The Midnight News 12.22.03 

Posted By Hyatte on 12.22.03

The Holiday Edition, Jihad at 411, Bagdad Blues, Tammy, Flea, Reading Material, What Irks Goldberg, and Gifts from a Douchebag 

Hi Chris, I recently was turned on to your advice columns and I must say, not only does your advice seem knowledgeable, but you make it extremely amusing to read as well. As a woman, I must say that all of your advise about guys having confidence is dead on. Many interesting men have sparked my interest not based on their looks, but on their confidence and personality. Hopefully the people you write to really do listen and take action. Well, I just wanted to drop you a line and let you know you just got one new reader! Can't wait for your next column!



Aww, thank you baby. 

I was planning on having the Portugese babe I work with over here and have her record an audio file talking to you in spanish/italian/portugese in seducing fashion, and calling you "christopher" a lot (She says that name like 20 times a night at work, and it turns me on even though it isn't my name). But when I talked about it, she REALLY didn't seem into it. Oh well, I tried. Happy holidays and stuff. 

Final note from the HHH article : I just realised a major mistake in there. Y2Q didn't have a DVD player? a SMARK?? without a DVD player??? ooookkkk......


Aww, thank you sir.

See, THIS is someone who cares… and that gift would have been right up there with last year’;s gift from the guy who sent me 20 books, new… right at a time when I eeded it the most. Now why can’t ALL of you show this kind of inititive?

Anyway, the nice letters are done… now for the good stuff!

Two weeks later… a bit of hell has broketh loose:


I have a friend. He's been writing for a while. He used to be pretty good too. Now he's just shadow of his former self. A few other people and I have tried to give him subtle hints about this yet somehow he managed to be totally oblivious. Recently he spent nearly a year on just one piece, and procliamed it "the greatest thing ever". The piece received tepid reviews from most people and my friend accused everybody of "not getting it". My question is, should I continue to give my friend subtle hints or just come out and tell him he's washed up? How do I get through to him?

Andrew Blumberg

Mostly tepid, huh? 

Now now people… use your heads here or I’ll be like the Torch’s Pat McNeil and fill the column with all the praises I’ve gotten so far. I don’t want to do it… and I am not THAT insecure like Pat must be… but if you want to break my balls about this, I’ll do it. I’m TOTALLY set to move-on here. Don’t force me to rub your faces in my greatness… yet again.

"Satires are allowed to be both. It’s definitely a black comedy."

you SUCK. and if you need me to tell you why, you'll never know...


Sad thing is, I know him enough to know EXACTLY what he’s talking about.

Okay, here's the deal, Chris. I don't know what your obsession with me lately is about, and really it doesn't matter. But it's tiresome and it's beneath you. I'm not the one who vetoed your story from getting posted, so if you're thinking that, don't. So here's my offer: Stop all the cheapshots and personal attacks on me and concentrate on whatever else you feel will make you a better writer, and I'll consider the matter closed and the slate clean.

That's all.

Scott Keith

Well gee whiz Scott… how graceful of you… how kind… I didn’t even know I wanted your forgiveness… how intuitive of you to assume that… I stand corrected, you’re not “Scooter” at ALL… oh no.

Here’s a lovely counter-offer for you: You can suck my dick, and I’ll pull out in time to blast you in the eye! How’s that?

Hello my little Elfcocks, I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News. I enjoyed last week’s vacation so much that I pushed it to another week… because I wanted to SHOW YOU… I REALLY WANTED TO SHOW ALL OF YOU!!

For any of you keeping track… since the last column I’ve been in a VICIOUS COLD WAR with Widro… and then last week I learned that I’m in ANOTHER cold war with ANOTHER 411 writer… (and the funny part, I didn’t even know I was in that war until a few days after it was declared)… that’s TWO cold wars in TWO weeks… wow… during CHRISTMAS, no less… wow. 

And this IS the Christmas edition of the Midnight News, which means that this is the Anti-Christmas edition of the Midnight News… I don’t like Christmas… I don’t like getting gifts… I don’t like buying gifts… I’ve had at least two decent relationships end over the course of my life because of this philosophy and I don’t care… I am not the Christmas type… HUM THE FUCK BUG… so if you’re looking for X-Mas cheer, then this ain’t the place for you… if you’re like me and hate the whole affair and just want to hole up in some hotel room and get drunk and wait out this ridiculous season, or if you’re just sick and tired of all the niceties. Good… I will NOT be wishing ANY of you homos a merry Christmas… I REFUSE to conform… eat me. I don’t care WHAT kind of Christmas any of you have! All I know is that I’ll be alone… in a motel room… getting drunk and waiting for it to be over… maybe I’ll get a hooker too… a big, black, fat hooker named Loquicia Luv… with a big fat pimply ass and with missing teeth… t’is the god damned season… *patooi*… I spit on Christmas… *hack, patooi*

Let’s put a little bustle in our hedgerow and get going here…


Over at Flea’s site is an extra-long edition of my Guide to Life column. The good news is that if you sent me a question and haven’t seen it answered yet, then it’s answered. I emptied out my whole catalog… EVERTHING I had on the docks is answered… so now you have to ask me questions for me to do a new column… so get to it, losers, I know EVERYTHING.

Oh, and do take part in Flea’s Wrestling Dead Pool. He’s got real MONEY for the winner.

I should also remind you that Flea’s new IWC 100 is pretty much all set to go… I only know who is #1… and it ain’t me.


Truly… CLEARLY… Smackdown is the red-headed stepchild of the two WWE brands

While the RAW crew get to rest and relax for the holidays, the Smackdown crew has to fly over to somewhere in Iraq to perform for the troops. They ain’t saying where… although Rajah’s web site has what might be the first, only, and maybe the single WORST ”House show” recap ever. Ha! Keeping secrets, my ASS!! Many WWE stars were heard to say, “Couldn’t we do this in April, for Chrissakes? I still have 20 rats I haven’t shopped for!”

