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By Sean Carless.
[The Following was written poorly whilst under the influence. Only spelling and grammar have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.]


Hey, fuckheads. Guess who's back~! Now guess who was going to write a full and detailed Recap of Wrestlemania 26 in splendiferous and spectacular fashion only to then decide like right at the last moment: "You know what? Fuck it."  THIS GUY RIGHT HERE.


That's right, if I've learned anything in the last year since I wrote and finally finished my (much better written... I promise) book in lieu of this website, it's...nothing? Apparently. All I know is, I hate recapping.  And most races, creeds and religions. Except you. You're Ok. No, not you, fatso. Him. Yeesh.


So, ya, this was to be a full-fledged Rant, chocked full of references, detail and other words I'm now too lazy to type - but I just can't do it; morally or otherwise. So that said, we are in desperate need of a proper (and good) PPV Recapper. One that has passion; one that has dedication;  one that works for free with zero reward. SOUND LIKE YOUR DREAM JOB?  Hey, where are you going?


So, ya, like your pathetically unused semen, here is Wrestlemania in a Nutshell. Quick and Dirty-like. Quick like sex on prom night. And dirty like the feeling the girl who gave it up to me likely felt for a whole decade until somehow finding the wherewithal to finally put it out of her mind forever. I still masturbate to her sometimes. (She can't see me in her bushes, luckily.).




-ITS WRESTLEMANIA. THE GRAND DADDY OF THEM ALL. Although, Starrcade once made that bold claim. Who planted their seed first? Questions only Maury Povich can answer.


We were live from Phoenix something or other. All I know is, it is apparently Ultimate Warrior's hometown. It's true. Turns out Phoenix IS PARTS UNKNOWN. Only with a lot more Indians and fat white golfers than muscular face-painted dudes and masked giants. Who knew?


Someone named Fantasia sang America the beautiful. Jesus. Your mother had nine months to get her shit in order and she comes up with Fantasia? And no dancing buckets and brooms? What is this fucking shit. Needed more Brad Armstrong, too. Clearly.


-Hey, did you know that this PPV is just now being aired in ROMANIA, so sayeth Michael Cole? I imagine Dracula and Van Helsing watching from the castle with bats attempting to hold the dish steady whilst they flutter in place. Christ. Romania? Seriously? Hopefully they get to see Taker/ Shawn before the villagers with the torches and pitchforks get there.


-First match was Unified Tag Champions Show Miz vs. Starship Truthers (R-Truth and John Morrison).


I like how this R-Truth seemed to genuinely care about my plight the way he asked me 'what was up' -- set to funky beats. 30 seconds later when the CHORUS NEVER FUCKING CHANGED? Not so much.


Anyhoo, Morrison looked to finish Miz, but uh oh, Big Show is legal, (so feel free to have consensual sex with him) and countered a Morrison springboard with a big punch with his formerly oft-called Skillet hands. I miss JR. Big Show matches are just not the same without someone reducing the sum of his human parts to a series of appliances and utensils found in and around the kitchen. Plus, he apparently pushes soft-boiled eggs through his jewelry JUST BECAUSE (then eats it. AMIRITE?). OH. AND DON'T YOU DARE GIVE HIM A HAIRCUT LEST YOU BE LABELED A RAPIST. That sounds like the full Giant gamut. Done & done.




-Randy Orton battled Ted DiBiase and Cody Rhodes in a Triple Threat match. No stip in this one.  Not even, "LOSER HAS TO WEAR PANTS." Not even. It'd have been appreciated. Wrestling is gay enough without dudes walking around with only long t-shirts, creating visuals unexplainable (and undefendable) to certain non-fans. Penis.


Orton won after a face punt to Cody (you don't have to worry about black eyes when you already genetically look like a Raccoon), and then an RKO to DiBiase. And holy shit, he's celebrating his win to a backdrop of a giant Wrestlemania-sized roll of Toilet Paper discreetly lowering behind him. Are today's Divas trying to imPLY something? Dear god. Shoot me now. PUNS~!



-DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME, KIDS. Wait until you're at someone else's house before killing each other.


- Santino Marella eats Slim Jims and then makes out with Mae Young - and then Mean Gene appears in a dress and What the Fuck. Are there are any foods in this company that don't create and/or cause severe hallucinogenic ramifications to the eater and us, the viewing audience? WHY CAN I SEE SANTINO'S THOUGHTS? AND WHAT IS WARRIOR DOING IN MY MIRROR?


-MONEY IN THE BANK. Christian vs. MVP vs. Evan Bourne vs. Jack Swagger vs. Kane vs. Shelton Benjamin vs. Dolph Ziggler vs. Matt Hardy (MATT HARDY WILL NOT DIET!) vs. Kofi Kingston vs. Drew McIntyre.


McIntyre lost and that's all I care about. 'Cause, come on, let's face it, if a SCOTSMAN won MONEY IN THE BANK, HE'D NEVER CASH IT IN EVER, AMIRITE? Ever met a Scotsman? That contract would be in his fucking Sporran FOREVER.  Perhaps, if Mr. McMahon, *really* wanted Drew to win this thing, he'd have hung a SHEEP up there. You just watch how fast that fucker climbs then.


Winner: EVAN BOURNE. Ah, I'm fucking with ya. The only way Evan Bourne was winning this was if everyone in the match gets struck down, King Ralph-style.


Anyhoo, JACK SWAGGER LEGIT WINS by swatting off Christian and then fumbling with the hook for like ten minutes like he was an awkward teenager doing battle with his first bra strap. Ah. Brings me back. Of course, she was asleep at the time, and in her own house, but it was still hard. I'm telling you.


So, ya, Jack Swagger is your MITB winner. Man. First he steals the 1985 Sports Almanac and changes the palpable future and now he's Mr. Money in the Bank?! What a year this guy's having. TIME TO CELEBRATE IN THE PLEASURE PALACE~!



-Side note: I want a Jew to win the Money in the Bank next year. If only for him to then invest it wisely and close out the year with an additional four extra Title shots because of his keen business sense. Or maybe that's just me.


-HALL OF FAME INDUCTEES take their bow. Jesus Christ, its like a church game of Bingo gone awry out there. Hey, look there's the Harts en masse! And holy shit, check out Bret's brother on the end!:



Since when did Solomon Grundy have fucking offspring? Look at the soup-bones on that scary motherfucker! It's like Donkey Kong holding a stalk of Plantains! Dude looks like a doorman at a mob-run casino.




-It's Conan The Barbarian vs. Conan O'Brien time!




DO YOU SMELL WHAT THE CHALK IS COOKING? (The Irish have like maybe 2 fucking meals, so its probably stew).  That said, HHH beat Sheamus clean with the Pedigree. Huh. Holding Trips' feet while he did his sit-ups really paid off for this poor pale motherfucker, didn't it? Dude was buried farther beneath the soil than his country’s greatest export: the noble potato. Ok, he wasn't. But I wanted to say that anyway, because the only other Irish stereotypes of beating your wife & drinking too much didn't apply here. Yet. (Seriously. I exhausted like 4 years worth of Lucky Charms jokes on Finlay already).





I heard if you shine a black light on it long enough his face briefly appears. (The same can be said of most of the Divas's dresses with Batista's).


-Did you know that Sandra Bullock is rumored to be pregnant with Jesse James' child? Did you know that I live in such a wrestling bubble that I secretly hoped they meant the Road Dogg?


-Rey Mysterio/CM Punk package. Not that kind of package, pervert.


By the way, how awkward must it be for poor Rey when his preteen children are allowed on rides but he isn't?


Match time. If Rey loses he has to join the Straight Edge Society - which I'd imagine would have its perks. I mean, by the look of  that lovely Serena there, Rey could easily utilize her assets to safely float the remainder of the Mysterio jr. family from the old country over here, no problem.


