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!
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?
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.
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.”
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.