If there’s one question that can tell you everything you need to know about a person, it is: if you were a professional wrestler, what would your entrance music be? The way you enter the ring sets the tone for next three hours of pain and sweat and chafing. It dictates whether you are destined to elevate into glorious immortality, or fade dejectedly into irrelevance. It is the difference between merely asserting your presence at a party by gently placing a bottle of wine on the table, or booting the door in, downing a bottle of whisky in one and then smashing it on your own head before passionately necking the host’s wife. Have you ever seen someone enter the ring to an acoustic ballad? No, exactly.
In honour of the great tradition that is walking into a room and commanding so much attention it endangers the gravitational balance of the planet, we decided to countdown the top 10 greatest entrance themes of all time. I’m now going to spend as much time concluding this introduction as I imagine someone spends writing entrance themes for wrestlers…
Ok, here it is! You've waited long enough reader! It's the top ten greatest wrestling entrance themes of all time, according to ten extremely benevolent and objective writers for Noisey, Thump, and VICE.
10. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
Is there anything better than a straightforward ode to ass-kicking with juicy riffs and the passion for glam you can only find in old photos of Marc Bolan? I mean, here in front of us is a song that simultaneously praises the ass and praises kicking it, too.
Billy Gunn was truly ahead of his time, and it's a shame that in the year of our lord 2016, a year of eating ass and taking names, we neglected a work of art akin only to the rear of Kim Kardashian herself. But then again, like Billy Gunn says, "the best surprises always sneak up from behind."
Like the ass itself, this song is appropriate for any occasion: birthday parties, a bachelor/bachelorette function, graduation, funeral, or even just a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Thank you, based ass, for this, the tenth greatest wrestling entrance theme of all time. Annalise Domenighini
9. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
Billy Gunn’s “Mr. Ass” is sort of a brilliant repurposing of the phrase "ass man". Like he's saying "I cannot even be bothered to objectify the asses of women when mine is so desirable." I mean, gotta respect that. The man too narcissistic to be sexist. Dan Ozzi
8. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
Has any other component of the human body been so simultaneously adored and maligned by the masses as the ass? Personally, I love ‘em. There is nothing more satisfying than squeezing out some excrement that’s been marinating inside of my body for the past week. Oh, the sweet joy of the extended trip to the restroom. As it turns out Billy Gunn is also a man who loves asses, but for a different reason. He loves to kick ‘em, he loves to watch ‘em, he loves to flaunt ‘em. He is the ass-man, a maverick who celebrates all things rotund and round, and I am willing to congratulate him on his achievements by dubbing "Mr. Ass" the eighth greatest wrestling entrance theme. Nice one, bruh! You found your niche, and you rode it on out to victory.Ryan Bassil
7. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
As an anxious child afflicted with a debilitating fear of rain, I managed to blag many a day off school. These were mostly wasted days… Except one. Around the age of 10, I got very into wrestling. We didn't have Sky, so I salved my addiction with WCW on Channel Five on a Friday night, and a bit of WWF on Channel 4 on Sunday afternoon. The gap between was time spent replaying past thrills and imagining those to come. Channel 4 showed every other Pay Per View event for free, and as such I'd managed to persuade my dad to configure the VCR machine to record the 2000 Royal Rumble, having already decided to skive off on the Monday morning. My "headache" was convincing enough to be given a duvet day and I sat slack-jawed as I watched matches of hitherto unimagined quality. There were powerbombs onto barbed wire! Old women stripping! A genuine real Royal Rumble! It was the best three hours of television I'd ever seen and I may have wept tears of joy.
At some point, Bad Ass Billy Gun emerged, his theme tune piercing through the chaos like Munch’s Scream. The world stopped, and for a few seconds, all that existed was those opening riffs. From then on in, I was an ass man. Josh Baines
6. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
I guess it’s only fair that in a list of the top ten greatest wrestling songs of all time, “Mr Ass” should come in at number 6. It still startles me that 15 years before America as a nation would even start to toy with the idea of allowing gay marriage, a hench dude in a crop top and pink lycra called Mr Ass was able to tour the Bible Belt states of Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky; cheered, clapped, and hollered along the way by ecstatic sons and fathers, as he slinked around wrestling rings, oiled up to the heavens; slapping, propositioning and pointing at his buttocks for everyone to see – all to the sound of this wonderful song. What a time to be alive indeed. Joe Zadeh
5. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
Being an WWF Attitude-era obsessive, this was a difficult choice for me. However, with honourable mentions in this article already going to Billy Gunn’s “Ass Man”, “Ass Man” by Billy Gunn, the entrance music for Billy Gunn, and Billy Gunn’s “Ass Man”, there was only one wrestling theme tune classic left to choose for this list: Billy Gunn with his theme tune, “Ass Man”. While most ass men can usually be found draped over scaffolding or out of van windows, whistling at an endless procession of other people’s posteriors, Billy Gunn’s particular obsession was with his own ass. And his message was not one of misogyny or libidinousness, but one calling for comfort in your own skin. This was particularly pertinent for those like me born with disproportionately large bottoms. And though it may seem a bit silly to most that a man’s deadliest weapon in a fight could be the softest part of his body, Billy Gunn made it possible. He owned that ass. He famed that ass, empowering the posteriors of my generation and inspiring little ass men to appear inside every one of us. Thank you, Dr. William Ass. Oobah Butler
4. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
