Andreas Hale: A Reviewer Who Got Canned from ESPN for Having a Spine

 

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

 

Joey Styles vs. John Bradshaw Layfield

 

Your winner by KTFO: "Stocky Balboa" Joey Styles!

"Filthy" Tom Lawlor vs. Nick Aldis

 

Ridge Holland vs. Triple H

 

Villains: Psychosis vs. Calmness

***VILLAINS: PSYCHOSIS VS. CALMNESS***

When I’m submitting short stories to the WSS, a common critique I get is to focus on writing about calm villains instead of psychotic ones. I admit, my borderline bipolar villains are fun as hell to write about, but I believe there’s a lot of truth in what Angie (the one who gave this advice) says when it comes to calm villains. Think about it for a minute: who would you be more afraid of: a guy who says, “I’m going to kill you” while cartoonishly laughing or a guy who says, “I’m going to kill you” while breathing calmly through his nose? Since cartoon characters don’t exist in the real world, you’re more likely to be afraid of the calm and collected guy.

Case in point, WWE Smackdown superstar Kevin Owens. A wrestling example? Again? You got that right! In his mind, he’s justified in his anger against Smackdown Commissioner Shane McMahon. Kevin believes Shane is showing bias against him and screwing him out of important championship victories. So what does Kevin do? He tells Shane to his face, “Your whole family would have been better off if you didn’t survive that helicopter crash. Your father, your wife, and especially your kids!” Shane beats the hell out of Kevin to where the latter threatens a lawsuit against the WWE (because authority figures aren’t supposed to assault the wrestlers (tell that to Stephanie McMahon)).

Shane’s father and CEO of WWE, Vince McMahon, makes an appearance on Smackdown to quash the potential lawsuit and put Kevin Owens in a Hell in a Cell match against Shane McMahon. Kevin, in his calm and collected manner, wants Vince’s word that he won’t be fired if he, “Beats a McMahon senseless.” Vince gives the okay, but without realizing that Kevin meant ANY McMahon. He heat butts the 70-year-old Vince and opens a deep cut in his forehead. The beating continues in the form of rib kicks, a super kick, and a frog splash. Kevin has a shocked look on his face like, “What the fuck did I just do?”

Next week on Smackdown, Kevin Owens, once again being the calm and collected villain he is, blames Shane McMahon for his father’s assault. His passionate tirade against the Smackdown Commissioner ends with, “For what I’m about to do to you at Hell in a Cell, people like me don’t go to Hell; people like me go to Heaven.” Imagine that last line being said through a cool demeanor. Creepy, huh?

The coolness becomes ice cold when the next week on Smackdown, Kevin Owens has a wrestling match with his longtime rival Sami Zayn. The match ends in a No Contest when Kevin power bombs Sami onto the corner of the ring apron (the hardest part of the ring) and possibly fractures his ribs and spine in the process. What does the calm villain do as Sami Zayn is being carted out of the arena? Well, he sits on the announce table and stares at Sami like he had just taken a bowlful of Prozac and washed it down with warm milk. Peace and quiet washes over Kevin Owens like warm and soothing beach water. It’s the loveliest feeling in the world for him.

Kevin Owens doesn’t have a cartoonish laugh. He doesn’t wear clown makeup. He doesn’t have bulging eyes and a nearly exploding forehead vein. He’s just this calm, cool, and collected tormentor who feels so numb that his brain might as well have been rubbed with Novocain. A straightjacket is too good for him. He needs a prison cell in the worst way. That’s how scary Kevin Owens is as a villainous wrestler. You don’t have to be a wrestling fan to appreciate how calmly psychotic he is.

Pay attention to those two operative words: “calmly psychotic”. It’s not just one or the other. It’s a combination of both, whether the psychosis is subtle or not. If Kevin Owens told you that he was going to rip your intestines out and feed them to vultures and coyotes, you’d better run as fast as you fucking can. If he told you he was going to show up at your home while you were away and hoped that your kids answered the door for him…well, you get the idea.

And then you have the other WWE example in this blog entry, the overly psychotic Bray Wyatt. Since 2013, Bray Wyatt has had the same gimmick of a backwoods cult leader. He would speak in these cryptic promos and he would back up his spookiness with a 300 lb. frame and a hard-hitting fighting style. He once had a choir of sheep-masked children sing, “He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands”, which was so spooky that it reminded me of the scene in Pink Floyd the Wall where they sang, “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2”. Couple this with backwards tarantula walking, brainwashing abilities, a worm-infested compound to live in, and a bearded face with a head full of long dirty dreadlocks and you’ve got a recipe for psychosis.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I modeled a lot of my villains after Bray Wyatt. But on the advice of my awesome friend Angie, it could be time to at least try a new style: the calm and collected villain with a subtle psychotic nature. It could be a guy who picks the wings off of flies and keeps a straight face the entire time. It could be a handsome gentleman in a suit and tie who orders human jerky online. It could be a gentle and loving grandpa who instead of slashing the shit out of people, suffocates them with duct tape by covering their mouths and noses. This is already sounding pretty creepy to me, so yes, there’s a lot of truth in what Angie says. Happy early Halloween, by the way! We’ve got ears, say cheers! Hehehehehehe!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

Despite the subtitle of this short story collection, this next piece could be my first real attempt at crafting a calm villain. He’s a politician, so being calm and charismatic comes with the territory. This story will be called “Peacemaker” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Gerard Killings, Human Assassin

