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Showing posts with label John Layfield. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Layfield. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 18, 2026
Thursday, July 20, 2017
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”
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
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 Crowley
-George Carlin-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Laughter is the best medicine and the same is true for
recovering from mental illness triggers. Remember that, folks.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
WWE Royal Rumble: Dean Ambrose vs. Kevin Owens
MATCH: Dean Ambrose vs. Kevin Owens in a Last Man Standing match for Ambrose’s Intercontinental Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Royal Rumble
YEAR: 2016
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Working the independent circuit in professional wrestling will put hair on your genitals. Working that many matches around the world will give you a myriad of styles that will ultimately become your move set. In Mexico, the luchadors fly around the ring like ninjas. In Japan, they hit each other hard enough to turn the human body into one big purple bruise. In Europe, they do the exact same thing, but with emphasis on technical brawling instead of honor-bound martial arts. And then when you finally make your trip to WWE NXT and ultimately their main roster, you’ll have the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.
Such are the success stories of Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens, two badass warriors who cut their teeth for over a decade on the independent circuit. Dean Ambrose has United States and Intercontinental Championship reigns under his belt while Kevin Owens has NXT gold and an Intercontinental belt reign as well. At the Tables, Ladders, and Chairs pay-per-view in 2015, it was Dean Ambrose who won his first IC Championship from Kevin Owens. Ever since then, Owens has been in a horrible mood, bullying and brutalizing anybody in his path, Ambrose included.
There was only one way a rivalry of this much hatred could be settled: Last Man Standing rules at the Royal Rumble. There are no pin-falls, submissions, count-outs, or disqualifications. All you have to do to win this match is beat the living shit out of your opponent so badly that he cannot answer the referee’s ten-count. Heel announcer John Layfield put it best when he said the only thing limiting the competitors in this match is their own imaginations.
When you’re called The Lunatic Fringe like Dean Ambrose is, your schizophrenic visions pretty much guarantee you a colorful and violent imagination. Kevin Owens is a brawler by nature, so he’s no less dangerous with a steel chair or a wooden table. Ambrose and Owens wasted no time in putting their violent visions to good use. They started the match by slugging it out and watching each other get dizzy.
Then the action spilled to the outside and things really got chaotic. Kevin Owens was launched over the English-speaking announce table and landed in Michael Cole’s lap, thus breaking the poor guy’s glasses. Once he got power back in his headsets, Cole was actually cheering on Ambrose when he was swinging a bamboo cane at Owens.
Once the toys were out, they didn’t go to waste, no, sir. Kevin Owens power bombed Dean Ambrose through steel chairs, spear tackled him through the time keeper’s barricade, and fisherman suplexed him through a wooden table. And Ambrose was still staggering to his feet ready for a fight! The man doesn’t quit!
Then it was Ambrose’s turn to put a serious beating on his opponent. A double arm DDT on a steel chair would do the trick. So would an elbow drop through the Spanish announce table. And then there were more whacks with the bamboo stick. The steel stairs had seen crashes and burns from both men.
After enduring all of this hardcore violence, you would expect both men to be bleeding, burned out, and ready for ambulance rides. Hell, they hit each other so hard that maybe a hearse was necessary. They stood up on wobbly legs and punched each other some more. Kevin Owens gave his opponent a pop-up power bomb and Ambrose, being the loony tune he was, got up and wrapped a steel chair around Owens’ head before boxing him in the face.
A normal man would have quit under these combative circumstances. He would have nightmares for months and would have chugged enough Xanax to kill an elephant. He would have had hospital bills that most one-percent billionaires couldn’t even afford. These two warriors aren’t normal men. They get up and smash each other some more with steel chairs, bamboo canes, fists, feet, and head butts. And then they smash each other some more. And smash each other some more. At this point, the referee could count to a thousand. He could wait for a whole decade to go by and they would still thrash each other endlessly.
