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


Jeremy Borash: Hello once again TNA fans, I’m Jeremy Borash - Playboy Cover Girl Christy Hemme’s co-host of Global iMPACT available exclusively at TNAWrestling.com – and I'm here to talk to you about all the goings-on in professional wrestling. There’s a new book out right now. No, it’s not my Orlando adventures hanging out with Gary Coleman, and Parker Lewis Can’t Lose star Coren Nemec. It’s a book about a certain company up north that shivers at the thought of TNA being the new face of sports entertainment. A man by the name of James Guttman has written a tale of woe for that crumbling empire, and he does a great job in laying out all of the horrors of the McMahon Family Circus. There was one notable exception, though, that really damaged the book in my eyes, and that was Mr. Guttman not realizing that many of the WWE’s troubles revolve around the revolutionary force in sports entertainment.

Much like Nicole Eggert bouncing into our hearts, on my close personal friend Scott Baio’s hit show Charles In Charge, Total Nonstop Action has exploded into the psyche of the sports entertainment fan with a list of unique innovations like the incredible athletes of the X-Division fighting over the X-Division title in the Ultimate X, and still having time to represent their country in the International X Cup, and fight off Kevin Nash’s X-Division siege. Who could forget the sports entertainment value of Ms. TNA? Or Kip James’ hair? Who needs Harry Smith, Johnny Nitro, Bobby Lashley and Carlito when you have the fan favorites Lance Hoyt, A-1, Machete and Apollo? And don’t ever forget about the Phenomenal A.J. Styles – the man that said no to OVW. Maybe he can’t speak intelligently for an extended period of time, but at least you don’t see him walking around like a Chicago gangster! I’m not one to drop names, but at a particularly rowdy night at the Rock & Bowl on Friday, a man who I’ll call “the kid who played Wesley T. Owens on Mr. Belvedere” let me know that not only are those guys up there so fearful of TNA that they not only have an imitation of our Samoan Submission Machine, Samoa Joe, but they’re trying to re-create the magic of ECW! As the great stars in the TNA locker room, such as Jeff Jarrett, Scott Steiner, Kevin Nash, Konnan, Buff Bagwell, Shane Douglas, Terry Taylor, and Lex Luger, will tell you: any company that tries to copy a promotion that killed itself dead is doomed for failure. Indeed!

The Iron Sheik: Firss let me say that I am very honour to be ask by the Mr. Darryl Burton to review the fine, fine book about WWE, where I was the world champion free times. Sold out Madison Square Garden. Sold out the Pontiac Mitchigin. Make the honourable Bob Backulund submit to my camel clutch when I break his back. But Sheik do that it was sport, you see. I have much respect for the Mr. Backuland, great wrestler from Mineesota. He pay his due like The Sheik. I always a soupair star, won two Olympic gold medals four times in the amateur. What deed these fucking pussy faggot sons of bitches do today? They try to take the Sheik medicine, and tell hem what es supposed to be professional wressling, graytest sport in da world. The Sheik break all their fucking backs, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Bourbon. Mistair Gumbel is nothing but a fucking peace of sheet that know nothing. His book is a gay, lying, little fag. The Sheik spit ats hem! Hack-spoot! He curse the name of the Mistair MacMahon, who do the most great thing of the world by making the Sheik world champion and have him fight that fucking yellow faggot Hulk Hogan. I could have breaken his leg for dee fifty hundred thousand dollar that the Verne Goneyeah, but the Sheik has honour, you see. Not like thee Jay Buttmon, who if I ever see heem, I’ll grab heem by his stupid neck, take him, put him in the Camel Clutch, break his fucking back, and then fuck him! Old Country Way to make heem humble!

(Editor’s Note: At this point, a confused Sheik then turned towards a vending machine and started to hold a conversation with it, occasionally punching it and screaming that it “owed him medicine,” before asking two young women walking by if he could “humble them,” before soiling himself, and passing out.)

Warrior: Insanity. In-san-i-ty. Unsoundness of mind sufficient in the judgment of a civil court to render a person unfit to maintain a contractual or other legal relationship or to warrant commitment to a mental health facility.

The Warrior is quite familiar with that definition. The cretin slime known as “Vince” has many times tried to play with the Warrior as if I have as little education as the unwashed masses that make up wrestling fans, and for that matter the planet Earth. One of those cretins, James Guttman – a “man” who fancies himself a scribe on the world of a phony theatre rife with leeches and feeble-minded cowards, has pulled out his crayons and drawn a portrait of life in Stamford. Usually, Warrior does not waste his precious moments on reading drivel, but when my web minion informed me of the book’s title, I was intrigued, so I made him read it to me as I traveled the galaxy harnessing the power of the solar system, preparing for what will be the inevitable revolution of the elevated tribe of Warriors. Much like the Warrior - who will soon rub the heel of our boot directly into the gluttonous man-breasts of the flabby shame of what America has become, before enslaving their already soft brains into hard labor in the land of the Warriors - Guttman attempts to take down the idiotic shenanigans that pass as televised “entertainment” spewed forth by Vince McMahon and his boy Hunter. He amused me until he talked about Galoogore, the leader of an eternal army, as an explanation for the McMahon characters over the years. I had planned to wait until I ridded this country of illegal beaners – WARRIOR IS NOT P.C. – to return to my battle with Galoogore. He stands between true eternal domination by the Warrior and I will not rest until he pays for his evil energy that fuels the McMahon clan, and any part he had in the making of the slanderous DVD about me.

