Missing In Action

I'm not sure which of the following is more elusive: (a) attaining spiritual enlightenment, (b) catching a glimpse of Sasquatch (Big Foot, if you will) in its native habitat (as opposed to ones we keep as indentured servants here in Minnesota), or (c) actually spotting a near 500 pound black man that answers to the name of Viscera Tuesday nights on my GOD DAMN television screen!!!

Alright, after some careful reflection I'm pretty sure that "C" is the correct response.

In a move that provoked a constellation of emotions ranging from apathy to indifference amongst the WWE fanbase, "The World's Largest Love Machine," seen here debunking the conventional wisdom that wearing black makes a person look slimmer, moved from RAW to ECW as part of the federation's supplemental draft. Since that time, he seemingly vanished into thick thin air.

If I've learned anything in my tedious and unfulfilling life, it's that persistence eventually pays off. Therefore, on behalf of the staff and readership here at Arabian Facebuster, I would like to once again cajole the WWE writers to turn this gargantuan, pajama wearing superstar flamingly, flamboyantly, gaudily gay at your earliest possible convenience. It isn't like you are currently utilizing the character for some cutesy lower mid-card angle or to strongly put over some up-and-coming babyface, or anything even remotely productive.

Ponder it over the weekend. Seriously. I'm sure someone here from Arabian Facebuster will be following up with you again real soon.

Ric Flair: Custom Made

Some more uplifting (or at least reality averting) YouTube goodness of vintage "Nature Boy" Ric Flair, circa 1988, courtesy of your friends at the Arabian Facebuster Center for Bereavement and Reconciliation.

"You detest the fact that I've got more cars than most of ya have friends."

Some braggadocio rapper needs to steal that line for his next diss track. Chumps like Ja Rule and LL Cool J have gotten off too easy lately.

Best Wishes, Bob Caudle

Bob Caudle (pictured at left with his wife Jackie), the long-time voice of Mid-Atlantic Championship Wrestling and later host of NWA Pro Wrestling during Jim Crockett Promotions national expansion years, recently suffered two heart attacks, one at his home, the other on his way to the hospital. Thankfully, he has since been released, returning to the comfort to his home in North Carolina where he recovering slowly but surely.

Keep Bob, one of the true gentlemen in the history of the wrestling business, in your thoughts and/or prayers. And if you feel so inclined, send him your best via email at midatlanticgateway@yahoo.com

A succinct YouTube tribute to the throaty voiced legend, featuring lots of interspliced vintage Ric Flair interview footage, is available for viewing here. I know that certain folks in the Arabian Facebuster community (aka the Fritzer), will genuinely get a kick out of this.

Sheiky Baby, I Owe You One

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The Official Energy Drink of The Whimsy Era

Life is filled with uncertainties. Alas, the only iron clad guarantees in this wicked world are death, taxes, and the fact that whenever Vince McMahon attempts to diversify his sports entertainment portfolio, it inevitably ends in failure. Unmitigated, spectacular, colossal failure. Vince's ill-conceived and poorly executed non-rassslin' related endeavors -- football (the XFL), competitive bodybuilding (the WBF), restaurants (WWF New York), music (need I remind you of KoKo B. Ware's vocal stylings on Piledriver), voter mobilization (Choose or Lose anybody?), reality television (Tough Enough and the critically lauded sequel, Tough Enough 2), movies (See No Evil, The Marine, The Condemned immediately come to mind), and drug abuse prevention -- are roughly commensurate with George W.'s failures in leadership and policy (off the top of my head, those would be the faulty rationale for, rush to, and gross mismanagement of the war in Iraq, suspension of haebas corpus, authorizing the torture of enemy combatants, turning bureaucratic offices and functions of government into networks for political patronage and cronyism, instituting a unitary executive model of governance, the federal response to Hurricane Katrina, stifling funding for stem cell research, the attempt to privatize Social Security, immigration reform, and that whole Terry Schivao fiasco).

To his credit though, Vince appears to finally have learned an important lesson. No, he hasn't stopped trying to expand his corporate empire and sphere of influence. Rather, he's embraced strategic partnerships and collaboration in the conceptualization, production, quality control, distribution, and marketing facets of product development. Say hello then to Vince's latest get rich quick scheme...a Socko powered WWE branded energy drink that offers consumers yet another superfluous non-thirst quenching option in the already oversaturated artificially enhanced, excessively caffeinated beverage market. And here's the kicker, it's only available for purchase at your local Wal-Mart mega emporium. Clearly, this ain't your twin brother's energy drink (aka YJ Stinger):

STAMFORD, Conn.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--World Wrestling Entertainment® and Bliss Beverages have joined forces for a major rollout of WWE licensed beverages into nearly all Wal-Mart stores nationwide. The WWE branded drinks will hit Wal-Mart shelves on May 15.

