Home | Columns & Rants | Satire | Entertainment | Media | Archives | Forum

Journal Of Bitterness Archive

garycoleman.jpgJOB (09/22/04) By Jason Hart
Kurt Angle Is Overrated;
Overrated: o·ver·rat·ed, o·ver·rat·ing, o·ver·rates

Verb: To overestimate the merits of; rate too highly.


That's a term generally reserved for people who seem to get praised undeservedly. Shawn Michaels has been called overrated. Bret Hart has been called overrated. In Japan ( sorry Sean, I know I should ever bring that place up), Yuji Nagata has been called overrated. Contrary to most, I say the most deserving of that term these days is none other than Your Olympic Hero, Kurt Angle.


Many call him the best ever. I don't know what it is, really, that would make someone say that. My only guess is that it's born out of some desperate need for pro-wrestling to be viewed as "legit", and the people saying this are blinded by Angle's amateur credentials. But when I watch Kurt Angle, I don't see a man who is the "best ever"; I see a guy who's good when being carried by more experienced wrestlers. I see a guy who gets lost when he's in there with somebody that he can't throw around with his "go go go" offense. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, I see a supposed "mat technician" who doesn't seem to do anything besides a poorly executed ankle-lock and Shamrockesque rear chinlock.

Amateur stuff aside, Kurt Angle is in a position few ever have the chance to be in. He has been in matches with some of the best workers this side of the Pacific, men like Austin, Benoit and The Rock. He has access to a vast collection of matches featuring the likes of Ric Flair and Rick Steamboat, not to mention Hart, Michaels et al. He has carte blanche, it seems, as to how his matches are laid out. And he has a secure place on top of his organization, a place which (barring injury or retirement) he'll have forever. Yet, the man seems unwilling or unable to grow as far as his in-ring work goes. Have you watched any of those "classic" Kurt-Brock matches? If you have, you may have noticed Angles' repeated refusal to sell; instead he seems more interested in ignoring his opponents finisher and going about the business of popping the crowd with one of three moves- a German suplex, a belly-to-belly suplex, or my personal favourite, the "jump down, sweep the leg and ignore the past 15 minutes of the match" hold he uses, aka the ankle lock. You may also have noticed that, aside from the occasional cool reversal into the ankle lock, his methods of transitioning offense are weak, to say the least. I'm having a hard time thinking of any way he's done this, out side of punching, clotheslining, missing said clothesline, or suplexing, all the while, as I said above, ignoring the previous work which had been done in the body of the match. Whereas a man like Flair, after 15 minutes of getting the Hell beaten out of him, will gain the advantage with something *somewhat* realistic, such as a poke to the eye, a low blow or, in his earlier days, a rolling sideheadlock (all the while selling the fact that he's been put  through the ringer physically and mentally), Angle is more apt to simply duck a punch and hit 3 Germans, not selling any back pain or exhibiting any struggle until he's finished and lays on the mat for 30 seconds before getting up and adopting his crouching stance that leads to his Angle Slam. This is the exact same thing that people shit on the Luchadores for in WCW, just with suplex's substituted instead of plancha's.


And though many will say that it's not his fault, it's the way Vince wants things to be...smart wrestlers have worked around that (Rock) and great wrestlers have actually made the system adapt to them (Austin). Kurt has demonstrated neither greatness nor smarts; instead, Kurt has taken the negative traits of a guy like Bret Hart (remember the "same 5 moves"?) yet hasn't adapted Bret's ring psychology (teasing spots, logical build to said 5 moves) or his creativity- when was the last time Angle won a major match with ANYTHING besides repeated ankle locks (and if you're going to say "well he DID use the ankle pick at Summer Slam", I'm going to fire back with "it's pretty much the same move...”

No, Kurt Angle has fallen into the cookie cutter mold that has made the WWE main-event scene stagnant for the past several years, only instead of HHH-like brawls, Kurt's cookie cutter consists of being suplex-happy and concentrating on getting that one big pop (for the ankle lock). Hell, Brock Lesnar showed more growth in his first 5 months than Angle has in the past two years; Kurt could learn a thing or two about selling and psychology from him even. But he won't, because Kurt Angle is beginning to buy his own hype as the "best ever", and from that sort of mentality complacency inevitably follows-why bother trying to grow when you have people all around you telling you that you're the best?

If it seems like I'm falling into a trap of digression with my points here, that may very well be. But it's because, to me, it's painfully obvious that Angle isn't deserving of the heaps and heaps of praise that he's been the recipient of; I can think of at least three men more deserving than him, on his own brand (Eddy), and at least two on the RAW side (Benoit, Jericho). This isn't to say that Kurt Angle isn't a good wrestler. He is, and in time may even prove to be great. But really, how can you be called the best ever...when you're not even the best right now?

