FAT WRESTLERS

COMMUNICATING ON THE HIGHEST FLOOR, WHICH IS THE 39TH LEVEL

As anybody who's over 21 but less than like 29 can tell you, there is a fine line between being fat and being ripped. I myself had my own bout with the fat/ripped conundrum two years ago, when I began my weight training at Crunch Gym. An Indian friend of mine, indisputably ripped, put me on a low cardio, high rep program that I took very seriously. I was doing about five minutes of cardio per session, and about 35 minutes of weight training plus like ten minutes of the ab machine that's supposed to work the "side abs", which frankly I don't even think exist. At the end of my sessions, for which I never stretched before or after, I confused actual damage to my body for "healthy tearing down of my muscles, which will soon rebuild bigger slash stronger," and began "rewarding" myself with 20-24oz peanut butter and banana recovery shakes. To these shakes, which I'm guessing were already in the 1000-1500 Calorie range, I added two extra shots of whey protein, largely because I could. Since I'm being completely upfront about my workout plan, I should also add that the blender container Crunch used to process drink ingredients was closer to 28oz in size--so it wasn't unusual for the cafe woman to let me sip up an additional 4-6oz of recovery shake before she put the legit 20-24 ounces into the plastic cup, the contents of which leaked from the top as soon as the straw was inserted, as it was filled to the absolute very top. I stayed on this program for about a month, and I saw results rather quickly. A friend of a girlfriend at the time noted, positively, that I was jacked. My chest filled out my expensive printed t-shirts, and in general I felt more "solid" in the "I have put on fifteen pounds of muscle in one month" sense of the word. Anyway long story short: I had gained fifteen pounds of pure fat in about a month. Somehow everybody thought it was muscle? I myself was confused, until I realized that the reason I was running out of breath when climbing stairs was not because my leg muscles were fatigued, but rather because I had put on fifteen pounds of pure fat and had put a hold on all cardiovascular exercises. Like I say, fine line.

Fat wrestlers--by which I mean performers whose shtick, more/less, had at least some connection to the fact that they were obese--were anomalous among the WWF athletes circa late 80s early 90s, but something of a haunt, if not an unusually dominating presence, considering their small number. A certain roundness of stomach is usually what separates a Fat Wrestler from a wrestler who is fat, is my sense of it. Earthquake, who got his start as a 460lb prop that Dino Bravo lifted on his back via push-ups, was a Fat Wrester; Bam Bam Bigelow was a unpredictable not-exactly-muscular wrestler who happened to be fat; Yokozuna, the sumo who was an amazing heel throughout the 90s, turning anyone who defeated him into a de facto face, was a Fat Wrestler; Big Boss Man, who was a cop and likely thought Munchkins were for queers, was a WWF superstar who just happened to have some size to him. Tugboat/Typhoon, a member of the Natural Disasters alongside Earthquake, was a Fat Wrestler; Kamala, Papa Shango, Haku, and countless others were merely not cut in the Shawn Michaels/Bret Hart/Ultimate Warrior/steroids-and-sixpacks style. Andre the Giant posed an interesting crisis for the fat-averse WWF storyliners, as his weight (540lb) was outdone only by his height (7'4"). Vader was as big as Earthquake, weight-wise, yet somehow the way his stomach fell in that red onesie, I just think he was able to hide the pounds a little better, and so I feel obliged to chalk up another point in the happened-to-be-fat category.

On and on and on. All of these men were, in a rather oblique way, nevertheless in good physical shape. They could perform, and they knew how to redistribute their weight such that it wasn't that big a deal for somebody like Hogan or Stone Cold or whoever to pick them up and slam them. Frankly I don't now how these Fat Wrestlers do it, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't impressed.

