Showing posts with label Braun Strowman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Braun Strowman. Show all posts
Thursday, June 11, 2026
Friday, January 10, 2020
The Ballad of Sam Corleone
Every other weekend and twice on Sundays
Smashing skulls for a living on Mondays
Looking like bloodshed in khakis and boots
Fuck the spandex trunks, fuck corporate suits
Heavy metal T-shirt around his big old gut
Messy brown hair above a face full of cuts
He stood in the ring crackling his knuckles
Maybe his opponent pussed out and buckled
Then comes R-Truth and the mid-card clowns
Chasing the champ all over the fucking town
All of this comedy for an ugly green strap
Time to put an end to this silly little crap
Grabbing a steel chair from under the ring
Whacking Truth across the back so he could sing
Repeated shots across his nonexistent spine
Crushing ribs into a powder so damn fine
The pin fall was as easy as one, two, three
A new 24/7 Champ on your TV screen
While Truth boy was carried out on a stretcher
The mid-carders ran away forever and ever
New champ took the mike after taking his throne
“My motherfucking name is Sam Corleone
I’ll bring seriousness to this comedy title
Hold onto this strap for a long ass while”
Drake Maverick sneaked up from behind
Threw a chair shot to Sam’s steel spine
The no-sell motel was open for business
Sam turned around to face this idiot
Yanked his ankles, pancaked him on the mat
With one stomp, Drake’s nuts went splat
The poor fucker puked up blood eternally
Carried to the back and to the infirmary
Nobody else dared challenge the king
Even if he was unconscious in the ring
Sam Corleone kept the belt for a year
Instilling in everyone pants-shitting fear
From Strowman to Roman, Dain to Kane
Big Show to Ohno, they all got owned
Then he burned the title in a garbage can
Who’s laughing now? Not a single man
Get used to Sam having main even status
Even if it makes little kids the saddest
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!
You’ve got two options: fuck off or fight!”
Thursday, May 16, 2019
Clockwork Orange Milk Over My Cereal
***BEFORE I BEGIN***
I know it’s been a while since you’ve last heard from me.
And by a while, I mean only a few days, which doesn’t seem like much to the
laymen in my life, but to me it’s an eternity. I’ve been busy lately. I
currently divide my time between editing the shit out of Emilio and the
Scratching Post (which I now want to rename to Emilio & Marigold) and
taking naps in the middle of the day for no reason. The editing process has
been just a tad overwhelming at times, even more so now that I’ve got a bunch
of macro edits staring me in the face. But the good news is, I’ve learned how
to create biographies for my characters. So now their actions have a purpose.
Now my short story can be…a character-driven fairytale! Woo-hoo! Wish me luck!
I’m going to need it! And now for a more lighthearted topic! We now return you
to your regularly scheduled program.
***CLOCKWORK ORANGE MILK OVER MY CEREAL***
“Alcohol: because no great story ever started with a glass
of milk.”
(Cue the picture of Alex De Large from A Clockwork Orange
drinking Moloko Velochek.)
The other night, I was eating a bowl of Life cereal and the
milk reminded me of that opening scene from A Clockwork Orange. And that got me
thinking: what if I actually poured Moloko Velochek over my cereal and ate it?
No, I have no idea where this thought will take me. It’s nothing more than a
good idea.
My obsession with drug-laced milk didn’t end there. Last
night I ate hot wings at the Tracyton Pub with my brother James, his friend
Blake, and their mutual friend Jeffrey. I ordered fifteen breaded wings of the
spiciest flavor the pub had: Death Wish. My mouth was on fire, my nose was
dripping like a waterfall, and the next day my asshole was leaking lava. Milk
is the only thing that will calm down a fiery mouth, so I drank two glasses of
it at the pub and multiple glasses when I got home. I couldn’t help but hear
the Clockwork Orange opening theme playing in my head as I downed the milk.
That quickly changed when James drove me and Blake home at a bajillion miles
per hour while playing “Rollin’” by Limp Bizkit at maximum volume. For the
record, James hates Limp Bizkit.
Luckily, I didn’t go out for a night of “ultra-violence with
my droogs”, fast driving aside. I also didn’t get brainwashed into becoming a
pacifist, which would suck if I still watched WWE on a regular basis. The
thought of becoming violently ill at Ricochet’s aerial offence or Braun
Strowman’s powerhouse slams would be depressing as fuck. While it is hard to
feel sorry for violent criminals, it’s even harder to feel good about
brainwashing the fuck out of them to where they can’t even defend themselves.
And while we’re at it, was it really necessary to play Alex’s favorite music
during the torture process? Imagine if that happened to me. Not only could I
not watch pro-wrestling, but I also couldn’t listen to heavy metal anymore.
What a big bag of suck life would be.
