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That's right Fuckies, the day you thought would never come has arrived! And No, you're not finally getting laid you poor hapless bastard, but the "Two-Time Fanny Award Winning" column of chocolaty ice cream goodness, The Back-Leg Frontkick has returned for a limited time, for your...enjoyment? I don't know. What I do know is that as of this moment, The Summer of Sean is *OFFICIALLY* here. This is gonna be my time. Time to taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin. I proclaim this: The Summer of Sean! Wait, I already said that part. Well, too bad I'm saying it again! (and ripping off Seinfeld).


Anyway, some of you might be saying, "What is this Summer of Sean he speaks of?" And although I really know none of you is really saying that, just play along anyway. You see, TWF's own James Walker and I have opted for the Summer to trade places. So you see, he'll now be rich and exceptionally good looking. Ok, we're only trading jobs, whatever. But I just wanted to use that joke, so sue me. In any event, our friend Mr. Walker will be recapping the Summer PPV's and I will in turn be returning to write semi-regular columns and satires (Like This!) and by "semi-regular" I mean whenever I want. Deal with it.


So, with that said, "The Summer of Sean" will basically just be me throwing together various brain farts and passing it off as a column to amuse myself. The topics will vary, although I am planning to take one exclusive look at the 2006 Divas Search in my typical mean-spirited fashion (as I did last year, Click HERE) as well as doing another "Completely Random News" piece, once again like I did last year (Click Here). So stay tuned or something!


And before we get into the thick of things, my condolences to the family and friends of John Tenta, who passed away yesterday. I always thought a lot of John Tenta and actually received an email from him earlier this year after he read one of my satires linked through my good friend Derek Burgan at Wrestlecrap. The irony of this situation is that I was actually planning earlier this week on posting a mock WWE Films movie (as seen HERE. ) featuring Earthquake in this very column, for which I hope he would have gotten a kick out of. It was a mock up of the upcoming 'Snake's on a Plane'  film, only rechristened "'Quake's on a Plane" and would feature  Mr. Tenta being called in to stop the plane full of reptiles by utilizing his patented snake squashing technique as seen here.


So, with that said, Rest in peace, big guy. And God's speed!


Onto the column!



News has recently came down the wire that Kane is contemplating retirement in 2007; deciding that perhaps he’s accomplished all that he’s ever wanted to in the sport. And why not? Right now, Kane is on top of the world. He’s one of the most consistently “over” wrestlers in history; he has a successful movie out (firmly planting himself as one of the all-time great on-screen masturbating serial killers), and he’s amidst an angle that seems to be catching everyone’s imagination. I mean, just who is this “new” Kane? A demon conjured from Kane’s tortured psyche? Someone from his past, attempting to seek vengeance? Queen band member Brian May? The possibilities were endless.  However, as of yet, we have no idea. All we do know is that Kane is once again the center of attention. But what we don’t know however is many details about Kane himself. You see, WWE has seen fit to only release small details about the character’s past, with often revised canon contradicting what we’ve already been told. But hey, that’s where TWF comes in. I recently dispatched the full TWF News team to seek out as many “facts” as they could, in hopes that we could  FINALLY fill in the many blanks in Kane’s history, and perhaps shed light on WWE’s version more so. Here’s what we’ve discovered:


The one consistency in Kane & Undertaker’s back story is that both parents were incinerated in a fire, and that Kane himself was caught in the blaze, but managed to survive. From there we have conflicting versions at to who started the fire, with everyone from Kane, to Undertaker to Paul Bearer all allegedly starting the blaze. With that said, we here at TWF have discovered TWO different theories, and we’ll leave it to you, the reader to deduce which is more likely plausible.

But first, in order to properly tell the story, we have to go back to the beginning. You see, the Callaway’s were a normal All-American family, albeit with the ability to regenerate their bodies from grievous bodily harm and propel lightning from their fingertips. Other than that though, just like you and I. The family patriarch was a man named Royce Callaway, professional mortician by trade and weekend underground shoot-fighter. As the inventor of MMMA (Mixed-Mortuary Martial Arts) Royce was in the unique position that if he accidentally choked his opponents to death, he was able to cut out the middle-man and just embalm the body himself free of charge.  

