Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
From some random site:
Former WWE star Chyna, whose real name is Joan Marie Laurer, was hospitalized on Saturday for overdosing on Benadryl.
According to TMZ, the former wrestler took five times the recommended dose of Benadryl in order to get a "good night's sleep." She's lucky she woke up at all. When she did awaken from her deep sleep, she started vomiting and couldn't move from her bed.
Paramedics were called to transport her to UCLA Medical Center where she was given IV fluids to flush the remainder of the Benadryl from her system.
While Chyna is expected to be just fine, she does have problems with alcohol abuse, which can exacerbate any situation like this one. She has appeared on Dr. Drew's "Celebrity Rehab" for her alcoholism.
FOXSports reports that Chyna (Joan Marie Laurer) "wrestled for WWE from 1997 to 2001. Her fame was bolstered by the release of the porn film “One Night in Chyna,” in 2004, which featured Laurer and then-boyfriend Sean “X-Pac” Walton."
In addition she appeared on the reality show "The Surreal Life."
Hopefully those closest to Chyna have questioned if the overdose of Benadryl was truly an effort to "get a good night's sleep" and wasn't a cry for help or an attempt at ending her life. Benadryl, while simply an OTC medication, can be very harmful when used in large doses.
Friday, September 17, 2010
The search to find Arabian Facebuster's next Rocky Mountain Thunder aka the next World's Worst Worker is officially ON!!! The purpose and goal of said search is remarkably simple: Find a grappler both as inept, incompetent, and perversely endearing as Rocky Mountain Thunder to amaze and entertain the Facebuster Nation with his spot botching escapades and, in the process, inspire top notch blog fodder from yrs truly Malibu Sands.
Gunny sack with unidentified and curiosity piquing contents preferred but not required.
Our first contestant is from the American Wrestling Association (no surprise there). To summon and paraphrase the putrid and predictable announcing stylings of Rod Trongard, "He is a 247 pounder hailing from San Diego, CA." His name?!?
"The California Kid" Tommy Jammer.
Jammer's opponent: AWA jobber extraordinaire Tony Leone. This match emanates from Rochester, MN sometime in 1990. The AWA was truly on its death bed at this time, taping months of worth of television for ESPN in Rochester, MN and maybe running a occasional and surely poorly attended card in the Twin Cities. That was the extent of the so called Major League of Professional Wrestling. Rod Trongard had flown the coup, leaving Lee Marshall to befoul the play-by-play with his baritone stench and a rotating gang of idiots to bring down the color commentating. Joining Lee for this encounter, Arabian Facebuster's favorite geriatric killer Verne Gagne. As expected, Marshall and Gagne blather on nostalgically about the AWA's past...as there wasn't much for them to fawn over in the ring or in the promotion's present configuration.
In no particular order, what I dislike so much about Jammer is (a) His beach bum physique and aura that makes him look like a cheap knockoff of the already poor quality Dynamic Dudes; (b) the apprehension, timidness, hesitation, and uncertainty he demonstrates in working with his opponent; (c) other than a couple of headlock sequences that Leone makes appear adequate, his conspicuously limited and bland offensive repertoire; (d) that he's supposedly a high flyer but wrestles the entire contest on the mat; (e) the fact he has four "m"'s in his name; and (f) his wrestling attire which he looks to have procured at a thrift-store or in the prop room of gay porno production company.
You know, after watching this clip a couple of times I have: (a) Concluded Jammer really isn't the caliber of Rocky Mountain Thunder; and (b) Determined that I detest Tommy Jammer more than anybody else in the world today...other than maybe the ex-wife Tommy up and left and the daughter who he abandoned and failed to pay child support on.
Okay, so Jammer isn't capable of filling Rocky's
Tune next week for another installment of our quest to find the next World's Worst Worker!
- Sign of the Apocalypse: On my way home from long day at Tully Blanchard Enterprises Incorporated corporate headquarters yesterday, I noticed a billboard featuring Hulk Hogan sack wrangler and waddling tub of goo Brian Knobbs in full on Nasty Boys regalia, obnoxious spiked mullet hair, and Billy Idol sneer endorsing the ambulance chasing network of legal and medical hacks pimped out through 1-800-ASK-GARY. I am presuming that Knobbs' tag team partner Jerry Saggs was unavailable for the photo shoot or had ethical concerns with the 1-800-ASK-GARY business model. Occam's razor: Brian Knobbs is just too fat to allow anybody else -- be it Saggs, Hulk Hogan, or even manager Jimmy "Mouth of the South" Hart -- to fit onto the billboard without grossly distorting their likeness.
