Extra, extra. Read all about it through online text that does not smudge your fingers when you touch the place on which it is written. CM Punk is your new World Heavyweight Champion. What in the world? The what is world what heavyweight whom? The sky is not blue? Water is not wet? Chavo Guerrero's follicle growth is not an optical illusion? I don't know anything anymore.
Yes, I am as shocked as you are. In fact, I am so shocked that I am currently providing enough electricity to power every outhouse light in some Eastern European village near Belarus. For the first time in the history of this site, World Wrestling Entertainment has proven The Swerved wrong; they have given CM Punk a chance on RAW. In an ironic twist, The Sweved has been swerved by the fine folks of Stamford who swerve like no swervers in professional wrestling. Before you readers claim that I am a fool-riddled fool from Foolgyslavia for my initial beliefs regarding CM Punk's career on Monday nights, let me tell you that I am not perfect. Unlike certain individuals who shall go unnamed because I have forgotten their full names, I can admit when I make mistakes. Then again, I'm pretty cool so I make less mistakes than the typical human being.
Now that I have that spectacular news out of the way, I promise that the supplemental draft picks for RAW, Smackdown, and ECW in the year 2008 will not be as successful as CM Punk. I hate to break it to the trillions of Deuce fans on this planet, but I do not see a hopeful tomorrow for that man nor any other performer from this insignificant draft. If you want to stick around to read my thoughts and predictions for the lucky class of 2008 rather than go outside and live your life, be my guest. Pull up that fancy chair you stole from your neighbour's patio, pour yourself a glass of lemonade made from garden hose water and discarded lemon rinds, and share a few magical moments with your favourite professional wrestling analyst of all-time. Then, when you're done with that business, let me yell and scream at you for a while. We will have a blast.
At Night of Champions, Mark Henry became the new ECW Champion, defeating the Big Show and Kane. If think that defeating the Big Show and Kane is an easy task, you must be mad. You see, the Big Show has hands like skillets. Have you ever tried to wrestle and defeat a man holding two skillets, let alone a guy who possesses two skillets in place of two hands? Sure, the Big Show will be able to cook you a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs with his palms, but if you want to Irish whip him into the ropes or into the corner, you'll have to wear a pair of oven mitts. Have you ever tried to wrestle an opponent with oven mitts? You will lose one thousand times out of one thousand. Likewise, Kane is just as frightening. On television, he appears to be an angry, hairless, albino, killing machine. If you're like me and you train with a mellow, hairy, tanned , pet-loving machine, you will lose to Kane two thousand times out of two thousand.
In the end, Mark Henry proved to be the best big man in Extreme Championship Wrestling. Step aside, Colin Delaney. Once you step aside, take another step aside, Colin Delaney. Like "The World's Strongest Man," you are a behemoth, but you're time on top is through. With Henry's move to the Land of Extreme, Mark will continue to assume the role of the big dude who is thrown out of battle royals like a hefty bag of garbage by nine other wrestlers. Somebody better put some butter or margarine on that top rope. Mark does not want to chafe himself while he tumbles over it.
The Verdict: WWE replaces the golden idol that is Big Daddy V with a small burlap bag of sand in the form of Mark Henry to counterbalance the weight on Tuesdays. The World's Strongest Man to ECW is a World's Strongest Slam on the moon -- without gravity, the move hurts nobody.
Do you want to know a secret? A secret is meant to be kept in a locked diary or a stuffed closet, but if you want secrets, you will get secrets. According to my super secret sources in the industry, Finlay loves to fight. Out of all the wonderful activities that are available to Finlay in this world, he loves fighting the most. In Finlay's mind, exciting activities such as baking, pottery, and adopting unwanted Chinese girls do not compare to the thrill of almost punching another man near the cheek. To each his own.
A move to Extreme Championship Wrestling provides Finlay with the opportunity to fight a whole new roster of men who like to fight as well. When you're a wrestler in ECW, you have two choices: fight or die. Actually, you have three choices: fight, die, or be Mike Knox. While the third choice is unappealing, the first and second choices are enticing. In World Wrestling Entertainment, you are not a lover or a fighter. If you are a lover, you are definitely in the wrong industry. What do you think is going to happen between you and Batista in that Hell in a Cell? Do you think that the cell will cause a broken elevator situation in which Dave Batista confesses his undying love for you? The number of ropes in an elevator is zero. How is Batista going to emote his feelings without a furious rope shake session?
