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ECW: The Next Generation
(December 2007 Archives.)

December 06, 2007
December 11, 2007
December 18, 2007
December 25, 2007

Welcome everyone to another rousing edition of ECW on Sci-Fi. For those of you with an eye for peculiarities, perhaps you've noticed that tonight's show takes place on Thursday as opposed to Tuesday. This is because the Sci-Fi network deemed a shitty mini-series about a bastardized retelling of L. Frank Baum's legendary namesake more worthwhile than a shitty weekly- series about a bastardized retelling of Paul E. Heyman's legendary namesake. Also of note is that tonight's broadcast of ECW runs parallel to the second hour of TNA. Long story short, it's a horrible, horrible night to be a wrestling fan.

Tonight, CM Punk has to make a decision: will he do battle with the sextuple mammary glands attached to Big Daddy V or stare down Fat Black Predator himself? Holy shit, Mark Henry even does the cackle now. Sadly, Henry hasn't utilized the finishing maneuver of self detonating himself in the ring yet. Oh well, you have to save something for sweeps.

Cue the crappy music. As always, our commentators tonight are crude Italian stereotypes.

We are LIVE (from five days ago) in Florence, South Carolina, or as it is sometimes called, "The Middle of Fucking Nowhere". And in case you needed further proof that tonight's broadcast is emanating from purgatory, here come The Major Brothers!

The Major Brothers vs. John Morrison and The Miz

Quick: What are the respective first names of the Major Brothers? If you can identify both, congratulations on being a virgin for the rest of your life.

Basic collar and elbow tie-up to begin. The Miz gets worked over by both Majors. We get a couple of nice dives to the outside courtesy of the team with the most nondescript moniker in wrestling history. Miz and Morrison nail a stereo face buster. Morrison lands a running knee to the mouth. Majors fight back. Tag for The Miz.

You know, it just dawned on me: We're watching two generic meat heads with monikers akin to a bad Sega Master System title throw down with a grade z reality TV "celebrity" and a facsimile of a deceased 60s rock icon. It kind of makes you wonder what other tandems creative can come up with utilizing that particular formula: I personally can't wait for a tag team consisting of Puck from "The Real World" and JTG repackaged as "Joey Hendrix" myself. Make it so, Arn!

Oh yeah, back to the match. Hot tag for the other Major brother. Major nails a "high elevated Thesz Press" (read: running dick to the face.) Miz and one of the Majors brawl to the outside, allowing Morrison to light the other Majors' fire with the corkscrew neck breaker for the tres.

Winners: John Morrison and The Miz, fans of faux reality programming and English influenced 60s rock relics.

Did you know that CM Punk has to make a decision? It's a lot like Sophie's Choice, only instead of deciding which child lives or dies, Punk has to decide whether his meteoric push is crushed by a fat black guy with no discernable talent or another fat black guy with no discernable talent. Oh well, at least he's doing his part for racial advancement.


Hey, it's a promo video for Kofi Kingston. You know, because there just aren't enough racial gimmicks in wrestling these days.

Styles hard sells CM Punk's decision. Sadly, he left his credibility in his other blazer.

CM Punk says that tonight is a "no-win situation". Funny, that's exactly how I describe the prospect of viewing ECW on Sci-Fi.

Speaking of lose-lose scenarios, Balls Mahoney and K-2 are making their way ringside.


And it's yet another example of corporate synergy at work, as Smackdown! Representatives Kenny Dykstra and Victoria stroll down the ramp way. Unfortunately, the ramp doesn't give way.

Kelly Kelly and Balls Mahoney vs. Kenny Dykstra and Victoria

The Dyke pounds Balls' head.wait. Balls then utilizes the most scientific maneuver in his arsenal.a punch. Kelly and Victoria tussle for a bit. We get a tilt-a-whirl by Kelly. Victoria feigns the Widow's Peak. There's a hair toss by Victoria, followed by the single longest cross armed choke in wrestling history. More fists from Balls. Balls attempts the only move in his repertoire that isn't a punch, the Nutcracker Suite. It's a cluster fuck at this point. There's a hurrancanrana from Kelly, allowing Balls to roll up Dykstra for the pin. I was mistaken about Balls' prowess. With the annexation of the school boy, he's now only 997 holds away from matching Dean Malenko's move set.

Winner: Kelly Kelly and Balls Mahoney, double entendres in general.

God damn it, CM Punk has a decision to make. Jesus, why won't you accept that, audience!


