Long, Long Ago, at a Superstars Taping far, far away, an evil, more ancient than the NWA, older than the territories, lies buried, thought lost forever amidst a whirlwind of Rock n Wrestling. But new masters are quite easy to come by. Bret Hart and his partner Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart sit in a boat in the middle of a locker room in Providence, Rhode Island.
Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart: Good match out there, Hitman. Hahahahahaha! Bret “The Hitman” Hart: Jim, can I ask you something? Anvil: Anything, man. Anything. Hitman: Why the hell is there a boat in the middle of this locker room? Anvil: It adds to the dynamic narrative. Hitman: What was that? Anvil: They’re too cheap to buy benches, so they stole this boat. Hitman: Oh. Wait a second, you didn’t say that, you said it was dyna- Anvil: -mite Kid’s boat. Yes, sir. It’s Dynamite Kid’s. Hitman: Oh. Anvil: I think I got a bite! Hitman: What? What the hell are you talking about? Neidhart reels in his rod, hooking the Undisputed Title from Hulk Hogan’s bag.
Anvil: Now, I’m the champ! Yeah, baby! Yeah!
Anvil falls out of the boat.
Anvil: Help! I’m drowning! Hitman: On…on the carpet? Anvil: Ok, fine. I’m not drowning but you know turtles- Hitman: Yeah? Anvil: How if they land on their back- Hitman: Uh-huh. Anvil: Help me up.
Bret pulls Neidhart back to his feet, but when he catches the gleaming belt in his hands, he drops Anvil again.
Anvil: Very funny. Hitman: Give me the belt, Jim. Anvil: No! Geez, I found it. Hey! Maybe we can share it! Hahahahaha! We’ll be Undisputed Tag Team Champions! Hitman: Not. Good. Enough. We’re in Canada. I’m a national hero. Give me the belt. Anvil: What are you talking about? You’re not a national hero ye-
Bret cuts him off with a punch. Mild brawling ensues, but this was the 80s, so they pretty much just walk around at each other. Bret tosses Anvil through a glass pane and Anvil blades. The feed goes black and white to obscure the blood. Bret walks over and locks in the Sharpshooter. Referees and officials run out to try to pull him off, but he doesn’t until Anvil is passed out in a pool of his own blood. Jim Neidhart has fallen. Bret picks up the belt.
Bret: MY PRECIOUS!
Years pass, Bret is ambling around backstage at Nitro….
Bret: They said I wasn’t the best…”U.S. Title Contender” they called us…We’ll show them…I am the best.
Bret huddles in a corner clutching the belt.
Bret: The best there is. The best there was. The best there ever will be.
Raven: Dude, you’re in my corner.
Bret, now looking a shell of his former self, skates onto the ice at a Calgary Hitmen game.
Bret: Even though I was surrounded by friends and family, I never felt so alone. Truly, I was Wrestling with Shadows.
The Goon: Get off the Ice! We’re playing here!
More years pass, Bret is now a shirtless man with scraggly bleached hair and hammer pants.
Bret: I love fishes ‘cuz they’re so delicious, gone goldfishin’!
Bret sits crouched on a pile of empty Goldfish boxes in a Canadian sewer. He looks lustily at the belt before the pile gives way and he falls into the sewage.
Bret: I’ve forgotten the workrate. I’ve forgotten the fans. My hate is all that’s left for me now. Everyone must pay.
He rolls his eyes back into his head and holds up the belt, only to be choke slammed by the Undertaker.
The Lord of the Reign The Return of the King of the Ring Volume III, Chapter One “In Which Threads from the Last Part are Picked Up”
Meltzer: Wait…Why was Undertaker in the sewers. Alvarez: Shh! Geez, it’s the last part. Meltzer: I DEMAND ANSWERS! Alvarez: I dunno. You make something up then. Meltzer: I can’t! This is what I mean about this story being shoddily put together. Alvarez: No, you can’t because you couldn’t book this thing any better. Meltzer: Oh that’s not true. Alvarez: Yes, it is. Meltzer: Sniff.
