It just feels like pain

The first time I took a bump I felt like my body was going to explode.  Wrestling rings are a lot harder than people think, especially since I’ve had people tell me they thought it was a trampoline.  It’s not.  Why don’t they make it softer?  Because you have to move around on it.  You do a lot more running around then you do bumping, unless you’re Spike Dudley, which you are not.  Trying to move around on an unstable platform is very bad for the knees and it’s easy to lose your balance – and balance is everything.  Go back and watch some Arn Anderson matches, that dude was never off balance.  It would have taken a wrecking ball to knock him down.

As I was laying there thinking that I might die, the guy that trained me (in wrestling, not magic) said “it’s not pain, it just feels like pain”.  I’m still trying to figure out if that’s the most profound thing I’ve ever heard or the stupidest.  Maybe it’s both.  That guy who trained me is called Doug “Disco Biscuit” Douglas.  Not “Disco” never that, always “Disco Biscuit”.  I’m not sure what a disco biscuit is but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with drugs.

He claims loudly and often to have been a big star in Louisiana in the late 80’s but I’ve never meet anyone who’s even heard of him.  When you first see him you think that he looks terrible, but then you find out he’s in his late fifties and you think that for his age he doesn’t look so bad.  He’s got a beer belly and skinny chicken legs but he can still move around in the ring.  I bet that he could still go out there and have a decent five minute match with someone.  Longer if they do a lot of theatrics. 

As far as I can tell there are three kinds of wrestling trainers.  There’s the total frauds that take your money and teach you nothing (this seems to happen even more to women).  There’s the true professionals who were great workers and are great teachers – they help you find places to stay nearby and their wife gives you a part time job in her diner and you babysit their kids and they become like a surrogate father to you or a second father depending on how your life went.  Then there are people like Biscuit. 

Even though no one has ever heard of him, I think he was a good solid worker.  He’s not a great teacher though, and he’s certainly not above ripping someone off from time to time.  He didn’t try to rip me off but I would say that I got maybe 70% effort from him at the best of times, which isn’t bad all things considered.  He normally charges $1500, I know I didn’t pay him anywhere near that amount, I think he felt sorry for me.  I know he felt sorry for me.

I’ve talked before about the cycle of women wrestlers not getting booked so they don’t get experience so they don’t get better so they don’t get booked and on and on, but there’s a problem even before you try to get booked.  Most women get trained by men, and even a fat old man like Biscuit is a lot stronger and more solid than anyone I’m going to be working with.  That doesn’t help the situation.

My first match was going to be awful no matter what, but it was made several times more awful because I was expecting my opponent to be able to pick me up as easily as Biscuit did, and even more problematic I was expecting to be able to use her as a base just like I did with Biscuit.  And probably she was thinking the same thing about whoever trained her.  The first three things we tried to do we both fell flat on our asses because neither of us been in the ring with someone like the other. 

Which brings me to the next issue.  There aren’t a lot of veterans out there to learn from for women, in fact there aren’t any.  It’s sad when you see Brutus Beefcake and Marty Jennetty still out there making the rounds working for peanuts, but it serves a valuable purpose.  They get to pass on their knowledge to the next generation.  Colt Cabana talks about how his third match was with King Kong Bundy – you’re going to learn a couple things just by being in the ring with someone with 30 years of experience.  But where are the washed up lady old-timers for me to wrestle?

That just doesn’t happen on the women’s side of things.  There aren’t any crusty middle-aged ladies out there who’ve worked across the world for years and years and can give a few tips to a young up and comer like myself.  Women just don’t hang around that long, which is probably smart of them, but it leaves a void because the best way to get better is by working with people better than you.  Or at least more experienced which is mostly the same thing. 

I’ve talked to Biscuit a couple times since I flew the nest, mostly to see if he could help me get booked.  Mostly he can’t, he doesn’t have a lot of connections. Also it’s hard to determine how much he cares about helping getting me booked regardless.  There’s really not a lot else for us to talk about.  Maybe if I ever hit it big I’ll pay him the rest of that $1500.

