World News: The WWE caught Saddam. Send Bradshaw to the Middle East and SHIT GETS DONE, daddy!

Local News: My computer is not long for this world. It's 154 in bagdog years.

Star Trek News: The crew travels back to gangster days or some shit. All I took from it was the knowledge that London will have a baseball team in 22 years.

Last night at Armageddon, they apparently let a retarded person handle the booking. Was it me? I think it might have been me. Sorry, Tennessee.

Boo, yay, etc. Welcome to the inaugural edition of Weekly Visitor Black. Once you go black, you et cetera, et cetera. The Solid Gold Dancers wait to greet us. Hooray for undeserving champions. I've Heard Good Things About That Movie "Honey" tells us that Evolution has changed the face of sports entertainments. They've given it a huge nose. The Heatless Horsemen orchestrated a "clean sweep" in the World Series of Velocity. Why do you need sunglasses indoors, Triple H? I hate you so much. Evolution's Golden Rule has something to do with Honey Nut Cheerios, I think. Now they propose a toast with their belts. All part of a balanced breakfast.

RAW opening. I pity the groo. We are LIVE from Tampa, Florida, where John Cena once said, "The Buccaneers are queer / I like the Patriots". Can't remember what he rhymed Patriots with. Probably "waffles" or something. In tonight's main event, the law firm of Stoner, Homosexual, and Jew reunites to bring charges against Triple H, Ric Flair, and Deacon Jones.

Jam Gamgee and Bilbo Bagdoggins v. Ass Cream Team

This happens to be "Eric Bischoff's Battle of the Sexes II". Whatever, dawg. Lita's entrance video prominently features her whorish mascara.

Trish and Jericho eyeball one another. She yammers for an hour, while he tags out. SO SAD. Kill her, Christian. He jukes and jives, then turns toward Lita to get slapped. Schoolgirl by Trish, 1, 2, no. Christian shoves her down into the corner. JR's upset because you aren't supposed to beat women during the holiday season. Who knew? Christian wants Lita, whom he ambushes. Looking for an over-the-shoulder something or other, but Lita rakes the eyes. Jericho yanks her off by the hair. He's back in for a bodyslam. Back to Christian, who sends Lita's face into the turnbuckle. He flexes and gives some love to the peeps.

Christian hauls Lita up top for a back superplex, but Trish distracts him via running her fat mouth. It allows Lita to shove him down. HIDEOUS moonsault. Oh my god. It almost looked like Christian was trying to turn it into an inverted DDT, except that HE WASN'T. Lita may have landed on her head, which is no less than she deserves. Trish tags in for a top rope crossbody. 1, 2, no. Lita pitches in with some clubbery. Double whip, after which Christian just wipes them both out with a hard double clothesline. Hahaha. That's better. Cover on Trish, 1, 2, HE PULLS HER UP!

C-Money dedicates Trish's death to Jericho. Oh man, he's gonna make her so damn Unpretty. YES!!! 1, 2, Jericho pulls him off! I think he wants referee Charles Robinson to stop the match because Stratus is no longer alive. Why didn't you just let him finish the pin, then, you crazy Canadian? The bell rings. Christian requests an explanation, causing Jericho to shove him down. "Y2J" chant? Christian just wanders off as TEH GRINCH storms to the ring. Shut the hell up about how everyone's ruining your Christmas, JR. Eric demands to know why Jericho done what he did. Chris swears a lot in saying that he never wanted the match to happen in the first place. So Bischoff will make him face Kane. And now he's calling Foley out. Oy.

Commercials. Fifteen Bods. Yuna cannot back that thang up.

Mick's still not out because he's so fat and lazy. I guess he needs a wacky nickname, doesn't he? Fock Fear, Lose Ear. JR continues to push Christmas to the moon, mentioning that Foley named his daughter "Noel". That's "Leon" backwards! I hope La Resistance kidnaps her. Mick's still forcing his Austin agenda on us. He's invited Stone Cold to some reinstatement hearing or something. I wasn't really listening. Bischoff brings up the fact that Foley wasn't always crappy. Here's a video package we've seen before. There's the Big Bossman. There's Rock in his warm-up suit because he had a boobjob. How's your nips?

