You know Sheamus, right? You know - Sheamus! Sheamus. He won the Royal Rumble. No, nothing? Big guy, redhead. Nope? Paler than a polar bear on a snowy day. Yeah, that's the one.
Anyway, I'm a scientist. I wear a white coat, latex gloves, and often get covered in other people's blood, so I can only assume that's what I am. In the interest of science - and this is right up there with penicillin - I want to tally the amount of fucks people give about Sheamus. Yes, that is the scientific term; fucks.
My hypothesis is that very few fucks will be given. Let's begin, like any good scientist, with anecdotal (and, frankly, fictional) evidence:
You see, fella, I was watching Raw, fella, with my uncle. Fella. My uncle's name is John Jameson Liam Neeson O'Flannagan - he's a proud Irishman. We're watching Raw - him having found time between drinking Guinness, growing potatoes, and making disastrous economic decisions to watch some quality television with his favourite nephew. Sheamus comes on out and, in a thrilling turn of events, puts Daniel Bryan back into the ring. That rivalry's really heating up, what with all the putting each other back into rings. So I turn to my uncle, and I says, I says, "Uncle, how many fucks, exactly, do you give about Sheamus?" My uncle turns to me and says, he says, "O, Sam, my blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, twelve-inch-penised, strapping nephew! What a grand question, so it is! You want to know how many fucks I give about Sheamus, do ya?" So, what does your man say? Well, your man says, "No fucks. No fucks at all. He's shit."
Oh, that incredible Irish wit.
Then I asked Pancake:
I'd chalk up one fuck, but I'm not sure that post merits it.
They're really going to have to step things up with Sheamus to get me excited about the prospect of him as world champion, which I assume is the goal. His matches aren't poor, but they're hardly something I like forward to - at least not on the level I might anticipate, say, a Rey Mysterio, CM Punk or Randy Orton match. His promos consist of Irish folklore and anecdotes about his uncle's farting dog (which I guess also qualifies as Irish folklore) which never fail to make the crowd go mild. For some reason, they've given him a new finisher, which is about as exciting to behold as Jim Ross taking a seat. When he's not giving long-winded speeches about flatulent animals, he does seem to get quite a good response, except when he was easily outpopped at the Elimination Chamber by Santino.
I'm sure there must be some fucks out there being given. Help a brother out.
Anyway, I'm a scientist. I wear a white coat, latex gloves, and often get covered in other people's blood, so I can only assume that's what I am. In the interest of science - and this is right up there with penicillin - I want to tally the amount of fucks people give about Sheamus. Yes, that is the scientific term; fucks.
My hypothesis is that very few fucks will be given. Let's begin, like any good scientist, with anecdotal (and, frankly, fictional) evidence:
You see, fella, I was watching Raw, fella, with my uncle. Fella. My uncle's name is John Jameson Liam Neeson O'Flannagan - he's a proud Irishman. We're watching Raw - him having found time between drinking Guinness, growing potatoes, and making disastrous economic decisions to watch some quality television with his favourite nephew. Sheamus comes on out and, in a thrilling turn of events, puts Daniel Bryan back into the ring. That rivalry's really heating up, what with all the putting each other back into rings. So I turn to my uncle, and I says, I says, "Uncle, how many fucks, exactly, do you give about Sheamus?" My uncle turns to me and says, he says, "O, Sam, my blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, twelve-inch-penised, strapping nephew! What a grand question, so it is! You want to know how many fucks I give about Sheamus, do ya?" So, what does your man say? Well, your man says, "No fucks. No fucks at all. He's shit."
Oh, that incredible Irish wit.
Then I asked Pancake:
What is really lacking in Sheamus is just a little depth in his character. He's been a champion before as a heel and he had some serious heel shit going on. His face run is pretty much been running through anyone that gets in his way.
I'd chalk up one fuck, but I'm not sure that post merits it.
They're really going to have to step things up with Sheamus to get me excited about the prospect of him as world champion, which I assume is the goal. His matches aren't poor, but they're hardly something I like forward to - at least not on the level I might anticipate, say, a Rey Mysterio, CM Punk or Randy Orton match. His promos consist of Irish folklore and anecdotes about his uncle's farting dog (which I guess also qualifies as Irish folklore) which never fail to make the crowd go mild. For some reason, they've given him a new finisher, which is about as exciting to behold as Jim Ross taking a seat. When he's not giving long-winded speeches about flatulent animals, he does seem to get quite a good response, except when he was easily outpopped at the Elimination Chamber by Santino.
I'm sure there must be some fucks out there being given. Help a brother out.