As most of us know, the bright
lights of wrestling don’t shine on one person
forever, and eventually, whether it is age,
injuries, or creative not having anything for
you, sometimes it’s just time for a Rassler to
move on. And unfortunately, the latter seems to
be happening all the more frequently, as there
doesn’t seem to be a month that goes by where
WWE isn’t “cordially” firing someone via their
website, with the following message
appearing:
“World Wrestling Entertainment
has come to terms on the release of [random
schmo.] We wish him the best in all future
endeavors.”
The hilarity of course lies in the
fact that the poor bastard really has no choice,
despite what “terms” WWE claims they came
to on his
release. <
/span>
WWE: “Hey. You don’t work
here anymore. Clear out your locker. You okay
with those
terms?”
“Released” Talent: “Do I
have a say in anything?”
WWE:
“Nope.”
Released Talent:
*sigh*
WWE: “Agreed
then!”
In any event, there are MANY
wrestlers out there, who have indeed stepped
away from the ring, and ventured into entirely
new vocations altogether. Men like Rick Steiner,
who now work in the school board, deducing ways
to prevent students from bullying one another,
all while secretly dreaming of all the people he
severely injured in his last WCW stint; while
MENG of all people was said to actually sell
used cars. YES. Somewhere out there, there’s
someone who haggled over the price of a Le Baron
with Haku. And I can just imagine those
sessions, and how hard poor Meng must have had
to try and keep from jabbing his thumb and index
finger into their throats when they tried to
maneuver the “Master of the Tongan death grip”
into throwing in a complimentary dashboard CD
player to sweeten the sale. (Plus, I’d imagine
it’d be hard to find a car Meng could take you
for a test drive in that could actually contain
the other 7/8ths of his
head).
And finally, Brutus “The Barber”
Beefcake, whom at one time definitely had the
world as his oyster, as he was struttin’,
cuttin’, and seemingly surgically attached to
the swollen orange ass of the Hulkster. However,
times were tough for the Barber, and eventually
there was no longer anyone requesting haircuts
after being violently choked into
unconsciousness. So he did what anyone
would do. He traded in his Lycra purple zebra
pants with the exploded ass, for the frumpy
uniform of a Subway Toll collector in
Boston. This
dream would carry on until he was
unceremoniously fired when a duffle bag was
found containing what was believed to be ANTHRAX
(and surprisingly not gigantic red & white
gardening shears). It’s okay though, it just
turned out to be cocaine however, and everyone
lived happily ever after. Ok, no one did. But
whatever. I’m tired of talking about
Brutus.
Anyway, that brings us to the topic
at hand. I got to thinking, what, if any jobs
would other wrestlers be drawn to, if all of a
sudden their tenure in the squared circle came
to a sudden end? And could they do said job with
the same passion and skill in which they rolled
around in their underwear? THESE WERE TOUGH
QUESTIONS THAT REQUIRED INTELLIGENCE INSULTING
ANSWERS. So, here we
are.
LIFE AFTER
WRESTLING
Jobs After Doing
JOBS.
Pfohl Of
Barbiturates.
Lex
Luger:
PHARMACIST.
Lex Luger. Physical specimen. Master
of the torture-rack. Lady killer
(literally).
What else can be said about Lex
Luger that can’t be laughed about multiple
times?
Luger once had the whole world
at his fingertips. 12 years ago he was amidst a
huge push, and could be counted on to body slam
morbidly obese Samoans at the drop of a hat. But
life has seemingly passed Flexy Lexy by since
then, and now may be the time for him to move to
another chapter in his life; PHARMACIST! Yes,
bear with me. I imagine Lex’s first
foray into the working world would be an attempt
as a 911 phone operator; but I suggest that job
would only last about 6 hours, before he was
ultimately fired for setting the all-time
mortality record in the profession, just half a
day into his tenure. And with that behind him,
Luger would have no choice but to embrace an
occupation where he wouldn’t be forced to help
those choking on pills, but instead, he’d be
DISTRIBUTING THEM himself. A PHARMACIST. And
hey, his suburban town home is literally
brimming with pills anyway, so why not just cut
out the middle man? Makes sense to
me.
And with this, Lex may have finally
found his true calling. And sure, his elderly
customers will return each week containing 25%
more muscle mass than they did the week before
after ingesting Lex’s stock, but it’ll be all
worth it.
Clearly.
Oh
Brother.
Sting:
PASTOR.
With Sting giving his heart to the
Lord, speaking publicly on behalf of Jesus, and
denouncing immorality, you’d think the next
logical step would be full
ordainment.
