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I Am The Champion

September 24th, 2007
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Death

[The outskirts of the Netherworld. Death has gathered a few friends.]

Death: Ladies and gentlemen…please welcome my good friends…on the drums…John Bonham! On bass…uh…are there any famous dead bassists available? No? I guess I’ll be on bass…on the piano…John Lennon everybody…on lead guitar Jimi F’n Hendrix. And on the lead vocals…give it up for Freddie Mercury! And we are…um…the Deathtones!

[The band begins playing a four different songs. Bonham launches into “Moby Dick,” while Death just bangs his fingers on the bass, as Lennon plays the opening melody to “Imagine” and Jimi Hendrix starts up “Purple Haze.”]

Death: Hold it hold it hold it! Cliff Burton! Is Cliff Burton around? He was somewhat famous.

Cliff: Yo! Somebody call my name?

Death: Yeah. I need somebody who knows how to play.

Cliff: “Jump In The Fire”! Woooo!

Death: Hmm…does anybody else here know how to play “We Are The Champions”?

Freddie Mercury: Oooh, me!

Death: I know YOU know, Freddie. I’m trying to get you guys to PLAY “We Are The Champions.” Since I’m the champion? It’s a strange concept, I know…

[Cliff starts playing the opening riff for “For Whom The Bell Tolls.”]

Death: Stop that! I can’t afford the licensing fees for those Metallica songs!

[John Bonham, amazingly, starts jamming with Cliff Burton.]

Death: The hell?

[Jimi Hendrix joins in, playing the guitar part perfectly.]

Death: This is weird.

[Death looks at Lennon. Lennon shrugs and goes back to playing the piano for “Imagine.”]

Death: Meh. Four out of five ain’t bad. Go Freddie!

FM: He’s paid his dues
Time after time
He’s done his sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes
He’s made a few
He’s had his share of sand
Kicked in his skull
But he’s come through

FM: And we mean to go on and on and on and on

Cliff: DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!

Death: Cliff! This isn’t “Creeping Death”!

FM: You are the champion, my friend
And you’ll keep on winning
Till the end
You are the champion
THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION
No time for jobbers
‘Cause you are the champion…THAT MATTERS

You’ve taken your souls
And your big gold belt
You brought me Jimi and John
And these other two guys playing here
I thank you all
But it’s been no bed of corpses
No fingerpoke of doom
He considers it a challenge to kill
The whole human race
And he ain’t gonna lose

FM: And we mean to go on and on and on and on

Cliff: DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!

Death: Cliff!

FM: You are the champion, my friend
And you’ll keep on winning
Till the end
You are the champion
THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION
No time for jobbers
‘Cause you are the champion…THAT MATTERS

FM: You are the champion, my friend
And you’ll keep on winning
Till the end
You are the champion
THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION
No time for jobbers
‘Cause you are the champion…THAT MATTERS

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All Hail The Franchise Player II

September 24th, 2007
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Trey Vincent

[The scene opens in a room at the Stick It Inn motel in Sin City. There are several gun shots and then a woman screaming.]

Woman’s Voice: Trey? I hear noises.

[Trey burps loudly as he sits up.]

TV: Ishnothin. Gobacktoshleep.

Woman’s Voice: Will you go check?

[Trey looks at the clock. It’s 4 a.m.]

TV: Fuck!

[Trey gets up, pulls on his jeans and heads to the door. He opens it up and looks around. He sees blood dripping down from the floor above him.]

TV: The fuck?

[Trey leaves the room and heads upstairs, only to find a man face down. He sees a brunette woman wearing a wife beater with her nipples poking through in the cool early-morning air and some boxer shorts.]

TV: What happened?

Woman: I don’t know. I was asleep and I just heard shots. I think he shot himself.

TV: Nice tits, by the way.

Woman: Excuse me?

TV: Ooh, a gun. I need one of those.

Woman: You can’t take that! It’s evidence!

TV: Yeah, well, my ex-wife took my gun when she left. And this guy sure as hell doesn’t need it anymore.

Woman: I’m calling the police.

TV: Whatever.

[Trey notices that the door behind the man is slightly ajar. Curious, he pokes open the door and heads inside. It was empty. Trey noticed a computer was on. More curious, he headed towards the laptop.]

TV: I have four letters that would have saved this poor bastard’s life. AL4A. Well…actually, that’s three letters and one number…but it’s 4 a.m. The hell? That’s BOB’s Rant Zone! What the hell could he have been watching to push him to suicide?

