Apparently, libraries gave us power, then work came and made us free. So swears the angry Welsh might of the Manic Street Preachers! BEWARE THE LEEK!
Whatever happened to them anyway?
Is there any better way to try and write a wrestling column than by pouring a pint, sticking Winamp on random, then being greeted by “Crank It Up” by the Young Stallions? You’ll notice that I’m not-really-but-yeah-actually-blaming this on Winamp rather than on myself for having so many peculiarly shiny wrestling songs on my hard drive. It keeps it hard, like what Eva did for Adolf. Bet you she shaved her bikini zone into the shape of his ‘tache.
Now – Michelle Branch. What? The? Fuck? Sweet misery you’re causing me, grannywanker…
Oh, it’s been one of those days/weeks. I’m off to browse around the wrestling section and see what reading material is available…
Daniels doesn’t want penalty shoot-outs in the World Cup Final, Will thinks they should keep them. I’ll have to side with Will on this one. Of course people will moan about penalties being an unfair way to lose but, hey, it isn’t like they didn’t know in advance that they could wind up in a shoot-out. It’s like a team losing 1-0 in 90 minutes and then complaining that it wasn’t fair that the other team scored and they didn’t and gosh darnit can we not just reach a conclusion over the winner of the match with a luncheon meeting? With moist cakes? And a big-bottomed French maid? Hmm, luvverly.
Stop calling! When someone doesn’t pick up the phone after ten bloody rings you HANG UP!
Daniels also seems to prefer watching “classic” matches on the MSG Network to watching any of the new material, but is still kind enough to point out the flaws in the older material. That’s sweet. The next time Saga starts rambling on about how much better everything was in his school days, I shall point out the fact that they also had Adolf & Friends merrily thwarting existence with giddy glee. Oh, old people.
I used HTML!
With all due apologies to Brashear, I cannot possibly avoid skim-reading any article about Los Conquistadors. And a tag line invoking the unholy name of Essa Rios is sadly misleading, making me sadly sad and sadly lacking in alternative sad-sounding words to use instead of sad.
Pandich looks back on another willful night of anti-nostalgia courtesy of ECW2. That show is quite trying. I like anti-things, as you can tell, but I love nostalgia so much I have constructed a bedroom around it. Who says girls are put off by a Transformers The Movie poster?
If you’ve seen that poster then you should notice that the Transformers are apparently standing on the smallest planet ever. If you’ve seen it in my bedroom then STOP CALLING!
Brilliant line from Pandich:
“Papa Shango never practiced Voodoo, Billy and Chuck weren’t gay, and Rob didn’t need to smoke pot.”
In order – bollocks he never, bollocks unleashed by one unto the other, and bollocks to this little word they call ‘need’.
But yes, it would be rather nice if they could be bothered to explain the Heyman heel turn. Since they still haven’t gotten around to explaining why Edge helped RVD beat Cena, I’m not expecting anything anytime soon.
TOP 5 REASONS EDGE HELPED RVD BEAT CENA:
1. The voice of Marvin Gaye that he hears in his head told him to do it. Then it told him that coffee would be a really good idea, then he chipped his tooth on the cup, then he needed to get a tooth job, then the anaesthetist messed up and gassed him so much that he was put into a coma, then Lita sold her tits and had him cryogenically frozen, then he was put into storage and used for practise by several aspiring new plastic surgeons, then he eventually thawed out by accident after the guard was distracted by a prolonged bowel disturbance, then he woke up, then he noticed that his entire body had changed as a result of all the surgery, then he freaked out, then he blew up the United Nations, then he threatened the Earth, then he blackmailed people into getting the secrets of time travel, then they caved in as a result of his frightening new mullet, then he went back to the 1990s, then he returned to his one true joy of professional wrestling, then he took to calling himself Chris Benoit. The moral of the story is: I forget. But don’t trust Marvin Gaye!
2. John Cena would not touch Edge’s bobby. It’s all he’s got. HE’S GOT HIS BOBBY! DO YOU HEAR ME, REAL RADIO??
3. Edge found out that Cena was the one driving the hummer and was none too pleased about it.
4. Cena was listening to Marvin Gaye backstage. Fanny.
5. Edge was drunk and past seeing sense by that point. After the show went off the air he put the motorcycle helmet back on, told one and all the was actually a little teapot – short AND stout – with a handle AND a spout – in song, then ran out through the fire exits in order to buy some crumpets (moist) that he could serve with his tea. Sadly, the nearby stores were clueless as to the existence of crumpets/destiny and he broke down in tears after seeing his seventh Starbucks in three blocks. He was then consoled by Organic Jim, who brewed him some very special tea using his very special sticks. This lowered his cholesterol and took him to a higher place known only to the pantheon of the immortals as Toronto. By bus.