But it was one mistake by Kevin Owens that cost him the match. He set up two wooden tables outside the ring and stacked one on top of the other. Owens was also perched on the top turnbuckle, presumably for a moonsault. And then Dean Ambrose jolted back to life once more and shoved Owens off the turnbuckle, sending the Canadian grizzly crashing through both tables. Owens shivered several times in his laying position, but made no attempt to pull himself to his feet. At the count of ten, Dean Ambrose was declared the winner and undisputed Intercontinental Champion.
With the crowd chanting “This is awesome!” and carrying their momentum into the Royal Rumble match itself, it’s clear there were no losers in this match. Dean Ambrose is the rightful IC Champion, but Kevin Owens is a winner too in my mind. Those two beat the living shit out of each other so badly that they limped their way into the Royal Rumble match. How they weren’t even in wheelchairs was a mystery to everybody there. How Kevin Owens managed to eliminate fellow independent wrestler AJ Styles is beyond me. How Dean Ambrose was one of the final two men in that match left standing is something that would stump Nostradamus.
The fact that two men could put on an apocalyptic brawl and still be able to compete later on in the night should be a testament to how tough pro-wrestlers are. Getting clotheslined or body slammed is bad enough. Being driven through tables, smashed with a kendo stick, and slammed through steel chairs takes more guts than the stomach has room for. It was amazing Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens didn’t have their own guts spread all over the arena that night. Yes, it’s a TV-PG rated pay-per-view, but you wouldn’t know it from how banged up and battered these ring warriors were afterwards. I’d even say this is an early contender for Match of the Year in 2016. Congratulations, you two. You just made an entire arena full of people shit their pants with excitement. Now it REALLY looks like a battlefield out there!
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Royal Rumble
YEAR: 2016
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Working the independent circuit in professional wrestling will put hair on your genitals. Working that many matches around the world will give you a myriad of styles that will ultimately become your move set. In Mexico, the luchadors fly around the ring like ninjas. In Japan, they hit each other hard enough to turn the human body into one big purple bruise. In Europe, they do the exact same thing, but with emphasis on technical brawling instead of honor-bound martial arts. And then when you finally make your trip to WWE NXT and ultimately their main roster, you’ll have the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.
Such are the success stories of Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens, two badass warriors who cut their teeth for over a decade on the independent circuit. Dean Ambrose has United States and Intercontinental Championship reigns under his belt while Kevin Owens has NXT gold and an Intercontinental belt reign as well. At the Tables, Ladders, and Chairs pay-per-view in 2015, it was Dean Ambrose who won his first IC Championship from Kevin Owens. Ever since then, Owens has been in a horrible mood, bullying and brutalizing anybody in his path, Ambrose included.
There was only one way a rivalry of this much hatred could be settled: Last Man Standing rules at the Royal Rumble. There are no pin-falls, submissions, count-outs, or disqualifications. All you have to do to win this match is beat the living shit out of your opponent so badly that he cannot answer the referee’s ten-count. Heel announcer John Layfield put it best when he said the only thing limiting the competitors in this match is their own imaginations.
When you’re called The Lunatic Fringe like Dean Ambrose is, your schizophrenic visions pretty much guarantee you a colorful and violent imagination. Kevin Owens is a brawler by nature, so he’s no less dangerous with a steel chair or a wooden table. Ambrose and Owens wasted no time in putting their violent visions to good use. They started the match by slugging it out and watching each other get dizzy.
Then the action spilled to the outside and things really got chaotic. Kevin Owens was launched over the English-speaking announce table and landed in Michael Cole’s lap, thus breaking the poor guy’s glasses. Once he got power back in his headsets, Cole was actually cheering on Ambrose when he was swinging a bamboo cane at Owens.
Once the toys were out, they didn’t go to waste, no, sir. Kevin Owens power bombed Dean Ambrose through steel chairs, spear tackled him through the time keeper’s barricade, and fisherman suplexed him through a wooden table. And Ambrose was still staggering to his feet ready for a fight! The man doesn’t quit!
Then it was Ambrose’s turn to put a serious beating on his opponent. A double arm DDT on a steel chair would do the trick. So would an elbow drop through the Spanish announce table. And then there were more whacks with the bamboo stick. The steel stairs had seen crashes and burns from both men.
After enduring all of this hardcore violence, you would expect both men to be bleeding, burned out, and ready for ambulance rides. Hell, they hit each other so hard that maybe a hearse was necessary. They stood up on wobbly legs and punched each other some more. Kevin Owens gave his opponent a pop-up power bomb and Ambrose, being the loony tune he was, got up and wrapped a steel chair around Owens’ head before boxing him in the face.
A normal man would have quit under these combative circumstances. He would have nightmares for months and would have chugged enough Xanax to kill an elephant. He would have had hospital bills that most one-percent billionaires couldn’t even afford. These two warriors aren’t normal men. They get up and smash each other some more with steel chairs, bamboo canes, fists, feet, and head butts. And then they smash each other some more. And smash each other some more. At this point, the referee could count to a thousand. He could wait for a whole decade to go by and they would still thrash each other endlessly.
But it was one mistake by Kevin Owens that cost him the match. He set up two wooden tables outside the ring and stacked one on top of the other. Owens was also perched on the top turnbuckle, presumably for a moonsault. And then Dean Ambrose jolted back to life once more and shoved Owens off the turnbuckle, sending the Canadian grizzly crashing through both tables. Owens shivered several times in his laying position, but made no attempt to pull himself to his feet. At the count of ten, Dean Ambrose was declared the winner and undisputed Intercontinental Champion.
With the crowd chanting “This is awesome!” and carrying their momentum into the Royal Rumble match itself, it’s clear there were no losers in this match. Dean Ambrose is the rightful IC Champion, but Kevin Owens is a winner too in my mind. Those two beat the living shit out of each other so badly that they limped their way into the Royal Rumble match. How they weren’t even in wheelchairs was a mystery to everybody there. How Kevin Owens managed to eliminate fellow independent wrestler AJ Styles is beyond me. How Dean Ambrose was one of the final two men in that match left standing is something that would stump Nostradamus.
The fact that two men could put on an apocalyptic brawl and still be able to compete later on in the night should be a testament to how tough pro-wrestlers are. Getting clotheslined or body slammed is bad enough. Being driven through tables, smashed with a kendo stick, and slammed through steel chairs takes more guts than the stomach has room for. It was amazing Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens didn’t have their own guts spread all over the arena that night. Yes, it’s a TV-PG rated pay-per-view, but you wouldn’t know it from how banged up and battered these ring warriors were afterwards. I’d even say this is an early contender for Match of the Year in 2016. Congratulations, you two. You just made an entire arena full of people shit their pants with excitement. Now it REALLY looks like a battlefield out there!
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!
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Hanging Around
***HANGING AROUND***
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
WWE Tough Enough
***BEFORE I BEGIN***
From now on, every piece of writing I do, whether it’s a short story, novel chapter, review, or blog entry, will be posted on ALL of my social media accounts, not just certain ones. A year ago, I made the decision to post my Garrison’s Library entries on Deviant Art. Why isn’t all of my writing on all of my accounts? That’s a lot of untapped potential that’s going to waste. This journal entry would normally be meant for Deviant Art, but why stop there? Enjoy!
***WWE TOUGH ENOUGH***
Every once and a while, my step-dad Dale will call upstairs to my room and tell me that WWE Tough Enough is on TV. Yes, it’s a WWE production and as everyone here knows, I can’t shut up about wrestling. But if there’s one show I try to avoid every time it comes on, it’s Tough Enough. If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality TV competition where a bunch of rookies learn how to wrestle. Here’s why it’s called Tough Enough: because the trainers and judges have a boot camp mentality where screaming and insulting the competitors will eventually motivate them to do the right things in the ring.
It may be that there’s some truth in harsh motivation being good for an athlete or a combatant. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching it. In fact, watching the upper echelon scream their heads off at those below makes me feel uncomfortable. It reminds me of other relationships in life where there’s a ridiculous imbalance of power: bank robbers and hostages, rapists and women, drunken step-dads and small children, conformist teachers and imaginative students, etc.
