SS47–Q&A: The Column King answers YOUR questions!

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As Wrestling’s Most Popular Journalist, I am constantly deluged with questions via e-mail, Tweets, DMs, snail mail, phone calls, telegrams, smoke signals and people on the street.  But rather than ramble on with an extended intro, let’s jump right into my replies, shall we?

 

Q:  My mom and I both love Corey Graves.  Why do you think that is?

A:  Stupidity is hereditary.

 

Q:  How weird is R-Truth in real life?

A:  He once spent a whole day spell-checking alphabet soup.

 

Q:  I know there are terms such as “Strong Style.”  But what’s the one for working really clumsily and dangerous to your opponents?

A:  Brie Mode

 

Q:  What’s your opinion of the expression “smart fans”?

A:  Biggest contradiction in terms since “tight slacks.”

 

Q:  I want to be a professional wrestling journalist.  Did you enjoy the printout of the article I sent you?

A:  My parakeet sure did.  In fact, he “edited” it a few times—since I used it to line his cage.

 

Q:  Do you agree with my contention NXT should be on an hour of RAW instead of WWE wrestlers?

A:  You mean the network that gave up on Smackdown with established international stars should present the promotion filled with names virtually unknown to the majority of the global audience and who only are on live TV seasonally, on extremely rehearsed Takeover specials, as opposed to their regular taped weekly shows with botches and promo bloopers edited out?

The group that, on numerous weeks, isn’t even the most-watched show on the WWE’s own Network?

Then again, you may be right.  It’s not like the USA Network exists to turn a profit by generating ad revenue based on billing sponsors attracted to the number of viewers who will see their ads.  TV networks exist SOLELY TO MAKE YOU HAPPY!

Also, Santa is going to bring you a magical unicorn on your birthday, one that poops gold nuggets and can fly you by an enchanted forest where they are filming the next Star Warsstarring you!!!

 

Q:  Which version of The Undertaker do you prefer?

A:  The one that’s off TV screens for months at a time.

 

Q:  Is it true Lady Scarlett is a total slut?  She looks like the kind of girl who gives blowjobs for five bucks?

A:  Isn’t that how your parents met?

 

Q:  As popular as you are, how come I never see you at wrestling fan gatherings?

A:  Because they are attended by wrestling fans!

Woowee, what a stench.  You’d think having no life would give wearers of Austin 3:16, NWO and Bullet Club shirts plenty of time to hit a laundromat once in a while.  Evidently, this has never crossed their minds, the same way deodorant has never crossed their armpits.

Besides polishing the porpoises while drooling over a Lana poster, it’s difficult to imagine how fans’ clothing gets so sweaty.  It most certainly isn’t from hitting the gym, as the most exercise these slobs ever get is standing in line at Dairy Queen.

And that breath!  What do you people do, gargle with salmon?

 

Q:  How do you think Seth Rollins measures up with the other members of the WWE roster?

A:  Have you not seen his leaked selfies?

 

Q:  How comes the WWE ruins everyone who gets moved to the main roster?

A:  I was thinking the very same thing while watching NXT alumni The Shield in that Labor Day huge brawl with NXT alumnus Braun Strowman and NXT alumnus Drew McIntyre, jumped into by NXT alumnus Kevin Owens, immediately after Braun faced NXT alumnus Finn Balor in the main event.

In fact, it still bugged me the next night while watching SDLive—where NXT alumnus Shinsuke Nakamura is world champ—and distracted me from the feud between NXT alumnus Becky Lynch and NXT alumnus Charlotte Flair, vying for the women’s title previously held by NXT alumnus Carmella.

It was also heartbreaking to reflect on how much NXT alumnus Daniel Bryan has been misused since his 2010 call-up, as he was ridiculed by developmental league alumnus The Miz, his fellow Grand Slam Championship winner.  (IC, US, tag and world championship.)

So, yeah, it realllly sucks getting stuck on the main roster.

 

Q  Me and my friends have a really lit backyard wrestling federation.  What should we do to improve it?

A:  Be sure your props and fake ring are also “really lit”…on fire.

 

Q:  What do you think of Tommaso Ciampa?

A:  The only way Blackheart could repulse NXT fans any more than he already has would be to show them what a vagina looks like.

 

Q:  Do you hold something against Alexis Bliss?

A:  No, but I’d like to.

I’m certain, if Alexa leaned on me for support, she would immediately notice how I’ve risen to the occasion.  Sure, she’d find it very hard; but Alexa would eventually come around and no doubt occasionally ask me to take her back.

 

Q:  I say Japanese wrestling is the best ever.  Don’t you agree?

A:  Please enchant me with your vast knowledge of the history of Japanese wrestling, geek who never heard of Rikidozen, Sayama, Misawa, Fujiwara, Fujinami, Choshu or any other Rising Sun legend not seen on the streaming service during the past three years.  I anxiously await your “hot takes” on Black Tiger, Hase, Dan Kroffat and Sasaki, as well as your expert analysis of the 1987 Bigelow/Inoki feud.

And since “best ever” includes promotions worldwide, I am tingling in anticipation over you explaining who was better, Lizmark or Atlantis.

 

Q:  Your early 2018 GIFs demonstrated you are the true master of the craft.  Do you have one for the Chris Jericho Cruise?

Life of Brian any women here GIF

 

Q:   How do you rate Renee Young on her new job?

A:  Here’s a list of what Renee contributes to the RAW announce team:

1.)

 

Q:  Why did AJ Styles seem so nervous in late September?

A:  He knew he had to fly to Australia for the Super-Show, and was afraid of coming that close to the edge of the world.

 

Q:  I’m 5’9 and 175 pounds. Do you think I can go to the WWE?

A:  Sure…tickets are available to everyone.

