Yr Old Skool Montage of the Week

"The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes.

Taken from the 1987 Great American Bash program.

This Is Grotesque

In More Ways Than One...

Dedicated, as ever, to bringing our audience the latest news in Sports Entertainment, I attempted to watch the most recent episode of Smackdown! Amid the clumsy grapplings of the Great and Near-Great, I found a hidden gem (and by "gem" I mean reeking turd): Jamie Noble versus The New Cruiserweight Champion Hornswoggle (pictured above, fondling his "shillelagh". Har).

For those who missed the Great American Bash (that would be everyone, right?) Finlay's ex-leprechaun pulled off a fluke victory in some sort of multi-grappler schmozz for the Cruiserweight Belt. Jamie Noble's all worked up 'cos he earned the number-one contender spot and this is turning him into a joke and he has his pride and blah blah bling bling blah. Cue eight minutes or so of time-filling comedy wrestling ending with Hornswoggle still champ by a count-out. Meaning, I suppose, that I'm meant to sit through this crap next week as well... and the week after that, and the week after that, probably until the Jackass boys show up so Hornswoggle can drop the belt to Wee Man. Horrors.

While this is clearly New Whimsy at its lamest, the match did provide the best wrestling action of the night. No, not the in-ring shenanigans. I'm talking about John Layfield wrestling with his thesaurus, struggling manfully to avoid saying "midget."

Ba-dum-bum! Thank you! I'll be here all week. Tip your waitstaff.

Twenty Years Ago Today...

...a prepubescent Malibu Sands (accompanied by his father) attended the Great American Bash on tour at the Philadelphia Civic Center. The main event that evening was a steel cage match for the NWA U.S. Heavyweight Title between babyface Communist challenger (nice booking, Dusty) Nikita Koloff and recently crowned champion and member of the Four Horsemen, "The Total Package" Lex Luger. Also on the card were a double-bullrope match pitting Dusty Rhodes and Ron Garvin against Tully Blanchard and "Nature Boy" Ric Flair (IIRC, Dusty pinned Tully); The Rock and/or Roll Express successfully defending their NWA Tag Titles against The Midnight Express in a lumberjacks with tennis rackets match; Jimmy Garvin defeating J.J. Dillion in a match-up whose outcome exactly 100% of the crowd predicted correctly; Barry Windham defeating Arn Anderson; The Fabulous Freebirds (Hayes, Gordy, Roberts) going over Paul Jones' Army; Dr. Death Steve Williams retaining the UWF Title against Dick Murdoch; and during intermission, the highlight of the evening, a "Dating Game" facsimile as three eligible bachelorettes undoubtedly plucked from the audition line a local gentlemen's club competed for the attention and affection of the hottest commodity in professional wrestling at that time...The Total Package?...god damn right...The Total Package!

For your viewing pleasure, here is a copy of the card...

Reason #4 to Despise Hulk Hogan

This Honey-Nut Cheerios commercial.

Yr Old Skool Crimson Mask of the Week

Abdullah the Butcher vs. Stan Hansen: All Japan Pro Wrestling

Rest In Peace: John Kronus

John Kronus (pictured here with Perry Saturn in ECW Tag Champs The Eliminators) was found dead in his girlfriend's home on July 18. Police do not suspect foul play, but are proceeding with an autopsy due to Kronus' youth (according to Wikipedia, he was 38).

What a year this turned out to be.

Khali...

Great heavyweight champion, or the greatest heavyweight champion?

After painstaking deliberation, I'm going to go with "Great." For now.

Now with 200% More Offense!