But what's confusing me, in a huge way, is what I see to be like this counterintuitive Round Stomach Bias at work in the casting process. Shouldn't fat people whose body types fit the local mall Santa Claus mold get the face here? Look at John Trenta, aka Earthquake, in his pre-Earthquake appearance:



Earthquake is a very gentle-seeming man. He has kind eyes, and at least initially, seems capable of (if not actually at home in) a down-at-the-farm demeanor. Pleasantly plump, they call it; the man likes his steak but I doubt he could take a knife to a cow's neck. Mean Gene and Warrior, two vets when it comes to "more than meets the eye," really have no reason to suspect that this is the man who will one day give the following interview, aka "Earthquake pretends he's Marvel Comics' Juggernaut with the added twist that either Earthquake or Juggernaut (in character) has to take a shit, which is why Earthquake/Juggernaut keeps shifting his weight so rapidly":



These days of course, you'll rarely see a WWE wrestler whose athleticism/performance abilities are hidden behind layers and layers of cutaneous and subcutaneous tissue. Fat Wrestler was shorthand for heel in a way that the storyliners, probably with good reasons, have forgotten or retired--but the Heelness of Fat Wrestlers played out so much in their physicality, in their actual movements, in the David and Goliath-ness of the setups, that to be honest I actually miss the Fat Wrestler = Heel shorthand. Physical strength does not always have a one-to-one relationship with the number of muscles on your neck!

Strangely, This Comforts Me

For years, I had a memory of a match between the Macho Man Randy Savage and Jake the Snake Roberts that ended with Savage getting tied up in the ropes and Roberts sicking his cobra on him. The memory always terrified me for a number of reasons

1) The idea of having a snake's mouth on me - regardless of whether or not it was venomous - made my eyes roll into the back of my head. I literally want to vomit just thinking about it now.
2) My memory was that the snake was on his arm for a shitload of time. That added revulsion to sheer immediate terror.
3) Even at the age of 12, I always understood Jake the Snake's cobras to be a thinly veiled extension of his penis.
(cf.
)

So in other words, this wasn't just your average feud match between an alcoholic and a steroid junkie (which, quite frankly, was pretty standard). This was some form of illicit, metaphoric, mid-ring coitus. And I didn't want to believe it.

12 Year Old Self: Oh really, WWF - you're trying to tell me that this man is gay?

12 Year Old Self: Nice try, but not happening. I watched his wedding.

So again, this memory really caused me some issues.

Here's the kicker, though - when I brought this moment up with a bunch of buddies (many of whom watched as much wrestling as I did) none of them remembered it. Apparently, it never happened. And that's when I got really scared, because now my brain was generating phobia-ridden, homoerotic wrestling narratives that were rivals to the phobia-ridden, homoerotic wrestling narratives that WWF generated, only that these were my phobias and I wasn't getting paid for them.

So I'm pretty happy that a recent YouTube culling of the Roberts/Savage feud unearthed this moment that supposedly never happened.





Admittedly, this is still pretty disturbing, especially when you get into the semiotics of it. Snake (Damien) as devil, snake as penis, snake as poison, penis as poison, Jake the Snake as latter day Christ Figure, Miss Elizabeth as feminine divine, Slim Jim as penis, etc, etc, etc. Bottom line, this clip is a hair's breadth away from being a conservative allegory for how gayness is spread.

And did I mention that it appears the snake is basically killed during the course of the rumble that follows?

Until three days later.

THE APOTHEOSIS OF ULTIMATE WARRIOR

RE ULTIMATE WARRIOR INTERVIEWS

"How must I prepare, you must ask yourself: Should I jump off the tallest building in the world, should I lay on the lawn and let him run over me with lawnmowers, should I go to Africa and let it trouble me with raging elephants..." --ULTIMATE WARRIOR

"I don't know what he just said, but I think it sounded cool." --CHRIS JERICHO

Pro wrestling has like this reverse-Monet feel to it, immediately intelligible in the moment but lapse time and the premise falls apart. A match is something of an anti-narrative: a string of unrelated gestures, whose ending largely has nothing to do with the beginning or middle. This is where the comparisons to theater don't hold up, as does the supposedly implicit moral coding too, as the heel/face binary doesn't exactly let justice prevail. There is no accumulation of substantial fact, no substantial storyline to follow: There are only the moves, stylized to serve the character of the wrestler who performs them, though the moves themselves are self-reflexive, communicating outside the wrestler next to nada. Which is to say, style is not opposite substance here, nor even separate from it. In the ring, style IS substance.

