Wrestling… Kill Me Now

As soon as the Squeeze came through the front door, the television was on and one of his creepy, old, 1980’s wrestling DVD’s was life size on the new big screen.  I should point out that these classics are not easy to find.  He needs to import them via other creepy, old guys in the states.

If I mention in a blog that the Squeeze is keen in wrestling – and I have several times previously, I don’t think anyone understands the full impact of that statement.

As a reader, you would miss the visual, which is a thing to behold really.   It’s not horror exactly… But it is pretty horrific.  We are talking a world of really fat guys who are play acting with less finesse than I did 40 years ago when I wrestled the kids to the ground and threatened to dribble on them to the accompaniment of their squeals and peals of laughter.  And when I think back to those times, those little buggers put up a pretty good fight.

But back to the fat guys…   There are obese men with mullets; oiled up to highlight that muffin top (which is really more like a high loaf tin) that is spilling over the top of their lycra.  They are wearing glittery speedos, Elvis costumes, camouflage, bad facial hair and studs and buckles to the point where they look like they just slipped out of the basement in Pulp Fiction.

There is Mr T, Hulk Hogan, Macho Man and the Texas Tornado.   There is Rowdy Roddy Piper, Honky Tonk Man and Greg the Hammer.

It is a cult.  It is an obsession.  It scares me.