Celebrity Pro Wrestling: Mecha Mandela versus Der Fuhrer Adolf Hitler!

Your Commentators : Jim Ross and Jerry "The King" Lawler

JR: All hell's gonna break loose tonight in this grudge match building up from Battle in the Afterlife.

King : That's right JR, last time these guys met, Der Fuhrer managed to pull off a victory against Mecha Mandela with help from outside. We just heard tonight though that the SS has been barred from assisting Der Fuhrer by the  Chairman, Vince Mcmahon.

This is why I'm Hot 

JR: Its gonna be a Slobberknocker!

Ring Announcer: Introducing First, the challenger! From Qunu, Eastern Cape Province South Africa, MECHAAAAAAAA MANNNNDELLLLLLLAAAAAA!

Sup

Ring Announcer: Annnnd, your Champion, from somewhere in Austria, DERRRRR FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHRERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Wat is zis bullshit?

King: And there's the bell!
JR: The two men starting out cautiously. They both remember what happened a few months back when they pushed themselves to the limit in a tables, ladders and peace accords match. By then end of that match both these warriors weren't even able to lift their beaten bodies up off the floor to sign the peace accord.
King: And now they have locked hands in a test of strength, Mecha Mandela seems to be getting the upper hand over Der Fuhrer.
JR: Oh but what a dirty trick, Der Fuhrer hits a "Heil to the Chief"! Raking Mecha Mandela's eyes and  blinding him for the moment.

It works gut , ya?

King: Mandela calls upon his old boxing skills blindly throwing one two punches, like an angry Stevie Wonder, shots flying wildly from his fists which he himself calls "Truth" and "Reconciliation".

I will forgive you by breaking your face.

JR: Der Fuhrer sneaks out of the ring and grabs a table. Meanwhile Mecha Mandela is recovering from his blindness. Amandlaaaaa! He screams, working up the crowd. But Der Fuhrer, sensing a comeback, blindsides, no pun intended, Mecha Mandela with a 2 x 4. Mecha Mandela is knocked over the top rope and lands awkwardly on the hard concrete.
King:  That's why hes champion JR, he never lets up! And he keeps pounding Mecha Mandela with the 2x4 and the refereee is powerless to stop it.
JR : Look Out, theres Desmond Tutu " the Archbishop" running down the ramp, and I don't think he's coming to partake in Communion.

Don't fuck wit me!

King: The Archbishop flies around the ring like a man possessed, and he flying body drops on top of Der Fuhrer! Oh What a move!
JR: Now he's  chanting  hymns at Mecha Mandela to get up and the crowd joins in. And Mandela sits up! The Crowd goes wild! Mecha Mandela leaps on top of Hitler aiming his elbow at his throat! Yes! His patented move the "Idris Elbow" connecting!

And suddenly he looks years younger

King: Oh but here's more interference, it’s the SS, the current tag team champions, and they're looking to put a hurting on the Archbishop, while Mecha Mandela is busy placing the Full Nelson submission hold on Der Fuhrer. But, the Archbishop fights back, lefts and rights swinging wildly, the priest will not go down. He has the Holy Spirit! And hes gonna put an Almighty smiting on the tag team champions!

You want slap?

King: Meanwhile Mecha Mandela drags Der Fuhrer back into the ring while the Archbishop and the SS fight their way to the back to the locker room. And I've got a feeling this one is almost over JR! I think he's going to finish it, he's going for the Long Drop to Freedom! Mecha Mandela climbs the top rope and yells as he performs the leg drop from the top- 

"MORRRRRGANNNN FREEEEMAAANNN ISSSS A BEEEEEEETTTCHHHH!

JR: DIRECT HIT! And he goes straight for the cover. One, Two, Three. Its over! We have a new World Heavyweight Champion!!!!

Thank you, thank you.

King: All hell broke out here tonight JR, I dont think this feud is over by a long shot, but at least the Dark days of the Reich are over!

I'll get you Mecha Mandela! Soon! And your Rainbow Nation too!

End

RIP Tata
RB

Maniac Depression 4 : The Count of Sesame Street

Enter the offices of the Doctor, therapist to the supernatural, the murderous, and the mildly pissed off.

For Maniac Depression is touching their souls.

The Count: No Doctor. I can assure you this is not going to be like session 1 or session 2 ah ah ah or session 3, session 4, session 5 , ah ah ah, session 6, 7 , 8  or 9 ah ah ah. No because this is session 10, ah ah ah.

Doctor: I will take that as a no. Count, you must try to stop counting so much in your spoken language, it indicates mild Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

And a fear of skeletons, I hate the skeletons and their bony bones!

Count: Are you sure Doctor?

