Working on the principle that even the worst of wars can be worked out, the LOL Wresslin’ boys and myself tentatively shook hands this week and agreed to try and work together. Well, if Robert Mugabe and Morgan Tsvangirai can agree to be civil while they rebuild Zimbabwe, it makes sense that our rival blogs should try and collaborate. I’m pretty sure the war’s not over, but if you’d like to witness our first steps towards reconciliation, click here.
It’s a dirty job being a wrestling fan. It’s an even filthier form of voluntary employment when you decide you’re going to set up a blog or website where you write about wrestling several times a week. Justifying your devotion to a product most people don’t understand is not easy. I think that’s why wrestling fans band together so tightly and have such a close knit community. Once you get it, once you have a grip on the terminology, once you fully understand why it’s ok that they’re pulling the punches, you’re in the club. Meeting fellow wrestling fans is like skipping the pleasantries. You can just jump to a common place of understanding.
If you’re reading this I suspect you are a regular WWE viewer. If not, why are you here? No, really, I’m curious. Let me know. Be honest, how many times has someone scoffed at the fact that you watch wrestling. Loads, right? I wish I had a tenner for every time someone had said “Huh-huh-huh you know it’s not real don’t you, sweetheart?” What? Really? You shattered my dreams. Oh My God, I totally thought Triple H was away from the ring because Randy Orton put him in hospital. WANKERS! Sorry, but I can’t stand it when people who know nothing about wrestling try to tell ME all about it
I get even more wound up when they take the piss out of the fact that I’m a woman who enjoys wrestling. “Huh-huh-huh you only watch it to gawp at the blokes’ arses don’t you, darlin’. ” Erm, it’s a bonus, but NO, I watch it because I love it for the amazing athleticism and the entertainment value. The hot men are a really nice addition. TOSSERS!
This week’s Monday Night Raw really tested my mettle as a WWE super-fan. What has now been dubbed the ‘Denver Debacle’ took a trashy turn and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to recap Raw this week out of protest. But there were a few gems of brilliance, so I’ll recap them separately in one of my raw(lite) posts tomorrow. So yes, the Denver Debacle.
I know everyone is all caught up by now, but basically Raw was supposed to be live from Denver this week. Unfortunately, a ‘real sport’ (basketball) decided it needed the Pepsi Center for the 4th game in the NBA Play-Offs. Obviously, this was a double booking of epic proportions and a little shameful on the part of the Nuggets’ management for having no faith in their team. I really think the NBA should have made alternative arrangements, but that wasn’t to be. They had the power to boot Raw out of the arena, and they did.
I don’t normlly shake my pom-poms for basketball. Two reasons. The first is that I hold a grudge against my PE teacher in high school who told me “Rachel, rwyt ti’n chwarae pel-fasged yn dda iawn ond rwyt ti’n rhi fur i ymuno â’r tîm.” BITCH! And for those of you who don’t speak Welsh she said “Rachel, you’re very good at playing baskeball but you’re too short to join the team.” BITCH! I also hate the general thuggery of the NBA. The fact that young boys aspire to this shallow, materialistic, arrogant lifestyle makes me feel a little sickly and it detracts from the actual athletics. When I took part in the college bracketology thing in March I chose my teams based on location, school colours and how cute the mascot animal is. Anyway, what I’m trying to demonstrate is that I don’t care about basketball or the NBA Play-offs. Mission accomplished.
Now, despite the fact that WWE lost this particular battle, the whole thing could have been handled in a professional business-like manner, right? No. Not according to Vince McMahon. He could have just sued Stan Kroenke’s ass for all it’s worth. Nope. He turned the whole thing in to a giant, puff-ball of promotional crap that made wrestling appear ridiculous and made wrestling fans look like unintelligent morons. Basketball, American Football, Hockey and Baseball rolled their eyes, shook their heads and basked in the validity of their own sports.
Forced out of the Pepsi Center, WWE could have moved to Invesco Field so that the good people of Denver could still see the show they paid for. They could have moved to a town nearby so that those who already had tickets would have had the opportunity of travelling a reasonably short distance to the show. They could have taken operations to MSG, who offered to house them. But going to New York, staying in Denver or moving to a nearby town would not ‘damage’ the Denver Nuggets. Instead of being grown, professional adults and doing what was best for the fans, WWE chose the low road and played childish games that nobody found particularly entertaining. I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I whole-heartedly advocate not taking wrestling too seriously……but SERIOUSLY, WWE, GROW THE FUCK UP!
