Stephen Rivera's 4th Fall
Session One: Introduction
January 21, 2011
After an unfortunate misunderstanding, I have come to the conclusion that The Wrestling Fan is a popular website that pokes fun at the absurdities of the wrestling industry. What they did not tell me is that the act of wrestling actual fans of TWF is forbidden. For years, cocky fanatics of this website have been strutting around the promenade, thinking they're the knees of a bee. I converted my above-ground pool into a wrestling ring. I turned my in-ground pool into a Lion's Den. I ruined my bathrobe, spelling out "The Used Apple Salesman of Death" in sparkly sequins. I may not be able to fight you now, but watch out. One day, I will have my time in the sun, soaking in the rays of your blood.
From this day forward, I vow to be the best writer that I can be. I will wow you with my insight, make you think with my thoughts, and arouse you with close-up magic. If I impress enough people, maybe I can convince the authorities to allow me to destroy you. Today is the beginning of the end of your lives. At first, my low-impact, choreographed move set will give you mild discomfort. A vertical suplex might knock the wind out of you. A hip toss might send you into a tizzy. That's when I bring out the machetes.
Until we face off in this arena of mortality we call "Earth," I'd like to get to know a little about you. How will I do that? By letting you know a little about me. Consider this our first man date, except I will not give or receive fist bumps, high fives, or any other physical displays of unity that primarily uses the hands. Elaborate handshakes are especially out of the equation. I've watched enough wrestling to know that you will either pull me in for a clothesline without warning or coax me into one of those disturbing nose-to-nose stare downs. We don't need to breathe that heavily in such close quarters. I just met you.
The relationship between writer and reader is important. To make this reading experience ideal for you and yours, I shall play whimsical ditties on the pan flute. Let's get ready to pan flute. And if you're not down with that, I've got two words for you: flute it.
- Are you happy with your current job? What did you have to do to get it? Not much, I assume. During your interview, you wore a nice suit (possibly clean) and gave honest, thoughtful, and articulate answers to your employer's probing questions. I'm sure you didn't have to degrade yourself or anything like that. Do you want to know how I got this gig? I had to run an obstacle course, transport a little person in a wheelbarrow, carry a keg, make childish jokes on the spot, and find out the true definition of a llama. I get paid in Bengay. Now that I've figured out what I'm eating for dinner, what about the orphans who serve as my butlers and maids? I'm not sharing.
- I dislike John Cena with the fire of a thousand thrusting tyrannosauri. Why? He wears two wristbands and one armband. One. If someone came up to you rocking an armband on one arm but not the other, would you what to be his/her friend? "On my left side only, I must not be sweaty from here to here. I've got big plans for that area," says your new enemy and John Cena. Follow-up question: What does your new enemy and John Cena have in common? Their body sweat distribution techniques are suspect.
- Ricardo Rodriguez is one sketchy dude. Do you think he recycles? I doubt it. He has that face. That non-recycling face. I can see it in his bone structure from the cheeks down. Don't give him your empty Pepsi bottles and newspapers. He does not know how to properly process those materials for reuse. "La Cucaracha" must be Spanish for "One Who Contributes to the Slow Yet Painful Death of our Natural Environment." Ricardo throws your empty Pepsi bottles and newspapers into a Pizza Hut dumpster, then wastes his entire afternoon and evening at the family arcade. He won Del Rio's scarf with 120,000 arcade tickets.
- After birthing three children -- three heaven-sent expressions of their undying love for each other -- do you still believe that Triple H and Stephanie McMahon-H's marriage is an elaborate sham to uphold Hunter's successful career? Raise your hand if you believe this holiest of matrimonies is a sham. To those hand raisers, sham(e) on you. Admit it. They're Aladdin and Jasminening it up on that magic tour bus of theirs on the daily. They've never seen Agrabah quite like this. They just waved to that guy chiselling out the Sphinx, unintentionally distracting him from his nose-carving duties. Stop deciding with your head and start deciding with your heart.
- Remember when Brock Lesnar gave the F-5 to that shark? Good times, good times. Once in a while, I wonder what happened to Lesnar (the shark's natural enemy) and the shark victim (Brock Lesnar's natural enemy). Recently, I was told that one of them tried out for the Minnesota Vikings, then went into MMA. My money -- which I stash in a large jar for Lesnar/shark wagers -- is on the shark. Sean Shark is an ultimate fighter, right? Well, there you go. His ground game is sound. His ground game is like a shark's fin.
