The Midnight News 05.12.03

Posted By Hyatte on 05.12.03

Excuses, Nash, Missy, Survivor, Mr. America, Pam Dawber, Reading Material, All Three Stooges, Mother's Day, Mugshots, and Getting Dirty

Guys like Hyatte are not columnists. If they have something to offer - post it on a message board.

Words to live by, son. Words to live by.

No offense, but your column is really a big waste of time. Seriously, do you think anyone really values your opinion? You can't go a whole paragraph without a masturbation reference! It's funny the first time, but not something I wanna read while looking up wrestling. Honestly, don't you have anything better to do?

Chris Witkowski

Yes, and when I do, I go do it and miss a week, or a few months. Now, look at all the other web guys, how many weeks do THEY miss? Thus, I submit to you all: of all the IWCers hanging around… which ones CLEARLY show that they have something better to do and which ones clearly show that this writing gig is, in reality, all they have? Hmm?

This one’s about the Britney Spears video I pointed you all to last column:

All that hype for about 5 seconds of hand/pseudo mouth work? C'mon Hyatte, I'm disappointed in you. Act like you've seen/gotten one before

P.S. HHH is gay and has great hair. BUY THE BOOK!

Dave

Well Jesus H Christ. Sue me. If and when a homemade Britney Spears PORNO shows up online, I’ll be sure to post that motherf*ckin’ address as soon as I can. Until then, you MAKE DO WITH WHAT YOU CAN GET, CREEPFACE!!!

A boy telling me to act like I’ve “gotten some” then tells me to buy Scooter’s book… just chew on that a’while.

I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News. If you’re looking for in-depth wrestling analysis, YOU’LL GET IT HERE, BABY!!! I’M ALL ABOUT THE BUSINESS!!! ALL ABOUT THE SHOW!!!

Bleh… it’ll be a miracle if I get any rasslin’ content in this week.

Anyway, this is my excuse for last week and I’m sticking with it:

INTERNET WRITER CLICHED EXCUSE FOR NOT SHOWING UP LAST WEEK

I didn’t show up last week because I, as opposed to everyone else, HAVE A LIFE!!!

And thus end this week’s installment of INTERNET WRITER CLICHED EXCUSE FOR NOT SHOWING UP LAST WEEK Thank you, drive home safely

KEVIN NASH IS THE COOLEST RASSLER EVER AND I HAVE PROOF!!

He lost weight. He looks to be in the best shape of his life.

And people rag on him for those babyface tough guy promos he’s been cutting on HHH. People have been using it as an excuse to point out yet ANOTHER reason why the big, old prick should be boiled alive in rat piss.

Bah!

Feh!

Bah and Feh!

Fact: Nash is brilliant… frickin’ BRILLIANT on the mic. He knows how to speak and is quick enough to improvise out some hilarious stuff on the spot.

Fact: These days, the WWE writing staff (called “creative” by us inside yokels!) are so paranoid about the ratings woe that they now write every single word a rassler must say. No more bullet points in McMahon’s world… now it’s all verbatim… and only a select FEW are allowed to stray.

Fact: Nash isn’t one of those select few

Fact: Yet

Fact: So, you’re Kevin Nash, you are magic on the mic, you have no problem goofing on the business. You have more money than God and are only in this to say “Fuck you” to the Scooter Keith’s of the world, and you’re not quite yet in the position to question orders and stir up shit. What do you do?

Fact: You goddam speak every line of dialogue given to you and you MOCK IT WHILE DOING SO.

Good God… get over yourselves. Nash is God and he laughs at you.

And for Christ sakes… how can you hate a guy who, in the midst of WCW’s final attempt to turn it all around…. With Russo/Bischoff generated scripted HELL going on all around him, he looks in the camera, smirks, and says:

“Where’s the Dog when you need him the most?”

Jesus, people…. the man is BRILLIANCE SQUARED.

