#alex fucking better make it or buffalo and i are throwing h a n d s

[ohlsteelheads]

Depending on how many trout alumni make the show this year my bank account is gonna fucking suffer

[angrywrasslenerd]

2016 SUCKED!

Okay, stop me if you’ve heard this shit already.  Wait, of course you have.  Why the fuck would you be here if you didn’t?  There’s not a single fucking donkey-fuck reading this who doesn’t already know how bad the state of the dis-union in SWA 2016 sucked.  I mean, where do I even fucking start?

I mean, first and worst, we’ve got that god-mode piece of buffalo-turd Samael putting Thunder on the shelf for good.  This is what you get sending the greenest jack-off since that fuckwad Shiranui that NWPW thought was their ticket to stardom up against your hottest tag man, thinking maybe, just fucking maybe Thunder can make him suck just that little bit less.  Didn’t they learn their lesson the last time they let a fucking psychopath on the roster?  At least Darius Casimir was just a bloodthirsty maniac who nearly caved people’s heads in because he got his sick jollies ripping people apart.  He wasn’t some batshit conspiracy theory-spouting nut-fuck trying to start a cult of crazy.  I mean, do we seriously need to even discuss the kind of Charlie Sheen drinking tiger blood fuck-wittery Samael keeps spewing about SWA management?  And they just trust this no-talent hack with a grudge in their ring?  What the fuck was Alex Morgainne smoking this time?

So now, we have the South Boston Southpaw out of the business, permanently.  To add insult to injury, we lose the other half of the Laytner tag-team to this fiasco, because Chance has more than a dreg of decency and won’t abandon her brother to a life of mediocrity.  I just can’t understand how this could possibly be a worthwhile trade: keep Samael, lose Chance and Thunder.  How the fuck does this monkey knife-fight even begin to sound fair?

Fuck it.  Moving on before I puke acid blood out my eyeballs or something.

Now we get to the thing no one can unsee, and I should know.  I damn near gave myself alcohol poisoning trying to scrub this vision of rotting roadkill from my memory.  The arrival of Fabio MotherFUCKING Silva on the scene.  The first of Samael’s so-called “Three Devils,” and by far the diarrhea-sauce on this turd sundae.  How the fuck does this miserable wad of cow-pie get himself a title shot after he managed to fuck Connor Cipris and Armel St. Martin up the ass during their title rematch?  Since when does screwing the champ and his challenger out of a clean match give someone a chance at the gold?  I don’t remember that ever working for N-Trio, even when he was so far up Jamie Fushichou’s ass he could see daylight out his nostrils.  Holy miscarriage of justice, Batman!

And the puke-train doesn’t stop there.  Sure, Fabio MotherFUCKING Silva gets his title match, he even takes every possible shot to cripple Armel St. Martin before they even get to Emergence, and then he tries to beg off with a pulled groin.  Yeah, right.  From what, banging ring-rats?  Instead, he tells everyone right at the start of the show that he’s got a replacement, a real devil of a guy straight outta Mexico.  So, instead of even getting the joy of seeing Armel bounce Silva, we get some nobody out of Puerto Escondido who calls himself “El Rey Dorado.”  Yeah, I’d never heard of this fuckboy either, but anything’s better than watching Fabio MotherFUCKING Silva shit all over yet another SWA title match, right?

I mean, I can admit when I’m wrong.  El Rey Dorado is totally not a waste of oxygen.  He took it straight to Armel, gave him one hell of a fight, and I could totally have been behind him taking the gold in a straight-up, legit wrestling match.  I might be out of my fucking mind, but I seriously don’t think El Rey even needed to cheat.  He’s actually good, I mean honestly and genuinely a damn good wrestler.  I’d watch him any day of the week, if he actually went out there and scored a clean, clear win.

Instead, some little bleach-blond fuck comes tearing in out of nowhere, while that walking skidmark Silva kept the referee busy on the apron.  Why, why in the unholy name of Bobby Heenan do they keep letting that mouth-breather Toby Russel ref the title matches?  This shit wouldn’t happen if Fletcher was in charge of this fucking one-ring circus act.  But of course, Toby just can’t keep his fucking shit together, and never even sees it when this Aguijon Tachibana creeper slides into the ring and rings Armel’s bell with a kick that’d probably turn Connor Cipris greener than the fucking Hulk with envy.  Then, to add insult to injury, he throws down this reverse-flip 450 what-the-fuck I find out later he calls a “Deathstalker Press,” slides out of the ring as slick as he slithered in, and lets El Rey take the pin.  What the actual fuck.  I mean, you’ve got the champ dead-to-rights, you’ve got this match on fucking lock-down, and you still feel the need to let your ass-cackle buddies jump the other guy?  Minus all respect in under a minute.

And so we come to the end of the year, with this gang of baboons parading around that title El Rey has somehow managed to keep around his waist.  I have no fucking clue how he’s doing this.  It’d be one thing if he was a greasy slime-turd like that rat-bastard Silva.  If he needed his goon squad to throw themselves in the line of fire at every turn, like fucking D-X pulling Triple H’s ass out of the fire like some Saturday morning cartoon villain’s incompetent minions.  But he doesn’t.  He doesn’t need any of that.  He can just go in there and fucking wrestle, and he’d probably still have taken down all comers.  He just does it because he can.  He sinks to that level because he wants to, and I just don’t fucking understand!  Why is this guy wasting himself working with a no-talent buffalo diarrhea-turd like Fabio MotherFUCKING Silva?

Oh, and it gets even fucking better.  They just announced the Crescendo card, and it looks like these “Los Diablos” jack-offs are slated for a tag-team title match.  The entire thought of these scum-suckers holding the tag-team titles makes me want to chug a whole goddamn bottle of Drain-o.  The fuck were they thinking?