“Monday Night Raw” Post-Mortem

Monday Night Raw
Monday, December 15
Pittsburgh, PA

At the mo, The Daily Wrazz receives roughly 100 “hits” a day. Wish I could say y’all are enthralled by my cracklin’ prose, my silent, appreciative fans, but I know most’re simply sniffing out info on WWE diva Kelly Kelly. I’m sure you’re disappointed by the dearth of pertinent news and cheesecake shots (many arrive on my doorstep on a salacious “kelly kelly naked” typhoon) bearing a wink of nipple-slip promise, but, hey, I’m here to slap words together and dig the sounds they make.

But today my hit counter went haywire. As I write this sentence, I’m up to nearly 100 hits already, and my “day” doesn’t officially end until 4 o’clock tomorrow afternoon–“universal time,” as the site is set. And again, the most popular search is Kelly Kelly.

I can understand why you like the plucky little number. She’s blond, cute, and mathematically curved at all the crucial junctures, with a Clara Bow-ish “it” appeal that straddles the sordid line between next-door wholesomeness and that sorority trollop who’ll grind into your lap for half a Seagram’s.

It was the sheer number of hits, however, that startled me. They were urgent. Persistent, even. Man, I thought, something must’ve gone down on Raw. Sure did. Amid tonight’s usual storyline dramas was a horror movie wrinkle, with Double-Kel summoning her inner scream-queen and Kane as the unstoppable malevolence trapping her in frightened corners.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, for it all started most innocently as a tag-team diva match that opened the show. The world seemed kinder then, but is now changed forever.

Kelly Kelly/Melina vs. Beth Phoenix/Jillian Hall
The match itself is no great shakes. Its most interesting moment arrives  during the Glamazon‘s ring jaunt with Santino Marella stapled to her hip. She stops to acknowledge a fan’s (read: “plant’s”) devotional placard, “Beth Phoenix Is Hot.” Genuinely moved, especially after her SLAMMY last week, she chats up the audience member, who desperately wants a photo with the Women’s Champ. Santino attempts to hog the frame but is shoved away and demoted to devastated cameraman. Looks like Beth’s movin’ on up, leaving her buffoon sidekick behind.

The scuffle ends quickly, with Kelly Kelly, woven into her Jiffy Pop leggings, rolls Jillian over for the pin. A brawl ensues, ending with the sudden pop of smoke bombs and a sinister pipe-organ wheeze that constitutes Kane’s entrance music. Everyone’s bewildered, ‘cept Kane, who makes a beeline for the helpless Kelly. She crawls on her back into a ring corner. He’s right on top of her, extending his monstrous paw. This is Beauty and the Beast, King Kong, and Frankenstein’s monster with the little girl at the lake, all wrapped into a Hot Pocket of scripted bilge.

Kelly escapes slowly, never letting her pursuer out of her sight. She finds no solace backstage, not even from eternal armored knight Jamie Noble, who’s indignantly shoved from the monster’s path. Finally, she curls into a protective ball, having nowhere else to run, when Kane descends upon her with a sinister-sounding “We need to talk.” Raw‘s minutes from becoming Transylvania 90210.

Winner: Kelly Kelly

Rey Mysterio vs. Deuce Sim Snuka
Cody Rhodes and Manu sit ringside for this match; their presence is soon explained when Deuce, a jobber with a squaresville ’50s hood gimmick, reveals that he’ll be competing under his “real” name from now on: Sim Snuka, son of WWE legend “Superfly” Jimmy Snuka, which means he’s joined the Legacy stable  of Ted DiBiase Jr., Rhodes, Manu, and Randy Orton. A lot of grapplin’ kids in the firm now (Snuka and Rhodes, curiously, of babyface lineage); can Red Rooster‘s progeny be far behind?

His secret revealed, his wrestling status is now legitimate, so he wallops Mysterio around the corners a while. Eventually, the action spills ringside and Rey makes the mistake of bumping into the seated Rhodes. The two observers spring into action for a lopsided thrashing that Mysterio miraculously escapes. As he backs up the ramp, his progress is once again impeded by Mike Knox, who flattens him like Bisquik.

Winner: Mysterio by DQ

The backstage soap has devolved into a G-rated Hostel, with Kane literally pinning Kelly to a chair in a tiny room illuminated by mushrooming moody red. He offers her the door, but quickly slams it and keeps her captive.

Elsewhere backstage, Randy Orton allows that in the spirit of competition, he’s challenged Dave Batista to an Armageddon (oh, yeah, that happened yesterday–Orton lost, I think) rematch, adding that Batista has yet to respond. Those lies no sooner leave his lips than Batista’s nose pokes in from frame right, followed by piercing eyes on a chiseled profile and a hot arena-bound pursuit, where Rhodes and Manu await. It’s a wild gang-up ’til World Champ John Cena wades through piercing screams to the rescue, mountainous limbs atwirl. After the legacy rapscallions retreat, the former adversaries shake hands and inadvertently land in a newly scheduled 2 on 3 handicap match with their attackers.

“Hacksaw” Jim Duggan vs. Chris Jericho
Man, am I glad this travesty didn’t happen. The beloved Duggan, who thrilled urchins 20 years ago with his yelps of “Hooooooo!” and manic, tongue-lolling waves of his trademark 2×4, is a sunken tater with the color sucked loose. Jericho arrives hardly dressed for a serious match, and he explains why in the most belittling language possible. “I am the 2008 Superstar of the Year,” he spits through seething teeth, “and it’s a slap in the face that I have to compete against someone like you.” A dejected Duggan crumbles into visible depression as Jericho struts away.

Winner: N/A

The backstage torture continues with Kane wrenching information from his pretty quarry about a possible interloper within their storybook romance. He presses her for a name. She opens her mouth to confess, just as USA goes to commercial. Good girl.

Aaaaand we’re back. Kelly has revealed the name and they both keep it ambiguous as she asks Kane not to hurt him. Her captor laughs diabolically. “Love is a beautiful thing,” he says.

World Tag Team Championship
CM Punk/Kofi Kingston vs. The Miz/Morrison
Kingston and Punk surrendered the belts to the 2008 Tag Team of the Year at Sunday’s Armageddon and immediately invoked their rematch clause for tonight. But it’s not to be. After an energetic fracas, the Shaman wraps Kingston in a Moonlight Drive (I’m serious) finishing move, and his foe slips into unconsciousness with nary a flashing chance at bliss. Miz and Morrison retain, but again poof the smoke bombs and Kane is returned to unload on the mystery lover, who is apparently one of the four men in this ring. The cuckold does his best Hercule Poirot and settles on the Miz, wrapping his Adam’s apple in a chokeslam and sending him into the canvass, followed by a Tombstone piledriver.

Winner: The Miz/John Morrison

John Bradshaw Layfield introduces Armageddon footage of his new employee, Shawn Michaels, explaining his helpless about-face to a pay-per-view audience. Apparently, the failing economy has driven HBK into humiliating bankruptcy following shoddy investments in the ’90s and a financial recklessness. He admits that after 20 years in the ring, he doesn’t know how many years he has left, and he still has a family to support, so he went to Layfield, knowing he was a shrewd businessman, and accepted a lackey position. He’ll be damned if he becomes a “wrestling tragedy,” crawling limp into run-down gyms at half capacity or bagging groceries at the A&P. He’ll pay the necessary price to remain solvent. Layfield quickly snatches the mike from Michaels and offers his hand, which the broken soul reluctantly accepts.

The Kane drama concludes backstage with Melina and Mickie James comforting Kelly Kelly as she prepares to split. When they bring up the Miz, Kelly expresses disbelief. Was he the mystery man? Who knows? Who cares?

Dolph Ziggler vs. Santa Claas (Charlie Haas)
His third professional match finds Mr. Pleased to Meet You, Hope You Guess My Name battling jolly Father Christmas for the hearts and minds of Pittsburgh. Santa fires wrapped gifts at the masses, bypassing commentators Jerry Lawler and Michael Cole, and even hands a box to his adversary, which Ziggler slaps aside. The pair lock holds, but Ziggler has the upper hand for most of the match until Santa tears off his white beard and goes to town on his shocked opponent. Sadly, the advantage doesn’t last, and Ziggler bags Pere Noel into permanent “Silent Night.”

Winner: Dolph Ziggler

Hacksaw remains a bummed loper backstage until Cryme Tyme take him by the hand and say, “It’s time.” Guess we’ll have to wait ’til next week to learn what the hell that’s all about. Meanwhile, Jericho argues with a wooden (speaking of Hacksaw) Stephanie McMahon and suggests she’s unfit to run the show. So she announces yet another gimmicky braistorm: a series of former-champ matches that will culiminate in a showdown with belt-holder John Cena at some far-off extravaganza.

2 on 3 Handicap Match
Batista/John Cena vs. Randy Orton/Cody Rhodes/Manu
Ah, the seat-of-the-pants main event, with snorting bulls Batista and Orton at the center. They have so many tattoos between them that when they collide, they become their own MAD fold-in. I can’t quite make out the message, but I think it reads “Stop telegraphing the Batista Bomb.” After an exhausting series of switches and reversals that taxed my poor pen into early suicide, Dave (are those velour trunks?) does the usual bang-bang-bang/throttle-yank-ugh, and he had Rhodes halfway down before Orton shoved Manu into Batista’s spine. Foiled yet again. Nobody gets in a finishing move, except Orton with his usual RKO that reduces Batista to spittle and shake. He’s further smacked into oblivion with a solid Orton boot to the noodle that earns the dastardly trio a DQ and forces Batista’s new pal Cena to stand watch and wonder if his muscle-bound companion will ever enjoy solid foods again.

Winner: Batista/John Cena

See you next week, same Kelly Kelly naked time, same Kelly Kelly boob shot nipple slip hot tub diva threesome tit licking bubble bath midget porn channel.


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