Okay, by now, the pre-match recaps with grainy footage and police line tape have got me so motherfuckin’ hyped for more carnage, and ultimately resolution… hopefully. I mean, it has to end somewhere doesn’t it? Or will this just keep on and on until finally Matsunaga rapes Jumbo’s corpse while reaching out to stab the living puro legends attempting to remove him from the unearthed grave? Either way, we all win. In that sense, wrestling is a lot like scratch-off lottery tickets, with the same fixed outcomes, and all too often, with modern writing teams and shit, you don’t uncover enough winning situations to keep you happily coming back. This motherfuckin’ Matsunaga storyline is a $1500 scratch-off win the day before your power is about to get cut off and you’re not sure if there’s enough limit still left on the credit card hovering near impending doom to make the payment in time.
Barbed wire rope match entrance to “Exodus” with the ring looking like a Nervous Records slipmat for a tattooed greaser Jap kid to get bludgeoned by the aging Mr. Danger, holding maniacally onto his hardcore legend status – probably the only thing worth noting he’s made out of his life – it is a trophy example of the sad perfect beauty of the professional wrestling, and what made me fall in love with it when The Iron Sheik was clubbing Blackjack Mulligan with those weird ay-rab bowling pins, or when Jimmy Valiant was losing his hair, literally, over that piece of shit bald-headed geek Paul Jones, back when I was young. I am momentarily in love again, ready to move in with wrestling and share a bed and carefully work its clit with my tongue even when the moon cycle is spinning at peak flow.
Yokoi tastes the pain end of Matsunaga’s dickish stabbing, but powers back up long enough to slip on a barbed wire glove. Matsunaga is a-feared not though, and takes two barbed wire body blows before finally falling to a forehead punch. He blades, then takes a barrage of reach-around punches to the trickles to MAKE IT REAL! When finally breaking the momentum, he stares ahead, fangs protruding from his mouth, blood streaming around his eyes… I will make my children watch this for Halloween and explain how Mr. Danger is the man who comes to keep you when you back talk your parents too much. They will sleep an unhealthy light sleep, clutching at grandma’s afghans for a comfort that no longer exists. And when they sass us, all I’ll have to say is, “Do I need to look up Mr. Danger’s phone number?” and they’ll run to pick up their toys and feed their pet cats with no haste.
Ah, poor naïve Yokoi, who stripped off his shoot glove to put on the barbed wire glove, and it briefly gave him control over the monster, but monsters never die, so Matsunaga now has the same hand, naked of its barbed wire protection, and is stabbing it into a bloody mess with a fork. You cannot out-monster the monster, and Yokoi will have arthritic aches to remind him of this, and from the looks of what Matsunaga is doing, those aches will not be a worked ache either. Vise grips, powder… Mr. Danger has a fuckin’ toolbox taped to his ankles. And Mr. Danger wins with the classic chain-around-the-neck-wrapped-around-paint-flecked-cornerpost-pulling-opponent-into-barbed-wire-with-your-feet-against-the-small-of-his-back-to-increase-the-pressure submission, following this up with a dazed and deranged mad stumble through the crowd to make them uneasy that probably can only be compared by Abdullah in Puerto Rico.
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