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By Catherine Perez


Welcome back, heathens! I won't go into specifics about the unexpected week-long disappearance, but to give you the abridged version, last week brought me the lovely gift of the worst fucking chain of events that have ever spited me. Ever. And I guess, since there was nothing of much value to report from this week, I'll be recycling most of what I would have had up last week. IT'S STILL GOOD, I SWEAR. Now that that's all out of the way, I'm Catherine and this is Deadface Walking, the column whose writer will NEVER forgive Shawn Michaels for the ungodly sin he wrought upon the incredibly gorgeous Chris Jericho's once-flawless face. I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU, HEARTBREAK KID WHO WOULD BE MORE APTLY NAMED HEAD BALDING, umm... Kwickly? Alright, so I suck at abbreviations. Sue me. If nothing else, in Jericho's loss of a lateral incisor, TOOTHLESS AGGRESSION has once again returned to WWE (hide the wife and kids!). And, holy shit, with that bruising on his face (thank God it went away...), he looked like Kiefer Sutherland after a drunken night of hurling himself at hotel Christmas trees. Not that there's anything wrong with that; I mark hard for drunken Kiefer. Yeah, I think that's enough of sharing my sad fangirl love with you.

Cyber Sunday, the interactive PPV where we all find out "Hey, maybe we DO enjoy watching the very same uninteresting, monotonous bullshit WWE force feeds us all year 'round!", is almost upon us once again! If you're ready to vote for your favorite wrestlers and match stipulations and all that shit, but you're not American or don't own a cellular phone or even care to spend 99 cents in texting charges, well... GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU TECHNOLOGICALLY-RETARDED, UN-AMERICAN SCUM~! Hey, I'm just the messenger. According to the new Cyber Sunday voting rules on WWE.com, which I'm sure you've all come to know by now, voters have to be a resident of the United States, and may only text message their votes (which is ten votes per match for six matches... yes, they want you to spend up to $60 on texting, then purchase a $45 PPV). Is that a hilariously decreased buyrate I see in the horizon? I guess WWE noticed that the 13 million votes they received over the internet didn't exactly translate to 13 million PPV buys. What kind of FIENDS are we to vote for shit that isn't interesting enough to watch, anyway? As if that's even our fault... So let's review: First, un-American currency is USELESS to Vince McMahon! Secondly, don't be dumb enough to proclaim, "LOL Let's vote for Goldust a bunch of times then just read about what happens on Wrestlejizz.fart~!" as if it's a great cost-cutting measure. Thirdly, for fuck's sake, don't vote 60 times and then wonder where a good chunk of your rent money went come Monday morning.

Oh, how the sort-of-but-not-quite-mighty have fallen~!
Here's a video of WWE's former friendly neighborhood rapist-poet Heidenreich wrestling some fat guy wrestling as Doink the Clown, and thus looking like Doink ate Dink, at some indy wrestling show in Mississippi. The video features everything you could ever want from a Heidenreich match; little red underpants, a psychotic demeanor, unintelligible screaming, little children, and even a man sex reference when Heidy channels his inner Brokeback and shouts, "AIN'T GON' QUIT ME, BABY... NEVER QUIT MEEEE!!!" I always find it really fucking sad to see wrestlers who used to wrestle for thousands on a weekly basis reduced to wrestling in a school gym in front of a bunch of cheap-ass parents with kids who are getting "the next best thing" when they really wanted to see John Cena. I think that's how high school gym indy shows work, but don't quote me on that. Check the video out nonetheless, especially if you're in the mood for a good laugh at Brokeback Heidy's expense.

Speaking of Brokeback, the Ultimate Warrior's ex-wife, Shari Tyree, is currently shopping around the rights to a tell-all memoir about her marriage to Warrior called "Behind the Paint: My Life with Wrestling's Ultimate Warrior". The book's pitch reads, "Hellwig was a man possessed by demons, abusing steroids to achieve his massive, muscular frame, and then pain medications and anti-anxiety drugs to quell his fears, who had led a secretive double life that filled his marriage with turmoil and doubts about his fidelity, and even his sexuality." Seriously? What happened to "queering doesn't make the world work"? Then again, he did once
rape Christmas of all that is wholesome. That year, Christmas was ruined when Santa Claus couldn't even sit down on his sleigh without having blinding pain seethe through his shithole. And then there was that one time Warrior looked to be lovingly coddling the crotch of one Hulk Hogan. Suddenly, I realize why pro wrestling turned out to be Warrior's career choice. Wow, Warrior's willingness (alliteration FTW) to come out of retirement just to wrestle Orlando Jordan makes a whole lot more sense now!

