more adventures in audio

Yep, a week has passed already and despite not thinking I’d be doing another audio post for some time, I’ve done it already. Thanks to my brother, Cezza, not only for helping me figure out this technology stuff but also for being an awesome guitarist and allowing me to use one of his very own tracks at the beginning and the end of the post. You can follow him on Twitter right here.

I actually picked a topic this week that wasn’t, well, me! I was afraid I was turning in to Ron Burgundy. It would be great to know what you think about what I discuss in this post, so please get in touch once you’ve listened.

This was kind of a serious topic so I’ll make the next one more fun.  Feel free to email me with suggestions.

Here goes part two of my adventures in audio……….


smackdown(lite): moving on

After the chaos of Raw, the exciting comeback and then speedy sacking of Mr. Kennedy,  sitting down to watch Smackdown felt like a snuggly cuddle from a nice boy. Thanks, Smackdown. I can always rely on you.

SD got going with Rey Mysterio, ’cause he’s from California. And they’re in California. Makes sense. He told us that, despite criticism over his choice to have a dangerous No Holds Barred match against Chris Jericho at Extreme Rules, he thought it would be ‘off the hook’. NHB would allow him to beat Jericho using the 619, 213, 323, 310 and even the 818. Oooooh, the 818 is EXTWEEEEM. What is this, a game of NumberWang?

Jericho interrupted and came out to scoff at Mysterio using that common American phrase “Off the hook”. Chris, I love you babe, but I don’t think you should be picking on Rey when you, for the second week running, have used the word ‘gelatinous’ as an insult. Not particularly offensive and, maybe it’s just me, but sometimes gelatinous things can be pleasant. Observe……

GELATINOUS

Oh, yeah, and Mickey Rourke was in the audience. Nothing more to say about that

Jericho offended Mysterio’s heritage and threatened to commit the ultimate anti-Mexico crime and de-mask him at Extreme Rules. He said he was going to expose Rey for what he really is. No need to go to all that trouble. I’ll do it for you

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It all kicked off, they started brawling and Jericho made a hasty retreat to the ramp.

R-Truth and Khali tag-teamed against Mike Knox and Dolph Ziggler. I tried to concentrate on the match but the fact that R-Truth made Khali do a hip-hop dance and rap along with him made it impossible. It was vile.

MISKDD

Ladies next. Alicia Fox finally got a match to call  her own, but it was against Melina, and the pecking order suggests that Ms. Fox is about to get boxed in to a pulp. She was accompanied to the ring by her BFF, Michelle McCool, who looked so amazing I almost gave up on life.

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I can’t compete with that. I’m not sure I even wanna BE her any more. I think I just wanna DO her. And I’m not even INTO girls.  But does that mean I wanna do myself? Someone pass me something gelatinous and I’ll find out. No, not the Jelly Fish. That’s just silly. Wait, I think I do just wanna BE her. Not only does she look amazing and manages to walk un-aided down a steep ramp in Eff-Me Heels, but JR also reminded us that Michelle has a Masters degree. That’s it. I’m dead. As a doornail.

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That's me dead. What do you mean dead people can't pout their lips? Shutup! I was actually rocking out to Paramore's 'Riot' album in this picture, but I look kind of 'at peace', right? God, my hair has grown a lot since that pic, and it was only a few weeks ago.

There’s gotta be a downside to being Michelle McCool, hasn’t there? Oh yeah, she’s shacked up with the Undertaker.  Imagine all that eyeliner spread over the pillowcase in the morning! Ok, I am restored.

Riiiight, so yeah, there was a match going on too. I was correct, Alicia got her head handed to her.  Michelle jumped in at the end to help her out but got distracted by the Women’s Title belt and started glaring at it like someone just told her it was ok to eat a Breakfast Baguette. It’s so NOT ok, by the way. Shame on me. Melina snatched the belt back and Michelle indicated that she was coming after it.

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After a backstage promo from John Morrison and a PPV promo for the Jeff/Edge ladder match, Jeff ran in to the arena sporting a flashy new blonde hair-do. Ok, that’s it. I’m going blonde again. Not anywhere near as Marilyn Monroe as I used to be, but I AM going to be blonde again.

