Il giochino dei rumor da backstage

[Giant92]

Grazie di averlo riuppato, forse il mio thread preferito di sempre.
Che TK sia l'autore indiretto è una roba scioccante.

[Darth_Dario]

Che bellezza sto topic, sempre lulz rileggerlo.
Approfitto per aggiungerne una:

Bret Hart, per passare i momenti di noia, era solito fare disegni di colleghi e colleghe impegnati a fare orge.

https://youtu.be/oOyZq0YbGg4

[Vader_time!]

https://youtu.be/oOyZq0YbGg4

L immagine di Bret hart che disegna orge m ha fatto sorridere lo ammetto
Chissà se per omaggiarlo lo fanno anche i vari Punk e Dax Hartwood

[deadman3:16]

Aggiungo anch'io una, ossia il fatto che Vince McMahon va orgoglioso delle sue scorregge e che, beh, non ami pagare le multe.

In un viaggio in macchina ha chiuso tutti i finestrini, e ne ha tirata una chiedendo a Jim Ross che ne pensasse.
Jim disse che non era nulla di che e Vince si offese, decidendo di richiudere i finestrini e tirandone un'altra, ancora più potente.
Vince studiò la reazione di Jim fino a quando luci blu lo fermarono.

Quando al poliziotto disse di essere Vince McMahon, questi gli rispose che lui era The Big Bossman, dandogli la multa.
Vince la buttò nel sedile posteriore dicendo che qualcuno se ne sarebbe occupato.
Il tutto finì bene con Vince che fece un complimento a JR, e JR che rispose che a scorregge era migliore di Robert Gibson.

Tratta dal libro di JR, mi fa scompisciare ogni volta.
Specie Vince che rischia di cagarsi addosso pur di ottenere una reazione da Ross.

Spoiler:

It seemed like Vince was happy with me, too. "Jim, you ride with me," he said after a few weeks of Raw. In the parking bay of the building, Vince had a big Cadillac waiting. I could tell the second he started the engine that this was going to be a little bit of a "white knuckle" ride.

"What music do you listen to?" he asked.

"Eh...well I...."

Before I could answer McMahon blasted AC/DC through the car speakers, the sound of which made everyone turn to see who the asshole was. When they saw it was the chairman's car, they all smiled and waved. We reached the road outside the building and Vince floored it. I honestly thought I was going to die before we even made it to the highway. I was stuck to the back of my seat praying to the good Lord himself for a safe journey. Beside me, Vince was singing at the top of his lungs, punching 90 miles an hour on a secondary road, all while "dancing" in his seat. "I'M AN AMAZING DANCER FOR A WHITE MAN," he shouted over the music.

"I CAN SEE," I shouted back.

Any car he met along the way, Vince drove inches from their trunk until they moved over. Sensing my utter terror, he leaned into me, taking his eyes completely off the road, and shouted in my ear, "I'VE GOT AMAZING DEPTH PERCEPTION. DON'T WORRY, PAL."

"OK."

Vince continued to gyrate in his seat as he weaved through traffic. He then stopped the song mid solo. The silence, after such a jarring burst of sound, was deafening. His demeanor completely changed. He went from bombastic and animated to somber and quiet.

"I want you to hear this," he said in a low voice.

"Hear what?" I said. I was afraid I'd miss whatever it was Vince was letting me in on. He seemed pained, almost confessional.

"You can't hear that?" he said, putting his finger to his lips.

I didn't want to sound like a jackass, so I listened as carefully as I could.

"You hear it, Jim?" he asked, a little more impatiently.

I thought I heard something in the trunk. My first thought was: they've put long-time employee Howard Finkel in the trunk as a rib. "Is it the car?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, listen will you?" he growled.

I closed my eyes and listened as hard as I have ever listened for anything in my life.

"Here it is," he said. And then he began to fart. A long, bass-filled flatullence that eventually finished with a smile of pride from the chairman. "You hear it now?" he asked, and then cackled with laughter.