I don’t really have any philosophical thoughts beyond all of
this. I didn’t even anticipate how short this topic would be. So I’ll just call
it a night and post this sucker on my social media accounts. I’m Garrison
Kelly! Even when you feel like throwing up, keep listening to…nah, don’t do
that.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Say when! We’re outlaws wanted dead or alive under the cover
of a blood red sky. Bring a knife to a gunfight and we still win. Pale horse is
coming. Retribution for sin. Skin that smoke wagon. I said throw down, boy. You
going to do something or just stand there and bleed? If you want to die, say
when. If you want to play for blood, just say when. Say when! Domination to
anything that’s in our way. Life mowers are coming and stocking the graves.
It’s futile to run and there’s nowhere to hide. So get down on your knees and
pray for your life. Should I hate him? He reminds me of me. Now I know I hate
him. So now it’s time to bleed. If you want to die, say when. If you want to
play for blood, just say when. This is how the war is won. Cultivate the blood
that we feed on. Sanguis! Credat apaella non ego. Eventus stoltorum magister.
In pace requiescat. I want your blood. I want your soul. Do you want to play
for blood? I’m your huckleberry. Sanguis! Credat apaella non ego. Eventus
stoltorum magister. In pace requiescat. Just say when!”
-Hellyeah singing “Say When”-
Monday, December 14, 2015
WWE TLC: The ECW Originals vs. The Wyatt Family
MATCH: The ECW Originals (Bubba-Ray Dudley, D-Von Dudley, Tommy Dreamer, and Rhyno) vs. The Wyatt Family (Bray Wyatt, Luke Harper, Erick Rowan, and Braun Strowman) in an eight-man tag team elimination tables match.
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: TLC: Tables, Ladders, and Chairs
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Mixed
All throughout the 1990’s, Extreme Championship Wrestling defined the spirit of hardcore wrestling. Power bombs through flaming wooden tables, Irish whips into skin-shredding razor wire, repeated kendo stick shots until the opponent bled buckets, high flying dives off of the tallest structures, broken bones, insane fan participation, and saying “Thank you, sir, may I have another?!” the next day. If you wrestled for ECW, you couldn’t just be a moderately good athlete. You had to be tough as nails, nasty as hell, and maybe even godlike at times. The pain you will suffer, the scars you will obtain, the blood you will spill will all be in the name of legitimizing professional wrestling. ECW has since closed its doors permanently in 2001, but Bubba-Ray Dudley, D-Von Dudley, Tommy Dreamer, and Rhyno are invoking the spirit for this confrontation at TLC.
Good luck, boys, because The Wyatt Family has dominated the WWE on a consistent basis for three whole years, temporary separation aside. All four of these stable members are giants among insects. In addition to towering over all of their opponents, their scraggly facial hair, ugly faces, sheep masks, and cultist mind games give them a psychological edge in their matches. Just imagine if Bray Wyatt, Luke Harper, Erick Rowan, and Braun Strowman came to your door to deliver a pizza. Could you in all good consciousness eat that pizza knowing four zombie rednecks with serial killer mindsets are the ones at your doorstep? You’d better give them a million dollar tip lest you be squashed and strangled to death by these behemoths of men.
It’s only right that four hardcore extremists and four monstrous hillbillies get together for a tables match, where the rules are simple: if a wrestler gets slammed through a wooden table, he must go back to the locker room and wait for the match to be over. The losing team is the one who has all of their members slammed through tables. There are no pin falls, no submissions, no count-outs, and no disqualifications. If you can dream it up in your sick and twisted imagination, you can do whatever the hell you want to your opponents in this kind of match. Hell, you might even get a way with bending the limits of a TV-PG environment.
As soon as both four-man teams made their entrances, they stared each other down and waited for that bell to ring. When it rang, nobody was safe. Punches, kicks, slams, head butts, elbows, these basic moves turned a wrestling match into a head-stomping, mosh-pitting riot. These wrestlers already do a good enough job with the wrestling aspect of their matches. But when the toys come out, you’d better watch the hell out. Kendo stick shots form the biggest welts on the Wyatt Family’s skin. Metal garbage cans flatten and twist as they bounce off the zombie rednecks’ skulls. Braun Strowman was the only one who could contain this extreme riot. He went around clubbing and clothes lining the ECW originals until his Wyatt Family had the edge once again.
It was only a few minutes into the match and it already looked like it had TV-MA potential. But it didn’t take long for this match to earn is mixed grade. There were a few spots in this match that looked a little botchy to me. Bubba-Ray Dudley was supposed to use a metal garbage can to block a haymaker from Braun Strowman. Bubba put up his guard too soon…and Braun punched the defensive shield anyways. Not long afterwards, you had Erick Rowan attempting a running kick on one of the ECW guys only to put his foot through a table (which for some odd reason didn’t count as an elimination). Erick Rowan had D-Von Dudley spread eagle across another table and was perched on the top turnbuckle only to be shoved off by Rhyno. Rowan broke the table, but only the edge of it and D-Von had supposedly rolled off in time, though it still looked sketchy to me who was at fault for this botch.
