Don’t let the new color scheme here at Lethal Entertainment fool you. We’re more than just pretty bimbos. We used to be a wrestling website, for fuck sakes. That started back when wrestling was wrestling. When wrestling became “sports entertainment,” we made a desperate grab to shed our skin, like a slutty…uh…internet snake…or something. Just like those fagwads at Wrestling Uncensored did. It’s the circle of life, motherfuckers, deal.
On our message board, there have been rumblings that our stable of old-skewl legends are going to cough up long-awaited installments of the regular wrestling content-based comedic posts that made Lethal the last survivor of the IWC Holocaust that took lesser sites down years ago. I’m not talking about “Please listen to me Vince” state-of-the-business bitchfests, or drooling like a virgin over the fake-titted sluts whose matches we utilize as pissbreaks. I’m talking about chuckleyuck pigfuckery imbued with Lethal’s trademark disrespect for the art of professional wrestling.
While none of us can be arsed to watch this shit every week, let alone post about it, we spend every day bitching about how…shitty…this…shit is. Which means we still care.
We care a lot.
As such, even though I couldn’t get New Jack and Roddy Piper to commit to any new material (if you keep up with the dirtsheets, you know that they’re…busy), I was able to secure a brief interview with an actual member of World Wrestling Entertainment’s creative staff. I offered to let him use an alias, in case his employers felt the need to punish him after exposing their secrets and methods to the public. As it turned out, this was not necessary…
LETHAL ENTERTAINMENT: Alright, let’s start with the obvious stuff. What is your name and what do you do?
RYAN ALFANO: My name is Ryan Alfano. I have been working with World Wrestling Entertainment for a little over a decade. On paper, I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades with the E. I float between the Creative, Branding, and Talent divisions of the company. However, my main duty consists of working with the WWE Superstars to help develop their own unique personas. Basically, I’m the guy who comes up with names and gimmicks for the newer talent.
RA: You see, every WWE Superstar has a unique loo–
RA: –A unique look and persona. The reason WWE is one of the most successful and recognizable brands in the world is due to our ability to take a talented individual, identify their distinctive character traits, then amplify and refine those characteristics. The result is a Superstar whose name, look, and personality jumps out of the television and into the collective WWE fans’ psyche…at the same time, fitting into the successful format and brand that is World Wrestling Entertainment.
LE: You sound like you’ve answered this question a couple of times prior to this.
RA: Oh yes, I have. In fact, I have to answer that question nearly every other day.
LE: Oh, so you handle a lot of press duties?
RA: Uh, no. I have to give that speech many times a week at meetings with the higher-ups and Mr. McMahon. (*fidgets*)
LE: What do you mean?
RA: Often, I have to justify my presence at said meetings. It usually starts ten minutes into the proceedings. Vince will be staring sullenly at the wall, fiddling with his car keys and muttering stuff under his breath…stuff like threats of violence, sexual fantasy scenarios, BeeGees lyrics, that kind of thing. Suddenly, he will spin around in his chair and bellow, “WHAT’S THE DAGO DOING IN HERE? THIS IS A PRIVATE MEETING, WHO LET THE PIZZA DELIVERY GUY STICK AROUND?” Then I have to give that speech over again…usually while Lombardi is slinking out of the room, apologizing. I keep waiting for someone to tell Brawler to sit the fuck down, he’s not the one Vince’s shouting at. Then I remember no one gives a fuck about him and I just drop it.
LE: I see. Well, let’s flash back to the beginning of your tenure with WWE. Tell us about how you settled into your job, and your first experiences dealing with the talent roster.
RA: I started with the company in 1998. I began by doing random errands backstage…gopher duties and the like. Bringing people their coffee…keeping track of props…helping the stage team with lighting cues…standing outside Vince’s office door with a box of Kleenexes so the Divas could wipe up their runny mascara after meetings with him…mopping up Michael Hayes’s urine after he’d do his rather hilarious “Bill Watts at CNN Center” impression.
LE: Who does all that now?
RA: Well, Triple H does the Watts impressions these days, usually standing at the catering table and intercepting Kofi and Ezekiel when they go for the chicken dishes…and now Johnny Ace is in charge of which Divas get brutally r–
LE: No, I mean the gopher duties and such.
RA: Uh…I do it still. I’ve also spent lots of time in the Gorilla Position.
LE: Oh, how exciting! That would seem to me to be the best job duty in the E, standing with the performers behind the entrance curtain, feeling the anticipation of the cr–
RA: They don’t let me near the stage.
