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Welcome, one and all, to Summerslam! The biggest party of the summer. So expect lots of alcohol, much fighting, and copious amounts of cocaine…. hell, who are we kidding? EVERY day is the biggest party of the Summer in the WWE locker room!


And what a great night WWE COULD have planned for you! Rather than that, the twentieth Summerslam, a huge milestone by anyone’s standard, is headlined by Batista and The Great Khali. The WWE piss away potential more often than Chris Masters pissed when he found out about the clamp down on drug testing.


Masters:- Come ON, Evian! Cleanse me! CLEANSE ME!


As ever, your hosts are… numerous. I mean, seriously, with this many hosts, who needs guests? A party with six hosts is pretty much a sleep over. Lets get on with the show.  


Kane vs. Finlay.


So Kane got this match because Vince was worried that Kane might be his son. Oh yes, that makes perfect sense. Vince and Paul Bearer made sweet love and out popped Kane. Jesus shit, Kane’s character has been retconned more times than Spiderman.


Did I just use the word ‘retconned’ in an actual sentence? Eugh, I’ll be watching fucking anime next.


Anyway, Kane starts strong with his powerhouse offense, including knocking him from the top rope to the floor and beating on him some outside, but soon enough the taped ribs start to hurt, and Finlay takes full advantage Michael Cole says ‘Finlay cost Kane his title match against Khali.’ Dude, keep track of your own fucking product. Finlay came in after the goddamn bell. Jeez, it’s not like Michael Cole wasn’t THERE. If I had my way, I could think of the perfect replacement for Michael Cole.



JBL:- So what did you think of that, partner?

Replacement:- TIMMY!!


Finlay pounds on Kane’s ribs, using his whole fat little Irish body as a battering ram, but Kane is on form and keeps plugging away with the huge top-rope clothesline that he might as well hit from the damn canvas as he lands on his feet a good second before he hits the clothesline anyway. It’s just silly because there is no extra impact really. It’s like breaking up a pinfall with a shooting star press.


Finlay grabs Hornswoggle from under the ring, but Hornswoggle wants nothing to do with Kane, and runs, but Kane catches him as he is crawling under the ring. I believe he says, ‘hey, ain’t you the guy who was at mine and Lita’s wedding?’. Hey, I’m with him there. All midgets look the same, and ASIAN midgets?? Seriously, midgets in China couldn’t be told apart in a fucking line-up.  Kane goes for the chokeslam, but Finlay interrupts to take it instead. Finlay fights on, and distracts the ref by taking away the turnbuckle, and grabs the shilleighleighleigh, but Kane blocks it, so Finlay… gets another one from Hornswoggle. What a waste of a leprechaun wish!! He could have had money or women, and he wanted an unpronounceable stick with a ball on the end. He hits Kane, but still can’t pin him, and this has felt like the longest match ever. Kane hits the chokeslam that he couldn’t hit earlier because of his ribs and wins the match.



Winner:- Kane. And let that be a lesson to you. If you have chronic rib pain, hit yourself with a hard stick. You’ll recover in no time.



Pretty good opener, better than the best match at the Bash.



Vince arrives at his party, and calls it a sausage fest. Regal says, ‘I told you to get the scrubbers’. By GOD I love Regal.

Apparantly, the mother of Vince’s illegitimate son may arrive later. In the meantime, we have to watch Santino sing for Vince to prove he is his son. Great idea, if you are in Guys And Dolls, not so good if you are Santino Marella and nobody could give a monkeys chuff about you.

MVP is next in. He says that Teddy Long dropped the ball tonight and he isn’t on the card, but he is issuing an open challenge to Matt Hardy in something else. Vince speculates that MVP could be Vince’s son, but Regal says that his son would be someone more Regal. Vince says he wouldn’t sleep with an English woman with Coaches dick.


Now, two points here.


1)     If the woman had Coaches dick, it wouldn’t be a woman, it would be Coach. What? Oh, he meant that he wouldn’t eve… ah well, point still stands.


