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Wrestlicious, where the champ wore a crown instead of a belt. Christie Ricci (Glory) once told me they didn't let her keep the crown after the tapings. I wonder how many episodes for the 2nd season were filmed but never saw the light of day.

But now, how exactly was Heroes perfectly okay?


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37 minutes ago, zev said:

But now, how exactly was Heroes perfectly okay?


CRZ sent me this as sort of a dare- as I am taking a little trip to wrestling horror as I you may recall that I supped deep the stinky crappy Bandits and Bodyguards- which turned out to not suck nearly as much dick as I was led to believe.  Hope springs eternal again with this- the hideous, unwanted PPV of the late 90s. Young Christopher wanted to keep me on the hideous roll of PPV anathema so he sent me this backed up with hours upon hours of New Zoo Revue- a childrens show from the late 60s, early 70s that featured Emmyjo- a mini-beskirted instructional supervixen that would have a big influence on what would summon the wood for the rest of my life.  For some reason, in Sunnyvale, California, they show hour upon hour of it every morning- as California is dichotmy of wonderful vintage children's programming grouped with rolling blackouts and mudslides.  A bittersweet geographical conundrum indeed.

I fast forwarded through all THE PROMOS~! and listened to all the stoner rock I've downloaded this week, so it's all about WORKRATE WORKRATE WORKRATE!  YEAH, DADDY!

Samoan Swat Team vs. Marty Janetty/Tommy Rogers: The Samoan Swat Team were really good workers back in the late 80s in NWA if I remember my Monday nights at Kip Dawkins house back in the day when we would watch all the weeks wrestling while fast forwarded through the nine Alka-Seltzer commercials that permeated WCW Saturday Night in the time of yore.  Jannetty is still a decent worker and Tommy Rogers is STILL a fucking GREAT worker so I have high hopes. First thing you notice is that the SST are a lot fatter now than in 1989, but- FUCK!- Sweet Jiminy Crap knows that I'm a lot fatter too- so this is becoming like a empathetic thing with me.  Are the SST a shell of themselves like I am a shell of my self, or are they intrinsically good like I am intrisically good?  Are they wilier in their Gone To Seed late thirties? Did they learn anything or are they just holding onto memories?  Well, lucky for them they have the advantage of having Tommy Motherfucking Rogers bumping all over the ring for them.  I personally have so many Tommy Rogerses in my life covering for my old fat ass that I shouldn't say anything about the poor fat SST. Actually, lets say this- the SST were too fat to not blowup but they did make it a watchable match as they only OBVIOUSLY too fat to bump a couple of times.  They kept this short to avoid Efibulation Driver '91.  Janetty bumped his ass off to make this work.  Rogers is wasted as merely the guy who finds out that we fat Polynesians have really hard heads.  And we all have huge penises too.  Didn't know that one,did ya?  Yep.  We all gotta reg-lar hogleg.

They have this disturbing series of vignettes were George the Animal Steele is sniffing around Sherri Martel.  I try to figure out if Steele's or Martel's mounting face would be more deeply psychologically scarring.

Greg Valentine vs. George Steele: The Hammer goes waaaay back in my wrestling fandom.  I remember his first year in Mid-Atlantic when Number One Paul Jones (the eternal crowd favorite before donning the red Vegas outfit and managing mediocre stables)called him "Babyfat" Valentine to the fans' delight.  I remember he and Flair being eternal Mid-Atlantic tagteam champions.  His style was important in shaping my appreciation of stiffness and making everything look legit.  He never exposed anything when I saw him live as a kid, so I have good memories of the Hammer and hated the fuck out of Vince McMahon when he ended up making him half of Rhythm and Blues.  It was sacrilege and fuck Vince for doing it.  Hell, I remember the motherfucking great Johnny Valentine before the plane crash.  Watching Johnny Valentine go 20 minute George Two Ton Harris on TV was a joy, I can't imagine how good he was in the 60s. FLASH!  Steele lays in the corner with his shirt over his head as Sherri turns on him.  Valentine kicks him lightly for a while then Steele gets up and IT'S ON! Valentine starts jabbing him with a spoon as they show DISTURBING close-ups of Greg's cottage cheese-packed thighs as they show it being hidden in his tights.  After a few minutes of pooptacular nothing by either, Sherri hits Steele in the back with a chair and Valentine gets the win.  Steele throws Martel over the toprope to remind you that Martel was a one-time great bumpfreak who was stuck in the stupid USA in her prime. This definately sucked as much as the hype said it would.