Anyway… the best part of the show is apparently, the one no one will see… because it involves Stone Cold playing Santa Claus and mixing it up old school with Vince McMahon. And war is war and God Bless Uncle Sam but dammit, Stone Cold is fired and HAVING HIM ON SMACKDOWN WILL CONFUSE THE MARKS!!!! PLUS HE’S A RAW GUY, FOR CHRISSAKES!!!

Anyway… I got my own personal news on what went down in Iraq

-An angry Bradshaw demanded 5 minutes alone with Saddam

-An angry Vince challenged Saddam to a Hell in the Cell match at WM20

-An angry Big Show loudly offered to chokeslam Saddam

-An angry Rikishi loudly offered to give Saddam the Stinkface.

-An angry Scotty Too Hotty put a picture of Saddam on the mat and gave it the “Worm”

-An angry John Cena challenged Saddam to a rap-off.

-An angry Rey Mysterio said, “Fuck Luchador tradition, it’s HOTTER than a motherfucker up in here”, and tore off his mask.

-An horny Dawn Marie offered sex to whoever put a bullet in Saddam’s head.

-A horny Pat Patterson did the same

-An angry Chris Benoit got on the mic and said, “Good Luck hunting down the gooks!” After being informed that the whole Vietnam thing was thirty years ago and a billion miles away, Benoit said, “Sorry, I’m Canadian, we don’t pay attention to who you Americans are fighting.” Then he tried to empathize by comparing the war with Iraq to the time Quebec tried to secede from the rest of Canada. “Boy, you think THIS war is a headache, eh?” After Benoit was booed out of the country, he was heard t say, “What, they don’t allow the Internet in this place? Here are all my marks?”

-An angry Brock Lesnar promised to give Osama the F5 “the moment I see that sumbitch!” Many less-than-swift soldiers cheered. 

-An angry Sable hinted at a cash money reward for any soldier to take a shot at her ex-husband, Marc Mero, “I’m paying that bastard alimony!” she moaned.

-A confused Torrie asked when will it start snowing. “It’s not Christmas without SNOW!” Curiously, this statement did not boost soldier moral.

-A happy Eddie Guerrero didn’t want to leave. Christmas in Iraq is a lot like Christmas in Mexico… only with more white women.

All in all, the troops had a good time… good for them, God knows the need it. 


Tammy has a Christmas present of sorts for you this week. Well, she can’t exactly run out and buy you people something, but she CAN offer advice on something YOU should get that will be worth your while.

Oh, and in the question section, someone brings up the topic of drugs… and she answers! 

Order the Replay

Ah its time for another column. After a brief hiatus, and some recognition last week. Albeit there was also a major bumble on the part of Hyatte. I am GLAD to be back, and writing a full column this week. I have a bunch to rant about, and thats a good thing as the brief week off gave me time to think about some things, as well, I watched a show that made me remember why I am a wrestling fan.

But first things first. What is WWE doing? I won't sit here and ramble on general complaints, but I gotta tell you. The past 3 or 4 weeks have been so bad, that I am completely turned off the product, and well have completely tuned out the product as well.

Which brings to me what energized my interest in wrestling again. This past weeks, WA-TNA. I read the re-cap by 411's guy, and it did the show NO JUSTICE. So if you only read that recap and judge when to buy the replays, let me stress to you how great this show was. It was the best PPV I've seen all year, its the best wrestling card I've seen all year. It is 10 times better then this years Wrestlemania will be. I assure you of that.

The card?

Jeff Jarrett vs Sting (Non-Title)

Fallen Angel vs. Chris Sabin

Michael Shane vs. Low-Ki (X Division Championship Match)

America's Most Wanted vs. Gilberti & Young (Street Fight)

Simon & Swinger vs. AJ Styles & D-Lo Brown 

Raven, CM Punk, Julio Dinero vs. Red Shirts & Abyss (Hardcore 6 Man Cage Match)

If that doesn't sell you on it, maybe this will:

Do you like classic brawls? Do you like insanely hot crowds? Do you like high-flying cruiserweight matches? DO you like to see D-Lo Brown do Misawa's over the top rope flip fake-out plancha attack? Do you like to see insane six-man hardcore cage matches? Do you like to see flying elbow smashed off the top of a 18 foot high cage through two, count ‘em, two double stacked tables? Do you like to see Sting wrestle with a intensity not seen since his last days of short blonde haired Sting? Do you like to see REALLY good storyline development leading into a well thought up, well drawn out, and elaborate turn? (No not a WWE hotshot Trish/Jericho turn) A well planned TURN? Would you like to see Shawn Michaels in his prime to the second power, fighting Low-Ki? And would you like to see the GREATEST Tag Team in the world today, fight in a wild brawl that includes lionsaults onto ladders? Well if you like any of that, or if nothing else REALLY good wrestling, then I suggest ordering the replay of last week's NWA-TNA. 

I honestly urge you to see it.

It made me tingle with that feeling of how great wrestling truly can be. So much talent on that one show, it was wild.

As well, TNA Recapper Jack Daniels says that Michael Shane sucks, but actually Michael Shane is AMAZING. He's HBK, only about 2 times better. Yes, TWO TIMES better then HBK in.....HIS PRIME! Don't doubt me on this. As well, Low-Ki did kinda put Shane's hands on the rope for him, but uhh, that was because the finish to the match was rushed, because Low-Ki kicks Shane so hard in the back of the head that he is actually knocked OUT. So yea, it ends up as a botched segment, but the match is AMAZING, and its great.

Nothing on this show is less then 3 stars, and there is several matches close 

to 5 stars. Take some of that money you save up every year for Wrestlemania, 

and ORDER the REPLAY! I can't stress it enough. 

Hyatte, you had better order this show, its great stuff.

With that said, I've even taken the liberty to post, WHEN YOU CAN CATCH THE 


December 20, 2003 IN1 7:00am - 9:00am ET

December 20, 2003 IN1 4:00pm - 

6:00pm ET (Watch it Sunday afternoon!)

December 20, 2003 IN1 5:30am - 7:30am ET

December 22, 2003 IN1 3:00pm - 5:00pm ET

December 22, 203 IN1 12:00am - 2:00pm ET

December 23, 2003 IN1 11:00 am - 1:00 pm ET

December 23, 2003 IN1 3:00am - 5:00am ET

December 24, 2003 IN1 6:00pm - 8:00pm ET (Watch it Xmas Eve - before 

Best of X Division!)


