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The Sixth Child presents…


A look at the world of wrestling through the eyes of a film buff.

V10(ahhhhh) – "Carlito’s Way" starring Carlito.

What I am about to do will be painful on my part.

Until now I have made you laugh attempted to make you laugh by lampooning wrestlers through film plots. While some of the films I have parodied are great pieces of cinema (namely The Running Man, Ali, American History X and Kickboxer), none of them have seriously moved me as much as the film I’ve decided to tarnish in this edition.

Before you even read this column (or skim through Carless’ doctored photographs), I urge you to go out and grab a copy of what I believe is Brian DePalma’s best film – Carlito’s Way.

Yes, that’s right. From the director that brought you such mesmerising films as Carrie, The Untouchables, and the almighty Scarface, I believe Carlito’s Way is Brian DePalma’s undisputed masterpiece.

Most (if not all) of you probably believe nothing is better than Scarface. That’s fine. There’s no doubt it remains one of the greatest films ever made. But it’s also on a growing list of brilliant filmic entities that idiots who call themselves film buffs tend to exploit. I’m talking about those try-hards who think all because they know the words “Scarface”, “Citizen Kane” and “Tarantino”, they’re special. These are the same people who watch Scarface and think Howard Hawks was the title character of a really bad Bruce Willis movie.

If you didn’t get that last joke then YOU’RE ONE OF THEM!

Plus, Scarface is just too heavily referenced these days. Every wannabe gangster – from rappers to teenage suburbanites here inAustralia – think they’re hardcore because they know where “say hello to my little friend” comes from. If I asked them where “all I have in this world is my balls and my word and I don’t break ‘em for no one” comes from, they would stare at me like a stunned mullet. IT’S FROM THE SAME MOVIE YOU FUCKING SKIDMARK! </rant>

Anyway, Carlito’s Way is easily in my all-time top five. The film follows Carlito Brigante (Al Pacino), a former drug dealer who after being released from prison vows to stay away from his criminal past. He begins working towards his dream of leaving New York to start his life anew, and renews a love affair with his former flame, Gail (Penelope Ann Miller). But he finds himself being sucked back in by his old instincts and past connections, mostly due to his erratic lawyer and best friend, David Kleinfeld (Sean Penn).

The only thing better than the opening and closing lines by Carlito Brigante is everything that happens in between. Like Scarface it serves as a tribute to the gangster pics of the 1930s and 1940s, and its vibrancy in just about every department – dialogue, performances, cinematography – is phenomenal. But it’s not your average gangster film. Its allegiance to the genre is teamed with abundant drama, romanticism and suspense, making it appealing to almost anyone.

The ending is guaranteed to leave you shocked. Speechless. Maybe even in tears. I’m not ashamed to admit it did all of this to me.

So, for all these reasons and more, I urge you once again, before you decide to watch me do the equivalent of murdering one of my children (not the illegitimate one that turned out to be a WWE superstar), see Carlito’s Way for yourself.

(sigh) OK, here goes.

We begin with Carlito Caribbean Cool addressing a New York courtroom. It is the latest in a series of appeal hearings for Carlito, whose involvement in the world of professional wrestling since childhood saw him become deeply involved in a massive steroid ring (who woulda thunk it?). Carlito was eventually arrested and sentenced to serve 30 years in jail. Five years have passed and Carlito’s lawyer, Chris Masters, has managed to exploit a legal loophole which could see him released.

CARLITO: …so your honour, Carlito promises to replace the pills he used to pop with apples. Because drugs… tha’s not cool… but apples…

JUDGE: Mr Colon, there are 56 cases on the court’s docket for this morning. Why am I listening to this mediocre promo?

MASTERS: Your awnour, if I may, Cawrlito is undahstadibly excited having bin vindicayted after five years of incawrceration.

JUDGE: What?

MASTERS: (clears throat) Cawrlito wahnts to say sumfing…

CROWD: (in unison) What!?

MASTERS: (getting annoyed) …having bin incawcerated for so long.

CROWD: (in unsion) What?!

MASTERS: (to crowd) Cut it aout!

JUDGE: Mr Masters, this is a court of law. Whatever’s is in your mouth, remove it this instant!

CARLITO: Your honour, that’s how he talks.