I bring all this up because this fact, style = substance, was something my eight-year-old self intuitively understood when I watched the Ultimate Warrior go on his outlandish maniacal tangents when McMahon put the mic to him. Yet in the video above you got all these sideshow types--McMahon, Jim Ross, Mean Gene Okerlund, et al.--taking shots at the Warrior for not making any cumulative sense, i.e. fundamentally misunderstanding that Ultimate Warrior was taking the basic premise of pro wrestling and applying it to his interviews.

Keeping in mind how absurdly scripted national television is anymore, how even reality shows are given complex story arcs after smart and heavy edits, I have trouble understanding (a) how these interviews happened at all, (b) why McMahon allowed this to happen with such frequency, (c) what sort of top-down input/stern warnings Ultimate Warrior may have received from the writers or management types, considering that he really clearly said whatever the fuck he wanted, whenever he wanted, for as long as he needed to. Did he really have this much control over his character--who, as far as meta-characters goes in the WWF, Ultimate Warrior is my favorite, and possibly the best example of a WWF wrestler playing the character of a WWF wrestler. The Ultimate Warrior's meaning (substance) were wholly secondary to his delivery (style)--to the extent that if he had actual things he wanted to say, he ran the risk of drawing attention to the words themselves and away from the Ultimate Warriorness of how he spoke.

I like to think McMahon just trusted his instinct with Warrior, or let this one go for its obvious comedic value--and yet it seems like all these people heavily involved with the federation were just aggravated by Warrior. To an extent they had a right to be. This character, sorta like Doink, was high parody of pro wrestling's basic premise, though if you ask me, all that means is Warrior contained his own parody, and so was some kind of unironizable, undefeatable, truly ultimate symbol of himself.

The Huck Finn-ing of Hacksaw Jim Duggan

Chapter the First

You don’t know about me without you having heard about my good friend, Hacksaw Jim Duggan. Jim and me, we was two peas in a pod growing up. I reckon we spent most our time together, just floating down the river and talking 'bout our favorite lengths of wood and such.

Even when he made it big in the WWF, what with his wrestling and his ‘HOOOO-ing’ and the like, there weren’t a time when a body couldn’t find him with me come summer. Sometimes at night we’d just spend hours chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!” over and over till Miss Watson or the Judge would holler over and tell us to quiet up or we’d wake the dead. By-and-by we’d stop a-carrying on, but never once did we wake no body at all. I didn’t mind, but Jim always said it was a right shame that the dead weren’t patriotic.

I reckon I always known that Jim would be a wrestler. We’d be fishing or eating or something such like, when all of a sudden he’d start flapping like a bird and puffing his cheeks out awful hard. That was his wrestling mood, and there warn’t nothing nobody could do once that rascality come upon him. Then he’d clothesline the Widow Douglas or three-point stance himself into a tree. Jim was always doing dangersome stuff, even when there weren’t no cause. Like when he’d stick his thumb under his armpit and then fixed to make himself a sandwich. If that weren’t hygienically unsound that I don’t know what was. Still, me and him were friends, like I said before.

Course I’ll never forget the day when Jim left for the WWF. We were waving flags in t’other faces – this being a Tuesday and all - when here comes this slack faced man ambling into town and asking who wants to join his “slobber-knocker” up North. Why Jim was so excited that he done nearly cried himself right then and there, seeing as he most always wanted to slobber-knock. So Slack Face signed him up for all the corn pone Jim could eat, which is none of my business but I reckon a bad idea, what with Jim eating pone like throwing it down a well. I was mighty sad to see Jim go, but I did my best and gave him a thumbs up as they loaded him into his cage. By and by Aunt Sally made me some lunch, and that was mostly the day.

