Matt Hughes: Jesus Didn't Tap! And Greg Abbott Never Ran Away from a Fight!

 

Jules Winnfield (Pulp Fiction) vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin (WWE): "WHAT?!"

 

The Cars vs. Tammy Sytch: The Title Alone Sounds Like Satire

 

Hey, Lita Haters! Don't Just Get a Life! Get a Personality!

 

Bray Wyatt (R.I.P.) vs. Shawn Michaels: Schrodinger's Wrestler

 

Nick Gage vs. Edge: Feud of the Year and a Five-Star Classic

 

Glenn Jacobs, formerly known as Kane in WWE, currently known as the scourge of Knox County

 

Kurt Angle: Honorary Five-Star Wrestler

 

The Undertaker: the Whole Reason the OK Boomer Meme Exists

 

Bron Breakker X Trish Stratus

 

I think you guys already know, but I'm going to say it anyways: this cartoon is poking fun at Vince McMahon, not Trish Stratus.

Stone Cold Steve Austin vs. Pete Hegseth

 

I know I made Pete Hegseth look like Vince McMahon, but trust me, that's Whiskey Pete. Just look at the way I (accidentally) drew his eyes. He's had a few.

Ridge Holland vs. Triple H

 

Jim Ross X NXT Fan

 

Jerry "The King" Lawler

 

Hulk Hogan

 

Andre the Giant

 MOVIE TITLE: Andre the Giant
PRODUCER: HBO
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Wrestling Documentary
RATING: TV-14 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit

Seven feet and four inches tall, well over four hundred pounds, undefeated for fifteen years in professional wrestling, first ever WWE Hall of Famer, and above all else, a literal larger than life character. When the name Andre the Giant is mentioned, these are the descriptors that come with it and it was a solidly earned reputation. Wrestling fans wanted to see a godlike attraction, so they dished out large sums of money to see him destroy his opponents like they were nothing. The wrestling business wouldn’t have boomed in popularity if not for Andre’s mystique and extraordinary presence. Watching this HBO documentary on him made me believe in the legend all over again. It made me nostalgic for the “good old days”, at the risk of sounding like an old codger. I gave up watching pro-wrestling in 2018 due to how bad the WWE product had become. Seeing Andre in action being a dominant beast and making fans go absolutely bananas rekindled a tiny spark within me. It made me believe in the “never say never” idiom. Andre died in 1993, but his memory lives forever. This documentary was the perfect way to keep him immortal in the eyes of wrestling fans both old and new. It’s certainly more respectful than a yearly WWE battle royal where the winner achieves minimal success shortly thereafter.

One thing you can’t say about Andre the Giant was that he was a Gary-Stu, or a character so flawless that they become unrelatable. On the contrary, he was incredibly flawed. People think that being a gigantic tough guy is the ultimate ticket to being taken seriously and not being messed with. Fans messed with him a lot. They pointed and laughed at him. They said horrible things about his appearance, like a high school bully would do relentlessly in order to get his target to commit suicide. You would think that macho pro-wrestlers didn’t have sensitive sides, but Andre cried every time he was picked on by snickering fans. On top of all that, being that big comes with physical hardships as well, whether it was his failing organs, crooked spine, bad hips, or arthritic knees. Peers would often joke about Andre’s drinking habits and how he could go through a hundred cans of beer in a single sitting. He drank because he was depressed and couldn’t cope with the physical and emotional toll constant travel took on him. He couldn’t even sit in a normal sized car seat or rest in a normal sized bed. He also couldn’t be there for his daughter Robin when she needed him the most. Seeing this very human side to a deified wrestler reminds us over and over again not to judge a book by its cover and not to wish we could swap lives with other people. Everyone has their own set of hardships and everyone deals with them in their own way. It certainly makes his death that much more difficult to hear about from the perspectives of his colleagues, who also cried, by the way. The gentle giant deserved better than a slow and painful death. It makes me wonder if a Hall of Fame induction and a namesake battle royal are really enough to do him justice.

