Monday, November 22, 2010

Platinum Championship Wrestling 11/18/2010

Shit. I had about half of this written and saved it wrong like a dumbass, so I’m going to skip my original preamble and go straight to the event.
Last month Platinum Championship Wrestling had their debut event at The Masquerade. Me and Angry Matt and JTW were there and it was awesome enough that I switched my work schedule so that I would be able to see the second show last Thursday. The schedule change meant that I would miss WWE’s Survivor Series pay-per-view Sunday night (last night), but I’ll take a live indie show over a PPV from a boring company that doesn’t know its ass from a hole in the ground any day.

I can usually get somebody else to drive so I can enjoy a few adult beverages whenever I go out with the guys. Angry Matt was driving Thursday, but he was late picking me up because he forgot about the wrestling show that we had discussed less than 24 hours previous. I had to call him and drop a polite reminder:
Hey man. Are you still going?”
Going to what?”
The wrestling show at The Masq…”
Shit. Holy shit. I totally forgot. What time is it?”
It’s 7:24.”
Shit. I’m going out the door right now.”
All right, man.”
So we left about an hour later than we had planned. But it did give me an excuse to have Angry Matt drive because of course I had to have a beer while I was waiting for his ass. Sadly it was a Yuengling Light that somebody left at the house last movie night. Blech.
Darth Pete was already upstairs in The Masquerade when we arrived and the show was already on. Thanks to Angry Matt’s failing memory we missed the first two matches: one involved my second favorite group in PCW, the masked warriors known only as (whatever the fuck they’re called) and the other featured some other guys that nobody other than their mothers would have recognized anyway.
The third match of the night was starting as we walked in (I am finishing this article on Sunday night and have my photos for reference. For some tragic reason I do not have a single picture of this match. I have failed you as a blogger). It was Vagrant the Homeless Guy versus Archie Poo. Vagrant has a big “V” on his shirt and was wearing a belt he fished out of the dumpster behind Junkman’s Daughter because they thought it was too tacky to sell. Archie Poo was sporting what I can only refer to as “looses” because they sure as hell weren’t tights. I think he borrowed them from his older brother.
The bell rang and the action commenced, by which I mean I went to the bar to get a beer.
Now, I used to work at The Masquerade. I worked a few different jobs over the course of a couple of years. While I was there a chick named Barbie ran the place. I’m not going to get into a bunch of stories about Barbie because that would be a whole article unto itself, but Barbie was a somewhat older woman clinging tenaciously to her youth. She was pretty nice to me for the most part, so that’s as mean as I’m going to get today except to say the Barbie is the reason I know what crack smells like when it is being smoked.
The point of all this is that when I walked up to the bar I could’ve sworn the chick at the register was Barbie, but then I realized that she actually looked younger than Barbie did when I knew her and also that that was a pretty terrible thing to think about somebody. I find it hard to imagine Barbie is still alive, but if she is she is probably still working at The Masquerade.
So I got my beer from Not Barbie and headed back towards the ring to watch the exciting match.
Archie Poo was in control and throwing the weakest looking chops I’ve ever seen. That’s okay though because Vagrant was selling them like somebody was lightly dusting his chest with slices of bread. This match was kind of like a four-year-old fighting a high school kid. And the high school kid has to act like the four-year-old is beating him up but really doesn’t want to.
I hate to be too critical of wrestling wardrobe, particularly indie guys who are pretty much doing this for free; but Archie Poo really needs to invest in some black underpants. The guy is already wearing tights that are four or five sizes too big so they’re pretty much hanging off his ass the whole match, revealing what appear to be some pastel striped Walmart manties. Buddy, you’re not gonna impress anybody with that action.
Vagrant finally gained the offensive after a failed corner attack by Archie Poo. The Homeless Hero did a bunch of moves then had to let Archie Poo beat him so the little guy wouldn’t throw a tantrum. I can’t remember what move Archie Poo utilized to get his victory, but he made a little gesture afterwards – the “kiss your fingers” bon apetit thing. This doesn’t make a lot of sense being that Archie Poo’s gimmick seems to be that he is an artist and not a chef, but whatever. I was too busy having my mind blown by the fact that not only did this guy win the match, but somebody was letting him cut a ten minute promo about it to worry about a small gesture that didn’t make any sense. And Vagrant just stood there outside the ring and took it. Archie Poo has got to be somebody’s little brother.