Chris Benoit shivers in a Motel Six, the belt fills the entirety of his attention as the Weather Channel drones on in the background, something about how those on the east coast should watch out for a gigantic fiery eye that is blocking the interstate. Tommy Dreamer sleeps peacefully in the bathtub. As Bret Hart ambles in from the parking lot, Benoit quickly tosses the belt under his sheets.
Hitman: Get up! It’s time to go. Wrestlemania is still a long way off. Dreamer: (Sitting up and shaking his head) Chris? Have you slept at all?
Benoit responds only by attempting to eat a weather map of the greater San Diego area.
Dreamer: At least you’re normal. What time is it anyway? It’s awfully dark out. Benoit: That’s because the lights are off, Tommy. It’s noon.
An earthquake shakes the room. The TV falls off its stand and shatters.
Hitman: I think that’s our cue. I’m not paying for that. Dreamer: Mr. Benoit needs to eat lunch first.
Dreamer pulls out a “Stone Cold Steve Austin” ice cream sandwich, which is now just two sticky, stale buns, and hands it to Benoit.
Benoit: What will you eat? Dreamer: Nothing. Let’s face it, I’m a fatty. We’ve got three boxes of these left, we’ll be ok. Even if they are all melty. Benoit: Oh, Tommy…These are terrible. Dreamer: We don’t have much money, so you’d better get used to them. One box for Wrestlemania, two boxes for…never mind. Benoit: Two boxes for what? Dreamer: I was going to say, “The way home.” But then I though, “God, Tommy that sounds awful clichéd. And besides, it’s not like we’re not going to die at Mania, so you might as well just eat the damn things, now.” I, uh, I probably shouldn’t have said any of that out loud. Benoit: Well, what can you do. Dreamer: Yeah. Benoit: Yeah.
The two share a meaningless silence.
Hitman: I hate to break up the party, but we’ve really got to be going. Benoit: Lead on!
The 33% Society is back to tromping through the forest, led by Ric Flair. They approach St. Louis, and see that the arena is in ruins, and old sticky Pepsi has flooded the streets. As they approach, they see a familiar set of faces.
Eddie: Holmes, I am tired, esse. All them frogsplashes, man. Chavo: You never hit any frogsplashes, Uncle Eddie! Eddie: Sure I did. On the mamacitas all last night! Chavo: All riiiiight! Eddie: I was looking good, esse vato! Chavo: Hey, guys, how’s it hanging? Tazz: Sonofabitch. You know, we looked all over the place for you? Eddie: You didn’t look very hard obviously. Chavo: We’ve been here for, like, a week, esse. Eddie: Have a seat, holmes, the lovely Jacinda will be along shortly to bring you some really old nachos. Flair: WOO! Tazz: Jacinda! Flair (to Jericho): These…these are the “luchadores,” right? I never could remember these things, and that was before I fell through the Earth. Jericho: Yeah, these are the luchadores. Flair: Luchadores! Good to see you! Eddie: William Regal sent us over here to watch for wrestlers. I guess we got RAW cancelled. A winner is us! Jericho: Regal? Orton: Watch? Flair: I’d like to see Regal, can you get him?
Eddie and Chavo lead the gang into the remains of the arena where William Regal sits on a forklift parked in front of a door marked “HHH’s Door”.
Regal: Well, butter my beans and toast, if it isn’t Ric Flair! How are you doing, Ric? Flair: I’m better than I ever was! WOO! So, Triple H is behind that door? Tazz: Let’s choke ‘im out! Jericho: Let’s tear his quads! Orton: Let’s crochet! Flair: No. NO! If we do that, we’re no better than him. Besides, we’ve already broken him. He’s got nothing, no power! You hear that Hunter? To be The Man, WOO, you’ve got to beat The Man! And I’m The Man. HHH (voice muffled by the door): I’ve gotta pee! Flair: Too bad! Regal: Too bad RAW got cancelled though. I guess the network wasn’t thrilled with my Dean Malenko/Christopher Daniels main. It’ll do wicked business with the tape traders though, I can assure you.