Just one time during a boot camp scenario like this would I like to see some insubordination from the bottom tier. Maybe one of the competitors will get fed up with the trainers’ shit and throw a metal dumbbell at one of them. Maybe Paige (one of the judges) will tell someone to get off the stage and that someone will tell her to remove the A and E from her name. Maybe Daniel Bryan (another judge) will tell someone they have no charisma and that person will pull a pair of clippers out of his gym bag and shave Daniel’s beard off.
I’m sure insubordination has happened before on an episode of Tough Enough, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s a rare occurrence. Either the competitors are too scared of losing their spots or they have too much respect for authority. As long as there’s an overwhelming imbalance of power, it will keep me from watching Tough Enough or any other show with screaming authority figures. That being said, Full Metal Jacket makes me want to vomit.
You’ve gotten this far in my journal and have also read the entirety of Occupy Wrestling, my latest self-published novel. You probably feel like calling me out on a hypocrisy since at the end of Occupy Wrestling, Debra flies to Japan to train in a wrestling dojo where there’s absolutely no shortage of harsh motivation. The only reason I put that in the story is because I needed a believable reason for her to suddenly be good at fighting. I’ll tell you right now that just because it happens in my stories, I in no way endorse nor condone drill sergeant motivation. Maybe that’s because I myself would crack easily under pressure in such a situation because of my schizophrenia and autism. Harsh motivation may work for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.
In short, if you’ve heard me talk about WWE and were wondering if I watch Tough Enough every week, the answer is no. It makes me feel vicariously bad for the competitors, especially since it’s unscripted. I also won’t be watching Summer Slam this year for two reasons. One, I’ve cancelled my subscription to the WWE Network due to it crapping out every time I want to watch a pay-per-view. And two, on that same day, I’m going to see Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Lamb of God, and a bunch of other metal bands perform at the White River Amphitheater. If the WWE wants me to watch their major shows, then I guess I’ll order a PPV through my cable provider and pay $50 for it. Granted, John Layfield will call me an idiot for doing so, but that just magnifies his status as an asshole commentator.
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Who is John Layfield’s favorite rapper?
A: Maggle-More.
From now on, every piece of writing I do, whether it’s a short story, novel chapter, review, or blog entry, will be posted on ALL of my social media accounts, not just certain ones. A year ago, I made the decision to post my Garrison’s Library entries on Deviant Art. Why isn’t all of my writing on all of my accounts? That’s a lot of untapped potential that’s going to waste. This journal entry would normally be meant for Deviant Art, but why stop there? Enjoy!
***WWE TOUGH ENOUGH***
Every once and a while, my step-dad Dale will call upstairs to my room and tell me that WWE Tough Enough is on TV. Yes, it’s a WWE production and as everyone here knows, I can’t shut up about wrestling. But if there’s one show I try to avoid every time it comes on, it’s Tough Enough. If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality TV competition where a bunch of rookies learn how to wrestle. Here’s why it’s called Tough Enough: because the trainers and judges have a boot camp mentality where screaming and insulting the competitors will eventually motivate them to do the right things in the ring.
It may be that there’s some truth in harsh motivation being good for an athlete or a combatant. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching it. In fact, watching the upper echelon scream their heads off at those below makes me feel uncomfortable. It reminds me of other relationships in life where there’s a ridiculous imbalance of power: bank robbers and hostages, rapists and women, drunken step-dads and small children, conformist teachers and imaginative students, etc.
Just one time during a boot camp scenario like this would I like to see some insubordination from the bottom tier. Maybe one of the competitors will get fed up with the trainers’ shit and throw a metal dumbbell at one of them. Maybe Paige (one of the judges) will tell someone to get off the stage and that someone will tell her to remove the A and E from her name. Maybe Daniel Bryan (another judge) will tell someone they have no charisma and that person will pull a pair of clippers out of his gym bag and shave Daniel’s beard off.
