Swerved Nation; lend me your ears. Nebraska, lend me your ears at midnight. After I finish this piece, we shall have corn on the cob and slow dance the night away with corn pieces stuck between our teeth. Once upon a time on a moonlight dreary, I was like each and every wrestling fan in the world. I get you. For the most part, I care for you. I know you’re scared of women. I want to help you face your fear.
Of course, women look and smell rather pretty. When they speak to you, you probably have no clue how to reply. As a fan of sports entertainment, perhaps you respond by hitting her in the chest with a steel chair. In a panic, maybe you take that woman to the Empire State Building, grab her beautiful mane of strawberry blonde hair, and chokeslam her from the top of that very building to the fiery depths of the New York underworld. Despite what you believe, I can‘t done such infantile behaviour. A big fat “no” to the chair shot to the milk factories, and a double “no” to the attempted undertaking of a lady whose sweet nothings remind you a pleasant summer breeze. I am not from your United Station of the Americas, but I am positive that these acts are not legal in fifty of your fifty states. Even if you created a fifty-first state, that state would question your methods of seduction.
Sooner or later, you must cope with the presence of attractive women in wrestling. Wherever you go, you cannot avoid them. They are in your kitchen cupboards, putting lipstick marks all over the rims of your Disneyland 50th Anniversary Mug Collection. They are in your rain gutters, bumping and grinding against clumps of soggy leaves. These women are under your messy bed, in the company of your discount XFL merchandise. Go, New York/New Jersey Hitmen, go. You are tremendous football-playing assassins who are unsure about your exact area of residence.
Now and forever, women on the wrestling scene is a given. If the WWE Divas are not leaving Stamford anytime soon, what makes you think that the Knockouts of TNA will? They don't have any prior commitments. They don’t need to spend their lives making bathroom visits in pairs. These ladies in their clown makeup wish to make a revolutionary splash in the professional wrestling pool. In the end, you cannot stop them from doing so.
This week, the women of TNA get their chance to shine on The Swerved. Shine on, you total nonstop diamonds in the Orlando, Florida rough. On this site, you have one shot to make it big. Don't screw your opportunity up by posing for Playboy or marrying Billy Kidman so he can play video games all day on an episode of Cribs. If you dare show your personality and talent, you're through. Express your opinion and I will not invite you to a session of passionate lovemaking inside my analytic fort. You're going to mess up my pillow drawbridge. Don't touch my dragon fashioned out of old doilies. I critique professional wrestling in that fort. I can't let unworthy people enter my fort without clearance.
Former WWE developmental talent Angel Williams is Angelina Love. Former independent wrestling star Talia Madison comes to you as Velvet Sky. Together, they are The Beautiful People, a tandem of egotistical, snooty prima donnas who have no time for the hideous and humble. To shame their opponents, the team drapes paper bags -- decorated with crudely drawn, beautiful faces -- over their heads. Note to self and others: the next time you visit the supermarket, remember that beautiful people use paper bags, not plastic bags that can poetically dance in the wind.
As a group, I can't help but dig Angelina Love and Velvet Sky. For the first time in wrestling, I have female equals to admire and support in the form of The Beautiful People. Finally, I am not the only beautiful person associated with the industry. I feel so alive. I can breathe again. Don't let TNA television stop you from enjoying this charismatic act. You can get through two hours of unwatchable television for ten minutes of quality character work. Believe in yourself and you can achieve it yourself, friend. Out of all the blonde bimbos in wrestling today, Angelina Love and Velvet Sky stand out from the bland crowd. Sure, Angelina Love frightens me at times for her skin resembles a slab of overcooked bacon. Plus, Velvet Sky's lower back tattoo is a gaudy, artistic abomination. Nevertheless, overcooked bacon is better than no bacon at all. And lower back tattoos are better than lower back bacon.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "If you're so beautiful, how come you're not part of The Beautiful People?" To tell you the truth, I don't want to be a member of The Beautiful People because I'm an integral part of The Mega Hot Man Candy Brigade. If you don’t believe me, my manly tennis bracelet says so. My apologies, Angelina and Velvet.
After several weeks with the promotion, the men and women behind the scenes changed the name of former TNA Knockout Women's Champion Amazing Kong to Awesome Kong. Apparently, the word amazing is not good enough for them, which is a logical and fair statement. For me, TNA stands for Total Nonstop Awesome. Whenever I tune into Impact, their exhilarating brand of in-your-face wrestling perplexes me. Am I watching a national wrestling program on Spike TV, or a live feed from the heavens above? Either way, I refuse change the channel on this digital goodness. Spike TV is my entertainment hook-up. On Thursday nights, I cannot rest until I get MANswers to life's biggest MASCULINquests.
In the future, I worry for Awesome Kong. For one, I worry that Kong will eat me whole in my sleep. For two, Kong can only womanhandle her female opponents for so long as the reigning monster of the Knockouts Division before her act grows tiresome. Don't tell me that Raisha Saeed, a cloaked cheerleader with a borderline offensive, Middle Eastern accent can keep Kong fresh for years to come. In that instance, you are incorrect in a spectacular fashion. As of late, the promotion chooses to tease feuds between Kong and male wrestlers like Abyss because they are aware that Kong is not so awesome anymore. Once they pull trigger with an intergender singles matchup, consider Awesome Kong done. Her father, Donkey Kong, will be displeased. I hope Mike Tenay and Don West know the general location of that hammer.
From her debut in the 2004 WWE Diva Search all the way to her emergence in TNA as the gifted lead singer of the Rock 'n Rave Infection, I have been an avid follower of Christy Hemme. So far, I am proud of Christy’s numerous accomplishments. I think of Christy Hemme as the ambitious younger sister I used to have until my parents traded her for a better looking sibling and a pet to be named later. When Christy's butt was hungry, she fed it. When Trish Stratus defeated Christy at WrestleMania 21, she survived. When Christy told me that Samoa Joe was coming up right after the break, I believed her. At this point in her career, Christy can't go wrong. May she continue to look like a poorly rendered Guitar Hero character on her journey to the summit of TNA Mountain.
With years of wrestling experience under her wrestling belt, Christy has the tools to be a future title contender. A superstar is what you are, Hemme. She has the pipes and the microphone to succeed. In addition, I assume Christy has a microphone stand somewhere in her home. With those three tools in her possession, what else does Christy need:? Wrestling ability? What are you talking about? Speak English. In North America, North Americans speak English, or Spanish, or French, or another prevalent language. Teach yourself one of those languages and get back to me with that question. You dang foreigners with your crazy talk. Stop taking the jobs that we don't want to do.
As the wife of Olympic gold medalist Kurt Angle and the loving mother of Kyra, Kody, and little-known son Tri, Karen is a busy mom on the TNA go. She does not have time to entertain fans or entice them to follow the TNA product. Like all mothers of America, she has a show to do. She has elegant dresses to wear. For no clear reason, she must scream and fight with others. With her talk show entitled Karen's Angle, she is the professional wrestling equivalent to Oprah Winfrey, except the only prizes that Karen gives away to her viewers is a hefty burlap sack of nothing. One day, my hefty burlap sack of nothing should turn into a brand new convertible. I can sense it.
Karen Angle's Karen's Angle is the best talk show on television. Her interviews with Frankie Kazarian, Tomko, and Abyss are candid, thought-provoking pieces that teach wrestling fans about each other, and about themselves. Don't go to school anymore, kids. Watch Karen's Angle and you will receive your Bachelor's Degree in Winning Life.
Are you afraid of cotton balls or old people? Do you think your out-of-control teen has too much sex for money, or not enough sex for money? Do you want to find out whether or not one of three-hundred Caucasian men is the father of your African-American baby?. If you live in the Orlando Area, Karen Angle wants to hear from you. Call TNA for details.
To the delight of TNA fans, Jacqueline sports a straw cowboy hat. Once in a while, Jacqueline stands behind "Cowboy" James Storm with a bottle of beer. On a weekly basis, Jacqueline competes in reverse and inverse battle royals. In conclusion, TNA's Miss Jacqueline is the bee's anterior and posterior cruciate knee ligaments. I bet Jacqueline is ecstatic to be free from the constrictive shackles of World Wrestling Entertainment. I hope TNA never lets her become champion, referee, talk, or do anything of note again to show WWE what they have lost. Jacqueline is a goner, WWE. Are you sad? I wish to taste Vince McMahon's tears of sadness. I want to slurp up those sad tears with a silver spoon.
Jacqueline is a seasoned veteran. In other words, Jacqueline sprinkles mixed herbs over herself to give her special wrestling abilities. While that gives Jacqueline an unfair advantage over the knockouts who do not cover themselves with seasoning, I don't think TNA should keep her away from Impact. Don't be shy, Action Team. Let Jacqueline show you why Tennessee is "The Volunteer State." Let Jacqueline volunteer to become a meaningless character before you transform her into one.
The disappearance of Crystal Louthan from TNA programming leaves me shocked, depressed, and somewhat thirsty. I require a pitcher of Classic Orange Crystal Light, post haste. Even though Crystal did not blow me away during her stint with the company, she did impress me as a class act. To my pleasant surprise, Crystal was an adequate and articulate backstage interviewer who built a rare rapport with a majority of the TNA roster. Unlike the WWE's lacklustre roster of female interviewers, Crystal did her job well. In comparison to Crystal's interview skills, I doubt Lauren Brooke will manage to outdo her segments. I predict Lauren will be the unwanted muffin bottom to Crystal's intriguing muffin top.
In order to learn about this Lauren Brooke, I used my life savings to hire research team called “The Brooke Initiative.” Two months and twenty billion dollars later, the team informs me that Lauren Brooke is an accomplished commercial model and former member of the USA National Bikini Team. What a small world. The other week, I chose to file restraining orders on every current and past member of the USA National Bikini Team. That National Bikini Team won't stop phoning me. I hear you girls, heavy-breathing on the other line. Stop this tomfoolery. I can see you in my bathroom window while I shower. No, I will not let you shower with me. I'm not wasting time to clean both of us. Cleanse your own toned selves.
With Gail Kim's departure to WWE, ODB becomes the automatic centerpiece of the TNA Knockouts Division. In response, I say nay, TNA. My horsies can back me up on this matter. In this case, I am on the side of the ODB doubters. ODB resembles a female version of Steve Austin, if Stone Cold was a one-dimensional character who could not stop grabbing his crotch, groping his pectorals, drinking alcohol from a flask, and kicking his leg in the air. When ODB invents a new way to convey her brash, no holds barred attitude, I will reconsider my stance. Until I become a supporter of this woman, I shall stand on my glorious pedestal, not grabbing my crotch, not groping my pectorals, not drinking alcohol from a flask, and not kicking my leg in the air.
For the sake of charm schools everywhere, ODB must learn how to act like a lady. She must learn how balance a book on her head while she walks in high heels. She must know how to sit on a chair and cross her legs. Most of all, ODB needs to wear pants suits. If ODB wants to win the public over with her feminine charms, she will have to adorn her muscular, tattooed body in not one, not two, but twenty pant suits.
While ODB may not appreciate my stance on her, I am not afraid to face her wrath. In fact, I challenge ODB to come to my palatial estate in Swerved City for a round of bare-knuckle boxing. In preparation for the battle, I will grow a prominent handlebar mustache. Next, I will dress myself in a peppermint-striped singlet. Then, I will lift a dumbbell that reads "100 lbs." in a cartoonish font over my head. After my preparation is complete, we shall see who is the real knockout. Put up your dukes, Brumhilda. I'm taking you to Parts Unknown.
When a low-rent voodoo queen who backs the misogynistic BG and Kip James turns into a bald, no-nonsense punk, wresting fans should take notice. You see, low-rent voodoo queens who back the misogynistic BG and Kip James don't always turn into bald, no-nonsense punks. Some low-rent voodoo queens who back the misogynistic BG and Kip James do not follow the chosen, predictable path of other low-rent voodoo queens who back the misogynistic BG and Kip James. One low-rent voodoo queen who backs the misogynistic BG and Kip James might decide to run for governor, while the other low-rent voodoo queen who backs the misogynistic BG and Kip James might stop gyrating for her own benefit in order to start a gyrating family.
Whether you are a fan of WWE or TNA, I urge you to pay attention to Roxxi Laveaux. Do not let Roxxi fade into the darkness of the undercard. Push her to the moon and beyond, TNA Creative Team. Push her until you cannot push her anymore. Push down on her bald head until bright blue Play-Doh emerges from her follicles like thin spaghetti strands. As one, we shall shape these thin spaghetti strands into the best inedible pasta known to modern man. With the assistance of Roxxi Laveaux's Play-Doh Fun Factory, we will dine like high-rent, voodoo kings and queens. Huzzah.
Roxxi has no hair. Roxxi has no drapes. Please support her so she may attain enough money to purchase two wigs for her upper and lower body. She might enjoy her lack of hair in the summer, but once winter arrives, she will be sorry. She will be cold everywhere.
If I pretend I am living in the 1980s, I get a kick out of the name Rhaka Khan and her lanky, sassy Amazonian shtick. On the other hand, I am not living in the 1980s. Therefore, I do not care for the name Rhaka Khan and find her shtick quite underwhelming. I will never understand why creative teams in this business love to base performers' names off of famous celebrities and athletes from the past. Total Nonstop Action gives you Rhaka Khan, a blatant reference to soul singer Chaka Khan. World Wrestling Entertainment has Kenny Dykstra and Bam Neely, subtle homages to baseball player Lenny Dykstra and hockey player Cam Neely. If a wrestler's moniker rhymes with another person's name, am I supposed to automatically adore that wrestler? If a company debuts a wrestler named Kelvin Kederline, does that performer become a world champion on the spot? I wish with the wishing power of infinite wishbones.
In TNA, Rhaka Khan serves a definite purpose, albeit a minor one. She assists Petey Williams in his quest to succeed as the sane version of Scott Steiner. The wrestling industry requires a strong fitness model to ensure that a sane version of Scott Steiner succeeds. Without that type of supporter, the insane version of Scott Steiner shall rise from the fiery ashes and rule this Earth. In victory, he shall beat his sunken chest until it sinks further into his rib cage. He shall utter incomprehensible insults into microphones until his threats become the official, inspired soundtrack of your existence.
What do a crazy, upside down chick and a Latin American valet have in common? Do they have the same kind of travel insurance? I’m not sure. I have never been asked such a question in my entire life. You ask difficult questions for a wrestling fan with a replica championship belt around your waist and two championship belts over your shoulders. I am stumped. You must be the triple crown champion of difficult questions. If I had to guess, both women say, "Come on!" in an encouraging manner at ringside. Seriously, come on, Kevin Thorn. Come on, Homicide and Hernandez. Why are you three not coming on? In the TNA film cut of A Christmas Carol, Salinas says, "Come on, God. Bless everyone already."
Millions of fans criticize Salinas for her comically fake bosom. In my opinion, her bosom is far from fake. Her bosom is not a scripted, choreographed bosom. I feel sorry for those of you who believe Salinas' ample protuberances are fake. Real busts on television should poke your eyes out from the comfort of your own home. Real busts should have their own mayor. Show me proof that Salinas is not 100% real and I will tell you the best kept secret of professional wrestling: in the ring, wrestlers prefer to wrestle.
Taylor Wilde, otherwise known as WWE development castoff Shantelle Taylor, is the current TNA Knockout Women's Champion. In her first match with the company, Wilde took on and defeated the mighty Awesome Kong for the title. Say what you must about the TNA Knockout Women's Championship. Be my guest to mock the tacky appearance of the white strap, or the unflattering sheen of the face plate. In a battle between the women’s title in TNA and the two titles in WWE, the TNA belt is more prestigious. Whereas the ladies of TNA compete in an exciting division for female supremacy and bragging rights, the WWE Divas fight for bathroom break supremacy or the rights to a gigantic, pink and silver butterfly. Hey, I like butterflies as much as the next five-year-old girl, but I would not sacrifice my body for one. I would buy a net, walk out my front door, and start swinging instead. In lieu of a butterfly net, I would pick up a caterpillar from the ground and wait. In a few weeks, a championship belt in the shape of a butterfly should emerge from a cocoon.
In my opinion, Taylor Wilde can be the future of women’s wrestling, if only her surname could be translated into a series of shameful, unimaginative puns. Seriously, what can you do with a surname like Wilde? What a useless surname. That surname does not even relate to an English word with similar spelling. Total Nonstop Action loses out again.
At her peak, Traci Brooks was the vivacious Ms. Brooks, Robert Roode's unwilling, subservient manager. When Roode left Team Canada to become "TNA's Hottest Free Agent," he searched the wrestling land for a proven, legendary ally to side with his Curt Hennig/Rick Rude hybrid self. At the time, Roode had several options. Mister Viagra himself Shane Douglas could have been Roode's manager. Robert could have chosen Bobby "The Brain" Heenan, the former manager of the great Andre the Giant. Even the late Sherri Martel, Shawn Michaels’ original entrance theme singer, could have led Robert Roode to superstardom. At the end of the day, Roode picked the most legendary manager of all: Traci Brooks. Next to the physical WWE Hall of Fame in our collective imagination stands the Traci Brooks Hall of Fame. In that storied building, you shall find a video vault that features ten-second loops of Traci enthusiastically jogging down the ramp to the tune of an Aerosmith rip-off song.
Because Total Nonstop Action never provides Traci with substantial screen time, I am unable to critique her wrestling and promo skills in a fair manner. From the brief snippets I have seen, she appears to be competent, but her "Pie in the Sky" finisher puts her in-ring credibility into question. To those of you who admire her "work," stop touting you're underlying admiration for her. Look, I understood you the first time -- all of you are mouth-breathing perverts. Now put on a clean pair of underwear and act normal for a change. Families are trying to eat their dinner.
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