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James Walker
James Walker

May 08, 2006
May 15, 2006

White Vans And Candy: (05/15/06) by James Walker

Hey there, kids. I’ve been doing this column for a while now, and if there’s one thing that’ll always elude me, it’s the ability to plan in advance. Most of the time, I’ll wake up from a groggy haze on Sunday morning, and regurgitate a week’s worth of bad wrestling jokes, and call it a day. However, sometimes, there just isn’t much to say. So that’s why I’ll let pictures do the talking for me, and somehow still have the balls to say that I’m awesome.


This week,




“I want a choo-choo train, a go-go gadget doll, and some offence in our match”




“I swear man, I don’t know who stole your fried chicken”










“I wonder how much I could pawn this chair for.”





London & Kendrick, still struggling with the concept of “kissing ass”.





“Look Joey! The Girl Scouts are in the rafters!”





“For a cheeseburger, right?”





“See Joey? It really DOES taste like a cherry!”





“Oh yeah, and she really likes it when you grab ‘em like this.”





The World’s Saddest Wheelbarrow Race












“Wanna go piss on some Randy Savage merch?”

“For sure.”





“And I thought Pettingill was bad.”





“If I squint a little, she looks like Christy Hemme”




Since I’ve done my part, I have an assignment for YOU, my handsome readers. Whomever can come up with the best line for this picture will be TWF’S OFFICIAL CAPTAIN CAPTION! I’ll even make YOU a picture in paint! SO GET TO IT!



Send feedback to James Walker  

White Vans And Candy: (05/08/06) by James Walker

They can change the dress code. They can change all the standards for a good main event. They can even change stigma that stereotypes aren’t necessary. But once in a short while, a new talent comes along that changes the wrestling business.


That man is the Great Khali. And this week,



The Great Khali built the 7 wonders of the world. As for the 8th, he fathered AND mothered Andre the Giant.


The Great Khali commissioned the universe to be created (He and God were roommates in college, and he got a kickass price on it) as “some place to get away from it all”.


Nelson Mandela tottttaaallly read The Great Khali’s book, “How to go to prison and people love you for it.” In English, it translates into “The Bible.” Fucking copycat.


The Great Khali invented Polio, then cured it


The Great Khali started teaching cows to expel methane gas, knowing full well the inevitable hole in the ozone layer would occur. He did it just so he’s got a weekend “fixer upper” project to do in a few decades.


The Great Khali won the Nobel Prize in “Taking Care of Business” over Randy Bachman.


The Great Khali killed that tiny asian guy in California because he was threatening to spread a lethal combination of Yellow Fever and Smallpox.


The Great Khali’s incomprehensible speech is actually the universal language of the future – it’s a mish mash of English, Esperanto, and Wookie.


The reason why The Great Khali’s offence looks so unconvincing is because he’s the half brother of Street Fighter’s Blanka, and there’s an electric current surrounding him… even the slightest chop will send a man convulsing on the floor.


The Great Khali has targeted cruiserweights because his father was a cruiserweight. One time, his father told him to eat his peas, so Khali powerbombed him. This justifies all his actions.


Before Frodo threw it into Mt. Doom, The Great Khali used the ring as a hoop for his trained fleas to jump through.


Guglielmo Marconi hired The Great Khali in 1901 to yell messages really loud so they could be heard across the Atlantic. To this day, The Great Khali supports the global wireless network with his powerful bellows.


You know that song, “I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more”? Those guys wrote the song after they saw The Great Khali playing a game of tennis with himself. He uses the Andes mountain range as a net.


If you record The Great Khali speaking, and play it backwards while watching the Wizard of Oz, a pizza delivery kid will accidentally give you an order for free.


The Great Khali makes chocolate mousse simply by breathing heavily into a chocolate bar.


The Great Khali is both a Sith Lord and a Jedi Master.


You know the saying, “having to swat women off like flies”? The Great Khali is so handsome; he literally has to do that. With baseball bats.


The Great Khali and Thor were once neighbors. Thor borrowed Khali’s hammer from his shop, and never returned it. What a dick.


Chuck Norris once tried to roundhouse kick The Great Khali. That’s why Chuck only has 2 legs now.


The Great Khali loves strawberry waffles so much, that he once got a managerial job at an IHOP so he could eat them whenever he wanted. However, he quit that job after he improved that IHOP so much, that it was forced to rename itself “The Pentagon”.


Despite what Kurt Angle claims, he is not the only gold medalist in WWE history. The Great Khali won gold and bronze in the 1904 Olympics in “being the Great Khali.” His homemade cybernetic clone from the future took home silver.


You know that whole “Sword in the Stone” legend? That was no stone; it was the Great Khali’s abs.


Neil Armstrong gained his fame because The Great Khali was playing catch with the moon, and Armstrong was a good ball.


It was The Great Khali who ended Goldberg’s winning streak. Many people think that was Kevin Nash, yet it was simply a Khali when he was battling bulimia, AIDS, and ugliness. Khali won that battle, too.


The Great Khali got really sick once, and he coughed up Luxembourg.


One time, The Great Khali beat up some guitar playing hippies, and there was a tape recorded in the background. It was later released as “Stairway to Heaven”


The Great Khali’s sweat is rich in vitamin B12 and emeralds.


Before he goes to bed, The Great Khali drinks a glass of warm milk and the Indian Ocean.


The Great Khali is composed of 98% GreatKhalium. The other 2% is believed to be a mixture of Dark Matter and Scurvy.



 If you’ve got any to add, send them to jr_soda@hotmail.com. If you don’t suck, I’ll post them. Oh, and if you don’t send this to 67 people in the next 14 minutes, The Great Khali will use your soul as a bedpan.

April 17, 2006
April 24, 2006

White Vans And Candy: (04/24/06) by James Walker

I’ve always wanted to contribute more reviews and such, but I’ve always wondered how I could go about this… and then, as I was in Blockbuster, opportunity slapped me across the face like a hooker when you hand her a wad of monopoly money. Yes folks, I laid my eyes upon THIS:



If you didn’t laugh at that, get the fuck out of this column. If you did…




Before I begin to describe this movie, I need you all to stop laughing about the concept of BILL GOLDBERG as AN EVIL SANTA. Get all the Jewish irony out of your system, and even the fact that he’s only ever briefly played a heel. Laugh it up. Here, I’ll help you with a picture.













… you good yet? No?








Ok, I think we can start.


Okay, so. The movie starts off none other than FRAN DRESCHER AND CHRIS KATTAN. Cause, you know when a film begins with The Nanny and Corky Romano, it’s got to be good. Ol’ Billy manages to break up a Christmas dinner by breaking through the fireplace, perform a forward roll on the dinner table (it’s the most athletic Bill has ever looked) and somehow murder the entire family. Not just normal murder, oh no, we’re talkin’ a flaming Fran, a drumstick brain squish, and in a moment of hilarity, he kills Chris Kattan with an errant kick. See Bret? You didn’t have it SO bad!


Now, we get a little bit of explainin’. We find out that Santa is actually the son of Satan, and exactly one thousand years ago, Whisker Biscuits himself lost a bet with an angel, damning him to be good & kind, and give gifts to every child of the world once a year. However, the bet had worn off, and now there was Hell to pay. (Oh, by the way, the town is called Hell. Just cause, I suppose) Now, you may be asking yourself... what kind of epic bet did Satan’s own flesh & blood place before an angel to create these severe repercussions? Maybe wager to prove the true alignment of the human spirit? Or maybe even a battle between them, to determine the ethereal heavyweight champion of the world? Nope…






You heard me. The sport where you push a rock down ice and use brooms to modify the smoothness of the path was the deciding battle that gave rise to Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick. Fuck that Coca-Cola shit.


The male lead’s grandfather knows all of this information, and only he. Oh, he’s also a “crazy inventor”, which isn’t stereotypical of B-movies at all, right? Right? We casually grace over a “Chestnut Gun”, which Grandpa explains works on the principle that “a chestnut has explosive properties if it’s heated without puncturing the skin”. Same thing can be said about my penis, but I don’t use it as a weapon.. often.


