Mick Foley knocked on Vince's office door gingerly. "Vince? Hey Vince? You there?" Getting no reply, Mick flung the door open and entered the plush room with caution. "Vince? Hmm, guess he's out...funny, I've never been here before...that chair looks awfully comfy..."

And with a giggle, he flung himself into Vince's black-leather swivel chair, spinning around in circles until he grew dizzy and fell off.

Before he could recover, Austin came charging into the room, screaming at the top of his lungs. "I REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE IN AN EVENING GOWN MATCH!! You hear me Vince?! There is NO WAY I'm getting in an evening gown! ...Unless I can lose these damn love handles. Er, I mean, I'm a man's man, dammit! We don't wear dresses! Unless no one's looking. GODDAMMIT!"

Mick peeked over the top of the desk. "Uh, Steve-o? Vince ain't here...it's just me..."

Austin blinked. "You--you didn't hear any of that just now did you?" Mick shook his head slowly. "Good, good, well then, I'll just be...leaving now...to....shower...yes, that's it, yes..."

"Wait a sec,"

"OK! I ADMIT IT! BUT IT WAS ONLY ONCE! It was a blue silk sheath! Clung like a dream! But I am not a homosexual! And I'm not a cross-dresser either! I was just lonely, and Debra was at an autograph session...I have needs, you know!"

"Uhh, that's great Steve," Mick said, backing up slowly, "but I just wanted to point out that Vince appears to be gone for a long time."

Uncurling himself from his fetal position on the floor and standing up, Steve scratched his head. "How do you know?"

Mick stuck out his hand, "I found the note."

"Dear Whoever-the-hell-is-reading-this,
We, the McMahons, are taking a vacation to some uncharted desert isle. Don't know when we'll be back; the Skipper said it was a three hour tour. Hmm, why does that have such an eerily familiar ring to it? Oh, damn, I'm writing down my thoughts again. Anyway, until we return, I leave the company in the capable hands of--"

Steve frowned and picked at the note. "The rest of it is blurred out by--" *sniff sniff* "--tequila? Well dagnabit, who the hell is in charge around here?!"

"I think we need to call a meeting."
 

* * *

Once everyone had gathered into Vince's office, Mick took control of the meeting. "Awright, people, shaddap and let me speak! Thank you. As you may have heard, Vince is on vacation. Which means that we're on our own until he gets back. The first thing we have to do is--"

"Raid his liquor cabinet?" Taker giggled. Mick motioned to Austin, who whapped Taker upside the head with a framed picture of Vince.

"Any other smart-asses out there?" Silence. "Fine then. The first thing is electing a new CEO--president--lay about--whatever the hell Vince was. Any volunteers?"

Many hands shot up, all squealing, "Ooh ooh me, pick me, c'mon Mick, meeee!"

"Um, bloody hell, I dunno, Christian!"

Christian looked up, startled. "Who? Me? Run the company?"

"Sure, why not?"

"But I don't know anything about--"

"Yeah, that's super kid. I nominate myself to be Head of Security!" Austin said, laying the boots to the still-unconscious Undertaker. "BWAAAA-HAHAHAHAHA!"

Edge squealed happily, a look of glee on his face. "Can I be a secretary? I look great in heels!"

"Ooh, I have a set of dark blue pumps that would look faboo on you!" Austin squealed back. Realizing what they had just said, both men paused and looked at the others, who were giving them odd looks. Austin laughed nervously. "We're just kidding, of course! Right Edge?"

"No--I mean, yes!"

The Rock raised the People's Eyebrow, "The Rock will be the treasurer."

"Um, you guys do realize that the other workers are still here, right?" Mick interjected suddenly. Everyone looked at each other, then back at Mick.

"Fire them."
 

* * *

The office now empty, Christian plunked himself down into the chair and lost himself in thought. 'If a tree falls down in the woods, and there's no one around to hear it, who the hell cut the tree?'

Just then, his phone rang, snapping him out of his trance. "Uh, hello?"

"OOH, CHRISSY-CAKES! You've GOT to see my new desk!" Edge bubbled; Christian could barely make out the sound of a fax machine in the background.

"Edge. Are you faxing your ass to Frederick's of Hollywood again?"

"Yes. I mean, no. How dare they turn me down?! My chin is NOT Titanic-like!"

Smacking his head repeatedly against his desk, Christian hung up as Edge began to rant about the injustice of being called "chicken legs". There was much to do now that he was president, he couldn't waste his time listening to Edge's incessant ramblings. "I think I'll pay the counselor a visit..."

And so he toodled down the hall to visit Dr. Shamrock.
 

* * *

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!"

Triple H was curled up in the corner of the room whimpering. "But, but all I said was I like ham sandwiches!"

"YOU FOOL! Everyone knows that peanut butter and jelly samiches are the best ever made! YOU IDIOT! YOU MORON! YOU BUFFOON! A POX ON YOUR FAT HEAD! MAY YOUR CHILDREN BE PINK-SKINNED AND GREEN-TOOTHED!"

Triple H sobbed as Christian rushed over to console him. "Shamrock! What the hell are you doing? This is supposed to be guidance counseling!"

Shamrock blinked. "Yargh?"

"You are NOT supposed to be traumatising people! You're supposed to HELP them! Jeeze..."

"Help? Help? YARGH! I grew up on the streets! I was a tough-ass punk! No one helped me, I did it all myself! These pansy-ass fairy-boys need to learn to toughen up! YARRRRRRRRRRGH! I'M IN THE ZONE!!"

Christian sighed and escorted Triple H away. "Don't worry Hunter, I'll speak to Shammy later and straighten everything out." Triple H nodded and stumbled into his dressing room. Shaking his head sadly, the new pres made his way down to the cafeteria.
 

* * *
 

'What the hell...?' El Presidente pondered as he saw The Big Bossman, Viscera and Mideon scurry down the hall with what appeared to be mashed potatoes, gravy and carrot sticks shoved in various bodily orifices. Continuing into the cafeteria, he wondered who the hell was screaming in there.

He soon discovered why. And he feared it greatly.

Chef Head was apparently stealing money from the till, Chef Al said, and attacking anyone who dared to order Head's food. Al said he was trying to restrain Head, when it threw a hissy fit and began a large food fight. Globs of chicken pot pie and Sloppy Joe's decorated the walls of the room, and chocolate milk was dripping down from the ceiling.

Christian fought the urge to have a nervous break down, and instead went back to his office to find that nearly-full bottle of Jack Daniel's hidden under the seat...