Ladies and men who are mostly gentle: the feature you haven't really missed all that much has returned. Years ago, I vowed never to risk my life for a wrestling diary again. Today, here I am with many unlocked secrets to reveal to you. On this deadly quest, the cuts and bruises are many, but they will heal. Although my chiseled body will show the scars of my excursions forever, I am glad to sacrifice myself for truth. While wrestling's greatest superstars and personalities wish to keep their private thoughts and feelings under wraps, I will engage in the process of unwrapping.
Some of these diary entries are disturbing, while others provide deep insight into a mysterious world that the average wrestling fan will never visit. The underbelly of professional wrestling is equal parts ugly and beautiful, like a vomiting swan or a hairless George "The Animal" Steele. Reading these entries, I experience mixed emotions. At times, I laugh, only to cry soon after when I realize the physical and emotional pain that professional wrestling individuals endure.
In this installment of The Wrestling Diaries, you will discover the truth behind the lives of such superstars as The Undertaker and Rey Mysterio. Somewhere in the fold, regular stars like Sheamus, Hornswoggle, and Chris Masters will bare their souls to you. Whatever you do, please refrain from taking these diaries lightly for this is heavy stuff. The fact that Hornswoggle can communicate in written English is heavy enough.
Before I risk five more lives and limbs, let us enjoy today's spoils in the form of the fourth edition of The Wrestling Diaries. The Swerved's presentation of The Wrestling Diaries is part of a complete understanding of life as we know it and or wish it to be.
The Deadman is a closed book. No matter what you do or say, you will not get one revealing peep from him. Ask him about his disappearing Sara tattoo and he will tell you that magic made it disappear, which is far from a convincing explanation for the disappearance of tattoos. If he didn't want to spend money removing the tattoo, he could have just befriended a girl named Sara instead — that's what I would do. Well, I would either do that or change my neck's name to Sara.
Dear Hellish Keeper of My Darkest Secrets,
This past week on Smackdown, I teamed with my brother Kane and took on Chris Jericho and The Big Show in a thrilling, main event matchup. While we didn't win or lose, I was happy to reunite with The Big Red Machine once again. Together, we form The Brothers of Destruction, but I like to think of our team as The Brothers of Construction. You see, every time we tag, we build our brotherly love for one another. This Christmas, I plan to get Kane a new set of tights to replace the one that he currently wears at all times in the day. I swear. Those tights are like his security blanket or something. He is Linus.
In turn, Kane doesn't have to get me anything. Actually, I would love a lifetime supply of eyeliner, but I know times are tough. It's hard out there for large rouge machinery. Meanwhile, undertaking things is on the upswing. If everybody was an undertaker, learning MMA moves at funeral parlours, the recession would be over. Honestly, I don't know how the economy works because I am not living. I simply like to talk as though I am knowledgeable about life’s many problems.
Rest yourself all up in that peace,
Taker
As of late, Hornswoggle's job is to defeat Chavo Guerrero until the definition of defeat changes into one that involves wearing dark ponchos indoors. At that time, Hornswoggle will still win a bunch of matches over Chavo, but at least Chavo will have some moral victories. These days, Chavo Guerero needs a victory anywhere he can get one.
Dear Diary,
Recently, Triple H gave me the Pedigree in the face. As a little person in leprechaun and DX-themed clothing, I am doubly appalled. It's as if Triple H took my heart, gave the Peidgree to my heart, handed me my Pedigreed heart, then Pedigreed my face again. You would think that after all this time looking like the super hobo version of Shawn Michaels, Hunter would treat me with respect. Oh well. I guess this means that I get to go back to beating Chavo Guerrero every week with hilarious results. At least Chavo Guerrero is a decent person. At his worst, he is someone who doesn't Pedigree me in the face.
I rid my hands of you, Hunter Hearst Helmsley. Those Pedigrees may please your wife, but they don't please this guy right here. Your days of wearing your hat backwards are over. Why? For one, you’re forty-something years old. You shouldn’t be wearing hats period. You should be drinking aged wines and increasing the size of your prostate.