I knew things were going to be bad when Vince appeared on ESPN waving a Kobe jersey and challenging Kroenke to a steel cage match the week previous.
This week’s Monday Night Raw was held at the Staples Center in LA. Home of the Lakers. The first 15 minutes (minimum) of the show were spent with Vince supposedly humiliating a bad E. Stan Kroenke lookalike in the ring. The only thing that may have made it mildly funnier would hve been if they’d had John Cena dressed like Kroenke. The lookalike they hired looked kind of like an ugly version of John’s George Peppard from his Bad, Bad Man music video.
And d’you know what the ultimate insult was? The fact that the E in E. Stan Kroenke stands for Enus. Enus sounds like……. And THAT’S the joke. Vince McMahon almost said penis. OH MY GOD, he nearly used an anatomical term on TV. You know who finds that funny? 10 year old boys. And Lakers fans. Why would they complain? They get some wrestling they didn’t expect to have and they get two hours oF bagging out their basketball enemies. Perfect. For them.
For those of us watching at home it was painful. The Jack Nicholson, David Stern and Jerry Buss lookalikes in the crowd were silly and getting the heels to wrestle the good guys wearing Nuggets (BOO) and Lakers (YAY) jerseys in one big brawl at the end of the show looked so ridiculous I almost couldn’t watch.
Thankfully, the middle parts of Raw were passable and there were even a couple of wrestlegam moments. Yes. REALLY. But I’ll save them for tomorrow. Something to look forward to.
Just a final message for Mr. McMahon – the WWE Universe (as you have branded us) is loyal and forgiving. We want high standard wrestling and compelling storylines. No more bullshit. I can’t keep trying to explain how awesome the WWE is to people who don’t get it when all I’m trying to defend is pettiness I don’t even believe in myself.
WWE, DON’T STOP BEING AWESOME. SOMETIMES YOU’RE AMAZING. BUT YOU’RE MAKING MY JOB REALLY AWKWARD AT THE MOMENT.
PS> I wouldn’t normally do this, but in the interest of solidarity against bullshit you should read this. It’s a humorous look at the XBA Vince jokingly promised to deliver. Genius little piece of writing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and scrub myself clean. Not for continuing to promote WWE, but for actually plugging a post written by my arch enemies in comedy. Eww, I feel dirty.
Before recapping Smackdown, I thought I might just take a moment to address a very serious issue. Those of you who have been keeping tabs on Blog War 09 might have noticed it’s been a little quiet of late. We have exchanged snide little comments here and there, but no major swipes of the sword. So, this week, I emailed the LOL Wresslin’ Generals to ask if they had surrendered without telling me. The white flag title was merely to make sure they didn’t launch a water balloon at me from their sling-shot when I approached the fortress gates.
A few days went by without reply. This is not unusual. They never reply to my emails. It’s how they cope with trying not to like me. They don’t want to be drawn in by my charm. I took no response as being their admission of Game Over but, to my horror, the boys very publicly declared that the War was over because I had surrendered. WHAT? Errrrm, NOOOOO! I don’t fink so.
Apparently, despite being a woman (’cause that’s like being disabled, right boys?) I put up a good fight. Well you know what? More fool me for ASKING if they had surrendered. I should have just called them out, challenged them to a verbal brawl and then stood back to wait for retaliation. I keep forgetting I’m dealing with men.
An analogy was drawn between Blog War 09 and The American Revolutionary War. ha. Very ambitious, but there will be no Yorktown showdown round these parts. Lord Cornwallis was a valiant fighter, but he ultimately folded and allowed his troops to be forced in to a corner and surrounded by the enemy to the point where he had no choice but to hold his hands up and give Washington the keys to America. Sad times for King George III. And yeah, I know my American history. I’ve studied it at great length. Although, I’ve learnt everything I actually need to know about America from Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert and Bill Maher. Love you, guys!
So fear not loyal readers, I shall not be subscribing to The Cornwallis Battle Plan. I have more stubbornness in my little finger than that whole army had throughout the entire War. I was born stubborn. No, really. I made my mother wait two weeks past my due date. In a heatwave. Stubborn! So I haven’t surrendered my Blog War crown to America. I’m doing it for Britian and I’m doing it for the girls.
