9/11/11: Wrestling, Ambition, and The Douchebags. My Douchebags.

I need to get a life. The cat demands it. Mom says I should get another job (but she don't like the one she got...oh for when Green Day was still cool), and that may be little Eva's preference, but the fact of the matter is the furball just needs me to leave as frequently as I do during the work week.

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Whenever I need to leave the apartment, she knows I have to give her the cat treats or she will leave to terrorize the neighborhood. If I'm broke, and stuck with nothing to do outside the apartment walls, she won't be spoiled as much. Brushing and petting aren't enough. The taste buds must be satisfied.

It is either she doesn't like me loitering in her home, or she dislikes pro wrestling. How do I always end up having my life ran by a typical chick?

Wrestlemania X and King of the Ring 1993. It killed three hours, and reminds me why I do not get out of the indie wrestling scene. Most of my ideas always seem directed to the business, and I'm looking for an outlet to express them, and they only inspire me further when I watch the great moments.

Again, it is sweet and sour bullshit. If anyone gave enough of a shit about improving the local wrestling business, I could have the chance to make Downstate mean something. Instead, all Downstate pro wrestling is about amusing friends and pretending to be tough.

The 16 by 16 foot stage makes it seem more important than the similar drunken college student Youtube bullshit. Of course they get the last laugh. At least those morons will come away with a degree to get the jobs the long termed unemployed are dying for.

Money is not a inhibitor for stupid behavior. A cheap camcorder and a 12-pack of Ice House cost less than anything professional or backyard wrestling related. If you are a young wrestler (under 30 aka WWE material), not trying to make it to the next level, you are an douchebag. You are just too dumb for the Internet, and will have only scars to show for it.

Then again, chicks may dig scars. The birthrate of children among those foolish parents is rather high. Maybe I just needed to get more color. All of the artificial Jerry Quarry's seemed to have the sickest ring rat stories. Some of them had large and fun personalities, more so than I. Well, that's not hard. And they all had larger frames to spread it among. I figure it was being spread to thin.

Glad I put a lot of thought in to writing that River City rassler rant. The initial direction of it would have been anti-military, and I'll leave it at that. It would have definitely have been ill timed.

I guess this sums up why I don't have much of a social life. Ambition left me out of touch with the scene of the friends I had. When I was with them, everything was cool, but I wasn't there to make friends, I wanted to do what I love for a living. When you actually go out and do that, you realize that the phony tough (where the military rant would have come from, thanks Stanley Kubrick) does not encourage that, they may not really be your friends, or they cannot be your friends anymore.

I guess it shows the value of finding true friends. Or it shows I'm just an overly critical asshole. At least a douche goes into a vagina. An asshole does not attract any company...at least the constructive kind.

So for my cat's sake. Is it better to be a douchebag or an asshole?