Relax. Warrior is here.
There seems to be some anxiety and confusion running about. Let me squash it. First, nobody speaks for me. I am capable of speaking for myself. And if I have anything to say — I will say it here at Warrior Web. ONLY Warrior speaks for Warrior. Got that? Good. Don’t forget it.
I just got back from a fishing trip down around New Orleans. Fishing is exceptionally good down there right now. More in a Warrior Web Post about my politically-incorrect trip in a day or so. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.
Just back, I have been informed of an invitation that has been made — and that someone else has allegedly responded on my behalf. Again: ONLY Warrior speaks for Warrior. I will further investigate about who spoke fraudulently on my behalf and get back to you with what I discover.
As for my own response to the invitation — I’d say the boil that I am on your ass, Vince McMahon, is causing you even more pain right now than you expected, considering that you believed the DVD would lance it once and for all. Once again, Vince, in a furious, visionless moment, you loaded, locked and fired all at once instead of considering what would be the consequences of shooting off so recklessly. I tried to tell you, Ultimate Warrior is bigger than our dislike for one another. You should have just let Him be what He was. Oh, He still will be — His fans won’t have it any other way. You are, of course, finding this out for yourself right now. But you, look what you’ve done to yourself. Similar to an exhibitionist sick to show the world their tiny, shriveled private parts, you’ve done nothing but unclothe the canker sores of your wicked personality.
Of course, I do NOT accept this brainless, disgraceful invitation. f*** NO, I do not. You can rescue yourself, Vince. Do your own damage control. I’ve no ear for your begging anymore. Only if you were on fire would I help you — it’d just be too hard to resist pissing on you. Open mic? Then let it truly be open. Let your audience have some fresh air. Flush the toliet bowl once. Let them hear something intelligent, decent and truthful for once. Give them, Vince, what they want — just like you are always bragging the WWE does. Let them be proud for just a few moments that the energetic, intense and colorful Ultimate Warrior perosna they loved when they were little kids didn’t become a self-pitying, disapportinting, broken-down has-been like all the other brittle-minded skeletons traipsing around your locker rooms or now buried in forgotten about graves. Order the queer and the cripple who host the show to read what I have written here and here, and while they do that have them hold up mirrors looking at themselves so they can know exactly the kind of people in your organization I’m writing about. No apologies — I don’t discriminate for the handicapped who sign on to behave degenerately.
About the WWE DVD release, many of you are hungry for more of my thoughts, especially since the release of the trailer. I already put down a small (great) piece of my mind, but let me make a couple more comments to entertain, inspire and also deflect the disappointment of those sadly let down by the vindictiveness of Vince and his band of jealous, insecure thumb- and penis-suckers he calls talent.
Just as I called it, the more the industry goes negative, the more they show up in droves over here at Warrior Web to find out the truth. It really is a study in human behavior that individual by individual, without fail, can spend 15 minutes digging around at my site and find no evidence of “self-destructive” behavior and literally come away shocked by what the truth is vs the for-years-running mischaracterizations, but WWE, with its millions of dollars, its hundreds of employees and its disturbing obsessive attention to a talent that has not worked for them for nearly 10 years, hasn’t even stumbled upon a tiny pebble of reality. I’ve tried to be humble, telling you all that “I just don’t get it.” But let’s eighty-six the modesty. No one is that stupid. Neither is the answer complicated: Vince McMahon is bitter and wants revenge. Not because I self-destructed, but because I’ve succeeded on my own terms outside his own insular world.
Right now I don’t intend to watch the DVD, but I can be sure that many of the thousands who come around here will rush to provide me the details. As I said, even now some of you are doing this, having already picked up the DVD at local WalMarts. I did receive the trailer, but my Macintosh didn’t give me any picture, only the audio. It was obvious that even this little teaser is all lies born out of jealousy.
Let me correct just a few.
