"All right, here's how we're going to determine which bands you'll be in," Stephanie was saying in her best no-nonsense, authoritative voice, as she paced around in the center of the circle of seated wrestlers while wearing her brand new five-hundred-dollar boots. "I've drawn a different-colored polka dot in each center of these folded-up slips of paper and put them all in a hat, which as you can see I'm shaking right now to make sure everything's fair. Each of you is going to draw a slip, and whomever else ends up with the same color as you have is going to be your bandmate. Any questions?" A hand immediately shot up. Stephanie paused, and when she'd identified the person attached to the hand, she placed her own on her hips and spoke deliberately, "What is it, Chris?"
"Well, I think I speak for everyone in here," Jericho began snidely, "when I wonder whether that leather miniskirt you're wearing is genuine chipmunk, or merely the best imitation that unknown and half-blind designers can offer?"
"It's the finest Italian leather, and it's real," Stephanie gritted out through clenched teeth. "Anybody else have any relevant questions?" Jericho immediately raised his arm again, a growing smirk already on his face as he studied Stephanie's boots, but the brunette pointedly ignored him and went on, "Anybody have any questions at all...?" Jericho began waving both hands obnoxiously back and forth, nearly poking Kurt Angle's eyes out and causing Stephanie's eyebrows to begin twitching dangerously.
"Yes, Lita?" she finally called out, grateful for some kind of distraction. The spunky redhead began to speak, when Stephanie suddenly screeched, "Jericho, put that finger down! That is not the appropriate way to address the boss's daughter!" Lita leaned back in her seat, startled by the brunette's outburst, but before she could speak again, Stone Cold Steve Austin happened to pass by the room and catch Jericho's gesture, enthusiastically shouting out his pro-Y2J sentiment by hollering loudly, "Oh, hell yeah! That's the way to give it to 'em!" And as if to emphasize his words, he raised both hands and flipped the skylight the double bird.
"Ahem," Lita cleared her throat pointedly as Austin disappeared down the hall, still flipping everything off. "May I please speak now?"
"Of course," Stephanie replied, glaring at the broadly smirking Jericho.
"Well, I was just going to suggest that we bring Jeff back for this summer festival," Lita began to say. "I mean, this is publicity we're after, right? What better way to generate it than by staging some sort of one-time big reunion type tour? Besides, the main audience this Woodfest--" Shannon perked up and beamed, while Stephanie groaned and muttered something about forcing the creative team to come up with a better name--"is going after are the teenagers, and we all know that Jeff can attract more than his share of fangirls."
"That's actually not such a bad idea," was Stephanie's reply, a thoughtful frown on her face as she mulled over Lita's idea while she passed around the hat.
Kurt
was the first one to reach for a slip, leaning into the hat and carefully
digging around before finally pulling out a folded little bit of paper
and uncreasing it to look at the color.
"Hey,
I got butter-yellow," he chirped brightly, while beside him Jericho snickered
as he reached over for his own tag and jibed, "Pretty fitting that the
Olympic crybaby got such a wimpy color, huh?" Kurt's lower lip stuck way
out, as he whined, "I am not a crybaby! Not anymore--now my gimmick
is the typical squeaky clean and always super-good babyface!" He didn't
need to defend himself beyond that point, as Jericho unfolded his own piece
of paper and turned bright red when he saw a large, round, pastel pink
polka dot staring back at him.
"Way
to go, white boy," John Cena smirked as Stephanie's hat was passed to him...before
he soon found himself suffering the same fate and holding an equally pink
polka dot in his hands. Sean O'Haire didn't fare much better, causing him
to complain that pale pink didn't exactly go with his dark and enigmatic
post-Devil's Advocate gimmick, while Rob Van Dam drew a butter-yellow polka
dot and wound up joining Kurt Angle's band.
"Oh,
this is just marvelous," Jericho drawled sarcastically, as the hat continued
to be passed around. "I'm stuck in a lousy band with Marky Mark and Fox
Mulder on steroids!" O'Haire flashed him a nasty look for the steroids
remark, but at that moment, the last wrestler, Matt Hardy, drew his paper,
and the bands were finalized.
