"...And as soon as we get home, Foley, YOU'RE FIRED!!!" the shrewd businessman thundered, as his horse gave a frightened whinny, more scared of the prospect of his boss bellowing, "YOU'RE FIRED!!!" at him throughought the whole trip to WCW Headquarters than by the prospect of being actually fired itself.
Fifteen
minutes passed, with Mr. McMahon bellowing at the poor horse, Foley, before
the tall, iron-wrought gates of what appeared to be a dark and foreboding
castle came into view. Man and horse gave dual sighs of relief, man because
a castle symbolized other people and, maybe even a car, horse because he
knew that his boss wouldn't be yelling about how he was fired for at the
very least a couple of hours. However, just as soon as they were approaching
the castle gates, the distinct chilling sound of wolves howling into the
moon could be picked up, and Foley instinctively stiffened. Mr. McMahon,
however, remained calm--or at least, he appeared to be calm.
"Foley,
ignore the wolves and just head straight to the castle," he ordered; however
Foley was too frightened and disoriented for a few moments, and dawdled
around, backing slowly toward the castle gates. Mr. McMahon grew impatient,
and yelled, "Goddamn it, Foley, hurry up and obey my command or YOU'RE
FIRED!!!" Unfortunately for Mr. McMahon, the last, thunderous part of his
sentence was just the straw that broke the camel (horse's?) back, as Foley
gave a final high-pitched whinny at the unexpected loud sound and took
off, dumping Mr. McMahon off his back and speeding off into the forest.
And indignant Mr. McMahon toppled unceremoniously off his mount, and sat
there screaming, "FOLEY, YOU'RE FIRED!!!" at the now tiny speck that was
his former horse, before the wolves howling snapped some common
sense into him. Mr. McMahon quickly stood up, dusted himself off, and strutted
across the bridge and into the castle as though he owned the place.
"Hello?"
he called out into the dark, cavernous five-story atrium, glancing around
at the numerous hallways that branched out from the atrium and led to a
multitude of French double doors. Mr. McMahon thought he detected shuffling
sounds, but when he turned to where he'd heard the small noises, all he
saw were a small clock and a three-pronged candelabra. Shrugging, Mr. McMahon
glanced away...but then heard the same scuffling sounds again.
"Hello?
Is anybody here?" he called out again. This time, he thought he detected
very faint words being exchanged.
"Like,
dude, just totally chill out and he'll so go away," a tiny little Canadian
valley boy voice spoke up.
"I
so totally understand, Edge. We'll just sit tight and wait for the reekazoid
to split," a second tiny little Canadian valley boy voice spoke up. Mr.
McMahon frowned, hearing himself being referred to as a 'reekazoid'--he
had no idea what that word meant, but whatever it was, he was sure it couldn't
be too flattering.
"I
don't think you understand, whoever you are," he called out boldly. "I'm
Vince McMahon, damn it! If you don't show me the respect I deserve, I'll
arrange to have you FIRED!!!"
Mr. McMahon thought he heard tiny little Canadian
valley boy shudders.
"Eep!
Fired, Edge? That so totally reeks of stinktitude!" the second little voice
squeaked out, sounding scared.
"Us
two, fired? That's so totally heinosity!" the first little voice chirped
indignantly. "We won't get fired, we reek of awesomeness, remember?"
"Yes,
well, if you two don't show yourselves, you'll just reek!" Mr. McMahon
threatened. "Because I have the power and the influence to fire both your
asses!"
"Bro,
I'm scared," the second person admitted in a tiny voice. "I so totally
don't deserve to get fired, especially not by that old reekazoid!"
"Christian,"
the first vocie--whom Christian had referred to as Edge--"we're not gonna
get fired."
"Yes,
well, since you two are too cowardly to show yourselves, I guess I'll just
spend the night here until I can get to WCW, Inc. Headquarters and use
their phone to fire first Mick Foley, then you two's sorry asses!"
"Aw,
dude, that so totally reeks of heinosity!" Christian grumbled.
"Yeah,
like, I don't want to get out the extra bedsheets and everything," Edge
agreed. "I mean, it's not like he can turn us back to normal."
"I
so totally agree with you," Christian said sagely. "That enchantress reekette
told us we needed a hot chick to break the spell, not an old chick!"
"I
resent that, and for calling me an 'old chick', YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!!!" Mr.
McMahon thundered, scaring Edge and Christian into submission.