What I think you meant to say, Vince, was “hire,” not “fire”: “I couldn’t wait to hire hs ass.” I worked for the WWF on three separate occasions and you fired me only once and that was in ’92 using David Boy and I as scapegoats in an attempt to throw the feds off your own scandal-brewing steroid trail. And every time I left, you’d track me down and come begging to bring me back. Never once did I call you or anybody else from the WWF to come back — you ALWAYS came to me. Even one time sending Ed Cohen to hunt me down in the backwoods of NM at 4:30 am — this was after you suspended me in ’91. When you found me, you would always show up with two things. One, your stupid, superficial question “Don’t you miss the celebrity and limelight?” and, two, a goodie bag carrying a fat check to assuage your guilt and fault for letting me get out the door to begin with. You were a spoiled little kid even back then. You always had to learn the truth about me the hard way: “Damn, that guy really does do what he says he will do.”
About holding you up for money, you got that wrong, too. Of course, it’s a fantasy you’ve created, so that makes it true in your twisted mind. There was an issue about a Wrestlemania 7 payoff, but the strong-arming being done was by you and your conniving financial thug at the time, Doug Sages, not me. Instead of being straightforward with me about what the payoff was going to be, you kept dragging out avoiding any discussion about it while Sages unethically concocted a counterfeit loan to me, which I knew nothing about till much later, say, around Summerslam time. How coincidental. When I called you on it, you duplicitously scribbled down and rushed me a letter praising me for my contributions to the company, my one-of-a-kind work ethic, and that you were proud to have me not just as a talent but know me as a friend — and, then, Surprise! you pulled a 180 on me and courageously suspended me after the ’91 Summerslam match by handing me a tough, condescending letter. You expected me to drop to my knees right then and lick one of the three balls you claimed you had, begging you to take me back, right there in that MSG locker room, right there in front of your adulterous ball licker at the time, Mrs. Emily Feinburg, (so you could show her, I guess, how big a man you were), but I told you that Emily was the one good at it and you wouldn’t be seeing me for quite some time. I didn’t lie. I got my bags, went to AZ, moved to NM and left you ill with worry about where I was. “Where’s MY Warrior?’ you boohooed for months. It is a flat-out Wizard of OZ fantasy that I ever held you or WWF up for money.
Your memory isn’t too good, Vince. But over 30,000 documents (yes, 30,000) from the litigation discovery help tell the true story. How about even your deposition tapes, Vince? Now there’s a shoot video. And Linda’s. And Doug Sages’s, and Pat Patterson’s, and Brucie Pritchard’s, and Dr. DiPasquale’s, and Davey Boy’s and a dozen or so others.
How about in ’98 — considering that, now, you hold all these ridiculous fantasizes that you always couldn’t wait to “fire” me — when you sent me a middle-of-the-night fax offering me, alone, more money than nearly all the rest of the roster? Sent to me in the middle of our lawsuit and just before I went to WCW, no less. You don’t remember? The document does, Vince. What about when you barked to a mutual acquaintance in the winter of ’95 “I wouldn’t pay him a God Damn nickel to come back,” but you very soon after that broke open your piggy bank to the tune of an unprecedented upfront seven figures? Oh, the real story still to be told. It’s delicious. Even more tasty now that you are laying your side of the story down.
No, Vince, you definitely meant “hire.” And it’s what you mean, now. It’s what you’re trying to do and it’s the fix you need to have — oh, man, you want oh so bad. Like a junkie, you gotta have it and you’ll go to all desperate lengths to get it. You live for the Pop, the rush, the jacked-up juice of the crowd, Vince, and you know that whatever pop Hogan received all around the country bringing his phony, crippled act back to the ring, Ultimate Warrior would outdo at immeasurable decibels. ONLY Ultimate Warrior. But.
