First, a moving tribute to OO Hall of Famer, Samoan Bulldozer…er…dog.

I've known you all my life
At least that's how it seems
Never known another way
Living out on a dream
 

Tell me a lie and say that you won't go
Look in my eyes and hold me even though
I realize you had to walk away
No more yesterday

You always were my angel
Flying high above
Always looking out for me
Angel that I love
But now my dreams are fadin like age-old photographs
That hurt too much to look at now, remind us of our past

Refrain

Maybe we could stay together
Maybe it could last forever
Maybe if you just tell me a lie
Maybe then, we'll never say goodbye

Vince and Shane are hanging out in fake Elvis jumpsuits at Graceland. Wow, they’re almost as cool as the American Idol people. If they’re going to celebrate National Dress Like Elvis Day, couldn’t they have done this up right? I mean Jimmy Yang and Sonny Siaki are back under contract, aren’t they? Hell, they’ve got Armando Estrada, that’s is good as Jorge Estrada. Oh…geez. Is my TNA showing? How embarrassing!

Vince McMahon: Uhuhuhuh! Yeah Yeah! It’s a good year for the roses, eh, Shane!

Shane McMahon: Uh…yeah. I guess you could say that DX is “All shook up!”

Vince: Why, Shane I feel like “The King of America!”

Shane: Hahaha…um…Shawn Michaels must’ve been singing the “Jail House Rock!”

Vince: Quite frankly, Shane, “Don’t let me be misunderstood!” But I hate DX!

Shane: Booyah, Pops! But you do realize that this segment is supposed to be about Elvis Pressley and not Elvis Costello….

Vince: No kidding. Who the hell are those guys, then? I thought they were supposed to be The Imposters!

Shane: Those guys are the Local Indy Workers we hired to be fake cops this week to screw with Shawn Michaels.

Vince: Ok. Don’t step on my blue suede shoes!

Shane: That’s the spirit!

Vince: Seriously, these things cost me a damn fortune.

Trish Stratus v. Alexis Laree
For the WWE Women’s Title

So, this match is happening because last week Trish beat Alexis in a tag team match, which of course, makes her the number one contender. Seriously, I forgot the girls even had a title! Besides the title of DIVA SEARCH 2006~! of course. So we’re underway on what is sure to be an instant ******** classic, if (and only if) poor Alexis doesn’t half to backdrop herself into Trish’s half-assed bulldog again this week. Speaking of half-assed Bulldogs…what…too easy? Meh. Ok, so Trish and Alexis lock up and here comes “The Innovator of Breakfast” Edge. Thank God. I don’t know if I could take another second of this.

“The Innovator of Breakfast” Edge: Alexis, get to steppin’. I don’t have any beef with you. But I do have a beef with you, Trish! A beef and cheese crepe that is! I just made that up, just now! Hey, has anybody else noticed that I’m hardly ever on TV? That doesn’t really seem fair, does it? I mean, I’m the holder of the Spinnin’ World Title, for Pete’s sake! That’s gotta mean something…to somebody. And now I found out that I’ve got to wrestle for the title in West Blueberry, Massachusetts in front of John Cena’s home town crowd and high school mascot! While eating a West Blueberry scone! That’s not fair at all!

Lita: Actually, that’s “West Newbury” and I think you’re actually wrestling in “Boston” which is the closest “big town.” Kind of like how Tajiri was from “Japan” but he was really from a town in Japan.

Edge: Wow. I always just thought he was a traveling nomad. Like Totally Not Jamal. Huh. Anyway, look at this Summerslam poster. Not only am I not on it, but everybody looks like cardboard cut outs! Look at Dave! He’s hardly bigger than Maria! Is that Mark Henry?! And Boogeyman?! Half these people are injured and won’t even be there!

Lita: The Summerslam poster curse! You know who was on the poster last year? Christy Hemme! Huh? Huh? Oooooooh!

Edge: Hot damn! Good thing I’m not on it then, I guess. But what about WWE Magazine?! I’m thinking, “Geez, they’d better get a friggin’ cover of me before I lose the goddamn title to Cena, again.” But noooooooo, they go and give it to Trish! Trish, who hasn’t done a goddamn thing since the time she hooked up with Chris Tian and Tyson Tomko and the Goatee and…OH GOD! THE CURSE OF TRISH!

Trish Stratus: Don’t sweat it, dude. The only reason I’m on the cover this month is because it’s, like, practically my last month in this hell hole, then I’m going to go host “Best Week Ever” for much music.

Edge: Don’t you mean “Best Week Ever! EVER!”? Hahahahaha!

Lita: Honey, you’re using dated catchphrases again. And besides, I’m with her. I’m ready to get the hell on out of this place and go get drunk for a few years instead.

Edge: Oh, man. You guys suck. Now I’ll have to feud with Val Venis or something crappy like that. Boo.

