The Wrestling Observer is a dork wrestling fan newsletter that’s poorly printed, but probably at a copy shop with no punk rock chick hook-up, which is why stupid Dave Metlzer wants like a thousand dollars for a year’s subscription. He should hook-up some roller derby bitch who works the second shift at Kinko’s to steal him some copy cards or something.
I usually only enjoy the Observer when it’s about someone who died, because the old stories of the way faggot wrestling used to be is not so gay. I’m sure there’s tons of people who love the backstage banter and booking politics of all sorts of whatever promotions, but I’m kinda not too interested in that. Plus, I don’t even know a third of the fuckers he’s talking about anymore, which is a great feeling to have removed yourself from some form of pop culture you had been too heavily immersed in, but usually you just throw yourself into some other stupid shit, so it’s not like we get any better.
This issue was right after they had named some wrestlers’ names in that steroid doctor scandal, which is not very surprising, nor do I care. But there’s the dead guy write-up for Arnold Skaaland, who I never knew as anything other than the old fucker who threw in the towel for Bob Backlund to lose to The Iron Sheik. Turns out, dude was a reliable old carny fuck who could kick many an ass if necessary, but was also a rarity in someone who could be trusted to actually drop the right amount of money off at the bank after the gate was collected. Reading about wrestling being so shady and fisticuff pugilist brown derby cigar smokish is great, because it’s so goddamned glossy and homo-erotic half the time now. Rest in peace old dude, and thanks to my internet benefactor from way back who hooks me up with this shit. Peace dog.
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