Usually, this sort of information is top secret, but I'll let you in on it because I like you.
Yesterday, Steve and I had a show in Laconia. As usual, we rocked our rear-ends off. After all that hard work, we got some dinner (to resuscitate our rear ends) and drove over to the Plymouth Senior Citizen Center to catch a professional wrestling match.
That's what we did. We went to watch sweaty guys and––I'm very happy to add––sweaty girls, step on each other's throats.
I feel the need here, for some reason, to add that this not what we usually do after our rock-n-roll extravaganzas. Usually, of course, we are simply chauffeured around town in our matching solid gold limousines with the plush, thick shag carpet interiors and the fuzzy dice swinging from the diamond studded rear view mirrors. More often than not, I roll around in the waist deep piles of hundred dollar bills I fill my limo with. Honestly, I have no idea what Steve does in his because, of course, we have tinted windows.
Last night, however, was different. Steve's nephew, Christopher, is a film maker of sorts and for reasons too mind-bogglingly complex to explain here without a thorough grounding in theoretical quantum physics, he is making a film that includes scenes of him acting like a professional wrestler.
To that end, he spoke with Lobster Man, of whom you are no doubt familiar. Lobster Man is, of course, a professional wrestler and his neck is larger around than my waist. After pizza. So, in case he is reading, I'd also like to add that Lobster Man totally rocks. And he is my favorite crustacean. And please don't eat me.
Lobster Man gave Christopher permission to film a fake wrestling match at the gigantic, headline making, epic, world championship match that was being held at the Senior Center in Plymouth, NH. This was, provided, of course, that he did not make a mockery of professional wrestling in any way.
Christopher's portrayal of a wrestler named The Culk was poignant, earnest and Oscar-worthy. It brought a tear to my eye, as I'm sure it did to the dozens of senior citizens screaming in the Senior Center. Many of whom were obviously out for a night of sweaty mayhem.
When the real matches started, and the wrestlers gave us their all–grunting, sweating, slapping each other and tossing each other across the ring. Their flamboyant costumes and gracefully choreographed ballets of mayhem lead Steve to lean over to me and ask, "Is this what my nephew was not supposed to make a mockery of?"
And, indeed, it was.
Steve and I are currently considering ways to incorporate elements of professional wrestling into our shows. Besides our famous toddler mosh pit, I mean.
For now, I'm busy sewing sequins on my undies. Our next show will really rock.