Anywho, the main character – Nicholas Yuleson (how ironic that he’s now fighting for the honor of Christmas?!!!1) – works in a Jewish deli with some chick. Let’s call her… Twinksters. Sounds reasonable to me. Twinksters has a thing for Nick, but Nick is an oblivious cunt who would rather go home to his crusty grandfather, than go get some sweet, sweet not-really-underage-but-let’s-pretend nookie. Seriously.


Basically, Goldberg goes around and kills people for 45 minutes. Whether it be by squishing them with his evil-bison reindeer, throwing a Christmas tree star like a ninja, or by tapping into the great explosive know as “lumps of coal”, Santa is knockin’ off the naughty list. Oh, speaking of naughty, the film’s highlight comes when Goldberg goes to a strip club. Barging in, uttering the line “hoes hoes hoes!”, and proceeding to beat down the silicone into a fine mush. All this leads up to him jumping up on the stage, and being afraid to touch the Stripper’s Pole.. so he SANITIZES the freakin’ thing. I laughed, and that’s all that matters.

I must point out that ALL of these murders are random. It seems Santa is completely focusing on this one tiny, insignificant, and non-existent town, and pointlessly killing anyone he can, such as the owner of the Jewish deli. In a mark-out moment, Bill actually SPEARS the guy… after diving through the glass display case. You know, if Goldberg had done half the shit he does in this flick, he might have gotten over with the IWC. Anyways, the deli owner ended up getting STABBED WITH A MINORAH.



So, while Bill is out doin’ his thing, Nick, Twinksters, and Grandpa are trying to figure out what to do. Nick says that Santa’s powers are only good on Christmas day, meaning that it’ll run out at 7 that day – for Santa’s time zone is a few hours ahead. They also have a bomb shelter which Grandpa has constructed, equipped with cameras and a well stocked supply of food.


Think about this folks… They have to survive about 4 hours more of danger, they have no means of stopping the villain, and they have a completely secure & equipped bomb shelter to hide in. Now, what do the heroes do?




Ahh, B-flick logic at it’s best. Now, I probably started to pay less attention around here. I mean, let’s face it, it’s pretty hard to swerve us when the road never existed. To put it bluntly, this story is kinda like driving in the middle of the desert. If memory serves me right, the whole gang ended up at a school’s ice rink. I’ve never been to a high school with it’s own hockey arena, but hey, it’s not like I live Canada or anything… err, never mind.


In the ice rink, there’s trouble a brewin’. We have an epic standoff, not seen since the days of Meat VS Steve Blackman, Bret Hart VS Will Sasso, or Vader VS A Cream Puff. But then, this sleigh SWERVES right into a cactus, and it’s revealed that the Angel that Santa fought years ago... IS ACTUALLY GRANDPA!!! What? You don’t know any thousand year old holy spirits who spend their time inventing chestnut explosives in an unheard of North American town? Pfft, why don’t you go outside, geez? Oh, by the way, that was a spoiler. But it’s not like you don’t read the Smackdown Spoilers, and this movie is one of the few shows out there with less viewers than Smackdown, so I’m sure it’s ok. Nick says Goldberg’s powers should have run out by now, seeing as at his home, it’s December 26th. Goldberg then laughs and says it’s a common misconception, and the “North pole is where all the time zones converge, where it’s Christmas day, all day!”, despite the fact the movie had already establish he lives in Greenland. Continuity Don’t Mattuhhhh. All this leads to a curling rematch of the millennium…


Bill Goldberg (w/ evil bison) VS Grandpa (w/A steel plate, he’d better hope)


Using the divine powers of HELL, Goldberg rips a role in the ice, and it leads STRAIGHT TO HELL, FIRE, AND BRIMSTONE, BY GAWD. The goal of the match is to throw the rock as close as possible to the hole, without going in. Whoever is closest wins. Grandpa takes the rocks... lines it up… checks the wind… pushes off… puts on the spin.. MY GAWD, GRANDPA JUST THREW THE PERFECT ROCK! It’s RIGHT on the edge! Beautiful!




Winner: No Contest


Post match: Here comes the grandson, Nick! Goldberg’s power overwhelms him, and he gets taken down. OH NO! GOLDBERG IS LINIG UP HIS SIGNATURE FLAME BREATH! HE’S GONNA SET THIS KID ON FIRE, BY GAWD! SOMEBODY CALL THE EMTS!!!


Wait, what’s this? Nick pulls out the chestnut gun from his coat! Goldberg spits fire! Nick shoots the chestnut! THE CHESTNUT HITS THE FLAME, AND GOES DIRECTLY INTO GOLDBERG’S CHEST! NICK WITH THE MORAL VICTORY!


… yep. Anyways Twinksters and Nick are sharing a moment, and Nick says she “kisses like a guy”. Uhhh.


In other news, Grandpa gets saved, but evaporates anyways (don’t ask, I stopped a long time ago), and somehow, Goldberg survived this, and decided to fly to... Winnipeg? I guess he’s going to go learn a front face lock from Chris Jericho or something.


Overall, this movie was fucking ridiculous. I mean, it’s got Goldberg as an evil Santa. It’s ok to still be laughing at that – I still am. But when you toss on, well, everything else, this movie has quickly become one of my favorite ‘holy shit, this is horrible’ flicks. If you’re into that type of deal, and you think like we do at TWF, you’ll love this movie. If not, well, go be an artsy fag who discusses the underlying passion hidden amongst the sub-plot of the new David Lynch film. Me, I’ll be giggling to menorah stabbings. I mean, how can you not laugh at this:



I rest my case.


White Vans And Candy: (04/17/06) by James Walker

We wrestling fans have been graced by some of the best interview segments ever in the media: Piper’s Pit, The Highlite Reel, and Café du René. However, today, the bar is raised. Today, the world will witness the greatest media concoction since media itself. You see, as big as Hulk Hogan or the Rock may ever be in Hollywood, they’ll seem like Steven Richards to this man. A man of such dignity and honor, he can make Jesus himself comparatively look like a baby-raping cannibal.


That man is James Lipton.


And that man stars today in



James Lipton: On the fourteeth of October.. the year two thousand and five.. in the city of San Antonio, Texas.. magic happened. A modern day saint debuted, one who would rival Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa in pure ambience. However, he would not use small children with inflated stomachs as his means of immortality, but comically oversized alarm clocks, an awe inspiring entrance, some fiendish worms… and his soul. So please.. welcome.. the greatest performer ever to have graced this Earth, The Boogeyman.



James Lipton: If you want to witness art in it’s truest form, which will make you shed the most beautiful single tear imaginable, you must watch The Boogeyman versus Nunzio for it is truly a delight for the soul. Tell us about that evening.


Boogeyman: Jack be nimble,

Jack be quick

Jack, jump over

The candle stick!

Read Peter Pan

Relax in the spa

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: No truer words have ever been spoken by man, beast, or even the almighty. Speaking of worms, I must say, that was a brilliant inclusion – something Leonardo Da Vinci wishes he could have imagined. Those worms have been used on many occasion, and perhaps in the most breathtaking sequence, you delicately placed them down one Ms. Jillian Hall’s skirt. This very event made the collapse of the World Trade Centers seem like Tim Allen accidentally hammering his thumb. Prey tell, describe this evening for all of us.


Boogeyman: This little piggy went to the market

This little piggy went home

This little piggy had roast beef


Listen to some Wham

Adjust your bra

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: Oh ho ho, you sir, are truly a delight. If God himself created the world in seven days, he must have spent six of those simply on you. Now, these events with Jillian Hall.. it simply did not end with worms in her nether regions. No sir, you performed the most the equivalency of a thousand simultaneous brain transplants, while blindfolded, when you removed Ms. Hall’s facial blemish with your educated bicuspids. Please, for the sake of humanity, tell us about this event.


Boogeyman: Baa, baa, Black Sheep

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, Yes sir,

Three! BAGS! FULL!

Enjoy spam

Praise Jehovah

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: That may have been the most riveting story of all time. To show you my respect, tonight, I shall burn my original copy of War and Peace, and defecate on the ashes, all in your honor. These events with Ms. Hall eventually led to perhaps, the greatest technical display since the International Space Station, at the Royal Rumble. You sir, with unfathomable tenacity and a sheer brilliance of the physical arts, battled one John Bradshaw Layfield in an epic duel of two fiercely bitter enemies, making Jesus Christ and Judas seem like drinking compadrés. With the grace only you can offer, recount those events for us, and we’d be forever humble.