But after all the roars of all the crowds at all the arenas, then it would be time for you to get your real nut. Isn’t that true, Vince? After every single, last cent is squeezed out of every cheap-ass piece of merchandise fans don’t really need, you’d go to work like a surgeon who performs extreme makeover jobs. But instead of improving, you destroy. But it’s not enough for you to destroy just the character of the perosna, you have to destroy the character of the person, the man, the human being. Isn’t this true, Vince? A talent OWES you that much because, after all, you MADE their life. You and you alone gave them their identity, their ability to exist. They’d have nothing and be nothing if it wasn’t for you. Right, Vince? Sadly, Vince, the real Hall of Fame for you is not about WWE providing a home of respectful memory for the personas who worked there. It is a sick trophy case for you to show off the personal characters you destroy and the people you own.
During those years I was there, the agents used to spend an inordinate amount of time in the locker room telling the talent how your Dad was a man’s man, a real man with real class, that he could wear overalls and you’d still know he had class. About you, they’d say, the finest suit money can buy wouldn’t cover up your own lack of it. They were serious. They were right. And nothing has changed. You still don’t have any class. All of the success, wealth and power brought you none. And no amount of all this that you do have will ever be enough for you to OWN me. But I, Vince, OWN a little piece of you. Don’t I, Vince? The DVD admits it to the world. Alone, looking in the mirror, till your dying day, the passionate, intense and intelligent man who came, created and drove the legend of The Ultimate Warrior deep into the hearts and souls of millions of fans and then walked away from it all on his OWN terms will forever own a piece of your psyche. And, Vince — you will never forget that I am that man.
And that son-in-law of yours, what a piece of work he is. But you know this already, he’s cut from the same placcid, impotent mold as you. I’m the most unprofessional person you’ve ever stepped into the ring with? Well, now, ain’t that pretty. Because what I remember, Mr. Stephanie McMahon, is that you were only in the ring with me one time — and for less than 5 minutes. Here all these years since leaving the ring and becoming interested in mentoring young people, I often wonder what kind of impact I am having because I take it seriously and it is important to me do it effectively. Well, it sure sounds like I taught you very well in the 5 minutes you had in the ring with me. Because from what I hear you are the biggest unprofessional asshole the business has ever seen. You are welcome.
And sure, in the ring that day it was a work, but in the locker room before the match, it wasn’t. Don’t leave the good parts out, puffy, little jealous man. Let’s be sure and recall all the details and tell the audience how you tried to pull some rookie, punk bs with me, using that loser Gerald Briscoe to steel your weak backbone, and I got in your face and told you to store it and that if you had something you wanted to discuss with me, you go find the man-balls to confront me yourself, don’t bring a never-did-I-succeed-in-the business agent as a bodyguard and mouthpiece. It’s funny that you have so much to say now from afar, because I remember giving you the chance to respond then, but your lips quivered you mouth shut..
What I did that day was nothing personal, it was wholly professional. Ultimate Warrior was in a whole other league than all you B-players at the time — yes, Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels included — and it was my professional business responsibility to protect His worth. Whether you liked it or not, I didn’t really much give a f***. Yet, here you are today taking every cheap-shot opportunity you can to mock the Ultimate Warrior persona and deride me, personally, about how I handled my business as if you don’t get it. But you do. In fact, you got it real well. Well enough that you followed my lead and have, as a professional asshole watching out for his professional self, done quite well for yourself.
Hell, Paul, own up little, puffy man. You tried to replicate everything about me. So what you used a few more wrestling moves. Nobody cares and even fewer will remember. It was the Ultimate Warrior intensity and look you strove for. You knew this was the ticket. It became your mission. You even took up a serious interest in bodybuilding and began rubbing your very narrow shoulders with famous bodybuilders, like doing this would make you more of a real bodybuilder like I once was and, you prayed, more like an Ultimate Warrior. Difference is, Paul, it didn’t work. Ironically, your bodybuilder friends are some of the same guys who used to ask for me for training advice when WWF came through town and we’d train at The Mecca, THE Gold’s Gym in Venice, CA. Yet we can be sure — they don’t ask you. It’s a good thing Vince backed off the drug testing as he did because without them you wouldn’t have made muscle grade enough for the real freaks to even let you be one of their friends. BTW, to get rid of the puffy look, get off the GH and train hard. Yeah, that’s right — train hard. Your body tells us all that you train like a twat and rely most on your “sports supplements.”
