The Midnight News 02.09.04
Posted by Hyatte on 02.09.2004
And Another Thing, Tammy, Jim Cornette, Mojo, Black History Month, and Squirter Girls
As a writer on one of the smaller sites - www.powerwrestling.com - its often pretty dispiriting to put 10 or so hours of effort into a column to get a paltry handful of feedback back at best whilst every 'big name' on the IWC apparantly gets several 1,000 over every tossed off word.
Nice to know it isn't like that at the top.
Keep up the good work.
Ian "Fish" Goldsworthy
Yes, bravery is my middle name.
Muthafucka if u haven't met me how do u know I'm white muthafucka?
JayDogKeepinItReal
Cuz I know black people, dog, and Justin Timberlake says you white!
Look Hyatte, why can't we settle this. I enjoy your midnight reports, I just don't get why u need Tammy to carry your column.
JayDogKeepinItReal
Uhhh…
oh,and your joke about football:
Q:What do you call one white guy surrounded by 10 (CANADIAN)s?
A: The quarterback.
In Canadian football,theres 12 men on offence and 12 men on defence.
Forgot the name
Well then, that’s 24 vaginas and 48 BOOBIES!!!
I am surprised that most people haven't noticed that Chris Benoit is the world's largest midget wrestler... he is the fucking Andre the Giant of midget wrestling for Christ sake. So it is no surprise that if he put on the Oomph Loma costume he would fit right in. (one of your astute readers commented on) His arms barely reach his waste!!! He has short legs and a HUGE head... He is the largest angriest dwarf this world has ever seen.. he should be in Guinness Book of World Records... next to the worlds fattest man.
kraig
Heh heh heh… the Crippler is a frickin midget!! A VANILLA one at that!!
Once again, Kevin Nash knows ALL!!!
Hi Chris, I'm part of the 411 music zone that "no one visits anyway," and I'm writing to express my unhappiness with your comments on the music section. Yes, compared to the wrestling section, we have very few readers. However, I think that since we're all on the same team as you, you should have enough respect to not belittle our group of 20 or so writers to your audience. One of the goals of the rest of 411 is to bring the wrestling readers to read music, and movies, and black, etc. When you imply that 411 music only has one worthwhile article, or that egosistical fuckhead Scott Keith says on his blog that all 20 of us suck because we didn't name Saliva best band of the year, you're really killing the chances that wrestling-only readers will look at the music section. Yes, you and him have huge audiences, and I'm lucky if I get 3 emails and 5 IMs in response to an article. But as you even pointed out, wrestling readership is on a downturn, and I'd imagine even you want 411 to grow as a brand and bring on new readers to replace the lost wrestling fans. If you convince 100 readers to come click on a music article, and they like it enough to begin regularly reading 411 music, that's 100 readers that are going to keep reading you when they don't watch wrestling anymore. Well this is a bit longer than I planned to write, and I have to run along now.
-Elliot Smilowitz
Okay then… I urge everyone to make frequent stops to 411Music… because if they disagree with whatever Scott is yammering cluelessly about, then they must have some grasp of musical knowledge
Does the fact that Mike Hulse uses "Rant" in the title of his sports report collomn over in black make him a faggot? The writting is actually ok but he has started several teasers with "The lord of the rants is back with...". I mean "lord of the rants"? You yourself has said that only fags "rant".
Forgot the name
Yup, I’m afraid so.
Hello Sploogebags, I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News. News is actually pretty light this week, so we are going to things up this week by having something I like to call “bookends”. This means I open and close with two HUGE segments and jam a bunch of smaller stuff in between. The SECOND segment sitting waaaaay at the bottom, is all about Tammy Sytch and might very well be the most honest thing I’ve ever written. The FIRST thing, sitting right underneath this sentence, is an honest-to-goodness, old school, full-length, serious bit of work that I can proudly call:
AND ANOTHER THING: DEAR MR. INDEPENDENT
Dear Indy Superstar,
Congratulations! You did it. Through hard work, tireless optimism, and just a small (or large, or gigantic depending on who you are) sacrifice of your personal morals, you have managed to achieve the impossible. You have somehow managed to get through the slimy promoters, the empty backyards, the bounced checks, and the soul sucking drunken handful of people who bothered to show up and watch you. You’ve avoided any serious injury, any serious STD, and – most importantly in this business – avoided any seriously harmful backstage reputation. You’ve put in years of incredible sacrifice, driven thousands of miles for 10 minutes of ring time and gas money, and maintained a limber, muscular body even while subsiding on a steady diet of pizza (and isn’t it amazing how four of you could share a small cheese pie and how you could fool yourself into thinking that was enough?) and flimsy cheeseburgers. How long did it take you to learn that the McDonald’s Dollar Menu was your best friend? You have somehow been able to rise above the inherent mediocrity of the nickel circus that is the Independent Wrestling Scene. Somehow, some way, you kept your focus and perhaps even your dignity while swimming in these toxic waters. And in the end, with a tap on the shoulder, a few minutes of conversation, and a handshake, you finally get ahead. You finally can maybe start believing your own hype. You are ready for the next step up the wrestling ladder.
You finally score yourself a WWE Development deal.
So I say congratulations!
You don’t need me to tell you how tough it is to be overlooked in this game. I mean, really. Try as they might to gussy up and legitimize the product, the age-old adage in professional wrestling still is: It’s not just who you know, it’s how well you blow. It’s not as bad as it used to be, of course, and there are still a lot of good eggs out there, but in this business, you are either a stepping-stone or a stepper of stones. Everyone wants to get ahead and no one has any problems using you to do it.
And the wrestlers? Whoo, BOY! There are two types of independent wrestlers: the serious and the morons. The serious wrestlers are the ones like you. They want a future out of this and will do whatever it takes to get one. The morons are everyone else, they are simply hanging out with their buds, feeling tough because they can take a potato and are just using the fed as an excuse to get drunk and start bar fights after every card. (Ironically, the morons are the ones who tend to be cocky, arrogant buttheads. The serious Indy wrestles have the decency to wait until the tail end of their superstar career before preening around backstage as if they were Christ reborn.)
