Sunday's SummerSlam pay-per-view was a wild affair that captured our imaginations ... and our hearts. The existing title belts in the WWE are so bland. "World Heavyweight Champion," "Tag Team Champion." What does that even MEAN? Those of us who had the pleasure of liveblogging the event have decided to crown our own champions based on the evening's events.
Congratulations to these inaugural title-holders on their hard-earned victories.
Spencer Hall: Interstate Paracontinental Trollverture Unlimited Heavyweight Championship: Awarded to CM Punk for being everything John Cena is not. Punk sold his moves like kabuki, mushroom stomped off the back of The Big Show like an 8-bit plumber, and aped John Cena's "you can't see me" gesture before rushing into the ring in a pink mankini and stealing his three-way fight with Cena and the Show. He did all of this while wearing Lemmy Kilmeister's sideburns, too. CM Punk is both the antihero this nation deserves and needs.
He is also not John Cena. Let's remember how important this fact is. CM Punk is the wrestler who writes jokes and tributes into his ring routines, has a sense of humor, breaks the fourth wall routinely, and clearly embraces both the camp and the deep skill set of wrestling. The sport is junk food, but junk food is its own weird art, and CM Punk is its current resident mashup genius.
John Cena, meanwhile, is a human Subway BMT: fine if you like the BMT, but boring as hell. He gets no championships and no awards for his performance tonight, or any night.
Jason Kirk: TaxSlayer.com Mercenary Championship, Presented By Hertz: To the man bested at loquaciousness by his own trunks, Bork "Brock Lesnar" Laser himself. He's scary because he's good at actual sports, you see. He's basically a continuance of the '80s tradition of occupation-themed wrestlers (The Model! The Clown! The Barber!), and if he'd arrived 25 years earlier, he'd be called The Discover Rewards Cage Fighter, brought to you by AirTran.
Lesnar is a bad guy, as best shown by Triple H apologizing to the fans for losing to him. Nobody ever knows whether Triple H is a bad guy or not, so the crowd had to collect itself before realizing it was being handed a script to read. Thank you for your service, Triple H.
Lesnar's an outsider, as made very clear by the advertisements that cover literally everything he wears, down to his mouthpiece (no, the one covering his teeth, not Paul Heyman). Nobody else advertises anything but the WWE. He's a ringer and a rent-a-monster, and while so far his guest run has largely been used like most other things to just make Triple H look awesome, he's also the only convincing terror the show has right now.
Bill Hanstock: Pandimensional Rick Rude Memorial Lothario Championship: This award goes -- as it only could -- to the incomparable Dolph Ziggler, who took his gimmick to a whole new level on Sunday with something as simple as adding a zipper to his spandex trunks. How brilliant is that? That is a confident dude, my friends. These are not full-length tights. His ring gear is tantamount to "sparkly tighty whiteys." And he put a zipper on that crud, man. There isn't a smirk in the world big enough to encapsulate how inconspicuously lewd that is.
Congrats to you, Mr. Ziggler. And everyone else, give this man a wide berth when you're walking down the street. This man knows things and has done things that you may not be fully ready to think about. Better to just recline with a nice book for a while. I'll tell you all about Dolph Ziggler when you're older.