If you do not read magazines, you are not human. Magazines are informative, witty, revealing, and engrossing. For instance, I would read a magazine over a pop-up book. In my opinion, pop-up books are pretentious. On the other hand, magazines never think they are better than you. They are great like that.
This week, I continue my perusal of the first installment of WCW/NWO Magazine from May 1998. The year 1998 represented the good old days of professional wrestling. We had World Championship Wrestling, the World Wrestling Federation, Extreme Championship Wrestling, and Battle Dome one year later. The moon pie costed much less than does it now. Today, moon pies are one-hundred-thousand dollars each and teen pregnancy runs rampant because of it. I hate moon pies and teen pregancy. What a terrible combination.
I cannot help but weep at the sight of this magazine. What has happened to wrestling? What has happened to us? Everything used to be so amazing. Time is a cruel and slutty mistress. In the cockles of my heart, Lodi holds a sign that says, "I miss you, World Championship Wrestling." Never let that sign fall, Lodi. Take off your goggles so you may do this job properly. There you go.
Mark Madden calls himself "The King of all Wrestling Media." Is that what a king is supposed to look like? If so, I wish to be a lowly peasant of wrestling media. I will comb my hair with straw and eat live pigeons whole.
Mark Madden hails Booker T as if he was some sort of king ("He's got the look. He's got the rap. He's got the size. I smell money.") I want to say that World Wrestling Entertainment took this kingly idea from Mark Madden and ran with it, but they didn't. Nobody took anything from Mark Madden. The only thing that happened during Mark Madden's career in World Championship Wrestling was "Mean" Gene Okerlund. How did you like a face full of Okerlund Magic, Madden? You got beat something fierce in 2000. Pamela Paulshock got you too. Go ahead and host your radio talk shows, sir. I have no use for you anymore. Spinaroonie your mullet and get out of here.
Scotty Riggs has an opinion. I am ambivalent to Scotty Riggs, but I think he may have some important things to say. Your favourite finisher is Raven's DDT? Well, I'm an admirer too. Good work, Riggs. Although, if you ever express your opinion on depth perception, I will ignore you. Now, what does Scotty Riggs know about depth perception? He is wearing an eye patch. He does not know Jack nor Jill about depth perception. If anything, Riggs should put a second eye patch over his other eye. There will be no benefit in wearing a second eye patch. I just want to see him do it.
Riggs needs to gain my love somehow. Another eye patch will do the trick. He is my eigth favourite member of the WCW incarnation of Raven's Flock, but I'm sure he wants to move up in the ranks. Sick Boy is number seven because I pity whatever illness he has within his body. Here's to a speedy recovery, Sick Boy. May you one day become Healthy Man.
"Das Wunderkind" Alex Wright talks about a 1997 Thanksgiving Nitro match in which Prince Iaukea gave him his fourth concussion of that year. Say what you will about Alex Wright, but he had talent and a strange helping of charisma. When I win the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes next year, you know how I will celebrate? I will do the Alex Wright Dance for one hour straight. While Prince Iaukea didn't mean to hurt him, I shudder and shiver to think would happen to my world if he did. As penance for his violent attempt, I would have sentenced him to five years under the Alex Wright gimmick. If you take Wright's greatness away, I will force his greatness upon you. Let that be a less to Prince No Shoes and all you wrestling fans out there who are anti-Wright.
When I wish upon a star, I wish for Alex Wright to debut in World Wrestling Entertainment. May McMahon's wrestling arena become his sleazy, homoerotic, German dance club. May he bring Queen Debra along for no apparent reason. I am wearing full attire tonight, but tomorrow, I will don neon speedos and a leather jacket (business casual attire) in homage to the man. Let this happen, Earth. Let me live in the dream.
I think that WCW vs. NWO World Tour was a great game, but how am I supposed to look "sweeeeet" with it? I love 3D polygons and all, but how do I wear a wrestling game? I looked through the manual, only to find ways to play the game but not instructions on how to put it on my person. Below this game is a picture of Buff Bagwell wearing a very stylish and snazzy Gatsby Hat. Yes, he looks mighty Buff and Bagwellish in that hat. Then again, if he put a WCW vs. NWO World Tour cartridge on his head, he'd look like a fool. A fool with poor fashion sense. A fool without a Nintendo 64 console.
To the middle right of the page, my eyes fixate on the Outsiders Pin Set:
"The Black and White Express is proud to present this limited edition and numbered Outsiders pin set. They're going fast ance [sic] there [sic] gone, that's all sucker!"
Fifteen dollars? I better get one because they're going fast like an ance. Fifteen dollars is change for a chumpanzee when you get pins featuring Scott Hall and Kevin Nash in return. At the time (12 years young,) I would've given the Scott Hall pin to my best friend Luke. He was unsure if it was definitely cool or definitely not cool to drip white paint all over your clothes. Check out Scott Hall's attire, man. It's cooler than cool. Don't wipe that white paint off. Let it sit there for a while. Then, I would've handed over the Kevin Nash pin to my English teacher Mr. French. You see, Mr. French, play is an adjective because Kevin Nash said it was. Finally, I would've presented the Outsiders pin of Hall and Nash to my love Jenny. The bond between you and I made us the Outsiders of this Insider World. May we share this container of Dunkaroos forever, my "sweeeeet" treasure. May Hollywood Hogan marry us at a future NWO Monday Nitro:
Hogan: "Will you take this girl as your lawfully wedded wife '4 Lyfe'?"
Me: "Yes. With this Wolfpac hand gesture, I thee wed."
Our reception will be at the Nitro Grill.
Chris Jericho reflects on his career leading up to his reign as WCW Cruiserweight Champion. I don't think I need to read his book anymore. I see this entire life story on this page:
Age 10: Posed for a school picture.
Age 27: He grew up a lot. He also looked scary in purple, white, and green wrestling tights.
Age 8: Travelled to the days of his youth to pose as a hockey player.
Age 18: He grew back up, but not enough. Jericho posed for a photograph on his way to the prom. He had red eyes because he was working part-time as a man possessed.
Age 27: He continued to toy with time. The time-space continuum is not a plaything, Christopher. He defeated Juventud Guerrera, kept his Cruiserweight Title, took Juventud's mask, then stuck out his tongue. His life dream of sticking out his tongue for a picture was fulfilled.
Age 28: He won a plaque. World Championship Wrestling enjoyed his time-travelling adventures with Ralphus.
Age 15: Jericho met Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat. I envision a dragon riding a steamboat. This image is amusing but highly impossible.
If Chris Jericho returns with a finishing move that involves a dragon breathing fire from a nearby steamboat as Jericho suplexes his opponent into the fire, all of you owe me a potluck dinner. Nothing from Thailand, please.
Randy gets a trophy which can be seen at the bottom left of this page. Randy Savage is the man sitting in the chair. I don't know about you, but when first I saw this picture, I thought Randy was this guy named Rick I know from college. Fortunately, Rick wears a "Badness" bandana, so I could tell the difference.
In the upper right hand corner, Randy Savage celebrates his award with Grimace by his side. Together they stand in a library--the safe haven of all members of the New World Order. Somewhere in the back, Scott Norton is reading Danielle Steel. Now, to the matter at hand: Savage and Grimace. You son of a mother. Grimace refuses to take my calls. I am a big fan of you, Macho Man, but I am starting to wonder if you are worth the praise. First you take Grimace away from me; soon enough you will take the Hamburglar and Birdie as well. I'm this close to picking up a ring bell and striking you in the throat with it. Ding, ding. Ding, ding. It's time to tussle, Slim Jim.
If CW's hit teen drama Gossip Girl has taught me anything, it has taught me that bowties get you many ladies. I know where you are going with this bowtie business, Tenay. I see your seductive look. I am not a lady but if I was, I would be into bowties. As a fact, women don't want a sissy man in a simple tie; they want a man's man who knows how to put a bow around his neck. In modern times, one bowtie is equivalent to three bottles of Axe body spray. Yes, three bottles of Axe body spray. In the distance, I hear the sound of ladies taking off their undergarments at the very notion of such a power.
In this article, Mike Tenay can't wait for a match between Bret Hart and Curt Hennig. Tenay runs down the accomplishments of Bret's late father Stu. He says, "Stu fathered a dozen children, and all eight boys have, or had, some connection to the wrestling business." Everybody knows that Stu Hart was a babymaking machine, but how will that help Bret in a match against Curt? Would Bret put on the Sharpshooter, then try to get Curt pregnant as he turns him over? We all know Curt could reverse that move. Would Hennig try to bed Bret in mid-Perfect Plex? Nobody wants to see that. I don't even know if that's physically possible. They might have to use some sort of swing. Damn your manly musk, Tenay. My mind needs a wet-vac cleaning.
Before I address Kimberly's everlasting gaze towards me, I want all of you to get on the Electronic Bay right now and purchase a Sting pennant. Nobody belongs on a pennant as much as Sting does. In World Championship Wrestling, Sting was a brooding and fallen character who sought vengeance on unjust powers. Is his plight pennant worthy? Yes it is. Cheer for him as if you are cheering for the Tampa Bay Rays. Go, Sting, go. Let your depression and anger fuel you towards victory. I am still waiting for the day that Raven is featured on a See 'n Say.
Now, Kimberly Page holds a paint roller in a seductive manner. Masterpiece In Motion? She's trying to master my piece, alright. By piece I mean my nether regions. By master I mean master my nether regions. I am putting my goodies under lock and key, Mrs. Page. I fear for my and your well-being. As you can see in the poster's background, the Nitro Girls are not very good painters. All they did was write Nitro and place handprints on the wall. I will pay for their services in lemon squares but nothing more. I would offer Kimberly a lemon square, but I don't want to make physical contact with her. She is tempted and I don't want to tempt her further. Plus, Fyre notices things.
What a sad state of affairs. In this picture, Disco pleads his case to the readers. "Come on, people. The Disco Inferno is still hip. Why can't you give my music and I a chance?" Oh, Sir Inferno. I feel your pain. The fans of World Championship Wrestling do not know quality when they see it. Please, continue to wear bellbottom tights. Do not shy away from hustling up and down the aisle. The critics don't appreciate you like I do, Disco. I am bedridden due to Disco Fever. Your Chartbuster is ten times better than the Stone Cold Stunner. In a match between Disco Inferno and Stone Cold Steve Austin, I take Disco. Beer drinking, bird flipping, and cussing are out of style. The mirrorball will never shatter. Even if the mirrorball did shatter, you know what that means? Seven years of disco dancing.
Slamboree airs May 17 on Pay-Per-View. Hugh Morrus will be there. Will he be strong and survive? Will he be ruthless and win? I don't know nor do I care. I am just glad that Hugh Morrus is the focus of a wrestling poster. I find his rise to Pay-Per-View poster superstardom amusing. I find his success funny. I find it humourous. Nobody else does, though. Ask around. Ask Steve Austin.
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