“SHOW YOUR TITS, SHOW YOUR TITS”

“I would guys, but it’s awfully cold out here”

You would dare MOCK THAT??? IF BENOIT TRIED TO THINK THAT FAST THE GERBIL IN HIS HEAD WOULD FALL OFF Its WHEEL AND SPONTANIOUSLY EXPLODE

MISSY TAKES CHARGE AND ROLLING STONE DOESN’T LOVE ROCK & ROLL

Yeah, so last column I pointed out a link to a Britney Spears video where she more or less goes porno on a microphone. It was right here.

Yeah, well, since then, the whole site was taken over by Rolling Stone.com. So now I have to hunt down that f-ing video. F-ing Rolling Stone… I haven’t had a drop of respect for them since they put that loser Jenny McCarthy on their cover a few years ago.

Well, they did have an article on BB King a few years back (in the issue with the Steve Austin article) that may have been the best damn piece of writing I’ve ever read.

Now, I know that my little plug for that site had nothing to do with RS.com taking over… but something ELSE happened recently that I WILL take credit for

(and yes, this IS wrestling related… so fuck off, marks)

My first column back I pointed you all to a (very evil, now that I’ve looked through it) site that features fetish oriented porn videos… and Missy Hyatt’s little girl on girl, shower thingy video… where Missy looked NASTY (in a good way) It was here. Even if you didn’t buy it, there were pictures… nice pictures… hot pictures.

Well, I wanted to see those pictures… nice pictures… hot pictures… again… so I went over there.

Looks like Missy found out about it, and raised hell, and had them pull it all offline. Probably filed a lawsuit too.

Gee, HOW did she EVER find out? Who told everyone about the site? Who EVER spilled the beans???

I went over to Missy’s wrestlingvixxxens site for a message or a notation or something, and found none. Missy, you really need to start a web blog… I know you’d be the greatest blogger EVER.

So, Missy heard about what happened through my column, and quickly put an end to it… (or so I hope)… and if that is the case, then this message is for Missy and Missy alone:

Hi Missy. You’re welcome. I didn’t realize that they were selling your video without permission. I’m glad to have helped.

Now, I’m all for doing things out of the goodness of my own heart, but fact is, you owe me… and you’re a fun chick… and a tornado in the sack. I am all grown up, with a rock hard ass, and long, strong, nasty fingers that know what they are doing. I also know how to think about my Grandmother without her teeth in during sex, so I can last a long, long time. I’ve made no secret, I dig you, girl. Anytime, anyplace, under as much supervision as you want. I’m a playa, girl. I’m all about fun. Just name the time and I’ll be there.

Just allow yourself a lot of time. No quickie ten minutes then you’re out the door. I take my time, trust me… you’ll be happy.

Come on, bad girl. Let’s see how wild you really are.

Hyatte

Thank you for your patience. I KNOW I can tap this.

TITS!!! IT’S ALWAYS THE ONE WITH THE TITS!!

The following has nothing to do with anything… but I just have to say it.

crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap

crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapDOUBLE CRAP ON A STICK!!!!

For the last 6 weeks I’ve been waiting for the finale to Survivor just to see Rob try to worm the jury into voting for him. So what happens, that big tittied/small minded bitch Jenna, who has too much luck in her life as it is, wins the whole thing.

Crap. Life sucks.

THAT IS NOT MR. AMERICA

A reader alerted me to this… and it shows just how damned desperate the McMahons are to re-generate product interest:

Hulk Hogan is NOT Mr. America… no he isn’t. Here are the facts:

-Mr. America has rotten, decrepit arms

-Mr. America has strange colored skin that looks painted on… covering what?

-Mr. America has stringy, deathly white hair that just hangs there limply

-Mr. America has a gravely, throaty voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used in YEARS

-Mr. America has a BLUE costume

-Mr. America moves around like a man with weak, underused muscles and brittle bones

-Mr. America is angry at Vince McMahon

-Mr. America openly pokes fun at his “guise”… openly mocks his “patriotism”… almost as if he isn’t even American… almost as if he’s… Canadian!!

-Mr. America talks about his “heart”… or is it something that ryhmes with “heart”??