(Editor’s Note: Due to Warrior continuing on for 28 more pages, including using verbiage that caused our spell-check machine to actually cry human tears, we have chosen to truncate his response at this point. Derek then cried real human tears when he drew the short straw at the GumGod reunion show, and was forced to transcribe The Iron Sheik’s unplanned, unwanted, opinion on James’ book, that he may or may not have the ability to read.)

Raven: When a sycophant of the industry in which I choose to earn a living decides to press what he perceives his knowledge of the business to be into the literary strainer, I get a little bit shaken at the thought. When I found out that James Guttman had written a book, I trembled more than Jake "The Snake" Roberts at a convention of moon shiners. I wondered aloud how an internet wunderkind could parlay his success of sitting in front of a TV and watching people, such as myself, into actually writing words onto a piece of torn bark that was manufactured into a paper product. This is especially troubling considering that no one has asked me to do a book yet, and I’m by far the smartest person in the room. What kind of sick and twisted world do we live in where a man who could wonder why Ultimo Dragon doesn’t get a push in WWE feels as though he has the acquired acumen to pen his thesis on the decline of a company that still makes millions of dollars, and I’m stuck in this cesspool known as Orlando in a feud with Larry Fucking Zybsko? It may sound as though I’m just nothing but full of envy, and simultaneously trying to work for both a book deal and a gig in the new ECW relaunch, but in reality I’m exposing the bandwagon that’s being jumped on by people who have never taken a 100 mile per hour chairshot to the skull. How many people out there can talk about disfiguring themselves for the amusement of thousands worldwide watching TNA? If you’ve never been in drug rehab multiple times, slept with a two hundred pound 'rat, or shot a Mexican pharmacy into your veins, how can you really ever know my pain? So, James Guttman, you can talk about work rates and high spots, while I toil in the fields, but one day my destiny will be manifested. One day my story will be told. One day I’ll also be on the shelf at Borders next to Scott Keith and Chyna. Quote the Raven, nevermore.

Wade Keller: Hello everyone, this is Pro Wrestling Torch editor Wade Keller. I’ve been asked to give my quick thoughts of a new book from a former Torch contributor. Back at the beginnings of our website, I had the incredible idea to have some of our show reviewers come together and write weekly columns. They were known as The Lounge, and many of those writers have gone on to other ventures. Robert Igoe continues his work as a newspaper writer, Tony Marshall will be up for parole in 2007, and Mike Sempervive has a perfect position kissing Bryan Alvarez’s ass right ass cheek while Derek Burgan, who asked me to write this review, has his left. They’ve both taken their moderately funny, and often inappropriate, views to less-refined audiences, where Derek’s B.J. Bethel jokes are probably still comedy fare. Keith Lipinski was sort of on the Lounge B-team, but that’s only because Pete Nyman was such a dynamo that I couldn’t have anyone else having Wednesdays. And then there’s World Wrestling Insanity website where Mallory Mahling and That James Guttman reside. That James was a very talented writer, and a good person, but was a man who to whom I gave a large responsibility to - only to have him fumble badly. He always had all of these strange ideas to try and make people think, while doing it in an amusing fashion, that I could never fully understand why people liked about it. I told James he was crazy to do a book and not have it produced by me, while noting that I’m an Ultimate Insider. So, after James declined my suggestion of becoming the next The Tables All Were Broken, he threw a fit and quit. So imagine my surprise when I saw that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d write a book about WWE.

Much like Death of WCW, “Insanity” is amusing and witty at times, but overall it fails to really take the pulse of the events that it chooses to cover. Yes the photo-shop parody pictures are very funny, but as I noted on our last VIP audio update, sometimes the old successful gimmick, even in journalism, gets tired out. Relying on that so much is really kind of strange, and to my surprise Mojo Mitchell agreed. All in all, I feel that while it was a noble effort, the book’s efforts would have been far better served with someone like My James Caldwell at the helm. My James would have brought a unique simplicity and ignored those purely incidental events such as pointing out the similarities in Hunter’s feud list, and instead ask the questions that have led to headline-snatching responses from Bruno Sammartino, that only rival our sources' current insider coverage of the new ECW situation. We also have random ROH news, along with so little other actual news from all across the rest of the world of wrestling, that I can guarantee there will be new two-page Caldwell columns to supplement his Sammartino shoot that was recorded several months ago and can already be heard in its awkward entirety on the site. But, as an original icon of the newsletter business, I wish James Guttman the best of luck, he’ll need it. Remember what happened to Chris Zavisa.? You don’t? Exactly.

Derek Burgan can be seen wasting everyone's time with wrestling DVD and comic book reviews over at Wrestling Observer and the world famous Wrestling Enjoyment Index at Figure Four Weekly online~! Don't forget about his Opinion Pieces at World Wrestling Insanity and goofiness at WrestleCrap as well. Whew! Derek can be reached at: derek@gumgod.com

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.).