RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Tuesday, October 31

#87 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: The Universal Magnetic


This was the first I ever heard of a Mr. Mos Def, and it was great. Dug the beats, dug the intelligent-against-the-grain-of-gangsta rhymes, and dug it all. Put it on a bunch of mixtapes, and back then I was selling mixtapes to stupid fucks. Somewhere along the way, it might've been reading someone say you can't hear a Mos Def song without hearing an old school song being reworked, I lost all respect for Mos Def. He really is like an old school mix show on a Sunday afternoon, except he does the lyrics himself. Oh well. If you can hunh, you can hear.

#33 RAP TAPES: Death Certificate


When I first got this shit, I didn't like it, because it wasn't Amerikkka's Most Wanted, which is a classic, and I never really listened to it too much since back then, although for some reason it still floated around amongst my stupid clutter of material possessions. Listening to it over though, and maybe this is because it's filtered through the prism of Cube's most recent mailed-in works, I really dug the Death Certificate a lot more than I ever really remember doing in the past. I guess maybe I was just mad Cube shaved his head. Jheri curls are such a weird hairstyle, and somebody should still be rocking that shit. I mean, motherfuckers made short-and-longs trendy again, to an extent, so somebody ought to bring back the jheri curl.

Monday, October 30

#88 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Camouflage Ninjas


The b-side to this single is "Wake Up", which has an old Incredible Hulk tv show sample, and maybe it was that sample from my embedded childhood, or maybe the paranoid space alien illuminati lyrics, or maybe I don't know, but I played that song daily for like a year or two of my life. It was my favorite song forever and a day, and I have tormented many a person with it. It shocks me that my stupid drunk stoned ass sitting out in a free camper with an extension cord running to it listening to shit on slow could be so different from the urban Richmond (15th most dangerous city in America, word is bond!) drunkard couch-crashing vagina-scamming Datsun driver I was back when I played this shit all the time. But apparently I am.

#34 RAP TAPES: Drankin' Patnaz


This was actually the last rap tape I ever bought brand new, when the alternative record store had a shelf of like fourteen new release rap/R&B tapes. I got it just because that "don't start no shit won't be no shit" song for some reason got stuck far too deeply in my head for me to think straight. The tape is like most new tapes - full of skits and half-assed songs with shitty concepts. But "Mudpits" was a good assed song and I played the fuck out of it just because of that for a few weeks in my shitty Toyota Tercel that I looked like a giant squeezed into and eventually wrecked into a snowbank one time. Actually, I still drove it after that, but the engine started to miss pretty bad and I got the engine overhauled, and it started missing again fairly fast, and I took it to some other dude who said it needed overhauling again, and he suggested I just spray the oil off the engine and take it to the weekly auto auction place and get a couple cool hundred for it because you're not allowed to start the car at those places, but I didn't feel good about that, so instead I drove it home, missing hard, got it home with my wife following, and proceeded to big fast donuts in the yard until the engine smoked like someone had set fireworks off under the hood, and I parked it until stupid PBS came to pick up as part of their stupid donation program. Suckers.

LMOTM: Cibernetico vs. Shocker vs. Vampiro – 06/03/06 – Lucha on Galavision

Sure stupid AAA, a three-way bull terrier (that’s Spanish for dog collar) match WILL trick me into watching you a little closer for a few minutes. When it comes to having your facial expression not change even once during the course of a match, Vampiro is top-notch. What the fuck? Cibernetico and Shocker are just teaming up on Vamp, and Cibernetico is gonna chain whip him – standard dog collar match fare – but they lay a chair across Vampiro to whip the chair. That is easily the stupidest shit I’ve ever seen to pretend like it hurts somebody in the fake fighting. Even a sleeperhold makes more extreme sense, because it’s mysterious and medical. Swinging a chain into a chair laying on top of a guy is stupid. Fuck this. Although I do wish I understood more about how Cibernetico is leader of some sort of religious sect that worships cybernetics, and how this made him such a sexy unmasked man.

Friday, October 27

USMOTM: A.J. Styles vs. Air Paris vs. Sabu – 12/14/00 – NWA Wildside

Styles is almost NWA champ at this point, and under the evil spell of Jeff G. Bailey, and back in Georgia to fight Air Paris. I guess Sabu is champ and he is injured and if he can’t defend the title, Styles is champ. I have always thought of A.J. Styles and Air Paris together, because they were both in Wildside when WCW came looking for young talent, and I think they were both in that initial 6-man match that was on Nitro or some shit, and their paths since then have been completely opposite, even though they were pretty much right there together at that point. A.J. Styles is now SUPERSTAR and Air Paris is that guy you probably avoid even though you’re glad to see he’s still alive in passing. Lights go out and Air Paris is in the ring. I would bet this somehow involved a mandatory title match and Sabu’s RV getting sidetracked by a vaporizer and a half ounce of weed somewhere between Bombay and Cornelia, so Air Paris fills the gap. Paris calls Styles a “pussy” sounding like a shop class redneck, and early on, Styles is made to look better than Paris, which is probably a smart move to protect his elevated status within the wrestling political business machine. But Air Paris takes over, because he’s a simple Georgia boy full of heart, not all glossed out by international success or corrupted by stupid evil Jeff G. Bailey like A.J. Styles is. A.J.’s forgotten his roots, man; he’s changed. Shaky ropes are climbed by Styles to miss a corkscrew senton, and then Paris to miss a corkscrew moonsault. Table is set up ringside of course, and Styles lays Paris out on it of course, and lights go off down in Georgia of course, and it’s Sabu of course. He knocks Styles down, does errant dive to bust up Paris through the table, and then hits Styles with a chair. He does all his signature moves and nonsense, but in the dark church-like cavern of the NCW Arena, with his jaw all taped up because it is probably broken in five pieces and he drank some crazy glue hoping to hold himself together until Van Dam came back from San Diego with another box full of Tijuana soma.
One thing that has reinvigorated me towards the stupid professional wrestling lately has been embracing my inner-mark. Internet nerdery over wrestling is this weird little fringe element to a sub-culture where people attach all this ego to something that has absolutely no meaning to anybody outside of the fringe sub-culture. I don’t “need” to see any wrestling match ever, nor do I really give a fuck about the business side of it. I am just a stupid wrestling fan, which you have to be to watch this shit enthusiastically. And I love Sabu. And I know that's stupid. But to not love him is to stupid. To invest any time towards a logical or emotional decision as to the merits of Sabu is stupid. But for me, he could blow every spot ever for the rest of his life, but just the fact he’s a scarred-up longhaired freak in baggy, shiny, deranged genie pants will keep him one of the five best wrestlers ever forever in my mind. Sabu sets a table up in the ring, and the screen fades to blue, and when it comes back on it’s not the same match. That’s perfect – I have been duped by the television show from six years ago. Well I guess I’ll just have to embrace my inner-mark tightly and drive to fuckin’ rural-ass Georgia next weekend to see Fright Night and steal a DVD of this shit from the merchandise table. And I’m gonna eat me some boiled peanuts, too.

LMOTM: Mini Abismo Negro, Tiffany, & El Apache vs. Mascarita Sagrada, Martha Villalobos, & Billy Boy – 06/03/06 – Lucha on Galavision

Even by the clusterfuck-ability of the lucha trios match concept, this is quite the stellar retardation of a line-up, but I will watch it because of Apache. Tiffany is beating up Billy Boy and Apache is laying a couple licks into Martha Villalobos fat face. And I don’t pay attention and when I look back, Mini Abismo Negro is just barely shorter than Billy Boy and choking him and Tiffany is beating up poor little Mascarita Sagrada. I love Tiffany, even if her pooch gut is fairly obvious through her feminine Elvis jumpsuit. Her slamming midgets on their face only increases these feelings.
Actually, this is horrible. I love how wrestling promotions that really suck use a six-sided ring so that they can suck in two extra directions. Apache is tethered down in this match by doing segments with Villalobos, and even Tiffany’s tits lose their luster when I realize she has the ass of a 10-year-old boy. Although, near the end of this week’s episode, I do rather enjoy fake La Parka visiting some dying girl who has a tracheotomy and is cuddling under one of those fuzzy tiger stripe blankets in the hospital, and he gives her a mask while soft music plays. I’m sure if she could talk through the tube stuffed into her throat, she’d thank him for the green-trimmed mask so that she can scare Jesus with it when she goes to Heaven.

JMOTM: Yoshihito Sasaki vs. Mitsuhiro Matsunaga – 11/17/05 – Zero1-Max

The World is wrapped in barbed wire, not meant to contain, but to unleash the full hatred of an aged ogre of a horror wrestler and a young, virile, handsome star-yet-to-shine-its-brightest-shine. Irish whip of young Sasaki into ropes, but he slides under and looks back up with the look of a bewildered child about to be molested for the first time in a handicapped bathroom stall, and appropriately enough Mr. Danger digs into his ankle Jobox for the first time this evening. Liquor-graveled voice says, “I’m gonna stab you with this gutter spike, boy,” and sweet-voiced youngster not yet jaded to the world’s off-kilter ways of spinning answers, “I will fight it.” “HAHAHA, fight all you want, boy,” and they struggled and sweet eyes look around in horrid realization that just by fighting, he is being overpowered back into the barbed wire. There is no escaping fate, and no escaping the damage that was bound to be incurred. BUT HE DOES ESCAPE! However, instead of running, like most of us would do when escaping the clutch of our nightmare demons come to life, Sasaki charges back, only to have the nightmare demon step aside and allow the naïve young Sasaki to implant his own bare stomach, so muscular and fit, right into the same style barbs that so long ago scarred Matsunaga into the hollow shell he now stalks as.
Should you ever find yourself standing next to a piece of plywood with barbed wire wrapped over the top of it like a spiderweb, and you have an enemy of your’s head between your legs, do not ever attempt to lift him to powerbomb him onto the barbed wire, because I tell you what, chances are he’s just gonna backflip you into the shit and your barely gonna tuck your head under to land flat on your back and then one of your friends is gonna have to come help pull the fuckin’ barbs out of your back that got embedded there.
And it continues, and by the time you get to the point where Sasaki is dropped off the apron into barbed wire netting, he doesn’t even sell it, just sort of sitting up in a bloody daze waiting for someone to help him out of this mess. The molestation has occurred though, and he has lost sense of his place in these surroundings and will never get out of this mess. Welcome to the world of nightmare demons. Sure, Sasaki escapes the clutches and flips Matsunaga into a gnarly gimmick for the pinfall finale, but does one really win when they simply gain a small measure of revenge against the dark force that has changed the way sun shines in the morning for the “victor”?
And the demon nightmare stalks off in a daze into the fringe darkness of the bowels of our modern infrastructure, where more victims await, unaware.

