*Vince McMahon talking to Linda after she lost her first election*
Vince McMahon: Ironic isn't it, Linda? This anonymous clan of slack-jawed troglodytes has cost me the election. And yet, if I were to have them killed, I would be the one to go to jail. That’s democracy for you, pal.
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*On the set of the final WCW Nitro, it begins with a promo for WCW Thunder, which is powerful enough to shatter Arn Anderson's glasses, break Ric Flair's teeth, make an exit sign explode, pull plaster from the ceiling, and cause Mark Madden's head to explode. Everyone cheers*
Mike Tenay: Turn it up! Turn it up!
*Instead of promos, Mr. McMahon is shown in a different arena*
Vince: Hello, I'm Vince McMahon.
Eric Bischoff: Aah!
Vince: Now then, I'm looking for a suitable young male heir to leave my title reigns to when I create the XFL -- my vast, vast, vast title reigns. VAST!
*audience chatters*
Vince: Auditions will be tomorrow at my estate. And now, our main event!
*whispering from off camera*
Vince: Oh, for -- oh, very well. *sings* Filthy, Dirty, Nasty, that's the way we like it. It's all over, when Filthy A's hit arenas. Felony-na, Misdemeanas, Eddie Guerrero, Rey Mysterio, Kidman, big hommie K-Perro. Dirty wild, that's our style, "chomp chomp" like a crocodile...
*The Filthy Animals walk out to the ring*
******************************************************************
*The next night, at McMahon's estate, every wrestler in WCW is there with their agents, including DDP, Booker T, Scott Steiner, and Goldberg. In his private auditorium, Mr. McMahon sits in a row by himself, the illustrious Bruce Pritchard holding a clipboard behind him. First up on the tryout list is Buff Bagwell.
Bagwell: I have nothing to offer you but my love.
Vince: I specifically said, no geeks!
Bagwell: But my mom says I'm cool...
Vince: Next!
Scott Steiner: Gimme your title or I'll pound your withered old face in!
Vince: Oh, I like his energy. Put him on the callback list.
Shane Helms *walks out as music begins*: We like the Back Street Boys, N*Sync, too, Britney Spears is kinda cute, We watch TRL on MTV -- oof!
*Steiner belts him*
Vince: Thank you! Give the bully an extra point.
Medusa: I propose to you that your champion not need be a boy. In this phallocentric society of ours...
Vince: Er, I don't know what phallocentric means, but no girls!
Bagwell *offstage, in drag*: So much for Plan B.
*Next up is Booker T*
Stevie Ray: That's it, fruit booty, you're our last hope.
Booker: Aw, I just don't want to be here, sucka. Besides, I started a spinarooni this morning that I really should keep an eye on.
*Paisley tries to steel his courage by reminding him that he'll have his whole future provided for. In her imagination, Booker walks across the stage at WrestleMania to receive his WWF Title. Paisley watches proudly from the audience until Steve Austin approaches her and asks her to come away with him. She readily agrees, and he carries her in his arms and leaps bionically into the air. Back in reality, Marge thinks she should stop fantasizing about the bionic redneck, but says, "Ehh, one more."
Stevie: OK, Book, I wrote down exactly what to say. Just read it and you're a shoo-in!
Booker *walks onstage, squints at cue cards* Hello, Mr...Meek-Man. I bad want...champion now. Me sick.
Stevie: Ooh, he card-reads good.
Booker: So pick please me, Mr. McMahon.
Stevie *calling from offstage*: It's "Meek-Man", stupid*
Paisley: No it's not!
Stevie: Disregard.
*McMahon is so frustrated at Booker's incompetence that he orders everyone out except for Booker, who he orders one step to the left. Booker complies, only to have McMahon turn some giant wheels to manipulate a boot to kick him*
Stevie: The boot kicked Booker! It kicked him right in the butt!
*As the group walks down the driveway afterwards, Paisley observes her group's melancholy*
Paisley: I think Booker and Madusa are feeling a little upset right now. Isn't there something you'd like to say?
Stevie: There sure is. Suckas, you tried your best, and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try. Heh heh heh -- right in the butt. That was great.
*Vince sits in is office, mulling things over*
Vince: It's no use. I guess I'll have to leave all my championships to the Right To Censor. They have gotten quite a bad rap lately, you know, Bruce.
*a rock flies through his office window*
Vince: Ooh, look! A bird has become petrified and lost its sense of direction.
Pritchard: I think it's a rock, sir.
Vince: We'll see what the lab has to say about that.
*The two men go over to the to see Booker smashing windows with reckless abandon. Booker wraps a loop of hose around some statues' heads, puts the nozzle in a car, and turns the water on, thereby popping the heads right off and flooding the car. To add insult to injury, Booker removes the "No Solicitors" sign from McMahon's gate*
Vince: Heh heh, look, Bruce -- a creature of pure malevolence. He's the perfect one to suckle at my proverbial teat. *opens window* You there, boy! What day is this?
Fit Finlay : Today? Sir, why, it's St. Patrick's Day!
Burns: I was talking to him. *points to Booker T* You! What day is this?
Booker: Huh?
Vince: I'll tell you what day this is: today is the day you become my champion!
*Booker throws a rock which hits Pritchard in the head*
Vince: Ooh, I like him a lot.