- Do you miss the Fisherman's DDT? This harrowing tale of loss might change your mind:
On my nightstand sits a framed photograph of a special lady and I aboard a fishing boat. We are wearing matching knitted caps and cardigan sweaters. She stares into the middle distance as the sun sets over the amber horizon. Her strawberry blonde hair floats in the breeze like a billowing sail. A faint twinkling in her eyes serves as a warm reminder that beauty can be found in all that exists. That night, she caught many fish with that DDT... except one. Why, oh why, did that catfish reverse the move and pull her into the murky depths of the Pacific Ocean? At that moment, my spirit died, and so did my capacity to love. Today, my tears power the ocean, creating infinite waves of regret and despair. The seagulls cry with me. Even though I brought it up, please do not speak of the Fisherman's DDT ever again.
- World Wrestling Entertainment needs to bring back the gimmick. Who's with me on this one? Okay. You? How about you with the ears? Good. In particular, I want to see the tag team gimmick return. What are you telling me, you with the ears? You want out? You're just going to the bathroom? Fine, but don't be surprised at the amount of Ritz crackers left at the snack table when you return. Anyway, WWE needs to create another duo of wannabe Super Heavyweights like Crash and Hardcore Holly with a fresh twist. Prior to every match, they will bring their scales down to the ring. Next, they will weigh their opponents' vegetable groceries. If the groceries exceed ten pounds, the Super Heavyweights will refuse to wrestle them. Nobody needs that much lettuce on the day of a wrestling match.
- Is WrestleMania your favourite Pay-Per-View of the year? If so, I am disappointed. I feel sorry for those around you, having to deal with someone as predictable and boring as you. Unlike simpler fans, my favourite WWE Pay-Per-View is Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. I like to call it "TLC." For the past few years, I have hosted a chair party at my place. Family and friends come over to see some awesome, furniture-related action. My only rule is that they must bring a chair. One time, my friend Florentine "Ghetto Augustus" Habernathy came over with an ottoman. Long story short, I made him listen to the entire Pay-Per-View outside my front door. He couldn't hear most of it because of all the loud chair sitting going on inside. Serves you right for trying to sneak in here with ineligible furniture, FloHab.
- Are you underestimating the cinematic genius of WWE Films' upcoming release entitled The Chaperone, starring Triple H, Tina Fey, Jr. from Modern Family, the uncle from Grounded for Life and the voice of Lisa Simpson? I thought so. Clearly, you don't know a good family movie when you see one. Just now, a hundred entertaining and harmless family movies flashed across your screen. You saw none of them. Oh well. More family movies produced by WWE Films for me. You know that guy wearing a Dick Tracy hat in the trailer? You'll never learn about his inner turmoil, walking around with Dick Tracy's hat as if it is his own. Tracy is a detective. That guy better run.
- I find the Royal Rumble pretty fascinating. Thirty (now forty) men fighting in one ring for a world title shot is the second most thrilling aspect of the event. In case you weren't aware, the most thrilling aspect is seeing half of the wrestlers take lengthy breathers during a lull in the action. When Rey Mysterio won it that one year, I saw him chilling in the corner for 30 minutes watching everybody else duke it out. Did any of you catch him pull a Snickers out from under his mask? For a split second, he was Betty White.
- What's your entrance song? I use the nWo B-Team theme for most occasions -- birthdays, weddings, family dinners, Junior United Nations assemblies, and sex crime scene investigations. Whenever I enter a room, I want to establish an aura of immediate inferiority. Despite the intimidating size and strength of my undercarriage, I'm a regular guy. I'm not looking to threaten anybody. Also, I want everybody to know that I brought Vincent. There's a fire at the local schoolhouse. Who do you call? Call me because I will bring Vincent. Once Vincent shows up, fire out. A sigh of relief: you can breathe it with your lungs.
- I think I'm going to leave this site. I'm almost positive that nobody has ever left this website before in the midst of a column, but I feel like I should for the good of myself and the Internet. To be honest, I don't feel welcome here. Around these parts, they do not take kindly to an individual of my stature and undercarriage. I get the feeling that things won't get any better. Do you want me to leave right now? I will. I so will. You will see the last of me very soon. I'm not kidding. Do you want me to do it? I'll do it. Here I go. Should I do it? Too bad. I got this harness. A harness under my shirt. Welcome to The O.C., baby. The joke and the yolk is on you. The joke is generally covering the bottom and middle sections of your person. Meanwhile, the yolk portion of a single egg has made contact with your face, bursting upon impact.
THE TWF "MENTAL WELLNESS TEST!"
With Christmas just around the corner, what better way to spend your few remaining dollars (left over after the seemingly infinite line-up of fucking pay-per-views ) then on the following "quality WWE merchandise!" After all, if they don't move this stuff, and fast, stockholders just might get time to figure out what "plummeting domestic buyrates" means!... and well, I don't think they need to tell you what that means! (Seriously. They're not telling you. Everything is fine! Ahem.).