Next up was what turned out to be a segment to promote a future event. The Washington Bullets (Jon Silver and “Virgin” Trey Purple) came out for some attempted crowd hyping. I think it might have been more effective if they had the gigantic Tag Team Trophy they were carrying around last month. I understand, though. That thing has got to be more inconvenient to carry around than a couple of belts (but apparently cheaper to manufacture). They claimed that they were the PCW Seasonal Tag Team Champions and – shockingly – claimed that they were the very best!
Note – I’m still learning the ins and outs of PCW. Each wrestling company has its own titles and rules and systems of progression. I have no idea what “Seasonal Tag Team Champions” means. Does the honor only last until Winter? Were they drawn out of a hat? Does their gear best represent Fall (no)? Do they have to dress up for each holiday during their reign, or do they maybe have their own aisle at Target? I don’t know, but I’ll let you in on it whenever I figure it out.
So the Bullets claimed they were the best and had the cinnamon scented brooms to prove it. Unfortunately for them but fortunately for those of us trying to stay awake during their promo, Seanbaby had a problem (this is where I started taking pictures).
Seanbaby is a manager in PCW and is way too good on the mic to be doing what he’s doing. His stupid Mohawk is probably the only thing keeping him from having a job that doesn’t involve touching sweaty, mostly nude men in bingo halls. I wondered aloud what Seanbaby was doing here and Darth Pete smoothly replied, “Wishing it was 2002.” Good one.
Seanbaby came out with two of his wrestlers – CM Flunk and Dollar William. Words were exchanged (well, more like dealt – the Bullets were out of their verbal league) and punches were eventually thrown. I thought we were in for a pretty good match because both of these teams don’t suck, but Seanbaby’s wards bailed after a couple of minutes, which unfortunately allowed the Bullets more mic time.
But next up was the greatest wrestling match I have ever seen in person, and that’s including Lenny Lane & Lodi v. the Steiners v. the Midnight Express in a STEEL FENCE OF DEATH match. That metal is RAZOR SHARP, folks!
At the last PCW show I became a fan of a team called the Exotic Ones. I don’t know their real names, but they look like this:
So we’ll call them – from left to right – Sparkles, Meat Snack and Harvey.
If you can’t tell from the picture, their gimmick is that they’re mechanics.
HA! Just kidding! Their gimmick – clearly – is that all of them are as queer as three football bats stuck up Tom Cruise’s ass (allegedly). Which I have a ton of respect for. That is a gimmick that is going to be such a fucking burden but is going to get you over BIG TIME if you can commit to it. Some of my favorite wrestlers have had gimmicks along those lines – Rico, Gorgeous George, Goldust, the aforementioned Lenny & Lodi (hell, the only time Monty Sopp was even close to tolerable was in the Billy & Chuck days) – and I think they’re brave as hell for just rolling with it.
At the last PCW show, the Exotic Ones got into some serious shit with a group called the Konkrete Gorillas. Luckily for everybody who was at The Masquerade last Thursday, this resulted in the scheduling of a street fight for 11/18/2010. And it was fucking unbelievable.
In case you somehow don’t know, the Konkrete Gorillas are one of the top heel groups in PCW.
From left to right they are Huey, Dewey and Louie. Sorry, but every name I came up with for these guys ended up seeming borderline racist, and when you’re dealing with three black guys calling themselves the Konkrete Gorillas you’re already in sketchy territory.
The action started in the ring, but that weak-ass shit lasted for about thirty seconds before somebody got knocked over the top rope and landed on the hard, wooden floor (there are no mats out there, people!) where most of the rest of this massacre took place.
My words can’t possibly do this titanic conflict justice, so I’m going to let pictures tell the story, with the occasional comment.
This is where things got almost legit scary, because Huey went and got a non-gimmicked bar stool and was walking all purposefully back towards the front of the room like he was going to wrap it around a motherfucker’s dome piece.
That chick almost didn’t move fast enough.
This is after Harvey went to the back of the bar, got a non-gimmicked bottle and broke the top off. As is the nature of pro wrestling, Dewey took it away from him and cut his fucking face off with it:
I love how the guy in the back (the ring announcer, who we are all convinced is drunk) just does not give a shit about the brutal maiming going on less than three feet away from him.
Huey went high for this Frogsplash Elbow, which was very impressive considering the ceiling is about four feet above the top of the turnbuckle post.
I love this picture because Louie is just straight-up kicking Harvey in the gut while he’s down. Dick.
Yeah, they were for real in our midst beating the shit out of each other. I don’t care how planned something is, when somebody hits you in the face with a Masquerade chair it fucking sucks.
I don’t think this hipster guy was too upset about Sparkles landing in his lap.