And as for his name? Why townsfolk started calling him Hacksaw after his first wrestling match. Hit a man awfully hard with an old hacksaw. Thought it would look good on TV. Right full in the face. After that, the name Hacksaw just stuck, though that wily Slack Face kept switching the saws for 2x4s ‘fore the next match. Blame it if ole Jim was too retarded, he couldn’t tell the difference.

RE: PAUL BEARER AKA FAULKNERIZATION OF THE WWF

ONE PARTICULAR AFTERNOON

Well we're gonna have to go back a few years Mr Mc Mahon about twenty years to be exact. We're talking bout a little funeral home sitting up on a hill, beautiful old trees all around, and a wonderful wonderful family-owned funeral home. The family lived upstairs, the father was the mortician who ran the funeral home, the mother was the secretary the receptionist but there were two little kids there. One kid was a little red-headed punk. And then there was a second kid, a sweet little kid named Kane. Now I was the apprentice at the funeral home, I worked under the red-headed punks' father, who by now you know is the Undertaker. The Undertaker's father was a mortician of excellence. He taught me everything I know. He taught me the correct way to prepare a body for burial, how to do the makeup, how to deal with the families, he taught me from A to Z. But while I was working at that funeral home, I seen a lot of things going on that shouldnt been happening. This little red-headed punk, there was something funny about him. He had a look in his eye, THE LOOK OF THE DEVIL, he was the devil's seed if you know what I mean...

That poor little Kane, the little brother, followed the Undertaker around everywhere he went. The Undertaker was little Kane's hero. Anything the Undertaker did was fine. Well it went on for about two years my apprenticeship, I was going to college at night, taking courses in mortuary sciences at the same time. The Undertaker and Kane would run around the funeral home like wild men. They had free reign of the property. They'd sneak out behind the garage, I seen what they were doing; their mom and daddy didn't see what they were doing, but I saw what they were doing. I saw them taking chemicals out of the embalming room of the funeral room. I saw them sneaking behind the garage smoking cigarettes when they were little kids.

But you know one particular afternoon, I was leaving to go to school. As I backed my car out of the funeral home, I looked behind and who do I see. That red-head devil seed, Undertaker, with his little brother. Something was funny, something didn't seem right. But I went ahead and backed out of the driveway and went to school. I came back from school about ten o clock that night. And what do I see? I see firetrucks! I see ambulance. I see steam and smoke and I see the funeral home in ashes. Someone burned down the funeral home. Inside the funeral home was this lovely family that took care of me. I looked over to the bushes. Who did I see in the bushes but the Undertaker! Undertaker! You burnt the funeral home to the ground. And along with the funeral home, you killed your parents.

You killed your family Undertaker! I knew it! I've had this secret on my inside all my life. Twenty years! You killed them. Undertaker! You are a murderer! You are a murderer Undertaker! You are a goddamn Murderer!

RE: BRUTUS THE BARBER BEEFCAKE'S FACE

FACTS ABOUT BRUTUS THE BARBER BEEFCAKE

This is a man who wrestled for a long fucking time, who claimed Hogan as a best friend, who was known in the 80s as Babyface on account of his slick bathhouse bod and locks. His shtick, in retrospect, was that he was a Chippendale. Take a second and think about how convoluted everything is about to get. Chippendales are male strippers, typically of the hulking but effeminate sort, the kind of guys who shave their pubes into like different shapes and stuff and probably have had their butt hairs waxed.

Granted I've definitely considered this kind of hair removal process--it probably feels pretty great if you think about it--but the difference here is that I'm not a Chippendale, and didn't go through with it. Point being: Chippendales are masculine in very unmasculine ways. They have muscles but likely don't lift much--and even likelier, probably use the machines at the gym, not the freeweights, so they're not developing their stabilizing muscles, so their muscles are really truly for show. And in case you have already forgotten the image of a man having his butt hairs removed, I just want to reiterate that these Chippendale types care about their looks--to a degree that (social construct or not) is a tad on the flitty side.

