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The W - Guest Columns - Obtuse Recap: Promo Tank Job DEATH Part II
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Wolfram J. Paulovich
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Since: 11.11.02
From: Fat City, Baby

Since last post: 4385 days
Last activity: 3756 days
#1 Posted on | Instant Rating: 7.58

THE OBTUSE RECAP
RAW: Promo Tank Job DEATH Part II
February 10, 2004
by Jeb Tennyson Lund
OnlineOnslaught.com/CitizenScholar.net

(In fairness, Triple H did an admirable job of mentioning that Benoit would want to hear the fans chant his name, "Ben-oit... Ben-oit... Ben-oit." It didn't work. There were subdued Benoit chants, by no means dominating or numerous. Trust me on this: I like Benoit, and even I have to break down and say Triple H's efforts didn't work. I think the previous six minutes of monotonous, familiar and uninspiring grunting did something to exterminate enthusiasm, however.)

Anyway, for some reason that I can't understand because I'm sleeping at the time, Shawn Michaels comes out to talk to Benoit. I don't know if he has scared off Triple H, or if Triple H had walked off and no one had noticed he'd stopped talking until the "Whaa-ah! Whaa-ah! Whaa-ah!" of Shawn Michaels' music began. Anyway, Michaels is there.

He says a lot of stuff about how he respects Benoit and how — despite the fact that he's not the number-one contender and has lost to Triple H about three times in a row — he will be the one to face Triple H at WrestleMania. I guess it makes sense to someone. And I'm also guessing that that someone is someone who didn't see their last "Let's Bleed In Different Parts of the Ring" match. Anyway, Benoit tells Michaels that he and the audience greatly respect him, but it will be Benoit in the title match at WrestleMania. Following this, Michaels superkicks Benoit. He then signs his name to the WrestleMania main-event contract and leaves the ring, leaving a confused audience, a prostrate Benoit and no clear chants for anyone behind.

Sometimes you have to admire the way two men can really fire down an audience while another man stands there looking like he's getting brutally assfucked without even the courtesy of a reach-around.


When people turn twenty, does someone pass them a "Now You're An Elvis Costello Fan" badge and insist that they tell everyone else about it?


Oh! After fourteen minutes of promos, we have:


Commercials.


MOMENTS AGO:
Something you slept through and ghhhnnzzzzzzzzzzzz.

JR and Lawler discuss the show so far. They are interrupted by Kane's pyro. Kane goes to the ring and tries not to notice that he's been buried again. Ahhh, foreshadowing!


Kane v. Hurricane for Some Reason
Hurricane comes out. Don't kid yourself: it's over before I could really even hit transcription stride.

Kane goes to do his pyro thing and... nothing happens. A pretty big "TAKER" chant rings out. It's not the best chant of the evening: that honor still goes to Austin, but it's big, especially in comparison to everything Triple H, Michaels and Benoit said. Kane tries the pyro-wing-flap again. No good. He walks around, I guess drumming up static electricity. The third time's a charm, and the pyro kicks off a video on the Titantron.

Another medley of Undertaker images, accompanied by the text, "In 34 days, the dead will rise again...." Following that, there is the faintest glimpse of the Undertaker on the screen. The ring is bathed in blue and purple light. A bell tolls.

Kane looks like Brittany Murphy finding a cockroach on Ashton Kutcher's neck, and we're all better for that.


Commercials.


BACKSTAGE:
Benoit stalks angrily amongst the rods and load lifters. He speaks Bocci, too. Bischoff runs behind him, shouting, trying to get him to stop. Benoit says, "Back off!" (Ooooh! He's like a grumpy poster tacked on a cubicle wall!) He wants to know what the hell all of that was about; he wants to know how Michaels can sign his name to the contract and get a match and the world and laughter and the love of Jesus and nice mini-Snickers bars and, O, everything! And what's going on? Bischoff is apologetic, not knowing what happened, and says that he needs the attorneys to sort out all the legal issues about Shawn Michaels having his name on the contract. For now, he gives the gift of Benoit v. Michaels for next week's Raw. If I were Benoit, I'd grin from ear to ear and sing traditional Canadian songs of joy, like "Ironic."

Now, I don't pretend to be terribly legally savvy, but I've signed enough significant documents in my time — loyalty oaths, confessions for the D.A., general stuff — to know that signing your own name at the bottom of a contract doesn't actually obscure or obliterate someone else's name... a name that will probably be listed about two-to-twenty times on each page of said contract. Also, there is the initialing of each page. So much initialing. Initials dance on the page like Pixies cavorting on the bar after whiskey #14. The initialing, it is abundant. Initialing everywhere, beating you down. There is no end to initialing. So Benoit's in the clear, right? He did not now or ever engage in initialing. He's golden, yes? Of course not. Because why would the WWE incorporate a real-life plot element without fucking it up to the point of exasperation and insensibility?