Thursday, October 26

#35 RAP TAPES: Likwidation


This tape is not so great, and probably a pretty good example of how unscientific and fucked my whole method was. Don't get me wrong, I love tha 'Liks, but fuck, this album is more bad Richard Pryor skits than actual good shit. Although the Alkaholiks are kinda like a west coast Beatnuts in that even a shitty-assed record by them is better than most shit you could waste ten bucks on. I said tape, album, and record in reference to this release, never once using compact disc. And even that shit is old to mp3 fucks. Or there's probably new shit I don't even know how to have heard of that has like everything ever implanted into your eyeball or some shit, and my daughter's gonna want to get that shit. Armageddon has been in effect, go get your late pass, which is probably some sort of infrared scan onto your right wrist microchip.

USMOTM: Tommy Rich vs. Dennis Condrey – sometime Georgia

Rich is the National TV champion, and the situation here is if he wins, he will retire as champ and there will be a tourney. But of course Condrey is here to fuck that plan all to hell and just take the goddamned title away, right here on TV, where TV titles were meant to be defended. Tommy Rich had a blonde hair that only a man from this time could have. Blonde hair like that doesn’t grow on kids, much less adults anymore, most likely because of the Sugarhill Gang.
So what’s the deal with Rich? What is the real so-called story behind his NWA reign? I always thought it was he let some dude suck his dick, and if I could just let some dude suck my dick to be 1982 or 1983 NWA World Champion, even if just for five days, I’d totally let that happen. Wouldn’t do it to be 2002 or 2003 NWA World Champion though.
Dennis Condrey turns the momentum during run-the-ropes episode with a knee to the gut - always such a great move. Both Condrey and Rich stand at least half a foot taller than the ref, making this seem like it might be, you know, an actual athletic contest of some sort involving strong men while some dork makes sure they don’t cheat, as opposed to looking like two dorks having some sort of athletic contest while some other far chubbier dork makes sure they don’t cheat. This is also an old grainy piece of footage, but digitized… still, Condrey looks at best to me like the cowardly lion wearing nothing but French-ish swimming trunks. Dutch Mantel shows up ringside to issue words of encouragement to Dennis Condrey, and to make this maybe the greatest collection of hair I’ve had on my computer at once since I found that hippiegoddess.com website a couple months back. Two men against one takes advantage, and almost as if scripted, Gordon Solie reiterates how Rich is the number one contender to the NWA World title in Georgia currently, making a dastardly stealing of the title by Condrey even more important. But then they take it home with a Rich roll-up, then post-match Rich thanks the fans for their support and just gives the title to Solie, like he said he would. And the push goes one step higher.
Holy fuck, some fat dude who’s not Gordon Solie but is an announcer says there’s a clip coming of Tommy Rich giving his own random thoughts with some music behind it. This shit is gonna be the greatest. Wildfire is in sweat suit and gets in Trans Am and rides off, rocking out to Willie Nelson while camera shots of the open-ended highway interlude. Tommy talks while images of him lacing his boots go by about saying he’d never wrestle in Atlanta again after letting the fans down after not beating Harley Race, and he went home to Nashville to stay with his momma, and wrestled there, but nothing would work and he was getting beat down because he was at his lowest point. And then that machine glitches too and there’s no more robots in this house that play these new-fangled DVDs, but I can tell you this much… Rich runs through the woods and realizes Atlanta is his new home and he’s coming back, because sometimes as adults, we feel like we’ve failed, so we run home to lick our wounds, but home isn’t home anymore and is more of a failure than what we were running from. So we go back out and kick some motherfuckin’ ass, on our own terms, where we have no family tree history. Of course, sometimes this leads to us being degenerate pervert alcoholics, but even in those occasions, if you can make for legendary stories, who the fuck cares. We may all be comfortable in our individual computer-based lifestyles, secure in our finances and material situations, but will anyone ever be stoked to see us standing outside a hotel room drink machine trying to throw quarters into the slot for three hours straight? Of course not, we’re all internet pussies. Wildfire cannot be contained within the cold wires of robot machinery; this is why no DVD player in my house could play this shit. I should be outside burning the two old dressers and limbs from a cherry tree that got struck by lightning last spring that I stacked up earlier this week out in the field.

JMOTM: Mistuhiro Matsunaga vs. Hirotaka Yokoi – 10/09/05 – Zero1-Max

Okay, by now, the pre-match recaps with grainy footage and police line tape have got me so motherfuckin’ hyped for more carnage, and ultimately resolution… hopefully. I mean, it has to end somewhere doesn’t it? Or will this just keep on and on until finally Matsunaga rapes Jumbo’s corpse while reaching out to stab the living puro legends attempting to remove him from the unearthed grave? Either way, we all win. In that sense, wrestling is a lot like scratch-off lottery tickets, with the same fixed outcomes, and all too often, with modern writing teams and shit, you don’t uncover enough winning situations to keep you happily coming back. This motherfuckin’ Matsunaga storyline is a $1500 scratch-off win the day before your power is about to get cut off and you’re not sure if there’s enough limit still left on the credit card hovering near impending doom to make the payment in time.
Barbed wire rope match entrance to “Exodus” with the ring looking like a Nervous Records slipmat for a tattooed greaser Jap kid to get bludgeoned by the aging Mr. Danger, holding maniacally onto his hardcore legend status – probably the only thing worth noting he’s made out of his life – it is a trophy example of the sad perfect beauty of the professional wrestling, and what made me fall in love with it when The Iron Sheik was clubbing Blackjack Mulligan with those weird ay-rab bowling pins, or when Jimmy Valiant was losing his hair, literally, over that piece of shit bald-headed geek Paul Jones, back when I was young. I am momentarily in love again, ready to move in with wrestling and share a bed and carefully work its clit with my tongue even when the moon cycle is spinning at peak flow.
Yokoi tastes the pain end of Matsunaga’s dickish stabbing, but powers back up long enough to slip on a barbed wire glove. Matsunaga is a-feared not though, and takes two barbed wire body blows before finally falling to a forehead punch. He blades, then takes a barrage of reach-around punches to the trickles to MAKE IT REAL! When finally breaking the momentum, he stares ahead, fangs protruding from his mouth, blood streaming around his eyes… I will make my children watch this for Halloween and explain how Mr. Danger is the man who comes to keep you when you back talk your parents too much. They will sleep an unhealthy light sleep, clutching at grandma’s afghans for a comfort that no longer exists. And when they sass us, all I’ll have to say is, “Do I need to look up Mr. Danger’s phone number?” and they’ll run to pick up their toys and feed their pet cats with no haste.
Ah, poor naïve Yokoi, who stripped off his shoot glove to put on the barbed wire glove, and it briefly gave him control over the monster, but monsters never die, so Matsunaga now has the same hand, naked of its barbed wire protection, and is stabbing it into a bloody mess with a fork. You cannot out-monster the monster, and Yokoi will have arthritic aches to remind him of this, and from the looks of what Matsunaga is doing, those aches will not be a worked ache either. Vise grips, powder… Mr. Danger has a fuckin’ toolbox taped to his ankles. And Mr. Danger wins with the classic chain-around-the-neck-wrapped-around-paint-flecked-cornerpost-pulling-opponent-into-barbed-wire-with-your-feet-against-the-small-of-his-back-to-increase-the-pressure submission, following this up with a dazed and deranged mad stumble through the crowd to make them uneasy that probably can only be compared by Abdullah in Puerto Rico.

LMOTM: Cibernetico vs. Abismo Negro – 05/27/06 – Lucha on Galavision

This is in a cage, so I am tricked into thinking it is worth slowing down for. Cibernetico comes out to fake “Search & Destroy” and Abismo Negro wears puke green outfit. Apparently the Black Family aims to be more than just a shitty La Familia de Tijuana and they’re not a shitty N.W.O. and have like nine dudes in the cage beating up on Abismo Negro, whose puke green gear must be symbolic of how he’s sick of the rudo ways in AAA, and fake La Parka comes out to help but then seven more Black Family dudes come in the cage, so then fake Psichosis comes out, climbs to the top of the cage, waits there for like three minutes for fake evil N.W.O. to see him, then they look at him and he climbs back down, so then one gay cowboy pretending to be down with the Black Family comes out and tears off his shirt and all the rudos climb out the cage at once, which means Cibernetico wins. Does this mean Abismo Negro loses his mask? Of course not. Antonio Pena’s death should be making heads hang low in respect because when the rest of the world thought, “Yo, there’s no way you can make lucha more retarded than it already is,” Antonio Pena said, “Not only can I make it more retarded, I can make it TEN TIMES MORE RETARDED!” And he did, God Bless his perverted little no-longer-alive soul.

#89 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Nobody Move


I was never the hugest PRT fan because, well, you know, I'm white. It's hard to love upon something that preaches incessantly about your innate devish nature. This single was huge on BET at one point when I was buying a lot of shit, and though I didn't care for the lyrics so much as the cadence, the beat is great, and the single has the instrumental, which is to die for. Or at least masturbate to interracial cuckold websites with. There's fuckin' freaky porn sites for everything. It's the cartoon anime shit that freaks me out the most though.

Wednesday, October 25

#36 RAP TAPES: Youngest In Charge


This is seriously such a great motherfuckin' tape that it made Special Ed a legend for the rest of his life, so that when he came out of obscurity to do the first Crooklyn Dodgers song, it made it noteworthy. Seriously, this tape is so fuckin' good it makes you put aside the utter stupidity of the moniker Special Ed, especially when compared to that time when rap, even in its most underground forms, had at least a little aspiration to be radio-friendly even if only for the small amount of weekend mix shows in major east coast urban areas. Now there's some goofy shit on this tape, like fighting that queen and shit, but you take "Taxing", "I Got It Made", "Think About It", and "Ak-Shun", as your top four songs off the mix, and there aren't many tapes in the entire existence of the hipping and hopping of the shiny shoed feet to the breakbeat breakdowns that have a top four as strong as that. Motherfucker.

JMOTM: Mitsuhiro Matsunaga vs. Katsuhiko Ogasawara – 09/29/05 – Zero1-Max

Now Ogasawara attempts to rid Zero1-Max of the demented beast he unleashed upon it, motivated by his own desire for success. This is no-rope karate style, and Matsunaga goes straight up for a few minutes to get bested, so he rolls out the ring, rolls up his left pants leg a little to unsheathe a barbed wire wrapped ankle. So karate is weaker to wrestling, which is why Matsunaga got brought in, yet when he sticks with karate against Ogasawara, he is weaker, so he has to revert to the wrestling, albeit a hardcore deranged form of it. Matsunaga gives a couple barbed wire kicks, then buys off some time to pull a fuckin’ monstrous screwdriver out of his other boot. Ogasawara bleeds a thick faceful of blood, then takes a fireball into his face, then a busted light tube gets poked into the only unbloody part of his forehead to create even more damage. Matsunaga stalks around ringside looking for somebody else to maim, then wanders off like an uncontrollable child; and Ogasawara holds his blood into his head with his hand while maintaining enough presence of mind to give the crowd ceremonial karate man daps.

