Written @ 8:54 a.m. on 2007-04-30
The Heavy Metal Cowboy
The Wrestling Show. I wanted to take pictures. I wanted to document it all, but my mouth was hanging open and I was in such a state of shock and dismay, I couldn't think to grab my camera phone.
I was late. I saw a group of B.'s friends had saved me a seat. One looks like Boomhower from King of the Hill, only not a cartoon, and another looks like Kevin Smith, the director, and acts like Silent Bob, and the others look like non-descript white kids that are too scared to get tattoos 'cause their moms would be mad.
The show is at B.'s shop, where there is a wrestling ring just like you would see on tv, and all around the walls are murals of great wrestlers who have come to the shop for autograph signings. B. painted them all. He is cool, for sure, too! : )
Fast forward through the gay puerto rican in the pink outfit vs. the brit who hates america- the broad-minded trailer dwellers in the audience sided with The Queer, because we all love america, dag nabbit, queer or no! I was proud.
Fast forward through the vietnamese kid who is supposed to not speak any english and the muscle guy who spent too long in the tanning booth.
Fast forward through the skinny leprechaun kid and the one-armed Comissioner.
Fast forward through the fat lady sitting in front of me, a grandma type, yelling,"Kick that pussy's ass!"
This is all irrelevant. I want to tell you about Bob Henry the Heavy Metal Cowboy's No Rules Street Fight Vs. Rob All Day Long Daly.
Ok, so, the Cowboy is mad because he slapped the one armed Comissioner last show, and is being fined $5000 for the indiscretion. So, he slaps the commissioner again! Then Daly, the Comissioner's darling, comes to his rescue, and starts to beat my boyfriend.
Only, this time there are no rules because the Comissioner wants to see B. dead, right? You with me? There are STORIES in wrestling, and you have to keep up!
My man, wearing his Black Label Society t-shirt, with the sleeves cut off, some tight jeans, some black cowboy boots, and the scungiest black cowboy hat with the sides curled up all nasty-like, enters the ring with authority. He's yelling insults at the crowd and the crowd is insulting him back. Ooooh! He's a bad guy.
Daly, a long athletic type with a shaved head and a sweet face, smiles his charming smile and the crowd loves him. Meanwhile, B. starts throwing folding chairs from under the ring up onto the ring. He follows those with a couple of metal garbage cans.
"Ooooohhh..."says the crowd.
Oh, yes, my man is getting smashed in the head with a folding chair. He's smashing the other guy with the folding chair. He is picking him up and swinging him around and throwing him down on the garbage can. He is having such a good time, he has to bite his lips to keep from grinning.
I'm aghast. Is this legal?
Then they get out the ladder. They set the ladder on top of two folding chairs so it creates a sort of bar from an old west saloon, see? Then B. lines up folded chairs on top of the ladder like bottles of sasparilla.
"Oh! This is the Sacrifical Rite! I helped think of this!"says Boomhower.
Sacrifical what? Oh my goodness, this is not going to be good.
Daly picks up my man, the one who kisses my babies and cries at Bambi, and hurls him down the length of the ladder just like those old westerns, where they throw the bad guy down the bar and all the beers go flying.
He slides down the ladder, screaming all the while, folding chairs on top coming off and clattering down to the concrete floor, and he slides off of the ladder, right clear out of the ring, and lands on the floor with the folding chairs coming down on top of him.
It's tremendous! The people love it! They are chanting,"Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!"
B. is hurt. Oh, he can hardly get up! He is crawling along the floor, and what does he have? What is it? A sheet of dry wall???
Someone yells,"Hey! That's Bob Henry! Not Bob Villa!"
Smash goes the drywall over Daly's head. Smash goes the drywall over B.'s head. Oh, they are having such a good time. The dust turns the crowd white. There is stomping and cheering. The sweat is running down B's bald head.
"The cowboy's bleeding!"
No, he's not. He's just sweating that much.
At last the cowboy is beat. He is passed out on the floor, and in comes the indominable Alex Balboa, the Black Italian, to help him out.
Again with the chairs and the headlocks and the chops. Daly gets him, too. B. is back up and being tossed into the ladder. That's it. He's dead. Daly proves himself the strongest, stupidest, happiest man alive.
Poor cowboy. He had to be carried from the ring, but he seemed pretty fine about thirty seconds later, back stage, smoking a cigarette and showing his bruises.
That's my man! He should have known no one slaps the One Armed Comissioner.