The WWE fans are rarely happy with the choreography of a non-Daniel Bryan match (I swear, that guy has spoiled the audience rotten). This time, I can empathize with their unhappiness. Just this time. But hey, the action picked up again when both Dudley brothers slammed Erick Rowan through a table. Once he was gone, there were more kendo stick shots, more beatings, more chair shots, and then the ECW guys were being slammed through tables until Bubba-Ray Dudley was the last one remaining on his team. Before that scenario took place, Bubba did a spot where he was supposed to do a cross body block on Braun Strowman. Those two took a while to get positioned and when it finally happened, Braun stumbled backwards and fell as if it wasn’t meant to happen.
Never fear, original ECW fans. Just when the crowd was about to die, Bubba-Ray Dudley set up another table in the ring, but also brought out some lighter fluid and a cigarette lighter. He squirted a very liberal amount of fluid on that wooden table and stunk up the entire arena with chemicals. All that was left was to light it on fire and power bomb Bray Wyatt’s fat ass through the hardcore toy. But that never happened. It probably couldn’t under a TV-PG setting. Luke Harper super kicked Bubba-Ray under the chin while Braun Strowman heaved the ECW warrior in the air before slamming him through the table, thus ensuring the match-ending elimination and a victory for the Wyatt Family.
All in all, it was an enjoyable match to watch, especially since I have a lot of nostalgic feelings for the old ECW promotion. But let’s face it: the match at TLC earned its mixed rating. You could blame the hard-to-impress fans, you could blame the botchy spots, you could blame the false advertising when it came to the would-be flaming table, but there’s one other thing that stuck out in my mind. Elimination matches are tricky bitches as far as putting the winning team over is concerned. The Wyatt Family lost only one member of their team during that match: Erick Rowan. Losing three members would make the Wyatts survivors. Losing two members would also make them survivors. Losing zero members would make them dominant and scary like they’ve always been. But losing Erick Rowan exclusively made me believe that he’s being singled out as a weak link of that stable. I know it’s not true since he’s every bit as powerful and intimidating as the rest of his clan. All I’m saying is that one elimination looks suspiciously like a weak link plot. I’m interested to see where the WWE creative team goes with this. I hope they don’t go anywhere with it and just have Erick Rowan be treated as an equal.
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: TLC: Tables, Ladders, and Chairs
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Mixed
All throughout the 1990’s, Extreme Championship Wrestling defined the spirit of hardcore wrestling. Power bombs through flaming wooden tables, Irish whips into skin-shredding razor wire, repeated kendo stick shots until the opponent bled buckets, high flying dives off of the tallest structures, broken bones, insane fan participation, and saying “Thank you, sir, may I have another?!” the next day. If you wrestled for ECW, you couldn’t just be a moderately good athlete. You had to be tough as nails, nasty as hell, and maybe even godlike at times. The pain you will suffer, the scars you will obtain, the blood you will spill will all be in the name of legitimizing professional wrestling. ECW has since closed its doors permanently in 2001, but Bubba-Ray Dudley, D-Von Dudley, Tommy Dreamer, and Rhyno are invoking the spirit for this confrontation at TLC.
Good luck, boys, because The Wyatt Family has dominated the WWE on a consistent basis for three whole years, temporary separation aside. All four of these stable members are giants among insects. In addition to towering over all of their opponents, their scraggly facial hair, ugly faces, sheep masks, and cultist mind games give them a psychological edge in their matches. Just imagine if Bray Wyatt, Luke Harper, Erick Rowan, and Braun Strowman came to your door to deliver a pizza. Could you in all good consciousness eat that pizza knowing four zombie rednecks with serial killer mindsets are the ones at your doorstep? You’d better give them a million dollar tip lest you be squashed and strangled to death by these behemoths of men.
It’s only right that four hardcore extremists and four monstrous hillbillies get together for a tables match, where the rules are simple: if a wrestler gets slammed through a wooden table, he must go back to the locker room and wait for the match to be over. The losing team is the one who has all of their members slammed through tables. There are no pin falls, no submissions, no count-outs, and no disqualifications. If you can dream it up in your sick and twisted imagination, you can do whatever the hell you want to your opponents in this kind of match. Hell, you might even get a way with bending the limits of a TV-PG environment.
As soon as both four-man teams made their entrances, they stared each other down and waited for that bell to ring. When it rang, nobody was safe. Punches, kicks, slams, head butts, elbows, these basic moves turned a wrestling match into a head-stomping, mosh-pitting riot. These wrestlers already do a good enough job with the wrestling aspect of their matches. But when the toys come out, you’d better watch the hell out. Kendo stick shots form the biggest welts on the Wyatt Family’s skin. Metal garbage cans flatten and twist as they bounce off the zombie rednecks’ skulls. Braun Strowman was the only one who could contain this extreme riot. He went around clubbing and clothes lining the ECW originals until his Wyatt Family had the edge once again.
