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.
Fuckin London. Petrified.
Soon as I wis informed its a half hour drive fae the bus station tae the venue, I started freakin the fuck out. A half hour drive between places in the same city? Fuck sake. I’m so gonnae die here. London’s too big. It needs tae be a lot smaller or we’ll aw just end up deid. Or at least wae sick doon us. Right doon the front ae yer jumper. Mom’s spaghetti. Nae two ways about it. It took cunts ages tae get intae a routine wae Edinburgh travel that didnae involve blind panic, and now its London. 8 hours on the bus. Only an ipod and a notepad wae survival strategies scribbled in code tae keep me company. Lets dae it.
Wrestling though. It’s aw for wrestling. It’s aw for showing these English punters what ICW is all about, by filling London fulla confused Scottish people, have them inevitably get frustrated, and start fuckin wreckin the place.
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!
Still Smokin’ will be like an adults only version of Pat Sharpes fun house. A whole lotta fun, prizes tae be won, its ICWs new crazy show, where anything goes! (cept instead of prizes, its belts, and this intro falls on its arse if yer not a child of the 90s) I spose I thought that analogy works cause Fun House is fairly choatic n that, and ICW is along the same lines, I dunno, I didnae really think this through, but aye! card’s armed tae the teeth, there’s gonnae be technical wrestling, wrestling where ladders are used as devices of destruction and probably some wrestling that isnae on the originally scheduled card. Basically if yer intae wrestling, ye’ll be intae this, cause its wrestling from top tae bottom so it is. Did I mention wrestling aye? Aye good.
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.