I don’t even have a shovel

I had a brilliant idea today.  I was driving through Kearney and I saw a sign giving directions to the University and I thought – don’t churches in college towns have free food as a way to bring in the starving college kids to get some religion?  Fucking jackpot, Kearney Church of Christ was having an event that night, all I had to do was wait.  And check this shit out mother fuckers, it wasn’t some lame spaghetti dinner, which I would have been over the moon for to be clear.  Right across the street is 4Q BBQ (A DRippin Sweet Joint) and they were providing the food!  You should have seen the way people were looking at me as I packed away all the BBQ I could stomach.  Like I give a shit.

After the food, I went and listened to the Jesus stuff for a while but I became more interesting in a conversation one of the guys packing up the BBQ trays was having.  He was talking to his buddy about how he had lost his wedding ring and his wife was going to kill him.  I had my second great idea of the day.  I went up to the guy and I told him that I was “a little bit psychic” and I would try to find his ring.  He clearly thought I was a whacko but he said that he’d be in my debt if I found it.  

I’m not great at it yet, but I know a spell that can find stuff, sometimes.  I figured why not give it a try?  A car isn’t a great place to perform magic so I went into the church and took a seat on a pew which is maybe blasphemy?  I don’t think I’m invoking Satan when I do magic but the Bible has some strong words about that.  If god exists I’m sorry.  It took me forty five minutes to get it right – I kept fucking up at the last minute but eventually I got it.  I caught the guy in the parking lot just as he was packing the serving trays into a van and I told him that I saw the ring at some kind of gymnastics place for kids. 

He said that he had been at the Kearney School of Dance to drop off his daughter earlier that day.  I told him that I saw the ring sitting by a sink in the bathroom.  He was dumbstruck, remembering that he had taken it off to wash his hands.  His buddy wasn’t impressed, he kept saying they needed to go because his wife would kill him if he was late.

I asked him for a little something, you know, for the effort and he looked at me like I was insane – even more than when I told him I was psychic.  The idea that he might give me any money seemed to be completely foreign.  I reminded him of his “in your debt” comment and then his buddy said that I had probably stolen the ring and planted it there.  I told him to shut his fucking face before I downsized his dick with a shovel.  Probably not the right thing to say in front of Jesus people.  I didn’t get any money.  But they’re having a pancake breakfast tomorrow so I’m sticking around tonight.

Sleeping overnight in a church parking lot is chancy, some church people call the cops on you right away – it’s interesting how uncharitable a lot of Christians are.  

There’s also a Newark in Delaware

I mentioned before that magic isn’t the kind of thing you want to try and learn by trial and error – that’s a good way to fuck things up real bad.  I know this because even with my relatively short apprenticeship, I was told it many times.  Despite these warnings, like most people I still had to find out for myself the hard way.  I was only apprenticed to Obaluaiye for about three weeks before he disappeared and I came back to the states.  Three weeks of magic training is about the same as three weeks of wrestling training – you’ve learned just enough to think you know what you’re doing and almost get yourself killed.

This was before I knew how to create a fetch, so I thought it would be a good idea to figure out a way to protect myself with a force field while I was in the ring.  Even if it had worked, I don’t know if it would have worked because my body would still be slamming into the force field right?  If you know how force field physics works let me know on that.  I figured I knew the basics (I didn’t) so I tried to put together a protection spell. 

The first thing that happened is that I almost suffocated, I guess I had succeeded in protecting my throat from being able to get air in it.  That only lasted for a couple of seconds.  The short duration was probably completely by accident because at that time I didn’t know how to control the length of a spell.  I bet the spell “worked” and I was just doing the wrong thing.  If I had been more advanced and tried to make the spell for say a minute, it would have lasted that long and I would have died.  Or at least passed out?  Not sure how long it takes to suffocate.

The second thing that happened is after I stopped choking on nothing, the motel room was infested with the most virulent stench known to man.  I’ve been near landfills that smelled like a field of daisies by comparison.  It was so bad that I fled the room immediately and burned the clothes that I was wearing.  If you ever go to the Roadway Inn in Newark, Ohio don’t get room 14, or any room near it.  Or just don’t go there at all, the place was a dump before it was magically stink-bombed anyway. 

