RAW IS WAR BAYBAY. It’s no war, there’s nae war to fight. It’s just Raw. Trips and Steph make their way out looking fab. Steph, waw, she is killing it as per. In her sexy wee suits with her heely expressions. If you look up the definition of goddess in the dictionary it will say Steph Omac. I am most certainly not making that up. Steph says some things about Rollins, bigging him up and reflecting on his Connecticut roots(Raws in Connecticut the night btw). Continue reading
Money In The Bank eh. A wrestling show. Don’t mistake this for a review btw, I’ll do that properly at some point. This is more of an initial reaction thing, although it will contain SPOILERS and many of them, in case ye were daft enough to not get that fae the title. I think ye got it though. Ye seem like a smart guy. That’s what I’ve always liked about you pal. That intuition. That’ll serve ye well in later life. Well, that and the delicious rump ye happen tae be sporting, but this isnae about you and yer terrific tail, it’s about the Money In The Bank PPV.
Here’s the thing guys. I really fuckin liked RAW last week. Hunners and millions. The most complete RAW in months if ye ask me. A belter. So that made me think a wee bit so it did. I’m no a big fan of thinking. It gets in the way of havering shite, and living haphazardly, but aye. I was thinking, if I really liked the show, and I really like writing, why the fuck wis I no buzzing tae get a review done right away? Last year, if RAW was properly good, I’d either start writing right after the show finished, or first thing the next morning. Yet here I sit, 3 hours before MITBs due tae start, n there’s still nae review for the final RAW before it, then it fuckin clicked.
Guys. I think I fell outta love wae reviewing RAW. 😮
Or maybe it fell out of love wae me? I dunno. Its been a year and a bit that I’ve been reviewing this shit, and that amount of exposure tae me tends tae turn folk sour, so maybe its more a case of it getting sick of me than me getting sick of it, but I’ll tell ye whit I’m gonnae dae. I’m gonnae try and get the love back. I’m gonnae review it a bit differently this week and gush about the many positives that the show contained. Straight up fuckin leakin aw the positive vibes, all over you and that sexy boady of yours. Mess ye right up. Ye intae it? I know I’m intae it. Typed myself intae quite the frenzy here, so lets get tae it. Its about ta get NAWTY.
Aye I’m cheating a bit, so whit. Wanna fight abahd it? I cannae be arsed writing a MITB preview AND something else for the Daily Thing, so I figured we’d kill 2 birds wae the one stane and combine the two. I’ve still no reviewed RAW yet either. Fuckin disgrace man. In my defence….I don’t really have a defence, so I’ll shut the fuck up and write this MITB Preview.
Made a right song and dance about last weeks RAW Review eh? Kinda hard tae live uptae that in some ways. Namely me no really giving that much of a fuck about it this week. I started with that mindset anyway, and then the show only went and gave me numerous stauners, and sare heids wae the sheer activity of it.
So I decided a while back that if I was going to be doing Smackdown Reviews regularly again, they’d be in plain English, with maybe the odd scottish word in there, so this is exactly what you’ll be seeing here. No extravagances, no drawings, no long drawn out tangents about me having recurring nightmares that involve Batista falling down a well, into a pit of discarded placentas, and having to eat his way out. None of that disturbing patter, just straight up writing about straight up wrestling…STRAIGHT UP PATNA. Lets dae it. (sorry do it…i meant do it…like the Nike advert but less sexual…cause that Nike ad campaign was about shaggin eh? Lets not kid ourselves. Nike wanted you to use those Air Maxes you splashed out on to entice broads back to the boudoir for some high energy pumpin..No tangents though, this is vital Smackdown based information so it is…really…no honestly…wrestling) Aye…Wrestling.
Ahh Smackdown, mind how gid a show it used to be? Every saturday morning on sky 1, cereal in hand and butterflies in belly. It was all I looked forward to. But things change. And changed they certainly have. Lately Smackdown offers nothing, it appeals to me zero. I attempt to watch, I try so very hard but I usually pick my phone up and search pictures of Ambrose pierced ear instead. But, and here is where I contradict myself, this week’s show was good, really good. It was a packed with ACTUAL WRESTLING. Who’d a though it eh?
When a show opens with a delightful match it really makes life that wee bit better.
Justice for Ambrose.
In all my years I’ve never been exposed to such an atrocity as the one we were forced to suffer through on this weeks episode of RAW. I like to try to make these reviews fun to read. Interesting. Entertaining. I tend to type something close to the way I speak, and people seem to enjoy that. This week I am no mood for fun. No mood for hi-jinks. No mood to be the jolly joking japester that you’ve come to know and want to spend your lives with. For there is no justice in this cold cold world we live in. There are no rewards for those excel at what their chosen profession. Only jealous backstabbing cunts praying for their downfall. Dean Ambrose found this out to his peril on this weeks RAW as he had the United States Title, which he held so proudly, and defended so valiantly , STOLEN from him. Fucking STOLEN. No other way to describe this. Booking the champion in a 20 man battle royal with his belt on the line? You might as well have stuck one of his legs up his rectum, and made him defend it in an ass kicking contest (that’s how stringently we’re sticking to the no slang thing here…an ass kicking contest, deal with it)
Dean Ambrose of course fought like the warrior he is. Because Dean Ambrose is a winner, and winners never quit. As intrigued as a I was at the prospect of someone like Heath Slater, or Fandango receiving a much-needed push by storming in and taking the title here, neither of them are Dean Ambrose. So fuck them. Fuck anyone on the planet not named Dean Ambrose. Fuck their hopes, dreams and ambitions. Ugh. You guys, I am suuuuper cheesed off.
Justice for Ambrose
Know who else deserves some justice? Dolph Ziggler. Dolph Ziggler was eliminated from this battle royal by a sock masquerading as a snake. This time last year he was World Heavyweight Champion. Know who else deserves some justice? Damien Sandow. Damien Sandow was eliminated by a combination of Sheamus’ chest beating spot and Heath Slater, and without being disrespectful to Heath, that’s fucking depressing. It makes you wonder if they ever intended on putting the World Heavyweight Belt on Sandow, or if it was all a giant dick tease. It took me ages to “get” Sandow as well, and it seemed that as soon as I did, he found himself buried under a pile of unfulfilled promises and gimmicks that require him to dress in some manner of colourful suit. A TRAVESTY.
Ach I cannae keep this up. I’m no even that upset about Ambrose drappin the US Belt really. He done fuck all wae it, and with it passed off to a lesser talent, he’s free and clear to fulfill his destiny of one day having aw the belts. No just in professional wrestling either, I mean aw the worlds belts. It is Dean Ambrose’ aim to somehow gather in every single belt in the civilised world, and sit back with his feet up watching a thousand monitors dedicated to capturing the beltless masses having to walk around with their troosers at their ankles. I dunno if this is a weird fetish thing or whit. I don’t even know whit the fuck I’m talking about at this stage. Sheamus won the battle royal but. Sheamus is the new US Champ. Good for him eh? Rumour has it that he might be the guy the join Evolution and I’d be intae that. If only tae see him adopt their fake tanning routine. I’ve always wondered whit the contrast between tan and PURE UNADULTERATED GINGER would be like.