And just in case you’re still not sure who to believe, this can’t possibly be my signature on the fake Terms of Surrender.
Much as I love pinning cutesy hearts on pretty much anything I even mildly like, I do not sign my name with a heart. I sign it with a star like the ones on CM Punk’s shorts. DUH! And don’t be fooled by the fact that this……..
was found on my pillow this morning. It’s not mine. I’ve heard of leaving a horse’s head in your enemy’s bed, but this is ridiculous. And how did you get in to my house?
Anyway, you can now stop slobbering all over each other, you can quit putting a smile on Stalin’s face (what ARE you doing to him back there?), and you can carefully place the Stanley Cup back in the Red Wings’ trophy cabinet. It’s SOOOO not over. And by the way, if your faux victory is akin to that of Barack Obama’s presidential triumph, you’re likening me to Sarah Palin, which is the most hurtful and upsetting thing that could happen to any woman.
Ok, I’m starting to think something dodgy is going on around here. First I get a horrible migraine that takes almost a week to recover from, then I get a cold, and now I’ve got an inflamed eardrum that’s retaining fluid. This is not only causing severe pain but also sending my balance off and making me feel like I’m walking on a trampoline, even on hard ground. Has my water supply been spiked with some kind of disease? I’m starting to wonder if another blog similar to my own is trying to kill off the competition. Not pointing my finger at anyone, but you know who you are.
Anyway, I won’t let stabbing ear pain stop me from bringing you the LOLz you’ve been waiting for, so here goes. This week’s Raw was hilarious. And yes, you guessed it, in all the wrong places. Our main event storyline was like an episode of Scooby Doo. Don’t understand? You will. Actually, let’s have a spot of music just to create the correct atmosphere for this week’s Raw……
We got started with LG introducing my robot man, Randy Orton, who has his usual two robot helpers at his side. He told the crowd they were cowards and cooed over the fact that he had put a halt to the McMahon era. He went on to discuss the fact that Vickie G. had put a ‘no contact til Judgement Day’ ruling over Randy and Dave. But where there’s a will there’s a way and, as Randy himself said “just because we can’t touch, doesn’t mean we can’t talk!” Sounds like a tagline on a promotional poster for phone sex.
Batista decided he did want a chat and made his way to the ring. I’m surprised he didn’t just call Randy on his mobile and ask what he was wearing. No, wait, that was just me. Anyway, to Dave’s surprise, despite not being second or third generation, Randy invited him to join Legacy. Whaaaa? Dave was stunned. DiBiase decided to play his part in the recruitment drive and explained that being kicked in the head by Randy Orton pretty much saved him from a life of mediocrity. They look like those scary people who stand in the street shouting about how the Lord wants to save my soul from sin and lead me away from temptation. Yah. Good luck with that. I just ate three Jammie Dodgers in a row, in a week where I’m supposed to be eating healthy. Temptation resistance – not my bag.
For a brief moment I almost believed that Dave was about to jump the corporate fence and join Legacy. But then he told Randy he hated him/despised him/loathed him (delete as appropriate) and believed Randy had misunderstood the difference between Help and Hurt. YEEEAH! LOVE IT! It looked as if they might get it on right there and then, but a big screeching EX-CUUUUUUUSE MEEEEY interrupted proceedings. It went round the houses but what eventually came out if it was that Dave had to fight the Priceless boys. If Dave won he could have Randy all to himself that night. If Ted and Cody won, it would be a 3-on-1 handicap match like last week. I think. It’s all a bit convoluted.
So that match happened and Dave was disqualified for using a chair. Silly Dave, this ain’t no hardcore match. So now he has to take on all three of Legacy. Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame, sir.
So after that it was time for the women. Oh no. I thought Maryse couldn’t get any more annoying. WRONG! She’s even more irritating when she speaks French. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of Francophobe or anything, her Frenchness just seems to enhance my irritation. Just flick your weave and move aside, please. Jillian, her partner, was already in the ring, so we just needed an entrance from Twitter addict, Mickie James, and Regulation Hottie, Kelly-Kelly. It was all fairly low-key, Kelly-Kelly did lots of backflips, but it all kicked off when Maryse and Mickie got in the ring together. Before that Michael Cole gave us a few interesting Maryse facts – apparently she can cook, she likes Guns and Roses and she likes men who bathe regularly. Fascinating. Grab those bars of soap, boys, you’re in with a shot! Mickie did her thing, pinned Maryse for the win, looked after baby Kelly, then got straight on her iPhone and thanked all her Twitter fans for their support. Aww. Bless.
