Home | Columns & Rants | Satire | Entertainment | Media | Archives | Forum


An insane look at those items lost to time/better sense.

by Sean Carless

January 19, 2011

For every iconic Austin 3:16 shirt you ever bought, wore and remembered with pride (kind of), there was a Stone Cold condoms (and why would Stone Cold even need them? If he accidentally got a girl pregnant, he could just punch her in the stomach. PROBLEM SOLVED.) - an actual legit item from one bald-headed champ to your own, that apparently somehow fell through the cracks (no pun intended. I swear), of WWE marketing, eventually disappearing forever and becoming the occasional "remember that'?". THIS IS WHERE WE COME IN. Through your bedroom window. While you slumber. (We raped you.).

Despite originally being intended as a one-off Top 10 list of WORST merchandise ever, and being fueled by my crack team of researchers (amongst other drugs), I instead decided that since I came into SO many ridiculous options in my travels (well, the confines of my apartment, anyway), that I would probably just be better suited to presenting them individually in what I hope will be a regular update here - a look at that wrestling merch that is probably best forgotten. Sometimes it will be a one-note gag, other times I may be inspired to go balls out (penis, too, because I have no self control). Basically, like Forrest Gump's mama once said about chocolates, and like my own frequently says about those ladies whom I seek comfort with, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO GET. (AIDS? Probably.).

Onto this week's update!


Remember that? An extra large black (not this) tee, with a big arrow pointing downward toward your nether regions; and on the back, a reminder that you, in fact, the owner, were "big all over"? Well, apparently WWE doesn't, as like Chris Benoit before it, all record of its seeming existence have been wiped clean from this earth. And as well it should. For despite its haughty boasts that your penile region was apparently a "Big Show" (useless & bald?), ladies of this earth just could not seem to ever, no matter how hard they tried, look past its wearer also being "Big All Over"; let alone carring enough to unearth your allegedly impressive member from its suggested fleshy sequester. Instead, you, the wearer, had to simply be satisfied with this boastful claim, and only that,  desperately trying to forget that you can have the biggest dick in the world, sure, but it all doesn't mean shit if it's attached to a 350 pound man made of fudge.

This takes us to the topic at hand. Kind of. WWE apparel which made you go, "What The Fuck?!"; WWE apparel, that during the throws of Attitude and our own adolescent defiance, somehow blinded us to the truth that these shirts, that we thought we were BUCKING AUTHORITY WITH, were just about THE GAYEST SHIT EVER. I mean, there's not even ANY subtlety in most cases; and absolutely NO DEFENSE against that certain time-tested accusation that we've all had to hear since the inception of our fandom; an argument UFC fans too have to hear now - but then refute by saying, "ya, sure, there's a lot of dudes mounting each other in bikini briefs and sitting on each other's faces until someone submits/cums, but AT LEAST AMIDST THE THOUSANDS OF GIBBERISH SKULLS AND HARDCORE TRIBAL TATS WRAPPED IN BARBWIRE AND THORNS THAT LITTER OUR APPAREL, THERE'S NOT ONE EUPHEMISM FOR GETTING AN ERECTION, MAINTAINING AN ERECTION, OR ERECTIONS, PERIOD, LIKE YOURS." They then go back to desperately hope that there are more knockouts in their sport so their girlfriends stop shaking their heads at them.

Anyway onto the content in question; a random sampling and sprinkling of WTF's and "Oh no they din'nt's". (Warning: extreme and embarrassing immaturity ahead):

Ah, the good ol' ALWAYS POUNDING ASS BAR & GRILL.  I wonder if this song always plays when you enter the establishment?
Anyway, I'm usually pretty forgiving of Rasslin' apparel, no matter how hokey or embarrassing, but COME ON. Seriously. What a tough 2000 this must've been for certain wrestling fans, and quite frankly, those terrified students all around them. Notice the lack of WWE logo above; a definitive and distinctive symbol that may have still earned you mockery, sure, but at least would have set the record straight that you're actually not a hungry alcoholic sodomizing sex-pred at all, but just a fan of Pro-graps with no concept of double entendre. I mean, really. To the casual bystander, you are clearly less a Bradshaw and Faarooq fan, and more just a connoisseur of painful anal penetration, welcomed or otherwise. How nice. In Prison this might earn you your stripes, sure; but in say a high school locker-room? You'll probably notice dudes hittin' the showers in full suits of armor.
And the Grill part? Jesus. Who would want to ever eat a place called that? I don't know about you, but if I had just been anally violated in a public setting, the last thing I'd be thinking about is having a seat and grabbing a steak. I'd take that shit to go. Along with the shreds of my cornhole/dignity.
And don't even get me started on the probable hygiene of that kitchen!
Ah, there. Clearly a more suitable shirt to show your true Bradshaw fandom. I even offered former referee Billy Silverman a substantial fee to in turn model it for us, but he hasn't answered my calls. Or taken a shower since 2001. Imagine that.

