Disclaimer: OK, I do not own Mick Foley or Bischoff, or anyone, really, I just thought this would be a neat idea for a feud. But it won't happen for real…unless people give me enough money to buy the WWE from Vinnie Mac. And whilst your at it, buy me the World Wildlife Fund too so I can change the names round. Thank you please. I'm also sorry for inflicting this on you, but it's my first attempt EVER at writing something like this, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. There will be more to come if the general public like…
Foley looked up from his seat and saw in front of him the grinning face of Eric Bischoff. This was a sight not welcome to Mick on the best of days, and today was not one of his best days. Later in the evening, he would have to fight his tag team partner the Rock in a no-holds barred, falls count anywhere match, his speciality, and a task he was not looking forward to in the slightest.
"Eric, for your own safety, I advise you to get the hell out of my locker room, or else I may be forced to do something you'll regret whenever a cold wind blows." said Foley in his surprisingly high-pitched voice.
"Well now Mick, lets not be so hasty, I have some, aha, news, that concerns you and your match later tonight." was Bischoff's reply.
"Oh? What is it this time? Pin a hunch-back? Shave a Gorilla? That's the sort of thing I'd expect back in your WCW days, Eric."
"That's funny Mick. I'm laughing like hell, deep-down, really. No, it concerns what will happen to the loser of this match. Don't look at me like that, Mick," said Bischoff, as Foley's face had contorted into a mask of pure hatred, "No Mick, this is for RATINGS, you see, nothing personal. You see, I thought, how could I possibly make this match any more exciting? And then it hit me Mick, it hit me like a thunder bolt. For the sake of ratings, Mick, if you lose, then you will have a re-match of your most prolific match ever. And if the Rock loses…well, that's not gonna happen, but if he does, then we get a whole new saga starting right here, in this very arena."
"What match Eric? What match? I've had so many I can't remember. Death match against the Funker?"
"Nope."
"Hardcore match against the Game?"
"No Mick, not that."
"Then what? Tell me, you back-stabbing SOB, and let me know what else you're going to do to the body of this beat-up 35-year-old." growled Foley, the anger in him rising up like it had done so many times before
"Mick, such harsh words…tonight Mick, the loser will face…the Undertaker in a Hell In The Cell match-up!" Bischoff paused, soaking up the reaction, looking for the break in Foley's exterior. For added effect, he gave Foley one of his patronising grins.
"Why? What have I done to you that you hate me so much Eric? Why are you putting my broken, former hardcore legend body against these odds it can't hope to withstand? Why do you want me in a wheel-chair so bad?" Foley rose as he said this, the fire burning in his face, the eyes glowing as they used to before he became Mick Foley - best-selling author.
"Remember this?" Bischoff said, whipping out a copy of Foley's first book, "Have A Nice Day".
"Yes, I vaguely recall it." was Foley's typically deadpan response.
"In this book, Mick, in this un-inspiring piece of garbage that became a best-seller because of your exposure on television, you make repeated slurs against the good name of Eric Bischoff. You suggest that it was my fault WCW went under, Mick. You suggest that by letting you leave, as well as Steve Austin, WCW went under. Mick Foley, I'm going to look you in the eyes when I say this, you are NOTHING. It was not MY fault that god-forsaken company went under, and it was not because of some fat guy in a flannel jacket who's only talent seemed to be getting hit on the head. I've waited five years, five years Mick, to be in this position, to be making your life a mockery, the way you did mine. And I'm going to love it, Mick. I'm going to love every drop of blood the Rock and 'Taker squeeze out of your fat body. And then Mick, when both have left you crippled, I will walk out to that ring, drape over your lifeless frame and cover you one, two three! And then Mick, and only then, will I consider us even."
"That's it? That's your big grudge? Jeeze, Eric, I thought it'd be something big, like maybe I made-out with your mom in high school…though that would require me making-out with someone in high school, and if you read that book, which you obviously have, then it's plain that I DIDN'T. But this is NOW, Eric, and tonight, In Chicago, Illinois," a slight pause as Mick waits for the mandatory cheap pop, giving his usual thumbs-up and cheesy grin, "I'll sweat, and bleed, for the sake of ratings, and for you getting your cheap kicks out of watching a broken down fat-ass get his body dissected by two athletes still in their prime. But don't expect me to go down without a fight, Eric, cause that is one thing that Mick Foley just does not do. And then Eric, when I can walk again, when my battered and bruised body can take it, when it can take the strain of my 300 plus pounds, then it's your turn. Because if I can deal out the kind of punishment that, if done on the street, would carry a life sentence to two men I LIKE," Foley is staring into the eyes of Bischoff now, watching as Eric begins to quiver, begins to his life flash before his eyes, and begins to realise he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. "imagine, Eric," Foley's voice is a whisper, his nose almost touching Eric's. "imagine what I could do to YOU."
