!!!!!FIRE IN THE HOUSE!!!!!

As every one knows, there are only three rules in cage match fighting:




1. This outfit may not be worn. Not ever. Not by anyone. It makes people cry.









2. Any and all references to Marty Feldman, particularly those which represent Mr. Feldman as engaged in eating a corndog, automatically end the proceedings; all points are declared null and both teams forfeit.







3. No member of either team may refer to a member of the opposing team as 'bitchtits'







4. Children with unsightly goiters are automatically barred from the proceedings.










Round one was a tornado of tears, saliva and torn underthings! Both champs threw the rulebook to the winds. First blood was Chaucers', following a remark made by a sneering Dante describing the corndog eating prowess of Marty Feldman-seated nude on the toilet after having a bath!!!
Dante fell to the floor, bleeding profusely from a self-inflicted blow to the head to dislodge the tainted image! Still, he managed to rebound and taunted the Murderous Modifier by quoting from the poetry of William Shatner while assaying a crushing series of holds!

When the bell rang at the end of the round with no points awarded, both champs retreated to their corners and tagged their seconds.


A suspiciously spry Dame Barbara Cartland tossed aside her walker and vaulted the top rope amid a buzz of shocked exclaimations and discussion from the audience. Cries of 'Juice! Juice!' and loud neighing did nothing to daunt Bab's spirits as she strutted rounded the ropes, taunting the audience with a dazzling glimpse of her mature trimmed box (buxus nojesusno glauca var. 'Stinky Boatman')

Sleek as a panther and twice as deadly, Edith Head emerged from behind her horn rimmed specs and took her stance. This jungle cat had murder on her mind and a roll of nickles in her trunks!! We think.

With a snarl of bloodlust Edith flew into Dame Barbaras meaty embrace! The HEAT WAS ON!

And at the end of round two Edith Head was pinned by the steely yet tender, caressing gaze of Dame Barbara Cartland, a gaze which seemed to undress her with tantalizing deliberation, pausing only to admire each new quivering discovery of flesh so new to the hand of woman yet begging for her touch! First point - Team Dante!










Round three began with a spirited showing by the Margarine and the Armadillo handbag as they indulged the crowd with their mastery of the scientific techniques of this ancient sport. Neither opponent showed the slightest sign of letting up for a moment and the moves just kept on flying!






Armadillos use of the deadly Square of the Hypoteneuse brought the crowd to its feet!








But the Margarine turned the move around at the last moment and executed a Kentucky Back leghold, pressing the Armadillo handbag into the horrifying yeasty effervesence of a Full Liter GruntCan! Technical pin, round three closed with the point going to Team Dante!






Although late into the ring at the beginning of round 4, Gregory Chaucer shook off this faint start and rapidly gained ground with a punishing Rear MickSlap that sent Dante reeling onto the canvas.










Pausing only to pass a mysterious signal to his team, Chaucer then knelt to deliver a crippling Whirling Dutch Star to his downed opponent!













Some in the audience were too stunned to react.












A reddened Dante staggered to his corner where his teamates attempted to revive him!







Meanwhile Team Chaucer hurriedly assembled an ominous object in the center of the canvas. When Dante staggered to his feet, still game to go, the trap was ready to spring! Like a greasy hotdog up the ass of a Mouseketeer Dante was plunged into the gaping maw of the demonic device and the door slammed shut! A propane feed was produced from the foul depths of the Armadillo handbag and suddenly Chaucers evil intentions were made clear! He was about to deliver the coupe de ville!

Dante was about to meet his Maker in the lethal TEXAS FART BARBEQUE!!!

HOW WILL IT END?
WHO WILL TAKE HOME THE BELT?

WHERE IS THE BABY JESUS?!

RUMBLE!!!

THE EXCITEMENT IS ALMOST UNBEARABLE!

THE RESULTS ARE IN!!!
the teams are chosen and the fight is ON!
Chaucer, the crowd favorite, bags DAME BARBARA CARTLAND and THE ARMADILLO HANDBAG
Dante bags EDITH HEAD and THE MASKED MARGARINE, fresh from a stint on the luchador circuit!

You people are sick, yo.

AND I'M TAKING THE REST OF THE WEEKEND OFF. HAVE A HAPPY 4TH OF JULY! BLOW SHIT UP!

update CAGE MATCH! update

NOTICE: RETURN READERS, VIEW UPDATE AT THE END OF THIS POST!!!!!!

