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Hello all of my wonderful
wrestling fans who have followed my career with the CMF and other
notorious promotions. This is my official site where I can be
myself and speak what's on my mind. The pictures to the left are
for the ladies who want to call and order a date with me. I know
I'm not the "biggest" of guys you'll ever date, but you at least end up
getting laid. With my "short comings" I can't really afford to be
choosy with who I take to bed. So yeah enjoy the site; you could
call it the Randy Orton Online Date Service.
Phone Number: 1-800-699-HOTT
Here are some comments
from some fans
THE OBTUSE ANGLE
Randy Orton: Sickening Mutant Bastard
Ordinarily I try to write an essay
approaching objectivity. I try for the fair and balanced approach that
one expected from Edward R. Murrow. But that's boring. I want to go for
the fair and balanced approach employed by Fox News. As such, it's my
duty to comment that Randy Orton is the most disgustingly awful
performer in wrestling today.
Furthermore, his crimes include:
Sucking a lot.
Telling lies to dogs.
Chewing the faces off babies.
All of WWII, except the parts where the USA rocked.
Wearing white after Labor Day.
Designing the "Cheap Tickets" pop-up.
Throwing kittens at unmarked police cars.
Randy Orton is an effete water-headed mutant shit-heel foisted on the
audience in lieu of a performer with more than a grudging rudimentary
association with talent. He has the personality of a turnip. His
supposedly badass arm tattoos look like rare ferns you'd find at the
botanical gardens. And his nose is smooshed and looks like he spent his
childhood running head-first into walls. This condition would also
explain his intelligence, which comes off as subhuman.
A lot of people might be saying that I'm off-base about Orton. But all
of those people are reading this and not wearing pants, while listening
to Mazzy Star CDs and trying to feel deep while feverishly checking Ebay
to see if anyone has outbid them for a clump of Pauly Shore's hair. I
can't stress this enough.
But there are salient and logical reasons for feeling a great frothy
surge of bile rising in your gorge whenever you see Randy Orton. His
talent is at best questionable; his charisma is an illusion, and his
overall character isn't even as two-dimensional as a game of Pong.
I read internet commentators discussing the solid work that Randy does.
And, yes, solid work is good to see. But doing things consistently and
without error is laudable when you do many things. When you can only do
a few, it's pretty faint praise. Consider this: Chris Benoit knows
scores of moves, easily over 100, and he invariably executes them
solidly. My half-sister can soil her pants and stand upright both with
equal aplomb. Both of these people perform solidly. But is it right to
So, yes, solid work. He can do clotheslines, a diamond cutter, punches
and a few suplexes. So can Bubba Ray Dudley. I suspect the reason why we
don't praise Bubba Dudley for his solid execution of these moves is
because he annoyingly keeps distracting us with moves other than the
four listed. Silly man.
To give Randy credit, he does have a fifth move. As I've said in the
past, regrettably that move seems to be breaking his foot. I know what
you're going to say: what about his dropkick? Honestly, people, if
screwing up a dropkick or anything else counts as a move, then Gail
Kim is YOUR workrate champion. (Like Gail Kim, in his first few matches,
Randy managed to botch virtually every unique or non-regular move he
attempted. How is it that, like Gail, he is still employed?)
Jonathan Coachman best stated the case on commentary when he said, "When
I look at Randy Orton, I see nothing but potential." If we are to
interpret this literally, that means that Randy doesn't do or embody
anything active, now. Every good quality he possesses is latent. We can
only measure them in terms of what might happen at some time in the
future. He's all upside. And if Orton really does have upside, it's
really far up. Like a sheer steel wall: impressive, but unattainable.
I laughed while typing the header. Let's settle this once and for all.
Orton has no charisma. None.
Sure, he has "contact charisma." He doesn't bring any with him, and he
leaves with none. He's around a lot of it, standing between Flair and
Triple H. And if you can't get contact charisma standing between those
two, you're either a corpse or X-Pac. Flair cuts a good promo; Triple H
rubs the belt and says something intensely dislikable, and Orton
twitches and fidgets like a toady and chimes in with something
The guy's like Screech from Saved by the Bell. The only reason
that kid didn't spend all of high school pinned in a bathroom stall,
gasping for breath during flushes while the football team violated him
with cleats was because he hung out with Slater and that popular Aryan
hair-gelled nightmare Zack. Think about it: if Orton had absolutely
nothing to do with Evolution, he'd garner no fan reaction at all.
Except, perhaps relief, which was a common reaction during his early
blown-spot-fests during the fall of 2002.
There are two other arguments often proffered in defense of Orton's
charisma. The first is the RNN Updates. The second is his "look." The
first is naοve while the second is merely inane.
Look, there is nothing complex about the RNN formula, and nothing about
it is reflective of any aspect of Orton's charisma at all. You can plug
anyone in the formula. "Unlikable guy arrogantly assumes everyone is
interested in him; he interrupts important action to talk about himself;
he says virtually the same thing every week; repeat ad nauseum."
You could start up JNN right now, and it would work. Weekly, I could
tell you how the WWE wouldn't let me try out, but that I would keep
persevering with the support of my thousands of pieces of fan mail. We
could plug any one of my eighteen readers into the RNN spot, and I
guarantee that whoever it was would become one of the most hated aspects
of the show. RNN works for anyone who doesn't have to wrestle.
