HAW HAW HAW, did you guys hear? The Wrestling Observer Newsletter says Sonjay Dutt's going to be using some type of WACKY
new Gandhi gimmick! LoLLeRsKAtEz!111 Dutt will be wearing clothes that resemble the ones Gandhi wore as referenced in pictures
from the 1930s and '40s, as well as preaching nonviolence to Jay Lethal. Nope, nothing ironic about a pro-wrestler preaching
nonviolence, not at all. TNA actually even went so far as to suggest that Dutt wear a turban and stick a red dot onto his
forehead, prompting Dutt to sarcastically ask if he should drive a taxi cab as well. Well... uh... I'm sure this'll be HAW-HAW-LARIOUS~!
to everyone no one. What's next, TNA will suggest that Sonjay only speak using the phrase "Bibbity bibbity"? Now there's
a "Hey Man, Nice Shoot" segment to look forward to! Honestly, if this is all TNA can come up with, I'd prefer that Sonjay
take the previously suggested Kevin Nash as Oz gimmick. Where's Merlin the Wizard when you need him... to drive away viewers?
Perhaps TNA can take the rest of the X Division (and some cinder blocks) and repackage them as A Half-Ton of Holy Hell 2.0!
According to WWE Magazine, a "drunk dialing Diva" accidentally sent a text message to everyone in her cell phone directory
that read: "God saw U hungry & created McDonald's. He Saw u thirsty and created Bud Light. God saw U without a good-looking
friend and created my sexy ass!" Har har. The Diva in question happens to be Victoria, made painfully obvious by the magazine's
statement of "Maybe she is the lady to mess with." That's a real coincidence, because Viscera just sent out a drunken
rant via text message, and that read: "Yo wuts a bitch gotta do 2 get sum Kentucky Fried up in heeer? Ohhhhh baby i'ma sit
u on up on mah bed and get us all butt naked, then i'ma eat sum Kentucky Fried... mmmm." Now there's a thought to sleep on.
Unfortunately for fans of Lilian Garcia (and nonfans of Justin Roberts), Lilian will likely be missing out on announcing duties
throughout all of June. ECW announcer (and part-time boy band member?) Justin Roberts will, of course, continue to announce
for Raw. I think I just got AIDS at the realization that Roberts will be announcing for another month. Now, you're probably
thinking, "Well, who the hell cares? He's just an announcer~!" It's nothing against Roberts, but there's something about his
voice that just sends me into a silent rage (who the hell is "Randy Ort Tin", Roberts?!). Speaking of Silent Rage, if Chuck
Norris would just run into 
the ring and roundhouse kick Justin Roberts into the crowd at the nosebleed seats, that would just make my whole night. Better
yet, where's Charlie Haas? One missile dropkick and that turtlewax-haired, Backstreet Boys fucker will be sailing into June
30th! Damn it, Lilian, get well SOONER!
As reported in the Wrestling Observer, Vince McMahon is thinking about bring
Paul Heyman back to television (without any input towards the creative department, of course~!). Michael Hayes, Bruce Prichard
and Brian Gerwitz believe bringing Heyman back is a bad idea. YOU SHUT YOUR HOLE, PRICHARD! Prichard should be stripped of
even having a mouth after that Bobby Lashley Gauntlet (and I don't think I need to remind you readers about how bad it was
for me and others). I've got an idea! Bring Heyman back permanently strapped to a damn chair, and have him just watch Raw,
Smackdown and ECW every week until he's finally brainwashed enough to come up with WWE-level, shithole storylines:
It's a win-lose situation for everyone, just like
everything in WWE! YAY!
Well, the pudding match has finally passed and... shit, tell me I wasn't accurate as hell with
my Photoshop graphic (with the exception of Bill Cosby emerging from the pudding and Tie Dye Guy showing up to let us all
know what he thought of the match)! No news here, just wanted to gloat.
