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June 26, 2019

The following is probably the stupidest thing I've ever written:

JR = Jim Ross and PH = Paul Heyman. This happens during Raw.

PH: Jim and I decided to fill the time with our thespian efforts.

JR: That's right, Paul. You see, both of us aren't just the big fat wrestling commentators you see every day, we're sensitive artists.

PH: So we're going to do a piece from a Latin soap opera called, "Burning Fires of Red Hot Hotty Passion"

JR: From the literal translation, of course.

PH: Of course. Now, JR will be playing Miguel, hard working labourer who's just discovered his wife's been cheating on him with his brother. I'm going to play his wife, Judy, a woman who was born in the Bronx but was raised to possess a heart that burns with the flaming hot passion of a thousand stars.

JR: And now let's begin. *ahem*

PH: *ahem*



PH: Judy, how could you do this to me? You are my passion! My one true desire!

JR: I'm sorry Miguel, but there are some needs I needed fulfilled!

PH: Is it my deviated septum? The fires of a million Hells upon my nasal passage!

JR: No, Miguel, it's not that...

PH: Is it my passion? Is my passion to hot and firey for you? Do you need the less hot and burnfull passion of my brother?

JR: Oh, Miguel, that's not what I meant at all! Your passions are equally hot and magma-filled! It's your hair. I.. I just can't take it anymore!

PH: You said you loved it!

JR: I was in the throes of hot spicy passion! Passion to burn many billion planets to ash and make the sun cast a shadow! Miguel... it makes your head look like a crooked horse shoe.

PH: I understand.

*Micheal Cole walks in.*

MC: Uh, guys, the boss wants to talk to you. Now.

PH: Enrique! I thought you were dead!

JR: Enrique! Take me now!

MC: What? AH! AH! Stop it Jim! Stop it!

*Cut to commericals*

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