JOB (03/03/04) By Jason Hart

Ok, I haven't a clue what this has to do with anything, but I feel like rambling, and you guys are the lucky recipients. So the other night, I get a call from this girl I met at a bar about a week ago, and she asks me to come over for a "movie". Now, being a young dude, I have certain expectations when it comes to girls. One of these being that if you call m e after meeting me at a bar and invite me over to your house at 9 on a Sunday night, I'm not leaving there with full testicles....I don't think this is out of line. It makes sense. It's not like the chick knew me and was in love with my personality or anything. She thought I was hot, she wanted to spend time, and I was pretty certain she wanted to get hittin' skins.

I was wrong. I went over there, ready to either A) have some good sex, or B) leave her terribly disappointed, either of which would have be en fine so long as I got off. But when I walked in, it was weird. First off, her roommate was there, and not just fluttering around the apartment or anything, she was hanging out with us. Then the dunce that called me throws on this chick flick with the dude from That 70's Show and that tramp from 8 Mile, and after she did that, she went and started messing around in the kitchen, leaving me with her roomie. Now this was cool, I made a little small talk, flirted a bit, we got along great, but I was thinking to myself "where the hell is this bitch?" I mean, she was in the kitchen for over ten minutes by this point, leaving me with her little blonde roomie and a bad movie. Finally, she comes out, and I was looking behind her to see if I there was some ten course fuckin' meal sitting on the counter, but there was nothing to explain why she took so long. She did, however, have beer in her hand, and after giving one to her roommate( bad move ladies-always look after the fella first), she handed one off to me, and sat beside me, not saying a word. I was thinking that maybe it was because of the THRILLING movie that was on, but the other one was chattering away, showing a real interest in me, being nice and sweet, and obviously by this point, I'm not even interested in the one that invited me.

So after making a mental note to try and get away from Miss Nothinggoingon and make a move for the blonde, my plans were dashed, when Blondie's boyfriend shows up and they take off. So now I'm pissed. I'm left with a nervous little trick that I couldn't care less about, some stupid movie that at times get's so sweet I wanna puke, and not nearly enough alcohol to make it even mildly interesting. I tried to make the best of a bad situation, though, because I've always believed that it's never too late for head-even if a chick doesn't like you that much, pump some pints into her and eventually she'll do what women should. So I slowed down my intake, and encouraged her to drink more, even telling her right-out that I was trying to get her drunk because she wasn't that much fun sober. And guess what? It worked...kind of. She loosened up a bit, and we started kissing, and so I thought to myself this was it. So I pulled a Yellow Pages and let my fingers do the walking, but they didn't get too far before she stopped and said "oh no-now's not a good time." 'The fuck you mean "now's not a good time"? Why invite me over if "now's not a good time"? I thought that "now" was the perfect time. Now, there's no patience on my part. I looked her in the eye and asked "is your mouth bleeding too?" Yeah, it didn't go over well. I tried to pass it off as a joke, so she wouldn't bad mouth me too bad to her roommate (I will have that girl), and she eventually bought it, but by that time it was late, she was pissy and I was sobering up, so we decided to call it a night, and we'd hang out again.

Now, I don't want you people reading this to think I'm a chauvanistic jerk. I hold women in the highest regard, and to be honest, the only thing th at makes me get out of bed in the morning is the possibility of spending time with a lovely young lass. But this chick bothers me, and she should bother the rest of you girls too. It's little teases like that that make a dude act like a chauvanist, and she's giving the rest of you ladies a bad name. I mean really, what's a blowjob between friends? How hard is it? So girls, I guess the moral of this story is put out. Not for you, not for the guy you're with, but for the greater good-that being peace between the genders.

JOB (11/08/03) By Jason Hart
Long ass header, but it gets the message across. I'm going to make this brief before delving into some of my thoughts on wrestling (JUST FOR YOU SEAN!!) so if you're not of the type that enjoys reading my ramblings about my personal life, fuck off...err, scroll down.

So, last night me and a pal were set to meet up with these two broads we know. He's digging the one chick, I've already gone home with the other twice now (see the long underwear story) and it looked like a night of binge drinking and easy sex was in store. But see, that would be too bloody simple. No, instead, the chick I had set my cap for gave me the cold shoulder all night, not laughing at my jokes, barely acknowledging my presence and stealing my wallet (I made up that last part, but she'd do it if she had the chance. It's a nice wallet).