Boogeyman: Row, Row, Row your boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream!

Visit Hoover Dam

If yous a tru playa

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: If I had a daughter, I would sell my soul in exchange for you to simply hold her hand in public. Now, after you had finished your business with Mr. Layfield, you went on and dealt with your issues with Booker Huffman. Infact, one blistery evening, in perhaps the most hilarious practical joke since playing hide and go seek with the captain of the Titanic, you filled the Huffman family vehicle’s rear hold with your patented worms. If I may digress, I haven’t laughed that hard since the time Martin Sheen stabbed that hooker in the arm pit. Now please, take us through your emotions that night.


Boogeyman: On top of Spaghetti

All covered with cheese

I lost my poor meatball


Digest your bran

Patent your idea

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: If you are not given sainthood when you leave this earth, I shall personally see to it that the Church ceases to be. Your actions against Mr. Huffman did not go unnoticed, and in Chicago, Illinois, on the second of April, the year two thousand and six, competed in your first Wrestlemania. In a mighty display of noble and proud warriors, you single handedly bestowed your technical prowess against the Huffman family. The odds you overcame were equivalent to beating seven types of cancer via artificial insemination. If you would be kind, recount that evening for us.


Boogeyman: In West Philadelphia

Born and raised

On a play ground


Buy a few grams

Watch Willy Wonka

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: If I could go back in time, I would take your placenta from birth, preserve it, and build a holy shrine to it that would make the Vatican seem like a hobo’s shanty. All this has brought us to the present day.. and judging by your enormous success to date, I stand in bubbling awe at the prospects of the future, making Alexander Graham’s Bell invention of the telephone comparable to the person who invented marshmallow fluff. All this leads me to the ultimate question... what does the Boogeyman have brewing in his brilliant mind for the future?


Boogeyman: We played the first thing that came to our heads

Just so happened to be

The best song in the world


Take the tram

Light the Minorah

I’m the Boogeyman

And I’m comin’ to get’cha!


James Lipton: If there was a noble prize given for greatness in the field of greatness, you sir, could still slay all the kittens across the land and walk away the winner. Now… if you do me the kindness, I’d like to delve into the psyche of the man whom I wish could be my grandfather, father, and son, all at once. It’s something I call... Word Association. First… Tough Enough.




James Lipton: Sharmell.


Boogeyman: THE NOOKIE!


James Lipton: Kurt Angle.


Boogeyman: Girl, you know it’s true!


James Lipton: Linda McMahon.


Boogeyman: Ooh, oooh, ooh, I love you!


James Lipton: Darren Drozdov.


Boogeyman: Walk down to!


James Lipton: Goldust.


Boogeyman: Electric Avenue!


James Lipton: Rob Van Dam.


Boogeyman: Then we’ll take it higher!


James Lipton: Marty Jannety.


Boogeyman: Then we’ll take it higher!


James Lipton: I am so humbled in your presence sir… I feel as if I’m speaking to the messiah himself, except this time, I’m the one deserving to be on the cross for not being a fraction of his greatness. Finally, I must ask one last question… if there’s one parting message you could leave for humanity, what would it be?


Boogeyman: Little Bunny Foo Foo,

Hoppin’ through the forest

Pickin’ up the field mice,


Klu Klux Klan

You Got Nada

I’m the Boogeyman



James Lipton: … You had me at Little Bunny Foo Foo.



March 06, 2006
March 13, 2006
March 27, 2006

White Vans And Candy: (03/27/06) by James Walker

Wrestlers come and go. They’re on our TV for a few years, then they drug themselves up/murder their girlfriends/disrespect the entire business, and they’re gone. Gone from the TV, but not our hearts. What happens to our favourite useless jobber after he’s fired? Did The Berzerker go back to raping and pillaging villages in the Arctic Circle? Did Rico go back to being the cop in the village people? No one will ever know… but, I can hypothesize! And bullshit!


This week,




Rikishi had it all: fans, a push, experience, and a man-thong. But somewhere along the lines, he went from rubbing his ass into people’s faces for money, to rubbing his ass into people’s faces for food. You see, after years of floundering in the mid-to-upper-mid card, the WWE released Rikishi and no one seemed to care. While people say it’s because his act had gotten stale and that he didn’t tell the WWE he was getting surgery, Rikishi knew better. You see, Rikishi knew that is was just another example of Samoan Segregation.


That’s why Rikishi has become a Samoan Equal Rights Activist! Tossing aside his tassle-laced diaper for a conservative suit and letting his words rub feces into the face of his opposition, some are heralding Rikishi as the second coming of Martin Luther King, Jr. Rikishi’s fury stems from the stereotype that all Samoans are overweight maniacs who dish out their patented “Samoan” drop regularly (Apparently, it is introduced to 3rd graders in their Physical Education class). His work isn’t going unnoticed either – apparently, he’s convinced a young Samoan wrestler to simply go by “Joe” now. Other wrestlers like Haku, Rosey, and Prince Iaukea have reportedly admitted that getting hit on the head actually hurts, in an effort to bridge the gap in society. And there’s a giant positive in this for Rikishi – unlike some Racial Activists, he’s already been shot and lived to tell about it. Survival of the fittest, y’all.


Blue Meanie

If there’s ever a guy who lucked out in the wrestling business, it’s the Blue Meanie. Let’s face it – the guy is in bad shape, isn’t skilled in the ring at all, and is not physically imposing in the slightest. However, he’s still relatively well known, despite accomplishing next to nothing. Part of me respects that, but the other part of me wants to make fun of him for that – and will! After his years of low-card jobbing in ECW, low card-jobbing in the WWF, and getting punched by JBL, what’s the guy been doing?


Well, Meanie has kinda gone off the deep end. See, after being dumped by his porn-star girlfriend and failing to land a WWE contract, Meanie’s depression grew. These feelings turned into anger towards the people who have had success over him. Instead of targeting wrestlers like one would presume, his jealously cumulated against one group; a group who stole his gimmick: The Blue Man Group. A picture is worth a thousand words, and instead of detailing the results, I’ll show you a picture taken at the scene. In no way was this photo doctored in paint, at all.



Teddy Hart

A few years back, Teddy Hart was making major waves on the net for his “loose cannon” antics, and yet, we’ve heard little to nothing from the guy of late. See, this is the guy who got physically ejected form an ROH event after no-selling a beating, and continuously acts “in character” so much that one may believe he’s not playing any character at all. It seemed inevitable that WWE would pick him up, just to get a few indie marks to buy some tickets, and only job him out to Funaki to prove how superior they were. However, Teddy Hart is about as common place as JBL on CNBC these days. So, why the sudden disappearance from the spotlight?


Believe it or not, Teddy Hart has been working as an F.B.I. agent! You see, the Pentagon felt that their operative missions were severely lacking in the hurricarana department, and now terrorists regularly eat some vicious spinning heel kicks in the name of JUSTICE! However, his missions have kept him a little busy, thus his relative non-existence on indie cards. Reportedly, he got the idea from watching the Mission Impossible films, where Tom Cruise would get repelled from the ceiling. Personally, I don’t know if this is the wisest of decisions – his family has never had the best of luck with that sort of thing…



I know I say this a lot, but honestly – does anyone really care? I really don’t think so. Moving on.


Bill Watts

Former wrestler & promoter, Bill Watts’ name will forever remain in wrestling folklore. While his wrestling never lit up the world, he definitely made his mark as a promoter - for all the wrong reasons. The most obvious detriment to his abilities is that he actually banned moves from the top rope, a decision never fully explained, reasoned, or useful. On top of it all, the man was so reportedly racist that they had to give Ron Simmons a title run in WCW in an effort to prove that he wasn’t, much like the Steroid Trial/Bret Hart championship situation. After all of that, where is he today?