I made a split decision not to "sell it" in any way. I sat facing forward like nothing had happened.

McMahon was so happy with himself. "You know how I get the longevity and smell, Jim? Protein. I eat nothing but fucking protein, pal."

"Yeah it wasn't that impressive," I said.

Vince's head swiveled in my direction like I'd just insulted his wife or something. "What?" he asked with menace. He was serious. Offended, even.

I couldn't back down now. It was a test. I was sure it was. "Well, I've been around the business for over twenty years now, Vince. Robert Gibson..."

Vince locked the windows and let another one go. Twice the volume. Twice the smell. He watched my reaction intently as we continued to tear along the highway at speed. His "creation" was putrid, but I knew if I told him that he'd just keep doing it. So I sat still and waited for the smell to stop burning my lungs.

"How about that one?" Vince asked. He hated to be beaten at anything, even farting competitions.

He studied my reaction until the blue lights in his rear view mirror caught his attention. "Ah, shit," he said as he pulled over. "Was I speeding, Jim?"

"Just a tad."

"Why didn't you say something, goddammit, pal?"

The Ohio State Trooper approached and McMahon rolled down his window. I took a covert, life-saving breath of fresh air as the trooper asked for the license and registration.

"We just finished producing our national TV broadcast, Monday Night Raw," Vince said as the trooper looked over his license. "I'm Vince McMahon," he said before pausing for effect. "And this here is Good Ol' JR beside me."

Good Ol' JR? I thought. Have I not got a real name?

"So, you're Vince McMahon?" the trooper asked as he leaned in the window a little.

"I am," the chairman said, proudly. "Vincent Kennedy McMahon."

"Well, I guess that makes me the Big Bossman then," the trooper said as he handed McMahon a speeding ticket. "Have a good night."

Vince put his window back up and I was expecting the chairman to explode. But instead he turned to me and said, "You're doing real good for us. I wish I could clone you."

It was a compliment out of nowhere.

"Thank you. You're better at farting than Robert Gibson, too." I said as he took us back onto the road.

"You don't mean that," he replied.

"I do."

Vince watched the cop car that pulled him over disappear and then floored the pedal again

[deadman3:16]

Aggiungo anche Chris Jericho a casa di Vince.

Per il primo incontro tra Vince e Y2J, ancora sotto contratto con la WCW, il canadese venne invitato a casa di Vince.
Quando arrivò trovò Vince assieme al booking team dell'epoca intenti a scrivere la puntata di Raw successiva e Vince chiese a Jericho più di un parere su vari segmenti.

Raccontata da Chris Jericho nella Broken Skull Session da Austin.

[Marco Frediani]

Aggiungo anch'io una, ossia il fatto che Vince McMahon va orgoglioso delle sue scorregge e che, beh, non ami pagare le multe.

In un viaggio in macchina ha chiuso tutti i finestrini, e ne ha tirata una chiedendo a Jim Ross che ne pensasse.
Jim disse che non era nulla di che e Vince si offese, decidendo di richiudere i finestrini e tirandone un'altra, ancora più potente.
Vince studiò la reazione di Jim fino a quando luci blu lo fermarono.

Quando al poliziotto disse di essere Vince McMahon, questi gli rispose che lui era The Big Bossman, dandogli la multa.
Vince la buttò nel sedile posteriore dicendo che qualcuno se ne sarebbe occupato.
Il tutto finì bene con Vince che fece un complimento a JR, e JR che rispose che a scorregge era migliore di Robert Gibson.

Tratta dal libro di JR, mi fa scompisciare ogni volta.
Specie Vince che rischia di cagarsi addosso pur di ottenere una reazione da Ross.

Spoiler:

It seemed like Vince was happy with me, too. "Jim, you ride with me," he said after a few weeks of Raw. In the parking bay of the building, Vince had a big Cadillac waiting. I could tell the second he started the engine that this was going to be a little bit of a "white knuckle" ride.

"What music do you listen to?" he asked.

"Eh...well I...."

Before I could answer McMahon blasted AC/DC through the car speakers, the sound of which made everyone turn to see who the asshole was. When they saw it was the chairman's car, they all smiled and waved. We reached the road outside the building and Vince floored it. I honestly thought I was going to die before we even made it to the highway. I was stuck to the back of my seat praying to the good Lord himself for a safe journey. Beside me, Vince was singing at the top of his lungs, punching 90 miles an hour on a secondary road, all while "dancing" in his seat. "I'M AN AMAZING DANCER FOR A WHITE MAN," he shouted over the music.

"I CAN SEE," I shouted back.

Any car he met along the way, Vince drove inches from their trunk until they moved over. Sensing my utter terror, he leaned into me, taking his eyes completely off the road, and shouted in my ear, "I'VE GOT AMAZING DEPTH PERCEPTION. DON'T WORRY, PAL."

"OK."

Vince continued to gyrate in his seat as he weaved through traffic. He then stopped the song mid solo. The silence, after such a jarring burst of sound, was deafening. His demeanor completely changed. He went from bombastic and animated to somber and quiet.

"I want you to hear this," he said in a low voice.

"Hear what?" I said. I was afraid I'd miss whatever it was Vince was letting me in on. He seemed pained, almost confessional.

"You can't hear that?" he said, putting his finger to his lips.

I didn't want to sound like a jackass, so I listened as carefully as I could.

"You hear it, Jim?" he asked, a little more impatiently.

I thought I heard something in the trunk. My first thought was: they've put long-time employee Howard Finkel in the trunk as a rib. "Is it the car?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, listen will you?" he growled.

I closed my eyes and listened as hard as I have ever listened for anything in my life.

"Here it is," he said. And then he began to fart. A long, bass-filled flatullence that eventually finished with a smile of pride from the chairman. "You hear it now?" he asked, and then cackled with laughter.

I made a split decision not to "sell it" in any way. I sat facing forward like nothing had happened.

McMahon was so happy with himself. "You know how I get the longevity and smell, Jim? Protein. I eat nothing but fucking protein, pal."

"Yeah it wasn't that impressive," I said.

Vince's head swiveled in my direction like I'd just insulted his wife or something. "What?" he asked with menace. He was serious. Offended, even.

I couldn't back down now. It was a test. I was sure it was. "Well, I've been around the business for over twenty years now, Vince. Robert Gibson..."

Vince locked the windows and let another one go. Twice the volume. Twice the smell. He watched my reaction intently as we continued to tear along the highway at speed. His "creation" was putrid, but I knew if I told him that he'd just keep doing it. So I sat still and waited for the smell to stop burning my lungs.

"How about that one?" Vince asked. He hated to be beaten at anything, even farting competitions.

He studied my reaction until the blue lights in his rear view mirror caught his attention. "Ah, shit," he said as he pulled over. "Was I speeding, Jim?"

"Just a tad."

"Why didn't you say something, goddammit, pal?"

The Ohio State Trooper approached and McMahon rolled down his window. I took a covert, life-saving breath of fresh air as the trooper asked for the license and registration.

"We just finished producing our national TV broadcast, Monday Night Raw," Vince said as the trooper looked over his license. "I'm Vince McMahon," he said before pausing for effect. "And this here is Good Ol' JR beside me."

Good Ol' JR? I thought. Have I not got a real name?

"So, you're Vince McMahon?" the trooper asked as he leaned in the window a little.

"I am," the chairman said, proudly. "Vincent Kennedy McMahon."

"Well, I guess that makes me the Big Bossman then," the trooper said as he handed McMahon a speeding ticket. "Have a good night."

Vince put his window back up and I was expecting the chairman to explode. But instead he turned to me and said, "You're doing real good for us. I wish I could clone you."

It was a compliment out of nowhere.

"Thank you. You're better at farting than Robert Gibson, too." I said as he took us back onto the road.

"You don't mean that," he replied.

"I do."

