It’s been three damn months since I was able to go to a Platinum Championship Wrestling show and I was just about to lose my mind. Through a happy coincidence at work I was able to work during the day last Thursday and got to see some HARDCORE ASS-WHOOPIN’ ACTION, PCW style.’
I had a lot of company this time around, which always makes for more fun. In addition to the inimitable Angry Matt were Rescue John (formerly John the Wrestler; changed because his actual job is much more impressive), Princess and a friend of theirs I was too drunk to remember other than she had a tree tattoo. Not seminal Boston hardcore act Tree, but an actual tree. Maybe even the World Tree – I’m not sure. Evil and Darth Pete also came out so we had a decent group. The presence of the latter two also meant that I would be able to take advantage of an exciting opportunity that we’ll get into a little later.
Thursday’s action was called by Platinum Championship Wrestling Chief Executive General Chairman Chill Phil. He had to go it alone, but if anybody has the vigor, vocabulary and verisimilitude to so it; it’s our man Chill Phil.
He was sporting a large bandage on his head – a gift from one of the members of the Empire. I’ve missed a lot of story in the months I’ve been missing. Apparently the Empire – led by Grand Moff Talkin’ - is trying to take over Platinum Championship Wrestling. And there are more people in the Empire right now than there were in the black-and-white n.W.o. back in the day. Seriously – they’ve got like eight managers and forty-two wrestlers. It’s very confusing. But a lot of them do color-coordinate in red, so that’s helpful. I just want to know where the fuck Seanbaby is in all this.
The first match on the card was Buster “Mad Daddy” Succotash versus Mark O’Polo (who doesn’t look Irish) in a “Loser Backs Out of the Stipulation” match.
Mad Daddy was accompanied to the ring by his lovely wife, Sabrina and their bouncing baby of indeterminate gender, Pat. O’Polo was accompanied by his valet of indeterminate gender, Manpurse.
Mad Daddy – “Alright, O’Polo you effeminate dirtbag. If I win this match you have to be my manservant for 30 days. And let me just reiterate that I don’t mean that in a gay way.”
Mark O’Polo – “That’s just fine sugar. I’m not going to do it anyway because this is a ‘Loser Backs Out of the Stipulation Match’”.
Mad Daddy – “Well, shit.”
As the bell rang, O’Polo made a big show of personal hygiene – Manpurse dutifully applied hand sanitizer, flossed O’Polo’s toes and talced his bottom. Finally Mad Daddy could take no more and raced across the ring to place the fancy lad in an Orton lock.
Much action ensued, but things really picked up when Mad Daddy got tossed out of the ring and was subjected to the limp-handed slaps of Manpurse. What those slaps lacked in ferocity they more than made up for in volume. O’Polo tossed Manpurse back under the ropes and proceeded to deliver a series of crippling knees to his noggin from the floor.
After some more back-and-forth, the action once again spilled to the outside where O’Polo clearly had the advantage. That is, until Mad Daddy grabbed his own baby out of his wife’s arms and threw it at Mark O’Polo! What emerged from that soft lavender blanket was no baby at all, but none other than The World’s Smallest Man; pro-grappler Marceau LeFwee! LeFwee hit O’Polo with a hurricanrana followed by a series of stiff, brutal kicks to the ankle – all while Sabrina Succotash kept the ref’s attention! Mad Daddy rolled a nearly unconscious O’Polo back into the ring and applied the Suffering Succotash, causing his opponent to tap out almost instantly.
Buster “Mad Daddy” Succotash is your winner!
Mad Daddy calls for a mic!
Mad Daddy – “It’s a good thing that’s not actually my baby over there because I’m about to say ‘fuck’. Mark O’Polo! You sassy little devil – I knew you weren’t going to fucking uphold our stipulation…”
O’Polo – “Because this was a ‘Loser Backs…”
Mad Daddy – “Silence! I know I’m not getting a manservant but I want your ass at PCW Armbargeddon in September! We’ll see who’s the better man then!”
O’Polo – “Whatevs.”
Next up we had a tag team match featuring Huey and Boo-Boo of the Konkrete Gorillaz. Apparently now not only is Boo-Boo part of the team; they’re also babyfaces.