Anyway, shortly after getting married, Royce soon learned that his beloved wife was with child, and as such, he decided to finally buckle down and open his own funeral parlor in Death Valley. Business was scarce, probably due to the fact that Death Valley is uninhabitable, but hey, whatever. After Undertaker was born, Royce decided to take on an apprentice (Paul Bearer) so he could spend more time with his family (and because many families grew tired of Royce eviscerating the bodies while wearing shoot-fighting gloves and in turn laying into their beloved dearly-departed with the heavy “soup bones”.). However, unbeknownst to Royce, as he was out of town at a convention featuring breakthrough non-invasive embalming techniques and how to choke someone out with your gui without leaving a visible bruise, the blond-haired lothario would take up with Mrs. Callaway and impregnate her. Paul’s orgasmic cry of “Ohhh yesss!” was said to be heard for miles, destroying the libidos of the townsfolk forever.

Nine months later Mrs. Callaway gave birth to healthy 85 pound baby boy, whom baffled doctors alike by being born wearing what appeared to be full tights. As Kane grew older his parents were baffled by the infant’s ability to stand in his crib and ignite all four corner posts ablaze at once. This ability coupled with his tolerance for pain was said to be inherited from Mrs. Callaway's side of the family, who were believed to originally be a combination of Druid and circus strongman.

Anyway, it was happy times. The family was closer than ever, and could be seen every Sunday tossing around the football and playfully throwing projectile lightning at one another. However, things soon went sour when Royce had to fire Paul Bearer, as he kept raising an urn and bringing the corpses back to life. An act that almost put the fledgling ultimate-fighting mortician out of business.

It’s at this point the story gets confusing. The official police statement on the ensuing “fire”, stated that the young Undertaker was practicing ultimate fighting in the garage, (he was never able to get it right, but god bless him, his heart was in the right place) and accidentally knocked over flammable chemicals that eventually were ignited. However, there is ANOTHER version. It’s been said, that Bearer, upset at his termination, attempted to poison the mind of young Undertaker, and set up a complicated plan to gain revenge. You see, if Undertaker had one great love (besides the super natural and incorrectly applied submission holds) it was Pogos, the delicious deep fried hotdogs wrapped in corn meal. In fact, many a day after school, he and Kane would enjoy the timeless treat, with often Kane cooking all six in a package at once by simply raising his arms in the air. In any event, Bearer told Undertaker that Kane had eaten the LAST ONE, and that the brand had discontinued making the product. This INFURIATED the Deadboy (Man would come later), and thus Undertaker did what any normal 7 foot child with inherited dark magic powers would do in the same situation: He set his house on fire and murdered his parents. I mean, we’ve all been there. Boys will be boys, after all.

Anyway, as the house burned to ground, young Undertaker, remorseful over what he had done, left the scene and wandered the desert aimlessly for 6 years until the lure of high school basketball caught the young man’s fancy. Once out of High school, Undertaker would exotically dance at S&M Bars to earn extra money to enter the world of Professional wrestling (it was in these fetish bars that young Undertaker met many "Bikers" and sparked his interest in Motorcycles). Meanwhile, Bearer pulled Kane from the fire, and whisked the tragically burned child away, having him locked in an institution (where he was raised) so he could head out to Texas, to make a living off another family of Deadmen (the Von Erichs).


As previously mentioned, Undertaker & Kane’s “father’s” heritage is a mix of Irish and Brazilian (needless to say, copious amounts of alcohol and ground based jujitsu doesn’t mix too well) and can be traced back for generations. Their mother’s however is not as easy.

