Without ruining his fun, I'd encourage you all to revisit my previous column and conflate all my comments about the Diva Search into comments about the year as a whole. Never have we been so unimportant; never have we been so systematically kept from basic satisfaction.
 
Last year I joked that if a year weren't an abstraction, I'd try to punch it. Put it this way: if this year were a person, I'd poison, half-strangle, stab, shoot, disembowel and burn it with acid; throw the remains in a sack, throw the sack in the river and drown it; rescue the sack and its contents, dry them out, burn them, throw them down a hole and shovel over them with dirt. Then I'd erect a headstone that read:

2004
January 1, 2004 — December 31, 2004
"Sure, Benoit and Eddie Won,
But the Rest of It Was Like Forcible Sodomy
With a WHACK-A-MOLE Mallet"
- Jesus "Mitts" Christ, Nazarene Thrilla

Given the enormous failures in the ring and in stories, this list won't be very different from last year's. In some particular cases, a few stars from last year stepped up or dropped down very far. For the most part, however, the names here will be virtually the same. While overall quality went in the tank, some superstars seem immune to or ignorant of substandard work. They were there last year; they're here again. I'm not going to enjoy this, and neither will you. So let's get through it as fast as possible, shall we?
 
(I will add the caveat that I don't watch any wrestling other than WWE wrestling anymore. The non-representation of indy workers here is no comment on them or their work. It's entirely the result of my unfamiliarity with them. As such, I am very wrong if this list is meant to be an overview on all wrestling. As a commentary on WWE wrestling though, I consider my statements valid, if not totally correct.)
 
 
THE VERY BEST OF 2004

BEST WRESTLER OF THE YEAR: Eddie Guerrero
1st Runner-Up: Chris Benoit
2nd Runner-Up: Shawn Michaels

Comments: Eddie wins it based on the rubric that a wrestler has to be a combination of ring talent, mic talent and charisma. Eddie is brutally funny, but five minutes of him on the mic easily results in a passionate promo that invests his current feud or match with vital drama. Eddie's promos prior to WrestleMania were intense and moving. He's gone to that well a couple of other times this year, but he's also consistently brought the humor. And once you take Angle and Benoit out of the equation, his ring work is peerless.
 
Benoit made great strides this year on the mic. I can remember at least four of his promos that totally sold me on the moment. His "it took me 18 years to get here" backstage talk with Maven was intense and wonderful. It made perfect sense, and it perfectly fit with his character. Benoit is going to get better on the mic, believe me. In the ring, though, he needs no improvement, despite the fact that he's so committed that he himself is probably still dissatisfied with parts of every match he has. He's simply the best wrestler on television when he steps in the ring. When he gets on the mic, he's getting better.
 
Slot #3 could have been filled by a few others, but I'll go for Michaels because he's had many outstanding matches and some awesome promos. In spite of a turgid and stupid feud with Triple H that overshadowed Benoit and the belt, Michaels has been as close to a sure thing for RAW for most of the year. When he comes to the ring, I expect to be entertained, and rare are the times when I'm not.
 
BEST TAG TEAM OF THE YEAR: Regal and Eugene
1st Runner-Up: Billy Kidman and Paul London
2nd Runner-Up: Rene Dupree and Kenzo Suzuki

Comments: There might be better teams in terms of workrate, but I defy most people to claim that they care more about them more than they do Eugene and Regal. William Regal is solid and reliable in the ring as always, flirting frequently with excellence. Meanwhile, Eugene is a consistent treat to watch. Their team dynamic is irreplaceable as well. The combination of the restrained and hesitant gentleman and the free-spirited uncritical little kid throwing himself into everything with wild abandon works so well in stories that WWE should keep this team together as long as humanly possible. No other pair has as much to work with in terms of earnest emotion and dialogue possibilities as these two. Put it this way: you have to seriously try to fuck up to make these two boring. But, like William Shatner doing a spoken-word version of a rap song on Futurama, WWE will find a way.
 
Kidman and London were great fun to watch during their battle over the Shooting Star Press. But they were a treat to watch as a tag team, too. The combination of Mr. "I Am Fucking Insane" and Mr. "Have You Seen My IV Bag Around Anywhere?" just worked for some reason. Of course, after their shooting star program ran its course, Kidman went back to his routine of staying "on cycle" and apologetically giving hiswife the "not during these 12 days, honey" look, while London returned to showing up on TV less frequently than Thomas Pynchon. I still liked them together, which is more than I can say for almost everyone else.
 
I like Dupree and Kenzo. Yeah, Kenzo sucks ass, but he's fun for some reason. Don't ask me why. Dupree keeps getting better and better, improbably, and I sincerely wonder how crazy we would be for the guy if he dropped his Frenchie act and became a struggling but grouchy babyface. I really don't get their team at all; it's sure as shit not the knock-off Geisha act doing it for me. This just seems to be one of those cases where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Without Kenzo, Dupree's more of a one-trick pony. Without Dupree, Kenzo's just some petrified suckass with female chattel in tow. Go figure.
 
BEST FEMALE PERFORMER OF THE YEAR: Randy Orton
1st Runner-Up: Trish Stratus
2nd Runner-Up: Molly Holly

Comments: When we think of female WWE performers, we think of several things. A person whose presence on television is justified mostly by her looks. Someone who throws almost completely pathetic punches. Someone who blows spots and screws up finishers. Someone who seems to have an only passing familiarity with the English language. Someone who usually accompanies or is aided by a man, one who is substantially more important in storylines. Someone whose character and storylines are insipid and crushingly inane. Someone who runs the emotional gamut from stupefied confusion and dumb dumb dumb to puling, whining and claiming that they were abused or disenfranchised in some way. Someone who practically devours TV time in pursuit of angles and attention they don't even remotely deserve. In short, a pretty, preening, overpushed, undertalented hack bimbo who should do the audience a favor by getting naked immediately and then, following five minutes of nudity, expire in the ring and have their corpse thrown in a ditch and covered with lye. A finisher-wiffing, mic-choking, important-man-accompanying, time-eating pathetic excuse for a plot device. That's the epitome of the WWE Diva, and I can think of no one who exemplifies those qualities more than Randy fucking Orton. But make him keep his clothes on, for the love of God.
 
Now the serious awards. I think I said last year that we ought to just throw in the towel and call this the "Trish Stratus Award." Or maybe that was the Most Improved award. Whatever. It's no surprise that Trish wins this one again. She's always good in the ring; she's improved even more on the mic, and she's showed that she can take her T and A, toss most of it out the window, say, "Hey, I'm evil," and people still can't stop enjoying her work in the ring or in backstage skits. And don't take my praise for something it's not: I'm one of the few people who are totally unaffected by Trish's looks. I understand that she's got all the things necessary to rank as "hot" for other people, but she leaves me cold. I never got all twitterpated about the "blonde" thing; fake boobs turn me off; and her lips are just weird. Sometimes I think they're purple or ochre, I can't tell. All I know is that the color is just weird. So, as someone who couldn't give a shit about her body or face, I still think she's the best diva in the business. And she's the best woman wrestler, too, which says a lot more to me.
 
Despite a potentially great baldness storyline getting swept away with yesterday's paper and despite chronic under-use in stories and the ring, Molly Holly still easily takes the #2 slot. No matter how good Trish gets in the ring, she's never going to be as good as Molly. Molly's better than several of the men wrestlers. Probably most of them. Molly also did great work as a heel, has the "pure" girl character to fall back on and also acquits herself competently on the mic. Perhaps if Victoria had taken center stage more this year or not been saddled with insipid music and a character redesign, she would be the #2 woman. Instead, she comes in third. GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!
 
BEST FEUD OF THE YEAR: Chris Benoit v. Triple H v. Shawn Michaels
1st Runner-Up: Jericho v. Christian
2nd Runner-Up: Eddie Guerrero v. Kurt Angle

Comments: If I have to explain this one, you have problems.
 
Jericho and Christian were consistently hilarious and intense. Starting with a mutual bet, then a love story, then a "horrible betrayal," these two managed to bring good laughs, good insults, good promos and several good matches.
 