December 21, 2003 ALL DAY TICKET!! (Watch it Sunday afternoon!)

Cablevision (TVN) December 19, 2003 Event TV 11:30am - 1:30pm

December 20, 2003 

Event TV 7:00am - 9:00pm

December 21, 2003 Event TV 5:30pm - 7:30pm (Watch it 

Sunday evening!)

December 22, 2003 Event TV 7:00am - 9:00am

See it while you still can! If you got a friend that used to like wrestling, and you haven't got them a Christmas gift.....RE-INTRODUCE them to good wrestling, and get em this show of TNA, for X-Mas. Trust me it's worth it.

That’s it, a big giant plug for NWA-TNA. Thats not what my column is all about. But I found that this weeks show was the best wrestling show I had seen in a long time. When I turned over to WWE, I seen them doing everything WRONG, and it made me hate what wrestling had turned into, but Wednesday all that changed. Now for some Q & A, remember I am all about feedback so ask me some questions, or write me, but make it worth reading, or it'll just get, you know....deleted.

Q: i dont have a whole lot to say about whats currently going on, except for the fact that i am just waitin for steve austin to be brought back in (i am one of those eternal steve austin fans, whos trying to cope with the fact that his era is over), hopefully to wrestle one last match. which leads me to my series of questions! if he has one more match @ say, wrestlemania xx, who would you have him butt heads w/?

A: Personally I am so tired of Steve Austin, I was very glad to see him off TV. It sucks that they are dedicating just as much time to him now, about wanting to bring him back. However, I do think Austin could be used at WrestleMania for 2 big matches, Versus Hogan, which I'd have Hogan win. And Versus Goldberg, which I would have Goldberg win. Just to put over Hogan as the best of all time, and Goldberg as the new icon. Of course, WWE will likely never have either of these matches, blowing some of the biggest payoff matches of al time. 

Then again this is the company that completely destroyed the WWF Versus WCW you know, its not like they aren't afraid to blow it. For the record I have no beef with Austin, but WWE needs to get off his jock and utilize their new talent. Austin's last good run was a heel in the Alliance, he's done now, stick a fork in him.

Gavyn Bard asks:

Q: You mentioned that Styles vs Abyss was the best 'big guysmall guy' match you have ever seen (and I really can't argue that), I was curious to what you think was the best before you saw it?

A: Oh well, put me on the spot why don't you. I don't know, but I've always been fond of HBK/Vader, as well as Flair/Vader and a few Sting/Vaders. And just to toss out something that has a big man thats NOT Vader in it. Taz/Bam Bam was great, as was RVD/Bam Bam. Andre had some good ones too, but I think the Styles/Abyss match really took things to a new level.

Grimmemoir asks:

Q: I figure you'd HAVE to know: How/when do the performers get paid? I assume the smaller circuits are up front or after the show; how about the bigs, like TNA or WWE? What nightmares have you ever experienced regarding getting paid? Thanks.

A: Much like any job, it depends on where you work. Lots of Indys pay you up front, well if you are a big enough name to demand up front. Lots of indys pay you according to the house, etc. Sometimes they don't pay you at all. A great moment of interaction between Indy Promoters and Wrestlers can be seen in the MTV Real Life: I'm a Pro Wrestler. Watch the stuff with Tony Atlas and Local Indy Promoter. You get some good idea of how the job can be very hectic. WWE pays regular, with upsides on big houses etc, WCW paid upfront mostly, and overall it depends on the person, and the type of contract you structure. IE: Hulk Hogan is going to have a different deal then say Barry Horowitz, even if they are both employed by WWF.

Thomas J asks:

Q: With the recent success that Ric Flair and Trish Stratus have had with their videos, do you have any plans to release a video featuring your greatest moments in the wrestling industy, especially the WWF years.

A: Well Thomas, either you are really young or really stupid. WWE owns all the video from WWF years, WCW Years, and ECW years. You may try looking for a comp tape out there on some bootleg website, but you'll never see a Tammy Lynn Sytch best of tape, made by Tammy Lynn Sytch. Sorry.

Unknown responds a bit about last week's Q&A; about weight gain:

Q: Fact is, Tammy has gotten bigger. But it's not about her being fat, I think it's more than that. Back when she was employed, she looked just about as good as when she was in the WWF. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't she offered a spot of the cover of the SI swimsuit magazine, and was in body magazines all over the place? You don't just do that, and suddenly drop out. Many people have stated for a FACT that Candido and Sytch both have serious drug dependency problems. 

A: Yea I've been on top of the WORLD, been in all those fitness magazines, even once I was out of WWF. I've done that, now I'm living the other half of that, and trust me I'm a lot cleaner now then I was then. Here's some interesting opinions for ya, hun. In case you didn't know, a lot of times, and I could name about 5 girls on the WWE roster, and almost EVERY guy on the roster, takes drugs to make their bodies LOOK the way they do. If Chris and I have gained weight, its because, HELLO we're OFF all the drugs that keep your muscles tight, your body slim, and looking like a $ million bucks. Granted, we could look better, but in ECW & WWF we took a lot of prescription pills, the same ones all 

your favorites take, to keep our bodies in that kinda shape. No one looks like a He-Man doll just by working out. Steroids, and tons of other enhancement drugs shape in.

So let me just put it to you this way, we got off EVERYTHING when Chris went to NJPW, and the reality is, I look the way I do because I don't take anything, But many girls on the E's roster that you think are great, as well as most of their guys, take stuff to make em look like that. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Last but not least, The Earl of Eaton writes in....

Q: Wheres the rest of our fantasy booking?

A: Eh, I've gotten swamped with work as well as gotten lazy in the past few days not to finish it. Plus I spent WAY too long on this column as is. With that in mind, I'm going to make you wait another week for my Fantasy booking. However I will wrap it all up next week. Hopefully I get some feedback about it, as well I get some feedback from people who order this weeks TNA. Thanks again.

Thats My Bytch!