The myth and genius of Brutus the Barber Beefcake is that he had his butt wax cake and ate it too: It was 100% permissible to dig Beefcake, to think this kind of lifestyle was acceptable, precisely because his muscles aren't for show. Because he was a wrestler and hurt other human beings with these muscles, etc., etc., etc.. He can care about his looks because the tool with which he cares about his looks is not a pair of tiny barber shears but enormous, cocklike garden scissors. And as an in-ring shtick, and this to me counts as one of the biggest and most biblical mindfuck the WWE has ever put to us, Barber turned "giving someone a man's haircut" into the ultimate devastating and demasculating thing anyone could possibly do to another human being. He was only a Chippendale insofar as he could chippendalize his opponent after the match. As far as retellings of the Samson story go, you can't do much better.

Except he actually doesn't hurt any human beings! This is scripted television! His for-show muscles are in the for-show service of not being for show. He is a parody of masculinity twice over.

Beyond that: You'll notice in this clip above that Barber has a full-on mullet. You're probably wondering how a man who's cut so many people's hair hasn't given himself over to a good looking trim himself. Pop quiz: Who shaves the Barber?

WWF spent years trying to figure this out in the so-called "Barbershop" sketches, in which Brutus interviewed other wrestlers. Especially after the parasailing accident in 1990, the man had a bit of an impunity to him around the federation: First the hit job he did on Earthquake from behind a mask, second the fact that WWF storyliners seemed hesitant to address the fact that Beefcake's face had been reconstructed after the emergency--that the man had actual screws and shit in his face, holding it all together. Who shaves the Barber? It drove the other wrestlers insane, reaching a bit of a climax in this scene with Sid Vicious:



Without a barbershop, WWF now put Brutus back in the ring. Amazingly, the story of his crazy fucked up face comprises the nutmeat of his comeback, and you can hear in the clip all the way above how Gorilla is just enthralled with the possibility that this man's face could just come apart again. This is an actual man's face we're talking about. When IRS takes a briefcase to Brutus's face, I still find it difficult not to flinch and/or grab my own face in self-defense.

Then there's the whole weird wordplay aspect of his operation: The "heel" is the bad guy, the "face" is the good guy, and here's Money Incorporated smashing the "face" of the "face", and for the next few months afterwards, actively trying to destabilize the man's surgery. It's all supposed to be a storyline but I mean look at the fucking mask they made "Brutus the Bionic Barber" wear:



Dude was outta here soon after.

Vince McMahon's Kiss My Ass Club

“Following the collapse of the WCW/ECW Alliance at Survivor Series 2001, Mr. McMahon created the Vince McMahon Kiss My Ass Club, which consisted of various WWE individuals being ordered to kiss his ass in the middle of the ring, usually with the threat of suspension or firing if they refuse” - Wikipedia.

I can’t even begin to say all that should be said about both this concept and this list. Read it and then let’s talk.

# Member Reason
1 William Regal
Regal became the first member as a condition of being rehired by the WWF, having betrayed the Federation to join The Alliance.

2 Stone Cold Steve Austin
Austin was the second Alliance member Vince had wanted to kiss his ass, but Austin instead hit a lowblow on McMahon with his pants pulled down.

3 Jim Ross
Austin's refusal to join the club prompted uproarious laughter from Ross at ringside. Noticed by McMahon and Kurt Angle, he was forced to take Austin's place, following an unexpected beatdown from The Undertaker.

4 Trish Stratus
For betraying him at WrestleMania X-Seven, McMahon ordered her to go through with it before being saved by The Rock.

5 Zach Gowen
During his feud with Gowen, McMahon ordered him to participate in order to gain a contract with WWE.

6 Marty Jannetty
In the midst of McMahon's ongoing feud with Shawn Michaels, Jannetty was in-line to join the club in order to remain in WWE. However, McMahon relented and forced Jannetty to break Chris Masters' Masterlock in order to remain in WWE. Jannetty failed and soon exited WWE.[37] This was also the first "Kiss My Ass" segment in which McMahon wore a thong instead of pulling his underwear completely down.