Eddie begins riffling through HHH’s bag, swiping anything of value when his eyes fall on a small battery powered, portable TV. Eddie flicks the switch.
Eddie: I lie, I cheat, I ste-
He’s suddenly faced with an image of himself watching TV of himself watching TV.
Regal: That’s odd, isn’t it? Does it get Skinemax? HHH (still behind the door): Channel 235! Regal: Gimmie that! Jericho: I saw it first!
Flair rips it away and shoves it down his pants. Regal, Jericho and Eddie immediately back off.
Flair: Yeah. Let’s see one of you make a grab for it now. Huh? Didn’t think so. TV rots your brain.
A long car ride later and the group of Flair, Jericho, Tazz, Orton, Eddie and Chavo all arrive at the Luxor Hotel and Casino, where Smackdown General Manager Paul Heyman has rented out the buffet to host a dinner in the honor of Smackdown’s victory at the Royal Rumble.
Heyman: Thank you all for coming. I’d like to take this time to honor all of our fallen comrades with a ten bell salute. Unfortunately, nobody could find any bells, so rather than forgo the salute entirely, Sandman here is going to nail Randy Orton with a Singapore Cane, while Mr. Orton wears this commemorative stainless steel pot over his head. Orton: Are you sure this is how they used to do it back when my daddy wrestled? Heyman: Oh, absolutely, Randy. Jim, fire it up!
Sandman takes ten whacks at Orton. A wobbly Orton tries to return to his seat, but only manages to plant himself into the salad bowl.
Heyman: Wasn’t that exciting folks? Now let’s eat!
Jericho picks up a salad fork and pokes Orton with it, when Randy doesn’t move, he just starts picking up the lettuce from around his head.
Stacy: So, you’re a real big deal now, huh? You need a valet or anything? Jericho: Uh…Let me get back to you on that one. I…just remember that I…my slot machine…is double parked. Stacy: Let me know if you win anything!
Jericho dashes out the door. Heyman walks over.
Heyman: Good for you. Jericho should be easy to manage. He’s already popular, he can already talk, all he needs now is a cute girl to stand behind him and giggle. Stacy: Teehee! Heyman: Now come over here and give uncle Paul a kiss! Stacy: Ew! Heyman: Kidding, kidding. Haha…Go get drunk.
Stacy giggles and rushes off. Eddie and Chavo, meanwhile, are singing and dancing for cash.
The Ballad of Eddie and Chavo
Odelay, Eddie! Odelay, Chavito! Looking good homes! You too, vato! Not as good as me, baby! You wish, esse! Hey check it out, homes! Watch this, man! Look at the mamacita,
Walking down the street! You wanna ride in our lowrider?
I'm the C to the H to the A-V-O! I'm the E double D-I-E you know? We eat all you wimps like a sandwich! Bilingual? You can't even speak Spanish! New lowrider everyday! Steal a new one, throw the old one away! Just like the girls!
Find'em and forget'em! They wanna sit up front, but don't let'em! They may be hot, but it's not worth it! Put'em in the back seat, more room!
That's perfect She has a boyfriend!
I don't care! One look at us, she wants to be here! It doesn't matter what what you think you see! I'm telling you dudes, don't ever trust me! We have muchas mamacitas! Eddie and Chavo get all the chicas!
We got the Latin heat, For the ladies we meet! We lie, we steal, we cheat, When we fight, you get beat!
Eddie and Chavo pick up their donation can and dash out the door. Flair finds this exchange hilarious. Jericho sneaks back in and takes a seat.