Stephanie
walked around with a clipboard, jotting down everybody's name and which
band they'd been lumped into, before turning to her blackboard and beginning
to draw four tables.
"Okay,
it looks like we have four bands here," she said, beginning to fill in
each column with names. "The pink band--" Jericho winced--"is made up of
Chris Jericho, John Cena, Sean O'Haire, Randy Orton, Christian--"a bunch
of burly security guards dragged the Peeps' Champion back just as he was
furtively trying to sneak out through the air conditioner shaft--"and Test."
A collective sigh of relief came from the divas' side that they hadn't
been paired up with Mr. Chauvinistic Pig, while Stephanie added, "Since
both Chris Jericho and John Cena are in the pink band, its genre will be
nü-metal, with the aforementioned two sharing co-frontman duties as
the lead singer and lead rapper." A general wave of discontent rippled
through the pinkers, as Stephanie demanded, "Anybody have any ideas for
a band name?" At this, Jericho's lips began to curl up in a devilish smirk,
before he leaned in to whisper something into Test's ear, who proceeded
to call out, "Since it's basically a rip-off of Linkin Park, why don't
we call it Blinkin Fart?" At this, the rest of the room exploded into laughter,
while Stephanie just tapped the high heel of her left boot in a pissed
off way while grumbling, "And to think I almost married you! What was I
on?!"
After
the wrestlers had calmed down and Test had finally figured out that Jericho
had ribbed him and shot his fellow Canadian an angry look, Stephanie went
on to announce the rest of her victims--er, bands.
"The
yellow band," she revealed, "will consist of Kurt Angle, Rob Van Dam, Edge,
and my Wonder Bra--what the hell?!" Jericho erupted into loud, obnoxious
laughter just then, momentarily forgetting his lamentations over being
stuck with "Marky Mark and Fox Mulder on steroids," while Stephanie shot
him a dirty look and hissed, "Stop rewriting the script, Chris, or I'll
have you pantsed and hung up on the French flag pole next time La Résistance
come out for a match!" Jericho gulped and quieted down, as Stephanie, after
clearing her throat, finished, "Speaking of La Résistance, what
I'd meant to originally say was that they'll be the last two members of
the yellow band." The French tag team smiled and hugged when they heard
that, delighted that they'd been placed in a band that consisted of a simpleton
(Kurt), a space cadet (Rob), and a pretty boy Canuck who'd been out on
the injured list for God only knew how long (Edge).
"They're
too stupid to even be brainwashed by the media into hating us for being
French," René spoke to Sylvan in French, who snickered in that same
language, "Idiotic Americans."
"Hey,"
Edge snapped, looking offended, "I'm not American, I'm Canadian." La Résistance
looked surprised that he'd understood them, before Sylvan asked slowly,
"How did you know what we were talking about?" at the same time that Rob
butted in, "You're Canadian, Edge? That's so cool...but how did you meet
the rest of U2 if they're from Ireland and you're from Canada?"
"D'oah!"
Edge smacked his forehead in frustration, and La Résistance leaned
back in their folding chairs, wearing identical pleased smirks that Rob
had just unwittingly proved their notion about Americans being idiotic.
"Now,
the yellow band will be a pseudo-Southern Californian pop-punk ensemble,"
Stephanie reminded everyone, "with Rob as the frontman, because he has
the perfect stoned surfer type of singing voice."
After
she'd finished with the yellow band, Stephanie moved over to where Matt
and Shane Helms were jostling with each other.
"You
two are the first two members of the psychedelic orange band," she told
them. "Your bandmates will be Shannon Moore and the returning Jeff Hardy."
Matt turned white when he heard that last name, croaking out something
about Skittle highs and shaved sideburns, but Stephanie calmly ignored
him and turned to the divas.
"We
have one last WWE band, and that will be a pop-and-dance girl group with
each member having a different hair color and personality," she announced.
"Hey,
just like the Spice Girls," Kurt chimed in brightly, while Stephanie listed
off the all-divas band members.
