WWH: World Wrestling Hornswoggle, Book 1: The Genesis

Prologue​

Monday evening, May 28th 2013.

The sound of low voices murmuring, fingers tapping on keyboards and papers being rustled filled the conference room at WWE HQ in Stamford, Connecticut. A podium had been set up in front of the rows of foldable chairs, which had been occupied by reporters from across the world. The New York Times, BBC, Fox News and more, every big media outlet had sent their best and brightest to cover what they had been informed would be an earth-shattering announcement from the head of the WWE, Vincent Kennedy Mcmahon.

"Excuse me!"

From behind the curtain, the screeching voice of Vickie Guerrero. Out she waddled, crammed into a dress four sizes too tight for her plump frame, brushing the sloping fringe away from her mascara-coated eyes. Again, she repeated herself, "Excuse me," tapping the top of the microphone to confirm the PA system was working. The room fell to a hush silence, as the lights dimmed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the global media, thank you all for being here today on this historic day," she said, piercing the ears of everyone in the room with her shrill tone. "I am pleased to announce we have very exciting news to tell to you, the WWE universe, in regards to the future of the WWH-I mean-the WWE." She blushed, fanning her face, before offering a polite, coy "Excuse me."

Laptops and tablet devices in hand, the members of the media sat forward in their foldable chairs, anxiously awaiting the news.

"So without further adieu, I present to you the owner of the WWE, Vinc- ..no, wait."

Vickie looked down at her sheet, giggled to herself and looked back up to the gathered media.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present the new owner of the WWE..." She paused for dramatic effect, baring her crooked teeth with the most hideous of smiles. "...Hornswoggle!"


The chirpy fanfare of Hornswoggle's flute-laden theme tune played across the PA to the puzzled faces of everyone in the room. They had been expecting the arrival of Vince Mcmahon, perhaps to announce his retirement from the business or to hand over the reigns to his daughter, Stephanie. They had no expected this. Whatever this was. Was it all just a prank? Another way for the old bastard to get his faltering company some cheap publicity?

And then out he walked, accompanied by a Bella Twin at either side. But this was not the Hornswoggle they had seen on television. Gone was the green hat and suit, replaced by a slick Armani number with the flashiest of leather brogues. His once scruffy hair had been neatly slicked back into a Wall Street look, his unkempt beard trimmed to a fashionable stubble. His strut was confident, composed and gone were the brattish mannerisms that they had been used to from his time on TV.

"Tell someone to cut that music," Hornswoggle shouted to a production assistant at the side of the room.

A Bella Twin pulled a set of steps up to the podium for him, which he shuffled up, taking to the microphone.

"What? Aren't you going to take a picture?

"You can speak?" A member of the audience said.

Hornswoggle rolled his eyes and bit under his bottom lip with his front teeth amidst a sea of camera flashes.

"You actually believe that crap?" The pint-sized star said. "You actually believe I am a leprechaun? You actually believe I can't talk, and I like to walk around in a green suit with a seven foot freak who can't speak a word of English? I mean, that guy actually can't speak. But, do you actually believe I can't speak?"

"Well I-"

"Well I suggest you get the fuck out of this room and don't come back. What agency is it that you work for, kid?"

"A-ABC News," the reporter stuttered.

"Then you go and run along to whatever schmuck owns ABC News and you tell them that this company won't be taking anymore questions from their organisation again." He slammed his tiny fist down on the podium. "Ever, again."

The rest of the room looked on with confusion as the little bald reporter trudged out of the room, only the clicks of the cameramen snapping photos breaking the awkward silence.

"Now, the reason I called you all here today - yes it was me who did, not that old bastard McMahon - is because I am the one who has the groundbreaking news to dispense." He dusted off the lapel of his dark grey suit jacket, smirking to himself as his eyes danced around the room. "Yep. The old man is gone. Finished. His reign of terror over the business is over. And guess who went and knocked him off his perch? No, not Dixie Carter, not Eric Bischoff, not even Hulk Hogan." He slammed his fist on the podium again. "Me! I did it. Ha-ha!"

