In between shuttling Randy and Robin to their comedy showcases I picked up a booking myself with Texas Mid Championship Wrestling. They were running a show in Binghamton for some reason. I never figured out what Mid Championship is supposed to mean. Middle rank?
It took all of my stroke in the biz, but I got Huck and Larry into without having to pay the price at the door of $11. I think they were more delighted by that than they were when they saw me performing real magic on that bridge. When I got them a free garbage bag full of unsold popcorn I thought their heads might explode.
For having a horrible match with a woman whose tits were strangely warm I was not only paid the princely sum of $80 but I was also given a free pass to the other event at the venue that night, the Magic Mike tribute show.
I heard some of the boys backstage saying they were going to “crash it” and “heckle the shit out them”. Normally I don’t get involved in things but I asked the ringleader, El Bomabstico (white dude with a thick Brooklyn accent) why they would do that.
He stared at me like he just realized I was there so I followed up by asking how he felt when asshole frat boys come to wrestling shows just to heckle us, ruining the show for everyone, and why would he want to do the same thing.
His faithful sidekick Wally “the Macho Monster” remarked to Bombastico “You going to take that shit from a pizza face bitch?”
“Doesn’t pizza face mean you have acne?” I asked “I don’t have acne, these are scars. Most of them are from an attempted rape but some of them are from when one of my foster parents took too many pills and thought that I had a tracking device in my teeth that they needed to get out with a box cutter. If you think this is bad you should see my gums. Total nightmare.”
Men are funny sometimes. I bet both Wally and the Bomb-man would have no trouble punching a woman (or even me) but I say something like that and they both get their knickers in an uproar like I crossed a line. They didn’t end up going to the show so that was my good deed for the day.
I’m no connoisseur of exotic male dancing, but I know a couple things about preforming and the show wasn’t very magical.
Conference room C at the Doubletree was packed with mid-thirties professional women ready, willing, and able to go wild. They had to bring in extra chairs to accommodate all of them. All the Magic Mike boys had to do to send them home happy was put on a very moderately entertaining display of oily men writhing around.
They failed to deliver on that low bar.
The show was mediocre on its own, there was a lot more bazooka Joe grade jokes and horribly stiff acted skits than there was dancing, and they weren’t helped by the giant pillar in the middle of the stage, or the fact that they were picking up their own props, but the real drag was the MC.
That dude did not know how to work a crowd, how to tell a joke, or how to transition from one segment to the next. I honestly think he was supposed to be a dancer and he just showed up out of dancing shape so they made him the host.
On top of that they committed the cardinal sin of performing. They didn’t deliver on a promise. Right off the bat they were promising they were going to hang dong bigtime at some point. I was surprised to hear that because as I understand it that’s illegal almost everywhere if not everywhere. I know that because I’ve worked wrestling shows with a couple guys that also do this kind of thing and they’ve gotten busted for swinging the bologna a time or two.
There are places where women can dance fully nude, but I don’t think there are for men.
They promised but they never made good on that promise. I stayed until the bitter end of that show and there was not even a wiff of a free flailing dick. Which is fine, you don’t need to be going to the fully Monty at your Magic Mike show but you can’t say that you’re going to and then not deliver. That’s just being a bad worker.
If a wrestling show promises a 20 person battle royal, a couple of those people might be security guys and people pulled off the street that don’t know how to work at all, but there damn well will be 20 of them. Turns out there’s more integrity in the world of D-list wrestling than there is in bottom level male stripping.
The irony is that men break their promises all the time, but the promise to show their dicks is the one you can usually count on them to keep.