The fact is that you can get an audience to hate anyone if that person
simply won't shut up about their own (unproven) excellence. And that
person will get a great heel response. And that response is cheap,
short-lived and unremarkable. It can get blown to bits the moment that
person steps in the ring. Coincidentally, that's pretty much what
happened with Orton.
So we come to the last defense. His "look." This is basically
homophobic-male-internet-writer code for "Orton is pretty." And he is.
Watching Orton stand silently is very pleasant, especially given the
alternative of listening to him talk. Orton possesses all the cute, fit
and goofily oblivious handsomeness that is expected of the Guests of
Honor at NAMBLA conventions.
But praise for his look is derived from a false notion of cause and
effect or, at best, extreme optimism. People look to stars of the past
and note that they were handsome. Orton is handsome; therefore, they
reason, he must become a star. Wrong. Looking good is an important
stepping stone on the road to becoming a star, but it's not the biggest
determining factor. The fact that Mick Foley is still a star whereas
Billy Gunn still isn't ought to tell you something.
But even when commentators are just being optimistic, they're still
falling back on the "potential" or "upside" factor. Orton looks great
and has the body to become a big star. If and when he develops great
ring talents, those looks are going to be very marketable. Basically:
when he becomes a star, he will be an even bigger star because he looks
like one. Without the development, looks are just window dressing. And
many people aren't going to buy them.
It's time to face facts. Orton isn't the next Rock. He's the next Billy
Gunn. Billy had a decent moveset, one that was and is more diverse than
Orton's. Billy looked and still looks pretty good. Billy used to hang
out with Triple H, too, and Billy was more popular than Orton at one
point. Orton is The Load: Version 2.
After writing this much, I decided that maybe I was going a bit
overboard, so I went and asked the fiancιe for her input. I figured it
was a good idea. First of all, she likes wrestling but isn't fanatical
about it. Second, she's generally more positive about stuff than I am.
Third, I have never heard her utter a quiet but incensed two-minute
litany of vile profanities in her sleep which is apparently something
I've done in the past.
We had this conversation:
Me: What do you think of Randy Orton?
Her: I don't, really.
Me: Yeah, but if you had to, what would you think?
Her: I don't know.
Me: Come on.
Her: What's the opposite of je ne sais quoi? [French for
"I don't know what"; an uncertain quality or characteristic.]
Me: "I know what"?
Her: No, that's not it. I guess he doesn't have an "I don't know
Me: So the je ne sais quoi about Randy Orton is that he
doesn't even have one?
Her: Yeah. There's nothing there.
This coming from a person who is far more likely to take pleasure in
Orton's figure than I.
In the absence of much charisma or a defining and visually stunning
moveset, his character is all he has to fall back on. In quantity and
packaging, it's tremendous. In quality and substance, it's sparser than
hair atop Hulk Hogan's head. In short, there is none.
Orton is Evolution and a Legend Killer. But Evolution is basically Flair
and Triple H. Evolution is the sum of its parts, not greater.
It's worth is predicated on the worth of Flair and Triple H, and all the
artifice in the world is not going to make Orton a contributing factor.
The Legend Killer moniker is laughable because it is so wretchedly
contrived. His victories are at worst forced and at best implausible.
When you take away his nickname and his Evolution status, you are left
with only what he himself is which is nothing.
If Orton were any more manufactured, he'd come to the ring in a molded
plastic casing, with a button protruding from his stomach, above which
the words "Press to Hear Randy Talk!" would be written in red
toddler-friendly letters. We are told to hate and respect him because of
the many shining bells and whistles featured in the entrance theme. We
are told to hate and respect him because of the many fatuously drooling
praise-heaps that Flair and Triple H constantly shovel at us. The only
thing not telling us anything about Randy Orton is Randy Orton.
In fact, the two painfully loud voices telling us about Randy Orton are
not Triple H's or Ric Flair's. They're Orton's father and grandfather.
They tell us why he's there, more stridently than the WWE Machine tells
WWE, hoping to catch lightning in a bottle twice, gave Randy a contract.
He is meant to be the next Rock, the next third-generation superstar. He
was hired on the worth of his kin and not the worth of his capabilities.
A fairer-minded man than I may say that Orton has a wealth of talent.
But that talent was given a chance on the basis of Orton's parentage.
When undeniably well-rounded talents like Brock Lesnar, Shelton Benjamin
and Charlie Haas emerge from OVW, it becomes all the more obvious where
Orton comes from. His training school and minor-league credentials did
not get him an audience with the WWE talent scouts. In a tryout with
those other grapplers, he would be the sorest, most immobile and noxious
thumb in the ring.
Every time you see him, you're seeing the better qualified indy star
whose place he's taken. Every five minutes spent trying to graft a
personality onto this human toadstool is five minutes not given to
potentially great matches, to older wrestlers who are running out of
chances for stardom or to new wrestlers who desperately need the
Orton has no character, no charisma and a gross lack of a moveset. He is
the unabashedly selfish expulsion of all that is sickening about
nepotism. He is part of Evolution in the same unnecessary way that your
appendix is part of your body. His moves are as diverse as the ethnicity
of the cast of Friends. And deciding now that he is the future of
the business is not only an act of terrible wishful thinking, it's also
just stupid. Randy Orton is miserable. He's not the future: he's the
worst discharge of the past.