As of this writing, World Wrestling Entertainment is operating in panic mode in reaction to the smallness of Monday Night RAW's ratings. You'd think that this past week's episode was a smash hit, due to the main event which was made up of Randy Orton distracting John Cena by flailing his limbs like a overturned cockroach. In a study I read or may have dreamt, males in the 18-to-34-year-old demographic enjoy watching violence, sensual depictions of lady parts, and bug acting (in reverse order). Alas, no matter how hard they try, the current RAW talent cannot capture the hearts and minds of the people. S.S. Monday Night has a broken mast. Its sails are wilting on the decks of mediocrity. The crew plays violin as the passengers try to escape from the carnage on rafts. Women and children are first. We are all doomed.
But, are we really?
I may not be employed by Vince McMahon and WWE but I know what's good for the gander and the goose. If they want ratings to soar to the sky, all they have to do is ask the pilot to take them there (ex. me). Just because I am not a professional wrestler does not mean I have inadequate knowledge of the business. In fact, since I am so far removed from the wrestling industry, perhaps I have a measure of superior and innovative insight most valuable to the Stamford, Connecticut millionaires. Good television is rare these days. You have to weed through the garbage to get to the gold. Whether WWE cares to listen to me or not is irrevelant for every Swerved reader knows that I lead us to the gold every week. If they cannot see what an estimated 2.3 billion readers see, may they wallow in their mansions made of garbage with a garbage mailbox and a 2-car garage made of garbage for the remains of the garbage day.
For about a month, World Wrestling Entertainment needs to show vignettes on their programming involving the presentation of a can of mixed nuts. For example, one teaser will show a pair of white-gloved hands presenting the can on the silver platter to the audience. The next week, perhaps those same hands pop the lid slightly open but not all way. Up until the RAW season premiere in September, droves of fans and curious television viewers will crave mixed nuts; they will want to get inside that can as soon as possible, trying to claw their persons through the screen. Then, in the main event slot of the premiere, a final vignette is shown on the RAW titantron of the mixed nut can and a clock counting down its unveiling. Next, a man in a tuxedo with white-gloved hands appears atop the entranceway and opens the can. What happens? A snake pops out. Fans reactions include but are not limited to the following:
"Aw man, I thought there were nuts in there but it wasn't in there because a snake was in there. Nuts not being in there but a snake being in there makes me laugh and is entertaining because instead of nuts in there, there was a snake in there. Ah. I still feel like some mixed nuts. Let me see that can again. Oh, you got me once more."
"How did that snake do that? I've got to tune in next week and every week after that. Maybe they'll show me how that snake got there."
"Oh my, what an alarming surprise."
The next day, RAW's rating is a 10.1.
When RAW was at its peak in the late 1990s, performers such as The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin brought mega ratings via mega personas. Wrestling fans adored and admired these wrestlers for they brought a level of charisma and attitude to the grappling table that put past greats to shame. In addition to the two biggest names of the era, X-Pac brought amazingingity into our line of vision. He had educated feet and the patented Bronco Buster, now popularized by Mae Young. In addition to the aforementioned, his Hansen's Energy Drink ruled our world. In case you were not aware, X-Pac invented a new way to consume a beverage when he came down the aisle with a can of Hansen's Energy Drink in his tights. Halfway down to the ring, he would take out the can, take a drink, and grin in a refreshed and relieved manner. According to a friend of a friend of mine, X-Pac's drink, in reality, tasted like a stale caffeine boot.
Then again, according to X-Pac's actions, tucking objects into your pants makes terrible things more enjoyable.
Therefore, I propose to Vince McMahon and the USA Network to find a way to shrink Monday Night RAW broadcasts into a small enough broadcast so that we, as the collective wrestling community, may stick RAW in our respective pants. If we can leave it in there long enough, we too can partake in the same type of satisfaction X-Pac enjoyed when we take it out for a viewing. Thank you for this wonderful idea, X-Pac. Let the magic begin.
Bonnie Hammer, the wife of Arm &, and the President of the USA Network and Sci-Fi, is encouraging Vince McMahon to alter RAW from a two-hour live broadcast to a three-hour scripted punching and kicking extravaganza. In response, the writers of the show have sighed in exhaustion while Vince himself is tearing the plaid off his suit somehow. Surely, three-hours did not do WCW Monday Nitro any favours when it took the plunge into Almost-The-Length-Of-Titanicdom, but World Wrestling Entertainment is suffering from an acute case of bird flu; the only presciption is more bird flu.
If WWE is smart (they are and a half), they will change Monday Night RAW from a two-hour broadcast to a four-hour orgasmic opera. What I am asking for is John Cena and Triple H having two-hour debates about ham sandwiches and hair care management. If one Diva Search concludes, I want two more to start. Bring back every legend who is still upright and put them in the ring against eager up-and-comers. The last time we saw Jimmy Snuka, he moved around the ring like a rusty robot. Let's bring back that gracefulness. More Santino being possessed by Italian Spaghetti Sauce Commercial Actors of the 80s. More Daivari losing in his shiny parachute pants. More I say. I want Carlito's Cabana to return. The Iron Sheik should get his own psychiatric advice show called The Camel Couch. The Great Khali knows very little English if any at all, so why not bring him back to RAW for the five thousandth iteration and give him a cooking show? Every proposal in these two paragraphs is handing WWE a license to print billion dollar bills of gold on bars in bank vaults for life.
As Friday Night Smackdown prepares to broadcast in high definition, it is only fitting for Monday Night RAW to do the same. Since the beginning of time, wrestling audiences have complained about the fact that weekly programs are not clear and vivid enough to see the facial scars of their favourite superstars. I have received pleas from those within the wrestling spectrum to convince WWE to put Snitsky's cratered back in HD because it will allow viewers to engage in a simulated experience of walking on the moon. If you have always wanted to visit the big cheese globe in the sky, you can with high definition Gene Snitsky. Stick that flag in there and show them you've visited it. I bet his teeth are not simply yellow, but have an amber tinge as well. I cannot wait for HD wrestling.
Critics have criticized WWE with their criticism, critiquing their decision to switch to high definition programming. Although they claim that high definition may expose botched moves, grazed punches, and missed fists left undetected by low definition shows, I think HD is beneficial. You see, critics of the universe, HD could possibly sabotage fans' suspension of belief, but phantom moves and attacks are a good thing. For example, if one guy happens to take a swing at somebody, like a fellow wrestler perhaps, that individual can or cannot sue him depending on the outstanding evidence provided by the high definition visuals. I don't know about you, loyal reader, but I watch wrestling 71.2% of the time to if see if one person can sue another for something. I don't think I'm alone here.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. The time that World Wrestling Entertainment shifts to panic mode is the time to break open the In Case of Emergency Class Case and utilize Plan Z. If Vince McMahon and his crew feel a WWE show is being pulled into the vortex of suck, they need to reach deep down from within themselves for a solution. It may be a quick fix; it may not rectify the flaws of the company completely, but if they want their ratings, they must get them with fingertip reaching. Take the improbable situation of a Major Brothers versus Two No-Name Guys match in which fans react by sitting on their hands in REM sleep. Whatever the Major Brothers conjure up to show their personality and charisma to the audience does not excite the audience. They try to pump their fists in the air saying, "Yeah!" but the viewers continue to ignore them. They attempt to spark interest by executing front facelock after front facelock after side lock to no avail. Two No-Name Guys try to file for a name change but even they are met by the wall of crowd silence. What does WWE do? What can cure their ills?
Free candy for all.
Vince McMahon needs to show up during the dead segments and matches of his shows carrying sacks of jujubes, sour keys, Hershey's kisses, and Twizzlers over his shoulder. As long as he can throw candy far enough to the nosebleed seats, the audience in the arena and those at home will be mesmerized. The people at the event will want WWE to return as soon as possible so they may get their second dosage of free sugar. Cheap wrestling fans around the continent will line up at box offices the very next day to get their haul of complimentary candy sweetness. A bag of Hershey's kisses costs about one dollar, but the rewards are priceless. Free candy for all is but a small price to pay to get fans to love you once again. Plus, if another P.R. nightmare falls on WWE, even more candy for all. Jolly Ranchers for you, Nancy Grace. How about some Tootsie Rolls, Glenn Beck? Care for some Family Fun Size Snicker bars, Geraldo and or Bill O'Reilly? It's all good in the hood.
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