Their opponents must be the best tag team in all of the world because PCW actually went out and bought belts for them. I don’t know what happened to that trophy the Washington Bullets used to carry around – I’m starting to think they might have just picked those up at the trophy store on the way in – but I’m glad they’re gone. Those shiny, new tag team belts are held by the Zoomers; Zoomer Daniel and Zoomer Blane. I wanted to name Zoomer Blane after this one porn star because he has those same star tattoos, but then I saw the “ZB” on his boots and “Blane” on his trunks and figured I’s make something up that at least worked with his gear.
The Zoomers heeled it up right out of the gate, taking control and putting Huey in the Face In Peril™ position. But then Huey got the Hot Tag to Boo-Boo, who regained momentum with his big move – the “Stand There and Don’t Sell” that I’m pretty sure is a tribute to the great Kevin Nash. In all fairness, Boo-Boo did get backed into a corner at one point and got his ass whooped real good.
So good that the Zoomer Daniel was able to do whatever he does to win matches and win the match!
Your winners and still PCW Tag Team Champions – The Zoomers!
Huey was so mad at Boo-Boo for the loss that he just stood on the apron giving the larger man the stinkeye until poor Boo-Boo broke down and ran back to the locker room in tears.
Let me pause to point out that I got massively drunk at the PCW event. I’ve been on a strict diet for a couple of weeks and haven’t had any alcohol, but I wanted to celebrate my return to PCW with a couple of adult beverages. Any liquor would only throw me off for about a day and then I’d be burning fat again. So I had a rum and Diet Coke before we left for the show (Angry Matt was driving, as always). And I got to the Masquerade and had another one. And I made a critical mistake for somebody who hasn’t imbibed in a while: I tipped really well. So my third drink was basically a cup of rum. And so was my fourth. I was absolutely fucking lit by the end of the night. I can’t believe I didn’t pay for it with a massive hangover the next day.
But none of that will affect my amazing coverage of the events!
After the tag match out came Empire, led by Not Rhino. This guy isn’t the only guy I’ve ever called Not Rhino, but he’s the only one that’s carried around a railroad tie with masking tape on the end, so I’m going to say he’s the best. Not Rhino was closely followed by the apparent leaders of the Empire – Grand Moff Talkin’, Garth Vader and Stephanie McLayin’. Following that dastardly triumvirate of evil was some guy with a flag on his head. Lastly, as the caboose of the crazy train that is the Empire, was my favorite PCW team (but only because The Exotic Ones weren’t there that night) – THE LEGION OF GLOOM!
Dollar William, CM Flunk, Pandora and Cravin the Red Lantern were in full effect and ready for some…
Because Not Rhino is the only one of the 47 members of the Empire that just came to the ring that is actually in the match. Good to see everybody has such positive team spirit, though! Go Empire!
Grand Moff Talkin’ is so excited about the impending match that he feels the need to delay it by giving a little speech.
GMT – “Hello, there Masquerade and all the lousy douchenozzles populating it tonight! I’m so glad you could all be here. It’s truly thrilling to be able to practice my verbal irony in front of people I just love.”
Chill Phil – “That’s enough you! I won’t have our fantastic PCW Masquerade fans…”
Crowd – “Hooray!”
Chill Phil – “…talked down to! Especially by a guy in a jacket loud enough to make Helen Keller glad for her disadvantages. That thing must have been free with a bowl of soup.”
GMT – “Oooh, Chill Phil! I hate you so much I… oooh…”
Chill Phil – “Way to sputter, toolbox. You got something to say or are you just going to stand there being ugly all night?”
GMT – “WE WILL RULE PLATINUM CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING! 4 LIFE!”
Chill Phil – “NEVAH!”
It was kind of a weird confrontation, but the gist was that the Empire is this close to totally controlling PCW and that Chill Phil represented one of the last lines of defense against total Empire domination. Well, Chill Phil and…
Former and always Platinum Championship Wrestling Champion Shane Marx and Jason “The Jar” Mason(!). I don’t know when the guy that blatantly chokes people out as his finisher turned babyface, but it apparently made him quite sleepy:
Marx is fired up! The Jar is fired up! Not Rhino is standing in the ring! Let’s get our wrestle on!
