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By Catherine Perez


Welcome back to Deadface Walking~! Excuse the obscene lateness; I had a last-minute graphic design commission to get out of the way. I'm your hostess, Catherine Perez, writing this entire column between midnight and 5:00 AM for you, the readers. So go ahead and read on.

Hehe, I'm pretty proud of that picture. Now, as anyone should know, I mark huge for Al Snow. As I scoured the net for news this week, imagine my damn surprise when I read that Al has a stalker, and my name is nowhere on the report! Not that I'd ever put Al or his fiancée through such torment; I'm not that big of a fan. Anyway, there's this girl named Ania from Canada who has been absolutely bat shit insane over Al for the last two years or so. I can vouch for her most-unhealthy obsession because I've had the pleasure of receiving numerous e-mails from her since mid-2006. See, she found my e-mail address on a small Al Snow message board, and since I was the third person or such to join it (it wasn't exactly a popular board), she thought I knew Al personally (and I'm sure she probably still does). So I'd get tons of e-mails filled with desperate pleas for me to arrange meetings between her and Al, pictures, sob stories of her unfortunate illnesses... I even got an e-mail from her mother pleading for Al to travel and meet Ania, as if he had the fucking time to drop his shit and meet fans personally. Only Make-A-Wish Kids get that privilege, honey. Honestly, at first I felt really bad, but now that I've seen reports of her antics, I feel much differently. I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't associated with Al, so I basically ignored all her e-mails (and, my God, does she have a ton of long e-mail addresses like "IHaveAttentionDeficitDisorderAndAPhysicalBrainAbnormality@hotmail.com". No joke.). Ania has successfully gotten Al's MySpace page deleted two or three times (why she does that I'll never understand), and she goes so far as to harass Al and anyone even remotely associated with him in hopes of getting his attention, even threatening to kill Al's dog. Silly girl, Big Bossman did that already~! Al himself issued a statement on the Ania situation, and to say he's sick of her would be an understatement. He's just about begging his fans to help him get rid of her. Honestly, the last thing this girl needs is Al's attention; she needs to be hospitalized with a 5150 for the rest of eternity.

Stephanie McMahon has somehow managed to get nominated for Best Writer in the CableFAX Awards. I absolutely refuse to believe that she came up with any major storyline this year. To compare recent storylines to ones she obviously had a hand in writing: Ric Flair/Shawn Michaels retirement angle? Great. Jericho/Shawn Michaels crippled, lazy eye angle? Awesome. Big Show eating a poisoned apple and fainting in 2005 a la Snow White? Dog shit. I hope the CableFAX Awards people now stand corrected.

And now for a favorite subject of mine... FIRINGS~! WWE went and let go a laundry list of "superstars" and a referee. Never again will we not enjoy infrequent appearances from Shannon Moore, Domino, Nunzio, some guy named James Curtis who I had to look up on Wikipedia only to find out that he was one of Michelle McCool's ill-fated "Teacher's Pets" (and he jobbed to Chubby Chub-Chub Chris Harris on the 5th), Chris Braden Harris Walker, Big Daddy V, and referee Nick Patrick. OH, GOD. WHY NICK PATRICK?! Patrick was CLEARLY the most charismatic and charming referee the WWE has ever seen! Kind of sucks that sarcasm rarely translates well on the interwebs. Last I heard, Big Daddy V was sent home for being fat. Go fuckin' figure, right? With Nunzio gone, I can only imagine that Stevie Richards is currently shaking in horror inside a stuffy crawlspace within the ECW locker room walls. Hide like you've always never hidden before, Stevie~!

Freddie Prinze, Jr.'s being treated like an "Undertaker-level" top star since his arrival to WWE. Meanwhile, Hardcore Holly still can't get to the second rung of the proverbial ladder of success. What gives? Anyway, Freddie's new co-workers were impressed with his enthusiasm, anxiousness to contribute, and knowledge of the current WWE product. I know, I'm just as shocked as you are! Of course, some say he was pretty hit-or-miss with major wrestling history, but then again, I'd think Vince McMahon is just as bad these days. It's like he's finally found the ideal employee.

Hey, it's a rare appearance of TNA news! There has been talk of breaking up LAX, and Homicide and Hernandez are understandably against it. After all, the only thing that comes after breaking up a tag team is one or both of them being wished well in their future endeavors. Thankfully, TNA president Dixie Carter is a big LAX fan, so that'll hopefully work in their favor. Instead of breaking LAX up, how about getting rid of Saline---er, Salinas? I don't think she's even spoken a lick of Spanish since she's started servicing them (not like that, perv). But honestly, if LAX breaks up, I won't give much of a damn. I liked them better with Konnan as their mouthpiece anyway.

Speaking of TNA, they're supposedly doing so well financially that they've started to pay back all the money Panda Energy invested into them. Panda Energy, expect $53 in the mail.

Mick Foley is unhappy with his color commentating role on Smackdown because Vince keeps yelling into his headset during the shows, which he does regularly to all the announcers. He feels that Vince is out of line with the hollering, and while Vince has supposedly toned it down lately, Foley's still upset. How Foley hasn't screamed "SHUT YOUR WRINKLED HOLE" at Vince during a show is beyond me. Not only would I laugh until my lungs give out, but I would root at my TV like a crazed Arsenio Hall Show audience member until someone calls the local psych hospital. So, if Foley decides to leave his job as commentator, just who the hell will take his place? I've had enough of announce table shake-ups, and I don't think Jim Ross would appreciate calling Smackdown alongside Matt fucking Striker. Neither would the rest of the planet. WWE should try that really cool thing called hiring someone new... as long as it's not Tony Schiavone or anyone like that. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Friday Night Smackdown~! I'm Jim Ross sitting here alongside... Tony Schiavone? Aww, fuck me in the Ozarks! What'd I ever do wrong?"