2)     There is NOTHING wrong with English women! Fuck, you Americans aren’t exactly the pick of the bunch are you really? Shit, we have a saying over here, ‘Women are like buses, none come for ages, and then two come at once.’ YOUR version is, ‘Women are like buses…..’ Get my drift, you fat fucks?


Americans that are not obese, and would like to contact me to complain, please send all emails to bowman_person@hotmail.com. Also, if Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster are reading, please do the same. I love hearing from FICTIONAL FUCKING CHARACTERS.





Kennedy vs. Carlito. Vs Umaga.


Kennedy does his piece, and then Carlito enters, at which point we get a good five second shot of Lillian Garcia’s tits. Well, for me it was a few seconds longer because I have cable and the ability to pause my TV, but it’s the general principle of the thing.


The match starts with Umaga mauling Kennedy and Carlito, who both attempt to work on the same page only to get trounced some more. Eventually, they knock Umaga to the floor and Kennedy kicks his teeth in. Guess its time for Umaga’s Triple Threat Match nap. I noticed, as Umaga was falling to the floor there, that he’s got a very wet ass. I mean, like REALLY wet. I hope it’s not what I think it is, because if there is one thing the wrestling world does not need, it’s another Sid fucking Vicious.


Carlito and Kennedy run through some stuff until Umaga starts to get up. Kennedy goes for another kick, but Umaga grabs his leg and yanks him to the floor. Oooh, that was a clumsy landing. Umaga with headbutts to Carlito and such. There is a guy in the crowd with a paper bag on his head with an afro sticking out of the top, and a sign saying ‘Carlito’s Embarrassed Brother. Heh, it’s good, BUT surely, bag or no, the best way to avoid drawing attention to your embarrassment is to NOT carry around a big fucking sign reading, ‘Carlito’s Embarassed Brother’ and an arrow pointing directly at YOU.. Just saying.


Umaga misses a HEWAGE splash in the corner, and Kennedy, pissed off, BLASTS him in the head with a monitor. Carlito and Kennedy try the double suplex, but its reversed, and Umaga is back in control until Kennedy throws him out of the ring and hits the Plunge on Carlito. That’s enough to keep Carlito down, but Umaga is back in with the THUMB OF DEATH for Kennedy, and that’s all she wrote. I can’t help but think that Pro Wrestling i9s the only sport in which having a powerful thumb would be an asset.


Manager:- So do you have any qualifications?


Manager:-… riiiight, we’ll give you a call.



Winner:- Umaga




Video package airs for Taker. I can’t stand it. That little girl who says something like, ‘did you hear the one about the man who can’t be stroyed?’. What the FUCK is STROYED? Did they just hire a lispy retard kid out of sympathy?             If I was Mark Henry, I’d hunt that girl down and eat her. Or, preferably, take some enunciation lessons from her.  


Rey Mysterio vs. Chavo Guerrero


Rey gets a bunch of fireworks, and then pops out of the ground, and he’s… well he’s all silver all over. Like majorly silver. I hate it when wrestlers pull stuff like this, because it can only be a distraction for the whole damn match. This is a prime example, with both men working a strong match, and all I’m thinking is…


Paint Update:- 2 Mins In, 90% Remaining.


Rey twists around and throws Guerrero around for a few minutes, so Chavo regroups and goes for Rey’s knee. A sound match from here on in sees Chavo focus on the knee, and Rey tries to keep his offense going, even attempting a 619 at one point, but collapsing when his knee gives out. But what am I thinking as it happened?


Paint Update:- 7 Mins In, 50% Remaining.


JBL says something along the lines of, ‘tonight, Rey TRULY learns if he is ready to go again or not.’ Great announcing, so Michael Cole says, ‘Of COURSE he is, his doctor gave him clearance.’ If Michael Cole was on fire, I’d piss in his mouth.


Paint Update:- 11 or so Mins In, 30% Remaining.


Eventually, Rey gets the upper hand, and places Chavo in the tree of woe and beats on his knee some, which I liked. To be honest, Rey looks a little fat. Maybe he’s off the steroids. And I don’t want to hear that crap about, ‘but he says he never was!’. Fuck that, if you’d have put a pin in him, he’d have sprung a leak three months ago. Some more flippy dippys, including a Tornado DDT that looked fucking devastating, but Chavo hits the Gory Bomb.


JBL:- Find a fat lady, tell her to sing!


John, it’s AMERICA. I’d put money on you being spoilt for choice. SEE, THIS IS WHAT YOU GET.


Paint Update:- 1 Min To Go, 10% Remaining. It’s so goddamn distracting.


Rey kicks out, and after some fiddly stuff hits the 619. He then hits a devastating splash for the win. All of those 165 pounds flopping on Chavo from a few feet up! HOW WILL HE EVER STAND AGAIN!?



Winner:- Rey. Another good match. Nothing has actually REALLY pissed me off yet. This is a record.



Booker says some stuff about Triple H. How dare he? PEOPLE LIKE HIM should just be honoured that they abolished slavery!




Diva Battle Royal.


Oh, jeez. Lots of attractive women with their asses out is all well and good, but have them doing something they are good at! Like cooking my dinner or trimming my toenails. We don’t need to see them all sucking at pretending to fight. All the women are out there, and I can’t tell you who is tossed when, it’s just basically the worst orgy ever.


King says something about Candice scuppering his view, ‘not that I’m complaining’. Ohhhh, you mean the GOOD scuppering! Yeah, don’t you just love it when a girl good-scuppers something you are REALLY enjoying! Fucking R Tard.


The plethora of tits continues with Michelle McCool accidentally eliminating Kristal, and so on and so forth, until only McCool, Torrie and Beth Pheonix remain. There isn’t a lot of detail AVAILABLE to go into, but Torrie ends up on her shapely posterior on the floor, shortly followed by Michelle McCool. Beth Pheonix is your winner.






No sooner has this gone down when MVP’s music hits, and out comes the man himself with a cooler. He makes a speech about how refined he is these days and how he only drinks the finest cristalle and such, but tonight, he will be challenging Matt Hardy in a beer drinking contest. Oh, what a novel idea! Put the man with the heart condition in an alcohol consuming contest! That would be much safer than a match, yes indeedy. The fricking fuck? As if it’s not bad enough that his ticker is packing up shop, now they are trying to hurry along his fucking liver to go with it.


Matt Hardy comes out and says that, just like MVP at Saturday Nights Main Event, he has found a substitute, a world champion beer drinker… the crowd are going absolutely fucking mental for this. I hope it’s the Sandman just to piss them all off.


It’s not, it’s Stone Cold of course, but hey, it would have been really funny.


Stone Cold enters, warms up with some star jumps and some press ups, gives MVP a few cans, hits the stunner, drinks some beer and leaves. It’s just easy fucking money really, isn’t it? 


Back to the back with Vince, Coach and the GM’s.Cryme Tyme is here, and apparently both of them think that Vince could be their dad? What colour was your mum, guys, charcoal?? Anyway, they do the annoying ‘money money’ dance thing and are joined by Teddy and Coach. So now we have four black men circling two white men. It’s like your standard episode of Crime Watch.


Regal joins them. HA! Lookin’ fly. Of course, Ron Simmons is there when he turns around. And another one! Did somebody send up a bloody smoke signal or something?

Simmons says ‘damn.’ I still like that.



Next, we get a shot of the girl who sang the theme tune, Cat leLuna or something. Kinda young. I would bash the granny out of that, I’m telling you. Go look her up, you’ll see what I mean.


John Morrison vs. CM Punk.


What I love about this feud is that, given the current climate in wrestling, pushing a guy who is straight edge and never touches anything harmful could be a great asset if pushed well. Despite that, and despite the current climate of wrestling, they are basically pushing a man who died in a bathtub of a probable heroin overdose.  Great logic there, guys.