Flair: Man, bitches are funny as hell, Chris. I tell you. My next promo is going to be all about bitches. WOO! Jericho: Anything from Benoit. Flair: No. Nothing. Jericho: Not even an e-mail? Voice message? Post-it note? Singing Telegram? Flair: Damn, I forgot to give him my cell number. Jericho: That sucks. Flair: Oh, and he probably still thinks I’m dead. Jericho: Yeah, that too. Flair: I wonder, if we called up the WCW Hotline- Jericho: No, they shut that down. Borash ran out of minutes on his Tracphone card. Flair: Damn. Jericho: What does your heart tell you? Flair: That somewhere, someday, Jeremy Borash will buy a real cellphone, and be able to take all the calls for the WCW hotline forever. Jericho: I mean about Benoit. Flair: Oh. Him. Hell, I don’t know. I’m sure he’s fine. Ask me an easier one. Jericho: Ok. Predict the future of Randy Orton. Flair: The future of Randy Orton. The future of Orton. Hmm…He will wake up tomorrow smelling of Thousand Island dressing. Jericho: Awesome.
The Lord of the Reign The Return of the King of the Ring Volume III, Chapter Two “In Which Bret Talks to Himself... Again, and Eddie is Almost Fired”
Bret Hart is sleeping, his leather jacket crumpled up under his head while the rest of his body lay across a giant cactus. He mumbles to himself as he rests.
Bret (Sleeping): Why? Why does it always hurt to sleep? Can’t wait! Can’t wait until I turn heel. Oh, they’ll never suspect it. Then, BAM! Right in the gut, right where it counts, I turn on them and take my title. Oh, what a glorious day that will be.
Bret sits up in triumph and nails himself right in the crotch with a giant needle.
Bret: AGH! (biting his hand) Mustn’t wake them. Gotta get…bandaid.
Bret begins patching himself up when he sees the Hitman bear peaking out from his bag. He takes the bear out and holds it out in front of him, giving it his heel voice.
Hitman: Bret, I can’t do this. Not to my fellow countrymen! Bret (as the bear): What’s the matter, Bret? Lose your edge again? Hitman: No, no. We found Edge. We left him back in Arizona, though. Bearet: Not Edge Edge. Your edge. Hitman: I suppose I should have known what you meant. No, I’m not losing my edge. How can you say that? Look at this slicked back hair! These cool shades! Leather jacket! Would a man who’s losing his edge wear pink? I wear pink because I’m edgy enough to get away with it! Bearet: I mean, whatever you say, man. I’m not the one talking to a stuffed bear. Hitman: That point is invalid, because you are a stuffed bear. Bearet: Yes, but a talking stuffed bear is just a bit of magical wonder. Or Teddy Ruxpin. You’re just loony. Hitman: Ok, fine. Regardless…We must get the precious. Bearet: Then we’ll have to wait until our trap is set. Hitman: Yeah. Then we’ll see! I can’t wait until he spits out their bones. Bearet: Ew…I don’t think he’s actually going to eat them. Hitman: It’s a figure of speech. Bearet: No it’s not. Hitman: I’m the boss here! I’m going to get the PRECIOUS! Bearet: What about me? Hitman: I’ll get you one of those little kid’s foam ones. Bearet: Oh, awesome! Hitman: This is gonna be great! Bearet: But this wait is unBEARable!
An HBK bear prances into Bret’s field of vision.
Bearet: What are you doing here? HBearK: I’m going to finish what I started so long ago. Bearet: Oh yeah? How’s that!
Tommy Dreamer nails Bret in the face with HBearK.
Dreamer: You no good, murderous tramp! Hitman: Woah! I can explain! Dreamer: Just try it. Hitman: It was a metaphor!
Dreamer goes back to wailing on Bret. Benoit awakens.
Benoit: What’s all this then? Hitman: I was playing bears, you know? And then Dreamer just comes up and whacks me. Dreamer: He was talking about taking us someplace to have us eaten! Hitman: I was talking about taking you out to eat! Dreamer: Oh come o-
Bret reaches up and does the world’s most obvious blade job.
