The Midnight News 06.16.03 

Posted By Hyatte on 06.16.03

Goldberg Gone?, No, Really?, Is This Column For You?, Maybe the Lamest Badd Blood Recap Ever, Reading Material, HHH vs JJ, IQ's, What the VIP's Get, Mother McNeill, Hogan, and A Tribute To Daddy 

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


How about some NICE e-mails for a change…

Just dropping you a line to let you know I'm sitting here in an Internet cafe in Shanghai, China, reading your recent Midnight News columns. I gave up reading 411 when you turned once again into a flake last year, but a pal told me about your return.

Why am I telling you this? Because I just know you'll just get a boner knowing you're such a fucking star, even people in Communist China read your stuff. 


Well that’s dandy… you be sure to tell them that I LOVE their flied lice. And I don’t know that that General Tsao is, but he cooks a fine chicken

Funny how people rip you week after week. Funny how they take the time to read you week after week despite professing total revulsion at the contents of your column. Funny how likely it is that if they amuse you enough for you to post their rip, that they'll e-mail everyone they've ever known to say that you printed their message. KUTGW. You're an original, which is hard to find these days. 

Patrick Dare

Baltimore, MD, USA

Thank you.

Let me start by saying that I've only been familiar with your stuff since you came back to the Mania. That being said, I decided to check out the AAT archives to see what you really had to offer. While reading the archives and simultaneously receiving passionate oral sex, I came to the conclusion that you have every right to call yourself the best damn columnist the IWC has to offer. Hell, I'll do it for you given the opportunity. Knowing that there is legitimate credibility in your writing makes it easier for me to digest TMN. Bottom line: AAT is classic, my girl gives good head, and I'm thoroughly satisfied, both from a sexual standpoint and a literary standpoint. Hyatte is my idol 


Well, that’s one fine way to remind people that the greatest wrestling columns ever written can be found right here. And don’t forget, “And Another Thing: The Taking of Triple H" is on it’s way. 

"This is a favor I'm going to ask you."

Oh, no. Nonononono. I remember the last time you asked us for a favor. It was back at Scoopswrestling. You PLEADED for us to help you win some other site's award for best writer. And what would you do in return? No more "vacations", no more "breaks", no more of that bullshit. And guess what? We WON IT for you. So, of course, you lived up to your side of the bargain . . . No, I don't think I'll be clicking on your little link. In short:

Fuck. Off.

Dwayne Williams

Oh… right… I remember that. Umm… you know, I WAS getting the shit edited out of me at the time. That was when Tony Schiavone finally learned that I had a bounty out on his daughter (bring me her teeth and I’ll give you $50 and a blowjob) and Turner Security scared the beejeezus out of Al Isaacs and the Scoops organization. Plus I posted Bob Ryder’s phone number and he threatened to sue. Plus someone told Scoops producer Remy “The Slammer” Artiega that he was funny… and a good writer, and Remy saw no problem in “punching up” some of my columns. So, I had no choice… I NEEDED those weeks off.

Besides, enough people clicked over and saw that Flea is starting his own site.… so many of you clicked that the bandwidth filled up and now it’s down. Heh.

Don’t let that stop you from bookmarking the site anyway… Flea is excited about it and even I’m going to contribute stuff there too.

I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News, by the way. Not sure what we have in terms of hard comedy this week… or actual, like, NEWS…. but we’ll see.

Actually, we’re gonna open with a HUGE news item… unless it’s a prank..


Hot off the presses… courtesy of Widro as of 12:36 am est:

Fan sent a letter… he went to the WWE website to check on the Badd Blood results and found this:

Goldberg and WWE end Contractual Relationship

World Wrestling Entertainment inc and Bill Goldberg have mutually agreed to end their contractual relationship. The WWE wishes Goldberg the best of luck in future endeavors

Ten minutes later, the blurb was gone from the site. The reader had taken the picture and sent it to Widro as proof. It was there alright… see for yourself 

A prank? If it is, it’s not like the whole ScoopThis/Bradshaw thing… I have no knowledge of it.

The truth? We’ll see.

Surprising? Oh please.

Can you say Hunter vs Nash at Summerslam??? BOOYAAAA!!!!

Be interesting to see how this all turns out… and it would be really cool if I’m the idiot who broke this story.

Speaking of which… let’s switch tone a bit and have a little chat…


Every so often I feel I should communicate my intentions here. So here we go.

A week or so ago, someone found me on AIM and asked if I loved wrestling anymore. I said no. He then asked if there was anything wrestling could do to make me love it anymore… I thought about it. I thought about how lame I feel whenever I tell someone I watch wrestling. It really is a white trash sort of business people… you know it and I know it.

So I said no. I’m older now. I can’t see myself proclaiming my love for a business that has given me so little back like I used to do in ’98.