"Foley" chant. Eric tells Mick that the people want to see him kill himself rather than wear a suit and ruin everything. But Foley will only return to the ring under his own terms. Eric proposes Foley/Orton with the full General Managership on the line. Yes, managership is a word. Trust me. Thankfully, Mick says no. Unless some conditions are met. He wants Earl Hebner to ref. Who cares? He also wants Evolution banned from ringside. Yupt. And Bischoff needs to be banned, as well. Fine, just shut up. Ugh. Mick also throws his prodigious GM weight around and makes it an IC title match. This is gonna be terrible.

Next Monday is the Best of RAW 2003. It'll be two hours of dead air. I'm not beakin' it, either.

Commercials. Don't go there. Wait, a Return of the King commercial I haven't seen yet. Look at Eomer cryin'. Moving on.

Hey Booker, Help Me Braid My Eyebrows v. Blackitude Version Fat-Point-Fat

From Armageddon, Matt Hardy counted his own pinfall over Maven. Look at Lilian fucking eyeing Maven all lustily. Gack. Matt Always Utilizes Toilet Seat Covers. The backstory: Booker was just about to hit Ctrl+S and save the drama for his mama when Matt crashed his word processor with a virus. It was a worm. He borrowed it from Scotty 2 Hotty. Also, Booker's computer was stolen because he's black. Also, Mark Henry ate Maven's third grade class. Also.

The relatively white people start. Lockup, hammerlock from Matt, who shoves his opponent away. He's Vee One-Naaaah, but Maven kicks him. Punchy punchy. Whip reversed, clothesline ducked, and there's Maven's nice dropkick. He opts for mounted punching rather than a cover. Matt drives a fist into Maven's Batista-fied ribs. Corner whip reversed by Hardy, but his charge comes up empty. Mark Henry plows Maven with a clothesline, regardless.

Tag to the World's Strongest Santa (a.k.a. Santa With Muscles), who employs an axehandle. Big ol' beal. Clubbery. Matt's back with a shot to the ribs. Maven battles back with punches, but Hardy catches him with the Side Effect! Booker breaks the count. There's a surfboard from Matt. Maven makes really unpleasant Gollum faces before developing a twitchyleg. He stands and breaks the hold with a kick. Off the ropes, right into a clothesline. Hardy gets two on the cover while JR compares Bischoff to Hussein. I bet all the smarks get totally offended.

Hardy further weakens Maven with some corner beatings. A hard turnbuckle whip puts him down. Kick to the ribs. 1, 2, no. Again Maven battles back, but Matt doubles him up with a kick. Ready for the Splash Mountain Bomb or some such, but Maven swings out into a Russian legsweep. Hot tag to Booker. Clothesline, clothesline, punches. Matt reverses a whip to eat a flying forearm. Now Henry's knocked off the apron. Matt attacks from behind, but T pulls him into a spinebuster! Shakyhand, spinarooni! JR: "It could be a holidayrooni!" Kwanzaarooni.

Mark Henry returns, but Booker tricks him into falling outside like a hippo. Maven ascends so he can turn heel... nope, he actually does hit Mark with a crossbody to the floor. We're always incorrectly accusing Maven of turning heel here at the Weekly Visitor. Booker turns around into Hardy's kick... Twist of Fate coming up, but Booker blocks! Kick, Axe Kick! 1, 2, 3! I forgot that Theodore Long was wandering around. He did even less than Mark Henry. I think Mark's telling Booker that he "owns" him. Like the Cat owns Lamont.

Levar Burton looks to get the 411 barely black "on what it's like not to be a champion anymore". His interview with Goldberg is next.

Commercials. Glug.

