How WWE Ruined The One Thing That Made It Great
Kevin Owens went from the next Stone Cold Steve Austin to a member of the PG Kiss My Ass club real quick. He didn’t pucker up and actually kiss Shane McMahon’s ass, but he did effectively beg for forgiveness. Shane “considered” the offer, and the storyline ultimately materialised in tedious lawsuit bullsh*t and another “firing” angle, which was of course reversed, because nobody ever got “fired” from WWE. It’s a recycled load of old !*$% that is even less believable in the wake of AEW. Kevin Owens is significantly colder than he was in July.
WWE wouldn’t fire Tamina in 2019, for f*ck’s sake, and we’re meant to believe that WWE would allow Kevin Owens to draw for another promotion?
WWE doesn’t merely ruin babyfaces throughout the course of its putrid, ineffective weekly television. There is no gravity to any of this: Kofi Kingston happily played with pancakes one week after the most profound humiliation of his career. WWE is an actual cartoon, in which the events of the previous week have no bearing on the next.
Ricochet is a superhero: 50/50 Man! Do you know that he is a superhero, only, one that exists in a real life? He is a real-life superhero. Hey kids, you like that Marvellous? Well, here’s a superhero, in the flesh!
Ali should watch his own vignettes. He could do with the inspiration. Rusev is going to get over on the strength of his *checks notes* tiny lil’ c*ck, which seems incongruous with the whole “larger than life” deal that tends to draw the public to stars. Braun Strowman? His throat gets those hands, because he’s a Championship match choke artist.
Chad—where are my manners—Shorty Gable is the latest victim of this malpractice.
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