Praise the wrestling gods, somebody with talent has shown up: Shelton Benjamin comes to ringside. If that weren't enough, they actually give Benjamin a microphone. Okay, they probably shouldn't have. Apparently his new gimmick is that he's "The Gold Standard", and truly, "there ain't no stopping him now". Yeah, and the last six years have really proven that, haven't they? Are you a fan of horrible racial caricatures? Well, here comes another one: It's Jimmy Wang Yang, which is enough to make one hate Smackdown! And Asian culture in general. That's a shame too, because I really like both CW and rice.

Shelton Benjamin vs. Jimmy Wang Yang

Tie-up to begin. There's an early crucifix by Wang which is transmogrified into a sick kick by Shelton, followed by a bad ass power bomb to the turnbuckle by Shelton. We've got a nice Lariat by Shelton. "The Gold Standard" then grinds the elbow into Wang's eyes which sets up and an inverted neck crank. Hold on, Wang makes a comeback! Oh, the Wang comeback is squelched by Benjamin's elbow. The rebuttal is a nice kick by Wang. Wang goes up top, and the end result is countered into a gut buster by Benjamin, thus allowing Shelton to land the "bulldog-into-a-DDT" (nice observation, Joey.) At this juncture, Shelton still doesn't have an appropriate title for his finishing move. Here's a few titles I propose:
* Total Non-Stop Affirmative Action
* The Glass Ceiling Washer
* The BLACK-out
* In and Out (Of Consciousness) In Africa
* G-T-S (Go-To-Sharpton)<.br> Winner: Shelton Benjamin, racial insensitivity

Holy hell, there's even MORE hard selling for CM Punk's choice. Unfortunately, retroactively not signing with the WWE isn't one of them.


And we're back. Commence pimping for Armageddon.

Kevin Thorne is making his way to the ring, which surely means that some starving regional worker is about to get bled dry.

Kevin Thorne vs. Jeff Lewis

Man, I feel sorry for this Lewis guy. Joey calls Kevin the most antisocial wrestler in ECW history. Pardon me if I'm wrong, but wasn't there once a heavyweight champion in your company that shared a fondness for sodomizing his girlfriend with hotel remotes? (If you're having a hard time finding out which champion I'm referring to, it's all of them) Yeah, poor Jeff isn't fairing too well in this bout. At one point, the schmuck grabs the back of his head for seemingly no reason whatsoever. If Mr. Lewis' children are reading this, I have some bad news: You're not leaving Florence anytime soon, kids. Thorne lands the torture-rack back breaker (thanks again, Joey!) and ends Jeff's two minutes of fame, and by fame, I mean "humiliating public death of his childhood dream". Sucks to be you, Jeff.

Winner: Kevin Thorne, the Florence unemployment office.

Henry, V and Striker are making their way down the hall. In actuality, Matt isn't either's manager: he just got caught in their orbit.


Matt tosses a coin to determine Punk's adversary for tonight. Much to the chagrin of both wrestlers, the coin isn't made of chocolate. Henry gets the nod, and out comes CM Punk.

CM Punk vs. Mark Henry (with Matt Striker and Big Daddy V)

 Comparing the body types of CM Punk and Mark Henry is like contrasting the frames of Pee Wee Herman and The Michelin Man. Just to play things safe, if you ever seen CM Punk in an adult movie theater, DON'T sit in front of him, ok? Punk tries the old tried and true "jump-on-the-back-of-the- fat-guy-and-choke-him" routine, which leads to a spill to the outside. Punk holds his own, and in comes Big Daddy V for the disqualification. I guess Matt told V that if he interfered he'd receive a DQ, thus prompting V to intervene in anticipation of receiving a trip to Dairy Queen. The combined girth double teams a man about 1/6 their combined bodyweight and out comes Kane to make the save. It looks like we have Punk and Kane versus V and Henry at Armageddon, although the true contest will be finding a viewer that gives a shit.

Tonight's Glimmer of Hope: There's always the prospect of a future Shelton / Punk rivalry for the ECW title. After all, I'd rather watch a guy that pretends to be Kurt Angle wrestle a guy that pretends to be Japanese than watch two guys that pretend to be Jupiter and Saturn any day.

Tonight's Prophecy of Doom: Thanks to the Smackdown! "Talent" exchange, we'll likely witness even more of an influx of mid carders than before.and this is a show that has Viscera in the god damned title hunt!