2.      Misty Blades, Fox Ninja

3.      Randy Schneider, Politician

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Gerard has the unfortunate mercenary work of protecting Randy Schneider, a politician who is trying to introduce a bill that would legalize fox hunting. One night while Gerard is camping out in Mr. Schneider’s living room, the mansion is invaded by Misty Blades, an anthropomorphic fox who takes offense to the pompous politician’s anti-animal views. Gerard Killings has to decide between collecting a paycheck from Randy or giving into his disgust for his client and agreeing to help Misty. Either way, Randy Schneider isn’t a slouch himself; he’s armed with a peacemaker handgun while Gerard prefers a machete and Misty possesses a jagged katana.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Speaking of calmly villainous politicians, next on the chopping block is Randy Schneider. Maybe I could use Patrick Bateman as a reference model when I draw Randy. Or perhaps Alan Shores from the TV series “Boston Legal”. Or perhaps David Aceveda from “The Shield”. Whoever I end up modeling Randy Schneider after, it won’t be another chubby villain like I normally have. Marie Krepps likes to rib me over that, but she’s truthful in her friendly ribbing. It’s time for a change!

***WRESTLECRAP***

Another wrestling reference? Again? What’s with me and these…ugh…Anyways, now that Stuck Rubber Baby and Paper Towns are both in my rearview mirror, it’s time for a new book. Stuck Rubber Baby was a graphic novel and Paper Towns before it was a fictional novel, which means the next choice has to be nonfiction (that’s a new rule for me when I choose which book to read: I have to cover all three bases). Enter Wrestlecrap, a biography of the worst gimmicks and storylines in the history of professional wrestling, dating all the way up to 2003 when the book was published. So far, so good. It’s not earth-shattering, so it’ll probably earn a passing grade at best. I like it, though. I like it a lot!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY (AGAIN?!)***

If Dude Love and Juice Robinson formed a tag team together, they’d be called Dude Juice.

If I Had Been Vince

(A WWE-themed parody of “Déjà vu” by Roger Waters.)

If I had been Vince

I would have rearranged the veins in my arms to make them more

Resistant to steroids and less prone to injury

If I had been Vince

I would have hired many indie guys and would not have suffered

John Cena to bury even one of them

If I had been McMahon

With my Raw and Smackdown brands

If I had been given the nod

I believe I could have done a better job

If I had been JBL

Patrolling the locker room showers

With an entitled sense of power

And the Twitter feed of a coward

I would be afraid to find Edge alone

I’d have the coldest set of stones

At least until I burn in hell

If I had been JBL

The company’s in ruins

And that’s a damn fact

The cheering fans are gone

The creative well is flat

The matches of dreams with no reason to fight

Because the CEO has to always be right

And it feels like the same old shit

The ratings go down, you’re throwing a fit

Counting the cost of main events lost

Under the mid-card to get slapped by the boss

It’s only $9.99 for the ultimate “April Fools”

Mauro Ranallo

***MAURO RANALLO***

In the 35 years The Wrestling Observer Newsletter has been giving out annual awards, WWE been the recipient of Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic a record 19 times. In 2017 amidst the mistreatment of Smackdown announcer Mauro Ranallo, WWE could be shooting for lucky number twenty. Since this is an issue that involves both bullying and mental illness, it’s a story that’s close to my heart as I have experienced both in my younger days. Even people who don’t watch professional wrestling can relate to Mauro’s story in at least one or two ways.

Mauro Ranallo has been the lead announcer for WWE Smackdown since January of 2016. Week after week, he’s done a phenomenal job with his puns, encyclopedic knowledge, undying energy, and overall intelligence. It’s because of these factors that he has won The Wrestling Observer Newsletter’s award for Best Television Announcer for two years in a row (2015 for his work in Japanese wrestling and 2016 for his work in WWE). If he wanted to, he could rack up a huge winning streak for that award until the end of time itself.

Unfortunately, Mr. Ranallo is also bipolar. It’s a condition he’s had since he was 19 years old. The trigger that set him off was the death of his best friend in 1989 due to a heart attack. Mauro has never attempted suicide before, but he’s had suicidal thoughts. Ever since managing to cope with his disorder, he’s been an outspoken supporter of the mentally ill community and wishes to end the negative stigma surrounding it. As someone with autism and schizophrenia, I look up to this guy every time he speaks on the subject of mental illness. The fact that he can work as hard as he does while still holding bipolarity at bay speaks volumes.

With this much talent and humanity under his belt, you would think that WWE would want to protect this guy as much as possible. But instead, fellow Smackdown announcer John “Bradshaw” Layfield uses the show Bring It to the Table to belittle Ranallo for celebrating his winning of the Best Television Announcer award on Twitter. It should also be known that John Layfield won the Worst Television Announcer award in 2014 and 2015, and with good reason. Layfield has also reportedly picked on Ranallo backstage multiple times and triggered his bipolar disorder to where he wants to quit WWE.

The hashtag #FireJBL has been circulating around the internet ever since this story made it into mainstream media coverage. While firing him would be an easy solution, JBL is just a small part of a much bigger problem within WWE’s corporate culture. Pro-wrestling is a business where the guys on top try to test the toughness of the guys down below on a frequent basis and bullying is the way they do it.

JBL has been accused of grabbing people’s asses, stealing passports, throwing luggage of other wrestlers out on the curb, screaming at them until they cried, stuff like that. His behavior is encouraged by people like Vince McMahon (CEO), Triple H (Vince’s son-in-law), and Stephanie McMahon (Vince’s daughter). Even if the older guard dies of natural causes, there will still be other people in the company who condone this kind of behavior on a daily basis as a way of “weeding out the weak”.

