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opera142Smackdown opened with a
Suddenly, Jeff's music hit. Cleveland cheered its collective (and likely unemployed) head off. But it was merely Punk in Jeff drag, and Cleveland bought into the second oldest swerve in wrestling.
Punk talked shit about Jeff. The Charismatic Enabler. Then started in on Taker. Punk doesn't believe in magic. He believes in anacondas. Before he could elaborate upon this anaconda (about which I was interested in hearing), M. Hardy waddled to the ramp, festooned in the lastest Hardyz Brand Mumu.
It went to blows, of course. Rolling, slithering, grinding, pawing blows. Pull hair! Tear his shirt off! Too soon, the ref showed up to cock block.
Post commercial cool-down, Punk ran backstage. "Teddy! Some fat guy just bowled me over in the ring, screaming "Wings!". His breath smelled like gravy, and he was oiled with sub sauce. Teddy decided Punk should wrestle that wing-yelling, sauce-dripping, gravy-breathing interloper.
In the ring, Great Khali, Kane, Mike Knox and Finlay had a crockpot match-- slow, loaded with tough old beef, and makes the room smell like onions. Todd, when discussing with JR how Knox and Kane planned this match, declared, "I bet there was a lot of diabolic laughter."
From Steph, maybe.
Matt: diabolic angel, I iz one.
Anyway, the faces cheated to win.
Backstage, Mr McMahon wore a pink blazer and a lime-green and lavender striped shirt. Guys, I totally had an outfit like that in 8th grade. It had matching pink cargo pants with netted pockets. Jelly shoes! Pink rubber braclets! Pins on the jacket! He and Teddy talked about Brit pop, and how they don't want to share a locker with Stacy anymore because she gave out the combo to Shea and Shea steals shit, and Mike F. got switched to their choir class and he stands right behind them!
Farther backstage, Melina tried to do the right thing by ganging up 3 to injured 1 on Michelle McCool, and then by telling Maria that even though she's been totally empowered by Playboy that maybe, just maybe, there's more to life than a man's approval.
John Morrison & Rey Mysterio starred in The Kama Sutra: Visual Edition.
Todd: Morrisin is a blur of rhinestones and fur.
Mid-match they hit a sweet, sweet... idk... around-the-world-twice hurricarana. Youtube it! Todd exclaimed, "Rey rode Morrison like a Slip-n-Slide!" and JR agreed, "Rey took two trips around Morrison's world!"
Rey bailed. The Ref got to "Four!" and Morrison yelled, "I'll get him!" The ref stopped counting and waited. Der?
Srs smarky tiems: So when the belt changes hands, and it goes to Face A, do you think Face B takes it as a double-whammy? Not only didn't Face B get the belt, but because it went to another face, he's unlikely to be feuding for it?
John and Rey wrestled on awesomely. Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker, counters, slithery pins. A sitting Starship Pain brought the belt Morrison's way.
The Diva's wrestled. It was empowerful or something.
M. Hardy gave a round, vengeful, sweaty interview in which he vowed to get his bloated fingers on CM Punk's sammich.
Their match was not as fun as Rey and Morrison's flip-fest. Brawling = boring! Especially since both can do better. Russian leg sweeps and drop toe holds are more fun than punching. Punk crams a chair onto Matt's head, and before Matt can eat his way out, darkness descends and Taker's scowling like a methy girlfriend on COPS. Punk went through a table. Taker scowled more. Steph laughed and laughed and laughed and could barely gasp out "See how I made this match into every.single.thing you dislike, Opera. SEE HOW I DID IT!"
ha.ha.