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He spoke for a few minutes about how ladder matches are his comfort zone, and left. I don’t know how anyone can feel comfortable throwing themselves off a ladder, but whatevs. As Jeff groped at fans lined along the ramp, Umaga started wobbling down it, whipping strap in-hand.  JR said “Jeff Hardy showing some restraint there and some intelligence, staying away from a Samoan with a leather strap.” So that’s why I keep being whooped by Umaga’s leather strap. I should show some restraint and stop poking him with a stick. I’m so unintelligent. I wish I was more like Jeff.

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Jeff left and John Morrison joined Umaga in the ring. LOOOOONG match. Although, for an Umaga match it was pretty good. Morrison carried him. Not, literally, he’s not John Cena. But John Morrison’s immense athleticism made it worthwhile, and I never would have thought they’d have complimented each other in the ring. Umaga was DQ’d for using his Samoan strap and it was looking like ‘lights out’ for Morrison, who found himself suspended upside-down from the turnbuckle. Have no fear, Shamen, your new bromance buddy, CM Punk, will save you.

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Punk ran in, hit Umaga in the face with his plastic briefcase and sent him packing. Briefcase to the cranium! Briefcase to the cranium! The ref released Morrison, Punk took his shirt off (YESSSSS) and………. OMG, he’s STILL wearing those dusky blue trunks. Honey, give them to me. They must need washing by now. I’ll even hand wash them if you’re that worried about shrinkage. The things you do for love, eh?

You know what you need when you’re in a rage? You need Todd Grisham to shove a microphone in your face. Which is exactly what happened to CM Punk. Reading between the lines, it’s not looking so hot for Punk at Extreme Rules. Allow me to summarise the interview in table form:

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And then he looked straight in to the camera, spoke directly to me, and I was TOTALLY in his hotness corner again.

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Not that I was ever in Umaga’s corner but, you know, it was looking dodgy for a moment there.

Cryme Tyme fought Shelton Benjamin and Charlie Haas, but I doubt you want to hear about that, so I’ll skip. It was boring. Benjamin got the cover. Eve and Layla finally tried to settle their differences in the ring because, you know, the dance-off, the arm-wrestle and the baby powder in the hair event didn’t do the job. It was horrible. HO-RRI-BLE. The winner was Eve, but the medals should actually have been awarded to Jim Ross and Todd Grisham, who both managed to keep talking through the ‘match’.

“This is a hair-pulling, fingernail scratching type match.” = SHIT

Backstage, Edge and Chris Jericho were supposed to be preparing for a tag-team match against Rey Mysterio and Jeff Hardy. But Edge and Jericho had a little tiff and Chris did the whole “if you’re not gonna apologise you can sleep by yourself tonight” thing and pulled out of the match.

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Edge was left standing alone in the ring and Rey Mysterio’s music hit. Edge was going to have to manage this one by himself. Rey did his usual thing of touching foreheads with the masked kids along the jetway and gave his purple mask fringe to the penultimate child in the row. He moved on to bump noggins with the last kid, but the REALLY BIG BOY attacked. For about half a second I really thought a fan was slapping Rey, but I soon realised that had this ACTUALLY happened, the wrestle peeps on Twitter would have been talking about it when I woke up on Wednesday morning. It was in fact Chris Jericho dressed up like a Mysterio super-fan.  Chris Jericho: teeny-tiny enough to pass for a child.  Jeff ran in and tried to help, but things were looking bleak for Rey and he was carted off with his mask in tatters.

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So it appears that Edge and Jericho were in cahoots (I love that word) and were hoping to take Mysterio out, leaving the match void. But they hadn’t banked on Jeff Hardy agreeing to continue with the match as a two-on-one. The match went as expected, with Edge pinning Jeff for the win. But Edge wasn’t done and dragged a giant ladder in to the ring, rolled Jeff in between the two sides and squashed him like a fly under a swatter.

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GAME ON!

BLEARY EYED AND SATISFIED: DIARY OF A WRESTLEMANIA HANGOVER

[This post was originally posted on http://buymyown.wordpress.com and has been imported in to wrestlegasm.com by the author]

Ahhh Wrestlemania.  The highlight of the wrestling calendar. Trying to strike the balance between expectation and delivery is like walking a 50ft tightrope. It could swing either way with the tiniest slip of the heel. But from tightropes and heels to turnbuckles and, well, heels. But I’m not talking about the round bit at the back of your foot this time.  The hype surrounding the Triple H v Randy Orton match had reached fever pitch and promised to be the explosive culmination of not only their saga, but also the entire WM25 weekend. Did it deliver all that was expected? Well, you’ll just have to read on won’t you.