All that pudding talk reminds me that 70-year-old Abdullah the Butcher recently came out of retirement to wrestle in a cage
match at Bad News Allen's tribute show on May 25th in Cochrane, Alberta. Apparently, Abdullah has become so overweight that
the cage couldn't be set up completely until he was inside the ring. Not even Mark Henry's had to deal with this. Three sides
were put up, then Abdullah had to literally be rolled into the ring, rolled back out due to his back fat getting caught in
the ropes (dear God!), then rolled back in, all before the fourth side of the cage could even be put up. The entire process
took over half an hour - up to after midnight - and was a sad sight to witness. I'm just picturing poor Abby looking like
some kind of beached ocean creature. Someone please find me a picture; I think I may just use it as motivation for my diet.
An eye-witness report at the Pro Wrestling Insider's site says that the match was going at "an agonizingly slow pace", and,
when it was all said and done, part of the cage was removed so Abdullah could be rolled back out. He then waddled back to
the dressing room. Good fuckin' grief... I guess the Half-Ton of Holy Hell stable I mentioned before can go to Abby and Abby
alone. There must have been more rest holds than an Orton match, and possibly snack breaks too. Those Lunchables won't eat
themselves, right Abby?
Tiger Ali Singh's former manservant Babu (real name Pablo Marquez [old-school ECW's 'Puerto Ricano']... since when can we
Latinos successfully pull off looking like Indian servants?) recently got a WWE tryout match and-- wait, BABU? Something tells
me that, should Babu make it to WWE, he's going to be sent to ECW in a horrible effort to make fans think Sabu was never gone.
"See, there he is! AND he changed his name to Babu! It's just much easier [for Dusty Rhodes] to say." Real smooth, guys.
Triple
H was backstage during Sunday's One Night Stand show, watching the show from the monitors (a daring feat indeed). Several
wrestlers went out of their ways to say hello, because they all know that once H heals and can jump over a gazebo, he'll be
back to having all the political power IN THE WORLD! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA-- ahem. I was going to ask if Triple H is honestly
going to bury a guy for not saying hello to him, but...
Triple H: Hey uh, John. Uh... I noticed you didn't greet me when I wobbled into the arena.
John Cena: You noticed correctly,
H. I actually have a speech impediment that prevents me from saying "hello".
Triple H: You said it just now, asshole.
Cena:
So I did. What are you going to do about it, Cripple H? (He then pats himself on the back for being so original)
Triple
H: ...back to the midcard where you belong, bitch.
TRIPLE H! TRIPLE H! TRIPLE H! Hey, I can dream, can't I?
In
a related report, a radio interview with Triple H last week revealed that Triple H finds a problem with the younger guys in
the company. H feels that the young ones think they're owed something (lollipops?) but don't work hard enough for it, then
complain when they're not booked on Raw. Then, in a statement that I'm sure will get a rise out of H-hating IWC smarks, H
commented that some wrestlers aren't on TV because no one wants to see them, they have no personality, and are boring. Now,
while I'll agree to an extent (I don't really give a rat's ass for Funaki), this statement can be used against some of WWE's
top stars as well! Who the hell said we wanted to see Lashley, Khali and Umaga duke it out EVERY FUCKING WEEK in the main
event? Who said these guys have personality? They sure as hell aren't interesting! Who wants to see Vince McMahon ramble on
and on and on and on at the top of every damn show about how amazing his ass is or how awesome he is for holding an aluminum,
replica ECW belt that holds no real meaning? Then, just as Vince loses the belt, you'd think he'd finally disappear into obscurity.
Oh, no way, not McMahon! He turns into a complete tard with a shit-eating grin (a real stretch from the character he portrayed
before Monday, I'm sure) and yells "GET GET GET GET GET GET" as if people are going to turn to their friends and say, "Now
there's some quality fucking television right there." Melina and Candice rolling around in pudding to the enjoyment of no
one? GOLD~! Stevie Richards or, uh, some other guy or girl cutting an awesome promo, then going out to wrestle in a match
that people might actually give three steamy turds about? CAN'T HAVE THAT, CAN WE? Then we've got Ric Flair, who watches shitty
WWE segments and says something like "That's why I'll have a job here for life," as if he's an integral part of every Raw
broadcast! If WWE had been pushing some of their newer wrestlers, like Mr. Kennedy, to become almost as huge as The Rock or
Stone Cold (not comparing the wrestlers, just their popularity), Ric Flair would've been out of a damn job by now. Now, I
think this column's been hijacked enough by my nerdy IWC rage, so let's move on.