Five Things I Learned From Tonight's Show:

* All ethnic groups hilariously portray themselves as racial caricatures for our amusement.
* Reality TV has-beens and dead rock stars prefer one another's company.,br> * It takes 800 pounds of fat blackness and a former school teacher to beat up one Ring of Honor alum.
* Enjoy the paycheck you receive after a Kevin Thorne bout, because it's the last one you'll see for awhile.
* If you want to succeed in ECW, you better have a phallic stage name.

Fade to Black.

Welcome all to yet another episode of ECW on Sci-Fi. I'm assuming that most of you caught the three and a half hour Raw anniversary show Monday night, which isn't very conducive for a college student such as myself. Instead of cramming for final examinations, I spent Monday night explaining to my nine year old nephew exactly what the fuck a Skinner is. Oh well, who needs to know the replication process for mitochondrial reproduction, any way? We all know pondering whether or not the recently revealed paternity of Bastion Booger as the father of Big Dick Johnson is canonical is far more rewarding and important an endeavor. Oh, by the way, for those of you out there concerned of such things. . .good fucking luck in life. You'll need LOTS. I'm not going to lie to you, I missed the first three minutes of tonight's show. Sadly, I caught the remaining fifty seven, so I'm still pissed. I'm not going into the sordid details of why I'm late to my post, but I assure you that I may be adjudicated clinically insane for giving up my prior activities of the evening in exchange for viewing a third rate wrestling program.

I have no clue as to where tonight's show is emanating, but I assume that since the crowd isn't comprised of cadavers and / or larynx-less individuals, it probably isn't being housed in the Carolinas. We have Kane and CM Punk dueling with a bunch of guys in white tees, so I'm assuming that the show opened with the ECW World Heavyweight Champion and the world's least burned burn victim taking on Deuce and Domino.

CM Punk and Kane vs. Deuce and Domino (with Cherry)

Joined in progress.although, really is there any doubt as to who is walking away from this one with their respective arms raised? Something from Monday's show is really bugging me right now. If CM Punk is supposedly straight-edge, then what the hell was he doing partaking in Stone Cold's beer bash at the end of the show? That's like someone claiming to be vegetarian and shoveling hot wings down his or her gullet at a barbecue, or Hitler hanging up a Matisyahu poster in his bunker. Stick to your own self-important ideologies, Punk! Anyway, Kane nails a choke slam on Deuce (or is it Domino?) and CM Fibber makes Domino (or is it Deuce?) Go-To-Sleep, although CM has to go to sleep that night knowing that He's-A-Hypocrite.

Winners: CM Punk and Kane, Tardiness

Post-match, Joey Styles refers to Mark Henry and Big Daddy V as "1,000 pounds of hostility". Who the fuck is creative hiring to write this shit, me?

Hey, Batista is here TONIGHT! Maybe the ECW fans won't boo him out of the arena like last time. That's because Vince McMahon secretly had all the marks killed under cover of night. Same thing happened at the Impact Zone. Apparently, pro wrestling institutes are utilizing the same task force Rudy Giuliani created to "solve" New York's homeless problem. Long story short, if you try to enter a WWE event wearing ROH apparel, get ready for life in the gulag.

Also here tonight is The Miz and Morrison. Before break, Tazz audibly utters "So, uh. . ." before the ensuing ad aired. I'm assuming the complete phrase was "So, uh, Joey, can you hand me that bottle of vicadin? How many do I want? Fuck, I'm DRINKING them all! That's what Rey Mysterio gets for leaving his locker unguarded.


Shelton Benjamin talks about prospectors. Seriously. Ok, I get it, I get it, there's no stopping you now. I guess that's why you're on a show with a viewer base a fraction of a percent the population of Guam. And that's after spider-monkey flu ravaged the island.

The Miz and John Morrison are taking on Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore. Yay / Boo ?

The Miz and John Morrison vs. Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore This match is courtesy of the ECW / Smackdown! Talent exchange. I think I speak on behalf of the general public when I state "Fuck you, ECW / Smackdown! Talent exchange". The former prince of punk and the former reality TV has-been start off and trade armbars. A neat spot occurs when Yang nails a standing "backflip" (that description comes courtesy of Tazz.now with 80 percent less credibility!) Yang locks up another armbar and lands a decent looking kick or two. Moore and Yang then land "STEREO MOONSAULTS!" (the wording of Tazz, once again), and then it's time to pay some bills.