It was only a few minutes into the match and it already looked like it had TV-MA potential. But it didn’t take long for this match to earn is mixed grade. There were a few spots in this match that looked a little botchy to me. Bubba-Ray Dudley was supposed to use a metal garbage can to block a haymaker from Braun Strowman. Bubba put up his guard too soon…and Braun punched the defensive shield anyways. Not long afterwards, you had Erick Rowan attempting a running kick on one of the ECW guys only to put his foot through a table (which for some odd reason didn’t count as an elimination). Erick Rowan had D-Von Dudley spread eagle across another table and was perched on the top turnbuckle only to be shoved off by Rhyno. Rowan broke the table, but only the edge of it and D-Von had supposedly rolled off in time, though it still looked sketchy to me who was at fault for this botch.
The WWE fans are rarely happy with the choreography of a non-Daniel Bryan match (I swear, that guy has spoiled the audience rotten). This time, I can empathize with their unhappiness. Just this time. But hey, the action picked up again when both Dudley brothers slammed Erick Rowan through a table. Once he was gone, there were more kendo stick shots, more beatings, more chair shots, and then the ECW guys were being slammed through tables until Bubba-Ray Dudley was the last one remaining on his team. Before that scenario took place, Bubba did a spot where he was supposed to do a cross body block on Braun Strowman. Those two took a while to get positioned and when it finally happened, Braun stumbled backwards and fell as if it wasn’t meant to happen.
Never fear, original ECW fans. Just when the crowd was about to die, Bubba-Ray Dudley set up another table in the ring, but also brought out some lighter fluid and a cigarette lighter. He squirted a very liberal amount of fluid on that wooden table and stunk up the entire arena with chemicals. All that was left was to light it on fire and power bomb Bray Wyatt’s fat ass through the hardcore toy. But that never happened. It probably couldn’t under a TV-PG setting. Luke Harper super kicked Bubba-Ray under the chin while Braun Strowman heaved the ECW warrior in the air before slamming him through the table, thus ensuring the match-ending elimination and a victory for the Wyatt Family.
All in all, it was an enjoyable match to watch, especially since I have a lot of nostalgic feelings for the old ECW promotion. But let’s face it: the match at TLC earned its mixed rating. You could blame the hard-to-impress fans, you could blame the botchy spots, you could blame the false advertising when it came to the would-be flaming table, but there’s one other thing that stuck out in my mind. Elimination matches are tricky bitches as far as putting the winning team over is concerned. The Wyatt Family lost only one member of their team during that match: Erick Rowan. Losing three members would make the Wyatts survivors. Losing two members would also make them survivors. Losing zero members would make them dominant and scary like they’ve always been. But losing Erick Rowan exclusively made me believe that he’s being singled out as a weak link of that stable. I know it’s not true since he’s every bit as powerful and intimidating as the rest of his clan. All I’m saying is that one elimination looks suspiciously like a weak link plot. I’m interested to see where the WWE creative team goes with this. I hope they don’t go anywhere with it and just have Erick Rowan be treated as an equal.
Friday, October 30, 2015
WWE Hell in a Cell: Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker
MATCH: Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker in a Hell in a Cell rubber match
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Hell in a Cell
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence, but realistically, it should be higher due to blood
GRADE: Pass
The Undertaker had been a WWE wrestler since 1990. In those multiple decades of destruction, he has won multiple world titles and created frighteningly violent moments under the gimmick of an undead wrestler. He even had an undefeated streak when it came to competing at Wrestlemania pay-per-views, winning on 21 different occasions. The Hell in a Cell match itself is considered his specialty alongside Casket matches and Buried Alive matches. Bottom line: if you were an opponent of The Undertaker’s, Rest in Peace wouldn’t have been just a meaningless catchphrase. It was your ultimate fate as this demonic warrior dragged you to hell with him.
And then The Undertaker found his ultimate poison in the form of NCAA and UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar. They competed in Hell in a Cell and Biker Chain matches between 2002 and 2003 and Lesnar won all of these encounters. Fast forward to the year 2014, when the most shocking moment in Wrestlemania history overshadowed Daniel Bryan’s WWE Championship win. Lesnar was the one who snapped Undertaker’s undefeated streak and sent him to the hospital that same night.
Ever since that humiliating defeat, questions began to surface as to whether or not The Undertaker should retire from wrestling permanently. Not only was he pushing 50 years old, but the pictures fans took with him showed a weaker version of his former self. The man looked like he was dying from starvation and cancer at the same time. And then he returned to the 2015 Wrestlemania event with packed on muscle and a thicker hairstyle. He defeated Bray Wyatt in a match that was considered to be a classic despite Undertaker’s advanced age.
With this newfound courage, The Undertaker made yet another return at the Battleground pay-per-view when he kicked Brock Lesnar in the balls and gave him two Tombstone Piledrivers, effectively giving Lesnar his win against WWE Champion Seth Rollins via disqualification, when no title can change hands. The rivalry between Lesnar and Taker got so personal that they competed at Summer Slam, where the latter used a desperate low blow to help him achieve victory despite being a baby face.