MEANWHILE:
The Terri Runnel's robot asks Randy Orton if he has any thoughts about his upcoming IC Triple Threat Match or Mick Foley. Orton cuts a promo.

Orton: Thoughts? What are those? I like women double, triple. I have imaginationary. A titled match title this close before the WrestleMania? I told Vegas that I could blow 37 spots before 'Manium, but no more. You give me an extra match... I don't know what match even MEANS. That pushes it to 51 maybe, or 12. Take off your top. And what if I lose my title? Champagne room? I don't think so, Beverly. So when you tell me that Mick Foley may be out there, let me tell YOU, I wight mell started what finish beginned underage prostitute room 514. PANTS. And that's all YOU know, Terri.
Terri: Uh...?
Orton: Lick my nipples.


MEANWHILE:
Coach wants to know if Goldberg is going to Disneyland because of his recent suspension. Goldberg says he doesn't give a damn what anyone says. "Cause I've still got my ticket. I'm still going to No Way Out. And Brock Lesnar is still NEXT."


Commercials.


Japan footage. Jericho sings The Beatles' "Help" with a Japanese guy. Oh, Jesus, I realize now how weird that sounds. It's real. I swear. The Triple H and Orton stuff: bullshit. Made up. Everything else is okay. Jericho was having a good time with this guy in a hotel corridor. The guy kept saying, "Herrlp," and Jericho followed with, "I need somebody...." It went on charmingly, all through the first verse. I mean this.

Foley comes out to the ring and cuts a promo about how people often condemn others for what they fear most about themselves. In the case of Randy Orton, he suggests that Randy called him a coward because Randy knows that he himself is one. He shows a picture of Marine Private First Class Randy Orton on the Titantron. He also exposes that said Private First Class went AWOL for 82 days and was given a Bad Conduct Discharge. (This is true: don't let my disgust with Orton obscure this. If you doubt it, feel free to visit his website: RandyOrton.net. He talks about it in his most recent commentary.) Foley says that he was cowardly about his own career and wrestling, but that Randy was a coward when in service to his own country.

It's an intense promo, but not among Foley's best. Nonetheless, Orton appears on the Titantron, furious. Taunts are exchanged, as well as a challenge for a WrestleMania match. Orton then says that he's "back in catering" in the arena and challenges Foley right now. Foley says, "YOU WANT ME BACK IN CATERING?" and runs off — thus producing a healthy spike on the Unintentional Comedy Scale. Why he didn't say, "You want me back in catering? You need me back in catering!" I'll never know.

Foley goes backstage, asking each person along the way where Orton is. I guess he doesn't want to pull a Spinal Tap/Jericho & Ralphus move. He finds Randy against a wall at the back of "catering." He charges in, then looks behind him to see Batista and Flair gather around him. Fight-or-Flight kicks in and he charges Orton anyway. Evolution holds and punches him. Batista puts him through a table laden with Cheez-Its and sundry snackables. Foley is coughing up his lungs like Doc Holladay at the end of Wyatt Earp's Ride of Immortals in Tombstone. (For the record, Earp not only treated Holladay like shit, but forgot him as soon as he blew town: and that's the only thing that bugs me about that movie, apart from the fact that Kurt Russell couldn't carry a dozen eggs without fucking up, much less Val Kilmer's jock, acting-wise.) Orton then smacks Foley's head a lot and says, "You asked for it, you sonofabitch." Orton walks offscreen, then comes back to kick Foley in the head one last time. He then walks off.


Commercials.


We get a full, total and very familiar replay of what happened between Foley and Evolution backstage.


Randy Orton v. Rob Van Dam v. Booker T in a Triple Threat Match for the Intercontinental Title
Booker T and RVD come out to face the ad break.


Why am I listening to "Rebel Yell" on repeat, in desperation, driving myself to finish this madness? Why not The Requiem?


Commercials.


We're back! Let's take speed! I can chew more of my own teeth out of my head than you can! I know how you breathe when you sleep!

Orton begins his three-minute entrance.

Orton taunts with the belt. Booker goes for Orton, and Orton bails. Brawl outside. Booker knocks him down with a clothesline, manhandles him then throws him into the ring to RVD. RVD goes for a spinning legdrop and the cover. It gets one. Orton goes outside as Booker gets in the ring and grabs RVD. RVD spin-kicks him. Goes for the pin. They both have some exchanges of punches and kicks. Kind of regular. No fine exchanges, really. Orton is still outside.