That said, I know I've said it before (When has that ever stopped me), but that Luke Gallows is seriously one container of mutagen away from being Rocksteady. All we need now are some Turtles. Now, where could we find a bunch of green guys to awkwardly teach how to fight? Oh.


For those who wondered, Rey is dressed as an "Avatar" this year... although I don't see why it was even necessary. Why control the guy remotely when you can do it literally? The dude's small enough to use as a legit Puppet. DO IT.


Oh ya, Rey wins anyway. Springboard splash seals the deal. PERHAPS A DRUG DEAL? He's earned that right after all by proxy of this big win. He's also free to drink whatever he wants. Even if his wife has to always buy it for him...


-Bret Hart vs. Mr. McMahon: NO HOLDS BARRED (NOR USED): 13 years in the making. And that's just the length of the match! I think its still going on...


All kidding aside, first off, for those who were wondering: NO TIGHTS for Bret. I don't know what the fuck happened. On WWE.com he had them in his briefcase. Who carries around tiny Speedos for no reason? Besides me? Maybe he got the jitters like a new Mom putting on her bathing-suit again for the first time? A sexy Mom with glorious big titties and a voracious sexual appetite for young sociopathic wrestling journalists. Wait. What were we talking about?


Oh ya, Bret's gear. Jorts and a black t-shirt. Like a Lesbian golfer. No pink shades either.  And despite my wishes, he also did not gun it down the Aisle in spectacular Undertaker-esque fashion ala Wrestlemania 17 on his ten-speed bike. Complete with little Bell. I mean, you could even reenact Montreal, by having a Vince force someone to ring it. Maybe?


That (tediously) said, Vince (who seems to be slowly but surely transforming into Khan from Star Trek here) seemingly buys off the Hart family (that's A LOT of loonies!) to betray Bret, including the Hart Dynasty, varying siblings and even NICK NOLTE as Referee. Wait. It was Bruce. My bad. He looked wasted, though. And believe me, I know my own kind. It looks like dude's been bombed since '87 and was just now woke up from under the porch with the fucking Hart family bear.



Ok, as for the match...you know what? FUCK YOU. Bret's my favorite ever and nothing could ruin this for me. Even you fickle motherfuckers with your silly standards. I mean, if I held myself to certain *standards* I'd have never met some of the nicest ugly and fat women I've ever had the pleasure of secretly and quietly having sex with and then never calling again. So, there.


GUESS WHAT, THOUGH. It was all a ruse. The Harts were paid in full,  (except Bruce who was paid in food stamps, a fresh change of clothes and a hot bowl of soup) - and each then assisted Bret in FUCKING UP VINCE'S SHIT for like ten minutes straight, including a HART ATTACK by the Dynasty on the floor. It was just like Kill Bill except nothing like that. Think Yokozuna vs. Undertaker at the Rumble in '94 - instead rather than a dozen giant muscular dudes beating down one heroic zombie, it was 12 angry middle-aged Canadians beating up one crying grandfather. Wait.


Anyway, Bret waylays Vince with a chair and a crowbar as Lawler says he's feeling uncomfortable. Although, I heard from my reliable sources (Me) that the F.B.I. just discovered his  secret computer hard-drive. So that could be it. DELETE ALL COOKIES , JERRY BEFORE THEY FIND THAT SWEET APPLES MEMBERSHIP. 


Bret then mercifully puts Vince away soon after (and not into the morgue) with the Sharpshooter. Bret wins! Cole then tells us he just spit in the face of Montreal. Ya, that's what he did.


So, ya. Bret finally screws Vince. And if you read his book, likely just about everything else he could get his hands on.


-Chris Jericho vs. Edge. I'm pulling for the Canadian here. I've never cared much for that smug one.

