Hello everyone and welcome once again to a looney-tastic fanfiction of mine! This one is pretty lame, I admit it, but it will get better – promise! As ever, I own nothing; no rights to any of the characters mentioned in this story, no nothing. Vince McMahon holds the key to many of them. Any comments would be greatly appreciated : )
Enjoy!
As it was another bright and cheery day in Stamford Connecticut, Vincent Kennedy McMahon couldn't possibly be outside enjoying the sun. His day was already full of plans, many of which involved him and his imagination doing a tango in his brain.
Peering out of the window of the multi-storey building to the street below, many would wonder why a multi-billionaire such as himself couldn't just take the day off and enjoy the pleasant sunshine that America had to offer; it was obvious that he would never have to worry about money for the rest of his life, so why waste his time cooped up in a stuffy office?
It was simple really - Vince needed to think of another way to boost the WWE's television ratings and popularity. They were already one of the world's biggest franchises, that much was clear from their over sea tour ticket and merchandise sales. Yet, it was never quite good enough for Vinney Mac; not since the days of WCW had he felt such passion for the entertainment industry and ever since, he'd desperately been trying to think of a way to re-ignite these long forgotten feelings of utter contentment.
Lost in his thoughts, he'd barely heard the gentle tap at the door. After a few moments of waiting, Jonathan Coachman crept into the office, the door creaking shut behind him. His boss still hadn't noticed his presence in the room, so he coughed ever so slightly, just to see if he could stir the eldest McMahon's attention.
Nothing.
"Sir?" he asked, gingerly. Too many times before had the Coach interrupted Vince whilst he was deep within thought, lost in his own world of storylines and insane characters, all perfect for a wrestling show. Well, in his mind at least.
After a few long winded seconds, Vince glanced over his shoulder, his eyes settling on his nervous looking employee that was fifty paces behind him. He knew why Coachman was intimidated by him; on one too many occasions he had messed up, causing Vince intolerable suffering. It was usually at the hands of his Son-In-Law and his best buddy, two of the most dastardly people he'd ever dare employ.
D Generation X.
"If you are still wondering whether you can have the afternoon off, the answer is still no." Vince sternly replied, turning back towards the window. After arriving a whole seven minutes late to work this morning, the Coach hadn't exactly been in the boss's good books. He'd even had the audacity to ask whether he had to be in work that day, on account of how lovely the weather was!
Alas, McMahon was having none of it and made damn sure that the former Raw General Manager knew exactly where he stood. He was lucky to still have a job with the company and he damn well knew it, of course.
"No it's not that at all, Sir. I just wanted to know if you need anything doing. Phone calls, filing, your office cleaning..."
As the Coach's voice trailed off, even he realised how low he had sunk. Offering to clean up after the notoriously messy boss? The proud – and certainly cocky - man he was a year ago wouldn't have dreamed of asking Vince McMahon that! Still, he knew that a bit of ass kissing may help him keep his job for another year. Just.
"Coach," Vince gruffly spoke, clearing his throat. "Do you realise what the highest rated TV shows of last year were?"
"What, in America?"
"No in Timbuk Two!" Vince replied sarcastically, a hint of anger also spearing through. He was looking forward to Coach's answer, anticipating that it was going to be another good dose of praise, directed at his charming self, of course.
"Ok, well, apart from Monday Night Raw, it's got to be American Idol, right? Perhaps Dancing With The Stars?"
Vince nodded lightly in approval. He was impressed – obviously Coachman did know what he was on about some of the time. "Apart from Raw – it was that medical drama House, by the way – you were right. Tell me, what do the two shows you mentioned have in common?" he questioned, watching his employee's face screw up deep in thought.
"They are both on in prime time?"
Vince side nodded, motioning for something more. "Apart from that?"
Coach looked a little anxious and began shuffling from foot to foot. "Uh, they're both programmes with...people?"
"No, you moron! They are both reality TV shows!" Vince cried finally losing his rag with the other man.
Jonathan took a step back, rubbing a hand across his brow. How could he recover from a monumental cock up like that? "Sorry, of course, Sir. You know, I think you ought to have your own reality TV show." He added, trying to regain any lost confidence through the awkward moments of silence.
Suddenly, McMahon began to chortle, with the lighter laughter soon erupting into full blown attack of side stitching. The Coach decided to chuckle along with him, although he didn't understand just what the heck to make of the boss' sudden outburst.
As the sniggering settled down, Vince eyed Coach in a way as if to say he had actually read his mind; the dollar sign fluttered and rolled back in his lolling eyes. It was clear the boss was drunk on egotism but Jonathan certainly wasn't going to be the one to point it out to him.
"That's right Jonathan my man – I'm getting my own reality TV show; Mr. McMahon Knows Breast!"