This unbelievable stench makes no sense to me.  The air thing kind of tracks, I was trying to keep something away from me – damage and pain and the spell went awry and kept air away instead.  But what did I do that conjured up that incredible smell?  I have no idea.  And that’s the point.  When you’re dealing with magic you need to be one million percent sure about every single thing you’re doing.  A stray word here or a stray thought there and you’ve turned yourself inside out – or the poor slob next door.  Even once you’re sure, make sure you’re more sure before you do anything.  Magic isn’t the kind of thing where you can “wing it” and hope for the best.

I wonder how many fledging magic people kill themselves in the first stage of their learning.  Probably a lot.  No wonder there’s so few of us.

Eat of my body and drink of my blood

I drove to Ogallala for a show and when I got to the venue today no one was there and the place was locked up.  At first this didn’t bother me because I often get to shows way too early and there’s no one around yet.  But after napping in the car for a few hours I woke up and there was still no one around so I started making some calls.  Turns out the show had been cancelled and no one bothered to fucking tell me.  This made me a tiny bit angry.  I may have said some bad words and punched my steering wheel – which is unfair because it didn’t do anything.

With nothing else to do, I sat in my car and curated my vast social media empire.  I saw that one of my matches was on Youtube and had been watched by more than 80 people.  I’m on my way to stardom now!  I know that I should be doing more to promote myself but it’s a chicken-egg scenario – how can you promote unless you already have a lot of followers?  How do you get the followers in the first place?  Maybe I should go down to the WWE PC and sneak into a social media class – yes they have social media class too.  I wonder if they ever find the time to actually train in the ring.

After a while people started showing up the place so I went in to see what was going on. It was a craft fair.  If you want a bunch of cheap garbage sold at expensive prices, this was a hell of a scene.  I was still pissed about the show being cancelled so I got a six pack of beer from the gas station across the street and sat in my car drinking and calling around for more bookings.  While I was doing that I got a DM from a guy who was offering me 100 bucks to come to his house and do Star Trek cosplay with him.  He said he had a uniform that would fit me and everything.  He was very clear that he knew my measurements and the outfit would fit me exactly.  If I had been nearby I probably would have done it despite the high chance of being chopped up and stuffed in a deep freeze.  I told him to give me forty up front and I’d do it but he was too savvy for that.  But as I said before I’m not a criminal.

A hundred calls later and I had a half-hearted maybe for a show in Casper next month.  That means I have just one show in Pine Bluff in the next two weeks.  And since I didn’t get paid today that also means that I have 200 dollars that I need to stretch until the Pine Bluff show.  I’ll need about 150 of that for gas to get to the show.  Meaning that I have fifty bucks to live on for the next fourteen days.  I’ve got a bucket of chestnuts that should hold me on food for a couple days.  So let’s be optimistic and say that I only need to live on 5 dollars a day.  Easy right?

How do soup kitchens work?  Can anyone just show up?  What about welfare?  Or food stamps?  Where do I find out about those?  And no I can’t just “magic up” some food.  I mean even Jesus couldn’t do that, he still needed some loaves and fishes to start with and he multiplied them.  And he was the son of God maybe. 

I mentioned before that finding out about magic made me wonder a lot of things about religion – chief among them, what if Jesus was a magician and all the stuff he did was not miraculous in the religious sense but “just” magic?  That would mean that one of the most potent elements of human history and life was a scam.  It’s really something to think about.   

But it doesn’t put food on the table.  I don’t have a table, but you know, it’s an expression.

Twice upon a time in Mexico

After my match with Rudo Anaranjado I went back into a little dressing room area under the arena where the rodeo people put on their chaps or whatever they do to get ready to ride bulls.  I took a seat on a folding chair, I needed to take a minute.  I was a little shaken up by what had just happened, the crowd going nuts and getting knocked around and most of all by the idea of ending up in a Mexican jail.  Which is racist maybe, but it’s still a frightening idea.  I don’t get shaken too easy but this caught me just right to rattle me.

There was no one else in the changing room but me.  I became convinced that the group I had come across the border with had bolted when the crowd turned ugly and left me there.  Like I said in my last post I never saw the SoCal Val knock-off again after she disappeared from the ring.  But she hadn’t come down in the van with us anyway.  I was more concerned about the two women who had been in the van and were nowhere around.  I just about had enough of my courage back to leave the dressing room to look for anyone that spoke English when a Mexican man walked in wearing a suit and sunglasses. 