Every scouting agent alive assumes that every wrestler he’ll be looking at that night will be a moron - no matter how hard the promoter gushes over this new find. He can’t be blamed for that, the morons far outnumber the serious workers by at least 100 to 1. Essentially, the scout is being paid to have his time wasted. He’s used to it, he recognizes how important it is to sit through hours and hours of piss poor wrestling, blown spots, ridiculous booking, and ego-fueled maniacs who simply refuse to sell so much as a bodyslam because of the cute girl in the second row who is looking to be impressed. The scout deals with all this because of that one time, that one moment when the promoter’s bullshit is actually spot on and that one serious worker actually shows up. It is then when the scout’s time stops being wasted, and so does yours.
All that work, all that toiling, all that nonsense you’ve suffered through for years has finally paid off. You now have a development deal. Someone thinks you are ready for the next level. Someone thinks you might make a decent professional wrestler. Don’t go buying that mansion in Tampa just yet, you still have a lot of hard work ahead of you, and the chances that you might one day appear on Raw or Smackdown are still slim to none, but you’re are FINALLY out of the swamp and into a much cleaner pool. You are surrounded by other serious wrestlers. The competition is fierce; the backstabbing is frequent and blatant, (just as it was on the Indy scene but only smarter and more ruthless. This does not stop as you move on, my friend.). You listen, you learn, you train, you fight, and you never lose focus. Dimly, far away, you see a pinhole of light. That is your destination. You stare straight at it and nothing else. Nothing else matters.
Time moves; you grow. You haven’t screwed up yet. Your smile charms the girls; your smoothness impresses the guys. Development does what it’s supposed to do. You are ready for Ohio. Jim Cornette has forgotten more about the business than everyone you have ever met will know. His job is to polish you up. He has all the tools and staff he needs to give you the final test. If you ace this puppy out, the next step will be your last. It’s your first real exposure to the world of televised wrestling. You learn how important a tightly worked out match is (and do you long for the good ol’ days in the Indys when it didn’t matter if you went five minutes or twenty? Damn straight you do.) You learn how to tell a story. You learn how to sell every bump perfectly. It’s your first real taste of the professionalism of the business. And boy, that Ray Traylor moves awfully fast for such a big man, don’t he? There’s a reason he’s always done well with the crowd. You soak up everything he has to say. Traylor and Cornette can tell if you have the spark. Anyone with a decent eye can. OVW is famous for this. It’s easy to pick out who has it and who just doesn’t when they are side by side. It’s all a matter of whom the audience can’t take their eyes off of.
And, my God, you have it. You know you do the minute Cornette takes you aside and says, “I just got a phone call, kid. Guess where you’re going?”
Congratulations, Mr. Indy Superstar. You are now an Independent Contractor for the World Wrestling Federation. Oh yes, to hell with the “E”. This is the dream, this is the pinnacle. You are no longer the Indy Superstar. You are now the WWE Superstar. You are now the Professional Wrestler. And you are due to arrive at Titan Towers in a few days for the official contract signing and the official meet and greet with the most powerful man in the business. Vince McMahon wants YOU. He wants to give you the opportunity to make yourself rich and himself a little richer. All that training, all that sacrifices, all that determination has finally paid off.
So, now, before you board that flight to Connecticut, please listen to a touch of advice from me. Oh, I know, I’m just a writer, not even a credible one, but believe me when I tell you, I have common sense. I have good perception. I have practicality. In short, from up here in the nosebleed section, I am observant, so please, listen to me.
You probably will make yourself a ton of money. Since it’s been all about the career for all these years, there is no wife or girlfriend to support (if you have rats, let them pay their own rent). Save that money and let it grow. Learn that the only difference between 5 stars and Motel 6 is room service. If you can squeeze a fifth co-worker in that four seat rental, do it and split the cost. Sock away every spare penny you can as if it’ll be the last one you’ll get, even when you are two months into a three year contract with that downside guarantee. Keep it all.
And understand that you will probably stay a mid-carder for life.
I’m sorry, but that light at the end of your tunnel didn’t lead you straight to nirvana, but it led you to a place where you have to work harder than ever, so hard that many people don’t make it. You are in a place where politics are done by professionals—hard thinking paranoids who are experts at what you have only just begun to realize. You are now only as good as your last match, and even then it all depends on how nervous you make people. Every single person in that locker room will refuse to help you find a spot unless you completely and utterly prove that you are not a threat to their own. You are constantly being judged by your peers, by your agents, and by management, and everyone will judge you based on what they can get out of it. Every move you make from here on out decides your destiny. One false move, no matter how benign, could be your ruin.
That’s not my advice. That’s just a precursor to the bigger point. Which is this:
Spanky Kendrick walked out on the company (many feel he was about to be fired anyway, but that’s unimportant) because he didn’t think he would get the opportunity. He walked and is probably heading straight to TNA. Many people, writers both net and dirt sheets as well as people in the business are applauding this move. People are praising Kendrick for having the balls to say, “If you guys won’t give me a shot, I’ll take my business elsewhere.” Good for him, people cry. Good for him for taking a stand!
And maybe, during those oft moments in this interesting time of your life, with your head still dizzy from being called up to the big time, you too are admiring Kendrick for forsaking the majors and going for personal satisfaction. Well, by all means, admire the little sumbitch. Cheer for him; shake his hand when you meet him. Privately admire his courage and his heart and his love for the business.
Just don’t be stupid and follow in his footsteps.
You flow like wine in the ring, your game is tight, your moves are slick, and your muscles are wrapped with paper-thin skin, but chances are, you are missing that extra-special something. Its okay, my friend. Only one out of every fifty guys gets to have the special, indefinable quality. You can’t force it out. You can’t will it out. Either you have it or you don’t. Oh, you have something, something good enough for Ohio, but for the majors, you need just a touch more in order to go beyond third from the bottom. What you have is what Rikishi has, which is why Rikishi’s music only plays after the opening segment wraps up and the main event players go back to the locker room and wait for the last ten minutes of the show. I’m sorry, but chances are, in this business, that’s as far as you’ll get in the majors. They’ll push you once or twice, but if you just don’t catch on, they will eventually give up. See, that’s the thing about the politics at this level, you need to have some sort of bargaining power in order to play. If the fans aren’t all over your ass, you have no power. This is why Stephanie didn’t marry Test.
The irony is: you don’t even have to be a good wrestler. Kevin Nash may very well be the worst wrestler anyone has ever seen, yet up until the end of this year, not a week went by when he didn’t find an envelope in his mailbox containing enough money to buy an island. He did it not only because he was lucky, not only because he is smart, not only because he was a good politician, but because he always had that extra-something, and he knew how to use it to his advantage.
So my advice to you is to use every single minute of your time there to your advantage. Soak them for everything they have to offer. When they throw you on Heat, work the program. When they have you putting over everyone you work with, put them over with every ounce of skill you have. Sell, sell, SELL. Take it all with a smile and count your money. Open every house show and use the eight minutes they give you to put on the best show you have, even if the audience is yawning as they wait for the big guns to come out. Go be the best professional wrestler you can be, and do NOT be stupid when your best just isn’t good enough.
One thing about the WWE is that even the curtain jerkers make a lot of money. Hoard it. You’ll never see so much again. Try to be the utility man. Billy Gunn and Bob Holly have been in the majors for over ten years and their isn’t a spark of that extra-something between them, but they do what they’re told and do it to the best of their abilities and they both have money to burn. There is nothing wrong with that.
The worst thing that can happen is that eventually, the WWE gives up and releases you. Let them. Do NOT ask for it. Let them keep you around for as long as they want. What? You think TNA is any better? They are still a young company and instead of focusing on success, Jeff Jarrett is using it as his own personal playground. Think you can get a fair shake in TNA? Then explain how Ron Killings went from being their champion to being the third wheel with Jesse James and Konan all within half a year. Want to try ROH? Go ahead. You’ll get to perform with other serious wrestlers, no doubt, but there is no money there. Not a dime.
So that’s it, more or less. My advice to you is to admire Spanky Kendrick all you want, so long as you understand that he is an idiot. He blew the only chance anyone in this business has to make some real money for a change. Yes, I understand that you, and a lot of others like you, probably aren’t in this for the money, but for the chance to compete. That’s good, compete all you want. Go back to the minor leagues and work 60-minute matches against Low Key and Jerry Lynn for $100 bucks. Or maybe you’ll get lucky and, after leaving the WWE, you’ll be able to charge Indy promoters a small fortune for your services (just don’t preen in the locker room). You’ll get all the opportunity in the world to wrestle, to dazzle, to blow minds.
But for crying out loud, what’s wrong with having as much money in the bank as possible before venturing back out to Indy-Land?
So congratulations, Indy Superstar. You’re dreams have been fulfilled. You now get to work for the Word Wrestling Federation. You are no longer a wrestler. You are a “WWE Superstar”, an Independent Contractor.
More importantly, you are now a businessman. Your investment is yourself. Please, PLEASE do yourself a favor and invest wisely.
Good luck.
BUT, PLUGS
I’ve been making 411 Black my own stomping grounds.
Here is the final part of my Book Club John Grisham Trilogy. It’s all about Grisham’s UGLY books, WHY they are ugly and all that. The next time I do a Book club thing, it’ll be back to normal stuff.
And I’ve been keeping my word and doing regular shots of Guide to Life – Real Time. I have only two questions left in my mailbox, so if you need advice on something, I guarantee an answer before the week ends.
GRAMMYTICALLY CHALLENGED
Few nifty notes about the Grammys, which NEVER watch normally but it was either watch it or finish this column at a reasonble hour.
-Why is Justin Timberlake suddenly in my life and why is he beating Warren Zevon and George Harrison for awards? Why do I get the feeling this boy’s gonna be around forever?
-Wasn’t Britney supposed to be there?
-The fuck was Quentin Tarantino going on about? And why was he doing it in a tough guy accent?
-White Stripes stole the show, yo!
-Can’t any of these crackheads READ?
-Eww, sloppy ass show
-That George Clinton’s been eatin’ WAY too much fried chicken!
-Man, why did all the old white boys get to sing the Beatles while Pharrel, the righteous brother, sat in the back, banged the drums, and didn’t get to say sheeit! Shit is cold racism, dog!
-Christina can’t get her hair right, but she squashes all criticism whenever she starts to sing! Baby’s got pipes that blow harder than anyone!
-Yoko’s been in America for 40 years… she can lose that accent.
-The whole show celebrated the Beatles. We have our OWN Beatles here at 411. Scooter is Paul, I’m John, and Eric is George. Widro is Murray the K and Ashish is Pete Best.
Ringo? Who is Ringo you ask?
Flea is Ringo, of course.
Heh…. Heh heh heh hah ha ho ho… BWAHAHAHAHAHAAA… Flea is Ringo…. HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA!!!
Heh… I’m sorry, but I’m picturing Flea’s reaction right now. He just spilled his drink and is cussing out his computer screen. “RINGO??? YOU IGNANT COCKSUCKER!!”
HAHAHAHAHAAA FLEA IS RINGO!!! HAWHAWHAWHYUCK!!!
And Josh Grut is Julian Lennon
And John Haley is Peter Tork
Flea is Ringo… hee hee heee… oh he’s so pissed right now.
LE MENAGE BEN OIT
Ya know… I’m usually the last guy to say stuff like this. I much prefer playing “Devil’s Advocate” to popular Net opinion…
And the truth is that Chris Benoit really couldn’t draw flies with a mouthful of peanut butter.
But… even I have to admit… this whole thing where Hunter and HBK pushed heavy to get Shawn in on the Wrestlemania main event and turn the match into a three way… it’s pretty friggin’ douchey.
There is absolutely no way Hunter will lose heat by laying down for Chris Benoit… and this is fucking Wrestlemania here… where stupid dreams like this ARE SUPPOSED to come true!! By tossing HBK into the mix, it loses a special magic. I’m sorry, but it does.
Jesus Hunt, give the ego a rest for ten goddam seconds. Your spot is secure. Even I know this.
It should be one on one.
HOT ASS GOSSIP
Got a little bit of Hollywood juice and a little bit of RASSLIN’ juice for ya!
A couple of weeks ago, at Secrets Cabaret, a strip club… I said STRIP CLUB in Fayetteville NC, we had ourselves and honest-to-goodness full fledged HARDY BOY REUNION and Jeff Hardy, Matt Hardy and Lita all were on hand to referee a Jello-Wrestling Tournament! It seems that Matt likes his Michelob Ultra, Lita enjoys the white wine and Jeff… well, Jeff sucks down the Jello shots.
Oh, and they ALL smoked liked fiends. From what I understand, they cleaned out pretty much ALL the bouncers of their butts.
Interestingly enough, in the midst of all those naked women, Jeff Hardy looked completely bored.
Matt smokes? That’s surprising. Lita? No, not too much. I can totally see her pounding down the butts. Jeff? HA, PLEASE… Who CAN’T see Jeff with something long, thin and white in his mouth?