THIS AINT NO CATFIGHT!
THIS AINT NO DOGFIGHT EITHER, BABY!
THIS IS A FULL ON NITRO CHARGED MEGA TAG TEAM ARMAGEDDON!

THE FINAL CHALLENGE FOR THE ALL TIME WORLD TITLE BELT!

LAST MAN STANDING!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Dante 'Il Guanto di Gomma' Alighieri !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

vs

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Geoffrey 'The Murderous Modifier' Chaucer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our pre-bout chat with the opponents revealed the startling feud that has been taking place behind the scenes. Jeff Chaucer describes his strategy thus:
"This fucking spaghetti bender has been trying to steal my crown for the past 400 years. I'll have him tapping out by the end of the first round, you hear me? Tap tap tap! Crying like a schoolgirl! 'Oh wah wah waaaaah! Oh please don't spank me, you bad ol Murderous Modifier!' Yeah, I got news for you, Mr. Ali G. Harry! Abandon hope all you who enter the ring with ME, baby! I'm gonna show you what hell's all about! Me! Thats right, bitch!'
Combatant Alighieri retorted:
"The poor guy, you have to feel sorry for him. He reminds me of Kurt Cobain...you think you're on top of the world and then you realize you've been fucking Courtney Love. Hey Jeffie, gimme a kiss. You feel that tickle where a beard shouldn't be? Yeah, thats whats going to happen this coming week, Jeffie, you hear me? Get the pot on the fire 'coz here comes the Teabag! And it's my special Italian blend! You smell what I'm cookin'? This is the cookbook right here! And every recipe is made with pain!"

In a nod to the fans who have been supporting these rivals for so many years , the Federation, in a suprise move, has decided to let THEM decide who will make up each man's team!
The pool of contenders:

This margarine

Walt Whitman, no stranger to the salty side of the ring. A veteran of the mat wars, Mr. Whitman can bring the pain just as good as the up-and comers. Possibly better. 'I've got zits on my back tougher than either of them' boasts the poet from Long Island.





Another veteran, Dame Barbara Cartland is widely hailed as the inventor of the 'Scissors of Death' leghold. Many a promising career has expired in the relentless viselike grip of those thighs!




Devil-may-care funnyman Danny Kaye. Some say his mastery of the Greco-Roman style is responsible for his popularity, others, his carefully schooled gag reflex. Any way you look at it, Kaye has chiseled out a spot facedown among the deadliest deceased commedians on the roster.

This handbag






Meatwads' style has been likened to that of a highly trained samurai warrior, a jungle cat, and a fat woman in a wool dress showing a Clumber spaniel.NOTE: DUE TO LACK OF EARLY VOTES MEATWAD HAS BEEN DISQUALIFIED FROM ENTERING THE COMPETITION

Mat maiden Edith Heads' Piledriver and Flying Takedown are fan favorites. Best known for her iniminable showmanship, the very sight of a berserk, drooling Edith gnawing on the turnbuckle has made many a grapplers' bowels turn to water!







A bean burrito

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Rules:

Each champ gets two team members, his second and one alternate. Crossover favorites will be judged at the discretion of the Federation and assigned by random coin toss. So vote early and vote often! Your decision could be the one which determines the fate of the World Literature Wrestling Title for your favorite champ!

WHO WILL BE THE NEXT MARGRAVE OF THE MILDEWED MAT?

update: the results so far...
since many commenters proved loath to make a team determination, any mention was counted as a nomination for consideration. those butch enough to take on the responsibility put their nominee solidly on one mans' team or the other.
remember, final results will be determined by coin toss!
chaucer: one vote each for
margarine, danny kaye,
edith head
bean burrito
dante:
dame barbara cartland-2 strong votes
armadillo handbag-1 vote
edith head-1 vote

out of the running: meatwad, with no votes and no mentions.
most votes recieved: the armadillo handbag, whom some found so aggressive they dared not assign it a team, choosing wisely not to risk incurring its displeasure
second most popular: edith head, who seems to be exerting the same degree of menace as the armadillo handbag.
REMEMBER-VOTE AS MANY TIMES AS YOU LIKE! BUT CHOOSE FOR THE LUVVA FUCK!

ewe are so beautiful to me.........

