#trunks and boots wrestler

[wrestlingarsenal]

Indy pro wrestler Blade Bandit, recently featured on the Beefcakes of Pro Wrestling blog.

More images of him available in that gallery (but I consider this one the best one.)

[nokneepadsnoproblem]

Been awhile since the very sexy Dave Stage has been featured 🔥

[transform4u]

Absolutely love your stories (especially G2S). I am a young, gay man who works as a professional actor, largely in Shakespeare. There's a part of me, though, that wishes I got into another type of performance job: professional wrestling. Any chance of turning me into a cocky, uber-macho, douchey pro wrestler?

As you practice your lines, intoning, "Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here," a sudden, piercing snaaaaappppp reverberates through your brain. The words on the page blur and morph before your eyes, the text twisting into an audacious proclamation: "Hark! Attend ye now, and heed my might, For I am the grand champion, in the fiercest fight. With rippling muscles and a gaze so grand, I stand alone, the mightiest in this land."

Your head throbs, a painful pulse echoing through your temples. “Ugh!” you exclaim, the words feeling foreign and absurd, "What the fuck is this shit?" watching in disbelief as the pages of your script flutter to the ground like discarded confetti. Your once slender frame, so familiar and comforting, now feels alien and grotesque.

The pain in your head intensifies, spreading to your limbs. You clutch your temples, desperate for relief, but instead, a bizarre transformation begins. Your body starts to stretch and bulge, muscles twitching and swelling with a relentless, throbbing ache. It’s as if your very form is rebelling, growing and expanding, reshaping itself into something both awe-inspiring and unnerving.

Before you, the mirror reflects a man of Herculean proportions. Your physique is a chiseled marvel of muscular splendor, each muscle honed from relentless, grueling workouts. Your thick biceps bulge like coiled serpents, veins snaking beneath the skin and pulsing with every boastful flex. Your pectorals, mountains of sculpted glory, strain against the tight fabric of your sleeveless, skin-tight shirt, daring the seams to burst with every breath. A washboard of abs gleams under the light, each segment defined with such precision it seems carved by a master sculptor.

Your face is a masterpiece of overconfident charm, with a square jaw and a smirk so smug it could melt steel. You’re clad in leather trunks that cling with an egotistical perfection, and boots polished to a mirror shine. Every stride you take exudes an aura of unrivaled bravado, as if the very air should feel privileged to share space with you.

Memories flood your mind, a parade of cocky triumphs and extravagant victories in the ring. You recall the roar of the crowd, the electrifying atmosphere of the arena. The weight of the championship belt, a symbol of your undeniable superiority, feels familiar around your waist. You remember the way you dominated every opponent, their struggles a mere footnote to your own grand narrative. The ring, once a stage for your craft, now serves as the arena where your ego reigns supreme.

You chuckle, a dumb, almost delirious laugh that escapes your lips. It’s a laugh of pure, unfiltered arrogance, as you bask in the glory of your new form. The absurdity of your past, the innocent pursuit of theatrical lines, feels like a distant memory now. You revel in the grandeur of your physical transformation, your every move imbued with the swagger and entitlement of a true champion.

With an arrogant grin, you roughly grab your crotch through your shorts, relishing the sweet sting of bruising your own palm on the bulging package within. "Mmmm fuck yeah, that's my boy," you rasp. "Gonna need those monster nuts to knock some sense into that skank's pussy."

A savage rage surges through you, fueled by the unrelenting need to assert dominance over everything in your path. Your ego balloons like a balloon, becoming an inflated sense of superiority and entitlement. You lick your lips, the saliva dripping down your chin. In an instant, all traces of empathy or reason flee your mind, replaced by pure, animalistic lust.

Your thoughts shift abruptly as a buxom redhead fills your head, her tight red lace panties and skimpy thong driving you wild. Memories of fucking this vapid bimbo backstage flood your consciousness. Her high-pitched moans echo in your ears, her tits bouncing wildly in your grip as you slam into her from behind again and again. You'd make her scream so loudly they'd have to muffle her with a mouthful of your dick!

Your fantasies run wild, conjuring up the depraved image of you tossing this vapid bachelorette onto your bed like a rag doll. She lets out a series of desperate, keening moans as you roughly yank down her scant clothing, exposing miles of creamy skin that you proceed to mark with hickies and bite marks, branding her as your bitch. Your hands paw clumsily at her nakedness, squeezing and groping with a mindless, animalistic hunger until you've reduced the girl to a mewling heap of neediness and desire. Without warning, you drive into her soaked cunt, immediately setting a brutal pace that has her squealing like the depraved little cumrag she is.