The WWE branded beverages are part of Bliss' "Socko Energy" line - their flagship product. The drinks include "WWE® Slammin' Citrus(TM) Powered by Socko" and "WWE® Raw® Attitude(TM) Powered by Socko."

"WWE is very proud of this new venture with Bliss Beverages, and of the superior product we've put into Wal-Mart stores," said Donna Goldsmith, Executive Vice President of Consumer Products. "Bliss Beverages' youthful and energetic brand is a great match for WWE, and Socko Beverages will fit in perfectly among WWE's expanding consumer products line."

But wait, there's more inanity! As a public service to the Arabian Facebuster readership (so we meet again Mrs. Spas!) I have compiled a precis of Socko's more preposterous platitudes and pithy dictums from their futuristic web site to give you all a fuller sense of how this corporate alliance is transforming the relationship between our bodies and what we put in them while empowering our impressionable and acne ridden youngsters to take charge of their lives.

• "Socko is a lifestyle. Your lifestyle."
• "Socko's unique taste captures life in its purest form."
• "Socko was created to conquer the status quo!"
• "Socko is about getting results -- it's about getting what you want."
• "Go Socko or go home."
  

I couldn't make this superficial garbage up if I tried...well actually I could, if only the fine folks at Bliss Beverages would give me a chance to interview for a position. I am confident that I'd make a fantastic corporate zombie spinster hack.

But as the old adage goes, the devil is in the details. A leathery skinned, melanoma ridden, Bill Shatner school of acting trained devil. As for all of those ivory tower eggheads and blowhard pundits who prognosticated that Hulk Hogan and Vince McMahon would never again find themselves working on the same team (Team Socko!), to each of them I say...you owe me $5. Now pay up, bitches.

Thoughts on Benoit

Hands down, Ric Flair is my all-time favorite wrestling performer. Stated with equal conviction and certitude, Chris Benoit is my all-time favorite in-ring wrestler. His body of work over the last 20 years -- from his stiff yet high-flying junior-heavyweight matches in Japan as Wild Pegasus/The Pegasus Kid against Jushin Thunder Lyger, Shinjiro Ohtani, and the Great Saskue, to his underappreciated yet test-of-time enduring mid-card encounters with Kevin Sullivan, Eddie Gurrero, Dean Malenko, and Chris Jericho in WCW, to those memorable, physical heavyweight style battles with the likes of Kurt Angle, Steve Austin, Chris Jericho, and Fit Finlay in the WWF/E, to his to his ability to carry lesser workers in whatever company he competed (see his bouts with the likes of DDP, Raven, The Rock, Randy Orton, and even MVP) to matches that ranged from very good to outstanding, to his career capping title victory over Shawn Michaels and HHH at WrestleMania XX (and subsequent victory at the Backlash rematch), to his apparent stylistic influence on future top stars of the business like Samoa Joe and CM Punk -- eclipses all but a handful of men to ever don a pair of revealing spandex tights and meticulously polished boots.

Chris Benoit never had bad matches, only inferior opponents.

In spite of all these accomplishments and accolades, the fact remains that Chris Benoit took his own life yesterday, but not before murdering his wife Nancy and son Daniel in the family's suburban Atlanta home in what appears to be a case of "roid rage." This tragedy not only deservedly tarnishes Benoit's professional legacy and personal reputation, it also offers a scathing indictment of professional wrestling's "don't ask don't tell" approach towards steroid and painkiller use and abuse and rebuke of its infatuation with cartoonish muscles and inflated physiques.

Inside the ring, professional wrestling is all about grit, drama, physicality, endurance, confrontation, gaining revenge/payback, innovation, and execution. Outside of the ring, professional wrestling is a rotten industry filled with dubious practices (like rampant steroid and painkiller usage) and some real sketchy, seedy, sleazy, immoral characters: drunks, drug addicts, hustlers, hotheads, sadists, racists, womanizers, home wreckers, deadbeats, wife beaters, and ex-cons (of course, it is populated by plenty of honest, decent, kind, considerate men as well). And as much as it truly pains me to state it -- solely and therefore irrationally based upon my admiration of Chris Benoit's tenaciousness and versatility and astonishment at the consistency and quality of his wrestling output -- my favorite in-ring technician of all time might very well be the most vile, loathsome, and revolting human being outside of the ring in the history of the business.