In other gossipy news… Jennifer Aniston wants to start a family, but Brad Pitt just wants to be alone with his pot. They have been seen fighting in public over this. Dammit, if those two ragamuffins can’t make it work, what chance do Scherer and Woodward have?
Orlando Bloom? Resident cutie pie star of the moment? Let’s just say he and Jeff Hardy would get along FABULOUSLY… ho ho… hee hee…
Remember “The Simple Life”? Remember those local boys Paris and Nicole messed around with during the last couple of shows? Well, it turns out those good ol’ boys were actually trained actors BUSSED in from L.A. How do I know this? Well, because my sourcem, who works in the DVD division of a major movie studio LIVES down thwe street from one of the so-called locals. Why did they have to fly in some ringers for the girls? Because spoiled rich snots have SOME standards and the Arkansas boys they had to choose from just didn’t quite cut it… Fox was desperate for a little tongue action.
And here’s a sad bit of gossip. Over the course of the week I learned something rather depressing… actually, I learned a SHITLOAD of depressing stuff… but this was REALLY bad:
Tammy Sytch and Chris Candido’s going rate for an Indy appearance?
$150 dollars.
Each.
Save that fucking WWE money, Mr Indy Superstar.
SOILED SHEETS
So… you know the Torch, right?
Well… in an audio-report last week, whacky Wade Keller once again showed that he’s sweating over his vanishing audience by spending THE LAST FIVE MINUTES OF HIS AUDIO COMMENTARY by carrying on about how great everything is with his site and his dirtsheet… including a rather INTENSE dissertation about how BADASS Bruce Mitchell is with his column.
Oh yes, Wade bragged, Bruce Mitchell is the MASTER of using his acerbic wit… NOT to openly MOCK people in the business, not to HURT people in the business (unlike that damn Hyatte fella), but in EXPOSING the hypocrites for who they are!! Where would we be without Bruce Mitchell to tell us how to think? Wade asks. Where? WHERE, GODDAM IT???
Well, speaking of hypocrites, I found one of my own.
Since they’ve been online, Bruce Mitchell has been talking about the time he pissed off Jim Cornette so much with his scathing, acerbic, witty, hypocrisy-pointy commentary that Cornette threatened to beat his ass in. So, as the story goes, Mitchell went to a Smokey Mountain Wrestling Card and somehow Jim Cornette recognized him and made a LUNGE at him. I’m a little hazy on what happened next, either Cornette was held back as Bruce shouted, “BRING IT ON, BANANA BOY!! I WILL NEVER STOP WRITING THE TRUTH!” or Bruce made a quick retreat out of there. Either way, Mitchell has been using the story to get himself over for years and years since.
Oh yes, Bruce is the writer who is UNAFRAID to call the hypocrites out on the carpet… he is the TOUGH beat writer… the man with the BALLS… the SOUL of the Torch… and God Help Jim Cornette if he ever got within shooting distance of “Mojo” Mitchell again… because it’ll take MORE than just a few of the boys to hold BRUCE back, nevermind Cornette.
But then Bruce posted THIS on the Torch VIP message board just a day or two ago…
As regular Memo readers and BMZoners know, I've been planning to attend the Mid Atlantic Convention for months, pretty much since the announcement was made.
There was one problem. Jim Cornette was scheduled for an autograph session and for a multi-hour late night Q&A; session during the weekend and he doesn't much care for me, as impossible as that might seem. As a lifelong coward who's more than willing to sacrifice personal dignity to avoid even the slightest physical pain (and also not looking to disrupt a lot of other peoples' good time) I made a phone call to get a scouting report on the situation. It's been ten years since I made Cornette upset so I wanted to see how things stood today.
I called a mutual friend of myself and the Lip, an observer of the scene for decades. "Could you ask around to find out how closely I need to watch it?" I asked this friend.
"I think things are okay. He still hates Wade, but he's so busy with other people you should be OK."
"Well, bring my name up with him. I might as well be sure."
A couple of weeks go by:
"Did you bring up my name to Cornette?"
"Uh, no. You'll be fine. He doesn't need the trouble."
A few weeks later...
"Did you....?" "No."
I leave Friday afternoon and the interested observer still hasn't mentioned anything. Aww, screw it, I think. I'm going.
So Saturday night I'm standing in the hall waiting for the Ole Anderson Q&A; to start when Jim Cornette and his two man entourage comes storming through. I'm talking to my Front Row Section D buddy John Hitchcock at the time. As Cornette pushes past the eager fans I'm about six inches from him.
(Despite the threats and criminal behavior by Cornette against me and KC O'Connor, another FSD vet, Hitchcock's eyes light up at the eyes of this famed celebrity who knows him by name. Hitch may be several decades older than the age where he should know better, but he remains the Ultimate Fanboy. He rushes out after Cornette. "Jimmy, got any comic books to sell?" he simpers as he scampers behind him like a grey haired puppy dog.)
After The Ole Show we're sitting about fifth row dead center. There's about 500 people there, at $100 bucks a pop. Here comes Cornette, Bobby Eaton and legendary bumpin' ref Tommy Young. The Lip immediately asks if he can cuss, then starts MFing the usual suspects: Vince Russo, Eric Bischoff, Terry Landel, Jim Herd, etc. I'm thinking, gee, I'm at the bottom of a long list, if I haven't completely dropped off.
Interestingly, Cornette said that the only way to ever compete against WWE was start with a small territory and build it up for fifteen years. To me, it was official at that point.
Cornette takes questions from the crowd. He makes Tommy Young, who's a little effeminate, take the cordless mic into the crowd. Cornette makes one crack after another about "Don't swallow the mic, Tommy". After the first couple of dozen times even the densest fans groan, particulary since Young just shrugs and says " I can't match wits with that man." I'm sitting next to Hitch, who Cornette just talked with. The girl directly in front of me asks a (long, dumb) question. The guy directly to my left asks another. The guy right behind me does too.
Finally, it's after midnight, Hitch is beat (I am too) and wants to leave. We've both heard this stuff before. "I don't want to stand up right in front of him and take the chance of setting him off" I tell Hitch. We wait, there's a distraction and we leave. Damnit, we miss those clowns, who've been acting like marks all over the convention.
The next day I'm home talking to the mutual friend on the phone.
"Did you get my message Friday night?"
"No." I refuse to carry a cell phone.