Booker kicks RVD and goes for the pin. RVD's out after one. Booker picks up RVD, kicks him, then goes for the scissor-kick finisher. (To be honest, I refuse to learn it's name, because I'm lazy, and that kind of move is not a finisher.) Orton pulls Booker out by the leg. Booker drops Orton, for his meddling, on his neck on the guard rail. Booker's back in. RVD kicks him in the back, then drags him upright in the corner. More punches — which are RVD punches, so let's call them "Closed-Fist Hellos!"

RVD whips Booker to the opposite turnbuckle. Kicks to head. More punches. Shoulders to the gut. Then the jump up to the chest and slingshot flip. "Monkey-flip." Who cares? Cover on Booker — no good. He drags Booker up and suplexes him in the middle of the ring, with a nice mid-air roll for the cover. No good. He picks up Booker again. Booker knees RVD in the gut and takes control. He puts RVD in the corner. Chops. An Irish whip is reversed, but Booker pinions off the turnbuckle with a jump and turns to hit RVD. RVD's ready for it and kicks Booker's head. Booker's down, and RVD bounces off the ropes, into a cartwheel and then a standing moonsault. I guess that's the Cheerleader Thunder. Whatever. Orton slips back in the ring, punks RVD, and DDT's a suddenly standing Booker.

Orton's pinfall attempt gets a two because RVD breaks it up. RVD goes for Orton. Heel kick, then a spinning leg drop. RVD's cover of Orton gets two. Orton gets up, and delivers a "smell-my-pits" uppercut to RVD's face. (Honestly, what do you call that sorry ass SKY PUNCH? "Hi, you wrestle me. SMELL MY PITS!")

RVD eats two more smell-my-pits uppercuts in the corner. Orton stomps RVD. Pin attempt gets squat. Knees to the back of RVD's neck followed by punches to his chest. RVD's down on his back. Orton leg drops RVD's neck. SO MUCH OFFENSE! Another pin attempt gets one. Orton pulls RVD up and whips him to the ropes, but RVD grabs Orton's heel and does the step-over heel kick. Another whip reversal sequence results in RVD holding up Orton as if for spinebuster — but Booker comes out of "dead somewhere outside the ring" to land a heel kick on the upheld Orton. This confirms my notion that Orton is carried to anything resembling entertainment. Anyway....

Now Booker and RVD square off again. Punches at the ropes, Booker gets whipped to the corner. RVD hits a snapmare thingy, then a springing splash off second rope onto the prone Booker. Punches to Booker's head. Booker gets dragged up for a superkick of sorts. He's down... then Rolling Thunder. Pinfall gets — nothing: Orton pulls RVD to the outside. By the apron he gives RVD a wicked dropkick. It looked good. Damn good. And, yes, I'm gnawing on my own tongue.

Orton slides in the ring to pin Booker. Two pinfall attempts get a two-count each. Orton chokes Booker with his forearm. He then pulls Booker up, chokes him on the ropes, kicks him in the back. Booker whipped to the corner. More smell-my-pits uppercuts. Booker fights back with punches. Whips Orton to the ropes. Orton kicks him in the gut and does a reverse neckbreaker. Pin attempt gets one. Orton wants Booker to get up and does the come-hither taunting thing. Booker's up. Orton for the RKO—NO! Booker pushes him to the turnbuckle, then gets him on the rebound and holds him up horizontally. RVD leaps off the top rope to splash him. (Again, my "Orton is carried" comment.) Everyone's down. The ref starts the count.

RVD is the first to move, and he tries to pin Orton, but only gets 2 3/4. He moves over to Booker and grabs for for the pin. Booker kicks out after two. RVD decides to kick Booker's back to keep him down. Then he gets Orton in the corner and does his monkey-flip move — landing his feet on Orton's chest, about to slingshot Orton back in the ring. But Orton seizes him and shoves him over the ropes to the ground. (It looked like he heaved him on the steps, but I won't damn Orton at all unless I hear RVD's clipped steel.)

Booker hits a kick to the gut and a scissors kick on Orton. Both go down. Booker goes for a pin attempt, but RVD comes out of nowhere — flying like some sick alien leotard-creature — to break it up. Why, Jesus? What is the purpose? Why is RVD Lazarus? Why not Stone Cold? Where are the second-life priorities? RVD goes to the top rope. FIVE-STAR FROG SPLASH ON BOOKER!

But the only move RVD can sell is his own! He's in horrible pain! Booker's been destroyed by a finisher! Can RVD capitalize? No! HE'S BEEN CURSED BY HIS OWN HUBRIS! THE ONLY PERSON WHO SELLS WORSE THAN HE HAS FOUND HIS WEAKNESS! ORTON HAS DISCOVERED THE SECRET!

That's right! Wait for RVD to almost win the match, then exploit his broken-by-his-own-finisher body and roll him away! That's exactly what Orton does. As soon as RVD flops to the side, rolling away from Booker in Five-Star agony, Orton shoves him out of the ring and off the apron! He rolls over on Booker, grabs the leg, goes for the pin. 1, 2, 3! It's over! ORTON RETAINS!

