CWF #21 Page #2

While we’re on the subject of rednecks, I might say that I did hear a rather apt rendition of a hillbilly song the other day while I was looking for a good music station on my radio. The name of the song was, “My Long Hair Don’t Cover Up My Red Neck,” or something of that sort, and it was performed by somebody named David Allen Briscoe, I believe.   Anyway, the point is that you can’t hide the fact that a redneck is a redneck. You can’t cover it up with long hair, and you can’t cover it up with a mask. Mr. Florida is obviously a redneck. Unlike the Briscos, he tries to cover his with a mask, rather than long hair. It doesn’t work. What you are shows through. Mr. Florida exhibits redneck attitudes, redneck tastes and redneck behavior in general. For these reasons and others upon which I shall elaborate forthwith, Mr. Florida has been selected Redneck Of The Week for this edition.   

It has come to my attention that there is going to be some kind of a hillbilly music festival held at some obscure outpost known as ‘Otter Springs’ later this month. All the rednecks will gather from miles around to clap their dirty, cotton-picking hands and stomp their smelly, unwashed feet to the vile strains of a bunch of yokels abusing the strings of their musical instruments. It is my understanding that this musical revelry will go on for three days! It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Dusty Rhodes turned up at a place like this. 

Humperdink would quickly strike with his poison pen at his harshest critics and foes. Wrestlers such as Dusty Rhodes, Mr. Florida, and the Brisco brothers were quick to feel the sting of Humperdink’s words. 

All Dusty Rhodes is in my book is a beer-drinking West Texas saddle bum. He should be out in some saloon somewhere, getting in fistfights with the customers, cheating at pool, and listening to Willie Nelson records on the jukebox. He is entirely in over his head as Southern heavyweight champion, as I shall prove when one of my men beats him to a bloody pulp and gets the Southern championship back to the House of Humperdink where it belongs! 

I don’t mind saying that I am getting just a bit tired of this impetuous Young Donald Diamond. He is just like the rest of these small town wrestlers—thinks he’s a big dude because he was a high school hero in Wrinkle City. He’d better quit hanging out in these disco dives and start working out or else! 

I am getting fed up with the churlish behavior of Mr. Florida. Where I come from, people behave in a civilized manner. It does not surprise me. Therefore, that this man comes from right here in Florida, land of the rednecks! Mr. Florida is anything but a rugged individual. He probably wears a mask for no better reason than to avoid paying alimony! 

I would like to know whether or not Jack and Gerald Brisco are into Zen Buddhism. I am curious about this, because they must be sitting around contemplating their navels or something—they’re certainly not defending the Florida tag team championship as they should be. I am particularly concerned because of the fact that Ivan Koloff and Nikolai Volkoff have developed into one of the finest tag team combinations I’ve ever seen, yet we cannot seem to get the Brisco brothers to defend the title against these two fine Soviet athletes. While I hate to put it on this basis, this situation does seem to boil down to the question of whether two American athletes—Indians at that—are equal to the challenge of two Russian athletes. Statistics prove that Soviet athletes are consistently superior in athletic competition. This probably explains the Brisco brothers’ reluctance to meet Ivan and Nikolai with the title at stake. 

Bubba Douglas and Sir Oliver Humperdink would engage in a months-long feud, resulting in Douglas losing a “hair versus hair” matchup, and being shaved completely bald. To add to this humiliation, Humperdink would take him to task several times in ATOC. 

I am simply outraged! Did you read what Andrew B. Douglas said about me last week? I am not going to tolerate being called a ‘little round man’ by some ethnic provincial from some disadvantaged rural community in Central Florida. As everyone knows, I have put together the finest wrestling organization this area has ever seen, and I am not about to be maligned by the likes of Andrew B. Douglas. Douglas, of course, gets his unmitigated gall from his mentor, Virgil Rhodes. As you have no doubt observed, Douglas wears an old, moth-eaten hand-me-down robe which he got from Rhodes whenever he enters the ring. Douglas idolized Rhodes, who, as I have pointed out on several occasions, is totally uncouth and not at all deserving to associate with athletes and gentlemen of our caliber. 

