The whole DVDVR 146 magilla is at deathvalleydriver.com. Raven Mack smokes everyone like a cheap cigar yet again.
------------- KISHIN KAWABATA/ TSYOSHI KIKUCHI/ K*E*N*T*A vs AKISOSHI SAITO/ HARUKA EIGAN/ YOSHINARI OGAWA- 12/24/2004- NOAH: (by DEAN RASMUSSEN) I'm all about the internet download of matches at work as I get re-aclimated to the ACTUAL professional wrestling. I will not divulge my source. I am so Kishin Kawabata's internet fanboy bitch for no apparent reason. Kikuchi is everyone's nightmare dad and he has Ikeda's giant sword and spews semen-like onto it. Kawabata is throwing things at the audience- condoms, fun-size Milky Ways, Necco Wafers, little bite size chunks of his ancient knee cartilage? KENTA is without props but a thousand Tokyo thongs moisten in yearning. Ogawa comes out like Ricky Morton would come out in 1987. You'd drink a fifth of Bowman's vodka with either man. I was going to note that Akisoshi Saito is dressed as Chigusa Nagayto as ZERO, but then he takes his hooded robe off and is dressed like PATTI PEP! He dances to "Mickey" by Toni Basil and shakes his altered codpiece at Eigen- who doesn't want any part of that since that unfortunate drunken encouter with flamboyant Eric Embry in 79- and then shakes it to Kikuchi. Kikuchi is fucking hardcore so I could see him mounting Saito bareback and ungreased just to teach him a lesson about wearing a bare midrift. I myself just want to love on his fuzzy cashmere wristbands and leg warmers. Put a wig on KENTA and half the guys in the audience and all the Puro Dorks on the internet would have a go at it with a clear conscience. Who is to say I am above the Puro Dork designation? WHO? WHO IS TO SAY???!!! KENTA and Eigan have a precursor to the "I Hate You, You Old Fart/ Back In My Day!" fued until Eigan tags Ogawa, allowing Ogawa to do some pointless submission stuff with KENTA to get Kikuchi into the ring. Saito tags in and is wrestling in his skirt and wig. He ties Kikuchi up in the ropes and tweaks Kikuchi's penis in a strangely playfully homoerotic display- strangely playful in that Kikuchi will open you and himself up hardway with a I Could Really Give A Fuck About You Or This Whole Fucking Godforsaken World Headbutt. Kikuchi en lieu feels up Saito's (possibly) fake titties and tags in Kishin Kawabata. Kishin goes hard with the knife edge chops but then can't help himself when presented with Saito's magnificent, succulent milkwagons and has bit of a grab. Kishin drags him into the corner and KENTA tags in. Even through the pixilation of internet downloaded wrestling, you can tell that Saito's ladyberries are erect as duel engorged love silos. KENTA has trouble with the bitches and gives Saito quite a stomping after Saito squats over KENTA's face and touches it with his bizarre unseen mancooch numerous times- like something out a German zaftig fetish movie. Kikuchi tags in and remembers that he hates blondes and starts kicking the shit out of Saito until Saito daintily pokes him in the eyes and tags in the comically slappy old man offense of Eigan. Eigan forces Kikuchi to sell so really weak shit before tagging out to Ogawa who slaps on a pointless Sleeper until Kikuchi can tag in Kawabata. I figured out why I love Kawabata- his offense is soooooo the US Indie Big Boss Man knockoff (your Boss Man Shane Nash. your Real Deal Justice Austin). Why that would be so alluring, I have no idea. It's probably because I love and YOU love to say Kishin Kawabata. Why do you fight it, motherfucker? Eigan gets the spittakes in. Saito gets in with Kawabata and flaunts the NFL rules by smacking Saito in the jimmy 15 times. $75,000 in fines would send one of Saito's whorehouses into bankruptcy! He'd have wrestle for the Raiders! Ogawa and KENTA finally kick in the non-comedy section as Ogawa takes kick straight to the face. And then it goes back to comedy with Eigan tagging in with the Giant Swing. KENTA is dizzy. He walks into Saito and Saito's tender kisses of love. KENTA reels from this new feeling, grabbing at the referee to SAVE HIM! TAKE HIM BACK TO HIS OLD WORLD! WHERE 19 YEAR OLD GIRLS WOULD LOVE HIM BEFORE EVERY MATCH! Now it's gone..... it's all gone.... now it's just.... a fat guy.... in a wig. KENTA does kick the fuck out of Eigan before tagging out. Then they kinda wrestle for five more minutes before Saito pins Kawabata. You need to watcha coupla six-man comedy matches every now and then to see how cool it when Mimota or Masa Fuchi has to leave the comedy matches to defend the promotion in hard matches. Actually, life can be pretty short....