"God, her tight snatch is gripping me so good as I split her in two with my massive fucking tool. I bet the bitch loves getting destroyed like this - pounded into oblivion with my huge dick splitting her open…"

You feel like a monumental asshole, an insufferable prick encased in a gilded cage. A golden cross of arrogance wraps itself around your throat, choking the life out of any shred of empathy or humanity left within.

You let your mind drift to your glory days of mauling dumb fags on the wrestling mat, pummeling them until their teeth rattled on their skulls. The sick satisfaction of watching them fold and beg for mercy - ah, that was the real thrill! None of the groupies' attention or the money from selling merch matters compared to the sheer rush of putting simps in their place.

Your phone buzzes incessantly, spilling over with thirsty messages and snaps from horny women begging to be destroyed. "Tucker, I need your cock sooo bad," one filthy piece of ass texts back and forth.

All this validation only stokes the flames of your egotism higher. "That's right bitch, worship Tucker's cock like the fucking whore you are!" you bellow. The world is your oyster and everyone else better remember their place. This is YOUR domain - THEE Tucker, conquerer of cocksucking sluts!

[beansprean]

beach episode when???

....you can really tell we're in hiatus, huh.

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of the whole household standing on the beach at night. From left to right we have: Colin Robinson, dressed in a beige speedo, striped brown bucket hat, white socks, and leather sandals, smiling and holding the Nadja doll in the crook of his elbow. He is completely hairless. Dolly, Nadja, and Laszlo are dressed in matching vintage bathing suits, a black one piece with red polka dots at booty short length with a sweetheart neckline and thin shoulder straps. They also all have matching wedge shoes in the same color. Dolly has all her hair pulled up in a high bun with a pink flower tucked on the left side and is wearing a pink coverup. She is smiling easily in Colin's arms with her hinged knees pulled up daintily. Nadja stands with her hair in the same style, dark leg hair free to the wind, holding a clear green inner tube under her right arm and her left hand laced with Laszlo's. She looks excited to be back on a beach and is smiling, peeking over at her husband from the corner of her eye. Laszlo peeks back with a grin of his own, twirling a lacy parasol over his shoulder with his free hand. The neckline of his swimsuit shows off some moderate chest hair. His hair is up in a bun and he has a red kerchief tied gayly around his neck. Standing slightly in front is Nandor, hands on his hips, wearing what looks like either a wrestler's leotard or an extremely skimpy one piece swimsuit. Brick red, cut high in the leg and low at the chest to show off maximum body hair, of which there is a relative forest. He also has the same ring necklace and leather arm brace he wore to the gym along with knee high leather boots. On the far end is Guillermo, dressed in flipflops, plain blue swim trunks, and a white tee shirt. He has a soft cooler strapped over his shoulder and is holding an ornate long-handled feather fan in both hands, which he is flapping continuously by the side of Nandor's head. Nandor has a vaguely annoyed expression, hair blowing around and into his face, and says, "That is enough fanning, now, Guillermo." Guillermo, who is tomato-red and nervously looking everywhere except at his housemates, doesn't seem to hear.

2. Nandor, soaking wet and leaning over to squeeze out his hair with both hands, steps up next to Guillermo to ask "Guillermo, will you not get in the water?" He is surrounded by sparkles and Guillermo looks away with red cheeks and a pained smile, holding his hand up as if warding off the shine. He replies, "No, thank you. I'm good."

3a. Nandor shouts, "Nonsense!" and with a big fangy grin he tosses Guillermo up in the air, spinning towards the ocean. Guillermo, upside down in midair, looks understandably shocked. 3b. Close up on a big sploosh in the sea as Guillermo makes his landing, Nandor standing on the beach in the background with a big grin, hands proudly on his hips.

4a. Close up on Guillermo as he breaches the sea with a gasp, standing up in the waist-high water with his arms spread out in surprise, eyes wide and angry as he catches his breath. His white shirt is now see through and plastered to the skin of his belly and chest, dark nipples visible through the fabric. He shouts, "Nandor, what the fuck!!" 4b. Close up on Nandor in profile as he watches Guillermo heatedly from the beach, biting his lip with a small smile as his cheeks flush purple. Offscreen, Guillermo shouts "Wha- my glasses, where are my glasses?!" In the background, Nadja and Laszlo are reclined together on a towel under the parasol, watching Guillermo with mild interest. Laszlo has dug out a pair of opera glasses to see better. At their feet, Dolly is buried to her neck in sand with two large bucket-shaped sand boobs above her chest. On their far side is Colin, sitting cross-legged on the sand and slathering sunscreen uselessly over every exposed bit of skin. He grins over toward Guillermo and shouts back, "Looking good, Gizmo!" /end ID