Earliest records available seem to suggest that her earliest recorded relatives were Puritan immigrants Jebediah & Good Wife Mary Taker, who settled in Salem Maine in the latter 17th century (as seen to the right. And discount that whole “cameras weren’t invented for another two hundred years” thing). The Takers were said to be very unpopular amongst the pilgrim community, as Jebediah often alienated the other villagers, telling them to stay out of his “yard” and weaning out the “phony tough and crazy brave” in the village. Soon, villagers concocted a plan to dispose of Jebediah and his masked wife for heresy and witch craft (although, Jebediah’s cries of being “The Lord of Darkness” and tying people to crosses symbols didn’t exactly help his cause.). In any event,  the villagers tried in vain to murder them over the years, by setting them on fire, burying them alive, and running them over. It never worked. Anyway, the whole thing culminated in some twelve Pilgrims forcing Jebediah into a casket. However, he was back some 8 months later anyway, looking pretty much the same as before, bar trading in his grey pantaloons for some purple ones.


WWE has never really explained what happened in the interim between the time of the fire, and his WWF debut, only briefly touching on Kane’s teenage years with Katie Vick in 2002. We’ll now attempt to fill in a few blanks.

After spending a good portion of his life in a mental institution, Kane now made the only natural progression an awkward basket-case of raging emotions could: He went to high school. Kane attempted to fit in as best a giant pyro-kinetic demon that’s impervious to pain could, but still managed to stick out amongst the other regular sized non-undead students. And as such, there were some especially difficult times when he was mocked. One of which was wearing his gym shorts over his expansive one-piece unitard.

In class he tried his best, but often the teacher would not call on Kane to answer questions, as every time he raised his hand the chalkboard would burst into flames. In any event, it was during these formative years that Kane discovered his two great loves: Cosmetic dentistry and the "Ladies". The “lady” in question of course was Katie Vick, who much like Kane was also ridiculed. You see, I recall reading somewhere that Katie suffered from a rare muscularity disorder that made her appear to resemble a mannequin. The two “freaks” soon fell in love and graduated as high school sweethearts.

However, tragedy would eventually strike once the two attended college. You see, after spending Spring break together, partying hard in Florida ( Where Katie was caught on tape completely topless to the horror of her parents. See here) the two were driving home and as an inebriated Kane took a short cut to a quiet spot where he hoped to live up to his Mortician heritage and “bury a stiff” as it were, but unfortunately, while driving and loudly singing "Born to be Wild" as Steppenwolf played on his stereo, his mask became slightly askew and he crashed the car into a tree, the impact killing Katie instantly; as all of her limbs became unattached at once from their plastic holes. It was terrible.

The official autopsy report had stated that traces of semen were found on Katie, but even though Kane had a voracious sexual appetite, it is highly unlikely that Kane had post-mortemly abused Katie as HHH had once accused. For one, removing his unitard was a real production, and thus Kane wouldn’t have had time to gear down before the authorities arrived. The other discovery is that Kane, in an attempt to save for dental school, found out that he could sell his semen to a sperm bank for cash (he once informed his horrified friends that he had a towel that was probably worth some ten thousand dollars) and according to Kane, the sample, came flying from his glove compartment and exploded all over Katie earlier that day as the two rolled over a rough patch of road. Kane explained that she couldn’t wipe it from her dress as she had no moveable joints on her body. The police ultimately bought Kane’s story and he was released.

Obviously distraught, Kane would bury his pain by joining the Alpha Beta Delta Burke Fraternity house, where he cracked up his brothers with his ability to light a bong with his finger tip. (a skill that came in handy during his tenures with X-Pac and Rob Van Dam in later years.).


Although dentistry was his passion, Kane ended up giving up his dream, and not just because some 25 patients died while under his care. (His controversial choke-slam extraction technique is still a hotly contested issue amongst the dental community to this day.). In any event, Kane decided that he would instead become a professional wrestler, and like every other plumber, garbage man or hockey player to ever enter the WWE, he also automatically knew how to wrestle, despite catch-as-catch can wrestling skills not being that common amongst most trades people. Go figure. He began his career as Unibomb, but ultimately discarded that character after learning the hard way that explosives and dude’s who can naturally produce fire from their hands aren’t exactly a great match.