And then we come to the 2015 Hell in a Cell pay-per-view, where the titular match between Brock Lesnar and The Undertaker would be the final chapter in their storied rivalry. No more controversy. No more shocks. No more bullshit. Just two warriors being locked in a prison cell and kicking the crap out of each other. When that cell door was closed and chained shut, the two wrestlers would put on a violent clinic that would last in the memories of everybody who watched it.
The match started out with both fighters intending to destroy each other, but ultimately finding counters for each other’s moves. Lesnar tried many times to take Undertaker to Suplex City, but the latter held onto the ropes and punched out his opponent with those huge hands.
And then the counters were over and these two just destroyed each other from this point on. Undertaker shoved Lesnar into a steel ring post and caused his forehead to drool with blood. Lesnar hit The Undertaker with heavy ass steel stairs and busted his forehead open as well. And then there were chair shots, more steel stair shots, and tosses against the chain-link cage. And then came Brock Lesnar’s F5’s and German suplexes. And then came Undertaker’s Hell’s Gate submission hold, which is really just a chokehold against the shins.
The bloody wounds on both combatants’ heads were so severe that the ringside doctor had to be called to patch them up. Undertaker was on his back and being tended to, but Brock Lesnar just wanted to beat the hell out of him some more. So what did the former UFC champion do? He grabbed that doctor and threw him around like a teddy bear. And then there were more beatings, including multiple punches from both fighters that did little to help their head wounds.
Lesnar wants to finish this match badly. He tears up the ring’s protective canvas and exposes the wooden boards underneath. He thinks he’s going to slam Undertaker on these boards and end the deadman’s career. Instead, Lesnar gets a choke slam and a Tombstone Piledriver for his efforts, but kicks out of both. Undertaker thinks he has this one in the bag and uses his throat slash taunt to show Lesnar who’s boss. And then Lesnar uses a low blow of his own and F5’s Undertaker onto the exposed wood for the match-ending three count. The 13 year feud between these two is finally over with Brock Lesnar as the victor.
Despite losing the match and laying in a broken heap, The Undertaker received adulation from everybody who watched that match. The fans were standing up and clapping for him. John Layfield, a normally heel commentator, was paying his respects to The Undertaker’s 25-year career. And me? I’m giving this match a passing grade and a TV-MA rating. The match itself was bloody, vicious, violent, and barbaric. Lesnar and Taker didn’t just have a wrestling match. They went to war with each other. If they were given AK-47’s and bazookas, you’re damn right they would have used them on each other. They would set the entire world on fire just to burn each other alive. That kind of sadism is why Undertaker got the respect he got at the Staples Center that night.
And then the ultimate act of disrespect and a candidate for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic came when all four members of The Wyatt Family surrounded the ring with Undertaker struggling to stay standing. Bray Wyatt, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Luke Harper are all huge men north of 300 lbs. and they all ganged up on an already beaten down and bloodied Undertaker before carrying him off Jesus cross style. Everybody in the arena was sickened by this display, but none more so than the same heel commentator who praised The Undertaker the entire night, John Layfield. This is supposed to be a plot device to set up a four-on-four Survivor Series tag team elimination match between Team Undertaker and The Wyatt Family. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s disgusting. But it’s damn good television and doesn’t do anything to lower the passing grade. The only thing I have to say about all of this? If Hell in a Cell was hell on earth, Survivor Series is going to be the apocalypse. Run!
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Hell in a Cell
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence, but realistically, it should be higher due to blood
GRADE: Pass
The Undertaker had been a WWE wrestler since 1990. In those multiple decades of destruction, he has won multiple world titles and created frighteningly violent moments under the gimmick of an undead wrestler. He even had an undefeated streak when it came to competing at Wrestlemania pay-per-views, winning on 21 different occasions. The Hell in a Cell match itself is considered his specialty alongside Casket matches and Buried Alive matches. Bottom line: if you were an opponent of The Undertaker’s, Rest in Peace wouldn’t have been just a meaningless catchphrase. It was your ultimate fate as this demonic warrior dragged you to hell with him.
And then The Undertaker found his ultimate poison in the form of NCAA and UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar. They competed in Hell in a Cell and Biker Chain matches between 2002 and 2003 and Lesnar won all of these encounters. Fast forward to the year 2014, when the most shocking moment in Wrestlemania history overshadowed Daniel Bryan’s WWE Championship win. Lesnar was the one who snapped Undertaker’s undefeated streak and sent him to the hospital that same night.
Ever since that humiliating defeat, questions began to surface as to whether or not The Undertaker should retire from wrestling permanently. Not only was he pushing 50 years old, but the pictures fans took with him showed a weaker version of his former self. The man looked like he was dying from starvation and cancer at the same time. And then he returned to the 2015 Wrestlemania event with packed on muscle and a thicker hairstyle. He defeated Bray Wyatt in a match that was considered to be a classic despite Undertaker’s advanced age.
