doll, but dumber than a sack of potato pancakes made by some guy named Earl, who was working the overnight shift at a greasy truck stop diner), let her in.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Dean Malenko. The Dean Malenko.”

“There ain’t but one Dean Malenko, baby, and you’re lookin’ at him.”

“There’s been a murder, sir. I don’t know who to turn to.”

“That sounds like a job for the police, ma’am. I’m a private dick. I’m not into the murder biz. Too gruesome.”

“But there are no police. The Bossman is dead, see. And I can’t find the Mountie anywhere.”

What she was saying was the truth. It was a lawless town now that the fuzz wasn’t around. The boys were ruling themselves, and things were turning worse then Bull Buchanan shopping for china at a dollar store.

“What do you want me to do? I’m just a guy. I help people find things, help wives disgrace their cheating husbands. I’m no cop. I’m just a dick.”

“I need you to find the murderer. You’re the only one I trust. What do you want? I don’t have any money…but…I’ll give you anything!”

“Lady, you don’t have anything I’d want.”

“They call you the man of a thousand holds, right? Maybe I can teach you a few things you don’t already know.”

“Lady, you don’t know an arm bar from an ARMbar. If we were to go at it, I’d be doing all the teaching.”

She slapped him. It was cold, like a fish washing up on the shore of a cool, freshwater lake, only to be skinned alive and broiled.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a virgin! I‘m saving myself for the right man, sir, and he certainly isn‘t a man like you.”

“Then you’ve got nothing I want, lady. No money, no sex. This is a cold dark town, and a man without money or companionship doesn’t measure up to more than an ant on a mole hill. You want me to help you, you’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.”

“I know just what you want,” she said, brushing off her blouse like an angel flapping her wings to get to heaven, “I can get you Lita. If you help me.”

Lita. The name struck me like an arrow fired from an archer at point blank range through my heart. She was the girl that set me off wrestling forever. When I couldn’t get her, I became the man I am now. Not even a man. A half man. A vanilla midget, if you will. Wrapped up in the darkness of this dusty old office in midtown, with only my thoughts and the plaintive screams of shattered memories to keep me company.

“Lita….”

“I will bring you to her.”

“Then you have yourself a detective, ma’am. What’ve you got?”

She slid a file to him, marked “OMEGA” on the front. Paging through it left him with a veritable who’s who of the scum and wretch that couldn’t make it in this town, slumming around and doing odd jobs for the minor bosses and thieves.

“Please. Find out who killed Jeff Hardy,” she said, pleading with his sensibilities.

“Ma’am, I will not rest until your friend’s killer is brought to the hard justice of the streets.”

“Oh, he’s not my friend.”

“Huh?”

“I couldn’t stand the guy. But the court won’t give me his house or his volcano until I can prove that I’m not the murderer.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t suppose you want to buy a shoot DVD about it?”

“Uh…no. I don’t have a DVD player. Only the memories of a begotten life that play over and over in my head like an accordion monkey playing ‘Oh Susanna’ on the street corner for cha…”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and get to it already.”

“Maria, hold all my calls. I’m going to be out late.”

“You don’t have any calls. Would you like me to make some?”

“No. I’m leaving. Take messages and leave them on my desk for when I get back.”

“You want me to leave the phone on your desk?”
“No. I want you to take messages on any calls I get.”

“Ok. Got it. Any calls you get, I’ll tell them your message.”

“What message?”

“That you’re not taking any calls.”
“You’re…never mind. Just. Do whatever it is you do around her.”

Maria went back to staring at the potted plant. I, on the other hand, went out into the night like the Titanic into the iceberg filled foggy seas. Somehow, I knew the fate that awaited me, like a troll hiding under the only bridge in town, and I was drawn to it.

To Be Continued….