How Malibu Got His Groove Back

It has been a truly harrowing and disillusioning week for yrs truly Malibu Sands. First, the local booze mart jacked up the price of my beloved Heineken tall boy cans from $5.59 to $7.99 per four pack of self-confidence and temporal loss of inhibition lubrication. Simply outrageous. It doesn't take a mathematician to calculate that's over a 40% cost increase (Full disclosure: I contacted a mathematician to perform the above computation). Then my estranged, sham fiancee informs that she wants out of our "Operation procure a plethora of monogrammed bed sheets and bath towels and second-rate kitchen utensils, dishes, and assorted gadgetry from friends and family" arrangement. And here's the kicker: I chipped my tooth on the chewing gum included in my package of WWF WrestleMania III trading cards that I ordered and received from the Wonderleague shoppe zone. Serves me right for chomping down on a10,000 year old stick of corn syrup and synthetic rubber amalgamated deliciousness...if the carbon dating tests I performed in my recently constructed upstairs laboratory slash crime lab for exonerating and restoring the unjustly sullied reputation of convicted perp Rocky Peoples are to be believed.

Unfortunately, this week's happenings and doings on the rasslin' and sportz entrainment fronts were equally dispiriting. Jim Cornette fired from TNA! as part of their purge any and all of those with ties to Jeff Jarrett meme. The temporary release or out and out sacking (depending which online dirt sheet you read) of TNA! Knockouts champion and ringleader of The Beautiful People -- in this writer's wholly disinterested in and infrequent tuner in to TNA!'s manically paced, asininely booked brand of whimsical and confusing-sportz entertainment opinion, the most compelling and consistently watchable faction in the promotion -- Angelina Love due to an expired work visa. Linda McMahon relinquishing her CEO duties, namely overseeing the continued creative bankruptcy of the promotion her father-n-law built from the ground up, in order to make a run at Christopher Dodd's U.S. Senate seat, potentially putting her contemptible husband within an arm's reach of actual political and lawmaking power. And Ric Flair electing to *gasp* come out of retirement and join Hulk Hogan's upstart rassle venture on a tour of Australia, along with the usual gaggle of Hogan parasites, lickspittles, stains, and yes men.

Taken in whole, it makes me want to lay my head on a tiny Hulk Hogan pillow and cry.

Time for me to quell these feelings of vexation and despondence at once...and not with a hilarious photo of a well past his prime Buck "Rock and/or Roll" Zumhofe wearing a fucking white Elvis suit in the ring. But if not that, then how!?. Simple, with a vintage mid 1990s WCW clip featuring the antics of the Dungeon of Doom, a stable so miserable in its rasslin' competence, non-threatening in its smoke machine and black light witchcraftery, unserious in its approach towards occultishness, and ineffectual in its perpetration of maliciousness that it makes the aforementioned gaggle of Hogan bloodsuckers compare favorably with the Dangerous Alliance.

In this installment, original vanilla midget Kevin Sullivan's "father" The Wizard introduces by way of lyrical and seemingly breathless shouting the Dungeon's latest and undoubtedly most diabolical cartoonish mercenary yet in its quest to destroy Hulkamania, The Shark (played by the late, not so great John Tenta aka Earthquake aka Avalanche aka Golga). Kevin Sullivan provides some well-timed ominous chortling that adds a superfluity of levity to the proceedings.

Ahhh, I feel much so much better.