Though his earthly existence had ceased to be, Owen's spiritual form projected itself into a new life form in a world unfamiliar to him. The transportation from body to body happened so quick, the young Hart hadn't even the chance to take in what had just happened. Not only was he unsure of how he had ended up in his current predicament, but it was also oblivious to the fact that his life in the world of the living was over. All he knew was that he was currently in the passenger seat of a van, and had no clue how he had gotten there.

Owen Hart: What the hell just happened? Where am I?

Jesus H. Christ: No time to explain. Can you shoot a gun?

Owen Hart: A gun? Are you serious?

Jesus H. Christ: Do I look ****ing serious?

Owen Hart: I don't know. I guess.

Jesus H. Christ: You guess? Great, I get stuck with a Goddamn partner who doesn't even know if he's coming or going. Well news flash mister; I'm the ****ing messiah, there's a loaded gun in the glove box and you're fixing to help me out because you have no choice.

Owen Hart: Help you do what? Better yet, how is it that you don't think I have a choice?

Jesus H. Christ: You are going to help me strike down my vengeance and you have no choice because you are dead. Anymore stupid questions or can we actually move ahead with business?

Owen Hart: Woah, dead? What do you mean I'm dead?

Jesus H. Christ: You know what, **** this.

Using his special "Jesus" power, Christ implants the knowledge of the accident and all the events leading up to the current situation in Owen's head.

Owen Hart: So you mean I died in the wrestling ring and I'll never see my family again?

Jesus H. Christ: Precisely.

Owen Hart: Also, now I'm stuck in some weird sort of limbo where me and you are some sort of buddy cop tandem?

Jesus H. Christ: Pretty much.

Owen Hart: Now you need my help in retrieving some sort of briefcase that was stolen from you.

Jesus H. Christ: We have a winner. Tell him what he's won.

Owen Hart: Wouldn't it make more sense for you to perform one of your "miracles" and just make the briefcase appear back in your hands?

Jesus H. Christ: Do I look like David Blaine to you? Do I look like I've covered in **** and just woke up from sleeping in a block of ice? I perform miracles not parlor tricks, this isn't some sort of slight of hand.

Owen Hart: So making a briefcase reappear doesn't constitute as a miracle?

Jesus H. Christ: I tell you what will be one hell of a miracle; you living to see another day. Oh wait a second, you already died numb nuts.

Owen Hart: Christ, for being the son of God you really are a son of a ****.

Jesus H. Christ: You know what, screw this noise. How about you shut your trap until we get where we are going?

Owen Hart: Whatever.

Jesus H. Christ: I think a little mood music will do the two of us some good.

Jesus pulls a CD out of the holder attached to his sun visor and puts it into his car's stereo.

After what seemed like hours of driving and riding in silence, Jesus stops the car. Apparently the duo had arrived at their destination....wherever that might be.

Jesus H. Christ: Alright, here's the plan. We are going to go into this house and get some answers out of the guy in here. He tends to be involved one way or another in all of the shady stuff that goes on around here. Don't worry though, guy is a low end goon and he won't pose any problem for us. If things get thick in there just kill em all and let my pop sort em out.

Owen Hart: If things get thick? Man, I don't think I'm the right guy for this search and destroy mission you got planned.

Jesus H. Christ: Relax home skillet, if I can turn water into wine just imagine what I can do with bullets. You'll be fine, just stay close to me. Now stop being such a **** and come on.

Owen Hart: I'm sorry, it's just I didn't expect you of all people to be some violent killing machine.

Jesus H. Christ: That's funny, because I didn't expect you to be such a prissy little ****. I guess that means expectations are for ****.

Owen Hart: Seriously man, you are like the biggest **** I've ever met in my life. Let's just get this **** over with because at this point I seriously doubt I even have a choice.

Jesus H. Christ: **** no you ain't got a choice, this is your eternity man. You can either spend it sitting here being a little turd Mcmuffin or you can kick in this door and **** the afterlife in it's face.

Owen Hart: If I don't?

Jesus H. Christ: Then I'll reincarnate you as one of Barbara Bush's pubic hairs.