"Stacy
Keibler will be the bubbly blonde, Lita will be the fiery redhead, Gail
Kim will be the cool brunette, and Victoria will be the scary darker brunette,"
the Smackdown!
GM declared.
As Steph finished writing the finalized bands on the blackboard, Gail spoke up mildly, "Stephanie? Which real bands will we play alongside in this WWE summer festival extravaganza?" Stephanie turned around and produced a handful of videotapes, smiling and replying, "I'm glad you asked that, Gail. We actually received several dozen audition tapes after Daddy placed those ads in Rolling Stone and SPIN, but so far Paul Heyman and Jerry Lawler, whom we've put as heads of talent-scouting, have narrowed it down to three bands that will audition in person next week. I can show you their tapes right now." As Stephanie popped the first tape into the VCR, Shane leaned in to whisper in Matt's ear, "Just how much can we trust those two's decision?" Matt nodded wisely as a picture began to appear on the TV screen, only half-joking, "Yeah, for all we know, King probably just chose whichever three bands had the biggest hooters!"
"This
first band is a heavy metal act called Scarlet Rage--you've probably heard
of them, their debut album sold two million copies, and they've recently
come out with their sophomore effort," Stephanie nattered as the video
began and the wrestlers settled back in their seats to watch. "Scarlet
Rage will be the headliners and will close each show every night, since
they're the best-known and, consequently, most successful rock act we'll
have on the bill." The WWE'rs leaned back and began watching in interest,
as the image on the screen slowly shifted into focus.
"Hi,
my name is Deron James Cutler." The lightly tanned young man who first
began speaking was handsome in an all-American, surfer boy type of way,
with dark blue eyes and longish, slightly tousled blonde hair. Stacy's
eyes lit up as soon as he came into view, as she squealed, "Ooh, he's a
hunk! Dibs on him when he comes over to audition." Gail shot her a brief
look, singsonging, "Not if I get to him first!"
"Anyway,
you can call me Deron...but just not D.J., because it's not heavy metally,
and I get enough flak as it is for not having a first name like Axl and
a last name like Mustaine," Deron onscreen was saying. "As you ladies can
see, I'm really gorgeous, and--"
The
camera was suddenly grabbed away from him, and the culprit wasted no time
in shifting the attention to herself, announcing with a giggle, "And as
all you guys out there can see, I'm the token sex pot of Scarlet
Rage!" She shoved the camera back into Deron's hands and took a few steps
back to pose, an impish gleam in her brilliant blue eyes as she girlishly
clasped her hands behind her back to thrust out her chest, her most sexy
smile on her face as she showed off her cat-like figure and coyly tossed
back her jet-black hair.
"I'm
Raven, Raven Emerald," she purred kittenishly, blowing kisses into the
camera. "Jeff Hardy, if you're watching, this is for you!" Matt frowned
at this, grumbling something about how it's always the crazy ones who get
the girl, as on the TV screen, Deron huffily yanked the camera back to
focus on him, clearing his throat and continuing pointedly, "As I was saying,
before "sex pot" over here so rudely interrupted me, I'm the lead singer
and the frontman of Scarlet Rage--"
"Ooh,
and I'm the bassist, but I also do back-up vocals," Raven butted in, sashaying
her way back to the camera.
Deron
swung the camera around, catching sight of an athletically-built brunette
with raven hair and icy dark brown eyes. She raised an eyebrow when she
saw the camera focused on her, before raising a hand to show the object
it held and snapping coldly, "Who *bleep*-ing decided to leave a *bleep*-ing
*bleep*-load of beer cans in the bathroom? Hey, are you *bleep*-ing censoring
me off, blondie, you mother*bleep*-ing *bleep*-er?! Well, since you *bleep*-ing
think it'll be so much fun to clean up my *bleep*-ing language for me,
I think I'll just keep *bleep*-ing cussing until you get your *bleep*-ing
wholesome, all-*bleep*-ing-American head out of your *bleep*-ing *bleep*!"