I am not a schoolteacher by profession, but from time to time it becomes necessary for me to hold classes---to give instruction to certain individuals with regard to proper behavior in the presence of a gentleman of my station. Case in point: Andrew B. Douglas. It was recently necessary for me to humiliate Bubba Douglas in his home town by beating him within an inch of his life, then requiring that he honor a condition of the match, that being that he would shave his head if he lost. When you see Andrew B. Douglas, ask him what happened to his cherished curly locks. I hope that Andrew B. Douglas has learned his lesson and that he will desist from any such unseemly behavior in the future. If some of these people don’t start showing us some respect, there are going to be so many short haircuts around here that people will think they have stumbled onto a Marine Corps training facility by mistake! 

Everyone please take note of the fact that Andrew B. Douglas has been put in his place. He now walks the streets of his hometown, Lakeland, Florida, and people ask who he is. When he says, ‘Bubba,’ they say, ‘Bubba who?’ When he tells them, they say ‘Oh yes, you’re the one who lost his hair and embarrassed all of us who have to live in this dreary little Central Florida town seven days a week by getting your posterior prostrated by Sir Oliver Humperdink. 

 Sir Oliver Humperdink loses one of the founding members of the House of Humperdink when a major falling out occurs with longtime associate, Herman E. “Bugsy” McGraw, and the two men part and go their separate ways. 

Treason, that’s what it is, TREASON! After all I’ve done for him, Bugsy McGraw has turned against his only benefactor—against the only friend he had in the world! For this, he is going to be very sorry. He will regret this foolishness until the day they use his remains to fertilize the cornfields of his native Indiana. I see herein the handiwork of that devious duo, Virgil Rhodes and Manuel Fernandez. It was they who seduced this simpleminded oaf. If anyone wishes to purchase Bugsy McGraw, he is for sale. As I’m sure everyone understands, I still have him under contract, and I am at liberty to sell that contract to anyone I choose. 

Crazy. That’s what Bugsy McGraw is, CRAZY! I want his psychiatrist to understand that I am no longer responsible for his bills. If you own a restaurant and he walks in and breaks something, don’t tell me about it. He is no longer my responsibility! 

Sir Oliver’s wit and wisdom transcended the usual bounds of a writer-reader relationship. Humperdink would address his masses, often ordering them to behave in a matter more to his liking. 

I want it clearly understood that, in the future, my associates and I are not to be addressed as ‘Humpie’s Boys!’ Perhaps I shouldn’t become too upset with the riffraff at the arenas who shout these insults; after all, they’re only following the example of that horrible, uncouth Dusty Rhodes person whom they admire so greatly. Rhodes, of course, will pay; and when he does, what happens to him may serve as an example to the rest of the mob. I dare say we’ll be hearing a lot less from Manuel Fernandez, Michael Graham, Andrew B. Douglas and the rest, once their leader has received his just desserts. 

Well, it is a new year now, and I want to go on record as saying that I have absolutely no intention of putting up with the frustrations and abuses which I tolerated during 1979. People who come to the matches carrying signs insulting my personage will be asked to leave. I see no reason why I and my friends should be subject to this sort of harassment. In the mother country, spectators treat athletes and managers with respect. What a pity that you people in this country aren’t civilized enough to do likewise. 

Always one to be proficient in any and all subjects, Humperdink delved into the rich history of pro wrestling with his comparison of House of Humperdink Member, Nikolai Volkoff, and “The Russian Lion” George Hackenschmidt. 

In a recent issue of this newspaper, an article appeared concerning Nikolai Volkoff. Somewhat belatedly, he was extended a portion, at least, of the recognition he deserves for his great achievements. In the article, Volkoff was compared to the great George Hackenschmidt. The article neglected to mention that Hackenschmidt, while an ethnic Russian, spent much of his life in England, where he was a national hero. The British, it seems, had the culture to appreciate a man of exceptional talents. I like to think of this as typical of the way we British are able to appreciate the finest in all areas of life. Notice that I was quick to recognize the talents and intellectual capacity of Nikolai Volkoff; thus the cultural exchange between our two great nations continues as it did in the days of Hackenschmidt. I might add that Comrade Volkoff and I are doing some research into the matter of Hackenschmidt’s losing to Frank Gotch, who was a farmer from Iowa. We realize that there are a few exceptional athletes in this country—certainly several of the finest are to be counted among my associates. Nevertheless, the Hackenschmidt-Gotch controversy bears looking into. 

Though quick to criticize all things American, Humperdink boasted of his attempts at exercising his rights within our judicial system. 

I am very seriously considering filing a lawsuit against the publishers of this newspaper. I pay good money to get this column published each week, and not only am I insulted on the other pages, these people are attempting to make trouble for me by making deliberate ‘errors’ in my very own column! For example, last week a picture of Bobby Duncum was published in connection with some remarks I was making about the Super Destroyer. I had specified that a picture of the Super Destroyer was to be used, and the publisher inserted a picture of Duncum instead. I was given some sort of meaningless apology by the editor, who blamed it on one of his employees. I know better—it was a deliberate effort to expose the Super destroyer's identity! It was to no avail, because these people have no idea who the Super Destroyer really is. 

I am suing the El Ropeaux Cigar Company for $100,000, which is more than they are worth. Therefore, by the time you read this I will no doubt own the company—but they still won’t make my victory cigars. The nerve of any cheap outfit like that manufacturing cigars under my personal label! Victory Cigars three for a dime indeed—we’ll see who has Victory Cigars in the future! 

One popular feature of ATOC was the awarding of “Redneck of the Week” to a popular CWF babyface. Every seven days, Wrestlers such as Dusty Rhodes, Mr. Florida (Paul Jones), Jimmy Garvin, Bubba Douglas, and Mike Graham received this distinguished honor. Even Bob Geigel, who was then N.W.A. President, received this coveted accolade. 

This newspaper is quite one for bestowing awards, and for recognizing persons who have received awards elsewhere. We have read about Donald E. Curtis being named Promoter of the Year, Andrew B. Douglas receiving the Best Sport award, and there is talk now of a ‘Miss Grapevine’ contest, which I assume, will result in still another award being presented. I intend to carry this award business a step further and make an award each and every week in this column. This award will be called the Redneck of the Week award, and will be bestowed upon the most deserving individuals. Qualifications for this award include things like driving pickup trucks, making home brew, wearing cowboy boots, listening to hillbilly music, raising swine, speeding through small towns, hunting deer out of season, chewing tobacco and generally associating with the sort of people who do these things. Our first Redneck of the Week is, appropriately enough, the idol of rednecks everywhere from here to Austin, Texas. I am speaking of none other than Virgil Riley Runnels, Jr., otherwise known as Dusty Rhodes. Rhodes gets the award for having owned a pickup truck with dual wheels, in the cab of which is found a stereo tape deck. The tapes Rhodes plays, I understand, are the performances of Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson and others of that ilk. Rhodes also hangs out in Saloons, where he basks in the admiration of his fellow rednecks. He is a person of the lowest possible character and is most deserving of being named Redneck of the Week!

I do hope that each of you sent Manuel Fernandez a get well card. The poor, dear boy suffered a most painful and embarrassing injury the other evening, and all of us here at the House of Humperdink want to wish him a speedy recovery. Fernandez, you see, got what is coming to all rednecks, and of course he is one. Oh, he goes on television and speaks Spanish to all his Cuban friends in Miami, but in reality he is nothing but a common, ordinary redneck. Thus, Fernandez is being named Redneck of the Week. Congratulations, Manuel! 

As a boy, Barry Windham came to think that being tough meant hanging around the neighborhood filling station, exchanging bits of crude humor with the other locals. On Saturday nights, these types were given to riding up and down the streets in their battered old pickup trucks, while swilling cheap moonshine from a fruit jar. This attitude on young Windham’s part is of course typical of the redneck mentality. He comes to us from some remote region in Texas, the state which also gave us Dusty Rhodes and innumerable other rednecks. To this day, and with little more in the way of qualifications, Barry Windham persists in thinking he is tough, for which reason he is at this time being awarded the Redneck of the Week citation. 

It has come to my attention that Sonny Myers plans to run for Sheriff of Buchanan County, Missouri. Talk about redneck country, this is the place where they shot Jesse James! Myers has been a thorn in my side for some time. I dare say Myers has some bigoted obsession with everyone in the House of Humperdink! Now, Sonny Myers wants to run an entire county with a badge, a gun, and a heavy hand. For this ignoble ambition, I am naming Myers Redneck of the Week! 

This article is dedicated to two remarkable human beings who claim February as their birth month. My father, who introduced me to wrestling and unselfishly took me to see live graps every week for 15 years, and my son, a future kayfaber, who changed my life for the better with his birth two years ago. Rest In Peace, dad.  

NEXT MONTH: 

Nothing! You read that right. After almost a year of making deadline every month, I’ll be taking a brief sabbatical while I concentrate on getting the new CWF Archives website up and running. Thanks to KM webmaster and friend Vince Fahey for the opportunity to continue penning my pieces. I’ll see you in a couple of months!  

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