He Sucks . . . He Sucks . . . Even at the Wrong Event

Yes, this is another wrestling related true story, but it is kinda of a funny one.

Back in 20120 TNA Wrestling held their signature event Bound For Glory at the Grand Canyon University arena in Phoenix, AZ. Guess who was ringside. Yep. ME!

But, as good as that was, it is not the story. Nor is the actual PPV event. The real story is what happened outside the arena while people were waiting to be let in.

This is a True Story I call: He Sucks . . . He Sucks . . . Even at the Wrong Event

The show started at 6P.M., I arrived between 4:30 and 5, and the place was already packed. I parked and found my way to the arena where fans were waiting outside for the doors to open. I talked to a few people, mingled, ran into a few people I knew when something amazing happened. Something that happened for no obvious reason I knew of.

Something that caught me completely off guard.

Keep in mind this was TNA Wrestling.

CENA SUCKS! CENA SUCKS!! CENA SUCKS!!! CENA SUCKS!!!!

Yes, for some reason a CENA SUCKS chant broke out at TNA Bound For Glory. NO I DIDN’T START IT.
And no, there wasn’t even one LET’S GO CENA chant.

Yes, I joined in (Card carrying Cena hater.)

It was a weirdly amazing moment. Outside the arena for a major non-WWE PPV, a promotion John Cena has never worked for and a CENA SUCKS chant oddly breaks out.

Ace

WARWICK CASTLE

My favorite place in the entire World is Warwick Castle in England. When my family lived in England, while my dad served in the Air Force, I talked my parents into talking me to Warwick Castle numerous times. I also wormed my way into any school trip that was going there.

This is an event that happened the first time I went there, a True Story I call WARWICK.

In 1985 I was 11 years old and went to Warwick Castle for the first time on a school field trip. It was not the first castle I had been to, but to this day it is still the best. I felt a connection to the place I have never felt before.

It wasn’t déjà vu. It was more like coming home.

We took the normal tour. A guide showed us all the cool stuff they wanted us to see, and told us about the areas they didn’t want us to see. This included a Tower were prisoners who were to be executed were kept.

Guess where I went. Nothing was locked, nor roped off. I stole away from the group, made sure I wasn’t seen (sure . . .), and slid my way up the tower. It was dark, damp and very prison like. There were actually no lights and nothing modern to allow me to see.

As I reached the top of the tower, light come through the door. There was no handle on the tower door, and sunlight from outside seeped through. I pushed the door open and walked in. Light flooded in through the shutterless window.

The place had bad smell to it, and wasn’t very clean. It was very cool though. I looked out the window and saw just how high up I was. I’m not afraid of heights, but it was a little disorientating for a moment. I could see everything, included he parking lot which ruined the view – and the school bus.

I thought it was so cool. I was here and no one knew. Cool . . . until . . .

I felt my hair pulled. Pulled like an adult does when catching a child up to no good. My hair was yanked and neck snapped back. I turned around, but no one was there. I freaked out and scanned the tower. It was small, and the only door was the one I came in.

Just my imagination, right? Maybe a gust of wind? This was England and I was high up.

Spooked and trying to convince myself it was nothing, I left the room. I closed the door behind me to leave it like I found it. So no one would know I was there of course. The sunlight streamed through the hole in the door where the handle should be. It gave me some light to see by as I made my way down.

Then the light disappeared. I looked back, and something was blocking the light. The holes in the door were now pitch black.

Eventually I made my way back to the field trip group, and made claims I went to the bathroom. The teacher never believed me, but was glad I wasn’t lost. We finished the tour, and then were allowed to roam freely as long as we stayed out of off limits area.
The place was awesome and I enjoyed the rest of the day exploring the areas we were allowed in. The spooked and uneasy feeling I had in the tower slowly subsided. Once the bus ride home, I kept thinking about the tower, and how I had an experience no one else did.

No other time I visited Warwick Castle did I have a similar experience, but I also never went off like that again.

Ace

Urinal Unity

I have written about fond memories from England. This is not one of them. Call this a cautionary tale, but also a tale of unity.

It also show that things like this happened years ago and is not just a modern issue. On the positive side, it also shows how even kids can come together.

This is a True Store I call Urinal Unity.

I hate Urinals. I don’t use them to this day. This is the reason why.

1986 I was 12. I was on a school field trip in England to Stratford-Upon-Avon, home of Shakespeare. Awesome place, great day and even took a boat ride down the Thames! However, there was one bad moment.

I went to use a public bathroom, by myself. 12 years is a good age, and few people think this stuff would happen (then or now). I was using the urinal when this guy came in and used the one next to me. He started staring at me, made crude comments and want to touch me, and me him. I got the hell out of there.

I rejoined my group, all of us 10 to 13 years. I was not in a good place, and was scared at that moment. I told them what happened. Guess what?

We were all military brats. All of our fathers were serving in the United States Air Force. Some of us didn’t like each other, but no one missed with any one of us.

Imagine a group of 20, 10 to 13 year olds going into a public bathroom together looking for a man who tried to molest one of us.

That’s what happen. All of us military brats banded together, even guys I didn’t like looked out for me. We made one mistake, we never told the teacher. However, we all stuck together, and no one went off on their own for the rest of the field trip.

