WHEN WRESTLING MERCHANDISE GOES
BAD.
An
insane look at those items lost to time/better
sense.
by Sean
Carless
January 19, 2011
For every iconic Austin 3:16
shirt you ever bought, wore and remembered
with pride (kind of), there was a Stone Cold
condoms (and why would Stone Cold even need
them? If he accidentally got a girl pregnant, he
could just punch her in the stomach. PROBLEM
SOLVED.) - an actual legit item from one
bald-headed champ to your own, that apparently
somehow fell through the cracks (no pun intended.
I swear), of WWE marketing, eventually
disappearing forever and becoming the occasional
"remember that'?". THIS IS WHERE WE
COME IN. Through your bedroom
window. While you slumber. (We raped you.).
Despite originally being
intended as a one-off Top
10 list of WORST merchandise ever, and
being fueled by my
crack team of researchers (amongst other drugs), I instead
decided that since I came into SO many ridiculous
options in my travels (well, the confines of my
apartment, anyway), that I would probably just be
better suited to presenting them individually in
what I hope will be a regular update here - a look
at that wrestling merch that is probably best
forgotten. Sometimes it will be a one-note gag,
other times I may be inspired to go balls out
(penis, too, because I have no self control).
Basically, like Forrest Gump's mama once said
about chocolates, and like my own frequently says
about those ladies whom I seek comfort with, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GOING
TO GET. (AIDS? Probably.).
Onto this
week's update!
WTF APPAREL!
FROM THE MAKERS OF
THE BIG SHOW "BIG ALL OVER"
T-SHIRT.
Remember that? An
extra large black (not this)
tee, with a big arrow pointing downward toward
your nether regions; and on the back, a reminder
that you, in fact, the owner, were "big all over"?
Well, apparently WWE doesn't, as like Chris Benoit
before it, all record of its seeming existence
have been wiped clean from this earth.
And as well it
should. For despite its
haughty boasts that your penile region was
apparently a "Big Show" (useless &
bald?), ladies of this earth just could not
seem to ever, no matter how hard they
tried, look past its wearer
also being "Big All Over"; let alone carring
enough to unearth your allegedly
impressive member from its suggested
fleshy sequester. Instead, you, the wearer, had to
simply be satisfied with this boastful
claim, and only that, desperately
trying to forget that you can
have the biggest dick in the
world, sure, but it all doesn't mean
shit if it's attached to a 350 pound man made
of fudge.
This takes us to the topic at
hand. Kind of. WWE apparel which made
you go, "What The Fuck?!"; WWE apparel, that
during the throws of Attitude and our
own adolescent defiance, somehow blinded us
to the truth that these shirts,
that we thought we were BUCKING AUTHORITY
WITH, were just about
THE GAYEST SHIT
EVER. I mean, there's not
even ANY subtlety in most cases; and absolutely NO
DEFENSE against that certain time-tested
accusation that we've all had to hear since the
inception of our fandom; an argument UFC fans
too have to hear now - but then refute by
saying, "ya, sure, there's a lot of dudes mounting
each other in bikini briefs and sitting on
each other's faces until someone submits/cums, but
AT LEAST AMIDST THE THOUSANDS OF GIBBERISH SKULLS
AND HARDCORE TRIBAL TATS WRAPPED IN BARBWIRE AND
THORNS THAT LITTER OUR
APPAREL, THERE'S NOT ONE EUPHEMISM FOR
GETTING AN ERECTION, MAINTAINING AN ERECTION, OR
ERECTIONS, PERIOD, LIKE YOURS." They then go back
to desperately hope that there are more
knockouts in their sport so their girlfriends
stop shaking their heads at them.
Anyway onto the content
in question; a random sampling and sprinkling of
WTF's and "Oh no they din'nt's". (Warning: extreme
and embarrassing immaturity
ahead):
Ah, the good ol'
ALWAYS POUNDING ASS
BAR & GRILL. I wonder if
this
song always plays when you
enter the establishment?
Anyway, I'm
usually pretty forgiving of Rasslin' apparel, no
matter how hokey or embarrassing, but COME ON.
Seriously. What a tough 2000 this must've been for
certain wrestling fans, and quite frankly, those
terrified students all around them. Notice the
lack of WWE logo above; a definitive and
distinctive symbol that may have still earned
you mockery, sure, but at least would have
set the record straight that you're
actually not a hungry alcoholic
sodomizing sex-pred at all, but just a fan of
Pro-graps with no concept of double
entendre. I mean, really. To
the casual bystander, you are
clearly less a Bradshaw and Faarooq fan, and
more just a connoisseur of painful anal
penetration, welcomed or otherwise. How
nice. In Prison this might earn you your
stripes, sure; but in say a high school
locker-room? You'll probably notice dudes
hittin' the showers in full suits of
armor.
And
the Grill part? Jesus. Who would
want to ever eat a place called
that? I don't know about you, but if I had just
been anally violated in a public setting, the last
thing I'd be thinking about is having a seat
and grabbing a steak. I'd take that shit
to go. Along with the shreds of my
cornhole/dignity.