And who wouldn’t want to go to a
Church headed up by the Stinger? And sure, his
wolf-pac make-up might suggest he secretly
fights for the other side, and his first sermons
would come across awkward as he’d refuse to
speak for the first year and a half of his
ministry; but who couldn’t get behind a reverend
that violently and terrifyingly propels from the
Church’s rafters, and menacingly looks to crush
your skull with a baseball bat? And the best
part is, even if Sting did bludgeon you to death
with the bat, he’d be able to lay hands upon
your broken body instantly, and you’d be back in
business in no time. That’s a great little sales
pitch if I’ve ever heard
one.
Ultimately though, I’d imagine
Sting’s church would become host to many of his
Born Again wrestling comrades over time. And
imagine, sitting next to Ted DiBiase during the
sermon, while Ted out and out refuses to put any
money in the collection plate until someone
dribbles a basketball ten times. Or how about
Road Warrior Animal, drawing disdain from the
congregation for wearing his spiked shoulder
pads with his Sunday best? All the way to Shawn
Michaels causing a brief panic when his metallic
chaps cause him to sink to the bottom of the
Baptism tank like a stone. Makes you want to
join the crusade right now, doesn’t it? Ok,
maybe
not.
Skin As Soft
As A (dead)
Baby’s.
Gene
Snitsky:
DERMATOLOGIST.
Obviously,when you think of a
post-wrestling Gene Snitsky, you automatically
picture him getting right back into the
pro-choice movement (Her body, his choice), and
offering his special non-invasive abortion
services (and hey, Dawn Marie might still have a
job today if he did). But unfortunately, not too
many people seem too keen on terminating their
pregnancies by being blasted with a steel
folding chair, and likely, Dr. Gene’s insistence
on also aborting the mother, along with the
fetus, wouldn’t go over too well. Oh
well.
With that said, besides maybe
podiatry, there is ONE more medical field
Snitsky might try his hand in, that would be
most beneficial to the public and HIMSELF. Yes,
friends, I mean dermatology. You see, Gene
himself suffers from a certain skin condition
that seems to show no signs of clearing up (and
I haven’t been able to eat a Nestle Crunch bar
since he debuted).
And even after he seems to
now be off of certain “muscle enhancing”
substance, his back has yet to
clear up. And even though I think it’s now
fairly obvious that Gene can place all
the blame on his dry cleaner for the
less than reputable job on Snitsky’s shirts,
Gene himself can now pour all of his resources
into developing a cream that will in fact
obliterate any and all acne forever. And I truly
feel Gene is the man to make this medical
breakthrough
happen.
Unfortunately though, I fear this
won't be without its mishaps, as Gene will
likely test the first batch of “Genesil” on
himself, causing himself
to completely vanish after a bathing
in it; leaving only a large clump of goatee hair
stuck in the tub’s drain. What a
waste.
Captain
Morgan.
Matt
Morgan: HIGHWAY
PATROLMAN.
Hey, some truths are funnier than
fiction, and recently, Former Tough Enough
competitor Matt Morgan got into hot water when
he allegedly pretended to be a highway cop so he
could pull women over. I imagine however, what
gave him away was the fact that he was wearing
his trunks when he pulled the young lady
over….
In any event, Matt, I feel should
pursue a REAL career in law enforcement. But
just don’t be surprised when the people whom you
pull over suddenly speed off after it takes
you ten minutes to say “can you please step out
of the
car”…
Ace Corpse
In The
Hole.
Sonny
Siaki: GRAVE
DIGGER.
Hey, he puts them in the ground
anyway, so why not just kill two birds with one
stone (or an errant dropkick) and dig the hole
too? IT JUST MAKES
SENSE.
Pick Your
Poison.
Jake
Roberts: POISON
CONTROL.
Coming up with a job for Jake was
actually tougher than I originally thought. At
first, I definitely thought he would have a
future as a Wine tester, but I don’t think he’d
be able to get past that whole “Not being
allowed to swallow it” thing. (that and the
goblet he’d insist on using would 18 inches
tall). So, I went with the next best thing: Jake
Roberts donating his body to science. And hey, I
know he’s still alive and all, but he hasn’t
felt anything since 1992 so I figured he was
good to go. But alas, pesky human rights issues
would come into play, so ultimately Jake I feel
would find his true calling in the Poison Control Center.
After all, who has more toxins flowing through
their blood alcohol streams than Jake? So
who better to feel their plight? That’s right.
And the best part is Scientists will in turn
develop the antidote for every known poison on
earth through the blood of Jake Roberts.
Everybody wins this
way.
Big Poppa
Pumps.
Scott
Steiner: Gas Station
Attendant.