Doctor: Yes (editor’s note- No. I do not have a medical degree. I have a law degree, and might add that if you are a young vampire, don’t use stories on the internet to diagnose any affliction you might have simply because of similar facts, and even if that last victim in the red light district was particularly dodge and looked severely emaciated. I accept no liability for any harm this story may cause to anyone, whether direct or consequential, and whether living, dead or undead.)

I love numbers though!

Count: Very well, I was taught to count numbers at Madam Oozing’s School for Young Vampires. I had a terrible anger problem you see. There would be 1 undead body lying on the ground, then 2 undead bodies then 3 undead bodies, ah ah ah…

Motherfucker!

Doctor: Stop counting, you were saying about the anger…

Count: Yes Doctor, sorry, counting was taught to me by Professor V.T. Impaler. He insisted as a class, we address him by his middle name: “The”. Anyway, he suggested that counting would help me let go of some of my anger, which I always thought was a bit rich coming from a sadist and madman.

Doctor: And now you’re afraid that if you stop counting that you will revert to being a killer.

Count: Yes Doctor, but I was always more than just a mere killer, even in my plasma days, I would rip out human hearts as a cheaper alternative to bubblegum.

Because Up Yours.

Doctor: We are then in the tricky situation of either turning you once again into a psychotic killer or leaving you to be a colossal bore at parties. Personally, I can’t decide which is worse.

Count: Well doctor, I work a lot with young children and on many occasions the counting has helped me avoid ripping them to pieces on national television. Imagine, one second, young Timmy and I building a house of Lego, and in the next me using Timmy’s intestines to make a nice garden fence complete with a shrubbery. I don’t think that would go down too well for our ratings. The Undead Insurance I have could not cover that.

I think everyone would be fine if I got rid of Elmo though

Doctor: Ah yes, who are you covered with again?

Count : UIG- The Undead Insurance Group. Head office in Brooklyn, NY and subsidiaries in Transylvania and the Vatican City.

Doctor: Have you perhaps tried counting in your mind? Not actually speaking the words that is.

The Count: I have doctor, 12 people were eviscerated on that day. 1 bloody corpse, 2 bloody corpses, ah ah ah, 3 bloody corpses, 4 bloody corpses, 5 bloody corpses ah ah ah. 6 bloody corpses ah ah ah , 7 bloody corpses, 8 bloody corpses, 9 bloody corpses, 10 bloody corpses ah ah ah. 11 bloody corpses, 12 bloody corpses, ah ah ah. It doesn’t help at all if I don’t count out loud.

Doctor:  Maybe if you only tried counting up to five rather than over 10, what would happen then? That way instead of being a bore, some people may see this as an eccentric tick that you have.

The Count: I could try that doctor.

Doctor : Let’s try that exercise right now.

The Count : Okay I see 1 bird outside, ah ah ah, 2 birds outside, 3 birds outside, ah ah ah, 4 birds, 5 birds ah ah ah ah.

Doctor: Feel any better?

Count (slaps the doctor open handed leaving a hand print on his face) I’m sorry doctor I couldn't help myself.

Like I couldn't help myself with your mom last night.

Doctor: No worries, at least it’s a start. We’ll continue next week. Reception has a pro forma invoice for the first nine sessions we had. Let me follow you out. *Follows the count to reception.

The Count (looks at his bill and begins shaking with rage).

Doctor: I notice you’re not counting. I will remind you that I have a clove of garlic in my pocket. And a crucifix tattoo on my left buttock. If you wish to see neither, I suggest you start counting now.

The Count: 1 method of torture, 2 method of torture, 3 method of torture…

The Doc: Our time is up. Get out.

RB

The Stand: Not a Review

That famous bard once wrote: “What is love, baby doesn’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more”. To him I responded: Spartacus had an identity crisis. My point is clear.

2013 was a really shit year. An “annus horribilis” as Queen Elizabeth said that one time. What are years coming to? They plod and they gallop at the same time. At times I look back and think, I was having fun there, I was smiling, so it must have been fun. Am I having fun now? I don’t know, I could only tell you next year. Its hidden in my funconcious mind.

My annus is horribilis

The following is not a review of the Stand, it just summarizes some thought threads shuffling around in my head after my first read-through.  This will make more sense if you have read The Stand. Also: Spoilers!

I shall reap you with my grim reaping equipment

So, I just finished  “The Stand”- the expanded edition even- and that Stephen King simply put too many words on paper. I enjoyed every minute of it, don’t get me wrong, but like “The Return of the King”, there were ways that it should have ended that would have left me feeling for satisfied in a shorter amount of time. The reference to LOTR is relevant here also because of the main antagonist of the novel.  Randall Flagg as he is depicted in The Stand often takes on the characteristics of a giant orange eye, watching our heroes, plotting and directing his instruments of destruction against Mother Abigail and the citizens of the Free Zone in much the same way as Sauron uses Saruman and his dark forces to counter Gandalf and the armies of middle earth.

