RAW is the same show every fuckin week lately, and I’m getting sick bothering my arse aboot it. Don’t mistake this kinda grumpy start as the tone of this review eh? I’ll make it as sunny and hilarious as humanly possible as we go on, but I’d like tae say right away, that its gettin extremely difficult tae pretend tae be invested in RAW as a weekly show, when its full of the same shite. Same injustices. Same everythin, different toon. Yer client Brock Lesner conquered the streak, Daniel Bryan might get fucked over, and will certainly get a doing aff Kane. Big E and his marvellous bouncy chebs remains underutilised. Drew Mcintyre remains in the best shape of his life, so he can job to various Mexicans of various statures, and fuckin Batista. Aw the time. Batista in ma face wae his stupid tattoos and popsocks. I hate ye Dave. Ye’ve got considerably fitter and more able in the ring wae every passing week since yer comeback and I still hate ye wae a fiery passion. Fuck ye and yer permanently mistimed shanner of a spear.
Rock tha Micra-phone.
Stereo…with the Dean Ambrose
When RAW starts wae Dean Ambrose on the mic, RAW starts aff properly. RAW starts aff the way god intended. His words weren’t spectacular. He told us The Shield are up more than they’re down, which is quite obviously a reference tae whit kinda swedge they’re intae, but he delivers the words in a way that makes me wantae tattoo his name on the back of my haun and go about slapping folk tae they get the message. Dean Ambrose is the guy. He will have justice one day.
Justice for Ambrose
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.
Whit an extra special treat yees are in for btw. Fuckin THREE Extreme Rules reviews gaun on this here site mate. Three. Will three dae ye? Is three enough? TOUGH SHITE IF IT ISNAE. The option of upgrading to 5 is not available, cause this is literally everyone I know.
Anyway, here’s my attempt. It probably wont be as thorough as previous ones cause I cannae be arsed, and I figure if I miss anything important, one of my staff will pick it up. I widnae call them reliable, or even competent but they are human beings with feelings so don’t judge their substandard efforts too harshly eh…with that being said…FUCK THE RIOTS. 😉 (in this case Davie and Connie are the Riots, cause ye see, they’re a coupla fuckin riots! thats the joke)
Fine. I’ll review a fuckin wrestling show then.
Ah Cena. What a puzzle you are big yin. I went through an intense period of being mibbe overly pro-Cena for a bit there. I’d find myself waking up in the middle of the night wae dynamite ideas for slogans and once I’d jotted down the idea, I’d slowly walk towards a blackboard and write “Its ok if ye cannae dae a hurricanrana, it really is, I accept you” repeatedly tae the chalk became nuhin but dust. Ever since he entered this feud wae Bray Wyatt its aw changed. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the fuck out of Cena, both as a wrestler and as an ambassador for wrestling, but as a character? Naaaaaaah. No for me on this occasion. At times he’s been masterful at selling his fear for the work of Bray Wyatt, but since Mania the cunt has made me want surgically remove that square hairdo (square-do?) of his wae a machete. He just stoated oot this week n started saying “why?” ….why whit John? Why are you so acutely unaware of what wrestling fans want outta ye? Why is the sun round? Why does Bob Backlund always look like he’s stoatin about a car park lookin for his Ford Focus, when he’s drove a Cavalier aw alang? Who gies a shite. He actually cut a decent promo here right enough. His best since Mania. After lamenting the WWE Universes decision tae make him face all 3 Wyatts last week. He goes on tae big up everyone fae Daniel Bryan tae Sami fuckin Zayn, before warning us about the dangers of buying in tae Bray Wyatts message. Bray Wyatts message on a larger scale wisnae important the night though, he had a particular message tae be sendin Cenas way tonight, and that message wis “STOP EVERYTHING YER DAEIN AND IMMEDIATELY PISH YER JEAN SHORTS!”
