Welcome to the Jungle...

[@xL]

:: Sunday, March 18th, 2007 - 12:21 a.m. ::

~ Location: The Rivierra Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas... a few hours after LiS ~

[Scene: The Casino section of the Rivierra, where a stage has been set up, and a moderately sized audience of spectators has gathered. They cast their gaze upon the stage, as Tifa Bon Jovi stands, holding a microphone. She smiles... and speaks.]

Tifa: Ladies AND gentlemen... it is my great privilege to present to you all, the man that walked out of Living in Sin earlier tonight with the biggest victory of the entire show... He shall be the man to lead Brawlers on a Budget to it's golden age, and finally DEFEAT the STWF... And of course, he will walk into March Mayhem, blaze past 63 other men, and will claim his spot as the ONLY #1 CONTENDER THAT MATTERS!!! Everyone, please put your hands together, for the Metal God, and Leader of the Rock-O-Lution... as well as spokesman for the greatest company known to man; Parodyox Inc. ... He hails from Nowhere, Oklahoma, and is YOUR BoB Swiss Army Belt Champion... Axl... Van... HALENNN!!!

["Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses strikes up on the casino's speakers, and the gathered crowd are... apathetic. Once seeing that they've gathered to watch Axl and NOT Blue Man Group, they decide to split. This leaves Axl holding the microphone, and having noone to speak to but the camera.]

Axl: DAMMIT!!! Where are you idiots going! Don't you know who I am!

Chuck the Janitor: Yeah, I know who you are! You're David Bowie!!! Can you sing China Doll?

Axl: Ugh... Anyway, as long as I have one guy in the seats... even if he doesn't even know who the hell I am... I'll go ahead and give the speech that everyone's been waiting for. The Axl Van Halen Victory Speech!!! People, as you all know by now, a few hours back, I shoved the mighty Rod of Metal right up Mr. Para-DOUCHE's backside, and lemme tell ya, it felt good. DAMN good. So damn good, I just didn't know when to quit. I mean, it coulda ended shortly. It shoulda ended shortly. In fact... it usually DOES end shortly. When the Metal God shoves his Rod up the worthless asses of all those who stand before him, I usually unload and they're down on their knees just like THAT! Usually, the sticky stuff is flying everywhere-

CtJ: WHAT?!

Axl: BLOOD! Yuck, don't even go there... Anyway, usually, I drop my enemies faster than... uh... well... someone dropping their enemies really fast. But this time, I stepped into that cage... I looked at all of the weapons of chaos that surrounded me... and I felt this urge to inflict as much pain and punishment on that jack-wad as possible! Pain and punishment, all paid for by the good folks at Parodyox. For fifteen years, Parodyox has been supplying the good people of North-Southern Michigan with the drop dead most FANTABULOUS products possible. Take their patented Foons, for instance. Half fork, half knife! 100% razor-sharp metal, guaranteed to cut through the thickest objects, and/or your tounge, gums, and teeth! They'll have you saying, "That's bloody good!". No refunds.

Axl: Yes, Parodyox is the company that gave me that extra burst of blood-thirst to not only BEAT Paradox... but to do so mercilessly, and without a shred of guilt. Paradox, wherever you are, I know you're hurting. And it's all because of me, and the good people at Parodyox Inc. Sure, Xamfir may or may not have ran into the ring and may or may not have hit you with what may or may not have been a stuffed parrot... But let's face the facts.

Axl: Xamfir? You're just another one of those washed-up, has-been, never-will-be-agains that are just trying to steal some of MY spotlight by sticking your nose back in the game. Only thing is... you stuck your nose in where it didn't belong. And if you were MAN enough to be involved with the March Mayhem tournament, I'd kick your ass and send you packing myself. In fact... you want a piece of the Metal Visionary? You name the place. You name the show. You got yourself a crack at MY Swiss Army Title. Why? Because I want to prove to you, and I want to prove to the WORLD, that Axl Van Halen doesn't need anyone to back him up in the ring... That is, except for the fine folks at Parodyox Inc.! Tired of your wife? Does your husband make you wanna take a knife to your own throat? Then hire an attorney from Slash, Rash, and Cash! The ONLY lawyers highly practiced in the field of 'Bachelorhood Fatalaties'! When your significant other finally takes that final step in killing every shred of meaning in your life, just give us a call, and Parodyox's own Attornies at Law will be there on the case! That's; 1-800-NO-MO-RING.

