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The Wrestling Fan dot com, in conjunction with The Academy of Wrestling Arts & Sciences (whoever the fuck they are), ranks the Bottom 25 Superstars inside the wrestling world each week with the SOUR 25. The rankings are based on ridiculousness, stupidity, push (or lack thereof), as well as whether or not Canadian Bacon owns a piece of their merchandise. Be sure to check back every Sunday for the latest SOUR 25.  

Editor's Note: Originally created by our friend TolerancE, the "prestigious" TWF Sour 25 has become a popular staple here at TWF for its absurdity, cruelty and out and out ridiculousness.  That said, this month's edition is being penned by former full-time Staff Writer Martin Ferguson, who's opted to take the reins of this beast for this month, and not just because the rest of the TWF Staff is far too lazy. Not even. With that in mind though, as always, the rankings in each edition of the Sour25 reflect the opinions of that particular writer, so send love, hate and/or bomb threats accordingly! Onto the rankings~!




          Rise In Rankings        Fall In Rankings          No Change


This Week   Movement   Superstar   Last Week


One of the all-time great wrestling traditions in wrestling is the wedding. Be it Undertaker and Stephanie, Test and Stephanie, Triple-H and Stephanie, Triple-H and Stephanie again... all have a habit of going horribly, horribly wrong.

Imagine this writer’s surprise then, when one marriage that seemed to be on a rocky road wound up being a happy one. And that, dear Martamaniac, was when this Thursday on Impact Karen Angle found herself wed to A.J. Styles.

Of course, one cannot help but wonder what the future holds for this loving pair. Granted, there are some complications. ‘Angle Styles’ does sound like some sort of completely worthless feature in Microsoft Word or something, and there is the little matter of their honeymoon when A.J. refused to get into bed with anything short of 2880 degree flip through a flaming hoola-hoop. And also the fact that he called Tomko to yell at him for half an hour, then inexplicably the Goatman showed up and he and A.J. double-teamed Karen all night long. Tomko’s boots aren’t the only things about him that are big, I have heard.

And furthermore... holy shit, I just noticed how hot Karen is. A.J., go fuck yourself. Leave my next (and first) wife alone



Triple-H is our runner-up this week not because of any warriors who’ve come up against his unstoppable, rainbow-like offense. Nor is he on trial for anything silly like burying a longtime victim via osmosis, or killing an up-and-coming youngster.

Indeed, it’s really just the opposite. He is here because of the nine months of hell Triple-H is about to experience. You see, recently Triple-H found himself up-and-cumming, bringing life to a youngster of his own. You know, the one that’s likely currently an amorphous, lizard-looking blob in Stephanie’s uterus.

Being a father for the first time is something that must have been wonderous for old Jean Paul. But mankind has his limits, and what with Shane running around it is fair to say that the Levesque family has already hit the 2.4 mark. Anything beyond what they have now is overkill. If Trips could only hesitate every once in a while to nightly bury those who rise to the top and hammer with everything they’ve got, then Stephanie would not be pregnant. And thus, Triple-H would only have daughter to have Pedigree Mae Young on her 100th birthday. It really is pretty simple.

He’s also here because of Jeff Hardy.


JBL beat Vince’s midget too hard, and now the little fella’s going to be out of commission for awhile. I have heard that the Divas backstage in WWE took the news of what happened to Vinnie Mac’s little man especially hard.

He has a perpetual boner. There, that makes me four-for-four on the penis jokes thus far. Can I keep it up? Stay tuned!

Anyway, Randall Orton suffers from a problem that is a bit more complex than parental issues, parental issues, or sweet A.J. Styles lovin’.

He has no style. He has no grace. This Kong, has a funny face. Err, sorry, wrong subject. That was supposed to be from number 19. Ah well, guess you get it out of context. Will have to replace my side-splitting entry on Snitsky with, I dunno, some black guy or something.

Back on subject. Randy Orton... well, let’s just be quick. Randy’s boring as fuck with no discernible gimmick decides being evil with a capital Kaientai, and he’s the perpetual bitch of both of his WrestleMania opponents. Get it? Got it? Good.