RA: (*quietly stifles sobs*)
RA: Apparently, one cannot prove their Intestinal Fortitude enough…especially when JBL comes by to do guest…um…shots. (*wipes up tears*)
LE: Moving on…how did you get promoted to your current position?
RA: Well, they started bending me over a road case instead of making me crouch like a primate, ever since the prolapses and uncontrollable bl–
LE: I mean how did you end up helping to name WWE performers?
RA: Oh. Well, it started, quite unfortunately, right about the time Darren Drozdov was involved in that horrific accident and was rendered quadraplegic. At the time, Droz was teaming with Prince Albert, who is now back with the company as Lo–I mean…Tensai.
LE: You were going to say “Lord Tensai,” weren’t you?
RA: Yes…anyway, after it became quite clear that Droz was never to perform again, Vince had a bit of a panic. “No one’s gonna know who that Prince guy is now that Puke got Droz’d by D’Lo.” Vince kept calling Darren “Puke,” “Mr. Puke,” “The Puke,” or “Pukedygooker” the entire time, but he coined the term “Droz’d” roughly five minutes after he was taken to the hospital. Never let anyone say that Mr. McMahon doesn’t listen to the Internet.
LE: Quite impressive.
RA: Also, Vince named “D’Lo Brown.” Vince reasoned, “Niggers always deal shitty Mexican Brick.” The rest is history.
LE: So how did you deal with this?
RA: I buy weed from white p–
LE: No, I mean–
RA: Oh yeah. So I innocently suggested we “repackage” Prince Albert. As it stood, a 6’5″ guy completely covered in body hair and named after a dick piercing just did not stand out amongst the rest of our roster…you know what I mean?
LE: No. I mean. Yeah.
RA: Exactly. So to make him pop off the television screen and distinguish him from the pack, I suggested simply calling him “Albert.”
LE: Then what happened?
RA: Vince yelled, “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here? Where are your papers? Oh wait, you don’t have any. Get it? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. YOU’RE FUCKIN’ ITALIAN.” Then Hayes stumbled up and said, “I like that…I can’t remember that cocksucker’s first name half the time anyway. What’s he the Prince of, the Commonwealth of Fagadonia? Prince my Confederate ass. That bald flamer couldn’t make a fuckin’ dove cry.” Before I knew it, “Prince Albert” became “Albert,” I had a new job duty…and Droz still couldn’t walk.
LE: Fascinating. So eventually, you were charged with renaming talent after they were called up from OVW, FCW, and the various Indies, correct?
LE: Were you given any kind of directive, as far as how to package these talents and whatnot?
RA: Yeah. “They’ll be working in TNA under even dumber names within months, and the audience is too stupid to notice, so don’t waste much time on this dumb shit.”
LE: So I’m guessing this set the tone for the next decade, as well as the transition from the “Attitude Era” to “Ruthless Aggression,” to…um…what’s the current directive?
RA: “Use a dental dam when you munch out a Diva?”
RA: “Humilate the Hart Family?”
RA: Uh…”Tribute To the Troops” or some shit, I dunno.
LE: That sounds more like it.
RA: Yeah…we do those shows like 100 miles away from any active combat areas. We might as well do that shit in Arizona. Hell, that’s why RVD wouldn’t do those shows years ago…he thought we WERE going to Arizona. I don’t want to go into that. RVD thinks a lot of goofy things. Once, he left his hotel TV on SyFy after ECW ended, fell asleep during it, then woke up in the middle of the night, knocked on Vince’s door, then frantically tried to claw Vince’s face off. “HE’S A LIZARD UNDER THAT SHIT, BRO!” He didn’t get fired for that…which provokes more questions than answers, but that’s a story for another t–
LE: Let’s go back to the whole “give the wrestlers one name” thing. So you’re the guy mainly responsible for that?
RA: Roughly thereabouts…in a way, it was kind of a group decision, between myself, the other writers and agents, and the talent.
LE: How so?
RA: Well, we got tired of Vince asking us why we weren’t pushing Doug Batista, when we were firing “that useless loudmouth faggot Jackass Billy Bumm,” that kind of thing. You have no idea how close you were to seeing “Sexay,” “Hotty,” “Mahoney,” and “Dreamer” jobbing out on “Heat” on a regular basis. Vince hears people in the company referred to by one name in shorthand, then just assumes that’s their actual names…like, what it says on their driver’s licenses. His son didn’t leave the company due to his sister cunting him out of a job. He left because Vince kept forgetting his last name. I don’t know how many times Shane got stranded at the airport because of that. God forbid he try to get into a fancy restaurant.
RA: In constrast, the Divas all having one name is a direct order from Vince. He told me, “Look, Ronny, there’s only two things I’m gonna remember about those slags, and it ain’t their fuckin’ names.”