 

Q:  These jobbers are such fools.  Who in their right mind makes a living lying on their back staring at the ceiling every night?

A:  Your sister.

 

Q:  I think Allie from Impact is beautiful and want to meet her. Who do I need to see?

A:  An optometrist!!!

 

Q:  Stephanie McMahon fills many roles.  What position do you most like her in?

A:  Cowgirl

 

Q; Who is the dumbest person in wrestling?

A:  Hmmm, tough one.  You choose.

*Zack Sabre Junior thought he’d get a Pepsi if he heated baking soda in an oven.

*Jimmy Uso brought his baseball glove to the Superbowl.

*Johnny Gargano didn’t like Black Panther, so he watched it four more times, hoping it would end differently.

*Tom Phillips went up to the cashier at the Beer Mart and asked “How many cans are in a six-pack?”

*Dalton Castle keeps quiet around sleeping pills because he doesn’t want to wake them.

*Eddie Edwards tucks his umbrella beneath his jacket during storms “so it doesn’t get all soaked.”

*Dana Brooke thinks custard was named after the general killed at Little Big Horn.

 

Q:  Sabu is mean on Twitter.  He wouldn’t answer my one question.  What do you make of that?

 

SS46–Broad Jumping; Atrophy In The UK; Why Roman Reigns

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Ever chant or write that “Roman Reigns “can’t wrestle”?  Well, then you are an imbecile.  I may have spent over 30 years hilariously ridiculing deserving bonebenders, but that doesn’t mean I won’t recognize the fact that nobody in a national-television promotion “can’t wrestle.”

Except for most of the broads, of course.  But it’s adorable how they try to have matches just like the men, a few of them having worked their way all the way up to average!

Still, as long as they wear those butt-hugging bottoms made up of 14 square inches of fabric–”women’s revolution” wink-wink—and admit their inferiority to men, I say we let them roll around on the canvas and pretend they’re real wrestlers.

But only the hot ones, natch.

We certainly don’t need to watch the oaf Sasha Banks tripping over her feet every week.  Or the Asslicker, Becky Lynch, Ireland’s most embarrassing export—which is REALLY saying something, considering the primary thing that putrid country is known for is rampant alcoholism.

It’s little wonder the English hate them.  Not that they have room to talk.

For the unfamiliar, England is an international has-been country where they can’t sit still for five minutes without breaking into some sort of chant, a carryover from watching the terminally boring soccer games, wherein men is sissy shorts run around kicking each other in the shins for four hours until one klutz eventually scores a point.

(Except in the World Cup, a tournament in which an Englishman hasn’t seen a finals victory since their Queen Lizzy visited Paris to witness the grand opening of the Eiffel Tower.)

England is also where, due to a combination of disgraceful nationalism, snobbery and an inferiority complex, fans claim every single wrestler born there is fantastic—even the boy ballerina William The Osprey—while constantly bragging about their “wrestling boom.”  Then you see photos of the events, and they are taking place in a joint that seat about 47, including the timekeeper, the ring announcer and the beer vendor’s tired wife.

Between the sheeplike chanting and the general ugliness of English males, it’s easy to understand why Brit broads are so eager to get some US beef in their diets.  Known worldwide for centuries as pushovers, Anglo ladies are hardly the prettiest posies in the garden; but they tend to make up for it, if you know what I mean.

(And if you own an NWO T-shirt, you likely don’t.)

I nobly went on record admitting a decent percent of English babes possess the most important characteristic a dame can ever have—a fine bod.  An admirable attribute considering, just like their mothers and grandmothers before them, these honeys will drop their knickers for an American before one of us can finish the first syllable of “hello.”

chavs HOT

Britain’s classiest broads are a bit of all right, eh?  Say no more, say no MORE!

The classiest, most attractive English chickadees are called “chavs” by their countrymen.  But visiting American wrestlers generally use my term for typical British women, “skanks for Yanks.”

You’ll have to take my word for it, seeing how you don’t actually know any grapplers.  Hey, “huge wrestling fan,” how’s that List Of Lame Excuses For Not Getting Involved In The Sport coming along?

Tell you what.  I’ll simplify it for you.

Just select from…

  1. As with everything else in life, I’m all talk.
  2. I am a cringing coward afraid of getting hurt.
  3. I don’t have an athletic bone in my whole body, but that doesn’t stop me from criticizing the athleticism of others.
  4. Mommy won’t let me.

Ha, just kidding.  We all know the answer is E. All of the above.

 

ANYWAY…now that we’ve sorted the Manormaniacs from the mini-minds—the latter bunch having run off, sulking and not reading the following—let’s get back to Roman Reigns.

Specifically, the crybabies’ complaint about how the handsome Vincent K. McMahon has correctly decided Double-R should be the “face of the WWE.”

The most laughable part of this equation is the fact dimwits are using the expression with no idea what being “the face of the WWE” entails.  If you think it’s all about holding the Universal championship and getting the most exposure on Raw and video game packaging, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission will soon be classifying your brain as a sub-atomic particle.

The Face is the one wrestler who represents the entire company when meeting potential sponsors and business and political VIPs, and appears at endless charity functions as well as on public service material and announcements. He must: be well-spoken but not brash; have the appearance of what non-fans perceive a wrestler to look like; and, possess remarkable composure.

Remember when John Cena learned Mandarin in order to address a roomful of suits in China?  That’s what being The Face is all about.

Also, when an incumbent (in this case, Cena) is in the process of giving up the throne, the replacement should be of an age that ensures he is going to be active for many years to come.

When you armchair geniuses add up all the preferred traits, who on the WWE roster is better qualified than the just-turned-33 Roman Reigns?

Let’s go down the Fanboy Faves list.

