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by Marx Rayner
Dear John Cena,

I feel like Blofeld or Goldfinger, finally confronting that pesky and urbane James Bond in a climatic scene. I still consider myself the hero even though I'd play a villain, because smarks know better than anyone that you cheer the heel and boo the virtuous babyface. So yes, I am the evil kingpin and you'll be the ladies man.

But anyway, I've hated you since you became the poster boy for Monday Night Raw. You're kid-tested, mother-approved. And I seethed with rage as you ran through all of my heroes. Christian, Chris Jericho, Kurt Angle, Edge, and so many others have had to fall at the altar of Cena Christ and it drives me insane. How can a man who can't hit a back suplex, fisherman's suplex, or a fucking death valley driver properly be better than all of these expert heels?

Then I remembered: Vince McMahon pushes babyfaces because they sell more merchandise.

Fucking moronic.

So yeah, you get to be one of the top dogs because the 8-17 demographic loves you. The girls, the little boys, and the adult women think you're hot shit because you stand up for the side of good and all that's right with the world, thwarting the bad guys who carry you to the matches of your life.

So what makes me so bitter, John? I can ignore you like I've done the likes of Hogan, Warrior, Diesel, and other bland, talentless good guys that infiltrate the main event ranks and suck in between the ropes. Why can't I just enjoy what's good about WWE with the great technical wrestling in the midcard and the occasional epic main event million dollar feud? What's stopping me from whole-heartedly enjoying WWE for the things I love?

My sister Morgan, that's who.

John, there's a chance you've gotten a lot of fan mail from my ditzy, smiling, retarded mountain of fat tits that shares my genetics. Morgan is a fanatic over "handsome", virtuous babyfaces and will cheer them on until they either leave WWE, turn heel, or die in a hotel room or their basement weight room. She messes around with her photoshop and even did a graphic of you in a tuxedo and her in a prom dress. That was the year that I pulled a sweet ass prank where I pretended to be this guy she liked and wrote her e-mails saying he wanted to go to the prom with her. Imagine the look on her face when he no showed on prom night and she cried in her room until dawn! I know, you probably think that's mean. Well, see how YOU react when someone touches YOUR Boba Fett action figure without your permission!

So how does this all tie together? Well, Cena, Morgan's been driving me crazy for years with her squeals of delight when you come to the ring. Do you know how annoying it is when we're on the couch and she yells right in my fucking ear about "WHOOOOOO! I LOVE YOU CENA! MARRY ME!" and everything you can imagine a 21 year old female mark screaming. It's not like when I jump up out of my chair when Takeshi Morishima drops somebody on his head or Kenta Kobashi chops someone and I scream "YEAH! OWN THAT BITCH! BREAKING HIS FUCKING NECK! TAKE THAT YOU LITTLE FAGGOT BITCH! WHOOO!". Totally different scenario here.

And with Morgan being so overzealous with her love of you, it's going to make life more difficult for me. See, this Sunday night, Morgan and I will be making the drive to Philadelphia to attend Night of Champions. I didn't want to go, because I didn't want to be seen in public endorsing a WWE product. She gave me some half cocked shit about how nobody knows who I am and that it's futile to think that anyone cares what I do with my personal life. She's an idiot, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. So anyway, yeah, we're going to Night of Champions and I can only imagine the bullshit I'm going to have to endure.

My friend from this one forum Samapti (username: BrodyRunsHeaven) told me the horror stories of when he attended Backlash this year in Providence. First, he brought in a sign that said "BATISTA MOLESTED MY SISTER" and had it confiscated. I mean, we're not even allowed to slander the wrestlers we hate? What's the point of going to a wrestling show then? Then security came over and chewed him out for yelling "YOU FUCKED UP!" during the dark match between Kofi Kingston and Dolph Ziggler. Apparently, with so many kids around, they don't want us really smart and in-the-know fans to corrupt them. It's ridiculous!

So what are Morgan and I supposed to do at the show? Enjoy the in-ring product? THERE'S NO PURORESU! Mysterio vs. a WWE developmental talent! Jericho vs. developmental talents! Christian and Dreamer won't get the 25 minutes they deserve! Punk has to act scared and bow before Jeff Hardy! Yeah, I'm really going to get into this show. Sure. Just like Futurama and their new voice actors, I'd much rather boycott this bastardized version of a so called wrestling event.

But if I AM going, I may as well get something for myself to enjoy. I'm not used to trying to find a silver lining in things that piss me off, you know. I'd rather bitch about them relentlessly. But I'm going to ask a big favor of you, and I hope you'll take this under consideration.

I want you to no-show the PPV. Just don't show up. Stay out of the building, stay out of Philadelphia altogether. Go film a Subway commercial or read a script for a shitty new WWE movie. Or go spend the day with your wife or maybe hang out at some charity function for sick kids who watch Nickelodeon all day and fondle themselves. Whatever you do, just avoid Night of Champions like the plague (which is what I'd rather do, HI YO!).

I ask you this because, much like Randy Orton's IED gimmick, I suffer from this antisocial condition wherein I freak out if some handsome muscle head gets all the attention from pretty girls. If there's thousands of screaming girls around me, I get so upset that I nearly cry. This is why so many smarks are shut ins. They don't go to John Mayer concerts or Orlando Bloom movies or football games where Tom Brady plays. It's the ultimate feeling of inadequacy when the ladies scream and ignore us, the fat, paunchy, hairy sci-fi loving bastards. Our only real weapon in life is sarcasm, and we can't make witty remarks when the women focus their attention on a hot guy. Why do you think we hide on forums and message boards all day? No one can scream on forums.

I can deal with everything else. I can cheer when Punk destroys that faggot Hardy and spikes him with the GTS. That'll be orgasmic and I pray the losers in front of me have a splash guard handy. Jericho and Rey can carry their respective matches and it shouldn't be too horrible otherwise. But this is all contingent on you not showing up at the PPV.

See, Cena, I know the smarks used to love you. But you're like Metallica. In 2002, you were a hard working, underappreciated kid. In 1984, Metallica was an underground sensation that was working to revolutionize the industry. You had freestyles, they had For Whom the Bell Tolls. Then Metallica got popular with the mainstream and so did you. Their 1991 was your 2005. A change for the worse. They shortened their songs, you became friendlier. Then their 1996? That was your 2007. They changed EVERYTHING about themselves and became more acceptable to families. And you....did the same thing.

I sincerely hope that one day we can be friends again, John, because it was fun. But it has to be on my terms. Start with Night of Champions and just take the weekend off. I don't want Morgan or any of the teeny bopper girls screaming in my ear. If you can jeopardize their happiness just to make me happy this one time, I promise to slag you less on the wrestling forums with my buddies. I think this is a VERY fair trade and would like you to consider it.

Good luck, John. I know you'll do the right thing.

Thuganomically yours,

Marx Rayner spends his days watching wrestling and bitching about it afterward. His nights are pretty much the same, except he bitches while watching it. His mavenism of the business has left him with no time for dating, social activity, or proper hygiene, but he assures us that this is strictly by choice. His myspace is http://www.myspace.com/pwn3dbymarx, and encourages you to be his friend. He'd do the same for you.

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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.).