Back to Coach. Winnie The Jooh refuses to meet with him. He's just mad because Triple H stole his honey. Coach barges in anyway. The sounds of a struggle are heard. Hate crime! Whoops, there goes Coach's corpse. His shoulder hurts. That was pretty fucking uncalled for.

Two French Hens have appeared. Sign: "U SMELL" Yeah, thanks. Hey, do you think La Res will cut some sort of Saddam sympathy promo? Hey, do you think I'll shoot myself? All signs point to yes. Rene: "Excusez-moi, madames et monsieurs!" Heh, he badmouths Rocky. Iraqi. Dupree claims The Rock won't be here tonight because La Resistance "kicked him right in his derriere". Rob takes over to tell us that Mick Foley is a lot like America. Loud, obnoxious, and always stickin' his nose where it doesn't belong. That's why they're backing Randy Orton tonight. That promo was pretty awesome, actually.

The punishment for being entertaining is death. Goldberg. Yeah, they're getting "the rub", alright. Conway wields his flag to attack on the ramp, but Goldberg dispatches him with a single kick. Rene gets in a few seconds of clubbery. Whip, pirouette(!), spear. Blech. Rob receives one, as well. Plus a spinning Hebrew Hammer. JR: "I've known Bill Goldberg since he was in high school!" Such a liar. Goldberg breaks the French flag over his knee. Take THAT, Jean-Paul Levesque! Bill hoists a conveniently planted American flag. He's a regular Yankee Jewdle. Hahaha. I love me.

Eric is not amused. He refers to Coach as his "top announcer". Heh. For the next 30 days, Goldberg is deactivated. Mr. Roboto. Plz note that they're pulling this Keyshawn Johnson bullshit in Tampa. I have to make a lot of football references to ensure that no one enjoys the rebeak. Let's see if the Eagles won. Yep.

Commercials. Bod, Soul Calibur, Bod #2, Soul Calibur #2. What's wrong with you, Spike TV?

JR has misplaced his shit. If you happen to come across it, please e-mail BringBackStoneCold.WWE.com. "It's a holiday!"

Foley/Orton graphic. Mick's talking to the camera in his festive office. No, he's preachin' to The Queer. Shawn and Mick are pleased at the way they're holding everyone down.

Commercials. I don't care.

The hell is this? Courtesy of NFL Films, here's some footage of Woody Paige's Undefeated Denver Broncos. LOOK AT THE SCHEDULE, GUYS!!! Is Clinton Portis going to come team with Heidenreich? I thought the WWE hated the NFL? Oh, we see this because Portis donned one of those replica championship belts that are all the rage among idiots. And then his leg fell off. It's a beautiful day. Clint will be at Denny's if you need him.

Rob Van Saddam and God Wears Bod v. Golden Oldies

Since Jew failed to pass his bar exam, this is now a handicap match. It's also a ponytails vs. non-ponytails match, the most brutal contest in sports wrestling entertainment. For the record, "Wake Forest" was the best Batista nickname ever.

David and Robert kick things off. Nope, Batista wants HBK. And he gets him. Dave has to make sure his jaw still works. Check. Ready for a lockup, but Batista opts for a kick to the ribs. Banana hammer. Whip, clothesline ducked, Michaels goes behind the scoop attempt to punch Flair and HHH for no reason. Another clothesline ducked, after which Batista is staggered by jukey jabs. Shawn shimmies about like an utter moron, enraging Batista to the point where he kicks the bottom rope. HE'S AN ANIMAL!

Batista rushes in to take his opponent off-guard, but Michaels is ready with a drop toehold. To a front chancery, but Dave dumps him in the unfriendly corner. Helmsley tags in to argue with the ref while Batista chokes. Punches are traded between Shawn and Jean. Michaels gets the better of it with more idiotic jabbing. Now he mocks Flair's strut for absolutely no reason. I think Shawn and Jesus were tossing back a few wine coolers in the locker room.

