RAW Hits A New Low

Well, I'm back. And where, you may ask (or not, honestly. Some of you may not have even not have even noticed I was gone, embroiled as you were in an epic debate over the intrinsic morality of despising Hulk Hogan), was I? I was HIDING.

From Vince McMahon.

You see, we've been experiencing some rather serious cash flow problems here at the palatial Apollo Spas Estates, and when my arch-nemesis announced that he'd be giving away his millions, I registered my name and several stolen cell phone numbers at the old double-double dot com.

That, of course, was how they found me. WWE stormtroopers (led by notorious racist Michael "P.S." Hayes!) kicked down the gilded door of my estate, and only the fiercely protective nature of my terrier allowed me to escape unscathed. An epic cross-country chase ensued.

So here we are, several weeks later, and I am broadcasting to you from inside a boxcar headed for parts unknown. The trail behind me is stained with the blood of the WWE Curtain-jerkers sent by Mr. McMahon to collect my head. Their screams haunt me still (except for Chris Masters. Killing him was a treat.), but my blogging freedom has no price!

I had despaired of ever returning to the warm embrace of civilization until the Pencil Neck Geek forwarded me the clip above. It was then that I realized I had nothing to fear. How, after all, could I be threatened by a man who is incapable of operating a simple telephone? Not even one of those fancy "blackberry" jobbers, either, this is an old-fashioned land line like my granny uses!

Further, I have been informed that this video demonstrates an activity known as "Rick Rolling," but I'm sure I don't know what that means. I seem to recall plucky intern Chip attempting to explain it to me once, but I struck him violently about the head and neck until he retreated. I will not have Rick Astley mentioned in my presence.

Regardless, it seems that Vince McMahon has finally succumbed to the latter stages of his (alleged) steroid abuse. The sub-excellent wrestling book (expect a report in the future) I'm presently curled up with (in my boxcar, natch) explains that steroid users experience a restriction of blood flow to their extremities, causing the decay and eventual death of their limbs. It would seem that this process has reached Mr. McMahon's brain.

And you know what that means.

Zombie.