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THE ROCKTAGON
W/ JAMES SWIFT

The birds are chirping, the bees are buzzing; the sweet amalgamation of fresh grass clippings and lawnmower fuel has begun delighting olfactory glands across the nation. As we slowly unthaw from the shackles of Old Man Winter's icy imprisonment, one can't help but to become enthused over the notion of strapping on short sleeves, rearing back, and kicking Jack Frost right in his big frigid ball sack as we celebrate the arrival of our vernal savior.

Spring is a pretty neat time of the year; hockey playoffs are right around the corner, jaded hate-filled types of my caliber are actually tuning into televised wrestling programs, and the reassurance of Spring Break entrusts that one's quota of "pissing in the sand" shall easily be meet for the quartile.

It's also a time that pretty much instigates forward progression, whether you want to or not. Sure, when it's cold and dark a good seventeen hours out of the day, the prospect of getting fat and living in your own filth is somewhat passable. But as soon as the thermometer hits 60, that shit has to go. If you're lucky, maybe breaking out your mom's thigh master will bring you down from an unsightly triple XL Batista shirt to a mildly less stomach- churning double XL Randy Orton tee. But hey, results may vary: Suzanne Somers ain't a miracle worker. (If she were, she'd still have both jubblies, wouldn't she?)

Since such a time of renewal and rebirth serves as a catalyst for individualistic navigations, I suppose the muse of seasonal transition will instigate the cessation of my own hesitancy. Think of this article as being a stuffed-to-the-brim containment unit that should've been filtered and minimized back in October.

Sometimes, even the gilded halls of The Rocktagon need some sweeping every now and then. Ergo, I present unto thee. . . J. Swift's Spring Cleaning Extravaganza 2009!

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Go FAQ Yourself! (Version 1.0)

Let's begin with a few FAQS shall we? (Intranet PS: FAQS is actually an acronym for Fucking Assholes Quizzing Shit. Yes, rappers invented the term. Stop being so inquisitive.)

Stop Sending Me Shit About This, #1:

HAI JAMES, I LIIK UR ARTICLES BUT WHATZ UP WITH THE PUNCTUATION HOW COME YOU HAVE ALL THOSE PERIODS AND NO CAPITALIZATION LOL K THX BY.

Holy shit, I just received an e-mail from a real-life Lolcat! I love your website, with the cats and humorous captions and all. I don't know about the cheeseburger part, but I assure you, you CAN haz my heart. Now pardon me while I drink Drain-O and attempt to lobotomize myself with a ballpoint pen.

All right, I get what the guy is saying. Here's the problem: When I send in my articles, I do so over my college e-mail provider, which has a filtering mechanism that truncates ellipses into singular periods. No, that last sentence was not oxymoronic. Thusly, I have to space my punctuation in order to avoid such typing inconsistencies. When I'm in a hazy mentality (which, considering the notion that I'm a 23 year old vegetarian working over full time while simultaneously attending classes full time, is approximately ALL THE FUCKING TIME), mistakes get made and unwanted periods get sandwiched in. Eww, a period sandwich! In other words.

Stop Sending Me Shit About This, #2:

Hey, ass-face, you said that (X) was champion at point A, but in actuality, (Y) was champion at that point in existence! Fuck your mother for such glaring oversights.

Using only the most complicated, thorough computation database in existence (Wikipedia), it's fairly certain that some factual errors would pop up eventually, and I've, admittedly, made a few in the past. For the most part, I just make shit up and most people never second guess me (Like that time I said Dino Bravo was once Prime Minister of Canada in a research paper and got away with it). However, there are some Intraweb sentinels of justice that just HAVE to remind me that The Natural Disasters didn't have a rematch with the Legion of Doom at WM VIII. To this people, I state two things: Begrudgingly, you are correct and b.) How does virginity taste, knob swabber?

Stop Sending Me Shit About This, #3:

Hey, can you send me a video of (pick an event I reviewed in the past)?

For starters, I am not a "tape dealer". I've lost too many friends to the horrible street drug know as "cassette", and it harms me incredibly so to have others accuse me of selling such a disastrous concoction. Secondly, who the hell purchases tangible media in this day and age? Let me introduce you to something called "The Internet". Make a couple of clacks in your keyboard and WHAMO! You've got an antiquated PPV airing through the magic of Russian servers and post-Soviet lawlessness. Enjoy.

Stop Sending Me Shit About This, #4:

How come it takes you so long to write articles?

This just in, shit-for-brains, I'm not getting paid for this. Last time I checked, there isn't a toll booth at the front page. I do this, out of the goodness of my own soul, to better each and every one of you. That means I take time out of my busy schedule to make fun of dead people so that you have something to momentarily distract you from the compounded misery that is your own existence. For God's sake, I once turned down a hot plate of steaming poon in order to rush home and encapsulate a shitty ECW show for this non-paying gig. Thusly, for my services, you do the following: Fuck, as in "shut the, up".

Stop Sending Me Shit About This, #5:

Hold on, weren't you doing ECW recaps for awhile, and then you left for a year, and came back, and somehow still managed to get a job despite your abrupt leave of absence? What really went down between Christmas of 2007 and Fall 2008? WE DESERVE THE TRUTH!

A little thing called "life" got in the way, mi amigo. In fact, my very first paragraph of The Rocktagon expounded upon my disappearance, but for those of you wanting a more relatable image, this summarizes things quite nicely. . .

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Changing gears considerably, I suppose now would be a good time to elaborate on the official J. Swift Rating System, huh? I've always hated the quarter star system. I mean, the shit, what's the difference between a bout and a * bout? They both suck, so what's to ponder?

To absolve myself from such arduous rakings, I've created an eight point scale that measures bouts on an affixed plane. And what criteria shall we utilize to evaluate matches? Well, it has to be something instantly relatable and recognizable, and after much cognition, I decided that the only way to contrast quality is via correlation to Arnold Schwarzenegger films.

The Scale: (Remember, this is a whole lot funnier if you read it with a nasally, Austrian accent)

[Terminator 2: Judgment Day] - - The equivalent of a so-called "five star match"; an absolutely awesome bout that you will be talking about for decades. The sort of epic Throwdown that you and your friends will reminisce about as Father Time slowly usurps you of your youth. An astonishing feat that few bouts can achieve. A rarity.

[Predator] - - Excellent to outstanding. A positively kick-ass bout that's guaranteed to have you and your friends spilling soda on the floor in absolute glee. It might have on or two noticeable flaws, but it's still pretty goddamned awesome.

[The Running Man] - - A really good match. Either a bout with lofty ambitions that solidly delivers or a match with lowly aspirations that surprisingly delivers. Nobody's going to be calling this masterpiece fare, but it's still pretty enjoyable. Well above average.

[The 6th Day] - - An average to Ok match. It's not horrible, per se, but there's definitely a tangible number of detrimental elements and when it's all said and done, not a whole lot was accomplished. Watchable, but not worth going out of your way to see.

[End of Days] - - A really, really disappointing and/or boring bout. Not really worth your time.

[Batman and Robin] - - A spectacularly shitty bout. It's almost as if the wrestlers were intentionally trying to arrange the most god awful bout possible: Blown spots, doldrums galore, horrible selling. Avoid at all costs.

[Junior] - - The absolute bottom of the barrel. Calling this a wrestling bout is an insult to the form. An unparalleled travesty.

[BWAIN!] - - Named after a nicotine-laced Japanese beverage Ah-nold is reputed to having a preference for. For things that really can't be constituted as matches; one sided squashes, injuries, etcetera. There's no attempt at actual in-ring product here.

See? Now isn't there better than some Faggot-y Meltzer system? Yeah, it is. Now stop bugging me about establishing a rating system, you lowly amoebas.

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Procrastination Rul

In today's helter-skelter, thrill-a-minute business, things occur at such an expedient rate that staying timely and relevant is an inherent fallacy within the trade. And then, there are some ideas I just don't feel like turning into full fledged articles. Consider these the Rocktagon miscarriages: READY TO ROH-MBLE! Remember that shitty WCW advertisement starring David Arquette entitled Ready to Rumble? Well, when Gabe S got shitcanned at ROH, a lot of Internet nerds started sweating (well, more so than usual) about the prospect of America's most overrated (I mean, beloved) indie fed GOING MAINSTREAM. DEAR GOD, HOW DARE AN ORGANIZATION TURN A PROFIT! The premise was to concoct a lengthy script that was virtually a scene-by-scene remake of the aforementioned celluloid classic, only starring starving independent guys nobody has heard of instead of WCW guys that are now dead.

WHY IT GOT SCRAPPED: There are only so many jokes one guy can make about Necro Butcher and 200 persons crowd attendance figures. If you meet him, shake his hand, because he's a far better writer than I.

WWE FILMS TO FILM LIVE ACTION CAPTAIN PLANET MOVIE! Back in middle school, it was cool to make fun of the mullet. As one of my peers once noted, Mike Awesome sported a hairdo reminiscent of the titular Ted Turner creation. Seven years later, I attempted to turn a five second retort into an 8,000 word article. I couldn't.

Winner: Rejection of one joke premises.

WHY IT GOT SCRAPPED: The casting would be WAY off. Let's face it, there's no way to cast Mahti without being a racist, so this one got shoved into the "Good Idea. . . on paper" folder fur further burning.

THE 90S WWE PPV DRINKING GAME! This one actually did manage to assert itself within the fabrics of the Rocktagon, although not in singular form as I initially envisioned it. The joke is simple: the early 90s product was so formulaic, and thusly, conducive to imbibing large quantities of alcohol. So far, so good.

WHY IT GOT SCRAPPED: Until you realize that there's not much one can do with said formula. It's good in bits and pieces, but full-blown merit it is not worthy. You know, kind of like a Santino push.

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WHEW! That's going to require a lot of garbage bags! Thankfully, I now have room to actually put things of importance in safe storage. Glad to get that shit out of the way.

All right, time to wrap things up: There are a lot of changes coming to The Rocktagon throughout the ensuing months. I shan't spoil the surprises for you, so I say just the following: MULTIMEDIA!

Take it easy,
Your friendly neighborhood J. Swift!

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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.).