JUDGE: Oh. Uhhh, well, let me make one thing perfectly clear here counsellor. There is no vindication here. This is an incredible convergence of circumstances which you have exploited to your client’s benefit.

MASTERS: With awl do respect your awnour, these surcumstances you speak of include illegal wiretaps and tainted evidence.

JUDGE: Does the district attorney have anything to add?

DA: Yes, your honour. We will never accept tapes from Shawn Stasiak again.

STASIAK: (from the stands) I brought my own mic!

CARLITO: Listen, Your Honour, all Carlito wants to say is that he is through walking on the wild side. Carlito has been sick of the social ills known in the wrestling business. Carlito has been cured. Born again, like HBK – minus the various facets of his gimmick that contradicts his Christian beliefs. Anyway, Carlito has been completely rehabilitated, reinvigorated, reassimilated, and finally gonna be relocated.

JUDGE: Alright, Mr Colon, there’s no need to get all Sabu on us. The indictment is dismissed, the prisoner is discharged, call the next case.

JR: (from the stands) My Gawd, King! Carlito just spat in the face of City Hall! The district attorney was beaten like a government mule! The vertical base of the American judicial system has been decimated by these two…

KING: Yuppies!

JR: (pause) …yeah, yuppies.

So Carlito was a free man, and what he said in court was sincere. Carlito was seriously through with the wrestling business, and his goal was to save enough money to go back to the Caribbean and start his own car rental business. After his sordid past he wanted to go somewhere he could keep a low profile, where no-one would care what he did. Since TNA was out of the question, he decided the Caribbean would do just fine.

Anyway, Carlito’s first act was to go back to the old neighbourhood. It is here he runs into his old friend, Jesus Pachanga.

JESUS: Carlito man, it’s Death Valley out here man.

CARLITO: Fuck, Taker’s called dibs on this place too?

JESUS: Naw, man. These new kids nowadays. They got no respect for human life. They be popping steroids like they were tic-tacs man. You better off in jail. Remember Eddie?

CARLITO: Eddie, with the beard?

JESUS: Eddie died of a heart-attack while you were inside. Muthafuckin’ enlarged heart, man. But they still be running storylines around him with Rey Rey vs. Chavo #412. You know Psicosis?

CARLITO: Yeah, what happened to him?

JESUS: Psicosis is inside after he went loco and stole a car in Mexico. He smashed into a bunch of cars, one with a pregnant woman inside, man. And Super Crazy!

CARLITO: Oh no, he didn’t!

JESUS: That’s right, man, he’s made like three appearances on Heat this year, man.

CARLITO: (shocked) Ay, Santa Maria!

Carlito was disturbed by how much the neighbourhood and the wrestling business had changed while he was inside. Even his little cousin, Guajiro, was working the streets for some new people on the scene. So Carlito decided to keep an eye on him by going with him to his next meeting.

Guajiro took Carlito to a barbershop in Spanish Harlem, where they are let into a back room. It is here Guajiro does all of his business with a steroid drug-lord who calls himself Juventud Quisqueya.


JUVENTUD: (to GUAJIRO) Who’s this?

GUAJIRO: Oh, this is my cousin man. Primo mio. Carlito Caribbean Cool. You heard of Carlito right?


GUAJIRO: Carlito, man. You know, former United States champion?

(JUVENTUD shrugs)

GUAJIRO: He’s a former Intercontinental Champion...?

(JUVENTUD shakes his head)

GUAJIRO: C’mon man! The hermano with all the machismo the fans loved?

JUVENTUD: Oh! I heard of you man! You the guy who used to spit in people’s faces!

CARLITO: Tha’s right.

JUVENTUD: Yeah, you spat the toothpicks into their eyes and was all like “Hey, yo!”

CARLITO: That was Razor Ramon.

JUVENTUD: Eh, whatever man. I don’t watch wrestling no more. It has no dignity.

CARLITO: Uhhh, weren’t you fired after you ran naked through the streets of Sydney hopped up on ecstasy?

JUVENTUD: Man, don’t you judge me. You wanna talk titles, I was a Cruiserweight champion!

CARLITO: So was Hornswaggle, pendejo.

Before things could get out of hand, Guajiro takes Juventud aside to talk business. For some reason Carlito had a bad feeling about where he was. He could sense something serious was about to go down – like when Warrior says “any questions?” at the end of one of the his seminars.