"Shannon,
please, we're trying to shoot our audition tape here," Deron hissed, being
answered with the middle finger from Shannon as he turned to face the camera
and mumbled in a quick rush of words, "Miss Grinch over there is actually
called Shannon Alexis Sumter. She's our drummer, but she's just a little
on the bitchy, antisocial side, if you catch my drift." Shannon only listened
with eyebrows slanted sharply across her white forehead, and when she heard
the last part of his sentence, she scowled and flipped him the middle finger
again, before stalking off.
Raven
danced her way back to the front of the camera, rambling rapidly, "By the
way, Shannon Moore, you're a total sweetheart! And Chris Jericho, you're
not so bad-looking yourself, either--call me sometime, my number's 555-41--Hey!"
Deron quickly repossessed his camera, focusing away from the brunette bombshell
and onto the fourth member of Scarlet Rage.
"That's
Camryn Cruise, our lead guitarist," he announced, focusing on a tall, willowy
young woman in her mid-twenties with long, midnight-black hair and cat-like
green eyes. "Some of you may already know her from a magazine cover she
once did--you know, the one with Maxim?" About half the male population
in the room smirked at that, Jericho wearing the widest one and muttering
something about how before seeing the cover, he didn't know legs could
do things like that. Whatever the mysterious "that" may be, most of the
divas thought suspiciously, as they glared in the loudmouthed Canadian's
direction. Camryn pushed past Deron as Raven took hold of the camera, looking
suspiciously down at him as she demanded in a warning voice, "What cover
would that be, you surfer dwarf?"
"She's
taller than him," Jericho observed with a smirk, before John Cena leaned
in and pointed out, "Den she's probably taller den you, too, white boy,"
causing the King of Bling Bling to glare at the Professor of Thuganomics.
"Camryn
may wear her guitar too low, but she's the best there is," Deron enthusiastically
assured his WWE audience, as Camryn took a casual swig from her bottle
of Jack Daniel's before flinging it against a nearby wall and starting
to walk away. "She can do tricks with her guitar like you wouldn't believe."
"From
that Maxim cover, I'd say so," Randy snickered.
"Camryn,
we just had the whole room remodeled, and now you've ruined the new walls!"
Raven started to complain as they waited for the last Rager to make her
entrance and somewhere off-camera Camryn could be heard snapping coldly,
"I'll ruin your face next if you keep opening that black hole you call
a mouth!"
"With
what? The wreckage of your new convertible that you totaled last week?"
Raven challenged, straightening up and drawing herself to her full height
even as Camryn's six feet towered above her five-feet-eight.
"Rusty!
It's about time you finally showed up," Deron greeted, cheerfully unaware
of the mounting hostilities between the two females next to him, as he
zoomed from Camryn and Raven to a pale, medium-height brunette with soulful
chocolate-colored eyes and long brown hair swept up in a high ponytail.
Rusty arched an eyebrow when she noticed the camera shoved up her nose,
questioningly warily, "I'm sorry, is this one of those not-so-hidden-camera
TV shows? Am I being punk'd or something?"
"No,
no, it's our audition tape for that Woodfest thing," Deron happily reassured
her, as offscreen, the entire WWE population turned on poor little Shannon
and chastised in unison, "Moore, you moron!"
"Thrills
and chills," Rusty drawled semi-sarcastically, but the easygoing, relaxed
manner in which she spoke her words more than canceled out any negative
first impressions. "Listen, have fun with your little home movies, Deron,
I'm out of here." And she began to shoulder on her jacket, digging through
her purse as she crossed the room and headed for the door. Camryn and Raven
settled their differences at that moment as well, and the former also began
her departure, casually tossing back her long whip of jet-black hair as
she walked.
"Where
are you going?" Deron and Raven chimed at the same time.
"Black
Diamond," Camryn snapped coldly, naming a well-known nightclub and bar,
at the same time that Rusty sang out, "I have a date." Raven perked up,
wondering with interest, "Oh, really? With whom?"
"Who
knows?" came the deliberately mysterious reply. "Maybe it's the UPS guy,
maybe it's Val Kilmer. Either way, don't you even think about stealing
him." And the door slammed shut, as both Camryn and Rusty left.
Stephanie
stopped the tape there, pushing the Eject button while readying another
one.
