Saturday December 13th, 2003--Los Angeles CA--PWG
I haven't slept a full nights sleep in two weeks. The most I've gotten at a single shot is four hours, and I'm just getting over having this bad ass case of the super sleeping Asian cougar flu. I manage two three hour naps on my respective flights from PA to the OC, but I'm still run down. My body is weary!
Joe is punctual with the picking me up because there's things to be done. People need kicking, things need knocking over, and we've already got two parties and some assorted shenanigans lined up for the week. Straight away from the plane, Joe takes me to the 'Green Girl', which is a nice little cozy saloon. We chill, 'cause Joes got made game with all the bar tenders, and I knock back about a dozen glasses of diet Pepsi before we head out for the night. We set off for the PWG show and on the way stop off to join in on yelling, "SUPRISE" at the Chiefs birthday party (the Chief is Joes dad, bitch!). I loved talking to some of Joes uncles, who are the O.G pimp Samoans from back in the day, not to mention the last surviving relative of King Kameameaha who is also a bad ass Judo master.
PWG show was cool. I think the six man I was involved in came together nicely for something that could have been a giant cluster fuck. It's a good feeling when something like that comes together as good as it did, but that's just a testament to the talented workers I shared a ring with that night. And let's not forget Super Dragon either. Also, the meeting of three super heels finally took place as I met the Cubans. You might know them as the Havana Pitbulls, better know as Pansy #1 and his sidekick "girl problems". In what was supposed to be a historic meeting between myself and two people who are practically my stepbrothers in this whirlwind business (due to all being trained by Kevin Quinn), turned into a watered down censored episode of the Muppet Babies cartoon complete with nap times, warm milk, and more excuses than a post match Julio Dinero. You heard me J.R. GET OFF YOUR CELL PHONE!
Hungry for some MORE silliness, we head straight back to the Green Girl (no, not super Dragons house), and party the house down with the girls of the saloon like only two beat up wrestlers know how. Lots of stories, and lots of shots. Yeah motherfucker, the girls didn't want me to feel left out, so they kept pouring me shots of cranberry juice so I could toast with everybody. Look for a hilarious picture of Joe and I holding shot glasses with all the girls coming to a internerd screen near you. I can't wait until the haters and Steve Corino see these pics....
Sunday December 14th, 2003--More Orange County, 'cause life is hard.
"DPC in LBC" and "Cuban Bitch Crisis"
I manage seven hours of sleep before Joe wakes me up and shuffles me out the door for some all you can eat Korean BBQ. That's right, nothing like eating the weight of Steve Corinos head (60 lbs.!!) in meat for breakfast!!!! Bloated and wondering why the Cubans didn't show up after they said they'd be there, we head back to the compound for some rest. We thought it odd that the Cubans no showed our invite seeing as they claim to love Korean BBQ, but we just chalked it up to the Sunday mourning history channel documentary on the menstrual cycle and figured they were probably glued to that. Against better judgment, also against my wishes, Joe shoots them another invite for later in the night to attend the Sharron Osbourne celebrity auction with us. Myself and Joe chill at the Green Girl and giggle as the Cubans no show us again. Perhaps if all the bartenders were GUYS in bikinis, they'd show up.....
Eh, no worries. We receive a call letting us know that the auction is the shits anyway, and although my hopes of starting a bidding war with a lame ass Nu-metal, Ozzfest reject are temporarily dashed, we waste no time trying to figure out a plan B.
Welcome to plan B:
Joe calls some people, and we are told to get down to the club Ibiza POST HASTE (that means fast, retard). Straight to hell with the three block long line of well dressed yuppies waiting to get in, we walk right through the front door. Also, I'm dressed like a bum, but what else is new? Straight away, I know this isn't an ordinary night at a club. I mean, I guess I really didn't know any better because I don't go to clubs, but how many clubs have a high priced free buffet, I asked myself. We both started to take notice of many of the high profile looking women. All seemed to be...well...let's say, "enhanced", wearing high heels or thigh high boots, hair up like a school dance, skirts cut low, and cleavage galore. Now picture us standing in the middle of all this. Joe on one side of me, admits what we can only imagine is some sort of hooker convention, as we slow turn towards each other as the DJ says the following words into the house mic (short for microphone, jerk): "Ladies and gentlemen, WELcome to the Spearmint Rhino PRIVATE christmas party 2003!!!!!"