Wang is getting choked. Apparently, things occurred during the break. Who'd guessed. Moore and The Miz get the respective hot tags. Miz than proceeds to land an overtly complicated choke on Moore. He places Moore's neck on the bottom rope, runs all the way across the ring, vaults over the top rope, and gently pressed down on Moore's neck against the bottom rope. Jeez, couldn't he have just used his foot instead and saved a few calories? In comes Morrison and the tandem lands a unison face buster on Moore. In comes Yang. Yang land a monkey flip that is sold freaking awesome-like by Morrison. Miz gets dropped to the outside. Some offbeat shenanigans follow, and Morrison lands the Neck-Breaker-On-To-The-Other-Side for the deuce (not the greaser, the winning predicament).

Winners: The Miz and John Morrison, mildly surpassed expectations.

Up next, K2 takes on Layla and Victoria. A better question is "Why, God, Why!"


Another Kofi Kingston promo. I still don't care.

Kelly Kelly vs. Layla and Victoria

Yeah, you really don't need play by play for this bout. I want all of you out there to know that tonight's recap is being done without aid of computer. That's right, I'm sitting here in front of my television scribbling down notes on a piece of analog paper for future reference. If it's good enough for the Amish, it's good enough for me, darn it! I'll just make these random observations. One, according to Tazz, the fact that Victoria's apparel is bedecked with spiders constitutes her being a good addition to ECW on Sci-Fi. Fuck, I should wear s Venom shirt to a taping and maybe I'll get a development deal. Hey, the rationalizing prowess of an orange guy that's 300 pounds and four feet tall has to be valid, right? Second, Kelly moans inordinately loudly. I know it's supposed to hurt and all, but this broad sounds as if she's in the throes of passion during a curb stomping. Learn to act, woman!

Layla then nails a twirling kick for the tres.

Winners: Layla and Victoria, observational humor

Post-bout, Michelle McCool runs in for the save on behalf of poor, outnumbered K2. As it turns out, this whole feud is a result of her dating Balls Mahoney. I wonder if that means, somewhere, a menagerie of buxom blondes are battling for the affection of Ian Rotten. He's still alive, right?

Oh yeah, by the way, Batista takes on Elijah Burke. Tonight. Yeah.


We're back. Raw Rebound time. My favorite portion of the show was the notion that during said beer bash, William Regal was seen drinking Coke. That's probably the only time the words "William Regal" and "coke" appear in the same sentence without the term "wellness policy violation".

Matt Striker is hanging out with Jupiter and Saturn backstage, whom he calls "Mountains of Ebony Flesh". You're making my job WAY too easy, guys. More Armageddon pimping.

Out comes Burke. He's given mic time. He shouldn't have. He claims that "Batista will fall to the Elijah experience!" Something tells me that the one-armed drummer from Def Leppard has better odds of beating "Jordan" on expert than Burke has of pinning Batista tonight.


Cue Batista's music. He walks down the ramp, although he spends his weekends trekking through pits of danger. It's on.

Batista vs. Elijah Burke

I am shocked that Elijah was allowed as much offense as he fostered. I'm surprised he was allotted any offense, for that matter, even scoring a leg sweep. Well, that's quickly cancelled out by a spine buster (w/o shades of Arn Anderson) and after something that was supposed to resemble a spear, it's time to drop the Batista Bomb (did Truman approve of this?). One, two, three, another brother staring at the arena lights.

Winner: Batista, Hiroshima references

Tonight's Glimmer of Hope: The Miz / Morrison bout wasn't too bad.

Tonight's Prophecy of Doom: With such an influence via the "talent exchange", ECW is quickly becoming "SmackDown!: The Shitty Expanded Cable Version".

Five Things I Learned From Tonight's Show:

* Big Daddy V and Mark Henry are 1,000 pounds of hostile ebony flesh that is also mountainous.

* Shelton Benjamin is taking this "Gold Standard" gimmick far too literal.

* Batista doesn't mind tearing down a brother.

* Don't ever date Balls Mahoney.

* The water cup of Tazz probably doesn't contain water.

Fade to black.

Welcome everyone to another episode of ECW on Sci-Fi. Christmas is just one week away, or as it's known over at Paul Heyman's homestead "just another fucking Tuesday." And sadly, it is just another fucking Tuesday for me, because those glorious execs over at Sci-Fi decided to NOT postpone next week's show. That means instead of celebrating the birth of some long-haired carpenter dude (no, NOT Jim Duggan) with my friends, family, and loved ones, I have to sit at my computer and recap the weekly antics of Balls Mahoney. Seriously, what's the point of this? Do the higher-ups at Sci-Fi really think that families are going to get together, drink cocoa, unwrap gifts, and then sit around the Yule log while Big Daddy V shakes five of his six titties on the TV screen? Something tells me that If Jesus C. would've known that people would be celebrating his birthday with Mark Henry matches 2007 years after his birth, he likely would've crucified himself and saved the Jews a whole lot of hardship. Come on, why else do you think Goldberg, Heyman, and Raven are simultaneously unemployed?