"I told Cornette you were going to be there and to not make trouble. He said he appreciated (the O's) friendship but he "swore an oath" (his exact words, the cornball) to get me.
It figures. Same sh**, different decade...
…..
So… umm… let’s see if I read this correctly…
Bruce Mitchell attended Cornette’s Q & A, sat there dead quiet twiddling his thumbs, didn’t say a peep, probably didn’t so much as flash those monstrously large teeth at Cornette even once, didn’t so much as blow a single, attention getting fart…
Yet is insinuating that Cornette is a coward for not recognizing Mitchell even tho’ ten years have past since he went after him?
Who’s the coward again?
Better yet, who’s the hypocrite?
Will someone PLEASE knock that clown out… I’ll pay good money if you do.
HYATTE GETS DOWN WITH THE HOMIES
Hyatte- Your column rocks. Quick question for you. I am white, how should I celebrate Black History Month?(And no Im not talking about 411Black you silly silly nerds) Im talking about African-American History Month. So Hyatte, how should I celebrate?
Thanks
Pete
Well Pete, I’m glad you asked!
As it is every year, February IS Black History month.
And, as it is every year, February IS the shortest month of the year (alas, the struggle continues)
So how can we, John and Jane Q Honky, honor our proud African American brothers and sisters during this fine, month-long celebration? Well, I’ll tell ya’:
-Give the first Black person you see your wallet… he’ll probably ask for it anyway, so beat him to the punch!
-Give the first group of Black people you see your girlfriend… they’ll probably ask for her anyway, so beat them to the punch
-Run like hell AFTER handing them your girlfriend. They don’t need you watching as they do their bidness all over her fine white ass.
-Boycott Popeye’s chicken.
-Introduce Mom and Dad to the Black experience buy making them listen to the entire Fresh Prince catalog.
-Mug a Jew
-Help the young black businessman by purchasing a gram of cocaine.
-Rent every Spike Lee DVD and LEARN!!!
-Start breeding Pit Bulls and give them to your black brothers and sisters for free.
-Spraypaint your daughter’s Ken doll black in order to teach her inter-racial relationships
-Start smuggling them in the trunk of your car over the border and into Canada. Within 5 years the Canucks will never know what hit them.
-At least once this month, masturbate to the image of Florida from Good Times
-Convince yourself that Beyonce has zero white in her.
-Read every book Bill Cosby has ever written.
-In the war between Tupac and Biggie… pick a damn side and shoot anyone who disagrees with you.
-Dizzle yo shizzle in the hizzle with the sizzle and swizzle yo fizzle in her vagizzle, my nizzle.
Sho nuff…
Next month, I teach you how to celebrate Irish History Month… it involves injecting a local anesthesia into your pecker.
SQUIRTING WITH DISASTER
You remember THIS girl, right?. She’s the chick who has a hose for a vagina and has the ability to put down forest fires if you muff her out right. She’s the one who looks like Natalie Portman.
Well, I have a minor follow-up to the whole mystery of squirter girls… which will probably be the last time we visit this curious topic:
Hyatte, allow me to tell you a quick story that may lessen your enthusiasm towards female squirters.
Last winter, I was driving home from work with my roomate when we got rear ended on the highway. I pull over, my car is fine, but the SUV that hit me is smoking and leaking all kinds of fluids. I walk to the other driver to see if everything is ok, and its this blond chick weeping up a storm. She tells me that shes an hour late to a photo shoot in Beverly Hills, she was calling the production manager to say she'd be late, wasnt paying attention to the road, and hit us. Being the nice guy that I am (and because this chick was hot), I offered to drive her there since her car was totaled and it was only 20 mins out of my way.
Well, she then tells me that shes a "porn star" and on her way to film a girl/girl scene, and since I was being so nice, she asked if I'd like to be her guest to watch the scene.
So next thing I know, my roomate and I are on the set of Gush 4. Gush refers to female ejaculators.
The director was pumped to have some eager students to share his craft with, and he explained to us how the whole squirting thing worked. He's an expert obviously, since this is his 4th squirter film. 80% of the time, its done with a douche. It's shoved up in there and the chick uses her beaver muscles to shoot out a nice hard spray. This is what the chick in your clip is doing. Not all chicks have the muscle control to do this, so the other 20% of them do it the way that I witnessed.
The way it was done, the girl was sitting on the bed with her legs wide open. She was rubbing her clit with two fingers and hiding her hole with the rest of her hand. Inside her hole was one end of a clear plastic tube. The other end of the tube was 10 feet away, in the mouth of a large kneeling black man. So the chick would bate and bate, and when the director said "BIG ACTION," the black man blew water into the tube. The result was a very messy and prolific squirt.
So there you go. A little insight into the special effects behind the porn. The director told us that some chicks can actually spooge, but either they can't do it on command, or the visual isn't too impressive.
If you want to see the actual scene, the movie is Gush 4 and the chicks name is Jordan Haze. If you find it on the web, lemme know cause I havent seen the final verison.
Enrico Pallatso
Thank you Enrico. Unfortunately, I made a personal vow to STOP following the Gush series after #2… it just became too damn commercial for me.
A LIVE MIC = DANGER!
I always need more of these. You all are doing great, so keep them coming.
This week we have a little bit of everything, including a pair of great quotes from Thunder!:
Everyone can identify with Whoopie Goldberg. I’m just not sure everyone wants to look like Whoopie Goldberg.- Stephanie McMahon, looking cute and STILL sounding like a 2 pack a day gal on VH1’s Best Week Ever, talking about Whoopie shilling for Slim-Fast.
Nikita at ringside, yeah what a class act she is. She oughta be working for "A Class Act" or one of those other escort services on 4th St.- Jim Cornette
So you're trying to say she's not the kind of girl you'd take home to meet mother?- Dean Hill
She's not the kind of girl I'd take home to another hooker- Cornette on last week’s OVW show
Who's better than Kanyon?- Kanyon
Everbody!- Crowd
Your mama!- Kanyon
Why does Kanyon get mic time?- Larry Zbyszko: Thunder 98
Sorry the show seems so out of whack but half the locker room no-showed and we just wrote the show this afternoon- Nash
It’s the all shoot addition of Thunder- Tenay: Thunder 99
X-Pac's manhood just exploded!- JR from Raw 2000
All Typhoon needs to do is sit up!- Vince McMahon
Are you asking him to do a sit-up? That’s asking a lot from him!- Heenan from Summerslam 92
He just used the belt; he should be disqualified!