Yes, yes, I'm aware. I know how there's lots of you that hate both Joe and I. We never plan ahead. We never do what's right. Right when you think we're down and out, we scrape by without a scratch, and yes...YES motherfuckers of all ages, shit like this...the private christmas party of the WORLDS largest chain of "adult" clubs falls into our lap on a daily basis. Some call it luck, but that's for losers. We call it life, and life is hard. SO, with a new added spring in our step, we check out coats and dial up the Cubans one last time because there's nothing they love more that strip clubs. Except for the movie Beaches, they LOVE that shit! Them not answering their phones not only can't stop Joe and I from absolutely wrecking this place, but it solidifies the rumor that every Sunday night the dress up like Archie and Edith Bunker and tickle fight each other until they pee. On each other.
:::Back to the club:::
Joe and I make our way around just checking everything out and are amused that not only are the Lakers there, some of the Clippers are walking around, and half of Team Punishment including Chuck Lidell are in attendance. Awesome! Every girl seems to have brought her sugar daddy. It's so painfully obvious when these clowns were twice their age, and were all carrying cameras around their necks like it was their daughters family high school graduation party. I split to find a bathroom, which I can't find, and then consequently can't find Joe. I continue to search and unbeknowst to me, walked directly into the little super VIP room. There was this awesome little DJ girl spinning and it seemed like it was 100 degrees in this little joint. I don't know if it was because of the way I was dressed, or I was mistaken for somebody, but I wound up on stage and for some reason was coaxed into singing along/rapping "Rappers Delight". The. Entire. Song.
Now, with a very strange amount of stripper girls trying to follow me out, I run into Joe and he's fucking salsa dancing with practically the entire female race. He's a PEE EYE EM PEE! Now, I think at this point we were both so blown up, and at the breaking point that we needed to leave. Thank Jeebus they stopped all the music for their lame "entertainer" of the year awards. That was our cue, and we were gone...
Monday December 15th, 2003--Los Angeles
Monday was a fairly normal day, even by our standards. We were running on no sleep from the night before, but our eagerness to rub it all in the ugly faces of the Cubans kept us very alert. We hit the New Japan dojo and got a an awesome workout in with Puma and one of the Cubans. Notice how the other one didn't show. Fuck, also notice how I can't tell 'em apart, so I'll call one Bert, and one Ernie. Bert showed up, so points for him, but that doesn't excuse his blatant disrespect from the night before. All was made well at the curry reasturaunt when a fan approached our table and told Joe and I that he loved our work, but had no clue who the hell Bert was. ZING!
Ahhhhhh yes...the blur that was the rest of the night included wasting many an hour at the Green Girl, eating a small fortune in sushi, and we may or may not have cause a major traffic jam with a rubberband and an old LJN King Kong Bundy action figure.....
Tuesday December 16th, 2003--Orange County (and that's in California for those of you who aren't paying any attention)
"I used to play ball" or
"You should try to look like your picture"
Due to an early rise on this fine day, we crashed early the night before, and early for us is maybe 3 in the am. The hard lives we lead called upon us this day to be TV stars. DAMN THE SKY!!!!! Both Joe and I taped a lot of fine shenanigans for the TV show Monster Garage. Check back here for when it'll air, and I guarantee you won't be disappointed as my portrayal as a disgruntled Uhaul worker. I'd like to thank Uhaul for all the free hats, shirts, food and other assorted items that may or may have not been free for the taking. Monster Garage for the work, and the donuts. I'd also like to thank the local wrestling valet that stabbed me in the face with her fake nail during the battle royal segment we taped, drawing a decent amount of blood from my face. Idiot.
I would also like to thank a one Christopher Daniels for calling me on my cell phone right as we began to tape the battle royal to ask me my opinions of what he got AJ Styles for christmas. THAT'LL look hilarious if that makes the final cut.
My final night out in the O.C. consisted of Joe and I putting over "Bad Santa", and loving every heelish, swear filled, dirty moment of it. I hate Billy Bob Thorton, but this movie is golden due to everybody heeling the shit out of everybody else. We then met up with Cuban Ernie and spent the rest of the night telling some great stories in the Green Girl.
Yeah, basically the entire week, I spent way too much time in a bar. Oh, and ya know something else? I may have carpal tunnel now. I hope you're happy.