Regardless, soon enough Vinny Mac was once again headed for certain doom. But this time, it wasn't an explosion. It was a paternity suit!

The catch? The mother wasn't forthcoming with information, namely who the child was!

Each week, Vince would get a clue as to who the child was. So apparently the mom was either the Riddler or a Scooby Doo Villian.

Note to Vince: if this ever happens in the future, I'd suggest dumping Jerry McDevitt in favor of Encycolpedia Brown.

One week he was told "things were looking up." The next week we learned that Vince Jr. was in fact a WWE superstar.

The mind reeled at the possibilities. Perhaps a Highlander, like Rory McMahon? Super Crazy McMahon? Maybe he had sex with Bob Orton and sired Randy Orton!

Week after week this went on, and all I could think of was just how much fun this was going to be.

After all, what if Vince's son was...

...the Boogeyman?!

As Coach noted, he did have Vince's eyes.

Of course, with the good came the bad, as we'd get constant updates about all the women Vince had slept with over the years, ranging boinking some broad on an iceberg to shooting his load on Mount Rushmore.

Somehow, I will never be able to watch North by Northwest the same again.

Still, that was Eddie Murphy in his prime compared to an Evening at the Improve with Triple H, who introduced us to his guesses as to who the mother might be. These ranged from a fat woman (because, if there's one thing WWE has taught over the years, FAT PEOPLE ARE FUNNY)...

...and Frank, a transvestite (ditto).

Naturally, this was also a grand excuse to bring out every McMahon under the sun, from Linda to Skippy to Nipple H.

You know, when I look most forward to seeing Robo-Linda, that's a bad sign.

Still, there was hope for the angle, as the big tease was that it was going to be Mr. Kennedy.

Indeed, that's where everything was headed, and it made perfect sense; this was the guy WWE wanted to shoot to the moon, and what better way than by making him the son of the biggest name in business?

Now while I don't care for the guy personally (just like WWE, I don't like liars), hey...why not make a new main eventer? After all, I can only see so much Hunter, Randy Orton, and Batista.

Naturally, since that made so much sense and could have lead to matches people might pay to see, it wasn't him.

(And save the emails about him being suspended so it couldn't be him - they could have simply built the angle for a few more weeks and had an even bigger pay-off.)

No, instead we got one final tease for the reveal. Once more, all the WWE stars gathered around the ring. I still held out hope for Big Daddy V McMahon. So the lawyer came out, and explained that instead of telling Vince flat out who Vince's son was, he would tell him who he was NOT.

So we learned that...

1) Vince's son was not Extreme (damn, I was hoping for Balls MacHoney)...

2) He had a "fondness for gold". Thus, he was a champion. Or a former champion. I think that maybe two people left.

Sadly, though, this meant that my dreams of "Hacksaw" Jim McMahon were also dashed.

3) He was white.

Aww, crap...that means Mark Henry would not be the World's Strongest McMahon!

4) He had blonde hair.

Sorry Kane, you are therefore NOT the Big Red McMahon. Which is really a shame, as I'd have loved to have them attempt to explain the already inexplicable Kane family storyline by muddling it further.

5) He was not a tag team wrestler. No Trevor Murdock McMahon.

Good Lord, is this guy about done yet? My jokes keep getting worse as this thing drags on!

So we wound up with the final three of Triple H, JBL, and...THE SANDMAN.

My God, YES! The SandMcMahon!

I've said it so many times over the years that it's lost some of its lustre, but I can say, without hyperbole, that the term "license to print money" has never been more appropos.

Sadly, both JBL and Sandman were nixed, leaving us with just Hunter and Vince in the ring together. Ick.

"But wait!" cried the attorney. Apparently Vince's son liked to play games, yes, but these games would be tiddlywinks and marbles. You see, Vince's little bastard wasn't Hunter, but rather...

...the Little Bastard himself, Hornswaggle!

And thus, we didn't get a new main eventer, but rather more comedy!

Wait, scratch that. We got more BAD comedy, usually revolved around the fact that Vince viewed his new son as a two-year old. See, because he's small. No matter that he had, you know, a BEARD. If you're under five feet tall, by golly, you must be a toddler!

Anyway, we got antics like William Regal babysitting and losing him. And where did Regal look for Little Mac? Why under the couch cushions, of course.

So now Hornswaggle had reverted to being a child, but had somehow apparently morphed into a nickle.

Or perhaps a shilling. He is Irish, after all.

Later, it would be Coach's turn to watch the little tyke, who proceeded to take off on a tricycle. Like any good babysitter, Coach gave chase on a bicycle.

Had he used a unicycle, I probably would not have even had this up for the award this year.

Sound cartoonish? Ya ain't seen nothin' yet.

After all, who could forget when Horny trapped Coach under the ring and proceeded to blow him up with a giant TNT plunger?

Or the time when Carlio trapped Horny using the lure of FREE ICE CREAM SANDWICHES?

Ok, I must go into more detail on this one, as it may be the the single most idiotic scene ever witnessed on television.

See, Carlito had the little guy trapped against a brick wall. There was nowhere for Little Mac to go.

Undeterred, Horny reached into his coat and pulled out a...can of spray paint?

He spun around, and began to spray the wall (yes, with the paint, you pervs).

Soon enough, he had painted what appeared to be a door. Or maybe a headstone. Hard to say.

Around and around Carlito he ran, all the while accompanied by cartoony sound effects.

Into the wall he ran and poof! He was gone!

Much like those watching at home, Carlito stood in disbelief.

Unlike anyone at home, however, he then proceeded to run into the wall himself.

And yeah, you pretty much can guess the result.