Match starts on the ground, but eventually deteriorates into a fight, with Morrison hitting a neckbreaker FROM the apron onto the FLOOR that looked fucking devastating. Seriously, for a second there I thought that could have been more serious than it was. The match continues in this catch-as-catch-can, equal manner for the majority, Morrison hitting that neck and back breaker, CM Punk landing a moonsault, and so on and so forth. I can’t wait to see how they conclude this match, after the one at the Bash, with the Killer Knock-out Kick To The Leg. Maybe we’ll see a Devestating Open Handed Punch for the pin? A Chop To The Exposed Chest victory? No such luck. CM Punk misses a move from the top rope and Morrison uses the ropes to pin him. But what did we really expect from an ECW title match? Satisfaction? CM Joe gets back in his hamster wheel.




King Booker vs Triple H.


Triple H shouts, ‘Are You Ready’, and the building erupts. Fireworks everywhere, ‘Genibus Mitibo Canus’ is written on the Titantron… I’m not sure, but I think that means he’s in Slytherin… and out comes Triple H to uproar. I mean, uproar. Big staredown between the King and the King Of Kings, and the match is underway!


Unfortunately, that’s where the fun ends. There really is very little for me to report, because basically, Triple H hits all of his standards and King Booker does very little. Booker occasionally targets the quad, but its sporadic because basically this is The Triple H show, and people getting in offense tonight just plain isn’t on the cards, especially someone like Booker. At one point, Trips slowly, oh so very slowly, clotheslines Booker to the outside, and Bopoker slowly, oh so very slowly, falls, and runs into the barrier. I mean, Ric Flair would have hit that with more vigour, and he has rigamortis in his damn legs.  The finish sees Booker go for that spinning legdrop from the top, but miss. Trips hits the Pedigree, goes for a drive, eats his dinner, fucks Steph (she likes it anally). Films a scene for his new movie Thor, comes back to the arena, signs a few autographs and then pins Booker. Nah, I jest, he did it straight away this time.



Winner:- Triple H.




And after that okay but not great match, we have…


Batista Vs The Great Khali.

Fucking great.


The promo video has Michael Cole shouting, ‘with the claw in his arsenal, how can Khali be stopped!?’ Oh I dunno… a couple of ideas. A helmet? Moving a little faster than the speed of your average paperweight? I’m just throwing them out there.


Khali starts strong, beating on Batista in the corner, and hitting a clothesline that elicits a ‘wow! Wow!’ from JBL. Yes, I was amazed that he’d mastered STICKING HIS ARM OUT too. Jesus, you’d think Dennis Rodman had just done an armdrag or something. Khali chops Teest and pins him with the foot, but no dice. So he goes for a nerve hold for, ooh, a good five minutes. So the next time you put your hand on somebodies shoulder, whether it is a compassionate gesture or an angry one, think to yourself, ‘I could be a wrestler JUST LIKE The Great Khali’. Big big boring chant, so Batista takes the initiative and fights out, only to eat a big boot. Khali goes for the claw, but Teest blocks it, and hits a decent looking spinebuster. In comparison to, say, the one he hit on Vader, anyway. Teest goes up top, but is caught in the Khali Bomb! He kicks out so Khali hits him with a chair.



Winner:- Batista. Crap. Utter crap.



Crowd SHIT on the DQ finish. Fuck it, I shit on the DQ finish. I never wanted to see this little nugget of crap anyway, but I at LEAST expected some kind of fucking conclusion. Now we are back in limbo. Batista won, but still isn’t champion. Fuck making jokes, this whole damn thing is a big gooey diarrhoea-esque mess. Get the belt off Khali and fire him ASAP. Then fire the booking team. Preferably out of a cannon.


Batista assaults Khali with a chair. Khali can’t even take a chair shot. How hard is it to be whacked in the head with a chair? Lame. 