The trip ended up being great fun. Nothing else ever happen. I was never actually molested, but it was a freaky moment.

Ace.

IN REVERSE

I pay cash for everything, to a point depending on the price. I rarely ever use my Debit Card, and I don’t have a Credit Card (and don’t want one). This includes paying cash, inside the station, for gas. Usually this is not a problem.

This is a True Story I Call IN REVERSE . . . it became a problem yesterday. Yes, this is a story that actually happened yesterday.

I went to my local gas station by my house and pulled into the pump I almost always go to, pump #1. I went inside, got a small bag of chips, a soda and $10 on pump 1.
Well, at the pump, I took a swig of my coke, started to pump the gas . . . nothing. I reset the pump, tried again. Nothing. Third time the same.

No big deal, I figure the young girl just didn’t initialize the pump. I went back in, waited for a moment, and talked to the same clerk. All cleared up.

Still nothing when I went back to the pump.

I went back inside. Talked to her again. She told me I pumped my gas. I told her no. Then she hit me with this, “Pump 10 for $1 of gas, and you pumped it.”

Seriously, $1? Who gets $1 of gas?

I showed her the receipt . . . her face dropped. She realized what she did. Instead of $10 on pump 1, she put $1 on pump 10.

I finally got my gas . . . $10 on pump 10.

Ace

CLICK GRAB

About two years ago I had a great time at a Click Jab Wrestling Event. If you’re not familiar with Click Jab, they set up meet-and-greats with pro wrestlers and a wrestling event with a mix of indie and bigger name stars.

The Wrestlementary Crew was almost out in Full Force, Dave came with me, but Chris was unable to make it. He missed a great time.

A few of the big names that were there were: Christopher Daniels & Kazaraian (aka Bad Influence or The Addiction), Davari, James Storm, Gangrel, EC3 and Bret Hart!

Everyone list above wrestled that night except for Bret Hart (of course), who did get in the ring and talk.

However, my Highlight of the Night was something that happened during the Meet and Greet, with one of the ladies wrestlers there. No, I won’t name who it was, or what ladies where there.

This is a true story I call CLICK GRAB.

The Meet and Greet was a nice set up. Everyone was at their own table, doing signings, photos and selling merchandise. All the photos were taking by a Click Jab employee, on each person’s cell phone or tablet, or camera (???).

Of course I got stuff signed, grabbed some merch, and posed for my pictures with everyone. Great, fun time.

I even gave copies of my graphic novel Rushmore to Daniels and Kaz, as they are both big comic book fans, and I happen to know they read it that night.

My Highlight came when sitting down at a table with a certain female wrestler . . . she was very kind, very lovely and very grabby . . .

Yes, grabby. I sat down in the chair next to her at the table for my picture and she . . . grabbed my crouch! Seriously, as I sat there for a minute, she put her hand in my lap, under the table and grabbed my crouch.

YES SHE DID. NO I WON’T NAME HER.

After the picture was taken, she grabbed my phone to make sure it was good. Once my turn at the table was done, she hugged me and whispered ‘You’re hot.’

Yes, this actually happened – and I have witnesses.

I was molested by a famous female pro wrestler . . . AND I LOVED IT!

Ace.

Three (Not) Stooges

I’m sure a lot of people out there like to go antiquing, like to peruse used book stores and the like. I love going to swap meets and used books stores – mostly looking for books (obviously) and DVD’s/BR. Sometimes one can find great gems.

I have a few places I go to on a regular basis, and usually find some great stuff, like the two times I found some rare Three Stooges films on DVD. These weren’t even really stooges films, they were films from their time as Ted Healy’s sidekicks.

This is a True Story I Call Three (Not) Stooges . . .

A few weeks ago I found a used double feature DVD of Ted Healy and His Stooges films. When I got home I immediately popped it in to make sure it worked. This is something I didn’t used to do, but started doing earlier this year when some friends told me they bought used DVDs at this store that didn’t play properly.

Well I had only bought one disc from there that I found didn’t play – the same damn DVD. I threw that one out.

This one worked, boy did it work.

After I popped it in, I turned my back to look for my control. The DVD auto played. This was very embarrassing, especially with my mom in the house . . .

Loud sounds of moaning and screaming bellowed from my TV. I turned around to see a hardcore gang bang on the screen. My mother come into the room and saw the same thing. See laughed, and didn’t believe me at first that I wasn’t watching porn.

The Three Stooges disc in the DVD case wasn’t what it should have been, it was a freaking Stooges Porn Parody!

TRUE.

I took the disc back, but no one at the store believed me . . .

;( I wanted that Stooges Disc!

Ace.

NO LIFT, NO SUPPORT

Ok, some of you might actually find this story funny. In fact, I believe that everyone will find this story funny. Unless you’re me, of course. Or it happened to you.
What happened you ask? I had a door fall on me.

This is a True Story I Call NO LIFT, NO SUPPORT

A couple of months ago the lift supports for the hatchback on my jeep started to slowly go out. The door wouldn’t stay open very long, and would slowly start to close. It would seem like it would stay up, but as soon as I would go to put something in, or take something out, the damn thing would close on my head.