(now the Internet… many of you people, have given me quite a bit back for my efforts… so you all are cool by me… even the Hyatte haters who never miss a column)

He asked again… was there ANYTHING that would make me love the business again?

I had to admit… there wasn’t.

So, he said that he would just have to find another columnist who shared his love for the sport then and wished me a good day. I didn’t answer back because… well, I’m not going to fight for ANYONE… especially when this is all free and especially since I’m fortunate enough to have one of the largest audiences around.

But I did have an answer… one that’s best saved for this column… so you all can think about it.

Who DOES love wrestling these days? What writer proclaims his LOVE for the business… his PASSION? From what I see, no one.

Dave Scherer? He’s more interested in using any move the WWE makes as proof that they pay attention to 1wrestling.

Wade Keller? He’s more into telling you what’s wrong with the business and who is saying what backstage.

Meltzer? Just like Bruce Mitchell he is more interested in dropping hints as to how inside he really is.

Scooter Keith? Nigga please.

Someone, anyone on any message board? Are you shitting me?

The 411 staff? You’ll find a few here and there but for the most part… nope.

Here’s the truth… and it’s nothing you don’t know already. In the IWC, it’s all about who sucks, what’s wrong, and why it’s wrong. It’s all about getting over with the readers… the fact that the theme is wrestling is almost secondary. 

With me… at the very least, you’ll get honesty. I don’t LOVE wrestling, I LIKE wrestling. I refuse to hate someone just because everyone else does (Nash) and I have all the respect I can muster for these workers who keep up a schedule that YOU couldn’t even fathom. I promise you this: I will not openly trash a wrestler just to get myself over… I’ll make fun of them plenty… but being in the (semi) public eye they must expect it… but I’ll always respect them. I just don’t love the business anymore… I like it and I appreciate the effort the workers put into it. That’s something I don’t see many columnists doing… I just can’t dedicate all my effort into it anymore… because like everyone else, I’ll run out of nice things to say and end up trashing HHH like the rest of these idiots.

Plus, my time is now very limited… anyone who has me on their Buddy List knows I’m hardly ever online anymore.

So, if you can handle a column from a guy that respects the workers, but doesn’t have the same passion for it that he used to… but who will at least not trash anyone just for the sake of looking good… then this column is for you. I do this column to make people smile… and to keep my skills sharp for bigger fish. If you have a problem with it… then go fuck yourself. 

Thank you.


My guest recapper bagged out on me… worm. He owes me huge.

Anyway… in lieu of anything really amusing…

-He won, he won, they won, he won, he was DQed, the brother didn’t win, the other brother did but he needed his tag partner, by brother I mean black man and not sibling, he won the girl, they won the belts, he burped louder, the other one kissed mae Young, someone rolled around in pig slop, Flair won, and Nash put on a hell of a good fight but still lost, and Goldberg actually sold a bit… too bad he’s apparently gone now.

There’s your goddam recap. Funny, RAW has maybe the best damn women’s division they ever had… yet not a single young tittie was to be found on the card. Nice.


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

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’ll know


By now you should be getting the idea that what you may not like now, you may like in the next installment. I’ll read almost anything.

So, we’ve had a depressing (yet funny) character study, a book of essays and shorts from an esteemed journalist, and a good ol’ fashioned tough guy mystery from one of the greats… what could I possibly have now?

How about a comedy?

I don’t know about you, but I like my comedy visual. I rarely, if ever, laugh at something I read (other than MY stuff here, nat’ch)… so when I find a book that actually has me cracking up... I have no choice but to recommend it.

No, it ain’t Tonight… In This Very Ring, sorry… but the comic allure of Scooter Scott Keith continues to escape me.

One of the greatest sports writers of our time can be found every week on the very last page of Sports Illustrated. His name is Rick Reilly. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.

If you haven’t… then you can take advantage of SI’s stupidity by reading all of his past columns right here… they even post columns that hasn’t shown up on the stands yet. Not the brightest move for them, but good for us. 

If you read his columns, you’ll see that he has his opinions… he has his preferences… he loves the pureness of baseball, but not the business aspect (and he hates the Yankees), he loves basketball, but could do without the egotism of the players. He likes football, but it’s clearly not his all time favorite sport, and he tolerates hockey… which means he’s not a mouth breather, and he really can’t stand the entire NCAA system.

But one thing is for sure with Rick Reilly, he loves golf. He loves everything associated with golf. If he could only report on one sport for the rest of his life… it’s golf. 

So it’s appropriate that his first major piece of fiction should center around the game of golf. He has other books out too… a pair of biographies, a fictional book about basketball (which I’ll get in here eventually), and a just released book that again is about golf. The first book, however, is the selection here.

Missing Links is about a group of obsessed golfers who play on the worst municipal golf course in the world. They play for fun, for the hell of it. They play because there is nothing better to do in life than waste it teeing up with friends and making the nuttiest bets and rules imaginable. Reilly’s characters are distinct, if not a little thin, but he makes you like them. They all have funky nick-names and a pleasant way about them. You want to hang with them. They look like fun.

