A long, white, antiseptic looking hallway stretches out before you. Down the middle of it, two figures are walking towards the camera. But, savvy viewer that you are, you immediately notice they bear a striking similarity to each other. Because, by the miracle of modern day promo technology, Corey Smith is playing two different characters.

...so that pretty much sums it up, dude. We haven't had a major fed wide story arc in like...forever. Corey is decked out like an 80's glam rocker, with a long flowing mane of blond hair. All in all, he's a decent facsimile of boss man, Vinnie Lane.

Well, you came to the right place! We here at Wrestling Entertainment Innovative Research and Development Ass(ociates) pride ourselves on providing the finest cutting edge scientific solutions to your promotion's needs. Corey stands side by side with Vinnie in another alter-ego, playing the role of a stereotypical white coated research scientist.

The scientist arrives at a metal door with a key pad next to it. He punches some numbers into the key pad and the door slides open. They step into a large chamber that looks kinda like this.



I know just what you need, Mr. Lane. You need something fresh, something zesty. Something that will play well with the latest generation of media savvy fans hungry for something to sink their teeth into! The scientist narrates with aplomb.

Well...TELL ME! Vinnie replies breathlessly.

You need.....THE INVASION PACKAGE!

Vinnie looks confused and cants his head a bit. What's the “Invasion Package”?

Oh, you'll love it! Here's what we do! We wake up some of these crusty old farts out of cryo-sleep, right?

Ya huh.

And then we sic them on the XWF to, I don't know, take it over or destroy it, or “save it” from some vague thing that they say sucks about your promotion....I mean, who cares, it's all just bullshit window dressing anyway.

Vinnie looks skeptical. Okay...

And then they basically just spend WEEKS ambushing some of your biggest current stars and every so often have some kind of shocking come back of some name from the past that suddenly joined their ranks because REASONS. I mean, it's not really important why, it's just to shamelessly pop the group, know what I'm sayin'?

Huh. Vinnie side eyes him.

So eventually you just have this ENORMOUS group of guys who put in a half assed appearance now and then to collect a check, but they sell it like they're this huge existential threat to the future of your promotion. The scientist claps his hands together in excitement. Doesn't that sound exciting?!

Why don't you just call it the nWo package?

The scientist blinks a few times in rapid succession. ….come again?

It's just the nWo angle, duder. Old dudes come back and start raising a ruckus to try to kill the promotion. Every week some new addition to the Human Centipede goes geriatric ass to geriatric mouth in some big reveal. More ambushes. More reveals. Wash, rinse, repeat. I thought this was supposed to be like....innovative?

Oh...oh....but it's nothing like that! Maybe you should talk to the ring leader first before you make a decision. Let me just thaw him out. The scientist goes to a console next to one of the chambers and hits a big red button.

Uhhh...I guess? How much does this package cost anyway?

A billion dollars.

Vinnie goes stone faced. He silently walks over to a soda machine in the corner that for some un-godly reason dispenses Perrier, inserts a couple bucks, grabs the can when it rolls into the chute, walks back over, chugs some and....



A BILLION DOLLARS??!!!

The chamber starts to hum as it rises upright, and we see the interior start to defrost. Oh yes....but it's worth every penny! Just ask “Chronic” Chris Page, he'll tell you! The scientist gestures towards the chamber as the hatch hisses open, dispelling freezing gas in a puff of cloudy white smoke. They both take a step back, shielding their eyes as a nearly nude figure steps out, his skin still pock marked with icy protrusions. Naturally, it's Corey Smith also playing the role of “Chronic” Chris Page! Corey's wearing a body suit of a flabby, liver spotted old man. Thankfully, a pair of briefs conceals his genitals except for the fact that his testicles appear to have slipped out the leg hole and they're dangling at knee level like a sad deflated tetherball affixed to a rope. Vinnie instantly recoils at the sight. Aw, dude! He averts his eyes like he just caught a glimpse of the sun.

Goddammit, you woke me up again! This better be for my annual bong rip and prostate milking session! CCP takes a step forward, shaking the ice off his doughy body.

Could you do something with the balls?!

CCP looks down at his dangling old man nuts. With a grunt he tucks them back up into his brief. There, ya happy?!

Immeasurably.

Now what the fuck is this all about?

The scientist plasters on a smile and leans into CCP. Well, Mr. Lane here is potentially interested in buying the “Invas-”

“nWo”.

….the “Invasion Package.”

It's TWO BILLION DOLLARS! CCP barks in Lane's face.

Lane's jaw drops. I thought it was one billion?! And dude, I don't even think you're worth that!