Yes, Paul, sorrily, your whole career has been a mission to outdo Ultimate Warrior. But guess what little, puffy man? You failed. Oh, how you failed. I set an iconic standard none of you could reach. And you are bitter about it. So bitter. You all are. Indeed, it is this bitterness that you most have in common with your father-in-law. In fact, he recognized the depth of it in you and knew if something ever happened to him you would continue the mission to fulfill HIS vendetta. To secure it, he gave you his daughter. But he must be a little concerned, because it seems the only masculinity you can drum up is while you are hanging onto her booking skirt. You know, think about it. If I hadn’t been smitten with my own honey at the time and Vince would have been more sensible, he might have hired me to become his son-in-law. You know, the Original Ultimate Warrior, not a dismal imitation. On second thought, I had strong self confidence and Vince never felt sorry for me as he evidently does for you.
As for you, Booby Heenan, it’s just too difficult to keep a straight face talking about the pure two-faced bag of shit you are (and have always been), what, with you also actually wearing one as a piece of body jewelry. You are dying, dis-eased on the inside, and no more time is left to get back any of the integrity that matters the most on death’s bed. Imagine what it will be like, lying there taking in your last breaths, knowing you whored yourself out your whole life, and had to, in your final years, be faced with emptying your own personal shit bag affirming to you the true value of what you achieved in your life. Not even Vince could come up with a better finish than this. Kharma is just a beautiful thing to behold.
Jimmie Ross. For the life of me, I don’t get what your beef (should I say pork?), Jimmie, is with the sane and happy ole’ Warriorman. Of course, I can only imagine that a whole hell of a lot of anal pressure must come with being one of Vince’s top ass-wipes. Yet, still, can I ask — just when did you get to know me well enough to go on and on about me as you seem so fit to do? Can we substantiate some time period, here? Discussions or meetings that were held? Or is this too much to ask? I’m not the only one who’d like to know. Everyone is asking the same question: “Just when did Jim Ross get to know Warrior so well to have these endless opinions about him that he does?” All anyone can think of, largely because it is so apparent across the board throughout the entire DVD, is that, again, envy alone provides you (and everyone else for that matter) with the enlightenment and answers.
You are obviously jealous of both the fact that I never let Vince have his way with me as he has with you and everyone else and, also, that you never had the chance to bend me over either since becoming the Mother Hen over the talent around about ’96 when I was last there. Well now, Jimmie, come on. It’s hard to take you so seriously, considering prime talent such as myself would never answer to you about anything. I mean, what in the hell would you know about succeeding at the level I did? And here you go on and on to others about how “Warrior is so full of himself.” Get your head out of the pork and beans, Jimmie. And actually, it is not true that I am full of myself, even when I am arrogantly pounding the broad chest of my own healthy personal self-esteem. No, it is that I am loaded for bear defending how FULL The Ultimate Warrior persona should be of itself, because IT WAS GREAT AND MADE AN IMPACT ON THE INDUSTRY LIKE FEW OTHERS.
Can we ask, Jimmie, just how many tickets have been sold to people to come and sit in an arena for a wrestling card just so they can see you? NOT ONE. That’s how many. Don’t even need a damn calculator to do that math. Guys like me who have what it takes to make a perosna work pay your bar-b-q bill, Jimmie. Your fat ass and your silly ten gallon cowboy hat were on the plane to the next city on the tour because TOP TALENT like me performing Ultimate Warrior bought your ticket.
You seem to forget that there was once a “better” day when talent didn’t need their hands held, noses blown or picked, and their asses wiped, especially by a drooling gotta-get-closer-to-those-sweaty-wrestling-bodies feminine cowboy like you. Great talent knew what to do and did it, and they didn’t run crying to numb-nut writers and out-of-control, head-tripping, power freak babysitters like yourself. You, Jimmie, are the one who needs to get a grip, not I. When I talk about the great career of the Ultimate Warrior, I do so with the authority of millions of minds filled with the great, on-the-record memories. Yet when you criticize it, your authority comes only from the fact that you have a cubicle at WWE offices and it has gone to your head. You’ve been sniffing too many of your own bean farts, Jimmie.