With that said, people would ask for YEARS just how Kane could wrestle under various identities without showing any of the scars or signs of burns he allegedly had. Well, apparently, Kane, while in University, was the protégé of a brilliant scientist named Dr. Peyton Westlake, who in turn taught Kane all he knew about synthetic skin. And as such, Kane fashioned himself a mask, complete with a blond halfro, and a full bodied synthetic suit, and competed as Isaac Yankem in 1995. Eventually, he was forced to leave WWE, after his synthetic skin began melting under the hot ring lights, leaving the “skin” hanging and saggy. It’s said that after Kane discarded the skin, RIC FLAIR picked it out of the garbage and continues to wear it to this day.

Eventually, Kane made it back to the WWE, this time as his TRUE self, and once again hooked up with his estranged father, Paul Bearer to wage war with the Undertaker for years. Ultimately, Kane & Undertaker settled their differences once and for all, with Kane getting Taker’s blessing to carry on the family mantle of premier super natural being when Undertaker briefly became mortal after meeting his wife Sara; (who was said to be very obsessive compulsive about her furniture, and as a result, Taker's fast and loose powers of the Darkside would not fly in her house. ).

Today, they’re all one big happy family, with the two brothers apparently having had a good chuckle at the attempted homicide twenty years prior over some eggnog at Christmas. Good for them.


The single biggest event in the career of Kane was obviously when he was finally forced to unmask. However, this didn’t explain how once unmasked, his “scars” miraculously disappeared. Many theories floated around. One of which was that the sheer AWESOME power of Triple H’s PEDIGREE caused the molecules in his face to completely restructure because of the nuclear-like impact. Of course this rumor was started by HHH himself so take it for what it’s worth. However, the TRUTH is actually much simpler. It turns out that Kane just had not washed his face in twenty years. (see here) Who’d have thunk it?

However, even more SHOCKING then seeing Kane’s real face, was the HAIRCUT underneath. With all the focus on Kane’s tragic burns, his unique male pattern baldness that sees a perfectly edged symmetrical receded hairline was all but ignored. However, what Kane didn’t realize (and unfortunately he sheared it off before basking in the attention he would have received) is that many Hollywood A-Listers adopted his patented Skullet, and it soon became a PHENOMENON not seen since the “Rachel” in 1994. Here are but a few celebrities who had at one time adopted Kane’s patented ‘do:


Despite appearing to be a heartless monster, deep within, The Big Red Machine secretly pined for a normal existence. He needed a woman. His last two relationships had been a disaster (with his last girlfriend Tori running off with X-Pac, who was well on his way to making a career of picking up his best friend’s sloppy seconds) so he decided to take things into his own hands. And after personal ads led nowhere, (his listed turn-ons of “fire, necrophilia, digging up my parents corpses and setting their caskets on fire on the Raw stage, and long walks on the beach…” didn’t seem to go over too well. Go figure.) he decided the "dating" scene wasn't for him. Kane, like most men his age, decided ‘enough was enough’ and it was time to grow up. He was more determined than ever to settle down and force a woman to have his child. It was time to be a Man.

And as such, he began courting Lita, (She was perfect for him. I mean, he was already used to burning sensations anyway) and as you very well know, the two were eventually married, after he destroyed her true love and forced her to have intercourse with him. You know that same old story.

Romance was indeed in the air! Things were said to blossom fast, and on the honeymoon, Kane made the marriage *official* by setting her loins ablaze with his fiery lust…LITERALLY! And due to the size of her affected area because of years of youthful indiscretions, it apparently took the entire Niagara Falls Fire Department some 6 hours to put out the blaze! Unfortunately though, things soon began to fall apart. Their once beloved and cherished memories of blackmail rape and evil chicanery were replaced with the hum-drum reality of married life. Lita was heard on many an occasions bellowing: “You don’t take me anywhere nice anymore! You just want to set fires!” However, they still had their child to keep them together. And the best part is that if the child possessed  mommy’s trait of getting injured 5 times a year, Kane’s inherited super-healing prowess would make it moot. God bless those unholy powers!