LMOTM: Pimpinela Escarlata, Electroshock, & T.D. vs. Cassandro, Chessman, & Charly Manson – 05/20/06

Okay, Cassandro is a transvestite who intrigues Pimpinela, and T.D. is a generic masked person with Televisa Deportes logos on his mask and chest, probably in order to lure the channel away from CMLL. Regardless, this is the most fucked up shit to see, with Cassandro coming out to the Super Porky theme song and doing the same dances, but in much less masculine ways. Pimpinela and Cassandro start out, looking like muscular versions of housewives who would watch The Price is Right for 17 years of their life, almost religiously, but also wearing skimpy sequined outfits, and I suddenly support any politico fuckwads who want to build a giant fence between me and Mexico, because there are pictures of people sitting with their kids watching this. I don’t want one of those regular fences like you see on the TV news segments, but one of those awesome concrete walls with glass shards embedded pointing upwards like you see on those other TV news segments about how even though we have like half our population in jail, Chinese jails are more fucked up than our prisoners could even imagine with two dicks in their ass at once. Oddly enough, I bet Cassandro, Pimpenela, and Antonio Pena – rest in peace – could simulate such a maneuver. But even odderly enough, I quite enjoy – not sexually, no homo – the Pimpy/Cassandro test of strength into multiple two-count pin attempts into really weird over-the-top homo-erotic bridge out of final pin attempt of the segment. Pimpinela acts like the karate kid, then climbs the ropes in a terrible looking walk-the-ropes start-up, but then gets knocked off by Charly Manson and everybody enters the ring, ruining the beauty of this Joel Gertner dream match. And Pimpy is the worst transvestite seller of punches to the forehead I’ve ever seen since maybe Jimmy Garvin’s second Sunshine or at least Baby Doll for sure. Pimpinela is even bleeding, but still the worst seller of opposing offense ever. And the other four wrasslers pretty much are having a match exclusive of the two transvestites, which is sad. Is this not 2006? I’m not gonna watch the rest of this Reverend Fred Phelps bullshit? My grandfather fought in both World War II and the Korean War and brought home pictures of one of them cities that got bombed and he drunk himself to death before I was born, and if he did all that for anything at all, he did it for the freedom of two creepy dudes dressed like women to be able to get beaten up by regular dudes as well as other creepy dudes dressed like women. I know Mexico wasn’t a part of the United States back then, but fuck, let’s be serious, it’s basically a part of America now, one that gives us cheap labor both here and there so that we can afford to have all the dumb shit we like to have, like three-packs of cotton boxer shorts as well as well-maintained median strips on our highways.

Tuesday, October 24

JMOTM: Mitsuhiro Matsunaga vs. Kohei Sato – 09/19/05 – Zero1-Max

The Stop the Matsunaga movement is now in full-force, is creepy Japanese cinematographic fashion, with Johnny Cash music and for-pretend-hot-jap sluts reporting, and Matsunaga in mask to freak out the masses. Why does fake hot scrawny jap slut have so many toys on the Ikea shelves behind her? Internet people love Japanese chicks because internet people love to make fun of people to make up for their own social shortcomings in life and they want to feel like big man big dick and most full-grown sexy Japanese women are physically built like a full-grown cute 12-year-old American girl just now getting grass on the field to play ball upon, so I fear Jap love on internet is secret pedophilia. BUT WHO THE FUCK CARES!?!? Matsunaga is going to stab some Jap dude who has blonde hair and a raspy voice with a taped fork, and Johnny Cash says “behold a pale horse” and I think of the great combination of William Cooper and Mr. Danger. I love Matsunaga because this is not just some awesome shit he was convinced to do; he is a maniac and would stab you or me for not even a third of a paycheck, yet he has the sense to indulge this psychological perversion through the simulated world of the professional wrestling. New Jack comes to mind as someone who has crossed the line for no reason. Mr. Danger counters a dangerous armbar by digging weapon out his boot and stabbing fingers, I think with a protractor. Blonde boy is bleeding from his eyeball and has an unfinished tattoo of what looks to be a tiger of some sort. Matsunaga gets a chair kicked into his chest so he digs back into the FUCKIN’ TAPED POUCH on his ankle and pulls something else out his FUCKIN’ TAPED POUCH OF TRICKS. He also has fangs, which I hadn’t noticed before. He carves hardcore hieroglyphics into young dude’s arm with a fork, gets disqualified for not following the pussy rules of puroresu classic, and murders his way back to the locker room, where I bet he listened to something mellow, calmed down, and went home, giving his wife a big kiss on the forehead as he snuck under the covers next to her since it was late. Mrs. Danger has to be up early, you know.

USMOTM: Killer Karl Kox with Bobby Heenan vs. Stan Hansen – sometime in slow and syrupy good Georgia time

Hansen is your Georgia state television champion, and this was sent to me by my man Lee down in Florida, who had to be overseas in whichever wars we’re in now while his firstborn became born, but now he’s home, and politics means nothing because he’s just a man looking to pay the bills and I’m just a man looking to pay the bills and we both enjoy a good Tommy Rich match and we both enjoy a good cold beer and sometimes I wish politics was more like collecting money amongst a group of people playing cards to make a beer run before the store closes, but that analogy would only ruin making beer runs. Gordon Solie does a fine job at setting up how tenacious these two men are and how the ref is gonna have one dollybrook of a time trying to keep this one in containment. Hansen’s early offense is the dreaded Texas Side Headlock. Oh, the beers Hansen and Kox must’ve shared in Georgia bars during this time. Kox takes control and throws better punches and stomps than almost anybody you could see today, but he does it with baldheaded flair. And now, Ernie Ladd has joined Gordon in the commentary booth, and polishes his wrestling boots with Stan Hansen’s cowboy hat, which draws the attention, and then ire of Stan, which leads to a count-out victory for Killer Karl Kox. Holy fuck, if there’s a Hansen/Ladd match coming up on this shit, I’m stoked. And to make it perfect old school territorial clusterfuck TV, Tommy Rich dashes in wearing a three-piece suit sans the jacket and pummels and bites blood from Killer Karl Kox’s forehead. Goddamn, I am an old old man because this all makes so much sense to me while I could give less than half a fuck about a SUPER INDY CRUISER SHOWDOWN MOTYC-OF-THE-WEEKEND!

LMOTM: Zumbido vs. El Hijo Del Fantasma – 05/20/06 – Lucha on Galavision

The Phantasm family sports nice masks. Zumbido has nice bad tattoos and a blonde mohawk of pure Mexican wrestler proportions. They would make either a nice indy flick or Mr. Show sketch as a team. Instead, they are combatants, probably because of Vincente Fox’s bullshit. The elder Fantasma lurks ringside as a second, looking like Stephen Pearcy on a West Hollywood masquerade swinger’s party date. Zumbido almost blows a couple of things, and totally blows one or two. I guess blowing things comes with being in AAA. Awesome, they even give me a slow motion replay of how great Zumbido almost blowing a spot is right before the commercial break. I just think to myself how bad this match is, then Zumbido Mexican whips Phantasm Jr. into the ropes and he does the head stand into the ropes rebound thing, but sort of just ends up falling backward as Zumbido errantly barely touches him with a dropkick as he falls. TRIPLE A FEVER – CATCH IT! I think the cure for this internal ache is a healthy dose of the fast forward button.

#90 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Fire In Which You Burn


You know what? El-P is the most unlikeable boy in hip hop. Puff Daddy really fucked up mainstream rap for people to think this fuck's industrial rhythmless crap was worth even half a fuck for a few years. El-P and Vinnie Paz should form a hip hop indy super-group together (if they haven't already... I'm out of the noose) and sell records to the dumbasses in masses. I heard Prime Minister Pete Nice is a baseball coach at some high school nowadays; that makes me happy. El-P getting skin cancer would also make me happy. Well, not happy, because I'm not hateful like that, but I'd laugh at it at least and maybe draw a cartoon or two about it on index cards just for kicks.

#37 RAP TAPES: One For All


Bought this because of a review in Spin at the local Farmville record shop run by a guy who would charge an extra two dollars to white kids to buy shit, so we'd get our friend Tony to go get shit for us. Fuck a Mr. Carrington and his racist ass. Anyways, the day I got it, me and two friends had been living in a hotel room for like a week. I had just turned eightteen and my mom was giving me money for my birthday so I had her drop it by the hotel so we could keep the room for another two days, and we were high as fuck and my one friend Chuck went across the street to the gas station and got arrested for stealing shampoo or some stupid shit. We had plenty of money because we were selling weed at the time, but Chuck just didn't feel like paying for it. I went to the police station to try and sign Chuck out into my custody, being I was an adult for at least a couple days now, but they had already called his mom, so we cleared out. Two hours later, he showed up at the room again, out of jail, and with six hits of acid for us to split. Later that night, Tony and two of his boys came by the room to buy some weed and we were all in LSD la-la land, tripping out to some old Rambo movie on USA. One of Tony's boys kept trying to play the Brand Nubian tape on the boombox we had set-up in the room and we kept telling him to stop. Seriously, it happened like six times, and I'm not sure why he thought it would trick us and we'd listen to it, but we kept telling him to stop. Of course, I was on acid so these memories might be completely warped. Anyways, it's a great tape, but not one to enjoy while on acid in a hotel room with dudes coming by to buy weed. On a side note, later that weekend, we had let Tony take the room to fuck some girl and his cousin Tyrone kicked the door down, completely off the hinges. Tyrone was in my gym class in tenth grade and kicked my ass twice and was completely retarded uncontrollable and made me afraid for my life. One time, this other guy I knew named Paul had gone with me and another guy to buy weed in the projects from Tyrone and Tyrone pulled an uzi on Paul, for no real reason (only time in my life I've seen a real uzi), and Paul, a redneck stoner to the core, says to Tyrone, "You ain't nothin' but a nigger with a gun to me," so me and the other dude tore the fuck out, for real, left the two of them there. A couple days later, there was Paul showing up to smoke some weed with me, not dead, and Tyrone wasn't gone, and I never knew how that night ended up with them two. I do know that Paul today is a welfare stoner who lives in the house his mom left him and hasn't worked more than a couple days in the last few years, and I know Tyrone got arrested for robbing a gas station and shooting the attendant and might still even be in jail. Ahh... Farmville, Virginia... what a beautiful place.

