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DEADFACE WALKING!: (09/27/07)
By Catherine Perez
 

[PICS AND LOGO CREATED BY CATHERINE PEREZ].

Welcome back to Deadface Walking, the Internet Wrestling Community's only source of sarcasm and pessimism peppered into news reports... you know, if you don't count those thousands of mark-and-smark message boards that you're probably a member of. I'm Catherine Perez, your hostess and supporter of the Shawn Michaels's Face Is Melting Theory. As I was scouting about the internet for some newsworthy reports to skewer, I noticed that NoDQ.com had one of those flashing lie banners. This one in particular really caught my attention. Why? Well, one, it said "JOHN CENA STARING (sic) IN NEXT SUPERMAN MOVIE!" Two, the graphic being used was my Superman Retains picture from a few columns ago. I've gotta say that I'm still laughing my ass off at the the thought of people finding my graphic so believable that they'd click the banner. You'd think the bad proportions of Superman's body to Cena's head would be a dead giveaway... Anyway, you can see the banner HERE. OH, AND~! This week I debut a new segment, as suggested by "Hollywood" Dean, whose handle is "far too long and drawn out" to explain. Sure, it's all probably been done before, and I easily could've thought of it myself, but who really gives a rat's ass, right? Thanks, Dean, for providing me with another segment to stick my twisted thoughts all over. I'd give you all a link to his page or something, but I wasn't provided with one. So... please accept my eternal gratitude, Dean. Yeah. Let's begin!

A casually dressed (let's just say he was most likely wearing his usual, non-wrestling WWE attire) "Stone Cold" Steve Austin was very adamant about attending Soul Kitchen Sunday at Miami, Florida restaurant The Forge, a fancy-pants (see what I did there? That's called foreshadowing. Or something...) restaurant frequented by wealthy guys and needy women, last week. After being told of The Forge's "No Shorts" policy, Austin threatened to get physical. Good thing Debra doesn't work at The Forge... After minutes of scuffling at the door, restaurant workers provided Austin with a pair of pants and finally allowed him in. A MiamiHerald.com blogger by the name of Lesley Abravanel is amazed that this even happened, considering that Wednesdays and Sundays at The Forge consist of throngs (not thongs, but it might as well be) of half-naked women. Sexual discrimination? Probably not. Wanting to start up a buzz during all this pro-wrestling steroid shit? Perhaps!

And now for some otherworldly news: The Zombie of ECW shame is out for Sandman's blood! Swear to God. The Zombie sent out word that he is available for bookings (probably through Errrrg~! Entertainment), especially for promotions who are booking Sandman this month. Wow. I'm sure he'll also accept bookings where he'll go one-on-one with Sandman's Singapore cane. Also, Kevin Thorn is now the proud father of a little baby demon boy. The night walkers are among us! FUCKING RUN! Ahem.

Sick of seeing Joanie "Chyna" Laurer spreading her disease all over your TV? VH1 definitely hears you. Now, you can catch Chyna on their new Celebreality show called Celebrity Rehab, premiering on October 1st! Son of a bitch. They'll sign off on Celebrity Rehab, but won't even bother to get WWE Intervention on TV? Think of the ratings, damn you! Other "celebrities" appearing on the show will include porn star Mary Carey (who?), former funny guy Andy Dick (who?), Flavor Flav groupie Brigitte Nielsen (who?), American Idol reject Jessica Sierra (who?) and actor Tom Sizemore (who?). They couldn't at least get
Marc Mero and his hardened plastic face to appear? Better question: does anyone seriously give a rat's ass about Joanie fucking Laurer anymore... besides Nancy Grace? Even then, Nancy had to keep rescheduling Laurer's appearance because Lindsay Lohan's cokewhore personality is far more interesting to CNN. Nobody cares about Joanie or her grotesque ass acne; let's move on with our lives.

TMZ.com recently caught up with Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson outside of New York's Trump Hotel, where Rock was kindly (hear that, Orton? KINDLY.) signing fan autographs. When questioned about his latest film, Johnson replied, "I did a porn..." and had himself a laugh before turning around to find a little kid and his dad waiting for a picture. This hilarious shit cannot be made up. Johnson apologized for the joke and took the picture with the kid and dad. Don't worry, Rock; judging by the way kids are today, I wouldn't be surprised if the kid asked for a copy of that nonexistent porn flick, which is undoubtedly called "Rock Solid".

During the first two days of Survivor: China, Ashley Massaro fell ill and did the least amount of work of all the other contestants. Oh, and her nipple flopped out, as expected. Does this all really come as a surprise to anyone? She can barely tear it up in a wrestling ring, where most spots are staged; how can anyone expect her to put forth any actual effort on a show that calls for strenuous physical exertion? What does surprise me is that Ashley hasn't exploded into a billion powdery fragments yet. Then again, why should she? She's a pro-wrestler, right? She's learned SO much in two years, right (such a devastating clothesline she gives out~!)? Ugh. If CBS wanted a good character for the show, why couldn't they ask for Undertaker?

