THE JONES ZONE
Me: Haha! What's going on?
Voice: Is this Mr. Jones?
Me: Um... yes.
Voice: Hi, I'm wondering if you'd be interested in a new credit card with a –
Me: What?! *click*
This phone conversation SERIOUSLY happened just a few days ago! What is up with THAT shit?! I couldn't believe it. Has something like this happened to anybody else?
Anyway... what's goin' down, my people? I be Chris Jones and I'd like to welcome you to my world! That's right. Another column filled with pointless and meaningless crap written by yours truly. But before we go ANY further, we must ALL join in!
Happy... happy... happy... happy... happy anniversary!
Happy... happy... happy...
Mike Myers' old Scottish dad: SHUT EET!
Happy... happy... uh, sorry. I've seen that Ax Murderer movie one too many times. But yes, we are celebrating the one year anniversary of [slash]! A whole year... it's hard to believe. It seems like it was just yesterday that I e-mailed CRZ about recapping Bash at the Beach and he was like "who the hell is this chump?" Wait a minute... that WAS yesterday. (Ha! This is the sort of uproarious comedy you're in for, folks! Put the women and children to bed!)
Seriously, I remember getting that shot at recapping a year ago and passing word on to some buddies of mine about this hip new site. And what happens? One of them BEAT ME to getting something posted! And that vicious denial resulted in the very first guest column on this site, On the Harts by my man Ben Embry. Ahh, memories.
Anyway, since it's been a year now you should know that this won't be your typical wrestling "column" that's designed to make you "think". Well, at least that's not my intention. But we're going to cover issues of varying subject and importance. And by the time you're done, you'll think "wow... what the HELL was I just reading?". I've got some thoughts on wrestling, a story of a recent trip I took to share with you, and we'll hit some random stuff towards the end... including the much-talked-about-and-anticipated* review of the booby galleries at the WWF's international subsite! Woo-hoo!
But let me start off with a statement that may concern and dismay many of you: WCW sucks serious ass! SERIOUS ass! I cannot believe how they have so brutally turned Jeff Jarrett into this shell of a champion in his short time with the belt. If you don't understand what I'm saying, let's run down the history so you'll see where I'm coming from.
Jarrett wins the vacant world title by beating DDP. The next night, Russo rubs it in the face of Jim Ross for not thinking that Jeff was main event calabur material. Then, a whole WEEK later, Jarrett drops the title to DDP... who then ends up losing it to David F'N Arquette.
So then Jarrett wins his second world title by winning the match at Slamboree, making it two straight title wins in which he never actually beat the previous champion. Then, a whole WEEK later, Jeff drops the title to Ric Flair. After the belt loses even more steam by getting tied in with Kevin Nash, Jeff gets it back from Flair a few weeks later. So now he's a 3-time world champion in hardly two months.
But then the fun begins. Suddenly, Jeff's whining EVERY time he's asked to defend the title. Kevin Nash powerbombs him through the mat, he gets carted off an in ambulance after taking a beating from Sting... all while he's the world champion. He goes from "don't piss me off" bad-ass to a weenie in a matter of weeks. I can't begin to recall a world champion looking worse in recent years. Then he's put against Hogan at Bash at the Beach, but Hogan's not on TV so there's no opportunity to build a feud. So Jeff comes out doing these interviews that cause a "he's still champion?" reaction. It blows!
I won't even mention the whole fat lady thing... it's far too painful. I'd imagine that I'm probably one of Jarrett's most vocal supporters on the internet, but it's even hard for me to get behind him when WCW routinely books him to look like such a bitch. And you just KNOW that he's not faring any better against Hogan than Kidman did. As I said, this sucks ass. There's no other way to say it.
And what's worse is that Jarrett and Russo are supposed to be tight. Russo's only been gone for a few weeks, so he's to blame for most of what's gone on. Shouldn't being pals with the booker help you out? This brings me over to the WWF where everybody and their mother was talking about how Triple H has influence over the booking. As if it was Triple H's decision for himself to win at WrestleMania or it was his decision to let Vince take the fall at King of the Ring. People were all "Here we go again! It's the Kliq part 2! Triple H is in Vince's ear!" God, SHUT UP! Shut the fuck up!
