SS56—Mat This ‘n’ That/I’m Back, Jack

To the tearful dismay of the masses, it’s been quite some time since Wrestling’s Only Unbiased Columnist posted a fresh Stately States.  Rejoice, girls and buoys, I have returned, to once again be The Rage Of The Digital Page.

I was going to continue last column’s theme, explaining how self-described “REAL Wrestling Fans” are less useful than sunscreen on a scuba diver, and such imbeciles they think a salad bar is where lettuce goes to get drunk and fishcake is what they serve on birthdays at Sea World.

But since there’s so much to cover, I’m going to opt for something I used to do in my Power Slam column, stringing together brief thoughts on recent developments.

For the unaware, PS was published in England from 1994 to 2014, I being the only member of the writing staff onboard for the full 20 years, penning Manor’s Mat Musings.   This is not to be confused with the newish UK mag wherein Mat Musings was STOLEN, its far-inferior author and gutless publisher rudely ignoring my inquiries about the blatant rip-off—twice.

Musings logo MINE

Accept no substitutes.

First, a quick quiz:

Who are The. Worst. Fans. Ever?  You make the call.

A.  Doesn’t live-tweet a single sporting event the rest of the week but will do so when a certain wrestling show is in progress to “subtly” prove he’s not watching it.

B,  Constantly opines “The WWE’s current product is abysmal,” brings it up daily, then one day casually notes “I haven’t watched it in ten years.”  (Probably lying, anyway.) 

C,  The malcontent who rips on WWE non-stop but has a podcast or YouTube show solely dependent upon viewing content on—where else?—the WWE Network.

Now, onto the ramblings.

If Chris Jericho came down the aisle with Ralphus now, could anyone tell them apart?  Defeating Jerko in that champagne pool match has done wonders for Orange Julius, er, Cassidy.  Now when they say “He sells a lot of T-shirts,” it means he’s working at the merch table….Where are all the “Ronda didn’t pay any dues” moaners when it comes to Dominik Mysterio?  I’m waiting for Rey’s daughter to begin wrestling so I can claim “She moves in Mysterio ways.”  Because I’m a freaking genius….The makeover has exposed that Ruby is much hotter than Sasha WHO IS MARRIED AND WILL NEVER GET WITH YOU, SO QUIT DROOLING OVER HER, LOSER….Must be exciting being a fresh team in AEW.  You get the biggest hype imaginable, for four straight weeks—before losing to the Bucks and getting relegated to midcard limbo.  Which has happened to EVERY SINGLE TEAM.

Let me see if I have all this straight.  Certain championship matches every few months require a contract signing but all the other matches don’t.  Those in certain sensitive circles get upset when someone uses “IWC” to describe them.  All the while calling themselves the Wrestling Community.  Which is what the “WC” in “IWC” represents.  Tony Khan’d playing a rich creep on “purchased” Impact time does not contradict the whole “He will never play a character on television” because it’s on Impact rather than Dynamite.  And people gleefully paid to see Joey Ryan have others fondle his junk (and encouraged more of such antics) yet allegedly never suspected the man is a little odd.  Enablers turned virtue signalers sure like to play dumb.

face palm MONTAGE VVVG

Isn’t it odd how Zelina Vega never expressed a single care about a wrestlers’ union until she got fired?  Weird coincidence, huh?…It says a lot about fraud Josh Matthews when being replaced by Matt Striker is considered an upgrade…. Reby Hardy has many important connections.  Perhaps one day she’ll introduce Matt to hair conditioner….I hear Shayna Baszler is determined to lick every woman in the WWE locker room.  Even if it means hopping on them in the showers!  Some aren’t going to take that lying down….Did you know, on Halloween 2019, Micro Stunt trick-or-treated in a suit of armor, but people kept mistaking him for a fire hydrant?…Unconfirmed, but I’m hearing reports that there was one 24-hour period in which Jim Ross didn’t release a public statement concerning the opinion or history of Jim Ross….Gary Heltz of Pine Bluff, Arkansas, will be missing 205 Live next week.  There goes half their viewership.

All these weeks with Smackdown not having a live audience.  A shame they didn’t also go without a live color commentator….Ever notice Tom Phillips has the same initials as “toilet paper”?  That may be why Samoa Joe told me Phillips is an asswipe….The Grizzled Young Veterans keep the company’s streak going—the streak of Worst Ring Names Ever.  Empress Of Tomorrow, Forgotten Sons, Genius Of The Sky, Archer Of Infamy, Authors Of Pain:  Will whichever comic-book nerd who came up with this dross please explain to me how an era can be “undisputed”?… Mia Jax yells “My hole,” and is instantly transformed into the darling of the IWC—who had ripped her mercilessly since about nine minutes after her debut.  Then again, for 83 percent of those gits, it was the first—and last—time they ever heard a woman reference an orifice below the waist….”Elimination Chamber” sounds like something NASA came up with to name a space station toilet.

If you’re wondering where Jimmy Uso has been, he’s opened a driving school with Jeff Hardy and Nick Hogan.  Putting the “high” in “highway”….I’m delighted to see Naomi’s back.  She looks great from that angle….Hearing rumors about an all- Lana-fan cable channel.  Instead of “television,” it’s going to be called “Incelevision”….Taz’s “wearing shades inside” thing is really cool—if it’s 1967 and you’re the lead singer of Steppenwolf….I am looking forward to the Impact episode in which Tommy Dreamer performs a teary retirement speech.  I bet it will be better than the 47 he’s done before.

Okay, that’s enough.

If you love this column, signify by purchasing two cups at

If you hate this column, signify by purchasing three cups at

…although you’re probably too cheap to do either.

SS50—The Man Who Saved The World(WE)


The Road To Wrestlemania and its related hype get WWE fans excited about certain matches; however, overall interest in the product as a whole has been in decline, as reflected in record-low TV viewership numbers.

“Superstar Shakeups” have had no lasting effect.  And some pundits have wondered if eliminating the brand split will cure the woes.

But wrestling is a character-driven sport, and no change in the structure is going to reverse the spiral.  Just as in previous booms, the WWE needs an individual to lead it back to the Promised Land.

This man must possess the versatility the modern market demands, top-level communication skills, major-league experience and proven fan appeal.  Am I suggesting they bring back Stoned Old Steve Austin?  Somebody give me a “Hell, no.”

There is only one available athlete who checks all the above boxes, possesses the necessary youth and lacks the overexposure of Austin, Goldbrick and fellow has-beens.

Manormaniacs, I present to you the charismatic individual who can not only resurrect the WWE, but also save wrestling across the board.

That man is Damien Sandow.

Before you give me a well-deserved standing ovation, please absorb all the details.  Because The Miz has turned into The Miss since marrying that Canadian chick and becoming a whipped wimp changing diapers in his high heels and Wonder Bra, Damien will NOT be returning as “Mizdow.”