Jeff Probst: Undertaker, it looks like there are four votes against you.
Undertaker: You dare to look into the eyes of the Deadman?
Probst: Uh... I'm just telling you that you're eliminated.
Undertaker: I shall eliminate your soul into the darkest depths of Hell! Or Death Valley, whichever gets me back to my vacation faster.

Apparently there was a long delay at last week's live Smackdown tapings when the little boy who played the ring bearer didn't make his way out on his cue. I don't even remember there being a ring bearer; I was too busy dying of laughter over Kristal Marshall tripping and falling on her face on the ring steps, and Pat Patterson not boarding the Ho Train. Awful, yet hilarious segment. Speaking of Kristal, there has been talk of drafting her over to Raw, since she's dating Bobby Lashley. Good grief; the love of her life goes semi-comatose on her and she's already back on the dating scene? What? Oh.

Vince Russo is pushing hard for the return of Kevin Nash to the ring, because Nash was, get this, a star in the late '90s. Ah, yes, for why else should a wrestler be damn near pushed to the moon? Dutch Mantel, who's supposedly behind every atrocity currently on TNA, is against Nash's in-ring return, citing that Nash has burned TNA too many times when it came to jobbing. Hey, come on; Nash was obviously possessed by the spirit of the evil, not-dead-yet Hulk Hogan, brother. Speaking of which, Nash Hogan sounds like one of those bad-ass, Walker, Texas Ranger type of names. I digress. Well, I guess the X Division's gotta be happy for Nash... right, guys?

Sonjay Dutt: No.
Jay Lethal: No.
Shark Boy: Mrph.
Chris Sabin: No.
Alex Shelley: Fuck no.
Samoa Joe: I'm not in the X Division anymore... am I?

This week's least interesting news bit goes to David "Gangrel" Heath, who has been signed by the New Porn Order to an exclusive 12-movie directing deal. Oh my God. Now officially known as "The Vampire Warrior", Gangrel will be making his directorial debut with "Miami Rump Shakerz 2". I know I'm not the only one who's glad he wasn't signed as a porn actor. Suddenly I can't shake the image of a twat with fangs from my mind. GOD DAMN YOU, GANGREL!

And now, after a huge debate with myself on whether it should go before or after Hey Man, Nice Shoot, the Deadface Walking debut of...



Today, we look into the rise, er... fall and... further falling, then sort of rise, then another fall... of one of professional wrestling's most charismatic personalities of all time... The Yeti. As early as 1932, archaeologists discovered a giant block of ice from deep within the Italian Tyrolean Alps. This glacier, determined to have been around since many thousands of years ago, encased a mummified man - a drunken caveman who attended the first known Halloween costume party. The man thought it'd be funny to watch his own balls shrink as he swam in icy waters. As it turns out, this caveman had no swimming skills, and quickly sank to the bottom of the lake. Upon its discovery, the giant block of ice was sent to an Italian museum, where it would stay until 1990.

Fast-forward to 1990, where a very rich man named Ted Turner decided he should blow a load... of his money on crap he didn't need. During a trip to Italy, he stumbled upon the same glacier with the moron caveman buried inside. "I've always wanted my own caveman," Turner proclaimed, and purchased the icy rock for $500,000,000. Ted had done many unspeakable things to the frozen caveman while it was in his possession. One oft-talked about incident in particular included drilling a hole leading to the caveman's anus and... well, you know the story. On one blistering hot night, during the summer of 1993, Ted stripped down to his birthday suit and threw himself onto the enormous glacier, thus creating an embarrassing moment for everyone when he had to have his nipples, pubes and junk ripped from the cold block of icy hell (sure, they could've used warm water to free him, but where's the hilarity in that?). By late 1995, Ted had done just about everything to the block of ice, and grew angrier by the day when it began to melt all over his expensive, Persian rugs and wads of cash. He had to find a way to get rid of that thing! Ol' Ted then remembered that he had invested money into a pro-wrestling shitfest known as World Championship Wrestling, where such legendary personalities as MARK STARR, MENG, BUNKHOUSE BUCK, and MAX MUSCLE shined under the spotlight... of Hulk Hogan's orangey glow.

At WCW's Monday Nitro on October 23rd, 1995, as an unmustachioed Hulk Hogan, Sting, The Giant, Macho Man Randy Savage, and various Dungeon of Doom stablemates beat each other's asses, the floor began to shake (nevermind the fact that Hogan and company defied all logic and science as they kept walking about like the floor under them wasn't shaking them to their very cores) while a strategically-placed giant block of ice thawed out at an alarmingly fast speed. This slab of cold rock didn't just melt; that'd be uninteresting. This fucker just about EXPLODED, revealing a glimpse of THE YETI (that's yeh-TAY, according to Tony Schiavone). Oh, then the show came to a close. Yeah. BUT, six days later, at Halloween Havoc, the Yeti (no doubt still turned on by Ted Turner's sexual advances from the early '90s) would make his official debut as he dryhumped the shit out of Hulk Hogan. True story. The freakishly tall Yeti would go on to don a ninja costume, much to no one's enjoyment. Since this caveman was preserved so well for thousands of years, he ditched the costumes and went on to become Reese, one of former WCW star Raven's many flunkies, complete with English language fluency. Well, before that he was Big Ron Studd, alleged son of Big John Studd, but who the fuck would remember that?

So, where is the Yeti today? Good question, readers. As of 2005, he underwent height reduction surgery and has been seen under the new guise of "Ashley Massaro". As very, very, very, very, very old age has finally caught up with him, "Ashley" now has an uncanny ability to blow up into dust after taking any and every bump imaginable in the world of professional wrestling. You can catch "Ashley" today on Survivor: China, where s/he, you guessed it, blows up into dust on a weekly basis.



Welcome back to Hey Man, Nice Shoot! Thankfully, I wasn't eaten by Judas Mesias last week; that shit would've turned out worse than Troll 2... or something. Anyway, this week I'm being joined by a man who has a little more fucking class than Mesias... I hope. Ladies and gentlemen... the Legend Killer himself... RANDY ORTON~! Thanks for being here to answer a few quick questions, Randy.

Orton: Yeah, they all want quick questions... [Orton proceeds to take a video camera and throw it to the floor.]

I hope you're ready to pay for that. Fuck's sake, I'm trying to maintain a positive opinion about you here, which is why I must ask... that gym bag incident... what the hell?

Orton: There was no gym bag incident!

Sure. You can tell me, Randy, I won't judge you.

Orton: Alright, look... I pigged out on Hot Pockets hours before. I couldn't get to the bathroom on time! I had to shit somewhere!

You disgusting pig!

Orton: You said you wouldn't judge me!

I lied! You're gross, and on top of that, that all sounds like a really bad McMahon-written storyline. So, this year you've provided me with enough unintentionally hilarious moments to last me a lifetime. Who came up with those Shawn Michaels and Rob Van Dam concussion angles? I'd like to shake the hand of the fucker that made the following picture of RVD caressing the head of a referee possible:



Orton: I've got a blown-up version of that same photo hanging on my bedroom wall.

Because you're secretly in love with Rob like I am?

Orton: Uh... no. Because it's funny.

Ah, right. Yeah. Nevermind that last comment.

Orton: Well, that and Rob's ass resembles my wife's.

Speaking of your wife! Congratulations on the marriage. Good to know that you've found the one to share your smug, bastardly attitude with forever. How's she doing?

Orton: Meh, she won't stop screaming "WHY, GOD, WHY?!" but she's handling it all fairly well. Not a lot of ladies can handle me, you know. That's why I have to RKO their asses into my bed.

That explains my hatred of you.

Orton: What?

What? Ahem. So, the chinlocks... what's your fetish with this move?

Orton: I don't see why it's the most hated maneuver ever with all you fat, pimply internet fanboys.

Uh, I'm a girl.

Orton: Don't be silly; girls don't like wrestling.

Who the hell makes up half your fanbase, then?

Orton: Pfft, they're all my ex-girlfriends. Can't get enough of me.

Wow, you're really full of yourself.

Orton: Hey, if you play your cards right, you can be full of me tonight.

Worst. Line. Ever. No wonder you have to incapacitate women before you fuck them. We're fucking done, son.
Orton: You can't deny my power over you~!

Deny a fist in your ass. Get the hell off my set, you self-absorbed bag of cock.

Orton: Hey, that's fine. I've got bitches to pork anyway.

Screw you and your pork! That's all for Hey Man, Nice Shoot. Join me next week when I unwillingly sit down with a disgusting, fat bastard. No, not Trevor Murdoch... BIG DICK JOHNSON~!

Thank you for checking out Deadface Walking! If it hasn't been drilled into your head yet, you can always send questions, comments, and/or suggestions to my e-mail inbox or
MySpace. SPEAKING OF MYSPACE~! I'd like to take the time to pimp out the all-new OFFICIAL TWF.COM MYSPACE PAGE, which you had better go add to your friends list right fuckin' now, you swine. Ahem. Did I say 'swine'? I meant 'kind and lovely reader'. Also, please take the time to check out this week's updates from the talented TWF staff, including newcomer Charley Martin's TNA iMPACT RANT, Derek Burgan's DVD REVIEW of The Running Man at the Battle Royale The Condemned, Cameron Burge's RAW RANT, and Gershon Levy's ECW on SCI-FI RANT. Oh, and feel my pain as you read through my last two SMACKDOWN RANTS, if you haven't already. Toodles!

SEND FEEDBACK TO CATHERINE PEREZ
 
Catherine Perez is a proud owner of three e-mails from WWE's legal department, which she regularly prints out for when all the toilet paper runs out.  She was the first person to call the Ghostbusters after witnessing something strange in her neighborhood, and is thus immortalized in a song that was made popular four years before her birth.  Catherine enjoys collecting vintage WWF t-shirts, painting on her clothing, and the smell of crushed dreams in the mornings. She also shot J.R.

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TWF FLASHBACK

November 2006

SATIRE: DISCONTINUED WWE XMAS PRODUCTS!

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.).