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.