Julio Fantastico vs. Too Cold Scorpio:Fantastico is underwhelming any time I've ever seen him- and this match was WELL after the two year flirt with greatness that Scorpio had carrying every motherfucker in ECW, as was well into the gigantic slump he had after getting lethargic in the WWF. This is gut-wrenchingly horrible.  They did really good job of not showing up Nikolai Volkoff, George Steele or King Kong Budny's match as they keep it lowgrade and basic.  They AAA the highspot and nothing in the ring is going very well.  Scorp tries to settle him down and tries to get into the right position for Fantastico- who tries to acquit himself by bumping like a freak and he does hit big a few times. I dunno.  The whole thing was clunky and half-assed. This was a lot like that PPV match between Doug Furnas and Masato Tanaka- though I thought Fantastico and Scorp spoke the same language so they are all out of excuses.  Scorp goes way long on the Tumbleweed and luckily- for young Julio- doesn't land anywhere near his head.  They show a replay of the missed finisher for some reason.  This would be the second best match so far.

Iron Sheik/Nikolai Volkoff vs. Bushwackers: Ah yes, the four oldest farts on the PPV.  The Bushwackers used to be great as the evil and blood-drenched Sheepherders in the UWF. They were in the first barbed-wire match I ever saw and they were sincerely hardcore and evil. Nikolai Volkoff was Gedo Mongol and was scary when I was a kid when he was managed by laff-riot Professor Boris Malenko.  Iron Sheik had a good match against with Bob Bachlund for the WWWF title that I saw and he did some cool suplexes a long time ago.  This was horrible.  You'd think with 120 years of combined ring experience, you'd come up with something better than this.  God, lose the horreendously shitty clotheslines (Volkoff was trying to protect from tearing his bicep, I guess) and whip out the blade you old fux.  This is possibly the shittiest display of wrestling ever taped.  Volkoff should have shot up some more embalming fluid before the match started. (Jiminy fucking Christmas.  I need a break from this shit. 

DVDVR #126

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TWENTY FOUR HOURS LATER AND AFTER WATCHING THE BALLS TO THE MOTHERFUCKING WALL SUGAR/ NAGASHIMA vs DEVIL/ OZAKI tag match...) Ah, that's better.  It was gonna turn into a pathetic, analytical beating of old guys who obviously know that they can barely remember when their prime was- so I'm glad I took a day off this tape to get my bearings.  Volkoff is really old and must be brittle because he tries to bump a little and seems concerned about breaking something- which is kinda sad and makes me WANT this match to be better.  Cousin Luke takes a weird bump flying sideways into the corner- which would be the highlight of the match. Ah, I can't get mad at this match. These guys are fucking 60 years old.  This match was about as good as you would expect from four guys who were never great workers in their primes who are now in their 60s and wrestling in a match.