With this newfound courage, The Undertaker made yet another return at the Battleground pay-per-view when he kicked Brock Lesnar in the balls and gave him two Tombstone Piledrivers, effectively giving Lesnar his win against WWE Champion Seth Rollins via disqualification, when no title can change hands. The rivalry between Lesnar and Taker got so personal that they competed at Summer Slam, where the latter used a desperate low blow to help him achieve victory despite being a baby face.
And then we come to the 2015 Hell in a Cell pay-per-view, where the titular match between Brock Lesnar and The Undertaker would be the final chapter in their storied rivalry. No more controversy. No more shocks. No more bullshit. Just two warriors being locked in a prison cell and kicking the crap out of each other. When that cell door was closed and chained shut, the two wrestlers would put on a violent clinic that would last in the memories of everybody who watched it.
The match started out with both fighters intending to destroy each other, but ultimately finding counters for each other’s moves. Lesnar tried many times to take Undertaker to Suplex City, but the latter held onto the ropes and punched out his opponent with those huge hands.
And then the counters were over and these two just destroyed each other from this point on. Undertaker shoved Lesnar into a steel ring post and caused his forehead to drool with blood. Lesnar hit The Undertaker with heavy ass steel stairs and busted his forehead open as well. And then there were chair shots, more steel stair shots, and tosses against the chain-link cage. And then came Brock Lesnar’s F5’s and German suplexes. And then came Undertaker’s Hell’s Gate submission hold, which is really just a chokehold against the shins.
The bloody wounds on both combatants’ heads were so severe that the ringside doctor had to be called to patch them up. Undertaker was on his back and being tended to, but Brock Lesnar just wanted to beat the hell out of him some more. So what did the former UFC champion do? He grabbed that doctor and threw him around like a teddy bear. And then there were more beatings, including multiple punches from both fighters that did little to help their head wounds.
Lesnar wants to finish this match badly. He tears up the ring’s protective canvas and exposes the wooden boards underneath. He thinks he’s going to slam Undertaker on these boards and end the deadman’s career. Instead, Lesnar gets a choke slam and a Tombstone Piledriver for his efforts, but kicks out of both. Undertaker thinks he has this one in the bag and uses his throat slash taunt to show Lesnar who’s boss. And then Lesnar uses a low blow of his own and F5’s Undertaker onto the exposed wood for the match-ending three count. The 13 year feud between these two is finally over with Brock Lesnar as the victor.
Despite losing the match and laying in a broken heap, The Undertaker received adulation from everybody who watched that match. The fans were standing up and clapping for him. John Layfield, a normally heel commentator, was paying his respects to The Undertaker’s 25-year career. And me? I’m giving this match a passing grade and a TV-MA rating. The match itself was bloody, vicious, violent, and barbaric. Lesnar and Taker didn’t just have a wrestling match. They went to war with each other. If they were given AK-47’s and bazookas, you’re damn right they would have used them on each other. They would set the entire world on fire just to burn each other alive. That kind of sadism is why Undertaker got the respect he got at the Staples Center that night.
And then the ultimate act of disrespect and a candidate for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic came when all four members of The Wyatt Family surrounded the ring with Undertaker struggling to stay standing. Bray Wyatt, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Luke Harper are all huge men north of 300 lbs. and they all ganged up on an already beaten down and bloodied Undertaker before carrying him off Jesus cross style. Everybody in the arena was sickened by this display, but none more so than the same heel commentator who praised The Undertaker the entire night, John Layfield. This is supposed to be a plot device to set up a four-on-four Survivor Series tag team elimination match between Team Undertaker and The Wyatt Family. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s disgusting. But it’s damn good television and doesn’t do anything to lower the passing grade. The only thing I have to say about all of this? If Hell in a Cell was hell on earth, Survivor Series is going to be the apocalypse. Run!
Friday, September 25, 2015
Islands
***ISLANDS***
As much as I love talking about beautiful places like Hawaii, I’m not talking about those kinds of islands tonight. The term island can also be used to refer to anybody who feels alone in the world in at least one way. For this journal, the islands I’m talking about are people who are convinced they’re the only members of a certain fan base. I’m sure we’ve all felt like islands before. We feel like we’re the only ones who listen to Seether, the only ones who watch Inuyasha, or the only ones who play with Legos despite being 40 years old. While it is true that the island mentality is only an illusion, the other members of the obscure fandom can be so far out of reach for a lot of people. It’s especially hard when the person isn’t very good at social situations to begin with.
There are times when I personally feel like an island with the things I love. I’ve yet to find other people on Good Reads who are as zealous about pro-wrestling as I am. I tried to start a Dungeons & Dragons group, but no matter where or how many times I’ve advertised, nobody joined, so I had to close it down. I’ve found a few people at the WSS who enjoy Pantera’s music, but then again, when a layman thinks of heavy metal music, they either think of Pantera or Metallica. I don’t hear a lot of chatter about Soulfly, All That Remains, Slipknot, or Lamb of God.
