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 LETTERS FROM MY MOM'S BASEMENT
by Marx Rayner


Dear Mr. Kennedy,

Sounds like you had a tough week, brother. You come back from injury only to have a falling out with Randy Orton that leads to your firing. It's a sad coda to your story. Man gets early push, man gets hurt, man returns with bigger push, man gets hurt, man returns with same push, man gets suspended for drugs, man returns to same push, man gets hurt for a year, man returns, man gets fired four days later. That's the story of my life right there. Though it's more like man eats bag of cheetos, man feels sick, man eats two bags of cheetos, man gets sick, man eats entire carton of snack-size tortilla chips, man shits out orange powdered turds, man gets released from hospital and celebrates fortunes at Old Country Buffet, man rushed back to same hospital three hours later after passing out in steam tray full of scalding water. So really, I understand.

The internet is torn on this. The smarks at 411 wrestling keep posting "EPIC FAIL" to celebrate your firing, since we all still make minimum wage while you are unemployed. The marks who post on IMDb feel sorry for you and want to petition Vince to bring you back. WWE.com posted of your release on what's basically page A18 of their site. And Wrestlezone.com made it clear that you were fired for sexually harassing both Bella Twins and that I should click here for all the details. In other words, your name has been the catalyst for a lot of talk this weekend. Even my friends and I were unable to laugh at the Smackdown we didn't bother to watch, as this required our immediate attention.

It's likely that you'll wind up in TNA by the time your non-compete clause expires, but you still have three months of downtime. I WISH I could sit home for three months and get paid. I was really close that one time when I used to work at PetSmart as a cashier when that daschund bit me. I was so close to workman's comp until that Mormon bitch who worked the other register told the GM that I was rubbing Alpo on my forearm for 20 minutes before my shift started and that I spent the workday with that sleeve up. Which is TRUE, because I didn't feel like scanning Meow Mix for 6 hours at a time when there's so much to bitch about online. I was fired, but I didn't get three months of pay, nor was it reported on the internet. But that's where you have an advantage over me.

See, when a wrestler is fired, what he does next is very important. He needs to stay fresh in the minds of everyone until he makes his next big splash. What to do? Simple: a shoot interview. You've spent ten years in the biz, so why not tell your story? But don't give us any of that shit about the biggest indie show you worked or how you became interested in wrestling. Forget it. If I wanna hear happy, heart-warming stories, I'll read the notes my teachers used to send home to my parents, like "Marx doesn't eat as much paste as he used to" and "Marx hasn't put anyone in a cobra clutch this marking period". Instead, give us venom. Crawl out of bed one morning, smash your face into the wall, stick an IV full of tobasco sauce into your groin, and piss out some venom!

You spent four years in WWE, right? So tell us about all the bullshit that happened backstage. Tell us about how HHH tried to hold you down. Tell us about how Vince McMahon personally handed you steroids and told you to deny your intake on punishment of death. Tell us about how Chris Benoit was a sweet man who may have taken his medications in the wrong order one day. Fill us in on how Jerry Lawler would have an entourage of girl scouts with him at every show. You know, the stuff my smark colleagues and I all talk about like it's true and now assume it is since we've said it so much that we completely believe it. Shoot interviews aren't meant to be nostalgic. They're meant to burn bridges! Remember when Jim Cornette spoke for EIGHT HOURS about every asshole he ever dealt with in wrestling? His angry testosterone spilled through the screen and got my sister Morgan pregnant! I think some of it got on me because I can't watch chain wrestling sequences without popping a Stifler, if you get my drift.

And don't worry about burning your bridges, Ken. What did you earn per year in WWE, about $400,000? Yeah, that's a lot of money, but you have to make a choice. Do you want to play nice with WWE in the hopes that they'll rehire you one day at about the same salary and you can earn enough money for you, your wife, and your future children? Or do you want to traverse the indie circuit for $400 a night that you may get screwed out of by promoters just to entertain 300 fans who will chant "YOU GOT FIRED" at you? I think the choice is clear. Light a fire from your house to Titan Tower. You can kiss six figures goodbye, but my friends and I will respect you. And we know what's more important.

And when you finally do get to TNA, remember that you're going to need a gimmick change. Vince is going to trademark "Mr. Kennedy" much like how I tried to copyright "Marx Rayner, Sith Emperor" and George Lucas sent three guys to my house to take care of me. They were sent to trash my room, but really, no one could fucking tell the difference. But the point is simple: new promotion, new gimmick needed. Now, I'm not a writer, but the saying is "write what you know best", so lemme offer some suggestions that make sense to a fan of my magnitude.

-"MISUNDERSTOOD" KENNY ANDERSON: A man who tries to pick up women by wearing his cleanest sweatpants and kinda trimming his facial hair, but is always accused of being a stalker and gets hauled off to jail before his match. Then the drama unfolds. Will he make bail before his scheduled contest? Is he in jail for the night, having to take a forfeit? Can't Velvet Sky see that he sticks the cocktail weenie in the crotch-hole of his pants as a joke just because he's trying to break the ice? Will his next humiliation lead to him sulking in his room watching old tapes of Babylon 5 all week? This is riveting shit. You'll be the next big babyface star with this.

-KENNY "THE JACKAL" HYDE: A man with two personalities. What happens is simple: each week on TNA Impact, you're assigned to do something. Wrestle a match, cut a promo, run interference, etc. You get pissed off at whoever tells you to do this, because you're a grown man and you will not be ordered around! So you quit, throwing your uniform against the wall, and you walk out the door. One week later, you beg for your job back because you can't get paid to sit at home, and KFC doesn't give out boneless wings for free. So you get rehired for less money and the circle continues. The fans will want to see you finally work toward your goals in spite of your morale decrease. This is riveting shit. You'll be the next big babyface star with this.

-ODO: Odo was the security chief on Deep Space Nine, holding the rank of constable. He was an impartial outsider, used to settle disputes. He was also noble, having married Lwaxana Troi when she was pregnant so that ****EDITOR'S NOTE: MARX GOES ON FOR A REALLY LONG TIME ABOUT FUCKING DEEP SPACE NINE. SERIOUSLY, THIS ENTIRE LETTER CAME IN TWO SEPARATE E-MAILS. WE HAVE CHOSEN TO EDIT OUT MOST OF THIS PART, ESPECIALLY DUE TO HIS OBSESSION WITH THE WORD "FERENGI" WHICH WE THINK IS A TYPE OF MASTURBATORY ACTIVITY**** and I didn't even MENTION the mirror universe! This is riveting shit. You'll be the next big babyface star with this.

So really, the ball is in your court, Ken. You're a free man now and you have a bright future ahead of you. You're free to work indies, release shoots, go crazy on your website about your former employer, and such. I hope you do all of these things, because my opinion is very important. One day, I may even watch TNA to see if you're on. Good luck, and remember: youtube is a convenient way to shoot on people. It worked for Damian DeMento, and I'm sure most fans wouldn't dare taunt you in your comment threads about failing at life.

Loudly yours,
M.R.

SEND FEEDBACK TO MARX RAYNER

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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TWF FLASHBACK

November 2006

SATIRE: DISCONTINUED WWE XMAS PRODUCTS!

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.).