Vince watched the cop car that pulled him over disappear and then floored the pedal again

McMahon che fa serata con i wrestler finendo praticamente nudo con cravatta e mocassini a prendersi le varie finisher dei tag team e il giorno dopo controlli antidroga a tutti è una delle più belle.
O McMahon che si getta dallo stage di Wrestlemania mentre Gronkowsky si caga sotto.
O McMahon che si picchia con Kofi Kingston in aereo entrambi sbronzi.

altro che Tony Khan che sclera su Twitter.

[Freestyla]

Vince McMahon, uno degli psicopatici più funzionali della storia dell'umanità.

[Darth_Dario]

McMahon che fa serata con i wrestler finendo praticamente nudo con cravatta e mocassini a prendersi le varie finisher dei tag team e il giorno dopo controlli antidroga a tutti è una delle più belle.
O McMahon che si getta dallo stage di Wrestlemania mentre Gronkowsky si caga sotto.
O McMahon che si picchia con Kofi Kingston in aereo entrambi sbronzi.

altro che Tony Khan che sclera su Twitter.

La mia preferita rimane la saga contro Kurt Angle: 7 anni di agguati dietro le porte per provare a metterlo a terra con prese e sottomissioni, con Kurt che deve ogni volta resistere alla tentazione di ammazzarlo.

[-Jeremy-]

Vince McMahon, uno degli psicopatici più funzionali della storia dell'umanità.

Assolutamente, l'uomo che visti i suoi ritmi e la merda che ha preso doveva morire 20 anni fa ma il suo corpo lo ignora e vive lo stesso

[Barrett Garage]

Qualcuno (credo Marco) ha sognato JBL che prova a bullizzare Low Ki e si ritrova a raccogliere i suoi denti sul pavimento. Approvo tantissimo

chi dello spogliatoio attuale userebbe le facce di JBL e Hardcore Holly come palloni di calcio? io voto per Bron Breakker (essendo uno Steiner come minimo me lo vedo a mordere la faccia di Hardcore Holly) e Gunther. Speculate gente speculate

[deadman3:16]

McMahon che fa serata con i wrestler finendo praticamente nudo con cravatta e mocassini a prendersi le varie finisher dei tag team e il giorno dopo controlli antidroga a tutti è una delle più belle.
O McMahon che si getta dallo stage di Wrestlemania mentre Gronkowsky si caga sotto.
O McMahon che si picchia con Kofi Kingston in aereo entrambi sbronzi.

altro che Tony Khan che sclera su Twitter.

Quella di Gronk è clamorosa, considerando l'età che aveva quando è avvenuto il tutto.

[Backbone Crusher]

McMahon scoreggione
Ma è vero che, negli anni 90, giravano voci che vedevano Jennifer Aniston avere una relazione clandestina con Rey Mysterio?

[Vader_time!]

Quella di Gronk è clamorosa, considerando l'età che aveva quando è avvenuto il tutto.

C era quella gif bellissima dove VKM ultrasettantenne si lancia con assoluta tranquillità dalla balconata con Gronk terrorizzato, qualcuno la ritiri fuori

TK manco riesce a tirare giù le corde del ring, di cosa stiamo parlando

[Inklings]

Non ho mai capito se è più folle l’uomo McMahon o il personaggio Mcmahon, in ogni caso idolo.

TK al massimo può avere il personaggio del fan di Twitter, non ha proprio senso il confronto.

Spoiler:

hype per il primo che verrà a scrivere “Vince copre gli assassinih!11!!” senza capire la natura goliardica del topic

[deadman3:16]

Non ho mai capito se è più folle l’uomo McMahon o il personaggio Mcmahon, in ogni caso idolo.

TK al massimo può avere il personaggio del fan di Twitter, non ha proprio senso il confronto.

Spoiler:

hype per il primo che verrà a scrivere “Vince copre gli assassinih!11!!” senza capire la natura goliardica del topic

Pure l'uomo.
Mi viene in mente nel 2013 quando doveva operarsi al bacino e quindi per giustificare l'assenza on screen decise di pigliarsi una F-5 cadendo appositamente sul bacino da operare.