-Mr. America gets awfully mad when someone calls him a “nugget”

Now, put it all together. That’s right.

Mr. America is really OWEN HART’S ZOMBIE!!!!!!!

Dear God… Vince has gone too damn far. Katie Vick was a frickin’ ROMPER ROOM STUNT COMPARED TO THIS!!!

FOR THE LOVE OF SATAN, VINCE!!!! LET THE MAN REST IN PEACE!!! LET HIM REST, DAMN YOU!!!

Damn… dammit. Poor Owen. How Vince will get Bret back NOW is beyond me.

This just in, Vince has booked “Mr. America” (yeah, RIGHT!!!) TO PUT OVER Shawn Michaels at Summerslam… that no good motherf*cker

ALL FOR THE LOVE OF PAM DAWBER

Whenever someone contacts me on AIM, they stand a very good chance of getting me in a bad mood, especially when it’s very late at night.

The following took place around four in the morning a few weeks ago:

Rollinbmwx4: hey do u know mindy gomez ?????

Hyatte1com: no

Rollinbmwx4: who is this anyways ?

Hyatte1com: well, you IMmed me, you tell me

Rollinbmwx4: this is shawn

Hyatte1com: hooray

Rollinbmwx4: is ur name steven

Rollinbmwx4: i got this sn from mindy she told me that u like wrestling

Hyatte1com: Mindy is a hosebag

Rollinbmwx4: so u do know mindy

Rollinbmwx4: why u called her a hosebag

Rollinbmwx4: mindy isn't a hosebag

Hyatte1com: I know her roomate

Rollinbmwx4: mindy doesn't have a roomate

Hyatte1com: sure she does.. Mork

Rollinbmwx4: mindy lives at home still

Hyatte1com: her roomate is named Mork, from the planet Ork, nanu nanu

Rollinbmwx4: my real name is stan

Hyatte1com: I care

Rollinbmwx4: dude i can't belive it

Hyatte1com: what? That Mindy is a hosebag? Sorry, but she is

Rollinbmwx4: whats ur name man ?

Hyatte1com: Dick

Rollinbmwx4: man seriously

Hyatte1com: My name is Dick Inya

Rollinbmwx4: seriously how do u know mindy

Hyatte1com: She gave me head a couple of times

Rollinbmwx4: did u go to green valley

Hyatte1com: Green Valley High?

Rollinbmwx4: yeah

Hyatte1com: no dude, I'm a grown up, which is why Mindy likes to blow me

Rollinbmwx4: when did u 2 meet each other

Hyatte1com: none of your fucking business

Rollinbmwx4: man i'am her bf i'll kick ur ass bitch

Hyatte1com: bring it, homeslice. I'll stomp your ass stupid then buttfuck you too. Mindy will watch and get all hot for me

Rollinbmwx4: if u know mindy than whats her cross streets

Hyatte1com: I don't meet her at her home, douchebag. We meet at MY place

Hyatte1com: what kind of moron are you

Rollinbmwx4: my gf doesn't even drive

Hyatte1com: you can't even spell

Hyatte1com: she can walk.. duh

Rollinbmwx4: so u live around the boulder area than

Hyatte1com: yes, a big city like Boulder... I'm somewhere in there. Come and get me, faggot!! I'll strip you naked, hogtie you, and make you watch me fuck Mindy

Rollinbmwx4: man that won't happen u don't know who ur messin with and how dangerous i'am

Hyatte1com: yes, I'm sure you're the toughest kid in 9th grade... HA

Rollinbmwx4: i'am 21

Hyatte1com: and STILL in 9th grade

Rollinbmwx4: thats not true man she never said anything to u about me

Hyatte1com: that slut rode more donkey dicks than Britney Spears

Hyatte1com: she doesn't like talking about you to me. You embarrass her

Rollinbmwx4: whens the last time u talked to her

Hyatte1com: none of ya fucking business

Rollinbmwx4: look u don't know mindy she never fucked u . u wish u motha fucka and i don't embarrass her i been with her for a year

Hyatte1com: yeah, you keep thinking that, loser I know the truth Mindy knows the truth

Rollinbmwx4: i'am not a loser

Hyatte1com: Mindy says you are big time loser and a fag

Rollinbmwx4: does she wear plastic glasses and shes half white and phillpino

Hyatte1com: it's Filipino, stupid.