"Retirement" seemed to be the 'it' thing of last week. The Sandman announced his retirement from pro wrestling via his MySpace page in a message sent out by his assistant. Christ, that's just shocking... I mean, Sandman has an assistant? I would've never thought it. I kid. Anyway, yeah, Sandman's decided to hang up the boots because he's got a 2-month-old kid (WHUUUUT?!) and a girlfriend (SAY WHUUUUUUUT?!) to look after. I don't know about you guys, but I can't wait for Sandman to land himself a regular job at some store or restaurant. I suggest a job at some Coors Light factory. "Okay, our inventory is running VERY low this week. Who the FUCK is drinking the beer?!" That darn Sandman, that's who~! Cue the cheesy 1950's sitcom music. Also, Joey "Please Call Me Mercury" Matthews has decided to retire from pro wrestling after his failed attempt to create buzz for himself in order to get back to WWE. Well, now I feel bad for making fun of him the week before! Matthews' decision, which is probably just another attempt at generating a buzz, comes after a report of WWE having no interest in him. That's right; in this scenario, Mercury played the lovestruck high school geek who wants to take WWE out to the prom, and WWE played the popular big-breasted bitchola of a cheerleader who answered with a mere "HAHAHA, AS IF~!" At least the chubby-but-still-sort-of-cute A.V. nerd with the retainer, TNA, still has a chance! Go to her, Mercury, and don't look back... because the WWE will be right behind you, laughing at you. Or something. I haven't watched too many of those '80s high school movies to know what the hell I'm talking about. Also hinting at retirement is Smackdown's oldest Diva, Victoria, noting in a blog that she probably has one more championship run left before calling it a career. As much as I like Victoria, a run as Divas Champion wouldn't mean shit to me. I hate that belt.

So this guy named 'SiNN' has been called up from FCW to debut soon as Kizarny (I could've sworn the name was Karneezy, since I wasn't really paying attention to Smackdown), and judging from the vignette that aired, he's a weird carny (not
this) who speaks in izzle-bizzles or whatever. And he kind of sounds like Chris Jericho. If you check the promo out on YouTube, there are already a bunch of complaints about Kizarny. IT WAS A 30-SECOND PROMO; CALM YOUR ASSES. One guy even based his utter dislike for the guy simply because he said "My name is Kizarny." Yeah, what a total asshole for stating his name to the unknowing public! Luckily for me, I thoroughly enjoy these crazy weirdo gimmicks, so I found this promo to be pretty sweet. Minus the izzle-bizzles. That shizzle is kind of fizucking stizupid. It'd be pretty damn funny if we found out that the oft outdated Vince McMahon still uses carny jargon backstage, though. This carny talk raises some important questions, too. Does Kizarny always talk in izzles? Does he order the steak or the stizeak at restaurants? Does he mingle or mizingle at cocktail parties? Does he fuck or fizuck in bed? 'Cause I'd consider fizucking a huge turn-off. Izzles aside, you can all consider me a Kizarny fan... unless he ends up sucking... and you all will be too! I swear, in a few weeks or months, all of you will be CLIZAMORING (or CLIZAMOURING, for you guys who are barred from voting for Cyber Sunday shit) for a Kizarny title run~! Don't forget that a lot of you got behind Pirate Burchill! By the way, I think we'll all be needing to consult this fairly often now. I feel pretty dirty after typing all those izzles.

TNA's transformation into Diet WCW has come full-circle. Former football player, terrible commentator and former WCW U.S. Heavyweight champ Steve "Mongo" McMichael, for some reason, refereed the Monster's Ball match at Bound For Glory last Sunday. Damn it, why? What did the fans ever do to you, TNA? I don't care that he hails from the site of the PPV; we all know Mongo isn't the only sportsman from Chicago on the planet... but he sure is a former WCW champion! Ah, what an appeal! Now that I think of it, I'm pretty convinced now that TNA is our punishment for turning our collective back on Monday Nitro during the last leg of the Monday Night Wars. That's my only logical explanation for the utter shit that was the Tuxedo match between Christy Hemme and Big Fat Oily Guy. God, was that not the absolute fucking worst way to stick it to WWE's shitty booking? "WWE's booking sure is ridiculous, isn't it? See, to show you how stupid it is, we're going to book a beyond shit WWE-esque gimmick match in the hopes that you, the TNA fan, will turn to your friend and high-five him as you laugh at WWE with us." Idiots. Where was I? MONGO, that's right. I refuse to ever watch a match where Mongo is in the ring, Don West is screaming, and Mike Tenay is urging us to accept the match as one of the best in TNA's recent history. Though I heard the match was pretty good, so color me shocked.

