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By Sean Carless


As most of us know, the bright lights of wrestling don’t shine on one person forever, and eventually, whether it is age, injuries, or creative not having anything for you, sometimes it’s just time for a Rassler to move on. And unfortunately, the latter seems to be happening all the more frequently, as there doesn’t seem to be a month that goes by where WWE isn’t “cordially” firing someone via their website, with the following message appearing:


“World Wrestling Entertainment has come to terms on the release of [random schmo.] We wish him the best in all future endeavors.”


The hilarity of course lies in the fact that the poor bastard really has no choice, despite what “terms” WWE claims they came to on his release. < /span>


WWE: “Hey. You don’t work here anymore. Clear out your locker. You okay with those terms?”


“Released” Talent: “Do I have a say in anything?”

WWE: “Nope.”

Released Talent: *sigh*

WWE: “Agreed then!”


In any event, there are MANY wrestlers out there, who have indeed stepped away from the ring, and ventured into entirely new vocations altogether. Men like Rick Steiner, who now work in the school board, deducing ways to prevent students from bullying one another, all while secretly dreaming of all the people he severely injured in his last WCW stint; while MENG of all people was said to actually sell used cars. YES. Somewhere out there, there’s someone who haggled over the price of a Le Baron with Haku. And I can just imagine those sessions, and how hard poor Meng must have had to try and keep from jabbing his thumb and index finger into their throats when they tried to maneuver the “Master of the Tongan death grip” into throwing in a complimentary dashboard CD player to sweeten the sale. (Plus, I’d imagine it’d be hard to find a car Meng could take you for a test drive in that could actually contain the other 7/8ths of his head).


And finally, Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake, whom at one time definitely had the world as his oyster, as he was struttin’, cuttin’, and seemingly surgically attached to the swollen orange ass of the Hulkster. However, times were tough for the Barber, and eventually there was no longer anyone requesting haircuts after being violently choked into unconsciousness. So he did what anyone would do. He traded in his Lycra purple zebra pants with the exploded ass, for the frumpy uniform of a Subway Toll collector in Boston. This dream would carry on until he was unceremoniously fired when a duffle bag was found containing what was believed to be ANTHRAX (and surprisingly not gigantic red & white gardening shears). It’s okay though, it just turned out to be cocaine however, and everyone lived happily ever after. Ok, no one did. But whatever. I’m tired of talking about Brutus.


Anyway, that brings us to the topic at hand. I got to thinking, what, if any jobs would other wrestlers be drawn to, if all of a sudden their tenure in the squared circle came to a sudden end? And could they do said job with the same passion and skill in which they rolled around in their underwear? THESE WERE TOUGH QUESTIONS THAT REQUIRED INTELLIGENCE INSULTING ANSWERS. So, here we are.



Jobs After Doing JOBS.


Pfohl Of Barbiturates.



Lex Luger. Physical specimen. Master of the torture-rack. Lady killer (literally).


What else can be said about Lex Luger that can’t be laughed about multiple times?


 Luger once had the whole world at his fingertips. 12 years ago he was amidst a huge push, and could be counted on to body slam morbidly obese Samoans at the drop of a hat. But life has seemingly passed Flexy Lexy by since then, and now may be the time for him to move to another chapter in his life; PHARMACIST! Yes, bear with me. I imagine Lex’s first foray into the working world would be an attempt as a 911 phone operator; but I suggest that job would only last about 6 hours, before he was ultimately fired for setting the all-time mortality record in the profession, just half a day into his tenure. And with that behind him, Luger would have no choice but to embrace an occupation where he wouldn’t be forced to help those choking on pills, but instead, he’d be DISTRIBUTING THEM himself. A PHARMACIST. And hey, his suburban town home is literally brimming with pills anyway, so why not just cut out the middle man? Makes sense to me.


And with this, Lex may have finally found his true calling. And sure, his elderly customers will return each week containing 25% more muscle mass than they did the week before after ingesting Lex’s stock, but it’ll be all worth it. Clearly.


Oh Brother.

Sting: PASTOR.

With Sting giving his heart to the Lord, speaking publicly on behalf of Jesus, and denouncing immorality, you’d think the next logical step would be full ordainment.