The thrust of the book revolves around a bet. Quite by accident, they find out that right next door to their rinky dink course is the Mayflower, a gorgeous, ultra-exclusive country club with greens and trappings to die for. The friends make a bet to see which one out of three can play a full round of 18 on the Mayflower with at least one witness. Through the book, the narrator (named “Stick”) and his two friends try all sort of ways to weasel themselves on the course for the round. There is also a bunch of sub-plots involving some of the characters as well as a big one between Stick and his father. It’s a full book, and a really good one.

The best part is that Reilly spends the first two chapters introducing the non-golfer to the game, with all it’s lingo and general rules, so that way, everyone can enjoy the book without feeling that it’s too inside for their tastes. You don’t need to be a golfer to dig this book… and it is truly funny. I swear.

For instance, this excerpt occurs right around the 100 page mark. Our narrator and two friends - Hoover and Crowbar – have snuck onto the club course in the middle of the night for a midnight round. They’re wearing all black. There are guards on the course, but as we join the action, the guard nearest to them, which Stick has christened “Stretch”, is sound asleep. Stick and Hoover are playing; Crowbar is the witness. They have just finished 17 holes and are about to tee off on the 18th and final hole. If they finish, Stick wins the bet. Check this out: 

Off we slipped to the 1st tee box, crouching low in our black outfits, checking always the staus of the tall guard in the cart. Crowbar slunk along, too, as much as a 300-pound man can slink.

Not wanting to wake the guard, I put a very light swing on a driver. It looked rightish, though it was hard to see, but not bad and, best of all, didn’t wake Stretch. Then Hoover stepped up to the 1st tee box, a 395-yard par 4, and put the slowest, sweetest move on it this side of Fred Couples himself. The ball took off like I’d never seen one of his take off – a beauty, with that professional low-to-high trajectory – easily the best shot in Hoover’s painful, golfing life, over 250 yards.

“Holy, living, breathing Jesus!” yelled Crowbar.

We both looked at him with horrified faces and then to Stretch, who was woken by the voice.

“Hey you!” the guard hollered, trying to untangle his feet from the steering column.

I looked around the 1st tee, petrified. We were doomed. There was no way we were going to be able to get over a hedge and a twelve-foot brick wall. And we weren’t going to outrun a golf cart. We could always beat him to death with our drivers, but he was already on the walkie-talkie, calling for reinforcements.

That’s when I noticed a line of carts stored behind the 1st tee and off to the right.

“There!” I yelled, and pointed to the carts. I ran to them, jumped in one and hoped like hell that Thud’s key would fit every cart ever made.

I never found out. Apparently, inside the Mayflower gates, they don’t get a lot of Midnight Marauder activity, so they just leave the keys in the cart all the time. I stepped once on the gas pedal to figure that out and it fired right up.

Hoover jumped in beside me and we were off like a prom dress. We screeched away towards Crowbar, who was practically dying. His last sprint was twenty-seven years and 230 pounds ago. He tried to sit with us up front but Hoover hollered, “Grab on to the back!” and he barely did. I looked back and Stretch was after us, maybe 100 yards behind us, but gaining. For one thing, he didn’t have Captain Criscobutt slowing him down, and for another, he had a faster electric cart. Ours was older, slower, gas-powered models.

“Stand up!” I yelled at Hoover

“What do you mean?” he yelled back.

“Stand up and steer this thing!” I said, standing myself up and holding on to the wheel

Befuddled, Hoover stood up and took the wheel as we barreled down the first fairway. Stretch was closing fast. Hanging on to one of the poles that holds up the cart roof, I reached in my pocket for a tee, Then I pulled the seat open to reveal the tiny engine that was propelling us along. I noticed Stretch was almost on our bumper now. Crowbar was trying to kick at him with one of his stubby little legs. Another five feet and he’d be able to cut us off.

As we bumped along madly, I tried to find the governor, the tiny gizmo on a golf cart engine that keeps the cart from doing anything much over 15 miles per hour. 

It was an old trick Two Down and I liked to commit on the high school golf team. You stick a large tee in the governor so that it is permenently wide open and the engine can finally let it out and pretty soon you’re doing 45 miles per hour and playing 18 holes of Le Mans. Or we’d play Rat Patrol, in which you get two tee-rigged carts going full speed, right next to each other, and then switch carts without crashing. This is a wonderful way to spend your post-practice hours.

The only problem was I’d never put one in while the cart was moving. Stretch was now right next to us and taking swipes at Hoover’s sweatpants. Hoover was trying to stand up and steer and kick at the guard at the same time. “Do you very much mind if we do the lube, oil, and filter later?!?” he wailed.

