Damn Clever, Those Japanese

For your consideration: footage from the HUSTLE promotion in Japan. This is apparently an attempt to weld traditional Japanese style action with Sports Entertainment storylines. Whatevs, it's all basically three scoops of insane with awesome sauce drizzled on top.

Here we find long-time Facebuster fave Tajiri teaming with Taiwanese swimsuit model Yinling to face the offensive stereotype "Real Gay" and... the motherfucking Great Muta. While there's a bit too much "erotic" posturing and ridiculous effeminate clowning for some tastes, Muta and Tajiri have some top-notch exchanges that look pretty goddamn stiff. And, of course, Muta blows th' Green Mist into Yinling's crotch.

Nice to see that the WWE aren't the only promotion monitoring my dreams for angles.

Big Daddy "V" For Victory!

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Facebuster Nation, it has been a long four months. There were times (mainly during Great Khali matches) that it seemed our nightmare would never end. There were times (whenever Batista touched a microphone) that we looked to the heavens and begged for an end to the atrocities of war. There were times (usually involving someone or other writhing in the clutches of "the Masterlock") that we wished we had never started this fucking blog at all, and wondered if we could ever again look on mainstream pro-wrasslin' product without feeling shudders of PTSD and Survivor's Guilt.

Well, we can. 'Cause we won. And we will keep winning.

A brief moment of exposition for the newer recruits to le armee Facebuster: Back in August, renowned shitheel Michael Cole inadvertently slandered the legendary Bruiser Brody. Acting on an undeniable moral imperative, the Facebuster Editorial Staff moved to declare war on the entire WWE organization, sparking a hellish ordeal of scorn, bluster, and Hornswoggle matches. Demands were issued, progress was made, but many doubted that we could ever acheive True Victory In Our Time.

Fuck off, doubters.

Has it occurred to any of you that it's a bit odd that the injured and suspended Edge was just allowed to waltz back into WWE title contention? Did you notice that he's currently providing at least a solid half hour of top-shelf entertainment every week? Did you watch the video montage of Edge and Vickie Guerrero frolicking in the park and say, "That's so much like my dreams, it's scary?"

We did, too. And that's because we LITERALLY HAD THAT DREAM, two weeks before it aired on Smackdown!. We also dreamed about there being three Edges, and y'all know how we feel about Big Daddy V. It's almost as though... (dare to say it) the WWE has been monitoring our dreams for story ideas. Finally.

All this was purest conjecture until last Friday's Smackdown!, when Rey Mysterio's entrance montage included the typical "pan across the glowing faces of the fans" shot... and there I was. Apollo Spas, circa 1997. Clad in a vintage Ramones T-shirt, shrugging off my ridiculous Echo & The Bunnymen trenchcoat, laughing and clapping for my wrasslin' favorites (photographic evidence pending, as we try to figure out how to work our computers, but feel free to come over to my place and watch the tape). No shit. As a token gesture of humility, defeat, and submission, the WWE bigwigs pulled some footage of me at a Tacoma Dome RAW taping and spliced into their latest, cutting-edge (har?) efforts. The war is over. The Facebuster Meme will be allowed to infect the WWE corporation at all levels. Victory is ours.

TNA? You're fucking next.

Yr Old Skool Legends of the Week

Bruiser Brody (furry boots) and Stan "The Lariat" Hansen (cowboy boots).

Yes, Virginia, There Is A Xanta Claus

"Dear Pencil Neck Geek: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Xanta Claus. Papa says, 'If you read it in Arabian Facebuster, it's so'. Please tell me the truth; is there a Xanta Claus? Sincerely, Virginia O'Hanlon- 115 N. Fessenden St."

Dearest Virginia, your father is clearly an discerning connoisseur of fine wrestling journalism. Your little friends, on the other hand, are a bunch of half-wit nincompoops. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They think that nothing can be that is not comprehensible to their rotten, mushy brains. They will try to tell you that Xanta is nothing but an illusion- Balls Mahoney with a funny hat and miserable gimmick. One more in a seemingly endless parade of desperate ratings grabs by Vince McMahon. A concept to be embraced and appreciated by only the most boorish and depraved of this society.

Let's face it Virginia- our nation is nothing if not boorish and depraved. The charity and benevolence of Old St. Nick reflects the spirit of our holiday season no more. In keeping with the times, Santa has evolved into Xanta- a hairy manifestation our culture's selfishness and crass commercialism. Who stands to benefit more from our beloved holiday than the "Million Dollar Man" ? What is more real to us than violence and greed?

When Xanta Claus stumbles in my back door on Christmas Eve reeking of Thunderbird and Slim Jims, I will arise to greet him with open arms. And though Xanta may wallop my head with a sack of discontinued WWE merchandise and disfigure my spine with a vigorous Camel Clutch, I will thank him. For I will know that I- and the rest of America- have received exactly what we deserved*.

Warmest regards,

Pencil Neck Geek**

* Hey Xanta- If you are reading this, please bring me a King Kong Bundy Stretch Wrestler and and an Ultimate Warrior Suck Cup. The Camo Black Ice will be waiting for you on the mantle.