There was much to despise about Tuesday night's cavalcade of mundaneness more commonly referred to by its surname, the ECW on Sci-Fi . This would include Edge Version 1.5 (or if you prefer, Shawn Michaels Version 0.8) aka Johnny Nitro paying off the WWE's patented main event interview segment with a freaking name change, CM Punk going over Elijah Burke for the umpteenth time in a heatless match, the directionless Tommy Dreamer doing the job to the equally directionless and ten times less talented or credible Kevin Thorn, the macarena and jazz hands stylings of Kelly Kelly and the rest of the new Nitro Girls on display, and the Miz actually appearing on my television screen instead of honoring a prior commitment to brutally torture some dastardly Al Qaeda operatives (or innocent foreign nationals) at Guantanamo Bay by forcing them to watch a tape of every single one of his matches (the Miz might be a son-of-a-bitch, but god damnit, he's our son-of-a-bitch).

Mercifully, in this vast ocean of tedium, I spotted a life preserver...an out of shape, morbidly obese, heavily tattooed, dark as night skinned life preserver. I would of course be referring to Big Daddy V, the latest sports entertainment incarnation created for Nelson Frazier, Jr, the man formerly known at Mabel and Viscera and soon to be known as Big Gay Viscera. The naysayers and playa' haters out there undoubtedly remain convinced that this name and costume change are nothing more than a facile and myopic repackaging of performer who should have been put out to pasture a long time ago. But let me assure them and all of you that this ain't your deadbeat daddy's Viscera. Big Daddy V is chic yet timeless, electrifying yet grounded, feared yet respected, prophetic yet meticulous, outrageous yet earnest. The ladies want him and the fellas want to be him. He's the ideal to which man should aspire. Hell, he's even incorporated a devastating looking elbow smash into his wrestling repertoire!

Who is this Big Daddy V? What motivates him? And what compelled him to come to the sports entertainment wasteland that is ECW? Based on the name alone, you would think that Big Daddy V would be content working as the Assistant Manager at a soul food restaurant or financing the production of pornographic videos filmed in his basement instead of physically dissecting meth addicted, dirty 'stached, trailer trash jobbers like the one pictured above. And based solely on his physique, you would assume that Big Daddy V would be preoccupied with getting breast reduction and/or gastric bypass surgery or competing in a Randy Jackson look-a-like contest rather than moving around a ring at a glacial yet somehow still arduous pace. However, you'd be wrong on both counts. For Big Daddy V is in the E-C-Dub for one reason and one reason only, to aid Matt Stryker in his quest to rid the brand of the enigmatic Boogeyman while providing some much needed time/content filler for Tuesday evening's marathon 60 minute broadcast, 38 of which are without any commercial interruption whatsoever.

Alright fine, two reasons.

Savage...Savage

Pompous British explorers like Sussex Monroe and his longtime companion the Earl of Salisbury (along with their less revered forebearers Sir Walter Raleigh and Dr. David Livingstone) devoted their lives to tracking the elusive, primitive savages filmed above in the deepest recesses of the African bush and Indonesian tropical rain forest, respectively. Silly Sussex and Salisbury, all that time Kamala and Sika were frolicking in the poorly ventilated television studios of the WWF, accompanied by a diabolical manager whose voice shares an eerily similar inflection with a man who tried (but regrettably failed) to destroy Hulkamania in seemingly the most convoluted yet amusing way possible.

If only Sussex and Salisbury were capable of communicating on the highest form that is the 39th level instead of the more rudimentary 37th level. They could have avoided this confusion and instead focused their anthropological inquires towards Aboriginal culture.

You Give Me That Title, You Warthog From Hell!

So I read Malibu's insightful post this morning and thought I'd pop over to double-double-e dot com and see who on the Smackdown! roster I favored for the upcoming battle royal. Y'know... the battle royal that doesn't air until this Friday. The one that decides who will be the Smackdown! champeen in place of the tragically injured Edge. The one that I'm actually pretty excited about watching (in much the same way as I get excited about accident footage on the nightly news, but whatevs). The one that HOLY CRAP THEY GAVE IT TO THE GREAT KHALI?!?!?!?!?!?

Goddamn you, wwe.com. You burned me again.

