It’s that time again. What time I imagine you asking? Why Carlito’s Cabana Time, of course. I shouldn’t really be one to talk about wrestler fashion choices, but Carlito’s see trough dress shirt? Pushing the bounds of acceptable fashion.

Crowd: We…have a hockey team?

Carlito: So without further ado, please welcome my guest…Shawn Michaels!

Shawn’s music hits, but instead of prancing down to the cabana, Shawn is being wheeled down a Heart Shaped Bed by Kevin Nash.

Kevin Nash: Don’t get the wrong impression, kids. I’m not back, I’m just doing odd jobs until TNA gets a spot on Spike.

Shawn Michaels: Yeah, it’s going to be great, Kev. It’s like Velocity, but longer and more boring.

Carlito: Excuse me, but what the hell is going on here? A bed? Are you saying Carlito is boring? Das not cool!

Nash: Wow! Vince got himself a Lil’ Scott Hall. Man, can I take him with me to TNA?

HBK: Be my guest.

Carlito: Hey, yo! I’m nothing like Scott Hall!

Nash: You got that right.

Carlito: Listen, are you going to be interviewed by me or not?

HBK: Woah, hey man, didn’t you get the memo? I’m here tonight to bring back the Heartbreak Hotel.

Carlito: No! Das…Das not cool!

HBK: There, you see? Now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce my guest for tonight, a guy who I have a lot of respect for, or at least I say I do or else I don’t get any Funbux this month, the one the only….

The Crowd: Hogan! Hogan! Hogan!

HBK: C’mon, guys. You know HE’S not coming. And neither is Bret. Will you let me cut a promo in peace for God’s sake? My guest is none other than the master of kitchen cuisine himself, Iron Chef Wrestling, Chris Masters!

Masters poses on the ramp for a moment, taking a succulent bite out of a pepper before coughing and spitting it out. Scott Hall wheels a buffet table down to the ring and parks it next to the bed.

Scott Hall: Hey, yo.

Nash: Pretty sweet gig we got here, eh, Scott?

Hall: Yeah, mang, I’ve been getting invited to all the parties down there lately.

Nash: What parties? Down where?

Hall: DOWN THERE!

Nash: Yes! We’re still awesome!

Carlito: Scott Hall? Man, you’re my favorite wrestler!

Hall: Don’t you talk to me!

HBK: What’s all this then?

Iron Chef Wrestling, Chris Masters: It’s for my new show, Cookin’ with Chris. Didn’t you get the memo?

Masters: And my guest, here to help me make Tuna Fish Pot Pie Ala Mode, is the Legendary Kitchen Warrior, Ric Flair!

Flair struts out.

Ric Flair: I may not have an interview segment, but I’m still THE NATURE BOY! WOO! Stylin’ and profilin’ and takin’ your old ladies for a ride on Space Mountain, Fat Boy! And Carlito, my dear son, let me tell you something! You see this bed? Your mama had me locked up on her heart shaped bed for weeks! WOOO!
Carlito: She said that bed was for guests!

Flair: Sexy guests! Guests like Ric, WOO By God, Flair!

HBK: Ric, do you want to be my tag team partner tonight?

Flair: No! I hate you!

HBK: No you don’t. That angle ran it’s course.

Flair: Then sure, fine.

HBK: Good!

Just then, Hall and Nash walk by with a plate glass window, and Shawn throws Ric through it.

Brutus Beefcake: What? NO! Now we can’t finish my set! Oh, man. Vince won’t pay me if I can’t do the show! I really, really wanted that ice cream sandwich. Real bad.

(ads)

Back in the Bischoffice….

Eric Bischoff: Chris, instead of doing an Iron Chef Challenge this week, I want you to try to have a match against Flair and Michaels.

Iron Chef Wrestling, Chris Masters: But…I’m not a wrestler!

Bischoff: Don’t worry. It’s easier than it looks. Trust me.