Hitman: Look what he did! He cut me! Dreamer: All right, that’s it. It’s time to drop you on your head.
Benoit hits Tommy on the face with a rolled up newspaper.
Benoit pulls Dreamer off to the side.
Benoit: Tommy, if we lose Bret, we’re lost. I don’t know how to get to Wrestlemania, and you sure as hell don’t. Dreamer: Good lord. Listen to yourself! It’s in L.A. All we need to do, is get on a highway- Benoit: We can’t, remember? The riders. Dreamer: Fine, then all we need to do is get on a plane- Benoit: No can do. I’m all out of Frequent Flyer miles. Dreamer: I hope he kills you first. Benoit: What was that? Dreamer: Oh, nothing. Never mind. Benoit: I need you to be my tag team partner, Tommy. Dreamer: Are you coming on to me? Benoit: No. In this context it makes sense. Dreamer: You know I’ll always be in your corner, Chris. Benoit: Then follow me. Come on, Hitman.
Bret shambles along alongside Benoit, pausing only briefly to give Dreamer the finger. Tommy frowns and shuffles his feat, but stays quiet. Meanwhile, in Vegas, Randy Orton is standing guard over the Luxor.
Orton: It’s forty three in the Northternoon and all is dark! Jericho: All is dark because you’re wearing a goddamn salad bowl on your head. Orton: I am not! Tazz: I hate to break it to ya, but yes you are, brotha. You’ve been wearing that thing since dinner last night. Orton: I know you’re not referring to my good luck helmet that way. Jericho: Other than the salad, is there anything to report, Randy? Orton: I heard on the radio that there’s a PPV coming up. Jericho: No Way Out. Orton: Oh no! We’ll starve to death if we can’t get out of the building! Thank God I have some food supplies in my good luck helmet here. Tazz: That’s just moldy lettuce. Orton: We’re saved!
Inside the hotel, a bunch of the wrestlers sleep in the lobby. Eddie stands up and creeps over to Flair’s cot.
Chavo: Steal his watch for me while you’re over there! Eddie: Shhh!
Eddie begins digging through Flair’s bag when he’s met with a chop.
Eddie backs off, but sees that Flair is only chopping in his sleep again, and sneaks back over. He pulls out the portable TV.
Chavo: See if they get Playboy Channel! Eddie: I want to see myself on TV again first, esse. That was cool!
Eddie flicks on the TV and is transfixed by the image of him standing over Ric Flair watching himself watch himself. Suddenly, the Smackdown chyron appears under him stating “Eddie Guerrero, WWE Champion.” Eddie is horrified.
Chavo: What is it? Midget porn? I wanna see! Is Tazz in it? Uncle Eddie?
Outside, Orton is flapping his arms.
Orton: That’s weird, the reception on my clompass is all off. Does anybody else here that? “One…Two…He got him! No he didn’t?”
Back inside, Eddie is trembling as Vince McMahon’s head appears in the corner of the screen laughing at him. Chavo dumps a bucket of nickels onto Flair. Jericho, Orton and Tazz run in, but Orton trips and falls taking Jericho and Tazz out with him. Vince’s theme plays over the hotel intercom as Eddie rolls around, unable to take his eyes off himself, until Chris Jericho recovers and yanks it out of his hands, tossing it to Flair, who switches it off. Eddie is out.
Chavo: Uncle Eddie! Flair: Damn your vanity, Eddie! I don’t have to see myself on to TV to know I look good.
Flair grabs Eddie.
Flair: What were the commercials? Eddie: I’m sorry. Flair: What were the commercials? Eddie: What? Oh. Stacker 2 Bees, uh, something about not smoking because you might not get any power tools until you’re dead, and…uh…Oh an on-sale announcement for some wrestling show. Apparently they haven’t sold a single ticket.
