#HOWARD FINKEL

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old man is too excited to speak

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Lucifarians: A Family Forged (1980):

Chapter 1 January Twelfth

Taglist: @spacelizardtrashboys @natsadkid @schizoauthoress @piratewithvigorr @stupidbluegirl @thedollmaker16 @the--blackdahlia

Warnings: violence, smoking, Roddy being Roddy, my weird universe alterations

2200+ words

The Kayfabe Post

Casey's P.O.V:

Thursday, the first day of being at work for the WWF, Saturday the twelfth of January 1980. Part of me still can’t believe that Driskoll got us into the WWF, himself being here alone was explainable, even if he brought his sons it would have been expected, but us, seven women all entering the WWF at the same time, the head office must’ve been smoking something when signing the contracts. Driskoll has already given us an order to get to know the men of the company better, and if I’m honest, I don’t know anyone, and due to my status as a ‘cannibalistic, carnivorous, monster heel’ I don’t think many people are willing to approach me.

I’m not here because I earned it, I’m here because I’m a necessity for the team, or at least, that’s how I view it. That’s how I’ve always viewed it. Ven needed someone to humiliate and, as a natural outcast, I’m the easiest choice. Dirty blonde hair in a masculine style, half dyed copper, thick eyebrows over eyes that can’t decide if they want to be blue or green, multiple scars over my jaw covered by a thick mask which curls under my chin. Heavier than Ven, but much more slender than any male giant, except maybe Baba, and then there’s my tatt-

BAM

“Oh dear lord, sorry, are you okay?”

In my absent-minded walking I had knocked myself and another person to the floor, and not just anybody.

Four inches taller than me,

Wild afro hair,

At least double my weight,

André.

André the giant.

Knocked to the floor, by me… Shit.

“Are you okay, Mademoiselle?”

I went as stiff as a statue, and pale like Michelangelo’s David, staring at the floor and awaiting punishment for my carelessness.

“Mademoiselle?” His shadow shifted with his movements as he got closer.

His tone worried, “Mademoiselle?” He lifted me to my feet, I had just enough composure to thank him in his native tongue.

“Who are you, Mademoiselle?” André smiles softly.

“Cas Lucifarian, I’m new here.” I return the soft smile.

André wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer before taking a good look at me and cocking an eyebrow, !Are you, uh…” He snaps his fingers as he tries to find the right words.

“A giant, yeah, well actually I’m a giantess.”

André walks with me, showing me around the arena’s backstage areas, talking about everything and nothing whilst roaming the shockingly empty arena. I say everything and nothing, and I mean it, from the best shops for tailored suits to what places along the road had the best coffee. For the first time I had a friend who I can talk to and know he knows what being a giant is like.

By the time André’s tour ended, Venka had come searching for me so I could be part of the interview with Driskoll and Gene, I managed to get out a quick ‘Goodbye’ to my fellow giant before leaving.

Playing my usual role, the enforcer, the intimidation device, it is my role to scare anyone who I’m told to. Before joining the group, me and my brother Kane worked as a tag team, the Lloyd siblings better known as The Celtic Warriors. From winning tag belts to being a damn human scare tactic.

Focusing back into reality I heard Howard ask Skull how we were doing as a team so far.

I stood behind Skull and Ven, puffing out my chest and crossing my arms to look bigger and scarier.

“You know something,” Skull’s silken voice the mark of a snake, “Howard, my girls have yet to have a match, but we are doing absolutely fine. In shape and ready to rock and roll, every single one of my girls is doing fine.”

“Just look at us,” Ven adds with a smirk, gesturing to her body, “Don’t we just look marvellous, Mr Finkel?”

Finkel smirks, “You could say that again, Miss?”

“Ven, although you can call me Pride.”

Skull glares at Finkel, almost daring the smaller man to try and flirt with his daughter.

Howard readjusts and focuses on the main point of new women in the WWF, “Uh, well, how soon do you girls think you’ll be seeing in-ring action?”

Skull looks at me to answer.

“Soon. Very very soon.” I growl as we leave the interview.

The rest of the day went by rather normally and quickly, Driskoll and Venka taking Helah and Everest with them back to the hotel, while myself, Bellona, Petra and Sydney stay behind to look at the other competitors as they leave.

Bel takes her cigarettes and a lighter from her bag, lighting up as she strides up to me and leans against the wall, puffing out clouds of smoke as she speaks, “Wassup, tall-ass.”

“I’m thinkin’.”

“Dangerous pastime hermana.”

“I know, Bell, I know. Hermana.”

“You addin’ to your phrasebook, Cassie?”

“Only the ones I deem handy to have.”

“Gym, tomorrow, me and you?”

“Gotta train, so yeah, gotta settle in somehow, right?”

“I’ll see you there, alright?”

“Adios, Bell.”

Bellona waves as she goes to grab a ride with the other two.

Bel is the only person who sees me as more of a sister than just a teammate. I look over at the door to the men’s locker room, soon one of those men will face me, now where is he. Putski, no. Rodz, no. Duggan, no. Zbyszko, yeah, he’ll do fine.

“Woah, watch where ya walkin’ lady.” A gravelly voice interrupts my thoughts as I turn to leave.

Lou Albano, oh geez.

Skull had warned me to avoid Lou, although with my gimmick being Gluttony I’m certain he’d jump at the chance to manage me.

“Sorry, Mr Albano.”

“It’s okay kid, you didn’t mean to do any harm, see ya around giantess.” Albano pats my arm as he leaves the arena.

I was still watching Albano, trying to figure out why he had acted so kindly towards me before feeling the hand on my shoulder and turning to be face to face with André.

“Hello Cas,” his soft smile returns, “It’s dark out tonight, maybe you would like to get a ride back to the hotel, I really don’t think a young lady like you should run the risk of meeting any unkind people out there.” In a strange way his voice calms me, the faint Ws replacing Rs and faint Hs of the French accent, almost like a father or older brother.

“I’m okay, André, thank you for the offer though, it’s very kind of you.”

He nods in response, saddened but curious, probably weighing the options of what I could do as much as I am, if I get a taxi my back will hurt tomorrow, but if I walk, I run the risk of getting followed or worse, I was already stabbed once in the past back in Carrickfergus. André pats my shoulder before sauntering off and leaving me all alone once again.

I don’t mind being alone, or rather I didn’t mind back when I worked with my brother, I was outcasted by everyone but him my entire life, our father working in a coal mine in Wales and our mother practically a single mother to two very active children, the only way she got us to stop wrecking the house was to make us train with David Finlay, a god of Irish wrestling.

I put my bag over my shoulder and started on my way back to the hotel, stopping to cover myself up with the shirt I keep wrapped around my waist, the sleeves long enough to hide my tattoos on my wrists, almost all of my sixteen tattoos are on my legs, except the two on my wrists, which I usually hide with tape when working.

It took around an hour to reach the hotel, walking through Philadelphia, a place I have never been before and am starting to hope I will never come back to, reaching the hotel and going straight to my hotel room, locking the door and getting ready to train.

I took off my shirt, shoes, everything except my underwear, starting with warmups and progressing into practising punches, kicks, knees, anything to tire myself, finishing up at just before midnight, showering and doing my nightly routine before falling asleep the moment I lay in bed.

On the morning of January 13th, Sunday, I woke up at six, turning off the radio alarm and stretching as I head to the bathroom, doing my morning routine and getting dressed in a short-sleeved orange shirt and black shorts, my mask for today is an orange and black chequered pattern heavy duty mask which I made sure goes down to the middle of my neck, I head to the local gym, taking my gym bag with me.

You meet all sorts of people in a gym, or so David had told me, back in Carrickfergus I would just train at his house, or at the club in Greenisland with his son or my brother. This gym felt like a whole new world, men from Georgia Championship Wrestling, The World Wrestling Federation and the National Wrestling Alliance. I scanned for faces I had seen last night, I waved to Volkoff, he smiled and waved back before focusing on his workout.

I headed to one of the heavy bags, ending up between Muraco and Valentine, two men André had told me about the day before. Muraco stops, whispering to a guy standing next to him.

As Valentine walks past he whispers to me, “Careful around Piper, he’s a wild man.”

“Hey, Cas, right? The girl André’s been talking about.” Muraco smirks as he continues his workout.

“Yeah, I’m Cas, André said that you’re Don Muraco.” I reply between punches, keeping my breathing composed.

“Yes miss, although you can call me Don, the giant’s been talking to the boys about his new friend and how you’re a ‘lady giant’ as he put it.”

The mystery guy, probably ‘Piper’, smirks at Muraco before clearing his throat and looking more serious as he looks at me.

“Yeah, I’m a giantess, it’s good to meet you guys, but, uh, who’s your friend, Don?”

Don wraps his arm around the slightly smaller man’s shoulders, “This is Rowdy Roddy Piper, he’s a bit like you, Celtic, Irish are Celts right?”

“Yeah, though I don’t think your friend is Irish, he’s too broad-shouldered to be Irish.”

“I’m Scottish, originally from Glasgow. Can’t speak Gaelic, but I can play the bagpipes.” Piper’s eyes light up, a sort of mad Scottish fire behind blue eyes.

“I’ll see you boys around, I’ve got some more training to do.” I walked off to the treadmills, trying to block out Valentine’s comment. Piper didn’t seem all too wild, or rowdy, but a man like him, muscular, proud enough to wear a kilt, he could spell trouble for me.

I finished up, sitting on the floor and wiping my face with my towel, looking up when the noise of footsteps stops in front of me.

“Yes?” I murmur while staring at Piper’s stupid grin.

“Show me how you fight,” He bent over to be eye-to-eye with me, “you’re new here, I wanna know how ya fight.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, c’mon.” He leads me to a boxing ring being used by other wrestlers.

Piper enters through the ropes, I test the top rope’s slack, tight enough for my purposes, I lean back and front flip over the rope into the ring.

“That’s new, no girls have ever done that around me before.”

“I’m twenty-six and a giantess with a gymnastics background.”

Piper scoffs and we lock up, hand to hand, a test of strength, he goes for a knee to the stomach and I counter with a stiff Irish whip into the ring post, a little too stiff.

“You’re gonna pay for that, lass.” Piper snarls, and suddenly I can’t tell if he’s actually angry or if this is just for show.

I size him up, calculating in my mind how high I need to jump, he comes at me for a high knee strike and I dropkick him, both of us crashing to the mat below, my head bouncing off the near rock-solid boxing ring, making my mask hit my throat and almost trigger my gag-reflex, my breathing gets heavier and I try to hide the impact from the rowdy Scot.

Piper’s up quickly and at my side in an instant, “Cas, you okay?”

I don’t answer, rolling onto my back and struggling to slow my breath. Roddy pulls me up, letting me lean against the ring post and goes to unbuckle my mask.

I push his hands away and unbuckle it myself, before I can stop him, he grabs the mask away and checks my face and neck, he winces and my heartbeat doubles at the idea of him wincing at the mess of scars.

“It’s okay, the cut isn't deep enough to cause much damage, you’ve just bruised up your neck if anythin’.”

“Gimme back my mask.” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“No, I ain’t finished lookin’ at you just yet,” He smirks, “can I train with ya, whenever we see each other again?”

“Sure, if we see each other again.” I nod as I put my mask back in its place.

[aritamargarita]

ok but honestly if I were in the wwe I would have to use all my strength not to totally mark out the first time I get to hear my name announced by howard finkel (rip🙏) or lilian garcia

REAL.

I’d be smiling the entire time I’d go down that ramp omg.

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WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : AUGUST 1993

AGAINST ALL ODDS: A NIGHT OF RAW UPSETS 

BATTLE OF THE TITANS JANNETTY BEATS MICHAELS FOR THE INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE

Two Stunning Upsets Mark May 17 Monday Night Raw

By Lou Gianfriddo 

Transcript Below!!!

Shawn Michaels was stunned when his former tag team partner Marty Jannetty literally walked off the streets of New York City and challenged him to an Intercontinental Title match on the May 17 Monday Night Raw.

It happened during a live interview with Vince McMahon in which Michaels said he was unbeatable and bragged about recent victories over Hacksaw Jim Duggan (who met Michaels the previous week on Raw in a Lumberjack Match) and Mr. Perfect (Who had several encounters with the blond-haired Texan at bouts in locations around the nation). 

However, in retrospect these matches may have served to work against Michaels. The frequent title defenses and the beatings he often sustained therein may have taken their toll. 

Shawn must have been aware of such facts, because he used every excuse he could in order to back out of the challenge match. But nothing worked for him that night. He was forced to wrestle and seemed unprepared for the altercation the second he stepped into the ring. 

When the challenger hit the ring, he initiated the offensive. He slingshot Michaels and decked him with clotheslines, back-bodydrops and flying elbows to the jaw.

The intensity increased. Marty didn’t give Michaels any quarter. He was all over Michaels like a new tan. 

Jannetty hammered his former partner with punches. He again slingshot Michaels. This time, though, Shawn struck the turnbuckles upside-down and crashed face-first onto the concrete floor.

Reeling from Jannetty’s furious onslaught, Micheals—in an attempt to save face and his title—grabbed the belt from ring announcer Howard Finkel and headed toward the locker room. Sure Michaels would lose the match and the winner’s purse of the money via count-out but he would still retain the championship. It was a prudent plan, one which Michaels had used on several occasions. 

||A dispute with Perfect took Michaels’ attention off his Intercontinental Title defense.||

But it didn’t work on this night. Just before he was home safe, Mr. Perfect, Michael’s archrival since Wrestlemania IX, walked through the curtains and deterred his exodus. Perfect, holding his towel and making derogatory remarks about Michaels, herded the champion back to the squared circle.

What followed was some of the most dramatic wrestling action ever witnessed. Jannetty picked up the pace and came within micrometers of pinning his former friend on at least six occasions. 

Just when it seemed that Michaels was doomed, he mustered a comeback. He stunned Jannetty with several rehearsals and staggered him with a clothesline. Then he dropped Jannetty with a devastating side-kick that landed squarely on his jaw. 

||Marty Jannetty shocked Shawn Michaels with a small package that brought Jannetty the title.||

Jannetty was out: done for–ripe for the pickings–so go the cliches often used in sport. But Michaels made a monumental error. Instead of pinning Jannnetty, he turned his attention to Perfect, who was at ringside the entire time. 