My car was trying to kill me!

It gets worse, every single one of my mom’s dumbass clients thought they knew how to fix it. All had the same exact idea: Twist it and tighten it up. No one paid attention to me that these lifts aren’t pneumatic but gas. Tighten them up wouldn’t work (on pneumatic either).

Problem was, it did seem to work . . . until it turned out that I WAS RIGHT!

My car really was trying to kill me! It was trying to eat me!

Oh, and twisting the lift supports didn’t work either.

It was a Sunday morning, my Mom and I were at a client’s house. She was inside and I was getting something from the back of the Jeep Liberty. What I needed rolled all the way to the back of the trunk area and lodge behind the back seats. They were seated up, not laid down. I reached all the way in to get the item . . .

AHHHH!!!! The damn door slammed shut on the small of my back! It bounded twice (seeing, EATING ME!)

Of course I could just slide out under the door right? Right?!

Nice such luck. The damn metal hook on the door that latches into the lock got caught on my belt. If I tried to move, the door moved with me. I was stuck.

“MOM!” I yelled a few times. Nothing. I moved, squirmed, wiggled a few times. Nothing.

Then it happened . . . the worst possible thing.

I heard laughing. Laughing! But there was no help forthcoming.

“Get out of there,” my mom said.

I couldn’t, I was hooked to the hatchback door!

Finally someone helped me. This person realized that I wasn’t goofing around. They were able to get me unhooked, and pushed the door up. I slide out. They let the door go. It slammed shut, hard. My lower back had a large bruiser on it I would see minutes later in a mirror.

There were about seven or eight people standing around laughing. My mom thought it was funny. She never heard me call her. She came out looking for me, and said that all she could see were two legs sticking out the back of the car.

ACE

AN XXX AFFAIR

“Warning there is some XXX language toward the end of this story.”

I’ll be honest, even I have a hard time believing this story, but it is true. It happened right here in my home town of Glendale, AZ, though one might think it would be more appropriate if it occurred in Porn Valley.

To showcase how long ago this actually happened, this proposal was made to me in a Borders Books and Music parking lot!

This is a True Story I Call AN XXX AFFAIR  . . .

To be truthfully, there wasn’t any affair, but there was an awkward, weird moment that left me with a ‘Maybe I should have done it,’ feeling.

One afternoon I was at the once upon a time Borders in the Arrowhead area of Glendale, AZ. Big store, lots of books, music, movies. I loved the place, but this story isn’t about Borders. It doesn’t even take place at Borders (or a least IN Borders).

It happened in the parking lot, on a bright sunny day as I was walking to my car. I don’t even remember if I bought anything that day, but I do remember this ‘affair.’

I won’t mention the girl’s name, or the company she worked for (both legit). What girl, you ask?

The girl in a pair of blue cut-off shorts and a white tank top. The girl with flowing brunette hair, long legs and . . . you get the picture. She was about twenty at the most, beautiful and had a very mature confidence about herself. I had seen her in Borders, but never said anything.

Oh, and it’s okay, around this time I was in my late twenties (no cradle robbing).

She’s was the one who approached me, introduced herself and starting talking to me. (Yea me!) She jumped up on the hood of my Ford Escort, swung her legs a little, flirted, then asked me something very odd, ‘Have you ever thought of doing porn?’

My reaction was to numerous a mix of emotions at one time to really describe. I’m sure that I had some weird look on my face because she laughed. She handed me a card and made it clear she was legitimately asking me if I would be interested in doing porn.

She worked for a Glendale based XXX website, and they were looking for some new guys for scenes. Good pay too.

I have to admit it, I thought about it for a moment. But if I did, there goes any chance of my writing career. It was tempting. We talked a little longer and I eventually asked, ‘Would I get to work with you?’ Naïve way to put it. Hey, I was caught off guard.

‘Fuck me? Of course. Why do you think I’m asking you?’ She made it very clear she wanted to fuck, and just as clear that she wanted to get paid while doing it. For the website. For the world to see. She topped it off with this. ‘You can cum in me too if you want.’

Well, duh, yeah. I was flattered. I was fluster. I was excited. I was hoping we could continue in the back of my escort.

I seriously considered it. This girl had ‘Dream Girl’ written all over her. She also was picking up a stranger (me) in a parking lot to do porn. How many other guys would/had she approached. How many guys took her up on her offer?

As much as I would have like to, I turned it down. Porn is best left for me to watch, not star in. She was disappointed, but gave me a kiss and told me to call her if I changed my mind.

Later after getting home, I checked out the website: There she was.
I looked at the card again, just business info. If I did change my mind, I’d be calling an office, not the girl. Her name was different on the site too. Hell it was different in every scene on there.

Ace

A Scare

A Scare

This is a True Story I call . . . A SCARE.

This is a very recent event, and a very scare one. No joke.

On Tuesday, September 13, after getting home from work, I took a nap. It was around two in the afternoon. I woke up about four-thirty, felt good, stretched out and started doing some things. Then, it felt like my shirt bunch up in my right armpit. Just one issue . . .

I wasn’t wearing a shirt.

