opera142: (whee)
So like, it took major brown-nosing and ass kissing and repeated variations on "omigod, I don't know how you manage to look like you do, Steph. I'm a zitty mess with bad hair, brown teeth, and unslightly extra pounds. In my shame, I've taken to wearing light blue nylon granny panties. Also, I tried a rosemary-cranberry body wash and now all my crevaises smell like Thanksgiving."* but Me and Trips are allowed to have unsupervised BFF time again.

He made a Super Smackdown because I <3 Smackdown most of all. Steph had to meddle some-- she wouldn't be Steph if she didn't. So John Cena got to be first because he's the superstarriest, yay. Cena strides jortfully to the ring, and I don't know, learns us Names of cancelled B-shows. Implying perhaps Smackdown (even Super ones) is a B-show too. And what better way to further imply that than to hog the first quarter how by detailing how he plans to win the Raw belt.

Alberto's butler saunters to the ring, pausing to side-eye those who require it most. And in Wichita, that's most of the floor seating. Alberto no es aqui. Not here. Because Kansas sucks. A lot. Not even Laura Ingalls Wilder stuck around. The Ingalls decided they'd be better off living in a sod hole in Minnesota. That's how much this place sucks.

Cena, long a champion of Kansas and whatever Kansas has going on, yells "Shut up! You sound like two cats trying to have sex and throw up at the same time.” Geez, Cena. Would it have killed you to give those two cats a little privacy? Not every situation gets a bump from you appearing. He also has a message for Alberto, which is a punch in the face for Ricardo. Total face move there, Cena. Guess you can cross off suckerpunch some poor dude just doing his job from your bucket list.

As accusations of butterscotch and cheesecake and scalloped potatoes spring to my lips, Wade Barrett gets hastily shoved to the ramp. He's tan and angry and how can I think about scalloped potatoes now? Moar lyke sculpted pecs, am I right.

He chastises Cena for punching Ricardo. Cena retorts with a fat joke about Chimmel. Excuse me. Barrett then brings up tea and indentured servantude and teaching lessons. (Swoon River) Then he calls out Cena on hi-jacking the segment. Oh Wade, I'm pretty sure the largest ever platinum mine was just discovered on an unused acre of your Historically Inaccurate Manor. You'll never want for anything again, except for maybe, a proper cup of tea while Justin learns his way around an electric stove.

It goes to blows, mainly because Cena can't ever let us reflect in the glory off someone else's good promo. He gets to win, of course. Steph isn't that mollified.

Backstage, Matt Striker interviews Mark Henry, who says he's never cared who won what or did what in the decade-plus he's been in the WWE. Why would he start caring tonight about who wins between Christian and Randy in the cage? Matt thinks what we're all thinking: Christian and Randy in a cage? WE WIN.

Out in the ring, Sin Cara defeats Daniel Bryan. Fun match, but at the same time, not too fun just because I'm sure who ever booked it thought I would think it was awesome, and therefore I'm going to think it was only kinda awesome just to be She Who Can't Be Happy Ever.

Daniel tried to shake Sin Cara's hand; Sin Cara kicked Daniel in the face. There now no one has a face! I like thinking Ricardo put him up to it.

Backstage, Matt Strikes tries to pull a total creeper and interview Kofi and Evan in their lockeroom. Both are disappointly dry and dressed, so Striker goes through the motions of asking a few questions, all the while listening for the sound of Teddy's zipper.

Desperate now, Striker goes for Christian. Dude, Christian wears more layers than an artichoke. He uses Shane McMahon's tailor. Christian says he'll win, but we know better.

Aksana, you are my second favorite girl with an accent.

Beth and Natalya are wearing extra thick lipstick. This means they mean business, as meanfully as possible.

Compelling TV timez: Triple HHH and CM Punk are going to write! Lawyers might be there! Pens and office chairs, people. Buy your tickets now.

Punk is in pants. Maybe Kansas has a law? Maybe there's been more meddling. HHH stands, Punks sits because he likes being eye-level with HHH's crotch. HHH starts off, in his husky "there needs to be an apology" voice, and says, maybe last night wasn’t fair to Punk. Punk replies that nothing Trips does ever catches him off-guard.

Swoon. Right. It's like Regal found two large chalkboards, a bucket of chalk and made them write out 100 times: I Will Ruin Every Single Last Pair of Opera's Panties Before This Angle Finishes.**

For a bright, shiny, nibble-able cherry atop the ruined panty sundae, HHH adds a little humiliation by saying "Punk makes up in intelligence what he lacks in hygiene."

OMG YES. alkdjflaksdjflkasdjflaksdjflasdjflkasdjflkasdjfaslk. Everyone is smart and angry and snarky and smart and angry and mean and defiant and angry and snarky and horny and smart.

Punk's got a snarky reply, but Trips goes all rawr!dom you're not fucking me in some seedy hotel room right now. I'm the boss here, muscles flexing, testosterone surging. Why you such a greedy, never satisfied gutter slut? Who got that Living Color cd, who got you a t-shirt that says Best in the World and a mug that says World's Best Wrestler? I can only take so much. You disrespected me, you insulted me as a man. Now, you deal with me, as a man. And by man, I mean with both of us oiled up and wearing hardly nothing.

Punk bats his eyelashes and says, "I don’t want to fight the COO of the WWE at Night of Champions, I want the Cerebral Assassin. I don’t want the new you; the new you sucks, I want the old you. You know the one

The have to tone it down for a bit while my oxygen tanks arrives, so they bicker about who loves the WWE more (lame synecdoche for Steph?) who can seperate business from personal more, who wants change more, who wants to be the catalyst more, who has better reasons for being the catalyst, can the WWE ever be better-- is it even possible. Then my oxygen arrives and they get to argue about who's the top.