The Verdict: Finlay on ECW freshens up both Finlay and ECW on Sci Fi. Finlay to ECW is a Celtic Cross into a pool of water that turns into a pool of Nestea. How refreshing.
It's a good thing that this random supplemental draft let Hornswoggle reunite with his father on ECW. Am I right, or am I righter than right? Sometimes draft lotteries can screw a professional wrestler over. In other cases, a onscreen family gains a second chance at onscreen, familial happiness. The next time I appear onscreen, I will be onscreen happy for them. I hope WWE has stocked up on tissues because I'm ready to shed onscreen tears. For those of you not in the business, I shed onscreen tears with the assistance of a panel of women who will criticize my looks. "You're too handsome. You're too attractive." Stop it. You don't even know me. You have turned my strong, steel heart into a clumsy pile of peanut brittle.
I'm not positive that the young children will take to this roster change in a kind way, but if you jingle a ring of shiny keys in their face, perhaps they will be too lost in the silvery sound to care. Now that Hornswoggle is extreme, kids could start to fear him once he drenches the his family's foes with a Super Soaker wrapped in barb wire. How does a Super Soaker wrapped in barb wire make the elaborate squirt gun extreme? For one, the Super Soaker will be wrapped in barb wire, which means that the Super Soaker will be difficult to hold. Hornswoggle will be like, "Ow, my tiny yet functional fingers have been mangled by these fang-like barbs. My part-time career as a famous hand model for children's jewellery is over." In response to his unfortunate injury, the fans will chant E-C-W. That Super Soaker is for you old ECW fanatics. You're welcome.
The Verdict: Hornswoggle to ECW is a convenient move, much like falling down the stairs and finding yourself at the Axe Body Spray Cottage where a girl in a bikini is waiting for you to lather her back with sunscreen, another girl in a bikini is waiting for you to drive a motor boat so she can water ski, and another girl in a bikini is waiting for you to help her with a two-man saw. Why do all these girls in bikinis want you to do work for them? You're on vacation for goodness sake. They should let you relax.
When you think about Super Crazy's career in WWE, you think about greatness. In the nonstop highlight reel that is Super Crazy in World Wrestling Entertainment, many memorable moments stand out. For instance, I recall that one time when Super Crazy said, "I'm super! I'm crazy! I'm Super Crazy!" In turn, Jim Duggan said, "Ho!" a lot. That was a hearty bowl of fun and laughter. Also, I remember when Super Crazy was Mexican and cool. Do you remember when Super Crazy was Mexican and cool? Do you remember when Super Crazy was one-third of the stable known as the Cool Mexican Landscapers? I do somehow.
Super Crazy came into WWE as a lean and promising high flyer, only to flounder in the company as a supposed competitor in a contest to determine what wrestler can stuff their bulging waistline in a pair of tights without exploding said tights the best. To my knowledge, definite props go out to Super Crazy. As of this writing, he is ranked third. If WWE wants to make something out of Super Crazy, this move could be beneficial for both the company and Mr. Crazy. On the other hand, they don’t so expect ECW to have little to no insanity to a excessive degree.
The Verdict: Super Crazy's jump to Extreme Championship Wrestling is not super or crazy. If you ask me, Super Crazy to ECW is a triple jump moonsault on Heat. I am well aware that Heat is no more, but the show would be resurrected just so negative two fans could witness Super Crazy execute a triple jump moonsault.
Why did Cade & Murdoch become ancient history? Out of Trevor’s many faults, Lance Cade hated Trevor Murdoch's singing the most. He did not think that Trevor Murdoch actually had friends in low places. In fact, Cade knew that Trevor Murdoch had acquaintances and other friendly peers at normal land elevations. When Murdoch sang about his knowledge about holding and folding cards, Cade called him a fraud. Trevor Murdoch was not a Five Card Stud player. Murdoch didn't even enjoy the unpredictable and exhilarating game that is Texas Hold 'Em. Thus, Lance Cade was not in the wrong when he sucker-punched Trevor Murdoch in the mouth. Trevor Murdoch had to go. He was the albatross around Lance Cade's neck. Although neck albatrosses are a daring fashion statement, Cade finds them to be an uncomfortable burden. Good riddance to Ol' Lemon Face, Cade said to no man or woman in particular.