I felt my armpit, and quickly called my mom over. She felt the same thing – a golf ball sized lump. One that wasn’t there when I had laid down. I called my doctor’s office and I got an appointment that Friday, and canceled out my plans for that afternoon.
I spent Tuesday evening on-line looking up possibilities of what it could be. The good news is that I found about a dozen different things other than cancer. Still, the mind goes where it will . . .

As does time . . . especially when one is waiting to see the doctor, time does what it will . . . a 4:15 P.M. appointment turns into 5:00 P.M. and waiting very quickly, and feels agonizingly slow. I was finally called back and went through the motions with one of his assistants and finally saw the doc around 5:15 P.M. promptly.

He gave my arm a thorough exam and put my mind at ease fairly quickly – it was just an infection. A bad one, but just an infection. Nothing overly serious, or to be greatly concerned about . . . unless the medication didn’t work and it lingered.

Good news is, it isn’t cancer! Better news is that over the course of the week the sulfur based medicine he prescribed worked . . . and kicked my ass. For all of last week (9/18-9/24), I was literally walking around in a haze, unable to focus, sleep or eat. If this medicine had a side-effect, I experienced – except for a rash.

The best news is this, the infection is gone (I hope), at least the lump has gone completely away and my arm is back to normal. I am can put my arm down, and the burning sensation is gone.

This past week, I had an x-ray follow up and normal bloodwork done. Monday I see the doctor for my follow up appointment and see what’s up.

So, that was my last couple of weeks and my scary moment.

Ace.

You call that Hot?

Well, it’s Thursday and my THIS IS A TRUE STORY blog post is one time. Yep. This is it . . . and that is my True Story for this week.
Later.

Ok, that last part was a lie, but the first part wasn’t.

I love Hot Wings, as anyone who has ever eaten out with me can attest too. I have had Hot Wings in numerous players across Arizona, and in other areas. Including a place or two that actually have people sign waivers . . .

This is a True Story I call . . .  YOU CALL THAT HOT . . .

In Baltimore there is a place – I forgot the name – that is supposed to be famous for its Hot Wings. I might use the word Infamous, rather than famous. Infamous for making people sign waivers, than for their wings.

My friends and I stopped into this place to eat, and of course I was dared by my friends to take the Hot Wing challenge. I did, ordering twelve hot wings and a coke.
The waitress tried to talk me out of having the wings. They’re really hot and most people can’t handle them. That only made me want them more.

After she finally took my order, a manager come out and explained to me that if I want the Hot Wings, I needed to sign a waiver – this is completely serious. It seems that some people have bad reaction to the heat.

I signed the damn waiver and asked for the hottest they have. Eventually my wings came out, but before I could dig in, they brought out a pitcher of water ‘on the house.’ I was told I was going to need it. They were going all out to prove how badass their hot wings were.

Fifteen minutes later, I finished my wings, drank only half of my coke and never touched the water. The waitress came back to see how I was doing (expecting me to be gagging on the heat of the wings), and I was fine.

In fact I asked for another twelve wings . . . bad mistake.

She got pissed, never said anything and pointed to the door. I repeated that I would like a second order of wings, and she just pointed to the door.

So, I got up and left.

A few minutes later my friends left, thinking the whole thing funny. We got out of there quickly before they realized they never charged me for the wings!

True.

I had a similar incident at a placed called Max’s right here in Glendale, AZ. This was one of the first times I meet my buddy Dave Parrish. I had their Hot Wings and some Iced Tea, I was brought a second glass of Iced Tea and told I would need it.

Insulted, I ate all the wings, without taken a sip of the Iced Tea. Then I was basically kicked out of Max’s. :-(

The moral of this story? Don’t blame me if your Hot Wings are Not Wings.

Being kicked out of places like this is a badge of honor to a guy like me.

**** DISCLAIMER No actual Hot Wings were eaten in these two places. At best, the wings were mild. END DISCLAIMER ****

Ace.

This is a True Story I call . . . Do you know who . . . Also known as MOM!!!!!! (Crying eyes out).

I love my mother. I really do. BEST. MOTHER. EVERY. MOMMY!

I can forgive her anything . . . almost.

My mother, even though she spent time working in gym, being a sport equipment coach for my High School, she isn’t really a sports person. She never really followed sports, didn’t know the pro athletes that much, and still doesn’t if they aren’t on E News or TMZ.

She defiantly didn’t know who it was in 1985 when she meet one of the biggest names in basketball, and had no idea who he was.

This is a True Story I call . . . Do you know who . . . Also known as MOM!!!!!! (Crying eyes out).

I remember this vividly. This was in the springtime, which in England is cold like any other time. I was eleven. I was going to Croughton Middle School at Croughton AFB in England, while my dad was stationed at Upper Heyford AFB while in the Air Force. My mother worked at the base gym on Croughton herself.

Since my dad was in the Air Force we moved around a lot, and we didn’t live in many places that had professional sports teams. So, generally, I followed what teams I could watch, and more often than not specific players.

When it came to the NBA my favorite player was Larry Bird, and my favorite team the Boston Celtics (partly because of Bird, partly because my mother is from Ireland and is Celtic). This is important to the story.