Carlito: Yeah, it’s not that hard. Hell, I hardly know how to wrestle and look at me! I’m the Intercontinental Champion!
Bischoff: I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. How the hell are you still the champion?!

Carlito: Because I’m still cool?

Bischoff: I don’t think that’s it.

Big Show may be a Big Show, but there’s no way he can beat a former President of the United States, right? I mean, sure he’s dead, but come on. Man, I love this. Big Show is just, like, this guy, you know? Just randomly going out there and throwing jobbers around. This is pretty much the best use of Big Show since the time he fell off the roof. Abe Orton comes out to find out if Madison or Quartermain had any babies, but the segment was already over, so instead he just hit Show with Lillian Garcia and then made out with her jaw. Back to your grave, Mr. President.

(ads)

Torrie Wilson and Boobsie McTitsalot are out. I’m still not so sure about this trade. I mean, I like boobies and everything, I’m just not so sure I feel the same way about Boobsie. Incidentally, Jim Ross said that a WWE Diva would soon be gracing the pages of Playboy again, and anybody other than these two would make excellent choices. Not that I don’t like Torrie or anything, but the girl should probably give appearing in Playboy a rest for a while, eh?

Boobsie McTitsalot: We’re here to talk about boobs.

Torrie Wilson: Right. Uh…Ashley Massaro has some, and it’s her we’re here to discuss. Ashley, why don’t you come on out here?

Here’s Ashley.

Torrie: Do you watch wrestling?

Ashley: Me? Nah. I’m too punk rawk for that! Yeah!

Boobsie: Ashley, do you watch boobs?

Ashley: Uh…other than my own? I mean…everybody experiments in college….

Torrie: Listen, we’re really really sorry about how we treated you.

Boobsie: We’re really really sorry about boobs.

Ashley: Wow. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t be so hard on you ugly hags.

Torrie: Wait! We’re not sorry! OMG SHOCKING SWERVE~!

Boobsie: That’s right, we’re not boobs. We just have them!

Ashley: Um. Duh.

Torrie: That’s just about enough of this segment. Boobsie, announce her match!

Boobsie: Here’s your opponent! Boobs!

Ashley totally does a wrestling move in this one. Yep. Side headlock. A Diamond Cutter from now and she’ll be the new Randy Orton. Boobsie and Torrie distract Ashley, allowing Victoria to hit the Widow’s Peak for the win. After the match, the evil ladies celebrate their victory. Victoria’s victory. She likes them because they’re T&A Divas, not like that stupid Stacy Keibler or Christy Hemme who tried to have matches once in a while. This division should be all Victoria, all the time.

(ads)

At some bar….

Lance Cade: Man, I’m so psyched to be coming back to the WWE, as a cowboy! I could be the next Billy Gunn.

Trevor Murdoch: I could see ya as an ass man.

Cade: Dude, seriously. Knock it off.

Murdoch: Shoot, son, it’s not like we’re not endin’ up on Heat.

Cade: There won’t be a Heat by the time we get to the roster.

Murdoch: So we’re purdy much screwed, then.

Cade: You’re right! Dammit. Wait a second…are you Dustin Rhodes?

Murdoch: No. Don’t you know? You should never forget the name of Trevor ffffffffffffffffpt Murdooooooooooch.

Cade: Oh crap.

Edge is rocking out backstage with Alterbridge. Man, that’s really sad.

Edge: Did anybody ever tell you that you guys suck?

Mark Tremonti: Yeah. Hey, wanna hear our new version of your song?

Edge: No.

Tremonti: You don’t want a little Metallingus?

Edge: Ugh. No! Lita makes me do that to her.

Todd Grisham: Todd Grisham here, and I’m standing by with Edge. Edge, is it true that you’re leaving the WWE to go on tour with your new band Alterbridge?

Edge: No way! I don’t even know why I’m hanging out with these guys right now. Man, I wish Rob Zombie would come over here and beat the crap out of them.

Todd Grisham: So what’s the point of this segment then?