Alright, you’re probably waiting for the Scooby Doo part, right? Oh, ok. Well here it is anyway. IT. WAS. AMAZING. I may even have squealed with excitement. It started a little something like this……..
Backstage Chavo railroads Vickie in to making John Cena prove he’s not faking his injuries in a match against The Miz. HUH? We’ll see how that pans out later. King and Michael Cole got in the ring to do the hard sell for the PPV, but nobody could concentrate with Scooby Rhodes missing. The saga continued…..
After that high-class comedy drama Carlito took on THE Brian Kendrick. Kendrick won and vowed to find himself a partner to challenge Carlito and Primo for the Tag Team Titles. So after that the Big Show galumphed to the edge of the announce table to watch John Cena take on The Miz. John, looking more like his normal self (yes, I released the real one back in to the community) saluted the crowd and fiercely entered the ring. Hi, honey! And then my heart sank. Never before has such a bitchin’ guitar riff made my nose scrunch up and my brow furrow. Here comes The Miz. He’s that kid you used to babysit who repeated everything you said just to piss you off. He’s the dude in college who thought being a smart-ass to the lecturer would impress the ladies. He’s the….. you get the idea.
T-shirt (minus my adaptation) available via palmercash.com, my fave t-shirt shop.
The match itself wasn’t that special. They both pulled out their usual, signature moves. It was odd not seeing some guy in a humbug shirt running around, the ref being Vickie Guerrero watching via video backstage. John proved that he was fit enough to wrestle, but then Vickie frighteningly appeared on the titantron and claimed that she did not believe he had a chance against Big Show.
Huh? Excuse ME? Does that mean the match at Judgement Day is off? Or maybe it just means the end of THIS match? This whole show is getting way too confusing. John, also feeling confused, was pounced upon by The Miz and finished off. *sigh* Oh and The Miz cleared his sinuses on John’s back too. Nice. I thought they just did that in rugby.
On to something just as confusing, some more Scooby Doo action……….
Yikes. I hope Scooby Rhodes really does have this taken care of. Back in Vickie’s office there’s more Santina nonsense. Chavo and Vickie decided to test for boner reactions by making Rosa give him/her a good luck kiss. When the reaction was overly amorous, Santino covered it up by claiming to be a lesbian. Oh please. Come on. How long are they going to string this out? Poor Beth Phoenix. She’s the best female wrestler in the entire company and she gets caught up in this silliness.
I wish Santino wasn’t such a successful comedian. Maybe then they’d have canned it earlier. Anyway, Beth and Santina wrestled, with Santina winning again. I get the joke, but can we please wrap it up with a bow and send it packing at Judgement Day? Grazie!
In the back, Josh Matthews harassed a dejected John Cena for an interview on how he’s going to muster up the strength to compete at JD. John gave a lovely speech about how, in spite of his injuries and coming up against sad/bad times, he planned on doing what he does best – adapt, overcome and go out to win. “Ahhhhh”, I was thinking. “Cena’s back”. Then just as Josh tried to recap, John came back to make sure his point was clear.
Hey-laaaa, hey-laaaa, my Cena’s back!
Back in the ring, M.V.P is hosting his first VIP Lounge segment on Raw. Not that I’ve been invited to many VIP lounges, but seems kinda lame to me. Anyway, M.V.P attempted to lure William Regal to the ring by insulting his manhood. It worked. I think last week I might have given the impression that I don’t like Regal. Not true. In fact, I’m pretty proud that a man with a Blackpool accent (albeit a slightly posh version) is on mainstream international TV with a load of Americans and Canadians. Good on yer, loovleh. Back to the action…… Montel told Regal he was boring, Regal insulted Americans (but it’s soooo easy to dooooo!) and Matt Hardy decided to throw his pouting chops in to the mix. He was closely followed by Kofi Kingston, who began ripping at Hardy. Chavo delivered a message from Vickie which said that Kofi and M.V.P would be tag-teaming against Regal and Hardy IMM-E-DI-ATELY!
