You know, ECW Championship? I've been thinking a lot about you lately And, well, that's why I'm wrestling in this match for you
I love you, ECW Championship I want you around my waist I'll shine you up real nice, title Call you my title, title
You may not be gold, but you're pure gold to me, right? What am I to do, title? I want to wear you, title
Your gleam is my dream When I do not have you I really want to have you Oh, I'm in it to win it But I could very well lose it It's up to me 'cause I don't wanna lose you Title
The Question: Who wins and how?
*****
NEXT WEEK
I try to style my hair like Tyson Kidd. I'm "Charlie Browning" it.
The Swerved. Today, these two words are two of the most important words in the wrestling business. Specifically, the last word is more important than the first because it is longer. Nevertheless, The Swerved's three glorious years on the internet has proven its staying power. You cannot get rid of it for it will be around as long as I say so. The Swerved is the Funaki of the world wide web. Whatever site you run, yours is the TAKA Michinoku to my Funaki. Sorry.
Over the years, trillions of visitors have graced the site with their presence and undivided attention. While the majority have been men, some of them were women. To those ladies, I say thank you very much for visiting The Swerved. You could have done something productive with your time, such as watch Oprah, but you chose to come here instead. My quest to face Oprah Winfrey is not over yet, though. Soon enough, you will be able to enjoy Oprah and The Swerved at the same time as I face her in a bare-knuckle, open-toed-shoe fight in uncharted waters. Believe you me. You're next, Dr. Phil.
World Wrestling Entertainment may never listen to what I have to say. Total Nonstop Action may never heed my warnings. Despite my advice falling on the deaf ears of these industry heavyweights, I will not quit. I will not rest until I get the word completely out of whatever container holds words. If I have to use a comically large megaphone to get my voice heard, I will. If need be, I will use two to make it appear as though I am talking into a pair of large, empty, ice cream cones.
Behold The Swerved as it brings you into a future in which cars are flying, skateboards are hovering, and laughs are plentiful. I call this future the year 1991. Be prepared to head into the unknown, or don't bother to get up at all.
More Thank Yous
Thank you, CM Punk, for being the straight-edge superstar that you are. Judging from the way you once looked at a bucket of KFC that sat atop the RAW announce table, I think you have two addictions: competition and crispy legs and thighs. Everybody has their vices. I forgive you.
Thank you, Eric Young's business suit, for living in the shadows of Chris Jericho's business suit. The more you constrict a professional wrestler’s movement, the more serious he will become. Sheamus' fancy vest, striped shirt, and dress pants is a distant third in the serious department. The pageboy hat is making him look like the ghost of Oliver Twist.
Thank you, Cody Deaner's mullet, for existing. Many people think that a mullet is business in the front and a party in the back. As for me, I believe a party never ends with a mullet for it is the Cristal of haircuts.
Thank you, Cedric the Entertainer, for bringing your clown car or clown limousine to World Wrestling Entertainment. Apparently, your clown limousine had the power to draft The Bella Twins from ECW to RAW. In comparison, my clown limousine can only store numerous clowns, such as those who belong to the upper class.
Thank you, Vladimir Kozlov's karate jacket, for leaving nothing and everything to the imagination. You have made Vladimir's top half ready for karate. Meanwhile, his bottom half is ready for some kung fu loving.
Thank you, Dr. Stevie, for easing the minds of the TNA roster while owning a closet full of half-shirts. In the past, I went to psychiatrists who owned a closet of full shirts, but they were disappointing. They weren't as learned as they thought they were. They never knew how cold you could get in the stomach area while wearing a half-shirt.
Thank you, The Bella Twins, for looking like one another. As long as you continue to look like one another, WWE will employ you. Do not dye your hair. Do your change your ethnicity. If you have to sneeze, hold it in until WWE is not paying attention. When either of you sneeze, you look different than the other one. That’s bad.
Thank you, AJ Styles, for doing that thing with your hood when you make your entrance. Every time you do that thing with your hood, it's as if you're playing peek-a-boo with the audience. Peek-a-boo, AJ Styles. The gay community can see you.