Finding a job for dude’s who wear
chain mail is no easy task. First, Medieval
Times kind of frowns on belly to belly suplexes,
and unfortunately, there never seems to be an
opening for Templar Knight guarding the one true
cup of Christ for all of eternity these days. So
what is a swollen dude on the gas to do? Well,
pump it, of course! (And not just directly into
their veins). See, I can see Scott Steiner
opening his very own Gas Station, affectionately
known as “Big Poppa Pumps”. And sure, you might
want to go ahead and self serve, because Scotty
has this really bad habit of dropping the gas
nozzle in mid-pump so he can peel off a few push
ups, but whatever. And hey, there’s just no
telling what former WCW stars will show up to
give a helping hand! If you need an oil change,
Sean Waltman or Scott Hall will be more than
happy to wring out their hair into your car. And
Kanyon is always ready to get to
work in the garage. I mean “who better” …or
knows more about rear-end collisions than
Kanyon?
I for one think Big Poppa Pump is up
for the challenge. And hopefully he’s learned
his lesson from his 2003 Royal Rumble Title
match: If you use too much “gas”, you’re
probably going to blow up. Let’s hope Scott
remembers this
lesson.
Yahweh
Out.
Goldberg:
RABBI!
It’s just a matter of time before
Goldberg traded in his unorthodox wrestling
style for…Orthodox Hebrew teachings! It seems
like only a natural progression. And where as he
learned his lessons originally in the Power
Plant, he’ll now take his teachings from the
Highest power, the great IAM. And sure, people
might read a little too much into Goldberg’s
spitting, twitching and gibberish, and mistake
this babbling for him speaking in tongues, but
it’s all in a day's works for the World’s
toughest Jew. I mean, imagine how AWESOME his
synagogue would be! First, as everyone is
seated, Doug Dillinger would bang on the
Synagogue’s door, yelling “Rabbi, you’re up!”
From there Goldberg would explode into the
church, accidentally kicking over religious
relics with an errant kick, before slowly
emerging from the sparks and flames of a fully
lit menorah. And of course, it will all
culminate with a throaty bellow of “Who’s
Next!...to read from
the Torah!” It’d be
awesome.
But it wouldn’t be a Goldberg story if
there wasn’t an injury. I imagine on a trip to
the Holy land,
Rabbi Goldberg would give himself a concussion…
while attempting to hard-way headbutt the
Wailing Wall. 
After
all, this guy hasn’t ever exactly had the best
track record against inanimate objects, has
he?
Blood; It’s In You To
Give. (Unless You’re This
Guy.).
“Cowboy”
Bob Orton: BLOOD
BANK.
Ok, maybe this isn’t exactly the
best idea. But hey, if anyone can put the “Hep”
back in “Hepatitis”, it’s a cool cat like Bob
Orton.
A Bird In The Hand To
Help You Get Back In The
Bush.
Koko B.
Ware: MARRIAGE
COUNSELOR.
Originally,
I thought maybe Koko would take up fire fighting
to prevent anymore Kentucky Fried Frankie’s from
occurring, but sadly, height requirements, and
the fact that Taxi-cab yellow Hammer Balloon
pants tend to go up in flames even faster than
18 year old macaws, made this dream an
impossibility.
But unlike those pants, there is a
silver lining. Koko could take all his many
years of knowledge in the area of LOVE (and what
woman can resist a guy who smells like birds?)
and turn it into a lucrative Couples counseling
practice. I can imagine such a
session:
Distraught
Wife: “I think my husband is cheating on
me,
Koko.”
Koko: “Sometimes love is
like a slow dance…You can tiptoe around, but
don't make a sound…You can make a little silent
romance.”
Hen-pecked Husband: “ Ha!
See, even Koko thinks I’m right! The reason I’m
seeing another woman is because you’re such a
nag!”
Wife: “Please tell me you
aren’t taking his side,
Koko?”
Koko: “But sometimes love
feels like a
fight…."
Husband AND Wife: “Well,
that’s true, I
guess.”
Koko: “…It feels like an
argument….It feels just like…. a
PILEDRIVER.”
Husband: “Wait.
Huh?”
Koko: “ A Piledriver!
Yaaaaaaaaaaaa! PILEDRIVER!
Ya!”
Husband: “What the Hell are
you talking
about?”
Koko: “You’re right beside
her!”
Husband: “Ya,
so?”
Koko: “Your Heart’s on
fire!!!!!!”
Wife: “What does that even
mean?!”
Koko: “She got you
hotwired! HIGHER, HIGHER,
PILEDRIVER!!!!!”
Wife AND Husband: “Umm,
thanks, Mr. Ware. I think we have to get going
now…”
Koko: “Lalalalalalalalala,
a-PILE-
Drivvvvvvvvaaaaaa!”
Husband: “Okayyy,
then…”
Haha. That went great I think. I
think with Koko’s melodious approach to dealing
with lovelorn, there isn’t a couple on Earth who
can’t work things out, and by session’s end, be
ready to “do the bird”…and each other. Thanks,
Koko!
One Warrior Nation Under
God.
Ultimate
Warrior A.K.A.: Warrior Warrior: IMMIGRATION
OFFICIAL.