How's that for an obituary?

Maybe This Will Lift Your Spirits

It certainly lifted mine. No apologies whatsoever for the sound quality. I wish the new Throbbing Gristle album was this good.


It almost is, actually.

Please Stop Dying

Rest In Peace.

Yr Old Skool Foto of the Week

Jerry "The King" Lawler, Magnum TA, and "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes, circa 1985

Reason #238 To Despise Vince McMahon

Here at Arabian Facebuster, we try to focus on What Really Matters in the world of wrestling. As such, you will find coverage of economics, our society's racial divide, and (of course) the War on Terror.

As you can see, we have little time for gaytarded and insignificant shenanigans like the yawn-inducing work pictured above. Unfortunately, some people seem to think this Dallas '07 crap is important. So I thought perhaps we should issue a statement of some kind.

Here it is: This angle is stupid. And boring. And offensive. And I fucking hate it.

You may now return to your day.

Yr Old Skool Valet of the Week

"Sensational" Sherri Martel (RIP) accompanies Shawn Michaels to the ring, circa 1992.

Whimsy Gallops With Arthritic Abandon

My current work schedule precludes me from keeping up with the orgiastic frenzy of whimsy that TNA has become. One of the gents at work told me about this gimmick, but I hardly dared believe it was real.

Oddly enough, I'm going to have to support this. Whimsical or not, I find it oddly compelling.

And at least he's not wearing sandals.

Yr Question of the Week

Q: Who likes to celebrate a hard fought victory by repeatedly punching himself in the crotch?

A: This Guy.

Gentlemen, the Era of Whimsy is truly upon us.

Yr Old Skool Tag Team of the Week

The Mongols. (Probably) Pittsburgh, PA circa 1974.

Hey, Guys! It's Bobby Lashley!

Hey, guys. I hate to bring you guys down, but this guy's feeling pretty rough right now, guys. I mean, a guy works really hard to recapture the ECW title from a bunch of really mean guys, and then that guy gets "drafted" to RAW, and what happens? The guys in charge strip the guy of his title! Guy, that just doesn't seem fair, guys.

Well, this guy never says die (hey, maybe that can be my new catchphrase)! I'm just gonna have to challenge some of the guys on RAW to title matches. They seem like a good bunch of guys, so I'm sure they'll let a guy like me wrestle them so guys like you can watch and cheer for your favorite guy.

Take Santino Marella, for instance. That guy might not speak-a de English so well, but I bet he speaks the international language of guy! Or should I say the interCONTINENTAL language? Get it, guys? 'Cos he's the Intercontinental Champ and everything? Hello? Guys?

Okay, guys, I know that jokes aren't this guy's strong suit, but let me tell you what is: BEING STRONG. Not to brag, but I'm a pretty strong guy. I bet I'm even stronger than that guy John Cena, and that guy's pretty strong, guys. He even lifted the Guy Khali! Well, I've lifted Umaguy, a guy who's only 80 pounds lighter than that other guy! Looks like this guy better hit the gym, guys! Just kidding. This guy's always in the gym, guys. Cena's a strong guy, but he's not always in the gym. Sometimes he's out buying shoes, or making "rap" videos. I don't know about all that, guys. Seems to me like a guy should focus on what he's good at. That's why I focus on being a really, really strong guy.

Well, that's all for now, guys. I hear some of the guys are heading over to the gym. This guy better hurry. Hey, guys! Wait up!
Talk to you later, guys!
-Bobby Lashley

What The Cock Redux

In a fit of journalistic deidication, I finally soldiered through my tape of Saturday Night's Main Event. It was one of the most vile sports entertainment turds the WWE brain(?)trust has ever squatted out. In an evening filled with arm-wrestling, mixed-size tag matches (Hornswoggle/Finlay vs. Boogeyman/Little Boogey was actually the match of the night, just as it was on last week's Smackdown!), and Divas chicken fighting to the hiphop crossover sounds of Timbaland, the night's final match took the turd cake. As it were.

Umaga, Viscera(hooray!), and Kevin Thorn wrestled a tag match against Kane, Eugene, and... shudder...sigh... fine. DOINK THE FUCKING CLOWN.

Look, I understand if Vince was pissed at NBC for shoving SNME into its ridiculous 11:30 PM timeslot. I understand if all the WWE's creative efforts were poured into the One Night Stand Pay-Per-View (they weren't). I even understand if the bookers were exhausted and sore after a night of doing Poppers with Pat Patterson (they were). But there is NO EXCUSE for unleashing Doink the Clown on an unsuspecting public. At least have the decency to warn us that Doink will be appearing on the program! Thank god I'm out of coffee, so my involuntary spit-take was cool, refreshing beer instead of scalding French Roast.

