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COO HHH strides mightly down Smackdown's ramp. He's got an ill-fitting suit, a mike, and as much "pro-mo" time as he wants. He's WWE's new COO, and while in normal businesses that means overseering logistics and inventory, in WWE it means "pro-mo-ing". His first order of business: announcing a business partnership with Opera142.
You know it, bitches. Be jealous. Oh, Trips may not be all OTPCHATFICLOL or inclined to slash Cena and Punk, but he's a straight, white male. No opinion matters more, noone's words have more sway, no other friends count, especially chicks.
Christian storms the ring, he heard wind of HHH's no-interuptions policy, but fuck it. With Matt Hardy gone rotund and bitter, he's damn near the Number One Muse. Hear that, Punk. Colt. John Morrison. Number One Muse.
They pretend to talk business for a while, but it's really all just code for: won't this torque off Steph like nobody's business. For a little torqy cherry, HHH announces that his new body servant, John Morrison, will slather his abs with oil and hustle his sweet, sweet ass out here to tumble with Christian.THXHHHILU2BESTIE.
Steph sends out R Truth to delay the tumbling goodness, but all he does his call HHHBFF "Mr. H"
Eventually tumble Christian and John do. Heaving and sweating and flipping and gasping and locking limbs and slithering about. While Booker and Michael Cole argue about clothes. Chistian wins because I said so.
More happened, but HHHBFF and I missed it because we were chilling on a couch, drinking Coke Zero over ice, and watching the newest (unreleased as of now) Hardyz DVD: Remember From Before When They Weren't Gross and Mean and Alcholics. They Were Hot Then.
You know it, bitches. Be jealous. Oh, Trips may not be all OTPCHATFICLOL or inclined to slash Cena and Punk, but he's a straight, white male. No opinion matters more, noone's words have more sway, no other friends count, especially chicks.
Christian storms the ring, he heard wind of HHH's no-interuptions policy, but fuck it. With Matt Hardy gone rotund and bitter, he's damn near the Number One Muse. Hear that, Punk. Colt. John Morrison. Number One Muse.
They pretend to talk business for a while, but it's really all just code for: won't this torque off Steph like nobody's business. For a little torqy cherry, HHH announces that his new body servant, John Morrison, will slather his abs with oil and hustle his sweet, sweet ass out here to tumble with Christian.THXHHHILU2BESTIE.
Steph sends out R Truth to delay the tumbling goodness, but all he does his call HHHBFF "Mr. H"
Eventually tumble Christian and John do. Heaving and sweating and flipping and gasping and locking limbs and slithering about. While Booker and Michael Cole argue about clothes. Chistian wins because I said so.
More happened, but HHHBFF and I missed it because we were chilling on a couch, drinking Coke Zero over ice, and watching the newest (unreleased as of now) Hardyz DVD: Remember From Before When They Weren't Gross and Mean and Alcholics. They Were Hot Then.
