As per usual wae the aftermath of a big house party, there’s a lot tae contend with. First and foremost, everycunt’s hungover. Even those who did not partake in any alcohol or swedge consumption are suffering. I spent all of Monday lying motionless in a sweaty heap, while my pal whiteyed in my toilet, cause Sunday just…I dunno. It done that tae ye. It took every single ounce of energy you could muster, then booted you hard in the chest, rendering ye a pile of useless flesh…in the best way possible. DNA and a bone structure, thats all you are now. Maybe thats all ye ever were. The point is, Shugs House Party wasn’t the best wrestling show ICW have put on this year, but it was…momentous. A special night for the company and for everyone who gives a fuck about it, and its taken me a gid 24 hours just tae let it all sink before trying to put words on it that make any degree of sense. Continue reading
Come on over tae our place. AYE YOU! We’re having a party. Jabs be stingin, and steel chairs swinging, baby come on over tae mine….. And so on and so forth. Aye thats right, starting off a preview for a wrestling show wae a parody of Come on Over To My Place, cause this is not yer average wrestling show. Nor it is yer average house party. It’s a wicked combination of both. A house party with wrestling matches, wrestling angles progressing in various ways, wrestling merchandise being procured, wrestling booze being consumed, wrestling burds being felt up, wrestling swedgers being gubbed in the toilets, wrestling ketamine being stu…well ye get the point. Wrestling things. Perty things. All rolled intae one. This is ICWs second consecutive sell out at the 02 ABC, but because they were allowed to shift a few more tickets than last time, it’s officially ICWS BIGGEST crowd. The biggest thing happening in Glesga this weekend, cause fuck cycling, and fuck swimming, and fuck The Chris Hoy Velodrome, and fuck Celtic Park (only kiddin) and fuck everything that isnae happening at the ABC on Sunday. Everything. Toon better no be fuckin heaving wae commonwealth games punters man. I don’t want tae be superman punching Samoan tourists cause they’re dawdling and making me late for my bus, knahmean? It seems exhausting and we’ll all be needin all the energy we can muster tae make it through what’s sure to be a stoater of a show.
Aye so, I’m cheating the day. I’ve wrote a lot over the past few weeks, and I cannae be fucked arsed the day. Was going to watch the show Progress put up and review that, but I’ve decided to do that for tomorrows thing instead, cause I’ve designated this day do half hourly masturbation, and putting 15 different flavours of crisps in a bowl so that every handful I scoop up is a TASTE EXPLOSION.
The plan today was to do a bit of a longer thing about Drew Mcintyres future and all that, but I’ve no got a long post in me today. Been looking at jobs, and putting my appendix on EBay, so right not I’m a bit too pre-occupied trying tae book mysell in tae have it removed without having appendicitis or anything. So we’ve pushed the Drew article till the morra, but it’s coming. Don’t sweat it.
So Ayr’s a lovely toon eh? I know it’s a tad unusual tae start a wrestling review praising the toon the show was held in, but I hadn’t been tae Ayr since I wis a wee yin, and let me tell ye, it’s a delight. The kind of place ye could see yersell strolling through the main street, arm in arm wae yer one true love, hauf bottle of yer finest Blue MD in yer back pocket, headin tae the Toon Hall for a wee bit of the wrasslin. Unfortunately I had nae true love, or MD with me on this expedition, but I did have my driver and I did have a wrestling show at the Toon Hall tae attend. A wrestling show which contained a mixture of the best in UK Talent, and the physical anomaly known as Uhaa Nation. Uhaa fuckin’ Nation. A marvel of a man. I swear, this cunt is a bawhair aff 300 pounds, and we saw him dae a double standing moonsault in what felt like one motion. I dunno if I’ll ever get over that tbh, but before that we had some other guys daein some very entertaining things indeed. Wantae hear about them? Who am I askin. Ye widnae have clicked the link if ye didnae, so mon in n I’ll tell ye eh.
Show Me Your Lizard was quite a beautiful saga when ye think about it. A show that sold out over a month in advance without a match announced leaves the company with a bit of a unique perspective, because really, they’re under no obligation to announce anything. So instead of announcing matches to cultivate ticket sales, say nothing. Make it a big surprise. Leave the possibility of the whole thing being a front for an adult orientated Singing Kettle show well and truly open. ICW weren’t quite that bold, but with only 4 matches announced, there wis plenty of scope tae make it a night packed with twists, turns, stauners, heart attacks…mare stauners….probably tears, blood? Aye I reckon there’s gonnae be some blood somewhere, and most importantly of course…hunners ah fuckin wrestling!
We had out obligatory opening gambits from the bold Billy Kirkwood, and his co-presenter of ICW Worldwide Veronica LeStrange, and naebdy gets a party started like Billy. That man has called me a sexy motherfucker on countless occasions now, and it still gets me soakin every time. Nothing can really compare tae the level of satisfaction ye get from knowing that a hairy, tatooed man fae Ayrshire finds ye sexy. So with nipples suitably pointed, and baws with a warm welcoming glow aboot them, we were introduced tae his co-commentator for the evening. The recently retired Jackie Polo. Still favouring the neck injury he picked up fae cunnilingual activities wae yer maw and/or sister, he stood by his retirement announcement and spoke of his future prospects as a top class talent agent, and full time advocate for the wearing of suit jaickets without the accompanying suit troosers..anyway. WRESTLIN!
So Edinburgh got pumped again. In perhaps the most chaotic way yet. Admittedly I missed the first show ICW ran in Edinburgh, but unless there wis a tank and an incredibly hungry Lion involved somewhere, there’s nae chance it matched the carnage that came wae ICWs first ever Edinburgh Street Fight. Glesga’s been tore enough new arses, it wis time tae show the capital how orchestrated violence can look so convincing sometimes, it leads tae the polis being phoned. I reckon the polis showing up is a sign that yer doing it right more than anything else, so I’m sure everyone involved wurnae bothering their arses when it occurred. Before that utter mayhem got under way, we had a stoater of an undercard tae get through, so I’ll try n walk ye through it eh. I know the Square Go review wis a wee bit sketchy on the details, but I have various personal excuses fur that naecunt will really gie a fuck aboot, so we’ll move past it eh. Water under the bridge.
I got in 5 minutes late, so unfortunately I missed most of the bold Billy Kirkwoods patter, but I didnae miss him introducing his broadcast colleague for the evening and I didnae miss how much of a hilarious cunt he is. It wis yer DCT, retired ref and 2 time Square Go entrant (totalling about 3 seconds of action) and he wis now apparently a PIMP, as he came strollin oot shirtless, wae Leah Owens in tow, and the maist baw huggin tights on ye’ll ever see. Tae cut a ong story short, if ye ever need DCT, just dial 69-69-0-0-0. Also, if ye were in the crowd, you’re carrying DCTs wean noo, and it already has a tash.