But seriously, what purpose does all of this harassing behavior have other than satisfying sadistic urges? If you really wanted to test the toughness of someone in WWE, pay attention to their body of work. Can they take bumps effectively? Can they endure the grind of world travel? Can they train hard enough to perfect their crafts? I believe WWE wrestlers are self-motivated enough to do these things that they don’t have to be bullied in order to prove it. In my opinion, the upper management bullying has nothing to do with testing toughness and has everything to do with being a dick. Tough or weak, nobody wants to be treated like that. Nobody at all.

Another example of backstage misconduct comes from Bill DeMott, an NXT trainer who back in 2015 resigned from the company when he was being accused of bullying his trainees. He would make them perform dangerous drills, he would make bigoted slurs at them, he’d sexually harass them, and there are even stories of him pulling a gun on his students. Again, this awful human being resigned from WWE; he wasn’t fired. Maybe if there’s enough pressure put on the company, JBL will leave on his own too. It’s farfetched, but there’s no sense in feeling hopeless just yet.

My only wish is that Mauro Ranallo can find peace in his life outside of WWE. Bipolar disorder is no joke and it’s even worse when the person is being bullied or harassed in the way he has. Mental illness dilutes your defenses when it comes to taking in trauma or other negative events. It’s not a matter of not being tough. It’s just the way mental illness works.

Mauro, if you’re reading this somewhere out there, I wish you a speedy recovery from your recent bout of depression. I’m sad to see you leave the WWE, but I’m also happy that you can get away from that troglodyte JBL and everybody who condones his evil behavior. You’re easily my pick for Best Television Announcer in 2017 and every year beyond that.

And as for you, JBL, enjoy your Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award when you eventually get it. Let’s see you mock that on Bring It to the Table.

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 21***

Speaking of bullies and douche-bags, I bet you all have been waiting patiently for something god-awful to happen to Roger Zee. You’d be right for wanting that. Ever since the beginning of Demon Axe, he slew countless people, tortured his worst enemies, brainwashed the weak-minded, and did it all in the name of anachronistic values. I appreciate your patience throughout this reading adventure, but you’ll have to keep waiting. Chapter 21 will be dedicated to Raven and Shawn doing battle with King Triscloud, though ever so reluctantly since he has a mind-controlling crown of thorns wrapped around his head. Instead of trying to kill him, they’re going to try to hold him down and pry the crown free. Good luck, you two!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“What kind of a name for a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t that sound kind of fruity to you? “Hi, I’m Wayne and I’m a gun person. Bang, bang!” You know what this asshole’s name ought to be? Biff Webster. Spud Crowley. A man’s name: Chuck Steak.”

-George Carlin-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Laughter is the best medicine and the same is true for recovering from mental illness triggers. Remember that, folks.

Valentine's Day

***VALENTINE’S DAY***

Valentine’s Day is now in our rearview mirrors and for many single people out there, that’s a good thing. They like to call it Singles Awareness Day because they don’t have anybody to share their special day with. I used to be just as angry and bitter about it as anyone else who hated this holiday. And then when this year’s Valentine’s Day came and went, I realized something important for coping with future February 14^th holidays.

How is this day different from any other? It doesn’t have the magic and joy of Christmas. It doesn’t have the dark fantasy charisma of Halloween. It doesn’t have the food devouring of Thanksgiving. It’s just a normal day of the year. Yes, it’s love themed and there are a lot of chocolates and candy available. But if it’s sweet treats you want, get a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups at your local convenience store. If you want a stuffed teddy bear, buy one on Amazon any other day of the year. If you’re in a relationship and you have to wait until February 14^th to get some true romance in, there’s something wrong with your chemistry. To my way of thinking, celebrating romance one day a year is like celebrating any other mundane activity whether it’s doing laundry, washing dishes, or going to work.

Would you like to take any guesses as to how I spent my Valentine’s Day? I can tell you that it wasn’t anything like last year where I ate my sorrows away with a large Pizza Hut pizza. Sure, my “heavy metal of the day” on Face Book was “This Love” by Pantera, but that’s not the point. I spent February 14^th doing laundry, not only my own, but also my parents’. My parents are Baby Boomers who can’t climb the steps as fast as they used to, so they rely on me to ferry clothes up to the garage to wash and dry them. Not only do we now have fresh laundry, but my mom has gained a lot of appreciation for having me around the house (not that she didn’t already have it to begin with). In between doing loads of my parents’ laundry, I watched WWE Smackdown and ate take-out sushi that my brother James brought home.

I find as I get older that I appreciate low-key events more often. I like low-key holidays, low-key vacations, and low-key concerts. Yes, most of the concerts I go to are heavy metal and hard rock, but instead of getting fucked up in the mosh pit, I take a seat in the bleachers. Sitting down between bands is easy on my legs, which is why I can no longer attend shows at the Showbox venues in Seattle or Studio 7 in the same city: they don’t have chairs. I even asked if I could bring my own beanbag chair to the Showbox and though the nice lady agreed I should be able to do that, they can’t accommodate me in that department. At 31-years-old and tipping the scale in the 300 district, I have to start thinking low-key, which includes being in a neutral mood on Valentine’s Day.

It’s funny, because I posted a synopsis in my folder at the WSS about a short story dealing with Valentine’s Day in a negative light. The story would have been called “I Don’t Believe In Love” and would be about a theater student doing a passionate monologue on how exclusive the holiday is. Instead of writing that short story, I wrote a chapter of Demon Axe where Daniel Mercer a.k.a. The Lord of the Pit was tortured with his own genre of music. Great stuff, huh? It’s like something out of A Clockwork Orange. Or it could be like Tales From the Hood with fully-clothed characters.

