April 5, 2011
Wow, that was some Wrestling Mania last weekend, wasn’t it? So many great memories, like that part where that one thing happened. You know what I’m talking about. Hard.
All right, all right, I’m not going to patronize you folks. I didn’t see WM 27, and it was in my own backyard for Christ’s sake. Hell, I didn’t even bother hitting the torrents for it - when a show isn’t even worth stealing from a Swedish server, you know you’ve put out a less than tantalizing product.
Oh, I’ve heard a thing or two about the show, however, and I figure WM 27 pretty much summarizes why nobody in their right mind gives half a shit about the “industry” anymore. If you wonder why “the pro wrestling” is about as popular these days as a guy wearing a Westboro Baptist Church t-shirt at a gay pride parade, WrestleMania 27 sums it up rather nicely, as it is glaringly obvious that the people in charge of the product absolutely cannot stand the product they’re in charge of making.
The suits at WWE (which, apparently, isn’t an acronym anymore) positively hate the idea of professional wrestling. They hate the cultural connotations of the field, and you can tell they feel an indelible amount of shame from the fact that their company’s millions of dollars in annual revenue stem from that particular industry. The WWE, essentially, is what happens when you let Michael Vick take over as C.E.O. of Petsmart - he may like all of that money he’s getting, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t embarrassed and bitter because of where that money comes from.
Well, one of the good things about THE ROCKATGON is that it allows all of us to travel back in time, to a magical period where pro wrestling company owners weren’t embarrassed to call their televised product, you know, “wrestling”. Believe it or not, at one point in time, not only was there an emphasis on in-ring action (even the kind NOT involving ex-MTV reality television stars!) but there was even more than one pro wrestling company on the map!
Yes, I know, for you young uns out there that grew up on the John Cenas and Dave Batistas (if you even remember him), it’s a bit of a stretch, but hear me out: before there was sports-entertainment, there was the unabashed, unashamed spectacle known as professional wrestling, and the owners and operators of said industry had no qualms about delivering and promoting their goods as precisely that.
Don’t believe me? Well, as it just so happens, I have an old VHS cassette right here to prove it to you.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to thee, WCW SLAMBOREE 1994
WCW SLAMBOREE 1994
Ah, the old Turner Home Entertainment logo. Nothing says “the good old days” quite like being greeted by the silhouette of a plantation, huh?
A brief video package airs, showcasing the “greats” of yesteryear juxtaposed with the stars of the present (which, by the way, was a good 17 years ago now). Tonight’s show is subtitled “Legends Reunion”, and there really is an air of reverence emanating from the Philadelphia environs this evening. That is for good reason, since this was the very last WCW Pay-Per-View event before Hulk Hogan made his debut with the company. Long story short, the brains of the operation knew they were headed for disaster, so they tried their damnedest to put on the most reputable show they could under the impending circumstances.
Mean Gene welcomes us to the program, and he introduces tonight’s “legends” one by one while music that sounds like something you’d hear on an ESPN broadcast circa 1993 plays over the PA system. We’ve got Ole Anderson, The Masked Assassin (who still gets some pretty good heel heat from the crowd), some dame named Penny Banner that no one’s ever heard of before, Red Bastien (no effing clue, folks), TULLY BLANCHARD(!), The Crusher, Don Curtis (who looks JUST like Martin Scorscese, by the way), Terry Funk (who apparently no showed, which caused Verne Gagne to totally get gypped out of an intro), some dude nicknamed “Hardboiled”, Mr. Perfect’s dad, Killer Kowalski, Ernie Ladd, Wahoo McDaniel, some hairy Canadian guy, Harley Race (for all you young-uns out there, the guy Triple H wants to be), Ray Stevens (no, not the guy that used to sell comedy records on The Weather Channel), Lou Thesz, Johnny Weaver (I think he’s the cousin of the dude at Ruby Ridge, but I’m not sure), former Carter Administration cabinet member Mr. Wrestling II, and last and most certainly least, Tommy Young, a guy that was a heel referee back when that was kind of a novel idea.
The has-beens. . . I mean, legends of the sport, all wave at the camera and try to pretend they don’t suffer from dementia and/or have money to buy food as Mean Gene throws it to Tony Schiavone and Jesse the Body. And LAUGHOUTLOUD when it’s actually Bobby “The Brain” Heenan filling in for Ventura.
