Volume II, Chapter Three “In Which a Return Is Made and Benoit is Almost Caught”
Eddie and Chavo race through the forest while 4x4 chases after them, trying to get his hands on their Pepsi. To get away, Los Guerreros clamber up a nearby tree. 4x4 runs after them, but he gets nailed with a Union Jack. Regal: Eat that, you bloody simpleton. Eddie: All right, esse! Chavo: You’re a real man’s man, holmes.
Regal: Oh for Pete’s sake. More of them? Why don’t you two get down here and take your ass kickings like men? Eddie: What? We’re the faces, holmes. No sense fighting us! Regal: Oh, sure. That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then you turn your back around and they’re in here shagging your bloody mother. No, no. I don’t think I’m going to be trusting you. Chavo: What are you, a tweener? You can’t just go around attacking both sides, esse. Regal: Well, you know what? The current state of the wrestling industry has rendered me completely incapable of making decisions for myself. It’s often led to me drinking pee and kissing people’s asses. So in the interest of fairness, I’m going to bring you in front of The Man. Eddie: “The Man”? Chavo: Oh no. To be the man you’ve got to beat the- Eddie: Triple H! Far to the Northwest, Chris Benoit, Tommy Dreamer and Bret Hart are standing in front of a geyser.
Dreamer: Old Faithful. Goddammit, we went north. Bret: Sometimes, to go west, you must first go north. Dreamer: Great. Whoever heard of a Canadian mystic? Bret: No, listen: McMahon’s people never come up through here. Montana, Wyoming, Idaho… there are not enough wrestling fans up here to bother. We’ll come in through here, and BAM!-hit them from where they least expect it. Benoit: Yeah. I guess that makes sense. Dreamer: So if there aren’t any wrestling fans around here, why is there all this wrestling memorabilia scattered all over this trail? Bret: I blame tourists. Midwestern Tourists with too much time and money on their hands. Plus the fall of WCW. Parents buy their kids all this cheapass old WCW merchandise, and they get bored with it and throw it at bears. Dreamer: That’s not very nice to the bears. Bret: Hey, the bears didn’t have to wear this stuff on TV. I think they’re getting the better deal. Benoit: You didn’t just scatter all this stuff around here when you were running ahead to make some point about how dark and solemn our mission is, did you? Merchandise from a dead company reminding me that I must complete my mission or the whole industry will suffer the same fate? Bret: Uh… no. Nooooo. It was like this when I got here. Seriously, there’s a bear dressed just like Kwee-Wee. Really, over there!
Benoit and Dreamer turn their heads, and Bret walks on. They realize that they’ve either been fooled, or that he might be crazy and seeing bears dressed like Kwee-Wee. Reluctantly, they follow. Suddenly, something catches Benoit’s eye. He stares deeply and longingly into a Goldberg Hologram card. Benoit begins to cry. Then he falls over into a pond.
Bret: Aw, dammit. This happens EVERY friggin’ time I try to lead somebody through here.
Tommy and Bret pull Benoit out of the pond. As they come up, Hart makes a grab for the belt.
Bret: Yoink! Benoit: I don’t think so. That Goldberg hologram was hypnotizing. Bret: Come on, hand it over. You can’t bear the weight of the whole company on your back like I could. Dreamer: Oh yeah, you did a great job not going crazy. Bret: Hey, listen, you try to keep your sanity when all this crap happens to you. Not the least of which was Shawn and Goldberg kicking me in the head, which made me wear these Hammer Pants. Benoit: But not long before that, you were one of the greats. Bret: I know. I was the best. Benoit: That’s one way of looking at it- Bret: But those days are long behind me. Benoit: No, no. The best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be, isn’t that right, Hitman! Bret: Man, don’t start calling me that. Benoit: The Hitman is still a part of yo- Dreamer: Hey! Look! Up in the sky! Benoit: Oh, snap! One of the Black Hoodied Riders is flying around on a hanglider. Rider: How do you work this crazy thing, brotherrrrrrrrrrrrrrr? Bret: Hide! Dreamer: Damn. I thought we got rid of those guys. Geez. Bret: Don’t you understand? These guys will never, never, ever, ever give up. They want the goddamn belt, and they won’t stop until they get it. Dreamer: Then why aren’t you one of them? Bret: Oh, no, they’d never let me join their little club. Dreamer: Ok, he’s go- Bret: Just too small, brother. Benoit: Let’s move o- Bret: You gotta know how to body slam, dude. Dreamer: Come on, Br- Bret: FEEL THE BANG! Pfft. Benoit: Let’s go! Bret: Right. Right. Also, I think they were alarmed by my bold look of pink. Dreamer: Whatever. Bret: And my sunglasses made me look like a bug. Benoit: Shut up and run! Bret: (flapping his arms and swooping) Buuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Back in the trees of Oklahoma, Jericho, Tazz and Orton continue their search for Los Guerreros.
