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By Catherine Perez


Welcome back to Deadface Walking, the only thing that's changing Friday nights! Yeah, I know it's Saturday, but I wasn't willing to part with the intro I wrote days ago, so let's keep going. Yes, much like Smackdown, Deadface has hopped over to Fridays, and, unlike Smackdown, I'll be providing quality entertainment that doesn't involve a widowed faux-paraplegic and her wild-eyed, Canadian squeeze. Awesome. Let's get right into it.

Looks like Vince McMahon's Kiss My Ass Club has found itself a real life member... aside from the entire creative team. And the bookers. And just about everyone else in WWE. THAT'S RIGHT. Who's the lucky fucker? Why, it's John Cena~! It's true. While Cena may be well-liked (Willy Loman would be proud) and respected for his work ethic, many wrestlers see him as a "kiss ass" who often hangs with Vince. This isn't anything new to any guy who's been a top main eventer; yes, I'm sure even Randy Savage and Vince often played cute little hand games and went bowling together (or whatever it is rich old timers do) before Savage decided to find a new friend in Stephanie McMahon's then-virginal lovehole. Hide the sausage > Patty Cake. But I digress. Says one wrestler who, so as to assume anonymity, we'll call... let me just come up with something random here... 'Bob Holly', "Cena is definitely Vince’s boy and that’s why Triple H doesn’t even try to fuck with him." Ah, so that's why Cena hasn't been shoveled off of his high horse. Don't be surprised when you find out that Stephanie's baby's daddy is really Cena. Somebody call Maury Povich!

Speaking of Cena, did anyone see that shit on Monday where he "taught" some Nascar drivers to "wrestle"? The last thing we need is Dale Earnhardt Jr. trying to Five Knuckle Shuffle his car at each pit stop, or Jeff Gordon pumping his immaculately clean Reeboks as his car careens off the track and into a frightened audience, or Kurt and Kyle Busch attempting to not see Cena, thus not seeing the race track either, and they both Malachi Crunch the shit out of innocent bystanders. It can all only end in tragedy, you know.

Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the second coming of the Clique! While not as bad-ass as the original Clique... once was, Randy Orton has gathered his own group of misfits consisting of Rey Mysterio, Umaga, MVP and Carlito. Carlito? Seriously? This Clique is totally different, too. These guys can't hold anyone down, but they sure can call Shawn Michaels names and play ha-ha-larious pranks on him. Fear Randy's little high school clique; they called Shawn Michaels an "old fart" AND THEY WON'T HESITATE TO DO THE SAME TO YOU. Yeah, so while it's not DXwO, ribbing on HBK for seemingly no reason gives the Clique 2.0 the win as far as I'm concerned.

Speaking of Clique members, Sean "X-Pac" Waltman is denying rumors started by Juventud Guerrera, who said Waltman attempted suicide in Mexico. True or not, can you really blame Waltman for supposedly wanting to remove himself from this mortal coil? For fuck's sake, people watched him fuck Chyna. CHYNA! He probably has to relive that shit along with a series of haunted happenings every hour like in that movie 1408 (great movie, by the way). Dear God, someone get this poor man a birthday cake with a razor in it. It's the least we can do for the guy who brought us such classic wrestling moments such as... um... er... you know what? I'll get back to you on that.

Canada has pulled Ring of Honor from its Pay-Per-View line-up after its most recent show drew an absolutely embarrassing 36 buys - and that's coming from one of Canada's major cable providers. ROHbots seem to not want to face this harsh reality, as evidenced by the fact that one guy found himself banned from the official ROH message board for having the cojones to even point this news out to fellow ROHbots. How much are these shows? $15? These poor guys only made about $540 on PPV buys; that's just enough to send Necro Butcher in for day at the spa about six or seven times. Way to go, guys. Looks like Ring of Honor needs to find a different way to make extra chump change. Steal it from the homeless, perhaps?

What the fuck? WWE has given its master toy license to Mattel. Yes, the same Mattel that makes Barbie dolls. It looks like Mattel is very excited to get started, too. Just take a look at their prototype John Laurinaitis doll:

Dear God. I don't even want to imagine Mattel's venture into a My Size Kelly Kelly line of giant, 5-foot-tall dolls, which will become the first ever Mattel toy bought predominantly by men over 30 years of age.

And now, your least interesting news bit of the week. WWE wants YOU, John and Jane Shitsticks, to help them choose a tagline. With stinkers like "It's On!" (what's on? The Westminster Dog Show?) and "Where the Story Never Ends" (if Eddiesploitation and Vince's Bastard Son are any indication, they're definitely right here), it's clear that what WWE really needs is a little text box where we can send any suggestions we want. Hey, I'm sure the "Who do you think killed Vince?" suggestion page worked out pretty fucking well. Let's do it again~! Sean Carless has already suggested a few taglines over
HERE; what a kind and selfless service.

Welcome back, Shoot fans, to Hey Man, Nice Shoot, home of the best shoots that Rob Feinstein and his RFVideo site, much like the underage children he pines for, will never put out. Har har.

