As Chris Jericho used to say back in his "funny" days-here we are, once agayne! So fasten your seatbelts and put on your helmets-we gon' party. Let's first visit jolly ol' England, where HHH and Sephiroth encounter a strange, mysterious voice…
HHH: Who the hell—
Just then, Sephiroth and HHH turn around and see, CHEF GORDON RAMAY, HIMSELF!
Gordon: Excuse me, but, ah…are you two looking for my secret porn stash, by chance?
HHH: Yeah, where is it?
Gordon: Well, like I told that Jeff Hardy wanker, it's over by the squash, just past the bacon.
Sephiroth: Thanks, mortal.
Gordon: In MY kitchen, I'm no mere mortal—for in MY kitchen, I am a GOD!
HHH and Sephiroth just look at each other and then back at Chef Ramsay.
HHH: Well, in the ring, I am the GAME!
Gordon: What? Are you bloody KIDDING me?
HHH: Nope, I even come with my own referee!
Gordon: I see. Well, I hear you're on this…this…liquor and porn run—I think I should get into the mix!
HHH: What? What are you TALKIN' bout, dude? WWE doesn't HAVE any kitchens!
Gordon: Oh no, my friend—I'm challenging you and YOUR referee to a tag-team match!
HHH: You're doing WHAT?
Gordon: Oh, I think you understand me correctly! It'll be me and my sous chef versus you and your…referee. The loser has to cook an omelet for the winner on NATIONAL BLOODY TELEVISION!
Sephiroth: Damn, are you going to let him just…CHALLENGE you like that, mortal?
HHH: Hell no! You're on, Ramsay! Oh—and by the way—
HHH kicks Chef Ramsay in the stomach and pedigrees him into the cantaloupes. Gordon is lying there, motionless, and then HHH glances up to see Cammy and Ryu running out of the …store.
HHH: Oh nooooo! C'mon, Seph—we gotta' get'm!
HHH and Sephiroth quickly scour the place for the magazine and the liquor, find it, and head out the door. Meanwhile, Ken is running past a fallen Gordon Ramsay…
Ken: DAMN! CHEF, CHEEEEF…WAKE UP, MAN!
Gordon (shaking the stars off): Oh…dear GOD—it was some blue-haired bloke along with some guy in black shiny knickers who looked like he was…PINNING all of the watermelons.
Matt: That's GOTTA' be HHH!
Gordon: Well damn…I think that WAS the bloke's name. Mind if I join you fuckers?
Ken looks at Jeff and Matt and they both shrug and help the chef to his feet.
Gordon (shaking off the stars): Ok, this way! I know a quick way out of here!
Jeff: Ok, let's move! Cammy and Ryu should have the car ready!
So they all follow Gordon out of the club through his "secret exit"—they just took the elevator up to the ground floor. They ran out of the lobby and dove into the waiting "car". Cammy put the petal to the metal and, within seconds, they were hot on the trail of DX, who were trying to pour more Red Bull into the gas tank so that their bus can "grow wings" again. Just then, Jeff sees an open field…
Jeff: Cammy, quick! Go into that open field and press the rivet on the side of your chair!
Cammy does so and, once again, the ladder at the bottom of their car teleports on top of the standing ladder and acts as a propeller—you know, just like before. They gradually start to lift off…
Lita: Hey! I can see DX's bus! Let's hurry out of here!
Gordon (smelling a stalk of celery): Mmm…nothing like fresh ingredients!
Matt: Wha? Huh?
Gordon: If you don't bloody use fresh ingredients in your kitchen, you have no business cooking, mate!
Matt: Um? Who mentioned anything about cooking?
Gordon (pulling some crabgrass out of his pants): Mmm…fresh crabgrass—
Matt: Ew…dude, aren't those weeds?
Just then, Gordon proceeds to stuff the entire handful of crabgrass in his mouth.
Ken: Dude…you got issues.
Meanwhile, in DX's "eckspress"…
HHH: HOLD THE BUS STEADY, SHAWN, I DON'T WANNA' SPILL THIS!