Kurt Angle is unique in that he has earned both my sympathy and my contempt in the span of a week, without one overwriting the other.

Let’s start with what he did wrong. To quote your Olympic hero:
It’s just that right now WWE is slightly beating us in the ratings and they are going to have the advantage because...

The rest really isn’t important. Point is, Angle’s out of his goddamned mind if he thinks that WWE is ‘slightly’ beating TNA. That’s like saying that The Great Khali is ‘slightly’ slow.

Still, maybe poor Kurt was suffering from depression. After all, on Impact– Valentine’s Day even!– his dear wife Karen left him for A.J. Styles. Which you should’ve already known assuming you don’t have the short-term memory of a particularly idiotic hollowed-out log. Worst of all is that Kurt knows the old saying– once you go Tomko, you don’t walk again for about a month. And given where Karen prefers to have sex, it’s probably going to be three.


There’s nothing like beating your midget right in front of your worst enemy, when he’s chained up and powerless to stop you.

The Genetic Jackhammer (or Geriatric Jackass if you prefer) has other things to be blamed for as well. His refusal to listen to the fans no matter how obvious it is what they really want... his borderline obsession with getting Snitsky over as a legitimate main-eventer despite the fact that Nazis draw better reactions (you cannot deny that JBL and Heidenreich both achieved states of being quite over in their careers)... his failure to have the next WWE Films project be a remake of Read Or Die starring Mick Foley and Katie Lea... There’s plenty of stuff to blame on Vince, and you could probably write a book or two listing all of his worst mistakes. Hell, it’s amazing someone hasn’t already.

Other than that book on the XFL, anyway.

To be fair, however, he does take the 2.4 setting to be quite literal. And for that Vinnie Mac deserves some credit.


Poor, poor Joe. He's finally going to win the world title and take his place at the top of the card, and yet no one gives a shit at this point.

But what I really feel sorry for him about is the fact that since losing to Angle for the first time the guy's turned into a complete puss. He used to be an unstoppable badass, but now he has to have the Steiners (must have forgiven Scott for the whole "Trying to end his career" thing) bail his ass out after the rednecks from the Marine-- oh, wait, it's Team 3D, Karen Angle’s gentleman friends my mistake-- attacked him for seemingly no reason.

And he's stuck in this dead-end Angle family, erm, angle. Jumping to WWE and becoming Tufuga is looking pretty damn good, isn't it Joe?

Or maybe not, considering when you get there you’re doomed to ultimately wind up having your face superkicked, clotheslined, hit with a chair, pedigreed, and made love to by Chris Jericho. Ask Umaga. I assume you speak crazy gibberish, correct?


First of all, let me congratulate Edge on his first time in the Sour 25. Seriously, hard to believe Edge has not until now added this prestigious award to his list of accomplishments. I’m proud of ya, buddy.

Mr. Copeland, who, let’s be honest, is essentially a penis joke unto himself, has the unique distinction of having the most useless minions in professional wrestling history. Hawkins and Ryder are about as useful as the Ice Climbers– as a matter of fact, I suggest WWE change that to be their gimmick right this very second. Hell, make Edge the leader of this restyling too, and maybe toss in ROP (aka Robotic Orton Promos), Henry Kong, Finlay and Toon Finlay, and Candice Aran too. Call them the Subspace Emissary, and rename Edge to go with that. If anyone on this planet deserves the name Taboo, it’s this guy.

I need Brawl. I need it good...


From main-eventing No Way Out to not even appearing on Raw (or at least not appearing in anything that served any sort of a point– as if I remember), Chris Jericho has gone down quicker than a narcoleptic hooker.



So, about Paul Heyman... He recently began his own, well, I don’t know what the hell it is, but let’s just say it’s a radio show. That’s what everyone else in this fucking industry does in their spare time. They’re all ripping off of Sean. Clearly.

Anyway, I seem to remember having a point.

Right! It is called the Heyman Hustle. Heyman Hustle? I’m guessing that was chosen simply because it has an ‘h’ in it, since that seems to be a prime naming convention in this shitty great country we live in. And more importantly, that Barack Obama lives in. Much more important than you and me. But yes, by the letter logic then Tissue-Paper & Crime Scene Photos should’ve been called Ferguson Fucking.