Winner: Blasphemy, anti-Semitism.

Oh yeah, we also have a wrestling show tonight. Judging from last week's Nielsen ratings, I'm glad to see that both regular viewers of ECW showed up. Keep the faith, guys! Any way, we are coming to you LIVE-ish from Rochester, New York, proud hometown of stuff. Our main event for tonight is CM Punk vs. MVP. Holy shit, you mean ECW is being headlined by a bout halfway worth a damn? I don't believe it. I truly do not believe it. Cue Morrison's music. Sadly, I do believe this.

By the way, our commentators continue to jizz themselves over how great John's entrance is. Speaking of wastes of sperm, here come The Miz. I can only assume that means we have a tag team bout of some kind ahead. Hey, it's Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore, the same two guys that had a quasi- acceptable bout against said tag team champs last week.

John Morrison and The Miz vs. Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore.again

Moore and Miz exchange early near falls. Tag for Morrison, whom throws in some European uppercuts. Shouldn't that be expatriate uppercuts, guys? Oh, fuck you for not knowing rock and roll lore. Wang gets tagged and Morrison eats dropkicks and chops. Initiate rest hold sequence. Fucking awesome tilt-a-whirl spot activated! Yang and Miz tussle. Stereo baseball slides to the outside negated by Miz and Morrison. Tazz quote of the night: "Well that didn't work." You can almost smell the vodka and spaghetti sauce emanating from his headset. Hey, this is a pretty nice spot for a commercial break, don't you think?


And we're back, right smack dab in the middle of a Morrison headlock. Things occurred during the commercial break. Hot tag for Moore. Heel hot tag for Miz. Moore eats bottom rope. Back to the headlock-sequence. Combo slingshot / clothesline / backcracker on Moore. MORE rest holds. Moore dropkicks Morrison right in the abdomen. Wang and Miz are in. Time to cluster fuck. NEAR fall by Miz. Morrison accidentally nails Miz. Sure, "accidentally". Yang scores the pin fall via moonsault / inverted DDT / roll up thingy.

Winners: Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore, fans of "taking a breather"

Tazz and Joey Styles remind everyone at home that CM Punk got his ass kicked by Big Daddy V at Armageddon. Backstage, CM Punk does his best Wanderlei Silva impersonation. Funny, because both guys haven't been worth a shit since 2005 (I kid, I kid).


Shelton Benjamin, Tazz, and some guy nobody's ever heard of are standing in the middle of the ring. No, they don't walk into a bar, either. Tazz grills the scrawny honky, and apparently, we have a match on our hands.

Shelton Benjamin vs. A Guy That Has No Chance Of Beating Shelton Benjamin

What we have here is a glorified squash match. Now, Shelton is no stranger to squash bouts. The only thing is, he's now on the other side of the fence. Belly to back supplex, power bomb into the turn post, "Inverted Leaping Bulldog" (from the ravioli soaked mouth of Joey Styles himself) and Shelton gets the ace.

Winner: Shelton Benjamin, Practically Everybody Except That Guy That Got His Ass Kicked By Shelton Benjamin

Post match, Shelton Benjamin grabs the mic and reminds everyone that there may not be the prospect of derailing his current career plans at either this juncture or a latter juncture to be determined at some point in the future.

Time to pimp the Punk / MVP main event.


We're back. Hey, another Kofi Kingston promo. If Jamaica is so great, than how come Kofi wants to leave his serene island paradise to get hit over the head with steel chairs and put up with Stephanie McMahon's bullshit? Oh, yeah, that's right. He's high.

Out comes Kenny Dykstra and Victoria. Out comes Little Guido dressed as an elf. E-C-Dub! E-C-Dub!

Kenny Dykstra (w/ Victoria) vs. Nunzio (w/o self-respect)

Nunzio offers The Dyke a small token of his appreciation. There are candy canes scattered all about the mat. Yeah, I remember back in 1998 I went to an ECW show in Poughkeepsie in which Francine showed her tits to the audience while New Jack shook blood onto the front row. As if I even have to tell you who won this bout.

Winner: Kenny Dykstra, Whomever Is In Charge Of Destroying Any And All Notions That ECW Was Anything Other Than A Non-WWE Owned Imprint

More pimping of tonight's main event. You know, this actually has the possibility of not sucking aloud. Color me intrigued.