No, because they are on the outside of the ring!
So what? What you telling me Schiavone, you can shoot a guy and its ok as long as he's outside the ring? God you’re an idiot. You’re dumber than Monsoon and I thought Gorilla was the dumbest guy alive!- Ventura and Schiavone from Summerslam ‘89
Special thanks to Justin Parr, for always sending me tons of these.
MY NAME IS BOND… YES… UHH… BOND… UM, OH BLOODY ‘ELL, WHAT’S THIS BLOKE’S NAME AGAIN?
I’m still taking suggestions on these. More wrestling quotes at the moment, but whatever you feel like sending my way. Just do your best in making them word perfect.
Well, how about we toss in a quote or two from a pair of F/X shows… and let’s open and shut this section with a pair of lines from a little slice of badass sunshine named Gene, The Fuck, Hackman!
Is that how you get your kicks Luthor? Toying with the lives of innocent people?
Oh no Superman, it’s ending the lives of innocent people- Superman
Oh God! I lost my hat! Swing around, we will pick it up.
Sir, we're on the mission.
Oh right. Well put Sigiwitz in a raft and have go around in a circle ‘til we get back.
But sir, we could be gone for days.
Well then put some food in the raft. Damn man, do I have to think of everything?- Hot Shots
The say a man who represents himself has a fool for a client, well as god as my witness I am that fool!- The Addams Family
What did they give you the Navy Cross for?
During the Gulf War I pulled a 300-pound man out of a burning tank.
So stopping to save a man makes you a hero, but if a man stops to help a woman soldier, it means he's gone soft?- GI Jane
No...wire...hangers! What's wire hangers doing in this closet when I told you: no wire hangers EVER?!!! I work and work 'till I'm half-dead, and I hear people say, "She's getting old." And what do I get? A daughter....who cares as much about the beautiful dresses I give her...as she cares about me! What's wire hangers doing in this closet?! Answer me! I buy you beautiful dresses, and you treat them like some dishrag. You do! Three hundred dollar dress on a wire hanger! We'll see how many you've got if they're hidden somewhere. We'll see...we'll see. Get out of that bed! All of this is coming out! Out! Out! Out! You've got any more? We're gonna see how many wire hangers you've got in your closet. Wire hangers, why? Why? Christina, get out of that bed! Get out of that bed! You live in the most beautiful house in Brentwood and you don't care if your clothes are stretched out from wire hangers. And your room looks like some two-dollar refurnished room in some two-bit back street town in Okalahoma! Stand up! Get up! Clean up this mess!- Mommie Dearest
Where are you going?
He's white and dead, I’m black and gone!- Lucky
Don’t take this the wrong way but your a better man than me
Damn straight.- Doctor to his lesbian Nurse on Nip/Tuck
Can I borrow your towel, my car just hit a water buffalo.- Fletch
This is MY town! If you live to see the dawn its because I allow it!- The Quick and the Dead starring Gene Hackman. That’s Gene, the FUCK, Hackman!
We done yet? Oh God, I WISH… unfortunately, we have one more ugly piece of business to attend to…
THE WHOLE, UGLY SYTCHUATION
You know… I…
Oh man…. This is going to be tough. I’ve been dreading this all week long.
Bare with me here.
OOhhh you are going to laugh your asses off.
One day, last July, I was tooling around online when out of nowhere I get this IM:
TamSytch: You should talk about me in your column
Hyatte1com: And you are?
TamSytch: Tammy Sytch
TamSytch: The ORIGINAL WWF Diva
And a relationship was born.
You remember how it went, I’m sure. First she gave me pics of her to post so you folks can see how in or out of shape she is. Then she started tossing in little bon mots for this column, which turned into big, long columns within this column all for her. It was a natural, smooth progression from someone who liked what she was doing with me
And was enjoying herself.
Personally, she was cool. We didn’t talk much. I didn’t see her log on too many times and when she did, we rarely talked. Every so often, she’d get chatty and toss out some random comments. Such as:
TamSytch: I once fucked someone in a broom closet
TamSytch: Will you plug my butt? I need a good but, plug
TamSytch: I need a rat. Will you be my rat, Hyatte.
TamSytch: It’s weird reading letters from guys who say they masturbated to my image.
But other than that, it was fairly business-like. She didn’t seem to want to talk and I didn’t bother her.
Time went by, her columns got longer and longer. She even wrote like I would imagine she would, with lots of little grammatical errors that took forever to fix, because God knows, I had to make her segment SPECIAL. I was honored, after all.
See, I KNOW people in the biz read me. They have to, the IWC audience is too damn small for the number of unique hits I get. But people in the biz hardly, if EVER speak up and certainly not to me. With someone like Scherer, Meltzer, or Keller, of course… but not to a big time “B-Site” player like me. (Irony of ironies, the B-site guys have a much larger audience than the “A-Sites”, it just doesn’t appear to be the case because only the hard-core A-Site loyalists speak up on their message boards… it’s a weird little vibe), so I had no problems believing a former player/current outcast like Tammy Sytch would read this. I DO try to keep my head level and my ego fairly grounded, but gee whiz, I am a human being.
Anywhoo, time marched on and she obviously enjoyed what she was doing here life was good and all was well…
Until Tammy Sytch spoke up on some ridiculous Indy website message board:
I JUST FOUND OUT TONIGHT THAT I "WRITE" A COLUMN ON MISSY'S WEBSITE OR ANYWHERE ELSE. HERE IS THE 411 ON THAT--IT'S NOT ME. I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO MISSY IN ABOUT 2 YEARS, AND I DEFINITELY WOULDN'T HELP HER GET HITS ON HER SITE. SHE IS MAKING IT ALL UP HERSELF, WELL SOMEONE IS, MAYBE BECAUSE NO ONE WOULD BE INTERESTED IN WHAT SHE HAS TO SAY. I AM NOT TRYING TO BASH HER, BUT SHE HAS A LOT MORE DEMONS AND PROBLEMS THAN I HAVE EVER HAD.