- Bu$ted: Bulbous Chyna lady parts feaster Sean Syxx/X-Pac Waltman was Bu$$$ted for marijuana possession at Newark Airport. Airport security discovered a joint on his person after the dumbass tried to fly without any identification (which was allegedly lost/stolen at a party the night before). After conducting a thorough patting down and humiliating and invasive full body scan, security also uncovered that X-Pac has a laughably tiny penis, thereby contributing to the corpus of X-Pac crooked bonerphone research and advancing Pencil Neck Geek's groundbreaking and traumatizing findings.
- Reason #505 to Despise Hulk Hogan: Recently, the Roger Ebert of Arabian Facebuster, Carminson Fritzerson, sent to me a Hulk Hogan flip book sequencing the Hulkster ripping his shirt off and tossing it into the adoring throng of Hulkamanioids around ringside. My preferred flipping method: Going through the book right-to-left to (a) watch the fans reject the souvenir; and (b) force the Hulkster put his shirt back on. Thank you for the hours of entertainment and gratification!!!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
On this ninth anniversary eve of September 11, Arabian Facebuster is proud to pay homage to the US of A via musical montage of what makes this country great -- our children and grandchildren, the flag, our wildlife and breathtaking natural habitat, the pageantry and splendor of our architecture and monuments that resonate with freedom and liberty, slobbering dogs, games of pickup basketball, space shuttles spewing forth into space, and of course "Golden Boy" Jeff Jarrett dropping fists off of second rope turnbuckles and mugging for the camera in front of a babbling fountain -- set to Ray Charles' rendition of "America The Beautiful."
Land of the free, home of the brave indeed.
Just don't alert this man to our tribute, lest you forget who was responsible for attacking and bringing down th' Twin Towers with a feeble looking chair shot and giant boot, and in the process, robbing our nation of its collective innocence, that sun-drenched Tuesday morning.
Never ever never ever never forget.
Jimmy "The Boogie Woogie Man" Valiant ain't down in the dumps and/or severely hung over no more. Nor is he in the mood to engage the sadistic mind games that war requires. For The Boogie Woogie Man has inhaled a pile of Ricky Morton's low grade yayo and is feeling good and FLYING HIGH!!!...causing him to (1) Scream at Tony Schiavone at the top of his lungs, despite the fact that Tony is standing about 3 feet away from him; (2) Sport a neon green C0ca Cola sweatshirt and show the world that he truly is a slave to fashion; (3) Grow a three toned (blond, brown n' gray)!!! beard to the precipice of unmanageability; (4) Hand Tony a key to the Boogie City AKA the detox facility where Valiant will need to be placed if he doesn't start to come down off this high pretty soon; (5) Engender a predilection to walk across the street, greet his fans, shake their hands, and gank their hard earned baggies of powder right from under their noses; and (6) Mistake Tony's mouth for a hooker's glory hole.
I think we've just witnessed the actualization of The Boogie Man Jam.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Got all of that?
What happens: Neidhart winds up getting royally bu$$$ted for controlled substance possession and drug trafficking...among other things. From sescoops (In order not to bombard you with pop ups and ad redirects, I'm not providing a link to this story):
You know what this means: I have inherited super powers whereby anytime I mention a washed up and long forgotten about professional rassler, he winds up making the news for some various sketchy and unscrupulous doings.
Former WWE performer James Henry Neidhart, 55, (a/k/a Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart) was arrested Sunday afternoon and charged with two counts of possession of controlled substances with intent to distribute, two counts of trafficking illegal drugs, one count of burglary of an unoccupied dwelling, and one count of third degree grand theft for property stolen between $300 and $5,000.
The father of WWE Diva Natalya was arrestedat 2:50 p.m. after deputies were alerted to him being loud and unruly as he was pumping gas at the A.J. Food Market, located at 9806 Tom Folsom Road. He was seen opening pill bottles located in the trunk of his silver Pontiac Sunfire, according to a Hillsborough County Sheriff’s arrest report.