Until we swoggle again,
Li'l Bigg Horn
If you have been living under a rock for the past few weeks, you should pick a suitable living environment that does not use rocks. If you have been watching RAW while living under that rock, you have witnessed the revival of Chris Masters' fledging wrestling career. From one particular dance alone, Masters has guaranteed himself some face time every Monday night. On second thought, the talent doesn't originate from his face. Go lower, but not that low. There’s nothing dancing down there.
Dear Master Diary,
Thank goodness I have dancing pectorals. If I didn't, WWE wouldn't think of me as a current and future wrestling legend. "The Masterpiece" Chris Masters may not show up on RAW in a wrestling capacity, but you better believe that my dancing pectorals will be there. My dancing pectorals are thinking about auditioning for the next season of Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, and Top Chef. My dancing pectorals can't cook at all, but don't tell my dancing pectorals that. My dancing pectorals are pretty sensitive. They cried watching a video of themselves dancing.
If World Wrestling Entertainment releases me in the future, my dancing pectorals will be able to support me, personally and financially. They're going big time. More sooner than later, they will launch an acting career on the side, starting with a five-minute cameo in the fourth Mummy movie. They will follow that appearance with a starring role in a spin-off film entitled “The Dancing Pectorals King.”
See you later, The Master Diary,
Chris Masters
When Sheamus powerbombed Jamie Noble at ringside, he powerbombed Noble's career at ringside as well. As of this writing, Sheamus' reign of terror has only just begun. Hailing from Dublin, Ireland, Sheamus shall overwhelm Monday Night RAW with his threatening scent of Irish Spring and negativity. I, for one, bow down to this pleasantly-scented monster.
Dear O'Diary,
Being a Celtic Warrior is pretty hard, dearest diary. The amount of trouble I have to go through to get my skin this white is ridiculous. Even though my mother was a porcelain doll and my father was Casper the Friendly Ghost, I still have to avoid the sun whenever I go outside. Some celebrities avoid the sun by using an umbrella or wearing several layers of thick and dark clothing. As for me, I like to wear a cardboard box and walk around in it. That way, my skin doesn't call attention upon itself because the box hides the colour. You would think that the box would garner a ton of attention in public, but it doesn't. People just think they’re walking by a box that has somehow grown two pasty legs.
In the future, I wish to be the whitest man to ever walk the planet Earth. Vampires named Edward have nothing on me. I'll rule him. I'll rule him with my white skin so hard. Once those Twilight fans take one look at me, they'll be rooting for Team Sheamus. My skin doesn't sparkle in the sunlight. It's just really, really white. If you see my skin and think it's sparkling, see an optometrist. The mere sight of my skin is probably causing permanent damage to your eyes.
Later,
Sheamus
Without Batista by his side, Rey Mysterio is all out of love. He is so lost without Batista. Back in San Diego, Rey is lying by the phone, waiting for it to ring. First, it's a wrong number. The next time it rings, it's Sprint calling to ask him how satisfied he is with his current phone service. On the third ring, Batista will be on the other line, or is that what Rey wants to think? Rey is a needy dude.
Dear Diary,
Batista and I were tight. What happened? We were friends, muchachos, familia, and other crazy Spanish words that Josh Mathews never understands because he is not discernibly ethnic. I can't believe that The Animal would do such an animalistic thing and turn on me. Friends don't turn on each other. Friends share ice cream cones. Best buds wear each other's underwear. From one to three years old, sometimes they take showers together. If they are confused, sometimes they do it later in life. Why did Batista throw all of those good times away?
From this point forward, I've decided that I must distance myself from him completely. No matter how much I want to be his friend again, I must resist. That's it. I've had enough with the abuse. I'm unfriending him from every single online social network that I use. He's off my ICQ list. To be honest, that's the closest and most modern thing to a online social network that I use. Overall, I'm not good with technology. I don't have a Facebook. I have no room for a book on my face because I am already wearing a mask.
Dialing out,
Reymond Rey-Rey Junior Stereo
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