It started raining like two minutes after I decided to walk to McDonald's, so I ended up looking like some fatty who went out in a thunderstorm on account of a Big Mac Attack.

Heat opening. Straight into piano music.

Hank Hill's Laotian Neighbor v. This Boy, He Is Not Right

Coach feels good this week!!! A fifth-place performance is nothing to sneeze at. Coach: "Ain't I a sight to see? Ha ha!" Now he pretends the announce desk is a piano. Coach: "We've got five! Five matches! Ah ah ah ah ah!" Okay, fine, he didn't really laugh like the Sesame Street character. It's The Count, kiiiid! What did I say last week about five matches? Why does no one listen to me? Dissect this fucker, Conway. Striker's got white panties with a chalkboard on the ass. Here we see some news clippings of his antics to prove that he received big-time media attention and is not horribly retarded in the least bit. "Truant Teacher Who Lost Job Finds His Revenge in the Ring" from The New York Times. Several more, but I don't care. "KOd teach living wrestling dream"? That is the worst headline ever. It made absolutely no sense until I figured out "teach" was a noun. Stupid J. Jonah Jameson slang.

Shades still on. And now they are not. Coach: "Bring somethin' to the table! That's what Rob Conway has done!" Some con-diments. Lockup, side headlock by Conway, to a hammerlock, after which he slaps the asshole in the back of his head. Nice. "That all you got? Huh?" Coach saw Todd's interview with Conway on WWE.com and derides his "stupid question" about where the 2% of fat is hiding. Coach: "Sometimes it's a saying! It's not necessarily, you know, 98% fat-free, do you get that?" SIR, ARE YOU CALLING THE CON MAN A LIAR??? Lockup, side headlock by Rob. Whipped off, douchebag eats the shoulderblock. "THAT'S THE CON WAY!" Lockup, no, Matt ducks this time to apply a waistlock. Conway counters with an armbar, but Striker does his rope-assisted flipsy reversal. SCREAM!!! I HATE YOU!!! Tuggin' Rob's arm. Side headlock and a takedown by Matt, but Conway quickly escapes with legscissors. Back up, Conway pounds him with a forearm to the face. Stomping. Head to the top turnbuckle. Whip, back elbow, cranking the bicep up, elbowdrop. Paintbrush. Paintbrush. It's a con. This isn't art class. Striker punches Rob in the ribs and gets paintbrushed again. Whip, Conway pulls a Papa Shango and gets kicked. Striker wanders into a powerslam, regardless. 1, 2, no.

Ninja Chokeout. While smacking him in the face. Shut up, referee Jack Doan, he deserves it. Coach: "All the newspapers and articles in the world can't help ya when you get inside the squared circle!" I don't know, you could probably bury your opponent beneath them. That'd be my finisher. I'd call it Stop The Presses. Todd: "Matt Striker right now is living out a dream, but Rob Conway trying to turn it into a nightmare here on Sunday Night Heat!" He's The Con Man, not The Bash Man. I know it's hard to discern. Matt stands and punches free of the submission until Conway fells him with a kneelift. Corner whip, Conway charges, but Striker elevates himself and turns it into a sunset flip. 1, 2, no. Clothesline ducked, right hand by Striker receives ludicrous fake heat. IT'S A CON! More punching. Striker's like "DUH WHAT DO I DO NOW SHRUG" before finally putting Rob down with a standing dropkick. Right hand. Whip, backdrop. Striker makes an asinine face before The Con Man kills him with a left-handed clothesline. Ground-based Ego Trip! 1, 2, 3. Coach: "How 'bout, how 'bout... How 'bout we go for a trip?" Todd: "It is over!" Coach: "How 'bout we go for a trip?" Todd: "It's the Ego Trip!"

