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by Sean Carless

April 3, 2011

Or, one man's drunken journey to self-discovery on this, the night of WrestleMania 27.

[Warning: Much like the pay-per-view itself, the following may contain pointless and meandering filler, just because.].

[2nd Warning: I will not be doing any blow by blowing here. At least not without a little dinner & romance, first, AMIRITE?].

[3rd warning: I started drinking heavily and taking recreational drugs at about 3 pm this afternoon, and there will be no stopping this until that moment in which I see my long lost loved ones warmly waving me into the light. Only then will I stop, you see. Because, god damnit, I still have SO much not to give!].

-It's WrestleMania; the showcase of the Immortals! And a few people who died regardless, kind of refuting that whole bold claim! This is where memories are indelibly etched into the annals of time, so sayeth somebody I can't remember! And then, for the sake of booking a match we already saw ten years ago, conveniently erased! What can I say? Vince always keeps a big can of WWE-D40 handy just in case...

-To sing AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL, is.... as said earlier this week, R&B Icon, Keri Hilson. WAIT. Who? Shouldn't everyone know who you are if you're an Icon? Isn't that kind of the exact definition? And shouldn't Roddy Piper be taking big offense to this brazen claim and challenging her to terrible match at Starrcade to settle who the *real* Icon is? Or is this only happening in the glorious, glorious reaches of my imagination?

I think I'd have rather had that Rebecca Black chick sing a WrestleMania rendition of her hit song, Friday! I want to hear about how yesterday was Hall of Fame Saturday, today is WrestleMania Sunday, and RAW comes after...wards. It'd be awesome! And terrible!

-We are LIVE from the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, umm Georgia! (why else would it be called that? That HAS To be the reason!). And man, I've never seen so many ecstatically happy black people in one place since OJ's verdict in '95. How heartwarming. And terrifying!

-Commentators are Lawler, Cole and Mathews...kayfabe be damned.

-Opening VIDEO PACKAGE! But since you can't see it, instead, I give you this:

For posterity sake, since he couldn't attend, I added the ghost of young Scott Hall to join the photo-op, and of course, Obi-Wan Kenobi, because, well, I have no idea!

- The Rock opens the show. Apparently Daniel Bryan and Sheamus were bumped off the broadcast. So, for those hoping to see American Dragon make his triumphant ENTERTAINMENT debut at the grandest stage (a literal stage/performance area, roped off for your safety! [/Kellie Baldyga]), and dazzle us all with his many ENTERTAINMENT moves, better luck next time, bucko. And what a shame. I heard he had this one ENTERTAINMENT spot, where he'd transition from a cappella song into a complicated dance number, while the crowd chants, '"THIS. WAS. AWESOME". Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.Clap.'

ENTERTAINMENT~! And how about Poor Sheamus? Living inside the toasty, warm rectum of HHH sure hasn't paid much dividends for this poor, hapless bastard this past year. I can just picture him having an Oscar Schindler moment of final regret backstage. "I could have done so much more for him! Maybe, I could have handed the Game one more barbell? See this green shirt? I could have wiped down his elliptical machine with it. I could have asked him if he needed me to hold his feet during sit-ups! I COULD HAVE DONE SO MUCH MORE!"

Poor Beaker.

Oh. Apparently, said Sheamus/Bryan match took place before the PPV, went to a no-contest, and then transitioned into the big clusterfuck battle royal, which was won by the Great Khali. Awesome. I remember back when he first got his start. He was only known as the Good Khali back then. But after a lot of hard work, a lot of confused blinking, and then killing a dude, he eventually earned the right to be called "Great". Congratulations, Khali. With the right breaks, and a little elbow grease, I have no doubt you'll be the Greatest Khali before you know it.

- As for The Rock, he cut a promo. Promising to electrify us, but hopefully not in the genocidal way James Cromwell attempted in Surrogates. Or maybe he just meant Palpatine-style. "You'll find that my People's elbow is fully operational..."

But hey, since you didn't see it, but can likely imagine it anyway, I'll instead give you this:

Can't say I blame them.

EDGE w/ Christian vs. ALBERTO DEL RIO w/ Brodus Clay w/ maybe 5 years to live.

The good news is the SPANISH ANNOUNCE TABLE is back! The bad news is, the announce team itself is not wearing inflatable sumo suits or layers of umpire padding. Huh. Maybe they felt that, since one of the wrestlers is SPANISH, that this would create a wrestling paradox where any and all plummeting bodies would be automatically drawn to an ENGLISH speaking table? Maybe? Maybe?

Oh man this is good beer!!!!