This just in: Jackass still sucks. Okay, so I did admit once that I enjoy watching it from time to time when I'm in the mood for absolutely mindless entertainment. There's always a time for mindless entertainment from a bunch of morons with no real claim to fame other than doing shit that 13-year-old suburbanite boys usually do with their friends, but it should not ever cross over into my wrestling time, especially when people who don't watch wrestling are very quick to label us losers when guys like the Jackasses and Kevin fucking Federline show up. However, I'm very glad that it was Johnny Knoxville who showed up to Raw, and not that complete retard Steve-O; Knoxville, at the very least, is a hell of a lot more likeable and professional than Steve-O. All that aside, I'm so damn embarrassed by the entire segment, and I'd prefer that WWE never invites the Jackasses to Raw ever again after this is all over with. Ever. Pretty please with sugar on top...

WELL! As the entire planet now knows (remember, I'm reporting a lot of last week's news here), two and two are now put together when it comes to the mystery of Dolph Ziggler! After, what, two or three weeks of introducing himself to anyone within earshot, Zigg-a-zow here found himself suspended for 30 days after violating WWE's wellness policy. He apparently didn't read the new fine print that clearly stated, "Really scary fucking weirdos who seem capable of inflicting grievous bodily harm on his/her family will be subjected to immediate testing." I swear, it's in those exact words, size 8 text, Times New Roman font. Maybe Zigzag was trying to make friends with all the powerful people within WWE in a search for wellness testing exemption. That's gotta be it. Hope you're enjoying your impromptu vacation, Ziggurat! Come back when you're not looking like a scary fucking Kryptonian stalker-rapist.

In a related bit of news, only weeks after Jeff Hardy's airport incident, Lance Cade has been abruptly shitcanned following an incident IN~! an airplane. But... he pinned Shawn Michaels!!!11 According to J.R.'s blog, Cade had a seizure and had to be taken to a hospital, with the help of Lilian Garcia. Well, that's fucking scary. Obviously, the guy isn't going to get his walking papers over a seizure, so J.R. implied as discreetly as possible that Cade "made a major league mistake". "Major league" makes it sound like he shot 'roids straight into his cranium or something, but that's obviously not the case. Now, I'm not making any solid claims here, but it seems that this particular incident could be drug or alcohol related. Whatever the reason, best of luck to Cade and all, but I'm definitely not going to miss him.

Also making his exit from a wrestling company is Johnny Devine from TNA, who basically asked for his release because he got tired of playing a silent talent enhancer. I don't blame him; I like Devine a lot (he was my favorite member of Serotonin~!), and he definitely should've been used for more than standing behind Team 3D... which sucks considering the camera won't get much of you when you're standing behind those two. The guy was supposed to be the anti-X Division heel, and I don't ever recall him doing anything to bring the X Division to its knees. Then again, TNA did that all on their own, so it's not like Johnny really had anything to do. Devine will now be spending his time taking a broadcasting and TV production course and working indy shows. The only downside to leaving TNA is that some people somehow think he's Kizarny now. Dear God.

No least interesting news bit this week, but a general observation: Anyone out there enjoy Pop-Up Hurricane Helms as much as I do? He kind of reminds me of those pop-up sign language translators that come on during a big court trial, like the one from that movie "What's The Worst That Could Happen?", or a televangelist show. Allow me to illustrate this visual:

He's like an interactive Pop-Up Video (of classic VH1 fame, for you young ones) bubble. How awesome. Of course, Helms would be much more awesome if he popped up during WWE's most confusing storylines and promos, and proceeded to explain the entire thing to us like only he can, much like he did when he questioned just why the hell Chavo Guerrero bothered to show up to Smackdown knowing the Undertaker was coming to get him. He's just sayin', you know.