My mother rode my school bus home with me one day and, of course, we got off together. This was no big issue with me, I wasn’t embarrassed like many kids would be. Once we got home and she started making dinner, she asked me an odd question: “Have you ever heard of a guy name Kevin McHale?”

I answered, “Yes.”

“He’s some sort of basketball player I was told,” she said.

“Yeah, he plays for the Celtics . . .”

This is when she broke my heart, “Oh, okay. He was here for the last week . . .”

I freaked out, McHale – The Boston Celtic – was here???

She went on to tell me he was visiting and staying with his cousin who was stationed at Croughton. He came into the gym a few times and played basketball. She even mentioned that he was really tall.

I cut her off and asked (probably demanded) to meet him. (If my heart was broken earlier, here is where it get rips out).

She told me he left that afternoon for London to return home.

I was so pissed. This was KEVIN MCHALE. MCHALE. The base gym was one block from my school. I had lunch with my mom when McHale was probably there in the gym. I missed meeting him by hours, maybe inches???

I was so pissed, and sad.

To this day, it is still painful.

Ace

But I still love you, mom.

This . . . This is A True Story: SIR, YOU DIDN'T . . .

I hate Wal-Mart for a myriad of reasons. Any and all of them make sense and are true. This is a brief story involving Wal-Mart, an employee and I. It also involved potential embarrassment, and bullshit allegations.

This is a True Story I call: SIR, YOU DIDN'T . . .

Every morning Wednesday I go to Drawn to Comics to get my weekly books. Unless some crap comes up, I am there when they open at 9AM. On this Wednesday morning I stopped off briefly at the Neighborhood Wal-Mart to get a drink, a bottle of coke.

It just took a couple of minutes, I grabbed a cold bottle, went through the self-check and out to the car.

I heard someone frantically calling “Sir! Sir!” I kept going to the car, no idea who was being called.

Then I heard this, “Sir, you didn’t pay for that soda!” Twice this was yelled out.

I turned around, soda in hand to find a woman running up to me. The parking lot was packed. People stopped what they were during and were staring over at me. All anyone knew was that a man (me), was being approached by a Wal-Mart employee screaming that I didn’t pay.

The woman than said this, “Sir, you didn’t paid for the soda. I never saw you check out.” There were quite a few people around by this time, and all could hear her.

I told her that I did pay for the soda, at the self-check.

She said, ‘Ok,’ turned around and made back for the store.

Really, I thought. She chased me down out of the store, claimed I never paid and didn’t check out and now was just walking off. I had at least a dozen people in the parking lot who witnessed this and were staring at me. I just couldn’t let it go.

I jammed my hand into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled receipt. “Here’s the receipt,” I said as she was leaving.

She looked back over at me and said she didn’t need to see it.

I was pissed. I wasn’t kind here either when I told her she needed to see the receipt. She came running out of the store, with claims that I didn’t check out – in other words that I stole the soda – she was going to look at the damn receipt.

She refused and went back into the store and never did look at the damn receipt.

I went into the store and talked to one of the manager. They wouldn’t listen, and refused my complaint. He told me that since I had a receipt, he didn’t see what my problem was.

You might think that this was just one incident and one employee . . . this was the first time, and not the last.

Ace.

Going To Hell . . .

Do you know anyone in your life that you can’t stand? Somebody that everybody else seems to like and consider a good person. Someone you know isn’t a good person? I do.

Dislike is the word I will use here, even though that isn’t strong enough. This woman is one of my mother’s clients, and hence one of mine. Unfortunately. My mother tends to see the good in everyone, even this woman.

Me? Just the fact that I know this woman is a detriment to my life. Knowing there are times I have to deal with her makes me miserable. Hell, writing this piece about her, makes me want to puke.

This is A True Story I call Going To Hell . . . and it is about one of the nicest things this women has ever said to me.

This took place about two or so years ago, when my mother and I were doing some work for this women. My mother was in the other side of the house, while I was in the living room trying to get a new TV hooked up.

She started to ask me questions about if I was married, did I have a girlfriend, how often I had sex (seriously). Specifically if I was engaging in pre-marital sex. The conversation she was having – I barely said anything – was way out of line.

I finally told her that I am not married, and have no plans on getting married.

She asked why, and I told her honestly – I haven’t meet the right woman, and I have no desire to get married.

This pissed her off and she went on a tirade. She called being unmarried at 40 an act of evil and the work of the devil. She told me, “You are fucking up God’s plan, and you are damned to hell.”

Damned to hell because I am not married.

I tried to play it off, but she wasn’t joking. Seriously, this woman is a senior citizen, but she doesn’t have dementia or alhamzimer, and she wasn’t joking. She made it very clear a number of times: I’m going to hell because I am not married, and being single is against the will of God.

Every time I have to do work for this bitch, she brings it up. And, as I wrote above, this is perhaps the nicest thing she has ever said to me.

Case in point: after getting out of the hospital after my aneurism, my head was saved, my face swollen and bruised and my foot long scare on my skull was visible. She never asked me how I was doing or if I was okay, she told me: You finally look good.

True – but she’s a good person.

Ace.