You know what does do him justice? His main event match at Wrestlemania III against Hulk Hogan for the WWF Championship. This wasn’t just two big guys having a hoss fight. There was a story behind this. This was Andre being taken seriously as a villainous character when he had spent most of his career being a gentle soul. This was Andre posing a credible threat to WWF’s golden goose. This was Andre severing a brotherly bond he had with Hulk Hogan just for a shot at a money-making championship. Hulk Hogan fought through his own tears and gave a resounding “Yes!” in the most emotional delivery possible when the challenge was laid down. The match itself wasn’t a technical masterpiece, but the documentary did a tremendous job in showing the psychology behind it, both backstage and in the ring. Could Hulk Hogan slay the giant and become a megastar that could carry the company through its darkest times? When he finally did with a body slam and leg drop, the audience cheered their heads off. I wanted to cheer my head off too. I wanted to be there in the building to see it happen, but I didn’t live in Detroit at the time. The energy, the emotional investment, the storytelling, they created a perfect storm when Andre’s defeat burst Hulk Hogan into the stratosphere. Again, this was oftentimes a slow and plodding match due to Andre’s mobility issues, but the magic was still there. The magic will always be there thanks to HBO keeping the memory alive.

I don’t give five-star ratings out so lightly, but for this documentary, I’ll gladly fork it over. One way to earn the maximum rating from me is to evoke emotions that I don’t ordinarily feel from movies and TV shows that I just like. HBO’s documentary did just that. It made me fall in love with wrestling again (even if I refuse to watch the current WWE product). It hurt to see Andre in so much agony, be it emotional or physical. It lifted me up whenever his peers would talk about his sense of humor and his kind demeanor outside of the ring. Was he a god on a worldwide level or was he a human being who longed for an normal life from time to time? The correct answer is yes. Rest in peace, Andre the Giant. It’s been many moons since your passing and we still miss you to this day. That’s the mark of a true legend: when you transcend your own death.

"Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven" by Brandon Easton

BOOK TITLE: Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven

AUTHOR: Brandon Easton

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

Andre the Giant’s road to wrestling stardom was one filled with pain, unhappiness, excessive drinking, and tough choices. Starting out as a farm boy in France, he fell in love with professional wrestling in his teen years when he’d see these small shows performed in front of live crowds. Needing an escape from feeling like a freak, he used his massive size to his advantage and started his long hard road to becoming one of the biggest legends in the wrestling industry. He traveled all over the world wrestling matches that stunned spectators until he made it to the multi-billion dollar World Wrestling Federation. His larger-than-life star power would become immortalized with his matches against Hulk Hogan, The Ultimate Warrior, and many other future Hall of Famers. He died in 1993 due to complications with his gigantism, but he will never be forgotten.

Graphic novels and comic books alike get bad reputations for being ordinary picture books for kids (that was a dig at you, Bill Maher). This graphic novel in particular is much more than that. It’s a well-written biography with dialogue and narration any reader can get behind. I especially liked the part where the old lady at the fairgrounds told Andre that he’s “closer to heaven” because God doesn’t have to reach down that far to touch him. That simple act of kindness helped Andre feel like more than just a sideshow freak. He was a human being with real emotions and real struggles, just like any other regardless of size. The dialogue and narration help convey that message perfectly. In other words, he’s a three-dimensional character within the confines of a greater story.

Just like all three-dimensional characters, Andre had flaws underneath all of his stardom. He was so young and egotistical that he thought he was invincible, so he turned to drinking and telling inappropriate jokes to keep up this appearance. Partying was a huge part of the wrestling industry and some people succumb to their vices easier than others. In Andre’s case, his alcoholism led him to complicate his gigantism, where his bones were already aching and he needed so many surgeries that he lost count. Despite his flaws, it’s impossible to hate Andre the Giant as a character. He is, after all, human. He still feels guilty during his times of sin, especially as it relates to his estranged daughter Robin, who penned an emotional letter to him while he was away. This is a reminder that nobody is invincible no matter how big and strong they are. That’s true storytelling at its best.