*AJ Styles  Besides the fact AJ has passed 40—but only in age, not IQ—we all suffered through what a complete disaster it was when the hopping hillbilly spent years attempting to complete a sentence, prior to getting scripted promos upon signing with the WWE.  Now just imagine this nincompoop addressing a group of Oxford science majors, uttering “Ha, y’all.  Ah believe the world is flat.”

This is a man who thinks taxidermy is the study of cabs, marijuana comes from potholes and a collage is a fancy university.  The numskull who once brought a skateboard on a submarine ride and went up to a guide at Sea World and asked where they keep the tigers.  Who doesn’t use All laundry detergent if he’s only washing some of his clothes. AJ Styles is the only person alive who owns a Samsung dumb phone.

dunce_hat AJ

Rare photo of AJ Styles in his school yearbook

*Braun Strowman  A very viable candidate…as soon as someone finds a way to make it 1986 again.

Half-buffoon, half-cartoon, I’m surprised his tag partner at Wrestlemania wasn’t Wile E. Coyote.

And what the hell does “Get these hands” even mean?  Is he auctioning them off on eBay?

[Strowman sidebar.  Rarely ever loses; prominently featured on Raw’s biggest segments all year, frequently main-eventing the show; wins the Money In The Bank match—so, Reigns-bashers, doesn’t that mean “He’s being shoved down our throats?]

 

*Daniel Bryan  With that unkempt hair and beard, and standing 5’4”, the scruffy squirt may pass as Charles Manson’s son; but nobody in the business world is going to take Cryin’ Bryan seriously or even believe he was ever world champ.  The munchkin once got a black eye running into a fire hydrant, for Christ’s sake!

Besides, if the going gets rough, he’ll no doubt once again quit, just like he did in 2016 after a minor head injury, as outlined in this earlier Stately States https://bit.ly/1ScpS8H

 

*The Hardlys.  And, yes, my pal Jerry Lawler borrowed that nickname from one of my columns.

#WOKEN and his brother #DRUNKEN are horrendous options to serve as The Face. Matt, pushing 50 years of age, took a quarter-century to come up with a memorable phrase—actually, one word—and needed his old lady and Germy Borash to assist with that.  What a trainwreck it would be to have the senile senior repping the Connecticut corporation.

Granted, Jeff has a good look (when he’s not smearing paint on his mug), but even in his rare moments of sobriety, he’s not suited to mingle with anyone—at least not until the WWE starts conducting business on his home planet in Alpha Centauri.

Weird, the man’s weird, I tell ya.  Did you know Jeff Hardy’s favorite pizza topping is eggshells?  That he recently spray-painted all his cars pitch black—including the windows?  He built a unicycle with a cactus in place of the seat?

Guardrail for StaSta

 Jeff Hardy’s toughest 2018 nemesis

*Other Shield members  Cross Selfie Seth off the list pronto, Tonto.  Had two or three passable matches in the Spring and consequently became the Fair-Weather Fan Favorite of the season.  By Halloween, the “devoted” will have bailed on Rollins the same way they do any NXT call-up who loses two matches after debuting on the main roster.  (Incidentally, how did ignoring my warnings and going berserk over Enzo & Big Cass work out for you guys?)

As for Dean Ambrose…you’re joking right?  No way the impeccably groomed Mister McMahon would choose to be represented by a man who washes his hair every ten days—and only because The Lunatic Skunk occasionally gets caught in the rain.

And that nasal drone of a voice!  If Ambrose ever gave a lengthy speech at any sort of conference, they’d have to call in the coroner to count how many audience members hanged themselves to escape the torture.

I’d rather hear a sedated Pee Wee Herman with a nasty head cold read the Lithuanian translation of the entire Lord Of The Rings trilogy than endure a half-hour of Dullard Dino.

 

Is Roman Reigns perfectly built to be The Face?  No, and, unfortunately, the ideal man for the job is under contract elsewhere.  So, until Grado becomes a free agent, Reigns is the best candidate for the position.

SS45—MAJOR Wrestling Ultra-legend Officially Approves All In!

It sure had been an amusing interim period since the previous Stately States was published, back in March…if one enjoys the sheer delight that comes with laughing at imbeciles.

Which I truly do.

First up, we got the self-declared “experts with insider knowledge”—the same ones who all-knowingly and constantly declare “Kayfabe is dead”—not knowing padiddle about Moolah’s pile of dirty laundry until hearing of the backlash over the women’s battle royal name.

Kayfabe is what, dope who just got kayfabed?

Never mind that a majority using the term don’t fully understand what it means (including not being aware it can be used as a verb, until I just did so).  And I bet none of the ninnies who blindly repeat “Kayfabe is dead” has ever stopped to think that they’re getting kayfabed by actually believing it.

Better yet, I’ll double down on that, wagering these same boy blunders haven’t the first inkling of why we true insiders chuckle over references to Howard Finkle and a certain type of pastry, LaParka‘s “hobby” and Molly Holly‘s toy collection!

Laughing Muttley GIF

Laughfest number two came courtesy of the first half of the WWE Superstar Shakeup, held on the April 16th Raw.

By the end of the program, when it had been announced that a handful of the fanboy faves were being shifted to the other brand, the wiz kids were tripping over each other to see who could be the loudest in declaring their undying devotion to the new-and-improved Smackdown.

The very same goobers who, week after week, griped that SDLive had the worst bookers/writers—all of whom remained on Smackdown after the Shakeup.

Naturally, I was scorned for pointing out the above.  After all, AJ Styles was reunited with The Club.  Surely this rivaled the invention of the ring rope, as far as vastly improving the state of the entire wrestling industry forever!  How dare I question the unbending loyalty for which fans are famous.

Again, these declarations of newfound devotion to SDLive came on April 16th and the days immediately following.

May 2nd TV ratings come in…annnnnnd SD viewership is the lowest it’s been since October.  On May 9th, it’s even lower.