Orton: Are we lost? I think we’re lost. My clock necklace keeps pointing to two different “Norths.” Tazz: You’ve been saying that all day. Orton: We’ve been lost all day. Ever since 93. Now it’s… (looks at clock) 37. Hey, wait… I hear something. Jericho: What is it? Orton: Evolution’s theme music. Tazz: You sure it’s not just ticking? Orton: No, I’d recognize Lemony’s voice anywhere. It’s definitely the Evolution theme. Jericho: Triple H is here. Damn. Ok, we’ll whack him with a chair and then I’ll tear his quad. Hopefully, we can run before he makes us job to h-
Pyro explodes, temporarily blinding 100% of the 33% Society.
The Man: I hear you’re looking for Los Guerreros. Jericho: What have you done with them, you piece of trash? The Man: As of right now? All I can tell you is that they’re safe. Jericho: Wait a second. Triple H isn’t nearly this flabby.
The pyro lowers, and there stands Ric Flair, clad in a white “Nature Boy” robe.
Flair: WOO! Jericho: Wait, what? You’re dead. Flair: Dead like a fox. A living fox.
Mist fills the forest as Naitch narrates his escape from death.
Voice of Flair: I fell all the way down the bottomless pit, through the middle of the Earth and to Japan, into the Egg Dome. There we fought in front of 100,000 fans, and Kane was about to finish me with a chokeslam. But the Nature Boy, WOO, he doesn’t take crap from anybody, so I kicked him right in the balls. Then I locked him in the figure four, and the fans were going wild. Then I told him that if he jobbed to Ric By God Flair, he’d never have to hear the name Katie Vick ever again. So he tapped out. And I styled, WOO, and profiled all the way back to the bottomless pit, jumped in, and fell back out this side. And look at me! I’m like Ric Flair ‘91. I feel spry and ready for action! And look at my new - WOO - robe, a new robe for the Nature Boy!
The mist clears.
Jericho: Ric, that story lacks some degree of credibility. Flair: How else do you explain it? Jericho: Hell, I don’t know. Flair: I am Ric Flair, The Nature Boy, come to help you win the Royal Rumble. Jericho: Well hot damn.
A white limo pulls up.
Orton: A custom Rolls Royce! It’s soooo pretty! Flair: Now, this WOO is what I call a ride. Let’s get to Des Moines; there’s work to be done.
Tazz, Jericho and Orton hop on their ATVs, Flair hops into his limo and they ride off to Des Moines.
Volume II, Chapter Four “In which Nunzio Takes One for the Team”
Regal is carrying Chavo and Eddie around.
Regal: I don’t know why I ever agreed to Flair’s demand that I take you guys around with me. Seems like I’m always hooked up with some malcontent or another, carrying their sorry asses until I get injured. Again. You have no idea how much I want to drop you all on your heads right now.
Bret Hart, Chris Benoit and Tommy Dreamer stand in Reno, Nevada. Only scant hours away from Los Angeles, the site of WrestleMania.
Bret: If you squint, you can almost see it from here. Dreamer: Look at that. They’ve got a big roadblock there. Guys guarding it. We’ll never get past that, not in a million billion years.
As Tommy says this, the gate guards Heidenreich and Snitsky decide to take a break and walk away from the gate to gather their lunches.
Dreamer: Look! They’re leaving.
Dreamer makes a dead run toward the gate, trips, and falls flat on his face in the middle of the highway.
Benoit: (running after Tommy) Oh, dammit, Tommy! Hitman: Benoit!
At this time, a crowd of RAW wrestlers drive up to the gate. Shelton Benjamin and Val Venis come over to investigate. Thinking quickly, Benoit throws a Canadian flag over himself and Dreamer.
Val: Hey, uh, what’s goin’ on over here? Benjamin: Looks like some Canadians died here. Val: Whew. Sucks to be them. Benjamin: Man, let’s go. I need to get to an IHOP, fast. Val: Yeah, yeah. Benjamin: Aren’t you Canadian, Val? Val: Not this year….
They rejoin the superstars being let through the barricade. Bret drags the others to safety behind a billboard.
Benoit: You shouldn’t even be here, Tommy. All right, they’re all through. Maybe if we hurry we can sneak past. Hitman: Forget it. McMahon will get us too easily if we come right at him like this. He screwed me once; he won’t screw me again. We must take that precious belt through another route. Dreamer: What other route? Hitman: There’s more than one way to get to WrestleMania. Dreamer: Oh yeah? Like what? Hitman: You’ll see. Dreamer: No, no, no, no, no. I don’t like this one bit. Benoit: Let it go, Tommy. Dreamer: What? Am I the only one who thinks this is a little funny? Here’s our shot at ‘Mania. Right there. Benoit: We’re going the other way. Hitman: All right! The Hitman will prevail. Don’t worry.