Anyway, to make a (incredibly) long story short, as we all know the marriage eventually dissolved soon after Gene Snitsky terminated the pregnancy with a steel chair, and Lita took up with Edge. What we didn't know is that the divorce settlement was said to be amicable, with the only debated issue being  Kane insisting on keeping Lita’s collection of some 3000 Luchador masks for which she marked “trophies”.

With that said, a year has passed, and Kane has since picked up his wild swinging bachelor ways. It’s said he sometimes sleeps with 5 maybe 6 dead bodies a week now. You go get 'em, tiger.

Ok, then. I hope that clears up a few of the misconceptions about the Big Red Machine. We live to inform, and by that I mean the complete opposite dictionary definition of the word. That's right.



This past Monday I found myself in a dilemma. You see, it was past midnight, and Cameron Burge’s RAW recap had yet to reach my email inbox, so being neurotic like I tend to be (although Gersh did eventually come to the rescue) I started feverishly jotting down notes in the thought that I would be forced to saddle this abortion of a broadcast and recap it this week. And as per decree of my Summer of Sean mandate, this extra energy dispensed, threw off the balance of my world and generally wrecked my evening as far as doing nothing was concerned. So, in any event, luckily, as previously mentioned, it turns out I didn’t have to do Raw after all, and my evening of scratching my balls and watching some Canadian-based soft-core pornography on ‘SexTV: the channel’ looked to be back on again. But what of my notes, I asked. Well, since I did actually spend some time putting them to paper, it’d be a shame to put them to use, right? Right? (This is the part where you agree with me).

So, with that said, I have decided to just put my jumbled RAW takes and observations in here. Because God knows no one else wants them.

The show opens up with the rapidly aging Shane McMahon approaching HHH about tonight’s ‘Kiss my ass club’. I read the very talented Peter Kent at 411 compare Shane to one Mr. Fantastic. If only that was the case. Now, Stephanie just has to follow Shane’s Fantastic Four example and become the Invisible woman. And by that, I mean forever. Just saying.

We open up with the official contract signing between Rob Van Dam & John Cena. Hey, here’s a question; why does anyone even show up to these anymore? Every time one goes down, one dude gets obliterated. It’s kind of like how every party Angela Lansbury goes to on Murder She Wrote ends in a murder. Yet they keep inviting the bitch. Wait, what were we talking about again?

Oh, ya, Paul Heyman calls out good ole Mr. Money in the Dank, Rob Van Dam. He then whispers in Rob’s ear as he sits down “so, since you got money in the bank now, does that mean I still have to pay you?” This may have only happened on my version.

Cena then comes out and the two trade barbs. Cena says “I fear nothing and regret less!” And I believe him. He’s straight up O.G., yo.  He comes from a place where there’s a drive-by every five minutes. And sure, it’s just an old farmer on a riding mower, but he’s relentless, yo. That West Newbury be the real deal.

Anyway, Cena admits that he was a huge ECW fan, and respects what those letters stand for. Heyman than tells Cena he’ll give him his first taste of ECW. He then hops on a plane to make Rollerball without signing any checks. Ok, I lied. The taste he meant was in the form of Balls Mahoney, Sandman, Tommy Dreamer, Sabu & Terry Funk, whom I understand is still currently making his way down the arena stairs. And oh ya, Cena gets annihilated by the ECW contingent. However, I’ve drawn the conclusion that Sandman must have been drinking and thus seen TWO John Cena’s out there; because he missed the real John Cena by like ten inches. Imaginary John Cena was not so lucky however. Also missing his mark was Sabu with the Arabian Skullcrusher, which for this night only was rechristened the Arabian flying armpit of good intentions. By me. Yup.

But wait! Here comes the Calvary! Led by the Big Show? You know, when he’s the fasted runner, it’s time to reevaluate yourself as an athlete. But then again, who knows? Maybe Show spotted a Little Debbie’s on the floor and made a fast break for it?