Remove "horrible betrayal" and love story considerations and you have Eddie v. Kurt. Those two are and ever shall be fantastic. I will say nothing more. Except this: sasquatch. No, that doesn't mean anything to me either.
 
BEST MATCH OF THE YEAR: Chris Benoit v. Triple H v. Shawn Michaels at WrestleMania XX
1st Runner-Up: The Royal Rumble at Royal Rumble
2nd Runner-Up: Chris Benoit v. Triple H v. Shawn Michaels at Backlash

Comments: None of this should require explanation. The degree of awesome in these matches was so great that, really, the only consideration was figuring out which one took the top spot. It shouldn't surprise you that Benoit was in all three. Take him out of any of the three and suddenly the quality or import of any of the three drops considerably. Benoit was that Rumble match. The Mania and Backlash matches would have meant shit if they were no more than reiterations of Triple H and Michaels being so fucking important and blah blah-de-fucking-blah. You know, it's a testament to the quality of this wrestling year that I — the supposedly erudite columnist — have resorted to mentioning how bored I am and dropping f-bombs left and right.
 
MOST FAVORITE PERFORMER OF THE YEAR: Chris Benoit
1st Runner-Up: Eddie Guerrero
2nd Runner-Up: Chris Jericho

Comments: I like them. Maybe you don't. It's not your list, though. So fuck it. Read the names. I only have an explanation beyond "personal preference" for Jericho. In any other given year, he'd be ahead of Benoit because he delivers so much more on the mic and has more of an accessible character. But, aside from a feud with Christian, Jericho was given almost nothing to work with this year. Conversely, the long lonely road to the title fit so perfectly with Benoit's character that his Rumble-to-Mania storyline this year was probably the best he will ever be in. It tapped into his reticence, his 18 years of hard work, his gritty individuality; really, it was perfect.


 
THE OTHER BEST OF 2004

BEST TECHNICAL WRESTLER: Chris Benoit
1st Runner-Up: Eddie Guerrero
2nd Runner-Up: Shelton Benjamin

Comments: The first two should be obvious. I throw Shelton on here because he trades on his technical background. Part of his character is his history as an amateur wrestler. Sure, he's no Benoit, but he has adeptly and satisfactorily maintained his aura as an expert amateur grappler. This has made him a better commodity, and he has also lived up to expectations when his amateur wrestling has been part of a match's story. Look to his matches with Triple H and how much his enthusiasm and hyper work made those matches what they were. That's all you need to know. Also, I'm drunk and tired.
 
BEST HIGH FLYER: Rey Mysterio
1st Runner-Up: Paul London
2nd Runner-Up: RVD

Comments: Flippy floppy flippy floppy! RVD gets on here because I can't think of other flippy floppy motherfuckers. I will go on record as saying that RVD is still a horribly overrated medley of non sequitur moves and essentially the sort of guy who couldn't sell clean water in Waterworld or gasoline in The Road Warrior. I could drop a fucking dumpster on that dumbfuck's legs, and his first response would be to hop up, do a standing moonsault, then sprint around the ring for three minutes, do hurdles, kickbox a kangaroo… then stoner-lurch his way through the Five Star Fucking Insult. He can sell that, and it's his finisher. Coincidence? Fucking shoot me. After thinking about that, I'm upgrading from beer to gin.
 
BEST BRAWLER/POWER WRESTLER: Batista
1st Runner-Up: Chris Benoit
2nd Runner-Up: Mick Foley

Comments: I never thought I'd like Batista, but he's grown on me these last few months. Even if that hadn't happened, it would have been a character issue and not a wrestling issue. Batista's always been pretty good at what he does. And I don't know if my fondness for his character is coloring my judgment, but it seems as if he got a lot better at what he does. Mainly, that's club people and toss them around. But it seems as if his moveset has expanded this year, and he's definitely maintained a focus on being strong and fast. That's something I've always appreciated from Kane, too. Batista seems to understand that just because me can move more than other people doesn't mean he has free reign not to do so quickly. I know it seems a backhanded compliment, but the man isn't a slug in the ring.
 
Neither is my #2 brawler, Chris Benoit. We tend to forget what a great brawler he is because we focus too much on his technical skills. But unless the match features a chain-wrestling/technical wrestling gimmick aspect to it, he goes after opponents like they'd just kicked his dog. The man is intense. The same goes for Mick Foley, who is still one of the few people in wrestling who can make you go crazy watching nothing but punches. Even though Mick wrestled only about twice this year, both of those matches were highly entertaining brawls.
 
BEST INTERVIEWS: Eddie Guerrero
1st Runner-Up: Chris Jericho
2nd Runner-Up: Mick Foley

Comments: I won't explain the first two, because I think people can guess where I'm coming from without much misunderstanding. As for Foley…. Look, I like Flair. He's cool and can cut a great promo. But Foley edges him out, because it's hard to beat a guy who doesn't wrestle, isn't in the company, yet can show up and cut four promos per year and have all of them be among the best of the year. Rock did the same rare-appearance thing, but his promos did very little in the long run. Foley showed up and basically handed Randy Orton the American Express Platinum card of wrestling credibility. (Sure, Orton pissed that down the drain, but that's because he's a fucking vegetable. The surrounding cast in Awakenings had more problem-solving ability than Senor Bod-Spray.) In addition to him making Orton seem worth paying attention to, Foley also gave a rub to Mohammed Hassan while also defusing some of the knee-jerk racial hate. Foley made him seem worth hearing; he was worth hearing already, but Foley hammered patience into the audience. Without that Foley promo, the likely incidence of "A-RAB TER-ROR-RIST" and "Raghead" posters in the audience would have been about 1000% greater. God, I love America. If I were still single, I'd be casting about for any attractive English girl so I could get married, get dual citizenship and flee to Albion for however long it takes for my beautiful country to stop being run by a gang of criminal screwheads.
 
BEST HEEL: John Bradshaw Layfield
1st Runner-Up: Trish Stratus
2nd Runner-Up: Triple H

Comments: Bradshaw wins this easily because the man is just naturally irritating. Still, I couldn't ignore the brilliance of his send-ups of the Presidential election and of politicians in general. I'm not sure if he realizes that his cowardice about Iraq — willingness to see troops off to their deaths but total unwillingness to go anywhere near them — spoofs the President more than anyone else. But that's a debate for another time. Simply put, Bradshaw is absolutely hilarious on the mic and innately unlikable. His heel work this year was far superior to anyone else's. Of course, it was aided by the fact that his ring work was bad enough that he would never accidentally engender approval from the audience.
 
What can I say about Trish that hasn't been said by everyone else? Nothing, so let's both save some time, shall we?
 
Ordinarily, I'd put Triple H in the #1 slot because he works so hard to be a heel and is genuinely good at it, better than most. But here's the thing. I don't fucking care anymore. All that hard work and dedication does nothing for me. I respect it less and less. JUST. GO. AWAY. Yeah, I hate Triple H. I despise him. And most of you would say, "Ah, you're drinking the Kool Aid. He really is a great heel because you hate him." But that's not why I hate him. I hate that he can't get out of the main event for two months. I hate that he overshadows storylines. I hate that he's a cowardly heel one week and a monster heel the next week, thus throwing storyline logic out the window and doing little more than make him look good atthe expense of other workers' credibility and efforts. I hate that he has all the heat and gravitas of 20+ months of being champion, but he still can't lose cleanly, one on one, because he needs to "preserve his heat" — whatever the fuck that means anymore.
 
What I hate, essentially, is bad writing, bad drama, stagnant matches, stagnant promos, missed opportunities, under-acknowledgment of other workers, just the same old thing week in and week out until I die, he dies or he retires. No, I don't hate Triple H for the right reasons. I don't hate him as a heel. Because if he had a great face turn, got the belt back and kept it for months upon months, I'd still fucking hate him. I've seen that show before, and I've been sick of the reruns for two years. (WWE, stop underestimating my intelligence and grossly overestimating my patience.) That hate will go away the moment he gets his enormous nose out of the fucking main event for just two whole months and lets the show be about more than one person at a time — or if he goes on the injury list for several months. Whichever comes first.
 