Stretch had a good hold on Hoover’s shirt when I finally jammed the tee where I needed it, Suddenly, the cart squealed off like it had a 454 Hemi in it. Stretch lost his grip on Hoover’s shirt and we were off. Another 50 yards and we’d be at the hole in the hedge, safe and sound.

Not that I wanted to go there.

Just as we came up on the 1st green/2nd tee/hedge hole area, I wheeled our cart around and went back up towards the clubhouse.

“Stick, NOW what the fuck are you doing?” yelled Crowbar, who looked like he might throw up.

Hoover looked at me. He knew. He was mostly petrified and partly thrilled.

Stretch followed me back up, up, up towards the clubhouse, and just as we got near it, I turned back down the 1st fairway. We had a 200-yard lead on him.

“No,” said Crowbar. “Goddamnit to hell no!!! Tell me you’re NOT going to try to finish the hole now, not with a security guard breathing up our ass!”

“Hey, that’s a good one, Crowbar,” I hollered. “I’ll bet that’s never been uttered before!”

We screamed up to my ball in the right rough. While we were driving, I reached back and grabbed an iron. It turned out to be a 5. Too much club but I could make it work. We screeched to a stop. I took one litle knockdown swing at it and the ball knifed toward the green, only left. Didn’t matter. The guard was 100 yards back, I floored it over Hoover’s ball. I know I should’ve just finished my ball out, won the bet, and dove for the hole, but I just couldn’t bear to not let Hoover finish. He’d played so well.

We found his ball, which was right smack in the middle of the fairway, a 250-yard drive.

“Yesssssss!” Hoover screamed joyously, for he has never hit a ball 200 yards in any direction, much less straight. He had his 7-iron out and he jumped from the cart, and, if you can believe it, took a practice swing.

“Just hit the fucking ball!” Crowbar screamed as Stretch bore down on us.

He did and it went dribbling forward 10 yards,

“We’re dead,” Crowbar sighed.

Hoover ran ahead and hit it again, this time without stopping. This one was a low, ankle-biting liner that screamed over the green. Stretch was 50 yards behind us, talking into his walkie-talkie. This was when we noticed three more carts behind him, all full of guards and walkie-talkies and all of them in suddenly-awoken-grouchy-guard moods. I waited for tracer fire.

Still, we had some speed up as we raced to our balls. We each had our putters out too, and I flew the cart right up to the edge of the green – only 50 feet from the hole in the hedge. I slapped my ball up 5 feet from the hole and Hoover hit a nice little approach, considering the circumstances, to within 10 feet.

“Hurry!” I screamed, which has got to go down as one of the most obvious sentences in language history. It was unclear who wanted to finish the round worse, me or Hoover, who was about to achieve the finest moment of his life, Unfortunately, the Gestapo was on the green with us and closing in fast.

“Stop right there!” I hollered. I began swinging my putter all around me like Bruce Lee. “Come another step closer and you’ll know what it feels like to be overclubbed.”

They froze.

“Just let us putt out, like civilized people,” I said in a calm tone, “and then we’ll talk.” I checked over my shoulder for Crowbar. He had smashed his ay through the hole, but he was still on the other side, looking back through it. Fine. He was still a witness.

“Partner, I believe you’re away,” I said, swinging the putter madly at the four guards,

Hoover, shaking, stepped up to the putt and stroked it about halfway there.

“Can’t believe that didn’t go in,” I said. “Go ahead and finish.”

He putted twice more and the ball dropped. A 97. He smiled at me.

“Well played,” I said. “Now, if you’ll do the honors for me.”

Hoover began waving his putter around madly at the guards with both hands and that’s when I noticed my golf ball was no longer sitting on the green. One of the guards was holding it by his thumb and pointer finger.

“Looking for this, asswipe?” the guard sneered.

That hurt.

“I must ask you to put my ball down,” I said. “Or I’m afraid I’ll be forced to charge you two strokes.”

“Come and get it,” said the guard.

So what happens? Does he win the bet? Does he fine true love? Does he confront his Father? Gotta read the book to find out.

Thoroughly enjoyable read. Reilly’s love for the game comes shining through loud and clear. And he’s a hell of a writer too. Missing Links. Pick it up, you’ll like it.

It’s time to give that little muscle called your BRAIN a work-out, kids. Time to exercise that thing called your IMAGINATION. And by Christ, Hyatte’s gonna help!


I don’t go to wrestlecrap, I don’t care about wrestlecrap, and it seems that the only time anyone mentions wrestlecrap is when they shut down… so I doubt I’m missing much

BUT… reader Yayo… yes, YAYO… went there and noticed that someone had tallied Triple H’s RAW workrate since retaking the title on November 2 of last year. As of two weeks ago Hunter had 23 wins, 9 losses, and 1 no contest for a total of 33 matches. For 14 shows, HHH didn’t wrestle.


Like… sayyy… Jeff Jarrett?