Edge: To set up Lita’s segment which is coming up next.

Grisham: Should I throw it over to Lita then?

Edge: Nah. We’ve got some time to kill. Why don’t you talk to these dorks?

Grisham: Didn’t you guys used to be Creed?

Tremonti: Man, Creed’s Old Testiment, man. The guys cast off that loser Scott Stapp and got with a cool guy for once.

Grisham: But…But…I loved Creed.

Tremonti: Move on, man. Get over it. Come on, we’re not so bad! We named a song Metallingus! That’s gotta be worth a point or two, right?

Grisham: May Scott Stapp STRIKE YOU DOWN!

Alterbridge stones Todd. Todd Grisham has fallen. Meanwhile, elsewhere….

Matt Hardy: Damn, girl, did you upgrade the rack? Woweezowie! That’s hot! Can I grope ‘em?

Lita: Sure thing! Wait! No way! Matt, we’re feuding now.

Matt: Just because we’re feuding doesn’t mean I can’t squeeze a tittie or two does it?

Lita: It just wouldn’t feel right. Besides, you’re a total jobber now. I can’t get felt up by any jobber walking by.

Johnny Swinger: Hey, Lita. Matt. Nice titties. Mind?

Lita: Knock yourself out.

Honk Honk

Matt: What was that?!

Lita: Swinger’s different. I knew him back from ECW. He used to pay me a quarter to punch him in the balls.

Val Venis: Hey, Lita.

Honk Honk

Matt: W T F?!

Lita: Look, I just came by here to tell you that you’re going to hell, all right?

Matt: I know. I hate those friggin’ dog shows. Better than having the show on Fridays, I guess, though, right?

Lita: No. I mean…you realize what a horrible, horrible parody of your edgy Indy Goth character you are, right?

Matt: Nah. I’m still cool. I read all about it on my website. Big Pimpin’ Alex says my return has been awesome.

Lita: Sigh.

Matt: I think this whole segment has been a little unfair to me as a person.

Kane: To you? Think about what it’s doing to me. Hell, this whole angle is messing with my brain. Am I in? Am I out? Did I ever wrestle Matt? Did I ever marry Lita? Was she cheating on me with Edge or Matt? Was I fired or not? WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!

Lita: One thing this conversation didn’t need is more Kane.

Matt: I kinda feel like hitting the showers quick, if you know what I mean.

Kane: Sigh. I need new friends.

Mark Tremonti: Wanna hear Alterbridge’s take on Kane’s theme titled Hellatio?

Kane: NO!

(ads)

Rick Flair is down backstage and he’s bleeding all over the place. Staffers run to find medical help, but the closest thing they can find, apparently, is Fit Finlay. Shawn Michaels arrives on the scene.

Fit Finlay: It doesn’t look good. He’s lost a lot of blood.

Shawn Michaels: But can he wrestle?

Finlay: Hell if I know.

HBK: I bet it’s the same asshat what hit Austin with that cinder block!

Finlay: Wasn’t that Triple H?

HBK: It’s all starting to make sense!

Finlay: Didn’t you just throw him through a plate glass window?

HBK: Yeah, but that’s totally different.

Jesus: Hey, guys. It was me. I totally just walked up to him and stabbed him in the face.

HBK: Oh! Yes, my lord.

Jesus: I’m not the Jesus you’re looking for.

HBK: You’re not the Jesus I’m looking for!

Jesus: You may go about your business.

HBK: I may go about my business.

Jesus: Move along.

Shawn prances off.

Alterbridge waves to Edge from their skybox, so he looks away. The combatants spend the first few seconds of the match arguing about Lita’s boobs. Really, Matt has a point. Edge is getting his sloppy seconds, which is kind of depressing. Can a girl get a salad at least? Matt should really just go out and tell Edge that he gave Lita herpes. And that he got syphilis from Danny Doring via her. Really, Edge is sleeping with a staggering amount of people. Roadkill. Esse Rios. Eddie. Dean. It’s enough to make Edge reconsider his options. Hey, Lita, try not to sleep with any other wrestlers on your way through the parking lot! Random punching ensues. Well, I mean, they’ve got that part down at least.

