Vince McMahon: Yeah! Italy! Look, I don’t know how much English you all speak, so let me break this down for you in a language I know

Luigi: Hows-a you guys-a doin’? Eyyyyy!

Crowd: Yay!

Vince: In any event, I’ve taken the liberty of rebooking Chris Benoit’s Make-A-Wish match from last week, because that was a huge mistake. We should’ve gotten Webster or something. But now that we’ve gotten those things squared away, I’d just like to note for you all tonight that my son Shane will not be here tonight, because apparently it’s against that harpy Marissa’s religion to visit the homeland of her father Chef Boyardee Mazolla until she’s been thrice cleansed in the flowing waters of the Pragu River. So he’s not here tonight. And Bobby Lashley isn’t here tonight either, because apparently his abs of steel set off the metal detector in customs. Hahahahaha…No, seriously folks. He’s not even on this show. I don’t know why he keeps showing up.

Crowd: ….

Luigi: I hop-a on the turtle! Eyyyyy!

Crowd: Yay!

Armando Alejandro Estrada: My name is Not Important! What is important is that your segment is dying here, Vince! You need…how you say…to talk to these people in terms they understand.

Vince: I tried that! Spaghetti, Mama Mi-

Not Important: No, no, no. Try like this: I love-a to make-a my words end in a-a!

Crowd: Yay!

Vince: That’s just stupid. And I can’t tell whether or not it’s racist.

Crowd: ….

Vince: A.

Crowd: Yay!

Totally Not Jamal: Has anybody seen Rikishi? That guy owes me, like, ten bucks.

The Disembodied Voice of the Undertaker: Hey! You no talkie.

Not Jamal: Stuff it, dude. I want my ten bucks!

Vince: Quiet, both of you! I want to know if anybody here is bad enough to take on Totally Not Jamal right here, right now for the WWE Intercontinental Title.

Crowd: ….

Vince: A.

Santino Marella: I’ll-a do it!

Vince: Fantastic! Some random guy from the crowd! Who is no way that one Russian guy from OVW! You’ll make a perfect mark, I mean plant, I mean…Nice shoes.

Marella: I have-a never even seen-a the wrestling ring-a before-a!

Crowd: Oi-Vey Oi-Vey Oi-Vey! Oi-Vey, Oooooooooi-Vey!

Who knew they were all Jewish?

Santino Marella (w/ Luigi) v. Totally Not Jamal (w/ Vince McMahon and Not Important)
For the WWE Intercontinental Title

Nice back tattoo dude. Now you can never be repackaged after WWE gets sick of you in two weeks. Santino handles Not Jamal easily in the first few minutes by applying the classic Italian techniques of jumping on his opponent’s head and shooting fireballs at him, but Not Jamal grabs the star and deflects the attacks. Bobby Lashley shows up (apparently they don’t have calendars in Italy) and uses his Tanooki tail to fly into the ring, collecting coins, and twaping Not Jamal. Santino over for the cover! One..>Two…THREE!!!! We have a new Intercontinental Champion! What an upset!!! What was this guy’s name again?

After the match, Luigi douses both Lashley and the new guy in a nice marinara. Nice goin’, Not Jamal.

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We’re back and Todd Grisham is in the ring.

Todd Grisham: What the hell? What kind of precedent does that set? When a guy can come straight out of OVW-

The Disembodied Voice of the Undertaker: Ehem.

Grisham: Ok, ok. “The crowd” and win the WWE Intercontinental Title, from some guy who “couldn’t be beat” a few months ago, and who probably won’t last any more than this week as part of some kind of “local flavor” angle, while guys like Stevie Richards struggle for years and never achieve any kind of even momentary glory?

Nunzio: I know-a I’m offended-a!

Grisham: Shut up.

Bobby Lashley: Well, the cop out is that I helped him. So who cares if he won? He’ll just job out to Not Jamal or hell, Harry Smith next week.

Voice of Taker: What is WRONG with you people?

Grisham: But that raises a whole different question. Why are you here? There’s no reason for you to be on RAW at all.

Lashley: Jet lag, dude. I have no idea what month it is right now even.

Grisham: Fantastic. You’re a real “ECW Original.” I hope CM Punk kills you. And then I hope he jumps off a bridge. Any words, champ?

Santino Marella: I win-a the belt-a!

Grisham: Faaaaantastic.

Elsewhere….

Ric Flair: WOOO! Here we are in Italy! I’m pretty sure I’ve never been arrested here, so I’m going to expose some old ladies to SPACE MOUNTAIN, FAT BOY! WOOOOOO!

Torrie Wilson: I thought EuroDisney was in France.

Carlito Caribbean Cool: How can you be so cool about this, Ric? I’ve cut you a lot of slack over the past couple months because you’re my fake TV dad, but even after all these weeks we’re still a bunch of losers. The only difference is that we’re losers in a tag team instead of losers wrestling singles matches. This is ridiculous.

Flair: WOO! That’s why you’re the champ!

