What is it With These Liberals?

My fellow wrestling fans, You know, over the years I've seen all kinds of competitors. I've seen champions. I've seen contenders. I've even seen a few men who mistook complaining for a strategy. And that brings me to Buster Blankenship. Now, I don't enjoy speaking ill of anybody. My mother taught me better than that. But when a man spends more time running promotions about himself than actually proving himself in the ring, well, eventually somebody has to tell the truth. I've read Buster's recent promotional materials, and frankly, I haven't seen this much whining since a teenager was told to clean his room. Every week it's another excuse. Another complaint. Another tale about how the world is against poor Buster Blankenship. At some point, a fellow has to stop calling his mother for reassurance and start calling for a match. You see, in 80s Championship Wrestling, success isn't measured by how loudly you complain. It's measured by what happens between the ropes. Champions don't ask for sympathy. Champions don't need a hug. Champions certainly don't spend half their interviews sounding like they're one bad day away from asking Mom to write a strongly worded letter on their behalf. So here's my advice to Buster Blankenship: Put away the excuses. Step away from the typewriter. Stop treating every promotional appearance like a therapy session. And if you really believe you're as tough as you claim, then climb into that ring and prove it. Because until then, the only thing Buster Blankenship has successfully pinned is responsibility. Thank you, God bless 80s Championship Wrestling, and may somebody please check to make sure Buster made it home before curfew.