To the surprise of many, Bill has traded in his cowboy boots for a sniper rifle. While some wrestlers use it as a nickname, Bill Watts has truly become a “Hitman”. You see, his undenying fury towards black people and high flyers has come to a climax, and slowly but surely, Bill is disposing of ‘undesirables’ in this business. Need proof? When’s the last time you Scorpio was a name in North America? Ever wonder why Koko B.Ware never got over? Yeah, that’s right: Bill Watts was the mastermind behind it all. Attempts on Jay Lethal have failed, but Bill continues to make efforts there. Reportedly, next on the hitlist is Shelton Benjamin. “AINT NO STOPPIN ME NAAOW”? Not if Bill Watts has anything to say about it.


Billy Kidman

When people think of the WCW Cruiserweight division, people think of Billy Kidman. Along with Rey Mysterio, Dean Malenko, and Chris Jericho, Billy Kidman introduced a new era of this sport. While he never was the most charismatic guy, you knew he’d give you an athletic match with some fun spots – what more could you ask for in the mid card? When he moved to the WWE, he had some on-again-off-again success – the Cruiserweight belt found it’s way back to him, and he even had a tag title reign. However, he never seemed to have any actually direction, and he was eventually let go from his contract. So what’s he been up to recently?


Billy Kidman is doing absolutely nothing, and loving every minute of it. Think about this – he’s got a freakin’ playboy model as a wife, and SHE brings home the cheques. Instead of clamoring to get back into the game, Billy is simply sitting on the couch all day, growing an obscenely large beer gut, and demanding that his wife make him a pastrami sandwich after she fellates him on the couch. One would think I’d make fun of his lazyness, but I’ll be damned if the guy doesn’t have the life now. TNA has called his home in an effort to get him into the company, but Billy has been SO lazy, he hasn’t even bothered to pick up the phone. That’s my kind of guy. Billy Kidman, you’ve got the life.


Killer Bees

Jim Brunzell and Brian B. Blair may not be the most decorated tag team of all time, but they were one of the most entertaining to watch. These guys had 3 year run in the WWF, and while they never picked up the titles, they were definitely a corner stone of the tag team division. Along with the Hart Foundation, British Bulldogs, and the Rockers, these teams put the fun back into fundamentals. However, they were sadly split up into singles wresters for no good reason, and their careers never recovered. So what ever became of these guys?


Jim Brunzell is untraceable these days, so the general assumption is that he’s become one with nature in a pursuit of eternal peace, as all retired wrestlers do. However, Brian Blair is another story. Some people say he’s a politician in Florida, but according to the Iron Sheik, he’s a giant fag – and we all know that no fags are allowed to be politicians! And when did the Iron Sheik ever lie to us? He TOTALLY earned that gold medal! All this leads to the inevitable truth: Brian Blair is in a wheelchair being pushed by Jim Duggan, wearing an Iron Sheik t-shirt, and with an exceedingly sore anal cavity. Aside from that, though, everything is great.


Bruiser Brody

You know, he took a vacation to Puerto Rico and never came back. Must really be nice there – maybe I’ll take Jose Gonzales up on his offer for a visit.


There you have it, folks. You know, the more you think about these inductees, there more you gotta give ‘em your respect. We would pay attention to these guys for maybe 45 minutes a month, for maybe 3 or 4 years, and yet here they are, still on our minds today. They never acknowledged our existence, and knew nothing about us, but they’ll never know that they’re a part of our lives. I suppose you could say the same thing about me towards my readers, but you’d be wrong: I stalk each and every one of you.


By the way, I like the way you did your hair today.

White Vans And Candy: (03/13/06) by James Walker

Hey there, buckeroos. You know, there’s a running gag amongst us TWF writers (well, mostly Joe and myself) that my gimmick is gimmick columns. I can’t actually stick to one format, so I create a bunch of neat little ideas, that when come Sunday afternoon and my column is to be put up in 7 hours,  I can fall back on. And I’m about to prove this again.

Alter Bridge – Cunnilingus gone wrong
On this day
I pee clearly
Every disease has no life
A bitter pill and an awkward cream
And I'll leave em all
Leave it em on my behind
On this day
Every lump has no life
Another chance to pee without screams
Another chance to feel
Chance to feel my sex drive
I'll never tap that which shant be seen
Crabs won't waste my life again
I won't go down, my face would get stained
On this day
I pee clearly
Every disease has no life
A bitter pill and an awkward cream
And I’ll leave em all behind
On this day
It's been healed for me
Every wart has no life
Another chance pee without screams
Another chance to feel
Chance to feel my sex drive
Herpes will kill me, all I could be
Lift these bandages, let it breathe
Liquid Nitrogen will freeze,
Warts and any other disease!
On this day
I pee clearly
Every sore has no life
Bitter pill
And an awkward cream
And I'll leave em all on my behind
On this day
It's been healed for me
Every disease has no life
Now the chance to pee without screams
Now the chance to feel
Chance to feel my sex drive
Rage Against Jim Johnston – No Pants at All
No pants that's what I got (ha ha yeah)
Against a tanning machine, I’m in the wrong?
Disinterested attendants spreading lies about me are BITCHES
You'll find a cash settlement in time
Now, buy a lawyer for this case now, girl
'Cause is just a matter of time
'Cause I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all, yeah
C'mon, c'mon, come and get it, come on
C'mon, c'mon, come and get it, come on
C'mon, c'mon, come and get it, come on
C'mon, c'mon, come and get it, come on
No pants that's.... (yeah)
'Cause I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all
I got no pants, no pants at all, yeah
Jimmy Hart Break Kid - Jesus Boy
I think I'm righteous
I know I’m preaching
I got the book
That drives the atheists wild
I got the faith
But I’m still unfaithful
I send pills
Up and down their drinks
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
It makes em hot
It fucks up their liver
Their knees get weak
Whenever GHBK is around
Jesus, see me walk
Vince, hear me talk
I’ll go up to heaven
Even with my hypocritical whine
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
Eat McMahon’s ass out, Shawn
Hands off the grapefruits.
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
I'm just a Jesus boy (Jesus boy)
I'm not your Job boy (Job boy)
Motorhead – Sobriety
Sobriety is a mystery
Trippin’ with monkeys that no one sees
Vince makes a fool of RVD
PCP, Heroin, and blow
Steroids have side effects too, you know
Testicles cease to be
I see a line of my coke
With this contract, I’ll never go broke
Looking back to see where I puked
Sobriety, Sobriety
See the rules change
‘Wellness Program’, it’s my disdain
But you know it’ll all stay the same
We know what it means
Just a way to fire Snitsky
Uncompromising? Unrealistic.
I see a line of my coke
With this contract, I’ll never go broke
By myself, I cannot stand
Sobriety, Sobriety
Rick Derringer - Real Situation
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Fight for the rights of our top man.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Forget what's right-forget winning tonight
When your push slows down and it hurts inside,
You can’t take a stand- it won't help to cry.
If you ain’t my friends then I’ll hurt your pride.
I gotta be a dick - I can't let it slide.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Fight for the rights of our top man.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Forget what's right-forget winning tonight
Well I feel justified 'bout right and wrong
And I don't change for very long.
I've got something deep inside of me,
Patterson gives me a winning streak!
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Fight for the rights of our top man.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Forget what's right-forget winning tonight
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Fight for the rights of our top man.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Forget what's right-forget winning tonight
If you ain’t my friends then I’ll hurt your pride.
I gotta be a dick - I can't let it slide.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Fight for the rights of our top man.
I am WWE’s Attention Span,
Forget what's right-forget winning tonight
The Smackdown Blues – Jumpin’ Johnny Ace & The Hideously Bad Band
Wellllll, well it's the B-Show
Yes it's a really bad show tonight
Yeah, it's the B-Show
Come on turn it off and go out to the bar
Well get ready for nothin'
That you haven’t seen before
You won't see it Friday
Whatever, I bet it blows
The B-Show
Wellllll, well it's the B-Show
Yes it's a really bad show tonight
Yeah, it's the B-Show
Come on turn it off and go out to the bar
Well get ready for nothin'
That you haven’t seen before
You won't see it Friday
Whatever, I bet it blows
The B-Show
Motorhead – The Peekaboo Game
It's all about the peekaboo game, and how you play it
All about sperm counts, and if you can take it
All about ultrasounds, and if you can interpret it
It's all about the pain, and Steph’s gonna hate it
I am the peekaboo game, you dont wanna play me
I am your child, no way you can shake me
I am a mother, no way I’ll fellate thee
I am fatherhood and I know you can't take me
Look over your shoulder, ready to run
There’s a little Hunter, Stephy’s new number one
I am mini-game and now I make the rules
So move on out, and get a napkin for the drool.
Trying to figure out what my move's gonna be
Come on over sucker why dont u ask me
Dont you forget theres a price you can pay
Cuz I am the game and I want to play
{Rattle solo}
Time to play the peekaboo game
Time to play the peekaboo game
It's all about the peekaboo game, and how you play it
All about sperm counts, and if you can take it
All about ultrasounds, and if you can interpret it
It's all about the pain, and Steph’s gonna hate it
I am the peekaboo game, you dont wanna play me
I am your child, no way you can shake me
I am a mother, no way I’ll fellate thee
I am fatherhood and I know you can't take me
To play the game you're gonna be the same
You're gonna change your name you're gonna die in flames
Time to play the peekaboo game
Time to play the peekaboo game
Time to play the peekaboo game
Time to play the peekaboo game
Time to play the peekaboo game!

