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Overturning Dr. Faustus PDF. Pacazo PDF. Pallars Jussa PDF. The weekend got busy with life and another project and it all got away from me. He picks up the microphone, Continue Reading Howdy, dear and patient readers. Two pieces of good news I have for you that I wanted to share with you all today, and a pimping of sorts. First up is that the casting call for new RTB writers went well.

Have three new writers hard at work on their debut pieces, one of whom will specialize in old-school stuff Continue Reading Hey, constant and eternally patient readers. Two issues to discuss today. First is the RTB e-book. This one hurts to talk about … unfortunately, circumstances have arisen that have caused the cancellation of the book. Namely this nasty sticking point called American copyright law.

RTB Editorial: e-book update! Hey, folks. So, not much like him at all. Guess that was a crappy analogy. I blame owls.

And, unquestionably, some would say we are special — special in a way that might suggest we probably should have ridden the short bus to school. And maybe we should have. We are hopelessly obsessed with professional wrestling. Each of us has only so many days on this earth, so many hours in which to soak up all the wonders of the world. We, the authors of this book, choose to live it camped in front of a television set, screaming at grown men dressed as kings and midgets with shillelaghs, and having pretend fights.

And why? It really is the best of all conceivable means of entertainment. Consider every form of amusement life has to offer. What other medium mixes and melds so many different elements in a single package?

Wrestling gives you everything: action, comedy, suspense and heartbreak. And while pundits may scoff at hardcore fans rating matches with a star system as if they were movie critics, it makes perfect sense.

Because wrestling is entertainment — it should be critiqued as such. Ricky Steamboat was actually a better match than Razor Ramon vs. Shawn Michaels. And of course it was. Ramon-Michaels had the benefit and some critics would say crutch of the ladder stipulation, and while it unquestionably set the standard for what would become the hardcore revolution of the mids, it lacked the psychology and pacing of the NWA title match.

Spots in Ramon-Michaels could understandably be seen as contrived, while Flair-Steamboat had no such weakness; it was two men exchanging holds, changing with the ebb and flow of the audience, two masters modifying the match on the fly to keep the audience on the edge of their seats.

So while Ramon-Michaels may have been more exciting , it was not a better match than Flair-Steamboat. While both are no doubt five-star classics, the latter match was longer, featuring a brilliant double-chicken-wing submission finish in the second fall, the pacing and psychology of the former was superior, and the post-match angle with Terry Funk attacking Flair, thus setting up the next program, was fantastic.

You see, this stupidity opens the door for not only obsessed fans, but more importantly, for some downright bizarre folks in front of the fans and behind the scenes. It leads not only to insanity in the ring, but backstage as well. With so many weirdos competing for such a small spotlight, comedy ensues. Sometimes that lunacy is displayed right before us, on our TV screens. Other times, it is shrouded behind the curtain. This book is not meant to be read in one sitting, though you are more than welcome to do so.

And while this is a book of lists, it is more than that. There are things in this book you may have never heard of — characters long since forgotten, storylines you cannot imagine ever taking place and merchandise that will have you scratching your head. What does it take to be successful in pro wrestling? One word: character. Not the ability to do the right thing or any of that other hackneyed garbage, but rather the creation of a character that folks want to see. For example, would Stone Cold Steve Austin have become the biggest star in the business had he gone by the moniker Chilly McFreeze which was, believe it or not, a suggestion from the WWF creative team?

And there are also names that are amazingly worse, names no one could have ever thought made any sense at all. Such as these handles. Upon initial glance, he has it all: at a legit six-foot-six and over pounds of solid muscle, he seemed guaranteed to become a huge star. After all, he was Test. That just sounds stupid.

The story was that Bo was part of a tag team with his brother Jack Dupp. Jack Dupp. That we get. But what the hell is Bo Dupp?

Is he bowed up like an archer? Does he wrap presents in his spare time? Key: Yes, there was a wrestler named Key. No, he was not a locksmith. That would have made sense. Okay, maybe not, but it would have made a hell of a lot more sense than having a drug dealer named Key.

He actually looked less like a drug dealer than an ice-cream man. Dingo Warrior: Okay, we could buy this one if this face-painted wildman was representing Australia though dingo still sounds like a kiss of death for a wrestling name, regardless of origin.

He would later decide that he liked the Warrior aspect of the name so much he legally changed his name to Warrior Warrior. Hugh Morrus: Reader, we ask you to pause for a moment and read that name aloud. Go ahead, do it. We lied. The wrestler in question was, indeed, named Hugh Morrus. He was the Laughing Man. Would this make you want to buy a ticket? Would it make you want to cheer for this man? Maybe if he was a comedian. He was a wrestler, remember?

We defy anyone to explain how this could possibly be taken for anything more than a dumb — and, ironically, not particularly humorous — joke. The saddest part is that he actually had an even worse name prior to becoming Hugh. No wonder he went with Hugh Morrus. Henry O. Well, look at his initials. See, he was from a family of farmers!

Wee doggies, break out the moonshine, Ethyl! We seriously cannot imagine a dumber ring name than that. For instance, Bret Hart is The Hitman. Like in the case of. DiBiase; Social Security has been under the gun in the past several years.

What would a DiBiase administration do about this fiscal pig in a poke? DiBiase snaps and, from the curtains, comes Virgil. Virgil pulls out a wad of cash and fans out five dollar bills. Rather looks down. Nevertheless, I am not going to allow you to buy your way our of questions, Mr. No matter how it is, I can hit it.

Rather sighs. Ventura, same question. You have 30 seconds. And whatcha gonna do … when the largest arms in the world run wild on you, Vince? When he finally raises his head again, his eyes are weary, but furious. Flair; recently, Canada has indicated that they may pass legislation to legalize and recognize same-sex marriages, mirroring the efforts some states have already pioneered. This has created a massive moral backlash here in the United States, dividing the country in half in a way few other issues can manage.

What stance would a Flair administration take on it? Flair shakes his head, as if rattled, then goes right back to what he was doing without pause.

And, for the record, I am not Walter Cronkite. Hogan, racial tensions have long been a thorn in the growth of this country. There is still a perception of certain races as lower class, no matter how hard they work or what success they achieve.

What would you do to help ease the tension and bridge the gap between races? Hulkamania stands for the United States! Savage pokes his head through the curtain. You wanna piece of the Macho Man, a piece of the madness? Hogan opens his mouth, but is cut off by the one person who has, up to now, maintained a strange silence. Who is The Rock? What does The Rock have? And what can The Rock do that no one else can? DiBiase interrupts, sending Virgil over to Rather with a briefcase.

A million dollars , Rather. Think about it. The Rock comes out from behind his podium, glaring at DiBiase through his sunglasses. Suddenly, Savage comes sprawling out of the curtains and collapses on the stage.

A bulky, psychotic looking man in a leather jacket covered in a denim vest with a sledgehammer. Hogan gets the hammer next; DiBiase throws Virgil into it and runs from the madman with the hammer.

Vince joins the two as they pose at the edge of the stage, Triple H dripping in sweat, while Flair struts around, ripping his suit off piece by piece, while Jesse walks off stage, shaking his head in exasperation. Your candidates for President, every one of them as dumb as a porcupine stuck to a watermelon. These are the types of idiots we produce for public office.