*A/N: Bleh, I seem to have the worst luck with Gundam Wing fics lately, because I can never finish them unless I delete the story and rewrite it for another section. Which is what I'm doing with one of my GW fics that has been sitting on the shelf lately, and it's about damn time that I blow the dust off and revamp it as a WWE fic. Hey, this wacky makeover thing's gonna work; see, to quote Kelly Bundy, "It's kind of like how Michael Jackson's career really kicked off when he became Diana Ross!" (or something like that--I'm terrible with quotes!)*


One would think that a group of able, fit, and reasonably young men and women working for the biggest wrestling empire in the world would be able to scrounge up some amount of money. Unfortunately, however, it only took a necrophilia angle and a stepmother-vs.-stepdaughter crapfest, amongst other horrific and forgettable angles, to plummet the WWE's ratings lower than Vanilla Ice's career. Thusly, the only type of currency that the aforementioned WWE Superstars could come up with were wrapped in gold tin foil and made of milk chocolate that sold for a dime a dozen.

It was not a surprising sight, then, come Saturday morning to find Triple H and Stephanie McMahon hogging up the only couch in the arena and gleefully tearing at way overdue bills, while Rob Van Dam just sort of wandered around, mellow as ever and bored out of his mind. Kurt Angle was seated behind a crumbling oak desk, wearing a green visor and reading glasses perched atop his nose, punching digits into a bulky gray calculator in an effort to find out just how much money the WWE had lost thanks to Vince McMahon's latest string of "brilliant ideas." Lita, who'd been wheedled into the unfortunate task of helping Kurt do the accounting, could occasionally be found whining to herself in frustration as Kurt got yet another math equation wrong, forcing the tall redhead to redo the whole thing. Chris Jericho and Jeff Hardy had for once put aside their differences, concentrating instead on their very important assignment that Vince himself had handed to them--namely, test out his brand-new brilliant innovation of WWE television. Instead of the XFL, this time it was an all-divas show called Babewatch, starring Trish Stratus as a buxom blonde lifeguard named BJ, and Jeff and Jericho were making sure that they tested out every single second of Boobwatch--urk, that is, Babewatch.

Meanwhile, as Hunter and Stephanie tore away at defenseless credit card bills (if they were curious as to how someone--namely, Jericho--could have spent over two grand at a store bearing the acronym of C.R.A.P., they didn't say anything), Jericho and Jeff happily ogled--urk, that is, viewed--Babewatch, while Kurt busied himself with trying to do the accounting and avoid getting decked by Lita at the same time. RVD then chose that moment to get bored of being bored, and wandered on over to the hideously tacky purple-green-and-tan bean bag chair in front of the TV that the two J's were hogging, fishing the remote control out of the turtle tank. Ignoring Jericho and Jeff's outraged squawks at having their drooling--erm, viewing--time interrupted, RVD switched off Boob...urk, Babewatch and began flipping through the channels a mile a minute to the point where he could catch only glimpses of colored blurs flickering on the TV screen.

"Do you want to earn easy money--and have a ton of fun doing it?!"
Screech! RVD stopped dead in his tracks, and frantically began retracing his steps back to the channel that had spouted out the overly cheerful drivel about earning easy money and having fun while doing so. The fact that Jericho and Jeff had now forgotten about Babewatch and were hollering at him to get back to the channel wasn't exactly helping, but finally RVD managed to return to the commercial spouting easy money schemes. On the TV screen, a buff and blonde guy with slicked-back hair and a (counterfeit) million dollar smile was chirping in an insanely bubbly voice, "If you're like me, who would love to earn some fast cash but just does not feel like slaving away at an unrewarding job, then have I got a contest for you! Enter the Annual Us Karaoke Festival, sponsored by Crab Apple Computers, and walk home with a bundle of green--up to a hundred grand--if you win first prize!" The commercial then gave way to last year's winners of two men sporting manes of flowing magenta hair and decked out in flashy gold-sequined suits as they sang out a duet version of "It's Raining Men." RVD shrugged, Jericho and Jeff winced, Triple H and Stephanie frowned, and Kurt said a silent thank you prayer as Lita became distracted by the disco madness and temporarily forgot how frustrated she was with the bald Olympian. Meanwhile, back on the TV screen, the insanely bubbly host of the commercial came back on.
"Now remember, guys and gals, it's so easy to apply, even my grandmother's niece's dog's toy bone's favorite flea can apply!" he shouted into his microphone. "Just go online and type in the extremely simple address of s had chosen to sing "It's Raining Men" to earn extra spending money rather than stripping down to their lingerie or rolling around with mannequin corpses!


And the (highly unwilling!) contestants for the Karaoke Festival are...*drumroll*

1. Hunter Hearst Helmsley, a.k.a. Triple H
2. Rob Van Dam, or simply RVD
3. Jeff Hardy, otherwise known as the glow-in-the-dark rag doll
4. Chris Jericho, a.k.a. Y2J, a.k.a. the Ayatollah of Rock n' Rollah, a.k.a. the King of the World
5. Stephanie McMahon, the most dominant woman in the WWE
6. Kurt Angle, the Olympic Champion
7. Lita, the femme fatale of Team Xtreme
8. Rey Mysterio, a last-minute contestant who squeezed in for the second round