smackdown(lite): cats, dogs, lookouts and cookouts

This week we got started with The Undertaker, who has hardly said a word since he’s been back at work, so it was time for some PPV promo. His words of battle should have been the focus of my attention, but with the face of a Christmas satsuma, painfully ginger roots and a leather dress, his failing personal style was all I could take in. Taker, as a veteran of the game, you really should have the spray tan down by now. If you were my boyfriend *shudder* I never would have let you leave the house like that. McCool, you’re slipping.

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Anyway, Taker warned Punk that he was in for a rough time at Breaking Point, that he would be required to personally hand his soul over (how does that work then?)  and the “The symphony of lies would end!”  But what if I like Punk’s symphony of lies and I don’t want them to end? Cue Punk!

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He coughed his way through the dry ice still swirling around the top of the ramp and bashed Undertaker for preying on the gullible minds of the fans for 20 odd years. But this is where it all went a bit strange. Punk suggested that Taker was this generation’s Alice in Wonderland. Just as Alice had introduced shrooms and acid to the “worthless” hippie generation (what a bitch!) Taker had polluted the minds of wrestling fans by making them actually believe in him for two decades. There are two major things wrong with this short statement, apart from my poor sentence structuring.

  • Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was written by Lewis Carroll in 1865, approximately a century before the hippie movement was at its peak. Carroll pegged it a long time ago. Hardly fair to accuse a dead guy of instigating the chemically supported  lifestyle movement of an entire generation. It was more about rejecting the social rules of the post-war years and a going on a quest for a more harmonious, free living western world. Ok, so it was mostly an excuse to take hallucinogens, listen to cool music and have sex in the back of VW campers with strangers with flowers in their hair, but you can hardly blame Alice for that.
The catepillar told her to eat the mushroom. Ain't peer pressure a bitch?

The caterpillar told her to eat the mushroom. Ain't peer pressure a bitch?

  • Undertaker is 17-0 at Wrestlemania. I’d say he’s a fairly consistent, reliable kind of guy. Putting your faith in Taker is probably a pretty safe bet.  I mean, look what happened to me when I doubted the guy?

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I had to eat the evidence to make it go away.

But hey, I forgive Punk for his misstep. Probably just because he wore his canary yellow Summerslam trunks again. Welcome back, my yellow friends. I haven’t seen you in like three weeks or whatever. Smackdown is recorded on a Tuesday and beamed on to our TVs on a Friday, so this week’s show was still loaded with references to heroic and beloved Jeff Hardy. I’m not touching ‘that’ story right now. But I may come back to it on another day. You know, when people aren’t vomiting from the silly excitement of it all.

Punk continued with another brilliant promo and totally made up for the Alice stuff. By the way, WWE Shop, are planning on releasing his new t-shirt in a women’s cut any time soon? I gots da money right here, ready to jump from my pocket to yours.

Next up, Finlay vs Mike Knox.

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This week, creepy Dr. Knox shifted his medical expertise to herpetology, going on about some lizard shedding its skin or a tail or some shit. The whole Dr. Knox illusion was spoilt though when I realised he was reading the whole thing off a cue card to the left of his gaze. If you’re going to read from a prompter, remember to look at the camera from time to time, k? Good.

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So, the Belfast Brawl.  I haven’t been there but I’ve got friends from the Belfast area. I’m pretty sure none of their rubbish bins collapse at the touch of a kitten’s paw like these do……

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But it’s a tough place. I wouldn’t want to mess with Finlay. Mike Knox was sorry he did and was humbled once again.

Outside the ladies locker room, Dolph Ziggler was looking for Maria but was intercepted by Michelle McCool. McCool pulled off some of the worst acting I’ve seen in ages. It was painful. The general gist of it was that Michelle was trying to seduce Dolph and lure him away from Maria, proving he really it a dirty boy. How can a woman this smokin’ hot be THIS bad at flirting? I’m not kidding. The awkward hair teasing, the “oh, I’m falling, quick, catch me!” Oh, my. How can she ever repay him for rescuing an innocent damsel in distress. Yeuch! You’re lucky you’ve got your looks, baby, or you’d be single for life.

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Dolph was quite the gentleman and disappeared without so much as a sexy flick of the eyebrow. But what he didn’t know was that Layla was skulking in the background capturing the whole thing on her camera-phone. I’m not worried. If Maria buys that act of desperation, she’s dumber than the script writers make her out to be.

Although, admittedly, that looks pretty bad.

Admittedly, that one looks pretty bad.

Khali was supposed to wrestle David Hart Smith but Kane stopped it before it even got going. Boring.

Next up, JeriShow vs Cryme Tyme. While the Brooklyn boys entertained the crowd, Jim Ross described Big Show as having a “carcinogenic and terminal right hand.” Really, JR? Has Big Show been lacing the skin of his right hand with asbestos?

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The match was pretty good, but how many times have we seen this now? I don’t even need to recap it. If you’ve seen any of the other matches these four have had, you’ve seen this one.

Backstage, Vince McMahon (in a more business-like blazer this week) was still busting Teddy Long’s balls about he apparent lacklustre vibe coming out of Smackdown lately. Vince is watching Smackdown, right? Obviously not. Also, Vince was most upset that there was no picture of him up on Teddy’s office wall. Well, of course. If you’re going to have a picture of Martin Luther King on your wall, you simply MUST have one of Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Both men of peace, kindness, fairness and ambition.

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In our next match the new IC Champion, John Morrison, was up against Charlie Haas. I think I figured out who the girls who had no love for Finlay were there to see. And according Todd Grisham, Morrison is now known as the Ambassador of Abdominals. I wonder if his abs get invited out to swanky dinner and dance events with other dignitaries. Randy Orton is the Queen’s Aide to Quadriceps, John Cena is the High Priest of Pectorals and CM Punk is the Governor of Groinal Muscles. I thought those up while I was in the shower. It’s where I do my most stupid thinking.

