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.
Its Raw time bitches. It’s no really because I’m writing this review a few days after. Let’s pretend. Pretending is fun. See, this paticular Raw had me baffled, I didn’t understand because 1. it was the most mediocre Raw of the year and 2. It was the most thrilling tragically beautiful Raw of the year. How can a show be both these things? I don’t know how, but it happened. Vince must have been like ‘right boays, let’s make everyhin shit, cept the last few minutes, we’ll make that gid’. That’s truly what I believe happened. I won’t give the surprise away in case you’re the only person in the whole world who never saw what happened.
Beak, Nae eyes and dunderheed aka Evolution are out to cut a promo. Trips says the shieldsies think they won, but Evolution will continue to fight until they ceast to exist. Batista’s no chuffed though, he’s wanting to know when he’ll get his title shot that Trips promised him, says he’s sick of the Shieldsies. Trips reminds him that he is the leader, but Batista doesn’t care, he wants his title shot tonight. Trips tells him wee Dbrys injured. He says Batista won’t want to be remembered as a guy who can’t end a fight and once they take the shieldsies down, he can have whatever he wants but until then no one is getting anything. Batista quits, does a wee wave and walks out. Trips is raging, tells him to run back to Hollywood but not to return when he flops.
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.