No, no, no; no more carrying the Cleveland Clown and distracting audiences from Frog Face’s many weaknesses.

The Savior is far too versatile to be stuck in one role.  In fact, my long-time dear friend David Bowie dropped by the Manor Mansion to catch Sandow vs Cena on RAW and remarked “I wish I had the ability to change personas as well as this remarkable Damien fellow does.”

This time around, the bonebender’s chameleon-like qualities will be utilized to their fullest.  Be awestruck picturing the following scenarios over the next two years.


The WWE is presenting RAW in the loser capitol of North America, Chicago.  As per usual, the local yokels chant for their hometown zero—but this time, things go very differently.  Suddenly, “The Cult Of Personality” blares over the sound system.  And as the crowd collectively wet their panties, out comes OH, MY GOD, HE’S HERE—C.M. Punkdow.

Punkdow sits on the stage, holding a symbolic pipe—a tobacco pipe, that is—and rattles off a list of “woe is me” petty gripes about the temperature of the mashed potatoes in catering, his chauffeur insisting he wear a seat belt, and the state taxing country club membership fees.

Then it’s time to really “shoot.”  Punkdow has had it up to here with the business that’s made him a famous millionaire, and is going to see to it that all wrestlers get free health coverage, their road expenses covered, annual vacations, double-payment for working on holidays “…and the formation of the best damn union this country has ever seen!”

None of which he has even the slightest intention of ever actually doing.

Due to CM’s “extended absence,” the WWE decides to refresh fans’ memories via weekly video clips.  The first three are:  Punkdow being thrown off a rodeo bull before the gate is even opened; him becoming the first person to score a zero in Super Mario Party; and, hidden camera footage of the “straight-edge superstar” and very vocal vegan puffing on a joint while at a McDonald’s drive-thru window.


The Nature Dow.  The “Rolex-stealing, limousine-kissing son of a bitch” is in the best shape of his life.  Everything seems to be going right for the “sixteen-times married” veteran.  Fans love his entrance and trademark “Whoa!”  But every time the ring announcer introduces his opponent, Naitch starts crying, forcing each match to be ruled a No Contest.

Pressed on this backstage by Charly Caruso (who’s also in love with me), The Nature Dow vows to work on overcoming this issue, begins trembling and excuses himself, dashing to his dressing room.

Concerned, Charly waits outside the door.  Ten minutes later, it opens, and instead of The Nature Dow, out comes Tommy Dreamdow, clutching a kendo stick in one hand and a cannoli in the other.

This stunning transformation is indeed effective. The Innovator Of Violins is now capable of competing, each match ending with (A.) him losing as per usual and (B.) a teary-eyed speech announcing “my retirement, effective immediately.”

Which he repeats every night from the very next one through to SummerSlam, including throughout the WWE’s 36-city European tour.


What’s next for the dynamic Damien?  Time to try out a number of short-term gimmicks.  There’s…

*Matt Jackdow, who wants to be thought of as a fun-loving free spirit but is, in reality, a hypersensitive twit who spends nine hours daily vanity-searching his name on social media, getting butthurt when someone doesn’t fawn over him.


Zack Ryder:  I prefer ketchup over mustard on hot dogs.

Matt Jackdow:  Hmm, that’s interesting.

[Zack walks away.  Matt pulls out his phone, Blocks Zack on Twitter.]

*Dwayne Johnsdow  Cuts an in-ring promo that’s just a string of sorely outdated catchphrases, finishing with “The Crock says this.  The WWE is my home, and I’m never leaving again.”

Does no more appearances thereafter.

*Brie Belldow. Groundbreaking WWE’s first transgender competitor wears a Dow Mode shirt and booty shorts, but never wrestles or speaks—which makes him waaaaay better than that other Brie.

*Color commentator Corey Gravedow  Finds the worst-fitting suit Goodwill has to offer, vacillates between being a heel and a babyface a dozen time per match, and never says anything of consequence.

No one at home notices the difference between him and the adulterer he replaced.

*Indie sensation Zackdow Osprey, Junior  The bell sounds, he flips, rolls, somersaults, does a 720 dive off the top into a series of cartwheels around the entire ring, and rebounds off all four ropes into a triple-handspring, for two minutes non-stop, gets dizzy and immediately pinned.

*Reverend Hacksaw Jim Duggdow  Rather than the friendly patriot of his predecessor, Rev. Duggdow is a self-righteous religious zealot toting a Bible in place of a 2×4.  His pre-match ritual is pointing out a stylishly dressed woman in the crowd and shouting “You’re a ho-o-o-o.”


All of the above are but merely a warm-up for when Damian goes for the Big Kahunas.  First up is….

Hulk Hodow

Imagine the classic confrontations HH2 will have with the current members of the WWE roster.

Praising impromptu tag partner Nakamura:  “I fought alongside a lot of gooks when I was a Green Beret in Vietnam.  Maybe we can go to Chinatown after our victory.  You like-y shlimp flied lice?”

Hogdow to Rey Mysterio:  “I loved Eddie Guerrero as much as you did.  In fact, I love all beaners, dude.  They’re great at cutting my lawn, brother.

“You know something, Mean Mysterio?  We never had a match.  I say we hook it up—once you show me your green card, little man.  Whatcha gonna do when ICE agents run wild on you?”

Hulk Hodow will have an extended run, until he’s indefinitely suspended for refusing to tag in during a six-man match against The New Day.  (Because…well, you know.)

But what supreme hero of men, women and children can Damien transform into next?  Who is the one man whose achievements dwarf that of not only the Hulkster but also of every grappler ever to set foot in any ring, any promotion, any date, anywhere?  An iconic ringmaster every single fan loves more than life itself?  The personification of achieving the ultimate reward for hard work?


Our television sets will never be the same.  As it turns out, Munter Mearst Melmsley is married to Vince McMahon’s heretofore unacknowledged other daughter, Bethany—a connection the Cerebral Ass is not above making well-known, including spraying champagne out of his mouth while on the ring apron, pre-match.

In a move that would make Dusty Rhodes proud, every promo, including those by the women and two weirdoes on the Sonic ads, will contain a mention of Triple-M’s unmatched influence, charm and rugged good looks.

Renee Young will finally contribute something to RAW, by lustfully purring her new catchphrase “What a hunk!” before fainting every time the Tripper is within sight.

This completely sincere and not just protecting their jobs adulation will crescendo at Wrestlemania 37, when MMM and Bethany perform a 45-minute entrance, an elaborate thematic mix of Game Of Thrones, Thor Ragnarok and The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie.


SS43–Gazing At My (crystal) Balls

It is very well known within the professional wrestling community—the real one, not just a bunch of online wannabes fantasizing they are part of the business—that I have crystal balls.  As such, it is time once again to peer into my balls and predict with 100-percent accuracy events unfolding in the stretchin’ profession during 2018.


