For touching himself* as he ogles his daughter and her gay best friend splish splashing in the pool.
*Correct me if I'm wrong, but the Hulkster is a righty. I am basing this presumption his tendency to exclusively throw his patented feeble, wobbly looking punches with that hand...in which case, the Hulkster appears to be pleasuring himself here with a technique known as "The Stranger."
The Grapplers (Len Denton and Tony Anthony, who also worked unhooded as gay redneck duo The Dirty White Boys), circa 1983 in Joe Blanchard's Southwest Championship Wrestling territory. Len Denton went on to wrestle as The Grappler in the Dallas and Portland territories.
According to a criminal report filed in Pittsburgh today, Kurt Angle has been arrested and is currently in the Allegheny County Jail. There was an altercation at the home of Kurt Angle involving Angle and girlfriend Trenesha Biggers, aka TNA's Rhaka Khan. Biggers went to police and filed a protection from abuse order against Angle, and police came and removed Angle from the home this morning.
At around 8AM, Biggers called police again, stating that Angle was stalking her. She had gone to a Starbucks to use the internet, and told police that Angle had her phone and had been circling the parking lot. She claimed Angle was deleting photos from the phone, which were described as "pictures of abuse".
Angle was questioned by police, under suspicion of DUI, and when they searched the vehicle, they found used syringes and two vials of HGH. Angle claimed that he had a prescription for the medication, and could provide that to police.
Greetings Facebuster nation...Malibu Sands here posting under the Pencil Neck Geek moniker...too hung over to log into my own account.
Last night during night three of Arabian Facebuster's staff conferencing and fan conclaving at Chez Geek, the inaugural Hogan Family Death Pool drawing was held...sometime in between our switch from Heineken tall boys to Hamm's tall boys and switch from triple ay-ah featuring Teddy Hart absolutely murdering Jack Evans with an assortment of flippity floppery and the perpetration of clown violence on a balding X-Pac to TNA! featuring Kevin Nash cutting an indifferent 20 minute promo on his dearth of motivation and abundance of cash and some TV-14 close ups of The Beautiful People's surgical enhancements.
Hogan Family Death Pool assignments are as follows:
Pencil Neck Geek=stripper and diamond encrusted grillz accessorizer Brooke;
Apollo Spas=Charlie spooge receptacle and assorted over the counter pills popper Linda;
Rev. Von Fury=skin cancer afflicted and official uniting towel wave ruiner the Hulkster, brother;
Malibu Sands=reckless drifter n' driver and occassional in the poop hole taker Nick.
... and your Sexy Action News Team was there. There being a parking lot of a furniture liquidator in deep SE Portland. Unfortunately, all the Crown Royal and Shasta cola in the world couldn't compensate for the general lack of actual Lucha Libre at the event (only two proper matches). The rest of the time was spent watching some local joes from Portland Wrestling (next appearing at Mattress World in Salem- I'm not kidding) slugging it out until our headliners arrived with the lighting rig (again, not kidding). The lucha action, once it got going, garnered a good response from the crowd (which did include at least one whistling Mexican grandmother) and was generally well executed. The notable exception to this was Psicosis, whose only function in the match seemed to be readjusting the lighting rig on the top turnbuckle every time an Irish whip was executed. Something to tell the grand kids about, for sure.
In the spirit of cutting edge journalism (and my own laziness), I'll allow Apollo Spas' Twitter Account fill you in on the rest of the gory details.
(Yrs truly, momentarily setting aside my grudge with Psicosis for a cheap photo op)
I realize that for those buffs and enthusiasts of random Great American Bash Clip Friday, getting through today must feel like the equivalent of a yearlong post postpartum depression. Luckily, Arabian Facebuster has got the prescription for yr post-Bash blues...two of the most highly regarded, beloved, gifted American Wrestling Association personalities -- Larry "Oh Geez Oh Criminy"Nelson and Buck "I Find Shorts Constricting"Zumhoffe standing coked up shoulder to coked up shoulder, close talkin'! And for the proverbial marinara dipping sauce frosting on the ol' cheese curd cake, they are joined by country strong, bland babyface Leon "Baby Bull" White who would of course eventually gain far greater prominence and compensation as Big Van Vader...and later as The Man That They Call Vader.
Enjoy!
Oh, and alternative but ultimately unselected titles for this post include: "Buck Zumhof: Privileged AND Honored..." "Buck Zumhofe: Loves People Standing Behind Him Chanting Rock & Roll..." "Leon White: Submarine. Buck Zumhoff: Torpedo." "AWA Fans: Could Care Less What Leon White Has 2 Say..." and "Buck ZumHofe: Loves to Squeeze Leon White's Burly Chest."