"Okay,
okay! Like, chill out, dude, you can totally stay with us for the night,"
Edge conceded.
"Yeah,
and if you want us to show ourselves, then fine!" Christian grumbled. Mr.
McMahon leaned back, satisfied at having his way yet again, and heard tiny
scuffling and grumbling. Finally, two voices chorused in unison, "Dude,
we are so totally over here!" Mr. McMahon turned around...and promptly
found himself facing the clock and the candelabra he had spotted earlier.
Upon closer look, both common household items sported long, Canadian valley
boy blonde hair and huge, goofy glasses. Seeing the two common household
items, moving around and chattering in Canadian valley boy voices, Mr.
McMahon promptly gave a girlie scream and fainted dead away. Before he
blacked out, he distinctively heard one of the two items--Edge, the clock,
he believed--remark, "Dude, that reekazoid so totally screams like a girl!"
Mr.
McMahon regained consciousness to find two huge, cheerful blue eyes staring
right at him. Yelping in surprise, the shrewd business man nearly toppled
out of his comfy, wine-red velvet seat...and then noticed that he was sitting
on a comfy, wine-red velvet seat. Glancing around, he noticed the clock
and the candelabra from earlier--Edge the clock and Christian the candelabra--but
then realized that the two huge eyes belonged to a new household item:
a round, overly cheerful white-and-pink porcelain teapot. The teapot, which
had been staring curiously at him when he was out cold, now noted that
Mr. McMahon was conscious again, and started hopping up and down, bubbly
with cheerfulness.
"Ooh,
this is so exciting! We finally get a visitor," she--the voice was distinctly
female--chirped brightly, looking like she was going to burst with happiness.
"I mean, we don't get any visitors at all, and it's such a nice treat when
we finally get one, I'm just so excited, we really should tell the prince
about this!"
"Good
golly Miss Molly Holly," Christian spoke up. "Will you just totally calm
down, reekette?"
Edge agreed with his brother, nodding his tiny
little clock head wisely.
"He's
only going to stay for one night, Miss Molly," he pointed out. "And besides,
we don't need an old chick to break the curse, we need a hot chick!"
Miss Molly Holly, the overly cheerful little
pink teapot, pouted, her huge blue eyes beginning to tear over.
"Aw,
you two reekazoids are no fun at all!" she remarked, ignoring the two brothers'
indignant screeches about how she was so totally stealing their lingo,
which reeked of awesomeness, by the way. Turning to face Mr. McMahon, the
little teapot chirped brightly, "Would you like some tea, good sir?"
Mr. McMahon, still overcome by the day's events,
felt like he was going to pass out again.
At
that moment, the double doors slammed open, and a huge, bulking dark shape
cloaked in shadows filled the doorway. The menacing hulk seemed to glower
down at the smaller objects, then opened his mouth and snapped, "Edge,
Christian, I thought I told you two to keep it down! How am I supposed
to spend any quality time with my gold medals with you two reekazoids screaming
around down here--Hey! A visitor! Oh, this is so cool, finally, someone
new with which to share my stories about my gold medal victories!"
The voice, which sounded surprisingly youthful
considering the gigantic shape, quickly barged out of the shadows and into
clear view. Prince Kurt Angle, in his beast form and clutching an array
of gold medals in his furry, beastly hands, looked down at Mr. McMahon,
showing plenty of great big white teeth which were supposed to resemble
a goofy smile, and began to ramble.
"It
was the summer of, oh, I think, five years ago, and I was wrestling this
big, ugly dude with some name I can't pronounce for the gold," he began
to say. Mr. McMahon took one good look at Prince Kurt, and promptly fainted
dead away.
Two Hours Later...
"...and
then, when it seemed like my opponent had the match won, I quickly went
for a fireman's carry, which is a move in which..." Prince Kurt stopped
rambling for a minute to catch a breath of air, and promptly noticed Mr.
McMahon passed out on his red carpet. "Oh. Ohhh. Aw, great, he fell asleep
too!" Prince Kurt stretched, and stopped rambling on and on about his gold
medal matches, to the very thankful and appreciative three enchanted household
items, then said, "Hmm, Miss Molly, why don't you and Edge and Christian
get this nice man to one of the guest rooms? That way he and I can both
rest, and I'll continue telling him about my stunning medal victory tomorrow
morning."
Miss Molly, all too happy to comply, replied
in her usual cheerful way, "Oh, yippee! We're gonna have a slumber party!"