Well, Yayo decided to waste some time and tally up Jeff Jarrett’s workrate since the very beginning of the TNA compnay… I mean after all, the NWA is still trying to get their asses off the ground… 

06/19 Gauntlet For The Gold (Eliminated by Hall and Toby Keith)

06/26 Jeff Jarrett LOSES Scott Hall w/Toby Keith and Jackie Fargo

07/03 Ron "The Truth" Killings and Jeff Jarrett vs. Scott Hall and Brian 

Christopher (pinned Brian Christopher)

07/10 No match

07/17 No match

07/24 No match

07/31 Pinned Hall

08/07 Pinned Apolo

08/14 Jeff Jarrett and Ron The Truth Killings vs. AJ Styles and Jerry Lynn 


08/21 No match

08/28 Jeff Jarrett vs. The Bullet (match thrown out)

09/04 Recap show

09/11 No NWATNA

09/18 No match

09/25 Jeff Jarrett LOSES BG James VIA DQ

10/02 Brian Lawler & Jeff Jarrett vs. BG James & Syxx-Pac (Lawler pinned)

10/09 No match

10/16 Jeff Jarrett and Bruce LOSES BG James and Hermie (Bruce pinned)

10/23 Jeff Jarrett LOSES to Scott Hall

10/30 Pinned Curt Hennig

11/06 Beat Curt Hennig via DQ

11/13 Pinned BG James

11/20 Pinned Ron "The Truth" Killings (wins title)

11/27 Pinned Ron "The Truth" Killings

12/04 Jeff Jarrett and BG James beat The Harris Brothers (pinned a Harris 


12/11 Pinned Curt Hennig

12/18 No match

01/08 Pinned Christopher Daniels

01/15 Dusty Rhodes, Jeff Jarrett & The Road Warriors LOSE to Vince Russo, 

Low Ki, Christopher

Daniels & Elix Skipper (Rhodes pinned)

01/22 Jeff Jarrett beats Christopher Daniels, B.G. James, and Don Harris 

(Daniels pinned)

01/29 No match

02/05 No match

02/12 No match

02/19 Pinned A.J. Styles

02/26 No match

03/05 No match

03/12 No match

03/19 Dusty Rhodes, D'Lo Brown, & Jeff Jarrett beat Brian Lawler, Erik 

Watts, & David Flair (Jarrett

pins Flair)

03/26 No match

04/02 Pinned D'Lo Brown

04/09 No match

04/16 Jeff Jarrett LOSES Alexis Laree and Julio Dinero (Pinned by Dinero)

04/23 No match

04/30 Jeff Jarrett beats Raven, with Julio Dinero, & Alexis Laree (Pinned 


05/07 No match

05/14 No match

05/21 No match

05/28 No match

That's 25 total matches (not including the Gauntlet for the Gold), and Jarrett's stats are comparable to everyone's favorite whipping boy (17 wins/6 losses [including tag matches he wasn't pinned in]/ and 2 no contests). 

That's only 2 singles losses in his entire NWATNA tenure! Also he's not been 

on 19 of the shows (not including the recap) with 13 of those being shows 

when he was the champ, at $10 a pop!!! 

I am not a HHH apologist, but I say if HHH has to be hated for it, so should Jarrett. 


So… just so you have something handy to reference:

HHH: 23 wins, 9 losses, 1 no contests = 33 matches 

JJ: 17 wins, 6 losses, 2 no contests = 25 matches 

HHH: Skipped 14 shows

JJ: Skipped 19 shows.

All this is as of the end of May. Jarrett has since dropped the title to AJ Stylez.

So, when you tally the scores and weigh in all the factors, it all becomes painfully clear:

Jeff Jarrett is sleeping with Vince Russo.

This should surprise no one. 

Thanks to Yayo


I do not give a flying rat fuck about Scott Keith, any more than he does about me.

But, when I open my e-mail one day and see ten letters from people shaking their heads over something he said… then I have to comment.

Recently, Scooter announced that he had an IQ of 150. That puts him well into “Genius” level, by any standards.

So… he’s a “genius”? Who doesn’t think alchohol is addictive… even though it’s something that people who do it long enough could actually DIE from if they tried to quit.

So… he’s a genius… then why isn’t he out curing cancer? Or writing real novels? Or teaching? Or trying to save the world? Or inventing stuff? Why is a “genius” wasting his time talking about professional wrestling online?

Nothing about Scott Keith says genius. Oh he’s a smart enough fellow… he can tie his shoes and get the fork right into his mouth each time… but a genius?

Put it this way… I’m smarter than him… and I’m only at 130… which means I’m bright enough to hold a conversation about almost every topic, but dumb enough to not have to explain why I’ve done so little with my life.

Nah, he’s no genius… or, as someone asked me in private: How can a genius be so fucking broke?

