Author's Note: I can't begin to explain how completely screwed up I feel that I basically abandoned my duties as an author by not updating Mr. McMahon Gets Bored Again and Why Us? I'm really, really sorry. From the heart. So anyway, over the summer, I decided to cut away from humor for a little while since I won't be finishing MMGBA, but I guess if you still want to find out what happens in Why Us, I'll keep updating it. My new story is a kind of parody of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs because I love that movie. It was hard to write, but I tried. I'll tell you right now, this story isn't as violent as it is profane, so be warned. Judging by the condition of my notebooks, the chapters will be extremely long, so uh… enjoy.

I do not own either the WWE or the works of Quentin Tarantino… sigh.

Summary: Wrestling tycoon Vince McMahon and his son Nice Guy Shane have gathered six World Wrestling Entertainment wrestlers and given them aliases to pull off the perfect crime- rob Total Non-Stop Action's title warehouse for its titles- two minutes, in and out. But something goes wrong and the six are ambushed, now they must figure out- who's the TNA snitch?

Chapter 1: "Let me tell you what Reservoir Dogs meant."

"So… let me tell you what Reservoir Dogs meant alright? It was about these two bastards, who were gay for each other, but one's a criminal and one's an undercover cop who fucks up the entire gig so the other one ends up killing him, causing the cops to kill him in rebuttal." Mr. Nunzio told his seven compadres as they sat in a diner, eating breakfast.

Mr. Flair shook his head and waved his hand. "No, no, it was a raw look into society and an interesting, somewhat surreal organized crime unit."

Vince McMahon was ignoring his hired hands' conversation as he perused through an old address book. "The Ultimate Warrior? Haven't spoken to him since that time we almost OD'd."

Mr. H took a drag of his cigarette and turned to Vince with his eyes half-closed, smoke blowing out of his nose. "What the fuck is that?"

"It's an address book I found in my old suit the other day."

Mr. Nunzio groaned and from Vince back to Mr. Flair. "Ah! You guys are making me lose my train of thought! What the fuck was I sayin'?"

"Uh… you were saying that Reservoir Dogs was about two star-crossed gay lovers." Mr. Orton reminded him, blowing a smoke ring.

"Mean… Gene… Okerland…"

"That's all it meant. Tarantino tried to confuse us by making up a fucking title that made no fucking sense, but that's what the movie meant." Mr. Nunzio continued, confidently.

"Mr. Great? Mr. Wonderful? Ah, Mr. Perfect!"

Before anything else was said, Mr. H jerked the little black book from the boss's hands.

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Vince demanded angrily.

"Whole time we've been here, all I've heard from you is a bunch of fucking old-timers. I got the Reservoir Dogs doggin' each other coming out of my right ear and the fucking Pre-Ages out of my left!"

Mr. Batista chuckled. "Hey Vince, you want me to Batista Bomb this guy?"

Everyone but Vince found this to be hilarious. Mr. H laughed and replied, "You touch me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize!"

Vince glared at Mr. H. "Give me back my book!"

Exasperated, Mr. H asked, "Are you gonna put it away?"

"I'll do whatever the fuck I wanna do with it!"

Nice Guy Shane O' Mac laughed and cut in, "Yo Daddy, we better get a move on."

Vince and Mr. H stared each other down a little while longer, and then The Boss stood and said, "Alright. I'll take the bill, you guys get the tip. Uh… should be about a buck apiece. And you"- he pointed to Mr. H-"when I come back, I want my book!"

Mr. H shrugged. "Sorry, it's my property now."

Vince turned to Mr. Batista. "I change my mind. Bomb this sledgehammer tooting piece of shit, will ya?"

He left and the guys laughed. Mr. Batista made a "bang bang" motion towards Mr. H with a smile. Mr. H returned the gesture.

Nice Guy Shane turned to the boys and said, "Alright, pay up for the sweet young thing, the sooner we get back, the sooner I can get back to JR- KingTazzCole's Super Sounds of the Superstars."