LE: I thought your name was Ry–
RA: Yeah yeah. You go tell him that. Anyway, I saw an opportunity to get around this whole thing when our scouts discovered a pretty young blonde woman from Florida, a model named Barbie Blank. She was finer than a new set of snow tires, dumb as a sack of dead raccoons, and her name was fucking Barbie Blank. Sure, she still can’t wrestle her way out of a wet paper bag after six years, God forbid she, like, watch a wrestling match on TV by mistake while flipping around trying to find QVC. But holy shit, you can’t come up with a better gimmick.
LE: So then what happened?
RA: Vince said, “Come up with a better gimmick.”
LE: (*smacks forehead*)
RA: More precisely, “Come up with a better gimmick, Rudolfo, or I’ll send you back to Sicily with your sack in a silk satchel. IT’S CALLED ‘ALLITERATION,’ YOU SMELLY GUINEA. YOU WOULDN’T KNOW ALLITERATION IF IT PUT ITS PULSING PLUMP PEPPERONI UP YOUR PAPERLESS POOPCHUTE. Fucking Barbie Blank, how dumb is that?”
LE: That’s mean…you don’t smell.
RA: (*looks at the ground and tears up*)
LE: So I have the number to this good therap–
RA: Yeah so I had to do something. I brought her to my office, pulled up that Random Name Generator thing on the Internet, and got a list of women’s names. I was absentmindedly repeating them all, going “Kara…Karen…Kendra…Kelly…” Suddenly she starts rocking back and forth, playing with her purse zipper, saying, “Kelly…Kelly…Kelly…” Then she fell out of her seat, somehow losing a chunk of hair in the process. The rest is history. Even Vince was happy. “This is why I hired you, Rite-Aid. That’s a name to remember. Hell, she might even remember it too.” He was so pleased, I didn’t have to work the Gorilla Position that night. And Droz still couldn’t walk.
LE: What about the instances where you take the son or daughter of a legendary wrestler, then repackage them to the point that there’s absolutely no acknowledged link to their famous parents?
RA: Ah, well, I could see how that would ruffle the feathers of the more knowledgable wrestling fans out there.
LE: Yeah, more like piss us off to the point that I should fucking rape the fuckedy fuckin’ fuck out of you on behalf of the longtime staff and readership of Lethal Entertainment. It’s so insulting to the fans’ intelligence.
RA: Now hold on there, buddy.
LE: You’re right, I shouldn’t have threatened to r–
RA: I almost squirted my chocolate milk out my nose when you said that last part…ha…bahahaha…intelliWHAT?
LE: Yeah my bad…but you cannot deny it’s also hugely disrespectful to both the wrestling legends and their offspring. Nattie Neidhart would be an excellent example of this shameful behavior.
RA: I see. You’re right. She was way better off using her given name, earning $25 jobbing to teenage girls at the Gig Harbor Elks Hall, having her parents use her for welfare fraud, and having Billy Corgan stalk her.
LE: I don’t like your tone, sir.
RA: I did her a favor. I found the one Diva that could actually wrestle and I wanted her to succeed on her own terms. I named her “Natalya” and passed her off to Vince as Nikita Koloff’s daughter, just so she wouldn’t get humiliated like the rest of the poor dopes in her family. And it worked for awhile. Then one night I’m in front of a monitor, and hear fart noises dubbed over her promo. I come back to my hotel room, and there’s a pile of shit on my bed, with a miniature Canadian flag on a toothpick sticking out of it. I don’t try to pull stuff over on Vince anymore. She’s lucky she’s not getting dropped off the lighting truss dressed in a blue jumpsuit. Hey wait, that’s a good idea (*grabs a memo pad, scribbles in it, and puts it back in his pocket*).
LE: Fine, but Michael McGillicutty. The fuck, dude? Justify that to me, our readers, the whole world, and yourself.
LE: Joe Hennig.
LE: Mr. Perfect’s son.
LE: Curt Hennig.
RA: Yeah well we’re sorry things didn’t work out in TNA, but Creative has nothing for Curt right now.
LE: Moving on…okay, so I’m going to list some wrestling legends, and I want to hear how you would repackage them to fit into the current version of World Wrestling Entertainment.
RA: That sounds fun. I mean, it’s much harder to do on the fly…but I’ll try.
LE: Okay. Harley Race.
LE: (*Sighs…pulls up a photo of Harley Race on a Smartphone*)
RA: Oh that’s easy. He’s got tattoos, sideburns, and rape in his eyes. We call him “Harley.” We give him a motorcycle to ride down the ramp. It’d be better than that dopey gimmick Luke Gallows is doing in Ring Ka King. Luke Gallows looks too dumb to ride a tricycle out of Toys’r’Us. This guy looks like he’s…like…tough? Or something? Who is he again?