HBK and HHH lock it up. Michaels is forced into the corner, where he ducks a swing and connects with a hard right hand of his own. He wrings the arm and tags Van Dam. A kick precedes more arm wringery. Rob hammerlocks Helmsley's arm with his legs and falls back on it. I don't know what I'm talking about. Triple pokes the eye before tagging Flair. Knife-edge chop and a shoulderblock. Off the ropes again, but this time RVD strikes with a spin kick. Tag to Michaels, who drops a fist from the second rope. He and Ric trade chops. Corner whip, backdrop on Flair. He suckers Michaels in for a thumb to the eye.

A hard chop takes Shawn off his feet. Whoo. Back suplex attempt, but HBK escapes. He shoves Flair into the ropes, where Triple H jacks Michaels. Did Flair shatter his nose on the top rope again? Jesus, Ric. Borrow Test's facemask or something. Helmsley tags in. Punches. Again Michaels fights back. Whip reversed, clothesline ducked, high knee. 1, 2, no. Enter the Deacon. Kick to the ribs. Dave grinds his elbow into Michaels' jaw. Short-arm clothesline. 1, 2, no. Flair's back. He keeps Michaels down with a corner whip and punches. Chop. Flair's headed up top because he's a silly old man. Shawn slams him down.

Batista's in, but so is Van Dam. Dave's punch is blocked, Rob's are not. Off the ropes, clothesline ducked, heel kick. Another one. Helmsley runs in to duck the enzuigiri but eat the flippy mule kick, which missed by a foot. Shot for Flair as well. A clumsy spot sees Rob deliver the crazy stepover kick to Batista's hand. Dave sandwiches the ref as he staggers back into the corner. RVD makes it comical by delivering his shoulder charges, ref and all. Batista dodges the post-backflip attack, causing referee Probably Mike Chioda to take the brunt of it. The Bananabomb is forthcoming. I think Rob was supposed to turn it into a facebuster, but damned if Batista knew that. These two should never be allowed in the same ring again.

Spinny legdrop from Van Dam. Rolling Thunder! A forearm knocks Helmsley off the apron. Five Star Frog Splash on Batista! Rob attempts a cover, but Ric starts dragging the referee's corpse around for no apparent reason. What in the hell? The Pedibee nearly breaks Rob's face. Shawn's pitched outside as Helmsley drags Batista onto Van Dam. Chioda lays there FOREVER before starting the slow count. 1, 2, no! Why does everything in this match seem so awkward? Flair's back to lock on the Figure Four. Uh, ad break? I'm so confused.

Commercials. Meh.

Batista earns a near-fall on Van Dam as we return. Tag to Helmsley, who's the slowest person in the entire world. We're talking Big Show tempo. He hangs Rob's leg up on the middle rope and drives his weight down on it. Elbowdrops to the leg. Triple H gets a two count in the process of wrenching the limb. Tag to Ric, who chops. Rob punches back until Flair gets him in a side headlock. Whipped off, Van Dam falls to the shoulderblock, but quickly applies a sleeper. Flair's back suplex counters. Dave's in. Another short-arm clothesline. Again. 1, 2, no. Helmsley tags in and delivers a free shot. Back to the leg, but RVD catches him with a kick.

Flair heads Van Dam off before he can get the hot tag. Chops are exchanged for punches until Ric runs into a heel kick. Here's Michaels. He floors Triple H with his shitty punches. Whip reversed, flying forearm. Kip up, inverted atomic drop, clothesline. One for Flair. Batista reverses a whip, but Shawn goes back to the flying forearm/kip up combo. Scoop slam on Triple H. HBK ascends... flying elbow! He's tuning up the band, but Batista yanks him into the Chiquitabomb. Van Dam's back to dropkick Dave through the ropes. He climbs the ropes to wipe out both Batista and Flair.

The Kliq members are sleeping in the ring. Chioda gets to nine before Helmsley's up. He wants the Pedigree, but Shawn answers with a backdrop. Sweet Chin Music is caught. Helmsley spins him, clothesline ducked, and there's the superkick after all. 1, 2, 3. Thanks for jobbing to your friend in the match that doesn't matter, you company man. That was not good.

