What’cha gonna do brother, when Linda McMahon, and all her Linda McMahon-A-Maniacs run wild on you


Pictures of Linda McMahon are not funny, so please enjoy this promotional photo of the Bushwhackers.

GateHouse — On Sunday nights, I like to do two things: watch Dallas successfully jam five million people into a football stadium and, after that, flip through my news scrapbook from the past few weeks. There’s mouthy/shellshocked/contrite/peppy chucklehead Joe Wilson hollering things in prime time and succeeding in finding a way to make South Carolina look like the nation’s biggest boat full of bunglemuffins without incurring the exorbitant cost of several flights to Argentina; there’s the anti-Obamacare marchers in Washington (if you believe the left, 38 of them, if you believe the right, 85 million) waving rudimentary Nazi and Joker signs and threatening to bring guns places and doing other things elderly Caucasians do when they’re upset; there’s Sen. Max Baucus releasing his health-care reform proposal, causing everyone to wave their hands over their heads and run around in circles screaming for 10 minutes; there’s some animatronic news anchor in New York suffering undue shame and scorn for publicizing his stance on poultry; there’s Pavement reuniting, which doesn’t fit in this paragraph but I’m looking for blog hits, people and there’s something about prostitutes caught on tape storing acorns for the winter.

As Thomas Friedman wrote in his most recent column, it’s a totally a party in the U.S.A.

But hold onto your purple feather boas, readers, because if you’re a fan of watching the unwatchable evolve into nearly indigestible lunacy and you’ve bored with Rod Blagojevich (which you are, like everyone), bring your tray to the lunch buffet in Connecticut, because this month is about to rock your face off, or more accurately smash you in the back with a folding chair before putting your head between its knees and dropping straight down on the canvas with you.


This is because Linda McMahon is running for a Senate seat in Connecticut in 2010; you will know her name if you are either 1. A fan of “professional wrestling,” which was once popular enough to make NBC pre-empt “Saturday Night Live” but is now available exclusively on your local CW network from 2-4 a.m. on Tuesdays, assuming your local CW network keeps the power on that late, or 2. Extremely displeased with Chris Dodd, the Gandalf-haired Connecticut senator who has held his seat since 1840 but began losing popularity by being involved in legislation that let bailout-money absorbers AIG pay millions of dollars in employee bonuses. People hate that. (Dodd losing to a Republican in the Northeast is, of course, sort of insane; it would be like Hacksaw Jim Duggan defeating Ted DiBiase in the first round of WrestleMania IV or something. Seriously. Seriously! Can you imagine? I’m all out here alone right now.)

And with that, the lines between fact and fiction and comedy and tragedy and Duke and Cobra Commander and Hulk Hogan and Rowdy Roddy Piper and dogs and cats blur and “Idiocracy” comes to life and I don’t want to say all hope is lost, but ALL HOPE IS LOST. (And yes, I remember Jesse Ventura in 1998. How’d that work out for everybody?)


Extra credit reading:


Anyway McMahon’s announcement has obviously made headlines, absolutely all of which have employed the word “smackdown,” even the one in the Christian Science Monitor. (Seriously, guys, has anybody even seen wrestling since 1999? Oh, you haven’t? Sorry). This is because due to drastic cutbacks in the newspaper industry there is actually just one person writing headlines for everyone now, everywhere. His name is Tim. He drinks a lot of coffee. In any event if you have anything against lazy cliches and tortured metaphors, do not read many more pieces about Linda McMahon, after this one.

But it’s also makes the Connecticut senatorial contest VERY EXTREME, as McMahon is one of the only logical WWE representatives that could even pull off such an ambitious jump, with the possible exception of Doink. Linda’s husband Vince, WWE honcho since forever, is probably disqualified on the basis that somewhere between the years 1995-2006 he added what appears to be 270 lbs. of either muscle of Midwestern granite; he now looks like his flesh has been stretched over Iron Man, and someone would probably ask him about that. Nikolai Volkoff, of course, would run afoul of naturalization requirements, and since there’s a not-insignificant number of tweaked-out blogtypes wearing upside-down colanders on the heads and still pouting about the Hawaii birth certificate thing, I am pretty sure the winds do not currently favor the Iron Sheik. So it’s probably a good move for her.

I do, however, suggest that McMahon as quickly as possible hire the Ultimate Warrior to handle her important speeches: “WHEN THE MOONS RISE HIGH INTO THE GALACTIC AWESOMENESS AND THE EXPLOSIVE FORCE OF ALL THE WARRIORS UNIVERSE-WIDE UNITE AS ONE WE CAN HAVE FISCALLY RESPONSIBLE HEALTH CARE REFORM WITHOUT A PUBLIC OPTION.” Or something by Dusty Rhodes. Whatever.



About Jeff Vrabel

My writing has appeared in GQ, Men’s Health, Success, the Washington Post, the official BruceSpringsteen.net, Indianapolis Monthly, Billboard, Modern Bride and more. View all posts by Jeff Vrabel

One response to “What’cha gonna do brother, when Linda McMahon, and all her Linda McMahon-A-Maniacs run wild on you

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