So there you go. And after you order the PPV, you can ask her to explain Erik Watts because I don’t get it either. What started out as a Russo goof as turned into a full time gig..

She doesn’t know it, but her column this week is a PERFECT fit for the whole anti-Xmas theme I have going here. She was feistier than normal and didn’t wish ANYONE a Merry Christmas. God bless ‘er. 

Oh, and the “bumble” on my part was a small error that I forgot to tell Flea about when I gave it to him. It was fixed within a couple of hours and, other than forcing me to momentarily break off my COLD WAR WITH WIDRO, all was repaired.


As I was writing this column, Flea gave me a call. I have talked to Flea in various states of intoxications, but this time, he was REALLY fucked up.

He was also pissed over last week’s column, because it was never formatted right. So he has a personal message for Tammy… transcribed word for word to me over the phone:

Tammy, I apologize. I’m sorry that the formatting for the last Monday column didn’t work for us. Widro is a peckerhead. But I have a site of my own. And I hope that one day you’ll feel the need to come to my site and say the things that you want to as you said to me via Chris Hyatte and until that day I will wait for you and until then I will always picture you as I did on those two days before we were torn apart. And because the fact that Chris Hyatte is a dumb cocksucker who wouldn’t know prose if it went into his bedroom and fucked him up the ass. In closing, I’ll be home for Christmas but only in my dreams.- Flea

Then later…

Flea: This new house is one level, Hy8. No more stairs for me! 

Me: Oh yeah?

Flea: Good! I hate stairs. Fuck stairs. I’m done with stairs! No more walking up stairs! Fuck stairs and fuck you.

Me: Fuck me? Jeeze kid, you’re awfully pissy tonight.

Flea: Pissy? Jews get pissy. Don’t ever call me pissy again.

Me: You’re SO pissy

Flea: That’s it, when I see you I’m gonna kill you. You’re dead.

Me: You won’t kill me.

Flea: The hell I won’t.

Me: All I have to do is run up the stairs, you’ll won’t be able to climb up after me! “I ain’t goin’ up these ding dong stairs! Too much exercise!!” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA. 


Me: You’ll have to go out and have an elevator installed!! Hyuck!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAA

Flea: fucking broke cocksucker


Then the man delivered a spot-on impression of CRZ while waiting for the tab of acid he took to kick in. Funny as hell too. 

The man is a true classic.


He is the thinking man’s web writer… he is… the Rick!


GoMustangs4LifE: can i have a job at your site?

GoMustangs4LifE: come on dude i'm a good writer

GoMustangs4LifE: i can be nice and wishy-washy just like you...i can also write about the time this dude had a chic call up this fat lazy writer and pretend she liked him

GoMustangs4LifE: ho ho ho that was funny

GoMustangs4LifE: so did you and keith have a good gang-bang last night?

GoMustangs4LifE: : rick?

GoMustangs4LifE: riiiiiicky?

GoMustangs4LifE: hello?

GoMustangs4LifE: hey tubby you there?

GoMustangs4LifE: FAT-ASS!

GoMustangs4LifE: damnit

GoMustangs4LifE: don't you usually sign off by now?

GoMustangs4LifE: hurry up and sign off so i can send this to hyatte

GoMustangs4LifE: damn you

GoMustangs4LifE: always gotta be torturing us you bastard

GoMustangs4LifE: fine be that way

GoMustangs4LifE: i'm horny too

OORick signed off at 1:56 PM

He is so stupid… when I get IM bombed, I just keep blasting the warn button until they run off. They can’t warn me back because I never respond.

Err… not that anyone IM bombs ME… oh no… I am Hyatte… I am the coolest!


Flea: Only three writers in the world have ever meant anything, Hi-HeartI’mgonnabr8k

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


One of the reasons I stared this thing was to get reader suggestions.

See, there are a LOT of books out there, (which is exactly why so few authors make a good living at this gig, but that’s a different story), millions. So when you feel like picking up a new book, it’s easy to get intimidated with all the content available to you. With this, I was hoping to help prepare you and myself for the next trip to the nearest bookstore.

And yeah, I am aware that I am assuming—assuming BIG TIME—that some of you idiots are actually inclined to, or even able to, READ… I am also well aware that many of you probably suffer from that brand new ailment that some moron Doctor invented called “Hogwarts Headache.” Hopefully, I’ll get a book in here that will actually make you take notice and maybe even pick up. Another goal I’m aiming for here.

Anyway, this next book is from a guy who has 45 books to his name, some of them poetry, some of them fiction, and some of them semi-autobiographical. He was recommended to me by someone who called me the “IWC’s version of him.” Since I had never heard of him before, I obviously had to check him out.

So… ever hear of Charles Bukowski?

They made a movie about him, called “Barfly”. It starred Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway. I can’t stand either actor so I never watched it.

Here’s the deal: Bukowski was an underground writer/poet for the longest time (underground meaning no one bought his stuff) and was a post man for about 12 years. Then when he was 35, he quit his job and gave the writing career an “all or nothing” shot. He didn’t become John Grisham huge, but he kept his rent paid and his cupboards filled with liquor. 

Oh yeah, he’s an UNapologetic alcoholic.

With Bukowski, you get a writer who almost REALLY made it, but made it enough to be able to do nothing BUT write for a living, in fact, he tells you that the majority of his earnings come from doing readings at various colleges and the like (and from the book, and a little research, you see that these Bukowski readings were often an uproarious affair). He’s one of these writers that the mainstream press never picked up on… sort of the character-commercial-off broadway stage actor of the publishing world.

But he has a voice, and it is a fun voice to read.

The selection this time around is Bukowski’s Women, and it has no plot. Not a one. It’s barely fiction, only in the sense that the names of the people in the book has been changed, and the star of the book, Bukowski himself, is named “Henry Chinaski”… other than that, you get the sense that all this really happened. Possibly puffed up just a bit for dramatic purposes, but who knows.

So this plotless book is about all the women Chinaski has hooked up with during a period when he was just starting to get really big. The honesty displayed in this book is incredible, Bukowski has no problems writing about his shortcomings. Hell, early on in the book a girl has to draw a picture of a vagina and show Chinaski where the clit is. The man is 50 at the time. He also admits to going through life without ever eating a pussy.