'Why Would You Say That?'

At a recent Arizona Wrestling Federation event, Dave Parrish and I had a change of heart concerning a wrestler we were both iffy on. Because of his reaction to something said by someone (Dave), I at least became a fan. Dave as well, I believe.

This is a TRUE STORY that I call: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?

The name of the Wrestler is hidden, I am only using his initials, for this might be embarrassing to him, I don’t know.

It was, I believe, the opening match of the show. Dave and I had our normal seats in the back corner, by the nice cool fans and directly across from the wrestler’s entrance. It was JS versus the ever popular Exciting Evan Daniels.

JS was announced first, did his entrance – too boos. He spent Daniels ‘exciting’ entrance in the corner by us, warming up for his match when Dave shouted:
“Rip his head off, Evan!”

JS’s reaction to this was classic and very real. He looked over at us, unsure which one of us spoke, looked hurt with sad eyes and said, “Why would you want that . . . I’d be dead.” Dave shrugged his shoulders. “Why would you say that?” JS pleaded.

Real emotions or not, it was a great reaction to a common expression at wrestling events “rip his head off!”

It was such a great reaction, that I had to cheer for the guy. He ended up losing, but put on the best match I had seen him do to that date.

Here is a guy I actually booed, but whose reaction to a staple comment was so awesome, it made me a fan.

Dave and I talked to him after the show, and he turned out to be a really cool guy.
So, no more “rip his head off” for JS. Well, at least against him.

Ace Masters

Finding Z

Finding Z

April 15, Tax Day, has a specific special meaning for me, which has nothing to do with taxes, the IRS or anything April 15 is normally associated with.

On April 15, 2009, about a year before my father died, my mother and I went for a walk in our neighborhood. Not an unusual act for us. It was about noon and we went different way than normal. As we were walking down a less traveled road, this tiny little puppy came running out from under a white truck parked on the street.

The little pup, black and white, with one eye completely black, jumped up at me, I caught her and she started licking my face, and placed her paws around my neck. It was like the little girl was hugging me. I was caught off, didn’t know what to do, so I just held her until she decided she wanted me to put her down.

She ran back over to the house the truck was parked in front of. My mom and I talked to the guy who lived there, thinking she was his dog. She wasn’t. He found her sleeping outside his front door that morning and gave her some food.

Thinking nothing more of it, my mom and I continued on our walk. It wasn’t too long before we heard steps behind us, looking back there was the little girl running after us. As we continued to walk, she followed us, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.

She jumped all around us, all happy. Not knowing if she belong to someone or was a stray, we let her follow us. Then she took off. She saw a small dog and chased it down the road out of sight. I was a little said, but figured she belonged to someone and would make her way home.

A couple of minutes later, there was a loud noise and bark from behind us. I turned and the little girl came running up to me and jumped into my arms again. This time, she put her head into my chest and fell asleep. Literally, she fell asleep in my arms.

I carried the tiny, few weeks old Zoie all the way home.

We took her to the vet, but she had no chip or anything to identify the owner. We put up signs and went around the neighborhood, no one owned her.

So, guess what, we kept her.

And it’s a good thing we did, for she became my little Angel. Just under 5 years later, January 29, 2014, it was Zoie who found me when I collapse and got help.

And here she is today.

Ace.

WHITE SHIRT . . . BLACK . . .

Do you want something funny? I have something funny for you. You’ll love it. Really.

It involves, me, a white shirt and a baby pit bull.

This is a TRUE STORY I call

WHITE SHIRT . . . BLACK . . .

Up until two years ago I had a beautiful pit bull named Lady. Who really thought she was royalty. She died two months after I got out of the hospital at 11 years old. She was a great dog, a great friend and never left my side during my recovery.

This is the story of her as a little baby, and how she marked me as her territory.

I used to work at a Social Security payee office, handling funds for mentally ill and homeless people on SSI. One of my co-worker was a licensed pit bull dog breeder, who breed pure breed pit bulls for shows. In fact my Lady was registered with the Kennel Club of London.

Well, one day one she went home to find that one of her dogs was pregnant, an unplanned pregnancy as well. The dog gave birth to seven puppies. Unfortunately the mother died the next day due to complications and two puppies still born inside her.

Since the mother died and this was unplanned my co-worker brought the little angles into our small seven-person office and we all took turns caring for the puppies. I spent six weeks everyday day doing my job, while carrying around little puppies and feeding them with bottles.

She asked me if I wanted one of the puppies, and I jumped at it. Because my dad was Air Force, I never had a dog growing up, we moved around too much. I chose the one I had first started feeding and named him Max.

He died two days later due to an infection in his duclaw.

Heartbroken, I decided not to take one of the puppies.

I still cared for them though, and loved them.

Then one morning I came to work wearing a brand new, pure bright white t-shirt. I picked up a little puppy that would become Lady, cradled her and started feeding her. I held her to my chest while walking to the break room to get a drink when I felt this warm sensation down my chest.

I look down, saw little Lady, whose eyes weren’t even open yet, sucking on the bottle. I lift her up . . .

The little girl had POOPED all over my shirt.

I had Lady’s poop running down my shirt. She went to the bathroom on me while I was feeding her!