And who wouldn’t want to go to a Church headed up by the Stinger? And sure, his wolf-pac make-up might suggest he secretly fights for the other side, and his first sermons would come across awkward as he’d refuse to speak for the first year and a half of his ministry; but who couldn’t get behind a reverend that violently and terrifyingly propels from the Church’s rafters, and menacingly looks to crush your skull with a baseball bat? And the best part is, even if Sting did bludgeon you to death with the bat, he’d be able to lay hands upon your broken body instantly, and you’d be back in business in no time. That’s a great little sales pitch if I’ve ever heard one.


Ultimately though, I’d imagine Sting’s church would become host to many of his Born Again wrestling comrades over time. And imagine, sitting next to Ted DiBiase during the sermon, while Ted out and out refuses to put any money in the collection plate until someone dribbles a basketball ten times. Or how about Road Warrior Animal, drawing disdain from the congregation for wearing his spiked shoulder pads with his Sunday best? All the way to Shawn Michaels causing a brief panic when his metallic chaps cause him to sink to the bottom of the Baptism tank like a stone. Makes you want to join the crusade right now, doesn’t it? Ok, maybe not.


Skin As Soft As A (dead) Baby’s.


Obviously,when you think of a post-wrestling Gene Snitsky, you automatically picture him getting right back into the pro-choice movement (Her body, his choice), and offering his special non-invasive abortion services (and hey, Dawn Marie might still have a job today if he did). But unfortunately, not too many people seem too keen on terminating their pregnancies by being blasted with a steel folding chair, and likely, Dr. Gene’s insistence on also aborting the mother, along with the fetus, wouldn’t go over too well. Oh well.


With that said, besides maybe podiatry, there is ONE more medical field Snitsky might try his hand in, that would be most beneficial to the public and HIMSELF. Yes, friends, I mean dermatology. You see, Gene himself suffers from a certain skin condition that seems to show no signs of clearing up (and I haven’t been able to eat a Nestle Crunch bar since he debuted).  And even after he seems to now be off of certain “muscle enhancing” substance, his back has yet to clear up. And even though I think it’s now fairly obvious that Gene can place all the blame on his dry cleaner for the less than reputable job on Snitsky’s shirts, Gene himself can now pour all of his resources into developing a cream that will in fact obliterate any and all acne forever. And I truly feel Gene is the man to make this medical breakthrough happen.


Unfortunately though, I fear this won't be without its mishaps, as Gene will likely test the first batch of “Genesil” on himself, causing himself to completely vanish after a bathing in it; leaving only a large clump of goatee hair stuck in the tub’s drain. What a waste.


Captain Morgan.


Hey, some truths are funnier than fiction, and recently, Former Tough Enough competitor Matt Morgan got into hot water when he allegedly pretended to be a highway cop so he could pull women over. I imagine however, what gave him away was the fact that he was wearing his trunks when he pulled the young lady over….


In any event, Matt, I feel should pursue a REAL career in law enforcement. But just don’t be surprised when the people whom you pull over suddenly speed off after it takes you ten minutes to say “can you please step out of the car”…


Ace Corpse In The Hole.

Sonny Siaki: GRAVE DIGGER.


Hey, he puts them in the ground anyway, so why not just kill two birds with one stone (or an errant dropkick) and dig the hole too? IT JUST MAKES SENSE.


Pick Your Poison.


Coming up with a job for Jake was actually tougher than I originally thought. At first, I definitely thought he would have a future as a Wine tester, but I don’t think he’d be able to get past that whole “Not being allowed to swallow it” thing. (that and the goblet he’d insist on using would 18 inches tall). So, I went with the next best thing: Jake Roberts donating his body to science. And hey, I know he’s still alive and all, but he hasn’t felt anything since 1992 so I figured he was good to go. But alas, pesky human rights issues would come into play, so ultimately Jake I feel would find his true calling in the Poison Control Center. After all, who has more toxins flowing through their blood alcohol streams than Jake? So who better to feel their plight? That’s right. And the best part is Scientists will in turn develop the antidote for every known poison on earth through the blood of Jake Roberts. Everybody wins this way.


Big Poppa Pumps.

Scott Steiner: Gas Station Attendant.

Finding a job for dude’s who wear chain mail is no easy task. First, Medieval Times kind of frowns on belly to belly suplexes, and unfortunately, there never seems to be an opening for Templar Knight guarding the one true cup of Christ for all of eternity these days. So what is a swollen dude on the gas to do? Well, pump it, of course! (And not just directly into their veins). See, I can see Scott Steiner opening his very own Gas Station, affectionately known as “Big Poppa Pumps”. And sure, you might want to go ahead and self serve, because Scotty has this really bad habit of dropping the gas nozzle in mid-pump so he can peel off a few push ups, but whatever. And hey, there’s just no telling what former WCW stars will show up to give a helping hand! If you need an oil change, Sean Waltman or Scott Hall will be more than happy to wring out their hair into your car. And Kanyon is always ready to get to work in the garage. I mean “who better” …or knows more about rear-end collisions than Kanyon?


I for one think Big Poppa Pump is up for the challenge. And hopefully he’s learned his lesson from his 2003 Royal Rumble Title match: If you use too much “gas”, you’re probably going to blow up. Let’s hope Scott remembers this lesson.


Yahweh Out.

Goldberg: RABBI!

It’s just a matter of time before Goldberg traded in his unorthodox wrestling style for…Orthodox Hebrew teachings! It seems like only a natural progression. And where as he learned his lessons originally in the Power Plant, he’ll now take his teachings from the Highest power, the great IAM. And sure, people might read a little too much into Goldberg’s spitting, twitching and gibberish, and mistake this babbling for him speaking in tongues, but it’s all in a day's works for the World’s toughest Jew. I mean, imagine how AWESOME his synagogue would be! First, as everyone is seated, Doug Dillinger would bang on the Synagogue’s door, yelling “Rabbi, you’re up!” From there Goldberg would explode into the church, accidentally kicking over religious relics with an errant kick, before slowly emerging from the sparks and flames of a fully lit menorah. And of course, it will all culminate with a throaty bellow of “Who’s Next!...to read from the Torah!” It’d be awesome.

But it wouldn’t be a Goldberg story if there wasn’t an injury. I imagine on a trip to the Holy land, Rabbi Goldberg would give himself a concussion… while attempting to hard-way headbutt the Wailing Wall. After all, this guy hasn’t ever exactly had the best track record against inanimate objects, has he?


Blood; It’s In You To Give. (Unless You’re This Guy.).

“Cowboy” Bob Orton: BLOOD BANK.

Ok, maybe this isn’t exactly the best idea. But hey, if anyone can put the “Hep” back in “Hepatitis”, it’s a cool cat like Bob Orton.



A Bird In The Hand To Help You Get Back In The Bush.


Originally, I thought maybe Koko would take up fire fighting to prevent anymore Kentucky Fried Frankie’s from occurring, but sadly, height requirements, and the fact that Taxi-cab yellow Hammer Balloon pants tend to go up in flames even faster than 18 year old macaws, made this dream an impossibility.


But unlike those pants, there is a silver lining. Koko could take all his many years of knowledge in the area of LOVE (and what woman can resist a guy who smells like birds?) and turn it into a lucrative Couples counseling practice. I can imagine such a session:


Distraught Wife: “I think my husband is cheating on me, Koko.”


Koko: “Sometimes love is like a slow dance…You can tiptoe around, but don't make a sound…You can make a little silent romance.”


Hen-pecked Husband: “ Ha! See, even Koko thinks I’m right! The reason I’m seeing another woman is because you’re such a nag!”


Wife: “Please tell me you aren’t taking his side, Koko?”


Koko: “But sometimes love feels like a fight…."


Husband AND Wife: “Well, that’s true, I guess.”


Koko: “…It feels like an argument….It feels just like…. a PILEDRIVER.”


Husband: “Wait. Huh?”


Koko: “ A Piledriver! Yaaaaaaaaaaaa! PILEDRIVER! Ya!”


Husband: “What the Hell are you talking about?”


Koko: “You’re right beside her!”


Husband: “Ya, so?”


Koko: “Your Heart’s on fire!!!!!!”


Wife: “What does that even mean?!”


Koko: “She got you hotwired! HIGHER, HIGHER, PILEDRIVER!!!!!”


Wife AND Husband: “Umm, thanks, Mr. Ware. I think we have to get going now…”


Koko: “Lalalalalalalalala, a-PILE- Drivvvvvvvvaaaaaa!”


Husband: “Okayyy, then…”


Haha. That went great I think. I think with Koko’s melodious approach to dealing with lovelorn, there isn’t a couple on Earth who can’t work things out, and by session’s end, be ready to “do the bird”…and each other. Thanks, Koko!


One Warrior Nation Under God.

Ultimate Warrior A.K.A.: Warrior Warrior: IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL.