There are two types of Billy Gunn promo picture: one is him gesturing towards or parading an ass – sometimes a third-party ass, more often his own ass, clad in pink lycra pants covered in multi-coloured kisses. Like he’s just escaped some Warhol fuck factory. The other type is just him apologetically shrugging. Like someone had just came up to him like: “Hey… Hey, Billy - which do you prefer: boobs or butt?” And he’s like, “Did you not... Like, they just played my song. Buddy, I just explained this. I do literally nothing besides this. My entire raison d'etre is to explain my predilection for asses. Watching 'em, picking 'em, kicking 'em. I literally could not be more clear on this, man. My finishing move is me jumping six-foot in the air and driving a dude’s face into the mat with my ass... So yeah,” he finishes, “it’s probably ass.” Sam Diss
3. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
"So many asses, so little time." What is Mr Ass's seminal entrance theme really saying? Yes, of course, it is about asses. Not only about asses but the innumerable things you can do with an ass. As Mr Ass well knows, the possibilities stretch from kicking them, shoving them, sticking them, watching them, picking them (um?), and kicking them again. That is what constitutes being an Ass Man. It is not merely a fixation with the ass as a physical and emotive entity. No, it is the pregnant potential the ass provides. To see an ass is not to see a pair of fleshy buttocks, not merely two grinding slabs of leg shoulder. No, to see an ass is to see possibility. Suspended motion. To see an ass is to see unending past-time. The question is, where does the line between 'interest' and 'obsession' fall? When does loving ass, and oh so desiring to kick, stick, shove and pick it, become an all-consuming religion. When does 'an ass man' become 'Mr Ass'. The answer lies in the simple but devastating line we opened with. "So many asses, so little time." It is over the course of these six words that Mr Ass realises his desire for ass has exceeded his mortal realm. He will never kick, stick, shove and/or pick enough to satiate himself. I both admire and pity Mr Ass, a man who gave it all for a taste of some ass, but it was never enough. For when you look too deeply into the ass what do you find? Nothing, but a hole. Angus Harrison
2. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
The second greatest wrestling song of all time? Easy: "Ass Man" by Billy Gunn. Why? Because it isn’t just a wrestling entrance theme, it is a philosophy, a way of life. Show me a truer lyric than “So many asses, so little time” and I will show you the fucking door. This, for me, is the one.
“Mr. Ass” is simultaneously about nothing and everything. Traditionally, wrestling themes aim to establish someone’s entire character in under three minutes. So who is Billy Gunn? Billy Gunn is a man who loves to kick asses. Billy Gunn is also a man who also enjoys the assess of others. But, above all else, Billy Gunn is a man who enjoys his own ass so much he has been known to enter the ring in a pair of hot pink PVC shorts with the words “ass” and “man” written on and top and bottom lips of a mouth pursed precisely where his crack is or at least should be. Where most men would flaunt their hetero-masculinity with a suspicious volume of aggression, bragging about their dick size or how full their balls are, Billy Gunn is looking back at it in the mirror. He is looking over his own shoulder at the reflection of his two, excessively tanned cheeks, flexing and relaxing repeatedly, and thinking damn, Billy Gunn, those are buns of steel. Buns of glory. This song is masculinity at its most comfortable. It is a straight man who loves pegging. It is Bruce Willis showering himself with Imperial Lather Mango after putting up a shelf. If “Mr. Ass” were a fragrance, it would be ‘petrol and pineapple’. It is the most perfect wrestling song ever made. Emma Garland
1. BILLY GUNN - “MR. ASS”
There are two types of people in this world: the ass man and the boob man. I know it is 2016 now and gender is more complicated that that – genders everywhere now, there are more genders than there are stars in the sky, every speck of sand on a beach a gender now, ‘man’ and ‘woman’ are simply the most basic poles on a wide and glittering spectrum – but in this instance the term ‘man’ transcends gender, in much the same way ‘dude’ as a form of affection does. If we are going to be academic about ‘Ass Man’ by Billy Gunn then you are going to have to concede to me this point.
So you are defined now by whether you are an ass man or a boob man. Boob men are impulsive, shallow, they act on instinct and without thought, they are fools, essentially, easily tricked by trinkets and gewgaws. Take a boob man to a flea market in a Moroccan back alley and he will pay for everything, unblinkingly, without even questioning the price. A boob man does not haggle, he does not question. But an ass man… an ass man is a rare, musky prince. An ass man appreciates that which is beneath the surface, hidden. An ass man considers. An ass man watches from afar. An ass man is civilised, thoughtful. An ass man knows your favourite cocktail before even you do. An ass man sidles up to your fine ass at a bar and orders you a Smoke and Flowers before he’s even asked your name. “You are going to love it,” he purrs, in an exquisite French accent, delicately passing it to you with two hands. You take one sip. Fireworks explode in your mouth. Close your eyes and let it take you away. Beautiful memories flash through your cortex. You are a child again, you are in full bloom again, you are lithe and you are tender. Later, on a warm quiet beach beneath a deep navy sky, he takes you like a bull.
So we all have to figure out, at a key moment in our lives, what we are: ass men, or boob men? Billy Gunn is an ass man. He says so in the song: “I’m an ass man,” he says. “Woah–ooh–oh. I’m an ass man.” And again, later: “I’m an ass man.” He comes back to this point repeatedly – “I’m an ass man,” he says, “I’m an ass man” – and he is, he is an ass man, proud and strong, tall and hard to defeat, he is an ass man, he is the ass man, capital A capital M, survey the mighty Ass Man and hear his roar, see him resplendent in oil, watch him crush strong men into canvas using pre-choreographed throws. The Ass Man poses in a pouch and you behold him: you love him, the Ass Man, sure of himself like a cock. “Ass Man,” you whisper to yourself, in love. “Ass Man.” Joel Golby
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