TWO VIEWS OF: NECRO BUTCHER VS. "MR. INSANITY" TOBY KLEIN: IWA-MS 2004, as far as I can tell given that I don't follow the promotion. This was a weapons match on its face, but really was more like The Passion Of the Necro. Many weapons -- your VCR, your rolling pin, your baseball bat with embedded thumbtacks and glass. Much blood -- you could marinate a steak on the juice on either guy's forehead. There was real wrestling in this match -- or at least good fake wrestling, with Necro taking it to the air. Since this is a capsule review, let me close by saying that this likely should be the main event at Raven's funeral if Raven should die before these guys retire from this business. Better still, these two should wrestle on "That's So Raven" itself, if only for the show's inevitable epilogue, where Necro and Klein put her through a table, and she insensately moans over the closing theme music 'I've tasted ____ before, but never his blood'. [ag]
First six minutes are basic North American Indie Garbage wrestling until they start punching each other to set up the well-sold powerbombing of NecroButcher off the bleachers. Necro sells masterfully as the Passion comparison is complete (the beard, the ripping of flesh, the agonized babyface overselling facials. All you need are promos in ancient Aramaic or maybe Mel Gibson offscreen actually hitting NecroButcher in the stomach with the wiffle bat with the water jug taped to it with the thumbtacks glued to it..) Mr Insanity puts the barbed wire to him but the psychology of the pain inflicted stems from the powerbomb- as the shitty weapons assume the role of body vice or kneebar to compliment the giant move to put Mr Insanity on offense. Beautiful section of hardway headbutts to get to a great fucking comeback at 11 minutes with Necro selling an assbeating, getting his comeback cut-off by being sent over the top to the floor and getting in one great looking and effective-looking punch to the stomach to set up the rana over the toprope to the floor. Beautiful sequence that makes more sense psychologically than some whole death match tournaments have made. One must not fail to mention Necro selling in a James Caviezelian manner for the double chops and headbutts as much as the thumbtack rolling pin and salt spray. I like how Necro sets the pace of the selling- as you can tell that Klein wants to move to the next spot a little too fast and Necro lags in the timing of his selling to get the point of the pain across. Pretty masterful for such a scummy, stomach-churning match- which has always been the intrinsic beauty of a good NecroButcher match. The big boot to the posting to the rolling senton was pretty beautiful and reminiscent of a gas-huffing Ciclon Ramirez on a suicide jag- so inelegant and nasty. At the midway point, both are sprawled out and blading, at a stalemate. Klein's Strongstyle dragging of Necro into the ring is highlighted by the vicious forearms and headbutts that Necro sells in a dulled Deathmatch Funk-esque way. The comeback via ASIAN SPIKE is so fucking beautiful. Plus the way he sells the lightbulb shots while not relinquishing the hold is pretty magnificent. Being that I've seen way too many hardcore deathmatches in my day, I'm so glad that when Klein opens the folding chair, he doesn't sit Necro in the chair, he Death Valley Bombs Necro into it and the chair doesn't collapse so it looks supergnarley and makes it such a great hard edged finish. This is fucking great death match. Not as good as Honma/Yamakawa, but fucking great. And it's great because NecroButcher understands the mechanics of professional wrestling. Schneider sold me on the match by saying that it was Murdock vs Race what Honma/Yamakawa was to Misawa/Kawada. I wouldn't go that far, but it does have the same feel that if you took all the duct taped gimmicks out of the ring and made it just an old Texas Deathmatch, that it would not be just as good, but probably twice as good.[dr]
THE ENDLESS REVIEW OF THE 2001 EAGLE PRO CRUISERWEIGHT TOURNAMENT SUPER JUDIST/CRUSHER TAKAHASHI (CROWN) vs. HIROSHI SHIMADA/TAKAO IWASAKI (EAGLE) (by DEAN RASMUSSEN) The sun streams through the filthy bedroom/living room window, waking Super Judist up. The Miller bottle crashes to the carpet, spewing the warm leftover beer, stained black by the cigarettes doused in the bottom. Super Judist reaches around for the remote control, finding it between cushions of the couch behind his left kidney. He breathes deeply and turns on the Weather Channel and quickly jacks off to the blond with the brown skirt. He breaths deep a very unsatisfied breath of a man who no longer feels anything orgasm and then remembers that he hates himself to his very core. He gets up and washes his hand. He falls back onto his sofa and fumbles around for the phone. He notices that it's 11:23 and thus it was late enough to call Crusher Takahashi- a fellow overweight, listless, unemployed, self-loathing loser and also Super Judist's only drinking buddy. "Crusher. You're awake."