HHH is still attempting to pour the Red Bull into the gas line as the bus is moving.
X-pac: Dude, don't fall!
Donald: Yo, if 'dat nigga' fall, I'm-a laugh my feathered ASS off, son!
TIFA: Cut it out, Donald! You ok out there, HHH?
HHH: Just a little-AAAGH, GOT IT!
Just then, the big, angelic-looking wings once again sprout out on either side of the bus and it ascends into the sky, en route to America.
Now, let's visit Japan, where the heated battle between the nWo and Los Guerreros is taking place…
Trish: Eddie, what are you DOING?
Eddie: It's almost…EGH! DONE, mamacita! THERE! Ok, NOW we can MOVE, ese!
Shaggy: ZOIKS! I don't believe you hooked up that supercharger THAT fast!
Chavo: Oh, my Uncle Eddie is the best! He can hotwire a car in less than 10 seconds, homes!
Trish: Well, well, well…I AM impressed, Eddie. You didn't break the bubble!
Eddie (proud of himself): Well of COURSE not, mami! I'm Latino HEEEEEAAAAT, mami! I don't bullshit around!
Meanwhile, In Hulk's cruiser…
Hulk: What the hell's Guerrero doing?
Nash (wearing binoculars): It looks like that li'l thief put in a supercharger!
Snake: Now THAT'S cheating! We gotta' do something!
Otacon reappears, whimpering…
Snake: Otacon, what the hell's wrong with you?
Otacon (sniffling): Ooooh…my dick hurts so baaaad! When I reached for it, it BURNED! See?
Otacon whips his dick out and the boys groan in disgust and look away.
Nash: Dude, put that away, no one wants to see that!
Otacon: but…but it-it looks like a reddish, ashy pickle, or something!
Snake: You nasty fuck—that's because you rubbed it so often, it's RAW! Wait, hey—isn't that the name of your wrestling show?
Hulk (rolling his eyes): Whatever, brother. Look brother Otacon, you brought that on yourself, dude! You shoulda' ate your vitamins, said your prayers, and got more pussy, dude!
Hall: Tell me about it, mang. I've NEVER seen anyone masturbate as often and as…as BRAZENLY as you, Otacon mang.
Otacon: Yeah, yeah, whatever guys. I ran out of fucking LOTION, here and you all are fucking…busting my BALLS!
Snake: FOR GOD'S SAKE, MAN—COULD SOMEONE JUST GET'M SOME FUCKING LOTION?!
Hall pulls aisle 4 of a drugstore out of his trunk and Otacon runs down the aisle and looks at all the lotion…
Otacon: Scott, you're KILLIN' me here! You don't have any Lubriderm?
Hall: Sorry mang, the trucks don't come till tomorrow!
Otacon relents, shrugs, and grabs a bottle of cocoa butter and pushes his stealth camouflage button, disappearing, once again.
Nash: You know, we REALLY need to talk about where you buy your wrestling tights, Scott.
Scott just takes a swig of champagne from out of the bottle and waves him off.
Hall: Please, mang.
So now we have all 4 teams flying directly toward Miami, Florida. We fast-forward 8 hours and join up with Vince, as he's still at his Miami high-rise condo, up on the roof with his cronies Brisco and Patterson…
Vince: Guys, can you see them?
Patterson: Sorry Vince, no sign of 'em yet.
Vince: How about you, Brisco?
Brisco: Wait, I think I see somethiiiiing…
Vince excitedly Snatches the binoculars away, and is looking all over the place...
Vince (licking his lips): Where, WHERE?!
Suddenly, one of the lenses goes black…
Vince: AAAGH! What the—
Patterson and Brisco try to keep from laughing as Vince rubs his eyes, handing the binoculars back to Brisco..
Vince: What the hell was that, Brisco?
Brisco (trying DESPERATELY not to laugh): Uh…um, a –a seagull pooped on the left lens, Mr. MacMahon. And—and there's some on your shirt, too, .