He tossed me a set of car keys and told me in heavily accented English to give Obaluaiye a ride.  To this day I have I have no clue why this happened.  Did he think that I was someone else?  How could he have mistaken a blonde white girl in boxing trunks for anyone he knew?  But why would he give his car keys to someone at random and ask them to give someone else a ride?  I would pay a lot of money to know what happened there.  I would if I had a lot of money anyway.  Which I do not.

Before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he was gone.  Adding confusion to my anxiety I came up with the great plan of just sitting there and seeing if anyone else came in that could tell me what the fuck was happening.  A few minutes later another Mexican man came in carrying a gym bag wearing sweatpants and a windbreaker – and a mask.  It’s not as crazy as it sounds, some of the guys down here wear their masks all the time.  Well probably not all the time really, probably not at home, but otherwise all the time.  It’s a thing. 

I had seen him in a match earlier in the show.  It’s hard to say with the mask and because wrestling tears people up but I think he was older, maybe in his late 40s or 50s.  In the ring he looked good, outside the ring he walked like someone with fucked up knees – every step very careful and deliberate.  He had some thick arms and was solid through the body but with skinny girl legs – it’s a classic luchadore look, barrel-chested you’d call it maybe.  We looked at each other and he asked me in a very quiet voice if I was his driver.

He explained that his vision was very poor and his son drives him to the matches, but his also a wrestler son was having a match later.   He needed to go somewhere right now and so that’s why he needed a driver.  I said that I was his driver.  I don’t know why.  Maybe just because it was a task that made some sense – drive someone somewhere.  Easy.  This was very stupid for many reasons, foremost of which if I hadn’t already been left behind in Mexico by the people I came down with, leaving and driving a dude around was a good way to end up left behind.  Maybe destiny was guiding me to do it and I was chosen to learn about magic.  Probably not.

We walked out of the arena and the car in question was a 2002 Lincoln Continental.  Aside from being dusty it looked to be in great shape for how old it was – which was awful since it was super old.  Still wearing my ring gear I got in and drove an old luchadore down a bunch of dirt roads.  He talked so quietly half the time I didn’t hear his directions and he had to repeat them.  Other than that neither one of us said anything.  When he told me to pull off I thought it was because he was going to take a leak but we were there.  “There” was a pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. 

Obaluaiye got out of the car and stood by those rocks for a long time, close to half an hour probably.  I stayed in the car since it occurred to me (racistly?) that you hear about women disappearing all the time in Mexico and driving out into the country in a strange place with a man I don’t know was maybe not the best idea.  Eventually he got back in the car and I drove him back to the rodeo arena. 

I didn’t ask, and if he hadn’t said anything I never would have thought anything other than he was a crazy old man, but he told me that he was making a spell – he never said casting a spell, he always said making a spell – to protect himself from another magician who was trying to hurt him.  For some reason I believed him.  I didn’t see him do anything, he didn’t levitate into the air or predict the future or anything “magic” but I knew that he was telling the truth. 

The good news is that when we got back, my crew from the US was still there waiting for me – I think the guy in the suit had told them I was running an errand for him and they had to wait if they wanted to get paid.  The less good news is when I went to get in the driver had his dick out and asked me how badly I wanted a ride home.  That’s why I always drive myself now. 

Still better than Wolverine: Origins

So here’s how it happened.  I had an impressive 4 matches to my name when a promoter in Laredo came calling asking me if I wanted to do a show in Mexico.  He said that he really saw something in me, which has to have been bullshit because those first 4 matches were shit.  Maybe he wanted to have sex with me but the most likely explanation is that someone else he was counting on had dropped out and he just knew that I was in the area.  He hasn’t booked me again so I guess he changed his mind about my limitless potential.

I’m not sure where I was in Mexico, someplace right across the border.  The show was in a small rodeo arena or whatever those things are called.  The crowd was in the stands, they didn’t set up any seating around the ring, so even as small as the place was in rodeo terms, the ring was still like fifty feet away from the closest fan which was weird.  I’m used to the people, however few there might be, being right next to me.  It was the largest crowd I have performed in front of, I think there were more than a thousand people there. 