Widro likes it short. Oh, say can you see… by the morn’s early plight… bladder bladder can’t get fatter, bladder bladder must get wetter, bladder bladder all’s well in ending well, cha-cha-cha.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“And you weren’t at all concerned with the fate of your hometown?”
off at ten and hope for the best. All right?”
flashing one hundred fifty miles per hour past his instructor. He pulled
The above is the single greatest bit of spam ever.
Why is it gay to eat Special K because there’s a picture of a woman in a bikini on the front but it is not gay to read Maxim because there’s a picture of a woman in a bikini on the front?
Koko B. Ware, your country needs you.
Lucard has Smackdown spoilers because he went to the show with that chick from the music section. Of course, at that time, they weren’t actually spoilers. I’m amazed he could remember what happened, or that anybody can when they go to these things. Anytime I’ve gone to a wrestling show I’ve wound up so emphatically intoxicated that I have difficulty remembering the difference between the little hand and the big hand and which is mine – and that was just after a regular ol’ two-and-a-bit hour show, not the four-hour extravaganza that is darkSmackECW.
Spoiler free Smackdown bitties…
All Hail King Booker…
Kennedy with cocks and Hardy with sucks…
Half of the tag team with the belts fights half of the other tag team…
Diva! Miz! GOLLYFUN!
The Undertaker earns his money by staring…
DAVE and Mark Henry turn a potential Jerry Springer into a mere Montel Williams…
The wee guy and the English guy refuse crumpets…
all hail bing kooker…
By the way, is this the greatest photo of all time?
Or is it this one?
Okay, this really isn’t fair since I am on staff and all but when I open up the Inside Pulse v2 Wrestling Zone main page it congratulates me on having won the hourly prize. Every time! Maybe it’s luck, maybe Widro’s making the cards fall in my direction, I don’t know and Judge Reinhold isn’t available to guide me, but thank you anyway, whatever you are. Too kind.
And try not to think about where Tenay’s right hand is going and whether or not it will make West smile open-mouthed.
I miss Billy Kidman’s WCW music. They should bring it back and give it to Shelton Bejeebus.
What else has gone up lately… Steve Murray! He thinks I’m more optimisticalistier now! Maybe I was [choose length of time] ago but ever since [choose complaint] and CALLING it required a fuller, swiggier belly of beer than I have time to constructifycon. Devastator inferior.
What is it with you Americans and your music videos? When did your ears connect to your eyes and refuse to let go of your minds?
Let’s see if I can pesimistrabot his Raw points…
(you’ll need to click and read his column to know what these points are, which involves using your eyes and not your ears, so the untrained might want to get adult supervision beforehand; it isn’t raining yet)
1. There’s no need to be surprised about Benjamin’s skills. Similarly, there’s no need to be surprised about Cena selling for him. They came up through the developmental ranks together and have no reason to dislike one another therefore, as professionals, they make one another look good in the ring. To paraphrase Foley, if you make a guy look like crap and then beat him then you merely beat a piece of crap rather than anybody talented.
2. You’re not still on the Lita wank shuttle are you?!
3. Sure, just keep up the Anti-Cena part and it’s all good.
4. Find Love?
5. I can’t possibly give a crap about the USA Network when I live in Scotland and have a PWTorrents account.
6. Oh great, more faux Scots. Until they hang, draw and quarter Mel Gibson, I’m not interested. Plus, the name just reminds me of the Headbangers. You remember when a whole load of strange people started jumping on the Headbangers wagon, right? And when the wheel came off and the horse was accidentally decapitated by that naively designed tunnel? Hmm-mm.
7. Okay, you win this one.
8. That’s such a hopeful statement that I can’t possibly correct/insult/mock/disparage it. Bless you, Steve. Can you tell me how Cena found that exact room in that exact hotel so quickly?
9. Not really much of a positive though, is it? More like noting Tony Blair isn’t angry about John Prescott being a dick than he is about people having the most blatant evidence to date about Prescott being a dick leaked to the media.
I would do the ECW2 part as well but nobody needs to read anymore about ECW2.
Nobody needs Courtney Love either but she’s out there, breathing.
Think about it.
Okay, so let’s see if there is anything whatsoever in the news…
Oh, wait, I posted all the news (bearing in mind I’m stumbling through this on Thursday… but I posted all that news on Monday… so what the pooch?).
But this did make me chuckle all over the internet.
Can WWE hire Zidane? Is Edge’s spear anything more than a headbut that narrowly misses? Could we hire Zidane to spear Lawler and Shirley Garbage to shit in his mouth and Russell Crowe to fill in on colour commentary for the One Night Only and ply him with beer and see what the hell happened next?
Yeah, there’s no news out there. The Flair/Show match is online but I’m simply not un-arsed to watch it on your behalf to talk about it on here. I seen them and their coffee (and it was… hot) back in WCW and have no desire to watch the fatter, wrinklier, sprinklier-with-tacks version eleven (ten? please be ten.) years later.
No, not even because Flair dared to attend an ECW(2) show… to get paid…
No, not even because Big Show was actually in a match people are calling “not hideous” for once… to get paid…
No, not even because the hive hype of the internet has seemingly turned this match into a must-see for the hard of hearing… to get paid…
No, not even because most of the people reading this that haven’t seen the match have probably already clicked on the link… to get paid…
No, not when I’m not getting paid…
Les ÃƒÆ’Ã‚Â©toiles contre les scintillements aucun score dessine.
What colour panties is Test wearing?
Let’s go with the obvious colour-related answer first of all, otherwise known as red. This would be as blatant a sign as a salty mouthwash that Test is currently trying to attract far more cock than is strictly necessary. Perhaps we are jumping to conclusions and the red is simply a way of pretending that he is spurting forth unmentionable fluid from his unmentionable nether regions, which shows a hitherto incomprehensible misunderstanding of the roles of genetalia and the way in which they can be employed by the sexes. Unless Bradshaw got there first, twice, seconds and umpteenth. If that’s the case we can but weep and pray to our holies that the red is nothing more than a fashion faux-pas on the same low level as being proud of coming from Liverpool.
Perhaps Test is wearing black panties. His testicles could be in mourning after Keibler’s departure – though I’m just happy I don’t have to separate i before e except after c but not including xyz. Can you see me? Invisible people have it ever so bad. Invisible testicles must surely have it even worse. Perhaps he wasn’t in mourning for Le Lady Leg after all but in mourning over his own dearly departed manhood, which was swallowed whole by a stagnant steroid storm and now only occasionally surfaces as part of his belly button. You put the humdrum in, you put the hard-on out, in, out, in, out, twinkle all about. You do the pokey pokey and you run aground, that’s what it’s got, with trout. Hey!
Nothing you can gay!
He could be wearing green panties. Ecologically sound, environmentally aware, green panties. They could even be made from hemp, the finest of the fine. But then we’d just run into difficulty with Rob and his roll-up duties. Hairs in the mouth. Salty flavoured scooby snacks. Nothing for Test to Protect & Comfort with later on. Nobody must see that, nobody must see that.
Blue panties? Gives a chilling impression perhaps, but could work with the right outfit. A little bit like Bo Peep, if you will. I’m sure that Test likes sheep. Not in that way, you filthy Kiwi bastard. In a lamb burger kinda way. That could be his new gimmick – dismembering cute animals on the way to the ring and eating them after his match. But, sadly, Sci Fi would not approve of such material unless there was a Zombie involved and, as we all should know, zombies prefer to eat brains. Test surely does not, because you are what you eat, and he might be woolly enough for the lamb, but his panties must certainly not be blue enough to let him down.
White panties! Cotton! Safe! No-Frill, No-Lace, No-Garter, No-Stocking! Granny panties? No, just regular. Maybe with a little logo on the front. A flower of some sort? A lilly? Yes! BREAKTHROUGH WE FOUND TEST’S PANTIES!
I clearly have to stop now and resume at a later date, when I have things to talk about and the capacity to talk about them.
Yes, that was three exclamation marks. Yes, I should probably be in the middle of some pink-covered jotter, sitting in a tree, kay eye kant men strew eight. Shove it, buddy. Fuckbubbles. Hatton. Oh, the memories! THE MEMORIES! SCREAM LIKE A STRAWBERRY PLUCKED FROM ITS VINE.
I finally got to see Superman Returns and the verdict is… fine. Not bad. Not great. Acceptable. Warrants neither heavy criticism nor glowing praise. Perhaps the giddy anticipation of our collective thumbs means that having them left locked firmly in the middle is much more of a disappointment than a relief, but that was the case with Singer’s first X-Men and his sequel was stellar, so keep those thumbs limber.