Back
in the outskirts of Connecticut, Hunter and his loyal sidekick X-Pac pulled
away the tree branches to spy on--erm, casually observe--the magnificent
estate in which Stephanie McMahon resided. X-Pac giggled like a little
schoolgirl, and chirped, "Heh, this is little Miss McMahon's lucky day,
isn't it?" Hunter simply nodded, and affirmed with a, "Yes-uh, this is
the day-uh in which Stephanie McMahon's dreams come true-uh," then left,
accidentally (or, perhaps even, not-so-accidentally) smacking X-Pac squarely
across the teeth with a tree branch on the way. Hunter turned around and
headed a couple of feet back, standing proudly to look at the expensive
outdoor wedding reception set up only a few yards from the McMahon mansion.
The town itself seemed to have emptied out, as its citizens crowded the
garden party, all looking expectantly at the groom, who had obviously dressed
up for his own wedding--Hunter was wearing a carnation on his black leather
jacket, and had traded in his ripped, stonewashed blue jeans for a pair
of non-ripped, slightly less stonewashed blue jeans.
"Now-uh
I'd like thank all of you-uh for coming to my wedding-uh," the groom began
grandly. He then winked, and quipped, "But of course-uh, first I'll have
to see-uh if the lucky bride accepts-uh."
The party guests laughed at his joke as if it
were the funniest thing they'd ever heard, as Hunter turned to X-Pac and
started to say, "When Steph and I come out-uh..."
His sidekick perked up, and shrilled eagerly,
"Ooh, ooh, I know, I know! I start the music!" He then promptly turned
around and began waving a little stick in the air, as the band obediently
struck up a British heavy metal number which bore the distinct flair of
Motorhead. Hunter shrugged when he heard his 'wedding song', then decided
that it would have to do, before smacking X-Pac across the head to tell
him to knock it off until he and Stephanie gallantly walked out the magnificent
estate's doors. X-Pac, who'd been sent sprawling face-first onto yet another
ditch conveniently located right in front of him, gurgled, "Sorry, boss."
Inside
the palatial mansion, Stephanie was curled up in front of the fireplace,
reading intently through her new book, Manipulating for Dummies. She
heard a series of knocks on the front door, and scowled, none too happy
about being interrupted right when she was getting to the good part, something
about marrying a former degenerate and turning on one's own father. Sighing
noisily, Stephanie reluctantly closed the book an strutted over to the
front door, flinging it open in a single motion and snapping, "What?!"
Hunter Hearst Helmsley stood at her door, wearing
some kind of big white flower on his lapel.
"Calm
down, Stone Cold-uh," he quipped, ignoring the dark thunderclouds that
had started to form in Stephanie's icy blue eyes. And then, without bothering
to wait to be invited in, Hunter quickly stepped inside, not bothering
to take off his expensive black leather boots despite Stephanie's screeched
protests.
"Stephanie-uh,
I have come to make your dreams come true-uh," Hunter drawled, as suavely
as possible. Stephanie huffed.
"And
what do you know about my dreams, Mr. Helmsley?" she demanded haughtily,
eyeing him as if though he were lower on the food chain than a bacteria.
Hunter grinned, amused by the tone of her voice, and flew into his ad pitch.
"Picture
this-uh, Steph: My beautiful bride and I living in her mansion-uh, her
father kicked out to freeze in the streets-uh, my latest kill roasting
in the fire-uh, while our beautiful little children play with the dogs-uh.
We'll have a bunch of them-uh."
Stephanie wrinkled her nose, picturing the scene
all too clearly in her mind.
"Roadkill?"
she guessed, making a disgusted face at the mental image of Hunter's roadkill
spinning around over a fireplace. Hunter smirked, then suddenly realized
that Stephanie had gotten the wrong image and said indignantly, "No, not
roadkill! Beautiful little children-uh! Like me-uh! Like you-uh, Steph!"
"Oh,"
Stephanie mumbled. Then, as the full meaning of what he'd said settled
in, she murmured knowingly, "Ohhh."
Hunter smirked as Stephanie appeared to have
gotten the hint, then asked flirtatiously, "And do you know-uh who that
lucky girl will be-uh?"
Stephanie tittered nervously, as she slowly inched
toward the main door--her nearest exit--while trying to buy some time.
"Eh...Trish
Stratus?" she guessed, playing stupid. Hunter was smirking and nodding,
saying, "You're absolutely right-uh, Stephanie, it's--TRISH STRATUS?!"
he bellowed, when he realized that Stephanie had chosen a random name,
and slammed both hands against the door, cornering Steph. "Of course it's
not Trish-uh! That lucky girl is you-uh!"