So I fucked off for the maj ority of the night, hitting on anything that looked even remotely female and making a total arse of myself before catching up with the other three by the stage area of the bar. I wasn't even going to bother talking to Bitchy McBitcherson because of the way she had acted towards me earlier in the night, but she looked at me and said "so, you don't dance at all?" It was out of nowhere, but since I was just standing there not dancing I said "does it look like I dance, genius?". Her reply caught me off-guard, though.
"I guess it's not nearly as much fun as getting into a fight at a hotel after fucking a hooker."

Again, this is nothing but the truth, but she wasn't just making an observation. She was referring to an incident that occured last December that got me into a heap of legal trouble. Now, for obvious reasons, when I pick up a girl I don't tell them about said actions because, quite frankly, it's not attractive (not for the type of girls I go for, anyway). But this chick had found out about it somewhere and ranted at me about it, actually making me feel a twinge of remorse for the incident...until she said her next words. "And you didn't even call me!". So right there she blew her entire bit; this girl wasn't some offended innocent, startled that the man she had a thing for was capable of such violence. No, she was a jilted cock hungry little hussy just like the majority of them. Fuck her. Actually don't; she doesn't try that hard, just sort of lays there...you're better of f sticking your dick in between two couch cushions.

It's asking for trouble. You know it and I know it. Because, for most of us, the first thing we think when we see a dude sporting a turban is "Osama". So while I was at the bar trying to keep myself amused, I ended up standing beside some fella in a turb', and after making polite small talk, my inner- asshole got the better of me and I asked him "so listen-why did you send those two planes into those twoers in New York?" He just walked away.

So Teddy Hart made a dick of himself yet again at an ROH show by no-selling the after effects of his tag scramble and back-flipping repeatedly off of the platforms that were on their cage, doing this until he made himself puke. He was then forcibly kicked from the locker room by the rest of the workers. He's since apologized and stated his actions were the result of being concussed earlier in the match.

Ok...Teddy Hart is an asshole. I don't know him personally, but the guy makes enemies everywhere he goes. From the WWE to TNA to ROH, he's become known as a total fucktard. My question is why does anyone hire him? He's just another spotacular indy wrestler, no different than half of the other over-rat ed monkeys out there (I'm looking at you, AJ Styles).

That's it sucker! That's my wrestling content. Fuck you, Sean, you sucker of cocks! And fuck the rest of you writers here too (I'm kidding. I respect each and every one of you and actually aspire to approach your levels of writing goodness). Seriously though, I'm tired, I have weed in front of me and I found my copy of Canadian Stampede the other day so I'm thinking it's time for some Sasuke greatness!!!


J.O.B 10.29.03: Deer Hunter, Boxers and Gulp...No Wrestling?
Let me tell you something about these boards here in the PW Community-sometimes they fucking suck.
In the middle of the night, because I was really bored and had nothing to do, I sat down at my computer and while in a state that was one part tiredness, 16 parts beer, and 11 parts strong pain killer(I was doing anything I could to go to sleep; if it meant a Wrestlers Cocktail so be it) I sat down and typed up one long ass post, maybe my longest one ever. It touched on a whole wack of stuff that's happened over the past few weeks, and made me laugh when I read over it...but then it happened. This tramp I know asked me over Messenger "wanna c my nu pics?" and she's hot, so obviously I'm going to say yes. Well, she sends it, and after I recieved the file I clicked the link to open it. Of course, it opened in my message window here, and when I clicked back it went back to a blank page. It was at that point that I swore off computers forever and instead made a vow to myself that from now I would spend my time more constructively. This lasted maybe 2 minutes, because I clicked back to the pictures of the girl and got sidetracked-I could see a nipple in one! After that, the lure of triple-x mpegs and offending people in chatrooms was too strong and I forgot all about my stupid vow.
Actually I wasn't really mad, because quite honestly I was too fucked up to care. And it kind of works out, because I still haven't slept, I've been smoking weed all day and I'm bored out of my skull. And all too often lately boredom automatically means that I sit down at my computer (well, automatically if my sister isn't home) and either dowload porn, read something or write something. Since I'm too numb to jerk off and too retarded to read anything even half-way intelligent, it's time for Jay to write something (BUT JAY YOU DON'T WRITE ON A COMPUTER YOU TYPE!!!! TYPE!!!!!!!!!!). So without further adieu let's see if I can get something coherent going here...