[tzaraat]

[image ID: an oil painting of two wrestlers grappling on a dark red mat. the colours are quite vivid, complemented by dramatic light and shadows.

on the left, a figure lies on its side, facing right. its left leg stretches in the same direction, while its right is folded at the knee and rests close to the body. both its hands are raised and frame its face, crossing each other. the left hand is tangled with the other figure's right arm. it is dressed in black trunks and boots, as well as knee pads. the figure is painted quite realistically, with opaque layers of paint. its face is masked by shadows, and completely blacked out.

on the right, the second figure sits, facing left. its left leg is extended, covering the other's chest and pinning it down. its right leg goes behind the other figure's body, folded at the knee. its left hand is by its side, pressing on the first figure's leg. its right, tangled with the other figures' crossed arms, rests over its own left thigh. the figure is dressed in blue tights and boots, also wearing kick-pads. the graphic layer shows through, as it is painted as a few semi-transparent glazes, with no opaque base. its face is heavily shadowed, and largely covered by hair, such that few distinct features are visible.

the top-left and bottom-right parts of the painting each contain a rectangular panel, which has been left white. the panels intersect with the figures' bodies. the figures themselves are drawn, in black-pen, as anatomical diagrams - revealing the muscles and tendons. next to the diagrams, also in black-pen, is a schematic rendering depicting sections of Lou Thesz' NWA belt (also known as the tiny Takada belt). the belt sections are covered by a layer of vellum paper, which blurs them out. /.End ID]

my full piece for @moonsaultzine! i'm very proud of all we managed to achieve, and am thankful to have been able to participate. my piece was created while thinking about the symbolic collapse of persons into bodies in motion, and that collapse's relationship to the procedure of pro-wrestling and the artifice of all performances. it was referenced from multiple shoot-style matches (as well as allegedly fixed MMA fights) of the late 90s, particularly ones from UWF-I and RINGS.

[menonlywrestling]

Tape Traders.

In the 80s and 90s, Pro Wrestling tape trading was very popular amongst fans. The more obscure, hard to find tapes would fetch big money, but mostly the more well known traders liked to hold on to the rarest items, for bragging rights.

One such tape, known only as 'Danny's Destruction' took on practically mythical status. Many people suggested it didn't even exist. Every trader coveted a copy of this tape.

The tape was said to feature a private underground match, filmed in a basement, featuring a hot young Pro called Danny Da Costa (23), who was facing off against an older wrestler known as Hangman Hennessey (60).

Apparently, young Danny took such a severe, prolonged pro beat down that he didn't wrestle again for six months, or ever, depending on who you spoke to. Everyone wanted to see this tape.

FFW to 2001, when a copy of the video was anonymously uploaded to an underground pro wrestling message board. The grainy vhs quality video was titled 'Danny's Destruction - Three hours of pro ring torture'

The video begins with footage of the younger HUNG wrestler already in the ring, hopping from foot to foot, stretching and pulling on the ropes, ready for action. While young Danny started off well, with some good back and forth, he eventually succumbed to the Hangman's continued attacks on Danny's right arm. Hangman then methodically puts Danny in every conceivable pro wrestling hold. No one had ever seen a 20 minute camel clutch applied, or a 30 minute Boston, before. The postings were brutal, as were the relentless standing elbow and knee drops. Focussed attacks on Da Costas arm continued. Hennessey looks to be in his element. He was getting on a bit and his best wrestling days were behind him. He seems to be relishing the opportunity to actually dominate in the ring again. The handful of men watching were enjoying every second, as they sat ringside on battered old sofas and armchairs, drinking and smoking. So turned on by all the moans, groans and the sound of bodies hitting the canvas. Some of them are also in pro gear and masks.

Around the two hour mark, exhausted Danny has clearly given up submitting, he knows the onslaught wont stop either way. Hennessey then tears Danny's singlet off and tosses it to the group, leaving him in just his pro boots. We see him spit into his palm and rub it onto his now raging hard cock, spit on Danny's hole then enter him. Hennessey fucks poor Danny for a solid 45 mins, seemingly enjoying hurting the younger man even more. Such stamina! When he eventually shoots his load deep into the younger man ass, with a massive groan, the men cheer.

It isn't the end for Danny though. Hennessey, still hard, put his trunks back on, scoops Danny over this shoulders and applies an absolutely brutal torture rack and parades Danny around the ring, one hand round his throat and the other squeezing his thick cock. Danny's body is limp now and it looks like he's going to be broken in half hes being bent so much. Like a power lifter, Hennessey hoists his victim above his head, then drops Danny into an over the knee back breaker. Again brutally bending him so much he looks ready to snap in two. He begins to start jerking Danny's cock, as he tightens the grip on his throat.

