Reason #7 to Despise Hulk Hogan

Yesterday, the 2007 world's worst father nominee, bachelor to be, and all around scourge on our polity -- seen here absolutely owning the red carpet at the launch party for the latest Axe Body Spray fragrance, beef n' cheddar, and dressed in an outfit reminiscent of what his lead footed headed son Nick wore when he recklessly wrapped his car around a tree and put his child molesting sidekick into coma -- turned 54 years old.

Happy Birthday, shitbag.

Yr Old Skool Tag Team of the Week

The Brainbusters.

Hulk Hogan Is Fucked... Allegedly.

The monstrosity pictured above is the alleged lime-and-salt-flavored cheap shit beverage that allegedly caused an allegedly tipsy Nick "Idiot Son" Hogan/Bollea to allegedly wrap his Father's Supra around a palm tree, allegedly sending his friend and passenger John Graziano into an alleged coma, in which the alleged friend allegedly languishes, allegedly blinking and responding to the alleged pain caused by his alleged Pinch Torture at the alleged hands of the aforementioned alleged Father. Allegedly.

Despite a curious and total TMZ News Blackout on all things Nick Hogan Beer Binge related, a number of other (and admittedly less reputable) websites have followed up on the recent Arabian Facebuster scoop: Nick Hogan scored several cases of cheap-to-less-than-cheap beer on the afternoon of his retarded car crash. The specifics of the score, however, are where the real schadenfreude seeps in.

Not to put too fine a point on things, but Hulk Hogan bought the beer for Nick (allegedly!). Hulk's credit card was used in the purchase, and witnesses report that Hulk (assisted by one of Nick's allegedly underage hoodlum alleged friends) carried the beer out of the store, accompanied by Nick and a gaggle of his (allegedly underage) pals. Hulk then spent the day with Nick et al on board Hulk's boat, the U.S.S. Dirigible. One can only assume that vast quantities of the beer (which, for the obsessives among you, consisted of 2 cases Miller Light, 2 Cases Corona Extra, and 1 Case of the malted abortion pictured above) were allegedly consumed by the alleged friends aboard the alleged boat. There's also some nonsense about the drunken mob trying to pillage a Tiki Bar, and some gay-sounding lounging-around-the-pool action involved, but the meat of the thing is this: Nick and friends got all allegedly-loaded, hopped in two of Hulk's alleged cars, and ended up wrapping on of the alleged cars around an alleged tree and sending John Graziano into an alleged Vegetative State.

How do the staff of Arabian Facebuster feel about all this?

(ahem.)

Fuck Hulk Hogan. For Real. Here at th' Facebuster, we talk a lot of shit about the man being a terrorist, a dirigible, a rubbery bronze-skinned little bitch, and countless things besides. All of this pales compared to what Hogan really is... a barely-talented charlatan and a piss-poor father. His development arrested sometime in the early 80's, Hulk feels compelled to act out a pathetic, adolescent fantasy of what a father should be. He panders to his Idiot Son as though desperate to impress the feeble-minded punk. Terrified of losing his son's affections, Hulk Hogan postures awkwardly, desperate to seem like a "cool dad." The result is a disaffected, petulant, and amoral teen. While poor Brooke Hogan is obsessively sheltered, isolated, and controlled, young Nick is allowed to run rampant. Hulk Hogan ignores his son's misdeeds, dismissing them with a "boys-will-be-boys" attitude and an almost pathological disregard for the potential consequences of his son's actions. All of this "buddy dad" crap reached its logical conclusion with the crippling of John Graziano.

Congratulations, Hulk. This is where your greed, arrogance, and solipsism have gotten you. Your son has put a man in a coma and is facing felony charges. Your wife is leaving you. Your daughter is whoring herself for a record deal (not true!). And you have contributed to the delinquency of minors (allegedly).

How's your energy drink doing?

Phantom "News" - Nick Hogan Beer Receipt Vanishes!

Just moments after putting the finishing touches on my Hogan Family Divorce Report, I swung by the always-useful TMZ (mainly to make sure my link worked) and saw, basically, the holy grail: TMZ had a copy of Nick Hogan's convenience store receipt from the night of his idiotic and tragic car crash! And said receipt showed underage Nick using his AMEX to purchase at least 42 cans (or bottles, as the case may have been) of cheap-to-midrange beer (the delicious Corona pictured above being the most high-class beverage on Nick's ticket)!