Carlito vs. Shelton Benjamin is up next. And apparently we’ve traveled back in time one exact calendar year. The fucking booking of this company feels just like the movie Groundhog Day. Quick, someone throw a toaster oven in the Creative team’s bath tub. If my theory proves true, they’ll just start the day all over again. And if I’m wrong? Well, no harm, no foul. Oh, by the way, Carlito wins with his unnamed back breaker known to 1200 people as the lung blower. It’s also the name of a sexual device I currently have en route to my house. That’s right.

Hey! Kane’s actually got a movie out! Man, they really should get the word out. There’s probably one person out there who hasn’t seen this trailer. Oh, and my favorite part? The Australian broad stating that when Kane grabbed you, it felt like he had no care for your well being. Quick, send Kane to SmackDown! Apparently this is the philosophy in which you get a main event push!

HHH is backstage with Vince. He says there’s no way he’s kissing Vince’s ass. Normally, he would, but Vince’s rectum is just not ready yet. Pay your dues hairless ass. Anyway, Vince reveals he’s just gotten an “Assial” (He shaved his face? Badyum cha.). HHH then protests, so Vince says if he can beat The Big Show, the Kiss my ass club is off for tonight.

HHH is up against Big Show next, and by Gawd, JR doesn’t disappoint again with the mindless Big Show compliments. His ring is a size 23! His hands are like toaster ovens! Wait, I thought they were Frying pans? Apparently Show has a kitchen appliance for every limb. No wonder he’s obese! Think of how easy it’d be to cook food if you had a toaster oven for hands! He should try and get his hands down to at least a George Foreman grill. He might live longer.

Anyway, the Spirit Squad interfere almost instantly, and cost HHH the match. Apparently the world would cease to exist if the Squad did not appear on RAW.

HHH is now EMOTING FURIOUS ANGER, and barges into Vince’s office. Vince informs him that the ass-kissing is still on, or he’ll never wrestle for a championship again. Something tells me that might not stick. Call me crazy.

Eugene is up next against Matt Striker. And hey, I don’t know how lax the Board of Education is these days, but last time I was in school, the teacher was still expected to wear pants with his sweater vest. And speaking of teachers, Eugene is accompanied tonight by Jim Duggan who apparently stole my 6th grade gym teacher’s shorts for this occasion. Poor Jim. He kind of looked like my Dad waddling out for the newspaper in his underwear on a weekend morning. Anyway, Eugene ends up winning with the Three Point Stance clothesline.

After the match, our friend and the world’s most dangerous hitchhiker (who wouldn’t stop for an Asiatic thumb?) Samoa Joke (Umaga) blindsides Duggan and gives him the THUMB~! How ironic. Jim Duggan done in by a big thumb. Ok, I have nothing.

JR pimps the return of the Divas Search, where, and I wish I was kidding, “stars are made.” Stars? Oh how I wish that was literally the case. You know, as in a billion miles away from Earth.

Kurt Angle is here! The crowd erupts, and SmackDown flatlines. He was 7. God Speed. Kurt is then approached by Mick Foley, whom he calls Mrs. Foley’s big hairy prostitute. That was also the first rejected name for Las Vegas’s Bunny Ranch. Go figure. This brings Edge and Lita out, and Edge reminds Kurt that it was him who shaved Kurt bald. He then reminds Matt Hardy that he did the same thing to Lita. Ok, he never said that. Whatever. Kurt then attacks both men, and gets the better of them until RANDY ORTON explodes out of nowhere with an RKO. His ankle miraculously healed at the exact same rate his suspension was for. WHAT ARE THE ODDS!?[/sarcasm,]

After the break, we find out that Randy will answer Kurt’s open challenge at One Night Stand. Apparently Kurt’s open challenge to ANY kind of ring also included the one you push shit out of (directly into gym bags.). Makes sense to me.

Kane comes out to face Lance Cade who is wearing the head of Waylon Mercy this evening, after succumbing to WWE’s unwritten rule of ‘thall shalt not have long flowing blond hair’. He ends up “winning” by count out when the talking mask distracts Kane and he leaves the ring.

