Let me tell you all a story. First, after a few good days in Missouri for Mardi Gras break—at my school, close to LA, we get a Mardi Gras break. Pretty snazzy, right?   I'm too old for Mardi Gras, however. I mean what does it have to offer a washed up old man like me? Ten dollar beers. Topless bars with women older than me parading their junk.   A variety of people trying to sell me crack. Guys who really can't play the guitar trying to play the guitar.   I love New Orleans, don't get me wrong, and I rooted as hard as anyone for the Saints. I'm just too old for Mardi Gras. It's not Mardi Gras, it's me.

Anyway, I drive to Memphis. That takes about five hours. Then, just as I'm about to make my turn to get out of the city, I notice two cop cars blocking the South 55 exit.   I drive past. What else can I do? I try to turn around in the actual city of Memphis. My sense of direction is nil. I get lost for about two hours trying to find my way back to 55. When I finally do, it's still closed. At least this time there's a sign, one of the electronic ones, flashing in dull orange dots:   All South 55 exits closed. Please use alternative route.

The problem is that they didn't provide an alternative route. I drive back across the Mississippi River into Arkansas and stop at the first gas station I see. I buy a map. It's like trying to read Chinese to me. As far as I can tell, the easiest way to get to MS without going 55 south is to take a trip through Nebraska.   I say, screw it, something I'm pretty good at and decide, after about 8 hours in the car already, to turn around and go home. I don't have the money for a hotel and I only teach one class the rest of this week anyway. This will give me a few more days at home. Well, I'm just about home and I get stuck in a traffic jam. There was an accident. I sit there for an hour wishing I had a CD other than Lady Gaga.

To summarize, I'm dead tired. I've been driving for over 13 hours, and I have choreographed my own dance routine for “Bad Romance.”   What does this have to do with wrestling?   Not a goddamned thing.   Didn't I just tell you I've been driving for over 13 hours?

Oh, on the last trip home, out in the redneck part of MO, I light a ciggy and since none of the windows in my car roll down anymore, and it's been so cold that I've taped up the cracks in the windows with duct tape so there's no ventilation, my cig catches all the other butts in the ashtray (and there were a lot of them, again 13 hours) so the car fills with smoke, my eyes start burning, and I can't see. I'm frantically clawing at the duct tape to try and get some fresh air because the road has no shoulder.   I didn't die.

So, final ECW. Riiiight. I don't give a fuck. Let's move on.

I do like Shawn Michaels. I always have. I love what they're doing with him on RAW. It's actually interesting—even when I'm a gripe ass. It doesn't break my heart to see DX go either. It's like The Who at the Superbowl. It might have once been cool, but now it's just sad.

  I'll super kick you, sonny!

Hornswoggle is beyond time and space.

I love TNA right now. That's not to say I like it. I won't know for years whether or not I actually like it. It'll take that long for it to sink in. Right now, I look at it like a David Lynch movie (Scott Hall is eraser head). You don't have to understand it, just sit back and absorb it. It helps if you're stoned. It's just going to get better when they move to Monday nights in March.   I can't freakin' wait. Bad news on that front, however. TNA is coming to Hattiesburg in March and I'm going to have to miss it. It's the same week as my spring break and I'm getting the hell out of dodge.   The last thing I want to spend my week doing is looking at scantily clad young women singing lip syncing to Van Halen tunes. They do still listen to Van Halen don't they?

Hogan is giving a lot of interviews lately and not a damn one of them make a bit of sense.   Vince Russo needs to keep his mouth shut and write as well. That's why you never hear me speak in public. I'm a writer, so I write. Of course, worldwrestlinginsanity.com has hurt me probably more than any other.

Okay. No Mas. Pappa's very very tired.