The only Valentine’s Day thing I really did was buy a gift for my beta reader Marie Krepps. I brag about her every chance I get, so it’s only natural that I get her something nice from her Amazon wish list. In a way, she could be my valentine despite the fact that she’s already married with four lovely daughters. Then again, valentines don’t have to necessarily be love interests. One year I had my black cat Pete as my valentine. Pete has since passed on to the Rainbow Bridge. But goddamn, he was a sweet little valentine!

Depending on whom you are or what your circumstances entail, Valentine’s Day can either be the happiest day of your life or the most miserable. If you like this holiday, more power to you and I wish you infinite happiness. If you hate this holiday with a passion, you don’t have to. If you’re really that starved for romantic affection, masturbate to some sexy You Tube videos. That’s what I did one year and those endorphins came rushing in like…well, you see where I’m going with this. But if masturbating isn’t your thing, then find some way to occupy your time. As long as your mind and spirit are busy with something to do, Valentine’s Day will be just as neutral to you as it is to me.

We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 15***

I’m getting closer and closer to the end of this first draft novel and I couldn’t be more excited! Chapter fifteen will start off with Daniel being released from his straps and knocking down the door to his room by bellowing into his microphone. Seems like a nice way to begin a chapter as far as I’m concerned, especially considering how Daniel Mercer has been easily-triggered throughout the whole story. He realizes how much responsibility he has on his shoulders and will now take this quest against Roger seriously. Or to put it in his oh-so-lovely terms, “Let’s fuck shit up!”

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I have to be honest with you guys for a minute. I haven’t been writing as many Poison Tongue Tales 2 short stories lately, which means my character roster for the Dark Fantasy Warriors series is rapidly depleting. The next one on the chopping block will be Marco Said from “Staple Gun Gangster”, but after that, here are all the characters I have left:

1. Bear Man, Human Bassist (Demon Axe)
2. Dijas Kai, Lion Samurai (Screw the Zoo)
3. Scott Percival, Cyborg Soldier (Shield Me)
4. Seven, Undead Prophet (The Theomancer)
5. Sonia Marquez, Human Mixed-Martial Artist (Demon Axe)

Your eyes do not deceive you. After Marco Said, there will only be five Dark Fantasy Warriors left, which will be just enough to complete my 100 Characters Meme by the time they’re finished. In this case, the meme will be used for drawings that I’ve done in color, which dates back to early 2016 (the year of death). I know doing Deviant Art memes isn’t the most exciting thing one can do with his or her time, but to my way of thinking, this will be my way of celebrating a milestone.

***CYBORGS AND SORCERY***

About a week ago, Marie Krepps asked me to beta read four short stories of hers which will ultimately be part of a published collection called Cyborgs and Sorcery. I’ve gotten through her two longest stories and she seemed happy with my snarky critiques. The next two stories are only three or four pages long, give or take, so on the day of my choosing I can blow through both of them and write a passing grade review for the collection the same day.

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What did Avril Lavigne say to Bullwinkle?

A: Hey, hey! You, you! I don’t like your squirrel friend!

Kicking Caffeine

***KICKING CAFFEINE***

As many of you already know, struggling with laziness has been a problem for me for the past few years. I desperately wanted to write the next great chapter or read another thirty pages of my book, but then my brain would be too foggy for me to carry on. This frustrated me so much that I started blaming myself for this drowsy feeling. I got a CPAP machine a few months ago and that solved a lot of my problems. And then I started reading articles online about procrastination, so I made even more changes to my lifestyle. I’m going to bed at an earlier time, I don’t eat a heavy meal before sleeping, I abstain from sugary foods, and the biggest one of all, I’ve given up caffeinated drinks completely, which include Diet Mountain Dew and Lipton Black Tea.

Last Wednesday was when I began making these changes. I started the day by writing chapter seven of Demon Axe. Then I went to Silverdale with my mom to exercise at the Y, get my back adjusted, and get some healthy foods at Trader Joe’s. One of the things I bought at that store was chamomile tea, which doesn’t have caffeine and serves as a digestive relaxant. All in all, I felt good that day about my creativity and my general health. It also helped that I got to have fun conversations with my mom like we always do whenever we’re in the car.

The next day, the caffeine withdrawal symptoms began kicking in. I went from being on the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. I slept longer than usual, I took multiple naps in the middle of the day, and worst of all, I didn’t want to do anything creative. In other words, by giving up the chemical that was making me lazy, I in turn became even lazier. This lasted until Monday morning, but it felt like a whole year had gone by without creative outlets. Well, I drew a picture here and there, but that was about it.

Monday arrived and my withdrawal symptoms had passed by then. I used that day to compete in the WSS contest by putting out a story called “Die Purring”. I’ve never been so happy to be awake and alive than after writing that story. I was going to be a hard worker again and I loved it. Tuesday was lacking in creative production, because the night before, I made the mistake of eating vegetarian pizza burgers right before going to bed. It’s Wednesday now and I haven’t cheated on my health regimen since.

I chose to use this day to catch up on reading and write this blog entry. Another thirty pages of “The Blade Itself” is in the books (pun intended), chapters eleven and twelve of “Never Again” have been critiqued for Marie Krepps’ review, and Edward Davies entry at the WSS has been signed, sealed, and delivered. While I may or may not use the rest of the day to do my next WSS short story or writing a chapter of Demon Axe, I feel satisfied about what I’ve done with my morning. The operative word here is “morning”, because I woke up at 7:40 today and didn’t feel exhausted in the least.