NOW, IT IS IRONIC HOW MANY PEOPLE RESPONDED TO MY POST AND BASHED ME. DON'T YOU BASHERS ALL REALIZE HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HAVE SPENT IN 14 YEARS WATCHING ME? AND BUYING MY MERCHANDISE? AND JERKING OFF TO MY PICTURES? I DO THANK ALL THOSE SUPPORTERS WHO HAVE WRITTEN SOME VERY NICE THINGS FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. BUT, ISN'T IT FUNNY THAT MY POST IS THE BIGGEST NEWS ITEM OF THE WEEK--EVEN WITH THOSE OF YOU WHO SAY YOU NEVER LIKED ME? IF YOU REALLY HATED ME SO MUCH, WOULDN'T YOU NOT READ AND RESPOND???
I FIND IT ALL AMUSING. DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT ANYTHING NEGATIVE BOTHERS ME. I AM NOT LOSING ANY SLEEP OVER THIS. I WAS TAUGHT BY A VERY SMART PERSON NAMED JIM CORNETTE THAT ALL PUBLICITY IS GOOD PUBLICITY, SO I WELCOME ALL OPINIONS. IT SATISFIES ME TO KNOW HOW MUCH I AM IN ALL YOUR HEADS.
AS FOR JASMINE ST. CLAIRE RUNNING HER MOUTH ABOUT ME, I LOVE IT!! IT MAKES ME FEEL SO GOOD TO KNOW THAT SHE THINKS OF ME SO MUCH. AND AS FAR AS HER SAYING ANYTHING ABOUT MY PROBLEMS, I THINK TAKING A SOMA OR VALIUM THAT IS PRESCRIBED TO ME IS A HELL OF A LOT BETTER THAN HER BEING HOOKED ON CRACK. I HAVE AN EYEWITNESS THAT TOLD ME THAT'S ALL SHE DID WHEN SHE WORKED FOR ROB BLACK. I AM HAPPY TO KNOW THAT I HAVE MADE AN IMPACT ON THIS BUSINESS, WHILE ALL SHE HAS DONE IS PORN, SLEPT WITH THOUSANDS OF MEN AND WOMEN AND THE BLUE FREAKIN' MEANIE (YUCK!!), TRIED TO RUN SHOWS THAT SUCK AND LOSE MONEY, AND WATCHED COUNTLESS TAPES OF ME TRYING TO LEARN SOMETHING--OBVIOUSLY THAT DIDN'T WORK. I AM SURPRISED SHE HASN'T DIED FROM AIDS YET.
AS TO THE KNOW IT ALLS OUT THERE WHO THINK THEY KNOW MY LIFE STORY, YOU DON'T REALIZE THAT I AM A WORKER. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS BUSINESS IS A FABRICATION OF THE TRUTH. YOU ALL DON'T KNOW IF MY SUPPOSED PROBLEMS, MY CHOICE OF FUTURE CAREER, MY RETIREMENT, OR ANYTHING ELSE IS TRUE OR NOT. THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO KNOW THE TRUTH ARE ME AND CHRIS. IT IS FUNNY HOW PEOPLE CAN MAKE ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT OTHERS BASED UPON WHAT SOME LOSER WHO LIVES IN HIS PARENTS BASEMENT WRITES ON A COMPUTER. PLEASE GET A LIFE.
AS FOR MY CAREER CHOICE, MY STARTING PAY IS $40 PER HOUR, AND I NEVER HAVE TO PAY FOR A FLIGHT AGAIN. AND I STILL GET TO TRAVEL THE WORLD. HOW MUCH DO SOME OF YOU WHO WORK AT MC DONALD'S MAKE PER HOUR? OH, I FORGOT ABOUT ALL THOSE FREE CHEESEBURGERS YOU GET. WHAT A PERK!!!!!!!!!!!!
SO, I INVITE ALL OF YOU TO CONTINUE WRITING YOUR INNERMOST FEELINGS ABOUT ME AND MY POSTS. IT REALLY IS ENTERTAINING FOR ME. I LOVE THAT YOU BASHERS CAN'T GET ME OUT OF YOUR MINDS!!!!
TA TA FOR NOW, I CAN WAIT TO READ YOUR RESPONSES
TAMMY
I FI FORGOT TO MENTION, I AM RETIRING THIS YEAR. I'TS ALMOST 14 YEARS IN THIS BIZ, IT'S NOT FUN OR WORTH THE AGGRIVATION ANYMORE. I HAVE A FEW MORE SHOWS AND TWO OVERSEAS TOURS BOOKED, AND THEN I AM BECOMING A FLIGHT ATTENDANT. MY LEG HASN'T FULLY RECOVERD FROM A YEAR AGO DECEMBER 5TH---I TORE MY RIGHT QUADRICEP MUSCLE IN TEXAS IN A MATCH, AND I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO TRAIN CORRECTLY FOR A YEAR NOW. SO, YOU CAN SAY WHAT YOU WANT ABOUT MY CURRENT PHYSICAL CONDITION, BUT I AM INJURED AND I REALLY DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT OPINIONS. IF YOU DON'T APPRECIATE MY WORK AND WHAT I'VE DONE FOR THIS BIZ, THEN, GET UP AND GO TO THE BATHROOM DURING MY MATCHES. I REALLY WON'T MISS THIS STUFF BECAUSE IT BASICALLY IS A CRUEL AND DEMEANING BUSINESS. IT DID A LOT FOR ME AND CC, BUT I DON'T HAVE THE PASSION FOR IT ANY MORE. SO, MAYBE I CAN SERVE YOU ALL A DRINK AND PRETZELS ON CONTINENTAL AIRLINES!!
TA TA FOR NOW—TAM
……
Okayyyyy
For the record, my Tammy couldn’t spell for shit and wouldn’t know an apostrophe if she cooked it in her pipe, but at least she didn’t keep the Caps Lock button deployed.
To further the matter, the owner of the Message board, and the Indy fed that it supported, started posting not-so veiled threats on the 411 forums about ceasing and desisting any claims that Tammy wrote for “Missy Hyatt’s 411 website”. He also had Chris Candido on his own, personal hotline say outright that Tammy does NOT write for Missy Hyatt.
Side note: The owner of the message board and the Indy fed is named Frank Goodman aka: The Masked Maniac. He operates his fed out of Queens and I have sources who say he is a true douchebag in every sense. A former wrestler, he has enough connections to not only score the top names for his company, but also has a relative on the New York State Athletic Commission who uses his clout to keep other indy feds from running shows in the area, the most recent being a show Steve Corino tried to book for this past Saturday. Apparently, Mr. Goodman is in a war with just about every Indy in New Jersey and is known to blow up his gate numbers. He is also a total mark for himself and has that hotline for no reason other than because he likes to hear himself talk. From all accounts, a true example of how Indy politics are even worse than major league politics only because those involved are so small minded. Also, if his hotline were any more low rent it would have to go on welfare. Why he chose to get in my face about this the way he did, rather than go the cool route with me and talk it out like men is beyond me, but fuck him and his simple ass.
