The following program is a parody. Any resemblance of characters contained below is purely intentional humor.
As the camera pans over the crowd — which is yuuuge and going wild, it eventually settles on the ring. Standard wrestling ring but with red, white, and blue ropes and turnbuckle pads. One Donald J. Trump stands in center ring, holding a microphone, waiting and smiling as the crowd cheers. When they finally relent to the fact it’s show-time, he begins to speak.
“You know, I’ve accomplished many things. Starting tonight, at the first Yuge Donnybrook, we’re going to make wrestling great again. And as you all know,” he pauses, puts on a big smile, “I’ve got some experience with this business.” The crowd breaks into a chant of “DJT! DJT!”
He holds a hand out for them to pause. “Tonight, we’re bringing together the greatest wrestlers and the greatest villains to kick off the first round of a heavyweight title tournament. We’ll also begin our women’s wrestling title tournament later in the evening. Both tournaments will be double-elimination — everyone deserves a second chance! It promises to be the greatest opening night in wrestling history!”
He allows the fans to cheer, fired up.
“And let’s not waste precious time, let’s get right to it. Our first match will be between Sneerin’ John Scalzi and Minnesota Vox Day!”
The theme music of Vox Day starts — something of a classic rock ballad, with a heavy lead guitar setting the pace. Vox steps out onto the entry way accompanied by Spacebunny Day, both wearing horned viking helmets. As he’s not low energy Vox makes his way quickly to the ring. The referee checks his boots, belt, and wrist guards for any foreign objects as the music dies down.
Dude Looks Like a Lady kicks on. But… nothing happens. There is no Sneerin’ Scalzi to be seen. Donald waves off the music and puts a hand to his ear, listening. He makes a face, and then retrieves the microphone he’d just handed over to the regular ring announcer.
“Folks, I’m sorry we have to start out this way, but I’m afraid Mister Scalzi was unable to make it to the arena. It appears his ring attire — a blue dress — was lost at the dry cleaners and he strained a muscle attempting to open his wardrobe door, and winded himself walking across his big lawn. I have no choice but to declare Mr. Day the winner — and congratulate him on advancing to the second round!”
The crowd cheers — as there isn’t a sockpuppet or crybully in the audience. Vox shrugs and walks back to the dressing room.
“While we wait on the next set of contenders to prepare, let me take a moment to introduce our announce team. On play by play we have Adam Lawson,” — that’s me — ” and our color commentator is Mean Matt Forney, the all-time, hall of fame champion at wrestling Oregon hipsters!”
Both men stand and the fans chant “Asshole” at the play-by-play man, and “For-ney!” at the beloved color commentator.
“All right,” Trump says, “Hopefully everyone is ready for this next one — Mister Money, the Captain himself, Flyin’ Aaron Clarey!”
Instead of music, the arena bursts out in the sound of a Harley revving up. Then Clarey appears, in his leather riding gear and on the motorcycle. He is also wearing a Glorious Hat in lieu of a helmet. He comes down unaccompanied by any music and rides a few circles around the ring before stepping in and taking the microphone offered from the CEO of the Trump Wrestling Federation.
“Now listen up,” Clarey says. “I know a lot of you claim to be fans of ol’ Cappy, but if you’re majoring in something stupid — like African women’s poetry — go ahead and tear up that Cappy shirt! And buy another one, because you’re probably that stupid and my taxes paid for it anyway!”
Clarey’s speech is interrupted by an instrumental version of Fat Bottomed Girls — or so it sounds at first, before it becomes clear that it’s merely a couple of guys attempting to hum out the beat of the song. The Hillary Bros stand on the entry stage — Pajama Jamye, a skinny, pale fellow with red skinny jeans and a pink tutu on, and his brother from a different mother, Milquetoast Milhouse, who is a lot rounder but wearing the same outfit. There is an eco-friendly scooter on the stage between them.
They stand for a moment basking in the boos before both men hop on the poor scooter — and its battery fails halfway to the ring. By this point Trump has joined the announce table — a fine wrestling tradition — and Clarey is alone in the ring with the referee.
Jamye and Milhouse play their own made-up game of gender-neutral, age-appropriate, sex-positive, body-positive rock-paper-scissors to determine which one faces Clarey. Before they finish the complicated game the impatient Captain leaps over the top rope onto them, knocking them both to the floor. The referee calls for the opening bell.
Clarey rolls both men into the ring and performs his signature move on them both — a swift shin kick followed by a variation of the Stunner he calls the Sensible Major. Clarey pins both of them and the referee counts three. All through the sad, quick match he has not taken off the Glorious Hat.
“That was an awful quick match to start the night,” the play-by-play commentator and known asshole says.
“I’ve heard Clarey usually finishes quick,” Forney says, giving the celebrating Aaron a thumbs up.
This is the segment where the show would normally go to commercial, but Trump is self-financing and decided to forgo commercial interruption on his first night. He watches as the Hillary Bros are wheeled out on stretchers and Clarey drives over the scooter with his bike.
“So which one did he beat?” asks the play-by-play man.
“We’ll go with alphabetical order, and say Milhouse,” Trump says. “Hopefully Pajama Jamye can sleep that off before his match next week.”
Stand By Me by Ben E King starts up. The lights dim, a spotlight shines on the entry way. Mr. Privilege himself walks out from behind the curtain — that’s right, White Willy Wheat! The fans immediately begin to chant “Shut up Wes! Shut up Wes!”
“Oh not this guy,” Forney says. “He can’t possibly win a match.”
“He did seem quite intelligent on Star Trek,” Donald says. “Maybe we can make him great again.”
When Willy Wheat gets into the ring he tries multiple times to brush the referee off as the referee performs the requisite foreign object check. It is not a good look for Mister Privilege as this referee is a young black man.