Axl: And to Genocide and Fiendish... you two slap-rabbits can suck on my big fat floppy FIST!!! The next time I see either of you two, it'll be a knuckle-sandwich for the both of yuz! And then, even after I proved that I was better than three men, I bump into SMP. The Doc. Sil... you and Douch-a are really, REALLY starting to piss me the hell off. I mean, can't you two just admit I'm the choice of the next generation, and you two washed-up donkey's nutsacks are about as old and stale as Nurse Heidi's cum-dumpster? I mean, really fellas. The both of you COMBINED are about as agile as G.I. Slow after a half dozen runs at the McDonald's drive-thru. You guys are so past your prime, watching that moving bus match was about as much fun as watching paint dry on a snail's shell going UPHILL!!! You old ding-balls are truly pathetic, and the fact that you had to sneak attack me? Sad. REALLY sad.

Axl: Whether you make it to the Finals, SMP, or you douja, it doesn't really matter. Because the only match that matters in this entire tournament is when I, the LEADER of BoB's Next-Gen, defeats whatever tired old dickwart winds up in the big bout. I will face them. I will crush them. And the Rock-O-Lution will roll on to grab the Only World Title That Matters, unifying both titles into the Parodyox World Championship... sponsored by Parodyox Inc. Speaking of which... the reason you don't see the Swiss Army Belt with me, is simply because the Swiss Army Belt, as you know it, will no longer exist. Come SMC 42, I will be debuting the new and IMPROVED Swiss Army Belt, sponsored by Parodyox Inc. The belt will blow away any title before it, in both looks AND prestige. Brawlers on a Budget, be prepared... for the longest, most rocking-est, metal... est, Swiss Army Belt title reign you've EVER witnessed, and ever WILL witness!!! I'm tellin' ya dudes, it's gonna be SOOO totally long, and hard...

CtJ: ...

Axl: .. TO DEFEAT ME! Jeez... with your minds... people today... you sickos. Anyway... The NEW Swiss Army Belt debuts next Sunday. Tonight? I leave you all with a little tune I thought up while I was giving this speech. Tifa... the guitar.

[Tifa hands Axl the hot pink Les Paul guitar, and Axl lifts his pick into the air... but just as he's about to bring the pick against the string, the lights cut out, and everyone is left in a state of shock. And then...]

[The lights begin to shine an ominous blue... before two men walk out from a door. One is holding a serving platter filled with various cheeses, which he is indulging himself with. The other, is adorned by black shorts and a black tanktop. When they walk over to the stage, the one in shorts and a tanktop grabs a microphone.]

? ? ? : MEAH!!!

? ? ? : MRGH!!!

Axl: What in the hell... who are you two jack-clowns?!

[And then, "Undies" by Limp Bizkit kicks in, and a man wearing clothes similar to that of the UnderTaker walks into the scene, holding a pair of briefs high over head... when a bolt of lightning actually strikes them, setting them ablaze! He tosses the blazing undies onto the plate of cheese, and the man holding the cheese tosses the plate filled with flaming cheese and underwear at Axl, who quickly swats the whole thing away with his guitar. He motions for the three men to come and get some. The two in front of the Taker-looking guy rush toward Axl, but receive guitar shots to the head, sending them crashing off the stage. The Taker-esque man climbs onto the stage and stares into Axl's eyes.]

UndieTaker: HANDIIISSS... UNDIETAKE!!! Undies...are...MINE...YEEEEEEEEEEES!

Axl: Lemme guess... you're the OTHER UndieTaker? Babe... gimme a kiss.

[Axl goes to give UndieTaker a kiss, but the big man shoves Axl away, before going for the 69 Undie Drop... but Axl reverses into a tombstone piledriver that hits hard. Undie then falls off the edge of the stage and collapses on the floor before. Chuck the Janitor actually stands up and gives a round of applause for this, which Axl smiles at. Axl hops off the stage, saunters over to Chuck.... before gripping him by the head, reeling him in for a kiss, and as the two fall to into the pile of chairs, Chuck swipes frantically, hitting the camera, sending it for a tail-spin... before we head to-]

~ static ~

~ rock on ~

\oo/_ OvO _\oo/

~ rock on

[Sir Zeno]

*Sir Zeno, sitting back in the throne room of his palace in Dimension Z, is throwing back a shot of tequila and smoking an expensive cigar, the OWTTM belt wrapped around his waist. Queen Mysiliv is leaning on the throne beside him, the women's division belt around hers, and both are laughing uproariously (Zeno making sure to swallow the tequila first).*

Sir Zeno: BWAHAHAHAHAHAH! You little joke, Van Halen... Do you really think that your victory means anything?