Anyway, any match involving John Morrison looks fabulous, because he never fails to make his opponent look brilliant. Morrison, of course, took the match. But the really interesting bit came after it was over. Haas disappeared, Morrison took the mic, looked straight in to the camera and thanked Rey Mysterio from the bottom of his heart for being a great competitor and letting him take the title last week. Of course, what he really meant was thanks for getting yourself suspended, but hey, ‘great competitor’ sounds nicer.

PS: When he spoke in to the camera to show his gratitude to Rey, in my mind he was saying Ray.

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Thanks, John. I'll call you when I'm ready.

I was awoken from my daydream by Dolph Ziggler, who wasn’t too happy about Morrison’s little plug for the Rey Mysterio fan club. He wanted his title shot, which Morrison was happy to give him right there and then. But Ziggler wanted the match on his terms, on another night. Convenient. Don’t trust him, John Morrison. Never trust a man in leopard print fingerless gloves! From there it all got a little Nickelodeon. Morrison renamed Dolph ‘Mr. Ziggles’ and proceeded to encourage the crowd to start a MIS-TER ZI-GGLES chant. What the hell is this? Sesame Street?  Not terribly insulting. Although, I’m pretty sure there was a real Mr. Ziggles somewhere in Iowa or wherever, crying in to his family crest sweatshirt. Dolph realised he had no friends in the crowd and backed his way through the curtain with his tail between his legs.

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After that Melina made her way to the ring, Grisham revealed he does pilates and JR told him never to interrupt him while he’s speaking again. Ooooh, get JR being all feisty. Melina’s match was against Layla, who was accompanied to the ring by Michelle McCool. Ok, can you point out all the things that are wrong with this picture?

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  1. Michelle’s crutch is too short. The design of this particular crutch means that it’s supposed to fit in to the armpit so that the shoulders can take the strain from the legs.
  2. Again, with this design of crutch you are supposed to have TWO. One on each side to balance the weight out. If you only want one crutch get one of the shorter ones you push your wrist through
  3. Those are highly inappropriate shoes to be wearing when you have a leg injury. But they are gorgeous so if you give them to me, Michelle, I’ll look after them for you until you’re fully fit again.

The match played itself out and just as Melina was about to get ahead, McCool whacked her in the ribs with the end of her crutch. Layla swooped in and took the win. EVIL girls! By the way, was Michelle listening to her iPod while this was going on or is this just another triumph for the costume department?

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The next segment was probably my favouritest (it’s a word) bit of the whole show. You know, America, when the British gave you the gift of the English language 500 years ago, we hoped you’d treat it well. While your allegiance to the motherland fell by the wayside, we still hoped you’d respect the language legacy we left with you. You have failed in this challenge. R-Truth joined Josh Matthews for an interview on his troublesome forays with newcomer, Drew McIntyre. R-Truth’s response went like this:

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WTF?

Drew McIntyre obviously didn’t understand that R-T was warning him that he was a dangerous mofo either and so proceeded to pummel him. Thank the lord he got rid of that hideous red shirt from last week. Well, he didn’t have much choice. I burnt it.  Next we’ll need to address the issue that he’s still wearing slacks and dress shoes without socks.

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CM Punk and Matt Hardy had a pretty decent match. Punk made Matt tap out and held his title belt aloft in the ring to celebrate. Then this happened…….

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This will continue tonight at Breaking Point. Which I am getting for free because Sky Sports doesn’t charge for every PPV. See? There are some perks to being stuck on this little island.

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10 thoughts on “smackdown(lite): cats, dogs, lookouts and cookouts

    • haha I like that. I’ve already got the T-Pain auto tune iPhone app downloaded in case I get lost in the ghetto next time I’m in the US. No language barriers for me!

      As for the first part of your comment, being Intercontinental Champion doesn’t automatically equate being Ambassador of Abdominals. Umaga’s one-pack made him ineligible, for example.

      Also, I meant to tell you at the time but I forgot. There is no Duke of Wales. We have a Prince. Prince Charles is the Prince of Wales. The future king. We’re way fancier than Dukery.

  1. I’m very very glad this re-cap was quite in-depth. My virgin media box died on thursday night all the way to Saturday morning! If it wasn’t for you I’d’ve never seen that cute pic of Punk with the title belt, or known he was wearing the yellow shorts again!
    R-Truth’s been going at it with a Babyliss Crazy Braid. I haven’t used one of those since I was about fourteen…
    And I want to know who straightens Layla’s hair, so they can come and do mine on Saturday 🙂

    • Sometimes I struggle to find the comedy and sometimes there’s so much material it kind of writes itself. This one was easy. Glad I was able to be of service, ma’am.

      You do realise that after Saturday you’re not allowed to come here and perv at Mr. Punk any more, right? You have 5 days. After that I expect you to start behaving like the respectable married lady you will then be. :p

      • Yeh, that is totally going to happen! For the two weeks that I’ll be out of the country, anyway!
        When he stops googling Maryse in Playboy, I’ll stop perving on old Brooksy 😛

  2. Somehow I think your title match would be marked with a lot of fondling for 45 minutes to an hour, but no winner would be declared (or in other words, you’d win, but he’d keep the belt).

    • An hour spent tracing the outline of John Morrison’s muscles sounds like an excellent way of not winning the Intercontinental title. Sadly, I suspect Melina would beat me unconscious after 2 minutes. I can’t compete with Melina. In any way.

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