Well, folks, as a great thespian once said, time for a change. A certain Mr. G. Chimes of Parts Unknown, which is apparently located near Suffolk County, Long Island, has pointed out in a very constructive manner that my obscure references make this otherwise stellar column a bit hard to read. To which I reply:

Raisin… Nut… BRAN!

But, seriously, folks. I checked this with a writer friend of mine who reads the column, and he agreed. So I took a look at the column and decided it could use more than just continuity. It could use a makeover. Instead of giving you a CRZ-Lite Heat recap, I’ll try to do something a little different, more fitting of what amounts to the Number Three show on WWF television. Your feedback is welcome and encouraged.

By the way… how do you think Trish Stratus’s bodacious ta-ta’s affect her motor learning?

DAG, YO, it’s time for another Heat recap. We are once again live! from WWF New York in the heart of Times Square. TAZZ and MICHAEL COLE are your hosts, and KURT ANGLE is supposed to be your “guest host.” He’s not here yet. He’s probably got his eyes glued to the TV set, watching coverage of the Nordic Combined. That’s ski jumping and cross-country, not the before-noon special at Madame Cleo’s.

ASIDE. On the official Olympic site, they are actually acknowledging an internal investigation of the judging in the pairs figure skating, as opposed to sweeping it under the carpet. And, on their Internet poll, 96% of over 160,000 people so far think the Canadian duo should have won. I think cultural artistic bias might have something to do with the judging. I also think figure skaters dress like XFL cheerleaders. And that’s just the guys.

First match is coming your way: Under the big purple fist, it’s LANCE STORM, Calgary’s greatest export since… Erik Everhard? Ummm… moving right along, Storm’s expressionless entrance is very reminiscent of the WCW vs. NWO game for the N64. The vaguely Asian music of TAJIRI plays, and GEEZ LAWEEZ, TORRIE WILSON is looking damn fine today. She has on a pair of lowwwww-cut sparkly lavender pants and matching top. What a fantastic set of… abdominals. MY GAWD she is bouncing down the rampway like tofu. Tazz says her breasts look like flotation devices. I say every ferry from Vancouver to Victoria should have a regulation Torrie Wilson.

Jack Doan’s your ref. Right away, this is good stuff. Storm with an amateur takedown and a ride. A series of simple reversals into a side headlock by Storm. Very clean. More good chain wrestling ensues, followed by a nasty dropkick to the knees by Tajiri. Ouch. An Irish whip to the far corner, but Storm grabs the top corner ropes, jumps up Vader-splash style, twists around and sunset flips over Tajiri. But Tajiri rolls through and WHAM! dropkick to the face. Nice. Of course, during all this, Tazz and Cole are talking about the nWo and other stuff. At least, until Tajiri slaps on the Tarantula. The closed caption person called him “Taj Inquiry.” Hmmm, Taj let go at the count of three. Damned compressed Heat matches! Storm on the apron, gets suplexed back inside, but lands on his feet, goes for a kick, caught by Tajiri, enzuigiri by Storm. Squarely in the external occipital protuberance. Speaking of protuberances, Torrie looks mildly concerned as Storm bashes Tajiri’s head into the mat. nWo nWo blah blah blah. Back in the ring. Here’s a neat hold: Storm has the chinlock with the left arm and he’s got a partial crossface with the right forearm. See, even restholds can be interesting. Tajiri kicks Storm in the face to escape. Damn, Storm has been kissing those boots of shiny, shiny leather this whole match. Rana gets a two count. Irish to the corner, Storm with a back elbow on the rebound. Storm to the top… CRIPES Tajiri just nailed him with a roundhouse kick to the temple. Check this out: Storm is sitting on the top turnbuckle, Tajiri picks him up so that Storm is riding on Tajiri’s shoulders, but backwards. Then Tajiri falls backward and Storm goes mush-first into the canvas. Then Tajiri bridges in order to hook Storm by the armpits and flip him over into a supine position, secures a leg lace and slingshots him into the turnbuckle. THEN he nails a belly-to-back with a bridge for two. Beautiful wrestling. This is PPV quality, easily the best match I’ve ever seen on Heat. Usually they save the good matches for the end of the show. What gives? Torrie is absolutely hot, too. Jawbreaker by Storm. Irish, Tajiri ducks the clothesline, Heavy Metal elbow… nope, caught in a go-behind by Storm, belly-to-back… Tajiri lands on his feet (!) Rana attempt by Tajiri… powerbomb by Storm, single leg Boston Crab, and Tajiri taps. GREAT frickin’ match, and all in about 3:30. Tazz remembers the hold “used to be” called the Maple Leaf. Back in the good old days when Storm held the Saskatchewan International Hardcore Title.