With time and mandatory work productivity constraints threatening to interrupt my waxing nostalgic on all things Great American Bash tomorrow, I thought it prudent to properly conclude this year's tribute to summertime during the height of Jim Crockett Promotions with a special Thursday late afternoon posting spotlighting the humiliation of Ric Flair during the latter part of the 1987 Great American Bash tour, culminating in his losing of the NWA World Heavyweight Title to Ron Garvin that September.
Flair spent the weeks leading up to the '87 Bash distracted by and infatuated with Jimmy Garvin's valet/wife Precious. Flair went so far as to purchase Precious an expensive mink coat (as opposed to one he culled from a rack of slightly burned garments at the Charlotte area Goodwill). To the surprise of no one, Jimmy Garvin did not take kindly to this gesture in particular, let alone Flair's increasingly raunchy verbal advances on his lady. Hence, a match was signed for the Great American Bash card in Greensboro between the two. Steel cage. No disqualification. If Flair loses, the title goes buh-bye. But if Garvin loses, Flair gets a hot date with Precious likely culminating with a ride on Space Mountain *wink, wink; nudge, nudge*.
Flair was able to retain his title at the Greensboro Bash and earned his date. However, instead of Precious showing up to Flair's suite at the Ramada Renaissance, unbeknownst to Flair at the time due to some particularly romantic mood lighting, brother Ron Garvin walked in to the hotel room dressed in drag and proceeded to knock out the champ with the ol' hands of stone.
Flair, embarrassed and irate, went out for revenge, going so far as to interfere in Garvin's matches. Hence, the clip above, while taped a week or so after the conclusion of the '87 tour, is the nonetheless illustrative of the degradation Flair would suffer during much of the Summer of 1987 at the hands of Garvin. We start off with The Garvin Brothers challenging Jim Cornette's Midnight Express for the US Tag Titles on NWA Pro Wrestling (after the introductory remarks by David Crockett and Tony Schiovane, the latter of which is sporting a miserable attempt at Magnum T.A.'s trademark robust schlong cut). We end up with Flair and Garvin brawling in the ring, Garvin rolling up the champ and exposing Naitch's ghostly white buttcheeks to the rubes in the crowd, and perplexingly picking up the fall on a guy who wasn't even entered into the match.
This officially concludes Arabian Facebuster's Random Great American Bash clip July. Until next year's five part expose on Jimmy Valiant laying motionless on the canvas, covered in his own blood and the sweat of Paul Jones' Army members Shaska Whatley and Teijo Khan...
For quite some time now, I've been planning to honor The Four Horsemen circa 1986-1988 (not the later day versions that featured such stains as Sid Vicious, Paul Roma, Jeff Jarrett, and Steve "Mongo" McMichael whose perplexing and often expedient inclusion ultimately tarnished the luster and legacy of the group) for (a) delivering both in the ring and on the stick; (b) being among the first "cool heels" where you'd feel compelled to cheer the bad guys and root against the good guys; and (c) their ruthless and violent gang style beatdowns of seemingly all of babyfaces and jobbers that had a cup of coffee with Jim Crockett Promotions during this period.
The clip I was hoping to embedded in order to illustrate these contentions, point 3 in particular, was footage from a Clash of the Champions in June, 1988 where Flair, Blanchard, Double A, JJ Dillon, and newly turned heel and anointed Horsemen Barry Windham put the boots to Lex Luger in a sadistic arena parking lot attack just moments after "The Total Package" disembarked from his Lincoln Continental limousine, causing severe lacerations to the TP's horse face and leaving footprints all over his fucking white tuxedo! After inflicting this carnage, the Horsemen dumped Luger's body into the trunk of the very limo he arrived in. Now that's how you do irony.
Simply put, for me, this is among the top three satisfying and gratifying rasslin' moments of all time.
Unfortunately, this viral video is no longer available. After much futile scouring, I have come to the conclusion that the Poindexters at World Wrestling Entertainment forced Youtube to put a cease and desist on the original clip poster's account as he/she had run afoul of WWE copyright and thus Youtube's terms of use agreement.
Phrased differently, the WWE has yet again hosed rasslin' fans everywhere.