Please note where you appear in the program. The first match of the night, right after two pointless skits. Do you know what we call such matches? Curtain jerkers.

That's correct, boy... you are a curtain jerker. You have a belt, perhaps, but care to know why? SO that Dimension Z does not have a monopoly.

Put simply, Axl, you are a glorified joke. You dare to mock a two-time YGBKIADTAYOOYFM champion, a man with years in this business while you're still a wet-behind-the-ears jobber, for being willing to throw that match just to give you a title? You have no shame.

He carried that match for you, you know. I've seen better ring skills from a washing machine.

*Zeno takes a puff on the cigar, symbolism be damned.*

Sir Zeno: Enjoy that title while you have it. Soon enough, you will discover that flukes only happen once.

*Cut to black.*

[BOB LEGEND CHAMPION douja]

douja: sneak... attack? what da FUCK are you talkin' about? if i am not mistakin', you stuck your nose in some shit it just didn't belong in, so i smashed you in da face with MY bob legend title.. i have hated a lot of people in my time in dis bidness, but you are fastly risin' up da ranks..

[@xL]

Axl: I tried to aid you douja. I tried to show you that I'm man enough to put aside our differences to put the hurt on SMP. Obviously, you're not big enough to put personal probelms behind you. So be it. Truth is... SMP is worth my anger. SMP is worth the time it takes to show him who's the better man.

You? Are not.

The only man in this company that's a glorified curtain-jerker... the only man I see as a joke, is you douja. Why don't you go after the OWTTM, and why don't you just go ahead and give it your all. Maybe even pull one out of your ass and defeat Zeno.

Then maybe I'd actually have a reason to face your sorry ass.

[BOB LEGEND CHAMPION douja]

douja: ok.. let me try to process dis motha' fuckin' shit... you, fresh off CURTAIN JERKIN' a ppv, call me, FRESH OFF STEALIN' DA MOTHA' FUCKIN' SHOW AT LIVIN' IN SIN, a curtain jerker? yea, dat makes sense, buddy.. you need a reason to face me? bitch, you are a long, long way from bein' on my radar... plus, there is da fact dat you are a homosexual aids patient who listeins to shitty music.. for da love of god, i wish your immune system would break down sooner rather den motha' fuckin' later so you can die a slow, painful death...

[@xL]

Axl: Calling me a curtain jerker... I can handle. Calling me a homosexual aids patient? I can live with that. But when you disrespect my MUSIC? Babe, any Hair Metalist from the 80's could KILL a rapper... and he wouldn't need a GAT to do it! Sebastian Bach would wipe the floor with Tupac Shakur. Meatloaf would DEVOUR Biggie. And even the frontman for Spinal Tap could beat, bloody, and bruise that bitch 50 Cent. You line-up any Hair Metalist, and he would kick the asses of every last blinged out, grill toothed, slang spitting bee-otch that was put in front of him!!! You disrespect Hair Metal? You disrespect me.

Axl: And babe... you don't know what I'm capable of when I'm mad. And frankly... I don't think you want to know. Rock on.

[Thrilla Life Posse]

*In a dingy warehouse about seven miles outside of Vegas, the reanimated corpses of Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, Eazy E, and a small, weedy black man (Puffy's career) gather in the center of the dark building. A spotlight comes on, illuminating a fleet of Rolls. On top of them is Dr. Thrilla, but in a full-out gangsta outfit - flannel over a white T, with baggy black pants. "Thrilla Life" is written on his bear-trap teeth, and he wears a do-rag. Next to him is Cecil, whose only concession to the rapper motif is a clip-on diamond stud through one ear.*

Thrilla Life: *Angry metal clanging*

Cecil: *Lifts a megaphone* The doctor states that Axl Van Halen has mocked rap.

*The reanimated corpses groan in rage.*

Thrilla Life: *Angry metal clanging*

Cecil: He says that we ride tonight. Axl's going to die by our hands.

*The corpses groan their approval, and head towards the Rolls.*

Thrilla Life: *Rhythmic metal clanging*

Cecil: That was his battle-rap.

*A few moments later, a fleet of Rolls-Royces drive towards Vegas at high speed, the reanimated corpses waving Uzis out the windows.*