After all, a genius wouldn’t contribute a column to the Scotman’s website and do a very, very obvious impression of me and really think I wouldn’t find out about it would he? You tell me… who is he trying to emulate here?


For those of you useless lemmings who DON’T get the Torch newsletter and thus, can NOT get into their very exclusive V.I.P area and thus are NOT privy to the scandalous INSIDE information that only PAYING customers get to hear from the quivering lips of Wade “I know everything” Keller… ol’ Hyatte’s here to give you a PEEK at what you’re missing…

I get sent the VIP letters from someone, myself… so believe me when I tell you, you ain’t missing much.

For example, Wade recently sent a “VIP EXCLUSIVE INSIDER’S NOTES” e-mail out to those lucky bastards… what secrets did Wade spill? What news did he leak out that NO OTHER WEBSITE COULD POSSIBLY GET THEIR HANDS ON????

Well, I’ll tell ya… here is what Wade reported to the VIPS:

-He opened with a plug for the newsletter… an EXCLUSIVE interview with Mick Foley… (by “exclusive” he must mean that 1bob doesn’t count… even though they have had their interview with Mick posted for almost a week now). Indeed, Wade brags that his interview is so in-depth, it’s practically part of Foley’s book Tietam Brown… Wade screams: If you don’t read this interview, you’ll never understand the book!!!!

-Wade reports that Mick Foley is NOT coming bacvk to wrestling full time. And if that doesn’t scream insider… my Christ NOTHING will!!!

-Wade reports that bring the US title to Smackdown is a quote good move end quote… 

-Wade announces that Matt Hardy’s feud with Rey jr. is over.

-Wade tells the insiders that Billy Gunn is back.. and he’ll get a push if he earns it. Oh my God… we non-VIPers are missing so MUCH

-Wade reports that Spike Lee isn’t thrilled with this whole Spike TV concenpt and might just try to SUE the TNN bastards!! I swear people, I’m not lying here.

-Wade is shocked… SHOCKED I SAY that the Undertaker would dare criticize his critics.

-Wade reports that the NWA will be holding a one year anniversay show.

-Wade explains why Jason Powell hasn’t been around.

-Wade explains that Pat McNeill’s momma died.

-Wade laughed and mocked all the losers who do NOT get this sort of INSIDER e-mail and encouraged ALL of the VIPs to tell the world how great it is being a Torch VIP.

That was the e-mail.

That’s the inside, VIP-only type of content you get.

I hate the IWC. I hate, hate, HATE them all.


As Wade reported… Pat McNeill didn’t hand in his 5 weekly columns and single extra-long newsletter column last week on account of the passing of his momma. 

Even though Pat is a practicing attorney (what do you call a practicing attorney in Pat’s home of West Virginia? WAITER!!! BA-DUM DUM) he promises to have TWICE the columns posted next week just to right this horrible wrong.

Pat also promises to dedicate each column to his momma and attach a song parody dedicated to her in every one… so you people suffering from song parody withdrawal will be fixed up real soon, I promise.

Pat’s song list for his momma includes a parody of Iron Butterfly’s Innagottadivida, Don McLean’s American Pie, Simon and Garfunkle’s Bridge Over Troubled Water, Alice in Chains’ Man In The Box, and Trent Reznors Starfucker. 

Might I also suggest Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody? McNealian Rhapsody just seems so obvious. 

I myself might have done a song parody in her honor right now… but I’m very, very tired.


There is nothing I hate more than a wannabe illiterates:




Hyatte1com: I think it's time to put you on my permanent block list

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: hold on dawg

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: I've been trying 2 be ur friend

Hyatte1com: I don't need friends

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: and u have come at me with racist remarks and shit

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: why are u so grumpy

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: u remind me of SCOTTER

Hyatte1com: because you can't spell

Hyatte1com: and you're white


Hyatte1com: and you think you can chat with me whenever you see me

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: NO

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: but ur away messages aren't ususally on

Hyatte1com: I will give you one minute to entertain me, then you're gone

Hyatte1com: go

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: da fuck

Hyatte1com: 50

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: ur a SCott keith from hell

Hyatte1com: 40

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: 30

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: 20

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: 10

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: 0

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: fuck u

Hyatte1com: 30

Hyatte1com: 20

JaYd0gKeEpItReAl: Scott Keith pisses on Hyatte and takes shits on him

Hyatte1com: 10

Hyatte1com: 5

Hyatte1com: time's up

Hyatte1com: bye bye

I’m a busy man, people… if you’re going to waste my time with nonsense, then I’ll treat you like a bitch.