Sunday. Wrestlemania day. AAAAAAAAAARGH! The excitement was beginning to build and I set about baking my WM25 cupcakes. Yep. That’s right. I baked Wrestlemania cupcakes and spent almost the entire afternoon icing them in a suitable fashion. Ah what fun. Whaddaya think? Want one? Just don’t take the John Cena ones. I want to eat John all by myself. Aight? ;)

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Before anyone emails or comments to let me know that Hulk Hogan has nothing to do with this year’s event…. yes, I AM aware.  But my buddy Emma Monkey has love for just one wrestler. Hogan. Don’t even ask. I had to make her a Hogan cupcake or she would have beaten me up. Also take note of my Ric Flair WOOOOO! cake. I added some icing tears for him. Doesn’t Flair always look like he’s just finished watching The Notebook or something?

Anyway, let’s crack on. I took a one hour nap to get me through the long night ahead. I dragged myself toward the TV  in my new PJs  just as it was starting. Oooh the excitement.  WHOA! All those people. All those fireworks. All those MILLIONS of dollars in Vince McMahon’s bank account.

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Speaking of money in the bank (b0om-boom)……

The MITB match was brill. I was convinced that Kofi Kingston would win.  At some point, if he doesn’t eff his chance up, he will get a big push, you mark my words.  I love ladder matches.  They’ve got that sinister “anyone could break a bone at any moment” allure. My brother, who only watches wrestling sporadically these days, called it that CM Punk would do the double.  Good for him. Punk, not my flukey brother. Punk has potential as a  future crush if any of the others bid the ring farewell. And I do have a thing for boys from his part of the world.

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Time for a musical interlude. Kid Rock. Kid Rock? Really? Well. Ok, then. I don’t really get the choice of crooner and I’m not a fan, but whatever. It’s the early hours of Monday morning and I’ll take anything I can get to keep me awake.  What the hell was wrong with that crowd? Did I miss something? They reacted as if he had just announced himself as a serial killer or something. Did he? I was  a bit sleepy.  There is a possibility I could have dozed off. I’m don’t like his music but I would at least show some respect, fools. Maybe it was the NYC hipster glasses.  They say “I think (I’m cool), therefore I am.” No.

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His set neatly left the ladies of the WWE in the ring. Oh God. I want so much to respect this, but I’m struggling. I admire the women in the WWE. No, really. Let me explain. The majority are displayed as nothing greater than Playboy mansion rejects and yet to keep their bodies in that kind of shape they have to work bloody hard. They rarely get a decent storyline that isn’t based entirely on sex and often they only get a really mainstream push if they’re written on to the arm of one of the big boys. Oh dear. I’ve gone a little off topic I’ll have to come back to this in a future post, I think.

So, the match. I wasn’t paying that much attention until I realised there was a strange looking “Lady” in a Victoria Beckham wig in the corner. Urggggggh, no. Santino. I know he’s a comedy character and it’s all meant to be taken in jest, but I’m over this Santina thing before it even gets going. I thought it would end up with Beth and “Santina” in the ring with Beth winning. Nope. A MAN was Miss Wrestlemania.  I give up. *smacks forehead*

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On to a proper(ish) match. Lover numero uno, Chris Jericho, was in action against the legends and the prospect of a probable appearance from Mickey Rourke hung in the air. Incidentally, I know he made an awesome film about this industry that I love, but I can’t get over how awful he looks. The best advertisement for living a clean life if ever I saw one.  He looked about as uncomfortable as a Hollywood comeback kid could look sitting in the front row with all the rowdy wrestling meatheads.  NOTE TO SELF: Remember that actors are not the characters they play.

Jericho’s music hit and I got a funny feeling in my tummy. The first of many that night. Out he came  (cue gratuitous pants shot)……………..

