Stephen Rivera's 4th Fall
Session Two: Abercrombie
February 3, 2011
The reviews are in... into whatever container that is capable of storing opinions about wrestling columns. You adore me. I am currently #111 on Maxim's Hot 100 List. The Internet Wrestling Community wants me to autograph their keyboards. The other day, five male stalkers peeked their heads out of the bushes and asked me to usher them into manhood. Neat. One publication, which I shall call "The No Duh Tribune," said my work will change the way you look at wrestling. Another critic named "Cereal Mike" praised my column for not getting soggy in milk. Colour me not surprised.
Check me out, world. Like Kevin Rudolf — and Lil' Wayne to a lesser extent — I made it. "It" is what I made. I am the inventor of "It." Even critics who are supposed to be reviewing breakfast cereals are reading my column and celebrating its genius by dipping it into a bowl of homogenized cow juice. There's nowhere to go but upwards, frontwards, backwards, or downwards.
Two hits in a row is pretty rare in the words entertainment industry. This time around, will I scribe a brilliant and gritty masterpiece like The Wrestler, or come up short with The Wrestler 2 - Lamb Jam: Son of Ghost Ram? World Wrestling Entertainment knows what I'm talking about, which is why ECW December to Dismember was a one-time thing. Perhaps I should take what made that event so successful and attempt to duplicate it. If WWE only managed to announce two matches on the day of that Pay-Per-View, I will tell you nothing about what's to come in my column. Maybe it's in English. Maybe it's in hieroglyphics. Who's to say it is or isn't?
I dedicate this column to the fallen, one-trick ponies of yesteryear. May I use piles of your decaying bones to climb closer and closer to the top of Candy Mountain. Peace be mostly with me. What remains of peace can be with you.
- Santino Marella's trombone celebration offends me. An individual's inability to purchase tangible instruments is not something to laugh about. Somewhere in America, a family band is performing at a small county fair with an invisible guitar, piano, drum set, and triangle. The crowd is squirming. They're not sure how to react. The band believes they're performing a cover of "Return of the Mack" by Mark Morrison. Sure they are. Truly, silence is the saddest music of all.
- When he retires, The Undertaker deserves to be in the WWE Hall of Fame. If I had my say, his in-ring accomplishments would have nothing to do with his induction, though. I would rather honour him for being buried alive a lot and surviving instead. Before The Undertaker came along, I was afraid of being buried alive. Now that I know I will be safe, I plan to be six feet under tomorrow. See you in April. When I make my return, it will take me a while to walk through the smoke and say hello to you. Why? I was buried alive. I got dirt in my boots. Until then, here's my father. I put him in a glass box and drowned him in expired oatmeal. He's fine now.
- I read in my local paper that the police have stopped conducting polygraph tests on suspects. Even though they have the government funding for state-of-the-art, lie detecting equipment, they've come up with a better alternative. In most cases, they find it more efficient to spin around really fast in mid-air and hit the suspect in the face with a forearm. If the suspect fails to stay seated in his chair, he is guilty. If he remains seated, they make him knuckle up and blow the roof off while they rap. As long as they keep the hoodlums off the streets, I'm okay with it.
- I'm not a fan of the Tower of Doom. Any man who willingly involves himself in a double suplex/powerbomb/electric chair drop predicament isn't very smart. The Tower of Doom is not beneficial to anyone. Supposedly, doom is awaiting him in that tower. Good gravy. Check the warning signs. An individual who participates in the Tower of Doom is the same kind of fool who jumps into an orgy as everybody involved in said orgy starts falling off a cliff.
- I've come up with a way to find out the identity of the RAW General Manager. During your next excursion to Monday Night RAW, trade your ticket with a fellow attendee to get closer to ringside. Then, sit directly behind Michael Cole. During a commercial break, tap him on the shoulder and ask him some questions. Is the GM a girl? Is this GM a brunette? Does this GM wear a hat? If Cole says no to all three questions, take out your guessing board. Eliminate every brunette woman wearing a hat. Flip those faces down. So long, Maria.