"Now I am. Jesus CHRIST. I'll call you back." Crusher hangs up the phone and turns to the Weather Channel and quickly masturbates. He washes his hand and calls Super Judist back. "Hey. Had to take care of something. What's going on?"
"Absolutely nothing. Just trying to keep a fucking gun out of my mouth. HA!"
"We should go buy two shotguns and go listen Judas Priest records backwards."
"Yeah. A suicide pact would be sweet. Fuck that. I'd shoot myself in the head and you would blow your jaw off and survive. That's how those things work."
"Oh come on. How many times times can ANOTHER person in ANOTHER Satanic suicide pact blow off ANOTHER entire jaw and survive. Fuck, the odds- it's got to be astronomical."
"Yeah but still. If we used shotguns and Judas Priest records for a suicide pact, we'd look like 1980s revivalists or some bullshit like that. Why do YOu want to kickstart Geraldo's career? We would have try a different way. A far better way"
"We could hang each together. That would be all Satanic and mysterious. Two hulking figures rotting in a cheap apartment for weeks. We could dress as monks or something. Really fuck with the rubes."
"Fuck that. I know you. I'd hang myself successfully and you'd take all my clothes off and call the police and tell the media that I was jacking off to get that Micheal Hutchence King Of Blown Loads and I would go down for eternity as an even bigger pathetic loser than I am in life."
"Yeah, that would be pretty funny. I would run out and go buy every INXS record I could find and spread it out all over the crime scene. 'His last words were "Oh Micheal, THEY COULD NEVER TEAR US APART!" and I could make thousands on the talk show circuit. Think of the book deal. C'mon Super Judist, you know you wanna. DO IT! DO IT!"
"I could never consider killing myself knowing that it would help you in any way. It goes against the intrinsically pathetic nature of our shitty useless friendship."
"C'mon, I've fucked every girlfriend you've ever had. What kind of friend is that?"
"Well, pretty rock solid considering how long it's been since either of us has known the tender touch of a woman. God. How about nail bomb vests and we hug at an art opening?"
"What the FUCK? You really wanna go out with people thinking you were a POLITICAL CONCEPTUAL ARTIST? Fuck, if you were in front of me, I'd knee you in the balls."
"How about duel explosions at an Eagles game?"
"Then we'd just look like bitter Redskin fans. I'd rather be flayed to death and wrapped in lemon wedges than accidentally be considered a dead Redskin fan."
"Yeah, it's all gonna boil down to us looking like those two German freaks who ate eat other. There really is nothing more gay than a suicide pact. You might as well just die with my dick in your mouth. They'd check our phone records and notice that we were only people calling us THUS proving that we...."
"HEY! Hold on. Something just flew through my mailslot and it's about my dad's will."
"Ooo. It's about time..."
"Hey, I didn't get any money."
"Your shithead brother got all the money? That sucks man. I'm sorry..."
"Hold on. I did get dad's investments. Whaddyaknow, my dad had investments? La da da da 23% of a struggling drive-thru restaurant... la da la da... WHAT IN THE FUCK?!?!"
"What is it? WHAT IS IT?!?!"
"WHAT THE FUCK?!?! My dad left me a motherfucking FULLY RESTORED 1971 AMC JAVELIN!"
"What the fuck is that?"
"A fucking JAVELIN. It's the fucking coolest car on earth. A FUCKING AMC JAVELIN."
"What's it like a muscle car or something?"
"I CAN NOT BELIEVE THIS. THIS IS SO FUCKING AWESOME."
Um, HHH isn't Canadian.. My picks? Okay. 1: Owen Hart, I was a big fan of his basically from when I started watching wrestling regularily, around the whole Survivor Series debacle. I always cheered for him, even when he joined the Nation.