As an aside, if your problem is that your main event performers keep getting sidelined with injuries, is fast-tracking the Great Khali really the solution? Brian Ong would probably disagree. If he could. But he can't. On account of, well... you know.

Someone stop this ponderous load before he kills again, and please ask the WWE to quit posting match results three days before their air dates.

BREAKING NEWS: Edge Out Indefinitely

In what qualifies as a rare case of BlackJack Brown getting out-scooped and altogether bitch-slapped by the competition, Dave Meltzer of The Wrestling Observer is reporting that Smackdown! champion Edge is out of commission for an indeterminate amount of time as the result of last week's trademark WWE "main event interview turned sixty second donnybrook" with box office cash cow "The Big Red Machine" Kane. According to Meltzer, as of now the plan is to hold a battle royal at tonight's conclave of mediocrity, otherwise known as the Smackdown/ECW television tapings, to crown a new champion.

We here at Arabian Facebuster wish (a) Edge a speedy and full recovery; (b) that the Smackdown! title NOT be awarded to the following superstars: Kane, Batista, The Great Khali, Mark Henry, MVP, Deuce, Domino, either of the brothers Major, Chris Masters, Chavo Guerrero, Chuck Palumbo, Kenny Dykstra, Eugene, Dave Taylor, Jimmy Wang Yang, Gregory Helms, Jamie Noble, Shannon Moore, Funaki, and any and all of the divas. For those keeping track, that leaves Finlay, Matt Hardy, Hornswoggle, Commissioner Teddy Long, and Michael Cole as the only uninjured superstars available to carry the torch.

I got $10 on Hornswoggle.

WSX: Where Are They Now? (Part Two)

Yeeeeessssss! He's fucking BACK, people! The spinniest of the spinny-flippy, the king of the no-sell, the past/present/future of projectile vomiting: TEDDY HART!

In a move that defies all conventional logic, Our Ted has been signed to a developmental deal by the one and only World Wrestling Entertainment. Is he there to truly put their wellness policy to the test? Is he filling some obscure affirmative action clause for mentally unbalanced Canadians? Or is he being introduced as the hip-hop Yang to CM Punk's hardcore Yin (or vice versa)?

Whatever the case may be, this kid is a wrestling blogger's best friend. Please join us here at Arabian Facebuster in welcoming wrestling's Loosest Living Cannon to the corporate fold.

Please, Teddy... try not to screw this up until after you've given us a few months of good copy.

A Prediction RE: This Evening's RAW

Tonight on RAW, I predict that the inanimate wunderkind that is Bobby Lashley (seen here impersonating a paperweight) will be crammed so far down our proverbial throats that it will require an otolaryngologist to dislodge him.

[Or if you prefer...]

Tonight on RAW, I predict that the over the counter supplement enhanced phenom that they call Bobby Lashley will be shoved so far up our proverbial butt-holes that it will require a proctologist to extract him.

So all you masochists and idiom aficionados out there be sure to tune in to RAW this evening. You won't regret it.

Thank God It's Back Up!

God bless you, MondayNitro1, for allowing all of the world (or at least those in the world with a high speed internet connection) to again witness the fifteenth most compelling reason to despise Hulk Hogan.

Yr Old Skool Foto of the Week

Bruiser Brody vs. "Nature Boy" Ric Flair

Wrestling Rap Part Two

The suppliers of this clip have refused to let me embed it... a fickle move, but given the quality of product they're slangin', I'll let 'em do what they want. Just hop aboard this link and then start thanking me. The fine folks at NWA shockwave have done it again.

If you need more convincing, let me sum up the goodness contained herein:

Jimmy Snuka's one-two punch of incoherent rambling and fashion-forward accessorizing.
The classic track "Step To The Rear" by Brand Nubian.
Two cute punk rock chicks.
One cute dog.
One look of sheer animal terror (the girl on the left, it seems, does NOT want to dance with Jimmy).

The jungle comes to your house, indeed.