Why am I suddenly telling you guys this? Because it’s a reminder to all that sooner or later, our health is going to become important to us, whether it’s mental or physical. In the past, I’ve written songs and blog entries mocking healthy lifestyles, and there’s no telling whether or not I’ll do it again. But as much as I criticize obnoxiously healthy people, I must say that being free from caffeine’s addiction feels pretty damn good right now. I look forward to more days when I can work my ass off and put out a damn good product, or help others do the same. The creative urge is stronger than addictive chemicals. Remember that.

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

This week the prompt is “Quicksilver”, so I figured it was another opportunity to write a story with “mancer” in the title. Seems reasonable, right? My story will be called “The Psychomancer” (mind wizard) and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Tony Castle, Psychomancer

Ashley Cormier, Autistic Teenager

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Quicksilver, which is another name for mercury, has often been thought of as the link to autism since it’s used to preserve vaccination needles. Tony disputes this point during his conversation with Ashley.

SYNOPSIS: Ashley runs away from home and seeks out Tony’s help after a lengthy search. As a psychomancer, Tony is believed to be able to cure all sorts of mental diseases. When he uses his powers to find out Ashley has autism, he refuses to “cure” her. Instead, Tony tries to help her cope with it and use it to her advantage creatively and academically. Ashley doesn’t want to be autistic anymore because it makes her an easy target for bullies at her school. Instead of receiving a magical cure, she receives inspiration to just be herself no matter what anybody says or does.

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER EIGHT***

Daniel Mercer has finally come down from his traumatized state thanks to Raven Triscloud. Now it’s time for him to meet King Arthur Triscloud, leader of the elven race. The elves are still convinced that Daniel has what it takes to defeat Roger Zee despite the fact that the singer’s only fighting experience comes from drunken brawls in shitty bars. Arthur has a gift that he’d like to bestow upon Daniel for such a quest, but is he really ready to accept it? Is it a weapon? Is it a prop? Is it a magic wand? What could it be?

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the long list of badass characters is Christopher, the gnomish rogue from the Dungeons & Dragons game played by Brenda Christopher in “Emoticon Artist”. He may be the shortest member of the team at just three feet, but if James Ellsworth from WWE Smackdown has taught me anything, it’s that any man with two hands has a fighting chance…and two ways to masturbate.

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

When somebody on WWE Smackdown Live says, “See you next Tuesday”, it’s not supposed to be an insult, because they actually film episodes every Tuesday. Although, I can picture Alexa Bliss saying it to Becky Lynch right before a big Women’s Title match.

Subway Smackdown

The damage to Venice Reyes’ car was sickening: side view mirrors shattered into pebbles, the windshield reduced to snowflakes, the metal twisted and bent, the tires punctured, and the top of the car caved in completely. What other method of transportation was there to get her to her next modeling gig? As she thought of the ultimate answer, her stomach burned with anxiety and her skin welled up with goose bumps. She had to take the subway train. She threw up in her mouth a little bit at the thought of it.

Venice boarded the train wearing a red cocktail dress and black heels, obviously dressing for the job she had. She wasn’t onboard for a few seconds when the stench finally assaulted her nostrils: monstrous body odor, stale food, vomit, urine, and shit. The sexy model contributed to this mess when she doubled over and threw up bile on the already disgusting floor.

The monsters, orcs, ogres, and goblins riding the train with her laughed like hyenas with sore throats. Venice gave them all a frightened smile as she grabbed onto one of the overhead hand railings, struggling to keep herself standing straight. The subway train lurched forward and the model fell right on her ass into the puddle she puked up. The slimy skinned and diaper odor monsters laughed yet again at her plight, this time causing her to shed a few silent tears.

Venice once again grabbed hold of the railing and managed to stay up this time. Her dress was a disaster. How was she supposed to do a convincing photo shoot with her clothes in such horrible condition? She needed the money, smashed car aside. If only she could have caught the bastard who did that to her vehicle. Venice was a lover, not a fighter, but even she would have been capable of reducing a punk ass vandal to blood chunks if given the opportunity. Damn that vandal and damn this subway!

After a few minutes of being lost in her own thoughts, she was accosted by a throaty laugh behind her. She begged whatever god was up there that the monster wasn’t interested in her. She slowly turned around with tears in her eyes and snot in her nose to see a seven foot tall piece of bloody meat named Khan Shou, a famous boxer she had seen on television a few times when there was nothing else on.

Television didn’t do Khan justice. Venice looked like a small child standing next to him. His shark-toothed grin sent chills up her spine. His swollen red body was dripping with green slime. Venice secretly begged for this subway ride to be over, but it was just beginning.

“You must be Venice Reyes. Yeah, you’re definitely her! I’m a big fan of your work!” said Khan as he held out a magazine with her on the cover. The publication was covered in red and green goops as well as goop from a more intimate place. “Will you give me an autograph? I’ll pay you whatever you want: fifty credits, a hundred credits, two-hundred credits, hell, I’ll give you my life savings if you’re willing to do a little more for me!” Khan licked his lipless mouth with a combination of hunger and lust.

The model stared at her monstrous assailant with wide eyes, a quivering body, and a terrified smile as she held up her hands defensively and slowly backed away, obviously giving a no answer. As she backpedaled, she tripped over a homeless orc’s legs, prompting the passengers to laugh at her some more and prompting the orc to yell, “Watch it, bitch!”

Venice gently and apologetically giggled at the orc before standing up and stumbling toward the women’s bathroom, slamming the door and locking it tightly. Compared to the outside of the bathroom, this tiny stall smelled like a botanical garden. Venice used this opportunity to take deep breaths in and out and enjoy the beautiful air. She sat down on the toilet shaking and clutching her knees to her chest, still feeling the trauma of riding this subway.