And so, after weeks of amazing reading, we come to the end of Hulk Hogan’s testimony during the McMahon Steriod trial. Does Hogan sell Vince McMahon down the river for immunity and thirty pieces of silver? Does he name names and squeal out on everyone? Does he stand up and scream: You’re out of order, you’re out of order!!! The whole system’s out of order!!!!? Does he demand a recount? Does he tstart throwing oranges at the judge? Does he stand up and show the jury the headline from The New York Times that screams: NIXON SAYS MCMAHON IS GUILTY AS SIN? Or does he just say “yes” and “no” a bunch of times? You’ll have to read for all the answers. (and, ever the HUCKSTER, be on the lookout for the plug he gives his big WCW PPV… yes, the plug he gives WHILE ON THE STAND…. God Bless ‘im)


Defense: Vince McMahon started using steroids in 88 while filming "No Holds Barred"? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did he use the steroids that you had? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Decadorabilin and oral pill called anabar? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you talk to Vince McMahon about cycling? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you show Vince McMahon how to inject himself with deca? 

Terry B: I dont remember that, brother

Defense: But you gave part of your suply to Vince McMahon for use and and bottles were then given back to you by Vince McMahon? 

Terry B: It's possible, brother. 

Defense: Did Zahorian tell which steroids were the best to take? 

Terry B: Told me the safest. Anabar and deca were the safest, braah? 

Defense: Did he characterize deca as being as safe as sugar passing through your system? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You talked to Vince McMahon about which were the safest? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you believe steroids helped you to heal from injuries that you sustained? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you feel steroids speeded the recovery from injury? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you talk to Vince McMahon about that? 

Terry B: I can't recall, braah. 

Defense: Were you surprised by the Zahorian investigation? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You were told not to call or talk to Zahorian? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you try? 

Terry B: Yes braah, at his office. He said he wouldn't talk. 

Defense: Did you have any intent to obstruct a government investigation. 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: You called him as a friend? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you intend to defruad the FDA? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: Did Vince McMahon or Titan tell you to call Zahorian? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: At the time of the Zahorian trial you were feeling a lot of pressure? 

Terry B: Yes brother. I felt at the time of the investigation that I was being singled out. The public didn't know much about steroids. I felt that it was unfair that out of the thousands I was being singled out. 

Defense: Did you feel badgered? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: To this day does the question of steroids come up in every single interview? 

Terry B: About 85%, braah. 

Defense: Before and after the Zahorian trial you gave untrue statements to the press? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: In particular the Arsenio Hall show? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Is it fair to say that you did not give the complete story on the Arsenio Hall show? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: What did Vince McMahon advise you about that? 

Terry B: He didn't think it would be a good idea to go on the show because it was not the right format, brother. 

Defense: What did he say about seeing the Grand Jury? 

Terry B: Tell them the truth, brother. 

Defense: When you gave untrue statements to the media was it to defraud any agencies or obsrtuct any investigations? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: You felt the use of steroids was personal? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Bad publicity for you? 

Terry B: It turned out that way, brother. 

Defense: Did you receive immunity? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Do you feel you committed a crime in regards to steroids? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: At the time of the Grand Jury, were you involved with a promotion for the film "Mr. Nanny"? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Was there talk of "Thunder in Paradise" occurring? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Did you talk to Vince McMahon about a comeback to wrestling? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: In order to get money and exposure for your TV show? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Fair to see that Vince McMahon helped you start a new career? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You are currently under contract with the rival WCw? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You signed a contract with Ted Turner? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Is he the owner? 

Terry B: I don't know who the owner is, brother. 

Defense: You signed a contract to wrestle with Ric Flair? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You will be performing this Sunday on PPV. 

Terry B: Yes, whatchoo gonna do, Flair. 

Defense: Still friends with Vince McMahon? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: In 89 you made your home in Stamford, CT? 

Terry B: Yes brother. 

Government: You lived there from time to time? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: Is it true that you do not recall all the days that you got steroids from Emily Feinberg? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: You met Dr. Liebowitz through Titan? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: You received steroids from Vince McMahon and Emily Feinberg who are not doctors? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: When you took the photo did you know them well? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: Is part of the appeal of Hulk Hogan his physical size? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: His 22 inch arms? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: In part Hulk Hogan got to be Hulk Hogan through steroids? 

Terry B: In part, brother. 

Government: Every time Zahorian gave you steroids, he did not write a new prescription? 

Terry B: No, braah. He just gave a note and said keep it in your bag. 

Judge: What were they? 

Terry B: Different sheets of paper for each steroid, brother. It said deca for TB for bodybuilding. 

Government: He did not limit you? 

Terry B: Correct, braah. 

Government: With your family doctor in Tampa do you tell him what drugs you want and he gets them for you? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Government: Does your family doc give you cash and carry treatment? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Government: Was Emily Feinberg Vince McMahon's right hand man? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: You gave steroids to Vince McMahon? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: When he used them, did he have an injury that needed to be healed? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Government: He wanted to bodybuild? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Government: When you called Zahorian did you tell him to call you back on a payphone? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Government: Did you tell Zahorian to destroy any documents? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Government: Was Vince McMahon in the office when you received your steroids? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: These 2 pieces of paper are they similiar to your prescriptions? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: One is for valium for muscle pain from Zahorian on July 1 85? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: You had one that said what? 