Rare, Pre-Whimsy Era Footage

On Sunday April 20, 1986 yours truly Malibu Sands, along with about 25,000 of my fellow Caucasian trash upper Midwesterner's descended upon the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome for an afternoon of professional wrestling excitement at WrestleRock, put on by the Twin Cities based American Wrestling Association.

The card featured about 15 matches. Top bouts included The Road Warriors seeking retribution against Michael Hayes and Jimmy Garvin inside the confines of a steel cage. Also inside the cage, Jimmy "Superfly" Snkua and insomnia curing Greg Gagne facing the legendary Bruiser Brody and Nord the Barbarian (better known as The Berzerker later in his less than illustrious career). And for the AWA Title, Nick Bockwinkel squaring off against the champion, Stan Hansen. Also on the card were the likes of Harley Race, Rick Martel, Larry Zbysko, Barry Windham, The Fabulous Ones, The Midnight Rockers, Scott Hall & Curt Henning, The Long Riders Scott & Bill Irwin (more famously known as The Super Destroyers), Sgt. Slaughter, Kamala, and Rip City's own "Playboy" Buddy Rose.

Of course, the AWA brain trust could think of no better way to promote arguably its biggest card of all time than by having its in-ring talent record/plagiarize a third rate rendition of the Chicago Bears "Super Bowl Shuffle." And in hindsight, neither can I. From a prepubescent and clean cut Shawn Michaels, to the contrasting flowing schlong cut being sported by Larry Zbysko, to the tuned up hip and/or hop stylings of backstage interviewer "Killer" Ken Resnick, to a most overenthusiastic and irritating vocal arrangement by one Greg Gagne, to seemingly sober, family appropriate appearances by perpetual fuck-ups Marty Jannetty, Scott Hall, and Curt Henning, this clip has got an array of future top stars in the business making songs like Hillbilly Jim's "Don't Go Messin' With A Country Boy" or "The Hulkster's in the House" by Hulk Hogan and the Wrestling Boot Band seem utterly pedestrian and banal by comparison.

Enjoy this extremely rare, extremely campy footage.

Whither The Jizzrag?

A month or so ago, the Pencil Neck Geek and I were watching a bit of RAW en espanol and we noticed that Jeff Hardy's patented back-pocket jizzrags were really getting out of hand. What once had seemed merely a large hankerchief had, in recent weeks, expanded in size until it resembled a bed sheet stolen from a mental institution. As one might expect, adding such a huge piece of fabric to Mr. Hardy's already substantial ballast interfered mightily with Hardy's brand of spinny-flippy hullabaloo. Midway through the match, an astute ring official snatched the offending fabric from Hardy's pocket and sent it billowing gracefully into the crowd (the first four rows of fans were later given a substantial refund for their loss of vision). Hardy waddled his way to the match's conclusion.

Skip ahead to last night's RAW. Rev. VonFury and I were partaking of the more-than-generous Happy Hour prices at the Farmer's Barn, and who should fill our TV screen (and I mean that sucker was FULL! TO BURSTING!) but the WWE's Poet Laureate, Jefferey Nero Hardy... sans jizzrag!

Fans, I understand that the WWE has the best interests of its employees constantly in mind. As such, they must curb rampant steroid abuse, mental illness, and gym bag crapping at ALL LEVELS OF THE COMPANY. This is why we've seen the company take several steps away from the spot-happy days of the late 90's (damn you, ECW, and your devil-may-care attitude!), settling on a more mid-tempo wrestling style that prolongs the careers of high-flying daredevils like Snitsky. I believe that it is this mindset that has banished Jeff Hardy's jizzrag (shown here in happier times).

The jizzrag's potential for mayhem is nigh-incalculable. The sharp, starchy corner could poke out an eye. It could become tangled in the turnbuckles. It could deliver a savage rope burn. One could slip on it. It contains many infectious stains (if you know what I'm talking about). It is, in short a veritable thesaurus of peril.