The Kennedy Curse lives on! And on and on. As most of you may know by now, Mr. Kennedy suffered a dislocated shoulder last Monday at a Macon, GA house show, and could be out anywhere between four weeks to six months, depending on whether he gets surgery or not. Thus ends another Kennedy push, again when he was just starting to get crowds to eat out of the palm of his hand. If only he had kept his name as Anderson; then he would've been able to dodge this proverbial bullet from the grassy knoll and such.

Your least important news bit of the week goes to Ric Flair. Flair recently separated from his third wife, Tiffany VanDemark, according to the Wrestling Observer (where, technically, ALL news comes from). Is it finally safe to say that Flair and young women clearly do not mesh well? Just focus on yourself from now on, Ric.

It's time once again for Hey Man, Nice Shoot! Without any further ado, here's the man I've been dreading to interview all week... Raw's new General Manager and resident fucktard... MIKE ADAMLE~! Thanks for being here, Mike. I think I might appreciate it someday.

Adamle: It's a pleasure to be here, Caffeine! I'm very fla---


Adamle: What was that?

It's Catherine. Not Caffeine.

Adamle: Caffeine, not Catherine. Gotcha.

No, the other way around. It's Catherine.

Adamle: Cabinet.


Adamle: Cadaverine.

...almost there. Catherine.

Adamle: Calabash.

How does that even sound like my name? Okay, follow me: Cah...

Adamle: Cah...


Adamle: Thurr...


Adamle: Innnnnnnn.

String it together.

Adamle: Capricorn.

...I... am at a loss for words. Let's move on. Mike, with your lack of prowess in common sense, how is it that you got to become General Manager?

Adamle: Well, Calorie, it's pretty simple. I delivered Cacophony McMahon's baby.

You what? Really? How the hell did that happen?

Adamle: Well, I mean, there was no way she'd get to a hospital in time - we were all standing in line, in the middle of kissing Freddie Prinze Jr.'s ass, when her water broke. It was really something. Her vagina was as big as Stargate, it must have dilated at least a foot wide. Trouble H even tested it out by shoving a couple of sledgehammers in there. She took it surprisingly well, for some reason...

Oh, my God...

Adamle: Heh, yeah, so since Stadium didn't feel like pushing, we had to get the baby out of there ourselves. So I came up with this great idea. Why not send Hornshingles in there to get it? Since he's a midget and everything! Stacker2phanie must've been as wide as the Grand Canyon by then, but Handsignals walked out of there with a big, bloody baby in his arms.

I'm going to puke. And... that's how you got the job?

Adamle: As far as I can remember, yeah.

Wow. Okay, so what about this Adamle Original business? I hear you're going to try and get Kane to reveal the contents of his sack. Are you just going to sweet-talk him into it?

Adamle: Hey, I know Korn well enough to know that he doesn't respond well to sweet-talk. I'm going to tell him point blank, "Kabob, you tell me what's in that sack right now, or we're going to have a problem!"

How manly. Aren't you considering the possibility of Kane kicking your ass straight to Hell? It's a 100% possibility, you know.

Adamle: Nonsense! I'm the General Manager, so Kangaroo has to do what I say.

You can try getting on his good side by not calling him Kangaroo. Dear God.

Adamle: Will do.

So, you used to commentate on American Gladiators, right? What do you think of the new incarnation?

Adamle: Woof scared the hell out of me.
Wolf: Is that so? Well, allow me to also scare the howl out of you. Eh? See what I did there? I've still got it!

Wolf... go away. You're making my show lose its prestige.

Wolf: Oh. Okay... I'm still booked as the clown at your next birthday party, right? 'Cause I need to pay off my rent.

I never booked a clown. Fuck off.

Adamle: Hey, well, that's not nice! Waif, you can do your clown thing at my next birthday party.

Pathetic. Thanks for stopping by, Wolf. Let's move on. Mike, do you see yourself working in WWE in five years? Because I don't. Neither does the rest of the universe.

Adamle: I hope WEDF will keep me employed for a long time to come! Being General Manager is cool. I get to boss people around, and I get to wear my smarty-pants glasses when I read my index cards.

Why do you need index cards?

Adamle: Vance McMahon told me I suck at ad-libbing, among other things. Always screaming in my ear and stuff...

I'll bet. Well, Mike, in order to save myself from having a stroke, I kept my question amount quite short this week. Fortunately, we've come to the end of our interview, and you made it without me sending Charlie Haas in to dropkick you out of my studio! That means you win a prize.

Adamle: A prize?! Oh, Coconut, you shouldn't have!

Oh, I know. Just close your eyes, Mike. Yep... it's almost here... [quietly] just gotta load the bullets...

Adamle: Is that a gun?

What, this? Noooooooo... and I told you to keep your damn eyes closed! Nice job, Mike, you ruined the prize. Go home.

Adamle: Awww...

That does it for this week's Hey Man, Nice Shoot! Join me next week, as John Morrison and The Miz have invited me to the set of The Dirt Sheet for a double interview. One speck of Fuji dust on my face, and I'll sic Haas on them.

Adamle: Hey, I was on that show once!

I don't care.

That's all for this week's Deadface! You know the drill; send me some feedback if you'd like to, and, as always, check out all the great updates of, uh, last week, on the main page! You won't regret it. Or at least you shouldn't. Once again, I'm Catherine Perez, and like Lita after being asked for a condom, I'm out~!

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.).