As a man stranded on this island of weird interests and core values, the logical solution would be to get in a rowboat and sail to faraway lands. But there are several obstacles that lie in the way. The waters are too rough to navigate without being capsized. I have no idea where the hell I’m going when I’m out there. Bringing people to my island is just as hard for them since they lack navigation and aren’t interested in being capsized either. In case you’re wondering, yes, these are analogies and no, I don’t live in Hawaii. I want to live in Hawaii someday, but today’s not the day.
But as you gain more and more interests, the lower the water becomes to expose more land. When the water sinks far down enough, you cease to become an island and you might even become a whole continent. Continents are islands by definition, but they’re much larger because they’re housing different cities and nations. When you increase the size of your land, you include more people and your cities and nations will develop beyond the third world. And though it may be hard on right-wingers in particular, you have to occasionally let some immigrants pass through your borders and spread their ideas to make the population more open-minded. Yes, I’m using analogies again, but I’m putting a lot of faith in you guys to decipher them.
To use literal terms, increasing my interests would be as simple as turning on my TV and surfing my Roku for new shows to watch. It could also mean trying out new computer games since that’s the only gaming platform I have as of today. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have a Nintendo DS, but I’m pretty sure it’s dated. I could also look for music to listen to outside my heavy metal and new age borders, as long as it’s not disposable pop music or ultra-conservative country songs.
Sailing the rough waters should be as easy as getting off my ass and finding things to do. I certainly have the open schedule to do it, but that’s where my conversations about mental energy come back to bite me in the ass. You know you’re exhausted all the time when you’re too sluggish to sit on your ass and watch TV. Trying new things will require a visit to a sleep clinic to eventually diagnose me with sleep apnea and get me a prescription for an oxygen mask.
But even after I gain all of this energy, I still have to get in the mood to actually try new things. This sounds easy, but for me in particular, it’s not. Trying new things would mean taking a chance against something I might not like or might fail at. I fear failure so much that I’d rather stick to what I’m good at than risk looking like a fool or getting frustrated with what I’m doing. I’ve practiced playing the guitar for a lot of my pre-teen and teenage years. Despite getting an A in my middle school guitar class, I never got better at playing and I eventually gave up on it. It’s weird, because I’m not the best drawer in the world, yet I keep pumping out pictures like hotcakes. But I still get frustrated when trying to play a stupid goddamn guitar. No wonder Pete Townsend likes to smash his instruments.
If I ever decide to stop being an island, it’s going to take some help and convincing from other people. It’s not as simple as saying, “Go to You Tube and check it out!”, because I will likely tell you to go to hell. To use more island analogies, if I’m going to sail rough waters to other foreign lands, I’m going to do it on a Norwegian Cruise Line and not in a rowboat. I’ll be the passenger who cruises the various restaurants, and you, the one who wants me to see these foreign lands, will be the captain of the ship. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As of this moment, I have 35 short stories that fall under the sci-fi, fantasy, and horror genres. My goal is the same as with American Darkness and my drama stories: I want to hit the magical number of 50. Because I’m currently suffering from writer’s block when it comes to Blood Brawl, I’m instead going to choose Poison Tongue Tales stories to write without the WSS’s prompts. A man cannot live on movie, book, and wrestling match reviews alone. That, and I’ve pretty much given up on writing character profiles since they all sound the same to me. Here’s a sneak preview of “Harvest Moon”, the next PTT story I will write:
CHARACTERS:
Ambrose Volta, Witchdoctor
Kendra Callahan, Assassin
PROMPT CONFORMITY: I’m doing this without the WSS’s prompts (no offense to those guys; I love them like family).
SYNOPSIS: Kendra has been hired to protect a funeral home that has been broken into several times over the past few days. During her patrol, she catches the culprit, Ambrose, in the act of harvesting spirit energy from the corpses and stealing valuable objects off of them. Kendra and Ambrose battle it out together in a war of martial arts vs. magic. The fight gets interesting when Ambrose reveals what he plans on doing with the harvested energy.
In addition to writing new stories, I will also be editing old ones. The next one I edit is “Ascension”, a barbarian story which will eventually have a new title since the old one doesn’t fit.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I caught a snake one time. I skinned it and drank its blood. It’s in a better place now.”
-Braun Strowman, the Wyatt Family’s “Face of Destruction”-
As much as I love talking about beautiful places like Hawaii, I’m not talking about those kinds of islands tonight. The term island can also be used to refer to anybody who feels alone in the world in at least one way. For this journal, the islands I’m talking about are people who are convinced they’re the only members of a certain fan base. I’m sure we’ve all felt like islands before. We feel like we’re the only ones who listen to Seether, the only ones who watch Inuyasha, or the only ones who play with Legos despite being 40 years old. While it is true that the island mentality is only an illusion, the other members of the obscure fandom can be so far out of reach for a lot of people. It’s especially hard when the person isn’t very good at social situations to begin with.
