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Daddy's Little Girl

posted by B on 4/09/01

As much as I love professional wrestling, let's face it: It distorts the public opinion of what a "beautiful woman" is to growing boys across the world. The World Wrestling Federation has a habit of objectifying one woman above the rest, so consider the culprits:

Sunny - an attractive woman who's idea of a perfect date is giving herself shots at work and then crapping her pants. And then eating the crap.

Sable - old enough to be my mother, Rena Mero's greatest attributes were breasts pressed up above her eyebrows and facial wrinkles deep enough house most of the WWF's roster.

Debra - old enough to be my grandmother, I could stitch her skin together to make baseballs out of and then watch a movie about baseball on her forehead.

The current object, Lita, seems to have been hit in the face with a snow shovel. With the World Wrestling Federation looking for someone else to fill our dreams, is there any way to escape the labyrinth of lazy-eyed lolitas? Of course there is, and it was born from the very sperm of the "Genetic Jackhammer."

Escaping the stereotype that a woman must be anorexic and made of plastic to be attractive, Stephanie McMahon (Helmsley, if we're suspending disbelief) uses her scowl and that delightful little roll around her belly to fulfill the dreams of millions of young boys who, more likely than not, have just sat through a couple of musclemen in their underwear rolling around on each others' butts. Her brother, Shane, would also be very attractive and layable if he'd just stop saying "oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah" and making pretty much every word that comes out of his mouth ten times more annoying than it should be.

Regardless, Vince's only daughter has risen to pop culture stardom by standing around and clapping while people who've worked their whole lives to get there get dropped on their head by D'Lo Brown. It's an easy job, made even easier by the fact that she (hopefully) doesn't have to service Vince to keep her job. If that statement seems off to you, listen to ring announcer Lillian Garcia's brain dissolve as she announces Kurt Angle as being from "Pittsburgh, Philadelphia," or hear pay-by-play head honcho Jim Ross gargle and slur trying to differentiate Hardy Boyz and think again.

When Stephanie debuted on WWF TV it was to be "abducted" by the "Undertaker," a "gothic" wrestler determined to "own" the WWF and win the "championship," all while wearing "spandex pants" with a big "splotch" of "ass sweat" on the butt. She was delicate and chunky, the incredibly rich girl next door. I liked her so much that I sat through hundreds of Test interviews, something that scarred me for life. I had to drop out of school and go into therapy because of the pure cheese, and now I write fan fiction about Test.

The public didn't dig Steph like I did, though, since every GOOD woman is supposed to plastic pants. Why're guys into girls in plastic pants? Is it so that if you're on a date with them and spill your drink their legs won't get wet? The Internet blasted her for having no acting ability (the truth) and having no screen presence (the truth), and especially for making half the show be about Test. She could've made half the show be about child molestation and the Internet wouldn't have hated her more.

The Internet knows what it's talking about. I asked an America Online member profile about Stephanie and this is what it told me:

~im A ߥtCh n I GT Clas
Ms WT m n I'LL kcK u @z
4 All YU Hz ThAt ThnK U Cl
Jut mmB, ߥtChz uL! PlAyAz AlWaYz GeT CoUgHt BuT Us PlAyeTtEs We WhErE ToUgHt~

So, the WWF did what they do to every woman, they ripped her goofy preteen sweaters off and hid her chubby cheeks beneath what seems to be a six-month supply of rouge. Her butterfly hairclips were replaced with push-up bras, her dippy monologues replaced with a nasal whine, her Test replaced by Triple H. Among other people. Stephanie is reaching infamy for kissing just about everyone on the roster. Previously, we only had the Hogan/Warrior kiss to keep wrestling romantic.

Things I like about Steph:

1) The most beautiful thing about Stephanie is that she gives a green light to all the sexual fantasies we secretly have about Vince McMahon. She has his chin. She has his distinctive walk. She has his facial expressions. The only thing she lacks is Vince's assumedly mammoth wang, an object that, when present, strikes desolate fear into the hearts of thousands of sexually confused young boys across the country. In a sport overflowing with homosexual imagery it's good to know you aren't taking any chances.

2) Being Vince's kid she's also got a direct link to anybody and everybody in the Federation, including Jeff Hardy, Mr. Posterior Billy Gunn, and Shawn Michaels. So, even if you aren't strong enough to repress those homosexual urges, you've at least got the hook up.

3) She's got more money than everyone who will ever read this sentence combined. She's so rich, she'll buy a McDonalds if you want take out. If you wanted to set fires and rape people, she'd pay Limp Bizkit just to stand around and shout while you did it. I'm not sure if she could buy Fred Durst any talent...but nobody's THAT rich.

4) Forgive me for being a fan of real breasts, I guess. Who cares if they won't put my eyes out, it's the sensuality and tenderness that make gawking at and subsequently fondling boobs so engaging. If I wanted to squeeze basketballs I'd go to Croatia or wherever and hang out with Arvydas fucking Sabonis.

5) Her brother is married to Marissa Mazola, heiress to the Mazola Corn Oil company. So not only does that make Stephanie richer, but it gives her a direct connection to corn oil, and honestly I can't think of anything sexier than that.

6) She's got her own shirt.

Even if she's not always wearing it. Heh.

Have YOU ever dated anybody who owned clothes with their own reserved corporate logo on it? Unless you're one of the mulatto alter-boys suckling at the teat of Tommy Hilfigger you haven't.

Stephanie is a pretty young college graduate with ample facilities, can buy her own food, gets her clothes for free, pretty much owns the world of professional wrestling, and can douse herself in oil anytime she wants. If she could run at super speed and shoot laser beams out of her eyes she'd pretty much be perfect.

One thing we often forget is that people in the WWF aren't real. They're actually actors, who know how to fall and fake everything. So it's okay to objectify the women, they're not really going to have feelings later on and make you feel bad about it. They're going to hit your ex with a steel chair and wrestle around in pudding wearing evening gowns to settle their problems.

So when someone gets you down, don't get upset at yourself and experience unnecessary mental or physical strain. Just wait until he's in a hallway or something and bash him in the back of the head with your championship belt. You do have a championship belt, don't you? Anyway, you smack them upside the head and challenge them to a fight later on, presumably when everyone would be watching.

That way, you solve problems the constructive way, and don't resort to the petty psychological techniques that penis-obsessed old European guys proved to be legit. Don't talk through your problems...cheat to win, and then piledrive your girlfriend for accidentally grabbing your foot. If we just shut up and did what we saw people do on TV we'd be a lot better.

If we shut up and listened to Jay Z, we'd realize that minorities are only interested in drinking alcohol and having anal sex with loose women.

If we shut up and acted like the people on Will and Grace we'd all be funny gay people. Well, we wouldn't actually be funny, but everyone would THINK we were funny.

And if we shut up and watched wrestling closely, we'd realize that our problems really aren't as bad as they seem...and to be honest with you, even the most important angles in our life will probably never have a resolution. So don't worry about it.

Someone out there's got a pair of plastic pants and a bottle of corn oil waiting for you.

IM: NotAGoonie

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