Matt's first conscious thought was of the terrible pounding in his skull. The second was of heat, all-consuming, uncomfortable, surrounding him. The third was the realization that he couldn't move.

His eyes slid open, slowly, painfully. There was only darkness.

He pushed out with his feet, his elbows, his back, attempting to feel the edges of his unsettlingly small prison. He was surprised to feel some give at the elbow. Pushing harder, he tumbled out onto cold concrete.

Wide-eyed, he gazed around, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. His brow furrowed in confusion. This place smelled of must and mold and age, exactly like his father's basement back in Cameron. He squinted through the gloom, trying to figure out exactly where he was. The large hulking shape of whatever had held him prisoner loomed before him, a sinister shadow in the darkness.

Matt stared at his former prison. And then, all of a sudden, it all seemed to fall into place.

"A dryer", he said incredulously, "Those fucking bobos stuffed me into a dryer!"

Filled with a justified rage, Matt Hardy raised his fist to the heavens and cried, "V1-nuh!"

The arm of his shirt split open as he did so, dislodging a dryer sheet that had rested in the crook of his armpit. Matt suddenly realized that all of his clothes were feeling far too tight. He supposed it made sense. The mongoloids had apparently thrown him into a dryer and turned it on.

Sighing heavily, he moved off to find a way out, walking gingerly so as to avoid further damaging his too-tight garments. He had to find Jeff. They had to get the fuck out of here.


As the Judge put his pants back on, he muttered, "My dear Anabella, I fear that the Box may no longer be sufficient to hold the man that was once a boy." He ran his bony hand through his greasy white hair and stared at his paramour intensely. "Perhaps we should consider employing… other methods."

Anabella shot him a look that could cut through a buffalo's asshole. "Judge, darling, we shall not employ The Dark Star unless it becomes absolutely necessary." She lowered her voice to a threatening hiss. "Do not speak to me of it again."

The Judge simply smiled, and subtly moved his nose to the right so he could sniff the perfume of his own deodorant. "Mmmm", he thought to himself, "Powder fresh!"

"Jeffrey will be just fine in the Box", Anabella scowled, "Now come over here and fasten my necklace."

The Judge did as he was told, being careful not to disturb the nest of fuzzy brown moles on Anabella's neck.


John Cena and his team crouched in the bushes near Anabella's dilapidated mansion. They were watching with both awe and disgust as one of the mongoloidal townsfolk stood on the side of the house, brushing his two remaining teeth with the water from the garden hose.

Cena tore his eyes away from the spectacle, a wave of nausea twisting his guts. Matt and Jeff were in there, possibly being tortured by these freaks. They needed rescue, and they needed rescue fast.

He turned his gaze to Beth Phoenix, his second in command. He flipped her the middle finger, which was the signal to get into position. Nodding solemnly, she gestured for the others to follow her lead.

Cena stalked forward, his gaze intent on the mutant standing before him. The tooth-brushing freak was the only mongoloid in sight. If they could take him out, there was a chance-

Suddenly, the highly-strung wrestler felt a tug on his sleeve. He didn't think; he reacted. With a great war cry, he spun, grabbed onto the assailant's arm, and threw them onto the ground with all of his might.

The pained, writhing form of Evan Bourne met his confused gaze.

"I- I just wanted to ask you if I could take a bathroom break", he said, his tone accusatory.

"We've got bigger problems than his explosive diarrhea", said Beth suddenly, her gaze wide-eyed as she pointed towards the house. The small group of guerilla-wrestler-assassins followed her stare, muttering darkly to themselves when they saw what she was gaping at.

There was a large group of at least 25 mongoloids moving steadily towards their position, weapons in hand. The creatures looked pissed off. They looked royally pissed off.

Cena turned towards the wrestlers he had with him. "What a sorry human crap-pile", he thought to himself, looking over the meatheads, retards, and whores that constituted his battalion. There was no way they'd be able to stand up to that force of deformed shitheads. No way his people would even be able to get in a bitch-slap or a punch to the balls. The mongoloids outnumbered them, and had better weapons. No, there was no way in hell.

Now that the fight was being brought to them, Cena was realizing that this had, perhaps, been a very, very bad idea.


Matt slinked and skulked through the dark hallways of Annabella's mansion, desperately trying to navigate the twists and turns of the rundown domicile. His brother was around here somewhere, and the older Hardy would not damn well leave this hell hole without him.

Luckily, Matt harbored a secret ability, one that had been kept in the deep shadows of the Hardy family all the way back to Great, Great, Great, Great Uncle Jebediah Q. Hardy, the Lone Wolf of the West. Matt could sniff out other members of his lineage, much like a bloodhound. This would make finding Jeff an easy task, even in this shit-covered dump of a house.

Matt stuck his rather prominent, upturned nose out sharply and got to sniffin'. He almost immediately picked up on the scent of his younger brother, mainly because Jeff had a bad case of armpit stink. The onion-tinged waft led him to an immense black door covered in metal filigree in the shape of roses and pigs.

"Interesting combination…roses and pigs," Matt thought, but quickly dismissed it and returned to focusing on Jeff.

"Jeff!" he hissed, as quietly as possible, hoping not to alert Anabella, The Judge or the damn mongoloids roaming the grounds.

"Mmmmmph! Mmmmmph!" someone muttered from inside the heavy metal door. "MMMMMMPH!"

"Hold on, little dude!" whispered Matt, frantically trying to open the lock. He threw his immense body weight onto the door and it broke into a thousand pieces. He peered into the darkness and saw a large black box standing up against the wall. It had the letters "BIG BLACK BOX" emblazoned on the front in what looked like white crayon. The writing reminded Matt of his handwriting homework from kindergarten.

In one fell swoop, the portly Hardy flew through the air towards the box, leg extended in front of him, and bitch-kicked the box into pieces.

When the dust cleared, the box had been obliterated and in its place stood the proud and mighty Jeff Hardy, clad in the old-time clothing his asshole aunt had dressed him in.

"Thanks Matt!" he yelled.

"You're welcome, little dude!" Matt exclaimed. "Now let's get the FUCK out of here!"

"Yeah!" said Jeff. And off they went, to find freedom, sunlight and beer.