Quick Aside: Yeah, Triple H, you put over Benoit and Benjamin this year, but too fucking late, Jocko. You've got those two trophies on the mantle and a vale of dead trailing behind you, one long sunken graveyard of other wrestlers' opportunities and reputations. It also doesn't help that despite several incidences of putting over two wrestlers, you still spent most of the year putting yourself over. In case it hasn't occurred to you, you are the star of RAW. I think you can ease your eternal vigilance in pursuit of your own exaltation for a few months and find some other project. Vainglory will be waiting when you get back. Trust me. And be a man, suck it up, take some fucking Metamucil and stop grunting directly into the mic. At this point it wouldn't faze me in the slightest if you looked at the crowd and said, "UNNNNGGGHHHH. WHO. DOES. NUMBER. TWO. WORK. FOR. UNNNNGGGHHHH."
 
BEST BABYFACE: Eugene
1st Runner-Up: Chris Jericho
2nd Runner-Up: Eddie Guerrero

Comments: I think the Eugene thing should be self-explanatory. But, for those who don't agree, let me defend it. Look, he's "developmentally disabled," which is a nice polysyllabic way for us to not feel ashamed for calling him simple. But he is simple. He doesn't understand what's going on around him. He's the perfect patsy and the perfect prey. Somehow, he prevails against tremendous odds. Isn't that the definition of babyface?—a goodhearted soul who prevails against tremendous odds, whose determination trumps the machinations of the wicked, whose perseverance transcends constant obstacles? By dint of his very character, that's who Eugene is. When you add the fact that he's quite a good wrestler, a fan favorite, a great "actor" and infectiously funny and enthusiastic, I don't know how you could vote for someone else.
 
The other two guys on this list are pretty easy to rate. Jericho still gets enormous crowd reactions despite booking that routinely tries to bury him. It's a testament to his popularity that he gets so many cheers regardless of an almost constant losing pay-per-view record. Eddie makes the list because I'm not a babyface purist. Eddie may lie, cheat and steal, but he does so with a kind of childlike impishness. He always seems surprised and delighted to get away with what he gets away with. Emotionally, he's opposite on the cheater spectrum from someone like, say, Triple H. His cheating always comes of as giddy opportunism — like, "I can't believe I can pull this off!" — rather than the product of malicious planning. That Eddie is such a wonderful character goes a long way toward making his cheating a kind of babyface act.
 
BEST CHARACTER/GIMMICK: John Bradshaw Layfield
1st Runner-Up: Eugene
2nd Runner-Up: Spike "Napoleon" Dudley

Comments: Because I already discussed Eugene and JBL in previous awards (in ways that specifically addressed their characters), let me just talk about Spike. Spike's awesome. The Napoleonic dictator schtick had me rolling every time I saw it. It was also great to see him win consistently and bust out a more "monster" moveset against other small wrestlers. Everything about the Napoleonic Spike worked: his psychological dominance of his brothers, his ring work, his mic work, even his body language. Twenty minutes of Spike vignettes entertained me more than about 80% of the main-event scene on RAW. If only management took notice of unique moments like these, we'd all be happier fans.
 
MOST IMPROVED WRESTLER: Batista
1st Runner-Up: John Bradshaw Layfield
2nd Runner-Up: Christian

Comments: Last year, I thought Batista was a nobody, destined for a historic career in the field of anonymity. Today, he's one of the reasons why I watch RAW. I think Rick Scaia covered this ground excellently some weeks back, but Batista has managed to become the monster wrestler with a technician's mind, a character that is eminently watchable while also appealing to the intelligence of the fans. To see this hulking guy be the voice of reason in vignettes, to see him yea/nay an action based on — wait for it — common sense is delightful and special. Also, as I said earlier, he's solid in the ring, and he maintains a level of athleticism that separates him from other big men.
 
As for the other two, JBL and Christian are largely the same in the ring as they were last year. But the definition of "wrestler" is not solely a physical thing. While I think both of them delivered more in the ring this year — Christian because he was no longer primarily a tag team wrestler, JBL because so much responsibility was put on his shoulders — both of them win their awards based on the depth they added to their characters. Christian's moments on TV are must-see now because he's bound his goofiness to a deep streak of malice and envy. The craftiness that went into his jokes with Jericho now goes into manipulating or cheating others. That, and he's an amazing straight man when the joke is turned on him. JBL similarly has improved in that he's no longer a boozing Texas shitkicker but rather a fuller character: a cowardly exploitive blowhard who can kick ass in the ring but is terrified of even a hint of failure. A year ago, his disappointing solo performances in the ring were a mark of failure: now, however, that inaptitude is an integral part of a wicked and marred character. Brilliantly, JBL made his liability — his ring work — an extension of his persona and something that inflamed the heat that the audience gave him. Anyway, the fact that I enjoy watching these two so much is a treat for me, especially because a year ago I often dreaded seeing them on television during any solo vignette.
 
MOST UNDERRATED WRESTLER: Christian
1st Runner-Up: Paul London     
2nd Runner-Up: Tajiri

Comments: Even though I'm lauding Christian now, I don't think I'm doing it enough. The same goes for everyone else. Like most of my fellow Internet Wrestling Monkeys, I thought Edge was going to be the "it" guy to walk out of the Edge and Christian tag team. But the last couple of years have proved me wrong. I think we were all convinced that Edge would be the guy because we were all telling each other that he would be the guy. We argued ourselves into it. Why? I'm going to hazard a guess and say: it was because he's pretty. There wasn't much difference between Christian and him, and those few differences were elided by them being in a tag team. So we all decided that the pretty guy would be a better singles wrestler because more people would like looking at him. Then we said he'd be a better singles wrestler because others like us said so. We were wrong. And we still haven't done enough to change that. Christian had an outstanding year, while Edge drove the crowd mild in the main event. I'm gritting my teeth thinking about it.
 
Paul London might be insane, and his matches are always a pleasure to watch. Too bad he's seen on TV about as frequently as Bigfoot. You can always tell a Milford man. And as for Tajiri: he stays on this list until he dies or retires. The guy generates good fan response and goodwill from his vignettes and (rare) promos, despite being saddled with an "I can't speak English" gimmick. That's says a lot about how much fans appreciate Tajiri and how little WWE does.
 
BEST SECOND: Ric Flair
1st Runner-Up: William Regal
2nd Runner-Up: Chavo Classic

Comments: These selections are all such gimmes that I'm not even going to bother explaining them. Instead, I'm going to write a list of filthy names and see if any of them turn out to be funny. The following children are needed in the Principal's Office:
 
Alena Tunapalm
Karen Cleftjabber
Albert Poleman
Roderick Felchstein
Beryl Clamcheek
Edouard Trimflick
Geech Crumpler
Bronwen Rimmer
Rollie Fingers — no, wait, that one's real.
 
BEST TELEVISION PERSONALITY: Jonathan "Coach" Coachman
1st Runner-Up: Tazz
2nd Runner-Up: Jim Ross

Comments: I hate awards categories like this because they're so amorphous. Technically, isn't everyone with a speaking role (and even some without speaking roles) on WWE TV a "TV personality"? I basically take this to mean non-wrestler, and on that basis I have to vote for The Coach as the best of the year. The man is just amazing at being an insufferable dick, and he's a fantastic straight man for wrestlers who need some cheap heat. Coach makes other people around him look good, and it's typically a funny experience.
 
Tazz trumps J.R. because Tazz manages to escape chronic shilling. Also, he can interact with Michael Cole, instead of an aging hard-on with a crown. Tazz also keeps his focus on the match, emphasizing psychology and the names of moves, which does more to draw the audience into the drama of a match than a video package and screeching "ORTON BAH GAWD ORTON! ORTON, ORTON, ORTON!" J.R. makes the list only because all the other options are too unappealing or reprehensible. Fuck you, J.R., you coasting fucking shell.
 
"HOLY SHIT" MOMENT OF THE YEAR: Christ Benoit makes Triple H tap out at WrestleMania XX, then hugs Eddie Guerrero in the ring
1st Runner-Up: Lita takes "Tope Suicida" too seriously
2nd Runner-Up: Chris Benoit wins the Royal Rumble

Comments: That Mania match was incredible, and the fact that Triple H tapped clean made me hop up in my seat and yell "Oh, my God!" The confetti and streamers started to push me over the edge. But when Eddie came out to the ring, stood there with the belt, smirking, then gave Benoit a big hug — well, it was getting a little dusty in the Lund household. Actually, really dusty. I don't think I've ever been so moved by a moment in wrestling. Probably the second-most moving moment I saw this year was Benoit winning the Rumble, which is why it wins the third slot.
 
Lita's batshit crazy dive wins a second place "holy shit!" award in the most literal sense, because I actually said, "Holy shit! Is she dead?" It wasn't a good moment by any means, but it definitely got my attention. I'm not sure I should single it out in this way, because it makes it seem more momentous than it deserves. Really, it was just an incredibly unsettling incident.
 
FUNNIEST MOMENT OF THE YEAR: Vince and Trish Satirize the FCC and Monday Night Football's Desperate Housewives Skit
1st Runner-Up: Eugene's Training Montage
2nd Runner-Up: Snitsky Drop-Kicks a Baby

Comments: Explaining humor is always a failed exercise because it's so subjective and also because explaining why something is funny almost always makes it unfunny. Suffice to say that I thought the Desperate Housewives/MNF skit was a brilliant satire, and I applaud WWE for being gusty and clever enough to make such a valid social statement. The Eugene training segments were just plain hilarious on a slapstick level, and they commendably set the tone for Eugene's character, making sure we as an audience didn't dismiss him outright as a "retard." Finally, the Snitsky thing was a personal favorite, because right before he did it, I said to myself, "If that were me out there, I'd punt that baby at some point." Seconds later, he did.
 
BEST WRESTLING SHOW: RAW
1st Runner-Up: Smackdown
2nd Runner-Up: Squirrels Fighting Each Other in My Backyard

Comments: It's America; can't we have more options than this? I never liked WCW much, but Lord how I miss it more with each passing month. Anyway, the squirrels get in third place here because they have amazing stamina, bitter feuds, and matches frequently three- or four-times longer than the average cruiserweight match. And, if we're talking about my lawn, they really tear it up out there.
 
BEST MAJOR EVENT: WrestleMania XX
1st Runner-Up: Royal Rumble
2nd Runner-Up: No Way Out

Comments: Eddie's win at No Way Out was somewhat compromised for me by Goldberg's interference. If he had won without any shenanigans, it would have been very moving for me; perfect, really. Benoit's wins at Mania and in the Royal Rumble were, however, so they snag the top spots.
 
BREAK-OUT PERFORMER OF THE YEAR: Batista
1st Runner-Up: Christian
2nd Runner-Up: Shelton Benjamin

Comments: I think I already adequately explained Batista and Christian, so let me say something about Benjamin. Right now, he's only good mic-work away from being an indispensable IC champion and perennial underdog threat for the world title. Right now, Benjamin is fun. Those matches with Triple H were intense but also playful. He has that little kid happy-to-be-there attitude about him. That's charismatic; I don't care what you see. And the intensity means that at any minute, he could be a cold and dispassionate heel. If I were Shelton Benjamin, I'd be hanging around Vince, Triple H, Michaels and Jericho and begging them to help me in promo practice. Because that's the only thing missing. And all of that became evident this year. He's not only a breakout star this year, but he's going to be one next year, too.
 
BREAK-OUT PERFORMER OF NEXT YEAR: Batista
1st Runner-Up: Shelton Benjamin
2nd Runner-Up: Big Show

Comments: Given what I've said above, I think the Batista and Benjamin picks would be obvious. They both jumped ahead this year, but next year is when they have the option to truly and fully establish themselves. I expect that. Big Show is my funny pick. I don't fully know why I made this pick. It could have been drink or my fondness for the Showster. But I think this next year is when he finally finds his own character and his true place in the Smackdown rotation. He won't have a gimmicky win over Lesnar via a Heyman screwjob. He won't get sucked into some inane domination of a four-person group. Next year is Show's year to be in the mix consistently, with few distractions and as himself, not some monthly reinvention of his "monsterism."
 
BEST "REAL WORLD" NEWS OF THE YEAR: WWE to Broadcast and Release More of Its Enormous Tape Library
1st Runner-Up: Regal Isn't Dead, Wrestles Again
2nd Runner-Up: WWE Wrestlers Continue to Fail to See the Irony in Using Online Columns/Articles to Dismiss the Internet and Internet Fans as "Pointless"

Comments: As someone who didn't grow up with wrestling, WWE's exploration and broadcast of their tape library is something I'm eagerly anticipating. So far, they've done an excellent job with individual wrestlers' DVDs and single-subject storyline DVDs, but I'd really enjoy being able to pick and choose my education. Also, no matter how great a DVD set for one wrestler is, it's not something I'm going to see if I don't like the wrestler. More variety! Still, I'm having fun. Bring on the oldies.
 
Winners two and three appeal to me on a gut level. Not only have I always respected Regal, I've always liked him. It bothered me that he was so ill for so long, and I worried about the guy. Seeing him come back on TV and later in the ring really made me happy. Regal's one of those guys who deserves some better breaks. Winner number three makes me laugh a lot, so I guess that's where it hits me on a gut level. Nothing brings a smile to my face quite like a WWE wrestler writing a page explicating the utter pointlessness of an internet writer's column about them. If it's so pointless, why are you so angry? Why are you responding? Why am I laughing so hard? No, don't stop and think about it; keep writing, beefcake.
 

THE bOOby PRIZES

WORST WRESTLER(S) OF THE YEAR: Lita
1st Runner-Up: Hardcore Holly
2nd Runner-Up: John Heidenreich

Comments: Betcha thought I was going to put Orton here. Nope. The worst wrestler of the year award goes to the only person on the roster who I suspect is actively trying to kill herself. This is actually hard for me to do; I don't want to award this to Lita. I was a big supporter of hers for the first two years or so. But during her absence, the women's division evolved past the level at which she was wrestling prior to her injury. Lita seemed to have regressed in the ring. I don't mean "ring rust": I mean actual wholesaleatrophy. Worse, God help me, I actually always suspect that she's about to die when she does anything other than weak punches, DDTs or rollups. Those hurricanranas and moonsaults and planchas are doing severe damage to my heart. I think it seizes up before every move. Add the near deadly factor and atrophy to her previous spotty ring work, halting mic work and her reinvention as a spineless maiden, and Lita's pretty much been gutted as a wrestler and a character. It's really disappointing to see.
 
I don't believe that wrestlers should try to kill other wrestlers, try to hurt other wrestlers and generally abuse their co-workers. I also expect them to be better on the mic than Hardcore Holly and much more varied in the ring. That spinebuster and dropkick only go so far. What you're left with is a surly, intolerable embittered and very emotionally small man who hurts other people to make himself feel better. Hardcore Holly is one of the few wrestlers I dislike not just because I dislike him as a wrestler but because I also believe he's an awful little human being. I don't understand how anyone could like him. In fact, liking Hardcore Holly ought to send up a red flag in the Attorney General's office. Someone telling me that Hardcore Holly is their favorite wrestler is like having a co-worker tell me that he's a movie buff; then I go to his house and his DVD shelf is filled with Faces of Death, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, Aces: Iron Eagle III, I Spit on Your Grave and Def Con 4. Then he tells me that his favorite out of them all is I Spit on Your Grave. Then I fake an anxiety attack and back out of the house saying, "I have to go home and lie down."
Him: Why? You can lie down on the couch.
Me: No, I have to leave now before I get too dizzy and pass out. It's a bit of a drive.
Him: I'll drive you. Where do you live?
Me: Canada. It's a long drive.
Him: Well, tell me your address. I'll send you a get well card.
Me: Ummm… we don't actually have a postal system in Canada. Just send me the message with the power of your mind.
Him: I can do that.
Me: Yeah, that's what I thought.
Him: Hey, do you want me to broadcast this week's Hardcore Holly match to you?
Me: My house is made of lead. It'll never get through. I have to go now.
 