Why the hell didn’t I think of that before?


What, you may wonder, has Warrior said now? Hell, read for yourself:

"In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you I have watched Brokeback Mountain no less than 45 times and I own the Limited Edition DVD, signed by Willie Nelson a short time after he wrote that queer cowboy song as a tribute to the courage of the producers and actors who broke such incredible creative ground when they made their agenda-less movie. Serious. Until I saw Bendover Brokeback, Braveheart was my favorite movie. But the love scenes of Brokeback sucked me right in and I had no choice but to give myself over to the passion of its wide open range, if you get my drift. Such courage this young man and his collaegues have. Reminds me of the courage of classic movie stars, where during the War they enlisted and flew bomber planes and fought on frontlines, then came back and picked up their lives and careers right where they left off, without anti-American sentiment, whining and complaining, or self-destructive self indulgence. I’m equally inspired.
Apparently, Leather Hedger had sleeping troubles and anxiety and dealt with terrible mood swings. So do soldiers but they don’t self-destructively f*** up their lives. In fact, they don’t sleep, handle anxiety and mood swings while dealing with whether or not they might at any moment lose their life. And they do this all the while they are dangerously protecting the freedom of others to f*** up their own. By the way, how many 28 (or older or younger) year old soldiers met their death yesterday? It’s not easy to find out. None of them made the headlines of any news.
By today’s standard, though, I do have to agree that he was a great father. Perhaps even greater then the father of the year, Hulk Hogan. After all, Leather Hedger did what it took to kill himself. His kid is without a father, yes, but the negative influence is now removed and his own child has the chance for a full recovery. Hogan, on the other hand, won’t go quite that far. He insists on sticking around to keep further ruining, and profiting off of, the parentally mismanaged lives of his own children.
It is sad and tragic….that we don’t demand attention be paid to greater things."

Clearly Ultimate Warrior’s simply suffering from memories of his days as Batman, and as such sees it fit to deliver the final killing blow to the Joker that no other forms of Batman have had the balls to do. Clearly.


Twofold reasons for the Hulkster being on here. First and primary reason is his current claim that he and Eric Bischoff will soon be debuting an all new, highly funded wrestling company on a high-profile network. Which is of course bullshit, when you take into account that we have nothing in the way of a roster, press-releases, hype, trademarks being carried out, or even a fucking name.

Then there’s the fact that Hogan has begun pushing for him to be the one to retire Ric Flair. Yes, really. Hell, he probably just doesn’t want the current choice of Shawn Michaels (or as that new commentator is destined to one day call him, Shane Mitchell) to be the one to do it. Or he honestly believes that when people think of the legacy of Ric Flair, they think of the years of Hogan treating him as his own personal Christian.


Does Jeff get his spot because he lost the Elimination Chamber? Or because he had to sell for Snitsky? Or because he’s building up a Tito Santana-like streak at WrestleMania, and that doesn’t appear to be over? Or because Matt’s feud with MVP seems to have been completely forgotten about? Or because their DVD set sucks ass?

No. They are here because of this.

Look at them. Those look like they were unleashed on this Earth by Satan himself. And apparently hand-made by him too, to resemble a teenage Edge passing a kidney stone and the world’s worst Undertaker CAW respectively. God help the Hardys if this is the only point of reference future generations have for who they were and what they represented.

Also, that DVD set is pretty bad..



Jobbing to a man with an exploded arm! Curtain-jerking on a pay-per-view that featured Big Daddy V in a major role! Entering the Royal Rumble to challenge for his own fucking belt! Pepe! Take your pick . 

It’s amazing how the biggest push of someone’s career can still be a complete fucking disaster for that person.

First, Finlay’s using Hornswoggle’s “Harvest Moon 64 Festival– Wrestling Remix” theme instead of his other one. For Hornswoggle, fine, it works. For Finlay... he’s supposed to be a sociopathic badass. He shouldn’t sound like he should be dancing with Popouri at the damn Egg Festival. Imagine if Triple-H began to come out to “Do You Know the Muffin Man?”. That’s how wrong this is.