Thank you, Zack Ryder's entrance theme. The other day, I asked the radio to tell me everything it knew. In response, the radio told me that Ashlee Simpson didn't steal my boyfriend. I wasn't aware that my sexual preference changed overnight, but thank goodness. That's a load off my mind. Tonight, we're going to see AJ Styles do that thing with his hood.
Thank you, WWE's "Did You Know?" bumper segment. Did you know that WWE loves to toot its own horn, no matter how insignificant those horns may be? Oh, you didn't know? Well, you better call somebody.
Thank you, Tony Atlas' laugh. You are similar to Michael Cole's laugh, except Tony Atlas doesn't die a little on the inside when I hear you.
Thank you, Elijah Burke, also known as TNA's D'Angelo Dinero. You are the angel of money, which means you are probably sitting on a cloud right now, spreading Philadelphia Cream Cheese on dollar bills.
Thank you, Theodore Long, for going on a hellacious ride with the Undertaker on a recent episode of Friday Night Smackdown. With your trip in mind, I don't think I want to ride with the Undertaker to Hell anymore. I would rather take an airplane, or some sort of express shuttle.
Thank you, Slam Master J, for being called Slam Master J. If you were called Suplex Master J, I would most likely think you are not cool. People in my 'hood call me Collar-and-Elbow Tie-Up Master J.
Thank you, Smackdown, for a great decade. Good thing you debuted in 1999 and not a few years later. You were named at a time when The Rock's catchphrases were good. I would never help you celebrate a decade of Friday Night How's Your Lips? I would not know where to begin.
Thank you, professional wrestling contract signing. Never has signing a sheet of paper been so dramatic. If the pen stops working in the middle of a signature, watch out. It's going to be wild.
Thank you, Kane, for continuing to wear the same pair of tights for over seven years. Every day, you denounce the stereotype that deranged bald men never lose their luggage at the airport.
Thank you, jokes about Chris Masters that pertain to his fluctuating muscle mass and hair volume. Chris Masters keeps on changing. He must be one of those interactive masterpieces, like those framed pictures with the moving fish and waterfalls in it. You can get them at the mall.
Thank you, Undertaker's druids, for being quite helpful to the Undertaker. He doesn't even give you form-fitting cloaks, yet you never hesitate to give him a hand. I bet you have to bring his groceries home all slow and ominous, too.
Thank you, Smackdown fan who did the cutthroat hand gesture, then flung your hands forward to inform others to forget about your cutthroat hand gesture. Actually, I'm flinging my hands forward now. Ah, forget about this thank you.
WWE Unified Tag Team Championship Match The Notorious B.I.G. & Puff Daddy vs. Chris Jericho & The Big Show (c)
Uh Uh Uh Let us proceed
Hah, more serious than your average Charlie Rose show Black eleagant suit on your person, sour face, now go ahead and work it And there's the large programs, well it's the large program Get your large programs here 'cause it's a big, bad, large program tonight
We would fight, but your necktie is too tight, you clipped on when you should've clipped off, right We've been rolling since they invented the wheel Always going, always going to, show your team up Stop talking to us, your frosted tips are flaking on us
RAW and Smackdown is upon us, wanting our services so they can service us Not you, yeah, Christina and Showquisha Gonna get beat back in time to get beat on Sunday Night Heat Dare we take it to Tazz and Cole on the Times Square street? Whoop you for the win before the Lugz Boot of the Week
Lately you rivals challengin' because you got a hankerin' So we give our thanks as we prepare you for a spankerin' Wrestlers with the sparkly clothes, forget those Fillin' a five-pound singlet by putting 450 pounds in it That WWE tag scene, you best believe we are winning
Jeri-Jeri-JeriShow, can't you see? When you get yourself some money, you get problems, see And we just want you two to know Together you appear as though you are a duo consisting of King Kong Bundy and a disgrunted yet flashy baby who wrestles in his underwear (uh-huh, yeah)
The Question: Who wins and how?
*****
NEXT WEEK
The celebration continues in a Three Stages of Celebration Match. I cannot wait to celebrate in a cage.
AND
Yeah, but I'm playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure.