Lame header? You bet. But I wanted to bring attention to what may be THE GREATEST FUCKING MOVIE OF ALL TIME!!!!! I know in the past, depending on my mood when you asked me, I'd either have answered Braveheart or Full Metal Jacket in response to "what's your favourite movie ever?" But that changed today, as finally after many years and multiple watchings everything clicked and I realized what a phenomenal movie this is. From the toughest man on Earth Robert DeNiro to that psychotic freak Christopher Walken (incidentally, this afternoon also confirmed for me that that creepy motherfucker Steve Buscimi [sp?] patterned his entire acting style after Walken) this film has characters more intense than...something really intense. I can honestly say that on my list of favourites, Deer Hunter has surpassed the Tale of the Romantic Yet Angry Scottish Transvestites aka Braveheart.

I don't know about it being better than FMJ, though. That movie will always rule in my mind for granting me the visual of  ripping out someones eyes and skull-fucking them.

I have absolutely nothing to go with this weak-ass header, but you can't deny the fact that you had a slight chuckle to yourself when you read it.

Alright so on Friday my friend Brad called me from Toronto and let me know he was coming up to Peterborough for the night. I was good with that, since it's always good times with Bradder and a drunken time was promised. So I went and I showered, shaved and threw together some clothes-jeans, tshirt, plaid over top, it was all good until I got to the part for "boxers". Everything was either in the washing machine right at that moment or lying in a stiff, crumpled pile just under the side of my bed (some mornings, kids, jerking off can't wait for the shower). The only thing I could find was a pair of long-johns, but since I was fairly certain that it wasn't about getting laid, it was just about having a good time I decided that it wouldn't be a big deal.
So we head out, first to our buddy Doug's place for a few, then to this pub, that bar, another bar, just mouthing off douche-bag lads and whoring it up with easy broads...in other words, good times.

At the end of the night, there was a huge crowd of people outside of the bar (police cars and ambulances were there waiting by the time we started filing out, actually-GREAT BAR) and somehow, I'm not exactly sure, our group of fella's ended up first arguing and then (some of us) getting physical with some jerk-off kid who was trying to impress his girlfriend by looking tough. However I, since I'm on what we drunken criminals call "probation", stood to the side, watching the festivities and trying to find a girls house to sleep at. I finally came across a girl I had "relations" with back in September, and after a quick conversation it was decided that Jason Hart would be spending the night under the roof of (some random whore)!

Back at her place, we had a pleasant time hanging out in her living room (where I did the meanest dance to Stevie Wonder's "Superstition" you've ever seen!) before deciding it would make more sense to go into her room, since I don't like sitting and actually having to talk to these fucking dunces and she was brewin' up a batch of panty soup. So we moved into the bedroom, things started getting "FARRRRED UP!!!", and as she unbuckled my belt I remembered that I was wearing long underwear.
Now to be honest I don't know if I'd really give a shit if I were sober, but the fact remains that I wasn't sober and I did give a shit. I was really embarassed, and in a moment I'm sure I'll remember for a long time stuttered out the sentence "listen, I have a confession-I'm wearing long johns, ok?!" I think the fact that *I* was making such a big deal out of it is what made her reaction what it was. The girl looked at me as if I had three cocks or something, and yelled "what? As if you're wearing long-johns!"It's a good thing that (some random whore) is known both for having a much publicised crush on Lady Liquor and having had a falling out with her friend Standards, because I'd expect most women to look at me as if I were an idiot and tell me to hit the trail. Not (some random whore) though-she was still good to go.
Alright, so it wasn't a huge deal, as everything pretty much went the way I wanted it to after that. But the fact remains that for a few minutes, I was as nervous as a black male in Family Court. So just to save myself that trouble ever again, I've thrown out my long underwear and I suggest that all of you other lads do the same. Nobody deserves to feel that shame. Nobody.

Marty Party!

by "Marty Jannetty"

The Following was originally posted on a message board on WrestlingClassics.com. It was allegedly written former WWF "Rocker" Marty Jannety. It was taken down after many complaints by readers and because it violated all of their message posting guidelines. The story after being deleted has become somewhat of a legend appearing on only select Wrestling sites including BobFreemanShow.com from which we got the information. Do to the anonymous nature of the Internet it is not known if it was written by the real Marty Jannetty. Please take the story (and the accusations made within) with a grain of salt. The opinions made are the opinion of the original author, and not The Wrestling Fan.

by "Marty Jannetty"

Jannetty Cocktail

If I had a dollar for every wild party we had, I could buy Vince McMahon out. Right off the top of my head, one that comes up immediately, would be the red-eye flight from San Francisco to Dallas. This was back when GHB was legal. I shall repeat that - this was when GHB was legal - they sold it at GNC's. The following story is one of the reasons GHB ain't legal any more.