Rest assured, if this now infamous clip ever resurfaces on the interwebs, Arabian Facebuster will bring it to you. In the interim, allow me to draw your attention to the mauling of unheralded, underrated, and under appreciated plucky mid-card babyface Brad Armstrong by the original collective. There is so much goodness crammed into two and one half minutes here (the last minute is a slow motion replay of the attack as the NWA Pro Wrestling credits roll) -- Flair's canary yellow Member's Only jacket, Tully Blanchard's watermelon colored dress pants, of course Arn's gourdbuster on the folding chair, and as was the style of the time, a delayed rescue and heel scattering by a contingent (specifically, Barry Windham, Ron Garvin, and The Rock &/or Roll Express) from the babyfacelocker room.
It's too bad that Lex Luger wasn't on the receiving end of this mugging too.
Random Great American Bash clip Friday keeps on keeping on! This week we flash ahead to the 1987 Great American Bash tour, which featured: (1) The inception of the War Games match (two rings surrounded and covered by a cyclone fence) as The Four Horsemen battled Dusty, Nikita, and the Road Warriors; (2) The Rock and Roll Express defending their World Tag Titles against Jim Cornette's Midnight Express; (3) Ric Flair once again taking on any and all challengers for his World Title, most notably Jimmy Garvin; (4) Lex Luger chasing and eventually capturing the US Title from Nikita Koloff; and (5) the stars of the Universal Wrestling Federation (UWF) on tour with the stars with the National Wrestling Alliance.
You may recall that in the Spring of 1987, Bill Watts sold his UWF promotion over to Jim Crockett. Instead of immediately morphing or dissolving the UWF into the NWA (that would occur at Starrcade that November), Crockett retained the UWF brand name and syndicated programming while keeping much of its talent pool in tact...the most notable immediate defections being Ted DiBiase and The One Man Gang who showed up in the WWF later that summer, along with Hacksaw Jim Duggan, who I believe left right before the acquisition took place.
In addition, Crockett started infusing many of his NWA guys into the UWF. For example, Barry Windham came in and won the unprestigious and randomly created UWF Western States Heritage Title while Jim Cornette's bodyguard Big Bubba Rogers showed up seemingly out of nowhere to take the UWF Heavyweight Title from the One Man Gang then promptly turn heel and joined up with Skandor Akbar's anti-honky talkin' army otherwise known as Devastation Incorporated. Also around this time, Magnum T.A. and his glistening schlong cut and exquisite rug of chest hair became the color commentator on one of the UWF broadcasts. Hell, even Dusty Rhodes came in every now and again to suckle at the sweet teet -- or more accurately in the Dream's case, feast upon the all you can eat buffet-- of the area's top babyfacehoss and contender for Big Bubba'sUWF Title, "Dr. Death" Steve Williams.
In turn, UWF guys like The Fabulous Freebirds, Sting, and Rick Steiner were gradually featured on NWA TV and incorporated into NWA angles and storylines.
The apex of this NWA-UWF arrangement was having both "companies" (again, it was in actuality one company but presented as and understood by 11 year old mark lil' Malibu Sands to be two distinct federations) join forces for an expanded Great American Bash tour.
Another NWA jumper over to the UWF during the spring of '87 was the Tulsa Welding School's most venerated and articulate graduate," Dick Murdoch. The recently heel turned and grizzled veteran promptly joined forces with the embodiment of chicken shit heeldom "Hot Stuff" Eddie Gilbert to run roughshod over Gilbert's arch nemesis, Dr. Death.
While the clip above does not take place during the Great American Bash per se, it very much set the stage for the series of Murdoch-Williams and Murdoch/Gilbert-Williams/"Freebird" Terry Gordy (the first time the eventually to be christened Miracle Violence Connection joined forces) confrontations during the '87 tour.
Go ahead and click play now, you'll get vintage flair for the dramatic Mid South/UWF era Jim Ross play-by-play, one of the vilest two-on-one beatdowns you'll ever witness, and a SICK chair shot on a hapless pasty/mulleted garden variety 80s jobber at the 1 minute 57 second mark.
See if you can spot the enigma that is Buck Rock and Roll Zumhoffe admist all of the hustle, bustle, and sea of humanity that is a rasslin' show at a rural Minnesota county fairground.
To my left, the official "Chris Jericho Cell Phone Sock", available for a paltry $8.95 at th' WWE shop zone.
Folks, I need me this cell phone sock.
I need this cell phone sock because I am a cell-phone havin' fool, and the display of my Pantech sliding-keyboard Text-a-Tron 950 is getting all scratched up from the constant friction caused by sliding in and out of the ass pocket of my incredibly tight black hipster jeans. Swear to god, I haul that baby out fifty, sixty times a day, with nary a cell phone sock for protection. I'm checking hockey scores (well, not in the middle of summer), I'm trip planning with Trimet, I'm google-ing restaurants...