Hey, that went on for a while, didn't it? But, on the plus side, I mentioned Def Con 4. Remember Def Con 4? Yet another entry in the grand list of Movies Whose Poster Art Was Far Better Than the Actual Film. Here, look at the poster. Are you going to tell me that you actually need to see the movie now? Hell no! Look at Cosmonaut Skullhead there and Jabba the Hutt's Fanned Hot Dog Space Barge and you're set.
 
I could go on about John Heidenreich for a while, but I think the fact that he's made everyone's worst wrestler list speaks volumes. While I fear that Lita is going to kill herself in every match, I'm almost convinced that Heidenreich is going to kill his opponent. I like his poetry better than I like him. Hell, the only thing I truly enjoy about Heidenreich is that Matt Hocking spells his last name "Hnnrnnr," and strictly speaking that has nothing to do with Heidenreich himself.
 
WORST NON-WRESTLER OF THE YEAR: Jerry Lawler
1st Runner-Up: Carmela McFuckslot
2nd Runner-Up: Jerry Lawler.

Comments: This might as well become the Annual Jerry Lawler Award for Dedicated Unceasing Worthlessness. I hate this man. I hate him passionately. That "one relevant 20-second comment" bone that he throws me about six times per year isn't enough anymore. I'd say that I hate him so much that I wish harm upon his son, but Brian Christopher brought that on himself. I'll tell you what: I wish that Stacy "The Kat" Carter came out with a sex tape where she's doing everything — to a hobo clown with a crown on his head — that she refused to do with Jerry. When the hobo clown is finished, she looks up at him, bats her eyelids and says, "Who's the king, Baby?" Then the clown grabs a horn, honks it twice, points to himself and does about a dozen crotch chops. Lawler is so potently and comprehensively awful that he makes it on this list twice — because every time I think he's pummeled me into submission with left hooks of juvenility, he puts me away with a haymaker of furious DUMB. Yes, that was probably one of the worst metaphors I've ever written. Lawler's even dragging me down.
 
Ah, Carmela: the corporeal representation of the WWE saying "fuck you" to all of its fans. We didn't pick her; she lost; and in the first month post-Diva Search, she was on the television more than Christy Hemme. Hey, guys, the fact that she didn't win was an UNSUBTLE MESSAGE. Of course, I go into all this much better here.
 
WORST FEUD OF THE YEAR: Randy Orton v. Triple H
1st Runner-Up: Kane v. Matt Hardy
2nd Runner-Up: Undertaker v. John Heidenreich

Comments: I go into it in detail, in this column, but it warrants repeating. This feud involved a marginal talent facing off against a tiresome talent in an almost verbatim retelling of a feud that the tiresome talent spent the previous 18 months or so in. Worse, it did so by reversing audience desires, turning face someone who people were starting to dig as a heel, while keeping heel someone who gets nascent face reactions more often than he should. Worst of all, WWE leaked plans to have these two face off at WrestleMania, basically telling the audience that, "Like it or not, you're seeing this for the next six months. No, it doesn't matter what you cheer."
 
As for the other two: bad wedding and paternity questions v. a very tired old man and someone who's trying to kill people. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people, so I likely get to watch this for another four months. Rapture!
 
MOST OVERRATED WRESTLER: Randy Orton
1st Runner-Up: Triple H
2nd Runner-Up: Gail Kim

Comments: What else did you expect from me? Look, there were late-1990s tech stocks that had greater parity between their value and their declared worth than Randy Orton. I've said enough on this issue, so I'll zip it here. If you want more, go read through my archive.
 
I've said enough about Triple H in my archive to merit a short response here too. Suffice to say that I believe the man to be creeping steadily into X-Pac territory. It's the same match week after week and year after year. It's the same promo. That damn good, can't beat me, game. It's the same world title picture: Triple H and whoever's going to lose. Take away a token month of Michaels, a token month of Goldberg, a token month of Orton, a few months of Benoit being largely ignored by the big-name main eventers and you have a span from October 2002 to the present of the same fucking thing every week. I am champion, can't beat me, that damn good, game. His paranoia and greed makes me pity him, but his unflinching self-approval sickens me. Nothing is more disappointing than a man who has decided to stop learning about himself, but apparently Triple H has learned that wrestling would collapse without him, because he's so awesome, and he decided that learning anything else is either unnecessary or uncomfortable. At this point, he seems to conduct matches to shore up his record, not to produce outstanding matches. His promos sound like a man preserving his reputation before his judges rather than putting anyone else over. I want to watch a wrestler, not a lawyer; but Triple H is little more than an advocate for his own cause anymore.
 
Ugh, Gail Kim. If she weren't pretty, she wouldn't be on anyone's list. People rush to scrape and search for reasons to justify how good she was. About the only consistent explanations I've heard are these: (1) she was a good seething heel; (2) she developed a submission style. Okay, one, Molly Holly carried that heel turn and made Gail's seething effective by keeping Gail from winning by having her stand in the background and basically parrot whatever Molly was saying. Two, that submission style was dull dull dull, and the main reason why it was laudable was because it kept her away from her high-flying glorious blown-spot-fest-of-imminent-death style. Put your pants back on, take away your bottle of lotion and wad of toilet paper, Schecky, and the Gail Kim not "presenting" to you, in your brain, is just another hack left without much to recommend her over any other non-fucking-up diva.
 
"GODDAMMIT" MOMENT OF THE YEAR: The Diva Search
1st Runner-Up: Tough Enough on SmackDown
2nd Runner-Up: Kane and Lita's Wedding

Comments: Goddammit.
 
WORST "REAL WORLD" NEWS OF THE YEAR: All Things Diva Search
1st Runner-Up: Austin, Lesnar and Goldberg Quit
2nd Runner-Up: The Return of Tough Enough

Comments: Like I said, I've covered the Diva Search thing better in column form. So let's skip that. As much as I found Goldberg and Lesnar dull in the ring and on the mic, they both bore with them a kind of patina of excitement and importance. Just because they didn't dazzle me doesn't mean that the audience as a whole wasn't interested in them and missed their departure. And even though Steve Austin was getting predictable, it was only a matter of time before he reinvented himself again. All told, WWE is lessexciting for their loss, and the fans are less excited. I sometimes wonder what possibilities were lost to this year at WrestleMania.
 
As for item #3: ugh. Good Lord, ugh. On the plus side, Dan Puder's last name sort of sounds like an obscene body part.
 
 
THE OTHER BEST/WORST OF 2004: BASICALLY ME JUST LASHING OUT AT EVERYTHING

MOST COMICAL GESTURE OF THE YEAR: Randy Orton's Open-Armed "I AM HUGGING A GIANT INFLATABLE BALL — LOOK AT MY BALL — WANNA PLAY CATCH, CORKY?" Smug Pose
1st Runner-Up: Randy Orton completely whiffing his own finisher/Randy Orton's finisher (tie)
2nd Runner-Up: WWE pushing Randy Orton as a fan-favorite main-eventer
 
BEST WRESTLER IN A SATIRE: OMG Chris Benoit~!
1st Runner-Up: The Geese
2nd Runner-Up: The Rock/Maven (who can tell?)
 
BEST GOB (GEORGE OSCAR BLUTH) COMMENTS OF THE YEAR FROM ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT: "Illusions, Michael. A 'trick' is something a whore does for money." [spies several young children listening to him, smiles] "Or cocaine!"
1st Runner-Up: "Oh, that is just great. And now I'm expected to crawl back on top of Kitty and do my thing again! I mean, this family runs into problems, and it's, 'Oh, let's have Gob fuck our way outta this!'"
2nd Runner-Up: "Michael, you have a chance to save this family. Please, do the right thing here: string this blind girl along so that Dad doesn't have to pay his debt to society."
 
Honorable Mentions:
Michael: Well, you certainly haven't been shopping. The only thing I found in the fridge was a dead dove in a bag.
Gob: You didn't eat that, did you?
 
Marta: Te Quiero.
Gob: English, please.
Marta: "I love you."
Gob: Great, now I'm late.
 
Gob: I'm a failure. I can't even fake the death of a stripper.
 
Comments: Arrested Development is by far the finest and cleverest show on television. The internal consistency in the writing is something to marvel at. It routinely destroys preceding episodes of The Simpsons in terms of intensity of humor and re-watchability. In fact, an easy and convincing case can be made that it is a better television show than The Simpsons and Seinfeld ever were. And GOB Bluth is beyond a shadow of a doubt the funniest character on television. Who wouldn't love a wretched magician who steals from his siblings, has no friends, sleeps with hookers and vengefully screws any woman he even suspects his brother to be interested in? Yet, despite all that, he is somehow a sympathetic character; you pity him. His misery is fully on display. The characters on Seinfeld were loathsome but funny. The characters on Arrested Development are loathsome, funny and uniquely human. Their meanness is always fundamentally undercut and often the trait that sabotages their ambition. But that sabotage is both funny natural, not some gimmicky emptiness of character dragged out for a joke. I watch Arrested Development and see funny and sympathetic versions of horrible people I've known. I watch Seinfeld and see funny versions of unsympathetic horrible people who have never been.
 
TOP THREE EXPLANATIONS FOR THE POPULARITY OF THE "OOWF": Being a Regular Poster on a Wrestling Message Board Isn't "Dork" Enough
1st Runner-Up: Three Words: Free Beer Nuts
2nd Runner-Up: Total Make-Believe Infinitely More Satisfying Than WWE
 
TOP THREE SURPRISINGLY EXCELLENT ALBUMS OF THE YEAR: Green Day, American Idiot
1st Runner-Up: Franz Ferdinand, Franz Ferdinand
2nd Runner-Up: Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Comments: I was going to try to write a review, but then I wound up chatting with someone about the album. Our conversation does better than some snobby two-paragraph dissection. His name has been removed to protect him from lunatics. Here goes:
 
JebLund (4:16:50 AM): And if we're sort of on the subject, man, the new Green Day album is actually really fucking good. I never thought I'd be addicted to hearing AND listening to a Green Day album.
Friend (4:19:41 AM): Same here! I was REALLY surprised that I'd like the new Green Day album. 
JebLund (4:20:16 AM): The "City of the Damned" suite in the second track... fucking fantastic.
Friend (4:20:29 AM): I haven't liked them since Dookie. For the last 10 years, I've felt that they've been rehashing the same shit. And then they come out with this.
Friend (4:20:48 AM): It's the modern day pop-punk Tommy
Friend (4:21:12 AM): Well, maybe I'm reaching
JebLund (4:21:24 AM): I liked some tracks off Dookie, but for the most part it was just pop-punk goof shit. I could like it, but I never felt proud of liking it. I unabashedly like this album.
Friend (4:22:31 AM): Me too. It's an excellent album. I remember telling the drummer of my band that he should listen to this album, that it's really good. And he was like "Dude, whatever, you're full of shit. It's Green Day. It can't be that good." Next day I see him.  "DUDE! That album is great!"
Friend (4:22:39 AM): They're surprising everybody.
JebLund (4:23:40 AM): I like the long-form songs, even though I recognize that they're really just two-minute punk suites cobbled together by tempo changes. But that doesn't bother me. Even the clichés seem evocative. How did that happen?
Friend (4:25:06 AM): I dunno. 
Friend (4:25:12 AM): Weird, huh?
JebLund (4:26:33 AM): I think I'm just copying and pasting this chat transcript into my Year In Review bit. I don't think there's any other way to explain the confusion of that album, and how it's good in spite of everything that could have happened.
 
Since I was already chatting with someone about my "album of the year," I went ahead and insisted that he tolerate my talking about the other two albums. So here goes:
 
JebLund (4:36:37 AM): While you're here, help me review the other two albums. Franz Ferdinand: verdict?
Friend (4:38:09 AM): I love it, great album of pop rock music.
JebLund (4:38:27 AM): Yeah, but how?
Friend (4:38:39 AM): You can call it indie if you want, whatever.  Indie implies shoegazing and standing in one place. Franz Ferdninand is simple, but fun.
Friend (4:39:14 AM): How about this... it's music that makes you smile.
JebLund (4:40:02 AM): Agreed, I think they don't shoegaze. I agree with simple, but I like the stripped-down chords. Some of the arrangements just jog Blondie memories in me. Ditto Police. Do you hear anyone else in their songs? Because I feel like they keep poaching well on others.
Friend (4:40:33 AM): Poaching?  I prefer "influenced by."
JebLund (4:40:53 AM): Yeah, that. An homage poach, you know?  A little bass here that sounds like "Heart of Glass" or something. Just that touch that is homage/poach without being the backbone of the song.
JebLund (4:42:09 AM): You got anything else?
Friend (4:42:11 AM): I hear ya.
JebLund (4:42:36 AM): Okay, Modest Mouse. Talk to me about Modest Mouse.
Friend (4:43:36 AM): As far as Franz goes I hear you on Blondie and The Police. There's another band I want to say, but I can't think of who
Friend (4:43:47 AM): Modest Mouse.  Very overrated
JebLund (4:44:22 AM): Talking Heads. I get a spare-guitar Talking Heads vibe out of Franz Ferdinand, too. Don't know why.
Friend (4:44:35 AM): There. I agree with that too.
Friend (4:44:56 AM): But honestly, when I think of the Franz Ferdinand album, I really don't even think about other bands.
Friend (4:45:25 AM): While they do have some elements of those bands, when I hear Franz Ferdninand, I don't hear "mixture of other bands." I hear simply, Franz Ferdinand. You know what I mean?
JebLund (4:45:57 AM): Yeah, well, I listened to it three times straight while cranked on some form of ephedrine over an eight-hour drive. You start to just FOCUS on things. Coincidentally, that was the time Ifell in love with the album. We all have problems.
Friend (4:46:43 AM): I know what you mean. I think you and I just ended up focusing on different aspects of the album. Or focused on it different ways. But that's fine.
Friend (4:47:11 AM): So in that, I must say that album, while simple, definitely has layers.
JebLund (4:47:38 AM): Excellent. So, Modest Mouse? Overrated? Explain.
Friend (4:49:18 AM): I can't say I've heard the whole album.  I have seen them live, at a festival. 
Friend (4:49:18 AM): I don't care for their big hit single. I don't care for their new song. I don't hear anything special about them. Never have. I don't like the lead singer's voice. I don't like that they have a percussionist who occasionally plays as a 2nd drummer, and when he does, shows me that their full-time drummer isn't very good. I don't think they suck.
JebLund (4:50:32 AM): Fair enough.
Friend (4:50:32 AM): It's just... I dunno.  Doesn't do anything for me. 
JebLund (4:52:16 AM): Yep, fair cop. What can I say? I like jaunty guitar and offbeat lyrics... even if they have 17 band members and don't even play ska. By rights, I should be conflicted about that, but I'm not. I'll slide down into appreciation and forgive myself. Of course you realize that I'm not printing anything else you say.
 
TOP THREE UNSURPRISINGLY EXCELLENT ALBUMS OF THE YEAR: Cake, Pressure Chief
1st Runner-Up: Camper Van Beethoven, New Roman Times
2nd Runner-Up: Pink Martini, Hang on Little Tomato
Comments: Cake's newest album was the record they'd been edging toward for years and easily their finest to date. Most of the songs are sincere, if still offbeat, and most are sung. Instead of making spoken-word cynical fugues tempered by a drip of sincerity, they seem to have realized that the opposite ratio works far better. Songs sung with sincerity tempered by acid quips get the job done far better. This album is also their first to not feature some hard jamming riff over which inappropriate lyrics have been forced. Another bonus is inclusion of electronic (yet melodic) noodling within their staple classic rock format. And how can you dislike an album with the lyric, "So go/take your economy car and your suitcase/take your psycho little dogs/take it all away"?
 
Camper Van Beethoven was cursed like the Pixies, only not to such a severe degree. They seem to be theinspiration for countless more successful bands, yet they themselves remained relatively unknown indy darlings. Mention "Take the Skinheads Bowling" and you might get a nod of recognition, but it's probably due to an MTV special and nothing to do with their music. Roughly 15 years after breaking up, Camper returned to record a loose concept album about an America divided into various corporate provinces. Oh, and most of them are at war. And, of course this would have nothing to do with the present day. Better yet, you don't need to follow any story to enjoy the album. Like in their early work, they flirt with hard rock instrumentals, thrumming anger, skipping folk satire and, um, Camperdom. Humor figures heavily. Songs like "The Militia Song" and "Might Makes Right" are especially fun. And "That Gum You Like Is Back In Style Again." I wish I could explain Camper better, but I can't. That's a better reflection on them than I could make.
 
Pink Martini continues to be criminally underrated because no one knows about them apart from bossanova wonks, students of obscurity, or the people who assiduously note the names of the bands that play at Elton John's Academy Awards parties. A fantasic jazz, swing, bossanova and classical combo, Pink Martini plays the sort of music that your grandparents made love to… only they play it with enough jazz and kick and dynamism that you're going to want to make love to it. Their first album, Sympathique, became a party staple at my college and the background for much drunken stripping. Women's stripping. And not me. Lord God, not me. Bless us all. Still, Pink Martini is the sort of excellent stuff that you need to make a martini and listen to. A proper martini, with gin. And you should dress up and enjoy lyrics in foreign languages, some piano, cello, horns, and of course the sort of swankness that makes us all more decorous people than we really are. But make the martini with gin. And if you must — if you absolutely must — make it with vodka, you can't cheapen it with fruitiness. Vermouth and hard liquor or nothing. Preferably, no vermouth. Any martini that is vodka and a liqueur or fruit juice or a mixer is just a goddamned mixed drink. IT IS NOT A MARTINI. A martini should hurt you until you learn how it tastes good. If it's all yummy and tasty on the tongue the first time you drink it, it's not a martini, and you're a candyass. Stop eroding and bastardizing drink for the rest of us, Girl Gone Dumb. Just drink a Sex on the Beach — or ape your faux-guide Carrie Bradshaw and drain a Cosmo — before showing your tits to the camera crew. But the martinis are ours, not yours. Pink Martini is an excellent band; it's not a stage in your Spring Break quest for Herpes.
 
WORST ALBUMS I LISTENED TO THIS YEAR: Danko Jones, We Sweat Blood
1st Runner-Up: Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Comments: I don't know why he didn't just go for honesty and title his album Frank Black For Dummies: We Sweat Dumb. Try to imagine the gravel-voiced dude from Smash Mouth trying to sing like the dude from The Darkness, and you have a good idea of the vocal spirit of Danko Jones. The music is also duh-DUH-duhDUH simplistic and the lyrics insipid and cliché-ridden when not merely crushingly stupid. (I'm amazed that no song featured the chorus, "No pain/no gain!/If I were any hotter,/I'd have to be two people./ROCK!!!") I know it's cock rock, but it's so over the top that it isn't campy anymore, just bad. But what really makes Danko Jones a menace is that he's an incredibly overrated assbag whose indy-media-darling status is so wholly divorced from his musical talent that he's less a musician and more a professional fraud. I deeply suspect his popularity rests on three bases: one, idiots like having an idiot leader; two, his music is hard to find, thus giving him the allure of inaccessibility and obscurity; three, he's Canadian. Now, I'm not saying that Canadians have no taste; far from it. But I think some Canadians take excessive pride in some things because they are not U.S. exports, because they're from their own nation, because it's something their own. Put it this way: if Danko Jones was from L.A., I think about 40% of his Canadian fanbase would have immediately dismissed him as some misogynistic American dipshit. Which he is: Canada's part of the Americas, after all. People on both sides of the border selectively forget/remember that when it suits them. In closing, I talked to OO board member Slade, who insisted that: (a) Danko Jones is joking and should not be taken seriously; (b) this album is his worst. I can't verify the latter, but I'm not sure the former carries much weight with me. If it's a joke, it's a one-note joke that really eludes camp and enters the realm of terrible. Also, Lord Jesus, this album is a pestilential heap of suck.
 
As for Neutral Milk Hotel… finally a band that answers the question, "What sort of music would you get if you cut Billy Bragg's balls off, then electrocuted him and screamed 'MORE SONGS ABOUT CLOUDS, BILLY'?" Forty minutes of melody-free and lament-charged chung-CHUGGA-CHUGGA-chung acoustic guitar folk-strumming accompanied by adenoidal wail-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Oh, and non sequitur lyrics, forced couplets and miserable meter drawn out and augmented by wail-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiing that turns monosyllabic words into a twelve-syllable nightmares. You know, 'cause it fits the meter. What a bounty. And what really kills me is that some songs are sung in such a way that they sound like they're coming out of a lower-class Englishmen. This is odd, because according to the sloppy fellatio fansite I read, the cloying one-dimensional douche who sings all this grew up in Louisiana. Apparently he's the only person in Louisiana to receive a complete and successful Soulendectomy. I'd also like to take this time to encourage any of his fans contemplating sending an angry email to me to wash that anger away by putting on this album and sailing away on a cloud of "beauteous lyrical transcendence," whatever the fuck that means.
 
MOVIE OF THE YEAR: Garden State
1st Runner-Up: Sideways
Comments: I read an interview with Zach Braff about Garden State where he said, "Everyone tells you that your teens are your body's adolescence. No one ever tells you that your twenties are your mind's adolescence." I thought that was both apt and evocative, and his movie was both. Sure, there were a few first-time-director mistakes thrown in, the heavy handedness about the pit especially. Still, it's an incredibly funny movie, and it marks the return of Natalie Portman as someone who does more than stand in the corner and look regal. It's as if her role in this film drew a direct line to her role in Beautiful Girls, which is probably the most uncomfortably mature "girl" role in history. Also, the soundtrack to this movie is outstanding.
 
Who thought a movie about a high-strung oenologist could be so good and so funny? By the way, that's the ten-cent word for "wine snob." How can you not like a movie where Virginia Madsen plugs her career back into the recharger, where Lowell from Wings is top-billed, where the Asian horrid woman from the horrid Arli$$ tries to wash away her sins, and a fucking wine snob is so endearing? Amazing film.
 
TOP TWO WORST TRACKS ON GOOD ALBUMS OF THE YEAR: Track #3, Wilco, A Ghost Is Born
1st Runner-Up: Track #2, Franz Ferdinand, Franz Ferdinand
Comments: Both of these albums are amazing. In fact, why didn't I name this Wilco album in the top three? Or did I?
 
WHY I AM STILL WRITING THIS: More Time to Serve
1st Runner-Up: The Screws Beat Me in the Crotch
2nd Runner-Up: Because We Get Fed and Watered This Way
Comments: How long have I been here? I can't remember anymore, for lack of water.
 
I remember that Rick chained me to a motherfucking fencepost and gave me insta-mix au jus and hunks of hockey-puck-hard rye until I knocked out this year-in-review shit. Then the work went on. I'd say more, but I was told that I was enjoying life. I was told I was in a chaise lounge in Vegas, smoking a carton and drinking Jamesons. So I was told. Storytime obscured the sound of the grinding. The wheel was heavy, but we milled more grain per day than the recappers. The columnists won more fantasy time than any other category of writer. I think the Byte This guy, Pyrandial or Poromir or Pilondial Cyst or whatever, was told to work or else eat sand. He worked. His teeth still look good.
 
I never knew how we got our jobs. I just knew that we had to out-perform others in similar jobs. Danny T was considered second-string because of Smackdown, and he had to muck out the stables so well that someone could sleep in them, then sleep in a ditch outside them. He also had to defecate in it, because it was "beneath the horses" to be near it. Their shitclods were thrown in there. It wasn't so bad; Danny told me they were warm on winter nights. Still, horeshit. I never wanted to tell him that that's what I'd always thought of Smackdown, because I'd always liked Danny as a guy and a drinker. Truth be told, he made fantastic moonshite, but none of us wanted to know what it came from. We pretended not to understand the name, and after four or ten shots that wasn't hard.
 