It's the end of a fifteen day road tour; all the boys (wrestlers) are tired and ready to get home. Everyone, including all the rest of the passengers, planned on sleeping the whole four hour flight. It's loaded with the boys and maybe twenty-five mostly elderly folks. Right before the doors are closed on the plane, in come four loud-ass drunk college kids , raising some hell. It's three guys and one girl. She looks great. So, immediately Shawn Michaels and I are getting ideas. Well, the guys were absolutely obnoxious, screaming "let's party," which is cool with me... but the rest of the plane wasn't thrilled at all. As they strolled down the aisle, one of them recognized Sgt. Slaughter and started yelling "Hey guys, look, its G.I. Joe!" and they all started chanting "GI JOE!". Slaughter was really getting his jaw poking out about it. Then they saw the Bushwhackers, and they started yelling "yeeeeaaaaahhhh!" and "wooooaaaaah!". It was sort of funny to me, but I knew right then and there, "we are gonna have some fun with these kids and a little GHB."

As we took off, an elderly man asked them if they would please hold the noise down, because he was going to try to sleep. The kids turned and hollered, "Hell no, we ain't gonna be quiet, we are gonna party all flight long!". You know, my dick damn near got hard when I heard that, because these boys are gonna be sampling some G and most likely the girl is gonna be sampling me.

So that was what I was thinking, and Shawn was thinking the same. We are in the air, and Shawn and I give the nod to each other. We walk up the aisle and stand next to where these fools are sitting. I take out the G and say to Shawn, "You ready to party?" "Hell yes," he says. So we get our little glasses of water and mix a scoop in and swallow it down. And it's on! For those of you unfamiliar with GHB, what you do is mix a scoop (equal to a teaspoon) of it with water (now they have liquid form, and it's illegal - so you know I ain't messin' with it) and drink it, and in about 15 minutes you feel like you are 20 beers in, and sort of acid tripping (how would I know that?). So, these fine young kids are watching with curiosity, and one says, "Hey, what is that ya'll are doing?". I reply , "Well, this is some stuff for big time partiers. What do you guys know about that?" The guy tells me, "Hell, we are from the fraternity - we do it all! We can out-party any one." So I say, "Oh really, so you think you want to try this stuff?" He replies, "Hell, yeah, I said we're from the fraternity! We do it all!". So I said, "Alright, give me your glasses and I will fix you guys up."

Shawn opens the bottle and we drop in one scoop... two scoops... three scoops... per glass. Except for the girl, she only got one and a half. The stuff will drop you into a coma if you take too much, but with just the right amount, these boys are gonna go nite-nite. About 10 minutes go by, and the first guy says to me, "Hey, I don't feel nothin'! You guys are pussies! I told you we could out-party anyone!" Well, before he could finish his next sentence, he stops and says, "Oh... oh... I think I am starting to feel something." Well, all the boys know the game plan and are alerting each other to get ready. One of the kids gets up and says, "Damn, I can't hardly stand up," and another gets up and runs to the bathroom, leaving me with one guy and the girl. Well, this guys starts slurring so bad, I knew he was about to go down. I told him my name was Steve Lombardi. We are talking and he turns and says something to the girl, and he gets no reply. He then turns on the overhead light, and... there she is, leaning against the window wall, throw-up running down the side of the wall. She is out. He jumps up and tries to go the bathroom, and is falling down everywhere, hollering "Oh, this ain't good!".

Well, one of the Hebner brothers was the first to attack. The girl was big titted and wearing a shirt with straps holding it on. Hebner takes the scissors and cuts the straps. Bam, her big tits fall right out. Now all the boys are coming around. Sgt. Slaughter, who is sitting right in the seats in front of her, turns and sees this. He smiles big, and decides to distract the stewardess' attention by going and asking for things. Next, the Ultimate Warrior comes back from first class and asks, "Where is she?". As the boys are taking turns with the scissors snipping at her long beautiful hair, Warrior start twisting hard as hell on her nipples. She starts to wake up, and looks down at her tits, and tries to cover them up, but stops... looks... and... throws up right on both tits. Mounds of throw-up is all you could now see. Her hair is steadily being cut. Well, about this time, here comes tall boy from the bathroom with some napkins for her... but he looks and sees this mess. She has throw-up all over the plane, her seat, her boobs, and she now looks like Sinéad O'Connor. She's practically bald; just bits and pieces of hair left on her head. Tall Boy turns to find his buddy, whose birthday it was (which was why they were celebrating), and starts screaming, "Where are you, Mark?" (I can't remember his name so we'll use Mark for this story).