Kane ends up going backstage, and is yelling for Fake Kane (Enak?) to stop playing mind games. We then see Fake Kane slowly get closer to Real Kane until he attacks him. Whatever. It would have been funnier if Kane tried to get away, then fell and sprained his ankle. Oh, horror movie clichés, oh how I love thee.

On a side note: Thankfully, this week, someone got Fake Kane to run his wig under a faucet first.

The Highlanders are coming to America! And sheep breathe a sigh of relief. But wait. TWO Highlanders? I’ve seen ‘End Game’ this can only end badly. But until the day they cut each others heads off, I’m just glad to see a real team in this company.

Charlie Haas, who looks like he’s traded in his All American Academia for a cardboard box and a shopping cart full of cans, is up next against Johnny Nitro, whom I was disappointed to see lose last week. My dream of an 82 week undefeated streak has been dashed. Oh, and apparently, as he was careening into the ropes, Homeless Charlie launched Lillian Garcia off the apron. RIGHT NOW THERE’S SOMEBODY SAYING “SHE KNOWS HOW TO FALL”. HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU LEARN TO FALL ON A 3 INCH THICK CRASH MAT CONCRETE! [/Jim Ross]

Anyway, they cart Lillian out and Charlie gets booed unmercifully. He also jobs to Nitro after Melina feigns an ankle injury and causes a distraction. After the match, Charlie goes home to his pregnant wife Jackie Gayda, and accidentally shoulder tackles her through the living room wall after being asked to bring her some water. I wouldn’t make this up. ;)

After the break, we see footage of Lillian being helped to the back. Charlie then backs his car over her as he exits the arena. Ok, I’ll stop the Haas jokes. (for now.)

Victoria comes out accompanied by Mickie James to face Beth Phoenix who is accompanied by Trish Stratus. Beth has yet to face her toughest foe however: Complete and total fucking apathy. Seriously though, have they even explained to us WHY we’re supposed to cheer her? Anyway, not a bad match if you discount the crowd. In Space they can’t hear you scream not give a fuck. Beth ends up winning with the Michanoku Driver that was known as the Beth Valley Driver in OVW. Anyway, it turns out that Beth broke her mandible in this match; a tragic injury for any woman to have. (although, it does mean less talking, so that’s a plus.).

In the back, Shane & Vince conspire. Vince offers to show Shane his ass but Shane declines. In some cultures it’s a right of passage. In other places it’s a night out in San Francisco. I don’t know. Shane then says he’ll get “it” done.

We now see Triple H in his locker room… getting ready? Who knew burying your head in someone’s ass merited a change of clothes? Anyway, Shane comes in, and while HHH is distracted, Shane puts roophies in his water bottle. Remind me to go on a double date sometime with these McMahons! HHH then takes a swig of said compromised water, and Shane takes a call from Vince. We then see Triple H spit out the water and switch bottles with Shane. SUBTERFUGE !

After the break, Jerry Lawler calls out Tazz and accepts his challenge for One Night Stand. Jerry then breaks into a diatribe about rules and how “choking people out is illegal”. Hey, you know what else is illegal? Sodomizing a 14 year old girl. Just saying.

It’s now time for the event you’ve all been waiting for: (no, WWE insists. You’re really looking forward to this) the Kiss My Ass Club. Vince goes over several of the past members, only forgetting off camera member Johnny Ace, who is said to actually prefer living inside the anal passage of Vince McMahon. Vince calls out Triple H, and soon Trips begins to “act” drugged, and “passes out”. Vince then drops trough, and just then Shane becomes intoxicated, and starts laughing and pointing at Vince’s asshole. Apparently, Shane just ingested some of RVD’s cheeba. Shane then tweaks his nipples (seriously) and passes out. Just then Triple H rises and pedigrees a bare assed Vince. The show then ends. Wow. A show built entirely around being drugged and then being left face down, unconscious, bare assed and humiliated? Reminds me of most of my dates. And yes, that’s the note we’re going out on here.