That said, you'd think the big story in this one would be when and where Christian would betray Edge (umm, he didn't), thus BREAKING UP THE GREATEST TAG TEAM IN ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY (Fuck you, Three Stooges, whom I understand competed under Freebird rules), but you'd apparently be an idiot. And kind of fat, too. Jesus Christ, do something with yourself already. To me, however, the *real* story here is how Alberto WON THE ROYAL RUMBLE... OUTLASTING 40 DUDES... only to then end up in THE FUCKING KOKO B. WARE SPOT ON THE CARD. Seriously? What is the point of even trying to win the Rumble anymore? You have a better chance of getting better placement if you LOSE this fucking thing. "40 MEN. ONE CHANCE TO OPEN WRESTLEMANIA," doesn't quite have the same ring. Holy shit.

As for the match itself, Alberto targeted Edge's bad arm, and eventually got the MOST INTERESTING ARMBAR IN THE WORLD, but Edge somehow escaped, Christian recovered from a fallaway slam he had taken on the floor to take out Brodus with a tornado DDT (and not, to my chagrin, waiting for his shorts to fall so he could punch him in the band-aids), and Edge then finished Alberto with the SPEAR. “¡Ay, ay, ay, no es bueno!”

Winner & Still Champion: Edge; who then destroyed Alberto's car that was left parked on the ramp. I find supreme irony in a guy who is the spitting likeness of the Geico Gecko, destroying a car, and thus increasing insurance premiums.

- TOUGH ENOUGH Commercial. But since you didn't spend 60 dollars to see a commercial for a show probably not even airing in your country, I give you this:

HHH BODY SLAMMING ANDRE THE GIANT AT WRESTLEMANIA 3. We're changing history here in WWE. Stuff that happened didn't happen. Stuff that should have happened now is happening. Why? Fuck you. That's why. And just so you know, the impact of the Game slamming and killing Andre (a full 3 days before he died originally, according to the old version), the earth opened up, and some 20,000 new fans then climbed inside the Silverdome, and that's how we got the 93,000 number. LEGIT.


The truth is, I never watch SmackDown, even when I do, so I really don't know what the deal here is. I asked Catherine what was up, and she told me that our friend Cody here basically had an American Psycho gimmick going, (Hopefully at some point he murdered a couple of divas, naked, with a chainsaw), until Rey fucked his face up, and now he's out for revenge. Shouldn't he really be angry at his parents, though? Rey's knee-brace just finished the job our friend "genetics" started, after all. Don't blame the masked midget, Code. Blame Dad for cross-species procreating with a raccoon.

That said, for those curious, Rey, this year, was dressed up as CAPTAIN AMERICA. And apparently, the government kept Caps frozen a little too long here, because there's some significant shrinkage.

Good match, though... which Cody wins when he uses the knee-brace to clock Rey-Rey, only to then finish him with the Cross-Rhodes. (Someone out there, who is maybe as handsome as me, is probably wanting to use the pun of "Ago-knee of defeat" here, but is getting cold feet, instead cleverly passing it off in parentheses to draw attention away from its complete terribleness. FUCK THAT GUY, THOUGH, EH?).

I, me, myself, however, am far too obsessed with thinking of ridiculous American Psycho angles for Cody. You know, like trying to feed Ernest Miller into a money machine. Or maybe arguing over the logistics of WWE produced music....

"Do you like Jim Johnston? I've been a big fan ever since the release of Big Bossman's Hard Time in 1990. Before that, I really didn't understand any of his work. Too artsy, too intellectual. It was on Hard Time where Johnston's presence became more apparent. I think Ass-Man was his undisputed masterpiece. It's an epic meditation on intangibility. At the same time, it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding works. Take the lyrics to Victoria's 'Throw yo hands up'. The lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I've heard in rock..."

Winner: Cody Rhodes and us all. But don't fret, Rey fans. You'll always have next year's WrestleMania and super-hero ensemble to look forward to:

Production Assistant: "Holy shit, ANT-MAN? Awesome!"

Rey: "Umm, I haven't put my costume on yet."

Production Assistant: "Umm, awkward."


-Snoop Dogg is backstage with Teddy Long, looking for someone to take on tour with him. (Talk about the wrong time for RVD to not work for this company!) This then leads to the inevitable cluster segment, where, this time, everyone from William Regal to Zack Ryder to Hornswoggle sings and/or raps. I myself, however, pine for a lost opportunity; a non-manufactured, tear-jerking reunion of sorts to erase Randy & Liz at WrestleMania 7 from our collective memories. I'm talking about REUNITING SNOOP WITH BRODUS CLAY, his alleged former bodyguard. Then, Snoop can attempt to lift Brodus, one-armed, onto his shoulder, tearing his arms out Jax-style in the process due to the strain, wherein Daniel Bryan will then walk into frame, in full, unused wrestling gear, saying, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?"