Owen Hart: Fair enough. So let's get this party started.

Jesus and Owen approach the house and kick in the door. They are instantly greeted by two goons; presumably guards.

Guard # 1: Who the **** are you guys?

Jesus never even gives the second guard a chance to speak before he's shot both dead right in there track.

Owen Hart: Damn man, you just blew that dudes jaw right off.

Jesus H. Christ: Yeah I tend to make people's jaw hit the floor pretty often. Anyway let's find Greg and get the hell out of here.

Owen Hart: Greg? Who's Greg?

Jesus H. Christ: As in, Greg "The Hammer" Valentine.

Owen Hart: Why would he be stuck in the afterlife, he's very much still alive?

Jesus H. Christ: Believe me, his career died a long time ago. Now keep your eyes peeled and let's find him.

Jesus and Owen ransack the house in search of Greg Valentine, who apparently might know just where Jesus' stolen briefcase might be. Just as the two are about to give up hope Greg appears in the doorway behind them with a gun drawn.

Greg Valentine: Looking for someone?

Jesus and Owen turn around quickly, startled by the sudden intrusion.

Greg Valentine: I suggest you two put your guns down before I blow a hole through both of you.

Jesus H. Christ: Yeah, that'd be a fine plan. If I hadn't turned your bullets into dust.

Greg Valentine: Damn it Jesus, just for once can't you play fair.

Jesus H. Christ: Yeah, I'll start playing fair as soon as you do something with that ridiculous hair.

Greg Valentine: Fine, I'll tell you what you want to know and then you get the hell out of here.

Jesus H. Christ: I wouldn't have it any other way.

Greg Valentine: Your little briefcase got snapped by the Reaper brothers.

Jesus H. Christ: What would the Reaper brothers want with my briefcase?

Greg Valentine: They said they knew they'd be able to get your attention. Now I held up my end of the deal, now do the same and get the hell out of here.

Jesus H. Christ: Owen, let's go.

Owen and Jesus leave the residence of Greg Valentine and head out to retrieve the stolen briefcase.

Owen Hart: I got to admit, that was pretty slick the way you turned his bullets into dust.

Jesus H. Christ: I didn't turn his bullets to dust, he's just too stupid to check himself. It's amazing how often someone else's ignorance translates into a miracle.

Owen Hart: So you took a gamble with our lives?

Jesus H. Christ: No not really, just yours.

Owen Hart: Thanks for that.

Jesus H. Christ: Don't worry, you're already dead anyway it's not like it could get much worse for you. We got more pressing issues though, we need to go to the Reaper brothers' house.

Owen Hart: Who are the Reaper brothers?

Jesus H. Christ: Tim, Jim, and Grim.

Owen Hart: You don't mean.....

Jesus H. Christ: Yep, looks like we got a date with death.

SCENE MISSING!!!!!!!!HAHAHAHA

Owen Hart: I can't believe you did that to those guys. I mean you gutted them. I've never seen such carnage and gore in my life. You were a man possessed.

Jesus H. Christ: What can I say, I really needed to get my briefcase back.

Owen Hart: Speaking of which, what is in that briefcase anyway?

Jesus H. Christ: My bong.

Owen Hart: Are you serious?

Jesus H. Christ: Hell yeah man, this bong is my place of worship.

Owen Hart: So you killed those three brothers and Greg's guards over a bong?

Jesus H. Christ: Pretty much.

Owen Hart: That's just wrong on so many levels.

Jesus H. Christ: To hell with it, I died for their sins the least they can do is die for my bong. By the way for helping me out I got a little present for you.

Owen Hart: Oh yeah, what is it?

Jesus H. Christ: Touch your upper lip.

Owen Hart: What the hell? A mustache, you put me through all that **** and all I get is a mustache.

Jesus H. Christ: Yeah, but it's a pretty ****ing sweet mustache.

Now I know what you must be thinking, what the hell does any of this have to do with anything. Well let me explain. Lately I've grown a little frustrated with the direction of the "red brand" and this was my abstract way of proving a point. You see this blog had a lot in common with Raw as of late. It was overly self-indulgent focusing more on random entertainment than actual wrestling itself.