My name is Leslie, and I am a wrestle-aholic. The first measure to recovery is acknowledging that you have got a problem, but frankly, I don't care. I love wrestling, grapplers and everything that travels along with this antic sport. If watching a wrestle lucifer is a disease, I trust they never happen a cure.
I watch all the different wrestle organisations on TV, but my favourite have to be our local SABYWF—the Southern Grand Canyon State Back-Yard Wrestle Federation. Most of their turns aren't actually televised, so I travel see 'em unrecorded every opportunity I get. My girlfriend Kay-Kay and I cruise around southern Grand Canyon State followers the circuit and our favourite wrestlers.
Kay-Kay's favorite is the Flyin' Hawaiian, a very tall, very muscular Polynesian grappler who moved to Grand Canyon State after a short stretch in the army. I happen him fine-looking and all, but my favourite is Wildcat Well Jackson. He's a moony 6' 7", 325 pound mountain of maleness that brands otherwise-normal women squeal on site.
After repeatedly trying to ran into the Wildcat, I'd given up hope on ever getting to cognize him. His manager, wrestling bad cat Elephantine Jenkins, have a policy about letting fans backstage—unless they're sporting 38 double-Ds anyway. Well, one nighttime after the fights, Kay-Kay and I stopped at the 7-11 for some route supplies. And, conjecture who was their picking up a 12-pack of post-bout hurting reliever? That's right; the Wildcat!
Paralyzed by fear, I still didn't state anything to him. But, he was driving 2006 Chevy Silverado, just like me! I couldn't believe that my graven image and hopeful hereafter hubby drove the same rig as me. Of course, Wildcat's was lifted to the sky and equipt with immense clay tires. But this gave me an idea.
According to the SABYWF schedule, the circuit was coming to a backyard in my neighborhood. I decided to raise my motortruck just like Wildcat's and ease another "chance meeting." I figured he couldn't defy me if he could see what a immense fan I am. So, Kay-Kay and I sold some clothing on E-bay and pooled our adjacent few payroll checks to purchase the lift kit and tyres for my Silverado.
I decided to purchase the Rancho Complete Lift Kit. It supplies 4-full ins of lift, come ups with everything I necessitate and it allows me steal a set of gnarly 35" tyres underneath. Rancho is the number-one name in suspension, which really helped in my decision. We had a few vaulting horses left over from the E-bay money, so I tossed in a set of Bushwacker Fender Flares to fan up my truck's stance a bit. There was no manner Wildcat Well could defy me now.
Fight nighttime came and I was ready. Kay-Kay and I followed Wildcat Well after the fight, hoping he'd travel to the 7-11 again. Unfortunately, he stopped at the TGIF to pick up his girlfriend. Girlfriend! How could he have got a girlfriend?! Without thought I jumped from my lifted Silverado and grabbed that miss by the hair. I don't cognize what got into me, but I lifted her skinny butt end over my caput and organic structure slammed her to the pavement. Then I slapped Kay-Kay's hand, tag-team style, and ticker her set that adulteress into a slumberer hold.
Next thing I know, Kay-Kay and I are in the dorsum of a police force cruiser, arrested for assault and battery. Gratuitous to say, Wildcat Well won't have got anything to make with me, at least not until I'm off probation. But, in the end, my truck's got a killer-looking lift and I'm calm attending SABYWF wrestle matches, where I hearten my combat graven images on to victory.
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