I’m sure insubordination has happened before on an episode of Tough Enough, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s a rare occurrence. Either the competitors are too scared of losing their spots or they have too much respect for authority. As long as there’s an overwhelming imbalance of power, it will keep me from watching Tough Enough or any other show with screaming authority figures. That being said, Full Metal Jacket makes me want to vomit.
You’ve gotten this far in my journal and have also read the entirety of Occupy Wrestling, my latest self-published novel. You probably feel like calling me out on a hypocrisy since at the end of Occupy Wrestling, Debra flies to Japan to train in a wrestling dojo where there’s absolutely no shortage of harsh motivation. The only reason I put that in the story is because I needed a believable reason for her to suddenly be good at fighting. I’ll tell you right now that just because it happens in my stories, I in no way endorse nor condone drill sergeant motivation. Maybe that’s because I myself would crack easily under pressure in such a situation because of my schizophrenia and autism. Harsh motivation may work for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.
In short, if you’ve heard me talk about WWE and were wondering if I watch Tough Enough every week, the answer is no. It makes me feel vicariously bad for the competitors, especially since it’s unscripted. I also won’t be watching Summer Slam this year for two reasons. One, I’ve cancelled my subscription to the WWE Network due to it crapping out every time I want to watch a pay-per-view. And two, on that same day, I’m going to see Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Lamb of God, and a bunch of other metal bands perform at the White River Amphitheater. If the WWE wants me to watch their major shows, then I guess I’ll order a PPV through my cable provider and pay $50 for it. Granted, John Layfield will call me an idiot for doing so, but that just magnifies his status as an asshole commentator.
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Who is John Layfield’s favorite rapper?
A: Maggle-More.
Monday, July 14, 2014
"Rebellion" by CFO$
For my 29th birthday, my sister-in-law turned platonic life partner Susan got me a Roku device, which is basically an on-demand service for my TV. One of the things I downloaded with this Roku was the WWE Network and one of the shows I watch on the WWE Network is NXT, where superstars put on kick-ass matches until they’re called to the main WWE roster to perform on Raw or Smackdown. Two of those wrestlers who brutalize their opponents and climb the ladder of success are Konnor and Viktor, better known as The Ascension.
Every WWE superstar and diva needs their own entrance music to psych them up before a big match. Those entrance themes are created by CFO$. So what kind of music do you give two barbarians like Konnor and Viktor, who both have bodies of Greek titans and the rage of jungle beasts? In order to match their primitive aggression, you need music that is equally aggressive and hard-hitting. That’s where the CFO$ song “Rebellion” comes in.
If you’re standing in the opposite corner from The Ascension and you hear “Rebellion” in all of its heavy metal double bass drum glory playing, you’d better be wearing a diaper. Those two barbarians aren’t there to magic tricks or put on a ballet recital. Konnor and Viktor are there for one reason: to rip their opponents to pieces like a pack of rabid wolves on a wounded deer. You talk about meat on the table? That’s cute, because in order to feed The Ascension’s appetite for blood and flesh, you’d need an entire meat truck full of juicy morsels.
Listening to badass heavy metal music and watching The Ascension in action is very inspiring for an author like me who uses anger and aggression in his writing. Along with Diablo II, this NXT tag team has restored my faith in the barbarian’s ways. Eat, sleep, rage, repeat. I too wish to have characters in my story who emulate this violent lifestyle. I’m already trying to do that with Deus and Diva Shadowheart and their Fireball Nightmare story. I’ve already done it with short stories in my Dragon Machinegun e-book. I will do it again with Dragon Machinegun 2: Reload.
The barbaric tribes are hungry and there’s so much tender flesh for them to consume. To quote Ryback before he turned heel in the WWE, feed me more! And who cares about forks and knives when you’ve got an oversized battleaxe in either hand. Or a morning star. Or a sword. Or a spear. Or maybe even the NXT Tag Team Championship belts. Either way, somebody is having lunch today and it’s going to be delicious!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Everything I say goes right over Michael Cole’s head. It’s like throwing a Frisbee to a guy sitting down.”
-John “Bradshaw” Layfield-
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