With that Foley turns and exit's the room silently, leaving Eric Bischoff standing alone, shaking, and looking like his life has just came crashing down around him.
Foley looked up from his seat and saw in front of him the grinning face of Eric Bischoff. This was a sight not welcome to Mick on the best of days, and today was not one of his best days. Later in the evening, he would have to fight his tag team partner the Rock in a no-holds barred, falls count anywhere match, his speciality, and a task he was not looking forward to in the slightest.
"Eric, for your own safety, I advise you to get the hell out of my locker room, or else I may be forced to do something you'll regret whenever a cold wind blows." said Foley in his surprisingly high-pitched voice.
"Well now Mick, lets not be so hasty, I have some, aha, news, that concerns you and your match later tonight." was Bischoff's reply.
"Oh? What is it this time? Pin a hunch-back? Shave a Gorilla? That's the sort of thing I'd expect back in your WCW days, Eric."
"That's funny Mick. I'm laughing like hell, deep-down, really. No, it concerns what will happen to the loser of this match. Don't look at me like that, Mick," said Bischoff, as Foley's face had contorted into a mask of pure hatred, "No Mick, this is for RATINGS, you see, nothing personal. You see, I thought, how could I possibly make this match any more exciting? And then it hit me Mick, it hit me like a thunder bolt. For the sake of ratings, Mick, if you lose, then you will have a re-match of your most prolific match ever. And if the Rock loses…well, that's not gonna happen, but if he does, then we get a whole new saga starting right here, in this very arena."
"What match Eric? What match? I've had so many I can't remember. Death match against the Funker?"
"Nope."
"Hardcore match against the Game?"
"No Mick, not that."
"Then what? Tell me, you back-stabbing SOB, and let me know what else you're going to do to the body of this beat-up 35-year-old." growled Foley, the anger in him rising up like it had done so many times before
"Mick, such harsh words…tonight Mick, the loser will face…the Undertaker in a Hell In The Cell match-up!" Bischoff paused, soaking up the reaction, looking for the break in Foley's exterior. For added effect, he gave Foley one of his patronising grins.
"Why? What have I done to you that you hate me so much Eric? Why are you putting my broken, former hardcore legend body against these odds it can't hope to withstand? Why do you want me in a wheel-chair so bad?" Foley rose as he said this, the fire burning in his face, the eyes glowing as they used to before he became Mick Foley - best-selling author.
"Remember this?" Bischoff said, whipping out a copy of Foley's first book, "Have A Nice Day".
"Yes, I vaguely recall it." was Foley's typically deadpan response.
"In this book, Mick, in this un-inspiring piece of garbage that became a best-seller because of your exposure on television, you make repeated slurs against the good name of Eric Bischoff. You suggest that it was my fault WCW went under, Mick. You suggest that by letting you leave, as well as Steve Austin, WCW went under. Mick Foley, I'm going to look you in the eyes when I say this, you are NOTHING. It was not MY fault that god-forsaken company went under, and it was not because of some fat guy in a flannel jacket who's only talent seemed to be getting hit on the head. I've waited five years, five years Mick, to be in this position, to be making your life a mockery, the way you did mine. And I'm going to love it, Mick. I'm going to love every drop of blood the Rock and 'Taker squeeze out of your fat body. And then Mick, when both have left you crippled, I will walk out to that ring, drape over your lifeless frame and cover you one, two three! And then Mick, and only then, will I consider us even."
"That's it? That's your big grudge? Jeeze, Eric, I thought it'd be something big, like maybe I made-out with your mom in high school…though that would require me making-out with someone in high school, and if you read that book, which you obviously have, then it's plain that I DIDN'T. But this is NOW, Eric, and tonight, In Chicago, Illinois," a slight pause as Mick waits for the mandatory cheap pop, giving his usual thumbs-up and cheesy grin, "I'll sweat, and bleed, for the sake of ratings, and for you getting your cheap kicks out of watching a broken down fat-ass get his body dissected by two athletes still in their prime. But don't expect me to go down without a fight, Eric, cause that is one thing that Mick Foley just does not do. And then Eric, when I can walk again, when my battered and bruised body can take it, when it can take the strain of my 300 plus pounds, then it's your turn. Because if I can deal out the kind of punishment that, if done on the street, would carry a life sentence to two men I LIKE," Foley is staring into the eyes of Bischoff now, watching as Eric begins to quiver, begins to his life flash before his eyes, and begins to realise he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. "imagine, Eric," Foley's voice is a whisper, his nose almost touching Eric's. "imagine what I could do to YOU."
With that Foley turns and exit's the room silently, leaving Eric Bischoff standing alone, shaking, and looking like his life has just came crashing down around him.