Elsewhere, Jericho, Tazz, Orton and Flair approach the back of the arena in Des Moines.
Flair: Well, here it is. Smackdown, the home of General Manager Paul WOO By God Heyman, who has been completely driven crazy by the booking power of Triple H. Orton: Huh. Jericho: What is it, Randy? Orton: Oh. Nothing. I was just expecting something more impressive. Jericho: In Iowa? Orton: They’ve got some hot girls here. Not as hot as me, mind, but still… enough that they deserve a cool arena. Jericho: Let’s go, okay?
Stacy: Well, that’s it. Nunzio died. He never did get to deliver those pizzas. Won’t you at least go visit his grave, Paul? Heyman: Ecw…Eeeeh…ECDub! Stacy: Huh?
Flair: All right, be on your best behavior, they’re not expecting us. Hey, there, hot pants, how’d you like the Nature Boy to make you a REAL woman, huh? Jericho: Who are you talking to? Tazz: Maybe he’s talking to, like, some metaphorical woman, or, like, the ideal of Woman. Jericho: I thought Benoit married Woman. Orton: I was thinking more of girls. Screaming girls. And blood. Lots of blood. Tazz: Uh… Flair: You’re a virgin, Orton! I made more people bleed than you could ever imagine, Fat Boy! WOO! Jericho: Well, at least someone’s mentally back on track.
Inside Stacy’s locker room….
Stacy: Like, I cannot believe Paul wouldn’t do anything but drool about Nunzio’s death. Bischoff: Yeah, that sucks. Nunzio sure had a bright future in this company. NOT! Stacy: Ewww, are you not wearing a shirt under that leather jacket? Bischoff: That’s not all I’m not wearing. Stacy: Omigod. Double ewww. Bischoff: W? As in WCW? I used to run that. Remember? Huh? Now come on, I’m a swinger, baby, and I need somebody to give me a push. So how about we see just how far those legs go?
Stacy starts to slap Eric, but he catches her hand. He smirks and drops it, and Stacy kicks him in the balls.
Stacy: I guess you’re not wearing a cup either. (she pauses for a very long ten seconds) Ohmigod! I ad-libbed that!
Outside, Flair and Jericho and the group are having guard troubles.
Paul London: We need to see some identification. Flair: You don’t need to see our identification. London: We don’t need to see your identification? Jericho: (to Flair, gritting his teeth) Do you even know what Satire you’re in anymore? Flair: These aren’t the wrestlers you’re looking for. London: We’re not looking for any wrestlers. We’re just trying to keep out Cena and the other riff raff. Look, just leave your chairs and stops signs and cookie sheets and garbage cans and whatever else you’ve got out here, would you? Flair: Move along. London: Uh, okay, that’s a new one. Whatever. Just make sure to you get your hand stamped for re-entry, otherwise you will have to pay to get back into the arena. Orton: Can we use real money here, or do we have to exchange it for Arena Dollars to buy stuff? London: Um, who are you, and what are you talking about? Flair: He’s no one. I mean nothing. He’s - I mean, it’s just a droid. London: What’s a “droid”? Orton: Droids are pretty, right? Flair: (pointing behind London) LOOK OVER THERE!
London wheels around.
London: WHERE? WHAT?
Flair and the group start to sneak inside. Flair snickers to himself, and London turns around.
London: Uh, like, I can still see you. Flair: (pretending to be invisible and spooky) Who? Whoooo? WOOOO! There’s no one here. London: Whatever. Just don’t litter in the arena, you old bastard. And that goes for your kids, too! Jericho: I think he just called you short, Tazz. Tazz: What’s that old saying, Jericho? People who’re 5’11” shouldn’t throw things at glass ceilings? Joey Numbers told it to me, but he was wearing a hat with fruit on it at the time, and he was just killing with that material, and- London: You’ve still got to lose the foreign objects.
Everybody drops his weapons into a nearby shopping cart. Flair turns back toward London.
Flair: Hey, look kid, I’ve got bad knees and besides, I can’t be a pimp without my pimp cane, so how about letting one slide for ol’ Naitch, huh? WOO! London: Whatever. I don’t really care enough to stop you. It’s not like they’re going to push me if I do. Flair: That’s the spirit!
They enter the arena.
