Have A Happy New Year's Eve!

Have fun ringing in 2009 this evening, Facebusteraholics. But be safe out there. And for heaven's sakes, heed Barry Windham's impassioned and fact filled plea and don't drink and drive.

You'll be happy and, in the process, make Barry Windham happy too.

But if you do end up tossing a few (twenty) back and getting behind a wheel (although in your drunken stupor you might mistake your car for rocket or time machine), you should really pay attention to this.

Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch TNA, NYE Edition

Ring in the New Year sober (or stuck drinking some teetotaler swill like O'Douls or Rinunite NA), alone, and dressed in Mike Tenay's soiled tuxedo whilst watching Don West hawk baseball cards on QVC.

Tuesday's with Larry

Ladies, gentlemen, and Larry Nelson fanatics that initially discovered our Arabian Facebuster project via Hairy Larry's myspace page (or unwittingly pulled up a stool next to Larry at the local titty bar and endured his liquor fueled, semi-coherent, ad nauseam ramblings about his book, cabin fatty seduction best practices, achieving cult hero status on the interwebs, and the burdens of celebrity [including but not limited to the lofty and unrealistic expectation of Larry not forgetting to put on pants before going out in public]) and now spend time lurking on our site with increasing regularity, it is time to feature a clip of our favorite degenerate that captures the unpredictable, cliff-hanging, suspenseful, meandering, long-winded, and ultimately anti-climatic nature of his storytelling. Witness Exhibit A: Larry Nelson's slow developing tale as to the genesis of Silo Sam's participation in an over the top rope (as opposed to, um, under the bottom rope?) battle royal coming soon to a junior college student union building or farm expo center near you.

This fable should really be transcribed into a written format and included on the SAT's to test the reading comprehension skills of our college aspirant young people. Although I must confess, after repeated viewings, this Tulsa Welding School graduate still can't pick out the thesis statement or identify with any great degree of certainty or clarity the literary devices employed by the shaggy, pale cheeked narrator. But if pressed, I would posit that the account of Silo Sam is a powerful allegory about the limitations on the American ethos of self-reliance, individualism, and isolation, illustrated through the mutually beneficial outcomes attained by story's protagonists, but only after they learn together about cooperation, overcoming distrust, and showing vulnerability and tenderness...or a straightforward tale about the unintended consequences that may result from taking an American built and manufactured car out for a spin in the boondocks.

Regardless, please enjoy and, oh, try not to fall asleep.

Update: I have been assured that no farm animals were harmed (read: made sweet love to) during the making of the video...although the hoisted calf in question was soon thereafter transported to a slaughterhouse, killed in an inhumane and borderline vengeful manner, butchered into a delicious veal chop (with the lesser cuts, organs and waste donated to the local homeless shelter and sanatorium), sold to an osteria, prepared osso buco style, and served with a haunting and ethereal 1964 Barolo.

Yr Old Skool God Awful Rassler of the Week

In order to commemorate my rejoining of Team Facebuster, its time to rejuvenate the "Yr Old Skool Foto of the Week" bit. Starting today and continuing through the month of January, Arabian Facebuster brings to you a visual expose of some of wrestling's worst workers.

Without further ado, this week we give you Outback Jack, who stunk up World Wrestling Federation's arenas something fierce in late 1986/early 1987.

Deterred but not defeated by the sheer wretchedness that was Outback Jack trying to execute a hold or take/sell a maneuver against some of the federation's finest of heel enhancement workers (see Jose Estrada, Iron Mike Sharpe, Moondog Spot, and of course Steve Lombardi) yet still committed to find a way to cash in on the short lived but magma hot Australian craze here in the good old U S and A (see Paul Hogan's cinematic output, Roos sneakers, Australian synth-pop hit makers Icehouse, and that dumb ass Energizer battery pitch man as but four [or five if you fail to watch Crocodile Dundees 1 and 2 either concurrently or consecutively]), Vince lured The New Zealand Sheepherders away from the NWA/Crockett Promotions and turned this once violent, unpredictable/dangerous, sadistic hardcore tag team into the goofy head licking, affectionate noogie giving, arm flapping, routine dental hygiene avoiding, knuckle-headed Bushwhackers.

And without the Bushwhackers, there is no Mosh & Thrasher ,The Headbangers, no Oddities, and most certainly no (yo yo yo) Crime Tyme.

Outback Jack, this is all your fault!

A Holiday Gift that Just Keeps on Giving

Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch TNA, X-Mas Edition

For the first time in what seems like four and one-half months an eternity, I attempted to tune in and make amends with (sans Riunite, fastened couch seat belt, and repeated ball pein hammer shots to my cranium and genitals) sports entertainment's equivalent of snorting a couple of lines of speed crudely cut in a I-80 truck stop restroom before screening the complete Ritz Brothers filmography, TNA's The Impact Zone! Although tuning in about 20 minutes late, to my immediate delight, Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley came out of the tunnel with the former set for some six-sided, flippity-floppity, manically paced action against a paint-faced Asian cruiserweight I am unfamiliar with. My friends, this is indeed TNA!

