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By Catherine Perez


Welcome back to the column that's crazy like a fox, Deadface Walking~! Speaking of which, I hate those damn commercials; you can't say they're crazy and then exclaim, "Crazy? I DON'T THINK SO~!", you poorly animated fox from Hell. Anyway, I'm Catherine Perez, refraining from putting myself over at Jeff Hardy's expense as I enjoy doing, since he's having a bad week and all. Instead, I'll put myself over at Floyd Mayweather's expense, so let's rewind. I'm Catherine Perez, the real Pretty Boy around here! Wait... that's not right. Uh... let's begin!

Since I can, I'll start off by reporting that March 29th is just around the corner! I'll give you all a second to think about what this means. Nothing? You assholes. March 29th marks my 1-year Anniversary of writing for TheWrestlingFan.com! I'll pretend you're all as excited as I am. That's right; one entire year of Deadfacey goodness is almost in the bag, and what better way to celebrate this next week than by... er... I don't know. But I'll think of something, damn it. In the meantime, feel free to send me money and cake, and make sure that the cake's big enough for Al Snow and Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor to pop out of. If that's not enough awesomeness in one month, here's a much bigger event: TWF's 5th Anniversary will be celebrated the very next day (and I will gladly accept more money and cake for it... to share with the rest of the staff. Maybe). Hooray! What a joyous and momentous occasion for us all.

Jerry "The King" Lawler has been told to stop squealing about "puppies". King then proceeded to explode. Seriously, though, I can't even remember the last time King mentioned puppies, but that might have something to do with the fact that my ears have developed its own Mute feature after years of King's babbling. If this has anything to do with WWE marketing towards kids now, it won't be long until the wrestling aspect of pro-wrestling is deemed too violent for children, and thus eliminated completely as well. Coming up, Randy Orton walking down a hallway that never, ever ends! And next, Randy Orton turning the corner to continue walking down that perpetual hallway! After that, Randy Orton stops to chat about the mysteries of the universe with Umaga! I digress. It's sad enough that Lawler had to refrain from being funny ever again years ago, but to stop mentioning puppies will probably kill the man. Good luck commentating next week, King.

Hulk Hogan is willing to do the J.O.B.! Say whaaat? Is his life really spiraling that out of control? A recent interview on Bubba the Love Sponge's show had Hogan be asked if Floyd Mayweather was really getting paid $20 million by WWE. Hogan then replied with a question of his own: "Who is he? A boxer?" Ding ding ding! Get the man a new Toyota Supra. Hogan then went on to say that he would go to Wrestlemania and job for any midcarder for $2 million, and "I would even job for [Dave] Meltzer." Meltzer then called up to say "Seriously? Sweet! I'll bring my best sofa costume. See you at 'Mania!" That last part may or may not have only happened in my head.

Speaking of useless people getting paid unspeakable amounts of cash, Mike "Deer In Headlights" Adamle, the guy with the bad hair who stands around the crowd, is being paid $300,000 each year to work Raw and Pay-Per-Views. If I were Vince, I'd fine his ass $2000 every time he pulled a Michael Buffer and fucked his lines up. JEFF HARVEY SHALL BE AVENGED, but coming up first... JOUST~!

Stevie Richards finally has a storyline! WWE just recently shot an angle for their... mobile service... with Stevie being attacked by a mystery person. Five bucks says it's Rikishi; he did, after all, do it for The Rock. Why is this being presented in mobile form? Well, it's at least a start. Congratulations, Stevie; you may be bringing attention to yourself and thus risking reminding Stephanie that you're still employed ("IF STEVIE'S FIRED, WE RIOT~!"), but it's about fucking time WWE takes notice anyway. Now, in the event that this storyline gets dropped faster than we can say "Timmy fell down the well", I propose that someone builds Stevie a bomb shelter to hide in for the next year or so, just to be on the safe side.

Shelton Benjamin's push is supposedly derailing yet again. I don't exactly care, considering I can't bring myself to watch ECW. Jesus, can't Shelton ever catch a break? If Sisqo-platinum hair won't get this guy a push, surely there is no hope for humanity. Clearly, all Shelton needs is a feud against STEVIE. Fucking hello, creative team!

