Vanity Scare #14

WCW (January 1993)

Oh, the unintended joys of wrestling magazines.  After reading a back issue of WCW Magazine, I want more.  This thing was sexually satisfying.  I mean, it turned me into a heaving, lecherous animal.  Silly kayfabe?  Fuck yeah, baby.  A crossword puzzle using only wrestler names and neologisms related to the business?  My undergarments are aqueous.  You do not want to know the fluids to which I'm referring, nor do you want to know the source of said fluids.  Didn't see this write-up starting out on a boorish note, huh?  Get your eyes checked.

This was an interesting read.  I'm going to track down a similarly-dated WWF rag to circumstantiate my notions, but the differences between the two major promotions are clearly outlined and fun to consider.  "Fun" is a peculiar word to use, I guess.  I'll stick with "interesting."  On our TV sets, Monday Night Raw and WCW Saturday Night were strikingly disparate programs.  In terms of tone, they were poles apart, discordant even.  The Fed offered Max Moon; Ted Turner's diaconal dojo offered Brad Armstrong.  I don't mean to suggest that WCW palmed off cartoonish, over-the-top gimmicks.  That's obviously not true, but an effort was made to present a fairly realistic overture to the viewer.

The proof is in the tapioca.  Between the slabs of typical branded bubble gum content (which I adored), you get deeper articles about the competitors.  No piece is too long or turgid.  I strongly doubt that the interviews were legitimate, but they sound casual enough.  Ricky Steamboat pondered his short run with the WCW World Television belt, reasoning that his loss could have been influenced by many factors.  He was sure to put over the victor, as it was fellow babyface Scott Steiner.

The talk with Dustin Rhodes is so solemn, I had no choice but to giggle.  He was trying to ascertain why his tag partner - Barry Windham - soured on respectful combat and turned his back on The Natural.  Everything is treated with the utmost gravity.  This is serious shit, ladies and gentlemen.  Of course, my favorite bit is the cover story.  It was written mere days ahead of the formation of The Hollywood Blonds, one of the best tag teams of the 90's.  If they had not been prematurely dismantled, they would have gone on to become one of the best tag teams of all time.

This issue features the last gasp of Paul E. Dangerously.  His Alliance had dissolved, but he still talks it up in his own column.  It's funny stuff, and it does ring as his own verbiage.  Finally, holy everfucking shit, I need all of the merchandise advertised in this bad boy.  Do Sting sunglasses entice you?  Maybe an El Gigante shirt?  AN EL GIGANTE SHIRT!!?!??  I'm storming eBay as soon as I publish this Vanity Scare.  So now, basically.