With the
UConn controversy still fresh in some people’s
minds, Warrior Squared’s future as a public
speaker likely went up in smoke faster than his
ridiculously cheesy WCW entrance. But there is
HOPE. There is a job out there with Warrior’s
name on it….both of them in fact…which are the
same by the way. Anyhoo. I’m of course talking
about an immigration official! Warrior Warrior
seems born for this. In fact, let us all imagine
those immigrants coasting to our fair shores,
reading the welcoming plaque on The Statue of
Liberty for the first time after Warrior's first
day on the
job....
“Give me your
tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your
teeming shore. Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the
golden door….And arrrrgggghhhh, for the little
Warriors I press them to heavens for the
skeletons that made the supreme sacrifices! And
smite them with awesome POWER of THE
ULTIIIIIIIIIIIMATE WARRIAH!!!!
*Snort*”
.
Ok, clearly, we’ll have to widen
Lady Liberty by a good 25 feet to get this
revised phrase on there, but Man, it’ll be so
worth it.
I don’t know about you, but I know I’d
feel A LOT safer with Warriorman guarding our
harbors, press slamming those who dare try to
get into this country without the proper
paperwork back into the Atlantic Ocean from
whence they came. And sure, it might take
Warrior a long time to round up all the illegals
jumping the Mexican border because he insists on
always traveling by foot, but that’s just the
price you pay to keep the *real threats* like
Iraqi Sympathizers with pointy boots, Voodoo
priests, Vikings and 1800’s era morticians out
of our fair land.
WARRIAH.
Getting A Little Behind In His
Work.
Pat
Patterson: FUDGE
PACKER.
Hey, that fudge just doesn’t pack
itself! So why not employ the expertise of a guy
who’s spent over 30 years trying to cram objects
into tight spaces? And I'm sure the people
at the Fudge company will no doubt be pleased
with his umm, drive. (They may even want a
cigarette after, who
knows?).
She Can’t Wait To
Handle Your
Package!
Lita:
TRAVEL
AGENT.
After the bright lights fade, and
Lita can no longer blow spots (among other
things) in the ring anymore, she will be faced
with a tough decision. What (or who) do I do
now? I think the answer is fairly obvious:
TRAVEL AGENT …specifically one that deals
primarily with the country of MEXICO. After all,
Lita’s vagina is practically a national treasure
there.
With
Lita travel, you’ll have a (El) Dandy of a time
taking in all the Lizmarks err, I mean
landmarks, before retiring to your Super (Calo)
comfortable room. Heck, if you get the time, you
might even partake in a little Fishman, err,
“fishing” on one of the nation’s many
beaches.
And the best part? You won’t even
have to worry about ingesting the contaminated
water there, because your immune system will be
far too busy warding off other much more
threatening contagions thanks to Lita's
services. After experiencing
Lita..umm, travel, a little violent diarrhea
will seem welcome. Let’s
see other travel agencies do that! So, if you’re
going to Travel, let Lita handle your package.
She’ll bend over backwards (and many other
positions) for her
clients.
Four Wheel Drive
Horseman.
Ric
Flair: DRIVER’S ED
INSTRUCTOR!
Times have been tough for the Nature
Boy lately. Between his wife leaving him, The
IRS cleaning him out (And if you see a lot of
accountants running around in sequined robes in
Washington, you’ll know they’ve gone too far!)
and the oft-mentioned “road rage” incident,
perhaps it’s time for Ric to start
over.
That’s
why, I see Ric trading in his Jet flyin’ and
limousine ridin’ for a Chevy Corsica with a
bright yellow sign on top, and clipboard… as
Slick Ric takes a whole NEW generation to
school…Drivers school. And hey, why not? If
Flair can carry El Gigante to a believable
match, surely he can use those same skills to
prevent “Little Billy” from bursting his car
into flames? Right? I mean, is a speeding two
thousand pound metal death trap any more
dangerous than working with say a Mark Henry? I
think
not.
Anyway, Ric’s approach will seem a
little unorthodox to most, (Before each session
he’ll have one of his students pitch him off the
roof of his car) but I guarantee you he’ll
produce results. And sure, it might seem a
little unpleasant that he gives instruction
while only wearing a tiny pair of purple
underoos, and that he instinctly thumbs you in
the eye when you forget to use your turn signal,
but he’s Ric Flair, damn it. And you’ll be
better off for it in the long run. After all,
what’s worse, having to WALK to school… or not
walking for three days after taking a well
placed mule-kick to the genitals? I think it's
fairly
obvious.
Wooooooooo!
AfterLife After
Wrestling.
The Undertaker:
Nothing. (Undertaker doesn’t believe in doing
Jobs.)
Well, that was, *ahem* interesting.
On second thought though, maybe they should all
just stick to wrestling. And let the
professionals like me get fired from the real
jobs….
I’m Sean.