The Jar starts things off with a headlock and quickly brings Not Rhino down to the mat. I’m gonna be honest here: I’ve seen a lot of guys wrestle under the name Not Rhino and – railroad tie or not – this guy looks the most Not Rhino. I don’t think he could beat Gilberg in a straight match.
Not wanting to see his boy fly solo the whole night, Shane Marx steps to the announce table to provide a few sweet, sweet words of commentary.
Marx – “I cannot believe that suckass Miner Threat has my title.”
Me – “Wait – that’s who the champ is now!?! I’m incredulous! Incredulous I tell you!”
Angry Matt – “Is that the moron with the coveralls and the crappy Mankind mask?”
Me – “YES!”
Angry Matt – “And he beat Shane Marx, who has never had a bad match in his life?”
Me – “It would appear so.”
Angry Matt – “Did we accidentally walk into a TNA show?”
Anyway, that explains why Stephanie McLayin has been wearing the PCW belt all night. Don’t get me wrong – Marx obviously had to be beat at some point, but I would have thought Jay Fury or The Jar or Vordell Walker or a heeling Najasism or even freakin’ Pandora would do the honors. Not the gimp whose move set is more limited than Boo-Boo’s.
While Angry Matt and I were debating the merits of PCW’s decision makers, I think Jason “The Jar” Mason beat Not Rhino with his signature move, the “Blatant Choke-Out” and beat feet backstage to avoid any Imperial complications. While Garth Vader stared at Stephanie McLayin’s ass.
Which I didn’t notice until later because I was too busy taking a picture of Stephanie McLayin’s ass.
And now – thank goodness – the Legion of Gloom is headed back to the ring! I still don’t know where Seanbaby is, but CM Flunk is about to make me not care with a great promo. No, seriously – really good. To the point where I don’t even want to make up some fake shit to claim he said. But I will anyway.
CM Flunk – “We may look like a bunch of big losers…”
Crowd – “YES, YOU DO!”
CM Flunk – “Shut up you guys! I’m getting ready to be intense and sincere!”
Crowd – “Sorry.”
CM Flunk – “Anyway, we may not look like much – except for Dollar William, who is clearly wealthier than all thirty-two of you put together and multiplied by a million – but we know how to fight. Dollar William knows more wrestling holds than the Wayans have family. And I work out totally, like, all the time aaaaand I’ve got FOUR. DIFFERENT. FONTS. in my chest tattoo alone! How many of you lethargic couch apes can say that?”
Crowd – “uh…”
CM Flunk – “And Cravin the Red Lantern may be stinky and ugly and wears his sister’s clothes and kind of look like Fairuza Balk; but if you wash a dog’s ass and make it walk backwards… um… I don’t know. But Cravin doesn’t totally suck!”
Cravin – “Aww – thanks, man! I love you, too!”
CM Flunk – “And then there’s Pandora – the precious flower of the Legion of Gloom. She wrestles homeless guys for fun and eats baby seals for breakfast. She’s fucking nuts, yo. And she’s going to be a champion around here before too much longer, although I’ve kind of got this feeling that she’s going to be carrying around a trophy with PCW Seasonal Tag Team Champions crossed out and PCW Women’s Champion written in Sharpie. But my point here is that we aren’t just here to sell t-shirts. Because we don’t have any. We’re here to win matches and stuff! Oh, and Chil Phill - you can kiss my multi-fonted ass!”
Crowd – “BOO!”
And then the Washington Bullets run out before their music can even hit because nobody would have recognized it, anyway.
This match is on like a pot of neckbone, son!
It took me a minute to realize that there was a guy with the Bullets wearing a Party City pimp suit. The shocker, though, is that he wasn’t white. I’ve never seen anybody but a white guy wearing one of those ridiculous things. Black guys usually have too much self-respect. I guess that’s not the case for this guy.
The Bullets and their new friend cleaned house early, sending a couple of pissed off Doomers outside the ring to lament that they spent their pre-match minutes cutting a promo rather than warming up. But soon enough they regain control and even though each team has three members, only one team has three good members and the Legion of Gloom gets the pin and rolls the broken detritus out of the ring they aim to claim as their own. After the Legion has exited the ring, the Bullets pause to soak up the cheers of the one guy in the front row that knows their entrance music by heart.