In addition to his struggles with his physical health, his emotional health took a toll on him as well. Despite being a mega star every country he wrestles in, he couldn’t find his permanent happiness. He took the little things for granted until it was almost too late to appreciate them once again. Being able to catch up with his friends back home in France was a huge emotional boost for him. Forging new friendships with his business manager and his bosses helped keep him in check. Being able to shoot movies and work with friendly actors helped him escape from wrestling when he needed to the most. In the end, being happy is all that matters in this world. If you hate life with a passion, you can’t be like Andre the Giant and be “closer to heaven”. It’s not a religious thing. It’s common sense that we all push aside at some point down the road. The key is to remember who we are and why we do what we do.

As short as this graphic novel is and as easy as it is to poke fun at the wrestling genre (again, I’m looking at you, Bill Maher), Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven is a brilliantly-written piece of art that should be appreciated by wrestling and non-wrestling fans alike. It’s not just a biography of a pop culture icon. It’s a story. A real, living, breathing, three-dimensional story about a human being overcoming gargantuan obstacles. A passing grade is what this graphic novel deserves.

America's Funniest Hardcore Violence

“Warning: the following program is rated TV-MA-LV. It contains strong language and graphic violence. It is intended for a mature audience. Good Intentions Productions does not endorse nor condone the displays of violence shown in this program and discourages the audience from recreating them. Enjoy the show!”

Good Intentions, my ass, thought Vanessa Rollins as she sat in the audience with folded arms and a death stare.

After the narrator got his disclaimers out of the way, two stage lights danced in front of the audience while a timpani drum-roll sounded off across the studio. The narrator’s voice boomed once again over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, who will take home the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars? Who is the funniest? Who is the nastiest? Who is the goriest? Find out tonight! Live from the Preparation H Pavilion in Paulson City, it’s America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence!”

Everyone sans Vanessa (who shook her head) applauded once the happy trumpet music blasted and the stage illuminated. “And now, here is the host of AFHV: Colin “The Thrill” McGill!” The audience rose to their feet and applauded at their loudest when Colin McGill ran out onstage in his goofiest plaid suit and his cheesiest shit-eating grin.

“Thank you, thank you, everyone! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” greeted Colin as the audience sat back down. “Welcome to America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence: the show where everything is made up and the screams for help don’t matter. The screams are like…steak sauce in India!” The audience let out an “ooo” while Vanessa cradled her face in disgust.

“We’re not going to waste any more time, we’re going to get right to the final three entries in our AFHV tournament. Which one of these videos will take home the big money and fabulous prizes? Will it be…Fire in the Hulk?”

The video wall behind Colin McGill featured a look alike of WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan bent over an ottoman, cheesy blond moustache, red and yellow latex suit, and dark sunglasses to boot. “Well, let me tell you something, brother!” shouted the impersonator. “Whatcha gonna do when Hulkamania blows his fecal matter all over you!”

With Hulk’s pants around his ankles and a dynamite stick poking out of his ass crack, the cameraman lit the fuse while the audience grinned widely with anticipation. Vanessa’s saucer-eyed horror seemed justified when the dynamite exploded. Hogan’s eyes crossed, he screamed in a gruff macho voice, and shit flooded from the brand new hole in his ass like a mudslide. The audience laughed their asses off while Vanessa Rollins held her hand over her mouth in shock. What the hell is wrong with these people? she thought.

“Our second entry of the night…”

Oh god, please no…

“Dead Motherfucker!” beamed Colin as the video wall came to life once again.