Things I remember.  Someone said that Austin Rivers, the NBA player was in the crowd.  Why would a c-list pro basketball player be at a mud show in Mexico?  I looked him up on my phone and the guy in the crowd everyone was pointing at did look like him.  He was speaking Spanish though so I don’t think it was Austin Rivers.  I didn’t see how it happened but a roid-case in red briefs and kickpads ended up in the crowd punching a fan – I saw that because my match was supposed to be while that was going on.  Did he climb up the wall like a rodeo clown or how did he end up in the crowd?

My opponent and I were just standing in the ring like assholes not sure if we should do our match because of all the commotion in the stands.  The referee didn’t speak English but I thought he was saying something about the police.  The girl I was supposed to be working with (who looked like SoCal Val) spoke some Spanish and asked the referee something and then he tried to grab her wrist.  That guy went from zero to pissed in half a second.  He chased her out of the ring and I was still just standing there wondering what the fuck was going on.

Eventually a Mexican wrestler called Rudo Anaranjado came out and start yelling orders, at the referee, at the crowd, at the wrestlers who had come out to gawk.  The guy in the crowd trying to fight a fan crawled down and out while people threw shit at him.  Then Anaranjado backed the referee into the corner and slapped the living fuck out of him.  I never saw the SoCal Val knock off again but she was gone from the ring area.  Once Anaranjado was done abusing the referee he gestured at me to start a match with him, it’s amazing how much information you can get from one impatient gesture.

Obviously we had discussed nothing beforehand and I had no idea at that point (still don’t really) how to call a match in the ring, and I don’t know how much English he spoke anyway so I just went along with whatever he was doing.  Which was beating me in three minutes and then waving a Mexican flag around for five times as long while the crowd went nuts.  That ring was fucking hard as a rock and Anaranjado did not have what I would call a light touch. 

That would be plenty all by itself, but that was also the day I found out about magic. 

Maybe she’s born with it maybe it’s Maybelline

I had what was probably my best match so far last night.  I was wrestling a guy called Little Junior Toro, which is just a terrible name.  I was expecting him to be some kind of rip-off of El Torito from the WWE.  I was wondering if he was going to be a little person.  I know that’s a thing in wrestling, is it wrong that I was kind of dreading wrestling a little person?  But instead of a bull he had a fish gimmick – he had a silvery bodysuit that was made to look like it had scales on it and he had fin things on his forearms and the backs of his legs.  It was pretty stupid looking if you ask me.  I guess Toro also means fish?  And he was little, not a little person but a regular sized person who was little.  He was a non-little person who was like five four. 

He looked like a buffoon but he knew how to wrestle and he put together a great match for us.  People were actually cheering, not many because there weren’t many people there, but it’s the first time anyone’s ever cheered for me for a reason other than me (actually my fetch) taking a crazy bump.  In which case they aren’t really cheering for me anyway, they were cheering for seeing someone get fucked up.  I got into this business purely because there was no other way for me to make money that I found palatable but I’ve heard a lot of people talk about the rush of performing.  Getting cheered for real made me understand that a little.

I talked to him a little after the match, I wanted to thank him, and he told me that what I needed to do was get myself some decent ring gear.  He went on a semi-rant about how every indy show you go to is a bunch of guys in jeans and black t-shirts and one of the reasons that he’s successful (well not successful successful he was working a show with me at an event center in Broken Arrow after all) is because he has a memorable look.  You forget the fifteen guys in black shirts, you remember the guy dressed like a fish.  He told me that I have to invest in some real ring gear if I want to be anything other than another anonymous face. 

He’s right of course, although the female equivalent is booty shorts and sports bra rather than jeans and a t-shirt.  That’s all well and good and he’s right, but that shit is expensive.  You want something that looks good you have to pay through the nose for it, if you can even find someone to make it for you.  All due respect to Mr. Toro but not all of us have wives that are seamstresses and can make us silly fish outfits.  Maybe I should work on trying to learn a spell that can sew for me. 