I really don't know what it is... are people just that hungry for conspiracy theories? Do we need some sort of backstage politician to complain about to fill our time? Isn't it possible that Vince just screwed up once or twice? In WCW we go straight to Russo if something sucks, but how many people do you see putting the blame on McMahon right away? There's no proof at all that Triple H has had ANYTHING to do with booking decisions, but he's getting blame heaped on him by the "smarts" and such just the same. Thankfully, whether it was intentional or not, the WWF has sent their own "shut the fuck up" over the past few weeks with Triple H jobbing to Rock on Raw and Brawler on Smackdown, taking the table bump, taking a stinkface. Road Dogg and X-Pac got murdered at King of the Ring, then got the same by Jericho and the APA. Now much of the conspiracy talk has thankfully settled down... but I wouldn't hold my breath expecting the smart crowd to offer up apologies.
Hey! Wait a minute! I said this article wouldn't make anybody think! This isn't supposed to be topical... we better switch gears here. Let's talk about my trip!
MY TRIPI'll quickly point out that this has no relevant connection to wrestling whatsoever, so if you don't care, I'd scroll on down to the next set of topics.
About a month ago I headed back East to Connecticut to visit some family and friends. I was born in CT and grew up there until about the 8th grade, when my parents decided to move us to Kansas for reasons I'm still not aware of. Several family members still live there and I've stayed in contact with my buddies, so going back to see them is always pretty cool. My twin sister Christina felt she had to tag along but I'll try to mention her as little as possible.
Our trek started off at 4 in the morning and ended up around noon at the famed Newark airport, which is always a treat to visit. The connecting flight to Newark was from Pittsburgh and, man alive, that place is a damn ZOO at 11 on a Monday morning. As we were riding down one of their movable sidewalks, I saw a gentleman who closely resembled Mark Madden walking the opposite way I was going. I would have gone to get a better look, but I was in a hurry... and what if he knew who Madden was?
"Sorry, I thought you were somebody else." "Oh yeah, who'd you think I was?" "Mark Madden." "Fuck you, buddy!"
That wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. So anyway, we eventually made it to my oldest sister's house, where we stayed, and I hooked up with my own personal Mean Street Posse... Davey, Pete, and Tommy. They had shit planned for all 5 days that I'd be there and we started off right away. Before the trip was done we'd been to see David Letterman, we stopped at WWF New York... typical vacation crap. But the story I'll share with you is from our trip to the wonderful Six Flags Great Adventure amusement park located somewhere in Seventh Circle of Hell, New Jersey.
To really grasp the experience I had, you should first know that the last time I went to the park was in October of 1989. It was a cold, miserable day and the park was completely empty. It looked like it would rain the entire time that we were there, but it actually didn't until we left. There were no waits for rides... in fact, we went three straight times on the one ride where you're in a giant tire-tube floating around the white water rapids. We basically owned the park.
Now the days that I were there this year were relatively nice, maybe low 80's at the highest. But the day we decided to hit the park, it went up into the 90's and was humid as hell. We figured we'd get there early to beat the crowds and were hoping that we'd get free reign of the place as we had 11 years earlier. After all, school hadn't let out yet, how crowded could it be? So me and my kliq, consisting that day of my sister Chrissy, Tommy, and Pete (Dave had to work and didn't want to go anyway), piled up into Pete's Mercedes POS and headed to Joysey.
If you're not familiar with the Great Adventure park, which I'd imagine would be most of you, there's actually three exciting ways to spend your time. They have a recently opened water park that we weren't aware of, the amusement park itself, and a safari park where you can drive amongst animals that you've probably only seen before on TV. Our plan was to run through the safari park before hitting the rides, so we headed on down to the safari area.
We pulled up behind a red Blazer that was buying their tickets and waited on our turn... only the Blazer seemed to be taking a little longer than the other cars at other booths. By the time we realized that we should move, there were already people behind us blocking us in. The woman in the Blazer seemed to be repeatedly handing small amounts of money to the girl in the booth, as if she was digging in her glove compartment for spare dollar bills. A figure in the passenger seat leaned into the back, where a baby was resting in it's car seat, and started digging around also. By now, we're somewhat annoyed.