You know, it’s times like this why I realize why I’m awesome.


White Vans And Candy: (03/06/06) by James Walker

Hey there, losers. Would you look at this – here I am, taking some VERY valuable time out of my busy schedule to write a little column for you, again. I mean, really, do you understand how lucky you are? TWF is the only website who gets this treatment, and trust me, THOUSANDS of others are BEGGING me to write for them. And yet, I get no respect for all my work. I mean, here I am, one of the most handsome, powerful, and handsome men on the planet, and I’m devoting all this time to you, free of charge. Who do you think I am, that little douche-bag I send this to, James Walker?


This week,




As usual, there’s countless filthy rumors floating around the internet, and I think it’s time to put them to rest just like Undertaker filling Paul Bearer’s cement tomb. That was such an emotional moment.


Rumor #1: Triple H buried John Cena with his promo on Raw


Are you retards serious?  I thought you were all smarter than this. I was hoping you’d have figured out that we’re pushing John as the “underdog who always overcomes the odds”, which despite popular belief, isn’t an oxymoron AT ALL. Wrestlemania is the Superbowl of wrestling, and it’s here where you want to see THE marquee match up. It’s here you’ll see John Cena face his ultimate test – the mighty, the powerful, and the gorgeous TRIPLE H! You’re telling me that as soon as the odds are literally impossibly high, Cena has no chance? (Such as what you got? Damn, that’s a fine tune.) Triple H is John’s ultimate test – it’s a true David VS Goliath. Except here, David has no stones, because my rings don’t have gravel littered about. WHO SAYS I DON’T CARE ABOUT MY WORKERS?!


Some people have said that when Hunter said John’s “biggest move is pumping up his Reeboks”, that it stopped his momentum dead in his tracks. I beg to differ! This was simple product association! Reebok is a multi-billion dollar business, and now people will associate John Cena with them – this will surely garner him the admiration of all the athletic types! Or how about when John just sat there and took all of Triple H’s barbs in stride, and repeated all those “facts”? Lots of people seem to think John wasn’t standing up for himself, but you clearly don’t see the genius of the situation. By John telling the honest to goodness truth, this will win him over with the 18-34 law enforcement officer & trial judge demographic. All we’re trying to do is garner some new viewers, GEEZ.


Plus, if you don’t think John Cena will get his payback, you’re gravely mistaken.  Fully expect Cena to get a fluke pinfall over Hunter in a tag team match the Raw before Mania. We did the same with Booker T before his Wrestlemania match with Hunter, and I don’t have to tell you how great that was!


Rumor #2: The Randy Orton/Rey Mysterio feud is tarnishing the legacy of Eddie Guerrero


If I’ve heard of a big pile of mule shit, it’s this. When I die, I can only hope for a tiny Mexican to look horribly pathetic compared to a mediocre pretty boy. Ideally, they’d act it out while Drowning Pool played an acoustic version of the old Wrestlemania theme song. Oooh, also, I hope a young Levesque fetus lights might casket on fire, and becomes the next mega-heel in this company. That’d be super. But I digress.


Ok, so what, we’re totally profiting off of the use of Eddie’s name. You can’t expect that I’d actually ‘support Vickie Guerrero and her children’ out of my own pocket, could you? And if his kids aren’t a) old enough to go to Deep South Wrestling or b) young enough to go on a date with Jerry Lawler, I had to find another way to get what’s mine. Thems the breaks.


Come on, I’m not heartless. If someone like Chavo Guerrero ever came up to me and said he didn’t like it, I’d stop the angle. Well, that’s what I’d tell him, before Randy Orton squashes him in 3 minutes. Hee hee.


Rumor #3: The ‘Wellness Program’ will not give equal treatment to all workers


Well, ok, yeah, you’re right about this one. Big deal.


Rumor #4: Mark Henry VS The Undertaker will be the worst Wrestlemania match, ever. Yeah, worse than Bigelow VS Taylor. I’m not kidding here.


What’s so bad about this match? You have got the Undertaker – a 4 time champion, the most intimidating presence in the business, a legitimate legend of the sport, and a perfect 13-0 at Wrestlemania versus a guy who’s all big and strong and stuff! MY GOD I’M ABOUT TO ORGASM!


And what about “Mark Henry is a black hole of talent”? Helloooooooooooo, do you NOT remember Viscera VS Mark Henry in a Press Slam Challenge, during June of 1999? I sure as hell don’t, but that sounds AMAZING!


On top of it all, The Undertaker has a GREAT track record of facing men slower than he – Giant Gonzales, King Kong Bundy, Kamala, Papa Shango, Psycho Sid, The Bezerker, Mr. Hughes, Big Show, Albert, and Mabel. (Triv bit: Mabel and Viscera are played by the same man! Won’t find inside information like THAT anywhere else!)


I am, as the kids say, “stoked” for this match. It will rule ALL kinds of ass. And hey, speaking of ass…


Rumor #5: The Kiss My Ass Club is retarded.


So, let me get this straight. You are all upset because I get my employees to pucker up and physically kiss my very sculpted ass – big deal! I mean, who among us can say they’ve never forced someone they’ve payed to put their lips on their bare flesh? I’m simply promoting the oldest profession in human history. When wrestlers talk about ‘putting their body on the line’, it’s more than you really think. You think those ‘My Sacrifice’ videos were about how hard they work in the gym? HA.


But hey, quit acting like you're disgusted. Your constant complaints about my svelte ass reminds me too much of a certain tanning salon attendant who doesn't know what's good for her. Not that I'm admitting to anything. Never.


And think about this – it could be a lot worse. I could have had Pat Patterson go out there in my place. And he could be facing the other way.


Ok kids, I’ve had enough of you. I’ll be around again to dispel all these filthy un-truths and pro-lies you think you have the right to speak. It’s like you think there’s some amendment in the constitution that gives you the right! You can get a hold of me at vince-mcmahon@hotmail.com, where I’ll completely ignore you and ban you from WWE.com.

February 01, 2006
February 06, 2006
February 14, 2006
February 27, 2006

White Vans And Candy: (02/27/06) by James Walker

You kids are in for a treat. You see, I’ve contemplated this for a long time, and once I realized I didn’t have any other ideas for my next column, I got working on it. The story is self explanatory, but I do feel a prologue is necessary. You must understand, every picture in this column was created by ME, using simple copy & paste techniques, and the glories of MS Paint.


So, without further adieu…






Here is our hero, James Walker. What a studly beast. 




Here is James, watching WWE Raw. He looks really excited!




As the show progresses, James gets frustrated.




Eventually, James has had enough! It’s time to BECOME A WRESTLER AND INFILTRATE FROM THE INSIDE!




He moves to Kentucky, to train at OVW.




While obviously being horrible in the ring, he IS tall, buff, and handsome. So very. Very handsome.




Stephanie McMahon sees him, and he is called up to the Main Roster, despite killing

Rene Dupree after botching a hammerlock.




In his Smackdown debut match, James easily defeats Orlando Jordan via Death after his new finisher, the “sexy glare of God-like abilities”.




In the following weeks, all of James’s opponents all die in the ring while with him, from Tanaka,







And even a returning Ultimate Warrior!



