Somehow Kane returned!

10,9,8,7..3,2,1!

The music starts, the pyros go off and the crowd goes fucking mental. It's Kane, it's Kane, how is Kane here? Even the remaining participants stop smacking each other and turn to see what's going on.

The Big Red Machine is the final entrant in the 2026 Royal Rumble. He slowly makes his way to the ring, old school mask, adjusting his gloves as always.

The Undertaker is in the crowd and stands up in shock, jumps the barrier and moves to confront his brother. They stand toe to toe, face to face. They seem to argue for a few seconds while everyone in the ring watches in disbelief until a couple of opportunists start throwing people over the top rope.

The confrontation between Kane and the Undertaker continues for a few seconds more before the Deadman offers his hand to Kane. Kane studies him and then accepts it. The crowd goes double fucking mental and Kane finally joins the fray.

The Big Red Machine enters the ring and the superstars part ways like pigs in the presence of Hannibal Lecter. All except Brock Lesnar. Lesnar always saw himself as the strongest in the WWE until he tested himself against Kane. He didn't like the result. He also didn't like the fact that his chances of winning the Rumble were now significantly reduced. Before he can get to Kane he's blindsided by Roman Reigns and they enter their own meta feud again in this Royal Rumble.

Someone attacks Kane from behind and just bounces off him. The Devil's Favourite Demon starts throwing the others around like confetti, one, two, three more are flung over the top rope and the field is getting thinned drastically.

The war continues to rage in the ring while the commentators try to work out what the hell is going on. Is this really Kane? How is he here, why is he here? Is he going to win? If so what happens next?

The field keeps getting smaller until just three remain - Reigns, Kane and Lesnar. Reigns and Lesnar are embroiled and both in a precarious position, either could go at any second. Red could easily tip them both over and win it here and now. Instead he deliberately eliminates Roman so that he can have Brock to himself.

With nobody to stop them the two fly at each other, holding nothing back. Vicious strike after vicious strike with neither getting a clear advantage until Big Red makes the slightest mis-step and Brock capitalises. He flings Kane into the ropes and catches him on the bounce back. F5!

He knows that's not enough so immediately follows up with another. Kane is prone on the canvas and Brock roars knowing he's close to winning. He turns back to Kane who suddenly sits up, returning from the dead. Lesnar rushes towards him and finds his neck in a vice like grip. Chokeslam!

He picks up the Beast again and readies him for a Tombstone which he executes flawlessly. If this really is the Kane of old he's in amazing condition. He still needs to get Lesnar over the top though. He runs his thumb across his throat and grabs Brock again and faces the commentators. It's time for the Last Ride. He takes this hulk of a man above his head, moves to the ropes and flings the Beast over the ropes and all the way onto the announce table, an unbelievable feat!

Medics attend to Lesnar as The Big Red Machine is announced as the winner of the 2026 Royal Rumble. His music kicks in and Lita appears in the ring from nowhere, taking Kane's hand and together they set off the pyros in each corner.

Credits, fade to black.

Raw:

The music starts and Kane appears, accompanied by Lita. Kane Grabs the mic.

The devil's favorite demon had a demon of his own...

I'm not the Kane you might think I am. I'm worse, and I'm coming for you all.

Throws arms and pyros.

The End. The Beginning.

More wrestling, in haiku form: Wrestling Haiku 1 and Wrestling Haiku 2.

Five Stars, Would Be Sectioned Again

I have a small but loyal readership base. They never contact me, in fact I only really get messages from bots with randomish names saying they love the site and can make it show in 1st place on google - course you can sweetheart!

Imagine my surprise then when someone found me on Bluesky and came here to have a look around. I was surprised yet further when they checked out this site and immediately messaged me to say that I should be sectioned. They even suggested the place I go to.

I didn't know where it was, so I googled it and was surprised to learn it had 3.1 stars. Not two. Not one. A perfectly respectable, slightly-above-average-Wetherspoons 3.1. I then wondered: who reviews a former psychiatric asylum as if it was a KFC in Wandsworth? And won't these reviews, by definition, be written by previous "guests" anyway? I had no choice but to delve deeper!

Brandon Vincent, one review, five stars, eight years ago, sets the tone early: "had a mad sesh here pills were crazy and best part they was free 5stars for me would defo recomend."

Fair play Brandon, sounds like you had a good time. I defo wish we could hear more from you.

Then there's Maurice Morsia, Local Guide, 547 reviews, 344 photos. "Nice area and views, staff are brilliant." I didn't check what else he's reviewed but I am kind of hoping he exclusively does psychiatric hospitals up and down the UK.

Then we have "Anti Satan Pro Life" — six reviews — who left a single word: "Negligent." One star. No elaboration. I'm guessing that where he's from, you have to state you're no friend of Satan on a daily basis. For most people I'd assumed that was implied. I am somewhat intrigued about what else he's reviewed but I haven't looked yet. Also the one word and one star rating do carry a lot of weight with them. Less is more, but at the same time for them, probably less.

