Note: I started off just fine yesterday and then degenerated into this whole other thing because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make the PCW recap a worthwhile read because I was kind of distracted during the show. I’m still not sure I can do it justice, but here’s attempt #2. Also, I’m just going to refer to this as PCW for the sake of my writing flow. Otherwise I’m going to have to go back every five minutes and correct “PCW” to “Empire” and I’m just not going to do that. And yes - that is a very shitty picture. Trust me, it goes with the body of work here.
Okay, to kind of continue from where I just blatantly wandered off course yesterday, we had a record number of DCW Hooligans in attendance at the show.
We got there early enough to get a couple of tables and some chairs and I headed straight for the bar. The same adorable little bartender was there that’s been there the last few times and I always feel bad for her because it seems like The Masquerade doesn’t really know how to plan for PCW nights. She’s always swamped. I can’t really blame the management though. Sometimes PCW seems to draw fifty. Sometimes it seems like there are a couple hundred in there. The percentage of people drinking seems to vary pretty greatly as well. But last Thursday seemed like a pretty big night, so little bartender was swamped early.
Linkin Park happened to be playing on the audio system when we arrived. When I got to the bar and placed my order, the bartender – our dear, cute little friend – said something about the memories the album brought back. From back when she was in Middle School. This was the first Linkin Park album, so even if she was talking about the very first year the album came out – 2000 - and her very last year of Middle School, that still makes me about eight hundred years older than her. No more ogling cute little bartender.
So I took my beers and my ancient, broken-down old body back to the table and tried not to think about it. I’m pretty good at not thinking, so I felt better in short order.
The Grand Hoff and Little Pond arrived shortly after that. Little Pond distributed some gingerbread cookies she had made for everybody. I hear they were delicious.
You might think that I didn’t get to eat any of the delicious gingerbread cookies because I am on one of my strict diets and not eating cookies. You might also guess that we accidentally left the cookies at The Masquerade in a bout of drunken forgetfulness. It would even be reasonable to think that they got left in a car, or maybe our auxiliary dog got a hold of them. Those would all be perfectly acceptable scenarios that would deny me those delicious gingerbread cookies.
Naturally, none of those things are what happened at all. For the harrowing conclusion to The Mystery of Why Phantom Troublemaker Didn’t Get Any Fucking Delicious Gingerbread Cookies you’re going to have to stick this thing out. It’ll come back around at the end.
And so, with gifts dispensed and beers in hand, the action commenced!
Grant Case kicked things off after an aborted attempt at the Platinum Championship Wrestling theme song that the Hooligans proudly did their best to finish. And sadly, our announce team for the event consisted of Shane Marx and some other dude.
I don’t wanna bag on wither one of these guys because I wasn’t paying as much attention as I normally do, but I’ll just say that the lack of Stephen Platinum – or Kurt Kilgore, for that matter – was very noticeable. Other Guy was very pro-PCW and Marx, if I remember correctly, was very pro-not saying very much. It was not PCW’s finest hour in terms of commentary excitement. That’s okay because this is not going to be my finest hour as far as recap accuracy. Or content.
Empire Members Skirt Guy, Andrew Pendleton III, and Dany “Human Hand Grenade” Only
“Sensational” Jay Fury, “Do or Die” Chip Day, and Terry “Rocker” Lawler
First off, let me apologize for still not knowing the name of the guy in the skirt that looks like Fairuza Balk. It’s my fault.
This was by far the best match I can remember PCW starting a show with. Obviously the Hooligans are going to be behind our boy Chip Day, but everybody else in the match was a pretty big deal too. Pendleton looks like he might’ve dropped a little extra weight and Only must be on fucking P90X or something. That guy is lean as heck right now.
This match kicked all kinds of ass. Everybody hit their signature stuff, the action was fast and intense and Lawler got some nice old-school bits in. Here’s some decent pictures I got:
Empire does the classic “regrouping outside the ring” bit so Chip Day decides to flip over the top rope into their midst!
