As most of us know, the
bright lights of wrestling don’t shine on one
person forever, and eventually, whether it is age,
injuries, or creative not having anything for you,
sometimes it’s just time for a Rassler to move on.
And unfortunately, the latter seems to be
happening all the more frequently, as there
doesn’t seem to be a month that goes by where WWE
isn’t “cordially” firing someone via their
website, with the following message
appearing:
“World
Wrestling Entertainment has come to terms on the
release of [random schmo.] We wish him the best in
all future
endeavors.”
The hilarity of course lies
in the fact that the poor bastard really has no
choice, despite what “terms” WWE claims they
came to on his
release. <
/span>
WWE: “Hey. You don’t
work here anymore. Clear out your locker. You okay
with those
terms?”
“Released” Talent: “Do
I have a say in anything?”
WWE: “Nope.”
Released Talent:
*sigh*
WWE: “Agreed
then!”
In any event, there are MANY
wrestlers out there, who have indeed stepped away
from the ring, and ventured into entirely new
vocations altogether. Men like Rick Steiner, who
now work in the school board, deducing ways to
prevent students from bullying one another, all
while secretly dreaming of all the people he
severely injured in his last WCW stint; while MENG
of all people was said to actually sell used cars.
YES. Somewhere out there, there’s someone who
haggled over the price of a Le Baron with Haku.
And I can just imagine those sessions, and how
hard poor Meng must have had to try and keep from
jabbing his thumb and index finger into their
throats when they tried to maneuver the “Master of
the Tongan death grip” into throwing in a
complimentary dashboard CD player to sweeten the
sale. (Plus, I’d imagine it’d be hard to find a
car Meng could take you for a test drive in that
could actually contain the other 7/8ths of his
head).
And finally, Brutus “The
Barber” Beefcake, whom at one time definitely had
the world as his oyster, as he was struttin’,
cuttin’, and seemingly surgically attached to the
swollen orange ass of the Hulkster. However, times
were tough for the Barber, and eventually there
was no longer anyone requesting haircuts after
being violently choked into unconsciousness. So he
did what anyone would
do. He traded in his Lycra purple zebra pants with
the exploded ass, for the frumpy uniform of a
Subway Toll collector in Boston. This
dream would carry on until he was unceremoniously
fired when a duffle bag was found containing what
was believed to be ANTHRAX (and surprisingly not
gigantic red & white gardening shears). It’s
okay though, it just turned out to be cocaine
however, and everyone lived happily ever after.
Ok, no one did. But whatever. I’m tired of talking
about
Brutus.
Anyway, that brings us to the
topic at hand. I got to thinking, what, if any
jobs would other wrestlers be drawn to, if all of
a sudden their tenure in the squared circle came
to a sudden end? And could they do said job with
the same passion and skill in which they rolled
around in their underwear? THESE WERE TOUGH
QUESTIONS THAT REQUIRED INTELLIGENCE INSULTING
ANSWERS. So, here we
are.
LIFE AFTER WRESTLING
Jobs After Doing
JOBS.
Pfohl Of Barbiturates.
Lex Luger:
PHARMACIST.
Lex Luger. Physical specimen.
Master of the torture-rack. Lady killer
(literally).
What else can be said about
Lex Luger that can’t be laughed about multiple
times?
Luger once had the
whole world at his fingertips. 12 years ago he was
amidst a huge push, and could be counted on to
body slam morbidly obese Samoans at the drop of a
hat. But life has seemingly passed Flexy Lexy by
since then, and now may be the time for him to
move to another chapter in his life; PHARMACIST!
Yes, bear with me. I imagine Lex’s first foray into the
working world would be an attempt as a 911 phone
operator; but I suggest that job would only last
about 6 hours, before he was ultimately fired for
setting the all-time mortality record in the
profession, just half a day into his tenure. And
with that behind him, Luger would have no choice
but to embrace an occupation where he wouldn’t be
forced to help those choking on pills, but
instead, he’d be DISTRIBUTING THEM himself. A
PHARMACIST. And hey, his suburban town home is
literally brimming with pills anyway, so why not
just cut out the middle man? Makes sense to
me.
And with this, Lex may have
finally found his true calling. And sure, his
elderly customers will return each week containing
25% more muscle mass than they did the week before
after ingesting Lex’s stock, but it’ll be all
worth it.
Clearly.
Oh Brother.
Sting: PASTOR.
With Sting giving his heart
to the Lord, speaking publicly on behalf of Jesus,
and denouncing immorality, you’d think the next
logical step would be full
ordainment.