Stan Lane vs. Tully Blanchard: 
HEY! Tully!  Tully looks all trim and in shape.  Stan Lane has this hair that looks he bleached a JFK hairpiece off the album cover of NEW TRADITIONALISTS by DE-vO. Tully wrestles face and Lane cheats in an Old School way.  Tully goes all 1982 highflying early with the hiptoss and the dropkick on the kneeling Lane- after Lane hits a weirdly stiff-looking Lariat.  They take it to the floor and Tully does the heel spot of taking the Atomic Drop into the corner post.  They cut away from a toprope axe handle and begin this really weird production thing of cutting away from a good little Old School Southern match to show these close-ups of the most plain and disinterested women in all of Mississippi. Stan Lane hits a nice Reverse Neck-breaker and gets a Cobra Clutch in after Tully- who always threw great punches- lands one. Lane oversells it just like Arn Anderson would have.  Lane with a Hotshot and the Memphis Middle Rope Jump n Sit that leads to a Russian Leg Sweep for two.  Tully punches back to transition and sends Lane to the floor.  Lane flies into the rail and stumbles a bit as Tully procures the Figure Four on the floor until Lane rakes the eyes to escape.  Lane crawls back into the ring and Tully procures the Sleeper hold that Lane escapes by driving Tully's face into the bottom turnbuckle.  Lane on offense goes for a piledriver but Tully powers out. Lane hits on a Vertical Suplex and they do the Double Pin Of Irritation with TULLY~! getting his shoulder up.  FUCK THE WORLD.  This was good.  Except the ending.  But FUCK THE WORLD.  That ending sucked in a 1983 kinda way which is a good thing considering.  Tully fucking ruled back in the day and he had enough in the tank in 1999 to have the best match on this PPV.  Lane looked perfectly fine in this also.  WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Phil Schneider called me and said that he heard in the chatroom that- prematch- Tully Blanchard CUTZ A PROMO~! that I need to hear.  So I will now go back and listen to it. WAIT HERE. Okay.  Tully says the only reason you were a world champion, Stan Lane, is because you were Bobby Eaton's partner... and then it gets all great as he talks about ten years of hatred coming to the surface- hatred for Dusty Rhodes, for Jim Herd, for everybody who signs the contracts for WWF and WCW, for anybody who screwed him.  He must a king-sized preacher these days because it's no longer a WRESTLING PROMO~! and sounds more like the old days when a wrestler would emulate the diction of a preacher. I'll take "intense" over "funny" or "extreme" anyday when it comes to wrestling. That was the beauty of the Four Horsemen and Dusty Rhodes and that whole ilk of wrestling oratory.  The reason you need to fear wrestlers that want to go into politics is because the only people who give a shit about oratory skills anymore are preachers and pro wrestlers.

Abdullah the Butcher vs. One Man Gang: 
Hmmmm.  Abdullah is good if he's in Puerto Rico and it's 1979.  Twenty years later, he's in with One Man Gang who I can honestly say I've never been a fan of.  He looked great in that SPWF calendar and he WILL bleed like a fucking stuck pig so if this was in Roberto Clemente stadium it would have a promise of at least being a repulsive bloodbath.  It aint' so it ain't.  Abdullah has a distinct possibility of tripping over his own gigantic rack.  OMG kinda chokes Abby a while with a chain.  Abby starts spewing blood and my heart is warmed. They take it to the floor and OMG starts posting Abby so Abby does the suddenly AWESOME bladejob and I'm beginning to love this match.  OMG keeps kicking him in the scar tissue and it's becoming a one-half Dory Funk in All Japan in 1979 blade job.  Abby goes on offense and the forks comes into play.  Abby begins enjoying the sweet taste of his own delicious blood to distract the audience from OMG ripping his own forehead open.  Jesus, this is two fat guys with a lot of blood to give and this whole thing becomes REALLY repulsively GREAT.  Kids in the audience are in shock.  Hell, I was in shock when I was ten and saw BlackJack Mulligan piledrive Mr. Wrestling Tim Woods on the concrete and Mr Wrestling's white mask became completely red, blood spewing out of my heroes head- as my other hero had a smirk of hatred painted on his face after trying to kill young Tim Woods.  It's a hard world, kids.  Sometimes people die.  Sometimes people just bleed a whole fucking boatload.  This delivered as much blood as it would have in Puerto Rico which is all ANYONE could ask of this match.  They blow plasma all the way to the back and I join the throng in appreciation of two over the hill guys delivering the only goods they can deliver and delivering it in spades. MILLION JILLION STARS.