Flair thinks for a minute about pyro going off in an empty arena.
Flair: No Way Out. Is that what it was? Eddie: And Vince was there. He was asking me why I wasn’t taller, and telling me he had a great angle for me where I needed to win a green card on a pole match or I’d get fired. It was awful, holmes! Flair: Did you say anything about Benoit? Eddie: No! And then he threatened to let Bradshaw touch me. In places I don’t want to be touched!
Flair drops Eddie, who’s head whacks against a roulette table and bounces down to the floor.
Orton: Thirteen red! I win! Dealer: That’s not red, that’s 13 Black. That red stuff there is your friends blood! Orton: Shuffle up and deal!
Later that day, the gang talks about the TV incident.
Flair: I’m sick and tired of hanging out with you people. I should have done this all myself. On the bright side, Vince thinks that Eddie is the champion- Eddie: At least somebody believes in me. Flair: -so now he’ll probably die instead of Benoit. Eddie: That totally sucks, esse. But at least he believes I could be champion! Flair: In any event, I guess the next place Vince is going to attack is No Way Out, which is in San Diego, this year, so I hope nobody had anything else planned. If nothing else, the cancellation of RAW and winning the Royal Rumble showed that we can still accomplish something if we put our minds to it. On the other hand, we probably REALLY pissed him off. Orton: I know how we can put an end to all our troubles, friends! Tazz: How’s that? Orton: An Online Petition! Tazz: I hate you. Flair: If he destroys No Way Out, that’s pretty much it. American wrestling is pretty much dead. Nobody else will be able to mount a threat to the McMahon Empire. Heyman: You know what? No. Screw it. Screw them. We saved ourselves and that’s good enough for me. Flair: What good are you without Pay Per View? Jericho: I’ll go work the show. Flair: No! Jericho: Ok. Fine then. I guess we’ll just let them die? Flair: I have a bunch of pointless fetch quests for you to run first. Jericho: Ah, the staple of any tired piece of fiction. Flair: What? Jericho: Never mind. Flair: Just trust me. When you get to the ocean, and see a bunch of pirate ships, you’ll know what to do. Meanwhile, I’m going to San Diego, but I’m not going alone.
Flair grabs Eddie’s ear.
Eddie: Oh, no. No, no, no, holmes. I just remembered, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. You know how crabby they get if you cancel, esse vato! Flair: I don’t know why I always get stuck hanging out with you people.
Later, Flair prepares the white limo for their departure. As he does so, Eddie and Chavo meet up by the nacho stand.
Eddie: Flair’s pimping out the ride, Chavito! We should get some hydraulics installed on that! Chavo: Oh, Uncle Eddie! Why are you happy? Eddie: Why shouldn’t I be? I’m going for a ride in the white limo, esse! Chavo: You just HAD to steal the TV, didn’t you? Eddie: Geez. I’m sorry, Chavito! I woulda stolen some stuff for you too, you know! Chavo: You idiot! Vince thinks you’re the Undisputed Champion. Eddie: As I said, he’s obviously a man of good taste! Chavo: And now he’s coming to kill you. Eddie: Oh. Ooooooooh. Chavo: Well, sucks to be you. See you later, holmes.
Chavo pushes Eddie into the back of the limo.
Chavo: Before you go, have this. Eddie: Some stale old nachos? Chavo: I just stole your watch. Eddie: What? Flair: Let’s go!
The car speeds off.
Eddie: Damn you, Chavo! Chavo: I’m gonna miss that guy. Jericho: Wanna go throw things at Orton? Chavo: Yeah.
To Be Continued...
Tonight I wanna ruin my life, I wanna throw it all away, In a spectacular way
LAST WEEK: We have serious technical problems during this package, hearing nothing except the crowd chanting that they can’t hear it. FBI warning leads the crowd in an “FBI” chant. Hah! Forget flashy graphics, let’s allow the crowd to carry the show.