Last year, I introduced a feature where I looked at a figure from pro wrestling's past, and let you know what they've indeed been up to since. OK, I don't really do that. It's more like make fun of others misfortunes (Someone's got to show up at Virgil's autograph signing eventually....).


Anyway, today's topic is JULIE HART. And unless you saw the Bret Hart "Wrestling With Shadows" documentary, you likely have no idea who this woman is. Well, as if it wasn't obvious by that lead in, Julie Hart was indeed Bret Hart's wife ( Ex-Wife). And if you did see said documentary, you'll remember her as the woman who told Triple H that "GOD WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN." (Hey, God it's been 9 years, what gives?).


Anyhoo, the reason I'm profiling her is because she just opened a new website, JulieHart.ca and as such has entered the public domain...which means she can be ridiculed. God bless Satire.


But for the record, I'm sure Julie is a lovely woman, and I'll be honest, despite the fact that being Bret Hart's love factory has apparently taken it's toll on her, there's a picture of her on her frontpage, that I'd mount as if I were the Jungle cat in this very picture of the "Fam". And speaking of which, noteably absent from any and all mention is one Bret Hart (maybe he wasn't comfortable?). I mean, without being mean, Julie wouldn't even have a forum to put herself over if she wasn't in fact once the recepticle of Bret Hart's loving. So, as a tribute to Bret, I've doctored a photo and added a comedy Bret Hart option, exchanging one emasculated creature between Julie's legs for another:




But wait, there's more! Apparently in an interview recently given, Jade Hart (top far left), the eldest daughter of Bret, and arguably the only physically attractive biological Hart alive, recently revealed that many members of her immediate family are interested in becoming involved in the business, including herself, who she'd like to see portrayed in an Elizabeth role (only not dead.) You go girl!


However, of all the Hart children, the one seemingly most physically suited to the sport of kings is BEANS HART, as seen here in arguably THE SINGLE MOST TERRIFYING PICTURE EVER. (Seconds later she picked up the photographer and tore him in half with her bare hands.)


Standing at some 18 feet tall, and with a reach of some 50 yards, Beans is clearly the most physically imposing presence in history. I mean, just check out those mitts! She could juggle God with those meathooks! And according to Jade, Beans was ALL OVER Randy Orton at the Hall of Fame. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I state that in lieu of a Beans bearing down on you, the Legend Killer clearly shit his pants well before he could ever reach a gym bag.


But that's not all! Bret's niece, and daughter of one DYNAMITE KID, is interested in perhaps getting involved as well. Here's a picture. Wow, doing those horse steroids certainly paid off in the right places for young... Bronwyne? Them's some *****+ titties. It's just a shame she looks so much like Dynamite. But what the hell, it'd be like the best of both worlds. That body coupled with Dynamite's world class workrate. She can ride me like Matilda anytime.


But for the record, for all the rumors that Dynamite Kid was a sadistic bastard, look no further for evidence than him naming his daughter something that at first glance looks to read "brown eye" (which for the record I'd bury my member in, "shades of Dynamite" or not.). Ok, ok, I'll stop picking on the poor lass. Because Dynamite could run roll over here any time and kicks my ass give me a stern talking to.


...But hey, this was supposed to be about Julie, so I'll go back to her; and to close things off, I'll leave you with this incredibly unflattering photo. And you know,what? This picture looks extremely familiar to me, where have I seen it before?.....

................Wait a second! I remember!:

She was AWESOME in Matrix Reloaded! I don't know why Bret would EVER divorce a woman capable of dispersing her molecules. What a fool!

Haha, well, that was a big waste of time. But hey, fuck you, whatever. I'm just upset that Jade wasn't the one named "Beans" because I had this really tasteless "Pork and Beans" joke I was planning on using. Maybe next time.

Ok, Fuckies, that's it for this first installment of the "Summer of Sean" Back-Leg Frontkick's. I'll be back....sometime? That's right. And while you're here, be sure to check out everything and everyone on the frontpage, because every time you don't God kills a kitten. See y'all soon. But first...

....Your Moment of Zen (your check's in the mail, Jon)

I'm Sean.

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, and Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.

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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.).