I'm... twittering.
That's right, fans, try to control yr excitement. Th' thrilling worldview of Arabian Facebuster has taken yet another bold step into the forefront of th' digital age! Swing by twitter.com/apollospas, and you too can receive profanity-laden text messages whenever I'm watching wrestling! Too sweet! Wanna hear about how Mickie James looks like an Oompa-Loompa? Sign up! Wondering if TNA is still gross and boring? Sign up! Want public-health warnings whenever Tommy Dreamer takes his shirt off? Well, then you should probably follow Chris Jericho's feed, not mine, but sign up with me anyway! It's twitterific!
Thank you for yr time, and I'm not kidding about wanting that cell phone sock.
Facebuster Nation, it was with great trepidation that we initially considered the much-vaunted "Celebrity Booking" angle on Monday Night RAW. Coming, as it did, from the mouth of the ever-dreadful Donald Trump, we reasonably assumed the worst. Clearly, this was another half-baked scheme from the back of th' McMahon Scheme Vaults to further dilute, bowdlerize, and otherwise cheapen the (dubious) purity of our beloved wrassle-wrassle. When Trump was (anticlimactically) fired at the end of the two-hour KFC commercial that was his tenure as RAW Owner, we were sure that saner heads had prevailed and the Celebrity Booker would be rightfully consigned to that "Dustbin of History" we've all heard so much about.
Well, we were wrong, and we were wrong.
Now, I won't make any claims as to the quality of recent guest hopes (Dibiase kind of stank the joint up, and I missed the Seth Greene thing entirely), but this week... oh, man. ZZ FUCKING TOP?!?!?!?!
This should be one of the finest rock/wrestling crossovers since th' Three 6 Mafia handled announcing duties for Wrestling Society X.
For the doubters among you who are perhaps wondering why someone with my admittedly impeccable indie/punk credentials is getting all giddy over the bearded grandpas who wrote "Burger Man", please refer to the clip above: "Letter To ZZ Top" performed by the incomparable US Maple. Please note the lineage: ZZ Top plus Freddie Blassie plus Beefheart begets US Maple. ZZ Top plus Lester Bangs begets the entire city of Austin. And ZZ Top Plus RAW equals me getting wrecked on cheap lager and blasting "Tres Hombres" while watching RAW with the sound off.
For touching himself* as he ogles his daughter and her gay best friend splish splashing in the pool.
Oops, wrong hard-bodied Latino midget.
Dusty Rhodes masked yet somehow less chubby alter ego, The Midnight Rider
Looks like its back to writhing on the floors of Studio 6 at Q.V.C. Tee-Vee for the "Most Annoying Man in Sports Entertainment", T-un'A's Don West!
The Grapplers (Len Denton and Tony Anthony, who also worked unhooded as gay redneck duo The Dirty White Boys), circa 1983 in Joe Blanchard's Southwest Championship Wrestling territory. Len Denton went on to wrestle as The Grappler in the Dallas and Portland territories.
From the SEScOOPS.com:
Greetings Facebuster nation...Malibu Sands here posting under the Pencil Neck Geek moniker...too hung over to log into my own account.
... and your Sexy Action News Team was there. There being a parking lot of a furniture liquidator in deep SE Portland. Unfortunately, all the Crown Royal and Shasta cola in the world couldn't compensate for the general lack of actual Lucha Libre at the event (only two proper matches). The rest of the time was spent watching some local joes from Portland Wrestling (next appearing at Mattress World in Salem- I'm not kidding) slugging it out until our headliners arrived with the lighting rig (again, not kidding). The lucha action, once it got going, garnered a good response from the crowd (which did include at least one whistling Mexican grandmother) and was generally well executed. The notable exception to this was Psicosis, whose only function in the match seemed to be readjusting the lighting rig on the top turnbuckle every time an Irish whip was executed. Something to tell the grand kids about, for sure.
(Yrs truly, momentarily setting aside my grudge with Psicosis for a cheap photo op) 
Mr. Wrestling II (Johnny Walker) stands victorious over The Spoiler (presumably Don Jardine).
Memphis mainstays The Fabulous Fargos, Sonny "Rough House" Fargo (L) and Jackie Fargo (R).
See if you can spot the enigma that is Buck Rock and Roll Zumhoffe admist all of the hustle, bustle, and sea of humanity that is a rasslin' show at a rural Minnesota county fairground.
The Wild Samoans, three time WWF Tag Team title holders during the early 1980s.
To my left, the official "Chris Jericho Cell Phone Sock", available for a paltry $8.95 at th' WWE shop zone.