Once in a lifetime, a website comes along that changes the world and makes people think. As a fantastic source for news and entertainment on the internet, this particular site is equal parts popular and informative. Individuals from all walks of life flock to this site for their daily and weekly fix of knowledge. In a time in which the tears of sufferers flood the streets and avenues with sadness, this site serves as the two-ply paper towels that can soak up those tears. What I talk about when I talk about this site is a place that will last in the hearts and minds of us all, in life and in death. This website to which I am referring is The Screwed with Stephane Ribeiro. Sparkle, sparkle, you magnificent crystal. As for The Swerved, a recent poll claims that people think it is okay sometimes and racist or sexist at other times. I will take that poll as a compliment.
After three successful years, The Swerved has become the grizzled veteran of professional wrestling blogs, teaching young blogs how to make everyone laugh, love, and keep it regular. I am much like The Iron Sheik in that regard, complete with twirled moustache. As I look back on these three years, I remain proud. For one, I am proud of the quality work I have done and continue to do. Then, I am a little ashamed. Next, I am happy again before feeling embarrassed. Moments later, I start hating myself until I feel hungry. Finally, in a panic of what to do or feel next, I punch a respected member of society in the gut, such as a nun or a crossing guard.
In its current state, the wrestling industry is engaged in a losing battle with mixed martial arts. While millions and millions of frustrated fans turn to the UFC to get their helping of overly-tattooed guys touching each other in questionable places, World Wrestling Entertainment has responded with more Hornswoggle than your horn can swoggle. Fortunately or unfortunately for you, The Swerved will not leave you for it always cover the sane world of professional wrestling. I do not care how bad it gets. If anything, the sorry state of wrestling will only give the site more material.
How long will The Swerved last, nobody asks? Well, The Swerved will be around for a little while longer. If you enjoy this site and wish to see it around for the long run, have your say in the comments. In the future, I will continue to make changes to the site in order to keep things fresh and lively. You, the readers, can help me go on by simply doing what you do. As long as you're here, so will I. For everyone who has helped this site in the past, present, and future, mad props to you. Your complementary floozy is in the mail via express delivery.
Thank Yous
Thank you, World Wrestling Entertainment, for being the worldwide leader in sports entertainment. You invented the term "sports entertainment." Therefore, you should continue to lead whatever that category may be for you. I am the leader of literary sports. You can't touch me there, so don't even, man. Don't even.
Thank you, Total Nonstop Action, for totally never stopping your action. Although people continue to think that TNA is some sort of company that sells erotic furniture, I know the truth. Don't you stop, TNA and Dixie Carter. You are no more than twenty years away from WWE officially acknowledging your presence.
Thank you, D-Generation X, for bringing soldiers and miniature tanks back into WWE. Many years have past since soldiers and miniature tanks have been popular in wrestling. With that said, I think it's about time you bring them back. Soldiers and tanks can be used for many important tasks, such as making juvenile jokes about dongs. At ease, phallic entities.
Thank you, weird tubes in Ted DiBiase's ear that I never noticed until recently. Those tubes make your ear look like Jillian Hall's old facial growth. On second thought, no thank you, weird tubes in Ted DiBiase's ear that I never noticed until recently. You should not have reminded me of Jillian Hall's old facial growth. That growth did nothing for nobody.
Thank you, Karen Angle, for leaving Kurt Angle to stay at Jeff Jarrett's house. Sadly, you will not be able to learn guitar at his house. He’s going to break most of those guitars over other people’s heads. As for the remaining guitars, sparks will come out of the bottom. You may attempt to play on those guitars, but they will most likely provide a dangerous learning experience. Be careful.
Thank you, Primo Colon's creepy high school moustache. You are starting to become a man, but you must will those whiskers further out your face, Primo. You are not a full man yet. I anxiously await the debut of your neck beard, too. When you finish growing it, please contact me on my pager.
Thank you, 12 Rounds starring WWE Superstar John Cena. Your existence allows me to gain a new appreciation for The Marine starring WWE Superstar John Cena. I couldn't last 12 Rounds with 12 Rounds because each round was too enjoyable for me.