(ads)

Matt is sobbing quietly on the ground while Edge kicks him in the head. You know, they could probably have booked Matt stronger here. I mean, probably. I dunno. Avenging Angelic Diablo my ass. The Scar Is a Symbol of Edge Constantly Kicking Me in the Head! Hey, wasn’t she boning Chris Tian there for a while too? Man, your own brother’s sloppy seconds. Hardy actually fights back, nailing a top of the ladder leg drop. Woah! Way to get over your fear of the third rope. They take the battle out onto the ramp, where Matt threatens to piledrive Lita. Wow. Matt’s like the new Tommy Dreamer. Edge makes a really crappy Raven. Lita could be Beaulah, I guess. Penthouse here we come! Can Kane be Stevie Richards? I know it’s supposed to be Abe, but Abe isn’t cool enough to be Stevie. He can be Meanie. Then Hunter can come back to be Nova. Why aren’t I booking the WWE again? Matt actually ends up hitting the Side Effect on Edge off the ramp, and into a pile of electronics, which then explode. Man, I hope nobody gets Torrets. Everybody from Bischoff to Lita to Coach to King go down to check on poor Edge, who thinks he rebroke his neck, while Matt screams, “Count! Count dammit! I’m making the pin!” Matt and Edge get loaded up onto stretchers while Matt bawls his eyes out at this lost opportunity.

(ads)

Edge is grabbing his neck, the international signal for “I’m selling like I broke my neck,” while Matt is wheeled off. When they load him into the ambulance the driver turns around.

Kane: Going somewhere, M…Matt? What the crap?

Matt Hardy: I had the win, man! The win!

Kane: This was supposed to be Lita’s ambulance. I was going to kidnap her again.

Matt: She didn’t get hurt. It was just me and Edge.

Kane: Dammit. This always seemed to work better when Taker did it with Stephanie.

Matt: Are you kidding? He just got the crap kicked out of him by Austin.

Kane: Oh yeah. This still sucks though.

Matt: You’re telling me. Hey, Kane?

Kane: Yeah?

Matt: Wanna drive me to the hospital? I think my spleen imploded.

Kane: Yeah, ok.

(ads…wait…Tits and Ass is coming to Spike?! YES!! Finally, I won‘t need to spend another Saturday night alone, crying in the dark!)

John Cena is in the ring.

John Cena: YO! Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo YO! YO! YO! THE CHAMP IS HERE! I wrote y’all in Tampa a little rhyme, I hope you like it.

Yo, John Cena stormin’ Florida,
Like a Miami Hurricane,
Burying Kurt Angle,
Faster than we buried Kane!

I’m harder than Katrina,
Sweepin’ over the Bayou,
Thousands lay in my wake,
Any news on Lash Laroux?

1..2..3, I’m still the champ,
You know the deal,
Everybody loves John Cena,
Because real recognizes real!

Comparing Cena to Angle,
Is like an apple to a Florida orange
I’m a thousand times better,
And…uh…THE CHAMP IS HERE!

Kurt Angle is out to defend himself. From what, I’m not sure yet.

Kurt Angle: You guys can’t be serious right? This is the champion? That’s the title belt? Man. Can I go back over to Smackdown? On second though…yeah. Maybe not. I’m an Olympic Gold Medalist, you know? That’s…that’s…you know what? Let me tell you a little something….

My name is MC Angle,
And I’ve got Olympic Gold,
I’m gonna kick your ass Cena
Because you don’t know any holds!

Snap on the Ankle Lock,
Your ass is gonna tap,
You’re going to fall victim,
To the Kurt Angle rap!

Olympic Slam once,
Olympic Slam twice!
Your movie, “The Marine,”
Is as good as “Cool as Ice!”