January 25—As part of the new Mixed Match format for WWE Facebook, The Authors Of Pain, Absolution and The Undisputed Era compete in a battle royal.  The lone survivor will then face The Empress Of Tomorrow for the Stupidest Goddamn Name trophy, previously won by The Ascension.


February 11–University Of Wisconsin doctor Martin Burke develops a surgical procedure whereby any male who regularly follows Total Divas can have his gonads reattached.


March 3–The entire independent-wrestling industry is rocked to its very core when a promoter in Billings, Montana composes the standard montage-of-performers poster but not a single one of the pictured stars is sticking out his tongue!!!!!


Mid-March–History is made when an entire week passes without some idiot asking Dave Meltzer if NJPW could be a serious threat to the WWE’s American stronghold.


March 19–The New York Times publishes a Things That Went Out Of Style Ten Years Ago list.  It includes “a ‘Vote For Pedro’ ringer T-shirt, having a MySpace account and That Lame-Ass Heart-Tapping Gesture Shane McMahon Does.”


April 7—A “Thank you, Matthew (clap clap clap)” chant breaks out among 46% if those in attendance at ROH’s big card on Wrestlemania weekend.  This has nothing to do with the just-completed Young Bucks match.  The chanters are all Twitter users Matt Jackson blocked that month during his daily hissy fits.

Tears roll down the cheeks of several, overcome with relief, knowing they will never again be exposed to the defensive dwarf pleading “Why don’t you love me?  I’m telling Mommy,” over even the most minor perceived slight.

Young Bucks Matt Jackson blocked me too

April 16—Secretly turning bad guys, The New Day begin pouring horse manure out of Booty-O boxes and into the open mouths and over the heads of unsuspecting nimrods, as the trio makes its entrance on each house show.

Adding fuel to the fire, Xavier announces, “If you don’t like it, you can blow my trombone.”


May 2—Not to be outdone by his brother, the returning Jeff Hardy unveils his latest screwball gimmick, a chronic masturbator to be known as #Strokin’ Jeff Hardy.


The When Jimmy Hart Was Actually A Good Manager DVD goes on sale Tuesday, May 15.  It consists solely of footage from his Eighties Memphis run.


June 6–The WWE brings back Santino Marella to serve as a backstage interviewer, and also signs the king of flippity-dippity garbage, primarily because Vince McMahon (and I) get a big kick out of the Italian calling the Englishman “William the osprey.”


Josh Matthews’ hip-hop debut single “I’ve Got Tattoos.  That Makes Me Cool” drops on June 19, becoming the first song on iTunes to register a negative number of downloads.


July 10—AJ Styles finally comes clean on blowing off a tour of Australia.  Says the hillbilly halfwit, “Aw, shoot, I don’t wanna get that close to the edge of the world.”


President Trump declares July 16th National Oh, Shut Up Day, in which wrestling enthusiasts are barred, under penalty of execution, from using the words “buried” “kayfabe” (which they don’t understand anyway) “smark” “the script” and “overrated” as well as claiming anyone “deserves” anything or posting photos of empty seats at a televised event.

U.S. internet traffic dips by 57 percent by 2 pm.


On a July edition of RAW, as Stephanie McMahon once again rattles off the various “history-making” elements of the female division and “the Women’s Revolution,” a fed-up and quitting Kurt Angle continually interrupts Stunning Steph by interjecting “which the TNA Knockouts did ten years ago.”  (Oh, it’s true.)


August 14–Hulk Hogan blows his entire Gawker settlement on rebuilding the Pontiac Silverdome.  When asked why he would reconstruct an outdated stadium with no sports franchise willing to occupy it, he told the Detriot Free Press, “Because this is where I press-slammed that stinky old giant 27 times in front of three million Hulkamaniacs, brother.”

(No truth to the rumor claiming the Owner’s Box contains a hidden-camera-equipped side room for “hanging and banging” one’s best friend’s wife.)


August 29—I finally stop rolling my eyes over Jim Ross’ ridiculous clenched fist photo pose.

Jim Ross stupid fist pose for StaSta

September 5–Living up to his nickname, Marty Scurll takes command of the Bullet Club and immediately and permanently disbands the faction “just to fuck over the wankers who dropped hundreds on our merchandise.”

This is in lieu of the Villain’s original plan:  “I was going to keep us together for a month but change our name to the Flaming Dipshits, just to see how many of you lot would walk around with that on your shirts.  But since it’s probably all of you, screw it,” it will later be revealed.


On September 22, at 9:27 pm, Richard Blye, 32, of Cold Springs, Ohio, realizes, despite what he’s been claiming on Facebook for four years, Roman Reigns does not in fact “suck”—and that he, Tricky Dick, is a complete asshole.


October 6–Briton Percival Smythe-White causes a national uproar by rating a tag contest in Leeds “3 ½ stars,” violating the sacred rule that all Englishmen deem every match taking place in the United Kingdom “an instant classic.”


October 15–Caving in to fan’s incessant chants, the WWE signs CM Punk–and immediately books the UFC flop against Brock Lesnar for the RAW main event in the straight-edger’s hometown! Eight seconds after the opening bell sounds, the Greatest WWE Moment Ever occurs, henceforth known as the Chicago Screwjob.

Punk Vs lesnar

So long, sucker.

November 12–On the heels of the inexplicably popular Chris Jericho Cruise, entrepreneur Kevin Spacey publicizes his forthcoming Chris Kanyon Cruise.  Boy, are dimwitted grappling fans going to be in for a big surprise!!!


November 13—Over 100,000 jubilant wrestling nerds converge in the outskirts of New York City to celebrate the announcement that Triple-H has finally replaced Vince McMahon as the man in charge.

December 13—Over 100,000 pouting wrestling nerds leap off the Brooklyn Bridge after NOTHING AT ALL HAS CHANGED.


December 19–Alex Trebek punches indie failure Ryback in the jaw after the Jeopardy show host reveals a panel reading “Name one vowel” and the Big Goof replies “It’s what you say when you get married.”


Bully Ray has, by far, the longest line at his photo-op table during a late December convention in Boston.  Three days later, the densest Dudley learns fans are each supposed to pay him $30 for a picture together, not the other way around.


SS 41—My GIFt to wrestling

I must admit, I’ve done it again.  If you’ve had the good sense to read my shoot interview profile, , you already know about the myriad innovations I introduced to the King Of Sports, the very reason I’m being inducted into the WWE Hall Of Fame next year.

So, add this to the list:  You have seen countless wrestling GIFs on social media; but I’ve come up with an entirely new wrinkle—Wrestling GIFs Without Wrestling!

As with most of my incredible creations, this is bound to be copied elsewhere in short order.  But remember, you saw it here first, Manormaniacs.