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Mmm. Nice. He was closely followed by the legends. Piper is holding up well, despite his personal troubles, although, he’s the most American Scot I’ve ever  heard. Apart from maybe John Barrowman. Jimmy Snuka, bless him. Even pulling on his tribal threads can’t hide the fact that he’s rolling down the other side of the hill. Fair play to him for having a go though. Ricky ‘The Dragon’ Steamboat is in surprisingly remarkable shape.  If I were 30 years older……..no. That’s just wrong.  Then there’s the tearful pack-leader, Ric Flair. I hear that Flair was the life and soul of the party at the hotel, entertaining fans and colleagues alike. Good on ya, fella.  Naming no names, but maybe you could teach some of the more junior boys that skill. (I’ll name names later on…..don’t disappear before the end, k?)

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Jericho won the match, which surprised me. I was sure the old timers would bring it on home. But then, where could it have gone from there? Mickey Rourke was goaded in to joining my man in the ring, despite the reservations of the faux cronies, who he was flanked by in the crowd.  He smooshed Jericho in the chops and Flair encouraged the crowd to heap praise upon Hollywood. Bastards!

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I’d like to tell you all about the Hardy brothers match, but between making some tea, gathering my snacks and rescuing one of my cats from a mishap, I missed a lot of it. Sad but true. But I did end up with a happy cat and sustenance for the rest of the night.

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Then on to Rey Mysterio v JBL, which was so short it’s not even worth a picture. Oh yeah, and JBL quit. A week before the draft? Hmmm. Interesting. Not really.  Who cares? I was starting to feel a little disappointed with WM25. It was all………..fine, but I wasn’t feeling blown away.  My hypothetical tightrope walker was looking wobbly. Very wobbly. But that was all about to change.

Last week I was feeling fairly uninspired by the Undertaker/Shawn Michaels match.  In fact, I believe I said that Michaels was….kind of…MEH! Ouch! I’m sorry. Sometimes I get caught up the in matches that involve the boys I fancy the pants off and forget the others.  This match was not just the best match at Wrestlemania this year, it was one of the best freakin’ matches I’ve EVER seen. That’s in ten years of wrestling. I am in TOTAL AWE. Move after move, after move, after move……. it was a beautifully choreographed dance between partners who seemed to know each other so well it flowed without so much as a second thought. Oh yeah, after many a count-out saved by a last second raise of the arm, Undertaker scooped up the win. Urgh! My cupcake lied. But how could it lie to me when it was so delicious?  Kind of reminds me of this……

  • hmMindy: What’s wrong?
  • Homer: Oh, yeah, like you don’t know.  [weeping] We’re gonna have sex!
  • Mindy: Oh…well, we don’t have to.
  • Homer: [sad] Yes we do! The cookie told me so.
  • Mindy: Well…desserts aren’t always right.
  • Homer: But they’re so sweet.

I don’t think I’ll be using the ‘predictions by cupcake’ method again. Last week I said it wasn’t really about what happens in the ring. That’s not entirely true. The dramaz can’t live without quality wrestling and the top-notch ring action can’t function without a context.   A truly, truly fantastic match.  My tightrope walker just got his balance back. Now, someone please pass me the humble pie…..and a fork.

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I kind of feel sorry for anyone who has to follow that. I mean, seriously, TOUGH BREAK!  But if you can’t compete with the moves you might as well go with a soap opera storyline.  Infidelity, passion, revenge…yep, it can only be  Edge, Big Show and the light of my life….John Cena. BE STILL MY BEATING PANTS! With Edge and Big Show already in the ring I was curious to know if John Cena would use some kind of special gimmick to get himself in the ring.  My fave was Wrestlemania 22. Remember? The 1920s gangster thing?  Oooorgh. I loved it.  Click here if you need a reminder. This time, I thought all my Christmases had come at once. What appeared to be hundreds of  cloned John Cenas made their way down the ramp. There are  a million dirty jokes I could tell in relation to this, really, I’ve got a lot, but I’ll save you from them for now. Just look at the picture and make up your own.jce

The match itself wasn’t mindblowing, but following Undertaker/Michaels, anything would have looked a little bland.  I watched it back a couple of times. It was good and I’m super-chuffed that John Cena managed to impress my brother when he lifted both Big Show and Edge on his back. Wow! That kind of strength is……SUPER-WOW! If he can pick them up he could TOTALLY hold me up. Errrr, moving on. Swiftly. Before I combust.

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I was tired, but I was holding my own and staying awake.  Here’s proof ………….