So, I wrote to my Tammy… actually, the FIRST thing I did was log onto her yahoo account (I created it, so I knew the password) I saw that Goodman (or someone representing him) also wrote to my Tammy with the whole cease and desist… and my Tammy answered…
And… well… she said that she wasn’t the Tammy Sytch who appeared on his message board. Which is vague enough to not EXACTLY be a denial.
So I e-mailed her a letter… still convinced that I had the real girl.
TamSytch logged on AIM not too long after…
TamSytch: So, how did Orson Wells admit that the War of the World was a hoax?
Oh fuck me.
Oh CRAP!!
God DAMN IT
Shit.
And, of course: D’OH
Ladies and gentlemen… after almost 7 years of doing this web thing, after almost 7 years of keeping one step ahead of everyone… I finally let my ego get the better of me and fell for it. I finally was scammed. I finally was hoodwinked.
Jesus Christ, I was Black Scorpioned.
And to make matters worse, my Tammy, the girl who spent so many of my columns here putting herself over and delivering not all that bad commentary, wasn’t even a GIRL… he is a GUY FROM KENTUCKY!!! (I think; he wisely refuses to say).
ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN KISSING THE ASS OF A GUY!!! CALLING HIM HONEYBUNCH, AND DARLING, AND PEACHES!!!! You’ve seen it! You’ve watched me FAWN OVER THIS DUDE!!! YOU’VE SEEN ME KISS HIS ASS AND IT MADE MOST OF YOU SICK!!! (Scotsman didn’t talk to me for months because of it)
Oh MAN!!
Look, I’m not a dumb guy and I swear to Christ I’m not THAT easily led astray. The guy did some hard-core research here. He sent me pics of Tammy working with Candido in Puerto Rico at the exact time they were supposed to be working there. The guy played “her role” perfectly, TamSytch was always cautious about speaking to me online, never gave up too much info, acting as naturally paranoid as one would expect. She played every note just right… and played me right to hell. I will NOT bullshit you here, I bought it hook, line and sinker. I mean, who the fuck would bother researching Tammy Sytch??
And, although I’m no rube (all evidence to the contrary not withstanding), I just find it hard to believe that anyone would have the balls to try this, and continue to work it without fear of repercussion. It just isn’t fathomable to me that anyone would take the time to do this. The guy even threw a fit when Flea posted “her” aol addy instead of the yahoo addy when he filled in for me a few weeks ago… that’s hard-core method acting right there, chief.
The truth is, I was played and 411 was played because I was played, but no one but the guy himself knew who TamSytch really was. Legally, he’s the one who is in the most trouble, and he isn’t even IN any trouble because he did NOTHING to demean Tammy Sytch’s name NOR did he seek any profit from this venture. In fact, the guy did all he could to improve Tammy’s name. Had Tammy or Candido bothered to look, (and from what I gather, they only recently have had access to the internet, through her mother’s computer, which is in her mother’s house, which they now live in), they might very well say thank you to the guy for helping to improve her image. But they certainly don’t have to and they do have every right to be pissed, if they are. (the good news is that, based on what I heard on that hotline, they are more “amused” than anything else)
The DUDE wrote a “Last Bytch”, but you know what, he took enough of my column space. In a nutshell, he says that he started this thing to “get me” in some sort of embarrassing situation (cybersex) and then sell the information to the Rick or Scooter or someone… but I turned out to be a cool guy and NOTHING like the asshole he thought I’d be. Plus he was having so much fun doing his column that he let his own ego get the better of him and decided to keep doing this for as long as he could. The guy did have some smart things to say and, well, you read him… didn’t he say shit that you could TOTALLY see Tammy Sytch, or someone LIKE her say?
Oh, and before you suggest it, the answer is no, he cannot have a regular column under his real name. I personally wouldn’t mind (hey, I applaud the dude for completely shanking me), but he DID put 411 in a potentially bad position. Neither Widro nor Ashish wants him anywhere near our site, and who could blame them? Too bad too, because we really need a TNA recapper.
So that’s it. I was suckered. Played like a chump, and walked right into it freely. And ya’ know what, I’m GLAD… I took the shot… rolled the dice, risked this embarrassment and went for it! I guess I SHOULD apologize to Tammy Sytch, but naaaah… why bother. She can’t even get the site right… too busy fighting her hubbie in the lobby of Florida hotels half naked and creating such a cracked out ruckus that it took both Raven and Sabu to take the cops out of arresting them, I guess.
Oh screw it, I apologize to Miss Sytch. I wasn’t in on the gag.
Actually, I SHOULD apologize to you, the reader, because I swore up and down and channeled my considerable WILL into convincing you that “Tammy” was legit. But I have something better in mind here.
See, I deserve to be punished for this… I fucked up. Lot of people have been waiting for this. The asshole got punk’d… oh hell YEAH he did. Punk’d HUGE.
So I want you to let me have it. I want you to flame the living shit out of me. Send me the worst, sickest, most ball busting e-mail you can. Have at me. Bury me. Rip me a new asshole and then buttfuck it. I will post every single one of them with zero response. No addresses will be posted. Whatever name you want to sign off on, if any, will be what I put here. Been reading me for years and love me? Then you should feel betrayed. Been reading me for years and hate me? This is your chance to rip the ever loving shit out of me without so much as a comment… this will be your forum next week to tell everyone reading what a stupid piece of shit I am… and I will thank you for it and ask for more.
And for those of you who do NOT want to admit to reading me… I have you covered with this:
Dear asshole, I haven’t read your bullshit for years, but after this whole Tammy thing went down, I had to see how you would try to worm out of this like the scumbag loser that you are. Since you asked, I thought I’d point out just what a fucking moron you really are… there… clip that on the top of your letter and fire away.
I want to take my medicine… you know in medieval times they had that “rack” device in the middle of the town square where rule breakers would be locked in head and hands first and townspeople would get to razz them and throw shit at them? Well, this is the next best thing.
Next week for the first time EVER, I will be YOUR bitch.
You’ll never get this opportunity again. Make the most of it.
Oh fuck me… I blew it, kids.
This is Hyatte