** With apologies to Dr. Phillip O'Hanlon

Congratulations Edges...

...on your WWE Title victory.

To Our Newest Sponsor, Welcome!

Arabian Facebuster has formally terminated its affiliation with Socko, makers of the WWE branded energy drink for willfully conspiring with a certain dastardly terrorist...and for selecting a supposedly, and I quote, "more qualified, emotionally stable, and physically desirable" candidate than yours truly for the prestigious position of "Hot Air Balloon Operator Apprentice" within their venerated Street Team Division.

We wish Bliss Beverages all of the best in their future endeavors. Scratch that, we hope that all of their employees and those that continue to purchase their products get AIDS and die prolonged, agonizing deaths.

Arabian Facebuster would also like to take this opportunity to welcome our newest sponsor -- Mello Yello -- as the official non-alcoholic elixir of this mothership...

Yr Old Skool Tag Team of the Week

Percival Pringle III presents "Maniac" Matt Borne (aka Doink The Clown) and "Mad Dog" Buzz Sawyer, the World Class Wrestling Association Tag Team Champions. 1986.

Reason #209 to Despise Hulk Hogan

Oh, sweet Lord Jebus! It seems that Hulk Hogan is now embroiled in a heated, media driven celebr-feud with bloated, loud mouthed carpet muncher Rosie O'Donnell. Republished most certainly without permission from America's premier news outlet, TMZ.com:

Hulk Hogan's got it out for Rosie O'Donnell. For the love of Elisabeth!

At today's press day for his new show "American Gladiators," Hulk was asked which celebrity he'd like to see a Gladiator pummel. His answer "Without a doubt Rosie O'Donnell. Somebody needs to shut that big mouth up." Class!

Sorry, brother. Our money's on Ro.

UPDATE:
O'Donnell has responded to Hogan's crass comments on her blog -- in classic Rosie prose -- calling him and his cronies "a gang of gross guys," adding that they are "a club almost old dumb white and on tv".

Call Hulk Hogan what you will -- megalomaniac, broken down shell of a man, world's creepiest father, orange hued dirigible, melanoma ridden devil incarnate, chrome domed terrorist -- but you've got to give the founder of PastaMania! credit, he's keeps himself incredibly busy. Why in just the last month alone he's appeared on the Monday Night RAW 15th Anniversary special, taken umbrage with The Great Khali's treatment of midgets of Irish descent, gotten served with divorce papers from his top-heavy wife, watched his son's legal woes go from super fucked to super-duper fucked, whored his daughter out some more (well, probably), and tried to pinch his son's bestest friend out of a coma. And now this!? For Chrise Sakes, Arabian Facebuster hasn't even had the time to convey how much we already loathe his latest project, a prime-time relaunch of American Gladiators. Take that you no good, nasty, wart infested Hollywood writers!

What's next, then, for this youthfully dressed shitbag? I have a sneaking suspicion that a protracted beef between Hulkster and Chyna or that kid who played Steve Urkel on TV's Family Matters looms on the horizon, followed by a stint in a drug rehabilitation facility, followed by yet another "final run" in the creative vacuum otherwise known as World Wrestling Entertainment.

Think about it.

An Open Letter to Hulk Hogan, Part II

Facebuster nation, I have obtained an excerpt of a what appears to be a first draft letter The Ultimate Warrior ghost wrote for Linda Hogan as a way of informing her leathery skinned husband that she was leaving his sorry ass. While The Warrior's proclamations and thematic partitions might come across as a bit meandering and nebulous to some of our more pragmatic readers, overall I found his prose refreshingly assertive in tone, forthright in purpose, and sound in reasoning.

I knew that sifting through the Hogan family's trash would eventually pay off! Onto the letter...

Dear Hulkster:

(On why you are leaving him) What happened tonight was already written, Hulk Hogan. It was written a long time ago when the warriors that came before me and you... ...that what we must do is beyond us Hulk Hogan. I stood with my back to you Hulk Hogan. And I knew that you were not dumb. But Hulk Hogan, when I looked into your eyes, I saw walls...walls filled with fear...fear running thick through you, Hulk Hogan.

(A declaration of liberation)...I need no friends. I need no partners. Every man woman stands by himself like The Ultimate Warrior I always has [sic]. But Hulk Hogan, you still do not understand. You still have mistrust. I need not your protection.

(On moving on) Look on the walls...the warriors that could not come have attached thereselves to the outer structure, Hulk Hogan. They see me through. Feeling me, feeding me with the power to survive. They ride on my back for my protection. I need not you Hulk Hogan, and if you look closer, you will notice red and yellow, the colors of Hulkamania. Hulkamaniacs, they're questioning. Do you have, Hulk Hogan, what it takes to be the most powerful force in the entire universe?

(On fighting for sole custody of your bastard son, Nick) Hulk Hogan, look at me, Hulk Hogan. Look at me! Without the pain, Hulk Hogan, the desire to withstand the pain and give you the utmost in battle and combat...still stands, Hulk Hogan. For I am the chosen one.

