| 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: 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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