I call bullshit.

The basic plot of the novel is that a superflu, “Captain Trips” kills off 99% of the world’s population and the remaining survivors are in dreams and their darkest nightmares called to locate either 109 year old Mother Abigail, God’s agent on earth in Boulder Colorado, or Randall Flagg aka Russell Faraday aka Legion aka Nyarlohotep, the servant of evil in Las Vegas. While Mother Abigail offers nothing much but insight into the ways of God, Flagg immediately sets people to work on establishing a military force to destroy the citizens of the Free Zone. Basically this becomes the “stand” between the forces of “good” and the forces of “evil” and punctuated by the confrontation of the  main forces of good and evil at the end of the novel.

Mother Abigail

Not Mother Abigail

Speaks for itself

This story was centred on locations in America. But I kept thinking about what was going on in other places, what about London, were they all having dreams of being attacked by misaligned dentures? I don’t know. What about South Africa even? If Captain Trips came here, would I be immune to it? Would it be better not to be immune? My point is because generally people suddenly to me seem to strike me as  considerably more stupid than ever , more wrapped up in their stupid lives, more wrapped up in drum and bass than possible genocide in the Central African Republic. I hope that’s not the case, and I don’t know why I feel that way. But seriously, what the fuck is drum and bass?

Somehow I doubt Yoda would approve

And then, even if I was immune, would I head on over to Mother Abigail or to Randall Flagg?  Long story short, the book says that Good triumphs over Evil, but I won’t tell you how. Read the bible possibly if you want a hint. (Alternatively, read The Stand) But assuming I didn’t know that I feel I would pick the place that got the electricity up faster, had warm meals prepared by master chefs and had some sort of law and order from the outset, even if Crucifixion was deemed a method of disposal.

Since this book is about faith, it would be a pretty tough choice to settle in the Free Zone without any assurances that things would get better, apart from the ramblings of a possibly crazy old lady who sometimes shits berries and twigs. But then I also think that once Flagg’s police state got too much for me I probably would want to leave. Whether he would let me is another story, he would probably send out some wolves to chew up my intestines or something. But then would I even want to go to the Free Zone?

Nom nom nom

I ask this because I always pick someone I would like to be in a novel. This time I picked Harold Lauder, a really smart fat boy who has a heavy crush on the lady he sets out with to find Mother Abigail. She can’t stand him, even though he proves adept at survival, while being a pompous, but goodish guy. She together with another character Stu Redman (who I initially thought I would see myself as, but then got tired of) lie to him about their relationship and he finds out and begins to go slightly insane.

Basically Harold

I picked Harold because like him, I am not a social person even though I can be at times. I can't just talk to people, I don’t know why. More clearly, I can speak, I just don’t know how to speak to people. As soon as I get into a conversation, my mind will think up the most perverse thing it has in one of the top shelves of my memory banks, courier it to my mouth, and my mouth, the pet idiot, will blurt it out like a galactic pharmacist dispensing universal truths. No prescription required, if I get hurt, I can deal with it, I have a fictitious medical degree, he thinks. Bloody fool.

The Red Ones are to be taken Penally.

Anyway Harold is manipulated and encouraged by Flagg, and the pressure cooker in his mind heats and heats until he snaps eventually and blows up a meeting of the Free Zone Committee- 7 elected officials running the Free Zone, killing two of them. He is later killed in an accident manipulated by Flagg as he escapes, breaks his leg in a few places and is left for dead. He begs for redemption from the others in a letter in his journal before he dies. Now because I picked Harold, he became my true first person narrator. When he was betrayed I felt vengeance was the only option and I begun to dislike the members of the Free Zone, even the ones I had not found irritating initially.

Because when bitches talk smack they need to get slapped.

I begun to dislike the characters because even after a superflu epidemic, the old ways resurfaced, the politics, the land grabbings and the power struggles. The Stand attempts to show that humans will be humans, flawed, and that we can only appeal to faith in a higher being to deliver us. For example, both a sociologist and a judge get a bullet through the head from Flagg’s henchmen, the scientists were mostly wiped out by a flu epidemic of their own creation. Instead it was the meek who triumphed, the electronic calculator makers, the veterinarians and the electricity repairmen who inherited huge tracts of land.

Earth? I own that bitch.

And the meek should really go and screw themselves I feel, because they are the one’s with the drum and bass and electronica obsessions and the ignorance of death and destruction apart from what they feel in their own stupid lives. Oh so you’re meek? Go fuck yourself. The heathens were screwed from the beginning it seems anyway. And I/Harold was left dying with a broken leg while vultures nibbled on my tatas. What fun!

Happy New Year! 

RB