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Turnbuckle Talk with
the American Starship EagleWell, it has been a while, but
Uncle
Eagle has finally made it back to the keyboard. I
am writing
today to ask all
of you to say a little prayer for your old pal. I
just
got back from the Grappling Across Sudan Tour and am nursing
a nut pull that Hell wouldn't have. It was me
versus a
gent that called himself the Republic of Chad (I will tear down
the third wall and tell you that his real name wasn't Chad, but rather,
Lefaar)
and we were locked up in a falls-count-
anywhere, United Nations Match.
I hate to toot my own horn, but this was simply one of the best matches
of
my life. Republic and I went back and
forth for over an hour (truth be told, neither of us wanted to be the
loser
that had to sport the UN gear and reason
with the Liberation Movement). Finally, I dropped
him
with a vicious DDT that would make Jake Roberts cream
his jeans. Seriously, this match was one for the
heavens;
before we got out of the county the local writers had
labeled it the "Darfur Donnybrook."
However, after it was all over and the blue cap was donned, I felt a
burning
that took me back to high school.
Apparently, my adrenaline had carried me beyond the threshold of pain
(that
made the third time in a week), but
as the juice waned, my wiener began to scream … that is right, a torn
testicle.
It appears that the force from the
DDT was so great that the energy dissipated from his skull went through
my
body and into my sack (simple kinetic
energy bullshit). Needless to say, typing on this
fucking
keyboard has been the least of my worries. Thus,
when
you are praying for all of the other selfish shit you want to go right
in
your life, drop a line in for me and my nugget.
We would both appreciate the love, and so would the Sudanese women that
await
my return for the rematch;
after all, how many more times will I be in Sudan - so why bother with
condoms?
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