Bob Orton vs. Jimmy Snuka: 
HEY!  Both of these guys were world class great wrestlers at one time.  Jimmy is all jiggly in this.  I remember when I was eleven and lived in Arkansas.  My best friend Oscar was telling me about the last night's Texas wrestling-  because it came on kinda late and sometimes I would fall asleep before it came on.  He was telling me about this really great wrestler they had named Jimmy Snooka.  He was from FEE JEE!  He said he jumped really high off the corner and landed on his opponent (my guess, Al Madrill).  I was interested of course- what with Ox Baker killing guys with the heart punch and non-Von Erich good guys being so scarce at the time.  I will NEVER forget the next Saturday night when I first saw the Super Fly splash.  Snuka instantly replaced Rocky Johnson as my favorite wrestler ever to wrestle in Texas.  It was a great time to be eleven. And I'm 34 now.  Bob Orton Jr is even older than Snuka.  This match is fine though.  They start with a bunch of roll-ups.  Orton hits a fucking GREAT High Vertical Suplex as Jimmy is still not afraid to bump. Orton starts driving his knee into Snuka's back and adds insult to injury hitting a backdrop for two.  Orton concentrates on the arm with an armbar with a twist and knee to the elbow joint. Orton works up to the shoulder and starts reigning down blows to keep Snuka from getting to his vertical base. It's fucking brilliant.  Orton does really big swings and lays the punch in while Snuka sells it like he was an all-time great twenty years prior.  Orton goes to a keylock.  Snuka reaches the ropes and Orton starts punching him in the face and starts jawing with the rubes at ringside. Man, Orton needs to run a five week seminar for up-and-coming wrestlers on how to throw a punch because his punches motherfucking rule.  Snuka goes on offense by hitting a headbutt and Orton tries to get back with a headlock but gets shot into the ropes and they both collide- with Orton landing on top for a two count.  Snuka kicks out and goes up for the Super Fly Splash but Orton blocks him and crotches him on the ringpost to set up his Superplex.  Snuka holds onto the ropes to block.  Orton rolls through the ropes and goes to take a swing at Lou Albano which allows Snuka to hit a flying cross-body off the top for the pin.  This was every match I ever saw with Dick Murdock in it from 1976 to 1983. Okay, why did this PPV supposedly suck?

Jim Neidhart vs. Jake Roberts: 
Oh yeah, this is why this PPV sucks. Jake is absolutely tanked- as it appears he couldn't go one whole day without drinking a fifth of grain and rambles at length about...something.  Jim The Anvil Neidhart comes in and he really sucks but doesn't seem to be pathetically drunk, so there you go.  Jake Roberts is fucking PAISTED as he wanders to the ring, puts Damien in the ring and wanders to the back. Jake wanders back without a shirt on, looking for all the world like a COPS special guest.  He picks out a lucky middle aged woman from Mississippi to rub his nipples.  Jake looks like he about to summon the earl as he locks up.  Poor Niedhart.  They lock up again and Niedhart has to try to do SOMETHING. After a while, Jake pulls Damien out of his bag and pretends it's his dick!  Ah Jake, you classy classy pathetic drunk. It really doesn't get more pathetic than this.  This is Dexter Manley sleeping on Houston streetgrates-level pathetic.  Jake and Niedhart flop around as Bundy comes out- I guess to make sure the spiders attacking Jake don't get out of hand.  It's two on one for a while until Yokozuna shows up to make it all the more pathetic and creepy. Bundy is sober, Neidhart is the "worker" of the match, Yokozuna is obviously too morbidly obese to ever be anywhere near a ring and Jake is having another lost weekend.  I guess the hero of this wrestling match is King Kong Bundy. At least Bundy is the one who goes over in this gut-wrenchingly hideous match.

I dunno.  Drug addiction is a disease and all, so I feel for Jake in that sense.  I gotta wonder what the fuckheads who put this PPV together were thinking when the let him get on the stick and then get in the ring.  If I were everyone else involved, I would be pissed because this wouldn't have been a bad PPV if not for the embarrassment of the great Art of Professional Wrestling that was the main event.  Shit, if Phil Mushnick really wanted to stop wrestling in it's tracks, he would distribute tapes of the Main Event of this PPV and the Mass Transit incident to every major media outlet. I'm gonna watch some New Zoo Review and try to remember the good times of the undercard.