As far as Murdoch goes, a jump to Smackdown might be just what the doctored ordered the double liar with pants afire. Friday nights present endless possibilities for the mean, no-nonsense, pale-skinned brawler from Tennessee. Why, Trevor Murdoch could be a future United States Champion. You are darn tooting whatever you toot. If he learns how to play card games, then plays the cards right in those card games, he could be a believable contender for the WWE Championship. Trevor Murdoch may not look the part of a superstar professional wrestler, but neither did Mick Foley. While Trevor Murdoch is not Mick Foley, he may be the next Mick Foley. In conclusion, Trevor Murdoch has tremendous potential. At WrestleMania XXV, don't be surprised to see Trevor Murdoch lock up with a WWE legend. Watch out, Triple H. Trevor Murdoch is coming for you.
Hold on. You're telling me that WWE released Trevor Murdoch? Nevermind.
The Verdict: Trevor Murdoch to Smackdown is an ugly Ace of Spades with too much spin in uncharted waters. This unfortunate mishap turns the move into a beautiful Canadian Destroyer in uncharted waters. This roster change does not show up on my nautical chart. Therefore, this jump never happened.
Department of Housing Smith, the son of the late British Bulldog, is arguably the least accomplished wrestler in WWE. One boring morning, let's say you leave your house to visit the grocery store. At one intersection, you make a left when you should make a right. On that route, you find a live WWE event in that area. Once you enter the arena and plop yourself down on a random seat, you will have done more for the company than D.H. Smith has done in his entire career. To be D.H. Smith in WWE is to exist as a wrestler with other wrestlers in a place which allows you to wrestle. You're doing God's work, D.H.
In my eyes, D.H. Smith's tenure on RAW never took place. When you have to wrestle Snitsky on Heat for a year, time stands still. In that stillness, D.H. Smith continued to be bland, but bland in a period that was not known to you nor I. Since D.H. Smith's RAW career did not exist, his move to Smackdown is a debut. If he ends up facing Vladimir Kozlov for a year, time will stand still again. In that stillness, D.H. Smith will be stuck in an infinite moment of suckage. If you have one sympathetic bone in your stick-thin body, you will wish that WWE partners D.H. Smith with Natalya to form a new generation of the Hart Foundation. This American and or Canadian Thanksgiving, steal as many wishbones as you can because D.H. Smith needs a miracle and a half.
The Verdict: D.H. Smith's success on Smackdown can be compared to a running power slam through a river of molasses. He’ll never get it done.
To my surprise, World Wrestling Entertainment re-invented "The World's Largest Love Machine" into a violent, unforgiving brute who took no prisoners. After all, he was a living person, not an actual prison. During his run on ECW, I wondered what was the inspiration behind Big Daddy V's mean streak. Was he mad because he had to wear suspenders? Was he perturbed because WWE did not let him wear silk pyjamas anymore? If you ask me, I like to believe that Big Daddy V transformed his unrequited love for Lilian Garcia into unbridled anger in the ring. Even though he ditched Lilian for every other lady on the planet, he only did so to make her jealous. Go ahead and consider Lilian Garcia's album a disaster, but those songs weren't for you. Deep down, they were for Viscera.
With this roster change, I am quite upset that Big Daddy V has to appear on Smackdown sans manager Matt Striker by his side. Without Matt Striker, what is Big Daddy V supposed to do? Speak for himself? I don't want Big Daddy V to speak at all. His anterior protuberances distract the average wrestling fan enough with their talents. Every version of Smackdown vs. RAW 08 has Big Daddy V's overall rating at a 96, two-thirds of which can be accredited to the charisma of his chest. If you allow Big Daddy V to speak, that rating will decrease. Hey look, you’re reading about nothing. You should be proud.