Aye. Bray had a squad of weans oot singing He’s Got The Whole World in his hands, and it wis…..I don’t really have the words. Naw I dae. It wis fuckin scary. Chilling in the best way. They surrounded the ring in sheeps masks, like a merry band of tiny Erick Rowans, and continued tae drive home the message. Even the weans dont want ye anymore John. I mean there’s a gid chance this particular squad of weans are hired actors n that, but the message is that naecunt wants ye anymore. Yer time’s up. Yer tea’s oot. Its over. Find a new profession.
The way Bray almost narrated whit wis going on, as he urged the “Little bitty babies” tae sing with him. Laughin maniacally while one of them sat on his knee. “He’s got the whole Cenation…in his hands” was the cry, and even if that isnae quite the case yet, that has tae be the aim eh? Get aw these daft bairns that wear the wristbands, the heidbands, n the fuckin nappies or whitever else they sling wae his slogans on it, and turn them intae demons. Make them grow beards, get weird and disappear intae the mountains. Make them follow the buzzards.
For a lot of people pro wrestling blurs the line between entertainment and reality. Its an escape. A way tae leave the troubles you experience in every day life behind, and life vicariously through these superheroes. Superheroes who make a living fae kicking fuck outta their fellow superheroes, in a co-ordinated but chaotic way. Its organised chaos and at its best its fuckin captivating. It can make ye completely forget that this is all just a show. Ye become entrenched in these storylines, to the point of near delirium. It draws ye in, it makes ye believe obscene things to be true, and allows ye tae deny the blatantly obvious as it stares you in the face. Daniel Bryan has always been quite special in that regard, as he comes across as the everyman. A guy of average height and build, just like me and you (well he’s got smaller diddies than me, and probably didnae spend his Tuesday scrannin Jaffa Cakes, but thats no important right now) so the attachment tae him is a wee bit more real. When he was getting pumped fae aw angles in his pursuit of the WWE World Heavyweight Title ye felt like it was a personal slight, and when he finally prevailed at Mania, even if ye weren’t his biggest fan ye felt….somethin. A degree of pride. A happiness for him as a man, and as a wrestler, so when he came down the ramp tae start this weeks RAW, on the verge of tears, with his new wife Brie Bella waiting in the ring for him, yer heart just bled for the poor cunt. A wonderful 2 weeks, which should have been the launchpad for the best years of his professional and personal life, but life sometimes disnae want tae play ball.
There’s never a good time tae learn of the passing of a loved one, but when its someone as significant as yer father, and it comes at a time where pretty much everything ye could possibly want in life seems to be finally coming to fruition, its got tae be fuckin. I dunno. There’s nae words that dae it justice really, and while I admire his dedication for appearing on RAW at all this week, ye have to assume it was more of a tribute to his fathers memory than an overbearing love for the wrestling business, cause at times like these…the business just disnae matter. None of it does. Its a job at the end of the day. One Daniel Bryan does better than most, but one that really disnae matter a fuck. Get yersell up the road and gie yer wee mammy a cuddle Daniel san.
The segment was good and made hunners of sense, but I’ll no go on about it too much cause it just disnae matter. The pain etched on DBrys face as him and his new wife saluted the crowd in YES! chants wis heartbreaking, but perhaps it had never been more fitting as he thrust his fingers towards the heavens wae a wee bit more gusto than usual. . It was almost an act of staunch definace from DBry. Staunin out there in front of all those people, taking tombstone after tombstone from Kane, and huvin tae listen while Steph almost rips the pish out him as he gets wheeled up the aisle on a stretcher, when he probably just wanted tae go home. His auld da would have been proud of him. Basically the purpose of the segment was tae announce Daniel Bryan vs Kane for Extreme Rules, and the tombstones (one outside the ring, one on the steel steps and one on the announce table just incase yer wondering) helped sell Kane as a monster once again, but none of it mattered. What matters is that oor DBry is given as much time off as he needs.