Well, in the back of the plane we can see Warrior, and we hear a small buzzing sound, like electric hair cutters, and the bathroom door is open, with a pair of feet hanging out from inside. Warrior has a smooth back-and-forth arm motion going with this buzzing sound. We all head back to see this. Warrior leaves, giggling his ass off. Well, we look in the bathroom and the birthday boy is sitting on the toilet, passed out, pants down, throw-up all in his underwear... and he is now sporting a Road Warrior Hawk type hairdo. Tall Boy runs over, looks in and starts screaming, "Oh SHIT, this ain't good!" We are all just laughing, and we noticed the buzzing sound was going again - we look back up the aisle and Warrior is at it again. So we keep Tall Boy busy while Warrior is working. Finally, it's time to go see.

We follow Tall Boy as he is looking for the other guy... who has passed out across three seats and is laying face down, with his head resting on arms. Tall Boy turns the overhead light on, and he hollers, "Oh my God, not you too!". We look down at the other guy, now waking up, and he only has hair where his arm was blocking it in front. It looked like a reverse Boris Zukoff haircut, with a horn coming out from the front of his head. Well, as you may imagine, the steward and stewardesses come back to find clothes, hair, and throw-up all over the plane. And Tall Boy is telling the steward that Steve (me) will tell them everything, because I was "on their side." The steward was pissed and said he knew Warrior was a part of it, and wanted more names. I told him that I had plenty of witnesses that they did it to themselves, and that they were drunk and loud and obnoxious, and that the stewardesses served them alcohol, knowing that they had too much already. The guy says to me, "Okay, I won't say anything about knowing Warrior was back here if you guys don't tell police we served them." Police? Yes, he said they had to call and report this because it would take a special clean up crew for the mess.

This is a long story, so let me just say that it ended like this. When we landed, the old folks on the plane were high-fiving the boys. saying it was the best flight they'd ever had. "Macho Man" Randy Savage had been the only of the boys who actually stayed up in first class and slept the flight, but when he woke up, he heard all the news and he was determined to see this sight. As the plane was unloading passengers, everyone waited to see t hese kids come out, and formed a big horseshoe-shaped line in front of the door at Dallas airport. Others walking by got curious as to what was going on, and they wanted to see too, so the crowd was growing. All I kept hearing was Macho Man sayin, in that voice of his, "Ooooh yeah, I gotta see this." The police went in with wheelchairs and started bringing the college partiers out one at a time... in wheelchairs, as they were still unable to walk, and they were handcuffed too. Each one that came out, the cr owd went absolutely crazy with laughter and cheers - and the Macho Man hollering his best "Ooooh yeahs!". The girl was so pretty at the beginning of this flight but was now bald, face crinkling from sickness and stinky from throw-up. She was a horrible sight.

Well, that is just one of the "millions and millions" of crazy, wild stories from my partying experiences. Maybe next time I can give you a shorter story. Believe me, I left a lot of funny stuff out because this was such a long story to type.


J.O.B. Archive for June 2003 by Jason Hart

Well, its finally happened. You know, Ive stuck with pro wrestling through a lot of shitty periodsfrom The Black Scorpion to Giant Gonzales to Diesel as WWF Champion to the Dungeon of Doom to well, I could go on, but the point is Ive seen a lot of garbage. But I always managed to maintain a passion for wrestling; no matter how bad it got, I would spend countless hours at night, debating with friends over who would win whatever the Dream match de jour was, or who would be a good fit in the WWF/WCW/EC W. I did it because I loved it, plain and simple. But somethings changed lately- Ive lost interest. I feel the way a woman must feel after going through menopause, except for the fact that Im not grateful for not bleeding every month. No, what I mean is I feel as if Ive lost something, because honestly I have. I dont care about pro wrestling anymore.

Sure, I still watch. But not with the same focus I used to. I dont sit and dissect every little nuance in a given episode of Raw. I dont remember every comedic exchange between the commentators on a PPV the way I used to with Ross/Lawler, Bobby/Gorilla, or Jesse/Vince. I dont envision the day when Id be standing in the ring, with a title belt draped over my shoulder after main-eventing Wrestlemania. And I definitely dont go out of my way to tape the shows like I did; there was a time in the not-so-d istant past where I would tape anything wrestling related, and if for some reason I couldnt, Id get the closest available person to do it for me, regardless of whether they were a fan or not. But not anymore. Nope, these days, on a Monday night youre far more likely to see me in a dive bar plying my special brand of charm (aka Roofies) on some young lady in an attempt to get my dick wet than see me sitting at home on the edge of my couch waiting to find out how Stone Cold is going to get screwed this wee k. Ditto for Thursdayhell, if were being honest, ditto for every night of the week. What I dont understand, and am trying my hardest to figure out, is why now? What is it, after years of misused favourites, bad jokes, and terrible matches that has caused me to give up?