The ultimate way to watch Total Divas…

react to Total Divas


The average IWC member when he finally gets near a pretty girl…

Asian crazy bananas GIF


The WWE announces the return of David Otunga…

Slime People return of Otunga


Typical “puro” snob watching the GI Climax tournament…

animated guy cumming


Listening party for the new Fozzy album…

family guy mass vomit


Whenever I hear updates on CM Punk…

Princess Bride shrug


Every time Enzo Amoron’s entrance music hits…

python Run Away


The Young Bucks face each other in singles competition…

kid kicks pal GIF


Desperate Toad Gordon launches his new promotion, ECW2…

total IDIOT backyard GIF


Latest Will Ospreay footage…

B Lee New Guinea


Originator of the DELETE gesture revealed!

Shatner original DELETE doer


Lucha Underground Season Four sneak preview….

Lat Zero Lucha Underground


You claim you’re going to cancel the WWE Network or not watch their product again?

girl waves goodbye


Doctors release X-rays of Dean Ambrose’s skull…

tumbleweed GIF


My message to the Night After Wrestlemania/SummerSlam and all Full Sail audiences…


SS38–A Young Person’s Guide To The Wrestling Lifestyle

As the only person to receive three consecutive Pulitzer Prizes for Excellence In Wrestling Magazine Journalism, and (2018 spoiler) the first writer inducted into the WWE Hall Of Fame, I have humbly influenced two generations of wrestlers and fans in my tenure as what Wikipedia terms “Professional Wrestling’s Most Respected Columnist.”

It’s been quite an honor and privilege to mentor most of the top stars in the industry today and millions of mat enthusiasts who grew up reading my work.  But, this time, I am turning my attention to lending guidance to the new crop of younger fans:  children, teens and those in their early twenties who have yet to come under my tutelage.

The following are life lessons sure to positively influence all those entering adulthood.


A Young Person’s Guide To Thinking Like A Real Wrestling Personality

*Support the business by obtaining wrestling shirts “tag team style.”

Everyone likes to display their loyalty to favorite bonebenders, whether it be wholesome role models such as Marty Scurll and The Miz, or even all-around weirdo Shinguard Nakamoron and super-sized has-been The Undertaker.  However, getting enough shirts to complete a wardrobe can cost a bundle.

But not if you use the tag team method.

What you want to do is go to the far side of a seller’s table and get his attention.  Once you do, ask all sorts of questions about a shirt at that end, like if it’s machine-washable, will it shrink in the dryer, if you can get a discount on six, and stuff like that.  And while you have him distracted, your partner can grab a stack of shirts from the other end of the table, then sneak off!

Why pay for one when you can get five each for free?

*Hitting someone over the head with a steel chair should NEVER be performed in real life.  This is very very important to remember, young buckaroos.

You want to hit them in the back, so the bruises don’t show.

*Because they work outside the squared circle, learning as many submission holds and finishing maneuvers will enhance your life tremendously.

For instance, you say “Yo, granny, I need five bucks for Dairy Queen,” and she hesitates to cough up the fin.  Clamp a figure-four on the old bag of bones, and that hag will be tossing you her whole purse!

Teacher not giving you the grades you want?  One tombstone piledriver and you’ll be on the Honor Roll, baby.

*Pay no mind to those anti-bullying ads the wrestling promoters are forced to run during TV shows.  Being underage, you won’t get tried as an adult, so the only “punishment” you’ll get is another lecture to pretend to be listening to while you are actually imagining what McKenzie Mitchell and Renee Young look like in their underwear.

Besides, bullying is fun!!! There’s nothing quite as enjoyable as finding a defenseless nerd, circling him with some buddies and shoving Poindexter around like a human pinball.

Look, wrestling teaches us that all conflicts should be settled with extreme violence, even when it’s avoidable.  They wouldn’t allow the sport on TV if it weren’t true, right?

Ignore those dishonest anti-smoking ads, too.  Smoking is a real blast.  You look so grown up and cool with a delicious Marlboro between your lips.  I’d say 85 percent of your wrestling idols smoke; you just don’t realize it because they can’t do it while in a match.  In fact, the WWE employee rules require all grapplers to smoke at least a half-pack of cigarettes daily.  You can look it up, if you don’t believe me.

*Don’t be a tool, quit school.  Ever hear a wrestling interview where the guy talks about where he went to college—or even high school?  Of course not, because they all quit as soon as they could.  And so should you.

Your old man—if he’s been identified—finished school; and look at what a nothing-happening loser he turned out to be.  Besides, if you’re in some dumb old classroom, who’s going to be home protecting your mother, since your dad beats her every time you’re away?

*Always rush to the aid of someone who gets knocked over.  Helping a man up makes it much easier to steal his wristwatch.

If it’s a girl, go through her handbag for cash and credit cards, explaining to anyone watching that you’re looking for her ID to tell the paramedics.

Someone passes out nearby?  Have yourself a ball taking selfies of you applying the STFU and “pinning them,” practicing dropping elbows on them, or whatever else makes you laugh the most.

You know what’s a riot?  Tie their shoelaces together, so when they wake up and try to walk, they fall right back down again.  ROFL

*Always respect broads.  You may someday need them as valets or ring announcers.  Although they can never be equal to men—duh, that’s why there is always a separate division for them—honeys dig serving their superiors.

You’ve seen Total Divas, where Lana is so stupid, she forgets her Russian accent.  As Divas shows, dames just like to go to fancy restaurants together or fuss about their hair.  You never see them train to get better at wrestling.  That’s because they know they’ll never be as good as men.  They know their place in the world; and, for that, you should never disrespect hoze.

*Never call 911 with a fake report of a fire in progress.  That is not only wrong but also highly illegal.

Instead, go up to someone you really don’t like, ask to borrow his phone “to call my mom for a ride home,” THEN phone in the false alarm.  Besides the thrill of watching all those neat fire engines speeding by, you will also get to see your enemy get arrested an hour later.  Cool, huh?

*Let’s talk about drugs.  Pay close attention, boys and girls, as I am about to testify.  Oh, yes, I was once a victim of the satanic influence to try drugs.  With Lucifer whispering in my ear, I tried the uppers, the downers, the cocaine, the meth and the pot pills.  This led to hanging around seedy gin mills until the break of dawn, consuming quantities of demon alcohol with women of questionable moral fiber.

Yes, children, the day I was tricked into a life of sin was one of the darkest of them all.  But then I turned to a friend of all, Jesus.

Not Jesus Christ, but Jesus Hernandez, the tire specialist at the Sears Auto Department.  And just like that, after taking Jesus’ words into serious consideration, I gave up the liquor and drugs, thirty years later.

Drugs are evil, kids, and should not be part of your lives or that of any family members!

So, what I need you to do is go through all the medicine cabinets, bedroom drawers, closets and other places your parents and older brothers and sisters may be hiding drugs–as well as searching for plastic bags holding white powder or what looks like dried-up grass–and put them all in a box.