"Is this some kind of joke?" a voice asked, cutting through a cacophony of reporter questions. "Is this really happening?" asked another.

"Damn right this is happening, bitches. Hey Bella, bring me my cocktail."

"Of course, sir," Nikki Bella said at the edge of the room, picking a Martini up off a table and bringing it to Hornswoggle.

"Thanks babe," he said, gulping it down in one. "Anyway, I suppose you are all wondering how and why? Well, the how is this. I, unlike the rest of the fools back in that locker room, know how to make money. You think a guy like me has any other choice in the world? I mean, just look at me."

He stepped down from the podium and walked across the conference stage with the WWE microphone in his hand, holding his suit jacket open with one hand as to show himself.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking midget. So what? Sue me. In fact, don't even try! You don't know the power I have now. You don't know how much money I have backing me. You think a guy just buys out an entire global entertainment corporation of this magnitude in one day without having a cash reserve that an Arab prince would be envious of? I mean, that's the how. That's how I did it. But am I going to tell you how I made that money? Where that money is coming from? Hell no." He pulled a cigar from his inside pocket and lit it up in a puff of smoke. "A fool speaks only for the sake of talking."

"What was your motivation for buying the company?" Another reporter asked.

"Motivation? Really? Have you seen this fucking show lately? I mean, does anyone even watch this shit anymore? I know after I've done my spot on Raw I take the first limo I can get out to the hotel, call up a cheap hooker and try and forget I'm involved in this crap." He gesticulated with his hand as he spoke, leaving a trail of cigar smoke in the air. "So you can see why I was motivated on that level. And you want to know what else? Whatever it took to drive that old motherfucker out of the business, man. Whatever it took."

A wall of noise came from the floor again, before Hornswoggle pointed at a female reporter and clicked with the side of his mouth.

"Amanda Wong, CBS News. Mr. Swoggle, will you be taking a hands-on role as owner of the company like Vince Mcmahon did during his time as owner, or will you be laying back and allowing Stephanie Mcmahon and her husband Triple H create their own vision for the product?"

"Stephanie and Paul?" Hornswoggle burst out laughing, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "You actually think I would let those two schmucks stay around? Ha-ha! No way, babe. This company is having a total overhaul, starting tonight! Make sure you tune in to see it, all of you. The world needs to be watching this show."

Hornswoggle pinched the corner of his eyes, laughing to himself.

"Stephanie and Paul? Come on! Ha-ha! Nope, they're gone, honey. And so have many more people. My gorgeus, beautiful assistants, The Bellas over there, will be handing out the fact sheets in just a moment with all the info on who has been fired."

As the conference room muttered to itself, Hornswoggle called over Nikki Bella, who brought him over an ashtray and a pair of aviator sunglasses which he slid on. He then put his cigar out in the ashtray, which she took away for him.

"So I will see you all at the show tonight, I trust. Oh, and a couple more things. The WWE is no longer. The E is gone. The fucking bullshit entertainment has gone. Finito. This place is now known as World Wrestling Hornswoggle. He smiled with his perfect straight white teeth. "And tonight, we reset the clock on Raw. That's right! We're going all the way back to the start. Episode one, baby. Every title has been stripped, every word written in the history book has been erased and if the boys don't like it? They can go and join TNA." He burst out laughing again. "Ha-ha! Like any of them would leave for that dump. Undertaker gonna whine about his 21-0 being gone? Go and beg Dixie Carter for a contract, asshole."

The Bellas then began to hand out the fact sheets that Hornswoggle had promised to the members of the media, their eyes hastily scanning up and down to see who had been cut.

"Wait, it says here that.. it says that John Cena has been fired?" one reporter shouted, tapping the fact sheet with the back of his fingers. "Surely this is incorrect?"

"John Cena? Damn right he's been fired," Hornswoggle said with a grunt. He looked down over his shades at everyone. "Now hit my damn music. And the right one this time, fucktards."


The new owner of WWH swung his suit jacket off and walked out the side of the room, carrying the jacket over his back with one finger. All the reporters from the media stood up, trying to run towards him with more questioning, only to be stopped by security, warning them to wait for Raw that night.