NFL DORKERY: Eastern Division Teams Ranked


#1: New England Patriots (5-1)
(last ranking time #1) You know, this was probably the first time in Bighead Belichek's career I thought the Pats were gonna suck, because they lost so much talent to free agency. But then, how the fuck did they end up getting Lawrence Mahoney in the draft? He may end up being as much Reggie Bush as Reggie Bush is. Somehow they always do it, and I don't know if Belichek is a genius by football standards (which means he couldn't write a sonnet or solve a war) or the NFL is fixed and the Patriots will continue to win until next year once the Democrats control Congress again, and they'll cut funding for NFL Psy-Ops warfare, which is part of the Defense budget, and we'll go back to NFC East dominance over the NFL, since their media-type ownership contributes heavily to the DNC. Either way, I'm sick of fuckin' Tom Brady looking so magazine-friendly and I halfway hope he gets Theismanned, but on the other hand, it'd be satisfying to see an old Tom Brady holding onto his Super Bowl rings and playing his career out in Jacksonville or some shit.

#2: New York Giants (4-2)
(last ranking time #6) Oh, how I loathe the Giants, but I understand the NFL is a hyped-up sports entertainment machine like no other, and I fear the whole Peyton Manning is awesome saga in the NFL storylines was just a prelude to the Eli Manning winning Super Bowls era, which makes me sick to my stomach. Eli is already in my top ten most hated pro football players list, and you combine that with my pre-existing hatred of Tiki Barber and his big bald-headed fumbling ass smile as well as Michael Strahan's Condoleeze Rice's big brother on steroids stupid ass, and you've got a team who I hope their plane wrecks.

#3: New York Jets (4-3)
(last ranking time #7) About the only thing I hit nail on head with in the first cycle of ranking divisions was how the Jets were gonna be far better than anybody had expected, being they were prognosticated as being in the bottom 3 of the whole NFL. They are doing good for themselves, and continuing with my "NFL is fixed" theme of this week's list, the combo of an '80s successful jock nemesis to sk8er boi anti-hero Chad Pennington and Belichek coaching tree transplanted limb Eric Mangini makes for success. FORGET PARCELS OR WALSH... BELICHEK IS YOUR NEW COACHING GOD! Were I an NFL general manager, I'd just hire motherfuckers named Bill, and if we didn't make the playoffs in two years, hire another motherfucker named Bill. And I'd never hire a motherfucker named Marty.

#4: Dallas Cowboys (3-3)
(last ranking time #2) T.O. is like skin cancer, and you can see some of the freckles or moles changing colors right now, but the Cowboys haven't had full implode yet, but they will... soon enough. It's kinda fucked up, because as much of a fuckin' closeted fruit looking for attention I thought T.O. was last year, I thought he'd play it cool for at least a year in Dallas, especially under Parcels' watch, but fuck, he's the same ol' fruit as ever. I saw on youtube where the 13th part of "Trapped in the Closet" introduces T.O. and in the 18th part, he and the midget are revealed simulating sexual acts as a touchdown celebration, which all leads up to the 24th part where it is revealed R. Kelly and Terrell Owens have been fucking for years and love each other and finally want to tell the World. MTV was afraid to air the second 12 part set of R. Kelly's R&B opera though.

#5: Philadelphia Eagles (4-3)
(last ranking time #4) The NFC East is smoke-and-mirrors, and it's kinda funny to think back to the beginning of the season when all the "experts" were hyping it up as the greatest division ever in all of football, but there's very little chance of anybody other than the division winner making the playoffs, and it's not because they've beaten each other up so much as everybody else beats them up. The Eagles have underperformed all year and have been lucky enough to have a 4th place team's schedule so that they can pad their record early on, but they're not that good. The defense is old and the offense needs a couple more highly-skilled players at their non-QB skill positions. But fuck it, Andy Reid is a fat fuck and people love to see some fat fuck with a mustache be football coach because it reminds them of gym class in high school, so I imagine the Eagles will keep trucking on into next year like always.

#6: Buffalo Bills (2-5)
(last ranking time #8) The Bills are such a mediocre franchise that the highlight of their existence was the four years in a row they LOST the Super Bowl. If your quarterback is J.P. Losman, there is no bright future for you. And I totally believe that, judging from the way his eyes look, Willis McGahee is some sort of evil Warrick Dunn, and will eventually have a semi-successful career in real estate buying up houses at auction from single moms who fell behind on their mortgages, and he'll kick them out and put funny-colored paint on the walls and sell it for a mark-up to stupid Democrats wanting to slum it up now that they're kids are in college and live in a "gentrified" neighborhood, which means a neighborhood where black people lived as little as three years ago before all the white folks moved in.

#7: Washington Redskins (2-5)
(last ranking time #5) As a Redskins fan, there are two things I know. Dan Snyder is the force of evil, and Joe Gibbs is the force of good. Snyder sold the name of Jack Kent Cooke Stadium to a shipping company; Joe Gibbs taught Dexter Manley how to read an offensive lineman's eyeballs. Snyder gave me, the Redskins fan, Deion Sanders; Gibbs gave me, the Redskins fan, John Riggins. So when Joe Gibbs signed on, I was confident good would triumph over evil, and even though Vinny Cerrato's completely worthless owner's ball-sucking piece of shit fake general manager ass was not let go, I gave it time. And last year they made the play-offs, albeit with an inconsistent offense. But this year, with Gibbs turning over the reins of the inconsistent offense to WUNDERGENIUS Al Saunders, who has an equally inconsistent offense, but with far more sugar plum fairy dance-like pre-snap motion, I have come to the conclusion that evil has won. The tell-tale sign for me, that this was not only not a good team, but not even a Gibbs team, was this past Sunday when Joseph Addai got stopped by Marcus Washington for a loss and Washington did a celebratory dance. It was second and goal that he stopped him, the Colts had pretty much danced downfield, the Skins were down by 3, and they were a 2-4 team. Yet Marcus Washington did his little dance. What the fuck? I keep track of how many miles I am away from murdering Dan Snyder each week since he started ruining the team I love, and I would say after this past week's performance, I am about 72 miles away, which is a really cheap Greyhound ticket. And fuck Tom Cruise. Katie Holmes is basically a brunette Britney Spears, and she'll be just as retarded and hilarious, and yet somehow still hot in a shitty housewife type of way, in five years.

#8: Miami Dolphins (1-6)
(last ranking time #3) I will never understand why a college coach goes to the pros. Going from pro to college makes sense, because if you are Pete Carroll, you can trade in a one mill a year job that lasts three years tops for a two mill a year job that lasts until you decide you want to stop cashing paychecks. Look at Bobby Bowden, or Joe Paterno. Nick Saban could've been God of Louisiana within four years time, but he chose to not only pass up on that opportunity, but squandor his pull by trying to coach at the professional level in a way that only works on the collegiate level. I guess the real question is if Spurrier blew it in the pros and downgraded from Florida to South Carolina in the long run, will Saban hold to SEC roots and go back to a downgraded program at Ole Miss or Mississippi State, or will he make the downgraded jump to the Big 12 and be the new savior of Texas A&M or Oklahoma State?

Monday, October 23

CM PRINT CLASSICS: Issue 6


This was probably better known as the ninja issue, as I had like five things about ninjas in it. Also, this issue was well-remembered to me personally as being the first one to "expose" the Illuminati in hilarious ways, and also was the issue that traveled well, so Tony Erba, punk rock wrestling freak from Cleveland, Ohio, found a copy in Austin, Texas, and that ultimately led to me getting wrestling tapes, which ultimately led to me being a big fat fuckin' internet wrestling dork. So fuck this issue. But here's two funny things that went back-to-back in that issue...
"Connie Mack Reader's Mail
Confederate Mack,
I wish I was funny but instead I'm just retarded.
Bye, Silver Persinger

Silver,
Don't worry, you retarded people are funny in your own special way.

Clyde The Kiln Foreman's Ninja Comments
Clyde was talking about his buddy who used to work at Powhatan Correctional Facility, 'and he told me 'bout this ninja they had in there. He'd fuck two or three dudes up e'ry coupla days, for no reason. Now what you gonna do with a dude like that, a fuckin' ninja in jail?'"
Ahh... that was from my brief stint working in a charcoal factory, where I learned it takes about seventeen trees to make five pounds of charcoal for your grill, and also learned that sometimes you can't wash smoke off your skin. And Silver Persinger is running for some sort of public office in the city of Richmond. He's no Kinky Friedman, which would be a good thing. So vote for his ass.

#91 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Player's Ball


You know, going back and listening to this, as well as other early Outkast... they don't really stand the test of time. Now, I'll admit, I'm an avid anti-hipster (which is the new hipsterism, or the new pink if you will, which replaced the old black from what I was told), so maybe I just got sick of goofs trying to talk about how great that crappy Speakerboxxx/Love Below album was, when in actually, it might've been lucky to be the fourth best Outkast album. But all this is unimportant, because when I put on "Player's Ball" I had memories of two dope dudes walking by Cadillacs wearing Braves gear coming with a new rapid-fire style I hadn't heard. It hit the turntable and span and as I watched the Laface logo do circles, I couldn't believe how unimpressed I was. I guess time moved on and that style became so fuckin' commonplace that I don't even like hearing it. Oh well, Outkast was great and at least they were for-real great at some point - and a long point even - rather than being like Rick Ross or Dipset where they are fake-hyped great until people realize that MC Emperor has no fuckin' Fubu on.

#38 RAP TAPES: The Chronic


I remember well living in a shithole apartment with lead paint, sharing it with an unemployable indy punk, a heroin addict, and a guy who was never there and ended being a NASA intern, and we had $200 a month rent and still hardly ever made it, and people played dice and pissed in the alley beside our house and my mom came to visit and waited on our porch and I was talking to her when I got home and a dude runs by and another dude walks down the street with a gun in hand yelling, "YEAH! I GOT SOMETHIN' FOR YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!" and I said, "Let's go inside, mom," and she looked more worried than I've ever seen her worried. That summer, The Chronic was everywhere - in the trunks of Jeeps with gold-toothed Randolph neighborhood thugs driving, in the CD changers of ironically tattooed college dropout drunkards, and in my lame-ass boombox tape deck because the girl I had been living with and loving with, that shit didn't work out, and she owned the stereo. I still went by her house to make long distance calls, because we didn't have a phone, and also to tag her ass, because we didn't have pussy at our house either. That's what happens when you live with heroin addicts, unemployable indy punks, and insane NASA intern types in a bad neighborhood.