Hands a-tremble, I raced back here to let y'all in on the sweet sweet gossip, but further attempts at verification were met with utter frustration: the story had vanished, leaving only an infuriating "story redirected" marker as testament to its passing.

So, I cannot inform you what shitty Miller product Nick was (allegedly) shotgunning before putting his best friend into a coma. I cannot inform you what brand of Light Beer the Idiot Son will be using to self-medicate his way out of his pre-prison depression. I cannot inform you how much he spent on ice (I think it was $1.99, but whatevs). All I can do is promise to give you fine people a link to the story at such time as it reappears on our plane of existence, much like the fabled city of K'un Lun in the excellent Iron Fist comics. Hopefully it won't take ten years, is all.

Reason #1 To Pity Hulk Hogan

His estranged wife will soon be taking him to the fucking cleaners.

The fine folks at TMZ have once again provided us with a life-enriching dose of shadenfreude, reporting that the second-least-leathery member of the Clan Bollea (pictured here out shopping with her idiot son, who happens to be the Number One Least Leathery family member) has finally tapped out of her marriage to freedom-hating terrorist Hulk Hogan. She filed for divorce on November 20.

Subsequent rumormongering states that the Hogans have been effectively separated since June, with Nick Hogan's recent cataclysmic bout of high-speed idiocy adding straws to the back of the critically-overloaded camel that was the Hogan Marriage. Your Beloved Arabian Facebuster, of course, scooped the whole tawdry, publicity-generating tale back in April.

Can this marriage be saved? Will Hulk take time out from pinching coma patients and whoring out his failed popstar daughter to interrupt Linda and Nick's alimony-fueled shopping sprees? Does anyone give a fuck? And will Paramount ever return our calls about the script for our Hulk Hogan biopic Dirigible? Only time will tell, true believers... and Arabian Facebuster will be there to tell the tale!

Why We Watch Wrestling, Exhibit A-2

More improvised talking points, eloquent proclamations, and vociferous swagger and pomposity that only Ric Flair, apparently just back from a coke binge in the Big Apple, can so consistently deliver. This interview takes place on the NWA's flagship/mothership program, World Championship Wrestling in the summer of 1985 during The Nature Boy's "tweener" period.

Enjoy.

Say My Name, Say My Name

Earlier this month, renowned novelist, actress, dysfunctional relationship expert, drug addict, and all around walking propped up disaster Jonie Laurer -- seen here moments before contracting pubic lice (L) and genital warts (R) from her evening companions -- legally changed her name to Chyna. She now joins the ranks of The Ultimate Warrior as the only washed-up sports entertainers foolish enough to conclude that such an alteration could possibly elicit the care and concern of or regenerate some sort of cultural relevance or import (that is not immediately followed by ridicule and malice) amongst the populace.

According to TMZ.com, a triumphant Chyna emerged from a suburban Los Angeles Court House, postulating verbosely about her struggles, rebirth, and seething contempt for Vince McMahon (we here at Arabian Facebuster can't think of a sounder approach to coping with and moving forward from past hardships and personal failures than by legally adopting a moniker from this period in one's life).

Following the proceedings, Chyna was whisked away from the courthouse... to the unemployment office, in order to update her documentation.

Yr Old Skool Tag Team of the Week

"The North-South Connection."

WWF World Tag Team Champions Dick Murdoch and Adrian Adonis, circa 1984.

Yr "In Vino Veritas" Foto of the Week

Abdullah The Butcher

Ten Years Ago Today...

In the biggest screw job in professional wrestling history, Shawn Michaels defeated Bret Hart via phantom submission for the WWF Title at the 1997 Survivor Series, ushering in the "Attitude Era" and providing the creative impetus for a deluge of self-referential witticisms and angles.

A question to Team Facebuster: Ten years from now, when we look back at the contemporary sports entertainment landscape, what singular event will be toasted as the start of the Whimsy Era?