Thank you, Don West, for your excellent salesmanship. Your ability to sell TNA merchandise without swimming in said merchandise is an accomplishment in itself. I hope you gain enough confidence to swim in water someday.
Thank you, bounty hunter Boba Fett that was on Trish Stratus' table for some reason on a recent episode of Monday Night RAW. I am glad you could capture those candles that I desperately wanted. Additionally, I am impressed that you escaped the clutches of the pit monster from Return of the Jedi without the use of your arms, legs, and half of your torso.
Speaking of The Marine, thank you, WWE marines, for The Marine 2 starring WWE Superstar Ted DiBiase. Your upcoming release will tie up the loose ends from The Marine by kidnapping the loose ends' girlfriend and tying her to a chair in a flaming building that spontaneously explodes.
Thank you, Michael Cole's cow puns during a bull rope match that wasn't really a bull rope match between Hornswoggle and Chavo Guerrero. Those puns were pretty good. In my opinion, they were Steve Romero good.
Thank you, 1997 Montreal Screwjob. Vince McMahon, World Wrestling Entertainment, Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, Triple H, and the city of Montreal wants to keep you under wraps. Good thing I'm here to give you some recognition, huh?
Thank you, Batista, for sleeping with the majority of the Divas roster. You are a former world champion, but you are the current champion of doing it in a casual manner. You need one more diva on your diva punch card to get herpes. Even now, herpes isn't free, Batista. I'm not sure why you have that punch card in the first place. I guess you like to keep count.
Thank you, Mickie James' boob, for rupturing. Since I don't know Mickie James on an intimate basis, I am not sure which one of her boobs ruptured. As a man who has seen thousands of naked women in his lifetime, I assume Mickie James' middle breast implant ruptured. A boob is part of a woman's elbow, correct?
Thank you, tattooed side of Samoa Joe's face. Samoa Joe is tough, but only tough on one side of his face. On the other side of his face, a sensitive individual lies. That side loves violence and punishment, but antiquing as well.
Thank you, Alicia Fox's theme song. I did not know it was the year 2000 — the year of Nelly. Back in the year 2009, I believe it is getting hot in here. I think I should take off one sweater, but that's it. I may get cold later.
Thank you, one-time WWE enhancement talent Rory Fargo, for your match with Zack Ryder on an early September episode of ECW on SciFi/Syfy/PschighPhigh. At first, I thought you were crazy. Now, I know you are just testicles falling out of your torn trunks. Whenever I watch your match, I think to myself that maybe… just maybe… this is all worth it.
Thank you, Rosa Mendes' leather pants. You are in a constant battle for pants supremacy, up against Kelly Kelly's white pants. Legacy's invisible pants are a distant third. I'm not one to judge. This battle is equal opportunity.
Thank you, former TNA talent and Survivor star Jenna Morasca. Before you fought Sharmell at Victory Road, your entrance was helpful to biology students everywhere. They never saw a female reproductive system that close before. Also, your slaps were some of the most accurate slaps I have seen from you. Certainly, that match was your best.
The Swerved celebrates its third anniversary. This is the leather anniversary. If you show up with ox leather, you will not gain entrance into my party. I'm not having that. I'm not having it.
AND
It's a shame we're not living in the country. A place that I once seen before. In a book you always loved but never showed me. You know I never lost before.
At this time, fifty American, Canadian, or Swahilian dollars are in your pocket. Perhaps, those dollars are creating a fire in your pocket. World Wrestling Entertainment notices this fire and wishes to extinguish it for you. If you are willing to purchase one of their grand Pay-Per-View events, those dollars will not harm you anymore. In fact, you are doing yourself a disservice by allowing that fire to burn in your pants pouch. You are creating a brush fire near your crotch area. You are not even in California, son.
This year, Vince McMahon and the good people of WWE are changing up their Pay-Per-View lineup as if their old Pay-Per-View lineup is going out of style. So far, these new names are throwing up caution flags. You have your Breaking Point, which sounds like a hard Christian rock band if hard Christian rock bands exist in this world. You have your Bragging Rights, which must have been an early 90s action film starring Jean Claude Van Damme, Dolph Lundgren, or both. In the film, a wise Chinese guy told Jean Claude or Dolph — a retired karate champion or former soldier — that they must fight in a tournament to survive in some foreign land (probably Japan, which accommodates wise Chinese guys). Jean Claude or Dolph said, "Okay."