So obviously, Bukowski and Chinaski had a lot of catching up to do.

And obviously, this is the PERFECT selection for this Anti-Christmas column.

It’s pretty easy to select an excerpt for a book like this. Since there is no real first, second, or third act, all I had to do was find an entertaining enough episode in the book and run with it. So read the following, early into the book, and understand that what you see is pretty much the whole book, just woman after woman entering the guy’s life and the adventures he has with them.

The excerpt picks up with Chinaski on a plane heading to a book reading in Kansas City. He has a girlfriend at home, her name is Lydia. That doesn’t stop him from trying to get some. I think you’re gonna like this:

We came in low over Kansas City, the pilot said the temperature was 20 degrees, and there I was in my thin California sports coat and shirt, lightweight pants, summer stockings, and holes inb my shoes. As we landed and taxied toward the ramp everybody was reaching for overcoats, gloves, hats, mufflers. I let them all get off and then climbed down the portable stairway. There was Frenchy leaning against a building and waiting. Frenchy taught drama and collected books, mostly mine. “Welcome to Kansas Shitty, Chinaski!” he said and handed me a bottle of tequila. I took a good gulp and followed him into the parking lot. I had no baggage, just a portfolio full of poems. The car was warm and pleasant and we passed the bottle.

The roadways were frozen over with ice.

“Not everybody can drive on this fucking kind of ice,” said Frenchy. “You got to know what you’re doing.”

I opened the portfolio and began reading Frenchy a love poem Lydia had handed me at the airport:

“… your purple cock curved like a…

“… when I squeeze your pimples, bullets of pus like sperm…”

“Oh SHIT!” hollered Frenchy. The car went into a spin. Frenchy worked at the steering wheel.

“Frenchy,” I said, lifting the tequila bottle and taking a hit, “we’re not going to make it.”

We spun off the road and into a three foot ditch which divided the highway. I handed him the bottle.

We got out of the car and climbed out of the ditch. We thumbed passing cars, sharing what was left of the bottle. Finally, a car stopped. A man in his mid-twenties, drunk, was at the wheel. “Where are you fellows going?”

“A poetry reading,” said Frenchy.

“A poetry reading?”

“Yeah, at the University.”

“All right, get in.”

He was a liquor salesman. The back seat of his car was packed with cases of beer.

“Have a beer,” he said, “and get me one too.”

He got us up there. We drove right into the campus center and parked on the lawn in front of the auditorium. We were only 15 minutes late. I got out, vomited, then we all walked in together. We had stopped for a pint of vodka to get me through the reading.

I read for about 20 minutes, then put the poems down. “This shit bores me,” I said, “let’s talk to each other.”

I ended up screaming things at the audience and they screamed back at me. That audience wasn’t bad. They were doing it for free. After about another 30 minutes a couple of professors got me out of there. “We’ve got a room for you, Chinaski,” one of them said, “in the women’s dormitory.”

“In the women’s dorm?”

“That’s right, a nice room.”

… It was true. Up on the third floor. One of the profs had bought a fifth of whiskey. Another gave me a check for the reading, plus air fare, and we sat around and drank the whiskey and talked. I blacked out. When I came to everybody was gone and there was half a fifth left. I sat there drinking and thinking, hey, you’re Chinaski, Chinaski the legend. You’ve got an image. Now you’re in the women’s dorm. Hundreds of women in this place, hundreds of them.

All I had on were my shorts and stockings. I walked out into the hall up to the nearest door. I knocked.

“Hey, I’m Henry Chinaski, the immortal writer! Open up! I wanna show you something!”

I heard the girls giggling.

“O.K. now,” I said, “how many of you are in there? 2? 3? It doesn’t matter. I can handle 3! No problem! Hear me? Open up! I have this HUGE purple thing! Listen, I’ll beat on the door with it!”

I took my fist and beat on the door. They kept giggling.

“So. You’re not going to let Chinaski in, eh? Well, FUCK YOU!”

I tried the next door. “Hey girls! This is the best poet of the last 18 hundred years! Open the door! I’m gonna show you something! Sweet meat for your vaginal lips!”

I tried the next door.

I tried all the doors on that floor and then I walked down the stairway and worked all the doors on the second floor and then all the doors on the first. I had the whiskey with me and I got tired. It seemed like hours since I had left my room. I drank as I walked along. No luck. “The greatest men are the most alone.”

Back on the third floor I twisted a doorknob and the door opened. There was my portfolio of poems… the empty drinking glasses, ashtrays full of cigarette stubs… my pants, my shirt, my shoes, my coat. It was a wonderful sight. I closed the door, sat down on the bed and finished the bottle of whiskey that I had been carrying with me.

I awakened. It was daylight. I was in a strange clean place with two beds, drapes, t.v., bath. It appeared to be a motel room. I got up and opened the door. There was snow and ice out there. I closed the door and looked around. There was no explanation. I had no idea where I was. I was terribly hung over and depressed. I reached for the telephone and placed a long distance call to Lydia in Los Angeles.

“Baby, I don’t know where I am!”

“I thought you went to Kansas City?”

“I did. But now I don’t know where I am, you understand? I opened the door and there’s nothing but frozen roads, ice, and snow!”

“Where were you staying?”

“Last thing I remember I had a room in the women’s dorm.”

“Well, you probably made an ass out of yourself and they moved you to a motel. Don’t worry. Somebody will show up to take care of you.”

“Christ, don’t you have any sympathy for my situation?”

“You made an ass out of yourself. You generally always make an ass out of yourself.”

“What do you mean ‘generally always’?”

“You’re just a lousy drunk,” Lydia said. “Take a warm shower.”

She hung up.

I walked over to the bed and stretched out. It was a nice motel room but it lacked character. I’d be damned if I’d take a shower. I thought of turning on the t.v.

I slept finally…

There was a knock on the door. Two bright young college boys stood there, ready to take me to the airport. I sat on the edge of the bed putting on my shoes. “We got time for a couple at the airport bar before take-off?” I asked.

“Sure, Mr. Chinaski,” one of them said, “anything you want.”