Fury hit his standing moonsault on Skirt Guy.
And followed it up with the Frogsplash elbow to get the win for Team PCW!
I’m serious – this match was pretty electric. It really could have been the Main Event. Then again, I’m always in favor of a big, exciting open to get everybody’s attention. The good guys won and everybody was happy. Well, everybody that isn’t Empire.
The Konkrete Gorillaz
The Washington Bullets
Every single time the Gorillaz hook up with the Bullets it’s pretty awesome. This match wasn’t quite as exciting as the opener, but mainly because it offered something we’ve seen a few times before. The action was solid and just as The Grand Hoff was commenting the Geter must be the big guy that just stands there, the Gorillaz’ big man pulled out a sick roundhouse or something. I don’t recall exactly what happened, but it totally made Geter look like gold. He’s really been impressing me more each time I see him and working with Jon and Trey of the Bullets seems to be a good plan.
Naturally things got taken to the outside and Geter ended up recovering by the apron. Trey chose this time to shoe everybody that he can basically just fly. I swear the guy was just standing in the middle of the ring, and then all of a sudden this happened:
That’s awesome on its own, but Geter caught him. And then rammed the poor guy’s spine right into the ol’ turnbuckle post.
I am almost positive the Bullets came back and won this one, because I think I was surprised to see two babyface wins in a row. I apologize for not having better recall. Lots of beers. And believe me – things aren’t going to get any better Phantomaniacs. Although they’re looking pretty darn good right now because our next match is
“Marvelous” Marko Polo
This match is a result of the fallout from the Academy Theater show I was able to attend on 11-11-11. These two are great foes and the Lady Hooligans seem to really like Polo for some reason.
Polo made his usual grand entrance to the greatest entrance music ever (which I would love to have an MP3 of ). He was sporting a little Santa jacket that pretty clearly came off the rack at Frederick’s of Hollywood. Speaking of racks, Polo’s valet was in tow with a bag full of goodies for the folks in attendance. I believe she was handing out photos of the Marvelous One. I can’t imagine what he was wearing in them.
Simon Sermon made his entrance and promptly snatched Polo’s signature lip gloss from his valet and stuck it… well… pretty much up his ass. And deep. Like, Friday night at The Hideaway deep. It was impressive. If there was a picture of it I don’t think Facebook would allow you to post it. Just as Polo turned around to request his lip balm Sermon tossed it to the hapless valet, who was too frazzled to do anything but hand it to her man, who of course proceeded to apply it thoroughly. I can’t emphasize enough how amazing the timing was between the three people involved in this gag. If anybody had been even a second off it would have come off as bad as a referee missing a chair shot, but these guys really nailed it.
I really wish I had pictures of the actual match or Mr. Sermon, but I forgot to set my camera to “Fabulous”. I’m pretty sure Simon won, but it really doesn’t matter as long as these two keep interacting.
Empire Wrestling Cab Fare Battle Royal
Lots of people were in this match that I am not familiar with, but that’s part of the magic of PCW. There are always just enough familiar faces to keep your interest, but you’re also going to see some fresh faces every single time.
Due to some wonky TNA-esque rules, the match came down to the last survivor of the battle royal and the guy that had eliminated the most competitors. Zack Daniels was one of those men and he ended up eliminating the other one to win cab fare home or whatever the prize for winning was.
I told you. Things are really falling apart. I have, like, five pictures left and not even one of Daisho, who I believe might have been next. I’m not even going to consider it a match because Vordell Walker and Kyle Matthews are pretty great at just coming out and whooping the piss out of whichever two dudes had the misfortune of being in the ring at the time.
There are two things worth noting here: 1) Daisho now have an entourage, and 2) I’m pretty sure this is the point where somebody got fucked up so bad Doctor Melei had to leave her post and use her Magic Boots of Healing to revive an injured competitor.