Jericho retained with a belt-shot and a codebreaker in a surprise. Or not. I mean, Edge yelled "Spear!" for like 6 weeks straight. WHO'D HAVE POSSIBLY SEEN THAT COMING? I mean, it'd be like telling a dude you were going to shoot him for two months - then being surprised when he wears a vest.


After the match, Edge finally got his spear on Jericho--featuring the return of the SPANISH ANNOUNCE TABLE and HUGO~! And wouldn't you know it, they blew the poor bastard up on his first day back to work. "WHY DO I EVEN TRY!" I can hear him now saying. Only it sounds like Bumblebee Man in my head and I laugh and laugh.


-Beth Phoenix, Eve Torres, Kelly Kelly, Gail Kim & Mickie James  vs. Michelle McCool, Layla, Maryse, Alicia Fox & Vickie Guerrero.


DIVAS IN ACTION. (Inaction?). And why not? It's PALM SUNDAY, so I might  as well use it! Hell, I even kicked off my pants and jacked off to Vickie for cosmic balance. The other patrons watching in the Boston Pizza sure didn't seem to appreciate it much, though.


Vickie pinned Kelly Kelly to win the match with a frogsplash. I'd make a joke about a far heavier amphibian being needed to properly coin the hold, but holy shit, WWE didn't mind beating that puntastic horse into the ground here  - and then serving it to Vickie 'cause she'll eat anything! Ha-Ha. ( 'Cause she's fat! WWE UNIVERSE~!!!!!!!).


- Speaking of which, did you know that FCW refers to its "fans" as the "FCW Universe" down there, too? Seriously.  "FCW Space-junk?" Maybe. Dear Christ.


-John Cena is out now and is welcomed to the ring by the Military (who I heard were just taught by Cena himself how to absorb bullets and explosions only to then nonsensically shrug it all off and win the war anyway like nothing even happened!) Wait. Does this mean John has *finally* been promoted to an honorary Ring General now? Poor Sgt. Slaughter has been in the fake military for 30 years and dude's never even made lieutenant. What's John's secret? And why has the military forsaken fellow fake Marine, Ted DiBiase? And why am I talking to myself? All great questions with terrible answers I've already forgotten.


Cena beats Dave with the STF. Fuck you. Buy the show. All you need to know is Dave tapped that canvas like he usually taps dat diva ass (BESTIALITY~!) and Cena's the new Champion...of my heart.


Undertaker beat Shawn Michaels.



Yup. That's all you get.


No wait. I got one. When Undertaker took his straps down, I yelled out, fearing nudity, and anticipating COMEDY, "Uh oh, maybe Undertaker's going to start a new kind of Wrestlemania streak~!"  High fives were then thrown and mighty laughs were then heard. Mine. I was by myself. And lonely. So very lonely.


Ok, Ok, Ok. for you sticklers, Undertaker won with a jumping tombstone after a plethora of false finishes, and when HBK pretty much demanded, "Kill me, and be done with it, already."  Taker then embraced Michaels post-match as only a man who pretty much ended your livelihood can, and Shawn left to a standing ovation after thanking God, who then immediately yelled back, "Don't look at me, motherfucker, I'm still waiting for my Backlash 2006 payoff!"


Oh, and Michael Cole also proudly told us that we at home could virtually feel the emotion seeping (seeping?) from the pores of the WWE Universe. I think that might be the first stages of Ebola, Cole. Might wanna get that shit checked out.  But Hey - any chance THE WWE UNIVERSE has any wayward black holes out there capable of sucking Cole into the Nexus of existence and obliterating him forever? Please?




New Recappers apply here. (Please? Don't make me ruin another awesome show!).


-My bullshit aside, GREAT show. Two thumbs up and one penis. I enjoyed it top to bottom, much like the way I do other people's wives (I wish i was kidding! And not in jail!). And Thanks for the memories, HBK. It won't be the same without you around salvaging this industry, finding a way to somehow comb an entire two feet of hair around your head so to at least temporarily feign non-baldness, and just making shit better for 25 years. Kudos to you, sir.


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, 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.).