An Ode to Wrestling Thursday, Sep 26 2013 

You probably have a cursory knowledge of wrestling. Like if I held a gun to your head and asked you to name three professional wrestlers, you could probably do it.

I have faith in you.

I have faith in you.

But could you tell me why wrestling is the best thing ever? Why you should devote your life to it and abandon everything else you hold dear? If not, don’t worry. I’m about to give you a primer on why watching wrestling should be your new favorite hobby.

(This primer is very WWE-centric).


Maybe it’s unfair, but you generally don’t get to be a famous wrestler if you’re ugly.

But sometimes it happens anyway.

But sometimes it happens anyway.

And even the ones that aren’t all that great looking in the face generally have rockin’ bods.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A

And don’t worry, there’s plenty of fine looking chicks, too.

Exhibit B

Exhibit B

So even if you have no idea what the hell is going on, it’ll still be aesthetically pleasing.


But if you DO know what’s going on, your enjoyment of the product will shoot up into the sky, past space, and into some alien’s goddamn lap. Everyone knows wrestling storylines can get pretty crazy, and hella complicated.

For instance, a storyline that recently pulled at my heartstrings was the breakup of Team Rhodes Scholars, a tag team who had been competing together on and off for about a year.


They finally broke up at the Money in the Bank pay per view, when Damian Sandow, (the guy on the left), betrayed Cody Rhodes, (the other guy), by stealing a win from him in one of the most important matches of the night, where they were battling over a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.

You, the unassuming non-wrestling fan, might have been like, “Oh, that’s messed up. He stole his win.”

Me, the wrestling fan, THE TEAM RHODES SCHOLARS FAN, who had watched them go from


to trying to beat the shit out of each other, was heartbroken. Absolutely devastated for the rest of the week night. But having only watched wrestling since April, you may be wondering how I was able to form such a connection. Well…


Like really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, gay.

But still not quite as gay as gay porn.

But still not quite as gay as gay porn.

This really surprised me when I first started watching wrestling because I always thought of it as really macho and assumed the main audience was young, heterosexual men… But then I started really watching wrestling and


it just gets gayer and gayer


the more I watch.


Rated RKO.

Rated RKO.

To add onto the gayness, tag teams, a constant in wrestling since 1901, (says Wikipedia), are basically just gay couples who happen to fight together against other gay couples.

When they’re not fighting, they’re either being adorable,




“Alright, Chey, I’m not into this gay shit,” you may be saying, if you were dropped on your head as a baby. “Is there anything else that’s good about wrestling?”

Luckily for you, there is.


One of the reasons wrestling is looked down on is because they’re not really beating each other up,* as opposed to sports like MMA or boxing. But since wrestling is more about entertainment than trying to kill each other, there’s more space for moves like this:




All of that shit looks really cool, and you can enjoy it without the crippling guilt of wondering whether one of those guys will be able to walk tomorrow.


So, in conclusion, get off your ass and go start watching some wrestling right now or YOU WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOURSELF

*BUT wrestling is still one of the easiest ways to fuck yourself up forever. While the wrestlers try their best not to injure themselves and each other, injuries do occur, and ridiculous amounts of pain are par for the course. All you have to do is hear wrestlers and doctors describe getting slammed on the mat as enduring a “mini car-crash,” and you’ll understand why many wrestlers over the years have struggled with crippling drug and alcohol addictions.

Searching… Thursday, Sep 19 2013 

Something that’s always interested me about tracking the statistics of websites, (YEAH, RIVETING STUFF), is getting to look at the search terms people put into various search engines that eventually lead them to your site. The reason why they interest me, well, I’ve decided to list a few of the more ‘interesting’ search terms that lead people to this blog below. Investigate for yourself.

‘megan is missing barrel of death’

‘dracula gay fuck’

‘industrial piercing fuck you’

‘purple vibrator dog-shape’

‘does the industrial piercing hurt if you twirl baton’

‘rape dungeon contractor’

‘a hobo eating shit’

‘shit shaped dildo’

‘herpes feet’

‘neanderthal erection’


My Favorite Movies Saturday, Sep 14 2013 

Awhile back, I began to cultivate a list of my favorite movies. Because apparently I have way too much time on my hands.

Time. On my hands.

Time. On my hands.

In an attempt to not let that, (still unfinished), list go to waste, I’ve decided to start a new feature on the blog! It’s called, ‘My Favorite Movies,’ where I’ll showcase three movies and rant and rave about how amazing and life changing they are and how you should go watch them right now.

You know my movie choices are good because, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am the most critical person in the fucking world


The Strangers (2008)


The Strangers is a horror movie, and, as those of you who love horror movies probably already know, the vast majority of them suck unbearable ass. So it’s always nice to find one that doesn’t.

The general gist of the movie is that a couple in a little house in the middle of nowhere is being savaged by a trio of mask wearing freaks.

Oh goodie.

I can’t imagine this ending well.

A lot of people have problems with the movie because, on the surface, it takes a bit more of suspension of disbelief than your usual popcorn fare would. The events that occur in the movie could have been easily avoided if

A) Their house wasn’t in the middle of fucking nowhere

B) The freaky mask trio didn’t have some sort of unexplained super speed


C) The couple wasn’t unbelievably and un-apologetically stupid.

But those are pretty much the tenets of any good horror movie. Half the fun of horror movies is screaming at the screen, “TURN AROUND, BITCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING– OH MY GOD. MAYBE YOU WOULD HAVE LIVED IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO MY SAGE ADVICE.”