After a while he pushes Danny off his knee and leaves the ring. Is that it? Where has he gone? Is it over? During this the camera stays focussed on Danny, as he holds his throat, before panning to his ass and hard cock.

We then see Hennessey re enter the ring carrying a gym bag, from this he produces a long, thick chain with a leather collar on the end of it, and holds it above his head. The men cheer. Danny struggles as the older man tries to attach it round his neck. He knows whats coming. Several forearm smashes daze Danny, and its eventually strapped on.

Danny is tossed over the top ring rope and 'hung', with Hennessey still in the ring, pulling hard on the chain that's wrapped round his wrist. I guess this is why he's called The Hangman.

Some of the men take photos of a bloody Danny struggling, with one man even sucking Danny's dick as he squirms on the end of the chain. One man signals to Hennessey that Danny is out, and he lets go of the chain. Danny slumps to the floor.

The camera cuts to sometime after the fight has finished. Everyone is now in the ring and we see one masked man with the chain round his throat, sucking Hennessey off. One man is fucking Danny's ass, while another rubs his cock over Danny's bloody face, before fucking his mouth, and another sucks Danny's cock.

The video ends with a shot of Hennessey with a really stiff, tight sleeper on Danny, who is being forced to jerk off, until he cums on his hairy belly, while the men jeer in the background. Danny is eventually KOed again.

I hope it was worth the $50 Danny.

[specialinterestshows]

Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic: now with more relationship drama! Featuring bi!DomDom.

Warnings for this section: slut-shaming/whorephobic comment in Spanish, tickling, mention of stoner paraphernalia

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 4/?): The Judgement Gay

The drive back was much like the drive to the store; Rhea chose the music, boots up on the dashboard despite your protests, windows down, and you would make fun of some of the more intense songs she insisted on raising the volume for, headbanging vigorously in her direction at red lights. There was a lot of her shoving you and yelling “fuck off.” You seemed to have tuned in very quickly to just the right level of joking around to avoid getting a firsthand look at her brutality. All the better for you, as you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to stand a chance. Even though you’d tried to stop yourself from staring this morning when she was doing stretches, push-ups, and the like, you couldn’t help but sneak a few looks. Taking in her rippling muscles, amazing curves, and confident form was distracting enough to have caused you to make a few spills when you were making breakfast. Just remembering what she looked like when her midriff peeked out from under her shirt made you bite your lip as you turned on to the street for your apartment, lowering the volume of the music to avoid complaints from your neighbors.

“Motherfucker,” Rhea groaned under her breath; then louder, “Some shit might go down. Whatever you do, stay behind me.”

Trying to appear calm, you see what she means as you pull into your parking space. Several yards away, a man dressed in black and purple is pacing in front of your building, looking at his phone, then scanning the surrounding area. How did he know to find her here?

“Let me get out first,” Rhea orders as you roll up the windows and park the car. As soon as you remove the key from the ignition, the passenger’s side door pops open. By the time you’re opening the driver’s side door, Rhea has slammed the other door shut and is striding angrily in the direction of Dominik Mysterio. Closing the door, you hesitate, thinking of your purchase in the trunk. Locking the car, you decide that a large glass object is the last thing you want near two angry wrestlers and try to catch up with Rhea.

“I left it to charge! What are you doing tracking my phone anyway?” you heard Rhea snarl, her back turned to you. Your movements become more careful and calculated the closer you get to the two, your hand firmly gripping the pepper spray that hung off your keys.

“I was WORRIED about you!” Dominik yells back, “You hung up on me without telling me where you were, or who you were with!” Then, noticing you standing timidly several feet behind Rhea, he snaps, “Nothing to see here, keep walking.”

“DON’T talk to her like that,” Rhea steps to the side, blocking Dominik’s view of you. He takes in her protective stance and looks her in the eyes, “Oooh, I see. You found some perrita and she doesn’t want you talking to me.” He puts a hand on Rhea’s shoulder - moving with the intent to walk toward you - and she immediately grabs his arm. Her knuckles turn white as her grip tightens and Dominik’s tough-guy demeanor falters, a slight wince creeping up on his face.

“Leave. Her. Out of it.” Rhea warns in a dangerous tone. She moves Dominik’s hand off her shoulder and releases his arm. He steps back, rubbing the sore spot and inhaling sharply.