Wednesday, October 18

JMOTM: Mitsuhiro Matsunaga vs. Rikiya Fudo - 08/23/05 - Zero1-Max

Mr. Danger is continue to run the danger through Zero1, come out David Carradine look to Flash Gordon soundtrack. He is danger simple man scar multiplied ultimate, versus beauty youth athlete impeccable. How will time fade do justice or not so? Sometimes it's fun to write like babelfish translations.
Matsunaga plays the bitch early in this match, being worked over by Fudo before the bell, whose young pretty face I imagine is about to get scarified. Matsunaga, as soon as he switches the momentum, pulls a giant tapes pencil or some shit from his boot and starts to bludgeon the much younger much handsomer much more mainstreamily-accepted foe. Oh, it's a fork, and he pokes blood from the forehead ringside. Seriously, he's bleeding rather profusely and nicely; all the while, Mr. Danger looking dapper and evil Chuck Norris-esque in his black gi with trim beard and crows foot wrinkled face. This is some sort of invasion angle or evil force amidst good ole Zero One angle or something, and the handsome young wrestler in white trunks wrestling on a white mat against the old freak in the black outfit who then proceeds to draw blood from the young virile kid and spread it across the canvas and ringside area - it's a nice color visual of bad totally staining the goodness of things. Film school nerds would be proud. Fudo Masato Tanaka's a chairshot to the head though, and FIRES UP for a comeback. Brainbuster followed by top rope legdrop, but it doesn't pin Matsunaga. For real, dude's been dropped through barbed wire nets and shit; you ain't gonna pin him with some legdrop nonsense. Pile of chairs gets set up, and as Fudo comes for him, Mr. Danger is digging in his boot again. Powerbomb onto chairs, pinfall attempt by handsome youngster, only to get blasted by fire in his face, and of course pinned by Mr. Danger. You'd think someone would be able to roll out of a pinfall attempt after the ol' fire in the eyes thing, as you'd want to be rolling around anyways. Matsunaga continues the beatdown, and help comes, but there is more flash paper at hand, so more eyes burn with the hatred a bitter old scarred fuck feels towards wrestling's more palatable for the public pretty boys. Then he bloodies up the physics teacher-bespectacled timekeeper guy with his fork. He finally gets run off, but stabs a couple of other old ladies and rapes an affluent Japanese baby on the way to the back. It is the greatest. I bet he never writes a stupid children's book.

USMOTM: Ric Flair vs. Ricky Morton - sometime in cages with Japanese commentators

I get things from people, and am not the anal labelling librarian type. I will most likely watch this and either throw it in a pile of other things that eventually get stepped on and broke, then thrown away, or I will mail it to someone who mails me something. With wrestling DVDs, I do not aim to recreate the material clutter of VHS tapes, and I know it is easy to think, "But they're smaller and you can put everything down into a smaller amount of stuff space-wise," but I think fuck that. New technologies are meant to simplify our lives, so why carry around all the burdens of my past but on a new-fangled format?
This is from right after Ricky Morton got his face rubbed in the concrete, because he's wearing that Richard Hamilton facemask thing. The commentary is in Japanese, but the screams are American, and Morton is on Flair right away, backing him begging into a corner, with no ringside area to escape to.
You know, the whole full disclosure but through the filter of whatever you disclose through thing that post-kayfabe wrestling does - I find it sad. I read that stupid Ric Flair "autobiography" written by Vince McMahon's writers last year, and it was sad to see this womanizing, overly confident, gold belt wearer come off as a pathetic old man with no self-confidence. I mean, how can you be Ric fuckin' Flair and not have self-confidence? I guess the wrestling industry for men is akin to the porn industry for women and you are always fighting to maintain your spot on the payroll, and the higher your spot, the harder you have to fight (or do morally compromising things, or demand that you'd never do morally compromising things because it's beneath you, or something). And I guess people loving to read little tidbits about other people's lives kinda creeps me out, too, just like housewives actually buying those celebrity gossip mags at supermarket check-outs kinda creep me out. I hope my life never sucks so much I need to know that much about famous faces, whether wrassler or media slut. I don't find it creepy at all that while that book was coming out, Ricky Morton was in jail for failure to pay child support. That I can understand. I always assumed the Polaroids he sold to benefit "The Children's Miracle Network" was just his way of saying "buying a pack of cigarettes and sending some money back to this bitch I had a kid with" anyways.
Morton rubs Flair's eyes along the top rope, referencing his own injury, and then Flair looks to go out the door, but it is locked, showing the entrapment of grudge. Little shit, that gets lost in the real-time watching, but adds up to things that elevate shitty fake fighting to THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BEAUTY OF PROFASSIONAL WRASSLIN'! Morton keeps going towards mangling Flair's face, and Morton was always the pretty boy, so his face-rubbing angle has highlights of man jealousy. Flair goes to punch Morton, but hits the mask, Morton no-sells and Flair hops around shaking his hand and he has created this dilemma for himself. He is a man who has created an ugly monster, and now is trapped to face the ugly monster he has created. But then on top of this, the thing most precious to him, his title belt, is on the line as well, beyond the normal prideful evil vs. soulful good storyline. Will that belt cause evil to find some soulful good inside himself to stay on top? Or will the evil that has been unleashed in Ricky Morton stand with upraised arms at the end of the match? Motherfucker, you know Ricky Morton never held no damned NWA World titles. But yeah, all that was there for the live audience to wonder about.
Tommy Young is ref, and I remember reading somewhere how his career-ending injury left him with a hole in his back. What the fuck do you do as a ref to end up with a hole in your back? I mean, modern medicine and surgery and all is crazy. They can clone pigs for human hearts and make a rhesus monkey glow like a jellyfish. Do people actually still have to go around with holes in their back because of back injuries? It makes me envision Tommy Young as homeless, walking somewhere within ten blocks of either the Charlotte bus station or the UNC-Charlotte campus wearing old corduroys and a white Chicago Bulls World Champions t-shirt from the Salvation Army with a big ol' oozing blood stain on his back, asking liberal-looking white dudes for change.
Flair is being pummelled and finally goes to climb over the top, leading to Morton pulling Flair's trunks down to show his ass like he loves to do. I'm comfortable enough in my repressed homosexuality to say that Flair has a pretty nice ass for a guy. Morton even puts on the figure-four and Flair writhes in the added pain the tarheel blue-and-white checkered bandanna causes him when pressed into his calf muscle. Ends with Tommy Young ref bump as Morton does the sunset flip, but Young comes to, gets to two before Flair rolls it over one more time and yanks on the trunks for the win. Not a great match in the sense it has amazing things you never ever did saw before, but a great enough match in that it highlights all the important bullet points of their intertwined story at the time. Seems to me a lot of times, matches tend to assume you already know all that shit and don't need it subliminally reinforced. People, no matter how smart they get by reading things like Ric Flair's autobiography, are still stupider than fuck, and the little subliminal things are still important.

LMOTM: Mini Chessman & Jerrito Estrada & Mini Abismo Negro vs. Prince & Octagoncito & Mascarita Sagrada - 05/20/06 Lucha on Gala

Oh Christ, it's AAA, and not CMLL. At least it's minis, where teenage trainees, really short adults, and the truly genetically inclined towards midgetry and dwarfdom compete to the delight of everyone in attendance. Jerrito Estrada coming out to speed metal automatically makes him my #23 Active Wrestler in the World (part of my ever-evolving and always-changing list of the Top 100 Lb. for Lb. Motherfuckin' Active Wrestlers in the World, hidden by secret link somewhere on my blog). The fact that Prince is a mini based on the shitty musician who wears purple clothes Prince, it makes me sad that Antonio Pena died. No one dreamed up as much retarded shit as he did, having the strange visions of a glue-sniffer but with the motivation of an actual businessman.
I think what bothers me here is the mixed signals, or else I should hate Mexicans. Estrada and Mini Chessman are obvious metalheads, wearing only black and red pleather and coming out to metallic themes, but they are rudos. The tecnico team has a fuckin' mini-Prince on their team. Do the people actually support this? Or is this another attempt by Pena to force his homoerotic vision of society onto the simple Mexican masses?
HEY! LOOK AT THAT! MINI-ABISMO NEGRO WANTS TO SHAKE OCTAGONCITO'S HAND! I haven't watched AAA in three years, but I've seen him do that and kick Little 8-Sided Figure in the little gut a thousand times... oh wait, it was reverse tricknology. He didn't kick him. Still, that was a waste of four minutes. I'm sure stupid AAA can waste my time much less predictably than that though. Jerrito Estrada and the little Prince are matched up, in their naturally combative roles. Prince does some fancy lad dancing bullshit and Jerrito Estrada smacks him down, but then tossed out the ring. YES! The pay-off to Mini Abismo Negro actually shaking hands comes quick, as he enters the ring, offers to shake Prince's hand, who accepts, and gets kneed in the nuts immediately in a move like you'd see in high school cafeterias. This is AAA, and it will only get worse, so I'm going to pretend that was the end of the match.

Tuesday, October 17

JMOTM: Mistuhiro Matsunaga vs. Osamu Namiguchi - 06/30/05 Zero1-Max

I have probably seen far more Matsunaga matches in my limited viewing than Zero1 matches. In fact, don't know that I've ever seen them in action, but what's not to love about Mr. Danger? The guy is a legend. You have so many death match workers over the years in garbage American promotions, and so many of them are just blood for blood's sake, lacking the unteachable or bladeable charisma that just comes from Mr. Danger. (This is also why Necro Butcher stood out so much, because he just had something extra about him that made you not yawn and think, "God, another fuckwad getting ten light tubes stapled to his back for a powerbomb through a cactus plant into a swimming pool full of rubbing alcohol.")
Namiguchi is young and spry and ripe for the bludgeoning. He gets jiu-jitsued by Matsunaga early on, then pushed him out and errantly goes for a dive to the outside. Do not willingly go outside the ring against Mr. Danger, because he's got a weapon to dig the blood from your forehead with, to be sure. He hides his weapon from the ref, pretending this is a real sport for a while, but eventually just starts stabbing young Namiguchi in the face center-ring, and as the ref pulls and tugs for the foreign object (or is that object native to Japan? I'm not sure, I'm only speaking from American point of view), he gets pushed aside because Mr. Danger does not give a fuck about his weak authority. Official in suit comes in and gets stabbed right smartly upside his face as well, and in a strange turn of events, Namiguchi slaps on a single-leg crab on Matsunaga, original ref comes back in the ring, and Mr. Danger creepy crawls his way to the ropes for a break, weapon in hand. I am guessing the "Max" part of the promotional name means hardcore stylee. But it's obviously not native to Zero1 because after the kid gets hit with a light tube, the ref is super-concerned, like Namiguchi might be brain damaged or something. A shard of glass dug into the face and Mr. Danger gets your pinfall victory.