And then the driver door opened and the woman emerged. She was an easy 300 pounds, had the greasiest black hair I'd ever seen, a big-ass cigarette jutted from her mouth, and she was wearing an outfit WAY too small for a woman her size. Tommy immediately dubbed her "Broomhilda". Broomhilda opened the back door to her car and leaned inside, and with the tip of her cigarette INCHES from the baby she began gathering Coke cans that were strewn about her car (the "present this and get $5 off at participating Six Flags" cans, one would assume) and handing them to the woman at the booth. I thought they had a limit as to how many you could use, but apparently not. She must have handed over at least 8.
After that, Broomhilda FINALLY got back into her car and was allowed to proceed. (And for the 2 people who are reading this and wondering, no, the car didn't have plates from Philly.) We pulled up and paid for both the safari and amusement park, costing us somewhere around $150, I believe. We then entered the safari area ourselves, riding amongst the animals for the next 20 minutes or so after tearing out, passing by, and cutting off Broomhilda. It really is a cool place... you can see lions, tigers, bears (oh my!), buffalo, gazelle... all sorts of things. At one point, we had to stop for about 3 minutes as a giraffe stopped on the road right in front of us and proceeded to lick birdshit off the roof of a car to our left. And, of course, you can see the idiot 13 year-olds lowering the windows a half inch to drop McDonalds fries on the ground, despite the explicit warnings to not feed the animals.
The final area of the safari park is the monkey pen, which is always a blast. Most of the monkeys are little baboons and they'll fuck your car up something fierce. There's an alternate path to take so you don't have to ride right through the monkeys, which is recommended for those with vinyl roofs or who don't want their car turned into a toilet. Pete's car has a sunroof that hadn't been latching properly, but we weren't gonna miss the monkeys, baby! So we forged ahead.
As you might imagine, most of the fun here comes from watching the monkeys fuck with the other cars. We drove in for a little while and then pulled off to the side to sit and watch. A big tour bus had come in right behind us and the monkeys were on it like a crowd of guys on a scantily clad girl in Central Park. At least 6 were on the roof, one hung on the driver's rearview mirror, and one was directly on the windshield pulling at one of the wipers. When we saw the bus leave later on, a windshield wiper had been broken to the point that it was pointing straight ahead. We let the bus go by and were about to continue forward ourselves... when who should pull in? Our old friend Broomhilda! We immediately stayed put, placing all our faith into karma being the bitch that she is.
A monkey jumped onto her hood pretty quickly, but was doing no damage that we could see. As Broomhilda started rounding the turn towards us, we noticed that her wipers were on and the car was quickly moving from side to side. We couldn't really tell why until she passed us by... and we saw the monkey PISSING ON HER WINDSHIELD!!! YES! YES! MON-KEY! MON-KEY! Needless to say, we celebrated what we took as a decisive victory over our hated rival.
Moments later, as we started moving again, a monkey paid us a visit by leaping onto the passenger's side mirror... which is where I was sitting. We tapped the glass and tried to get it's attention, but it wasn't even looking at us. It seemed to just want a ride. We obliged and continued driving while I got a first-hand look at how horribly ugly a baboon's ass is. Seriously. It's unspeakably gross.
When we neared the exit, our monkey took off and disappeared. The tour bus, still covered in monkeys, pulled to a stop while a man tapped a stick on the side. Every monkey flew off the bus and ran, apparently knowing that the stick tapping means business. Having finished the safari park, we headed towards the amusement park area where, despite already paying $150 to get in, we were charged another 8 bucks to actually park.
