Let me tell you something right now. On WWE TV, paternity suits and DNA tests may be reversible, but in real life they ain't. I know this. I know this firsthand.

That's why I hate when they undo things on wrestling shows. Case in point - the whole Hornswoggle deal. Here's a leprechaun - a freakin' leprechaun - and he's named the son of Vince McMahon. That was the story. He was Vince's son. It took us about 4 ½ years to finally see the whole finish out on TV.

There was the lawyer and the skits and the false claims and all that. This lasted a while. Vince McMahon's genetic jack hammering was all over Monday nights. It was all anyone was talking about. Although, after the insanity we had all just went through, we'd talk about any wrestling angle at that point. That's one of the reasons people cared so much, I think.

But now, all of that was nothing. It was a joke. A rib. A Hey, gotcha. Thanks to John Bradshaw Layfield, we know that none of this was true. It was a ruse by Finlay and the Family - which, by the way, is an awesome name for a band - to put one over on Mr. McMahon.

Yeah, but, they also put one over on me. Stupid Ralph. I thought what I was watching actually mattered.

Know what this is? This is Patrick Duffy showing up in the shower. This is the real Seymour Skinner being shipped off on a train while Armand Tamzarian stays in Springfield. This is Dorothy waking up at the end and realizing that Oz was a dream. Go to hell, Judy Garland! That's a cop-out!

I hate that crap. Forget that it doesn't happen in real life. Forget that I've never heard, "Yo, Ralph. This kid isn't really yours. The DNA tests and all that were fake. I wanted to embarrass you . Your family helped." That's beside the point.

The point is that there was no point in all that TV. Now it's all back to stupid normal again. The last year was pointless. Vince even has hair again, for crying out loud.  How long was he bald?  A month?!

Let's have some finality to things. Let's book a match where the loser gets his arm sawed off. I'd pay for that. Can't go back on that one.

Whatever anyways. Horny probably loves this attention. I can't even imagine what else they could have done with him. I always thought he'd be good with a Rumpelstiltskin gimmick. He could pop up behind Maria and torment her by saying, "WHAT'S MY NAME? TELL ME MY NAME!"  Then he could bite her ass or something.  I'm sure he'd work free that night.

They could have had him hang off the back of Big Daddy V. Big Dad wouldn't notice. He'd do an interview. Then, walking away, we'd see Hornswoggle hanging there and waving. The announcers could be like, "Tee-hee." They love that crap.

He could be a Gremlin too. I miss those things. Gremlins. Don't get 'em wet or feed 'em after midnight. Although, I always wondered what "after midnight" meant. When's the cut-off? When can you feed them again? It doesn't say not to feed them between midnight and, like, 6 am or something. I don’t get that. I always figured they'd starve to death.

How about Mini-Berg? Take that Gilberg crap to a whole new level.

Personally, if I had my own Hornswoggle, I'd make him a Fraggle. Wembley, maybe.

That's it. So, the moral of the story here is to watch Raw drunk. That way when they decide to undo stuff you already watched, you won't remember it anyway.

Before I go, I want to send best wishes to my buddy, Elliot. He's going through some tough times. I'm thinking of ya, Spitty! Thanks for loaning me that $4300. You were right. It was superb!