And then there's Humzah Khan, who I think about more than is probably healthy. One star: "Was only here for a day and one of the staff called akib (african guy) was making me think I was Jesus and was trying to brainwash me to Christianity."

Naturally, I did what any responsible person would do, and checked what else Humzah had reviewed. Turns out he's also given five stars to a kebab shop in Reading, specifically praising the peri peri chicken burger and the milkshake. What Google's timeline won't tell me is which came first — did he have a transcendent burger experience and then find himself in hospital, or did he somehow encounter this kebab shop afterwards and decide that peri peri chicken and a milkshake were the path to enlightenment? Genuinely unclear. I hope it's the latter, and Humzah, I hope things are alright with you. Also, I could murder a fucking chicken burger right now. 

A Matter Of Stimulus

I had suspected for a while that I was suffering from erectile dysfunction. However, as I didn't have anyone to stick the old Johnson into back then I took my sweet time arranging an appointment with my GP. It was only when I watched an episode of Rosemary and Thyme and didn't get a flicker that I realised I needed medical help.

I booked an appointment but it got cancelled because of all that Covid bollocks. Yes apparently the whole world had decided that a pandemic was more important than me being able to get optimal use out of my Fleshlight. Typical eh?

It was only recently then that I realised I wasn't suffering from erectile dysfunction at all. Years later I finally got to see a quack and what he told me was nothing short of a revelation.

Dr: If you don't mind I'd like to try something. This case could merely be a case of not having the right stimulus.

Me: Hold the bells John I've been watching Rosemary and Thyme and Loose Women on a regular basis!

Dr: Even so, take this pillow, breathe in and out for a moment and tell me when your ready.

I did as I was told. I had no clue what he was fucking on about but I was willing to try most things, Morris Dancing aside.

Dr: Have you ever thought about Monica Galetti?

As soon as he said her name I felt movement. I was confused and excited all in one.

Dr: More specifically have you ever thought about what it would be like to cook her a dish so heinous that she'd grab you by the throat and personally throw you out of the building?

I hadn't but fuck me I could imagine it now and I got the best bonk on I'd had in ages. I could almost feel cold concrete underneath me. Almost see Monica looking down on me with a look to say that I was lucky to still be alive. Think Sharon Stone in Total Recall when she goes to Mars. That fucking hot.

The button on my trousers flew off towards the ceiling and I grabbed the pillow to conceal my massive bonk-on (poetic license). The Dr had a big smile on his face and he asked if I was good.

Me: I'm bastard good Daddio!

I stuck a tenner in his pocket and strode out of the office with a spring in my step and a monster in my pants. The clapping on Thursdays for the NHS during Covid suddenly felt worthwhile. The only issue now was that I wanted the real thing, Magnificent Monica taking me to task because my ostrich egg souffle didn't have enough whimsy.

The plan was simple. All I had to do was go to catering college, get a job in a restaurant, open and run my own restaurant, apply for Professional Materchef, get selected and then not make a total cunt of myself in the skills test.

From there I'd tell Monica and Marcus that I was going to prepare cabbage 18 ways followed by broiled loin of venison, a dandelion crumb, hasselback onions and a pickled halibut tuile. Oh and a dill oil split with some shit or other. They're all at it these days. All of the above were things I knew Monica loved with the bonus that some prick the year before had promised cabbage 18 ways but had only served 17! Ha, what a wanker!

In reality I would cook a sausage and chips starter and a main cause of sausage and chips. To be fair it could have been sausage and chips main followed by sausage and chips dessert, possibly with a raspberry coulis. I would of course burn the sausages, overcook the egg yolk and leave the chips frozen in the middle. My strategy, as great as it was, did have some risks. There would be the chance that Marcus Wareing would immediately punch me in the face before Monica could get to me. My hope was that if that happened she would be the one to grab me by the neck and turf me out the door.

This obviously was going to take some time so I took the precaution of buying some Monica Galetti face masks from Amazon. It was with trepidation that I asked my next Tinder date to wear one when we got back to my place. Needless to say she called me a wrong'un and left. I wasn't totally surprised.

The next time though I had an even better strategy. While she was in the bathroom to freshen up her minge I left some sandpaper and a couple of fox tail dildos on the side. When she returned I asked if she wanted to get kinky and she reacted extremely positively.

I then asked if she minded us sticking the fox tail dildos up our arses while she identified as Edwina Currie and I identified as John Major. I would sing C'est La Vie by B*witched and hop on one leg while she jerked me off with the sandpaper and shouted "Diplomatic Immunity!" in the style of Joss Ackland. I would then climax in her left ear hole while telling her "It's just been revoked!".

As you would imagine she was horrified but before she could kick me in the balls and leave I put my hand up to silence her.

Me: Or maybe you could just wear this Monica Galetti mask instead?

Her: Oh, alright then.

I'm now seeing my therapist twice a week 

Also on the blog: Hooks For Hands IV: The Quest for Bobotie — another Celeb MasterChef encounter.