Khan ripped the door off the bathroom and tossed it aside like it was a piece of paper, not caring who he hit with it. Venice screamed in horror as the seven foot creature said to her, “It’s not exactly the mile-high club. More like the six-feet under club. Either way, I’m a happy guy. Come on, pretty girl, what do you say? Are you ready for some goddamn fun?!”

“Hey, shit head!” yelled the homeless orc from before, who was now sporting a giant lump on his forehead. “Watch where you’re throwing that fucking door! You almost gave me a concussion, asshole!”

“Who are you calling an asshole, you queer?!” yelled Khan as he and the orc were pushing and shoving each other with the subway passengers cheering them on like animals.

Venice had spent most of the time covering her face in fear until she saw an opportunity. While Khan was distracted, the model got on her knees and crawled beneath the monster’s oversized legs. She then stood back up and ran towards the back exit of the subway. As Khan yelled for her to get back to where he was, Venice didn’t care if the subway was still in transit. Her modeling gig was over the minute she boarded this god-awful train.

She continued to run until she jumped through the back window and landed on the train tracks. The subway train left her behind while she was lying on the tracks covered in glass and blood. Venice was slipping in and out of consciousness while crying softly to herself. She may have gotten to safety, but that didn’t mean her troubles were over. She needed money in the most desperate way. She needed to buy a new car, get a new apartment, and get food in her stomach. She was sure to be late to her modeling gig, not that she was in any condition to be there anyways.

After what seemed like centuries of lying on the train tracks, Venice Reyes slowly picked herself off the ground, pieces of subway glass getting imbedded into her once lovely hands and knees. When she stood, she was on wobbly legs. When she walked, she struggled to stay upright.

“You look like you just had the world’s greatest orgy!” said a familiar throaty voice behind her. Venice silently said, “Oh no!” to herself over and over again as she turned around and saw Khan Shou smiling at her from a short distance. The hideous circus freak thudded and thumped on the train tracks as he stalked his sexual prey, licking his lips like he was about to eat a slab of prime rib.

Venice started running down the tunnel despite wearing heels and despite being in bloody pain. In her mind, she was running faster than a cheetah bolting through the African plains. She looked like a bolt of lightning flashing through the sky. She was a blur to the naked eye. She could see the boarding platform and it looked like the gates of heaven with the light shining down upon it. With one mighty leap, she grabbed hold of the edge and attempted to pull herself to safety.

And then she felt the chokingly tight grip of Khan Shou’s monstrous paws clutching her ankle. Venice screamed at her highest pitch, but nobody was around to hear her, not even the transit cops. She pulled her leg as hard as she could, but her diminutive strength was no match for the vice-like grip of the hellacious ring warrior, who whispered at her sexually and clicked his tongue.

So this was what the life of a famous sex icon was like in a dystopian world. Even in a normal world, Venice would have been treated like a sex slave to the public. Was putting her body out there really worth all of this unwanted attention? Of course not, which was why she took off the high heeled shoe on her good leg and jammed the stiletto in Khan’s left eye.

For a guy who was a brutal ring warrior, Khan showed a childlike lack of toughness when he danced around clutching his smashed eyeball. He screamed and bled all over the train tracks before finally removing the hell with brute force and staring a hole through Venice, who was crab-walking her way toward the platform exit.

Khan Shou growled like a grizzly bear when he said, “I’m going to snap off your arms and legs like the Barbie doll you are! I’m going to chew your brains like a giant wad of fucking bubblegum! I’m going to drink your blood like a bottle of Coors Light! I’m going to…” His lovely oratory was interrupted by a speeding subway train that splattered him all over the platform like a rotten tomato. He smelled just as bad as one too.

Venice laid backwards and breathed deep sighs of relief. The subway ride was over, Khan Shou was a dead man, and Venice Reyes was safe from male perversion. The only question now was, what would she do for money now that her modeling gig was a bust? She didn’t dwell on that too much. She instead closed her eyes and drifted off into a haunted sleep. There were other modeling gigs for someone as beautiful as her. Just a few more photo shoots and she could afford to move onto something else. Maybe she could also afford a therapist. 

I Dream of Weird Shit

***I DREAM OF WEIRD SHIT***

I say all the time that dreams are a rich source of creative fuel. They’re like Vitamin B12 for the schizophrenic mind (trust me, this is real science; look it up). Last night’s visit to the subconscious theater was one that qualified as cinematic wizardry. Or a psychotic cluster fuck, one of those two. Either way, I’m going to harvest as much creative fuel as I can from this once in a lifetime acid trip. Here’s how the dream went:

I started the dream by opening a newspaper and reading about male-to-female transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox confronting Ronda Rousey at one of her press conferences…wielding a crossbow. That’s right, folks. A crossbow. Not a shotgun. Not an AK-47. A crossbow. Nobody around me was asking why Fallon Fox was holding a crossbow. They wondered what kind it was and how many rounds it could carry. This was the one instance where it was okay to complain about unfair advantages in a one-on-one situation. A crossbow, for shit’s sake!

I put down the newspaper and get to work at my family-owned toy store. My occupational dreams have come true; I get to work with toys! I was setting up various Bionicle figures on the display table and even playing with some of them. My videogame playing brother signed a package for a shipment of Double Dragon games…for the PS4. A beat-‘em-up side-scroller from the 1980’s is now on Playstation 4. Where the fuck have Jimmy and Billy Lee been this whole time?! I missed those guys!