Hey! The Hat Guy from ECW is in attendance tonight. The Brain and Tony S.. rundown the card, conjecturing as to whom Ric Flair’s MYSTERY opponent will be. Also, they do a hard sell for the Cactus Jack. Kevin Sullivan / Nasty Boys match, which [SPOILER] is kind of awesome.
Tony S. says something about boardroom meetings and controversies, and out comes Nick Bockwinkel. Bockwinkel calls out Sting, who’s rocking the Eddie Murphy from Delirious radioactive red suit. Well, what do you know, another ECW super-fan is in attendance tonight, as the camera pans towards that one guy that kind of looks like that dude from Faith No More. I’m telling you, if we don’t get a shot of Green Lantern Fan before this show is over, I’m going to be pissed.
Bockwinkel tells Sting that he’s being re-awarded the WCW International Heavyweight Championship belt (long story, kids), but Sting says that belts should be won in the ring and not at executive meetings. Therefore, Sting challenges Vader for the world title, and Bockwinkel makes it official. Yeah, let’s see how much that stuff works in real life: the next time I get a pay raise, I’m going to DEMAND a steel cage match in order to earn said salary increase.
Michael Buffer introduces Johnny B. Badd (Marc Mero / the dude that used to hump Brock Lesnar’s wife in the late ‘90s), whom proceeds to shoot fireworks out of his robe and nail dorky black children in the face with confetti. Also, chuckles a plenty at the fact that Badd, who is modeled after LITTLE RICHARD, has a theme song that sounds just like a de-tuned Chuck Berry song. His opponent (and U.S. Heavyweight Champion) is some guy named Stunning Steve. Oh well, it’s not like he ever went on to anything noteworthy. . .
Arm drags to begin, with an extended headlock sequence. Austin’s corner man is Colonel Tom Parker, who at one point, was supposed to be introduced in WCW as a slave owner. And no, I am NOT making that up. Waist lock takedown from Badd, and what the hell? ACTUAL college-like wrestling, in a pro-wrestling match? GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR WITCHERY, WCW!
Austin with snap mares and elbows galore. Austin applies a sleeper hold, and Badd counters with a jaw jacker. You know, in that snazzy ensemble, Johnny B. Badd kind of looks like a photonegative of the Ultimate Warrior. Hey, Sensational Sherri is in the crowd, and it just now kind of dawns on me how much she resembles the Baroness from GI Joe. The fans chant something at Tom Parker, while Badd applies an abdominal stretch on Stunning Steve. Dude, I totally want a pair of underwear that reads “U.S. Champ” on the cheeks now. Austin with his own abdominal stretch hold. Sweet Jesus, Bobby Heenan just made a smallpox joke while talking about Wahoo McDaniels. God, I miss the 1990s. Johnny B. Badd with a botched victory roll that actually looks like a really awesome flipping piledriver. Badd with a cross body block, and another armbar. I really wish I knew what the Philadelphia faithful were chanting at Tom Parker. I want to say they’re screaming “Gay Bar Two”, but I’m probably wrong. Probably. Steve Austin taps out, but since this is 1994, it doesn’t count, and the match continues. Austin with a murderous double axe handle as Badd flies off the ropes. Austin proceeds to stomp a mudhole in Badd in the corner, but in a rare display of courtesy, refuses to walk said mudhole dry. Meanwhile, Col. Parker chokes Badd while the ref is distracted. If it weren’t for the fact that Badd is actually Italian, that would be racist as all hell. Austin with a chinlock as Heenan rattles off a number of references to the Little Richard discography. Badd with one of those funky-ass old-school sideways suplexes. Johnny goes on an offensive campaign, while Tom Parker distracts the ref. Steve Austin strikes his own manager, and Badd scores two consecutive near falls (including a neat looking sunset flip dive off the top rope). The Philadelphia crowd gets FIRED UP as the exchanges continue. Badd looks for a knockout punch, but Austin just kind of falls on him to score the three count. Post bout, Badd lays out Austin with the discus punch, which he called the “Tutti Frutti”, if they ever ask you on Jeopardy! Well, up until the super-abrupt ending, that was kind of, quasi-decent, I suppose.
Mean Gene does a brief interview with Ernie Ladd and Wahoo McDaniel. Ladd sounds like Cleveland from Family Guy, and Wahoo says something about selling Indian blankets by the side of the road. Well, OK.
Dusty Rhodes cuts a promo from “Hollywood”. Good luck deciphering it.
Tully Blanchard comes to the ring to music that I VIVIDLY recall hearing on Sportscenter highlights circa 1995. For those of you with serviceable memories, it’s the same theme that was originally used as Chris Jericho’s entrance music in the company.
Hey, Terry Funk made it to the show after all. Major LULZ when the cameraman displays a fan holding a sign that reads “The Funker Rules Philly E.C.W. Style”. Jeez, imagine seeing a reference to ANY company other than WWE making it on air these days during RAW. And the “EC Dub” chant, it doth begin.
FREAKING AWESOME! Gordon Solie is doing play-by-play for the match up. For those of you under the age of 25, Solie was the Jim Ross of his day, and owner of one of the coolest sounding voices ever.
Funk does some pre-match celebrating with the fans in the crowd, Blanchard takes offense, and the Philadelphia SLAP fight, it is ON. Brawling, on the outside mat? I am as shocked as you are. Old school, Texas pro ‘rassling - there’s noting better. Funk screams “son-of-a-bitch!” at Blanchard as he chops him on the entrance ramp. Blanchard has one of the most awesome “Look at me, I’m selling!” faces in the history of life. PILEDRIVER ON A PIECE OF PARTICLE BOARD - AND BLANCHARD’S HEAD DOESN’T EVEN TOUCH IT! EC-DUB! EC-DUB! DDT on the ramp way, and Funk “injures” his own back in the process. While the two competitors struggle to crawl back into the ring, Solie tells the home audience that Nick Patrick was well on his way to wrestling stardom until he blew out his knee. Well, that, and the fact that he couldn’t find a doctor that would prescribe him steroid treatments, apparently. The Philadelphia crowd chants “We Want Blood!” That would be an awesome sound bite for the Red Cross to use, I think. Funk with another pile driver, but he doesn’t connect on the moonsault. Ref bump, so Funk grabs a ringside chair. At first, he feigns pile driving Blanchard off the top rope, but they do this cluster-eff thing where they just kind of fall on it on their sides. Funk takes the opportunity to ground and pound on Blanchard while utilizing the sitting aide to take a breather. Tully Blanchard knees the ref in the balls, so Funk tries to choke him to death with a branding iron. Once Nick Patrick recovers from having his testicles sent into his esophagus, he calls for the bell. “Bullshit” chant from the crowd. A double DQ verdict is read while Funk head butts and elbow drops ECW Hat Guy’s signature straw hat. No, really.
Backstage, Jesse Ventura takes some time off from chasing Predators and making nonsensical 9/11 conspiracy theories to interview Ric Flair. Flair, as always, delivers, with both the awesome promo AND the tacky ensemble. Gotta’ dig Ventura’s skullcap-ponytail look, too.
Music that sounds like something out of an Andrew Lloyd Webber production plays over the in-house speaker. Hey, what do you know, it’s Larry Zybysko, who’s rocking a sequin gown with the word “Legend” printed on the backside. You know, because nicknaming yourself “The Legend” is totally non-egotistical and non-generic, of course.
His opponent this evening is TV title holder Lord Steven Regal, who is accompanied to the ring by Sir William. Jeez, how long did WCW let the guy hold on to the belt? I’d Wikipedia it, but meh.
A kid in the crowd holds up a sign that references that dude that got caned in Singapore. If this PPV was held a couple of weeks later, we could have landed ourselves some nifty OJ references. If I don’t hear at least one reference to John Wayne Bobbit and his severed member, I am going to be one miffed customer.
“WCW Rules, WWF Stinks” per some guy in the eighth row. Bobby says Steven Regal is so smart, he read “War and Peace” in half an hour. Regal is doing the whole “I’m a snooty British guy” routine, so he refuses to engage with Zybysko. After about three minutes of stalling, Zybysko trips Regal up twice and shit gets real when Lord Larry knocks the ever loving dookie out of Lord Steven with a mean, MEAN spinning kick to the stomach. Long ass abdominal stretch sequence ensues. The story here is that Larry is doing all of the offensive shtick, and Regal just refuses to take him seriously as a competitor. Larry says something about British people having poor dental hygiene, and Regal GOES BALLISTIC and lands a zillion European uppercuts on Zybysko. Regal with a mean-ass modified standing chicken wing. Larry goes for a backslide, but Regal counters with a nasty looking crossbow submission. Larry escapes, Regal feeds him some European uppercuts (they’re very high in sodium, I hear) and Zybysko begins to fire back. Zybysko looking for a sleeper hold. He can’t sink it in. He gets whacked in the back by Sir William’s umbrella, and Lord Steven looks to finish it with the butterfly supplex. Zybysko counters, and actually ends up scoring the three count with a pinning reversal of his own.
The camera zooms in on a sign that reads “We Want Hogan”.. . .which, to me, is kind of like asking Dracula to give you a hicky, or giving Momar Qadaffi a couple of tanks, some jet fuel, and directions that clearly state “Don’t blow up your own people”. Deep down, we ALL know how such arrangements ultimately end up for all parties involved.
Mean Gene is backstage with Terry Funk. Funk criticizes the pollution levels in Philadelphia, as well as that “Scum sucking dog” Dusty Rhodes. Funk says that he’s a “hardcore wrestler” and will take his frustrations out on the “son of the son of a carpenter”. It’s still better than most Robert Frost poems, if you ask me.
Gordon Solie is in the ring, and we have ourselves a podium on display. Damn, the Philly crowd boos LOU THESZ. Think about that for a minute. Harley Race is the first inductee into the WCW hall of fame for 1994. The Crusher is recipient number two, and Ernie “The Cat” Ladd is recipient number three. That after-school special-sounding piano music they’re playing during the rundown of their career accomplishments is killing me. Hey, I wonder if that WCW hall of fame is still on display at the CNN Headquarters? Yeah, I’m totally going to ask them where the placards for the Masked Assassin and Ole Anderson are the next time I’m around Phillips Arena. The ceremony concludes with a heartfelt tribute to Dick the Bruiser. . .or at least, about as heartfelt a tribute as you can achieve when there’s a dude wearing a neon orange luchador mask standing next to the podium.
Jesse Ventura is backstage with Col. Tom. The Body tries to get Parker to say who Flair’s mystery opponent is tonight, and Parker says that he’s over 6’7 feet tall, 320 pounds, and a person with a lot of animosity towards Flair. Of course, everyone EXPECTS it to be a certain shirt-ripping, atomic leg-dropping ship-jumper from Venice Beach, but as we all know by now, mystery opponent angles tend to produce some Barry surprising outcomes.
Up next, we’ve got a bullrope match featuring Dustin “The Natural” Rhodes taking on Bunkhouse Buck. Yeah, that is just about the most homoerotic sentence I think I’ve ever typed up for this site. Nominee for Heenan-ism of the night: “Speaking of nuts, here comes the head cashew”.
As soon as Buck enters the ring, Rhodes clocks him with the cowbell. After choking his opponent with the rope for about three or four minutes (think you’ll be seeing that in the post Benoit era?), Rhodes finally ties the chain around Buck to begin the proper match. You know, Rhodes is really working the groin area on Buck. Maybe this match is something of a precursor to his stint as Goldust, perhaps?
Awesome Heenan quote #002: “So, do you think he’s a chip off the old block, or is he like his dad, just a cow chip?”
Rhodes continues to pummel Bunk, while Heenan makes a statement about Roseanne Barr wanting to borrow his dad’s pants. Rhodes works Buck’s left knee for awhile, and his opponent takes the upper hand. Buck ties Rhodes to the ring post like a Vaudeville villain or something, and starts free shooting him like crazy. Rhodes fights free and turns the tide of battle with - what else? - a shot to the nuts.
Heenan on Philadelphia culture: “You know what’s at the end of a sentence here? Not a period, but parole.”
Ref bump. Colonel Parker tries to interfere, but Rhodes ends up clocking Buck with the cowbell to score the pinfall. As soon as his hand is raised, Terry Funk runs to the ring and attacks Rhodes with a branding iron. The trifecta of Funk, Buck and Parker beat down Rhodes, until the WCW officials (basically, just three guys in suits) break it up.
Mean Gene interviews Ray Stevens and some other guy that nobody’s ever heard of. The theme from “2001: A Space Odyssey” pipes in, and Ventura is now doing color commentary After Flair makes his way to the ring, Colonel Tom Parker comes out to what would eventually become the Four Horsemen’s theme song in the late ‘90s. SURPRISE! The mystery opponent isn’t Hulk Hogan, it’s Barry Windham, who looks like he’s been on all fudge frosting diet for the last half a year.
Windham looks a LOT larger than Flair in this bout. Not surprisingly, Windham gets off to a hot start, but Flair slowly begins to get an offensive roll going with some kicks in the corner. Flair with some chops, but since they’re not marinated in Windham’s favorite sauce, he only eats a couple. Ventura says Windham has been out of action for six months following knee surgery, and Schiavone reminds the home audience that Flair defeated Windham at Beach Blast ‘93. Time for the patented Ric Flair turnbuckle bump. The awesome part is when he wipes out some dude in a blue shirt holding a couple of beers in the process. Windham with the dreaded SUPERPLEX. It’s only a two count. A major LOL moment occurs when Windham does the Flair flop, and you can tell that it pisses Ric off. Flair with a vertical suplex, which allows him to lock in the figure four. Windham gets to the ropes. Flair tries to lock in the hold again, and Windham counters with a Three Stooges eye poke. Flair locks in a THIRD figure four, but since Windham’s already clutching the bottom rope, it really doesn’t mean anything. Flair with some funky ass knee drops. NOW it’s time for the Flair Flop, which is the first time I’ve ever seen it on the outside mat. Back in the ring. Flair does some boxing with Windham and goes for a quickie pin. No dice. Time for the “hurry-up” near fall exchange sequence. Flair does another one of those turnbuckle spots, only this time he lands on his feet, allowing him to run to the adjacent ring post and hit a flying cross body to secure the three count..
These two guys could flat out go, and they put on a number of all time classics back in the 80s. Sadly, you could tell that Windham wasn’t completely healed, and the match ultimately suffered due to his immobility. Still, a fairly enjoyable match, although one that is nowhere NEAR as awesome as both guys were capable of producing.
Are you sick of hearing from all of those damned “legends” you don’t care about yet? Well, too bad, because now we have Mean Gene interviewing Don Curtis and The Crusher, who says he’s going to drink 12 beers and dance a polka jig in honor of his dead tag team partner. Meanwhile, Dave “The Hammer” Schultz, the former Philadelphia Flyers goon, is in the back, doing the hard sell for the upcoming Cactus Jack/Kevin Sullivan vs. The Nasty Boys match.
Michael Buffer tells the audience that this match is a “Broad Street Bully match”, which means that there are NO disqualifications. The gimmick here is that Schultz is the official referee, which is bizarre because:
A.) he comes out wearing his old Flyers jersey over what appears to be a denim jacket
B.) he comes out to what sounds like an intentional rip-off of the ECW theme song (which, itself, was a rip off of a White Zombie song, which is really messed up because that song didn’t get released until a couple of months after this show)
C.) he’s rocking the poofiest mustache this side of John Holmes
D.) and oh yeah, he brought a hockey stick, too. You know, just in case.
Cactus Jack and Kevin Sullivan are out first. Sullivan gets a cheap pop because he’s wearing a Phillies jersey. As soon as the Nasty Boys hit the ring, it’s absolute bedlam. There really isn’t a point in doing play by play for a car wreck like this, so instead, I’ll just highlight some of the finer points of the match-up:
I. The part where Cactus Jack flies off the top rope to the outside to elbow drop a garbage can on Jerry Sacchs’ head.
II. Brian Knobbs appearing visibly gassed after dragging a table three feet across the ramp.
III. Cactus Jack suplexing a table through Brian Knobbs. No, that isn’t a typo, either.
IV. Tony Schiavone saying Brian Knobbs looks like Captain America while holding a trashcan lid.
V. And of course, the ending. If you ever read Mick Foley’s first book, you know that this one concludes as basically a shoot, as referee Schultz decided to legit beat the shit out of Jerry Sacchs before Cactus ended the bout with the scripted finish.
Anyway. . .an absolute train wreck in every sense of the word, with post bout antics involving everybody from Man Mountain Rock to EVAD Sullivan. Sure, sure, there’s better garbage wrestling out there, but this one stands out on its own merits. This is the kind of inane, stupid, pointless, absurd and senselessly violent retardedness that made pro wrestling in the early 90s so awesome, and a disastrous anti-classic well worth going out of your way to see.
Tony and Jesse stall while the ring personnel try to revive Sacchs, who pretends to sell an unprotected guitar shot (when in reality, he’s still knocked goofy from all of those fist sandwiches from Schultz).
ANOTHER damn “legends” interview with Mean Gene. Minnesota wrestling legend, ex-movie star and future old person killer Verne Gagne decries garbage wrestling while Lou Thesz decides to hop on Mean Gene, placing his knees around his lower abdominal area and following up with short range strikes from the full mount. While, actually, he doesn’t, but it would have been really cool if he did.
Time for our main event. Thankfully, Bobby the Brain is back on commentary, which is always a positive for these kinds of things. The original match-up was supposed to be Rick Rude vs. Vader, but since Rude was accidentally paralyzed in Japan by Sting, an impromptu bout between Stinger and Frankie Stichanno’s dad was quickly arranged.
Michael Buffer puts over both competitors. These two have had some AWESOME matches in the past, so here’s hoping that they can duplicate the sheer ruling that they brought to WCW circa 1992 here.
Tie up to begin, while the Philly crowd chants “Sting loves cock”. How did they know that Sting’s favorite fast food eatery was Church’s Chicken?
We have some EXCELLENT pseudo strong style stuff to begin, with Vader cornering Sting and bombing his ass with some huge overhand rights. For those of you that only know Vader for his WWF stint, do whatever it takes to scope out his work prior to 1996 - his fixed martial arts, Japanese Bruiser Brody style is one of my all time favorite things EVER about professional wrestling, and you need to see it.
Sting goes on an offensive putsch, but throws his back out after suplexing Vader. Cue that old spot where the good guy and bad guy take turns running into each other. Not surprisingly, Vader wins.
Vader with a top rope splash. What makes it really awesome is the fact that referee Nick Patrick bounces off the canvas about two and a half feet as soon as Vader connects. Vader with a follow-up splash, but Sting is too close to the ropes to secure a pin fall. Vader with an uncharacteristic (albeit dope looking) grapevine submission attempt.
Vader in full control here. He’s working Sting’s “injured” ribs and targeting his left foot. What the hell? In-ring psychology? In a pro wrestling match? GET OUT OF HERE, YOU SUNDRY CRETINS AND SCALAWAGS! Sting with some striking on his toes, and he follows suit with a funky looking flying elbow drop. Sting (rocking the neon Denver Broncos trunks, by the way) uses an eye poke to escape a clinch with Vader. Ref Bump, and Sting eats a NASTY choke slam that puts Taker and Kane’s shit to shame. LAUGH OUT LOUD as Vader gets nailed with the lamest chair shot of all time by Harley Race. Sting with a DDT, and just a two count. Sting with clotheslines galore - he attempts a Stinger Splash, but OOPS! Vader catches him and drops him with a fall-forward slam (what the hell are those things called, by the way?) Vader says that’s not good enough, so he goes up top for a moonsault. Yeah, I think you can figure out the ending from here. Vader, of course, misses, and thanks to a miscue from Race, Sting has the opportunity to capitalize on a top rope splash to earn the W, and thusly, the WCW International Heavyweight Championship.
All in all, this one is a pretty good show. There’s nothing on here that’s really decades defining, but at the same time, there really isn’t an out and out bad match on the entire card. One thing that DID bug me about the PPV was that all of the matches were WAY shorter than the typical WCW match of the timeframe, thanks to all of those pointless “legends” interviews that peppered the broadcast. And does anybody else think it’s just a little ironic that WCW boasted about the sanctity of the sport tonight, while simultaneously featuring a deluge of soft-core garbage matches featuring Terry Funk, Bunkhouse Bunk and The Nasty Boys? Yeah, well it is.
Truth be told, we’ll never see pro-wrestling like this ever again in North America. Granted, I don’t think Johnny B. Badd was the absolute zenith of ‘90s wrestling, but at the same time, it conveyed a lot of nuance, emotion and technical depth (not to mention the absurd weapons based violence) that has long been excised from the modern product.
Kicking back, feeling nostalgic for a show from seventeen years ago that was intended to make viewers feel nostalgic for seventeen years before that.
“Poetic” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
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JAMES SWIFT is an esteemed freelance writer, a world renowned independent author and a decorated investigative journalist. He also speaks the pompitous of love.
THE TWF "MENTAL WELLNESS TEST!"
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.).