Lita tries to cheer Edge up by Spearing Trish, but Edge is inconsolable at the thought of dropping halfway down the card due to a rampant valet shortage. Carlito comes out to check on the Trish situation, so Edge spears him. That’s right, Edge! If there’s a valet to be had in this company for the next two months, you’d better get them all for yourself!

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Shelton Benjamin v. Kane
For the Number One Contendership for the WWE Intercontinental Title

Johnny Nitro and Melina are ringside. Well, Nitro is ringsie, Melina is crotch deep on Jerry Lawler and Jim Ross. This must be Lawler’s “jobbin’ to Orton” present. Ok, I gotta call this one. Kane wins, and then next week we get this same match, and Shelton wins, and then Carlito shows up for Summerslam to make it a four way, and then nobody knows why we bothered to do this match. Awesome! Shelton tries to suplex Kane. Ha! Kane wins with a chokeslam (see?) and proceeds to have an intense staredown with Nitro and Melina. Well…Melina’s cleavage, so maybe he’s just getting himself a look. Sorry to say it, RAW, but ECW needs more Kane.

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The WWE was in Australia last week, and everyone sort of waved uncomfortably at Nathan Jones.

John Cena is out.

John Cena: Yo, yo, yo. With Jeff Hardy comin’ back, I gotta work on my emoetry for a sec. So here you all go. Me bein’ real like MySpace, ya’lls.

Yo, Word Life,
I’m the real OG,
Comin’ straight out of Boston,
Err…I mean West Newbury!

I’m cool cuz I Photoshop,
Took a night class,
So I could do a picture,
Of Edge kissin’ Lance Bass!

Doesn’t that make me,
The favorite, top of the cream?
Don’t you all love me,
Or am I…

2Xtreme

No wait, I mean…THE CHAMP IS HERE! No…wait….

Jonathan Coachman: John, it sounds like you’re at a loss for words! So I’ve hooked you up with a guy who can, and has, eaten his own weight in Alphabits! Viscera! After the break! Hit my music again!

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Sadly Coach doesn’t stay out there, depriving us of the chance to here his music ONE MORE TIME! Oh well. Viscera spends most of the match making big fat kissy faces at Lillian Garcia (behind Charlie Haas’ back no less!), so Lillian starts herself on fire and runs away. You know who I miss? WWE RAW Referee Jeff Fisher. That guy was fantastic. Sorry, UPW Referee Marty Rubalcaba. You just don’t stack up. You know what does stack up? Viscera on top of Cena. Like that transition? I’m taking a night class. Jim Ross asks me, very politely, to be impressed, but I don’t know. This is, like, the 1,000 time I’ve seen Cena pick up someone very heavy, and it’s just not doing it for me any more. Maybe I’ve lost perspective. Cena wins, as J.R. repeats that Viscera is very heavy. Maybe he just wants Johnny Ace to send him to OVW for a few months.

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This Week in WWE history: In 1980, Vince McMahon booked Shea Stadium, finally giving Mets fans something worth talking about. Sadly, that something was Larry Zybyzko.

Vince and Shane are backstage with their gaggle of Local Indy Workers.

Vince McMahon: I want you guys to know something, Shawn Michaels is standing right outside that very door.

Local Indy Worker: The guy that trained American Dragon? Cool! Can I go get his autograph?!

Vince: No, you cannot go get his autograph! If he comes in here, I want you to arrest him! Do you understand me?

Local Indy Worker: Uh…you do know we’re not actually *real* cops, right?

Vince: SHUT UP!

Shane McMahon: You know what? I’m going to go out this other door and find me some of those tiny hot dogs. I love those things.

Local Indy Worker: Oh! Me too! Can I come?

Vince: NO! Stay right here in case Shawn Michaels comes in!

Elsewhere….

Carlito Caribbean Cool: …so you see, Trish, it was all a black hole of money and hype, and neither one did anything to generate any kind of real, tangible sales. That’s why they cancelled E3.

Trish Stratus: Um…ok.

Carlito: Though, I’ll tell you, I’m going to miss G4’s coverage. Three hours of Morgan Webb in skin tight pants talkin’ about frame rates…That’s the stuff right there.

Trish kisses Carlito.

Carlito: Um….

Trish: Good. That shut you up. I’m going to go get ready for our match.

Back outside Vince’s office.

Shane McMahon: Little hot dogs…come here little hot dogs! Hey, have you seen the little hot dogs cart?

Rory McCallister: Let me tell you about little hot dogs, son. In 1872, I was in Istanbul, though it was called Constantinople, or maybe it was Istanbul, and not Constantinople. Anyway, that’s nobody’s business but the Turks. So like I was say-

Shane: Boobsie! Torrie! Have you seen any little hot dogs?

Boobsie McTitsalot: Pull down your pants, and maybe I’ll answer!