And then I actually start to play a copy of the game. Seeing as how it’s on the newest generation of videogame consoles, the game is ten times harder than its Regular Nintendo predecessors. The first level is a ski resort crawling with anthropomorphic wolves carrying big fucking swords. The creatures themselves aren’t so scary. It was when they grabbed Billy Lee and bashed him over the head several times with the handles of their blades that I decided to lower the difficulty and try again.

The ski resort level was the same, but this time I was fighting baby dolls with milk bottles. The same health bar-draining beatdown happens all over again. The dolls force feed me sleep-inducing milk while the other dolls punch and kick me while I’m down. I throw the control and say, “I don’t want to play anymore!”

I couldn’t play the videogame any further anyways, because it was time for me to clock out from the toy store and spends some time with my babysitter. This thirty-year-old man actually has a babysitter! And that babysitter has some cute daughters who are about my age. I tell everybody how beautiful they are and they get creeped out.

Instead of talking about beauty, we watch a TV show about aliens disguised as people roaming the earth and preparing it for an invasion. For the main character, we have a bald guy in a trench coat and a hat with his face concealed as he goes around ratting on these aliens to the authorities. Every time he successfully squeals on an alien, he gets a new identity under the Witness Protection Program and continues roaming the earth to do his detective work. He one time ratted out an entire restaurant because the aliens were making racist jokes about Europeans. Aliens getting accused of xenophobia: the irony could not be clearer.

After the end credits rolled, the closing logo featured a guy getting hit by a car and flying through the air, getting hit by another car and flying through the air, getting hit by a train and flying through the air again, and then getting his nose chopped off by a helicopter’s propellers. In the words of the pilot, “That’s one dead motherfucker!” For some reason, I thought that closing logo was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.

I woke up this afternoon at about two o’clock and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I was so exhausted from ongoing sleep apnea issues that writing was impossible until now. I also didn’t feel like watching WWE NXT or Smackdown this evening, instead electing to watch the NXT Takeover special in Dallas tomorrow night and Wrestlemania 32 on Sunday.

Losing an entire day of potential work to sleep apnea is something that has plagued me throughout my whole career. Some days I’d have energy, some days I didn’t. Today was the latter and I felt awful about it. Not to worry, because I finally scheduled a sleep study which will take place on June 8^th, five days after my 31^st birthday and three days before seeing Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in Auburn. Chances are good I will need an oxygen mask, which I won’t mind as long as it gives me the energy I need in my day-to-day routine.

As of now, I have a short story to write for the WSS and a chapter to edit the hell out of in Occupy Wrestling. Those things don’t just write themselves. At least now I have some funky creative fuel to power me through my short stories. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when the voices in your head laugh at you for having dirty underwear?

A: Skids-ophrenia.

WWE Live From Madison Square Garden: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show

MATCH: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Live From Madison Square Garden
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


On one side of the ring, you have a seven foot tall, 450 lb. giant with multiple championships and an Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal trophy on his resume. On the other side of the ring, you have a 6’7”, 285 lb. fighting machine with championships from the NCAA, WWE, and even the UFC to his credit. These two super heavyweights aren’t just big and burly. They’re legitimate athletes. They can steamroll any opponent put in front of them. They can put multiple people in the hospital at once. They’re fighters by nature. And even though they’re both past their primes, they keep getting bigger, stronger, meaner, nastier, and better. Only on the WWE Network will these two weapons of mass destruction be allowed to compete. What better place to hold the deadly fight than at Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena and a staple of New York City?

Believe it or not, these two behemoths have survived each other’s onslaughts before. Their first recorded WWE match was in 2002 at the Survivor Series for Lesnar’s WWE Championship. 2002 was Lesnar’s rookie year and already he was dominating this turnbuckle jungle. He won the King of the Ring Tournament. He defeated The Rock to become the WWE Champion at age 25, the youngest at the time. He held multiple victories over The Undertaker. Nobody could stop this wrecking machine from hell…except for The Big Show, who with a steel chair and a little help from a treacherous Paul Heyman, pinned Brock Lesnar and won the WWE Championship.

As badly as these two men beat each other over that year, it wouldn’t compare to an episode of Smackdown in 2003, when Brock Lesnar once again had to defend his WWE Championship against The Big Show. Ass beatings were definitely in order, but the climax of the match didn’t come until Big Show was on the top rope and Lesnar had the idea of super-plexing this mega giant. Not only did Brock Lesnar have the Greek god-like strength to heave the 500 lb. man up, but when the two superstars crashed to the mat, the entire ring fell to pieces. The match was declared a draw, but that moment remained one of Smackdown’s most memorable.

Fast forward to the year 2014 when both The Big Show and Brock Lesnar had developed as brutally powerful athletes. They would meet again at that year’s Royal Rumble pay-per-view. The even itself was greeted with negativity due to Daniel Bryan’s absence from the actual Royal Rumble match, but if the fans ever needed a reason to cheer up, they got it when Brock Lesnar and Big Show’s match never got started. The reason for that being Lesnar’s vicious steel chair assault to Big Show, leaving bruises, blood, and slashes all over the giant’s body.

And now we fast forward to the year 2015 at WWE’s live event in Madison Square Garden. No more bullshit. No more draws, No more cheap shots. No more betrayal. Just straight up violence and nothing more. Though the match itself was relatively shorter than the rest of the matches on the card, it was no less brutal or deadly. It was a match that started with Lesnar attempting a double-leg takedown on Big Show and getting thrown over the top rope by Show instead.

The first few minutes of the match consisted of Lesnar trying to heave and toss around this 500 lb. warrior to no success whatsoever. Big Show decided to end it early with not one, not two, but three choke slams and a leg-hook pin. Even after falling seven feet three times, Lesnar got his shoulder up at two and the match resumed. Big Show was pissed. He was so pissed that he wanted to end it early again, this time with a knockout punch once Lesnar got to his feet.

