SS44—Manor On (Social) Media: You guys are GREAT!

With my Follower total resetting to zero when it hit 70 million, there’s no debating @SWManor is the most popular Twitter account that (sometimes) includes wrestling-related posts.  Consequently, I am constantly flooded with genius-level opinions regarding the King Of Sports.  This time out I will examine the most common of those incredibly astute communications.

 

“RAW and Smackdown are in huge financial trouble.  Look at this picture of all the empty seats in the arena the telecast is coming from tonight.”

Always trust “empty seat” photos posted online, even though the person taking the picture fails to mention it was shot an hour before the show started.  The billion-dollar WWE with two major television outlets currently bidding hundreds of millions for their broadcast rights is in dire financial condition!  I’m selling all my WWE stock right this minute!!!

 

“Chris Benoit should go in the Hall Of Fame.  After all, it’s been ten years and he was never convicted of any crime.”

Right you are, MENSA member.  Let’s take it a step further and also add Adolph Hitler to the Celebrity Wing.  It’s been over seventy years and the Fuhrer never stood trial or was even arrested!

Quite a shame Chuckling Charlie Manson croaked.  His induction speech for ol’ Adolph would have totally ruled, dude.

 

“So awesome seeing all the guys in Bullet Club shirts on WWE TV.”

Yes, these rugged individualists all dressed alike are really sticking it to the WWE by buying those $250 ringside seats then going home to watch good wrestling on the Network.  Right on, brother.  Fight the power!

 

“Now that Dixie Carter is gone, I’m going to give Impact another chance.”

Wow, that is so incredibly kind of you.  The promotion you sneered at for the past ten years while claiming to never watch it—yet being familiar with Bobby Roode, EC3, Eric Young, the Broken gimmick, etc the moment they arrived in NXT/WWE—is going to be blessed with your impartial eyes analyzing the product.  I’m immediately going to phone Scott D’Amore to ensure he sends you a “Thank You” card along with one addressed to your mother, for bringing you into this world.

(Your biological father will get one, too—if he’s ever identified.)

 

“It’s okay.  I’m a heel fan.”

I’ll say you are, buddy!  Don’t be so humble.  You are among the biggest “heel fans” in all of wrestling.*

Can you believe some snowflake SJW buzzkills think that buying a ticket means you are a spectator and not a participant in an event?  Losers.  But, anyway….

The way perfectly chiseled Hercules-lookalike you called that person actually in the business “a fat pig”…I-I-I am nearly at a loss for words, so awestruck by the profundity, originality and jaw-dropping cleverness of your material (…even if it bore no resemblance to something anyone who grasped heeling would say or do.)

And, oh my word, the way you yelled “You slut” at a woman you know nothing about—which, come to think of it, is exactly how much you know about any woman—is pure gold.

But why limit it to shouting from a crowd several feet away?  I say take the next step: wait for a female wrestler in the parking lot, get face-to-face with her while she’s with some of the male wrestlers or her husband, and go “Hey, whore, blow me.”  I can absolutely promise you’ll get an enthusiastic pat on the back and be declared KING of all “heel fans.”*

[*presuming “heel fans” is synonymous with “assholes”…which it is.]

 

“All In 2018 is going to be off the hook!!!”

You know it, baby.  Even though you don’t know minor details like the lineup or if you’ll in fact be able to watch it if not in attendance, it’s going to be lit (since it’s indoors and at night.)  Imagine that—shooting to fill a 10,000-seat venue.  From what I understand, that’s never been done before by any promotion ever. Too sweet me, bro!!!

All In Pee Wee

 

“_____ should go to Japan where he’d be more appreciated.

Yep.  Wrestling promotions are like social clubs.  Much like you decide to choose a AAA membership for safe motoring, a grappler picks out a promotion, then “joins” NJPW, Progress, Chikara Pro, Impact Wrestling, ICW, Ring Of Honor or whatever else tickles his fancy at the moment.  Any contract he has inked with his current employer can be casually torn up.  It’s only a piece of paper, right?

As TV has taught us, two people sign documents, one turns over the table, then a pull-apart brawl ensues.  Clearly, contracts are just for show and aren’t legally binding or anything.

Also, once a wrestler “joins” another league, he’s instantly installed in a top-tier program to illustrate he’s “more appreciated” than in the past.  This happens every single time, explaining why Samoa Joe and Sami Zayn immediately main-evented on the WWE main roster upon leaving ROH, and have each held multiple WWE titles.