Rollinbmwx4: sorry

Hyatte1com: you sure are

Hyatte1com: now, apologize to me and I'll break it off with Mindy hurry up bitch, I'm a busy man

Rollinbmwx4: man no sorrys to u cause i'll find u and break u in half

Hyatte1com: good luck, stupid.

Rollinbmwx4: mindy will tell me where u live

Hyatte1com: Mindy will keep her mouth shut... she likes my cum

Rollinbmwx4: no she will won't

Hyatte1com: but do me a favor and take her out for a jog once in a while, that girl's gotta lose that big gut and that fat ass

Rollinbmwx4: ur a loser fucker

Hyatte1com: good comeback. And you wonder why Mindy sucks me off while leaving you with blue balls

The fight pretty much petered out after this.

You know, it’s chats like these that remind me how phenomenally stupid people are... I mean, it’s scary… frickin’ SCARY.

THE MIDNIGHT NEWS BOOK-OF-THE-TWO-WEEK-CLUB

Flea: Only three writers in the world have ever meant anything, Hi-Weight.

Hyatte: Oh yeah, which ones?

Flea: Stephen King, George Orwell…

Hyatte: And?

Flea: (takes a long, drawn-out, desperate pull from his bong – followed by a nice, generous sip from his glass) and… whoever.

Hyatte: Whoever?

Flea: Yep

Hyatte: Who the fuck is whoever?

Flea: When you know, then you know

********************

Two weeks ago, I introduced you to John O’Brian’s Leaving Las Vegas. According to e-mails, three people checked it out and all said that they couldn’t put it down. Now, three people (and based on the IWC e-mail/actual ratio: 3 = 30, give or take 10) may not seem like a lot, but the book is pretty hard to find – so this is actually a fine start to this gimmick.

The next book I want to profile is from someone you probably have heard of. He is known as the “Father of New Journalism”. His name is Tom Wolfe.

Looking at Wolfe, you don’t expect much. He’s a small, prim, nebbish man with a bad comb-over and a penchant for natty white suits. You look at him and expect a man who makes a living grading essays on neo-classical pre-renaissance French architecture… nothing about the man screams contemporary.

Yet, not only is Tom Wolfe contemporary, but he’s innovative. He’s widely known as one of the first journalists to take a story beyond the obligatory “who, what, where, when, how, and why” and mix fiction-like prose into his in-depth journalistic approach. He told his stories as stories, while maintaining total objectivity. Basically, he was one of the first journalists who wrote non-fiction pieces as if they were fiction. Just glance through his book The Right Stuff and you’ll see what I mean.

Eventually, Wolfe broke into full fiction pieces, writing two wildly successful/praised books: The Bonfire of the Vanities and A Man in Full. Both are a new type of fiction, a type that readers new to his style might find bothersome. Wolfe’s style is based more on character than plot, on culture more than pacing. He seems to prefer spending pages describing a piece of land or a dining room table (or a snake-house) then to move a story along with more grace. But if you like your narrative heavy on descriptive and your prose light on bullshit, then Tom Wolfe is your man.

I’m a sucker for short story collections, so my next selection happens to be one. It’s also Wolfe’s latest book. It’s called Hooking Up and it’s a good way for you to sample Tom Wolfe the journalist and the fiction writer.

The essays in this book are assorted into thematic parts, after a pair of essays on how culture has changed in the new millennium, he digs into a series of pieces on human achievement and - most notably – how science is slowly but surely explaining away God. The prize story in this section is called Sorry, But Your Soul Just Died which Wolfe writes about how neuroscience now can watch the brain in action, and how what we call free will isn’t very free at all, just part of our genetic programming. Fucking mind-blowing stuff.

