Was that a giant green loogie that you spit during your HHH entrance?

Whattup with your shirt? It's, like, blinking from dull red to bright red.

RESONSE FROM KE: Actually, that's orange. We were trying to simulate the flashing lights that occur during HHH's entrance.

An elegant analysis of the "Russo Situation".
The Orioles are obviously missing out.

The sound sucks. You've got as much personality as Lance Cade (dead Lance Cade, that is). Your bleached-blonde hair makes you look like a fat Chris Candido (also dead Chris Candido, meaning you look like a fat, dead Chris Candido). And like them, you look like you're on pills. You make Vince Russo likeable. I want YOU to lose your job. Lastly, stop looking lustily at the HBK poster behind you. It's weird.

RESPONSE FROM KE: Thanks for watching! And I'm not fat.

@ Kelvin

There is an essential problem with social discourse devolving to competetive insult. It is that not only does it feed negatively on itself---but it inevitably backfires on the instigator, because like any competition, there is always someone better.
I mean, someone could say any of the following:
1.) "You are like a chattering hyena---dumb, senseless and helpless against wretched and embarassing urges to roll in your own filth. Perhaps it would be better if you were stuffed into a bottle and floated off on the Japanese current."
2.) "Unprovoked aggression against another, especially with sexual connotations, usually indicates a sexual frustration on the part of the instigator, typically because the aggressor has repressed sexual tension as it involves his or her feelings towards his or her target---when it is male to male aggression, there can be an added element that social conditioning increases the frustration as the instigating male is ashamed of his homoerotic urges and so lashes out at the object of his sexual tension with the projection that it is the target, not the instigator, who is a homosexual. We are not prejudiced here, Kelvin. Come on out of that closet. There's no need to live in the dark anymore. We love you."
3.) Or something simple, like, "the best part of you oozed down your father's leg on a hot July morning---A twist of Kleenex, a quick flush--and well, my condolences. At least you got your mother's eyes---they will serve you well in your future as a cheap Moroccan prostitute. The men there go wild for a good set of feminine lashes. Make sure to pack plenty of Visine, as I've heard it stings quite a bit when they finish. Don't be a fool, charge extra for that."

Now see? That isn't very hard to do, and it isn't very mature or nice. In fact, it's downright vulgar and it makes me sick to my stomach to theorize someone saying those kind of things to anyone, even to you. I mean, I'd like to say right now that I'm not directing that at anyone in particular at all. I'm just theorizing--like providing a public service of how sharp and nasty and more imaginative with their insulting someone could be if you happened to finally leave so much inane crap on this blog that you provoked someone into doing it.
Sure, you could respond back with the likes of the pedestrian crap you've laid on all of us before--but you'd look pretty stupid and small if someone was that much better at it than you. Take a note of that, because we certainly wouldn't want to see it happen.

Where can I get one of those cool Simmons shirts???

wow
i lol'ed at the triple h bit(specially that look)

Isn't your little Q&A session just a rip-off of something Booker T. did some time ago? I think his was called go ahead, ax me. :}

Interesting stuff..But I've gotta say you made the right choice with "time to play the game" instead of "Sexy Boy" for sure. Btw--gotta cut the camera before the hot girl demands her payment!! Not that I'm speaking from personal experience or anything.

As Zack Ryder would say, "Did you steal Kelvin's girlfriend or something?"

Big credit for using the Chris Jericho soundbite. I laughed pretty hard when I heard it.

Either Dixie Carter is delusional or Vince Russo is the greatest snake oil salesman in the wrestling business. Then again, I suppose it could be both.

The Bob Backlund story was hilarious too. Sounds like a real heel moment you pulled on your friend (although I'd have done the same...)

@Kelvin

Just like I thought...no more laughing from the filthy hyena. I have conquered you with my literal lambaste. Now that you're gone, I can resume fantasizing about Eck and HBK dueling to the breast in a bra and panties match.

@ (Not So)DumbSmark

Why has the name Barry Horowitz suddenly leaped to my mind?

Give the divas like Stacey more time in your program. It's good for ratings.....

Well...I've had to think about what everyone said. The more I think about it, the more I'm caught in the swell of the painful memories that made me lash out on this blog, all the while sitting in my threadbare yellow underwear, the smell of my own sweat cloying as it collects in pools under my side rolls---while tears drop softly on my bulbous man-breasts, their cadence mimicking the thin patter of my heart.
I can remember, all of those years ago, grandpappy lashing me to the clothespole behind the house and having my thirteen brothers and sisters pelt me with pebbles and shards of pop bottles while he read passages from the Old Testament in a quavering old man's voice that was almost lost in the high-pitched droning of cicadas among the tall oaks.
Those Old Testament passages spoke of an unmerciful God, and my grandpappy made it clear that I was not like the others---I needed "correction", as he called it, and when he left to go back to the oil-dirt floor of the sitting room with his croup-medicine, once the day's lessons were over, he'd leave me out there among the others.
They'd continue to pelt me and call me names like "piggy", "fatback", and "queer-boy". After awhile, I thought I understood my grandpappy's wisdom, and when my brothers and sisters would finally untie me from the rusty pole and "fatslap" me back to my crusty blanket under the plowing harrow in the shed, I'd lay there shivering, my doughy skin as red as a Maine lobster, and I'd think long and hard about what all of those words and peltings and fatslappings meant.
It was a hard life, but I knew that someday I'd grow up to be just like my grandpappy and he wouldn't call me "nancyboy" ever again, and my brothers and sisters would treat me like one of their own, and I would never again have those filthy urges to stand in the dark shrubs next to the loading dock at the local Piggly Wiggly, watching the sweating, heaving shoulders of the men unloading the week's produce. I wouldn't get that funny, twittering feeling in the bottom of my stomach, and my grandpappy would say that I was a good boy, and he would never again say that my mother and father left us all those years ago because they couldn't stand how ugly and wrong their youngest son had come out. My thirteen brothers and sisters wouldn't hate me anymore for it either, because they'd understand too.
It wasn't until I finally understood that none of that pain has ever gone away---that maybe it was okay for me to get excited at the strenuous grunts of those working men all of those years ago, and to feel funny when the hot Georgia breeze would send a faint whiff of their scent my way, hunkered in the bushes, fearing when I would have to go home and be lashed to the pole again for my transgressions----it wasn't until then that I realized that it's okay to be who I am.
I apologize to Mr. Eck. I apologize to all of the other commenters. It's just that I needed you all to help me to learn that everything my grandpappy taught me all of those years ago was wrong. It's okay to be a homosexual. Black people don't have orange insides. It's wrong to sit back in anonymity and take potshots at somebody to justify some false sense of my own power. I know now that my grandpappy did this to me...the hell of it is, I still love him. It's going to take me a long time to work these feelings out, but I just want to thank you all and tell you that I'm okay.

Is DumbSmark actually Peter Schmuck? Also, Gene Simmons stinks.

RESPONSE FROM KE: Hey now!

The Triple H bit was hilarious.

Say, what's the deal? I didn't write any of that stuff about my grandpappy! Someone with an inability to keep his comments about professional wrestling to under 600 words, who consistently writes in a wordy, droning style is obviously mocking me. Man...I'm real sad now about my life.

I had sent like a good 5 questions.But none were good enough for you.

By the way 3 questions in 6 mins?.I gues you could have done atleast 5,had you not bored us with your childhood stories and stick to the question!

greetings from riyadh-saudia arabia