Toshiaki Koala

Batista did an Air Raid Crash at Wrestlemania. Though I guess that makes it even less likely that Burchill will be allowed to use it...

It's actually Matthew McGrory, although "McGory" would be a great last name for a horror actor.

This poll needs more Ernest Scared Stupid.

These liberal satirists have a great sense of humor! Unless... Nah.

Not to mention the fact that "Bigger, Longer, and Uncut" is an obvious reference to... well, you know. It's obvious.

Randy Orton vs. WHO!? I mean, don't get me wrong, I know perfectly well who Kamala is. But, what the fuck?

Was the toning-down of the violence in the Punisher game actually done to get an M rating? Because I've never heard of a game actually getting an AO rating for violence alone. In fact, if you check the ESRB's site, the only AO title that's entirely sex-free is an online casino CD-ROM, which of course allows the player to gamble with real money.

Not a big fan of his music, but it always annoyed me how Peace the Beanie Baby was really just the Garcia Beanie with an added peace sign on his chest. A little more effort would be appreciated, Ty!

Wait... WHAT!?!?

As well as one of the best wrestling matches in WWF history, a match that no doubt obliterates the masturbatory ego-fest Shawn would have given us.

Sorry, can't help... but it's a 0.4 Showster, if that.

Yeah, it does. I got Misawa too. I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

The Thing over Rosemary's Baby was a goddamned travesty.

I think you could fly the Spruce Goose through one of Cena's punches.

He's no Randy Savage, I guess. Or Tatanka. "I got the vibe from the tribe, so let me be brrrrrief... I'm the warrior Indian chief!"

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… SCOTT PUUUUUUH-REEETZLEEEER!” As Funyon’s introduction winds down, the vibrant opening notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony ring out over the arena. Scott Pretzler emerges from behind the curtain, his title belt freshly polished and wrapped around his waist. He is wearing his traditional blazer and white shirt, and it’s clear he hasn’t come here to wrestle – this doesn’t please the audience, though, because they immediately realize that he’s here to talk. He pauses on the stage, placing his hands on his hips and nodding to himself, before continuing down the ramp. He ignores the heated response of the crowd and focuses only on the ring ahead of him. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Here comes the man who went toe-to-toe with Toxxic – and nearly came out on top – in his last-ever match here in the SWF,” says Longdogger Pete. “And by all means should have won,” Suicide King retorts, “had Toxxic not His walk is slower, more strained, than usual, and from the way he carries himself it’s clear that the pain from his match with Toxxic has not worn off. Before he’s even entered the ring, the chants begin. “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” Upon entering the ring, he calls for a microphone, which Funyon hands over to him. “As you can see,” he begins, “I’m just not myself tonight. I’ve got a splitting headache, which is the very least of my problems, and I’m in no condition to wrestle here on Storm. But how can I be, after what I endured this Sunday at Ground Zero? After taking a Caffeine Bomb from the top rope, how I can one expect me not to be seeing colors and splattering the toilet bowl with a substance resembling cranberry sauce?” “Talk about too much information,” Pete mutters. “However, it was all worth it. Every bruise, every drop of blood… none of it was in vain. Because when the dust settled, it was I who emerged victorious.” “…What did he just say?” Pete is puzzled, as is the audience. “That’s right. Victorious. Oh, not in the literal, physical sense; Michael did indeed score the final pinfall. But on every other plane – moral, emotional, spiritual – he suffered a crushing defeat. He was a man of principle, you see. Alongside his ‘straight-edge’ beliefs (which are really just a hip, trendy variation on Christian conservatism), Michael Stephens made it a personal rule never to use illegal tactics to help himself win a match. His career in the SWF was shaped by, and in many ways founded upon, this philosophy – that cheating was a sign of weakness. And so it is.” “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” He pauses to allow the chant to die away, looking down and inspecting his cuff links while they drone on. “Needless to say, he was despised for this, as is any person in this business who dares to hold his beliefs paramount to the demands of the knuckle-dragging hordes. His attitude toward cheating stemmed mainly from his inferiority complex, as nothing he did was quite good enough to satisfy his own standards. The time came, though, when he had beaten everyone there was to beat. As much as he tried to delude himself, it just wasn’t possible anymore to pretend that he wasn’t any good. Those once-rigid standards began to relax.” “He didn’t need to pretend,” King snorts, immediately realizing the idiocy of his statement. “And so, when he stepped into the ring at Ground Zero, he faced a challenge too great to overcome on his own. I stood in virtually the same place where Toxxic had stood a year earlier – a rising star, an unstoppable force, with no object immovable enough to stand in my way. Neither one of us wanted this match to happen – as I’ve said, I truly wish that he could have remained close acquaintances, if not friends – but it had to. And when it did, it was clear that my shooting star was not going to fall just yet. If ever there was a time when Toxxic’s inferiority complex would have helped him, this was it.” The mention of the name sets off another chant: “TOXXXXX-IC!” “TOXXXXX-IC!” “No use, guys. He’s gone. But as I was saying… Toxxic’s inferiority complex was, in many ways, the only thing protecting him. Because anything other than total victory was as unacceptable as utter defeat, Toxxic was always forcing himself to improve, to be come more dominant than before. It was the competition with his own personality, not with others, that kept him fresh. Ironic, then, that this attitude had already faded when he met his match.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Had Michael lain down to defeat, he would be here tonight. Had he accepted that I was the better man, he would not have been forced to betray his principles. But he couldn’t do this, couldn’t admit this… because deep down, under all those self esteem issues, Toxxic was a bit of an egomaniac.” He straightens out his collar before continuing. “So he did the only thing that made sense, the only thing he could do: with the referee distracted, he called on the services of a foreign object to do the job he couldn’t do himself. Part of his justification may have been the fact that he was in his native country of Great Britain – a place where, no matter how evil his actions were, he could do no wrong. Maybe he thought that, because the crowd wanted to see it, it was the right thing to do. Quite a change of heart, I must say. But reasons are not important. The only thing that matters is the end result: Toxxic cheated, and in doing so he shat upon every virtue by which he had sworn in the past. No pinfall could bring such ruin.” “SHUT—THE—FUCK—UP!” “SHUT—THE—FUCK—UP!” “In a second. I have one more thought to share. What strikes me most about Toxxic’s actions – and this, I think, is why he couldn’t remain here – is how meretricious they were. Yes, he added another point to his record, but for what? To hold down and humiliate the man destined to carry this company on his shoulders? To make a fool of someone who gave him nothing but support until the moment Toxxic betrayed him? When one takes a look at what Michael Stephens once was, and what he became, it’s hard not to be glad he’s gone. “If only it had happened sooner, before a great legacy was despoiled.” He lowers the microphone and hands it to Funyon. Holding his head high, he exits the ring to a chorus of deafening boos and jeers. “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

