Big Show’s issues with Edge date back to the fact that he has issues with Abe Orton, who Edge hired as a retainer for his feud ag…sorry I got a little woozy there. Lita is actually semi attractive 

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Big Show jumps off the apron and crotches himself on the barricade. Wow. Style points for that. Matt fights off both Edge and Orton briefly, before Lita kicks him in the balls. Well, he’ll never get back together with you now. Geez. This feud needs more Kane. What the hell ever happened to that guy anyway? Matt shakes that off and grabs Lita to hit her with the Twist of Fate, but Edge hits the Spear, and Lita does a Twist of Fate of her own. Lita with the cover. 1..2..3. Matt Hardy is the wussiest wrestler I’ve ever seen. Yes worse than Rico. And Dawn Marie.

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Shawn Michaels is out for an interview…with Todd Grisham?

Todd Grisham: Todd Grisham here, and I’m on the entry ramp with Shawn Michaels. Why am I out here? Can I go backstage?

Shawn Michaels: No, no, man. You’re an integral part of the interviewing process. Ask me your questions!

Grisham: Last-

Michaels: Let me tell you something, Tom, I’m the Heart Break Kid, Shawn Michaels, and there’s nothing more I like to do than prance. So how do you think it made me feel when last week, Chris Masters seemed intent on stopping me from prancing? How do you think that felt?

Grisham: I th-

Michaels: Don’t answer that, you’ve probably never pranced in your life. I’ll tell you something, Timmy, it didn’t feel too good. I mean, what the hell do I know about cooking? You want me to make you some beef stew or whatever we were supposed to be making last week? Hell no. Make your own goddamn beef stew. Even my good friend Stevie Ray didn’t know what was going on. Well, this Sunday, at Armoiregettin’, I’m gonna get all the armoires, and then I’m going to suit up with the Armoire of God, and I’m going to store all my cups in there! Then who will be storing their cups, Mr. Masters?! WHO WILL BE STORING CUPS THEN?!

Here’s Ric Flair to provide…his…expert analysis?

Ric Flair: WOO! Style and profile! Carlito! CARLITO! If you want any armoires, the only way you’re going to get them is if I will them to you! Because, my WOO son, I’m going to beat you on Sunday and get all the armoires for myself! And also become the Inter-WOO-By God-Continental Championship! WOO!

Grisham: Guys? Armoiregettin’ is our December PPV. This week’s PPV is Unforgotten! How could you forget that?

Dieter: Now’s the time on RAW when we dance.

Flair, Michaels, Dieter, Rosey, Lance Cade, and The HeartThrobs all dance on stage, trampling Todd Grisham.

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Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the RAW wrestling debut of Gay Gobbledygooker. On commentary, J.R. insists on calling him Lieutenant Locco. Gooker and Shelton go through some tumbling routines to start, before Gooker starts in with the chicken dance. Shelton bails. He may not know yet how to wrestle a giant gay chicken, but he’s determined to prove that there ain’t no stoppin’ him…NAH! Shelton charges into the ring, where Gooker nails him with a bag of seed. Shelton wins by DQ. Gooker eats some of the scattered feed and then takes off in his Chickenmobile. Who will win this classic feud?

Kurt Angle is backstage.

Kurt Angle: That’s right. I can do this interview by myself. John Cena, you may think you’re so cool because you have a CD out, or because you’ve got a direct to video movie coming out, or because women scream whenever you take of your shirt, but I’ve got something you don’t have, John. A nagging wife who won‘t let go of the time she saw me try to get it on with Paisley every week. I’m not ghetto like you, I’ve got to respect my baby mama or she’ll drive me nuts. So, John, this Sunday, Unforgotten, it’s not just about you and me, it’s not just about the WWE Title. It’s about my wife getting off my friggin’ back about the whole bestiality sex thing. I’ve got this whole thing hanging over my head., John, and the only way to clear it up is beating somebody up, winning the WWE Title and celebrating in the ring with her again. I’m sure you understand. Anyway, yeah, I’ll see you later, man. Bye.

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The commentary crew take turns spraying each other with BOD Body Spray, which is the single most disturbing thing I’ve seen all month.

