Eric Estrada had some right eye swellin’ though his wee stardust pouch and stunted welders arms were causing wetness among the aged.
Their opponents Sadam and Kendo despite being the underdogs were more or less unscathed, although they were looking a bit confused as Eric received wrapped tenners in his ringpiece from untoothed pension drawers.
"This is not wrestling!" I thought gone are the days of real men, flair, bravado and honour.
I had been watching this shite for over an hour and I longed for some action.
14 rich teas and 5 cups of Tetley just wasn’t jumping 6 cunts on my BMX, landing back wheel down on the last victims belly, them being Bobby Davro.
Kendo was ribbing the Estrada now, an eye gouge, a closeline, some Chinese burn action.
Chinese burn on the hairy arm is the sorest, sometimes ripping right from the root.
One time I cut a long white line on my haired leg with some antique clippers and Charlie did it on his arm. It was as sore as sore as the burn!
Just as Bill was trying to take Kendo from behind Sadam had clambered onto the ropes and was now flying through the cosmos to administer a deadly scissors kick to Bill’s oversized coupon.
His steel framed glasses blew off and twirled out of control to the canvas.
Bixby was like a flawed spinning top, a pond skater on valis.
Twinkle toe little Bill, weeble wobble, stickies tweetin’.
Bixby was down, Estrada was flustered, domination was imminent!
There’s nae Hulk now wee Bill. Wee Bixby as you lie there, gravy flowin’.
This was your last chance, your careers went tits up. You as many of your peers are even to shite for ‘straight to video’.
I feel sorry for you. Your sad piano lament, tortured sole, shirt and trouser destroyer, Sadam now wringing your wee neck the cradles your oversized head wi’ puppy dog eyes.
Your Sadam’s wee pocket Stretch ‘Bixby’ Armstrong now!