Carlito noticed two of Juventud’s henchmen (armed with pistols) seemed slightly distracted as they were playing pool. So Carlito decided to completely throw them off by showing them a trick shot on the pool table using one of his apples.


But as he sets up the shot, he sees – through the reflection of one of the henchmen’s sunglasses – a man coming out of a restroom in the back armed with a knife. Carlito grabs the apple, takes a bite out of it and spits the contents straight into the eyes of the pool-playing henchmen. Though they could have reached for the guns, they apparently “didn’t want to be cool”, so they surrendered and left.

But Carlito was too late to save his cousin, who had his throat slit by the knife-wielding thug. So Carlito munched away at the rest of the apple and in a panic sprayed the chewed up contents all over the bar. Pieces of apple showered all over Juventud and the thug, and without thinking Carlito ran into the restroom.

Cornered in the darkness, Carlito looks down to see only the apple’s core left in his hand. Unarmed and outnumbered, he starts talking trash.

CARLITO: Come on in here, motherfuckers! (pause) What you ain’t comin’ in? OK, Carlito’s comin’ out! You up against it now, motherfuckers! I’m gonna spit motherfucking apples! You think you’re big time? You’re gonna fucking die, big time! You ready!? Here come the pain!

Carlito throws the door open to find Brock Lesnar standing there with a very stern look on his face.

BROCK: Don’t you ever use my likeness again.

CARLITO: (laughs) Tell that to Bobby Lashley.

Carlito came achingly close to being put back in prison that day. He knew he needed a quicker way to make the money he needed without getting into any trouble. Masters tells him about a club which was in need of a new manager because its indebted owner was continuing to run it into the ground. So Carlito decides to pay him a visit.


HEYMAN: Carlito, my friend! Carlito Caribbean Cool! How you doing?

CARLITO: Hey, Paul.

HEYMAN: No, no more Paul. Now everybody calls me Ron.


HEYMAN: Yeah, my accountant is in town so I’m using my alias. When Stephanie McMahon visits I change it to Daniel Rodheimer just to piss her off.

CARLITO: OK, “Ron”. Let’s get to the point. Carlito hears you’re doing good business with this place. But you gamblin’ again, right? How much you owe?

HEYMAN: I don’t know. Maybe 50, 60 thou.

CARLITO: OK, that means about a quarter of a mil. Tell you what, Carlito is gonna give you some money so he can come in for half your end.

HEYMAN: (laughs) What are you trying to do to me?

CARLITO: What Carlito is trying to do is save your ass. Because it’s either the McMahons or the Jarretts you owe the money to, right? Either way, you’re gonna end up in the trunk of a car somewhere on the Belt Parkway before long.

HEYMAN: How do you know I’ve been living out of my car next to Belt Parkway?

CARLITO: (pause) Dear God, man, haven’t you ever heard of a savings account?

Heyman agrees to let Carlito pay off some of his debts in exchange for half of the club’s ownership. He also agreed to change the club’s name to “Carlito’s Cabana”. Before that it was known as “Piper’s Pit”, “The Cutting Edge”, “The Highlight Reel”, “The Barbershop”, “The Peepshow”, “Café de Rene” and a bunch of other stupid names which on average lasted a fortnight.

Carlito was now getting a steady cash-flow that was legal and quiet, and he hired Jesus as his personal bodyguard. Things were starting to look up for Carlito but after several nights watching a parade of generically attractive women swarm through the club, he was suddenly reminded of Torrie, his girlfriend before he went to prison.

One rainy night Carlito decides to pay Torrie a visit. As he approaches her apartment block, he sees a tall, athletic blonde woman emerge onto the street. Carlito then starts to follow her.

CARLITO: (narrating) When you’re in the joint, you spend all your time dopin’ out on who you gonna see the first day you’re out. The second day. The third. But then you get out, and everybody’s got a different face than you remember. Maybe you do too. You pray for one face that didn’t change. One face that still knows you, looks at you the same way it always did. Torrie had a different face. And teeth. And breasts. And hair extensions. I mean, God, Carlito wasn’t even sure if this girl he was following was Torrie.