I’m going to win the title,
I’m sick of all this crap,
You just got taught,
In the Kurt Angle School of Rap!

John Cena shakes his ass menacingly.

Cena: Oh, that’s how you gonna do, huh? Well, I hear you like a little bestiality sex, Kurt! Come on down!

Angle: I forgot my goat.

Cena: Oh. Damn. Next week then?

Angle: It died. My goat died. No more bestiality sex.

Cena: Word. That sucks. Peace to your goat, homey. I’m sure it’s in a better place.

Angle: Yeah.

Cena: Uh…You can’t see me!

Angle: Guess I’ll see you next week then.

Cena: Maybe you will…maybe you won’t!

(ads)

Man, Tomko and the Goatee are still making a go at it huh? Rene Dupree is looking for a partner? I guess the loss of Mutley really hit him hard. How about Rob Conway? The arena clears when Hurricane’s music hits. Sigh. Didn’t Hassan warn Hurricane about stuff like this? It’s going to end up getting him fired! Tomko ends up knocking the crap out of both guys and leaving. Wow. Everybody can beat these guys. Are you sure you need a partner, Rene? Maybe you can just go it alone. How have these guys held the titles since May? Do they ever win a match?! After politely waiting for this match to end, the crowd comes back.

Smackdown Rebound:

Johnny Nitro: Joey, do you think they’d ever job out Hnnrnnr and Animal to us?

Joey Mercury: Nah. I think Taker probably thought sticking the belts down our pants wasn’t “in keeping with the traditions of our sport.”

Nitro: Dammit! And I just got that mural of us with the tag titles painted on the side of the van!

Mercury: We’ll wash it off on Saturday. I’ve got a scrub brush.

Mileena: I’ve got great news, guys! Smackdown is moving to Friday Nights!

Mercury: How is that great news?

Mileena: Now you won’t be all depressed because you don’t have anywhere to go on Friday nights.

Nitro: Hey! Yeah! Awesome!

Jillian Hall: What’s up guys?

Mercury: Why do you have a Rice Krispie Treat stuck to your face?

Cyrus: ROOOOOLLERJAM!

(ads)

While Carlito sits in the corner combing his hair and Masters exchanges cod roe recipes with WWE RAW Referee M-M-M-Mike Chioda, Shawn throws himself into turnbuckles, over the top rope, into the barricade, rolls himself back into the ring, nails the elbow drop, kips up and somehow, manages to Superkick himself. While he lays prone, Carlito and Masters exchange glances, but decide that neither one of them should really take the pin from the other, so they go back to their other, more important tasks. Finally, disturbed at the lack of wrestling in this match, Shawn Michaels crawls to his feet, and locks himself in a side headlock.

(ads)

When we come back, Michaels is desperately trying to reach the ropes after locking himself in a modified Sharpshooter. Carlito, meanwhile is in the crowd letting people who tell him that he’s cool hold the Intercontinental title. Masters has set up a small Easy Bake Oven, and is in the process of baking a tiny cake, which he plans to garnish with crumbled Oreo, strawberry syrup, and midget candied yams. Shawn gets to the ropes, but he can hardly stand. Just when things are looking their most bleak, Ric Flair comes out through the crowd, drenched in blood, and springs onto the apron. Shawn makes the hot tag to Flair who comes in a house afire. Chop to Flair. Chop to Flair. Flair reeling now. In the corner, Irish whip. Flair flip. The Nature Boy goes low, and Flair is really feeling it. Flair begging off, but the Nature Boy isn’t going to give in so easily. There’s the Figure Four. The Nature Boy cinching it in. Michaels runs in to stop any outside interference, but seeing none, he planchas to the outside. Flair has no choice put to tap out. Carlito and Masters win. They briefly pause to pose for the final shot, and then return to their regularly scheduled non-wrestling. ****

Next Week: Ric Flair finally reveals who attacked him and the answer will SHOCK you (it was Paul Roma)! Spike TV Promotes NWA TNA by running two minute long AJ Styles Promos during every ad break. Plus, MORE Masters! You don’t wanna miss that!

