Besides, I had a wrestling comeback to prepare for, mentally and physically, provided I could get Vince McMahon and the WWE creative staff to embrace what I was sure was the single greatest storyline of my career.
Then it hit me: the storyline. I would give WWE fans unprecedented access to World Wrestling Entertainment, covering everything from conception to completion. I would recount how I felt about specific interviews and matches, whether they helped or hurt. I would expose the backstage politics, shed some light on my rocky relationship with Vince McMahon, offer insights into my personal dealings with WWE Superstars, and tell stories about my favorite Divas.
But I wasn't interested in writing just a wrestling book. I wanted to share moments from my personal life as well, from a humorous look at my unlikely dinner with polarizing neocon Paul Wolfowitz, to my haunting meeting with a severely burned boy in Afghanistan, to my peculiar obsession with a certain jolly old elf.
I knew I could make the fans care about this storyline, provided I could once again find the passion to make the story come to life in arenas around the country and on television sets around the world.
Most importantly, I had to ask myself a vital question, one upon which this whole idea, and therefore the book you hold, hinges: Was I willing to become the first voluntary member of the Vince McMahon "Kiss My Ass Club"? I sat on the idea for a few days, to let the idea ripen and mature in my mind, like a fine vintage wine, and to figure out if I was really willing to kiss his ass. I mean, literally kiss a man's ass. Sure, I'd been kissing the same guy's ass figuratively for a decade. But this was different. Did I really have the testicular fortitude required for such a task? In front of millions? Including my wife and kids?
I made the call.
]]>But Mrs. Claus saves the day by calling in those elfin fellows, the World Wrestling Federation Superstars. Santa cheers right up--even though, "for the first time in his life, / A Superstar had mistletoe and tried to kiss his wife." The holiday doggerel by WWF star and bestselling author Mick Foley is fairly amusing, and the colorful illustrations by wrestling announcer Jerry "The King" Lawler are surprisingly good. His Mad-like caricature of Mick captures the man's missing-teeth grin and raffish mien at least as well as Yellow Submarine evoked the Beatles.
Parents, don't fret: the scariest picture is Rudolph with a nosebleed, and all bad language is rendered thus: "bleep bleep." The cruelest line in the book is this: "One child wanted Al Snow's Best Matches, though no such tape existed." Henceforth, we'll all just have to refer to the noted arm-twister turned author as "good saint Mick." --Tim Appelo
]]>That was handed out to every child of
goblins, ghosts, and ghouls.
These monsters had been good for months,
for As rules were very clear:
They were allowed to haunt their forest,
but only oats a year.
On Am one night there were no rules --
they could act their very worst.
That night was tomorrow,
October thirty-first!
What's the true meaning of Halloween.? Candy, of course! And who better than former World Wrestling Federation commissioner and bestselling author Mick Foley to capture the spirit of this delightfully creepy holiday. In this festive end imaginative follow-up to Mick's beloved Christmas Chaos, we meet three youngsters whose quest for the perfect Halloween costume takes them on the adventure of a lifetime. Filled with adorable witches and werewolves, scary magic spells, and even a Mick Foley doll that comes to life, Mick Foley's Halloween Hijinx is sure to please children of all ages who just can't wait for October thirty-first.
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