Super Maria Brothers stands with Johnny Febreezy, who does not deserve mic time at all. "I'm here on Sunday Night Heat with Johnny... Parmeesi? Parcheesi? Pepperoni?" Parisi: "OH, THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!!" Haha. "It's Parisi! Johnny Parisi. My uncle, Tony Parisi (WHO THE FUCK IS THAT???), was a World Tag Team Champion!" Sylvain Grenier was a World Tag Team Champion. "I am a second generation superstar! These fans should be worshiping me like The Rock! I can hear them chanting my name. John-ny. John-ny. John-ny." Maria: "*giggling at his idiocy*" Parisi: "HEY! Are you laughin' at me? You think this is funny? Heh ha ha ha ha, we'll see who's laughin' tonight, when I make short work of that monkey Eugene! Maybe then I'll get the respect around here that I deserve!" Maria does that adorable thing where it looks like she's a turtle trying to hide in her shell. I only typed "Mario" by accident once, folks!

Commercials. Sit. Roll over. Enjoy the Angus.

Yeah, third time's a charm for fast-forwarding, Foley.

Green, Unless He's Brown v. White. Always White.

It's pasty Mike Patrick from Velocity. Same ugly onesie. Talk of this horrible burgeoning Dupree/Tomko angle. Someone please get your bud-nippers and nip it in the bud. "USA" chant. Kick and a beatdown by Dupree. Corner whip, Patrick staggers out into a forearm to the back of the head. Pose from Rene. Snapmare, spine kick. Coach is laying out for a couple minutes to properly enjoy the sexayness of Dupree. Back suplex. 1, 2, no. Coach, like fifteen seconds later: "And for some reason..." Todd: "Oh, I thought you... I thought you weren't gonna talk?" Coach: "No... In The Coach's world, that IS two minutes!" Coach is like The Flash. He has to eat constantly to maintain his accelerated metabolic rate. Fistdrop by Dupree. To the second rope to leap into what very obviously is Le Stupid. Oh, Rene Dupree. Patrick throws punches to various areas. Ducking Dupree's swing and turning it into a backslide. 1, 2, no. Small package, 1, 2, no. Clothesline ducked, off the ropes, sunset flip attempt by chubby. Rene won't go down, but he does punch the mat like an idiot. Kick, reverse neckbreaker attempt by Mike, but Dupree hits the Arc De Deluxe, which is at least funny when done by a Frenchman. Le Big Mac. Arch Deluxe is the finish? Okay, whatever. 1, 2, 3. That must be the Lita of wrestling moves. Everybody gets a turn.

Viscera and Val Venis face Coach's boys The Heart Throbs later on. But next, a rematch between Kerwin White and Tajiri.

Commercials. Bob Occhifinto of NVE Pharmaceuticals unveils a new "This Is A Shoot, Brutha" style of Stacker-2 commercial. Here's a diagram of "The Fat Belt"! Currently held by The Big Show! Look, it's got a little Masterlock on it. Isn't that adorable? BUT STACKER-2 ACTS AS THE KEY HAHAHA THIS IS AWFUL. Those fatty acids are escaping! Sound the alarm! Stacker-2 comes in vials now, so you can pretend like you're some trendy drug user.

The Clearasil Rewing is Kerwin stealing a win over Tajiri last week. White-collar crime.

I HADN'T SAT DOWN IN SEVEN YEARS!!! v. LensCrafters Is Full Of White People

Nice golf pun, Todd. He makes sure to repeat it because Coach was no-selling. Let's combine the lyrics I picked out last week with the lyrics I pick out this week so that we can piece together a big, white puzzle of an albino polar bear in a snowstorm. "I wake up every mornin' / can't wait to embrace the day / I take my coffee by the poooool! / I pass my picket fence and gaze across my new mowed lawn / I never thought my life could be this gooood. / I have a brand new car / I drive it to my country club / it's in my gated neighborhooood!" Still stumped here. "I leave my past behind / something something I want to / Nowwwww I'mmmmm feeeeelin' fine(?) / they say I look better, can't you see? Yeah! / something something / I only hang out with a privileged few / something about Malibu? / Private schools and soccer moms / they live their life the way we should / I never thought my life could be this gooood!" YOU WANNA SHUT UP, COACH, I'M TRYIN' TO DO SOMETHIN' HERE. Sponsors should not be thanked during Kerwin White's entrance. Perhaps future generations can build upon my fine work.

