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.
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.