Alright, now when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of wrestling.
And what better way to celebrate your love for wrestling
than wrestling your dumb idiot friends in your neighbourhood.
I don't know if you could call it "wrestling", it was more like
just a bunch of 11-year-olds beating the hell out of each other.
But we did the best we could!
And to make matters worse, we did this in my friend David's front yard.
So we were on full display in front of the whole neighbourhood.
There'd be people walking down the street.
"Oh my God, those kids are gonna hurt themselves."
"Oh, well..." (Whistling)
But for a bunch of kids we were actually pretty professional.
I mean, we had like a referee,
the cheap Styrofoam championship belts you got from Kmart,
hell, we even had a boombox out there to play your entrance music.
"Here, put my CD in and play track 5."
(Click-click)
♪ Do you know the muffin man ♪ ♪ The muffin man, the muffin man ♪
"What the hell is this shit?!"
"Why, what are you guys looking at? It's the only CD I have!"
"Austin 3:16 Give me a hell yeah!"
So then once we were in the ring, or I mean, the front yard, I guess...
we would proceed to just beat the hell out of each other any way we could.
And of course, we would get hurt.
I mean hell, to this day I get back spasms
because of the one time I tried to do a missile dropkick off the fence, God forbid.
But it was worth it!
You'd be out there trying to imitate your favourite wrestler.
Mine, of course, was Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson,
not this Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, I don't know who the hell this is.
I'm talking this one, the old one,
the Dwayne 'Do you smell what The Rock is cooking' Johnson.
I'd be out there, saying one-liners left and right.
(THWACK-THWACK)
"Do you smell what The Rock is cooking?!"
(THWACK-THWACK)
"Just bring it, you jabroni!"
There'd be people, like, walking their dog and shit.
"Uh, why does that 65-pound white kid keep calling himself 'The Rock'?"
"I have no idea. And what the fuck is a jabroni?"
Now of course if you're a wrestler,
you have to have your very own finishing move.
And my finishing move was called 'The Crippler Crossface'.
And how you do The Crippler Crossface is
you yank back on somebody's head really hard until they tap out,
or you snap their neck and you cripple them for life.
Hence the name The Crippler Crossface.
And there was nobody I liked doing that move to more,
than my next-door neighbor Michael.
Because Michael was a dirty fighter.
He would trip you and shit,
spit on your face while you're down, he didn't care.
So he deserved every Crippler Crossface that he got.
I'd be down there talking shit to him while I'm doing it.
"I'm the Brahma Bull, bitch, I'm the Brahma Bull!"
(Child crying)
So then you let him go and the match is over.
But Michael's all butthurt still, so he kicks you in the balls.
"That's my fucking finishing move, how you like that?!"
(Click-click) ♪ Do you know the muffin man ♪
"Winner and champion. Give me a hell yeah!"
Now like I said, we would always wrestle in David's front yard.
But there was one time in particular
we decided to wrestle in this restaurant's parking lot
that was across the street.
Now, why would we wrestle in a busy parking lot?
Well, because we're dumbass 11-year-old, that's why.
And dumbass 11-year-olds do dumbass things,
like wrestle in a busy parking lot.
So we have this street match, if you will. And it's between David and Michael.
Now, you had to watch out for David.
Because David would do this really cool finishing move
where he'd take your legs and then bend you backwards
until your asshole touched the back of your head.
It did not feel good and I did not want to be a part of it whatsoever.
So they start going at it and since Michael's such a wuss,
David's got him on the ground in about 30 seconds.
- Hey, have they met before? - What, has who met before?
"Your asshole and the back of your head."
"Allow me to introduce the two."
So there we are, in the middle of this restaurant parking lot.
Michael's bent in half, he's crying like he got shot by a fucking rifle.
(Child crying)
Of course, some guy in his car sees us, and he's like,
"What the hell is this kindergarten fight club bullshit?"
"Hey, leave that kid in the Scottie Pippen jersey alone before I call the cops!"
"Uh, we're not doing anything."
"I was just trying to introduce one body part to another, that's all."
I'm all pissed off, like,
"God damn it, there is a Styrofoam championship belt on the line!"
"Mind your own business, you jabroni!"
"Jabroni?! I'm part German and Dutch-Irish!"
"I don't have a drop of Jabroni blood in me!"
"God damn it, I'm calling the cops!"
"No, there's no need too, see, look, he's all right, he's fine!"
(THWACK!)
"How you like them apples, huh?!"
"Winner and still champion!"
(Click-click)
♪ I am still the champion, ♪ ♪ the champion, the champion ♪
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