There’s also a neat little fictional novella here, called Ambush at Fort Bragg. It’s a short story involving a big time New York network television reporter corning three “yahoo” soldiers at Fort Bragg and confronting them about gay bashing in the military. Like all of Wolfe’s fiction, it leans more towards description than anything else.

But my favorite part of the book is a piece with a title that will ring bells here. My Three Stooges is Wolfe’s rebuttal/bon-a-fide ass whuppin’ to comments made about him by three famous authors (John Updike, John Irving, and Norman Mailer) who, really, should have better things to do than to rag on their fellow authors. But rather than turn it into a full flame-fest, Wolfe uses the piece to point out the problems with today’s fiction, and how it can be fixed. The following excerpt is taken from this essay. Wolfe had just described how the three writers (his Stooges) had dismissed A Man in Full as garbage, in this passage, Wolfe recounts fighting back during a television interview in Toronto with someone named Evan Solomon:

So, was I saying that John Irving was untalented, just the way he said I was untalented?

“Not at all,” I told Evan. “John Irving is a talented writer. Norman Mailer is a talented writer. John Updike is a talented writer. All I’m saying is that they’ve wasted their careers by not engaging the life around them,” by turning their backs on the rich material of an amazing country at a fabulous moment in history. Instead of going out into the world, instead of plunging into the (to me) irresistibly lurid carnival of American life today in the here and now, instead of striding out with a Dionysian yea-saying, Nietzsche would have put it, into the raw, raucous, lust-soaked rout that throbs with amped-up octophonic tympanum all around them, our old lions had withdrawn, retreated, shielding their eyes against the light, and turned inward to such subject matter as their own little crevice, i.e., “the literary world,” or such wholly ghostly stuff as the presumed thoughts of Jesus (referring to Mailer’s book The Gospel According to the Son an “autobiography” of Jesus).

But how could I say that about Mailer? asked Evan. What about The Executioner’s Song, Mailer’s 1979 novel based on the Gary Gilmore case (in which a convicted murderer insisted, to the distress of anti-death-penalty activists, on becoming the first American executed by the state in more than ten years)?

I wouldn’t say that about The Executioner’s Song, I told him. “That book should have taught Norman a lesson, but obviously it didn’t.”

Mailer’s career had been floundering for the better part of a decade when one day a remarkable Santa Clause named Lawrence Schiller turned up. With him he had bales and bales of transcripts of interviews he had done with Gary Gilmore, his family, and other people involved in Gilmore’s life and internationally publicized death. He had visited Gilmore in jail many times and had witnessed his execution. Schiller was a photographer who had developed into a reporter with an unusual specialty. He amassed material for books on hot topics and then looked for writers to write them in co-ventures. Mailer took Schiller’s reportorial gold mine and wrote what turned out to be the only good novel he would ever writer after his first, The Naked and the Dead, back in 1948. Schiller said later that he interviewed “close to a hundred people over a year-and-a-half period and prepared all that material… He [Mailer] never interviewed any of the people or was at any of the events.” Why Mailer hadn’t drawn the obvious conclusion and headed out into the country himself as a reporter before doing his next novel, or at least signed up with Schiller again, instead of writing the ghostly novels that were to follow, I can’t imagine.

For that matter, what on earth prompted John Irving to spend more than four years writing a 633-page novel set in India, A Son of the Circus, and publish it (in 1994) with a preface that said: “This isn’t a novel about India. I don’t know India. I was only there once, for less than a month. When I was there, I was struck by the country’s foreignness; it remains obdurately foreign to me”? I don’t know India. It was true – which only makes it odder. A Son of the Circus, all 633 pages of it, is not a novel about India or any other place in this world. It sank without a trace,

Since my interview with Evan Solomon, John Updike has published a new novel, Gertrude and Claudius, yet another otherworldly story, this one about what transpired in Hamlet’s family prior to the events depicted in Shakespeare’s play. It was received congenially, respectfully, collegially by… us… in the literary world… and then, dismayingly, it dropped off the radar. Us was one thing; they, the book-reading public, were quite another. They lost interest so completely, so rapidly, that The New York Times ran a story about it, also mentioning other highly “literary” writers whose current novels , likewise duly praised by us, had suffered the same fate. Since the others (Saul Bellow was one) were about the same age as Updike, the Times raised the question of whether or not it might be a generational matter, a case of older writers no longer resonating with a younger audience.

