We here at wrestlezone.com spared no expense in getting to the bottom of the Bear-Stearn-like downward spiral of Jeffery Nero Hardy. A super-secret hidden microphone placed by a mole deep, deep undercover in Titan Towers recorded the following, eye-opening conversation in the executive washroom.
(nameless eunuch): Good morning, sir.
Vince McMahon: Youâre fired.
NE: Sir, before I clean out my box, I wanted to let you know about Jeff Hardy.
VM: Let me know about him? Let ME know about him?! Iâve forgotten more about Jeff Hardy than I ever wanted to know.
NE: Iâm afraid the news isnât good sir.
VM: Yeah, I heard. He tested positive for the pharmacological demons for the upteenth time and we suspended him. Do you think I donât check my e-mail?
NE: Sir, its worse than that.
VM: How could it be worse? Heâs not married. At least I donât think he is. He wasnât banging Lita was he?
NE: No sir. Not that I know of. Sir, his trailer burned down.
VM: Trailer?!
NE: Double-wide, sir.
VM: Christ! What next?! What do we know?
NE: Sir, it looks like his double-wide, which, as you know, had enough yard art to qualify for an NEA grant, went up like the proverbial torch last night.
VM: Good grief.
NE: He didnât have insurance on the double-wide, sir. Itâs a total loss. They do not suspect foul play.
VM: Oh, thatâs a comfort. Well, whaddya want me to do about it?
NE: Sir, we just made the last payment on Jake Robertsâ rehab and the members of the Wool-Over-Their-Eyes-Committee thought we may want to, you know, help him out.
VM: Help him out?! He just went over on a pay-per-view he headlined. He was about to get pushed to the mizzoon at Wrestlemania! Help him out?! Iâll help him out! Iâll fire his ass like a scud missile!
NE: Sir, the press may say we have some sort of responsibility in this.
VM: Seriously?! How on earth is this my responsibility?! He failed more drug tests than Carter had liver pills so we kicked him to the curb. He went to TNA and got his act together so we brought him back. Then, right back down the primrose path to Oxycontinland. My hands are clean.
NE: Sir, at the risk of pissing you off…..
VM: So this neon-freak canât function in the real world. Just because he takes the most insane bumps since that stupid bear falling onto the trampoline, wrecks his body night after night, pops the crowd with that incontinent dance he does, and some how the fact he ended up ass-deep in painkillers is MY fault?! Try again.
NE: Sir, we were pushing him pretty hard based on those bumps and those pops. I mean…
VM: You sound like Sam Munchnick
NE: Irv..
VM: And Iâve had it.
NE: Sir, this could be a great PR move. You know, the wayward talent that strays from the straight and narrow and gets suspended only to suffer a horrible tragedy. Then, the benevolent WWE steps in to help him through the rough times. Makes us look pretty good.
VM: Are you kidding?! It makes us look weak! This is a manâs sport. Jeff Hardy walks the personal demon plank and plops into the drink. So I take away his income and his only association with people who arenât as weird as he is and send him home with a pocketful of money and nothing but free time. What more can I do?
NE: Uhm, sir…
VM: So his North Carolina double-wide burns down. Did you know I was raised in a North Carolina double-wide? Anyway, Iâm sorry about his house but my God, did you see that place? It was more of a fire hazard than Chic Donovanâs birthday cake. Too bad. Iâve done all I can. He can come back when his suspension is up. Thatâs as far as I am willing to go.
NE: Thank you sir. Am I still fired?
VM: Nah, I guess not. How are Steph and the baby?
NE: Fine sir. Thanks for asking. See you at dinner on Sunday.
