Dan Crocker
Crocker! The Great Dusty, No One Writes About One Legged Jerry, and The Twitter Revolution Can Finally Start Now That Dan's Arrived
By Dan Crocker
Aug 19, 2010 - 8:22 AM

I hope you all like the new World Wrestling Insanity site. I was up for nearly two hours rewriting the code for that. Of course, the best thing to come out of it is that I've decided to Tweet. You can follow me, and your life will be much better for it, @Crockerinsanity. The more followers I get, the less Jesus weeps.

And you thought HHH was the King of Kings.

In any event, I finally made it to Chattanooga for the new job. After unpacking a U-haul full of books in 110 degree heat, I settled in. I was lucky enough to find, while unpacking, my copy of The American Dream: The Dusty Rhodes Story. Did you know that Dusty Rhodes was once so poor that he slept in alleys and dined on pork and beans? It wasn't long, however, until he was to move into West Egg--next door to me. He was a mysterious man, all of us in West Egg agreed. He was a fat man, a bit excitable, but we all agreed that he was the sort of man who might wear a mask and run to keep from hiding. It was well known that he had only one more silver dollar. No one ever caught him though.

Eventually, I garnered an invitation to one of Dusty's infamous parties. There, he often wined and dined with kings and queens. There were midgets beating off in Trashcans and the Mello Yello flowed like water. In the end, however, Dusty's rise from the alleyway to the world of a higher class of pork and bean wasn't enough to win him the love of Baby Doll.

We'd always have Mello Yello.

Did you know that Chattanooga is the Krystal capital of the world? It is. For those of you who don't know, a Krystal is like a White Castle without the pickle. I miss the pickle. Of course, the pickle will make you fat. That's why I like Dusty. He reminds me there was a time when fat slobs made great wrestlers. All you needed was a weird birthmark and a slightly effeminate lisp. Of course, now that I've found these (see below) I'm dropping weight like Chandler in the last season of Friends.

Full of essence of loose barflies, whiskey, Extenz and, of course, steroids.

Recently, Tommy Dreamer tweeted (goddamn I'm hip) that no one was writing about, or seemed to care about Jerry Lynn's injury. He must not have read my column a few weeks ago, where I went into great detail about a one-legged Jerry Lynn. Really, you would all be in the loop if you just read Crocker! every week. In all honesty, I wish Jerry Lynn the best. A hurt back is bad news. My dad hurt his working in the mines and was never the same. He was pretty much in pain for the rest of his life after that.

Total side note: I once dated a girl named Lynn Jerry.

If, like me, you make it a habit of reading Eric Bischoff's blog then you know that he knows that we can't handle the "facts." Turns out, wrestling fans don't like new stars. They like the old ones just fine, thank you very much. So screw you Randy Orton--it's Abdullah the Butcher or nothing for me. Screw you and your great abs. Jesus, lay off the Four Horseman Vitamins for a bit, would ya? Of course, they have recently changed their name to Fortune Vitamins but they're still the same Vitamins.

Hey. Dixie Carter sent me a personal, direct message, on Twitter. I knew she wanted me, but this is getting desperate. Honestly, I think that welcome goes out to everyone who follows her on Twitter, but it's still a nice touch. It's the best thing that's happened to me since TNA's Lollipop sent me an email for defending her honor when she showed her boobs on TV. When I asked her one a date, she didn't respond. Chicks just don't dig writers, man. I don't blame them, we're all sort of weird. That said, JG is out hobnobbing with every wrestler on the planet. Where's my love? Dixie, if you're reading, just give me the word and you can caress my rippling, doughy physique.

As for the rest of you, leave comments, send questions, follow me on Twitter. You might even find yourself getting quoted in next week's column.