Let's recap Raw, shall we? Long story short, Umaga flies through the front row barricade like Mark Henry through an all you can eat buffet and Ric Flair gets to wrestle another day. Crazy Vince then tells Flair that he will be battling Triple H on New Year's. Uh-oh. The last time we saw "Crazy Vince" on television, there was one less Chris in the company. I don't like where this is headed.

There's an inflatable tent and an inordinate amount of fog spewing forth from the entrance tunnel. That means one of two things: either MVP is making his entrance, or Mark Henry just farted in a children's Moonwalk. Sadly, it's the former. MVP cuts a promo. Actually, he attempted to cut a promo, any way. Out comes Punk. They show one another their respective championship belts. Let's see what the local advertisers think first!


CM Punk vs. MVP

We join this match already in progress. Yeah, who wants to watch actual wrestling on a wrestling show anyway? Dear lord, it is rest hold-mania tonight. Headlock. Scissor-lock. Head-lock. Scissor-lock. "It's like a chess match" states Tazz. I once had a chess game on my PC in which a wizard would pop up and kick your opponent's king in the sack when you scored a checkmate. I wish that wizard was sitting next to Tazz right about now. Guess what's up next? If you guessed "scissor-lock", you'd be correct. Punk breaks up the monotony with a dropkick. Okay, now we have some stand-up. If WWE is trying to emulate the MMA world, they need to watch a couple of more PRIDE tapes to get this whole thing down. Also, Andersen Silva wouldn't be caught dead wearing a spandex one piece. Just saying. Punk slaps MVP, almost as if to say "Oh, no, you did not". There's way too much action going on right now. We need a rest hold, and by gum, we get one. MVP stomps Punk and lands a discus punch, then locks CM in a crossface (I mean, "modified camel clutch", right Joey?) CM breaks the hold. Fist exchange 2007. Nice knee to the face while in mid-supplex by Punk. CM cranks up the knee shots. Running knee - bulldog combo. Springboard Lariat. It only accumulates a 2. Neat German supplex by MVP. Enziguri counter by Punk. Punk gets crotched and finds himself in the tree of woe. MVP continues to stomp on Punk. Therefore, for the first time in the history of professional wrestling, an excessive force penalty is exerted, and MVP is disqualified.

Winner: CM Punk, Sticklers For Officiating

Post match, Chavo Guerrero beats down on CM. Perhaps possessed by the spirit of Eddie Guerrero, Chavo lands the Three Amigos and a frog splash on the befallen ECW champ. Then he drives drunk into a lamp post. Hey, I could've went a lot of ways with that one.

Tonight's Glimmer Of Hope: Shelton Benjamin is receiving a much-deserved push. Also, there were no sightings of either Mark Henry or Big Daddy V tonight, whom were most likely at home getting a head start on their respective Christmas feasts.

Tonight's Prophecy Of Doom: It kind of speaks volumes how the inner workings of the WWE feel about the ECW namesake when the only true remainder from the original promotion is relegated to dressing up like a holiday gnome.

Five Things I Learned From Tonight's Show:

* Everybody needs to take a rest every now and then.

* The only things in life that are certain are death, taxes, and John Morrison and The Miz vs. Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore.

* Apparently, Shelton Benjamin doesn't adhere to red-light signals.

* Nothing says "hardcore" quite like Christmas-themed candies.

* One perennial cruiserweight underachiever on the Smackdown! Brand is greater than or equal to one ECW World Heavyweight Champion.

Fade to black.

A Very Extreme Christmas!

We interrupt your regularly scheduled ECW on Sci-Fi report for a very special program!

Hello there! In the wacky world of 80s television, it was a FCC rule that all programs HAD to air a Christmas special around the 25th. It didn't matter whether the show was a sitcom, a Saturday morning cartoon, or a violent cop drama: if the show aired around the 24th of December, Balky was going to learn the true meaning of Christmas, He-Man was going to use the power of Greyskull to decorate a tree, and The Fat Man was going to wear an elf hat whether Jake liked it or not. It was unavoidable legislature, and failure to adhere to these stringent guidelines resulted in immediate execution of the producers involved.

If it's good enough for twenty years ago, by Job, it's good enough for this article! Instead of doing a recap of tonight's "Best-of" ECW show, I'll share with you a Yule-time fable passed down from my forefathers to their fathers to me. If you're disappointed that this week's compilation show isn't being dissected and prod by my overseeing intellect and feel the need to email me with bullshit like "OMG, I want serious wrestling journalism, not stories you made up", please feel free to jump in a bathtub with a working toaster shoved up your ass.