Oh! Glad we cleared that up. For a minute there I thought this shirt was going to be offensive.
And speaking of which, maybe it's just me, but I think I prefer our Jake Roberts version:

You know, I don't think he really means a Bazooka at all! LMAO!!!!
But seriously, what's with DX and their obsession with the Army and their penises, and holy shit, this is why they probably demand you not ask or tell.
Oh, and no worries, small children, who too want to get in on THIS BY GAWD PHALLIC HILARITY - in 2008, WWE introduced a T-shirt that says World's Littlest Member on it, JUST FOR YOU. So there you go, some thinly veiled pedophilia/mocking of under-developed genitals so you too are not left out in the cold! Probably literally. (There has to be a reason why it's so small, after all, AMIRITE!).

Poor advice.  I've always been of the mindset that it goes the other way around. Hygiene first. Always. Penis.

I think I'm going to go ahead and just take Bob's word for it here. And not much, Bob. Sorry. :(

WHY? Wouldn't you actually want all those tables to break easier and, oh, they meant their cocks!


Ok, finally! Something veering away from my hypersexual immature stupidity....
 Or is it!....


 ...But seriously, "Voting is for people young"? It's good to see Master Yoda encouraging the youth to vote here! (and the abolishment of literacy/The Empire). I heard the polling station is even in that cave. You don't even need a pen. Only what you take with you.

Ya! Totally! Wait. What!? What does this even mean? When is this a question that ever comes up? Like, ever? A Botox clinic? An angry, angry botox clinic? (Maybe for the person getting this, I guess.).
But really. This is a saying? What is even happening here?

Hey, isn't that the Poltergeist Rape tree? I think I'm never sleeping again if that fucking clown under the bed is pictured on the other side. (Maybe this also means Ted DiBiase will be enveloped into a portal of nothingness, too? You know, like his charisma?).
Ok, that said, whilst not offensive or particularly lame, (unlike myself), just what is WWE trying to tell us here? A dead tree? One so inherently worthless from top to bottom, and one that serves of such little value and use that we'd probably be better suited to just  disposing of it altogether, because right now, it's doing no one any good? What does this even have to do with Legacy? Oh, that's right, everything. Moving along.


GET IT? It's like Vagina, you see, only like her actual genitals, somewhat different. And what does that say on the back? ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK?  Christ, what is it, the fucking Thunderdome? OR MAYBE IT IS. I've seen the sex video. TWO MEN ENTER. ONE MAN LEAVES. THEN  THE OTHER MAN LEAVES. THEN I THROW UP. I also masturbate a little, but I don't tell anyone.
Dear god, though, clearly Eddie above was trying to warn X-Pac YEARS before he ventured into Joanie's Sarlaac - only instead of tentacles, there's clitoris's the size of fire hydrants - and took us, the viewing audience, on that nightmare with him.
Artist's depiction of Chyna's vagina. Inside, X-Pac found a new definition of pain and suffering as he was slowly digested over a thousand years.
Fortunately, though, much like actual intercourse with Chyna, soon, WWE saw the error of their ways and never once looked back. Or explained what a Vachyna really was. But we know. WE ALL KNOW. *Shudder*.

And *finally* (Thank god), we have WWE UNDERWEAR... for kids. Yay? But I guess I should be happy that they don't come in adult sizes. I'm just not sure how well it'd go over with the ladies having potential draws that read, "You can't see me" over the crotch.  I guess for now we'll all just have to settle for our own grown-up, self-made Mark Henry underwear. You know, brown, falling apart, and kinda shitty. And yes, that's how we're going out here.

I'm Sean.
And all product suggestions, comments and congratulatory hugs can be sent

Send Feedback To Sean Carless

Sean Carless is a man of many hats. And he wears those hats to cover an ever-increasing bald spot. Sean's various scribblings have been read at Live Audio Wrestling, 411 Mania, Honky Tonk Man.com, The Toronto Star.com, Wrestlecrap, and Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.

Bookmark and Share


November 2006


by Sean Carless

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.).