Victoria, Torrie Wilson, and Boobsie McTitsalot are all out. They say that they’re happy to be here tonight, contributing to the lack of wrestling on this show. Unfortunately, there’s a time to be serious and there’s a time to be annoying and pointless, and this is one of those times. Boobsie gets on the mic and says that she’s happy that boobs have completed their trial run, and she’d like to get one more pass at them before they get sent down to OVW for “seasoning”. Torrie politely explains that this means that they’d like Ashley Massaro to come out.

Ashley Massaro: You think I’m going to get fooled by this? Fool me once shame on you, fooled me twice, shame on me. Every time after that, I blame the writers.

Torrie Wilson: Do you like my nipples?

Boobsie McTitsalot: Yes, you have boobs.

Victoria: I think what they’re trying to say is come down here so we can administer our weekly beat down.

Ashley: Not so fast! I think I found somebody who can actually carry me to a halfway decent match with one of you guys?

Hey look, it’s Trish Stratus! Welcome back to the hastily cobbled together realm of women’s wrestling Trish! Aren’t you supposed to be feuding with Viscera? And she’s still got the title?! HA! Anyway, they rush the ring, well, Trish rushes the ring and Ashley kind of strolls there while everybody else waits for her. Anyway, the evil bitchy girls are quickly dispatched by Trish, who is neither evil nor bitchy. I guess. Afterwards, Vince Russo comes out and yells at them for not working a proper five way lesbian angle for the womens title which would then be won by Tank Abbott in a shocking swerve. Then he reminds us to pray for peace around the world.

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Ric Flair v. Iron Chef Wrestling, Chris Masters
Metamucil Battle

Oh! Tough draw for the Iron Chef. They really need more vignettes for him tonight. The show is definitely lacking in Chris Masters vignettes. Anywho, down to Kitchen Stadium and my colleagues Kenji Fukui and Dr. Yukio Hatori. Guys?

Kenji Fukui: Yes, a tough draw indeed for our Iron Chef. Mr. Flair has been using Metamucil since the early 80s when he was a spry 84 years old. Now, at 108, one must grant him the experience edge here.

Dr. Yukio Hatori: Well, Flair did injure his lower back in a plane crash many years ago, an injury which exploited would make escape from a full nelson difficult.

Fukui: I’m not sure what that has to do with this battle.

Hatori: I’m just saying that if one of the Iron Chef’s assistants were to, I don’t know, put Mr. Flair in a full nelson, then Flair wouldn’t be able to cook his dishes and/or strut.

Fukui: Interesting point.

Shinichiro Ohta: Fukui-san!

Fukui: Go ahead!

Ohta: The Iron Chef is preparing some kind of Split Pea Metamucil soup. It…it looks kind of gross to be honest with you. Like…leprechaun vomit.

Fukui: And the challenger.

Ohta: The challenger is wearing one of the cooking pots and chopping a slab of meat.

Hatori: Ah, to tenderize it.

Ohta: No, no. He’s claiming that he’s going to chop the meat to death, and then take its old lady for a ride on Space Mountain.

Fukui: The amusement park ride?

Ohta: No, no. It’s a metaphor for his penis.

Fukui: I see. Folks, we’re going to have to take a commercial break.

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Fukui: Welcome back to this exciting battle! Kitchen stadium is electric as Iron Chef Wrestling Chris Masters and his opponent Ric Flair battle it out in an effort to impress the judges with their fiber prowess!

Hatori: I believe the product they’re using is store bought from Walmart.

Fukui: You don’t say?

Hatori: Actually, I’ve been having some bowel trouble lately, I should go down there and sample some of the wares, you know what I’m saying.

Fukui: I really didn’t need or want to hear about that.

Hatori: Seriously, I’ve been constipated something fierce lately. Do you think I could get a bowl of that pea soup.

Fukui: If it’ll shut you up, I’ll see what I can do. Ohta?

Ohta: Fukui-san!

Fukui: Go ahead!

Ohta: No can do! While you were talking, a small man with an afro came out and attacked the challenger, spilling his Metamucil Cacciatore all over the floor. In retaliation, an elderly man pranced by and drank all of the Iron Chef’s soup. I’m afraid we have to call this one a draw.

Fukui: That’s really too bad, oh well, join us Sunday for a very special battle! Who will make the grade? Who will reign supreme?!