“O.K.” I said. “Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I got back, made love to Lydia several times, got in a fight with her, and left L.A. International late one morning to give a reading in Arkansas. I was lucky enough to have a seat by myself. The flight captain announced himself, if I heard correctly, as Captain Winehead. When the stewardess came by I ordered a drink.

I was certain I knew one of the stewardesses. She lived in Long Beach, had read some of my books, had written me a letter enclosing her photo and phone number. I recognized her from the photo. I had never gotten around to meeting her but I called her a number of times and one drunken night we had screamed at each other over the phone.

She stood up front trying not to notice me as I stared at her behind and her calves and her breasts.

We had lunch, saw the Game of the Week, the after-lunch wine burned my throat, and I ordered two Bloody Marys. 

When we got to Arkansas I transferred to a small two engine job. When the propellers started up the wings began to vibrate and shake. They looked like they might fall off. We lifted off and stewardess asked if anybody wanted a drink. By then we all needed one. She staggered and wobbled up and down the aisle selling drinks. Then she said, loudly, “DRINK UP! WE’RE GOING TO LAND!” We drank up and landed. Fifteen minutes later we were up again. The stewardess asked if anybody wanted a drink. By then we all needed one. Then she said, loudly, “DRINK UP! WE’RE GOING TO LAND!”

Professor Peter James and his wife, Selma, were there to meet me. Selma looked like a movie starlet but with much more class.

“You’re looking great,” said Pete.

“You’re wife’s looking great.”

“You’ve got two hours before the reading.”

Pete drove to their place. It was a split-level house with the guestroom on the lower level. I was shown my bedroom downstairs. “You want to eat?” Pete asked. “No, I feel like I’m going to vomit.” We went upstairs.

Backstage, just before the reading, Pete filled a water pitcher with vodka and orange juice. “An old woman runs the readings. She’d cream in her panties if she knew you were drinking. She’s a nice old girl but she thinks poetry is about sunsets and doves in flight.”

I went out and read. S.R.O. The luck was holding. They were like any other audience: they didn’t know how to handle some of the good poems, and during others they laughed at the wrong times. I kept reading and pouring from the water pitcher.

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

“This,” I said, “is orange juice mixed with life.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I’m a virgin.”

“Why did you seek to become a writer?”

“Next question, please.”

I read some more. I told them I had flown in with Captain Winehead and had seen the game of the week. I told them that when I was in good spiritual shape I ate off one dish and then washed it immediately. I read some more poems. I read poems until the water pitcher was empty. Then I told them the reading was over. There was a bit of autographing and we went to a party at Pete’s house…

I did my Indian dance, my Belly dance and my Broken-Ass-in-the-Wind dance. It’s hard to dance when you drink. Peter knew what he was doing. He had couches and chairs lined up to separate the dancers from the drinkers. Each could go their own way without bothering the other.

Pete walked up. He looked around the room at the women. “Which one do you want?” he asked.

“Is it that easy?”

“It’s just southern hospitality.”

There was one I had noticed, older than the others, with protruding teeth. But her teeth protruded perfectly—pushing the lips out like an open passionate flower. I wanted my mouth on that mouth. She wore a short skirt and her pantyhose revealed good legs that kept crossing and uncrossing as she laughed and drank and tugged at her skirt which would not just stay down. I sat next to her. “I’m—” I started to say…

“I know who you are. I was at your reading.”

“Thanks. I’d like to eat your pussy. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I’ll drive you crazy.”

“What do you think of Allen Ginsberg?”

“Look, don’t get me off track. I want your mouth, your legs, your ass.”

“All right,” she said.

“See you soon. I’m in the bedroom downstairs.”

I got up, left her, had another drink. A young guy—at least 6 feet 6 inches tall—walked up to me. “Look, Chinaski, I don’t believe all that shit about you living on skidrow and knowing all the dope dealers, pimps, whores, junkies, horse players, fighters, and drunks…”

“It’s partly true.”

“Bullshit,” he said and walked off. A literary critic.

Then this blonde, about 19, with rimless glasses and a smile walked up. The smile never left. “I want to fuck you,” she said. “It’s your face.”

“What about my face?”

“It’s magnificent. I want to destroy your face with my cunt.”

“It might be the other way around.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“You’re right. Cunts are indestructible.”

I went back to the couch and started playing with the legs of the one with the short skirt and moist flower lips whose name was Lillian.

The party ended and I went downstairs with Lilly. We undressed and sat propped against the pillows drinking vodka and vodka mix. There was a radio and the radio played. Lilly told me that she had worked for years to put her husband through college and then when he had gotten his professorship he had divorced her.

“That’s shaggy,” I said.

“You’ve been married?”


“What happened?”

“‘Mental cruelty,’ according to the divorce papers.”

“Was it true?” she asked.

“Of course: both ways.”

I kissed Lilly. It was as good as I had imagined it would be. The flower mouth was open. We clasped, I sucked on her teeth. We broke.

“I think you, she said, looking at me with wide and beautiful eyes, “are one of the two or three best writers of today.”

I switched off the bed lamp fast. I kissed her some more, played with her breasts and body, then went down on her. I was drunk, but I think I did O.K. But after that I couldn’t do it the other way. I rode and rode and rode and rode. I was hard, but couldn’t come. Finally I rolled off and went to sleep…

In the morning Lilly was flat on her back, snoring. I went to the bathroom, pissed, brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then I crawled back into bed. I turned her toward me and started playing with her parts, I am always very horny when hungover—not horny to eat but horny to blast. Fucking was the best cure for hangovers. It got all the parts ticking again. Her breath was so bad that I didn’t want the flower mouth. I mounted. She gave a small groan. For me, it was very good. I don’t think I gave her more than twenty strokes before I came.

After a while I heard her get up and walk to the bathroom. Lillian. By the time she came back I had turned my back to her and was nearly asleep.

After 15 minutes she got out of bed and began to dress.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to take my kids to school.”

Lillian closed the door and ran up the stairway.

I got up, walked to the bathroom, and stared for a while at my face in the mirror.