May I call opening promo? ... I mean, I call opening promo!

Wow, up so early! I guess that means my crappy promo will be board-exclusive.

Wait... you mean the song mentions him, or he's actually in the song - as in rapping? If it's the second one, someone must upload it LAST WEEK.

Batista is a fun champ, and I enjoy watching him squash people. His ring skills may not be top-notch, but the guy just looks like a star, and his entrance never fails to bring a smile to my face. Well, maybe not an actual physical smile, but I like the guy. Cena just sucks and shouldn't even be at indy level right now.

If Tyson Tomko is the future of the WWE, then the WWE needs to be put out of its misery.

No, the saddest part is that it's probably better than what they'll actually end up using. After tonight's unveiling of Jillian, I lost all hope.

Well, which is it? "A simple mannequin-esque smooth body" or "nipples, penises, labia, and pubic hair?" Because there's a big difference. EDIT: And about the GTA controversy in Australia: why don't they just re-classify it with an R18+ rating? As far as I know, that rating can be applied to video games, although it never actually has been.

“Hello?” “Mr. Flesher?” “Maybe.” “Mr. Flesher, this is Scott Pretzler speaking,” “Ah, Scott. It’s a bit late, and Allis—look, could you call back tomorrow?” “I’d love to, but this really can’t wait.” “Alright, shoot.” “Toxxic spoke to you recently.” “Yes, he did. And?” “He asked you to change the stipulations of our match.” “He did that too. And…?” “I want them changed back.” “Changed back? Scott, you are aware that he asked for me to remove the No DQ and No Countout stipulations, right? Don’t ask me why, but it seems to me like he was trying to give you an advantage—“ “I’m aware of that, Mr. Flesher. I’m aware of every detail. And I don’t like it one bit. Even if he is trying to help me out – and I don’t see why he would, being such an incurable opportunist – it’s kind of like affirmative action, you know? When I do win, I want my victory to be pure and untainted, to come out of my own abilities and preparation rather than the efforts of my opponent to ‘level the playing field.’” “Well, he obviously has more insidious reasons than that.” “Certainly he does. It makes my skin crawl just to imagine what was running through his mind when he approached you. But that’s not important – all that matters is that you get the match’s rules restored to their original state.” “I’d love to help you out, Scott, but the show is tomorrow night! There is only so much I can do, and I’m afraid I’ve already done it. And… if I may speak confidentially… I think Toxxic is doing this because he doesn’t want to hurt you.” … “You know, Mr. Flesher, I’ve thought about that. And I have to say your theory holds some weight. However, there is one small problem.” “Which is…?” “It may very well be true that Toxxic doesn’t want to hurt me. But I want to hurt him. I implore you, Mr. Flesher. Don’t listen to that maniac. Change it back.” … “I’ll see what I can do... but I can promise you nothing. Good night, Scott.” “Good night, Mr. Flesher.”