Carlito kept following “Torrie” until she entered a dance studio. To get a closer look, Carlito walked to the rooftop of a neighbouring building to peer into the studio’s windows. He was stunned to see a series of women who looked exactly like Torrie doing a really crappy dance routine. Carlito figured it must be RAW Diva Search season again.


When the crowd of generic Torries emerged from the dance studio, Carlito tried to figure our which one was the real Torrie Wilson. But as soon as he heard one of them speak with a really monotonous Boise accent, there was no doubt he’d found her.

CARLITO: Hey, I know you, lady.

(TORRIE keeps walking without turning around)

TORRIE: Hey, buzz off.

CARLITO: Yeah, sure, you used to go out with that guy.

TORRIE: Who? Billy?

CARLITO: (pause) What?

TORRIE: Shane?


TORRIE: Billy?

CARLITO: You said him already.

TORRIE: No, not Billy Kidman, Billy Gunn.

CARLITO: Uhhh, no.



TORRIE: Sable?

CARLITO: Jesus Christ!

TORRIE: Did he drive a Chevy?

CARLITO: (sighs) How about Carlito Caribbean Cool?

TORRIE: (laughs) Yeah, I remember him.

CARLITO: (smiles) Really?

TORRIE: He was hung like an acorn.

CARLITO: (seething) Che?!

(TORRIE spins around)

TORRIE: Oh my God! Carlito! (goes in for a hug)

CARLITO: (backing off) Get the fuck away from Carlito!

The next day, Chris Masters arrived at Riker’s Island Prison Barge to visit one of his clients. The prisoner, like Carlito, was serving time because of his involvement in a steroid ring, except this man was the most powerful pro-wrestling drug lord in the country. With his health deteriorating, the prisoner called Masters for a favour.

VINCE: Write this down. It’s 555-5888. That’s my daughter Stephanie’s home phone number.

MASTERS: Oh yeah! I recognise it from the men’s room wall at the Garden!

(VINCE has a violent coughing fit)

VINCE: I never liked you, Masters. Not because you’re a talentless, marble-mouthed douchebag who’s only saving grace is his incredible physique. I know plenty of guys like that. It’s because you’re a lying piece of shit. I give you a million bucks in growth hormones to make a simple payoff and nothing happens.

MASTERS: Vince, I tawld you I delivered the shipment straight from Orlando to Stamford. Now if they decide to betray that…

(VINCE unzips his pants and presents his ass to MASTERS)

VINCE: You look at my magnificent ass! You make me raise my voice again and you’ll join the exclusive “Kiss My Ass Club”.

MASTERS: (mutters) It’s exclusive, but we see it every week.

VINCE: What was that?

MASTERS: Nothing. What do you want from me?

VINCE: I understand you got a boat. Well, you’re gonna bust me outta here. Stephanie is gonna go with you and she’s gonna keep an eye on you. I’m gonna get into the water, and all you gotta do is be there with the boat to pick me up.

MASTERS: (stunned) Listen, Vince, I…

VINCE: The contract’s already out on you, Masters. And from in here, just one button I push and all your steroids are gone.

MASTERS: You don’t scare me. I don’t need your steroids. I can get by on my intel… intellect… intel… intellect…ualit… my brains!

(long pause)

MASTERS: (sighs) Fine. What time?

Meanwhile back at the Cabana, Carlito was having dinner with Jesus until they’re interrupted by a very nervous Paul Heyman.

HEYMAN: Carlito, there is a problem. It’s John Cena.


HEYMAN: John Cena, the WWE Champion. He’s here and he says he’s gonna make trouble if the club doesn’t put on his latest CD.

CARLITO: Fuck him. Don’t worry about it.

HEYMAN: But Cena said…

CARLITO: Cuck Fena!

HEYMAN: (pause) What?

CARLITO: Nothing.

HEYMAN: Carlito, please, you can’t do this. Cena spends a lot of money here.

CARLITO: He’s an overrated prick.

HEYMAN: It doesn’t make sense that you hate this guy. He is you five years from now.

CARLITO: The guy’s a contradiction in terms. He’s supposed to be a rapper and a marine. What’s next? A Hispanic golfer named Kerwin?

Moments later Carlito is interrupted again, this time by Cena decked out in his Wrestlemania 22 entrance costume and full mob posse.