Since I was feeling happy about having a really good match something bad had to happen to balance it out.  The promoter, who had a belt buckle that looked to be a taxidermy weasel head, gave me shit after the show about not wearing any make-up.  He said that he assumed that I was going to cover up my scars because “You’re here to look like you’re getting beat up in the ring, not come to the ring looking like you already got beat up.”

I don’t know shit about make-up, and even if I did I don’t think I’d cover up my scars – that’s something memorable about me like fishboy and his scales.  I remember the first time I was backstage at a show and saw the women in front of their mirrors doing their make-up.  I was shocked that you’d put make-up on to go wrestle but I guess that was stupid of me.  Of course they wear make-up in the ring.  I’ve seen that when you get to the WWE the first thing they do, before wrestling, before promos, before anything, is take a make-up class.  Fucked up right?

I was working a match once and a woman was trying to put me in a headlock but she had no clue what she was doing and basically we were standing there cheek to cheek while she was trying to . . . I have no clue what she was trying to do actually.  Some of her foundation or blush or whatever got in my eye and that hurt like a motherfucker.  My eye got all infected and pusy the next few weeks.  How does that make any sense?  Isn’t make-up supposed to be safe?  I know you’re not supposed to get it in your eye, but aren’t they testing cosmetics on bunnies all the time to make sure it doesn’t fuck up your eye if it does get in there? 

Maybe I’m allergic to cosmetics.  That’s what I should tell people that hassle me about it anyway.

Better off dead

I saw on Facebook today that the girl I had my first match with died.  There was no information given about how she died and I was curious so I looked around a little.  I found out just enough confusing information to make me even more curious as to how she died.  A few days before, her parents called the police to report her missing.  For a couple days people seemed to think that her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend no one was sure if they were still together, had kidnapped her.  But then she popped up on social media laughing and making jokes about people thinking she was missing and said that everything was fine.  Then the very next day she was found dead in a hotel room because of some issue with her bowel.  Some people are saying it had something to do with drugs, others are saying that the bf or x-bf beat her up and that popped her intestines. 

I don’t remember what her working name was, I remember people calling her Daisy, but I don’t know if that’s because that’s her real name or if that’s the ring name she was using.  People often remember their first match very well.  Mostly what I remember is the sinking feeling I had when she told me that she was only doing it because her bf was a wrestler and she wanted to travel with him.  The only training she had was whatever the boyfriend had shown her.  The match was horrendous.  Everyone’s first match is, just like the first time you have sex, but this was bad even by first time standards.  I’m not sure I had enough training to be out there and I sure as shit know that she didn’t.  Even though she already had a couple matches under her belt.

The bf got up my ass afterwards because I dropped her on her head at one point, one of our many botched spots.  She didn’t get injured (well not obviously anyway) but she was still backstage sulking and being a drama queen about it while her asshole Ken Shamrock looking boyfriend (who maybe now has kidnapped and killed her) laid into me.  I told him that he should have trained her better because it was her fault and he was screaming in my face that I could have ended her career.  I said “What career, she’s never going to have a career.”

Guess I was right.   

When you learn about magic you wonder about a lot of things.  One of them is if you can bring people back from the dead.  It didn’t work out well in Game of Thrones or Pet Sematary.  I’ve unfortunately had even less instruction in magic than I have in wrestling but when I asked about it I was told that trying to bring someone back is something you never do.  Never never.  Not ever never.  But there was no reason given about why.  Which I don’t like.  If something is forbidden I like to know why. 

So the next question is then, if you can’t bring people back for real what about zombies?  Or ghosts?  Does magic have anything to say about people having souls?  Can you use magic to do stuff to people’s souls?  Is that what all this magic energy is?  Soul . . . stuff?  I really need to find another magic mentor.  Better check Craigslist. 

Slow and steady wins the race (but is boring and I hate it)

Here’s some inside information for you – doing magic is actually really boring and fucking frustrating as hell.  Casting a spell generally requires you to chant the same sequences of words for several minutes, sometimes as much as half an hour.  That may not seem like a long time but try it sometime.  Choose a phrase and then say it over and over and over again in the exact same way for ten minutes.  It’s a fucking drag.  Especially when you’re still learning and after all that the spell fizzles most of the time anyhow.  I lost my voice a lot in the early days just from the amount of chanting I was doing. 

