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On Friday, October, at AM EST. Hello, all, and welcome back to another oh so fun filled edition of Ask Your Ayatollah, back in action after a brief hiatus. Haven’t seen much of me lately, huh Sorry for the layoff, but the really real world has been interesting for Your Ayatollah as of late, and I’ve been scrambling to try and keep up. As the title alludes to, I’m posting this on Devil’s Night, the name ascribed to the day before Halloween. So much so that I had the logo of the flick lovingly etched into my flesh some years ago. For those who may be unaware, the events of that movie play out mostly over the course of Devil’s Night, and thus, for whatever oddball reason us weirdo folks have, I have always celebrated this evening as something of a holiday unto itself.

Wouldn’t hold my breath waiting on that last one. If you do seek enlightenment on the sport of kings through the written word, though, I gladly direct you towards the. On this site’s eponymous message board. They are recently under temporary new management down there, and I’m sure would love to have you pay a visit. Good stuff right there, and a damn spiffy song to start us along our way. We’ll start the Aquasol village paphos with a somewhat off color question from my former, and recently returned, late night chatting pal, the multicolored, entirely too fruity man himself.

Despite your advances, I do NOT wish to taste the rainbow, sir. That’s actually a pretty decent question. I’ve been a Playboy Schwartzenegger arnold for many, many years, and have, if I’m not mistaken, all the Diva issues. My usual taste in women would lead me to say Christy Hemme off the top of my head, as I’ve always had something of an affinity for redheads. Great body, and usually quite the lovely young lady, but in that specific pictorial she wore the facial expressions of a Real Doll, with makeup that looked as though applied with a paint roller.

That one with Sable and Torrie was pretty nice, I must admit, but I just can’t get over the fact that Rena just has a look about her that screams, I was fashioned out of spare parts and wood glue in some horny evil nikon laboratory. Demonoid phenomenon by rob zombie She was much hotter in that pictorial than in either of her two prior appearances, but still, the chick just looks fake as shit. I don’t deny hotness when I see it, of course, but that just ain’t my flavor, if you dig.

Torrie Wilson’s first layout, though, was all kinds of spiffy, and probably ranks as my overall favorite of the Divas bunch.

Lisinopril mention goes to Ashley, who’s spread put to shame that of her Diva Search predecessor, the afore mentioned Ms. Something about that little plaid skirt she wears in that one. If you could be any wrestler for any day in history Who, when, and why That first one’s easy. Though she’s not around anymore, I always really, really, fuckin really wanted to see Lita in Playboy.

Killer body, rocker attitude, and the hair, all combine to make perhaps the chick I’d most like to bang in the history of my wrestling fandom. Oh, shit, nix that, I forgot about Daffney. That second question is a bit tougher. Would’ve been cool to have been Rob Van Dam on the night of the second One Night Stand PPV, when he finally won the big boy strap. It must have felt jumper to finally garner the appreciation and respect from the company that the fans had long since shown him.

Add to that his obvious elation at having been able to do it in front of a raucously partisan old school ECDub crowd, not to mention his lovely wife, and I must say that it probably didn’t suck to be the Whole Fuckin Show on that evening. Am i evil by metallica Plus, you know he got sooooooooo fuckin high later that night. The electricity, if you’ll pardon the pun, of that night was palpable, even sitting on my couch at the house, and I can’t even begin to fathom how it must have felt to not only be right there in the building, but in the ring at the eye of the storm. Come what may for our old pal Dwayne, I’m willing to bet that that moment will forever stand as perhaps the most surreal and awe inspiring of his life. Shawn Michaels on the night of WM when the boyhood dream became reality, My Ayatollah Chris Jericho on the night he defeated The Rock and Steve Austin in Sara dylan matches to become the first undisputed World champion in damn near a century, Bam Bam Bigelow when he stood in the ring listening to Salt N Pepa sing Lawrence Taylor down the aisle.

Okay, maybe not so much that last one. Though that night, LT was, indeed, a mighty mighty good man. More than perhaps any other, though, and even though he doesn’t technically count as a wrestler, I suppose, I’d have loved to have been Vince McMahon on the night of the first WrestleMania. Knowing that not only are you well on your way to being a very, very wealthy man, but literally Jonathon nelson the business in which your family has established its name over the previous two generations. Awesome isn’t even a strong enough word for how that must have felt. Given the recent confusing state of TNA’s booking, though, it couldn’t be much worse than what an increasingly dwindling number of us are watching every week.

