The WWE has banned its wrestlers from going on shrill harpie Nancy Grace’s shitty talk show. We told you about her ambush of Diamond Dallas Page over the death of the Ultimate Warrior. He came on to talk about his friend but all the screaming crone wanted to do was pontificate about steroid use. She even had a doctor who never treated the Ultimate Warrior on to speculate that steroids are what killed him. All of that cable news nonsense pissed off WWE president and horse testes juice chugging Vince McMann who sent out a blanket threat that none of the WWE’s wrestlers can go to her show or talk to her without getting shitcanned from fake fighting. Blacklisted, biyatch! If only Vince could track any of his own cliche pro wrestline dramatic story lines. Being banned is awesome. It only gives you more power to make a comeback or stomp into the ring unexpected at Wrestlemania. This is a victory for the cockeyed shrew. It gives her something to be smug about. At some point, this will need to be settled in the only place that matters. The ring.
Screeching harpy Nancy Grace ambushed wrestling legend Diamond Dallas Page on her TV show about the death of the Ultimate Warrior. Nancy immediately launched into a shrill rant on steroid use in professional wrestling and how that obviously led to Warrior’s premature death. DDP kept trying to turn the discussion of the recently departed back to his friend and most recent inductee into the WWE Hall of Fame but he was backed into the turnbuckle by Nancy’s plaintive howls. DDP claims show producers duped him with a series of more honorific topics to be covered that was merely a ruse for Nancy Grace to hear herself saving the world again. We get it. Steroids are bad. Just like drugs and alcohol and cigarettes and fast food and soda and porn and all the other really fun stuff in life that everybody has known are bad for you instinctively since time immemorial, and media panic wise for at least several decades. I guess you could have a doctor on for lecture number ten thousands on how extracting juice from a horse’s balls and shooting it into your neck until your muscles bulge and your own sac shrinks to the size of a boiled peanut isn’t such a good idea. Or I guess you could bring on the good friend of a guy who just died and ask him to be your straw man for a tired screed. I’d choose options three. Put Nancy in the Diamond Cutter until the caps on her teeth pop off.