Whew! All that recapping for three minutes and change! Usually I get to just make fun of the Godfather’s Escort Service or Chucky’s dancing.

Kurt Angle’s in a limo. With a WWF cameraman, conveniently enough. The driver says he’s a bit lost, he’s a replacement because the regular driver got to go to the Olympics. He then asks Kurt if he’s familiar with the Olympics, with the medals and sports and stuff. Cole and Tazz put this over like it’s Laurel and Hardy in “The Music Box.” But it’s more like “Atoll K.” End of segment.

Back at WWF New York, it’s jam-packed with little hoodlums. Kurt is still lost in a limo. Don’t those things have GPS? At the arena, under the big orange fist, it’s TEST. Haven’t seen much of him lately. He’s the man with immunity who cannot be fired. But he can be put on indefinite suspension like Terry Glenn. Or fined up the wazoo like Mark Cuban. What’s he going to do, file a grievance with the Union? UPYOuRS! Hey, Earl Hebner is the ref. The top ref is working Heat! This is clearly going to be a “can’t-miss” show from now on, as it morphs into a “Number Two” type of broadcast for whichever half of the company it gets. No, not that kind of Number Two. Coprophiliacs.

The fans erupt! The fist turns purple! It’s L’il SPIKE DUDLEY, one half of the WWF tag-team champs. He’s duly outfitted in a No Way Out T-shirt, which looks kinda lame. Shouldn’t it be a red circle with a line through it? Like RTC? And why isn’t he wearing his Dudley glasses to the ring and marching around like Angus Young? And how did his encounter go with Whoa from Kung Pow: Enter the Fist? ONE BIG BOOB!

One of the new features of my column is that I won’t devote so much time to matches that suck. Test is doing the “I’ll fight him on my knees” gimmick. He gets punched a couple of times, then he starts tossing Spike around like a beach ball. Spike is YOUR ectomorph in peril. Acid drop attempt, Test throws him off like a sack o’ taters and gives the signal for the Big Boat. Spike ducks, but Test hits it on the rebound. Just under three minutes of ho-hum, but at least it tells a story heading into next week’s no Way out. The moral of the story: The WWF tag division is hurtin’.

Kurt Angle has made his way into the kind of clothes shop Malcolm McLaren used to run on Kings Road. Says Kool Kurt to the punk:

KA:  “Wow. So, what's your story, a smurf take a dump on your head or something?”

Kurt asks for directions to WWFNY. Duh, it’s in the heart of Times Square, haven’t you seen the damn show? Numbnuts. The punk goes into the back and returns with a business card or something. Apparently, it’s supposed to have directions on it. Kurt has one more before he goes:

KA:  “Thank you very much. You guys, you keep rocking or whatever you guys do. You, tell Iggy Pop I said hi.”

After Angle leaves, one punk asks, “Where is WWFNY, anyway” and the other says, “I dunno, I sent him to Harlem.” Ho HO! End of segment.

When we get back, apparently the Durex “Slam of the Week” was Undertaker with the tombstone on Rocky on top of the limo. Tazz and Cole are selling the trauma. They say MRI results were inconclusive. Whatever. 

Oh, this is rich. Kurt’s in Harlem. Allegedly. Allow me to transcribe. Sorry if a word or two gets mixed up in my haste to get to Madame Cleo’s before noon. Actually, I’m cribbing this from the closed captioning because the mute button was on when I recorded this. Mea culpa.