“Look, Dom,” Rhea settled into a controlled, commanding tone, “we don’t have anyone to fight, intimidate, or otherwise challenge for a few more days. Give me another full day and I’ll meet you back at the hotel room. Then we can talk it out.”

Dominik seemed to relax a bit, sighing, “Mami, listen, that guy from last night-“

“Stop.” Rhea insisted, “One more day. Go.”

She watched him walk away and didn’t turn around until she seemed sure he was leaving.

“Hope you’re liking my company,” Rhea said, approaching you, “because it looks like you’re stuck with me for another 24 hours.”

“Damn,” you dramatically snap your fingers, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “taking you back to my apartment was a vital step in ditching you, and now you’ve found out.”

Rhea lunges at you playfully and you squeal the minute she grabs your sides.

“Wait,” a mischievous grin spreads across Rhea’s face, “Are you ticklish?”

Thinking quickly, you wriggle out of reach and make a beeline for the trunk of your car, giggling; she couldn’t tickle you if you were holding something fragile she just bought. It took only a few seconds for Rhea to catch up to you, relentlessly touching your sides, making you laugh loudly and squirm.

“Stop!” you manage to cry out, breathless. Moving her hands down to your hips, relenting on the tickling, Rhea laughs as you catch your breath. After a few seconds you realize her hands are still on your waist and look at her face, only a few inches away from yours. She’s already looking at you, blue eyes piercing through yours, black lips slightly parted. Heart pounding, you wonder if she’s waiting for you to make a move.

Suddenly, the air in front of you is empty; she’s taken your keys out of your pocket and is walking in the direction of the car.

“Come on,” Rhea calls behind her, “let’s try out your new piece.”

[end part four of ?]

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/723568609784397824/absolute-smokeshow-part-5-stoner-i-hardly

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@cherryberryshine

@littlemiss-fanficlover

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s02ep11 “Super Doc"

Previous episodes linked here.

In this episode: The boys once again decide to meddle in Doc's past.

The episode begins in Doc's lab! Which is a rare setting in this season (we usually have a green screen background).

Doc is fighting a battle against a heavy trunk, and he's losing.

He's about to take Clara, Jules, and Verne to the airport, and told them to just pack "only a single piece of luggage." They packed a gigantic, heavy trunk that Doc can't move. He says that Clara and the boys are going to visit his Great Uncle Jonah, to which my initial thought is: how old is that man?? It's not like there is any indication of time traveling being involved, as we're in "present day" and he's dropping them off at the airport. And Doc is, what...80-something at this point? (factoring in the 10 years he lived in the Old West building the time train and the fact that the cartoon takes place in 1993)

You're telling me his GREAT UNCLE is still alive??? The guy must be like 140 years old!!

I call shenanigans.

Anyway, Doc says that he'd need super powers to lift the trunk, which reminds him of a time in his life when he actually did believe he had super powers. This brings us into the cartoon.

Verne is up in a tree being taunted by his peers because he's afraid to jump out and use a rope to swing across a stream and land on the other side.

Apparently, this is part of the initiation to join the "Mega Muscle Man Club," which is based on a popular comic book superhero. Verne's classmate tells him he has one day left to prove he's worthy of joining the club. Another kid pipes up to say that Verne's too chicken to do it, and Vernie sadly climbs down the tree while all the boys cluck at him. :(

Meanwhile, over in Doc's lab, he's putting the final touches on the pair of "booster boots" he's built for Marty. "These booster boots will aid you in your yearning for more altitude," Doc says, to which our empty-headed Marty replies that all he wants is to be taller. Marty tests them out and is pleased that he won't have to stand on his tiptoes anymore to kiss Jennifer.

Ridiculous, short little man.

Verne comes stomping in, complaining about having to swing from the tree, and Doc tells him he shouldn't do something just because someone tries to pressure him. Jules soon joins them, carrying a box of things he'd found while cleaning out the attic. Marty finds a newspaper dated 1952 in the box that contains an interesting article.

Yeah. So...Doc was a wrestler. Because why not.

Doc says he never actually went through with the match, instead deciding to pursue a life of science. Those are quite the two choices to be stuck between.

I think the writers for the show just had a gigantic dart board filled with any random idea that popped into their heads and they threw darts to come up with the storylines and pieces of character lore. "Yeah, so for this episode...uh...Doc" *throws dart* "used to be a wrestler. I guess."

As soon as Doc leaves the room, Jules and Verne start lamenting how they wish their dad would have chosen to be a wrestler. Marty, who never thinks about the consequences of anything ever, immediately runs to the DeLorean and tells the boys to jump in. Because there's no way that going back in time and convincing Doc to choose such a wildly different path will have any negative impacts, right?