But, just because:
1. The music. George Lucas can mess with Star Wars to his heart’s content, yet even he knows that you just cannot tinker with the perfect, iconic opening theme. The same applies to Bryan Singer and this new Superman movie franchise. As soon as you hear the opening strains of John Williams’ emphatically marvellous score, you know exactly what is coming. Even better, they kept the same font and swooshing effect for the opening credits (though thankfully didn’t drag them out quite so long as Richard Donner did). I marked out plenty when they used it in Smallville; it was a real trial to sit in my seat in the cinema and not leap to my feet, screeching along with it. Some songs can still turn you into a six year-old; this is one of them.
2. The kid. Played by one Tristan Lake Leabu, who managed to walk the very fine line of being sweet and funny without turning into an overbearing and irritating presence that you end up actively wishing harm on (Dakota Fanning in War Of The Worlds, for instance). Even during the big reveal in the piano scene he simply came across as a natural kid, unsteady and unsure but ever so curious and honestly innocent. Since the character will no doubt be a pivotal part of the sequel(s), this bodes well.
3. The effects. Faux-Krypton Island? Mandatory Action Comics #1 homage? Plane crashing into the middle of a baseball game? The Daily Planet sign tumbling off the roof? The sea-plane rescue drama? The X-ray vision? I could carry on listing more of the mesmerising techniques, but let’s just say that the controversial $204 million budget was at least spent very well.
4. The bit at the end. You know – Superman flies up into space, heads round the Earth, looks to the right, looks to the left, looks at the camera, almost smiles, then soars away? Maybe they shouldn’t have tried to recreate such a definitive Chistopher Reeve moment but, like the theme, it just felt right.
5. James Marsden. Yet another comic book adaptation in which his character doesn’t quite get the girl (and I can’t have been the only one that expected him to successfully try ‘Wolverine’ as the password on Lois’ laptop, then perhaps start greeting) but, unlike his Cyclops, Richard White was actually established as a worthy character and a decent man in his own right. Possibly my favourite part of the script was the little exchange between him and Lois when he rescued them from Luthor’s sinking ship (Her: “How did you get here?” Him: “I flew.”). He is just bland enough so that we’re not about to start rooting for him over Clark Kent, but at the same time just genuine enough that we don’t want to see him hurt by losing his partner and son, who he risked everything for in the face of unparalleled danger. In fact, he was far braver than the powerless Superman proved to be. Racing into certain death to try and protect your family or staggering around helpless without so much as raising a fist at Luthor’s goons? Which is the bigger inspiration?
6. Kevin Spacey. Honestly, I am in awe at the way they played this depiction of Lex Luthor. If you came into this expecting the either the tongue-in-cheek Gene Hackman version or the subversive and understated Michael Rosenbaum version or something individual, you were not disappointed. We are thankfully spared the burden of him monologuing his angst, yet it is evident in his eyes and his body language, spilling through the cracks of his slowly dwindling business-class cool at all the right moments. On top of this, Spacey brings his customary, and in this case fitting, dry wit to the role. You’ll believe a man can fly; Luthor will believe it should be him.
7. Brandon Routh. A little far down on the list perhaps, but this isn’t meant to be in any sort of definitive order. Anyway, Routh makes for a tremendous Superman. His Clark Kent is nothing to write home about, however. It’s not exactly as noticeable as the Dean Cain version but he just didn’t quite make the character weak enough to make it believable that nobody would recognise him, not even Lois in the hospital scene. He absolutely did make the role of Superman his own though. No, nobody will ever match Christopher Reeve, but that doesn’t mean Routh cannot carve out his own distinct take on the role. The tone of his voice, the look he gives the man that shot him umpteen times, the exuded calm in the aftermath of the plane/shuttle/stadium near-disaster and, above all else, the “father becomes the son… and the son… the father” moment at the end. Oh, and the costume was just dandy so go pick nits elsewhere.
8. The look on Martha Kent’s face as she stands with the masses outside the hospital, unable to tend to her critically wounded boy. Heartbreaking.
9. Marlon Brando! Who wanted Anthony Hopkins anyway?
1. Kate Bosworth. Okay, it is more a fault of the script than of the actress but, really, is this the best they could do? They tried to take the quirky, headstrong, independent Margot Kidder version and have her struggle to come to terms with having her own family but succeeded only in making her look selfish and petty, substituting herself for the world in her “Why the world does/doesn’t need Superman” rants. One little disagreement with Perry White and one little spelling error does not a Lois Lane make. Treating her fiance like a worthless dolt does not a Lois Lane make. Foolishly bringing her fragile five year-old child with her into the dodgiest of potentially dodgy situations does not a Lois Lane make. And at the end of it all, what is her big development? Deciding not to smoke. Well, yikes. Things are bad when Teri Hatcher looks to have been a better Lois.