CCP scoffs, his dumpy Jell-O poured into a tube sock looking frame wriggling and one hairy nut again threatening to make an appearance. I'm worth every penny. To everybody I stiffed when I closed WGWF that is. Man, you wouldn't believe how many guys in the biz are connected to organized crime, and you do NOT want to pull them around by their dicks!

Vinnie Lane shakes his head, still looking far from sold on the idea. Man, I don't know. That's a crap ton of money and....

Hey you , down here! A tiny voice calls out. Vinnie looks around him, confused as he tries to find the source of the voice.

Oh, oh! I forgot! The scientist interjects. “Chronic” Chris Page is a two-for-one special for a limited time only!

What are you talkin' about?

Oh yeah, Tristan. Hold on a sec. CCP turns around and bends over, pulling his briefs down around his ankles.

Vinnie again looks horrified. DUDE! COULD YOU NOT?!

CCP reaches all the way down and grabs his ankles, upturning his ass to reveal a small lump at the base of his butt hole that looks like a hemorrhoid. The lump is angry and inflamed, and by all that is unholy IT HAS A FACE! (Yes, it is also Corey's face. Damn is that kid multi-talented. Eddie Murphy move the fuck over!)

Yeah, that's right it's me....TRISTAN SLATER! The rectal lump jeers in a mousy, tiny sounding voice. Every time he pronounces a syllable a bit of pus weeps out of his mouth.

Lane looks down at the lump, simultaneously disgusted and enraptured. I....I.....what the fuck am I looking at here?

The scientist bends over closer to CCP's ass, pointing at the lump. A perk of buying the “Invasion Package”!

"nWo"

Ah-hem. As I was saying, we have managed to surgically implant Tristan Slater into “Chronic” Chris Page. The surgery was quite simple really with no threat of tissue rejection seeing as how they're basically the same person. At any rate, now that he's been defrosted Tristan will start to bud and separate from his host until in about a week's time he's a real whole boy in his own body, but with the same painfully generic, aggrandizing narcissistic identity as his host, “Chronic” Chris Page.

My theme music is “Cult of Personality” because I have a personality! The ass sore whines.

Yes, yes you do Tristan. CCP coos in a soothing voice.

And I have a “THE” in my name, also evidence of the fact that I am not a steaming shit pile of a heel cliché.

Of course, Tristan! CCP speaks placatingly, like a mother telling their child that their penis isn't THAT small compared to the other boys.

Vinnie's face is a masterpiece of multiple conflicting emotions, all vying for supremacy. Like, on one hand I'm kinda impressed. But on the other I kinda think I'm gonna spew.

It's a two-for-one deal of a lifetime! The scientist splays his arms out wide in excitement.

Actually puke wins. Vinnie loses the Perrier and last night's chicken cordon bleu all over the place. The effluvium is in mid-splatter when all of a sudden the whole scene just stops. And, from stage left, Corey Smith walks in wearing a sharp suit.

Pardon the interruption. This airing of the Twatlight Zone will resume following this very important message from....me. Corey points at CCP's exposed ass. I would first like to point out, that this is not my actual buttocks, but a CGI reproduction of what Chronic Chris Page's ass would likely look like. My ass is WAY cuter. Corey shoots the camera a thumbs up.

But speaking of stinking, festering holes that discharge shit let's talk about Tristan Slater. Hey buddy. This is Corey speaking, not Lux. Just wanted to clarify that off that bat because you seem like the kind of guy who needs a few tries to successfully tie your shoes. Why do I say that?

The scene behind him suddenly dissolves and reforms into a backdrop depicting the exact moment Robert Main beat “Chronic” Chris Page at War Games.

Now, imagine being this stupid. You're Tristan Slater. I'm sorry, but bear with me for a sec. You're Tristan Slater and you just watched Chris Page, after weeks of shit talk and assaults, assemble what is supposed to be this elite pro-wresting strike force aimed at dismantling Apex. And yet, despite all that...Chris Page LOSES on a massive stage. Now a reasonable, sane, person with a normally functioning brain might think “maybe siding with this guy isn't such a good idea”. But not Tristan Slater. Homeboy sells out to CCP AFTER seeing the guy and his entire team job the fuck out to APEX. Tristan Slater is the kind of guy who goes to the race track, watches a horse break all his legs in a horrific accident, races to the fucking window and goes PUT ALL MY MONEY ON “LOWERED EXPECTATIONS” even as the poor horsey is being loaded up into the glue truck.

