WWF Sunday Night Heat #3 - Hard Times
WWF Sunday Night Heat
Target Center
Minneapolis, Minnesota
NOTE: Deadline is Friday August 2 at 10am GMT
Tag Team Main Event
The Big Bossman & Brock Lesnar w/ Paul Heyman vs. Al Snow & The Hurricane
Chris Jericho vs. Goldust
Scott Steiner vs. Raven
Val Venis vs. Diamond Dallas Page
“Helllllloooooooo Ladies!”
“Finally, The Big Valbowski has an opponent he can relate to. It seems like an eternity since Val Venis stepped inside the ring with a real man. A man’s man. A man that likes to… bang!”
“I respect a man that likes to bang. That primal instinct is inside all of us, Diamond Dallas Page. That’s the truth. And you know what they say, don’t ya? Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
“Except in your case, The Big Valbowski thinks they might be lying. See, I know what’s a girl’s best friend. It’s big, it’s long, it’s hard and it can go all night, ending with a bang.”
“I’ve heard in your case, it’s small, short, soft and goes off at the slightest touch.”
“And that just won’t do, Page.”
“If you’re gonna star in the bluest of bang movies with Val Venis this coming Sunday on Sunday Night Heat, you need to last a lot longer than three seconds. You need to be able to go all night.”
“I just don’t think you can. Hahaha. But it’s okay, Diamond. Not all men are able to bang all night. Not all men are Val Venis.”
“Not all men are created to bang equal.”
“You’ll still get the money shot.”
What does everybody want? I’ll tell you what Al Snow and the Hurricane are gonna get… a beating from the Bossman and the Beast.
Snow, you walk around here acting nuttier than squirrel turd. I’ll tell you what, the Big Bossman has a straightjacket and a special little rubber room where you and that head of yours can bounce off the walls all day long.
And I’ll give you another thing if that pipsqueak The Hurricane actually believes he’s a superhero well we’ll let him keep you company. Because there’s only one person who represents Law, Order, and Justice here in the World Wrestling Federation and it’s the Big Bossman.
So, Al bring your lil’ green friend with his mask and spunky attitude, me and Brock will be sure to put you both down like two diseased dogs and when you two wake up you’ll be in that padded kennel. So, you two can bark all you want it won’t match anything to the bite that Bossman and Brock Lesnar have for you both. In other words, stand back there’s an ass kicking coming through! And when all is said and done you two will be eating through a straw!
Raven sits alone on a bench, lit by a single light. His eyes, shadowed and intense, stare directly into the camera as he begins to speak.
"You know, they say that muscles make the man. That the bigger you are, the stronger you are, the more fearsome you become. But what they fail to realize, Scotty, is that all the muscles in the world can't save you from the inevitable. Muscles can't shield you from the darkness that creeps into your soul, the despair that clutches at your heart."
Raven stands, his voice rising with a bitter edge.
"You strut around with your bulging biceps and your inflated ego, believing that you're invincible. But I see through that façade. I see the fear that lies behind those eyes. Fear of the unknown, fear of the darkness that I embody. No amount of muscle will protect you from psychological warfare."
Raven stops.
“What about me? What about Raven?”
"Remember, Scotty, it's not the size of the man in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the man. And in this fight, you're just a man... and I am forever."
Raven's voice drops to a chilling whisper.
"Quote the Raven... Nevermore."
DDP's mug is hogging our screens once again.
"It's me! D...D...P!"
Toothy grin.
"And I have a very big message for a very big man... Val Venis!"
A brief pause as he smiles for the camera again.
"Now Val, I know you aren't in the best of moods right now, but I hope to make you see things the way I do. After all, getting attacked by that golden nutcase wasn't a bad thing! It was a good thing!"
"Why? Because no matter how bloody or how ugly things get, you're still making money shots like no tomorrow."
More teeth flashing.
"You've not only made the cameramen's salaries with your hemorrhaging face, but you also gained more sympathy from the women in the audience that totally want to bang you. And as a porn star, having more women flock to you is always a good thing!"
Dallas smiles once more.
"I know that you might not like yourself at the moment, what with your face being ruined and all that, but that's what I'm here for! To help you... like you! And by the end of our match, I'm sure that you'll like me too."
One last smile.
Fade out.
A man in a lion mascot head sits bound on a bed, a comically large gag placed in his mouth. Goldust walks forwards with a riding crop, cracking it against his submissive to a muffled moan.
"Oooh, do you know how long I've wanted to tame a lion, Chris? To feel the beautiful feeling of leather on its furry hide?" A sharp exhale. "Wrap my fingers in that mane of yours and just give it a nice, hard, tug."
