Hey there, friends!
– As I’m sure you’re all aware by now, Brandon took the week off in order to celebrate his girlfriend Destiny’s birthday. I know some of you might not think it’s a valid reason to skip out on writing jokes about pro wrestling, but it’s something I totally understand. I know when I celebrate the birth of a DT, writing is almost a logistical impossibility. Y’know, on account of the violent, involuntary shaking and the formication paranoia. Keep a vigilant eye out for those silverfish, Brandon!
– Anyway, my name is Justin O’Connor. I’m not Brandon, but I’m a lot like him. Well, in the same way Mega Bloks are a lot like LEGO. I might not be what you wanted, but I’m “close enough,” and since your parents are inattentive monsters you’ll have to just suck it up and find some use for those awful brown and green pieces. Like, say, attempting to swallow them until you get the toys you asked for in the first place. Or until the school places you under precautionary care and you’re not allowed to open a carton of chocolate milk without adult supervision.
– What I’m getting at is if you guys squint really hard and skim through the pop culture references fast enough, you might be able to delude yourselves into not being able to tell the difference. If that doesn’t work, you’re probably best off treating this week’s column like a regular Brandon column; except you just found out he’s underwent severe head trauma and now everyone’s just being polite by telling him how great he’s doing “in spite of his condition,” between giving one another “holy sh*t” eyes. Trust me, it’ll be easier for everyone involved.
– I don’t have any personal stuff to plug, so you’re off the hook this week. Not really though. Leave a comment.
Now that the formalities are out of the way, let’s tell some jokes about pro graps!
Best: Oh Come On. Daniel Bryan Is The World Champion
I’ve got to hand it to WWE. When Brandon asked me to fill in for him a few weeks ago I accepted because I expected two hours of easy jokes about Kelly Kelly wondering how to pour the vodka out of her Slammy award, getting frustrated and throwing it into a pile with all the other expensive stuff she’s been given and doesn’t appreciate. Though, in her defense, the manner by which one procures alcohol from any given object is important. I mean, we can’t expect sinks to just pee into themselves, can we?
At no point during the interim did I expect to be tasked with recapping a show where the opening segment would feature WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION DANIEL BRYAN. Granted, I wasn’t especially concerned until last night’s Pay-Per-View. Not only was the show good of its own merit, but I also had this whole aside correlating Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez to Bertie Wooster and Reginald Jeeves of P.G. Wodehouse fame. Of course, I had to scrap it when that glorious, subservient bastard launched himself through a table made of the wood used to construct those toy planes you get as a prize from the dentist for not being an indignant little shit. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that doing things like “brushing your teeth” and “making an effort to prepare for a writing assignment” simply aren’t worth the hassle.
So not only was I deprived of the chance to pathetically champion my own hyper-literacy (and chew solid food when I’m 30,) but I wasn’t even afforded the consolation of laughing about how Raw began with an awkward John Cena promo. Instead of flailing at random keys to describe how Cena fumbled through an uncomfortable transition from a cringe-worthy Lyte Funky Ones (or whomever) reference into why he’s SO SERIOUS ABOUT HIS UPCOMING MATCH AT THE NEXT PAY-PER-VIEW, WHICH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN HIS MATCH AT THE LAST PAY-PER-VIEW BECAUSE HE ALREADY GOT YOUR MONEY FOR THAT ONE, SO F**K IT (UNTIL IT’S RELEASED ON DVD EXCLUSIVELY THROUGH WAL-MART,) I get to talk about how legitimately incredible it was to begin Raw with CM Punk, Zack Ryder and HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS, WORLD CHAMPION BRYAN DANIELSON!!1
Say what you will about how stagnant Punk’s character has become since Money in the Bank (ex: “Punk’s character sure has become stagnant since Money in the Bank,”) but last night’s promo did more to solidify both Ryder and Bryan as championship-caliber competitors in literal seconds than the past few months of television, ostensibly scripted by people who get paid in legal tender, to solidify people like Ryder and Bryan as championship-caliber contenders. The whole thing was so gratifying, I’m not even going to bother getting mad about how borderline-embarrassing it is to feel validated by actually hearing the words “professional” and “wrestling” spoken in tandem by a professional wrestler during the professional wrestling television show.
Granted, the pessimist in me is most certainly waiting for the other shoe to drop, on account of the past ten years of WWE, but right now I’m content to allow the phrase “Daniel Bryan: World Heavyweight Champion” to roll around in my brain like that final moment of perfect, drunken lucidity before “one more shot” turns into a “3 AM hospital visit” and an “involuntary psychological evaluation.”