Not this fucking guy.
Vagrant. Oh, how I cannot stand you.
And neither can anybody else, because they all throw cocaine into the ring, hoping to get Vagrant high enough that he won’t be able to wrestle.
Little did they know, Vagrant has a three rock a day habit and it’s going to take more than a little snowstorm to keep him from his bouts.
Normally I wouldn’t even recap a Vagrant match, but his opponent warrants a mention.
That is Sir Beverly Wimbledon III and he is fantastic. Before entering the ring, he hugged everybody in the audience and bought us all beers. He then hopped into the ring, screamed like a lunatic, hefted Vagrant over his head and threw the hapless bum all the way to the back of the Masquerade. Unfortunately, Sir Beverly couldn’t get Vagrant back into the ring in time and referee Tut Stooperson had no choice but to call for a double count-out. I would’ve booed, but I was so relieved that I wouldn’t have to look at Vagrant any more I refrained. On his way to the locker room, Sir Beverly paused long enough to give everybody some free tax advice. That guy is great.
Next up was the big four-way elimination match between Shane Marx, Kyle Matthews (formerly Topher Grace), Vordell Walker and Colonel Fitzgibbons, who you may recognize as Guy With A Flag On His Head. Or not, now that I think about it. What with the flag and all.
Before the action can begin, PCW Chief Executive General Chairman Chill Phil raises a mic and drops a fucking bomb.
The winner of this match will face Ring Of Honor Champion Davey Richards at Armbargeddon in September. Holy shit. That is very big news. I don’t know if Armbargeddon is scheduled for the Masquerade or the PCW Arena, but I plan on being there. Between this and the conclusion of the feud between Mad Daddy Succotash and Mark O’Polo I don’t see how you could miss it.
This was another one of those matches that was so good I really didn’t get to take a lot of picture. I was too caught up. Here’s the skinny:
Grand Moff Talkin’ came out to pester Chill Phil on commentary.
Colonel Fitzgibbons is a dirty bastard just like everybody else in the Empire. He pulled shenanigans with his buddies and got Vordell Walker (who comes across as the most legitimate badass in PCW) eliminated early.
But something happened and Colonel Fitzgibbons got himself eliminated as well.
But while that was going on, some Empire douches ran in the ring and blindsided the shit out of Shane Marx, leaving him on the mat writhing in pain.
Which means that the match is down to Kyle Matthews and Shane Marx.
Matthews obviously doesn’t want to take advantage, but the stakes are high and there MUST BE A WINNER! So we get a brief exchange and a flurry of moves and Matthews rolls Marx up for the win.
Matthews isn’t totally satisfied with that, so he tells Marx they’re going to do it again in the PCW Arena the next night to determine the winner for real.
And then: RESPECT!
And then: INTERMISSION!
Thanks to Evil and Darth Pete, I was afforded the rare opportunity to go behind the scenes of the Chamber Of Horrors that was under construction in the Masquerade Music Park. The guy that’s responsible for that house of atrocities was kind enough to guide us through and show us some of the madness he has in store for this year. I’m not going to give anything away, but I did ask if I could share this single, grisly image:
I’m not lying when I tell you that’s one of the least fucked up things I saw that night.
Seriously, if you have a chance to head down to the Masquerade this Halloween season and want to see some truly demented shit; go to the Chamber Of Horrors. I guarantee it’ll be well worth your time and money. That guy may be nice, but he has some fucking issues.
Due to the length of the tour we ended up missing the beginning of the next match.
Aisha Sunshine and Pandora were already in the ring tearing each other to pieces. Sunshine gained control and tossed Pandora about twenty feet across the floor. Both women pummeled the living shit out of each other. I mean, they just kept going and going. Every time you though one of them absolutely had to be down, they got back up. It was crazy. At one point Pandora tossed Sunshine out to the floor and while referee Bucky Childers counted, the fatal femme lounged on the announce table beside Chill Phil, who was visibly disgusted.
At long last it became clear that neither woman was going to stay down and the inevitable happened – the rest of the Legion of Gloom hit the ring. It was a four-on-one assault as the Legion beat down Aisha Sunshine until she could stand no longer. Finally, Pandora ended the mockery of a match by posing triumphant over Sunshine with her feet planted firmly over the fallen heroine. To add insult to injury, the Legion of Doom hoisted Pandora up over their shoulders as though she had earned a hard-fought victory.
Truly, this was a dark day for Platinum Championship Wrestling. The menace that is the Empire looms and grows ever larger and more out of control.
As always, the lone bastion of right – Chill Phil – rushed to the ring to attend to the unconscious Sunshine.
I just wanted to see how straight I could play that last bit because it was all so well done. Seriously – kudos to everybody involved in that segment. Chill Phil, Cravin, CM Flunk, Dollar William, Bucky Childers and especially Aisha Sunshine and Pandora – that shit was great.
Which is a whole lot more than I can say for the Main Event.
Platinum Championship Wrestling
“Do Or Die” Chip Day vs. PCW Champion Miner Threat
I’m on record as not thinking a whole lot of Stephanie McLayin’s charge, Miner Threat. Or at least, I am now. I don’t think much of the gimmick. I didn’t like the Kanekind thing when Abyss did it and I don’t like it when this guy does it, either.
But I am also on record as a big fan of Mr. Chip Day and I’m always ready to see what he can do. His trademark shoulder tape is noticeably absent tonight and his muffin top is still in effect so we should be in for some great stuff if Miner Threat can just stand in the right spot.
And he does.
Day actually gets a nice little guy rally – one of those deals where the big guy is so outmatched skill-wise and flustered by speed that you almost buy the whole thing for a second. But then Miner Threat got his hands on the infinitely more talented Day and performed the shit-tastic Chokeslam From Taiwan.
The behemoth then dragged Day to the far side of the ring and with the assistance of Stephanie McLayin taped the dazed grappler to the bottom rope. Tape in wrestling means business. You are going to fuck somebody up if you use tape. With handcuffs, there’s the hope that the victim will escape and turn the tables. But with tape – well, you’re not going anywhere for a while.
So while McLayin taunted the incapacitated Day, Miner Threat went and got a fucking chainsaw.
To his credit, Chip Day sold it like he was being approached by a gimp with a chainsaw while Miner threat wandered around making vaguely Leatherface-ish (or Chainsaw Charlie, if you prefer) gestures. Is there any road that Miner Threat won’t dare to retread? It was stupid when Terry Funk did it and it’s even dumber now.
After the babyfaces all helped release Day while trying to suppress giggles, they all retreated to the back, followed by the members of the Empire who had come out to gloat at their stupid non-victory. What a mess.
I can’t talk about the next match in an official PCW fan capacity because it was a
MAD INSANE NON-SANCTIONED LIGHTS-OUT MATCH OF DOOOOM
I can’t talk about the next match in an official PCW fan capacity because it was a non-sanctioned match, but I will say that it is entirely possible that after Chill Phil graciously thanked us for coming out Dewey of the Konkrete Gorillaz and Jay Fury both hit the ring and proceeded to beat each other up.
I could say that the action spilled outside fairly quickly. I might suggest that it was a sick display of violence for the sake of hatred. But honestly, the “Lights Out” gimmick killed it a bit. It was fun yelling at these guys to beat each other up and they certainly obliged in satisfying fashion, but it just didn’t feel like anything was at stake. Especially once the locker room emptied out and everything went crazy go nuts.
Also, it’s 3:45 in the morning right now and I’m really running out of steam.
The bottom line is that everybody beat up everybody else for a while until chill Phil stepped away from the announce table and made some announcements about Armbargeddon and Armbargeddon 2, the details of which I’m still not quite clear on.
And then everybody beat each other up again and I got a picture with Chill Phil and Toby Buffer, PCW’s bourbon-soaked ring announcer. He’s, like, fifty times better than David Penzer.
Overall this was a very good night of Platinum Championship Wrestling. Not the best, but not the worst by a long shot. I really wish I could make it out to the Friday shows, but my schedule just doesn’t ever seem to want that to happen.
Until next time, stay creepy