The best I can say about you is that you remind me of a sodomized Ned Beatty squealing like a pig in Deliverance. How weirdly well it fits, too. You being so into bar-b-q as you are and Vince being into porking others as he has long done. My question: you still squeal after all these years, Jimmie? Wherever your problem about me arises from we may never find out — after all, up there in Stamford the truth doesn’t rank too high on the to-do list. But one thing is for damn sure and the DVD proves it. It is your unsubstantiated opinions about me and your non-objective animus toward me that are delusional and insane.
Ah, hell, that’s enough fun for now. In the next couple of weeks I’ll know more and will say more — maybe even cut a rough rebuttal DVD. Just bring in a camera crew and let it rip. Maybe, no promises. I may just decide to be done with it… I’ve heard there are so many others on this thing. Hogan, Dibiase, Lawler, Bischoff, Slaughter, Patterson, and even some of the new, talentless, uncharismatic punks — All these eunuchs have done me a huge favor in some ways. Of course, about whether or not there is any legitimate slander, I will hold off and legally find out. But it really is a great cultural illustration of how deviantly dumbed down mentoring and masculinity have become. And, interestingly enough, engaging these serious ideas is what propels me in the career interests I have today.
As for you young kids up there at WWE jumping on the bandwagon mocking the Ole’ Warriorman along with everyone else, let me give you a piece of manly, mature life advice. It’s obvious none of the perverted, adolescent old-timers are giving you any.
I am always conscious of giving you young guys a break whenever I express criticisms about the storylines and creative direction in the business. I figure you are dumb and naive and still figuring out your philosophy of life, so I am not as hard on you for your youthful behaviors. Maybe one day you’ll come around. Maybe not and you’ll just turn out like all the other grown men who are letting you down. We will all see. But you’ll want to keep in mind, that I stand up and defend ny integrity in person just as seriously as I do when I write about it. It’s not a work. And it’d be to your misfortune if I was traveling through some airport in this country one day and happened to see you standing there surrounded by little sexpot groupies and adoring fans, and I just took it upon myself to approach you, not to pick a fight but to ask you to explain your ridicule of me, and suddenly you couldn’t speak and started to go to the bathroom all over yourself. Let me tell you from my own life experiences, there’s nothing so intimidating and embarrassing as another human being who can kick your ass with their mind. Take it from a guy who made quiet a success out of throwing his muscle around, and learned this lesson the hard way.
You know, when I was really “getting it” in the business, truth is, ALL you young guys were huge Ultimate Warrior fans. Everyone of you. (Even that punk Goldberg let this cat out of the bag and then cowardly tried to put it back in.) Now that you get meal tickets from Vince, it’s risky to say so. I understand — I don’t respect it, but I understand. Yet instead of being one of those who just fall in line thinking all the disrespect and ridicule is funny, you might just want to use your own mind to make your own decisions, hold your tongue, not say anything at all. Because, you see, I am sorta old-fashioned about many things. One of those things is that a person should never be afraid to defend their integrity, especially when they have it. I do. And another thing is that young people should have both manners and respect for their elders, especially when they are deserving of it. I am. So, when you disrespect me, you leave me with no other choice, being the grown, adult man I am, but to embarrass you like a childish fool if I was to cross paths with you. And if you thought Ultimate Warrior as a physical thing was so intense it made you an awe-struck, speechless kid, you’re not going to be any less awe-struck and speechless when I give you a piece of my mind with the same kind of intensity.
Well, now, I’ve gone and done it again. Damn if I haven’t. This delusional, insane, dumb, muscleheaded former wrestler has scrawled another classic masterpiece.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity —