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.

SS50—The Man Who Saved The World(WE)

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

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

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

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

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

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

That man is Damien Sandow.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

[backstage]

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

Matt Jackdow:  Hmm, that’s interesting.

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

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

Does no more appearances thereafter.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Hulk Hodow

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOLY CRAP, IT’S IT’S IT’S TRIPLE-M!!!!!

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

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

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

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

 

SS49–In AWE of AEW

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Because every online wrestling “expert” has assured us All Elite Wrestling is going to “change the world,” drive the WWE right out of business and reverse climate change–even though the man in charge and his growing list of Executive Producers have never previously spent a single day in their positions and the promotion has yet to have one match—I am completely convinced said mat world wizards are indeed correct.

I mean they must be correct; because, if you check their entire history of postings, you won’t find a single apology regarding ever being incorrect!  Like, for example, no one in 2018 claimed the WWE had irreversibly “buried” Daniel Bryan and Becky. Or, in 2019, declared Kenny Omega was going to be the surprise entrant in the Royal Rumble.

Now that it has been firmly established beyond question that AEW will dominate the bonebending business for centuries to come, I have kindly put my mammoth brain to work, drawing up a few policies that, once implemented, will make this powerhouse promotion even more, um, powerhousey.

*Men in hazmat suits at shows’ doors to check for lice, and use a special Odorama device to detect if the potential entrant has showered in the past 72 hours.  No neckbeards will be permitted.  Ditto ridiculous sideburns or bandanas to hide receding hairlines—meaning the Jacksons will have to “executive produce” from the parking lot.

*Fans will not be referred to as a “universe,” but rather as “Elitists”…which they are anyway, with their highly unwarranted superiority complexes and smug attitude regarding “casuals.”

*The few broads in the promotion will not be subjected to wearing tiny outfits in order to allow lecherous slobs to get cheap thrills, a la Alexa Bliss.  That would be inexcusable.  Instead, the AEW women will be totally nude except for a thin coating of baby oil.

*Every time Omega is “selling” a now-ruined former finisher for two seconds, color commentator Stately Wayne Manor (oh, you didn’t know?) will shout “Oh, my God, they killed Kenny!!!”

*All pins will be for a six-count (since 98 percent of three-count pins will be kicked out of anyway.)

*Because AEW represents a serious sport for the mat connoisseur, only trained professional wrestlers will serve as Joey Ryan’s penis druids.

*All crowd chants must include the wrestler’s full name as it appears on his birth certificate.  This demonstrates the chanter is a true insider, unlike those peons who foolishly chant a grappler’s ring name or his former indie circuit moniker.

*Like in gymnastics and figure skating, every member of the audience shall hold up a card after each match, denoting the star rating it deserves.  Because AEW can do no wrong, the card set begins with four stars and goes up to ten.

*During the first intermission, there will be a WWE hating contest (even though it was the WWE who made most fans aware of the two biggest names on the card.)

*Security will bodily eject anyone caught cheering for babyfaces and booing the heels.

*Admission to pre-show meet-and-greet sessions will be absolutely FREE.  There will, however, be a $40 charge to exit.

*To satisfy the desires of the intellectuals in the Internet Wrestling Community, EVERY SINGE AEW employee will be pushed and hold a title, including the ring announcers, timekeeper and Martin R. Lipscomb of Dayton, Ohio, who prints up the programs.

*Streamers should be tossed into the ring not only before and after each match, but also with each near-fall.

*Small-talk between matches should be confined to what certain wrestlers “deserve,” which wrestlers already under contract elsewhere should “join” AEW, and namedropping NJPW talent from the past five years. Extra credit for adding “-san” to each Japanese name, e.g. Naito-san.

*Each arena entrant will receive a set of “opinion cards” in order to ensure everyone continues to Tweet the exact same thing throughout the following weeks.  Example:  Card #7 “Vince McMahon is a billionaire who disgustingly used his wealth to sign up the best indie talent…but Tony Khan didn’t do the exact same thing.”

*Providing intelligence tests for venue admission will allow AEW to make history by being the only promotion ever with an entire card consisting of empty arena matches.

*Because AEW is all about gender equality, brotherhood, being “inclusive,” and similar idealistic crap, the least-renowned former Bullet Club member will henceforth be known as Hangperson Page.

*Because Creative Control is very important to chatty social media masterminds, who have never been nor will ever be in matches and know nothing about the history of WCW, AEW will extend its roster Total Creative Control.  Anyone will have the right to refuse anything.  What could possibly go wrong?

 

The way I see it—and bear in mind I’m never wrong about anything, so this is incredibly important—All Elite Wrestling needs to be built around the one true star among their roster.  A charismatic young man with a real gift for addressing the masses and treating them exactly as they deserve to be treated.