WWE is planning to start heavily marketing their product towards children in the next couple of months. Of course! What child wouldn't be enthralled with Vince's sagging ass and Divas in Playboy? It just makes sense, damn it. WWEKids.com and the first edition of WWE Kids Magazine will be released soon, and CM Punk is featured in it. It looks like Punk will be a "for the kids" guy like Rey Mysterio, since Linda and Vince are huge fans and they appreciate his straight-edge lifestyle. I can already see the legions of children wearing CM Punk tattoo sleeves (you know they're coming sooner or later) claiming to be straight-edge as they run around in banana-yellow underwear. Something tells me this kids marketing stuff is going to be a huge bust; after all, isn't Smackdown, which features a domestic abuse storyline, aimed towards kids? Besides, check out WWE Kids Magazine's debut issue cover:

A middle finger in a kids' mag? Jesus Christ.

Infinitely useless "celebrity" Kim Kardashian will be putting the "ho" back in "host" this year at Wrestlemania. Dear Christ, save us all. If there's ever been a more useless accidental celebrity than Paris Hilton, Kardashian has earned the honor. How the hell do you host a wrestling show, anyway? "Don't touch that dial; Wrestlemania will be right back after a word from... uh... WWE. Go figure." Fuck off, Kardashian. The last thing WWE needs is to associate with someone with that many K's in her name in a fucking formerly-Confederate state. That's right. I went there. This has been your least interesting news bit of the week, because Miss Kardashian deserves no better.

Welcome to a very special edition of Hey Man, Nice Shoot. This week, I bought out a very snazzy American Idol audition studio in an attempt to assemble a team of pro-wrestling's finest. Why, you ask? I'm determined to find out just where the fuck Abyss disappeared to. Outside of this room here is a mass gathering of former and current pro-wrestling personalities. Let's hope it looks more like Wrestlemania and less like Heroes of Wrestling. Alright, send in my first victim!

[Charlie Haas missile dropkicks the door down and gracefully lands on the room's stage. Somewhere, Lilian Garcia shrieks in horror.]

That's going to cost you, you little anuspastry. Now, do you think you have what it takes to join my search team of infinite awesomeness?

Haas: Of course I do! I dropkick people - that's my thing. I could be your bodyguard or something.

I think I'd be better off being protected from you. What else have you got?

Haas: I have an extensive collection of Mexican luchador masks!


Haas: They've proven to be quite effective in getting Lita to sleep with me multiple times.

Sorry, Haas, but I can't have unknown diseases spreading around my team. NEXT~!

[Haas sadly dropkicks his way out of the room, sending the door back into its hinges from the sheer force behind him. Seconds later, Damian Demento enters, adjusting his suspenders. Oddly enough, he's walking sideways, facing away from Catherine.]

Holy shit! You're... um... uh...

Demento: Damian Demento.

DAMIAN DEMENTO, that's what I said. Weren't you Jobber of the Year once or something?

Demento: I ain't no fuckin' jobbuh.

Um... I'm over here.

Demento: I know where you are, God damn it. What, jobbuhs don't have directional skills now?

So you are a jobber.

Demento: Don't call me no jobbuh.


Demento: Wuh?

It's JobbER, not jobbUH. So, what brings you here? I thought you were done with pro-wrestling.

Demento: I hear the Unduhtakuh's here, and I want a rematch.

Uh-huh... you are aware that this is sort of an audition to join my elite team in a search for Abyss, right?

Demento: Who?

Abyss. Chris Parks. He wrestles for TNA. Red mask, kind of looks like an old-school Kane?

Demento: Eh... so where's Unduhtakuh?

[Sigh.] Somebody bring in the Undertaker!

[Undertaker's music starts up, and it takes a record three minutes for him to pass through the door's threshold, nevermind get onto the stage.]

My God. Considering the circumstances, I'll referee this bout from the comfort of my seat. Okay... GO~!

[Demento quickly lies on his back. Undertaker and Catherine share confused expressions. 'Taker shrugs and pins Demento.]

Uh... 1, 2, 3! Demento, you didn't even put up a fight!

Demento: I know... it was just instinct, ya know?

I don't. Here's my instinctual response: NEXT~!

[Demento gets to his feet and sideways steps out of the room.]

Weirdo. Hey, 'Taker! So, how's that little homewrecker, Michelle?

Taker: She's doing g--- uh... Michelle who? I don't know any Michelle.

[Sarcastically] Ooh, nice save. So, you think you have what it takes to join my team?

Taker: Uh, YAH~! I'm the fucking Undertaker. I magically appear in the ring... if you shut off the lights first. I can summon druids to carry all my luggage. I bring the thunder and lightning INDOORS. I'm like the Zeus of the undead.