Gather around, Internet Wrestling Community. I'll give you a little time to grab your Batista mugs of warm cocoa and non-existent girlfriends. Okay, ready for an age-old tale of Christmas splendor? Okay, let's open the big book of wrestling fairy tales. If you pay real close attention, you might even learn something. Well, everyone except for you, little Russo. Here's a magical fork that allows you to see Jesus! Now go stick it in an electrical socket and don't let go until you see clouds and Curt Hennig. Now, to let the tale unfold.

Our story begins in the sleepy little hamlet of Southern Philadelphia. Now, typically, Southern Philadelphia could be described as a bitterly cold, desolate hellhole populated by lawless, violent sociopaths. This night in particular, Southern Philadelphia could be described as a magical bitterly cold, desolate hellhole populated by lawless, violent sociopaths. The scent of Christmas cheer and other assorted industrial wastes wafted throughout the Atlantic breeze, as myriad elves, clad in black T- shirts and outdated haircuts, anxiously filed into a tiny auditorium in the most crime-soaked district of America's shittiest non-named-Detroit city. These horribly deformed, typically undeveloped troglodytes were ecstatic about their visit to this magical housing. For weeks, they dreamed of barbed wire fancies and ditties about pregnancy as composed by a wondrous gnome of the Hebrew persuasion. These proud, unwashed denizens of Extreme-Sylvania were more than willing to risk possible hypothermia and / or stabbing just to witness the splendor that was their favorite garbage promotion in vivid live movement.

Oh, and the wonders they saw! There were trapeze artists from the magical kingdom of Mexico-land, whom risked paralysis for the amusement of a paltry crowd of three hundred Starter Jacket bedecked stereotypes. Afterward, these squinty eyed fellows would come out and slap each other with chairs, and the raucous crowd reveled in the glorious bliss that was foreigners hurting other foreigners with sundry furniture. Then, these fellows in tie- dyed shirts would berate the crowd with unflattering remarks regarding the general crowd's mothers' penchant for acts of fellatio. Of course, some noble knights would come out to defend the integrity of the unshaven audience, whom brandished orange fingers perma-dyed from constant cheese-doodle over consumption. These chivalrous, integrity driven soldiers would often find themselves failing in their quest to slay the dragons of Dudleyville, almost always culminating with a lot of no-selling of finishing maneuvers and several violations of city fire code ordinances. And this was just the first hour of the spectacular!

Flannel-sporting gentlemen would joust utilizing steel sitting aides, as the already riled-up spectators would erupt into full-frenzy mode as some old star from days gone by would emerge for one-last-go-around, and the ruthless, albeit genuine throngs of Pennsylvania faithful would greet this retuning vet with welcoming adoration. Inversely, if one of the top clowns of the circus was to head to the "bigger tents" in NY or Atlanta, the adoring wave of humanity was more than willing to cheer them with one last goodbye. This was truly the show of the downtrodden, made by the downtrodden, for the downtrodden. And it was good.

After a glorious four hour show that was only supposed to be an hour and forty five minutes long, the supreme ogre set down behind his desk. He watched the deluge of mullet-headed fans spew forth from his home, as they slowly disappeared into their low-income housing with newfangled 56 K internet connections adjacent to the arena. Normally, this pony tailed goblin would relish in his achievement post show. However, this evening, he was very much saddened. His monetary funds were shrinking; he'd spent all of his gold coins and he didn't have enough pixie dust to pay off his top circus performers. It was becoming abundantly clear that the magical show that provided so much joy for so many joyless assholes was going to have to close its doors forever.

The fat, balding Jew-ogre laid his hydrocephalic head upon his desk and began to sob. One by one, he thought of all of his friends whom would soon be out of a job. There was the company ogre, a proud, loyal innovator whom was always there to cover his boss' rear-end when he purposely left off a couple of zeroes on his checks and the performers threatened to mutiny. Then there was that hulking figure, the dream bringer whom drenched himself in magic sleepy potion before, after, and sometimes during matches. It's funny, because a rival ogre in the faraway land of Stamford "borrowed" this act for his own and made many, many bags of pixie dust because of it. Then there were the two diametrically opposed gents, the loud, brash one, and the silent, Arabian one that flew through the air and always smelled like oregano. They would soon be cast out of their Utopian mid-Atlantic urban hell, and they would most certainly be gobbled up be those two, other ogres roaming the countryside.