But Updike had his own unique analysis: it was the reader’s fault. Their “tastes have coarsened,” he said in an interview. “People read less, they’re less comfortable with the written word. They’re less comfortable with novels. They don’t have a backward frame of reference that would enable them to appreciate things like irony and allusions. It’s sad.” The airport bookstores don’t stock anything one could characterize as literature, he said, and when one got on the airplane, people were reading not literature but the trash sold at airport bookstores. With a Twilight of the Gods resignation, he told of how it used to be, back before readers became what they are today, i.e., coarse, dumb, and dumber. “When I was a boy, the bestselling books were often the books that were on your piano teacher’s shelf… Someone like Steinbeck was a bestseller as well as a Nobel-Prize-winning author of high intent. You don’t feel that now. I don’t feel we have the merger of serious and pop – it’s gone, dissolving… The kind of readers that would make it worthwhile to print a literary writer are dwindling.”

Were my eyes deceiving me? Was this man actually saying that the lack of interest in the “literary” novel in the year 2000 was the readers’ fault? He, John Updike, was a victim of a new cultural disease, Reader Failure? And was he invoking the name of John Steinbeck, who wrote in a happier time, back when Updike’s piano teacher read great writers? How could he risk even mentioning Steinbeck – unless he actually does consciously and willfully regard himself as my stooge, a straight man whose role is to feed me such lines?

There you go, a taste of Wolfe. If you liked what you read, or at least want to check it out and finish the essay I used, the book is available pretty much wherever Pat McNeil’s All the Tables Were Broken isn’t… that being, everywhere.

Now you know why I picked “My Three Stooges” as the title to goof on web idiots… Wolfe knows his shit.

Speaking of which… what the hell, this makes a perfect segue into…

MY THREE STOOGES

Your name is Rick Scaia… you used to be a featured writer on the wrestling branch of sportsline. You used to be close, personal friends with well-liked, well-respected Mike Samuda. You used to be considered one of the top Internet opinion-makers. You used to matter.

Then Sportsline smartened up and 86’ed the wrestling branch. You open your own site. No one reads it. The only person who reminds people you’re still alive is the vilest snake in your Internet Garden of Eden. You were recently seduced into falling in love with a seductress who then went running to me with stories of how you masturbated over the phone while making goofy grunting noises and how you displayed absolutely no clue on the use, or the purpose of the female clitoris. Clearly, the salad days of your Internet Legend are dead and buried. The Rick is dead.

So what do you do? What do you do?

Well, if you really are Rick Scaia, you continue to act as if you’re better than everyone else is!

jesse96AD: RICK!!!!!!

jesse96AD: remember me?

jesse96AD: We talked a couple of months back

OORick signed off at 9:39:14 PM.

jesse96AD: well I talked, you just listened

Previous message was not received by OORick because of error: User OORick is not available.

DevilsNightOut13: Don't you think Jim Ross is so SEXXXY?

DevilsNightOut13: I just wanna hold him and snuggle

Previous message was not received by OORick

because of error User OORick is not available.

And he wonders why he lost his whole audience. He’s so SNOTTY.

CRZ posted a pair of pics of him and his silly c*nt of a fiancé . … when they were kids. Obviously, Zimmerman’s going for the “look how CUTE we are” vibe. Further evidence that God got confused and gave the cock to the wrong hombre in this particular pair.

Meanwhile, Scott Keith recently admitted that a chunk of his “facts” in his book (which, in some universe, is considered a “best seller” according to him) are more or less untrue. So to those of you who did buy the book - you purchased a book written by an idiot filled with material you could have downloaded for free which can’t even be considered a useful reference guide since many of the facts inside are admittedly false, mostly due to poor research and lazy editing (and the fact that, when it gets right down to it, he isn’t even all that good at his chosen field). Congratulations. Go buy his book again… by three copies… four. Fuck it, go out and buy every copy you can get your hands on. You deserve it.