Not a bad match actually. Although Matt Hardy just looks wrong wrestling in jeans. Eveny my John bearly pulls that off. And seeing Regal wrestling properly again was nicer than I had expected. M.V.P flipped Regal and pinned him for the win. Kingston and M.V.P? Future Tag Teamers? Maybe? Probably not. They have too much going for themselves individually. They look cute together though. Like Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf on Inside Sport.
Ok, so, with Scooby Rhodes and Shaggy DiBiase taken out of action by The Animal in the haunted arena, Orton had no choice but to try and unmask the evil fairground owner by himself. You’re keeping up with this analogy, right? I actually just realised that my title doesn’t correlate with what happened at the end of Raw. Oh well, too late now. Batista ripped Randy to shreds and even the late appearance from Ted and Cody couldn’t save him. So, he kinda DID get away with it, DESPITE those pesky kids. I really should have thought it though. Nevermind. You still love me, yeah? Good. Phew!
See you after Smackdown, lovelies.
Regular members of the public may not realise this, but once you are a proven purveyor of LOLZ you are given access to a secret administrative network of Comedy Communication Services, allowing one to communicate with other self-proclaimed comedians without having to use the mail service used by unfunny mortals. Yesterday, the CCS postie hand delivered me the memo below from the fellas at LOL, Wresslin’. I scanned it for your convenience.
Looks like battle will have to continue, folks. I’m not so desperate for them to worship me that I’m willing to go transgender. Although, I think I’d rather have a prosthetic penis attached than wear those blue space shoes. Yeuch!
Apart from being able to recall the theme tunes to all race-tracks on Mario Kart 64 and do a particularly impressive impression of Luigi (Amma Luiiiigi, naam-ba one!) I don’t think I’m nerdy enough for these boys. It’s lonely being this cool.
I might have amazing photoshop skills but I’m not so crash hot at video production. Fail.
As for having an eye for detail, I do make an attempt at proof reading my stuff several times before publication, but I am a chronic sufferer of Blepharitis and sometimes my inflamed eyelids cause me to miss things. (Mmm, eye disease is so sexy.)
I do actually have thousands of fans who visit wrestlegasm.com every day. They’re just the strong, silent types and don’t feel like leaving comments. I respect their decision.
Ummm…if I’ve refused to switch nationalities for my (Michigan born, Tennessee resident) boyfriend, I certainly won’t be doing it for anyone else. As for Texas and Jersey….. Texas is the state of disappointment (everything ISN’T bigger) and if the smell that comes through the train windows on the journey from Princeton to Penn Station is anything to go by, I’ll have to pass on New Jersey too.
PS> There’s no reason why the innocent man at Botchamania should get caught in the crossfire of Blog War 09, so please DO visit him often. It is AMAZING. Why? Because British people create the most awesome wrestle-comedy content on the internet….and, well, what they said.
I’m having to interrupt my lengthy Backlash recap to swing my arm back and give a big hard bitch-slap to those two fools over on that other wrestling comedy blog. You know the ones. And I was just getting in to a rhythm on the Backlash thing too. I was telling a tale about CM Punk’s sweat patches. Serious, hard-nosed journalism.
Despite my offer of free-love, Adam and Matt have opted to continue the scrap. They claim to have infiltrated my bunker (no, that’s not a euphemism) and have allegedly stolen my plans for the week. Poor effort, guys. On so many levels.
First of all, did you say you had a college education? Obviously neither of you have a degree in geography. You’ve seen me mention many a-time that I’m from Cardiff. YOU’RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION. Cardiff is NOT in England. Cardiff is the capital of WALES. In fact, the most offensive thing you could have done is call me English, and you didn’t even realise. The United Kingdom is made up of four regions: Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England. A diagram is required, I think.
Last time I had to give that geography lesson I was giving a guest talk on Great Britain to 5th graders in a New Jersey elementary school. For real.
Anyone with a dash of smarts could see that my supposed ‘To Do List’ is bogus. Reasons include:
- I would not discuss, braid the hair of, or draw anything horse and pony related. I had a terrifying experience with a horse that nearly trampled me as a child. They’re not my favourite animal. And I did not send in a Trojan horse to spy on and attack you either, if that’s what you’re implying. I wouldn’t be that obvious. I knows my Greek Mythology Orlando Bloom movies.
- That is a piss-poor attempt at sketching a pony. Seriously, nobody would believe my art skills are that awful. It’s got devil horns for ears and its body seems to resemble a coffee table.
