Home | Columns & Rants | Satire | Entertainment | Media | Archives | Forum
 
NO MERCY~!... OR HOW I GOT DRUNK AND LEARNED TO TOLERATE A HHH EGO FUCK.
\
 
Hey there PPV fans! Your PPV Rant, done by Mr. Swagbag (If that indeed is his real name) will be coming...eventually; but irregardless, I thought, as a good will gesture, I would give you the quick and dirty results from No Mercy! Because you so obviously never seeked them out by going anywhere credible like Observer or WWE.com. No siree. That'd make too much sense. Instead, you've been waiting with baited breath and masturbated genitals, awaiting the show results from US: The Internet's number one source for totally credible coverage of fake fighting by dudes in underwear who never get arrested no matter how many times they run over people with cars and light people on fire, all whilst being filmed by a cameraman who, like Chris Benoit, does not exist on our plain of existence. It's true. So, ya. I'll get to it in a second. And feel lucky my friends, because for this, I have pulled myself away from heavy drinking and a family turkey dinner on this Sunday, which is Canadian Thanksgiving~! It's true. And yes, we do celebrate it. Normally, we'd wait until November like you cocksuckers, but by then, it's all but impossible to procure a bird, as all the turkeys are buried under a mountain of snow, and we don't dare brave the elements to seek out their frozen solid carcasses because we don't see sun again until the following March. You know, as per your completely realistic stereotype of our country.
 
Now, as for the pay-per-view. Well, IT WAS THE GREATEST NIGHT IN THE HISTORY OF OUR SPORT...If your last name was umm, Hearst-Helmsley? Oh ya, baby. Trips weighed in at an impressive 5000 pounds for tonight's PPV...once you included the near 3 tons of his fucking giant ego. Oh you better believe it. But, hey, you can't really blame Hunter. It's not like the crowd was chanting feverishly for Chris Jericho or something. Oh wait, that's right, they were. But hey, what can you do? WWE Booking is like the elderly with their VCRs. You can never EVER change anything, BECAUSE THEN IT MIGHT NOT EVER WORK AGAIN.
 
That said, though, I think by this point, we need to just all realize that this is the way things are, and the way it will always be. It's like a crippled person lamenting the loss of their legs. Eventually, you just have to accept the fact that your legs are fucking the boss's daughter and there's nothing you can do about it. Wait. That didn't come out right. Never mind.
 
So, as for how things unfolded, well, we decided a new WWE Champion right away. Vince McMahon and William Regal declared that by virtue of sending Super Cena back to the healing chamber in the Fortress of Solitude for the next 6 months, Randy Orton is now WWE CHAMPION. BUT WAIT A MINUTE, MISTER. HERE COMES TRIPLE H TO DISPUTE THIS BY GAWD BULLSHIT. I MEAN, REALLY, HOW CREDIBLE CAN A CHAMPION BE WHEN HE'S JUST HANDED A WORLD TITLE BY MANAGEMENT? I'm so glad it was Triple H who saved us from all that. *ahem*
 
From there, Triple H then DEMANDED a World Title match. And Orton said "No way! I remember what happened the last time I let you have a match. You pretty much destroyed my credibility until, umm, like the last couple of months!". And Triple H was all like "Guess what, it's happening again tonight~!" and Vince made the match after HHH called him on his guts. That's all it took. Seriously. Vince gave it up that fast no questions asked. By that logic, next time I'm in Stamford, I'm going to approach him and say "I bet you don't have the courage to let me titty fuck Stephanie", and he'll be all like "Oh, you wanna bet!". You see, I have this clever ruse all planned out. It's foolproof.
 
Now, that said, *some* people might say, "Well, what sense does it make to give your mortal enemy a title shot when for 8 weeks straight you've been trying to end his career?" Ok, I'm the one actually saying this. Dear god, man. But it's true. This matchmaking makes like zero sense.
 
So, ya, the match is happening. Right now. And well, I could tell you what happened in great detail, but I'm not going to. Because I think you already know how this whole evening unfolded....
 
 
 
That's right, baby, HHH is ELEVEN TIMES THE MAN~! And he did it with a SCHOOL BOY, and without the aid of a single Pedigree, or the shades of ARN ANDERSON SPINEBUSTER. That said,  I wonder if whenever Arn used it, he yelled out triumphantly "SHADES OF ME!". I'd mark. And you know you would, too.
 