The boys head to 1952 and attend the wrestling match, where the announcer says that Emmett "Brain Buster" Brown has yet to show up. If he doesn't enter the ring in 10 minutes, he'll have to forfeit the match. Also, there's a banner advertising "Fepsi."

Marty, Jules, and Verne go backstage, where Doc's manager is panicking over his refusal to show up to the match. Jules and Verne propose they track down their dad and convince him to wrestle while Marty wears the costume and pretends to be Brain Buster until Doc shows up.

Marty protests this decision, telling the manager that girl scouts used to beat him at arm wrestling, so how could he possibly wrestle for real??

Over at Doc's apartment, Jules and Verne pose as reporters for their elementary school's newspaper and ask for the full story on how he got into wrestling. Turns out, the whole thing started because Doc was at the grocery store and reached for the last potato the same time as the manager did. They got into a physical fight over said potato, and Doc won. The guy offered to make him a wrestler and set him up in a match against Mad Maximus.

Because Doc wrangled a POTATO out of a man's hand.

Doc tells the boys that he's since decided a life of wrestling isn't for him, but they work to convince him to give it a try. Verne gives Doc the booster boots so that he can get to the arena on time, and they all head over to the match.

The audience members in the backgrounds are highly amusing, btw. A lot of them are completely faceless beings, but some of them have these generic looking stick figure type features, and I have to share them.

LOOK AT THEM! They're adorable!!

So, just as the match is about to start, the guy in charge of the crank that lowers and lifts the microphone lets it fall, and it bonks Doc on the head. When he wakes up, he thinks he's an actual superhero named Mega Brain Man. The boys follow him as he runs around the city stopping "crime" (he keeps wrongly interpreting innocent situations as crimes lol)

After attempting to stop some bad guys from blowing up a building (they're construction workers demolishing a condemned building) he gets hit on the head again and regains his senses. He returns to the arena to continue with the match and is, of course, truly awful at wrestling. After losing, Doc tells the boys that this is what he gets for letting others pressure him into something.

From there, we cut immediately back to the present day, where Verne is once again being told to swing from the tree in order to join the Muscle Man fan club. Despite continued accusations that he's a chicken, Verne is able to tell his classmates that he isn't going to jump. And that's where the cartoon ends.

We return to Real Doc, who is waving to the airplane as it takes off with Clara, Jules, and Verne. Doc says he isn't going with them on the trip because he's got work to finish. However, once his work is done, he's going to travel back in time and go with them. Which. Okay.

The science experiment portion teaches us what helps planes and helicopters fly.

We return very briefly to the airport tarmac, where Doc is wrapping up the episode and preparing for some incoming rain. He tells us that he hopes the experiment helped to teach why airplanes can fly but humans can't. Unless! You had a device that forced air pressure under you, which, whaddya know, Doc has!

An airplane flies by, and the resulting influx of air simply carries him away.

Adios, Doc.

A silly, silly episode. I kind of wish I'd been keeping track of all the pieces of Doc Lore from the cartoon, because Cartoon Doc has led such a wacky life.

Join me next time for another episode where Marty is a horrible boyfriend.

[houseofpunk]

*sees a wrestler in tight trunks with boots, knee pads, and wrist tape*: yes he is fully clothed and dressed very modestly like a good christian girl

*sees same wrestler in jeans, a muscle t-shirt, and flip flops*: okay whore

[wrestlingarsenal]

I uploaded images of this post-match beating on my old website 20 years ago today. The "Z-Man" Tom Zenk wrestled Arn Anderson many times throughout 1990 into 1991 - they had a good romance going with Zenk endlessly trying to strip Arn of his belt. This particular Zmanderson encounter may have been the most homo-erotic, as two of Arn's buddies join in the mix to punish Z-Man. I went and found the match on YouTube and created this edited video to showcase my favorite moments of Zenk's humiliation.

We see the Z-man tease Arn with a really pretty Ab Stretch early in the match, grinding and humping to contort that hairy Dad-Bod. Zenk pays the price for this arrogance later when Daddy Arn takes control. Both men start to glisten with sweat.

When Zenk tries to top Anderson in a pinning position, Windham and Vicious illegally storm the ring. Barry Windham is especially rough on pretty-boy Zenk, clawing his eyes and then driving knees into his crotch. It's very entertaining if you're into violent triple-teaming and the destruction of muscle-hunks.

[nokneepadsnoproblem]

New discovery Jonah Niesenbaum - going to have to play close attention to this one in the future!

[sybilius]

29?