The movie is also pretty darn creepy and will totally put you off houses in the middle of nowhere for the rest of your life.

Casa de mi Padre (2012)


On to lighter fare! Casa de mi Padre is a comedy starring Will Ferrell, who we all know by now, is flipping hilarious.

And did I mention it’s entirely in Spanish?

It's totally as ridiculous as it looks.

It’s totally as ridiculous as it looks.

It’s a parody of low-budget Spanish grindhouse films with a dash of classic telenovela craziness sprinkled in for good measure. The plot follows Will Ferrell’s character, whose brother, a drug dealer, returns home to introduce his family to his fiancee, Sonia, and brings along a whole mess of crazy with him.

The majority of that crazy is spurred on by Sonia’s incredibly sexy uncle, la Onza, (who is played by the incredibly sexy Gael Garcia Bernal).

Try not to faint.

Try not to faint.

Not into dudes? It’s cool, Sonia’s quite a looker herself.

Here's the pair looking suave together.

Here’s the pair looking suave together.

The movie is full of intentional continuity errors sure to make you giggle, along with other cute winks to the supposed low budget-ness of the film. While it’s hard to explain just how hilarious/ridiculous the dialogue is, if you’ve got the line, “crazy shit-eating monster babies,” in your movie, you can probably rest assured that it’s a true work of art.

Possessed (2000)


I’m almost entirely convinced that I am the only person on this Earth to have ever watched Possessed. (I’ve actually watched it twice AND I OWN IT, so hats off to me). It’s a made for TV Showtime horror/drama based on the same events the movie The Exorcist is based on. This movie takes a more realistic approach, staying truer to the original events that took place in the 1940’s.

But all that is really just a front for the love story between the two priests in the movie that completely steals the show.

These guys are about as gay as it gets.

These guys are about as gay as it gets.

Father Bowdern, (on the right), is an alcoholic priest suffering from PTSD, a disorder he picked up during his time in France during World War II.

Father McBride, (on the left), is madly in love with him.

Father McBride, seen here wishing he knew how to quit Father Bowdern.

Father McBride, wishing he knew how to quit Father Bowdern.

Father Bowdern is the priest who handles the central possession and subsequent exorcism in the film, and Father McBride is pretty much his lovelorn stalker. Whether Father Bowdern is being thrown in jail, attacked by the possessed kid, or simply moping around in parks, Father McBride is instantly there, like a knight in shining gay armor.

Father Bowdern, wishing Father McBride was around to wipe his ass for him.

Father Bowdern, wishing Father McBride was around to wipe his ass for him.

Does Father Bowdern ever come around and return Father McBride’s advances? Watch the movie and find out for yourself!

Spoiler: He does.

Spoiler: He totally does.

That One Time I Gave Myself Chemical Burns Trying to Remove the Hair From my Body Thursday, Sep 5 2013 

So, even though


we are all, at times, compelled to remove hair from our collective bodies. Whether you’re trimming an unsightly and/or unruly beard, or trying to tame the wild hair that covers your arms in a sweater-like fashion, you are not alone in this practice.

You’re also not alone if you like to wallow in your body hair, convinced that, if it wasn’t meant to be there, GOD WOULDN’T HAVE PUT IT THERE.

I tend to lean towards that side, but a few weeks ago, I too was compelled to rip every single hair out of my legs. And by compelled, I mean, my dad was like, “Hey Bigfoot, we’re in the razor aisle, want to get on that shit?” (I might be paraphrasing).


By “shit,” he meant “razors.”

“Enh,” I replied. I honestly hadn’t touched my leg hair in like a year, (MAYBE MORE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?!), and while the hair wasn’t as impressive as I had thought it would get, (I was expecting, like, a majestic mane to run my fingers through and it was really more like a patchy one centimeter mess), I still didn’t miss bending over in my dark shower and cutting myself for like an hour while the hot water ran out.

I told my dad as much and he was like, “Why not get Veet or something like that?”

This. This is Veet.

This. This is Veet.

Veet is a cream that you put on your body, and, after a few minutes, scrape away. During the aforementioned minutes, some crazy science shit goes down that makes the hair fall out. Quick, relatively simple, and, (supposedly), painless. I had tried it when I was younger and I seemed to recall it working pretty well.

So it was settled.


Later that night, I prepared for my shower and grabbed the Veet, slathering it on my legs. The bottle said to leave it on for ten minutes, or like twelve if you had some seriously heinous hair issues.

I finished the first leg, even though I couldn’t help but wonder if I was putting on too much or too little. Besides that, things appeared to be fine. Until I started on my other leg.

As soon as I applied the cream, I knew there was something wrong. The burning sensation in my leg was a pretty big hint, but I was already this far into it– I couldn’t have one hairless leg! I WOULD LOOK FOOLISH! So I persisted. And the burning got worse.

It felt a lot like how this looks.

It felt a lot like how this looks.

I did my best to ignore it. I’m a toughie. But I couldn’t help the nonstop fantasies of tearing away my red, charred flesh as I tried to scrape the hair off. Finally, I gave in and began to scrape the cream away, praying that I wouldn’t end up in the emergency room.


The hair didn’t even come off! (Well, some of it did, but not all of it). I endured that burning for nothing! And the cream left a weird icky residue that felt like somebody rubbed smashed roaches all over my legs. Total bust. Fuck you, Veet. Fuck you.

Also now I have a big bottle of Veet and no idea what to do with it.