It's official: I'm regressing. I've developed a daily need to watch WWE. I'm addicted to wrestling. Cigarettes? Maybe. Alcohol? Possible. Drugs? At some point it was on the cards. Full grown men in tight little spandex pants, covered in oil, slamming in to one another. No way. I ain't getting addicted to that. Ever. Wrong! I can quote pretty much the whole Raw roster's special moves. You think I'm bluffing? Try me. John Cena = FU. CM Punk = Go to sleep or GTS for short. Paul Birchull = Kerb stone. Batista = Batista bomb (kinda obvious that one).Do you see what I mean? First Midsomer Murders and now this? What is happening to me? Am I losing it? Did I even ever have it in the first place? Next I'll be taking a bath on Sunday nights at 7'o'clock before sitting down with a coco to watch re-runs of London's Burning starring Robson and Jerome. I can't hack it. It's taking over my life. I was at work the other day and we didn't have this book in stock. So this guy starts having a go at me and before you know it I've created this whole scenario in my head which climaxes in the guy being body slammed through the thin MDF table of the Information Point. I've even started nodding my head when the ref begins to make the three count. ONE, TWO, THREE!
Who am I kidding? I love it really and as far as addictions go it's pretty harmless. I mean it's not like I'm going to hurt myself or anyone else is it? Just a little bit of harmless fun. And besides my dad will be alright. How was I suppose to know he was going to walk in the kitchen just as I was perfecting my cross body from the top rope slash kitchen work top. It could have been worse. I'd been working on the spinebuster all afternoon. He got lucky.
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