Then, omg THEN Trips says,"You don’t have the balls to do it. What you did is you backdoor your way around."

Deep breaths, deep breaths while they throw around words like martyr, and remember that time Matt Hardy was all upset about something and kept calling himself that and omg, you wouldn't believe all the Taker/M. Hardy angles we have in a vault in Titan Towers that Steph would not only not approve, but locked away. Forever.

Punk shakes his head, trying to stop the memories of the belt-photo. That's gone forever now. He says instead. "And if you think I’m being selfish because I want to be The Man? Well, you’re right; I’m not going to say I’m doing this for everybody, I’m doing this for me, absolutely. Because before I was a wrestler, before I became a WWE superstar, I was a fan; and at my core, I’m still a fan... it’s the reason I say these horrible things about your wife… I mean, besides the fact that it’s fun, and I can say it and I can get away with it. But I’m pushing your buttons. You became COO, I immediately started testing you. Trial by fire, call it. And guess what? You failed"

alskdjflaskdjfalskdjflksadjf. Smart and angry and horny and smarky and angry and horny and angry and grrr and horny and flinging the humiliation around like candy at a parade.

For the panty-clicher, Punk says "You know, I thought, maybe since me and you, yeah, we are a lot alike; I thought maybe we wanted the same things, I thought we were on the same page, we wanted the same goals. But it turns out, you’re egotistical, you’re vindictive. It’s the same old thing I’ve seen before. I mean, you hire your old buddies to do your dirty work because you can’t get your hands dirty. I’ve seen it before. If I have to be the catalyst of change, if that catalyst of change comes from going through you, then so be it. Frankly, I think it’s been a long time coming; me and you have never liked each other. Just do me the favor—since you’re the COO—at Night of Champions, don’t fine me, don’t suspend me, after I kick your ass. "

So ded by my own panties now.

Punk writes! Just like Steph promised. HHH has found his voice though, and he's gotta crow. "Let me tell you something, Punk: one of the differences between me and you is something called respect."

Punk's all "Fuck that noise.You have lost touch! You are the guy who likes to point to his crotch and tell other guys to suck it, and I. Want. Change."

I'm sure next there was going to be talk about ring attire and spending a few weeks under the tutelage of Mr. Regal, but Nash has to show up and slowly ruin everything but my panties.***

Punk comes out swinging, and blessed, sweet everything it's so fucking hot. All the grabbing and punching and grr and t-shirts sliding up, and ties getting mussed and punching and angry and horny. Punk backs Nash into a corner, and Trips is all NOBODY PUTS BIG SEXY IN A CORNER and he roughly shoves Punk onto the ground. Punk goes back for more, Trips cuts off Nash to restrain him, so Nash shoves Trips flat on his ass. Nash’s glares down on Trips, then bails because he's worked a whole three and half minutes. Punk licks his wounds. HHH kneels.


Jinder Mahal and Khali fight Sheamus and ring post. Or something. I'm just sorta boneless on the couch right now.

Cage match. Randy Orton vs. Christian. Those boys put on their rasslin' boots. IT IS AWESOME. At one point, Christian is trying to escape via the door, and Randy grabs him by the pants and Christian emits a silly, high-pitched scream. Lots and lots of false escape that play out better than usual, I'm dinging around on the top of the cage waiting for you to catch me. Flying, falling, flinging each other around and down. Randy wins, of course, but it was one of those matches that was so good, both wrestlers win. Post win, Mark Henry pounds the snot out of Young Randall. The Soap Opera in My Brain goes on red alert, and I'm about to cash in my 401(k) to buy Steph ANYTHING SHE WANTS.

*Totes not true. I tried a vanilla cranberry deodorant; just my pits smell like Thanksgiving. But, anything to get John Morrison back on TV as Trips' body servant, right.

** Punk cheated and drew a stick figure yelling "Ruin All The Panties!"

*** Tonight's rooning was brought to you by Just For Men beard and moustache dye.
opera142: (crayons)
He told Colt Cabana to "Behave yourself"
opera142: (whee)
RealKingRegalWilliam Regal

I was just driving back to my hotel and the gps said"turn left on Minnihaha street".It set me off giggling like a proper nutter.

...zomg, like two blocks from my house.* The GPS took him on the scary, slow route btw Mpls and where I'm assuming he stayed.

*Minnehaha, actually Mr. Regal.
opera142: (whee)
Raw opened as it should, with twenty-five hot and delicious minutes of John Morrison getting manhandled. BLOW ON HIS TUMMY MOAR PLZ.
opera142: (whee)
Jericho's Twitter: Just saw morrisons DVD in the bargain bin at value village. Couldn't bring myself to drop the 49 cents...

The thought of Jericho in a Valu Village gives me wigglepants.
opera142: (crayons)
If you're feeling wishy-washy on upgrading your TV, repeat after me: Shane Helms' dick in HD.

So, on ECW, Shane Helms (SOiMH uber heel) wrestled William Regal (face ne plus ultra). Helms wore his sleeveless duster (aka, The Coat That Wanted To Be A Mullet) and Regal wore a three-piece suit while wrestling.

Oh, to my fainting couch quickly. I have the vapors.
opera142: (crayons)
I'm catching up on ECW, and I v.v.v.v.v.v outraged no one told me about Koslov in the scary uniform and beret.


opera142: (Default)

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