Reason #225 to Despise Hulk Hogan

His formation of The Mega Powers with Randy "Macho Man" Savage, who was clearly and completely out of his fucking mind even as far back as late 1987. The embedded clip above is from the episode of Saturday Night's Main Event where this unholy, albeit short-lived union was formally joined. In this correspondent's most humble opinion, not since the fusion of peanut butter and marshmallow (Fluffernutter, if you will) by some vengeful cafeteria worker has a more revolting combination been assembled.

Facebusterites, this clip warrants your scathing scorn and undivided detestation, as there are so many uninformed assertions and blatant falsehoods to disentangle...from Hogan's citation of discredited "junk science" that concludes Hulkamania is in fact the most powerful force in the universe, to the Hulkster foreshadowing his sinister sneak attack on America by nonchalantly vowing to blow up the whole planet, to Gene Okerlund's kindergarten level grasp of astronomical concepts, to the Macho Man's peculiar speech impediment that causes him to involuntarily stammer over the phrase "Mega Powers, yeah!"

Also, there appears to be some sort of mysterious centripetal force hindering The Mega Powers from disentangling their firm handshake near the end of this clip. Circumstantial evidence that The Mega Powers are in fact the most indestructible alliance ever created? Or proof beyond a reasonable doubt that Hogan spooged into his own hand just prior to this interview? I lean towards the latter scenario.

Chris Masters: You're Fired

Much to the chagrin of talentless, pea-brained, artificially enhanced lunks everywhere, "The Masterpiece" Chris Masters was fired earlier today for getting busted engaging in conduct unbecoming a WWE superstar: supplementing his training regimen of strawberry-n-banana daiquiri's and half eaten slices of pizza with banned performance enhancing and pain relieving drugs, thereby running afoul of the company's sanctimonious wellness policy.

Give the WWE credit for its consistency when it comes to adjudicating matters of discipline and punishment. When "The Masterpiece" fails a couple of drug tests he gets buried for months on television, suspended, and ultimately terminated. When Randy Orton violates the wellness policy, purchases a cachet of firearms fit for an anti-government militia, gets sent home from a tour of Europe for criminal damage to property, AND is caught making dookie in another superstar's gym bag, he is pushed to the moon and awarded the WWE Title.

Seems fair and equitable to this reporter.

And it doesn't take Nostradamus or even John Edward, you know that tool from Crossing Over, to foretell what the future holds in store for "The Masterpiece." Folks, we're looking at the latest retread to take up yet another valuable spot on the Total Nonstop Action! wrestling roster. Christy Hemme and the rest of the TNA knockouts better guard their duffel bags judiciously, for Masters is liable to take a more bellicose, revolting, and downright stinky approach to attaining that elusive professional wrestling superstardom...or he could follow in the footsteps of so many of his predecessors by screwing his way to the top.

***

After skimming back over this post, you might be wondering "What the heck does a particularly emaciated Larry King dressed like a 14 year old boy have to do with 'The Masterpiece' being given the ol' pink slip?"

Mercifully, absolutely nothing.

Survey SAYS...!

And now, a delightful palate cleanser, meant to wipe away the foul taste of outrage brought on by the Idiot Son. Though it lacks the price-matching genius of one Ox Baker, this clip does possess a certain panache. Fresh from this week's WWE Special Edition of daytime TV workhorse The Family Feud, we find King Bookah, Mr. Kennedy, th' Naitch, Coach, and Batista squaring off against the peerless Queen Sharmell and a stable of lovely (talented) Divas. The fellas really bring the pain in this segment, perhaps because they actually have two brain cells to rub together, whereas poor Sharmell is forced to handle all the thinking by her Own Damn Self, while her teammates (approximately 360 pounds of whinnying silicone and tooth whitener) graze placidly nearby.

A few observations:

1) Booker and Sharmell are the best looking couple in wrestling. I wants me that pink button up.
2) Kennedy needs to learn to clap farther away from his mic.
3) Coachman and Batista are morons.
4) If Ric Flair is really serious about vacating my Costco Mats, he should take a crack at hosting th' Feud. His "It never bothered me" quip is light years ahead of whatever lameness J. Peterman can come up with.
5) Speaking of which, where the fuck is Louie Anderson?