When authorities arrived to the scene, he was agitated and aggressive. He was observed “ingesting multiple pills that he dropped on the ground while inside the trunk of his vehicle,” the sheriff’s office arrest report states.
Neidhart is currently being held without bond pending his first appearance before a judge.
Time for me to commence ongoing reminiscence of El Gigante, Duke "The Dumpster" Drose, and The Mulkey Brothers.
Friday, September 03, 2010
With the assistance of his incorrigible and infantile douche bag demon spawn Nick, Hulk Hogan has opened up a twitter account and is unleashing his cognitive distortions of self-importance and cultural relevance, unrelentingly self-promotional 140 character ramblings, unentertaining home twitvids, and shallow and unpersuasive insights and opinions.
The only encouraging takes I can proffer from this development: (1) We can incorporate this powerful, real time apparatus into our ongoing Hogan Family Death Pool watch; and (closely related) (2) Based on Hogan's slurred speech, flat affect, and drowsy demeanor in several of the twitvids he has uploaded, it seems as though he has been hitting the prescription drugs and painkillers pretty hard as of late.
That's good news if you are or rooting for Rev. Von Fury (or just simply rooting vociferously for the Hulkster's sudden demise) to prevail in our Death Pool sweepstakes.
Not one to be outdone or outflanked by the Hulkster, yrs truly Malibu Sands has retaliated in kind. That's right, I have established my very own twitter feed cum outpost and safe haven for Hogan dissidence, grievance airing, outrage manufacturing, and good ol' fashion bashing within the vast twitter frontier. I'm on and strong. So get 2 following! And tweeting!
Consider Arabian Facebuster's War on Sportz Entertainment and unwavering and unmitigated contempt of Hulk Hogan escalated.
On second thought, maybe I'll just leave the Hogan provocation and war waging to this upstanding gentleman.
What do these schwaggy yokels have in common...other than they are all probably dead or in prison? They've all fallen victim to the awesome scufflin' powers and spot botching prowess of Rocky Mountain Thunder.
The latest and unfortunately last jobber to meet their demise via Thunder's calloused, unwashed, miniature ax toting hands -- Krusher Krugnoff (or Krugel, as that imbecile Rod Trongard refers to him as) -- a Jim "The Anvil" Nidehart body double who looks like the sort of guy that would bang the sister of the chick he was dating. Because of this moral failing, and the fact his name sounds vaguely Russian and therefore Godless Communist in origin, I say "go get 'em, Rocky Mountain Thunder!"
Lee Marshall must have been blowing his wad at the slots or in a prostitute during this match as he is nowhere to be found. Unfortunately for the television viewing audience, ex-AWA zebra Larry Lisowski joins Trongard at the broadcast booth, lending his frivolous insights which are best characterized as "homespun Upper Midwestern drivel."
I am assuming that this match in the early part of Rocky Mountain's run based on the following observations: (1) He's wearing shoes; (2) His physical presence presents as less disheveled than usual what with his tucked in flannel shirt, combed hair, and trimmed beard; (3) The announcers speculation and preoccupation with the contents of his gunny sack; and (4) The wrestling hasn't been this sloppy, inept, or atrocious since his debut encounter with The Surfer.
In fact, the ham n' egger playing the Krugnoff/Krugel character is so concerned with/ticked off at Rocky Mountain Thunder's carelessness, he forces the referee Gary DeRusha to count him out. I'm pretty sure that wasn't the planned finish...and the animated conversation between DeRusha and Thunder during the post-match hand raising adds credence to my contention.
Per tradition, alternative post titles include: (1) Rocky Mountain Thunder: For a Guy Who Calls it Scufflin,' He Gets Pretty Rough; (2) Anyone Who Has Gotten Rocky Mountain Thunder Mad: Paid a Dear, Dear Price; (3) 337 lbs of Scufflin' = Rocky Mountain Thunder; (4) Rocky Mountain Thunder's Gunny Sack: Very Special Property; and (5) Rocky Mountain Thunder's Gunny Sack: His Pride and Joy.
This concludes The Rocky Mountain Thunder collection. Rest assured, we'll try to find a suitably talentless replacement to stem the Facebuster Nation's withdrawal and cravings over the next few months.