And don't even
get me started on the probable hygiene of
that kitchen!
Ah, there.
Clearly a more suitable
shirt to show your true Bradshaw fandom. I
even offered former referee Billy Silverman a substantial fee to in
turn model it for us, but he hasn't answered
my calls. Or taken a shower since
2001. Imagine that.
Oh! Glad we
cleared that up. For a minute there I thought this
shirt was going to be offensive.
And speaking of
which, maybe it's just me, but I think I
prefer our Jake Roberts version:
You know, I
don't think he really means a Bazooka at
all! LMAO!!!!
But
seriously, what's with DX and their obsession
with the Army and their penises, and holy
shit, this is why they probably demand you
not ask or tell.
Oh, and no
worries, small
children, who too want to get
in on THIS BY
GAWD PHALLIC HILARITY
- in 2008, WWE introduced a T-shirt that says
World's Littlest
Member on it, JUST FOR YOU. So
there you go, some thinly veiled
pedophilia/mocking of under-developed genitals so
you too are not left out in the cold!
Probably literally. (There
has to be a reason why it's so small, after
all, AMIRITE!).
Poor
advice. I've always been of the mindset that
it goes the other way around. Hygiene
first. Always.
Penis.
I think I'm
going to go ahead and just take Bob's word for it
here. And not much, Bob. Sorry. :(
WHY? Wouldn't
you actually want all those tables to
break easier and, oh, they meant
their cocks!
Ok, finally!
Something veering away from my
hypersexual immature
stupidity....
Or is
it!....
...
...But
seriously, "Voting is for people young"? It's
good to see Master Yoda encouraging the youth
to vote here! (and the abolishment of
literacy/The Empire). I heard the polling station
is even in that cave. You don't even
need a pen. Only what you take with
you.
Ya!
Totally! Wait.
What!? What does
this even mean? When is this a question that
ever comes up? Like,
ever? A Botox clinic?
An angry, angry botox clinic? (Maybe for the
person getting this,
I guess.).
But really. This is a
saying? What is
even happening here?
Hey, isn't that
the Poltergeist Rape tree? I think I'm never sleeping again
if that fucking clown under the bed is
pictured on the other side. (Maybe
this also means Ted DiBiase will be enveloped
into a portal of nothingness, too? You know, like
his charisma?).
Ok, that said,
whilst not offensive or particularly lame,
(unlike myself), just what is WWE trying to
tell us here? A dead tree? One so
inherently worthless from top to bottom, and
one that serves of such little value and
use that we'd probably be better suited
to just disposing of it altogether,
because right now, it's doing no one any good?
What does this even have to do with
Legacy? Oh, that's right, everything.
Moving along.
THERE'S
A PARTY HEBREWIN', AND YOU'RE ALL INVITED.
TORAH THAT MOTHER DOWN TODAY WITH THE
NEW DX YARMULKE! AND IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN WITH
THAT, I'VE GOT ONE WORD FOR YA: SUKKOT.
VACHYNA.
VACHYNA?
VACHYNA!
GET IT? It's
like Vagina,
you see, only like her actual
genitals, somewhat different. And what does that
say on the back? ENTER AT YOUR OWN
RISK? Christ, what
is it, the fucking Thunderdome?
OR MAYBE IT IS. I've
seen the sex video. TWO MEN ENTER. ONE
MAN LEAVES. THEN THE OTHER MAN LEAVES. THEN
I THROW UP. I also masturbate a little, but I
don't tell anyone.
Dear god,
though, clearly Eddie above was
trying to warn X-Pac YEARS before
he ventured into Joanie's Sarlaac - only
instead of tentacles, there's clitoris's the size
of fire hydrants - and took us, the viewing
audience, on that nightmare with him.
Artist's depiction of Chyna's vagina.
Inside, X-Pac found a new definition of
pain and suffering as he was slowly
digested over a thousand years.
Fortunately,
though, much like actual intercourse with
Chyna, soon, WWE saw the error of their ways
and never once looked back. Or explained what
a Vachyna really was. But we know. WE ALL KNOW.
*Shudder*.
And *finally*
(Thank god), we have WWE UNDERWEAR...
for kids. Yay? But I guess I
should be happy that they don't
come in adult
sizes. I'm just not sure how well it'd
go over with the ladies having potential draws
that read, "You can't see me" over the
crotch. I guess for now we'll all just have
to settle for our own grown-up, self-made
Mark Henry underwear. You know,
brown, falling apart, and kinda shitty.
And yes, that's how we're going out
here.
I'm Sean.
And
all product suggestions, comments and
congratulatory hugs can be sent HERE.
Send
Feedback To Sean Carless
Sean
Carless is a man of many hats. And he wears those
hats to cover an ever-increasing bald spot. Sean's
various scribblings have been read at Live Audio
Wrestling, 411 Mania, Honky Tonk Man.com, The
Toronto Star.com, Wrestlecrap, and Lethal
Wrestling. He has also cured
AIDS.