Then send them to me for proper disposal, saving the souls of your loved ones.

But we can’t stop there.  Oh, no!  To be sure your family members won’t be lured into buying more of the sinful items, wait until they’re asleep, go through wallets, pants pockets and purses, take out any rectangular papers with pictures of presidents or the Queen, and also place them in the box you’re mailing to me.

When your loved ones realize the error of their ways and learn what you did for them, I PROMISE they will reward you with a new bicycle and pizza for dinner every night!!!

SS37–Bayling Out Bayley


As Wrestling’s Most Fair-Minded Columnist, I am often cited as a beacon of objectivity in a world of biased knee-jerk reactions, an honor and duty I take quite seriously.

Consequentially, even though she’s no doubt guilty as charged and should be lynched ASAP, I am gallantly going to withhold judgment regarding Bayley’s recent string of arrests.  (Except, of course, for her shameful theft of the WWE women’s title.)

In fact, I am going to do one better and defend the common criminal despite her laundry list of pathetic excuses being about as credible as a photoshopped picture of Elton John dirty-dancing with Bigfoot’s sister on the surface of the sun.

As for Bayley’s well-deserved arrests….

*Some massage parlors really do limit services to kneading body parts outside the groinal region.  And while the arrest reports in all three incidents list her place of employment as “Handy” Hanna’s Tug Town and reference Bayley’s reputation for “happy endings,” there is a remote possibility the latter are merely her obnoxious trademark hugs.

*With regard to her arrest by the DEA and feeble explanation “I was only holding it for a friend,” there is a slim chance she had no idea the briefcase she picked up from a Columbian at a remote airstrip at 2 a.m. contained five kilos of cocaine.  That happened to my uncle Knuckles once.  Okay, twice.

In fairness, though, like the District Attorney, I too rolled my eyes at the “for a friend” baloney—for the simple fact that no one can stand the sickening goody-goody.  (A popular expression around the locker room is “I’d rather menstruate daily than spend a minute with Bayley.”)

*As for the incident at Louie’s Limbo Lounge, “Balderdash!” I vehemently exclaim.  The young tramp was, after all, wearing a thong at the time the vice squad raid transpired, and partially concealed by the pole she was dancing next to, so how does that constitute “indecent exposure”?

Furthermore, none of the arresting officers was present when she was performing lap dances earlier, therefore the additional “lewd and lascivious behavior” allegations are strictly hearsay, I say.

Besides, Bayley was performing an important public service.  Several members of the Internet Wrestling Community were in attendance, and Lil Bubble Butt was providing them with their first—and, assuredly, last—glimpse of a half-naked woman.

According to an official report, one IWC member, a Jonathan Smallknob—aka @#BROKENfrogsplash316 on Twitter—age 27, even claimed “I began feeling funny, you know, in my pee-pee, but pulled my XXXL-size Strong Style T-shirt down to cover it.

“My friend @NewJapan4Life hasn’t been able to speak since finally learning what girls have under their shirts.  In fact, we had to cancel our Smarks Too Sweet podcast this week.”

(For those new to the sport, “smarks” is a term used by pompous loudmouths who have no idea how the wrestling business really operates yet criticize it incessantly rather than simply enjoying the shows the way the true fans—to whom these losers laughingly feel superior—do.

Don’t be that person.)

Though it’s a proven facts most broads have no business entering the squared circle and should be home doing things chicks are good at—laundry, serving their male masters, waxing the kitchen floor, etc.—I can think of one exception.

Always treating ringsiders exactly as they deserve to be, a warm smile constantly on her face, strictly adhering to the rules at all times, how can anyone NOT love Charlotte?

And this isn’t just about way she’s effortlessly dominated the WWE Girl Division, or whatever they’re calling it this week.

Away from the arena, Charlotte is a veritable community service saint, particularly when it comes to interacting with the less fortunate.  I recently spent an evening with the long-legged lovely as she took to the streets, and I must confess I was this close to asking for her hand in marriage.  (And a few other body parts, heh heh heh.)

Venturing into a ghetto known as Dallas, Texas, Charlotte’s generosity towards the homeless was unparalleled.  Among her random acts of kindness were….

*Observing a very serious problem plaguing female sidewalk-dwellers, Charlotte handed out over two dozen electric blow-dryers; and not one to exclude the males, she gave 20 men cell phones, taking the time to softly purr to each recipient “They’re not activated, because it’s not like anyone cares enough about you to ever call.”  This angelic stunner also selected several sleeping drunks to participate in the Ice Bucket Challenge, even though that meant leaving the comfort of the limo that bone-chilling February night.

Was she done there?  Hell no!  Spotting members of a Christian youth choir performing on a street corner, the blond beauty placed the entire group under citizen’s arrest for loitering, assuring each would spend the night in a nice warm jail cell rather than go home to their boring parents.

I can’t blame you for hating women, considering the way they’ve treated you all your miserable life, but Charlotte is truly exceptional.  As those sad sacks stuck living in England say, “God save the Queen!”

SS36—It’s 2017…and you’ll never believe what happens next!

It’s that time of the year again and a Stately States tradition:  A remarkably accurate look into what lies ahead for professional wrestling over the next twelve months.  Once again, I peer into my crystal balls—I have them, you know—and reveal all.

*Needing another three hours to kill, WWE holds a one-night Cruiserweight Classic tourney to crown a new champion.  The 47 in attendance attempt to remain awake by performing the wave, chanting “Mojo Rawley” and doing horrendous Hulk Hogan imitations when the hard-camera light is lit.

*Facebook requires those in Groups listed as “wrestling experts” to provide proof they have any link whatsoever to the sport, beyond merely watching matches.  Membership dips by 97 percent.

*Due to a typo—blamed on auto-correct, as per usual—Wrestlemania 33 is co-headlined by Brock Lesnar vs. Gillberg.  It is still better than any previous Lesnar/Goldberg match.

*On the Smackdown brand Parisian tour, Shane McMahon attempts an elbow drop off the Eiffel Tower.  Video footage surfaces of Stephanie McMahon and Triple H snickering during the resultant funeral services.

*Emmalina finally makes her Raw return, only to announce she has a tag partner, who will also take six months to debut.

*Hoping to recapture public attention, the “It’s still real to me” guy releases a YouTube clip of him whimpering “Paige is still hot, to me.”  Three million fanboys who once masturbated to Paige photos mock him on social media.

*In a scene eerily reminiscent of the movie Scanners, Mauro Ranallo’s entire skull explodes after shouting “A SIDE HEADLOCK!!!” at 153 decibels.  scanners-head-exploding-gif

*The ghost of Gorilla Monsoon taps “announcer” David Otunga on the shoulder and asks “Will you stop?”  It’s “history in the making, folks” as Monsoon becomes the first ghost ever to receive a standing ovation.

