My man Lee down in Florida sent me an Air Paris comp called Suicidal Tendencies, which is fitting because Air Paris was a high-flying fliptard in Wildside about the same time A.J. Styles broke his Wal-Martinized Christian ass onto the scene, yet while one followed the path layed out by the lord, including dodging locker room politics and feeding his body the necessary supplements to survive and thrive in the prefessional wrestling industry, Air Paris turned out to be a dirtbag junkie who'd blow his advance money when he could still get some in truck stop bathrooms shooting up. But fake God and fake Satan are a western yin and yang, needing each other to perpetuate their individual industries, so Air Paris deserves some recognition. And anyways, he might be clean and sober now. HAHAHA, that's funny. Heroin junkies are to cleaning up like wrestlers are to retiring.
I think the Boogalou Crew is Scottie Wrenn and J.C. Dazz, and I also think Scottie Wrenn is that dude who caught himself on fire on that one Wildside tape I watched way back in the day. I never knew how fucked that was until I was at the Wildside Arena one time - an old church-looking shit-ass building in the middle of a field not really near anything too much of a note, although the country store across the road sold boiled peanuts. I'd like to see some of that NWA Anarchy nonsense that supplanted Wildside once Bill Behrens became a TNA person of importance. You don't hear much about it on the world wide weezy and eye-dubya-see, so I figure it's probably good shit that would draw black kids and old drunken racists and paraplegic epileptics with Down's syndrome, who all get real loud and boisterous enough to sometimes make the laptop-luggers not feel as comfortable.
This match, however, is not very good, and to be the first match on a best of comp... that doesn't bode well. They do mention on commentary how Dragon Dan Wilson's great uncle is Gypsy Joe, which is just one more reason to love Dragon Dan Wilson. I don't have many regrets in my life, but I passed up the chance to drive a car through West Virginia with the car full of Gypsy Joe and Necro Butcher to go to Delaware for some CZW thing. Instead I was gonna go to a demolition derby in western Pennsylvania, but the timing chain in my car went out a quarter mile from my house, so we drove my boy's car instead who was going with, and he would not have been stoked to drive his shitty Saturn hatchback with the busted muffler and half-missing fender through West Virginia to stuff a couple of freaks like Necro and Gypsy Joe into the back to go to the Truck Stop State... actually, he probably would've loved that. Oh well, it's better to regret something you didn't do than to get locked up somewhere you don't know anybody to call.
J.C. Dazz looks like he'd be a volunteer fireman, which makes this match an even more perfectly southern indie match. Oh man, Dazz has been getting whooped for a while, gets caught in an Air Paris sleeperhold, but with the crowd rallying behind him, HE REVERSES MOMENTUM DURING IRISH WHIP DUCKAGE... to slap on a sleeperhold of his own. The crowd goes sort of wildish out of respect. Doesn't last long as Dazz is your wifebeater-wearing crewcut-sporting Ricky Morton in this local TV southern tag match formula. John Phoenix misses a corkscrew reverse senton-looking thing, landing on his hip-hopbone, and then Air Paris gets dropped on his shoulders but like it's his neck, and their third buddy outside the ring gets powerbombed, so hopefully this means the hot tag to Scottie Wrenn and we can all get on with our lives. Oh no... Scottie Wrenn is so excited he accidentally clotheslines the ref, and even though the Boogalou Crew hits their finisher (a rip-off of the Dudleyz 3-D), their mortal enemies for the upcoming seasonally featured card come out and do damage and cause the Boogalou Crew to lose a non-title television match-up to an upstart tag team. Will injustice know no limits?
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