- The Nexus (New, Old, or Diet) will never get the best of John Cena. They have no clue how to prevent a sneak attack, let alone a regular attack. Unless they learn how to take turns watching out for an ambush, they might as well surrender their treehouse now. Former leader Wade Barrett claims they couldn't work out a nap schedule that could please everyone. I don't buy it. No wonder why he's no longer part of the group. All he had to do was split Nexus up into two teams and make them trade duties. One team could guard the treehouse. Meanwhile, the other team could wear their Nexus shirts sideways to turn the N into a Z. Shhh. They're sleeping.
- If you're in the Stamford, Connecticut area anytime soon, can you break into the McMahon estate and check up on Linda McMahon for me? I'm worried about her. Not only did she lose her Senate race, she has a history of being unable to fall down properly in times of stress and trauma (ex. taking a Stone Cold Stunner). For her, five out of seven nights must be toss-and-turn fests. Just when Linda thinks her head is about to hit the pillow, she misses and winds up in the kitchen somehow.
- I really want to be in one of those segments that feature WWE fans cheering their face off while standing in line for WrestleMania tickets. On second thought, I might not be the best guy for that segment. I think it's due to all that real talk. Your average fan would say, "Woo," "Yeah," or "WWE rules," at the camera without hesitation. As for me, I would be honest and open. "Despite being sporadically amusing, this particular promotion is flawed from a character development standpoint. I like WWE, but not as much... as I like... daffodils." Put a striking daffodil arrangement on Pay-Per-View and I will pay 70-80 dollars for the high-definition feed.
- The Bella Twins are two of the more intriguing, multi-dimensional characters in today's WWE. After all, they are twins. Once you see one, the need to see another at the same time in the same place intensifies. You could see one, blink, then look at the same one again, but who are we kidding here? That would be ridiculous. If you could take The Bella Twins and clone them a bunch of times, you would single-handedly stimulate the economy. Tandem bicycle and mint gum manufacturers need their business.</p>
- I fully credit The Miz's success to his switch from jean shorts to trunks. Upon first glance of him in those silly shorts, I heard the wrestling community's whispers of judgment. What's this guy's problem? No entertainer worth watching hides his thighs from the public. What is he hiding under those shorts anyway? The Lost City of Atlantis?. If you are struggling to receive a promotion at work, I recommend you follow The Miz and simplify your wardrobe. Switching from pants to underwear will definitely impress your boss at KFC.
- In your opinion, has Kaitlyn become the Chuck Norris of WWE yet? I believe her desire to be like Chuck is unrivalled. The creative team should just give her the beard and make her a Texas Ranger already. Although she hasn't expressed this with her words, her amazement at the affordability of the Total Gym is obvious. Perhaps I'm not watching NXT and SmackDown as originally intended. Tuesday and Friday nights are crazy for me. Wait. How much is the Total Gym again? And I can return it if I am not satisfied with my purchase after 30 days? Do I get a full refund? Man, that's a quality deal.
- Younger fans like to ask me about the good old days of professional wrestling. I'm not even that old, but I consider myself to be an expert on the subject, what with my collection of two VHS tapes from 1997 (also known as the year that wrestling was invented). I usually direct the fans to pay attention to one particular feud between Sting and Hollywood Hogan. This historic rivalry went down like so:
While Sting was off on a year-long holiday to Europe, the villainous Hogan tied helpless women to train tracks and twirled his handlebar moustache with his fingers. Hogan thought he could get away with it, only for Sting to make his triumphant return, entering the arena on a railroad hand cart. Sting saved most of those women, but he couldn't stop fast enough. He should have took an aeroplane.
The following week, Sting and Hogan traded barbs over the steam-powered telephone. "At Handsome Jimmy's Malt Shop, I overheard that your taffy pulling machine is of a poorer quality than mine. Is this a fallacy?" said Hogan. Sting was furious at the remark. His taffy pulling machine was just as good as anybody else's. He got it from his daughter Eloise, who acquired it as part of her dowry.
At the wrestling event known as the Starrcade Social, the two engaged in a strenuous tussling contest. The match came to a heart-palpitating conclusion when they took to their row boats. Their respective loved ones (Lex Luger and Eric Bischoff) joined them, twirling their frilly parasols. Using brass telescopes, Sting and Hogan looked up at the starry sky. The moon made out of cheese winked at them, calling it draw. If only wrestling was like this today.
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.).