During a special inter-promotional hardcore match, James kills HHH by throwing him through a glass ceiling!




And the IWC celebrates their new hero!




Overwhelmed with depression, Stephanie McMahon begins talking to James, and end up marrying each other in a beautiful ceremony!




The IWC cried bloody murder,




But due to the sheer size of certain organs, James ripped Stephanie in half. Oh well.




… and the IWC returned to their celebraton




Life was good for James




However, in a traumatically ironic turn of events, James squared off with Mark Henry, who press slammed him all the way to paralysis




Now James and Droz are best friends! THE END!

White Vans And Candy: (02/14/06) by James Walker

I’d like to start off this brand new season of WVAC by openin’ up the big ol’ mailbag for a change! Let’s see what my readers are talkin’ to me about!


Hi – [your step dad] told me about the story you wrote about your...er...urological problem.  So of course I read it.  Holy cow!  You poor baby!  A very well written, if somewhat crude, account.  I still feel guilty I wasn't around during both episodes but at least your creepy stepdad/gay partner was.  Haha!  I nearly peed myself at the irony meter.



Hey mom,


I’m glad you enjoyed the story about my testicles. I especially liked the part where you told me you almost peed yourself – that’s fantastic! I can’t wait until the rest of the family reads it, maybe they’ll poop themselves!





Seriously here folks… I’ve always joked about my mom reading my columns, but now it’s actually true. Not only that, but she LIKES them. Now, either my material isn’t edgy enough, or I have a lot to learn about my own mother. In either case, I begrudgingly now lay claim to the title of TWF’S DORKIEST WRITER. It’s gonna take something like wrestling vampires laying down some enziguiris to top this.


Oh, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, USA has decided that dogs jumping through hoops with proper posture and portly men looking at poochy-ass is more important than a bunch of sweat men rubbing on each other’s glistening muscles, so Raw won’ t be airing until Thursday, where you’ll get your precious rant that evening. In the mean time, you’ve gotta deal with me, which is both your crime and punishment.


Anywho, I have a column to write.


Once every four years, something magical happens. The world celebrates in awe at the majesty of the moment, and it is truly something to behold; even if it always ends in a big production and no one is ever satisfied. I’m not talking about Remy going on a date, but the WINTER OLYMPICS! Vince McMahon is not a dumb man (what?) and he knows this is the perfect opportunity to prove to the world that the WWE truly does some of the best athletes in the world! That, and he’s just really hoping someone will win gold so he can give Kurt Angle another feud.


This week,



He’s going for gold AND silver…


The first member of the WWE roster to be going over to Italy is none other than Orlando Jordan. You see, after all these years of Michael Cole hyping him to be the “best athlete on Smackdown”, OJ is finally getting his shot! Apparently, this works two fold, for not only helping Orlando Jordan’s career, but they’re trying to improve Michael Cole’s credibility – I’ve heard they’re going to send a Hell In The Cell to Africa and see if it outlasts some lions, but I digress. The grand question of course, is what will Orlando Jordan be competing in?


None other than the BIATHLON!


It’s a perfect event for the Chief of Staff! You see, he can go from cruising down seductive, smooth hills, frolicking around some thatched area, and maybe a little action in the “penalty loop”, then he’ll drop to his knees, and handle that long narrow shaft like he was a really gay computer. He’ll shoot his load towards any target; it doesn’t matter to him! However, rumor has it Orlando Jordan isn’t actually that good at the sport – but it’s not like this problem has stopped him before…


This is Basic Tuckanomics


The next WWE superstar heading over to Torino happens to be the WWE Champion, John Cena! When asked why he’s performing at the less popular Winter games, Vince said not to worry and that he’ll be at the summer games after the next draft lottery. Plus, it’s not like Cena needs a tan or anything!!! Anyways, I’m sure you’re all wondering what sport he’s going to be in!


Why, FREESTYLE SKIING of course!


Little does the public know, but John Cena has been an underground freestyle skiing fan for years – in fact, on a recent tour of Europe, Stephanie McMahon saw John bustin’ out some phat moguls from the back of her bus, and decided the fit was perfect. While getting primed for the big event, John was getting some rave reviews, saying his freestyle skiing was unique, clever, and would eventually get him to the top! However, since then, the WWE has decided that they’ll plan out John’s sessions, and to the surprise of no one, he’s become plain, predictable, and simply not as over as he use to be. On top of it, when he was finally done his run, viewers started watching the sport again – but then he was immediately placed back on the course. Just be glad this sort of thing never happens in wrestling!


As if he wasn’t flaming enough already…


Another member of the WWE family heading to Italy is none other than Koko B. Ware! However, after an exhilarating career, filled with impressive wins over Nikolai Volkoff and… Nikolai Volkoff, Koko isn’t truly fit to be performing in any athletic events. Rather, Koko has a very special duty at the Olympic games:




You see, despite Koko not having any experience with heat, he DOES have experience with fire! However, his methods of lighting the torch have gained some concern from Olympic officials – not to mention P.E.T.A. However, it’s all a set up to get Koko over as the Rated “Arrrgh it burns” Superstar – and Koko’s fan couldn’t be any happier. Right Leeman?


He can spin like no other!


Another member of the WWE roster heading over to the Olympic games is WWE Raw announcer, Jerry Lawler! It’s been a life long ambition for Lawler to win something outside of Memphis, and now he’s got the chance! A few people may have noticed that he’s been very busy preparing for this event – it explains why he’s been such a poor announcer over the last few years. So, you’re obviously wondering what he’ll be competing in, right?


Well, believe it or not, Jerry Lawler is entered in the PAIRS FIGURE SKATING!


See, we all know figure skating requires strong, athletic men, with petite, young women. And one out of two ain’t bad! When told that he’d be able to control, manipulate, and make young girls dizzy, Lawler was immediately interested! The great thing about this sport is unlike in his past, HE will be dumping the underage girl! Whether or not she crawls back to her former job for less money has yet to be determined.


Hey, he isn’t COMPLETELY useless!


The final WWE employee going to the Olympic Games is your friendly neighborhood paraplegic, Droz! This man was on the road to success in the WWE, until he sped off the road, careened down the steep embankment at high velocity, quickly navigating his way to a lame duck position for McMahonagement.


So it’s only logical that he enter the LUGE!


You know, I thought I had more jokes to write about this, but really, the jist of it is he can’t walk. Ha ha, FUNNY!


Annnnnnnnnnnnd it’s over. Now, here’s the part where I write a cute little conclusion that makes all my readers smile a little as I leave a little bit of intrigue, but still ending on a hearty note. Trouble is, there’s no intrigue left in my columns – you guys have read the scribings of my very own mother. Therefore, I am forced to ANNOUNCE MY RETIREMENT AS A WRITER.
























… psyche! I AM AWESOME!


White Vans And Candy: (02/06/06) by James Walker


1 year.

50 editions.

100000 words.

14 readers.


Yes folks, I’m pleased to welcome you to the VERY special, 50th edition of White Vans and Candy. It’s been a fabulous time writing for you kids, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every painstaking hour, devoted to your putrid & despicable souls. I’ve achieved such fame here that sometimes, people give me an email telling me to stop being such an asshole! It’s times like those where I really know I’m making a difference in the world.


This year wouldn’t have been possible without the great staff we have here on TWF, especially our boss Sean Carless, who never ceases to amaze me with his ability to withstand my ragingly fierce demands of photoshops and a constant stream of puff pastries. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our forum’s moderator, occasional columnist, and male stripper in Remy; the guy is more entertaining than an empty package of matches! I won’t bother mentioning the names Harry, Gonzo, Cameron, Joe, Renee, Shapiro, Bacon, Witzdude, and Gersh, because let’s face it: I’m a douche.


Never the less, I’m sure you’re all waiting for me to get down to the wrasslin’, but too bad. You see, in this year, I truly feel like we’ve gotten closer. It’s been a great time, and I think it’s time to take the next step. I want to share something with you, something sacred and special, which will only make the bond between us that much stronger.


