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By Catherine Perez


Welcome back to Deadface Walking! What? Two in a week? Just meeting my weekly quota, kids (Monday's was last week's, remember?). As always, I'm Catherine Perez, the monochrome warrior... we can't all be rainbow-haired like the oh-so-original Jeff Hardy, right? With Christmas right around the corner... holy shit, I just sneezed, bit down on my tongue, and completely lost my train of thought. Wow. Trippy. Yeah... so... let's begin, shall we?

Wow, what a Raw on Monday! Both Skinners, Steve Keirn and Shawn Michaels, were on the same show in one night - apparently, Keirn wanted his hat back. Marty Jannetty showed up looking drunk and all-around bizarre, even wearing the same tights he wore back in 1990. Bret Hart was set to show up, but Jim Neidhart ate him. Lita's love life came back to haunt her, and for once it wasn't in the form of a rare STD. But it's not what happened on Raw that had me in stitches, but what happened when the show went off the air. Stephanie McMahon actually scolded Punjabi Translator Guy, Runjin Singh (real name Dave Kapoor, but who cares?), for breaking kayfabe and having a merry time at Steve Austin's beer bash... like everyone else. As many of us saw, the final segment of Raw's 15th anniversary special had wrestlers young and old coming out to have beer (and Pepsi, right CM Punk?), and Singh was basically just enjoying himself with the rest of the wrestlers. After the show, Stephanie called his ass over and told him that his behavior was highly unprofessional. What? Stephanie then went on to tell Singh to start taking his job seriously, because creative team members shouldn't be on-screen characters anyway... unless, of course, you're the chairman's daughter, and have heaving, sagging, Elvira-esque breasts... or are fat and disgusting like Big Dick Johnson. Stephanie ended with telling poor Punjabi Translator Guy that she's gone to bat for him in the past, so he'd better not screw his lifetime opportunity up. Allow me to speak for all of us (me, you, the TWF staff, the rest of the IWC) when I say that this story comes as no shock; Stephanie McMahon is the personification of evil, with a tampon in her ass, and stories like this only continue to prove us right. Christ. Premature menopause much?

In a follow-up to that hilarious Leticia Cline/Howard Stern report, Leticia actually sent a letter to Stern following her firing from that Motocross show. Stern got the letter, and asked everyone in his show's studio if anyone remembered who Leticia Cline is. Unsurprisingly, not a soul remembered Leticia, despite the fact that she had appeared on the show just the previous week. I think I've just shit myself from laughter. So much for being a Stern Slut; surely this would have been her true calling. Perhaps now Leticia can be introduced to the world of monster trucks -- after all, after hitting rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but ROCK BOTTOMER~! Or into the lead role of The Scorpion King. Whichever works.

"I didn’t think he [The Great Khali] deserved the World Championship. I don’t want to say it made me sick to my stomach to see the title in his hands, but it really did make me sick to my stomach." This hilarious quote comes from Batista, who went on the record with the U.K. Sun to make that comment. Now that Dave's book is out, this guy thinks he can run around and talk shit about everyone. This time is different, however. He's talking about Khali, the worst wrestler since Giant Gonzalez, and has actually echoed my sentiments on the giant lummox. Khali's title reign was nauseating, in a way that neither Pepto Bismol nor a toothbrush handle down the throat could heal. Unfortunately, a Batista title reign is not much of an improvement. Sorry, Teest.

I previously reported that Senshi was the only guy to take up Dixie Carter's offer to leave TNA. As it turns out, this isn't the case, as Ron Killings is gone too. Again. Yep, Truth danced his way out of our hearts forever... until TNA hires O.J. Simpson and needs another black guy to round out a gangsta tag team called Team O.J., a duo of delinquents who only target white women to beat the shit out of. Anyway, a few other guys are also considering Dixie's offer. As long as they aren't Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley, I'm okay with that.