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

There's probably at least a few to count as favorites but this one stuck in my head a lot:

Okay now that, that– you might be a talker more than most wrestlers, but you’re pretty sure you can’t say shit that would top that. You stand up, half on instinct, weave one hand in his overgrown hair, ground your fingertips on the shape of his skull. Search his eyes, find only certainty, dark as his boots, his trunks, his whole ethos. You lean down. His kiss– it’s no longer a blow, or even a tag. 

It’s just him. And goddamn, you know him so well. 

You slide down to your knees, your head half in his lap, fuck, he can probably tell your eyes are a little wet. He just laughs, kisses you on top of the head.

From you got fuck all clue what the work is :)

[jackalpants]

Okay so this would be my pitch for an elseworlds Joker:

Kayfabe Joker.

In short: former pro wrestler who is trying to be a heel to Batman's face, but keeps having to do actual crimes and threaten actual innocents because otherwise it doesn't look real and the Bat doesn't show up.

So, we start with our Joker in the ring. He's a career heel, takes out a guy with the Last Laugh, his signature move. We watch him wash up and turn back into regular Jack Napier- we find out he's REALLY committed to the kayfabe bit, pretends he's Joker's manager for the fans when he's out of makeup, and he's Gotham born and bred, since way back. Big family in the East End.

He has a very bad day.

The Falcone family have taken over the wrestling company he works for, they're leaning down Jack's neck to find out who Joker is- they shot his boss, the guy who knows, and the wrestlers he came up with are getting out of town. Starting over in Star City. But he can't come with them, he's got roots here, man. He goes home, and sees the smoke, and it's a big fire. A bad one. Kills off the Napiers entirely- there's a story where his family is used as one line to underscore that the Bat-man saved a bunch of kids and he's like.

This is the guy. This city is miserable as hell, and bad, but hey, check it out, there is such a thing as a diamond in the rough. A dark knight for the dark city.

But the news keeps piling up the negative headlines. Batman beats up cops! Well of course, everyone knows those guys were crooked. Batman is a dangerous vigilante! Batman can't be trusted! Mayor promises task force to bring down this brutal thug!

And Jack can't take it any more. But he knows how to fix it. Every face needs a charismatic heel, and this guy's got the chops but he never touches the mike.

He gets the Joker makeup tattooed onto his face. No going back.

And he "robs a bank." All in character, goons and thugs and him back in the trunks and the boots and the wrapped hands, and he's home again, and he can do the laugh, and listen to that terrified crowd!

And then the bat comes, and he does a little crowd work, and then- the real test- the Bat doesn't kill him. Hits him hard enough that he can fake a good knockout, and Joker thinks to himswlf, The Bat KNOWS it's all fake. The Bat KNOWS. He's in on it, he gets it. The Joker is a great idea and the Bat loves it. It's so much better when you work with a professional.

A Joker who thinks he and the Bat are performing for a crowd. Who, in quiet moments without an audience, tells the Bat he's doin' great. Good work. The audience is really eating this up, man, they love you out there. Oh hey, it's the cops! You'll never stop me, Batman! I've rigged city hall to blow the moment I drop this dead man's switch!

A man trapped in a folie a deux with an unwilling dance partner. Doing his best. Gotham's greatest heel.

[helluvatache]

Cosplay goals/points

Vision and ventilation through mouth (plastic cross stitch mesh, spray painted)

If necessary, add a small fan inside the head, which will vent out the back.

If i add a fan i'll probably go ahead and do LED strips for the vest stripes. If not, then i don't really care about them glowing.

Shape accuracy is the goal for the most part. Make the vest out of 1 inch upholstery foam, make the pattern from that.

3 pairs of leggings/tights for the bottoms. 1 pair for the "bare" legs, 1 pair cut and sewn on for boot covers, and a third pair cut into shorts that go on top of everything to help keep it all from falling down. (I've seen several wrestlers wear short trunks over long tights to keep them from falling down or the crotch from sagging)

Gotta find wide calf platform boots and get a lot of practice walking around in them. It's been a long time since i've worn heels.

Im considering arm extensions with puppet hands because im worried about the final proportions, but we'll see how it all looks in the end.

Fabric, wire, potentially fishing line for the long head and tail feathers. Faux fur for everything else.

[honeymoononvenus]

IN REVIEW: THE WORLD IS A VAMPIRE TOUR

Let’s first take a minute to play a little make believe. Now, if you were the lead singer of one of the 90’s most infamous bands, pioneering a sound that teenagers for generations after would come to mimic, and continuously selling out tours even over 30 years after the release of your debut album . . . your natural progression from this would obviously be to then buy a perishing American wrestling team, right? 