This week,



It all began 4 years ago. I was a mere lanky, nerdy, under-sexed, un-hygienic and friendless high-school student (as compared to the lanky, nerdy, under-sexed, un-hygienic and friendless university student I am now) plodding his way through life. After a rambunctious night of sitting on my ass and watching hockey, I woke up in the morning and something wasn’t right. Unquestionably, my balls weren't happy. Deciding that the only way to cure this was via urination, I got up and emptied my bladder. (In a toilet, you sick bastard.) It’s worth noting here that I discovered my testicles were more than slightly swollen, and due to the sheer size of my grapefruits, I was forced to walk like a constipated penguin.


Anyways, I make my way back to bed, thinking the pain will be over in a couple minutes – just like a Goldberg match. However, unlike Goldberg, this pain was in it for the long haul. So, I waddle my way downstairs, and tell my step-father that I have to go to the hospital. He asks why, and I say:


“Uhh, I think my appendix is going to burst.”


Well, come on. It’s not like I wanted anyone to know that my balls were now classified as an orbiting satellite of earth, let alone my step-dad. So, he goes to get ready drive me to the hospital – even if I was legal to drive at this time, I probably would have had to dismember myself just so I could stay on the road - while I do a little googling. I do a quick search for my symptoms, “Swollen testicles, abdominal pain”, which only generated results for mumps or testicular cancer. Right about here is when I began to realize my boyz in tha hood might not be making it out alive.


So, we get on the road to the hospital. I should mention that inertia of the road, pressing the balls ever so gently against the inner side of my scrotum, resulted in a sharp pain only equivalent to being kicked in the nuts with soccer cleats. Granted, compared to the standard pain of testicles being in a mechanical vice I was feeling, it didn’t amount to much.


In my hometown, we have a hospital (*gasp*)– and right across the street, a walk-in clinic. Seeing as I had too much pride to tell my step-dad that my balls were about to explode, and not in the good way, he went to the clinic instead. Now… let me tell you something. You’ll never want to strangle children so much as when your testicles are trying to escape this mortal coil, but you have to wait for snotty-nosed kids with boo-boos to go in before you see the doctor.


So, after I finished mind-slaughtering all the children in a seven kilometer radius, I got to see the doctor. Now, I should mention that the pain was never constant – it was increasing. The vice on my boys was constantly getting tighter, and as the sweat slowly formed on my brow, I began to wonder how hell could be worse than this. As soon as I get the doctor in the room, before he can even ask what’s wrong, I practically screamed: “Something is wrong with my testicles, they’re really big”. In hindsight, man, I’m such a queerboat.


Anywho, the doctor, uhh, examined me. For way too long. I mean, for fuck’s sake man, you have them too. Anyways, he must have handled many-a-ball in his day, for from here he could deduce that it was either one of two ailments, and one could be ruled out via urine sample.


Here’s a mental image for you all. Imagine me, pants around my ankles, in an overly cozy bathroom, water tap on, banging my head on the wall because I can’t pee and with each passing second, I’m pretty sure my balls are going to declare Jihad on my scrotum and blow it all away. Damn me and my rational ‘it hurts, let’s pee!’ thinking, not half an hour ago.


I return the empty container of urine, citing the fact that “I can’t pee for the life of me… and my balls”, and the doctor decides it’s just a passing thing. Armed with a prescription for some over-the-counter painkillers, my basic survival instincts kicked in and I gave him the biggest look of hopelessness possible. Thankfully, he saw how much pain I was in (I think I was giving it away with my cries of “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck”, but I prefer the clairvoyant explanation), and decided I needed to go to emergency. I’m no fan of hospitals, but god damn, I couldn’t get there quick enough.


Next thing I know, I’m in emergency and giving all the required personal information to the receptionist. Keep in mind here, my step-dad still has utterly no clue as to what’s wrong with me, except that it’s urgent and it makes me walk funny. I wonder if he thought I jammed a nuclear warhead up my ass. The clinic had called the hospital as to warn them of my impending arrival, and while it’s not fact, here’s what I imagine the phone call went down like.


Clinic: “Hey, you got a kid with fucked up balls coming in.”

Hospital: “lol”


The receptionist kindly asked me “which one is it?”. In my sweetest voice possible, I retorted “Lefty”, dignity be damned. She asks who my step-dad is, and he gives her his information.


And here’s where this story begins to piss me off.


Apparently, the hospital registry hadn’t had him down as my step-father, oh no, that’d be too simple. No no, according to them, MY STEP-FATHER IS MY GAY PARTNER. You all think I’m joking, right? Look at my eyes. This is my serious face.


Now, just to give you a gauge as to how bad my balls hurt, I ACCEPTED THIS IN ORDER TO HAVE QUICKER SERVICE. You all can think what you want, but I’d rather blow my load all over my step-dad’s hairy cornhole than not have a load to blow at all.


And just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, I meet my new doctor. I really think they planned this out, because I drew DOCTOR GRABBER. I’ve constructed a little chart here for you all, just so you all can grasp the situation.



Now, after he did what his name implies, Dr. Grabber decided I was in pain. Who knew?! The guy loads me up with 5 mg of liquid morphine, and suddenly everything’s alright. In fact, things have never been better. I’m a little curious as to why the nurses have suddenly morphed in giant squirrels, but they seem to know what they’re doing, so who am I to judge? Through my disillusioned state, I still knew that the problem hadn’t gone away, and thankfully the doctor did too! He wheeled me away for an ultrasound, where in it’d be determined if my testicles were pregnant or something.


Now, for those not in the know, an ultrasound involves gel-like goop, an oddly phallic censor, an attendant with a comb-over, all in a dimly lit room. I wasn’t creeped out at all! The nice man, uhh, well, let’s just skip to the results. The screen popped up two large grey blobs, obviously my ginormous testes, with a few splatterings of yellow and orange. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but the guy assured me that everything would be okay if I just opened wide.


Now’s when I started to understand what happened. Thanks to my brilliant logical reasoning, hours of research, and the doctor explaining to me everything, I had what they called a testicular torsion. If you want to read up on it, click here, but that article isn’t nearly as funny as this first hand account of it is. However, due to the absolute manhandling at the clinic, the doctor there had MANUALLY UNTWISTED my testicles. After a few hours of observation (i.e., every person under the sun taking a peek at my giant balls for the purposes of ‘education’), the pain killers had worn off and I was deemed good to go. They warned me though, that if I ever felt anything again, come in right away. That’s what they call “fore-shadowing”.


Skip forward about 4 days. I’m on the couch, and I decide I want to gorge myself with food, and I sit up. … then I promptly keel over in agony. Not unlike a Brock Lesnar return, The Pain came back. You know the drill – clutch and grab at the carpet, black out for five minutes, realize that there is a fate worse than death, etc, etc. Anywho, I gathered my senses and what remaining masculinity I had left, and hobbled my way downstairs, yet again, to inform my step-dad that I needed to go to the hospital. Good times.


It’s about halfway in the drive there, where I come to the conclusion that this time around, the pain is far more obvious, far more potent, and far more fast acting. Not only that, but it’s gone beyond the threshold of all humanity, and I really think I left this dimension of reality for a little while. As an aside, I should tell you it’s getting harder and hard to find analogies for the amount of pain I was feeling, but just believe me. Otherwise, karmic retribution is going to bite you in the ass. And by ass, I mean balls.


Now I’m back at the emergency room, and I have to go through the whole ‘Sure, this 250 lb man who happens to be three times my age is my gay lover, can we get my balls looked at kthx’ ordeal with the receptionist yet again, and I get to see Dr. Grabber. You know, I think the guy was seeing the joke now, and he giggled when he saw me. Well, maybe he didn’t, maybe he was laughing at the fact that I was biting the pillow to ignore the pain. (Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that when my supposed butt sex partner was on the scene, but hey, respect has never been my forté… let alone in my vocabulary… aside from now… but.. I’m rambling… and I don’t know how to stop… oh, like this)


Doc cleverly rationalizes that I’m feelin’ the hurt, so he injects me with another healthy 5 mg dose of liquid morphine. Except this time, the pain didn’t magically melt away. Doc shrugged his shoulder, and gave me another. Yet again, nothing. Hey, 3rd time’s a charm, right? Wrong. After the failed attempt, he decides to switch to Demerol. One, two, three, four doses later, I’m probably higher than Scott Hall: Astronaut, but I’m pretty sure by now that no greater pain has ever been felt by mankind, and that includes falling off a 20 foot Cell. The doctor looks me in the eye, and uttered some words I’ll never forget.