 With the UConn controversy still fresh in some people’s minds, Warrior Squared’s future as a public speaker likely went up in smoke faster than his ridiculously cheesy WCW entrance. But there is HOPE. There is a job out there with Warrior’s name on it….both of them in fact…which are the same by the way. Anyhoo. I’m of course talking about an immigration official! Warrior Warrior seems born for this. In fact, let us all imagine those immigrants coasting to our fair shores, reading the welcoming plaque on The Statue of Liberty for the first time after Warrior's first day on the job....


“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door….And arrrrgggghhhh, for the little Warriors I press them to heavens for the skeletons that made the supreme sacrifices! And smite them with awesome POWER of THE ULTIIIIIIIIIIIMATE WARRIAH!!!! *Snort*”  .


Ok, clearly, we’ll have to widen Lady Liberty by a good 25 feet to get this revised phrase on there, but Man, it’ll be so worth it.  I don’t know about you, but I know I’d feel A LOT safer with Warriorman guarding our harbors, press slamming those who dare try to get into this country without the proper paperwork back into the Atlantic Ocean from whence they came. And sure, it might take Warrior a long time to round up all the illegals jumping the Mexican border because he insists on always traveling by foot, but that’s just the price you pay to keep the *real threats* like Iraqi Sympathizers with pointy boots, Voodoo priests, Vikings and 1800’s era morticians out of our fair land. WARRIAH.


Getting A Little Behind In His Work.

Pat Patterson: FUDGE PACKER.


Hey, that fudge just doesn’t pack itself! So why not employ the expertise of a guy who’s spent over 30 years trying to cram objects into tight spaces? And I'm sure the people at the Fudge company will no doubt be pleased with his umm, drive. (They may even want a cigarette after, who knows?).



She Can’t Wait To Handle Your Package!


After the bright lights fade, and Lita can no longer blow spots (among other things) in the ring anymore, she will be faced with a tough decision. What (or who) do I do now? I think the answer is fairly obvious: TRAVEL AGENT …specifically one that deals primarily with the country of MEXICO. After all, Lita’s vagina is practically a national treasure there.


With Lita travel, you’ll have a (El) Dandy of a time taking in all the Lizmarks err, I mean landmarks, before retiring to your Super (Calo) comfortable room. Heck, if you get the time, you might even partake in a little Fishman, err, “fishing” on one of the nation’s many beaches.


And the best part? You won’t even have to worry about ingesting the contaminated water there, because your immune system will be far too busy warding off other much more threatening contagions thanks to Lita's services. After experiencing  Lita..umm, travel, a little violent diarrhea will seem welcome.  Let’s see other travel agencies do that! So, if you’re going to Travel, let Lita handle your package. She’ll bend over backwards (and many other positions) for her clients.


Four Wheel Drive Horseman.


Times have been tough for the Nature Boy lately. Between his wife leaving him, The IRS cleaning him out (And if you see a lot of accountants running around in sequined robes in Washington, you’ll know they’ve gone too far!) and the oft-mentioned “road rage” incident, perhaps it’s time for Ric to start over.


That’s why, I see Ric trading in his Jet flyin’ and limousine ridin’ for a Chevy Corsica with a bright yellow sign on top, and clipboard… as Slick Ric takes a whole NEW generation to school…Drivers school. And hey, why not? If Flair can carry El Gigante to a believable match, surely he can use those same skills to prevent “Little Billy” from bursting his car into flames? Right? I mean, is a speeding two thousand pound metal death trap any more dangerous than working with say a Mark Henry? I think not.


Anyway, Ric’s approach will seem a little unorthodox to most, (Before each session he’ll have one of his students pitch him off the roof of his car) but I guarantee you he’ll produce results. And sure, it might seem a little unpleasant that he gives instruction while only wearing a tiny pair of purple underoos, and that he instinctly thumbs you in the eye when you forget to use your turn signal, but he’s Ric Flair, damn it. And you’ll be better off for it in the long run. After all, what’s worse, having to WALK to school… or not walking for three days after taking a well placed mule-kick to the genitals? I think it's fairly obvious. 




AfterLife After Wrestling.

The Undertaker: Nothing. (Undertaker doesn’t believe in doing Jobs.)


Well, that was, *ahem* interesting. On second thought though, maybe they should all just stick to wrestling. And let  the professionals like me get fired from the real jobs….


I’m Sean.


Sean Carless is a man of many hats. And he wears those hats to cover an ever-increasing bald spot. Sean's various scribblings have been read at Live Audio Wrestling, 411 Mania, Honky Tonk Man.com, The Toronto Star.com, and Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.

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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.).