Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

On guilty pleasures.

(Though, technically, it's not a guilty pleasure if you're not ashamed of it.)

JayG throws up a list of his guilty pleasures. I counter with one. Single. Admission:

Professional wrestling.

That's right, bitches. I am a member of the Raw Fan Nation, the WWE universe, whatever the Hell you want to call it. Mock away.

Oiled up, muscular men in eensy britches, grappiling sweatily and grunting with abandon. Rippling abs, tight glutes and bulging biceps. It's a giant, 'roided up soap opera, and it's the closest thing to gladiatorial competition there is.

Yeah, I know it's scripted, and yet I give no fuck.

Look at this man. Just look at him. You could grate cheese on his abs! He could have the cognitive ability of a gerbil, and I would not care, because, TEH HOTNESS.

(I know Miss Kitty  and The Cranky Con and his wife watch, too, so bite me. We're all well-educated, and wrasslin' lets us release the doves...er, our inner redneck.)


  1. Well it ain't exactly the hot bodies that draw me in, unless of course you're talking about Maryse. Grrrrrr.

  2. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! AWESOMENESS!!!! Perhaps it's an alter ego thing?

  3. Heh. Glad to be of service as your muse.

    Wish I had that guy's abs, but I'm glad my testes aren't shriveled raisins from all that juice...


  4. Fuck yea! WWE, formerly WWF, is the way to go!


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