A few prerequisites before you read this week’s column:
1. As always, Best and Worst assumes you’ve seen the show and is full of spoilers, so read the Best and Worst of WWE Money in the Bank 2011 to get prepped.
2. Know that your shares, likes, +1s and whatever else are extremely appreciated. Also, be sure to drop a comment if you read, because your voice is important to the success of the feature and because I need near-constant positive reinforcement. I don’t care if you just post “john cena gay” as long as you’re leaving a comment.
3. To view the complete column, you must hop on Twitter and tell NXT winner Kaitlyn to call me on the telephone. Once you’ve sent the message, your computer will register you with With Leather and you’ll be able to read pages 5-10, or whatever.
Best: Professor Plum in the Billiard Room with the Genetic Jackhammer
Vince McMahon has been a secret fashion icon since his earliest days on television. Who could forget his bright red bowtie, his over-sized Raw is War dress shirt flak jacket or his leisure suit overalls from the “Stand Back” performance? The sleeveless black shirt he wears in all the video games is iconic. So is the doo-rag and suit ensemble he rocked as the first truly black ECW Heavyweight Champion.
So it pleases me to note that the older and wider Vince gets, the more he starts to look like someone’s ironic sofa. It takes a real man to pull off sorbet, and while I’m not sure even Vince pulled it off, it does add legitimacy to the size-of-fruit comparisons he bestows upon his own balls. If I showed up on TV wearing a Purplesaurus Rex suit I wouldn’t look like a millionaire pimp, I’d look like Lloyd Christmas. The man looked like he should be abandoned in a 1990s fridge in favor of Sunny D. Who’s his tailor, Urban Decay?
Worst: The New Stooges
At the risk of telling you too many uninteresting things about myself, lately I’ve gotten really into comedy from the first half of the 20th century. If you listened to my appearance on the House of Punte podcast you know I’m a sucker for a good Our Gang folly (as long as they involve Stymie), and if you’ve ever doubted my heterosexuality (and trust me, that’s an easy thing to do), allow me to verify it with five words: I love The Three Stooges.
I want to pretend like I’m an elitist who only enjoys Chaplin and Keaton, but no, I think it’s funny when Curly accidentally stabshreds Larry in the ass with a power drill. Without getting too deeply into what makes what funny, here’s Exhibit A, a Stooge chart.
Curly – Always funny
Shemp – Funny
Moe – Funny until Joe showed up
Larry – Funny until Joe showed up
Joe – not funny
Curly Joe – god damned awful
Using these adjectives as scientific fact, we see a decline in Stooge quality as time moves on and Curly has strokes and somebody at the motion picture studio decides being fat and bald makes you enough like Curly to be a Three Stooge. In wrestling terms, a “stooge” has come to define the hapless Yes Men who follow Vince McMahon around and do his bidding. The classic Stooges were Pat Patterson and Gerald Brisco, and I don’t think I’m making any rash judgments by saying they were probably the worst thing that ever happened in wrestling. Yes, the Hardcore Evening Gown match was worse than Jimmy Snuka murdering a whore, why would you even ask me that?
Assuming that means wrestling’s stooge chart STARTS at Curly Joe, there is not much hope for John Laurenaitis, who at his best is the love child of Shawn Michaels and Steve Zahn and at his worst is a skateboarding idiot. Exhibit B:
And it it turns out Johnny Ace is wrestling’s Emil Sitka, who does that make Shane Douglas?
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