Mr. McMahon shifted uncomfortably on his mount, grumbling silently to himself about the fact that his limousine hadn't been fixed earlier. He made a mental note to fire the mechanic as soon as he got back home from purchasing WCW, and then glared down at Foley, the horse, who was trotting along the forest path at a leisurely pace. Sparing a brief, impatient glance at his watch, Mr. McMahon noted that at this pace he would be lucky if he got to WCW Headquarters by midnoon the next day, and growled down at the shaggy horse, "Foley, you're fired unless you speed up this very minute!" With a knowing whinny, mainly because his owner had threatened to fire him numerous times before, Foley quickly sped up his pace to a satisfying trot. Mr. McMahon seemed content with the speed--for the time being, at least--and concentrated on the map in his hands, and not on the road. Thus, it wasn't a big surprise when, half an hour later, the duo wound up being hopelessly and completely lost. Mr. McMahon, being the fair employer that he was, naturally blamed it all on Foley.
"...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.