Coachman nearly choked; that was a terrible name for a show. Again, it was a case of being like a supportive parent of a child at a piano recital – even though they could barely hit the opening chord, and the folks knew it, they'd still get pushed out into the limelight for the whole world to see and mock. Vince was already a target for allegations and tittle-tattle; a programme like this could clearly ruin him.
"Sounds, uh, interesting?"
Vince heard the dithering in the other man's voice but carried on regardless. "Do you like it? I came up with the title myself!"
The Coach sensed this was just going to be a bad rip off of the already tepid Hogan Knows Best programme. "With all due respects, Sir, what's going to be happening in the show?"
Vince glared at him as if the Coach had undergone a lobotomy. "What do you think will happen, Coach?"
He'd really put him on the spot. "Well, uh, sounds like you'll be staring at, breasts, Sir..."
"Exactly!" Vince roared in excitement, his blood pressure sky rocketing in pure euphoria as he began bounding over and hugging his employee's shoulders dangerously tight. "It'll combine both the male and female locker rooms and linger on the pornography genre – what could be better?"
"Uh, nothing, I guess," Jonathan shuddered, trying to think of a way out of this. "Will you excuse me, Sir, I've just remembered I need to pick one of your suits up from the dry cleaners."
Vince nodded in contentment and offered his right hand man a squeeze of a bear hug, patting him on the back in such a way to let Jonathan know that the conversation had been appreciated, even if it has been a very one side affair.
Standing back at the glass however, considering his words, McMahon realised that he hadn't got a suit in dry cleaning for Coachman to pick up. Shrugging, fearing that it might be down to his immense excitement of the first day of filming beginning tomorrow for his forgetfulness, a smile crept over his stony face. This was certainly the way the WWE was going to be put back on the map.
And it would all be down to him; Mr. McMahon!
- - - - -
Sitting in the quiet luxury of their hotel room, Shawn Michaels and Triple H, of D Generation X fame, were indulging in their after pay per view treat; a large pepperoni pizza. They'd both worked in extensive match ups that night. They'd both bled a lot and expected dozens of bruises to mark their tanned bodies by the morning. However, at the unearthly time of night, when most wrestlers after working hard at a pay per view were snuggled up in bed, it was their time to relax; they'd already stood in the steaming hot showers, letting the warm wash away the dried blood from earlier on. And neither man had any intention of going to bed just yet.
Reaching for another slice of the thin crust, Hunter started to chuckle. His best friend offered a suspicious look; both of them had been far too distracted by their memories, replaying their matches over and over again in their heads, making sure that they'd given the fans everything they possibly could have. To be honest, neither of them really felt like starting an in depth conversation so instead enjoyed the silence away from the thousands of screaming fans.
"What's so funny?" Shawn piped up, seeming a little perplexed.
"Did you see McMahon at all tonight?" Triple H asked, wiping some tomato puree from around his mouth.
"No, I tried to keep out of his way – he's filming that ridiculous reality TV show, right?"
"Yeah, something about knowing breasts. I think 'McMahon Knows Cocks' would have worked a lot better."
"Coach would have got a starring role!" Shawn giggled, wiping the crumbs off the bed where he was laying. "Why do you think he's gone and done that?"
"Well, Steph said something about trying to get more ratings," the younger of the two men spoke, remembering his pregnant wife's words. She wasn't with him tonight as she was resting up in preparation for the new arrival.
Shawn scoffed. "And he really things that a show like that would do it?"
Triple H shrugged. "You know how stubborn he can be – we both asked him not to but would he listen? Nope."
"Have you seen any of the cuts yet?"
Hunter nodded grimly. "He's going to be the laughing stock of the world!"
"Isn't he already?"
As the two men tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of their employer, their attention soon returned to the spicy and rich flavours of their pizza. Hunter flicked on the TV, in a half interested attempt at finding out any news possible about Mr. McMahon's up and coming adventure; he knew that E News would soon cotton on to the idea and couldn't wait for them to rip it to shreds.
However, even before he had the chance to turn up the sound, a knock abruptly halted him. The two members of D Generation X glanced at each other; they recognised that door knock. It tried to sound official, that much was true. Yet, there was a great degree of hesitation that went along with it; the tap was light but then became heavier, like whoever it was behind the wood intended on gaining some much needed self-assurance. It made them suspect it was someone who required their help, but begrudgingly.
As they walked over to the door, Shawn and Hunter were both wondering just who it could be, knocking on their undisclosed hotel room at nearly two o'clock in the morning...
Next time...
As the D Generation X duo finally decides to open the door, who ever could it be at such an unearthly hour? And – more importantly – what could they possibly want?
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of 'Mr. McMahon's Magical Mystery Tour' – please review and let me know what you think : ) Eleanor