"You
can see why we chose them for this elite summer festival," she said, as
she inserted a second tape into the VCR and waited for it to rewind.
"Because
people have actually heard of their music?" O'Haire guessed logically,
and was answered with shake of the head from Stephanie.
"Because
they seem like a real charismatic bunch?" Jericho spoke up sarcastically,
while Stephanie glared at him and pushed Play.
"No,
you idiot," she hissed, as the second video started to play. "Because their
blonde-haired frontman knows how to shake his hips and make the girls go
wild for him!"
The
second audition tape was of a punk band, opening up with a shot of a trashed,
rather grungy-looking pigsty of an apartment. Beer cans were littered everywhere,
clothes stacked in piles on the floor, and a cat perched on a windowsill
licked at the remaining drops from a near-empty bottle of month-old cream.
A slim, nicely tanned young woman with black-tipped red hair quickly threw
away a near-empty bottle of brandy as soon as she saw the camera trained
on her, a rather sheepish grin on her face as she greeted, "Hey, there.
I'm Maxine Winters, but feel free to call me Max--" At that moment, a young
man passed by her, too quickly for the WWE wrestlers to get a good look
at him but slow enough to call out in an Irish-accented voice, "Hey, Shorty."
Max stopped and frowned, rolling her eyes and giving in, "Or that, but
I really would prefer that you call me Max. Anyways, I'm the drummer for
the punk band Urban Trash--but don't get us wrong, we're not really trashy
people or anything."
"No,
you just like your decor to resemble trash," Stacy muttered under her breath
with a roll of her eyes.
"Anyways,
I'll turn you over to my bandmates, but before I do that, let me just say
one thing first," Max went on. "Just because we're mostly girls doesn't
mean we can't kick your ass all the way to Kingdom Come! Yeah! Rock on!"
The
Irish youth who'd previously passed her now took control of the camera,
focusing it so that the viewers could get a better look at his appearance
and saying, "Sorry about that, Max has this thing 'bout provin' that girls
can rock just as hard as any guy." Lita's eyes scanned critically over
his shaggy, shoulder-length blonde hair and cold blue eyes, before she
smirked and remarked to Gail and Victoria, "Who does that guy think he
is, Kurt Cobain or something?" The three divas had a nice little laugh
at that, while onscreen "Kurt Cobain" spoke rapidly in his Irish-accented
brogue, "I'm the bassist for Urban Trash, which is actually a great band
to play with--not to brag or anythin', but our energy level at shows is
off the charts. Oh, and by the way, me name's Connor. Connor McManus."
"Yo,
did dat white boy just say his name was McAnus?" John cracked, earning
himself an exasperated glare from Stephanie and a round of approval from
his fellow guys.
Connor
meanwhile had trained his camera on Urban Trash's frontwoman and guitarist,
zooming in on a quietly pretty young woman with an olive complexion and
dark chocolate hair. She smiled shyly at the camera, her moody dark brown
eyes a stark contrast with the sweet, almost meek expression etched on
her features.
"Hi,
I'm Melody," she spoke warmly, her words heightened by her unmistakable
Australian accent. "I guess I would be the frontwoman for Urban Trash...I
know I don't look very "punk" or anything, but--"
"But
we can all assure ye that Melly is a very talented singer and songwriter,"
Connor quickly filled in. "Right?" Melody merely nodded quietly in reply,
as if to concede,
Whatever you say, I agree with you, when at that
moment, Max happily chimed in, "She also thinks Kurt Angle's a major sweetie
pie, so Kurt, if you're watching, give her a call, would ya?" Melody turned
bright pink when she heard those words, quickly shaking her head and sputtering,
"Not true, I don't...I mean, it's not that I dislike you or anything, Mr.
Angle, I'm sure you're a nice person, but--"
"Mr.
Angle," Randy snickered. "You must feel ancient, huh?" Kurt happily ignored
his words, already celebrating up on Cloud Nine to the tune of the Olympics
music that somebody finally appreciated him and didn't think that he sucked.