Now, in most cases, you'd think that the new Champion's night would be over, right? I mean, he *did* just hand the one guy who actually managed to get over on Cena as a credible threat his ASS. He should just go back, fly Lemmy in to just write him a new song, just because, pin a few tag teams wandering in the back, attack Carlito for no reason, back his luxury bus over a few cruiserweights, and call it a night, right? WRONG. WHY DO THAT, WHEN YOU CAN PIN YET ANOTHER TOP HEEL, CLEAN? This shit makes total sense, I swear. Well, if you bang your head on the coffee table a few times. And believe me, the blood will eventually subside, I promise.
 
So, ya, Triple H is on deck to now DEFEND his WWE title against his originally scheduled opponent, Umaga. Ah, you remember Umaga? The Samoan Bulldozer? Well, I guess Trips took offense to that moniker. And why not? HHH was dropping huge amounts of soil on people LONG before ANY Bulldozer. So, you guessed it, Triple H pins him too. But this time, he at least used the pedigree. It's true. HHH just debunked the mystery of Samoan skulls once and for all. You see, for YEARS Samoans have no-sold any trauma to the head, but the Pedigree is a different animal, obviously. After all, it has nuclear capabilities. I mean, did you know God created the Universe by delivering a thunderous Pedigree? It's true. (and we would have seen it again last year at Backlash but God no-showed the event after he heard he was jobbing). You see, the reverberations from its unequaled power subsequently caused the big bang and life as we know it. Some people may call me a liar, sure, but those people just want to tell the truth. So don't trust them.
 
Oh ya, for those keeping count....
 
 
Now, you'd think that this night would FINALLY be over, right? BUT YOU'D BE WRONG. AGAIN. MAN YOU SUCK. You see, Mr. McMahon promised history would be made tonight! Just not the kind we really care about or look forward to. But ya, tonight, in that very ring, Triple H will meet RANDY ORTON again for the WWE Title! HHH's eyes said "Oh no!" but his mind said "Ya, I guess I could pin him one more time." BUT THAT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, MISTER! YOUR SKILLS AS THE BEST WRESTLER EVER TO KNOW WHAT STEPHANIE MCMAHON'S VAGINA LOOKS LIKE, BUT THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT, WE SWEAR, will now meet Randy Orton in a (for dramatic effect) LAST. MAN. STANDING. MATCH! And all without us ever seeing a football punt to the head of the strangely nameless father of the Game, Mr. Levesque. You see, Fathers don't get first names in WWE, much in the way Divas don't get last names. I don't make the rules.
 
So, ya, Triple H, will wrestle a THIRD TIME in one night. And if that's not bad enough for him, his ribs are HURT. OH NOES. Apparently he bruised them while effortlessly rolling atop two men in a span of an hour. I hope he's Okay! But you see, HE'S NOT OK. This was Vince's plan all along. Tire the Game out after an evening of defeating every top heel on the brand in one night completely clean...and THEN capitalizing on that fatigue! It's true. And it's BRILLIANT.
 
 
 
One RKO on the announce table later, and Randall K. Orton, The Legend Killer, and the only man to not leave a Holiday Inn Express with any special unforeseen skills, but instead a warrant for his arrest, is ONCE AGAIN WWE Champion. MAN, WATCH THAT FUCKING SHINY HOT POTATO SPIN~!
 
...And this all happened in the span of 3 hours. But not before Trips somehow had a monogrammed nameplate adhered to a belt like 5 minutes after he won it!:
 
 Oh my god, that's so awesome. He actually had someone put his name on a belt he was going to lose like two hours later. Hunter is my hero. I'm gonna go write my name on my bowling shoes in his honor. That next motherfucker's going to know exactly whose shoes these were. I'm tellin' you.
 
Now that was the main story of No Mercy. There were *other* non-Triple H'y things that happened on this show, but you shouldn't remember those. Stuff like a six man tag between Jeff Hardy & Londrick  against Mr. Kennedy & Cade & Murdoch. Yes, it's true. Red necks and a guy with red eyes from crying over what should have been, defeated Hardy and Londrick when Kennedy pinned London with a Green Bay plunge or Lambeau Leap or whatever it's officially called. All I know is, it was nice to see Mr. Kennedy actually win a match. After the whole Signature pharmacy debacle, I was worried the company wanted him to take a fucking Lambeau Leap off a cliff. Glad I was wrong.
 
Beth Phoenix is YOUR NEW WOMEN'S CHAMPION. She got the job done with a Fisher-woman's suplex. I heard she learned that hold whilst fishing for women along the Glamazon River. Don't question my sources. And not just because they don't exist and thus it'd be impossible.
 
Beth then cut an emotional promo with Jerry Lawler where she cried at being the new champion. Except she's supposed to be the Heel. She's the most emo badguy since Anakin Skywalker. Unfortunately, she *also* possess Anakin's acting skills as well. Dear God.  All was missing was this GEM: "I don't like sand, King. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere!"
 