CENA: Is there a problem here?

CARLITO: Now you’re supposed to be a 1950s gangster? Make up your fucking mind!

CENA: Maybe there’s a mis-fucking-understanding here, man. My name is…

CARLITO: Maybe Carlito don’t give a shit. Maybe Carlito don’t remember the last time he blew his nose either. Who the fuck are you that Carlito should remember you? What have you done? You put some plastic knuckles on your hands and said “Hatorade” instead of “Gatorade”? Real cute. Go five-knuckle-shuffle yourself you jive-ass motherfucker.

As every man (but strangely not one woman) in the club starts applauding, Cena loses his cool and leaps across the table at Carlito. But Jesus acts quickly by stabbing John Cena in his kidney. They then take Cena out the back where Jesus tries to convince Carlito they should finish him off. But mindful of his promise not to revert to his old ways, Carlito orders Jesus to let Cena go.

Carlito was confident that although he had ordered the stabbing of a fan-favourite, there was zero chance he would receive any kind of comeuppance.

The next day Masters asks Carlito to come over to his place for a drink. Carlito notices something is definitely wrong with Masters. For one thing he was coked out of his head, but it had actually improved his speech patterns.

MASTERS: I need you to do something for me.

CARLITO: Christ, not another Master Lock challenge! Carlito gets it, no-one can break it… except Bobby Lashley.

MASTERS: No, not that. You gotta help me spring Vince McMahon from the prison barge at Riker’s. He thinks I stole a million dollars from him. This is a dying man. He’s totally fucking paranoid. But if I don’t do this, he’s going to take away my steroids. I have to do this, I’m asking for your help. Once I get Vince on the shore, there is a distinct possibility that he and his daughter will have some plans for me.

CARLITO: (gasps) ECW?

MASTERS: (slaps forehead) No, you idiot! How do I know he’s not going to kill me? You are the only person on Earth that I can trust. Are you in?

Overwhelmed by what he was asking, but burdened with his debt to him, Carlito agrees to help Masters. A few nights later the big night comes – a nervous Carlito, a coked-up Masters and a bulbous Stephanie McMahon all board Masters’ yacht and head out to the prison barge.

They arrive to find Vince hanging on to a buoy for dear life about 100 yards out from the barge. Masters backs the boat up next to Vince and orders Steph to take the wheel while he and Carlito fish him out. Vince grabs hold of the back of the boat and Masters goes out onto the platform to help him, but he suddenly pulls out a crowbar and proceeds to beat the living piss out of Vince.

MASTERS: (striking Vince with every syllable) How… would youlike it… if I… stuck my ass… in your face… you fuckingegomaniacal… self-aggrandisingpieceofshit!

CARLITO: (screaming) Masters! No!

Carlito wrestles Masters off the platform to see Vince’s unconscious body floating in the choppy seas and eventually sink into the dark, murky water. Overcome with shock and realisation of what just happened, Carlito knew Masters had signed their death warrant… or alternatively, a chance to jump ship to TNA, but that was just as bad. A panicked Carlito races to the yacht’s main deck, only to find Masters putting Stephanie in a devastating Master Lock.

MASTERS: (hysterically) You see! No-one can break it, you bitch! But you made me break it to a fucking 100-pound marine! Well who’s laughing now you fucking warthog in a dress?!

Masters hurled Stephanie’s lifeless body into the sea, along with an inflatable raft and a couple of oars to make it look like a botched escape. Carlito was inconsolable as they drove back to shore, and once they landed Carlito severed his ties with Masters once and for all.

But Masters was not bothered in the slightest. Every time the two had a falling out it always ended with Carlito making Masters look like a fool. It seems that Masters would finally have the last laugh.

That was until he was stabbed to death the next day by Vince’s henchmen.

Carlito meanwhile needed to act quickly. He had to make his move to the Caribbean now since everyone from Vince’s mob would be after him. As Carlito ran down the street to buy a train ticket, he ran into Torrie.

TORRIE: Carlito. Listen, we need to talk.

CARLITO: Torrie, Carlito can’t…

TORRIE: I’m pregnant.

CARLITO: (pause) OK. What are you telling Carlito for? You didn’t sleep with him.

TORRIE: Yeah, but, I’m just worried that…

CARLITO: (pause) What?