7 Shawn Michaels
Following Jannetty's failure to participate, Shawn Michaels became a member of the club after he was knocked unconscious by Shane McMahon.[37]

8 Shane McMahon
During his match against Michaels at WrestleMania 22, McMahon dropped his trousers as Shane prepared to thrust Michaels' face into his father's ass again. However, Michaels overpowered Shane and shoved his face into Vince's ass instead.[38]

9 Triple H
Shane McMahon tried doping HHH, but HHH switched water bottles, making Shane pass out after HHH pretended to pass out. HHH then proceeded to hit the The Pedigree on Vince while Vince's pants were still pulled down.[39]

10 Mick Foley
Foley became the second person (after Regal) to join the club voluntarily, on the grounds that it would save Melina's job. However, after participating, Melina promptly betrayed Foley and he was fired by McMahon.[40]

11 Hornswoggle
As punishment for skirting the Royal Rumble match, Mr. McMahon wanted his alleged bastard son Hornswoggle to join the Kiss My Ass Club. When it came time for him to pucker up, Finlay interrupted. After much yelling from Mr. McMahon, Hornswoggle finally leaned in and bit his freshly buffed buttocks. Mr McMahon later stated, even though Hornswoggle bit his ass, his lips still came into contact with it. Therefore, he officially became a member of the Kiss My Ass Club.

Ok, now let’s go through this step by step:

# Member Reason
1 William Regal
Regal became the first member as a condition of being rehired by the WWF, having betrayed the Federation to join The Alliance

First of all, hats off to Vince McMahon for 1) insisting people kiss his ass, and 2) deciding such an action was worthy of club status. Also, good call on inducting Regal first. Back in WCW, he kissed Goldberg’s ass (in a manner of speaking) on the latter’s way to the top, so solid callback, writing staff. Wrestling is truly at its best when it’s literalizing a metaphor.

2 Stone Cold Steve Austin
Austin was the second Alliance member Vince had wanted to kiss his ass, but Austin instead hit a lowblow on McMahon with his pants pulled down.

Initial impression - Vince is clearly incapable of distinguishing the shticks of William Regal and Steve Austin. Or else he’s very trusting. But given that Stone Cold probably follows his wife’s goodnight kiss with a lowblow and stunner, I’d call Vince’s actions naïve at best. Out of character, or a rare humanizing moment for McMahon? I’m not sure.

3 Jim Ross
Austin's refusal to join the club prompted uproarious laughter from Ross at ringside. Noticed by McMahon and Kurt Angle, he was forced to take Austin's place, following an unexpected beatdown from The Undertaker.

Vince is a quick learner. Jim Ross is not Stone Cold. He will probably kiss your ass. History shows he did. More on this later.

4 Trish Stratus
For betraying him at WrestleMania X-Seven, McMahon ordered her to go through with it before being saved by The Rock.

At this point it becomes clear that McMahon is nervous that this gimmick is quickly becoming pretty gay. Thankfully that subtext is put to rest by having a muscle-laden man interpose himself between McMahon and a woman. Crisis solved. Let’s move on.

Quibbling point but worth making. Vince clearly fails to understand that if people don’t actually go through with kissing your ass, it’s sort of bullshit to induct them into the Kiss My Ass Club. By what measure are Stone Cold and Trish Stratus members? That they were invited to do so? Was it their relative physical proximity to Vince’s ass? Where’s the bright-line on this? Reductio ad absurdum, we’re all kissing Vince’s ass to some degree. Frankly, that’s genius, but I still expect some tighter apagogical shit from the WWE writing room.

5 Zach Gowen
During his feud with Gowen, McMahon ordered him to participate in order to gain a contract with WWE.

With the induction of Zach Gowen, two of the four members of this club are physically disabled. What might be construed as a civil rights victory goes entirely unnoticed by the public at large. In fact, there’s a 25% chance that – if you’re a member of the Kiss My Ass Club – you can’t move your face. I’ve been to the mountaintop and it looks remarkably like Vince McMahon’s ass cheek.