Well woo hoo!
I just got a dorky haircut!
Yes I did. But everything evens out because I wrote a bad check for it.
I included a tip, though.
This is what happens when I have to get up and be expected to do things in the morning. Like drive and shit. I grabbed the wrong checkbook. Halfway into town, for some reason that completely escapes me, I decided that if I didn't get my hair cut TODAY, as SOON AS POSSIBLE that life as we know it would just GRIND TO A HALT.
Except for a very unfortunate few times in my life I have always had longish hair. Not dumbass long, but shoulder length. Still, it's beginning to look a little 'mutton dressed as lamb' now that its a. thinning and b. greying and c. sprouting out of a 46 year old woman. What I usually do is realize that my hair is getting rather too long to bunch up into a clasp, so I grab it into a ponytail and hack it off with a scissors. But today something told me that I needed a short bob, so I went to a cheapo taiwanese salon next to Wal-Mart and a very nice young lady sheared me. Right about the time I signed the check and handed it over, and right about the time she looked at it oddly and blushed is when I realized that my name wasn't on that account, but she didn't read English.
So I passed it. Shit, what was I gonna do? I already had the haircut.
I fully intend to go back tomorrow and make things right.
I look like the victim of a tasteless practical joke involving a balcony and a pekinese.

I am sitting here at my daughters computer (by the way, chickie, the repeat is set far too slow for the lightning-like touch of SPEED MUK) writing this while the goonybird attempts to watch the Making of Dark Crystal. He is supposed to be taking a bath but he let the stopper out and clambered out dripping wet and ran a couple laps around the room; so he's dry, at least. And significantly cleaner
He spent the afternoon eating tree sap. I caught him gnawing the marbles of sap off the trunk of the cherry tree trunk today. Honestly. Like a little pink muskrat. I also caught him sucking on the cut end of a mugo pine branch that had a drop of sticky sticky pitch leaking out. He swore it was good. He probably won't die.
Now he is whapping me on the arm and insisting 'Sheep! Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!'
'Sheep? What?' I am finally reduced to asking-that or get a bruise.
'Yeah!' he replies cheerfully, and leads me to the kitchen.
Apparently there are sheep in the refrigerator that I am keeping him from. We have done this twice already and each time he carefully examines the interior of the 'fridge for sheep. So far, no sheep.
It's starting to creep me out a little.

ps: fine. heres my haircut.

Blue Electric Eel The Evil Hands Glisten!

........and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you try and cure a cold with beer.
update: hey whinger, why can't i post comments on your blog?
Might anybody want a Lane expandable walnut dining table, seats six, expands to seat 10? Origional finish, purchased in 1946 or so?
How about a walnut hutch, modern style, also Lane?
Three formal sets of china?
Untold partial sets of formal crystal, from aperetif to premium brandy?
Lord JESUS.

Moving all the stuff the Stainless Steel Amazon had here into her new house has left a lot of space here at rancho FirstNations, but unfortunately it is a sucking kind of space, and it is desparately seeking to suck in the above, and more. The above is only a fraction of what the Playboy of the Western World is leaving behind when he moves, and while it is quality stuff, we hate it. To be brutally honest.

I am like Hendrix (X, OOO). I want to live an a serenely modern space with abstract art, a plinth or three scattered about, maybe a Calder rug. OO, fuck yeah a Calder rug; and severe danish modern everything else and big nubby nappy handwoven silk and linen and a huge honkin Paul Klee taking up one wall. (brutally wrenches self away from this fantasy.)

So of course what do I have now; a house full of garage sale crap. Well, not really crap, good stuff actually; I used to pick for antique dealers on the side and I ran into some sweet stuff. But thats just the point: I have a lot of sweet stuff. Too much sweet stuff; thats why I don't pick any more. I like too many things. Just, not any of my father in laws things, unfortunately.

We will soon be holding the GARAGE SALE OF THE FREAKING CENTURY.

The pre-sale secret policemens other garage sale will be the event of the season. We are already contacting people, favorite relatives and closest personal friends of the Playboy. Staid German Catholics, descendants of the first settlers all, will mingle shoulder to handbag with the wicked and notorious gay cognosceti of Whatcom County, up to and including the self-described 'big fat fairy', uncrowned queen of porn himself, the owner of (only gay oriented porn store in the county) and the Playboy's lifelong friend.

Ever wondered what happens to hardcore subculture people when they get old? This is what happens: they dress a little more conservatively than they did in their youth and they are no longer as strident publicly, having made their point already. But they are still BONE EXTREME. Even with lovely table manners, driving midsized sedans. They make us young freaks look plain puny. It's breathtaking. It's magnificent. I now know exactly what I want to be like when I get old.