Jillian Hall's Christmas album, A Jingle with Jillian, was released via iTunes yesterday. This five-track album has all the worst of Jillian that you've come to expect - a true aural Holocaust. Even the $1.95 price tag can be considered a rip-off. However, if you happen to write for a wrestling satire website like I do, A Jingle with Jillian is just the album for you to review while your ears spew blood like a horrified 12-year-old girl on her first period. With song's like "Jingle Bell Rock," "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and "The Christmas Song," A Jingle with Jillian will have you impaling your ears with your very own Christmas trees as you wonder why you're listening to a handful of songs that all sound exactly the fucking same. Like WWE.com says, "nobody jingles like Jillian," unless your name is Brooke Hogan, of course.

Candice Michelle is being advertised for the Greensboro, North Carolina Raw taping on the 29th. First of all, what is WWE's fetish with the Carolinas? This only means one thing: ALL. EYES. ON. MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME will be more audible than ever, thanks to the stunning lack of crowd noise. Son of a bitch. As if traveling through a revolving door, with Candice's return comes Torrie Wilson's absence. Torrie is currently on the shelf with a back injury. Oh no! Not the back! Not the part of her body that helped get her to WWE to begin with~! Finally, on TNA's side of the fence, Karen Angle is now the proud owner of a BROKEN FREAKIN' LEG. Your gold medal's in the mail, Karen. Hopefully that's the last time Kurt uses the ankle lock as foreplay. Actually, I'm quite sad to hear this bit of news; for someone who has never been on TV prior to this year, Karen is obviously a natural in front of a camera. She's definitely got a talent for acting, which further assures me that WWE's no-talent swimsuit model-turned-divas are just lazy and good for absolutely nothing. Get well soon, Karen.

Speaking of Karen, she recently filmed a pilot for a reality show. God, I hope it's not "Life with the Angles." Actually, I hope it is, just for the opening credits. Kurt would walk out of his house with a mouthful of Somas as "STARRING KURT ANGLE" flashes across the screen, then he'd smile a big, shit-eating grin as Somas spill out onto the walkway. How fucking awesome. As awesome as that is, this has been your least important news bit of the week. Wow... not much to report this week, is there?

. Triple H: Welcome to Triple H TV -- all Triple H, all the time! In case you've been too comfortable living inside your asses to know who the HELL I am... I am the Game, Triple H. I'm the Cerebral Assassin. I'm that damn good. I own my own brand of shovels with sledgehammer handles. I'm a good guy, though. I'm soft-spoken and stuff. I'm funny. I've got a hot wife with giant breasts that I can hang onto like a horse's reins as we procreate a bunch of baby WWE Champions... but none of you fat marks would know about that well-kept secret. What the hell are you waving at me for, camera guy? Catherine? Who the HELL is Catherine? Oh, her. She never paid her dues, so I took her show... because I'm THE GAME!


[A nearby glass of water shatters.]

Hey dudes, I'm back from my lunch break~! ...HEY! What the fuck are you and your fat-breasted wife doing on my chair?!

Triple H: Heeeey, Cathy. Ladies and gentlemen, my first guest on Triple H TV is none other than the star of Hey Man, Nice Shoot... Catherine Perez!

Triple H TV?! Bitch, get off my chair! I run this show, not you! MOVE.

[H and Steph slowly move to their assigned seats, and Catherine plants her ass on her throne of awesomeness.]

Hunter, glad to have you on my show. Nice to see you've brought your wife, Stephanie, with you. Welcome back, Steph.

Triple H: She's not my wife.

[A camera lens shatters, prompting the truck monkeys to change shots.]

H, honestly, everyone and their dogs know you two are happily married, with a kid. You even went so far as to acknowledge it on Raw just this week.

Triple H: I did not.

You did.

Triple H: Are you doubting my status as the unmarried King of Kings?

Oh, of course not. Must be absolutely pathetic to be pushing 40 and still have no wife, though.

Triple H: Heh... I was just kidding. Stephanie's been my wife for years.

[The entire studio rumbles.]