I think this was also about the time we got a surprise run in from all-new DCW Hooligan Bear! I’m calling him Bear not because I have anything bear-related to say but because his ladyfriend, the Queen of Crunk, calls him Bear. I have no idea of the significance and really hope it isn’t anything sexy-time-related. Bear used to play bass in my terrible band and was the only one of us with real, built-in musical talent. Someday I’ll publish the story of The Irresponsibles. I’ve got a good portion written, it’s just a matter of getting it all together.
So anyway, Bear shows up. It was cool to see him and he stuck around for almost the whole rest of the night.
Match #5 (?)
In A Strap Match!
I did my very best to watch this match. I even took some pictures. But I was really fucking drunk by now. I do know that it ended with the Gorillaz running in to help Aisha. So once again, No Contest. After the Bullets ran out to help Pandora (which is so bizarre to sit here and type) things leveled out.
Damn, now that I think about it, I must have really paid attention to this one because I can remember it fairly well. It was classic strap match rules where you have to tag each turnbuckle to win. I think a takedown or being thrown outside the ring starts the count over. Both ladies did a great job. There was one big, dramatic moment where Aisha was outside the ring and it looked like Pandora was really going to get the clean win but couldn’t quite make it to the last turnbuckle. Naturally that’s when the Gorillaz showed up. Yeah – this was a very good one from the ladies. There were some really good spots where it looked like either one would win and once again they are demonstrating they can work any kind of match that Stephen Platinum…. er, The Empire… puts them in.
The Grand Hoff started this match off by saying that he really hoped we’d get the Gorillaz and Aisha versus the Bullets and Pandora at some point. The wrestling gods must have heard, because lo and behold, that very match is happening at the next Masquerade show in January! Way to go, Grand Hoff!
Match #6 (?)
Oh, fuck me sideways.
Yeah – it’s that Jersey Shore douche from Dragon*Con. His Axe Body…
OH FUCK NO.
And he’s managed by Jeff G. Bailey, whose obnoxious shoes are only outdone by his obnoxious mouth. I cannot believe this guy has shown up to ruin my Masquerade night. You’d have to travel to Tijuana, Mexico to find a bigger performing jackass than Jeff G. Bailey.
But in true heel manager fashion he gets me much more geared up for this match than I otherwise would have been. The guy grabs a mic and is just really fucking good. Oh, and his charge is “The Temptation” Shane Tempers (I think) and is an NWA champion of some sort.
Not gonna lie, folks. I’m out of recall. I think Tempers won this one, but I have no clue. Which brings us to:
Platinum Championship Wrestling
Platinum Championship Wrestling Title
No idea what happened here. I know Mason retained and I’m pretty sure the Gorillaz ran out at some point. As always it was chaos in the ring to close the show.
It was also chaos in the back, as the Hooligans were trying to decide where the after party was going to be. There was no planned after party like the one for Sacred Ground Chapter 2, but we weren’t about to just go home.
And then the inevitable happened. I had been dreading the day that our trusty Designated Driver Angry Matt would tire of our endless nights of drunken shenanigans. And finally it had come. With visible remorse on his face he told me that he was tired and had to work in the morning and really just wanted to go home.
Phantomaniacs, I’m not ashamed to tell you, I almost wept.
We were in the midst of a night of greatness and Angry Matt was ready to just shut it down. Don’t get me wrong – he had every right to do so. He’s been a solid and steady DD for years now. I always wondered how he tolerated it. I knew the end had to come sometime. And Thursday, December 15th, 2011 was it.
With a heavy heart and an overly-pantomimed shrug I turned to the rest of the Hooligans and indicated that we had no choice. Mrs. Troublemaker and I would have to return to the suburbs, night unfulfilled. Naturally Evil raced to our rescue and offered to give us a ride home. I mean, the guy lives right around the corner. I just don’t ever want to presume.