I handing her off to one of my co-workers and rushed to the bathroom. The shirt was totaled, but I preceded to scrub my chest down with some and water. Yes, I know it was a pup, but it was still feces. For the rest of the day I ended up wearing a size to small shirt from our in house donations.

Lady marked me for life.

A few day later, I was feeding her again when she finally opened her eyes. When she hit six weeks, I took the little shit home.

Ace.

It’s not Fair That You Get So Many Incentive Comics

This TRUE STORY is probably going to make me look bad in the eyes of some. Even though I was the one on the receiving end of a verbal assault from out of nowhere, what I said back to this person people seem to have a problem with.

This happened back in November, around 10A.M on a Wednesday morning. How do I know this exactly? Because I do the same thing every Wednesday morning from 9-10 A.M. I visit my local comic shop and get my weekly comics. I also get the Incentive Limited Covers for the titles I collect. I only get the Incentive for titles I read.

Some weeks, the Incentives are plentiful.

That morning there was a gentleman in the store, talking about how he wished he could afford the Incentives. 

I hung around for a while as I usually do, then checked out and walked to my car, box of comics in my hands. I placed the box on my passengers’ side seat, turned to close the door when I found the gentlemen from in the store moment ago standing behind me.

He said, “You should let other people get some of those incentives.”

I had no idea who this guys was. I had never seen him in the store before. I’ve never seen him since. I told him, “I can buy whatever I want to buy.”

He seemed really pissed, especially for a guy who moments before was bemoaning that he didn’t have enough money to by the Incentives on a regular basis. He seemed to be upset that I bought/do buy the Incentive Cover Comics that I want.

He spouted out with venom, “It’s not fair they allow you to buy so many Incentives.”

“It’s not fair you’re allowed to breathe valuable air,” I spat back.

He didn’t say anything. The anger slipped from his face and he now looked like a child who had his favorite toy taken away. He slithered away, dejected, and I have never seen him again.

Make no mistake, this guy got into my face. He came up on me from behind, so close to me I couldn’t even move out to close my car door. So close, our noses were practically touching. He came after me, I cut him down.

I have told a few people this story, and almost all of them get upset with me, that I wasn’t fair to this guy. That what I said was wrong.

Hey, you get into my face like this, you get what you deserve. Someone gets into anyone’s face like this, that someone gets what they deserve.

Ace

What’s Wrong With You?

Because I will be attending two Indie Wrestling events this weekend, one of them an AWF show, this week’s True Story is AWF related. This time the story actually involves me.

One of the biggest and baddest wrestlers on the west coast scene is the Bad Man From the Desert Sands, Clutch. A big, burly 300-pounder brawler, who can fly and show some great athleticism when he wants too.

This particular night he was wrestling as the heel. I, and the Wrestlementary, were sitting front row at the ring corner across from the ramp. Clutch came out, circled the ring, ignored people and prepared for battle.

I don’t remember who his opponent was, but I vividly remember that Clutch cornered the guy in the corner of the ring where we were sitting, climbed to the second rope and started hitting the guy. Then stopped.

This pissed me off. I yelled at Clutch, “Hit him again!” I cheered him on. Clutch hit him again. “Harder!” I yelled. Clutch obliged me.

“Hit him again. Rip him apart!” I yelled. I’m a fan of Clutch, even as a heel I wanted him to win.

So, what did Clutch do? The big bad heel.

He jumped down from the ropes, looked right at me, and said “What the hell is wrong you with?”

Yes, he broke character to admonish me for encouraging him to kill his opponent. In fact that was my response: “Kill him!”

It was actually hilarious and cool. The Bad Man From the Desert Sands, the heel who is supposed to hurt and maim his opponent on his way to victory, stopped in the middle of the match to admonish me for very vocally wanting him to hurt and maim his opponent on his way to victory.

I love Wrestling.

Ace.

This is a True Story – Crazy Cookbook

Have you ever meet someone who, if you called them stupid, you would actually be complimenting them? I know a few like this.

This True Story is about one of these type of people, a former client of my mother’s, who had ‘her own’ cookbook.

About two years ago, Thanksgiving time, this client told us that every year at the Holidays she ‘publishes’ her cookbook. My mother honestly believed she published a yearly cookbook. I had my doubts.

Turns out, what she meant by ‘publish’ is that every year she sends a list of her recipes by e-mail to her family members throughout the country. She honestly believed sending out a personal e-mail made her a ‘published’ cook.

My mother, being the nice, kind, gentle soul that she is, offered my services to this woman as a publisher to actually publish her cookbook. Doing this was not something I wanted to do, but something I somehow got railroaded into.

I figured it might be worth a shot, and could make some money. I had a long talk with this woman, broke down the expenses of self-publishing, and told her what the costs would be, and my fees. I wasn’t doing this for free.

I told her the first things she needed to do was gather all her recipes into a folder or something similar so we could look at what she had and see what I had to work with.

She couldn’t seem to grasp three simple concepts:

• I have published books in the past.
• Self-publishing cost money, and I wasn’t fronting the money for this.
• When we covered expenses, she that thought was what I was paying her. I was doing work-for-hire here.

She also couldn’t seem to grasp the simple concept of original ideas and ownership.

After about three weeks she finally presented me with her ‘cookbook.’ I admit, from the beginning I never wanted to do this, and didn’t feel comfortable dealing with someone so stupid. ‘Her’ cookbook was simply a scrap book of recipes torn out of cookbooks by famous chiefs. Rachael Ray, Emeril Lagasse, Giada De Laurentiis, Paula Deen, Martha Stewart . . . nothing in this book of hers was hers.

Plus, she wanted to publish it ‘as is,’ meaning she actually wanted to use the pages, images and everything that she ripped out of those cookbook. Because she liked them.

I tried to explain to her that not only wouldn’t I do this, I couldn’t do this. All these recipes were the property of other people, we couldn’t legally publish them as belonging to her, and we sure as hell couldn’t use the pages from other books.
I wasn’t going to work on or put out a book that violated copyright laws, trademarks, intellectual property laws and out-and-out plagiarism with my name attached as publisher.

To this past Thanksgiving, she still doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t publish the book.

If you think I am being harsh on her, consider this: her seven grandchildren have started a rock band called The Rolling Stones. Honestly. They named themselves after her favorite band. Neither she, her son nor the grandchildren see a problem with using the name Rolling Stones.

Ace

HEY, HIS JACKET!

This THIS IS A TRUE STORY is something that happened recently, this year in fact.

This year is only 14 days old as of this writing, but I have already had some weird things happen . . . this story is the best so far. And it didn’t even happen to me!

2016 got off to a great start. On the second of January, my best friend and business partner, Dave Parrish, and I went to the Lucha Wrestling Unleashed event at the AWF arena in downtown Glendale, AZ.
No better way to kick off a new year then spending time with friends, hot girls and pro wrestling!

Anyway, the highlight of the night came from a wrestler called El something Loco, I’m not quite sure what his ring name is. I know he’s loco, and his act is almost XXX, so I’ll call him El XXX Loco. His gimmick is that of an apparently ‘femme’ camp counselor, reminds me of Meatballs.

He comes out in camp counselor gear, does a strip tease into his ring trunks. Then, at some point later, does a second tease and pulls his tights’ straps out his trunk. All in an overly exaggerated ‘femme’ manner. It really gets the crowd going, and gets him heat.

That is not the story though.

At this last event, while shielding our eyes from his actions, this little shit El XXX Loco, rolled out of the ring toward Dave and I. We had no idea what was going on. Dave was flabbergasted when Loco walked up beside him . . .

and YANKED the chair out from underneath Dave!

No warning. Nothing.

Worse part is Dave had his jacket on the back of the chair.

Dave was in shock. I started yellow at the little XXX, “His Jacket! His Jacket!” El XXX Loco ignored me, and others yelling at him, slide the chair under the ring and rolled back into the ring for his match. Dave didn’t have his chair or jacket, both were now under the ring.

Dave’s chair was replaced rather quickly by someone who works for the promotion, but his jacket was never retrieved.

El XXX Loco was quickly taken out of the match after a few seconds and never even used the chair.

At some point Dave got his jacket back, probably when I was getting a soda, of course it was dusty and dirty.

Other wrestlers at these events have taken our chairs, but usually they ask, or warn us . . . but they’ve never stolen personal property!

EL XXX LOCO?! EL THEIF!!

Ace Masters

My The Coke Be With You

One more Star Wars related post for this first week of the New Year from me, and this one is a True Story.

Are you one of the millions of people who waited in the long lines for tickets to see Star Wars: The Phantom Menace? It was, after all, the first Star Wars film in sixteen year. I saw it opening day, with my dad (a fellow huge Star Wars fan). In fact until his death in 2010, I saw all the films with my dad.

I don’t feel that just because someone waits in a line for hours, or days, dresses up as characters from the film, makes them more of a fan then those who don’t. I never waited in line to see any of the film, and I didn’t for The Phantom Menace.

My dad and I bought are tickets weeks in advance. :-D

We arrived at the Harkins Theaters about a half-hour early, enough time to get drinks, popcorn and good seats. It was an early morning Friday showing, either nine or ten. When we arrived, there was a long line for the box office, people waiting to buy their tickets.

Yeah, I admit, the first thought going through my head was, “losers.”

As we walked up to the theater, people were getting pissed, many upsets that we, and others, were getting in before them because they had waited so long in line. I just decided to go into jackass mode.

I pulled out our tickets, held them up and started mocking the people in line. I let everyone in line who was pissed off know we bought advanced tickets. “We get to see the film, and you get to wait!” I remember shouting.

People weren’t happy about it.

In fact, someone from behind me beaned me with a full can of coke. At first I was pissed, until I saw the can of coke on the ground. It hadn’t burst. I picked it up, held it out and popped it. It fizzed up of course, but there was still a good amount of soda left.

Someone, probably the thrower, yelled, “ASSHOLE,” from the crowd.

I just held up the soda, tickets, said, “Thank you.”

Yeah, maybe I was being an asshole, but I had tickets to the movie, a free coke and saw the movie why they were still waiting in line.

Ass Hole, err, Ace Masters.