A WWE Christmas Carol

A WWE Christmas Carol

Chapter 1

The XFL was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about it. McMahon’s pet projects were as dead as a doornail. Though Dickens once proposed it was the coffin nail that was the deadest of ironworks, he, like I, decided not to shake the normal convention of the simile.

However, these ill-conceived ventures were hardly the only victims of Ebenezer McMahon’s hubris and miserly ways. Countless poor NXT call-ups lined the cold streets of Greenwich, CT as McMahon walked along home after a day of making millions off the sale of John Cena sweatbands. None dared ask him for a pittance or even a modicum of air-time in a throwaway Goldust segment. For Ebenezer was stingy when it came to pushing NXT call-ups or anyone who wasn’t a former UFC star for that matter.

That evening McMahon made himself a bountiful dinner of protein shakes then retired to his study to admire his own physique in the mirror. As he wiped away a thick protein mustache and flexed, McMahon began to hear the sounds of chains rattling down the hall. Subtle at first but steadily growing, the noise was getting louder, drawing nearer.

McMahon wondered what it could be as terror swelled inside of him. Maybe it was his son jumping off things in a vain attempt to impress him. Maybe it was the son he always wanted, HHH, there to show him some workouts for his delts. Before he could investigate the doors to the large, and not at all tacky, study blew wide open. There stood the translucent figure of a man in a football helmet and shoulder pads. The chains that draped around him clanked as he jerkily made his way forward. The name on the back of his jersey was visible (if not backward) through the entity: He Hate Me.

“I am the ghost of He Hate Me,” boomed the spirit.

“What?!” McMahon said incredulously, “Rob Smart isn’t dead. He’s a high school guidance counselor.”

“Those are the same thing. Name one counselor who isn’t dead inside. Besides my football career is deader than Caesar or the aforementioned door-nail,” the ghost retorted

“Who mentioned a doornail?”

“The narrator in the opening paragraph. Stole the whole bit directly from Dickens.”

“What a Dickens.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So what do you want?” Ebenezer asked. “An announcer position with the new XFL?”

“Oh God NO! No, I’ve come to tell you to change your ways, Ebenezer! Listen to your fans! Book stories that make sense and quit kissing the ass of every MMA fighter who signs a deal with you. If people wanted to watch UFC, they’d watch the UFC. Also, quit ruining Indy wrestlers and characters with your bland WWE versions of them.”

“Look, Casper, I’m Vin… I mean Ebenezer McMahon. Only I had the vision to destroy the territory system and turn wrestling into a global phenomenon! I know what I’m doin’ dammit!”

“You think so, huh?” mused the spirit “tonight, at the tolling of the hour, you’ll be visited by 3 ghosts who will show you the error of your ways…”

6 years ago by Cody Brooks

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