Let’s recap.  The first post-Shakeup Smackdown was on April 24th the second, on May 1st.  Translation:  these fierce loyalists lasted ONE EPISODE before bailing.

Hahahahahahahaha, yet the same nimrods wonder aloud why the WWE higher-ups don’t take you people seriously.  Hoohoohoohoohoo, how imbecilic can ya get?

King Of Comedy thighslapper GIF

Funny you should ask.

This brings us to the next side-splitter, a Feigned Outrage Of The Week, the Greatest Royal Rumble taking place in Arabia.

Come on, internet.  You never previously made a single mention of “issues” with Arabian policies.  Because, just like with the Moolah flap, you didn’t know a one of them until someone else moaned.  And admit it:  you really don’t care.

Besides, a good chunk of the “concerned” have ridiculed gays when hanging with buddies, and agree women aren’t men’s equals.  Pffffft, every real man has done that, right, dudes?

Fess up, fellas.  If the WWE announced that the proceeds from the second Arabian show were going to restore your precious pyros and lower T-shirt prices to ten bucks, you’d want the company to return to Arabia tomorrow.

Doesn’t it feel good to finally get that off your chest?  Give me a “Hell, yeah” and a high-five.

Oh, and congratulations.  You just confessed to being a 100-percent, unadulterated, head-to-toe, certified, signed sealed and delivered complete imbecile.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

 

As of this writing, All In 2018 is the Hot Topic.  (Get it? teeheehee)  Roughly 1000 bitter hipsters and hysterical girly-boys combined with 9000 ticket agents/scalpers to sell out an arena located in the national cesspool, Chicago, Illinois.  That is quite an achievement, for sure.

Add that to the gathering of the podcast pontificators and a chance to be in the divine presence of UFC superstar CM Punk, both going down in Chi-Town the day before, and…well, I’ve dubbed the double-wingding “Nerdstock.”

All In Nerdstock red slash Rebranding Annoucement B

Of course, I would rather chest-bump a nine-foot cactus while listening to country music sung in Klingon than attend Nerdstock or be remotely near Chicago in general.  But I have no problem whatsoever with Nerdstock as a whole.

You see, boys and girls, wrestling has been and always will be about fleecing suckers for as much money as you can squeeze out of them.  Oops, did I say that out loud?  What I meant was “about providing entertainment to the fine individuals who follow the sport.”

So, if dummies, er, devotees want to line up to have Punk avoid eye contact with them as he signs a $40 autograph, be my guest.  In fact, I hope I’m mistaken, and he’s going to do a Q&A session.

[Will one of you guys do me a favor?  Ask the pipebomber “Now that you are out of wrestling and rich enough not to worry about getting a WWE Legends contract, why have you made no effort at all to unionize wrestlers, seeing how you like to portray yourself as the anti-corporate renegade of the people?” Thanks.]

And, in all honesty, there are worse things than wrestling podcast hosts.  Well, okay, there’s only one:  Wrestling YouTube hosts.

As for the All In card itself, if socially inept twits with hilariously unwarranted superiority complexes want to support hypersensitive ego cases who have blocked three-quarters of Twitter for not kissing their feet, go right ahead.  I, for one, think the Aging Bucks have done an excellent job raising the profile of the previously ignored midget tag team ranks.

Let’s not overlook the benefits AI—as in Absence of Intelligence—provides those of us opting out of All In.

*With 10,000 dweebs compressed into one locale, the air quality in the rest of the United States will return to levels unreached since the Industrial Revolution!  The Midwest already reeks of the combination of flatulence and lifelong losers, so it will make little local impact.

*You can go to any other wrestling event that weekend and not be seated with THOSE people.

Imagine how much better a card will be without streamer-tossing, bacon-stuffed, swamp-butted, Walmart-clothed, nose-picking Wally Wanker and his pock-faced pals loudly discussing their star ratings of the just-completed match, nerdsplaining how it wasn’t up to the standards of New Japan–although the closest they themselves have ever come to an athletic endeavor is lifting a double-Whopper out of the bag and failing PE in high school—while something resembling a baby caterpillar nestles into the tablespoon of wax oozing out of Wally’s left ear as he intermittently checks his phone in desperate and always crushed hope that his bootlicking earlier Tweets have gotten a Like from the wrestlers he tagged, the grease from his hair leaving tiny droplets on the tear-stained Samsung screen.

Nope, all THOSE sad sacks will be in the Windbag City!!!

*Women throughout the globe will feel safe to walk the streets.  Mirrors everywhere will be equally safe.

So, yep, Nerdstock is unequivocally Stately-approved.

 

Unless, of course, you pause for a moment to ask how many black men, and women of any race, are or ever were in the Bullet Club.  Or how many blacks of either gender (not married to a Rhodes) are on the whole AI card.*  But I would nnnnnnnever be a spoilsport and bring that up.  So, forget you ever read it.

 

 

*If they fix this bit by September, it just goes to show the unmatched influence of Stately States and its author, Wrestling’s Handsomest Columnist.

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.)

stephanie-mcmahon-confronts-kurt-angle-braun-strowman-returns

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 WWE.com 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.

 

SS40–You TOO Can Become An Internet “Wrestling Expert”!!! Here’s How.

 

People often approach me with an inquiry.  “You are a wrestling journalism icon with a worldwide readership for decades.  I would like to be popular on social media; so, what is the procedure for establishing oneself as an online ‘wrestling expert’?”  Here are my observations.
*If a public incident involves multiple names, do a Nancy Grace and, minus any evidence, declare guilty the person whose gimmicked personality you hate based upon hearing “what s/he’s really like.”  To balance things out, blow off or create excuses if the incident involves any of the hip wrestlers.

Roman Reigns has a backstage disagreement with Luke Gallows:  “That’s it.  Reigns should be fired, arrested for mass murder, deported and get his head chopped off.”