Got the hanger and a golf club. Coach raises the possibility of he himself organizing a negro uprising if Kerwin doesn't shut his mouth. Whatever, Coach. You and Shelton Benjamin do not qualify as "a lot of guys." Shelton would smack the crap out of you, anyway. Wait, I forgot about Viscera! Coach: "We're not back in 1782!" We wouldn't have any of this racial tension if Stevie was still in charge. Here, hold the hanger, Justin Jason, kthx. Showing off his golf swing in the middle of the ring. The Stroke. Coach: "You know, I was walkin' around backstage, and I saw Tajiri, and I, I saw him talkin' to one of the, you know, the people that work here in the building. And all I could hear him was sayin: *chinky voice* 'Kerwin cheat! Kerwin cheat last week! Kerwin cheat to beat me! Just like Coach did last year! When Coach beat me, too!'" Keep on fightin' for equality, Coach.

Kerwin's got the mic, and I guess I'm going to type nineteen paragraphs about this match before it starts. "I have been asked..." Pause so three people can chant "Chavo." "Ch-chavo? Wh-who? You've obviously mistaken me for someone else. I have been asked to come out here tonight and apologize for some of my comments made on RAW. In particularly, those regardin' a Shelton Benjerman." I'd have thought a white person would have better diction. Smaller diction. I bet he was like a split-second away from saying "Niggerman." "But you know, what I said was simply part of my job as The Official Spokesman Of Middle Class America." Bow. "YOUR Official Spokesman! And c'mon, I wasn't sayin' anything that each and every one of you weren't thinking. Ch... What? It's not my fault that Shelton Benjerman is the WWE's version of Doc Gooden." Huh? "All the potential in the world for superstardom! But what does he do? He lets it fizzle all away. And Tajiri, you're just like Shelton Benjerman!" And a kick makes him fall down hilariously. I fear that my off-color joke is actually what Chavo's going for with the "Benjerman" thing. Jonathan Coacherman does not approve. I guess I missed all those matches that Shelton wrestled while coked-up, as well. Lawler probably knew about them.

Tajiri pulls Kerwin's orange polo shirt off and mists it! To the dry cleaner's, post-haste! You don't mess with a white person's wardrobe, so Kerwin charges into the fray with an angry kick. Punches lead to an attempt at the ten-count punchalong, but Tajiri squirrels out and ties him in the Tree of Woe. The White Oak. Squeaky squeal precedes the diving dropkick to the face! White flops outside to die, but Tajiri follows with an axehandle off the apron. Kick. Trying another one, but Kerwin ducks. Tajiri ends up kicking the ringpost and breaking his little footsie. Back in, where Kerwin stomps the leg. Wrenching it on the middle turnbuckle. Mouthful of green stuff on Tajiri. White rushes into a Tarantula attempt, but he spins out and pounds Tajiri's leg. Hauled back in and picked up for a kneebreaker. Trying another, but Tajiri drops behind into a sunset flip. No, Kerwin rolls out and applies Bottled Water On The Knee! Tajiri's quick to hook the bottom rope.