A MOTHER’S DAY SONG TRIBUTE!

Now that the Torch’s Pat McNeil has finally ended his ridiculous “Internet Idol” waste-of life, pointless space filler column for the future (here’s a shock, the winner was someone who parodied a song around how much the WWE SUCKS!! BRILLIANT!!!!!) I guess, since I’ve showed everyone how to make song parodies in written text SORT OF funny, that I might as well start wrapping up the point I was making… said threat being, of course, that SONG PARODIES DO NOT FUCKING WORK WITHOUT SOUND, YOU STUPID MOTHERLESS FAT FUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Speaking of moms… today (yesterday) is (was) MOTHER’S DAY!!! So, I thought I’d celebrate the pseudo-holiday by honoring my dearly departed Mother with a song parody DEDICATED to her. Yes, I have the absolute AUDACITY to do a song parody in my column that has NOTHING TO DO WITH FUCKING WRESTLING, CAN YOU SPAZZCASES TAKE IT???? DO YOU NEED 5 MINUTES TO TAKE A BREATHER??????

Anyway, in honor of Mom, I give to you from the greatest band ever, ripping off maybe the greatest song ever…

LET IT BE

The Beatles

When I found myself all hot and troubled

Mother Hyatte came to me

She banged me like a crack head

For a fee

And when I lied awake in darkness, tugging on my little pee pee

Mom would come in with the KY

For a fee

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for fee

Only two bills for a climax

that’s her fee.

And when my friends would want to get some, Mother Hyatte would decree

One in the mouth, one in each hand

For a fee

Mom would let my friends gang bang her, then they would high-five me

She’d even supply the condoms

For a fee

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for a fee

Anal would cost extra

She’d charge three.

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for a fee

She’d even swallow our love gunk

And that be free

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for a fee

And for just twenty dollars

She’d drink our pee EEEE

And when I started dating girls, Mom would insist on chaperoning me

She’d show my dates how to blow her son

For a fee

I once woke up to the sounds of humming, as Mom hoovered the shit out of me

Sucked me dry in time for school

For a fee.

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for a fee

That was why my Mom ruled

She was good to me

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, yeah for a fee

Rode me like a friggin’ bronco

And shaved her vee

For a fee, for a fee, for a fee, for a fee

Everyone loved Mother Hyatte

Especially me EEEEE

Happy Mother’s day, Mommy – wherever you are.

Nice lady.

SAY CHEESE? OH COME ONNNN… SMILE!!

God Bless the Smoking Gun website.

So, instead of going on and on about the death of Miss Elizabeth, let’s instead use this tragic experience to learn something… something important.

When you have your mug shot taken, why don’t you smile? I mean, it’s done. You’re going to spend the night in the clink. Accept it and deal. So you get caught with a little bit of hash or a few grams of coke or they found your girlfriend shot in the vag with your fingerprints all over the gun and her blood and matter all over your pecker… that’s what lawyers are for… to weasel your guilty ass out of Gen Pop and back to freedom. Your mug shot will last forever… Jesus, people… make it a good one.

See, Luger’s an idiot. He had one mugshot already, and only made an half-ass attempt to learn from his mistakes. He saw how silly a 40 something year old man looked with platinum blonde hair and grew it back out. He observed just how foolish he looked trying to pull off that Bill Clinton come-hither sexy biting of the lower lip, and did away with it… but look at both pics, where’s the fun? Where’s the good cheer?

Stone Cold Steve Austin went for the mellow approach. Look at how laid back he appears. Nothing but a thang, officer… just a little marital spat. But even Austin forgot to turn that frown upside down. Come on, Steve, the Aryan Brotherhood must have a spot ready for you already… you’re all SET in there… take it easy, enjoy it.

Eddie Guerrero looks totally pissed and miserable here. As if the Latin Kings weren’t all set to braid his hair, spit shine his zapatoes, and hook him up with the finest toothless prag cigarettes can buy. Eddie wasn’t going to jail, he was going to Goddam Shangri-La. Show those pearly whites, next time, esse.