Id like to blame Stephanie. Itd be easy to do-between her bad writing and bad acting, theres a ton of reasons why HHHs shemale of a fiancee deserves blame. But I dont think thats it. I could also hang the blame on the giant nose of Mr. Leveques himself, but again, something doesnt ring true with that. As bad as his promos are, and as slow as his matches are, I really dont have that much of an issue with what I see from the guy.

Nope, I can honestly say that I dont know what it is about the current product that has turned me off. I still like watching wrestling matches-my wrestling video collection is rivaled only by my collection of porn, and viewed almost as often. I just dont care about whats going to happen in the next big match anymore, and that disappoints measide from drugs and slutty girls, my love of wrestling has been the corner-stone of my hobbies. But I guess the reason doesnt really matter. What I want is a sol ution- I want Vince and the fellas to put something out there that DOES compel me to blow off girls, friends, and family in exchange for being entertained for two or three hours a night. I want to be interested again. The question is, does anybody care?

J.O.B. Archive May 2003 by Jason Hart


As I noted in one of my posts on the Fan's message board (check it out after you read this, it's fun stuff), I have been incredibly busy with "real life" aka Community Service. It seems that when Mr.Steel Pipe connects with Mr. Forehead, Mr. Hart gets into trouble. But whatever, that sort of thing doesn't matter. No, my friends, what matters now is that Uncle Jay is here to once again try his best to help you kill 10 or 15 minutes while you read this. I warn you in advance this isn' t gonna be a long one due mainly to the lack of anything interesting to write about, but like I said I'll do my best. So relax, throw on those coke-bottle glasses that you only break out when you know that no one else is gonna see you wearing them, and get ready to read the most heartwarming column on the 'net.

A few Judgement Day thoughts here- First of all, I found the whole Austin-Bischoff thing to be about as humorous as the time I found out my ex had forgotten to take her pill and was late when it came to bleeding. Bisch plays one character well, that of the smarmy asshole, and his pathetic attempts to act drunk were, well, pathetic. As for Steve-O, word is he's been doing quite a few 12 oz. curls lately (in plain English, he's a drunk, people) so his lack of coherent acting skills can be excused. Howeve r, what can't be excused is wasting my time by making me watch this tripe. Speaking of tripe, how about that in-ring action at JD? Good Lord....ok, the 6-man wasn't offensive, the ladder match was passable, but that's where it ends. You know, I try not to fall into the popular 'net trap of bashing the WWE for the sake of bashing the WWE, but there was no excuse for the performances we were subjected to last night. It was about as exciting as having sex while suffering from whiskey-dick, the only difference being that last night didn't even have a hope of a fruitful pay-off. I cannot for the life of me believe this is the same company that built itself on funny vignettes, top-notch main-events, and exciting pay-per-views. I mean, for real, when was the last time Vince and the boys put on a show that didn't have at least one moment where you shook your head and thought to yourself "What the fuck are they thinking?" As far as I can remember, it was last year's Summerslam, and that's a damn shame when you look at the potential of the organization in question.

But sadly, they can get away with it, because there are people (myself included) who are going to watch no matter how bad it gets, mainly due to the fact that we love sweaty men in tights...I mean, because we're true fans. And don't kid yourself thinking that you can make a difference, because it ain't true. Vince will put out what Vince wants to watch, and the sooner you realize that and come to terms with it, the easier your viewing experience will be.

Anyone watch TNA? I don't. Well, that's not true-I watched one of their shows last summer, plus downloaded a ton of X-Division matches, but I had never read anything that got me overly-hyped for them, at least not until their much ballyhooed April 30th PPV featuring a main-event of Raven challenging Jeff Jarrett for the NWA title. So I got together with my good friend Sean (go read his recaps, they'll make you giggle) and sat down to enjoy the show. And I gotta say it wasn't that bad at all. The m ain event was strong, Erik Watts made me laugh with his subtle racism, Konnan and The Truth upped Watts with blatant racism, and Kid Kash replaced Test as a Man Among Men with his chauvanistic persona. If the Jarretts can get their financial backers to dump some more money into production values, I think that they can at least provide an entertaining alternative to the WWE, if not become a solid number two( not that type of solid number two, you pig).