While I understand that personal expression is very important to Mr. Hardy (his poem Nachos Nachos Nachos rivals the works of Joyce), no one has a right to endanger his coworkers and fans. I applaud Vincent Kennedy McMahon for ridding the ring of this menace.

Whatever Happened To...Oh, Nevermind

I planned to post something last week about awkward sexpot Lillian Garcia (seen here hurling her own excrement into the crowd at a WWE live event...adding yet another layer of meaning to the WWE approved tag-line "Catch the Excitement!"), specifically her evasion of ring announcing duties for what seems like the last six months.

Then all of a sudden last night she was back, introducing Rory and Robby, better known to you, me, and the whole damn planet as The Highlanders with her trademark forced vivacity and guttural over-enunciation. What gives? Can anybody explain the reason for Lillian's extended sabbatical? Was she on an extended maternity leave? A serious bender followed by a stint in rehab? Following in the trail blazing footsteps of Trish Stratus as a celebrity law enforcement guinea pig on Armed and Famous 2? Suspended for violating the company's foolproof Wellness Policy?

I am too busy at work and too lazy at home to locate an answer. Therefore, allow me to provide some incentive to the legion of Arabian Facebusterites to do some investigation on my inquisitive behalf. A 240z can of Camo Black Ice will be awarded to the individual who is able to unravel this mystery, or at least provide a plausible explanation with some supporting citation. For those outside of the Twin Cities metropolitan area, I am prepared to use Fed Ex overnight shipping and the finest in Styrofoam based insulating packaging to ensure that this marvelous nectar arrives cool to the touch at your doorstep.

Game on.

Yr Rasslin' Mugshot of the Week

"Dirty" Dick Slater, arrested for aggravated battery and booked into a Florida jail in December, 2003 for stabbing his girlfriend with a butcher knife.

If you're curious, a bit more detail on this savage case is available here.

WSX: Where Are They Now? (Part One)

Hey, gang, remember the Salsa-flavored Boogeyman Clone who threw a fireball at Vampiro back in th' WSX? Yeah, well, I sort of do, and rumour has it that the Mexi-Boogey (not to be confused with the Mini-Boogey) has signed up with our pals at TNA. James Mitchell is apparently quite interested in this dude, who will be calling himself "Banderas" (real name: Gilbert Cosme... evidently no relation to my weed-smoking, Russian Mail Order Bride-having Tacoma-era landlord Bob Cosme).

Great. James Mitchell can supplement his high-work rate Kane/Mankind rip-off (howdy, Abyss) with the last WSX champion. Maybe he can feud with the half-dozen or so Raven Clones TNA is shilling these days.

Ah, well. At least it's not Whimsy.

Happy Anniversary!

Last Friday, Arabian Facebuster turned one year old with little-to-no fanfare. However, the story of the formation of this blog is quite remarkable and warrants retelling.

Apollo Spas began with but a dream -- to build a perpetual motion machine that was also capable of reciting lines from obscure movies. Fearing a swift and ruthless retaliation from the scientific-industrial complex and their Hollywood foot soldiers for violating the laws of thermodynamics, copyright infringement, and intellectual property, he decided to launch Arabian Facebuster instead. As the old adage goes, the rest is history...inaccurate, misguided, revisionist, often blatantly fabricated history.

Folks, we need to commemorate this pioneer spirit...and what better way to do so than by devising a self-congratulatory and trite awards show: The 1st Annual Facebustery's!

A modest 76 awards, recognizing excellence and distinction in the field of professional wrestling blogging on this site, will be doled out this coming Sunday evening. This black tie event will emanate from The Tiny Bubble Room in Portland, OR. Earlier in the day, a ceremony commemorating merit in the field of technical achievement will be held in the driveway of one Pencil Neck Geek. Without further ado, let's take a look at but a few of the categories:

Nominees for the coveted Edward R. Murrow Award for Excellence in Investigative Reporting are Apollo Spas for his expose on home grown terrorists, Pencil Neck Geek for his investigation into reordering of the D-Generation X power structure, Rev. Von Fury for his exhaustive examination of the socio-cultural significance of John Cena's ornamental championship belt, and yours truly Malibu Sands for my inquest into the spectacular rise and fall of PastaMania!