The men muttered their agreement as they reached into their pockets and forked over, but Nice Guy Shane noticed that Mr. Edge wasn't putting in. "Hey man, throw in a buck."

Mr. Edge shook his head. "Uh uh, I don't tip."

Shane O' Mac stared at him in disbelief. "You don't tip? Whaddaya mean, you don't tip?"

"I mean, if the chick is really hot and makes an effort of being sexy, I'll be appreciative. But this girl was average, moderately pretty at best and her skirt was practically to her knees."

"Oh come on man, this girl was nice." Mr. Flair pointed out.

"Well, maybe she was nice, but she wasn't anything special."

Mr. Flair rolled his eyes. "What's special? Taking you in the back for a little 'Whoo!' rendezvous?"

The guys cracked up, but Nice Guy Shane had to think. "I'd go over 20 for that."

Mr. Edge sighed impatiently. He wasn't quite sure why he had to explain anything to this old coolie. "No, I mean, I ordered my coffee creamy and the two times she refilled it, it was black as hell."

"Well maybe she's just really fuckin' busy." Mr. Batista countered, leaning back in his chair.

"The words 'really fuckin' busy' shouldn't even be in a waitress's vocabulary."

Mr. H squinted and raised his spoon to Mr. Edge as Mr. Orton sat beside him, amused. "You don't know what you're talking about. These girls bust their asses just to make ends meet and they depend on your tips for that."

Mr. Edge shrugged. "C'mon man, as far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their jobs."

"See, now you're just talking outta your ass. Waiting is the number one occupancy for non-college female graduates. It's the number one job- besides WWE creative team member- that any chick can get to make a living off of."

Mr. Edge sighed and rolled his eyes. "I hear that and I don't disagree with you. Of course I don't think that it's fair that government taxes tips and I don't think it's fair that wrestlers don't get off seasons. It seems that waitresses and wrestlers are among many groups that the government fucks in the ass on a daily basis. You show me a contract that says it's wrong, I'll sign it. Make it a bill, I'll vote for it. Challenge me to a match on the principle of it, I'll fight you, but what I will not do is play ball, man fuck that."

Mr. Orton turned to Mr. H. "That's pretty convincing man, I want my dollar back."

He reached for it, but Nice Guy Shane grabbed them. "Leave the dollars there."

Mr. Orton scoffed as Vince returned.

"Alright scrammers, let's scram. Wait-" He picked the money up and counted it. "Who didn't throw in?"

"Mr. Edge." Mr. Orton replied.

"Why not?" Vince demanded.

"He doesn't tip." Mr. Orton replied.

"You don't tip? Why the hell not?" Vince demanded.

"He doesn't believe in it." Mr. Orton replied.

"Shut up!" Vince turned to Mr. Edge. "Come on, you cheap bastard, cough up. I paid for your breakfast."

Mr. Edge put his hands up defensively. "Alright. Since you took care of breakfast, I'll throw in, but normally, I would never do this."

He gave Vince his dollar as Vince muttered, "I don't give a fuck what you 'normally' do, cheap bastard… let's go."

Mr. H handed his boss his black book and he snatched it. "Thank you!"

As Vince turned and left, his six hired hands, along with his son stood and followed. Either no one noticed that Nice Guy Shane had left his brick-like cell phone on the table because they were focused on their two minute Total Non-Stop Action (TNA) heist or they just didn't care and thought that it would be funny to see how Shane would react when he remembered. It doesn't matter.

As Vince McMahon, Nice Guy Shane McMahon, Mr. H, Mr. Batista, Mr. Edge, Mr. Flair, Mr. Nunzio, and Mr. Orton walked out into the parking lot, Vince in a gray suit, Shane in a blue track jacket, and our six reservoir wrestlers in black suits, ties, and shoes with clean white pressed shirts, they could only think of one that one theme song that they loathed so much and happened to be playing on JR- KingTazzCole's Super Sounds of the Superstars- Jonathon Coachman's song, "Hard Hittin".

This was going to be one long fucking day.

AN: So tell me, should I continue or stop? Believe me, it'll get better if I keep going, but you're the ones reading it, so…