He grabs the lion's mane, pulling it back and running the crop against his face. "Watching you strut out on stage, peacocking to the crowd with your big, boisterous roars? It's enough to drive a man crazy."
CRACK!
The crop slaps the man's rear once more.
"I'm going to tame that lionheart of yours, Jericho. Take you out in front of all those 'Jerichoholics' to let them drink it all in. Watch those roars turn to moans, and see as the lion tamer becomes the lion tamed."
Goldust presses a sensual kiss to the snout of the mascot head.
"And once I'm done? You will never, ever, be the same again."
Goldust places his hand to the camera, blocking our view.
Al Snow: “I don’t know what to tell you, Head. That’s two pretty big dudes, right? I don’t think myself and The Hurricane can stand much of a chance against them.”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “Brock Lesnar alone is like six hundred pounds of muscle. Have you seen the size of his head? It’s like a balloon.”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “No, I’m not trying to make you feel inadequate, silly. Your head is perfect. You have perfect head form. I’m just saying that if Brock Lesnar was to give someone head, he might put a hole in them.”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “Will you stop that? I’m not disparaging you. I’m just….”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “There’s no need to interrupt, geez. Listen girl, let’s forget Brock Lesnar. What about the Big Bossman, huh? I hear he’s been threatening to do nasty things to you with his nightstick.”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “Of course I won’t let him. What kind of psychopath do you think I am? Besides, Hurricane is a hero. He won’t let alone force head to do anything they don’t want to do.”
Head: “….”
Al Snow: “I promise.”
Don't we love a bit of gold?
That glittering gloss is enough to drive a guy crazy. We each have our golden fantasies, of fame and fortune, even if some of those dreams are a little… bizzare.
Well I'm not a dreamer. I'm a man of action. I don't dream of fame and fortune, I live it. The Ayatollah of Rock'n'Rolla, the savior of WWF from the invasion of pretenders.
Listen up, Goldust. You parade about, looking you're some kind of Hollywood icon. But let me tell you something, Junior - you’re nothing more than a second-rate movie extra in the grand production starring Chris Jericho.
While you've been prancing around in your golden wig and glitter, I've been testing my mettle against the best around. In your twisted mind, you thought that beating up a fellow Canuck up with a condom was a golden move? Real classy, Jackass.
There’s no room for your twisted fantasies when you step into the squared circle with the best in the world. I live the golden life you could only dream of, for I am the best at what I do.
When I break my foot off in your shimmering golden ass, I'm going to shatter your golden dreams and turn them to nightmares.
Hurricane paces the ring, mic in hand, addressing his people.
"We've got something serious to talk about!" he tells the crowd. "Something Hurricane didn't want to have to talk about. But something you, the WWF fans deserve to know about..."
He pouts as he leans on the ropes.
"Hurricane sees Brock Lesnar, ol' UG UG BEAT CHEST, and he sees how he operates within the WWF. And Hurricane sees Big Bossman, and how he operates within the WWF. But do you know what else Hurricane sees?"
He cups his hand to his ear.
"Let the Hurricane tell you what he sees. He sees PAUL HEYMAN. Paul Heyman, not content enough to puppet the hunk of man muscle he usually puppets, no, now he needs to massage the prostate of the Big Bossman. WHASUPWITDAT?"
Hurricane rests his weary head in his hands for a second.
"The way Hurricane sees it is that Paul Heyman is the Kingpin. The secret villain pulling strings from the shadows. The REAL big bossman."
He stares directly down the camera.
"And Hurricane delights in taking out the shady villains more than any other. But first, let Hurricane relieve you of your puppets, Paul. Then maybe...wash your hands...then we can talk..."
WHOOSH!
Seems the little b*tch pussies here in the WWF continue to be threatened by the presence of real men
First That Canadian F****r Jericho and now this prissy winy extreme bitch Raven. Scott Steiner been down in ECW and Scott Steiner don’t need no chair to put a hurting on a man, he just uses his own bare hands like the badass force of destruction that he is.
Raven, you moan on and on about being the smartest man in the room. I went to College bitch. Got my degree, I know my mathamamatetics but what don’t make sense to me is you wining about all these gays who keep screwing you over. One cucked your girl, one sucked off Bischoff to get ahead, and you go on and on about how you’re opressed.
Well do the math bird boy, one plus three means you a punk ass little bitch cause even DDP got more balls then you and that postive f***bag knows he ain’t ever gonna beat me. The only effect you gonna feel is me breaking you in half so you can feel what a real man is like.
HOLLA IF YA HEAR ME!