After Nitro, Flair said "Boy, do I have egg on my face!"

It was time for a road trip, and what better place than the final taping of WCW Nitro? Lo, the company that gave us such immortal wrestling greats as RoboCop, Chucky, the Shockmaster and Booker T was going out of business, and it was clear that I, Y Pac, had to be in attendance.

So I borrowed a Quinjet, loaded up the trunk with tequila and Vaseline, abducted a few stray sheep (Just in case I ran into Nash) and took off for the City of Brotherly Love! Once I got there, I realized I was not only in the wrong city, but the wrong damn state, and slapped the hell out Skeeter for takin' that wrong turn at Calgary, but that's another story.

In any event, thirteen traffic violations and about seven felonies later, me n' the boys rolled into Panama City. Since getting backstage access to a WCW event is about as challenging as staging a panty raid at Brittany Spears house, I was soon hobnobbing with the with such legendary performers as Sting and that guy that barks a lot. Flair was busy having his skin painted on when word came down that Big Poppa Pump was insisting on jobbing to Booker T. Booker was pissed as hell, since this meant he had to hang around until jobbing to Bam Bam Bigalow at the "Gluttony" PPV next April. (BTW, my sources deny that the WWF will be loaning the Big Show and Mark Henry to the WCW for Gluttony. Vince said, and I quote, "Just toss a few more chicken wings to that lardass Rick Steiner.") Flair, ever the diplomat, told Booker to shut the hell up and win like a man.

I wandered ringside right before the title match, and asked Booker how he felt about his prospects under the McMahon regime. He replied "Prove me wrong". I pointed out that not only did this make no sense whatsoever, but it was another guy's catchphrase, from a completely different Fed.

"I am the Game", he insisted.

I mentioned that he's not the game, he's the Player, or something. He twisted his pit hairs into dreadlocks, made the Hardy Boyz "guns" pose at me, then leapt into the ring to do battle with Scott Steroids. Many copycat moves and pointless catchphrases later, Booker bowed to the inevitable and took the win. I hate the guy, so I urinated in his spit bucket during the commercial break.

Later by the pool, I asked BPP how he felt about his near brush with victory. "Thank GOD I dodged that one", he shuddered. I heard they were talkin' 'bout makin' me wrassle Nash at the "Sloth" PPV next July."

All the drama had overcome me a little, so I sat down to watch the final match. I sat in awe as Sting was carried to the ring by his nurse and several attendants. It took a little longer for Road Warrior Manimal to reconstitute his package of Freeze Dried Rick Flair, as the wind kept blowing little Flair Dust Devils all over the arena. Apparently, Flair's contact states that only Perrier will be used to reconstitute him, and all they had on hand was tap water. Manimal finally said to hell with it and dumped a Diet Coke on the barely coagulating mess. CokeFlair lurched into something approximating man-shape, and had one of those "yeah it sucked, but we're LEGENDS, dammit" kind of matches that makes you long for the old days when we'd of sat these two on an iceberg and let Polar Bears recycle them back into the ecosystem.

After all was said and done, we drove back to Goldberg's and watched reruns of "Universal Soldier II" on the Starz Straight To Video channel and encouraged Lance Storm to bugger Kidman. Jeff "Goonnee" Jarrett wandered out of the bathroom around midnight, and from the way his mascara had run, you could tell he'd been crying. I tried to comfort him, but then I remembered that I hate the lousy bastard. I left as he and Lex Lugar were discussing the merits of asphyxiation vs overdose.

So here I am, the next morning, typing from Hulk Hogan's private beach house. Hogan was a bit surprised to see me, but was gracious anyway. I explained that the run-in against Taker had been pre-taped, and that Vince had sent me down to scope out the talent, such as it was, at the last Nitro ever on TNT. The Hulkster got a bit misty eyed, and said that he'd always respected Vince. I told him to get to the point already. He rubbed his eyes with his ripped t-shirt, and said "H... uh, Pac... I ain't getting any younger, Brother, and I'd really like to go out with the WWF. How would Vince feel about one last Wrestlemania with the Hulkster?" I thought about it a second. I considered the options. Then it hit me. "Hulkster", I said, "Wrestlemania is probably out of the question, but how about a Canola Oil match against Kwee Wee at the "Lust" PPV in September?"