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John won the match, which made me a smiley-kylie, but it also made it far less likely that Randy Orton would win the final match of the night. You can’t have two belts on RAW. Don’t get me wrong….I love Triple H, but that hold he has over backstage proceedings can be slightly nauseating at times. Anyway, before the headliner, time for a a little Hall of Fame styleee interlude. They all came on out, waved to the adoring crowd and we waited for the GOD that is Stone Cold Steve Austin to appear in an ill-fitting suit.

There he was. What a hero. What a legend. What a…..hey…..WHERE’S HE GOING? Why is he walking off the stage when everyone else is still on the stage? Maybe it was because it was somewhere between 3am and 4am and I was not quite feeling human, but I totally bought it.  I found myself wondering what contentious backstage spat had made everyone’s favourite beer-drinker walk off-stage. Then this happened….

sssaIt. Was. Amazing. I didn’t just smile, I beamed. BEAMED. God, I wish he was still around. Damn his severe neck injury that forced early retirement. I’ll love you forever Stone Cold. FOR-EH-VAH!

On to the main event of the night – Triple H v Randy Orton for the WWE Championship belt. The day before Wrestlemania I proclaimed to my boyfriend that I hated Randy Orton (he’s a huge fan) and that Triple H would be my victorious hunny-bunny. Then on Sunday morning the boyf told me some stories about Triple H that broke my heart.  Apparently, he had been snippy with fans attending Wrestlemania, refusing to sign autographs, have pictures taken and speak with fans. I don’t know if it’s true or not. I mean, it’s the interwebz, they could just be spreading nasty rumours. But it took some of the shine off for me. Maybe I need to promote CM Punk to lover number 3 and put Hunter or probation. Yeah, I’m sure he’s devastated about that. As a result of the rumour mill, I went in to the match a little subdued – still not thinking much of Randy Orton. But that was about to turn on its head, thanks to one line from Jerry ‘The King’ Lawler.

I watched as Randy Orton slithered his way down the ramp like some kind of big cat, hoping that the excitement I feel when I hear “Time to Play the Gaaaaaame!” would still feel the same. I watched Randy Orton. I watched and admired his physique. “Whether I like him or not, his body is AMAZING. PERFECT, even.” I thought. Then The King gave me a Wrestlegasm moment. Well, his words did anyway. The camera zoomed in on Orton, and after a long pause, out of nowhere, came:

“Somehow, evil isn’t supposed to look that good.  He looks like he was chiseled from stone.”

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WRESTLEGASSSSMMMMM! They were the perfect words at the perfect moment.  I bloody love you, Lawler. And you Orton. How the hell did that happen? Fastest U-turn ever. I should go in to politics. All of a sudden I found myself in Randy Orton’s corner. My boyfriend predicted that, somehow, I would eventually fall under Orton’s spell. I thought he was crazy. He’s obviously a very sane young man after all. Triple H’s entrance was pretty impressive, throwing a sledge hammer through a mirrored wall and all, but he had already lost my heart to Orton. At the very least I hoped for an explosive match. Errrrm…..didn’t quite happen.

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The match didn’t have the in-ring WHOA-Factor of Taker/Michaels, and didn’t deliver the intense, bitter, family-fueled drama it promised. CHEATEEEEED! Where were Legacy? I only commented the day before on how great of an opportunity it was Rhodes and DiBiase to be part of such a huge story. Yeah, well, there was no place for them at Wrestlemania. No Stephanie, no Linda, bearly a glimpse of Vince and Shane. What a crock of shit!.  It’s not that the wrestling was terrible, it’s just that, after such an enormous build-up, it all went a bit flat. Like the air slowing seeping out of a bicycle tyre.  Triple H took home the belt and we were left with him on the ropes being all victorious like, and the crowd leaving. The crowd were leaving the Wrestlemania stadium BEFORE IT WAS EVEN OFF THE AIR. Oh dear. That can’t be good.

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All in all I enjoyed my (very) early morning romp with my wrestle-boys-n-girl……or was it a really late night? I dunno. I took myself off to bed just after 4am, slept til 8:30am and spent most of this week trying to recover the hours I lost and the skin under my eyes. I’ve got some MAJOR luggage under my eyeballs. But it was sooooooo worth it.

Final shout out of the night goes to this couple, who managed to get a full shot of the Welsh flag on screen. Well done, darlings. Proud of ya.

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