*With the introduction of the Weekly Schmoz podcast, every single wrestling reference in the entire galaxy has been used within a name of one of these shows.

*Delicious Dixie Carter presents her own variation of the Kiss My Ass Club, called the Burnish My Butt Brigade, whereupon she rubs her derriere with printouts from 2016 tweets and newsletters gleefully declaring “TNA is dead” and “Dixie is gone.”  In one instance, she uses a Smashing Pumpkins CD booklet.

*Even the staunchest devotee must begrudgingly admit a match held in Japan was “three stars at most.”  Thousands of clothes dryers are stuffed with tear-stained Bullet Club shirts.

*Michael Cole is fined $10,000 for failing to call the 107th Sasha/Charlotte match “historic.”

*Booker T sues Joey Ryan over the name of the latter’s new move, the bonerooni.

*Asuka, Samoa Joe and Nakamura debut on the main roster TOGETHER…at which point all three are simultaneously pinned by the Shining Stars and Alicia Fox in ten seconds and immediately sent back to NXT as a smirking Vince McMahon appears on the Titantron, flipping off the audience.

*Lip-synching is suspected, after Lana performs a complete segment without once forgetting her “Russian accent.”

*Lucha Underground is permanently shut down after President Trump deports three-quarters of its employees.

*Balloons drop from the ceiling, pyros go off in abundance in an April edition of Raw, as Big Show makes his 100th turn.  After a sincere speech thanking everyone for their support, he chokeslams ring announcer JoJo.

*The 2017 Oxford Dictionary For Online Wrestling Sites defines “our sources” as “material we swiped from Dave Meltzer” and “buried” as “term never EVER used correctly.”

*John Cena’s retirement tour features merchandise emblazoned with “U Won’t C Me.”

*A survey reveals that 48 percent of fans tossing streamers at US indie shows do it “because everyone else does” and believe the practice originated in Philadelphia.

*Responding to the “one more match” chant, D-Von Dudley’s last words from within a ring are “Get your own damn tables, fat ass!”

*Viewer confusion hits an all-time high, moving the WWE to adopt “good guy, cheer him” and “bad guy, boo” subtitles on all broadcasts.

*New Flotsam streaming service airs nothing but matches held in school gymnasiums and dingy nightclubs.  Subscribers are paid $9.99 a month.

*Two gals wearing a combined 24 square inches of ring gear rave about how the “women’s revolution” has completely changed the role of females.

*Fans who have never once been in a locker room continue to state former WCW, WWE, TNA and ROH employee Jim Cornette “doesn’t know anything about wrestling, bro.”

*Eighty-nine percent of those who in 2016 claimed the just-released Damian Sandow “should go to TNA, that would be AWESOME!” can’t recall his current ring name and never bought a single piece of his TNA merch.

*The entire industry collapses when a wrestler does not kick out of the first pinfall attempt.  Millions roam the streets worldwide, glassy-eyed, mumbling “What just happened?”

SS34–Stately Shoots His Mouth Off

When one has been on the newsstands worldwide for decades nonstop, as I have, the requests pour in on a daily basis.

“Sign with our studio, and we’ll cast you as the next James Bond.”  “LeBron really wants you as point guard/captain this season.”  “Come join our bleeding band and we’ll change our name to Stately Wayne Manor And The Rolling Stones, mate.”

But the most recurrent plea is “It would be a great honor and thrill for all of us wrestling fans if you would do one of those shoot interviews.”

Truth be told, I resisted for quite some time, highly concerned some may mistake me for a braggart.  However, BS Video allowed me to choose my interviewer, so I went with the renowned Shemp Wally Macbeth, who sooooo is not me in disguise, even though we happen to have vaguely similar initials.

And remember, children, just like with the ones you’ve already seen, you should always believe every word in a shoot interview, because people who convincingly fib in front of a camera for a living would NEVER do so away from an arena.

The following is a sampling of some of the topics discussed, the full video “dropping” on September 31st.

Within the wrestling business

Shemp:  What do you consider your greatest among the hundreds of your contributions to professional wrestling?

SWM:  I introduced the letter “s” to the business.  Before I became a huge global influence, “s” was never used.  People would go to see Bruno Ammartino managed by Arnold Kalund, facing Upertar Graham, and the tag team the Amoan, at Madion Quare Garden.  In fact, until I came along, the sport was known as pro wretling.

If you don’t believe me, go ask the star and director of all those Rocky movies.  He was known as Ylveter Tallone prior to my entering the bonebending biz.

S:  I understand you made your first million creating characters for the big national promotions.  How did that work?

SWM:  I’d come up with concepts for guys who were just coming into a company, to give the newbies something to concentrate on and polish on the road before they were actually introduced on TV.  Between my concept and the TV debut, they were sometimes tweaked a teeny-weeny bit.

S:  You are undoubtedly the most creative person ever to step foot in a locker room.  I’d also say most influential man behind the scenes.  Tell us some of your amazing characters, O Dazzling One.

S:  Even though these got changed a smidge, I still got the dough because I had the copyrights.  So I’ve made a bucket of bucks on the coffee king Brewer Brody, painted-face cheapskate Stingy, shoe-gazing emo wrestler The Underachiever, R&B singer Terr Funky, Dork The Clown (which I believe some guy named Frankie is still using), aging hippie Stoned Old Steve Houston, hot female grappler Braless Lesnar, mathematician Kurt Rightangle, Canadian burrito salesmen The Fart Foundation and their friend Taco Santana…just too many to list, really.

S:  You are also known for many brilliant innovations on the actual in-ring-wrestling end of things.  Would you kindly name a few, sir?

SWM:   Well, let’s see.  I invented the figure-one leglock, the 450 hair-pull, working from the horizontal base, the tombstone eye-gouge, the cross-windbreaker, the adequate kick, the Greco-Roman groin-punch, and the shooting star bite, among others.  And because I came from a background in music and also revolutionized that art form, I hold the trademark on the term “The Innovator Of Violins.”

Away from the ring, I’m legendary for the night I kicked the ass of Rick Rude, Steve Williams, the Road Warriors and Haku.

S:  I knew you are a legitimate badass, but those are the toughest guys to ever lace up the boots—and you beat them all at once.  Amazing!

SWM:  Well, I did have hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place.

S:  Speaking of men who had lucrative careers in Japan, before it became the “in” thing a couple of years ago, you not only were a super-expert on Japanese wrestling but also did outstanding color commentary on some videos.

SWM:  Yes, decades before that Mauro “I SCREAM EVERY FREAKING WORD” Rinaldi and Good Old J.O. were doing it.  We’re talking 1987, back when a future legend on one of the tapes was known as The Just Okay Muta.  In fact, Bam Bam Bigelow And Friends, my unmatched debut, was number one on the sales chart for 27 consecutive weeks, outselling Beverly Hills Cop II and Full Metal Jacket.