On a somber note, this clip really serves to highlight exactly how grievous the loss of Booker T is for the wrestling business in general. The man wears his CAPE to a GAME SHOW, and doesn't let his shtick drop for even a SECOND. That, fans, is called professionalism, and it's what separates your Kevin Nashes from your Scott Halls. Or something.

Nick Hogan Is Fucked...Allegedly

It looks like the producers of Hogan Knows Best are going to need to hold open casting for the part of Nick after all. My money's on that adorable kid from Forrest Gump and The Sixth Sense earning the opportunity to play the rambunctious, mischievous, insubordinate demon spawn of America's favorite meddlesome, controlling, incandescent father whose hair loss is in its last throes. According to TMZ, the antithesis of speculative, sensationalist, petty journalism:

Clearwater PD today released details of their investigation into the August 26 crash. In addition to being arrested for reckless driving involving serious bodily injury, cops also cited Hogan for use of a motor vehicle in the commission of a felony, a person under the age of 21 operating a vehicle with a breath-alcohol level of .02 or higher and having an Illegal window tint.

Police also concluded that although Hogan and a second car were racing right before the crash, the driver of the second car was not a direct cause of the accident. That driver has also been ticketed for reckless driving.

Hogan was going 60 mph in a 40 mph zone when he lost control and hit a tree.

Nick's Idiot Father could not be reached for comment...probably because he's still down at the hospital, trying to pinch and retch-induce suspected pedophile John Graziano out of his coma in order to possibly lessen his son's looming prison sentence.

Now that's parenting at its finest.

Yr Old Skool Facial Hair of the Week, Part II

Ox Baker in contestant's row on the Price Is Right, 1981.

BREAKING NEWS: Masters Suspended...Again

As the old adage goes, the fifteenth time's the charm...Dave Meltzer is reporting that "The Masterpiece" Chris Masters -- seen here making out with a filthy, filthy whore in exchange for a half eaten slice of pizza -- was suspended by the WWE for sixty days for violating the company's wellness policy. In other news of the day, it was revealed that Britney Spears is America's most unfit parent, narrowly edging out Andrea Yates, Madonna, this tall boy drinking fool, and even a certain idiot father in a recent Gallup poll.

Also suspended for conduct detrimental to the Wellness Policy, Harry aka DB Smith, who has made quite a splash on RAW the past couple of weeks playing the plucky and determined yet woefully inexperienced, overmatched, and easily outwitted babyface. Oh, I see...that's not his character...but rather his actual glaring limitations as a performer...sorry about that.

An offspring of "The British Bulldog" Davey Boy Smith enhancing his physique by putting significant quantities of banned substances into his body!? Unfathomable.

Naitch Is Back...Sigh...Again

"Nature Boy" Ric Flair (seen here closing yet another deal as part of his fledging predatory lending enterprise) has had enough of domesticity. No more leaf raking. No more driveway tarring. No more dust bustering. No more check book balancing. No more Live With Regis and Kelly. No more mid-morning games of cribbage and cup(s) o' scotch with the sweet, little old ladies from the neighborhood that are in the early stages of dementia. No more folding up his Costco Camping Mats with the utmost care and precision after another restless night spent on the breakfast nook floor of his yet palatial, yet sparsely appointed suburban Charlotte NC estate. No more filing frivolous lawsuits in his robe and slippers. And most certainly no more chauffeuring his son David thrice a week to sexual offender rehabilitation classes.

It turns out Flair was in Orlando earlier this week to promote WrestleMania 24, charm the pants off the handful of credentialed local media that actually covered this non-event for the purposes of not having to feature yet another toy dog on water skis story during the obligatory "wacky human interest item" segment at the conclusion of the 10:00 newscast, and coyly pontificate about his future with the WWE. What then does the future hold in store for one of the greatest performer's in the history of the business? If Flair's insinuations are to be believed, its back to the kiss stealing, wheeling dealing, leer jet flying, limousine riding life as an active member of the WWE roster...perpetually kissing Vince McMahon's ass both on screen and off, spending his afternoon's practicing over and over again his patented "Flair flop" in an empty arena, working on the pitch and cadence of his "Woo" with America's preeminent voice coach, and putting up and coming stars -- the guys that will carry this business into the next decade -- like The Great Khali, Mark Henry, The Miz, Festus, and Domino Deuce over convincingly.

Um, welcome back?