“I can’t give you anymore, you’ll overdose. I’m going to have to locally freeze it.”


You know when you go in for stitches, and they freeze the cut by injecting some amazing compounds into your skin, numbing the pain? Imagine that needle going DIRECTLY INTO YOUR LEFT TESTICLE.




The positive here, is that my balls weren’t feeling a damn thing. The negative is I had to go in for another ultrasound (oh, and everything else about the situation). Same guy, same goop. And let me tell you, that goop is cold. I’d have tried telling the guy about shrinkage but 1) I was doped to the moon and 2) he was creepy, and the less reason for him to have sex with me, the better. Anywho, this time, the ultrasound showed far less neutral gray, and far more purple, red, blue, and other colours of disaster. One second opinion later, I had to have surgery. Now.


Now, I don’t know how many of you all have ever had surgery, and if I did I’d be rather creepy, no? Anyways, they use some knock-out gas that is surprisingly efficient. However, it has this nasty little side effect. See, after they’d finished untangling my balls and permanently sewing the nut-cord to the inside of my scrotum, I woke up in the recovery room. There, I was tired. However, with all the drugs they’d pumped into my system before settling on a giant needle in my ball, combined with that gas, it created this symptom called ‘unnatural sleep’. It sounds relatively harmless, but what it really means is I wasn’t going to fall asleep for about 48 hours. I probably cried.


Now, being forced to stay up that long is bad enough as it is, especially when you’ve just come out of surgery. However, according to the hospital, I was still considered a ‘child’, so I got plopped down in the pediatric ward. This meant that not only was I forced to stay awake for two more whole days, but I was forced to do it whilst staring at pink walls with poorly drawn ponies smattered about, all while incessant children’s programming giggled away in the background. Tack on the fact that I shared a room with a kid with leukemia, which made me look like a pussy… and I was in hell, all over again.


That time was mainly spent puking whatever I ate (note: Somehow, Tuna tastes even WORSE coming back up), having nurses awkwardly change my ‘bandage’, and struggling to have my ass not hang out of my robe. Pretty awesome, no?


In the end, I had:

27 stitches on my balls (25 outside, 2 inside)

80% chance of STILL losing one after surgery

4 weeks before I could run

12 people look at my balls in 6 hours (4 doctors, 8 nurses)

2 months before I’d consider masturbating again


Now, this whole ordeal didn’t stay quiet for long. For some reason or another, I let this whole situation slip with some friends, and within a week, everyone in the school knew me as “Twister”. Students would come up to me asking if I still had em. Teachers would come up to me asking if I still had em. Yes, such were the days that inevitably formed the writer you know and love today.


As I bring this story to a conclusion, I want you all to do something for me. Take your hand off the mouse, and gently slide it down your pants. Fondle your testicles. (Because god knows, no women read this article… except for you mom, and uh, ignore this part) Look up to the heavens, and thank your god everyday that you still have them – I know I do. Oh, and take pictures. That’d be swell.

White Vans And Candy: (02/01/06) by James Walker

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a large, highly regarded wrestler.

Orbiting this wrestler at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape- descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think pyrotechnics are a pretty neat idea.

This planet has - or rather had - a problem, which was this: most of the wrestlers on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of moderately sized gold belts, which is odd because on the whole it wasn't the moderately sized gold belts that were unhappy.

And so the problem remained; lots of the people were mean, and most of them were miserable, even the ones with pyrotechnics.

The solution was found in the oddest of forms – a book. Not just any book, but a wholly remarkable book. This book is the most amazing book of all time – it’s sold more copies than “Have More Money Now” by John Bradshaw Layfield, more popular than “If They Only Knew” by Chyna, and more controversial than the series by Mick Foley: “Have a Nice Day”, “Why Aren’t you Having a Nice Day”, and “Fine Then, Don’t Have a Nice Day.”

The following is excerpts from this magnificent book, as



Conventional definition: (noun) The state of being united to a person of the opposite sex as husband or wife in a legal, consensual, and contractual relationship recognized and sanctioned by and dissolvable only by law.

HHHGG definition: (something to do when you’ve got nowhere else to go) A remarkably powerful tool into gaining power. When marriage is chosen selectively, one can increase fame, wealth, and trips to Ikea dramatically. Often confused with love, marriage is simply a loosely signed pact in which you may choose to sleep in the same bed with another woman, as long as she ensures your dominance in the workplace without damaging any credibility whatsoever. It is also an awesome way to totally get laid every night.

Female bodybuilder

Conventional definition: (noun) The process of developing the female musculature of the body through specific types of diet and physical exercise, such as weightlifting, especially for competitive exhibition.

HHHGG definition: (really nasty when you think about it) A unique group, often able to mold into one’s physical preference with time, passion, and a skilled plastic surgeon. The more time spent with them, the more willing they are to follow your demands, however, they hold little commercial value so are easily disposed of in favor of a larger figure. If having difficulties getting rid of these types of people, the line “So long, and thanks for all the fishy vagina” is very effective.


Conventional definition: (noun) To participate in, use, enjoy, or experience jointly or in turns.

HHHGG definition: No results found.


Conventional definition: (noun) The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.

HHHGG definition: (awesomest ring attire, ever) Ancient folk lore says the name of ‘mustache’ is derived from the latin ‘Must’, meaning must, and ‘Ache’, meaning ‘hurt a lot to have this thing have unless you’re Triple H’. A menacing mane of ferocious hair, growing upon the manliest of lips ever known to man, not just anyone can handle a mustache of epic proportions; despite what history books will say, it was the cause of Hitler’s fall from power. Any man who can wield a mustache is a man who deserves nothing but the finest in the world.


Conventional definition: (noun) A gradual process in which something changes into a different and usually more complex or better form

HHHGG definition: (scripture) Evolution is a mystery, full of change that no one sees. Clock makes a fool of history. Yesterday's too long ago, don't agree with what I know. Tomorrow comes the place to be.

I see the line in the sand, time to find out who I am. Looking back to see where I stand

See my reflection change, nothing ever stays the same. But you know the names the game, we don't know what it means. Nothing's ever what it seems. Unforgiven, unforeseen.


Conventional definition: (noun) A line of ancestors; a lineage.

HHHGG definition: (sweet-ass wrestling move) The most destructive force known to man. Equal to approximately 14 atomic bombs, a pedigree has been known to melt the faces off robots. Simply put, the pedigree makes death seem like getting a blowjob from Carmen Electra, as puppy dogs and hundred dollar bills rain from the skies.


Conventional definition: (adjective) Difficult to foretell or foresee.

HHHGG definition: (waste of time) A foolish endeavor. To be unpredictable will most surely result in a loss of everything accumulated thusfar, and should never be attempted. To be unpredictable has never shown any benefits, no matter what German military tacticians will say.


Conventional definition: (noun) A long heavy hammer, often wielded with both hands, used for driving wedges and posts and for other heavy work.

HHHGG definition: (instrument of Gods) This tool has the divine power to be a literal death blow to any foe standing in the way, human or casket. Counter-intuitively, the force of a sledgehammer blow actually increases dramatically when the user holds the top of it damaging end of it. The sledgehammer’s primary targets are hands, backs, ankles, and heads – but primitive life forms also used it for construction purposes. It has been said that only the fiercest warrior, of the purest blood, with the most badass theme song can wield the almighty sledgehammer.

"Hey Honey? You hungry?" said Hunter's voice.

"Er, well yes, a little peckish I suppose," said Stephanie.

"OK baby, hold tight," said Hunter. "We'll take in a quick bite at the Restaurant at the End of the My Career."


James Walker is pretty much the best thing ever. I mean, sure, there's been Terminator, grilled cheese sandwiches, and naked women storms, but TWF's resident comic relief takes the cake. Seriously, he actually goes to children's birthday parties and grabs it just as it's being brought out. Never the less, a proud owner of a Golden Tenay and an incredibly large penis, James Walker strives for one thing in life: RACIAL EQUALITY, NIGGUH.

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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.).