To be honest, I am a sentimental person. I keep numerous mementos and memories close to my heart, no matter how significant or insignificant they may be. Considering that WWE wants to change the Pay-Per-View game without my blessing, I feel a tad distraught. Those old Pay-Per-View may not be great, but they were good. They were good to me. I held them in my arms when they were little babies. And WWE is trying to take those babies away from me. Please, child. Don't look back. Just go. I don't want you to see the tears that are falling from my ducts.
As the wrestling world changes before my eyes, I'm not sure what to think, or what to feel. Am I supposed to be happy with these changes? You cannot tell a bird to fly when it does not have wings. You cannot tell a man to love a woman when he cannot love himself. Lastly, you cannot tell a professional wrestling analyst to accept a new Pay-Per-View lineup without concern.
The Breaking Point is Unforgiven
World Wrestling Entertainment claims that Breaking Point — a Pay-Per-View in which the top matches are contested under submission rules — is a revolutionary concept. Even ECW play-by-play announcer Josh Mathews, who started a nosebleed revolution earlier this summer, believes this notion to be true. In my opinion, WWE is correct when they say that Breaking Point is a revolutionary Pay-Per-View. As far as I am aware, no company in the history of the wrestling business has put on a submission-heavy Pay-Per-View. Although, do you know what else is revolutionary? A Pay-Per-View in which every match must incorporate a banana. This event, which I will call "BananaRama I," will mark the beginning of a new era in professional wrestling. From that Pay-Per-View forward, wrestling fans will not be happy with their viewing experience until they witness a match with a banana in it. To combat my successful event, WWE will try to coax fans back to their programming with plantains. Good luck with that, Vincent. Wrestling fans aren't stupid. They know plantains when they see them.
Thankfully, Vince's talent roster is full of wrestlers with signature submission moves that are popular with the audience. For example, John Cena uses the STF, teaching young children to use a step-over toehold before they execute a facelock. Secondly, the Undertaker has Hell's Gate from that time he died and was about to fall into the grave, but lost his way and accidentally fell onto a seat at a UFC Pay-Per-View instead. I'm not entirely positive about the other wrestlers, but I'm sure they have excellent submission moves. Most likely, one of them owns a feather. He tickles guys into submission. Another wrestler tickles his opponents with his hands. When you're tickled by either during a wrestling bout, I'm guessing your breaking point would be rather low, especially if you are ticklish. If you are not ticklish, you would submit regardless because a grown man touching you with his hands or a feather is a weird and uncomfortable situation for all.
Me and My Lady are Cybering on Sundays for Bragging Rights
Internet rumours, which are always credible and true, state that WWE Bragging Rights may be turn out to be a Pay-Per-View with zero championship belts on the line. In response, I say, "What?" while stressing the middle of the word. Plus, I have a shocked expression on my face while doing so. Wrestling for bragging rights is no match for the chance to wrestle for shiny, gold championship titles. Since each championship division in WWE is quite strong and competitive. I would prefer if every Pay-Per-View was similar to Night of Champions. The thought of Bragging Rights leaves me empty inside. What is to become of the WWE Women's Championship picture? Michelle McCool reigns supreme, yet Melina is waiting in those wings of faith. I need my Melina updates every day. I wish television could give me a Melina update channel. That way, I would finally be satisfied. I must know what is going on with Melina and her traditional babyface gimmick of being a nosy bitch who gets into other people's business. I find no reason to boo her. All I can do is cheer a thousand cheers.
Another rumour suggests that Bragging Rights will be Cyber Sunday under a new and spiffy name. Because WWE is run by a democracy in which everyone in the promotion gets equal say, I think Bragging Rights should reflect company policy. In other words, fans should continue to retain the privilege to vote for matches and match participants on this particular Pay-Per-View. In the past, Cyber Sunday was an event that was for the fans and made by said fans. Remember that time when Ric Flair shouted that he wanted Triple H in a cage enough times to sway fans to vote for that match at a Cyber Sunday? That's democratic choice right there. That’s WWE telling fans what to do and when to do it. If only I had the freedom to choose what WWE demands me to choose. I would have total independence.