Stephanie shot him a haughty look.
"Hunter,
get a clue if you think I'm going to marry a degenerate like you and have
children
of
all things!" And with that, she slammed the doors wide open. Hunter,
already tilting toward the door, found himself leaning against thin air
and promptly lost his balance, falling forward and on top of X-Pac, who
was still collapsed in the ditch of mud. Hunter stood up, not a single
hair out of place thanks to his sidekick breaking his fall, and glared
towards the general direction of the McMahon estate. He was about to give
the place the finger, when X-Pac stupidly chose that time to get up.
"Eh...how
did it go, boss?" he asked tentatively. Furiously whirling around so fast
that he nearly lost his balance, Hunter forgot about giving the McMahon
home the finger and grabbed X-Pac by the throat, nearly throttling him
in his anger.
"One
way or the other-uh, I will have Stephanie McMahon as my bride-uh!"
he growled, baring his teeth at his terrified little sidekick, and then
promptly threw X-Pac back into the ditch of mud, stalking off to hatch
an evil scheme.
A good
two hours later, the double doors to the McMahon mansion tentatively cracked
open a couple of inches. Stephanie hesitantly poked her head out the door,
cautiously glancing left and right to make sure that Hunter, his band of
degenerates, and the villagers with their garden party had all left.
"Are
they gone?" she murmured, to no one in particular, before she was satisfied
that Hunter had, indeed, left, and walked out of the house.
"I
can't believe the nerve of that degenerate," Stephanie fumed. "Where the
hell did he find the nerve to ask me to marry him and have children?! I'm
Stephanie McMahon, damn it! If he thinks that I'm going to let something
grow inside of me and turn my boobs into a free restaurant for some embryo
freak, then he's got another thing going!"
Stephanie huffed her disbelief at Hunter's nerves,
all the while stomping through the garden, before realizing that she would
be getting mud all over her nice, brand new designer sandals and slowing
her pace down to an indignant strut.
"But
then again, I'm not surprised at the way Hunter behaved, seeing as how
all the men in this place are a bunch of goons," Stephanie mused. She stopped
walking for a while, and began to count the goons...erm, men...that she
had been involved with in any manner.
"Let's
see," she murmured. "There's that insolent bastard Chris Jericho--ugh,
I hate the way he's always insulting me! Then there's Test--I can't believe
I actually dated him, yuck! Talk about in desperate need for braces! And
I guess Rob Van Dam is okay...except that he's so laid-back and indifferent
that I don't think I can buy his attention! And I hate his thumbs thing,
anyway! I'm always getting poked in the eye whenever we...um...do that
thing
that all good friends and nothing more do!"
As
Stephanie stormed around the garden, spouting insults at all the men she
had ever dated or had ever considered dating and declaring how she wanted
adventure in her life and new men to date, a shrill, high-pitched whining
broke into her train of thoughts. Startled, the youngest member of the
McMahon family stopped complaining about her former boyfriends and looked
up, to see a big, furry horse making a mad dash toward the McMahon Estate.
"Oh,
it's just Foley," she muttered, already having lost interest, and returned
to grumbling about how pathetic all the men she had ever dated were. As
Foley continued his one-horse stampede, Stephanie suddenly noticed something,
and froze in mid-insult about Chris Jericho.
"Hey!"
she screeched, and the very shrillness of her holler was enough to make
Foley stop his mad stampede. Dazed, disoriented, and beginning to suffer
from a terrible earache, the poor horse stumbled about, and right in front
of a pissed-looking Stephanie McMahon.
"Where
the hell is Daddy?" the young woman accused the horse in a high-pitched
whine. Foley remembered how he had conveniently dumped Vince McMahon at
the castle gates and rushed back home so that he wouldn't have to listen
to his owner yell, "YOU'RE FIRED!!!" at him, and looked down guiltily,
suddenly becoming absolutely fascinated by the patch of dirt in front of
his hooved feet. Stephanie saw the horse avert his eyes, and placed her
hands on her hips, scowling at him and resisting the urge to bitch slap
the poor animal. Pulling him by the reigns and forcing him to make eye
contact with her, Stephanie gritted out, "Foley, you better take me to
my daddy...or else, you're fired!" The horse gave an irritated snort,
before reluctantly complying.