Edge: Dude, Feinstein jokes are so old.

Hey, fuck you. And shut the fuck up; I haven't even introduced you yet. Our guest tonight is a former World Heavyweight Champ... or current... hell, I'll admit that I don't watch Smackdown... ladies and gentlemen, Canada's very own EDGE... and his seemingly paralyzed lover, VICKIE GUERRERO... and the Edgeheads, THE MAJOR BROTHERS~!

Zack Ryder: Um... we're not the Majors anymore. I'm Zack Ryder and he's Curt Hawkins.

And I'm Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Enough with the formalities... go back to OVW and let the big people talk, okay?

Ryder: ...

Edge: You know, I tell 'em the same thing every night.

Every night? The hell is that supposed to mean? Are you fucking these dudes, too?

Edge: ...WHAT?! NO! I mean like every night we wrestle!

Wrestle under the sheets?

Edge: NO!

No need to deny it, dude. It's 2008. We're all very tolerant of gays here at The Wrestling Fan, right guys?

Joe Merrick and Canadian Bacon: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA--- no.


Edge: I'm not gay! Really!

Hey, don't worry. If you want to keep that skeleton in the closet with you, be my guest.

[Edge buries his face in his palm.]

So how's the Smackdown life treating you?

Edge: Well, JBL's finally gone. Thank God.
Hawkins: Yeah, seriously. My ass hurts just thinking about him.
Ryder: Oh man, so does mine.
Edge: Dudes. Shut the fuck up and do something productive. Rub Vickie's feet; she's got corns on 'em that could span over a 5-acre field.

Oh, gross!

Vickie: Gross? I'll have you know that my feet are like delicate little flowers.

[Vickie removes her shoes to reveal the most hideous feet you'll ever see in your entire life.]

EGADS, WOMAN! Venus Fly-traps aren't delicate, you know!

Vickie: ...well... Eddie loved them.

As Eddie would put it... "HE LIIIIEEEEED~!"

Edge: Well, I---

Don't even. Her feet are fucking ghastly, and they're stinking and fogging up my studio.

Edge: Hey, Zack, Curt, I distinctly remember asking you to massage Vickie's feet.

Ryder: Hey, no problem, boss!
Hawkins: Whatever you say, boss!

Man. Who the hell ever thought that becoming a couple of pussy-whipped bitches would make for good television?

Edge: Well, see, having these two losers with me makes me seem more R-rated by comparison.

Are you kidding me? You haven't done a single R-rated thing since you fucked Lita!

Edge: I kind of thought that doing that would make me R-rated for life.

Herpes is not edgy.

Edge: [Sigh] I'll say.

Yeah. So how's Lita? Have you spoken to her at all since she was sent packing sans her box of embarrassing vaginal supplies?

Edge: Actually, we fucked after Raw's 15th Anniversary show. Kane kept staring at us and licking his lips seductively... it was pretty awkward.

How so? You nearly speared her in the twat in front of millions of spectators, as if it was an Olympic event.

Edge: Haha, yeah, that was awesome.
Vickie: Ahem...
Edge: Heh... but I'm with Vickie now...

Quite the downgrade, isn't it?

Edge: Well, now that you mention it...
Vickie: AH. HEM.
Edge: I love you, Sugartits.
Vickie: Awww, thank you baaaaby~!

Christ. How nauseating. Let's move on. So... um...

[Edge and Vickie randomly engage in a vomit inducing game of tonsil hockey.]

Uh... Edge? Vickie? ...Edge? We lost 'em. Edge? Yeah, he's gone. Well, that does it for this week's Hey Man, Nice Shoot. Join me next week for some fun times and shit with Team 3D~!

And that's all for Deadface this week. Thank you, bitches, for reading through all this... so um... send an e-mail or
something. Also, feel free to wander off of this page and out of my life forever and check out all of the great updates of the week: Derek Burgan debuts the WRESTLING ENJOYMENT INDEX. Good thing Vince's ass didn't guest star on Raw this week; enjoyment would then be nonexistent. Cameron Burge brings us our weekly RAW RANT fix. Hey, Chris Jericho wrestled JBL again. Surely, someone has to care at this point. Matthew Folger, whom I hear is the best part of waking up, steps in this week with the ECW on SCI-FI RANT, where another big, fat black guy does the job. Oh, and Stevie wins, and that never gets old. Sean Carless wants to help WWE find its new tagline RIGHT HERE, and there's no doubt in my mind that he put more effort into his suggestions than WWE did. Can't wait for No Way Out? Hold off your desire to throw $40 down the shitter with a RETRO RANT DOUBLE HEADER; James Walker takes a look at 2006's NO WAY OUT, a show that proves that Chris Benoit did indeed once exist, and Sean Carless brings us NO WAY OUT 2007, whose main event earns 4 happy Tenays - shocking, I know. And like Britney Spears's vagina fighting to escape its cottony hammock prison, I'm outta here~! Are these stupid things getting old yet?

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.).