KA: “Does this look like WWF New York?”

Limo Driver: “I've never been there, sir.”

KA:  “We were tricked by those two freakos.”

LD (reading sign on nearby fence):  “There has been rat poison placed in the area.”

KA:  “I know, you idiot. Get out of my way.”

LD:  “I'm sorry, sir.”

Kurt starts doing the Harlem Shuffle and greets two guys that look like Roger E. Mosley and Erick Strickland.

KA:  “Hey, dudes. Words to you and your mothers. I'm looking for WWFNY.”

REM:  “WWFNY…”

KA (to Strickland):  “What are you listening to? Is that Luther Vandross?”

ES:  “What kind of comment is that? Just because we are black, we listen to Luther.”

KA:  “Everybody loves Luther.”

REM:  “Name a song.”

KA:  "Umm…  ‘Baby, You're So Fine.’"

ES:  “I never heard of that Luther song before. Why don't you sing it for us right now?”

KA:  “Oh, sure. # Baby you're so fine oh baby…”

LD (snapping his fingers): “Very good, sir.”

ES:  “You're killing me.”

REM:  “Listen, there is a girl named Strawberry up the block. She'll give you directions to WWF. You guys are cool with the directions, right?”

KA:  “We're cool. Strawberry, right up the block. Word to your mother. Stay down with it, dudes. Cool. Thank you, brothers.”

LD:  “Evening, gentlemen.”

REM:  “Take care.”

Before we can get a reaction shot, either in video or handgun form, we get an nWo vignette. Clouds, nWo, Joseph Stalin, nWo, clips from “Santa with Muscles,” nWo, a graveyard of skulls, nWo, people running amok through the streets, and so on. Okay, I made up the Santa part. But I had you going, didn’t I? Hey, Hogan did a crotch chop at the end! That might be the first time in recorded history. They must really mean business. End of segment.

Stand back! There’s a TYPHOON coming through! Oh, sorry, wrong Natural Disaster. It’s THE HURRICANE and MIGHTY MOLLY. Your ref is JACQUELINE! Whoo-hoo! This is the BEST HEAT EVER!

Turn it up! It’s SCOTTY 2 HOTTIE in singles action again. No sign of Albert, in the entrance video or otherwise. Hmmmm… Hurricane gives Jackie and Scotty handshakes. I can just hear Simon Diamond screaming, “I am not a comedy act!” Only half-decent midcard chain wrestling to start, until ‘Cane hits his somersault plancha suicida. ‘Cane puts S2H back in and climbs to the top, but gets crotched. Nasty. Uh-oh… ‘Cane’s woozy… Scotty is starting to shake… he’s starting to shimmy… FACEPLANT OF DOOM! Spreadeagle-mouthwideopen-lookbehindyou-jogjogjogjogjogjog… W! O! R! M! WormwormwormHOOHOOHOOHiiiiiYA! Hurricane slides out the bottom rope. Tossed back in, Scotty on the apron, shoulderblock, tries to flip over, but ‘Cane moves. Suplex attempt, thumbs up, clothesline by Scotty, ducked, Eye of the Hurricane, thumbs up, reversed into a waistlock! Reverse cradle, Backlund bridge, Jacqueline in tight leather pants, 1-2-3! The upset win for Scotty! Miss Jackie in tight leather pants! Hurricane has a new cardboard mask instead of face paint! I can’t stop yelling!

We seem to have an extended celebration happening here, which would explain why the match didn’t even go three minutes. Scotty gives the disconsolate ‘Cane a thumbs up. ‘Cane extends the hand… NAIL HIM! Nope, it’s a handshake and a pat on the back. But when ‘Cane goes to leave, Scotty pulls him back! NAIL HIM! Uh-oh, he’s pointing at his shoes. They’re untied! NAIL HIM! Aw crap, he was just pointing at the ring as if to say, DANCE, M.F., DANCE! Scotty does some really bad breakdancing, then kips up and points at ‘Cane. He’s shaking his head because he’s having a bad 3 Count flashback. But some crowd support changes his mind. Superhero pose… oh, God, this is awful, but in a funny way. A few Sugar Shane-isms later, and the two shake hands… and then slowly turn their heads to look at Molly. Uh-oh. Tazz says Molly might have some “junk in that trunk.” She comes into the ring, smiles, and does the Worm. My life is complete. Tazz says, “Tremendous!”