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Dudley Boyz, eat your hearts out. Or the lawyers will do it for you. Wokka Wokka. Eugene has chosen to team with Tajiri, because Tajiri comes from the land of the rising workrate, and also because Eugene watched ECW and respects the style of wrestling they did there. Murdoch punches Eugene to start. Cade comes in and he’s a pair of blinking lights sunglasses afire. Tajiri comes in to hit some kicks, but he gets nailed in short order by a Guitar shot and the Curtain Call. Cade and Murdoch win! After the match Murdoch feels himself up and Cade tells him to knock it off or he’s going to blow their cover.

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Edge and Lita are back out. Wonderful!

Edge: It is our intention to come out here and lick each other’s faces. But before we get started on that, I wanted to comment on the WWE’s mishandling of my recent feud with Matt Hardy. You see, what we had here was a failure on the most base level to understand what the fans wanted out of this feud. They wanted to see me get my ass kicked.

Lita: Which they did.

Edge: Only it was a few weeks too late. You see, Matt Hardy shouldn’t have become the pussified creature you see before you today, constantly injured, but still willing to fight. He should have been an assassin, striking me when I least expected, the Angelic Diablo, the scar is a symbol of him kicking Edge’s ass ninja style.

Lita: A hillbilly ninja?

Edge: Err…sure. Hey, look, if we can pass as attractive, then he can pass as a hillbilly ninja.

Lita: That would be an awesome movie. They should make a WWE film about that.

Edge: Totally!

Lita: If you think about it, Edgeybaby, that wouldn’t have worked.

Edge: Why not?

Lita: Because in real life, Matt Hardy is a big pussy who complains about everything on the internet. Just ask Big Pimpin’ Alex.

Edge: Maybe you’re right, Lita, maybe you’re right. We will now lick each other’s faces.

They do. Back in the Bischoffice, Eric is on the phone.

Eric Bischoff: That’s eight strippers…yeah. Eight. You know what? Make it nine. Do you have any midgets? I see…Nine and a half then. Right. Visa. Uh-huh. Room 228. The Hilton. Right. Do your…do your girls know any sexy moves with chicken suits? I know it’s a strange question, but I’ve got all these chicken suits, you see….

John Cena: YO! Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo YO!

Bischoff: I’ll have to-

Cena: Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo YO!

Bischoff: -call you-

Cena: Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo YO!

Bischoff: -back. Bye.

Cena: YO! YO! Yo!

Bischoff: What do you want?

Cena: THE CHAMP IS HERE!

Bischoff: Uh-huh. Great. Now what do you want?

I’m here to hand over my belt,
Too much pressure have I felt,
Kurt Angle is too hardcore,
I’m a man, but he is more!

I don’t want to lose it like this,
But I’m ready to ass kiss,
I recognize real when I see it,
I’m just talk, Angle bes it!

So I’m going to quit,
No more rhymes to spit,
Listen to the crowd cheer,
Because THE CHAMP IS HERE!

Psyche! I’m not quitting after all.

Bischoff: Yeah. You really had me going there. Haha. Go away. Let me drink myself into a stupor like I used to do during Nitro.

Cena: You can’t see me, Eric!

Bischoff: Where did I hide that whisky?

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Rather than go all the way down to ringside, Bischoff decides to stay at the top of the ramp and drink . Maybe he’s hoping to be there when the universe explodes taking RAW with it. Tomko, on the other hand, is thrilled to be in a main event. Tian for Angle? Upgrade baby. Angle looks depressed at having to hold this crap together. Maybe that’s why he’s wearing a mouth guard, so that when he bites his tongue, he won’t bite it in half. Cena cleans house, and also wrestles Tomko and Angle. He’s a multi-tasking expert.

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When we come back, Angle is in control. Suplex, suplex, suplex. Angle picks up Tomko, Cena and the Referee and suplexes them all. That‘s just showing off. Reluctantly, he calls in Tomko, who immediately accidentally kicks Angle in the ribs. Holding his chest and muttering to himself, Angle slides out of the ring to pout. This leaves the man from Heat in against an unstoppable WWE Champion, and if you know enough to know that the CHAMP IS HERE, then you what happens next. F-U to Tomko, and a winner is Cena. The crowd goes wild! But only momentarily, for as Cena celebrates yet another handicap match victory over his PPV opponent and a random midcarder, he is blindsided by Angle, who seems a little more interested in winning than Jericho ever did. While Angle attacks, Bischoff runs down to the ring and drunkenly tells Cena that he’ll never work in this town again unless he can name all the state capitals in reverse alphabetical order. When Cena starts, Bischoff passes out.