I mean....FUCK! That's how stupid you are! Can you imagine being that stupid? Can you imagine taking pride in signing on to a group who's sole boast is “we jump people real good”. But winning big money matches? Ehhhhhhh..... Corey waggles his hand. Look man, anybody without brain worms sees this supposed God-tier faction of yours for what it really is. A collection of past their prime egomaniacs cashing in for one last pay-per-view check before they fuck off back to Florida in time for the 4 PM buffet spread at Ponderosa. That's why they lost at War Games. You think their heart was in that? Are RAGE and MDK even here anymore? Didn't Fuzz pitch a bitch fit on Twitter and quit the fed? Oh but now we got all these NEW OLD guys coming in and proving just what made them so great in the first place....by attacking people at random when the numbers game is in their favor. I mean, hell...look at Page! Lux gift wrapped him the opportunity to prove what he's been saying all along: that the current crop of XWF stars are weak. All he had to do was show up at Savage and win.

Buuuuut, he didn't. Nah, what did he do? Another ambush. Now I'm sure you're enough of a gibbering idiot to buy what he sells you about not wanting to bother with Lux because she's not worth his time. But the cold hard reality of that situation was that CCP didn't want to eat a fucking loss right before Leap of Faith. Why else would he pass up the chance to prove himself right? Answer? Because he had doubts about his ability to get the job done. Duh.

But hey man, that's your horse! Busted legs and all. CCP is nothing but a deluded man child acting out his insecurities on a world stage. Because now that his own home, WGWF, has finally circled the bowl for the last time he's decided he needs to come here and break everybody else's toys too. I mean, it drives him INSANE to see that no matter what he's tried to build outside of the XWF, a house he built out of bricks of self-righteous anger and bitterness, his house folded while the XWF has chugged right along without him.

This company never needed Chronic Chris Page. And it never needed you either. Because no matter who is in charge, or who has the big belt, this place is bigger than ALL of us. And that's what obtuse pricks like you just can't seem to grasp.

Corey shrugs and takes one last look back at CCP getting owned by Apex before returning his attention front and center.

Now I've done a lot of talking about Page. Kind of unavoidable given that he's the loud, liver-spotted elephant in the room. But this? It's really about Lux and YOU. So I got a question for ya.

What kind of man are you REALLY?

Note I didn't ask what you've done. I know what you've done. Three time former Heavyweight champion and all that jazz. Bravo. But I'm asking what type of person you are.

Are you the pustule on CCP's ass, some carbon copy Stock Photo narcissistic heel glomming on to a guy who's crown jewel of a promotion seemed to close up shop every time it came back from a commercial break? Is that truly all you are? I mean yeah, Lux and I weren't around back then, but that doesn't mean we don't know the score. I mean, for fuck's sake you were once a protege of James Raven! Granted never as GOOD as him, but still! Surely you must have caught some semblance of a personality just by being in the same room as him so many times.

But what are you now? Some also-ran signing on to a second rate New World Order knockoff? Also, consider this. Page was crystal goddamn clear about his thoughts about the TV title: that it was beneath him, an insignificant mote in his cloudy eye. But apparently it was just right for you, Tristan! Now what do you think that says about you? What do you think that means about CCP's level of respect for you? Oh sure, maybe you WANTED this TV title to adorn that last bare spot on your mantle. But the fact is that you're competing for what he thinks is a garbage tier title. Well guess what? That means you're playing second fiddle to a farty old man who reeks of dank as he draws an entire wrestling promotion into his mid-life crisis.

So where the hell did your self-respect go, Tristan? Why the hell did you come back here just to play Mini-Me to this insufferable old codger? What are you gonna emulate next? His grapefruit sized prostate? His affinity for being that lone, creepy guy at the gentleman's club offering free “mystery” blunts to 19 year old strippers named Candy?

Oh wait....I know what you're gonna emulate next. Oh yeah....

You're gonna choke in a big money match.

Ayyyyuuup! We have come full circle! Because just like at War Games, Chris Page and everyone who has blindly chosen to fall in line with him are going to prolifically shit the bed, and this whole revolution of yours is going to end on a whimper. And YOU, Tristan Slater, are going to discover that the only reason you were able to count to Three Heavyweight title reigns was because Lux wasn't there to stop you.

She's better than you, man. In every conceivable way. And she's here to save the world. But in a couple weeks time, she's gonna settle for saving the XWF from your tedium. And she's gonna stoop to vacuuming up TABLE SCRAPS to do it. Corey makes finger guns at the camera and plasters on a preening smirk. Ayyyyy, there it is again.

Corey snaps his fingers and the previous image of Tristan Slater as an angry ass sore returns. Corey looks back at it and makes a squiggy grossed out face. He starts to reach out towards it, thumb and forefinger drawing together. Kinda wanna pop it, to be honest....

His hand draws closer and closer and.....

...yeah, that'll do, actually.

END!