290 pages of this. Just one girl after another entering his life. Some very nice, some smart, many completely fucked in the head. Chinaski does his readings, drinks a LOT, and is completely honest with his shortcomings, not to mention his complete self-loathing.

Another cool thing about the book is that it shows YOU, John Q. Dumbass, how to write a VERY compelling book without barely a smidge of prose. No allegories, no flowery narratives, Bukowski doesn’t waste a single word. He doesn’t fuck around in the least.

And you won’t be able to stop turning the pages. I couldn’t.

Plus, he’s very inspiring… if a loser drunk like HIM can get laid… what’s stopping you? 

Women by Charles Bukowski. You won’t learn a damn thing about women from this book, because the author hasn’t either.

So take that money your lazy ass Father/Uncle/Family member gave you for X-Mas in lieu of anything that would require him/her to put any thought into and pick up this book. It is so compelling, you won’t even miss the plot.

I am fucking Hyatte and by God I will MAKE YOU READ!!!


I’m sure you’ve heard about Goldberg’s general bitchery as of late. It’s apparently gotten so bad that the WWE may just blow off any contract renewal attempts.

Why am I the only one who has figured this out?

Okay, now I might be talking out of my ass here, but I have a feeling I know what is troubling our resident juggernaught (who, by the way, is being booked EXCELLENTLY by the WWE so far… he’s still being hailed as a monster, but Jim Ross is focusing on his intensity, and NOT as “everyone’s hero” as Tony Schiavone used to scream about)

Fact: The plan is to feature Goldberg vs Brock Lesnar at WM 20, right?

Fact: Goldberg’s time with the WWE is limited to his contract length. Her doesn’t need the cash and doesn’t necessarily care about the business.

Fact: Brock is in the WWE for life. He’s too big and dumb looking (and I don’t care if he’s a rocket scientist, I’m talking LOOKS here) to be a movie or TV star… the boy is BORN for this business and his improvement over the last two years has proven that. HE is the WWE future… Goldberg is just there to get paid, muthafukka.

Fact: Goldberg is VERRRRRRY choosy over who he jobs to.

Fact: Goldberg is ego-maniacal

Fact: This will be Goldberg’s first, and maybe last Wrestlemania appearance

Fact: Screw job endings are NOT Wrestlemania’s forte.

Fact: Logic doesn’t suggest, logic pretty much screams in your face that the WWE very much wants Goldberg to put over Brock nice and clean at WM 20

Fact: Evidence doesn’t suggest, evidence pretty much screams in your face that Bill might disagree with that notion.

Conclusion: Gonna be an interesting match…. If Bill even shows up.


I always need more of these. You all are doing great, so keep them coming.

Come on say it. Stone Cold, Stone Cold, The Rattlesnake, The Rattlesnake. You kissed his ass like an idiot for years and now he's turned his back on you. Your only friend and he dumped you- Heyman

You better step off jack before you end up back at the Bingo Hall, alone- J.R. from Raw 2001. 

The Rock has to admit Mankind is really tough and never gives up.- The Rock

Down goes Mankind.- Michael Cole 

Mankind sucks.- the Rock from Raw ‘99

You know what ‘arriba’ means?

What, Brain?

‘Swim faster, the boarder patrol are coming’- Hennan and Monsoon during a Tito Santana match

Hey Missy! Remember me?

Did I fuck you?- Jack Victory & Missy Hyatt from ECW.

If you were the last girl on earth I would rather jerk off with glass in my hand.- Buh Buh Ray Dudley on ECW.

Sean Stasiak listens to the voices in his head - JR

I listen to the voices in my pants - Lawler from Insurrexion 2002


I’m still taking suggestions on these. More wrestling quotes at the moment, but whatever you feel like sending my way.

To celebrate the capturing of Saddam, (or, as the Democrats call it: “Aw crap, couldn’t he stay hiding for just one more frickin YEAR!!”), I will bookend this week’s offering with two quotes on the same theme.

You murdered 100,000 Iraqis to save a nickel a gallon on gas. Don't lecture me on the articles of war.- Air Force One

If I'm not back in 5 minutes, just wait longer- Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates who said, "I drank what?"- Real Genius

-Yes, no, no, no, no, no, yes, no, no, no, no, no, yes, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, wait a minute, YES!! - History of the World: Part I

There is no way you could have come from my loins. When I get home I’m going punch your mama in the mouth. - Smokey and the Bandit 

Hey, babe, I negotiate million-dollar deals for breakfast. I think I can handle this Eurotrash. Hey! Sprechen sie talk?- Die Hard

Why shouldn't I work for the N.S.A.? That's a tough one, but I'll give it a shot. Say I'm working at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed. Now the politicians are sayin', "Send in the marines to secure the area" 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there, gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number was called, 'cause they were pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie takin' shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. And naturally they're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So my buddy's out of work and he can't afford to drive, so he's got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks 'cause the schrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorroids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. So what do I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president.- Good Will Hunting

Yeah, that’s Matt Damon. Someone should call J-Lo and say, “Look princess, that guy you’ve been making the headlines with for the last year, that ain’t Damon… that’s his waaaay less talented partner.”

Affleck… and here comes Paycheck for Christmas… because some studio exec thinks that people are really gonna want to top off their Christmas day with another bad Ben Affleck movie. 

I hope Ben is enjoying the view… because his career is damn near about to come crashing. Too many bombs… too many bad movies… too many times he’s gone on the Leno show and said, “No, really, THIS is a good movie. I MEAN it this time!”

He can go fuck himself. And if you support Affleck, possibly the single worst excuse for a celebrity since Burt Reynolds… since RYAN O’NEIL… then YOU can go fuck yourself too, sheep!

Anyway…. Let’s top off this particular tree with the mother of all anti-X-Mas segments…


Words cannot describe what kind of foul mood this season puts me in. So with that in mind… this is what I would put under certain trees this year…

Hyatte’s Christmas Shopping

-To Triple H- A comb. Why is it that the second he marries Stephanie his hair because just as gnarled a rat’s nest as hers? Also, I’d give him a case of Slim Fast… Hunter’s belly is starting to match Stuph’s ass.