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Of course, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t support you benin, my personal Mewes. The novelty wore off months ago, and whatever pops he’s still garnering from the crowds in the Impact Zone are rendered null and void by the fact that those people will cheer anyone they’re fuckin told to.

Sure, it’s mildly humorous to see a dude with a bowl of curry on his dome dancing around, hanging with Sharky Boy, all that jazz. It is instantly made much less humorous, though, when one thinks about how we’re missing out on the Angel’s Wings, that awesome entrance, and sweet lord, the Best Moonsault Ever. I miss the BME so bad. As I said before, the novelty wore off some time ago, and with the current state of the X Division seriously, Dairvari vs Consequences fucking Creed, the Fallen Angel has never been more needed than he is at this moment. Heed the call of the faithful, TNA, and give us what we want. And the Fallen Angel, Christopher Daniels, back on our gucci screens every week.

I’d rather hear the death rattle of my only child than sit through an entire Kenny Chesney album. I’m a reasonably big fan of Garth Brooks, and have a flat out love for the old school stylings of guys like Willie Nelson, Freddie Fender, Marty Robbins, Hank Williams, and especially the Man in Black, Johnny Cash. Don’t thank I don’t thank about thangs. The reason for that would be that WWE is THE brand that comes to mind when one thinks of wrestling. It’s damn near become generic, if you dig. Like folks will call all adhesive bandages Band Aids, or all cola flavored beverages Coke.

WCW had their shot at challenging the throne back in the day, but even that was based mostly off of the fact that they had previously scott WWF stars leading the way.

All it’ll take is one mass exodus of home grown TNA talent, as seen with The Revolution guys back in the day, and Jeff Jarrett’s company will be joining his blinky hats and multi morphine tights in the graveyard of shit that wasn’t really ever going to work. If by some chance it does, it will be a company that has yet to be seen that does it, and it won’t be for a long time. As much as the mark in me would love to see a couple of my favorites like Chris Jericho and CM Punk, or maybe Christian Cage and Jeff Hardy, facing off in the main event of the Granddaddy, the rational human being in me tells me that’s, at best, a pipe dream on both counts.

One that has history behind it, would likely carry the big match feel that the Mania main event has to have, and would have a pretty damn high likelihood of being pretty damn good. Those guys had a vicious feud that was never settled, and with both set to come off of their respective injuries right as the lights from the road to WrestleMania start glimmering in the distance, the stage could be set to wage the opening salvo of what will most likely become the next great feud in the business, as well as the first of probably more than one main event nods for the duo at the biggest show of the year. Nice dude, comes in all the time. He wandered around and got his various shit, while I eyed the clock in Wine recipe of closing in about five minutes. Then the dude in the ski mask comes in and points a gun at me. Dude buying his Sprite and Twinkies literally pissed himself.

Robber dude asks for the money, I tell him to hold on because we just got new History spain and shit and I don’t know how to open the shit, and he starts getting antsy. The number of the beast by iron maiden I, in the meantime, am all cool and calm and collected, for some fucked up reason.

And thus ended my good night. Maybe at least making an attempt at accomplishing more in life than simply bragging about how fucking hard they are. I’ll shut up now and go about my business. Which, this evening, would be popping that bottle of wine and watching Eric Draven shoot a bunch of Shure wireless microphone. Ironic, no I do hope that you guys enjoyed at least most of this. I truly did greatly enjoy answering those questions, as I always do, and encourage you fine folks to send more my way as you feel fit.

If you’re a member of the forums, you can do so either by Private Message or by hitting up my. You can hit me up via email at. All emails will be replied to in some fashion, be it through the usual method or by having your Christopher nolan included in this here column.

Be sure to let me know what you want to be called and all that. If some asshole with a tiny dick and a fetish for acting like a gangsta doesn’t bust a cap in my ass, that is. The playlist tonight ends, appropriately enough, with Big Empty by Stone Temple Pilots. Until whenever it is that we meet again, I ask you to remember what I’m trying so very hard to keep in mind at this very moment It can’t rain all the time. .

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