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Just found Dean's review of El Consadole vs. FM Taro


El Consadole vs. FM Taro: 
El Consadole is a bird and the ladies bring him bird seeds before the match and he eats it. This match takes a chance that the audience will be in the SPIRIT to go along with the whimsey as Consadole and Fighting Machine TARO spend half the match doing Puroresu Charlie Chaplain routines as Consadole is a duel role of opponent/pet bird.  That makes it balls out and really weird.  It made me think that I should do the same in this review.  I should take a chance and hope that the audience is in the right SPIRIT.  Hell, if you've read through THREE ZIPANG reviews, I owe you a part of my soul for reading about six hours of wrestling that you will probably never see. FM TARO gets face heat for also eating birdseeds from the ladies at ringside.  He is a good looking young man and the ladies are charmed as was the rest of the audience.  I myself worry about what I'm doing with my life sometimes.  I've done it my way at least.  Or at least I think I've done it my way.  I think I'm a pretty big pussy a lot of times because I will lose whole years of my life on stupid things. FM Taro does this great thing of luring Consadole off his perch with birdseeds and when the birdman is whimsically pecking at the seeds, Fighting Machine dropkicks him in the head.  The look on his face is priceless as he tries mitigate the barrages of boo's with a look of "C'mon! I'm a good enough guy!  It's a wrestling match!  I have to wrestle!"  and the crowd is even more enraptured in the match.  I lost three years waiting tables, three years printing t-shirts- overlapped by five years of an OBVIOUSLY dead-end relationship that I fought like a motherfucker to keep together, eventhough I knew it was REALLY hurting both of us.  I would mitigate it all by playing in bands and- since that was a fluke dream I had when I was a child that somehow came true- would give me the power to continue the more pathetic self-destructive tendencies I stupidly championed in my mind.  The crowd goes really apeshit as Consadole does a Diving Headpeck and pecks his way out of the corner.  The pecking is unexpected by your reviewer and I was baffled and delighted.  Even to this day, I try to make sense of my twenties.  I think I was kinda happy being free from 25 to 27 because I felt a whole lot of loneliness and desperation but it made me more alive for it.  When your lonely and gone to seed and no longer thought of as a sexual entity, the feeling of being pariah is rejuvenating and cleansing for a while.  When the thrill of being a hideous shocking freak wears off and your left alone staring at a bottle of some shitty beer you can't even afford anymore because you've squandered every single ounce of talent god has given you in some foggy quest to be "free"- you realize the price that you've paid.  I wasn't cool- I was just fat and drunk and an asshole. Then I would would screw my manhood to the sticking place and come up with somekind of "living life intuitively is more fulfilling than discipline and regimentation" bullshit to make it through the times of hollow horrible moments of stinging clarity amidst the daily grind.  I'm realizing now that to live THAT intuitively would require a boatload more moxy than I have stored away. I do take comfort in the fact that though I was far too much of a pussy to live as riotously as a true prodigal son would, and I didn't have enough of a good time to justify the disappointment I've caused my mother and family and friends, I do have a couple hundred good stories I can tell and I was a really good source of comic relief for dear friends who were in similar existentially mind-fucking straits.  Either way, I'm married now and have amazingly beautiful children.  My job is perfect in that I am a strawboss- so I can't fire anyone, I'm still in charge, and I'm not actual formal management- so I have the some benefits and some of the pay of managemnet without having to have a weird working relationship with my co-workers for the most part.  I figured if I had completely played it straight, I'd be making 15,000 more a year, probably would hate myself more and have even more regrets than just what I have now- mostly being too overweight to attract all the women I should have slept with.  And that last part is just me being a big fat whiny crybaby because I've had more intense, mystical, passionate experiences with true women of strength or women of haunting vulnerability and irresistible combinations and variations of the two, so much so that any regret about not having more is an insult to the ones who told herself that she loved me at one time and then gave me insight into the last mystery an adult can begin to try to solve.  To hell with me.  FM Taro kicks the Birdman in the head with a Superkick and charm and whimsy of the moment give way to the rest of the night.


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