-To Trish Stratus- Nothing. Because even I’m starting to get creeped out by all the attention I’ve given her in this column over the last few months. The Stratus imposter I talk to from time to time is nice enough and Trish is fine looking and all but… jeezus Hyatte, give it UP, imbecile 

-To John Cena- 5 minutes in a prison… just to see how far your wigga act would play in the joint, whitey. Why is it Cena’s made it so far without a single web writer applying the “w” word yet? Are all these kids THAT scared of offending people? “Wigga” ain’t gonna bother no one. Jesus, you pussies. 

-To Kevin Nash- a message from me, the last Nash fan. It’s over, Big Kev. I held out for as long as I could but… no, it’s over. Sorry.

-To Tammy Sytch- a nice big contract to the WWE. (Hey, people are nice to me and I’ll be nice right back. Plus I’ll be able to assume a little credit for her getting back in… just a tad… a smidge)

-To Kurt Angle- a jump to RAW… where you belong. Lesnar’s gonna end up snapping your neck. RAW needs you more than boring ass Smackdown does… and how many times are you gonna jack with Benoit anyway? 

-To Vince McMahon- toilet paper, because that “Good God I’m Walking As If I Just Crapped Myself” strut he has is friggin’ obnoxious.

-To Randy Orton- how about a few matches under your belt that AREN’T completely forgettable before Vince and crew shoots your ass into the main event. I have no real memory of any one single Orton performace.

-To Brock Lesnar- a smile that doesn’t look like you’re pinching a fucking loaf. 

-To Ric Flair- a time machine. Go back and bring out the Flair from ten years ago, then life will be perfect.

-To Tazz- an allergic reaction to all Italian food. Lay off the pasta, dude… just cuz you ain’t rasslin’ no more doesn’t mean you have to go all Guinea and pork up! What’s next, you gonna grow hair on your back?

-To Mick Foley- John Grisham-like book sales. Mick shows up part time and delivers the most intriquing storyline of the year… Foley deserves mega-success and a billion dollars

-To WWE Creative- a pen and paper, so you can take notes on how to build a storyline from a guy who just showed up part-time because he loves the business. Morons.

-To Widro- you got your gift already… I didn’t post that e-mail you sent me two weeks ago.

-To Grut- a jaws of life to get your head out of your ass. Flying off the handle on second hand info is becoming a habit with you, Joshy… shame shame. 

-To Dave Scherer- a clue. Dave, your site is gold. You’re audience will never stop visiting your site, no matter what. Stop being an insufferable cocktease. On your ridiculous radio show you keep mentioning “certain web sites” who rip you off but NEVER mention them by name… do you understanbd how fucking idiotic, arrogant, and RETARDED that is? If you’re gonna drone on about how great you are, for chrissakes, grow the sack to call out names. Shit or get your pompadour wearing ass off the pot.

-To Buck Woodward- a new mouth, because your current one sounds like it produces WAAAAY too much saliva. He sounds just like Howard Stern’s “High Pitch Etric” without the high pitch.

-To Wade Keller- This bit of bad news: I do NOT have a subscription to your newsletter but I DFO have two, count them, TWO passwords into your VIP section! That’s ruight, Wade! I get ALL your VIP stuff FOR FREE!! DOESN’T THAT SUCK??? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA

-To Bruce Mitchell- a dictionary, to show you that “Stream of Consciousness” does NOT mean “Submit lazy, half ass show recaps that are supposed to be hilarious” There are better ways to piss on and audience that counts on you for quality work, hillbilly. And what’s with that hick accent? Christ, I thought Flea’s accent was bad. You sound EXACTLY like Bob Ryder! HA!

-To Wade Keller- oh Wade gets another gift… the news that an interview with Johnny Fairplay will NOT cost Meltzer one single newsletter subscriber. I’ll happily wager that not one single reader is going to give a rat’s ass about what the human ferret has to say about the state of wrestling.

-To Eric Szulczewski- ten minutes of utter and perfect bliss… because then your head will really explode!

-To Erik “NoSoul” Ashley- a record deal… and one chat with me where I display no ego and you don’t dissect every word I say looking for a hint of ego.

-To Pat McNeil- AIDS. No reason.

-To Mark Madden- CANCER. No reason.

-To Dave Meltzer- CANCER INFECTED WITH THE AIDS VIRUS injected right in the nutsack.. Eh, don’t get all offended… he ain’t reading this.

-To Scott Keith- nothing. Didn’t you read up top? We’re the BEST of friends now.

-To me, Chris Hyatte… well gee, what could I possibly want? What could stem the ache and the utter contempt I have for myself? Two more inches? Nah. A winning lottery ticket? Blah. A gun? Be nice but… 

Here’s what I want… about five minutes where my soul is at peace, where my being is a calm, soothing pond… a TRANQUIL lake of ease! I want to be at a place where I am SOOTHED… I am RELAXED…. I am… I am… HAPPY!!

And by gum, I usually get it after I finish one of these damn columns… ever want to know why I do this? Because I feel MUCH better afterwards!

So I just gave myself the best Christmas gift EVER!

But I could REALLY use two more inches… any of you slobs feel like donating a slice of your more-than-likely-never-been-used units?

Merry Christmas to NONE OF YOU… NO ONE!! FUCK YOU ALL!!

…. Except for the wrestlers… all of you have a good Christmas.


….. ooooooh… okay… Merry Christmas to you, and you, and you, and you… no, not you, you faggot, the one next to you… yeah, you. And you… oh, you too… yeah, fine, you as well… and to all the girls reading, because Ladies Love the Cool Hy… I think… except for the one who lectured me to treasure my friends… she can die… hey erasure nips, why don’t you TALK to me for about five minutes before you offer a character assessment, okay genius? Christ almighty… good thing no one read the damn thing… (I didn’t see it until three days later, after Ashley told me about it) then I might have gotten steamed a bit.

Next week, it’s gonna be SLOOOOOOW with all the rasslers sitting at home and enjoying a vacation… so I’ll think of something to do… and you’ll read it and say: “What happened to the Mop-Up guy?” Like always.


Oh fine… Merry Christmas… 


This is Hyatte