And who wouldn’t want to go
to a Church headed up by the Stinger? And sure,
his wolf-pac make-up might suggest he secretly
fights for the other side, and his first sermons
would come across awkward as he’d refuse to speak
for the first year and a half of his ministry; but
who couldn’t get behind a reverend that violently
and terrifyingly propels from the Church’s
rafters, and menacingly looks to crush your skull
with a baseball bat? And the best part is, even if
Sting did bludgeon you to death with the bat, he’d
be able to lay hands upon your broken body
instantly, and you’d be back in business in no
time. That’s a great little sales pitch if I’ve
ever heard
one.
Ultimately though, I’d
imagine Sting’s church would become host to many
of his Born Again wrestling comrades over time.
And imagine, sitting next to Ted DiBiase during
the sermon, while Ted out and out refuses to put
any money in the collection plate until someone
dribbles a basketball ten times. Or how about Road
Warrior Animal, drawing disdain from the
congregation for wearing his spiked shoulder pads
with his Sunday best? All the way to Shawn
Michaels causing a brief panic when his metallic
chaps cause him to sink to the bottom of the
Baptism tank like a stone. Makes you want to join
the crusade right now, doesn’t it? Ok, maybe
not.
Skin As Soft As A (dead)
Baby’s.
Gene Snitsky:
DERMATOLOGIST.
Obviously,when you think of a
post-wrestling Gene Snitsky, you automatically
picture him getting right back into the pro-choice
movement (Her body, his choice), and offering his
special non-invasive abortion services (and hey,
Dawn Marie might still have a job today if he
did). But unfortunately, not too many people seem
too keen on terminating their pregnancies by being
blasted with a steel folding chair, and likely,
Dr. Gene’s insistence on also aborting the mother,
along with the fetus, wouldn’t go over too well.
Oh well.
With that said, besides maybe
podiatry, there is ONE more medical field Snitsky
might try his hand in, that would be most
beneficial to the public and HIMSELF. Yes,
friends, I mean dermatology. You see, Gene himself
suffers from a certain skin condition that seems
to show no signs of clearing up (and I haven’t
been able to eat a Nestle Crunch bar since he
debuted). And even
after he seems to now be off of certain
“muscle enhancing” substance, his back has yet to clear up. And even
though I think it’s now fairly obvious that Gene
can place all the blame on his dry cleaner
for the less than reputable job on Snitsky’s
shirts, Gene himself can now pour all of his
resources into developing a cream that will in
fact obliterate any and all acne forever. And I
truly feel Gene is the man to make this medical
breakthrough
happen.
Unfortunately though, I fear
this won't be without its mishaps, as Gene will
likely test the first batch of “Genesil” on
himself, causing himself
to completely vanish after a bathing in
it; leaving only a large clump of goatee hair
stuck in the tub’s drain. What a
waste.
Captain Morgan.
Matt Morgan: HIGHWAY
PATROLMAN.
Hey, some truths are funnier
than fiction, and recently, Former Tough Enough
competitor Matt Morgan got into hot water when he
allegedly pretended to be a highway cop so he
could pull women over. I imagine however, what
gave him away was the fact that he was wearing his
trunks when he pulled the young lady
over….
In any event, Matt, I feel
should pursue a REAL career in law enforcement.
But just don’t be surprised when the people whom
you pull over suddenly speed off after it
takes you ten minutes to say “can you please step
out of the
car”…
Ace Corpse In The Hole.
Sonny Siaki: GRAVE
DIGGER.
Hey, he puts them in the
ground anyway, so why not just kill two birds with
one stone (or an errant dropkick) and dig the hole
too? IT JUST MAKES
SENSE.
Pick Your Poison.
Jake Roberts: POISON
CONTROL.
Coming up with a job for Jake
was actually tougher than I originally thought. At
first, I definitely thought he would have a future
as a Wine tester, but I don’t think he’d be able
to get past that whole “Not being allowed to
swallow it” thing. (that and the goblet he’d
insist on using would 18 inches tall). So, I went
with the next best thing: Jake Roberts donating
his body to science. And hey, I know he’s still
alive and all, but he hasn’t felt anything since
1992 so I figured he was good to go. But alas,
pesky human rights issues would come into play, so
ultimately Jake I feel would find his true calling
in the Poison Control Center.
After all, who has more toxins flowing through
their blood alcohol
streams than Jake? So who better to feel their
plight? That’s right. And the best part is
Scientists will in turn develop the antidote for
every known poison on earth through the blood of
Jake Roberts. Everybody wins this
way.
Big Poppa Pumps.
Scott Steiner: Gas Station
Attendant.
Finding a job for dude’s who
wear chain mail is no easy task. First, Medieval
Times kind of frowns on belly to belly suplexes,
and unfortunately, there never seems to be an
opening for Templar Knight guarding the one true
cup of Christ for all of eternity these days. So
what is a swollen dude on the gas to do? Well,
pump it, of course! (And not just directly into
their veins). See, I can see Scott Steiner opening
his very own Gas Station, affectionately known as
“Big Poppa Pumps”. And sure, you might want to go
ahead and self serve, because Scotty has this
really bad habit of dropping the gas nozzle in
mid-pump so he can peel off a few push ups, but
whatever. And hey, there’s just no telling
what former WCW stars will show up to give a
helping hand! If you need an oil change, Sean
Waltman or Scott Hall will be more than happy to
wring out their hair into your car. And Kanyon is
always ready to get to work in the
garage. I mean “who better” …or knows more about
rear-end collisions than Kanyon?
I for one think Big Poppa
Pump is up for the challenge. And hopefully he’s
learned his lesson from his 2003 Royal Rumble
Title match: If you use too much “gas”, you’re
probably going to blow up. Let’s hope Scott
remembers this
lesson.
Yahweh Out.
Goldberg: RABBI!
It’s just a matter of time
before Goldberg traded in his unorthodox wrestling
style for…Orthodox Hebrew teachings! It seems like
only a natural progression. And where as he
learned his lessons originally in the Power Plant,
he’ll now take his teachings from the Highest
power, the great IAM. And sure, people might read
a little too much into Goldberg’s spitting,
twitching and gibberish, and mistake this babbling
for him speaking in tongues, but it’s all in a
day's works for the World’s toughest Jew. I mean,
imagine how AWESOME his synagogue would be! First,
as everyone is seated, Doug Dillinger would bang
on the Synagogue’s door, yelling “Rabbi, you’re
up!” From there Goldberg would explode into the
church, accidentally kicking over religious relics
with an errant kick, before slowly emerging from
the sparks and flames of a fully lit menorah. And
of course, it will all culminate with a throaty
bellow of “Who’s Next!...to read from the Torah!”
It’d be
awesome.
But it wouldn’t be a Goldberg
story if there wasn’t an injury. I imagine on a
trip to the Holy land, Rabbi Goldberg
would give himself a concussion… while attempting
to hard-way headbutt the Wailing Wall. 
After
all, this guy hasn’t ever exactly had the best
track record against inanimate objects, has
he?
Blood; It’s In You To Give.
(Unless You’re This Guy.).
“Cowboy” Bob Orton: BLOOD
BANK.
Ok, maybe this isn’t exactly
the best idea. But hey, if anyone can put the
“Hep” back in “Hepatitis”, it’s a cool cat like
Bob
Orton.
A
Bird In The Hand To Help You Get Back In The
Bush.
Koko B. Ware: MARRIAGE
COUNSELOR.
Originally,
I thought maybe Koko would take up fire fighting
to prevent anymore Kentucky Fried Frankie’s from
occurring, but sadly, height requirements, and the
fact that Taxi-cab yellow Hammer Balloon pants
tend to go up in flames even faster than 18 year
old macaws, made this dream an
impossibility.
But unlike those pants, there
is a silver lining. Koko could take all his many
years of knowledge in the area of LOVE (and what
woman can resist a guy who smells like birds?) and
turn it into a lucrative Couples counseling
practice. I can imagine such a
session:
Distraught
Wife: “I think my husband is cheating on
me,
Koko.”
Koko: “Sometimes love
is like a slow dance…You can tiptoe around, but
don't make a sound…You can make a little silent
romance.”
Hen-pecked Husband: “
Ha! See, even Koko thinks I’m right! The reason
I’m seeing another woman is because you’re such a
nag!”
Wife: “Please tell me
you aren’t taking his side,
Koko?”
Koko: “But sometimes
love feels like a
fight…."
Husband AND Wife:
“Well, that’s true, I
guess.”
Koko: “…It feels like
an argument….It feels just like…. a
PILEDRIVER.”
Husband: “Wait.
Huh?”
Koko: “ A Piledriver!
Yaaaaaaaaaaaa! PILEDRIVER!
Ya!”
Husband: “What the
Hell are you talking
about?”
Koko: “You’re right
beside
her!”
Husband: “Ya,
so?”
Koko: “Your Heart’s on
fire!!!!!!”
Wife: “What does that
even
mean?!”
Koko: “She got you
hotwired! HIGHER, HIGHER, PILEDRIVER!!!!!”
Wife AND Husband:
“Umm, thanks, Mr. Ware. I think we have to get
going
now…”
Koko:
“Lalalalalalalalala, a-PILE-
Drivvvvvvvvaaaaaa!”
Husband: “Okayyy,
then…”
Haha. That went great I
think. I think with Koko’s melodious approach to
dealing with lovelorn, there isn’t a couple on
Earth who can’t work things out, and by session’s
end, be ready to “do the bird”…and each other.
Thanks,
Koko!
One Warrior Nation
Under
God.
Ultimate Warrior A.K.A.:
Warrior Warrior: IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL.