There Will Be No Mercy in a Hell in a Cell
The Undertaker is the master of the Hell in a Cell match, beating legends like Triple H, Shawn Michaels, and Mick Foley. Also, he chokeslammed Rikishi into a bed of hay, which is one of my five favourite surfaces upon which to chokeslam people. With that said, World Wrestling Entertainment is not dumb. They know which man needs to be the focus of their new Hell in a Cell Pay-Per-View. That man is someone who is dead, but not dead enough to not get a tan. Sadly, Hell in a Cell will replace No Mercy as WWE's October Pay-Per-View. In the end, everything shows mercy. You can't fight it for long. At first, Undertaker didn't want to be tan. Then, he showed mercy.
Like the Elimination Chamber, Hell in a Cell is a specialty match that WWE has not yet exploited. Would a Hell in a Cell Pay-Per-View exploit the match? Probably, but that inevitability won't stop Vince McMahon. As a quick aside, the one thing I do not get about the Hell in a Cell match is why the cell itself is the most fragile structure in wrestling. In almost every Hell in a Cell match, somebody finds a way to break the cell. A Pay-Per-View with a bunch of Hell in a Cell matches better have some backup cells. While one could break the seal of the cell in case of an emergency, that would defeat the purpose of the backup cells, wouldn’t it? That cell is like Batista.
A Sighting of the Four Tablemen, Laddermen and Chairmen of the Apocalypse Does Not Equal Armageddon
Ladders. Tables. Chairs. In life, I use them. You use them. You use a ladder to climb up onto a high chair in order to eat at a high table. I use them to create intricate sculptures expressing my frustrations and criticism of the social milieu. If you are wrestling a professional wrestling match, you are using them as weapons to subdue your opponent. Meanwhile, I am sending my unwanted tables, ladders, and chairs to help children in third world countries beat up their opponents in wrestling matches.
After an exhilarating world title match between CM Punk and Jeff Hardy at Summerslam, the thought of a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs Pay-Per-View is "Money in the Bank" (without tables and chairs). WWE could take advantage of the match's popularity, but I am glad they are backing away from this idea. I don't believe fans enjoy TLC matches as much as WWE thinks they do. Some of the best matches of the past decade have been those which employed a few tables, a ladder here, and a chair there. Although, I am not convinced that a Pay-Per-View featuring numerous TLC matches is wise. Ask around and you realize that people love ladders and tables, but not chairs. For them, chairs are the X-Factor Albert of the TLC match. You can’t perform a high risk move from any sort of chair without the visual coming off as ridiculous. Booster seats don't count.
D-X-Per-View
With this trend of Pay-Per-View naming in mind, I propose the return of stable-themed events. For all of you D-Generation X fans who love to recite catchphrases with Shawn Michaels and Triple H, you are in for a treat within a tastier treat. Are you ready? Pay-Per-View watchers; are you ready? For the thousands in attendance, and the millions watching at home: ladies and gentlemen… let's get ready for a suck-themed Pay-Per-View extravaganza in the form of "Backsuck." So long, Backlash. If you're not down with a suck-themed Pay-Per-View extravaganza, Shawn Michaels and Triple H are going to make you suck something anyway. You can't refuse to suck it. The Divas are watching. You better suck something or WWE will be very mad. D-Generation X is waiting for the suckage. They are not patient individuals.
I find it strange that two grown men make fun of Cody Rhodes and Ted DiBiase’s relationship with homophobic insults, yet they are the ones who are keen on a simultaneous, worldwide, man-on-man-on-men pleasure fest. Frankly, I do not understand this logic. This situation must be an instance of the pot calling the kettle black, or calling it gay because it tags with another kettle. These days, the kettle does not have many options for a tag partner. The pot is tagging with the pan. The fork ran away to tag with the spoon. Due to an incident with an espresso machine involving hot water and hurt feelings, the kettle's only option is another kettle of the same make. The kettle steamed those bridges too early in its career.