Bischoff: Flair? Is that you? Oh, snap! Flair: Heyman! Heyman! It’s the Nature Boy! WOO! Wake up! Bischoff: Get out of here, you dumbass. Heyman: Flair? I hate Ric Flair. Bischoff: Damn straight you do. What the hell is your sorry ass doing here anyway, Flair? Did you get bored sitting around leaving yourself to rot? Flair: You listen up, Bischoff! I’ve taken craps bigger than you, you little bitch. Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks down to Ric By God Flair. So why don’t you get your sorry ass back to RAW where you belong before I knock you out, fat boy? WOO! Bischoff: Is that a cane? Crap. He’s going to knock me out! Guards! Help!
Paul London looks at Bischoff and points at himself.
Bischoff: Yes, you!
London looks at Flair then at Bischoff, and then goes back to playing his Gameboy.
Flair: Paul E.! Wake up! Quit your drooling. Tazz: Come on, brotha. You still owe me like, $50 million. Heyman: What are you going to do, Flair? Crotch me? Flair: Oh, I see. Triple H has got you under his spell just like Bischoff. All that booking power. We’ll see about that.
Stacy tries to stop Flair, but Jericho grabs her.
Jericho: What are you going to do? Dance at them? HHHeyman: You don’t understand, Flair! You can’t defeat me. I am the GAME! And I am That. Damn. Good. Flair: Yeah? Well, I’m the Man. And The Man is about to kick your ass.
Flair gives HHHeyman a cane-assisted chop. HHHeyman goes down but gets back up, bleeding. Flair sends him down again. This time, a bleary-eyed Paul E. looks up.
Heyman: I just had the weirdest dream. And you were there, and you were there. And you. And you, Stacy. Why don’t you come over here and shake your ass for Uncle Paul? Jericho: Dude, that line never works. Meltzer: Wait, wait, wait. What just happened there? Alvarez: What do you mean? Meltzer: Heyman was under Triple H’s “spell.” Alvarez: Well… uh… yeah. Hunter has lots of influence. He drove Paul crazy. Meltzer: Yeahyeahyeah. Fine. What’s with that stupid ending? That “and you were there” stuff is played out. Alvarez: And? Meltzer: People should be sick of having that repeated by now. Alvarez: Okay, if it makes you feel better, why don’t you write a touching obituary about someone who was a real bastard, touch it up with VH1 Behind the Music-esque references to personal demons, hardship and devotion to craft, then end it with a homily about the humanity of the subject and the poor decisions that arise from unfortunate circumstance? Meltzer: But that’s clichéd! Alvarez: Yeah, here’s some soda. Use it to choke down the irony. Meltzer: But- Alvarez: And the beer nuts.
Flair: Paul, I think I’ve got something of yours.
Flair hands a cell phone to Paul E. He flips it open and then snaps it shut as he looks over at Bischoff.
Heyman: Well, if it isn’t Eric Bischoff. How’s it goin’, Eric? You doin’ good? Because I’m about to shove this cellphone down your throat. Bischoff: Yearrg! I know karate, you know. I do! The Cat taught me! Jericho: Paul, just let him go. I think being Eric Bischoff is humiliation enough.
Bischoff takes off and jumps into the first taxi he can find.
Jericho: Now, about that money you owe me. Tazz: And me. Heyman: It’s great to see you both again! Hey, where are the Smackdown superstars? Orton: (rolling his eyes) Oh boy, an amnesia angle. London: Yo. Heyman: That’s all I’ve got? London? Where’s Cena? Or Funaki? Or my boy, Nunzio? Stacy: Yeeeeeeah… about that….
Later that day, Paul Heyman stands weeping in the middle of the ring, over a box covered in barbed wire that reads “Nunzio - He Never Actually Delivered Pizza.”
Heyman: I wish I could have saved him. Or at least been around to put “Little Guido” on his casket. It’s what he would have wanted, you know? Man, look at this. The fall of Smackdown. The fall of ECW. Flair: To be fair, ECW died a long frigging time ago. Heyman: Yeah, I know. But I’m waxing nostalgic right now. Flair: Don’t worry, Paul. Nunzio will always live on in our hearts. Heyman: Really? Flair: Hell, I don’t know. I never met the guy.
Charlie Haas and Miss Jackie come running in and run smack dab into the casket, getting themselves entangled in the barbed wire and dumping Nunzio’s body onto its back, on the floor. Flair just slowly shakes his head as Heyman looks on in shock.
Heyman: Even in death, he jobs.
(edited by Excalibur05 on 2.3.05 2104) Tonight I wanna ruin my life, I wanna throw it all away, In a spectacular way
They may WANT the Japan style but to my untrained eye matches for the most part have little to no "flow," almost nonexistent matwork, lots of spots out of nowhere connected by no storytelling and ... well, it just seems very very "Indy.