Regretfully,

The Ultimate Warrior Linda Hogan

Yr Old Skool Crimson Mask of the Week

Bruiser Brody

15 Years and 2,500 Beers Later...

This Monday, WWE's flagship program "Monday Night RAW" celebrates its fifteenth anniversary. Fifteen years of poorly thought out storylines and hastily conceived angles bafflingly green lighted onto television. Fifteen years of long winded, crowd energy sapping promos. Fifteen years of wrestling matches with regular commercial interruption. Fifteen years of utterly worthless and forgettable characters that are, paradoxically, also infuriatingly unforgettable. Fifteen years of concurrently objectifying and degrading women, or as NBA Hall of Famer Isiah Thomas and I like to refer to them as, "juicy titted nut gobblers." Fifteen years of ring introductions that take longer than the actual match. Fifteen years of consistently mailing it in inside the squared circle. Fifteen years of Vince McMahon using the broadcast as a vehicle for his own inflating his own ego, self-perpetuating an aura of eminence, and compensating for his own fallibilities and limitations.

To commemorate this milestone, the WWE is bringing back most of its biggest and brightest superstars from the RAW era....America's favorite beer swilling wife beater "Stone Cold" Steve Austin, unfit parent and all around glory hog Hulk Hogan, Mick Foley, a one-night reunion of Evolution, the trite dysfunctionality of the McMahon family, Eric Bischoff, Trish Stratus, Lita, Bob Holly for one night only resurrecting the character that launched his career into the stratosphere -- Sparky Plug, Truth Commission members Kurrgan and Rekon (or will it be Kurrgan and Sniper!?), Headbanger Mosh, Mae Young performing unspeakable acts on the mummified corpse of The Fabulous Moolah, Headbanger Thrasher, TL Hopper, Duke "The Dumpster" Drosse, Disciples of Apocalypse members Skull and 8-Ball, an Oddities reunion necessitating Kurrgan to pull double duty and featuring Big Daddy V dawning the "Golga" mask worn by the late John Tenta, the Portuguese Man O'War Aldo Montoya, Salvatore Sincere, The Sultan, Farouq in his turquoise gladiator regalia, Todd Pettengill, and of course the one, the only, Naked Mideon (the heavily tattooed, patchily tanned, white trash speed freak pictured above).

So from all of us at Arabian Facebuster, Happy 15th Anniversary WWE Monday Night RAW! Oh, and after 15 years, we want out...we're sick and tired of putting up with all of your lies, self-delusions, broken promises, unfulfilled expectations, and all around bullshit. Is this a bad time to tell you?

Yeah, we thought so.

An Open Letter to Hulk Hogan, Part I

Dearest Hulk Hogan:

Hulk Hogan, I must ask you now, as you asked me, do you Hulk Hogan want your ideas, your beliefs to live forever? For Hulk Hogan, in this NORMAL world, physically, none of us can live forever. But the places you have taken the Hulkamaniacs, the ideas and beliefs you have given them, can live through me Hulk Hogan. That is why I breathe; that is why the warrior's have come.

Hulk Hogan, there are ones who question where you are taking them. Do you no longer want to walk or step into that darkness? Hulk Hogan, the darkness I speak of is nothing to fear. It is about the beliefs and accepting any and all challenges at the cost of losing everything, Hulk Hogan.

You have lived, Hulk Hogan...for this one belief. Now Hulk Hogan, I come to take what you believe in further than you ever could. I come, Hulk Hogan, not to destroy the Hulkamaniacs and Hulkamania. I come, Hulk Hogan, to bring the warriorahs and Hulkamaiacs together as one; as we, Hulk Hogan, accept all the challenges with all the strengths of the warriorahs and the Hulkamaniacs together.

Hulk Hogan, the colors of the Hulkamaniacs are coming through the pours of our skin. And Hulk Hogan, when we meet, Hulk Hogan, I will look at you and you will realize then that I have come to do no one no harm. But only, Hulk Hogan, to take what we both believe in to places it shall never have been.

Sincerest regards,

The Ultimate Warrior

PS: That Sean Mooney is nothing but a NORMAL, he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air that you and I do.

The Smell Of Combat

Arabian Facebuster presents one of many (and I mean MANY) epically deranged Ultimate Warrior promos from the early 90's. I'd try to sum up the madness on offer here, but seriously... what the fucking fuck? How about the part where Warrior 's all, "I need not the NORMALS!!!! To protect me... from what I find... most comforting..." ? How about the way he screams Hulk Hogan's name every five seconds? How about the way he turns slowly in place, with no regard for camera placement? Yeah, dude stank it up in the ring, but why can't we get promos like this anymore? Too bad th' WWE has scrapped its policy of aggressively hiring the mentally ill (see also: Randy Savage) in favor of fast-tracking half-wits like Randy Orton. Crazy beats stupid for entertainment value every time.

Yr Old Skool Foreign Object of the Week

With the assistance of "Beautiful" Bobby Eaton, Jim Cornette prepares to smash Flyin' Brian Pillman's throat with the handle of his tennis racket. 1990.