Wrestling Noel, Opinions, Etc., 12.25.07

In Memoriam: Oscar Peterson, under whose hands the ungiving ivory keys and taut strings were merely a toy. Brilliant.

Thought I’d give you all a little Christmas present and make an appearance, for nothing makes a holiday like a visit from your favorite misanthropist. This is what’s called a “didn’t have to work on Monday and Doctor Who isn’t on until tonight so I have nothing to occupy myself other than scribbling out this mess” column. I have my priorities straight, even when those priorities involve Kylie Minogue. It’s going to be the perfect antidote to doing the family thing today. I just hope that I’m not looped from all the drugs I have to take to stand even a few hours with my family; that’d put a crimp in enjoying the show.

(And speaking of that subject, dear, dear, Misha, of course I obtained The Sarah Jane Adventures by the usual method. And I enjoyed it greatly. Of course, Sarah Jane was my first companion, and you never forget your first. Unless you’re completely blitzed on beer and high as a kite from some good weed, which was my case. Remember, kiddies, this was before AIDS, when we could do stuff like that. As for you, keep your head about you enough to put a condom over it.)

Ah, yes, Christmas, a time of happiness and joy and…oh, who am I kidding? This is the perfect storm. Christmas on a Tuesday, and Tuesdays are still mine regardless of temporary abdications. I hate Christmas. I hate sugary-sweet Peace On Earth stuff, moreso now that it aggravates my high blood sugar. I hate the Tribute To The Troops, which I feel is a patronizing sop by WWE designed to trigger goodwill among the mindless pseudo-right-wing cretins in their audience (and I can say that without any kind of repercussions because I’ve got a DD214 I can show off). I hate the wrestling audience in whole, right-wing or not. And I hate my readers. Therefore, I get to overdose on one of my main food groups: bile. And should you try to condemn me, that’s when I whip out the prescriptions for the anti-psychotics. I’ve EARNED my misanthropy, Seymour. My brain’s wired for it. It’s part of my autonomic nervous system. There ain’t no way you’re going to stop me. A stake through the heart won’t even work.

I’m a mean one, Mister Grinch. And I make said Seuss character look like a spaniel puppy. That’s because there is no heart in me to grow, just a singularity bleeding out Hawking radiation of hostility, 24/7/365(6; must take next year into account). It doesn’t take time off, even when I do.

Look, this world doesn’t deserve love and peace and goodwill among men. Time again ignores me for Man Of The Year in favor of the very model of a modern major dictator (but we did dodge a major bullet considering who the runners-up were; I’d either have to go into another diatribe about Florida in 2000 or restate my case about J. K. Rowling, her crap excuse for “literature”, and her deal with Satan). The New England Puswads still haven’t lost a game. The Ohio State Den Of Faggotry is one LSU meltdown from being national champions. The Bears jeopardized their possibility of an actual good quarterback in the draft by doing something I can’t criticize them for doing, beating the living snot out of the FudgePackers. The Bulls fired a perfectly good coach because they can’t get their feet out of their own way on the floor. I STILL haven’t been offered a permanent position with A Certain Soft-Drink Company’s Dry Foods Subsidiary, even after a recent reorg. Hitlary’s losing her lead. The Queen’s on YouTube, for god’s sake. We’re having to import dead Mexicans into our city, as if we don’t have enough live ones. And goddamn Billie Piper’s coming back to Who for three episodes. So screw you, world. You don’t deserve to live. If I could put you out of your misery, I would. God knows that all I need is a little enriched uranium. Think I’ll ask my bud Mahmoud if he could spare a little.

Pax vobis, my ass.

Look, what else can you expect from a person who purposely goes to Citgo so that he can financially support Hugo Chavez? A kiss under the mistletoe? The only time you’re going to get that is where you see me under it with trou dropped. Kiss that.

A few Christmas Pimps, then on to the fun…

THE PIMP SECTION

Vinny, put back Aaron where you found him, and do it gently. You know how fragile he is.

Aaron, put back Ditch where you found him, which should be somewhere west of Osaka.

Fingers, fix the link to the PDF file of the Impact script.

Perler, has Gwen Stefani ever been relevant? “Don’t Speak” is one of the most overrated singles of the past decade.

Of course, Stefani was more relevant than the sad rip-off band that McCann is reviewing. Yeah, says the guy who’s working on a dual review of James Taylor and Paul McCartney.

Nope, no real wrestling news, it being Christmas and all. So I’m forced to turn to the world at large, specifically the talks of two people who love to put on expensive dresses…

TOWN AND GOWN

The Pope looked quite fetching in his white and gold vestments, with that massive jeweled mitre adding just the proper touch of Liberace, as he gave his annual Urbi et Orbi speech. Did he talk about anything interesting?

Well, it was a typical non-offensive general speech. He mostly stuck to the topic of Peace On Earth, with heavy concentration on sub-Saharan Africa and, of course, the Middle East. Bloomberg’s report pointed out one major omission: he didn’t cite the troubles in Burma/Myanmar/Whatever The Dictatorship Is Calling It Today. Might he be a little jealous that non-Christian holy men have gone out into the vanguard in the attempt to bring that country true democracy? I really hope not. It’s hard enough convincing people around the world that we Catholics aren’t insular poopie-heads still upset about the Sixteenth Century.