- I haven’t braided my hair since I was about 11 years old.
- I am yet to see you prove that I stole your precious photo of Dave B. I don’t NEED your ideas. I’ve got plenty of my own. I haven’t seen you compare Edge to Hamlet lately. Now THAT’S some cultured shit.
- I had to Google ‘Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper’ to find out what it actually was. I am a sophisticated young woman. Do you REALLY think anyone would believe I own something this saccharine? Puh-lease.
Besides, even if I WERE to write anything I didn’t want you to see, I’d keep it in my Sheldon the Turtle Keyper from 1985. And I’m keeping the key in a place nobody will find it.
- You’ve used my obsession with tea drinking to fool readers in to believing this list belongs to me. Hardly a unique trait being that all British people are obsessed with tea. Had you said ‘Drink tea from a John Cena cup’, might have been more convincing.
Really, I’m impressed you went to the trouble of opening Microsoft Paint to knock that up. But you’ll have to get up earlier in the morning to get one over on me. And you’re already at a disadvantage, what with me living in the future and all.
You’re doubting my name is really Ray? I’ve already SAID it’s a shortened version of my full name. I think you’re just pissed off because you tried to add me as a friend on Facebook and couldn’t find me. Awww, if you wanna be friends that bad you should just have SAID something. I can email you my full name so you can find me on FB. The offer is there. Do with it what you will.
PS> I noticed you ‘took my lead’ on the whole make-up thing in your Backlash recap. I believe my Smackdown review had a cosmetics thread too. I’m flattered. Really. Just make sure you put my credits at the end of your post, ok? Cheers, lovelies.
Against my better judgement, I registered on Twitter on Sunday. I figured it would assist me in coming across other young ladies who think wrestlers are fit, and help to find other like-minded folks to share blog links with. So I went about my business, checking people out, clicking on the links to their websites.
As I was clicking through, wondering if I was the only one who got it that the WWE is not real life, I came across the boys at LOL, Wresslin’. Heeeey, they’re just like me, I thought. They too understand that the WWE is brilliant and absolutely hilarious, often for totally the wrong reasons. I scanned through their pages and LOLd at their adventures in wrestling. I even noticed that they stole the same picture of Dave Batista from WWE.com as I did. And, I put a link to them on the front page of my blog. I figured anyone who enjoyed my scribblings would enjoy theirs too. See, I’m nice like that.
I decided to make an attempt at strengthening that ‘special relationship’ between our two nations and extended a virtual hand of friendship.
I should have known better. Why? Because they are blokes. American Blokes. Competitive American Blokes. My boyfriend is American. And competitive. I should have recognised the type. Instead of being polite and returning the handshake, they did the virtual equivalent of this……..
Thanks guys. Boys! Urgh! Not only picking on a girl, but picking on the NEW girl. Shameful. What, do you punch kittens in the face just for kicks too?
They even had the cheek to suggest that I had ‘taken inspiration’ from them. Shocking! Especially as I didn’t even know they existed until Sunday. You really do give me no choice but to morph in to Supernanny and put you both on the naughty step until you learn how to behave yourselves.
My first reaction to being called out went a little something like this………………………………………..
……….and yes, I WAS drinking tea when I read it. Fo realz! At first I figured it was just some kind of ‘sarcasm initiation ceremony’. Like I was being inducted in to some form of blogging Hall of Fame by the Masters of Comedy. But then I’m not sure that Americans DO sarcasm and irony. At least, that’s the impression they give off when passing through US Border Control at several airports.
So then maybe I figured it was the internet equivalent of when boys yank on the pigtails of the girls they like in the playground….’cause girls are EEEEEWWWWW and if their buddies thought they liked a girl, well, they’d never let them take part in ‘recess Raw’ ever again.
Isn’t there enough room for all of us on the interwebz? I don’t wanna fight. I’m a Welsh rugby fan. You know how we roll, right? No? Oh ok, I’ll edumacate you.
Let’s make love, not war…..that’s my motto. I can’t make love by myself. Well, I can, but it’s never quite as satisfying on your own, is it? And besides, unless you plan on declaring John Cena as your number one shag-buddy choice, or you plan on doing this kind of shit……………….
we’re kind of singing from different wrestling hymn sheets, are we not?
Whaddaya say fellas? Group hug?
Sealed with a 1970s kiss of peace: