If there's one thing I'm wrong about in this whole blog thing, it'll probably be in this one specific blog. All the others are factual and if you contest it, I'll dropkick you.
Because tonight. I watched. Wrestling.
Thee Royale de Rumble, to be specific. With my Dad and Mem and Pep. Three Generations of family, 30 wrestlers, and it was good.
There's a lot to say about this.
The first person I want to eliminate and throw over the top rope is my brother.
Russ, you wanted a shout out on my blog? You got it, like Undertaker cold-cocking The Big Show with twenty straight haymakers to the jugular. He was alright, though, because, you know wrestling is real and stuff.
All I'm saying is, at least The Big Show showed up. And he knew an ass kicking was coming his way. The entire ride to the Joe Louis Arena in Detroit he sat in his car, trying to get his mind off being triple-teamed by a bunch of sweaty dudes.
What's wrong with you, dude? How do you miss the Royal Rumble? Nonetheless, I don't care if you got some weird bubonic plague-like rash on your face that even House can't figure out. You can't miss the Royal Rumble. Better men have climbed mountains to get a chance at earning first-contender rights at Wrestlemania.
Way to ruin Christmas. That's all I'm saying.
(please note: said writer of said blog recognizes the outward hypocracy in missing Super Shitty Bowl next week due to a basketball game that will most likely be forfeited, yet still berating big brother about wrestling.)
The second person I want to close-line over the top rope, and while he's hanging for dear life is me.
How did I sit through that and not drop 30-40 F-bombs? I can't believe I refrained from calling anyone a cocksucker at least once. And you know I hate that cocksucker Shawn Michaels with all my heart. Maybe if my Mem and Pep dropped a "jerkoff"or an "asshole", I would've.
Whatever, there's always Wrestlemania.
Lastly, I want to throw every fan in Joe Louis over the ropes. But only because that'd be an incredibly large Royal Rumble concept.
Things I've learned while reliving my adolescent passion for fake competitions:
1. Hacksaw Jim Duggan is still alive, and willing to risk his life at 69 years old to revive his career, only to be throw out of the ring in a little over one minute.
2. Bras no longer get ripped off during the women's matches. Apparently, they're legitimate now or something.
3. Shawn Michaels still looks 25 and I still can't believe he double-crossed Martie Genetie.
4. Gimmicks are a thing of the past. Everybody uses stage names like, Randy Orton and shit like that. No more Dunk the Clown or Papa Shongo. Just two guys with the last name Hardy that are gay for each other. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
5. Watching guys with their shirts off in tights fighting each other = really awesome. Watching guys with their shirts off in tights dancing = Chippendales.
6. Wrestling is real.
7. Cowboy hats are very fashionable.
8. I couldn't refuse thinking of Mickey Rourke's performance in "The Wrestler" the entire time.
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2 comments:
I love the article and totally relate as I had 8 people over my apartment that comfortably sits 3 people in the family room. However throughout your article I got some implication that wrestling might not be real. I feel it is scripted, but it is real. If you ever want to find out hoe real have Mike Brillon give you a knife edge chop, or the next time you are at an animal's softball party volunteer to be put through a table. The pain is real, the years of training they go through is real and the injuries they suffer are most definitely real(see Triple H). However if you want to say that the story lines are created by writers, I agree but if it wasn't for writers I would not be reading this, and you would be out of a job.
stoo-freaking-shea. release the camel clutch. i tap out.
thanks for reading spoonman.
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