The next evolution would be to then pack up your team NWA ( National Wrestling Alliance, not to be confused with 90s rap group) and take them on a massive world tour with you and your band, before putting them in a ring with the WAOA ( Wrestling Alliance of Aus) team on the Australian leg of the tour. 

On top of the already tremendous treat that is bringing gloriously camp 80s style wrestling back to the public, you also brought with you Alt-rock idols Jane's Addiction, and Australia’s very own Amyl and the Sniffers, Redhook and Battlesnake. 

Sounds delicious, right? Well the good news is, this fantasy is a reality baby! Well, at least a reality to Billy Corgan, righteous leader of The Smashing Pumpkins. And you best believe we ran to see this one of a kind day-festival go down. 

THE WORLD IS A VAMPIRE tour kicked off its Australian leg last weekend, at Eaton Hills hotel in the ever-humbling suburban Brisbane. 

Immediately upon walking through the gates, it was obvious that this was a veteran music  crowd, between a sea of black band tees ( despite the grueling QLD heat making its final attempts of a summer sun) ,  wrinkling arm band tattoos and indubitably , the tell tale sign that it is definitely not someone's first rodeo; COMFORTABLE FOOTWEAR. You know how you can count a tree's age by the rings on its trunk? You could count the ages of the punters purely by looking down and categorizing ages by sandals and docs all the way up to fashion tragedy brand sketchers.

What may be a first rodeo type thing though, would be the wrestling ring smack in the middle of the grounds. We grabbed a beer and quickly joined the legion of punters that had gathered around, attempting to cohere goth rock and wrestlers in pleather jocks and sparkly boots. 

Around 4:30, Melbourne band Amyl & the Sniffers came out to play. After catching them numerous times as their name grew over the years, I found there was always one constant between every single show - a rowdy crowd. And to be honest,even the word rowdy is a light way to put it. I’ve seen broken bones, split lips, spilled beers and mud fights go down in an Amyl mosh; a place that is typically not for the faint hearted. So imagine my surprise when I showed up to the pit, prepared to battle, only to be met with a crowd of swayers. Seriously, there was more movement at a retirement village bingo night. 

But, as I looked around and found the only energy coming from the stage and maybe 3 odd randy 16 year olds in the crowd, I found something new. A generational divide that taught me something about the appreciation of music. It wasn't as if the people standing still weren't enjoying what they were seeing, I believe it was actually quite the opposite. 

They were standing still and soaking; each individual guitar riff, the bass lines, the drum beat that held it all together, and the ever fantastic showmanship of Amy Taylor. The end of each song was met with a roaring applause, regardless of the absence of blood shed in between the claps. 

It seemed that the only showcase of violence at this festival was reserved for the overexaggerated display in the ringside. And I mean, is this perhaps not how it should always be? Either way, what a fucking breath of fresh air it was to feel this safe and protected by the punters around you at a gig. 

As the sun set, Jane's Addiction took to the stage to remind us of everything that was so wrong but so right about indie glam rock from that magical period that was late 80s into early 90s. Things like Rhinestone vests, fingerless gloves, exotic dancers dressed in red lingerie swinging off of parallel bars, all soundtracked to music that you would probably find your uncle smoking weed to in his garden shed turned man cave. It was absolutely a sight to see, a glimpse of the showmanship that we so sorely miss in today's acts. 

Finally, just as dusk set, came the main event. The creme de la creme. The cherry on top of an already mouthwatering day. Walking out to a crowd already to well warmed up by bands whose members were probably still in diapers the first time they took to an Australian stage, The Smashing Pumpkins needed no introduction. As the title song from their new album of the same name ATUM played, Billy cooly strode onto centrestage through a cloud of smoke, looking reminiscent of Nosferatu in a black cloak, bald head and dark vampiric makeup, before launching into ‘Empires’. 

I must note that despite the effortlessly cool music and rockstar status, it was so refreshing to watch the comradery between Billy and co-founding member of the band, James Iha. Between nearly every song, the pair would take to the mic to talk to the crowd in third person through each other, poking fun at the crowd and one another in a way that you only can do when you are this close to another for this long. 

“We started this band in my fathers bedroom where he sold drugs… its true…and we're still here”, then the two performed an acoustic cover of fan favourite ‘Tonight Tonight’. 

As thrilled as I was by this whopping two hour set, I would hate to spoil the best bits. I'll leave by saying that I can not recommend this tour more, no matter your age or demographic. There truly is something for everyone to see.

ALL PHOTO CREDIT TO AMELIA PITCHER

[silasona]

Nobody:

Adam Coles exposed leg: