The Undertaker's Deadjournal

July 22, 9:01 A.M.

July 21, 11:48 P.M.
Mood: Handsome

People always tell me I'm fat, but I just say I'm doing my part to combat world hunger. I'm so damned smart. Be like Taker, kids. Stay in school.

Unless you don't feel like it. What the fuck do I care?

July 21, 10:12 P.M.
Mood: Puzzled

Wow. A lot sure has changed since I've been gone. I guess Kane's back to murdering and possibly raping people now? Hmm. And now I hear he's under HOUSE ARREST??? I didn't even know the motherfucker had a house. He's always over here, hanging out in the basement, eating my roadkill and whatnot. I'll be like "Go home and torture your own squirrels, Kane!" and then he'll throw a lamp at me. It's a healthy relationship.

July 20, 8:39 P.M.
Currently listening to: THE GREATER POWER

Fuck. I just found out that one of the dogs has heartworms. I keep picturing worms with little Jim Neidhart goatees going "HAHA YEAH BABY". I'm so crazy!

Sara's not murdered or anything, in case you're wondering. DDP was too depressed to woo her while I was gone. He keeps bitching about some punk on RAW stealing his finisher. I can relate, what with Ultimate Dragon still gookin' it up over here. Poor DDP. I tried to cheer him up (W/ SOUPBONES).

July 20, 11:55 A.M.
Mood: Pumped

PUT THEM BIG MACS UP, Y'ALL! Yeah, the Big Dog's back in the Yard. Road tripping across the Atlantis Ocean or whatever the Hell was no easy task, let me tell you. Fish kept looking at my bike and splashing water on it and shit. It's not easy to chokeslam a fish. They're like oily little Italians. I was all "GET A JOB, WOP!" but the fish kept slipping out of my hands and slapping me with their tails in cartoonish fashion. What's more, I kept mistaking whales for the Big Show. I guess that doctor was right when he told me I needed glasses. Maybe I shouldn't have strangled him with his stethoscope, but Taker's gotta be Taker, know what I'm sayin'?

Anyway, England sure is full of fags. Absolutely lousy with 'em. I hired the zombie of "Gentleman" Chris Adams to be my guide. The first thing he did was invite me to a football game. Now, being from Texas, I like football, and I figured Show might be there trying to eat the pigskin. But you know what I saw? A big field with a bunch of fruits running around yanking their shirts off every time they kicked the ball. I don't know what the fuck it was, but it sure wasn't football. They should call it "Gayball" or "Footgay" or "Gaygay". Recognizing that Adams' corpse was of no use to me, I ripped off one of his arms and Takered Care of Business him with it.

After that, I was on my own. You'd think it'd be easy to locate a 7-foot dude who weighs 57,000 pounds, but you'd be wrong. Wrong and ugly. That reminds me, they use POUNDS as currency over there. What a bunch of fatasses. Good food, though. Everything's made with innards and stuff. Yum. I never found Show, but I did dredge up a souvenir from my last visit in Chavo Guerrero's rotting corpse. Spicy. Like fajitas.

But in the end, my quest had failed. I came back to the States with the intent to end it all. So I tune in to Smackdown, figuring a glimpse of Sable will turn me to stone, when what do I see instead? BREAKING NEWS: EGREGIOUSLY FAT MAN TRAPPED IN MEAT LOCKER. I knew it had to be kismet or karma or whatever other bullshit words the gooks made up.

When I rushed downtown, I learned that Show hadn't really run away at all! He'd just been locked in the butcher shop for two weeks like on that episode of "The Brady Bunch"! Boy, was my face red. I mean it's always kinda red, but it was redder than usual. I was so happy to see Show that I gave him this really awkward man-hug. Then I stabbed him a lot, freeing him from his predicament by using his Crisco-like blood as a lubricant. He told me he'd been lured there by the smell of pig entrails. Only his layers of protective blubber prevented him from freezing to death. What a trooper.

Once that ordeal was over, Show and I went to McDonald's for lunch. It was good to be alone with him after all that time. We talked about... you know... feelings. Like the feeling you get when you eat 30 pounds of pimento loaf. I would describe it as "sleepy". All in all, I'm glad the Big Show isn't dead. Although I'm dead, and it hasn't slowed me down. Keep on truckin', baby!

July 7, 1:32 P.M.
Mood: Sad :(

I've made up my mind. I shall follow the Big Show wherever he may roam. This is the way it has to be. You know as well as I do that I can't live without him.

It won't be easy. I never rode my bike across an ocean before. And it's tough leaving Sara behind, what with DDP lurking out there somewhere. He'll steal her heart with that sparkletooth of his. At least she'll be able to support herself on the thousands of quarters scattered about the house. And hey, maybe a change will do me some good. I'll be able to use the word "bloody" more in casual conversation. They say Satan never closes a door without throwing someone out a six-story window.