 

“I hate it how he’s being shoved down our throats.”

I know, right?  Every Monday night, here he is being featured for like twenty minutes per episode, doing basically the same thing, since he got his singles push.  Never puts anyone over unless it’s a total fluke or distraction finish.  His “technical ability” is a joke, having maybe five moves.  And how many times do we have to watch him face Brock Lesnar?

Yeah, Braun Strowman needs to go.

 

“I can’t wait to see this indy match featuring Tenille Dashwood!”

It was sooooo unfair of the WWE to cut the historic pioneer of the groundbreaking Women’s Revolution, what with the eardrum-shattering reception Emma was getting upon every entrance and the remarkable way she pulled off the Emmalina makeover.  And who among us does not have a DVR stuffed with her breathtaking matches in NXT and the WWE?  In all honesty, I can’t decide whether the martyred master technician should be called “the modern-day Manami” or “the female Thesz”.

Here’s hoping you enjoy the event.  No doubt Tenille will steal the show.  Especially if it’s held in a Walmart.

 

“We know that everyone hates Roman Reigns.”

Blanket statements with nothing to back them up are very insightful and highly encouraged.  Opinions, facts—pfffft, the same thing.

And by all means use “we,” since you personally are the spokesperson for every single fan across the globe.  Additionally, even though you are the only person manning it, you should use plurals such as “we” and “us” on your site/account to create the illusion you have friends. Not the Facebook kind; but rather people who wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in public with you (if you can imagine that.)

Also, feel free to constantly refer to “our sources.” It’s a lot easier than typing “something Dave Meltzer or PWInsider posted and I’m just copying so it looks like I get info from someone inside even though the closest I’ve ever come to the industry is once seeing Mikey from the Spirit Squad pulling out of a KFC lot.”


“@VinceMcMahon”

Utter brilliance.  I am certain that, after every PPV and TV broadcast, Vince’s immediate priority is to check his Twitter feed and take fastidious notes regarding what wrestling fans want.  The following morning, he has a meeting with his entire staff, outlining demands made by @smark4life et al, and ordering them to be implemented at once.  That evening, Vince goes through the timelines of each of his two million Followers, hoping the changes met with their approval.

Vince laughing GIF

The Chairman contemplating fans’ advice

“Ronda Rousey doesn’t deserve to just walk in and get on Wrestlemania.”

Yeah, look at all the Sports Illustrated spreads, multi-million-dollar-grossing PPVs and Olympic medals Sasha Banks had on her resume before she got to the WWE.  And who’s more of a worldwide household name than “the girl who’s Snoop Dogg’s cousin”?

You were right in criticizing Ronda’s initial promo, too.  I’m sure those badmouthing Rousey could—on their very first speech in a pro wrestling ring, live, in front of millions watching in the arena and at home—knock it clean out of the park.  Especially reciting a memorized scripted promo rather than speaking in their own words.

 

“Finn Balor should have won Elimination Chamber then the Universal Championship at Wrestlemania.”

So true. Mr. McMahon is very fond of smaller guys, particularly men in whom he invests a fortune in time and money then get injured right after the Chairman puts the big strap on them.  Why, he even makes them powerless figurehead GMs after they are forced to retire.

 

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.

 

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?

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.)

SS21–Wanna See My Twits?

StaStaBlueNICE48size

Because Mr. McMahon begged me “So at least one Monday tweeter won’t be an imbecile,” I signed on with Twitter in October of 2014, and now, as completely expected, hold the world record for Most Followers, currently boasting a total of over 100,000,300. (Oh, sure, it may say something like “329” when you look at my Profile, @SWManor. But that’s because the counter resets when you hit a hundred-mil.)

Consequently, I am inundated daily with tweets and e-mails from around the globe. I, of course, generally blow off the ones that aren’t from my fellow celebrities or attractive broads–which in turns means I most certainly can’t be bothered with yours. However, feeling a bit sorry for your wretched lives of unending tedium and the absolute certainty you will NEVER associate with anyone of signficance beyond maybe cleaning their pool or delivering them a pizza, I have consented to share some of the messages that have beamed into the Stately Estate in recent days.

“Have you seem me since I stole Mike Tenay’s job on TNA Impact?”–@realjoshmathews

Yes, you’re half of the only announce team ever to have all its members barred from the cooler rides at Six Flags due to being under four-foot-six.