Not in the United States, but in Liechtenstein and Inner Mongolia.

In private life

S:  You are known within wrestling as a “master swordsman,” a real panty-dropper with the ladies.  Without going into graphic detail, will you drop a few names?

SWM:  Ever heard of Trish Stratus, Victoria, Alicia Fox, Stacy Keibler, Dixie Carter, Lillian Garcia, Mae Young, and Christy Hemme?

S:  Of course.

SWM:  Well, so have I.  Next question.

S:  That is so cool!!!  Wait, Mae Young?

SWM:  I said “Next question”!

S:  Everyone knows you’re a god, an earthbound deity.  What is your religious affiliation?

SWM:  I’m an atheist…but not practicing.

S:  I understand the Pope (the one in Vatican City, not the horrible TNA commentator) got extremely upset about something you once said.

SWM:  That was when I announced I’m bigger than Jesus Christ.  Jesus couldn’t hold a candle to me.  If he tried, it would fall through the hole in his hand. Can’t understand why the Poop just doesn’t admit it and move on.

The Pope.  Isn’t he the goof who makes decrees about marriage, birth control and sex even though he’s never been on a date?  Hey, that gives him something in common with 90-percent of the wrestling fans!

Word association

S:  I’m going to throw out some names, Perfect Master.  Please supply one-line reactions to each.

Mick Foley

Now dying his beard with chimney soot.

The New Day

When you think of what body part “booty” represents and, in turn, what a booty-O can only be, do you really want to put them in your mouth?

Enzo Amore

Enzo A Moron

Big Cass

Big JackCass

Josh Mathews

The brain of Family Guy’s Chris Griffith and the body of Stewie.  (begins singing) B-b-b-b-b-bah, everybody’s heard about the nerd.  Nerd nerd nerd, nerd is the word.

Ric Flair

He used to raise the bar but now he just runs up a huge tab in it.

Sami Zayn

A fraud.

How do you mean?

He’s supposed to have been the big king of the indies, yet I’ve never once seen him take on El Generico.  Same way that Ricochet is dodging Prince Puma now.

Hulk Hogan

Went from the NWO to the KKK.

Bill Apter

You know that classic Santana song “Oye Como Va”?


Apter sings a version called “Oy, my comb-over.”

Golden Truth

Old and Goof

Becky Lynch

Mostly red, not over.

Sasha Banks

Not sure she’s really Snoop’s cousin, but she’s definitely a member of the Dogg family.  More like Sasha Barks!  woof-woof

Public interaction

S:  What would you advise a new wrestler wondering how to treat interaction with the fans?

SWM:  Antibiotics.

S:  What do you think would be the single best course of action when it comes to the so-called Internet Wrestling Community?

SWM:  Nothing a little genocide can’t fix.  One of my current projects is:  I’m putting together video clips of IWC idiots whining like little girls and making utter fools of themselves.  It’s going to be called Bitchamania.

S:  I understand you got tricked into joining one of those Facebook wrestling groups.  What’s your opinion of them?

SWM:  I call it wrestling cosplay.  Bunch of nobodies getting together to fantasize they’re somebodies in wrestling even though they’ve never been involved in it at any level.

“I put out a newsletter with 137 readers 25 years ago. That makes me an expert.” “I’m a wrestling expert, too!  My qualifications are: I run a rinky-dink coffee shop with seven employees and collect potato chips.”

“Gee whiz, that’s so awesome. I would blow Gedo if I was ever in the same room!” “Let’s get together and ridicule every single aspect of Raw each Monday and take cheap shots at TNA all week.  We’re HUGE supporters of wrestling.”

Yeah, that’s really cool, kids.

Of course, Twitter has some real winners, too.  That’s why I only allow a few hundred wrestling fans to Follow me and block the ones who keep bugging me to Follow them back.  Anyone know who this @LanceStorm is?  What a nuisance.

S:  You’ve been known to mock podcasts and…

SWM:  Only the amateur ones, which means nearly all of them.

S:   So, you would do one with Colt Cabana?

SWM:  One thing I really can’t stand is people who use obviously fake names.


SS31–Mark, My Words

People often come to me and ask, “You are the official longest-running wrestling columnist ever, in REAL magazines sold worldwide, a TRAINED journalist PAID to opine; so what is your take on the multitude of so-called ‘hardcore’ fans who constantly go online and to great lengths to impress each other with their deep insight, the Internet Wrestling Community, also known as the IWC?”

Ah, the sophomoric “smarts.” They’ve always occupied a very special place in my heart. In fact, you know what? I feel a song coming on!

Oh, look, everybody, it’s Mister “IWC”
Whose official scent is known as “faint odor of pee.”
Drool stains and mucus dot the front of your sweater
Claiming you’re an “expert” because you read a newsletter.

Host a podcast, call all everybody “brother”
Only have one listener, and that’s your mother.
Your mom gets all squishy when you mention Bobby Roode
And she’s the only female you’ve ever seen nude.

Never climbed through the ropes, never been in the back
But your cousin knows a neighbor of Outback Jack.
Telling all your buds you’re tight with Terry Funk
Hey, aren’t you the guy who bought that house for Punk?

Got in a picture with Batista ‘cause you gave him forty bucks
Now you claim to be “best friends”; he couldn’t give two f*cks.
Blew your whole life savings on a beat-up old car
Because the dealer said it was once owned by J.R.

Hop onto your mattress pretending you’re with Bayley
Have a photograph of her you “tribute” twice daily
Last month, it was Asuka who was all the rage
Now regrettin’ gettin’ that tattoo of Paige.

No girls know you exist, so you head to Porn Hub
Drop your pants to the floor and rub rub rub rub rub.
Yanking away on what you call “my lady-pleaser”
Doesn’t fill your palm, so you have to use a tweezer.

After you’re through with two hours of fappin’
It’s back to bashing matches that haven’t even happened.
Been a long day of griping, so now it’s off to bed
And your recurring dream of giving The Rock head.

Due to corporate rules at your job at Arby’s
Boss had to invite you to the Christmas party.
Bored everyone to death talking Jushin Liger
Asked to pick a song, you chose “Eye Of The Tiger”!
Went home after the bash, popped in “One Night In Chyna”
Hey, may as well, you’re NEVER gonna touch a vagina.

Tried to act cool with Latinos, told them “I watch ‘LU’”
They grabbed a broomstick, made a piñata out of you.
It wasn’t just that statement that sealed the deal
Was when you said “I know you love to lie, cheat and steal.”

You’re the Boldest Of The Bold, a true Opinion Lord
Behind a phony name and a computer keyboard.
Numero uno, king of the fanboy scene
Claiming “Kayfabe is dead,” don’t even know what it means.
The phrase “New Japan” sends a tingle to your crotch
You’re the “superfan” who’s never heard of Karl Gotch.
Bashing Roman Reigns, Dixie Carter and Russo
When nobody’s around, paint your face up like an Uso.