My second mentor told me that it used to be different, that there used to be more magical energy in the world and so it was easier to call on.  He told me that the amount of energy in the world has been slowly decreasing and one day there won’t be enough magic left in the world for anyone new to learn it.  When you’re learning you can’t grasp at the tiny little scraps of magic that will be left, only masters will be able to do anything with magic.  And once they all die there will be no magicians left in the world.  He was a good person but he could slide into melancholy old man at times.  Some things he said made me think he’s been alive since the 1600s.  At least.   That could have been bullshit but I don’t think so. 

The reason you have to take so long is because magic energy reacts very strongly when you try to grab it.  The harder you push the greater the resistance is – it’s like the reverse of Chinese fingercuffs.  Is that racist now?  Can you still say Chinese fingercuffs?  I can’t think of a better example.  You have to gather in the energy for the spell very, very slowly.  That’s what all that chanting is about, it’s a way to focus your mind.  It is maddeningly easily to push a tiny bit too hard and lose the whole thing, especially when you’re getting towards the end and you start to get excited.  And when you do that it pisses you off which only makes it harder to go slowly if you try again right away.  It’s like being on tilt in poker.  If there’s a better lesson in patience than trying to do magic I don’t know what it is.  Significant time in prison maybe.  

One of the criticisms old timers throw at us new generation of wrestlers is that we go too fast.  That’s definitely a problem that most people have when they first start out – they’re just going move-move-move without taking a breath, and the match sucks because they’re going too fast.  I was the same when I first started out because everyone is, but I was able to cure myself of that bad habit much sooner than most people because I was studying magic as well.  That’s a side benefit they don’t tell you about learning magic.  Learning the value of patience. 

I don’t claim to be a great wrestler yet, but that’s one aspect of being a good wrestler that I have a solid handle on – I take my time.  Do a move and then give people time to react to it.  And if they’re not reacting to it take a moment to get them into it.  There’s so many cheap ways to get people riled up at a show.  They’re there because they want to get excited and yell and shout and be involved.  You just have to give them a reason. 

Shove another ‘cast in your podhole

There’s exactly one zillion wrestling podcasts in the world.  I have a hard time believing that anyone listens to most of them but then again what else do wrestling fans have to do?  Not have sex am I right?  I did a double shot in Austin last weekend and some dude was sitting on a folding chair “backstage” gassing on about his podcast and how it was going to make him a star.  I don’t think it works like that, no one is going to listen to the podcast of a Chili’s assistant manager in LaGrange who wrestles twice a month in front of fifteen people.  You have to already be famous for anyone to listen to your podcast – it’s not going to make you famous.

But since every wrestler has to have a podcast here’s what mine is going to be.  I’m going to have a podcast where a celebrity guest – A-listers only – and I discuss just the first scene of every episode of law and order.  That opening three minute scene where a jogger or a guy driving a truck finds the dead body and then at the end one of the detectives really lays a zinger out there about the dead person and/or the way they died and/or the potential murderer.

For example we’d watch the first part of the 1999 episode “Empire” and then we’d talk extensively about Lenny’s wham line “Looks like he got SOMETHING straight!” because he was talking about the dead guy’s dick.  We’d really do a deep dive on how that joke was about the dead guy’s erect penis.  Was it really straight?  Most of them curve up.  Some of them curve to the side.  We’d really dig into the joke about the dead guy’s dick. 

Has anyone used a podcast to get over?  Colt Cabana is the only name that comes to mind, but it’s impossible to say if the podcast made him more popular or if his popularity made the podcast successful.  Maybe there’s some synergy there but when he started his podcast he was already 10 years into his career and had a ton of friends that were big stars that he could interview.  Plus he’s charismatic and interesting.  Maybe a podcast can bump you up once you’re already making a good living in the biz?

I admit that I should be doing more on social media to promote myself but it’s all so tedious.  Plus look what happened to Sonia Deville.  I guess Mandy Rose was the one that was going to be murdered, but Sonia was the one being stalked.  So.  That’s the good thing about technically being homeless – if anyone wants to stalk me they have to really be dedicated.

As far as I know there aren’t any podcasts about learning magic.  Maybe that’s my lane.