Its Mania. It’s the biggest show of the year. Its words about the biggest show of the year. Ye intae it? thats aw I’ve got tae ask ye ma man. Are ye intae it? Is Hulk Hogan gonnae be the hostess wae the mostest or is he gonnae slevver through everything he does and make the whole hing awkward as fuck? Whits Stone Cold gonnae be daein? will it be some backstage pish or is he gonnae stunner every cunt in that battle royal and win it for himself? Whits Brad Maddox gonnae be uptae, apart fae fillin jam jars wae the sweat he wrings oot his boxers? and last but not least, will we see CM Punk? Should we gie a fuck if we dae or no?
Aw these questions will be answered over the course of a 6 hour show. That’s right mate aye, 2 hour pre-show, 4 hour main card. 6 hours. 6 hours and we couldnae get a Cesaro vs Ziggler 60 minute iron man match in there somewhere. It’s a fuckin travesty.
Sometimes it disnae matter who emerges from a PPV with the big belts. Even if thats the PPV that shapes the Wrestlemania card more than any other. The belts didnae matter a fuck when this yin ended cause the next generation lets us aw know that they were ready. Its time for the next batch of genuine stars tae take over and lead us intae an era of cunts who captivate us. Cunts who understand the art of storytelling. The type of characters who get on that fuckin mic, and makes ye put down yer Tuna Melt, roll yer chair right next tae the tele so its like he’s cuttin the promo right in yer face. I’m talking about Bray Wyatt. I’m talking about Dean Ambrose. I’m talking about the walking spearing orgasm known as Roman fuckin Reigns. I’m talkin about Luke Harper. I’m of course talking about the shimmering man chest Big E is sporting. I’m talkin about the whole lot of yees. The Usos, Rowan, the selling machine known as Seth Rollins. Yer aw ready troops, and I know I’m no only speaking for myself when I say…we’re ready for ye. Ready for ye tae main event the rest of our fuckin lives, tae yer sons n daughters get auld enough tae take over.
Imagine sitting doon tae preview a WWE PPV and ye find yersell with nothing but hope and a tingling in the testicles for it. A unique proposition tae say that least. Not that I anticipate this being any less arse bursting than most of the PPVs from the tail end of last year, but d’ye know whit? It has the Wyatts vs The Shield, and a wee chance that either Daniel Bryan or Antonio Cesaro could stroll oot wae aw the belts, so for those reason I’m gonnae allow that pure, unfiltered, rarefied optimism tae flow aw the way from ma chest pubes, right down tae ma ball fro.