Though only a complete numskull would project AEW to compete directly with the empire built by my good friend Vinny K. McMahon, I can see All Elite running a strong second—but only if Tony “Wrath Of” Khan centers the promotion on its most gifted individual.

That of course eliminates Kenny Overrated, either of the Young Dwarves and the son of the guy I called The American Drum because he got beat on so much.  And since I employed the adjective “young,” that means the chubby ghost of Axl Rose, Chris Jericho, ironically enough, doesn’t make the list.  Everyone knows Fozzy performed “The Star-Spangled Banner”…the day it was written.

No, I am referring to the one true standout amongst the signees.  An ideal personality for the yoots of America and beyond to emulate.  Unflinching in his beliefs while possessing the great bravery it takes to challenge the norm—and quite the snazzy dresser.

If you’re too dense to have figured it out by now, I’ll spell it out for you in three letters:  M-J-F.

I will have to check my road log to see if I was in his hometown nine months before his birth; but I suspect Maxwell Jacob Friedman may very well be my son.

Let’s examine the similarities.

*A dozen years ago, long before that Miz clone cat, I was walking around with “>U” stickers on my clothing. MJF’s slogan is “Better than you.”

*Immeasurably attractive—BOTH of us

*Keenly aware of superiority and not afraid to remind you—BOTH

*Recognizes the typical wrestling fan as a repugnant attention-seeker—BOTH

*Would rather belly-flop into a pool of porcupines than converse with you—BOTH

*Idol of millions yet couldn’t care less what anyone thinks—BOTH

*Immense talent being routinely suppressed by the jealous—BOTH

The only major difference between us is that M, as I call him, is very wealthy, whereas every tightwad publisher I ever worked for will verify I am a poor writer.  In fact, I defy anyone to prove I’m not!

At any rate, although my lawyers advise against it—due to terminology someone like you could never remotely understand—at this time, I would like to publicly and proudly bestow Maxwell with legal permission to refer to himself as SWMJF or Stately, Junior.

What higher endorsement could there possibly be?

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.”

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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.

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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?

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 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.

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.

 

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.

 

SS42–A Holiday GIFt To One And All

First off, I’d like to thank everyone responsible for me being named 2017 Wrestling GIF Rookie Of The Year.  And what better way to repay the voters and mat fans everywhere than presenting a special encore, spreading the holiday spirit with the warmth for which I am world-renowned?

What wrestlers really think about fans’ opinions and suggestions….

What wrestlers REALLY think about your Tweets

 

The internet, over any mention of Kenny Omega….

drooling spongebob and pals Kenny Omega name mentoined

 

Hulk Hogan has given a new interview….

Pinocchio nose expand Every Hulk Hogan interview ever

 

RVD announces the identity of his new training partner….

Snoop big weed exhale better BIGGER for RVD quip.

 

The entire size of a typical wrestling podcast audience….

Simpsons Milhouse alone your entire podcast audience

 

The Shield reunion is not going as smoothly as expected….

Stooges Answer The Phone MY GIF FULL

 

When dopes who never watched WCW show up wearing their NWO shirts….

face palm MONTAGE VVVG

 

When people believe attendance figures because they were provided by the promoter….

VVG superanimation zoom to many laughing hysterically

 

Self-explanatory….

ICW crying MY GIF

 

Vince McMahon meets up with the guy who talked him into having a Cruiserweight division….

King Of Comedy Jerry strangles Rupert GIF

 

When your “clever” publicity stunt only yields a cease and desist order….

Jughead KOd GIF

 

Ryback embarks on a new career, carpentry….

Keaton GUTSY stunt sawing board GIF

 

The only women on the Chris Jericho cruise realize the type of nerds they’re stuck onboard with the entire time….

trio vomiting

 

Home footage of typical guy constantly posting feminist hyperbole about women’s wrestling….

Mondo Keyhole MY GIF family fun

 

All men really want from ladies wrestling….

Colleen Camp from Clue MY GIF

 

BREAKING:  Originator of the spinarooni identified….

Shemp spinarooni MY GiF

 

When you boast of being a big expert on Japanese wrestling because you’ve been watching NJPW for two years….

Samurai Cop shortie MY GIF

 

When you claim someone is “buried” after he or she lose ONE freakin’ match….Bowie GIF me reacting when some act as if only Sig Kids

 

When wrestling fans follow MMA because a top newsletter guy likes it….

mindless zombies

 

The difference between male and female fans reacting to Roman Reigns….

Project Moon Base MY GIF

 

The proper way to enter a wrestling fan convention…

Blackadder walks out reaction GIF

 

Typical indies match….

Frank Isle instant MY GIF karate watermarked

 

A suitable question at any gathering of obsessive wrestling fans…

Life of Brian any women here GIF

 

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.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SS30—Vincent Kennedy My Main (Mc) Mahon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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