CM Punk defended the ECW Title against Big Daddy V, in his hometown.... and didn't lose! Holy shit. That's a first.
 
Anyway, it was Straight Edge versus Round, well, everything, and it saw V. get EXTREME disqualified in about an EXTREME minute and a half, for outside interference by Matt Striker, whom I once heard was a disgraced former New York City School Teacher. Did you know that? Man, Tazz & Styles should really make an effort to mention it more often....
 
 V. then attacked Punk and laid him out after the match with a big Samoan drop. Or Drop as it's known back on the Islands. Punk then bled from the mouth. I blame this whole result on his "addiction to competition". I know the dangers all too well. I was once addicted to competition, but luckily for me, family and friends arranged an Intervention. I've been sober for 6 months now. I haven't even looked at a fucking wristlock or drop-toe-hold ONCE in that time. It's not too late for you Punk. Help is out there~!
 
We also had a PIZZA EATING CONTEST. Holy shit, a PPV EXCLUSIVE PIZZA EATING CONTEST?! And here I thought they'd rip us off by giving it to us on FREE TELEVISION. Don't think that WWE doesn't care about its fans. You know, despite the fact every logical argument seems to point to that. Anyway, Matt won, two slices to zero...then PUKED his pizza on MVP. Yes, he puked after TWO SLICES OF PIZZA. For a dude who can't die, he sure doesn't seem to hold his fucking carbs very well. Good thing there wasn't Pasta involved. They'd still be trying to revive him with the defibrillators.
Matt Hardy pantomimes our response to the fact that we just paid 45 dollars to watch two dudes eat pizza instead of, I don't know, fight?
 
Finlay then battled Rey Mysterio in an awesome match. However, the finish was strange. Finlay faked an injury, and everyone bought it. Hell, the referee even held up the dreaded "X" gesture. Unless, like all of us, he was just showing his love and appreciation to DX head honcho Triple H on a great night of continued obliteration. Maybe. Just then, Finlay comes back to health and attacks Mysterio! Oh no he din'nt! Never trust Irishmen in women's bathingsuits when they tell you they're hurt.  Clearly.
 
AND WE HAVE A BELL. Seriously. This referee will not stand for Finlay's sweet sweet method acting skills. No sir. He's no fan of the theater. That asshole. So, ya, No-Contest. Just like how Joe always pleads to rape charges.
 
But wait, your night is not done. We still have the Punjabi Prison! Not to be confused with the Punani Prison, or Marriage as it's more commonly referred to by me.
 
We are told prior to the match by Michael Cole, that this cage is, and I wish I was lying here, "MADE OF SOLID STEEL BAMBOO". Dear God, Cole. But it gets better. We are also told that the structure was based off a real design from India. YES. And yet prisoners don't ever escape. You know, despite it having no roof, and like having only one asshole on the floor guarding it who opens a giant door with a fucking rope. That's just awesome. Clearly, if you're a career criminal, you might want to think about setting up shop in India.
 
Anyway, I'm not going to lie to you. This match EXCEEDED EXPECTATIONS. Well, if you thought it was just going to be kind of a terrible match. This may have been called Punjabi Prison, but t'was you and I, the viewing audience, that was truly sentenced to life here. The story here is ESCAPING. The strategy I too had whilst watching it. The finish came when after all four escape doors became LOCKED, both men try and exit the structure by climbing. Khali boots Batista off and attempts to scale the outer-cage, but holy shit, Batista just jumped from one cage to the other! Man, if he didn't so brazenly insult the reputation and character of Basketball, I'd think there just might be a lucrative career for him there. Give it a try. Basketball forgives you, Dave! It holds no grudges.
 
It's now a race to the finish. Umm, kind of. Both men proceed to climb the cage at such a slow pace, that my father, who was sitting beside me, just disintegrated into a mass of bones. And holy shit, are those flying cars outside my window? What year is this? And how am I ever going to trim this 7 foot beard? Oh ya, one wild-west tumbleweed later, and Batista hits the floor first. Congratulations, Big Dave on a Punjab well done!
 
 
Well, like Scrotum, this was the Pay-per-view in a nutshell. Anvil will have your real, detailed report soon. Thanks for putting up with my drunk ass. That said, it's time to go do my best Matt Hardy impression, then hit the hay.
 
I'm Sean.
 
Hey, while you're here, why not check out TWF's *OFFICIAL* MYSPACE PAGE Right HERE? LOL LEZ BE FRIENDS~!
 
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, Wrestlecrap, and Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.

Send Feedback to Sean Carless

Bookmark and Share

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.).