It appears as though we have been
saved from the impending doom that is Vickie Guerrero as Smackdown General Manager. The higher-ups at WWE have finally come
to the realization that Vickie has three daughters at home and can't commit to a full-time road schedule. Theodore Long and
his raging hormones will remain General Manager, and therefore will not be getting as much ass as he would like from Diva
Search Loser #934,587. This is one report that I'm praying is true, because I just can't bear seeing Vickie on television.
It's nothing against her; I admire her strength as a widowed mother of three, and I know she's just trying to financially
support her girls but... when I see her on television, I can literally feel myself getting explosive diarrhea. Ugh. Can't
WWE at least just give her an office job?
What won't Vince McMahon think of? Former WWE writer Dan Madigan was interviewed recently on an online radio show about his
time in WWE and mentioned that when he wrote See No Evil, McMahon made the daring suggestion of having a scene where Kane
would masturbate on-screen and reveal that he had a 36-inch penis. How the HELL would a man even keep that in his pants while
going on a teenager slashing spree (PACKAGING TAPE PWNS)? I'm especially glad that Dan was the only person in the meeting
room who had the decency to reject Vince's suggestion; I went to see that damn movie with my mother and little sister, and
if Kane had pulled down his pants to lovingly stroke his 3-footer, Mom would have disowned me right in that theater. She was
mad enough at me for Kane just patting and plucking at his berries!
As if that wasn't a bad enough idea from the mind
of Vince McMahon, it appears as though his "slow, eating cancer" line from One Night Stand is foreshadowing an angle involving
him. I'm assuming that it's part of his current "rambling dumbass who needs to get off my TV screen" angle that started on
Monday (or after McMahon decided to go heel back in the '90s). Brain cancer? Yeah, that's what I probably have after watching
McMahon sit in a fucking rocking chair for half an hour on ECW. If there's anything enjoyable coming from this angle, it's
the dead silence it's getting from the audience. On Monday night, Vince McRamblepants' rambling and st-st-stuttering segments
were about as over as anal leakage. That's much worse than X-Pac heat, which I'm sure is yet to come. I'll bet you could hear
a guy biting into some nachos from the nosebleed seats. Moral of the story? "Rambling dumbass who needs to get off my TV screen",
as absolutely hilarious as it is, is not a good gimmick. Just ask Eugene.
Looks like the Jackass gang will be getting
one of the few main events at this year's SummerSlam. That's right! All your favorite Jackasses (which, for some reason, doesn't
include Jason "Wee Man" Acuņa... or Johnny Ace) will be taking on a group of your favorite wrestlers. According to Steve-O's
MySpace blog, he's already been getting calls asking why their match may be called off due to his bad behavior. He's been
running around trying to get some of the WWE stars to actually choke him unconscious, which would have been taped for his
upcoming Paparazzi Stuntman DVD. On top of that, "not bothering with bathrooms" was hinted at. I'm assuming he probably pissed
on Titan Towers, a move that many a wrestling fan has wanted to do for quite some time. Right on, Steve-O~! Well, pissing
on Titan Towers still won't take away the pain that will come with watching "Jackass vs. WWE". Poo on you, Steve-O~!
And
now... DURRDURRDURRDURRDURR (a big round of applause for my special guest drum roll imitation specialist, Tard Grisham)...
the least important news bit of the week~! WWE has adopted a new policy of not letting referees know the finishes of any matches
ahead of time. As a result, teenaged girls wept, little boys choked themselves with deflated blow-up sledgehammers, and John
Cena finally lost... or so my vision went. Three cheers for WWE wanting to be all shoot fight-like! Whatever.