Clearly, this New Era of Whimsy poses a threat to us all. Some sort of anti-whimsy agent must be found, and I think I know just the man for the job.

RAW is Jackass

In a move that appears to be part cutthroat one-upmanship, part shameless and desperate promotional tactic in order to capture the deviant, empathy lacking, voyeuristic violence indulging viewership of Scarred and Bum Fights, Steve-O (seen here looking even more worthless than ususal) and other underemployed members of the Jackass ensemble will be appearing on this Monday's edition of RAW. They are expected to start an angle that will eventually culminate with Steve-O competing near the top of the card against a prominent albeit yet to be identified WWE superstar (my money is on Bobby Lashley if they make Steve-O a heel, Khali if they curiously decide to position this easily detestable youngster as a face) at SummerSlam. No word on whether a triple threat match between Hornswaggle, Mini Boogyman, and WeeMan is also in the works.

At long last, a new era for RAW and the WWE will be ushered in this Monday night. An era of whimsy.

Reason #242 to Despise Hulk Hogan

The fact that an energy drink was created in his (rubbery bronze skinned) likeness.

So Long Sandy...

Longtime backbone of Portland Wrestling, Sandy Barr, died Saturday at the age of 69. Barr suffered a heart attack in the office of his North Portland flea market, where he continued to hold matches up until his death. Sandy certainly left his mark on the world of professional wrestling as a promoter, wrestler, referee, trainer, father of Art Barr, and mentor to many in the business (including this lovely lady). Here's a nice retrospective by our Canadian pals at Slam!

For those in the area, a public memorial service will be held Saturday June 9th at 1 PM at Cathedral Park under the St. Johns Bridge. If not, take a few minutes to enjoy this slice of Portland Wrestling circa '77.

Yr Ironic PSA of the Week

Jake "The Snake" Roberts...possibly high.

Reason #956 To Despise Hulk Hogan

I was trying to find some background information on Malibu's brain-melting post from yesterday, and instead stumbled upon this little treasure. I sincerely apologise for adding to the already-toxic levels of Hulkamania our humble site is currently displaying, but this is too juicy to pass up. Hulk as Zeus? Th' ever lovin' Big Shew as his immortal nemesis? And young Richard Sandrak, whose freakishly 'roided-out visage used to adorn a body-building ad posted incongruously in the Men's Room of the Half-Price Books in Tacoma, WA?

All this and a dance number by the Wu-Tang's least favorite white girl, Brooke Hogan? I think we've found the booby prize for next year's Wrestlemania.

Reason #15 to Depise Hulk Hogan

I hate to post two YouTube clips in one day, let alone log two entries that feature el diablo calvo, lest I be accused of uninspired blogging, but the campy thespianism on display in this clip warrants your immediate, undivided attention.

My favorite moment, hands down, has gotta be Hogan's declaration that "There's No Hulkamaniacs Here!" Somebody get me the number of the nearest Kinko's. I need 40,000 bumper stickers produced motherfucking stat.

Honorable mention goes to Hogan's vexation that the mysterious running liquid is less than scalding in temperature. Gentlemen, we may have just discovered the aphoristic ying to Paris Hilton's yang.

And the Japanese sub-titles and concluding promo by a nappy headed Big Shew are just icing on the cake. Dare I say it...I dare...best YouTube clip EVER!

Enjoy. Again and again.

PastaMania!...It's Real, It's Damn Real

I have heard through the grapevine that some of Arabian Facebuster's more critical and skeptical readership (Hi again, Mrs. Spas!) suspect that PastaMania!, Hulk Hogan's culinarily daring but ill-fated sustence stand/family feedbag at the Mall of America, is nothing more than a figment of this debonair correspondent's active imagination. After months of exhaustive research and inquiry putzing around on Youtube for ninety seconds, I have uncovered definitive video proof corrobrating its existence. Click "Play" on the clip above, crank up your speakers to 11, and witness Hogan lickspittle Eric Bischoff conduct an interview with our least favorite orange hued dirigible and enemy of America in front of the structure (no longer) in question. Regardless of your opinion of the man -- I happen to despise him with every bone in my perfectly sculpted body -- you have to be impressed by his ability to seamlessly hype his title defense against Big Bubba while shilling Hulkaroos as a key part of any balanced diet.

There you have it, PastaMania was real. Case closed. Now if only proving the existence of God could be so easy...and rewarding.