Of course, I'm what has been diagnosed as "Clinically insane"; so instead of that, I'll give you this:

Triple H, reuniting with Stephanie at Wrestlemania 7! They were then married 5 months later at Summer Slam in Madison Square Garden; and Randy Savage never had sex with her first.

THE CORRE w/ shiny, decorative belt buckles VS. BIG SHOW, KANE, SANTINO & KOFI KINGSTON.

THE CORRE HAS STOPPED SPINNING WINNING. And now their name makes sense. After 90 seconds of "action" here, they're now buried so deep beneath the earth, that's where they live now.

And yes, that really happened. And yes, Kozlov was SOOOOOO hurt, he couldn't like stand on the apron for two minutes, doing nothing, and instead, Kofi got the big call up to take his place, doing nothing. Sweet deal.


Winners: Santino & crew via cobra on Heath Slater.

But since this was kind of lame, and a complete waste of time, you get this, which ironically also fits that bill:

WRESTLEMANIA 17 & #9 in the Streak! Some kind of match happened here. I think. Undertaker won, of course. That unknown mustachioed gentleman really never resurfaced again, however. Hopefully, HHH has better luck than this guy did.

-Backstage, Rock is talking with Diva's Champion, Eve, who'd apparently rather feel his muscles than, I don't know, be angry that she's stuck backstage, talking the logistics of pie-eating, instead of defending her title on the only show that matters. She does look good, though. So much so, in fact, that I pull tribute to her BJJ training, and apply a rear-naked choke on my penis. I then tapped it out. Repeatedly. For about two minutes straight. Someone then threw in the towel. Perfect timing!

Rock tells Eve that he will create a WrestleMania moment with the next person who walks through the door. It's Mae Young. She wants to have sex with Rock. Hilarity ensues... I'm told. Austin then walks in next and the two share a moment. We never find out whether he wants to have sex with Rock, though.


In honor of Punk's love of GI Joe, and Orton's strange insistence on becoming a hybrid snake-man, I'd love to see Punk carry around a coiled Orton, wrapped around his waist, who constantly cries out, "I wassssssssss oncccccccccccce a man!" And the best part is, Cobra Commander didn't have to wear pants after the Spores transformation, either, so Randy would likely totally EMBRACE it.

Orton wins, by the way. After selling the leg, but catching Punk-- who came off the ropes with a slingshot-- in the RKO. I was hoping concussed Nexus members would have at least tried to interfere, only to then be cut off by the 4 FAKE WIVES OF RANDY ORTON, but alas, NOTHING. Big Love in Atlanta, they'd have called it. It'd have been AWESOME.

Winner: Randy Orton, and polygamists everywhere! Punk fucks every woman he sees. Orton does the RIGHT thing and marries them all.

But hey, since I'm beating a dead horse here, you get this:


And speaking of ROCK, he is still backstage, and now with GENE OKERLUND...and here comes PEE-WEE HERMAN. YES. The world of masturbation jokes meets the world of masturbating openly in theaters. I admire both of these men's contributions in the field, and have since tried to raise the bar myself.

Pee-Wee is decked out in Cena gear, but Rock soon converts him to the side of 'Team Bring It'. You'll notice Rock never once shook his hand, though. SMART THINKING.

"Do you smell what the Pee is cooking?" so asketh Mr. Herman in closure. I'll leave you with that, and hope, that, much like me, you vow to never eat again.

HALL OF FAME, CLASS OF 2011~! In a side note, you have to laugh, that in a panel that contains a woman, Sunny, it's ABDULLAH THE BUTCHER who possesses the natural, double-D breasts here.

Joining them is Drew Carey, who got booed (Although, Vince insisted it was "Drew! DREEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!"), Bullet Bob Armstrong, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Animal and Paul Ellering on behalf of the Road Warriors (I was sad to see that ROCCO did not induct them last night), and of course, some guy named SHAWN MICHAELS, the best wrestler EVER. And if you've ever wondered what a guy who lived in the bayou for his entire life would wear to his high school prom, look no further than Ol' HBK here.

The whole thing is pretty rushed, however, which is a shame, and not just because Sunny gave me another pretty good excuse here to break out Little Steve Austin. And speaking of Sunny, do you think she and HBK had any interaction last night? I can just picture it...

HBK: "So, Sunny, any chance you and your twin sister there want to head back to Vince's office for old time's sake?"

Sunny, looking strangely at HBK's crossed eyes as he doesn't flinch: "Umm, there's only one of me here."

I hope they fucked.

-Booker T and JIM ROSS(!) come out to announce the next match; but while the shit gets under way, I'll give you:

WRESTLEMANIA XX, where Triple H defeated HIMSELF by submission with the cross-face, and then tearfully celebrated the accomplishment with Eddie Guerrero! Yup! Too late! Already indelibly etched!

MICHAEL COLE w/ Jack Swagger w/ teeth that require an entire team of janitors to brush vs. JERRY "THE KING" LAWLER w/ possible listing on sex offender registry (I kid. Kind of.)

Special Referee, Steve Austin comes out on a four wheeler. Michael Cole prepares inside the Cole Mine (if there was ever a time to seal it shut and drop a poison puck in there), only to reveal, by gawd, AMATEUR WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT GEAR.

The match then begins, but Cole stalls inside the pod. Lawler then attacks, climbing into and forcing himself inside it. This is the part where I exclaim, "This ain't the first time he's tried to push himself inside a tiny box." I then laugh and laugh and it temporarily distracts me from how desperately lonely I am.

The match then goes on. And on. And on. Apparently, they learned NOTHING from last year. In fact, sitting somewhere backstage, Vince and Bret Hart are probably saying something clever about this match and its paralleled terribleness that I can't think of right now. BUT TRUST ME. IT WAS HILARIOUS.

Austin ends up stopping an interfering Swagger and stunning him. Lawler then fist drops Cole and makes him tap to the Ankle-lock. This one jumped the shark, folks... and bad. Then Steve Austin feuded with said shark on Twitter.

Winner: Jerry Lawler, who then celebrates with Austin and Booker T... the latter of which gets stunned after a spinarooni. Normally, this is the part where people in Georgia would get angry that a white redneck tried to murder a proud black man in the South. But I say, Steve just remembers being cost the Undisputed Title in 2001. How is it that I can remember this? And not RAW from last week? Or the children women keep insisting are mine?

And speaking of Austin, my sister, who's Autistic, LOVES Steve, and is convinced that he, too, is DISABLED, and that his name is, in fact, STONE COLD STEVE AUTISM. (Opening up a can of Whoop-Asperger's?) I, of course, tried to convince her otherwise - and then thought, the dude doesn't seem to hear ANYTHING, (What?), and always spills like EVERY SINGLE drink all over himself, so, maybe she IS onto to something. MAYBE HE REALLY IS A SPECIAL REFEREE. Handicap match, next? Maybe. Terrible, terrible puns? Definitely.

HOLD THE PHONE. Or "reciprocal communicating device" again, as per WWE's PR department representative Kellie Baldyga. The RAW G.M., as read by Josh Mathews, has REVERSED the decision here. This was now a good match. Err, I mean, COLE WINS BY DISQUALIFICATION BECAUSE AUSTIN OVER-STEPPED HIS AUTHORITY. Austin then murders the messenger, Mathews, leaving only JR alive at the desk. Cole & Swagger then celebrate on the ramp, because if WWE wrote fairytales, Hansel & Gretel get cooked and eaten.

Winner by DQ: Michael Cole; who, honestly, could have spared himself A LOT of grief here had he just informed Jerry that the F.B.I. was backstage, examining his computer hard-drive. He'd have then won by count out, easily.


-Jerry Lawler, joins J.R. at ringside, so there is a silver lining here. A really, really, painfully expensive silver lining.


A series of men carrying shields crowd a man who comes out to Metallica's "FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS"... AKA: "SOON TO BE A GENERIC ROCK SONG WRITTEN BY JIM JOHNSTON IN FIVE MINUTES AND THEN DUBBED OVER ON THE DVD.

And oh my god, it's STING!


HHH rises, revealing his Conan The Politician wear, and of course, a water bottle, which I'd normally imagine was a rarity during the times of barbarism.

"Rexor, pass me my spade and Evian!"

Undertaker next comes out to his Johnny Cash music, which is ironic, because Johnny's dead. 'Ain't no grave holdin' me down,' my big, white ass. His entrance then takes so long, though, they gotta cue Johnny back up again.