We neared the parking lot and saw that it wasn't terribly crowded, although there were at least 20 buses lined up towards the back. We found as decent a spot as we could and headed out into the now 95 degree heat. Being a cool cat like I am, I generally try to stay laid back and unassuming when I'm surrounded by hundreds of strangers... and there's no better way to do that than to look like a complete dork. So I tossed off my t-shirt, revealing my toned and only somewhat-tanned torso, and wrote "CHRIS RULZ" on my chest in pink sunblock. I then covered my nose in said pink goop, donned a floppy sun hat and sunglasses, pulled up my socks so they were just under my knees, and adjusted my Bermuda shorts... and I was ready to go! (I eventually pushed the socks back down because it was hot, but I had them up for a good while.)
We started in towards the main gate when I noticed that a large number of people passing us were speaking Spanish, rather than English, as their native language. Now I'm sure every area in the country has their Konnan-like gangstas, with the black jeans, wife-beater shirt, and sunglasses. They even have them in Kansas. But unlike the Kansas wanna-be gangstas, the ones that passed us had an extra accessory... the GUNS sticking out of the back of their pants. Normally I might be worried, but as I said, looking like a dork is the key to being cool. You're a threat to nobody. But still, it's slightly unnerving.
Once we got inside I noticed that it was a little more crowded than I thought it'd be. By now we had no illusions whatsoever that we might get a repeat of our 1989 park trip. We opened our map and figured we'd just walk around and do whatever. We had the whole day to kill. We first passed by a large array of those "smash this with a mallet, fling the frog onto the moving lillypad" games, but you had to pay to play those, too. As if we hadn't shelled out enough already. So we kept moving and for about 20 minutes the basic conversation consisted of this:
"This ride looks pretty cool. It should be right up here." "Nope, look. It's closed. "What? Fuck!"
"Let's check this ride out." "Man, look... that line's got a 2 hour wait." "Shit!"
Along the way we passed by multiple food stands that were also closed. Pete, being a East coaster through and through, was rapidly getting pissed that the park was only half operational. I was annoyed but I hadn't reached "mad" yet. We hadn't eaten lunch before we left, so we figured we'd grab something at one of the concession stands that was actually open. After a 20 minute wait in line Tommy and I got cheese steaks, fries, and a drink... Pete got fries and a drink... Chrissy just got a drink. Total cost: $48.
We sat down at a table and ate and then headed out again. We were nearing a water ride area and figured we'd check out the ol' log flume. But nope. Closed. So we thought maybe the "U" shaped water ride, where you go down and spray water onto the people standing on a bridge. Nope. Line's too long. We all wanted to go on the tire-tube rapids ride again, so we headed over to that and saw that the line didn't seem too terribly long. So we went in.
The entire line was enclosed under a structure with a roof that provided some shade. We were able to walk up about 30 feet to the end of the line and we saw that it went a little farther than we thought it did, as you can't really see the end of the line from the beginning. I struck up a conversation with the girls in front of us, Jasmine and Kelly, who were 7th graders there on an end of the year class trip. They got a kick out of my goofy attire. It's all about impressing the teeny-boppers, people.
After about a half hour, we finally reached the end of the walkway where the line seemingly emptied into a large room that led you towards the ride. But no! What you can't see until you're right there is that the large room is actually a big ass line in itself, containing metal dividers that create about 15 separate rows that you have to weave through in order to reach the end. It looked like some sort of demented cattle drive. By now, I was extremely aggravated as I knew it'd be another 30 minutes at the very least.
The rows inside the big room are so narrow that you're literally standing with your shoulders touching the people in the rows next to you. And half the room is filled with kids who thought sitting on the railings would be cool, meaning that their back is cutting off the space you have to stand in by about half. Tommy and Pete spent the entire wait purposely knocking the kids off and then apologizing as if they hadn't meant to. After a few weaves through the rows, you notice that you're standing next to the same people on either side. To my left was a large black gentlemen, at least 6'6", with a big ol' head of dreadlocks. To my right was a group of Latino girls in swimsuits who, at various times, would look at me and say something in Spanish that I didn't understand... but the way they laughed and whooped after they said it, it sounded lecherous. I felt so cheap. Tommy speaks Spanish and eventually joined in talking with them. Judging by their reaction, I think the prick told them I was gay. Come to think of it, he never did tell me what they were saying to me.