Rip on the promos (though you’ve never done one)
Rip on the announcing (though you’ve never done one)
Rip on the bumping (though you’ve never done one)
Rip on the booking (though you’ve never done one)
Hmm, starting to see a pattern here, son?

SS30—Vincent Kennedy My Main (Mc) Mahon

Between my years hobnobbing with rock stars and being the King Of Columnists in the King Of Sports, plus the deluge of celebrities who tweet @SWManor daily, I’ve been fortunate enough to spend many hours with the famous and infamous.

For instance, former President Bill Clinton and I hit it off wonderfully during my tenure as an advisor throughout most of his regime. In fact, we’d probably still be hanging out regularly, if not for an unfortunate misunderstanding involving security camera footage of me accidentally rooting through Hillary’s panties drawer. (Hey, the drink coasters I was looking for could have been in there!)

Another example is Jackie Chan, though I do wish he would quit telling people “everything I ever accomplished, I owe to Stately Wayne Manor.” It’s getting embarrassing.

But of all the world-changers with whom I have ever socialized, when it comes to intellect, unbridled valor and carrying oneself with dignity, none can compare to my dear friend Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

Of course I’m hardly the first to recognize the attributes of this consummate gentleman. Did you know JFK, the 35th President Of The United States, changed his surname from Kowalski to Kennedy as a tribute to his fellow New Englander? Or that Vince McMahon has been thanked in 32 Nobel Prize acceptance speeches?

And although the bashful billionaire denies it, I have it on good authority that Mr. McMahon also invented electricity. That was during his stint in the Peace Corps, when he gained great notoriety throughout Brazil for teaching medics the Heimlich maneuver and teaching missionaries the missionary position.

Mind you, young Vincenzo wanted to join the Marine Corps, and no doubt singlehandedly would have won the Vietnam War within the week. However, President Lyndon Magic Johnson felt it too risky, concerned that (and I quote) “Should this national treasure be mortally wounded, our country would be smothered in a dark cloak of despair and depression, crushing the American spirit for generations to come.”

Through my years as the Greatest Wrestling Columnist Ever, I’ve taken several “road trips” with the majestic hero of the masses, cracking dwarf jokes about Daniel Bryan and discussing how Roman Reigns would headline the next nine Wrestlemanias just to annoy the internet imbeciles.

And it was during these sojourns that I was privileged to witness first-hand a side of Mr. McMahon the genital public has no privy to—Vince’s unmatched generosity.

Here are just a few of dozens of examples I could site.

*Nebraska. Roadside lemonade stand. A teary-eyed grown man moaned, “I shouldn’t be doing this to put food on my family’s table.” Vince wholeheartedly agreed and, without so much as a second thought, had the Health Department shut the stand down.

*Wyoming. Summer camp for the underprivileged. Vince kindly showed the youngsters a picture of a thousand-dollar bill, then cheerfully exclaimed “I’m going to give each of you one of these!” And just like that, he awarded every one of the brats a similar photo.

*South Carolina. Homeless man standing by the roadside with a sign reading “Haven’t eaten in three days.” Mr. McM ordered his chauffeur to pull over, waved the ragamuffin over, gently patted him on the shoulder and softly told him “Don’t worry, pal, food still tastes the same,” before handing the bum a toothpick that had only been used once.

*Oregon. Unemployed woman with a sad face. Touched by her plight, Vince remarked “Hmm, I suppose my limo could use a good polishing.” When the now-beaming lass finished, VKM opened up the briefcase containing his checkbook and gave the luck lady a brand-new Sparky Plugg T-shirt.

I’m not the sentimental type, but must admit I do get a bit choked up when recounting the myriad ways Mr. McMahon has connected with you people.

Here is the gentleman who revolutionized the “national pastime” of professional sports with his wildly successful XFL and routinely takes home a barrel of Academy Awards for the avant-garde cinematic offerings of WWE Studios, such as Knucklehead, unanimously described by critics as “the modern-day Citizen Kane, only better, because it’s in color.”

The man who created the Kiss My Ass Club, now a big-business standard practice in the boardrooms of General Motors, Comcast and the Disney Corporation. A living breathing modern-day combination of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle.

Yet he remains as humble and unassuming as a Shaolin monk and, in fact, if we weren’t such close friends, would likely be cross at me for flattering him in a public forum (at no charge.)

Sure, he’s made a few mistakes, the most notable one being siring traitorous son Shame, the family disappointment. But he more than made up for it by bestowing the world with the most charming, warmhearted and damn-sexy woman to ever set foot on the planet, Stephanie McMahon.

Stunning Steph has received LOTS of Stately States coverage; but while I’m revealing little-known truths, I’m betting most of you are unaware the Princess is just an old-fashioned down-home girl at heart. When not enchanting an international television audience, there’s nothing Stephanie likes better than to slip into comfy bib overalls and churn butter from a cow she milked herself or perhaps join her best friends Hazel and Gertrude at the church social hall for some exciting bingo.

And when it comes to handicrafts, Steph makes that old Mothra Stewart look like some clumsy klutz from Kalamazoo! Why, just last Christmas, she knitted her dad and me marvelous matching sweaters with only a minor difference between them: mine says “Stately” and his says “Studly.”

I would write “What else could you expect from a McMahon?”, but that went out the window when the family black sheep came slithering back on Raw. Evidently, all those years—“allegedly”—spent in a Turkish prison (oh, you didn’t know?) did nothing to tone down Showboatin’ Shane.

It was difficult to precisely hear what the pudgy punk was whining about this time, what with the boisterous boom of boos. From what I could make out, he moaned, “I’ve done nothing for the WWE, but as an entitled millennial, I command my sister and father to turn over the company to me, even though I don’t deserve it. On top of that, I demand to be in the main event at Wrestlemania, and challenge that washed-up bastard, the Undertaker.”

Who among us didn’t want to give Mr. McMahon a compassionate hug at that very moment? Growing up poverty-stricken in a trailer park, poor Vince took a scant few million of his father’s money and turned a regional wrestling promotion into a global juggernaut—and then his only begotten son stabbed him in the back, just like Judas did to Caesar!!!

Not surprisingly, considering I’m more intelligent than, well, everyone, I have devised the only honorable solution. I hereby publicly propose that you, Vincent Kennedy McMahon, disown Shane and complete my bucket list by adopting me as your replacement son.

Knowing, sir, you are going to say “yes,” I have already begun proceedings to change my name to Stately Wayne McMahonor, as a tribute to the finest family a guy could ever dream of joining.

Everyone knows the results of that 2006 Backlash PPV match proved you are greater than God…which makes us a perfect father-son team, as it has been scientifically proven that I am greater than Jesus Christ!