A young man stepped down from the sidewalk only to be slammed into by a honking car, sending him flying across the road…only to be hit by another car and sent flying again…only to be hit by a train and sent flying again…only to have his nose cut off by an in-transit helicopter’s propellers. The laughing audience was bad enough, but the money line came when the pilot smiled and said, “That’s one dead motherfucker!”

Vanessa held her ears closed to try in vain to block out the obnoxious chuckling among her fellow audience members.

“And our third entry for the night…Saw Blade! Meet the Saw Blade!”

The video wall showed a Fred Flintstone look alike bound to a torture table with a ball gag in his mouth. He was awakened by the grinding sound of a circular saw overhead, spinning and lowering towards the cartoon caveman. The audience hee-hawed while Fred struggled in his bindings and screamed in his He-Man voice. He managed to chew through the ball gag and yell, “WILMA!” like only he could. It was too late. The saw blade cut open Fred Flintstone’s stomach and revealed that he had blood in his Fruity Pebbles stream.

“And here I thought Fruity Pebbles was the nickname for his balls!” joked Colin McGill, which had the audience dying of laughter quicker than Fred Flintstone died of mutilation.

The one person who refused to laugh at all of this “dark comedy” was Vanessa Rollins, who after a while of tucking her head in her hands stood right up and yelled, “Is this what you people call comedy?! Watching people die in front of you makes you laugh?!” That quickly shut up the audience, watching her seethe with face-reddening anger.

“Well, look who’s come to spoil the fun for everyone. It’s the Sheriff of the PC Police! It’s the New York Time Waster! It’s the fake journalist from Cancer News Network also known as CNN! Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Buzz Kill Feed herself, Vanessa Rollins!” mocked Colin, which earned a round of boos directed toward the journalist.

Vanessa threw down her notepad and pen and bellowed, “This isn’t about political correctness! This is about basic human decency! People are dying so that you can have a ratings spike in your little show! That’s not comedy! That’s exploitation and it’s wrong! How have the police not arrested you and your production crew yet?!”

Straightening the breasts on his plaid jacket, Colin said, “Well, for starters, Miss MSNBC-Section, it’s not like I’m the one murdering these people. All I do is show the footage on the screen. Is it disgusting? Probably. But is broadcasting it illegal? Far from it. You media motherfuckers get away with it all the time when you show soldiers getting their limbs blown off overseas. Yeah, and I’m the one who needs a TV-MA rating. And speaking of which, Miss FCC-You-Next-Tuesday, a TV-MA rating is all I need to make sure nothing illegal is going on.”

Flailing her arms about in frustration, Vanessa said, “So that’s it? You need a TV rating to tell you what you can and can’t do on the air, let alone in the real world? How about if I punch you in the face and you can put an MA rating on that! It’s no worse than what you’re showing these people, if you want to call them that. Plus, since violence is so fucking hilarious, how about I help boost your ratings with a good clean shot right to your face?!”

Colin’s face transformed from comedic lightheartedness to sour anger as he threw his jacket on the floor and waved Vanessa over. “Go ahead, sweetheart! Come at me, Cluster Fox! Let’s see what you’re made of!”

Vanessa threw her own jacket down and fought her way through the audience to the side stairwell. She even kicked off her high heels knowing they would give her a disadvantage in a fight, although that didn’t stop some redneck from shouting, “Nice feet, bitch!” Before the journalist could respond, a child’s foot hooked her ankle and she tumbled down the stairs to the audience’s laughter as well as Colin’s.

Every part of Vanessa’s body ached with slash marks from hitting the stair corners and bruises from hitting the ground at such a high speed. The audience’s laughter buzzed in and out of her slogging mind, but the sadistic grin on the child’s face was what kept her awake through it all. “Is this…what…you’re teaching…your kids?” she managed to sputter out.

The tiny kid stood up in his seat and said, “Hey, I only tripped you! I didn’t take your clothes off!” Another burst of laughter poured from the audience’s sewer holes while Colin was slapping his thighs with comedic gold.