Vince angrily starts at Brisco and Patterson, daring them to laugh, as he eases back into his room to change his shirt.
Vince: You two keep an eye out for those idiot employees of mine, hear?
Both: Yes, Mr. Mac/McMahon.
After Vince goes back in the room, they both glance at each other and bust out laughing before taking their respective posts watching out for the vehicles. Suddenly, Patterson sees something…
Patterson: Oh shit, here they come. I can tell it's fuckin' HHH because he's…PINNING his OWN vehicle?
Brisco: What?
Patterson: This fucker is LITERALLY LYING on top of his vehicle and, I don't know WHERE that ref came from, but he's actually making a COUNT!
Brisco: You should tell Vince.
Patterson goes off to tell Vince and Vince runs out and looks…
Vince: They're really on the way! Look, there's the GAME! THERE'S MY GAAAAAME! Wait—but who's that evil-looking blue-haired fucker? Ah well, we'll find some cruiserweights for him to go over on. Brisco, anyone coming in your direction?
Briscoe: YEP, here they come, Mr. MacMahon!
Vince: ALRIIIIGHT! Guys, let's go back inside and see who can make it in first—I love this part!
After about 20 minutes, all 4 teams land on Mr. Mcmahon's rooftop deck AT THE SAME TIME! They all get out of their vehicles and Mr. Mcmahon's rooftop now looks like the Royal Rumble! Ken and Ryu are hurricane-kicking the hell out of Solid Snake, Eddie and Chavo are busy pickpocketing everyone, X-Pac and Harry Potter are practicing their crotch-chops, Cammy, Lita, and Katherine are trying to push past Trish, Tifa, Shaggy, and Donald Duck as Otacon watches from a rooftop corner, masturbating FURIOUSLY because Cammy had a couple of wardrobe malfunctions in her struggling with getting past Tifa; Sephiroth, HHH, and Cloud are trying to break the bulletproof glass on Mr. McMahon's patio door, Gordon Ramsay is making beef wellington while chopping an onion and yelling at Matt Hardy to get him some more basil, Jeff Hardy and HBK take turns jumping off of a ladder, and Scott Hall keeps doing the Razor's Edge on a store mannequin he pulled from out of his tights.
Nash: Um…Scott?
Hall: Yeah, chico?
Nash: What the hell are you doing?
Hall: Um…the Razor's Ed—
Nash: I KNOW THE NAME OF THE DAMN MOVE!
Hall: Than, um…what did you—
Nash: HELP me OUT here! Help us get inside!
A few minutes later, things get serious. All the contestants start pushing up and fighting against the roof patio sliding doors.
Brisco: Aren't you going to open the door, Mr. MacMahon?
Vince: Naah…let'm fight a little longer—this is fuuun!
So, a few more minutes pass and Vince FINALLY opens the door. All of the superstars fall inside of Vince's room in a heap. Then, two people get up and hurriedly hand Vince his liquor and porn, which he promptly checks both and he smiles. For the first time in a week, he smiles.
Vince: Well, well, well…I'm kinda' surprised it'd be you who gave me this first but, ah…you and your group meet me at the RAW taping day after tomorrow and I'll give you all the details then. As for the rest of you, the race is over, you all can leave now.
The two winning groups stay behind as the other stars dejectedly leave. The last star leaving glances back…
Vince: Yes? What do you want? Dammit, I SAID you may leave now!
This person, before they leave, sees a crystal vase and knocks it over before leaving.
Vince (poking his head out the door, shaking his fist): HEY, YOU DAMN…SORE LOSER SON OF A BITCH! DON'T LET ME CATCH YOUR ASS IN THE STREET!
Vince turns around and…
Vince: I want that bitch in a mixed tag match against the Big Show and Kane!
Aaaaand, I'll stop it there. The next chapter is the last one, and it'll also be the last one of my PPV specials, as well!
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Hope to see you there—same Warrior time, same Warrior place, same Warrior channel!