10 Things That Would Happen If WWE Put An End To Scripted Promos

Jon Moxley's new gimmick is that of an assassin.

He is a shooter for hire; Chris Jericho's podcast, Wade Keller's podcast, an interview with a Twin Peaks fan site, oddly enough: Mox has rained bullets down on WWE's unspeakably ironic "creative" process with the zeal of Bonnie and Clyde's ridiculous overkill death scene, only, Vince McMahon isn't writhing about in agony. He is currently, right now, on two hours of sleep, thumbing through the 41st draft of next week's Monday Night RAW script, coin in hand, in an attempt to determine whether Ricochet or Cesaro is going to win their fourth match.

Heads Cesaro wins, tails Ricochet loses.

He is also rewriting generic and or lame promos, making a redundant process even more redundant, in his ongoing crusade to infiltrate WWE programming with what he deems to be "such good sh*t". Perhaps he is thinking of new ways to humiliate Scott Dawson and Dash Wilder.

So they like Jim Cornette, huh...

Where the Revival see a sh*t-talking mouthpiece whipping the crowd into a frenzy ahead of an awesome tag team classic, Vince simply sees tennis racquets, makes a beeline to the prop department, and rebrands the Revival as the Wimbledon Experience.

This cynicism is the default analysis. It is impossible to enter a good-faith dialogue with WWE because the dialogue in WWE is so sh*tty.

But what if it wasn't...?

As certain WWE personnel are keen to point out, because their livelihood depends on making the right noises - robotic defences of the system and raspberries blown on Vince's belly - not every wrestler is a comfortable talker.

Some wrestlers prefer to let the wrestling do the talking on WWE's talk-heavy sports entertainment programming. Under WWE's deadly quest for perfection - which manifests as pure sh*t, ironically - these performers are not permitted to embarrass themselves of their own volition, which manifests as embarrassingly lame drivel burdened on them, ironically.

But, unshackled, we'd at least bear witness to fascinating disasters, like Kalisto's infamous Good Lucha Things promo, which stigmatised him as a meme forever more. Not ideal but perversely entertaining, he could have sold a few t-shirts on the irony market, or used this humiliation as motivation to hone his skills. Failure is a lesson from which to learn.

Right, so Kalisto isn't going to become the next Rock with a few weeks of practise, but this meme-generating cruelty is a lost love of pro wrestling. Half the brain that you do; We're live, pal; AND YOUR T-SHIRTS ARE TOO TIGHT, TOO, BILLY!: sh*tty wrestling is so much better than moderately good wrestling.

Or, alternatively, WWE could create a tonally eclectic programme in which the acts are booked in accordance with what they are actually good at.