The lady is finally here to see Vince! Looks like SOMETHING will be rounded up to a conclusion tonig… no, it’s just Mae Young. Who wants to…. Have sex with… Vince. Oh god, if Mae Young is the punchline you have been building up to all night on a three hour show, you have major problems.



Mae Young jumps on Vince. There is tongue.



I have just seen my life flash before my eyes. The saddest thing was that this scene, this VERY scene, had to be part of it. GODDAMN YOU WRESTLING FANS. I do this so you don’t have to.


They drag her away, and Coach offers Vince a Tic Tac, but apparently, he liked the taste, because ‘old chicken makes good soup’. You know what else makes good soup? Oxtail. But I’m not about to go shove my head in an Ox’s arse. Think about it, dickhead.  


Main Event:- John Cena vs Randy Orton.


The first note I have here says only one thing, ‘Uh oh’. The crowd are really on Cena’s case at the beginning, not helped by the fact that the first move of the match is a… side headlock. Cena breaks out and puts Orton in a… side headlock.


JR:- Orton here in discomfort.’


Well if THAT doesn’t sum it up. When was the last time you saw somebody lose because they didn’t feel comfortable? ‘I can’t go on, that’s really niggling at me’. Side headlocks suck. Simple as. They break away from this, and after some brawling, Cena tries to lock in the STFU. Oh dear GOD NO! Don’t inflict such mild discomfort on him, you BRUTE!


Orton is very kick-punch here, but it is intense. He shoulderblocks Cena, who bounces of the announce table, and then throws him back in where he applies… a side headlock. Wow.


Orton up, and tries to land the knees to Cena’s temple. It is clear that he is focussing on the head, because of the injury he gave Cena at Saturday Nights Main Event. He misses the kneedrop, and Cena to the ropes, but Orton hits the snap powerslam and then DRILLS Cena with… a side headlock. Dear. Fricking. God.



Right! Back to the action! Orton hits a very pretty dropkick, and locks in a sleeper, which he converts swiftly and cleverly into… a bastard side fucking headlock. This is ridiculous.


Cena reverses this into a protobomb. There is ONE person in the crowd now doing a ‘This Is Awesome’ chant, and I think he was probably watching bukkake on his phone or something, because there is no way that the side headlock fest was pressing the right buttons.


There is a lot of brawling which sees them both try for their finishers, and then Cena goes to the top. Orton tries to cut him off, but Cena does the Flying Sit On Your Head anyway. Cena goes for The FU, he’s moved up from discomfort to slight aggravation I see! Randy blocks it, and hangs Cena up on the ropes. He goes for his devastating kick, but Cena moves. Hey! When Tommy Dreamer did that he got nothing but backlash!! Cena locks in the STFU, which JR refers to as torturous. Yep, torturous for wrestling purists to fucking watch. PULL BACK ON THE HEAD, GODDAMN IT! Randy gets to the ropes, and Cena looks pissed. And then he looks dead. RKO.


1.. 2.. and he kicks out. What the FUCK just happened?


Orton shows no emotion, and stalks again for the RKO, but Cena catches him in the FU and god save me, that’s all she wrote.


Winner:- Cena. I felt for sure Orton was going to win. 



Right, that is your lot. It is quarter past nine in the morning here, and I haven’t been to bed yet. You owe me you fuckers.


All told it was a pretty good show. Slightly disappointing at times, but as a general rule, it delivered. Unfortunately, the image that I will be taking with me is that of Mae Youngs probing tongue, and nobody needs that. Hell, Mae Young’s DENTIST could barely deal with it.


I have been Anvil and you have been DAMN lucky to have me.

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The Anvil's Swagbag has eight girlfriends (two for Thursday) and lots and lots of fans. He says this is because it is very hot in his Dungeon. He states that his most embarrassing moment was when he forgot to tuck his penis into his sock one time, and kept having to pick pebbles out of his foreskin. He also loves Mick Foley. Lots.

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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.).