And it did come to an end. The circus closed its operations without nary a sound, as an aghast nation watched the beloved spectacle die without an ounce of vigor. The show, of course, was only supposed to be a delight for the citizens of Philly, but no-goodniks the world over fell in love with the Hebrew ogre's unique brand of debauchery, violence, passion and respect for the art form. As the tent slowly had it's stakes removed from that sacrosanct firmament, the world mourned a devastating loss.

The years came and passed, with the notable alum of that wonderful circus finding work in that really big carnival up north. You see, around the same time that clown house in Philadelphia shut down, the really big carnival down South also folded. Nobody gave a shit about that one closing, so for the sake of our story, fuck it.

Although that tiny little house had been demolished, it's spirit lived on. Every time a trapeze artist sailed through the air, a clown took a vicious wife-killing chair shot to the noggin or sensible booking occurred, the small yet vocal crowd of ne'er-do-wells from that bygone era gloriously chanted the mantra of their long-dead clown house as casual fans wondered what the fuck a Tajiri was supposed to be.

The spirit of Philadelphia couldn't be killed. Or uttered by its correct name, because it was now copyrighted by a heartless mega conglomerate ran by an enormous troll named Vince.

Vince the Troll was a menacing figure. His approval or disapproval ran the entire clown-industry. If he liked something or it fucked his daughter, it was given free reign throughout the kingdom. If he didn't like it or it weighed less than 200 pounds, it was banished to the horrid no-man's land of Ohio. He was a vicious ruler, but a respectable one.

However, the tyrant Troll was also growing senile and lazy. With no clown-competition, Vince the Troll decided that the company was no longer a carnival act, but rather, "Tent-enclosed entertainment". He also allowed story tellers from the kingdom of Los Angeles to "write" his "tent-enclosed entertainment" for him, going as far as to allow his troll daughter to have considerable say in "creative control". That meant that instead of allowing the most talented performers to have center stage, only the lion tamers and ringleaders on magical strong-making juice could do so.

This made many of the Philly fans angry. They would vow to never partake of the troll's offering, and then post observations of that night's show two hours later on magical computing boxes. Some stopped watching carnival acts altogether and become fully functioning human beings complete with lives, jobs, significant others and various other unobtainable items that couldn't be forged as "carnival fans". Some began to turn to smaller tents, like the one in Orlando or Ring of Ogre in the northeast. However, most stayed with Vince's circus, and sighed a hearty sigh at their dismal plight.

However, Vince the Troll was fearful of the Philly fans. He was afraid of them because they weren't mesmerized by his hypnotic production values and knew of his bullshit politicking backstage. Though small and technically homeless, they were a vocal bunch, and Vince knew that no matter what he did, he would never have a legion of subjects as dedicated as the ones that Jew-ogre had. This made Vince the Troll very, very angry. Vince the Troll concocted a clever scheme to rid the world of the memory of that little carnival in South Philly. He would rebuild that tent, this time in his own image. He allowed the Jew-ogre to do one or two reunion specials, and they were truly magical. Now it was Vince's turn to bring back that splendiferous company full time. Only this time, he purposely made it shitty and forced the remnants of the old guard to suck.

It worked. The old chants of that tiny carnival in Philly disappeared. The Jew-ogre went back into seclusion. All of the top performers were replaced by new, sucky performers but there's this one guy that used to be in Ring of Ogre that's the champion now so people can't say shit about the booking. Worst of all, a heroic young lad had to ditch dates and cut out study time for college so he could "recap" the antics of a multi-breasted man with two moves and a his grade school teacher handler instead of getting "As" or laid. And, as a new entity, the house that extreme built was finally forgotten.

Our story ends there, but wait! You see, one page over, a new story begins. Remember that old Jew-ogre? Well, as it turns out, he's not exactly sitting around his ogre-parent's house doing nothing. Oh, not even close! You see, he's formulating, and hypothesizing, and experimenting. He has another carnival idea, and he's keeping it a deep secret from everyone: the elves in Orlando, the carnival his old friend started, and especially from Vince the Troll. I could let you in on the details, but I too am sworn to secrecy. All I can state of the upcoming story is the opening sentence:

"Defeated, the Jew-ogre looked at the dingy ring across the way, and suddenly, it dawned on him: the carnival industry is in dire need of something new, and perhaps this independent league before him provided him just the right amount of mixed ingredients to elevate the art form."

Fade to black.

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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.).