Nominees for the Most Shocking and Triumphant Return to The Facebuster After a Temporary Sabbatical include Pencil Neck Geek's prognosticative return to WWE SmackDown coverage, yours truly Malibu Sands' excuse laden diatribe on why I was able to temporarily break fee from the clutches of the sports entertainment leviathan, and Rev. Von Fury's no doubt imminent return to blogging on this site.

The nominees for the Fodor's Wrestling Related Travelogue Award include yours truly Malibu Sands for my courageous expedition into the Dub Dub A arena, Apollo Spas for his two part report on the tribulations and triumphs that come with trying to watch professional wrestling in the public realm, and once again yours truly Malibu Sands for my reporting from the Facebuster Staff Conference.

Nominees for the prestigious Ralph Nader Medal for Futility in Progressive Advocacy are Rev. von Fury's fruitless plea for virtue and chastity in the face pro wrestling's worldly temptations, Pencil Neck Geek for nobly but vainly attempting to offer the Facebuster's more unmotivated readers a weekly recap of the television phenomenon known as Friday Night SmackDown!, and Apollo Spas for his (s0 far) stymied campaign to recast the sexuality of one Viscera.

Finally, the nominees in the category of Seething and Perfectly Rational Contempt for Hulk Hogan, Chyna Doll, or Randy Orton are yours truly Malibu Sands for marshaling photographic proof of Orton's hotel room trashing escapades, Apollo Spas for thoroughly reviewing the agonizing read otherwise known as Chyna's book, and yours truly Malibu Sands for unearthing stomach churning footage of the Hulkster's musical exploits.

To the winning nominees go the spoils. Instead of a poorly manufactured statuette, awardees will receive a year's supply (i.e. 365 cases) Hamm's Beer, the official party starter and panty remover of Arabian Facebuster, along with a vat of Manwich Sloppy Joe sauce. Hamburger meat and buns not included.

Again, congratulations to Arabian Facebuster on a most glorious year of blogging! Now cut me off a slice of that whimsical cake...I'd prefer a piece from that sweet whale tail.

For Hulkamaniacs' Eyes Only

In lieu of the clip featuring Hulk Hogan flexing his 24" acting pythons being mysteriously removed from YouTube, I thought it prudent to post some more Chrome Domed Terrorist vs. Kevin Sullivan/Dungeon of Doom related content before the psychological phenomenon known as "Hulkamania Withdrawal Syndrome" kicks in.

While clearly not as outrageous or uproarious as Hogan's bewildering ("IT'S NOT HOT") foray into the Dungeon of Doom ("I'VE NEVER BEEN HERE BEFORE") and confrontation with the sinister duo of Kevin Sullivan and his father The Master ("I KNOW YOU...AND YOU TOO"), this latest video offering still brings the funny. In fact, if Good Ol' JR were to view this footage, something tells me that would describe it as "scintillating."

Marvel at Hogan's facial contortions as his rugged Harley Davidson motorcycle is emasculated by a callous and surprisingly assiduous Big Shew! Witness the demeaning yet strangely cathartic shaving of the last spot on Hulk Hogan's body that can sustain human hair based on his decades of rampant steroid usage...his upper lip! Behold the swaddling fashion stylings and surprisingly fluid gesticulations of the mummified Yetti! Observe the genesis of the lamentable monster truck-pro wrestling connection! Oh, and there's also an all-too-brief snippet of "Mean" Gene Okerlund conducting an interview in a pair of blue blockers.

Based on the transgressions noted above, please also consider this post as Reason #37 to Despise Hulk Hogan.

Yr Old Skool Tag Team of the Week

The Minnesota Wrecking Crew, Ole and Gene Anderson