The Verdict: Big Daddy V's roster move to Smackdown is a Big Daddy V Drop, assisted by Lilian Garcia. How sweet and conclusive. May their love bloom like a rose garden during the first rain-kissed days of spring.
Why, World Wrestling Entertainment, why? You have forsaken me. To tell you the truth, I don't even want to know why you chose to break up London & Kendrick. What did they ever do to you? Did they put on exciting matches? How dare they. Shame on them. Did they wear masks that were too golden? That's horrible. I should phone their parents. Did they team up with Ashley Massaro or something? They did? Oh, right. In light of this recent revelation, I retract my entire argument. Carry on with your lives, gentle ladies and gentle men.
No matter what happens to Brian Kendrick (most likely failure), Paul London is a dead man on RAW. He's not even a cool dead man like the Undertaker or Bernie from the epic Weekend at Bernie's duology. As a whole, Paul London and Brian Kendrick function were a fantastic duo because if you combined both men together, you got some semblance of a full-grown person. The team was essentially a trench-coated Brian Kendrick on the shoulders of Paul London on their way to an R-rated film. If you separate Paul London and Brian Kendrick, the tallest man trick fails. Whether Brian Kendrick transforms himself into a superstar or not is up to Stamford's brightest and finest. If Brian Kendrick gains at least one victory over any Smackdown wrestler, he should be considered a tremendous success. He can beat freakin' Maryse for all I care because you know that Paul London isn't getting a win anytime soon. The day Paul London gets the win will be the day that the dinosaurs come back to life through cloning to attack humans in an Jurassic-themed amusement park. In the future, I plan to turn this idea into the movie. I shall call it "Pterodactyls and What Not in a Forest Area."
The Verdict: Brian Kendrick to the blue show is a sad day for the team of London & Kendrick. His jump to Smackdown is a Sliced Bread #2 to Paul London in an exploding butter factory. What a fiery, delicious end to two promising careers.
No matter what his entrance theme says, Shelton Benjamin is not unstoppable. Judging from his brief time on ECW, there are several ways to stop him. All you do is say, "Shelton, you're wrestling a two-minute match with Nunzio. Make it a classic." The fall of Shelton Benjamin has been as steep as can be. One day, you're beating Triple H in the middle of the ring. The next, you're sporting blonde hair. Could it get any worse for The Gold Standard? I do not blame WWE for his descent into the lower card abyss for I don't know what to do with him either. Reuniting The World's Greatest Tag Team didn't fly. Giving him a gimmick in which he compares himself to gold objects and concepts was a flop. Moving him to Smackdown will only make things worse. When he was on ECW, I didn't feel that bad for him because he was a mediocre, seldom seen superstar on a show that was only one hour long. On Smackdown, Shelton will be a mediocre, disappearing act on a two-hour show. You are kidding yourself if you think that Shelton will receive ten seconds of screen time on Fridays, let alone one minute of televised exposure in a throwaway match. Are you aware that Triple H is on Smackdown, too? He takes three Smackdowns to get a single point across.
Dear, World Wrestling Entertainment; please change Shelton's theme to one more appropriate to his standing on the card -- "Ain't No Losing To Me." Plus, make Shelton lose the blonde hair. He looks like a walking glass of Guinness. Wait a second. I smell a new gimmick -- Shelton Benjamin is a glass beverage holder.
The Verdict: Shelton Benjamin to Smackdown won't make him any better than before. This roster move is a T-Bone Suplex into a case of New Coke. It's the new real thing.
My life coach, Dr. Kevin, tells me that I need to stop complaining about Maria's loss of personality. Dr. Kevin insists that I should spend my time wisely, rather than waste hour after hour concerning myself with the careers of WWE Divas. For three years, Dr. Kevin has been my second conscience. Sometimes, I take on more tasks than I should. When I get the craving to become a professional wrestler, Dr. Kevin intervenes to assure me that I am simply hungry for food. Without Dr. Kevin, I would not be the writer I am today. I owe my life to this man. If a black-masked criminal attempted to shoot Dr. Kevin in the chest, I would most likely let the bullet strike him because I don't want icky red blood on my clean white shirt. Then, I would call the police with a heavy heart and a clean white shirt. With that said, Dr. Kevin is not always right. I feel too strongly about Maria's lack of character to let this injustice slide. Sorry, Dr. Kevin. This time, I'm on the side of Chendraa, my nutritionist.
Belated kudos to Maria for standing up to Santino, but do you recall what she was fighting for during their spat? Like millions of strong, independent women, Maria Kanellis fought for the right to get naked in a magazine. Does that make Maria a role model to you, especially when she had to shed her ditzy persona for the cause? Fathers, do you want your daughters to look up to such a lady? I say good day, Maria. Good day and good night. May you and your boring, pouty-faced self have fun competing for that girly Divas Title, a belt which I like to call "The Silver Monstrosity." Butterflies represent freedom, you say? Shut the shut up. A bald eagle represents freedom. A plastic bag caught in an updraft represents freedom. Free Willy represents freedom. Butterflies are lower back tattoos for women with minimum creativity and maximum skank potential.
The Verdict: Until Maria gains her old character back, the move to Smackdown does not rekindle the innocent feelings I once had for her. She is dead to me. Six feet underground. Maria to Friday nights is an ordinary DDT that ends up killing me, ever so slowly, on the inside.
On Carlito’s behalf, I have come up with a possible theory to explain his rollercoaster career in WWE. In the past few weeks, I have submitted my findings to numerous scientific journals. At county fairs and other gatherings, I have demonstrated my theory through intricate experiments in order to prove its validity. If you were unable to attend these demonstrations, let me tell you about my theory. As a warning, I will reveal this theory to you in confidence; do not leak this information to anyone else. To those of you who do not follow my orders, I will hunt you down, take your mail from your mailbox, open your mail without reading it, then return your mail back into your mailbox so you think that someone has taken your identity. Without further delay, my theory is the following: Carlito's success is inherently dependent on the size of his afro. Call me crazy. Call me insane in the membrane with a sugar cane and a tank of octane. If you really think about it, you will agree with me.
When Carlito debuted, he defeated John Cena for the United States Championship. On that night, his afro was enormous. When Carlito first showed up on RAW, he defeated Shelton Benjamin for the Intercontinental Championship. That Monday night, his afro was spectacular. Delve into your memory bank and recall the various time periods in which Carlito failed as a performer and wrestler. Do you remember what his afro looked like? With few exceptions, Carlito's afro was quite small, almost non-existent. At the height of Carlito's popularity, his hair was a breathtaking puff of milk chocolate delight. At the lowest point of Carlito's career, his hairdo was a measly Brillo pad of overwhelming grotesqueness.
Unlike the majority of wrestling fans, I still have faith in Carlito. If WWE wants to turn back the block to a better time when Carlito was "Caribbean" and "Cool," they must let his hair grow. Do not attack his hair with gleaming shears of judgment and ridicule. Nourish his hair. Let his hair grow like the wild sycamore tree.
The Verdict: In my opinion, Carlito should have never left Smackdown. He was doing so well, then he wasn’t. While the damage has been done, WWE can make things right with one simple move: give Carlito his afro back. Depending on WWE's treatment of the man, Carlito to Smackdown could either be a Backstabber that repairs the spine of a person with chronic back pain, or a Backstabber that breaks the spine of a person with no previous back pain problems. Choose wisely, WWE.
Don’t explain to me why Chuck Palumbo's hobby as a motorcycle enthusiast is an effective and entertaining gimmick because I will never understand its appeal. When Undertaker transformed from a undead zombie thing to a living motorcycle gearhead guy, I was not convinced nor impressed. I know that a wrestler's gimmick should be an exaggerated extension of his or her real-life personality, but that doesn’t mean that any hobby can become a gimmick. If Chuck Palumbo enjoyed model trains, WWE wouldn't turn him into a evil train conductor. As much as wrestling fans want an evil train conductor to grace their low- and high-definition televisions with his presence, evil train conductors do not work in professional wrestling. Take this statement from someone who has prayed every night for a wrestler to make his way to the ring via train, model or otherwise.
that Chuck Palumbo will ascend the RAW ladder to superstardom. The last time anyone cared for Palumbo was during his days with Billy Gunn as the ambiguously gay duo known as Billy & Chuck. Before their mock gay union, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation sent them a gravy boat as a wedding present. Unless Billy Gunn owns that gravy boat, I urge Chuck Palumbo to use it to his advantage. Though you cannot rule the world with a gravy boat, he will be laughing all the way to the top of WWE when Vince McMahon grants pushes to wrestlers based on gravy boat ownership.
The Verdict: Chuck Palumbo to RAW is equivalent to a swinging side slam from his motorcycle. You better learn to love road rash because Palumbo does nothing without his trusty motorcycle. He even showers with that motorcycle. He loves to shower with his motorcycle every day. In turn, the motorcycle showers in its underwear. That motorcycle is not so thrilled about showering with Chuck Palumbo.
A Big Daddy V-less Matt Striker is like peanut butter without chocolate, Ricky without Lucy, and professional wrestling without Flash Funk. The instant you break the ties between Big Daddy V and Matt Striker, the instant that the world comes tumbling down upon my muscular but fragile frame. Witnessing Big Daddy V and Matt Striker cause havoc on ECW was a comforting visual. No matter how the people and places changed before me, I could always count on the former Viscera and the former, disgraced Social Studies teacher as a constant sight on my television screen. Together, the two performers were an institution. When my future kids grew up, they would have not gone to school; rather, they would watched Big Daddy V and Matt Striker on ECW instead. Because their relationship is no more, I will be forced to put little RAWmond and Smackdownia in a dirty, decrepit public school. Thanks a lot, WWE. Or not.
World Wrestling Entertainment does not seem keen on Striker as a wrestler. I am not either, so I guess Matt Striker will end up as the manager for another talent. Looking at the RAW roster, I do not see a busty, dark-skinned, male giant that Striker can manage. What a sad yet true revelation. When WWE debuts a wrestler who goes by the name of Huge Uncle VI, you know who to call. Just flash the Bat signal in the sky. Batman will be the first to answer, but once he notices that the call is for me, I'll take over. Sorry. We share the same message retrieval service.
The Verdict: Matt Striker's move to RAW has no effect on anyone or anything. Striker to RAW is an inverted overdrive to a groggy opponent. Therefore, Matt Striker and his jump rules in an inverted fashion, if you know what I'm spraying.
On Smackdown, Jamie Noble seemed set for life. When he won the lottery, he said farewell to the four stacks of cinder blocks that held up his trailer and said hello to four functional wheels. During a better time, Jamie Noble was WWE Cruiserweight Champion, too. A few years ago, possessing that Cruiserweight Championship was similar to having an oversized golden key to the city. That Cruiserweight Championship got Jamie Noble into the finest fast food restaurants, the swankiest NASCAR events, and the classiest airport strip clubs known to modern man. In 2008, Jamie Noble has lost everything. Since he discarded those cinder blocks, he has to pay four kids in stale chocolate chip cookies to hold up his trailer for him. The days of lounging in the cleanest booth at KFC are over. No longer will Jamie smell the sweet scent of burning rubber from the front row at Talledega. And finally, Jamie's shortcomings has forced him to seek strip clubs away from the airport. Poor Jamie Noble.
Despite buying Michelle McCool dinner in a fancy backstage Italian restaurant, the ladies do not take kindly to his southern hospitality. Since Jamie is now a RAW superstar, he must realize that Michelle McCool and Smackdown women like her don’t eat food anyway. In order for Jamie to rejuvenate his struggling career, he must discover a woman on RAW who does eat a sandwich or two. Last week, Jamie wanted to impress Katie Lea Burchill, which got him in trouble with Kane. If Jamie is reading this informative piece, I want to tell him that he should not stop trying. Keep at it. Woo her with a mince meat pie or what have you. British women love terrible food. One time, a girl from the United Kingdom cooked me her favourite dish. Ten minutes into the meal, I found out that I was eating radishes and cement mix.
The Verdict: Jamie Noble's time on RAW will be beneficial, if and only if he is determined to get loving. Noble on Monday nights is a top rope guillotine legdrop into a European orgy. A few guys will be present, but simply refrain from making eye contact with them and you will be okay.