That
ends this portion of Deadface Walking... and now, for further reading displeasure is week two of...
Readers, this week I am sitting down for a one-on-one
interview with a man who needs no introduction... largely due to his request to remain anonymous. Ladies and gentlemen, from
Total Nonstop Action, Mr. Eric Young! How are you--
Eric: ARE YOU CRAZY?! You completely blew my cover! Oh God, they're
coming to get me. They're coming to get me. They're coming to--
Jesus Christ, Eric, calm the hell down. No one's coming
to get you.
Eric: Who's coming to get me?!
Uh... "they"?
Eric: OH GOD! THEY'RECOMINGTOGETMETHEY'RECOMINGTOGETMETHEY'RE--
...so,
how are you?
Eric: How am I? Look at me! I'm a wreck! I just gave Robert Roode a bath!
Isn't he perfectly capable
of bathing his own damn self?
Eric: Oh, sure, but it's like he told me: "I just like to see the look on your face while
you scrub my lily-white ass."
What a vile, sadistic man. Have you ever tried just t--
Robert Roode: ERIC, YOU
LITTLE BASTARD, I TOLD YOU TO COMB MY ASS HAIRS FORTY MINUTES AGO!
Eric: Oh God, oh God, oh God...
Speak of the
Devil, it's Robert Roode! Listen, Robert, we're kind of in the middle of a one-on-one interview here.
Robert: I don't
seem to remember caring, kid. Eric Young is my personal property, and no one talks to him unless they talk to me first!
Fair
enough. Here's a few words for you: piss off, troll tits. Your wannabe-Ric-Flair ass isn't needed here.
Eric: SHHH,
don't! He's going to kill me!
Robert: You're damn right I am, you little twat.
Let's play a game. It's called Let's
Ignore Robert Roode. So, Eric, who would you consider to be your greatest influence?
Eric: W-w-well, uh... uh... I
think my greatest influence would, uh, would have t-- DID YOU HEAR THAT?! There's someone here with us...
Yeah, that's
just Robert wasting space.
Robert: HEY! Eric: No! I heard something! Something sinister.
Uh... okay.
I think that's Jim Mitchell behind you, Eric.
Jim: Hey, Eric.
Eric: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Jim: Right.
So... wanna be my new monster?
What happened to Ricky Banderas?
Jim: Didn't you hear? Vince McMahon went crazy
and hired Ricky to play Diesel III. Sure, it's embarrassing, but GAWD, what a hefty lump of cash on that paycheck!
That's
great and all but... where the hell are all you assholes coming from? I'm trying to interview Eric here!
Robert: Too
bad, Eric just ran back to Canada. Looks like you'll have to interview me. It pays to be Roode, you know.
That's the
single worst catch phrase in the history of pro-wrestling. You should be ashamed of yourself and your lack of creativity.
Get the hell out of my sight, and take Satan with you.
Jim: Awww...
Robert: WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!
It's
your hair. You've got some crazy mullet-jheri curl hybrid. It's gross. Go away.
Robert: Bitch.
Whore.
Robert:
Skank.
Primadonna.
Robert: Fatty.
Oh, eat me. You're pathetic. If you won't leave, then I will. Toodles,
bitch.
Robert: I CAN MAKE YOU LOVE ME! I CAN MAKE YOU ALL LOVE ME!!!
Whatever. Join me next week when I interview
pro-wrestling madman, Vince McMahon, in what's sure to be a Hey Man, Nice Shoot classic - unlike this one.
Robert:
You love me.
Keep telling yourself that. WELL. That does it for this week's Deadface Walking. As always, feedback goes
towards my e-mail inbox or MySpace. I'm Catherine Perez, your supreme overlord, and make sure to check out all the hilarious
recappy goodness this week from Cameron Burge, Gershon Levy, and Canadian Bacon... then read all of last week's stuff again
just because.
TWF FLASHBACK
November 2006
SATIRE: DISCONTINUED WWE XMAS PRODUCTS!
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.).
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