We are two weeks away from The Swerved's third anniversary celebration. When you're celebrating The Swerved's third anniversary, you're celebrating it 2 Lyfe.
AND
Inside the rocks and stone, spaces became our home.
To me, dancing is not an action. It's a lifestyle. One does not dance for fun. One dances to live and breath in this suffocating world we call Earth. World Wrestling Entertainment, in all its sports entertainment splendor, brought me to the dance floor. Under the bright lights, I saw WWE for what it was, what it could be. Wrestling wasn't about matches, but about swaying, moving to the music as it set you free.
I thought about watching something else. I thought about getting fresh air and doing something productive, but I couldn't look away from these sights. World Wrestling Entertainment showed me the moves, and I wanted to move it. Nobody could dance like WWE's talent roster. They were ever so graceful. Their movements were as light as the summer breeze.
Some say professional wrestling can't be real, but what if I don't want it to be real? What I want is to turn on the television or walk into the arena and see wrestlers dancing the impossible dance again. I want dances to go back to they were when wrestling made sense, but that is never going to happen and it is all my fault — all of it: Vince, the fact that I urged him to learn more and more about current popular culture. He got the idea to make wrestlers dance new dances because of me, because of my stupid need for refreshing entertainment. Because he was clamouring, clamouring for my attention. Because I made him promise that he would always entertain the world through dance. And when those wrestlers danced their dances, I was mad at him, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Vince always knew what was right for me because he is never not right, no matter what history can tell you. I wanted to be wowed by wrestling dances. I had to be, and I didn't care if it took all of Vince's efforts, all of his money, or all of his creativity. It was my stupid need. It was my stupid dream and it is turning him mad. Turn back to the audience. Spotlight fades. Curtains close. Applause.
MVP's "Ballin'" Dance
As of this writing, Montel Vontavious Porter is on the verge of superstardom. One week from now, he will be the D'Lo Brown to Mark Henry's Mark Henry. His "Ballin'" Dance shall be the next "Bob Your Head Around Like Your Neck Is On A Spring." Together, the two will defeat Chris Jericho and The Big Show for the Unified Tag Team Championship, then celebrate by wearing chest protectors made out of sexual chocolate. Unfortunately, MVP and Henry will split weeks later when Henry accuses Porter of using a poor quality sexual chocolate to construct their chest protectors. MVP can't be going around, making chest protectors with poor quality sexual chocolate. Along with Henry, he has a reputation to uphold. D'Lo Brown would've used that fancy kind of sexual chocolate.
If you are a fan of the rap music, you will know that MVP's "Ballin'" Dance originates from Jim Jones' "We Fly High (Ballin')." If you are a three-year-old with a three-year-old bladder, you will also know MVP "Ballin'" Dance as your "Bathroom" Dance. Obviously, a three-year-old would not play basketball while desperately looking for a bathroom to use, but don't tell that to a three-year-old. You know those little kids love to shoot imaginary hoops on their way to the urinal. In my opinion, MVP is on to something with his "Ballin'" Dance. As for me, I would love to do this dance, but I'm afraid my real basketball would be jealous of me playing with a non-existent basketball on an invisible hoop.
Jack Swagger's "Pushups for Pyro" Dance
This past week on RAW, "The All-American American" Jack Swagger impressed America with the newest incarnation of "The All-American American" entrance. Although I am not a Jack Swagger expert, I believe his "Pushups for Pyro" Dance can be described in the following steps:
Step 1: Stroll onto the stage, spreading your arms wide with a smile on your face to proclaim that you love America this much. Step 2: Celebrate the fact that you are slowly transforming into a modernized Donkey Kong by beating your chest with your mouth wide open. You will get your tie later. Step 3: Stomp down the ramp with your mouth agape, pretending to have both hands tied behind your back. Who tied your hands behind your back? Anyone who doesn't love America and or the concept of a modernized Donkey Kong. Step 4:Raise each arm at a 45-degree angle like you’re Captain Planet, flying through the air to save the environment. The emissions from your flight do not count as pollutants. Step 5:Pushups for pyro and pyrofit.