With the UConn
controversy still fresh in some people’s minds,
Warrior Squared’s future as a public speaker
likely went up in smoke faster than his
ridiculously cheesy WCW entrance. But there is
HOPE. There is a job out there with Warrior’s name
on it….both of them in fact…which are the same by
the way. Anyhoo. I’m of course talking about an
immigration official! Warrior Warrior seems born
for this. In fact, let us all imagine those
immigrants coasting to our fair shores, reading
the welcoming plaque on The Statue of Liberty for
the first time after Warrior's first day on the
job....
“Give me your tired, your
poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe
free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I
lift my lamp beside the golden door….And
arrrrgggghhhh, for the little Warriors
I press them to heavens for the skeletons
that made the supreme sacrifices! And smite them
with awesome POWER of THE ULTIIIIIIIIIIIMATE
WARRIAH!!!! *Snort*”
.
Ok, clearly, we’ll have to
widen Lady Liberty by a good 25 feet to get this
revised phrase on there, but Man, it’ll be so
worth it. I don’t know
about you, but I know I’d feel A LOT safer with
Warriorman guarding our harbors, press slamming
those who dare try to get into this country
without the proper paperwork back into the
Atlantic Ocean from whence they came. And sure, it
might take Warrior a long time to round up all the
illegals jumping the Mexican border because he
insists on always traveling by foot, but that’s
just the price you pay to keep the *real threats*
like Iraqi Sympathizers with pointy boots, Voodoo
priests, Vikings and 1800’s era morticians out of
our fair land.
WARRIAH.
Getting A Little
Behind In His
Work.
Pat Patterson: FUDGE
PACKER.
Hey, that fudge just doesn’t
pack itself! So why not employ the expertise of a
guy who’s spent over 30 years trying to cram
objects into tight spaces? And I'm sure the
people at the Fudge company will no doubt be
pleased with his umm, drive. (They may even
want a cigarette after, who
knows?).
She Can’t Wait To Handle Your
Package!
Lita: TRAVEL AGENT.
After the bright
lights fade, and Lita can no longer blow spots
(among other things) in the ring anymore, she will
be faced with a tough decision. What (or who) do I
do now? I think the answer is fairly obvious:
TRAVEL AGENT …specifically one that deals
primarily with the country of MEXICO. After all,
Lita’s vagina is practically a national treasure
there.
With
Lita travel, you’ll have a (El) Dandy of a time
taking in all the Lizmarks err, I mean landmarks,
before retiring to your Super (Calo) comfortable
room. Heck, if you get the time, you might even
partake in a little Fishman, err, “fishing” on one
of the nation’s many
beaches.
And the best part? You won’t
even have to worry about ingesting the
contaminated water there, because your immune
system will be far too busy warding off other much
more threatening contagions thanks to Lita's
services. After experiencing Lita..umm,
travel, a little violent diarrhea will seem
welcome. Let’s see other
travel agencies do that! So, if you’re going to
Travel, let Lita handle your package. She’ll bend
over backwards (and many other positions) for her
clients.
Four Wheel Drive
Horseman.
Ric Flair: DRIVER’S ED
INSTRUCTOR!
Times have been tough for the
Nature Boy lately. Between his wife leaving him,
The IRS cleaning him out (And if you see a lot of
accountants running around in sequined robes in
Washington, you’ll know they’ve gone too far!) and
the oft-mentioned “road rage” incident, perhaps
it’s time for Ric to start
over.
That’s why, I see Ric trading
in his Jet flyin’ and limousine ridin’ for a Chevy
Corsica with a bright yellow sign on top, and
clipboard… as Slick Ric takes a whole NEW
generation to school…Drivers school. And hey, why
not? If Flair can carry El Gigante to a believable
match, surely he can use those same skills to
prevent “Little Billy” from bursting his car into
flames? Right? I mean, is a speeding two thousand
pound metal death trap any more dangerous than
working with say a Mark Henry? I think
not.
Anyway, Ric’s approach will
seem a little unorthodox to most, (Before each
session he’ll have one of his students pitch him
off the roof of his car) but I guarantee you he’ll
produce results. And sure, it might seem a little
unpleasant that he gives instruction while only
wearing a tiny pair of purple underoos, and that
he instinctly thumbs you in the eye when you
forget to use your turn signal, but he’s Ric
Flair, damn it. And you’ll be better off for it in
the long run. After all, what’s worse, having to
WALK to school… or not walking for three days
after taking a well placed mule-kick to the
genitals? I think it's fairly
obvious.
Wooooooooo!
AfterLife After
Wrestling.
The Undertaker: Nothing.
(Undertaker doesn’t believe in doing
Jobs.)
Well, that was, *ahem*
interesting. On second thought though, maybe they
should all just stick to wrestling. And
let the professionals like me get fired from
the real
jobs….
I’m
Sean.