Torrie Wilson: Insert joke about Billy Kidman and/or Chloe the RAW Satire Mutt here. Teehee.

Shane: Dammit, can anybody help me find a little hot dog?

Shawn Michaels: How about a knuckle sandwich?

And with that, the fight is on. Through catering, into the women’s locker room, into the boiler room, through the secret door and into the study, then to the master bedroom, and finally, back the McMahon office, where Shawn just winds up punching Local Indy Workers for having no grasp on psychology. Sadly, he doesn’t call any of them “Sugar Tits.”

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Backstage, Triple H has caught up with Shawn and the Indy Workers.

Triple H: What’s going on here?

Shawn Michaels: Ah! Hunter! Sorry, man! Apparently, I got a little worked up and made some “religiously insensitive” remarks, and so I’m going into the slammer for a few days.

HHH: Religiously insensitive? You? Get out of town!

Local Indy Worker: Yes, sir. He continually struck Mr. McMahon stating, “You are the reason Ra sucks! You are the reason Ra sucks!” Obviously, we’re all taken aback and insulted. I hope your show doesn’t get cancelled in Egypt.

HHH: Hahaha! That’s awesome. Say hello to Jannetty for me!

This is an “mixed” tag team match, which of course means that the women can only wrestle the women, and the men can only wrestle the men, so it’s kosher for Canada! Which is good because the Canadians should enjoy Trish before she leaves and tries to “act.” Speaking of trying to “act,” Edge is going to be on Mind of Mencia this week. I’ll try to miss it. Interestingly enough, it doesn’t look like he even has or mentions his title belt there. Maybe he’s embarrassed by it. The “look it spins!” argument probably doesn’t play well outside of us, huh? Oh good, here’s some….

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Did you know that according to some survey guy, wrestling causes violence? Also, according to the same survey guy, ratings haven’t dropped at all since 1999. Apparently, what happened was the Neilson families were hitting each other over the head with their boxes. Anyway, Carlito and Edge scuffle while, Trish and Lita laugh in the corner about the fact that they never really did ever learn to throw any punches. But Edge misses a Spear attempt and ends up folding up Trish for the win. NO! You can’t do that on Canadian Television! A fine how do you do to the Score that was! Even Edge seems a little distraught about that. How will Granny Tian watch you now, huh? Eh. She’ll just think Trish jobbed to a random shot of the crowd.

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Todd Grisham is standing by with Randy Orton.

Todd Grisham: Todd Grisham here, and I’m standing by with…sigh…Randy Orton. And Randy, do I dare ask what your Summerslam plans are now that Hulk Hogan broke his knee getting off his couch…seriously? Did that actually happen?

Randy Orton: Thank you, Tom, for your incertational massage. You are and will always be, my flavorite MyStage friend. In truth, Tom, I haven’t the froggiest clue as to what my ShatnerStamp plans will be now that Hollie Wood Horace Holmgren and his daughter Broke are brooken. Perhaps, it is time for me to face my deadmans and go mantaur a mantaur with Takerster!

The Great Khali: NAGH! NAGH! Daff mog mast!

Orton: Woah, take it easel there, Courtney! I forgot all abouts your patch!

Khali: UNGAGAGA! Refft IG PEEEEEAGH!

Orton: What was that, Collie? Reg’s in the pee? Oh no! Somebody help! Reg fell in the toilet again!

Khali NAGH! NAGH! REEEFFFT IG PEEEEEEESSCHT!!

Orton: Referee? I’d be CHILLED to be the reftigppescht for your match!

Khali: NAGH! NAGH!

Orton: Where’s Daivari. He usually has some clue what you’re saying.

Daivari: Laylealeleahoooooh! Huh? Sorry, just listening to some Sting. I think Khali wants some rice and peas. Come on, let’s go check out catering.

Khali: Sigh.

“Dave” Batista “Davidson”: I understand what you are SAYING! I hope Taker rests in peace, TOO!

Khali: YEAACHAAAAY!

Batista: YAY!

When everyone clears out, Todd Grisham finds a couch and hops down off of it, shattering every bone in his body. Todd Grisham has fallen. Ric Flair is making his way to the ring. Oh, good.

Ric Flair: So, on my flight home from WOO Australia, I read Mick Foley’s book ALL NIGHT LONG! And I’ll tell you what! WOO! Tell me what? I’ll tell you what! Tell me what? I’ll tell you what! I’d take his old lady for a ride on SPACE MOUNTAIN, FAT BOY! WOOOO! Also, it turns out that what Foley is really pissed about is that I didn’t book his feuds in WCW right? Is that really what this is all about, Mick? FOLEY! WOO! Mick WOO by God FOLEY! The reason your feuds were crappy in WCW wasn’t because of me, oh no! It wasn’t because WOO of the NATURE BOY! Stylin’ and profilin’! No no no! It’s because it was WCW, Mick! My hands were tied! I mean, geez, did you ever pay ANY attention? Or maybe you would have liked to play beach volleyball with Sting, British BY GOD BULLDOG, and Cheatum? WOO! You wanna play volleyball with Cheatum, champ? Is that what this’ about? Because I still have his number!

Mick Foley: No, Ric. I don’t want to play volleyball with Cheatum. Well, maybe volleyball with Cheatum. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that I had as credible a feud with Vader as anybody, and you kept passing me up for other, less talented wrestlers. And, of course, yourself.

Flair: You were a victim of the system! I swear! I wanted Cap’n Jack Foley to have a huge run! WOO! But YOUWERENONATUREBOY STYLEANDPROFILEWHEELINDEALINJETFLYINLIMORIDINSONOFAGUN WOOOO!

Foley: Ric, we’re getting off task. “You said that Flair and Funk….”

Flair: Right! You said that Flair and Funk was the best match you’d ever seen! We’ll you’re the poor man’s Terry Funk and I’m the poor man’s Ric Flair! So what do you say, Mick?! WOO! Rick and Mick! I quit!

Foley: Gee, I don’t know, Naitch. I promised myself that I would never do anything to help your career. “What’s that Foley!”

Flair takes off his pants and dropkicks them into the crowd.

Foley: Sigh. “What’s that Foley?! WOO! I’m the Nature Boy! I’d be helping your career!” But, Ric, I’m already retired, you’re the one who won’t give up on the dream. “WOO, I’m going to take your old lady for a ride on Space Mountain, fat boy!” Ok, ok, if it will get you to SHUT THE HELL UP, I will cave and do this match. But you’re really asking for a beating. “WOO!”

Foley’s music plays.

Foley: Sigh. I haven’t even hit the punch line. Flair, this may be the best match of your career, but I’m going to make sure it’s the last!

Flair: Somebody’s going to bleed to death! And it’s probably going to be me! WOO!

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Jerry went out and bought himself a new pair of white tights. Lawler gets in some token offense, consisting mostly of him slapping Randy and then making big moon eyes at the crowd so they cheer for him. And they do, because this is Memphis, and Memphis loves Jerry Lawler. And pork rinds. It doesn’t last for long though, before Randy tells the referee to check out Melina’s ass prints on the commentary table and kicks Lawler in the balls. At least Lawler will be quiet for the Diva Search tomorrow. Lawler regains control and begins to take down the strap, but the new material doesn’t stretch very well, and he ends up pulling himself down instead. Orton wins!

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DIVA SEARCH 2006~!

The Miz: Sorry, we lost Erica on the way out. She stopped at a beer tent for an all night bender. So I guess she’s out. Here’s the other girls!

Jen: I like to watch Hello Kitty. If I become a WWE Diva, I’m going to go buy myself a set of Hello Kitty wrestling boots!

Leyla: I once had sex with Shaq! Probably. It’s all conjecture. But I was a Miami Heat dancer. Come on!

Milena: There’s a new Mortal Kombat coming out in October. If you vote for me, maybe I’ll break out the skimpy pink bikini!

J.T.: Just remember, I’m the easiest one to vote for! It’s just two letters, I’m sure even wrestling fans can figure that out!

I hope Milena stabs somebody with her sais!

Backstage, Totally Not Jamal totally is eating all the little hot dogs.

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Hunter doesn’t get a chance to do any fun peripheral DX things because Not Jamal attacks him before the bell. Not Jamal doesn’t work by the hour, folks. Do you suppose they can get away with paying him in face paint? Or nose piercings? Not Jamal and Hunter go back and forth with some punches for a while before Not Jamal finally takes control with a butt to the face. Remember when Hunter beat Suga Rosey in, like, 15 seconds? Do you suppose Rosey is pissed now? Not that he has any right to be or anything. Hunter gets the PEDIGREE TO NOT JAMAL~! but the referee is out at two thanks to Vince. There will be no jobbing of Not Jamal tonight! Hunter comes over to bitch, but he gets nailed with the Thumb to the Eye out of nowhere! Here’s the pin! Triple H loses! BEST RAW EVER~!

EVER!

That’s a total shout out to my man, Samoan Bulldozer! Vince hits the Pedigree on Hunter, just to rub it in, I guess. Vince isn’t very good at that. Good enough apparently, to keep Hunter out for about ten minutes though while Vince and Shane take turns slipping off the turnbuckles, though.

Next Week: Shawn Michaels and Triple H throw out a challenge to Totally Not Three Minute Warning, Hulk Hogan, well on his way to a full recovery from his fake injury, comes down with a crippling case of Monster Truck Madness. And Kane, oh Kane, probably does something I.C. title related. I don’t know, who the hell do I look like, Jambi?

Mekka lekka hi mekka hiney hiney ho!