[Trey looks closer.]

TV: Ohhh…an Axl Van Halen rant…got it. Let’s see what we got here…

[Through the magic of editing, Trey watches the promo.]

TV: A few random thoughts. Bum Fuck, U.S.A. Trey Vincent is the mayor of that town. Just go ask that chick in my room. Get it? “Slave To The Grind”? Dude, seriously…in the words of my boy Devin Townsend… “Hell yeah, you fucking suck.” Whoops. Hold on.

[Trey picks up the motel phone.]

TV: Hello? 1992? Why are you calling? You have a message for Axl? What is it?

[Trey hangs up the phone.]

TV: Well…1992 wanted you to know…BWAHAHAHAHAHA! It can’t believe you’re still listening to that shit.

TV: Coors? *Pfft* If you were really white trash, you’d be drinking Keystone. And what’s up with this makeover? Trey Vincent thought we already had one KISS impersonator on the roster, that Santa-worshipping guy, the one that hangs out with Gangrel?™. Whoops, hold on.

[Trey picks up the non-ringing phone again.]

TV: Hello? Oh, hello Eric Bischoff from 1996. You want me to tell Axl what? That’s outrageous, Bisch! Say, you still lending out your wife to guys to fuck in front of you? Sweet! Call Trey Vincent.

[Trey hangs up the phone.]

TV: Sorry, ’bout that. Uncle Eric just wanted Trey Vincent to tell Axl that he thought of this gimmick back in 1996. Some guy named…Sting…though Trey Vincent could swear Sting was a crappy pop singer. Trey Vincent should have asked him about that. Oh well. Trey Vincent’s sure Bischoff’ll call back with directions to his house.

TV: As for admitting you are a fraud, thanks Captain Obvious. You want to know why you keep failing? Maybe it’s because you keep putting out promos that make me want to blow my brains out. Look what you did to that unlucky dude there, the one who just shot himself to death after watching you butcher your way through another promo.

[The door opens.]

Death

Death: Oh, pardon me. I was looking for…TREY? Is that you?

TV: DEATH! Buddy!

[Trey and Death rush toward each other and Trey extends a hand.]

Death: Yeah, might not want to shake my hand right now.

TV: Oh right, the whole, killing me thing. Forgot.

Death: I heard somebody was watching an Axl promo and knew he wasn’t long for this world. I know his soul is somewhere around here.

TV: Congrats on winning the title, man.

Death: Thanks. You’re the one who started it all, buddy.

TV: Metal Edge Sports Entertainment. Who would have thought a one-time cameo in a promo in a shitty fed would you lead to become the ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS in a really shitty fed.

Death: Strange indeed. Oh, THERE you are.

TV: Huh?

Death: You’ll never believe this, Trey. The guy’s soul is trying to rip the gun from your hands so he can kill himself again! That must have been one bad rant Axl did.

TV: Yeah. Check this out. Axl claims to be better than myself, Studs, Seth and you combined! Axl claims he could kill you with both forefingers tied behind his back.

Death: This from a guy who got jobbed out to XXXtreme Machine?

TV + Death: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

TV: You’re the man, Death! You should do a rant later.

Death: Ohhh…just for you, Trey. Maybe I will.

TV: As for you, Axl, why don’t you go rent a panda suit. You’ll look more goth in that than you do now. Poser. Trey Vincent is the Franchise Player. Trey Vincent is a role model. Trey Vincent is a sports entertainer. A main eventer who won’t get booed out of the building, unless he’s trying to. Trey Vincent is an icon, the real deal.

TV: Hair metal is for pussies. Goth metal is for BIGGER pussies. So why don’t you do us all a favor. Trey Vincent can’t wait for the Axl in a graveyard writing anti-conformist poems about death and how pointless life is. And one last thing.

[The door slams open behind Death and Trey Vincent.]

Cop: Freeze!

TV: Don’t taser me, BRO!

Death: BWAHAHAHAHA! Classic!

TV: I guess this means this is…

Death: What?

TV: To be continued?

Death: Nah.

[Death walks over and touches both cops, killing them.]

Death: I’m a cop killer.

TV: Better you than me. We should probably…go or something. Oops, hold on.

[Trey picks up the phone again.]

TV: Hello? CM Punk? What do you want? You want Axl to stop stealing your old catchphrases? Well, alright. Hey, where are you calling from? MY room! You bastard! Death, we’ve got to go. Now! Punk will fuck anything with a vagina. And last time I checked…my chick has one!

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