As a member of the replay club at Software Etc., I receive Game Informer magazine monthly. It’s a decent enough magazine, with plenty of behind the scenes looks at upcoming games, and plenty of edgy potty humor to keep the pre-pubescent crowd coming back for more, even though they aren’t old enough to purchase half the games that are reviewed. In short, if the guys who wrote Raw wrote for a video game magazine, they’d write for Game Informer.

My newest copy recently came in the mail a few weeks ago. As a video game veteran, I can argue all day long about the extremely flawed rating system that they use. One reviewer went so far as to say that Def Jam Vendetta is the best wrestling game ever. Now, I believe that you have to be able to pin somebody for a game to be a WRESTLING game… if I just want to beat somebody unconscious, I’ll play Mortal Kombat: Deadly Alliance or Pride FC.

The purpose of my rant isn’t to question why I don’t have a job reviewing video games, when I can do an infinitely better job than these boobs. As I flipped through the previews in the issue, I noticed a piece on an upcoming backyard wrestling game. Yes, for $50, you can swing a fluorescent light bulb like Madman Pongo, without those nasty scars.

In the screenshot accompanying the short blurb, it shows one bloody jackass doing his best New Jack impression, diving off a balcony onto another bloody jackass laying on a table. I have a few points to offer up on this game from this screenshot:

1. The game suggests that affluent people are into backyard wrestling, as the flying jackass seems to be leaping from a balcony at the White House. This is flawed, as he should be taking flight from the top of his dad’s tool shed, the bed of his mom’s pickup, or his stepfather’s trailer.

2. The screenshot also shows the Insane Clown Posse urging your characters onto greater and greater feats of violence and utter stupidity. If, for one second, you believe that the Insane Clown Posse have nothing better to do on a sunny afternoon than watch two dipsticks rip themselves open and jump off high objects in a misguided attempt to emulate a sport in which they have no talent for, buy a clue.

3. There are also several young, buxom women in tight two piece bikinis cheering your character on. This is also flawed, because NO WOMAN ENJOYS THIS GARBAGE. The only people who think they’re rugged, manly, and virile because they do this crap are the idiots who are doing this crap!

What backyard wrestlers don’t seem to understand is that the extreme era of the sport is over. ECW is dead, buried, pushing up the daisies, 86’ed; and other “extreme” organizations barely make enough money to keep the lights burning. Truthfully, the only thing that this behavior will lead to in the future is cheese grater scars across your face, and really, how do you explain that to a prospective employer?

However, the wave of the future is here, sitting backstage in the WWE! Goldust has gotten over in a huge way with his character. He’s charismatic and a good wrestler, to boot. Despite the attempts of the writers to bury his character at every opportunity, he‘s gotten more and more popular as time goes on. In fact, the new quirk The Bizarre One has suffered (nervous twinges and tics) after being thrown into an “electrical box” has only made him more popular. Goldust even did a stint on The Howard Stern Show promoting WrestleMania 19 and he went over very well on the show.

So here’s a little tip to all the yahoos who think that they can make millions of dollars in the future by carving themselves up with barbed wire, glass, and cheese graters now. Save yourself the effort and save your parents the pain of having their valuable tables and light bulbs broken. Instead of carving yourself up, breaking your parents stuff, and scarring yourself for life, take the easy road to fame and be just like Goldust:

Find a circuit box and electrocute yourself.

Nathan Loney
nathan_loney@threadapa.com

(Originally posted on ohemgee.com (and I'm stunned Nate wrote a backyard wrestling column without mentioning this guy); reprinted by permission of the author.)