Greg Gagne: PMS (Puke, Maggot, Slime)

Here at Arabian Facebuster, we despise all things ordinary, adequate, average, and predictable with regard to professional rasslin'. That is why we are committed to provide our readership (of 8) with a healthy, balanced diet of the absolute very best AND the absolute very worst that this noblest of faux athletic contests has to offer.

But we take extra pleasure in serving up and dishing out the very worst.

From Randy Orton's uncanny willingness and ability to evacuate his bowels without any care or concern for the presence of toilet paper or a flushable porcelain receptacle, to Larry Nelson's liver of steel and knack at distracting viewers from the fact that he slugged down a half-dozen TQ & tonics prior to the TV taping through his wild gesticulations, dainty microphone gripping technique, and stained AWA embroidered blazer (or when in Las Vegas at the fabulous Showboat Casino and Sports Pavilion, a red polyester cumberbun), to Chyna's bulbous lady parts that look like and presumably are tantamount to in terms of smell and texture the Arby's Big Montana with extra horsey sauce I had for lunch this afternoon, to Buck Rock n' Roll Zumhoffe's...er...um...to Buck Rock n' Roll Zumhoffe, we here at Arabian Facebuster like to envision ourselves as the USDA food pyramid of bloggery on professional rasslin's ridiculous and absurd -- rigorous bordering on unduly complicated, absolute in our proclamations, impervious to/divorced from contemporary socioeconomic and cultural realities, and wholly ineffectual in its stated purpose (in the case of the food pyramid that would be to promote healthy eating and reduce obesity, in Arabian Facebuster's, to eviscerate the paradigm known as sports entertainment by systematically refuting the theoretical tenets, assumptions, and basic premises on which it is constructed ...an appetite for whimsy, a soap operatic storyline mindset, giving precedence to writing over booking, swerving the audience for the sake of swerving the audience, performers that possess the same artificially obtained and larger than life muscles and definition (i.e. "the look"), characters whose bland personalities and similar movesets make them interchangeable, the intermittent incorporation of "mainstream" "stars" into the narrative, exposure of the business that ranges from thoughtless to short-sided, and a sentiment towards Hulk Hogan that occupies the space between qualified appreciation and unconditional adulation*).

Speaking of the worst, I encourage all of you to feast yr eyes and crank the vertical volume bar to maxed out on the clip above, featuring Camp Slaughter's newest and most promising string bean armed, pasty cheeked recruit, the AWA's #1 babyface (by inheritance via birthright and by booking sheet, not by fan reaction) Greg "Rambo" Gagne (son of the famed nursing home murderer Verne Gagne). Unintentional comic affects notwithstanding, this clip is replete with the sexual taboo and homosexual innuendo that th' Facebuster's discerning readership craves -- Greg Gagne's reverse Nestea plunge from the water, Greg Gagne running out of the lake in a manner that suggests he was trying to detach a couple of tenacious northern pikes from his doughy calves, Greg Gagne bump-'n-grinding the ground with the same positioning and sensuous thrusting technique he employed on his wedding night to little fanfare, Greg Gagne hurling phallic shaped logs into a 10' high pile as part of an experimental approach to streamline the chopping process, and *gulp* Greg Gagne wanting to show his gratitude to Sarge in way commensurate to how Greg feels inside about him.

No wonder this promotion went bankrupt and belly up just five years later.

Soundtrack provided by the Manhattan Transfer.

*Portions of this rant were inspired by the commentary of Jim Cornette*.
**Yes, I realize that the company that gainfully employs Cornette, Total Nonstop Action!, is guilty of employing many of the same practices and tendencies that he so effectively derides.