Wow, you're extremely out of character today, aren't you?

Taker: What can I say? Michelle does weird things to me.

So you do know a Michelle. You lying liar. Either way, I like your style, and your druids will come in handy when we have to pack our shit and head to Florida. Welcome to the team!

Taker: [Tears well up in his eyes.] Oh my fucking God.

[Undertaker runs out of the room holding a yellow sheet of paper.]

Taker: I'M IN! I'M IN!!!
Everyone: ...
Taker: Uh... er... rest... in... peaaaace.

[Back in the audition room...]


[Ashley Massaro walks in.]


Ashley: But---


[Ashley turns to leave, but trips at the edge of the stage, falls, and explodes into dust particles.]

How awesome.

[In walks Randy Orton, wearing a t-shirt over his stank-ass wrestling trunks.]

Hey, this is a "pants required" audition!

Orton: I don't need... pants... to do what I do... best.

Right. So, are you at all concerned with Abyss's well-being?

Orton: Not nece... ssarily. I thought this was... an Orton... family... reunion.

And where exactly did my sign say "ORTON FAMILY REUNION"?

Orton: The... bottom.

[Reading] "This is not an Orton Family reunion."

Orton: Seeeee?

It's says it's NOT. Man, get the fuck out of here!


[Orton slowly bends over and freezes, revealing a wind-up key on his back.]

Well, I'll be damned. Someone get this lagging heap of junk out of here!

[Security guards place Orton on a dolley and cart him out.]


[Don West bounces into the room with a cart full of TNA DVDs.]

West: Oh my GAWD, Catherine Perez! It's great to see you again, Catherine Perez! Reunited and it feels so good, Catherine Perez!

Oh no... What brings you here, West?

West: Well, Catherine Perez, it's come to my attention that you're putting together a search party for Abyss. No one knows Abyss like I do, Catherine Perez; I know how truly DISTURBED, DEMENTED, and DISTRESSED Abyss is!

And for that reason alone, I should let you in?

West: Exactamundo, Catherine Perez! And if that doesn't make your little ass shake with delight, I'm also willing to throw in 12 copies of The Best of Raven abso-fuckin'-lutely free!

Already have one. You gave it to me, remember?

West: Well allow me to blow your freakin' mind with 12 AUTOGRAPHED copies of The Best of Raven, each signed in Raven's blood, Catherine Perez.

SOLD~! Welcome to the team, Don. I will surely regret this later.

West: I'll personally make sure this choice was the right one, Catherine Perez.

Please don't.

[West leaves the room with a yellow slip.]

I'm regretting that already. Well, I think I'm spent for the day. Here's Ryan Seacrest to tell you all about next week's Hey Man, Nice Shoot!

Seacrest: Thanks Catherine! Tune in next week for another special edition of Hey Man, Nice Shoot, as Catherine rolls into Austin, Texas... er... no, she'll actually stay right here... to continue her search for the next American Idol! Wait, that's not my line... Can I get my $20,000 now?

Thank you for reading this week's Deadface Walking! Hopefully, this insane edition made up for my pulling a Scott Hall and no-showing for two weeks. Feedback would be greatly appreciated (and I reply to each one, which some people find infinitely cool for some reason) and can be sent via that e-mail link below or my super-cool
MySpace, which is way overdue for a new layout. If you haven't already, and shame on you if you haven't, check out all the hilarious TWF updates of the week! Derek Burgan returns with the WRESTLING ENJOYMENT INDEX, which should reach 100 once this column's up... or not. Aww. Cameron Burge brings us another RAW RANT: Ric Flair turns into Superfly Snuka before our very eyes! Now, if someone would just smash a coconut over his head and send him packing... Poor Anvil's Swagbag returns with the ECW on SCI-FI RANT! Anvil struggled to keep his internet running for a bunch of squashes? Someone send this guy some pictures of naked females or something. Sean Carless hops into a time machine and takes us back to WRESTLEMANIA 22... THE RANT~! Mick Foley gets speared into a FIERY TABLE OF FIRE AND OTHER FLAME-LIKE SUBSTANCES THAT BURN, and Rey Mysterio cries his way to the World Heavyweight Title! Nevermind the fact that Mysterio is nowhere near a heavy weight. I hear Rey used the belt as a hide-out fortress during his reign. True story. Yeah, well, I'm out. Toodles~!

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.).