Matt Jackson shoots a lion:  “That cat was asking for it.  There’s too many lions as it is.  Practically one in every zoo.  It would be soooo cool if Matt superkicked it.”

 

*Always agree with the majority.  Prove you are a rugged individualist by boldly declaring “Naomi can’t wrestle,” a departing star “wasn’t used right,” and a heavily pushed grappler “doesn’t deserve” a shot at the title—just like the rest of the flock do without exception.

Don’t worry if you privately disagree.  In a few months, the experts will be turning on the individual (WWE roster only) anyway.  Ask Dean Ambrose.

 

*On a related note, NEVER admit to being wrong.  In 2016, those well-informed marketing analysts, the experts, proclaimed “When Bayley gets on the main roster, she’s going to be a merchandise-sales goldmine and draw thousands of kids to shows.  Like a female Cena except Bayley has more than five moves.”

We true professionals reckoned the hate-filled WWE fan base was never going to accept an upbeat woman; but the simians continued to insist they were right—until they were absolutely wrong.

Did they offer an apology?  Hahahaha, good one.  And why should they?  Bayley, like all wrestlers, chose her gimmick and scripted all her promos.  From what can be gleaned by reading internet postings, the top stars also book their own matches and finishes.

Yet another reason Cena sucks is because “he doesn’t put anyone over,” since obviously he can sell the whole match and lose to anyone he wants.  It’s similar to how Reigns went up to Mr. McMahon and insisted on being mega-pushed.

Which brings us to….
 

*Insist Vince McMahon has lost touch and needs to retire.  Yep, it’s dumb luck that Wrestlemania continues to sell out massive stadiums holding tens of thousands and is responsible for tens of millions of dollars changing hands.

And the senile senior must have been out of his mind backing the Network you can’t live without and the employment of Styles, Owens, Nakamura, Balor, Asuka, Rinaldo, Ohno and the rest of the folks the experts salivate over.

Mr. McMahon has nothing to do with anything good, only the bad stuff.  All he ever does all day as Chairman of a billion-dollar corporation is decide—mostly erroneously–who will win upcoming wrestling matches.  So, he should spend more time strategizing about Sami Zayn’s midcard bouts.

 

*Mock things that are none of your business and have no effect at all on the product presented.  For instance, although you were never a TNA employee and their tardiness had absolutely no bearing on your life, the company should be constantly derided for a 2016 period during which they were late paying personnel (while “forgetting” Paul Heyman stiffed numerous grapplers altogether, which is fine because Paul cuts great promos.)

 

*Be a massive hypocrite.  Claim you’re a huuuuuge supporter of indies, then watch their pay shows on an illegal internet stream.  Insist on the importance of quality promos and angles, then flip for Japanese wrestling, which barely contains either.  Claim to have given up on a certain promotion, then post comments about their future shows.  Maintain a COMPLETE double-standard when it comes to critiquing a fashionable star or promotion.

Harshly badmouth someone on social media DMs, then buddy up to them on the public version of social media.  Always on the prowl for something new to gripe about, act righteously outraged over some trivia whatzit—e.g. lack of pyros on WWE entrances—you never expressed one iota of caring about in the past.

 

*Read ONLY the headline of a news story, immediately offering up a kneejerk reaction based solely on it.  A perfect July 2017 example was to burst into tears when “they cancelled Talking Smack”—which they didn’t entirely do—even though statistics show only a small fraction of Network subscribers actually watched the weekly show.

Who needs dumb old facts when there’s something new to bellyache about?

 

*Remember, every single indie match is awesome…even after watching Botchamania and witnessing 37 skinny guys in black T-shirts crash and burn.

 

*Go ape for anyone elevated from NXT…until they start losing (e.g. Vaudevillains, The Ascension), then ignore them entirely.  Flipping out over an elevated talent has nothing to do with caring about the individuals.  It’s to prove to other fans that you are faaaaarrrrrr more knowledgeable than them.  You know the catchphrases of someone making their Raw or Smackdown debut?  Wow, you are SO SUPERIOR!!!!!!

 

*Constantly claim a wrestler is “being shoved down our throats.”  It’s a modern world out there; and if you have these homo-erotic fantasies about a sweaty muscular man rolling around with a near-naked opponent, that’s perfect acceptable in many quarters.

 

*Give a “solid thumbs down” or “negative five stars” rating to any card wherein you didn’t like who “won” a predetermined main event—especially if a favorite didn’t leave with the awarded “championship.”

A pinfall finish takes three seconds; a submission may take ten.  By all means disregard the remaining three or four hours, the effort put out by the wrestlers not in the main event, and the work of the announcers and crew.  Dang it, those three seconds altered the fabric of the universe and ruined the entire weekend!

Years from now, while you are on your deathbed and the nurse asks “Did you have any regrets in your life?” undoubtedly the reply will be “Castignoli should have kicked out at two.”  (When you’re super-cool, you call famous wrestlers by their previous indie monikers.)

SS39—Are YOU A True Master Of The Mat World?

If there is one constant in professional wrestling, it’s that everyone opining on social media considers himself an “expert.”  Possibly, even you.  Here’s a litmus test to determine if you truly qualify for such a self-description.

 

Have you ever…

…declared Jinder Mahal is “juiced to the gills”?  Claimed he “didn’t deserve” the SD title shot or subsequent victory?  Bemoaned that he got it because the WWE wants to cash in on the burgeoning Indian market?

…put up good money to launch a podcast wherein the majority of the guests are “friends” who, you know, have never actually been involved in the wrestling business but have watched loads of matches?

…referred to all wrestlers as “Superstars,” any belt as a “title” or “championship,” being that’s the way WWE announcers do so?