Commercials. The Christmas night Smackdown is about the WWE's visit with the troops. Bradshaw grudgingly shakes hands with a black man. Heh, the U.S. Navy Seabees. Make your own joke. Suck it up, Eomer.

The Bod Slam of the Week is Rico defeating Heidenreich on Heatenreich.

Matt Millen Called Me A "Faggot" (w/ Happy-Go-Jacky) v. Jon Smellway

A rematch. Somebody up there hates me. Some book about the greatest 50 WWE superstars is on sale tomorrow. Slaughter? Come on. Chryon has finally got the H out of "Jon". Will we ever meet Little Jonny? More importantly, do we care?

Lockup, big gay waistlock by Rico. Heidenreich powers out and reverses, causing Rico to bend over for a three-point stance. I love you, Rico. Jon clotheslines Rico for daring to suggest that the butt-patting sport of football might be a tad fruity. Back elbow by Hitler. Corner whip, bearhug. Why do you hate me, Vince McMahon? There are a lot of valid answers to that question.

Rico makes me incredibly happy by turning the bearhug into a tender embrace with fondling and ear-licking and whatnot. Heidenreich tosses him into the corner, then gets poked in the eye. Thrust kick to the chest. Fucking sweet stepover heel kick. Stomps and elbowdrops, then a big jumping legdrop. Rico gives us some gyrations before leaping through Jon's legs for another elbow. 1, 2, no.

Rico places a foot on either side of his opponent's head and twists Heidenreich's neck with a sassy twirl. It takes Jon a couple seconds to sell it because he's such a fucking maroon. European uppercut. Top-shelf kick to the head! Squatting pin, 1, 2, nope. Heidenreich fights back, but Rico keeps him down. Off the ropes, swinging neckbreaker. 1, 2, no. Ninja Chokeout. Jon elbows free. Corner whip, but Rico blocks the charge with an elbow of his own. He leaps onto Heidenreich's back for a sleeper. Down to one knee goes Jon. You motherfuckers should have used your "BORING" chants on the previous matches that actually were boring. I'm enjoying watching Heidenreich get mostly dominated.

Jon breaks the sleeper by sandwiching Rico in the corner a couple times. Sidewalk slam. Hard clotheslines. Whip, back elbow. Whip, back bodydrop. 1, 2, no. Rico retaliates with a kick to the gut. Looking for the neckbreaker that gave him his Heat victory, but Heidenreich whips him off into a shoulderblock. Clubber. Kneelift. 1, 2, no. Corner whip, corner whip, corner clothesline. Another corner whip nearly squashes referee Charles Robinson. He's dazed for five hours, allowing Jackie to hotshot Heidenreich! Single arm reverse neckbreaker! 1, 2, 3! Hell yes. Although it should be Stevie garnering these victories. I guess he's too crippled.

Post-Match, Rico hits Joe "Around The" Horn up on the celly to tell him that he defeated his fellow Saint. Not really. And while I'm getting the terrible football jokes out of my fat system, Oklahoma's Jason White won the Heisman Trophy. A Sooners' quarterback with the surname of "White"... JR's gon' marry that boay.

Jericho loiters outside the women's locker room. He wants to speak to Trish, who has a giant bag of ice on her neck and shoulder. I don't know how the Unprettier caused those injures. She should put it right on her big fat face. Trish doesn't want Jericho to talk to her. Never, e-e-eeeever... agayne.

Kane lumbers.

Commercials. Stupid.

I Spilled Coffee On You! v. You Spilled Coffee On Me!

Earler Tonight, I already rebeaked this. Kane immediately chases Jericho from the ring. Chris scoots back in to dropkick the knee. Kickin' it. Sign: "KANE KILLED MY DOG". The Satard manages to get Jericho in a choke. Launched into the corner, but Jericho ducks a clothesline. Choppin'. Kane shoves him down and connects on a clothesline. There's a corner whip, but Jericho flips out of the back suplex attempt. He lands another dropkick to the leg. Off the ropes goes Chris, but Kane just chucks him up and drops him. Boot choke.