Still kicking the leg. Off the ropes and into Tajiri's tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Spinning heel kick! But the leg hurts. Todd: "He's pretty much a one-legged superstar!" Like You Know Who. Tajiri kicks the hell out of Kerwin's shoulder. Again, but White throws a basement dropkick to the busted leg. Got him by that leg, but Tajiri hops into wheelbarrow position and gets a roll-up... 1, 2, no. Clothesline ducked, thrust kick to the head! 1, 2, no. Rubbin' his knee. Coach keeps saying "K. White" like a weirdo. Another shoulder kick. Trying a whip, but Kerwin swings out and slides through the legs, tripping Tajiri up to re-apply Bottled Water On The Knee! Tajiri's reaching out, but Kerwin drags him back to the center. Coach says that's "The White-Out," and I would have bet one hundred million dollars that they'd call his finisher that. I didn't think it'd be Lance Storm's dumb half-crab, though. White Canadian. Anyway, Tajiri's tapping out. Kerwin boogies a little bit.

Commercials. Yawn.

Hardy/Edge Street Fight. Clipped. Look at Edge's legs sticking up in the air like an anime character.

Commercials. Nyet.

I CAN FEEL IT, LANCE CADE! I MEAN GARRISON CADE! I MEAN LANCE CADE! "Trevor" isn't really the best name for a scary inbred with anger issues, but a'ight. This music better be what they enter to. I'm pretty sure that "size 12" says "7" right there on the sole, Big Trev. But I guess you're not much for the book-larnin'.

Maria's wearing seventy earrings. She's with WHOOSH STAND BACK, NEW ORLEANS, BECAUSE THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE. Are they concerned about Cade and Murdoch? Especially when they get their asses kicked by one solitary dude as it already stands? Hurricane: "Concerned? Concerned, you say? Oh no, no, no!" Please do not steal The Heart Throbs' gimmick. "For The Hurricane and The Mighty Rosey will take on any and all vile villains who wish to challenge us for these World Tag Team Championships. The one thing, however, that does give me pause is Murdoch's desire to make someone squeal... like a pig. The Hurricane squeal like a pig? Big Rosey squeal like a pig? Whassupwitdat? *stupid face*" I bet Rosey can eat like a pig. Maria: "Then my next question is... do you know Batman? 'Cause I saw him in a movie this summer and he is sooo hot!" I guess they're no longer delusional, because they're acting like Maria is retarded for livin' the gimmick. Hurricane: "Well... Chicks do dig superheroes." Rosey: "But do we know Batman? Girl, lemme tell you somethin'. Last week in Gotham City, we were rollin' six hotties-deep in the Batmobile!" Hurricane: "As a matter of fact, look, it's the Bat-Signal, right up there!" Maria: "WHERE???" WHOOSH THEY'RE GONE. Cade's going to bury you. AND LOOK GOOD DOIN' IT

Short-Bus Clothesline v. Johnny Pepperoni Ovah Heah

Eugene's getting way too friendly with that fan. He faces Kurt Angle on RAW. Right after he loses to Johnny Parisi. Yes. Eww, licking JJR! Coach: "Justin Roberts should be happy anybody's kissin' him!" Eugene's itchy. Hug for referee Chris Kay! Hooray! Careful, Eugene, he gets carsick. Eugene wants to give Parisi the same treatment, but Johnny slaps the offer away. Then he spits on his hands and rubs it in so as to get a better grip on slippery retards.

Lockup, Eugene's about to be backed into the corner, but he drops down, crawls through the legs, and makes with the ass-biting. Chease and peperony. Johnny bails out, but now it's Chris Kay who has a delicious ass. Eugene treats the ropes like a swingset. SWINGING BECAUSE HE IS FACING JOHNNY SWINGER OH GOSH I AM A SMARK. Wave! Hello! Parisi rushes and gets booted in the face on Eugene's backswing. Oops. Eugene crawls around and urinates on him a la Foxy. Now Parisi pulls the old "shoe's untied" routine, affording him a kick to the head. VELCRO, EUGENE, VELCRO!!! Stomps. Boot choke. Regular choke. Rabbit punches to the jaw. Eugene wants to hear about the bunnies. Knee to the ribs. "Let's Go Eugene," I think. Eugene's face meets the turnbuckle, and he's 'tarding up. Punches in bunches, culminating with a windmill. 'Tard Bottom coming up, but Swinger proves that he is every bit as good as The Rock by elbowing out. Kick, ready for The Shaft, which he may never hit again, but Eugene swings out. Clothesline ducked, KICK WHAM STUNNARD! 1, 2, 3. Pick Chris Kay up and celebrate. Gladhand with the crowd. Coach: "Sure, Johnny Paris is a, a valid opponent..." Is that a step above or below "viable"? Coach hates to waste six or seven minutes of his "precious life" on Eugene.

The main event is next.

Commercials. Oink.

The BODyslam of the Week is Venis' victory over Antonio last week and all that ensued.

IT'S A THROBBERKNOCKER! v. V's And STD's

Antonio's red, while Romeo's black? DISSENSION! Not going to lasso him, either. Are they even on speaking terms? I say that Romeo wins Roshambo this week. He's due. Apron struts, pelvic thrusts. Dap dance, off with the pants. Now the panties match. Romeo's buckethat is rather Stevie-esque. Val and Vis get Venis' entrance. Todd, on Val's towel: "I bet Viscera uses that as toilet paper!" God, give me strength. COME ON ROMEO NOW'S YOUR BIG MOMENT DON'T MAKE ME LOOK BAD! We were screened from the Rock, Paper, Scissors outcome, but Romeo seems happier. GAME FACES APPLIED! I love that so, so much. Romeo did indeed win, and he's starting with Val. I will give the WWE one million dollars if the finish sees Venis eat the Throbstopper.

Romeo wants to lock up, but Val kicks him. Knife-edge chop. Another. Head to the turnbuckle for Romeo. Whip, back elbow by Venis. Scoop and a slam. Stupid-ass pose, knocking Antonio off the apron for no reason. Off the ropes, kneedrop to the sternum, cover for one. Forearm shot by Val. And another chop. Whip reversed, head down too soon, and Romeo gets kicked. Val hits the ropes again, and Antonio is completely justified in kicking him in the back. Romeo explodes with a clothesline. Team Pocket Rocket indeed. Now is the time for murder! Angry mounted punching. Let's go shove Viscera. Referee Mike Chioda has to restrain him, allowing the Throbs to hit a double Russian legsweep on Val. Arch it. Arch it. Bee-utiful. 1, 2, no. Antonio's in now, by the way. Strangulation. When the Heart Throbs do it, I'm going to call it Erotic Asphyxiation. Front chancery and a tag back to Romeo. The Heart Throbs team up to sling Val into the corner and further injure his oversellin' back. Val starts punching, but Romeo clocks him from behind. Back to Antonio for punching. Val's still all wound up, fighting out of the corner until Antonio knees him in the ribs. Hooking up a vertical suplex, but Venis blocks. He's the one that hits it.

Val needs a hot, wet tag to Viscera... got it! OHHHHH DAYYYYOM. Clothesline for Antonio. Clothesline for Romeo. Scoop slam on Antonio. Scoop slam on Romeo. Arranged in opposite corners for a pair of fatvalanches. Antonio gives it a comical sell, which precedes Viscera's Sexay Dance. Here comes rape, which we're still calling The Walrus for no reason. Look at Antonio sticking his tongue out in horror. Romeo tries to help, but he ends up dropping an axehandle on his partner. Oops. Whip for Romeo, clothesline ducked, but up he goes in a fireman's carry. Squash. Same treatment for Antonio. Money Shot on Romeo, fat ass splash on Antonio. 1, 2, 3. I shall be delighted to dance on the grave of this Stevieless Heat. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Val and Viscera hug. That's pretty gay. Double Sexay Dance. This is the worst thing I have ever seen.

Final Thoughts: I never thought a show could be this baaaaad. Sweet, an Over There rerun is on in twenty-five. I'm going to see if the terrorists cut Zack Morris' head off.

OMG OVER THERE SPOILERS!!!!! Yes. Zack should have called time-out before the scimitar hit. Live and learn.