TORRIE: (whispers) I’m worried it could be mine.

(long uncomfortable pause)

CARLITO: (shaking is head) That poor kid.

Carlito had no choice but to take Torrie with him. He told her to meet him at Grand Central Station later that night so they could catch the train and start their lives over in the Caribbean together. Hours later Carlito arrived at the Cabana to get the rest of his money. He runs into Jesus out front.

JESUS: Carlito, where the hell you been? You know somebody killed Masters?

CARLITO: Yeah, that’s great. Listen, you remember Torrie, the girl Carlito was with before he went inside?

JESUS: (nervously) Uhh, yeah?

CARLITO: Carlito and Torrie are goin’ out of town for a couple of days.

JESUS: (even more nervously) Oh, wow, that’s great man.

CARLITO: (pause) You banged her too, didn’t you?

(JESUS looks down in shame)

CARLITO: (sighs) Never mind. Listen, go to her house and pick her up. Our train leaves at 11:30 sharp. Both of you wait for Carlito at Grand Central.

As Carlito hurriedly opened his office safe to get his money, he was shocked to find it empty. Without thinking twice he already knew who had taken it. In a blind rage he walked out onto the floor to find Heyman.

CARLITO: (grabbing Heyman) Where’s Carlito’s fucking money?

HEYMAN: (panicked) I don’t know what you’re talking about.

CARLITO: You heard Masters got whacked, so you figured Carlito was dead too! You thought you inherited Carlito’s fucking money, right?

HEYMAN: (blubbering) No, I heard Vince and Stephanie were finally dead! Think about it Carlito. Now that they’re gone, the wrestling industry can be mine! All I need is a little cash, and I’m back in business! Sure, I’ve pissed away millions in the past, but this is different. No-one in the McMahon family can stop me now!

CARLITO: His son is still alive, you cheque-bouncing motherfucker!

HEYMAN: Shit! (pause) Wait, isn’t that him over there?

Carlito spins around to see Shane McMahon and three other men sitting at a nearby table, looking straight at them with murder written in their faces. Carlito notices the other three guys are WWE wrestlers who are still under contract but haven’t appeared on TV for a while. Shane must have made them his bodyguards so he could get some kind of useful mileage out of them.

Heyman tells Carlito his money is in a box under the club’s register. Carlito races to the bar, grabs the cash and exits through a secret trap-door. Shane and his men race outside the club to see Carlito running towards a train station with one sole purpose – to get to Grand Central on time.

What will happen next promises to be a truly masterful game of cat and mouse. Carlito, the face, is hell-bent on achieving his dream of abandoning his life of crime and starting anew with the beautiful Torrie and her soon-to-be-born child. Shane, the heel, is driven by revenge and fuelled by a desire to spill Carlito’s blood for killing his father and sister. The plot is thick with potential and the characters look set to explode as…


(long dramatic pause)

TRIPLE H: (narrating) Attention wrestling fans. This is The Game, Triple H speaking. Because my wife and father-in-law have sadly passed on, and since I have regained full use of my knee, I have taken it upon myself to stop all storylines from progressing any further.

This plot centred around Carlito, Chris Masters and other subpar wrestlers clearly seems to be going nowhere. Since only I know what wrestling fans want, I have taken the initiative to make sure this angle cease immediately. But don’t despair! HBK and myself will return to your screens as soon as possible with our parade of dick jokes, bikini-clad women we swear Shawn has never slept with and other tomfoolery that has wooed the masses for close to ten years. Thank you all for your patience, and remember: Vince loves cock.

(Note: Yes, you have just witnessed the biggest cop-out in the history of DONE!, but I simply can’t do it. I don’t want to ruin the ending for those of you who haven’t seen the real Carlito’s Way, and I hope those who have seen it understand why I pulled the plug. Please feel free to complain via the email address below, but I guess there are still some things that I find sacred. Unlike Carless)




The Sixth Child is a journalist based in Melbourne, Australia. When he’s not feeding his pet kangaroos Binky and Bunky, he watches, reviews and obsesses over films while casually fucking swearing. His dream is to one day stand on top of a moving van while dancing to “Surfin’ USA” by the Beach Boys.

[All Photoshops created by Sean Carless.]

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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.).