LMOTM: Negro Casas & El Hijo Del Santo vs. Averno & Mephisto - 05/13/06 Lucha on Galavision

You gotta love the extended tag or singles luchas masks, as we start with mind-numbing armbar chessmatchmanship between Mephisto and Negro Casas. And I have a million times mentioned how Negro Casas looks to me like a creepy teenage girl molester, but he somehow manages to look even more so, having a pair of Asics logo tube socks pulled up to his knees. Mephisto holds upper hands, then it escalates to more stiffish violence, but that all gets squashed by dastardly rudo double teaming in the corner, and eventually Negro tastes the ringpost, to lead to the initial Santito segment, which is short-lived, as he is tossed quickly, with Casas coming in to taste powerbomb pinnings, and then Santito gets pretzeled out to make the first fall officially rudo.
Segunda caida ring girl has those puffy bunny rabbit tail things attached to both her hips. I do not understand this, and it confuses the attractiveness of her fleshy ass in shiny go-go shorts for me. They also have that caricature-drawing guy ringside explain his caricature in the most perfect Mexican accent a guy who draws comedic pictures of wrestlers could ever have, further confusing me. Super clipped quick second fall goes tecnico, featuring a tree of woe asics molester feet into Mephisto's face followed fluidly by a Santito top rope tope into the INESCAPABLE CAMEL CLUTCH! Seriously, if I had more money than sense, which I might anyways even with my limited finances, I'd waste a ton of money to book El Hijo Del Santo vs. Super Dragon with an extended build-up thing where The Iron Sheik was training Super Dragon in the camel clutch so that Super Dragon was like Diamond Dallas Page with his stupid diamond cutter, and then Super Dragon was catching dudes in camel clutches from irish whips or top rope cross bodyblocks and shit.
Third fall is great fun and keeps the horns blaring throughout. There's some great wacky right legwork by Casas on Mephisto. And what the fuck, if you are two evil masked guys with flames and shit on your outfits, don't one of you hold Santo while the other one comes running in to kick him in the chest, because in Mexico, God is real, and he doesn't let shit like that happen successfully, at least not in tercera caidas. This leads to Averno being left for the dreaded sleeperhold on the ground by Negro with belly exposed for the Santito senton into diving tope onto his partner, and then Cases roly-polys Averno, and it's over... or so I assum, but Averno gets his evil little satanic boots onto the ropes to stop the count. And Negro Casas reminds me for the hundredth time how much I love his ability to just put his boots right into someone's jaws, which I always end up forgetting by the next time I see him and just call him a creepy molester-looking luchador again. Such great shenanigans and tide changes in this fall, with multiple seemingly for-sure pins not being pins. Then we get the big double inevitable pin, with Santito and Casas in the upper position and the crowd goes crazy, but double kickouts. And then as they go for a second shot at it, rudos reverse it all, Averno with the camel clutch on Santito and Mephisto with that Negro roll-up on Casas, and the rudos not only win to retain their title, they win with the tecnicos trademark pin combo. Averno & Mephisto are so motherfuckin' great, and would make a much better mystical modern Midnight Express in America if they had a good mouthpiece to explain their evil to stupid Americans.
You know what doesn't confuse me at all about lucha on Galavision? Those great tecnologia televisa deportes things they do with the freeze frame that has lightning bolts pointing to where on El Hijo Del Santo the camel clutch is causing pain. That "technology" probably cost like $100 to do and would look great with a diamond sweep cut away from it, but it's the greatest and most scientific advance I've seen in wrestling television since Gordon Solie got too old or drunk to use big words from medical dictionaries.

NFL DORKERY: Northern Division Teams Ranked


#1: Chicago Bears (6-0)
(last ranking time #1) I'm still not believing the Bears hype completely, though I think they're a good team, one of the better ones in the NFL. There's no winning tradition to Rex Grossman though, and the fuckin' announcers have the Bears' PR fingers so far up their collective pussies, it's annoying. It's nice to see a team with a defensive tradition though, that embraces that and makes it their identity, as opposed to shitty high-powered offenses with a triplets recreation at skill positions. Still, I'd be very surprised if the Bears even make it to the conference championship, much less the Super Bowl.

#1: Baltimore Ravens (4-2)
(last ranking time #2) So Billick runs off Jim Fassel this week, because it must've been Fassel's fault McNair got concussed or whatever it was that happened to him. Billick should just hitch his genius wagon to McNair and hopes that the veteran QB can build enough momentum this year so that Billick's genius wagon can roll a couple of more years inexpicably through NFL head coaching employment.

#3: Cincinnati Bengals (3-2)
(last ranking time #3) You know, that T.J. Houshmanzadeh dude is kinda weird, and would probably stand out on any team anywhere if he wasn't playing with a blonde mohawked gold grilled freak like Chad Johnson. What the fuck is it with AFC North teams being conflicted with their head coach? Brian Billick - offensive genius, getting by with a punishing defense for years. Marvin Lewis - defensive mastermind, depending almost entirely on a multi-faceted offense, which, when it sputters, he does. Like now. It's still early in the season though, so if Carson Palmer can be Mr. Superstar like everybody wants to gloss him as, then they'll be alright.

#4: Minnesota Vikings (3-2)
(last ranking time #5) I think the Vikings will do fairly well this year, as Brad Johnson is looking like stupid competent veterans with long necks like him always look, and they've got quite the combo on the o-line with McKinnie and Hutchinson, enough to make even Chester Taylor look good. It's sad, too, because NFL coaching is such a luck of the draw thing a lot of times. There's no real proof to the fact that child molester looking Brad Childress is that much a better coach than Barney Rubble looking Mike Tice, he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And with the NFL being the logjam it is, and the bottom half of the NFC North being pretty close to the bottom of the NFL, the Vikings have a good shot at sneaking into a wild card spot.

#5: Pittsburgh Steelers (2-3)
(last ranking time #4) YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TIRED OF!?!? THE STUPID "BEN ROETHLISBERGER ALMOST DIED SO NOW HE'S ALL STOKED TO JUST BE ALIVE AND LIVES EVERY DAY LIKE IT'S SPECIAL VIGNETTES!! For fake god's sake, stop this shit already. And isn't it pretty much a tradition that Super Bowl teams end up sucking somewhat the next year because of free agency and how all general managers have a touch of Dan Snyder to them and go, "Oh shit, that dude won a Super Bowl ring as second string middle linebackers last year, and now he's a free agent. We should totally give that dude a 7 million dollar signing bonus to come get fat here. That's the last piece we need to put us over the top." I am also sick of Troy Polamalu's hair. I love fuckin' longhair, on me at least, but damn, he must be stupid not putting that shit in a ponytail or a braid. It was only a matter of time before somebody did him like Larry Johnson did with the wispy lock takedown from behind.

#6: Cleveland Browns (1-4)
(last ranking time #6) It's hard to even talk about the Browns, they are so far off my personal radar. Cleveland has to be the most hapless sports town as a whole that I can think of. How long before Lebron James has like two season-ending injuries in a row, then goes and signs with the Knicks where he wins like five titles in six years? Look at Kellen Winslow Jr. That guy was a soldier, and then he gets his leg broken, wrecks a motorcycle getting hyphy with friends, and here we are three years later and the man that was supposed to make an impact and change that offense entirely is just now starting to catch some passes. They are doomed, which is great, because it means those guys who wear the fake dog faces and sneak kegs into the stadium will just get drunker and more belligerent as the years go on, which hopefully will make NFL crowds more like soccer thugs.

#7: Green Bay Packers (1-4)
(last ranking time #7) Watching Favre and the Packers is just sad, and sad because I've always liked Favre, but it's hard to watch some guy be all past his prime, but use his position as Personal Jesus to a Franchise to squeeze far more playing time out of a team than he should. Favre should've went to some shitty place like San Francisco or Arizona and been a Kurt Warner-type who is past his prime, but squeezes far more money out of desperate teams than he should. As it stands, he's just ruining his legacy in Green Bay, and they may not name a side street after him if he keeps this shit up.

#8: Detroit Lions (1-5)
(last ranking time #8) It's stupid how close I was to ranking the Lions #7 above the Packers. But I didn't. Matt Millen should save his money well, because I doubt he's gonna get too many more general managership jobs after this gig runs out, whenever it does. He must be fellating one of the old Ford great uncles or something to have stayed on as long as he did. Seriously, how often does the general manager of a consistently shitty team get to throw a couple of head coaches under the bus? Usually, you get one of your own choosing, and if things still suck, then you're gone. Fucking Matt Millen and his little fake-ass John Madden wannabe color commentator ass.

#92 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Take It Easy


I have found that some of the most enjoyable music slowed down as much as a slightly altered Numark direct drive can play is old ragga singles from the boom bap era. And with reggaeton somehow becoming something that four Puerto Rican dudes listen to in an aging Lexus sedan to ALL OVER EVERYWHERE, I figure it's only a matter of time before somebody starts screwing and chopping up the reggaeton, since that shit's way too fast for like south Texas or north Georgia or central Carolina Mexicans to get into like they'd really want to get into it. "Take It Easy" is a great song, and I love me some Mad Lion, probably one of the last minor members of Boogie Down Productions I enjoyed greatly. However, after tormenting my wife with Tony Touch reggae tapes pretty much continuously on road trips for about a year, I am not allowed to fully indulge myself like I'd want on matters like Mad Lion.

#39 RAP TAPES: N.W.A. And The Posse


The N.W.A. posse, though dabbling in the gangsta arts, had not yet sprung full bore into helping launch what would be a genre that has polluted hip hop - the gangstiddy rapping - because this tape is half that and half comedy songs. I think one thing lost in him being a financial backer of the earliest super-raw gangsta rap and having died of AIDS is that Eazy-E was one stupid motherfucker. Not stupid like hyphy stupid, but stupid like ignorant laughing at some dumb ass Hee Haw for the ghetto type shit. I was in a hotel room this weekend, so had cable, and VH1 does some stupid Hip Hop Honors crap, and they were gonna HONNA HONNA both Eazy-E and Ice Cube, at least it looked that way as I silently watched the screen while the clock radio was playing reggaeton on an AM radio station. There's a fuckin' hall of fame for everything now... like shit that just started last year has a Hall of Fame somewhere on the internet with ceremonial clips on youtube. Fuckin' people. We are retarded as fuck, even those of us who act like all we do is make fun of the retarded. Too bad Eazy-E didn't spread AIDS as a human herd-thinning disease as well as he spread gangsta rap as a commodity.

Saturday, October 14

#93 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Nuttin But Flavor


A-side to this single is sort of lackluster, which was sad to me when I bought it back in the day because it had Biz Markie and Ol' Dirty Bastard together, with Charlie Brown putting a little icing on the cake. Not a great song though, and a too-hyped-up Flex sound going on. B-side is even weirder, as I guess Flex was hooked up with Bad Boy or something because basically it's just live versions of a Biggie song and a Craig Mack song, which always reminds me of how Puff Daddy is now sitting his $1000 sunglassed ass on TV and in fat mansions with plush cushions for his pedicured ass, and he built that empire on the strange and new-sounding rhyme styles of two very ugly men - Notorious B.I.G. and Craig Mack. The fact he's so rich and pretty and famous seems an insult to talented ugly people ever, and I've never liked that and always wished Craig Mack would throw battery acid in Puffy's face or something.

#40 RAP TAPES: Music To Driveby


I just read some interview with MC Eiht from the murder dog website or ozone website or some crappy magazine's crappy online version, and Eiht sounds like a dude who hasn't made a dollar for a bank account his whole career. Apparently, he's gotten ripped off a number of times, and was talking about how he wasn't gonna turn down offers to do a guest verse for like $800 because that'd feed his family for a week. On one hand, it's sad to see the music industry rip off another generation of black musicians... Well, I guess that's hyperbole, because it's not just the industry, but also shady friends and managers of the local variety who take a fat cut before they give you an amount they tell you is like 90% of the total, when that's 90% of a total they already chopped 50% out of, and shit like that. It's not as organized a hustle as it gets made out to be, but artists tend to be the types looking to create and not handle business, so the business handlers handle the business, and just as it's the nature of artists to filter everything they are mired in into some sort of creation, it's the nature of business handlers to make business good, for themselves first though. This is a good tape though, constant with no stand-outs, good riding music, though the "N 2 Deep" song with Scarface has always been one I tend to put on mixtapes if I'm making some stupid shit gangbanger shit to play when no one's around and button the top button of my flannel shirt and look in the mirror and practice mad-dogging imaginary enemies.

Friday, October 13

#94 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Hip Hop Drunkies


ODB fresh out of jail on a motherfuckin' Alkaholiks single... you know I bought that shit. I've always loved the Alkaholiks, and to show you how out of love for Jay-Z I am, I used to always do the mixtape connection with "It's Your Thang" by EPMD, with that bass line, into "Only When I'm Drunk" by the Liks, with the same bass line, and I was getting high with some frat kid one night and he was like, "That's that same beat from that 'no one can do it better' Jay-Z song with the chick singing.'" Fuck that shit. This is an good beat, and the song is okay enough to get playtime, probably the best song off of that Alkaholiks tape, and I always sit around wondering who did the beat. I automatically assume it was E-Swift, but I have some other single which was the first beat that Madlib sold (as part of the Lootpack), so being aware of nerdiness by the internet (YO! I AIN'T SELLING MY MOTHERFUCKIN' MF DOOM SINGLE! EBAY IS AN ILLUMINATI TRICK TO TAKE YOUR GOOD SHIT FOR FIVE DOLLARS!), I always think in the back of my head I have some stupid shit that some stupid fuck would pay stupid bucks for. But then I'd have to go to the post office, while they're open, and package shit and mail it, and plus paypal, not to mention answering faggot record nerd questions like the quality and shit... it's just not worth it.

#41 RAP TAPES: To Da Beat Ch'all


MC Breed is somebody most folks don't know about (unless he owes them child support) but he's been there for like forever. He represents Flint like Michael Moore, and makes tapes. I bought this tape because he had a highly-publicized feud with Erick Sermon (it was on like page 72 of The Source one month) because Sermon dissed him simply because Breed rhymed "e-double" in a line, when Sermon was the true E-Double. But then on this tape, Sermon guest appeared on a song, so the beef was squashed pretty quickly, probably as soon as somebody made Erick Sermon's cross eyes notice the fact that Breed has two e's in a row in it. I like Breed's voice and the beats are okay, but I don't know, he misses that star power. Yet, to this day, like the incubus, he haunts people's dreams. I've heard he has some demon voodoo grandma from New Orleans who has given him subliminal spells he puts behind his beats to train minds to dream of him, even though he's now an obscure rapper, which only drives the price of Ichiban Records releases up on ebay.

Thursday, October 12

LMOTM: Pierroth & Apolo Dantes & Mascara Ano Dos Mil vs. Hijo de Lizmark & Blue Panther & Ultimo Dragon - 05/13/06 Lucha on Gala

Lucha ring girls and reggaetone - it's like a Reese's peanut butter cup that puts blood in my dick. I am not too terribly excited about this match, but I will watch it because of Ultimo and Blue Panther, to see what they do. I enjoy Pierroth, but not in an I-have-to-see-every-match type of way; more of like go see him at the state fair type of way, because you know he's gonna work hard for the ham-n-egger crowd (or huevos-y-chorizo crowd, whatever the case may be). You know, I really love lucha ring girl asses, and one of the major drawbacks of internet abundance of naked sluts is everything's already naked with like nine guys standing around taking turns jacking off in the girl's face. The world needs more conceptual porn, where girls may have their fine asses covered like lucha girls the whole time. Have we no imagination to excite us anymore? Or like a wholefoodswhores.com site, because you see mad hot women up in a Whole Foods while spending $78 on one little brown bag of groceries. I guess being affluent enough to buy fake turkey and organic butter allows you the time to do yourself up nice as well, sometimes. Plus, the whole young Hip Mama punk/hippie tattooed sexy type that you see there, too, your wholefoodwhores.com site could just be young hot chicks like that who can't afford the bulk organic couscous or blue corn tortillas, so they have to do sexy things to get it. So dehumanizing (like most all porn), yet so high-concept (like such little porn). This is clipped, of course, but I get to see Blue Panther get all freaky for a second on Mascara Ano Dos Mil, and it makes me - the wrestling nerd who lacks the desire nor the finances to accumulate one of those ridiculously large collections that people are always trying to sell you dubs from - long for something wonderful to unearth in the boxes of now-useless tapes that I've never watched, like an M-Pro masked league tourney from the mid-'90s with Blue Panther featured abundantly. I'd love to see him in long-winded retarded-lucha-contortion international wrestling singles matches. Lucha chaos, and Ultimo enters the ring four about four seconds before he backslides Dantes for a pinfall, and then Lizmark Jr. bombs Pierroth into a pin to seal the first fall. CLIPPED TEASES OF GREATNESS, and lengthy segments of Lizmark, who I care the least about.
Well, the second fall is clipped down to nothing but rudos pinning the tecnico non-capitans, so I will naively be optimistic and assume the final fall is RIDICULOUSLY THE BEST THING EVER AND TWENTY MINUTES LONG! But it doesn't shape up that way. Pierroth does take some nice leather strap whippings across his jawbone and forehead from Lizmark Jr., and I also get a little taste of sweet Ultimo Dragon vs. Pierroth one-on-one action, but this is lucha, so Pierroth gets kicked through the ropes and it quickly turns into Apolo Dantes vs. Lizmark Jr. before I can even fully enjoy what I was internally pre-amping myself to get stoked for. But then, everybody planchas topes outside-the-rings themselves, with only Ultimo and Pierroth left, and Pierroth's militia boriqua on the set grabs Ultimo, but there is no hair so he slips loose and Pierroth kicks her in the cooch, then gets reverse jumping neckbreakered (which probably has a real nice-flowing foreign name, but I don't know it; forgive my terminology ignorance) and Ultimo wins. Not often I remember seeing non-captains pin captains to win a match on CMLL, but it's also not often I see Ultimo on here. I'll probably sit through like seventeen matches with teams captained by Gran Markus and Alan Stone to get to another one.

USMOTM: War Games I - Great American Bash '87 World American Tour

Why not reminisce over what the fuck made me a wrestling fan? I guess I can't really do that in a bona fide way as I don't have any Best of Sweet Ebony Diamond 10-disc sets laying around the house, but let's settle, like we always do in life. I've got this here Great American Bash '87 divid that somebody mailed to me (judging from the handwriting - sort of worried and degenerate looking, with a red Sharpie - I bet it's Ed Turtle), so let's crank it up and watch some wrestling from when I was a spry 14-year-old, and it being summertime when this was happening, I probably would tune in with enthusiasm to the Saturday afternoon syndicated JCP show while lacing up my cleats to go play pony league, which was so exciting since my town only had one team in that age group, and most of the nearby counties only had one or two teams as well, so we'd actually drive somewhere to go play baseball... it was like I was Duane Kuiper. But see, this is the grey area, because if I was 14, unfortunately, I had already started smoking weed and having sex with this redneck slut named Cindy (as well as her "best friend" Daphne, but that was on the down-low, which wasn't even a term back then... what a crazy mixed up world!), so I might not've watched the daytime Saturday JCP show, instead catching the late night Saturday one that came on after Saturday Night Live, because I usually had to be home by midnight back then because my parents didn't really want to come pick me up anywhere later than that. Ahh... juvenile delinquency... if you can't be recklessly retarded when you're 14, when can you?
Time machines would be great fun in life if you could have one and nobody else know, because in 1987, Tony Schiavone looked like he made sense, but were you to secretly and suddenly fly him to 2006, looking exactly as he does, he would make no sense and everybody would assume he was the gay night manager at the small town Fas-Mart everybody gets their cheap gas at.
I have often dogged Vince McMahon for wrestling excess and painted the '80s NWA as the penultimate in my experiences as a stupid wrestling fan, but seriously, the War Games set-up is as obnoxiously overdoing it as Wrestlemania, just done from a non-celebrity point of view. I mean, you've got two giant rings, which most indie promotions today probably couldn't even afford one, wrapped in immense nice chain link fence cages, bright lights, and a slew of top-dollar wrestlers. It's ridiculous. I never noticed before that the Dusty Rhodes team comes out to some weird Stanley Clarke/Axel Faltermeyer studio jazz "jam". And there are women in the crowd, like actual grown women beyond the age of 16 who are there for something more than trying to give Alex Shelley oral sex.
DUSTY vs. ARN! Dusty may be the gimmicked son of a plumber, but Arn Anderson looks more like a trim carpenter who drives a diesel Ford than anybody else who has ever wrestled, all the way down to the prescription sunglasses he used to sport that only rednecks wear. Arn instinctively tries to escape the ring, only to hit cage, and Dusty climbs up to hold the top to reinforce the fact that THEY ARE TRAPPED TO SETTLE THEIR OWN GRUDGES, but according to National Wrestling Alliance rules, as enforced by SCRAPPY MCGOWAN! God, how I hate Dusty Rhodes. He's basically Hack Myers, but without all that S&M creepy undertone. DDT by Dust, he leans his fat ass into the corner to watch while Arn blades, then they go right to the cage, TO MAKE IT REAL! Teddy Long is reffing as well, I guess one ref on each side of the cage constructure. Man, can you imagine walking into a bar in 1987 and seeing Scrappy McGowan and Teddy Long sitting there together drinking?
THUS ENTERS TULLY! Tully Blanchard gets caught up in the ropes trying to get at Dusty, because he not only infused old school sensibilities with '80s era wrestling styles, but he did so with a touch of comedy only as it could be filtered through a cokehead's mind. Also interesting to note in retrospect, the coin toss to decide who went in first ate up about half of Tully and Arn's two minutes to fuck Dusty up. Had J.J. Dillon been worth his rate as a manager, he would've filed an official protest over that matter.
Animal enters and powers up his team like floating Shinobi balls, and the crowd squeals in delight, even though Dusty has tasted the slivered blade of making it real as well. I hate Dusty, but he sure could bleed nice.
Nature Boy in, and I think both Tully and Animal now both bleed. And you know this whole story already, because you are an internet wrestling fan. And then Nikita, and then Luger, and then Hawk. It's basically a ridiculous parade of bladejobs, with the crowd falling victim to adrenaline or disgust, depening on which two-minute period we are in. AND THE MATCH BEYOND HAS NOT EVEN BEGUN YET!
Hawk enters and all heels take a bump or two for him to give his team time to recoup and to even the match. I will never really understand how the Road Warrior named Hawk got the immense push he always did. J.J. Dillon is in last, but is an impotent old untanned man attempting to penetrate Hawk with his strikes. Dillon does do, however, probably the best motherfuckin' wobbly legs I've ever seen a man do while being completely held upright by another man, looking almost Jed Clampett dance-like even below the waist while Nikita holds Dillon's upper body still. Dillon blades a gusher while Ellering uses a Warrior arm spikelet to force the realness. A few power moves, Dillon leg twitches, and back to the spike. Who let Ellering bring that spike in the match? Again, Dillon should've filed a protest. Dillon surrenders, camera close-up on the bloody facial money shot, match over. The watching crowd orgasms in delight.

#95 SLOW-MOWED SINGLES: Nowhere To Run, Nowhere To Hide


In retrospect, I find I don't give much of a fuck about the first Gravediggaz album. You wanna know why? Of course you do, because this is the internets, where I can do things on word site thing and pretend peoples give a shit. So yeah, the first wave of Wu-Tanglia (which I figure was the 36 Chambers joint, and the first Method Man, ODB, Ghostface, and Raekwon records), it was obvious that the RZA was the beatmaster of that time, back when he was still using that Ensoniq EPS 16-plus shit, which is my all-time favorite sound for beats (that's some nerd shit for you). But the second wave, later solo joints and maybe the Wu-Tang Forever that came with the gold Wu coin when you bought the vinyl, as well as the first Killa Army tape and Sunz of Man singles, RZA had started to suffer from fatbellyitis where his lack of hunger made his beats a little too shiny and not grimy enough. This is where the 4th Disciple steps in, who, since he is obscure, I am not ashamed as an internet whiteboy hip hop nerd to say IS MY FAVORITE PRODUCER EVER! Were he more popular, I'd probably hate him and compare him to Scott Storch or some shit. But as it is, since nobody knows him, he hooked up the great shit for the first Killa Army joint and the second Gravediggaz album, which lyrically was totally in step with the more paranoid ultra-hype linguistical style of illuminati alien hating rap that Sunz of Man/Killa Army/Killah Priest/early RZA was so good at, and which gave birth to later similar acts like Jedi Mind Tricks and Scienz of Life. So because of my love for the second Gravediggaz album, the first one sounds chumpy to me in comparison. And plus horrorcore rap seems weird coming from RZA and Prince Paul... they're too pretty-looking and Spin magazine ready-looking. Horrorcore makes more sense to me when done by ugly people who got signed to Rap-a-Lot or Hypnotize Camp or something.

#42 RAP TAPES: Shorty The Pimp


At one point, I owned this piece of musical merchandise on cassette, LP, and CD. I have since sold the CD in a bulk selling CDs for gas money while unemployed/lazy/drunken binge at some point. This might be my second or third favorite Too Short album ever, and it's a good one. The amazingly ridiculously long Ant Banks-thick "Something to Ride to" is great. And "In the Trunk" is my favorite Too Short song that I can think of right now this second while thinking about doing this stupid post. Without a doubt. But what I love most is that intro with the talking "shorty the pimp" nonsense, I got this record of old soul crap from Crypt Records (I think they're called something else now, but they did all those great Back from the Grave garage punk from the '60s albums) that had an extra special bonus 7-inch inside that had the actual "Shorty the Pimp" song. If I ever got the stoner mad scientist dude who said he could do it to actually fix the stupid jukebox in my hallway, that 7-inch would totally be stuffed up in that jank. You can't find much Too Short on 7-inch. I do have "Follow the Leader" on 7-inch 45 though, thanks to my man Embryo, WHO IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO READS THIS.

Tuesday, October 10

JMOTM: Satoshi Kojima vs. Katsuyori Shibata – 12/29/05 – Big Mouth Loud

I am intrigued like simple-minded moth to the fire of the blood and bold tattoos of the Inoue/Murakami match before this one, but I will follow Dean’s suggestions and go straight at the main event. Shibata has emotion, to counter Kojima’s color-coordinated outfit. Shibata appears to be a kick machine with bad hair, and whoever makes Kojima’s ring gear appears to like architectural review magazines from 1982. Shibata’s kicks continue to pester Kojima, so he moves towards some legholds to weaken their strength, or at least I think because I am thinking way too hard about what I’m seeing. Yet Shibata remains ridiculous with his legs. It is amazing that a man, whose species has utilized the hands and fingers along with brain to such incredulous levels, could develop such lethal second fiddle limbs. FOR GOD’S FUCKING SAKE, STOP KICKING KOJIMA. Outside the ring, Shibata pulls the safety mat up, which I don’t have to understand Japanese commentary to know, he’s about go try and get all unsafe up in this piece, at somebody else’s expense. And he goes for a brainbuster, but you can’t do a brainbuster with just your legs, and when you develop your leg offense so heavily like Shibata obviously has done, sometimes the other aspects of your wrestling game lag behind, and he’s unable to lift Kojima into a busted brain maneuver, and Kojima reverses it to drop Shibata on his shoulders onto the nice hardwood floor previously concealed by a blue mat. Instant karma, yet again in the professional wrestling.
And that was the changing of the tide, with Kojima taking over. When Shibata does mount a comeback, of course with the lethal legs, we get LEG WHIP ACTION. There’s a really nice sequence where Kojima is fighting armbar attempts, a perfect mixing of the MMA and the worked combat into something that seems like it might actually be a part of a larger-than-life fight, as opposed to just some dumb stiff shit two wrestlers hit each other with in a predetermined wrestle match. Kojima starts to bring the wicked clothesline action to counter the wicked kicks upside his ribcage he’s taking, and vicious lariat beats vicious foot, because man has developed his arms as weapons far more than the legs, as it is closer attuned to the brain. It’s an old story, and ask any friend tomorrow, would they rather lose an arm or a leg, and anybody with any sense will tell you a leg, because legs are for pussies. Arms are for men. Says so in the Constitution even.

LMOTM: Atlantis & Ultimo Guerrero & Averno & Mephisto vs. Blue Panther & El Hijo Del Santo & Mistico & Negro Casas – 05/06/06 Lucha on Gala

Mistico is so fuckin’ large (in terms of pop culture approval) there needs to be a Negro Mistico like three weeks ago. And Negro Casas will always look to me like a guy trying to jack-off in the woods watching teenage girls swim at the public park swimming hole. Also, if I had a lot of unnecessary money to waste on running stupid wrestling shows that 74 people would go to and then I’d sell only 37 copies of the show, but those 37 copies would in turn be “traded” to another thousand people, I’d totally waste my money on bringing Blue Panther in. That guy has been silently solid for as long as I’ve followed the stupid lucha semi-regularly. Ultimo Guerrero is looking swank as always, though his colors may be a design meant to complement Mistico; I’ve always been super partial to Ultimo’s lime green/black phase.
Mistico is not a big guy, even by lucha standards, and los cuatro rudos grab a limb each and toss him up as far as they can, and Mistico does a great job of landing on his head and throbbing around like masked olive-skinned Rocky King, and I almost start to believe they may actually maim him slightly, right before all four guys pile on to pin him to finalize a first fall win for the crowd-pleasing ways of evil. 1000% rudo, yo, 1000% rudo.
Lucha chaos is not necessarily the greatest work rate wise, but fuck it, I’d rather look at crazy guys in masks slap each other in front of families than work anyways. I’m also starting to realize one of the most marketable things about Mistico is that almost every other luchador can easily toss him 17 feet into the air, and when he lands with a sprawling thud, followed by some epileptic twitching, it makes it all seem oh so real for a second or two. But the tecnicos take over, of course, and Mistico throws like seven shitty kicks during the momentum changing melee, while Negro only throws one that was shown, but it was a nice boot about halfway down Mephisto’s throat through his cheekbone in the corner. A brief gathering of the senses and restart center ring ends up in beautiful lucha chaos that ends with Mistico and Blue Panther slapping on simultaneous submission armbars on Ultimo and Atlantis, after Santito barely gets launched far enough over the ropes into a tope for Averno to catch him without cracking any heads. But fuck it, it’s lucha. Being safe is for sports entertainers.Tercera caida ring card girl has the thick thighs and thick ass that I long to share a king-sized bed jacuzzi hotel room with. The crowd loves them some Mistico, him getting name chants like Santo with horn blasts and mad foot-stomping. And when I’m watching lucha libre and I get to see the Negro Casas slaps on a sleeperhold type thing, falls backward with rudo stomach exposed, Santo does a senton from the top rope but rolls into upright run across the ring to do a tope through the ropes to the outside, then I’m a happy wrestling viewer. That spot’s like the Ric Flair over the top rope run to the other corner spot times siete. So Atlantis is using Que Monito against his will as a weapon, which is funny to me because I don’t often see little furry humans in my every day life, but then Que Monito wobbles over and gives Atlantis the dreaded south of the border below the belt clubbing, and even though Que Monito is maybe 56 lbs. with his furry costume on, Atlantis is down, clutching his el hijo holders. Mistico planchas Ultimo down the aisle, and we just as Santito and Casas are battling Averno and Mephisto and I thunk to myself how this is setting up another ring-clearing situation to leave the capitans Panther and Atlantis in the ring for the finale, Santito and Casas slap on submission holds and it’s over. The thing about lucha main events is they could be interchangeable with a ton of other lucha main events, but were you to have a DVD full of nothing but the lucha main events from CMLL on Galavision, if you didn’t love the fuck out of that divid, I don’t know if I’d want to know you.