THEN. THE MATCH. MY GOD. THE GLORIOUS WRESTLING, EMERGING FROM THE SMOLDERING TOILET OF PREVIOUS ENTERTAINMENT. I WILL SAY NOTHING BAD OF THIS, BECAUSE THERE WAS NOTHING BAD. It was like watching God himself make sweet love; or having the honor of being there as Michelangelo paints, sculpts and practices his nunchucks. Two guys, held together by duct-tape, went out there and tore the fucking house down. It was brutal at times. Like watching a snuff film, only featuring more dudes in underwear. Taker ended up prevailing, however, after surviving three Pedigrees, a million chairshots and even a Tombstone. HHH had retrieved his trusty sledgehammer, only to be caught in the Hell's Gate. I surmised that perhaps Undertaker opted to not wash his pleather pants for four weeks, thus guaranteeing submission. "So, this is what Michelle McCool smells like," HHH had said in my vision, shuddering, thinking back to the first time he made love to Stephanie, only to find a purple dew rag and white-rimmed sunglasses inside her.

I'm getting away from myself here.

HHH had held on for as long as he could, only kept alive by his will to possibly pin the new people likely being called up soon. Then he tapped. And Undertaker seemingly died. I don't know what happened. Jesus. Let this guy go to the hospital already. And don't teleport him back again all pale as shit at Summer Slam in 5 months.

Winner: Undertaker, 19-0, and now, barring Cena, he joins another famous deadman in forcing HHH to tap out at Wrestlemania! Only THAT guy can't re-animate himself. And even if he could, I think Chris Nowinski already stole his brain.

-Taker's still being carted out. Man. Who'd have thunk his exit would be longer than his fucking entrance?



The last time I saw something this short, plump & orange debut on WWE pay-per-view, it delivered a boat-load of suplexes and choked-out Kurt Angle. I'm of course talking about the Taz-esque, Snooki, the human basketball (keep her away from Batista); or as my good friend Harry then coined, SUPERFLY SNOOKI, on the account of her big splash and pin of Michelle McCool. That's right, WWE got their TMZ moment, as Snooki, building up a head of steam like the Raiders of the Lost Ark boulder, hand-spring elbowed Michelle then crushed her with said splash.

Winners: Morrison, Snooki, Trish... and me, watching Trish, and picturing myself joining her Yoga class tomorrow. From there, I'm kicked out and banned for life, after debuting my patented pose, "Upward facing penis." My cries of, "It's just that I'm a whole lot MORE limber without these pants!" will ultimately fall on deaf ears, and mortified eyes. Hopefully, Morrison's bullet-timed entrance will have affected Trish's own reaction time, and I can escape before police are called.

-EXTREME RULES, next month. Somehow, I think the sign pointing ends tonight...

-71,617 people here tonight! Some of which really exist!

(C) THE MIZ w/ Alex Riley w/ new Letterman jacket, despite looking like he's 30 years removed from High School vs. JOHN CENA, w/ "You can't boo me", choir-filled entrance & red, white & blue ensemble. (They did anyway.)

The less that is said about this one, the better. But mostly because I'm starting to lose consciousness, I think my liver just fell out of my asshole, and I can't remember where I am.

All you need to know is that the crowd died, each man kicked out of each other's finishes, and then both men stumbled into the crowd where they were both counted out. YUP. THAT HAPPENED.

The Rock then immediately showed up, ignored the RAW G.M., declared the match restarted, with no DQ, No Count Out, and No Sucking, or maybe just the first two, before attacking Cena during an attempted Attitude Adjustment, and giving him a ROCK BOTTOM. Miz then pinned Cena to retain, as I simultaneously pictured a black and white slow-mo, arthouse shot of Fruity Pebbles spilling on the floor as milk splashes upward dramatically, painting the lens.


- Oh, Rock gives Miz the People's elbow, post match, to send the crowd home... confused?

But hey, since I myself am all about HAPPY ENDINGS (even if the Korean masseuses I visit keep insisting that they've never heard of such a thing while crying, "please, sir, sir, please, put dicky back!"), I will give you THIS:



Dear Lord. The first ENTERTAINMENTMANIA did not go off as well as likely intended. In fact, the only thing that really delivered BIG TIME (BIG TIME?) was the fucking WRESTLING match, written and put together without interference by WRESTLERS, HHH & Undertaker. Everything else (Rock was great, though) felt like a glorified RAW. Even the big match between Cole and Lawler was a disaster on all fronts. Although, at least, unlike last year with Bret, it didn't involve every member of Lawler's family. (Although, maybe it was going to, but Brian Christopher ate them). With that said, I just can't in good conscience-- which, as a sociopath, I lack anyway-- give this one two thumbs up. So I shall give it one. And hope that I can keep it up long enough to somehow hitchhike to the hospital in time before full toxic alcohol poisoning kicks in.

I'm Sean.

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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.

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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.).