“Although he wonders how the kids have big blue eyes just like yours, my husband still doesn’t suspect a thing about us. Tee hee hee. Can’t wait until I get all of Daddy’s money, so I can divorce Triple-Homely and put YOU in charge of the company. It’s best for business!”–Stanford Steph@OPP.com

Can’t wait to hear you tell him “You’re FIIIIIIIRED.” And, hey, that workout DVD you sent has done wonders for my forearms and wrists!!!

“You’re a man of the world. Where should I go on my vacation?”–@MATTHARDYBRAND

I recommend the year 2007, when people still cared about your sorry carcass.

“Did you see my last match?”–@HEELZiggler

I sure hope so!!!

“You have been such a tremendous inspiration to many people like me. The best way I could possibly thank you was to hook you up for free cable for life, including those ‘special’ channels from the hidden cameras I hooked up in locker areas.”–CreepyRobLowe@DishNetwork.com

Thanks, pal–and you were right, those cheerleaders from Central High really take some looooong hot showers! Accent on “hot,” heh heh heh.

“When we say ‘Ooo,’ you say____?”–@WWEUsos

Oh, sh*t, change the channel.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad nyooz.”–@WadeBarrett

Don’t tell me there’s another New Day video coming out!

“Daniel Bryan got robbed at the Royal Rumble!”–Johnny Internetdork@nosepicker.net

Stay right where you are. Your nanny will be by shortly to change your diaper.

“I’m going to do another podcast soon, complaining about how the WWE made me the longest-reigning world champion in modern times and allowed only me to have entrance music from an outside source. So, there.”–CMPunk@WhineAndCheese.com

And you are? Don’t seem to recall the name. Wait, you’re the supposedly “alternative” guy who wears suits now, right?

“Tap of the marnin’ to ya, fella.”–@WWESheamus

Go suck on a Lucky Charm, creep.

“About calling myself a real American hero even though I never served in the military, brother–when I was 18, I wanted to join the Army, but the President said, ‘You’re too valuable to the country to put at risk, dude.'”–HulkHogan@BS4Life.net

Well well well, I guess George Washington could tell a lie, after all.

“I red that book The Seacret and it make me reel smart now Stanley.”–@Ryback22

I bet you were “reel” surprised to learn there are books that don’t come with crayons.

“Growing up in England and reading your brilliant Power Slam magazine columns, I’ve spent my entire life fantasizing about being just like you. XOX”–@RealPaigeWWE

Well, hon, you’ve succeeded…to a certain degree: from the neck down, your physique is practically identical to mine. There is, however, one area in which we greatly vary. Tell you what–next time you’re in Philly, stop by the Manor Mansion and we can air out our differences. I’m sure you’ll be coming here many times thereafter.

“Since I’m a good guy now, I’ve been thinking I ought to change my name. What do YOU think?”–@REALBobbyRoode

I agree. Pumpernickel Von Dumbass Roode has a much better ring to it.

“Drats, I wish I just once could meet up with a talented, bright hunk of manliness like Stately Wayne Manor.”–Elvira, Mistress Of The Dark @TheRealElvira

I was going to conjecture you aren’t going to the correct locales; but from what I can see, you hang out in all the right places.

“Have you ever seen me wrestle?”–@THETOMMYDREAMER

I’m not sure I’d call what you do”wrestling,” but I have in fact seen your fourth, fifteenth and twenty-seventh “retirement match.”

“I did my best promo EVER last night!!!”–@iLikeSamiZayn

Heard it. Must say it suggested you have a very bright future–in pantomime.

“You can’t see me.”–@JohnCena

If only that were true. Sigh.

“Nobody’s ever been better than you at this here color commentatoring. What is the one thing I could do that would most improve a Raw broadcast?”–@BookerT5x

Contract laryngitis.

SS5–Greeks bearing gifts/James Storm is all wet

StaStaBlueNICE48size

I, for one, do not understand the lack of respect accorded the honorable John J. Laurinitis.

If you people actually knew anything about the business, you’d be aware of John’s remarkable influence on the sport over the past 20-plus years. First of all, he was a member of the Dynamic Dudes, a tag team who came to the ring on skateboards. Despite being saddled with partner Shane Douglas, John was so groundbreaking that, to this very day, athletes are still forming tag teams and people everywhere are riding skateboards.

(And, yes, “Extreme” diehards, that was your great retardcore pseudo-rebel Sham Douglas doing exactly what the big corporation told him to do…just like his modern counterpart, CM Bunk.)

You probably also don’t know that good old JL first showcased his incredible administrative abilities in The Land Of The Rising Sun (not to be confused with the WWE, The Land Of The Rising Son-In-Law.)

Whenever All-Japan Pro Wrestling promoter Giant Baba faced a difficult hurdle, John was always first to leap into action. And if Mrs. Baba needed something, John would be just as happy to service her, even if it meant getting on his knees or occasionally put him in an awkward position. Speak to any authority on the history of the AJPW office, and they’ll tell you there’s no question John has gone down in it.

Insensitive ruffians rudely refer to him as “John Laryngitis.” Shame on those curs! I happen to know he was an original member of the Three Tenors, until his vocal cords got slightly damaged by inhaling paint dust while voluntarily restoring the Sistine Chapel ceiling. And it took all his persuasive skills to talk the Pope out of the pontiff’s plan to appoint him Saint John The Even Better.

The Laurster will probably get a little sore at me because he is very shy about airing his attributes in public, but let me add just one other of his admirable traits. Unlike Ted DiBiase Jr, Tamale (or whatever Snuka’s daughter is called), Garrett Bischoff, Rikishi’s kids (the So-Sos), Randy Orton and The cRock, John is not one of those people that used family connections to break into the industry. Just like Alberto Del Rio, Cody Rhodes, Jeff Jarrett, and even Mr. McMahon himself, jovial John got to his lofty position entirely through determination and perspiration.

Why, John is such a personal inspiration, if I ever have a daughter, I intend to name her “Laura Nitis.”

And now to move from class to jackass. Cowchipboy James Storm ended his humiliatingly short one-TV-match championship “reign” by headbutting a beer bottle brought to ringside by one James Storm, then turned around and moaned about it. Brilliant, Jimbo. Maybe next time, you can lose your pistol during a bank robbery, then insist the cops arrest the teller who capped your sorry ass, on the grounds that “I called No Shoot-zees”!!!

Everyone with class knows beer is to be consumed either at the strip club or directly out of a 40 while standing on a street corner, most certainly NOT at ringside or in the locker room, where it will tempt true wrestlers to try their first sip of the evil liquid. And that’s why, as a role model, Kurt Angle was morally obligated to split Storm’s skull: Kurt was courageously protecting the other grapplers from being led astray by demon alcohol, a beverage the vast majority of bonebenders studiously attempt to avoid ever spending a penny on.

He’s never been one to brag about it, so you will probably be surprised to learn Kool Kurt is an Olympic medalist (and bound to win another one next year), thus it is his duty to maintain vigilance over America. Or at least the good part of the country.

See, that’s the problem. The whole Tennessee-Alabama-Missouri-Mississippi sector, where creatures like Storm crawl out of, is the colon of America–and we all know what a colon is full of. Due to the brain damage caused by in-breeding and being downwind from a still during their formative years, these rednecks actually think it’s cool to own a filthy pickup truck but no front teeth, paint the house to match their meth lab, and raise their daughters to be just like that slut Taylor Swift. (Hell, everyone knows that girl has handled more men’s zippers than a seamstress at the Levi’s factory.)

James’ brother Hale proudly points out how each member of the entire family has had their pictures taken by a professional photographer…the mug shot man at County Jail. “Wah, ol’ Fergus over in Monroeville done took us in a group shot after the Thanksgivin’ brawl, so we could use the pitcher for our family Christmas card,” added James’ sister-in-law (and cousin) Gail, just before spitting a wad of chewing tobacco on the outhouse wall.

(Frankly, I wish she would have closed the door while giving the interview. Flies from four counties were drawn to that stinky thing. And I don’t mean the toilet below it.)

James Storm reminds me of a basket of used Kleenexes–they’re both white trash. The closest his type ever comes to culture is a fungus infection. Ask them if they’ve ever heard of Shakespeare, they reply “No, who brews it?”

Bobby Roode told me, if you look at the yearbooks from Hillbilly High, you learn James had an action-packed four years–as a freshman. Dozens of neighboring hicks gathered at the Storm shack for a double party when James finally passed eighth grade. After all, how many other people graduate junior high and celebrate their 24th birthday on the same afternoon?

Admittedly, James’ presence has had one educational effect. Now that we’ve seen his mouth, we know where the term “Storm Sewer” originated.