Dan Crocker
A Very Crocker Christmas: Vince Quits Smoking Cloves, Ric Blades At The Table, and Dan Serves Porky
By Dan Crocker
Dec 20, 2007 - 9:50 AM

So, I quit smoking seven days ago. I quit cold turkey and I’m still a bit of a gripe ass, so bear with me. It’s as if Boogie Man was to quit worms without using the worm patch or worm gum or anything. I’ve also been, seriously, having heart palpitations. I went to the doctor and got some tests run, and when he asked me if I had any idea what might be causing it, I didn’t mention my years of drinking 20-30 beers a day. I said, with a straight face, “Well, wrestling was pretty good this week.”

It was good except for Vince’s breakdown that is. In his defense, however, he quit smoking too. Well, not pot, he still smokes that. And crack obviously. But cigarettes, clove cigarettes, he’s given up cold turkey with me. It all started Sunday night at my annual pre-Christmas dinner with all of my favorite wrestling superstars. I mentioned that I’d given up smoking and Vince said, in a voice sort of like he was chewing on Grape Nuts, “If you can do it Crocker, I can do it and do it better.”

“How can you give up smoking better?” I asked. “I mean you either quit or you don’t.”

“That’s what WCW thought,” Vince said.

“You’re not making sense!” It was time to carve the turkey, but I had no idea what Vince was talking about.

“Bibbildy gubble scooper,” he said.

I knew then either a breakdown or a Pentecostal revival was on its way for RAW.

I also like that Flair’s retirement angle got back on track this week. Here’s what I’d do at this point. I’d have Flair win a few more matches by hook and by crook and then I’d start having him beat some guys in a legit manner. I’d really put him on a roll. I know he can’t do the stuff he used to do, but it’s Flair--let him go out with a bang and give him a WrestleMania main event. Let him beat Orton at ‘Mania, get on the mic with one of his legendary promos and say, “here’s one legend you can’t kill, you fartin’ machine you.” Then you can have Hornswoggle or someone beat Flair at RAW.

I was just about to mention this as I was carving the turkey when Flair grabbed the knife from me, bladed and bled all over my dining room.

“What are you doing Ric?” I asked. “Is everyone going off their freakin’ rockers this year?”

“It’s the proverbial crimson mask, Crocker, whooooo!” And with that Flair started “bouncing” off my kitchen walls, back and forth, like they were ring ropes. All he managed to do was knock a painting off the wall and dislocate a shoulder before he ran out of breath.

“You really need to quit smoking,” I said. At this point, with a bloody Flair leaning over the table, my daughter started to cry. Flair, crimson mask and all, looked right at her and said, apparently confused, “You’ll poke your, whoo, by God, eye out kid.”

Jericho and JBL (he should so change his name to JLA and start wearing a Hawkman outfit). I guess I can dig it. I like both of them on the mic, so we’ll see what sort of match they have. Sort of an easy way to get Chris out of the main event picture on RAW, I guess. That didn’t last long at all. I probably shouldn’t have set him at the kiddie table with Teddy Long and Jimmy Wang Yang; it made him look bad in front of the boys.

Jesus Christ, I wish my name was Jimmy Wang Yang.

Anyway, I finally gave up and let HHH carve the turkey and that seemed to make everyone happy. Vince was still sort of bibbling in the corner when Kurt Angle, Christian Cage and Howie Mandel arrived.

“It’s because I smoked out of both my mouth and my ass,” Vince said. “Menthols out the ass.”

“I’ve seen that trick,” Angle said. “It’s true, his ass smells just like a cough drop.”

Finally we all settled down enough to eat—even Flair. I said grace and asked for more Lita boobs this New Year. When I was done and we all started our meal, Vince finally recovered a bit of lucidity and said, “You always invite Super Porky, Crocker, where is he this year?”

“You’re eating him,” I said.

“I thought this turkey tasted like ham.”

“Not cool,” Carlito said, spitting out a half-chewed hunk of Super Porky.

You know, if I was Jimmy Wang Yang, I’d start wearing a blond wig and a robe. The only promo I’d ever cut would go something like this—“I’m Jimmy By Wang God Yang Whooo!” That would be gold, people.

Pre-Christmas dinner was actually quite magical. As we finished, it began to snow. Flair jumped up—keep in mind he’s wearing nothing but his trunks, his face and hair still covered in blood, my daughter still crying, Triple HHH is trying, unsuccessfully, to lead everyone in a rousing rendition of Oh Christmas Tree—“bounced” off one wall and out the kitchen door and started running down the street yelling “Merry Christmas Leadwood, Missouri, Merry Christmas you wonderful old Meth house, Merry Christmas Trailer park, Merry Christmas....wait that’s all there is. What the hell am I doing in Leadwood, Missouri?”

“God bless us, everyone,” Hornswoggle said.