Carlito: See that’s what I mean. What happened to the Ric Flair that wanted to try to help me turn around my career?

Flair: Carlito, I’m just a crazy old man. I don’t know why I say or do anything any more. Like this!

Flair chops Torrie. Torrie runs out of the room in tears.

Flair: WOO! Nature Boy! See? Crazy old man!

Tony Soprano: Ey! I’m gonna have you whacked.

Flair: Whack me?! I’ve already been whacked?! Whack me?! I’ve already been whacked?!

Tony: Woah, dude. TMI!

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Flair flops to start. It’s lookin’ good for Team Flair and Carlito. Charlie Haas declares his team to be “Takin’ care of bidness.” Do you suppose they even know what that means in Italy? They probably think bidness is some kind of pasta. Before Flair can declare Haas to be a nappy headed ho, Carlito tags himself in. You know what Shelton and Charlie need? An evil valet. Somebody like Melina or Mama Benjamin. Anything to get their charisma off “empty.” Shelton suplexes Carlito, and that’s enough for the win. After the match, Flair tries to tell Carlito that everything will be ok once they have their Leaning Tower of Pizza for dinner, but Mr. Cool isn’t having any of it. Oh, come on, Carlito, there’s nothing novelty pizzas won’t cure.

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Maria (nee Punk Tennyson Lund Caribbean Cool) is backstage with John Cena.

Maria (nee Punk Tennyson Lund Caribbean Cool): Maria neep Ponies Tenderly Love Caramel Chews here, and I’m standing by with John Cena, and John, I just guess that you’ve got a nice rap in mind for tonight!

John Cena: Nope.

Maria: Why ever not?

Cena: Maria, I thought I’d celebrated the culture of Italy by performing a classic Italian song to delight the crowd, so that they cheer me instead of boing me as usual.

Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tuae, Jesus.
Ave Maria

Ave Maria

Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Ora pro nobis
Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Nunc et in hora mortis
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Ave Maria

Crowd: BOOO!

Cena: Sniff…I can’t win.

Shawn Michaels: John, the problem is that, while yes, Ave Maria is a Latin song, the setting you sang it to was by Franz Schubert, an Austrian composer.

Cena: Awwww….

Michaels: That’s ok, I’ll bet you’ll do better next week in England.

Cena: THE CHAMP IS HERE!

Maria: That’s the spirit!

At ringside we’re introduced to tonight’s Italian Announcers: Tony Schiavone and Italian Don West.

Elsewhere….

Melina: I can’t believe this. “Fashion show?” What are we? Wrestlers or dollies for Stephanie to play with?

Johnny Nitro: Do you really need me to answer that question for you?

Melina: I also don’t appreciate the insinuation that I do my own makeup. This is awful.

Nitro: Just feel lucky that you’re getting any TV time at all there, lady.

Eugene McAllister: Ach! In my 4,000 roaming this earth, I’ve never seen a lassy made-up so horribly.

Rory McAllister: Well…You’re getting there.

Roby McAllister: Aye. But you’re no immortal yet.

Michelangelo: Cowabunga, dudes!

Donatello: Hey, have you guys seen April O’Neil? Or Shredder?

Leonardo: Woah, look out guys! Mutant!

Melina: I told her this makeup was a mistake! Nitro! Gauze!

Raphael: This place is a drag. Let’s get out of here.

Michelangelo: Let’s go party, dudes! I’ve heard there was a place around here that serves leaning towers of pizza!

Elsewhere….

Kevin Nash: Whew. Glad I didn’t stay there. My secret is safe.

Scott Hall: What secret is that, Kev?

Nash: Why, the secret of the Ooze, Scotty!

Hall: Ooze? I’ve never seen any ooze. Where the hell do you keep that?

Nash: I keep all my ooze down there!

Hall: Down where?

Nash: DOWN THERE!

Hall: Well, don’t Bogart the Ooze, dude. Can I drink it?

Nash: Well…not unless you want to become a chicken thing, or some kind of wombat.

Hall: Whatever gives me a buzz, Kev.

Jay Lethal: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Oooooh yeah! Dig it!

Sonjay Dutt: I should’ve held out for Vinnie Vegas.

Alex Shelley: Kev! Kev! The Mexicans keep beating me up and stealing my car!!

Hall: Who the hell are all these people?

Nash: No idea.

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The Great Khali is still on this show. Good to know.

I know this has nothing to do with anything, but whenever I hear “Ave Maria” now I think of Hitman, I’m well aware that that makes me a bad person. So shut up. Nitro is Melina-less tonight because she’s performing makeup surgery, which automatically 900x less interesting. I do like the continuity evident all over Eugene’s ring jacket though. What was that slime incident? 9 months ago? Impressive. I honestly kind of miss the Spirit Squad now that I think about it. The match ends when Nitro dumps cappuccino all over Eugene. That’s his move!

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Todd Grisham starts off the Diva Fashion Show by impaling himself on the heel of a Versace Shoe. I’m right there with you, dude. So instead, we get commentary from noted Italian fashion critic, Andrew Dice Clay.