The time has come. I'll miss you guys. I'll check in with tales of my zany exploits as soon as I can, unless some limey captures me and bakes me into a pie. GOODBYE, FRIENDS!

P.S. - If you happen to see me on Smackdown, that's just the fake Undertaker from the 90s. And if you happen to see the Big Show on Smackdown, that's just a sasquatch.

July 7, 11:17 A.M.
Mood: Panicked

Oh no! Show wasn't bluffing! He stuffed the refrigerator into his little bindle and hopped the first whale tarp to Great Britain! I can't believe he's actually gone. Now I'll never be able to tell him how I really feel. What am I going to do?

I need some herbal tea.

July 6, 10:59 P.M.
Mood: Zombielicious

The Big Show's mad at his mom because she bought the wrong kind of peanut butter again. He keeps threatening to run away. I told him he should go to England. A lot of words end in "-ham" over there. I think he'd like it.

July 5, 9:14 A.M.
Mood: Befuddled

I went to Kroger's because it sounded like there'd be some krauts there to beat up. No such luck. Shopping is confusing as shit. There's bacon, and then there's CANADIAN bacon??? What the fuck? I hit Benoit up on the celly to ask what the difference was, but he just kept rambling on about respect or aggression or something. I don't think talking is his strong suit.

What's more, they were selling TOMBSTONE pizzas!!! Can you believe it? I know. What a ripoff. I grabbed some oily stockboy and showed him what the REAL Tombstone tastes like. (PAIN)

The pizza wasn't even flavored like dead bodies or anything. I hate false advertising. When will the big conglomerations finally see the light and produce cuisine aimed at the discerning undead consumer? How about Festering Corpse soda, or Engorged Maggot chicken nuggets? I'd buy that for a dollar.

July 4, 8:33 P.M.
Mood: Full of meat

Sara and I just finished up another barbecue in the Yard. I got to wear my "Kiss The Zombie Cook" apron. Paul didn't catch us this time, but those fucking hangers-on in the A.P.A. snuck by somehow. I'm really sick of those guys. Like I need any help squashing those three wops. Pssh. And why the Hell do they still have "Acolytes" in their name? Retards probably think it's a synonym for "drunks". They haven't been Satanic for like five years. Draw some moons and clovers on your pecs and we'll talk.

Everybody kept making fun of Kane's ugly bald head. Personally, I'm wondering why the hell he isn't burned anymore. I tried to remedy the situation by shooting a bottle rocket into his face, but I don't think it did any permanent damage. He brought Katie, AGAIN. Blah, blah, blah. Fucking bitch never shuts up.

The best part of the day was the three-legged race. I partnered up with that gimpy kid because I figured he'd be good at it, but we both just ended up sitting in Droz's lap as he wheeled us to victory. Wheels don't count as legs. After we won, I kept high-fiving the little crippled midget boy and yelling "GOWAN WIT' YO BAD SELF!!!" Haha. It was funny the first several times.

That's about it. I'm beat. I've got to get up early and go grocery shopping for Sara. She fell down the stairs and got stabbed 16 times somehow.

July 4, 11:06 A.M.
Mood: Patriotic

U-S-A! U-S-A! I killed 12 Mexicans today! Two of them kept whining about how they were just white guys with suntans, but I was all "YO COMPRENDO STABBO, PACO????"

The Fourth of July rules, but there's too many foreigners in Texas nowadays. I blame Yao Ming. If I see any gooks shootin' off their bootleg Chinese fireworks, they're gonna be choking back a few soupbones. You can't eat those with chopsticks, I'll tell you that right now.

Also: blacks. There's an awful lot of blacks in Houston, and that's not even counting the 600,000 people in Booker T's family. Big Evil don't trust 'em. I'm only buddying up to that Orlando Jordasche dude so he doesn't steal my wallet. I used to have a chain on it to deter thieving illegal aliens, but I think Cena stole the chain.

Anyway, once all the minorities are cleared out, I'll be planning a big Independence Day bash! We'll probably watch that movie where the Jew defeats the aliens by sending them an e-mail or whatever! Stick around!

July 3, 2:20 P.M.

NathanJones187: G'Day!
NathanJones187: Still plannin' a barbie fer yer bloody Seppo 'oliday?
OldSchool666: What?
OldSchool666: I don't play with dolls.
OldSchool666: Who is this?
NathanJones187: Let's rock up at Maccas fer some chook sangers.
NathanJones187: It's yer ol' cobber from Oz, mate.
NathanJones187: Or we could swing by th' pub and get a gutful of piss.
OldSchool666: WHAT THE FUCK???
OldSchool666: Are you Ultimate Dragon?
OldSchool666: Because you can take your gook talk and cram it, buddy.
NathanJones187: No need t'be a whacker, yer mug.
NathanJones187: Don't cop such a bodgy 'tude, ya bludger.
OldSchool666: I HATE YOU!
NathanJones187: Guess I'll hit the boozer and drink with the flies, then.
NathanJones187: Hooroo!
OldSchool666: WHAT DID YOU CALL ME???
NathanJones187 has logged off.

July 2, 6:16 P.M.
Currently listening to: My inner child

Hey, guys. I do a lot of talking, but Sara says I'm not a very good listener. She thinks I should get in touch with my feminine side. Without wearing a bathrobe this time. So here's the deal. It's been a long time since we just... you know... rapped. So... yeah. How are you?

Uh huh. Cool. Good to hear.

Yeah, tell me about it.

So, uh, great. Keep in... touch.


July 1, 12:09 A.M.
Mood: Ornery

I hate summer. Especially the mosquitoes. Those things are like little flying Gangrels. Speaking of Gangrel, I almost drove a steak through his heart this one time, but I eventually decided that I'd rather eat the steak.

June 30, 4:41 P.M.
Currently listening to: Warrant, "Cherry Pie"

Just got back from Hell. It's getting way too commercial down there. You're supposed to call it "Taco Hell" now, in fact. Charon kept trying to sell me gorditas, but I was like "Shut up and row, midcarder."

I got to shoot the shit with Satan again. Just like old times. I still remember the day I sold my soul to him in exchange for enough height to become a lazy, plodding, North American wrestler. I used to be 4'3". True story. I challenged the Devil to a game of Connect Four for possession of my soul, but he beat me again. Haha. That rascal. He bought me one of those Caesar salad things as a consolation prize, though. What a guy. I could really taste the Caesar.

I couldn't stay long, but I got plenty of chewing tobacco. It was only like two animal sacrifices apiece, which is WICKED cheap and duty-free. The only snafu came when Cerberus tried to eat me, apparently mistaking me for one of the gluttons. I gave him three separate Taker Care of Businesses with both arms and one leg, all while kicking him in the jewels with my other leg. THAT'S how much I rule.

June 28, 6:20 A.M.

I'm taking a road trip down to Hell for the weekend. That's the only place that carries my brand of chewing tobacco any more, just because it's made from ground-up Negroes. Fucking liberals and their so-called "laws". Don't get me started on politics.

Anyway, I'm gone, bitches. Don't wait up!

June 27, 9:43 P.M.
Currently listening to: Jay-Z, "Big Pimpin'"

Nathan told me he's feeling kind of homesick. I figure I'll buy him the Kangaroo Jack DVD to remind him of all the rappin' marsupials that populate his delightful homeland.

June 27, 1:16 P.M.
Mood: Still undead

Sara pitched a bitch today when I wiped my bloody hands on her "guest towels". What a fucking stupid concept. The Deadman cares not for guests. Nobody ever comes over but Paul and Kane, and they're sure as hell not going to bathe or anything. But Sara still didn't shut up about it until after I broke her jaw. I guess it's true what they say about how women are from Venus and men are from ninth and final circle of Hell where The Deceiver rots eternally in his frozen pit, gnawing the mangled bodies of history's greatest betrayers.

That Satan's a good guy. He shares his Skittles.

June 26, 3:03 P.M.
Mood: Despondent

Oh man, that sucked! I went 0 for 3 and made an error before getting benched in favor of Funaki. FUNAKI! Just because he's a Jap doesn't mean he's good at baseball, Stephanie. You dirty whore.

Our team did win, though, but only because Pete Rose attacked Kane again. Christian came in to pitch after that, and let's just say that he pitches as well as he keeps secrets about where I'm holding my kidnapped bride-to-be. Little chicken-legged son of a bitch. Kanyon, whoever that is, hit two homeruns off him and was subsequently voted MVP.

At least the Big Show was finally nice to me. After my second strikeout, Tajiri kept saying I should do the honorable thing and kill myself. It made me cry. Show could tell that he was really bothering me, so he ate him. The only problem with eating gooks is that you're hungry again in an hour! Cha-ching!

June 26, 9:38 A.M.
Mood: Clever

Our first softball game is scheduled for this afternoon. Cena and I are gonna ride out to the diamond together. He's really into sports, as you could probably tell from all his cheap heat references. Personally, I can't wait to break in my new glove made from the flayed skin of sinners. Cena keeps joking about how we should use Crash Holly as the ball. Haha. We probably will, actually. Baseballs cost like $4, and Crash's contract is only worth about one-eighth of that.

Here's a little ditty I made up to get me PUMPED about hitting some DINGERS and whatnot:


Haha. It's funny when people take real songs and change the words to make them more comical.

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