LE: Lou Th…um whoops hold on. (*Pulls up a photo of Lou Thesz on the phone.*) Lou Thesz.
RA: (*Squints.*) Are those wool pants this guy’s wearing? He’s one of two things: a sex offender, or in Ring of Honor. Either way, Creative’s got nothin’. Well…if he were the former and not the latter, he’d have an excellent chance. But no more RoH nancies, coming in weighing 160 pounds soaking wet and having a handshandy everytime someone hands them a mic or a belt. Next.
LE: (*Pulls up another photo*) Dutch Savage.
RA: Didn’t I already do that one first?
LE: (*Sighs, pulls up a photo of Smith Hart.*)
RA: Uh, I don’t think Roger Waters is interested in sports entertainment. Vince loves Floyd. He tried to hire them to play “Pigs” during the intro to that Diva Battle Royale we had a couple Wrestlemanias back. Something about the stage not being big enough.
LE: Let’s try something else. I’m going to the Impact Wrestling website now, and I’m going to show you some of their guys, and you tell me what you’d do with them.
RA: Well…it can’t hurt them any worse, can it?
LE: Exactly. How about this guy, Crimson?
RA: (*Compulsively jams his hand down his pants.*)
LE: HAY DOOD.
RA: Sorry. You know. I work at World Wrestling Entertainment, hello! (*Reaches up for a high-five.*)
RA: (*Puts his hand down.*) When in Rome and stuff…?
LE: How about these two women, Sarita and Rosita?
RA: Oh my God…what we WOULDN’T do with these two!
LE: Uh oh…
RA: First, I’d have them shave off their eyebrows, then hand them Sharpies and a ruler and tell them to draw them back on. Then I’d make them change out of those boring shiny tights and have them wear sweat pants, backwards Raiders caps, and old LA Gear t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. I’d have them walking to the ring pushing shopping carts filled with cilantro, tortillas, beef tripe, bags of oranges, diapers, cases of Dr. Thunder, and generic Pedialyte, while speaking incredibly fast, unintelligible Spanglish gibberish. I’d have them accompanied by at least ten small children, running in circles around the carts, screaming, crying, hitting each other,and knocking over stage lights and monitors. We can use Mexican kids from the crowd in each town for this, by the way. Give the little fuckers free Rey Mysterio masks and the jumpy brown bastards will leap right into Kane’s pyro if you ask them.
LE: I think I’ve heard en–
RA: These girls will come out with ten kids, but they’ll lose three of them. We’ll have Justin Roberts call a Code Adam over the PA, and their opponents will powder out to go help look for the missing kids. Then the ref counts ten, and Sarita and Rosita win via countout. They celebrate, then roll their carts right back up the ramp with the remaining seven kids. We’ll have Hunico waiting up at the top of the ramp to pistolwhip them.
RA: Oh and I’d let those two keep their names.
RA: You know…so they retain their dignity.
RA: Oh, and they’d be on the Smackdown roster.
LE: No shit. Okay how about this guy, Frankie Kazarian?
RA: Wow. Um.
LE: I know, right?
RA: Yeah. Maybe if the E paid me in Spare Fucks to Give instead of Shopzone gift cards.
LE: Moving on…
RA: Do people actually watch Impact?
LE: A couple people. Okay how about this guy, Eric Young? Has a loyal following. Decent high-flying, quick, smaller worker, does a great pseudo-homosexual gimmick that he’s managed to parlay into a hosting gig on an outdoor channel…
RA: Oh I don’t know…that doesn’t sound like anyone who’d be successful in WWE. I’ll take a pass on that one. What are you going to suggest next, that fat guy they have who’s missing teeth, wears a leather mask, and falls on thumbtacks?
LE: Let’s try another Knockout…this one’s appropriate, as she just got released and may be hitting you guys up for a job…Angelina Love.
RA: Oh my God. Look at this. I couldn’t make any definite predictions of her making it any further than Vince’s hotel room on a lonely night in Spartanburg. I’ll bet if she sat on his dick, it’d feel like feeding oats to a horse out of your hand. I’ve seen less paint on barns than that face. Ron Jeremy wouldn’t waste a load on those awful tits. She looks like a cross Frank Stallone and Jon-Benet Ramsey.
LE: So in other words…
RA: We’ll have Nattie jobbing to her within a week.
TELL THE BALD FUCKFACE NORM MOAR WGO OR GTFO, BALD NORM FUCKIN FUCK