2. The sequel status. Okay, so we’ve all heard the term “unofficial sequel” by now, yet a little clarification would be nice. We are led to believe that Superman and Lois conceived the child in Superman II, when he lost his powers. However, at the end of that movie, Lois had her memory of Clark’s identity removed, which means that she should have no recollection of the event since she went to bed with Clark and not Superman. This would mean that she just found herself mysteriously pregnant one day. Did she just think that Superman must have done something very quickly in her sleep? She certainly shows no sign of knowing who Clark is in the new movie, so she obviously doesn’t think the child is his. To be fair, we don’t actually hear her say that her son’s father is Superman. Perhaps she just whispered that the kid has super-powers too. Perhaps we need clarification on all of this in the sequel.
3. The absence. Why the hell did he turn up in a Kryptonian ship? How the hell did he fit into it considering it was baby-sized? When the hell did he learn to fly it? Since when does Superman need a ship to fly in space? Most confusing.
4. The return. Obviously the concept of Superman coming back to Earth and resuming his role as a saviour is the driving force behind this film. It’s a shame then that they rushed his return so much it felt rather hollow. It would have had far more impact had they actually taken a little time to show how the world had changed for the worse in his absence. We are told many times about Lex Luthor’s trial and how Superman’s failure to attend it led to his release. Could they not have put this in at the start of the movie? We hear Superman say that he hears millions crying out for help all over the world, every day. Could they not have made this evident somehow? What little we seen of this world, which was mainly Metropolis, did not seem to be in bad shape at all. In fact, it seemed rather prosperous. I understand not wanting to burden the franchise with political weight, yet a few brief scenes about rising crime figures, terrorist activity, poverty and suchlike would have made Superman’s presence seem vital rather than optional. He dropped “the American way” but never seemed to pick up the rest. Maybe Singer should have kept the Ground Zero scene in after all.
5. The plot. Was there one? Again, for a two-and-a-half-hour movie, things were too hasty in all the wrong places. Luthor’s reason for concocting his evil scheme is, um, the fact that he is Lex Luthor and therefore must have an evil scheme (that and the symbolism of Supermand hurling it into space, which will no doubt come back to haunt him in future installments). After Superman saves the day, following a rather lame confrontation with Luthor and a Lois-led rescue that really irked, the hospital scene feels wholly unnecessary and drags on for far too long. And I’d really like to know how the doctors got his costume off without tearing it (or how those bullets from earlier didn’t pierce the costume). The first act takes about ten minutes, the third act about forty-five and split jarringly in half, leaving the longest second act in recent memory to pad it out.
6. The script. Things were far too serious for their own good most of the time. Luthor had plenty of subtle humour in his scenes, the bit with the dog was spot-on, and there were a couple of chuckle-worthy moments later on (the burrito scene, for instance) but for the most part the film came across as leaden, po-faced and ever-so-slightly pompous. Yes, Superman could be an allegory for Christ, we get it. Still doesn’t compare to Superman getting a little girl’s cat out of a tree for her (or the black comedy of the girl getting a smack from her parents after he flew off).
7. The logic. Obviously in a superhero movie there is a lot that needs to be taken in good faith. I mentioned above about the magically unharmed costume, which is one. In a completely different league of illogic, however, was Superman being so weakened by being in the presence of Kryptonite that Luthor could deck him with a single punch… then not long after that being able to lift an entire island embedded with Kryptonite and chuck it into space. In short – huh?
8. The stalking. Superman should not invade people’s privacy to the extent of floating outside their home, using his X-ray vision to watch them in secret. Thank goodness Lois wasn’t on the toilet. And even though it was a tremendously well-acted scene, his chat with the kid was still rather creepy. Wouldn’t Lois have anything to say about a man coming out of her son’s bedroom in the middle of the night? Or is she, as all evidence seems to suggest, simply not that keen on being a mother?
So, there you have it. The score winds up being 9-8 in favour of The Good. Not bad, is it?
Could certainly have lived without being propositioned by some random Caribbean bloke on the walk home though.
Rumour has it that there is yet another TNA PPV on this weekend. I urge you all not to buy it.