“That’s what’s gonna happen to you, Mr. Not-so-good,” sneered Michaels from the second turnbuckle. 

Perfect returned the banter but also kept his eyes on Jannetty, who slowly cleared the cobwebs and rose to his feet. 

Perfect then responded by throwing the towel in Michael’s face. By the time Shawn had pushed it away it was too late–Jannetty knotted him with a small package and won the match and the Intercontinental Belt.

Later, Shawn registered a protest with this publication. “Is Jack Tunney gonna allow this [Jannetty’s win] to stand? I was stomping Jannetty’s guts. He couldn’t take it, so Perfect threw in the towel. Didn’t the referee see it? Didn’t any of you morons see it?” 

No, Shawn, what most people saw was Marty Jannetty beating you fair and square in center ring. 

[predishthefish]

You know what I love? You know what I adore? Museums with social media where the people working there genuinely love sharing what they do. I'm talking Tim from the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, Howard from the Sacramento History Museum, Irving Finkel from the British Museum (I'm aware of how shit the BM is but Finkel is a warlock so he gets a pass). I also want to mention Tim from Grand Illusions because he has SUCH a lovely air of the eccentric fellow showing off his collection of toys :)))). I want to make a list of these kinda dudes if I can, LOVE it so so much

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W A T C H I N G

Somewhat regrettably....

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Gary Cooper and Joan Leslie in Sergeant York (Howard Hawks, 1941)

Cast: Gary Cooper, Walter Brennan, Joan Leslie, Margaret Wycherly, George Tobias, Stanley Ridges, Ward Bond, Noah Beery Jr., June Lockhart, Dickie Moore, Clem Bevans, Howard Da Silva. Screenplay: Abem Finkel, Harry Chandlee, Howard Koch, John Huston, based on a diary by Alvin C. York edited by Tom Skeyhill. Cinematography: Sol Polito. Art direction: John Hughes. Film editing: William Holmes. Music: Max Steiner

Sheer Hollywood biopic hokum made watchable by Howard Hawks and Gary Cooper, along with a colorful supporting cast. Sergeant York earned Hawks his one and only Oscar nomination for directing -- not Bringing Up Baby (1938) or Only Angels Have Wings (1939) or His Girl Friday (1940) or To Have and Have Not (1944) or The Big Sleep (1946) or Red River (1948) or Rio Bravo (1959), more than two decades of the most entertaining movies anyone ever made. It was in fact Hawks's lack of the kind of high seriousness so often rewarded with Oscars that makes Sergeant York still entertaining today, which is why he lost to John Ford for How Green Was My Valley, a directing Oscar that by rights should have gone to Orson Welles for Citizen Kane. It's fairly clear that Hawks doesn't take Sergeant York entirely seriously, with its exteriors built on the soundstage, its well-scrubbed hillbillies, its cornpone hijinks and caricature religiosity, not to mention dialogue that sounds straight out of Al Capp's "Li'l Abner." But it also takes a Gary Cooper to deliver speeches like "I believe in the bible and I'm a-believin' that this here life we're a-livin' is something the good lord done give us and we got to be a-livin' it the best we can, and I'm a-figurin' that killing other folks ain't no part of what he was intendin' for us to be a-doin' here." Granted, Cooper had just turned 40 and was a good deal too old to play Alvin C. York, but his characteristic sly, shy self-effacement is essential to the role. The old story that York himself said that he wouldn't allow himself to be played on film by anyone else but Cooper sounds like the work of a Warner Bros. publicist, and one biographer has suggested that it was a hoax cooked up by producer Jesse L. Lasky to persuade Cooper to take the part, but se non è vero, è ben trovato -- if it's not true, it ought to be. Sergeant York cleaned up at the box office, especially when it got a second run after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and raked in 11 Oscar nominations, winning for Cooper and for film editing. Other nominees include Margaret Wycherly as Mother York -- a far cry from her killer mama in Raoul Walsh's White Heat (1949) -- and Walter Brennan, with his false teeth in and his eyebrows darkened, as Pastor Pile, along with the screenwriters, cinematographer Sol Polito, the art direction, the sound, and Max Steiner's patriotic tune-quoting score. It can't be taken seriously today, but it can be enjoyed.

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Watching Howard Finkel flirt with Trish Stratus and I'm gonna lose it what is this😭

🤡

W H A T

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An Interview with Ring Announcer Miss Wendy

The ring announcer for any professional wrestling show is an especially important job and an irreplaceable part of the overall wrestling experience. For many wrestling fans, they have fond memories of their favorite announcers throughout the years, whether it be Howard Finkel, Michael Buffer, Lillian Garcia, David Penzer or even Justin Roberts. A good ring announcer can make or break a wrestling…