Stephanie
stopped the tape there and ejected it, holding up one last video while
announcing, "That's pretty much the whole sum of their audition tape; they
sent in a demo of their music as well, but I don't think we'll have time
to listen to it just yet, not if we want to get to the last act."
"Who
are they?" Victoria asked, having given up and stopped eyeing any escape
routes once she realized that a security guard was planted firmly at each
corner.
"They're
actually a pop duo called Verbena," Stephanie replied. "Think Britney Spears
times two." And she pushed Play.
Cute,
upbeat bubblegum music filled the speakers, as the screen focused on two
very pretty girls in their early twenties, both sporting perfectly brushed
long hair and admirable tans, while offscreen, Matt and Shane exchanged
looks, before muttering in unison, "This must be King's puppies band!"
"Hi,
we're Verbena," the one with the funkier hair color--thick white-blonde
highlights with smaller red streaks splashed on her dark brown locks--bubbled
happily, a Crest ad-worthy smile on her face. "My name's Amanda McAllister,
but everybody knows me by my stage name, Amanda Marie."
"And
I'm Caitlin Johnson--or C.J., take your pick," the green-eyed blonde beside
her added with a happy wave. "Like she said, we're Verbena, and we're a
pop band, and God, do I sound dorky or what?"
"But
don't worry, I at least will make a successful crossover into punk
one day--you know, like that Avrell...Avra...Avery...well, whatever her
name is, that skinny Canadian chick who overdoes it on the mascara and
has totally boring hair," Amanda declared proudly. "After all, us Southern
belles are renowned for our determination and success." Caitlin beside
her rolled her eyes heavenward at the Southern belle comparison.
"Please,"
she scoffed. "If you're a Southern belle, then I'm Princess Leia." Amanda
shrugged, giving the camera her most innocent, wide-eyed look.
"Suit
yourself--although if I were you, Leia, I'd ditch those croissant-pigtails,"
she cooed. "And besides, what are you talking about, of course I'm
from the South--I've got the tan for it, don't I? I'm a total Southern
belle, even my middle name is Scarlett." Caitlin burst out laughing at
that, gasping out between hoots, "Your middle name isn't Scarlett, and
you know it, Amanda Lynn McAllister!" Amanda scowled, puttering
around for a comeback or an excuse, before finally retorting lamely, "Yeah,
well...you bleach, so hah!" Caitlin's mouth dropped open at the insult,
her hands automatically shooting up to her sun-blonde hair as she hissed,
"I do not bleach! I'm naturally blonde, like Reese Witherspoon--wait,
she is a natural blonde, isn't she? Never mind, even if I did
bleach, at least it wouldn't be as obvious as your dye jobs, Amanda
Lynn!"
Amanda scowled.
"Oh,
bite me," she groused crankily, crossing her arms over her chest and staring
sulkily at the camera. Caitlin gave a cheeky grin.
"I'd
do that...but then what would Justin Timberlake's new job be?" she teased,
then was nearly pinned against the wall when Amanda tossed a giant white
teddy bear straight at her face.
"Eew!"
the brunette whined, a completely grossed-out look on her face. "Like I'd
do anything with J.T. now that he's gotten himself all uglified! As if!"
Caitlin smirked.
"Yeah,
we all know you're saving yourself for Orlando Bloom...after having
sunk your claws into Shane West and Heath Ledger, that is!" she giggled,
then had to duck frantically to avoid getting teddy-beared again.
"Anyway,
we're Verbena," Caitlin called out, frantically running around and searching
for a shield as Amanda gathered up more ammunition. "Call us, okay, we're
really good! Ow! That was my butt your Curious George just hit, Manda!
Cut it out!"
As Stephanie ejected the tape, she asked cheerfully, "Well, what do you think of your fellow Woodfesters--uh, I mean, whatever the rock festival's new name's going to be?" The unfortunate WWE wrestlers exchanged incredulous looks, before Matt spoke up tactfully, "Uh, they seem to be a really spirited bunch." John rolled his eyes at that, muttering, "Try crazy instead," while Randy muttered with poorly concealed sarcasm, "Yeah, I can already tell we're going to have a blast working with them!"