…used “heel” as part of your Twitter handle because it’s cool and you’re an easygoing person striving to be popular, never actually doing “heelish” things?

…tweeted to a wrestling celebrity, sprinkling your note with words like “popped” and “buried” so he or she knows you’re a fellow insider?

…run into a wrestler away from the arena (airport, hotel bar, etc.) and ran down your favorite matches from his/her career?

…either to your pals or, better still, to wrestlers’ faces, referred to the latter by their real names (even though you don’t know them personally)?

…used “from what I hear” or “my sources” while meaning “What I read online” or “in a newsletter”?

…chanted “Delete” during a Matt Hardy WWE match despite never watching TNA Impact the entire time he was “Broken”?  Hey, even though that’s where your favorites such as Samoa Joe, Christopher Daniels, Austin Aries, Bobby Roode and AJ Styles first came to your attention, “TNA sucks,” right?  LOL

Well, let the balloons come cascading down from the ceiling, set off the pyros and hit the music.  You’ve just become Jackass Of The Month!  Keep it up and, who knows, you might even be selected Jackass Of The YEAR!!!

 

I’m not about to go over all of the above to prove my point.  First off, you wouldn’t understand most of my explanation.  Having answered “Yes” to any of the above indicates you wouldn’t know the first thing about wrestling if you watched a documentary called The First Thing About Wrestling, read the book it was based upon, and bought the graphic novel then had it read to you by the ghost of Lou Thesz, while attending a seminar entitled “The First Thing About Wrestling.”

I will, however, prove the stupidity of “hardcore” fans by breaking down the Jinder Mahal segment for the imbeciles who agreed with any of it.

*”Juiced to the gills”  Let’s see, the WWE suspended their Golden Boy and main-eventer, one Roman Reigns, for a Wellness Policy violation, but they are turning a blind eye to drug test results of a man who, until late April, was on the bottom third of the card, if used at all.  This would be the testing performed by an independent agency, not the WWE itself.

Uh, yeah, and I suppose you know Jinder is “on steroids” because the Easter bunny rode up on a magic unicorn and told you so.

Ten-to-one you’ve never read the Wellness Policy guidelines, and the closest you come to a workout regimen is your midnight stroke sessions to Shimmer DVDs.  Nonetheless, you know THE TRUTH, since six of the 42 active members of your Facebook group agree with you.

Did any of your fellow blowhards explain how a “roided-up” body improves ring and promo skills?  That’s what I thought.

*Mahal “didn’t deserve” anything.  Answer me this, Junior Einsteins:  How come nobody griped about AJ Styles not “deserving” the big belt after being in the WWE just nine months at the time?

Jinder, despite his superior abilities, had to wait seven years (after becoming a full-timer with the promotion) to get a title shot, even though he was a member of the crowd-pleasing 3MB, still among the most downloaded bands on iTunes.

Mahal remains undefeated in Wrestlemania singles competition; Styles couldn’t even beat Grampa Jericho.  Both members of the feared Ascension have been in the WWE longer than nine months, yet neither even got a chance to qualify to face Orton at Backlash.  Why no complaints about that?  Don’t you “hardcore” fans worship every single NXT talent who makes the main roster?

”It’s all about exploiting a new market.”  Ohhhh, I see; so if, in order to boost business in Asia, Shinguard Nakamura gets to hold the gold, you are going to piss and moan about that, threaten to (but, as always, not follow through) cancel the WWE Network and create crybaby hashtags.

Well, aren’t you?

Perhaps you’re right.  The WWE shouldn’t explore outside revenue opportunities. Sure, your obnoxious behavior has driven Raw and Smackdown ratings to 20-year lows due to you alienating the great casual fans who carried the company for decades; and non-American WWE house shows can’t fill half the seats in big-city arenas even thought they only come to town every three months.

But it’s not like they’re a real business, with stockholders and boards and all that.  Oh, wait.

However, let’s say they decided to follow your harebrained wishes—even though where the WWE tours and markets has absolutely no impact whatsoever on you personally—and just to please you, the goddamn center of the universe, they pass up the potential to pick up a measly $100 million or so.

Are you going to tell me you won’t raise a big stink (beyond your existing repugnant body odor) when, to compensate for lost income, the monthly Network fee is $19.95?  Oh, please.

 

So, yo, “expert,” why don’t you shuffle on out of any conversation about the business end of wrestling and let the grown-ups take care of it?  You are better suited for smarmily mocking fans who buy replica belts—and each drop hundreds of dollars into the company coffer (which YOU don’t do.)

Moron.

Awwww, did the above hurt your wittle feewings?  Don’t let the tears stain your T-shirt emblazoned with the NWO logo…even though you weren’t even watching WCW when the Order caught fire over 20 years ago.

Hang on, I have an idea:  you and your too-sweeting buddies should form your own faction called the NCO—the No Clue Order.

 

SS29—The Good, The Bad and the REALLY Ugly

I occasionally lose track of my many achievements in life: Thank You notes from Presidents and Queen Elizabeth for being a role model for youngsters to emulate both in the U.S. and overseas; destroying Neil Peart and Dave Grohl in a lopsided “drum battle” before refusing to accept my Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame induction later that evening; holding Michael Jordan scoreless during a practice game with the 1992 Olympic team in Barcelona. The list goes on.

Of course, this column being devoted to pro wrestling, there are scores of accomplishments people like you could never dream of achieving. Such as the phone calls from Hall Of Famers and heads of promotions, seeking advice; and actually touching a female breast without charges being filed.

(Touching your sister’s boobs doesn’t count. Hell, everyone has fondled that slut.)

But my least achievement in the King Of Sports is being it’s smartest and cutest participant. Shouldn’t that read “greatest achievement”? Not really, considering the so-called “competition.”

