Sunday, July 11, 2004

Major Happenings at Texas Cage Match

By Jim Bob Jones
Guest columnist and
damn fine dent puller
at the body shop

So I’m waiting for a couple of months for this stinking Texas Cage Match between Opie and that little piss-ant Daver. I have been so excited about Daver’s upcoming butt stomping that I haven’t been able to focus on my work down at Bubba’s Bumper Bungalow. Luckily, most of my customers are at least one enchilada short of a combo platter down at Taco Loco, so they rarely notice my crappy work.

I get to the arena early to stake out a good seat, maybe get close enough to get splattered with a little blood as Opie beats the Jedi crap out of Daver. I make my way down close to the ring and find all these hoity-toity, fairy looking men in tuxedos sitting in seats marked “Reserved” down close. What the hell is that? I was about to get really upset when I noticed that each of these lucky bastards was sitting next to some chick with some serious knockers. I mean, they were barely contained in a low-cut gown. Maybe I should call them lucky stiffs, if you know what I mean. I should have known that this would be a weird event if the society crowd was here. Little was I to know that those snotty society geeks would be a part of a life changing experience.

Finally, the house fills up and ass-kicking time arrives. The air was hot and humid and began to smell of testosterone and sweat as the pre-match entertainment wound down. I knew it was time to start when a very serious hotty entered the ring and introduced herself as Paddy. Damn! Made me forget about the hooters on the front two rows. That chick was so hot, I’d drink her bath water! She began the introductions with that little know-it-all bastard Daver. Who the hell does he think he is? Does he think I give a rat’s ass about his opinion? I can’t wait to see him get killed tonight. Anyway, after she introduces him, he comes out in some dark satin robe with a hood, trying to look all bad-ass or something. Then they start playing that Darth Vader song from Star Wars, gimme a break. Go ahead Daver, just a few more minutes and BAM, your ass is gonna be grass, you little freak!

Finally, I am drawn back to Paddy and her rockin’ bod. Damn! Hell, I’d even listen to the phone book if she was reading it. She introduces Opie and begins to jump up and down excitedly. Damn again! Paddy is, as my friend Jam Master Tyrone would say, one “fly-ass cootchie!” My attention is pulled away from my libido-induced Nirvana as I look back to find Opie enter wearing a red, white & blue robe, looking like Rocky Balboa about to kill that arrogant bastard Mr. T. I even hear the music from Rocky. This is gonna be great! Go get’em dude!

The conqueror and victim enter the ring and stare each other down. Daver has to be on a step-stool, just to be able to see Opie’s eyes. Little pip-squeak! Loud music blasting, lights flashing, knockers on my left, hooters on my right, Paddy in the ring; it just don’t get much better than this. I am ready for some serious bloodshed!

Paddy exits the ring just as a hush falls over the massive crowd. Opie and Daver are still in the center of the ring in a stare-fest as the cage comes down around them. The lights dim. Still staring. You can almost hear the pulse of the crowd, waiting for the beating to start. Still staring. Just then that loud-mouthed announcer dude steps up to the microphone and belts out “Lllllllllettttt’s get ready to rhumbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Wait, what did he say? Rhumba? What the hell is that? It’s rumble! I WANNA SEE A RUMBLE! The combatants drop their robes as Daver motions toward the roof and a freakin’ mirrored ball drops from above the ring. Now Daver has on a little miniature tuxedo, looks like he got it from Barbie’s gay pal Ken. Opie, no, say it ain’t so, man! Opie has on a pink chiffon, sequined floor-length ball gown slit high on the side, with delightful, understated red rose accoutrements on the shoulders. AAAAAGGGGHHH! Oh, the humanity! Wait, how did I miss this? There is a full symphony orchestra off to my right. The orchestra begins to play some kind of weird ballroom dance music – I still can’t describe it, but those society geeks in the front seemed to know it. Oh, man, I need a drink. Where is the beer dude when you need him?

There is no sound from the audience as we watch in stunned amazement as Opie and Daver look like Fred and Ginger gliding across the mat. Oh my lord, what is happening? Somehow, despite the height difference, Daver manages to “dip” Opie in a surprisingly graceful move. The crowd begins to sense something really special occurring here. After a few minutes, I myself am transformed by the sheer beauty of the dance. I begin to see that the dance has brought two enemies together. They move as one across the ring as we stare in awe of the grace and elegance on display before us. If Daver and Opie can put aside their differences, I should be able to lay down my old ways and appreciate my fellow man. I come upon the realization that it was wrong for me to lust after the delightful young society ladies and their low-cut gowns, and I am suddenly ashamed that I never wondered what kind of brilliant mind resides within the lovely Paddy.

The dance ends! Daver bows, Opie curtsies gracefully. We all clap politely, yet enthusiastically. I notice that, instead of a beer dude, a waiter with wine and cheese has appeared. How refreshing! Suddenly, without any prompting, every member of the audience turns to their neighbor and gives them a big hug as we begin to sing “We are the World.” I make friends with a tall, turbaned man from the Middle East and apologize for my improper judgment that he was just a towel-headed terrorist. He smiles back, accepts my apology, announces that he loves America, and offers me a ride in his cab. It was positively the most uplifting, mind-altering event of my life.

Sure, a part of me was bummed that there was no bloodshed, but I think everyone there came away a little more enlightened and tolerant of others as a result of being present for “The Dance.” Ψ


Daver said...
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Daver said...

Oh yes, quite a nice review of the events of the evening. A tip of the cap to the fine journalist responsible for documenting the evening! Nice job, Jim Bob!