WWE closed out the decade with an in-ring wedding. The in-ring wedding is a time honored tradition, a merging of spectacle and ceremony that allows us, the audience, to delight in people in formalwear pushing each other into cakes. This is Lana’s second in-ring wedding, the first was to Rusev and was ruined by Roman Reigns. This is also her fourth wedding that I’ve watched on TV. She and Rusev had two on Total Divas.
This wedding of Lana and Bobby Lashley started off exactly how you’d hope: Bobby had his tuxedo sleeves cut off and no shirt, there was a really really big cake in the corner, Lana’s highlight was popping, the audience booed loudly. Lana shouted into a microphone covered in a white satin condom that made it look like a vibrator. Flowers were everywhere. It was perfectly romantic and at 10 minutes of vows, felt painfully long. Just like a real wedding. Where it really got going, though, was when the officiant asked, in a heavy Connecticut accent, if anyone had a reason to stop the wedding.
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We had Lana’s ex-husband Joe Enhancement-Talent, who got chokeslammed by Lashley. Then Bobby Lashley’s ex-wife, Jane Enhancement-Talent, who Lana knocked off the ring apron. But the piece-de-resistance was the much teased return of the “real” Liv Morgan, who, in a sexy pantsuit, spoke to the love of her life in the ring. If you didn’t guess it would be Lana when you saw the pants, you don’t know what gross old men imagine lesbians are like.
Listen, this is garbage. It’s delicious nutrient-free trash for my stupid eyeballs. It’s, as the kids say these days, “pee pee poo poo.” And I loved it. Lana gave a fantastic performance worthy of a John Waters flick. Liv Morgan, huffing and puffing with distress and rubbing her stomach as she confronted Lana and Lashley, wearing a one armed double breasted tuxedo jacket that, significantly, did not cover one of her breasts, made me feel like I was having some kind of ecstatic stroke. And honestly? I have no complaints. Of course it was gross. No it won’t end up as an affirming, positive representation of queerness. But at least they didn’t do a sexy kiss before they started fighting. At least, while Lana and Liv Morgan did fight, and yes Lana was barefoot, and yes there were heavy shots of Lana’s panties, Jerry Lawler’s mic was cut and the gaze wasn’t anything close to the softcore gnarliness of prior “lesbian” WWE angles.
Liv Morgan got dragged away by Fit Finlay (imagine your secret gf showing up to your wedding and getting dragged away by Fit Finlay) only to return after Rusev emerged from the giant cake to interrupt the proceedings one last time. There was a pathetic ugliness to it all that felt honest— not honest to the reality of what love is about, but honest to the reality of what WWE is about. It’s stupid and spectacular. WWE isn’t about anti-bullying or philanthropy. They’re not about displays of athleticism. They’re about bullshit. At their best? Glorious, disgusting, funny, trashy bullshit. Sometimes I want to eat my vitamins and sometimes I want to drop $20 at Taco Bell and eat until I feel sick. I got the latter last night, and I’m grateful.