6 Marty Jannetty
In the midst of McMahon's ongoing feud with Shawn Michaels, Jannetty was in-line to join the club in order to remain in WWE. However, McMahon relented and forced Jannetty to break Chris Masters' Masterlock in order to remain in WWE. Jannetty failed and soon exited WWE. This was also the first "Kiss My Ass" segment in which McMahon wore a thong instead of pulling his underwear completely down.

Locker Room, 1994:
Shawn Michaels: I don’t know dude. If we want to win the title, maybe we should just kiss McMahon’s ass. Figuratively, I mean. Not literally. Just a metaphor.

Marty Jannetty: No way, bra – we are this close to taking the belt from the Hart Connection! We do this our way!

Shawn Michaels: ‘K…(shuffles some papers)

Marty Jannetty: Bra, you’re not gonna kiss his ass behind my back are you?

Shawn Michaels: Nah…


Raw, 2006
Audience: Just kiss his ass dude! Get the contract! Provide for your family!

Marty Jannetty: Won’t do it!


Now
http://www.google.com/trends?q=marty+jannetty%2C+shawn+michaels


7 Shawn Michaels
Following Jannetty's failure to participate, Shawn Michaels became a member of the club after he was knocked unconscious by Shane McMahon

Now
www.martyjannetty.net. 4759 hits and counting.

By the way, what’s with the thong? In my brain, Vince McMahon wakes up each morning, looks in a mirror (I imagine every surface in the McMahon household is a mirror) and sings to the dawn: “Today, I get my ass kissed.” What changed all that? HDTV? Possibly. A certain squeamishness about potentially spreading Butt Bell’s Palsy? Maybe. Either way, I consider this a low point in club history.

8 Shane McMahon
During his match against Michaels at WrestleMania 22, McMahon dropped his trousers as Shane prepared to thrust Michaels' face into his father's ass again. However, Michaels overpowered Shane and shoved his face into Vince's ass instead.[38]

The less said about this the better. Watch it for yourself. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5n-soULenZ0) The man has his face in his father’s ass for a good 5 seconds. Consider your father's ass. Seriously, think about it. Now consider being in it. I can’t figure which is worse: that there is a human being in existence who pitched this idea to the McMahons (his father’s ass!), or that the McMahons came up with this themselves. Equally frightening question: the extent of psychic trauma this caused Shane McMahon, or the fact that it caused him no trauma at all?

9 Triple H
Shane McMahon tried doping HHH, but HHH switched water bottles, making Shane pass out after HHH pretended to pass out. HHH then proceeded to hit the The Pedigree on Vince while Vince's pants were still pulled down.

Very Romeo and Juliet, which – if memory serves – ends with the Duke hitting the Friar with a 619. Obviously, the KSMAC angle has run its course at this point. Which must mean-

10 Mick Foley
Foley became the second person (after Regal) to join the club voluntarily, on the grounds that it would save Melina's job. However, after participating, Melina promptly betrayed Foley and he was fired by McMahon.[40]

-it’s time for Mick Foley to continue his bit of taking things too far.

11 Hornswoggle
As punishment for skirting the Royal Rumble match, Mr. McMahon wanted his alleged bastard son Hornswoggle to join the Kiss My Ass Club. When it came time for him to pucker up, Finlay interrupted. After much yelling from Mr. McMahon, Hornswoggle finally leaned in and bit his freshly buffed buttocks. Mr McMahon later stated, even though Hornswoggle bit his ass, his lips still came into contact with it. Therefore, he officially became a member of the Kiss My Ass Club.[41]

The technicality here is fantastic. Wrestling knows no pyrrhic victories, and if you can get a midget dressed as a leprechaun who may or may not be your bastard son to bite you in the ass, you, my friend, have won. Technically.



Again, we could be here all day with this topic, so forgive me for tapping out. For the record, the Kiss My Ass Club was officially closed when McMahon kissed Rikishi’s butt. How that ends anything is beyond me.