But hold the phone, Dora! More Folksy sayings!

Flair and Batista come to the ring. It's an orgy of evil. The dastardly element is well-fed and jubilant, nourished by suffering! But wait! What? Just as Evolution is celebrating, Foley comes down the ramp!

He can't walk upright. He's crippled, but Orton looks scared to death. Foley looks like he wants to eat people. But then Orton seems fine, because he sells like RVD! He slips outside the ring, runs up and RKOs Foley on the protective matting! Flair and Batista kick and powerbomb RVD and Booker T. Your landlord is at ringside wearing something of yours that you consider personal! Someone kicks your mom right in the groin! It's THAT kind of show!

But, hey, it's still pretty good.


Now, you may be out of gin (and I'm not), but let's all mix a martini and dance half-lidded around the room and politely warble or happily belt out "Witchcraft" to ourselves or our friends, feel warmer and better for this terrible experience. Even if there aren't caring hands to catch us, surely there are beds, carpets, couches, or even abundant shrubs in the backyard.

If you all will excuse me, I'm going to smear myself with sunblock, lie down in the grass in my backyard — take advantage of the last month of the year in which Florida doesn't suffer mosquitoes and fire ants — and fall blissfully, stupidly and most of all wonderfully asleep.


Jeb Tennyson Lund is going to die.


(edited by Jeb Tennyson Lund on 10.2.04 1643)

The Obtuse Angle Archive.

"Och, ye speak like a poet. But ye punch like one, too!"
Promote this thread!
The King of Keith
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Since: 4.11.02
From: Winchester, VA

Since last post: 1379 days
Last activity: 1379 days
#2 Posted on | Instant Rating: 5.57
Why do all columnists on the net need to constantly remind us of how much they know about music and their opinions on it? No offense meant towards you, JTL, but this is always something that has bugged me.



Please God...

...let it happen again
Wolfram J. Paulovich
Frankfurter








Since: 11.11.02
From: Fat City, Baby

Since last post: 4385 days
Last activity: 3756 days
#3 Posted on | Instant Rating: 7.62
Dunno about other columnists, but for my case, it was a two-part thing:
# 1. The commercials-to-matches transitions were getting really awful and boring. I just felt like mentioning the things that were non-wrestling and rattling around up there. I was trying to shoot for "accessible" or "silly" or "obscure enough to spark interest." But all the references came straight from:

# 2. only having about thirty songs in my playlist — none of them alike — and they repeated and repeated and repeated, since the recap took me so long. Every time I got done with a section, the same song (or the same OTHER song) would be on.

Anyway, even though I think I know a good deal about music, what I actually know about music could be put in a can, the can put in a bag, the bag thrown in a river and the river hurled into the sun.



The Obtuse Angle Archive.

"Och, ye speak like a poet. But ye punch like one, too!"
The King of Keith
Lap cheong








Since: 4.11.02
From: Winchester, VA

Since last post: 1379 days
Last activity: 1379 days
#4 Posted on | Instant Rating: 5.57
Well, like I said, it's not a big deal. It's just one of those things I notice.



Please God...

...let it happen again
Wolfram J. Paulovich
Frankfurter








Since: 11.11.02
From: Fat City, Baby

Since last post: 4385 days
Last activity: 3756 days
#5 Posted on | Instant Rating: 7.62
You know, after you mentioned it, the citations really annoyed me. I skimmed through and saw that they were really overdone. Pointlessly so. So I cut out over half, but left the ones that were fitting or fun at the time. I'm sure someone will think that the ones left are themselves overdone, but at least that person's been spared the excess pain.

Thanks for making the comment/critique.



The Obtuse Angle Archive.

"Och, ye speak like a poet. But ye punch like one, too!"
asteroidboy
Andouille








Since: 22.1.02
From: Texas

Since last post: 2859 days
Last activity: 63 days
#6 Posted on | Instant Rating: 4.95
    Originally posted by Jeb Tennyson Lund
    Now, you may be out of gin (and I'm not), but let's all mix a martini and dance half-lidded around the room and politely warble or happily belt out "Witchcraft" to ourselves or our friends, feel warmer and better for this terrible experience. Even if there aren't caring hands to catch us, surely there are beds, carpets, couches, or even abundant shrubs in the backyard.


Done and done. If only I'd read these instructions LAST night...

Those fingers in my hair...

But it's been my experience that most karaoke audiences don't give a shit about a good Sinatra, so I have no reason to believe that shrubbery would be any different.



-- Asteroid Boy


Wiener of the day: 23.7.02

"My brother saw the Undertaker walking through an airport." - Rex
"Was he no-selling?" - Me


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