Outside, Kurt and LD are still walking around Harlem (allegedly) looking for Strawberry. They find her. But it’s not a “her,” it’s some guy who looks like a paler version of Jonathan Coachman with a bright red wig. Kurt is repulsed. The driver says in his proper driver manners that he wants to spend some quality time with Strawberry. Is this an inside way of giving props to Konnan? Kurt takes the keys to the limo and bolts. Great googly moogly. End of segment.

When we get back, we get a video package of HHH and Steph and Rocco and Jack and Mojo and Mrs. Mackay… sorry, I’m getting obscure again. That’s what happens when I am faced with video recaps. Hell, wait until next week’s no Way out pre-PPV shillfest.

Kurt’s made it to Times Square. He’s cold. He’s tired. He’s ready to take up a life of crime in order to support his chromium picolinate habit. He finds an old woman and asks her where WWFNY is, and she pulls the “What?” routine on him. So he puts her in the Anglelock submission and SNAPS her like a twig! My Olympic hero! Oh, wait, he didn’t. Sorry. That was the Zoloft talking. The marquee behind them says scientists say they have genetic evidence that demonstrates Charles Darwin was right when he suggested that new species arise through natural selection. I guess that means they censored this part of the show in Kansas. The old woman points at WWFNY in the background and swears at Kurt once he’s gone. Frothy old c… never mind. End of segment.

Yay, back at WWFNY, Tazz screws up a shopzone.com promo. Good thing you don’t have to worry about them dropping the contract. “Reading wasn’t my forte,” explains Tazz.

Christian! Christian! Il mondo! Il mondo! Ah, hell, this column is just like any other column I’ve done, but with no nicknames. Oh, well. Who knew the show would be worth recapping this much? Well, it’s about to get sucky, because CHRISTIAN is going to get his ass kicked by KANE. And he doesn’t even have the Euro anymore. Yeah, I said KANE. Two-time WWF champion KANE, on Heat. Believe it!

It’s a squash. Kane gorilla presses him and does ten reps before tossing him into the turnbuckle. Tazz says Cole knocked up his dog. Cole says at least he can read. “Touché,” says Tazz. Christian does manage a drop toehold on the outside, thus ramming Kane’s head into the unforgiving steel steps. Top rope shouldertackle. Two count for Christian! It’s not a squash anymore! Now he’s going out of the ring to grab a steel chair. The modular heat ref admonishes him, so he drops the chair outside the ring. The he gets beat up some more, slides out of the ring, and sneaks in that chair to the head of Kane while the ref wasn’t looking. Evil! Slop drop! One, two, th… no, two only! And he’s throwing a hissy fit again! He’s in a petulant frenzy! He’s petulant, and he’s in a frenzy! I love that bit. Zombie sit-up. CHOKESLAM goodnight. Hey, they tilted the camera up and down on impact to make it look more impressive. Shame on them. About 4:30 of “eh.” That’s “eh” as in so-so, not as in “G’day.” Kane leaves him for dead.

Back at WWFNY, Kurt has finally arrived. It took him longer to walk across the street than to drive from Harlem to Times Square. Maybe he got waylaid by an angry mob and an ice cream truck driver on the way

The crowd goes into “What?” mode, and Kurt only has enough time to insult them and say he’s going to make No Way Out the worst day of HHH’s life. That’s about it. Two minutes of mic time after all that Walking in NY silliness. Alas, another anticlimactic ending to what was a damn good Heat. Jackie in tight leather pants! Hummniahumminahummina.

Well, I think I’ve ironed out a few of the bugs. How you like me now? E-mail link is below.

Peace.