Poor Cubs Fan was made "Falconer," even though he's scared-as-shit of birds, and the fucking pigeons kept taking plugs out of his arms. But his job was the most mobile of all. The guards wouldn't care when he'd come to our hole at night and tell us about Lucha wrestling. O, those mythical fables kept us alive. But his arm would be so ripped from the birds that his blood would accidentally drip on Erin, and she'd rock back and forth, and back and forth, and I'd have to tell her, "Vegas, baby, Vegas. We're in Vegas. You're sitting on 20, and the dealer has 17. They keep bringing us scotch and sodas. Everyone loves you. That's a bloody mary. What you're looking at, that's a bloody mary." But Erin would shake so much that she'd scare Hocking, and he'd cry out, and I'd have to tell Cubs to get the fuck away before we alerted Rick and the guards that something was up.
 
Hocking was weak in unexpected circumstances, but day to day he was a mental rock. I could understand that. He pushed the wheel as hard as any of us, but he kept thinking that he was a Viking. I'd given up on a similar fantasy long ago — mainly because I was a Packers fan, and I really didn't want to be a "packer" where we were. But he kept on, maybe thinking one day his hand would be the hammer that would rain blows down upon our captor, Rick. Foul Rick. Excrescence Rick. Execrable Rick. Never more than a dip-bucket of gravy and hard bread Rick. Motherfucker Rick. I never cursed a man more than I did him when I was living in the hole. Matt kept believing. I kept dying, and thinking of who I'd take with me, step by fucking step.
 
One night, after Erin had been kicking the crap out of Matt for no reason, we all came to an understanding. First, Erin had to stop eating dirt, because it made her act like Grace Slick. Two, Matt had to stop trying to "ro-sham-bo" her, because that also made her act like Grace Slick. I, for one, was fucking sick of "White Rabbit." In spite of the blows, Matt was fine for some reason. I think because he had the power of some Norse god — like Thor, or Spiderman. But he was fine anyway.
 
He said he'd been egging Erin on because she'd claimed that she'd never cried. But she had. She'd cried every time she'd sung something by Starship. Teary bitch. Angrily, she gnawed on a piece of damp turf that had fallen into our pit. We ignored her increasing mania because we knew it would only manifest four weeks after the incident. And it would probably be about gymnastics anyway. (Time in the hole had gotten to her. At one point I'd offered her a toothpick, and she damn near broke my nose with what I can only call a lateral toe punch; then she screamed, "Call me NADIA, coach!" I knew then that she was gone.)
 
Anyway, we came to an understanding. Danny had brewed up a hogshead of his moonshite, and Cubs Fanpopped his head down the hole and said, "Hi, I know I don't spend much time here, and I know I'm locked on this compound with you all, but here's a bottle of mescal. I must leave now for Parts Unknown." Typical. Bulldog, who up till then had spent most of his time in the hole telling us about how he'd wrestled Hulk Hogan, suddenly seemed interested.
 
"HOW'D Y-!!!" I smacked him before the second word was finished. Have you ever done that? Kept someone from saying "you"? Fucking difficult, lemme tell you. Damn near impossible. Works in fiction, though. Especially if you hit a Canadian hard enough. Speaking of which…
 
Bulldog said he had a plan. He'd Hulk up, grow larger than the hole, bodyslam someone on the ground, then have the earth shatter and flood from the force of it. The rupture of "plate tectonicism" would free us. We restrained Bulldog with mud and talked about things that could work. See, we also had a plan. We slapped Bulldog. Twice. When he got annoyed, Matt devised his own plan and slapped Bulldog again. I liked Matt's plan and hit Bulldog really hard. Matt and I high-fived. "Nice plan," I said. Then we both hit him again to make sure the plan was working. Bulldog was shutting up and cowering in the corner. We were ahead of plan.
 
That's when Erin started nattering away at her shirt, chewing away at all the parts that didn't cover revealing bits and just prophesying like Ophelia doing some Opheliac thing. Except without too much of the "nonny nonny" and without maybe ambiguous sex with someone in the hole. Trust me, it was a tiny hole, and all of us would have noticed. Really.
 
Erin nattered her hey-nonny-nonny plan. She said, "Bulldog, you don't know nothing, you don't. Nothing is real, nonny, nothing ever, nothing, a fantasy before you and after and a nonny." And she said to me, "Jeb, get really fucking drunk." And I said, "Nonny?" And she said, "What?" That thing I said about the shortage of "nonny"? Bullshit. Don't listen to me.
 
So I got tanked, I did, on the moonshite that Danny T had left us. Well, later. I started on the mescal. Then middled on the mescal. Then I faked a finish on the mescal just to keep others away. Then I finished it and hipped myself to the moonshite. When I was tankedly ready, Bulldog screamed and wailed about how he and the HULKAMANIACS WOULD SHATTER THE GLOBE, and of course the doctors came running. But we pulled them into the hole and screamed like banshees and got more of the guards coming until we could pull so many that we built a corpse-bridge to the ground (or, the "first story," if you're a fucking snob). But we were climbing corpses, big shot. Ever climb corpses, Porchemaster? No? I didn't think so.
 
We made it out of the hole and had to navigate the guarded ground. I grabbed Erin and Hocking and made sure they stayed behind me as I coursed, ducked, weaved, regained my feet, said "Is that a dollar?" and kept running through the absolute desolation and death that is Dayton, Ohio. We escaped the minefields and the guards and snipers, and it was all because of Erin and her plan. She knew just what we would all do. Did I mention the fields of rotting corpses in Dayton, Ohio?
 
Excitedly, Bulldog had led the charge for us all. Armed with the power of the Hulkamaniacs and Destrucity, he lumbered straight at the guards and the gates and was shot to death, cut into hundreds of pieces, cheerfully running forward and saying, "This isn't happening! LOOK! It's Scott Hall! BEER ME!" But his potatoed and irresistibly shoot-able torso had run first through the gauntlet, clearing a path for us all.
 
That was really phase one. Emboldened by mescal, moonshite and this amazing pure adobe wedge I'd eaten, I guided Matt and Erin despite numerous — what's the word the kids use — piercings made by things that fly at hundreds of miles per hour. Those hip shits call them bullets. Losers. When we reached the razor wire, I was fading. I collapsed.
 
"Leave me," I said.
"Okay," Hocking said.
 
See? That's not funny. He would have said something much funnier if he'd just take a week off regularly.
 
"Matt, I'm dying," I said.
"Jeff 2-4k Hardy is dying… FOR A PUSH!" he replied.
"You're killing me."
 
I would have died there on principle, but the sweet delicious adobe clay was the tastiest I'd had in weeks. Rick made sure that silt was put into our "energy drinks," but never had it been so pure. My teeth ached without cracking. I remembered the one weekend when Rick had fed us good clay like this, but that was long before the budget cuts. Through half-mast lids I saw Matt and Erin attempt to deal with the razor wire. Erin twirled and said "nonny nonny, the Soviet Judge is a fucking communist."
 
"Of COURSE he is," Matt said, leaning forward to peer at the wire. Just then, Erin crushed his back with her right foot, impaling him on the middle wire. Matt gushed blood and sighed onto the metal, bending it so much that an adult torso could pass through the wires with ease. Suddenly sane and capable, Erin rolled over Matt's body and through the wire. Nonny nonny. I wish I could have gotten a dig at Matt about Kane or something, but I was distracted for a second by the sight of Danny T and the Cubs Fan off in a corner of the compound. Danny was holding one of the wires down with his shoe, letting Cubs through. Once Cubs was on the other side, he did the same thing for Danny. Assholes.
 
Face-down in succulent mud made salty with my blood, I saw this all and smiled. Rick's compound was bankrupted. But I smiled more when I thought about The Great Escape and the fact that Erin, Cubs and Danny would be cut down by a machine gun. "Those smug douchebags," I mused, rolling over, lolling to death at the sight of a fire that Rick was desperately trying to put out by throwing PyraFolkerb on it. "Dumb idea," I thought while drowsing off… "he's much too small."