Christ, I think that's it....there has to be more to write about. This is the sort of thing that drives me nuts-here I am, more than willing to sit down and bang out something interesting, and it just happens to be one of the slowest times for news in weeks. Where are the dead valets? The crippling injuries? Man, what a sad state of affairs. Oh well, I'll wrap this shit up now, but I'll be back soon, and I think next time I'll stick with one topic and go in-depth,as I did with the HHH column- I fe el like I'm half-assing it with this style. So until then remember, if you're having sex with a woman and she locks up on you, punch her in the face and she'll unlock.

J.O.B. Archive : March 31, 2003 By Jason Hart

And now for something completely different.....

Wait, that's a lie. I'm pretty much like every other guy who writes a column on the 'net- angry, frustrated, confused, and incredibly handsome(why not?).But there are a few things that set me apart from the pack. One of these things is the fact that I'm not a HHHater. Sure, he's been around a while and until recently it appeared as if his workrate had gone the way of the dodo bird, but right now HHH finds himself in the same boat as everybody's favourite political whipping boy, George W. Bush. People need to realize that you can't blame all the WWE's troubles on Mr. Stephanie McMahon, just as you can't blame all of America's economic ills on Dubya. The fact is that both wrestling and economics are cyclical in their natures, and anyone who tells you different is ignorant of history. From RVD to Kane to Booker T to Hurricane, Triple H has been accused of holding back everyone he steps in the ring with. But how much validity is there to that argument? What I'm going to do now is loo k at the situations surrounding his encounters with these people and give MY reasons why HHH shouldn't have done the job....that is, I'm going to do this for all but Hurricane- anyone who doesn't think that went the way it should have is border-line retarded, and nothing I can say will help them.

Rob Van Dam- After unifying the hardcore, European, Intercontinental, Western States Heritage, NWA 6-Man....whoa, sorry, I got a bit carried away. But after unifying the first 3 titles I listed there, RVD found himself in the position of challenging HHH for the World Heavyweight Title that HHH had been awarded a few weeks prior. So at that point everybody and their brother was clamoring for a RVD win, but what sense would it have really made? By RVD going over, the World belt would have looked a distan t second to the IC title, but by going over an established champion who held an established title HHH gave his there-to-fore vanity belt a true sense of credibility. Kane- Next up was HHH vs. The Guy Who Has The Same Nickname As The Cincinatti Reds in a unification match with the World and IC titles on the line. My argument here is short and to the point- Kane sucks. I mean, for the love of God and everything Holy,this is the guy who had a bad match with Kurt Angle. When Shawn Stasiak does ANYTHING better than you, it's time to sit back and re-evaluate yourself. And you want to talk about politics? I beg you to try and convince me the Big Spot Blowing Machine would still be in his position if it weren't for his friend the Undertaker. Besides that, though, at this point Kane was just thrust into the title picture after a month of meaningless tag matches, so a win would have been counter-productive to the whole "establishing credibility for the World title" mission the WWE was on at the time. And again, Kane sucks. Jumping off the top rope does not a good wrestler make, and besides fancy pyro that's the only thing seperating Kane from a guy like Kurrgan.


Booker T- Alright, we fast forward a few months here to Wrestlemania 19. I like Booker T, and I think he's been under utilized, but that right there is why he wasn't ready to go over at the biggest show of the year. Don't cry to me about the racist angle or how they need to elevate a face challenger for Hx3. Book was a tag wrestler for the months leading up to this show, and he wasn't even a part of a dominant team. And say he did win? Besides Chris Jericho and HHH, what heels are there for him to step into the ring with? With Goldberg looming on the horizon and the recently returned Steve Austin, there's much more money to be potentially made with a heel champion. Booker T will be there one day, maybe even soon, but he's not now and that's just the way it is.

So my point is simply that there are indeed two sides to every story, even this one. Yeah, Triple H has been on top for the better part of 4 years, and yeah he's nailing the daughter of the man who controls wrestling in North America, but so what? By being on top for this long, there is a quality to every big match HHH is in now, a "this has got to be where he loses" vibe that quite frankly adds an air of uncertainty and excitement to said bout. He'll lose, and when he does it will make the guy who beats him that much stronger, but a tag wrestler or another otherwise unestablished guy wouldn't help matters, only detract as the fan base would give a collective "who gives a fuck?" and switch to another channel. As for the Fellowship of the Mid-card, I wouldn't lose sleep over them. If they're that good, they'll get there one day. Ask HHH.

Bookmark and Share


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.).