No matter what I do, I can never summon pyro in my everyday life. I added soup mix to a boiling pot of water for nothing. I attacked a set of twins by throwing one twin at the other, only to be treated to nothing. In my bed, I rolled over without using my hands. After five hours, I thought I saw a pyrotechnic display behind me, but it was nothing but a house fire. I do not understand how Jack Swagger's "Pushups for Pyro" Dance can harness the power of such beautiful and forceful neon explosions. In this mystified state, I applaud him.
R-Truth's "Get Yourself Beat Up By Drew McIntyre" Dance
Usually, R-Truth goes about his merry day, skipping and jumping through the lush forests of WWE, telling people that they know what time it is. Well, I have a clock. In fact, I have several informative timepieces. Because of R-Truth's "Get Yourself Beat Up By Drew McIntyre" Dance, I think it's about time for R-Truth to get beat up by Drew McIntyre. If R-Truth does not want to get beat up by Drew McIntyre, he should not do this particular dance anymore. When I'm dancing, I do not wish to be attacked at all.
Perhaps R-Truth's lifelong dream is to dance and rap in an arena, then get himself beat up by a larger, Scottish version of The Brian Kendrick. If that is the case, R-Truth is living the dream. I am not one to judge, but that is a horrible lifelong dream. Out of all the lifelong dreams I have known in my life, that is pretty bad. Can't R-Truth get beat up by somebody a bit better, such as Paul Burchill, or the pirate version of Paul Burchill? If I got attacked by the pirate version of Paul Burchill, I could add pirate to the list of people who have whooped me. This list includes a ninja, a samurai, and myself. What is upwards with me, R-Truth? What is upwards with you?
Kofi Kingston's "Thunder Clap" Dance
Like young Jackington Swagger, Kofi Kingston can command vivid fireworks through dance. With the rhythmic clapping of his hands, Kingston litters the atmosphere with Jamaican smoke — the kind of smoke that is symbolic of a carefree Jamaican culture who loves their Smokey Robinson, smoked salmon, "Smoke" by Natalie Imbruglia, and... that is it. If the United States Champion's "Thunder Clap" Dance seems familiar, you would be in the right. The "Thunder Clap" is a dancehall music staple up in them Jamaican clubs. I would say that I saw it in Cool Runnings a bunch of times, but I think I just want to believe that the dance was in Cool Runnings. Actually, I think almost everything comes from Cool Runnings.
The next time you are in Jamaica, I hope you bust out this Kofi’s "Thunder Clap" Dance. Not only does the dance get you the Jamaican ladies, you will be pleasing Zibelthiurdos, the thunder god of Eurasia. Zibelthiurdos has done so much for you and Kofi Kingston. According to various sources, he is quite the giving person. Finally, you will be able to thank Zibelthiurdos for his many sacrifices. Meanwhile, Ajisukitakahikone, the thunder god of Japan, will remain pissed.
DJ Gabriel's "DJ Disappearing" Dance
In the long, long ago, ECW's resident dance machine was one DJ Gabriel, who boogied down to the ring in a leather bomb jacket and sunglasses. By his side, Alicia Fox boogied down with him, creating a chocolate and vanilla swirl of dancing deliciousness. Today, Alicia Fox is on Monday Night RAW, unable to use the precious gift of dance to sit atop the Women's Division. As for DJ Gabriel, he danced well. He danced well enough to disappear off this very planet. One minute, DJ Gabriel was pulling an invisible rope to obtain his lady. The next minute, he was pulled into another dimension, never to be seen again.
What has become of DJ Gabriel? An urban legend insists that if you dance five times in front of your bathroom mirror at midnight, you will see DJ Gabriel dancing behind you. Several witnesses in the Pacific Northwest claim that they saw DJ Gabriel roaming betwixt the lakes and mountain greenery. In Florida, a haggard man in wrestling tights washed up on the shore, sluggishly dancing in a comical circle. If you or someone you know has seen DJ Gabriel, please inform Extreme Championship Wrestling as soon as possible. With your help, we can step up to the streets like never before.