Though I enjoyed the tandem of Deuce and Domino as a couple of tough greasers from another time, I found their skills within the circle-y squared-circle square container to be lacking. Yes, greasers are not meant to be technical wrestling wizards, but they should be able to do more than simple kicks and punches. At the local diner, you would think that Deuce learned a suplex or two as he twisted and twirled Cherry during that sock hop for free milkshakes. In addition, you would think that Domino would take down lame squares in their lettermen jackets with moves other than those which involve his knee. Because the team of Deuce and Domino are no more, I have concluded that they were a poor wrestling team. Like the early days of La Résistance, Deuce and Domino coasted through their careers without executing a single wrestling move. I don't know whether to applaud or condemn them.
Unless Deuce gains a new tag team partner on RAW, he will have to compete as a singles wrestler. When I ponder the thought of Deuce wrestling solo, I get scared. You might as well trap me in a cave with a ravenous colony of bats. You might as well strip me naked, dip me in white chocolate pudding, and parade me through a male-only nuthouse. You might as well force me to watch Deuce wrestle in singles matches. Wait, what?
The Verdict: Deuce's roster change to RAW will be a beautiful disaster. In other words, this move will a Crack 'Em in the Mouth that shatters every other tooth in that mouth. In the end, that mouth should look like a checkered flag.
So far, Layla El's most noteworthy contribution to WWE programming has been her role as the talented third of the Extreme Exposé. As a former dancer for the Miami Heat, Layla El was automatically the best dancer of the group. Meanwhile, Kelly Kelly could backflip and backflip some more, which made her the second best dancer of the trio. Since nobody remembers Brooke Adams, I won't bother rating her. Of course, many of you do remember Brooke Adams' glorious backside, but one backside does not make a whole woman. After wowing fans weekly with energetic dances, constant backflips, and jiggly yet toned behinds, the group disbanded, leaving the three women without a thing to do.
Layla's jump to RAW bodes well for the admirers of her work who are too busy to take five minutes out of their week to watch her sneer at Kelly Kelly on Tuesdays. Unfortunately, I do not see Layla El as a competent challenger to the WWE Women's Champion in the near to distant future. If I had to guess, I predict that Layla will fill in the spot that Ashley Massaro left open with her departure. That spot is not noticeable to the naked eye. Furthermore, that spot may have never existed in the first place. Whatever the case may be, may Layla fill in that spot with dignity and class. See you every fourth week to shoot t-shirts into the crowd, Layla.
The Verdict: Layla's move to Mondays does not hinder ECW, nor does it improve RAW. Layla to RAW is a sexy dance move in a sexy bikini contest within an empty arena. If a lady does a sexy dance in a sexy bikini within an empty arena, does a confused preteen still feel tingly in his nether regions? The answer is debatable.
Before the draft, perhaps the lone bright spot of ECW on Sci Fi was Kofi Kingston. Whenever Kofi wrestled, you heard Tazz say, "Bo! Bo! Bo!" To hear a former tough guy emit such language from his mouth is a heavenly experience that everyone must seek in their lifetime. In my opinion, which is superior to others without question, Kofi Kingston is a charismatic version of Shelton Benjamin. Like you, I used to be a fan of Shelton, until I determined that he requires a fake mother to show his personality. On the other hand, Kofi doesn't need a fake parent. He can garner attention with the simple act of bouncing off ropes, stopping, shouting incomprehensible gibberish, then falling on another person. I cannot tell you how many times that bouncing off ropes, stopping, shouting incomprehensible gibberish, then falling on another person has worked for me. Why can't I tell you? Because my legal team wants me to zip it.
At Night of Champions, Kofi made an impact on RAW with a win over Chris Jericho. In the end, Shawn Michaels had to help him win. Also, Chris Jericho beat on him a whole bunch, but at least Kofi isn't Trevor Murdoch. Silver linings aplenty for one Kofi Kingston on Monday nights.
The Verdict: Kingston has already won the Intercontinental Title on RAW. Plus, he has green and yellow pyro, which means that somebody believes that Kofi is worthy of an elaborate fireworks display. Hence, Kofi Kingston to Monday nights is a Trouble in Paradise in paradise. Sure, you get kicked in the face, but you get kicked in the face while you're lounging around in a hammock on a peaceful Jamaican beach.
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