I eventually struck up a conversation with "Dreads", as I referred to him. Nice guy... and he seemed just as annoyed as I was with the situation. His girl had forced him on the ride and he ended up in line for over an hour. We slowly moved through the rows, collectively baking in the heat. Just imagine the smell of 60 people standing shoulder to shoulder in 90 degree heat and then imagine smelling it for over a half hour. It wasn't pleasant.
FINALLY we got up to the front and loaded in. The ride was over in 3 minutes. It was fun, yes, but nowhere near worth the wait. Plus, one of the school girls in front of us had her bikini top come down and that's just gross. I like my boobies over 18 at the very least. She was pretty embarrassed, though, so I felt bad for her and assured her that nobody had seen... even though we ALL had.
So after that we continued around the park... but were met with the same story. Everything's closed or the few things that ARE open are so crowded that it's not worth waiting. I stopped at another food stand, waited 10 minutes, and got a small chocolate shake for about 4 bucks. It was good... but 4 bucks? C'mon. We eventually began heading over to the opposite corner of the park, where we heard that another log flume ride was operational. On the way we passed a guy pushing a cart full of glasses of lemonade for $3.50 a pop. Pete shelled out nearly all of the remaining cash he had to buy one.
Shortly thereafter, we came upon another set of carnival games... but this one had one of those cool shooting galleries that looks like an old saloon, with a guy tending bar and some guy at the piano. The music was playing to indicate the booth was open, although nobody was inside it working. But there were no prizes visible, so we figured it didn't need someone working there. It cost 50 cents to play and there were two change machines on either side. Pete pulled out his last dollar and ran it through the machine... which spit it back at him. Two or three more tries with the same result saw Pete try the other machine, only to get the same. I pulled out a nice, crisp dollar and tried myself. It didn't take it.
I noticed a little light on the machine saying "if this light is blinking, the machine is out of order". I cupped my hands over it and could just barely make out a faint flashing. Pete was beyond pissed at this point. Chrissy told him to calm down and dug into her own funds, pulling out two quarters. Pete popped them into the coin slot. Nothing happened. Pete tried shooting. It didn't work.
By now, the stress of the heat and insane prices combined with the fact that there were only about 5 rides open at the park had become too much for Pete to handle. He let out a bellowing "FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCK!" and threw a half-full water bottle he was carrying into the gallery area, nailing the bartender upside the head but doing no damage I could see. Pete stormed off up the path and Tommy, Chrissy, and I, needless to say, were hysterical... which only further enraged Pete.
We finally reached the second log flume, but the line there was just as insane as anything else. We finally decided to bail on the park and headed up towards the gates, but not before Pete got his say in at the "Complains/Questions" booth. He actually stood in line while we waited around and, very nicely and without any attitude (so he said), explained to the person working that he's got friends visiting from out of state, he wanted to show them a good time, and he was embarrassed with the state of the park. He was given 4 "$10 admittance" passes for the next time he comes, which was nice... but Pete was still all pissy about it for the rest of the day.
So we headed back to the parking lot, found our car, and got the hell out of there. The day was pretty much shot, but I did get a nice tan from walking around all day with no shirt, so at least I got something out of the situation. Unfortunately, the pink sunblock didn't end up leaving me with pale writing on my chest like it did Captain Harris in Police Academy 5.
So to make a really long story short... Great Adventure SUCKS and, please, remember this story before making any trips there. You'll thank me for it. Do, however, check out the Cosmic Bowl bowling alley that's about 5 minutes outside of Hightstown. They have disco balls hanging above the lanes and posters of Goldberg on the walls that say something about a WCW bowling league on Monday nights.
Okay, that's it for my trip story. Hope you enjoyed it! Now as is the norm, we move on to the completely random portion of this column! Anything goes, baby!
But it seems the site has gone into a hiatus period again, no doubt due to my presence no longer being felt there. Well, okay, you caught me... that's probably not it. If anything, it likely would have closed sooner if I'd stayed. According to the message on their page, look for the site to relaunch soon.