Terry B: Said deca and how many grams and it was for bodybuilding. 

Defense: Did you get a direction from Vince McMahon to carry that? 

Terry B: Brother

Defense: What?

Terry B: Just catching up

Defense: Oh. Answer the question, please.

Terry B: No, brother.

Defense: No you won’t answer the question?

Terry B: No, brother. My answer to the question is no… brother. 

Defense: Neither Titan nor Vince McMahon provided you with the service of Liebowitz to get steroids? 

Terry B: No brother. 

Defense: You do not take steroids anymore? 

Terry B: No brother

Defense: Why is your nose growing?

Terry B: No clue, brother 

Defense: Do you still refer to your arms as pythons when in character? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: As 22 inches? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Are they still 22 inches? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: Is one of your lines for the Ric Flair PPV (said in a Hulk Hogan voice) whats you gonna do Ric Flair when these pythons come after you? 

Terry B: Yes brother

Defense: And that's without steroids? 

Terry B: Yes brother, all hangin’ and bangin’

Defense: Done with witness. 

It is now 12:30. Lunch recess is called

Wow… seems that the stress from testifying had made the Hulkster a little loopy towards the end there.

Thank God that’s all finished. I swear I thought I’d have it wrapped in three weeks, tops. Took me five WITH a week layover.

Anyway… let’s take it all home with a tribute to the parent that everyone forgets… the male factor in what created YOU. The one with the penis that shot icky stuff into your mommy which seeded the little bundle of joy named YOU… it’s Sunday (as of this writing)… it’s June… it’s almost Summer… which means it’s FATHER’S DAY… sooooo:


-Thank you Dad 

-Thank you for working every day to keep food on the table and a roof over my head

-Thank you for the big smile and the genuine joy whenever I washed your car for a surprise

-Thank you for letting me test drive your Caddy around the block while I was training to get my license

-Thank you for that rad swimming pool. I know, it was mostly for your friends, but you knew I liked it too.

-Thank you for not bitching too loud when Christmas came and Mom needed money to buy me stuff

-Thank you for staying downstairs while I had my friends over, Mr. Friendly.

-Thank you for giving me no advice on girls

-Thank you for taking me to your softball games… nothing like watching your old man spend nine innings on the bench and swearing at everyone

-Thank you for staying sober enough to actually finish with mom and blowing your goodness into her egg so I could hatch

-Thank you for making it clear I was not wanted

-Thank you for all those half-ass attempts to cover up your affairs. Yeah, Mom and I were too STUPID to figure out a genius like you. We had our phones BUGGED, you dummy.

-Thank you for making Mom feel like shit all the time

-Thank you for making me feel like shit all the time

-Thank you for punching me in the face whenever I dared showed even the slightest bit of disrespect in my voice.

-Thank you for throwing me in my room for a bad report card in November, and finding some excuse to keep me in there clear through ‘til Summer. Every year from 7th grade right up until we threw you out. Really helped my social skills there, Pop.

-Thank you for never taking me outside for a game of catch… only when the yard needed weeding or mowing did I get to go outside.

-Thank you for making Mom and me feel like we were holding you back from the greatness that you were so obviously destined for.

-Thank you for spending all your free time on the weekends golfing.

-Thank you for keeping cable downstairs and downstairs only… with no one allowed down there but you… you petty bastard

-Thank you for giving me a life filled with zero confidence

-Thank you for letting the Staties raid or house at 3 am and finding the pot you were holding for a friend… not too humiliating… oh not at all.

-Thank you for making Mom SO fucked up about men that she was no good to me at all.

-Thank you for the abuse… physical and mental

-Thank you for asking me if I was a faggot because I was alone so much.

-Thank you for going to jail… too bad you got out.

-Finally, thank you Dad for reminding me, every time I look in the mirror, why the world would be better off with me NOT getting married and NOT having kids and CHOPPING this goddam family tree down into splinters and ENDING THE USELESS BLOODLINE ONCE AND FOR FUCKING ALL!!!!! I’M JUST LIKE YOU, ASSHOLE, AND I HATE MYSELF!! I’M DOING THE WORD A FAVOR BY ENDING THE BLOODLINE RIGHT HERE!!!! YOU BASTARD!!!! YOU FUCK!!!! CAN’T YOU DIE ALREADY??? DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!

And he wonders why I never call him anymore.

This is why dads get a bad rap… because they deserve it.

Well… that was therapeutic. I’m feeling a lot better now. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, EVERYONE!!! 

Next week, I explain why Mom can die too… well, she’s dead already… so I’ll explain why she should be resurrected and killed again.

Ahh… I need to get drunk… very drunk… now.


This is Hyatte