Boobsie McTitsalot: “Ey! She looks like she whapped herself right in the ol’ nose there with her titties. Know what I’m sayin’? Fuhgedabadit!”

Victoria: “Nice job screwin’ up takin’ off your shoes, moron. Next thing you’ll be screwin’ up lookin’ like a chick. Too late! Oh!”

Alexis Laree: “Hickory Dickory Dock, take off your pants you stupid broad. I didn’t Tivo this to look at jeans.”

Maria (nee Punk Tennyson Lund Caribbean Cool): “The Dice Man would neep this chick so hard, her teeth would fall out. You know what I mean? Eh? Eh? OH!”

Torrie Wilson: “If we were as hot as this chick‘s knockers, me and Gallagher would still be gettin’ work!”

Melina: “What? Did the Avon lady hit a bus full of seals again? OH!”

Torrie Wilson is judged to be the winner by…uh…The Pope. Then all the ladies have a giant cat fight. Geez. This is just like dinner at the Lund house.

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So are these guys seriously going to wrestle at Backlash? Weird. Especially since Cade just made his triumphant return to TNA PPV. Do I dare say that Jeff has been looking a little sloppier lately? It pains me to say that. Murdoch puts a horse head in Matt’s bed, and while Matt is freaking out about that, Cade nails Jeff with guitar case full of unmarked bills. Cade wins! CADE WINS!! Things have gone and gotten Crazy Go Nuts! Next thing you know Vito is going to show up and win the WWE Spinnin’ Title.

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Iron Chef Wrestling Chris Masters v. Super Crazy
In a Spagetti-Os Battle

Maria (nee Punk Tennyson Lund Caribbean Cool): Fudgecookie-son!

Tony Schiavone: It’s a NEW DAY FOR WCW!!

Italian Don West: ONLY EIGHT EASY PAYMENTS $14.95!! YOU CAN’T GO WRONG AT THESE PRICES, FOLKS!!!!

Maria: Since we’re in Italy this week do you think they’ll make chow mein?! I love that!

Schiavone: That’s her move!

Dr. Yukio Hatori: Folks, it’s great to be here for the Iron Chef Ital-

West: OH MY GOD! IS THAT SUPER CRAZY?! WHAT’S HE DOING HERE?!?!

Hatori: He was book-

Schiavone: Spagetti-Os are the greatest pasta in the history of great pastas, folks. Wait…No they’re not! SHOCKING SWERVE~!

Maria: Fudgecookie-son!

Hatori: Go ahe-

West: I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH MARIA!

Maria: I think I just got Spaghetti-O sauce on my dress. Frown.

Hatori: And with six delicious pasta dishes, the Iron Chef wi-

West: I’M BLOWIN’ UP LIKE A MACY’S DAY BALLOON, TONY!

Schiavone: Sorry, folks, we’re ALL OUT OF TIME!

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Back at the Italian announce table, someone has killed Tony Schiavone and Italian Don West. Backstage….

Randy Orton: It’s a Travelocity, Irma! Someone has killored Tubby Spelunking and Iranian Doug Whelp! We need to get Teen Rapid Arcade-O back together to instigate!

Edge: Why? Why do you keep following me around. We’re not tag team partners, we’re not friends, you’re barely literate. I don’t want to investigate the death of two fat announcers. I don’t even want to team up tonight, ok? The only reason I agreed to this match with you is because I can get away with you doing all the work. However marginal that may be.

Orton: Art…Art thou sayingst we can be fiends again, Argh, ol’ buggy?

Edge: NO!

Orton: Yes you art! Oh, Smog, this is the harpiest day of my life!

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I have no idea why in the world Cena would trust Shawn. Maybe he really appreciated the help on the song choice. Orton nails the CHINLOCK~! much to the delight of the crowd. Do you suppose somebody told him to knock off the Boston Crab for a while? In any event, the crowd is just adorable here, because John Cena doesn’t play well in the Italian demographic at all. His hair isn’t nearly greasy enough. Plus he’s not wearing red suspenders. He should’ve booked Captain Lou Albano to be his manager. That guy’s still alive, right?

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A quick check of his Wikipedia entry says he is. Good for him. He also appeared in an episode of Hey Dude, which immediately makes him a thousand times more successful than Cena. Edge Spears the hell out of Orton, just because, and Shawn loads up the Super Kick for Cena. He misses though, and Cena stabs Shawn in the back. Et tu, Cena? Cena finishes off Edge with a boot right to Edge’s Sicily for the win. The crowd is…less than thrilled. But on the plus side, I made it through the night without abusing any Italian stereotypes. Mama Mia!

Next Week: Jolly Old England is the site for RAW which means the Us will be flying like so much garbage. Plus, Bobby Lashley and that Intercontinental Champion guy team up to take on Totally Not Jamal and The Great Khali. And probably something with a main event between Shawn Michaels and John Cena.

See you next week, govna’!