Meanwhile Miss Hancock is doing these panty-peek dances on tables to distract people or just for no reason on occasion. Isn't she still with S&P as she does this? Shouldn't she NOT be doing that? If she's not with S&P, why does she need the business suit and clipboard still? And if she's not with them, why not? Was she fired? I never heard that she was. And then she starts randomly coming to ringside, she dances for Tony one time. Again... why? Was there a point to this that I missed? She had NO storyline, no character to develop... other than her legs, she was pointless.
Then, because Russo likes them shoots, she hooks up with her real-life boyfriend David Flair on camera. Was there a point to that? Now she's got a storyline, but she still has no character I can see. WHY is she with David? Anyone want to explain that? How about the other questions I asked? Can we field them sometime, Vinnie?
Maybe I'm just being picky, but I normally tend to be pretty relaxed when it comes to getting hot chicks on my television screen. But this one is just too convoluted. I won't even get into how they would routinely show her sans-Hancock gear during the Nitro Girls ads, showing everyone that she's not even a S&P rep and that she REALLY has no point being anywhere.
And while I'm at it, what's with damn near every columnist and recapper coming up with some clever twist on her name? Everybody's dubbing her Miss Suck-my-cock or Miss Hand-on-my-cock or whatever. Her name is ALREADY suggestive. It was originally "Handcock", if memory serves, they just toned it down because this is WCW we're talking about. It doesn't NEED to be twisted around to get a sex joke in there. It's got one already... just let it be, people!
I did a little digging at the WWF Latino section and was able to find old pictures of Maria Felipe from SuperAstros, but those have been around for years. And strangely enough, they still keep the Raw and Smackdown pictures updated weekly there.
The motherload is located at the WWF UK site. They feature a gallery of 4 hot British chicks, who I'll introduce to you now.
Nell McAndrew - A pretty hot chick with short, blonde hair and a tattoo just above her ass. Her bio says she was the model for Lara Croft of the Tomb Raider games... making her about the 50th model I've seen who's made that claim. She does play Lara at video game conventions and the like, though. It wasn't terribly hard finding naked pictures of her, so go give it a search if you're so inclined.
Jordan - The hottest of them all. The fact that she had her 34C boobs, the ideal size in my humble opinion, stuffed up to 34D's only helps her case along. Her bio on the site discusses how she likes sex in outdoor places, so she's just racking up points with me. With a name like "Jordan", it's not easy finding information about her since Michael, the country, and other more popular Jordans come up first. But try adding something like "British babes" or "British models" and you should find something. Or you can try looking under Katie Price, her real name, and that'll help also. I found nude pictures of her, but they all seemed to be pre-implants.
Michelle Clack - If you're like me you'll look at some of her pictures and pick up on a Sable vibe. Their facial structure appears similar in some shots (although in others, she looks nothing like Sable) and they're both blonde chicks with big racks. This occasional resemblance to Rena Mero may or may not hurt Michelle's career, it's too early to tell just yet. Here's a big surprise... Michelle has done nude work, too.
Kelly Brook - When I really think about it, I might have to take back what I said about Jordan being the best looking. It all depends if I'm in a "sweet girl" or "slutty girl" mood at the time, as Kelly's pictures are, on average, less revealing. And she's got a more wholesome face. The WWF page claims she's a 32E, but you wouldn't know it by the pictures they're showing. It wasn't as easy as the others, but I did find a few nude pictures that were billed as being this girl.
That's really all the good stuff I found. If I missed out on something, feel free to let me know. But regardless, the WWF should have signed these girls up YEARS ago.
The site has a campaign going to e-mail those remaining companies on the PTC's page and request that they end their relationship with a group that promotes censorship. After reading the site, I sent out a few e-mails to some of the companies on the page... and 2 have responded and told me that they will be dropping their affiliation with the PTC! So if you're interested, drop by FrenchToast.com or BizBuyer.com and let them know that you're proud of their decision.
Well, that's gonna do it, my friends. Be sure to come back for [slash]'s second anniversary when I might have something else for you to read! Heh, just kidding. Be on the lookout for Bash at the Beach, if it's not up already as you read this. And come back this Wednesday on the 12th when I'll have something really special* for everybody!
(*Not true; it'll suck)
Thanks for reading! Come back soon now, ya hear?