So I did my best to give Angry Matt directions back to the Interstate and wished him well. It was probably for the best. The Hooligans had achieved a 1-to-3 Ginger ratio by then and that is dangerously sexy territory for any group of people.
We didn’t particularly want to travel anywhere and The Masquerade was unlikely to run out of beer, so we decided we’d stick around and enjoy one of Atlanta’s legendary party nights: 80’s Night at The Masquerade!
Back during the late nineties and early aughts Thursday nights in Hell (the downstairs dance club) were ridiculously hot at The Masquerade. During the time that I worked there the whole room would be packed so tight you could barely make it from one side to the other, which was unfortunate because it was my job to move from one side to the other. The music would play from 8 PM to 2 AM and it would still be packed when things stopped. You know all those movies where they show giant dance clubs and people sweating and laughing and moving and you’re all like, “Well that probably doesn’t really happen like that anywhere.”
Well it happened every Thursday at The Masquerade.
So we thought it would be cool to relive old times and hang out in Hell for some 80’s music.
The eight of us headed downstairs and walked onto a bare dance floor. It was eleven o’clock on Thursday night and there was not a single other fucking person in what used to be the busiest dance club. There was no party. So we made a party.
But before I get into that, I want to talk about why I think that dance club was empty. It’s the most obvious reason you could think of, really: the DJ fucking sucked.
I don’t know who it was or anything, but they had no sense of flow or progression or what kind of music people dance to. It was like they just went out and bought a CD of 80’s music and threw it on. So little was danceable. I guess I get why The Masquerade would let such a shit DJ work. I mean, you could barely move back in the day. Now we had plenty of room to dance and walk to the bar and fucking lay down on the floor and take a nap if we really wanted to. And believe me, the musical selections inspired that sort of thing.
So anyway, we made the best of it and flailed about as only the whitest and most uncoordinated of people do. There were these three guys breakdancing at one point. I’ve never tried it, and due to the amount of beers that had made their way past my lips at that point I thought that would be a really good night to try. So after they each took a turn spinning and kicking their feet and whatnot, I headed over to their little area and laid it down. By which I mean I laid on my side and spun around in a circle, Homer Simpson-style. It was dope.
By the way – if you’re upset about my shitty recap, just take into account the fact that I was drunk enough to think laying down on the Masquerade floor was a good idea. But whatever. I entertained my people. That’s what matters.
Eventually we got so sick of the shitty music we had to move on, so we headed across the hall to Purgatory, which is mostly a bar. There was a DJ in there too, and even though he was playing shitty modern rap he was still way better at his job than 80’s person. I bought a round for everybody and we hung out in there and did our version of dancing until it was time to go home.
And here it is, folks – the conclusion of the cookie fiasco.
We got home and after an hour interval where things happened that I am not going to tell you about, I went out to the kitchen and put the Little Pond cookies on top of the fridge. I then very specifically said:
“I am not going to eat any of these now because I don’t want to throw them up. I want to wait until later. But they’re up here if you and Lil’ Troublemaker want some.”
I wanted to enjoy the cookies whenever I did eat them.
We watched the new Fear Factor, which is the same as the old Fear Factor (which is perfect) and then passed out.
And apparently during that hour that I did not elaborate on above I must have inadvertently fucked Mrs. Troublemaker senseless because…
I almost can’t say it…
She ate all the motherfucking cookies.
Well, her and our son, who I have since had a very long and serious talk with about community comestibles and the responsibilities of those in the community to make sure everybody gets some.
I was at work all night Friday, just thinking about having a couple (NOT ALL) of those cookies with a glass of egg nog. Got me through the night. I was so excited.
And then I got home to NO COOKIES.
Mrs. Troublemaker must have felt really, really bad because she baked me some other cookies. That’s a huge deal. The only comparison I can think to make would be if I were to build a car from scratch, so I’m definitely going to call this one settled.
Until next time, stay creepy