Tears welled up in Vanessa’s eyes while she grabbed the stair railing and poorly attempted to lift herself to her feet. She could have sworn her legs and ankles were broken, judging from how much agony wiggling her toes put her in. Every time she would grab the railing, she would fall off again and that would make the audience’s laughter even more grating than before. One last hurrah and she collapsed onto the floor ready to give up.

The laughter ended when a device fell out of Vanessa’s jacket pocket. Everyone thought she felt around her torso for broken ribs, but it was really to pull out something that stayed intact this whole time: a microphone and a wire. Instead of laughing, the studio went deathly silent with shock and awe.

“I…I…” Colin pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t understand. There’s no way my security team would let you in with that.”

Vanessa lifted her mangled head and smiled through crooked teeth. Spitting one of them out, she said, “Security? You mean the wanted thugs with criminal records a mile long? The ones I recorded feeling me up before I entered the building? Yeah, they’re taking the night off tonight…and the night after that…and the night after that…and the night after that…”

With the wire gathering enough information, Vanessa could finally plop her face down and allow the sounds of police boots to trample across the studio. To her it was like new age music putting her to sleep at night. She actually could sleep at night hearing the one sentence no criminal like Colin McGill wanted to hear: “You have the right to remain silent.” Except he didn’t remain silent. He bawled like a bitch on his way to the police van.

Extremism, Vol. 2

***EXTREMISM, VOL. 2***

You will learn a lot of things under the teaching tree of Marie Krepps, CEO of Hollow Hills. One of those valuable lessons relates to protagonist sympathy. If you want your readers to side with your protagonist, he or she cannot, I repeat, cannot be worse than the story’s villains. This sounds like common sense to a lot of people, but it’s a lesson I’ve spent a lifetime learning. I’m the same guy who once wrote a piece of high school fiction where the lead character gets a D- in history and then confesses to his girlfriend that he now relates to the Columbine kids. Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.

Extremism of this caliber is not uncommon in this wacky world of ours. I tried to express that in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Thunder Zell, where the lead character, Jacob Tate, crashes his cheating girlfriend’s dinner date…by driving a goddamn tank through the walls of a Chinese restaurant. Now, let’s see here…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…which one could possibly be more life-threatening? Which one seems less reasonable out of the two? Although there are some jilted lovers out there who would enjoy the idea of driving a tank into their ex’s personal space, that’s probably not something you want to admit in real life.

Speaking of jilted lovers, here comes a wrestling example of extremism! Yay! You know, because I can’t shut up about wrestling since it’s all I think about 24/7? Back in 2009, WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan was going through a rough divorce with his wife and during that time she was dating a 19-year-old friend of their daughter’s. Here’s the exact quote Hulk Hogan gave to the media: “I could have turned everything into a crime scene, like OJ [Simpson], cutting everybody’s throat. You live a half a mile from the 24,000 square-foot home you can’t go to anymore and you see some 19-year-old kid driving through downtown Clearwater [Florida] in your Escalade, and you know that 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed with your wife. I totally understand OJ. I get it.”

Now let’s see here…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old….It was obviously a trying time for Hulk Hogan and he was frustrated beyond belief. But then he starts channeling OJ Simpson and…yeah, not good. Not good at all. What other horrible people could be channeled? Let’s say you’re a dude working up the courage to ask a girl on a date. She calmly says no to you, so you go online and say, “I could have turned that whole neighborhood into a crime scene, like ER [Eliot Rodger], shooting everybody in the face.” Yes, rejection hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt badly enough that you feel like shooting people in the face. Besides the fact that women are allowed to say no to whomever they want and that’s how it should be, you’re not going to be the hero of your story if you can’t keep ER’s name out of your mouth.

But I’m just talking about bad judgment when giving media or online statements. What about actions to back those threats up? It still stands to reason that no hero should behave worse than the villains they’re fighting. To use a real world example that hits close to home for a lot of people, police brutality. The police are hailed as these superheroes who can do no wrong no matter how violent they are, yet there are some bad apples in every department who abuse their power and murder their suspects for minimal shit. Whenever a police officer commits murder or assault, he or she is almost always acquitted and praised as a hero by the public at large. While not all officers are like this, enough of them are, so many in fact that the Black Lives Matter movement became a necessity in the first place.

Obviously, some of these examples of extreme behavior are worse than others, but if you’re in the writing business like I am, take notice. As an author, it’s your job to make your protagonist as relatable and sympathetic as possible. That doesn’t mean he or she can’t be a villain at heart. It doesn’t mean that he or she can’t do questionable things every now and then. But if your protagonist is just one big bucket of gore for no rhyme or reason and your antagonist is more relatable by comparison, your readers are going to tune out and you’ve got lots of one and two-star reviews to look forward to. I learned this lesson the hard way many times in my career and hopefully the lesson will stick this time around. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I never cared about the money, never really needed fame. You think it would have changed me, but I’ve always been the same. My label tried to sue me. TMZ tried to screw me. Blabber Mouth can fuck itself ‘cause they never fucking knew me. Everybody seems like they’re waiting for me to die. Talk shit behind my back, can’t look me in the eye. They say I’m overrated, that I should have already faded. Don’t give a shit about it all because I love to be so hated. I barely get to eat and when I finally get to sleep, I get dragged out of bed for another meet-and-greet. I shake the hand of every fan and put on a happy face. I’m spread so fucking thin that I’m all over the place. I hate riding on the bus. I hate flying in the plane. Sedating myself just to kill the pain. I have no life, gave up on hope. The whole thing’s turned into one big joke. I mean no disrespect, but I ain’t picking up the check. Taking selfies on your phone while you’re breathing down my neck. It’s getting pretty fucking old and I’m almost nearly done. I’m glad that you were happier when I was number one. All in all it’s a good life. I got what I want. I can’t complain. I’m living the good life. A toast to you now. It’s all sham pain.”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “Sham Pain”-

Hulk Hogan Dream

***HULK HOGAN DREAM***

I’ve always known that dreams could be an awesome source of creative fuel. I never expected one of them to be a short story idea for the WSS. Now that I’m wide awake and I’ve processed everything that happened in the dream, I’m not sure if it’ll even become a future story. Maybe I could be convinced into writing it by whoever’s reading this blog entry. Ready or not, here it comes!

The main character in the story was played by me, though I don’t remember the person’s name. All I know is that I was captured by an alien race with squid-like faces and taken to their flying saucer’s prison cells. They should have patted me down for weaponry before locking me up, because I had the one weapon that would put me in beast mode forever: Hulk Hogan’s Hall of Fame ring. I slipped it on my finger and transformed into the former WWE wrestler, the healthy 1980’s version. I ripped the bars off the cell and started beating the crap out of squid-faced aliens with big boots, clotheslines, suplexes, body slams, and leg drops (did I get all of his five moves of doom?). And then I got to the helm of the ship where the master alien was waiting for me. Soon I was joined by The Ultimate Warrior and the two of us beat the crap out of the alien leader together. I woke up thinking this would make a good short story idea, but now I’m not sure.

And now that I think about it, if I did write this story, it would be considered fan fiction since WWE owns the name Hulk Hogan. Although, with the racism scandal in 2015, they don’t want anything to do with him anymore and pretty much scrubbed him from their history. So the question now becomes, if I write this story and it’s considered fan fiction, can I be sued for publishing it and if so, by who: Hulk Hogan himself or the WWE? At this point, I’m better off using an entirely different character instead of Hogan, but it wouldn’t have the same effect or meaning. Copyright laws are fickle bitches.

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Team PCB calling themselves the most dominant divas in WWE is like Donald Trump saying his favorite holiday is Cinqo De Mayo.”

-Nikki Bella-