|
Written by Zeitghost
|
|
I TRIED in vain to stay up late and watch the WWE Royal Rumble the other night. Sadly, sleep took hold and I slipped into the arms of Morpheus, or rather he put me in his deadly inverted facelock camel clutch, a grip from which no man emerges. It was a shame as I am fond of the occasional bout of ham-fisted, human growth hormone spandex panto, that is professional wrestling, and the Royal Rumble is the apogee of lurid slobberknockerdom, with up to thirty burly chaps in garish outfits forcefully hugging and massaging each in the same ring at the same time. Truly, this is the sport of queens.
Registration is required to view this content, registration is FREE |
No Comments.
Fuzzy Logic 