I’ve been a wrestling fan since the Attitude Era.
Growing up in the UK it wasn’t easy, or cheap, to follow the WWE, so it didn’t grab my attention until DX et all came along and changed the face of wrestling.
Don’t worry, I’m not one of those fans who long for the so-called “Glory Days” of the company when chair shots were the name of the game and women were only allowed in the ring based on how good they looked in their underwear, as the WWE moved with the times, so did I.
I’ve stuck with them through thick and thin.
The reign of terror that was Triple H during the early 2000s, the Anonymous GM storyline that just wouldn’t die, and their complete mishandling of CM Punk, to name just three, so I thought I’d seen it all.
I mean, if I can survive Katie Vick, I can survive anything, right?
Well, apparently not.
I do have a breaking point when it comes to the WWE and it took last night’s SmackDown to make me snap and say “F*ck the WWE“.
If I didn’t have to review the show I’d never watch it again and trust me, if we can find another wrestling writer to come on board before next week then I’m dumping both SmackDown and RAW on them first chance I get.
From start to finish the whole episode was one giant Vince McMahon Bull-Honky alert.
That’s what we got over two hours of programming, three f*cking matches.
The Bayley/Carmella one was passable, Sheamus beating up short people just got on my nerves, and the Miz/Morrison/Reigns/Bryan was a decent tag-team bout, but three matches on a show that’s supposed to be about wrestling, is f*cking unforgivable.
“So what was the rest of the show filled up with?” I hear you ask.
Pointless f*cking crap.
We had Alexa Bliss being wasted, again, in her talk show host role, the continuation of the goddamn Otis and Mandy Rose bullshit that anyone with an IQ over 10 can see only exists so Vince can laugh himself stupid at it, and a segment with Sami Zayn that didn’t even raise as much as a smirk out of me, which is quite an achievement considering how high I’ve been on him lately.
The rest of it was the company slapping themselves on the back about how great they are while promoting Super Blood Money at every opportunity.
Talking of which, what better way to get the world hyped for this, not at all shady, PPV than by rolling out everyone’s least favorite racist Grandpa, Hulk Hogan.
Well, I say f*ck Hulk Hogan and f*ck the fact that they felt the need to drag Bray Wyatt into this by having him do a Firefly Fun House, where he went head to head with the Immortally Racist One.
As always Hulk no-sold everything Bray did, to the point where my partner looked at me and said;
“God, he’s still a dick, isn’t he?”
Yes, yes he is.
There are no final thoughts this week, there are no jokes or at least attempts by me to be funny, there is only sadness because as soon as I can I’m dumping this whole review section on someone else and never, ever, watching this cluster-f*ck of a program again.