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!: This PPV is sure to be Unfortten, when John Cena defeats Kurt Angle after filling his mouth guard with hot sauce. Shawn Michaels prepares the best fried egg gumbo you’ve ever tasted in honor of Hurricane victims, and beats Chris Master’s Iron Chef Challenge. And Father and Son collide when Carlito Flair beats his father with the help of his friends Jesus and Vince Russo.

Excerpt From the Casefiles of Dean Malenko
Chapter Five

My search for Kane had taken a strange turn. I’d hoped that by finding him, I’d be able to find Jeff’s killer, much like a vulture follows a fox to find the dead carcass of an animal. Whoever did this was slick, but not slick enough. I always get my mark, no matter how bad they are. Because I am Dean Malenko, the shadow that trails you every where you go, chasing you all morning, all through your workday, until finally, at noon, I over take you and put you in the Texas Cloverleaf until I ask you what my name is and you scream, “Dean Malenko, the Best Damn Dick in the Business.” I’d tracked Kane to the docks, where apparently he was offering his services as a dentist to some of the sailors. I was afraid he was going to sneak aboard one of these vessels, like a plague rat spreading his evil to all corners of the planet, but apparently he was staying Stateside. For now. As I worked my way through the lower decks of one of the boats, hoping to find a sailor who would spill his guts before I spilled them for him, I came across a site I never thought I’d see. There, sitting behind a crate of unsold Christy Hemme Playboys were three more of my marks, stowaways trying to get to Japan. The almost ran as I approached, but I’m cool as ice. Nobody runs from Dean Malenko’s glare until I say they can.

“Charlie Haas, funny running into you here.”

“He…hey, Dean! Long time no see? Huh? We’re just on our way out of town.”

“Stowing away?”

“Hey…hey! Nothing like that, honest. We booked passage same as everybody else, just trying to get to New Japan where my skills will be recognized.”

“This ain’t no luxury liner, kid. Spill it, what are you running from.”

“Nothin’, I swear!”

I knocked him to the ground and locked in the Cloverleaf. He’d have to squeal. The two women shrieked at my gruffness, but I was immobile, a stone wall with no emotion.

“What’s the big idea, Haas? Where were you going?”

“Ah! I tap out! I give up! I was trying to sail down to Florida! To TNA! I heard they

were taking in refugees there! But I don’t have no money for bus fare, and I’ve got the ladies with me!”

“He’s telling the truth! Honest! I already got a contract for there!” The blonde offered.

“What makes you so sure you’ll be welcomed in TNA?”

“I carried the World’s Greatest Tag Team! Not Shelton or Angle or Heyman! I had style!”

“He had flair!” the blonde chirped.

“You were there,” I’d had enough of this nonsense. “I’m looking for Kane, any of you seen him?”

“He hangs around here sometimes,” the blonde offered, “but I think he’s moving on. He’s trying to find somebody who can advise him, tell him what to do with his career.”

“I’ve got to find him. What do you know?” I asked the brunette in the corner.

“I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. I just know that Simon Diamond is a no good scumbag who won’t take care of his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him with a dead turkey and somehow got herself pregnant. I‘m going to TNA after him.”

“I’m engaged to both of them now! Isn’t wrestling grand?” Haas offered from the floor.

“Blow it out your ear, Dean. I hope you never find Jeff’s killer. Molly was never half the woman I was, and Lita is a no good slutbag.”

I’d heard enough, Dawn’s Italian temper was getting to her, but Dean Malenko is a man of character. I would not slap an armbar on a pregnant woman. Even one talking gibberish about my clientele and the woman I love.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah Deano?”

“This is no way for a family to live. Hop on a bus and get yourselves to Orlando. Have fun working for peanuts.”

I flipped him a twenty, and like an excited group of kids who just got a nickel from their parents to go buy candy at the candy shoppe, they took off hollering and screaming about what a wonderful time they were going to have. They’d probably blow it all on hair bleach. I shook my head and left the boat. Nobody knew where Kane was. I hopped in my station wagon and headed back towards the city. It was time to start getting serious.

To Be Continued…