Beatery from Kane. Corner whip, but Jericho deflects the charge with his boot. A drop toehold hotshots Kane on the middle rope. Jericho follows up with the running charge. Up he climbs... missile dropkick! 1, 2, no. Bulldog! Lionsault connects, kinda, as Kane catches him in the goozle. Going up for the chokeslam, but Jericho slips behind for a roll-up! No, it's an attempt at the Walls of Jericho, but Kane uses his husky legs to power out. Hard corner clothesline. JR: "This is like... famine... wrestling... pestilence!" Even Lawler can't stand by him on that one. I hope Warren Worthington III runs in.

Kane crushes his opponent with a sidewalk slam. Press slam to the floor! Oof. Fan: "DOG KILLER!" Let's introduce Kane to Lita. Kane sends Chris into the barricade. Jericho snags a steel chair, but Kane puts him on his back with an uppercut. Back in, where Jericho slips outside to retrieve the chair. Kane's got him by the hair... whack! That'll be a Dairy Queen in Kane's favor. Jericho wants another chairshot, but Kane fells him with the big boot. Tied in the Christmas (Creature) Tree of Woe is Jericho. Kane chokes him with a camera cable. Choke! Chokeslam! Kane's done.

Christian, hero that he is, is out to help his pal. If this ends with an Unprettier, I will scream like a woman. He helps Jericho up and SHOVES HIM DOWN. Then walks off. A bit anticlimatic, but I'm fine with it.

Commercials. Why are most of the Best of RAW 2003 matches actually from PPVs?

Earlier Today, RAW superstars visited an air force base. VICTORIA IS KILLING THAT CHILD! She looks very much like Ivory when she's forced to fake a big smile. Chilling.

Eric Bischoff has a few words of advice for Randy Orton. "First of all, this is chess, not checkers." Randy is a queen, while Batista is a bishop! "Just" Eric addresses some bullshit rumors about the boys in the back saying that Orton doesn't have what it takes. To play chess. Orton: "Screw the guys!" Huh. I'm so sophomoric. If Randy sees his shadow, it means six more weeks of sub-par RAWs.

Mick Foley, clad in his flannel piece of crap, walks. People who aren't important enough to wrestle on RAW wish him luck. HBK, as well. Foley tells him that two weeks from now, he'll face Triple H for the title in San Antonio, where folks know what salsa should taste like. Joyous.

Commercials. Gandalf's Texas-sized heart tells him to go forward.

Sandy Duncan v. I Eat A Lot Of Triscuits

The Royal Rumble logo is a picture of some dude's breasts. Fabulous. I'm not fond of either participant, but the build-up has me looking forward to this match.

"Foley" chant. Mick steps outside to slap himself in the face. Okay, the stalling can stop. Orton makes ridiculous faces. Mick wanders up the ramp and... heads backstage? Orton pursues, as does the camera. Foley ducks into his office, emerging with his dogless bags. Bischoff wants to know what's goin' down. If Foley leaves, he loses his position as GM. But Mick keeps walking.

Orton catches up so that he can smirk. "Is that a tear, Mick? Is Mick Foley gonna cry? But you know what, Mick? Legends don't cry. Legends don't walk away. Mick Foley, you're not a legend. You're a coward." And Orton SPITS in his FACE. Foley drops his bags, swabs the spit, and walks right past him. Into the COLD, CRUEL NIGHT. We're out. That was kinda cool.

Final Thoughts: Below average overall, but it had its moments. I wanted to make my Victoria/Stevie as Shelob/Smeagol jokes by Wednesday, but what are you gonna do? No RAW next week. Not for me, anyway. Enjoy your Kwannukamas, despite the fact that the first two might be over.