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Best Coast Bias: Come One, Come All Into 1984

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From a dead man...greetings.
 Photo Credit WWE.com
Some people are the kind of folks who like to use the term "it's always darkest just before the dawn." And since I was a small child, I thought those people were full of it. Right before the dawn, there's still a small ray of light breaking through since the dawn is about to happen and everything. Save that Mary Poppinsesque babble for a Wizards of Waverly Place marathon. Me? I've always thought it's always darkest right before the blackout.

And you can pretty much sum up the Umbrella Corpor--Condor Sec---McWWE's vision of what remains in 2013 by using three simple words: welcome to midnight.

Take as evidence the first Main Event of the post-Summerslam era, where Jack Swagger was the only black hatter not to come out on the winning end of his excursion against the Great Khali. And even he is working his way through a litany of sins from the serious (the DUI) to the ludicrous (one bump and he was a .8 Cameron Diaz post hair gel in There's Something About Mary). Then again, he couldn't even throw Hornswoggle into the barricade right; Cesaro probably would've launched that little punk into the second deck.

The pictured Bray Wyatt? He beat Justin Gabriel in about the amount of time it'll take you to read this sentence, reintroducing him to Sister Abigail. Fandango? Whatever Japanese shampoo commercial in his head sending him in the Miz's direction continues with dancing at the ramp and interrupting the trip to Recapville. Naomi put together some decent offense in a match against the Black Widow of the Divas division but the moment she took her eye off the ball she was but an insect struggling futilely in a Venus fly trap of an headscissored armbar combination.

If you want a vision of the future, Blogite, imagine an RKO to the just -- forever.

And even more chilling than people throwing their lot behind the same soulless mansnake that punted them in the head or kissed them unconscious off of delivered DDTs are those who see a landscape starting to render and throw their allegiances behind those they believe have the power to rule instead of upholding the world justice that spills from their mouths like so much ricin held in a cigarette and just as poisonous in their doubletalk. There's a difference between an errand run once for Paul Heyman and permanent employ as the goon squad for the anti-Dragon force that's sprouted up; ask the Shield if they care.  Fear in them isn't absolute quite yet, but wholly warranted just off of their talents alone before party politics come into play. The Usos and Kofi Kingston pooled their efforts again.  They dove onto the men in black, and at times sent them on their heels. But one opening created another.  A bulldog driver finished it just the way they annexed the United States Championship.  They are at war with Daniel Bryan, because they have always been at war with Daniel Bryan.  THAT you can believe.

Things seem bleak, yes. But you must keep in mind more Orwell than the obvious at times like these, especially since the WWE seemingly is breaking out into an Animal Farm.

For Stamford is the sort of multi-millionaire dollar conglomerate that'll sell sheep masks to children and have some of them buy it, as I evidenced on Sunday. (I'm sure KSP will have something to say about that kind of thing imminently.) That being said?

Goat save us all.

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