Big Show didn’t get a KO victory, no, no, no. He got a one-way all expenses paid trip to Suplex City and Madison Square Garden was the capitol building. Brock Lesnar went behind the massive athlete, wrapped his arms around Big Show’s waist, and gave him not one, not two, not even three, but four German suplexes. Having enough strength to throw a 500 lb. man around like that says something about how much of a slayer Lesnar really is. And then this display of brutal strength was capped off with an F5 from Lesnar to Big Show, followed by a leg-hook pin for a full three count.

You think this is over? Aren’t you forgetting the bonus material? That’s right. Big Show actually got back up to his feet and flipped of his opponent. Granted, this titan was on spaghetti legs and couldn’t clear the cobwebs out of his thick skull, but he was clearly itching for another fight. Lesnar was more than happy to oblige. He got back in the ring and delivered an overhead belly-to-belly suplex to the massive ogre before picking his battered ass back up and giving another F5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brock was fully satisfied and walked away from the arena a happy man.

Big Show, on the other hand, walked to the backstage area holding his ribs and trying to maintain his equilibrium. When ringside announcer Eden Stiles said into her microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for The Big Show!”, all the seven-footer heard was a chorus of boos.

Despite the short length of this match, the multiple displays of sheer power by Brock Lesnar were awesome to watch. Having The Big Show do a job for him was the right move by WWE. And not only was it an important victory for Brock, it was a convincing one. Big Show suffered losses over his career to men much smaller than him.

But this match didn’t feel excessively scripted. This match actually felt like two big men trying to outmuscle each other. Lesnar isn’t used to being the underdog in his matches, so him being victorious in definitive fashion is a huge momentum builder for what awaits him next: a Hell in a Cell match with The Undertaker. After tossing around a man twice his size like he was medicine ball, Brock Lesnar doesn’t look like an underdog anymore, especially not against The Undertaker in a match the latter made famous.

Loretta

NAME: Loretta

AGE: 33

OCCUPATION: Professional Wrestler

CANON: WWF Smackdown 2: Know Your Role

Technically, this seven-foot tall Amazon doesn’t belong to me. When I was a teenager living in Chehalis, Washington, my brother James, our friend Nathan, and I played a lot of videogames. WWF Smackdown 2 for the Play Station just so happened to have a create your own character mode.

And boy, did the three of us make a lot of characters. My most noteworthy character was a seven-foot version of Guile from Street Fighter II. Nathan’s character was a soldier slash hippie named Me (and yes, Nathan took full advantage of the jokes that came with that name). James had a seven-foot diva named Loretta, who happens to be the subject of this journal.

Guile can’t be an unemployed character because he’s a staple of the Street Fighter franchise and using him would result in a legal shit storm I’m not prepared for. I can’t get a hold of Nathan these days since he phased out of our lives in late 2002, so I don’t even know if I have permission to use Me in a story (save your jokes, people).

I have no qualms, however, about adding Loretta to my roster since my brother James doesn’t have aspirations of being an author nor does he take wrestling seriously anyways. If I stole Loretta out from under his nose, he’d be so oblivious to it that he wouldn’t even care if he found out. If he does care, I’m happy to give her back.

Loretta wasn’t just a big chick in a long skirt, high heels, a sports bra, and sunglasses. Being big isn’t everything. Being skillful is what matters most in professional wrestling. Loretta was part of the same videogame that had Chyna on its roster. Remember Chyna from the Attitude Era of WWE? She was fucking huge. She wrestled men and looked good doing it, which is why Chyna was the only woman to have held the WWE Intercontinental Championship. Loretta makes this woman look like El Torito in the ring. She could crush Chyna underneath her high heels and scrape her off like chewed bubblegum.

In addition to being a badass in the ring, Loretta was also slated by James and Nathan to be the storyline lover of Guile, who as I said earlier was a seven-foot version of his Street Fighter self. At first I didn’t agree with that since I had a shallow bias against overly tall women back then. But the more I think about it, the more I think Guile and Loretta should tie the knot and make seven-foot babies.

You know what’s even scarier than a seven-foot baby? A seven foot baby who was made taller and heavier by a pituitary disorder. If The Big Show and The Great Khali were a part of this videogame, they’d be insects among this world of giants. It wouldn’t be a WWE arena anymore. It’d be an ant farm. What if Daniel Bryan and Rey Mysterio were a part of this game? Guile and Loretta’s children would need a microscope just to compete against them!

Several Women’s Championship matches and beauty contests later, the videogame disc for WWF Smackdown 2 was scratched and broken from overuse. It was a fun game to play, but with a broken game disc, a sold Play Station, and a lost memory card, Loretta’s adventures in the digital world are over. Which is why I’d like to bring this giantess back to the digital world for a round of literary action.

The way I see it, Loretta’s character, should I decide to use her, can play out two ways and both of them have to do with her height advantage. Either she will be an unlikely hero who gets picked on for her size or she will be a villain who crushes villagers underneath her stilettos while breathing fire on them. Both alignments are believable for a woman like this. After all, being seven feet tall is not a guarantee for a happy or beautiful life.

Would you believe it if I told you The World’s Strongest Man and WWE legend Mark Henry was bullied as a teenager? He may have been big and strong, but he was still flawed in the eyes of everyone around him, especially those who called him names. Bottom line: if Loretta ever makes it into one of my stories, she won’t be winning a Most Overrated award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter anytime soon.