Now, see… Booker T teaches us ALL how to do it. Look at that big, shit-eating grin! Now this is one cat who KNOWS how to save the drama for his momma. He isn’t hating the playa OR the game! Bravo, Booker. Brav-Fucking-O

Of course, you may OVERdo it… like our friend Bill Gates. His big, sappy grin literally screams: “I’m renting my ass to all brothers”. A definite no-no.

Now ladies… I haven’t forgotten you. If men find you attractive, there is no reason why you should ruin it by allowing a mug shot to see your bad side. Before the bulb flashes, be sure to try to sexify yourself up. Take the cue from Carmen Electra. Not only did she crank up the sweaty, Miami laced sex appeal, but she managed to turn her mug shot into one of the hottest pictures she’s ever taken.

I’m being serious… fabulous actresses lose their entire careers off bad mug shots. Don’t believe me? Then put down your breakfast, keep anything spillable away from your keyboard, and prepare for THIS. Now who’s gonna want Yasmine Bleeth after THAT? Who? YOU? ME?? No, not even me!

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: “Fucking Hyatte, what does he know about anything? And where’s the goddam wrestling content??” Well, trust me sparky… I know full well the benefits of a good mug shot, and the horrible repercussions of a bad one.

THEY CALL ME DOCTOR LOVE

And before we call it a week, let’s go over some favorite love moves that You, yes YOU… John Q. Loser, can try on your wife/girlfriend/doll and guarantee yourself a reputation as a LOVE GOD!! Yes, these are all true… yes, they all work. No, I didn’t invent all of them… just a few:

The Hamburger Helper: After knocking up some bimbo, you take her to the abortion clinic. While she is having the fetus sucked out of her you start playing with yourself. As the jar fills with your kid, you quickly open the jar and stuff the bloody mess up her ass and ram her hard using the kid as your lubricant. All chicks dig this....I'm serious, they do!

Mexican Avalanche: This is when you cum in their hair and throw them down a flight of stairs

(I love it. ARRIBA!!! ANDELAY!! VAMOOS YOU SILLY MAMACITA!!!!)

Raunchy Navajo: the guy shoves not one, but three fingers up the girl's ass, removes his fingers and gives her war-paint on her cheeks... those indians are geniuses. (A variation of the famous Dirty Sanchez)

Relative Humidity: The amount of sweat that rolls off your ass while you're fucking your cousin

Werewolf: When 2 guys hold down a chic, and a third guy bends down in tea bag position spreading his cheeks across her face. He then rips ass. Her face will then resemble a werewolf.

(AHH!!! SHE’S A WEREWOLF!!! RUN!!!!)

David & Goliath: Bang a really fat chick in a standing position. Right after you drop your load, jit her in the head with a rock. Then run before she wakes up and asks for your phone number.

The Fast and the Furious: When a girl is so hot, you cum prematurely, you just take your hand.. scoop it up.. and slap her with it.. then leave. (Yeah!!! Damn bitch! Serves her right for… for… yeah!!)

The Tiger Woods: (Only for black men) You do a chick like a white boy – fast, clumsy, and with as little rhythm as possible. Then you tell her that your Dad is watching this through a telepathic bond that you and he share.

The One-Eyed Redskin: After banging a girl on her period, wipe the blood on her face, come in her eye, and stick a feather in her ear. Then dance around the room, naked with a towel over your junk, yelling, "WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP".

That’s the best!

Oh come on… we’re all gonna die from SARS anyway… might as well have some fun.

SARS… damn Canadians… they shoved Alanis down our throats, they shoved Avril down our throats, they shoved Shatner down our throats… they shove ridiculously lazy books about wrestling down our throats… now they’re about to shove an out of control, airborne, lethal disease with no cure down our throats… thanks neighbor… all we did was SAVE YOUR ASSES A FEW THOUSAND TIMES!!!

Oh I’m gone. Later.

This is Hyatte