To my chagrin, however, the whimsy and manic booking kicked in quickly as Sheik Abdul Bashir, who observed the previous match-up from the top of the ramp-way as Tenay and Von Hayes rookie card owner Don "Wild Wild" West pontificated on the exact nature of his sadistic intentions -- meandered towards the ringside area . After Sabin picked up the pinfall victory, Bashir entered the hexagoned circle and induced an overacted confrontation with jacked to the gills referee and Danny Bonaduce impersonator Shane Sewell. Based on the bloviatings of Tenay and West, I gathered that these two had been having contrived quibbles and inauthentic confrontations (that of course haven't progressed in storyline terms, captivated the imagination of any of the mutants in the Impact Zone, or drawn/likely to draw any money on PPV) over the past several weeks. Then something called Suicide, a scrawny, masked, full-body-suit attire-adorned wrestler time filler who from what I gathered from Tenay's hyperventilating and screeching commentary had humble beginnings as a fictional character in TNA's latest video game (wrap yr friggin minds around that logic, Towers Titan), descended from the rafters of the Impact Zone via pulley a la Owen Hart minus the tragic demise.

At this point -- frustrated, confused, emotionally betrayed, and physically exhausted -- I flipped over to the Trinity Broadcasting Network and marveled at the kid perpetrated crime fighting acumen of and anecdotal blighted urban redevelopment best practices proffered by Meadowlark Lemon, Mr. T, and Hulk Hogan.

This whole reintroduction to TNA fiasco has inspired what I hope will become a new weekly feature/bit here at Arabian Facebuster, the "Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch TNA..." inventory. Consider this the inaugural addition.

Things I would rather do than watch TNA...

(a) Tea bag Don West.

(b) Get tea bagged by Don West.

That's all for now. Tune in next week, fans!

26 Years Ago This Evening...

"Nature Boy" Ric Flair styled and profiled into Dallas and the spectacular, vivacious, sold out Reunion Arena (Bill Mercer's adjectives, not mine) to defend the NWA World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship against "Modern Day Warrior" Kerry Von Erich inside of a steel cage cyclone fence.

David Manning was the referee assigned this contest while scourge to race-based affirmative action advocates everywhere and Fabulous Freebird mouthpiece Michael Hayes acted as the special guest enforcer.

After watching his "brother" (related not by blood but presumably by their Aryan ancestry if their penchant for draping themselves Confederate flag robes, trunks, non-wrestling attire, and even face paint is admissible as evidence) get (inadvertently) taken out by the tuned up, horse faced Adonis of Denton County, TX, Terry "Bam Bam" Gordy violently slammed the steel cage door into Kerry's skull, leading to (1) Flair's retention of the NWA Title as a result of David Manning's eventual stoppage of the match out of concern for Kerry's severe head trauma; (2) a swift yet well executed (if the riotous fans around ringside are any indication) Freebird heel turn; (3) the start of the bitter, protracted, and white hot Von Erich-Freebird feud and meteoric growth and expansion of World Class Championship Wrestling (written with Bill Mercer's cadence and inflection running through my head); (4) accusations of "honky tonkin'" leveled on Terry Gordy by one General Skandor Akbar; and (5) the WWE recycling the "steel cage door head slam" angle seemingly every third time they feature a cage match on TV or PPV during the post-Attitude era.

Meanwhile, in a quiet, well heeled Philadelphia suburb, an apple cheeked, precocious lil' Malibu Sands played intently with the transforming autobots and decepticons that he had received from jolly St. Nick. Or they have might have been Go-Bots.

That's the way it was, December 25, 1982.

Please also file this post under "Oh Dallas, You Shine with an Evil Light."

-Malibu

BREAKING NEWS: Malibu Sands...

...is returning as an ongoing contributor to the Arabian Facebuster project, effective immediately. Yours truly will also be once again tuning into and following all of the tedium, mindlessness, and puerile antics on the flagship of creatively bankrupt sports entertainment serials, Monday Night RAW, along with recommitting to keep my futuristic bomb shelter built for two (the contraption pictured above occupied by my dapperly dressed late Uncle Elmer Sands -- prior to the weight gain, physical deterioration, and hillbillyization -- as he thumbs through the latest issue of Jugs &Ammo Quarterly) stocked to the brim with cases upon cases of Riunite to numb the pain of having to endure such an ordeal each and every Monday night.

Our fledgling readership might be wondering why I am returning now. An early Christmas present? A well timed Hanukkah gift? Belated World's AIDS Day wishes? Preemptive 2009 "The National Wave" sentiments? Not even close.

Pardon my pithiness, but here's your answer.

Now join me in pulling some corks twisting some caps of Riunite in celebration.

"A Happy Holidays from All of Us @ Arabian FaceBuster.blogspot.com"

Can you tell whose been Naughty or Nice? Stay tuned Right here for a "Face-Busting" Holiday Surprise!!!

Yr Old Skool Friday Flashback Interview 'O the Wk.

More Pearls from Fuji (pt. 2)