First off, we can eliminate all fans. When I survey the crowd at a wrestling card, the typical audience looks like they held an Ugliest Person In Town contest and everyone in the arena tied for first place. This is especially true in the Mid-South region, where the average crowd is 12. That’s not the average age or ticket sale total—it’s their average number of teeth.

Having eliminated all of you horrors from the mix, let’s turn to people who don’t spend every night on the internet, complaining like little bitches.

The wrestling industry is divided into two distinct segments: (A) the Brilliant And Beautiful, such as myself, The Authority, Tyrus, Bray Wyatt, Jay Lethal and The Miracle; and (B), the Halfwits And Homely.

Take Roman Reigns. (Please) You know why he enters by coming down an aisle? Because the guys won’t let him in the locker room!

Nicknamed “Roman Reeks” due to the terrible stench he emits, Double-R once raised his arms to join in a “Yes” chant, and the first three rows passed out from his armpit odor.

He used to be allowed in the back. But when he took off his boots after the Shield debut match, the arena manager went into a panic, thinking the sewage system had backed up, and stuck the WWE with the Roto-Rooter bill.

Fake SWAT vest to hold in his beer belly, hair greasier than a McDonald’s French fry vat, Rank Roman may be the most repulsive man in the WWE.

Not that he lacks competition in that regard. Look at John Cena—if you can stomach it. “You can’t see me”? If only that were true!!!

This blowhard is always boasting about his Make A Wish record. What he fails to mention is that those poor kids’ number-one wish is that he would leave them alone before his face wilts all the flowers in the room.

When a newborn baby is about to leave the hospital, a nurse presents the parents with a blanket in which to swaddle the brat. But when baby Cena was sent home, the nurse gave his folks a leash.

The future-sixteen-time champ was a problem child. While the other kids attended kindergarten, little John attended kennel. Most boys bond with their father by playing catch; in the Cena household, they played fetch.

Did you know, when John Cena’s ear itches, he scratches it with a hind leg? And he still can’t walk past a fire hydrant without peeing on it.

I’ll give John Chihuahua, er, Cena this: For a muscleman, he’s not a total imbecile. Unlike the similarly jacked Ryback.

The Feed Me Moron is one of those people some may be tempted to describe as “a million-dollar body with a fifty-cent brain”—but I strongly disagree.

It’s 40 cents too high.

Those who Follow my award-winning (2015 Twitter Rookie Of The Year) antisocial media account know I revealed that Ryback is so dumb he thinks a kaleidoscope is something you look into to view collisions, and a strip mall is where nudists shop. But there’s more.

On a WWE tour of Italy, Ryback phoned the Leaning Tower Of Pisa to ask if they deliver. He also thinks “Oregano” is Italian for “Oregon.”

Speaking of Europeans, that Becky Lynch sure looks like she was dipped in ugly sauce then coated with powdered hag flakes. As a child, Becky aspired to join the singing group The Irish Rovers. She never developed the voice for it—but, today, lots of guys call her “Rover.” WOOF WOOF!

I’ll never forget the time Jason Voorhees came up to her, removed his hockey mask and said, “Here, you need this more than I do.”

Clearly, hardly anyone of Irish descent has the striking good looks of Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Get a gander at Finn Balor, for example.

According to his biography, “Balor leaves a mark wherever he goes.” Yep—a grease stain. That bio description equally applies to Finn’s NXT colleague Sami Zayn. Between his notorious flatulence problem and refusal to do laundry, Zayn is also known for leaving marks. That would be skid marks in his shorts.

Of course Canadians have always been sleazeballs. First, there was Bret Hart, the only wrestler who got his hair done at Jiffy Lube. He was followed by Edge and Christian. It is a documented fact that, when E&C were young men, the only blind dates they got were with blind women.  It’s also well-known that their trademark “five-second pose” came into existence because that’s the maximum length of time you can point a camera at them without the lens shattering.

TNA has its own Canadian infestation in the form of Robert Roode. Just imagine what it must be like taking a long car ride with Beer Money.

In one seat, you have Booby Bobby, who thinks a yeast infection is when bread gets sick and a semi-colon is half of a body part. In the other seat sits James Storm, who thinks Godzilla is a monster that attacks atheists and a blog is made out of bwood.

However, when it comes to the Most Brain-Barren Bonebender of them all, NOBODY can compete with AJ Styles, the only person to go on Jeopardy and ask to buy a vowel. The man who had his initials tattooed on his ribs because he kept forgetting them.

Oh how the TNA wrestlers used to make fun of Styles constantly asking incredibly dumb questions. “When is Saturday Night Live taped? Where does the moon go during the daytime? How many members were in the Jackson Five? If you drive backwards, does your gas tank get fuller? In what city is the Brooklyn Bridge?”

I’ll never forget the conversation I had with the dimwit when he was with Ring Of Honor.

AJ: I want to buy a rocketship and fly it to the sun.
SWM: The sun is ten-million degrees. You’ll be burnt to a crisp!
AJ: Naah, man, I’m going to go at night.

In short, AJ STYLES IS A COMPLETE IDIOT!!!!!

(Hmm, I guess that explains why the “WWE Universe” and “indie” fanboys so strongly relate to him.)

SS10–WRESTLING’S RAMPANT RACISM EXPOSED!!!…and some other stuff

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It is a true struggle putting words together this month, after recent shocking revelations; but as wrestling’s only true journalist, I gallantly soldier on with my duty.

The first cardiac-causer is that the gasp-inducing conclusion to the AJ Styles/Dixie Carter relationship was: They were jointly “rescuing” some chick who likes to party and wake up in strange men’s beds.

Now, with AJ being a hick who spent most of his life in Southern trailer parks–and no doubt right this minute is sitting in some cheap plastic lawn-chair, sipping a Miller about 20 feet from a broken-down Chevy rust bucket with flat tires, that he’s “ fixin’ to get runnin’ one of these days “ even though it hasn’t started in 17 years–the assumption is nearly ALL the girls he’s ever known are easy hoze who make up for having mediocre bods by straddling any slob who calls them ‘darlin’” twice in the same hour.

But how on Earth did Dixie “Country Club” Carter come to know such a woman? Perhaps the Carter’s own a chain of waffle houses and DC was at the ceremony when Bare-Down-There Claire–as she is known in Tallahassee pool halls–won the Waitress Of The Month award (“A $500 gift certificate to the bail bondsman of your choice”) in February?

Those answers are relatively irrelevant. The big question here is: WHO SAYS A COKE-SNORTING, NO-STRINGS NYMPHO WHO CAN’T REMEMBER NAMES NEEDS TO BE “RESCUED”?!?

Why in the wide world of sports would you want a goody-goody like that Smelly Kelly or Velvet Skab, when you could lure a skank into your backseat with a six-pack and be doing the Posturepedic Polka quicker than you can say “I love a chick who doesn’t own any panties”?

The only way in which Dixie and A.J. should be concerned about saving bad girls is, saving me two for next Saturday night!

One rumor has it, this whole explanation with the high harlot is all a smokescreen to cover up their illicit affair, because the Carter family wasn’t too keen on their long-legged princess being portrayed as a two-timing home-wrecking slut.

Why, that’s so un-American, I’m left to wonder precisely which Taliban cell those people belong to. Have they never heard of the Kardashians, a dynasty who have amassed greater profits than Panda Energy and TNA combined, through the winning combination of home-produced porn, avoiding “real jobs,” marrying immature athletes, and displaying no outward signs of skills ( beyond the boudoir)?

If AJ didn’t stand for All Jelly, the moment Dixie dragged out the druggie to begin the cover story, Styles would have interrupted, going “What are you talking about, baby? We hit the sheets in about every third Holiday Inn from here to Toronto. That chippy standing next to you ought to know–she’s done about 30 threesomes with us,” before circling the ring to catch high-fives then running to the back to sucker-punch Dixie’s old man, Scourge.

(Remember, young readers, if someone slaps you in front of others, behave with great maturity by assuring everyone you’re OK with it–then back-jump the chump weeks later, when there are no witnesses and you’re no longer the first suspect that pops into everyone’s mind.)

Over at Camp McMahon, there’s a double dip of despair. Foremost, of course, is the incredibly unfair and unwarranted dismissal of John Laurinaitis, a man’s man who delighted millions weekly with his uplifting People Power campaign. John Cena punches the physically handicapped GM–a firing offense and felony in any state of the Union–and Mr. Laurinaitis is the one who gets the axe? Next thing you know, we’re going to hear they canned valet Dawn Marie when she was pregnant. I mean, when you…what’s that? Really? No kidding?

Hmm, Dawn–maiden name = Greek; Laurinaitis = Greek; Spiros Arion = never brought back for any of the legends events; Jim Londos = though perfectly qualified, never chosen as guest GM; Adrian Adonis = no statue outside of Titan Towers. Even someone as thick as a typical Midwesterner can see Big Johnny’s pink slip was clearly a result of ethnic profiling and bias. But the rampant racism gets much worse.

Just look at the plight of Lord Tensai. Brought in with all the bells and whistles and, in less time than it takes for viewers to switch channels when they spot a Colon brother, the big guy was demoted to just-plain Tensai. Hem and haw though they might, the heathens in the WWE hierarchy cannot deny they are publicly declaring, “We’d rather not bring the Lord into American homes.”

We all agree two negatives equal a positive and cancel each other out. So, by Tensai being a fake Japanese in fake fights, that makes him a real Japanese in real fights, and thus indisputably proves the company’s widespread hatred for all things Asian.

Jealous because I’m always right about everything, some corporate apologists may scoff. Let’s let the facts speak for themselves. How many Asians were in Legacy, Mexicool, the Nation Of Domination and the Beverly Brothers? How many Divas title-shots has Gail Kim been given this year? The answers are zero and zilch. Ric Flair twice got inducted into the WWE Hall Of Fame, however, despite dominating for decades and the sophistication they brought to the sport, neither Kung FuNaki or Jimmy Wang-Yank have been nominated once.

Two of the top Asian wrestlers ever, P.Y. Chu-Hi and Yoshi Kwan, graced American soil in the early Nineties, but the WWE refuses to acknowledge either ever existed–though they’re fine with buying tape libraries featuring such complete nobodies as Phil Hickerson and Chris Champion (whoever they are.)**

The WWE even has an ex-employee and current video star named Chyna, yet she has not been invited to a single one of the 87 televised DX reunions. Adding insult to injury, despite its instructional value and inspirational message to young ladies everywhere, her family-favorite Back Door To Chyna has not gotten so much as one minute of airplay in any of the WWE media.

[Full disclosure: Due to my allergy to ugly broads, I haven’t seen said movie. However, I know for a second-hand fact the travelogue encourages lasses to turn their backs on the ordinary and enthusiastically explore another culture, sometimes venturing in places no man has gone before.]

Don’t be surprised if the Greco and Asiatic communities launch massive protest rallies, perhaps even turning the WWE in to Homeland Security for perpetrating these repulsive hate crimes against not one but two peoples!

For the sake of fairness, it should be pointed out that combatants representing the Emerald Isle are never portrayed negatively; and aside from being named Shame Us, the current official Irishman is a strapping powerhouse so inVINCiblE he can squish little indie representatives in 18 seconds, in championship matches that aren’t the least bit symbolic.

Sure, Italians may be dopes, African-Americans love to dance, Latinos “lie, cheat and steal” and Canadians do everything backwards; but you’ll never see the Irish drunk who’s the son of a cop. That would be wrong.

** Five points if you get this line.