Then there’s part two. Finlay seems to be the only person who’s even trying in this feud. Vince McMahon’s entire gimmick at this point is to stand in the corner and occasionally yell in a voice that makes him sound like he should have a whole in his neck, while JBL seems to have lost all of his charisma during his feud with Jericho (I’m guessing Vince had it transplanted into Jeff Hardy) and now only possesses only the ability to throw midgets.


Apparently, this guy’s suing WWE. I have no clue who the hell he is or what he’s suing for, and my attempts to find out resulted in nothing but failure and hentai.

Image was the first thing that popped up on a Google image search for “Generic man”.




It is probably for the best that WWE no longer has their figures licensed by Yukes. Just take a look at some of these:
Mark Henry: Sitcom Dad!
He conquered the world with a dream and a porn ‘stache!
The Hills Have Bling!



Big Show returned at No Way Out to virtually no reaction. He proceded to get his nose broken by a nobody half his size.

What? Who says I can’t be straight-forward? Fine...

Ahem. Apparently during his time off Big Show’s appetite was for the most part unable to be quenched (while employed The Great Wight [worst ring-name ever] subsided primarily on fired wrestlers that TNA didn’t want), and he could no longer afford to buy hundreds of pounds of ravioli each week. So Big Show resorted to the next best thing– he began eating himself.

Word from Big Show’s mouth is that he’s already eaten 108 pounds of his own body. Thankfully, WWE got ahold of him just in time and managed to convince him to come back and feasting on the midcarders of the world. Word is he’s already looking into Cajun recipes for dinner with Moore Yang

Did I miss something, or does WWE not understand the meaning of the word interim? Why in the hell is Teddy answering to Vickie Guerrero? Is there any fucking reason for this?

Oh, wait, of course there is. Blatant racism. Have you noticed all of the minorities are on Smackdown and ECW (with the exception of Carlito, who is pale enough to pass as a tan Caucasian), which just-so-happen to be the B and Q-shows respectively? I bet they make Teddy sit at the back of the plane too.

I think I was going to say something or other about incest or something, but then I looked up pictures of both of them. And sure, Katie looks like a brunette Lita, but... well, I don’t blame him for wanting to fuck that. Seriously, somewhere between being a pirate and being incestuous, Paul Burchill became the George Clooney of wrestling. Wow.

Picture is from a Google search for Glamazon. Coincidentally enough, every one of those women except the brunette looks basically exactly like Ms. Phoenix.

So... does what happened on Raw mean that Beth is this year’s Playboy Sacrifice Bitch, or does it mean that she’s ready to drop the belt to Canvas Michelle? Either way is a bad sign for the Uber Diva.

And what the hell is her gimmick, besides giving herself fucking retarded nicknames and acting like they’re horrifying? Uber Diva? Glamazon? Hell, those aren’t even good enough to have made it on the list of worst aliases in the Wrestlecrap Book of Lists (coincidentally, that list was the only time Nathan Jones has ever been number one at anything other than dairy farming).


I love Ric Flair and all (not in the way that every man, woman, and child loves Paul Burchill), but Jesus. I just wish he’d hurry up and job to Shawn Michaels so this angle could finally come to a merciful end.

Still, you have to feel a little sorry for Flair. I mean, he’s due to be retired by someone with absolutely nothing to gain by doing the deed, and with no history with Flair other than a match at Vengeance 2003. The fat lady (who must be of Visceral proportions if that’s the only name anyone knows her by) likes to sing to the tune of Sweet Chin Music, apparently.

You’re dating a heel. You are dating a heel. Seriously, Maria, your character’s probably coming off even dumber than the days when you were making out with every John, Ric, and Punky who happened to be cheered. Jesus. Flanderization, anybody?

But I’ll forgive you, because... well, that picture warrants it. Let’s you, me, Burchill, and Karen get a room. So long as no one calls fucking Tomko.

I’m guessing jobbing to Triple-H is preferred to having a drawn out feud with Robert Roode?
You (Unless Your Name Is Santino Marella):

When the hell was the last time you were paid to make out with two attractive women in the span of a minute, and then a week later pretend to read over a clipboard? Clearly an inspiration to us all, this man.




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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.).