A ridiculously loud bell rings, and a heavy rock anthem starts up. Our next competitor comes out onto the stage, accompanied by his manager, the Fabulous Milo. Donald switches on his house microphone to announce this competitor.
“And now, heading to the ring, from Parts Unknown,The Juicebro, the Vanilla Gorilla, The Cernovich!”
Cernovich walks to the ring stoically, with Milo in tow. The Cernovich sits on the second rope and raises the top to allow Milo to enter the ring first. Milo blows smoke rings at Wheat until the referee asks him to put the cigarette out. The referee checks The Cernovich for foreign objects, and then Milo insists on getting a pat down himself.
The bell rings after Milo exits the ring and lights another cigarette. Milo sits across the announce table with his back to the ring and talks to the announcers and Trump.
The match in the ring goes as expected. Willy Wheat is unprepared for an actual challenge and The Cernovich has had his mindset right for weeks heading in to this tournament. It’s a clinic on preparedness and talent. Until.
A man wearing white pants and a loose, Cuban-style white shirt jumps over the security railing. He’s got a red mask on that covers his face. As the Cernovich puts a sleeper hold on Willy Wheat, and the referee checks him. During this, the man — unseen by announce crew or referee — jumps into the ring and clocks The Cernovich on the back of the head with a pair of brass knuckles. Before the big man falls the masked man is able to slip out of the ring.
The referee is confused, but he didn’t see it — and our masked bandit begs off as though he was innocent. At this point, Forney notices him.
“Hey, that’s ‘Nacho’ Kluwe, the White Knight!” Forney says.
Milo jumps off the announce table and confronts Kluwe, cigarette in hand. Kluwe backs away slowly, throwing out legal threats as he does so. But in the ring, a very confused Willy Wheat pins an unconscious Cernovich for the three count.
“That’s really low, Donald,” play-by-play says.
“It is,” Donald says. “I think the Cernovich is going to punish whichever person he draws in the losing bracket — and Kluwe better hope it isn’t him! It’ll be terrible!”
“It’s just pathetic that a great competitor starts with a loss because of a screw-job like that,” play-by-play says.
“Well before the next set of matches I think we’ll put a wall around the ring to keep these bad guys out,” Donald says.
The show cuts to a promo for the upcoming pay-per-view, where the championship bracket will close out — and the World Heavyweight Title will be decided. Some scenes from the matches earlier are shown. The United States title is also advertised as being a match, though four weeks out the contenders aren’t. When the show resumes Trump has went back to the ring.
“All right, we’ve seen some shenanigans, and we’ve had some no-shows — just what you expect from a wild wrestling night! Now, unfortunately, we have had to delay the women’s tournament. None of the women from Team SJW were able to pass a physical.” He shrugs. “Sorry folks, that’s the way it is. Now, I’m pleased to introduce the next men in our tournament and the last match for tonight. The main event. The match you’ve been waiting for. Introducing our first challenger, hailing from the Land of Delusion and Pettiness…”
Some random polka music starts.
“The li’l cuck that could,” Donald says, “BENJI!”
Benji carthweels out to the ring.
“And his opponent,” — the awful music stops and is replaced with hardcore rap — “The Fabulous Milo!”
Milo comes out unaccompanied by any manager. The two men stare each other down in the ring, though Milo is doing most of the staring down. The two men begin to circle one another.
“This could take all night,” Forney says. “Milo won’t want to break a nail, and Benji can’t compete with his reach!”
True to form, Benji begins swinging, wild punches, both arms. Milo puts the palm of his hand on Benji’s forehead and lets the poor devil punch himself out, never making contact. Then he tosses the little guy into the ring ropes and hits him with a big boot as he bounces off.
Milo puts a pair of sunglasses on and jumps up on the top rope.
A few Black Lives Matter protesters jump the security railing and cause him to fall, but he manages to turn it into a forward flip and land back first on the prone Benji. The protesters attempt to enter the ring, and Milo backs off as he is outnumbered.
At ringside, Forney stands up to get involved and a bulbous woman with dyed blue hair and facial piercings gets in his path. But he’s trained for this and Forney pulls a crushed donut from his pocket and tosses it into the stands. Several fans are trampled as the SJW Bessie chases it. All three men at the announce table enter the ring behind the BLM protesters. Trump raises his microphone.
“You are trespassing,” Trump says.
The thugs chant “BERNIE! BERNIE!” Which makes little to no sense given the circumstances.
“We’re sick of being silenced,” the ring-leader says — a young woman in inappropriate clothing outside of a strip club, or in a strip club for her weight class.
“This is a private event,” Trump says. “And we’re not the DePaul security force.”
Milo sneaks up behind the two male protesters and uppercuts them in the crotches, simultaneously. Forney and Lawson both execute perfect DDTs on the men, slamming their heads against the canvas. Trump helps roll them out of the ring and security collects them. The announce team gets back to their headsets now that the main danger is over.
The woman stares Trump down, but by this time security has arrived and they carry her out. Meanwhile, in the background, Milo has Benji in a sleeper. The referee calls the match — Milo wins.
“Quite a way to go out,” Forney says, “Smothered by Milo’s cologne.”
“At least nobody set tires on fire this time,” Lawson says.
After everyone else is cleared out, Trump takes the microphone again.
“Well, we had some drama. Terrible people interrupting our event. But I think we all love this business, and I love you fans, and this was an event about sports we love. Entertaining, great drama. Join us next week as we continue to Make Wrestling Great Again!”
Note: The above is a parody. If it offends you for any reason, you need a life.
IF you aren’t offended by the above, you’ll love The Boots Are Red