Rich’s Blog de Sexy

April 26, 2007

WWE Corporate Headquarters
1241 East Main Street
Stamford, CT 06902

Dear Mr. Vince K. McMahon:

Hi, my name is Rich Hutchings, and I think I’d be a great addition to your current roster of well groomed physical specimens. As I, myself, am a well groomed physical specimen. I’ve been watching your programming for over 25 years now, and I think it’s about time I get my comeuppance. After years of being humiliated in public for almost making a mess of my pants when I saw the Undertaker return (#1 on the HJ list, right in front of Uncle Jesse, or as you may know him, GOD!) I can’t quite understand why you haven’t called me yet. I know, “How am I, Vincent McMahon supposed to know who Rich Hutchings is?” Well, that’s pretty simple. I have this blog, a very well known blog, and I get about…I dunno…10 VIEWS A DAY!! How can you miss that Vinnie Mac? It’s like the cultural revolution that everyone’s been talking about. An honest, no nonsense blog, that’s mostly about some random guy I see on my ride to work in the morning and my stupid adventures when I choose to leave my house. I’ll reiterate, HOW CAN YOU MISS THAT?!!!

I’m sorry for blowing my top, but the madness has to end. I’ve been overlooked for years now. I sent you pictures of me in my luchadore costume, me posing like Hulk Hogan in Hulk Hogan’s house while he was away, me wearing a sexy little number, me killing a bum wearing a Vince McMahon mask, me wearing no mask…or anything else! HELL, I even sent in a picture of my brother wearing a WWE World Heavyweight Championship belt, and underwear. Do you even know when those pictures were taken Vince? JANUARY 1^ST,! It was –12 degrees outside, and my brother….I’m sorry, I have to stop typing….I’m crying. Ok, I’m back. It was like –12 degrees outside, and he suffered just to help me get into the WWE and show off my amazing physique, speed and endurance. Not to mention the high flying antics and death defying feats, I’m sure to deliver. I just don’t understand how to get through to you Vinnie.

So, this is my attempt to reach you directly. I’m assuming the restraining order doesn’t include writing you non threatening letters, but if it does, I’m sorry. Regardless, the whole point I’m trying to make here is that John Cena, Triple H, Shawn Michaels…I have one thing they don’t have. The Gout. That’s why I want to enter the WWE and be called “The Gout” and my finisher is when I limp over to the wrestler that I’m facing and show them my swollen ankle, and tell them what I had for dinner for the past 2 weeks, and they will easily submit and bow down to The Gout. This time Vinnie, I’m not taking no for an answer, I’m showing up at Raw and I’m facing John Cena for the title. Book it.

Sincerely,

THE GOUT!

aka Rich Hutchings

So, Saturday night, I go to an indy wrestling event. Yeah, I said it, an Independent Wrestling show. What? Wanna fight about it? So anyway, Angela and I decide to go to this show with a couple of wrestlers we’ve seen on a couple of wrestling shows at the event. (AJ Styles and Christopher Daniels both on TNA…I’m a dork.) So, we sit down about 3 rows from the ring, nice seats really. We wait a little while, dealing with a couple of really annoying 40 year old guys, just yelling out random wrestlers names as the actual wrestlers are trying to put on a show. The show finally gets underway when the ring announcer, who had the BROWNEST teeth I’ve ever seen, gets in the ring and begins to talk into the mic that’s breaking up so much it sounds like someone placing an order at a drive through…not good. He introduces the captain of the Framingham State College football team, 2 people clapped, which made me happy. So, the captain comes out and tries to get the crowd to chant “USA, USA, USA…” and as he’s tryin a bunch of wierdo’s come out and some Ron Burgundy lookin fella tells us we suck. I cried.

Let’s get to the good part. SO, intermission begins after a rather crappy match between Christopher Daniels and this guy people kept referring to as Black Machismo…he did a good Macho Man impersonation. So, during intermission, you can meet the wrestlers. Well, I’m not going to pay my hard earned money on taking some picture with someone smaller than me. Unless he’s wearing a Red Sox jersey…or Patriots….maybe Celtics, maybe. Then I hear “King Kong Bundy taking pictures in the ring” and I knew that was where I needed to be. So as I go to the ring with Angela, I say “hold this camera and take some pictures”. She says “OK.” Now I’m getting into the ring, and I’ve never felt more at comfortable as I did when I was getting into the ring. It was awesome to get into the ring, and see King Kong Bundy on the other side. I felt like Hulk Hogan!! Except no big blue steel cage. Regardless, I’m sure they fought in a regular ring.

So I start walking up to King Kong Bundy, and for some reason, even though I just saw him in his street clothes…I thought he was going to be bigger. I walk over to King Kong Bundy, and look at him, and he looks at me…I’m about 3 inches shorter, and the major difference, is that he looks like a ball on two sticks, and I look like a walking box. So, I go in, and he’s been taking pictures with people with his hands around their necks. He goes to get mine and has to readjust, as he’s readjusting, he looks at me and says “AMELIOOOOOOOO!!!” no…wait…that’s Night at the Roxbury. So he looks at me and says “Damn…we could have been a tag team.” Now I’m not sure if it’s the 8 year old Rock n’ Roll Wrestling fan that shot out of me, but I was walking on air. As sad as it is that I was pretty much psyched about being called fat, I was still excited.

Now with the feeling I got entering the ring, and the reaction from KKB (that’s what the insiders call him) and the reaction I got from Angela when I got outside of the ring. Which was “Oh honey…you really looked wayyyyy too natural doing that.” I realized my secret lifelong dream that I didn’t figure out until Saturday…I want to wrestle. So, I started with Angela…she wasn’t having it. Even after my many attempts to try to nail her with the Stone Cold Stunner, she wouldn’t sell the toe kick. Really made me sad. So, that means I’m going to have to do this one myself. So if you’re wondering why I’m losing weight and have posters of myself all over my own room, it’s because I’m going to become a nothing loser wreslter.

Commence insults now…

Truth be told, the other day when I “supposedly” helped my friend Jimmy move…I was hiking. The person that helped Jimmy…none other than the Eagle himself. Here’s how it happened.

I was walking to the store to get some breakfast. The usual, pink chips and milk. As I’m walking, I notice two cars pulled over on the side of the road. Suddenly, out of nowhere one of the cars BURSTS into flames. I’m terrified as usual, so I run into the local pub for a morning shot of whiskey and a hiding place from the fire. Rich hate fire. So, I’m watching these people burn alive as I sip on my cup of Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch. I don’t want to help them because of the slight chance that I may catch on fire myself. Which, isn’t on my list of things to do before I die. Actually, it is…right behind “Catch aids from unattractive stripper.” Anyway, back to the story. I’m sippin my drink and watching the people burn. Then, out of nowhere comes The Eagle. I knew it was him because spring is here and he was sporting his trademark The Eagle smock. I stood and stared in amazement as The Eagle ripped the doors off of the cars, and yanked the burning babies out of the flaming car. I don’t know why babies were driving cars in the first place, but who am I to judge. The Eagle takes them out of their flaming baby carseats of death and puts them safely on the sidewalk. They take out their cigarettes and light up…after all, there’s only so much stress a baby can take. So, the Eagle goes back in for the baby’s diapers and such. Brings them over, then sits down and smokes his last cigarette. He looks at the baby as if to say “Got a light?” The baby gives him a $10 bill from his wallet, then points at the convenience store across the road. The very one I’m drinking my whiskey in…wait, I said I was in a pub…should I tell them the truth? That I’m an alcoholic who’s addicted to drinking in public places? Naaah.

So I make my way over to the convenience store behind The Eagle. We get to the counter, and The Eagle orders nothing. The man behind the counter had his stuff ready for him. The Eagle, what a man! So, as The Eagle turns around, I drop my money on the ground hoping he would help. He bends down, and grabs the money for me. The Eagle, what a gentleman! He hands it to me and tells me to be more careful, and to lay off of the whiskey. I say “Alright.” then slump my head down. He turns around just before walking out the door, and asks “What’s the matter big fella?” I tell him that I don’t want to help Jimmy move, because I’m supposed to be going hiking with all my friends in AA. He asks me if I’m an alcoholic, and I say “No, I just like the attention of being the guy who just can’t go on. Shameful? Yes. Envigorating? YOU BETCHA!” The Eagle goes on to tell me I’m a sad man. But since he’s got nothing else to do, why not help someone who’s actually in need of help…your “friend” Jimmy. You’re a bad, bad man. You need help.

I do need help, but not anymore, since The Eagle’s gonna help Jimmy move. So, apparently The Eagle got the gout, but still worked his ass of with Jimmy. What a man! I’m not sure how Jimmy didn’t realize that it was The Eagle helping him, but I got an email from him the day after. Here’s what it said:

From: jimmydontneednoguff@sexymen.com
To: dick
Date: xx/xx/2007

Subject:
Dude, I just wanted to say thanks for the help yesterday. MAN, did you lose weight? And what’s up with the 1980’s porn/beatles hair cut? Oh, and I owe you one. I mean, you moved half of that stuff by yourself, and when I offered you $50, you said no and just asked for a pack of smokes and a coffee. You’re a true friend.

Jimmy.

Sad to say, I also got an email from The Eagle.

From: TheEagle@idontneedadamnurl.com
To: dick
Date: xx/xx/2007

I hope I never see you again.
The Eagle.

The Eagle’s still my hero. Mean, but my hero.