He was, however, upset when Louie went to hit Sparkles with a beer bottle and Sparkles ducked and hipster guy took it in the ear.
Granted, he was a plant, but it was a great little bit of business. And either way, at least a doctor was on hand.
I have no idea how it went down, but the Exotic Ones got the win. I think. Either way, they celebrated afterwards.
Next up was a battle royal. I think they called it the Platinum Royal, which kind of doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what you got for winning it, but I’m guessing it was something all of these wrestlers dream about daily: cab fare.
The participants were – left to right – Jason “The Jar” Mason, Foxy Carmichael, Lil’ Sting, Crazee Ted, Archie Poo and the Washington Bullets. And I’m pretty sure Archie Poo is totally feeling on Crazee Ted’s right boob because Crazee Ted is actually a chick.
Then Seanbaby showed up with his pair of losers
and finally Stephanie McLayin’ brought out her protégé, Miner Threat.
There were a couple of other people involved in the 2010 Cab Fare Platinum 21 Battle Royal, but it didn’t matter because the thing was over in, like, three minutes (and we’re outta control).
There’s some kind of storyline where Lil’ Sting is obligated to do what Jason “The Jar” Mason tells him to and it’s actually working pretty well. Apparently Lil’ Sting is one of the top babyfaces in PCW and his story of having to do what the douchebag heel tells him to is going along even better than John Cena’s (and I honestly can’t complain about that one). So Lil’ Sting – under orders from “The Jar” – had to eliminate his presumably good friend Crazee Ted. He then had to eliminate himself, making “The Jar” the winner of the cab fare. Everybody in the room booed lustily. I guess Lil’ Sting will be hoofing it home.
But then Stephanie McLayin’ came out and “The Jar” dropped out of that ring like somebody set his crooked tattoo on fire. McLayin’ must have better goons in reserve, because if I remember correctly Miner Threat lived up to his namesake and got eliminated in the first twelve seconds of the match. Either that, or McLayin’ and “The Jar” have some awkward history.
I have no idea what McLayin’ said at this point, because I was pretty fucking hammered.
Your Platinum Championship Wrestling Maaaaaain Event!
At the last Masquerade show a fella that I used to refer to as Muffin Top won a four-way match against Davey Richards, Shane Marx and somebody else to earn a title shot at last Thursday’s show. I make up funny names for these guys because I often don’t know their real names. But once somebody has impressed me enough to the point that I can recognize them and remember their real name, I feel obligated to use it. So as a result of Muffin Top’s performance at Dragon*Con in September, the Masquerade in October and this past Thursday, he will now be known by his real (fake) ring name of Chip Day.
So… Your PCW Main Event was Chip Day versus Shane Marx (who earned his name last time in a record single match – the guy is good) for the Platinum Championship Wrestling Main Title!
We started things off with a nice show of respect…
And the match was so good that I totally forgot to take any pictures after this one until the thing was over.
And then that mega-douche “The Jar” came out with Foxy Carmichael and Lil’ Sting and whooped the piss out of Marx. I can’t remember if Chip Day bailed or got beat down or just left before the douche crew arrived, but the champ was on his own.
Until Archie Poo and Crazee Ted showed up to make the save.
And then PCW’s Chief Executive General Chairman, Chill Phil showed up to lay down the motherfucking LAW! 
He announced that the next PCW Masquerade show would be on December the 23rd (I will definitely fucking be there and you should, too!). He also announced that Jason “The Jar” Mason had won not only cab fare in the Platinum Royal Battle of Doom, but also a shot at Shane Marx’s championship! And then he laid a BOMB on the crowd by announcing that due to the business between the Exotic Ones and the Konkrete Gorillas being unfinished, the teams would meet again on 12-23; but this time in a STEEL MOTHERFUCKING CAGE, BITCHES! And then Chill Phil, the Curator of Cool for reals, yo dropped the mega-mega neutron explode-o-matic 5000 bomb of the week:
Since we’ve already got a steel cage, let’s just leave it up for the big championship match so Marx and Mason can just murder the shit out of each other!”
After the show, the wrestlers all came out to mingle with the crowd. Angry Matt approached Dewey and told him how awesome he thought the street fight was. Dewey promptly tossed his blood-soaked t-shirt:
at Angry Matt, said, “Thanks, man. Keep it.” To which Angry Matt replied, “Eeeeew.”
Naturally I told him if he didn’t want it I’d take it, so it’s at the house in a Walmart bag right now. I think I’m going to frame it along with this picture:
Until next time, stay creepy

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