SS51–YouTube Boobs

Want to win a pair of tickets to Wrestlemania?  Airfare, front-row seats and a meet-and-greet for any All Elite Wrestling or Ring Of Honor event in the United States?  A deluxe prize package allowing you to attend a New Japan show IN PERSON?

You’ll get none of those here.  But, since the first few sentences of each column appear when I post the link on social media, I figured I could lure in a few saps with the above.

Welcome, suckers!

But don’t pout.  Because you do earn the greatest prize of all:  The opportunity to read my words.

Even if you do need some help with the bigger ones.

For the rare unaware, there is no disputing the well-documented fact I am the Mat Messiah.  It’s mentioned repeatedly in my autobiography.

Sure, there are a bunch of little twerps opining on their YouTube channels—and getting about 20 cents a week for their monetized accounts.  FYI, YT pays an average of $38 a day…if you get SIX-HUNDRED-THOUSAND hits per month.  Yeah, right, as if any of the whine-and-cheesers come remotely close to that.

As per https://influencermarketinghub.com/youtube-money-calculator/

YouTube views money HIGHLIGHTED calculator stats

Ask yourself this:  How many of the self-proclaimed hotshots have ever convinced a total stranger to pay them to express opinions?  And not just once, but rather on a regular salaried basis.

Answer:  Zero.

I’ve succeeded at it for 30 years, and have six figures in both my bank and mutual fund accounts, as well as owning a fully paid-for house and two cars, Jackson.  And before you moan “Yeah, but you got that from working a regular job,” let me add:   Nope, haven’t had one of those since 1990.  Gained all my goodies by being the King Of Columnists.

Besides getting paid—a LOT—I have also brought women to orgasms—making that two things the wannabes never achieved.

I also bathe and wear clean clothes daily, have a 32” waist, own T-shirts in colors other than black, and can talk about more than one topic—even more for the yo-yos to catch up to me on.

Imagine how delusional the Tuber Turds must be, not only believing their babbling bellyaching has a molecule of validity, but also that people want to see them.  Jumping G-zuss, most of these bearded bozos look like the inside of a discarded diaper with a Brillo pad stuck to it.

Ever notice how they’re usually only seen from the blubbery waist up?  That’s so you can’t see what their hands are up to beneath the table.  Hint:  They’re bare down there.

(And need tweezers to do it.)

White Urkel, sometimes joined by a bulbous blob, spouting non-stop negativity to a flock of trained parrots who also can’t offer up a single constructive idea, having never had one.  Now THERE’S something I really want to witness—never.

At least there’s one upside to these series of tired tirades.  We can’t smell the practitioners.

According to an Environmental Protection Agency report, every time the organizers flung open the doors to air out the stench at Nerdstock, er, Starrcast, the fumes melted another iceberg.

It is a known fact, whenever one of these geek gatherings is in town, the hotels suspend laundry service, knowing none of the guests will ever request it.  Then, of course, they have to fumigate each of the beds once the dorks depart.  Naturally, the sheets are tossed into the incinerator, as it’s too difficult to get all those flatulence-induced skidmarks off them.

I wonder how many of the Tuber Tubbies return home to discover their entire family has moved to another state and left no forwarding addresses.  Oh, well, at least when the “important wrestling personalities” return to work, the Arby’s manager will hook them up with new uniforms.

Can’t have an “influential internet star” cleaning the toilets in the NJPW shirt he’s been wearing all week!

What’s that, buffalo breath?  You have a YouTube channel and take exception to being described as a mouthy malcontent who has less knowledge of the stretchin’ profession that a three-toed sloth does of Sir Isaac Newton’s take on soft-boiled eggs?

Well, then, Mister “I Actually Think I Look Really Cool In My Profile Picture, Wearing A Headset Any Schmoe Can Buy On Amazon,” let me put it another way.  I was going to list the name of everyone who understands more about wrestling than you do, but the WordPress word limit prohibits me from naming every person on the planet.

Your tenuous grasp of the bonebending business is only matched by your tenuous grasp of reality, Ace.  Now, go sit before your highly original backdrop of wrestling toys, and cry about that for two hours.

Shoo, shoo!!!

 

Random Numskullery Recently Encountered

*Before Money In The Bank, pinheads were predicting Sasha Banks would not only somehow weasel her way into the women’s ladder match, but also cop the briefcase.

Right.  Someone who got sent home for disciplinary reasons including publicly moaning about the company’s booking decisions—which she was okay with when they chose to make her singles champ four times—is going to get REWARDED…and with a world title shot, no less.

Even if Vincent Kennedy McMahon finally made his first bad decision, the prissy prima donna would probably get injured three more times between MITB and SummerSlam. May as well change her name to Miss Sterio, as often as sloppy Sasha in out of action.

*AEW apologists and stooges are going around declaring “I’m all for many promotions doing well, because it creates jobs for wrestlers and others, and creates healthy competition.”  All true, and thoughts I’ve expressed myself.  Though without a finger up one nostril.

HOWEVER, these are the same “open-minded” mollusks who have publicly gloated every time TNA/Impact hit a bumpy patch, never supporting that company or Ring Of Honor except for the period when their Bullet Club buddies were with the latter.

Additionally, they’re now staunchly against the biggest promotion in the world and have been stupid enough to constantly “choose sides”—instead of simply enjoying all promotions—dating back to the Monday Night Wars (and beyond, in some instances.)

Tony Khan’d opens his wallet for Cody and clique, and suddenly these hypocrites have turned hippie, expressing love for the health of the entire industry…as long at it excludes the “evil” WWE.

And they’re still not supporting Impact, ROH, Shimmer, MLW or anything else perceived as competition for AEW, and are attacking anyone who dares to casually mention that All Elite doesn’t appeal to him or her.  “We are all for competition…just not against us.”

“Better” still, this biased BS is coming before AEW has aired a single television episode.  In other words, they’re twisting themselves into pretzels, white-knighting a product they are guessing is going to be good.

That’s as idiotic as hearing that Steven Spielberg is making a movie with a few popular actors, and giving it a rave review before it is even produced.    And the two-faced fans’ level of hypocrisy is the equivalent of, say, a new promotion starting up—billed as “changing the world,” innovative and fresh—then hiring an announcer who is the most identifiably WWE non-wrestler alive and the stalest symbol of the Old Guard.

That would be Just Ridiculous.  Or J.R., for short.

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.

 

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.)