Excerpt From the Casefiles of Dean Malenko
Chapter 3

As the sun split the clouds trying to find some way of making a day of things, I made my way towards Willie’s. Willie’s was a local watering hole, all the thugs in town hung ou there, and since everybody in this town was a thug, it was a pretty safe bet that whoever you were looking for would show up here. Smoke hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to erupt and rain tar and arsenic down on the patrons, who, by the looks of them, probably would hardly notice. I took my usual seat, reserved especially for me. It had a high chair so I could see over the top of the counter. I waited, surveying the action, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw them. A priest, a fat man, a child and a bodybuilder. It was like a sad, sick joke waiting to happen. They all sipped beverages of questionable repute and loudly argued amongst themselves over who had the money to pay the tab. These were my marks. Like a cat, I pounced off my seat and stalked my prey. I was hoping to nab a dead bird to bring back to my client, but it might be suicide to take on four at once.

“Is anybody sitting here?” I asked indicating an empty seat.

“Yeah. Your momma,” the goateed child screeched.

“I’m here to investigate the death of Jeff Hardy.”

“P-p-p-please sit down,” the large, muscular man said, softening. “W-w-w-we’ve been expecting you.”

“I want names first. Who are you?”

“I’m M-M-M-M….”

The fat one slapped him.

“…att Morgan.”

“And you?”

“I’m Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh…”

The child slapped him.

“Bubba D-D-D-D-D-D-D….”

“Don’t do it!” the Reverend suddenly shouted.

“Tell me your names!” I growled.

“It’s not that I don’t want to cooperate officer, but He will not allow us to.”

“Who?”

“The Higher Power.”

“This ‘Higher Power,’ he won’t let you tell me your names?”

“He won’t let us tell anyone our names. You don’t understand how hard it is. My wife won’t even speak to me! I thought I’d left all that behind when I was defrocked and joined the Church of Imagi, but He’s still after us! Still mad I never built that temple in His name!”

“Can I still be Spike Dud….” the goateed child whispered.

“N-n-n-no! We’re gonna get killed talking like this. He has agents everywhere!” the fat man snapped.

“If you’re not going to tell me your names, I’m not going to be able to help solve this case. Unless that’s what you want….”

“Listen, my son. It’s not that we don’t want to tell you, it’s just that He won’t let us.”

“Does this Higher Power often tell you to do things. Things you don’t want to do.”

“Get one thing straight, little man! We were there, yeah, but we had nothin’ to do with Jeff’s death. Not me, not D-Von, not Spike, not even M-M-M-M…”

The child slapped him again.

“Morgan over here. But you’re dangerously close to getting a 3-D yourself, understand”

I nodded. This job wasn’t worth the risk, and I knew that in a fight I’d fall harder than a three legged gazelle being chased by a pride of hungry lions on a nature show.

“My son, open your heart to Imagi. Don’t let the Higher Power distract you from your cause as he did us. Now, please, leave us to our drinks and go in peace.”

“Go fi-fi-fi-find the killer!”

“OH MY BROTHER! TESTIFY!”

“Hey wait. Is this a kiddy cocktail? What the hell is wrong with you guys? I ordered a whisky sour,” the child cried.

I stood up to leave.

“Hey, Mister. I’ve got something to tell…something to tell…so-” the bodybuilder was cut off when the fat man suddenly lifted him out of his seat and, with the help of the reverend, slammed him through their table. The bar patrons suddenly perked up and began chanting “3-D.” What was he going to tell me. I started to demand an explanation, but the crowd had suddenly swelled up like a hurricane force wave, and was threatening to capsize a vanilla midget like myself. Slowly I was pushed away, as the crowd screamed bloody murder for more tables, and as thug after thug was thrown through them by the fat man and the preacher. That’s when I noticed the child staring a hole though me, which chilled my spine like a naked trek through the arctic.

To be continued….