Triple H Found an Even Less-Credible Way to Earn a Living

Because he’s been so prolific lately, we allowed MMA expert Turd Ferguson drop some knowledge about his first true love: WWE.  At this point, we’re pretty sure it’s the only thing that keeps him off the streets:

As you may know by now, my contributions to this site are related to MMA, a sport that has grown faster than Eddie Murphy’s unrecognized children, or Chris Tucker’s girth (his belly, perverts). Therefore, fair reader: please bear in mind that I speak today in lamentation of the wrestling of yesteryear, and not the MTV garbage that we know today.

Men like the Legion of Doom, the Nasty Boys, the Ultimate Warrior, and Doink the Clown, have been replaced by wannabe models and actors who dance around the ring like a casting call for “The Bachelorette” (note to self: pick up headshots). These days, with guys like MTV’s Real World “The Miz” holding the strap, it’s almost enough to make me want to throw on a sandpaper jimmy hat and hump Snooki. But, that isn’t to say that legends don’t still engage in this sport. Take Triple H for example, a 13-time WWE Champion, which of course has nothing to do with his wife and her role with his employer. Regardless, Triple H has always been a decent wrestler (even after tearing his quadriceps) and seemed like a guy who could make a transition to making crappy movies just like “The Rock” and more recently, “Stone Cold” Steve Austin.

After swinging and missing with bigger budget features like “The Condemned” and “See No Evil,” WWE films dialed it back to straight-to-DVD offerings, with budgets that would rival only the wealthiest of porn companies but with acting that falls just below that lofty So-Cal standard.

Be forewarned, fellas, this isn’t exactly Citizen Kane, or even “See No Evil:”

“For Ray Bradstone, no job was too daunting, no job was too dangerous, but one final heist was left, steal back his daughter’s heart…”

At this point in the trailer, 17 seconds in, I downed an entire bottle of unlabeled prescription pills and chased it with a bottle of Drano.

Gouge out my eyeballs and slice off my ears Youtube:

(Editor’s note: By the time T.F. submitted this post, WWE reportedly deemed the trailer so miserable, they pulled it.)

Wow, that spitball that landed on Triple H’s “genetically enhanced” face looked promising at the end. While Triple H is hardly the least charismatic star to make it on screen, probably best to leave this one to the $.99 Wal-Mart bargain bin and late-night Netflix guilt viewings.

In H’s defense, it’s not like the bar has been set particularly high: