Juan Turlington does not take advantage of the wide array of felonies available to him in American society. Mail Tampering takes such little effort that it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Every other Tuesday, abducted wanderers are snatched from their path, never to find their intended destination. They slowly become "Other People’s Mail." These are their lost, misguided voices.
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Alright, if I put the stick down, then will you go out with me?
An open letter to the public:
You should come over to my house next Saturday and see my backyard wrestling league. It's number 1. I stick tacks in my face and execute perfect flying squirrels off the roof of the garage. It is so fucking extreme. It would definitely be worth your time and the $2.50 admission price. Make sure to bring your own lawn chair. If you don't, it is a strong possibility that you will have to end up sitting Indian style in the back of my mom's broken down pickup that is crashed halfway through the back of our house. Don't worry, it's been there awhile. If we pull it out of the house, there's going to be a hole. We can't have that. It's a structural thing. I'd rather have the front of a 1989 Ford Ranger in our kitchen than a big fucking hole.
Anyway, back to my sweet backyard wrestling league. My name is Carl and I am 26 years old. My stage name is "Skullface Legkick." My finishing move is called "The Shit Kick Abortion." It is basically a super-charged boot to the tailbone followed by a thunderous stomp to the midsection. It was invented by me, my sister, and a dense cloud of desperation. She hasn't ever been the same since. Neither has my nephew-son, Mudflap.
This week's main event is going to make you want to super-glue your eyelids to your forehead. I am taking on Dazzling Dildo Martinez in a garden hose choke-out match. He is in eighth grade. His mom says that he shouldn't hang out with me because I'm the "fucking degenerate weirdo down the street," and I'm "a registered sex offender." Sticks and stones will break my bones, bitch, but my backyard wrestling league is fucking awesome! Martinez will be Power-bombed off of my roof and he will be in desperate need of medical attention. That is why Jesus teamed up with a time-traveling alien in 1946 to invent the " insurance waiver form." Look it up.
Speaking of insurance waivers, there will be a brick-throwing match on Saturday as well. A group of our top wrestlers will square off in a four-way rock-hurling fiasco. Teeth will be lost, but glory will be found. I am all about this shit. I live for it. It makes me want to throw a fucking brick straight up into the air and catch it in my teeth. Fuck, that's a great idea. I think that's how I'll open next Saturday's show. Do you want to come to it now? How about if I catch myself on fire while the brick is in the air? You don't want to miss that shit, do you? It is going to be so kick-ass.
People always ask me why I do this shit. The answer is easy. I'm in desperate need of attention and I will go to any length, even absolute physical devastation, to achieve it. Ha ha ha. Just kidding. I don't even understand what I just said.
Awesomeness takes practice.
Backyard wrestling is all about the love. Play fighting gives me a boner. Puncture wounds, broken bones, deep bruises, and concussions are all a small price to pay. There is nothing like the feeling of watching a fan's face when I leap from a ladder onto a group of 13-year-olds. One can never understand the backyard wrestling limelight until they actually experience a fan vomiting on their own lap in reaction to your femur protruding through your Wranglers. Moments like that can make you feel like a god, a wheelchair-confined god without health insurance, but a god just the same.
People have to understand the big picture. Backyard wrestling is only the first of many steps. I wish my fucking mom would understand that I can't possibly hold down a job and organize this "federation" at the same time. The endless bitching about my resignation from Wal-Mart and my sexual predatory status will cease when I ink my first pro contract. I have no doubt that I will one day wrestle in huge arenas before thousands of fans. That day is coming. Never mind the fact that I am 5'8" and 140 lbs. What I lack in size, I make up in ignorance, stupidity, and white-trash genetics. If you have a problem with that, you should grow a pair of testicles and step in the ring with me. You can use a piece of wood with nails driven through it to bash my face in. It really gets a huge fan reaction. Impalement wounds always get the crowd going. It is only topped by the insanely popular, "impalement wound/falling off of something high in the air" combination. People just gobble that shit up.
Holy grappling Jesus in a singlet, I am ready to wrestle my fucking ass off right now! Someone better fold up a metal fucking chair and hand it to me right now. Furniture is an underraterd form of weaponry.
It's only about an hour until school lets out. Some of the guys will be coming over to practice and wrestle through some routines. We need to get everything perfect for next Saturday.
The admiration of others tastes like jagged bloody teeth.
On that note, I have to go through some stretches and paint the fuck out of my face. Make sure that you all get your asses over here for some extreme backyard wrestling next Saturday afternoon. My friends and I are guaranteed to rock your world and remind you that spinal cords get way too much pussy treatment. If the mood is right, I may decide to bite one of my fingers off in the final event. Remember to bring $2.50 and a lawn chair. People will probably start showing up around noon. If you have any nails, tacks, or shards of glass lying around, please feel free to donate.
Ill change my pic to something that represents each one of his articles. Every juan of his articles make me juant to write my own juanderful article. (is that good enough Christine?)
To really piss this guy off I would go watch the wrestling match from across the street and not pay a dime. I might even charge for parking.
Posts: 4 Rank: 2103 Joined:
12/28/2006
Location:
alexandria, VA
Posted: 3/6/2007 10:10:32 AM
I keep looking at the caption on the first picture and I just. can't. stop. laughing. but what about the impalement/falling off something high/running into something sharp and/or metal combination
Posts: 55 Rank: 151 Joined:
1/8/2007
Location:
Johannesburg, South Africa
Posted: 3/6/2007 10:13:16 AM
Is this shit for real? I've heard rumours of backyard wrestling and I've seen a couple of Jackass shows, but I can't imagine anyone being this fukcing retarded. I'll probably never understand Americans.
Posts: 1265 Rank: 7 Joined:
12/7/2006
Location:
TPP Island, NY
Posted: 3/6/2007 10:28:02 AM
This is great, I think in Juan’s spare time he cleans Canadian hotel rooms because “Puncture wounds, broken bones, deep bruises, and concussions” is how I suspect the hookers are found once I've left the scene.
The shout out to red neck required uniform - wranglers.
Hookers comment about screwing the guy on admission.
But honestly this is all too real. I live in the birthplace of Vince McMahon and adjacent to the hometown of the WWF Hardy Boys. If you cant use your head to read just use it to absorb chair shots and make a quick buck.
When I was in school there was a "family" (I use that term very loosely) that lived in the student neighborhood. Their twin 5'8" 135 mistakes actually did this stuff to the extreme pleasure of the rest of the drunken, violent, & bored college neighbors.
Best I saw: standing backflip off the dodge dart, through a card table, into the opponent; who caught him and then threw him back into (and through) the dodge dart windshield.
Posts: 217 Rank: 46 Joined:
12/14/2006
Location:
Pittsburgh, PA
Posted: 3/6/2007 11:15:48 AM
There are four fat fucking ladies in accounting right now, eating microwave popcorn (2 bags a piece) that I would like to enter into your wrestling league. See, I'm getting ready to go under their desks to work on their computers, as they call home to talk about how much of a fuck up their offspring is. If you could possibly promise them a swift death, I would gladly pay you off in gas station nachos, and underground photos of dale earnhardt's autopsy.
It smells under those desks. It smells of death and failure.
Why arent ther any middle eastern pitchers in major league baseball???? Some of those fuckers throw rocks ALL DAY! Someone over ther has to be throwing in the 120s.
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