Post by Jack of Blades on Mar 21, 2006 16:26:20 GMT -5
"A man and a giraffe walk into a bar and both become inebriated by copious amounts of alcohol. The giraffe drunk on his poison of choice passes out and the man goes to leave before the bartender calls him back demanding that 'he can't leave that lying there.' The man responds 'that's not a lion, it's a giraffe.'
Just as I thought...humourless.
During my sporadic visits to the WCF, I have acted as an observer never an instigator. Why, I hear you ask? Well, the reasoning behind my inertia was simple: "I lost my smile."
This federation was filled with heart-wrenching reports of anorexia nervosa and doubtful diatribe. "Everyone doubted Wrestler X because he was too short, too fat, too boring, but he PROVED THEM WRONG!!" That's fantastic and all, but I ask you, nay, I plead with you, Where's the comedy?
The WCF needs a dual injection of both reality and comedy. And nothing is more humourous than the former. Only in this universe can 6'1, 220 pound wrestlers whine about their fact their mothers did not love them enough or that they were never given enough attention by their underpaid teachers. And only in this universe can these supposed wrestlers, these mountains of muscle, garner an army of idiots in support of their plight. Only in this universe can a wrestler buy support from a contingent of the fanbase by retelling how he massacred his family
So the next time you wonder whether you should cheer for the one-armed midget with a glandular problem ask yourself one imperative question: What Would Jack Do?
Oh and just so you know, whenever I mention 'Jack' I'm not refering to the self-proclaimed merciless one that is keeping my belt warm. I'm refering to the Jack that will either path the future of this federation and this business or cause glorious carnage just to simply appeal to my hedonistic Machiavellian sense of ethics. Depends how I'm feeling on the day.
Just as I thought...humourless.
During my sporadic visits to the WCF, I have acted as an observer never an instigator. Why, I hear you ask? Well, the reasoning behind my inertia was simple: "I lost my smile."
This federation was filled with heart-wrenching reports of anorexia nervosa and doubtful diatribe. "Everyone doubted Wrestler X because he was too short, too fat, too boring, but he PROVED THEM WRONG!!" That's fantastic and all, but I ask you, nay, I plead with you, Where's the comedy?
The WCF needs a dual injection of both reality and comedy. And nothing is more humourous than the former. Only in this universe can 6'1, 220 pound wrestlers whine about their fact their mothers did not love them enough or that they were never given enough attention by their underpaid teachers. And only in this universe can these supposed wrestlers, these mountains of muscle, garner an army of idiots in support of their plight. Only in this universe can a wrestler buy support from a contingent of the fanbase by retelling how he massacred his family
So the next time you wonder whether you should cheer for the one-armed midget with a glandular problem ask yourself one imperative question: What Would Jack Do?
Oh and just so you know, whenever I mention 'Jack' I'm not refering to the self-proclaimed merciless one that is keeping my belt warm. I'm refering to the Jack that will either path the future of this federation and this business or cause glorious carnage just to simply appeal to my hedonistic Machiavellian sense of ethics. Depends how I'm feeling on the day.
