Happy Valentine’s Day.
Here is a CLASSIC from me to you.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
God bless you.
Sorry, Bob is the eloquent one. He’s the heart taker, while I’m the heartbreaker. Let it be known, I don’t have a heart so good luck trying to get back at me.
And, I know.
Instead of speaking on things I know about, I.E. the depth of Bob’s belly button, the PRIME tournament, and if Lee Best is in fact alive or dead– let’s tackle something I don’t know. As in, I don’t know which is worse: Bobby hitting me with an avalanche splash, or not knowing Darkwings, the true gothic buffalo wing, was back on the High Octane menu.
On the one hand Bob’s splash was completely uncalled for. It was his fault we lost to New and Comer, not mine. He shouldn’t have done it. Plus, “the kick” was called for. He fucked me. He should know better than anyone else– you fuck Cancer Jiles and you get kicked in the face. Not only that, but he’s gained like a hundred pounds since then so it was especially uncalled for. And he was a sweaty mess, which really doesn’t need any more explanation if you know the man.
Since it’s Bobby Dean, chances are that you do.
The nerve of Bob. Put his ass on me when I’m in the middle of a championship run in the definition of one spelling bee. He’s lucky I want to win this thing, or else I’d be throwing matches left and right to preserve myself for the slot machines.
All in the name of Tall Octopus… or whatever the hell this place is called again.
And then there’s the other side of my quandary.
High Octane Hall of Famer, Darkwing.
Truth be told, I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup. He could carry my bags into the arena, valet my car, take my clothes to the laundromat, wipe my ass, smoke a joint with me, fill in for Bobby as an usher at my fake wedding, and I STILL wouldn’t be able to do it.
Not with confidence.
Which ultimately is a shame. He is a Hall of Famer. He did his time. He put in the work. I’m sure he held a High Octane Championship before, just like I have. I’m sure he’s wondered what it would be like losing an eye, just like I have. I’m sure he’s forgotten he was on the roster, like just Bobby Dean has.
Oversized truck reversing beep.
My first thought when it dawned on me that the Spectacle of Justice, the Defender of the Dark, The Darkwinger, was back in High Octane was… oh shit when did he come back? My second thought was — finally. No, it wasn’t because I missed him. I thought finally because now Doozer could return and have that miracle run since he wouldn’t be the oldest on the roster anymore. That was always The Dooze’s hang up in High Octane, and one of the main reasons no one could really see him for the old, frail man he wasn’t.
Or at all.
I would always tell Dooze that Kostoff was older, and he’s GREAT. However, much to our chagrin, we both knew it didn’t count because Kostoff’s designation is that of an animal, and not of a man.
Speaking of animals…
Duckaroo is back.
I wonder how Darkwing’s SUPER return to the HOW cave went down? Did Olly reach out and beg another one from the Hall to give it one more go? Were they in an elevator? Better yet, Does Darkwing even know Olly? Rather, does Olly even know Darkwing? Maybe it wasn’t even Olly at all. Maybe, Bobby Number Two bumped into DeeDoubleYou at church, and after mass she asked him if he felt like wasting his time inside the wrestling ring again. Sounds logical enough if you ask me. A High Octane Legend wetting his beak to team up with another High Octane Legend for a run in the nario barkueu tag team match thing.
Doesn’t hurt that the damn thing is wide open. So wide half the roster retired to get out of participating in it. IN FACT, I was looking over the brackets just the other day wondering…. Wait, or was it the tournament groupings???? Shit, I can’t remember what I wasn’t looking at.
It was something. Or it was nothing. One of the two.
BUT YEAH, The Darkwing, not to be confused with the short lived BET spinoff of the hit drama, The West Wing, where the CIA was deep cover as gangster rappers on the mean streets of [YOUR CITY HERE] is back.
Which is great.
I always wanted to know why his nickname was Duck.
I remember asking him once a long, long time ago.
Back when the Bandits were jobbers.
I can’t remember if he told me why, but if he did, here’s to the second time being a charm. And if Duck Duck Poop Stoop didn’t tell me why he’s a yellow feather, webbed foot, billed platypussy, hopefully he doesn’t duck my question for a second time.
Duck my question.
Maybe I’ll add those to the not knowing what is worse part.
As for which of the two I think is worse, or I guess three now since I threw in those Doozers — bad jokes — I conclude that it’s Bobby, my tag team partner, my friend for ten plus years who’d definitely be an usher at my fake wedding, attacking me without warning.
It was close.
Still, Bob put his hands on me.
DIRTY SWEATY ASS.
How can I forgive him? How am I expected to go to the ring, stand in his corner, and support the team? I can’t get past it. I’ve tried. I’ve even been backstabbed so many times I was surprised it didn’t make anyone’s daily Top 5 so I’ve been around this level of tomfoolery my whole career.
Yet, here I am.
Here WE are.
SO WATCH THE SHOW ON SUNDAY NIGHT AND FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.