This has nothing to do with the WWE vs. TNA “rivalry” that some very hopeful people have convinced themselves exists. This is just because there is no point whatsoever in spending money on this event, the most blatant example of a one-match-card that I’ve seen in a long time. Hell, it isn’t even a title match, just a number one contender’s outing.
The main problem with TNA at this juncture is that we all know we will eventually wind up with Joe chopping the shit out of Jarrett to win the title (and if this doesn’t happen then I will never watch the product again, unless Jarrett leaves) but that we won’t see it until October because they are so desperate to get Bound For Glory over as “their WrestleMania”. That has to be one of the most deluded ideas they’ve had since the Johnsons. Their own WrestleMania? Hell, WrestleMania is bigger than WWE itself nowadays. How is any other promotion supposed to match it, let alone one that has still to break the 2.0 rating barrier? I know of several people that don’t give a crap about following WWE but will still check out WrestleMania. Bound For Glory, as exhilirating a name as that clearly must be, will be bought by the same 30-40,000 people that buy all the other PPVs they put on. At least this year’s event will take place in Detroit, which shows they are baby-stepping in the right direction with some things.
So if we don’t get Joe/Jarrett until then, that means there are still another two PPVs for them to clog up before the Big Friendly Giant strolls into town. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what direction Christian is going in, which will no doubt be helped along by Sting winning the match at Victory Road. This gives us the gosh-darn-golly excitement of Sting/Jarrett for the title at, um, Hard Justice. I guess it’s better than Floppy Equity, but not by much. This leaves room for either another Joe/Steiner brawl or a Joe/Christian match of some description. Either way, we’ll probably wind up with a Jarrett/Sting/Christian triple threat at the September PPV, called… I have to look this up… oooh, the tension… here we go… called… No Surrender! My, my, how… resilient. I must now give you money. They might put that second Joe/Steiner brawl onto this show instead, since there really aren’t many more options for Joe until he’s champion. Perhaps a fight with Abyss might be of benefit, fully establishing his post-X Division credentials and setting up a title match for later? However we get there, it has to be Joe/Jarrett and Sting/Christian for TNA’s WrestleMania. Sadly, this means that the strung-out shows in-between are left looking like TNA’s In Your House.
And what else is there on Victory Road? A couple of six-man tag matches featuring the finest of the most stagnant, yet largest, tag team division in North America at the moment… Nash doing something lazy… Nash doing something amusing… other stuff… Oh, Raven might be wrestling with his belly and losing his hair again. When will they realise that a) Raven should not be wrestling anymore, b) Don West is beyond annoying and into his own realm of irritance, and c) there is a joint solution to these problems?
TNA – wait for Joe to get the belt.
Smackdown – wait for DAVE to get the belt.
Raw – wait for anything else to watch.
Let’s see what else might be out there in Inside Pulse Wrestling Zone Version 2.0 by now…
Duuuuuuuude Luv…. duuuuuuude luv….
Speaking of which, Hepple has Smackdown covered, expanding greatly upon the spoilers above, which are no longer spoilers and thus serve no purpose for this plane. To the laboratory!
Neeley does Impact like the salt-stenched hardened slut that he could be. By this point he is probably have a grand old time melting into hysterics in an airport lounge somewhere, lamenting his inability to tolerate the intolerable. It’s okay man, we feel the pain, really we do. The only solution to airport blues is to come prepared with decent reading material. I’ve got some John Barth at the moment because everybody should.
Oh, and there’s some stuff about Impact there too, of course. If I could be arsed then I’d be a different person. Neeley, perhaps.
Ditch! Japan! Fight!
Clark (and extra Ditch) (and extra Japan) (and fight! fight! fight! for queer and cunt!)
Blatt puts forward the quite reasonable proposition that WWE is missing out by not putting their shows up on iTunes like TNA is with Impact. It certainly couldn’t hurt them to put up some of their old material.
Who actually watches video on their iPod anyway? What the bloody hell is the point? I have a 42″ TV, I don’t want to be restricted to a 2″ screen just because I’m “on the move”. How bored does it all have to be to warrant taking TV with you anyway?
And there’s not a jot of owt else going on, though Hevia’s news item about how “The return of Dave Batista on Friday led Smackdown to an 18% increase in Hispanic viewers last week.” brought out some chucklies in my sweaty Saturday state.
DAVE. Hispanics love him. Buy the Bash!
There’s one thing that I’m going to try and if it plays out as planned then, great. If not then there will be