Dear God. So, how's Aurora? I hear she's just adorable.

Triple H: Why don't you ask her yourself? AURORA, GET OVER HERE~!

Aurora: [in a scary voice that sounds just like her father's] What's up, daddy?
Triple H: Why don't you tell Catherine here what you'll be doing next year?
Aurora: Don't mind if I do, Pops. Listen here, Catherine. I am Triple A. I am THE FUN. I am the cranial sniper. When Wrestlemania 24 comes around, no one is going to stop me from winning what is rightfully my daddy's: the WWE Championship! When I do win the gold, Mommy's going to buy me a gold binky with my name engraved on it.
Stephanie: I SURE AM!

I think I just shit myself. Aurora, you are the most frightening child since the kid from The Shining.

Triple H: Good going, Cathy. You made her cry.

I didn't mean to! Here, Aurora, have a yellow lollipop.

Aurora: ...I'll have your yellow lollipop, but come next week, I'll be on my way to winning the Intercontinental Championship.
Triple H: Isn't she great?

Just wonderful. She's got your... uh... nose? Yeah. So, Stephanie, I've gotta ask: how can you let half the shit that airs on WWE TV even pass through the "creative" writing process?


[Aurora's lollipop shatters.]

Triple H: Got any more of those lollipops on ya?

Can't say that I do. H, what about your supposed friendship with the cracked-out, color-changing mess that is Jeff Hardy?

Triple H: ...what the... who the hell said we were friends?
Jeff Hardy: I... I did, Hunter. I even wrote a poem about us. Wanna hear it?
Triple H: No.
Stephanie: No.
Aurora: No.

Hardy: Okay, here goes:

Hardy. Hunter.
Mind and power.
Sweet and sour.
Everlasting flowers.
Please don't rape me in the shower.

Triple H: Jeff... I've gotta admit, that poem could bring a tear to a glass eye. You know, 'cause it sucks and all. Don't ever pick up a pencil again, 'kay?
Hardy: ...you've murdered my soul. I'll see you Sunday, Triple H, at Armageddon, on Pay-Per-View, at 8:00 PM eastern time... on Sunday.

Did this bastard just plug Armageddon on my show? Hardy, get off my set.

Hardy: Fine... but I'm taking the spirit of the Imagi with me.

Keep it, shitbag. So, Hunter, Stephanie... scary child, before we run out of time... any plans for the future?

Triple H: Catherine, you know us. You know our plans. We're going to patiently await Vince's death and take over the company, then rule over it with an iron fist.


Triple H: ...we'll do nothing but continue to help WWE achieve greatness... like always. Heh.

You're going to fuck WWE up, aren't you?

Triple H: Hey, if that's what you and your fat mark friends want to call it, that's fine by me, the Game, the Cerebral Assassin, the---

Ooookay, that's all for this week's Hey Man, Nice Shoot - not Triple H TV. Please join me next week for an interview with Val Venis that's sure to tug at the heart strings and all that emotional bullshit.

Thank you for taking the time to read through this edition of Deadface Walking. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated, and you probably all know where it can be sent by now. Also, remember to check out all the great updates of the week if you haven't already: Cameron Burge's
RAW RANT, where we all jumped into some kind of alternate dimension time warp and got to see Jim Neidhart walk down the Raw ramp again... looking like he devoured Vader. Dear God. New guy James Swift makes his return with the ECW RANT, featuring a worst match of the year candidate in Kelly^2 vs. Layla and Victoria. Sean Carless invites you to take a trip to 2004 with his Armageddon RETRO RANT. Kenzo Suzuki and Rene Dupree wrestled that night. Remember them? No? That's what Sean's Recapitations are for, kids. By the way, in case you haven't noticed, the polls have opened for TWF's Writer of the Year, right on our lovely front page. If you know what's good for you, you'll vote for someone who doesn't have a set of male genitalia. And now I shall take my leave of this non-spell-checked column. TTFN, LAWL~!

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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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.).