Welcome back to Hey Man, Nice Shoot~! Ladies and gentlemen, this week, we were supposed to air an interview with Edge straight from Hell. As it turns out, it's impossible to broadcast footage from Hell... and apparently travel there unless you do something heinous and die, or you get Chokeslammed there. Now, I e-mailed The Undertaker, hoping to get him to assist in sending me and the show's crew and equipment to Hell to make this interview possible, but he replied with, and I quote, "LOL no thanx." I asked why not, and he then answered with, "If you're that hell-bent (see what I did there?) on suffering in Hell, I'll be happy to send you to TNA's iMPACT Zone." What an asshole. For being such an asshole, allow me to give out his e-mail address for all to hear: deadboysdocry@deathmetalfan.com. So there. To compensate for my crew's inability to broadcast footage from Hell, they've decided to cart out the next best thing for an interview. I'll see about that... Ladies and gentlemen, a bitch I've been meaning to talk to since the debut of Karen's Angle... well, KAREN ANGLE~!

Karen: Did you just call me a bitch?

No, of course not. Karen, I'm glad you're here, 'cause I've got a bone to pick with you.

Karen: About what? What'd I do? Is this about Kurt? Because I really don't have anything to do with him anymore.

No, this is about you blatantly stealing the premise of this very show and bastardizing it to create Karen's Angle. Who the hell do you think you are, stealing my damn show?

Karen: Oh, don't act like you're the first person to ever host a pro wrestling interview show!

I'm not! Not at all, but you'd have to be blind to not notice that you stole every aspect of my show except for my resident bodyguard, Charlie Haas.

Karen: Actually, TNA offered him a dollar more than what you pay to join my show as resident bodyguard.

I don't even pay him!

Karen: Exactly.

You bitch! I'll just buy him back! You can't just steal my thunder like that!

Karen: How sure are you that I ripped your show off, anyway? That's a hell of a claim to make!

Oh, let me count the ways~! Don't act stupid, Karen, I SAW Vince Russo snooping around my set a few months ago, holding a fucking clipboard and jotting down his observations!

Karen: Oh yeah? How do you know he wasn't just writing a haiku or something?

Don't insult my intelligence, you skank. We all know that Russo hasn't written down a single one of his own thoughts since TNA rehired him, okay? And you know what else, bitch? Your show's bumper ID fucking sucks. There. I said it.

Karen: Mine sucks?! Yours is a picture of the Great Khali's ugly face about to eat a microphone!

You wish you had someone to pose as the poster child for your shitty show!

Karen: I don't need a poster boy! I've interviewed the likes of Abyss and Kaz!

KAZ? Who cares?! I've interviewed Triple H, John Cena, and, unfortunately, Don West!

West: But you're always inviting me back, Catherine Perez~!

I don't invite you. You moved into the studio after I interviewed you for the first time, you creepy ass.

West: I have nowhere else to go, Catherine Perez.
Karen: Awww, Don, you can always live in my studio!

Are you kidding me?! Fred Flintstone here is MINE! Can't you mooch off of someone else's profession? I'll bet there's some anal sex porn star out there who needs a break from the business!

Karen: ...really?

Yeah, really! Professional ass sexing is clearly in your future, since you claim to love it so much. Think about it: you get in the porn business through their back door, and you'll have someone in your back door in no time~!

Karen: Oh, wow!

Uh-huh! And if you go through that door right outside of the set here, you'll find that a certain well-known porn distributor tapes their fuckery right next door from here!


[Karen bolts from her seat and practically hammers through the door... which takes her into a newly-installed, giant, metal chute that leads to a dumpster outside of the building.]


Hahaha! Idiot. Next week, viewers, Hey Man Nice Shoot will be teaming up with Chris Hansen and Dateline NBC's To Catch a Predator to absolutely humiliate some of our favorite wrestling personalities! It'll be fun, I swear! SO DON'T MISS IT.

That's all for this week's Deadface! You know where to send the feedback, and if you don't, there's an e-mail link below, and
HERE'S my MySpace. WANNA BE FRIENDS?!?! Also, the rest of the TWF Staff has put a whole lot of effort into this week's updates, so why don't you head over to the main page and check all of it out? Yes, all of it. Prevent the Staff from crying themselves to sleep just because you were too busy looking at German Scheisse porn by reading their splendiferous writings, won't you? Alright, well, as always, I'm Catherine, and like this week's groceries at the suddenly-fattened Steve McMichael's house, 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.).