He was a little more controversial during the sermon of the Midnight Mass, however. The Vatican’s really gone on a green kick lately, and Vater really went hard on environmental statements (something that extended to the Urbi et Orbi when he started talking about native Amazon tribes and how they’re under threat). Unfortunately, he didn’t cite anything actually coming from Christ on this topic. You’d think the Feeding Of The Multitudes might have a message in there about the possible disaster of overfishing, one of the factors that caused the extinction of the Yangtse river dolphin. He had to turn to St. Gregory of Nyssa and St. Anselm. At least he didn’t go all the way and start quoting Revelation. Of course, he usually leaves that for the Religious Reich in this country.

He also didn’t say anything about exactly how the Vatican was providing the power for the lights on the trees and the navitity scene. I’m certain that it’s coming from a renewable source. Purchasing more carbon offsets to do so is sort of like selling indulgences, and the Church got out of that business during the Counter-Reformation. Remember, people, Martin Luther would have pressed for driving hybrids.

All in all, not his best. No citing of obscure Byzantine emperors criticizing Islam, no condemnation of aggressor nations in specific. Of course, Christmas is a time not only for peace on Earth, but for peace in the family. No need to upset anyone during this festive time of year. Leave that for family gatherings.

RELATED VIDEOS: 18 YR LD BLONDE SCHOOLGIRL MASTERBTES 4 U!!!!111!1!!1eleventyone!!

So the Queen put her annual message to the world up on YouTube. Allow me to shake my head. No, it’s not because she wanted to definitively move into the 21st Century and take advantage of a distributed video infrastructure. It’s because of the company she keeps. I don’t patronize YouTube. This is only partially because I’m an old curmudgeon. It’s mostly because there’s nothing there I want to see. How many videos of guys lighting farts and being caught on the toilet by their drunk, moron roommates with cellphone video cameras can you watch (the recent political debate, of course, need not be brought up, as it was the apex of silly)? Honestly, I respect 4chan (another site I will not patronize even if you threaten to set my pubic hair on fire…wait, that’s another YouTube meme) more than I do YouTube. At least the /b/-tards aren’t pretending to be anything other than morons of the first degree. The site’s owner, on the other hand…leveled subscriptions and buying 7chan? Get real. You once had the critical mass of /b/-tards necessary for Stupidity Meltdown, and you lost it. Stop trying to get it back.

And how did a discussion about the Queen start verging into a discussion on /b/-tards? We know the Queen’s not one of them…at least I hope she’s not. Prince Harry, on the other hand…I wonder what odds Ladbrokes and William Hill have on that. They set odds on everything. I’m sure that it can’t be more than 3 to 1, though. He’s definitely the /b/-tard type. I guess the point is this: for fifty-five years, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Moutbatten-Windsor has been the living exemplar of dignity (something now even more apparent with Lady Bird Johnson gone). YouTube is a Dignity-Free Zone, even more so than this website, which is really saying something. The act of putting a video up there involves jettisoning your dignity permanently. And so the Queen has decided to do so. Don’t taze me, Brenda.

Come on, Eric, focus. Queen’s Annual Message, not /b/-tards. Stay on message and on the Message. Ooooh, what a time to be without medical insurance. Okay, center and focus. You’ll get your reward for doing so later today courtesy of the Doctor.

Ready? Ready. And after saying all that, I’ll still link to it. Mostly because I’m a sadist and hypocrite.

“The positive values of a happy family is one of the factors of human existence that has not changed.” With that one line, HM threw out a funny that’s going to beat anything on Catherine Tate’s special today (and, yes, I’m gearing up on acid blockers to withstand the assault of Hurricane Donna on my beloved Who). Let’s see, four kids, three divorces, two remarriages, and there’s finally a semblance of happy in the family. Well, if you don’t count the Duke and Duchess of Kent.

The heads of the Churches of Rome and England actually went on a common thread. The Vatican nativity scene was designed to remind everyone of the reason we call the carpenter barely above the poverty line, the unmarried teenage mother, and their bastard son The Holy Family. The Queen’s speech used said Holy Family as a linchpin, and both touched upon the theme of poverty in said family. If there were fangirls, they’d be squeeing right now, “BENNY/BRENDA OTP! REUNIFICATION!” In fact, I’m certain that somewhere out there, there are people who write porn about the Pope and the Queen. Rule 34 cannot be broken. The fact that both of them are octogenarians mean absolutely nothing to these people. The massive quantities of Dumbledore porn out there prove that.

“Everyone has a responsibility to care for the vulnerable.” Send a memo to Vince to tell him to stop the Tough Love routine on Literal Bastard, then. And burn that into Mark Henry’s head before he injures someone else. See, I knew I could link the Queen’s Message to wrestling somehow. Never bet against me, bitches. And since I feel excluded from society…okay, it’s by my own choice, but it’s still exclusion, heed the Queen’s message to help those in that position. I prefer cash, money orders, free swag from wrestling companies, and oral copulation.

Oh, hell, she brought up the troops. Hasn’t Gordo pulled them out completely yet? I mean, isn’t that why he’s PM now instead of Tony (and good on you for converting to the True Faith, Mistah Blair, but why didn’t you do it while in office?)? And, really, isn’t it the fault of the British that we’re in there in the first place? If they hadn’t screwed up in Afghanistan in the 1840s or boned the Iraqis on oil profits in the 1950s, wouldn’t those countries have been a more stable place these days? So, JJ, you want someone to blame that Purple Heart you got on, blame the Brits.

One of the best things about the message, though, was the framing element used. This is the 50th anniversary of the first Royal Message on television. The use of that first message in the intro and outro was skillfully done and well-matched to this year’s message. It also demonstrated a key fact: despite having two kids at that point, in 1957, the Queen was a hottie. I would have tapped that.

Okay, that’s just sick. One of those grandkids (my bet’s on Zara) is going to make her a great-grandmother soon. But if there’s a lesson to be learned from all those vintage porn sites on the Net, it’s that we didn’t invent hotties.

Oh, God, I’ve got to do something to get rid of this. Criticizing WWE’s blatant pandering? Might as well…

THE SHORT FORM

Match Results:

Chris Jericho over Randy Orton, Non-Title Match (DQ, High-Quality Speaker Boy-ference): You know, when some pissed-off investors threaten your wife’s life, something snaps in you. Your priorities tend to change a little, and you do things that you might not do in your best judgment. Like, for instance, ask your boss to release you from your cushy sinecure where you’ve gained more respect than you ever had in your career, change your schedule significantly, and take the risk of harming yourself permanently. That’s the only excuse that I can provide for Mistah Layfield’s current behavior. Either that, or he’s phenomenally stupid…no, he’s not stupid, we know that. Would “naive” be a better term? Or is this some kind of bizarre case of midlife crisis? Oh, God, John, see a shrink and get on some good drugs. It’s better than this.

Like you expect me to comment on a match featuring Randy Orton. Sure, yeah.

Jeffykins over Carly Colon (Pinfall, Swanton): There are just too many military/gay jokes to choose from. If I sat down and had to choose just one or two, this column wouldn’t be up until after New Years’. So, I shall defer and let your deviate imaginations take over. You bunch are far worse, and far more moronic, than I can ever be in this regard.

MickieLexis LaJames and Maria Kanelis versus Kelly Kelly and Layla (ND, Vince-ference followed by Cena Claus): They can even ruin T&A by interjecting Cena into the equation, can’t they? What will all the fourteen-year-olds of all ages do without Christmas Eve dreams of breasts dancing through their heads and hands moving toward their crotches?

Rey-Rey over Mark Henry…excuse me, what? (Pinfall, rollup): Yes, Christmas is supposed to be a time of fantasy. However, this goes waaaaaaay beyond any rational bounds of fantasy.

Trip ‘n Shawn over Jamalga and FudgePacker, Special Tag Main Event Only Made Special Because Of The Winners (Pinfall, Trip pins FudgePacker, Pedigree): Honestly, did anyone pay attention to this match? Disconnected from the current angles as it was (with the Flair/Trip match next week paramount among them), it was a Crowd-Pleaser and nothing more. That telegraphed the ending and who’d take the pin, because Jamalga’s still being protected for some reason. And this match lasted far too long. Of course, the DX Intro contributed to that heavily, and it was one of the dullest intros of that vein I’ve ever seen Trip give. Something tells me I didn’t need the anti-psychotics for a sleep aid.

Angle Developments:

Homicide Bomber: I never needed a suicide bomber to shut down a dining facility. After one of my inspections, they were begging for a suicide bomber to show up to relieve them of the pain. In fact, let me relate a delightful little Christmas story. There was one particular E-8 who ran five dining facilites at one post we inspected in Germany. He was a total pain to have to deal with. He was terrified of us, but tried to be Benny Ballsy and not show it. Well, working out of a hospital, we in Environmental Health received copies of the admission lists. On that admission list one of those days was that particular E-8. Of course, the admission lists contained the reason why someone was admitted. In his case, the eyes of myself and my partner opened very wide when we saw the word “hemmorhoids”. Ten minutes later, after we stopped laughing, we came up with an appropriate response. We went to the hospital PX, which had a flower shop. We ordered one single rose, specifying “thorns on”. We accompanied it with a small note saying, “You know where to stick this. Love, your health inspectors.” The next time he saw us, let us say that he wasn’t pleased, but he sure as hell treated us with more respect. Thus I provide you with yet another lesson on how to be a schmuck.

War Ain’t Over: So what’s worse, WWE desecrating John Lennon or WWE promoting Yoko Ono?

Ah, to hell with this. I’ll hit the gym tomorrow morning, have a relaxing three days at work with no one else there and nothing happening, make a little money, and endure the End Of Year Specials that all the shows are having. I’ll be back next week for my New Years’ Message To The World. This time, you had better listen.

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