There are times when I personally feel like an island with the things I love. I’ve yet to find other people on Good Reads who are as zealous about pro-wrestling as I am. I tried to start a Dungeons & Dragons group, but no matter where or how many times I’ve advertised, nobody joined, so I had to close it down. I’ve found a few people at the WSS who enjoy Pantera’s music, but then again, when a layman thinks of heavy metal music, they either think of Pantera or Metallica. I don’t hear a lot of chatter about Soulfly, All That Remains, Slipknot, or Lamb of God.
As a man stranded on this island of weird interests and core values, the logical solution would be to get in a rowboat and sail to faraway lands. But there are several obstacles that lie in the way. The waters are too rough to navigate without being capsized. I have no idea where the hell I’m going when I’m out there. Bringing people to my island is just as hard for them since they lack navigation and aren’t interested in being capsized either. In case you’re wondering, yes, these are analogies and no, I don’t live in Hawaii. I want to live in Hawaii someday, but today’s not the day.
But as you gain more and more interests, the lower the water becomes to expose more land. When the water sinks far down enough, you cease to become an island and you might even become a whole continent. Continents are islands by definition, but they’re much larger because they’re housing different cities and nations. When you increase the size of your land, you include more people and your cities and nations will develop beyond the third world. And though it may be hard on right-wingers in particular, you have to occasionally let some immigrants pass through your borders and spread their ideas to make the population more open-minded. Yes, I’m using analogies again, but I’m putting a lot of faith in you guys to decipher them.
To use literal terms, increasing my interests would be as simple as turning on my TV and surfing my Roku for new shows to watch. It could also mean trying out new computer games since that’s the only gaming platform I have as of today. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have a Nintendo DS, but I’m pretty sure it’s dated. I could also look for music to listen to outside my heavy metal and new age borders, as long as it’s not disposable pop music or ultra-conservative country songs.
Sailing the rough waters should be as easy as getting off my ass and finding things to do. I certainly have the open schedule to do it, but that’s where my conversations about mental energy come back to bite me in the ass. You know you’re exhausted all the time when you’re too sluggish to sit on your ass and watch TV. Trying new things will require a visit to a sleep clinic to eventually diagnose me with sleep apnea and get me a prescription for an oxygen mask.
But even after I gain all of this energy, I still have to get in the mood to actually try new things. This sounds easy, but for me in particular, it’s not. Trying new things would mean taking a chance against something I might not like or might fail at. I fear failure so much that I’d rather stick to what I’m good at than risk looking like a fool or getting frustrated with what I’m doing. I’ve practiced playing the guitar for a lot of my pre-teen and teenage years. Despite getting an A in my middle school guitar class, I never got better at playing and I eventually gave up on it. It’s weird, because I’m not the best drawer in the world, yet I keep pumping out pictures like hotcakes. But I still get frustrated when trying to play a stupid goddamn guitar. No wonder Pete Townsend likes to smash his instruments.
If I ever decide to stop being an island, it’s going to take some help and convincing from other people. It’s not as simple as saying, “Go to You Tube and check it out!”, because I will likely tell you to go to hell. To use more island analogies, if I’m going to sail rough waters to other foreign lands, I’m going to do it on a Norwegian Cruise Line and not in a rowboat. I’ll be the passenger who cruises the various restaurants, and you, the one who wants me to see these foreign lands, will be the captain of the ship. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As of this moment, I have 35 short stories that fall under the sci-fi, fantasy, and horror genres. My goal is the same as with American Darkness and my drama stories: I want to hit the magical number of 50. Because I’m currently suffering from writer’s block when it comes to Blood Brawl, I’m instead going to choose Poison Tongue Tales stories to write without the WSS’s prompts. A man cannot live on movie, book, and wrestling match reviews alone. That, and I’ve pretty much given up on writing character profiles since they all sound the same to me. Here’s a sneak preview of “Harvest Moon”, the next PTT story I will write:
CHARACTERS:
Ambrose Volta, Witchdoctor
Kendra Callahan, Assassin
PROMPT CONFORMITY: I’m doing this without the WSS’s prompts (no offense to those guys; I love them like family).
SYNOPSIS: Kendra has been hired to protect a funeral home that has been broken into several times over the past few days. During her patrol, she catches the culprit, Ambrose, in the act of harvesting spirit energy from the corpses and stealing valuable objects off of them. Kendra and Ambrose battle it out together in a war of martial arts vs. magic. The fight gets interesting when Ambrose reveals what he plans on doing with the harvested energy.
In addition to writing new stories, I will also be editing old ones. The next one I edit is “Ascension”, a barbarian story which will eventually have a new title since the old one doesn’t fit.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I caught a snake one time. I skinned it and drank its blood. It’s in a better place now.”
-Braun Strowman, the Wyatt Family’s “Face of Destruction”-
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