The sport of wrestling is as old as Senator Strom Thurman. There is evidence that Egyptian and Mesopotamian societies engaged in wrestling more than 5,000 years ago. Young, nubile, sexually ambiguous Ancient Greek boys made wrestling all the rage.

Today, wrestling is a multimillion dollar business, contributing to the cultural decline of America. The largest culprit is the WWE, or World Wrestling Entertainment. Because I am amiable and had nothing better to do on a Thursday night, I agreed to watch an episode of WWE's SmackDown! What I really should've done is just popped in some soft-core porn because at least then I would've gotten to see some sex, albeit simulated. SmackDown! is like the girl in school who dresses like a slut and has a bad reputation, but when it comes time to feel her up she smacks your hand away. What a tease.

Because Twelve Year Olds Like Lesbians But Not Sex.
This week's episode began with a homoerotic scene between Torrie Wilson and Dawn Marie. Apparently, Dawn Marie is engaged to Torrie's father, Al, a man who resembles Senator Thurman except for the fact that he's alive. Why is Dawn Marie engaged to a man 5,000 years old? SmackDown!'s website knew you'd ask.

"It just so happens that Torrie and Dawn Marie are archrivals. Does Dawn Marie truly have feelings for Mr. Wilson, who is, to put it mildly, a few years older than her? Or is Dawn Marie -- who has been unable to defeat Torrie in bikini contests and wrestling matches -- trying to get under Torrie's skin by making things personal?" Speaking of Torrie's skin...

Dawn Marie makes Torrie a proposition: meet me in my hotel room and make like the beast with two backs, or watch me marry the fossil. Well, I was completely taken aback. Shocked. Appalled! This is prime-time television that children have access to, and they start the show with a lesbian tryst?! Wait. That makes me sound like some kind of right-wing, conservative prude. I meant: Big ups to the WWE for being so progressive with regards to homosexuality! Way to keep with the ancient tradition of wrestling! So, anyway, Torrie relents and they get it on. Supposedly. Though you don't actually get to see it. I should've just watched some porn.

I'm Starting To Lose Interest.
Interspersed between the various matches (which I didn't pay attention to because it's wrestling) were strange storylines such as the above. The acting was no better than the kind found in bad porn. And a few times I forgot that I wasn't actually watching bad porn because of the breast implants and names like Dawn Marie and Brock Lesnar. Oh, about Brock...

I guess he was previously suspended for some unruly behavior and got his suspension lifted for Sunday night's "Armageddon". Then there was a catfight between the lesbians because the one slut renegged on the other slut's deal. A threat to show the hotel room footage on Armageddon followed. And stuff. People wrestling, maybe.

Oh, But Wait.
Then this behemoth of a man caught my attention and distracted me from surfing the web for Hello Kitty! paraphernalia. The giant, whose birth name is apparently Scott Steiner but goes by the stage names Big Poppa Pump and Big Bad Booty Daddy, came out to sign with SmackDown! but instead publically humiliated General Manager Stephanie McMahon and cackled that he was going to sign with RAW (another WWE franchise) instead. But before stomping off, he tried to forcibly have sex with her on the ring with this seductive line: "You want to experience the ultimate thrilla, you want to be a freakzilla." This was now worse than bad porn.

Nope. You Lost Me.
Then two men came out and wrestled and I spent the next 15 minutes looking for a Hello Kitty! snowboard. Glanced at the TV. Yikes. A bald giant in the ring with a carpet on his back.

Hang on. Now Seinfeld's in the ring? Oh, no, it's just on his sitcom. I guess SmackDown! was over.

What A Gyp.
Like with any tease, I quickly lost interest with SmackDown! once I knew I wasn't going to get any. Everyone knows the wrestling is as real as Dawn Marie's breasts. The person who finds two hours of fake grunting and grappling entertaining, not to mention bad porn-caliber acting without that other kind of fake grunting and grappling, is one sad soul. Go read a book, Jethro.