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Post of the Year 2017


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Yes, already.


The year was only 1 hour and 23 minutes old when Astro Hollywood knocked it out of the park with his picks for the Royal Rumble surprise entrant pool:


They've done that spot where a big lad (Strowman) has cleaned house early, and stands there catching his breath for a bit in an empty ring.


5-4-3-2-1 BOOOOP!


The lights in the arena go off. Hushed excitement in the darkness. When they come back on, Strowman is face to face with...











After years of speculation, the last true remaining star from the glory days has finally come home. Maureen Lipman is here, setting up her induction into the HoF at Wrestlemania. She's in her BT garb, as that's what everyone really wants to see, like when Hogan went back to the red and yellow, although smarks are moaning on Twitter that she's not in her gear from the sitcom where she was an agony aunt. Lipman and Strowman exchange chops, and the big man's selling like he never has before. They slug away like hosses, and the next entrant, Kalisto, is so scared, he hides outside the ring. Eventually, they pull each other over to the floor, like Bret and Lex, and brawl down the aisle to the back. Lipman vs. Strowman at Wrestlemania is the only thing on people's minds.


The crowd are still chanting "LIPMAN! LIPMAN! LIPMAN!" every time Roman eliminates someone, so Vince knows he has to do something to turn them back onside before it gets hijacked again.


5-4-3-2-1 BOOOOP!







To some lovely black gospel music and a Titantron of the time he got mugged by Baby Spice, Jules Tavernier from Eastenders marches to the ring, waving to the fans, many who are openly weeping with joy. He steps into the ring, and is straight out again via a Lesnar clothesline, for the comedy Bushwhacker elimination in just under 2 seconds. Sadly, the impact kills him, and the next few entrants have to step around paramedics who are (vainly, I'm afraid to say) performing CPR, and then strapping his corpse to a stretcher. Some poo is coming out of his bottom.


As we get into the final act, where there are just five remaining, the crowd are still a bit deflated by the underwhelming booking, and Jules Tavernier off of Eastenders' violent death. Some poo from his bottom is still visible on the ramp. There's just #30 to go. But who? An old face? A new call-up from NXT? We'll soon find out...


5-4-3-2-1 BOOOOP!






Fuck me, it's Brian Sewell. Death hasn't stopped him. As soon as he's through the curtain, he's pointing at the Wrestlemania sign. He really, really wants it. He doesn't even have theme music. It's just a loop of him, in his calm, plummy voice repeating " SEWELL IS HERE. SEWELL IS HERE." But it's so deafeningly loud, the canvas is shaking, and everyone in the arena is covering their ears. Vince yells at the production truck to turn it off, but there's nothing playing. You can still hear it though, inside your head. Long after the Rumble is finished, you can still hear it. And always will.


Anyway, Flyin' Brian Sewell is babyface fire, giving out double noggin-knockers and atomic drops, and leaving everyone laying. Sadly for the Sewellmaniacs, they do the "how can we get Big Show out?" spot, and everyone gangs up on him, heave-hoing him over the top. He just shrugs, like he didn't even care or nuffink, and just fades until he's gone, like when you turn off an old TV.





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Probably goes without saying, but Tiger Rick's Rumble stats post to open the Rumble discussion thread is exceptional, just absolutely ace. I won't quote it here, just due to the sheer length, but it really is fantastic. 


EDIT : Oops, Gus beat me to it. But a +1 from me.

Edited by mim731
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My Dad is an utter weirdo when it comes to wallpaper. Instead of buying enough rolls for the room, he gets enough rolls for that room 3 times over in case of accidents. We had rolls and rolls of wallpaper in our loft, hoping it's still there, but I know my dad installed a loft ladder recently rather than balancing on a chair from the kitchen at 65, which means my Ma has easy access ip there.


Every school book I had to cover had that paper on it, with Davey Boy or Bret featuring most.


When my Dad put it up, he specifically placed it so Taker was peeking out from behind my curtains.


I had it on my 2 of my 4 walls due my dad claiming 'he can have plain blue behind his wardrobes' ... the blues didn't match and it looked stupid.


Had it from around 92 till 99 where my room got redecorated because my Dad had some random red radiator paint to use so it got taken down for some horrendous red Coca-Cola, seizure enducing striped wallpaper.


My WWF duvet set remained with me all the way through Uni, where I tried to pass it off as ironic or something. Never imagined when it was bought that just under ten years later I'd get to see a lass reach behind her head for a WWF pillow grabbing hold of Boss man in the throws of passion and placing it under her lower back for easier access as she proclaimed "I want you to take me up the arse!" with Jake Roberts looking back up at me proud as punch.


The things the Bushwhackers witnessed over those years.



This post from Teedy Kay is a belter, the bit in bold in particular had me in actual tears.

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